What Happens In Vegas.......

Yes, That's Our Hotel. And Yes,
We Had To Walk A Mile To Get Out Of It

I know that the 'not so new' Las Vegas motto is 'What Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas'. And I also know that, at this particular point in time, it's impossible to tell anyone that you're going to Las Vegas without them somehow working that motto into your conversation. (Go on, tell someone that you're going to Vegas. I bet you hear some form of "What happens in Vegas....." within 17 seconds) But the truth is, that when you're almost 30, and you're happily married, and you have 5 kids, and because of those 5 kids you value sleep more than chocolate flavored gold, and you're only going to Las Vegas for 2 days, and your wife's company is footing the bill, and you have to attend a banquet with the president of your wife's company.....well, you can pretty much bring back anything that happened in Vegas. I mean, sure, Rach is probably a little embarrassed, and wouldn't want me to tell you about how after we got out of our Cirque Du Soleil show at 11:15, we went back to the room to take, as she called it, a 'Nappity Nap' for a minute before we went out and partied all night. The only problem with that is that the 'Nappity Nap' lasted 10 1/2 hours. And yes, there are some things that I'd like to keep to myself too. Like how I lost $100 on the first night, and after that Rach, in her words, "refused to let me throw away any more of our kids' college fund". That's right. She held on to our money tighter than the skin on Cher's face. (I'm trying to throw in a few Las Vegas jokes here. Bear with me.) But really, I would've had an easier time squeezing a nickel out of Wayne Newton's pants. (Don't ask. He wears tight pants, okay.) Rach was being so frugal, she told me 'NO' so many times, I had to check to make sure we weren't at a David Copperfield show (Oooohhh, Alright. That's enough Las Vegas jokes. I'm done.)

But honestly, I was just happy to be able to make the trip. Up until late last week, I was seriously considering staying home. I was even wondering if we were going to make the trip right up until the night before we left, when I was at the laundromat at midnight; washing 13 loads of clothes before we left, because, as stated in the last post, our washing machine is broken. And by the way, if you can avoid it, don't ever go to a laundromat at midnight on a Monday night. There's nothing good going on there. And you can categorize all of the people there into 3 distinct groups:

1. Crazy People - i.e. people muttering to themselves, people dressed up as pirates, people washing way too many comforters (Really? You HAD to wash 7 comforters on a Monday night? Why? What's the rush? Ran out of body disposal bags?).

2. Mexicans - No need to elaborate here. Lots of Mexicans. And it's okay for me to generalize. My wife looks Puerto Rican.

3. Crazy Mexicans - These are the Mexicans that stare at you a little too long, or they are a little too interested in your soap, or they sing songs in Spanish while slowly nodding their head up and down.

My advice is to make sure that your washing machine never breaks. Just trust me on this one.

Anyway, It was a logistical nightmare organizing who was going to take care of the kids while we were gone. And I'll be honest, Rach did all of the legwork for this. Because when it comes to organizing and planning for babysitters, I'm about as useful as a busty Siegfried and Roy assistant backstage after the show. (Get it? They're gay, so what would they do with a busty chick baskstage?) But Rach called in a bunch of favors, and we were just barely able to pull it off. So a huge 'Thank You' goes out to Rebecca, Laura, Max, Amanda, Chris, and everyone else who helped us out. We love yall, and thanks for allowing us go to Vegas. As a token of our gratitude, and in order to make sure your efforts were not done in vain; we tried to have as much fun as humanly possible, and experience as much of Las Vegas as we could. So here are some of the pictures of our journey:

Here's one of Rach and I in our hotel in front of a giant ball of water. As you'll see, this was one of the less interesting things that we did......

For instance, at the Blue Man Group show, they pulled me out of the audience to perform on stage with them (They didn't have any extra makeup. I asked)......


And then Rach randomly ran into Ben Affleck at one of the bars in Mandalay Bay. He chased his shot of Patron with her bottle of water......


That seemed like it might be the craziest thing that we would encounter, but then as I was sitting down, waiting for Rach to finish shopping, Julia Roberts came up to me and started chatting with me about my plaid shorts.....


Things took an ugly turn for the worse, though. I got pretty upset when we went to the Palms, and Rach was spending a little bit TOO much time in Hef's bed......


So naturally, I tried to make her jealous by biting Jenna Jameson's boob......


This plan backfired, though, because a little while later she molested The Rock to get back at me.......


Which led to me doing some things with Jessica Simpson and the American Flag that I'm not especially proud of......


And then this is when I think Rach took these petty little games too far. And I couldn't believe that Clooney would do this to me........


But, not to be outdone......







