We took The Quartet to the Memphis Redbirds baseball game yesterday. It was fun, but as is JP's nature, he's always thinking about that next thing. What are we going to do after this? He was unhappy, pouty and said he didn't want to be there.
Rather than saying out loud that he'd rather be at home playing computer games, however, he seized on the episode last April when his sister was hit by a foul ball at AutoZone Park, and said he was scared he was going to get hit by a ball. I told him that was highly unlikely. I told him that if a baseball hit him that day then I would buy him his very own computer.
And then I spent the rest of the afternoon prepared to throw my body in front of that kid, because I could take a contusion much easier than I could the bill for an Apple.
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
Friday, August 29, 2008
The Keys Are By the Door
These kids cannot keep their hands off each other. The living room has become like a cage match. And not the good Pay-Per-View, ultimate fighting kind, either. Nobody's paying to watch this; I'm not making any money here.
And they won't listen to my threats, so I've made a new rule: I will not drive any children to the emergency room. So if one of them gets hurt, then they have to wait until one of their siblings is old enough to get their driver's license. And that one of their siblings is able to pass the test. They'd better take it easy on C, you don't want him getting injured as he's the nearest in age to being able to drive.
There it is, a new law, written in stone. Kids, you may now begin ignoring it.
And they won't listen to my threats, so I've made a new rule: I will not drive any children to the emergency room. So if one of them gets hurt, then they have to wait until one of their siblings is old enough to get their driver's license. And that one of their siblings is able to pass the test. They'd better take it easy on C, you don't want him getting injured as he's the nearest in age to being able to drive.
There it is, a new law, written in stone. Kids, you may now begin ignoring it.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
SAHD
It's my understanding that that acronym up there stands for "stay at home dad." I'm not one of these. In fact, I work six days a week, and have for about nine years now. But GK's school was closed this week and, though we had childcare for Monday through Wednesday, we were left in a lurch for today and tomorrow.
So I stayed at home to be a dad.
GK and I began the day by taking the older kids to school, and then made a run to Office Depot for some supplies. We dropped those off at my store and took a minute to sit and read the paper.
After that we went to Cafe Eclectic to have an Americano, Eggs Florentine and some of their homemade doughnuts with local auteur Craig Brewer and his family. Brewer and his family actually sat about five feet away, so I guess we weren't together together.
We went to the playground at Overton Park from there, but GK was only really interested in the water fountain, so we didn't stay long. We went home to read books, do the dishes, watch some Blues Clues and dance around to CDs before she fell asleep and I could finish reading my book.
I was only a SAHD until 2:30 when I dropped her off with her mother at school. I'm good at being the sole parent for about six and a half hours as far as I can tell. In that six and a half hours, GK ate a waffle sprinkled liberally with chocolate chips, a couple of doughnuts, two cookies and an ice cream sandwich.
Perhaps she should have run around more at the park. Perhaps she should learn to prepare her own lunch. Perhaps I should have asked Craig Brewer for some fathering advice.
Hopefully I'll get a call back tomorrow.
So I stayed at home to be a dad.
GK and I began the day by taking the older kids to school, and then made a run to Office Depot for some supplies. We dropped those off at my store and took a minute to sit and read the paper.
After that we went to Cafe Eclectic to have an Americano, Eggs Florentine and some of their homemade doughnuts with local auteur Craig Brewer and his family. Brewer and his family actually sat about five feet away, so I guess we weren't together together.
We went to the playground at Overton Park from there, but GK was only really interested in the water fountain, so we didn't stay long. We went home to read books, do the dishes, watch some Blues Clues and dance around to CDs before she fell asleep and I could finish reading my book.
I was only a SAHD until 2:30 when I dropped her off with her mother at school. I'm good at being the sole parent for about six and a half hours as far as I can tell. In that six and a half hours, GK ate a waffle sprinkled liberally with chocolate chips, a couple of doughnuts, two cookies and an ice cream sandwich.
Perhaps she should have run around more at the park. Perhaps she should learn to prepare her own lunch. Perhaps I should have asked Craig Brewer for some fathering advice.
Hopefully I'll get a call back tomorrow.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
The GK Advisor
Time for more help from two-year-old GK!
GK,
GK: Why are these people so loud? I live here with three children and their chatter is incessant. When they occasionally stop talking, it's only to screech and wail.
Me: Are you suggesting to the writer that you don't add to the din around here?
GK: Who?
Me: Mr. Harley Fontaine. He wrote the letter asking you a question about loud kids.
GK: Letter? I'm telling you to go in the other room and shut those kids up for once. I'm trying to pay attention to the rhetoric at the Democratic National Convention.
Me: Have you decided for whom to vote this November?
GK: That's really none of your concern.
Me: But I'm your father.
GK: And, yet, I wouldn't vote for you.
Me: I'm not running.
GK: Thank you for that.
Me: You're being very disrespectful.
GK: Close the door on your way out, those kids are on my last nerve.
[To have your questions answered, please write to gkadvisor@gmail.com.]
GK: Lock it!
GK,
With your perspective as a child, perhaps you can offer insight into a question that has baffled me for years: why are children so freaking loud?
Harley Fontaine
Harley Fontaine
Me: Are you suggesting to the writer that you don't add to the din around here?
GK: Who?
Me: Mr. Harley Fontaine. He wrote the letter asking you a question about loud kids.
GK: Letter? I'm telling you to go in the other room and shut those kids up for once. I'm trying to pay attention to the rhetoric at the Democratic National Convention.
Me: Have you decided for whom to vote this November?
GK: That's really none of your concern.
Me: But I'm your father.
GK: And, yet, I wouldn't vote for you.
Me: I'm not running.
GK: Thank you for that.
Me: You're being very disrespectful.
GK: Close the door on your way out, those kids are on my last nerve.
[To have your questions answered, please write to gkadvisor@gmail.com.]
GK: Lock it!
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Most Mistake
The Commercial Appeal has released their special section Memphis Most in today's paper.
I worked on this section for two and a half weeks. Halfway through working on it, I lost almost half of what I'd written, yet still managed to finish three days before deadline.
If you look at the section itself, in the paper, I wrote every syllable from page 18, Most "Memphis" BBQ Sauce, to page 36, Most Boundless Beer Selection. That's 34 categories; nearly 9,000 words. And, if I may, it's all pretty good stuff.
For some reason I was left out of the list of section writers on page 1. I'm not sure yet why that is, but I hope to find out soon. In the meantime, the categories I was responsible for are:
I worked on this section for two and a half weeks. Halfway through working on it, I lost almost half of what I'd written, yet still managed to finish three days before deadline.
If you look at the section itself, in the paper, I wrote every syllable from page 18, Most "Memphis" BBQ Sauce, to page 36, Most Boundless Beer Selection. That's 34 categories; nearly 9,000 words. And, if I may, it's all pretty good stuff.
For some reason I was left out of the list of section writers on page 1. I'm not sure yet why that is, but I hope to find out soon. In the meantime, the categories I was responsible for are:
- Most "Memphis" BBQ Sauce
- Most Beloved BBQ Joint
- Most Prime Steak Dinner
- Most Enticing Burger
- Most Savory Slice of Pizza
- Most Sensational Sushi
- Most Profitable Business Lunch
- Most Satisfying Biscuits
- Most Revered Sunday Brunch
- Most For The Money
- Most Craved Catfish
- Most Romantic Restaurant
- Most Delicious Deli
- Most Tempting Bakery
- Most Vietnamese Restaurant
- Most Bountiful Buffet
- Most Fine Dining
- Most Italian Restaurant
- Most Indian Restaurant
- Most Kid-Friendly Cuisine
- Most Thai Restaurant
- Most Chinese Restaurant
- Most Mexican Restaurant
- Most Mediterranean Restaurant
- Most Japanese Restaurant
- Most Exotic Cuisine
- Most Scrumptious Seafood
- Most Wholesome Health Food
- Most Popular Pub
- Most Cosmopolitan Night Club
- Most Masterful Martini
- Most Fanatical Sports Bar
- Most Bona Fide Blues Club
- Most Boundless Beer Selection
Friday, August 22, 2008
Little By Little
I've had to learn on the fly how to make the morning routine run as smoothly as possible. And I'll do whatever it takes. When the older kids were smaller, it was competition: who could get dressed first, who could get to the car first. It helped to propel them to where I needed them to be by a certain time so we could get downtown, or wherever else we had to be, on time and with little or no whining, complaining or insubordination.
I've learned this week that GK needs a task. It seems to take her mind off of the fact that her mother isn't in the house and that she's about to be left someplace. So she now spends the mornings delivering and fetching things. She seems to enjoy taking the kids their lunch boxes and I parcel them out one by one. She runs, calling out to them with their box in hand, "S! Your lunchbox!" When that's done I have her go get a brush or her shoes or whatever else I can think of.
This week has been rough, though increasingly better, and today was just beautiful. She did her various duties at home, chattered all the way to the big kids' school and then no crying when I dropped her off. Finally.
When I left her she was chattering away to one of her favorite teachers, Miss S, saying, without stopping or breathing, "That my lunchbox, My bag, My mommy's name is Kristy, My pants, My shoes, Saw a rat in the kitchen ... "
Of course, this is the start of the weekend, so she has a couple of days to forget all about how much she doesn't mind being left. But I imagine each day and each week will get easier and easier. I have a good imagination.
I've learned this week that GK needs a task. It seems to take her mind off of the fact that her mother isn't in the house and that she's about to be left someplace. So she now spends the mornings delivering and fetching things. She seems to enjoy taking the kids their lunch boxes and I parcel them out one by one. She runs, calling out to them with their box in hand, "S! Your lunchbox!" When that's done I have her go get a brush or her shoes or whatever else I can think of.
This week has been rough, though increasingly better, and today was just beautiful. She did her various duties at home, chattered all the way to the big kids' school and then no crying when I dropped her off. Finally.
When I left her she was chattering away to one of her favorite teachers, Miss S, saying, without stopping or breathing, "That my lunchbox, My bag, My mommy's name is Kristy, My pants, My shoes, Saw a rat in the kitchen ... "
Of course, this is the start of the weekend, so she has a couple of days to forget all about how much she doesn't mind being left. But I imagine each day and each week will get easier and easier. I have a good imagination.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Blurb
I get some nice comments about my column for The Commercial Appeal, though not on their website, of course. For some reason people stay away from commenting there, but do so in person and through direct e-mails. It's very nice and I'm appreciative of any recognition.
Last week a guy came into my store, made a purchase and then said, "Are you the one who writes that blurb in the paper every couple of weeks?" I could almost sense my mother swelling with pride.
So, again, thank you for reading and check out the latest blurb freshly published today.
Last week a guy came into my store, made a purchase and then said, "Are you the one who writes that blurb in the paper every couple of weeks?" I could almost sense my mother swelling with pride.
So, again, thank you for reading and check out the latest blurb freshly published today.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Tarzan
For my birthday last week I was given a Tarzan the Ape Man box set, the old movies starring Johnny Weissmuller and Maureen O'Sullivan. I grew up on these movies, watching them every Saturday afternoon that they were on, and was eager for my own kids to see them.
C and I settled in Sunday morning to watch a couple as the other kids bounced in and out. When Weissmuller makes his first appearance in the first movie, he comes swinging in through the jungle. And C says, "It looks like he's on a trapeze." Well, of course he's on a trapeze, but it took me years to figure that out. C spotted it in the first five seconds.
I don't know if these kids today are just used to the CGI special effects and digital animation, and expect everything to at least look real, or if they're just less willing to suspend reality.
He seems to know that sea sponges don't wear pants, square or any other shape. He understands that a spider bite doesn't result in the ability to climb walls, shoot webs or wear your pajamas in public. And he has been made to understand that there is no semblance of talent on American Idol.
So why pick on Tarzan? Why point out what's wrong with my childhood heroes? I don't go around making fun of Dora.
Okay, actually I do. And he can certainly expect more of that from now on.
C and I settled in Sunday morning to watch a couple as the other kids bounced in and out. When Weissmuller makes his first appearance in the first movie, he comes swinging in through the jungle. And C says, "It looks like he's on a trapeze." Well, of course he's on a trapeze, but it took me years to figure that out. C spotted it in the first five seconds.
I don't know if these kids today are just used to the CGI special effects and digital animation, and expect everything to at least look real, or if they're just less willing to suspend reality.
He seems to know that sea sponges don't wear pants, square or any other shape. He understands that a spider bite doesn't result in the ability to climb walls, shoot webs or wear your pajamas in public. And he has been made to understand that there is no semblance of talent on American Idol.
So why pick on Tarzan? Why point out what's wrong with my childhood heroes? I don't go around making fun of Dora.
Okay, actually I do. And he can certainly expect more of that from now on.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Last Week
I'm not a fan of writing the posts just to tell you what I've been up to lately without going into detail. I've just been too busy lately to pick out one thing and extrapolate, yet I feel that some things need to be put down for posterity.
I'm probably wrong about that, but here we go. A few things from last week:
It was a hectic week and one that made it difficult to keep up with, both in real time and here on the interweb. There was a lot going on, and almost too much to handle on any given day. But it was better than being a rat.
I'm probably wrong about that, but here we go. A few things from last week:
- The kids began school and GK began at a new sitter that Kristy found online only two days before. GK was miserable going to this woman's house. And, apparently, this woman was miserable as well because only two and a half days into it - that's about 16 total hours worth of effort - she let Kristy know via e-mail that she was done watching our daughter as of the end of that day. Having that much notice was really helpful, but Kristy scrambled and got GK back into the place she stayed last year, which is fine, just more than we can afford. We'll figure something out.
- I took the Volvo to be inspected a couple of weeks back and it failed due to a broken lens cover on the front driver's side turn signal, so I was unable to renew the tags. This city is really on top of things, a murder every two days on average, but they're not going to let me get by without that piece of plastic covering the bulb, by God. But I digress. On the way to school the other morning, just around the corner from our house, I noticed a police car turning on the road behind me, so I turned into the next parking lot so as not to have him behind me at the upcoming stop sign and notice my expired tags. C asked what we were doing there in that lot and I told him, which probably won't win me Parent of the Year.
