Cloud Eight

Hobbiests

noreply@blogger.com (RedPlanet) — Tue, 05 May 2015 03:55:00 +0000

I know I have pointed this out on numerous occasions, but one of the great joys of seeing our guys grow up is watching them develop their own interests, personalities, and passions. This was brought home to me tonight as the three boys pursued three very different activities in various places in the house.

Almost 9-year-old Cooper, our little jock, had a rare night off from baseball, and was using it to lay flat on the couch watching ... wait for it ... baseball! The Cubs v. the Cardinals to be specific. While baseball is his passion, Cooper will frankly watch any old competitive thing you care to show on TV - major or minor sports, boys, girls, men or women (or horses or dogs, frankly). He would probably watch a coin flip channel if there was such a thing.

His almost 9-year old twin Hayden, our little performer, had Amazon Prime music cranked up on the TV in the next room, where he was loudly doing karaoke to Train, Fun and Meghan Trainor songs. This involved holding his fist like a microphone and lots of "rock" moves, including warnings to me that he was going to try to do the splits. Yikes! He and a friend are gearing up for auditioning an amusing duet at the school talent show at tryouts this Wednesday.

12-year old Owen, meanwhile, is now months into the odd hobby of modifying store-bought Nerf guns. This involves the purchase of specialized batteries and motors on the internet, soldering, electrical work, sculpting of plastics, and lots of painting using spray paints purchased from the constant trips he request I do with him to AutoZone. At the end of the process, once bright orange or yellow Nerf guns are deconstructed, and reconfigured to shoot faster, further and stronger, and are painted with auto paints to look much "cooler" than the original orange and yellow they typically come in. He first learned to do modifications by watching countless YouTube videos, and has now started developing his own variations. Most recently, he has put some of his modified guns on eBay. While we assumed this would be futile, he confidently assured us it would not be. No one was more surprised than Deanna and I when he received a $50 offer on one of them and then proceeded to reject the offer in a strongly worded email that emphasized the fact that he was looking to make a profit on the gun and that $50 would not do the trick. Tonight, he was busily negotiating with someone different who was offering $80 plus shipping. Taking that deal. The fact that anyone is willing to pay that much money for something one of my kids created is, quite honestly, stunning to me. Crazy times we live it. Crazy times indeed.

Owencyclopedia

noreply@blogger.com (RedPlanet) — Wed, 28 Jan 2015 14:15:00 +0000

RedPlanet in the house! Today, loyal reader, finds me fast approaching my 49th consecutive ride on this roller coaster around the Sun. This, as I see it, will move me at last out of my "middle 40's" and solidly into my "late middle 40's."

I've realized a lot of things in recent years, as the sands of life continue to shift beneath my feet. One thing I have learned for sure is that I actually know very little. Sure, I continue to learn things here and there, but my accumulated knowledge amounts to pretty much nil in the grand scheme of things.

Thankfully, though, there is no deficit of knowledge here on CloudEight, thanks to having our own living, breathing Owencyclopedia, or "Owen," as we call it for short. We've had it for 12 years now, but only recently learned that it knows everything. Maybe it always knew everything, although I appear to recall that it asked a lot of questions of me in the past, an apparent acknowledgment that it still had things to learn. This is clearly no longer the case, as I am reminded on a daily basis, as it now makes loud and assertive declarations of "fact" about almost any subject at the drop of a hat. A sampling of the knowledge we are regularly blessed with:

Every product made by Apple is incredibly awesome, and every electronic product made by anyone else is terrible by comparison;
Plays are boring;
The movie, regardless of which movie it is, is never as good as the book [this may be actual fact!];
Our other two kids are stupid and annoying;
Math will rarely, if ever, be needed in real life;
AT&T is horrible, worst DSL provider eeeeeevvvvvver;
The reason the internet is slow at our house is because I, Owencyclopedia, have never heard of the brand of router you bought;
That song sucks and should be turned off. Now;
The Owencyclopedia did not lose [insert almost any noun]; somebody must have taken it;
That car is awesome, while that other one is decidedly not;
The Owencyclopedia is not tired.

