At this moment, I'm in an expensive hotel in Miami Beach. I'm here because I'm attending DevCon, which is perhaps not as silly but perhaps just as nerdy as Comic-Con. I don't have much to tell you about this conference, except that I'm almost giddy with the opportunity. I never thought, when I asked, that my employer would actually pay for me to attend. I'm apparently consuming almost the entirety of my department's training budget to be here. The pressure is keeping me in attendance at all of the sessions and off the beach, which rumor has it is easily accessible out the back door of this hotel.
Because I must seek reimbursement for my travel expenses, and because I am less than 100% clear on the rules, limitations, and requirements for travel reimbursement, I am hesitant to spend any actual money here. This is a resort hotel, which translates in my mind to "expensive as hell," and I do not think "expensive as hell" translates well to expense reports when seeking reimbursement. So I'm trying my best to live on the cheap here. I took the "shared ride" option from the airport rather than the "private car" or "taxi" option.
And aside from the expense, which I suspect would not be fully reimbursed, on the few occasions that I get to travel outside of my own little white bread suburban world, why would I want to keep myself sequestered in the resort world, where a dinner not only costs me $40 or $50 but also keeps me well removed from the world I came here to visit?
So I considered, and I concluded that asking the working folk where they eat might be a good strategy. I asked the parking valets last night where I could find a cheap dive with good food. They hemmed and hawed, put their foreheads together, and suggested I walk down the road, across the bridge, and that way a few blocks. I took their advice and wandered off the resort hotel strip a ways. I've wandered that direction both days so far.
Last night, I was the only man at Asi's Grill and Sushi Bar that wasn't wearing a yarmulke. The shawarma laffa was delicious, and stunningly huge. I ate the other half for breakfast this morning. Tonight, I was the only non-Spanish-speaking person at Latin Cafe. I love these moments when I suddenly become acutely aware that I am the minority. As a white man in the South, they don't happen often, but that awkward, frightening, exquisite realization is delicious. Remind me to tell you about walking to Roxbury from my Emerson College dorm in 1991 to buy an audio cassette of a Malcolm X speech. With my freshly shaved head. Ah, brings a smile to my face just thinking of it.
Anyway: traveling. Childless. Good chance of getting fully reimbursed. I'm delirious with the thrill of where I am, what I'm doing, what I'm learning, and having the opportunity to miss my family. I can't wait to see Thumper and his Mama again when I get home, but I am relishing this chance to be me, by myself, for just a little while.
Oh, and I shouldn't tell you this, but I'm also naked. I'm spending almost all of my time in the hotel room naked. Apparently I like to shed my clothes when I'm completely alone. This goes back at least to (again) 1991, when I stayed in my ex-girlfriend's dorm room at Brandeis while she went home for the extended Thanksgiving weekend, when my Emerson College dorm closed and I couldn't afford to fly home. Why she let her ex stay in her room, I couldn't tell you. I suppose she was a kind and generous person, despite the fact that she dumped me. Yes, I spent most of that time in her room naked. She, being my ex-girlfriend, probably wouldn't appreciate knowing that, any more than you do now. You're welcome.
Showing posts with label Cheapness Counts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cheapness Counts. Show all posts
Monday, July 16, 2012
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Mostly Unstructured
What I really should be blogging about is the thing that's on my mind most, which is all of the guilt and frustration I've been going through lately and the sneaking suspicion that I'm not that good at this job and it's a pretty good thing that we've only got one kid or I might end up either divorced or in jail.
But gah, who has the energy for that kind of self-loathing on a Sunday night?
So the other thing I've been thinking about is structure. Since the boy was a wee lad of less than two years, we've occasionally attempted library story time. The first one we went to was a moderate success, until I realized that it was intended for kids under 1, and he was stomping around among the crawlers like Gulliver among the Lilliputians. He enjoyed himself and participated in the activities, but, despite another dad's reassurance that the age ranges listed for the several story times were merely suggestions, I felt socially awkward and we didn't return to that age group's story time again.
Instead, we tried his own age group's story time, and it was, each and every time, a complete failure. He refused to participate. When everyone stood to sing and gesture and pantomime along to the songs ("down came the rain and washed the spider out!") he would sit in my lap, sucking his thumb and eying everyone else suspiciously. When everyone else sat still while Ms. Jane read, he would stand up and wander and talk to me as loudly as a teenager with headphones on ("I WANT MY SNACK, DADDY!"). The more we went, the shorter his attention span was ("I WANT TO GO PLAY PUZZLES, DADDY!")
So we kind of gave up on structured group participation activities for awhile, until we decided to try a gymnastics class at the YMCA. It was titled something completely non-descriptive, like "Buddy and Me" or something like that, and I signed up thinking it would be a mild introduction to structured group activities, with instructors at least suggesting specific activities for the various pieces of equipment.
Instead, it was 45 minutes a week of free play time in the gymnastics room, with no instructor participation except reminding us that the "TumblTrak" was a one-way street and the high balance beams were off-limits. Otherwise, it was Daddy and Thumper playing, much like we do any other day, except on gymnastics equipment instead of playground equipment. It was fun, but by week six, he was more interested in exploring the thermostat and electrical outlets than he was in playing on the equipment again.
In the meantime, my mother and several of the members of the moms' groups expressed the opinion that a Mother's Day Out program was an essential step in his preparation for a classroom setting someday. I felt like paying someone to watch him while I did something else was sort of like cheating, and pretty much what we'd tried to avoid by having me stay home with him full-time in the first place, but I also didn't want to deny him an advantage that would ultimately help him get ready for school. So I priced the YMCA's Mother's Day Out program, was a little shocked, and immediately tabled the idea for reconsideration at a later date.
So time went on, he turned three, he was potty-trained and eligible for the next level of YMCA classes, and I signed up for gymnastics again. This one was "Intro to Tumbling" or "Toddler Tumbling" or something like that, and definitely had instructors and group activities, and the whole thing. I was certain it would be a complete disaster.
And it wasn't! At his first class, every other kid sat in a circle listening to the teacher and participating in a toddler stretching routine ("Pretend your hands are a butterfly. Now land your butterfly on your toes; now fly your butterfly way up in the sky!"), Thumper ran 'round and 'round the outside of the circle. The teacher suggested he sit down and join them; he just kept right on running.
But after a few minutes, he did sit down. He did participate. He followed instructions. He joined in the group activities. I was stunned. I was proud. And I realized: one of the keys to his success in group activities is peer pressure. With other kids staring at him like he's a nut, he starts to reel in his behavior a bit. The other key: I was not allowed in the room with him. On the last of the six weekly classes, the instructors declared that it was "Parents' Day" and we were allowed to sit in the room, and lo and behold, it was utter chaos. Not only my kid, but almost every other kid in the room, went nuts. If I'd been able to watch Library Story Time through a window, he probably would have been just fine.
So the kid who wouldn't participate in group activities was finally participating. The kid who wouldn't jump off of anything more than an inch high if he weren't holding my hands was suddenly jumping and tumbling and rolling and balancing and hanging and swinging. When the six-week program was over, I asked him if he wanted to sign up again, and he said no. The only other class for his age group was "Tap Dance and Ballet," and when I asked him if he wanted to do that, he said, "No, that's just for girls." I'm not sure where the kid who loves to dance and who has the dad in the alternative gender role gets the idea that something is "just for girls," but there you go. Cultural inculcation starts early, I guess.
With structure a success, but with no structure on the near horizon, I thought again about pre-school. Aerie took Thumper to a "Fall Fest" with pony rides that turned out to be a marketing ploy by a local pre-school. She gave them my phone number on Saturday, and by 9 a.m. on Monday, the owner called me. I had no doubt it would be more expensive than the Y, but I also figured with that kind of response time, he was probably not going to leave me alone, so I took him up on his offer for a tour that afternoon.
