We packed this zoo up this afternoon and headed to The Memphis Zoo.
We saw lions and gorillas, a skink at the gorilla habitat, pandas, budgies and polar bears. We saw pythons, hippos, ducks and gibbons.
I saw a guy with a picture of his kids on his t-shirt. I may have to get me one of those.
We saw giraffes, ostrich eggs, alligators and a duck.
But what was the most exciting item at the zoo for my kids? What commanded all of their attention? Was it the meerkat? The Bengal tiger? The orangutan? No, it was the Radio Flyer wagon we'd brought along to haul GK and Mr. Baby around in. That molded plastic conveyance that sits in our driveway every. single. day.
From time to time at home they'll want to ride in it, be pulled down the drive to the sidewalk and back before becoming bored with its lack of speed, comfort and television. We'll use it to take the kids up the street to the park, and for that it's pretty useful.
But today at the zoo you would have thought it was Evel Knievel's rocket car or the Batmobile. They all fought over it, pleaded to ride in it and sat in it when we stopped to watch a zebra or the sea lions.
We have a family membership to the zoo, but if we hadn't, it would have cost us about $95 to visit today. That's $95 to be pulled around in in a wagon that we own and that sits gathering rainwater most of the time.
Next time I'll know better. Next time I'll pile them all in that wagon and pull them around the yard to see the squirrels, Cardinals, toads and mosquitos for free.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Downtown
I've played the part of parent well the past couple of days. In public, anyway.
Tuesday night we went to hear JP play in his piano recital at school. He sounded great, just like Thelonius Monk, only less crazy. Slightly less crazy. He sort of slowed down in the middle of his piece, stopped actually. I think he may have gotten lost while reading the notes. To me, it added to the drama of the tune, just a little lull so the gathered crowd in the lunchroom could soak in what he was playing.
He's been taking lessons for two years now and I think he's pretty good. We should probably get our piano repaired and tuned so that when he practices he'll know just what he's supposed to sound like.
On Wednesday, I joined the kids, and all of Downtown Elementary, at the Memphis Redbirds game. It was a beautiful day for a game, no rain at all and full sunshine.
I don't know how their teachers and staff do it. There were kids running everywhere, yet they kept them all in order and, somehow, got them all back to school in tact. Not one missing. At least, not one of mine.
At one point I took two of my kids to a concession stand and almost lost one of them.
The game, and talking with the teachers and the principal, Mrs. Wunderlich, made me sorry that this is our last year at Downtown. We've had a long run of six years at the school and they've been great, from the people to the curriculum to these wonderful field trips the kids go on that they get to walk to - AutoZone Park, the Orpheum, the Rock-n-Soul Museum, Mud Island and many others.
C began school there in kindergarten the first year it was open and his teacher, Mrs. Porter, set in motion his love of education for, hopeuflly, the next couple of decades. I expected nothing but screaming and crying that first morning I dropped him off, but it was just the opposite and for that I'm grateful. She had JP and S in turn as well and they've all become bright and dedicated kids.
We'll have two at Richland Elementary next year and one at White Station Middle, and we're very excited about both schools, we've heard nothing but good about them. But we will miss Downtown. We've had a great time and knew our children were in the best of hands each and every day.
Tuesday night we went to hear JP play in his piano recital at school. He sounded great, just like Thelonius Monk, only less crazy. Slightly less crazy. He sort of slowed down in the middle of his piece, stopped actually. I think he may have gotten lost while reading the notes. To me, it added to the drama of the tune, just a little lull so the gathered crowd in the lunchroom could soak in what he was playing.
He's been taking lessons for two years now and I think he's pretty good. We should probably get our piano repaired and tuned so that when he practices he'll know just what he's supposed to sound like.
On Wednesday, I joined the kids, and all of Downtown Elementary, at the Memphis Redbirds game. It was a beautiful day for a game, no rain at all and full sunshine.
I don't know how their teachers and staff do it. There were kids running everywhere, yet they kept them all in order and, somehow, got them all back to school in tact. Not one missing. At least, not one of mine.
At one point I took two of my kids to a concession stand and almost lost one of them.
The game, and talking with the teachers and the principal, Mrs. Wunderlich, made me sorry that this is our last year at Downtown. We've had a long run of six years at the school and they've been great, from the people to the curriculum to these wonderful field trips the kids go on that they get to walk to - AutoZone Park, the Orpheum, the Rock-n-Soul Museum, Mud Island and many others.
C began school there in kindergarten the first year it was open and his teacher, Mrs. Porter, set in motion his love of education for, hopeuflly, the next couple of decades. I expected nothing but screaming and crying that first morning I dropped him off, but it was just the opposite and for that I'm grateful. She had JP and S in turn as well and they've all become bright and dedicated kids.
We'll have two at Richland Elementary next year and one at White Station Middle, and we're very excited about both schools, we've heard nothing but good about them. But we will miss Downtown. We've had a great time and knew our children were in the best of hands each and every day.
Because I Said So
This is the face of evil in my house as described in today's Because I Said So column in The Commercial Appeal.
Just to disprove me and make me look like an ass, though, GK sat behind me on the carpool run this morning and softly sang "Hush Little Baby" complete with the line " ... if that diamond ring don't talk to you ... "
Just to disprove me and make me look like an ass, though, GK sat behind me on the carpool run this morning and softly sang "Hush Little Baby" complete with the line " ... if that diamond ring don't talk to you ... "
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
Field Trip
In my six years of gnomeschooling, or however long it's been that I've been keeping almost-3-years-old GK and almost-2-years-old Mr. Baby at home on Monday and Tuesdays, I've never left the house with them. Sure, we've gone outside when the frenetic Memphis weather permits to look at birds and argue over swings and flowers and such, but I've never taken them into public.
Scared? Some may call it that, though I regularly, willingly, take four to five kids out and about, so it can't be fear.
It's probably something closer to disinterest, or downright apathy. These two toddlers are happy-ish at home, why mess that up just so they can experience new things and see some of their city? They don't know how big this city is, I'll take them across the yard and tell them that bush is called "Overton Park;" I'll let them wander around the outdoor storage and say, "Welcome to a mall."
