Let me give you the moral of the story first: You never know who's looking. And you never know how much they look up to you.
This true-life fable started last Thursday, when my wife, daughter and father-in-law went out to a restaurant. (Parker and I went home to make sure the Wii still worked.) They had been there a few minutes when a bus pulled up. The bus was hauling the Chattahoochee Valley Community College softball team from Phenix City, Ala., in town for a weekend tournament.
My daughter felt a connection immediately as, to her, anyone from Alabama surely is a Bama fan (even if they're from down near Opelika). Plus, this was an honest-to-goodness softball team. With Allie's tryouts for the 10-year-old league only a few days away, this was, to her, like seeing the Atlanta Braves walk into the joint.
She mustered up the courage to go and speak with the team, asking for pointers on what she should do at her tryout. They were more than helpful, and Allie became an immediate fan of the CVCC Lady Pirates.
On Saturday, Allie said over and over that she wanted to head to Citizens Park to see CVCC play. That, she told us, was HER team now, and she had to root them on. We finally made our way over to the fields around 3:30 p.m. The team was practicing on one field as other games unfolded throughout the park. We stood behind the fence as two players practiced hitting, one of the women hitting several balls over the fence near us. Allie retrieved the balls and took them to the fence, where the players approached. "Hey, you're the girl from the restaurant!" one said. Allie beamed. They told us they were playing in the championship game at 4 p.m. When that hour arrived, we were there in the bleachers, waiting to cheer on CVCC.
We stood out, as a community college softball team from Alabama usually doesn't have a big local following when they play in South Carolina. One mother even approached my wife and asked, simply out of curiosity, why we were there cheering them on. My wife's explanation seemed to make her proud.
As we watched the game, we saw this team was something special. They had an amazing energy. Cheers, high-fives, chants, dances. This was a team Allie was born to follow. And emulate.
As the innings played on, we noticed the team, before taking the field, would huddle at a poster hung on the fence. I slipped onto the field to see what they were all touching together as a team. It was a poster of a cherubic faced teen named Mallory Garmon. It had the quote, "No one better than you right here." In the dugout, Mallory's No. 23 jersey hung. I then saw a pink T-shirt on the back of one of the fan's chairs - it had the No. 23, and the words "In Loving Memory of Mallory Garmon."
I quickly looked her up online on my phone. Mallory, the pride and joy of Elmore, Ala., was on a softball scholarship to CVCC when she died in a car crash in October 2010. They were playing this game - and every game - for her.
CVCC started out strong, putting seven runs on the board in the first inning. The game got tight as it went on, but the opposing team never could top the spirit of CVCC. CVCC won, 15-14.
At the end of the game, they did something that made a little girl forever have some big league idols. They gave Allie the game ball. And when they gathered for a team picture, they had Allie hold Mallory's jersey. "You've gotta be somebody special to hold Mallory's jersey," one of the players told Allie.
I don't know any of the young women on the CVCC team. I doubt I will ever cross paths with them again. But I hope they know the indelible mark they left on a 10-year-old girl in South Carolina. They taught a lesson of teamwork, of sportsmanship, of loyalty.
Allie said she wants the game ball to be her "practice ball," and I think that's a fine idea. When she takes the field for her first game, I hope she will carry the spirit of CVCC with her. And throughout her endeavors in life, I want her to always have fun and enjoy the journey, the way the CVCC team did. And I want her to always remember: She will one day be the woman some little girl looks up to.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Sunday, February 13, 2011
The Mommy fix
Sometimes, you just need a big ol' bowl of Mommy.
The other day, my son was not feeling well. He's 7, and one of the easy ways to tell that he's not feeling well is to note how frequently he gets frustrated.
On this day, it was a lot. And I mean a lot. Little things were frustrating him. A Lego couldn't be found. His pet fish was on the wrong side of the bowl. The Capri Sun straw went in just a bit off center. You know, major league day ruiners.
I was feeling pretty punky myself, so I decided the best cure for both of us would be to lounge on the bed and watch some television. That, as you can guess, frustrated Parker. He said he wanted to lie on the floor and play a game on my phone. Fine. Whatever.
This was about 5 p.m. After only a few minutes, I fell asleep. I woke up around 6:30 p.m., and by now it was dark outside. I glanced around the room, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. I couldn't see anything. But I could hear the soft, rhythmic sounds of a tiny log being sawed. The Dude was crashed out, asleep on the floor.
I don't recall him taking a nap in years, so it was clear he needed some shut-eye. That said, I knew he hadn't eaten supper, so I decided I would get him up long enough to get something in his tummy and then get him back to sleep (probably just setting him back on the floor, because, hey, he looked comfy).
