Forty Shades of Gray

For the past several months, I have been secretly creating Angie's surprise birthday book. I'm pleased to write that I was not caught and that yes, it surprised her. Deeply.

When Angie and I were dating, she wanted to hang up something and asked me to drill a hole in the wall. I was on my way to Munich for business, though, and promised her that I would do it when I got back. Angie and Handan then found my tools and decided to take drilling into their own hands. What they didn't realize at first was that they were trying to use a metal drill on drywall. Sadly, they didn't realize this point after the second or third attempt, but I'm glad that they finally stopped drilling bullet holes into our wall. Angie tried covering up the crime scene by gluing postcards over them. This worked, until I came back home. Fail.

Angie and I were - surprise, surprise - incredibly late to David's 1st grade welcome ceremony. Angie was frantically looking for her shoes and I was dashing about just trying to stay out of her path. Angie eventually found her shoes under the dining table, but when she bent down to get them, she put her hand on the chair and noticed it was sticky. She then ran to the kitchen and got a wet rag and began cleaning all of the dining room chairs. I walked in as she was just finishing. She responded to my 'are you freakin' kidding me?' look with a 'what was I doing again?' look. She didn't answer my question, but I replied to hers.

It's a look I've only ever seen on Angie. I noticed a trend that it only happens when she is frowning and grumpy. So yeah, twice daily. 

After one of Angie's more crispy attempts at cooking, I actually identified the culprit - it was Angie's burning desire to read what people are doing on a minute to minute basis.

What can I say? Angie likes nerdy guys with big imaginations.

I was at work in the middle of a meeting when Angie placed her emergency call from the car. She was on her way to Handan's and had managed to get herself lost. She then freaked out and started screaming at me to identify her position and tell her how to get to Handan's. I couldn't of course, and after three hours, she turned the car around and fumed her way home. Thanks for calling!

The year was 2001. Angie and I had just moved to Virginia so that I could finish my degree. We went to a pub and met some new people. Cool, great, lovely. One of the women asked about the funny looking cucumber, which was a zucchini. Angie then explained to everyone 'I can tell the difference between a cucumber and a zucchini - even in the dark'. Enough said.

Most people at least try looking for something before asking others to help them find it. In so many ways, Angie is not like most people.

Before Angie figured out what not to do on iTunes, she tried downloading a Michael Jackson song. It took more than half a microsecond so Angie began frantically clicking all over the place. She also clicked away all those silly pop-ups asking her if she was really, really, really sure that she wanted to buy a song that she had already purchased. A month later, I got the bill and realized that Angie had ordered at least three versions of every song Michael Jackson has ever made, including an hour-long documentary and an interview with Michael Jackson's agent.

The first time I made Angie a Ramen noodle soup, she almost refused to eat it. I had broken the noodles into tiny pieces. Too tiny, apparently. Angie's mental rule on noodle-breaking is four times, in case anyone has a burning desire to cook soup for my wife. Good luck with that.

This didn't really happen.

This actually does happen. She only thinks she's green.

This also actually happened. I was on my laptop one night and decided to check Facebook. I wondered why a comment from Angie had warranted over seventy comments, so I clicked on it and came to the uninformed realization that 'We're getting a cat!'

We didn't always have a list. In the beginning, Angie would just get to the end of her school break and start freaking out. Big time. I analyzed this explosive behavior and came to realize a pattern. She always had a mental list of things to do and she never accomplished any of them. I then asked her to actually write them down. It didn't change much, but I at least know now why I am being screamed at.

I feel that Angie is making progress. It used to be that we would have baskets full of washed clothes, but she never had time to fold anything. Now we have baskets full of clothes that are folded. It doesn't change the fact that our closets are all empty, but still, we know where to find our clothes.

In David and Tom's room, there are two closets. My brain tells me that one should belong to David and the other one to Tom. Angie's brain tells her to use one to store all of the socks, underwear and t-shirts in one and pants and sweaters in the other. It also explains why my brain stopped dating Angie's brain a long time ago.