But today I took them to Davis-Kidd Booksellers and it mostly went as expected. Upon entering the children's section with its books and toys and, for the moment, serenity, GK declared she had to go potty. So I trudged them both off to the men's restroom where she used a public toilet and I threw up just a little bit at the thought.
Once we were back at the children's section, Mr. Baby declared that all he surveyed was his. He opened his chubby arms wide, held his head up and said, "Mines!" And the arguing over toys that didn't belong to any of us ensued.
Shortly, another parent came over with her child and this stopped GK and Mr. Baby in their tracks. For the rest of the time they just stood and stared at these people as though they'd never come across another human, as though a couple of Morlocks had just surfaced and GK and Baby, having forgotten their cameras, needed to memorize their features so they could describe them in detail to the authorities later.
Sometime during all of this staring the clock struck 9:12, so Mr. Baby pooped.
Eventually the two in my charge returned to playing and bickering and stinking. Not too much later, having finished reading my magazine, I declared the field trip over and headed for the door with the two little ducks following.
They behaved well, overall, which means ... absolutely nothing when it comes to the possibility of future outings because, with the exception of Mr. Baby's bowels, these two are as unpredictable as the weather in Memphis.
Scared? Some may call it that, though I regularly, willingly, take four to five kids out and about, so it can't be fear.
It's probably something closer to disinterest, or downright apathy. These two toddlers are happy-ish at home, why mess that up just so they can experience new things and see some of their city? They don't know how big this city is, I'll take them across the yard and tell them that bush is called "Overton Park;" I'll let them wander around the outdoor storage and say, "Welcome to a mall."
But today I took them to Davis-Kidd Booksellers and it mostly went as expected. Upon entering the children's section with its books and toys and, for the moment, serenity, GK declared she had to go potty. So I trudged them both off to the men's restroom where she used a public toilet and I threw up just a little bit at the thought.
Once we were back at the children's section, Mr. Baby declared that all he surveyed was his. He opened his chubby arms wide, held his head up and said, "Mines!" And the arguing over toys that didn't belong to any of us ensued.
Shortly, another parent came over with her child and this stopped GK and Mr. Baby in their tracks. For the rest of the time they just stood and stared at these people as though they'd never come across another human, as though a couple of Morlocks had just surfaced and GK and Baby, having forgotten their cameras, needed to memorize their features so they could describe them in detail to the authorities later.
Sometime during all of this staring the clock struck 9:12, so Mr. Baby pooped.
Eventually the two in my charge returned to playing and bickering and stinking. Not too much later, having finished reading my magazine, I declared the field trip over and headed for the door with the two little ducks following.
They behaved well, overall, which means ... absolutely nothing when it comes to the possibility of future outings because, with the exception of Mr. Baby's bowels, these two are as unpredictable as the weather in Memphis.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
Breaking the Dress Code
It's not all fun and games when you're being gnomeschooled. In fact, it's hardly any fun at all, though almost always gamy.
We have a dress code here, a strict uniform policy. Below you will see GK's attire. Mr. Baby's publicist wouldn't sign the release for photos of him in uniform, something about "Kangol not sending a check promptly."
We have a dress code here, a strict uniform policy. Below you will see GK's attire. Mr. Baby's publicist wouldn't sign the release for photos of him in uniform, something about "Kangol not sending a check promptly."
Monday, April 06, 2009
Urf!-Tiki
I recently read a magazine article on Plastiki, a boat being built out of plastic bottles and other recycled products. Once it's complete later this month, or in early May, it will sail from San Francisco to Sydney, Australia, making stops along the way. One of those stops will be at what's called the Eastern Garbage Patch, a "huge region of floating plastic and particles" in the Pacific Ocean.
The skipper behind this project is 30-year-old David de Rothschild, adventurer and heir to the European banking fortune. He intends to collect water samples to study and use a satellite phone to send photos and video clips to the web site of the organization he founded, Adventure Ecology.
The adventure aspect of this story intrigues me. I'm fascinated by stories of survival and of pushing oneself to his limits, especially against the elements. And I'm as green as the next guy; I use those swirly little light bulbs and I haul the empty wine bottle down to the curb once a week or so.
Plastiki got me thinking, though, of what else I could do. Namely, what refuse I have
around here that I could build a ship out of. We have empty toilet paper rolls, Pop-Tart wrappers, socks riddled with holes, broken remotes, stained sofa cushions and partially-chewed string cheese.
I have a feeling we could fashion all of this together into some sort of crude floatable vessel and set sail down the Mississippi River for the Gulf of Mexico.
Plastiki is named for Kon-Tiki, the balsa wood experiment sailed from South America to the Polynesian Islands 60 years ago by Thor Hyerdahl. Ours will be more in the style of the original Kon-Tiki in its crudeness and liberal use of duct tape.
Our communications will consist of three cell phones, so I hope Cingular gets reception at Cape Horn and that we remember to pay the bill before setting sail.
Provisions will consist of juice boxes, peanut butter and jelly, half cans of Pringles, hummus and Ovaltine.
Our trip to Sydney will be full of adventure and family closeness. Time outs will be spent in a laundry hamper being towed behind the boat. We’ll make it a point to sail past the Eastern Garbage Patch, traveling, as we are, from our own East Memphis Garbage Patch. Instead of taking samples, however, we’ll leave some, because these kids can’t go anyplace without having to leave a sample.
The purpose of Urf!-Tiki’s excursion will be adventure and it will be vacation-like. My kids have always wanted to see Australia and other floating detritus. They are an eco-minded lot, as well, and rarely, if ever, toss things out without first checking for an alternate use, such as something to throw at a sibling or wipe their noses on.
They’ll adapt to their new home at sea, their buoyant boat of bric-a-brac. And if they don’t, they’ll walk the plank, assuming they consume enough Popsicles between now and launch time to build a plank.
The skipper behind this project is 30-year-old David de Rothschild, adventurer and heir to the European banking fortune. He intends to collect water samples to study and use a satellite phone to send photos and video clips to the web site of the organization he founded, Adventure Ecology.
The adventure aspect of this story intrigues me. I'm fascinated by stories of survival and of pushing oneself to his limits, especially against the elements. And I'm as green as the next guy; I use those swirly little light bulbs and I haul the empty wine bottle down to the curb once a week or so.
