The snowflakes this morning were pretty, winter-idyllic. A pity it's getting progressively colder.
Chessica: 9
Dave: 3
D'oh!
Got B1 to try chicken yesterday, at dinner, part of our One Bite rule with dinner, trying to get him to try a bite of new foods. That was semi-epic, had Spousette and me both leaning on him around 45 minutes to get him to try it (which involved Spousette and me trying every negotiating trick in the book).
Eventually, I resorted to a bogus threat to eat a little toy boat of his if he didn't try the chicken ("Don't make me eat this boat!!") I dangled it over my mouth "A Fish Called Wanda"-style, and that persuaded him to try the chicken (B1: Noooo! Don't eat the boat!!!!), and actually made him laugh, watching me pretend to eat the boat (perching it in my mouth by my fingers, like it was a Communion wafer), which broke the tension of the moment. Once he tried the chicken, I gave him back his toy boat. I do like that he thinks I'd actually eat a small plastic boat (roughly the size of a Matchbox car) to prove my point. I've still got him fooled.
Anyway, he tolerated the chicken, and when presented with the option of One Bite of broccoli or or rice, he said he'd have another bite of chicken, so we claimed that as a parental victory in the ongoing food wars.
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Sunday, January 20, 2008
F-f-f-f-rickin' cold
I went to Target this morning to get some jumbo Rubbermaid containers for the Christmas tree (yeah, still up; hey, it's not February, yet), and I got a few other things. It was amazingly cold outside -- the car reluctantly started; glad I got a new battery last year (or the year before? Can't remember). Still, the car was like "Say what?" when I turned it on. It was so cold, the liquid crystal display on the stereo was slow to respond. Spousette wiped out her liquid crystal watch yesterday, when it got exposed to the cold weather -- the thing just went blank. Maybe the cold leached the power from it, or something. No idea. She's the Luddite's Luddite -- the body count has kept piling up (her old iPod, then my iPod, two printers, and now a wristwatch I'd gotten her for her birthday).
Speaking of tech and Luddites...
Chessica: 7
Dave: 3
Sigh. Still, the matches have been good, even though Chessica keeps winning. I'm out of practice, so this'll help my aging neurons.
I bought a few others needed things at Target, then piled it in the tubs I'd bought, and then carted that indoors. I was out early enough, and it was cold enough, that I managed to get our good parking spot back, which never happens when I set out on a weekend jaunt.
So very glad to have tomorrow off. I really need that.
Speaking of tech and Luddites...
Chessica: 7
Dave: 3
Sigh. Still, the matches have been good, even though Chessica keeps winning. I'm out of practice, so this'll help my aging neurons.
I bought a few others needed things at Target, then piled it in the tubs I'd bought, and then carted that indoors. I was out early enough, and it was cold enough, that I managed to get our good parking spot back, which never happens when I set out on a weekend jaunt.
So very glad to have tomorrow off. I really need that.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Fin
I finished the first draft of the book I was working on. It's just short of 120,000 words -- not bad for about 43 days of work on it! Here's to writing while on the job, eh? Woo hoo!
Oh, and in addition to loving blimps and zeppelins, B1 is now fascinated by the Union Jack.
Oh, and in addition to loving blimps and zeppelins, B1 is now fascinated by the Union Jack.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Bunkum
I ordered bunkbeds for the boys, from Target. Something like $599 for the bunk and the shipping. Choke! And that doesn't count the twin mattress, which I'll still have to get. But it's easier to order the bunks than to go dicking around town for them, and then somehow fitting them into our dinky car.
Still, it should work well with the captain's bed we already have in the boys' room. The bunk is a loft bed, which'll be for B1, with B2 down below on the original bed. Can't wait to finally cashier the crib, which has been B2's bed for the past couple of years. He's big enough to climb out of the crib if he wants to.
Anyway, the boys should love the bunks, once we get'em set up.
The adventures of Domestic Dad continue!
Still, it should work well with the captain's bed we already have in the boys' room. The bunk is a loft bed, which'll be for B1, with B2 down below on the original bed. Can't wait to finally cashier the crib, which has been B2's bed for the past couple of years. He's big enough to climb out of the crib if he wants to.
Anyway, the boys should love the bunks, once we get'em set up.
The adventures of Domestic Dad continue!
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Halloween
B1 was the toast of the Halloween circuit in our 'hood (and from his school) -- people were blown away by his Hancock Building costume, would compliment him on the street, saying how cool his costume was (and when they saw that I'd added a red LED reflector light behind his head, that was like the cherry on top of the satisfaction sundae -- people kept saying "Look, he's even got a red light on there!!"). They did a Halloween parade at his school, where the costumed kids would go from classroom to classroom, and older kids, upon seeing B1, would say "Hey, that's the kid who was the Hancock Building! He came to my class!" And so on. "Cool costume!" All of that. If only B1 were able to appreciate the school-cred he earned!
One yuppie guy, part of a sidewalk Halloween party whose attendees all applauded upon seeing B1's costume, reached into the candy bin and took out a handful, and said "You win the prize for the best costume I've seen all night!" B1, for his part, took all the praise with a guarded grace, in his way, which cracks me up. The one design flaw of the costume was it made navigating stairs difficult, and so many of those places in our area are walk-ups.
I think probably what blew people away was it was a thoughtful costume that was also handmade -- most kids just did store-bought costumes, versus anything handmade, and certainly nothing as offbeat as being a building, or as carefully thought out.
Halloween's my favorite holiday, by far.
I painted my nails with glow-in-the-dark polish, although you can't really see the glow unless it's pitch black. I wanted to find black polish, but got to the CVS too late to score any. D'oh!
B1 was a little under the weather yesterday and the day before, so we didn't do a marathon trick-or-treating yesterday (against my old-school instincts -- for me, Halloween was a marathon event, where you'd try to score absolutely every bit of candy you could). And, again with the old-school eye I have on Halloween, I noted which streets were more forthcoming than others, and how much competition there was for goodies, etc. You have to get all of that tactical stuff sorted out for future outings.
While we were walking around, I thought about how cool it would be to set up a close-to Halloween Zombie Walk -- like a charity event (like the assorted walks that occur), but one that had people dress up like zombies for it, and how cool that would look. I don't quite know how people set up things like that, but think that would rock, this mass of zombies walking for charity. Hee hee!
In Cincinnati, there's an event called "Run Like Hell" that is a 5K, where people are encouraged to run in costume. I think that's pretty great. We need something like that in Chicago, yes? The Zombie Walk might be just the thing. There is a Trick-or-Treat Trot or something, but I'm talking a fucking Zombie Walk, here.
Anyway, that'll be lurching in my head as I already think on next Halloween.
Music: Ministry, "Every Day Is Halloween"
One yuppie guy, part of a sidewalk Halloween party whose attendees all applauded upon seeing B1's costume, reached into the candy bin and took out a handful, and said "You win the prize for the best costume I've seen all night!" B1, for his part, took all the praise with a guarded grace, in his way, which cracks me up. The one design flaw of the costume was it made navigating stairs difficult, and so many of those places in our area are walk-ups.
I think probably what blew people away was it was a thoughtful costume that was also handmade -- most kids just did store-bought costumes, versus anything handmade, and certainly nothing as offbeat as being a building, or as carefully thought out.
Halloween's my favorite holiday, by far.
I painted my nails with glow-in-the-dark polish, although you can't really see the glow unless it's pitch black. I wanted to find black polish, but got to the CVS too late to score any. D'oh!
B1 was a little under the weather yesterday and the day before, so we didn't do a marathon trick-or-treating yesterday (against my old-school instincts -- for me, Halloween was a marathon event, where you'd try to score absolutely every bit of candy you could). And, again with the old-school eye I have on Halloween, I noted which streets were more forthcoming than others, and how much competition there was for goodies, etc. You have to get all of that tactical stuff sorted out for future outings.
While we were walking around, I thought about how cool it would be to set up a close-to Halloween Zombie Walk -- like a charity event (like the assorted walks that occur), but one that had people dress up like zombies for it, and how cool that would look. I don't quite know how people set up things like that, but think that would rock, this mass of zombies walking for charity. Hee hee!
In Cincinnati, there's an event called "Run Like Hell" that is a 5K, where people are encouraged to run in costume. I think that's pretty great. We need something like that in Chicago, yes? The Zombie Walk might be just the thing. There is a Trick-or-Treat Trot or something, but I'm talking a fucking Zombie Walk, here.
Anyway, that'll be lurching in my head as I already think on next Halloween.
Music: Ministry, "Every Day Is Halloween"
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
ZzzzzzZZZZzz
Music: The Warlocks, "So Paranoid"
I'm sleepy. Cat puked at the end of the bed around 3ish, about the worst alarm clock one could have, and I was up, and that was that. It's extra-bad because last night was Spousette's class night (Part 1, Wednesday is Part 2), so I waited up for her to get home, so I slept like 10:30 to 3:30, or something like that. Not enough sleep.
The song I have on, a syrupy bit of psychedelia from the Warlocks, is like a shot of NyQuil in my sleep-deprived condition, but oh well.
