Father's Day 4.3 of 4.3

The best part of Thursday was having Lois back home with us.  The boys were delighted with the toy cable cars she brought back from San Francisco, and I was delighted with the macarons from Miette.  I was also delighted with the Taza chocolate covered nibs even though I haven't tried them yet.  That kind of chocolate seems like it should be consumed very carefully and with reverence.  

While the house was not a complete disaster, I was careful to keep it at just the right level of disarray.  At the office, if they ever find out you're good at planning events, you'll get suckered into the party committee.  I believe the same principle applies at home.  Plus, I read somewhere that this would be a good way to show Lois that we really missed her.  By the way, whoever wrote that is an idiot. 

So, maybe I lost a few points there.  But I figured I was rich with the points I scored from taking care of the boys for 4.3 days, so I could afford to squander a few.  Chances are I was already hopelessly in dept, but still.  

So life is pretty much back to normal again.  The prospect of a day without crying, whining and playing juvenile games was really appealing, so I went ahead and took the day off work again today and stayed home.  I'll deal with those issues in the office on Monday. 

There are several things I have learned.  If you burn a hotdog on one side, you can hide it by putting that side down on the bun.  But at some point, you have to know when it's just too black.  Also, kids are pretty good at knowing when you're bluffing.  Buzz now owns my car and my vintage collection of Star Wars action figures.  I'm hoping to at least win Boba Fett back at next week's poker night.  

Another thing I learned is that kids aged 6 and 2 don't get tired of spending time with their dad, even when they're together nonstop for 4.3 days straight.  These were definitely the best Father's Days ever. 

Father's Days 2-4 of 4.3

One of my readers who also happens to be my brother, Fritz (names have been changed), has been pelting me with text messages to post more content here.  So if it's not funny, blame Fritz for compelling me to write under duress.  

Day 2 included most of the funny stuff.  Days 3 and 4 were pretty tame by comparison.  

I woke Monday morning around 5:45 AM to the cries of Rocky shouting, "Hey Mommy, hey Mommy!" which is the usual wake up call.  Even though Mommy wasn't here, I figured I'd better take the call anyway.  He seemed mildly surprised to see me and I reminded him that Mommy was on vacation. 

After a simple breakfast I decided that I should take care of the weeds in the vegetable garden, so I slathered sunscreen on the boys and myself and we headed outside.  While the boys drew pictures on the driveway with chalk, I proceeded with an attempt at manual labor.  After about 15 minutes, I remembered that there is absolutely nothing remotely interesting about weeds, so I abandoned my hoe and joined the boys.  I discovered that Buzz had drawn a line down the middle of the driveway and was rebuking Rocky for trespassing on his side.  I decided not to meddle in the boundary dispute, and inquired whether they wanted me to push them on the swings.  They did, and we all failed as usual to make our swings go all the way around.  Maybe next time.  

Back in the house, the boys wanted to watch a cartoon on the computer.  For reasons beyond my comprehension, it was agreed upon that we would watch an old episode of "The Smurfs."  While the smurf village was being burned by an angry dragon, Buzz started freaking out.  While I concur that smurfs are freaky and disturbing, I was puzzled by Buzz's reaction.  After a brief investigation I discovered that the freak out was not a smurfy one, but that he had rubbed his eyes and they were now stinging from the sunscreen.

I procured a turkey baster and attempted to flush Buzz's eyes with water.  For some reason, six-year-olds do not like to have water squirted in their eyes, especially when they're already hysterical.  So I get Buzz to strip off his clothes and I put him in the shower.  This seemed like a novelty to Rocky and he wants to get in too.  I recall that Lois did want me to make sure the kids bathed while she was away, so I get Rocky in the shower with Buzz.  After only a few moments, Rocky is now screaming that his eyes are stinging.  Stupid sunscreen.  I'm already getting wet and water is getting on the floor so I get in the shower, fully clothed, to see if I can do anything to help the kids.  Both boys fail to acknowledge my sacrifice, and neither of them appreciate the humor of the situation either.  After forcing them both in turns to put their faces directly into the stream of water, they eventually calm down. 

Finally, after this ordeal is over, we return to the computer and get to see Hefty Smurf cleverly vanquish the dragon by luring it to the river and getting the other smurfs to open the dam (oh sorry, spoiler alert). 

The next activity we have planned is to make a trip "to town" so that I can pick up a library book I've been waiting for.  After what seems like an unreasonably long time to get the kids to use the bathroom and get their shoes on, I've finally got them both buckled into the van when I remember that I need some spare pants and underwear for Rocky, "just in case."  When I return to the van, Buzz yells that he has a bloody nose.  I look at him accusingly.  "Did you pick it?" I ask.  "No!" is his indignant reply.  I can see that he's telling the truth because there's no blood on any of his fingers.  Stupid dry climate.  I get the kids back in the house, we stop the bleeding, and are finally on our way.  

By the time we've completed our mission at the library and are on our way back home it's right around lunch time and we pass a Wendy's.  Buzz is usually the one to ask whether we can go to a restaurant, but this time it's Rocky.  

Rocky:  Can we go to Wendy's?