Plastiki got me thinking, though, of what else I could do. Namely, what refuse I have
around here that I could build a ship out of. We have empty toilet paper rolls, Pop-Tart wrappers, socks riddled with holes, broken remotes, stained sofa cushions and partially-chewed string cheese.I have a feeling we could fashion all of this together into some sort of crude floatable vessel and set sail down the Mississippi River for the Gulf of Mexico.
Plastiki is named for Kon-Tiki, the balsa wood experiment sailed from South America to the Polynesian Islands 60 years ago by Thor Hyerdahl. Ours will be more in the style of the original Kon-Tiki in its crudeness and liberal use of duct tape.
Our communications will consist of three cell phones, so I hope Cingular gets reception at Cape Horn and that we remember to pay the bill before setting sail.
Provisions will consist of juice boxes, peanut butter and jelly, half cans of Pringles, hummus and Ovaltine.
Our trip to Sydney will be full of adventure and family closeness. Time outs will be spent in a laundry hamper being towed behind the boat. We’ll make it a point to sail past the Eastern Garbage Patch, traveling, as we are, from our own East Memphis Garbage Patch. Instead of taking samples, however, we’ll leave some, because these kids can’t go anyplace without having to leave a sample.
The purpose of Urf!-Tiki’s excursion will be adventure and it will be vacation-like. My kids have always wanted to see Australia and other floating detritus. They are an eco-minded lot, as well, and rarely, if ever, toss things out without first checking for an alternate use, such as something to throw at a sibling or wipe their noses on.
They’ll adapt to their new home at sea, their buoyant boat of bric-a-brac. And if they don’t, they’ll walk the plank, assuming they consume enough Popsicles between now and launch time to build a plank.
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
Beep
When you move, as we have recently, old toys become new again. Such was the case today when JP came across a metal detector that C got for Christmas some years back. He replaced the battery, set the sensitivity level to high and began detecting.
His method of sweeping for metal involves going straight to any obvious metal and holding the detector against it; something like a doorknob or a handful of change or the van. Such is the nature of JP's thirst for adventure and the anticipation of treasure.
The constant beeping has already brought threats from his mother, so I believe the detector has been retired - again - probably until our next move.
Ah, then again, he just came galloping through the room on the thing as though it were a horse, or maybe Harry Potter's broom. Or a thoroughbred metal detector.
His method of sweeping for metal involves going straight to any obvious metal and holding the detector against it; something like a doorknob or a handful of change or the van. Such is the nature of JP's thirst for adventure and the anticipation of treasure.
The constant beeping has already brought threats from his mother, so I believe the detector has been retired - again - probably until our next move.
Ah, then again, he just came galloping through the room on the thing as though it were a horse, or maybe Harry Potter's broom. Or a thoroughbred metal detector.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Happy bUrf!day
Thirty-six months ago today I started this little blog. What began as an easy way to aggregate all of my kids' funny, clever, weird, cute, goofy, abnormal and dumb actions and conversations eventually grew into something more.
Actually, it has remained exactly that, but more people than I ever expected have read it. It also helped to spawn a column-writing gig and a new career. And, possibly, another child; GK was born only two months after Urf!'s conception. So to speak.
I've enjoyed my time on Blogger, yet the posts have been coming fewer and further apart. This is in part because The Quartet is older and less funny, just more moody. It's also because I write for a living now and that takes more energy and time than I expected.
I'm not ready to abandon the blog, though I'd be lying if I said I haven't thought about it. I'm still working on finding the balance with working from home, taking care of kids, doing housework, spending time with the family and updating Urf!.
So there may be fewer posts in the future than previously, certainly more than those first few months, and there may be less on C as he gets older. I keep GK at home on Monday and Tuesday along with a friend's baby, so there may be more about those two and their love/annoy relationship.
Or there may just be more about me and what I think about things other than the kids and family; maybe save the good family fodder for the column.
Who knows? I've just been making this up, just as I raise my kids, all along and I suppose I will continue to do so, on both fronts.
But I do thank all of you for reading. With over 63,000 hits over the years, it seems that something I'm saying has struck a chord with the two of you to each come back more than 30,000 times. Thank you for that.
Incidentally, this post written back in May of 2006 is the most landed-on Urf! from Google and other searches. I don't know why, but people from all over the world have ended up here. So I submit it, I suppose, as a Best Of on this 3rd bUrf!day.
Please enjoy, and please keep reading.
RJA
March 31, 2009
Actually, it has remained exactly that, but more people than I ever expected have read it. It also helped to spawn a column-writing gig and a new career. And, possibly, another child; GK was born only two months after Urf!'s conception. So to speak.
I've enjoyed my time on Blogger, yet the posts have been coming fewer and further apart. This is in part because The Quartet is older and less funny, just more moody. It's also because I write for a living now and that takes more energy and time than I expected.
I'm not ready to abandon the blog, though I'd be lying if I said I haven't thought about it. I'm still working on finding the balance with working from home, taking care of kids, doing housework, spending time with the family and updating Urf!.
So there may be fewer posts in the future than previously, certainly more than those first few months, and there may be less on C as he gets older. I keep GK at home on Monday and Tuesday along with a friend's baby, so there may be more about those two and their love/annoy relationship.
Or there may just be more about me and what I think about things other than the kids and family; maybe save the good family fodder for the column.
Who knows? I've just been making this up, just as I raise my kids, all along and I suppose I will continue to do so, on both fronts.
But I do thank all of you for reading. With over 63,000 hits over the years, it seems that something I'm saying has struck a chord with the two of you to each come back more than 30,000 times. Thank you for that.
Incidentally, this post written back in May of 2006 is the most landed-on Urf! from Google and other searches. I don't know why, but people from all over the world have ended up here. So I submit it, I suppose, as a Best Of on this 3rd bUrf!day.
Please enjoy, and please keep reading.
RJA
March 31, 2009
PSA
I know there are people out there who feel that their dogs are their children. They are not.
And while it may be fun to take Skipper out for a run with no leash at a playground intended for children, and while you may be able to explain to me that little Skipper is very friendly and has never hurt anyone and loves kids, you can't explain that to a 2- and 3-year-old as your dog charges towards them.
Leave your dog at home. Or on a leash.
And, yes, this is intended for the ignorant SOB at Peabody Park about 45 minutes ago.
