Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Friday, June 17, 2016
YouTube Tuesday: Ghost in the machine
A very special Father's Day edition of YouTube Tuesday.
Enjoy, dads…
Friday, February 22, 2013
Snow Country for Old Men
Suburban living for the 21st century male has several key milestones.
There's the point where you decide to pay a guy to take care of your yard because who needs that aggravation?
There's the point where you switch from a propane grill to a wood chunk charcoal smoker (dude, don't even bring that charcoal brick stuff around my house. What do you think this is, Gladstone?).
And then there's the day when you get your power snow thrower.
Of these three, I think the final one represents the furthest stage of "maturity." I mean, it seems like a bit of an extravagance. You're spending a couple hundred bucks or so on an appliance that you'll use maybe once or twice a year? But when you have a snow event the likes of which we had this week, you damn well are grateful that you have a snow shovel that you can plug in or power up and just walk behind to clear your driveway. That goes double if, like a majority of the guys on my block, you have "advanced experience in the role of life."
Me? I kind of take it as a point of pride that I haven't yet crossed that threshold. I'm still young. I'm able bodied. I ain't 'fraid of a little cold white stuff, and shoveling it off my driveway is my manly duty, a rite of passage each winter that, like the out-taking of the trash and the smashing of the spiders, proves how important I am to this family.
So I wasn't at all daunted when I opened the garage door Thursday afternoon to attack the thick layer of white stuff in my driveway. Hell, I was kind of looking forward to it!
Then, I moved the first shovel full. This was a heavy snow.
And when I say it was a heavy snow, I don't just mean there was a lot of it. Don't get me wrong, there WAS a lot of it, but it was also quite wet and heavy. This was going to be a tougher job than I was expecting.
Frost thing's first. I shovel a path from the garage door to the end of the driveway. Whew, this is tough. Next, shovel out the rest of one side of the driveway.
By the time I'm halfway done with half the driveway, I've worked up quite a sweat -- a manly sweat, mind you. I can see that I'd better do little advanced planning for the post-shoveling recuperation.
I shed my coat and get on with the job. Soon, I've got half the driveway cleared. That's enough to get one of our cars out of the two-car garage, just in case we have some kind of emergency (like running out of Scotch). I've also got a helluva backache, which makes that Scotch emergency all the more likely.
It all got me wondering just how much snow I moved. We had our driveway and sidewalk replaced last summer, so I know that the area I shoveled is about 907 square feet (130,608 square inches). Multiply that by the 10 inches of snow over the whole thing and you end up with 1,386,080 cubic inches of snow, or 802.13 cubic feet1. That all converts into a pretty seriously stiff back the next day.
But numbers aside, I was prepared to reward myself for a job... well... done.
Also, I'm totally going to get a snow thrower before next winter.
1) All math calculations done by the Internet and may be subject to my complete ineptitude at mathematics.
tagged: winter, snow, Kansas, shoveling, beer, snowstorm, blizzard, weather
There's the point where you decide to pay a guy to take care of your yard because who needs that aggravation?
There's the point where you switch from a propane grill to a wood chunk charcoal smoker (dude, don't even bring that charcoal brick stuff around my house. What do you think this is, Gladstone?).
And then there's the day when you get your power snow thrower.
Of these three, I think the final one represents the furthest stage of "maturity." I mean, it seems like a bit of an extravagance. You're spending a couple hundred bucks or so on an appliance that you'll use maybe once or twice a year? But when you have a snow event the likes of which we had this week, you damn well are grateful that you have a snow shovel that you can plug in or power up and just walk behind to clear your driveway. That goes double if, like a majority of the guys on my block, you have "advanced experience in the role of life."
Me? I kind of take it as a point of pride that I haven't yet crossed that threshold. I'm still young. I'm able bodied. I ain't 'fraid of a little cold white stuff, and shoveling it off my driveway is my manly duty, a rite of passage each winter that, like the out-taking of the trash and the smashing of the spiders, proves how important I am to this family.
So I wasn't at all daunted when I opened the garage door Thursday afternoon to attack the thick layer of white stuff in my driveway. Hell, I was kind of looking forward to it!
 |
| Before: A tabula rasa |
 |
| 10 inches exactly |
And when I say it was a heavy snow, I don't just mean there was a lot of it. Don't get me wrong, there WAS a lot of it, but it was also quite wet and heavy. This was going to be a tougher job than I was expecting.
Frost thing's first. I shovel a path from the garage door to the end of the driveway. Whew, this is tough. Next, shovel out the rest of one side of the driveway.
 |
| Halfway done with half the driveway |
 |
| I'm going to need this later... |
 |
| After |
But numbers aside, I was prepared to reward myself for a job... well... done.
 |
| Time for a cold one |
1) All math calculations done by the Internet and may be subject to my complete ineptitude at mathematics.
tagged: winter, snow, Kansas, shoveling, beer, snowstorm, blizzard, weather
Thursday, February 07, 2013
Graze anatomy
It's not something I talk about, but I'm not afraid to say that I'm not nearly the man I used to be.
You see, a couple of years ago I went through a weight-loss regimen. I never really got the hang of political correctness, but I believe the proper term for my body-type was "fatus-boombalatus," and I'd come to that point in my life where you've gotta either get busy livin' or get busy dyin'... Aw hell, it wasn't all that dramatic. I just wanted to see a lot less of myself.
So I did. I dropped about 40 lbs and never looked back.
I didn't really want to make a big deal about it, and I still don't. So I'm not going to go into the whole process right here/right now (maybe some other time). I only bring it up by way of introduction of what I do want to discuss.
You see, part of getting rid of 20-percent of myself was eating smaller portions but higher-quality food. Of course if you're consuming fewer calories, you want to get more from each individual one. So you look for good ways to eat nutritious food.
Well, a few weeks ago I stumbled across a Tumblr post about a new service/web startup called Graze. This service married my passion for being lazy by shopping from home over the internet with my passion for eating delicious low-calorie snacks.
Well, here's how they explain it:
So I like what I see, and I sign up to pay five bucks a week for a box of healthy snacks that get sent to me in the mail. Sounded like a good deal to me. I mean, I spend more than that on coffee each week.
About a week ago we get the first shipment. (which was free, btw. Yeah, your first and fifth boxes are free when you sign up. Sweet!).
When you enroll for the service, you pick the four snacks you want included. For me, the toasted pistachios were a no brainer (FTW!). I also opted for a dried raisin/apple/almond mix ("Eleanor's Apple Crumble"), and a Fruity Mango Chutney (with black pepper dippers).
I also got the "Yin & Yang" a mix of almonds, raisins dried cherries and chocolates. I'm not crazy about chocolate, but I thought the women in my life might like it. (I was correct, of course).
All of the food is really tasty, especially the apple stuff which was gone within a matter of hours. And all of the portions are low-calorie (the one with the chocolate was 217 calories for the entire serving).
I can hear you asking... "But, hey. You ordered food through the internet? Was it any good?"
Well, when the box arrived, I opened it and put on the dining room table. Between me, my Supermodel Wife and two daughters, it was empty within two and a half days. So, yeah it was good.
Looking forward to the next box coming in this week. There's a kind of granola bar-type snack that I'm eager to try out.
Anyway, if you're looking for a nutritious, low-cost and (most importantly) lazy way to get good snacks, check out Graze. Since they're sill in a beta soft-launch, you'll need an invitation code. You can use mine if you want: TNPZWDP
If you sign up, let me know what snacks you tried and what you think.
tagged: diet, health, nutrition, snack, food, Graze, weight loss
You see, a couple of years ago I went through a weight-loss regimen. I never really got the hang of political correctness, but I believe the proper term for my body-type was "fatus-boombalatus," and I'd come to that point in my life where you've gotta either get busy livin' or get busy dyin'... Aw hell, it wasn't all that dramatic. I just wanted to see a lot less of myself.
So I did. I dropped about 40 lbs and never looked back.
I didn't really want to make a big deal about it, and I still don't. So I'm not going to go into the whole process right here/right now (maybe some other time). I only bring it up by way of introduction of what I do want to discuss.
You see, part of getting rid of 20-percent of myself was eating smaller portions but higher-quality food. Of course if you're consuming fewer calories, you want to get more from each individual one. So you look for good ways to eat nutritious food.
Well, a few weeks ago I stumbled across a Tumblr post about a new service/web startup called Graze. This service married my passion for being lazy by shopping from home over the internet with my passion for eating delicious low-calorie snacks.