I thought about making a reference to how dogs learn tricks, but in the end, I felt the picture explained things well enough to let sleeping dogs lie.

I hate having my coffee filled to the brim. Angie knows this.

Angie freaks out when she finds toys in one box that belong in another box. And don't even get me started on kids that don't put all of the puzzle pieces back in the box.

Instead of taking the trash out, Angie's preferred method of dealing with this problem is a technique I like to call 'squish and jam'.

Angie has never made ice. Don't ask me why, it's one of the many unanswered mysteries in my life.

Angie doesn't believe in timing anything. Our kids will undoubtedly grow up not liking spaghetti that isn't crunchy or mushy.

Maybe it's a 'me' thing, but I like getting a hot shower and having the room steam up. When Angie strolls in to pluck her eyebrows and leaves the door wide open, it annoys me. My comfty steam is replaced with a draft of cold air. But Angie's eyebrows look great!

There are many, many, MANY things that I don't know about women. One of them is the difference is between a dress and a skirt.

We play poker at the house at least once or twice a month. When Tom was still waking up four or five times nightly, Angie would disappear to take care of him. After an hour or so, we would finally realize that Angie would not be making it back to the table.

Just trust me - it's amazing how high Angie can stack dishes.

I thought Angie was completely whacko when she told me that she sneezes whenever she looks directly at the sun. She was so adamant about it, though, that I actually researched and confirmed that this is a known condition. I still haven't ruled out that she's border-line certifiable, but the sun sneezes are at least medically documented and explained. Yeah, whatever. Freak!

Normally, we drink instant coffee. This involves boiling the water, getting a cup, putting the instant coffee in the cup, pouring the water, adding sugar, adding milk, getting a spoon, stirring, and giving the coffee to the hairy beast you've married. Angie rarely makes it past the first step.

If someone gives me a compliment on a pair of cheap shoes that I bought, I would always lie my ass off and convince them that they are handmade Italian leather. Angie goes to the other extreme.

I do this, too, but it's my blog.

Angie decided to paint the bathroom shortly before a business trip. I told Angie I would help when I was back. Angie can be somewhat of an independent free spirit, something I didn't realize until I came back home.

Angie openly admits to this lazy habit. Ask her. 

Again, just ask her.

Angie does not talk about the horrible childhood event that led to her lifelong hatred of feet. To be honest, though, I haven't asked.

It started with a mild reference to her boobs when she was still breastfeeding and has lead to an established rule. Angie is the one to hit publish on all of my blogs. This does mean that I have to go through several re-write cycles before I get the final signoff, but it's probably one of many reasons why we are still married. The uncensored versions are freakin' hilarious, though.

I snore. So does Angie, but not really relevant. One night, David had a nightmare and climbed into bed with us. I was not yet asleep and heard David snoring. Out of the blue, Angie poked me in the ribs. Apparently, she thought I was snoring and her method for dealing with this has been to poke me awake so that she could go back to sleep before I started snoring again. Ha-ha, busted!

If you want to brag about your tan in German, you say 'Ich bin braun'. In English, you don't.

Nice try. Crappy results.

Whenever I do something stupid, Angie doesn't just giggle. No, she goes nuclear with her gut-grabbing and finger pointing. Yeah, funny. 

This one is true. I wouldn't be the man I am today without Angie. I wouldn't be a husband and I wouldn't be the father to my children. I couldn't imagine existing without these two roles and trust me, I have a huge imagination. Just ask Angie.

April Showers

I thought it would be hard to trick Peter again this year. See, having a birthday on April Fool's Day has made him very, hmmm... let's call it 'cautious' on his BIG DAY. Okay, bullshit - he was twitchier than Daffy Duck jacked up on PCP. Still, we managed to make him cry. Twice. Booyakasha!

For a change, I had nothing to do with either meltdown. Angie was responsible for the first, when she started breaking the news to Peter last night that things have been hectic lately and we simply hadn't had a chance to buy him any gifts. We tried to reassure him that other people might be stopping by with gifts and encouraged him not to give up hope. His best friend Arman was spending the night, who glared at Angie for a second before frantically searching for the gift that he had brought for Peter. I assured him it was tucked away safely and we returned to watching Peter's slow-boiling freak-out. It was fascinating.

