_____________________________________

Noodle time.

2011-01-06T15:00:00.000-05:00

I am father of the year.

2010-12-15T11:20:00.001-05:00

Our son is the Ashlee Simpson of Christmas Carols.

2010-12-08T19:39:00.001-05:00

Our new hire.

2010-09-20T11:12:00.001-04:00

Found him in a Home Depot parking lot. Hired him on to do our dishes. Dude refuses to wear a shirt.

Gracie Allen and George Burns, 1933.

2010-05-17T09:25:00.002-04:00

I love this picture.

Our son.

2010-02-28T00:19:00.003-05:00

Compliments of his Aunt Ashley. It's been a long weekend.

My Night.

2010-02-27T23:01:00.000-05:00

The boy: I want mommy to read me books.
Me: I am not mommy. I am Daddy Robot.
[begin robot noises]
The Boy: I love you Daddy Robot.

I love this dad thing.

Buzz Lightyear: Boy Slave

2010-01-13T15:38:00.003-05:00

We will watch this movie, during which time you will feed me clementine orange slices piece by piece. Then you will let me use your laser on some marshmallows and chocolate.

Sitting in LAX, passing the time.

Sigh.

2009-12-18T08:47:00.001-05:00

Click to embiggen.

The best part about working at a bar?

2009-10-18T20:27:00.003-04:00

Sometimes you'll say something to a regular, something like "Hey, I know you're drunk, but I also know you knit. Could you make my son a Where the Wild Things Are hat? He has a head the size of a cantaloupe." And you say it in passing assuming that they'll forget, but the next day she drops off a bag with a wool, hand-knit cap inside? That's kind of awesome.

Where the Wild Things Sit Still For Their First Movie...

2009-10-18T20:20:00.003-04:00

We had a most excellent time. Little man sat still throughout the entire movie, only getting up to move to the front row.

This is our son...

2009-10-16T08:07:00.003-04:00

...running the playground. I was told by his teacher that he runs the length of this playground with this wheelbarrow daily, toting bricks from point a to point b and back again. I was told that this happens many times a day.

The picture is not blurred, for this is the speed at which he ran; sound barriers were broken, wind vortexes were created and flames shot up from the ground as his soles left the ground. I attempted to capture it on film for three days straight --hidden in full camo behind the confines of a deer blind-- before a faster shutter speed and some ISO 6400 film got it right.

After witnessing it myself, I ask you this: How does he come home with so much energy!?!?

Time...

2009-10-15T08:52:00.002-04:00

Four years ago in a sleepy Mexican town, I was made whole. None of this would make sense without her. One day, we will both come back as cats.

Happy Anniversary, my love.

A normal morning at home...

2009-10-14T08:24:00.004-04:00

Rachel: Are you done yet?
Tenzin: [in bathroom] No!

Rachel goes in to check on him. Looks in toilet.

Rachel: Boy buddy, that sure is a lot of poop!
Tenzin: Thank you!

Annnnnnd scene.

Renick's Family Farm for Pumpkins

2009-10-12T08:02:00.009-04:00

The little guy had a blast in the mud, picking up every pumpkin he could find and dropping it with authority. It took him a while to realize that pumpkins are, indeed, fragile and should be set down softly.

Tired...

2009-09-21T11:45:00.003-04:00

Sugar...

2009-09-21T11:45:00.002-04:00

Smile...

2009-09-21T11:38:00.001-04:00

Me thinks he hit the playground a little too hard...

2009-09-06T12:37:00.000-04:00

My reasons...

2009-08-23T23:04:00.001-04:00

...for everything.

The sign says yes, but the face says no.

2009-08-09T15:03:00.003-04:00

Winding down from the Ohio State Fair. The boy was a trooper.

Additionally, there are a ton of new videos up on the YouTube account. Check them out.

Click the picture to embiggen.

If Daddy can't have one, you can't have one.

2009-08-04T12:29:00.001-04:00

Click to embiggen.

I. Have. No. Time. I am sorry.

2009-08-04T12:13:00.001-04:00

Click to embiggen.

Our boy. He counts.

2009-06-29T00:03:00.001-04:00

This is post-Comfest dirty kid, doing and saying anything he can to impress me into giving him a cinnamon roll.

Tenzin and his buddy, Raymond...

2009-05-28T10:13:00.002-04:00

They had some fun on Memorial Day at the Grandview parade. These two are awesome together and love to wrestle and roughhouse.

Rules of dating...

2009-05-26T16:09:00.002-04:00

It's nice to buy them jewelry...

...and take them to nice places...

..but it always helps if you buy them a few cocktails.

No, those are not jazz hands.

Yin and the yang...

2009-05-06T11:37:00.002-04:00

Rachel is crying because she just toured our son’s preschool and it hurts her to let go of her little baby.

I smiled when she told me this, grinning at the thought of him getting bigger, advancing, and learning new things.

Parental balance; it looks different when you're watching from this side of the fence.

Thanks, Mom and Dad.

Gervais + Elmo = Hilarity on 'Sesame Street'

2009-03-12T11:25:00.001-04:00

Our little thug...

2009-02-09T08:36:00.003-05:00

You might not have known this, but our little boy is being raised in Southie, a rough-and-tumble neighborhood in Massachusetts. He is writing a screen play with Ben Affleck, though, and hopes to one day make it as a writer/actor in Hollywood.

Seriously, though, how cute is this little guy. A 55-degree day lent itself to a little walk around the neighborhood and we couldn't have been happier. We're almost out of hibernation.

Tenzin and I need to start making some videos...

2009-02-05T14:32:00.001-05:00

See more funny videos and TBT Videos at Today's Big Thing.

Christmas airbags have deployed...

2008-12-26T08:32:00.003-05:00

Go to your respective corners!

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6...it's over, Rocky! Christmas is over!

And so this is Christmas...

2008-12-25T12:48:00.009-05:00

Well it’s Christmas and yet another year has gone by, this being possibly my laziest blogging year to date. I’ll spare you my usual we’ve been so busy lately and there’s just not enough time in the world’s, but truth of the matter is that a two-year old is just a tornado wrapped in a hurricane surrounded in a tsunami, and I totally underestimated the transition.

Anyway, the holidays have come and gone with little fanfare. Tenzin is still a tad too young to understand what’s going on, but manages to enjoy a good thrashing of paper; that seems to be universal at any age. He’d open and reopen the same gift over and over again if we would let him. In fact, some of his presents were merely toys that had been worn out months ago, given new life with a bow and some wrapping paper. We like to think of it as economic recycling.

We awoke his morning to cinnamon rolls, bacon and coffee. Rachel had roused herself out of bed at an ungodly hour, per her holiday spirit, while Tenzin and I slept in till all of 9:30. Tenzin was up all night playing with Henry at Gaga and Pa’s house and didn’t get to bed until about 11:00pm, so he was still a tad bit grumpy come morning. Additionally, the little guy has been feeling under the weather. What we first thought to be rotavirus is hopefully just a stomach bug, and it’s really taken a toll on his system. All he wants to do is help (with everything), and no matter how much we wash and scrub we still don’t want to risk the germs. So we usually have to pull him away, drippy nose and all, and he’s usually none too happy. Poor little guy.

Luckily, a hurt tummy is nothing a couple of presents can’t fix, so we opened up some gifts. Like most people, we’ve scaled back this Christmas. Rachel really enjoyed the beef tongue sandwich I made her, while I took comfort in the wool underwear she painstakingly knit. They’re itchy, but we guys are always looking for a reason to scratch down there, so I’m grateful I can now blame my sweaty tuckus.

Tenzin got some dried cow patties (Bear Grylls says they’re excellent fuel for holding a flame) and a box with the word life written inside (we originally gave him that gift two years ago but he hasn’t thanked us yet, so we repackaged). We also took his blanket away from him a couple of times, only to give it back after he begged. He didn’t like that until we told him that our benevolent generosity was also a gift. Then he understood.

But I think the best gift, by far, was Rachel’s giant bow (got the idea from a Lexus commercial). It looked awesome on our truck. Then again, when does a giant bow not make everything better (with the exception of the time when I used it getting out of the shower).

Soon we’ll be heading over to Gaga and Pa’s for Christmas with the grandparents/Rayo’s, then off to bed to get a jump on Rachel’s birthday tomorrow. No big plans for the latter of the two since I have to work most of the day, but I bet that it’s a safe bet that we’ll enjoy some good grub and a couple of drinks (might be able to reuse the giant bow).

We wish there was time (and money) to see some West Coast folk, but it’ll have to wait till March. Uncle Jared and Aunt Erin will be getting married in Phoenix and it looks like an Orange County constituency will be making the trip east. It’ll be great to see them since it’s been so long. Next Christmas, however, we hope to definitely have our feet planted firmly in the sand. It’s not easy rotating back and forth every year, so we might just need to set a date for Christmas in Caribbean. I think we can all agree that the sand and sun needs to be a constant, given the 3 degree morning on Monday and the 55 degree afternoon on Wednesday.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

2008-12-22T11:04:00.003-05:00

All I want for Christmas is a minute to write a blog post.

The Battle of the Pacifier...

2008-11-28T08:05:00.001-05:00

Our first attempt at weening the little guy from his chupetes isn't going as planned. We took one away and another one miraculously appeared from below the couch. I'm frightened he has them tucked away in anticipation of winter.

Happy Thanksgiving!!!

A Guide for Global Leadership

2008-10-22T10:03:00.000-04:00

ALL I REALLY NEED TO KNOW I LEARNED IN KINDERGARTEN: a guide for Global Leadership.

All I really need to know about how to live and what to do and how to be I learned in kindergarten. Wisdom was not at the top of the graduate school mountain, but there in the sand pile at school.

These are the things I learned:

Share everything.
Play fair.
Don't hit people.
Put things back where you found them.
Clean up your own mess.
Don't take things that aren't yours.
Say you're sorry when you hurt somebody.
Wash your hands before you eat.
Flush.
Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you.
Live a balanced life - learn some and think some and draw and paint and sing and dance and play and work every day some.
Take a nap every afternoon.
When you go out in the world, watch out for traffic, hold hands and stick together.
Be aware of wonder. Remember the little seed in the Styrofoam cup: the roots go down and the plant goes up and nobody really knows how or why, but we are all like that.
Goldfish and hamsters and white mice and even the little seed in the Styrofoam cup - they all die. So do we.
And then remember the Dick-and-Jane books and the first word you learned - the biggest word of all - LOOK.

Everything you need to know is in there somewhere. The Golden Rule and love and basic sanitation. Ecology and politics and equality and sane living.

[Source: "ALL I REALLY NEED TO KNOW I LEARNED IN KINDERGARTEN" by Robert Fulghum. See his web site at http://www.robertfulghum.com/ ]

Update, if you wanna call it that...

2008-10-13T14:44:00.009-04:00

[Seeing as Summer is pretty much over I felt I should, at least, post Part 1 of an update - an update I've been sitting on for over two months now. I know, I'm awesome. So much has happened, but I haven't been able to keep up. I owe a lot more update-wise than this, so I'll try to get out Part 2, in addition to a large Thank You for condo-loan to the Sweitzer family, as soon as I can. I mean it. I swear. I promise. Don't look at me that way.]

Late August

There’s something to be said about location and development. As a youth, I had many fond memories of various places: climbing the crab apple trees in our backyard, watching our fathers paint soccer field lines at the local fairgrounds, the Christmas lights at Clifton Mill, playing a night game against friends at Alt Field, painting the driveway (with water) at my Grandmother’s house, the timeout bench at Hilliard East Pool, and last but not least, Myrtle Beach.

The south has been a family tradition for as long as I can remember; whether it be losing my treasured blue and white Nikes at the spry age of four in a Florida hotel or feeling myself grow two inches (outward) in a single meal at the Texan, there’s a sense of home in the pack, the drive and the sandy grit of the southeastern coast.

Not just exclusive to us, the east coast has been a hotspot for the vanilla masses of the Midwest for ages, so much so that even the French Canadians have hopped on board (albeit in much smaller swimsuits).

From Columbus, you’re looking at about a five hour trip to DC, six hours to Virginia Beach, ten hours to Myrtle Beach (sorry Dad, but you could use some foot weights), and twelve hours to Kiawah, Seabrook and Hilton Head. For you Southern Californians reading this, think of it as Vegas, Phoenix, San Jose, and Reno, respectively. It’s not a fun hike, but it’s right in that should-we-fly or should-we-drive range.

For me, half the fun was always the night before. The butterflied anticipation of jellyfish-taunting was enough to make me pre-sharpen a chasing stick the night before, much less the giddiness that stemmed from knowing that I would be taunting girls…get this…in bikinis. What can I say? I was a little Romeo. A little Romeo with a sharpened chasing stick covered in jellyfish.

Needless to say, it’s funny how things change. Little known fact: Did you know that if your car has 15.2 cubic feet of trunk space, 15 out of 15.2 cubic feet of said space will be filled with diggers, dumpers, swimmers, sippy cups, sun lotions, after sun lotions, and pre-sun lotions? Not much room for chasing sticks. Alas. Seriously though, our trunk was ridiculous. Had we been in an accident on the way to South Carolina it would’ve been the result of a lube leak. That car was packed to the gills with lotion, lotion, and more lotion!

Anywhoo, we left the house happy. The child in me still got to take his 6’2” skateboard, two cases of beer and copious amounts of firework repatriation money - so I can’t say that I wasn’t pleased. It was just different packing a car for two thirsty adults, versus packing an itsy bitsy bag for an anxious, stressful set of parents getting ready to flop their way through a TSA gate check. This was our *first* long drive and it was it was a hell of a lot more interesting. While the TSA might restrict you from bringing an entire basement into the cargo hold, a father looks at an automobile as a volume-challenge. I’m used to packing as light as the metal on my body and now I have THIS MUCH ROOM? Game on.

After the tugboats pushed our rent-a-Mazda out of Ohio, I was amazed. We had planned on leaving at 7:00pm(ish) and driving through the night, but somehow --we’re not sure how-- we were on the road by 7:03. Granted, packing took a little bit longer than expected and we forgot to, say, feed our son dinner prior to getting in the car, but we were southern-bound with the Columbus skyline at our backs…and only THREE minutes late! Take that Clark Griswold!

The drive was a wonderful success. Tenzin slept the whole way and Rachel, in her slumber, neglected to see my white knuckle driving. West Virginia’s mountainous turns make you feel like you’re half-blindfolded in the dark, and while we might have arrived two hours ahead of schedule because perks like limited traffic, I think I shaved 14 years off of my life. All in all I was quite proud of myself. I made it 9 of the 11 hours before I felt my eyes sagging. Rachel happily took the wheel and finished the rest of the trip.

We got to the beach, shoeless, at 6:00am. Don’t ask me how, but my Rainbow sandals --the sandals I was married in-- got kicked out at one of the many gas station stops. This would be one of three sets of sandals lost on this trip, but that’s a different story all together. It was just a big bummer to lose your wedding flops.