Well, here's how they explain it:
So I like what I see, and I sign up to pay five bucks a week for a box of healthy snacks that get sent to me in the mail. Sounded like a good deal to me. I mean, I spend more than that on coffee each week.
About a week ago we get the first shipment. (which was free, btw. Yeah, your first and fifth boxes are free when you sign up. Sweet!).
When you enroll for the service, you pick the four snacks you want included. For me, the toasted pistachios were a no brainer (FTW!). I also opted for a dried raisin/apple/almond mix ("Eleanor's Apple Crumble"), and a Fruity Mango Chutney (with black pepper dippers).
I also got the "Yin & Yang" a mix of almonds, raisins dried cherries and chocolates. I'm not crazy about chocolate, but I thought the women in my life might like it. (I was correct, of course).
All of the food is really tasty, especially the apple stuff which was gone within a matter of hours. And all of the portions are low-calorie (the one with the chocolate was 217 calories for the entire serving).
I can hear you asking... "But, hey. You ordered food through the internet? Was it any good?"
Well, when the box arrived, I opened it and put on the dining room table. Between me, my Supermodel Wife and two daughters, it was empty within two and a half days. So, yeah it was good.
Looking forward to the next box coming in this week. There's a kind of granola bar-type snack that I'm eager to try out.
Anyway, if you're looking for a nutritious, low-cost and (most importantly) lazy way to get good snacks, check out Graze. Since they're sill in a beta soft-launch, you'll need an invitation code. You can use mine if you want: TNPZWDP
If you sign up, let me know what snacks you tried and what you think.
tagged: diet, health, nutrition, snack, food, Graze, weight loss
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
End zone
Let's face it. In the grand scheme of things, sports American style, aren't all that important.
To misquote my good friend Rick Blaine, "The problems of grown men playing a child's game don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world."
To misquote my good friend Rick Blaine, "The problems of grown men playing a child's game don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world."
But then again, in the grand scheme of things, what is important? Spending time with friends and family? Getting the most enjoyment of what little time we have together? Accepting that life is suffering, and it's better to do it with people we love than alone?
Curtis Kitchen has a great post today. It's about an old story. A tragic story that happens over and over, and will happen to all of us eventually.
Still, there's something to be said for an old story well told.
tagged: life, sports, football, NFL, death, family, cancer
Five of his sons were in the room, as were a daughter-in-law and an infant granddaughter, a full group that would spend the next week together starting the next day, nearly 24 hours per day, in a hospice care facility. The NFC Championship game was on the hospital television, and while the volume had been kept low for the most part, it was turned up as a replay was analyzed. The camera flashed to San Francisco coach Jim Harbaugh, who clearly disagreed with the replay call on a disputed completed pass.
As his morphine intake increased in a morbid race against his body’s increasing pain, Dad had spent recent days mostly asleep, only waking when his failing body demanded water, or when a nurse would attempt to move him in his bed. However, as it turned out, that replay moment came in the middle of Dad’s last rally, and he had gone as far as to sit up a bit in bed, fully alert, enjoying both the company in his room and the game.
That’s when, despite his voice being mostly a loud whisper by that point, Dad let the 49ers coach have it.
“Shut your mouth, Jim Harbaugh!”
tagged: life, sports, football, NFL, death, family, cancer
Tuesday, May 08, 2012
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Parents as marketers
I've been doing this parenting thing for a few years now, and I'm getting pretty proficient at it (if I do say so my damn self).
Now, I don't claim to be as good as everybody. Certainly I'm not as good as my own parents, but then few are.
B
ut as far as I know, all of my children still live under my roof, and most of them still have most of their digits (which is more than I can say for myself). None of them have intentionally set fire to anything (that I know of) and we don't seem to be having any Mountain Dew Mouth trouble as of yet.
What I'm trying to say is that, so far things are going as well as can be expected, and I've picked up a few tips and tricks along the way.
The one I like to highlight today is one that many marketing and advertising professionals use all the time. It's about product positioning, and I'll illustrate it with this quick anecdote.
Our two-year-old is in a finicky stage. There are only a couple of foods she'll eat, and since I'm in charge of breakfast on a daily basis, this sometimes irritates the crap out of me. I mean, I'll go to all the work of preparing a delicious bowl of instant oatmeal only to have a budding food snob turn her nose up at it.
So I've been trying different breakfast items to see what works. At the super market the other day I picked up a box of Kix cereal, reasonably healthy because it doesn't have added sugar (which is toxic, by the way). Yesterday, I poured a few of he corn-based pellets into a bowl and set it in front of her for breakfast.
Of course, she would have none of it. One look at the pile of cereal and she handed me a stink eye along with a sharp "No! I want yogurt!"
Now I know most of you don't put up with this kind of attitude from a two-year-old, and you shouldn't. I don't either. I made sure to get an apology before providing a bowl of plain vanilla yogurt, her favorite. But knowing that a key to getting you're little house apes to eat different foods is just getting them to try them, I came back a few minutes later with a small handful of Kix in my hand.
I made sure she was watching when I popped a couple in my mouth and made the "Mmmmmm!" sound and said "Wow, these tiny little cookies are delicious!"
Key piece of information here: The girls is very familiar with the concept of cookies. She's tried them. She love's them. She would probably exist (for a few short years before dying of childhood diabetes) solely on them if we let her.
And of course, the mention of "cookies" got her attention. She tentatively took one of the little round pellets from my hand and popped it in her mouth. Then she grabbed the rest and ate them all. Next thing you know, she's going back to that bowl of the "cookies" and chowing down.
You see, it's all about Placement. Big Cereal does this all the time, using cartoon characters and high fructose corn syrup to get children to eat toxic substances.
As a parent, I'm just flipping the script on them. Using the same kind of marketing tactics to trick my kids into eating something less unhealthy.
And that's, one to grow on…
tagged: parenting, marketing, food, KIX, breakfast, kids
Now, I don't claim to be as good as everybody. Certainly I'm not as good as my own parents, but then few are.
B
ut as far as I know, all of my children still live under my roof, and most of them still have most of their digits (which is more than I can say for myself). None of them have intentionally set fire to anything (that I know of) and we don't seem to be having any Mountain Dew Mouth trouble as of yet.
What I'm trying to say is that, so far things are going as well as can be expected, and I've picked up a few tips and tricks along the way.
The one I like to highlight today is one that many marketing and advertising professionals use all the time. It's about product positioning, and I'll illustrate it with this quick anecdote.
Our two-year-old is in a finicky stage. There are only a couple of foods she'll eat, and since I'm in charge of breakfast on a daily basis, this sometimes irritates the crap out of me. I mean, I'll go to all the work of preparing a delicious bowl of instant oatmeal only to have a budding food snob turn her nose up at it.
So I've been trying different breakfast items to see what works. At the super market the other day I picked up a box of Kix cereal, reasonably healthy because it doesn't have added sugar (which is toxic, by the way). Yesterday, I poured a few of he corn-based pellets into a bowl and set it in front of her for breakfast.
Of course, she would have none of it. One look at the pile of cereal and she handed me a stink eye along with a sharp "No! I want yogurt!"
Now I know most of you don't put up with this kind of attitude from a two-year-old, and you shouldn't. I don't either. I made sure to get an apology before providing a bowl of plain vanilla yogurt, her favorite. But knowing that a key to getting you're little house apes to eat different foods is just getting them to try them, I came back a few minutes later with a small handful of Kix in my hand.
I made sure she was watching when I popped a couple in my mouth and made the "Mmmmmm!" sound and said "Wow, these tiny little cookies are delicious!"
Key piece of information here: The girls is very familiar with the concept of cookies. She's tried them. She love's them. She would probably exist (for a few short years before dying of childhood diabetes) solely on them if we let her.
And of course, the mention of "cookies" got her attention. She tentatively took one of the little round pellets from my hand and popped it in her mouth. Then she grabbed the rest and ate them all. Next thing you know, she's going back to that bowl of the "cookies" and chowing down.
You see, it's all about Placement. Big Cereal does this all the time, using cartoon characters and high fructose corn syrup to get children to eat toxic substances.
As a parent, I'm just flipping the script on them. Using the same kind of marketing tactics to trick my kids into eating something less unhealthy.
And that's, one to grow on…
tagged: parenting, marketing, food, KIX, breakfast, kids
Wednesday, March 02, 2011
Who wants to live forever?
A few months ago, I caught this interesting tidbit on The Slate and stuck it in the "to blog" file in the back of my mind.
But in the way that thought gives way to thought and day give way to day, I just sort of left it on the mental back burner. And frankly, this whole blog has been on the mental back burner for a couple of weeks, so I figured now's a good time to dust off this topic and see if it has any legs left.
