Hairdresser and Me

I don't seem to be physically appealing to too many people.

Wait. Stop. Let me rephrase that.

I am totally clueless about how physically appealing I might or might not be to most people. I'm not fishing for compliments, though it really sounds like it right now.

Occasionally it's glaringly obvious, though. For instance when I got my haircut and my "stylist" was sweeping up, he said, "What should I do with all this hair? Maybe I should sell it. Maybe I should make a Philipp doll."

And I said, "Yeah, like a voodoo doll. I'll be walking along and, OW! Who did that?"

He laughed and then he stopped laughing and then he gave me a once over and laughed in a different way.

Let me just say it made me miss living in San Francisco.

cohohold

I didn't often feel sorry for cops, only having experienced them as the people who hand out speeding and parking tickets. But there's one who is patrolling the playground across the street and, man, I was freezing my toesies and fingersies (and, yes, gonads) while watching the kids play.

The cop had been there a while and was bound to be there longer. He was of substantial girth, so I can only imagine how huge is when fully thawed.

Granny Fleece Nose Shock

That's the note on my desk reminding me to write something about the gift that keeps on giving.

Julie got a fleece jacket from my mom for Xmas and likes to wear it around the house to keep warm.

This is well and good, except when I try to kiss her: invariably it results in a quick zap between the tips of our noses.

Interpretation A: My mom has hatched an evil long-distance plan to interfere with our kissing.

or

Interpretation B: It's not the fleece. We've still got the spark, baby!

(I prefer B)

The holiday

Julie reported that Conrad thought MLK was actually a king. And, when she told him MLK wasn't, Coco said that he acted liked one because he wanted things to be better for his people.

Just shows that he hasn't learned about the American Revolution yet. Or French or Russian or ...

But still, sweet.

On a different note, I'd never given much thought to Juniors - in the sense of sons burdened by (or blessed with) the name of their father - until I read Roy Blount, (surprise, surprise) jr.

I think I remember him making a point about a higher percentage of Juniors becoming something (president, maybe?) than the percentage of the independently named population. Sounds fair. Bit of an Oedipal challenge going on in the naming process, I guess. One step short of calling a son "Sue" (like that Shel Silverstein - and Johnny Cash, yes - song).

But with today's holiday the whole thing flips the whole JFK / JFK jr. thing on the head, because we tend to celebrate the father whom we don't actually know by being too lazy to append the whatever-it's-called: suffix, postnymic, diminuator, take your pick (or look it up and tell me in the comments).

Happy MLK, jr. Day.

Fun with first grade dictation

Coco has dictation homework.

I've noticed lately that the sentences sound like some Cold War spy code, and we've started reading them like that.

It's my free parenting tip to you. Makes it more exciting, especially if you make your kid write it like it's a secret and you keep looking furtively over your shoulders as you're whispering the sentences.

For example (these are from his homework):

The kids will nap on the cot. I repeat: on the cot.

or

The shells are red. I repeat: The SHELLS are red.

or

The dogs have been fed. The DOGS have been FED.

And yesterday I added the flourish that, when I see him crossing out a word, I jump up and shout, "Abort! Abort!" and run away.

Ah, good times.

Daddy's weird songs

I have so many soft spots for so many things, I feel like an old banana, ready to be mashed up and baked into Daddy-bread.

One of my many soft spots if for witty, yet maudlin country songs like "The Last Word in Lonesome is Me."

Another is this one:

I was playing it on the guitar tonight but was struggling to remember the second verse, so I went through the beginning a few times to see if I could get the hang of it, and after the second time, Madge started singing along. And believe me, it's strange to hear your daughter sing, "It was always to easy to find an unhappy woman till I started looking for mine."

I asked her if she knew what she was singing and I think she said something about there being a lot of unhappy women, but you can't find them or some such, it didn't make much sense to me. But, then again, the actual lyrics and the explanation I gave (which is clearer in the second verse) didn't make much sense to her. Luckily.

I drove to the park

Lord I searched all the bars

where I made out with love too many times

It was always to easy to find an unhappy woman

Till I started looking for mine.

Some beer-drinking devil

is holding my angel*

and I know what he'll do if he's my kind.

It was always so easy to find an unhappy woman

Till I started looking for mine.

