Homemade fire salad

I love Angie for many reasons, but knowing her way around the kitchen is not one of them. See, she tends to set things on fire, and this just frightens our cat and angers my wallet. Knowing this, you would think that a salad would be a relatively safe thing to leave within Angie's reach. So did I.

At some point during the course of the dinner that she was not allowed to cook, Angie started craving greens. I passed her the salad bowl and returned to watching David eat. It's fascinating, really. He can make an entire bowl of food disappear without getting a single morsel into his mouth. Move over, Copperfield - there's a new David on the scene.

Anyway, as I was admiring David's meatball hairdo, I smelled fire. Unfortunately, I know this odor all too well and whipped around not really that shocked to see the salad bowl going up in flames. Shit!

After years with Angie, my reflexes have been honed to smother first, ask questions later. I snatched David's glass of apple juice and doused the blazing inferno. I did have a beer in my hand, but come on - get real! Through the smoke, I saw Angie's red cheeks and heard her muttering something over and over again. I ignored this for the moment and put on my Fire Chief hat to investigate.

Hmmm. Very interesting. One smoking salad bowl, with two plastic spoons hanging over the edge. Four burning candles on the table next to the salad bowl. Judging by the angle of the melted spoon, someone really stupid must have placed the salad bowl right next to the flammable centerpiece. The cute blonde dame over there with the red face is the only one with green crap on her plate.

Before I could crack the case, Angie's muffled chanting got louder and louder. Eventually, I could make out what she was repeatedly repeating:

'Please don't blog this, please don't blog this, please don't...'

Klepto Grams

Christmas day started with a frantic search to find my camera. We were at Grams and Opa's and their freaky house has a way of making things 'disappear'. Opa had spent most of last night searching the house for Grams' camera, so it was clearly my turn to go hunting.

I almost gave up, but for some reason, I ventured into Grams' bedroom and discovered the biggest stash of stolen cameras I have ever seen.

Okay, it was actually just one. Mine. It was on her desk. But that's not the point. She's got sticky fingers and I am quite certain that somewhere in that possessed house of theirs is a secret closet packed with 'lost' cameras. Nice try, shifty - we're on to you.

If you ever visit their house, leave your camera behind or bring a disposable. It might not be a bad idea to slap a GPS tracking chip in it, but I would still keep my eyes on Grams.

Temper Tom

Santa was a real dumbass this year. If he had paid attention at all, he would have known that a HAMMER is the last freakin' thing this kid needs. The other day, Tom wanted to stick a fork in our kitty. I said no and I shit you not - he picked up a serving tray and threw it at me. A SERVING TRAY! What the hell do you think he's going to with a hammer? Someone get me out here.

Nice horn!

It's never funny when you bash your head into the sharp pointy corner of a shelf while bending over to throw a snotty tissue into the waste basket. It is, however, freakin' hilarious when your lovely wife does it. Isn't it?

Get a job, Hippychick!

Lately, I've been a little worried that Tom might change his name to Moonbeam and run away to some grassy commune for what would surely be a mind-altering upbringing.

With his long hair and lack of a job, I'm sure he would fit in just fine in Hippie-ville. What worried me even more, though, is how the boy's mother could completely ignore the fact the he was looking more and more like a little girl each day. It was almost as if she wanted this. The other day, I caught her braiding his hair into pony tails. Bring me the scissors and get me the classified section!

We got ourselves a jumper!

When I came home from work last week, Angie had just gotten out of the bath. She was wet, half-naked and only had a towel on, but I checked her out anyway.

'What the hell happened to your knee?'

'What...uh...I don't...uh...what was the question?'

'Your knee - the one with the pancake bruise on it. How did you get that?'

I've known Angie for over a decade. After five years, you start to know when the other person is lying. After ten years, you can also tell whether they're lying to avoid getting caught or to avoid embarrassment. I smell red cheeks.

After many indirect questions, several direct ones, and one threat to snatch her only clothing and towel-snap her in the ass, I got a version of the truth.

'I took Tommy to the indoor playground today and they have trampolines, which he found fascinating. I didn't really want to go and jump on them; I just did that to make Tom happy. Yeah, tt wasn't for me at all; no. Tom was having such a ball that he wanted to jump higher. At least that's what I think he wanted. The funny thing is, when you jump really, really, REALLY high on a trampoline, you sometimes start to flip. And so the next thing I knew...'

My pointing and laughing somehow interrupted her 'explanation', but I think that even Paul Harvey would not need the rest of the story. To make a long story embarrassing, Mama's knee was the saving grace that kept Tommy's face from smashing into the frame of the trampoline. The bruise was black, it was blue and it looked extremely painful, but I laughed at it anyway.

Shit happens

So, okay - I'm a little behind on The Johnson's Zoo. I guess Peter felt I was little constipated with The Toilet Roll as well. Shit happens.

I normally sketch these things while I'm on, imagine that, the toilet. I then use a magnet to 'post" them on the washing machine for the family to enjoy (or not) until I get around to uploading them.

Peter apparently got tired of weeks of checking the washing machine in vain and decided to create his own crappy art. I crack up in the bathroom all the time, but seing Peter's obvious portrait of Mama really made me laugh.

I got the message, Peter. Now, if you will all excuse me, I need to go make something happen.

View from a kaka

David has taken to waving goodbye to his poop as he flushes. It's both strangely polite and socially weird, but since we have finally waved goodbye to his diapers, I can tolerate just about anything; he can sing love songs to his turds before they go deep for all I care. Three poops in the toilet, each one seeking happiness...

Eat me a baby

Someone at kindergarten asked Peter how babies are made. I guess with three boys, our family is considered to be the resident expert. Peter explained quite confidently that you just need 'to eat and eat and then eat some more and keep eating and then ppffffpttt! The baby is there.' Just another good reason to keep Angie on a diet.

Hi John, I'm Dave

David has a new porcelain friend and I freakin' love it! Goodbye diapers, hello toilet paper. Great job, Davey!!

Boing 747

Angie actually woke up and got the kids to kindergarten ON TIME! Amazing, I know. Was it all the disapproving looks that she has gotten from the teachers over the last few months? Nah. Was it because in summer the sun now rises earlier and managed to force Count Angela out of her crypt? Nah. Was it because she actually set an alarm? Yeah.

The next logical question would be - why did Mama Snooze actually voluntarily wake herself up before her 14 hours of beauty sleep? A side question might be why she needs so much beauty sleep, but asking that would be asking for emotions that are not so beautiful. Trust me.

The real reason was a field trip to the local airfield. The teachers assured us, warned us, even threatened us (by us, I mean Angie), that if Peter was not there on time, the bus would wave bye bye and laugh at him as he cried his eyes out from the steps of k-town. Hey, motivation. I like it - it works!

At the airfield, Peter proudly announced to the guest pilots, other students and the school staff that his Opa was a pilot and used to fly Boings. Huh? Boings? When questioned further on the Boing plane, Peter explained.

'The Boing - it's that plane that go boing-boing-boing, like a kangaroo. My Opa was the pilot - he was a Captain.'

I was not there, but I totally picture Peter smiling the biggest, proudest grin after exclaiming this last statement. At least it would explain the landing of my last few flights on a Boeing.

Bringing home the bacon

Angie will soon return to the land of the working!! Angie was really happy because it will give her a break from the kids. Since she will be teaching a whole classroom of the ankle-biters, this did not make much sense to me, but then again, I'm not Angie. This is good, since I would hate not understanding me.

Check out them toes

David managed to piss off a non-family member by screaming out 'Look, Mama! She has the same feet as you!' In the end, we realized that David was not referring to how smelly Angie's feet are; he was simply pointing out that the toenails on both sets of feet were red. At least the water playground was packed. After a few seconds, Angie's cheeks matched her toenails.

Feeding time

Tom tries so hard to make me laugh, but I don't find dirty diapers and crying to be particularly hilarious. At dinner, he finally unlocked the door to my funny room. Covering Mama in...well, anything will always crack me up. Way to go, Tommy!

I wanna see you whistle, boy!

I guess Peter finally had enough of me giving him shit that he could not whistle. When it actually happened, though, I think it surprised him more than me. At the same time, I think it pissed me off more than him. Damn him! Now I need to find a totally new way of making fun of him. Check out the full story.

The Funny Bunny Blues

After this year's Easter egg hunt, I walked out of the living room to find Peter grinning at me with blue lips. My first thought was 'holy shit!'. My second reaction was 'holy shit!'.

After the holy number two twice, it finally dawned on me that Peter's blue lips were not the result of some freaky make-up malfuncton. No, for some other freaky non-Easter reason, Peter decided to see how the blue egg from his basket tasted.

If you ask me, it tasted funny.

Pop! goes the wrist bone

Eisi took out some built up aggression on Peter's hand today while high-fiving. Luckily, the birthday boy drinks milk on a regular basis. Check out the full story.

Reject-o-matic

If Angie continues to piss me off, which is not too far of a stretch for my imagination, I might just contact the dealer to have this lovely extra added. It would certainly thrill Peter, who would love nothing more than to believe that our family wagon has a built-in ejection button. Check out the full story.

Katherina, what the hell are you doing?

Baby showers are not really that well known in Germany, so you really gotta explain that it involves more than just a big belly and a garden hose. Check out the full story.

The hamper monster

Angie has long been frightened of the bottom of the hamper. Today, I think I discovered why. Check out the details.

Dinner's ready!

I love Angie. You should see her prepare a meal fit for kings. The way she picks up the phone, the way she slowly dials the number - the way she says 'Johnson's...the usual...click.' It's amazing. Check out the full story.

Wake me up when I'm bald

Note to David: Never, ever, EVER fall asleep with a stranger who has a shaver. I found this out the hard way at a party back in my Navy days.

Toasted Sister

On my sister's last day, she tried becoming a statistic. On average, 15 people a year kill themselves by sticking a knife or fork in the toaster. For Christine, it was a fork.

I came back from picking up the car to take her to the airport and found that all of the lights in our apartment were off. Before I could begin troubleshooting, Chris spoke out from the dark.

'Steve, I did something really stupid...'

Yes, you did. And hopefully this will blog home the point.