April's Real Blog

Sunday, February 17, 2008

2 Boring Mikes 4 the price of 1

Sadly, even 2day's "Sunday" story is gleaned from the relentless past. Here goes Mike, again:

Formerly little sis. Do you remember how I told the story just last Sunday about how my son took his gloves filled with snow by his sister and whirled them around until they were stretched into shapes not unlike carrots? Well, even if you don’t, I am sure that you will not be surprised that when I was thinking about things I had done in 1979, I remembered something I had done which was remarkably similar thing to the thing my son had done last Sunday..

I had been sitting among a pile of my toys: a Lincoln log cabin, a 6-wheeler truck, a train set, a yo-yo, a bouncy ball, a teddy bear, a purple castle complete with a dead pink guard a naked pink king and other clothed castle characters, a pool ball, a jar of glue, a sequence of plain yellow blocks I had used for a car ramp, a set of marbles, scissors and paper and tape, a Story Time book, an expanding telescope, and one of these things they called record albums I am sure you have never heard of before. While I was sitting there, I noticed I was wearing a pair of ugly green socks, which did not match the colours on my clothes, which were blue pants and a purple-striped shirt. My right foot was bare as I took this sock off my left foot.

Suddenly I had 2 green socks, instead of just one, and I stared at them with pleasure. I stuffed one of the socks into the other one, with my eyes closed for this solemn moment. It wasn’t a sacred moment however; it was actually sock-ular. Get it?

As my son did just last Sunday with his gloves, I discovered the added weight of the extra sock, allowed me to whirl the sock in a circle. I remember the emotion of that moment. My sock, which had previously just been something to absorb the sweat and stink off my body, was now a work of art. I danced about the room as I had been taught by the master. My sock-in-a-sock bounced off the floor around my teddy bear, my blocks, and my bouncy ball. I marveled at its circles, its points of striking the floor, and its ability to defy the laws of physics.

Then once I was done, the magic was gone. I discarded my green socks onto the floor and stuck my hand in my pocket (the standard walking position for most Pattersons). Since they were not there later when I went back for them, I presumed mom had taken care of them. Although I seem to remember mom complaining the socks had sat there so long, they had developed hair over time.

So, you see, formerly little sis, my children are slowly turning into me. Soon, you won’t need to hear any stories about what they are doing, but simply stories about things I did, and then as a transfer of learning, you can apply it to my children in the modern time. That’s what I call “Two Mike stories for the price of one Mike.”

Michael Patterson
Omigah. I think I just fell asleep. Let's all think "new material" thots 4 2morrow, eh?


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  • At 3:39 PM, Anonymous jeremy jones said…

    april, i can't tell if ur bro's story iz supposed 2b 'bout how kids don't need a lotta toys, cuz they will just use socks nstead, or if it's a story 'bout how ur bro didn't thinkin nethin' 'bout destroyin' his clothes.

    the only thing a sock rilly reminds me of wuz that thing u did wen u were takin' off my sock & then we...um...i think i bettah stop talkin' now.

  • At 3:42 PM, Blogger April Patterson said…

    jeremy, i guess i have stopped lookin' 4 apt in mike's stories. i m far 2 beaten down.


  • At 3:47 PM, Anonymous Luis Guzmán said…


    Su hermano was lucky to have a sock to play with. When I was a refugee, mis hermanos and I would have been muy excitado to have sock to play with. All we had was dirt, and may be a rock if we were lucky. When your brother said he wanted to play with dirt in the rain this week, that was the life of a refugee.

    Luis Guzmán

  • At 3:53 PM, Anonymous jeremy jones said…

    april, i'm sad ur beaten down. hey! wut did u think 'bout that trick duncan's silhouette did with his black sock, where he would put it on & it wud disappear? that wuz freaky.

  • At 5:42 PM, Blogger April Patterson said…

    the sock thing was pretty freaky, jeremy. u r rite, that helped distract me from feeling beaten down. and that thing u did, that helped distract me, 2.


  • At 6:21 PM, Blogger DreadedCandiru2 said…

    I can see why your borther might think that his children are turning into him. He's always had a lot of trouble figuring out where he leaves off and other people start.

  • At 8:31 PM, Anonymous michael patterson said…


    Dear Amazon River catfish supervillain, you have a lot of nerve saying I have had a lot of trouble figuring out where I leave off and other people start. Isn’t that whole circle of life part of your catfish breeding? You go up the river to spawn and die, and then your little tadpoles go down the river and back up the river as adult catfish supervillains just to accomplish the same thing. If a catfish supervillain family can do the same thing from generation to generation, then surely the Pattersons can do the same, except without the swimming in the river part (not counting April of course).

    Michael Patterson

  • At 1:01 AM, Anonymous michael patterson said…


    Formerly little sis. You may remember how much trouble my wife has with getting the kids ready to go someplace. Thanks to my experience now as a kept man, I have developed a capability my wife does not have. I can get them dressed to go outside. The secret, formerly little sis, is to have the kids wear a different outfit every time they go outside. It confuses them, and in the midst of their confusion you can take them places.

    Just the other day I had my kids almost completely dressed except for zipping up my son’s coat and my daughter putting on her boot. It had been so long since my son had gone anywhere away from home, he said to me, “Where are we going, Daddy?” I said, “To buy a new bed!—You’re going to be moving into your own room.”

    My son continued on with his inquiry and said, “A new bed for ME?” I replied, “No, for Meredith. You’re getting her bed because it has sides on it.” I know that statement is probably confusing to you, April, because the last time I looked Meredith’s bed had no sides on it. However, I can also remember times when Meredith’s bed had sides on it but my son’s bed was not right beside it in the room. Well, my only explanation is that this was one of those days when Meredith’s bed had sides.

    My daughter realized her tactical advantage, stuck her tongue out at my son, put on lipstick and sang to my son “I get a grown-up bed! I get a grown-up bed!” With her French-looking toque, she looked a little like a young, blonde Edith Piaf. I had gone to put on my coat, but I could help to be captivated by her melodic phrasing, except of course if Edith Piaf were talking about a “grown-up bed” it would mean something entirely different from that of my innocent daughter.

    My son hurled his head back, sprayed tears, and showed off his neck which either had a bow tie on it or had a big hole where the tracheotomy tube used to be. I suspect bow tie is the real answer. Unlike most situations where a Patterson throws their head back, there were no teeth showing, which I can only attribute to my son’s youthful, somewhat toothless age. My son cried, “I don’t WANNA bed wif sides!!!” As I said before, formerly little sis, I suspect my son was confused about that whole “sometimes the bed does or does not have sides” issue. As for why my son would complain about a bed with sides, when he had spent his entire life sleeping in a crib with sides, I cannot hazard a guess as to why he would take issue with sides being present.

    In retribution, he pulled my daughter’s hat over her eyes. Naturally I responded with a firm parental rebuke of “That’s enough! Nobody’s getting into the car until the silly stuff is over!! NO MORE TEASING!.” You have to threaten a child with something they want, in order to appeal to their better nature, and of course there is not very much that ranks higher with a child than getting into the car to go shopping for furniture with their dad. Naturally my kids stopped. But then they turned into silhouettes and one of them said, “Daddy? How come we hafta have separate rooms?”

    I would have thought it would be obvious, since they are constantly teasing each other, why they would need separate rooms, so instead of explaining I decided to make a face at them. I know you disapproved of my grimacing at my kids to make my point, so I opted to try something new this time. I gave them my Herman Munster face. I was tempted to yell out “Lily!” or “Grandpa”, but I don’t think my kids would have gotten the joke.

    Tomorrow. The joy of bed-shopping with small children.

    Michael Patterson


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