The problem with making good time and arriving at dawn is, well, our room wouldn’t be ready until 3:00pm - did I mention I’m a scheduling genius? Funny enough, it couldn’t have worked out better. We unstrapped my skateboard from the roof (in case you didn’t know, they’re hotter than car stereos) and walked down to the beach.

Tenzin wasn’t sure what to make of it. As you can see from our previous posts he’s been in the ocean (kind of) and been swimming plenty of times, but this was his first I-can-recognize-what-I’m-doing, big sandbox experience. He took two cautious steps and was feeling his way around, then began laughing and giggling as he scooped up the ground around him. Only 20 seconds, and we had already busted out our first, “We don’t throw sand.” Nothing is better than watching discovery, and following it up with never-do-that-again-isms.

Due to some bribery at the front desk (a promised 6-pack of Bud from the nearby package store), we were able to check-in by 9:00 am. This was the first of many amazing experiences for me. Let me remind you that I haven’t set foot in Myrtle Beach since I was 15-years old. The last “James” to visit MB was a James that lied about his age, snuck out of windows and made out in sand dunes with poorly supervised tourists' daughters. Fast forward to now, where I bought beer (legally) as a bribe from the same store where we had tried (to no avail) to bribe people to buy us beer! Like I said, our families have been vacationing here for a while, but I don’t think I truly grasped how much I would remember some of this. It was all very surreal.

This time around we were going with our friends, the Bilek’s. Times are tough and money is tight, so as much as we had hoped to make it down with family (who were down there a week prior), we asked the Bilek’s if they’d split cost and start a new tradition. They happily jumped on board and met us down there for a week of fun in the sun.

We settled in and had a really great time. It was nice because of everybody was able to go at their own pace; some days we wanted to relax on the beach, others we just wanted to relax with a nap. There wasn't any pressure to do anything,and it felt great.

I was quite proud of our beach set-up. I had raided the Pointe Tavern before we left and comandeered two massive Miller light umbrellas, in addition to a massive sun tent compliments of GaGa and Pa. It was a royal pain in the ass to set-up and tear down, but it was nice to have all the ammenities to keep us on the sand as long as possible. We were on a mission to stay ocean-side for 8 hours a day and I think we did just that.

[Part II to follow. Seriously. C'mon, be patient.]

Photography by Rachel...

2008-08-13T08:20:00.003-04:00

I love this picture...

Just a couple of pictures...

2008-08-08T09:33:00.004-04:00

Jazz & Rib Fest with his cousin Henry.

Little Raymond taking apart his race car, just like his Dad (at Raymond's 3rd birthday party).

Tenzin checking out Raymond's modifications.

The car is so fast, it's pushing him back in his seat!

The DC Chronicles: Part II

2008-07-29T10:18:00.021-04:00

While walking back to the hotel -- what was supposed to be a two or three mile journey -- we were stuck, yet again, in the middle of DC mayhem. We were wedged between an overpass and a highway off-ramp, facing our hotel, but with no way to get there. Another dead end. Our room was in sight, but the six lanes of highway and the 55 mph traffic was a bit…wait a minute…what…is…that…smell? Rachel? Are you smelling what I’m smelling? Cajun spicy goodness? Old Bay seasoning? Real-life adventure on the high seas broadcast weekly on the Discovery Channel? It is!!!

A Fish Market!

And lo! As the smell of fish wafted throughout the land, the clouds opened up.

This place was nuts. Apparently we had stumbled upon the most amazing fish market in the world (sorry Seattle), the Main Avenue Fish Market. Fresh crab was crawling in every direction, snapper the size of Smart cars, and shrimp so big you could saddle them up and ride them home.

It was almost dinner time and cars were beginning to pull up en masse for dinner (or take dinner home). The place was bounding at its shore-lined seams. Beautiful. Rachel and I, after what was once a sh*tty day, knew we had no choice; we were going to drag our family here…here to our beautiful oasis in the middle of an impassable cement desert. We looked at each other and smiled.

OK, so it wasn’t really an oasis. Anybody that’s ever been to a fish market knows that it’s not oasis-like, especially in the smell department. However, our day had not been entirely lost, so we declared victory: it was time to gorge ourselves in celebration!

We drug Ashley, Steven and the Zen back to our market and needless to say, Tenzin was in eye candy heaven. Crabs were flipping themselves over the side of the boat trying not to end up on a dinner plate, fishmongers were tossing and slicing filets, locals were barking out orders two, sometimes three people deep. He couldn’t stop staring! For his amusement, I even tried to pop an escaped crab back up in to a basket, only to find out that crabs can, in fact, readily access the area behind their backs. Tenzin giggled as I put a napkin over my bleeding finger.

We walked around for a while, perused the different floating markets, snapped some pictures, then decided that enough was enough…it was go time. Side note: Although one might not think ceviche when they think of DC, I would like to announce that the District of Columbia is, unbeknownst to most, the ceviche capital of the United States. I can’t remember if it was Ashley or Rachel, but somebody came back to our dinner box with a cup full of amazing. It was the second-best ceviche I have ever had, preceded only by the $5.00 mound of citrus heaven we ate in La Fonda, Mexico. The four of us sat on the docks literally inhaling food: ceviche, chowder, corn on the cob, scallops...anything we could find.

After about an hour of non-stop eating, we relaxed on the docks post-meal, suckling on our ice cream cones of victory. Tenzin was covered in about four gallons of watermelon juice and we didn’t look much better.

Chins were dripping and clothes were moist, we were all just a hot mess. I, however, had continued to wander the market for a little while longer, and even though I was full I could not resist the temptation. I proceeded over to one of the more popular vendors and bought two of the biggest king crab legs I could find – our dessert. They’ll steam them for you on the spot, so I waited my eight minutes and marched triumphantly back to camp. We all dove in, and in case you were wondering how good they were, check out the vegetarian:

It was seriously one of the best, if not THE BEST, meals I have ever had. And the best part? All of it was below market price. A meal like this would have easily cost $250 at restaurant in Columbus. At the Main Avenue Fish Market? About $50 for four and a half of us.

And to cap off the evening...

We made our way across the street to a hill, our bellies full and our smiles big. We relaxed there for a while and just took in the sights and sound of the fish market below. Trying to time a picture for posterity's sake didn't work out too well.

And contrary to my opinion of various other areas of the city, I'll take this version of DC any day.

Humph...

2008-07-29T09:48:00.001-04:00

DC Part II up by the end of the day. I promise.

Until then, enjoy some Bert & Ernie rhymes...

I need 20 extra hours in the day...

2008-07-25T10:01:00.002-04:00

I promise that DC Part II is coming so instead, try to figure out what the heck Tenzin is saying. It's a combination of Mork from Ork and and Vietnamese.

The DC Chronicles: Part 1

2008-07-10T10:26:00.008-04:00

Happy anniversary to me!!!

It’s official: over one month since I last posted!

It’s been far too long, so much so that it doesn’t even feel hurried to get one up. It’s kind of like turning in a late paper to a teacher; one day late and you still have a chance, two weeks late and there’s really no harm in waiting another day, right? Not that I know what any of that is like. All my papers were always in on time. I promise, mom.

For starters, Aunt Ashley and Uncle Steven flew out from California for a little DC vacation. Some of my friends from Peace Corps were gathering in our nation’s capital to send off Deb, our traveler-at-large, as she begins yet another journey to Montenegro with the Foreign Service. It’s an amazing job and all of us are truly jealous. Every two years she’s relocated to another exotic locale (OK, so maybe Poland wasn’t super exotic, but it’s still more interesting than Grove City).

Steven and Ashley had never been to the Capital, and likewise I had been but never been touristy. We thought it would be a great time to see the town, get some pictures, catch up with old friends, and taste the local libations.

DC is a hard sell for me. The whole city sparks an innate interest in my patriotic mind that makes me want to see and do everything around me, while a large portion of my brain lay shrouded in trepidation over the fact that, in order to get to DC, one must drive in DC. With this we were excited, albeit apprehensive about the trip.

The drive down went pretty well, all things considered. Rachel and I only work half-day Fridays, so we got off of work and headed straight home, packed some last minute items, and hopped in the car by 1:30 pm.

It was great to see Ashley and Steven as we drove through the mountains. Steven, being a native Californian, couldn’t get over the leafy greenness of the hills. I guess when you’re used to dry climate, with a random snow cap or two thrown in for good measure, the forested hills of Appalachia might look a little different.

Steven rode shotgun while I drove, with Rachel and Ashley flanking Tenzin in the back. Little man was a champ! Ashley discovered the Thornburg Family claw toe secret, feeding him Fritos in between his toes and watching him put them in his mouth, yes, with the Fritos still between his toes. The hilarity continued with a pacifier, and possibly even a gummy worm or two. Then it was time to “Eat your leg,” where we figured out if we told him to eat his leg he would, in fact, begin to gnaw on his calf. I think somebody is coming to an age where he understands what it means to get a laugh, because Tenzin was more than obliged to show off for his west coast family.

We made it to DC in good time, checking in to the L’Enfant Plaza by about 8:30 pm. It’s a great (see: cheap) hotel located right on top of the Metro, which made travel super easy over the weekend (with the exception of Saturday, but that’s another story). Tenizin’s always been a big fan of mass transit in general, not because of the many social and environmental benefits therein, but because it’s daredevil time for an almost two year-old. Think about it…at his age, a motorized vehicle means, well, basically a five point harness and a nice view of Mommy and Daddy’s ever-graying hair. Pop him on a subway or a bus and it must feel like flying! Now if only we could teach him to stop licking the poles, we’d be golden.

We got to go out the first night and meet up with some of the PC people at a local pool hall, played some shuffleboard, told embarrassing stories (most of which at my expense), and caught the last subway before 3:00am. Ashley stayed back at the hotel room with Tenzin, undoubtedly postponing the decades before she’ll ever want to have children again (he can be a little bit of a handful).

It was so great to see everyone. Steven kicked some butt until the drinks caught up with him. Meanwhile, I habitually sucked, that is, until the drinks caught up with me. Unfortunately I think we were teammates for a couple of games, so that strategy didn’t work out so well.

The next day was a little bit more difficult. Not because of the previous night’s festivities, but because while the AM was fine, the PM reminded me of why I hate this town. That morning, while sucking down every Powerade within a three mile radius, we walked to the Smithsonian Castle, and then on to the Air & Space Museum. Great day so far.

Then, Ashley needed Ethiopian food. Being the visual forces of strength that we are, Steven and I figured we should go along for the ride “just in case” (‘cause nothing says don’t-mess-with-us than a surfer and a pasty mid-westerner). Little known fact: Ashley is very picky about her Ethiopian food. I think Steven and I traveled a Metro-aided marathon in search of the proper restaurant. We finally gave up just three blocks shy of her intended destination and ducked in to a pub for some grub.

By this time, Rachel was back at the hotel with Tenzin and in need of a break, so I left Steven to fend for Ashley and headed back to the hotel. This is where things broke down. Our hotel sat right on top of the Metro, but had two stops in which to exit. When I got off the Metro, I was –literally– exiting on the wrong side of the tracks.

As I wound my way around the little-known Napping District (how can homeless people sleep in the sun on an 85 degree day?), I had sight of our hotel, but unfortunately, could not get close. As soon as I thought there was a break in the road/bushes/train tracks/nappers, I would end up at a dead end. The kicker: my angry façade must have appeared to make me a local, because other lost tourists were asking me for directions (what does that say about the appearance of the locals?).

About an hour and a half later, I had finally made it up the stairs to our hotel. Yes, an hour and a friggin’ half to walk less than football field. The construction crew working on the hotel added to this time, seeing as the whole back section of the hotel –the section I had been trying to reach– was roped off and impassable. A flashing of my breasts had gotten me nowhere, and I was forced to walk around three entire blocks to access the front. By this point, I was fuming.

We were supposed to be meeting up with Peace Corps friends in about an hour, but I was in no mood to be on the road. I get to a certain point where I know I’m not going to be any fun to be around and Rachel is about the only person that can put up with me, so I decided to be a party pooper and back out of the reunion dinner. While it was unfortunate that I didn’t get to see some of my old friends, this might have been one of the best decisions I have ever made.

I got in to the hotel and asked Rachel if we could “just go.” I didn’t care where, why or how, I just knew that we needed to go. We walked down to the Metro and I asked Rachel to pick “North, South, East or West.” I don’t even remember which way she chose (one of the downfalls of blogging one month after-the-fact), but as soon as we got on we pointed to a stop and decided that THAT was the one. We exited in what looked to be the wrong side of the tracks (again), but it didn’t matter. I saw signs for the waterfront and we just kept walking…arm in arm…working off all the bad juju I had collected through the day.

Out of nowhere it rose, like a coconut Phoenix from the fishy ashes; a tiki bar! I’m not sure where or why it was positioned where it was, but this was undoubtedly one of the weirdest location for a rum bar that I had ever seen. No matter though, Rachel and I were geeked up to just be out on the town. We sat and threw back some drinks, talking realty and mortgages with an awesome older gentleman named Novell, and called it a night with a long walk home. It was a hefty distance, but it was romantic nonetheless.

I've started my own webste...

2008-06-09T19:03:00.006-04:00

It's for adult married males who enjoy the finer things in life.

Oh yea...

Work it...that's nice...

Is that a beer?

This is too much!!!

OK, haha, joke's over...

Rachel?

Rachel?!?!

RACHEL?!?!?!?!

I was just reminded that I have 3 weeks, 1 day, 14 hours, and 39 minutes until my cast comes off.

Hmmmm....but if she takes off a toe, I can prolong this ordeal a whole six months!

Sorry...

2008-06-05T07:36:00.007-04:00

Sorry for not posting it what seems like forever, but a recent broken elbow limits my ability to type. I'm in a full arm cast for the next four weeks, so please pardon my short, bitter comments. Pre-warning: I'm going to be a tad bit grumpy.

Here's some pics to tide you over. See if you can guess what homemade toy caused the broken elbow...

Manbabies

2008-05-15T14:42:00.004-04:00

Deena asked for it, so here you go. My Photoshop inspired by this site.

Shave and a Haircut, Re-Gret!!!

2008-05-12T10:44:00.021-04:00

Buyer's remorse is an emotional condition whereby a person feels remorse or regret after a purchase. It is frequently associated with the purchase of higher value items therefore be considered "bad" although it may also stem from a sense of not wishing to be "wrong".

***

As I sat in the check-out line with Tenzin buckled in to his race car (while he quickly destroyed every candy display in sight), I heard a Metamucil-stocked senior citizen behind me say, “Oh, you are just precious. Just adorable. Look how beautiful you are!” With a son like Tenzin you’d think I’d be used to this sort of thing by now, but then again, with a Dad like me we often hear the same remarks. So I turned to see if she was talking about the son or the father.