If I had tried that trick, I am absolutely sure that Peter would have kicked me in the shin and laughed at me. The element of surprise was that Mama was the one lying to her first-born. It's a well-known and documented fact that Mama can be scatter-brained at times, which only added credibility to her deceptive lie.

Peter hunched his shoulders and moped his way to his room, where he began bawling like a kid with a really mean mother. The problem is that Angie is only ever really mean to me and decided to throw in the towel at that point. Had it been me, I would have tossed crushed boy a box of Kleenex and wished him pleasant dreams.

Peter didn't exactly laugh, but he did stop crying. Arman stood silently by Peter's side with a glaring look of utter disbelief. I'm just guessing, but I don't think his family kicks pure emotions around just for fun. Welcome to the Zoo, kid.

The boys finally went to sleep and Angie and I went to work planning today's snickery deeds. Our friend and co-conspirator Nicole was spending the night with us. Wine and giggling pretty much sums up our planning session.

Breakfast came early, but Peter's buffet of presents put his fears to rest and assured Arman that Angie is not his generation's Mommy Dearest. As Peter was unwrapping the last of his gifts, we 'noticed' an email that came in from the Mayor of Heidelberg.

It had the city government logo and an official looking signature, so Peter became interested in the content. We read on to find out that the schools in our area were becoming overcrowded, prompting government officials to announce a plan to bus children to a nearby village. The mail further explained that the plan would only affect children with a birthday between the 31st of March and the 30th of April.

'Shit'.

I normally do not allow Peter to curse without eating a bar of soap, but his slip was genuine and Karma scares me.

A few seconds later, Peter and Arman came to the realization that Arman's birthday is not until the end of May.

'OH SHIT!'

Okay, now I was torn. Potty mouth kid would normally get a shot of liquid soap at this point, but I was having so much fun watching the impending emotional smack-down that I ignored social etiquette.

The mail went on to explain that the only opportunity for a child to object and request an official exception was on the child's birthday, which had to be done in person at the city hall.

We had full plans to carry this out for most of the morning and quite possibly a good portion of the afternoon. When Peter retreated to a dusty corner and curled up into a ball of quivering snot, Nicole sent the second mail announcing 'April Fools!'

I'm no genius - just ask my wife - but I don't think Arman will be voluntarily spending the night again anytime soon. I also don't think that Peter will talk to us on his birthday next year. I'm already WAY ahead of him, though. I'm totally focusing on pranks that don't involve him being suckered by people he trusts. Stay tuned.

Merry Christmas!

Or would you rather be a snake?

I went to pick up David today. Yuki, one of his friends, promptly informed me that David was in the 'nap room'. The nap room is normally reserved for the younger kids, so I was a tad bit curious as to why David would be sleeping there. When I asked Yuki, his only response was that David had made 'trouble'.

I went downstairs and asked one of the teachers where David was.

'He's sleeping.'

'Please wake him up.'

Sleepy Dave came out looking guiltier than our cat with a mouthful of toilet paper.

'David, what did you do?'

'Nothing.'

Okay, well - glad that was settled. What a load off of my mind. I can be quite cynical sometimes, though, so I thought that David and I would pop by his teacher's room to clear the air and say goodbye.

'Five times! I told him FIVE times to stop, but did he listen?'

The busted look on David's face answered the rhetorical question and I couldn't do anything other than apologize and assure her that there would not be an encore.

When we got home, I forced David to explain to me what exactly he had done. Instead, he plopped down on the floor and gleefully showed me.

In addition to Peter's birth, I have been witness to many, many strange things, but most of them didn't have the added value of making me laugh. As I watched David slither around on the floor, I really had to fight the urge to drop to the ground and get my wiggle on.