I just changed it to Negative Approach. Just try sleeping through that. Trouble is, it's only 1:17 long. Now I've got Nugent doing "Stranglehold," which is another long, sleepy one. Everything's gonna make me sleepy today. All part of the zombie dance, I guess.
I'll do black and orange tomorrow (black shirt, orange t-shirt, black fingernail polish), in honor of my favorite holiday, which, unfortunately, caught up to me this month way too quickly. We've just been too family-busy to stop and enjoy the moments.
And I hear it might rain tomorrow evening. Halloween rains suck. It better hold off.
I'm sleepy. Cat puked at the end of the bed around 3ish, about the worst alarm clock one could have, and I was up, and that was that. It's extra-bad because last night was Spousette's class night (Part 1, Wednesday is Part 2), so I waited up for her to get home, so I slept like 10:30 to 3:30, or something like that. Not enough sleep.
The song I have on, a syrupy bit of psychedelia from the Warlocks, is like a shot of NyQuil in my sleep-deprived condition, but oh well.
I just changed it to Negative Approach. Just try sleeping through that. Trouble is, it's only 1:17 long. Now I've got Nugent doing "Stranglehold," which is another long, sleepy one. Everything's gonna make me sleepy today. All part of the zombie dance, I guess.
I'll do black and orange tomorrow (black shirt, orange t-shirt, black fingernail polish), in honor of my favorite holiday, which, unfortunately, caught up to me this month way too quickly. We've just been too family-busy to stop and enjoy the moments.
And I hear it might rain tomorrow evening. Halloween rains suck. It better hold off.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Printergate
Did I tell you that B2 broke our new printer? Same way he hamstrung the old printer, by snapping an internal guidewire. Christ!! The saga continues. I'd told Spousette to make sure that B2 didn't break it like he did our old one, but no dice. The stinker had gotten in there and busted it.
So, the circle is complete! But, since the printer was still covered by [Store's] returns policy, we took it back for a refund, told them it was broken. This was Spousette's suggestion. I wasn't keen on it, since it wasn't [Store's] fault the printer was broken, but she said "They won't care; I'm sure that happens all the time." So, we went back and returned it, nearly got our money back (e.g., it was credited to our credit card).
Thus, we are now currently printerless, with the memory cards still on their way, the ones I'd bought to fix the new printer problem to begin with. Fancy! Now, on one level, you might think, "Hey, Daibh, at least your system will have new memory, and perform better. And you can just grab any printer you like, now." and I'd agree. Except that we have several pricey inkjet cartridges that only go with particular HP printers. This was something we'd bought months ago when running low on cartridges, before we realized our Lil' Luddite would destroy our old printer.
Thus, the quest has shifted to me trying to find a replacement printer that uses those cartridges we have AND which our computer can handle. The Holy Grail would be a cakewalk by comparison, given that about half of the printers using those types of cartridges are discontinued. Sigh. There are still some out there, but they're generally older printers, not necessarily the latest-and-greatest printers -- and also they're not the cheapest printers, either (they run over $100 routinely, the ones that are compatible with the cartridges we have). If I find a good refurbished one, I'll be sorely tempted to snag it, and to place it behind Lexan to keep B2's cute little mitts away from it.
Amazing month of luck.
My three-word summary of last week: That fucking printer!!!
So, the circle is complete! But, since the printer was still covered by [Store's] returns policy, we took it back for a refund, told them it was broken. This was Spousette's suggestion. I wasn't keen on it, since it wasn't [Store's] fault the printer was broken, but she said "They won't care; I'm sure that happens all the time." So, we went back and returned it, nearly got our money back (e.g., it was credited to our credit card).
Thus, we are now currently printerless, with the memory cards still on their way, the ones I'd bought to fix the new printer problem to begin with. Fancy! Now, on one level, you might think, "Hey, Daibh, at least your system will have new memory, and perform better. And you can just grab any printer you like, now." and I'd agree. Except that we have several pricey inkjet cartridges that only go with particular HP printers. This was something we'd bought months ago when running low on cartridges, before we realized our Lil' Luddite would destroy our old printer.
Thus, the quest has shifted to me trying to find a replacement printer that uses those cartridges we have AND which our computer can handle. The Holy Grail would be a cakewalk by comparison, given that about half of the printers using those types of cartridges are discontinued. Sigh. There are still some out there, but they're generally older printers, not necessarily the latest-and-greatest printers -- and also they're not the cheapest printers, either (they run over $100 routinely, the ones that are compatible with the cartridges we have). If I find a good refurbished one, I'll be sorely tempted to snag it, and to place it behind Lexan to keep B2's cute little mitts away from it.
Amazing month of luck.
My three-word summary of last week: That fucking printer!!!
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Tricks are for kids
Some parental trickery -- Spousette took B2's Noo Noo (as he calls his blankie) and cut it in half without him knowing it. This was to make it easier to launder the thing, since any time we'd take the Noo Noo, B2 would squawk. So, magically, we now have two Noo Noo's, one of which we use and the other we keep in reserve. Come laundry day (Sunday), I take the dirty Noo Noo and replace it with Noo Noo 2. B2's none the wiser.
Another trick: B1 doesn't like the crusts on his bread, so I slice the crusts from them. Then I dice them and put them in a little baggie for B2, who thinks because they're in a baggie, they're somehow a treat. In the past, if I put those diced crusts on his feeding tray, he'd just ignore them or throw them away. But in a baggie, why, suddenly they're special, and he's happily munching on them! Muahaha! So, no wasted bread, and children get fed!
Still another one -- B1, ever the diva, won't willingly eat the heels of the bread. Sometimes, though, that's all we have left. So, I take the heels and put peanut butter or Nutella on them, and stick them together. That way, he can't see the heels! Muhahahahh!
Our boys love "Between the Lions" -- muppettish kids' reading show, on at 6:30 a.m. CST on PBS, if you must know. And they do a great job with it, except for a couple of shows that kind of weird me out -- there's Cliff Hanger, this benighted soul who's always hanging from a cliff, never seems able to escape.
And then there's Chicken Jane, who occupies this twisted world where she's always getting reamed somehow and saving the kids (modeled after Dick and Jane) from peril. Here's a representative episode of it. I always feel bad for poor Chicken Jane, forced to protect these idiot children from all sorts of things. When the little ditty starts, I'm always saying to Spousette, "Poor Chicken Jane!"
Another trick: B1 doesn't like the crusts on his bread, so I slice the crusts from them. Then I dice them and put them in a little baggie for B2, who thinks because they're in a baggie, they're somehow a treat. In the past, if I put those diced crusts on his feeding tray, he'd just ignore them or throw them away. But in a baggie, why, suddenly they're special, and he's happily munching on them! Muahaha! So, no wasted bread, and children get fed!
Still another one -- B1, ever the diva, won't willingly eat the heels of the bread. Sometimes, though, that's all we have left. So, I take the heels and put peanut butter or Nutella on them, and stick them together. That way, he can't see the heels! Muhahahahh!
Our boys love "Between the Lions" -- muppettish kids' reading show, on at 6:30 a.m. CST on PBS, if you must know. And they do a great job with it, except for a couple of shows that kind of weird me out -- there's Cliff Hanger, this benighted soul who's always hanging from a cliff, never seems able to escape.
And then there's Chicken Jane, who occupies this twisted world where she's always getting reamed somehow and saving the kids (modeled after Dick and Jane) from peril. Here's a representative episode of it. I always feel bad for poor Chicken Jane, forced to protect these idiot children from all sorts of things. When the little ditty starts, I'm always saying to Spousette, "Poor Chicken Jane!"
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Saturdazed
Well, I'm back. What a gray, overcast day today's been! But busy, too, as Saturdays always are.
Got up my usual crack o' dawn (the word "dawn" will forever be tainted to me, for those who know why, there's no need to 'splain it). And I exercised in the fitness room downstairs (nautilus then 35 minutes of elliptical trainer -- part of my fall/winter routine, when the weather gets ucky). Then later, I dropped Spousette off for labs this morning (got her up there around 8:30 a.m.), then took the boys to the Dominick's that's off of Howard (pretty nice for a Dominick's, very roomy -- it's the point of the spear of the gentrification going on in the area, part of a plaza of various things, like a Bally's etc.) Went grocery-shopping ($133, got a wide array of needed staples), then drove back home, did the dead-dad shuffle (that is, toting B2 in left arm, pushing packed grocery cart with right arm, while helping B1 along as well). Of course, I couldn't get parking too close, so it was a bit of a hike, maybe 150 urban yards, zigzagging. The kind of haul that prompts bachelors to walk by me with looks like "Christ, I'm so glad I'm not a dad."
Then getting into our building and unloading the groceries, making raisin toast for the boys (they both loved it. B1 ate nearly six pieces of it! B2 ate two plus some of the ones his brother left). Then I put B2 down for a nap, then watched some morning cartoons with B1 (he loves "Legion of Super Heroes" and "the Batman" -- even though I'm a Marvel guy at heart, I must admit that with the animated stuff, DC does it better).
By that point, it was time to get B1 ready for soccer, so I got him all ready to go, and at the last minute, roused his brother from his nap to get him ready. Then it was a hasty drive to the park, managing to luck into some parking, and hot-footing it to the game.
