We trade off spending Thanksgiving with our two sets of parents every other year. Two years ago we were at my Mother-In-Law's for my favorite feast. Perhaps it was the result of one too many glasses of wine, but Mom 2 promised me that the next time she hosted us she would get me a Turducken. (I have been obsessed with Turducken for many years, much to the horror of WonderWife™ and the rest of my family.)
However earlier this year, Mom 2 decided that she wanted to forgo hosting Thanksgiving in order to take us to Disney World.* While this is incredibly generous of my in-laws, I can't help but think that this is a pretty extravagant way to get out of eating Turducken.
*We haven't told the kids yet, so "shhh"!
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Monday, November 21, 2011
The Horseshoe and the Frenzied Man
There were only two of us riding the shuttle bus from the parking lot to the airport. We sat in silence, not really regarding each other until we hit traffic. Predicably, the rain was rendering things unnecessarily chaotic out on the roads.
"Did I hear you say you were going to terminal 5?" the man asked me.
"Nope. 2."
"That's a shame. Was hoping we could take the shortcut."
The greater Los Angeles airport is in the shape of a horseshoe. You go in on one side, pass by each terminal sequentially and exit the other side. Ideally, the left lanes are supposed to flow allowing cars to quickly get to their terminal. This being LA, the ideal is usually never achieved so the horseshoe seems to be congested an awful lot.
There is one remedy for the airport's traffic and that is a cut through connecting terminals 2 and 5. It's a mercifully brilliant feature that has saved the sanity of many a frenzied traveler. The thng is that you only get one shot at it because once you've passed it by, you are commited to traveling the entire horseshoe.
It became obvious what this guy was getting at. He was doing that airport math when you're running late for a flight where you calculate every possible second to in order guess just how completely screwed you are. The man looked slightly pale and leaned forward in his seat, unable to relax in the slightest. He must have been running very late.
My head had been burried in my Blackberry so when I looked up, I couldn't tell where we were in the shoe because of the cars on every side of the shuttle. So I asked the driver if we had passed the shortcut. He said that we had not. I instructed the driver to drop me off. I'd walk the 100 yards to my terminal so he could attempt to get this guy to his plane on time. It would mean the driver would have to very quickly make his way across four crowded lanes, but hwhat sired me that he could do it.
"Good luck," I said to the stranger as I grabbed my stuff and hopped off the bus.
As I watched them drive off, I hoped to myself that he would make it.
"Did I hear you say you were going to terminal 5?" the man asked me.
"Nope. 2."
"That's a shame. Was hoping we could take the shortcut."
The greater Los Angeles airport is in the shape of a horseshoe. You go in on one side, pass by each terminal sequentially and exit the other side. Ideally, the left lanes are supposed to flow allowing cars to quickly get to their terminal. This being LA, the ideal is usually never achieved so the horseshoe seems to be congested an awful lot.
There is one remedy for the airport's traffic and that is a cut through connecting terminals 2 and 5. It's a mercifully brilliant feature that has saved the sanity of many a frenzied traveler. The thng is that you only get one shot at it because once you've passed it by, you are commited to traveling the entire horseshoe.
It became obvious what this guy was getting at. He was doing that airport math when you're running late for a flight where you calculate every possible second to in order guess just how completely screwed you are. The man looked slightly pale and leaned forward in his seat, unable to relax in the slightest. He must have been running very late.
My head had been burried in my Blackberry so when I looked up, I couldn't tell where we were in the shoe because of the cars on every side of the shuttle. So I asked the driver if we had passed the shortcut. He said that we had not. I instructed the driver to drop me off. I'd walk the 100 yards to my terminal so he could attempt to get this guy to his plane on time. It would mean the driver would have to very quickly make his way across four crowded lanes, but hwhat sired me that he could do it.
"Good luck," I said to the stranger as I grabbed my stuff and hopped off the bus.
As I watched them drive off, I hoped to myself that he would make it.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Blog Update: Wonder Dads
Hello Geek-a-teers!
2011 has been a crazy year--equal parts hectic and fulfilling. So much so that my once prolific blog writing has taken a beating. Despite this, I've vowed to keep posting here at least once a week. I thank you for your continued support. It keeps me going.
I also wanted to share with you a cool new partnership between this here blog and a great Dad website. You might notice a shiny new banner on the left side of the screen. This links to the good people over at Wonder Dads.
Wonder Dads is a publisher of Dad books and is also a fast-growing online community. They are committed to breaking down stereotypes associated with Dads by providing a forum for Dads. As you know, this is a mission I can get behind.
Daddy Geek Boy will now become a featured blog on their site, where they will post links to this blog along with links to some other great Dad Blogs. They're cool people and I urge you to click over there and show them some love.
Also don't forget to become a DGB fan on Facebook, for links to everything I write on the interwebs and some occasional fun and goofy content.
2011 has been a crazy year--equal parts hectic and fulfilling. So much so that my once prolific blog writing has taken a beating. Despite this, I've vowed to keep posting here at least once a week. I thank you for your continued support. It keeps me going.
I also wanted to share with you a cool new partnership between this here blog and a great Dad website. You might notice a shiny new banner on the left side of the screen. This links to the good people over at Wonder Dads.
Wonder Dads is a publisher of Dad books and is also a fast-growing online community. They are committed to breaking down stereotypes associated with Dads by providing a forum for Dads. As you know, this is a mission I can get behind.
