• The right tool for the job

    The raison d’etre for childhood is learning. Much of that learning is done by trial and error. Sometimes it feels like the raison d’etre for parents is to point out the error in childhood trials. Take yesterday evening (please?). Twenty minutes before bedtime our kids voiced unanimous desire for an apple. They spent the better part of that twenty minutes sitting in the hallway with their apples, quietly collaborating on a block tower of epic proportions. After their twenty minutes were up I took our son in for his final diaper change. When I returned I saw Beth in the kitchen from the rear, working on something intently on the counter. Based on extensive medical drama experience, this looked much like a surgeon working on his or her patient in the O.R.

    On final approach I asked her what she was doing, but it was a rhetorical question. I could plainly see what she was doing… she was snipping at her apple with a pair of kitchen scissors. This paved the way for the non-rhetorical portion of my questioning… “Why are you cutting your apple with a pair of scissors Beth?”

    “I’m trying to get the seeds out without cutting the rest of the apple.”

    I must admit that on some levels I was impressed. I had no idea my kitchen scissors were such a precision instrument. I’d be hard pressed to do a better job without a drill and some kind of penetrating imaging equipment.

  • The long walk

    Can you believe it’s almost October already? I can. I can believe 2006 is three quarters done too. I can believe it’s fall. I can believe the federal fiscal year is over. I can believe lots of things when I wake up on the couch after midnight, discovering that it’s been two hours since I decided I should get up and go to bed.

    This could be one of the more difficult times to find the motivation to get off the couch; ranking right up there with back spasms and the buzzer going off on the dryer. It’s a good thing I had my computer handy. I might have never mustered the strength to sit up. Now that my head has gained a little altitude I feel half the battle is won.

    Now if I could just stand up…

    I just want to go to bed…

    Why is it so hard to stand up?

  • My diabolical plot to sneak into Costco

    For those of you who don’t know, Costco is one of those membership only, discount warehouses… one of those places where you can get tartar sauce in a convenient 8 gallon “party pack.” (You never have to embarrass yourself at a fish-fry again.) It so happens that my in-laws are members, and we take appropriate advantage now and again. Yesterday afternoon was one such occasion.

    Cheryl and I were employing the “divide and conquer” strategy of shopping: me at Target and her at Costco with the folks. I got done early at Target and thought it would be cool to surprise her at Costco. Just one problem: I don’t have a membership card. You see, they guard the entrance to Costco like a jealous spouse. Not just ANYONE can walk the hallowed halls of retail nirvana. You’ve got to show proof of membership; proof that you’ve ponied up the fee to join. Not that you could BUY anything, even if you got in; they scan the card at check-out. If you ask me they ought to encourage non-members to walk around… to see what they’re missing. After all, who isn’t impressed with enough tartar sauce to float a VW Beetle?

    I decided that I would test the Costco Corporate Resolve. I would talk my way into Costco, or embarrass myself trying. I walk up to the ID checker like I know where I’m going, without any sign that I’m going to stop to show proof of membership. The ID checker stops me short, five paces beyond the threshold, requesting ID. I feign innocence, insisting my wife is already inside (which is true) and the ID is with her (which is KIND of true – the ID is with her mother, who is also with her). When the ID checker apologizes I get indignant. “Come on,” I say, “its not like you’re guarding state secrets in there, I just want to find my wife and kids,” playing the good father, family guy card for all it’s worth. When the ID guy still refuses I feign irritation, whipping out my cell phone to call my wife inside, muttering: “I hope she’s getting a frigging signal in there… I wouldn’t want to be you when my wife gets pissed dragging the kids around alone in there.”

    As it turns out my gambit worked like a charm, it just wasn’t as difficult as I had hoped. I never got to do my spiel because they never asked for my card. I only got as far as my confident walk… right past the guy next to me as HE got carded. I walked right in without having to say a word.

    What a disappointment.