Doctor's note

Who knew that doctors could be so cool?

This was from a time when Coco was obsessed with Maggie Moo's "blue" ice cream (Cotton Candy is the flavor's official name), in a cup, not a cone, and he was upset about being at the doctor's, so she wrote a perscription for

1 Blue Ice Cream/cup

Stat.

I showed the perscription to the person at Maggie Moo's and she said (very quickly), after I asked whether they honor our insurance, "Yes, but you have a co-pay of $3.24."

I'm not sure I like being the straight man.

All hail ginger ale

Blech. Spent last night housing the virus that Madge and Coco had previously.
I'm really tired of visiting the bathroom.
But, man, that ginger ale is miraculous. I've been hungry and thirsty all night, but every time I had water, it was about half an hour before I got rid of it again.
I just had some ginger ale, though. I repeat myself, yes, but, oh, I feel reborn.

Madge Monday

My youngest child sympathies surfaced again this morning. Man, it’s hard not to have that happen. Here’s the deal. Julie and the kids got party treats yesterday for Coco’s party this coming Saturday. The treats weren’t put away, yet, largely because with Christmas and Coco’s Birthday and Winter Clothes why have quickly run out of room in our apartment.
So this morning Madge goes snooping in the bags and plays with a Slinky. I tell her to put it away because it’s not for us, it’s for the party, blah blah – in other words, I sounded just like the parent I don’t want to be. She put the Slinky away. But of course Coco grabs one at that moment and she lays into him about it – and, to fill you in on the whole situation, she’s developed a nasty tone of voice recently, which, mixed with Coco’s morning whining is just music to anyone’s ears. The soundtrack to “The Exorcist” is a lullaby compared to it.
And, little brother that I am, I can’t help being mad at her about it. (I’m getting all riled up about it again, just writing about it. Because I know it’s wrong to blame her, but come on.)

On the plus side of the Madge and Daddy ledger: she really missed me while I was working yesterday – the German word for me is Sabbatschaender (Sabbath-defiler) – or at least she put on a good show about it when I came home. Not that this didn’t lead to sibling and pet jealousies, but still.

Finally, I am pleased to report that a devious parenting ploy of mine worked. I know that any recommendation from Daddy is met with distrust. But this was a large-scale subterfuge, and made it below her radar. I rented Oliver, the movie musical, through Netflix, and we watched it. The kids like some of the songs and now the plot is familiar to Madge (I don’t think Coco could follow it all, to him it’s “The kid finds a family” movie). Then I made a CD with their favorite songs from the musical by downloading them from iTunes. Finally, I went to the library and got the book (the unabridged version), “for myself.” Julie, of course, nosed around in it to see if it ends in the same way – love that Julie. And Madge, true to my plan, picked the book up, too, and started reading it. And when Julie asked her what’s happening right now (Madge is somewhere around page 50) she summarized it pretty well. Go, Madge!
Only problem for me is that I probably won’t be able to read it anytime soon. Still, I think he finds a family at the end – and I figured that out without skipping ahead, Julie.

My Excuse for Friday

For those of you wondering why there was no fable last Friday, it's not (just) because I can't finish anything I start but because it was Coco's Fourth Birthday!

The candles, by the way, were blown out by his school friends, to his dismay. So the candles were lit again, the song sung again, and the candles blown out by ... his friends, again. Of course I'm proud of Coco's patience, but c'mon, little guys, have some compassion - these are the same kids who would squeal like stuck pigs if it happened to them (not that I feel strongly about this or anything).

Crunch crunch

I'm rhymin' about tech stuff again. One of the best things about it, for me, is discovering how Bryce Durbin illustrates it. Always entertaining.

Back with Roy

The process of getting to Roy's posts has been getting more involved, which is why I neglected to find it last week. Here is this week's.
And here is the one from the week before, which ends with a great idea. Everyone seems to agree that a solution in Iraq is less military than political. So let's send them some politicians. We have lots left over from the last elections.
(But there are more goodies in there, so click and read).

Silly game update

I went back to the bookshelves of doom blog to check on the status of my comment there and to see if other people left book titles there. Children's books seem to work well (for example, "Pat the Bunny In My Pants").
But just now, telling you about it, I made the same "mistake" I made on yesterday's post: I changed the site's "your" to "my." In other words, their game is actually to say "In Your Pants."
Weird, huh?
I can't help it, but I find the whole thing much funnier as "my" instead of "your." It seems to me to be the difference between mocking yourself and picking on others. Let's use the subtitle of "Oliver Twist" as an example.
I'm simply more inclined to laugh when someone says, "The Parish Boy's Progress In My Pants."
Who's with me on this?

