There is a life event in every male’s life – an event every male I know to have gone through, even if it were just a matter of a one-time suffering or something made to be a recurring delight. This event is …
Kart.
Specifically, Mario Kart.
And Josh has come of age.
He can make it through the courses now, which makes him now a gamer among gamers even if he still isn’t very good.
If I pump the acceleration like I were trying to shoot in an old arcade shooter, Josh can give me a pretty good run for the money in vs. mode.
How my heart leaps for joy as I see him pull and rotate the remote the way he wants to go! And, as any good gamer would do, I am trying to use this as leverage for purchasing the Nintendo Wii.
My little boy is growing up! I really did get misty eyed by all of this. Lisa’s reaction was startlingly male-ish: “what’s the matter with you – this is what you’ve been waiting for.” Clearly, there are things the sexes just don’t understand about each other.
…and have them toss white-board markers, every so often a marker will land on the floor on an end and remain standing.
Last week, I was one of those monkeys.
Thank you.
Malaise rhymes with Mayonaise, but it’s nowhere near as sweet. In fact, quite opposite.
With Mayonaise, I can enjoy a ham/turkey/meat sandwhich, banana sandwhich, peanut butter banana sandwhich (I know, it sounds gross), cole slaw (yes, I like it), potato salad … ok, that’s the short list. OH! and I get to lick the knife or spoon or whatever other utensil I use to spread it with.
Malaise … is like a mild form of depression. You don’t particularly feel down; you most definitely don’t feel up; you aren’t frustrated, you aren’t relaxed … you’re just stuck … kinda glad you’re not on the negative side of things … but not really. Just about anything would be better than this. If things were down, you could fight it. If things were up, you’d try to keep it going. The malaise … well … you could try to fight it … but you don’t know how because you don’t know what’s causing it … and things aren’t exactly wrong … just a sense of … not-right-ness.
Malaise is not apathy. It’s just a loss of direction – a compass without a needle.
Malaise is where I’ve been since some time in the middle of Lent. My malaise has a taste of wanderlust in it … but I don’t think it’ll go anywhere. I’ve had that wanderlust nigh 2 years now. I can’t do whatever it is I need to do to get out of the funk … and, even if I could, I don’t know what I would do. I tried to do the Deacon thing; Lisa stopped me short (and I don’t blame here in the least). I tried working different ministries at the ol’ parish. I always get the feeling home needs me more, so those things have kinda fizzled. Small groups have more or less been a bust. Soooooooo … I’ve tried a number of things to try to vanquish the malaise … but here I am. So either it’s “not my time” or I’ve not found “whatever it is”.
So … malaise. It’s where I’m at, and I’d like out. My failure rate is starting to become inversely proportional to my desire to “try” … maybe if I don’t try, it’ll better my odds of getting out? … sounds kinda defeatist. oi, but this is just the malaise all over.
Okay … so … those of you who know me … this isn’t new.
BUT!!! I’m beginning to believe it is genetic.
Case in point, at Josh’s birthday party a few weeks ago, my extended family was gathered in the den talking about burps, farts, and other bodily noises … at which point Jason turns to me and says, “Well, at least you come by it honestly … POOP!”
But, it gets even better.
One night a few weeks ago, I was tucking Josh in for bed, and we generally say an Our Father (aka Lord’s Prayer) before I head out for the night. So there we are, me lying beside Josh with his back to me saying our prayer. As we were saying it, Josh lets out a little toot as we reach “and forgive us our tresspasses” to which I append, ” and toots,” … cue Josh giggling … but I press on … “as we forgive those who tresspass and toot against us” … at which point Josh’s giggling becomes an uncontrollable fit of laughter.
And it doesn’t stop there.
William has bad gas. When he passes gas, you generally have to check his drawers to make sure there isn’t a little present in there waiting for you – and I’m not talking about a toaster! (… Family Guy reference had to be made …) Well, as with all little habitual routines, when we realize he is still unsoiled, we generally say, “You’re stinkie!”
The other day, William quite audibly passes gas … and says, in his cute little toddler voice, “I stinkie! *giggle, giggle*”
Now, if you’re still not laughing … or don’t at least have some kind of weird smile on your face … I don’t know how we’ll ever be friends … but I’ll try anyways. Just don’t mind the farts, please.
); it’s not my fault.