Spring Break Day 5 - Final Day

Sunday was our last day together for the break, and wouldn't you know it, the weather was perfect with highs forecasted in 70's and lots of sun. Oh well, that was pretty much every spring break when I was a kid. Despite the lack of sleep, the boys seemed fine. They'd likely fall asleep on the drive anyway. I started rounding up all the smaller piles I made yesterday into bigger piles with the eventual goal of massing one big pile that would get thrown into the back of the rental. Grandma was still a little run down so Grandpa hobbled up the stairs offering to fix everyone breakfast. Problem was, Noah, Harrison and Sawyer discovered the location of the Pop Tarts, and were content with colorful frosting and fruit filling. This confounded Grandpa as his idea of breakfast is mass quantities of rib-stickin' pancakes with eggs or his very own special blend of mystery oatmeal (patent pending). Turning down such delights is almost a personal offense to him. Throwing his hands up he grunted, "I don't know what these kids want. Pop Tarts aren't a breakfast!"


Growing up poor in a small home with 4 older siblings, plus any number of displaced cousins and neighbor kids, my dad only understands the "grab-n-growl" philosophy of fine dining, which is to say that you eat as much as you can, as fast as you can, before someone beats you to it. You don't pause to ask what's on the menu. Just jab a fork or spoon into anything edible while avoiding being tackled in the process. It's polo meets rugby complete with horses and all played out at the dinner table.

Even better than being a participant in such a frenzy, is the chance to be the referee that gets to signal the start of play by throwing the game ball out to mob. The night before, Grandma was still taking it easy allowing Grandpa to proudly announced he would be the evening's chef with plans to serve us an irresistible, mouth-watering dish.

"Noah, did you know that when your dad was your age, and Grandma couldn't cook I would make him and his sisters my famous potato soup." As I recall this rather infamous specialty consisted of large chunks of onions, doughy clumps of flour called 'rubbins' - a name that accurately captured their rubber-like texture - and the main ingredient - skinned potatoes, all boiled up in something resembling a witches cauldron.

"So how's potato soup sound Noah?" Grandpa's enthusiasm reminded me of a game show host. "Tell 'em, Son. You used to love it." Back then, I sat closest to the trash affording me the opportunity to stealthily dispose of my bowl's contents given the right distraction, which usually would be one of my sisters gaging on a half-eaten rubbin. Once my dad saw an empty bowl he was quick to fill it back up to the brim.

Noah looked at me, "Is Grandpa serious?"

"Yes. He is." I could see that look in his eye and the thought of choking down a slimy rubbin made me a little sick, "How 'bout I make some toasted cheese?"

Grandpa's face melted as he shoved a large, black pot back into the cabinet, and walked out to the living room dumbfounded that these little Pop Tart munchers - his own kin for goodness' sake - would pass on the opportunity to experience the authentic cuisine of the Depression-era, old country. Grandma, having dumped more than one pot of molded potato soup out the back door, slipped into the kitchen and knocked out several golden, grilled-cheese sandwiches and then disappeared like some sort of culinary ninja. I know she got a laugh out of the whole thing as this is just one of my dad's many endearing quirks that she gushes about when talking on the phone.



Eventually, Grandpa gained some satisfaction in talking Noah into tea and toast in addition the toasted pastries. I finished up all the packing and loading and then chased down Sawyer to put on socks and shoes. He's like roping a calf when it comes to getting clothes on, which at times, I'm sure can be annoying, but I don't get that opportunity on a regular enough basis so I enjoyed every bit that I could. "I wuv you, Dad," he giggled once I got the last shoe on, "When we get home will you come to my house and pway milwitary wiff me?" I gave him a big hug, "Sure, Wildman. I'd love to." Sawyer is the son I have had the least amount of time to bond with, so I'm always watching and wondering how he sees me as a his dad. "Ok Dad, you're the bad guy... BANG! Your dead, bad guy!"

Admittedly, I was dragging my feet because I wasn't ready to give the boys up just yet. Harrison kept pestering me to go find a crayfish in the creek before we left so he could take something, "alive" back home. I nearly let him do it, but we were already two hours behind so hugs and kisses ensued. Sawyer decided to give his grandparents one last demonstration of his care-free take on life. Flashing them a big grin and darting out the front door, he then proceeded to fling himself onto the wet ground and tumble down the hill. The phrase, "happier than a pig in mud" would've been an apt description.