Silly games (read: Julie will be mighty annoyed with me soon)

I had a link to this blog in my inbox today. It got me, gasp, thinking.

When I first lived in Minnesota, there was a guy, Dan, in my program, who was quite funny. At least he seemed so me at the time, though I think he has the kind of personality that I would still consider funny. He’s the person who turned me on to Letterman (I was new to the States at the time). He also had eyes that couldn’t seem to decide what they were looking at – or, rather, which made it hard for a conversational partner to focus on. And, one more aside, for some reason I remember his name as Dan Brown – although he couldn’t possibly be THAT Dan Brown.
He had this line he’d say, which I thought terribly funny (at the time). At any moment, he might respond to someone’s statement with, “That’s what SHE said,” with a Groucho Marx inflection. Harmless statements would get the (to me, at the time) funniest reinterpretations.
“It’s dark in here. Let’s turn on the light.” “That’s what SHE said.”
“Hey, can you lend a hand?” “That’s what SHE said.”
Etc. ad nauseam, except, of course that there was no way the nauseam level would be reached for me (at the time).
(I'm trying to let you know I've outgrown the impulse to say it out loud, though I often still think it.)

Later, in Chicago, I heard the same concept applied in a different way, from my friend Tom (I forgot his last name, sorry). His version was to add “in bed” to whatever someone said. I never liked it as much as “that’s what SHE said,” probably because the concept wasn’t new to me anymore (“in bed”), but also because it’s not quite as flexible (“in bed”).
You get the idea.

So on this blog they have this game in which they add the words “in my pants” to any book title. Same idea, but it links the prurient and infantile to stuff that ought to be above such matters, and all of a sudden I’m hooked again.
The best example of theirs (I think) is, “Everything That Rises Must Converge In My Pants.”
For example, I am currently reading “Just Enough Liebling In My Pants.”
I recently finished “Housekeeping Vs. The Dirt In My Pants.”
But I have other goodies on my shelf, like
Last Night’s Fun In My Pants
This Is a Bad Time In My Pants
Love Trouble In My Pants
Max Shulman’s Large Economy Size In My Pants
The Human Stain In My Pants
I’m a Stranger Here Myself – In My Pants
And one of Coco’s favorite books is “Pigeon Finds a Hot Dog In My Pants.”

Tell me this isn’t a fun game.

Nash-y stuff

The next best thing to coming up with stuff on my own? Quoting others.
Here’s Ogden Nash, from “The Strange Case of the Girl O’ Mr. Sponsoon’s Dreams”
…
One day he was driving along the street when he saw a beautiful girl.
-
My, what a beautiful girl, said Mr. Sponsoon. I wish I knew her name.
-
If I asked her name, said Mr. Sponsoon, she might think me a brazen cad.
-
But if I don’t know her name, she will go out of my life forever.
-
Mr. Sponsoon thought and thought.
-
Suppose I run over her gently, he thought at last.
-
With one wheel, say.
-
Certainly with no more than two.
-
Then I can read her name in the morning paper and all will be hotsy-totsy.
…

That’s exactly how Julie and I met. (I still have a slight limp from the incident.)

Home life

In case you're wondering why there wasn't anything new today, it's because we spent the time between 1 am and 4 am doing laundry because of various pediatric digestive incidents and then spent the day at home recuperating and fighting about using the computer. Not using it, that is.
To lead by example, I refrained from blogging.
But tomorrow they ought to be off to school again and then we'll see.

Coco Tuesday

The two sides of Coco

Yesterday might have gone better if a liveried butler had shown up at my door bearing a silver tablet with a note on it reading, “Meet me today in the living room. Choose your second wisely. We shall meet at two paces. The weapons will be fingernails and screams. The use of reason results in an immediate disqualification. You shall know me by the secret message, ‘I want Power Rangers.’”
That’s really what started it, the Power Ranger request. But the peak of the duel was the following.
C (Coco): I want apple juice.
PIV (Poor Innocent Victim): Okay [pours juice into cup]
C: That’s too much!
PIV (not heeding the warning signs): Okay. [pours some into sink]
C: Noooo!
PIV (really not too bright): Okay. [pours it all out and rinses cup]
C: Noo! Not water!
PIV (really ought to renamed to Ignorant Dumb-A**): Okay [wiped cup]
C: Nooo! I do it with tissue!
IDA (proving that old dogs can’t learn any tricks at all and also forget old tricks rather frequently: Okay. [re-wets cup and hands it to C]
C: Nooo! [Throws cup]
IDA (raising voice): Look. Do you want apple juice or don’t you?!?!!!
C: Noooo! [runs into room, slams door]
Game, Set, Match.
Post-game analysis reveals that PIV/IDA ought to have thrown himself on the ground after C’s second sally. Fist-pounding may have gotten him some points. But really, the play was too far on C’s side after the brilliant opening non-thirsty apple-juice request.