- Thursday was my birthday, and I got to begin that day by taking GK to her new (though old) daycare. She completely melted down when I left her, which was a great way to start my day out. That was followed up by a visit to the neurologist to find out what can be done about the numb index finger and thumb on my right hand. He prescribed steroids, thus quashing my Olympic dreams. There's no way now I'll be able to pass for a 15-year-old Chinese gymnast.
- I ended up having a very nice birthday with cake and ice cream and presents and friends and family.
- I put a wounded rodent out of its misery with a Louisville Slugger.
- The Google kicked me out of their AdSense program. They sent me an e-mail telling me that "... we found that your AdSense account has posed a significant risk to our AdWords advertisers." I have expired car tags, a murdered rodent on my hands and Google running scared. This city makes you mean.
- The kids finished out their first week of school and it was a rousing success. They all survived, they're all happy with their teachers and they all have most of their school supplies.
It was a hectic week and one that made it difficult to keep up with, both in real time and here on the interweb. There was a lot going on, and almost too much to handle on any given day. But it was better than being a rat.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Socially Studying
When I got home from work yesterday I asked the kids how school was and C chimed in right away, "My teacher is really cool. He taught us Social Studies and I didn't even know it. He was just talking to us and we were learning."
Isn't that the best way to teach and to learn? To talk to the kids like they're small people instead of puppies to be trained? To converse with them instead of lecturing or forcing a text book down there throats?
I think it's going to be a good year.
Isn't that the best way to teach and to learn? To talk to the kids like they're small people instead of puppies to be trained? To converse with them instead of lecturing or forcing a text book down there throats?
I think it's going to be a good year.
Monday, August 11, 2008
School Dazed
Today is the first day of school and the morning went as well as I could have dared hope.
Waking The Quartet up two to three hours earlier than they've been used to this summer was fairly easy. The excitement of new backpacks, lunchboxes and shoes had something to do with this, I know. I have no delusions that every morning will be so simple.
Everyone was dressed, fed and out the door in a timely manner. I took the older kids to school first. The building was packed with parents and children, teachers outside their rooms greeting their newest wards, and, though it appeared chaotic, it was surprisingly quick and easy to get in and out.
S was a bit hesitant as we entered her room, but her teacher was one of JP's last year and, so, familiar to her. And once she saw one of her friends, she was all set.
JP handled Day One as he handles everything - in stride. He said hello to his teacher, hung up his backpack and found his seat, no doubt ciphering just how long it would be until he could get himself back in front of a television.
C had gone upstairs to the 5th grade by himself and GK and I went to check on him after depositing the other two. He is not, sadly, in the same class with his two running buddies whom he's been with every year since kindergarten. He was already seated, so I just waved to him and couldn't speak to him to find out if this is a problem. Something tells me it is, though he'll soon see that they'll have lunch and CLUE together. He'll do well, he always does.
We left the school and GK was being chatty and sweet and was the kind of happy that makes me want to spend all day with her. But I couldn't. I had a chiropractor appointment and had to be at work, so it was off to the sitter.
GK was less than thrilled with being dropped off. This is a new sitter for her, but that isn't really the point. She cried at drop-off nearly every day last year. I know she doesn't cry for long, I know it's just the moment of being left behind that upsets her. But it's that moment that upsets me as well. Has been ever since I began dropping C off at daycare 10 years ago.
I hope they all had a good day. I hope they'll all forgive me for being the one to abandon them every morning. It's for their own good. They'll see that one day, though it may not be until they have their own kids and are dropping them off at my house for me to take care of and to explain that their parents aren't really bad people for doing so. They're just cheap.
Waking The Quartet up two to three hours earlier than they've been used to this summer was fairly easy. The excitement of new backpacks, lunchboxes and shoes had something to do with this, I know. I have no delusions that every morning will be so simple.
Everyone was dressed, fed and out the door in a timely manner. I took the older kids to school first. The building was packed with parents and children, teachers outside their rooms greeting their newest wards, and, though it appeared chaotic, it was surprisingly quick and easy to get in and out.
S was a bit hesitant as we entered her room, but her teacher was one of JP's last year and, so, familiar to her. And once she saw one of her friends, she was all set.
JP handled Day One as he handles everything - in stride. He said hello to his teacher, hung up his backpack and found his seat, no doubt ciphering just how long it would be until he could get himself back in front of a television.
C had gone upstairs to the 5th grade by himself and GK and I went to check on him after depositing the other two. He is not, sadly, in the same class with his two running buddies whom he's been with every year since kindergarten. He was already seated, so I just waved to him and couldn't speak to him to find out if this is a problem. Something tells me it is, though he'll soon see that they'll have lunch and CLUE together. He'll do well, he always does.
We left the school and GK was being chatty and sweet and was the kind of happy that makes me want to spend all day with her. But I couldn't. I had a chiropractor appointment and had to be at work, so it was off to the sitter.
GK was less than thrilled with being dropped off. This is a new sitter for her, but that isn't really the point. She cried at drop-off nearly every day last year. I know she doesn't cry for long, I know it's just the moment of being left behind that upsets her. But it's that moment that upsets me as well. Has been ever since I began dropping C off at daycare 10 years ago.
I hope they all had a good day. I hope they'll all forgive me for being the one to abandon them every morning. It's for their own good. They'll see that one day, though it may not be until they have their own kids and are dropping them off at my house for me to take care of and to explain that their parents aren't really bad people for doing so. They're just cheap.
Saturday, August 09, 2008
The GK Advisor
Another helpful hand from two-year-old GK.
Me: So, what do you think?
GK: I'm sorry?
Me: I just read you a letter from a reader asking your advice.
GK: My advice?
Me: I posted a while back on this blog that if anyone needed advice on any subject that they could write and ask you a question.
GK: You have a blog?
Me: Yes.
GK: Fine. These curlers have to set for about 15 minutes anyway, so shoot.
Me: Here we go. Chris writes, Dear GK, can you help me with the fewer and less predicament? Are there fewer calories or less calories in my beer? Please help!
GK: You know, this makes me think of a piece I read in The New Yorker not long ago about the reclusive physicist, Garrett Lisi.
Me: Really? How is it relevant to the question?
GK: Oh, it isn't. I just automatically start thinking of something else when you're talking.
Me: I see. So can you help Chris?
GK: He's a grown man concerned with the amount of calories in his beer. I think the only thing that will help him now is to take stock of himself, and of his wife's closet, to see if any of her skirts match those pumps I imagine he's wearing right now.
(Ding!)
GK: My hair is ready. See you later, old man ...
[To have your questions answered, please write to gkadvisor@gmail.com.]
GK: Bring me my mojito!
Me: So, what do you think?
GK: I'm sorry?
Me: I just read you a letter from a reader asking your advice.
GK: My advice?
Me: I posted a while back on this blog that if anyone needed advice on any subject that they could write and ask you a question.
GK: You have a blog?
Me: Yes.
GK: Fine. These curlers have to set for about 15 minutes anyway, so shoot.
Me: Here we go. Chris writes, Dear GK, can you help me with the fewer and less predicament? Are there fewer calories or less calories in my beer? Please help!
GK: You know, this makes me think of a piece I read in The New Yorker not long ago about the reclusive physicist, Garrett Lisi.
Me: Really? How is it relevant to the question?
GK: Oh, it isn't. I just automatically start thinking of something else when you're talking.
Me: I see. So can you help Chris?
GK: He's a grown man concerned with the amount of calories in his beer. I think the only thing that will help him now is to take stock of himself, and of his wife's closet, to see if any of her skirts match those pumps I imagine he's wearing right now.
(Ding!)
GK: My hair is ready. See you later, old man ...
[To have your questions answered, please write to gkadvisor@gmail.com.]
GK: Bring me my mojito!
Thursday, August 07, 2008
Hit Me
Sometime in the last week, Urf! attained the 50,000 hits milestone. If I had a penny for every one of those hits, then I'd have $500. And if I had $500 then I'd actually only have about $485.16 ... it's a long story.
Oddly, on days that I have a column in The Commercial Appeal, my daily hits here actually drop. Perhaps you have a low threshold for me, it's certainly understandable.
Regardless, I have a column in the paper today. If you can stand any more, then please check it out. I actually get paid for that and I could use all the pennies I can get.
Oddly, on days that I have a column in The Commercial Appeal, my daily hits here actually drop. Perhaps you have a low threshold for me, it's certainly understandable.
Regardless, I have a column in the paper today. If you can stand any more, then please check it out. I actually get paid for that and I could use all the pennies I can get.
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
Do I Laugh Now?
Who among us hasn't woken up some mornings - eyes sleep-encrusted, pillow drool-soaked - wishing we could, instead of being ourselves, just for one day, be Fred MacMurray?
Ah, to be cool. Really cool. 1940s Film Noir cool, with its gin-soaked, clipped speech and wide-brimmed Fedoras. Not 2008 Facebook cool with its poking and whiny pleading for acceptance.
I feel, mostly, that I would be closer to 1960s television Fred MacMurray than 1940s Billy Wilder Fred MacMurray. I would find it easier at this time to pull off the cardigan and Canadian pipe look, living with my kids and a crazy, man-servant bachelor
uncle; easier, certainly, than the look of a grey flannel suit, flask and Chesterfields, a sultry Barbara Stanwyck draped over my shoulder.
But father doesn't always know best, does he? In yesterday's post, I'm afraid I may have given the impression that I did, and that the day, and its errands, ran smoothly due to some wisdom or foresight of mine. Truth be told, I couldn't have done it without the teamwork of my Quartet.
To drop a dime on myself, as Walter Neff might say, I had to turn down the car radio on the way to registration to ask the kids what grades they were going into. I didn't want to look like a total chump when we got to school.
They each sounded off in turn: First! Second! Fifth!
Afterwards, as we sat in the McDonald's drive-thru line, C told me exactly what and how to order all the kids' meals. Right down to letting me know the number of boys' and girls' Happy Meals.
I'm also not 100% certain that it was a good idea to let the kids feed most of their lunches to those three squirrels at the park, but it seemed to make them happy.
The children, not the squirrels.
They're good kids, and I really do try to know best, but sometimes I flub even that.
Ah, to be cool. Really cool. 1940s Film Noir cool, with its gin-soaked, clipped speech and wide-brimmed Fedoras. Not 2008 Facebook cool with its poking and whiny pleading for acceptance.
I feel, mostly, that I would be closer to 1960s television Fred MacMurray than 1940s Billy Wilder Fred MacMurray. I would find it easier at this time to pull off the cardigan and Canadian pipe look, living with my kids and a crazy, man-servant bachelor
uncle; easier, certainly, than the look of a grey flannel suit, flask and Chesterfields, a sultry Barbara Stanwyck draped over my shoulder.But father doesn't always know best, does he? In yesterday's post, I'm afraid I may have given the impression that I did, and that the day, and its errands, ran smoothly due to some wisdom or foresight of mine. Truth be told, I couldn't have done it without the teamwork of my Quartet.
To drop a dime on myself, as Walter Neff might say, I had to turn down the car radio on the way to registration to ask the kids what grades they were going into. I didn't want to look like a total chump when we got to school.
They each sounded off in turn: First! Second! Fifth!
Afterwards, as we sat in the McDonald's drive-thru line, C told me exactly what and how to order all the kids' meals. Right down to letting me know the number of boys' and girls' Happy Meals.
I'm also not 100% certain that it was a good idea to let the kids feed most of their lunches to those three squirrels at the park, but it seemed to make them happy.
The children, not the squirrels.
They're good kids, and I really do try to know best, but sometimes I flub even that.
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Solo Daddy, Day Two
Just like in those old suspense movies, today was quiet. Almost ... too quiet.
This was the smoothest school registration I've been to in six years. The first one, when C was just entering kindergarten, began with me standing in line at the Fairgrounds at three in the morning sometime in February to secure him a spot at Downtown Elementary.
And each subsequent year, I've had to produce something to prove that my kids exist; a birth certificate, social security card, DNA sample, retina scan. Something. Every year, even after C had been there for a few years.
Except this year. Kristy printed out the necessary forms and filled them out ahead of time and I took them into school and dropped them off. The end. It was as simple and tidy as it should have been every year.
So after this short jaunt, I decided to take The Quartet for a picnic. It was 98 degrees outside, why not?
First, thought, I drove past the auto inspection station to see about getting the Volvo inspected to renew the registration. The line was too long, again. I've done this every day since early last week and that line is always too long. I just don't have the patience to sit in my car waiting for the government to do its work.
What I do have the patience for, apparently, is sitting in my car at the McDonald's drive-thru waiting for a high school kid to assemble four Happy Meals.
We went to Overton Park, at a picnic table near the Doughboy, where we ate our lunch and fed French fries to a few squirrels. The kids loved that part.
It was a good day. A good way to spend one of the last days of summer vacation. Tomorrow, Kristy is taking the kids to work with her, so I get the day off. I'm almost sorry about that.
This was the smoothest school registration I've been to in six years. The first one, when C was just entering kindergarten, began with me standing in line at the Fairgrounds at three in the morning sometime in February to secure him a spot at Downtown Elementary.
And each subsequent year, I've had to produce something to prove that my kids exist; a birth certificate, social security card, DNA sample, retina scan. Something. Every year, even after C had been there for a few years.
Except this year. Kristy printed out the necessary forms and filled them out ahead of time and I took them into school and dropped them off. The end. It was as simple and tidy as it should have been every year.
So after this short jaunt, I decided to take The Quartet for a picnic. It was 98 degrees outside, why not?
First, thought, I drove past the auto inspection station to see about getting the Volvo inspected to renew the registration. The line was too long, again. I've done this every day since early last week and that line is always too long. I just don't have the patience to sit in my car waiting for the government to do its work.
What I do have the patience for, apparently, is sitting in my car at the McDonald's drive-thru waiting for a high school kid to assemble four Happy Meals.
We went to Overton Park, at a picnic table near the Doughboy, where we ate our lunch and fed French fries to a few squirrels. The kids loved that part.
It was a good day. A good way to spend one of the last days of summer vacation. Tomorrow, Kristy is taking the kids to work with her, so I get the day off. I'm almost sorry about that.
