Ava has it figured out.

Every time I hear a door slam shut, I have to chase it down like Chris Hansen’s camera crew moving in on a pedophile.  I’ve told Ava that I don’t want any closed doors in our house, I want to know exactly what’s going on at every minute.  This will hopefully carry on through the teenage years, so I don’t have to kick the door in on a study date wielding a Louisville Slugger.

Last week, I heard one slam.  I was trying to iron one of my wife’s linen crochet sweater things that was supposed to be ‘dried flat’ and not ‘slung over a railing’.  I figured I had a few seconds to finish up and this was the result.

Bondage Elmo, courtesy of our dog’s collar and Ava’s creativity.

And I must’ve been too slow on this occasion, caught in the bathroom mid-wipe.  Taking the luxury of properly cleaning my ass led to this.

Ava poised to blow up her Rody, old-school cartoon style.  The TNT plunger was primed and ready.  She didn’t want to ruin her outfit, so I had to finish the dirty work.

No matter how old she is, I’ll never be comfortable with what goes on behind closed doors.

I guess I took this picture towards the end of Jen’s second pregnancy, as the doctor pulled out a condom that looked like a wind sock and I passed out.

I had clearly acknowledged that this was going to be an internal exam.

I guess I’m just lucky I didn’t bang my head off the mustard bottle filled with lube and lose an eye.

I didn’t feel the need to get Jen anything for Valentine’s Day this year, because, quite honestly, what else could I get her that had a ‘deeper’ meaning?

Wasn’t this enough?  Having your lungs punctured from the inside out?  I guess I could’ve added some girth, but hey, Rome wasn’t built in a day and I’m no engineer of cervical tools.

I drove home in silence, cringing at any phallic roadside objects, bit the lid off a cold one and sat in the dark watching a TV that wasn’t even on.

Phone home, expectant fathers.  PHONE HOME.

Ten years ago this would’ve been a longer list because I was a sex machine, but these days I’ve narrowed it down a bit.

Starting with my Mom:  You gave me life.  You loved and supported me through the good times….

And the bad…

…and will always be my best friend.

And my wife.  I’m not a religious person, but I’m blessed to have found you.  You are fiercely independent and opinionated, stubborn and sometimes I want to smush a pie in your face.  However, you are the love of my life, you are a devoted and spectacular mom.  You’re beautiful and I don’t mind the engorged breasts.  Successful, smart and sexy.  The three S’s.

My grandmothers.  Jean, I love you and miss you.  I only wish you could’ve seen me now.  All grown up.  A brother, father and husband.  I hope I make you proud while you peek in from above.

Shirley, I’m so lucky to have you.  Even though you don’t make me corn pies or funny cakes anymore, your smile lights up my life and your hugs are like gold.

I can’t forget Memaw either, you are the sweetest tea ever!

My mother-in-law.  Elaine, you’re an amazing person, selfless and sweet.  You broil your toast and insist on knowing what I’m going to order when we go out to eat.  You gave me the greatest gift of all, Jenny.

My sisters-in-law.  Brooke and Lindsey…could I get any luckier?

And finally my daughter.

Ava, you are the most precious thing in my life.  I recognize how lucky I am to have been able to stay at home with you over the last two years, watch you grow, teach you curse words and cringe my nose at your stinky poops.

A special shout out to Addie…

And Olivia… I LOVE YOU.

I haven’t forgotten my aunts, nieces and cousins…enjoy today and know that I’m thinking about you!

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!

‘You’ve got your hands full there, eh buddy?’, exclaimed yet another older dude in work slacks and loafers, traveling with only a laptop bag.  I nodded with a forced smile and said, ‘So true dude, so true.’

What I really wanted to do was throttle him to the floor by the shirt and say ‘fuck you old man, just because your tour is over, doesn’t mean you have a free ticket (or does it?) to bust my balls at the baggage carousel.’

Can’t you see what I’m dealing with here?  Four checked suitcases, two carry-ons, two personal items, a dog in a duffle bag, a Bjorn, two strollers, a toddler, an infant and a cooler of leaking breastmilk.  Do I look like I wanna get chatty?

You had no idea that I was about to try and hang onto a 2-year old who would be stepping on my balls for 6 hours with some woman behind me that didn’t speak English, telling me in hand signals and charades that I wasn’t allowed to recline my seat because it bothered her.

‘Got your hands full there, buddy?’, he asks…

Unless you wanna huck one of these suitcases through the terminal for me, take your tablet and go sit down and shut up in 1st class, with your cranberry juice and Wall Street Journal.

I’ll see you when zone 6 is called.  I’ll be the guy fighting and banging my way through your section with the armada of duffle bags and kids, apologizing every three steps, as I move towards the back of the plane.

Look.  I’m not bitter.  About him or my situation.  I’m truly not.

This numb-nut was just the EXACT opposite of what I needed at that particular moment.  Had he been some dude walking up to offer me a Smart Cart or hook me up with a Xanax or Benadryl for my entourage, we wouldn’t even be wasting our time reading this right now.  Because I would’ve never written it!

Thanks for flying the friendly skies.

