Wednesday, May 24, 2006

Dad, What Rhymes with Placenta?

Mr. Z created a book of poems for the old lady on Mother's day called "Poems for My Mom." So you figure, hey that's nice of the boy -- what did he do, write a couple of poems? Awww.

He wrote 21.

Of course, they're all totally bizarre and I really don't think any of them actually has anything to do with the old lady or moms in general, but shit, there's 21 of 'em! There's one that he has been reciting pretty much daily since Mother's Day and it seems to have become some sort of comforting mantra for him. Perhaps he's repeating it to himself so as not to be upset by the dickhead neighbor kid who doesn't want to play with him anymore. I know not. But here it is (click to read):

It's only one of many. All your favorites are there: "Spam," "Pick on Bill," "The Green-'n'-Yellow Mohawk," and, of course, "Ode to Bears." He just cranks things out like this. Ever since he was three, he's been doing this kind of thing.

There -- I just ran up to his room and took a picture of the top shelf in his closet that's filled with these cardboard archive boxes of the books he used to write:

He alternated between reference-style books (about fish, insects, mammals, dinosaurs) and story books about his imaginary Apatosaurus friend, Abby. He was like a boy possessed, and used to crank out a book a day. Freaky shit... but a good read, I must say. Short and to the point. (Me no likee big words.)

His volume has definitely decreased over the years and, lately, he's gotten more into cartooning and creating his own trading cards. But he loves to get those boxes down and read the old books. I think he's even a little freaked out by some of them. Weird shit.

What's my point? Fuck, I don't know. But I do know that I created a little audio file to keep on my desktop for when I feel my crabbitude becoming too overwhelming. It's a snippet of Miss O laughing during a recording session and it fucking cracks my ass up every time I listen to it. Now, I might be venturing into self-indulgent dad land here, but I think even the most cynical fuckshit will find this mildly amusing:

If you don't laugh at this, you're a dick.

Sorry, I'm just feeling uncharacteristically wistful this eve'n, apparently. Oh well. Tomorrow I spend the whole day with Miss O, and then I have to cut the grass with my piece-o-carp manual mower, so I'm sure I'll be nice and cranky by tommorrow night.



Rebecca said...

Dear Sir-- (through a television?) work with my sister at Jellyvision. I read her blog, which lead me to Arnie's blog, which lead me to your blog...which I read daily. Which means I spend WAY too much of my free time online reading strangers blogs.

Nevertheless! I read Crabbydad daily, and I must say, todays post tops them all. Even in my highly body and mind weary state, Miss O laughing put me in the best goddamn mood. You have some very cool kids. But I don't need to tell you that, you know whats up.

Catch you on the flip side.

-the littlest fons sister.

Cazzie!!! said...

That link of Miss O sent this house into a laughing house..we lovve it..bring it on!! Laugh and the world laughs with a grumpa and no-one wants to know you!
Hey..Mr Z has got it goin' on dude..far out, his rhyme is great...or perhaps I am loopy...nah, never, he rocks too!!

_jjs said...

Ha ha ha, "the littlest fons sister" called you Sir. I don't know why but that cracked me up, but not as much as Miss O's laugh.

Much like "the littlest fons sister" I came across this blog via A Year In Pictures ... but for the life of me I cannot remember how I came aross that blog. Probably the same way I come across most blogs, by whoring around on Blogger when I should be working.

crabbydad said...

Little Fonsie -- thanks for stopping by! Like jjs said, though, I am no "sir." I like to think I'm more of a "S'up, Slice!" or even a "Hey Grumpa."

Arnie said...

You're a big grumpa slice of sir.

Kim said...

Man, oh man.

I was having the mother of all crappy afternoons, and Miss O's gorgeous laughter made me feel all better.

If that little snippet doesn't bring a smile to your face, then you truly have no soul.

Nora said...

My Dad turned 70 last month. He was asked at his birthday party (by my three year old nephew) what is favorite thing is.
Dad’s reply "My children's laughter"

Thanks for your kick-ass blog.

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