Ask GK
Two-year-old GK has a knack for getting her opinions across. I often consult her on matters of finance, politics, the heart or entertainment options. She never fails to let me know just what she thinks.
Here are a few examples of our conversations from the past:
Sketches of GK
Politics and Poop
Upon Returning Home From Work Yesterday Evening ...
GK Critic
My thinking is that, as helpful as she's been to me, I'm sure she could help all of you as well. She's well-versed on many subjects, so if you have any questions at all for a two-year-old, please E-mail her at gkadvisor@gmail.com.
Ask for her advice, her opinions, her thoughts. Go ahead, you give it a try now.
Me: GK, what do you think about all of this?
GK: All of what?
Me: Writing an advice column for my readers.
GK: How much advice could the two of them need?
Me: I have lots of readers.
GK: And they all have problems.
Me: Probably so.
GK: That wasn't a question.
Here are a few examples of our conversations from the past:
Sketches of GK
Politics and Poop
Upon Returning Home From Work Yesterday Evening ...
GK Critic
My thinking is that, as helpful as she's been to me, I'm sure she could help all of you as well. She's well-versed on many subjects, so if you have any questions at all for a two-year-old, please E-mail her at gkadvisor@gmail.com.
Ask for her advice, her opinions, her thoughts. Go ahead, you give it a try now.
Me: GK, what do you think about all of this?
GK: All of what?
Me: Writing an advice column for my readers.
GK: How much advice could the two of them need?
Me: I have lots of readers.
GK: And they all have problems.
Me: Probably so.
GK: That wasn't a question.
Monday, August 04, 2008
Snake Bit
It's an annual happening. This is the week, as it is every year, that Kristy goes back to work, but the kids still have another week of summer vacation left, and I am in charge of them.
It's never pretty.
It's like snake handling. You can look at those poisonous serpents through the safety of aquarium glass all you want, but at some point you just have to reach in and grab one. Or four. This is the week I reach in and attempt to control the vipers.
This first day began well enough. I was up before any of them and showered, ready for the day ahead. I even did the dishes and some laundry. GK slept late and was upset by the absence of her mother when she awoke, but she quickly got over it and settled in to watch Sesame Street (Gabi seems ... older, doesn't she?). The other kids woke up, ate, got dressed and were ready to leave the house in a timely fashion.
I had a chiropractor appointment to have this ice pick, or whatever it is, that's jammed into my shoulder looked at. A chiropractor appointment with four kids in tow, it turns out, is counterproductive.
You know how when someone else's kids are jumping around, and acting like sociopaths, and the parent says, "I don't know what's gotten into him, he never acts like this" but you know for a fact that the kid always acts like that? Maybe that's how my kids are perceived, because I found myself saying, "I don't know what's going on with her" after S was scolded by the doctor for hitting JP, an aggression I couldn't see as my back was to them at the time.
I had to walk over to work afterwards because there were some things I had to get done. These kids all know that they are to behave and stay quiet when they're at the store because there are customers who have questions and I need to be able to talk to those people. The kids know this, they just don't care. The girls ran throughout the place while JP called out to them from the mezzanine. And, of course, you have to watch GK with the inventory, that girl loves a panatela.
We walked over to Roma for lunch. I ordered five slices, an order of pepperoni breadsticks and drinks, and the kids actually behaved for all of this. At one point GK, finished with her meal, got down to dance around and wave at people. This was too cute to cause a problem.
Once at home, though, things really heated up. These kids can't keep their hands off of each other, constantly in each other's personal space, pushing and hitting. Once it all went too far and S's hand was slammed in a bedroom door, I sent them all to separate rooms, where they stayed for the rest of the day. Or until 3:30 when Big Mama got home to relieve me.
I went to work. Alone.
Tomorrow is school registration, which is always a treat. Stay tuned ...
It's never pretty.
It's like snake handling. You can look at those poisonous serpents through the safety of aquarium glass all you want, but at some point you just have to reach in and grab one. Or four. This is the week I reach in and attempt to control the vipers.
This first day began well enough. I was up before any of them and showered, ready for the day ahead. I even did the dishes and some laundry. GK slept late and was upset by the absence of her mother when she awoke, but she quickly got over it and settled in to watch Sesame Street (Gabi seems ... older, doesn't she?). The other kids woke up, ate, got dressed and were ready to leave the house in a timely fashion.
I had a chiropractor appointment to have this ice pick, or whatever it is, that's jammed into my shoulder looked at. A chiropractor appointment with four kids in tow, it turns out, is counterproductive.
You know how when someone else's kids are jumping around, and acting like sociopaths, and the parent says, "I don't know what's gotten into him, he never acts like this" but you know for a fact that the kid always acts like that? Maybe that's how my kids are perceived, because I found myself saying, "I don't know what's going on with her" after S was scolded by the doctor for hitting JP, an aggression I couldn't see as my back was to them at the time.
I had to walk over to work afterwards because there were some things I had to get done. These kids all know that they are to behave and stay quiet when they're at the store because there are customers who have questions and I need to be able to talk to those people. The kids know this, they just don't care. The girls ran throughout the place while JP called out to them from the mezzanine. And, of course, you have to watch GK with the inventory, that girl loves a panatela.
We walked over to Roma for lunch. I ordered five slices, an order of pepperoni breadsticks and drinks, and the kids actually behaved for all of this. At one point GK, finished with her meal, got down to dance around and wave at people. This was too cute to cause a problem.
Once at home, though, things really heated up. These kids can't keep their hands off of each other, constantly in each other's personal space, pushing and hitting. Once it all went too far and S's hand was slammed in a bedroom door, I sent them all to separate rooms, where they stayed for the rest of the day. Or until 3:30 when Big Mama got home to relieve me.
I went to work. Alone.
Tomorrow is school registration, which is always a treat. Stay tuned ...
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Girls
I have two girls, S, five-years-old, and GK, two. They are stubborn and bossy, respectively.
Last night, S talked to her mother in a manner that mothers should not be addressed. I sent her immediately to her room and left her to think about it. Later, I told her she could come out if she would go and apologize to her mom. She went in the kitchen, but just stood there while Kristy talked to her. When she was finished, I asked Kristy if she had said "I'm sorry" and she said no. So I put her back in her room.
A bit later, just before dinner, I went in and asked if she was ready to apologize and she said no. That girl would rather sit in solitary than say she's sorry.
Eventually she was sprung without my consent. I would have left her in there all night, because I'm stubborn like that.
GK's hobby is telling everyone what to do and then watching as whatever it is is carried out. This morning she and Kristy were in our bed and I kissed GK goodbye and she said, "Kiss mommy." Well, I was going to. I don't need to be told to. But then it looked as though I was just doing what she said, which is what she likes.
Kristy does the same thing. If we turn a movie on, as soon as the DVD starts if the volume is too loud, she'll tell me to turn it down as I'm already reaching for the remote. But then it looks as though I was just doing what she said, which is what she likes.
Last night, S talked to her mother in a manner that mothers should not be addressed. I sent her immediately to her room and left her to think about it. Later, I told her she could come out if she would go and apologize to her mom. She went in the kitchen, but just stood there while Kristy talked to her. When she was finished, I asked Kristy if she had said "I'm sorry" and she said no. So I put her back in her room.
A bit later, just before dinner, I went in and asked if she was ready to apologize and she said no. That girl would rather sit in solitary than say she's sorry.
Eventually she was sprung without my consent. I would have left her in there all night, because I'm stubborn like that.
GK's hobby is telling everyone what to do and then watching as whatever it is is carried out. This morning she and Kristy were in our bed and I kissed GK goodbye and she said, "Kiss mommy." Well, I was going to. I don't need to be told to. But then it looked as though I was just doing what she said, which is what she likes.
Kristy does the same thing. If we turn a movie on, as soon as the DVD starts if the volume is too loud, she'll tell me to turn it down as I'm already reaching for the remote. But then it looks as though I was just doing what she said, which is what she likes.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Like Herding a Platoon of Cats
Kristy is at home all summer with our four kids. It's one of the greatest perks of being a teacher - summers off. It's also what helps this family function, there is no way we'd be able to afford childcare for two and a half months while the kids were out of school.
I couldn't do it. Taking charge of those four kids all day every day would end tragically. You'd all hear about it on CNN. I have to be at work all day, every day; I consider that a perk.
Today she has our four kids plus Mr. Baby, and she's taken them to Davis-Kidd Booksellers. I just found out that C's friend tagged along as well. So Kristy has left the house with six kids, which is insane. And, yet, she can handle it. She's half drill sergeant, half shepherd and half school marm. She is Big Mama.
How does she do it? What's her secret? I have no idea. And I don't think I want to, because I'm afraid it might then be expected of me.
I couldn't do it. Taking charge of those four kids all day every day would end tragically. You'd all hear about it on CNN. I have to be at work all day, every day; I consider that a perk.
Today she has our four kids plus Mr. Baby, and she's taken them to Davis-Kidd Booksellers. I just found out that C's friend tagged along as well. So Kristy has left the house with six kids, which is insane. And, yet, she can handle it. She's half drill sergeant, half shepherd and half school marm. She is Big Mama.
How does she do it? What's her secret? I have no idea. And I don't think I want to, because I'm afraid it might then be expected of me.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Machu Picchu
Ninety-seven years ago today, Hiram Bingham discovered Machu Picchu, the lost Incan mountaintop city.
Common belief is that Machu Picchu was a getaway for Incan royalty. A little respite from the day-to-day, humdrum routine of corporate Peruvian life.
Memphis's own Machu Piccu is the Gulf Coast of Florida, Mississippi and Alabama, with its white sand beaches and copious Budweiser. My people and I just spent a week at this sea level retreat and I had a little something to say about it in my column, "Because I Said So," over at The Commercial Appeal.
Common belief is that Machu Picchu was a getaway for Incan royalty. A little respite from the day-to-day, humdrum routine of corporate Peruvian life.
Memphis's own Machu Piccu is the Gulf Coast of Florida, Mississippi and Alabama, with its white sand beaches and copious Budweiser. My people and I just spent a week at this sea level retreat and I had a little something to say about it in my column, "Because I Said So," over at The Commercial Appeal.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
G is for Growl
What was that? That noise emanating from my youngest.
Two-year-old GK has begun the lovely habit of growling when she doesn't get her way, when she's upset or frustrated. It's primal, it's gravelly. It's like someone is running a rasp over the short end of a megaphone.
And it's useless.
Does she think we're new here? That we'd give up, throw in the towel, surrender just because she learned a new, albeit otherworldly, noise? Does she think we're French?
We've been through the crying and the tantrum-throwing, the screeching, whining and pouting. GK bores us with her new noise. We laugh at her growl.
She's going to have to become more creative with her anger to hold our attention. What concerns me is that she's smart enough to do just that. I'm not sure what it will be, but I fear it will involve implements. Sharp, shiny cutlery. Possibly some gun play.
This little girl needs things. She needs water in her sippy cup, she needs Blue's Clues turned on, she needs her mother's undivided attention all. day. long. And she's not willing to wait for any of those things.
She wants them now, she said with a guttural timbre.
Two-year-old GK has begun the lovely habit of growling when she doesn't get her way, when she's upset or frustrated. It's primal, it's gravelly. It's like someone is running a rasp over the short end of a megaphone.
And it's useless.
Does she think we're new here? That we'd give up, throw in the towel, surrender just because she learned a new, albeit otherworldly, noise? Does she think we're French?
We've been through the crying and the tantrum-throwing, the screeching, whining and pouting. GK bores us with her new noise. We laugh at her growl.
She's going to have to become more creative with her anger to hold our attention. What concerns me is that she's smart enough to do just that. I'm not sure what it will be, but I fear it will involve implements. Sharp, shiny cutlery. Possibly some gun play.
This little girl needs things. She needs water in her sippy cup, she needs Blue's Clues turned on, she needs her mother's undivided attention all. day. long. And she's not willing to wait for any of those things.
She wants them now, she said with a guttural timbre.
Monday, July 21, 2008
You Can Go Home Again, Unfortunately
We made it home. Perhaps one or both of you noticed I was gone all last week. We spent the week with three other families - seven adults, 10 kids - on the white sand beaches of Dauphin Island.
I already miss it.
There will be more to come, I'm sure, about the sand castles and the boogie boarding and the morning coffee on the deck and the late night bonfires. But right now I have a ton of work to do and, frankly, I'm still in mourning over not being on the beach right this minute with a cool drink and almost a dozen kids frolicking just out of my range of responsibility.
I already miss it.
There will be more to come, I'm sure, about the sand castles and the boogie boarding and the morning coffee on the deck and the late night bonfires. But right now I have a ton of work to do and, frankly, I'm still in mourning over not being on the beach right this minute with a cool drink and almost a dozen kids frolicking just out of my range of responsibility.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Because I Said So
In the midst of the huge project that almost wasn't, I wrote another column. And The Commercial Appeal published it!
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
Cold Storage
We've slowly been outgrowing our home. We've run out of closet space, under-the-bed space, bathroom space and personal space.
Recently, however, we've outgrown something I never even thought about. We are absolutely out of room in our refrigerator. I always thought we'd have more than enough room in that box since we don't really have more than enough money for food, but we've somehow managed to overfill it. That big, white appliance is crammed full with a couple of gallons of milk and the same amount in juice, leftovers, bacon, condiments, simple syrup, eight cups with two fingers each of chocolate milk, a few eggs, some more leftovers, 10 jars of pickles and pepperoncinis, and a beer.
We bought this fridge almost 11 years ago after moving into this house; it's your basic cold storage with no ice or water from the door, no gallon-sized door storage, not even an ice maker. The problem - "problem" - is that it works fine, so there's really no reason to replace it other than we need. more. space. The other problem, of course, is that we can't afford one of those big refrigerators that we really need.
Just the other day, a friend had reason to get rid of a small, dorm-sized refrigerator, so we happily took it off her hands. And the only place we had for it in our house was on top of the other fridge.
So there it sits. The annex. Just like your grandmother's new TV sitting on top of her old TV. It's like a refrigerator attic.
It's the perfect place for juice, a condiment or one jar of pickles.