He explained that he had turned into a 'super snake monster' and that he couldn't possibly hear his teacher because snakes don't have ears. He also claimed that his friends were laughing too loudly. I reminded David that his teacher has quite a powerful voice, but then he reminded me that his friends can laugh really loudly. Damn, he's good!

I then explained to Snake-boy that there would be no TV, no games, and no dessert for him. The new reality apparently didn't sink in, because his next question was 'Can I play Angry Birds?'.

As if on cue, Angie came home and demanded a re-explanation. Talk about your angry birds.

Micro Mama

Seconds before this lovely image, a microphone was shoved into Angie's hand, preceded by a curious question from Alex, one of her colleagues.

'Here ya go - you're opening the ceremony, right?'

'Uhh, no.'

'Yeah, funny - here's the mic.'

Before I dwell on emails from colleagues that Angie should have read weeks prior that explained silly little organizational details like that she was expected to open the school's Christmas church service, allow me to flash back to our simple breakfast.

'I'd like an egg.'

'I'd like a Mai Tai.'

'Not funny, Steve - we've been practicing this play for weeks and I'm nervous.'

'I see that, which is why I'm thinking a Mai Tai would help much more than an egg - just saying.'

I'll let your imagination figure out who won that logic round.

As Angie was leaving for the church play, I reminded her to switch off her phone.

'Right! Thanks! How do I do that again?'

'Well, here - give it to me. You just need to flip the switch here on the...oh, never mind - it's already on silent.'

'It is?'

With that innocent question, a sudden wave of realization came crashing down on me. I had honestly wondered why Angie had been ignoring my calls since OCTOBER!!!??? That's right, I bought my lovely wife the iPhone for her birthday and she's had the damn thing on silent since then. Her big 'I'm just trying to help' comment was:

'Oh, I wondered why I had so many more missed calls than with my old phone.'

Doesn't matter - at that point, my number one goal was getting valley girl out of the house. I succeeded and when I came home from work, Angie gave me an encore rendering of her impromptu speech:

'Uh, Hello.......Welcome students and...uh.......Welcome parents...and...Welcome teachers....yeah, uh....I hope you enjoy the service.....Thank you!'

Something tells me that she might not be asked to open the ceremony next year.

Shut Up and Heal!

Angie and I are not morning people by any stretch of the temper, but with Angie I would definitely capitalize the NOT; I might even underline it as well. I'd probably then encrypt that statement and only fork over the decryption key after her second pot of coffee. And all this is under the silly assumption that we actually get the five hours of beauty sleep that we've grown accustomed to over the past seven years of childatude.

The fact that Tommy was up for three hours last night coughing, crying and, for the grand finale, throwing up meant that neither one of us were exactly perky, let alone peachy and keen. In addition to the many, many joys of parenthood, one of them is flipping the coin on who gets stuck on sick duty. As a former squid, my knack for deck-swabbing somehow volunteered me to man the mop and bucket. Thanks, babe.

Before leaving, Angie actually had the audacity to ask me to make her a coffee to go. One telling glare later, Angie was quickly and silently closing the front door. Sans coffee.

After two cups of coffee for me, I called up Angie's address book on the computer and looked up the doctor's number. Organizing a doctor's visit in Germany is never fun and can often take hours to even get through to someone with a pulse, so I allowed myself a third cup before making the call. I was pleasantly shocked and awed when a human picked up on the second ring.

'Hi, my name is Johnson. My son Tom is sick - can I make an appointment?'

'I'm sorry, Mr. Johnson. We have a Peter and a David, but we don't have any record of a Tom. Has he ever been in for a visit?'

'Yeah! Try every second week for the past three years.'

'It doesn't matter, Mr. Johnson, just please bring in his medical card and we'll add him to the system. We don't have any appointments left, but if you come by at 4.30 we should be able to squeeze him in.'

So, yeah. I showed up at the doctor's at 4:30, as prescribed.

'Can I help you?'

'No, but you can try and help my son, Tom. I called earlier - Johnson. I was told to come by around 4:30.'

'I don't know who would have told you that - I've been working all day and we are completely booked. You don't have an appointment?'

'No.'

