Flashback Friday: Voicemail

A voicemail left on my phone back in February, when I was on a business trip:

The Bean: Daddy, hi! Hi daddy!

WonderWife™: Hi, daddy.

The Bean: He didn’t hear me.

WW™: I think he did hear you.

The Bean: He didn’t talk to me.

WW™: Well, cause it’s a machine it’s not really daddy.

The Bean: Well (thinks for a moment)…I still said 'hi' but he didn’t talk.

WW™: I bet he’ll call us back and he’ll say hi then. Love you daddy!

The Bean: Love you. Bye!

Vay Kay Shun

It's really happening. After talking about it and planning it for what seems like several years (even though it's only been 9 months or so), the Geek Boy family is taking our first vacation. I've been trying not to be all Clark Griswold about it, but I have gone out and bought a vacation guide so we'll know how to best navigate the island of Maui with the kids in tow. Oh yeah, did I mention we're going to Hawaii?

Thankfully, Southern California is only a 5 hour plane ride from the magical islands of one of our best states. WonderWife™ and I are east coasters, so we've done the 5 hour plane ride before. (Okay, I'll admit that I personally have not done it with two kids, that honor goes to WW™ who did it by herself--twice.) But once we're on vacation, what then? Are the kids going to go crazy with the general lethargy and lack of structure that comes with a vacation? Or somehow will they get into the spirit and kick back with us? Only time will tell.

So all of you awesome readers, I open up the comment section for you to discuss your family vacation strategies, stories and tips. I've got to go finish packing. Now where did I leave my sunscreen and Speedos? *

Fear not, through the magic of technology (and the scheduling feature on Blogger), I'll be posting even when I'm gone. You won't even miss me.


*Kidding of course. I never use sunscreen.

Redirection: Venus vs. Mars

I've always gotten along really well with women. I have a lot of women friends. Most of my bosses have been women. My wife is a woman. This camaraderie has extended into my blogging life as well, where the women bloggers outnumber the men by a great majority. A couple of fantastic women Shelle-BlokThoughts and Andrea-Blogging Mama started a new blog called The Real World: Venus Vs. Mars and invited me to guest post. Needless to say, I was honored and flattered.

So click on over today to check out my post. They're a good bunch. I think you'll like 'em.

Phoning It In

Do you think your children can tell when you’re phoning it in? If you follow me on Twitter* you saw that on Friday night I was out very late attending a bachelor party. (Standard guy rules forbid me to give any details other than I looked pretty awesome in my suit and I drank a tanker of vodka.) As I crawled into bed at 4am, I knew the next day was going to be rough. That I was going to suck as a parent.

Okay, after a night of carousing I know that I shouldn't be trying to drudge up any sympathy for being tired. But what about those times when the exhaustion comes from doing the normal stuff? Not too long ago, I was sitting on the lawn with the Bean at the end of a very long weekend. He was filled with his usual amount of energy, running around and wanting me to chase him. But I just wanted to sit and sleep. I fantasized about being inside, but W0nderWife™ had already claimed the moment as her break period and was inside. Somebody needed to watch the kid and I was the only other person available for the job. I was hungry and couldn't stop thinking about the food cooking in the oven.

I’m pretty sure the Bean noticed that my heart wasn’t in it that evenin g, cause he took pity on my and kind of gave up on playing with me, choosing instead of ride his train down the sidewalk.


*If you're not following me on Twitter...why the heck not?

Instruction Guys

I'm over at Hot Dads today talking about the two types of guys in the world: those who read instructions and those who don’t.

Mobile Geeklings

Even though I am in a mixed marriage, I have always dreamed of raising my kids as geeks. Despite picking me as her partner in life, WonderWife™ can be fairly anti-geek. (Which is why I don’t take her with me to ComicCon, for fear that she would walk in and start pointing fingers, shouting, “Geeks! Geeks!” You wouldn’t think it, but a group of nerds in Stormtrooper gear can be dangerous.) I always thought that I would have to break through this prejudice in order to raise my offspring in the ways of my people. So I was really happy when the Bean was born, somebody bought him a Looney Tunes mobile for his crib. It was perfect. It started an interest in cartoons without me having been the one to suggest it or buy it.

It’s still a bit too early for the Bean to fully be exposed to Looney Tunes, with the characters shooting each other in face and dropping anvils on heads and all, but I know that Bugs and the gang were present during his early formative years, watching over him as he slept.