In retrospect, I probably should have just left him on the floor. He has averaged three meals a day for his entire life, so I am guessing skipping one dinner was not going to result in his demise.
But the damage had been done, and I had him up and was carrying him downstairs as he started to come to. "Do you want some mac and cheese?" I asked? "Uh-huh," he replied groggily.
I made him some mac and cheese, which takes a whopping 90 seconds. During that minute and a half, The Dude had retreated to the stairs and wedged himself on a step and fallen back asleep.
"Parker," I said, "your dinner is ready."
And cue the frustration.
"No." he said.
"Yes," I said, "it is."
"No, it's not."
"Yes, it is. You said you wanted mac and cheese. It's ready."
"I ... don't ... want ... mac ... and ... cheese."
Now, mind you he was not being defiant just for giggles. He was half-asleep and already in a funk. I picked him up off the stairs, figuring the delicious aroma of warm mac and cheese would get him going.
He sat at the table. "I don't want mac and cheese. And will your turn on Curious George?" he asked. It all started making sense. Curious George is on PBS in the mornings before school. He was partially out of sorts because he thought it was morning and that, quite frankly, a big ol' bowl of mac and cheese for breakfast was kinda odd.
"Parker," I said, "it's not morning. It's still nighttime. You only took a nap."
"Yes, it is!" he insisted.
This was going to be a tough argument to win. OK, new strategy - carry on like it's morning, get some food in is tummy, and tell him he can sleep a few minutes before school.
"Hey, how about a bowl of oatmeal?"
He looked up at me. "How about a bowl of Mommy?"
That was not on the menu, as Mommy was at the store. He stuck to his guns, insisted a bowl of Mommy would make it all better. I assured myself he was speaking metaphorically.
When Mommy got home, it was as if she had returned from a four-year voyage. He was in bed soon (even having downed a bowl of oatmeal).
But two very important lessons were learned: (1) Sometimes it takes a bowl of Mommy to make things better, and (2) just let 'em keep sleeping on the floor.
The other day, my son was not feeling well. He's 7, and one of the easy ways to tell that he's not feeling well is to note how frequently he gets frustrated.
On this day, it was a lot. And I mean a lot. Little things were frustrating him. A Lego couldn't be found. His pet fish was on the wrong side of the bowl. The Capri Sun straw went in just a bit off center. You know, major league day ruiners.
I was feeling pretty punky myself, so I decided the best cure for both of us would be to lounge on the bed and watch some television. That, as you can guess, frustrated Parker. He said he wanted to lie on the floor and play a game on my phone. Fine. Whatever.
This was about 5 p.m. After only a few minutes, I fell asleep. I woke up around 6:30 p.m., and by now it was dark outside. I glanced around the room, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. I couldn't see anything. But I could hear the soft, rhythmic sounds of a tiny log being sawed. The Dude was crashed out, asleep on the floor.
I don't recall him taking a nap in years, so it was clear he needed some shut-eye. That said, I knew he hadn't eaten supper, so I decided I would get him up long enough to get something in his tummy and then get him back to sleep (probably just setting him back on the floor, because, hey, he looked comfy).
In retrospect, I probably should have just left him on the floor. He has averaged three meals a day for his entire life, so I am guessing skipping one dinner was not going to result in his demise.
But the damage had been done, and I had him up and was carrying him downstairs as he started to come to. "Do you want some mac and cheese?" I asked? "Uh-huh," he replied groggily.
I made him some mac and cheese, which takes a whopping 90 seconds. During that minute and a half, The Dude had retreated to the stairs and wedged himself on a step and fallen back asleep.
"Parker," I said, "your dinner is ready."
And cue the frustration.
"No." he said.
"Yes," I said, "it is."
"No, it's not."
"Yes, it is. You said you wanted mac and cheese. It's ready."
"I ... don't ... want ... mac ... and ... cheese."
Now, mind you he was not being defiant just for giggles. He was half-asleep and already in a funk. I picked him up off the stairs, figuring the delicious aroma of warm mac and cheese would get him going.
He sat at the table. "I don't want mac and cheese. And will your turn on Curious George?" he asked. It all started making sense. Curious George is on PBS in the mornings before school. He was partially out of sorts because he thought it was morning and that, quite frankly, a big ol' bowl of mac and cheese for breakfast was kinda odd.
"Parker," I said, "it's not morning. It's still nighttime. You only took a nap."
"Yes, it is!" he insisted.
This was going to be a tough argument to win. OK, new strategy - carry on like it's morning, get some food in is tummy, and tell him he can sleep a few minutes before school.
"Hey, how about a bowl of oatmeal?"