The story from The Slate was about how human life expectancy is getting much longer. It's happening not just in developed countries, but all over the globe. People are living longer, significantly longer. In fact according to the article, when we turn 50 most of us will still have more years ahead of us than our grandparents had when they turned 40.
This development comes with an argyle sock full of difficult socio-economic problems that someone will have to deal with: How do you feed all these old geezers? How can an already broke-ass Social Security system handle our additional years of geezerhood? Is Larry More really going to live long enough for me to have to watch him as a 3-D hologram?
I can't really answer these questions. Probably something for the upcoming young people to deal with the way my generation had to deal with cleaning up the Grunge music mess.
But when I first read the article I happened to be going through a bit of an existential funk, thinking about how quickly the first few decades of my life seem to have gone by and how even 100 years doesn't seem like nearly enough time to do everything that you want to do.
I know, I can hear what some of you are thinking. "Who wants to live to be 100, anyway?" And to be completely honest, I probably said idiotic shit like that back when I was young and stupid myself. Of course the answer to "Who would want to live to be 100?" is "Anybody who's 99."
As I've "matured" I've found that I love life. Sure it's crappy sometimes. There's always some jerk with an Apple logo sticker on his rear windshield who speeds up in rush hour traffic to block you from making a lane change. There are still people in the checkout line at the supermarket who insist on taking 15 minutes to write out a check (that's 15 minutes that I'll never get back, btw). The world, our culture and everything is pretty much going down the toilet.
But dammit, I really want to be around to enjoy this crappy world for a long, long time.
I love my family and I want to spend lots of time with them. I love seeing my kids grow up, even as I'm saddened to see them pass through the various stages of getting older. For every a-hole that doesn't hold the elevator for you, there's a glorious sunny spring morning, there are beautiful and priceless interstitial moments with your Supermodel Wife, there's your daughter with a death grip on your finger as she learns to walk, rather than crawl, down the stairs.
Everything just seems to be happening so fast. When I consider my own mortality, I think about how sad it will be to get to the end of the road and look back to see how short of a journey it was after all. Maybe life has a way of wearing you down as you age to the point that, by the time you get to the end, you're ready for it. But that hasn't happened to me yet. So when I read about increased longevity, I say bring it on.
It seem at this point that I would need 300 or 400 years to really absorb everything life has to offer, do everything I want to do, suck all the joyful marrow out of life's cold, cracked bones. Even that's just a guess. I'm sure that when I reached 399, I'd be thinking another 150 years or so would be nice.
I'm kind of just rambling on now, just freeforming this thing (that's what happens when you get old). I know I'm not alone and these are hardly original thoughts. Poems, songs, books, hell entire religions have been built around this subject. One could argue that the contemplation or our own mortality is central to what it means to be human.
So let me put it to you. Am I just stuck in a mid-life funk here? Can it even be considered mid-life given the longer lifespans? How long do you want to live, and more importantly, how long should Larry More be allowed to geezer up the airwaves?
Note: If you're reading this from an RSS reader, you might want to click through to the page to participate in the embedded poll question, if you can figure it out, ya old coot!
tagged: life, expectancy, science, society, Five For Fighting, family, mortality
But in the way that thought gives way to thought and day give way to day, I just sort of left it on the mental back burner. And frankly, this whole blog has been on the mental back burner for a couple of weeks, so I figured now's a good time to dust off this topic and see if it has any legs left.
The story from The Slate was about how human life expectancy is getting much longer. It's happening not just in developed countries, but all over the globe. People are living longer, significantly longer. In fact according to the article, when we turn 50 most of us will still have more years ahead of us than our grandparents had when they turned 40.This development comes with an argyle sock full of difficult socio-economic problems that someone will have to deal with: How do you feed all these old geezers? How can an already broke-ass Social Security system handle our additional years of geezerhood? Is Larry More really going to live long enough for me to have to watch him as a 3-D hologram?
I can't really answer these questions. Probably something for the upcoming young people to deal with the way my generation had to deal with cleaning up the Grunge music mess.But when I first read the article I happened to be going through a bit of an existential funk, thinking about how quickly the first few decades of my life seem to have gone by and how even 100 years doesn't seem like nearly enough time to do everything that you want to do.
I know, I can hear what some of you are thinking. "Who wants to live to be 100, anyway?" And to be completely honest, I probably said idiotic shit like that back when I was young and stupid myself. Of course the answer to "Who would want to live to be 100?" is "Anybody who's 99."
As I've "matured" I've found that I love life. Sure it's crappy sometimes. There's always some jerk with an Apple logo sticker on his rear windshield who speeds up in rush hour traffic to block you from making a lane change. There are still people in the checkout line at the supermarket who insist on taking 15 minutes to write out a check (that's 15 minutes that I'll never get back, btw). The world, our culture and everything is pretty much going down the toilet.But dammit, I really want to be around to enjoy this crappy world for a long, long time.
I love my family and I want to spend lots of time with them. I love seeing my kids grow up, even as I'm saddened to see them pass through the various stages of getting older. For every a-hole that doesn't hold the elevator for you, there's a glorious sunny spring morning, there are beautiful and priceless interstitial moments with your Supermodel Wife, there's your daughter with a death grip on your finger as she learns to walk, rather than crawl, down the stairs.
Everything just seems to be happening so fast. When I consider my own mortality, I think about how sad it will be to get to the end of the road and look back to see how short of a journey it was after all. Maybe life has a way of wearing you down as you age to the point that, by the time you get to the end, you're ready for it. But that hasn't happened to me yet. So when I read about increased longevity, I say bring it on.
It seem at this point that I would need 300 or 400 years to really absorb everything life has to offer, do everything I want to do, suck all the joyful marrow out of life's cold, cracked bones. Even that's just a guess. I'm sure that when I reached 399, I'd be thinking another 150 years or so would be nice.
I'm kind of just rambling on now, just freeforming this thing (that's what happens when you get old). I know I'm not alone and these are hardly original thoughts. Poems, songs, books, hell entire religions have been built around this subject. One could argue that the contemplation or our own mortality is central to what it means to be human.So let me put it to you. Am I just stuck in a mid-life funk here? Can it even be considered mid-life given the longer lifespans? How long do you want to live, and more importantly, how long should Larry More be allowed to geezer up the airwaves?
Note: If you're reading this from an RSS reader, you might want to click through to the page to participate in the embedded poll question, if you can figure it out, ya old coot!
tagged: life, expectancy, science, society, Five For Fighting, family, mortality
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Mr. Emaw's Neighborhood: Chapter 2 — For the Kids
When your kids start going to school, you're bound to run into minor differences of opinion in regards to parenting.
On occasion they can be major differences, but mostly (at least in our school district) all the parents want pretty much the same thing for their kids: good education, health, happiness, etc.
Well, it was one of these minor differences of opinion that I experienced the other day. I was picking up my kid from the after-school care in the lower level of the elementary. I bumped into the mother of my kid's best friend, and we were chit-chatting while our respective kids got their respective gear together so we could go to our respective homes.
Nothing but respect here.
As we were chatting an hyperacting 7-year-old boy came scurrying down the hall like a gerbil on meth.
Eyes wide, hair wild, he looked at me and exclaimed, "Did you see all the snow we got! I can't wait to get home and play in it! Woooooo!"
This was followed by a back flip and a maneuver in which he ran up one wall, across the ceiling and down the other to stop and gave an unreturned high-five in front of me.
I, without so much as a pause, gave him my best "sorry to burst your bubble" look and said, "Oooh, yeah. Have you been outside since you got to school this morning?
"No," he said.
"Mmmm. Yeah. Well, it's been so sunny today that all the snow has melted. It's just a soggy muddy mess out there right now. Bummer, kid."
I swear, the kid shrank at least an inch. His shoulders, formerly held high in excitement, slumped in disappointment. His face, a few seconds ago alight with the enthusiasm of youth, was suddenly gloomy as a San Francisco summer.
With heavy feet, he trudged despondently back into the nearby classroom to ponder the cruelties of fate at robbing him of his fun in the snow.
My neighbor, the mother with whom I had been visiting, looked at me, a little surprised but also amused.
"You're mean," she said, smiling at my little joke.
But you know what? I don't really think it was all that mean. Sure I was having a bit of fun at the expense of this kid. But isn't that why we have kids in the first place? For the LOLZ?
But the way I see it, I was doing the kid a favor.
I mean, think about how happy he was when his parents picked him up and he went outside to see his winter wonderland intact and ready for sledding.