And while it may be fun to take Skipper out for a run with no leash at a playground intended for children, and while you may be able to explain to me that little Skipper is very friendly and has never hurt anyone and loves kids, you can't explain that to a 2- and 3-year-old as your dog charges towards them.
Leave your dog at home. Or on a leash.
And, yes, this is intended for the ignorant SOB at Peabody Park about 45 minutes ago.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Gnomeschooled
Things learned today at home with the gnomes:
- When you're taking a 2- and 3-year-old outside to feed old bread to the birds, take extra bread for the birds
- When a little kid falls down, I'm laughing with that kid, not at that kid. Even though I'm laughing when I tell you that, that's what it is
- Sippy cups grow on trees
- Babies who spend a lot of time together will sync up on their pooping
- Enough wisteria will overwhelm and mask the smell of all that poop
- Mr. Baby has 10 fingers, which means he will slam something on his digits 10 times a day
- Bees do it
- GK can't reach the martini shaker without standing on a bar stool
Friday, March 27, 2009
Recess
On Mondays and Tuesdays I keep GK (almost 3) and Mr. Baby (almost 2) at home as a kind of remedial home school experiment. I was outside with them the other day for our morning walk-fall down-cry-become distracted-bird watch-throw a fit exercise when they decided they needed to swing. Naturally they both went for the same swing, causing a scene, which I deftly curtailed by threatening to cut that swing in half. And then we flipped a coin, which Mr. Baby later swallowed.
As the kids were swinging I grabbed the overhead bar and did five chin-ups. And by five, I mean I did just over four. Just barely more than four. GK laughed and said, "Do it again!" which I couldn't, and I told her so, and she laughed some more.
So I took each of them and held them up to a lower crossbar until they held on and I told them to do a chin-up. They just hung there, wide-eyed, looking at me like babies do while I laughed and mocked them.
That concluded recess for the day.
As the kids were swinging I grabbed the overhead bar and did five chin-ups. And by five, I mean I did just over four. Just barely more than four. GK laughed and said, "Do it again!" which I couldn't, and I told her so, and she laughed some more.
So I took each of them and held them up to a lower crossbar until they held on and I told them to do a chin-up. They just hung there, wide-eyed, looking at me like babies do while I laughed and mocked them.
That concluded recess for the day.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Memphis Connected
I attended the launch party for the new website memphisconnect.com this evening. It was a lovely affair put on by the good people of The Leadership Academy and attended by movers and shakers and those in the know in Memphis. And me.
And people knew me! Well, they could read the name tag I proudly stuck on my costume, my threadbare sport coat I don when I'm going to be rubbing shiny elbows with movers and shakers.
I was surprised, though, by why people recognized me ... or, my name anyway. I never expect to be recognized, but when I am, I don't expect it this way. It wasn't from my column or this blog or Facebook or even the retail store I owned for 10 years. It was from Twitter.
Twitter? Really? A hundred and forty characters at a time compels people to walk up to a person they don't know and say, "Hi, we've never met, but I follow you on Twitter ... " Don't get me wrong, I'm glad they did. They were friendly and engaging people, and not at all stalkery. They were folks with dreams and kids and stories to tell, and just like you and me, for the most part. Although they probably make more money. There's no reason for me to think they'll be peering in my windows tonight or standing at the end of my driveway in the morning.
This Twitter fascinates me. All of the social networking sites do, actually. I'm relatively new to it all and it doesn't quite make sense yet. I can't wrap my virtual brain around it. I feel there is a sense of community, but I can't get my fingers on it, it's ephemeral. It's there, yet it's not.
Is Memphis really such a small town that we're all connected by just a person or two, or is the internet just that good of a host; putting people with just enough in common, yet unlike each other enough for conversation to happen organically, together at this friendly, pixelated dinner party?
I wonder how much Twitter and Facebook would have affected the end of a story, and an ideal of American life, as universal as It's a Wonderful Life. The inscription from Clarence in the copy of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer left for George Bailey at the finale of the film reads: Remember, George, no man is a failure who has friends.
But are those I've invited to be friends truly that? Are you all my friends? Had Mary put out a call for help with her laptop, would she have rounded up enough cash to keep George out of prison? Or would she have received only a collection of "Bar w/frnds drnkng all nite. Gd luck @GBailey! U rock!!!!" along with 483 pieces of flair, 39 people bitching about the new Facebook and PayPal donations totaling $14.72?
If my wife put out a call for help to you people, would you respond? I mean, with real money? (That would be good to know, actually.)
Should you want to see what the world would be like had you never been born, you don't need a guardian angel to show you. Simply delete your Facebook account, lose your Twitter login or do the unthinkable and unplug your wireless modem. But then turn it all right back on for God's sake, you might miss something! One of your friends might have found out what '80s movie best defines her.
I think about the future and whether my will kids grow up with good friends and a community of support. Will they have wingmen, confidants and supporters ... or just a bunch of twits?
And people knew me! Well, they could read the name tag I proudly stuck on my costume, my threadbare sport coat I don when I'm going to be rubbing shiny elbows with movers and shakers.
I was surprised, though, by why people recognized me ... or, my name anyway. I never expect to be recognized, but when I am, I don't expect it this way. It wasn't from my column or this blog or Facebook or even the retail store I owned for 10 years. It was from Twitter.
Twitter? Really? A hundred and forty characters at a time compels people to walk up to a person they don't know and say, "Hi, we've never met, but I follow you on Twitter ... " Don't get me wrong, I'm glad they did. They were friendly and engaging people, and not at all stalkery. They were folks with dreams and kids and stories to tell, and just like you and me, for the most part. Although they probably make more money. There's no reason for me to think they'll be peering in my windows tonight or standing at the end of my driveway in the morning.
This Twitter fascinates me. All of the social networking sites do, actually. I'm relatively new to it all and it doesn't quite make sense yet. I can't wrap my virtual brain around it. I feel there is a sense of community, but I can't get my fingers on it, it's ephemeral. It's there, yet it's not.
Is Memphis really such a small town that we're all connected by just a person or two, or is the internet just that good of a host; putting people with just enough in common, yet unlike each other enough for conversation to happen organically, together at this friendly, pixelated dinner party?