He looked up at me. "How about a bowl of Mommy?"
That was not on the menu, as Mommy was at the store. He stuck to his guns, insisted a bowl of Mommy would make it all better. I assured myself he was speaking metaphorically.
When Mommy got home, it was as if she had returned from a four-year voyage. He was in bed soon (even having downed a bowl of oatmeal).
But two very important lessons were learned: (1) Sometimes it takes a bowl of Mommy to make things better, and (2) just let 'em keep sleeping on the floor.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Farewell, oatmeal
Dear Quaker Oats,
It is with a heavy heart that I must tell you that I have decided to see other oatmeal.
No, no, don't cry. Stop. Listen to me.
We have been together for a long time, some 30 years, by my count.
I remember when I was little, and you came into my life. My mom would often make us regular oatmeal. Like most children, we would try and hurry through the regular oatmeal because, let's be honest - that container made an awesome drum.
But there were times when a quicker path to a nice warm breakfast was needed, and that is where you came into play, with your delicious Instant Oatmeal. (It was not instant, as you well know, as you still had to heat water, put it in a bowl, etc. But I suppose your marketing crews decided Really Quick Oatmeal or It Will Be Ready Before the Toast Oatmeal didn't have the same zing.)
As a child, I normally had three packets of your delicious maple and brown sugar instant oatmeal. Oftentimes, my mother would buy the variety pack. I would sometimes suffer through the cinnamon and spice or apples and cinnamon. Some mornings, I would pick up the box to see the only thing left in there were a couple of the regular packets. And there they would stay, as no one in the history of mankind has eaten the regular packets of oatmeal from the Variety Pack. They are like those packets of silica that comes in an electronics box.
But for the most part, I stuck with maple and brown sugar. You were my comfort food. Most mornings growing up, that was my breakfast. I took you to college with me. You came with me to my first apartment after college. I even passed my love of you onto my children. Yes, for three decades we started most every morning together, even though I have since throttled back to a mere two packs each morning.
Quaker, I would love to say the old cliche of "It's not you, it's me." But I gotta be honest with you here - it's you. You changed.
It started a year ago or so, when I served up my morning ritual bowl of oatmeal. I took a bite and immediately noticed it tasted different from my normal bowl. I went to check the box to make sure I had not inadvertently served up those silica packets.
Turns out, Quaker, you got yourself on a little health kick and are now producing a maple and brown sugar instant oatmeal with 50 percent less sugar. Hey, good for you for offering healthy alternatives, but I gotta tell you, to me - it was 50 percent less enjoyable.
But you still had the old standby instant oatmeal, so we could stay together, even if you did package the midlife crisis oatmeal in a box remarkably similar to my usual offering.
And then, Quaker, you have become someone I didn't even know any more. One morning, I took a bite of ... something different. On your website, you boast that you've added "bigger oats for a heartier texture." You even tell us, "We're making our oatmeal better, starting with some of your favorite flavors, so you can be amazing."
You know what was amazing? Thirty years of eating the same breakfast and looking forward to it every day. If I will consume around 10,000 bowls of something, here's a thought - maybe it doesn't need to be better. Maybe it was already pretty darn good.
But, alas, you have decided to turn yourself into something different. And so I must move on. I have tried a few other oatmeals, and none have quite hit the bullseye like you did for so many years. I will keep searching and maybe find a new morning staple.
It is sad to close this chapter in our life, as you were a good and faithful oatmeal. I hate to see you go. But you do what you have to do.
Love,
Mike
P.S. If you have a few dozen crates of the old stuff lying around, I'll take them off your hands.
It is with a heavy heart that I must tell you that I have decided to see other oatmeal.
No, no, don't cry. Stop. Listen to me.
We have been together for a long time, some 30 years, by my count.
I remember when I was little, and you came into my life. My mom would often make us regular oatmeal. Like most children, we would try and hurry through the regular oatmeal because, let's be honest - that container made an awesome drum.
But there were times when a quicker path to a nice warm breakfast was needed, and that is where you came into play, with your delicious Instant Oatmeal. (It was not instant, as you well know, as you still had to heat water, put it in a bowl, etc. But I suppose your marketing crews decided Really Quick Oatmeal or It Will Be Ready Before the Toast Oatmeal didn't have the same zing.)
As a child, I normally had three packets of your delicious maple and brown sugar instant oatmeal. Oftentimes, my mother would buy the variety pack. I would sometimes suffer through the cinnamon and spice or apples and cinnamon. Some mornings, I would pick up the box to see the only thing left in there were a couple of the regular packets. And there they would stay, as no one in the history of mankind has eaten the regular packets of oatmeal from the Variety Pack. They are like those packets of silica that comes in an electronics box.
