Emma Jo

This is my precious little Spaz.  I love how grown up she is starting to look.  She turns 5 next month, and told me today that when she turns 8 that she won't have to use a car seat.  I love looking at her hands and fingers.  Those are my Dad's, so really it is 4th generation fingers.  My Dad, then me, and then my other daughter Jackie got them, and now Emma Jo does too.

I had the pleasure of entertaining her this morning as part of my 'take back my life' campaign.  I've not had a life for 2 months now, which is why I only posted one blog in March, one in April, and this is my first one in May.

For the past 2 months, my life has been consumed with work.  Period.  Not much time for me, or my wife, my family, friends; just work for 6, 6.5, or 7 days a week, week after week, month after month.  A very good week is 55 hours squeezed into 5.5 days.  Bad weeks are those that hit triple digits.

It's spring, and spring means giving up your life with our line of hardscaping work.  Kind of like a CPA gives up his life every Jan.1st to April 15th during their peak tax filing season.

So, my 'take back my life' campaign began in earnest 3 weeks ago with a commitment to take off Thursday afternoons; and I have.

Today though, not a Thursday, but a Friday, I picked up my little gurl and headed for the hills (as in Stone Wood Hills), as she had Target in her sights.  She loves Target, and we spent well over an hour there.  Her haul filled the U-Haul trailer at the loading dock that we had delivered for the occasion.

The only thing left to fit in my truck was a princess swimsuit, a princess puzzle, a princess pencil, and sandals for a princess since she couldn't find one with an actual princess emblem on them...

Lunch was at Panda, where she inhaled Orange Chicken, and wanted to sit by me, where she snuggled up next to me to stay warrmee, and it also made it closer for her to hug and kiss me; which melted my heart about 1/2 way through the lunch.  Oh, that's so sweet Emma, I should have brought in a 2nd U-Haul just for you. 

Her Daddy gets home in the morning from being deployed in Berzerkistan for the last 9 months, and Emma is so exited, she told me about it 3 times today.  She was headed for a pedicure with flags on her toes when I took her back home.

I love you Emma Jo; see you in the morning at the airport.  I too am quite excited to see your Dad.

- Pappy

  

The Boys

Today's blog is brought to you by the letter B.  B, as in:

Boys.
Bangs.
Bullets.
Boogers.
Bugs.
Bigfoot.
Butts.
Boobs.
Bambi.
Balls.
Backyard baseball.

And later, other B's will be tried in their lives (though Romeo already is hip to the first one).
Babes.
Beer.
Brats.
Bikini's.

Sunday afternoon, we had our going away dinner for Kasey, my niece; whom has decided to start her life over in the sunny side of Tucson.  She will be missed by all of us; most notably though by our boys.  I love you Kasey, and wish you the best!

That afternoon, during a 1.5 to 2 hour stint while playing backyard baseball with the boys; I had one of the best memories added to my life, realizing that this time could not be replaced, and while the boys will have forgotten about it by now, I will remember it for years.

Ava was my assistant for shagging errant balls, she took her hacks at the plate, but hated taking every swing (making it abundantly clear how much she hated baseball), as all of the other females in my family do too.  She was my trooper, with a constant gorgeous smile on her face, and those incredible curly locks constantly getting blown in the wind ~ I forgot to get her pic, but that image is locked in my brain.

Spaz got in a little separate one on one Pappy time swinging for the fences with her t-ball stand with whiffle balls and bat, but mainly she was AWOL ~ (we still don't know where she disappears to for her private time, as she did not want any part of boy-time).  She'd hit one, then run to 3rd, run back to home, run to right field, run to 1st, it was quite the sight, and she could have cared less; we were just enjoying each other.

So anyway, during the games, and while picking at their plates of food; it really is amazing to listen to what little boys talk about if you just listen.  I guess it's not too different from what big boys talk about, but wow, it is world's different than from what little girls talk about....

Let's see:

J-rod (the hunter) wants to bang and bag Bambi for the back-strap meat.  Plus, he loves to dig deep for the crunchy boogers, not the wet ones, just the crunchy ones.

Romeo (the Casanova) wants a different kind of Bambi, probably for a whole 'nother reason.  How is it possible that a 3 year old can already be so infatuated with butts and boobs?, but I'm telling you, his penchant for babes, butts, and boobs is baffling.  Oh how I hope he is not the star of Magic Mike 5.

Jack-Jack loves to sing "I'm 'da man" while swinging his boy unit during the outdoor peeing contests, and he seems to always be looking at bugs, or picking up bugs.  He might even be sampling how they taste; but I did not observe that...