After each of us illegally married George Clooney, we went our separate ways to let off some steam. She vented by performing with Britney Spears......


And singing with Beyonce........


And I vented by taking my aggression out on Shaq.......



And by catching passes from Joe Montana (It was weird finding him there with his old San Francisco jersey on. I guess he just can't let go of the game. It's actually kind of sad, really.)........


And to be completely honest, if it weren't for our tickets to the Siegfried and Roy show later that night, I'm not sure Rach and I would've ever seen each other again. Here's a picture of Rach with Roy's tiger after the show......


She was a little skeptical at first, but I kept telling her, "Closer. Just get a little bit closer. I want to get a good picture. C'mon, she's not going to hurt you. She's a tamed animal. Like a big giant kitten. It's not like she's ever bit Siegfried, right?" But then I accidentally sneezed.......


After Rach got mauled by the Giant White Tiger, I felt pretty bad. I wanted to bury the hatchet, but I wasn't sure how. So I sought advice from some other people who were as talented and influential as I am.......Dubya told me to just stay the course, and to never admit that I was wrong.......



Ahnold told me to be strong, to always stand like this, and to make sure that she, "GEETTS DOOWWN!!"


Indiana suggested that I use my whip more. I'm not so sure he understood what I was talking about. But maybe he did.......


The Duke told me to hobble up to her, lift up my cowboy hat, and just say, "Ma'am".....


But in the end, I fittingly took The King's advice. He told me to slap on some shades, grow out my sideburns, hike up one side of my lip, shake my hips a little bit, and say, "Uhh-Huhh".


Surprisingly, The King's advice worked. Although I'm not sure if it had more to do with his advice, or the fact that Rach, while recovering from her neck wound, was soliciting advice for herself. Lincoln suggested that we go see a play together......


The Kennedys told her to always remain faithful, and not to lose one's head......


And Princess Di told her to try to see the light at the end of the tunnel......


So by the end of the trip, all had been forgiven. We went back to our lives like nothing ever happened. But you already know that, because "What Happens In Vegas, Stays in Vegas." (Geez, I hate that saying even when I'm making fun of it.)

Kid Tossing, Inside the Park Homeruns, Donkeys Named Jaxon - Just your ordinary weekend in the King house.

I know that, in the past, I've joked about having our own reality TV show. Okay, maybe I was half joking. Oh, alright, I wasn't joking. If we did, in fact, have our own TV show, this weekend would've been one of those sped up montages set to music. You know, the kind where they speed up video of us running all over the place, and dub over the audio with something rag-timey, like Scott Joplin's 'The Entertainer'. And every once in a while they'd lower the volume of the music, and you'd hear me say some random phrase, like "Hey! Let go of that Donkey's tail!" or "Don't eat that banana! Here, at least let me dust the grass off of it first." or "Stop throwing the pink squishy thing. I'm not getting it off the top of the dugout again." (Yes, all three of those phrases were spoken at some point during this past weekend.)

So I'm going to attempt to give you a quick run down of the weekend. Just remember to read it really fast, and keep 'The Entertainer' in the back of your head.

Friday

I got off of work at 3:30, went to pick Tori up from school, and waited, and waited and waited in the student pick up line. Didn't get home until 4:15. And I work less than 6 miles from home, and Tori's school is on my way home. I got home to drop Tori off just as Cole, Gavin, and Scarlett were getting off of their bus. I then braved the 5:00 traffic to get Jaxon from daycare, got home, and the kids asked if we could go to the pool. And once Jax hears the word 'pool', you better take him. Just trust me. So I lather everyone up in sunscreen, then we all head to the pool.

This is the kind of shenanigans I'm forced to deal with

Up until this point, Jax has been terrified to go in the pool by himself. He was getting a little more brave at the end of the Florida trip, but he would still cling to your neck like a Latrell Sprewell/Bobby Knight confrontation. (For the nonbasketball fans out there, Sprewell was a player who choked his coach, and Knight was a coach who choked his player. The main point that you should take from this analogy, though, is that Jax kept a tight grip around your neck while he was in the water.) But on Friday, after I put his floaties on him, he just walked right into the swimout area of the pool, got to where he couldn't stand, turned around and said, "I swimmin, Daddy. I swimmin." And now that Jax felt more comfortable in the water, I could focus on throwing Cole, Gavin, and Tori in the pool. I've been throwing Cole around in the pool since he was 5, and weighed about 40 pounds. It's still pretty easy throwing him around, though, because even though he's 9, and weighs about 45 pounds. (And I think that the extra 5 pounds is just hair.) Of course, once Gavin sees me throwing Cole, he wants a turn. And Gavin is just a tad bit thicker than Cole. (Actually, he probably outweighs Cole by 25 lbs.) I'm still able to get Gav to do front flips, back flips, cannonballs; pretty much the same stuff as Cole, just not as high. Then Tori sees me throw Gavin, and she wants a try. And Tori's about 100+ lbs of solid softball muscle. Not an easy task. So they take turns getting thrown, and I keep track of who's turn it is by separating it into three categories: 'Cole', '2 more times until I get to throw Cole', and 'Last one before my shoulder gets a break'. After the pool, we go home, make everyone dinner (Thank you, Zatarains), take baths, and play video games upstairs while Jax tries to get a pillow fight going, then hit the sack at about 10:00.