Same child, the previous day. Playing with Darth Tater - Hasbro’s brilliant name for Mr. Potatohead in his Darth Vader costume – (using a 3-yr-old’s “deep voice” which in itself is already super-cute): “I am your father.”
Then: Boing. [Darth Tater flies up the chair] Tickle, tickle.

I’m guessing the latter is what people have in mind when they say they wish the kids could stay that age forever.

I almost forgot

My week in review for CrunchGear.
Please follow the link and comment on the post - if you're so inclined. If you're otherwise inclined, which, I guess, is declining, do it anyway. C'mon. For me.

Esther Phillips, part 2

For those of you able to see the Esther Phillips thing on YouTube that I linked to, here’s another thing that grabbed me about it. (For the others, too, but you might not have the visual image required to make sense of the following statement.) Watching her, you know she’s just bursting to move and shout. Just look at it again and watch her arms. She’s just ready to explode, but the song won’t let her.
So, do yourselves a favor. Go to iTunes, type “Try Me Esther Phillips,” and buy the song.
Here are the lyrics (quite frankly, I was at a loss how to punctuate the thing. Most words needed a sort of exclamation mark after them):

Try Me

If you really wanna know if I can stand your brand of love,
Try me.
Why don’t you try me?
If you wanna know if I’m affected by the moon above,
Then try me.
Come on and try me.
Don’t you know my heart feels a strong desire
When I’m thrilled by the warmth of your touch?
Baby, don’t you know my soul’s on fire,
And I need your lovin’ so much.

If you really wanna know if I am longing for your kiss,
Then try me.
Why won’t you try me.
If you think that I’ll get weak in a cozy spot like this,
Please try me.
I beg you, try me.
If you’re wondrin’ ‘bout the magic in stars and soft caresses
There’s only one way to know if it’s right:
Just take me in your arms, baby, and try, try me tonight.

[sax solo]*

Don’t you know my heart feels a strong desire
When I’m thrilled by the warmth of your touch?
Baby, don’t you know my soul’s on fire,
And I need your lovin’ so much.
Just take me your arms and try me tonight
I want you to take me in your arms, and come on, and try me tonight
I beg you, try me, try me, try me, try me tonight.

* Poor guy, having to follow that. The solo’s a bit of a letdown. But what can you do in such little time to match that? Wouldn’t it be great to have a solo start for a few bars and then have the guy put down the horn and say, “[Expletive,] Esther, you’ve got to give me more [expletive] room than that.”

Madge Monday and the "Mouse"

Funny how some lines live on. This morning I was trying to get the kids ready and Coco got distracted while getting dressed, meaning he was running around chasing the cat, naked. The cat was wearing his fur, of course.
Madge said, “Coco. It’s time to put the mouse in the house.”
I said, “What?”
She said, “He needs to put the mouse [pointing at his you-know] in the house [holding up the Superman underwear].”
The missing link in this story is, of course, Julie, who considers that line from “Friends” immortal and is doing her best to make it live on.
I wonder when Madge will use this line in public.

Esther Phillips

Just a quick post because I've got to run. I was looking for her version of "Try Me" on YouTube but found this instead.


There are two things I love about it. First, of course, the introduction by John Lennon. As much as I like Esther Phillips, I'm not sure this is the song I'd choose to showcase her talents. But, hey, you take what you can get. And, second, the choreography. You can totally tell that the producers told her to stand on the X and "Don't move!" Until the instrumental break where she gets to wander to a point where the shadows seem to cut off her head. Weird.