I'd brought the baby backpack, so B2 was riding on my back. B1's whole team was there, and while they practiced, I let B2 toddle around, get into mischief. With Spousette at labs, and me the only parental representative from our fams there, it's kind of isolating -- like all the other parents are there and talking, and I'm busy trying to keep B2 from swallowing bottlecaps and pieces of park-glass. Although I have to let him walk himself out, so he'll be more sanguine about being piggybacked when the game actually begins. The parents are all nice, and are always pleased by my enthusiasm when the game begins. One of the moms, Kate, totally reminds me of Mame. She could be Mame's other sister.
So the game was played, and the Silver Sharks (B1's team) played very well, but they were up against this impeccably-drilled team, these five little soccer robots trained by this hardcore coach. They were all little, but the kids could play -- they held great field position, played incredible defense, and even made actual offensive plays on the field. They were great, but it was kind of unpleasantly so, like they were grimly great, you know? Versus joyously so. They scored the first goal, but then our team rebounded.
Long story short, we lost 3 to 5 -- but it was a far closer game than that score might make it seem. It was tied for most of it, and only an accidental goal error by our ace (he knocked it into our own goal) made it a two-goal game. Otherwise it would've been 3 to 4, for real. So, even though our team was beaten, they played hard and they played well.
Only Kate's kid (who is this little diehard, all heart, a good player, though mostly instinctively athletic, versus being an ace) cried this time out, with Kate cornering him and saying "C'mon, C___, you need to get a hold of yourself. You played really well; everybody did. C___, enough tears."
So, that's some progress. And B1 asked right after the game if we'd won or lost, so that's progress, too! And our team really did play hard and well, and made those little robots work for their win.
After that, I let the boys play on the super-happy-fun playground (B1 scouted it out, said "Since there are no clowns there today, we can play there, Daddy!") I asked him what he didn't like about clowns, and he said "They're boring!" That amused me. I let the boys play about 45 minutes, both of'em running around, having fun.
Then we stopped by the gas station, and I added some air to one of the tires, which was a little low, then it was home (again, no parking behind the building -- gruh) so I had to go to one of my secondary parking areas, and haul the boys back home.
Then it was a snack-and-a-nap for B2, and a snack and Wallac & Gromit for B1, with Daddy taking a few minutes to rest! In no time, Spousette'll be home, and it'll be dinner time. I figure I'll do pizza.
Oh, and I ordered a soccer ball with a shark face imprinted on it, as a surprise for B1. He'll love it. I was inspired to look for it when I'd spied a soccer ball with a tiger on it. I thought "Oh, I bet they've got shark soccer balls." B1 might not be the best player, but he'll have the coolest ball, once it eventually arrives.
This was Game 6 for them; so there are three more in this part of the season. Then nine more games in spring. I have to say that the soccer league is really generous with the amount of games you get for what you pay for. Pretty great!
Alright, sofa-time for Daddeo!
Got up my usual crack o' dawn (the word "dawn" will forever be tainted to me, for those who know why, there's no need to 'splain it). And I exercised in the fitness room downstairs (nautilus then 35 minutes of elliptical trainer -- part of my fall/winter routine, when the weather gets ucky). Then later, I dropped Spousette off for labs this morning (got her up there around 8:30 a.m.), then took the boys to the Dominick's that's off of Howard (pretty nice for a Dominick's, very roomy -- it's the point of the spear of the gentrification going on in the area, part of a plaza of various things, like a Bally's etc.) Went grocery-shopping ($133, got a wide array of needed staples), then drove back home, did the dead-dad shuffle (that is, toting B2 in left arm, pushing packed grocery cart with right arm, while helping B1 along as well). Of course, I couldn't get parking too close, so it was a bit of a hike, maybe 150 urban yards, zigzagging. The kind of haul that prompts bachelors to walk by me with looks like "Christ, I'm so glad I'm not a dad."
Then getting into our building and unloading the groceries, making raisin toast for the boys (they both loved it. B1 ate nearly six pieces of it! B2 ate two plus some of the ones his brother left). Then I put B2 down for a nap, then watched some morning cartoons with B1 (he loves "Legion of Super Heroes" and "the Batman" -- even though I'm a Marvel guy at heart, I must admit that with the animated stuff, DC does it better).
By that point, it was time to get B1 ready for soccer, so I got him all ready to go, and at the last minute, roused his brother from his nap to get him ready. Then it was a hasty drive to the park, managing to luck into some parking, and hot-footing it to the game.
I'd brought the baby backpack, so B2 was riding on my back. B1's whole team was there, and while they practiced, I let B2 toddle around, get into mischief. With Spousette at labs, and me the only parental representative from our fams there, it's kind of isolating -- like all the other parents are there and talking, and I'm busy trying to keep B2 from swallowing bottlecaps and pieces of park-glass. Although I have to let him walk himself out, so he'll be more sanguine about being piggybacked when the game actually begins. The parents are all nice, and are always pleased by my enthusiasm when the game begins. One of the moms, Kate, totally reminds me of Mame. She could be Mame's other sister.
So the game was played, and the Silver Sharks (B1's team) played very well, but they were up against this impeccably-drilled team, these five little soccer robots trained by this hardcore coach. They were all little, but the kids could play -- they held great field position, played incredible defense, and even made actual offensive plays on the field. They were great, but it was kind of unpleasantly so, like they were grimly great, you know? Versus joyously so. They scored the first goal, but then our team rebounded.
Long story short, we lost 3 to 5 -- but it was a far closer game than that score might make it seem. It was tied for most of it, and only an accidental goal error by our ace (he knocked it into our own goal) made it a two-goal game. Otherwise it would've been 3 to 4, for real. So, even though our team was beaten, they played hard and they played well.
Only Kate's kid (who is this little diehard, all heart, a good player, though mostly instinctively athletic, versus being an ace) cried this time out, with Kate cornering him and saying "C'mon, C___, you need to get a hold of yourself. You played really well; everybody did. C___, enough tears."
So, that's some progress. And B1 asked right after the game if we'd won or lost, so that's progress, too! And our team really did play hard and well, and made those little robots work for their win.
After that, I let the boys play on the super-happy-fun playground (B1 scouted it out, said "Since there are no clowns there today, we can play there, Daddy!") I asked him what he didn't like about clowns, and he said "They're boring!" That amused me. I let the boys play about 45 minutes, both of'em running around, having fun.
Then we stopped by the gas station, and I added some air to one of the tires, which was a little low, then it was home (again, no parking behind the building -- gruh) so I had to go to one of my secondary parking areas, and haul the boys back home.
Then it was a snack-and-a-nap for B2, and a snack and Wallac & Gromit for B1, with Daddy taking a few minutes to rest! In no time, Spousette'll be home, and it'll be dinner time. I figure I'll do pizza.
Oh, and I ordered a soccer ball with a shark face imprinted on it, as a surprise for B1. He'll love it. I was inspired to look for it when I'd spied a soccer ball with a tiger on it. I thought "Oh, I bet they've got shark soccer balls." B1 might not be the best player, but he'll have the coolest ball, once it eventually arrives.
This was Game 6 for them; so there are three more in this part of the season. Then nine more games in spring. I have to say that the soccer league is really generous with the amount of games you get for what you pay for. Pretty great!
Alright, sofa-time for Daddeo!
Monday, October 8, 2007
Weekender
I find Monday's the best time to recount the weekend, since it's best to do so on company time, versus on home time. Not that there's terribly much to recount. Going backwards in time, let's see...
Sent out some rezzies, as ever. We'll see what happens. We took the boys outside to watch the marathon (where we live, we can catch them at Mile 5 and then can walk up the street to catch Mile 11). That was fun -- I'm a good cheerer, cheered those sorry running bastards on. We managed to hotfoot it to the Mile 11 spot (intersection of Armitage and Sedgewick) and see the elite marathoners shoot by, and waited there awhile (maybe 45 minutes) and watched some of the folks we cheered at Mile 5 make their way sweatily past us. Some of them were looking pretty worn out by then, ready to drop. The humidity took its toll, for sure. Then we went back to our apartment and watched the great finishes for the elite runners. I felt bad for Adriana Prieta, the Romanian who was coasting to a first-time marathon victory, only to have it snatched from her in the last minute by a sprinting Ethiopian champ. That was pretty amazing -- Prieta made a classic blunder: ending the race before crossing the finish line. Live and learn, I guess? She had an amazingly light stride for somebody running so damned far.
Spousette's definitely wanting to run a marathon at some point, but I told her no way am I doing it; I'd happily cheer her from the sidelines, but I only run when chased. The boys and I would cheer her on, but that's her particular mountain to climb, not mine!
We also went out and wore the boys out with some soccer and walking around the neighborhood; the boys enjoyed playing in the fountains in the kiddie part of the Zoo, which was cute. Although B2 was drawn to try to pick up cobbles and throw'em. He loves grabbing rocks and chucking'em. What else? Oh, speaking of soccer, B1's team won again, so they're 3 and 2, which is nice. Once again, B1 is hopeless at soccer, compared to three of his teammates (he's about equivalent to the remaining teammate). But he's young, is still learning.