Saturday

I wake up Tori at 6:30 to bring her to her softball tournament. Get to the field with our required condiments that we were supposed to bring for everyone, but I didn't have time to pick up plates, napkins, and silverware. Crap. I had to run back home anyway, because it's almost 8 am now, and Rach has to leave to go to work at 8:45, and this was just the pool play game, so it didn't really matter. I stop at the store on the way home: and pick up plates, napkins, and silverware. Then go home and get the other 4 kids ready. Head back out to the field, drop of the plates, napkins, and silverware, only to find out that Tori's next game wasn't for another 3 hours. We go to the park to let the kids play for a bit, then I take the opportunity to get a workout in. Take the 4 kids to the gym, make sure Jax goes potty before I work out, and as I'm putting his underwear on, my water bottle leaks from my bag and drenches my shirt. (okay, it was a wifebeater. 'Shirt' may be an overstatement. I'm nothing if not consistent.) I power through the wifebeater drenched workout, and even clean and press a personal best 235 lbs. (For all of the non weightlifters out there, that's where I put 235 lbs on the bar, hold it out in front of me, squat down, throw the weight onto the front of my shoulders, then extend my arms up and push it over my head. But all you really need to know is that it helps with the kid-toss distance in the pool.) I finish the workout, gather up the kids, and head back to the field. Good thing we got back in time, because on Tori's first at bat, with 2 runners on, she cranked one to the fence and managed to lumber around for an inside the park home run. And yes, she lumbered. She's actually really fast, and flew around 1st, 2nd, and 3rd base, but the combination of tired legs and not knowing whether to slide or stand up caused her to trip and almost tag home plate with her face. Seriously, it was not the most graceful of endings. Pete Rose, she is not. (which I'm okay with, by the way.) The game gets finished, another two hour break, and Jaxon is a zombie. He was staring at his peanut butter and jelly sandwich like it was trying to talk to him. And apparently, whatever the sandwich was saying to him was confusing the hell out of him. We leave Tori at the field and head back home with the 4 kids. Jax fell asleep in the truck before we were even out of the parking lot. When we got home, as I was leaning over to put Jaxon in his bed, I got a whiff of myself, and I had no idea how my stench didn't wake him up. It was like I was wearing a full body gym sock. My shirt smelled sockish, if that makes sense. Anyway, even though I knew I had to go back to the field, I had to take a shower. Then, what seemed like 17 seconds after my shower, it was time to go back to Tori's next game. I load up the kids, go back to the game, watch Tori's team get waxed, and find out she's got another game to play that night. Maxine had just gotten there with Chris, her friend visiting from New Orleans. Not wanting to subject the kids to another softball game, (and also not wanting to miss the beginning of the Saints-Texans preseason game), Chris and I take the 4 kids to the store to get BBQ materials for dinner. We got home, and I had to find a live stream of the Saints game off of the internet because apparently DirecTV's Sunday Ticket doesn't include preseason games. (I was able to find a live feed, and hook the computer up to the 50" TV. Ain't technology great?) I went outside to start the grill and put the burgers on, then Rach got home from work and started researching washing machines. (Ours broke last week. Actually, it committed suicide. No, Really. It did. We found a note and everything. The note said, "Give me a freaking break. I'm tired. Between the 5 kids and all of the stank workout clothes, I can't take it anymore! You can take my gears, and shove it! Heavy Duty cycle this, biatch!" I don't even blame it, although that last part seemed a little unnecessary.) Anyway, Rach, Chris, and I chatted about washing machines for a minute, then --Oh, Crap! The Burgers!! I ran outside to the grill, and immediately morphed into Kurt Russell from Backdraft. Except instead of a water hose, I had a spatula. And instead of saving fellow firefighters from a burning building, I was saving my hamburgers from an angry gas powered grill. I was able to save most of them, but one poor guy on the back of the grill was just too deep into the flames. And sadly, my spatula was not long enough to save him. I tried from every angle on the grill, but I couldn't get within 3 inches of the poor burning slab of beef without my hand getting scorched. (Alright, maybe scorched is a little strong, but I tell you what, if I didn't shave my fingers, I think the hair would've been burnt right off) I refused to give up, but then I heard (or imagined) a voice calling out in slow motion, "Letttttt meeeee goooooooo, Buulllllll!!" Then I closed the grill and went inside with the hamburgers. I finished fixing dinner, bathed Jax, watched the Saints game (Mike Bell, huh?), then tried to offer my opinion on the washing machine decision, (That's right, she was still researching. If any of you have ever gone shopping with Rach, you understand. You know how much of a beating it is to watch her make a choice. And I don't mean just shopping for big items either. It could be anything; milk, bread, washing machines, tic tacs, whatever. We'll go to the grocery store with a list of 162 things, and she stops at the first one, "This pack of meat has 12 slices, and this one has 16. But this one is 17 cents cheaper. And it has 20% less sodium. Hand me my phone, so I can google user comments on these packs of turkey." I'm not even joking. Needless to say, she took the washing machine purchase pretty seriously. I tried to help for a while, but passed out at about 11:30 before a decision had been reached.