It was impressive. The teachers seemed patient and kind, and the owner was too. Thumper started out clinging to me like a baby chimp. I wasn't sure why he was so anxious, but after awhile, when he said, "You said school when I'm five!" it became clear that when I told him we were going to "tour a school," he thought I was going to take him there and leave him. The owner captured his interest with a collection of Melissa & Doug puzzles and then let him wander into each of the different classrooms while we watched and talked in the hall. By the end, Thumper didn't want to leave.
It was state-of-the-art, with a security system that uses two keypads and a thumbprint scanner. When he pointed out some kind of interactive touch-screen wall projector and proudly declared that "we're the only school in the state of Texas that has one," I was even more certain the program would be out of our price range. And I was right. It was twice the cost of the YMCA Mother's Day Out.
So there you go: a whole bunch of words to say, "We tried structure, we liked it, and we're not doing it anymore."
The End.
But gah, who has the energy for that kind of self-loathing on a Sunday night?
So the other thing I've been thinking about is structure. Since the boy was a wee lad of less than two years, we've occasionally attempted library story time. The first one we went to was a moderate success, until I realized that it was intended for kids under 1, and he was stomping around among the crawlers like Gulliver among the Lilliputians. He enjoyed himself and participated in the activities, but, despite another dad's reassurance that the age ranges listed for the several story times were merely suggestions, I felt socially awkward and we didn't return to that age group's story time again.
Instead, we tried his own age group's story time, and it was, each and every time, a complete failure. He refused to participate. When everyone stood to sing and gesture and pantomime along to the songs ("down came the rain and washed the spider out!") he would sit in my lap, sucking his thumb and eying everyone else suspiciously. When everyone else sat still while Ms. Jane read, he would stand up and wander and talk to me as loudly as a teenager with headphones on ("I WANT MY SNACK, DADDY!"). The more we went, the shorter his attention span was ("I WANT TO GO PLAY PUZZLES, DADDY!")
So we kind of gave up on structured group participation activities for awhile, until we decided to try a gymnastics class at the YMCA. It was titled something completely non-descriptive, like "Buddy and Me" or something like that, and I signed up thinking it would be a mild introduction to structured group activities, with instructors at least suggesting specific activities for the various pieces of equipment.
Instead, it was 45 minutes a week of free play time in the gymnastics room, with no instructor participation except reminding us that the "TumblTrak" was a one-way street and the high balance beams were off-limits. Otherwise, it was Daddy and Thumper playing, much like we do any other day, except on gymnastics equipment instead of playground equipment. It was fun, but by week six, he was more interested in exploring the thermostat and electrical outlets than he was in playing on the equipment again.
In the meantime, my mother and several of the members of the moms' groups expressed the opinion that a Mother's Day Out program was an essential step in his preparation for a classroom setting someday. I felt like paying someone to watch him while I did something else was sort of like cheating, and pretty much what we'd tried to avoid by having me stay home with him full-time in the first place, but I also didn't want to deny him an advantage that would ultimately help him get ready for school. So I priced the YMCA's Mother's Day Out program, was a little shocked, and immediately tabled the idea for reconsideration at a later date.
So time went on, he turned three, he was potty-trained and eligible for the next level of YMCA classes, and I signed up for gymnastics again. This one was "Intro to Tumbling" or "Toddler Tumbling" or something like that, and definitely had instructors and group activities, and the whole thing. I was certain it would be a complete disaster.
And it wasn't! At his first class, every other kid sat in a circle listening to the teacher and participating in a toddler stretching routine ("Pretend your hands are a butterfly. Now land your butterfly on your toes; now fly your butterfly way up in the sky!"), Thumper ran 'round and 'round the outside of the circle. The teacher suggested he sit down and join them; he just kept right on running.
But after a few minutes, he did sit down. He did participate. He followed instructions. He joined in the group activities. I was stunned. I was proud. And I realized: one of the keys to his success in group activities is peer pressure. With other kids staring at him like he's a nut, he starts to reel in his behavior a bit. The other key: I was not allowed in the room with him. On the last of the six weekly classes, the instructors declared that it was "Parents' Day" and we were allowed to sit in the room, and lo and behold, it was utter chaos. Not only my kid, but almost every other kid in the room, went nuts. If I'd been able to watch Library Story Time through a window, he probably would have been just fine.
So the kid who wouldn't participate in group activities was finally participating. The kid who wouldn't jump off of anything more than an inch high if he weren't holding my hands was suddenly jumping and tumbling and rolling and balancing and hanging and swinging. When the six-week program was over, I asked him if he wanted to sign up again, and he said no. The only other class for his age group was "Tap Dance and Ballet," and when I asked him if he wanted to do that, he said, "No, that's just for girls." I'm not sure where the kid who loves to dance and who has the dad in the alternative gender role gets the idea that something is "just for girls," but there you go. Cultural inculcation starts early, I guess.
With structure a success, but with no structure on the near horizon, I thought again about pre-school. Aerie took Thumper to a "Fall Fest" with pony rides that turned out to be a marketing ploy by a local pre-school. She gave them my phone number on Saturday, and by 9 a.m. on Monday, the owner called me. I had no doubt it would be more expensive than the Y, but I also figured with that kind of response time, he was probably not going to leave me alone, so I took him up on his offer for a tour that afternoon.
It was impressive. The teachers seemed patient and kind, and the owner was too. Thumper started out clinging to me like a baby chimp. I wasn't sure why he was so anxious, but after awhile, when he said, "You said school when I'm five!" it became clear that when I told him we were going to "tour a school," he thought I was going to take him there and leave him. The owner captured his interest with a collection of Melissa & Doug puzzles and then let him wander into each of the different classrooms while we watched and talked in the hall. By the end, Thumper didn't want to leave.
It was state-of-the-art, with a security system that uses two keypads and a thumbprint scanner. When he pointed out some kind of interactive touch-screen wall projector and proudly declared that "we're the only school in the state of Texas that has one," I was even more certain the program would be out of our price range. And I was right. It was twice the cost of the YMCA Mother's Day Out.
So there you go: a whole bunch of words to say, "We tried structure, we liked it, and we're not doing it anymore."
The End.
Friday, May 21, 2010
How We're Spending Our Days
Ever since we went to that flea market, we've been doing a lot of this:
And I mean a lot. As in every single day, for at least an hour and sometimes more. A little over a week ago, we ran into a dad at the playground at Central Market and his daughter, who was just about Thumper's age. She had a LIKEaBIKE that Thumper absolutely loved. They kindly let him give it a try while the dad told me about his three kids who were all riding two-wheel pedal bikes without training wheels after learning to balance on that unusual contraption. When I got home, I looked them up. After choking on the $400 price tag, I looked up "balance bike" on Craigslist and found a used Park Racer for a much more palatable $35. So we got it.
He loves his new "cheetah bike" and is the envy of the neighborhood kids, even the big kids who already know how to ride a two-wheeler without training wheels. So now we have to drag both bikes around with us whenever we play on our street or at the playgrounds. After a week, he's getting pretty good at coasting, and can even make some long, graceful, looping turns with his feet up.
I tried to get some video, but he still refuses to let me take his picture. This is the conversation we have every time I pull the camera out:
And I mean a lot. As in every single day, for at least an hour and sometimes more. A little over a week ago, we ran into a dad at the playground at Central Market and his daughter, who was just about Thumper's age. She had a LIKEaBIKE that Thumper absolutely loved. They kindly let him give it a try while the dad told me about his three kids who were all riding two-wheel pedal bikes without training wheels after learning to balance on that unusual contraption. When I got home, I looked them up. After choking on the $400 price tag, I looked up "balance bike" on Craigslist and found a used Park Racer for a much more palatable $35. So we got it.
He loves his new "cheetah bike" and is the envy of the neighborhood kids, even the big kids who already know how to ride a two-wheeler without training wheels. So now we have to drag both bikes around with us whenever we play on our street or at the playgrounds. After a week, he's getting pretty good at coasting, and can even make some long, graceful, looping turns with his feet up.
