No Country for Old Rob

Lois and I have been married for just over eleven years now.  We tend to keep to ourselves and spend a lot of time at the house.  It's not that we aren't friendly, it's just that we don't really like people.  Oh, I hope I didn't offend those of you who are people. 

Recently we decided to mix things up a bit and actually got a sitter.  Suddenly the whole world was opened up before us.  We didn't have to worry about selecting a restaurant that offers crayons and a kids meal with sauceless options.  We could choose anything without having to submit a request to Buzz and Rocky. 

It was a difficult decision.  This was luxury we do not often indulge in, so we wanted to make sure we selected the *right* restaurant. I was in the mood for a good steak and Lois was in the mood for non-Shrek themed food, so we settled on Ruby River in South Provo.  We'd been there once or twice early in our marriage and we were pretty sure that it met both of those criteria.

When we arrived we were seated right away, which was a major disappointment because I wanted to eat peanuts in the waiting area.  Luckily the hostess brought a bucket of peanuts to our table, so I was willing to forgive this oversight.  Over the years, I had forgotten about the decor of Ruby River.  As we were being led to our table, the first thing I noticed was all the Country Western paraphernalia.  There were autographed cowboy boots in colors that I didn't know existed.  There were photographs of people with names like Pickler, and Chesnutt [sic], and Rascal Flatts.  I think there was even a rug made from the carcasses of brushpopper shirts. 

The music was a quite surprising, though.  When I go to an Italian restaurant, I want to hear Italian music.  I want my Mexican restaurants to play mariachi music.  And I want my Country Western restaurants to play Def Leppard.  Or U2.  Even Michael Bublé I could tolerate.  But country music?  I cannot abide this.

Here's the thing about music.  Studies have shown that people like music when they can anticipate 51% of the song.  No more and no less.  So smrt people like me find country music boring and stupid.  So if you like country music, well... it's not really your fault that your parents raised you in Payson.  The fact that you still live in Payson might be a little bit your fault. 

I suppose I shouldn't be quite so harsh.  On country music, I mean.  Some of it is rather delightful.  I actually sang "It's Your Love" by Tim McGraw to Lois at our wedding reception.  I got jiggy with it.  I mean, I got twangy with it.  Also, I like "The Joker" by Steve Miller.  And... wait, what?  That's not a country song?  Well, don't some people call him the space cowboy?  Whatever. 

So despite the lack of Counting Crows and the overage of Kenny Rogers (or whoever the popular country singers are these days), Lois and I had a good time.  My steak was done perfectly, with just the right amount of bloodiness, and my cinnamon yam was delicious.  I'm sure the salad or whatever girlie food Lois ordered was good too.  And it's nice to know that no matter where you go, as long as you're with the person you love, you can always count on Dr. Pepper being among the beverage choices.

No Amount of Coffee

My niece, Makayla, upon graduating from high school in Utah County, spent a couple months working in one of the southern states. I think it was the one whose state flower is the tobacco leaf and the state bird is KFC.  No no, not Kentucky.  It's the one whose state quarter shows Foghorn Leghorn eating a bowl of grits.  

Anyway, while she was there Makayla posted her Facebook status as, "Caramel Crème Frappuccinos."  Now, some of you might have picked up on the fact that I am a Latter-day Saint or Mormon, as well as most of my extended family.  Even if you don't know much about Mormons, you probably know that we don't drink coffee.

So naturally I began to fear for my niece's soul.  Those pagan Southerners have corrupted her!  I figured that Makayla was innocently drinking this carnal beverage, completely unaware of the presence of Beelzebub's roasted beans of degradation.  So I commented on her status and said, "You do realize that's coffee, right?"  She confidently explained, "No it isn't," and I countered with, "Yes it is."  She said, "No, it's made with whole milk."  I was beginning to see that Makayla was more than a match for my debate skills, so I appealed to my good friend, Google, to provide the evidence of Juan Valdez's sinful allurement.  Aha!  Um... it turns out that Starbucks has a line of coffee free "Crème" Frappuccinos.  Makayla's soul was safe after all and I, her favorite uncle, had wrongfully accused her of being a doofus.