Athletically, he's certainly capable of playing, but he's not aggressive or competitive enough to get much play time, and kind of loses his focus during play, although he seems to enjoy himself, and that's good. I thought he'd enjoy soccer for all of the running, but he just kind of goes off into his own world, although, as I said, he seems to have fun. The season is an amazingly long 18 games, so there's still a lot of time to learn and develop his skills.
One amusing thing -- as we finished, he said "did my team win?" and I told him they did, and he was happy, wanted to go to the playground nearby (which was all wet from the rain). I didn't really want to, wanted to get the boys back home, but we went over there, and I saw an honest-to-goodness (or badness) clown on a bicycle, riding around in there, like for some kid's birthday party, or something. I said "Hey, there's a clown in there." and B1's like "What?" and he looks, and says "Oooh, I don't want to go to the playground, now." And I said "Are you sure?" and he's like "Yeah. Let's get out of here!" so we went home, after all. For once, I was almost glad to see a goddamned clown.
We Peapodded our groceries on Friday, which left a lot of the weekend, open, thankfully. Spousette's labs started Saturday, so I drove her up there and played Soccer Dad for the game. I'll actually have to do that for the remainder of the fall season, and probably for spring, too. I just put B2 in our baby backpack, carry him the way, keep him out of trouble -- I let him run around and wear himself out while B1's practicing, and then backpack him for the game, so I can watch B1 play.
One thing we got from Peapod is this great full-fat mozzarella cheese. It's soooo good! First time we had it, we didn't realize it was full-fat, and were like "Damn, this cheese is great!" and then we saw it was full-fat. Yummers.
I was disappointed to hear the Cubs blow it on AM radio. They totally imploded.
Sent out some rezzies, as ever. We'll see what happens. We took the boys outside to watch the marathon (where we live, we can catch them at Mile 5 and then can walk up the street to catch Mile 11). That was fun -- I'm a good cheerer, cheered those sorry running bastards on. We managed to hotfoot it to the Mile 11 spot (intersection of Armitage and Sedgewick) and see the elite marathoners shoot by, and waited there awhile (maybe 45 minutes) and watched some of the folks we cheered at Mile 5 make their way sweatily past us. Some of them were looking pretty worn out by then, ready to drop. The humidity took its toll, for sure. Then we went back to our apartment and watched the great finishes for the elite runners. I felt bad for Adriana Prieta, the Romanian who was coasting to a first-time marathon victory, only to have it snatched from her in the last minute by a sprinting Ethiopian champ. That was pretty amazing -- Prieta made a classic blunder: ending the race before crossing the finish line. Live and learn, I guess? She had an amazingly light stride for somebody running so damned far.
Spousette's definitely wanting to run a marathon at some point, but I told her no way am I doing it; I'd happily cheer her from the sidelines, but I only run when chased. The boys and I would cheer her on, but that's her particular mountain to climb, not mine!
We also went out and wore the boys out with some soccer and walking around the neighborhood; the boys enjoyed playing in the fountains in the kiddie part of the Zoo, which was cute. Although B2 was drawn to try to pick up cobbles and throw'em. He loves grabbing rocks and chucking'em. What else? Oh, speaking of soccer, B1's team won again, so they're 3 and 2, which is nice. Once again, B1 is hopeless at soccer, compared to three of his teammates (he's about equivalent to the remaining teammate). But he's young, is still learning.
Athletically, he's certainly capable of playing, but he's not aggressive or competitive enough to get much play time, and kind of loses his focus during play, although he seems to enjoy himself, and that's good. I thought he'd enjoy soccer for all of the running, but he just kind of goes off into his own world, although, as I said, he seems to have fun. The season is an amazingly long 18 games, so there's still a lot of time to learn and develop his skills.
One amusing thing -- as we finished, he said "did my team win?" and I told him they did, and he was happy, wanted to go to the playground nearby (which was all wet from the rain). I didn't really want to, wanted to get the boys back home, but we went over there, and I saw an honest-to-goodness (or badness) clown on a bicycle, riding around in there, like for some kid's birthday party, or something. I said "Hey, there's a clown in there." and B1's like "What?" and he looks, and says "Oooh, I don't want to go to the playground, now." And I said "Are you sure?" and he's like "Yeah. Let's get out of here!" so we went home, after all. For once, I was almost glad to see a goddamned clown.
We Peapodded our groceries on Friday, which left a lot of the weekend, open, thankfully. Spousette's labs started Saturday, so I drove her up there and played Soccer Dad for the game. I'll actually have to do that for the remainder of the fall season, and probably for spring, too. I just put B2 in our baby backpack, carry him the way, keep him out of trouble -- I let him run around and wear himself out while B1's practicing, and then backpack him for the game, so I can watch B1 play.
One thing we got from Peapod is this great full-fat mozzarella cheese. It's soooo good! First time we had it, we didn't realize it was full-fat, and were like "Damn, this cheese is great!" and then we saw it was full-fat. Yummers.
I was disappointed to hear the Cubs blow it on AM radio. They totally imploded.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Boyish
B1 cracked me up; he's all about the "-ish" these days...
That cracks me up. I don't know how "girlish" ended up uncoolish in his lexicon, but somehow it did. Classic boy -- girls have cooties! At least for nowish. Actually, there are a couple of girls he plays with after school, but they're more tomboyish; the girlie-girls all hang in girlie-girl packs.
B2 totally headbutted me yesterday, clocked my left ear with his head (since I was wearing glasses, the ear part of my glasses was mashed into my ear). It hurt! It still hurts, actually. Little stinker! He's such a bad boy. We have a good boy and a bad boy, and it's already terribly apparent.
B2 is cute and cuddly, but he's like 100% mischief, whereas B1 is a diva, but he's also sweetly helpful and amazingly rational at times, even if he's also very stubborn. He always wants to help out, which is touching, whereas B2 is all about destroying things or trying to get himself killed. We know which kid'll want to bungee jump, skydive, and hang glide, for sure, and which one'll like Radiohead and playing chess. You can already tell. We call B2 our little warrior boy, because he's so scrappy, whereas B1 is likelier to be something science-related, or business-related, or else some kind of anglo mafia don who breeds orchids in his spare time.
Spousette's still battling a nasty cold she's had for over a week; she's usually vulnerable to those sinus-type colds. Fortunately, she doesn't have labs this weekend, so she can cool her heels and try to recover.
And the Cubs clinched their division last night! They're going to the playoffs! Wooo hooo! They're the first team to clinch their division in the National League, which is amazingly up for grabs right now.
"I want something coolish; not foodish or girlish. I want something not porkish. Maybe something sharkish."
That cracks me up. I don't know how "girlish" ended up uncoolish in his lexicon, but somehow it did. Classic boy -- girls have cooties! At least for nowish. Actually, there are a couple of girls he plays with after school, but they're more tomboyish; the girlie-girls all hang in girlie-girl packs.
B2 totally headbutted me yesterday, clocked my left ear with his head (since I was wearing glasses, the ear part of my glasses was mashed into my ear). It hurt! It still hurts, actually. Little stinker! He's such a bad boy. We have a good boy and a bad boy, and it's already terribly apparent.
B2 is cute and cuddly, but he's like 100% mischief, whereas B1 is a diva, but he's also sweetly helpful and amazingly rational at times, even if he's also very stubborn. He always wants to help out, which is touching, whereas B2 is all about destroying things or trying to get himself killed. We know which kid'll want to bungee jump, skydive, and hang glide, for sure, and which one'll like Radiohead and playing chess. You can already tell. We call B2 our little warrior boy, because he's so scrappy, whereas B1 is likelier to be something science-related, or business-related, or else some kind of anglo mafia don who breeds orchids in his spare time.
Spousette's still battling a nasty cold she's had for over a week; she's usually vulnerable to those sinus-type colds. Fortunately, she doesn't have labs this weekend, so she can cool her heels and try to recover.
And the Cubs clinched their division last night! They're going to the playoffs! Wooo hooo! They're the first team to clinch their division in the National League, which is amazingly up for grabs right now.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Bloody Nose!
B1 had his first bloody nose sometime last night. He woke up this morning, hale and hearty, with dried blood smeared on his cheeks, hands, and forehead. He didn't even realize it, so there wasn't any emotional reaction, like "Whaaaa???" or whatever, and Spousette and I were matter-of-fact in addressing it. I took a washcloth and swabbed it off him, but he was like Kid Carnage this morning. A definite Fangoria moment, there.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Boys will be boys
B2 broke our printer; I don't know what the lil' Luddite did, but he snapped some guidewire in there or something, and the thing died. So, Spousette and I went to Costco, coupon in hand, and scored a new HP printer, before going out to Wishbone for a delayed anniversary dinner.
