Still More McBone Family Values

We awoke this morning to a driving rain, but by early afternoon rainclouds had dissolved into bright beautiful exploding spring.  Color was splashed all across town.  A clean breeze stirred the trees.  Neighbors roamed the streets in a mirthful embrace of the season.

The timing seemed right for one of those milestone lessons for the McBonerito.

I know some of you are horrified, but don't worry.  American Spirit is additive-free.

Smoke 'em if you got 'em, McBoners, and happy Sunday!

nwb

Oscar Fight

I didn't know what I was getting into when I casually asked the McBonerito what was up with the button.  He answered that, as if it wasn't obvious enough, he was wearing the button because he hates George Double-U Fucking Bush.

I said something about holding grudges and sour grapes and playing the 'blame Bush' game like everyone else, but he was having none of it.  Bush gets blamed, he answered, 'cause Bush fucked shit up.

I asked him if the button wasn't just a little passe, a little 2001?  He told me that he didn't wear it in 2001 because in 2001 he Wasn't. Fucking. Born.

Well, I was a bit put off by his liberal use of the f-word and I suppose I should have quit while I was ahead, but I had to know and so I asked: Well, why the octopus?

He just rolled his eyes and sighed and shook his head and acted like I was the biggest dope alive, so I dropped it.  But I still wasn't sure about the giant glass of wine he had poured himself, and I let him know about it.  Boy, did that set him off.  First he was all defensive and like, what harm in one teensy-weensy little drink?  When I pointed out that the drink wasn't so little, especially for a three-month-old, he really laid into me about how he was just trying to take the edge off, and what a drag it is living with the goddam Gestapo and how he was sure I was going to narc on him to Mom.

I gave him a cursory whatever and left him stewing in his own bile.  Later on he poured me a peace offering and told me he was just pissed cause we didn't let him stay up to watch the Oscars the night before.  He asked me if Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close won anything, because he was going to laugh his ass off if it did.

Hell no, I told him.

We clinked glasses and embraced and promised we wouldn't tell Mom a damned thing.

I love you, son.

nwb

More McBone Family Values

The McBonerito values time spent in quiet conversation with good friends.

Lalalala!

I know you are, but what am I?

No TV, no social networking, no mobile devices; just two boys kicking back in their favorite chairs waiting for snack time.

nwb

Postmodern as Fuck

Nothing better than sitting back with the kid and enjoying a classic from the steaming bowels of the West Coast comic underground.

The McBonerito has little use for the mainstream.  If he's not busy gumming the corners of some socialist pamphlet, you can probably find him at a local Occupy movement telling Wall Street where to stick it.

Owl and Other Comics available wherever Falling Rock Comics are sold.

Howl getup compliments of our resident Musicologist and Generationalist.

Naropa tee by Art and Lemons.

nwb

T-Minus

My sometimes-pregnant wife can't get much bigger.  Here I am getting sucked into her gravitational pull.

Photo by Spronk, whose leftover lunch is now under 24-hour observation at the Purdue University Department of Food Science.

nwb

The McBone Not-a-Baby-Blog Challenge

Sorry, my creepy looking son.  It's timeout time for you.

At a tequila-soaked social gathering this past weekend, I was informed by several of the guests that posting twice about a burgeoning child officially makes any blog, regardless of how many years of non-baby blogging it has in the bank, a certified (and dreaded) 'baby blog.'  I was also told in no uncertain terms that titling a post 'Not a Baby Blog' does not negate the fact that the subsequent post is about the baby.

Aghast, I sought an escape from this doom: What will it take to not be a baby blog again?

There's nothing you can do.

What if I post 10 consecutive non-baby posts?

Maybe, but--

But you don't think I have what it takes.

No, and until you somehow manage, we'll be holding on to these...

To my horror, I discovered these besotted miscreants had somehow come into possession of my testicles, suspended in a briny liquid within a sealed mayonnaise jar.

So here we stand, McBoners.  It appears that not even my triumph at Wimbledon the following day can help me get my mojo back.  Thus ten baby-free posts are to follow.  I hereby endeavor to have all qualifiers effaced from my good blogging name until this baby blog is, once more, merely a blog.

nwb

Not a Baby Blog II

In Venezuela there's an expression that says a baby is born carrying bread under its arm.  Not sure what that means or who would even want a loaf of bread dripping with amniotic juices, but I can tell you that the house has been filling up in a hurry with all manner of baby-related objects.  Here are just a few of the things that have appeared as if by magic ever since my sometimes-pregnant wife announced to the world that she was with child:

Orb.  We have no idea where it came from or what its purpose is or why all the fish and plants have died since the orb's mysterious appearance a few weeks ago.

Baby books.  There are countless books about birthing methods and child rearing and about a billion experts ready to tell you that your child will certainly become a homicidal maniac if you don't follow their proven methods.

Giant pillow.  Each night this massive, hypoallergenic pillow forms the foundation of a pillow fort that my wife constructs around herself at bedtime, effectively reducing my share of the mattress to a three-inch sliver.

Bigger, better wife.  What could be better than having a cheeseburger?  A bigger cheeseburger, of course.  The same principle applies to foxy wives.  She's growing at an astonishing rate and every millimeter added to her middle section makes her that much foxier.

nwb