So I decided that I'd better try one of these Caramel Crème Frappuccinos and see for myself what all the fuss is about.  It pretty much tasted like someone blended ice with milk and put some caramel in there.  I guess it was okay, but I didn't get excited enough about it to make it my Facebook status.

While I was at Starbucks sitting in a comfy chair, sipping my coffeeless frap-based beverage and listening to the frap-based music, I looked around me and began to feel oddly out of place.  No one told me that you were supposed to wear hemp jewelry and at least one article of tie-dyed clothing when you go to Starbucks.  But the hippies were mostly pleasant and only one of them tried to educate me on the virtues of marijuana. 

So while I may not share Makayla's enthusiasm for caramel flavored ice milk, at least she's not committing a grievous sin while she drinks it.  She wouldn't have been the first Mormon I know to inadvertently drink coffee, though.  Before we were married, my dear wife Lois's favorite drink was Ghiradelli Chocolate Mocha hot cocoa.  If you clicked that link you noticed that coffee beans are pictured clearly on the label.  Lois defended herself by explaining that the one she had was part of a holiday sampler and it didn't have coffee beans pictured.  The fact that the name of the drink contains the word mocha didn't clue her in, apparently.  But it's okay, she's been on the wagon for more than 10 years now. 

I'd like to tell you more things about Lois that would embarrass her, but I'm almost out of Dr. Pepper and if I don't go get some now I don't know how I'm going to stay awake during church tomorrow.

Living In a Quaker State

My sister, Carmela, is participating in something her neighborhood has organized called "No Media July."  It is pretty much as horrific as it sounds.  Willing members of the area actually signed a contract stating that during the month of July they will refrain from any "recreational" electronic media.  This includes TV, internet, email, texting, and music.  With regard to internet use, they made a special point of clarifying "especially Facebook."  They have made allowances for email and internet if needed for work or school, and "uplifting" music is okay.  So Bon Jovi is in, but Midnight Oil is definitely out.  

The great thing about this is that Carmela shouldn't see my blog for at least a month, so I can't get in trouble for making fun of her.  Here's the thing.  I can see how it's all noble and great to cut back on the electronic media that we as a society have developed an unhealthy dependency on, yadda yadda yadda.  But what will abstaining for a month really do?  My brother, Sir Pumpkin Longshanks (I feel compelled to remind you that names have been changed), once gave up desserts for a month.  Then at the conclusion he pigged out on chocodiles, Oreo shakes and moon pies.  As the clock strikes midnight on August 1st, I think there is no question that we will find Carmela and her media-abstaining conspirators plugging in for the most epic bender of Twittering, Facebooking, and Lolcatting ever seen. 

Carmela and the Amish are also having non-media activities throughout the month to help stave off the withdrawal effects.  She invited us to tonight's activity which involves a "bike rodeo" for the kids.  Unfortunately, it starts after Buzz and Rocky's bedtime, so we can't go.  The fact that I will be sitting in front of my TV watching Jack Bauer be awesome has nothing whatsoever to do with us not going. 

I was curious how Carmela would handle her text messages.  Does she have the strength not to read them when they come in?  So I sent her a text that said, "If you are reading this, you are BUSTED."  A few minutes later my phone buzzed and I was all excited to shame her for not being able to last even one day.  Her response said, "Hi! This is an auto reply to let you know i am media free for july.  If you want to talk call me!"  A very clever cover up.  

The media fast was originally scheduled a month earlier until the moms and teenage girls freaked out.  They stormed the activities committee meeting and demanded that it be delayed by a month.  Further investigation showed that the opening of "Eclipse" was scheduled for June 29th. 

So while Carmela is Etch-A-Sketching while driving her horse drawn carriage and somehow perfecting Crack's Theorem to the fourteenth decimal, I will be... well, doing normal stuff. 

Also, "Carmela and the Amish" is going to be the name of my band.  It remains to be seen whether or not the music will be "uplifting." 

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.