The Owencyclopedia provides succinct and frank movie reviews, and only needs to see a trailer to tell you if it has any merit, rates how funny various insurance commercials are, and has identified Jay Cutler as the source of the Bears suckiness. The Owencyclopedia can even predict the future, as it seems 100% sure the Cubs will still suck this year (although some would argue that is a pretty safe bet in any year!).

We are indeed truly blessed to have such an easily accessed resource right here in the house. Gone are my days of cumbersome Google searches, internet research, or old-fashioned manual reading of books. The Owencyclopedia is voice-activated, and often even provides facts that aren't even solicited by us! I strongly suggest you get one of your own. I could loan you ours, but sadly, I wouldn't be able to get the computer or wireless network to work without it....

Anyone Home?

noreply@blogger.com (RedPlanet) — Mon, 12 Jan 2015 03:53:00 +0000

Howdy there Cloud Eight fans! Happy 4th; be careful with those fireworks! What? Oh, missed the 4th of July apparently.

Well, a shout out to our fighting men and women then!! Thanks for keeping us safe! Huh? Oh, shoot. Wait, wait, just kidding - don't shoot me fighting men and women! I meant like, shoot, I missed Veteran's Day.

Well, I am at least thankful not to have missed Thanksgiving and a chance to thank you, my loyal readers, for sticking with me despite my increasingly infrequent posts these past couple of years. You guys are the best! Eh? Thanksgiving was 7 weeks ago?

And what's that? You haven't stuck with me? What do you mean blogs are passe? What is everyone doing then? Twitter? Snapchat? What the heck are those? Is anyone actually there? Hellllllloooooooo?!?!?!

Huh.

Well.

No one around. And who can blame them, I haven't been here myself. Heck, my profile doesn't even have the kids current ages!

So, it is just us, my last remaining reader. That is, assuming you are not simply here because you Googled naked Scarlett Johansson and I just wrote that - psyche!. I will assume instead that you are someone who enjoys the occasional blog entry capturing this or that about parenting. Or you are my Mom (Hi Mom!).

And if you do enjoy the occasional blog entry capturing this or that about parenting, I am glad you are here, as opposed to somewhere more "now" you could be. Way to be old school. I may be throwing in the odd fondue recipe or 80's music reference in your honor!

At any rate, dear reader, we are going to have some fun here at Cloud Eight this year. I plan to hang around more than usual. It is, quite frankly, nice to be back. We will laugh (hopefully), and we may cry (but only about bad things that happen to our sports teams); there will be kid cuteness (less and less frequent unfortunately, now that Owen is 11 and the twins are 8), and there will definitely be sports, bodily function humor and over use of the phrase "at any rate" to transition to the end of an entry.

At any rate (see what I mean!), thanks for visiting today. Think about subscribing, so that you don't miss a single 2015 post, at the low, low rate of free - see the subscription options to the right. While I will be around more, I can almost guarantee that the volume of posts emanating from CloudEight will not be crashing your server. And if you don't subscribe, peek back around now and again to see what is up here, say hi, or simply be disappointed again that there are no naked pictures of Scarlett Johansson. See you soon!

Cooper is a Fetching Name, Don't You Think?

noreply@blogger.com (RedPlanet) — Tue, 02 Dec 2014 06:10:00 +0000

So the name Cooper for boy babies seems to peaked in popularity for boys names several years ago at #75, and is now starting a slow descent. That is fine with us here at RedPlanet where we named Owen when that name was at about the same rank, only to see it skyrocket in popularity, to the point where you can't spit in a crowded schoolyard these days without hitting half a dozen little Owens.

