Geekboy Family Pet Update

Last summer, we adopted this kitten:


Remember her?

Actually it turned out she was a he. And he's now a big, fluffy, incredibly soft cat. Check him out:


I know. He's awesome, right? Technically, he’s still a kitten and he’s got the wild energy of a pre-schooler, which is good because we happen to have one of those living in our house too. The Bean likes chasing the cat around. But the cat doesn't seem to mind because he always comes back to hang out in whatever room we happen to be occupying. In fact, he's laying nearby right now.

Ginko, or as I like to call him the Gink, has displayed some idiosycracies, which makes him fit right in with our family. Lately, we've noticed that he has a bizarre compulsion to put things into his water dish. I've never seen a cat do this before. Just about every other day, we find a new object floating in the bowl. So far we’ve discovered the cap to a water bottle, a wrapper from a piece of string cheese, a loofah, toy mouse, toy ball, toy ribbon on a stick, the hangtag from a new piece of clothing and a playing card.

We have one weird feline.

We also have a fish. Actually we've had several fish. WonderWife™ thought it would be cool to hang a small fishtank on the wall and get a Betta for the Bean's room. Problem is, they keep dying on us. The first one croaked because of an unexpected cold snap and a broken heater. The second because WW™ had pregnancy brain and forgot to feed it. I have no idea what happened to the third. And frankly, the fourth looked like it was knocking on death's door when we got him. So rather than be forced to expose our son to the concept of death, we keep getting new ones.

Sushi 4.0 passed away earlier this week, but neither WW™ or I had time to replace him. So he had to sit on the bottom of the bowl for a day or so. I know, I know, it's gross. But it's not like we had a choice. Removing the bowl from the room would raise questions. As would a bowl sans fish.

The other night, I thought we were busted. The Bean looks at the fishbowl and asks, "What's Sushi doing?"

"He's sleeping," I replied. It was easy for the Bean to buy this because Sushi was nestled against the rocks on the bottom of the bowl. I had learned that Bettas sink when they die, rather than float, after the unfortunate passing of the original Sushi.

Amazingly, WW™ was able to take both kids to the pet store and buy a new fish without them realizing. However, Sushi 5.0's fins are much larger than the previous Sushi and the Bean has taken notice. The next morning, I overheard WW™ telling the Bean that the fish's fins are bigger because he's awake. So my son now believes that after a fish wakes up, it's fins double in size.

Cake and Cards

I left work early so that I could eat cake with my son.

The day before my birthday, the Bean was rather upset to learn I was not planning on having any birthday cake. To him birthdays = cake. This is the way the world works without question, just as the laws of physics dictate what goes up must come down and astronomy tells us that the earth is round. Which brought up the dilemma of when to have it. There was no way we were going to eat it at breakfast, for fear that every morning after would begin with a demand for cake instead of the traditional "cereal with milk." We couldn't wait until I normally got home, because that would mean the Bean would be eating his cake in the bathtub, just before bed, and there's too many things that could go wrong with that scenario. So fulfilling my son's birthday wish for me meant that I would leave the office early in order arrive home in time to catch the tail end of his dinner. Someday he’ll know how much I sacrifice for him.

Immediately upon entering the house, the Bean wished me a happy birthday and said, "It's time for cake!" WonderWife™ had three cupcakes sitting on a plate, waiting for us. So as the sun set on my birthday, I sat at the kitchen table with my family, eating cake before dinner.

_____________________

Out of all of the cards I was given for my birthday, the one from the Bean was my favorite. WW™ says that he had already picked out a nice card with a monkey on it for me. But he apparently changed his mind as she was picking out her cards. The Bean grabbed one out of the rack and said, "I want to give this one to Daddy!"

I’m opening the card as WW™ is telling me this story only to find this:

Table Scraps Volume #1: Football Season

In order to maintain the high quality level you've come to expect from this blog, I end up writing a lot, nearly every night. The majority of the stuff I compose is posted here. But there are always some stragglers--rough bits and pieces that don't quite have a home or aren't quite finished. Since it's trendy to be green these days, I figured I would recycle 'em by sharing them with you. They're somewhat raw and unrefined...but hey, aren't we all?