I tried to get some video, but he still refuses to let me take his picture. This is the conversation we have every time I pull the camera out:
Sunday, March 28, 2010
A Perfect Weekend
We were supposed to go to Houston to visit family this weekend. I hate to say, "I'm glad our nephew got sick," but I kind of am. Does that make me a bad person? Instead of twice making a 3 1/2 hour drive with a toddler, and spending the night in the guest room of someone else's house with a toddler who's testing the limits of his sleep routine, we got to spend an entire weekend together, the three of us. I didn't have to work! While money is nice, time together is, too.
Yesterday, I got to sleep in while Aerie got up with Thumper. Today, I returned the favor. When she got up, I said, "So what do you want to do with the boy today?" She said, "What about the flea market?"
We haven't been to the flea market in years. We always had fun there, wandering around, looking at the huge array of stunningly ugly home decor available in the many booths. It's kind of like a giant garage sale, kind of like a farmers' market, and kind of like a day trip to Mexico. I mean, sure, it was nothing to compare with the Married Geeks' adventures in China, but I think it's good now and again to be reminded what it's like to be the racial minority. It was doubly fun seeing the whole spectacle through fresh eyes, through the eyes of a kid who'd never experienced it before. He was all wide eyes and giant grins from the minute we arrived. Every cheap plastic toy was a treasure that he "needed!" Every stranger was a potential friend. Every electronics display blasting at top volume that weird accordion-heavy-but-somehow-not-polka Mexican music that I'll never understand was an opportunity to dance, dance, dance!
And then, he saw the treasure that he really did need. It was a big kid bike. A two-wheeler with training wheels and coaster brakes. At first we told him what we told him about every treasure he needed: let's look at everything and then we'll pick the thing he wanted most. We told him not to touch. But he couldn't stop himself, and the vendor was quick to jump up and tell us he could try it if he wanted. So he did, and that was that. We bought it. The vendor cleaned and oiled it while we went to find some lunch.
He was reluctant to leave it behind, but we told him the man was going to fix it for him. I was very proud of Aerie: she ate food from a portable kitchen, a trailer with a window in the side, with questionable hygiene. While we stood in line, Thumper pointed at the amazing mulleted perm (or permed mullet?) ahead of us and said, "Look at the long hair! I haven't seen him before!" Then we sat in the sun and ate our gorditas and watched the families strolling by and all the other treasures that the other kids picked. Then we had funnel cake, another joyful new experience for the boy, then picked up the bike and rode it proudly through the flea market on our way out. The vendor told us that we should bring it back when the boy outgrows it; he's sold it three times already.
As we paraded slowly past the booths on our way back to the car, the smile on Thumper's face was the topper for the weekend.
He was so proud. And so happy. And I was so proud. And so happy.
He fell asleep almost immediately on the drive home, but when he got up, he got the opportunity to show it off around the neighborhood. I wonder how old he'll be when the training wheels come off? This kid, he's a pissah, as we use to say when we were Yankees.
Yesterday, I got to sleep in while Aerie got up with Thumper. Today, I returned the favor. When she got up, I said, "So what do you want to do with the boy today?" She said, "What about the flea market?"
We haven't been to the flea market in years. We always had fun there, wandering around, looking at the huge array of stunningly ugly home decor available in the many booths. It's kind of like a giant garage sale, kind of like a farmers' market, and kind of like a day trip to Mexico. I mean, sure, it was nothing to compare with the Married Geeks' adventures in China, but I think it's good now and again to be reminded what it's like to be the racial minority. It was doubly fun seeing the whole spectacle through fresh eyes, through the eyes of a kid who'd never experienced it before. He was all wide eyes and giant grins from the minute we arrived. Every cheap plastic toy was a treasure that he "needed!" Every stranger was a potential friend. Every electronics display blasting at top volume that weird accordion-heavy-but-somehow-not-polka Mexican music that I'll never understand was an opportunity to dance, dance, dance!
And then, he saw the treasure that he really did need. It was a big kid bike. A two-wheeler with training wheels and coaster brakes. At first we told him what we told him about every treasure he needed: let's look at everything and then we'll pick the thing he wanted most. We told him not to touch. But he couldn't stop himself, and the vendor was quick to jump up and tell us he could try it if he wanted. So he did, and that was that. We bought it. The vendor cleaned and oiled it while we went to find some lunch.
He was reluctant to leave it behind, but we told him the man was going to fix it for him. I was very proud of Aerie: she ate food from a portable kitchen, a trailer with a window in the side, with questionable hygiene. While we stood in line, Thumper pointed at the amazing mulleted perm (or permed mullet?) ahead of us and said, "Look at the long hair! I haven't seen him before!" Then we sat in the sun and ate our gorditas and watched the families strolling by and all the other treasures that the other kids picked. Then we had funnel cake, another joyful new experience for the boy, then picked up the bike and rode it proudly through the flea market on our way out. The vendor told us that we should bring it back when the boy outgrows it; he's sold it three times already.
As we paraded slowly past the booths on our way back to the car, the smile on Thumper's face was the topper for the weekend.
He was so proud. And so happy. And I was so proud. And so happy.
He fell asleep almost immediately on the drive home, but when he got up, he got the opportunity to show it off around the neighborhood. I wonder how old he'll be when the training wheels come off? This kid, he's a pissah, as we use to say when we were Yankees.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
The Color Fuschia
There's a fly in the house. Watching Thumper try to track it as it flew was fairly amusing. But then he spent several minutes waving and saying, "Hi! Hi, pie! Hi! Hi!" when it landed and "Bye! Bye bye! Bye, pie!" when it took off again. God, I love that kid.
So anyway, I told Aerie I would have to blog about how sexist she is. She said I'd have to include her "in my defense" point, though.
Yesterday, Thumper and I went to Austin Baby!, which is the hippiest of stores in the hippiest of Austin neighborhoods. It makes me feel a little funny inside. I mean, not only am I a man invading a nurturing and supportive maternity/breastfeeding outpost, but I'm driving in from the suburbs to do it. I don't feel warmly welcomed there, at least not until I make it clear I'm there to spend hundreds of dollars on cloth diapers. Again.
But I went back instead of shopping online for one reason: they buy used cloth diapers. Seriously. I didn't know this last time I went there, when we upgraded from Bum Genius to Fuzzi Bunz.
Can I just mention here that Fuzzi Bunz kick Bum Genius's ass? We bought Bum Genius One-Size thinking it would keep us from having to upsize as the boy grew. Nice idea, but the velcro stopped sticking and the gussets stretched out. The Fuzzi Bunz snaps have not torn out, the gussets haven't stretched. If you're comparison shopping, Fuzzi Bunz definitely wins because of their durability.
Anyway, Austin Baby! told me they'd buy back the used Bum Genius. Even with stains. Even with stretched out gussets. Even with velcro that wouldn't stick. I think we got $4 each for them. Talk about genius! I guess there are much more skillful and committed parents out there who buy the used diapers and replace the worn-out bits. More power to them, but I ain't that guy. It takes me an hour to thread the needle on the sewing machine.
I was going to buy 24 of the Medium Fuzzi Bunz at the time because that's how many Bum Genius we'd had, but they only had enough in stock for 20 if I excluded the pink ones. I felt guilty about it, but 20 instead of 24 saved us money, too, and you'll notice that I did not in the beginning make any claim of not being sexist myself. And in my defense, I did keep the lavender ones.
So when Thumper outgrew his Medium Fuzzi Bunz, I washed and packed them all up, put him in a disposable, and drove him to Hippie Central. And they bought them back! At $6 each! The new Large Fuzzi Bunz were $16.95 when bought in a lot larger than a dozen, so that $6 is a 35% discount. And no shipping costs. Since cheapness counts, it was definitely worth being a stranger in a strange land.