Me: “Thank you.”
Grey Hair: “How old is she?”
Me: “HE is 18 months old.”
Grey Hair: “She’s just precious. She must keep you busy with her busy hands.”
Me: “Yes HE does. HE keeps us busy with HIS busy hands. HIS MANLY hands.”
Grey Hair: “I only had three grandbaby boys, I never got my granddaughter. You are so blessed.”
Me: “PENIS, PENIS, PENIS!!! HE has a WEEWEE.”
Grey Hair: “She’s just beautiful.”
Me: [Sigh] “Thank you.”

I’m not sure what went wrong, but somewhere between the black/white checkered Vans and the Search + Rescue Fire truck shirt, Estelle Getty’s twin sister deduced that our son was a girl. And while her misassumption might have been the result of her age and/or Coke bottle glasses, I still don’t feel bad about throwing that box of Trojan Magnum condoms into her shopping cart after she insulted my son's boyulinity.

***

So yes, Tenzin is now 18 months-old. For those of you unacquainted with the year-and-a-half milestone, it’s that banner time period when we, as parents, lose our minds and fly off the cuff, making rash decisions without thinking them through. Case in point: Tenzin’s first haircut.

Now, while I’d like to admit that the decision to get his hair cut was a spontaneous result of the Grey Hair in the check-out line (in addition to numerous other comparable experiences with inept gender judgers), it was, in fact, just a giddy eagerness on our part to see what happens next in the wild world of parenting. That was it. Seriously. Tenzin is at that age, his hair was getting long, and we've talked about it (see: put it off) for quite a while; the last month or so, in fact! So why not now, right? Looking back, it was almost like a game of parental chicken between Rachel and I, each at the last minute threatening not to swerve. Inevitably, one of us would get out of the way and we would be rewarded with another week of hippie hair.

Well, it’s two days after-the-fact and as I sit at my computer screen uploading the latest barber shop pics, I can’t help but want to shop for baby wigs. I miss our little guy’s locks.

***

We headed down the street to Longview Barber Shop, the oldest established business in Clintonville. Longview has been cuttin' do's for eighty-nine years, and even boasts an 86 year-old customer that’s been coming to LBS his entire life! So while ownership of the shop might have changed hands on more than one occasion, I couldn’t help but think that if the shop was good enough for eight decades of trims for one man, it’s good enough for my son.

We took the long route, walking down to the furthest crosswalk away from the shop in order to postpone the inevitable. Upon arrival, Rachel even walked by the front door “on accident.” I almost let her go, but with a quick turn of the stroller we were in. No turning back. Little man had no idea what he was in for, and neither did we.

All three barbers were standing by their chairs, it was apparently a slow day. I had scoped out the shop on my last cut and was fairly surprised at how young they all were; all about early to mid-thirties talking about various athletes and their stats, one of man stereotypically hunched over a newspaper nodding in (dis)agreement. The usual. Barber paraphernalia sat in blue liquids just below the local high school football jerseys pinned high on the walls, showing no school-specific favoritism, but showing support nonetheless. And my favorite, a picture frame tucked away near the window, an old diagram showing which of the eight hair cuts you had to choose from (I wanted the Flat Top with Fenders, but Rachel said no).

So while the age-range had changed, the traditional atmosphere had remained the same. After all it’s not the principals, but the principles. So after my cut was over, I knew this would be a great place for the Z.

During my cut I poked and prodded about first-cut experiences to feel them out, and was quite surprised about their approach towards kids. I expected stories of mayhem and destruction, but Dave, the owner, had one simple rule: “I don’t cut their hair if they continue to reach for their heads. These are barber shears, not Great Clips scissors.” He continued with stories of squirmers and gigglers, but had the same approach as you’d expect out of any pediatrician. Kids will be kids and each one is different. It made me comfortable and you could easily tell that this was somebody that really took pride in their profession.

***

The moment was upon us...

Tenzin popped in the chair with his “scanning face,” where he basically takes in an entire room. He’ll look around inquisitively and study everything around him until he decides whether or not he likes his new surroundings. He wasn’t too sure about what was going on, but there weren't any signs of DEFCON so we were happy. Then, ever-so-suddenly, Dave the Barber began to spray water on the back of his head...and the expression changed.

See for yourself. It’s not really easy to explain. It’s not happy, it’s not sad. There are some tinges of angry, some confusion, some shyness and some excitement. If you could mush all those up in to a big apprehensive ball, you’d get this:

The chopping had begun:

Doesn't he look happy?

And just for fun, we had Dave cut it in to a mullet for posterity's sake. Party in the back!!!

OK, enough funny business. Let's take a little off the top and we're almost finished.

The end result? A proper bowl cut: the wussy parents way of acknowledging the fact that their child is getting older, without going to extremes. It's the anti-haircut haircut.

Now before I get any angry emails from grandmothers (I can think of two of you who are already probably flooding my inbox), let me say this - I was wrong. In fact, not only was I wrong, but Rachel was wrong. Our child now looks three years older (albeit the same big ball of adorable as usual), he is powerless without his lion's mane and curls, and what's worse, he left a blue stain from the barber shop to our house.

Buyer's remorse, indeed.

As a result, and for the sake of never making the same mistake again, I would like to invite you all to Tenzin's next haircut. If you need a ride, I'll have our robot maid pick you up in our flying car and transport you to, yes, Longview Barbershop, as they celebrate their 105th year in business. While I, myself, will continue to frequent them for their excellent reputation and splendid customer service, our son will be taking a timeout from such grooming activities. In fact, I'm even teaching him how to unwalk. And uncrawl. And untalk.

Here's the video of our child's tragic transition into toddlerdom. I suggest you bring a tissue:

Thanks, Dave. Seriously. If anybody is considering a child's first haircut, the barber shop is the way to go.

I got people...

2008-05-08T12:46:00.005-04:00

Things are getting bad. I now feel as though it's easier to accept people calling my son a "she," than to let go and allow the little man to get his first haircut. We'll definitely need a good therapist when he's older. See for yourself, the hair is getting out of control:

Kind of a Farrah Fawcett meets Dennis the Menace sort of look.

In other news, our little boy is a Chipmunk. At daycare, that means that he's hanging out with the big boys and sleeping on a cot at nap time. As a result, he and Henry now get some play time together on a regular basis. The following story happened a while ago, but it's still a good one...

Rachel went to drop Tenzin off with the rest of the kids and Henry happened to already be at school. As another kid in the class approached Tenzin at the front entrance, Henry came running up and proudly exclaimed, "NO, that's MY cousin." Yep, that's right, the Z has himself some muscle. Henry even went to the trouble of introducing him to the entire playground when he transitioned to the outside playground, politely letting all the other classmates know who Tenzin was and who he was related to. It's nice to know our son is safe. Hopefully, if something were to ever go wrong, Henry would show some mercy.

From the Ad Council Creative...

2008-05-05T10:42:00.001-04:00

Why would it scare me to have a daughter?

Yep...I'll take water guns, dirt fights and peeing on a tree, anyday.

More baby how-to's...

2008-04-30T08:28:00.010-04:00

Ten on Tuesday

2008-04-29T14:05:00.019-04:00

For quite some time now our friends in the North Carolina mountains, Eric and Marian, have been posting a little ditty called "10 On Tuesday," where they will reflect about 10 things going on in their lives. Well, Marian is slacking (hin, hint), so here's my first Ten On.

1. We chickened out in getting Tenzin's first haircut on Saturday afternoon. The hippies at work (myself included) had a river clean-up that morning and by the time we had finished, I realized what, exactly, we were about to do. So I faked exhaustion and we said we'd wait until next week to get it cut.

I don't know about Rachel, but I wasn't tired. I kind of like having a little hippie baby. I already went through it once when my little brother was a kid (his nickname was "Lampshade"), so I can do it with my own child. So yea, I'll probably be tired on Saturday.

And the people that mistake him for a little girl are idiots, anyway. Who thinks the baby in the camo pants with a skull-and crossbones hoodie and a black-and-white checkered pair of Vans is a girl? Yes, it's true, Rachel and I are training the future lesbians of Ohio. Sheesh.

2. We're super pumped to have Steven and Ashley fly out in just a month and a half. The trip to DC is going to be a blast [see: spy museum]. We'll be sure to get a ton of pictures. Does anybody know if it's legal to put your kid on Lincoln's lap?

3. Tenzin is now mock-talking, saying the first sounds of any words you want him to say. For example, popcicle is now "popa," bellybutton is "bellbu," and Dad is "beer."

On a side note, it's kind of embarrassing when your wife and 17-month old speak Spanish when they don't want you to know what they're talking about.

4. Rachel and I are in desperate need of an adult night out, but the problem is every time somebody offers to babysit for the night, we just want to go home and sleep. This is usually around 7:30pm.

This parenting thing...it's a whoooole new world.

Maybe one of these days we'll enjoy a romantic 3:30 dinner at Denny's or the MCL Cafeteria. Then we'll go hold hands at the drugstore soda fountain.

5. Gas prices are now insane. If anyone is looking to buy a Ford F-150, I'll sell you ours for a tank of gas.

6. Tenzin loves watching birds from inside his bedroom. Rachel hung up a bird feeder with suction cups to the outside of his window, and now cardinals and finches fly to and from his room. We'll sometimes peek in to his bedroom when he's waking up from a nap and he'll be staring out the window, watching whatever happens to be flying by.

We were even outside one day when the birds were chirping and I could have sworn he said "bird." Then again, he was also with me, so he could have said, "beer."

7. Putting baby clothes into consignment isn't easy. We recently dropped some of the little man's clothes off at local shop (I like to call it Baby Pawn). The next day, I rode by on my bike and saw some of his outfits sitting out front on a rack. I still remember the days and location in which he wore them (poor Rachel...she actually had to sort them out).

If he doesn't stop growing up, he's grounded.

James Money Making Scheme #18c14p: Start a business cataloging children's clothes, putting them into storage pods like an over sized photo album. Then, at their convenience, parents could drop in and reminisce. POM = Portable On-Demand Memories. Mothers would want it and fathers wouldn't understand why they needed to pay for it.

8. I'm looking forward to our stimulus check, because I know some bar-owners that could use some stimulating.

9. This guy is an idiot, not because he gave his 7-year old son alcohol, but because he spent $7.00 on a drink. Always catch your buzz BEFORE going in to the stadium. I prefer Pedialyte Martinis with a playdoh wedge.

So basically, every time you see that Caution: Contents Hot on the side of your coffee cup, now you know why.

10. My lunch is over in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1...

Tenzin's Bedroom...

2008-04-29T13:54:00.004-04:00

Rachel and I finally finished decorating Tenzin's big boy bedroom. Since he's no longer technically a "baby," we decided it was time for him to grow up and transition in to a bed, lights and all the other accouterments. As far as art went, we decided to go with the artwork of Joshua Hoffine. Unfortunately, the little guy hasn't been sleeping that well.

Just joking of course, but how scary is this guy? The photograph below makes me want to buy a gun.

Flight of the mashed potatoes...

2008-04-17T08:11:00.020-04:00

I had a big/long/elaborate post planned about how I'm now so much more organized and 100x more efficient, thanks to a new pocket planner I've been carrying around, but it seems that after a week and a half in service, it states (sadly) the following:

6 Coke 4 Diet 4 Sprite

and

Point Break, The Musical™

That's it. Nothing more.

The soda was a vending order for work, and the second note hinted at an awesome Broadway production I've been working on in my brain factory. So while I might not be able to put all my ducks in a row, I am, however, pitching ideas to an imaginary production company that specializes in funding crazy.

How's this? Casting for the parts of Bodhi (Kevin Bacon), Johnny Utah (yours truly), FBI Agent Angelo Pappas (Don Johnson), with Lori Petty's character Tyler to be as triplet sisters Scarlett Johansson, Penelope Cruz, and Jessica Alba (in Point Break, The Musical™ they make out with Johnny Utah for most of the production...there's really not much left of the original plot).

You're sayin' the FBI's gonna pay me to learn to surf?

But I digress...

Efficiency (or lack thereof) aside, things have been crazy and they appear as though they're only going to get crazier. I really need to work on a system for getting everything organized AND continue to post here more often.

It's kind of funny, because I really do feel guilty if I don't write on this thing that often. It's always a lot of fun to reflect on the last day/week/month and look at all the good times and bad. It's a fun, introspective way to see your life; almost medicinal, but always grounding. While the nuances of life might get you caught up in a moment, taking the time to reflect on that moment diffuses any of the bad and intensifies the good.

For instance, this week, we logged four of Tenzin's emotions in 5 seconds. We call it Flight of the Mashed Potatoes...

Excitement...

...turns to anger...

...turns to aggression...

...turns to remorse.

There wasn't any editing, Photoshopping or rearrangement of those pictures. They really were taken in that exact order, right before Rachel was pelted with a plate.

Was it funny at the time? No. But looking back on it after the fact is downright hilarious (although Rachel might have a different opinion).

I miss sharing plate-peltings and other poop-filled happenstance on a more-than-average basis. Maybe I need to try one of the Larson's 10 on Tuesdays. And think about it, if that's just 5 seconds out of our day, imagine what the other 86,395 seconds look like. I need to stop slacking on the blogging and get more of our awesomeness to print (sorry, I can't help it, but our son is the most amazing child on the planet...I am, therefore, obligated to share his genius).

Moving on, like I said it's been another crazy week. So much has happened, but for now, it looks like I only have time for the highlights. Sigh.

We spent Saturday in Jamestown for my Uncle Tim's 50th birthday. As soon as we arrived, we sat Tenzin down with my Grandmother and let him acclimate to his new surroundings (he typically likes to soak everything in before destroying the environs). It wasn't until I plopped him on the couch and saw the picture before me, that I realized I need to stop saying that we need to get him down to his Great Grandmothers' (plural) more often and actually get him down to his Great Grandmothers' more often.

He just sat there content as can be, watching the other youngin's play with their toys. He has this odd patience about him, where he needs to wait until he feels the time is right to join the others. Plus, it's always nice to have a Great-Grandmother's arm around you!

After about ten minutes or so, he was ready. Balloon time!

Little Man loves him some balloons. Most of all, he loves rubbing them with his fingertips and making that loud, chalkboard sound. But I must say, it's a lot better taking a Tenzin-thrown balloon to the head than a Titleist 3 golf ball (Murphy's Law of Parenting #3478: If your son throws a golf ball, block, stool or plate, it will hit your head, elbow, toe nail or knuckle, in that particular order).

Henry and the Rayo's were there, too. Tenzin loves his cousin and would follow him to the ends of the earth if he could. Personally, I love watching Tenzin as he learns from Henry, and likewise Henry as he teaches Tenzin. It's this innocent/naughty give and take of an older generation passing it down to the next. Henry's definitely at the young boy phase of life, whereas Tenzin is still the developing toddler. It's amazing to see that the age gap is so small, but so much can be learned in such a short period of time.

For example, how to burn off that last bit of energy before bedtime. Notice how Tenzin intently studies Henry's footwork, and how Henry has perfected the "energy burn" so well that he begins to liquefy. Very advanced for his age!

