THE DIGNIFIED RANT
HOME FRONT ARCHIVES 2003
“Cheating” (Posted
I cheat when I play games with my son. I admit it. Not always, since I want Mister to learn how to lose as I repeat the mantra that winning isn’t everything. It’s certainly nice, but losing gracefully if you do is important.
But I still throw games left and right. I remember as a young boy that family routinely threw games of Candyland to me. And here I am today a grownup who plays ruthlessly to win yet will lose gracefully after tenaciously seeking any measure to reverse the losing trend. I don’t go down easy but once down, I’ll offer my congratulations with sincerity.
Anyway, the point is I don’t think throwing games will screw Mister up.
Today at my parents, we played Monopoly Junior (or vice versa). Mister was down to a small amount of money even though he had lots of fossil sites. In time, he had the advantage. But he was in danger of going broke. So, I rolled and quickly snatched up the die and announced “one.” Mister said didn’t you get a three? No, I said, as I moved onto his fossil site, “Darn, I owe you $3.” Ok, Mister said, if you say so.
I think I was caught but he was happy enough to have some cash. I had lots.
As the game went on, Mister began collecting rent and his grandma began losing money. When she finally went out after landing on Mister’s fossil site, the game was over. I was hoping that my well-timed dive to the mat had paid off. We counted our money and I listened as Mister counted out loud. It was going to be close.
But I had a few more dollars than Mister.
As Mister announced his total, I announced mine—two dollars short of his.
Congratulations, Mister, good game. He was happy.
I love doing that. Not always. But enough to encourage him to never give up when he is down. That’s a good lesson, right?
“Who Can Raise a
Child” (Posted
As Mister and I ate dinner tonight, a story about Michael
Jackson came on. Mister has seen him on TV before and was completely shocked
that he would dangle his son over a balcony. He still brings it up. After
glossing over what
“Is Michael Jackson a father?” he asked.
Yes he is, I replied.
Mister quickly judged, “He should not be a father.” I was impressed with this bit of wisdom.
Then he demonstrated his lack of sexism to explain that it
isn’t because
Then, in one of those heart-warming innocent statements made with the child’s mind that is unable to lie or shade the truth in such moments, he continued, “Because you do just fine—but how did he (MJ) get to be a father?”
How indeed does one get to be a father? Michael Jackson is a father and I feel very sorry for his offspring. What lives can they have with that one-person freak show that they will call dad?
But that is beyond my influence. And besides, I’m still in the warm glow of being judged by the one who counts most as doing “just fine” in taking care of my boy.
Being a father really is just the best thing in the world.
Now to play with Mister’s helicopter.
“Christmas Eve”
(Posted
Mister didn’t fall asleep at his mom’s house until close to eleven last night. His mom and I let him stay up until ten and that may have thrown him off since he tossed and turned for quite a bit. Perhaps the excitement of Christmas coming so soon! From forever in January to almost here on December 23rd.
So that botched my plans to go to Kroger for a few things: some snacks, some cheese (Good God, they make cheese pre-sliced to fit crackers! This is insane!), some Canadian bacon for the next few days, eggs, salmon, some Bazooka gum for Mister’s Christmas stocking. For new year’s eve, a bottle of cheap champagne (I mean, not soda water and grain alcohol cheap, but not something I’d buy for a date-type setting, ya know?).
Oh yeah, I think I bought egg nog. Yeah, I did. I know I said I limit myself to one quart per year, but I jumped the gun in opening it and I ran out with only half a cup last night! Am I to go without on Christmas Eve? On Christmas itself? I think not, heathen. Live with it. I do.
Before that I did my last Christmas shopping. I like going on the last day possible for at least something. I went looking for one item for my nephew. I knew exactly what I wanted so it was perfect for my traditional Christmas Eve trip. And then I got something completely different that looked perfect and which I had never even thought of until I saw it. Had I bought this item weeks ago, I would have missed it. I still have some wrapping left to do but I’m well on track to be ready for tomorrow.
I even recovered from the absent-from-work Tuesday fiasco. My Santa stationery was on my computer at work. I meant to email it to myself at home to print on my color printer. No problem.
Oh well. So I got on my computer at home this morning and made new tags and note cards. Then put it on disk and took it to Mister’s computer where I have the printer hooked up. Sadly, I have Word on my computer and Wordperfect on Mister’s computer. His computer couldn’t translate the graphics on my Santa file. More delays. No problem. So, I made another sheet on Mister’s computer in Wordperfect. Quick and dirty. Success. Then I hit print and it came out somewhat lacking in something—oh yeah, black ink. Right. I have a new black ink cartridge to replace the old full one that apparently dried out from lack of use over the past year. Given the price, that hurts to lose a cartridge with solidified ink. I had planned to wait until I needed to print in black ink. Like now. No problem. Load it up and print again. Two copies. One for me and one for my Ex so we have identical note cards for the cookie thank you note (I wrote the notes so they have the same handwriting in case Mister looks for that) and for the gift tags.
Now, I’ll meet Mister and his mom and Lamb for lunch. I’ll take Mister to Briarwood Mall for the small fresh donut holes he likes from the little donut shop there. Then we’ll come back home to hang out while Mister’s mom does some last minute shopping. Hopefully I’ll wrap some more stuff and get Mister to sign the gift tags left to do. We’ll also get the cookies and carrots ready and the mug for milk (I’ll fill it later, I’ll tell Mister, so we don’t give Santa food poisoning with spoiled milk). I’ll get some pictures with the tree and cookies. We’ll take Mister’s presents for his mom and sister to the house so they’ll be there for Christmas morning.
Tonight, we’ll get Mister to sleep and I’ll come home to finish up the tree and presents and fill the stocking over the fireplace. And I’ll have a cup of egg nog. Yes I will (And no, I’m not overly defensive about it).
Tomorrow, I think I’ll roll over to Mister’s house early to see the early morning festivities. Mister’s mom will then need to go to work and I’ll take Mister home to our condo and do the unwrapping all over. We’ll take Mister’s mom and sister if there is time since Santa left Lamb something at my place, too.
Then off to my folks (Really gotta check with my sister about what time we can come over). Then, since it is my Ex’s turn for primary Christmas (Primary Thanksgiving was with my folks. We alternate yearly), we’ll need to leave at dinner time so I can take Mister to his mom’s parents’ house for dinner. His mom will be off work by then.
I’ll just stay there since I’m welcome there and since I learned my lesson two years ago when I left Mister at his mom’s parents for Christmas evening and went off to my folks. Mister looked so sad from the window as I drove away that I vowed my place is with him on Christmas no matter what. Lord knows, I make mistakes in life. I just try not to make the same one twice.
Anyway, Christmas is almost here! We are strenuously pursuing terrorists who would strike in this season of peace (What? They don’t want to hold fire in our religious holiday season? Aren’t those in our country who insisted that Ramadan truces were necessary to avoid offending Moslems going to say something with a little outrage over al Qaeda’s insensitivity? I thought not)
Anyway, as I was saying, truly the season is good. The
Christmas season. I enjoy saying “Merry Christmas” in
Merry Christmas!
“D Minus
Two” (Posted
Whew. Drove all the way to
So far stable with intermittent nausea.
On the bright side, I’m wrapping up a storm. I was planning to go to a store near my office with a question about one of the presents, but I have a phone and the web, so getting their number and calling them was not beyond my capabilities.
Unfortunately for the wrapping, I’ll need to make new Santa tags since I did not make it to my office today and I forgot yesterday (what’s the rush, I’ve got Tuesday, right?).
As I’m wrapping the “Chopper Patrol” (the Verti-Bird of my youth), I notice that the picture shows the son watching while the dad pilots the chopper.