Interestingly though, Cooper always has been, and remains, a top 10 dog name. And, much to our amusement, that fact could not be more fitting, as our very own 8 1/2 year old human boy Cooper has a personality that closely resembles that of a Labrador Retriever. And I'm not just talking predictable stuff like being sweet and smart and loyal, which he is all of in spades. In addition, to those things he really does seem to be part dog. He likes to hang his head out the window when we drive, letting his hair blow in the wind. He has been fascinated by balls since he was a puppy, er, I mean baby, and when he can't get someone to throw one to him, throws them to himself endlessly, before school, after school, in the yard, in the house. He has been very tactile since he was a baby, and loves nothing more than to have his back rubbed. And, he doesn't actually ask to have his back rubbed, but instead just sort of thrusts it at us - presenting it for rubbing. You know .... like a dog. He needs to be run outside every day. When he is not moving, he is draped in a chair or on a couch, in a state of boneless relaxation. Unlike the other two boys, when he is tired, he doesn't fight to stay up, but simply goes to sleep - it doesn't matter where - at a party, on a couch, floor, chair or bed; Hell, he even fell asleep at Blue Man Group!

I guess my dog comparison is really a way of saying that Cooper is uncomplicated. People will often tell us, when they hear we have three boys, how lucky we are that we don't have girls; that boys are so easy. I've heard this enough to have internalized an image of the parents of girls sitting in front of a giant mixing board, tweaking this switch or another, as they try to manage the delicate and complicated and unpredictable psyches of their daughters. The parents of boys, on the other hand, I picture holding the type of control that comes with a basic remote control car from Radio Shack: up, down, left or right. Thankfully, that has been our experience to date. The other two boys are somewhat more nuanced perhaps, although, through happy accident, and not stellar parenting to be sure, they seem fairly well adjusted. Cooper is not nuanced, and in fact may just have up and down controls. He admitted last night that he didn't want to continue with TaeKwonDo lessons on Monday nights because it interfered with his watching Monday Night Football. When he pulled the turkey wishbone with Hayden the other night and won, he admitted that his wish had been ... to win the wishbone pull (and it came true, unlike those of us who might make more ambitious wishes only to be let down when they don't come true).

There is something very comforting about Cooper and his uncomplicatedness. He does his homework as soon as he gets home, and can't fathom why his brothers procrastinate. He loves baseball and when he plays, the simple joy he takes in playing it is evident to everyone who watches. He likes what he likes with a passion, and doesn't like what he doesn't like. He is literal. He is strong, athletic and popular, yet generally kind. He is happy. And he makes us happy. Every day.

And, best of all, he is house trained!

Not So Gifted At Giving

noreply@blogger.com (RedPlanet) — Tue, 13 May 2014 04:11:00 +0000

While most things appear to suck about getting older, at least one theoretical good thing that comes with age is awareness of your shortcomings. Case in point: while I used to think I was an awesome gift-giver, I am coming to realize I may actually be pretty bad at it.

Clue #1: When I was younger and living in Lakeview, I would pretty much do all of my gift-shopping at an import boutique in Lincoln Park, showering family members with rain sticks, giant-clocks, mother-of-pearl boxes and other knick-knacks they generally did not want. Looking back, I am a bit more cognizant of the fact that seeing those gifts regularly show up at family garage sales, or be offered back to me after a year or two sitting on some one's shelf, meant they were probably not the awesome hits I imagined at the time.

Clue #2 When Deanna had our first child Owen, she was preparing to return to work after maternity leave just as we celebrated her first Mother's Day. For her first Mother's Day, I chose the "reaffirm that I still see her as a professional and not just a Mom" route, and got her a then-cutting edge Sony Clei (remember those!) with an attachable keyboard. Totally cool! Totally not. I somehow missed that she was struggling hard with the guilt of going back to work at all, and my gift failing to acknowledge her as a mother opened a floodgate of unpleasantness that I have yet to live down. Epic fail!

Clue #3: I have a bit of company in the occasional gift miss-step in Santa. While Santa has brought some pretty awesome gifts over the years, he also has brought some very pedestrian and downright bad gifts. When Owen was 7, he remarked one Christmas morning that it was the first year he could remember that Santa hadn't given him hand sanitizer in his stocking. Who knew Santa was being keenly monitored from year to year for cheap and easy filler! Other memorable Santa stocking clunkers include foot powder for Deanna, and organic deodorant for Deanna. While such gifts might be downright insulting from a spouse, we can hopefully write-off Santa as simply being somewhat insensitive and perhaps stretched too thin in the stocking stuffer department.