It starts out here...

and off he goes!!!

They're so funny together. I can't wait until it's warm enough to go the pool. We really need to start thinking about swim lessons and all the summer stuff that's been in brain hibernation since November. Tenzin and Henry are going to have such a great summer.

Well, lunch is over so it's back to work.

Quick question...does anybody know who designed the sets/costumes for the Lion King? I need somebody to design some over-sized president masks for a bank robbery dance number.

Picture overload...

2008-04-11T08:56:00.010-04:00

"I'm ready for school now. I need some book learnin'."

Hit yourself in the head with anything, and he'll give you this:

He smiles when he poops.

As you can tell, he poops a lot.

For survival skills, we'll sometimes put him in the surrounding landscape and make him fend for himself. He came out of this particular bush with a raccoon pelt and a cotton gin. Our boy is a genius.

It was a sweaty adventure.

The more you know...

2008-04-10T12:38:00.009-04:00

Tax Season...

2008-04-10T09:33:00.001-04:00

Best line I've heard today:

Our CPA tells me that while college is not “mathematically impossible”, my kids might instead want to consider a circus apprenticeship.

via Your Monkey Called

You've gotta be friggin' kidding me...

2008-04-09T15:02:00.008-04:00

No, he didn't just return from the Mickey Mouse Equestrian Center...
...and no, their parents aren't raising them in an Acme anvil factory...
...their parents are just too lazy to baby-proof a house.

I give you the Thudguard, a helmet for everyday clumsy babies and their neglectful parents.

Thudguard is a revolutionary new product, an infant safety hat, designed to help absorb and reduce the impact of head injuries due to a fall or collision. It is suitable for babies and toddlers aged 7 months to 2+ years.

7 months to 2+ years? Sheesh. Because nothing is more embarrassing than getting your first beatdown in daycare, three years prior to regular classroom contact. And trust me, if he's still wearing that thing in Elementary school, he'll need every square inch of it.

Thudguard has strategically placed ventilation holes to allow heat out but REMEMBER, wearing any headgear can become hot and uncomfortable after too long. It is the parent's responsibility to monitor for overheating - especially in very hot weather.

So don't let your child move or play in the dork hat. They must --at ALL times-- sit perfectly still on a bed of down feathers, surrounded in boppy's, with the scent lavender oil permeating their tender nostrils. Only then will the helmet work.

NEVER allow a child to sleep with the hat on.

But what if they fall out of bed? Or what if they sleep walk? I must protect my walking baby!!!!

Keep away from Fire!

Damn.

No Cycling, Skating or Skateboarding.

Worst. Helmet. Ever.

WARNING: THUDGUARD IS NOT A SUBSTITUTE FOR GOOD PARENT OR CARER SUPERVISION.

Nor good helmet is for grammar, yes. Seriously, it says that verbatim at the bottom of this page.

CLIMBING CAN CAUSE CHIN STRAP SNAGGING.

Because asphyxiation is much better than bruising. By the way, I invented a new diaper that eliminates urine altogether, but sprays poop up your baby's back.

HEADGEAR VENTILATION SLITS LEAVE SOME AREA OF THE HEAD EXPOSED.

i.e. Don't fall on anything pointy. The Thudguard does, however, protect against pillow attacks, pancake rifles, tinsel, bird chirping and empty bean bags.

"We can't keep them in a bubble all of their lives...but we can aim to keep them safe." -Kelly Forsyth-Gibson, Inventor

Wow. They use that "inventor" title pretty loosely, eh?

Some sad news...

2008-04-07T15:16:00.003-04:00

We were afraid that this day would come, but we just received word that our friend's child passed away. The only reason I write this is because some of you have inquired about his condition.

He fought for quite some time, but couldn't keep up with the demands of his illnesses. He was 3 1/2 months old.

He will be laid to rest today. Please say a prayer.

Memorial Contributions
The Nationwide Children's Hospital Heart Center
P.O. Box 16810
Columbus, OH 43272

Our little quacker...

2008-03-31T09:16:00.009-04:00

It’s been nine billion years since I last posted (and 7,999,999,999 times I’ve opened a blog with that sentence), where to begin?

Hmm, how's this…if you’ve seen CoffeeMate’s Vanilla Carmel Creamer in your dairy aisle, get it. You’ll thank me later. I got a bottle for my mini-fridge at work and forgone the coffee all together. I’m now just sipping the creamer through a straw. I see an intervention in my future.

On to the good stuff.

Let’s start off with ducks. Easter came and went, and with it, so did Tenzin’s first duck costume. The Whetstone library holds their annual duck parade right outside of the Park of Roses. All of the little quackers (and some very interesting looking parents) line up in costume, assembling at the bottom of the hill to march their way to the library for stories, puppet shows, and crafts. Here’s our man:

Yes the costume is homemade, but that’s a whole different story. You see, I’m still bartending one night a week, so it’s a little odd to find yourself clutching a hot glue gun in one hand and an embellished feather in the other, making an elaborate duck costume just hours before you shove libations down the throats of Columbus’ 20-something set. Batik and bourbon, weaving and whiskey, repoussé and rum, liquor and lapidary, quilting and quinine…they don’t really mix, you know?

What’s worse?

Paula Dean was cooking her usual butter and bacon in the Food Network-background, so basically I was macramé-ing a duck costume to a paper bag whilst watching (listening to) a cooking show. Oh how times have changed.

Needless to say I had to grab a beer to man-up the festivities (later, I scratched myself inappropriately and talked about the Craftsman Catalog to customers. Initially they thought the scratching was rather unfitting of a foodservice worker, but soon identified with its necessity when I told them of my night of crafting…some of my customers have kids, thank God).

The next day, Tenzin marched along with the other duckies, admiring his older cousin the entire way. I love watching them together, because you can see Tenzin learning from Henry’s every move. He watches him intently, looks where he looks, and runs when he runs.

Unfortunately, the costume didn’t last too long. The Zen wasn’t as mobile as he’s used to being, and began to trip on his bag-bottoms. Some tears were shed, but they were mostly a result of the nap-free morning.

After that it was on to the library, but the little man was waaaaaaay too tuckered out to continue. Check him out, all glaze-eyed in the young adults section. He can't read yet, but he knows that's where all the ladies hang out.

What else?

Rachel's mom (West Coast Grandma) stopped out for a spell and got some Tenzin time. We wish she could have had a little more fun but a tooth was bothering her, and we all know that nothing says fun like a dental vacation. So, unfortunately, she had some work done, but made it through and convalesced like a champ. Tenzin made sure to hug her back to health.

This is the first time we didn't do anything super exciting. The weather was still too cold to do anything warm-related, and too warm to do anything cold-related. It's unfortunate, because everything is finally starting to clear up. Yesterday it was 70 and sunny, the birds have been chirping like crazy, the grass is beginning to grow (I'm not ready to mow, yet), I think Spring is finally here. Maybe next time (no thanks to Skybus...RIP) we'll have clearer skies.

In the meantime, I'll give you what you came for...here's Tenzin being a goob:

And his first Charlie Brown cartoon:

No more snow days, please!

2008-03-21T08:54:00.004-04:00

Here's the link to all the albums in the Kodak Gallery. They should be in order from newest to oldest. It's a fun little walk down memory lane. I'll also update the sidebar link.

And here's a picture of Rachel being a goob.

Click for larger.

70 to snow to 70...and so on....

2008-03-20T15:32:00.010-04:00

Time for a family post. I’ll bring this train back around to the Thornburg Station for a little while. The Zen is growing so fast that we’re having a difficult time following along. Where to begin?

Rachel’s done an excellent job teaching him about his body parts. He’ll now respond correctly to various questions by pointing to the corresponding part in question. As of today he knows his hair, head, eyes, nose, ears, mouth, and (the cutest of all) his belly button. For the belly button, he’ll actually lift up his shirt and shove his finger knuckle-deep in his former food tube. It’s pretty funny.

Unbeknownst to Rachel, I’ve been teaching as well. I’ve begun making up various body parts in which Tenzin now points out. She will soon discover that Tenzin’s beaderbopper is near his Adam’s apple and his floozelflazzel is on his butt. Can’t wait till his first Kindergarten singing of “Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes.”

We’ve finally dug out from the blizzard of aught eight and I don’t think I’ve ever had heavier cabin fever in my life. Everyone --and I mean EVERYONE-- around us is in a funk as a result of the weather. We’ve been given glimpses of 70 degree days on more than one occasion, only to be doused in snow 3 days soon thereafter. Last night was no different, with a smattering of midnight snow freezing our doors shut by morning. It’s ridiculous. I’ve got this slovenly, bloated, overweight sensation like I’m preparing for hibernation. At least a bear wakes up 100 lbs lighter after a winter’s rest. I, however, feel like I’m carrying our next child. It’s a Cheeto.

There have been a lot of shenanigans, but I’m drawing an I-haven’t-blogged-in-way-too-long blank. Let’s see: we had a wonderfully traditional St. Patrick’s Day dinner at the Bilek’s, Rachel’s brother and sister will be flying out here in June, Rachel’s mom will be here any day now, we have Tenzin’s first Park of Roses’ duck parade on Saturday, Tenzin’s gone two weeks without an ear infection, he’s itching to get his new Xmas golf cart out on the town, his hair is crazier than ever and we’re debating about cutting it when Rachel’s mom flies in...

...we’re growing out of our house/car, Tenzin won’t be going to college due to gas prices, we’re going to a Peace Corps reunion in Washington DC in June and can’t wait to get touristy pictures with the Z in the capital, we went to Chuck E. Cheese and were INCREDIBLY dissapointed …

...and so was Tenzin...

And I’m sure I’m forgetting 5000 other things, but I’m easing back in to this blogging thing…give me a break!

I’ll try to update more when I can. This will need to do for now.

If you want to see some of the newest pics, here's a Kodak Gallery link.

Prayer Part 2

2008-03-15T01:49:00.006-04:00

I know I should have updated the last post a long time ago. I'm sorry I didn't, but it isn't easy to transition from a post you're uncomfortable writing into a post you're uncomfortable writing.

What can I say?

I'm uncomfortable talking about another family, but the fact that a lot of you responded with interest makes me want to say something. What? I'm not sure. But I think I'm still crossing a line by talking outside of my own personal family.

Here's the update...

They are still going as strong as they can. The father and mother still have drive. The child is fighting.

Imagine a boxer after a fight. Well, this kid has gloves. He's scrapping.

And while there are other complications that continue to come with the territory, I need to first and foremost point out that I'm amazed at their emotional buoyancy (all of them). Such levity, be it from a child or parent staring chance in the face, overwhelms me.

They're holding on by completely letting go. They know the odds. Hands are in the air. Prayers have been made. Remade. Reremade.

Long story short, their son is still fighting. And he continues to fight - just as his parents continue to hope. What more can they do?

Keep sending you prayers to whatever God you keep in your address book.

Prayer...

2008-03-03T11:00:00.006-05:00

No sarcasm today.

No funny.

We have a friend who's son is now having his second heart transplant.

I don't even know if I should be typing this, but I don't care. I might be over-stepping my bounds, invading, I don't know. I just want others to think.

Actually, I just want to write. It's selfish. I can feel this weighing on everybody and I don't know what to do. So I write.

Moving forward...

At twelve days old, our friend's son contracted an infection. It spread throughout his body and he was was admitted to the hospital. It's attacking his heart.

The infection has a long name that I've long-since forgotten, but the child's father is (now) one of the foremost experts on the subject. The virus wasn't a a consequence of Ebola or exposure or SARS or something so extreme...it was from dirty hands. Dirty hands!

Somebody, maybe a nurse or friend or family member or doctor had one tiny germ that completely corrupted this child's heart. One nanospeck of a piece of dust.

This isn't me blaming, I'm just me stating odds. It could have been any family's baby. It could have been me as a baby. It could have been you. It just kills me to know that an extra dash of soap or an extra second at the sink could have prevented this. Odds. Bad odds.

Can you imagine? With his boy at two weeks old, our friend found out that his son had reached half-life. Two weeks to live. Without a heart transplant, he wouldn't make it. I don't think my ears would be able hear those words...my brain wouldn't understand.

He told us all of this over a couple of beers at the Pointe and we could barely keep ourselves together. It was just the three of us, sitting in a bar talking about various ins and outs of his new life: odds, Purel, waiting lists, procedures, parenthood, hope, anxiety, love. It was surreal. He was living by another watch.

Our friend couldn't sleep from 2:00am to 4:00am (the doctor told him that that's when 99% of all transplant calls come in). He now carried vats of hand sanitizer and only shook hands with gloves on. He couldn't stop reading. His life is now upside down and there is nothing he can do other than rest, stay clean, and study up. In is the new out, up is now down. Everything is spinning and beyond his control.

He spoke to us with faith and fear, anxiety and optimism. The weight of the situation enunciated with each and every syllable, every word, heavier than the one before it, now lighter with it exposed. It was heart wrenching because you could feel him reaching as he talked, almost grabbing, like he was trying to stabilize his life with his voice. The more detailed he became, the more he was able to breathe...like his words were training wheels.

***

Emotionally-long story short...

The call came in that night that his son had a heart (like he thought it would be, at 3:30 in the morning). It's always difficult to celebrate, because you're forced to look at both sides of the equation. That call is inevitably a victory for one family, and a tragedy for the other.

It was to be the third heart transplant in the history of Children's Hospital. New ground. We relaxed a bit, crossed our fingers, and prayed it would take. Everything seemed to be going well.

***

He started out OK but when they took him off of life support, he began to fail. The heart was not taking and the virus was winning. Everybody took a step back. The odds of another heart were beyond slim.

Miraculously, they received a call and his son was taken to surgery. The chances were staggering, but it looked like his son was going to have HALF of the heart transplants EVER performed at Children's. None of us could believe it. Please.

***

That was two days ago.

He's now in ICU. Rachel called earlier today and that's all they could say. We're still waiting for friends to call with some kind of an inside update, but we've yet to hear anything. And the last thing we want to do in a situation like this is prod.

I wish I could give better news. Actually I wish I didn't need to share any of this with any of this, but like I said I'm selfish. I told Rachel (yesterday) that I don't think I would be able to make it through something like this. I would have cursed numerous people/places/entities. I would have been angry. I would have imploded. I would have cut a lot of people off. I'm sure of it.

Our friend and his family are so strong. They're amazing. That's why I wanted to put this out there. I hope I haven't over-stepped, but I probably did. If any of you think so, give me a call and I'll take the post down.

Please, just think about this little guy today. Think about his mom and dad. And if you are a parent, hug your child. If you are devout, please pray. Suggestion, prayer, hope, belief. Optimism is very powerful.

Back from Phoenix...

2008-02-26T13:28:00.013-05:00

Well, we’ve been back for a week now and I think it’s safe to say that Phoenix was a blast. It hasn’t ever taken me an entire week to unwind before, so you know we had a good time.