Her note on the door

said, "I warned you before

"what I'd do if you cheated one more time."

It was always so easy to find an unhappy woman

till I started looking for mine.

Some beer-drinking devil

is holding my angel

and I know what he'll do if he's my kind.

It was always so easy to find an unhappy woman

till I started looking for mine.

*At this point Coco said, "Ha-ha. Get it? Devil - angel. Like the two figures on your shoulders." Works for me.

Zing! White(r) Teeth!

This New York househusband has the secret.

Go to your dentist. When she asks if you have any concerns, tell her that you don't really, but you wouldn't mind having whiter teeth.

Then wait.

At some point she will say that their dental office is trying out different bleaches and you seem to be a good test subject.

(I forgot to mention that you might get indirectly insulted about your yellow teeth along the way.)

Say, "Okay," and forget about it.

At the next cleaning she'll tell you they're ready with the bleaches and you can come in the next day if that works for you.

(I also forgot to mention that it involves bleaching half your teeth with one brand and the other half with another, so there's a potential of coming out of it looking like you're wearing a mouth guard of some team whose colors are off-white and off-off-white.)

Bring your iPod, doze off in a chair with your mouth held open for two hours, and tadaaah!

(I also forgot to mention that she will say some things about potential temporary chemical burns on your gums in a very offhand way, making the initial sitting still period a little difficult.)

And you're done! Total cost: two subway rides and a handshake.

I went from an A3 to a B1. (Does that sound right? It's what I remember, anyway. Does that mean anything to anyone? Those were the colors of teeth that she thought matched mine.)

But if I'd been told beforehand that I'd have to sip my coffee or tea through a straw because they are sensitive to staining for a while, I'm not so sure I'd have agreed.

If I seem extra grumpy, it might be the *&%$!! caffeine withdrawal.

ripped off again

I don't know what to do now. We're not going to make another kid, but neither of our kids lost a first tooth in our presence.

Madge lost hers in first grade during class and so did Coco, today.

Lithp theathon hath commenthed.

detective story, maybe

The facts:

At 00:30 on Dec. 26th, a crash awakened Julie (and me, eventually).

Inspection revealed the Christmas Tree had fallen.

We have an annoying cat who doesn't stay away from things and has been batting ornaments ever since we got the tree.

The tree was taller than last year's tree.

It was cheaper than last year's tree, perhaps indicating that it's wood was softer.

The tree stand is (now: was) one year older than it was last year and less maneuverable and still as small.

The tree has been leaning a little more every day.

It fell in the most convenient direction for cleanup, meaning the most accessible direction. This was also the direction where most ornaments were hung, probably because it was the most accessible direction.

Other facts, less relevant to figuring out who did it:

The cleanup took about 45 minutes.

The carpet is finally dry, but still a little warped.

The needles are still everywhere.

We think we got all the ornament shards.

We appreciate that it didn't happen during the previous night.

The tree now resides in the street in front of the building.

The tree stand now resides in the garbage.

The cat still resides with us.

Conclusion:

The cat probably did it.

the gym

I went to the gym today. Yay, me. Had a brief celebrity sighting, but that's neither here nor there.

There was a guy shaving his entire head when I went to take a shower. When I was done and shaved, too, he put cream all over his head. And he sang Christmas songs in a never ending medley. Well, never ending is exaggerated, since he paused to interject with advice and commentary on life in general. During this I learned that he made $70 singing carols the other day. But he wouldn't divulge where when I asked if I might sing there, too. Also, he implied I didn't have the voice for it. (For what it's worth, he had the showmanship, obviously, but his pitch didn't stay true throughout. Just saying.) Then he pointed out he'd probably make $200 on Christmas.

This was around 1pm. At 5:15pm, when we were there for Madgie's swim class, he was still at the gym.

So, if you're looking for a career choice, you might want to follow this guy around and learn. Among his many gems of wisdom was the observation that singing for money is better than going to jail. Then he said he didn't have the body for jail. Internally, I differed (otherwise how could he be working out for 4 hours), but I didn't think I had the time to actually engage him in a debate on this matter.

Plus, I had to make sure the celebrity was who I think it was.

more snowballs

My back and legs are sore from bending and scooping, but somehow my arms are fine.