Daddy Geek Boy will now become a featured blog on their site, where they will post links to this blog along with links to some other great Dad Blogs. They're cool people and I urge you to click over there and show them some love.
Also don't forget to become a DGB fan on Facebook, for links to everything I write on the interwebs and some occasional fun and goofy content.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Hair Don't
Sprout’s ponytail was askew, causing her perfectly round head look lopsided. I had attempted yet again to do her hair and yet again the results were less than stellar. Earlier my fingers had been tangled in ropes of her brunette tresses as she struggled to pull away from me so she could chase one of the cats around the house. She won, breaking free with her badly coifed curls bouncing in seemingly every direction.
It took a long time for Sprout’s hair to grow. She was a bald baby for a while before straight, sparse hair overtook her pate at around 2 years old. I’m not sure exactly when it happened, but recently Sprout’s hair has sprung up like some sort of type-A Chia Pet. She now has a mop of long, unruly curly hair that gets in her face…a lot. This means hair clips. So many hair clips. It also means I need to learn a thing or two about hair care.
I don’t know anything about hair. I’ve had short hair practically my whole life (save for that brief period in junior high when I had a mullet*). I don’t even use a hairbrush, let alone clips or barrettes or rubber bands. The only use I have for rubber bands is making giant balls. Even growing up with a sister hasn’t helped. She used to cut the hair off of all of her dolls.
The hair stuff is really just the tipping point, the first symptom in a problem I became saddled with the minute our doctor said, “you’re having a girl.” I’m not good at the girl stuff. The first stark realization of this came while changing the newborn Sprout’s diapers. Since she was my second child, I was a little cocky when it came to the parenting basics. But I quickly learned that girls come with a whole set of new equipment that has a whole set of different rules to navigate. Though I had previously had some experience with the adult version, the baby girl parts proved to be intimidating. I was told one wrong move and infection could set in. It was all too clear that there was a lot I didn’t know.
As a pre-schooler Sprout has proven herself to be a girl’s girl, which means there’s a lot of foreign stuff orbiting my world these days: dolls with tutus, princesses, dress up clothes, outfits that need to be coordinated, glittery stuff, stuff with feathers, foreign sounding ballet moves and a plethora of hair clips that seemingly appear from the ether to bite me in sensitive places whenever I sit on the couch. I don’t want to paint myself as some stereotypical clueless dad, but I'm at a loss with what to do all of it. My son asks me a question about Bugs Bunny or Batman and I’m a walking Wikipedia. My daughter asks me to braid her doll’s hair and I’m completely paralyzed.
I'm trying to learn. I'm working on doing a better job with Sprout's hair. One day I hope to fix her mop without WonderWife™ having to re-do it because every failed attempt at Sprout’s hair is another reminder of what I don’t know.
*Don’t judge, it was the 80’s.
It took a long time for Sprout’s hair to grow. She was a bald baby for a while before straight, sparse hair overtook her pate at around 2 years old. I’m not sure exactly when it happened, but recently Sprout’s hair has sprung up like some sort of type-A Chia Pet. She now has a mop of long, unruly curly hair that gets in her face…a lot. This means hair clips. So many hair clips. It also means I need to learn a thing or two about hair care.
I don’t know anything about hair. I’ve had short hair practically my whole life (save for that brief period in junior high when I had a mullet*). I don’t even use a hairbrush, let alone clips or barrettes or rubber bands. The only use I have for rubber bands is making giant balls. Even growing up with a sister hasn’t helped. She used to cut the hair off of all of her dolls.
The hair stuff is really just the tipping point, the first symptom in a problem I became saddled with the minute our doctor said, “you’re having a girl.” I’m not good at the girl stuff. The first stark realization of this came while changing the newborn Sprout’s diapers. Since she was my second child, I was a little cocky when it came to the parenting basics. But I quickly learned that girls come with a whole set of new equipment that has a whole set of different rules to navigate. Though I had previously had some experience with the adult version, the baby girl parts proved to be intimidating. I was told one wrong move and infection could set in. It was all too clear that there was a lot I didn’t know.
As a pre-schooler Sprout has proven herself to be a girl’s girl, which means there’s a lot of foreign stuff orbiting my world these days: dolls with tutus, princesses, dress up clothes, outfits that need to be coordinated, glittery stuff, stuff with feathers, foreign sounding ballet moves and a plethora of hair clips that seemingly appear from the ether to bite me in sensitive places whenever I sit on the couch. I don’t want to paint myself as some stereotypical clueless dad, but I'm at a loss with what to do all of it. My son asks me a question about Bugs Bunny or Batman and I’m a walking Wikipedia. My daughter asks me to braid her doll’s hair and I’m completely paralyzed.
I'm trying to learn. I'm working on doing a better job with Sprout's hair. One day I hope to fix her mop without WonderWife™ having to re-do it because every failed attempt at Sprout’s hair is another reminder of what I don’t know.
*Don’t judge, it was the 80’s.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Halloween Lingers
Our house was all decorated for Halloween. The problem was Halloween was a week ago. Some of the styrofoam gravestones had been upended, but the zombie hands still stood and the skeletons still looked like they were coming up from the ground. I had taken another business trip the next morning after trick-or-treating (of course I took a few pieces of candy with me) and had been gone for a week. My absence and our crazy schedules meant the kids, and our neighbors, were going to get to celebrate until the next weekend came, when I could carefully dismantle the scene. Arriving home two days later, the graveyard was gone—packed up into bins ready to be put back in the shed for another year.
I married a good woman.
I married a good woman.
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