EDITOR’S NOTE:  If you have the luxury, buy your kid a seat and let the DVD player do the rest.

It seems like these last few have been really tough for her.  I think the pain of the incisors and K-9′s coming through are driving her bananas.

I found this cutie under the sofa during naptime.  At first, I thought the dog did it, gave him a ‘WTF is this?’ and he looked back at me like ‘hey brother, for once, this was not me’.

When Ava woke up, I interviewed her on the status of this sucker.  She told me it was ‘broken’ and wanted a new one.  I went to the ‘bag of suckers’, pulled one out and tossed it to her from a safe distance…I wasn’t looking to lose any fingers.

It was shrapnel within thirty seconds.

I chummed the water (kitchen floor) with an assortment of suckers to keep her at bay while I tried to figure out my next move.  I stood defenseless in the corner of the kitchen, thinking maybe today was my day to leave this world, or at the very least, if I survived….I’d be forced to face this expensive phase in my daughter’s life.

What happens if I can’t keep pace?  If I can’t afford the suckers?  Do I need to turn her loose on some Elm trees?

Maybe I could train her to gnaw a few totem poles in the backyard?

And if I ran out of foliage?  Toyota Tercels?

I’m not sure where to turn.  Should I just put her in the crib and throw aluminum cans at her until my wife gets home?

EDITOR’S NOTE:  I found out later from my wife that I was giving her pacifiers rated for infants without teeth.  Now I know.  And knowing is half the battle.

Yesterday morning I was in the zone.  Ava was in her Fisher-Price Space Saver high chair and Charlie was in the bouncer.  I finished making myself an egg sandwich and already had the dishwasher unloaded.  I was sipping coffee and shuffling along to the Fresh Beat Band as Ava finished eating, then moved us all to the living room for a few minutes of digestion in front of the tube.

As I lay on the sofa, with Charlie hoisted above me playing Superman, I noticed a smell.  Little Clark Kent pointed into the distance (kitchen) and I turned to acknowledge a monster wave of smoke filling the room.

I jumped up, with Charlie in one arm, holding Ava the curious toddler monkey at bay with my foot, I entered my own little suburban Backdraft.

It was 9:24am on a Wednesday morning and I had a kitchen fire.

I guess I left the burner on while finishing my eggs and it just so happened, that’s where I parked Ava’s tray-top when she was finished.  My adrenaline was pumping as I held Charlie side-saddle away from the action and knocked the blaze down with a torrent of water from the kitchen sink water gun.

I spent the afternoon scraping melted plastic off the range and went through 3 scented candles to mask the smell.  Jen came home from work and said ‘it smelled very nice’ in our house.  I’ve got the tray-top hidden in the garage.

Needless to say, I’ve gotta replace this fucker before she notices, blows a gasket and I get fired.

Plus, I should have an irate call from my Mom in 3…2…1…

EDITOR’S NOTE:  Please feel free to hit ‘comment’ and share one of your own parenting blunders.  God knows, it will take the heat (pun intended) off of me for a minute.

Anyway, here’s the picture.

After her sisters forwarded this around the family emergency phone tree, the calls starting coming in.  It wasn’t ‘how adorable’ or ‘what a cutie he is’, but rather ‘what is wrong with his butt crack?’ and ‘why is it so freakin’ long?’

Of course we wouldn’t just assume it was the lighting or the way she was holding him.  I jumped to conclusions and right away thought my kid was born with an adult butt and I had never noticed.  I hopped on Google, furiously searching for other parents advice (horror stories) about ‘long butt cracks on babies’ which, after a few minutes, ended in frustration.

During the madness of texts, phone calls and photo retakes for everyone, I overcooked dinner and had to order out.

We’ll just bill that $40 in Chinese food to Charlie’s savings account, since it was his long dirt road that caused this whole mess.

Just a peek into how I spent an hour of my time last Tuesday night.

Ava walked into the living room the other day while I was feeding Charlie.  She had a pair of Uggs on the wrong feet, pants hiked up to conceal her diaper, slid on shades and pulled her sucker out to tell me that she was, ‘going out for a bit’.

Look, if anyone is going out, it’s me.  If you’re old enough to give me a Ray Liotta impression from ‘Goodfellas’, you’re old enough to sit here with your brother and do puzzles while I walk around the block and clear my head.

I asked her again where she was going, she replied with ‘I have to go to work.  I have to get the emails.’

It warmed my heart that she was emulating her parents actions.  Mommy gets dressed and goes to work.  Daddy doesn’t get dressed and occasionally goes downstairs to get his emails.  How cute.  She wants to be both of us.

Before too long, she’ll be in school, a teenager, hating & resenting me for putting her life on the internet and eventually moving out.  Not necessarily in that order.

I guess it’s time to cherish these moments I have with my kids, since they won’t last forever.  Sometimes I just wish they’d never grow up.

ME:  ‘YES, Ava, what is it?’

AVA:  ‘Charlie got sick in your hair.’

Really?  Is that what I needed right now?

Run and get some paper towels for Daddy.  And a t-shirt for chrissakes, I’m on the internet.