Good time =

For those of you that didn’t know, Jared whooshed us out west last week for a (much needed) vacation. We were all pumped up for some desert sun, but unfortunately we had a weather trailer in tow…we brought the rain and muck out with us. Yuck.

But that’s par for the course when Ohioans visit. Jared and Brandi can both attest to that. It seems like any time a Buckeye sets foot in Arizona, the clouds dip down and the skies open up, sandy mountains grow lush and green with vegetation, and it only stops raining when the buckeyes are fast sleep.

This visit wasn’t very different. The first two days were cold, then on the last day the rain subsided and the air temp warmed to a balmy 72 degrees…just in time for us to board our flight. Perfect. Nevertheless, golf was played, babies were squeezed, and we were able to sit back and relax. So much fun!

Since there was a nip in the air, I decided to drink it. Even though we stayed in quite a bit, it didn’t appear to hold us back. I seriously think I drank the Phoenix/Scottsdale area out of Crown Royal (or at least Jared’s Condo). I even came up with a new drink: the King Ben.

2.5 oz Crown Royal, Chilled
2 Benadryl Tablets, Pink

Directions: Take tiny pink tablets one hour prior to going out. Go to comedy club and do extra large shots of Crown Royal. Repeat. Giggle at inappropriate times (i.e. intermissions, standing in front of urinals, photo ops with the opening act, Ari). When it’s too late, remember that you took a double dose of Benadryl. Repeat giggling.

Yep, that was a rough night. For some reason I took the Don’t mix with alcohol warning as a dare, but I can guarantee you that dare will never be double-dogged. On the plus side, however, my allergies are now suppressed for the entire month of March.

This is how I felt...

I have to mention that golf was entirely too beautiful - partly to make Chris jealous and partly because I forgot how pretty the desert can be. Even though the day was cloudy and my play was horrible, I kept taking a couple of steps back just to breathe. Jared booked a tee time at a great little resort and the views were awesome. Hole 17 was particularly amazing. It was a short par 3, situated on the side of a mountain. I had a 180 degree panoramic view of all of Phoenix. There was about a 400 foot elevation drop from the tee to the green, so you were literally hitting off the top of a mountain to the bottom of a mountain. Here’s an artist's rendition:

On a sidenote, something should be said about hitting a ball Out of Bounds in Arizona. It’s a little more disconcerting than your average OB shot in Ohio, considering everything to the left or right of the fairway is labeled “Rattlesnake Habitat.” Needless to say, sometimes you need to just take your drop and move on to the next shot. I definitely left some soldiers behind on that battlefield.

As I mentioned before, we hit up the comedy club to see one of my favorite comedians, Joe Rogan. If you are a preschool teacher and you gave birth to me, I wouldn’t recommend Googling any of his work; he’s a little much for the use-your-words-not-your-fists crowd. But Rogan killed and we had a great time.
It was also the first time that we ever left Tenzin with a sitter. Sure he’s been watched numerous times by friends and family (either voluntarily or forcefully), but this was the first time we’ve trusted a complete stranger with our seed. Jared’s fiancé, Erin, had a sister that was nice enough to volunteer her services for our adult evening. While I’m not sure how much of her job was actual babysitting and how much was “knowing there’s a sleeping baby upstairs,” I was, in actuality, surprised that we were able to leave him so easily. I was proud of us! Not once throughout the evening did we freak, geek, panic, frighten, fret or fluster. We came home and, sure enough, the little man was sawing logs. Erin’s sister was not covered in bodily fluids, the house was not on fire, and we had enjoyed a poop-free evening…I think…like I said, I had the King Ben that night.

So a special thanks to the Phoenicians for hosting us last weekend. It was great to get away. I really wish we could say that it was nice to return, but yeesh…

We got off the plane flustered from travel, carrying enough luggage to make a sherpa crumble, only to find the temperature hovering at around 14 degrees. It wasn’t so bad that it was cold because, now, seeing as it’s almost Spring, we’ve grown accustomed to the cold (I can hear Rachel now saying “speak for yourself.”). But thanks to the TSA and their streamlined security, we were standing outside the baggage claim wearing flip-flops. Not good.

My folks were nice enough to pick us up, so they met us at the airport in the monster truck. Seeing our tired, spiritless faces, they offered us a warm meal. We’re not one to turn down a free lunch so we headed out to grab a bite, braving our tootsies in the frosty Ohio wind. Dinner was great and we got to recap some highlights from the trip, Tenzin tried tortilla soup and munched on some chicken fingers, Rachel and I enjoyed tall beers with our meal, slooooowly unwinding from the flight. We were so relaxed…and then it happened…the clouds parted and the snow started falling. And falling. And falling.

In the 45 minutes we sat in the restaurant, three whole inches of frosty goodness fell from the skies, all while twenty teeny tiny toes stared up at us from beneath the table. It was bound to happen; the weather we took out to Phoenix was back. It’s off the plane, it picked up its luggage, and it was now following us through the streets of Columbus.

Little man didn't like face planting too much...

That's all for now. I’m having an unspoken contest with everyone in my office to see who can eat a Girl Scout’s weight in cookies...and I’m winning. So much to do. I'll also try to transfer the rest of the movies we have on the camcorder to YouTube. Any other requests, let me know.

Until then, here's this...

Fluids and snow...

2008-02-13T11:23:00.015-05:00

I knew my son would get some of my DNA, but I had no idea to what extent. What am I talking about? Well apparently Tenzin got a large dose of my shit for brains, because we're now battling the 5,637th ear infection (sorry Grandmothers, I had to lead with that one).

Sunday night, with his fever peaking at 103.84, I was back in oh-shit-Rachel-just-said-her-water-broke mode with one foot out the door. Time to round up the jumper cables, bottle of Clorox and the monkey wrench. Moments prior, Rachel and I had vowed that 104 was "go time" and it appeared as though the Gods were testing me.

.16 more degrees and we were off to Riverside (Heaven forbid our son ever get sick at 8:00 am on a Wednesday).

We're now pretty sure that this is the same fever he had a week ago. But prior to today, we were certain that Tenzin had conquered the evils of daycare germ warfare and had that thing kicked...

...but it was back...with a vengence...and apparently Tenzin had talked trash about its Momma.

Just to recap the week prior, those of you without children might not know this, but:

Motrin

+

Whole Milk

+

Sick Baby

=

Such was the case for poor, unfortunate Rachel. We had just got done feeding Tenzin and as she went to carry him down the hall, Mauna Loa erupted and the alligator tears began. He had just received his innoculations only two days prior and was already not feeling well, but we had just assumed that it might have something to do with him acting as human pincushion at the doctor's office. Now, as Rachel stood before me, looking like she just said "I don't know" on You Can't Do That on Television, we were pretty sure he was, in fact, sick.

After the eruption, everything was pretty uneventful. Our weekend was shot, so we missed a family trip to Great-Grandmas in order to stay home and pump him full of pedialyte and OJ. He did well. He was receptive to the occasional cracker-or-two and began eating more and more. The fever inevitably broke and he was back to his high-fiving self (you've got to see it...it's pretty cool). Crisis was averted, or so we thought.

So Saturday (this week) rolls around and out of nowhere, he spikes back up to 102. He had been fine all week, but apparently just listening to Amy Winehouse on the Grammys can trasmit diseases.

We strip him down, dose him with some Motrin, start the fluids, and by morning he seems fine. I had battled a mild fever on Saturday and thought that I that I might have been the carrier, but we decided it was teething. This little man is cutting some major molars. And even I, as a kid, ran super high temperatures, so we knew that while it might be above average teething-temp, we didn't think it was impossible with my medical history.

So morning comes and he's your average everyday poopmachine, playing like a normal child in the family room with all the boxes his toys came in. He's eating regularly, drinking fluids and crying big, watery tears. All is good, yes? Then the sun goes down and he spikes back up again. He is literally on fire.

It's now Sunday night, the thermometer is almost 104, and I'm debating on wether or not I should double-knot my shoes before I jog him to the hospital. We've tried everything; he's been stripped, showered, cold compressed, rolled in the snow, wrapped in a case of beer, slooooowly unwarapped one-by-one, washed on the "delicates" cycle, and taped to a window-unit air conditioner.

Nothing.

This was about to be the longest .16 degrees we've ever had to wait through.

I don't have much more else to say and I'm not really sure where I was going with this post. The fever subsided and he seemed fine. Then he had a small fever again at my mom's house on Tuesday, so we snuck him in to the doctor in the afternoon. Turns out he has a half-infection in one ear, a full-blow infection in the other AND a sinus infection. I, to Rachel's dismay, requested a shot to get the antibiotics rolling and he now seems like he's getting better.

Like I said, I'm not really sure where I was going with this. Our son was sick and is now getting better again. Big deal. But there's a large part of me that really really really wants to vent and another part of me that should probably just let it go.

Basically, this is now his 4th strain of antibiotics in 16 months and it's driving me crazy. I hate the fact that he's taking them because I feel like they're detrimental to his immune system. But what are we supposed to do? There aren't any options. If we leave the ear infections as they are, he could lose his hearing (which could always be a plus, considering we're going to Phoenix in two days and Brandi likes to whistle). So give him the antibiotics and let him get well. Yes?

But it's the ear infections. I know a lot of this is par for the "winter" course and four infections is on the high --not absurd-- end of the spectrum. But I feel like we can't go a month without the Zen being sick. It makes you feel helpless as a parent. And while I can assure you that my blessings have been counted and I understand just how fortunate we are to have a usually-healthy child, I want it to be over. Done. Finished. No more staring at his red cheeks at 3:00 in the morning. No more night sweats. No more wife covered in pink goo. Seriously. I'm almost yearning for pink eye, or lice, or poison ivy...just something other than ear infections!

Anyway, I just needed to get that off of my chest. He's a tough little guy and he bounces back super quick, but it kills me to see him lacking in spirit. There's nothing worse than seeing him lay there, lethargic, staring off into the distance.

In other news (besides the fact that the Zen is better), we'll be in wonderful Phoenix, Arizona in just 1 1/2 short days. Jared, being the wise financial advisor that he is, decided to invest in smiles and is flying us out to his neck of the desert. It's one of the best Christmas presents we've never had to unwrap. Money is tight and we couldn't even think of flying out there for family fun in the sun, so this will be a VERY WELCOME vacation. I think the day after Jared hinted at the trip, I already had my golf clubs washed, polished and bubblewrapped. We're bursting at the seams with excitement. In fact, Tenzin was so excited that he peed himself! Then he pooped a little. Then he peed again.

We can't wait!

And speaking of West Coast, happy birthday to Deena. She and Chris just returned from a much-deserved birthday vacation in Las Vegas. Happy three decades, ya old fart!

Hehehehe....

2008-02-05T21:06:00.000-05:00

Many of you might not have known this, but Tenzin has been crying for the last year...

That's my boy..

2008-02-01T10:37:00.000-05:00

Smells like goldenrod...

My time as a dad...

2008-01-28T12:28:00.000-05:00

I haven't updated in umpteen bazillion years, so I thought it might be time to put together a comprehensive list-post. Actually, I wrote the list because I stank.

Yesterday, while sitting on our couch in all my funk-filled-I-haven't-showered-in-three-days-glory, I decided to do what any onion smuggler would do...I broke out my laptop (only after giggling, "Hey Rachel, smell down my shirt!" Believe it or not, she did).

I had planned on seeing how long this stankiness could go, but Rachel (unfortunately) shot down my plan of seven consecutive days of ripeness (*sigh* some day). So I thought I would procrastinate the inevitable body-bleaching any way I could. By writing a list on parenting.

Here we go...

What I’ve learned in the last couple of months about being a parent (the abridged version):

Cheerios will be fed to children for the next 43,759 years. They are the most amazing processed food ever invented.

When working in the kitchen and finding yourself faced with a restless child, it should be understood that can openers do --in fact-- have a sharp blade on them and are NOT appropriate playthings to keep a one year old at bay. Additionally, soda cans (opened) have sharp lips, golf clubs can break things, and open refrigerators have copious amounts of condiments that can stain (although a dose of Red Hot on the fingertip can induce fridgefear).

Getting a large refund around tax time, although it might feel like it, does not negate the actual cost of a child throughout the year. That check should in no way inspire you to have more children to offset the costs of the first child, no matter what your absurd calculations may say (52 children @ $1,000/child ≠ $52,000/year in government subsidized income).

Noise-making toys without on/off switches will be (unconditionally) broken over the giver’s head.
Just when you think poop can’t get any more pungent or foul smelling, your child will continue to impress you. A gag reflex is never --under any circumstances-- phased out completely.

As a parent you can often forget entire days, yet remember the exact moment on the exact day in the exact location that you took a great picture in an album or on a wall. And if you’re lucky, that picture will have a crayon up the nose.

If you order a movie “On Demand” from your cable provider, keep in mind that your child likes to play with buttons. Given the fact that there’s a large chance he’ll likely fiddle with the set and turn the TV back on (and you have Time Warner Cable, which automatically turns a recently-powered TV back to the purchased pay-per-view channel), you will be forced to provide a rather embarrassing explanation as to why you were watching something called Naked Workout (what’s worse, it will come on right around the jumping-jacks, then again during the squat thrusts…what’s worser than worst is the sight of your child clapping to the beat of the music while you fumble for the remote).

Sleeping with your son snuggled up against your chest never gets old. I now live for those moments. It is good to bring a pacifier whenever and wherever you go. Two pacifiers are better. Three pacifiers will save your life. Like socks in a drier, pacifiers magically disappear, thus making a 10 minute car ride feel like a sherpa-less hike through the Himalayas on the back of a one-legged, three-toed sloth pulling a boat anchor tied to its good foot.

The newly clipped fingernails of a one year old child can maim and kill.

When a toy’s battery has kicked the bucket, it is up to the parent that stays home the most whether or not the battery gets replaced. Also, a piece of scotch tape over the speaker portion of any toy can reduce its decibel load tenfold (Thanks R&T!). No tape? Open the toy and place a piece of a cotton ball over the speaker. No tape or cotton? Inform your child that he is Amish and, therefore, can not play with such modern abominations.

When living out of a diaper-bag, you’ll find that the rules of eating have reversed: cooking a meal at home is 20-times easier than going out.

If you’re the kind of parent that occasionally lets your child co-sleep in your bed, there is a 98.4% chance that you will wake up with a pacifier forcibly wedged in your mouth.

Sundays are family days and should be treated as such: appointments should be few and far between, travel should be light (if at all), laughter should fill every square inch of the house, and your head should touch pillow by Simpsons-o’clock. Note: Some bedtime exemptions can be made if the Writer’s Guild is on strike and you’ve seen the episode-at-hand three times or less…but you should still Tivo the episode just in case.