But for the most part, I stuck with maple and brown sugar. You were my comfort food. Most mornings growing up, that was my breakfast. I took you to college with me. You came with me to my first apartment after college. I even passed my love of you onto my children. Yes, for three decades we started most every morning together, even though I have since throttled back to a mere two packs each morning.
Quaker, I would love to say the old cliche of "It's not you, it's me." But I gotta be honest with you here - it's you. You changed.
It started a year ago or so, when I served up my morning ritual bowl of oatmeal. I took a bite and immediately noticed it tasted different from my normal bowl. I went to check the box to make sure I had not inadvertently served up those silica packets.
Turns out, Quaker, you got yourself on a little health kick and are now producing a maple and brown sugar instant oatmeal with 50 percent less sugar. Hey, good for you for offering healthy alternatives, but I gotta tell you, to me - it was 50 percent less enjoyable.
But you still had the old standby instant oatmeal, so we could stay together, even if you did package the midlife crisis oatmeal in a box remarkably similar to my usual offering.
And then, Quaker, you have become someone I didn't even know any more. One morning, I took a bite of ... something different. On your website, you boast that you've added "bigger oats for a heartier texture." You even tell us, "We're making our oatmeal better, starting with some of your favorite flavors, so you can be amazing."
You know what was amazing? Thirty years of eating the same breakfast and looking forward to it every day. If I will consume around 10,000 bowls of something, here's a thought - maybe it doesn't need to be better. Maybe it was already pretty darn good.
But, alas, you have decided to turn yourself into something different. And so I must move on. I have tried a few other oatmeals, and none have quite hit the bullseye like you did for so many years. I will keep searching and maybe find a new morning staple.
It is sad to close this chapter in our life, as you were a good and faithful oatmeal. I hate to see you go. But you do what you have to do.
Love,
Mike
P.S. If you have a few dozen crates of the old stuff lying around, I'll take them off your hands.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Come fly with me
I can only imagine the expression on my wife's face.
Here was the phone conversation:
ME: So Bill's flying into town and he's gonna take the kids and me up his plane!
HER: (Silence, and probably a not-so-nice look on her face.)
My godfather came into town recently, and he traveled the way he prefers - in his Grumman Tiger four-seat prop plane. He was going to fly into Aiken and let us ride with him to Augusta, where he would leave his plane. It made perfect sense to me. My wife? Not so much.
I explained to her that Bill was a seasoned pilot.
She knew that.
I explained to her that Bill and my father had flown to Alabama just a few weeks ago.
She knew that.
I explained to her that nothing would happen.
She told me I didn't know that.
Eventually, we came to this agreement: We would fly, and we would duly note that my wife thought I had the judgment of a peanut.
News flash: Peanuts have awesome judgment, as evidenced by the fact that I am safely on the ground writing this column.
When we arrived at the airport, my son was really excited about flying. My daughter told me that she was still considering her options.
Translation: Time to overcome some fear.
Eventually, my daughter braved up and decided she would fly. (Oh, and my sister told her she would take her shopping if she flew.)
Inside the plane, it was close quarters. We all had headsets on, so we could communicate with each other during the flight. Just before we took off, I reminded the kids that every time they spoke, their microphones came on, so some conversations were not necessary, such as:
ALLIE: Hey, Parker?
PARKER: Yeah?
ALLIE: My headset comes on when I talk!
PARKER: Mine, too!
ALLIE: Let's see if it does it again.
PARKER: Yeah.
ME: STOP IT!
We left the Aiken airport and banked over the city. Once I got my bearings in the sky, I started trying to identify various landmarks. The first one we were able to identify was the Aiken Standard, which I was able to locate by first finding Aiken High's stadium. The kids said they saw it, but I think they may have just been saying that to be nice. I also found our house and the mall, which the kids also pretended to see.
The flight itself was smooth as could be. We flew at about 2,500 feet, traveling around 125 mph. Every so often, I'd look back at the kids and see their noses to the window, trying to identify various things on the ground. Parker at one point said he saw a plot of land that looked like the Millennium Falcon. Bill caught only the last part and said, "You just saw the Millennium Falcon?" We all agreed that would have been really cool.
Before we knew it we were making our descent to Augusta. The kids loved the flight and never showed an ounce of fear in the plane. When we landed, I remarked to them that we were going to now do the most dangerous thing we would do all day: drive home.
Despite my wife's initial hesitation, she concedes that she is glad that we went. The kids had a memorable experience on their afternoon adventure. I can't imagine what her expression will be when I ask her about skydiving.