And besides, it was a valuable lesson for the young chap. Don't trust everything people tell you, especially if they're over 30. Gather evidence before jumping to conclusions.
And above all, don't let the words of a bunch of nattering nabobs of negativity dash your dreams or winter fun.
tagged: snow, school, neighbor, neighborhood, life lessons, kids, parenting
On occasion they can be major differences, but mostly (at least in our school district) all the parents want pretty much the same thing for their kids: good education, health, happiness, etc.
Well, it was one of these minor differences of opinion that I experienced the other day. I was picking up my kid from the after-school care in the lower level of the elementary. I bumped into the mother of my kid's best friend, and we were chit-chatting while our respective kids got their respective gear together so we could go to our respective homes.
Nothing but respect here.
As we were chatting an hyperacting 7-year-old boy came scurrying down the hall like a gerbil on meth.
Eyes wide, hair wild, he looked at me and exclaimed, "Did you see all the snow we got! I can't wait to get home and play in it! Woooooo!"This was followed by a back flip and a maneuver in which he ran up one wall, across the ceiling and down the other to stop and gave an unreturned high-five in front of me.
I, without so much as a pause, gave him my best "sorry to burst your bubble" look and said, "Oooh, yeah. Have you been outside since you got to school this morning?
"No," he said.
"Mmmm. Yeah. Well, it's been so sunny today that all the snow has melted. It's just a soggy muddy mess out there right now. Bummer, kid."I swear, the kid shrank at least an inch. His shoulders, formerly held high in excitement, slumped in disappointment. His face, a few seconds ago alight with the enthusiasm of youth, was suddenly gloomy as a San Francisco summer.
With heavy feet, he trudged despondently back into the nearby classroom to ponder the cruelties of fate at robbing him of his fun in the snow.
My neighbor, the mother with whom I had been visiting, looked at me, a little surprised but also amused.
"You're mean," she said, smiling at my little joke.
But you know what? I don't really think it was all that mean. Sure I was having a bit of fun at the expense of this kid. But isn't that why we have kids in the first place? For the LOLZ?
But the way I see it, I was doing the kid a favor.
I mean, think about how happy he was when his parents picked him up and he went outside to see his winter wonderland intact and ready for sledding.
And besides, it was a valuable lesson for the young chap. Don't trust everything people tell you, especially if they're over 30. Gather evidence before jumping to conclusions.
And above all, don't let the words of a bunch of nattering nabobs of negativity dash your dreams or winter fun.
tagged: snow, school, neighbor, neighborhood, life lessons, kids, parenting
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Vocabulary
I was doing my dadly duty last week, taking my 7-year-old daughter to a school skating party.
She had missed the previous skating party and was totally jonesing for a skate. She was so eager to go to the party that we were able to hold it over her blackmail-style and get some extra good behavior and chores "or else your not going to get to go skating."
Anyway, we get to the skating rink, put on her skates and let her out on the floor to knock herself out -- not literally of course, she's not a great skater but she only fell two or three times. And with the exception of a quick snack break, she spent pretty much the whole time on shuffling around the skate floor.
Toward the end of the skating party, I was standing on the carpet waiting for her to come out to return the skates. She rolled off the floor and we went over to a bench to change shoes.
She pulls me down to say something into my ear.
"One of those bigger kids out there said the 'F Word'" she said.
I just kind of blinked and I think I may have done a short sigh.
"Well, just don't listen when you hear that," I replied. I was pretty calm. I said it in the same tone you might use when saying
"Just remember to wash your face after the dog licks all of the peanut butter off."
You see, I'd done this quick calculation in my mind. I don't want to fly off the handle and make "The F Word" seem like it's this big magical mystery word. I don't want to encourage her to say the word by banning her from uttering it. It's human nature to want to do something that someone tells you you can do.
I didn't want to turn "The F Word" into some kind of forbidden fruit.
But I also want to let her know that I do not approve of her using that word at her age.
But later, when we got home, I know she was still curious. Out of earshot of her Supermodel Mother, she came and whispered in my ear once again...
"Do you know what the F Word is," she asked, as if she were privy to secret information that I didn't have. "Do you want me to tell it to you?"
"No" I said. "I don't want to hear it and I don't want you to say it."
I don't think the issue is over. I'm sure she heard it at school. In subsequent conversations, she implied that one of the boys (Boys... sheesh... don't even get me started!) in her class had been saying it.
Well, I guess first grade is when you start learning these things...
tagged: family, vocabulary, parenting, F Word, first grade, fatherhood
She had missed the previous skating party and was totally jonesing for a skate. She was so eager to go to the party that we were able to hold it over her blackmail-style and get some extra good behavior and chores "or else your not going to get to go skating."Anyway, we get to the skating rink, put on her skates and let her out on the floor to knock herself out -- not literally of course, she's not a great skater but she only fell two or three times. And with the exception of a quick snack break, she spent pretty much the whole time on shuffling around the skate floor.
Toward the end of the skating party, I was standing on the carpet waiting for her to come out to return the skates. She rolled off the floor and we went over to a bench to change shoes.
She pulls me down to say something into my ear.
"One of those bigger kids out there said the 'F Word'" she said.
I just kind of blinked and I think I may have done a short sigh.
"Well, just don't listen when you hear that," I replied. I was pretty calm. I said it in the same tone you might use when saying
"Just remember to wash your face after the dog licks all of the peanut butter off."You see, I'd done this quick calculation in my mind. I don't want to fly off the handle and make "The F Word" seem like it's this big magical mystery word. I don't want to encourage her to say the word by banning her from uttering it. It's human nature to want to do something that someone tells you you can do.
I didn't want to turn "The F Word" into some kind of forbidden fruit.
But I also want to let her know that I do not approve of her using that word at her age.
But later, when we got home, I know she was still curious. Out of earshot of her Supermodel Mother, she came and whispered in my ear once again...
"Do you know what the F Word is," she asked, as if she were privy to secret information that I didn't have. "Do you want me to tell it to you?"
"No" I said. "I don't want to hear it and I don't want you to say it."
I don't think the issue is over. I'm sure she heard it at school. In subsequent conversations, she implied that one of the boys (Boys... sheesh... don't even get me started!) in her class had been saying it.
Well, I guess first grade is when you start learning these things...
tagged: family, vocabulary, parenting, F Word, first grade, fatherhood
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Getting ethnic
One of the best benefits of living in a city (as opposed to a cave, where I grew up) is the opportunity to experience life and culture from the perspective of someone else.
That opportunity, combined with Saturday's amazing weather and a strong desire to avoid doing yard work led us to hit up the Ethnic Enrichment Festival at Swope Park.
It was a great time, and like I said, the weather couldn't have been better. I don't know if it's because of global climate change or what, but it's been incredibly unseasonably pleasant around here this year.
There were about a babillion booths at the festival, and I think we visited all of them.
Since we arrived in the late afternoon, one of the first orders of business was finding something to eat. This isn't difficult in the least. Just pick out a booth and stand in line for a few minutes. I chose to stick with my own Scotch-Irish heritage and dine on some bangers and mash from the Scottish booth (unfortunately, they weren't giving out any Scotch whisky, dammit).
We had dessert pastries from the Scandinavian tent. The powdered sugar dusted pancake balls were a big hit, as were the various fruit Danishes we sampled. Of course, later in the evening I treated myself to a mystery meat skewer and an ice-cold coconut from the Thailand pavilion.
But most of our time was spent waiting in line at the Pakistan booth where a talented artist was offering Henna tattoos for a small fee.
Our six-year-old daughter was determined to wait as long as it took to get one on her hand. Seriously. We waited a looong time.
I distracted myself briefly with trip to the privies and a brief stop to watch a group of Slovenian (I think) musicians perform some traditional tunes.
It was well after dark when we left. And although I felt culturally enriched, the food and the clutch full of trinkets left my wallet a bit lighter. But I think we got our money's worth.
tagged: henna, Pakistan, Kansas City, Ethnic Enrichment Festival, family, food
That opportunity, combined with Saturday's amazing weather and a strong desire to avoid doing yard work led us to hit up the Ethnic Enrichment Festival at Swope Park.
It was a great time, and like I said, the weather couldn't have been better. I don't know if it's because of global climate change or what, but it's been incredibly unseasonably pleasant around here this year.There were about a babillion booths at the festival, and I think we visited all of them.