I wonder how much Twitter and Facebook would have affected the end of a story, and an ideal of American life, as universal as It's a Wonderful Life. The inscription from Clarence in the copy of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer left for George Bailey at the finale of the film reads: Remember, George, no man is a failure who has friends.
But are those I've invited to be friends truly that? Are you all my friends? Had Mary put out a call for help with her laptop, would she have rounded up enough cash to keep George out of prison? Or would she have received only a collection of "Bar w/frnds drnkng all nite. Gd luck @GBailey! U rock!!!!" along with 483 pieces of flair, 39 people bitching about the new Facebook and PayPal donations totaling $14.72?
If my wife put out a call for help to you people, would you respond? I mean, with real money? (That would be good to know, actually.)
Should you want to see what the world would be like had you never been born, you don't need a guardian angel to show you. Simply delete your Facebook account, lose your Twitter login or do the unthinkable and unplug your wireless modem. But then turn it all right back on for God's sake, you might miss something! One of your friends might have found out what '80s movie best defines her.
I think about the future and whether my will kids grow up with good friends and a community of support. Will they have wingmen, confidants and supporters ... or just a bunch of twits?
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Spring Break 2009
Spring break has coasted to an end with a cool and rainy Saturday. Miserable. A good day, though, for sitting inside and watching the Tigers play in the NCAA tournament.
Luckily we got outside plenty during the week to play in the yard, have picnics, ride bikes and wash cars.
JP learned to ride his bike this week. Finally. And, in the tradition of his already-biking-siblings, he taught himself. He simply hopped on his bike and pedaled down the driveway and he hasn't looked back. Or forward, really. Not even side-to-side so much, which is why he's confined to the driveway on his bike. After a short ride to Richland Elementary's playground he crossed the street at the wrong time and at a slow and dangerous pace, he swerved off the sidewalk and into the street to avoid ... something, and he came to a stop once just before heading off the sidewalk. He's a menace to traffic on our street. He's the worst domestique ever.
I'm lucky, though, that he could teach himself. Lucky that C and S did, too, as none
of us have the patience for me to teach them. That's one of those father and son and daughter bonding moments that would have ended horribly, with a lot of stomping and crying. The kids would have been upset, too.
One day I decided to take The Quartet in search of parks. We walk up to Richland almost daily, but I thought we'd get in the car and leave the neighborhood to explore. We all needed some time off the street.
We went to Shelby Farms and, I have to say, I was very disappointed in their playground. This patch of land is a jewel in the city with acres of lake, trees, trails and bison. The playground, however, is metal, rust and, in one spot at least, plywood. There is a "sandbox" which looks like a construction crew was told to dump whatever sand they had left over from a job at that spot. It's become a pile of sand, rocks and leaves.
The kids liked it, of course, they don't know any better. I'm surprised at how much I've come to expect molded plastic and recycled rubber on playgrounds. Maybe it's not so much the safety of it as it is the look of it all. After all, I grew up playing on metal and concrete and I still have all of my limbs. The playgrounds of my kids are just nicer looking environments to play on.
Maybe the Shelby Farmers have a plan for this playground. A plan to raze it and start over. If not, they need to start thinking about it because everything else in that area is picturesque and user-friendly, the one spot specifically for kids, above all, should be.
In contrast, we explored a little more and found a playground I'd seen just off of Humphrey's Blvd. or Wolf River Parkway or whatever that road is over there. It took a while to figure out how to get to it, I had to meander through some neighborhoods before stumbling on the entrance. The playground was large and contemporary with different levels of wood decking, picnic tables, lots of trees and a bridge going over a creek (read: ditch).
I'm not sure I could find it again, though we'll try. I'm not even sure what the park is called, but the kids loved it.
We didn't make it to the beach for spring break, but we did manage to make it outside, which is more than I can say for this cold and wet end-of-break Saturday. Go Tigers!
Luckily we got outside plenty during the week to play in the yard, have picnics, ride bikes and wash cars.
JP learned to ride his bike this week. Finally. And, in the tradition of his already-biking-siblings, he taught himself. He simply hopped on his bike and pedaled down the driveway and he hasn't looked back. Or forward, really. Not even side-to-side so much, which is why he's confined to the driveway on his bike. After a short ride to Richland Elementary's playground he crossed the street at the wrong time and at a slow and dangerous pace, he swerved off the sidewalk and into the street to avoid ... something, and he came to a stop once just before heading off the sidewalk. He's a menace to traffic on our street. He's the worst domestique ever.
I'm lucky, though, that he could teach himself. Lucky that C and S did, too, as none
of us have the patience for me to teach them. That's one of those father and son and daughter bonding moments that would have ended horribly, with a lot of stomping and crying. The kids would have been upset, too.One day I decided to take The Quartet in search of parks. We walk up to Richland almost daily, but I thought we'd get in the car and leave the neighborhood to explore. We all needed some time off the street.
We went to Shelby Farms and, I have to say, I was very disappointed in their playground. This patch of land is a jewel in the city with acres of lake, trees, trails and bison. The playground, however, is metal, rust and, in one spot at least, plywood. There is a "sandbox" which looks like a construction crew was told to dump whatever sand they had left over from a job at that spot. It's become a pile of sand, rocks and leaves.
The kids liked it, of course, they don't know any better. I'm surprised at how much I've come to expect molded plastic and recycled rubber on playgrounds. Maybe it's not so much the safety of it as it is the look of it all. After all, I grew up playing on metal and concrete and I still have all of my limbs. The playgrounds of my kids are just nicer looking environments to play on.
Maybe the Shelby Farmers have a plan for this playground. A plan to raze it and start over. If not, they need to start thinking about it because everything else in that area is picturesque and user-friendly, the one spot specifically for kids, above all, should be.In contrast, we explored a little more and found a playground I'd seen just off of Humphrey's Blvd. or Wolf River Parkway or whatever that road is over there. It took a while to figure out how to get to it, I had to meander through some neighborhoods before stumbling on the entrance. The playground was large and contemporary with different levels of wood decking, picnic tables, lots of trees and a bridge going over a creek (read: ditch).
I'm not sure I could find it again, though we'll try. I'm not even sure what the park is called, but the kids loved it.