IMPORTANT: Rachel, do not read this!
Babies, like Labradors, are excellent patsies for gas-related issues. If you find yourself tremendously gaseous, quickly blame the baby and venture off to change the offending diaper. Not only will the baby-excuse surreptitiously cover up your noxious gasses, but it’ll look like you were willing to dive into a diaper unsolicited, thus making the next brown delivery inescapably “her turn.” However, if you choose to do this, make sure your wife doesn’t read the blog entry that blows your cover.

Directions be damned, there is no wrong way for your child to play with a toy. Whatever game/fantasy/excitement/fun can be had, should be had. A baseball bat = a magic wand = a drum stick = a horsy. Explain the rules, but let the imagination be.

There is NOTHING cooler than Yo Gabba Gabba…period. Not Sesame Street. Not the Electric Company. Not a 6-pack of Zima hidden on your window sill in the dead of winter when you're 16 years old. Nothing. As a matter of fact, Rachel and I were so impressed with the Yo that we started Yo Mission International. We’ll be in South America next fall extolling the virtues of DJ Lance, translating the lyrics to the song There’s a Party in My Tummy (Hay un partido en mi estómago?), and converting Peruvian rugrats far and wide to all things Gabba.

An offer of unanticipated childcare, even as little as ten minutes so you can pop in a load of laundry, will make a MAJOR difference in your day. Unfortunately, you’ll probably squander nine of the workable ten minutes with your head in the washer, admiring the gentle calm of the chilly drum.

For next year's Thanksgiving...

2008-01-08T11:24:00.001-05:00

I promise to post a real entry soon, but I MUST share my culinary delight.

Move over Turducken! Next year I'm going to cook a Turgoobagowllardoussinailtripigantickbury.

It serves 125, contains 50,000 calories and takes eight hours to cook.

A Turkey, stuffed with a Goose, stuffed with a Barbary duck, stuffed with a Guinea fowl stuffed with a Mallard, stuffed with a Poussin, stuffed with a Quail, stuffed with a Partridge, stuffed with a Pigeon squab, stuffed with a Pheasant, stuffed with a Chicken, stuffed with a Aylesbury duck (it would taste like ass without the Aylesbury). Oh, and a fruit and herb stuffing.

Anybody know a Giant Eagle with pigeon squab?

And I know the dish is bird themed, but I can't help but want to wrap it in bacon...and cover it with gravy...and deep fry it...with a twinkie.

YouTube is grand...

2008-01-04T10:19:00.000-05:00

I was reminiscing about our recent trip to La Fonda, Mexico and found these clips in the video dumping grounds...

This is the young boy that screamed his version of Feliz Navidad to the tourists. He was adorable. Unfortunately for the money-collector playing the guitar, his voice was cracking. It's only going to be a matter of time before he pulls a Brady Bunch and sings, "It's time to make a change, you've got to rearrange. Cause who you are is what you're gonna be....sha nanananaaaananaaana....sha na nAhnANahhNeana!"

A beach view from the South side of the hotel (our weather wasn't much better)...

And a view up to the hotel from a random couple that are probably enjoying their honeymoon, unaware that this footage would end up on another person's blog...

I'll get some real video up soon. Tenzin got a wonderful golf cart for Christmas and we have recently acquired Mom and Dad's old video camera, so expect Tenzin's first feature-length film anytime soon. Think Taxi Driver meets Mr. Mom.

Trips, Travel, and Bah Humbugedness

2007-12-24T08:58:00.000-05:00

I apologize for not updating in quite a while, but I've been super busy plotting a way to steal Christmas. The commercialism of the season has really taken me down this year and I'm afraid I haven't been Grinchier (yes, that price tag was $49k). On the plus side, I've began making shoe-inspired armoires for children. Apparently it's a very lucrative market.

Where to begin?

Well, we had a wonderful vacation in California. It took a lot to get there, but it was worth it. Here's the story...

As I mentioned in the previous post, I was concerned about snow impeding our departure from Columbus. But as it turns out, it was my own dim-witted actions that almost kept us grounded. Little did I know that if the keys are in the ignition of our truck, the remote door locker will no longer work. Why? I have no idea. I didn't have an idea. I still don't understand why.

Anyway, prior to our flight, it was 4 degrees below Rachel-tantrum and I though it would be nice to warm up the truck. I walked outside, loaded the luggage, started the car, turned the heater to Beelzebub, locked the door, and went back inside to gather our West Coast supplies (sunscreen, Advil and a 14 month-old poop machine). I went to load the stinkiest of the three, only to find out that our car was now inaccessible. What's worse is the fact that it also contained our luggage. Locked with our keys, I was willing to leave it running where it was and pile into a cab. However, it sat there, taunting me with ALL of our clothing and toiletries, begging to have a hammer put through its side window.

So we called AAA --an agency I became super-familiar with since our return (I'll go in to that later)-- and waited. And waited. And waited. Prayed a little. Waited some more. And then angrily called per Rachel's suggestion to check up on our tow truck. I don't know what divine being heard my t-minus-five-minutes-till-Defcon 5-freakout-screams, but the Blackberry service for AAA had gone down and we coincidentally redialed at just the right time. Come to find out our original call had never registered and, luckily, there just happened to be a driver two blocks south of our street. He arrived on a winged chariot with a soft halo glow, wedged open the door, popped the lock with his magic poking stick, and we were on our way...

...with 45 minutes to go.

If you don't have kids, it's safe to say that you're probably thinking 45 minutes is more than enough time to check-in and board a flight without issue. However if you do have kids, then it's likely you understand the vast quantities of bags and crap said child entails. Basically the hard part was over and we were out of the deep end, but we still needed to lug 14 pallets of bibs, diapers and sippy cups through the airport. This story is by no means over.

Moving forward to the airport, I had two options: either I park the car in the blue lot and risk a late shuttle, thus inducing a $750 charge for last-minute ticket purchases on a competing airline (if we missed our flight, our $10 Skybus tickets were VERY non-refundable), or I drop off the car at the $18/day valet so we can make our plane. We had already won with cheap fares so our decision was clear. Our valet was polite, our bags were heavy, we got a complimentary USA Today and we made it. That's all that matters, right?

Well, it was inevitable...all of that was for nothing. Our plane plane was 50 minutes late. If we took the blue lot shuttle we could have easily made our flight, but our F-150 was now snug a s a bug, nestled between a Bentley and a Porsche in the velvet-lined valet parking garage...at little over $.01 per minute (actually $.0125, but who's counting). That was truck fiasco #1.

We arrived in California to the smell of, well, California. I can't explain it. Even in Burbank there's a light salt in the air. I love it. I miss it already.

Ready to exit Bob Hope (ewww), we backed up the forklift and unloaded our baggage. We decided earlier we would do a cargo drop via parachute, but Burbank airport is so small we opted for the fork lift.

Arriving at Avis, we were happy to see our newly landscaped Ford Edge (the back was covered in grass clippings and leaves). Normally I would've complained, but at this point I wasn't going to push it. The three of us were relieved to be California in one piece, so I look at the foliage like it was roses on a hotel bed. Just another romantic accoutrement offered in the Avis rental package.

Anywhoo, driving in LA has always been a guilty pleasure of mine; seven lane-wide highways, 75 mph bumper-to-bumper traffic, car pool lanes...it's awesome. I'm at home here. The only city I like better is Atlanta. The ATL outerbelt is like a Skip Barber racing school on crack...complete with actual crack.

So I pulled on to the on ramp with a twinkle in my eye, ready to dance like Helio Castroneves, only to forcibly slam on the brakes as we rounded the first blind curve. Traffic in front of me was at a standstill. Damn. Unfortunately, as I sat there chomping at the bit I noticed out of the corner of my eye that the traffic behind me was flowing freely. The resulting chrome tsunami bubbling and building in my rear view mirror was not pretty (it was all we needed).

The four cars behind me screeched to a halt, skidding and fishtailed as smoke poured in to the air. I buckled down, squeezing as close to the bumper in front of me as I could, gaining every inch possible to get out of the way. With millimeters to spare, we barely made it. Rachel and I sat there and quietly laughed at the insanity of the last 12 hours, unable to say much of anything, while the vision of the Initial Here to Decline Insurance box began to burn itself into my mind. I began to wonder if Avis rented helmets? Elbow pads? We might need fuller-than-full protection. Condoms, roll cage, give us everything.

After a quick drive (and a couple of minor panic screams) we settled in to Casa Costa Mesa. Rachel's mom, Cathy, had our room set up for us and we melted in to it as soon as we could. It was long before Steven and Ashley came over, so the gang was all there. It was great to see everyone again and Tenzin was his usual hit, giggling and clapping and showing off. He's now at the stage where he's initially shy so he didn't remember everyone right away, but it didn't take long before he was fighting to get out of my arms and into a Thomas hug. And little man had his fill of those!

We decided to be all touristy an head up to Hollywood and Los Angeles. My work has just moved from their old digs to there new downtown pad, so we figured we'd swing by and check it out. It's good that I know my surroundings just in case that transfer ever goes through. Here's tiny little Zen in front of a gigantic Christmas tree on the first floor.

After NBBJ LA, we braved the drive to Hollywood for one thing and one thing alone...to kill Will Smith. I didn't want to at first. As a matter of fact, I quite enjoyed Bagger Vance and Six Degrees of Separation. However, the whole purpose of the long congested drive was to get Tenzin's hand prints and foot prints in Frank Sinatra's at the Grauman's Chinese Theater. When we arrived, there were paparazzi and screaming fanny-packed tourists clogging the street. Apparently Smith was getting his hands cemented for the release of I am Legend.

It all worked out, though. A security guard told us if we could kill two hours, the gates would be down and we'd be free to roam. As a result, the Fresh Prince was spared his life. We snuck in just before they covered the prints and I got to sneak a picture. With Tenzin in my arms, I couldn't help but think about tossing my baby into the mud, thus immortalizing his appendages for all of eternity. I mean, what are they going to do? Have a movie rerelease? It would be awesome.

Here we are with the Chairman. I have a few other pictures, but they're on my work computer so I'll save them for later...

On Friday we left the little rugrat with Rachel's family and headed down to Mexico. It was my 30th birthday week (unlike our fried Brandi who celebrates her birthday month) and we were going to have a little preparty, just the two of us. It's a fun little drive, but I couldn't believe how the wildfires had torn up the hills. At its worst, some spots on the mountain sides would be barren and black and it didn't look like any animal or vegetation would benefit from it for years. Oh, and I also saw a nuclear power station that look like two gigantic boobs.

Right before the border, we did the usual tourist thing and bought travel insurance from every Mexitravel company in San Diego, just to be on the safe side. It was my first time traveling through Tijuana and since Rachel used to preface every TJ story with "Oh, this other time when we should have died in Tijuana," I thought we could use the extra protection.

The weather wasn't the best, but the drive was truly breathtaking. You're flowing through these awesome peaks and valleys, hanging precariously off hillsides (with two hundred foot drop-offs straight into the ocean!) while passing donkey carts and semi trucks, all of this under the auspicious shadow cast from the 200 foot tall Cristo Rey de los Álamos statue (kind of like Rio's Christ the Redeemer, only in color). And the economic infrastructure is amazing. It's par for the course to see Trump Tower Developments sandwiched between tin roof shanties. Check out Cristo's crib:

We stayed in a beautiful little hillside boutique hotel in La Fonda (I don't know if that was the name of the hotel or the name of the town). The ambiance was amazing and Rachel was in heaven...not because of the ambiance, but because we had a fireplace next to our bed. She was consequently able to roast herself medium-well at night, while my cold-blooded self opted for an ice-filled bathtub.

Speaking of warm and fuzzy, we were in Rome so why not do as the Romans, right? I walked down to the corner store to get some beer and a small bottle of tequila, but since I only know enough Spanish to get me arrested I didn't know how to ask the right questions. After much gargled debate with the store keeper, I ended up buying the one bottle of tequila manufactured in Cuba. Anyway, La Fonda was amazing. The restaurant had $6 ceviche and, yes, a chimnea for Rachel. Seriously, our table had wood-burning fireplace BUILT IN TO THE SIDE. Too cool. The table was so nice that Rachel wanted to move when we were done eating so other diners could share the same experience.

The next day we stopped in Rosarito and ate some pork (I hope) tortas at a little roadside stand, then bypassed the shopping to head home to Orange County. While driving to La Fonda took only three hours, the drive back took about six. We had to sit at the border crossing for...ev...er. While I'd like to say that it left me a little disgruntled, it was GREAAAAT people-watching. There were vendors selling everything from hot churros to Mexican wrestling masks, kids playing in the street, Federale cops in effeminate shorts on bicycles, hungover 19 year olds in their parents' minivans...all kinds of interesting eye candy.

Now back in California, we headed straight to the mall to reAmericanize ourselves. Actually, they have a really awesome Christmas set-up there with one of the biggest carousels I've ever seen. We wanted to get some pictures of Tenzin, but this is the best I could do. The combination of spinning, in addition to our son's fear of creepy plastic horses, meant that this would be a very brief photo opportunity.

OK, actually I should erase all that previous paragraph, but I won't. I'm finishing this post on a different computer then I started and I thought I had the pictures, but I don't. So instead, just click on this link to be taken to our Koday Gallery from the trip. We got some really great shots, like this from the Huntington Pier...

And this one on the Huntington Boardwalk...

The rest of the trip was an absolute blast. We celebrated my 30th at Perq's in Huntington Beach at around 4:00pm (even though the Beach Ball in Newport opens up at 6:00am. I was informed by Rachel that drinking before breakfast isn't a mature, 30 year-old thing to do). After a few libations, Ashley showed up and took us out on the town. She kind of had to since we got kicked out for a locals-only Christmas party. Rachel was none too pleased that she was no longer a part of locals-only parties. Anyways, I was told that we had a great time. I really loved that bar at that place. It was fun drinking that drink in that place that I liked. I smiled so much, my head hurt really bad the next day.

The luggage was damaged in transit...

Good food, good drink, good times. It was so nice to be able to relax. This is the first time we've ever spent a full week out in California. When we do our typical three or four day trips, everything feels super rushed. This time, we really got to sit back and soak everything in, enjoying every minute we had with the family. I won't burden you with the virtual hell we came back to in Ohio, but I will say this...if you own a Ford, be careful. It can sense when you make your final payment. Horns pop out of its hood and it tries to eat your first born. Then it sneaks in to your house and drives over every Christmas present under your Christmas tree. To make matters worse, it then drags you outside and pins you under its wheels, slamming your fingers one-by-one until your bloody nails fall off. Then it gets in to your fridge steals your lemons, squeezing acidic juice all over the wounds, making sure to drench the damaged nail portion the most. Then it waterboards you. Metaphorically. In the crotch. After kicking a kitten. In the crotch. With shoes it stole off of a homeless person. Stupid truck.

Merry Christmas!

Lime with extra salt...on the runway...

2007-12-05T09:12:00.000-05:00

We are flying out tomorrow, yes?

Please say we are.

Why do I ask?

Because I woke up this morning to this outside of our kitchen window:

Please, please, please!

At least Tenzin seems to enjoy it.

And, yes, those are Spiderman pajamas and moonboots.