Since we arrived in the late afternoon, one of the first orders of business was finding something to eat. This isn't difficult in the least. Just pick out a booth and stand in line for a few minutes. I chose to stick with my own Scotch-Irish heritage and dine on some bangers and mash from the Scottish booth (unfortunately, they weren't giving out any Scotch whisky, dammit).We had dessert pastries from the Scandinavian tent. The powdered sugar dusted pancake balls were a big hit, as were the various fruit Danishes we sampled. Of course, later in the evening I treated myself to a mystery meat skewer and an ice-cold coconut from the Thailand pavilion.
But most of our time was spent waiting in line at the Pakistan booth where a talented artist was offering Henna tattoos for a small fee.
Our six-year-old daughter was determined to wait as long as it took to get one on her hand. Seriously. We waited a looong time.I distracted myself briefly with trip to the privies and a brief stop to watch a group of Slovenian (I think) musicians perform some traditional tunes.
It was well after dark when we left. And although I felt culturally enriched, the food and the clutch full of trinkets left my wallet a bit lighter. But I think we got our money's worth.tagged: henna, Pakistan, Kansas City, Ethnic Enrichment Festival, family, food
Thursday, July 23, 2009
The Legend of Dexter, Part I
Let me introduce you to Dexter the Wonder Dog.
No, he wasn't named after Dexter the serial killer of criminals. He's been around much longer than that. He was actually named after Dexter, the boy genius.
Anyway, you may recognize him as a Jack Russell Terrier. Not sure how much you know about dog breeds, but this particular strain of terrier was originally bred back in the days of yore by the Parson Jack Russell, hence the name (this isn't getting too complicated for you, is it?).
It turns out that foxes were a huge problem in England back in Master Russell's day, and he needed a dog that would chase foxes, weasels and the like into their burrows and bring them back out or hold them there until they could be dug out. So the dogs had to be fierce, brave and smart, not to mention very athletic with lots of stamina (If you've ever chased a weasel into a hole, you know what I mean).
Our boy Dexter is all of these things. In fact, it is his superior intelligence and athleticism that allows him to do such things as Sit...
... Sit Up ...
... Lay Down ...
... Roll Over...
... Play Dead ...
... Stand ...
... Dance ...
... Take a Bow ...
... And even jump through hoops ...
Dog is smart, is what I'm sayin'. And while he's generally good tempered (he especially likes people (unless you're wearing a US Postal Service Uniform, then God help you...)), he has neither love nor patience for rodents roaming around his backyard.
Rabbits are summarily chase out without exception. And normally ubiquitous squirrels in our neighborhood caused him no end of agita as they taunted him from the treetops.
That is until a few weeks ago.
It was a pleasant mid-summer's day. Dexter was on his regular daily patrol in the back yard when he noticed one of the evil gray squirrels sharpening its teeth on our daughter's swing set.
He immediately gave chase, barking like Christian Bale on crystal meth. In a few seconds he had the quarry treed in one of the river birches we have in the yard.
Dexter barked and chased the squirrel from tree to tree for the next couple of hours. Yes, hours. That's why we sometimes call him The Tenacious D. He doesn't give up easily.
Eventually the squirrel made its way back to the wood-frame swing set. Typically, a squirrel will run back and forth across the top ridge of the swing set, working to get Dexter out of position so that it can make a running jump to the chain link fence and escape to the safety of the neighbor's yard.
But not this day. On this day, Dexter was on his game. He had put too much time and effort into chasing this furry offender, and he wasn't about to let him go.
When the squirrel made the leap, Dexter was ready. The rodent hit the ground and Dexter was on him in a flash. Powerful canine jaws immediately clenched on fragile rodent throat.
A few violent shakes of the head and the snap of a spine and it was all over.
The story was relayed to me by my backyard neighbor, who works from home and saw the whole thing (no doubt highly annoyed by the incessant barking, but entertained nonetheless by the exciting ending). He said he saw Dexter carry the carcass and leave it along the south fence line. I looked but couldn't find the remains of the squirrel.
I assumed that Dexter had devoured his hard-earned bounty. But a few days later I found the dead squirrel as I was mowing. It was undefiled by Dexter, aside from a bit of gnawing on its tail. Yes, it was smelly and maggot-infested, but Dexter hadn't eaten so much as an ear.
It was all sport for him. A killing driven by a deep instinctual need to fulfill that for which he was bred.
I should mention also that I haven't seen a squirrel in our back yard since this incident.
tagged: dog, pets, Dexter, Jack Russell Terrier, hunt, squirrel, wildlife
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Persona non blogga
Hello? (tap, tap, tap) Is this thing on?
Wow. Funny how real life can get in the way of the internetz sometimes. Not funny like "ha ha" funny. More like funny in that ironical, makes-you-think kind of way.
So anyway, here's an update from my Awesome life. A few highlights from my week (like you care).
Our second daughter arrived!!!
That's right. I'm doing my part to pass on superior genetic material to help delay the inevitable demise of the human race. Now mind you, I'm not talking about my genes. The world doesn't need more fat bald guys. But it's important that my Supermodel Wife's Supermodel Genes get passed on to future generations. For our purposes, that means a second future-Supermodel daughter.
And she was an early bird, arriving about three weeks early. Four pounds. Twelve ounces. Tons of heart.
Yeah. It's been a good week.
tagged: family, baby, tomato, Topsy Turvy, bowling, Xtacles, environmentalist
Wow. Funny how real life can get in the way of the internetz sometimes. Not funny like "ha ha" funny. More like funny in that ironical, makes-you-think kind of way.
So anyway, here's an update from my Awesome life. A few highlights from my week (like you care).
- I finally mowed my grass in the back yard. Due to a series of unfortunate events that included business travel and lots of rain, some of the grass back there was nearly a foot tall. And don't even get me started on the weeds. My back yard has more weed than a Rotterdam coffee house.
Kicked ass at Need for Speed Undercover on the Wii. I think my real life driving style has really prepared me for success in this game.- Contributed to the Xtacles second-place finish in our weekly bowling league match up. I have a feeling that Logtar and Chimpotle are getting frustrated with my unconventional overhand bowling style. Trust me guys, it will start to click soon.
- Planted some upside-down tomatoes. Also, some upside-down cucumbers. Up next: Upside-down carrots and upside "home-grown herbs."
- Installed a keypad garage door opener. Yeah, most people in the 'burbs already have one of these, so I thought I'd bring us into the 1990s. Email me if you want the combination.
Our second daughter arrived!!!
That's right. I'm doing my part to pass on superior genetic material to help delay the inevitable demise of the human race. Now mind you, I'm not talking about my genes. The world doesn't need more fat bald guys. But it's important that my Supermodel Wife's Supermodel Genes get passed on to future generations. For our purposes, that means a second future-Supermodel daughter.
And she was an early bird, arriving about three weeks early. Four pounds. Twelve ounces. Tons of heart.
Yeah. It's been a good week.
tagged: family, baby, tomato, Topsy Turvy, bowling, Xtacles, environmentalist
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
Swine flu over the cuckoo's nest
These days, with all of the modern touchy-feely parenting techniques that focus on "feelings" and "self-esteem" and "proper dental hygiene," one very effective motivational device gets woefully overlooked.
Of course I'm talking about fear.
Fear is a great motivator when used sparingly (if you over use it, your kid gets desensitized and then it stops working). Anyway, it occurred to me that this recent swine flu mania was a good opportunity to get in some good parenting moments.
So when I brought The Kid home from kindergarten the other day, I took her immediately to the kitchen sink.
"Okay, the first thing we need to do is wash our hands. It's more important than ever to wash our hands a lot these days," I said.
Of course I received the expected and inevitable answer in the form of a question.
"Why," The Kid asked.
"Well, there's a really bad flu going around," I explained. "It's so serious that people have died."
Ah yes. The fear of death. That should get her attention. But first things first.
"A 'foo'? What's a 'foo'?"
"Not a foo," I explained. "A flu. It's a virus that can get into your body and make you sick. It's kind of like a germ."
"Oh. And people die from it?"
"Yes. They have had people die from it. But as long as you was your hands a lot and make lots of suds, you should be okay."
For the next few minutes we washed out hands together. I told her how important it is to use warm water, make lots of suds with the soap and wash the front and back of you hands, between your fingers and even up around your wrist.
The next day on the way to school, NPR conveniently played the latest tragic news about the flu, and I conveniently turned up the volume for The Kid to conveniently hear. When I picked her up from school that afternoon, I asked if she washed her hands a lot during the day.
"I tried, but the soap here doesn't make suds very well," she said. "Also, my friend Carly doesn't care if she dies."
"What?"