Recently, however, we've outgrown something I never even thought about. We are absolutely out of room in our refrigerator. I always thought we'd have more than enough room in that box since we don't really have more than enough money for food, but we've somehow managed to overfill it. That big, white appliance is crammed full with a couple of gallons of milk and the same amount in juice, leftovers, bacon, condiments, simple syrup, eight cups with two fingers each of chocolate milk, a few eggs, some more leftovers, 10 jars of pickles and pepperoncinis, and a beer.
We bought this fridge almost 11 years ago after moving into this house; it's your basic cold storage with no ice or water from the door, no gallon-sized door storage, not even an ice maker. The problem - "problem" - is that it works fine, so there's really no reason to replace it other than we need. more. space. The other problem, of course, is that we can't afford one of those big refrigerators that we really need.
Just the other day, a friend had reason to get rid of a small, dorm-sized refrigerator, so we happily took it off her hands. And the only place we had for it in our house was on top of the other fridge.
So there it sits. The annex. Just like your grandmother's new TV sitting on top of her old TV. It's like a refrigerator attic.
It's the perfect place for juice, a condiment or one jar of pickles.
Monday, July 07, 2008
Visions of C
C just returned from a long weekend with his Aunt Elizabeth and Uncle Toby visiting with other family members at a mini-reunion in Statesboro, GA. By all accounts, he behaved himself on his first out of town trip without either parent. I knew he would.
He also had a blast, as I knew he would. I used to take trips like this as a boy, visiting family out of state without my parents. It's a great learning experience I think, that little taste of freedom, though without having to be too responsible. Just the right amount of freedom for someone his age. You learn initiative and a bit of self-reliance, and the whole experience is a character builder as Favorite Aunt Carol would say.
He can't stop talking about things that were said and games that were played and food that was eaten. He played with his cousins, Terryn, the Little Lady and Ben and Eric from way up north. He visited with Nonna, Mimi & Pop and played in the pool with Uncle Johnny just as I used to do.
It's a weekend he'll always remember. It's the very vacation that I can remember.
He also had a blast, as I knew he would. I used to take trips like this as a boy, visiting family out of state without my parents. It's a great learning experience I think, that little taste of freedom, though without having to be too responsible. Just the right amount of freedom for someone his age. You learn initiative and a bit of self-reliance, and the whole experience is a character builder as Favorite Aunt Carol would say.
He can't stop talking about things that were said and games that were played and food that was eaten. He played with his cousins, Terryn, the Little Lady and Ben and Eric from way up north. He visited with Nonna, Mimi & Pop and played in the pool with Uncle Johnny just as I used to do.
It's a weekend he'll always remember. It's the very vacation that I can remember.
Thursday, July 03, 2008
Most Stupid
Okay, listen up, I'm going to tell this story once and then I don't really want to speak of it any more. And if anyone says, "You should have ... " then I will leave four hungry and summertime-sleep-deprived children on your front door step.
I'm working on this big freelance project for The Commercial Appeal. They're putting out their annual issue of "The Memphis Most" highlighting the best Memphis has to offer and I'm charged with writing pieces on various restaurants in 34 categories.
I've had about two-and-a-half weeks to work on it and have been doing so diligently. Earlier this week I was working on it, in fact, and decided I wanted the Word document saved into a specific file instead of on the desktop of the iBook G4 where I'd been keeping it.
So I "Saved As" under the same document name but in a different location.
Then came tonight. I booted up and, while I was thinking about what I was going to write, I started mindlessly moving icons on the desktop around, deleting some, just doing some general housekeeping.
I moved the document called "Memphis Most" into a folder in my Documents. And then the little dialog box popped up to tell me that there was already an item by that name and did I want to replace it?
And I did.
And then I immediately didn't want to and I undid it, but it was too late. I had moved the old document into where the newer document was residing and it overwrote it. I lost about a week's worth of work.
So, I have one week before deadline to interview people, rewrite everything, write my column for next week and take care of some other things that I'm not even at liberty to talk about right now.
All of this to say, if you need me for anything in the next week, I'm busy. Sorry. I'll have more free time in about two weeks, but for now just don't expect much from me.
I'll just be sitting here, alternately typing and beating my head on this keyboard.
I'm working on this big freelance project for The Commercial Appeal. They're putting out their annual issue of "The Memphis Most" highlighting the best Memphis has to offer and I'm charged with writing pieces on various restaurants in 34 categories.
I've had about two-and-a-half weeks to work on it and have been doing so diligently. Earlier this week I was working on it, in fact, and decided I wanted the Word document saved into a specific file instead of on the desktop of the iBook G4 where I'd been keeping it.
So I "Saved As" under the same document name but in a different location.
Then came tonight. I booted up and, while I was thinking about what I was going to write, I started mindlessly moving icons on the desktop around, deleting some, just doing some general housekeeping.
I moved the document called "Memphis Most" into a folder in my Documents. And then the little dialog box popped up to tell me that there was already an item by that name and did I want to replace it?
And I did.
And then I immediately didn't want to and I undid it, but it was too late. I had moved the old document into where the newer document was residing and it overwrote it. I lost about a week's worth of work.
So, I have one week before deadline to interview people, rewrite everything, write my column for next week and take care of some other things that I'm not even at liberty to talk about right now.
All of this to say, if you need me for anything in the next week, I'm busy. Sorry. I'll have more free time in about two weeks, but for now just don't expect much from me.
I'll just be sitting here, alternately typing and beating my head on this keyboard.
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
Lucky Number Seven
I guess the way it's normally done is to have a birthday dinner, then birthday cake and then open birthday presents. Had we made JP wait until after dinner yesterday to open his gifts, his head would have exploded. He began asking about opening his present the evening before, his voice vibrating and his hands shaking.
And then, yesterday morning, there was this exchange:
Me: Good morning.
JP: Can I open my present now?
Me: Happy birthday, JP!
JP: Can I open my present now?
Me: I'm going to go for a quick run and you can open it when I get back.
I returned and wasn't even in the front door yet.
JP: Can I open my present now?
So we let him open his new electric keyboard in the early morning hours of his birthday. Later that evening we ordered pizza per his request.
Delivered pizza and people giving him stuff, it's the perfect JP Day. I hope he had a great one.
And then, yesterday morning, there was this exchange:
Me: Good morning.
JP: Can I open my present now?
Me: Happy birthday, JP!
JP: Can I open my present now?
Me: I'm going to go for a quick run and you can open it when I get back.
I returned and wasn't even in the front door yet.
JP: Can I open my present now?
So we let him open his new electric keyboard in the early morning hours of his birthday. Later that evening we ordered pizza per his request.
Delivered pizza and people giving him stuff, it's the perfect JP Day. I hope he had a great one.
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
Happy Birthday, JP!
Seven years ago today, without the aid of any pain relievers whatsoever, I had a baby boy.
Happy Birthday, JP, I love you!
You can read about him here, and you can look at him here.
It's my grandfather's birthday, too. He's ... more than seven. Happy Birthday, Pop!
Happy Birthday, JP, I love you!
You can read about him here, and you can look at him here.
It's my grandfather's birthday, too. He's ... more than seven. Happy Birthday, Pop!
Monday, June 30, 2008
Warm Waters
When my sisters and I were kids, it seems like our mother made us take swim lessons about five different times. Perhaps we were slow learners.
Mom, if you had us take lessons so often because you were concerned for our safety around bodies of water, both large and small, then I thank you for your concern over our well-being.
If, on the other hand, you used it as a means to get some time away from us for a few hours a day, a few weeks per summer, then I applaud your resourcefulness as a parent. Well played, Elaine.
My three older kids began two weeks of swim lessons today at the Y. I feel like swimming is something I should be teaching them to do; to be cautious and to respect the water, but also to have fun. I just don't have the time.
So, instead, I'll be in charge of teaching them to shower every day, immediately after swimming in the big, urine-filled public pool.
Mom, if you had us take lessons so often because you were concerned for our safety around bodies of water, both large and small, then I thank you for your concern over our well-being.
If, on the other hand, you used it as a means to get some time away from us for a few hours a day, a few weeks per summer, then I applaud your resourcefulness as a parent. Well played, Elaine.
My three older kids began two weeks of swim lessons today at the Y. I feel like swimming is something I should be teaching them to do; to be cautious and to respect the water, but also to have fun. I just don't have the time.
So, instead, I'll be in charge of teaching them to shower every day, immediately after swimming in the big, urine-filled public pool.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
I've Got the Blues
From day one, it seems, we look forward to "the move out." The day when our kids take that last leap into the great unknown, known to us as "not living in my house anymore."
Okay, I wouldn't say from day one, because that first day they're cute and sleep a lot. Sometime around day two, however, they cry and start passing that meconium by the bucketload. It's from this day which I speak.
Before our kids move out, though, there's that other blessed moving day; the day when their friends move out. It's an event that you don't even realize at the time. In fact, it's several days later when you register that you haven't heard Steve's condescending tone, or that irritating yodel his dog makes. You have said goodbye to Blue's Clues and not even noticed.
The quiet is calming.
For us, that day of goodbyes has come and gone three times. It's not so hard; you
forget about them. Eventually it's like they were never around at all. Out of sight, out of mind.
But then, they come back. You didn't even know you still had their DVDs tucked away, and yet, there's your youngest, sitting there, transfixed by what she sees on the screen. You sit down next to her and she looks up, hoping you see what she does. She wants to share this wonder with you. And then she's amazed when you are able to mimic Blue's call, that you can sing along with the mailbox. Truth be told, you're a little surprised at yourself for remembering the song verbatim.
It's wonderful to see your child so happy, to see her discovering new things. The world opens up daily to our kids and we're lucky to be on hand to witness.
But those moments pass and, once again, you find yourself in the kitchen, beating your forehead against the refrigerator door, trying to force Pepper's voice out of your skull.
Soon enough they'll all skidoo out of here again, I'm sure. Steve, Blue, Slippery - they'll all be gone. To them I say, "Good riddance."
And I say it in the silly accent of a table spice.
Okay, I wouldn't say from day one, because that first day they're cute and sleep a lot. Sometime around day two, however, they cry and start passing that meconium by the bucketload. It's from this day which I speak.
Before our kids move out, though, there's that other blessed moving day; the day when their friends move out. It's an event that you don't even realize at the time. In fact, it's several days later when you register that you haven't heard Steve's condescending tone, or that irritating yodel his dog makes. You have said goodbye to Blue's Clues and not even noticed.
The quiet is calming.
For us, that day of goodbyes has come and gone three times. It's not so hard; you
forget about them. Eventually it's like they were never around at all. Out of sight, out of mind.But then, they come back. You didn't even know you still had their DVDs tucked away, and yet, there's your youngest, sitting there, transfixed by what she sees on the screen. You sit down next to her and she looks up, hoping you see what she does. She wants to share this wonder with you. And then she's amazed when you are able to mimic Blue's call, that you can sing along with the mailbox. Truth be told, you're a little surprised at yourself for remembering the song verbatim.
It's wonderful to see your child so happy, to see her discovering new things. The world opens up daily to our kids and we're lucky to be on hand to witness.
But those moments pass and, once again, you find yourself in the kitchen, beating your forehead against the refrigerator door, trying to force Pepper's voice out of your skull.
Soon enough they'll all skidoo out of here again, I'm sure. Steve, Blue, Slippery - they'll all be gone. To them I say, "Good riddance."
And I say it in the silly accent of a table spice.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Aggravating
Elizabeth gave me the game of Aggravation tonight as a very, very early birthday gift. It's a game we played as kids, but that I haven't been able to find for sale here locally. We found this on E-bay and laughed about it, and then she surprised me with it. The box lid is taped together, and the dice are yellowed, and this might be the exact game we once played.
As kids we also played backgammon, Battleship, Mastermind, checkers, chess, Stratego and a plethora of card games.
Lately I've been playing some of these games with The Quartet. It's been a way for me to reminisce, and a chance for me to set them up for the board game beating of their lives.
Or so I thought.
Read more about how this all went down in the latest installment of my column "Because I Said So" in The Commercial Appeal.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Mothersville
In January of 2003, my wife created Mothersville, a retail shop and safehaven for expecting women.
In February 2005, her friend Andria graciously and ably took that store over so she could go back to teaching.
Mothersville will close this Saturday.
For just over five years, the shop, and the women who have run it, have seen many soon-to-be, and brand new moms, and have assisted them through the ups and downs of motherhood. They’ve helped them, and the community, tremendously and I couldn’t be more proud of them and what they’ve accomplished.
Running a small business doesn’t stop at five o’clock. You take the worry home with you, you sleep on it and you wake up with the stress. At the time Kristy opened Mothersville, we had three children and I had a business, and I would joke that we had five kids when you took those businesses into account.
Kristy came up with the concept and got it rolling (with a newborn in her sling); Andria has carried through with it, expanding on it and growing it as much as was possible (with a newborn in her sling). She kept it alive against amazing odds for as long as the market would bear. And maybe just a bit beyond that.
We owe these women our admiration, our thanks and, possibly for many of you, your very sanity.
In the face of closing, Andria is running a sale all week. Many of you may be thinking you’d like to take advantage of that sale, yet are worried you’ll appear as a vulture picking at the carcass for doing so. I’m telling you to forget that line of thought. The best thing you could do to support her right now is to go in there and buy up as much stuff as you can carry.
And then, on your way out, be sure to give her a hug and thank her for everything she's done.
In February 2005, her friend Andria graciously and ably took that store over so she could go back to teaching.
Mothersville will close this Saturday.
For just over five years, the shop, and the women who have run it, have seen many soon-to-be, and brand new moms, and have assisted them through the ups and downs of motherhood. They’ve helped them, and the community, tremendously and I couldn’t be more proud of them and what they’ve accomplished.
Running a small business doesn’t stop at five o’clock. You take the worry home with you, you sleep on it and you wake up with the stress. At the time Kristy opened Mothersville, we had three children and I had a business, and I would joke that we had five kids when you took those businesses into account.
Kristy came up with the concept and got it rolling (with a newborn in her sling); Andria has carried through with it, expanding on it and growing it as much as was possible (with a newborn in her sling). She kept it alive against amazing odds for as long as the market would bear. And maybe just a bit beyond that.