'Ummm, okay. Please have a seat in the waiting room, Mr. Johnson.'

After an hour of hanging out with vertically challenged sick-o's, I stormed back to the front desk.

'This is ridiculous! If you couldn't see us, you should have just said that instead of telling me to come in.'

'But I didn't....'

'Look, stop the games, lady! I've got to get back home to my family. Can the doctor see my son today or not?'

'Tell you what - just take a seat over there and I will try to squeeze you in the next time the doctor comes out. Just please don't tell any of the patients in the waiting room.'

As we were waiting, Tommy broke down into a slobbering mass of cranky sickiness. I did what any sane father would do when confronted with such a public display of tears and embarrassment and promptly shoved two sticks of sugar-packed gum into wailing boy's mouth. Yup, that worked.

Eventually, the sacred door to the doctor's room opened and we were ushered in like we were in the witness protection program on the eve before testifying against the Godfather. Not surprisingly, he gave us the expedited version of a check-up and gave the whopping diagnosis that Tommy had 'a cough'. The wise doctor wisely ignored my loud clapping and applauds and instead wrote a prescription for cough syrup. As we were leaving, he kneeled down in front of Tommy and mistakenly tried to be funny.

'You were such a good boy - I would have given you some gummy bears, but since you have a mouthful of gum, there is probably no room for...'

With that, Tommy spat his big wad of gum out. It landed with a splat next to the surprised doctor's boot. The doctor looked at me, not exactly happy. I shrugged, trying my damndest not to crack up. Wisely, the doctor motioned to his nurse, who rushed over wearing latex gloves and scraped up Tommy's response. He then forked over a couple of gummy bears and we left.

After running to the pharmacy, we got home at the same time as Angie. As on any given weekday, Angie made a bee-line to the computer to check her number of friends on Crackbook. That's when she let the hammer drop.

'Why do you have Dr. D's number up? We haven't been there for years.'

It only took a second for the complete hilariousness of it to kick in. I had called our old doctor, who of course had no entry for Tom, since we had moved away long before he was born. I had then threatened and bullied my way into an appointment that we didn't have with our current doctor by trying to convince his innocent receptionist that she must certainly be losing her mind.

My first thought was that I absolutely had to hide this minor screw-up from my wife. My second thought was that I needed to apologize to Dr. W's assistant. I often have second thoughts, so I delivered a box of chocolates to the poor receptionist who was now questioning her sanity. As for Angie, I'm guessing this blog will pretty much let the cat out of the bag. Hi Sofa, long time, no see.

Tommy's Ute

Most normal kids cling to stuffed animals and make possessive claims like 'My cheetah!' or 'My gorilla!'. As a Johnson, Tommy had no choice but to distance himself from the normal pack with corrective shouts of 'My Ute!' every time someone mentions Ute.

Aside from being one of Tommy's possessions, Ute is a good friend of ours who helps out occasionally with watching the animals while Mama and Papa play work. It was also her birthday today and, despite fully knowing the consequences, she still invited us over to celebrate. It's okay; we got you earplugs this year.

In keeping with the Johnson tradition, we showed up an hour late. I made a beeline to the keeper of the beer, also known as Alex. No shit, it took less than two minutes for Tommy to full-on body-crash into the corner of their coffee table. What, parties are supposed to be loud, right?

Ute immediately scooped up Tommy and started spastically blowing on his forehead. After two minutes, Tommy finally stopped wailing and explained in broken sobs to HIS Ute that actually, he had hurt his elbow.

After some mild elbow blowing and heavy cuddling by HIS Ute, Tommy was released back into the wild. The wild was actually Peter and David, who had already been kicked out to the hallway to play with their Beyblades. They are basically New Age spinning tops for those of you who have yet to experience the joys of procreation.

Within seconds, Tommy had managed to spin his top under HIS Ute's cabinet. At first, this seemed liked a disaster, but it actually turned out to be a blessing in disguise. In addition to being tougher than a honey badger, my brain puts dolphins to shame. My huge cranium whipped out a flashlight and *POOF*, sulky kid was gone for almost an hour looking for HIS toy.