"She didn't believe me when I told her she had to wash her hands so she doesn't die from the flu."
tagged: family, parenting, swine flu, health
Of course I'm talking about fear.
Fear is a great motivator when used sparingly (if you over use it, your kid gets desensitized and then it stops working). Anyway, it occurred to me that this recent swine flu mania was a good opportunity to get in some good parenting moments.So when I brought The Kid home from kindergarten the other day, I took her immediately to the kitchen sink.
"Okay, the first thing we need to do is wash our hands. It's more important than ever to wash our hands a lot these days," I said.
Of course I received the expected and inevitable answer in the form of a question.
"Why," The Kid asked.
"Well, there's a really bad flu going around," I explained. "It's so serious that people have died."
Ah yes. The fear of death. That should get her attention. But first things first.
"A 'foo'? What's a 'foo'?"
"Not a foo," I explained. "A flu. It's a virus that can get into your body and make you sick. It's kind of like a germ."
"Oh. And people die from it?"
"Yes. They have had people die from it. But as long as you was your hands a lot and make lots of suds, you should be okay."
For the next few minutes we washed out hands together. I told her how important it is to use warm water, make lots of suds with the soap and wash the front and back of you hands, between your fingers and even up around your wrist.
The next day on the way to school, NPR conveniently played the latest tragic news about the flu, and I conveniently turned up the volume for The Kid to conveniently hear. When I picked her up from school that afternoon, I asked if she washed her hands a lot during the day.
"I tried, but the soap here doesn't make suds very well," she said. "Also, my friend Carly doesn't care if she dies."
"What?"
"She didn't believe me when I told her she had to wash her hands so she doesn't die from the flu."
tagged: family, parenting, swine flu, health
Monday, April 27, 2009
This having a kid thing is finally starting to pay off
I know some of you out there are completely anti-kid. And I must concede that in theory you have a point.
Who needs the staying up all night taking care of a hungry screaming baby. Or the added expenses of childcare and tiny socks and booster seats for cars and special biohazard trashcans designed for radioactive diapers.
But I can tell you that after a few years, these things start to pay dividends as you begin to reap the reward for all of the time you spent on the rigorous child training program.
For example, our kindergarten-age kid is becoming a convenient time-saving device for me. About a week ago I taught her how to make me my morning cup of coffee.
Since I'm the only coffee drinker in the family, I have one of those single serving coffee makers from Senseo (that I got virtually for free). And using a Senseo is so easy a child can do it -- which is kind of the point here.
So I walked the kid through all of the coffee making steps. I showed her where the coffee pods are kept in the upper cupboard and how to avoid being impaled on the rack of steak knives while climbing onto the counter to retrieve the pods.
I showed her how to fill the water reservoir on the coffee maker with scalding hot water from the kitchen sink.
I showed her how to place the pods in the coffee maker and clamp down the locking lid, how to press the appropriate buttons and set the coffee mug under the steaming streams of coffee, and how to carefully carry the mug of hot java to me without burning her fingers.
So for the last few mornings, I've had a nice hot cup of coffee ready for me when I get to the kitchen.
Child labor, ain't it grand?
tagged: family, coffee, Senseo, labor, parenting
Who needs the staying up all night taking care of a hungry screaming baby. Or the added expenses of childcare and tiny socks and booster seats for cars and special biohazard trashcans designed for radioactive diapers.
But I can tell you that after a few years, these things start to pay dividends as you begin to reap the reward for all of the time you spent on the rigorous child training program.
For example, our kindergarten-age kid is becoming a convenient time-saving device for me. About a week ago I taught her how to make me my morning cup of coffee.
Since I'm the only coffee drinker in the family, I have one of those single serving coffee makers from Senseo (that I got virtually for free). And using a Senseo is so easy a child can do it -- which is kind of the point here.
So I walked the kid through all of the coffee making steps. I showed her where the coffee pods are kept in the upper cupboard and how to avoid being impaled on the rack of steak knives while climbing onto the counter to retrieve the pods.I showed her how to fill the water reservoir on the coffee maker with scalding hot water from the kitchen sink.
I showed her how to place the pods in the coffee maker and clamp down the locking lid, how to press the appropriate buttons and set the coffee mug under the steaming streams of coffee, and how to carefully carry the mug of hot java to me without burning her fingers.
So for the last few mornings, I've had a nice hot cup of coffee ready for me when I get to the kitchen.Child labor, ain't it grand?
tagged: family, coffee, Senseo, labor, parenting
Monday, April 13, 2009
Ticking away
Returning to my my ancestral home, as we did last weekend for an Easter McBash, is always inspiring. I always seem to come away with a good idea or two.
That was the case this time as well. And as usual, one of the best ideas was inspired by the smallest of creatures.
I've mentioned the prevalence of those small, blood-sucking arachnids, ticks, in previous posts. Well, since it's now spring, they were out in force again in the woods along the river near my parents' house.
Both my dad and my Supermodel Wife (among others) found themselves picking the crawling little critters off their skins. But luckily I escaped the weekend bloodletting unscathed, as did our Jack Russel Terrier.
It was that last bit about the dog that led me to my next million dollar idea.
You see, our dog gets a monthly pill to protect him against fleas and ticks. I'm not sure what kind of chemistry is involved to make it work, for all I know there's some kind of magic pixie dust that wards off sanguivorous creepies.
That's not really the point. The point is, if they can make this kind of pill for dogs, why not make the same kind of pill for people?
I mean people and dogs share a similar physiology, right? Sure, there are obvious differences (dogs have the four legs, much more hair and the ability and irresistible desire to eat poop), but both are warm blooded mammals. Both can catch a ball, chase the mailman, and roll over and play dead.
Heck, our vet has even recommended giving our dog small doses of Pepcid for his occasional discomfort caused by a sour stomach. And if a dog can take human medicine, why can't people take the magic pill to repel ticks (and heck, fleas too)?
So if you're an aspiring chemist/pharmacists who's tired of the meth production game, or some kind or R&D guy at Bayer or some other pharma company, give me a call and we can talk about you buying my idea. Because as of this moment I hereby claim a copyright on Tixaqyll* and any other drug that performs as described.
*As always, consult your physician to see if Tixaqyll is right for you. May cause daytime drowsiness and sensitivity to sunlight and garlic.
tagged: tick, health, sanguivorous, Bayer, Pepcid, medicine
That was the case this time as well. And as usual, one of the best ideas was inspired by the smallest of creatures.
I've mentioned the prevalence of those small, blood-sucking arachnids, ticks, in previous posts. Well, since it's now spring, they were out in force again in the woods along the river near my parents' house.Both my dad and my Supermodel Wife (among others) found themselves picking the crawling little critters off their skins. But luckily I escaped the weekend bloodletting unscathed, as did our Jack Russel Terrier.
It was that last bit about the dog that led me to my next million dollar idea.
You see, our dog gets a monthly pill to protect him against fleas and ticks. I'm not sure what kind of chemistry is involved to make it work, for all I know there's some kind of magic pixie dust that wards off sanguivorous creepies.
That's not really the point. The point is, if they can make this kind of pill for dogs, why not make the same kind of pill for people?
I mean people and dogs share a similar physiology, right? Sure, there are obvious differences (dogs have the four legs, much more hair and the ability and irresistible desire to eat poop), but both are warm blooded mammals. Both can catch a ball, chase the mailman, and roll over and play dead.
Heck, our vet has even recommended giving our dog small doses of Pepcid for his occasional discomfort caused by a sour stomach. And if a dog can take human medicine, why can't people take the magic pill to repel ticks (and heck, fleas too)?
So if you're an aspiring chemist/pharmacists who's tired of the meth production game, or some kind or R&D guy at Bayer or some other pharma company, give me a call and we can talk about you buying my idea. Because as of this moment I hereby claim a copyright on Tixaqyll* and any other drug that performs as described.*As always, consult your physician to see if Tixaqyll is right for you. May cause daytime drowsiness and sensitivity to sunlight and garlic.
tagged: tick, health, sanguivorous, Bayer, Pepcid, medicine
Friday, April 03, 2009
First First Friday
I get home from work Tuesday evening and hear the dreaded, "You need to read the note that the teacher sent home with our daughter today," from my Supermodel Wife.
Oh great. Something bad enough happened that it required a note home from school. We have a pretty good kid. But she is the assertive type, and sometimes that clashes with other assertive types in her kindergarten class.
Usually this results in nothing more than the kids "losing their trophies" for a few hours. It's all good, since it teaches kids how to get along with each other.
But now we've got the dreaded note from the teachers. The only thing worse would be the "phone call from the principal" which we hopefully will never get.