We owe these women our admiration, our thanks and, possibly for many of you, your very sanity.
In the face of closing, Andria is running a sale all week. Many of you may be thinking you’d like to take advantage of that sale, yet are worried you’ll appear as a vulture picking at the carcass for doing so. I’m telling you to forget that line of thought. The best thing you could do to support her right now is to go in there and buy up as much stuff as you can carry.
And then, on your way out, be sure to give her a hug and thank her for everything she's done.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
4958
Back in January I wrote that my boyhood home was for sale and that, if the trends in that neighborhood were any indication, it would probably be torn down.
It was.
My sister drove by the other day and took this photo. That's where I lived as a boy, except there was a house there.
My own kids have lived all of their lives in one house, but hopefully they won't live their entire life in this house. When we do, eventually, move, I hope to have lots of photos and memories of our time in this little box.
And now you can join us in these visual memories by visiting Urftography , where I hope to put up a picture a day a la Click(Daily), or clicking on that little Flickr link over there to your right. Enjoy!
It was.
My sister drove by the other day and took this photo. That's where I lived as a boy, except there was a house there.
My own kids have lived all of their lives in one house, but hopefully they won't live their entire life in this house. When we do, eventually, move, I hope to have lots of photos and memories of our time in this little box.
And now you can join us in these visual memories by visiting Urftography , where I hope to put up a picture a day a la Click(Daily), or clicking on that little Flickr link over there to your right. Enjoy!
Thursday, June 19, 2008
It's Hot, Hot, Hot
Big Mama and I are going 'round and 'round. It isn't about the kids or finances or anything like that.
It's the air conditioner.
She will run that thing 24 hours a day trying to get the temperature inside the house down to 72, even when it's 97 degrees outside. We live in a 1,200 square foot box that's been wrapped in metal since sometime in the 1950s when aluminum siding seemed like a good idea. We have no trees. It's like spending a night in the box, except it's all. summer. long.
There are things that make cooling the house even more difficult, like using the oven and the fact that we're poorly insulated and the windows are for crap. But mainly, it's the kids. Isn't it always the kids?
They use the front and back doors like ... well, doors. But not doors to the inside of our house or the backyard. They use them like they're doors to a time machine or Candy Land or Narnia or someplace much more exciting.
They go out, they come right back in.
And, sometimes, they just stand there with it open as though it's the refrigerator door. And they may very well be that confused.
I threaten them with locking the door, whether they're on the outside or the inside. This generally evokes laughter or rolling eyes or the occasional obscene gesture. But I'll do it! I'll lock these kids out of my house in a heartbeat. Sure, it's hot here. It's very hot. But there's a hose out there and they know how to use it. There are shady areas in the neighborhood.
Meanwhile, I'll be in the cool house where it's 77 degrees at best, but trying so hard to get down to 72, when Kristy will then ask the AC to go down to a reasonable 68.
It's the air conditioner.
She will run that thing 24 hours a day trying to get the temperature inside the house down to 72, even when it's 97 degrees outside. We live in a 1,200 square foot box that's been wrapped in metal since sometime in the 1950s when aluminum siding seemed like a good idea. We have no trees. It's like spending a night in the box, except it's all. summer. long.
There are things that make cooling the house even more difficult, like using the oven and the fact that we're poorly insulated and the windows are for crap. But mainly, it's the kids. Isn't it always the kids?
They use the front and back doors like ... well, doors. But not doors to the inside of our house or the backyard. They use them like they're doors to a time machine or Candy Land or Narnia or someplace much more exciting.
They go out, they come right back in.
And, sometimes, they just stand there with it open as though it's the refrigerator door. And they may very well be that confused.
I threaten them with locking the door, whether they're on the outside or the inside. This generally evokes laughter or rolling eyes or the occasional obscene gesture. But I'll do it! I'll lock these kids out of my house in a heartbeat. Sure, it's hot here. It's very hot. But there's a hose out there and they know how to use it. There are shady areas in the neighborhood.
Meanwhile, I'll be in the cool house where it's 77 degrees at best, but trying so hard to get down to 72, when Kristy will then ask the AC to go down to a reasonable 68.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Storybook Finish?
I'm at work watching the playoff of the U.S. Open. I hope The Quartet is at home watching, too, because when it's two names like Tiger vs. Rocco, it's like playing golf in the Hundred Acre Wood.
A Day in Review
Yesterday, Father's Day, was just as it should be. Breakfast was prepared by Kristy and consisted of Cafe Francisco's Francisco bagel and Brother Juniper's scrambled eggs with salmon. I think she made them both better than the respective restaurants.
I ate breakfast in bed while watching CBS Sunday Morning and was given homemade cards. First, S came in and kind of tossed her card in my direction. Then the boys followed; C's had little flaps for me to open and read some nice messages inside and JP's had a little cartoon of one guy punching another guy's lights out and the caption "Nerd Buster's!" written underneath. I don't know if he sees us as a nerd-busting duo, or if this was some sort of veiled threat, but it was a handsome card, nonetheless.
From breakfast, it was all an even keel. I spent the morning lounging around reading the newspaper and doing The New York Times crossword puzzle. The Quartet taught me how to play a game called Mancala, and then proceeded to soundly beat me at that game again and again throughout the day. I watched the U.S. Open and we all took a trip to the park.
Back at home, I watched the kids play in the backyard while I grilled steak and enjoyed a cigar. These kids may be able to beat me at African games of skill and chance, but I'm still the only one allowed to make a fire in the backyard. Dinner was delicious and the perfect way to wrap up a day with my kids.
I'm already looking forward to next June. Thank you, Kristy, C, JP, S & GK.
I ate breakfast in bed while watching CBS Sunday Morning and was given homemade cards. First, S came in and kind of tossed her card in my direction. Then the boys followed; C's had little flaps for me to open and read some nice messages inside and JP's had a little cartoon of one guy punching another guy's lights out and the caption "Nerd Buster's!" written underneath. I don't know if he sees us as a nerd-busting duo, or if this was some sort of veiled threat, but it was a handsome card, nonetheless.
From breakfast, it was all an even keel. I spent the morning lounging around reading the newspaper and doing The New York Times crossword puzzle. The Quartet taught me how to play a game called Mancala, and then proceeded to soundly beat me at that game again and again throughout the day. I watched the U.S. Open and we all took a trip to the park.
Back at home, I watched the kids play in the backyard while I grilled steak and enjoyed a cigar. These kids may be able to beat me at African games of skill and chance, but I'm still the only one allowed to make a fire in the backyard. Dinner was delicious and the perfect way to wrap up a day with my kids.
I'm already looking forward to next June. Thank you, Kristy, C, JP, S & GK.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Father's Day 2008
I have run two 5ks in the last week. That's 10k.
That is not 10,000 miles.
I've traveled 10,000 miles over the past 10 years, all in the space of a front porch, the length of a family sofa, the distance from home to school. My traveling companions: a wife, four children who look like me, others who don't. Friends. Good Friends. Very good friends. Family.
There have been good times and bad. I've alternately felt like a wise old sage and a failure, a leader or a child myself. I am the most fortunate man alive.
There are days when I sing for my kids, when I put on funny hats to make them laugh, and times when I need some time away from their voices. I tell myself this is normal and hope I'm not mistaken.
It's a difficult thing, to not focus on mistakes made, both real and perceived, to not hone in on the tension. To wonder if you're doing more harm than good with the disciplining, the food, the television and teaching. There is too much good in all of this, though. These are good kids, a great family.
I am the luckiest of fathers today.
That is not 10,000 miles.
I've traveled 10,000 miles over the past 10 years, all in the space of a front porch, the length of a family sofa, the distance from home to school. My traveling companions: a wife, four children who look like me, others who don't. Friends. Good Friends. Very good friends. Family.
There have been good times and bad. I've alternately felt like a wise old sage and a failure, a leader or a child myself. I am the most fortunate man alive.
There are days when I sing for my kids, when I put on funny hats to make them laugh, and times when I need some time away from their voices. I tell myself this is normal and hope I'm not mistaken.
It's a difficult thing, to not focus on mistakes made, both real and perceived, to not hone in on the tension. To wonder if you're doing more harm than good with the disciplining, the food, the television and teaching. There is too much good in all of this, though. These are good kids, a great family.
I am the luckiest of fathers today.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
The Water Horse
There are hugs and birthdays, ice cream covered smiles and big eyes. All of these make having children worthwhile. Each of them reminds us daily of how our kids fulfill us.
Then there's the simple fact of being the supreme commander, the boss, le grand fromage. Even if it is over a bunch of people less than half your size, it is still good to be king and helps keep things in perspective. That perspective being: I am the king. They call me Big Daddy.
I was able to relish this the other night when I decided, because I am a benevolent dictator, to get The Quartet a treat on the way home from work. A customer had told me that day that his grandson enjoyed The Water Horse: Legend of the Deep picture, which I'd seen a preview for and thought my kids might like. So I stopped and got it, but told them when I got home only that I might have a treat for them if they could behave for the evening.
They spent the evening mostly being good and a lot of time asking what the treat was and when they could have it. I spent most of the night saying things like, "Well, I'm not sure you're being so good tonight" and "Are you being good? Really? You think so, huh?" They squirmed and they pleaded and they showed a modicum of restraint when it came to whining and hitting each other. And it was good. I was firmly in charge.
I bestowed The Water Horse on them when it was a good time for them to settle in and watch a movie. They were delighted; I thought JP's head was going to explode when he realized he was holding a brand new DVD in his filthy paws.
The irony is that The King hasn't had control of his television since. I have yet to watch the film, though there have been 343 viewings of it on the family TV. The thank yous have run out, but the movie plays on.
The kids are happy, Daddy's a hero, and that's all that's really important.
Then there's the simple fact of being the supreme commander, the boss, le grand fromage. Even if it is over a bunch of people less than half your size, it is still good to be king and helps keep things in perspective. That perspective being: I am the king. They call me Big Daddy.
I was able to relish this the other night when I decided, because I am a benevolent dictator, to get The Quartet a treat on the way home from work. A customer had told me that day that his grandson enjoyed The Water Horse: Legend of the Deep picture, which I'd seen a preview for and thought my kids might like. So I stopped and got it, but told them when I got home only that I might have a treat for them if they could behave for the evening.
They spent the evening mostly being good and a lot of time asking what the treat was and when they could have it. I spent most of the night saying things like, "Well, I'm not sure you're being so good tonight" and "Are you being good? Really? You think so, huh?" They squirmed and they pleaded and they showed a modicum of restraint when it came to whining and hitting each other. And it was good. I was firmly in charge.
I bestowed The Water Horse on them when it was a good time for them to settle in and watch a movie. They were delighted; I thought JP's head was going to explode when he realized he was holding a brand new DVD in his filthy paws.
The irony is that The King hasn't had control of his television since. I have yet to watch the film, though there have been 343 viewings of it on the family TV. The thank yous have run out, but the movie plays on.
The kids are happy, Daddy's a hero, and that's all that's really important.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Up Your Nose
C and I have taken a couple of four- and five-mile bike rides lately. Not all that far for me, but it must seem like quite a trek for him. After the first one, I thought to myself, He should probably be wearing a helmet. And then I said out loud to him, "Your mom is going to say you should have a helmet on."
Then we went on our second ride and he didn't wear a helmet. I felt guilty. My feelings of guilt were mostly prompted by his new haircut. I don't know what Sam was thinking, but this is anything but Fantastic. He should have had a helmet on if only to protect the rest of us from witnessing his "style."
I never wore a helmet as a kid. And that certainly wasn't neglect or poor parenting, we just didn't wear helmets back then. All I was doing was riding a bicycle, nothing dangerous.
At some point, though, it became important for children to be safer and I'm wondering about the statistics of death and serious injury back then versus now. I'm sure they're out there on the Google somewhere. Maybe I'll look later.
Things couldn't be that much more dangerous now. I'm not that old, I was born in 1970. Could it have been so bad in the '70s?
You know what was bad in the '70s? Welcome Back, Kotter was bad. Last week, WGN, one of the channels on our 4-channel package from Comcast, was showing several Kotters back to back, including the pilot. In my mind, this show was hilarious, and I can remember watching it as a kid with my mom when we lived on Central Avenue. I watched it again the other night thinking that if it was as funny, and wholesome, as I remember, then I'd NetFlix the DVDs for The Quartet.
Good thing I previewed that show. It's fairly tame compared to prime-time today, but boy is it bad. Had I been aware of the lame jokes and canned laughter as a child, I'm sure I would've gone out, jumped on my bike and ridden out into Central. With no helmet, of course.
Then we went on our second ride and he didn't wear a helmet. I felt guilty. My feelings of guilt were mostly prompted by his new haircut. I don't know what Sam was thinking, but this is anything but Fantastic. He should have had a helmet on if only to protect the rest of us from witnessing his "style."
I never wore a helmet as a kid. And that certainly wasn't neglect or poor parenting, we just didn't wear helmets back then. All I was doing was riding a bicycle, nothing dangerous.
At some point, though, it became important for children to be safer and I'm wondering about the statistics of death and serious injury back then versus now. I'm sure they're out there on the Google somewhere. Maybe I'll look later.
Things couldn't be that much more dangerous now. I'm not that old, I was born in 1970. Could it have been so bad in the '70s?
You know what was bad in the '70s? Welcome Back, Kotter was bad. Last week, WGN, one of the channels on our 4-channel package from Comcast, was showing several Kotters back to back, including the pilot. In my mind, this show was hilarious, and I can remember watching it as a kid with my mom when we lived on Central Avenue. I watched it again the other night thinking that if it was as funny, and wholesome, as I remember, then I'd NetFlix the DVDs for The Quartet.
Good thing I previewed that show. It's fairly tame compared to prime-time today, but boy is it bad. Had I been aware of the lame jokes and canned laughter as a child, I'm sure I would've gone out, jumped on my bike and ridden out into Central. With no helmet, of course.
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
Wolfie's
For our honeymoon, Kristy and I were given two trips as gifts. We took the train to New Orleans, where we spent a few days and nights, and then flew out of there to South Beach in Miami, where we spent the better part of a week.