Pulling out of Meadville and getting onto the freeway Noah announced that he was going to throw up again. Oh no, not good. I pulled the car to the side of the on-ramp and Noah jumped out the door and blew chunks of tea and toast over the guardrail. "Poor kid, this is going to be a rough drive," I thought as he heaved a couple more times. At least it wasn't potato soup. That comes back up in a miserable fashion. But like the night before when hovering over the commode, Noah was just as resilient. "OK, Dad, I'm done. Let's hit the road." And we were off. Luckily, whatever bug he had caught got released somewhere on a grassy overpass in plain view of a Ponderosa steak-house.

The rest of the drive was pretty smooth. The boys read books and then watched some movies on my computer, while I scanned the horizon for cops and radar traps. About an hour from their home we pulled into a rest stop for a potty break. I pulled out Sawyer first given he is just been house broken and thus priority number one. It never looks good to hand over your pee-soaked children to their mother, as she eyes you over in disgust at your incompetence as a father. The other boys got out of the car and started shouting as I came around the car, "Sawyer! No! You can't... Dad!" There stood Sawyer, pants around his ankles in the middle of the sidewalk just letting it fly. Oh well, mission accomplished - the method's immaterial. Sawyer still joined us in the restroom however, crawling up onto a toilet to complete the job only from the other end. I watched him kick his feet back and forth from under the stall and listened as he talked to himself. After a few minutes, I peaked my head through the door, "Hey Buddy, are you..." WHAM! Sawyer kicked the door right into my face. "Hey you! Get outta here!" Sorrrrrrrrry. Privacy wasn't such a big deal a few minutes ago.

We started back down the road and soon they were loading into their mom's mini-van. They were excited to share all that they had done over the break, which is really great to watch because they are so genuine in their enthusiasm, oblivious to the unseen barriers that divide their parents. They feel completely free to say whatever they feel to each of us without the reservation of wondering how each parent will react to even the most unpleasant events such as Sawyer peeing on Harrison in the middle of the night.

I kissed them goodbye and watched them drive off to the familiar comforts of their toys, their cat, and their own beds. After that there's not much to tell. The drive back to Chicago was like all the others, when I used to lived here a year ago. I liked the nostalgic feel, as it made me excited for the move back sometime in the near future. The goodbyes won't be so hard or as far apart.

I made it to the airport just in time as Chicago traffic hasn't changed much since being away. I took my seat next to a couple in their late 40's who were chatting about a magazine they were reading, when a baby in the back of the plane started crying. This set my neighbors off into an indignant huff. Every time the baby made any sort of a sound they would turn around and glare at the parents as if they were publicly known sex-offenders. They turned around and the guy grumbled something while motioning as if he were holding a kid by the neck while slapping it back and forth in the face. He wore designer brand clothes but sported a ridiculous soul-patch that matched his ridiculous stringy, shoulder-length hair. In a police line up, he would've been a dead ringer for a possible sex-offender. "Oh, Dear!" His wife chuckled in response to her husband's rant. She flipped a page in her magazine and then shook her head, "I can't believe we got stuck on a plane with a baby." Her red sweat suit did nothing to flatter her complexion which, after years of ravage by sun and cigarettes, looked like a pruning meat carcass that even the frugal Plains Indians could find no use for.

"Did the airlines now offer immunity from the inconveniences of babies on planes?" I thought. The way these two were acting you'd believe such an option existed and they were kicking themselves for opting out at the last minute. "A baby? On our plan? What are the chances, dear? We'll pass on the 'No Baby' Upgrade, thank you."

I hoped they would engage me in their lamenting so I could casually mention that ironically I have 3, young boys, and given my experience, when kids get fussy I acknowledge the slight age difference and then proceed to pretend that I'm an adult about the whole thing. It would've been fun to see their reaction, but no such opportunity presented itself. I handed them their complimentary beverages and passed their trash back to the stewardess, making sure to say "please" and "thank you" as appropriate. Assholes.