Sunday

I woke Tori up at 6:00 to bring her to her coach's house so he could take her to day 2 of the tournament, went to the gym and when I got home at about 7:30, I heard Jax calling for me from his room. "Daddy.....Daddy.....(I open the door)....I poo poo in pants." And of course, it's on a Sunday before church. 3 for 3. Anyway, I cleaned him up, woke up Rach, woke up Scarlett, woke up the boys, got ready, got Jaxon ready, told Cole to brush his teeth, told Scarlett she couldn't wear those shoes, told Gavin to feed the cat (He's the only one ever ready), told Cole to get his shoes on, made Jaxon a waffle, told Cole to brush his teeth, made Scarlett some cereal, told Cole to brush his teeth, packed Jaxon's bag, told the kids to get in the car, told Cole to get his shoes on, found Cole's shoes for him, went to church, checked the kids in, and --Ahhhh peacefulness-- church ended, got the kids, went to the park, Rach had to leave for work, pushed the kids on the swings, Jax wanted to go higher, but I was already envisioning him flying across the playground, so umm, no. Went home, made lunch, and found out Tori lost her game. She came home, which was good, because that meant I didn't have to take the boys, who we'll nickname Hurricane and Tornado, to the neighbor's daughter, Hanna's, 5th birthday party. The party was at a ranch style house that had a big swimming pool, a playground, and horses and donkeys for the kids to ride. I took Scarlett and Jaxon to the birthday party, but had to stop by Rach's work to get Hanna's present first. We got to the party 30 minutes late, and I realized that I forgot my swimsuit. And of course, the first thing the kids wanted to do was get in the pool.

Jax: You get in pool, Daddy? You get in?

Me: No, buddy. I forgot my bathing suit.

Jax: That's okay. I swim anyway.

The kids swam for a little while, Scarlett simultaneously scared and impressed the hell out of me by sliding down the slide backwards and head first, "That was awesome! But don't do it again." It was extra impressive because Scarlett is usually deathly afraid of anything that can be considered 'moderately safe.' The kids got out of the pool, ate pizza, then came time to ride the horses. Jax was immediately intrigued by the donkeys. Coincidentally, the donkey's name was Jackson. I'm not sure if there's any real significance there, but I'm pretty sure it means he's gonna be a jackass like his daddy.

More similarities than differences, really

Anyway, Scarlett was the first of the kids to ride the big horse, who later tried to buck another little girl off of its back. The owner chalked it up to the horse being in a bad mood. What? Really? Either way, Doonie wasn't getting back on that bronco.

So I walk up to the horse and say, "Hey. Why the long face?"

A couple minutes later, the horse tried to throw a little boy off, and at this point, all of the kids were scared of the ornery beast. A couple minutes later, while we were singing eating the cake, I heard some commotion from where the horses were standing. Apparently, an overzealous pony must've gotten a little too close to the big horse's liking, because when I looked over, the big horse was up on two legs, then it kicked the crap out of the poor little pony. Right in the ribcage. Judging by the sound of the thud, I thought the pony would be pretty hurt. Especially since the pony slid, fell over, and rolled about 20 feet. And at this point, all of the adults were scared of the ornery beast. Shortly after that, thankful that everyone's heads were still attached to their necks, we went home. Once I got home, I felt bad that the other kids got left out of the birthday festivities, so we all went to the pool again. More swimming and kid tossing, followed by dinner, baths, and bed. And hoping to get enough rest to start the week at 4:30 Monday morning.