Thanks Jasman Products. License to kill, I say.
“Pre-Christmas
Weekend” (Posted
This was the last weekend before Christmas. Holy crud, I have lots still to do. It started early when I stayed home Friday to take care of Mister. He came down with a stomach bug and lost is lunch a couple times Thursday night. It was a mild diet all weekend until Sunday when we went back to normal food.
But there were holiday successes. I headed out on a mission from my ex father-in-law to buy a few things for Mister. No sweat. I knew which stores had what and on Saturday morning no less was in and out of two stores in under an hour. That’s right, I’m good. I even had time to get a car wash before picking up Mister from his mom.
I also cracked open my yearly quart of egg nog. I love egg nog more dearly than you can possibly believe. It directly stimulates pleasure centers that have no, well few, equals. I think I can stretch this out to Christmas if nobody is rude enough to show up and insist on a mug.
My biggest success was writing up and addressing Christmas
Cards! Woo hoo! I was beginning to doubt I could do
it. I have money in my wallet and the alarm set for
I also took the opportunity to introduce Mister to an old DOS-based computer game, Civilization. I set it on easy and basically played it as Mister did all the orders. Near the end I gave him tasks to do without giving orders for individual units. A small invasion here and there. Scouting for the enemy. He liked building railroads. He’s a long way from learning how to play but he will learn. He’s long mastered Free Cell and Hearts and Solitaire. He’s even starting to catch on to Minesweeper. And he already learned an important lesson from the game. When, as the American player, Mister ran into the French, the French called his empire “puny” and demanded money. Mister was outraged. We invaded the offending empire. Later as I washed the dishes, Mister came up to me and was indignant, “I can’t believe the French insulted me!” Not trying to instill my annoyance of all things French (except French fries, I love their fries. And their toast. Oh, and their kissing. But nothing else.) I just noted it is only a game. It was hard not to smile inside. When he asked me if the French were our friends in real life, all I could do was choke out that they were—mostly. But I hadn’t checked the news that day so who knows?
I also remembered that I have to find the master copies of my Santa stationary on my computer at work. Our color printers are shut down and since I have a color printer now at home, I just need to get the file home so I can print the Santa gift cards and note pad card for the cookie, milk, and carrot thank you note.
Oh, and we baked Christmas chocolate chip cookies with festive sprinkles. Mister informed me that any cookie with any red on it is reserved for him. I think I should be able to eat some of the four dozen we baked.
Anyway, Mister is well again, I have not yet fallen horribly behind in Christmas tasks, and this work week will only be two days long.
And I still have my cup of egg nog yet to come tonight.
“Speed Bump” (Posted
I bought stamps yesterday. I did. I just don’t have them right now.
And I do need them. The Christmas season has been quite busy—more than usual. I have Christmas cards laid out to be addressed and mailed.
Unfortunately, I bought them at Kroger. I usually don’t. And the cashier had just run out of paper in his receipt machine and had to use a manual credit card machine on the guy in front of me. So he was a little flustered.
Bottom line: he forgot to give me the stamps I bought and I forgot to ask for the stamps I never buy at Kroger (and that record stands, I guess). I go by a post office every work day so do my business there. Argghh.
But after the swearing this morning as I realized I had no stamps, I calmed down. It’s Christmas. It was just $7.40. How stupid would I be to get all mad over that amount of money in this season? Very stupid, of course.
I’ll get more stamps Monday on the way to work. This year’s Christmas cards may or may not make it before Christmas. Oh well. It’s a good time of year, anyway.
Christmas is only five days away!!
“Cub Scouts Begin” (Posted
Mister is now a Tiger Cub. We had the first meeting last night and Mister’s mom volunteered to be the Pack mom. As the only man there, it seemed like the Scout leader there assumed I might do it but my Ex was signed up as the official parent. I said I’d help and I will. Had to reschedule monthly game night to make room for scouting.
The main point of the meeting, other than organizing into packs—four Tiger Cubs for us and Mister knows three from school, was the pinewood derby. Mister picked the pattern and I hit the band saw to cut out the block of wood. That was a relief. My one power tool is a combination saw/sander/drill and I could have cut the piece at home, but it was nice to get the major cutting done there. I explained to Mister that I would sand it and that he could paint it and put stickers on it. We settled on Maize and Blue. I have blue paint. We’ll buy yellow. Plus he has plenty of stickers at home. It looks like we’ll need to buy some other stuff for the car, too. Lubricant. Sealer. Lead weights to get the car to 5 ounces.
The main thing I’m going to do is make this Mister’s car—not mine. Neither the car itself nor the outcome of the race is a reflection on me. I don’t understand how so many parents just take this event over. When you look at the cars, you can tell. The very box the car block comes in says, “Promotes sportsmanship, craftsmanship, and competition.” I’m sure the unstated assumption is that it is for children.
I’ll sand the car it since a six-year-old really can’t. I’ll let him do some of the finishing just so he can feel part of this process. I’ll do the special sealing. I imagine I can direct him in putting the lubricant on the axles. I’ll attach the wheels. Mister will paint it as he wants. I’ll not direct him one bit. Just make sure he uses the paint in a safe place where there will be no latex paint dropping on the carpet! And Mister can put whatever stickers on it he wants.
And then I’ll put it away so he can’t play with it before the race.
And when we take it to the race and let it rip, it will be
all Mister’s. Not mine. It will probably not win the race but when it is all
over, Mister will be the proud owner of a Pinewood Derby car that competed with
the best that
“Muhahahohoho!” (Posted
Sixty-one percent evil? Hah!
Sometimes I am so proud of my diabolical cleverness.
All in the service of good, mind you. I shudder pondering what the forces of evil could do with my genius.
Mister’s mom took him to her company Christmas party for kids today. I took the opportunity to go Christmas shopping. I bought an air hockey tabletop game for Mister and a Sit and Spin for Lamb. Plus I bought a couple items that my Ex will give Mister for Christmas. One I had to go to three stores to get. But since Mister asks for few specific items and I already have a closet full of stuff already, I volunteered to pick them up for her. A dad has the edge over a mom when buying toys for a boy.
Anyway, the party was apparently great and Santa even showed up. As my Ex explained, “He still believes!” Mister was very excited that Santa showed up. That was unexpected.
And I unwittingly created a factoid that I was able to use my evil dad powers to bolster belief.
At the party, Mister received a car wash set for Matchbox cars. He thought it was the coolest. When I picked him up from the airport, where the party was, he showed it to me. I told Mister that it was quite a coincidence since I was thinking of getting him that toy. I told him I was glad I hadn’t started shopping yet (best not to plant the idea that hunting in my small place can pay dividends).
When we got home, I made dinner and promised Mister I’d put the set together after we ate. His mom called to make sure we made it home and also told me that Santa had appeared to pass out the presents.
That’s when the evil kicked in.
“Why, Mister!” I said, “Why didn’t you tell me Santa was there? I can’t believe you’d forget that!”
He beamed. It was true. He even heard the plane Santa was on coming in for a landing.
“Well,” I added, “That explains why Santa got the car wash set. That darned Santa, he read my mind! That’s how he knew to get that! He knew I was thinking about it so figured you’d like it.”
Mister pondered a moment and it made perfect sense. Of course that’s how Santa knew he’d like it.
Oh well, I’ll get something else, I told Mister. I can hardly be mad at The Big Guy.
Of course, Mister replied, you know what stuff I like.
Confidence in me and belief in Santa. One more Christmas anyway.
Muhahahahohoho!!
“The Best Season”
(Posted
I like this time of year. It’s the time of year for the
Michigan Wolverines to wrap up the Big Ten title. The
Christmas is only a month away. Mister can hardly wait.