I wrote this back in August, but am posting it now in honor of the Super Bowl.

________________________

It’s football season again. A time when I’m filled with good intentions, like when you make a New Year’s resolution or start a diet on a Monday after a weekend spent gorging BBQ and fried food. I go into every fall thinking that this is going to be the year that I follow the entire season. That I’ll get into football. That I’ll know enough to be able to have a conversation with an actual football fan.

But like I said, I’m filled with good intentions but very little follow through.

I really like football. But when push comes to shove, I just don’t have a lot of time to devote to it. To really follow football takes a great deal of time. A single game lasts around four hours. That’s time that I just don’t have. I’m juggling multiple children and a wife I barely see. I usually have a few hours worth of work on the weekends. There’s usually a movie that I need (okay, want) to see, TV to watch and an ever-growing list of places to surf on the intertubes.

Though none of this actually stops me from wanting to follow football. So while I promise myself that this year I’m really going to pay attention, I never do. As a result, I’m inevitably left out of a lot of conversations with other guys from September till January.

The Vile Herb

The daily special of the café at the bottom of my office building was a chicken burrito.

"Does anything in the burrito have cilantro in it?" I asked the cook.

He responded with a clear and resounding, "No."

I paid for my food and huffed up the five flights of steps back to my office. (Yes, I know that five flights of steps is hardly "huff" worthy, but I'm sadly out of shape and right now that stairwell is the closest thing I have to a gym.) As I brought the mammoth burrito to my mouth, I immediately spied a little green spec amongst the savory goodies inside. Unwrapping the thing, I discovered the salsa did contain cilantro and it had infested the rest of the burrito like a zombie in a Romero movie.

Lunch was officially over.

I know that I should have gone back downstairs and returned the food, but when it comes to defending myself against cilantro, I’m utterly exhausted.

I can't put into words how much I hate the stuff. The smallest speck in my food will render the entire meal inedible. I'm not exaggerating. When it comes to finding cilantro in my food, I'm like one of those drug-sniffing dogs at the airport. I’ve learned that there are a lot of people like me who also detest the vile herb. If you Google "hating cilantro", you will get 186,000 hits. Yet when dealing with my aversion in public, I feel like I'm totally on my own.

I’m not sure how it is in other places, but in Southern California it’s impossible to escape cilantro. There are some kinds of cuisine, prevalent in So-Cal, where I know my cilantro alert needs to be on high—Mexican, Thai and Indian. But all too often, it seems to sneak its way into surprising things. I've found it in chili, sprinkled on shrimp cocktail, in soups... I shouldn't have to worry about finding cilantro in a tuna fish sandwich from a diner. Yet I do.

Asking about a food's cilantro content has become a giant pain in the ass. I endure incredulous looks from waitstaff when I tell them I can’t eat cilantro, as if I had just told them I don’t like puppies or chocolate or presents. Using the “I’m allergic” excuse doesn’t work either. In this litigious society of ours, I've had waitstaff freak out once they learn that they might have served me something to which I'm allergic. I don't want that kind of attention when I'm in a restaurant. Or if I manage to fool them, I’m inevitably subjected to a barrage of questions by my dining companion like, “What happens when you eat it?” At this point, I could either spend the energy to keep the lie going, or simply admit that I’m not really allergic, I just really, really, really, really can’t stand the stuff. Either way, I’m subjected to judgment from a cruel and non-sympathetic audience.

I sincerely wish I could make myself like the stuff. It would be so much easier to navigate the culinary landscape of Los Angeles. But I can't. Cilantro truly makes me retch. And while I’ve become adept at maintaining my cilantro-free existence, there are times like the burrito incident when the herb slips past the goalie.