That montage was a lot longer than I expected. I think I may need to get some more Scott Joplin songs. Maybe I'll get Rach to research some of those for me. Nah, I'll get them myself, because I'll probably need another song this weekend.

Back to Reality.....

'Hope is a good thing, maybe the best thing,
and no good thing ever dies.' Andy Dufresne

The phrase 'Back to Reality' didn't just pop into my head. 'Pop' would not be the proper expression. No, it was more like reality took a 40 lb sledgehammer, got a running start, and swung it right into my groin. Allow me to explain:

For the last month, Rach and I have been living a life that I imagine would be on par with Andy and Red's first month in Zihuatanejo. The only differences being that Rach is not a tall drink of water, I'm not a man who knows how to get things, and neither one of us has been falsely imprisoned for murdering our spouse...yet. Other than that, the analogy is dead on. And yes, I'm aware that I'm comparing raising 5 kids to a long term prison sentence in a 1940s maximum security prison.

Seriously though, at the end of last month, Rach and I had a kidless free trip to the Ritz Carlton on Lake Oconee (Click here to read about it), then came back to Charleston for two solid weeks without kids. I guess the only way to describe those two weeks would be eerily relaxing. At times, I'd be sitting on the couch watching my new favorite show, More to Love (By the way, I've already nominated Agent Soyez to be the bachelor on Season 2. To put it in his own words, 'If you can't see her @ss from the front, then it ain't big enough!' Wouldn't it be funnier anyway if the bachelor was a really skinny guy? Soyez weighed about a buck thirty-five in college, and luuuvvvved the biggins. I'm gonna have to work on his application video. But I digress). So I'd just randomly jump up as if I was supposed to be doing something, walk around the kitchen aimlessly for a minute, nervously sit back down on the couch, and repeat that process every ten minutes. One of these little distractions almost made me miss a giant (no pun intended) meltdown from the buxom beauty from Baton Rouge on the show.

Anyway, after nearly two weeks of relaxing solitude, we headed down to Ft. Walton Beach, Florida for a week long vacation with the fam. And when you combine me, Rach, the 5 kids, my parents, Racheal's parents, my aunt, my brother, her sister, my cousin, her sister's friend, my cousin's friend, her sister's ex-boyfriend, my cousin's ex-girlfriend, -- Just for clarification though, the previous six names starting with Rach's sister are actually only three different people. I'll let you take a moment to digest that, but in the mean time, cue the dueling banjos......okay back to the list -- Maxine, Maxine's boyfriend, Maxine's boyfriend's 4 year old little girl, Racheal's best friend, and Racheal's best friend's 10 month old little girl, you would think that it would be a full week's worth of fireworks and drama. But nope. Nothing. No drama at all. Completely serene. I think the biggest hiccup that we had was when the boys' faces got really burnt, and they had to take a couple of days off from the sun. They're not complaining though, because it's a whole lot better than the massive chafing problem that they had last year from too much boogie boarding, which led to this scene: Me, reluctantly walking into the bathroom with neosporin on my fingers, seeing the two boys standing there naked, in obvious pain, covering their -umm - units, and then, trying to break the ice a little, I say, 'Alright boys, let's see those willies.' I'm fairly certain that was a low point in all three of our lives.

This trip was a little less stressful. Rach and I would wake up early, work out, run on the beach, get the kids lathered in sunscreen, go out to the beach, play paddleball, go to the pool, get something to eat, go back to the beach, go back to the condo to make a drink, more sunscreen application, go back to the beach, back to the pool, eat dinner, drink a little bit more, go to bed, repeat. Here are some of the highlights:

PADDLEBALL

Paddleball is an ongoing theme for our Florida vacations. It has been for years. And I'm confident that our paddleball tradition will be passed on to our future generations. All of the kids got into it. Some were better than others, but there's definitely time for improvement. However, I'm pretty sure that my brother and I's record of 1,350 consecutive hits will be safe for a while though. B-Lo and Keith got the overall high score this year with 1,100+ hits; Rach and I got the mixed doubles title with 495; Keith, B-Lo, and I got the triples record with 770; Keith, Stacy, Stacie, and I got the quads record with 297, and Tori and I got the adult/kid record with 65. Of all of them, I'm most proud of the 65 with Tori. She hit the ball all over the place. She's like the Ichiro Suzuki of paddleball - she makes good contact, spreads the ball all over the field and makes you work for it. (I realize that most of my readers are probably not baseball fans and would never get that analogy. I apologize, but the only other analogy that I could think of involved Britney Spears and a weak hit and run joke. I'm human.)