But how does this make Aerie sexist? The store only had 11 Large Fuzzi Bunz in stock. I wanted 20. All but one of the 11 were solid colors, with the 11th having a fuchsia floral print, which I rejected on moral grounds. There were 3 Bubble Gum, 1 Baby Pink, 1 Lavender, and the rest were Red, Sage, Butter, and White. I briefly considered rejecting the Bubble Gum and Baby Pink for not being "boy colors," but I reasoned that it would be annoying enough to get through the week with 10 diapers, let alone only 6. Plus I didn't want the lady behind the counter thinking I was a stereotypical sexist homophobe who's oppressively locking his child into prescribed gender roles and who's afraid he'll turn his boy gay if he sticks a pink diaper on his ass. Plus, they mostly don't show outside of clothes, especially when he's wearing a onesie. So I took them all.
When Aerie got home from work, she saw the diapers sitting in the laundry room waiting to be washed before wearing. She made me promise not to put the pink ones on him when we're out in public. Then she reconsidered and asked me to take the Bubble Gum and Baby Pink ones back. Then she reconsidered and added the Lavender, too. Because they're not boy colors. Can you believe that? We'll have to use more disposables this way for them to remain unused so I can trade them for different colors out of the new stock next week. So there you go. She's sexist. AND an anti-environmentalist.
In her defense, she insisted I mention that she hates pink, even for herself. She wore only black for a large portion of her adolescence. And admittedly, the Bubble Gum is pretty ugly. It's a lot closer to fuchsia than it looks in the picture. And while we did have Lavenders in the Mediums, she always disliked them. Too close to pink, I guess.
So anyway, I told Aerie I would have to blog about how sexist she is. She said I'd have to include her "in my defense" point, though.
Yesterday, Thumper and I went to Austin Baby!, which is the hippiest of stores in the hippiest of Austin neighborhoods. It makes me feel a little funny inside. I mean, not only am I a man invading a nurturing and supportive maternity/breastfeeding outpost, but I'm driving in from the suburbs to do it. I don't feel warmly welcomed there, at least not until I make it clear I'm there to spend hundreds of dollars on cloth diapers. Again.
But I went back instead of shopping online for one reason: they buy used cloth diapers. Seriously. I didn't know this last time I went there, when we upgraded from Bum Genius to Fuzzi Bunz.
Can I just mention here that Fuzzi Bunz kick Bum Genius's ass? We bought Bum Genius One-Size thinking it would keep us from having to upsize as the boy grew. Nice idea, but the velcro stopped sticking and the gussets stretched out. The Fuzzi Bunz snaps have not torn out, the gussets haven't stretched. If you're comparison shopping, Fuzzi Bunz definitely wins because of their durability.
Anyway, Austin Baby! told me they'd buy back the used Bum Genius. Even with stains. Even with stretched out gussets. Even with velcro that wouldn't stick. I think we got $4 each for them. Talk about genius! I guess there are much more skillful and committed parents out there who buy the used diapers and replace the worn-out bits. More power to them, but I ain't that guy. It takes me an hour to thread the needle on the sewing machine.
I was going to buy 24 of the Medium Fuzzi Bunz at the time because that's how many Bum Genius we'd had, but they only had enough in stock for 20 if I excluded the pink ones. I felt guilty about it, but 20 instead of 24 saved us money, too, and you'll notice that I did not in the beginning make any claim of not being sexist myself. And in my defense, I did keep the lavender ones.
So when Thumper outgrew his Medium Fuzzi Bunz, I washed and packed them all up, put him in a disposable, and drove him to Hippie Central. And they bought them back! At $6 each! The new Large Fuzzi Bunz were $16.95 when bought in a lot larger than a dozen, so that $6 is a 35% discount. And no shipping costs. Since cheapness counts, it was definitely worth being a stranger in a strange land.
But how does this make Aerie sexist? The store only had 11 Large Fuzzi Bunz in stock. I wanted 20. All but one of the 11 were solid colors, with the 11th having a fuchsia floral print, which I rejected on moral grounds. There were 3 Bubble Gum, 1 Baby Pink, 1 Lavender, and the rest were Red, Sage, Butter, and White. I briefly considered rejecting the Bubble Gum and Baby Pink for not being "boy colors," but I reasoned that it would be annoying enough to get through the week with 10 diapers, let alone only 6. Plus I didn't want the lady behind the counter thinking I was a stereotypical sexist homophobe who's oppressively locking his child into prescribed gender roles and who's afraid he'll turn his boy gay if he sticks a pink diaper on his ass. Plus, they mostly don't show outside of clothes, especially when he's wearing a onesie. So I took them all.
When Aerie got home from work, she saw the diapers sitting in the laundry room waiting to be washed before wearing. She made me promise not to put the pink ones on him when we're out in public. Then she reconsidered and asked me to take the Bubble Gum and Baby Pink ones back. Then she reconsidered and added the Lavender, too. Because they're not boy colors. Can you believe that? We'll have to use more disposables this way for them to remain unused so I can trade them for different colors out of the new stock next week. So there you go. She's sexist. AND an anti-environmentalist.
In her defense, she insisted I mention that she hates pink, even for herself. She wore only black for a large portion of her adolescence. And admittedly, the Bubble Gum is pretty ugly. It's a lot closer to fuchsia than it looks in the picture. And while we did have Lavenders in the Mediums, she always disliked them. Too close to pink, I guess.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Kitty, Kitty, Dog, Kitty
And so, mostly to move that whole testicle business further down the page, I bring you a photo essay of my trip with Thumper today to the Texas Memorial Museum. And since cheapness counts, parking was only $2, and admission was free.
Key
Hock
Hot
...
...
Hock
Quiche
Dog, Dog, Key
Tutto
Bye bye!
Thursday, May 8, 2008
In a Slump
You don't want to read this one, either. Additional details about me will be revealed that you will be unable to unlearn.
I'm in a slump. I can't get motivated. I don't feel like cleaning the house again because I swear I just did it. I'm bored with playing with the baby because we do the same things over and over. I don't want to go babysit because the talking and the talking and the talking, ugh, it's exhausting. I sort of worked out yesterday, but I half-assed it. And I quit early.
I'm loathe to say anything like this these days. One, I don't want this blog to be a place to bitch about my life. I've read some of those blogs, and they get kind of old. Two, as a SAHD, it seems like it's my job to put up a happy front. I feel like if I complain, the answer is simple: "you chose this, jackass." So whenever anyone asks me about it, it's wonderful! It's fantastic! We're having a fabulous time! My old full-time position was recently vacated by my replacement. My former supervisor jokingly asked me if I wanted my job back, and I said, "Ha! No thanks." A former co-worker, too, asked me if I was going to take my old job back. He thought this stay-at-home dad thing was just an arrangement for a few months, until the kid was old enough for day care, like any normal baby; he was flabbergasted when I said it was for years, not months. "Really?" he said. "Of course!" I replied. "It's so much fun!"
And it is, and I do love it. But man, I'm in a slump.
I know the answer I'll probably get, at least from my mother, is "get out there and connect with other parents! Go to the SAHD playdates! Go to their Dads' Nights Out!" And yes, I should. But who can be bothered? And Thumper's still napping through the playdates, and the Dads' Nights Out are during babysitting. I have been chatting with mothers at playgrounds more, but I haven't managed to wrangle the boy a girlfriend yet.
No, really I'm thinking it's time for a fast. There was a time when I tried to live by the principles of BFF's bible. It's largely about how to combine foods properly in healthy ways, like meat and bread don't go together because they require different enzymes from your stomach to digest. And melon is the perfect food for humans, but it shouldn't be eaten with anything else. That kind of stuff. I followed it very closely for a good six months, and didn't feel like it really changed my life. So I dropped most of it. But I did keep one aspect for several years after. Ready for it? This is the part you don't want to know: colonics.
Yep. Self-administered colonics. Twice a year. In combination with a week-long fast. Since cheapness counts, I couldn't imagine spending hundreds of dollars on a Colema board (you don't want to click on that), so I made one myself. With $60 worth of wood and a wastebasket from Target. And yes, I thought it was crazy, too. I thought BFF was crazy. But the craziness appealed to me, in a way. "Hey, won't this be wacky? I'll be one of those nuts who hoses out his insides! Hee hee!"