X Fable

The Ox and the Exception

The Exception spoke to the Ox. “Look. There’s nothing remarkable about you, so you really shouldn’t be in this kids’ book on the alphabet. But, other than the xylophone, there’s not much to offer at this end of the letters we use, so you can be like me for now.”
The Ox answered, “Am I supposed to thank you for this? What if I don’t want to be in a book?”
“But…” stammered the Exception. “Okay, you can go.”
The Ox wandered off and the Exception got to stay on alone.
So the Exception said, “How about this:
The Ex and the X
The Ex sighed happily. ‘Ironic, isn’t it, dear X, how I’ve come to depend on you. First, the kisses you represent got me into a long-distance relationship I should have shied away from, but then my signature next to you on the prenup made everything dandy.’”

pediatric dentistry

Yesterday we had a dentistry double whammy. Madge at 4, Coco at 4:30, and we got home around 6. Julie got to participate vicariously because we have new cell phones and I can now send pictures. So she received an image of Coco with shades on (to guard him from the light which he called “the fire” – so you can already guess how he felt about the whole event) and Mr. Thirsty in his mouth (which the kids get to operate themselves).
Madge has a good attitude towards the whole thing. Perhaps it helps that the first time she had a filling (on a tooth that has since fallen out) they gassed her up with laughing gas and the whole room was bluish to her and, well, she was high for a while. But now she loves going.
Coco, not so much. As far as he’s concerned, a doctor is a doctor, and no matter how friendly they appear, their sole purpose, the thing they get paid to do, is to invade your privacy if not cause actual pain. But he’s brave and wills himself to sit still. And after a while he realized that, while uncomfortable and intrusive, it’s not necessarily painful.

Here, though, is why I even started writing this. While I know it’s not right of me to instinctively side with Coco in their disagreements, I know why I do it. Like him, I was the youngest, more specifically the younger brother of big sisters.
So I hope you’ll be proud of me for not interfering when I overheard the following (about the toys they got at the dentist’s) from Madge.
“Let me see that [toy fairy that you’ve been playing with while I was reading]. No. That one’s mine. Yours is the one with the broken sword. But don’t worry. It’s not broken much. Bring it to daddy. He can fix it.”

cheese again

Rocastin, that's the name of the sheep's brie I had. Full name: Le Berger de Rocastin. (Fromage d'Affinois)
Verdict: sure, why not. But I'm not sure I'd go out of my way for it. Mostly because I tend to overeat on bries (the flavor is just fine, a hint of sheep wrapped in brie creaminess). I have a feeling I'm not the only one.
The problem, of course, is that this kind of cheese doesn't agree with my latent obsessive compulsiveness. In other words, the mere fact that it's a bit runny makes me want to leave the sides neat when I'm done. And, since this is impossible, I'm not truly done until the cheese is gone.
Sometimes I have that problem with ice cream, too, but (un)fortunately it's easier to leave a flat surface in a thing of Ben and Jerry's than it is with a wedge of brie.
A hard cheese, on the other hand, is easier to "manage" in that sense.
There, now you can rest at ease.

Mpls. memory

Apropos of nothing, I remembered today that, when we saw this painting (Monet, in case you didn't know) in the museum in Mineeapolis where it lives, Madge said, "Why do they have a picture of a muffin?"

I'm sure she wasn't the first to make that observation.

Of course I then explained to her that the Impressionists were just a bunch of nearsighted Frenchmen who were too vain to bring their glasses with them when they painted outdoors.

I know for a fact I'm not the first to make that observation, either.

getting ready

Can it be that I’ve got nothing to show for my efforts today?
Let’s just say that even if there were, I’d be in denial.
Saw Glenn again yesterday, and it was fun, though, as always, too short. There are some people that make you feel happy just by being near. Number one, of course, is Julie. The kids, well, they make you feel about ten-thousand things at once. But Glenn, it’s just nice to be around him. Let’s start a fan club. Who’s with me?
But that was yesterday. Today we’re dealing with cold weather. Which means the skies are clear and I feel the kids are going to get ripped off as far as upcoming snows are concerned. Once it clouds over it’ll be warmer again. And I – I mean, the kids – really wanted to have some snowball fights and get a sled and… Oh, well.
Got some new cheese today that I’m excited about, only because I’m branching out. I tend not to get the runny soft ones, but today I got a sheep’s milk brie, so we’ll see. I’ll report on it later. I know you’ll be losing sleep if you don’t hear about it soon.
The cold is new to us, in a way, since the kids’ sensory memory doesn’t extend to the last winter. Therefore it’s a surprise to everyone that cold weather translates into an unwillingness to crawl out from under the warm snuggly covers in the morning.
“Why are we late?” asked Madge.
Of course I blamed them. It sure was a struggle. Topped off by Coco’s insistence on wearing his finger gloves, which are too big and which he wants to put on himself but which he can’t, especially when he puts the left one on the right hand like this morning.
But, really, that only accounted for about four minutes of our lateness. Still, four minutes of screaming and struggle and forced self-restraint. (And some shouting on Madge’s part.) Ah, yes, tranquil family life.
As people with older children tend to say, “Oh, that’s the best age.”
What they’re really saying is, “It gets worse.”
Yippee!