My friend looked shell shocked after my daughter threw up on his floor. The vomiting took place all over his nicely polished hard wood in a high traffic area during his wife’s birthday party. Sprout had been gorging herself at the buffet and before we knew it WonderWife™ was cupping her hands in front of the girl screaming for somebody to get her a bowl…quick! (Not realizing the severity of the impending situation, my friend politely passed her a small paper plate.)
It wasn’t digest or nausea that left my buddy looking green after the incident, though I’m sure he was feeling both. My childless friend had just witnessed parenting at its worst. Oh yeah, my friend and his wife were expecting. I knew all too well the look in his eyes. Panic was slowly burrowing into his brain bringing with it the horrifying realization of what he was getting himself in to.
When WonderWife™ was pregnant with the Bean, we visited one of her oldest friends and her toddler. They lived in a grown up house like the kind I grew up in, which was entirely unfamiliar to me who was still felt that living in an apartment in the city was what truly made me an adult. The house was filled with unfamiliar and intimidating items like baby gates, high chairs and lots and lots of toys that were strewn about every room. Her boy, like every boy his age, was a whirling tornado of energy that could not be stopped. I was something new in his world, something to be scaled. So while WW™ and her friend caught up, I looked after the kid, who without hesitation proceeded to climb all over me. I chased him when he ran too close to the stairs. I stopped him when he tried to grab some contraband. After mere minutes I was exhausted. This is what parenting was like? On the ride home, I wore the same expression as my friend.
It didn’t help that in the aftermath of Sprout’s spouting that WonderWife™ and I regaled my friend with more kid vomit stories. It was our own misguided attempt to make him feel better by telling him that it gets worse. It’s amazing how insensitive us experienced parents can be around the freaked out newbs. We wear our parenting horror stories like badges of honor, and even though we aren’t too far removed from our pre-childhood days, where even the smallest parent task seemed impossible, we unfairly take ghoulish satisfaction in relaying these events to the uninitiated.
On the way home, WonderWife™ and I felt bad and hoped that we didn’t break our friend. Nervous or not, in a few months he was going to be dealing with his own little vomit machine. And even if after we left if he was convinced that he might have made a terrible mistake, those of us who are firmly entrenched in this thing called parenting know that he didn’t. Being a parent is an amazing thing. But it’s hard to see from that vantage point when you’ve just watched some kid barf on your floor.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Nails, Part 2
The Bean came home from school and drew a picture of a face with a big red frown. When asked about it he said that he was sad. The reason was painfully clear. The Bean had been teased at school about his polished nails.
Last fall Sprout expressed a desire to paint her nails, which prompted the Bean to want to paint his as well. Normally it was Sprout who copied every mover her big brother made, but this time little Sprout found herself the leader. Soon my kids were decked out with vibrant matching nails. The Bean really liked the look and his fingers have been periodically adorned with paint ever since.
WonderWife™ and I have always supported the Bean's decision to wear nail polish. We strive to be the kind of parents that let our kids, even if that means letting out of the house in mismatched shoes, covering their torsos in temporary tattoos or painting their nails bright pink. In fact, there have been times when I've found myself having to defend his choice.
And while the Bean has become sensitive about showing certain sides of himself in public, for instance he doesn't like to let others see him cry, he has remained blissfully carefree about his finger nails. In the few times he's come under scrutiny, the Bean has handled himself with integrity. He hasn't cared about social conventions or gender roles. I've been immensely proud of him for this.
The Bean's world became a different place upon entering kindergarten. School used to be a safe, nurturing environment where his days were spent playing. Now school has become more serious as the emphasis is on learning and homework. Kindergartners suddenly seem older and savvier about the world in unexpected ways.
It was the Bean's second week in kindergarten and he seemed to be doing well. He had made a few friends and there was even a girl whom he had taken a special liking to. But I was secretly worried the morning I walked him to school, his sparkly nail covered hand clasped in mine. It would've been impossible for his classmates not to notice. It would have been improbable for someone not to say something.
Sure enough, as the Bean tells it he had been teased by "everybody". He did stand up for himself bit that wasn't enough and he went to his teacher. By the end of the day, he was feeling pretty awful. He came home and drew the picture, which resulted in a good dose of nurturing from his mom. This made him feel better.
My heart broke as WonderWife™ told me this story. As I began to contemplate what to do next, she told me she asked the Bean what he wanted to do about his nail polish. After thinking it over for a minute, he decided that he wanted to keep it on. Once again, he has made me very proud.