So, resigned to my fate, I gave the cilantro-laden burrito to a grateful co-worker and got myself a slice of pizza. Cause no matter where you get it from, plain cheese pizza is always cilantro-free.

It's Also Important To Know What You Don't Want To Do

"What are you going to do today?" I asked the Bean over breakfast.

"I'm going to watch Barack Obama. He's a president. I like presidents."

"Cool. Do you think you'd want to be president someday?" I asked.

"No," he said definitively.

______

I know it's been hours since it ended, but happy Inauguration Day everyone!

So It's Come To This

WonderWife™ and I were sharing a rare moment snuggling on the couch watching TV together when we heard something over the baby monitor. We mute the TV and both lean in the direction of the monitor, which is what you’re required to do when you’re listening to something really intently.

“I think he’s meowing,” I say to WW™.

“No,” she replies. “He was a banana today.”

“But he was a kitty cat tonight.”

We both sit silently for a moment, pondering this.

“The scary thing,” I said. “ Is that to us, this is a completely normal conversation.”

Rearranging the Furniture

As you can see, I've been doing some redecorating around here--hanging up new pictures and rearranging the furniture--in an effort to make things better to look at and easier to read. Since my html kung fu is not strong, I'm limited to the blog layout choices that everyone else on Blogger uses. And since I'm kind of obsessive when it comes to stuff like this, things may change a bit more here and there before I stumble upon a new layout that makes me happy.

So my apologies, and feel free to let me know if there's something you like or don't like.

Boing Boing

3:30pm. The phone rings in my office.

"Hello?"

"[Something Something] Boing Boing!" says the Bean.

"Did you just say 'Gerald McBoing Boing'?"

WW™ translates. "We bought a new book today."

The Bean gets back on. "Do you know what's a funny word Daddy? Boing boing. Boing boing! Boing boing! Boing boing! Boing boing!"

(He's right. It is a funny word.)

Butterfinger Buzz

Stopping at the ‘Sev for my morning tanker of joe, I saw them in the aisle, calling out to me from their cardboard stand like a siren—the Butterfinger Buzz bar. It feels like it’s been an awfully long time since I’ve seen something new on the shelves that I actually let out a little yelp of excitement, thus enduring strange glances from the other patrons and the clerk.

Inside the package, the Buzz felt thick and heavy. Opening it, I discovered that there were actually two bars inside, each shorter and thicker than your average Butterfinger. And that was pretty much the only discernible difference between the Buzz and the regular variety.

The package excitedly claims that the Buzz has “as much caffeine as the leading energy drink.” I wasn’t sure exactly what sized energy drink is considered “leading” since these days they come in a variety of sizes from ginormous to gargantuan. It was also unclear if this statistic counted for one or both bars in the package. Some clever sleuthing led me to the answer typed in fine print located where candy lovers never go, the bottom of the bar next to the nutrition info. Each bar contains 40 mg of caffeine, which is about half of an 8 oz can of Red Bull, a half a cup of coffee or about 16 ½ regular Butterfinger bars. The warning also said that the candy was not recommended for children, which is exactly like me putting a shiny red button that lights up and makes sounds in front of my son, then standing across the room and whispering, “don’t touch it.”

I really can’t figure out why they put caffeine in candy, other than because suckers like me will buy anything labeled “new” or “limited edition.” But hey, I’m a traditionalist. I tend to want my caffeine fix in beverage form. Plus, if coffee had as much fat and calories as the Butterfinger Buzz, caffeine addiction would be the least of my problems. I’d be one of those guys you see being airlifted out of their beds.

Despite the emergence of some other caffeinated bars, I think buzzy candy is going to be a pretty short-lived gimmick in the annals of candy history. If you haven’t tried one, you’re not missing much, except the jitters.

Cupcake Batter

I was sitting on the floor, playing trucks with the Bean, when WonderWife™ presented us each with a small bowl of chocolate cake batter. She was baking cupcakes for the Bean’s birthday party.