Mister is now asleep and I’m sitting in the near dark with the news on and all the Christmas lights going. I’ve got a glass of wine and some cheddar jack crackers.
I already have most of my shopping for Mister done. So the rest of the shopping season has no fear for me. In a perfect world, I’ll be shopping on the 24th for a couple last minute items, whistling Christmas tunes and oblivious to the frantic shoppers who must shop now or die.
And in the end, my six-year-old son will open his presents here, at his mom’s, and at both grandparents’ homes. After having three successful Christmases with me separate from his mom and going on a fourth one, it was very gratifying to have Mister tell me that he is lucky to have Christmas in two homes. Not that we spoil Mister. No game boys, few fancy toys. But plenty of stuff for building and imagination. And books and things to write with and stuff to make art projects.
Having a child really brings the magic of Christmas back. I’ve always liked the holiday but I’m not big on presents. I have what I need and I need nothing tangible to prove love or like or whatever. But a boy at Christmas! Now it is special again. I’ll forge the gift tags from Santa. We’ll put milk and home-baked cookies out for Santa and maybe some carrots for the reindeer. I’ll eat the cookies and drink the milk, and place the Santa memo pad note of thanks to us on the table by the fireplace. And when Mister asks me tough questions about how Santa does this or that, I don’t try to make stuff up that he can poke holes in. No, I just confess to confusion and explain that nobody knows—not even the best scientists. And Mister will open his presents and be delighted. And one will be a helicopter set that in my childhood was the “Verti-bird.” They make it again! It’s called something else but it’s the same darn thing. (Just like the plastic Army men still are molded with the same steel pot and M-16 from childhood; and just like all the Army vehicle sets contain a mixture of modern and World War II armored fighting vehicles. Sloth or clever marketing aimed at boomers or, in my case, an early Gen-Xers? Yet why can’t Mattel make orange tracks and clamps for Hotwheels anymore?)
His mom and I are doing a good job of taking care of Mister despite divorce. He’s turning into quite the boy after being quite the toddler.
Yep, a really good season. No doubt.
“Hail to the
Victors!” (Posted
Mister and I were thrilled and we only got a little worried when OSU came to within 7 in the fourth quarter. We won 35 to 21. They were ranked 2 and we were ranked 9. Yet we were a 7-point favorite. Go figure.
After stumbles in the middle of the season, the
Go Blue!
“The Dignified Rant
Household Tip No. 1” (Posted
When a dress shirt gets a cuff button stuck between the agitator and the washtub in a washing machine, do not panic and rip the shirt out, tearing the shirt and leaving a button stuck in the washing machine. Instead, work the problem.
Remove the rest of the laundry load.
Curse for ten minutes (quietly if you have a child downstairs playing) while tugging ever so gently to rattle it loose.
Curse just a little louder when you realize that two buttons are stuck.
Then remember to work the problem.
Put a plastic strip into the gap between the buttons and the lip that is trapping the button. Pull sleeve loose from obstruction.
Hang shirt to dry.
"The Game" (Posted November 21, 2003)
Tomorrow the University of Michigan Wolverines will go up against the wild barbarian tribes from the south. Good versus evil is not an understatement here. Mister is looking forward to the game. If the weather is warm enough, I'll open the windows. And if the wind is right, we'll hear the cheers from the Big House as we smite the foe.
I don't like that we are 7-point favorites, but I have a good feeling about this.
Remember the Toledo Strip.
Beat Ohio State! Go Blue!
Too sleepy to blog. Celebrated a friend's new job last night. Five hours of sleep is catching up to me...
“Cub Scouts” (Posted
Mister’s mom and I signed him up for Cub Scouts. He wasn’t too sure but we didn’t give him a choice. Now he says it looks like it will be fun. It helps that two fellow first graders went to the sign-up meeting so he wasn’t all alone.
When I was little, I was in Cub Scouts. I liked it but it lost its thrill and when it was time to move up to Webelos (?) and actually do camping, I dropped out.
I did notice the prices on the uniforms and stuff. Lord, I had all that stuff, including the camping tooth brush I never needed.
Uh, thanks mom and dad…
"Huzzah! And Without Ding King" (Posted November 11, 2003)
On Sunday I pulled a completely boneheaded move and pushed in the driver side rear bumper on my Ion. I went 150,000 miles on my last car without damaging my car. At 4,500 miles, I dinged my new car.
Anyway, I looked at it and saw that the plastic was not cracked, just pushed in, and the seam to the car body was separated. So today, with a glove and a broom stick (ok now, this isn't going where you may think), I reset the seam and then managed to reach under the bumper and pop it out. Not quite perfect but way better than having it professionally done (and they really zap you for simple dents). I learned one thing though. I should have done this immediately. In the two days since I dinged the bumper, the paint cracked at the lines where the bumper bent. Dang. I guess I really didn't have confidence that my home brain surgery would work so I felt no sense of urgency.
Still, looks pretty darn good.
"Belated Birthday Gift" (Posted November 11, 2003)
After putting Mister to bed, I found on the couch the crudely but thoroughly folded paper held shut with colorful stickers in the fashion of an envelope. It said "To DAD" on one side and "DAD" on the other. When I opened it, it read,"To the best dad. Love Mister".
When I asked Mister the next day what it was for, he said it was a birthday card (my second from him).
When, on occasion, I write in National Security Affairs that this decade sucks, be assured that this assessment does not apply to my personal life.
How much better could it be?
“Saturday” (Posted
A fun day for Mister on Saturday. We went over to his friend’s house. They did plan this after all. Luckily, his mom and dad are nice people. Truly, it is a disturbing prospect that one day, Mister might make friends with somebody who has total jerks for parents. This risk of parenting is never mentioned and I’m shocked I never thought of it. Somebody’s a jerk? Screw ‘em and ignore ‘em. Your son makes friends with someone whose parents are jerks? Tough one. Anyway, the kids had a blast. The younger brother of Mister’s friend also seems delighted that Mister comes over.
At night, as I prepared to take Mister to his mom’s to spend the night, I discovered that we were in the midst of a lunar eclipse! Mister was thrilled to see it. We stood outside in the cold awhile, then followed it in the car, and then watched it from the window at his mom’s house. Most cool, on my next birthday there will be an eclipse too! An omen? Be really nice to sacrifice a virgin or something…
Mister played with his sister, Lamb, for a bit, and then it
was off to bed. His mom didn’t make it home until almost
“Long Day” (Posted
I finally went back to work on Thursday. It was frightening looking at my time screen. Whoa. That’s a lot of time off. At some point, the desire to sit at home, rest, and recover, is outweighed by the knowledge that I am eating up vacation and sick time for this. The fact that I got a flu shot only adds to the anguish over the situation.
Wednesday night I reached that point.
I could sit in front of a computer and type. Driving to work and home 140 miles was the biggest challenge but I did it.
Friday was the big challenge and Fate decided to challenge
me a bit. A semi accident shut down I-96 at Fowlerville and I sat there stuck
for 75 minutes or so. Never did hear what happened. I never saw any ambulances
and the wreckage was cleared by the time traffic opened again, so I still have
no idea whether it was a load of pillows that spilled or something more
serious. I always feel somewhat guilty for being annoyed that an accident is
slowing me down. My ride to work is timed fairly strictly with only a few
minutes built in to my travel time. I know that if I get on the freeway by
So there I was, driving to work with actually ten minutes to
spare, and traffic halted. I managed not to be mad at whoever caused the delay.