Latest Fail: My most recent gift fail came last night as we bestowed gifts on the twins for their landmark 8th birthday (why landmark? Isn't every birthday landmark until you stop wanting to have them???). While generally uninterested in looking good and even less interested in smelling good, Cooper had gone through a phase several months ago where he would show up post-shower smelling strongly of one or another of my manly-smelling body washes (I have several, in an effort to generally smell decent, with bad marketing-to-guys names like "Elixir Black," "Twilight Woods" and the way over-the-top, "Wolfthorn"). So I get the kid his own, awesomely-named "Aqua Reef." "Are you sure?" Deanna inquired as I wrapped it up. Of course, he'll love it, I assured her, wrapping a pleasantly scented arm around her shoulder, which of course caused her to immediately swoon and suggest something inappropriate for this family blog.

Later, the gift opening is upon us. The twins first open book lights. Nice gift for our dedicated little readers, right? Apparently not for Cooper, as he would later let us know he "already had one." Then, he unwraps the body wash. Tears. Lots of them. Enough to fill a shower or bath in fact. As he sobbed in the other room after we sent him away to calm down, Deanna consoled him: "Dad thought you would really like it" she explained. "Why? I'm eight!" I heard him sob in reply. "I don't like to smell good. That is a gift you give someone who is twenty!" Ouch. While well-intentioned, I had apparently mis-judged the likes and dislikes of 8 year olds by quite a large margin. So, while all ended well, as the remainder of our gifts to him hit the mark, I have added another chapter to my "starting-to-get-a-bit-lengthy" book of gift fails. Oh, well. At least I smell like an Aqua Reef.

Culture Club

noreply@blogger.com (RedPlanet) — Thu, 10 Apr 2014 13:41:00 +0000

The local grade school, led by a cadre of cultural arts ambassadors from the parent-teacher association, held a "Cultural Heritage Festival" at the school on Thursday night. The Festival consisted of a number of classrooms being transformed into "countries." Participants were given passports which were stamped with a flag sticker from each country as they entered the various rooms. Awesome idea and much fun.

Most of the "countries" featured some food and drink item samples free for the taking. Kudos to whichever parent figured out that the way to cultural education of 2nd graders was through their stomachs, as this created a palpable buzz among that crowd for several of the countries ("Dude, the food in Mexico is awesome!"). Hungary suffered by comparison (I did not overhear any of the kids saying, for example, "mmmmm, paprika!"), as did, predictably, Ireland, although the latter made up some serious ground with an actual keg of root beer.

The Barbados/Puerto Rico room had a fun, island-party vibe to it, with a limbo contest going on during my brief stopover there. Ireland had a sweet display of musical instruments as well as Irish dancers. Bagpiper on the front steps of the school, Latin-American percussionists in the gym, etc. The whole thing was a whirlwind visual and audio-feast for our budding little international citizens.

Owen, who is about to wrap up 5th grade, was somewhat less interested in food and music, and more interested in learning obscure facts about the various countries. The rooms that were adorned with cardboard displays listing various facts about each country were a hit with him in this regard, although I am suspicious that some of the "facts" may have been taken from less than reliable sources:

Dubious fact learned #1: Most people who live in the south of France know how to surf. Now I have watched my share of international surfing competitions on TV in my life (my share being 1 1/2) and I must say I don't recall any French names. Perhaps the French merely surf for fun during their 11 months of vacation per year and don't really pursue competitive surfing.

Dubious fact learned #2: The French love rugby as much as they love soccer. Hmmmm.... I'll say maybe on this one, although I must confess I have no idea where soccer ranks on the list of things loved by the French. Presumably somewhere higher than their love of fighting Germans and lower than their love of cheese, whining, Jerry Lewis and strikes by civil servants.

All in all though, the Festival was a hit with Family (a/k/a Famille, Pamilya (yep, I now speak Tagalog as of last night!), 家庭, Clan) RedPlanet, and we all left culturally enriched, and perhaps a pound or two heavier!