Cake batter is one of those simple, delectable pleasures in life and I was happy to be able to share this treasure with my son. But as we sat there, shoveling spoonfuls of gooey deliciousness into our mouths, it dawned on me that my batter-eating days were numbered. Soon Sprout would be old enough to enjoy batter and while the kids would argue over who got the bowl and who got the beater, I would be the odd man out.

I guess in the future I’ll just have to get WW™ to bake after the kids have gone to sleep.

Delurk Yourselves

I've learned that today is "Delurking Day". I have no idea who started it or why we don't get a day off of work to celebrate it. What I do know is that the day is for those of you who read blogs, but do not comment to peel yourselves off of the woodwork and make yourselves known. So go ahead, what are you waiting for? You know you want to.

I'm thankful to each and every one of you who takes time out of your lives to read about mine.

And if you're reading this after Delurking Day, there's no need to keep yourselves a secret.

The Bacon Bar

I’m not sure exactly why, but recently bacon is popping up in places that bacon has never been before. Like a candy bar.

I had heard a lot about the now legendary Bacon Bar but had not yet had one. When I saw them for sale as an impulse item near the register at Whole Foods, I didn’t hesitate for a moment to buy one. I didn’t realize until much later that I had paid a whopping $7.50 for the thing. At the time it just didn’t matter.


Arriving at home, I unpacked the groceries and left the candy bar sitting on the counter. After putting the kids down for their naps, WW™ turns to me and says, “So you going to open that thing or what?”

There is a reason why I married this woman.

I’ve had many conversations with friends about this confection. Most people I know are immediately turned off by the idea. But salty and sweet is just about the best food combo known to man, so I was more than game to try it.

The first taste that hit was the dark chocolate. It took a few chews before I could get past the chocolate and find the other flavor, smoke. WW™ took a bite and immediately tasted the smoke. But for me, it was buried too far in the back. I kept eating, hoping for more bacon.

After finishing the bar, I must admit that I was a little disappointed. Maybe I was expecting too much from the Bacon Bar. I mean it was good, but I guess that I was hoping that the Bacon Bar would be more like a piece of bacon dunked in chocolate, like a chocolate covered pretzel. Instead, it was just a candy bar with a smattering of finely chopped pork product inside.

Don’t get me wrong the Bacon Bar was tasty. I’d eat it again in a heartbeat. The very idea that somebody made a candy bar with bacon in it makes me immensely happy. But at the end of the day, it wasn’t the transcendent salty/sweet experience that I was hoping for.

But maybe that wasn’t the point. Maybe just the idea in and of itself should be enough.

Save Handmade

Earlier last year the government passed the Consumer Products Safety Improvement Act. I don't expect that you'll read the whole thing, so let me give you the gist of it.

This law mandates that anyone selling items intended for children 13 or younger have their products tested by an independent third party before they can legally be sold. Sounds good right? But this law doesn't take into account the thousands of small business and independent craftspeople who sell their items in small retail outlets or on websites like Ebay and Etsy. This law will require everyone, no matter how big or how small, no matter if the items are made overseas in a factory or handmade in somebody's living room, to spend thousands of dollars for this testing and approval.

While the government's heart is in the right place here, this law doesn't take these people into account. WonderWife™ is one of them.

WW™ loves to sew. In fact, she's pretty freakin' amazing at it. Over the past year and a half, she has taken her love of sewing and created a little business for herself. At Inkies and Smushies she sells baby blankets and lovies, stuffed toys and other baby gear. People rave about her stuff. And she loves making it.

Once this law goes into effect, WW™ and many like her will no longer afford to be able to sell their stuff. And if you, or your kid, has ever snuggled with one of her baby blankets, you know what a loss this is.

But like I said earlier, this isn't just about my wife. Her business is a hobby, but for countless others, their businesses are their livelihoods. So please click on the picture below and learn about what you can do to help.

Thank you.

I Read Too Much

The past two days have been really crazy and I haven't had a lot of time with my laptop. Checking back in today, Google Reader tells me I have 70 new blog posts to read. Not to mention the endless threads that were stared on my internet home away from home, Offsprung.