Score one for me, I guess. Luckily, I had a new CD—Gemma Hayes—so I popped that
in. That ate up a good chunk of time before I started to wonder when we’d get
moving again. I also patted myself on the back for my wisdom of not drinking
coffee when I wake up. I always figured it would be unsafe and unhealthy to be
doing 95 coming off the exit ramp in
Besides, although it would have been tempting to call in sick after confirming on Thursday that I really was still sick, I had a belated birthday lunch to celebrate with a couple friends. I’d already had to cancel out once and another would have seemed far too rude. It was fun for me although I’m sure I wasn’t the best company since I was a tad subdued. But, hey, I got presents so how could I possibly not go!
I made it through work but though tired, my day was not done yet. It was “Family Fun Night” at Mister’s school. I had to go directly there to meet Mister, his mom, and Lamb, his baby sister. I’m her godfather. It’s a long story that inevitably leads to the question of whether I am soft-hearted or soft-headed. And that’s really not relevant to this.
The PTA had board games and tic tac toe in the multi-use room. We even spotted Mister’s best buddy there so they hung out. We even played chutes and ladders which I never saw before. Just the Eels and Escalators version on Sponge Bob where Sponge Bob curses. Mister built a Thanksgiving refrigerator magnet in the art room and ran around in the gym, and had a good time. I also found out that Mister and his buddy had set up a play date for Saturday. I explained that to his mom and dad and they were as unaware as I was! But we set up a Saturday play time.
Then it was home and a bath and bedtime for Mister, and I
didn’t stay up too much longer before toddling off to bed. After all, Mister
wakes up at
I’m almost eager for Mister’s teenage years when he’ll sleep
until
“Halloween Party”
(Posted October 31, 2003)
Mister had his Halloween party at school today. He went as a fireman. Since I called in sick today to fight the crud I came down with, I decided to head out to the party. Mister was pleasantly surprised to see me. His mom and sister made it too. It was fun to see all the kids in their costumes. They lined up nicely for their trick or treating at the table and were quite well behaved. Kudos to the teacher for herding kittens so well.
We took his costume with us so he didn’t have to pack it up. A small affair, but it was nice to show up so the teacher knows we are interested in Mister’s progress at school. He is a good teacher and he already knows we follow his school work, but still.
Tonight it will be trick or treating. Mister has no interest in trick or treating but he loves to dress up, see the kids’ costumes, and pass out the candy. Mister isn’t too interested in candy for the most part, so it’s no loss.
"I Am So Very Lucky" (Posted
On Sunday, after lunch, Mister
hauled out some paper and his stickers and started making an art project for
his mom. That's pretty nice, I thought. She'll appreciate that. He had some
trouble with the tape dispenser and he got quite mad, angrily thrusting the
balky tape at me and demanding that I get him some tape.
Excuse me? Do you want to
rephrase that?
He did not.
So I took the tape, told him
that I do not take orders and I certainly do not expect to be talked to in such
a rude manner. After giving him another chance to rephrase his request, I put the
tape away and told him he could have it back later.
Mister went back to his
project and finished with the tape he'd torn off already. I asked him if he
needed some tape but he said he was finished. He took it over to the stairwell
by the door and said he didn't want to forget it when I took him to his mom's
house that night for bed time. He said he was going to hide it in the drawer
under his bed there.
Oh.
My birthday is tomorrow (as
well as his baby sister's in a strange coincidence. We already have Lamb's
presents ready).
That drawer is where he
always hides his presents. I know, I helped him think of it. And I knew he already had a
present for me hidden there.
That art project was for me.
The little conniver has developed the ability to fib for a good purpose (whew,
this is going to make breaking the news about Santa, the Easter Bunny, and the
Social Security Trust Fund much easier).
And here I had reprimanded
him for his rudeness to me.
Not that he
didn't deserve it. He was rude. But despite my taking the tape
away he doggedly went back to completing my birthday card with what he had
available.
Sometimes I am just
overwhelmed at how lucky I am to have such a wonderful son. And although my
niece noted that my latest Home Front posts seemed to have a certain
"theme" referring to women, I never forget my priorities. I never
forget that taking care of my son is the best job I have and it is forever rewarding.
A love life can wait for the
future. I have a present to open tomorrow. With a wonderful
home-made card.
Of course, he can blow my
warm and fuzzy if he got me any kind of "men's" cosmetics.
“New Car” (Posted
I bought a new car last month. A 2003 Saturn Ion. So far it is pretty good. Peppier and quieter than my old car, a ’98 Tracer. My Tracer was a good car too but it had 150,000 miles on it and I was at the point where I had to make a go-no go decision to make it through the winter and buy a car in the spring or get a new one now.
Even though I think it could have made it, the thought of risking another catastrophic vehicular failure on the freeway as I pushed the lifespan of my car convinced me to think about getting one now. Then with all the computer problems I’ve complained about (which may or may not have been related to the Lycos Sidesearch that installed itself), the offer of a free computer with the purchase of an Ion was too much to resist. Plus, the ability to buy a car while I have a running car seemed like a great chance to avoid getting screwed in a desperate search for a car.
Not that I was screwed over in the past, my ex-wife’s family knows a car dealer so we always got a good deal on Mercury cars. Now that we’re divorced, well, I didn’t feel comfortable even though I know my ex father-in-law would have put in a good word for me.
Besides, we’re talking free computer. I had a 1996 Pentium I. My friends derided it as an abacus that you plug in.
Of course, negotiating is an alien concept to me. So Saturn seemed ready made for my inability to go for the throat.
So, one Friday in early September after dropping off Mister at school, I drove to the Saturn of Ann Arbor dealership and asked to see 2003 Ions. The sales rep, Nicole, was (and only a month later, I assume still is) drop-dead gorgeous. I recalled the joke about the Nicoles, and Heathers, and the other beautiful-name women and asked, how did their parents know when they named them? I would have bought a used Yugo with Firestone Tires from her and bought the extended warranty.
I told her that I usually drove Mercury products but I go by
a Saturn dealership near
After I returned the car, I asked about deals. She said I could get $1,000 off. Hmm, I said, are there local variations of the regional deals? Because I read on the Saturn website that this region has a $2,000-off incentive. Oh, she said, that’s right. She explained how the $1,000 could have applied. Score another one for me. She also mentioned the computer deal. Oh, I said, well I have a computer but that’s certainly an interesting incentive. I left her my business card and said I’d have to think about it.
Now I had to sweat it out. I wanted the car. My boss told me that whatever I did, don’t call them back. Make them call me first. If I call, they’ll know I’m hooked. Good God, I thought, it’s like dating for Pete’s sake. What am I? A woman coaxing a suitor? All week I waited. I wanted that car. I wanted that computer. Bad. I wanted to call drop-dead gorgeous Nicole to tell her I had to have that car. But I dutifully waited.
No call, but I did get a card in the mail a week later. So I called. Oh yeah, Nicole? I believe we spoke a week or two ago (it’s all so hazy now since I haven’t thought about the car one bit—or your hazel eyes that could sell me substandard Serbo-Croation automotive technology). Perhaps I can stop in again to check out the cars you still have. I went on a Saturday and took Mister. I figured a cute-as-heck little boy would end any thoughts she might have that she would rip me off. I picked the car I liked best and asked to test drive that one. Nicole (did I mention she was hot?) told me that if I paid cash, I could get another thousand off the car. (Oh my, you had me at “hello.” Can I take any more of this?) Mister and I head out. He liked the car too. When we got back, the saleswoman betrayed me. She went right for my six-year-old, trying to elicit damning information in the face of my steely demeanor, “So, Mister (she actually used his name), do you like the car?” Oh no! I’m dead! Mister will spill the beans! How could I have failed to prep him for this moment?
But no, Mister didn’t let dad down. “Well, it was nice, but dad only might buy it.”
<internal victory dance>Hah! I was not betrayed!</internal victory dance>
So, do you want me to write up the paperwork, Nicole asked?