Here was the phone conversation:
ME: So Bill's flying into town and he's gonna take the kids and me up his plane!
HER: (Silence, and probably a not-so-nice look on her face.)
My godfather came into town recently, and he traveled the way he prefers - in his Grumman Tiger four-seat prop plane. He was going to fly into Aiken and let us ride with him to Augusta, where he would leave his plane. It made perfect sense to me. My wife? Not so much.
I explained to her that Bill was a seasoned pilot.
She knew that.
I explained to her that Bill and my father had flown to Alabama just a few weeks ago.
She knew that.
I explained to her that nothing would happen.
She told me I didn't know that.
Eventually, we came to this agreement: We would fly, and we would duly note that my wife thought I had the judgment of a peanut.
News flash: Peanuts have awesome judgment, as evidenced by the fact that I am safely on the ground writing this column.
When we arrived at the airport, my son was really excited about flying. My daughter told me that she was still considering her options.
Translation: Time to overcome some fear.
Eventually, my daughter braved up and decided she would fly. (Oh, and my sister told her she would take her shopping if she flew.)
Inside the plane, it was close quarters. We all had headsets on, so we could communicate with each other during the flight. Just before we took off, I reminded the kids that every time they spoke, their microphones came on, so some conversations were not necessary, such as:
ALLIE: Hey, Parker?
PARKER: Yeah?
ALLIE: My headset comes on when I talk!
PARKER: Mine, too!
ALLIE: Let's see if it does it again.
PARKER: Yeah.
ME: STOP IT!
We left the Aiken airport and banked over the city. Once I got my bearings in the sky, I started trying to identify various landmarks. The first one we were able to identify was the Aiken Standard, which I was able to locate by first finding Aiken High's stadium. The kids said they saw it, but I think they may have just been saying that to be nice. I also found our house and the mall, which the kids also pretended to see.
The flight itself was smooth as could be. We flew at about 2,500 feet, traveling around 125 mph. Every so often, I'd look back at the kids and see their noses to the window, trying to identify various things on the ground. Parker at one point said he saw a plot of land that looked like the Millennium Falcon. Bill caught only the last part and said, "You just saw the Millennium Falcon?" We all agreed that would have been really cool.
Before we knew it we were making our descent to Augusta. The kids loved the flight and never showed an ounce of fear in the plane. When we landed, I remarked to them that we were going to now do the most dangerous thing we would do all day: drive home.
Despite my wife's initial hesitation, she concedes that she is glad that we went. The kids had a memorable experience on their afternoon adventure. I can't imagine what her expression will be when I ask her about skydiving.
Thursday, December 02, 2010
Light it up
And the Christmas decorations are up.
I may actually have set a record for getting the lights up this year. For years, I have tried to make it so that shortly after Thanksgiving - boom - Clark Griswold-approved lighting.
My goal for our Christmas lights is to make our house look like a gingerbread house. I am pleased to report we are slowly closing in on that goal. We have a heaping helping of colored lights decorating our house, and my neighbors may, in fact, be embarrassed by me. And possibly need sunglasses at night.
The kids enjoy helping put up the lights - and certainly enjoy seeing the house all bright and colorful. Of course, their favorite part is actually getting the lights out of the attic. For some reason, climbing in the attic is one of the most awesome things for a kid. It's this unreachable trap door of mystery into the ceiling, and the chance to go up and explore is always exciting. Plus, there is the added element of danger when your mother repeatedly warns you that one misstep and you will come crashing through the ceiling.
Our light collection has grown over the years, as we try and pick up a few here and there after the holiday season. Go to any store after Christmas and wander into what is left of their Christmas wares. Oftentimes, a clerk will approach you and say, "Sir, I will give you $5 to take these net lights. Please. Get them out of here. I have been staring at them since August."
So, over time, we have built up enough lights to cover the bushes by our front door as well as the azaleas that stretch across the front of our yard. We have also started adding strands of lights along the roof line. While I hope to continue to pile lights around the yard, I will say that I have gone as high up as I plan to go. We have a two-story house, and I did put rope lights along the top roof line a few years back. And then my neighbor convinced me that I should never do that again. He did that by falling off his ladder and breaking his ankle. I was across the street watching when that happened, and before he had hit the ground, I said, "Hmm. I don't think I am going to hang lights up high anymore." I am sure he would have preferred my thought to have been, "Hmm. I should probably get help."
While we have grown our light stash, we have yet to start adding those great big inflatables, much to my children's disappointment. One house in our neighborhood has an estimated 43,000 of them. Every time we pass it, my children point out that they, clearly, love Christmas more than we do. Personally, I'd like to get some of those lighted candy canes to line the driveway, because it adds an element of gaudy that goes well with our current motif, but the inflatables would be nice, too.