We didn't make it to the beach for spring break, but we did manage to make it outside, which is more than I can say for this cold and wet end-of-break Saturday. Go Tigers!
Thursday, March 19, 2009
mmm, Chile
I've been busy lately. Really, I have been. And just to prove it I'm going to type in some links later on in this post so that you can click and see what I've been doing.
I went on Monday to the offices of ArtsMemphis where I was supposed to interview a woman in Chile, via telephone, and via translator, for a story in the ArtsMemphis magazine about an exhibit on human rights coming to the National Civil Rights Museum for Memphis in May.
This was daunting for several reasons: I've never worked with ArtsMemphis before and wanted to make a good impression; I was on a very tight deadline, about 24 hours, in fact; I was working through a translator, which means I had to have some questions prepared ahead of time; and the woman I was to be interviewing, Marcia Scantlebury Elizalde, is an actual journalist, something I only pretend to be.
The translator, Juan, was very nice and extremely helpful and let me know first thing that Senora Elizalde is not, in fact, the artist who created the exhibit, but the curator, doing away with almost all of my questions. Skype, though perfect on a test run, 15 minutes later would not connect with Chile for the real deal, so we had to go with an intercom call on a phone.
Once we were all on the phone and Juan was speaking his rapid-fire Spanish, I sat poised with my pencil over paper as though I should be taking notes, but really just paranoid that he was making fun of my hair to her. Juan asked Elizalde to please hold while he explained to me that, not only was she not the artist of the exhibit - or the curator - but that she has actually never seen the exhibit and is not particularly familiar with it.
So that was fun.
I found out later that the exhibit, Crowds in the Shadow, will eventually be housed in Chile's Museo de la Memoria, as a warehouse of the Pinochet-era atrocities, which Elizalde is in charge of putting together through a decree by Chile's president.
And the magazine story? Well, that's why I'm up at 12:25 a.m. I'm trying to put something together that's readable.
Being up this late, though, has given me the opportunity to see the clock and calendar move to a new day and with that a new "Because I Said So" column in The Commercial Appeal. I wrote it about eating dinner with the kids. Wrote it, of course, with tongue and pork chop in teeth.
I also wrote it not realizing that my story on the Hope & Healing Center's nutrition class for kids, Alphabet Appetite, was running the day before. And, on top of that, the piece I wrote about Mike Palazola and his produce company, M. Palazola Produce, ran in the business section as well.
So I'm quite the food writer all of a sudden with stories on dinner time, mini pizza cooking, produce and Chile.
Tomorrow will be a story on the Assisi Foundation's grant to the Memphis Rock 'n' Soul Museum in the Business section of The Commercial Appeal. It doesn't have anything to do with food, but I wrote it anyway.
So that's what I've been up to. And why I'm up late. I'll be back soon to talk about JP (finally) learning to ride a bike and why he's not allowed to leave the yard on that bike. And maybe I'll post some pictures.
But for now, goodnight and bon appetite!
The links!
Alphabet Appetite
Because I Said So
Mike Palazola
I went on Monday to the offices of ArtsMemphis where I was supposed to interview a woman in Chile, via telephone, and via translator, for a story in the ArtsMemphis magazine about an exhibit on human rights coming to the National Civil Rights Museum for Memphis in May.
This was daunting for several reasons: I've never worked with ArtsMemphis before and wanted to make a good impression; I was on a very tight deadline, about 24 hours, in fact; I was working through a translator, which means I had to have some questions prepared ahead of time; and the woman I was to be interviewing, Marcia Scantlebury Elizalde, is an actual journalist, something I only pretend to be.
The translator, Juan, was very nice and extremely helpful and let me know first thing that Senora Elizalde is not, in fact, the artist who created the exhibit, but the curator, doing away with almost all of my questions. Skype, though perfect on a test run, 15 minutes later would not connect with Chile for the real deal, so we had to go with an intercom call on a phone.
Once we were all on the phone and Juan was speaking his rapid-fire Spanish, I sat poised with my pencil over paper as though I should be taking notes, but really just paranoid that he was making fun of my hair to her. Juan asked Elizalde to please hold while he explained to me that, not only was she not the artist of the exhibit - or the curator - but that she has actually never seen the exhibit and is not particularly familiar with it.
So that was fun.
I found out later that the exhibit, Crowds in the Shadow, will eventually be housed in Chile's Museo de la Memoria, as a warehouse of the Pinochet-era atrocities, which Elizalde is in charge of putting together through a decree by Chile's president.
And the magazine story? Well, that's why I'm up at 12:25 a.m. I'm trying to put something together that's readable.
Being up this late, though, has given me the opportunity to see the clock and calendar move to a new day and with that a new "Because I Said So" column in The Commercial Appeal. I wrote it about eating dinner with the kids. Wrote it, of course, with tongue and pork chop in teeth.
I also wrote it not realizing that my story on the Hope & Healing Center's nutrition class for kids, Alphabet Appetite, was running the day before. And, on top of that, the piece I wrote about Mike Palazola and his produce company, M. Palazola Produce, ran in the business section as well.
So I'm quite the food writer all of a sudden with stories on dinner time, mini pizza cooking, produce and Chile.
Tomorrow will be a story on the Assisi Foundation's grant to the Memphis Rock 'n' Soul Museum in the Business section of The Commercial Appeal. It doesn't have anything to do with food, but I wrote it anyway.
So that's what I've been up to. And why I'm up late. I'll be back soon to talk about JP (finally) learning to ride a bike and why he's not allowed to leave the yard on that bike. And maybe I'll post some pictures.
But for now, goodnight and bon appetite!
The links!
Alphabet Appetite
Because I Said So
Mike Palazola
Monday, March 09, 2009
Crazy 4s
Yesterday was sunny and in the 70s, so I laid down the law and declared the day a No TV, No Computer Day. I was the least popular person in the house with the kids.
We walked to the park and played, and then when we got back boredom ensued. I sat on the patio, content with my crossword in the sunshine. The kids were content to mope around.
At one point I was alone here with the kids and lost sight of them. I went back inside and found them all gathered around the computer while one of them played a game. I watched my approval rating plunge even more when I told them to turn it off and for everyone to go outside.
These kids are not self-starters. They don't have the ability to just begin play out of nowhere without prompting. For most of the day, JP walked around announcing that he was bored. I'm like my mother in that I have no patience for this.