Anyway, I set up the printer last night, and apparently the printer's got more firepower than our computer can handle (we're like a megabyte short of the minimum required RAM). Sigh. Right in time for school to start for Spousette. Grruh! The temptation is to replace the old Shitbox (as I call our computer) with a brand, spanking new one -- but financially we're not up for that at the moment, so I ordered some RAM to add to the Shitbox (which has historically been a finicky machine to upgrade -- I kinda hate Dells; they tout their excellent customer service, but I chalk it up to the necessity of it, because their computers are finicky). So, hopefully that'll go well. PCs are nice and cheap these days, but with the holiday gauntlet looming, it's kinda not doable at the moment.
A funny thing -- B1 hadn't realized that his soccer team had lost Saturday's game until Sunday! I'd have thought the other boys crying would've tipped him off, but he probably thought they were just hurt or something. Anyway, I'd mentioned it offhand to my folks while on the phone with'em, and he said "What? Our team LOST?!" and then he dipped his head down, Charlie Brown-style, and muttered "I don't want our team to lose to the Dragons." I told him it was okay, that it happened sometimes. He was bummed, but it cracked me up that he hadn't realized it on the game day -- but I think his priority at the time was playing at the cool playground near Margate House, which is near where he plays soccer. I remember thinking "Wow, he's really chipper; he took that really well!" Little did I know!
Spousette and I are going to do some ad hoc practices with B1 during the week, hopefully get him more comfortable with passing the ball, running and kicking with it, and so on.
Anyway, I set up the printer last night, and apparently the printer's got more firepower than our computer can handle (we're like a megabyte short of the minimum required RAM). Sigh. Right in time for school to start for Spousette. Grruh! The temptation is to replace the old Shitbox (as I call our computer) with a brand, spanking new one -- but financially we're not up for that at the moment, so I ordered some RAM to add to the Shitbox (which has historically been a finicky machine to upgrade -- I kinda hate Dells; they tout their excellent customer service, but I chalk it up to the necessity of it, because their computers are finicky). So, hopefully that'll go well. PCs are nice and cheap these days, but with the holiday gauntlet looming, it's kinda not doable at the moment.
A funny thing -- B1 hadn't realized that his soccer team had lost Saturday's game until Sunday! I'd have thought the other boys crying would've tipped him off, but he probably thought they were just hurt or something. Anyway, I'd mentioned it offhand to my folks while on the phone with'em, and he said "What? Our team LOST?!" and then he dipped his head down, Charlie Brown-style, and muttered "I don't want our team to lose to the Dragons." I told him it was okay, that it happened sometimes. He was bummed, but it cracked me up that he hadn't realized it on the game day -- but I think his priority at the time was playing at the cool playground near Margate House, which is near where he plays soccer. I remember thinking "Wow, he's really chipper; he took that really well!" Little did I know!
Spousette and I are going to do some ad hoc practices with B1 during the week, hopefully get him more comfortable with passing the ball, running and kicking with it, and so on.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Antichristo Salad
The boys are in bed, thank heavens. Christ, what an evening! The simplest things turned into massive chaos. I told Spousette if she got Subway for us, I'd snag needed groceries, so she agreed. I was worn out after biking home (nice, vigorous Chicago headwinds take the piss, they do). Had myself a root beer n' rum (not a bad pairing, believe it or not; as an Epicurean, I take it upon myself to test these things out) with my Veggie Delite. Everything's okay, until we decide to go the store (Treasure Island) -- Spousette said she'd go along, bring the boys; then B1 starts caterwauling about not wanting to so, so we're like "C'mon, we're all going, now." I think for a minute about bringing out baby backpack, packing B2 into it, but Spousette's already got him in the stroller.
So, we're walking down to TI, and B1 is in full-on fussbudget mode, carping, whining, and complaining about everything the whole way. I tell him in an offhand manner, "You know, you keep wagging that tongue like that, some troll's gonna come along and take it."
Well, that set off B1 bawling, like "Nooooo! I DON'T WANT A TROLL TAKING MY TONGUE! NOW I'M GONNA HAVE NIGHTMARES, DADDY!" So, I'm like "We're not gonna let any trolls getcha, [B1.]" And he's carrying on, and I said "Trolls are pretend, [B1.]" and Spousette said "Daddy's just teasing." That mostly mollified B1, along with showing him some impatiens flowers, with their seed poppers, which he said would give him good dreams. So, I told him to think about those poppers if he ever had bad dreams, and he said he didn't like trolls, etc.
Then we get to the store, and B2 then decides to try to grab things off the shelves in passing, including a jar of jam, which he drops to the floor with a crunch/crash/plop, which happened right as I was getting milk for us (the main reason we went out to begin with). So, we do quick parent disaster triage, with me handling the boys, and with Spousette telling the store people there's a broken jar of jam in Aisle (fucking) Four.
At this point, we put B2 in the shopping cart (versus his stroller), and continue on our way, me with the stroller and B1, Spousette with B2 and the shopping cart. B2 begins reaching into the stroller and methodically hurling things out of the cart. We're like "No!" but it doesn't deter him. He keeps grabbing things and hurling them. I grab an eight-pack of my beloved Chinotto Italian crank soda (in that the stuff is so addictive!) and the damned thing's paperboard yoke bursts, raining the cute little bottles throughout our cart. Thankfully, none of the little fuckers break. Spousette says "Those boxes ALWAYS do that, I swear." Meantime, I'm trying to keep B2 from getting at them -- so far, everything Lil' Antichristo has been hurling has been soft and/or shatterproof. The last thing I need is him chucking a glass bottle.
Against all odds, we manage to finish our grocery run, and are settling up, with B2 grabbing at everything, trying to climb out of his stroller, while B1 is fussing about this and that. We get one of those mouthbreather baggers who barely can handle his job, and I help him through it, and we've at last got stuff loaded up and we're ready to go, and we make it to the sidewalk, with B2 returned to his stroller, now.
At this moment, he decides to take his little Crocs and hurl them across the sidewalk, and to try to climb out of his stroller, so Spousette and I descend on him and put the five-point harness on him (since Spousette had only engaged two of the restraints, Lil' Antichristo had slipped free). By now, I'm sweating and stressed out, and other couples with only one kid are smiling, amused at our travails, probably thinking "Thank God our little Eleanor Anne is our only child!"
We make our way home, nerves frayed and frazzled, and then get to our building, and make our way inside our apartment. Then my mom calls for some inane reason, and I'm multi-tasking with unloading the groceries while Spousette's dealing with the boys (B2 wants to dig into the grocery bags, reaches for the eggs, I'm like "Noo, you don't!" and stash'em). I get everything unloaded, then I realize "Where the hell's the milk?"
Spousette's like "No milk? I was busy with the kids. You were with the groceries." And I'm like "I know, I was watching, I don't see it." I give my mom the phone bum's rush, and B2 is busy climbing something, trying to get at a knife. I grab him, hand him to Spousette, tell her "You handle this, and I'll get the milk." (a running joke we have is we call B2 "This" -- I actually started it, like holding him up, saying, "You take this." Now we both do it).
So, I'm heading outside and reviewing the grocery list, and I see no milk purchase on there. I'm like "Huh?" Then I flash back to TI, and I realized that at the precise moment when I'd grabbed the milks, that's when B2 had broken the jar o' jam! I'd never put them in the cart to begin with! I'm like "Ahh, okay. That's how we missed it -- there was nothing there."
Instead of humping back to TI, I just go a half-block up to White Hen, and get myself a fucking Mega Millions ticket (figuring we need some good luck, are definitely overdue, and could really use $60 million), and I get our two gallons of milk (2% and whole). I'm pleased that we didn't actually forget the milk, and get home, hearing B2 screaming angrily from down the hallway, and I'm like "Oh, that ain't good."
I open the door, and the door bumps into this table/lamp thing we had in the kids' room. "Throw that damned thing out," Spousette says. "What's wrong with it?" I ask. "B2 tried to climb it, and the whole thing fell over, knocking everything down in their room, and making [B1] upset because it broke the light bulb." I'm like, "Okay." and I cart the thing to the trash room, and on returning, I explain the milk shakeup, how it all worked out.
Then we get the boys to bed, no questions asked, and by 8:01 p.m. CST, the little stinkers are tucked in and in bed, and Spousette and I are like "Whhhhhewwww." It was pure chaos in Casa Del Daibh tonight, poppets. I told Spousette as we were heading home, "I'm totally blogging this, although I doubt I'll be able to capture the craziness of the moment." She laughed, agreed.
"Why do people have kids?" I asked her rhetorically. "For the joy," she said, laughing.
So, we're walking down to TI, and B1 is in full-on fussbudget mode, carping, whining, and complaining about everything the whole way. I tell him in an offhand manner, "You know, you keep wagging that tongue like that, some troll's gonna come along and take it."
Well, that set off B1 bawling, like "Nooooo! I DON'T WANT A TROLL TAKING MY TONGUE! NOW I'M GONNA HAVE NIGHTMARES, DADDY!" So, I'm like "We're not gonna let any trolls getcha, [B1.]" And he's carrying on, and I said "Trolls are pretend, [B1.]" and Spousette said "Daddy's just teasing." That mostly mollified B1, along with showing him some impatiens flowers, with their seed poppers, which he said would give him good dreams. So, I told him to think about those poppers if he ever had bad dreams, and he said he didn't like trolls, etc.