As soon as we arrived in Houston, I didn't give them a second thought. My mind was too pre-occupied with what the boys were doing, how my parents were feeling, and making money to pay bills, but in any case, I was home. Not because I returned to my daily dose of regular issues to contend with, but because, unlike the previous returns from seeing my boys, there was someone wonderful waiting to hug me when I walked in the door. As much as I missed my sons, I was equally happy to be missed while I was away.

Read more...

Keeping Up with the Kabalarians

So I was trolling around my usual blogs today and my brother-in-law Robb (http://thegrenzian.blogspot.com/) had an interesting site from the Kabalarians. If you haven't heard of them you can read the specifics on their page (click on the title of this blog to go there), but basically they have a fundamental belief that our names can dictate our ability to be successful or not. I'm not going to judge this belief one way or the other, but checking out different names in their free index is pretty cool. Of course the fist one I put in was Clark Kent, to which I got the following traits associated with our Man of Steel:

Although the name Clark creates the urge to be creative and original, we point out that it causes an emotional intensity and a dominating nature that is hard to control. This name, when combined with the last name, can frustrate happiness, contentment, and success, as well as cause health weaknesses in the nervous system, and tension or accidents to the head. The first name of Clark creates an intense personal nature. Your feelings and emotional desires are strong and consequently you are an individual, determined, strong-willed person. Your creative nature and ambition drive you to pursue success to the extent that you jeopardize your personal well-being. There is a tendency for you to dominate others. You are too certain of yourself, and you are not open to the views of others or responsive to their desires or needs. Also, this name does not incorporate qualities that enable you to be diplomatic and to compromise.

"That was pretty good," I thought. So then I tried another one - Lex Luthor:

Although the name Lex creates an active mind and a restless urge to explore new ideas, we emphasize that it causes a restless intensity that defies relaxation. This name, when combined with the last name, can frustrate happiness, contentment, and success, as well as cause health weaknesses in the solar plexus. The name Lex gives you a strongly independent and highly creative nature, with drive and ambition to have experiences and accomplish things out of the ordinary. You can work intently at whatever is new and holds your interest at the moment, but your interest wanes quickly when drudgery and monotony set in. Obstacles to your progress or restrictions on your freedom to act create a sense of frustration which may cause you to feel resentful and even rebellious. You can then become intolerant of others, and caustic and belittling in your expression, thereby imposing stress on your personal relationships.

Well, if that don't beat all! I was impressed. These guys know their comic books. I tried to think of a few more, and then settled on one last name.

Jesus:

Although the name Jesus creates executive ambitions, we emphasize that it causes procrastination, lack of confidence, and the inability to realize your goals and ambitions (I guess Jesus was supposed to start his ministry in his 20's, but kept putting it off to live with mom and dad in their basement).

This name, when combined with the last name, can frustrate happiness, contentment, and success, as well as cause health weaknesses in the reproductive organs, and fluid systems (Ya, I guess crucifixion can do that to you).

Your name of Jesus has given you the ability to handle people (That's an understatement - handle them or create, either way He's covered).

You are pleasant and diplomatic, and seem to sense how others feel (All true unless you are a Money Changer at the Temple, a Pharisee Diva or a demon that really likes pork and base jumping).

For this reason, you could do well in public relations work (He did that and the results were mixed - people like to be healed and fed miraculously for free, they just get a little upset when you start saying you're the Son of God. Christianity ain't a Presidential Campaign).

You appreciate the finer things of life, and like to have a good standard of living (I guess heaven would probably set the standard for the finer things in life - or after-life. Could you see Jesus offering a jar of Grey Poupon to a fellow donkey rider as they both sit waiting for the light to change).

You feel that it is important to convey the impression that you are financially secure, and you place importance on your mode of dress, and on appearances generally ("Lord save me, I am a sin... those are really great sandals. Did you do something different with your hair? Highlights! I thought so... now, where was I?).

While you could do well in certain positions of authority, you have a certain lack of initiative and a tendency to procrastinate (the idea of Jesus actually being like this made me shoot milk through my nose).