But strangely enough, the fasting and colonics made me feel incredible. I fasted by eating nothing and drinking sometimes carrot juice, sometimes grape juice, or carrot-grape juice. Sometimes just water. Sometimes I used solutions for the colonic other than plain water, like coffee and water, or garlic and water. The first day or two of the week-long fast, with nightly colonic sessions, I would be exhausted and hungry. By the third or fourth day, though, I started to feel recharged. Energized. And that gut-gnawing sensation of hunger was gone. By the end of the week, I was refreshed, renewed, ready to start again. I'd ease back into eating with light and healthy meals. It was like pushing a reset button.
But after a few years, I'd stopped smoking. I was working out more, losing weight, feeling good. I didn't feel like I needed a cleansing, a restarting. And the tedium part of the colonics, the preparation, the cleanup, started to get to me. Not to mention having to clean the juicer daily from all those grapes and carrots. So I decided I was done with it and threw out my board. I haven't fasted since, and it's been probably two or three years.
So now, in a slump and feeling like I really need a good renewal ritual, I'm thinking about fasting again. And since I've been eating a lot lately, snacking when I don't really need it, I want to re-learn that feeling of hunger as a positive thing, to remember that being hungry isn't so bad. I don't think I can get behind building a new board, and I certainly can't get behind buying one, so I'll just skip the colonics this time around.
Maybe I shouldn't use the words "get behind" and "colonics" in the same sentence, huh?
Anyway, does anybody else out there fast? I've never done it without the colonics, and I wonder if it will be the same jolt of power and energy that I remember.
So who's with me? Who's up for a week of emptying the vessel and starting over? Come on! I promise I'll stop saying the word "colonic" now.
I'm in a slump. I can't get motivated. I don't feel like cleaning the house again because I swear I just did it. I'm bored with playing with the baby because we do the same things over and over. I don't want to go babysit because the talking and the talking and the talking, ugh, it's exhausting. I sort of worked out yesterday, but I half-assed it. And I quit early.
I'm loathe to say anything like this these days. One, I don't want this blog to be a place to bitch about my life. I've read some of those blogs, and they get kind of old. Two, as a SAHD, it seems like it's my job to put up a happy front. I feel like if I complain, the answer is simple: "you chose this, jackass." So whenever anyone asks me about it, it's wonderful! It's fantastic! We're having a fabulous time! My old full-time position was recently vacated by my replacement. My former supervisor jokingly asked me if I wanted my job back, and I said, "Ha! No thanks." A former co-worker, too, asked me if I was going to take my old job back. He thought this stay-at-home dad thing was just an arrangement for a few months, until the kid was old enough for day care, like any normal baby; he was flabbergasted when I said it was for years, not months. "Really?" he said. "Of course!" I replied. "It's so much fun!"
And it is, and I do love it. But man, I'm in a slump.
I know the answer I'll probably get, at least from my mother, is "get out there and connect with other parents! Go to the SAHD playdates! Go to their Dads' Nights Out!" And yes, I should. But who can be bothered? And Thumper's still napping through the playdates, and the Dads' Nights Out are during babysitting. I have been chatting with mothers at playgrounds more, but I haven't managed to wrangle the boy a girlfriend yet.
No, really I'm thinking it's time for a fast. There was a time when I tried to live by the principles of BFF's bible. It's largely about how to combine foods properly in healthy ways, like meat and bread don't go together because they require different enzymes from your stomach to digest. And melon is the perfect food for humans, but it shouldn't be eaten with anything else. That kind of stuff. I followed it very closely for a good six months, and didn't feel like it really changed my life. So I dropped most of it. But I did keep one aspect for several years after. Ready for it? This is the part you don't want to know: colonics.
Yep. Self-administered colonics. Twice a year. In combination with a week-long fast. Since cheapness counts, I couldn't imagine spending hundreds of dollars on a Colema board (you don't want to click on that), so I made one myself. With $60 worth of wood and a wastebasket from Target. And yes, I thought it was crazy, too. I thought BFF was crazy. But the craziness appealed to me, in a way. "Hey, won't this be wacky? I'll be one of those nuts who hoses out his insides! Hee hee!"
But strangely enough, the fasting and colonics made me feel incredible. I fasted by eating nothing and drinking sometimes carrot juice, sometimes grape juice, or carrot-grape juice. Sometimes just water. Sometimes I used solutions for the colonic other than plain water, like coffee and water, or garlic and water. The first day or two of the week-long fast, with nightly colonic sessions, I would be exhausted and hungry. By the third or fourth day, though, I started to feel recharged. Energized. And that gut-gnawing sensation of hunger was gone. By the end of the week, I was refreshed, renewed, ready to start again. I'd ease back into eating with light and healthy meals. It was like pushing a reset button.
But after a few years, I'd stopped smoking. I was working out more, losing weight, feeling good. I didn't feel like I needed a cleansing, a restarting. And the tedium part of the colonics, the preparation, the cleanup, started to get to me. Not to mention having to clean the juicer daily from all those grapes and carrots. So I decided I was done with it and threw out my board. I haven't fasted since, and it's been probably two or three years.
So now, in a slump and feeling like I really need a good renewal ritual, I'm thinking about fasting again. And since I've been eating a lot lately, snacking when I don't really need it, I want to re-learn that feeling of hunger as a positive thing, to remember that being hungry isn't so bad. I don't think I can get behind building a new board, and I certainly can't get behind buying one, so I'll just skip the colonics this time around.
Maybe I shouldn't use the words "get behind" and "colonics" in the same sentence, huh?
Anyway, does anybody else out there fast? I've never done it without the colonics, and I wonder if it will be the same jolt of power and energy that I remember.
So who's with me? Who's up for a week of emptying the vessel and starting over? Come on! I promise I'll stop saying the word "colonic" now.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Kickin' It Old School
Thumper and I went toy shopping Sunday. Retail toy shopping, even. Since cheapness counts, we only went retail because we had a $50 KB Toy gift card, and we went to the one in the Round Rock Outlet Mall. Even after shopping, we've still got half our $50 left on the card, so we can go do it again some day! Since he's stuck home alone with his old man all the time, he loves being out among other people, so he thoroughly enjoyed walking through the outdoor mall. He flirts with the ladies and stares like a stalker at other babies. He was on sensory overload in the store, and probably increased the length of his arms by a half inch or so stretching out to reach that one! No, that one! I! Must! Have! That one! His eyes were open so wide I'm surprised the conjunctivitis germs didn't just fall right out for lack of anything to hold on to.
Since I'm a curmudgeon, I didn't want to get him anything with corporate characters. He doesn't need to become an Official Disney Consumer just yet. And when Sesame Street Live! was in town, several people said to me, "So I guess you'll be bringing your little one next year!" I responded that if he never found out there was any such thing as an Elmo, I'd be a happy man. I know; good luck with that, right? Well, so far, anyway...
I also didn't want anything that required batteries for flashing lights and repetitive songs that leave Mrs. Rodius walking through the office singing, "Would you like some cookies? Here they are. Five different shapes in my cookie jar! You can take them out; you can put them back. Five little cookies make a yummy snack!"
So we kicked it old school. We're rollin' low tech. We went back to the Brilliant Basics™. First, we (and by we, I mean I; he would've picked out a dozen more stuffed animals if I'd left it up to him, and he's already got an army of them in his room that get up to who-knows-what in there at night) picked out Rock-a-Stack®. Shaking the "swirling beads," Mrs. Rodius pointed out that "When I was a kid, we didn't have this." I guess she's got a little curmudgeon in her, too: "When I was a kid, we didn't have no fancy 'swirling beads.' We didn't need swirlin'. We had plain, solid, primary colors, and we liked it that way!"
Then we decided on the Snap-Lock® Beads, another classic. The shapes have been updated since the '70's, but still, generations of foster kids chewed on these things at my house when I was a boy.