I am glad that in this case the opinions of others hasn't deterred my son from being who he is, but I know the road of independence will not get easier as he gets older. All I can do is stand by him and encourage him whether his finger nails are blue or he wears rain boots on a sunny summer day and hope that he will have a thick enough skin to endure those that will not.
Last fall Sprout expressed a desire to paint her nails, which prompted the Bean to want to paint his as well. Normally it was Sprout who copied every mover her big brother made, but this time little Sprout found herself the leader. Soon my kids were decked out with vibrant matching nails. The Bean really liked the look and his fingers have been periodically adorned with paint ever since.
WonderWife™ and I have always supported the Bean's decision to wear nail polish. We strive to be the kind of parents that let our kids, even if that means letting out of the house in mismatched shoes, covering their torsos in temporary tattoos or painting their nails bright pink. In fact, there have been times when I've found myself having to defend his choice.
And while the Bean has become sensitive about showing certain sides of himself in public, for instance he doesn't like to let others see him cry, he has remained blissfully carefree about his finger nails. In the few times he's come under scrutiny, the Bean has handled himself with integrity. He hasn't cared about social conventions or gender roles. I've been immensely proud of him for this.
The Bean's world became a different place upon entering kindergarten. School used to be a safe, nurturing environment where his days were spent playing. Now school has become more serious as the emphasis is on learning and homework. Kindergartners suddenly seem older and savvier about the world in unexpected ways.
It was the Bean's second week in kindergarten and he seemed to be doing well. He had made a few friends and there was even a girl whom he had taken a special liking to. But I was secretly worried the morning I walked him to school, his sparkly nail covered hand clasped in mine. It would've been impossible for his classmates not to notice. It would have been improbable for someone not to say something.
Sure enough, as the Bean tells it he had been teased by "everybody". He did stand up for himself bit that wasn't enough and he went to his teacher. By the end of the day, he was feeling pretty awful. He came home and drew the picture, which resulted in a good dose of nurturing from his mom. This made him feel better.
My heart broke as WonderWife™ told me this story. As I began to contemplate what to do next, she told me she asked the Bean what he wanted to do about his nail polish. After thinking it over for a minute, he decided that he wanted to keep it on. Once again, he has made me very proud.
I am glad that in this case the opinions of others hasn't deterred my son from being who he is, but I know the road of independence will not get easier as he gets older. All I can do is stand by him and encourage him whether his finger nails are blue or he wears rain boots on a sunny summer day and hope that he will have a thick enough skin to endure those that will not.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Aaaarrrgh, A Re-post!
In honor of Talk Like a Pirate Day, here's a re-post from 2009 (and one of my favorites):
September 19th is International Talk Like a Pirate Day and we're celebratin' early. Arrggh! So now I present ta yah, a rare treat...audio. Here is tha Bean:
September 19th is International Talk Like a Pirate Day and we're celebratin' early. Arrggh! So now I present ta yah, a rare treat...audio. Here is tha Bean:
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Forever Disgusting
It's that time once again--time for you to be horrified (and me somewhat ashamed) as I post the annual list of everything I ate at the LA County Fair this year.
A Crazy Chocolate Candy Bar
2 Beers
Deep Fried Kool Aid
Fresh Cut Potato Chips with Cheese Sauce
Crispy Fries
Krispy Kreme Chicken Sandwich
Fried Ribs
Roasted Peanuts
Pressure Fried Chicken
Deep Fried Oreo
Curly Fries (in brick form)
Garlic Parmesan Fry Bread
Peach Licorice
Pulled Pork Sammich
Ear of Roasted Corn
Sausage Sammich
Deep Fried Klondike Bar
Maple Bacon Donut
Kettle Corn
Pepto
Here are links to the 2007, 2008, 2009 and 2010 lists.
A Crazy Chocolate Candy Bar
2 Beers
Deep Fried Kool Aid
Fresh Cut Potato Chips with Cheese Sauce
Crispy Fries
Krispy Kreme Chicken Sandwich
Fried Ribs
Roasted Peanuts
Pressure Fried Chicken
Deep Fried Oreo
Curly Fries (in brick form)
Garlic Parmesan Fry Bread
Peach Licorice
Pulled Pork Sammich
Ear of Roasted Corn
Sausage Sammich
Deep Fried Klondike Bar
Maple Bacon Donut
Kettle Corn
Pepto
Here are links to the 2007, 2008, 2009 and 2010 lists.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
It's Real!