The mobile now resides over Sprout’s crib. I’ve recently learned that Sprout needs to kiss every character goodnight before she goes to sleep. I don’t get to put her to bed most nights, as she’s asleep before I get home from work, but last weekend I had the honor. Sure enough she reached for Bugs, Daffy, Sylvester, Tweety and Taz and wouldn’t settle until I brought each one to her mouth so she could give them a kiss.

It was both very sweet and incredibly satisfying.

Food Buggies

As I waited on line for a cup of Chex mix with crickets, I thought maybe this wasn’t a very good idea. We were at the Natural History Museum for Bug Fair (which, by the way, was sponsored by an extermination company without a trace of irony). Among the tables of unusually large millipedes, brightly colored butterflies, roaches that hissed and beetles the size of nightmares, was a man in a funny hat, cooking insects. WonderWife™ said that eating bugs happened to be on her list of things she always wanted to do. The Bean picked up on this and announced, “I’m hungry for bugs.”

I had no intention of trying them. As much as I love food, Anthony Bourdain I am not. But I was more than happy to procure the insect feast for the adventurous half of my family.

The Bean picked up his “food buggie” and popped it into his mouth. WonderWife™ quickly followed suit. A small crunch could be heard and almost simultaneously, my wife and my son were spitting out partially chewed cricket pieces onto the ground.

I give them both a lot of credit, especially the Bean. He’s a kid that I have to force to eat a chicken nugget, but will happily try a bug without any prompting. But I don’t think he’ll be eating bugs again anytime soon. Later that evening when we were playing outside, he turned to me and said, “Those bugs were awful!”

Flashback Friday: McCynical

Once upon a time, I had a MySpace account. It was the mid-aughts and it was the cool thing to do. Back then, I was known as Movie Geek Boy and I started blogging. My writing was pretty rudimentary, but every once in a while I managed to post something I liked.

Although things are calming down somewhat, I'm still busier than a one armed paper hanger (to quote my dad). So here's an old post I'm sure very few of you have seen. I'm calling this feature "Flashback Friday" because I like alliteration.

This was originally written on June 23, 2006. The Bean was 7 months old.

McCynical

On the way back to my car after dropping the Bean off at day care, I noticed a big truck with Ronald McDonald painted on the side in the parking lot. A mother, who was walking out at the same time, turned to me and said, "Ronald McDonald is visiting today. I wish I had that as a kid."

I turned to her and said, "I just don't want my kid coming home demanding burgers and fries."

She gave me a blank look that told me she had no idea what I meant and we both got in our cars and drove away.

There's a lot about this that bothers me. First off, I don't like the idea of a giant commercial for McDonalds driving up to the place that I am trusting and paying for to care for my son under the guise of entertainment. I'm doing my best to make sure that the Bean isn't going to be some junk food addicted maniac like me. I want him to learn to eat well because high cholesterol and heart disease run in my family and I don't want him to struggle the way that I do every day! But those damn McDonalds people are going to fight me every step of the way, aren't they?

The other thing that bothers me is the mother, who is emblematic of a lot of people in this world that just don't put the pieces together or don't care to. Sure, Ronald McDonald is a funny looking clown that kids like. But he's a corporate shill for a company that is only concerned with making money and not with the well being of its customers. In fact, most companies that we put our trust in are just in it for the money. And as a new parent, who are probably the easiest target for stuff like this, it's pretty obvious to me that for the most part we're all being sucked in.

This may sound very cynical, but I think that cynicism can be a good thing. It's important to question the world around us and not take everything at face value. Every day we are overrun by thousands of images, telling us what to do, who to like and what to buy. As a society, let's take a collective step back and try to see beyond the hype for a minute. Ronald McDonald visiting toddlers in day care is a bad thing. It's just as bad as Joe Camel. But nobody at the Bean's day care seemed bothered by this. And that makes me upset.

Now I know that I've gone on record about my love for new products, etc. And I'm fully aware that what I'm writing here may seem contradictory. But I do these things knowingly and willingly allowing myself to buy into them. But the Bean doesn't have a choice. He needs me to help him figure out the world. It's important that I teach him to be a considerate and thoughtful person. I need to explain to him not to stop in the middle of a very busy walkway to have a conversation. I need to teach him to use his blinker when he is driving a car. Never talk on a cell phone in a movie theater. I want him to know that he should RSVP to invitations and send thank you notes when he gets gifts. And most importantly, I want him to question the world and inspire him to think for himself.

I have a big job ahead of me. And I don't intend on letting some corporate clown get in my way.