No, I still need to think about it. What kind of incentives will you have in the spring?
A few days later, I called to set up the purchase date—I mean, meeting.
Nicole was radiant when I arrived. She ditched the other customer she was talking to fairly quickly. I could tell he meant nothing to her. I eagerly awaited the verbal thrusts and parrying as we discussed extended warranties and all that.
Then the clever bastards at Saturn struck. Well, said Nicole, now you can meet with the financial consultant.
What? Huh? You’re not finishing the deal? But you let me check out the new car smell!
Dazed, I was led back to the back room where the large, sweaty East European named Carlo or something introduced himself. Here was the deal closer to take over after the sales consultant worked you up to the purchase decision. It was all just a blur of signing papers, vague feelings of being ripped off, and garlic. I got my car alright. No extended warranty. No spraying of the upholstery with some mystery gunk that allows you to wipe plutonium away with no stain left.
Just my car.
As I walked out to get my new Ion, I noticed that all the sales consultants were pretty females. Yet the backroom was filled with refugees from behind the Iron Curtain. They had “Stasi” written all over them.
Nicole brought me the car. I could look in her eyes one last time as she sat in the passenger seat and explained features to me. Or maybe she was reciting the Iliad in the original Greek. Who knows. Did I have any questions?
Nope.
I drove away the proud owner of a new car. My first actually. (My ex always drove our cars first since I’d kill the 3-year warranty in the first year) I think I can count on four more years with this car. I’ll be wiser next time. I’ve seen behind the curtain.
"My Little Patriot" (Posted
A couple days ago, when I was
driving Mister to his mom's house, Mister asked me why
So, I explained the Toledo
War. I didn't call it that, though. I just tried to explain it in as calm a
matter as possible. The statehood issue.
Mister was positively
outraged. Wait a second, he protested. That was done before I was even born, he
said. I didn't get to vote on it!
I feel I've done my job well.
Freedom is in his bones.
I just hope he doesn't cause
an incident in a dozen years. Honest to God, I didn't try to stoke irredentist
fury in his heart.
Really.
But I will make sure he
watches the Star Trek "The Omega Glory" episode one day.
"That
which was ours, is ours again!"
"Parent-Teacher
Conference" (Posted
You know, when I first
started this blog, I anticipated that I'd post longer
pieces infrequently. I hoped that posting something at least once a week
wouldn't be too much to hope for.
In my postings on the war on
terror, I ended up discovering that my posts were better short. Once I passed
1,000 words, I realized I often needed to look into editing to make sure I
wasn't just rambling. So, I evolved to shorter posts frequently posted (too
frequently) and some longer posts. Yet I never did apply this to Home Front or
Landfill. Often, I'd think of posting and then stop myself, figuring I couldn't
get a long or meaningful post. I'm going to try and post more frequently on
Home Front and not worry about length. If this works out, maybe I'll think
about Landfill too. I really would like to post less on National Security
Affairs. Hey, I'm intervening against myself!
Mister's mom and I went to
our first parent-teacher conference for the first grade. We already had
curriculum night where the teacher explained his teaching philosophy. I really
liked his no homework standpoint. What the heck is the point at this age?
Mister's mom and I have luckily agreed on a no-pressure-to-get-into-Harvard
approach to child raising. I actually bought some flash cards for math but
never bothered to haul them out. I've done better with using football scores to
teach and reinforce math. Mister is nonetheless quite advanced and his mom
wanted, for a while, to have him skip first grade. He was bored at first in
kindergarten but the teacher, with the help of his current first grade teacher,
challenged him and he ended up liking school. And now that teacher is Mister's
first grade teacher. For now, the specter of double-promotion is gone. I really
hate to lose a year of my son's life, essentially. He'd go off to college a
year earlier!
So anyway, we chatted with
Mister's teacher. I did not expect any problems. I've talked to Mister about
school every day, asking him how school is and never settled for
"fine." I want some details no matter how short and it has paid off.
I hope the real payoff comes when he is a teenager. Get him in the habit of
talking to me now! Anyway, Mister has expressed no boredom and he says he likes
school. The teacher seems pretty good to me and Mister likes him.
The teacher said that Mister
is clearly bright with an advanced sense of humor, getting jokes that he
wouldn't expect first graders to get. The teacher said Mister will force him to
constantly work to challenge Mister. He also noted that he was quite personable
which is sometimes lacking in kids who display advanced abilities. This is a
relief since I've repeatedly cautioned Mister about thinking he is smarter than
the rest. I try to emphasize that being smart doesn't mean he is learning and
that learning is the important part. I've also emphasized not being mean to somebody who hasn't learned something he has. I
guess this has been fruitful. Mister already won a prize for good citizenship
(nicely, his best friend from the other class did too) and the teacher
congratulated us on doing such a nice job of raising Mister.
That, of course, is nice to
hear. I worry that I might be failing him by the divorce. My priority has
always been Mister through all this, and after three years of living apart from
my ex and raising Mister (With my ex, of course. We've been remarkably
cooperative and get along quite well), I guess I am getting a little more
comfortable that Mister is growing up just fine.
It's nice to know that all
the money we've put away for Mister's college won't go to waste.
And speaking of ways to limit
my blogging, the second grade teacher is ultra-cute.
But wait, is that a wedding band I see on her? Dang, I think so. But maybe by
the time Mister is in second grade…
Back to blogging.
"Gitmo North"
(Posted
Mister and I are back from
our trip to his grandfather's island on McGregor Bay in
Mister was there two years
ago with his mom and he loved it. Last year and this year didn't work out for
his mom to take him so I agreed to be the Grandson Delivery System this year. Granddad
was generous enough to foot the bill for the pleasure of his grandson's company
so who am I to complain? Yes, it is pretty; and I got more sleep than I usually
do since it was simpler to just go to sleep at sundown when Mister slept, but
three days was enough for me. Still, I concede I enjoyed the trip.
We started out on Wednesday
with a plane ride on a small twin-prop job Air Canada Jazz plane (note to
marketing people: name does not inspire confidence) from
At
Having been to the
The boat waiting for us at
the docks was a nice covered job. I have no idea how we got to the island. It
was a weaving trip amongst small islands threading our way through channels
mostly unmarked that anyone boating there must know about almost instinctively,
apparently. The island hut is getting more elaborate as the years go by, with a
shed and an adjoining bedroom cabin (built primarily for my ex-wife and I, sadly enough) joined by a porch and large roof that now
provides shade for hot days on the porch/deck. The kitchen and bathroom are now
larger than mine. We unpacked, ate dinner, and had time for some relaxation in
the evening after a long day of travel. The big hit for indoor play was the
domino rally game (with English and French instructions, of course). Two
hundred plastic domino-like plastic blocks, a bridge, and various devices for
dropping marbles and shooting stuff around. The really cool piece was the
automatic domino layer. A little battery operated car that you slapped
30-domino magazines into and then off it goes, dropping dominos perfectly
spaced. Really cool. Mister also enjoyed playing
poker, teaching it to his grandfather. Mister enjoys my tale of how my dad
taught me poker as a lad and how my dad dealt me a Royal Flush the very first
time I played. My dad was sure I didn't quite understand the rules when I said
I wanted no cards and would play what I was dealt. He was quite right when he
said I'd probably never see another one in my life! And now Mister wants me to deal him a Royal Flush. Ain't gonna happen…
Mister and I slept in the
little bedroom cabin. We toddled off to bed and since he always likes to fall
asleep with company, I went to bed too. I thought of heading to the main cabin
to read a book I brought about the War of 1812 on
In the morning we headed off
to the beach across the channel (God, I'm getting the lingo down—though I can't
say if I use the terms correctly…) to the red sand beach. It has like 15-inch-deep
water for a good sixty feet out at least. Mister splashed around and played on
the beach. Whatever made the sand red sure as heck stained up his t-shirt! In
the afternoon, we took a lap around the island in the paddle boat. We did some
exploring on the island, with me telling Mister to take small steps, stay away
from the edges, look out for the slippery rocks! Lots
of obscure flowery things, blueberry and raspberry bushes, and rocks-rocks
everywhere. Big ones, too. We were on an island Lord knows how far away from a
decent emergency room and I was letting my son climb around big rocks! I was
pretty much a wreck when we got back.