Donde está adentro y hacia fuera?

2007-12-04T13:34:00.000-05:00

Roughly translated: Where is In & Out? We'll get to that later...

Well, it is officially not summer. It’s not because it’s only 32 degrees or because there’s a projected 2 to 4 inches of snow on the way tonight, but because we killed a tree. It’s a proud time of year when the Thornburg’s and the Rayo’s don layer after layer and head to the nearest (or in this case an hour away) tree farm in order to hunt the elusive Blue Spruce, or even the occasional Canaan Fir.
For those of you not directly in-the-know about tree hunting, it’s very important that you know the difference between the two kinds of trees. The Spruce is a medium-sized evergreen tree that maxes out at 25-30 meters tall, with thin and flaky bark. It has pendulous cones that are slender and cylindrical that turns red to brown after they mature.
The Canaan Fir is a small to medium-size evergreen tree with diamond-encrusted bark and carbon fiber branches. Native to Eastern and Central Canada, the fir bleeds solid Dom Perignon champagne when cut. The needles of the Canaan have a secretion on their stomata that can both cure mesothelioma and fuel Formula 1 race cars. The Canaan’s cones are 4-8cm long and can be used as nuclear warheads. The international market for the cones alone exceeds $35.7 billion annually.
OK, so maybe the Canaan description isn’t entirely true, but this was our first time to the Young’s Dairy Tree Farm and we didn’t know that the Canaan --the tree we slayed in an arduous battle, exhibiting dauntless levels of courage and valor-- was, in fact, $65 with tax, whereas the pines and spruces are relatively cheaper (by cheaper I mean appropriate-cost-for-cutting-down-your-own-tree-in-a-30-degree-drizzle).
Apparently, no matter how quickly you re-duct tape it to its base, it’s still not refundable. I even tried to show him the dirt stain on the base of the tree, but that excuse only works with Nordstrom sweaters.
We were forced to stick with our purchase, but I can’t complain. It’s a handsome tree. It took us about 15 aisles of wandering green to track it down and after passing various Charlie Brown’s and Time’s Squares, we agreed on this beauty:

The sleds were great, too. Even with the lack of snow, it was fun to pull our tree carcass through the muddy grass over to Sarah, Michael and Henry’s fallen timber, then an easy walk over to my Mom and Dad in order to watch them slay their beast. Prior to the cut, the sleds also doubled as excellent baby transport, too. Tenzin was unsure of their stability at first, but soon got his “giggle on” as he surfed in the sled. Unfortunately, per Rachel’s wishes, I didn’t get the opportunity to try out the sled behind my Dad’s F-350. What’s the use of a tow package if you don’t use it, right (for me, not Tenzin)?

We even took advantage of Mike’s reciprocating saw --a tool I still consider to have a tinge of cheatiness, but a definite Godsend to lazy city folk-- and had the trees felled in no-time. On our way back with wood-in-tow, we passed other families just beginning their hunt and I couldn’t help but laugh at the envious glance in Mike’s direction, saturated in admiration at the gratuitous use of man tools. You could see them take a quick glare down at their Amish-like saws with a “Why didn’t I think of that” expression, so I’m going to put money on it that we see over-horse powered chainsaws next year. You know it’s always a competition among gentlemen.

In non-freezing temperature news, we’re eagerly awaiting our flight to California in just two short days. We’ll be lifting off at 0600 hours and landing with a vengeance. Hopefully this time, I won’t get pneumonia. While I enjoyed the comfortable bed the Thomas family provides, I’ve always found sand to be that much softer.

We’ve got the usual agenda: food, drink, family, more food, more drink…oh…and a little thing called my 30th birthday. We’re planning on driving down to Mexico for a few days to celebrate. If anybody has cheap pharmaceutical drugs or designer watch rip-offs on their Christmas list, we’ll be sure to make a stop in Tijuana for you. Until then, wish us luck with the Federales. AAA’s bail program works south of the border, yes?

Only 20 more years till I’m 50. Alas.

Lazy Picture Update!!!

2007-11-28T11:49:00.000-05:00

Holidays are here, so it's time for me to have a nervous breakdown. We're going to keep this simple and just give you what you cam here for:

Somebody thinks he's dishes...

The biggest lower lip in the world...

And now it's full blown...

Poopy diaper in the key of Ffffffffffff...

Swapping pacifiers...

My Zen...

We love some cake...

2007-11-19T16:10:00.000-05:00

I've been going through my parents' photo albums in order to scan in all of the old pictures. It's amazing what you will find. I wish we could have had some matching overalls in order to recreate this one.

Oh well, I guess we'll just need to recreate this one in California in December....

O-H...

2007-11-19T14:50:00.000-05:00

Sleep Strong...

2007-11-14T10:52:00.000-05:00

Just like his daddy, this little boy sleeps hard. You could drop a tornado on a snare drum covered in xylophones and I swear he wouldn't budge. It's no wonder that when he wakes up, it looks like he's been in a three year coma.

Here's two pictures from the past week that (easily) prove his sleeping prowess.

Picture 1:

Rachel and I got a little drunk downtown and accidentally left Tenzin sleeping atop a 72-floor skyscraper. As you can see, there were 20 mph westerly winds.

Picture 2:

Tenzin slept fell asleep next to a tesla coil while cuddling with his metal-lined emergency blanket in his stainless steel stroller.

It burned the hell out of his nipple rings.

The face is priceless. Looks like his dad from 1996 to 2000.

Here's a side view:

In other news, get a load of this. Yet again, he looks like his dad circa 1996-2000:

Actually, he might have a little more balance.

The party's over...

2007-11-06T08:31:00.000-05:00

Beware of the birthday post...

I know it's been a long time, but like I said before I'm really not sure how to handle this. It hurts that our little man is getting old.

When Tenzin was first born, it didn't really hit me that "he was here" until we received his Social Security card. It was odd that that would be the one defining moment that actualized his birth for me but for some reason, getting mail from the government means you really exist. It's a fact of life: recognition by the IRS = taxable American human.

You see, up until that point everything could have been an awesome lucid dream or something. Without notice, Abraham Lincoln could have jumped out from behind my 92 inch plasma TV and offered me (my usual) beer. But no, there's his social security card staring me in the face...the outside world has confirmed it...we made life (and just in case we had any doubts as to whether Tenzin was real or not, the hospital's Accounts Payable department affirmed, reaffirmed, and rereaffirmed Tenzin's existence with copious amounts of correspondence).

So two weeks before the party, still in awe that we were blessed with a child, still in denial that a denial that a year had flown by, we found ourselves at the local party supply store buying decorations for the impending Oktoberfiesta 2007 - a title that most parents, no doubt, reserve for adult gatherings and not their child's first birthday (seriously though, how many of you actually expected this child to be raised normally? You're luck my booby cake was shot down). We still couldn't believe it had been a full year, stumbling through the store not sure where to begin. Is it red, white and green, or is it black, yellow and red? Are paper beer steins innappropriate? Is a limbo bar Hawaiian or could that pass for fiesta? Can he choke on that chili pepper medallion?

While gathering a handful of black, white, green, red and yellow streamers, an all-important realization dawned on us....shouldn't we have sent out invitations?

Oops. We were unknowingly prepping for a party no one had been invited to.

To the internet!

So evites were substituted. If you didn't get one, it's your nearest friend/relative's fault, not mine. Those who received them were asked to pass out the info word-o-mouth. We only have so many email addresses and heaven help us if they're up-to-date. So if you didn't hear about it, just assume your friends and family didn't want you at the party. We still like you, though. So if you feel bad, just remember it's not too late to celebrate. Feel free to write out a birthday check to Tenzin's College, Advancement, School & Housing fund (or CASH for short).

From a traditionalist standpoint it felt a little odd to do the Evite thing, but we were short on time and didn't have much of a choice. All in all, I couldn't complain. It's a cool little system that allows you to track RSVP's and invitation receipts, and I'd use it again if necessary. The only downfall is that all of your friends and family email addresses are visible, so it's not good when Uncle Pete finds out that his daughter's email address is SeXyCrAzYCoedDrunkChick@gmail.com.

But no matter how much you try to plan for an event like this, there's really no amount of readiness that can get you to a happy level of comfort and relaxation. The basics were covered, we were definitely good on food. East and West coast Grandmas really came through in the clutch, adding to what was already an extensive menu of brats and fajitas. Grandpa was flying over in his semi truck with the cornhole set and extra chairs. Uncle Mike and Aunt Sarah were in charge of forgettables. Sweitzer's were running to the Rayo's pantry for ice cream. Once again, thanks to friends and family we had a huge back-up system in place.

So the big day came and I woke up that morning about 6:00 am (Rachel would call that sleeping in). I started running all over town, grabbing everything that had not been snagged earlier in the week. We had so much left to do. There was a circus tent to erect (thank goodness Chris can read instructions), a yard to be mowed, an anti-rain dance to be jigged, a fire pit to construct (thanks, Bileks!), beer to be iced, wine to be opened, and a projector to be...err...projected (the downfall of celebrating on a college football Saturday in Ohio!).

Meanwhile, it just cracked me up that the star of the show was oblivious. Little man was none the wiser. He just sat there enjoying the chaos, occasionally performing for Grandma, unaware that all of this was for him. Adorability in the face of mayhem. Our little zen.

Around 12:00 pm, everyone began to trickle in. Aunts and Uncles, in addition to numerous friends of the family, all began to arrive at our door with bags and babies in tow. As the numbers began to grow, it dawned on me that I should have started my indoor port-a-potty business a long time ago. I wasn't quite sure if our one-bathroom house was going to cut it, but in the end, everything worked out OK (impromptu kitty litter boxes work wonders!).

The party was just barely warm enough to stay outside. The rain held off and we even got a small glimmer of sunshine. Everyone ate, drank, told stories and appeared to have a really good time. I had a blast, but I think I came off as panicked. This is a the first real party we've ever thrown and I went straight into bartender-mode. I felt like I need to work the tables, refreshing drinks and making sure everyone had plenty of food. I hope it didn't bother anybody, but I really was nervous. I don't think I was able to relax until we all went inside for cake and presents.

Ahh, the presents. First and foremost, let me thank Allesandro Volta, for without his invention of the voltaic pile in 1800 we wouldn't have any batteries. Holy shamoley, no wonder kids today are so hyperkinetic! We were about eight presents into the mix when I looked around and realized that the front half of our rug looked like the Vegas strip. Everything was blinking, singing, buzzing, moaning or bouncing (for those of you without kids, remember that payback is coming).

The room was soon covered in paper, plastic and pvc packaging, none of which was entirely recognizable. I soon realized that as a father, I'm extremely dated. Who were these cartoons on the packages?

I have a fun little game I play with my nephew, not really because it's fun, but because I need to be schooled. He'll bring over his toys from the movie Cars and I'll make up names for the characters, asking his if that's "Ralphie the Red Car" or "Brownie the Repo Man." Turns out they're actually named Lightning McQueen and Mater the Tow Truck. The game is a win-win: Henry gets to prove that he's smarter than his uncle and I walk away with some new, toddler-hip knowledge (did you know Dora had a brother?).

So when I looked down at the canyon of blinking lights and honking horns, I realized that my game with Henry had just gone into overdrive. My son had just graduated into a world we, as parents, had little (if any!) exposure to. Retired are the high-ranking military kangaroo leaders and their ping pong balls. Gone are the slimes and the "I don't knows." Recycled are the paper bills sitting on capital hills.

We were now in a world of wiggling grown men in multi-colored turtlenecks, kids named Dexter experimenting in what are obviously underground meth labs, freaky ass talking hands named Oobi that spout nothing but gibberish, and an indentured servant named Thomas that is forced to pull wealthy travelers all over the UK.

What I wouldn't give right now for an Electric Company. Or a 3-2-1 Contact. Or even a King Friday.

Anywhoo, I exhaled at the thought of my outdatedness and sat in front of my son. He was staring down down the barrel of a white icing gun, ready to tear into West Coast Grandma's carefully-made cake. What felt like hundreds of people were crammed into a room the size of a fishbowl. We were all perched over stairs, peering through connecting kitchen doorways, and even watching in abstentia in pictures behind him.

I instantly flashed back to a moment three weeks prior where my mom and dad, per Rachel's request, whipped out the family albums. I had forgot all about the picture. There I was, a young 365-day old boy in a train conductor's suit. Same curly blonde hair, same intent stare at the cake I was about to annihilate, same family (now, with some excellent additions).

I'll stop it there without going on another emotional bender, but it really is awesome to look at your son and see your picture. What's more, it's awesome to look at your son and see the same love surrounding him. We're finally starting to "get it."

Also, Great-grandmothers are getting older and wiser, so we understand that birthday parties are no longer quick trips over to Columbus. It takes some major planning from aunts and uncles. Same goes for the Californians. Each moment out of the year with you guys is never long enough.

We finally see with open eyes just how many people are invested in the love and happiness of our son. We're so thankful to all of you. It's been one heck of a ride. Now that it's all said and done, I can honestly say that I know I'll always have a problem with these "graduation" moments. But I'm comforted (in a very weird way) to know that the "firsts" don't get any easier: walking, talking, home runs, soccer goals, driving, commencements. It's the bubble-mentality of wanting to protect your child and freeze them in an innocent time, while forcing yourself simultaneously to let go.

While it isn't easy to see them grow up, it's nice to know that our family has a lot of healthy glue. So thanks for all you did for us when we were Tenzin's age, and thanks for passing it on to another generation.

It was great celebrating with everyone, even those there in spirit (I'll try to relax a little more next time). And a big thanks to Rachel for all of her hard work. You're a wonderful mother. Tenzin and I both adore you.

Happy Birthday, Buddy...

2007-10-25T16:48:00.000-04:00

On Tenzin's first birthday, I would love nothing more than to wax poetic about the last year of his life - and I'm sure all of you would expect me to do nothing less. But contrary to what the date says, my son is not one.

Come Sunday, post-Staurday's Oktoberfiestapalooza (much cooler than a Mutant Ninja Turtle Bash...we have brats and salsa...seriously, this is the theme), I will be more than happy to write a nice long post about fatherhood/childhood/parenthood, reflecting deeeeeeeeply on all attributes therein. But until then, here I am: a confused man wondering what in the hell happened to 365 days of my life.

While part of me is relieved that, for once, this confusion is not beer-related (oh how I miss you, 1998), I am profoundly stumped by my father's block. Father's block is like writer's block only the father doesn't understand what creative barrier is blocking his ability to describe the 365 days of human life he helped to create.

This should be easy. This should flow. This should evoke emotion - both reflective for those with children and optimistic for those without.

Basically, this should be natural.

Yet.

Father's block.

Why?

It's easy.

Because in my mind,

there is no difference between this:

And this:

Happy Birthday, piglet.

Your only 17 years away from these pictures embarassing you at your high school graduation.

Seriously, though...Dad has no idea where the time went.

Bacon ages so fast.

Boo.