If I subscribe to your blog, I want to read everything you write and comment when appropriate (comments are a blogger's currency, you know). But man, you guys are prolific.

Or it's entirely probable that I'm trying to read too much.

People Suck

Do you know how I know this? Craigslist.

I understand that times are tough and you may not want to buy the home theater system I'm selling, but if you send me an email and tell me your interested and we go so far as to negotiate the price, and you end up changing your mind, at least have the courtesy to fire off a quick message back to me to let me know, instead of just disappearing...never to be heard from again.

This has happened three times.

I'm not even going to go get started on the scammer who wanted me to ship the thing to Europe, with the promise of paying full price once it was in transit. I'm not stupid enough to actually fall for that one.

Screw it. I'm donating to Goodwill.

The Purple Balloon

Of the myriad number of gifts that the Bean received during the one-two punch of 8 nights of Hanukkah immediately followed by his third birthday, without a doubt the greatest one, the one that gave him the most enjoyment and occupied him for the longest, came squished inside a greeting card.

The card in question was sent by one of the Bean’s peers, whom I’m guessing had an assist from a parental unit, and contained one deflated purple balloon. As far as I could tell, it was your standard issue round balloon. Nothing special, nothing fancy.

“What’s this?” The Bean asked holding the flaccid balloon up for me to inspect.

“I’ll show you,” I said taking it from him.

I blew it up and held it aloft, pinching the neck so no air would escape. I looked him directly in the eyes and let go of the balloon. It whooshed around the ceiling, dive bombed the carpet and bounced back into the air before landing in a crumpled heap next to the Bean.

His eyes were large.

“Do that again,” he said.

One Half Year

Dear Sprout,
Today you are six months old. It’s a day I’ve been looking forward to for…well, six months. Let’s face it, the last half of 2008 has not been an easy one. Admittedly, I am not, nor will I ever be a baby person. As much as I hate to admit this, with your brother everything was new and surprising. Even though it was a struggle, the day to day of watching a human learn how to interact with the world was intriguing. Though I’ve tried to approach fathering an infant for the second time with the same degree of fascination, it’s been difficult. And let’s be honest, you haven’t made things easy either. Need I remind you about the whole refusing to take a bottle thing? This doesn’t mean that I don’t love you. I’m just saying that I’m not really great at being a dad to a baby. I try really hard. But trust me, I’ll be a lot more fun in another six months.

Though you have been a major presence in my life, I know that I haven’t written much about you here. I guess it’s a result of that second child syndrome that I promised you that I was going to try to avoid. Though I’ve made sure that I’ve taken lots of video of your mom takes enough pictures to shut down Flickr’s server, there haven’t been a lot of anecdotes to convey. It’s actually been easier to define you by what you won’t do than by what you are doing.

But all of that is changing rapidly. We’ve spent a lot of time together over the holidays, which I think has been good for both of us. You’re becoming wildly interested in the world around you. I love watching you lean forward you can see all of the action. It looks like you’re doing crunches. Soon you’ll be able to sit up by yourself and you’ll find that the world becomes a very different place. You’ll start getting what we grownups call “interactive”. I’ll build a tower of blocks, you’ll knock it down. Things like that. It’ll be awesome.

So for now, just keep doing what you’ve been doing. I’ll continue to feed you new solid foods (roasted carrots are coming up next), play with you and tickle you. You keep getting closer to sleeping through the night. And don’t ever stop being generous with that big, gummy smile of yours. It’s by far my favorite thing about you. Notice the way you charm everybody you meet with it? That’s a great skill to have.

Oh, and thanks for being patient with your brother when he “rides” you by sitting on the back of your legs. This is all been new for him too. He totally digs you and is really excited for the days when he can play with you. I know you are too because you can’t stop staring at him.

All my love baby girl,
Daddy

P.S. Thank you for finally drinking milk from a sippy cup. You have no idea what this means to mom (and to me).