Then we get to the store, and B2 then decides to try to grab things off the shelves in passing, including a jar of jam, which he drops to the floor with a crunch/crash/plop, which happened right as I was getting milk for us (the main reason we went out to begin with). So, we do quick parent disaster triage, with me handling the boys, and with Spousette telling the store people there's a broken jar of jam in Aisle (fucking) Four.
At this point, we put B2 in the shopping cart (versus his stroller), and continue on our way, me with the stroller and B1, Spousette with B2 and the shopping cart. B2 begins reaching into the stroller and methodically hurling things out of the cart. We're like "No!" but it doesn't deter him. He keeps grabbing things and hurling them. I grab an eight-pack of my beloved Chinotto Italian crank soda (in that the stuff is so addictive!) and the damned thing's paperboard yoke bursts, raining the cute little bottles throughout our cart. Thankfully, none of the little fuckers break. Spousette says "Those boxes ALWAYS do that, I swear." Meantime, I'm trying to keep B2 from getting at them -- so far, everything Lil' Antichristo has been hurling has been soft and/or shatterproof. The last thing I need is him chucking a glass bottle.
Against all odds, we manage to finish our grocery run, and are settling up, with B2 grabbing at everything, trying to climb out of his stroller, while B1 is fussing about this and that. We get one of those mouthbreather baggers who barely can handle his job, and I help him through it, and we've at last got stuff loaded up and we're ready to go, and we make it to the sidewalk, with B2 returned to his stroller, now.
At this moment, he decides to take his little Crocs and hurl them across the sidewalk, and to try to climb out of his stroller, so Spousette and I descend on him and put the five-point harness on him (since Spousette had only engaged two of the restraints, Lil' Antichristo had slipped free). By now, I'm sweating and stressed out, and other couples with only one kid are smiling, amused at our travails, probably thinking "Thank God our little Eleanor Anne is our only child!"
We make our way home, nerves frayed and frazzled, and then get to our building, and make our way inside our apartment. Then my mom calls for some inane reason, and I'm multi-tasking with unloading the groceries while Spousette's dealing with the boys (B2 wants to dig into the grocery bags, reaches for the eggs, I'm like "Noo, you don't!" and stash'em). I get everything unloaded, then I realize "Where the hell's the milk?"
Spousette's like "No milk? I was busy with the kids. You were with the groceries." And I'm like "I know, I was watching, I don't see it." I give my mom the phone bum's rush, and B2 is busy climbing something, trying to get at a knife. I grab him, hand him to Spousette, tell her "You handle this, and I'll get the milk." (a running joke we have is we call B2 "This" -- I actually started it, like holding him up, saying, "You take this." Now we both do it).
So, I'm heading outside and reviewing the grocery list, and I see no milk purchase on there. I'm like "Huh?" Then I flash back to TI, and I realized that at the precise moment when I'd grabbed the milks, that's when B2 had broken the jar o' jam! I'd never put them in the cart to begin with! I'm like "Ahh, okay. That's how we missed it -- there was nothing there."
Instead of humping back to TI, I just go a half-block up to White Hen, and get myself a fucking Mega Millions ticket (figuring we need some good luck, are definitely overdue, and could really use $60 million), and I get our two gallons of milk (2% and whole). I'm pleased that we didn't actually forget the milk, and get home, hearing B2 screaming angrily from down the hallway, and I'm like "Oh, that ain't good."
I open the door, and the door bumps into this table/lamp thing we had in the kids' room. "Throw that damned thing out," Spousette says. "What's wrong with it?" I ask. "B2 tried to climb it, and the whole thing fell over, knocking everything down in their room, and making [B1] upset because it broke the light bulb." I'm like, "Okay." and I cart the thing to the trash room, and on returning, I explain the milk shakeup, how it all worked out.
Then we get the boys to bed, no questions asked, and by 8:01 p.m. CST, the little stinkers are tucked in and in bed, and Spousette and I are like "Whhhhhewwww." It was pure chaos in Casa Del Daibh tonight, poppets. I told Spousette as we were heading home, "I'm totally blogging this, although I doubt I'll be able to capture the craziness of the moment." She laughed, agreed.
"Why do people have kids?" I asked her rhetorically. "For the joy," she said, laughing.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Luau
Poor Spousette and B1 have colds. So far, B2 and I are spared. I'm in a better mood today than I've been in a number of days, mostly because I wrote 1500 words of fiction yesterday; I hadn't written f*ck since visiting my folks. Writing always makes me feel better, like I'm getting something done. Never mind that it's a rewrite; it's still writing.
Today's busy, but not as insanely busy as yesterday. It's also very quiet. Maybe a little TOO quiet...hmmm.
Today's busy, but not as insanely busy as yesterday. It's also very quiet. Maybe a little TOO quiet...hmmm.
Saturday, September 8, 2007
Glass-lined stomach
Sigh. Well, yesterday wasn't so great, after all. First off, I just did a hit-and-run with Herr Direktor, scoped him out amid the sycophant parade, saw plenty of unfamiliar faces and the general dissolution of our group, and got out of there.
Then, the would-be beer lunch was kind of sabotaged b/c the place we were going to didn't open until 4:00, and our backup place didn't serve beer or wine (even though it said they did), so we got soft drinks and laughed about that. It was odd, hanging out with Cookie, Crabcakes, and Miss Manners -- they're really not my type of folks, so I was mostly subdued with them. They're nice enough folks, but they're not my peeps, you know? I'm the oldest of them (I think Crabcakes just turned 30, and Cookie and Manners are in their mid-to-late 20s), so we occupy different worlds. And, weirdly, I think Cookie and Crabcakes aren't terribly sharp -- I could really sense that. They're nice enough, but not sharp. After spending years wrangling with assorted sharp folks, hanging out with these others was kind of jarring. Like I couldn't really apply my trademark wit without feeling like it would be out of place, so I kept mum. Crabcakes was miffed that she couldn't get any beer -- nothing a Hobbit dislikes more than being deprived of ale, right?
Luckily, 3-D was out while I was out, so I got back undetected (despite the long lunch), and then worked quickly and banged out a bunch of work. I talked Leona into joining the Lunch Bunchers for the postwork outing, but around 3:30 I was beginning to feel nauseous, and was like "Uh oh." I nearly puked in the workplace restroom, and then managed the bus ride to our destination, fighting nausea along the way. I didn't want to skip out on the gathering, though I was feeling like hell. I had one (1) beer and that was it; hung out with Homegrrl and Leona in the rain, then met up with Shallot and Plebe, who arrived later. All in all, I hung out for about two hours (since Leona and I got there at 4:30), and left in between bouts of nausea -- which was either a reaction to some sushi the night before, or else an ulcer-related reaction to possible stealth roasted red pepper in the sauce of what I'd had for lunch; either was possible. Either way, it was really annoying; I wanted to hang out, but the tummy failed me, as ever. Strong man, strong heart, weak stomach and bad lungs; no fair!!
Leaving was the best thing to do for me, under the circumstances; it was nice to see everybody, regardless. I didn't eat any dinner when I got home, just had water. Guess I should just eat rice cakes for a few years or something. Sheesh.
When I got home, Spousette told me that B1 was grousing about me being gone, saying that he didn't want me to have any buddies, and that my buddies should all just go home! That's so him, it cracked me up. We were talking up Halloween costumes for the boys, and said B2 would be a great little clown (!!) because he's got that outward-curling Bozo hair, and would look cute. B1 said he'd never be a clown because that was too silly! He wanted to be an airplane (?!) but we talked him into being a building, and thought we'd make him the Hancock Building, which I think he'd like (esp. because we'll put in a row of glowsticks at one spot of the costume, the way the Hancock Building does with its lights during holidays).
Today was B2's first day sitting on his practice potty. He likes to put his foot in the little cup, although we did get him to sit down on it and praised him when he did so, although of course, he doesn't really know what it's for, yet. He got up and went to his highchair and then peed on the floor. We didn't freak out or anything, just walked him back to the potty and told him that was where the pee-pee went. The long dance begins.
Today is B1's first day of soccer (around 1:00); we've got his cute shorts, his little cleats and shorts, his knee socks and shin protectors, and his special ball (I found him an iridescent blue one that looks like Uranus, his favorite planet). So, it's sunglasses and sunblock and soccer today; I think B1 will love it. His "season" is nine weeks long. He'll get a uniform and all of that. He's got the perfect big feet for soccer, and loves to run, so it should be his kind of game, versus T-ball, which was too static, bored him.
Nothing else fancy planned this weekend; I'm finishing "The Terror" and then will try to rekindle the sparks of the fictiong I've worked on (dying embers, more like). Oh, and I sent out some resumés this morning.