And then there is WP.  Sweet, precious, tender, mother of mercy WP.  One of God's most perfect little boy creations.  Never gets in trouble, always obedient, and what's this that I think I just hear from his mouth; "I like girls in bikini's, they are pretty like my momma."  Of course, to WP, there is only one woman in the world, and that is his momma.  I sure hope she is not Momma Bigfoot though, as J-rod will be out to bang and bag Momma Bigfoot one day too.

Boys.  Gotta love 'em.  One day they will grow up, and I'm sure the old saying will ring true with each of them "the only thing different with men and boys is the price of their toys."

I love my boys.  I love my girls too; isn't it amazing though how 180 degrees different boys are from girls?  Having helped raise 2 perfect daughters; I didn't really see the difference first hand until these 4 Neanderthal beasts of the Apocalypse came into being. 

I love God's sense of humor.  He painted us all different colors.  He screwed with some of our hair, and caused others of us to not have hair.  He gave us all different tongues to speak, and tastes to prefer.  He made some of us stark raving mad liberal lunatics, and He made others of us God & Country gun lovers; so much so that we 'eats' bullets for breakfast.

And that's it for the letter B . . . .

  

O'Mike

Oh my Owen, the stories that will be told about you will be legendary...

Last Friday, I had the good fortune (meant completely seriously) to pick up #6 of 6 (whom will soon reach a *height of 6' 6", so his birth order is apropos), and take him to Bass Pro for a few hours of fun.  His older brother WP was quite sick, and I was just trying to be the good Pappy, and help out however possible.

*In case you don't know Owen, he is very tall.  At age 3, he was taller than 50% of the 5 year old's.  At age 3 7/12th's, he towers over kids his age.  He is constantly being asked how old he is, and for quite some time, he answered 5, and the asking person just kind of shrugged, a yeah, that's about right, never once questioning his answer.  But, Owen, ever on the look out for a bribe, made a deal several months ago with his Mom that if he could be 5, he would agree to potty train in one day.  She made the deal, and he stuck to his end of the deal too; potty trained in one day, and then proceeding to tell everyone that he was 5.  Yep, true story.

Not too many minutes had elapsed when o'Mike blurted out "Hey Pappy, you want to hear my arm pit fart?"  Well, caught completely off guard (though why should I have been?), this little (ha) guy proceeded to unzip and demonstrate his adroit skills of arm-pit-farting.  So, who taught my little (ha) cave man how to perform this skill?  My mind was quickly drawn to Steven, his Neanderthal father.

Yes, my Owen, my o'man, my o'Mike (I love that nick-name, though I am truly the only one in the family that uses it).  Most folks call him Owen Michael Kueny!!!, just to make sure that he knows all the parts of his name.  Surely it is not because he just about filleted the trout that just swam by... (man he was close to landing that 2 lb.'er, with his bare hands!) Or is it because they don't think that a simple Owen will garner his attention?

Anyway, I ramble, and digress.  Owen the arm-pit farter.  I'm so proud he has that talent.  Truly, he will go far in life with that skill.  It ranks right up there with peeing naked in the back yard (oh I love it when he does that), and I also love how he demonstrates 'poopy-head'.  Wow. 

Thank you Steven, (aka 'The Lost Bigfoot'), though we'll not start any part of the conversation about BigFoot with him ~ unless you want to see him flip out his autographed copy of the only picture known to exist in the entire world...

 

 

You can't really tell so much in this picture because my camera phone is good, but not great; but every time I see this boy, he's got new cuts/bruises, which I'm sure as he gets older will turn to casts and stitches.  This boy is rough.  He loves to rumble and tumble.  He loves to do things that gentler boys don't.  This pic shows some of his markings, but mainly I snapped the photo because he looked so cute in my cowboy hat.

 

Prior to hair, the head was obviously shaped like mine, crowns, dents, horns, etc.  That's not as noticeable now as it was then, but the heavy eye lids are still there, and when he smiles he looks like a mini-me clone of his Daddy 'the missing link' Kueny.

 

If you've been in the same church for very long, you realize after several years that you've heard the same stories and illustrations from your pastor many times over.  Well, parts of my blogs are like that, and I can't help myself but to bring up the DNA story again.  O'Mike has 25% of my DNA, but I sure have a hard time figuring out where 1/4th of his physical and mental parts are that share my DNA.  Head and eye lids; check.  Calves; check.  Shoulders; check.  Posture; earlier yes, but not sure now.  Legs; probably, but not completely sure.  Laugh; absolutely.  Diaphragm; without question.  Boldness; check.  Olive skin; probably.  Appetite; most likely. 

 

That's a pretty short list; as our other physical and mental differences are a plenty.  

 

 



 

Oh my little Romeo, my Casanova.  This boy is going to be a player.  Look out ladies, "Magic Mike" is in the house.