Me:  No, not today.

Rocky (in a somewhat aggressive two-year-old voice): Sometimes when the kids say can we go to Wendy's, the mom and dad say yes. 

Well, he got me with logic there.  But by now Wendy's was well behind us, so I suggested IN-N-OUT instead.  Both boys cheered.  While the food was enjoyable, I have concluded that IN-N-OUT is no longer awesome now that it doesn't require a trip to California.  Stupid trendy burger joints and their market saturation.  

Days 3 and 4 were fun, but not nearly as hectic.  I could just make up some stuff, but the laundry needs doing tonight (did I mention that Rocky is in the midst of potty training?), so I'll fabricate something another time.  Lois returns tomorrow evening, but that leaves plenty of time for more mischief.  I'm tempted to test the effects of caffeine on the boys to give me some writing material, but I don't want them to start bogarting my Dr. Pepper. 

Father's Day 2 of 4.3

Too brain-tired to compose a comprehensive article. 

Perhaps tomorrow I will give a detailed account of the day's doings.  Note that I said perhaps.  Here are a few teasers:

There may or may not have been blood.

I may or may not have jumped into the shower fully clothed.

We may or may not have had lunch at IN-N-OUT because Rocky made me laugh.

Buzz may or may not have started shrieking uncontrollably during an episode of "The Smurfs."  

***Spoiler Alert***

All of the above items happened today. 

Father's Day 1 of 4.3

The boys and I seem to have survived the first day of Lois's absence.  Church services went about how you'd expect an LDS church service to go on Father's Day, plus the mothers of the ward provided an assortment of pies and other desserts for the fathers.  During "pie time" I got to talking with my across-the-street neighbor, Mr. Turkeypants (names have been changed).  When he learned that I was wifeless for a few days, he invited us to his house for dinner so that I wouldn't have to cook my own Father's Day meal.  The Turkeypantses are one of our favorite families, so I gladly accepted the kind offer.  

Church ended at noon, so after lunch the boys and I had to figure out how to occupy ourselves until our 6:00 appointment across the street.  Luckily, Lois discovered an amazing concept known as "quiet time" back when Buzz first stopped taking afternoon naps.  Every afternoon Buzz is allowed to spend quiet time doing pretty much anything he wants, as long as it can be done from the confines of his bedroom, and as long as it is quiet.  Pure genius.  Buzz is a bookworm, so he actually enjoys quiet time.  

Rocky still takes naps, and as I was putting him down he asked (again) where Mom was.  "She's in San Francisco with Yaya and your aunts," I reminded him.  "Is Mom coming back?" he asked in all seriousness.  "Oh yes, she's only going to be gone for a few days and we're going to have lots of fun," I assured him.  This seemed to be satisfactory. 

I let Buzz out of quiet time early on good behavior and while Rocky continued napping we made videos of Buzz doing some dramatic poetry readings, just to mix things up a bit.  Rocky joined in the fun shortly after.  There's no telling what crazy trouble we'll get into next! 

Finally the time came when we could go across the street to the Turkeypantses.  They have three girls aged 8, 6, and 4, and a baby boy around seven months.  These girls would rather play dinosaurs and pirates than Barbies, so they get along with my boys just fine (the worst insult according to my boys -- and often inflicted by them -- is, "You play with Barbies!").  As we walked in the door we were welcomed by the extremely pleasant aroma of roasting meat.  The roast was one of the best I've ever tasted.  

During the meal, the four-year-old Turkeypants said to her dad, "Daddy, will you help me cut my goat?"  I thought maybe I heard wrong, but I looked to Mrs. Turkeypants and asked, "Is this really goat?"  She laughed kind of sheepishly (sorry, baaad joke), but said that, yes, they had received quite a bit of goat and rabbit meat from Mr. Turkeypants's sister.  "Well, it's really good," was all I could think to say (and it really was).  I then had the following exchange with Rocky:  

Rocky:  Daddy, am I eating goat?

Me:  Yes, you are eating goat.

Rocky:  Are you eating goat?

Me:  Yes.

Rocky:  Is Buzz eating goat?

Me:  Yes.

Rocky:  Is the baby eating goat?

Me:  No, I think he's eating cereal.

Rocky:  Oh.  

Rocky then continued to eat his goat without any complaint. 

I had never had goat before, but I'm really not very squeamish when it comes to things like that.  I even had seconds.  But I assure you that Lois is very, very relieved that she was not there.  

The best thing about having dinner with the Turkeypantses?  I didn't have to do any dishes.

Father's Daze

Today marks the sixth Father's Day that I can rightfully celebrate as one who is being honored.  My dear wife, Lois (names have been changed, if you haven't already figured that out), is always very good about making Father's Day extra special for me.  One year we had grilled steaks topped with an amazing herb butter.  Another year she made brownies with caramel in the middle.  How does she get the caramel in there?  It's a mystery, but I'm telling you now that there is nothing better than those brownies.  If you told me you had perfected time travel, I'd say that these brownies are better.  Then I'd take your time machine and -- what?  I've used that line before?  Well am I the author of this thing or not?  Am I not allowed to plagiarize myself?  Fine, let's just say that Lois is always good about making me feel like a king on Father's Day (and Michelangelo, these brownies are better than you!).  