The lead singer of this band looks so much like Baron Von Halfday... (though the song is cooler than he deserves)
Then, the would-be beer lunch was kind of sabotaged b/c the place we were going to didn't open until 4:00, and our backup place didn't serve beer or wine (even though it said they did), so we got soft drinks and laughed about that. It was odd, hanging out with Cookie, Crabcakes, and Miss Manners -- they're really not my type of folks, so I was mostly subdued with them. They're nice enough folks, but they're not my peeps, you know? I'm the oldest of them (I think Crabcakes just turned 30, and Cookie and Manners are in their mid-to-late 20s), so we occupy different worlds. And, weirdly, I think Cookie and Crabcakes aren't terribly sharp -- I could really sense that. They're nice enough, but not sharp. After spending years wrangling with assorted sharp folks, hanging out with these others was kind of jarring. Like I couldn't really apply my trademark wit without feeling like it would be out of place, so I kept mum. Crabcakes was miffed that she couldn't get any beer -- nothing a Hobbit dislikes more than being deprived of ale, right?
Luckily, 3-D was out while I was out, so I got back undetected (despite the long lunch), and then worked quickly and banged out a bunch of work. I talked Leona into joining the Lunch Bunchers for the postwork outing, but around 3:30 I was beginning to feel nauseous, and was like "Uh oh." I nearly puked in the workplace restroom, and then managed the bus ride to our destination, fighting nausea along the way. I didn't want to skip out on the gathering, though I was feeling like hell. I had one (1) beer and that was it; hung out with Homegrrl and Leona in the rain, then met up with Shallot and Plebe, who arrived later. All in all, I hung out for about two hours (since Leona and I got there at 4:30), and left in between bouts of nausea -- which was either a reaction to some sushi the night before, or else an ulcer-related reaction to possible stealth roasted red pepper in the sauce of what I'd had for lunch; either was possible. Either way, it was really annoying; I wanted to hang out, but the tummy failed me, as ever. Strong man, strong heart, weak stomach and bad lungs; no fair!!
Leaving was the best thing to do for me, under the circumstances; it was nice to see everybody, regardless. I didn't eat any dinner when I got home, just had water. Guess I should just eat rice cakes for a few years or something. Sheesh.
When I got home, Spousette told me that B1 was grousing about me being gone, saying that he didn't want me to have any buddies, and that my buddies should all just go home! That's so him, it cracked me up. We were talking up Halloween costumes for the boys, and said B2 would be a great little clown (!!) because he's got that outward-curling Bozo hair, and would look cute. B1 said he'd never be a clown because that was too silly! He wanted to be an airplane (?!) but we talked him into being a building, and thought we'd make him the Hancock Building, which I think he'd like (esp. because we'll put in a row of glowsticks at one spot of the costume, the way the Hancock Building does with its lights during holidays).
Today was B2's first day sitting on his practice potty. He likes to put his foot in the little cup, although we did get him to sit down on it and praised him when he did so, although of course, he doesn't really know what it's for, yet. He got up and went to his highchair and then peed on the floor. We didn't freak out or anything, just walked him back to the potty and told him that was where the pee-pee went. The long dance begins.
Today is B1's first day of soccer (around 1:00); we've got his cute shorts, his little cleats and shorts, his knee socks and shin protectors, and his special ball (I found him an iridescent blue one that looks like Uranus, his favorite planet). So, it's sunglasses and sunblock and soccer today; I think B1 will love it. His "season" is nine weeks long. He'll get a uniform and all of that. He's got the perfect big feet for soccer, and loves to run, so it should be his kind of game, versus T-ball, which was too static, bored him.
Nothing else fancy planned this weekend; I'm finishing "The Terror" and then will try to rekindle the sparks of the fictiong I've worked on (dying embers, more like). Oh, and I sent out some resumés this morning.
The lead singer of this band looks so much like Baron Von Halfday... (though the song is cooler than he deserves)
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Right on, Target!
B1 has his first soccer match this Saturday (are we fully yuppified, yet?) So Spousette and I had to take the boys out, find B1 his soccer gear. We went to Target in the rain; I wasn't optimistic about getting what we needed (cleated shoes, shinguards, socks, the right sized soccer ball) but they had it all -- woo hoo! I think he'll really enjoy soccer.
Spousette has had some interesting talks with various other school moms (and their nannies -- yes, we're up to our frickin' armpits with nannies where we live). She said the moms are always going on about their house this and their house that (in Chicago), and about their nannies, and estates in Tuscany, and all of that jazz. Today Spousette had an interesting talk with a young nanny who was watching twins -- the nanny groused about the parents, the 40-something mom who barely spends time with her 2.5-year-old twins, and how they're utterly lax with the kids, that she handles everything, how they still sleep in cribs (even though they're too old, and can climb out), and aren't potty-trained, and so on.
I told Spousette she's got a goldmine of material with these encounters with these moms and their help (many of the moms are full-time at-home moms, and they STILL have nannies!!) Spousette agreed, said she was just storing it all in her head.
The other day at a playground in our 'hood, this Mommy Mafia appeared with their kids ("Charles!" "Henry!" "Anastasia!" and so on) and started talking various Upper Middle Class things, and kind of roped Spousette into it, since she was a mom, too -- I was the only dad there, watching the boys, and the moms clustered and clucked, and I was thinking "Christ, where the hell are the dads?" Finally a few of them turned up, but most of these folks were all 40-somethings, older than we were. Where are the Gen X parents in our neighborhood? I know they're out there, but it seems we don't see them at the playgrounds too often. I can see it now...
"Paige, do you want to take Kelleigh to the playground?"
"Whatever."
"I'm going to watch Knight Rider, instead."
(shoulder shrug)
(Kelleigh toddles around the room, looks at her slacker parents)
"Yeah, real cool, Mitch. That's a kids' show, you know."
"I'm watching it ironically, Paige."
and so on.
Spousette has had some interesting talks with various other school moms (and their nannies -- yes, we're up to our frickin' armpits with nannies where we live). She said the moms are always going on about their house this and their house that (in Chicago), and about their nannies, and estates in Tuscany, and all of that jazz. Today Spousette had an interesting talk with a young nanny who was watching twins -- the nanny groused about the parents, the 40-something mom who barely spends time with her 2.5-year-old twins, and how they're utterly lax with the kids, that she handles everything, how they still sleep in cribs (even though they're too old, and can climb out), and aren't potty-trained, and so on.
I told Spousette she's got a goldmine of material with these encounters with these moms and their help (many of the moms are full-time at-home moms, and they STILL have nannies!!) Spousette agreed, said she was just storing it all in her head.
The other day at a playground in our 'hood, this Mommy Mafia appeared with their kids ("Charles!" "Henry!" "Anastasia!" and so on) and started talking various Upper Middle Class things, and kind of roped Spousette into it, since she was a mom, too -- I was the only dad there, watching the boys, and the moms clustered and clucked, and I was thinking "Christ, where the hell are the dads?" Finally a few of them turned up, but most of these folks were all 40-somethings, older than we were. Where are the Gen X parents in our neighborhood? I know they're out there, but it seems we don't see them at the playgrounds too often. I can see it now...
"Paige, do you want to take Kelleigh to the playground?"
"Whatever."
"I'm going to watch Knight Rider, instead."
(shoulder shrug)
(Kelleigh toddles around the room, looks at her slacker parents)
"Yeah, real cool, Mitch. That's a kids' show, you know."
"I'm watching it ironically, Paige."
and so on.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Debt Man Walking
Music: The Sky Drops, "Million"
I'm still dreadfully depressed today; I was down last night, telling Spousette before I went to sleep, "I'm afraid for our future." And for once, it wasn't just general angst, like world-oblivion or the like; rather, it was my ability to support our family on my income, and being able to finance Spousette's education. We're seriously banking on her being able to get herself a good-paying career, and even if that gamble pays off, it won't be until our early 40s, and even then, it'll probably not be until our mid-40s before that gamble really works for our benefit. Meantime, it's white knuckles and grinding teeth, and me trying to find something that'll pay enough to fund that gamble, while also trying to write and be a good dad. One out of three's not bad, I guess. I've never felt more under the gun than I have now (except perhaps when we owned our own house, and I was busy trying to make that all work -- but I think my ability to write reams during that commute offset some of the angst associated with working at Bizarroworld). It's tough to convey the damage I feel in my heart. Lately my writing's suffered; I despair of ever getting anything of value done.
Anyway, guh. Despair is gnawing at my fingers and toes like frostbite. I'm losing my optimism and spitefully combative resolve before a war of economic attrition being waged against me and my family. Of course, Spousette could go back to work, but that would mean slinging B2 off to day care, which we'd rather not do.
People talk about not sweating money, saying that it comes and goes; but that statement implies that it comes and goes in equal measure -- all I've known my life is money going, not so much coming. And that's while living frugally, being prudent -- fact is, I've never had the luxury of being able to splurge on anything. I'm so hunkered-down these days (and that counts the '90s), that if you gave me $1,000, I'd be tallying how much groceries I could get with that, or would think "well, that'll help with rent." I'm under siege, and it's impacting me psychologically, wearing me down.
I truly don't know what I'm going to do, where I'm going to go, or how I'll manage to fake giving a damn through my next job, and what directly the hell I'll do, whether my generally affable nature will survive Bizarroworld. I feel like it's been eroded away.