It's been a while since I've written about food on this here blog. While there have been a few new products out there which have gotten my attention, I haven't been compelled to discuss them there. I had heard a rumor about this product, but today it was confirmed so I am compelled to share.
This is soon to be my wife's favorite ice cream:
There are very few things in life that will make WonderWife™ laugh with glee like the infamous "Schweddy Balls" sketch on SNL. It's the perfect storm of juvenile and obscene that delights her to no end. I'm thoroughly tickled with how much she loves it. WonderWife™ and I don't always see eye to eye on pop culture and our senses of humor can be vastly different. So it's a big deal when something strikes both of our funny bones. "Schweddy Balls" does just that.
You can be sure that in the near future we will be buying ourselves a pint or two of Schweddy Balls. I'll be sure to let you know when we do. Mmm. I can't wait to see how those Schweddy Balls taste.
Be sure to check out EW's full story, complete with the video of the sketch.
This is soon to be my wife's favorite ice cream:
There are very few things in life that will make WonderWife™ laugh with glee like the infamous "Schweddy Balls" sketch on SNL. It's the perfect storm of juvenile and obscene that delights her to no end. I'm thoroughly tickled with how much she loves it. WonderWife™ and I don't always see eye to eye on pop culture and our senses of humor can be vastly different. So it's a big deal when something strikes both of our funny bones. "Schweddy Balls" does just that.
You can be sure that in the near future we will be buying ourselves a pint or two of Schweddy Balls. I'll be sure to let you know when we do. Mmm. I can't wait to see how those Schweddy Balls taste.
Be sure to check out EW's full story, complete with the video of the sketch.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Overwhelmed By Olfactory Hues
The first thing I noticed upon entering the elementary school was the smell. It had been many years since I crossed the threshold of a school, but the aroma was unmistakable. The halls were filled with the musty smell of old books and tempera paint. It was an odor that was both familiar and horrifying.
I was making my first visit to what was going to be the Bean’s new school in order to drop off some enrollment forms. Stepping through the door of the administrative office, the busy-looking woman told me to have a seat and I immediately did as I was told. The stern tone in her voice combined with the ever-present school smell had triggered an involuntary reaction in me. I squirmed in the uncomfortable wooden chair listening to the ticking of the clock. I was on edge, no longer did I feel like a parent of a future student, I felt like I had gotten in trouble and was waiting for the principle to emerge from his office to have a chat with me about my behavior.
I began to normalize once I was outside in the fresh air, wondering if I was going to feel that way every time I went into the school. If so, it was going to be a long year.
I was making my first visit to what was going to be the Bean’s new school in order to drop off some enrollment forms. Stepping through the door of the administrative office, the busy-looking woman told me to have a seat and I immediately did as I was told. The stern tone in her voice combined with the ever-present school smell had triggered an involuntary reaction in me. I squirmed in the uncomfortable wooden chair listening to the ticking of the clock. I was on edge, no longer did I feel like a parent of a future student, I felt like I had gotten in trouble and was waiting for the principle to emerge from his office to have a chat with me about my behavior.
I began to normalize once I was outside in the fresh air, wondering if I was going to feel that way every time I went into the school. If so, it was going to be a long year.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
The Show
As I left for work, the kids were at the end of the driveway digging through their bin of play clothes.
“We’re getting ready for the dress-up show,” the Bean told me. I didn’t think much of it, except that the WonderWife™ was going to have at least 10 minutes of peace that morning.
In the afternoon I called WonderWife™ who immediately directed me to her Facebook page. There she had posted a picture of a flyer the Bean had drawn. In that shaky, block handwriting that all kindergartners possess, he had written his name, our address and 6p. Sho.
“He’s been planning his dress-up show all afternoon,” WW™ told me.
“He’s actually been planning it since this morning,” I replied.
“He’s made 7 flyers and we’ve given them out to our friends in the neighborhood,” WW™ continued. “He’s going to sell cookies and lemonade.”
I was full-on chuckling. “What is he going to do? Is anyone coming?”
“I have no idea but our neighbors said they were coming over.”
I left work early so I could be in the audience. There was no way I was going to miss this.
The Bean was standing in the lawn as I pulled up to the house, dressed in his Robin costume. Sprout was decked out in a firefighters outfit. A blanket had been placed on the lawn; in front of it was the kids play drum set and their bin of clothes. At the front of the lawn sat a small table where a jug of pink lemonade and a plate of what were obviously my wife’s homemade cookies rested.