The silent hour was well appreciated, but it went by too quickly. By the time Tommy realized that there was no way in hell he was getting his toy back, it was time to kiss HIS birthday girl goodnight.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TOMMY'S UTE!

Scratch and Fix

Our cat either really likes the guy that came to fix our radiator or he hates repair folk with a passion.

We haven't had Luke long, but he normally just hides under the stove whenever someone new comes over. For whatever reason, he chose today to break out of his reclusive shell.

Angie had run into the kitchen to get the repair guy something to drink. When she came back into the living room, Luke had clawed his way up to the guy's shirt and was just clinging out. If the guy hadn't been screaming his head off, I bet we would have heard purring.

Toe-jam Tommy

Today was the 10th anniversary of Anno 1589, Judy's gallery that's full of valuable paintings and things that are made of glass. It's a great shop for anyone in their double-digits, which leaves another seven years and two months before I consider letting the collective Zoo crew inside.

After a brief trip to breakable city to say hi, I chaperoned the kids to parts of the city that they could break.

It only took an hour of trying to kill themselves and others at the playground before the boys asked if we could go buy new 'Wheelies' because, according to David, 'I are so good being'.

'But what is a Wheelie?', the kidless readers ask.

Well, like the name implies, it's a wheel. That's pretty much it. You can roll them. And you can...uh,...um,....did I mention that you can roll them?

Okay, Wheelies are dumber than My Pet Rock, but at least they are cheap and they keep the yappity ones quiet. Hmm, maybe I should pick up one for Angie?

We picked up Barb along the way and headed off to the store that sold bags of broken car parts to morons with cash. The boys thought it was cool that the store had a revolving door. Of course, they also thought it was cool that we were buying a wheel.

On the way in, I carried Tommy. On the way out, I did not. Mea culpa.

What happened was Peter went first and like a normal human, he continued to walk outside when it was time to 'get off'. David went through next and like a normal David, he did not get off and instead kept going around in circles laughing.

I was holding Tommy's hand when it was our turn to 'get on'. At that point he saw David jackassing his way back into the store and decided to run in the opposite direction of the revolving door. If you ever wondered what it sounds like when someone's foot jams a revolving door to a grinding halt, it goes something like this:

'AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!'

So, just to recap - I'm stuck inside with Toe-jam Tommy trying to unwedge his foot. David has proudly made his way back into the store and is gleefully announcing to the forming crowd 'That is my BROTHER!'. Peter is stuck outside bawling his eyes out and screaming 'I'm sorry!' and will most likely be traumatized for life.

In the end, Barb was the one that came crashing to the rescue with a full-on shoulder attack against the glass wall that was pinning my third-born down. As Superchick pried back the wall of pain, I snatched up flat-foot and raced outside. Tommy and Peter were still screaming their heads off, but at least David had the sense to rejoin us on the sunny side of the death machine.

In America, I would have sued the shit out of the store for not hanging up a sign that clearly warned stupid dads against wedging their kid's foot under a revolving door. I'd be ree-yatch.

We were in Germany, though, Land of Customer Friendliness. Needless to say, we fled the scene before one of the helpful store workers could present us with a bill for a broken door. Dankeschön.

As we made it back to the shop, Barb asked if we wanted to come in to say goodbye. My response was a mix between an answer, a curse and a laugh. Barb gave me an understanding nod and went inside to tell Grams and Opa that they would have to come outside to say goodbye to Toe-jam Tommy and the Wheelie boys.

Smackouch!

As early as seven years old, I always knew that my brain was special. I discovered this one day while riding my bike. The sun was warm and soothing and I had just eaten lunch.

My gifted brain convinced me that, because I had done such an awesome job of driving my bike in a straight line with my eyes open, it made perfect sense to try it with my eyes closed. Brains are overrated.

It actually worked for about ten seconds; when I opened my eyes, I was still cruising a straight line down the middle of my block. Great! Lovely! I bet I can do a full minute!