Because we were young and knew squat about saving money, we blew most of the wedding cash we received in New Orleans. That's easy to do there.
So we found ourselves in South Beach with very little money, and we found quickly that it's not the place to be with very little money. What we also found was a diner called Wolfie's, which had been around, seemingly unchanged, since the late 1940s. It was a place we could eat relatively cheaply while filling up on rolls and such, so we ate there at least once a day, sometimes twice, for the entire time we were there.
We were by far the youngest patrons. By about 60 years we were the youngest. While we were there eating lunch, I think, most of the diners were having their dinner.
Kristy and I were married 14 years ago today and we still know squat about saving money. We still scrimp and forage to feed ourselves and The Quartet; it's something we learned in 1994 at a quaint diner called Wolfie's in one of the most expensive cities in the country.
Google just told me that Wolfie's closed in 2002, yet Kristy and I are still going strong, and I look forward to every day with her and our future together, when we'll be having dinner together at three in the afternoon.
Happy anniversary, Kristy. I love you.
Because we were young and knew squat about saving money, we blew most of the wedding cash we received in New Orleans. That's easy to do there.
So we found ourselves in South Beach with very little money, and we found quickly that it's not the place to be with very little money. What we also found was a diner called Wolfie's, which had been around, seemingly unchanged, since the late 1940s. It was a place we could eat relatively cheaply while filling up on rolls and such, so we ate there at least once a day, sometimes twice, for the entire time we were there.
We were by far the youngest patrons. By about 60 years we were the youngest. While we were there eating lunch, I think, most of the diners were having their dinner.
Kristy and I were married 14 years ago today and we still know squat about saving money. We still scrimp and forage to feed ourselves and The Quartet; it's something we learned in 1994 at a quaint diner called Wolfie's in one of the most expensive cities in the country.
Google just told me that Wolfie's closed in 2002, yet Kristy and I are still going strong, and I look forward to every day with her and our future together, when we'll be having dinner together at three in the afternoon.
Happy anniversary, Kristy. I love you.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
GK Critic
I took the opportunity, with the running of my fourth column, to interrupt 2-year-old GK's morning espresso and newspaper to ask what she thinks of it.
Me: Well?
GK (from behind the newspaper): What?
Me: What do you think?
GK: I think you people better figure out this mortgage situation before I get ready to sell my starter home.
Me: Not that, sweetie. My column. What do you think about it?
GK (folding paper down): Column?
Me: There, on the cover of the 'M' section. It's called "Because I Said So."
GK: Look at that, aren't you adorable with your little picture?
Me: It's the fourth one I've done. What do you think so far?
GK: Oh. Here, let me skim it.
Here she very quickly reads the column
GK: Your ... spelling is topnotch. Good use of punctuation, too.
Me: Thank you.
GK: How did this come about? Did you win a contest? Do they have Amateur Day over there?
Me: Well, some people called "editors" decided they wanted this column done and, I guess, some of them were familiar with my blog, so ...
GK: Whoa, whoa, whoa. Back up there, Winchell. Familiar with your what?
Me: My blog.
GK: The hell is a blog?
Me: A web log. It's a website that makes it simple for the user to add content ...
GK: Look, let me explain something to you. I'm two. I'm trying to learn this insane language and it doesn't help when you people just make up new words to amuse yourselves and your internet friends.
She picks up and continues reading the Business section
GK: So what is this web log of yours called?
Me: Urf!.
GK: (audible sigh)
Me: What? It's something S used to say when she was about your age!
GK: I just saw S trying to eat a popsicle stick-end first.
Me: Yeah, she kind of worries me.
GK: You all worry me.
Me: Well?
GK (from behind the newspaper): What?
Me: What do you think?
GK: I think you people better figure out this mortgage situation before I get ready to sell my starter home.
Me: Not that, sweetie. My column. What do you think about it?
GK (folding paper down): Column?
Me: There, on the cover of the 'M' section. It's called "Because I Said So."
GK: Look at that, aren't you adorable with your little picture?
Me: It's the fourth one I've done. What do you think so far?
GK: Oh. Here, let me skim it.
Here she very quickly reads the column
GK: Your ... spelling is topnotch. Good use of punctuation, too.
Me: Thank you.
GK: How did this come about? Did you win a contest? Do they have Amateur Day over there?
Me: Well, some people called "editors" decided they wanted this column done and, I guess, some of them were familiar with my blog, so ...
GK: Whoa, whoa, whoa. Back up there, Winchell. Familiar with your what?
Me: My blog.
GK: The hell is a blog?
Me: A web log. It's a website that makes it simple for the user to add content ...
GK: Look, let me explain something to you. I'm two. I'm trying to learn this insane language and it doesn't help when you people just make up new words to amuse yourselves and your internet friends.
She picks up and continues reading the Business section
GK: So what is this web log of yours called?
Me: Urf!.
GK: (audible sigh)
Me: What? It's something S used to say when she was about your age!
GK: I just saw S trying to eat a popsicle stick-end first.
Me: Yeah, she kind of worries me.
GK: You all worry me.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Le Petit Tour
My most memorable bicycle rides:
Yesterday, C and I rode bikes from the Castilo to Elizabeth's house, which is about two miles. It was nothing for me; I knew the distance beforehand, I knew the course we'd take and about how long it would take. But it must have felt to C like we rode across the city.
It was his longest ride to date and he handled it famously. He turned where I told him, he stopped when instructed and changed gears as advised. When we arrived at our destination, he was red-faced hot, but seemed pretty proud of himself.
The bicycle, at his age, is a means to escape. It's his freedom. When he needs some space from his siblings, the confines of the home and even his parents, I want him to know he can jump on his bike and go. And I want him to know how to do that safely.
He will have many more treks, but hopefully he'll remember this one. And, hopefully, I'll be a part of some of his others.
- As a boy, my mom and her cousin, Joe Jr., rode bikes with my sister and me on the backs of their bikes in the rickety, metal-and-foam child seats of the day, to Aunt Jeannie's house. That was a trip from Central Ave. and Tanglewood to Stonewall, just north of North Parkway. It felt like we traveled across the city; it was four miles.
- Uncle Johnny and I once rode from our old house on Newhaven to our new house just behind Kirby High School when I was about 14. Now, this was a pretty long haul, about eight miles or so. It was thrilling to bike so far.
- My friend Jim and I, well into our 20s, once planned to ride from his house in Midtown to Downtown. We thought this ride would take most of the day and planned for such. It took us about 20 minutes.
Yesterday, C and I rode bikes from the Castilo to Elizabeth's house, which is about two miles. It was nothing for me; I knew the distance beforehand, I knew the course we'd take and about how long it would take. But it must have felt to C like we rode across the city.
It was his longest ride to date and he handled it famously. He turned where I told him, he stopped when instructed and changed gears as advised. When we arrived at our destination, he was red-faced hot, but seemed pretty proud of himself.
The bicycle, at his age, is a means to escape. It's his freedom. When he needs some space from his siblings, the confines of the home and even his parents, I want him to know he can jump on his bike and go. And I want him to know how to do that safely.
He will have many more treks, but hopefully he'll remember this one. And, hopefully, I'll be a part of some of his others.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Can I Get a Ride?
I like the Jon & Kate Plus 8 show on TLC because it's fun to watch people with more kids than us to see how they handle all that, and because I kind of have a thing for Kate, but mostly because I get excited when they show their van.
I don't know what kind of van it is, but there appears to be room enough to move their family of 10 around comfortably. Easy in and easy out, plenty of headroom. It's a dream.
I went on the Dodge website and built my own 2008 Dodge Sprinter 2500 passenger van, which looks like Jon & Kate's anyway. This beauty is 170-inches long with an extra-high roof, and seats 10 comfortably. It has a 5-speed automatic transmission, 3.0-litre V6 turbo diesel engine, automatic sliding right door and towing hitch for my eventual sailboat. And I chose hibiscus red with gray interior.
Total cost: $48,290.
To that end, I've bitten the bullet, sold out just a bit, and added some Google AdSense onto this blog. Not a lot, I don't like sites that are overrun with advertising. It's somewhat integrated over there on the right and down a bit. Doesn't cost you a thing to click, but it adds up for me the more you click on it. In fact, in the past seven days, I've taken in a total of $4.24, so I'm well on my way.
Soon enough, I'm confident, I'll be tooling around town in this behemoth. Or, maybe, I'll just be sitting in it out in my driveway, a quiet place to escape from the cacophony in our house.
I don't know what kind of van it is, but there appears to be room enough to move their family of 10 around comfortably. Easy in and easy out, plenty of headroom. It's a dream.
I went on the Dodge website and built my own 2008 Dodge Sprinter 2500 passenger van, which looks like Jon & Kate's anyway. This beauty is 170-inches long with an extra-high roof, and seats 10 comfortably. It has a 5-speed automatic transmission, 3.0-litre V6 turbo diesel engine, automatic sliding right door and towing hitch for my eventual sailboat. And I chose hibiscus red with gray interior.
Total cost: $48,290.
To that end, I've bitten the bullet, sold out just a bit, and added some Google AdSense onto this blog. Not a lot, I don't like sites that are overrun with advertising. It's somewhat integrated over there on the right and down a bit. Doesn't cost you a thing to click, but it adds up for me the more you click on it. In fact, in the past seven days, I've taken in a total of $4.24, so I'm well on my way.
Soon enough, I'm confident, I'll be tooling around town in this behemoth. Or, maybe, I'll just be sitting in it out in my driveway, a quiet place to escape from the cacophony in our house.
A Visitor
Knock. Knock.
My kids didn’t even know who he was.
“He looked like the mailman,” JP said.
It was my uncle Johnny, I’d know his voice anywhere. I hadn’t heard it for far too long, yet here he was, in Memphis and on my front porch. There was a time when we talked every other day, at least. Movies, books, sports, jokes -we discussed everything. But then something happened, and it happened on my end of the phone line, on my end of the In-Box.
I’m not sure if I’ve become too busy or if I just think I’m too busy. At some point, though, excuses became easier than actually blocking out 15 minutes of my day to call and say hello, and that’s wrong.
If we can’t take time out of our days to get in touch with those we know and love, then why are we doing what we do? Why work six days a week if on that seventh you can’t take a few minutes to say hello and ask someone what they’ve been up to? There is no point.
My family scattered from Memphis years ago, but I’ve always managed to stay in touch, until this last year, and I have no explanation for that. But I can, and will, correct it.
The Quartet needs to get to know their extended passel of kin. They need to know when a stranger comes to the door, whether that stranger is family or foe.
My kids didn’t even know who he was.
“He looked like the mailman,” JP said.
It was my uncle Johnny, I’d know his voice anywhere. I hadn’t heard it for far too long, yet here he was, in Memphis and on my front porch. There was a time when we talked every other day, at least. Movies, books, sports, jokes -we discussed everything. But then something happened, and it happened on my end of the phone line, on my end of the In-Box.
I’m not sure if I’ve become too busy or if I just think I’m too busy. At some point, though, excuses became easier than actually blocking out 15 minutes of my day to call and say hello, and that’s wrong.
If we can’t take time out of our days to get in touch with those we know and love, then why are we doing what we do? Why work six days a week if on that seventh you can’t take a few minutes to say hello and ask someone what they’ve been up to? There is no point.
My family scattered from Memphis years ago, but I’ve always managed to stay in touch, until this last year, and I have no explanation for that. But I can, and will, correct it.
The Quartet needs to get to know their extended passel of kin. They need to know when a stranger comes to the door, whether that stranger is family or foe.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
You Know Who I Am
I've never been able to get a finger hold in this ephemeral notion of fame. Never tasted the sweet nectar of celebrity.
Until now.
For two years I've written this blog with some degree of anonymity. Sure, it wouldn't take Scotland Yard to find out who I am, but I didn't see the need to put myself out there. My name couldn't be found here, no full-face photos of me, no kids' names. But that all changed about a month ago when I started writing the small, bi-weekly column for The Commercial Appeal, "Because I Said So."
Now I'm out there. I'm out of my safe, dark closet and in the 40-watt glare of stardom. My name is Richard Alley. I have a blog.
My fame, however, is not limitless. I've been approached about the column by regulars to my shop and my kids seem to enjoy the smug, goofy grin in the paper every couple of weeks when I force them to acknowledge it.
So, essentially, I'm now recognized more in my home and for about two blocks downtown. It's a start.
I still wait on line, unable to gain entry past the velvet ropes that other local columnists, like Tim Sampson and Wendi Thomas, no doubt glide past. But I did get a personal invitation to Mr. Chuck's birthday party from Bard Cole of WKNO. It was a very nice gesture, though I, unfortunately, couldn't make it. Kristy and The Quartet went in my stead and had a lovely time.
Incidentally, I was looking forward to going because in his E-mail, Mr. Cole told me that Clifford, The Big Red Dog and Raggs would be there, and then was kind enough to explain parenthetically that these would be "people in cartoon character suits," which is good because real, giant red dogs scare hell out of me.
Then there was the old-timer who called me at work after my first column ran to let me know that my definition of a "baby boomer" - the collective name given to all those kids born at the same time because they made so much noise - was wrong. He asked that I correct it in a future column. Consider this the correction. And thanks, Patton, for making that call.
I still write for fun and to keep you all informed of what's going on with us. And, although being famous for writing a blog is like being known as the first to scale the shortest mountain alone, the money makes it so much more fun.
So if you see me in public then please say hello and I'll try to acknowledge you on the way to the VIP room at Schnuck's, the post office or Cafe Eclectic, or wherever it is the extremely high-profile people of my ilk hang out.
Until now.
For two years I've written this blog with some degree of anonymity. Sure, it wouldn't take Scotland Yard to find out who I am, but I didn't see the need to put myself out there. My name couldn't be found here, no full-face photos of me, no kids' names. But that all changed about a month ago when I started writing the small, bi-weekly column for The Commercial Appeal, "Because I Said So."
Now I'm out there. I'm out of my safe, dark closet and in the 40-watt glare of stardom. My name is Richard Alley. I have a blog.