Then I saw the pièce de résistance. I was sure this would be the one he'd be scooting all over the floor with: the Bead Ball. What baby wouldn't like that, with the stuff, and the moving, and the rattling around?
Well, of course he doesn't give a rat's ass about the Bead Ball. And he'll poke at the snap-lock beads with his two little teeth for a minute or so before he loses interest. He'll play with the rock-a-stack a little longer, but once he gets all of the rings off the post, he figures he's won the game and starts looking around for that damn cookie jar again.
These kids today! They don't appreciate the classics! Beh!
Since I'm a curmudgeon, I didn't want to get him anything with corporate characters. He doesn't need to become an Official Disney Consumer just yet. And when Sesame Street Live! was in town, several people said to me, "So I guess you'll be bringing your little one next year!" I responded that if he never found out there was any such thing as an Elmo, I'd be a happy man. I know; good luck with that, right? Well, so far, anyway...
I also didn't want anything that required batteries for flashing lights and repetitive songs that leave Mrs. Rodius walking through the office singing, "Would you like some cookies? Here they are. Five different shapes in my cookie jar! You can take them out; you can put them back. Five little cookies make a yummy snack!"
So we kicked it old school. We're rollin' low tech. We went back to the Brilliant Basics™. First, we (and by we, I mean I; he would've picked out a dozen more stuffed animals if I'd left it up to him, and he's already got an army of them in his room that get up to who-knows-what in there at night) picked out Rock-a-Stack®. Shaking the "swirling beads," Mrs. Rodius pointed out that "When I was a kid, we didn't have this." I guess she's got a little curmudgeon in her, too: "When I was a kid, we didn't have no fancy 'swirling beads.' We didn't need swirlin'. We had plain, solid, primary colors, and we liked it that way!"
Then we decided on the Snap-Lock® Beads, another classic. The shapes have been updated since the '70's, but still, generations of foster kids chewed on these things at my house when I was a boy.
Then I saw the pièce de résistance. I was sure this would be the one he'd be scooting all over the floor with: the Bead Ball. What baby wouldn't like that, with the stuff, and the moving, and the rattling around?
Well, of course he doesn't give a rat's ass about the Bead Ball. And he'll poke at the snap-lock beads with his two little teeth for a minute or so before he loses interest. He'll play with the rock-a-stack a little longer, but once he gets all of the rings off the post, he figures he's won the game and starts looking around for that damn cookie jar again.
These kids today! They don't appreciate the classics! Beh!
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Excuse Me, But Your OCD Is Showing
I got Thumper a Discovery Ball for $3 at Goodwill, since cheapness counts. It's $17 retail. And it was $4.50 at Kid to Kid. I got it for $3! I love thrift stores!
Uh, what was I talking about again? Oh, yeah. When you spin the ball, Little Electronic Lady sings the alphabet song. If you stop spinning it, it stops singing. Thumper loves it, and it engaged him enough that it helped get him rolling over to get to it. And it was only $3!
The Little Electronic Lady sounds suspiciously like the Little Electronic Lady in his Fisher Price Cookie Jar. Are Fisher Price and Leap Frog two branches of the same tree? Huh. Apparently not. Maybe this chick just has the market cornered on voice work for electronic baby toys. Well, not toys for electronic babies. You know, electronic toys for babies.
Uh, what was I talking about again? Oh, yeah. The only problem with the Discovery Ball is that I think it's bringing out the Monk in me. Thumper starts it spinning: "A, B, C, D..." and then stops. If he waits more than a few seconds, it resets so that when he spins it again, it starts over: "A, B, C, D..." So of course you can see where I'm going with this: Little Electronic Lady almost never finishes her song! After awhile, it gets to me, and I have to keep spinning it so that Little Electronic Lady can give me closure. The worst is when Thumper spins it all the way down to: "W, X..." and then loses interest. Aaaaghhhhh! You can't get me that close, Little Electronic Lady, and then leave me hanging! It's cruel! "Next time won't you sing with me?" Whew!
Uh, what was I talking about again? Oh, yeah. When you spin the ball, Little Electronic Lady sings the alphabet song. If you stop spinning it, it stops singing. Thumper loves it, and it engaged him enough that it helped get him rolling over to get to it. And it was only $3!
The Little Electronic Lady sounds suspiciously like the Little Electronic Lady in his Fisher Price Cookie Jar. Are Fisher Price and Leap Frog two branches of the same tree? Huh. Apparently not. Maybe this chick just has the market cornered on voice work for electronic baby toys. Well, not toys for electronic babies. You know, electronic toys for babies.
Uh, what was I talking about again? Oh, yeah. The only problem with the Discovery Ball is that I think it's bringing out the Monk in me. Thumper starts it spinning: "A, B, C, D..." and then stops. If he waits more than a few seconds, it resets so that when he spins it again, it starts over: "A, B, C, D..." So of course you can see where I'm going with this: Little Electronic Lady almost never finishes her song! After awhile, it gets to me, and I have to keep spinning it so that Little Electronic Lady can give me closure. The worst is when Thumper spins it all the way down to: "W, X..." and then loses interest. Aaaaghhhhh! You can't get me that close, Little Electronic Lady, and then leave me hanging! It's cruel! "Next time won't you sing with me?" Whew!
Friday, November 30, 2007
Tonight's Entry 100% Maudlin-Free!
Thanks for the encouragement, you guys. I was feeling tired and bleak, but as usually happens, I wrote about it, and he changed it. Today was a great day, so don't cry for me, Argentina. I got a momentary glimpse or two at what happy tummy time might someday look like. He gave me belly laughs for blowing raspberries on the bottoms of his feet. He helped me do some work in the back yard. He did some vocal experimentation with tone and volume. He achieved excellence in bouncing with his Fisher Price Deluxe Jumperoo, which, since cheapness counts, I got third-hand on Craigslist for $15. If you're keeping track, that's a $50 savings. The electronic music and flashing lights don't work, but that's practically an additional selling point to me. For his sake, I made a good-faith effort to fix the problem, but failure was not too heart-breaking. So all's well in Thumperland; sorry for getting all mopey, but that's what happens when I have to blog every single day.
More importantly, though, there's a question that has been pressing heavily on my mind every day this week:
Is that real money on Cash Cab? It can't be, right? I mean, they wouldn't really send people out into the streets of New York at two in the morning waving around a fan of hundreds, yelling, "$1300!" Would they? Are they just begging for some criminal mastermind, a la Robert DeNiro in Heat, to jack the cab?
So I once again consulted the great and powerful oracle, and for once am disappointed to find an answer. Not only is not real cash, but they don't get paid on the spot at all. They are mailed a check with the appropriate taxes withheld. So not only no cash in the "Cash Cab," but no instant gratification at all. No blowing their winnings at the club or bar or restaurant or comedy club they were already headed to. I'm sad, and it may have ruined the show for me. We'll see on Monday. It's up against Oprah, so it's probably safe, but there is always Jeopardy!, too. It's too close to call at this particular juncture.
More importantly, though, there's a question that has been pressing heavily on my mind every day this week:
Is that real money on Cash Cab? It can't be, right? I mean, they wouldn't really send people out into the streets of New York at two in the morning waving around a fan of hundreds, yelling, "$1300!" Would they? Are they just begging for some criminal mastermind, a la Robert DeNiro in Heat, to jack the cab?
So I once again consulted the great and powerful oracle, and for once am disappointed to find an answer. Not only is not real cash, but they don't get paid on the spot at all. They are mailed a check with the appropriate taxes withheld. So not only no cash in the "Cash Cab," but no instant gratification at all. No blowing their winnings at the club or bar or restaurant or comedy club they were already headed to. I'm sad, and it may have ruined the show for me. We'll see on Monday. It's up against Oprah, so it's probably safe, but there is always Jeopardy!, too. It's too close to call at this particular juncture.