For my boys, I want the best; and yet, in our affluent neighborhood, it's so clear to me that we're the riff-raff. Where I live, being middle class IS being the riff-raff, for real. How do all those people make all of that money? Are they smarter than me? Luckier? Better connected? I don't know. I'm just not good at making money, I guess. I told Spousette yesterday that I'm not consumed with things -- to me, time is infinitely more precious than any thing. If I were rich, to me what would be most vital would be the reclamation of finite time, my life. That's all I want. Not stuff; just time. And each paycheck is theft of time from me, poorly compensated with wages. Grrrr. It makes me angry to think about.
My folks did well for themselves at a given point in their lives, but whatever class advantage they enjoyed will die with them. Both my stepsisters married comparatively well; I'm easily the poorest member of my family. I'll be poorer than my nieces and nephews, judging at the rate I'm going, and that doesn't bode well for my boys -- unless I'm able to change things for the better for our family, markedly so, then my boys will have to work extra-hard to survive in this ever-crueler world.
I feel like I've let them down, and they don't even know it, yet. They love me, I'm a good dad, and I hope that helps them handle the damage that'll come their way through life; I just wish I could give them more advantages than I currently can, since those fucking advantages seem to matter so much to so many, and it'll impact them. They're smart, they're cute, and they're loved -- I hope that's enough for them to thrive, because they're definitely not rich kids. Not with me for a dad. Sorry, guys.
I'm still dreadfully depressed today; I was down last night, telling Spousette before I went to sleep, "I'm afraid for our future." And for once, it wasn't just general angst, like world-oblivion or the like; rather, it was my ability to support our family on my income, and being able to finance Spousette's education. We're seriously banking on her being able to get herself a good-paying career, and even if that gamble pays off, it won't be until our early 40s, and even then, it'll probably not be until our mid-40s before that gamble really works for our benefit. Meantime, it's white knuckles and grinding teeth, and me trying to find something that'll pay enough to fund that gamble, while also trying to write and be a good dad. One out of three's not bad, I guess. I've never felt more under the gun than I have now (except perhaps when we owned our own house, and I was busy trying to make that all work -- but I think my ability to write reams during that commute offset some of the angst associated with working at Bizarroworld). It's tough to convey the damage I feel in my heart. Lately my writing's suffered; I despair of ever getting anything of value done.
Anyway, guh. Despair is gnawing at my fingers and toes like frostbite. I'm losing my optimism and spitefully combative resolve before a war of economic attrition being waged against me and my family. Of course, Spousette could go back to work, but that would mean slinging B2 off to day care, which we'd rather not do.
People talk about not sweating money, saying that it comes and goes; but that statement implies that it comes and goes in equal measure -- all I've known my life is money going, not so much coming. And that's while living frugally, being prudent -- fact is, I've never had the luxury of being able to splurge on anything. I'm so hunkered-down these days (and that counts the '90s), that if you gave me $1,000, I'd be tallying how much groceries I could get with that, or would think "well, that'll help with rent." I'm under siege, and it's impacting me psychologically, wearing me down.
I truly don't know what I'm going to do, where I'm going to go, or how I'll manage to fake giving a damn through my next job, and what directly the hell I'll do, whether my generally affable nature will survive Bizarroworld. I feel like it's been eroded away.
For my boys, I want the best; and yet, in our affluent neighborhood, it's so clear to me that we're the riff-raff. Where I live, being middle class IS being the riff-raff, for real. How do all those people make all of that money? Are they smarter than me? Luckier? Better connected? I don't know. I'm just not good at making money, I guess. I told Spousette yesterday that I'm not consumed with things -- to me, time is infinitely more precious than any thing. If I were rich, to me what would be most vital would be the reclamation of finite time, my life. That's all I want. Not stuff; just time. And each paycheck is theft of time from me, poorly compensated with wages. Grrrr. It makes me angry to think about.
My folks did well for themselves at a given point in their lives, but whatever class advantage they enjoyed will die with them. Both my stepsisters married comparatively well; I'm easily the poorest member of my family. I'll be poorer than my nieces and nephews, judging at the rate I'm going, and that doesn't bode well for my boys -- unless I'm able to change things for the better for our family, markedly so, then my boys will have to work extra-hard to survive in this ever-crueler world.
I feel like I've let them down, and they don't even know it, yet. They love me, I'm a good dad, and I hope that helps them handle the damage that'll come their way through life; I just wish I could give them more advantages than I currently can, since those fucking advantages seem to matter so much to so many, and it'll impact them. They're smart, they're cute, and they're loved -- I hope that's enough for them to thrive, because they're definitely not rich kids. Not with me for a dad. Sorry, guys.
Boys Don't Cry
This morning B1 goes to kindergarten, his first day of "big boy school." He's not looking forward to it, but that's always the case with transitions. I think once he gets used to the routine, he'll be golden. It's half-day kindergarten, which will be good, I think. I'm curious how it'll go.
Nothing else to report at the moment; the weekend blazed by, as I knew it would. I got nothing substantive done (except reading around 300 pages of The Terror). Now I'm back on the job, in a Skippyless office, wondering how long until Leona finally and irrevocably snaps.
Nothing else to report at the moment; the weekend blazed by, as I knew it would. I got nothing substantive done (except reading around 300 pages of The Terror). Now I'm back on the job, in a Skippyless office, wondering how long until Leona finally and irrevocably snaps.
Sunday, September 2, 2007
Labored Daze
Out of one of our living room windows I see Venus, and a smoggy sunrise. All is quiet at the moment, although B2 is soon to wake up in earnest; he's gnawing on his blankie and baby-cooing.
I've been reading The Terror by Dan Simmons, and enjoying it (although also kind of analyzing it, what I think he's doing right and wrong with it, with a mind to my own work; then again, he's got like 20 novels under his belt, including some NYT bestsellers, and me, I got nothing, yet! Still, I think his editors could've helped him a little bit here and there, but they probably handled him with kid gloves).
Nothing fancy planned this weekend; for me, in my heavily-scheduled workaday existence, not having anything planned is a demigodsend.
My big accomplishment of last week was inventing a new word...
Smarmalade: unctuous, greasy charm; sleazy, pretentious fakeness.
I'm kinda proud of that one. I added it to the Urban Dictionary, which is what I do with any new words I create.
I had to get Daddy-crafty y-day with B1; we went out to eat, and B1 refused to eat anything in front of him (it was French toast). So after trying to get him to eat for awhile, and failing, I said "You know, Santa's watching, and if you don't try any of that, he's going to put you on his red list." B1's like "Red list?" and I said "Yep, for 'Naughty.' And that means you won't get anything but a rock for Christmas." and he's like "But I don't WANT a rock!" and I said "If you try that French toast, you'll be put on his green list."
I figured I'd appeal to his Capricorn greed and acquisitiveness, instead of fighting his stubbornness. And it worked; he choked down a few bites of French toast (we knew he'd not eat the whole thing, but we just wanted him to try it, since it was a new food for him), and his attituded changed from resentful opposition to us to excitement about the prospect of being in good with Santa.
When we got home, we made a green list, where we'll put a single toy item he wants for Christmas, which is contingent on him trying new foods -- if he tries another new food, another desired item gets on the list; if he doesn't try it, it doesn't get on the green list.
I know parents aren't supposed to bribe their kids that way, but I thought of it more like extortion, bringing the mighty Santa in as hired muscle to get the kid to play ball. Lord knows it won't be long before he doesn't believe in Santa, so I've got to do what I can, while I can!
I've been reading The Terror by Dan Simmons, and enjoying it (although also kind of analyzing it, what I think he's doing right and wrong with it, with a mind to my own work; then again, he's got like 20 novels under his belt, including some NYT bestsellers, and me, I got nothing, yet! Still, I think his editors could've helped him a little bit here and there, but they probably handled him with kid gloves).
Nothing fancy planned this weekend; for me, in my heavily-scheduled workaday existence, not having anything planned is a demigodsend.
My big accomplishment of last week was inventing a new word...
Smarmalade: unctuous, greasy charm; sleazy, pretentious fakeness.
I'm kinda proud of that one. I added it to the Urban Dictionary, which is what I do with any new words I create.
I had to get Daddy-crafty y-day with B1; we went out to eat, and B1 refused to eat anything in front of him (it was French toast). So after trying to get him to eat for awhile, and failing, I said "You know, Santa's watching, and if you don't try any of that, he's going to put you on his red list." B1's like "Red list?" and I said "Yep, for 'Naughty.' And that means you won't get anything but a rock for Christmas." and he's like "But I don't WANT a rock!" and I said "If you try that French toast, you'll be put on his green list."
I figured I'd appeal to his Capricorn greed and acquisitiveness, instead of fighting his stubbornness. And it worked; he choked down a few bites of French toast (we knew he'd not eat the whole thing, but we just wanted him to try it, since it was a new food for him), and his attituded changed from resentful opposition to us to excitement about the prospect of being in good with Santa.
When we got home, we made a green list, where we'll put a single toy item he wants for Christmas, which is contingent on him trying new foods -- if he tries another new food, another desired item gets on the list; if he doesn't try it, it doesn't get on the green list.
I know parents aren't supposed to bribe their kids that way, but I thought of it more like extortion, bringing the mighty Santa in as hired muscle to get the kid to play ball. Lord knows it won't be long before he doesn't believe in Santa, so I've got to do what I can, while I can!
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