My fame, however, is not limitless. I've been approached about the column by regulars to my shop and my kids seem to enjoy the smug, goofy grin in the paper every couple of weeks when I force them to acknowledge it.
So, essentially, I'm now recognized more in my home and for about two blocks downtown. It's a start.
I still wait on line, unable to gain entry past the velvet ropes that other local columnists, like Tim Sampson and Wendi Thomas, no doubt glide past. But I did get a personal invitation to Mr. Chuck's birthday party from Bard Cole of WKNO. It was a very nice gesture, though I, unfortunately, couldn't make it. Kristy and The Quartet went in my stead and had a lovely time.
Incidentally, I was looking forward to going because in his E-mail, Mr. Cole told me that Clifford, The Big Red Dog and Raggs would be there, and then was kind enough to explain parenthetically that these would be "people in cartoon character suits," which is good because real, giant red dogs scare hell out of me.
Then there was the old-timer who called me at work after my first column ran to let me know that my definition of a "baby boomer" - the collective name given to all those kids born at the same time because they made so much noise - was wrong. He asked that I correct it in a future column. Consider this the correction. And thanks, Patton, for making that call.
I still write for fun and to keep you all informed of what's going on with us. And, although being famous for writing a blog is like being known as the first to scale the shortest mountain alone, the money makes it so much more fun.
So if you see me in public then please say hello and I'll try to acknowledge you on the way to the VIP room at Schnuck's, the post office or Cafe Eclectic, or wherever it is the extremely high-profile people of my ilk hang out.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Bravo
You remember that Marx Brothers picture where Chico plays the piano?
Doesn't matter which movie, they were all like that. At some point Chico would come across a piano and sit down to pound out a raucous tune, sometimes utilizing a prop, like an orange, and often using only his index finger to target a specific note.
Well, JP's piano playing is nothing at all like that. Last night at the recital, he fell fourth in line to play a song. That song was "What Can We Do?" He took the stage, bowed, played his song for about 15 seconds, his anemic fingers doing all they could to push the ivories down, stood for another bow and left the stage. It was all very quick, very professional and very good.
He's proud of himself as he has every right to be. He got a trophy for his work on the piano all year and he walked out of the building saying, "It's my first trophy!"
I have no doubt there will be many, many more.
Doesn't matter which movie, they were all like that. At some point Chico would come across a piano and sit down to pound out a raucous tune, sometimes utilizing a prop, like an orange, and often using only his index finger to target a specific note.
Well, JP's piano playing is nothing at all like that. Last night at the recital, he fell fourth in line to play a song. That song was "What Can We Do?" He took the stage, bowed, played his song for about 15 seconds, his anemic fingers doing all they could to push the ivories down, stood for another bow and left the stage. It was all very quick, very professional and very good.
He's proud of himself as he has every right to be. He got a trophy for his work on the piano all year and he walked out of the building saying, "It's my first trophy!"
I have no doubt there will be many, many more.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Piano Keys
Herbie Hancock performed on piano with the Chicago symphony at age 11, Buddy Rich began playing drums at 18-months and was a bandleader by age 11, Harry Connick Jr. recorded with a local jazz band at age 10 and Stevie Wonder signed with Motown at 11.
Six-year-old JP has a piano recital tonight at school. I don't think I'm ready for this; he says he is. I've asked him a dozen times if he's ready to play the piano in front of people and he assures me he's all set. But I'm not sure I'm prepared to watch my little boy trying to do his best in front of a crowd.
Truth is, I have no idea if he can play. He's been taking lessons this school year, but I don't even know if he can perform a whole song or not. He plays at home sometimes, but it's on an out-of-tune instrument I inherited from my grandmother. I don't know if it's him that sounds awful or the piano itself.
Last night, though, I was sitting outside with a cocktail after coming home from work and Kristy came out to tell me that JP was inside composing music. I went in to find him sitting at the piano, which was closed up, and writing notes on a piece of paper.
I watched him as he began furiously erasing a line of letters with his nub of a pencil and sliver of eraser. I know squat about the making of music, so the only thing I could offer him was a decent, well-sharpened pencil.
I asked why he was erasing those notes. "They'll be better on the right side," he said.
"Playing it with your right hand?"
"Yeah, it'll sound better."
He never did play it. Whatever he had going on was in his own little head. Hopefully it was good. And, hopefully, he'll do well tonight and the mistakes he'll make and embarrassment he'll feel are only in my head.
Six-year-old JP has a piano recital tonight at school. I don't think I'm ready for this; he says he is. I've asked him a dozen times if he's ready to play the piano in front of people and he assures me he's all set. But I'm not sure I'm prepared to watch my little boy trying to do his best in front of a crowd.
Truth is, I have no idea if he can play. He's been taking lessons this school year, but I don't even know if he can perform a whole song or not. He plays at home sometimes, but it's on an out-of-tune instrument I inherited from my grandmother. I don't know if it's him that sounds awful or the piano itself.
Last night, though, I was sitting outside with a cocktail after coming home from work and Kristy came out to tell me that JP was inside composing music. I went in to find him sitting at the piano, which was closed up, and writing notes on a piece of paper.
I watched him as he began furiously erasing a line of letters with his nub of a pencil and sliver of eraser. I know squat about the making of music, so the only thing I could offer him was a decent, well-sharpened pencil.
I asked why he was erasing those notes. "They'll be better on the right side," he said.
"Playing it with your right hand?"
"Yeah, it'll sound better."
He never did play it. Whatever he had going on was in his own little head. Hopefully it was good. And, hopefully, he'll do well tonight and the mistakes he'll make and embarrassment he'll feel are only in my head.
Monday, May 12, 2008
The Doctor is In
I was exhausted yesterday. I have no idea why, but I had to take a minute in the middle of the day to rest my eyes and then I was asleep earlier than normal last night.
But before I fell asleep, I was lying in bed reading a book and GK was crawling all over me like a spider monkey. I said to her, "Where is my thyroid?" (My family has half the functioning thyroids they were born with). She pointed immediately to my elbow.
"Is there anything wrong with it?" I said.
Without missing a beat, she answered, "Yes."
Now, she's not a doctor. In fact, she's only just begun studying for her MCATs. But I have a bit of the hypochondria and so when she answered so quickly and so confidently that yes, in fact, the thyroid in my elbow is deficient, I panicked a bit. I'll admit that.
GK is one smart, well-read two-year-old. And it is true that I'm feeling somewhat rundown and there is a history of hypo- and hyper-thyroidism in the genes.
And now that I think about it, my elbow does hurt a bit.
But before I fell asleep, I was lying in bed reading a book and GK was crawling all over me like a spider monkey. I said to her, "Where is my thyroid?" (My family has half the functioning thyroids they were born with). She pointed immediately to my elbow.
"Is there anything wrong with it?" I said.
Without missing a beat, she answered, "Yes."
Now, she's not a doctor. In fact, she's only just begun studying for her MCATs. But I have a bit of the hypochondria and so when she answered so quickly and so confidently that yes, in fact, the thyroid in my elbow is deficient, I panicked a bit. I'll admit that.
GK is one smart, well-read two-year-old. And it is true that I'm feeling somewhat rundown and there is a history of hypo- and hyper-thyroidism in the genes.
And now that I think about it, my elbow does hurt a bit.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Mother's Day
One of my favorite family photographs is a little square one taken back in the mid-1970s. In the picture, a young, long-haired mom sits at a kitchen table, flanked by her two children who lean in to the center, smiling.
The woman is beautiful and the kids, a son and daughter, are obviously happy.
She went on to have three more children. She grew stronger and wiser, just as those kids did. She set in motion who these five people would become, she helped make me who I am, the husband and parent I'm trying to be.
Thank you, Mom, for all you've done and all you continue to do. And Happy Mother's Day to all of the strong and beautiful women who are a part of my life, from the farthest tip of Florida, to Georgia, all the way up to Naperville, Ill., and back to Memphis, where I'm surrounded by a family and love bigger than I ever could have imagined.
The woman is beautiful and the kids, a son and daughter, are obviously happy.
She went on to have three more children. She grew stronger and wiser, just as those kids did. She set in motion who these five people would become, she helped make me who I am, the husband and parent I'm trying to be.
Thank you, Mom, for all you've done and all you continue to do. And Happy Mother's Day to all of the strong and beautiful women who are a part of my life, from the farthest tip of Florida, to Georgia, all the way up to Naperville, Ill., and back to Memphis, where I'm surrounded by a family and love bigger than I ever could have imagined.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
She Was Running
I went running with GK the other night. Well, I was running; she sat her lazy, diapered butt in the stroller, demanding I push.
I've never really done this before and it was a great workout. GK enjoyed it, too, just sitting there pointing at neighborhood cats and squirrels and the blooming flowers in all the yards, and talking away the whole time about what she saw.
At least, I guess that's what she was talking about. I had the iPod in my ears so I couldn't hear her at all.
It was a great bonding moment for father and daughter, though. I got a good cardiovascular workout and she got to ... do nothing, really. Just sit. Lazy.
I've never really done this before and it was a great workout. GK enjoyed it, too, just sitting there pointing at neighborhood cats and squirrels and the blooming flowers in all the yards, and talking away the whole time about what she saw.
At least, I guess that's what she was talking about. I had the iPod in my ears so I couldn't hear her at all.
It was a great bonding moment for father and daughter, though. I got a good cardiovascular workout and she got to ... do nothing, really. Just sit. Lazy.
Monday, May 05, 2008
Prime Time Dreams
On the way to school this morning, C told me he had a dream last night that white people were being enslaved. Kenneth, from 30 Rock was in it.
In the dream, C asked around and found that the only place where white people weren't being forced to be slaves was Detroit. So he asked Homer Simpson to take him there.
In the dream, C asked around and found that the only place where white people weren't being forced to be slaves was Detroit. So he asked Homer Simpson to take him there.
Thursday, May 01, 2008
Because I Said So
Two weeks ago I had a column in The Commercial Appeal. The powers-that-be either didn't read that column closely, or yesterday was just an extraordinarily slow news day, because they put another one in there today!
Read the latest Because I Said So right here.
Read the latest Because I Said So right here.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Heads Up!
We hear about the dangers in school every day on the news. There are gangs and kids with guns. There are bullies, both real and virtual. There was recently some tainted meat.
I learned today of another hazard. I got a call from Downtown Elementary this afternoon telling me that that S, who was on a field trip with her school (as was every other school in the city, it seemed) at a Memphis Redbirds baseball game, had been struck by a foul ball. A zinger right down the first base line.
"Can you go up there and see her?" I was asked.
Can I go see her? I've got to see this, I thought. I mean, S's head isn't much bigger than a baseball.
When I got there, her teacher, Mrs. Porter, and the school's principal, Mrs. Wunderlich, were both with her in the first aid office. I'm grateful to both of them for taking care of her and staying with her until I could get there.
She's fine, just a big knot on her melon. The good people of the first aid station gave her a Rockey the Redbird stuffed animal and she got to keep the ball.
Of all the dangers in schools these days, I never saw the lead-off batter in the bottom of the 8th coming. And, apparently, neither did S.
[Final score: Memphis 5, Salt Lake 10]
I learned today of another hazard. I got a call from Downtown Elementary this afternoon telling me that that S, who was on a field trip with her school (as was every other school in the city, it seemed) at a Memphis Redbirds baseball game, had been struck by a foul ball. A zinger right down the first base line.
"Can you go up there and see her?" I was asked.
Can I go see her? I've got to see this, I thought. I mean, S's head isn't much bigger than a baseball.
When I got there, her teacher, Mrs. Porter, and the school's principal, Mrs. Wunderlich, were both with her in the first aid office. I'm grateful to both of them for taking care of her and staying with her until I could get there.
She's fine, just a big knot on her melon. The good people of the first aid station gave her a Rockey the Redbird stuffed animal and she got to keep the ball.
Of all the dangers in schools these days, I never saw the lead-off batter in the bottom of the 8th coming. And, apparently, neither did S.
[Final score: Memphis 5, Salt Lake 10]
Say 5:45 One More Time!
Okay.
Yes, I know.
Yes, C, I know.
You told me that.
I. Know.
These are the various ways, in increasingly agitated tones, that I responded to C letting me know, numerous times for the last couple of weeks, that he had to be at school at 5:45 this morning for a field trip to ... Arkansas? Not sure where, really, but possibly the dog track.
However, at 5:30 this morning, after having slept through the alarm for 15 minutes, I was a bit more whispery-loud, and urgent, asking Kristy to wake up and help get C's lunch together and wake him up.
Oops.
But I got him there on time to meet the bus that will take him to wherever it is he's going, and we all learned that it is very irritating when your kid repeats himself 50 times, but it is necessary. And may not be enough.
Yes, I know.
Yes, C, I know.
You told me that.
I. Know.
These are the various ways, in increasingly agitated tones, that I responded to C letting me know, numerous times for the last couple of weeks, that he had to be at school at 5:45 this morning for a field trip to ... Arkansas? Not sure where, really, but possibly the dog track.
However, at 5:30 this morning, after having slept through the alarm for 15 minutes, I was a bit more whispery-loud, and urgent, asking Kristy to wake up and help get C's lunch together and wake him up.
Oops.
But I got him there on time to meet the bus that will take him to wherever it is he's going, and we all learned that it is very irritating when your kid repeats himself 50 times, but it is necessary. And may not be enough.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
The Quartet's Aunt at Material
Look what my sister has done for our entertainment this Friday night!
From ZURCO:
From ZURCO:
Material is pleased to present its fifth exhibition of 2008: Elizabeth Alley: Class of ’88. The exhibition will open with a reception for the artist on Friday, May 2 from 6-8 pm.
The exhibition will run from May 2 through May 31st.
Elizabeth Alley has shown her work regularly in the region since receiving her BFA from the University of Memphis in 1998. She has shown at a number of the area’s art spaces including Delta Axis at Marshall Arts, Lantana Projects, Memphis College of Art’s On the Street here in Memphis as well as the Renaissance Center in Dickson, Tennessee, the Nashville Airport, and the Southside Gallery in Oxford, Mississippi. She is represented locally by Perry Nicole Fine Art Gallery. She lives and works here in Memphis.