So anyway, I told my Supermodel Wife to just give me the gist of the note.
"Well, it turns out that our daughter and another girl in her class..."
(oh, boy... here it comes... What? Got in a fight? Set the school on fire? Have been selling leveraged credit default swaps in the lunchroom?...)
"... have been selected to have their projects from art class displayed in a gallery in The Crossroads this Friday."
What? Well... that's not bad at all! In fact, that's the opposite of bad!
Our kiddo's interest in fine arts has only become stronger over the years. Her skills and technique have developed nicely since first putting crayon to aluminum siding three years ago.
She has dabbled in cubist/surrealist fusion (see "Friendly Alien-2005"), and has produced some fascinating works of abstract expressionism.
The Kiddo's piece is one of only 12 chosen for display from her school.
While I'm proud to say I spotted this talent early, I'm even more proud that other luminaries in the world of fine art also recognize her potential.
If you're out and about in the Crossroads tonight, and if First Fridays is your thing, then don't miss your opportunity to see this up and coming artist.
The work is on display in the Shawnee Mission District Art Show at the OfficePort KC building -- 208 West 19th Street (between Wyandotte and Central).
Just be sure you get there before 8:30. That's her bedtime.
tagged: art, Kansas City, Crossroads, First Friday, family, parenting, kindergarten
Oh great. Something bad enough happened that it required a note home from school. We have a pretty good kid. But she is the assertive type, and sometimes that clashes with other assertive types in her kindergarten class.
Usually this results in nothing more than the kids "losing their trophies" for a few hours. It's all good, since it teaches kids how to get along with each other.
But now we've got the dreaded note from the teachers. The only thing worse would be the "phone call from the principal" which we hopefully will never get.
So anyway, I told my Supermodel Wife to just give me the gist of the note.
"Well, it turns out that our daughter and another girl in her class..."
(oh, boy... here it comes... What? Got in a fight? Set the school on fire? Have been selling leveraged credit default swaps in the lunchroom?...)
"... have been selected to have their projects from art class displayed in a gallery in The Crossroads this Friday."
What? Well... that's not bad at all! In fact, that's the opposite of bad!
Our kiddo's interest in fine arts has only become stronger over the years. Her skills and technique have developed nicely since first putting crayon to aluminum siding three years ago.She has dabbled in cubist/surrealist fusion (see "Friendly Alien-2005"), and has produced some fascinating works of abstract expressionism.
The Kiddo's piece is one of only 12 chosen for display from her school.
While I'm proud to say I spotted this talent early, I'm even more proud that other luminaries in the world of fine art also recognize her potential.
If you're out and about in the Crossroads tonight, and if First Fridays is your thing, then don't miss your opportunity to see this up and coming artist.
The work is on display in the Shawnee Mission District Art Show at the OfficePort KC building -- 208 West 19th Street (between Wyandotte and Central).
Just be sure you get there before 8:30. That's her bedtime.
tagged: art, Kansas City, Crossroads, First Friday, family, parenting, kindergarten
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Expanding vocabulary
The first year of kindergarten is in its home stretch, and I must say it's been a resounding success.
Our kid has made great progress, both academically and socially. It's all that you could hope for as a parent doing this for the first time. Last night, my kid read a story to me before bedtime.
We've always tried to encourage our daughter to be inquisitive, to ask questions and be interested in learning new things.
That's not to say that there haven't been a few surprises along the way, like the time she wanted to dissect a dead snake, for example.
Another such surprise came a few days ago.
I'd just picked up the kiddo from school. She was in the backseat buckled in to her booster and we were going over the highlights of the day.
Then she came at me with this gem:
Just a gentle reminder that the teachers aren't the only people teaching our kids at school.
tagged: family, vocabulary, education, kids, parenting
Our kid has made great progress, both academically and socially. It's all that you could hope for as a parent doing this for the first time. Last night, my kid read a story to me before bedtime.
We've always tried to encourage our daughter to be inquisitive, to ask questions and be interested in learning new things.
That's not to say that there haven't been a few surprises along the way, like the time she wanted to dissect a dead snake, for example.
Another such surprise came a few days ago.
I'd just picked up the kiddo from school. She was in the backseat buckled in to her booster and we were going over the highlights of the day.
Then she came at me with this gem:
kiddo: Dad, there's something I wanted to ask you.And... scene.
me: Okay. What is it.
kiddo: "Is 'ass' a bad word?"
me: Uhh...
me: Um. Well, yeah. It's kind of a bad word.
kiddo: Oh. Okay.
me: Most of the time it's not a nice thing to say. Your mom would probably get mad is she heard you say it.
kiddo: Okay.
me: you should probably look for ways to say what you want to say without using that word?
kiddo: Okay. I haven't said it. I heard someone at school say it, so I just wanted to know if it was bad.
Just a gentle reminder that the teachers aren't the only people teaching our kids at school.
tagged: family, vocabulary, education, kids, parenting
Monday, March 16, 2009
No man is an island
I first met George about two years ago.
It was a week or two after we moved into our house. I was in the back yard trying to do something about years of overgrowth and neglect by the home's previous owners. George was in his backyard, raking his tidy, well-kept grass.
We met at the chain-link fence and introduced ourselves. George and his wife are the original owners of the house next door to ours. They're retired and split time between Overland Park and their house "down at the Lake" of the Ozarks.
I saw him frequently outside, tending to his yard and house. When we had our siding replaced, he asked for a couple dozen of the cedar shingles we removed. He used them to patch holes wood peckers had made in the cedar siding of his house.
We always took time to greet each other and spend a few minutes talking. He'd ask after our family. He made friends my parents and in-laws.
A guy couldn't ask for a better neighbor.
I became a little concerned when I stopped seeing him so much. The lat time I saw him was in September or so. We were talking about various home repairs when he mentioned, with a smile and a chuckle, that "I just don't seem to be getting around as easily as I used to."
I told him in parting to take it easy and have some red wine, then went on with my mowing or raking or whatever I was doing at the time.
Then October and November passed. December, January and February. I knew he and his wife liked to spend time at their lake house. They were also prone to flying south in the colder months, wintering in a condo in Florida or taking a Caribbean cruise.
Finally, this weekend George was out in the back yard again. I was glad to seem my friend again, but I almost wished I hadn't.
George had lost about 50 pounds since I'd last seem him. He moved slowly and his voice, low and smooth six months ago, had become raspy, like there wasn't enough breath behind it.
George was polite as ever, but he did say it hasn't been a good winter. He was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in October and has been on chemotherapy for six months.
The clothes he wore as a healthy, paunchy 195-pound retiree look like they're going to fall off of the 50-pound lighter version of him.
I awkwardly gave encouragement and inquired as to his prognosis. He said the doctors have told him you never really get rid of pancreatic cancer -- that you can hope for another year or maybe two.
True to his from, he was positive and upbeat. He said he would enjoy each day as much as he could. He is determined not to give anything up.
But even though it is apparent that he is still the same strong and healthy person in many of the ways that really count, I can't help but feel worried and sad for my friend.
tagged: pancreatic cancer, health, neighbor
It was a week or two after we moved into our house. I was in the back yard trying to do something about years of overgrowth and neglect by the home's previous owners. George was in his backyard, raking his tidy, well-kept grass.
We met at the chain-link fence and introduced ourselves. George and his wife are the original owners of the house next door to ours. They're retired and split time between Overland Park and their house "down at the Lake" of the Ozarks.
I saw him frequently outside, tending to his yard and house. When we had our siding replaced, he asked for a couple dozen of the cedar shingles we removed. He used them to patch holes wood peckers had made in the cedar siding of his house.
We always took time to greet each other and spend a few minutes talking. He'd ask after our family. He made friends my parents and in-laws.
A guy couldn't ask for a better neighbor.
I became a little concerned when I stopped seeing him so much. The lat time I saw him was in September or so. We were talking about various home repairs when he mentioned, with a smile and a chuckle, that "I just don't seem to be getting around as easily as I used to."
I told him in parting to take it easy and have some red wine, then went on with my mowing or raking or whatever I was doing at the time.
Then October and November passed. December, January and February. I knew he and his wife liked to spend time at their lake house. They were also prone to flying south in the colder months, wintering in a condo in Florida or taking a Caribbean cruise.
Finally, this weekend George was out in the back yard again. I was glad to seem my friend again, but I almost wished I hadn't.
George had lost about 50 pounds since I'd last seem him. He moved slowly and his voice, low and smooth six months ago, had become raspy, like there wasn't enough breath behind it.