This popped into my mind after writing about the snowball fight. Not fully formed, of course. Just the first line, really. But then it wouldn't go away, so I tried to finish it. It helps if you know Goethe's "Wer nie sein Brot mit Traenen ass" from Wilhelm Meister, but you don't need to.

Wer niemals Schnee mit Traenen ass,

Wer nie nach eisigem Gefechte

Auf seinem Schlitten weinend sass,

Der kennt nicht meine vaeterlichen Maechte.

Ich fuehrt' euch in den Schnee hinein,

Ich liess euch kalt und hungrig werden,

Dann schmiss ich Schneebaelle: gemein.

(Denn Papa schaemt sich nicht auf Erden.)

Well, the last verse was a little forced. Oh, well.

snowsnowsnow

We were outside three or four times today, but never on any errands (except for me - and work for Julie). I mean the kids and I were out. So now there's extra laundry because of the snow soaked pants and gloves. They've gotten progressively better about dealing with frozen faces and fingers - and my aim has gotten better in the sense that I haven't beaned them in the schnozzle for a while. But now I'm exhausted from making snowballs for everyone and then making hot cocoa - and because I hadn't been able to go to the grocery store I didn't have Swiss Miss and had to use the good Dutch Cocoa powder and sugar and milk - Daddy's stash thrown before the masses.

the boys

Here's a conversation Coco and I had at bedtime.

Coco: What did Mommy say?

Me: She said I should knock before I come in the bedroom.

C: Why?

M: I think she's wrapping a present she doesn't want me to see.

C: I think you're probably in trouble.

M: What, you think I'm going to have spend a long time talking tonight?

C: Yeah.

snowballs

Some parenting difficulties are almost too weird to explain.

It snowed today, yippee! I love snow. Always have, especially because I've always had a warm-ish place to come home to. We're a little stingy in the heating department, but the near frostbite of being outside too long makes you appreciate a lukewarm apartment.

My problem is this. The kids want to have snowball fights, but, understandably, they don't want to get hit in the face. Not really a problem; I aim at their bellies and below.

But kids are short. And though they've been informed that I'm not aiming at their heads, they duck. And ducking is, by definition, a downward movement.

Not only that, out of twenty snowballs thrown, a few go off target; and when I miss, I tend to land a bullseye - or kidseye, as it were.

So tonight I made both kids cry in the snow. Pitiful, sobby, spittle-ridden, drooly WAAAAHs.

Because I whopped them both in the face with a ball that was packed harder than they can pack so I can aim better to miss them in the first place.

Sheesh.

full picture

This morning we had the Mahalia Jackson Christmas Album playing, and in the middle of "Sweet Little Jesus Boy" I heard, "awooawla-awooawla-awawawaaawla" and thought, "why are the kids making fun of Mahalia Jackson?" But then the "pth-pkpth-pkk-pkpthlawworp" told me the rest of the story and it turned out the cat had been nibbling too many pine needles off the tree and left me a trail throughout the apartment to clean up.

Here's the song. Hope it's not ruined for you. I still like it.

gym

This week, the gym and I didn't have too great a relationship. Either I've been too busy running errands or I've forgotten my lock or my goggles. Not for my welding class, but for swimming.

And now that gifting season is among us, my phone kept singing at me from the locker as I as shaving or dressing or undressing or whatever happened in-between. The downside of having a ringtone song you like is letting the phone ring a trifle too long because you want to hear it all.

The other downside is that the mood of the song affects how I answer the phone.

So, ironically, when Julie calls I always answer in a goofy, giggly way because the Eroica symphony's funeral march is such a gas. No it's Spongebob singing "Best Day Ever."

I think it's backfiring, though. Tonight she called to say her flight's delayed and I may have sounded a bit too happy.

fell asleep too soon

Sorry I didn't update last night, but for some reason I fell asleep with the kids.

The kids had swim class which drags on through the whole afternoon because the only scheduling I could get was both kids on the same day but 45 minutes apart.

And Coco has two kids in his group who are pains in the rear. So much so, he doesn't want to do the class anymore because of them - and because they make the teacher shout. I've told the teacher and she's sweet about it and said he could join the neighboring class - but it's a lower level, so he doesn't want to. Yesterday seems to have gone better. I did talk to the two troublemakers before class.