That is a look of evil excited determination

I'm not sure who is supposed to get this ball. It looks like Stacie hit it,
but B-Lo is scratching his head, and Beith is tweaking his nipple.

BURYING THINGS

It started with Tori wanting Uncle Beith to bury her in the sand. And as luck would have it, Uncle Beith has extensive experience burying people in the sand. (And that's not some sort of hidden meaning joke, either. I've seen him bury his friend Peggy many times. Never while he was this sober, though.) Anyway, Beith took charge like I've never seen him take charge before. (Again, no joke there.) And soon enough, this was the scene on the beach:

Hey Uncle B-Lo, watch where your hands are going.

And yes, this is just a picture of my brother, my cousin, and I burying Tori in the sand. No, it is not our audition photo for the new Las Vegas show, 'The White Man Group'. I mean seriously, if Right Said Fred made a comeback, added a new member, and ditched the fish net shirts for big ridiculous sunglasses; this would be their album cover. But here's the finished product:

Jax, apparently having seen many 9 ft sand mermaids in his day,
went back to putting sand in his bucket.

Funny Side Note: While my Nanny was taking pictures of the completed mermaid masterpiece, Rach and I grabbed a couple of hand fulls of goldfish crackers and threw them onto Tori. Within seconds, the seagulls were on that mermaid like white on sand--Oh, wait. Nevermind.

Tori did not share our affection for the seagulls.

Later in the week, Scarlett also wanted to be buried in the sand. But in true diva like fashion, she didn't want to get sandy. And then she chastised Uncle B-Lo and Uncle Beith for messing up her fins. Have I mentioned that she's Racheal's daughter?



When we ran out of people to bury, we shifted our focus to jellyfish. On Thursday, we must have fished 200 jellyfish out of ocean and buried them in the sand. And then if you count all of the other fish, crabs, sea urchins, sea slugs, etc. that Rach and the kids pulled out of the water, put into buckets, watched them die a slow death, and then buried back into the sand, I'd say we were responsible for more burials than.....well.....umm....I don't know.........an undertaker? Hey, YOU try coming up with something that kills a lot of people but would still be funny.


FROLICKING

We did a lot of frolicking. Good frolicking. So here's some random frolicking pictures:

Uncle Beith and I look perfectly content watching the kids frolic,
but why are we huddled close together underneath a tent that has no shade?

Rach, Stacie, and Tori watching the seagulls frolic

Okay, I'll admit it. Even though we ARE frolicking,
I mainly posted this picture because of how ridiculously good we all look

But Sadly, our Zihuatanejo had to come to an end. Which would be like Red and Andy having to go back to prison. On Friday, the day before we had to come home, my eye started hurting. It may have been because I had worn my contacts on the beach all week without taking them out. (Emily, if you're reading this, I'm just kidding. I take out my contacts every night. Sometimes twice a day. I don't need an angry pregnant eye doctor coming after me.) So anyway, I took out my contacts, but my eyes were killing me. And I forgot my glasses at home. I thought that maybe the swollen red eye and accompanying blindness would be enough to get Racheal to drive so I could concentrate on my fantasy football draft that was coincidentally going on at the same time, but I was wrong. Rach wanted to take a nap. Did I mention that she's Scarlett's mother? So let's just say I was not so excited to make the blind fantasy football laden kid filled 9 hour drive. Oh, and Jaxon is smack dab in the middle of potty training, so we stopped every half hour so that we could take him into gas station bathrooms, unsuccessfully try to keep him from touching anything, let him use the bathroom, flush the toilet, and hear him yell, 'Bye bye poop.' or 'Bye bye pee pee.' or 'Bye bye gas.' (Yes, he wishes his farts well as they go down the toilet.) Well, we made it back in a smooth 12 hours just before midnight Saturday. Ahhh. Home sweet home....For a minute. Since Jax has been sleeping in either my parents room in Louisiana or our room in Florida for the past 3 weeks, he's gotten used to climbing into the bed in the middle of the night. So of course he wakes us up screaming at 3 am, followed by another 3 hours of kicking us while he sleeps. At least he's consistent, because it's happened every night this week. But here's where reality started swinging that sledgehammer: 4:30 wake up call Monday morning so that I could get back from the gym in time to go with Rach to bring Jax to his first day of school. (Or daycare. But we'll call it a school.) Had to choke back tears dropping him off for his first day. Then I worked all day, picked up Jax, headed home to pick up the fantastic four, then met Rach at the kids' school for 'meet the teacher night'. Luckily, we have 3 kids at the same school, which meant that we only had two schools to visit. But unfortunately, it also meant that we ran out of time before we could meet Scarlett's teacher since all 7 of us were there wandering around the school like a pack of lost elephants. And, of course, Scarlett is our only kid that would get upset at the thought of not getting to meet her teacher. Did I mention that she's Racheal's clone? On the plus side, we REEEEAAAALLLY like Cole and Gavin's teachers. But that was quickly followed by Tori's open house, followed by me taking the boys home to get bathed, fed, and ready for bed, while Rach took the girls to get the last of the school supplies. Tuesday, 4:00 am wake up call so that I could get back from the gym to get the kids ready for school.