About the show the artist writes:
The exhibition will run from May 2 through May 31st.
Elizabeth Alley has shown her work regularly in the region since receiving her BFA from the University of Memphis in 1998. She has shown at a number of the area’s art spaces including Delta Axis at Marshall Arts, Lantana Projects, Memphis College of Art’s On the Street here in Memphis as well as the Renaissance Center in Dickson, Tennessee, the Nashville Airport, and the Southside Gallery in Oxford, Mississippi. She is represented locally by Perry Nicole Fine Art Gallery. She lives and works here in Memphis.
About the show the artist writes:
“In 1988 my big brother and all of his friends graduated from high school. I was simultaneously in awe of their milestone and bummed that all of the cool people were gone, leaving the school feeling leaderless.
“This series of acrylic paintings on paper takes a look back at the Class of ’88, though, which school isn’t important. The images show a true slice of life of the American teenager in 1988. It is a time that could never be duplicated. The images look like our memories – faded, and with a few details missing.”
Additional information and images of the artist’s work can be found at her website: http://www.elizabethalley.com/.
“This series of acrylic paintings on paper takes a look back at the Class of ’88, though, which school isn’t important. The images show a true slice of life of the American teenager in 1988. It is a time that could never be duplicated. The images look like our memories – faded, and with a few details missing.”
Additional information and images of the artist’s work can be found at her website: http://www.elizabethalley.com/.
Material is located at 2553 Broad Avenue. Parking is available on both the north and south sides of Broad Avenue.
Monday, April 28, 2008
C in Charge
Who do I think I am? What am I doing here? As it turns out, I don’t know the first thing about being a parent, so it’s time to hand these kids over to the only person – other than their mother, mind you – who is qualified.
C, they’re all yours.
It’s already been documented just how helpful, at 10-years-old, he can be when his parents are out all night at a rock-n-roll show.
Last Friday night we had friends over for our weekly Cocktail Hour. We were all sitting outside and at some point GK required a Band-Aid. She … fell down, or something. I don’t know. Anyway, C went inside and came back with the bandage and a tube of Neosporin. As Kristy was quick to point out to him, “Daddy wouldn’t even know where the Neosporin was.” And she’s right!
Then, this morning, I put the kids in the car, had to reposition the car seats after yesterday’s Sam’s Club run, and then dart back in the house for something. Halfway downtown, C informed me that GK wasn’t buckled into her seat [this is the first Big Mama has heard of this]. I had JP buckle her in as I slowed to 20 mph or so.
What good am I as a parent? I can reach the upper kitchen cabinets and I hold a valid Tennessee driver’s license. Outside of those assets, my 10-year-old can handle whatever may come up. It’s humbling to know that 10 years of fatherhood can be replaced by a stepladder and $1.25 in bus fare.
C, they’re all yours.
It’s already been documented just how helpful, at 10-years-old, he can be when his parents are out all night at a rock-n-roll show.
Last Friday night we had friends over for our weekly Cocktail Hour. We were all sitting outside and at some point GK required a Band-Aid. She … fell down, or something. I don’t know. Anyway, C went inside and came back with the bandage and a tube of Neosporin. As Kristy was quick to point out to him, “Daddy wouldn’t even know where the Neosporin was.” And she’s right!
Then, this morning, I put the kids in the car, had to reposition the car seats after yesterday’s Sam’s Club run, and then dart back in the house for something. Halfway downtown, C informed me that GK wasn’t buckled into her seat [this is the first Big Mama has heard of this]. I had JP buckle her in as I slowed to 20 mph or so.
What good am I as a parent? I can reach the upper kitchen cabinets and I hold a valid Tennessee driver’s license. Outside of those assets, my 10-year-old can handle whatever may come up. It’s humbling to know that 10 years of fatherhood can be replaced by a stepladder and $1.25 in bus fare.
Fed Up
I was born at St. Joseph’s Hospital in downtown Memphis in 1970. In my lifetime, I’ve lived in Midtown, East and Southeast Memphis, and for most of that time I listened as my father put this city down day in and day out. It was with this attitude that I grew up, not even knowing what other cities might have to offer over ours, just as he didn’t.
Kristy and I had the opportunity to move away for a bit just after we were married 14 years ago, and when we moved back it was with a new outlook. My time away made me realize what I liked and missed about Memphis. I was positive, forward-looking and ready to begin the next phase of our life. We had a son, bought a house and a business, and were willing to show our kids the good side of their hometown.
But I’m finished with all of that now.
The Quartet has seen the river and they’ve heard the blues. I’ve driven them down Belvedere in the spring and then again in the fall. We’ve been to the zoo and Soulsville and eaten barbecue until our bellies hurt. I can point out where I lived as a child or went to elementary school. I can tell them of their history here, about International Harvester where their great-grandfather worked for so long, or the butcher shop on Main St. owned by their great-great-grandfather in the 1940s and ‘50s.
But what I can’t tell them about is how, just over a year ago, a man walked into our good friend’s shop, threatened her with a gun, and took her money. Or how only eight months later a man walked into that same shop in Cooper-Young and forced her partner to the register, with her baby in her arms, for all of their money. Just two months ago that store was broken into, the door kicked in and the front counter ransacked.
I certainly can’t tell The Quartet that last month a man met their uncle on his front porch with a gun to take his wallet and watch, and that my sister was there to see it all happen. I’ve even tried to hide from them the five times my own store has been burglarized over the last nine years.
It’s all just too much. This city has broken my heart.
We’ve chosen the Midtown-area of Memphis to live because of its sense of community. But increasingly the only sense of community is felt when the college basketball team advances in the NCAA Tournament, and on garbage collection day when neighbors wave to each other at the curb while performing their civic duty.
What can we do? How can we save a city that, it seems, has nothing to count among its assets other than a good pulled pork sandwich, a handful of dead recording artists and the home base of an international shipping company which can’t be that great a company to work for after all if they force their upper echelon of executives to relocate and raise their families in this shithole.
We can vote. You can vote for the mayor, city council or school board member who you think can turn all of this around. And your vote will be counted along with all the other poor, uneducated voters who continue to elect legislators willing to sell their city, and its people, for a few thousand dollars; a mayor who has lost all focus and, apparently, any grip on reality; and a city council and school board that can’t see their civic responsibility past their own egos.
But first, I think, you have to decide that this city is worth saving. And I did. For a long time, I did. But I’m not sure how much longer I can go on wondering when – not if – another friend or loved one, or one of my very own children, will become a victim.
Kristy gets off work every day, picks up the kids and takes them home. If my phone rings at any point after that, my heart stops a little bit with fear. And I don’t believe that fear is at all unfounded.
There are no definite plans in place for how I, or my family, will deal with all of this. There is a lot of talk going on, a lot of best-case scenarios being bandied about. I’ll let you know whatever decisions are made right here when the time is nigh.
Until then, though, we’ll continue to peek out the door before leaving the house, we’ll stay aware of our surroundings before exiting the car and we’ll try to assure The Quartet that there are friendly and safe(r) places out there.
Kristy and I had the opportunity to move away for a bit just after we were married 14 years ago, and when we moved back it was with a new outlook. My time away made me realize what I liked and missed about Memphis. I was positive, forward-looking and ready to begin the next phase of our life. We had a son, bought a house and a business, and were willing to show our kids the good side of their hometown.
But I’m finished with all of that now.
The Quartet has seen the river and they’ve heard the blues. I’ve driven them down Belvedere in the spring and then again in the fall. We’ve been to the zoo and Soulsville and eaten barbecue until our bellies hurt. I can point out where I lived as a child or went to elementary school. I can tell them of their history here, about International Harvester where their great-grandfather worked for so long, or the butcher shop on Main St. owned by their great-great-grandfather in the 1940s and ‘50s.
But what I can’t tell them about is how, just over a year ago, a man walked into our good friend’s shop, threatened her with a gun, and took her money. Or how only eight months later a man walked into that same shop in Cooper-Young and forced her partner to the register, with her baby in her arms, for all of their money. Just two months ago that store was broken into, the door kicked in and the front counter ransacked.
I certainly can’t tell The Quartet that last month a man met their uncle on his front porch with a gun to take his wallet and watch, and that my sister was there to see it all happen. I’ve even tried to hide from them the five times my own store has been burglarized over the last nine years.
It’s all just too much. This city has broken my heart.
We’ve chosen the Midtown-area of Memphis to live because of its sense of community. But increasingly the only sense of community is felt when the college basketball team advances in the NCAA Tournament, and on garbage collection day when neighbors wave to each other at the curb while performing their civic duty.
What can we do? How can we save a city that, it seems, has nothing to count among its assets other than a good pulled pork sandwich, a handful of dead recording artists and the home base of an international shipping company which can’t be that great a company to work for after all if they force their upper echelon of executives to relocate and raise their families in this shithole.
We can vote. You can vote for the mayor, city council or school board member who you think can turn all of this around. And your vote will be counted along with all the other poor, uneducated voters who continue to elect legislators willing to sell their city, and its people, for a few thousand dollars; a mayor who has lost all focus and, apparently, any grip on reality; and a city council and school board that can’t see their civic responsibility past their own egos.
But first, I think, you have to decide that this city is worth saving. And I did. For a long time, I did. But I’m not sure how much longer I can go on wondering when – not if – another friend or loved one, or one of my very own children, will become a victim.
Kristy gets off work every day, picks up the kids and takes them home. If my phone rings at any point after that, my heart stops a little bit with fear. And I don’t believe that fear is at all unfounded.
There are no definite plans in place for how I, or my family, will deal with all of this. There is a lot of talk going on, a lot of best-case scenarios being bandied about. I’ll let you know whatever decisions are made right here when the time is nigh.
Until then, though, we’ll continue to peek out the door before leaving the house, we’ll stay aware of our surroundings before exiting the car and we’ll try to assure The Quartet that there are friendly and safe(r) places out there.
Friday, April 25, 2008
PowerPointer
On the way to school the other morning, C told me that each student in his class is supposed to pick an animal and then come up with a PowerPoint presentation for that animal. I'm not sure if they're trying to sell these animals or market them, or what a PowerPoint even is, really. In fact, I just had to ask my sister how to write PowerPoint (Powerpoint? Power Point?).
I work alone, for myself, and therefore have no one I have to convince of anything other than customers, and I don't presume that they have the kind of time required to sit and look at a PowerPoint, whatever that is.
Maybe I should have my customers come in and watch a PowerPoint of different animals. Or maybe I should have a bunch of third-graders head up my marketing department. Couldn't hurt.
I work alone, for myself, and therefore have no one I have to convince of anything other than customers, and I don't presume that they have the kind of time required to sit and look at a PowerPoint, whatever that is.
Maybe I should have my customers come in and watch a PowerPoint of different animals. Or maybe I should have a bunch of third-graders head up my marketing department. Couldn't hurt.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
The Bedlam of Declan
What? I'm sorry, What?!
The Elvis Costello show was very loud last night. Very good, but so very loud. I can't hear anything over the ringing in my ears, which I must say is a nice change from the complaining of The Quartet that is usually in my ears.
Can I just take a moment to ask you people a favor? I don't go to many concerts, but when I do go, can I ask that you not spend the whole show with your phone or your tiny little camera held over your head to take a picture of what's going on on stage? Enjoy the concert in the moment, watch it life-size and not through the view finder on your Canon.
I was surprised to find last night that I knew about half of the songs Costello played. I own over 20 of his albums, many with their bonus discs of extended and obscure tracks. It was nice to hear stuff I didn't know by heart already. The songs he left out surprised me; no "Allison," no "Pump it Up," no "Just About Glad." But he did a version of "Everyday I Write the Book" that just about knocked me over.
At the end of the show, for one of the encores, he brought out ... The Allman Brothers, I think it was. Three young, long-haired dudes, featuring Catch Me If You Can-French prison scene-Leonardo DiCaprio on guitar, came out to play with him. It was loud. Yet it was fun to watch because you could tell that Costello was thinking, "Pay attention boys, this is how you get to do this for 30 years."
For a very final encore, Elvis Costello and The Impostors, featuring Lynyrd Skynyrd, featuring Appetite for Destruction era-Axl Rose on guitar, came back out for a rousing version of "(What's So Funny 'Bout) Peace, Love & Understanding," but not before the sound man apparently turned everything up except the lead vocals and then went home.
There's so much more to tell, but I have to go because GK may be crying in the other room. Maybe. I can't really hear so well.
[A very special Thank You to Aunt Elizabeth who watched The Quartet for us so we could go out last night.]
The Elvis Costello show was very loud last night. Very good, but so very loud. I can't hear anything over the ringing in my ears, which I must say is a nice change from the complaining of The Quartet that is usually in my ears.
Can I just take a moment to ask you people a favor? I don't go to many concerts, but when I do go, can I ask that you not spend the whole show with your phone or your tiny little camera held over your head to take a picture of what's going on on stage? Enjoy the concert in the moment, watch it life-size and not through the view finder on your Canon.
I was surprised to find last night that I knew about half of the songs Costello played. I own over 20 of his albums, many with their bonus discs of extended and obscure tracks. It was nice to hear stuff I didn't know by heart already. The songs he left out surprised me; no "Allison," no "Pump it Up," no "Just About Glad." But he did a version of "Everyday I Write the Book" that just about knocked me over.
At the end of the show, for one of the encores, he brought out ... The Allman Brothers, I think it was. Three young, long-haired dudes, featuring Catch Me If You Can-French prison scene-Leonardo DiCaprio on guitar, came out to play with him. It was loud. Yet it was fun to watch because you could tell that Costello was thinking, "Pay attention boys, this is how you get to do this for 30 years."
For a very final encore, Elvis Costello and The Impostors, featuring Lynyrd Skynyrd, featuring Appetite for Destruction era-Axl Rose on guitar, came back out for a rousing version of "(What's So Funny 'Bout) Peace, Love & Understanding," but not before the sound man apparently turned everything up except the lead vocals and then went home.
There's so much more to tell, but I have to go because GK may be crying in the other room. Maybe. I can't really hear so well.
[A very special Thank You to Aunt Elizabeth who watched The Quartet for us so we could go out last night.]
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