This year Lois had a great idea.  She, her mom, two sisters, and her brother's wife cooked up a doozie of a plan.  This morning after a hearty Father's Day breakfast, Lois left for the airport and headed out to meet them all in San Francisco for a few days of mother-daughter girlie time, leaving the husbands to their own devices.  And in my case, not only to my own devices, but to those of  two boys, aged 6 and 2.  A two-year-old who is almost, but not quite, potty trained.  I say almost... but not quite.  This year I will truly learn to appreciate what it really means to be a father.  Priceless.  

I'm not like most husbands who would brag about being able to do everything their wife does, and perhaps even do it better.  I harbor no such illusions.  I am fully aware that Buzz and Rocky, allied together, will be my superiors in nearly every way for the 4.3 days their mother will be gone.  Meals will be unbalanced with extra emphasis placed on gummy bears and other gummy-based foods.  Clothing will be left to languish on the floor along with unfinished puzzles, the ruins of building-block cities, and the aftermath of violent and bloody Playmobil wars.  Dishes will be done promptly after every meal (What?  We're not complete barbarians.).  And oh, the potty training, the POTTY TRAINING...I do not wish to think on this just now.  

Okay, perhaps I am exaggerating just a bit.  Violence, tantrums and public urination are not new to me.  I do work in human resources, after all.  

Seriously though, this will be a fun time.  Most fathers will have to settle for their breakfast in bed, Hallmark cards, and phone calls.  Or from the slacker children, text messages.  But as for me, the boys and I have planned all sorts of fun things to do.  Among other things, these plans involve dinosaurs, pirates, dirt, sprinklers, and whipped cream administered aerosol-ily.

Check back here for updates describing our daily adventures.  I'm certain there will be plenty of hi-jinks, shenanigans, and maybe even a lark or two.  Wish me luck.  

Oh, and Dad, I am dedicating this blog post to you in honor of Father's Day.  This is in lieu of my usual text message, acknowledging your contribution to my existence.  Thanks for those 23 chromosomes you gave me.  Especially that Y one.  Happy Father's Day!

Frosting covered guilty pleasures (shameless product placement)

We all have guilty pleasures.   For some, it’s Danielle Steele novels.   For others, it’s Jefferson Starship.   For me, it’s Buffy the Vampire Slayer.   I mean sweets!   Sweets are my guilty pleasure [can we fix this in editing, please?].   Ah yes, sweets.   Now, I like ice cream, Oreos, and cake as much as the next guy.   But there is nothing better than my sister Carmela’s cinnamon rolls.   If you told me that you had perfected time travel, I would say that Carmela’s cinnamon rolls are better.   Then I would take your time machine, go back to the Renaissance, and tell Michelangelo to his face that these cinnamon rolls are better than him.  

Carmela claims that the cinnamon rolls are very easy to make.   She uses a recipe and technique she learned from the “bread lady” of Pantry Secrets.   All I know is that whenever Carmela takes them out of the oven, it’s all we can do to wait for them to be frosted.   But it is well worth the wait.   When you peel apart the soft, perfect dessert, you’ll gently inhale the sweet scent of cinnamon mingled with fresh bread.   You’ll lick the frosting from your fingers and drink in a brief moment of rapture.   Then you’ll break off a piece and savor it as it virtually melts on your tongue.   Before you know it, you’ll wonder where it went and you’ll be pushing your niece out of the way for more.    

Carmela assures me that anyone can make these rolls.   One thing is certain; our family get-togethers are not quite the same when we don't have them.   If I were on Prozac, I could easily replace the prescription with the “bread lady’s” recipe.

A Drier Dryer - Part 2

Originally written on June 1, 2010

So I was out working in the garden on Saturday and noticed a starling flying up to the vent and poking its beak inside. These birds did not get a clear message the first time their belongings were forcefully removed from their dwelling. But why wasn't the bird going inside this time? I've watched enough nature programs to know what was going on. While the mother bird is laying or sitting on eggs, she won't leave the nest until the eggs hatch (with one exception, which will unfold shortly). The father bird brings her food during this time.

So once again I go through the process of uttering curse words in my mind (if you were in my mind you would have noticed that it was somewhat louder this time), getting the extension ladder and wire hook, and climbing up to evict these tenants. This time I knew that the mother bird would be in there, and I knew that she was going to freak the bejeebers out of me. I remove the flaps and insert my hook and stir it around. Sure enough, this gives the mother enough incentive to abandon her unhatched eggs, and she flies out and freaks the bejeebers out of me. I was braced for this and did not fall from the ladder. After a few tries, I successfully hook the nest and carefully pull it out along with its contents.

Did you know that starlings lay blue eggs like a robin? Neither did I, until Saturday.

This time I taped the vent shut, hoping that no one would need to do laundry for a few days. Now I have a cage thingy that I get to screw over the vent to keep the birds out. And if that doesn't work, you might find yourself reading a story describing whether or not birds are flammable.