Strictly After the "Poopy"

I think my last post was a bit misconstrued. I thought it was funny that the Bean struggled to tell me what he had done wrong, because in doing so he would have to use the word that got him into trouble in the first place. But in your comments, some of you fixated on the fact that we have banned him from using the word "poopy" (outside of anything along the lines of, "I have to make a poopy" or "the poopy is coming"). I guess the post unintentionally illuminated the fact that WonderWife™ and I have a tendency to lean towards strictness.

I am aware that I am somewhat of a strict parent and truthfully, this is something that surprises me. I was not raised by strict parents. The only rule I can really recall is having my TV time monitored and cut back. But this only lasted for a little while before I was back spending every afternoon and evening glazed over at Bugs Bunny cartoons.

It's not that WonderWife™ and I are taskmasters, but we have rules and we expect our kids to obey, even if it's something nominal like using like using a rather innocuous word. By comparison, we seem to have more rules for our kids than our friends do with theirs. But so far I think it's working. The Bean is a really good kid and very well behaved kid. He's happy and seemingly well adjusted. But he can also be kind of oblivious, and doesn't really question the world around him. The whole thing is probably going to blow up in our faces when Sprout can walk and talk. That girl is and is going to be a handful.

So the point of yesterday's post kinda got lost in translation. But at the end of the day, it doesn't matter at all because it wasn't true.

After reading the post, WonderWife™ revealed to me that the Bean lied. Yes, he did get a story taken away that night, but it had nothing to do with what he told me. So while the conversation between me and the Bean happened as written, his part of it was a total fabrication.

Unfortunately, this isn't the first time she's exposed one of his lies.

When You Can Say the Word "Poopy"

The past 24 hours have been madness I tell you, madness. I have a plate and it's full, but there's more stuff piling on top of it. Work has been, and will be, frenetic for the foreseeable future. I'm woefully behind editing my home videos (thus incurring the wrath and scorn of both sides of my family). I have a half dozen things that I've written, but can't seem to carve out the time (and truthfully the energy) to finish them. What I really need is about three Red Bulls and half a day with no responsibilities--work, parenting or otherwise--to get caught up.

WonderWife™ is currently out a girls' night--an event only slightly more rare than a sighting of Halley's Comet. While the house is quiet, and the kids are asleep, I'm taking the opportunity to get some of this stuff done. But it would be wrong of me to ignore you guys whilst I cross things off of my to do list, so I present you this exchange between the Bean and me:

WonderWife™: The Bean only gets one story tonight.

DGB: Oh yeah? (turning to the kid) So what did you do?

The Bean: I did something naughty.

DGB: Like what?

The Bean: I said...um...I said (trails off incoherently).

DGB: You said what?

The Bean: (hesitating) Poo...

DGB: You said "poopy"?*

The Bean: (relief) Yes! I said (pause) "poopy".

DGB: You know, when you're telling me the bad word you said, it's okay to say it.


*I know that on the scale of bad words, "poopy" ranks near the bottom next to "drat" and "shoot". But you gotta draw the line somewhere. "Poopy", when used properly, is like a gateway curse.

It's That Day For The Woman Who Bore My Children

There is a reason why I call you WonderWife™. Like watching a professional skater, you make this parenting thing look easy. You rock my world and I love you more than I could possibly say.

An Unreliable Narrator

WonderWife™ and I have a long-standing private joke. Years ago, we overheard some off-handed remark made by a little girl and we thought it was funny. Since then, we have lobbed this line at each other, knowing it will always earn a smile from the other. What the girl said isn’t important. The important part, for this story anyway, is where we heard it. Or at least where we think we heard it.

I recently discovered that WonderWife™ and I have different recollections of where the joke originated. Completely different. We both agree that it was on our honeymoon and that the little girl was at the pool of the hotel. But on our trip, we stayed at two different hotels on two different islands of Hawaii and we each have a memory of this taking place at a different hotel.

My memory of the event is clear. I recall the pool and where the girl was in the pool. I remember details like where I was in relation to the girl. The girl was there with her brother and was taking to her father. I remember WW™ beside me, laughing as we walked past. Admittedly I have a poor memory, so the fact that I can conjure this up with crystal clarity speaks volumes. However, WW’s™ competing memories of the event are equally as vivid.

So we have one story with two completely different versions of how it happened. The plain truth is that one of us is wrong. One of our memories is a total fabrication. One of our brains is deceiving us. Yet there is no way we will ever know the truth. It’s like a real life version of Rashomon.

It’s startling to realize that just because a memory is vivid, doesn’t mean it’s true. Our brains are the most unreliable of narrators.