It's a damn good thing that brains have no spending cash for betting; after approximately thirty-four seconds my head smacked into our mail box in a not-so-subtle gambling lesson to 'keep your eyes open, moron'.

Tommy is apparently a competition freak - he pretty much has to be with two older brothers and a father that rivals Evil Knievel. His challenge began in the kitchen as Mama was telling me about her day. Who the hell let Angie into the kitchy?

'Blah-blah, the kids had a ball at the blah-blah playing with the blah-blah-freakity-blah. Have I told you today how hot you are?'

'Yes, several times. Umm, why is Tommy wrapping a towel around his head?'

Before either of us could scratch our heads, Tommy took off running, full speed, towards a corner coming soon to his face.

'Smackouch' does not begin to describe it. As the scream levels rose, my inconsiderate brain chose to taunt me with thought-snippets like 'you waited until you were seven? That kid's got you beat by FIVE years. Wuss.'

Brain Dead

There is no way to jump start this one without knowing that I will end up on the sofa, so I'll just come out and say it - Angie was a moron. Twice.

It all started on a Wednesday afternoon, when Moron-lady drove her Smart car back home from work. Because those things are micro-tiny, her humongoid school bag does not exactly fit in the trunk. Clever Angie used the passenger seat to store her bags of squishy balls and other torture toys that she beams at kids when they misbehave.

Not-so-clever Angie proceeded to drag her bag from the passenger seat and over a button that switches on a light when she got out of the car. The same light, that when left on overnight, will drain the battery dead. Smart car, my ass.

This in itself was stupid, but innocent stupid. Kinda like when you stick a fork in the toaster, like my sister Christine did last year. Not overly smart, but you would hope that these thought-challenged people learn from their cerebral lapses. Hope is overrated.

Angie has demonstrated long ago that she is not like other people, so I wasn't surprised when she repeated exactly the same steps, not even two days later. I'm sorry, let me rephrase that - NOT EVEN TWO DAYS LATER!!!

The cool thing is, Angie now has the number for ADAC (AAA for you American types) memorized. Not so cool, ADAC now has our street address flagged in their system as belonging to 'that hot woman with the Smart car that isn't so...' well, I'll just let you finish that sentence; I'm already lounging on the sofa side of trouble.

Yes, ADAC-guy chuckled. He also laughed, mocked and pointed fingers, which won my respect and admiration. I can only hope that Angie learned her lesson, but a car is only as smart as it's driver. I'll just leave it there.

Eco-panic

I normally put the boys to bed. It's a simple routine, actually. Pajamas, brush teeth, Ladder Talk, and a tickle attack, followed by a story. Ten minutes later, I leave the room and celebrate their snoring with a beer. Sometimes two.

Angie decided tonight that she needed more mommy time and announced that she would be tucking the animals into bed. I reluctantly agreed and explained the rules. Turn off the bright light, don't give them anything wet and never feed them. Yeah, they're a lot like Gremlins.

Confident that Angie was adequately armed, I went to the fridge to celebrate in advance. About ten minutes later, the melancholy sounds of spastic blubbering filled the apartment.

Apparently, the cute, furry Mogwais had chosen a book on the tropical rain forest. Everything was fine and dandy until the third page, which depicted a tapir. An innocent little tapir, just lounging around, munching on some leaves. Behind the tapir was a flap, that when lifted revealed a leaping jaguar about to devour the poor thing. It was at this point that the flood gates of Peter's conscience opened.

'Mama, there are so many problems I have to solve. Tapirs are being eaten by jaguars. Rain forests are being cut down. Even the whales are getting extincted!'

At this point, Mama tried to help.

'Actually, the rain forests are being cut down, so the Jaguars have no place to live either.'

Here's where David joined the rainbow ranch of animal lovers.

'THE JAGUARS ARE BEING KILLED, TOO??!!! BUT, THEY'RE MEAT EATERS - I THOUGHT ONLY THE PLANT EATERS GET EXTINCTED?!! WHAT DID THEY EVER DO?!! AAAAGGGHHHH!!!'