Monday, November 12, 2007
New Stuff to Look At
My biggest challenge right now in being alone with the Thumperino hour after hour is finding new things for him to look at. He gets bored very easily, which is of course evidence of his staggering intelligence. He's extremely bored with every aspect of our TV room, and has even been known to begin crying the instant we walk into it.
Today, to give him new stuff to look at, we went to the park down the street. I strapped him into the Snugli and we walked all over, from the playground to the volleyball courts to the tennis courts to the baseball field to the creek. We watched squirrels chasing each other 'round and 'round an old pecan tree trunk. We listened to the birdies. We did as the signs advised and Watched for Snakes. We watched the same jogger go by over and over again. He lasted about an hour in the Snugli before fussing, and that may have been due to the red lines around his thighs when I took him out. Maybe I don't have it adjusted right.
Then we sat on a bench by the playground and chatted with a "Grammy" and her two little girls. She kept commenting on how tiny Thumper was, which I thought was pretty amusing since he looks downright gigantic to me. Thumper watched the little girls snacking with great interest while Grammy and I discussed the relative benefits and detriments to living in the neighborhood. Then Thumper and I discussed how much fun it must be to try to run all the way up the slide without sliding down, since so many kids try it, and how barefoot seems to be the best strategy. We got about another half-hour that way before he started fussing again, then we went home and he slept and slept and slept.
When he woke up, we went to Kid to Kid to shop for some sort of new toy to keep him occupied. They were all a little advanced for him, though. I thought very seriously about the Activity Saucer, but it was $40 used, and since cheapness counts, I thought I could do better. So we went to the pet store next door and looked at the fishies and birdies and ferrets. We also looked at the bunnies, but they didn't move, so I'm not sure he saw them.
The two biggest obstacles to us going out and looking at more interesting stuff than the TV room ceiling fan are:
1. The drive. He either fusses or falls asleep, unless the ride is under two minutes, which isn't enough to get us out of the neighborhood.
2. My guilt that I'm wasting time or screwing around if we go out and look at fishies at the pet store. I tend to stick close to home so that if he falls asleep, I can get stuff done. I felt doubly guilty that when he slept after the park, I let him sleep on my chest and napped a little myself. I keep thinking that if I'm not cooking or cleaning or doing laundry, I'm letting Mrs. Rodius down. But even though he's only 3 1/2 months old, just keeping the boy happy and stimulated is a full-time job. I'm going to have to work on telling that voice in the back of my head to shut the hell up when it starts telling me that walking around the park is just screwing around.
Today, to give him new stuff to look at, we went to the park down the street. I strapped him into the Snugli and we walked all over, from the playground to the volleyball courts to the tennis courts to the baseball field to the creek. We watched squirrels chasing each other 'round and 'round an old pecan tree trunk. We listened to the birdies. We did as the signs advised and Watched for Snakes. We watched the same jogger go by over and over again. He lasted about an hour in the Snugli before fussing, and that may have been due to the red lines around his thighs when I took him out. Maybe I don't have it adjusted right.
Then we sat on a bench by the playground and chatted with a "Grammy" and her two little girls. She kept commenting on how tiny Thumper was, which I thought was pretty amusing since he looks downright gigantic to me. Thumper watched the little girls snacking with great interest while Grammy and I discussed the relative benefits and detriments to living in the neighborhood. Then Thumper and I discussed how much fun it must be to try to run all the way up the slide without sliding down, since so many kids try it, and how barefoot seems to be the best strategy. We got about another half-hour that way before he started fussing again, then we went home and he slept and slept and slept.
When he woke up, we went to Kid to Kid to shop for some sort of new toy to keep him occupied. They were all a little advanced for him, though. I thought very seriously about the Activity Saucer, but it was $40 used, and since cheapness counts, I thought I could do better. So we went to the pet store next door and looked at the fishies and birdies and ferrets. We also looked at the bunnies, but they didn't move, so I'm not sure he saw them.
The two biggest obstacles to us going out and looking at more interesting stuff than the TV room ceiling fan are:
1. The drive. He either fusses or falls asleep, unless the ride is under two minutes, which isn't enough to get us out of the neighborhood.
2. My guilt that I'm wasting time or screwing around if we go out and look at fishies at the pet store. I tend to stick close to home so that if he falls asleep, I can get stuff done. I felt doubly guilty that when he slept after the park, I let him sleep on my chest and napped a little myself. I keep thinking that if I'm not cooking or cleaning or doing laundry, I'm letting Mrs. Rodius down. But even though he's only 3 1/2 months old, just keeping the boy happy and stimulated is a full-time job. I'm going to have to work on telling that voice in the back of my head to shut the hell up when it starts telling me that walking around the park is just screwing around.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
It's Kinda Like My Senior Day, Too
It was a bittersweet Texas victory over Tech today. It was Senior Day at DKR-Texas Memorial Stadium, meaning that it was the last time the seniors on the team would get to play on the home field. It was my last game, too. I got free tickets through my previous job, which I kept, even though I quit in mid-October. If I was a truly ethical person, I would've returned the remaining tickets as a job benefit that I was no longer earning. But I am not a truly ethical person.
Several people have pointed out to me, when I mention this was my last chance at a UT game, that I could come back in a few years and buy tickets to take Thumper to a game. Are you kiddin' me? The face value on the tickets we used today was $85. Each. In a few years' time, they'll probably be up to $120, especially if Texas wins another national championship in the interim. And as I may have mentioned, cheapness counts. There may literally be no experience on the planet that lasts a few hours that I would pay $170 to experience, even, if St. Vincent the Young will forgive me, a Texas football game. Praise be to #10, forever and ever, amen.
Thanks to SWSIL and Big Brother for watching the boy for us. He apparently had a fabulous time watching his cousins in action. Their house has much more activity going on than ours does. He apparently slept almost not at all all afternoon long, but conked out nearly as soon as I got him into his pj's. I wonder if this means he'll (let us) sleep in tomorrow...
Several people have pointed out to me, when I mention this was my last chance at a UT game, that I could come back in a few years and buy tickets to take Thumper to a game. Are you kiddin' me? The face value on the tickets we used today was $85. Each. In a few years' time, they'll probably be up to $120, especially if Texas wins another national championship in the interim. And as I may have mentioned, cheapness counts. There may literally be no experience on the planet that lasts a few hours that I would pay $170 to experience, even, if St. Vincent the Young will forgive me, a Texas football game. Praise be to #10, forever and ever, amen.
Thanks to SWSIL and Big Brother for watching the boy for us. He apparently had a fabulous time watching his cousins in action. Their house has much more activity going on than ours does. He apparently slept almost not at all all afternoon long, but conked out nearly as soon as I got him into his pj's. I wonder if this means he'll (let us) sleep in tomorrow...
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Hasty Halloween!
I intended to nap with Thumper this morning, but then Martha Stewart came on the Today show and inspired me. Not that what I did even remotely resembles anything she was doing, but she filled me with a sense of my responsibility as a homeowner and a parent to participate in seasonal festivities. So Thumper and I made some good ol' fashioned homemade Halloween decorations, by which I mean he slept long enough to allow me to make some good ol' fashioned homemade Halloween decorations. I was ever aware of the naptime countdown clock ticking away in the other room, so they're a little hastily made. But since cheapness counts, they were made with materials on hand. Of course, I didn't make the sash around the door; that's left over from last year. We finished moving into the house two or three days before Halloween, and we needed something to signal our state of candy-readiness to the new neighbors. I made the rest of it though. I used the pad of construction paper I bought a few years ago when I made paper roses for Mrs. Rodius for Valentines Day. That pad didn't have any black in it, perhaps because that would be too depressing a color for young minds to handle, or maybe because the black's faded in the intervening years. So the cat and bats are more like a purply-brown color, but I don't think that detracts from their Halloweeny splendor. I might even do a real jack-o-lantern this weekend. You can't do those things too far in advance around here, as jack-o-lanterns take about ten minutes to rot in balmy Central Texas. We do loves us some roasted pumpkin seeds, though.
Hasty Halloween, y'all!
Hasty Halloween, y'all!