Beasts of Unburden

noreply@blogger.com (RedPlanet) — Fri, 04 Apr 2014 04:37:00 +0000

Deanna and (especially) I are notorious vacation over packers. This is especially true when we hit the road in our supercool 10-year old Honda Odyssey. Why bring 4 pairs of shoes when you can bring 5 - we're driving, right? Sure the condo we are renting for vacation has a washer and dryer, but what if its broken - better bring the big suitcase. Swimsuits and winter coats - no problem, after all, who really knows what the weather will be.

Things only got worse after we bought a car rooftop pod - golf clubs, tennis rackets, balls, bats, baseball gloves, snorkeling equipment, a giant hammock with its surprisingly heavy "portable" collapsible frame - bring it on! Want to bring that surf board we bought on sale at Brookfield Zoo a few summers ago? Why of course we do boys, perhaps this is the year the Lake Michigan surf in Door County peaks above 6 inches! You'll have to sit with it across your laps though, the pod is filled up with sandcastle building equipment, you know, for the times when we are not busy surfing. There have been trips when I have had to actually unpack portions of the interior of the van during rest stops in order to extricate the kids from the third row seats; coolers, and bags spilling out of the side door onto the hot concrete. I have secretly toyed with the idea of buying a small trailer so we can haul even more stuff - why own a van with a trailer hitch if you aren't going to use it! Wouldn't it be awesome to bring all five bikes, I've thought to myself. If we brought them we wouldn't need to rent them, freeing s to actually then take two bike rides instead of one!

Things are no better when we fly. We borrow luggage scales and carefully weigh our suitcases, inevitably working our way down by removing luggage items until we are just under the allowed checked bag weights. We stuff oversized "carry" on bags into overhead racks. In fairness to Deanna, I am probably worse than her, as I, left to my own devices, have a penchant for changing clothes for different activities. In that respect I probably would have made a good Downton Abbey resident. The kids seem to have inherited our tendencies, spending their pre-vacation time cooking up elaborate schemes by which to smuggle as many toys and stuffed animals on the trip as they can get by us.

Anyway, that all changed last summer when the five of us, accompanied by several Sherpas, boarded a flight to the Pacific Northwest. On board was another family we knew from town, headed, like us, for a week-long trip. Except...not only were they traveling without Sherpas, each member of the family of four was traveling with a single backpack! And not the giant, I'm spending the next six months hiking Europe kind of backpack, but the normal kind of backpack. Confusion, astonishment, disbelief! "How?" we whispered to ourselves after, "were they able to do that?!?" They looked perfectly normal; smelled fine, good even; yet they were travelling with luggage that would barely contain the collection of travel books we were carting on the trip.

The sense of awe stuck with us, and during a recent long weekend trip, we aspired to do the same. Three nights in a hotel, five hour Amtrak trip, one backpack per family member, no other bags, no exceptions. And you know what, we pulled it off, despite temptation and the between season weather that was positively screaming for an array of clothing options. And it was, at least for me, freeing, exhilarating even! Showers, minimal sweating, clothing layers, no restaurants demanding much in the way of dressiness from us or the kids (not even the jeans my kids sadly seem to regard as "dress pants"), and we were all set. Turns out I can enjoy a trip even when I haven't brought my own sound machine, cappuccino-maker, monogrammed towels, flat-screen television, badminton set and canoe paddle! Interestingly, I noticed that most of those things were even available in St. Louis, where we visited, had I really decided I needed them.

Am I cured? Sadly, the answer is probably no. I'll be fighting the urge to over pack the next trip, and the next twenty after that. I am, however, hiking down the road to recovery, a backpack jauntily slung across my back and my arms swinging free!

"Look Mom! No luggage!" Owen, with Hayden, Cooper and Deanna in the background, hits the road luggage-free.