2007-10-24T12:16:00.000-04:00

OK, my office is officially certifiable.

This is a video of my morning walk to my desk. Usually I don't need to dodge cobwebs and moaning skeletons, but it is almost Halloween. My office goes nuts this time of year decorating, bringing in kids for trick or treating, pranking (my podmate is deathly afraid of spiders), and drinking scary cocktails (scary=stronger than usual).

Enjoy:

Taking time to be a dad...

2007-10-23T13:34:00.000-04:00

I thought that some of you might be interested to know that Time Magazine has an interesting article up on being a father.

Enjoy.
Fatherhood 2.0
Time Magazine
Thursday, Oct. 04, 2007
By LISA TAKEUCHI CULLEN, LEV GROSSMAN

Does being more of a father make you less of a man? To a group of committed dads assembled one night in a New Jersey diner, the answer is obvious. Sort of. Paul Haley, 38, a father of two, says women look at him when he walks down the street with his kids. "I think it's admiration," he says. Adam Wolff, also 38--with two kids and one on the way--ponders what it means to be a man. "Is my man-ness about being the breadwinner or being a good father to my kids or something else?" Michael Gerber, 36, father of a 7-month-old, asks, "Do you mean, Do we feel whipped?"

"I'm probably a little whipped," shrugs Lee Roberts, 45. He's a part-time copy editor, married to a full-time journalist, who has stayed home for nine years to raise their two children. "There are definitely some guys who look at me and think, 'What's up with him?' Do I care? Well, I guess I do a little because I just mentioned it," he says. Haley speaks up to reassure him: "Kids remember, man. All that matters is that you're there. Being there is being a man."

But what does it mean, exactly, to be a man these days?

Read more here.

Legos...

2007-10-18T14:40:00.000-04:00

I'm really digging the new Lego campaign, "Through the eyes of a child."

See, not all marketing folk are idiots...

Meow.

2007-10-17T15:48:00.000-04:00

I've spoken before about our previous dilemma: bed-sleeping with Tenzin. While those days are long behind us and he is now a crib-happy slumberer, I found a video that best describes my "old mornings." Although the video shows an ornery cat, Tenzin could easily be his stand-in.

Another Toy Recall

2007-10-13T08:50:00.000-04:00

It doesn't hurt as bad as going down head first...

Mount Clintonville

2007-10-12T17:27:00.001-04:00

Oh, and another thing...

Tenzin made it up eight (supervised) steps today when Rachel got home. Does that mean it's time to put up a baby gate?

Probably not (yet)...I think we're OK. We thought they were too expensive, so we stacked up all my old heavy textbooks from college, tied them together with loose electrical wire, supported them with a reinforced batch of poinsettias (on sale early this year), all of which are protected by our adorable new pet, a baby lion.

It also turns out to be a great storage unit for all of our out-dated prescription medications.

Hey, if you're going to Photoshop a picture, you might as well pimp out your house.

Lazy Picture Update

2007-10-12T09:31:00.000-04:00

Conducting an imaginary orchestra or throwing up gang signs? You be the judge.

This is one of my all-time favorites...our little long-haired hippie.

Somebody thinks he's older than he is...

Checking to see if we're watching so he can dine on some grass...

I'm just glad the obedience training is paying off...

Now if we could just get him to do his "business" outside.

Tenzin's Halloween Costume

2007-10-08T10:59:00.000-04:00

What do you think?

I've got to give credit to whatever genius designed this costume.

How not to dress my child.

2007-10-01T08:00:00.000-04:00

With Halloween fast-approaching, I can't help but be scared...

the Clowns are coming.

Rachel sent this to me with a VAST understanding of my fear of clowns. If I saw this on my front porch, I might have to shoot it.

The hairs are standing up on the back of my neck.

Of course if you want a really bad costume, you could always dress your child up as a toilet. For some reason this thing is listed under: HOME > KIDS COSTUME > FUNNY COSTUMES.

"Funny" or tragic? (only $49.99!!! sheesh!)

Note to parents...

2007-09-28T17:30:00.000-04:00

Letting you child walk around his room without a diaper is cute...

Letting him play with the radio is still, in fact, cute...

Realizing that all of his books are stored underneath said diaper, then realizing why diapers are invented...priceless.

If anybody is looking to purchase 10 children's books printed on 100% organically-died yellow paper, we have a stock for you.

Birthday Boy...

2007-09-25T15:52:00.001-04:00

PS Happy Birthday, Dad....

We couldn't afford much for your special day, so we got you some namesake (thus, the reason why we couldn't afford much).

Was he every really that small?

Scary Puppets, Grandma's, and vertical leaps...

2007-09-25T12:23:00.000-04:00

Well it’s been a while, so we have quite a bit of news to report (not really, but I’ll try and stretch it out).

First of all, Tenzin’s teeth are still invading his gums with shock-and-awe strength. His two bottom teeth are completely exposed, with four additional top teeth jockeying for position. Needless to say, he is gnawing on anything and everything he comes in contact with, including but not limited to, his mother.

Yes, Rachel’s arms look like she walked into the middle of a miniature horseshoe game, with little purple half moons adorning her side, from tricep to lower neck. Only a year-and-half to go until we can (properly) yell at him. Our little hyena.*

In other news, we actually (holy s*&@!!!) had some spare time this weekend, so we headed down to Grandma F’s for a visit.

[Odd times and puppets at the "Old Time Clifton Days" on the way down]

Smoking camel puppets?

Cookin' with Alf dolls?
Where are we?

Over the last year, we’ve had a lot of good family time, but it always seems like it’s conditional of the event at hand - we’re either at somebody else’s house celebrating a holiday, at our house staying in, at somebody else’s house with their child, etc. We never really have/had time to sit back and just take everything in. Maybe it’s just because Tenzin is growing so fast, but this time really made me pause and reflect.

My grandmother recently celebrated her 91st birthday (clapping is OK, go ahead) and although she’s getting older, she doesn’t age for me. Grandmas are always Grandmas. Grandma’s house is Grandma’s house. Same linear sounds, smells and looks since I was a kid, regardless of Jim or Vicki’s branch of the tree. It’s a fixed combination of sites and smells, a mathematical amalgamation of ham, fresh cut grass (summer), burning wood (winter), short-hair carpet, fresh baked bread/pies, fuzzy couches, old wooden chairs, light perfume, smiles, pictures…definitely pictures…over the last 30 years, I can’t count the number of times I’ve checked out the picture walls for hours on end, amazed at where we are and where we’ve been. Grandpa Marx in a kilt [correction: Great Grandpa Winn], dad in his Guard uniform, Mom’s senior year in high school, Grandpa Fleming holding me, Uncle Tim with an afro, Uncle Ron in his Navy duds: it’s all of this, bundled up into some weird feel/thought/memory I can’t explain.

Maybe Sunday was just another picture wall…

As I stared out onto the back sunroom --the same sunroom that cost me a toenail at the ripe age of three-- I couldn’t help but smile as Tenzin (at about DEFCON 4 on the teething scale) meticulously taste-tested each individual clothes pin within reach. These are the same clothes pins I played with as a child, stored in the same apple bucket, in the very same sun room I once played in.

Considering I can’t go a day without someone reminding me that I had the exact same curls/shape/hair color/expressions as Tenzin (it’s unfortunate buddy, but I am your future), it was an odd mirror-like reflection that afternoon: Grandma was still Grandma, talking to Tenzin like I remember her talking to me, Uncle Don was still unavoidable in the tickle department, and the house still smelled of ham, pie and Windsong.

Oddly enough, while my son had “technically” done a-whole-lot-of-nothing (other than check the moisture content of 30 year-old clothes pins), I couldn’t have beamed any prouder. It was an amazing moment, one of the amazing moments where you need absolutely nothing to happen as a parent --nor understand what’s going on your head-- but you still, for some reason, sit back and know that something amazing just occurred. It is a moment of sober, smiling calm I will never forget.

On a sidenote, a bit of advice for you parents out there: If you ever want to keep a toddler busy for hours on end, give them a bucket of water and a paintbrush. They will have your driveway covered in no time, then cover it again, and again, and again…

If the day in the sunroom lit me up, you can imagine how I felt last night when Tenzin stood on his own for 8 seconds straight. You should have heard me…by the sound of my voice you would have thought that he was about to fall down a flight stairs, like a prepubescent boy on a hilly rollercoaster.

Rachel was out running errands while Tenzin and I played on the rug. We’ve tried this standing thing plenty of times, but Tenzin’s version of standing looks like Daddy at his bachelor party in Vegas (thanks, Jared!).

Picture Elvis dancing on rough seas….older, chubbier Elvis….on pills...with poopy pants.

He’s got a bit of stuntman in him, because he’s perfected “the fall.” He knows where to put his bracing if he’s falling forward (usually), and how far to stick his butt out if he’s sitting down (almost always), but like most things, there’s the variable for BOOM! For instance, the last 6 seconds of this video:

Back to the story at hand…

It was sooooooo odd seeing him standing. It’s kind of like seeing a woman driving: you know they’re capable of doing it, but I’ll be damned if it ever looks natural. For what seemed like hours he just looked at me, wobbling at the waist and gasping deeply. I think he was as excited as I was. And funny enough, he didn’t fall because he lost his balance. He just politely sat down as if to say, “Show’s over.” That’s a baby’s way of saying “break out a camera…go ahead…try as you might, you know I’ll never do this again.”

And so the story goes. After a frantic call to Rachel extolling the virtues of our genius archanthropus, we practiced…and practiced…and practiced, awaiting Rachel’s return. We were going to do a little song and dance, maybe a high-kick New York Broadway number, followed by some soccer juggling, clogging, rollerblading and tightrope walking (on stilts).

But alas, as she walked through the door, his body returned to its Las Vegas Daddy state; limp at the knees and drooling. Try as we might, he was done for the day and the show was over.

I’ll do my best to get some of this on video, but I’ve already explained Murphy’s parenting laws.

Hopefully there will be more to come!!!

*Fun Fact: The hyena tops all in jaw strength. This animal has an ability to digest bone and extract nutrients where no other predator can, and to do this nature gave it incredible strength to get into even the largest of bones, like the femur of an elephant!

Can't take you anywhere...

2007-09-17T14:53:00.000-04:00

Tenzin was all pumped for last Saturday's Buckeye game against Washington. Uncle Jared bought him an awesome new jumpsuit, the hotdogs were on the grill, he was all set for the tailgate!

Unfortunately, the little man had a bit too much to drink.

[Click for bigger]

I'd show you more pictures from that day, but I'm a little embarassed. It's never good when your ten month old sets his first dumpster on fire.

Captain Gigglepants, Esq.

2007-09-10T15:19:00.001-04:00

Keeping with my belief that Tenzin is a superhero, Rachel and I recently discovered his kryptonite...our son's only weakness appears to be fake sneezing. Upon hearing a fake sneeze, Tenzin starts giggling uncontrollably. Said giggling will intensify with increased fake sneezing. If giggles get loud enough, possible toots may occur. There is no guarantee that those toots might be dry.

Enjoy [please disregard Rachel's orthodontics at the end...we'll save the tooth video for next time].

The dawn of hand eye coordination...

2007-09-09T14:05:00.000-04:00

I'm beginning to rethink my philosophy on video games in the household. This video is great, until the last part when it says "You Lose" in big letters. If I'm going to get Tenzin's golf career off the ground, this might be a viable means in which to start.

Lil Conan O'Brien

2007-09-07T13:45:00.000-04:00

Baby born with a full head of Elvis-style ginger hair

by JAMES TOZER -
Last updated at 22:09pm on 6th September 2007

Every parent hopes their baby will attract admiring glances.

But adorable as she is, Katie-Lee Webster receives attention for only one reason - her spectacular shock of ginger hair.

At only ten weeks old she already has the flowing locks of a child several times her age.

Her mother, Stephanie Pleasance, said: "Most people when they see a baby say 'Isn't she cute?'. When people see her, they say "Look at her hair!'."

Katie-Lee's father, Danny Webster, added: "No one we've met has ever seen anything like it - we're forever being stopped in the street and asked, 'Is that a wig?'."

Read more here.

Slacker post...with pictures!!!

2007-09-07T13:33:00.000-04:00

OK, so I've been reeeeeeeaaaaalllly slacking on the posts lately, but for good reason. Brandi, Jared, and Jared's girlfriend Erin were in town and we all know that when Brandi is in Columbus, our schedule is packed to a tee! So here's some pics to tide you over until I have some time to unwind. Jared and I are headed to a soggy Akron/OSU game tomorrow, so I should be ready to type come Monday (I allow for a day of rest after an OSU excursion...it will be much needed!).

Tenzin getting ready to get smothered in affection.

Let the smooches begin.

Grandpa with two of his babies (one in the background, one being held).

Lauren can't decide if she wants to let him in or not.

Since she's walking, she might as well teach him how to read.

Brandi's on her flight back to Phoenix. Do you think he had a good time?

Tenzin...age 4.

2007-09-07T11:17:00.000-04:00

Burgs....innnn....spaaaaaaaaace

2007-08-30T16:45:00.000-04:00

Storm of the century...

2007-08-28T08:50:00.000-04:00

OK, storm of the century couldn't be farther from the truth, but by central Ohio newscasts standards you'd think Katrina's older, drug-addled, heroin addict brother was blowing into town.

So after all was said and done, last Saturday went off without a hitch - even though the National Weather Service confirmed that a tornado touched down about two miles away from our house!!! Although I couldn't see any damage where they said it hit, I can honestly say that I'd rather have no tornado than a no damage tornado.

Here's some video for the West Coast readers who (probably) haven't ever heard a tornado siren. They're very eerie, unless it's a Wednesday at noon...then they're just testing them.

As you can see by the video below, the Zen couldn't care less about the situation. Part of me thinks it's because he's a baby and didn't have a clue what was going on, the other part of me thinks it's because he's a brave badass superhero that used his secret powers of telekinesis to disarm Mother Nature, dissolving the tornado from far away using only brain waves and giggles, consequently saving an entire community from ruin; all while its people are none the wiser.

Then, 18 years later, we, as parents, have no idea that our son can materialize and move objects until he secretly reveals to us that we shan't worry anymore because all of our problems are over and we should just keep the full amount saved in his 529 account "for fun or maybe a vacation," because he's already materialized a big stack of money that will cover the full amount of his tuition to the John Hopkins School of Medicine, where he'll later study Oncology and develop cures for diabetes, cancer, AIDS, and halitosis.

I need to stop watching Heroes.

Still, a big stack of money would be a nice Father's Day present. Doesn't have to be '08, either...'09 would work. You reading this, Zen?

Adventures in baby bowling...

2007-08-25T17:59:00.000-04:00

After spending 45 minutes in the basement due to two funnel clouds being spotted 3 miles away from our home, this video was an excellent stress reliever.

It's nice to know that we're much better parents then I ever considered.

Random Laughter...

2007-08-25T04:34:00.001-04:00