That's only the 237th outfit that Doonie put on before school.
Did I mention that Racheal's her mom?

And Hey. I consider it a success that only 3 out of the 5 kids were late to school on the first day. So what if three of them go to the same school? And who cares if Tori's school is right next door? And that Jaxon's school isn't really a school,? And that we can drop him off any time before noon? It was a success, damn it! I Went to work, came home, and cut the grass in the 90 degree heat, which really did a number on my eye infection. Rach finally got to see my allergies in action. My eye turned beat red, swelled up shut, and made me look like Joe Hipp after Mike Tyson was through with him......wait.....nevermind. Joe Hipp never fought Mike Tyson. Mike Tyson was talking about his upcoming bout with Bruce Selden. And the promo for the fight featured audio of Mike Tyson saying, 'Bwuce Sehwdon make Joe Hipp face wook like hambugger.' Don't ask why that's in my head, just know that my face looked like Joe Hipp.

Rach's compassion was as steady as ever though, 'Why didn't you take benedryl before you went out there? You know you're allergic, right? Just put some drops in it and quit whining. Oh, and could you pour me a glass of milk? And use your good eye so you don't spill it.' Have I mentioned that Scarlett is her clone, and she's on her way to becoming more powerful than her mother? And by the way, if I'm ever in a terrible accident and go into a coma, don't think that Rach won't think that I'm bluffing. I can picture the doctor trying to explain to her what happened, and her just standing there, laughing, 'I can't believe you're falling for this! You're a doctor! You went to medical school! Look at him, he's not REALLY in a coma!' A couple of years ago I tore my hamstring the day before we were leaving to go to San Francisco. Rach wasn't sold on the injury though, so she tested it out by letting me carry her bags through the airport. She says everyone won that day. I begged to differ. Anyway, after all of that, we moved onto our next catastrophe. We caught Tori texting boys. Not really so much of a big deal, but she was storing the boys' numbers into her phone as girls' names, and hiding it from us because she knew she wasn't supposed to be doing it. (In case you missed our other Tori/boy drama, click here) Anyway, after the last incident, I did something that I hadn't done in a very very long time. I read a book. The book was called Strong Fathers, Strong Daughters, and boy did it come in handy. So Rach, Tori, and I stayed up until about 11 pm dealing with that issue, but that 4:30 am wake up call was creeping around the corner.

So yes, it's back to reality for the King clan. And if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go ice down my groin.

Living Vicariously....

Last weekend, I was supposed to meet my parents outside of Atlanta to get the kids back. That's what I was supposed to do, at least. Instead, we decided that since we're all going to Florida this weekend, it would've been pointless to subject the kids to another brutal 12 hour car ride, only to turn right back around and do it again the next week. That would've been over 44 hours of Garfield, 'Stop touching me!', gas station bathrooms, 'No I didn't!', chicken nugget kids meals, 'Yes you did!', Elmo Pees and Poops, 'Daddy!', and Miley Cyrus CDs in a little under 3 weeks. For everyone's sake, we decided to let the kids stay in Louisiana for another week. Rach and I have been all by ourselves for a couple of weeks now, and let me just say that it has been awesome. I am not complaining about the peace.

So I could be writing about how relaxing it has been to come home after work with nothing to do. Or I could be writing about how low our grocery bill has been. Or about how little laundry we have to do. Or about how many episodes of 'The Wire' that we've watched. Or about how we went on a date to a nice Italian restaurant for the first time ever. Or about how we went to the movies twice; once to see the new 'Harry Potter', and once to see 'The Proposal', in which DC native Sandra Bullock, who is playing a Canadian book editor who, because of visa issues, is forced to marry a Canadian born Ryan Reynolds playing an Alaskan native living in New York. I'm pretty sure they just took the plot from 'Green Card', but replaced Gerard Depardieu with Ryan Reynolds. Aaaaannnddd Voila! Instant romantic comedy.

