birthday number two for son number three

major disclaimer: if you are very sensitive about pampering dogs and it would hurt your feelings if i made fun of pampering dogs, then please do not read any further and just skip down to the poem because i can't afford to lose anymore blog zombies. let's just say that i got a little carried away below such that my wife actually thought i should remove the post but she seems to have forgotten who wears the pants around here. it was only a matter of time before i offended someone on the blog, and i must say that today is as good a day as any. i understand that by writing this disclaimer i am assuring that the people who might be offended by my post will definitely read the post... i guess i could just remove the post, but i have to uphold my artistic integrity. to remove my post would be an affront to all writers everywhere and we can't have that. sorry, i cannot be censored. first amendment: scoreboard. besides, this post is about colston's birthday, so don't be so selfish and take away from that by getting offended

today was colston's second birthday, or as he calls it: his happy day. colston loves happy days for one reason... no, not the presents; no, not the cake; no, not the ice cream (he likes that all the time); and, no, not because his dad sings him a solo rendition of "happy birthday." the biggest reason why colston loves happy days is because of candles.

colston likes candles quite a bit, but he enjoys blowing them out even more. it's actually very entertaining to watch him blow them out. he huffs and he puffs, focuses all his efforts and concentration on one of the many candles and then blows them out one by one and then does it all over again. i think grandpa hodges lit and relit candles on jameson's birthday cake about twenty times last month just so colston could keep blowing them out. he's either a pyro or a firefighter in the making.

colston is a good kid. very mellow. people say he's a mini-jeremy... he should be so lucky. actually, i don't think my cheeks were ever as fat as his are, but i guess that's what makes us so adorable. colston likes basketball and will shoot baskets in the backyard and have aim act as his ballgirl whenever he can. i really think he would literally spend all day shooting if he could. that is right up until he needs a bah bah break (that means bottle) or wants to take a nap with his babies (those are his blankets).

all in all, we are lucky to have him as a member of the cooper five. we just wouldn't be complete without him since the five in the cooper five means five members of the family in case you didn't know. if he weren't around it just wouldn't make sense. if c-town hadn't come along we would have to have gotten some obnoxiously cute rat-like dog and then treat it better than how most kids in first, second and third world countries are treated to make the cooper five brand still work because our sponsors just wouldn't be down with it otherwise.

problem is, i'm not down with treating dogs better than people. don't get me wrong, dogs are great and all, and i'm not saying we should round them all up and sell them to a korean bbq joint, i'm just saying maybe if we combined all the yarn from every wiener dog sweater out there we could probably clothe the octuplets that lady just had for four or five years. and then there's dog strollers... really??? are you kidding me??? do i even need to make fun of those? it's too easy, i won't even do it. i need more of a challenge like making fun of pampering dogs in a pitch so high that only dogs can hear me... then i could make the k-9s self-conscious without setting off the peta whack jobs... now that's a challenge... genius.

then there's dog poop. have some decency people! i don't let my kids go around going number two in the streets and on the sidewalks (number one, yes (but that evaporates quickly), but number two, no... unless of course we are talking about pools, but that's another story). and then there's the obnoxious names to go along with the obnoxious sweaters like poindexter and fufu... what's worse, "original" mormon names or yuppy dog names (seriously, braxton, crispin, colston, as if)???

and then there's the pit bulls that are out mauling kids in the streets... come on, man! basta. to summarize, dogs are not people, too. they are dogs which is a type of animal. people are people which is a type of human being. one far outweighs the other in the grand scheme of things and if i have to explain the difference to you, then we probably would disagree on a number of things on a similar level which i won't get into here because... well, i just won't.

so, let's get back to colston now that the selfish, limelight seeking dogs have stolen the majority of the post meant to be dedicated to the birthday boy. really, this post was supposed to be about colston. as has been noted in the past, i write a poem for the birth announcement of each kid of ours. i called colston's "the boxer" because aim noticed early on that he would hold his arms up like a boxer defending himself or getting ready to land a right hook on someone in the ring. plus, we were in vegas when he was born... it was the perfect fit.

well, it seemed to be a perfect fit at the time, but if i were to re-write the poem today, i'd probably call it "the swimmer" (that is if phelps hadn't been caught hitting a bong, now we're going to have to get a court order to have him remove the cooper five tatoo advertisement he was supposed to start sporting at his swim meets) since colston loves to leisure around in his swimming trunks. he's actually quite obsessive over wearing his swim trunks and won't go to bed unless he's got them on. some nights he'll have us change his swimming trunks two or three times until he decides which swimsuit he's most fetching in that evening.

at any rate, he's a one of the most loveable kids you could ever come across. so loveable, we got him a dog for his birthday sans stroller and sweater. j/k. enjoy the poem.

The Boxer
By Jeremy Cooper

A hush overcame
The impatient crowd
No boredom was present
Not even a shroud

For they’d come from all over
To see the fierce fists of gold
Indeed this poor boy’s story
Had seldom been told

But his legend was fast growing,
His reviews, they were glowing
And in the land of the Vegas
He’d make his first showing

Thus, the venue was fitting
For a fighter of such hype
His spreading fame and catchy name
Meant the timing was ripe

For a town where true winners
Are few and far between
A new breed of champion
Was about to be seen

When the bell finally rang
He made like a bee-line.
He was a survivor flying high
With the ferocious eye of a feline

But his first fighting moments
Were not his most glorious
His trainer grew tense
To watch was laborious

With his eyes slightly swollen
The beating was tollin’
The punches kept coming
And he wasn’t rollin’.

The rumble was fierce
Was this a mistake?
The thumping was more
Than even Jack Bauer could take

A lil’ rope-a-dope
Then a pop, pop, and a bam
His breathing twice halted
And the trainers, they ran

But as he fell to the mat
He never had a doubt
That he would prevail
And things would work out

So he shot right back up
Among the roars of the crowd
If Cinderella Man had been there
He would have been proud

For this steel jawed cager
On victory was hell-bent
And like a phoenix from the ashes
He began his ascent

He started his comeback
With tempestuous attacking
He then gave a clinic
On administering a shellacking

With his fists clenched tightly
He battled ever so mightily
He stung like a bee
While floating butterfly lightly

He pounded like thunder
(but not from down under)
And it fast became apparent
He was no one hit wonder

His speed made him blurry,
His right hooks came in flurries,
And with an uppercut like Ryu’s
He did his job in a hurry.

Balboa would have been shocked,
Clubber Lane he’d have clocked,
Ivan Drago? Not a chance
That Russian would have gotten rocked

The pundits were speechless
The fight was a rout
And without hesitation
The comparisons came out

He’s in the mold of Ali
With the spirit of Joe Louis
Iron Mike even said;
“Man, that white boy’s ludikwis!”

For in the thralls of defeat
He withstood all the heckles
And not since Beck to Harline
In the jaws of Rice Eccles

Had a victory felt so right
And a comeback been so uncanny
He’d grabbed the bull by the horns
And showed he had the anatomy

But more importantly he was here,
He’d thrown his hat in the ring
And his heavenly arrival
Prompted angels to sing.

Pound for pound he was pure,
With no need for disclaimer,
Making one thing for certain:
Jer and Aim’s kid was a gamer!