I'm conflicted about it. On the one hand, I just want Coco to deal with it, but on the other hand I'm not willing to accept his way of dealing with it - namely, not going to class anymore. So who knows, it may have helped. They MIGHT not have known that they're ruining it for everyone rather than just "having fun" by riling up the teacher. ("I didn't do it." "Oops, I fell in the water." "Oops, I splashed the others." ...)

Last night we wrote letters to Santa. Madge isn't done yet. This year, though, we have the advantage that they wanted to write them on the computer and print them out, so there's a saved version and I don't need to be as attentive as to what goes into the rapidly sealed envelope.

And now it's raining rather than snowing, because New York just doesn't seem to like to mix freezing temperatures with precipitation.

colder here

Sheesh, and I neglected to turn on the heat while the kids were at school because I kept thinking I'd leave the apartment. I finally did, once I found out when a certain store opened, but it opened later than I expected.

At this special kind of year, with the kids as internet-savvy as they are, all I can say is that I went to a place to do something - nudge, nudge - and now I still need to do something else somehow but I'm not sure what. And the something is somewhere now.

But I think I've already given away too much. I'll change topics.

Coco is missing Julie a lot this time around. It's manifesting itself by him missing me while he's at school, but when I asked him about missing mommy it all came out. This is meant to make you feel missed and loved, not guilty, Julie. Fine line, I know. Psych majors, have at it.

There were play dates this afternoon, but they weren't long. No TV, but mostly because they're both obsessed with a friend's DS cartridge.

It belongs to Coco's friend, but Madge just asked him today if she could borrow it and he said yes.

Maybe related: we watched "Yes Man" with Jim Carrey last night. He's in the movie; he didn't come over. Sundays are bad for him; he's coming for lunch tomorrow. (Bwah-BWAAH)

I think Madge may be taking some of the message of the movie to heart. Who knows? I am, but now - just in order to make the checkout person laugh - I'm stuck with a red pepper that was left behind and not reshelved by the previous shopper. How this piece of life-affirmation with play out, I'm not sure. Probably in a salad. But I might have to say "Yes" to some lunch specials first.

more updates

Yep, Julie's out of town, which means there will be more kid news here.

She flew out early this morning.

Usually, I'm a big fan of pacing myself, having learned some sort of lesson about planning for bedtime while making breakfast. (Pancake sugar high must be balanced by exercise to be brought down by screen time which can buy some grocery shopping ennui to be traded for another sugar high and activity followed by an explosive fight and more food and a bath - you get the drift.)

But today I was going at it like a divorced man with monthly weekend privileges.

We started out the day with pancakes, grabbed the DS games and headed on the subway for Macy's where we stood in line - or on line, since we're becoming more NooYoawkified - for the length of a Lord of the Rings movie and saw Santa. Coco wants a skateboard - no news - and Madge wants a computer - not really news though the Christmas focus of said desire is hair-raising. Then lunch at the Macy's buffet in the basement, followed by new shoes for Coco at the Skechers store (he tried on three pair, what a big boy) and a failed attempt to get him a new winter coat to match Madge's new one and, finally, on the way home, I figured why not and we stopped at Union Square to see whatever played first, Mr. Fox or Planet 51. Mr. Fox was sold out so went all out and splurged for tub -yes, a TUB - of popcorn and had a fairly pleasant nap until Madge woke me and told me I can't sleep during a movie. hmph.

Then home and noodles and some TV and flossandbrushandbed. Boom.

And tomorrow they get their regular dad back. I won't shave so I'll seem extra mean.

our modern age

I'm not sure how to write this up, but Julie and I had an insight the other night. I would have marked the date because of its momentousness, but we were too exhausted from all the thinking and mental assembling we did.

Coco saw his music teacher and told in an odd tone - a tone of marvel and mystery - that his music teacher's name is Mr. McG- and that he is married and that his wife's name is - at this point he looked around furtively - Mrs. McG-.

Julie and I were wondering why he thought this was important and secretive to point out when we realized-

-He thinks there's something incestuous about a husband and wife having the same last name.

Of course, in today's time, when his own parents and most of his friends' parents have different last names, the only way a married couple would share a name after saying "I do" was if they already had the same name beforehand.

Blows your mind, doesn't it?

I wonder what he's been thinking about all his grandparents all this time. But he probably doesn't know that they even have last names.