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Notes from the Back Yard
A tip for the homeowners out there: pathological cheapness and environmental awareness have their place, but if you're going to go with the 18" electric mulching mower, you might not want to let the grass grow for 5 straight weeks between mowings, through the rainiest summer in memory. And man, I'm glad now that I didn't do the Full Hippie and get the reel mower I was considering.
At least now the nieces and nephews can play in Grandma's inflatable pool in the back yard this weekend. When they come back in, they'll probably be coated knee deep in grass clippings, but that's OK. Mrs. Rodius can vacuum it all up on Sunday...
Kidding! I'm kidding! It's a joke, people!
At least now the nieces and nephews can play in Grandma's inflatable pool in the back yard this weekend. When they come back in, they'll probably be coated knee deep in grass clippings, but that's OK. Mrs. Rodius can vacuum it all up on Sunday...
Kidding! I'm kidding! It's a joke, people!
Friday, June 29, 2007
I've Been What by the Who, Now?
I've been tagged to do a restaurant list thingie. She's listing all the things she loves about Austin on her one-year anniversary here, and it's no secret that Austinites do love them some eatin' out. It's probably my curmudgeonry, but I'm not so sure about this taggin' business. Smells a little like chain-emails, and I do my best to break the chain whenever the opportunity arises. And it's probably my curmudgeonry and my pathological cheapness, but I'm just not the restaurant whore I'm supposed to be in this town.
I find these three facts about Austin irreconcilable:
1. Austinites love to eat out at heavily-trafficked restaurants during the peak restauranting hours.
2. Austin does not have a robust public transportation system.
3. Heavily-trafficked restaurants in Austin are required by city ordinance to have no parking. Parking lots are absolutely against the Austin restaurant-going credo.
So my restaurant list is probably a disappointment. When I was younger and tried harder to care about being a hep cat, I responded to a particular friend's repeated efforts to get me to come out to Z-Tejas and Shady Grove and Kerby Lane and Trudy's and Magnolia and Mother's and Hyde Park Grille and Chuy's and Katz's at 8:00 p.m. on Friday and Saturday nights. He had a similar liking for live music venues at midnight on Friday and Saturday nights. At first I tried to smile as I drove around and around the block. But more and more I started grinding my teeth and boiling my stomach acid. I tried to chat and enjoy myself as I waited by the bar, but more and more I resented saying, "WHAT??" through every conversation, and "Excuse me," to the folks who walked into me and spilled my $8 beverage on my shoes. It just didn't seem worth it.
So in proper curmudgeon fashion, I prefer dining out at 6:00 p.m. on Wednesday at large, empty, suburban chain restaurants with parking lots. Though I stop just short of Luby's. Usually.
But, to try to participate in the spirit of the thingie with which I was tagged:
1. Hickory Street. I sometimes order off the menu, but usually for me it's like a fresher, higher quality Souper Salad with more variety and $2 draft Shiners. No parking, though.
2. Shady Grove. Hippie Chick Sandwiches, and it has a parking lot. The lot never has any empty spaces in it, though.
3. Kerby Lane. Greek Chicken. Mrs. Rodius and I had a favorite local deli in Everett, MA that had the greatest greek chicken salads we'd ever eaten. When we moved to Austin, we despaired at finding tabouleh, feta, and kalamata olives effectively deployed ever again in this Tex-Mex jungle. The original by 35th Street has no parking. The one on South Lamar is a little better, but now that we're Northies, we've discovered the one on 183 that's got an actual parking lot and even usually has an empty space or two. And draft beer specials, and 24-hour pancakes. But the service hasn't always been attentive. I have to admit, though, that Punk Rock Girl Shaved to Look Like Radiation Accident Refugee is pretty distracting to watch as you wait for your server to never bring you your dessert.
4. Chipotle. I have to agree with MTAMM on this one. I heard something about it being owned by McDonald's or something like that, but I don't care. It's that good. Chango's is a good variation on the theme, and may be more local, I don't know. There's at least two of them. But they've even got jugs of sangria. I tried my best to to like Chango's even more than McPotle, but there isn't one anywhere near where I live. There's one near where I work, but guess what? It doesn't have any parking.
5. Dandelion. Close to where I work, and sporting a unique, light, fresh menu that makes it perfect for workday lunches. Last time I was there, I had the cold, minted pea soup and the veggie sandwich with pesto mayo. Nearly orgasmic, as was everything else I've eaten there. Three down-sides, though: no parking; $12 lunch bill for one person; last time I was there, it was changing owners and becoming Blue Dahlia. Though I have to admit, the Blue Dahlia menu did look intriguing.
So there you go. Sorry, I don't really have anyone to tag. And even if I did, I'm breaking the chain, baby!
I find these three facts about Austin irreconcilable:
1. Austinites love to eat out at heavily-trafficked restaurants during the peak restauranting hours.
2. Austin does not have a robust public transportation system.
3. Heavily-trafficked restaurants in Austin are required by city ordinance to have no parking. Parking lots are absolutely against the Austin restaurant-going credo.
So my restaurant list is probably a disappointment. When I was younger and tried harder to care about being a hep cat, I responded to a particular friend's repeated efforts to get me to come out to Z-Tejas and Shady Grove and Kerby Lane and Trudy's and Magnolia and Mother's and Hyde Park Grille and Chuy's and Katz's at 8:00 p.m. on Friday and Saturday nights. He had a similar liking for live music venues at midnight on Friday and Saturday nights. At first I tried to smile as I drove around and around the block. But more and more I started grinding my teeth and boiling my stomach acid. I tried to chat and enjoy myself as I waited by the bar, but more and more I resented saying, "WHAT??" through every conversation, and "Excuse me," to the folks who walked into me and spilled my $8 beverage on my shoes. It just didn't seem worth it.
So in proper curmudgeon fashion, I prefer dining out at 6:00 p.m. on Wednesday at large, empty, suburban chain restaurants with parking lots. Though I stop just short of Luby's. Usually.
But, to try to participate in the spirit of the thingie with which I was tagged:
1. Hickory Street. I sometimes order off the menu, but usually for me it's like a fresher, higher quality Souper Salad with more variety and $2 draft Shiners. No parking, though.
2. Shady Grove. Hippie Chick Sandwiches, and it has a parking lot. The lot never has any empty spaces in it, though.
3. Kerby Lane. Greek Chicken. Mrs. Rodius and I had a favorite local deli in Everett, MA that had the greatest greek chicken salads we'd ever eaten. When we moved to Austin, we despaired at finding tabouleh, feta, and kalamata olives effectively deployed ever again in this Tex-Mex jungle. The original by 35th Street has no parking. The one on South Lamar is a little better, but now that we're Northies, we've discovered the one on 183 that's got an actual parking lot and even usually has an empty space or two. And draft beer specials, and 24-hour pancakes. But the service hasn't always been attentive. I have to admit, though, that Punk Rock Girl Shaved to Look Like Radiation Accident Refugee is pretty distracting to watch as you wait for your server to never bring you your dessert.
4. Chipotle. I have to agree with MTAMM on this one. I heard something about it being owned by McDonald's or something like that, but I don't care. It's that good. Chango's is a good variation on the theme, and may be more local, I don't know. There's at least two of them. But they've even got jugs of sangria. I tried my best to to like Chango's even more than McPotle, but there isn't one anywhere near where I live. There's one near where I work, but guess what? It doesn't have any parking.
5. Dandelion. Close to where I work, and sporting a unique, light, fresh menu that makes it perfect for workday lunches. Last time I was there, I had the cold, minted pea soup and the veggie sandwich with pesto mayo. Nearly orgasmic, as was everything else I've eaten there. Three down-sides, though: no parking; $12 lunch bill for one person; last time I was there, it was changing owners and becoming Blue Dahlia. Though I have to admit, the Blue Dahlia menu did look intriguing.
So there you go. Sorry, I don't really have anyone to tag. And even if I did, I'm breaking the chain, baby!
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