It was interesting that David didn't give two shits about the rain forest, the tapirs, or the whales. I don't even think he cared about the jaguars, but he felt compelled to take a position and, well - Peter had already chosen his corner.

Two hours later, Angie emerged and headed straight for the fridge. Something about the look she gave me when I asked her how it went told me that I'll be doing the bedtime stories for the next decade.

Merry Christmas!

Table Grating for Brainiacs

Einstein's brain was 15% wider than average.

David has quite a big head.

Einstein never wore socks because they would get holes in them.

David loves to run around barefoot.

Einstein is believed to have suffered from Asperger's Syndrome, which is an autism spectrum disorder that is characterized by a reluctance to listen, social skill deficits, and demonstrating odd behaviors.

David still refuses to grasp the concept of 'no', he continues to ask all of our heavy-set friends if they are pregnant, and today I caught him cheese-grating our table.

'Holy shit, Angie - Davey's a freakin' genius!'

Free Fallin'

Normal humans walk down steps. Angie apparently found this too boring for cool and risked life and limb to spice things up.

As she tumbled down the stairway to pain, headfirst and carrying Tom, I'm sure one thought occurred to her: 'Hey, cool! Shoes on sale on isle 5'.

Somehow, Angelina the step ballerina managed to topple down the entire flight of stairs without dropping Tom on his head. Move over Heisman.

Did anyone help her as she lay crumpled on the ground at the bottom of the steps? Maybe the long-haired guy who was walking directly behind her before her tragic fall? No, Fabio just stood there, rolling his eyes at the newly formed obstacle in his urgent rush to get home to his oversized mirror.

Angie groaned and caught a glimpse of her mom, who was busy helping the boys refill their drinks at Kentucky Fried Chicken. Mmmm...dinner and a show.

'Mom? .... Mom? Uh, hello? ...Hey Mom! Over here! Could use a little help here, Mom!'

Judy was oblivious to her first born's pleas for help as she explained to David for the 5th time that 'No, you cannot have Coke.'

Eventually the Indian manager came over and helped Angie up.

'I don't speak German - do you speak English?'

'You do realize we're in Germany?'

'Are you okay?'

'Yes.'

With that one word answer, Angie blew a perfect opportunity to have a little fun with the non-German speaking manager.

'I don't think I should answer that without my lawyer present' or 'a new pair of shoes would sure help make my swollen foot feel a lot better' or 'I see dead people'. Anything but 'yes'.

It's too bad I'm not a clumsy klutz; I could have really had some fun.

Look Ma, no hands!

Angie went to pick up David from Gym class and got to talking with the teacher.

'Ah, so you're David's mother? Well, he certainly is, uh...energetic.'

Before Angie could ask for a further explanation, David came running up naked and started hopping on one foot.

I get the hopping on one leg bit - he learned this amazing trick only yesterday and he can be quite the show off.

I didn't fully understand the whole 'running around naked' part, but I have long ago accepted that there are many, many things about David that I will never understand.

Angie is apparently unaccepting or just overly curious - possibly both. She started chasing the giggling streaker throughout the gym, tackling him by the benches.

'What the hell do you think you're doing?! Why did you take your clothes off?'

'Chiara did it.'

Oh, of course. That explains it. I completely forgot about Chiara's bizarre tendency to run around and strip our children down in the middle of gym class. Sarah - we need to talk.

Under pressure

Yes, today was Angie's birthday.

No, I did not forget.

Yes, I have a birthday present; I just need to find twenty minutes to actually pick it up.

No, I did not give her a card, flowers, candy or whatever other lovey-dovey shit that husbands are apparently supposed to dish out when they are unable to deliver on time.

Yes, Angie was completely understanding and did not put any pressure on me whatsoever.

'It's just, you know... I thought since it was my birthday and all, you might have brought me flowers or something. You didn't even give me a card! You draw all these mean cartoons where I'm bald and you can't even ...'

'You weren't bald - I gave you four strands and ...'

'That's not the point, Steve!'

She continued explaining for another hour or two, but in the end I think I finally got the point.