My extra helpful wife

Being bald isn't so bad. I started to go bald in high school, and by the time I was done with my mission, my hair on top had left for greener pastures (my back). It has the tendency to make me look older than I am. But anyway, who needs hair? It gets in the way.

There are some advantages to being bald, or hair-on-top impaired. You know those hotel samples of shampoo? Those last me about 2 weeks. I could go on a business trip and get enough shampoo to last me a month when I get home. My wife has bought a gallon of shampoo before. That is a lifetime supply for me.

I know it's time for a haircut when I actually have to FIX my hair before I can leave the house. I cut my own hair at home using some clippers that my wife, Sara, got at some beauty supply store or something. I use the 1/4" setting.

Here's where my wife became the extra helpful wife. I asked her very gently if she would be as kind as to trim my neck fur. Even if us guys aren't ashamed of our back hair, we don't want the hair on our heads and the hair on our shoulders and back to be one in the same. We like there to be some separation between the two.

I'm 6'5", and my wife is 5'3", so I had to get down on my knees for her to trim up my neck. She did a wonderful job at making a nice, straight line on my neck. Then she decided to do some serious manscaping. She ran those clippers from my neck, down my back and from side to side. 20 minutes later when she was done, I was 3 pounds lighter and the clippers were hot to the touch.

After I finished washing off the remnant hair in the shower, I was disappointed when I couldn't move the towel on my back at all. Apparently, when you shave a back with hair as thick as mine, it leaves behind velcro in it's place. The towel did not slide or fall off my back. The next day, my shirt wouldn't move. Now I get to look forward to regrowth! My wife suggested that I get it waxed, but I don't think you could pay that little Asian lady in the salon enough money to do that.

Shaving with Joint Compound

In an effort to save money, I got a can of cheapo old man smellin classic Barbasol. My dad used this stuff, and I used to think that his sideburns were white because he got Barbasol shaving cream on them. Nah, he was just old. When you are little, those are the kind of things you think.

The first couple of times I used it, I didn't shake the can. It came out kinda loose and liquididy. So I did the unthinkable. I read the instructions. Isn't is silly to have instructions on a can of shaving cream? Press button, spread on face (or legs if your wife steals your can), shave. Repeat the next day.

In the past, I've never really shook the can of shaving cream when I used it. Either that, or I don't remember doing it. I've always been an Edge man, but when times are tough, everybody has to make sacrifices. Maybe you do have to shake them all. I don't know.

Well, the can says to shake well, so I did. When I pressed the button, it gave me a big glob of "Thick & Rich Shaving Cream." Spreading it on my face reminded me of working on my basement and spreading drywall joint compound on the seams and screw holes. I felt like I was shaving with joint compound. It works pretty well, but my wife doesn't like the scent it leaves behind. Too much like "old man."

You know you've hit the snooze too many times when...

There are sometimes when your imagination gets the best of you. It happens to me frequently when I've overslept. My dreams get strange. This one was pretty strange, and I thought I would share before I forget it.

I've hit the snooze at least once by this time when I'm following one/some of my children around the neighborhood. We go towards a house, and as I get to the front door, I can see that there must be a party going on or something, because the house is packed with people. Someone outside the house points to this man near the front door and says, "That's Dale Murphy." I go inside, look at him and walk past. He was talking to someone, and the house is full of people.

Side note. This is significant because as an LDS child of the South in the 80s, we all knew who Dale Murphy was. I had a poster of him wearing a Braves outfit and holding a glow-in-the-dark real size baseball bat. Anyway, he was pretty special to lots of people. My cousin and I have wanted to meet him for years. He lives somewhere here in Utah.

Now the funny part of the dream; the part where you realize you've slept too long. I walk past him and go towards the wall, and I start crying. Here is someone I've wanted to talk to for years ever since I was a child. I respected him greatly. So I'm trying to gain my composure when some unknown older man said, "Something must have moved this man. What is it son?" I want to try to explain it, but seeing that when I talk when crying, it always comes out wrong.

To end the story, when that older guy talked to me, I startled myself awake to see it was light outside. I know, not a good ending, but funny none the less. What makes it really funny is that in no way would I cry to meet anyone living on Earth. What ridiculous nonsense!

Guitar Hero

My son Daniel is a rockin 4 year old. He is slim and trim with blonde hair that curls at the end. He is rather dashing.

Here he is rocking out.

Look carefully: messy hair, shirtless, Hot Wheels rub-on tattoos, determined look, yeah, he's got it all. He sure looks lots better than I do playing Guitar Hero.

My oldest begs me every day to play Guitar Hero. There are some days that I allow it, but most of the time I don't. Mainly because I'm lazy. He plays on practice mode, and on the slowest setting. It drives me crazy. I think he thinks he has to get a perfect score. That, of course, is not the point of the game.

I have lots of things to do at home besides playing Guitar Hero. My two year old calls me at work and asks me to either take him to Home Depot, or push him on the swings. There are a lot of people that require lots of things from me. But that's the price you pay for being a good dad, I guess. I try to be anyway.