It was that afternoon that we
lost the power. Around
But even so, losing power
while on an island knowing that tens of millions of people back on the block
have lost power too had a Cold War feel to it—like the Soviets dropped the bomb
while you were off in the distant woods and now you can't go home. Pretty eerie. My cell phone worked intermittently so I
called Mister's mom, my place, and my parents' place. No answering machines at
any of them—bad sign. My ex-father-in-law fed the neighbors—who had thrown out
everything in advance of leaving that day! But they are good friends going way
back—I've even met them and the dad helped my ex and I move a couch into our
first apartment, I believe. We listened in the dark to the first radio reports
we'd heard as speculation on whether it started in
At about
In the morning, my phone was
charged and we still had electricity. We went visiting to see the couple with
the TV—they live there 5 months out of the year—and saw coverage on FOX for
about twenty minutes. For a news junkie, listening and
reading the scrolling news ticker was like cable crack. I felt much better. And
Another neighbor, the wife of
the guy who watches over the cabin when empty and their little boy (3.5 years
old) stopped by for a visit. Mister and the boy first went off into the scrub to look for
blueberry bushes. I followed out of sight and was delighted to hear Mister
looking out for the younger boy, shepherding him around. When the little one
said he wasn't sure how to get back, Mister said, don't worry, follow me. I
retreated fast enough so they never knew they weren't on their own. The mom of William
said he could go off rock climbing and Mister and I went along. The little boy
had actually had rock climbing classes and did live up there on an island of
his own all year, so I guess it was all normal. Still, I was horrified that the
little boy was just hopping from rock to rock, high over the waters. Mister was
right with him, shouting to him to take small steps! Watch out for the rocks
with the moss on them—they get slippery when wet! Stay away from the edges! It
was like a mini-me. He really did listen to me when we were rock hiking. I got
them both back in one piece and our major outdoor activity for the rest of the
day was a short paddle boat ride around the docks since the water was fairly
choppy. Then we hauled out the little boat to store it for the winter. When we
went to sleep, we knew that we should be able to get gas for the drive home and
eat since power was coming up all over.
We headed out by
The next day we headed out
over the Mackinac Bridge—with Mister chatting excitedly to his mom on the phone
as we crossed—and headed south with frequent stops. Mister is a great traveler
and even in a long car ride he had no complaints. He occupied himself with
snacks, a map, sight-seeing, questions, and various improvised toys, including
the famous gum wrapper foil boat.
Quite the
successful trip, all and all.
Almost a
shame to have missed the local excitement, though.
"Summer is Racing Away" (Posted August 12, 2003)
It is August 12th already. This summer is vanishing before it has really started, it seems. There is so much that Mister and I need to do.
We still need to get that bike-riding thing down. I bought the bike at least a month ago. Mister wasn't sure he was interested but since I've gotten it he is balanced evenly between really wanting to learn and worrying that he can't learn. We've yet to really hit our stride on weekend bus trips downtown. The last couple years have been heavy in bus trips to the library, ice cream parlor, and Hands On Museum downtown. This year, we've had one bus trip.
Swimming has been a great disappointment. When we've had days to swim, the weather has been mostly rainy. One weekend, the pool was down for maintenance! Sunny days have been days I go to work and get home too late to hit the pool. How many times have we gone? A half dozen times? That is not enough for the short pool season. Even things like going to the park have been sparse. And just playing in the backyard. We've been out there for horse shoes games, bubble soap, tag, and badminton, but not nearly enough. We haven't even eaten out on the patio once this year. We did do sparklers a few times. And trips to the mall to wander around have been non-existent. And why don't I have a croquet set? My condo backyard is perfect for it and I only recently thought of getting one. What gives?
Oh sure, we've been busy. It's not like I've put Mister in front of the TV and left him there. We have done all the things above-if not a lot. We've discovered miniature golf and air hockey. We've gone bowling. We have hit the ice cream parlor. Mister did enjoy his summer classes and next year we may need to go all day and increase the weeks just for child care purposes. But since they were a hit this year, I don't feel guilt about that. And the really big success has been to get Mister a friend to play with. A friend from kindergarten is in the same shoes as Mister-no kids the same age nearby. So we've had his friend and dad over to swim. We've been to their place for playing and dinner. We've all done the miniature golf thing. So this has been a busy summer even with me. He's had time with mom and grandparents aplenty of course.
It's just going so fast. During the week I get home late so there really isn't time to do much. Some playing. A bath and snacks. But no time to go out. It's just hanging out at home time. It's only on the weekends that we have the volume of time to do father-son stuff and that just isn't enough. And the time is flying past us. Mister is six and still wants my company. It would be so nice to have the financial means to just chuck work-even a job I like-to spend lots of time all week with Mister. But that isn't going to happen. Who knows, maybe I'll beat the race to teenager-hood when my time won't be that high on his list of priorities. Who knows. It sure would be nice but like all parents, I'll just have to be grateful for the time I have. And knowing other dads, it really is quite a lot of time despite divorce. I dare say that I do spend more time than a whole lot of married dads. Of course, being divorced, I am more conscious of the need to spend time than a dad who just assumes the time. That's just the way it is.
But the time flies with things undone despite all that we do and for all my efforts to devote non-work time to Mister.
This summer is probably what my life will look like. I know one day I will wake up and Mister will be heading off to college and I'll wonder how the time could have passed with so much undone. I'll draw comfort from the fact that even as so much remained undone, so much was done along the way. Being a dad is just great. Even though there is never enough time to do all that I want. What more can one say?
"My Cat Died" (Posted May 17, 2003)
Koshka died Friday.
I got my cat when we was only 5 weeks old. He was over 19 years old when he died Friday. The last few months he started to get feeble. Until then he could still jump up on the table and the counters. The stairs were no problem. For the last couple weeks I had to restrict him to the kitchen where I could clean up after him more easily. Even Wednesday night he was still mobile. Still eating. He followed me from place to place and would lie down next to me and curl up to sleep. I was determined not to let my convenience dictate whether he lived or died. As long as he was comfortable, I'd clean up and keep Koshka as long as he could last. On Friday morning, before I went to work, I spent 45 minutes cleaning up after him. Though feeble, he could still walk. He was in no apparent discomfort.
But I was worried. He was still much worse. When I came home from work late Friday, after picking up Mister from his grandparents, Koshka did not get up to greet me. I noticed that he hadn't eaten any food-a first. As I put some groceries away, he gave a very sad meow. I went to get him and give Koshka his by-now needed daily bath and found he could not stand in the tub. I looked at his eyes and could see they were starting to withdraw into his head. I started to cry since I knew this was it. I cleaned him up but cut the bath short and wrapped him in a towel to keep him warm. I put him in a basket and pet him. I sent Mister downstairs in case something catastrophic and drastic occurred like a death rattle or something. Koshka lifted his head occasionally and meowed that sad meow. I couldn't stop crying. I just pet him and spoke soothing words.
I knew he was dying.
I knew I had to put him out of his misery. I called the vet. I imagine I was only barely audible as I told the receptionist that my cat was dying and that I didn't want him to die in pain. Then I called Mister's jiddo (grandfather) and asked him to come and get Mister since I needed to take Koshka to the vet.
It was actually a very easy decision. I never would have put him to sleep over my convenience. But Koshka was at the end and it would just be selfish to keep him alive until he expired on his own. The price of hours more alive could be pain and fear for him. I'm just so very glad I got home before he died. He could see me. He could hear my soothing words and feel me pet him as he lay there. God I hope that helped him. But I don't know. But he knew I took care of him for nineteen years, so I think he would feel comfort with my presence.
They were very nice at the vet. They asked if I wanted to be with Koshka or not. I of course went in. I looked at him and let him look at me. I talked to him and pet him. The doctor said he was nearly gone as it was. He died very quickly.
I'd always joked that I didn't understand how vets could charge so much for treating cats. I said all you have to do is bring in some want ads and say, "Hey, I can get a new one for free, you know. They give them away. Cut me some slack on the price or I'm walking." Now I didn't care what the price was to spare him the potential pain of living a few more hours.
It was so tough to see him lying on the metal table, wrapped in a towel, no longer breathing. I'm so sorry he couldn't see another summer. I'm so sad I couldn't even give him another weekend with time to spend with him.
But I try to remember I gave him a long life. I picked that little anti-social kitten in a garage somewhere in Ann Arbor. I don't even remember where. The kittens were all playing together except for Koshka, who was off by himself. That tugged at my heart and I picked him. A beautiful, gray, long-haired semi-tabby kitten. I held him to my chest in the car and he immediately climbed up my shoulder, under my denim jacket and then halfway down my back. I had to sit leaning forward, unable to sit back for fear I would crush my new kitten.
The first night I had him, Koshka woke me up by jumping on my face while I slept, giving me a nice dueling scar.
The next night, I resorted to the childhood monster shield. You know, the kevlar covers over my head impervious to all monsters, with a tube formed to breathe? Well, I woke up at some point to see a small kitten coming up my air tube!
He loved to chase light beams. A flashlight pointed at the floor could get him racing around. It was most fun to shine a flashlight on an unsuspecting victim and see their utter shock as a very fast cat leaped on their chest.
Koshka could jump on top of a closet door. Once there he loved to bat at crumpled paper balls tossed up to him.
He also loved to dive into the paper strips from pin feed paper (remember?). Just like a kid in a pile of leaves.
He would catch and eat flies.
He'd attempt to drown rubber bands in his water bowl.
He'd always shake a vicious pancake to break its neck.
Pizza crusts had the effect of catnip on him.
He loved potato chips, Even to the end.
Koshka did not like the outdoors. When I first tried to take him out he would hide in my backpack with just his nose sticking out.
I remember when his blank kitten eyes became cat eyes.
I was amused to see him get all angry with me when our play got rougher and he got his hackles up.
I thought Koshka was a girl cat for his first year. On the bright side, neutering is $10 cheaper.
Koshka loved to sleep on my legs-but only in the winter.
My ex-wife and I always wondered how the milk rings he like to play with ended up in the hallway routinely. Until one day we came home and saw his paw extended about 8 inches out into the hallway-and we weren't supposed to have a cat there.
Once, in protest of my absence, he climbed on top of my computer to pee on it. I did not try to wash the dust cover.
I used an old cleaner spray bottle to discipline him. The day he counter-attacked the evil water bottle was a hoot. It was full. Koshka gripped it with his front paws and started to disembowel it with his back claws. Unfortunately, the nozzle was pointed at Koshka's face. Did I mention it was a full bottle? He squirted himself right in the face. He never fought the spray bottle again.
He chuttered when he stalked birds from his window perch.
Once, in the winter, after he meowed to go out on the balcony repeatedly despite my reasoned arguments why he did not want to go, I opened the sliding door. He stepped with one paw into the snow. Then turned around and headed for a heat vent to curl up.
Koshka was gentle with Mister, even when Mister provoked him. I always admonished Mister to be gentle but he was a toddler. Koshka never struck back.
He fake nursed on me.
He was always at the window to greet me-until the last few days-when I came home.
He liked to perch next to me on the back of the couch while I was on the computer.
He purred when I held him. But not for too long.
He was a good cat and I had him for so long that I had started to assume he would live forever. I will miss him. I can't believe how heavy my heart is.
Koshka lived for 19 years and 2 months until Friday.
"Bed in a Bag"
(Posted
When I started this blog, I did say that the state of my furnishings would
occasionally be a subject of interest (to me).
After a year of debating the
merits of getting a smaller bed to provide more room in my bedroom (and concede
the unpleasant fact that I am single and unlikely to need the space for an orgy
with Meg Ryan and Jennifer Aniston), I just decided to go for new sheets and
whatnot to replace the old stuff. So what's a heterosexual guy to do? Foolish me, when I think of window coverings it is either vertical
blinds, or horizontal blinds, or those roller things with springs, or even
curtains. But always just one
of them—never a combination. Imagine my decorating horror when I found
that stores had scores of things under the general heading of "window
treatments." I'm sorry, I don't know what a
But here's where the stores
help out men like me: "Bed in a Bag." I like to think of it as a home
decorating version of "Hamburger Helper." Sure, any idiot knows that
"Cheeseburger with Macaroni" is really just macaroni and cheese with
ground beef mixed in, for a couple bucks more than a box of macaroni and cheese.
But it steers you when you have no compass to guide you in the kitchen. I view
bed in a bag much like that. Shoot, I wish they had "Window Treatment in a
Box" and "Kitchen in a Crate." Actually, I really did see
"Bathroom in a Box" but I honestly think there is too much room for
confusion in this product. But other rooms offer possibilities. "Rec Room in a Box." "Foyer in a Box." "Alcove
in a Sack." This really could be a series. The biggest hit could be
"Library on a Shelf" with classics you'll never read already
shrink-wrapped into a shelf to impress guests and dates (why else are the
complete works of Shakespeare in my family room while the book about Russian
naval policy in the early 19th century is safely hidden from view?)
Anyway, I bought Bed in a
Bag. It had everything going for it—all the bed-related stuff in one bag with
no need to figure out if the sheets I want really match the bedspread and no
embarrassment of actually buying a separate bed skirt. I have an honorable
discharge from the Army for God's sake, what am I doing shopping for a bed
skirt? I suppose I could buy power tools and put them under the bed to feel better.
Second, the color was inoffensive and lacking in any floweration whatsoever. It
may even go with my carpet and furniture. Third, it was significantly on sale. Fourth,
I had a really good coupon. And fifth, it allowed me to go in and buy
everything I needed in about 5 minutes without worrying about Y chromosomes
leaching out of me and evaporating into the store cooling system. I think that
happens when a man starts to contemplate colors and patterns for more than 6
minutes. And these are in no means by order of importance. Bottom line is, I bought the bag. It had a bed spread that was reversible.
One side flowery and one side acceptable to a man. It
had the sheets. It had two pillow cases. It even had the aforementioned bed
skirt. It also had two pillow shams.
Pillow
shams?
What are they and why would I
need two? I seriously puzzled over them before I looked at the label on the bag
and found "Two pillow shams." I'd honestly never heard of them. I
scratched my head. Why does a pillow need a sham? As I said, I considered
downsizing the bed for the sake of space, so having two pillow cases did not
throw me—you use two cases for one pillow. That's how it is supposed to work as
I understand it. But then what are two pillow shams for? Each one is a
rectangle of fabric split in the middle with the edges sewn in a way to create
excess fabric at the edges. Apparently, the makers of bed in a bag did indeed
assume two people and two pillows (I do appreciate that corporate vote of
confidence) and so included one pillow case and one pillow sham for each one.