What Are the Odds This Winter Will Ever End?

noreply@blogger.com (RedPlanet) — Wed, 26 Mar 2014 03:26:00 +0000

Winter refuses to release its icy grip here, dragging endlessly on towards April, and the boys, now 11, 7 and 7, are definitely stir crazy. The winter has been marked by alternating heavy snows and hovering polar vortexes, leading to what seemed like an endless parade of cancelled school days. Since outdoor fun is decidedly less so at -12 degrees, everyone has had more inside time than anyone wants.

It was against this backdrop on a cold and snowy winter night awhile ago that I broke out a home casino set I got at Restoration Hardware years ago and set about teaching the boys blackjack and roulette. They quickly took to both, and for several days thereafter, the house was a bit like living in a Vegas Hotel. Just like Vegas, morning would find Deanna and I stumbling downstairs bleary-eyed in the morning into a huddle of gamblers, only these gamblers were a bit shorter than your typical Vegas gamblers and with higher voices. Forced to work at home one day during yet another cancelled school day, I found it exceedingly hard to concentrate with the spirited game of roulette going on in the next room. Seriously, it sounded like a drunken band of fraternity brothers on a gaming floor at 3 a.m. Aside from the excited shouts of victory and moans of defeat when Lady Luck turned her back, they were shouting things like "Pay me $100 bro!" and "I'm so rich!" One noticeable difference from Vegas I suppose is that I am frequently fetched by the gamblers here to do the math on how much particular bets have won, and to help them with payouts. I come in handy for shuffling too, something I have found the dealers in Vegas rarely ask my assistance with.

Probably not the best thing to teach kids, but the long desperate winter times have called for for desperate measures. Besides, it can be vaguely justified as an educational math tool! Finally, I haven't had to pay an allowance in weeks, as I have promptly been winning them all back. Just kidding on that one, although now that I write it, not a bad idea. Hmmmm, parental lesson: The house always wins boys! Here's hoping winter breaks before I have to resort to teaching them craps.

Free Parenting Advice!

noreply@blogger.com (RedPlanet) — Fri, 11 Jan 2013 04:54:00 +0000

I thought I would start 2013 off with a bit of parenting advice.

"Wait a minute Red Planet," I hear you long-time readers saying. "Step back there Bucko. You've barely posted anything in the past year and then come riding in here on your high horse to give us parenting advice! Where the heck have you been and how do we even know you have the slightest notion how to parent anymore?"

Fair questions all. As to where I have been, well, uh, there was a move to a new house, billable hours, and, uh, something good on TV that one night. Anyway, I really don't have time for this. If you want to ignore my advice, do so at your own peril.

The advice, learned the hard way, is that when a six-year-old tells you he is feeling queasy at bedtime, don't put him to bed in the top bunk.

Yep. There it is. Or was, pretty much everywhere. Big, nasty, three level mess. I've been through a lot a unpleasant things as a parent, including explosive poops that have blown out onesies and diapers in restaurants, amusement parks and other inconvenient locations, and having a one-year old hurl on my shoulder and down my back as I was holding him. But last night rivaled the worst of them. The oppressive smell, the splatter effect, and the sheer number of pillows (3), blankets/sheets (4), sleeping brothers (1), walls (2), floor (1), baseball cards (3), stuffed animals (1) and other miscellaneous objects that were collateral damage in this single incident was record-breaking.

I can hear you again, readers: "See, you don't know what the hell you're doing; you should have had a barf bucket up there!"

Ah, but we did. But despite that, and our late-arriving and urgently expressed parental encouragement to "Use the Bucket!!!," it was all white noise to a disoriented and half-asleep kid in the middle of a monumental hurl.

The one blessing to be found in this season of sick is that the kids seem to hew more towards my wife's family's "one and done" style of dealing with a stomach-emptying virus, as opposed to my family's "repeat retch" style. More representative of my family's style is a diary entry made in 1976 by my 9-year-old self where I dutifully recorded down to the minute the 8 times that I threw up in an 11-hour overnight period (you can see that "write what you know" has always been my driving philosophy as an author).

And so it goes. And while there is no denying parenthood is pretty awesome and full of wonderful, rewarding experiences, I can safely say, having now been there, that scrubbing puke off of walls and sleeping children in the middle of the night is not one of them. Keep those sick kids at floor level!