Quick side note: Of the two movies, which movie do you think made Racheal cry? One movie is about a 16 year old wizard who is eventually going to save the whole wizard world, and the other is about a woman who may be exiled to a country that has free health care. (Just for the record, I'm still anti-Canadia, but the fact that she was being 'forced' to go back to Canadia was retarded.) Alright, time's up. What's your guess? Harry Potter, the children's book? Or Slum Dog Canadianaire? Tick..Tock..Tick..Tock.....EEeeeeeehhhhhhhhhh!!! Wrong!! The correct answer was both. Both movies made her cry. It's unbelievable actually. She's more of a cryer than Adam Morrison and Chris Crocker combined. (Go ahead, go Google it. I'll wait.) But, it's become sort of a ritual now. Any time we're watching a movie - and it doesn't even have to be a 'sad' movie - it can be any movie, or any TV show where someone dies, or any episode of Oprah, or Dr Phil, or any commercial with a puppy. But just when I think it's coming; just as she's about to cry, I'll look over at her, and see if I can catch 'the crying face' without cracking up laughing. Then she tells me that I have a cold dead rock in my chest where my heart should be, and we keep watching whatever it is we were watching.

Anyway, so I COULD be writing about any of that stuff that we've been doing since the kids were gone. But I'm not. Because we're not that interesting. Without the kids, we're just a young, smart, funny, incredibly attractive, kidless couple. Who wants to hear about that? And besides, I'm kind of modest. I don't like talking about that stuff.

But no, I'd rather be writing about how the other day, my dad had to watch 4 kids under the age of 6; all day, all by himself. Now THAT would be a funny story. I can just picture my dad, shooting a disapproving look over at Cassi as if she was somehow responsible for the mayhem, then doing his patented heavy exhale while he looks at the ground and slowly shakes his head back and forth. (For the record, he's given me that look approximately 9,421,692 times in my lifetime.) I'm not sure if that actually happened, but I would like an explanation of this picture:

In 18 years under his watch, I don't recall
Pops ever allowing this kind of shenanigans

Yes, that would be a good story to write about. But I wasn't there. Or I could be writing about how much Jaxon tries to help out. And how much my 80-something year old Maw-Maw appreciates it.

Apparently, Jaxon walked over to her and said,
'I help Maw Maw. I help Maw Maw walk.'

Yep, that cold dead rock is starting to sweat out of its eyeballs. And see, I'd give anything to write about how my little Doonie Bucket lost her other front tooth. How she explained to my mom that she was glad to have pulled the tooth out before we got to Florida because if not, her mom would've tied a string to it and yanked it out. (For the record, no human has ever been able to convince Scarlett to let them get within 3 feet of her loose teeth. The mere mention of letting you to wiggle her tooth makes her scream, run away, and then give you the death stare from a safe distance. She's working on a pretty darn good death stare, too. I didn't know Rach when she was 6, but I'm fairly certain that I'm getting to see the 2009 version of a 6 year old Racheal right now.)

Up until this point, the Tooth Fairy has always taken the tooth from under Scarlett's pillow, and replaced it with $5. But the Tooth Fairy kept the tooth. This time, however, the Louisiana Tooth Fairy placed the tooth and the $5 in a ziploc back underneath her pillow. It's a minute detail, I know. But immediately realizing the difference, Scarlett told my mom, 'The Tooth Fairy must've known that I wanted to show my mom the tooth.' I didn't even understand what she was talking about until the 2009 version of a 29 year old Racheal explained it to me. This instance is just one more example of how I know Scarlett is much smarter than me; which delights and petrifies me at the same time. I mean, really. Can you imagine me dealing with a 16 year old Scarlett and a 39 year old Racheal ten years from now? Excuse me, while I jab this pencil into my eye. I'm just kidding. But here's my new toothless genius:

She's only smiling because there was no string

I guess I'll just have to accept living vicariously through my parents for another 4 days. Meanwhile, I've crumbled into an emotional wreck on par with Racheal's movie watching. I find myself choking up when they show cute kids on TV. (Not the ugly ones. I don't know what it's like to have ugly kids.) I catch myself staring at random kids in the grocery store, smiling as my mind drifts off to my own kids, then immediately snapping out of it when the mom yanks the kid out of sight and glares back at me as if she's trying to remember my face for when she's checking out www.familywatchdog.us later that night. (Note to self: Try to look less scary.)

And here's another thing. My parents have had the kids for SO long, and have gotten SO comfortable with watching them, that my dad didn't even call me this time to let me know that he had an opportunity to put Jaxon on a horse. I guess he was too busy stealing all of my stories.

Poor horse didn't know what she was getting herself into.
If only Cassi or Izzy could've warned her.