So being done with the bulk of our outdoor decorating this early gives us plenty of time to enjoy our bright and flashy display of Christmas awesomeness. It helps you get into the Christmas mood to see all the bright colors and vibrant appeal. And even when Christmas is over, we can look forward to the next year. Maybe the stores will pay me to take some inflatables off their hands.
I may actually have set a record for getting the lights up this year. For years, I have tried to make it so that shortly after Thanksgiving - boom - Clark Griswold-approved lighting.
My goal for our Christmas lights is to make our house look like a gingerbread house. I am pleased to report we are slowly closing in on that goal. We have a heaping helping of colored lights decorating our house, and my neighbors may, in fact, be embarrassed by me. And possibly need sunglasses at night.
The kids enjoy helping put up the lights - and certainly enjoy seeing the house all bright and colorful. Of course, their favorite part is actually getting the lights out of the attic. For some reason, climbing in the attic is one of the most awesome things for a kid. It's this unreachable trap door of mystery into the ceiling, and the chance to go up and explore is always exciting. Plus, there is the added element of danger when your mother repeatedly warns you that one misstep and you will come crashing through the ceiling.
Our light collection has grown over the years, as we try and pick up a few here and there after the holiday season. Go to any store after Christmas and wander into what is left of their Christmas wares. Oftentimes, a clerk will approach you and say, "Sir, I will give you $5 to take these net lights. Please. Get them out of here. I have been staring at them since August."
So, over time, we have built up enough lights to cover the bushes by our front door as well as the azaleas that stretch across the front of our yard. We have also started adding strands of lights along the roof line. While I hope to continue to pile lights around the yard, I will say that I have gone as high up as I plan to go. We have a two-story house, and I did put rope lights along the top roof line a few years back. And then my neighbor convinced me that I should never do that again. He did that by falling off his ladder and breaking his ankle. I was across the street watching when that happened, and before he had hit the ground, I said, "Hmm. I don't think I am going to hang lights up high anymore." I am sure he would have preferred my thought to have been, "Hmm. I should probably get help."
While we have grown our light stash, we have yet to start adding those great big inflatables, much to my children's disappointment. One house in our neighborhood has an estimated 43,000 of them. Every time we pass it, my children point out that they, clearly, love Christmas more than we do. Personally, I'd like to get some of those lighted candy canes to line the driveway, because it adds an element of gaudy that goes well with our current motif, but the inflatables would be nice, too.
So being done with the bulk of our outdoor decorating this early gives us plenty of time to enjoy our bright and flashy display of Christmas awesomeness. It helps you get into the Christmas mood to see all the bright colors and vibrant appeal. And even when Christmas is over, we can look forward to the next year. Maybe the stores will pay me to take some inflatables off their hands.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Talking turkey
Today, I am turning over my column to some other writers - in particular, some of the great kids where my wife is a preschool teacher. They have taken on the annual tradition of writing down their recipes for the perfect Thanksgiving turkey. Each year, I stand in the halls laughing out loud at the wonderfully creative musings from some of our littlest chefs, thinking, "I really should use these in a column." So, to that end, out of the mouths (and Crayons) of babes...
How to make a Thanksgiving turkey:
1. Put pancakes and ring pops on top.
2. Spin the spoon around the turkey like my mom does.
3. Cook for three days.
-- Aaron
1. Stir the turkey up with blue cake, hot dogs, cheese and mustard.
2. Put it on the grill for 9 minutes.
-- Christian
1. Put it in a pan.
2. Put hamburger and cheese with mustard and ketchup.
3. Put it in the oven 30 minutes, then the grill for 30 minutes, then the microwave for 30 minutes.
4. Cut it in half.
-- Caleb
1. Put strawberries, bananas, macaroni and cheese, bbq chicken and cereal on top.
2. Put it in a pan.
3. Then put it outside where it is hot for 1 day.
-- Rylee
1. Put turkey in the oven.
2. Cook for one minute.
3. Cut up the turkey.
-- Maddie
1. Put chocolate M&Ms on top of the turkey.
2. Put it in a pot on the stove for 40 minutes.
3. Put it on a plate.
-- Lincoln
1. Put turkey on the grill for three minutes.
2. Sprinkle it with salt and pepper.
3. Put it on a plate.
-- Nicholas
1. Put cheese and apple sauce on top of turkey.
2. Put it in a pot of top of the stove.
3. Cook it for two minutes.
4. Set it on your plate.
5. Wash your hands.
-- Tori
1. Put carrots, beans and apples on top.
2. Stir it up.
3. Put it in the oven for five minutes.
-- Syan
1. Put chicken and sprinkled donuts on top of the turkey.
2. Put it in the microwave for five days.
3. Put it on a plate.
-- Nicholas
1. Put bananas on the turkey.
2. Put a chicken in the pan with the turkey.
3. Cook in the oven for five minutes.
4. Put cauliflower on the turkey.
5. Eat your turkey with donuts.
-- Jonas
1. Cover the turkey with salt.
2. Fry the turkey with fish, okra and corn
-- Danny
1. You put a spider on the turkey.
2. Take the turkey outside.
3. Color the turkey with crayons.
4. Bring the turkey inside and put it in the oven.
5. Cook for five hours.
6. Have a party with your turkey.
-- Haley
1. Make the oven hot.
2. Put sauce on the turkey.
3. Put a ham in the pan with the turkey.
4. Cook the turkey for 40 minutes.
5. Take turkey out and put bird sauce on it.
-- Luke
1. Put marshmallows on the turkey.
2. Put the turkey in the oven.
3. Cook the turkey for one minute.
4. Cover the sides of the turkey with chocolate candy.
-- Brendan
So there you go. Next week, when you're prepping for your Thanksgiving feast, use any of these recipes for a meal that is guaranteed to be memorable by everyone at the table.
How to make a Thanksgiving turkey:
1. Put pancakes and ring pops on top.
2. Spin the spoon around the turkey like my mom does.
3. Cook for three days.
-- Aaron
1. Stir the turkey up with blue cake, hot dogs, cheese and mustard.
2. Put it on the grill for 9 minutes.
-- Christian
1. Put it in a pan.
2. Put hamburger and cheese with mustard and ketchup.
3. Put it in the oven 30 minutes, then the grill for 30 minutes, then the microwave for 30 minutes.
4. Cut it in half.
-- Caleb
1. Put strawberries, bananas, macaroni and cheese, bbq chicken and cereal on top.
2. Put it in a pan.
3. Then put it outside where it is hot for 1 day.
-- Rylee
1. Put turkey in the oven.
2. Cook for one minute.
3. Cut up the turkey.
-- Maddie
1. Put chocolate M&Ms on top of the turkey.
2. Put it in a pot on the stove for 40 minutes.
3. Put it on a plate.
-- Lincoln
1. Put turkey on the grill for three minutes.
2. Sprinkle it with salt and pepper.
3. Put it on a plate.
-- Nicholas
1. Put cheese and apple sauce on top of turkey.
2. Put it in a pot of top of the stove.
3. Cook it for two minutes.
4. Set it on your plate.
5. Wash your hands.
-- Tori
1. Put carrots, beans and apples on top.
2. Stir it up.
3. Put it in the oven for five minutes.
-- Syan
1. Put chicken and sprinkled donuts on top of the turkey.
2. Put it in the microwave for five days.
3. Put it on a plate.
-- Nicholas
1. Put bananas on the turkey.
2. Put a chicken in the pan with the turkey.
3. Cook in the oven for five minutes.
4. Put cauliflower on the turkey.
5. Eat your turkey with donuts.
-- Jonas
1. Cover the turkey with salt.
2. Fry the turkey with fish, okra and corn
-- Danny
1. You put a spider on the turkey.
2. Take the turkey outside.
3. Color the turkey with crayons.
4. Bring the turkey inside and put it in the oven.
5. Cook for five hours.
6. Have a party with your turkey.
-- Haley
1. Make the oven hot.
2. Put sauce on the turkey.
3. Put a ham in the pan with the turkey.
4. Cook the turkey for 40 minutes.
5. Take turkey out and put bird sauce on it.
-- Luke
1. Put marshmallows on the turkey.
2. Put the turkey in the oven.
3. Cook the turkey for one minute.
4. Cover the sides of the turkey with chocolate candy.
-- Brendan
So there you go. Next week, when you're prepping for your Thanksgiving feast, use any of these recipes for a meal that is guaranteed to be memorable by everyone at the table.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Christmas list time
So we have made our annual journey to the stores with the kids so that they can make their Christmas lists.
We do this every year, full well knowing that the kids' lists usually can be summed up by "one, maybe two, of everything." Eventually, we whittle some of that down to a list that would easily keep Santa's elves in overtime but is at least a starting point.
Another bonus of the annual trips: it turns into a nostalgic walk for my wife and me, as we take turns reminiscing about toys from our youth. (This year, I was pleased to be able to blurt out, "Barrel of Monkeys! Jenn - Barrel of Monkeys!")
It's usually a fun couple of hours to spend. Granted, the event itself is usually about four hours. But a couple of them are fun. I am sure the rest of the family would enjoy the entire time if I did not run out of shopping gas after hour two.