Clean Sweep for Obama on CloudEight!

noreply@blogger.com (RedPlanet) — Tue, 06 Nov 2012 05:36:00 +0000

The presidential election is upon us! It has been interesting to have such a close race, and with Deanna and I both having a background in politics, we have been interested in finding ways to engage the boys in the goings on.

My first memories of politics are from election night 1976, when my dorky 10-year-old self kept close track of the electoral count on a portable chalkboard (paper apparently hadn't been invented yet). I remember a general air of excitement, not so much at a particular outcome, but just because it was happening, with the news reports and crowds on tv and my parents letting me stay up late. Mostly I remember though how cool it was to hear the results coming in as States were called one way or the other until the race was determined. Since my three guys are very into both math and competition, I decided one way to get them interested and involved was to check out an electoral map. They took to it right away, asking a bunch of questions about why some states have so few votes (yo, Wyoming), how many electoral votes are needed to win, red states and blue states, which ones were undecided, etc. That led to wanting to see maps from previous races, and I found a cool site that had electoral maps with results going all the way back to George Washington's election. We spent awhile flashing through time, watching states get added to the union. Races that qualified as "creams" particularly caught their eye. Reagan wiping the North American tectonic plate with Mondale in 1984 was a particular source of laugh out loud amusement (whoa, that guy only won one State!!!), as was Nixon's trouncing of McGovern (who also managed to eke out victory in just one state).

We also watched the second presidential debate together as a family (don't be jealous kids, it may sound awesomely fun to be a kid in our house, but it is not all non-stop crazy fun!). Owen in particular paid close attention, astutely summing up on the apparent dislike between the candidates by noting that it seemed like "which ever one of these guys wins would like to put the other guy in jail." He was paying even closer attention than we thought, because when it came time for the mock election at school, Owen informed us that he had persuaded several classmates to vote for Obama by explaining that Romney wants to use up all of our gas and coal before he builds any windmills. When I asked where he had heard that, he told me he had learned that from watching the debate.

While it appears between real voting and the school's mock election that there was a clean sweep for the President in our household this year, I am less concerned about who anyone voted for than building a bit of passion and interest in voting for the future - something I think we were somewhat successful in this year. And I certainly wouldn't view the sweep as a predictor of the election's outcome - my record of voting for winners has not always been stellar, dating back to my very first vote, for the ill-fated Gary Hart in the 1984 Illinois Democratic primary. At any rate, whoever you support, Democrat, Republican, Green or Libertarian, be passionate in your support, and, assuming you are old enough, get out there and vote!

Hep To The Jiv

noreply@blogger.com (RedPlanet) — Wed, 27 Jun 2012 17:07:00 +0000

Hayden is, without a doubt, the house clown. Just past his sixth birthday, he just gets funnier, cracking the rest of us up on a regular basis. While he most frequently works blue, preferring fart, butt and poop jokes, he has recently been expanding his reportoire to include imitations and some characters. Funniest, but vaguely troubling, is his "Cool Guy" character. "Cool Guy" is frequently seen puffing on his "smokin' sticks" - a straw or lollipop stick. Cool Guy uses an imaginary lighter to fire up his smokin' sticks and then dramatically takes drags and exhales. Cool Guy has also been "drinkin' rum", which leaves him staggering around in a five-year old's imitation of a drunk. Most recently, "Cool Guy" leaned back in his chair, an arm thrown casually over the chair back, and announced that he was "Hep to the Jiv" (pronounced to rhyme with "give"). Deanna and I both looked at him as asked "What??" He repeated that he was Hep to the Jiv. Turns out our little cool guy was mispronouncing Hep to the Jive which he had read in one of the Captain Underpants books he has taken to borrowing from his older brother. Setting aside for a moment why a six-year old thinks a cool guy is one who puffs on smokin sticks and gets drunk on rum, the hep to the jiv line was pretty damn funny. I imagine we will be bandying that phrase about the house for years to come.

Hayden also surprised us recently by strolling in from the 90-plus degree heat to announce to us that "It is freaking hot out there."