George was polite as ever, but he did say it hasn't been a good winter. He was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in October and has been on chemotherapy for six months.
The clothes he wore as a healthy, paunchy 195-pound retiree look like they're going to fall off of the 50-pound lighter version of him.
I awkwardly gave encouragement and inquired as to his prognosis. He said the doctors have told him you never really get rid of pancreatic cancer -- that you can hope for another year or maybe two.
True to his from, he was positive and upbeat. He said he would enjoy each day as much as he could. He is determined not to give anything up.
But even though it is apparent that he is still the same strong and healthy person in many of the ways that really count, I can't help but feel worried and sad for my friend.
tagged: pancreatic cancer, health, neighbor
Monday, March 02, 2009
Change I can believe in
One thing I hadn't really thought about when we decided to have our second kid was the amount of adjustment it takes.
Don't get me wrong. We knew it was a big decision, and we made the decision with full awareness of it's bigness.
But even when you're expecting change, you still need to adjust. Our guest bedroom, for example, will become our new baby's room. Family and houses guests will have to adjust by sleeping on the pullout couch in the den.
One person who has a lot of adjusting to do is our six-year-old daughter. She's a great kid and she's super excited about having a little sister. But it's also clear that she has questions about how things are going to be postpartum.
The other day we were sitting on the couch talking about it.
Just part of the growing up process. Gotta gather those rosebuds while we may.
tagged: family, change, daughter, baby, fatherhood, parenting
Don't get me wrong. We knew it was a big decision, and we made the decision with full awareness of it's bigness.
But even when you're expecting change, you still need to adjust. Our guest bedroom, for example, will become our new baby's room. Family and houses guests will have to adjust by sleeping on the pullout couch in the den.
One person who has a lot of adjusting to do is our six-year-old daughter. She's a great kid and she's super excited about having a little sister. But it's also clear that she has questions about how things are going to be postpartum.
The other day we were sitting on the couch talking about it.
6yo: Daddy, when the baby comes, will I be able to hold her?The ironic thing about that last statement, and what I didn't have the heart to explain to her, is that it won't be long before our six year old is an 11-year-old and the very thought of spending any time at all with me will be repugnant and embarrassing to her.
me: Yes. In fact, you'll be one of the first people to hold her. First will be your mom.
6yo: Then you. Then me. So I'll be the third person.me: Yes. But you'll have to be careful when holding the baby.
6yo: I know. Their necks aren't very strong. I'll be able to feed her, right?
me: Yeah. We'll all to work together to take care of her.
6yo: I think it's so cute when the food comes out of their mouth a little bit and you have to scoop it back in with the spoon.
me: Yeah. But remember, it's going to be a few months before she can eat baby food. At first, she'll just drink milk from a bottle. You can hold the bottle, though.
6yo: Oh, yeah.
6yo: Daddy, there's something that I've been thinking about.
me: What is it?
6yo: I'm afraid that when the baby comes, you'll want to play with her more than me. It makes me kind of sad.
me: Well, when the baby comes we'll all have to do a lot at first to make sure she stays safe and healthy. But we'll still make time to play with each other. You're more fun to play with than the baby anyway.
6yo: I am? Why.
me: Well, babies don't really do much. They really only do four things.
6yo: What? Eat?
me: Yep. Eat, sleep, poop and cry. That's about all they do. But they sure are cute.
6yo: Yeah. So we'll still get to do fun things together?
me: Sure. You know, your baby sister will probably like playing with you more than she plays with me.
Just part of the growing up process. Gotta gather those rosebuds while we may.
tagged: family, change, daughter, baby, fatherhood, parenting
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Lost Tales of 3AM, Part IV: Return of the Ring
It didn’t start out as panic.
I merely had this feeling of curiously not knowing where such a familiar item would be. Normally, I carry it with me all the time. I wear it so much that it almost seems like a part of my body.
But on occasion I’ll take if off, to wash my hands, say, or when I’m working on a project that includes particularly gooey substances (making hamburger patties, or re-caulking a sink or shower).
If I’m doing intense yard work (like replacing a drain pipe) or doing some other project with my hands, I’ll take it off to keep it from getting in the way, or worse, getting lost.
My Supermodel Wife has warned me for years that taking off my wedding ring is a sure way to lose it. I, being the man, totally ignore her advice.
But after yet another day of not seeing it (and not really remembering where I put it) I began, in the back of my head, to wonder if she might be right yet again.
Still, I hadn’t really looked for it. I’m sure it’s in the bathroom somewhere, or up on my dresser. I promised myself that after work I’d track it down.
Of course I wouldn’t say anything to SMW. Why worry her unnecessarily?
But the ring was still missing after searching the usual places. Now I’m starting to get worried. Did I inadvertently drop it in the back yard somewhere? Did I perhaps leave it in the car after absentmindedly playing with it while waiting in rush hour traffic?
I searched all my pants pockets, as I sometimes slip it in there while washing my hands at work. But it was nowhere to be found.
The next day I checked my car and garage before going to work. No ring.
I scoured my cube and work station, my computer bag, all of my jackets and coat pockets. No ring.
By the end of the day, the panic HAD set in. The worst thing wasn’t that my Supermodel Wife might be right (she’s always right, so I’m used to that). What really sent the anxiety meter into the red was the realization that after 13 years I might have carelessly lost this symbol of our commitment to each other.
I lay in bed that evening staring at the ceiling retracing in my mind every step I'd taken in the previous few days. I examined every place I had looked, trying to determine if there was something I had missed.
I'd checked all of my pants, the couch cushions, the washer, the dryer...
Then it hit me. The one place I hadn't looked yet.
I bolted up and quickly but quietly made my way down to the laundry room in the basement.
There, between the washer and dryer was a three-bin laundry hamper where we sort clothes.
I haphazardly toss the dirty clothes out of the bins onto the floor. First one, then the next and then finally, at the bottom of the third bin glimmering in the reflected florescent light like a gleam of hope at the end of a tunnel, a shining band of gold.
My long ordeal was over. The ring was safely in place on my finger. I went back to bed and slept soundly.
tagged: lost, ring, laundry, marriage, life
I merely had this feeling of curiously not knowing where such a familiar item would be. Normally, I carry it with me all the time. I wear it so much that it almost seems like a part of my body.
But on occasion I’ll take if off, to wash my hands, say, or when I’m working on a project that includes particularly gooey substances (making hamburger patties, or re-caulking a sink or shower).
If I’m doing intense yard work (like replacing a drain pipe) or doing some other project with my hands, I’ll take it off to keep it from getting in the way, or worse, getting lost.
My Supermodel Wife has warned me for years that taking off my wedding ring is a sure way to lose it. I, being the man, totally ignore her advice.But after yet another day of not seeing it (and not really remembering where I put it) I began, in the back of my head, to wonder if she might be right yet again.
Still, I hadn’t really looked for it. I’m sure it’s in the bathroom somewhere, or up on my dresser. I promised myself that after work I’d track it down.
Of course I wouldn’t say anything to SMW. Why worry her unnecessarily?But the ring was still missing after searching the usual places. Now I’m starting to get worried. Did I inadvertently drop it in the back yard somewhere? Did I perhaps leave it in the car after absentmindedly playing with it while waiting in rush hour traffic?
I searched all my pants pockets, as I sometimes slip it in there while washing my hands at work. But it was nowhere to be found.
The next day I checked my car and garage before going to work. No ring.
I scoured my cube and work station, my computer bag, all of my jackets and coat pockets. No ring.
By the end of the day, the panic HAD set in. The worst thing wasn’t that my Supermodel Wife might be right (she’s always right, so I’m used to that). What really sent the anxiety meter into the red was the realization that after 13 years I might have carelessly lost this symbol of our commitment to each other.
I lay in bed that evening staring at the ceiling retracing in my mind every step I'd taken in the previous few days. I examined every place I had looked, trying to determine if there was something I had missed.
I'd checked all of my pants, the couch cushions, the washer, the dryer...
Then it hit me. The one place I hadn't looked yet.
I bolted up and quickly but quietly made my way down to the laundry room in the basement.
There, between the washer and dryer was a three-bin laundry hamper where we sort clothes.I haphazardly toss the dirty clothes out of the bins onto the floor. First one, then the next and then finally, at the bottom of the third bin glimmering in the reflected florescent light like a gleam of hope at the end of a tunnel, a shining band of gold.
My long ordeal was over. The ring was safely in place on my finger. I went back to bed and slept soundly.
tagged: lost, ring, laundry, marriage, life
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