Our neighbors soon arrived. The audience consisted of: two sweet natured 15 year-old boys who have known my kids all of their lives, their younger sister, her friend, their mom and our elderly next-door neighbor. Everyone took a seat on the blanket. I stood behind them, video camera at the ready. The show was about to begin.
The Bean stood tall in front of the audience…and said nothing. He stood there, looking at us. A small flush began to form on his cheeks. Not quite knowing how to proceed, the Bean pulled at his sister’s sleeve. Sprout was sitting on the grass with her back to us. Never turning around, she handed the Bean his paper guitar and took out her drumsticks. For a moment it looked as if they were going to start singing. But instead, Sprout beat on her drum a few times while the Bean stood there.
Next, the Bean put his face really close to Sprout’s. They stared at each other for a moment.
“You’re interrupting me!” he shouted to her.
“You’re interrupting me!” she shouted back to him.
“You’re interrupting me!” he replied.
This went on for a few minutes before somebody in the crowd wisely asked if it was perhaps time for intermission. The Bean collected 25 cents for every cup of lemonade and every cookie that was handed out.
A big musical number was promised in the second half of the show. But instead the Bean opted to do three somersaults and then help his sister do three things that kind of looked like somersaults. We applauded anyway and both he and Sprout took a bow.
We thanked the audience profusely and they soon dispersed. When all was said and done, the Bean had earned $6. He generously split it with his sister.
I have no idea where he got the idea to do the show. I can’t help but think that it was all a clever ploy to try to earn more money for the Batman submarine he’s been wanting. While the Bean may not have much stage presence, I was genuinely impressed by the thought and effort that went into his first show. I am grateful that I was there to see it.
“We’re getting ready for the dress-up show,” the Bean told me. I didn’t think much of it, except that the WonderWife™ was going to have at least 10 minutes of peace that morning.
In the afternoon I called WonderWife™ who immediately directed me to her Facebook page. There she had posted a picture of a flyer the Bean had drawn. In that shaky, block handwriting that all kindergartners possess, he had written his name, our address and 6p. Sho.
“He’s been planning his dress-up show all afternoon,” WW™ told me.
“He’s actually been planning it since this morning,” I replied.
“He’s made 7 flyers and we’ve given them out to our friends in the neighborhood,” WW™ continued. “He’s going to sell cookies and lemonade.”
I was full-on chuckling. “What is he going to do? Is anyone coming?”
“I have no idea but our neighbors said they were coming over.”
I left work early so I could be in the audience. There was no way I was going to miss this.
The Bean was standing in the lawn as I pulled up to the house, dressed in his Robin costume. Sprout was decked out in a firefighters outfit. A blanket had been placed on the lawn; in front of it was the kids play drum set and their bin of clothes. At the front of the lawn sat a small table where a jug of pink lemonade and a plate of what were obviously my wife’s homemade cookies rested.
Our neighbors soon arrived. The audience consisted of: two sweet natured 15 year-old boys who have known my kids all of their lives, their younger sister, her friend, their mom and our elderly next-door neighbor. Everyone took a seat on the blanket. I stood behind them, video camera at the ready. The show was about to begin.
The Bean stood tall in front of the audience…and said nothing. He stood there, looking at us. A small flush began to form on his cheeks. Not quite knowing how to proceed, the Bean pulled at his sister’s sleeve. Sprout was sitting on the grass with her back to us. Never turning around, she handed the Bean his paper guitar and took out her drumsticks. For a moment it looked as if they were going to start singing. But instead, Sprout beat on her drum a few times while the Bean stood there.
Next, the Bean put his face really close to Sprout’s. They stared at each other for a moment.
“You’re interrupting me!” he shouted to her.
“You’re interrupting me!” she shouted back to him.
“You’re interrupting me!” he replied.
This went on for a few minutes before somebody in the crowd wisely asked if it was perhaps time for intermission. The Bean collected 25 cents for every cup of lemonade and every cookie that was handed out.
A big musical number was promised in the second half of the show. But instead the Bean opted to do three somersaults and then help his sister do three things that kind of looked like somersaults. We applauded anyway and both he and Sprout took a bow.
We thanked the audience profusely and they soon dispersed. When all was said and done, the Bean had earned $6. He generously split it with his sister.
I have no idea where he got the idea to do the show. I can’t help but think that it was all a clever ploy to try to earn more money for the Batman submarine he’s been wanting. While the Bean may not have much stage presence, I was genuinely impressed by the thought and effort that went into his first show. I am grateful that I was there to see it.
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