Finally, I leave you with this conversational gem:

Cooper: "Dad, do you know how old the oldest person was?"

Me: "Ummm, 114??"

Cooper: "No, over 900 years old!"

Me: "Who told you that?"

Hayden: "Tia Suzy (our Bible-totin' babysitter). It's in the Bible."

Me: "Wow. That's pretty old."

Owen: "That must have been Yoda!"

Calvinists

noreply@blogger.com (RedPlanet) — Mon, 11 Jun 2012 04:09:00 +0000

The boys, and Owen in particular, have all had their passions through the years, as a stroll through the CloudEight archives will attest. Cars, flags, baseball, etc. Rarely have all three had equal passion for something at the same time, however. That has happened here this past month though with their deep love of the old cartoon "Calvin and Hobbes." My Dad and I have been huge Calvin and Hobbes fans for many years, and have given each other pretty much every collection of Calvin cartoons that there is. When Owen was six, we slept in a tent in the back yard and I read him some Calvin and Hobbes. He enjoyed it a lot, and I was surprised how much it stuck with him. About a month ago, the twins picked up my couple of Calvin and Hobbes collections that survived the flood of a couple of summers ago, and were hooked. Soon, all three boys were buried deep in Calvin and Hobbes whenever they had a free moment, guffawing loudly and reading their favorites to each other. Things really kicked into overdrive a couple of weeks ago when my Dad arrived with an armload of additional collections. Now, there are Calvin and Hobbes books on all nightstands, on the dining room table, in the living room, the basement, and, as a recent evening clean-up sweep revealed, on the deck. Dinners, after Calvin books are ripped from unwilling hands so we can have some actual conversation, are dominated by verbatim recitations of each persons favorites, with the others correcting the other if there is the slightest misquote (Sunday eight panel cartoons, as told by Hayden, take a particularly excruciatingly long time to be retold). Things Calvin says are dropped into conversation as their own "clever" comments. Cartoons are acted out.

While Calvin is not the greatest role model, there are redeeming qualities to this obsession. I love the unconditional nature of Calvin and Hobbes friendship. Also, as Owen has pointed out, Calvin is "only six but has an extraordinary vocabulary" (the line between cartoon and cartoonist appears to be a little fuzzy to everyone still). While the twins are great readers for (freshly minted) kindergarten graduates, the vocabulary of the characters has resulted in some serious reading challenges for them. A quick survey of just a couple of pages just now included the following words: diagnoses, propelling, shards, mange, homicidal, vessels and lobotomy. Their attempts to read various cartoons out loud or recite them from memory has resulted in many great mispronunciations. They have certainly learned a lot of words from the books, some good, some less good (Hayden was recently yelling at Cooper that he was a tapioca head, except he was pronouncing it ta-poke-a head, much to our amusement). The character's musing on life and philosophy in some strips, while mostly going over their heads, have to give at least Owen food for thought. Calvin's fabulous imagination as expressed through the cartoons has, I think, helped inspire creativity in our own little Calvins.

I have also had a chance to revive my appreciation for this brilliant cartoon. Bill Watterson retired from the grind of a daily comic while he was still at the top of his game (take note writers of sad, tired old comics like Broom Hilda). His fight against his syndicate over licensing, and his ultimate victory and refusal to license Calvin, so as not to dilute his creation, is inspiring, as was his fight against the syndicates in general and his attempts to stop the shrinking of the spaces allotted to each cartoon, especially in the Sunday paper.

Finally, knowing the guys can revisit and still enjoy this particular passion forty years from now, finding totally different things in it than they do now is pretty cool too. That's it for now; see you in the funny papers.

Fortunate Sighting

noreply@blogger.com (RedPlanet) — Sat, 10 Mar 2012 12:32:00 +0000

Cooper and His Bowl Full of Cash

For the past couple of years, our family has been keeping track of license plates on cars that we see from the various states as we are out and about. To keep it fun and interesting, we start a new list each month. Over time, some rules have evolved, the main one being that a find must be verified by another family member - no solo plate-sighting counts, even for the adults. