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 Website: http://dmarciniak.blogspot.com
Profile: I am a Catholic Missionary, a registered nurse practicing in the Emergency Department, husband to the an incredible woman, and father of nine awesome kids.
Recent posts by David Marciniak:
By David Marciniak on October 31st, 2009 | Category: Miscellaneous
On occasion after dinner I will recline on my luxurious sofa (as long as there isn’t dried cereal stuck to it or the milk spilled between the cushions doesn’t smell like feta cheese that has been partially digested). From my pampered position I will summon my beloved children, one by one, to my side…but they won’t come. They have learned over the years that I merely intend to yank them onto the couch, tickle them mercilessly, and send them unceremonioulsly down to the floor in a crumpled, giggling heap. Like Pavolv’s dogs who drooled at the tinkle of a bell, my children have recognized the consequences of certain behaviors, specifically that approaching a seemingly placid father lying on the couch means ticklepalooza. But every once in a while, carelessly detatched from impending events, one of them will wander near…and I get ‘em. Oh, boy I get ‘em.
The children are not unique to this behavior; I am certain each of us could conjure up examples of personal behaviors we are well aware to be detrimental and yet… For example, I am painfully aware that putting any hope in the Buffalo Bills will lead to bitter disappointment, yet I watch. I have tasted the bitter gall of telling one’s wife that one’s mother makes a particular dish a bit better, yet I speak. I have felt the the burn of the searing gaze of a teen-aged daughter when I comment on the location of her most recent blemish, yet my lips move. I am Charlie Brown. I must kick the ball, and so I run, with all my strength, and moments later I am on my back while Lucy howls in laughter.
By David Marciniak on April 18th, 2009 | Category: Miscellaneous I have four teenagers, and in four months that number climbs to five.
Cards and letters of support can be mailed to my home address. In liu of flowers send donations to the Research Department of Premature Graying, c/o Grecian Formula.
For those who have teenagers or are survivors, you know the struggle. I have heard many erudite explanations of the phenomena: hormonal imbalances, myelinization irregularities, etc. I commend researchers as they attempt to find a cause for behaviors currently unexplained. Unfortunately, no one has found a cure.
Nothing helps. My wife used to tell me to let them sleep in on the weekends, with the naive idea that a good night’s (or morning’s, and perhaps afternoon’s)sleep is all that is needed. Nope. The angst is pervasive. They call into question everything, from their faith, the meaning of life, and the value of putting laundry in a hamper. They question authority as they maneuver to discover their place in society, believing inheritantly that they truly should be Emperor of the World. Time is immaterial and is measured only in relation to social activity and “how incredibly long it took me to do the inhuman household chores you have forced me like a Hebrew Slave to complete on a SATURDAY, my Day of Rest”. They look at life through relativistic lenses, believing that all points of view are of equal merit and value. Well, not quite; they believe that THEIR point of view is of merit and value, whether that changes daily, hourly, or in the space of a few seconds. Your point of view is irrelevant if it is even remotely in opposition.
As a parent I have to constantly check the atmosphere of my
By David Marciniak on March 24th, 2009 | Category: Miscellaneous
Every time I put on a pair of socks lately there seems to be a hole in one of them. It started about a year ago, and the problem persists. Whether a white crew sock or a black dress sock, it matters not. The holes suddenly appear, glaringly and uncomfortably present. They make themselves known early in the workday as I go about my routine; I worry that my big toe will have gas gangrene from a lack of blood supply as the sock constricts around it like a tiny cotton blend anaconda. I asked my sweet baboo if we had a moth problem, at which time she looked at me as if I was accusing her of gross household negligence and public drunkenness. No moths. Got it.
This afternoon I looked at my fifteen-year-old son’s feet. They are huge. I asked sweet baboo what size shoe he wears; “10 and a half”, she said as she strained the tortellini. Wow. Them’s big feet. I wondered if his socks had holes like mine. When I asked him he looked at me funny, like he does sometimes when he thinks that I must have fallen on my head from a significant distance as a child. “Yeah, they do, Dad.” He kicked off his sneakers that sweet baboo had refranined from reporting the cost of when he was sure he had a future as a cross country runner and needed JUST THE RIGHT SHOE.
He was wearing my socks.
That explains alot. My children, despite groundations lasting several weeks if not years, still have the nasty habit of running about outside in their socks. Honorable son number one is the worst offender. It is no
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