So we sat outside and C and I taught the others to play Crazy 8s. They learned quickly and S even won the first game she played. At the end of the day, though, I always come out on top and the kids owe me, collectively, $7.38.
A good day, indeed.
We walked to the park and played, and then when we got back boredom ensued. I sat on the patio, content with my crossword in the sunshine. The kids were content to mope around.
At one point I was alone here with the kids and lost sight of them. I went back inside and found them all gathered around the computer while one of them played a game. I watched my approval rating plunge even more when I told them to turn it off and for everyone to go outside.
These kids are not self-starters. They don't have the ability to just begin play out of nowhere without prompting. For most of the day, JP walked around announcing that he was bored. I'm like my mother in that I have no patience for this.
So we sat outside and C and I taught the others to play Crazy 8s. They learned quickly and S even won the first game she played. At the end of the day, though, I always come out on top and the kids owe me, collectively, $7.38.
A good day, indeed.
Thursday, March 05, 2009
Podcast
The podcast of the Drake & Zeke show at 98.1 The Max where they mention me and my column can be found right here. It's right in the beginning and is very nice. Thanks again, guys.
Your Public Library
I wrote my column for today’s Commercial Appeal about libraries because the kids and I have taken quite a few trips to a couple of branches recently, and because that’s where I first encountered so many books.
The truth is, though, I still prefer bookstores, especially used bookstores. I could spend hours in one, and have. And I’ll always have this need, this OCD need to own my books. I don’t like to borrow books, even from friends, and I don’t really like to lend them. I would be the worst library ever. When a library book enters our house – and many do – I can’t help but wonder where it’s been: someone’s bathroom? Someone’s sick bed?
I’m not defending that line of thought, it’s just the way I think.
I like the communal atmosphere of a library. They’re the early coffee shops where people go to work or relax or just sit in a comfortable space away from their homes. And I like the possibilities, there’s no telling what you might find around the next end cap if you’re willing to explore a little.
I recently took The Quartet to the White Station library branch on Poplar Ave. where I spent so much time as a kid. It was the first time I’d been there in a long, long time. It seemed much smaller to me and laid out a bit differently. It’s well worn, like the spine of your favorite paperback, and could do with some upgrades, especially in the children’s department.
The librarians were very helpful, as they are in all libraries. In fact, walking into any library anywhere is just like walking into a home away from home. It’s the same feeling I have walking into a jumbled mess of a used bookstore. it’s very familiar, like visiting old friends.
My column is 15-inches, about 500 words, but I could have gone on for another 500 about libraries and books and the importance of both. Gather up your kids today, take them to your nearest library and leave with a stack of books. Or take them to your favorite bookstore, buy a few books and start them on their way to their very own library.
[Thanks to Drake & Zeke at 98.1 The Max for mentioning me and the column on air this morning!]
The truth is, though, I still prefer bookstores, especially used bookstores. I could spend hours in one, and have. And I’ll always have this need, this OCD need to own my books. I don’t like to borrow books, even from friends, and I don’t really like to lend them. I would be the worst library ever. When a library book enters our house – and many do – I can’t help but wonder where it’s been: someone’s bathroom? Someone’s sick bed?
I’m not defending that line of thought, it’s just the way I think.
I like the communal atmosphere of a library. They’re the early coffee shops where people go to work or relax or just sit in a comfortable space away from their homes. And I like the possibilities, there’s no telling what you might find around the next end cap if you’re willing to explore a little.
I recently took The Quartet to the White Station library branch on Poplar Ave. where I spent so much time as a kid. It was the first time I’d been there in a long, long time. It seemed much smaller to me and laid out a bit differently. It’s well worn, like the spine of your favorite paperback, and could do with some upgrades, especially in the children’s department.
The librarians were very helpful, as they are in all libraries. In fact, walking into any library anywhere is just like walking into a home away from home. It’s the same feeling I have walking into a jumbled mess of a used bookstore. it’s very familiar, like visiting old friends.
My column is 15-inches, about 500 words, but I could have gone on for another 500 about libraries and books and the importance of both. Gather up your kids today, take them to your nearest library and leave with a stack of books. Or take them to your favorite bookstore, buy a few books and start them on their way to their very own library.
[Thanks to Drake & Zeke at 98.1 The Max for mentioning me and the column on air this morning!]
Monday, February 23, 2009
Nerds and Germs
Just because there is no new posting here in over a week doesn’t mean things don’t happen. There is no giant “pause” button. Trust me, I’ve looked.
I imagine that since it’s been so long, you’re probably wondering what we’ve been up to. Not the six of you, specifically, but the two guys who run this morass of a website from their perch high atop Mount Blogspot. The ones who keep an eye on us, who conduct their day to day, minute to minute, census of all of us and who our friends are and what we had for breakfast or whose cat did something cute.
They’re a benign and curious duo, they mean no harm. They collect the information simply for their own beguilement. Though one of these days, I can’t help but fear, they will sell that information. Possibly to the government or possibly to the Google, if they are not, in fact, the same thing.
The purchase money will be used to erect a stately pleasure dome, a 21st Century San Simeon. It will be 1,200 square feet of living space above for their parents, and a 48,000 square foot basement room for their XBOXes and their oversized Apple monitors and their poster of the Beyonce and their very own land line, in case a girl should call.
A girl never, ever calls.
But the two young men will be comfortable with their Twittering and their virtual Dungeons & Dragons and their meals still prepared by their mother upstairs even though these young men are 32 and 34. Comfort and security are what matter at home.
We’ve been in our new house for two weeks now and we are as comfortable as can be. The space, though, is somewhat disconcerting. In the old house, we could sit in the living room and see where everyone was, hear what everyone was involved in and smell what was for dinner, or what had been for lunch, from our spots on the sofa. Now, though, I really have no idea what’s going on when I’m in my office and the others are … elsewhere. In some ways that’s good, in a lot of ways that’s good, but sometimes I wonder what everyone is up to.
I read a book once about a family that lived aboard a sail boat for a year. They were a close family, both physically and socially, and the mother wrote that what was odd was upon returning to their large home after the sail, they would practically speak in whisper to a child or sibling. They were so used to having that person practically touching them at all times that they didn’t have to speak so loud to gain their audience.