 

For as long as I can remember, Owen has gravitated toward the ladies, but he has discriminate taste, he only gravitates towards the prettiest ones.  That is a serious, absolute, 100% fact, and I chronicled his history with Haley at Bass Pro last December.

 

Well, big R or big C, take your pick; he allowed several little girls to pass by with nary a glance; but he struck gold with Brittni.  Yep, we found out she was 7, and she was cute, super cute (she had to have gotten her cuteness DNA from Momma, because it sure wasn't Daddy ~ just sayin'). 

 

Brittni was more than twice his age..., and completely enthralled at his tales of yore (soon to be lore).  She would have eaten out of his hand, had he had something to eat.  For the better part of 20 minutes, he and Brittni were fast friends.  She did some talking, but mostly she was the one doing the listening, and following, and clinging.  O'Mike had her in a trance; I missed the part where he did the Vulcan mind-meld, but as enamored as Brittni was, he had to have done it.  I snapped the pic after o'Mike had told her to go sit down, and she obeyed! 

 

Owen was telling her all about the fish, their feeding habits, the water temp, why salmon swim upstream, the trout that he almost caught by hand, which fish were going to be on the menu that night at Uncle Bucks, etc.  And, he was in the process of talking her into getting suited up with some snorkeling gear and go swim with him and the fishes.  Wow, this boy can talk!

 

 

 

So, 10-15 minutes have passed, and Brittni has left.  But wait, what's this?  Yep, that's right, it's our Casanova moving in for his 2nd act of the day.  But this time, he was going after jailbait.  She was 2.  According to her Dad (hot Mom's must not come to Bass Pro), his daughter had just turned 2.  I do not remember her name, but ask Romeo, he probably will.  Horrible focus on this pic, but when I was analyzing it, it looked to me like a 5 year old was moving in on a 2 year old, and 'jailbait' came quickly to mind.

 

Anyway, jailbait is way more than a full head shorter than o'Mike, but when their eyes lock, she melts.  Seriously, how does a 2 year old melt?  I didn't think it possible.  But remember, (disclaimer; I've told this story before), I was VERY slow in the ladies game.  I didn't even look sideways to notice a girl until I was 16, and even then, it was strained for me to do so! 

 

Yes, I was blessed and fortunate to have married the most beautiful girl in the entire high school, and this July will mark 36 years :-), but I'm telling you, I was slow.  When it happened though, it was fast.  Age 16, I saw a girl.  Age 19, I was married after dating my beauty Queen on/off for 2 of the 3 years in between. 

 

 

 

O'Mike and Jailbait, take 2.  This little girl had an infectious smile and big brown eyes as big as Ava.

 

 



 

 

Magic Mike getting ready for his audition.  Yep, he's 3.  Good gosh, look at the size of those feet on that 3 year old!  This picture is courtesy of Jackie, as Owen was about to show Momma his latest series of scratches; though Mom did not know that Owen had stripped in order to accomplish this.

 

O'Mike, o my.  Reminds me of my little brother Ken who used to run up and down the streets of our neighborhood when he was 3; completely naked.

 

Yep, I was so proud of Ken too.  I remember running into the house as fast as possible so that no one could see me.  Mom would ask "Mike, why are you in the house?, and I would answer 'because Ken is outside running up and down the street naked."

 

It was a different world then..., or is it?

 

 

 

  

Snow: Another Perspective

A picturesque scene of grande sized flakes floating to their destinations while I look out from my garage porch this morning. 

Pretty? Yes, I guess.  Needed moisture? Absolutely.  Good for business?  Hardly.

Snow is the bane ('source of harm' for those of you that don't play WWF) of our business.  It is hard enough to work outside in cold conditions; snow makes it impossible.

As long as I can remember, I have never liked snow, and I never miss it.  Maybe it is because of 12' drifts against my door while living in a mobile home in Dodge City 30 years ago.  Maybe it is because of not having gas or electricity in the same mobile home because of snow.  Maybe it is because of relentless freaks buying up every carton of eggs, milk, cheese, and 50 lb. sacks of beans whenever the forecast calls for snow.  Or maybe it is because it gets so dirty when it melts. 

Rain is easier to deal with as rain outs are common, especially in spring.  But snow? No, until today, we had dodged the snow bullet this year, and I was counting down the days to spring at being only 8 days away on March 1st; thinking we might escape it.  But nope, it got us.

Snow is a double whammy.  We don't work while it is snowing.  We don't work while we wait for it to melt.  We don't work while we wait for it to dry.  A good rain might delay our work for up to a week.  A good snow will delay us 2x to 3x that long.