Periodically, somebody will ask me why I write this blog. I’ve never had a satisfying answer…until now. I love to write and I adore the small audience of people who are kind enough to read my words. But the reason why I write is so I can capture the moments of my life and the lives of my kids. Because I know that just because you remember something, it doesn’t mean that it actually happened.

The Bean Monologues

The Bean said his first word at 12 months old and he hasn't stopped talking since. I'm not exaggerating. From the moment he wakes up, to the moment he goes to sleep, he is constantly talking. Following his conversations is akin to watching a disc fall through the Plinko machine. He bounces around from topic to topic, saying whatever enters his brain. He could be speaking to me, to WonderWife™, to himself, it doesn't matter. Half the time we have no idea what he's talking about.

The following is one of the Bean's monologues, presented here completely unedited. He begins talking about his caterpillar, which we got from a children's museum, with the intent of watching it transform into a butterfly. After that, you're on your own...

“We don’t touch it, so it flies away. The caterpillar is getting bigger. The big one is already gone it went so fast, that little caterpillar. It got so fast. You say, ‘get out of my way’ when they’re angry. Instead of saying, 'please.' Just, 'get out of my way.' They don’t say, 'please.' Just, ‘get out of my way.' They’re angry. 'Can you please get out of my way?' I don’t want to drink anymore of this juice. I don’t want to drink some more of the apple juice. Stop telling me to drink it. I don’t want to drink it. I’m full of apple juice. I don’t want to drink it any more. I don’t want to drink my juice any more, daddy. I don’t want to drink it. I don’t want to. I don’t need my juice here because I don’t want to taste it any more. I'm all done with it. Tasting it. I don’t want to taste it any more. Daddy, I don’t want to drink it. I don’t want to. Daddy, I don’t want to drink it. I feel better. It’s feel better juice. [takes a big sip of the juice] I ate all of the juice. [Looks at sippy cup] Look, we got red and red. Look at my shadow at the red window. It’s the shadow of my cup. It’s the window of my house. It’s a very red window. It’s the window of our house. It’s the camera of the window. See it? See that shadow? It’s very red. Daddy, why is the sky blue? I like that color, blue. Lighting is Red. Red is my favorite color. He said, 'do you like that color red' and I said, 'Yes, I do like that color red.' My nose stopped running. I feel better in my neck. Do I have adult teeth? I know that my baby teeth are stuck together. They are still not coming out. I’m not getting adult teeth. I think I’m still not getting adult teeth. Because I’m not getting adult. I’m not going to get higher. I’m not going to get taller and taller. It takes a while. In a couple of days, I will. I can’t stop my long, long arm to touch the back of a train. Cause sometimes we can’t ride on them because they are closed. There are some trains we can’t ride. Where we see those horses there is a windmill there. There is a windmill there where we see those donkeys and horses. There is a windmill there. One time I’ll show you that windmill there, with those horses, Daddy. Today we’re going to go to that thing, that place and you’re going to see the windmill. When we get to it, we’re going to see it. I’m going to show it to you."

Table Scraps Volume #3: Cooking & Movies as Gambling

There are so many little pieces of ideas that aren't quite enough for a full post. Seeing as being "green" is trendy these days, I like to recycle them every once in a while in a thing that I call Table Scraps.


I love to cook, though these days I don't do it very often. But when I do, I am not only compelled to tell people that I've cooked a meal, but also what I've cooked and how. I don't know why I do this. Conversing with me should not be like reading a menu. I'm confident that people don't care that the other night I made ahi tuna seared in sesame oil with edemame and garlic sautéed broccoli... (See, I'm doing it again.)

I know all of this, yet I pathologically keep doing it. Maybe it's because I watch too much Food Network, and have been conditioned by the chef/hosts to explain everything I do in the kitchen. Or maybe it's just a lame attempt to get attention by making something ordinary, like cooking food, seem extraordinary.

_______________________________

Being a fan of blockbuster movies is a lot like going to Vegas. Sometimes you’re going to win and sometimes you’re going to lose. The key is that you have to set it in your mind that you're going to walk away a loser. The hope is always that you’ll win, but more often than not, the house will take your money. Something very important to remember with the summer movie season fast approaching.


You may have noticed that I've started Tweeting. Yes, I know that I've said it a few times that I didn't have time for Twitter, but it's hard to be geeky and ignore something that's infiltrated pop culture to the degree that Twitter has. I've never claimed to be anything more than a mindless follower. And speaking of following...why don't you head on over there and become one of mine?