It’s new to me to have to go find someone if I want to ask a question or, more often, make a demand. But I do go in search, and it’s a nice house to pad around in with sock feet looking for someone to talk to … although it’s no sailboat.
Last week, however, I was not looking for anyone to talk to. I didn’t need to. For most of the week, GK was right there on me, either throwing up, or needing her diaper changed immediately. And just miserable. I hate seeing my kids sick. Thankfully, I didn’t have to see her being strapped to a board in the emergency room to get an IV, Kristy handled that. I’m not sure I could have.
But I handled the rest of the week – three days with GK, and then two with S when she polluted with it. Whatever it was, this strain of virus, it was awful. I’ve been washing my hands ever since.
Everyone is better now and the house truly feels like ours, having been puked and pooped on. We can’t wipe it down enough with bleach and soap. I imagine soon enough it will be quarantined, once the boys on Mount Blogspot get a green, putrid wind of this. Immutable germaphobes, those two.
I imagine that since it’s been so long, you’re probably wondering what we’ve been up to. Not the six of you, specifically, but the two guys who run this morass of a website from their perch high atop Mount Blogspot. The ones who keep an eye on us, who conduct their day to day, minute to minute, census of all of us and who our friends are and what we had for breakfast or whose cat did something cute.
They’re a benign and curious duo, they mean no harm. They collect the information simply for their own beguilement. Though one of these days, I can’t help but fear, they will sell that information. Possibly to the government or possibly to the Google, if they are not, in fact, the same thing.
The purchase money will be used to erect a stately pleasure dome, a 21st Century San Simeon. It will be 1,200 square feet of living space above for their parents, and a 48,000 square foot basement room for their XBOXes and their oversized Apple monitors and their poster of the Beyonce and their very own land line, in case a girl should call.
A girl never, ever calls.
But the two young men will be comfortable with their Twittering and their virtual Dungeons & Dragons and their meals still prepared by their mother upstairs even though these young men are 32 and 34. Comfort and security are what matter at home.
We’ve been in our new house for two weeks now and we are as comfortable as can be. The space, though, is somewhat disconcerting. In the old house, we could sit in the living room and see where everyone was, hear what everyone was involved in and smell what was for dinner, or what had been for lunch, from our spots on the sofa. Now, though, I really have no idea what’s going on when I’m in my office and the others are … elsewhere. In some ways that’s good, in a lot of ways that’s good, but sometimes I wonder what everyone is up to.
I read a book once about a family that lived aboard a sail boat for a year. They were a close family, both physically and socially, and the mother wrote that what was odd was upon returning to their large home after the sail, they would practically speak in whisper to a child or sibling. They were so used to having that person practically touching them at all times that they didn’t have to speak so loud to gain their audience.
It’s new to me to have to go find someone if I want to ask a question or, more often, make a demand. But I do go in search, and it’s a nice house to pad around in with sock feet looking for someone to talk to … although it’s no sailboat.
Last week, however, I was not looking for anyone to talk to. I didn’t need to. For most of the week, GK was right there on me, either throwing up, or needing her diaper changed immediately. And just miserable. I hate seeing my kids sick. Thankfully, I didn’t have to see her being strapped to a board in the emergency room to get an IV, Kristy handled that. I’m not sure I could have.
But I handled the rest of the week – three days with GK, and then two with S when she polluted with it. Whatever it was, this strain of virus, it was awful. I’ve been washing my hands ever since.
Everyone is better now and the house truly feels like ours, having been puked and pooped on. We can’t wipe it down enough with bleach and soap. I imagine soon enough it will be quarantined, once the boys on Mount Blogspot get a green, putrid wind of this. Immutable germaphobes, those two.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Bad Parent
JP had a field trip this morning to go see an IMAX movie and he really wanted me to go along. My plan was to drop off all the kids and then meet him and his class at the Pink Palace for the movie.
However, as I neared Evergreen Montessori on the second leg of my bus route, I couldn't help but notice that there were no cars in the parking lot. I checked the clock, thinking maybe I'd made a mistake and was actually very, very early, even though I'd just dropped off the older kids at a bustling school. The note on the school's door reminded parents that they would be closed today and Monday, the teachers all had some sort of out-of-town classes to attend.
After I finished my rounds, with GK still in tow, I didn't think it was a good idea to take her along to the movie with JP. She was sound asleep by that time and I still had about 45 minutes before I had to be at the museum, so we just went home.
I'm not sure what makes me a worse parent: not knowing that my daughter's school would be closed today or standing my son up for a field trip when he was expecting me.
However, as I neared Evergreen Montessori on the second leg of my bus route, I couldn't help but notice that there were no cars in the parking lot. I checked the clock, thinking maybe I'd made a mistake and was actually very, very early, even though I'd just dropped off the older kids at a bustling school. The note on the school's door reminded parents that they would be closed today and Monday, the teachers all had some sort of out-of-town classes to attend.
After I finished my rounds, with GK still in tow, I didn't think it was a good idea to take her along to the movie with JP. She was sound asleep by that time and I still had about 45 minutes before I had to be at the museum, so we just went home.
I'm not sure what makes me a worse parent: not knowing that my daughter's school would be closed today or standing my son up for a field trip when he was expecting me.
Thursday, February 05, 2009
The Unkindest Cut of All
I kid, because sometimes things are too funny to me not to. I try to be witty here, for you, for free, as often as I can. Every other Thursday, however, my wittiness is worth 50-cents in The Commercial Appeal, which seems fair. Today is one of those days and you can read the latest "Because I Said So" column here (for free).
I do kid, but the truth is that the Conrad Pearson Clinic was an experience as pleasant as possible, considering. Dr. Eber and Nurse Lori were very professional and friendly and informative. And once all that waiting was over, the procedure itself only took about 10 minutes. I recommend these good folks highly for those of you with a bunch of kids who are also at the end of your rope.
I do kid, but the truth is that the Conrad Pearson Clinic was an experience as pleasant as possible, considering. Dr. Eber and Nurse Lori were very professional and friendly and informative. And once all that waiting was over, the procedure itself only took about 10 minutes. I recommend these good folks highly for those of you with a bunch of kids who are also at the end of your rope.
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