But how do you use it? The
flapping edges suggest a decorative mission. Hence,
attractive to women. (I momentarily thought one each would cover Meg's
and Jen's pillows) Yet the split middle suggests getting my arm caught in it
and ripping it to shreds in my sleep. Besides, putting it on the outside makes
it apparent that you have a pillow sham. I've gone my whole life without one and see
no reason to end this record—at least publicly. No claims of hypocrisy here,
please. I have the shams, am I to waste them? So I decided that I could jam my
pillow into the sham and then put the pillow case over the sham. Now I have the
pillow properly double layered to protect it from me and I have spare pillow
covers.
Yet somehow it felt almost
wrong. Like I was going to work on a construction site
wearing women's underwear. Tasteful women's underwear
to be sure, but women's underwear nonetheless. Two things here: One, I
don't actually have any experience of wearing women's underwear. Anywhere. Two, not that there's anything wrong with that…
I'm just saying, it seems like it would feel like
that.
So, no new
bed. New bed
look. And I am now a secret pillow sham owner.
I feel so dirty.
"Field Trip" (Posted February 19, 2003)
I am going to rent "Kindergarten Cop." It seemed silly before. Now it seems like it could be a documentary.
Mister had a field trip today and I volunteered for the hour-long bus rides and science center trip. Mister was pleased I went. I was happy to do it. And don't get me wrong, since I did enjoy the trip. But I am tired. Really tired.
First of all, I was put in charge of my son and three other kids-another boy and two girls. Ok, first learn their names. What are they wearing? We were "Purple Team."
Let's roll Purple Team. Remember to follow me. Look at my shirt. Look for orange if you get lost and aren't around me (I wore a bright shirt for this purpose).
We packed two classes onto the bus and headed out. I never had to travel on buses very much as a child. I walked to grade school and drove to high school in the suburbs. So the vaguely unpleasant smell that seemed part wet wool, part peanut butter, and part orange Craisins, lingered just at the edge of awareness. Sometimes there. Sometimes not. The kids actually weren't too bad on the trip there. They didn't quite know how long an hour ride was and this was new to almost all of them. To me too. We were crossing the Rhine into the wilds of Ohio. We were going to Toledo. Toledo, of course, was brazenly taken from us as the price of statehood. Irredentist furor burns in my heart still. The western half of the Upper Peninsula was nice, but Toledo was ours!
Oh well. I suppose I could fixate on it and agitate for crusades to the south to retake the Toledoland, but that would be silly.
Anyway. We made it there. Got our briefing and headed inside. Purple Team blazed the trail and while others dithered at the entry, we forged ahead. I had a map. Up the stairs. To the right. Head for the kindergarten play zone where our class had first dibs. It was pretty cool. A tree house that Mister loved. He really liked the mountain part with the climbing rope. It had telescopes, periscopes, and tunnels and stairs. Plus a pulley and bucket to lift stuff to the tree house. It also had a noise zone walled off from the rest of the place; water stuff-including a really neat shooting gallery thing to spin targets around. It had an air thingy that levitated a ball, and various play areas with a house (complete with grill) and a hospital. Building stuff. Dress-up stuff. Mister loved the tree house the most and I finally dragged him away. He discovered the water area and, sadly (for me, not him), soaked himself.
This place was ok-there was one exit so if I stayed near that, none of my charges were getting past me. Still, if I didn't see one of them for 5 minutes, I started to worry. I made the mistake of going into the hospital area. Check-in at the reception desk went fine, but once in the tender mercies of a couple of budding witch doctors, I feared for my life. Most basically, I find it unlikely that I could have had five babies while in there for a total of ten minutes. I had one x-ray, two rides on an ambulance, one head amputation, a sling, two arm bandages, and shots that were not done with anything like care or concern. Five babies really did seem a bit much. I pleaded that I was really fine and they checked me out. I give them credit, no co-pay.
I kept the clan together through lunch and then it was about an hour of free-play in the rest of the museum-with four children, only one of whom I was sure would stick with me. Before we went to our first room, I reminded them that we stick together and never leave a room without the rest of us. We tried the room with floating brains and similar stuff. Thankfully they had no interest. The other boy had been to this museum before and he suggested the "Sideways Room." It is a room tilted a good 30 degrees I'd guess. The sign explained that your eyes tried to interpret the room as level while the rest of your body knew it was tilting. The bottom wall was thoughtfully carpeted. The kids strained to pry themselves from the carpeted wall. I willed myself to suppress what my eyes were trying to tell me. I stood my ground in the center of the room. I even took pictures in the room. Since they sadistically send the video of the room to the line outside waiting to get in, I knew my adult pride was on the line. Stand your ground. Stay upright. I paid the price for suppressing my eyes' evidence when we got out. The children, having never reconciled the conflicting information, ran off quickly. I was still reeling, trying to tilt right 30 degrees. "Purple Team! Wait up!" I cried futilely.
Well not quite, just a long delay before obeying. Then we were off to visit more. With only an hour and a huge museum, we had spent about fifteen minutes on this one exhibit. But it was a huge hit and well worth it. Besides, that killed a quarter of the time with the children close by me. Heh. Heh. Then we found a room with a robot arm that my son instructed to build a square. It was pretty cool. The kids checked out the exhibits. Periodically I had to remind them, "Walk. Don't run!" The responsibility was scary. Not only did I have to return the exact same four kids to the bus, but I was expected to insure they returned home with no new boo boos and certainly with all their digits. We went from room to room, successfully keeping the group in tow. When it was time to go, I herded them off to the rest rooms. The boys I went in with. The girls? They were on their own. Once the girls were in I went in too, directed the boys and headed out to the hallway to intercept the lasses before they could run off. I had one girl and two boys. A mom told me that we had to head off. When I told her I was waiting for one more girl, she said, "You have four?!" with some obvious shock. "Some parents only have two! I had trouble with three and one is my own." Must be that Army training. Never leave a kid behind.
I got my fireteam down to the lobby and then-with a last look to make sure I actually did have the same four I went in with, led them to the bus. Whew. All back on the bus safe. I'd get no angry calls from parents whose child was still in the museum in Ohio at closing time.
The ride home with hyped up kindergartners who'd had a ball and hated to leave was a bit louder. I wanted only the comforting caress of deep sleep. Of course, one of the little girls felt comfortable enough with me to tussle my hair every three miles. What the heck. I still managed to almost sleep for a bit. Until my son and the little hair tussler played a game with me where they put their name tags on their mouths and I asked them how many years they were going to keep them on. They thought it was a great game. They laughed themselves silly. I have no idea why it worked but it did.
Before I knew it, we were back in Ann Arbor. As we parked, I thanked my Purple Team for a lovely outing. They really were great kids. How can they know the sheer terror for an adult of being placed in charge of their safety for a couple hours in a strange place in a strange land? They can't of course, and that is good. They had a ball.
Mister wants to go again and spend longer, of course. Might be a good day trip for me, Mister, and his mom and sister some time.
"Interlude" (Posted January 19, 2003)
I'm working on something about Mister. He is becoming a guy and it is neat to see the development. I meant to have it done tonight but I am not up to the whimsy. Let me just say that the dating world bites. I won't engage in online therapy by going into detail. For one thing, who cares? For another, it might give a false impression of doom. My son is asleep upstairs. Work is interesting. Friends are available. And I have little enough time for romance given the time needed for work and family. I'd have that fact no other way. Let me just say that being married during the entire decade of the nineties has done nothing to improve my understanding of the fairer sex. Pity. So nice yet so confusing. To my friends, I'll be darned if I'll lower the bar. But I appreciate your concern!
But really, a new essay here soon. An imminent war or not.