So, going to have plenty of time in the office ~ not that that is a bad thing; as there is plenty to do and get caught up on.

Hey, what's that?  Do I see ELO's 'Mr. Blue Sky', yes, I do!  Hallelujah, bring on the sun! 

A 1948 Nickle

If this nickle could talk, what would it say about where it has been?  Born in 1948, it just now made it to my hands in 2013; a full 65 years later.  (The date is barely discernable, and is placed in this photo at 12:00.)

Nickles are historically the longest lasting of all of our minted coins; and I have held older ones in my hands, but never held onto them as I might with this one for awhile longer.  I do not spend coins, I save them for bulk redemption later, or drop them into those slots in the McDonald's drive-thru; as I do not like the feel of coins in my pockets.

There was something about this nickle though that drew me to it.  Maybe it was the rust; it just felt different in my hand.  Was it the fact that it is 10 years older than me?  It has nicks, cuts, bruises; and I was going to polish it up before placing in my coin bottle, but decided to hold onto it, give it a little breather before placing it back into circulation.

But seriously, what would it say about where it has been?

How many 1,000's, or 100's of 1,000's, or millions of times has it been used in 65 years?

How many times has it been in the pocket or purse of anyone 'famous', and who would that be?

What types of items has it been used to purchase?  Good gosh, the list could be nearly endless; let your imagination run wild.

What countries of the world has it visited?

How many times has it been deposited into a bank?

How many times has it been 'lost'?

How many times has it been run over?

Who is the oldest person to have held it; who is the youngest?

It used to buy a cup of coffee.  But the .05c cup of coffee has been replaced by the $5.00 cup of coffee at many haute couture coffee shops across the USA.  That's a big difference in price increases over 65 years.

It used to buy a bottle of pop.  The trendy stores are trying to bring back the real sugar versions of the 8 oz pop bottles, but they sell today for well over $1.

A nickle, I don't remember my first nickle.  But, I still remember the exact spot where I found my first dime, on the sidewalk next to Loma Vista Bowl, on a Saturday morning, from which, I promptly walked 25 yards to TG&Y and bought a tube of airplane model glue with it!  And, I still remember literally my first dollar, and doing 100 chores worth .01c each to earn it; wishing now that for memory purposes that I would have kept it.

And that's my trip down memory lane for today, and yes, I am thankful that I still have a memory...

Saint Valentine

Saint Valentine is a widely recognized third century Roman saint commemorated for his death on February 14 and associated with a tradition of courtly love.

Nothing is known reliably of St. Valentine except his name and the fact that he died in the north of Rome on February 14.

The Catholic Encyclopedia speaks of three Saint Valentines that appear in connection with Feb 14th. One was a Roman priest, another a bishop; both buried outside Rome. The third was a saint who suffered on the same day with a number of companions in the Roman province of Africa, for whom nothing else is known.

Though the exact accounts of the martyrdom's of the first two listed saints contain legendary elements, a common nucleus of fact may underlie the two persons and accounts; but that they may refer to one single person.

According to the official biography of the Diocese of Terni, Bishop Valentine was born and lived in Interamna and was imprisoned and tortured, and then died in Rome on 14 February 273. His body was buried at a nearby cemetery and a few nights later his disciples came and carried him home as a symbol of love.

Τhe Catholic Church's official list of saints, shows for February 14 and gives only one Saint Valentine; a martyr who died on the Via Flaminia; whose death has now been celebrated for 1,740 years.

Now that's what I call a "Love Connection."

Happy Birthday Angela!

And Mom exclaimed "that's NOT my baby, that's a black baby!"

 

Thankfully, Nanny and I where there to allay Mom's fears, and to confirm that Angela was indeed hers, and not switched with the black family that wanted a white blond...

 

See, at the time, Mom only thought that babies where white and blond, as she and Jackie had been.  How could it be possible that she would have a daughter with dark skin and black hair (despite the fact that the majority of the contributing family members in the genetic pool had precisely that!)

 

I love this picture because it shows Angela's awesome smile.  Her smile is something that we share, together with our black hair (mine has since flown the coop or turned gray though), and we also share "the captain of the toes" (picture withheld on purpose), and our love for music is nearly exact; though she will rock out to Beiber because of Ava, and I refuse too.

 

We both love to cook.  We both worked in restaurant management.

We both love numbers.  We both love Oprah.  We both love to read.  We both like guy movies.  We both like cats.  We both love to rest and relax.  Hmmm, need to change the station, I see a pattern.

 

Angela is a great Mom, a great wife, a sister in Christ, and above all, she is my favorite black-headed daughter.  I love you Angela Corinne.  I will forever be grateful to call you my daughter.

 

Happy Birthday!  - Dad