To make the lists, we hit the various hot spots. And "hot spot" is defined as "having toys." "Super hot spot" is defined as "having toys and Icees."
At one point, we were strolling through our journey when Parker and I had this conversation:
ME: So, if Santa were to put a gift card in your stocking, what store would you want it to be from?
PARKER: Hmmm...
ME: Any store, Parker. You name it...
PARKER: I guess a $300 gift card from Target.
Clearly, Parker believes Santa is firmly in the black this year.
ME: Parker, Santa isn't going to give you a $300 gift card.
PARKER: Fine. $200.
ME: I think we need to have a talk about money.
The big highlight of the trip for me came when we made our way to the Star Wars section. The brilliant marketing geniuses behind Star Wars toys have hit upon absolute gold. They have reintroduced a lot of the toys from when I was a kid, as sort of retro toys. So, as Parker is cruising through "Star Wars: Clone Wars" toys, I am showing my true geekiness by calling to my wife, "LUKE SKYWALKER IN BESPIN FATIGUES! HONEY! LUKE SKYWALKER! IN HIS BESPIN FATIGUES!"
By that point, my wife is about four aisles away, as she is trying to distance herself from me. Her 7-year-old screaming, "BOBA FETT HELMET!" Kinda cute. Her 38-year-old husband? Yeah, not as cute.
The brilliance of the marketing is in its simplicity. A host of 30-somethings grew up playing with these toys and, even as we have grown older, many of us still have a fondness for our Star Wars youth. Now we have kids and get to live vicariously through them. I, for one, am having my direct deposit changed so that part of my paycheck just goes directly to George Lucas. Let's just be honest about how this is going to play out and cut out the middle man.
Eventually, we managed to complete both the kids' lists, and I am pleased to see that both of my children have very expensive and comprehensive tastes. I haven't given it to her yet, but I hope to slip my list to my wife soon. What do you think the chances are I get a Barrel of Monkeys? I can play with them while I wear my Boba Fett helmet.
We do this every year, full well knowing that the kids' lists usually can be summed up by "one, maybe two, of everything." Eventually, we whittle some of that down to a list that would easily keep Santa's elves in overtime but is at least a starting point.
Another bonus of the annual trips: it turns into a nostalgic walk for my wife and me, as we take turns reminiscing about toys from our youth. (This year, I was pleased to be able to blurt out, "Barrel of Monkeys! Jenn - Barrel of Monkeys!")
It's usually a fun couple of hours to spend. Granted, the event itself is usually about four hours. But a couple of them are fun. I am sure the rest of the family would enjoy the entire time if I did not run out of shopping gas after hour two.
To make the lists, we hit the various hot spots. And "hot spot" is defined as "having toys." "Super hot spot" is defined as "having toys and Icees."
At one point, we were strolling through our journey when Parker and I had this conversation:
ME: So, if Santa were to put a gift card in your stocking, what store would you want it to be from?
PARKER: Hmmm...
ME: Any store, Parker. You name it...
PARKER: I guess a $300 gift card from Target.
Clearly, Parker believes Santa is firmly in the black this year.
ME: Parker, Santa isn't going to give you a $300 gift card.
PARKER: Fine. $200.
ME: I think we need to have a talk about money.
The big highlight of the trip for me came when we made our way to the Star Wars section. The brilliant marketing geniuses behind Star Wars toys have hit upon absolute gold. They have reintroduced a lot of the toys from when I was a kid, as sort of retro toys. So, as Parker is cruising through "Star Wars: Clone Wars" toys, I am showing my true geekiness by calling to my wife, "LUKE SKYWALKER IN BESPIN FATIGUES! HONEY! LUKE SKYWALKER! IN HIS BESPIN FATIGUES!"
By that point, my wife is about four aisles away, as she is trying to distance herself from me. Her 7-year-old screaming, "BOBA FETT HELMET!" Kinda cute. Her 38-year-old husband? Yeah, not as cute.
The brilliance of the marketing is in its simplicity. A host of 30-somethings grew up playing with these toys and, even as we have grown older, many of us still have a fondness for our Star Wars youth. Now we have kids and get to live vicariously through them. I, for one, am having my direct deposit changed so that part of my paycheck just goes directly to George Lucas. Let's just be honest about how this is going to play out and cut out the middle man.
Eventually, we managed to complete both the kids' lists, and I am pleased to see that both of my children have very expensive and comprehensive tastes. I haven't given it to her yet, but I hope to slip my list to my wife soon. What do you think the chances are I get a Barrel of Monkeys? I can play with them while I wear my Boba Fett helmet.
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