Could you imagine? "Ah, ya, Jesus? Hey, um, I'm sorry, but you just don't have what it takes to be the Ruler of Heaven & Earth. However, you will be just perfect for organizing the church rummage sale next week... What? What do you mean 'not up to it?' Listen, get up off your hairy tookis and start miraclizing or healing or whatever. Try a little harder and maybe you'll make something of yourself one day. Who knows, maybe you'll even get to save all humanity from eternal damnation or something... I don't know 'how?' Stop the moaning, just get up and do something other than sulking about living in your Dad's shadow. I swear, if He could see you right now..."



They may know the DC Universe, but they messed up Jesus bad.

Read more...

Spring Break Day 4

Day 4 went pretty quick. For some reason the whole morning was a blur, but I do remember getting the boys ready to go see a reptile show at the Downtown Mall. The reptile show itself was put together by some ambitious kid who really likes snakes, as he has collected any number of dangerous, exotic and large varieties in addition to several alligators. It actually wasn't too bad for a dollar donation. The boys sat up front, just far enough away that I couldn't get any good pictures.

Noah, Harrison and Sawyer each had distinctly different reactions to the display of reptiles on the stage. Noah, of course was extremely excited. About every third animal he would plow through the crowd and recite every fact given by the handler on each of the specimens. Harrison was excited too, but in a different way. I mentioned earlier his love for animals, but what I didn't know was that his fondness only extends to the cute and cuddly species. As soon as the cobras where brought out and taunted till their heads rose up and puffed out, Harrison shot like a rocket back to me where he started crying. At first I thought he got into a fight or something, but through sobs and gulps of air he told me he wasn't kosher being in the same room with poisonous snakes. I reassured him it was ok and then had him sit with me and draw pictures. That left Sawyer. Sawyer is showing his care-free-deal-with-it personality these days and the crowed show was no exception. Being a bit tired, he threw his coat on the ground and proceeded to flop onto his belly with little regard for any inconvenience he may be causing fellow spectators. His only interest was comfort. To hell with snakes and all that.

Thankfully the show was short enough to keep Noah's attention, but long enough to still be entertaining. Afterwards we headed to McDonald's for Happy Meals and then took a long drive through the countryside so Sawyer could fall asleep.




Once we got home, the boys wanted to shoot the BB Gun, which sounded like good to me. We lined up some targets while Grandpa watched on from where he was splitting a few logs. Noah and Harrison did pretty good while observing the rules of safety much better than the last time (don't ask - someone almost lost an eye). Kids being kids, shooting plain old targets gets old pretty quick, and soon Noah wanted to shoot something that would break. That idea led us to a junk pile with all the old glass bottles you could ever want. I didn't think that BB gun would do more than plink the outside but for a gun that's probably 25 years old it still had enough zink to break bottles in one shot. After using up all the BB's I took the gun inside and checked on napping Sawyer.

The boys, meanwhile, went hog wild in the creek building damns, and forts ships to sinks with stones. Eventually they caught a few crayfish despite the cold water. Sawyer joined them and they were as happy as three little boys could be.

Finally, I hauled them in for dinner, baths and early bedtime so they wouldn't be too cranky for the ride home in the morning. I was glad to get a chance to talk a bit more with mom and then watch some of the final four basketball tournament with dad, but then I went to bed. Why is it that on the one night everyone needs a good night's rest no one is destined to get it?

Noah woke up and seeing that I had kicked the covers off me, tried to tuck me back in which scared the crap out of me. As my heart slowed to normal, Noah announced that he was going to get some water. Next thing I hear he's up-chucking in the toilet. When I walked in to check on him he's got his head buried in the commode like a frat boy and then just looks up at me and says very nonchalantly, "Glad that's out. I'm feelin' much better now." We went back to bed, but an hour latter Harrison is standing there with a very disgruntled look on his face. "Sawyer pee'd on me!" Apparently. Sawyer got a bit confused and mistook his brother for the potty. It's funny to think of now, but when you're executing the change-jamma's-and-sheets drill at 4am it's not exactly hilarious. Oh well, we lived.

Read more...

SNL on PMS

This is the funniest SNL video I have seen in years... I rolled on the floor till my spleen split... What's funnier is that my dad now stays up to watch SNL because of this clip (you'd have to know my dad).

Saturday Night Live - Annuale

Read more...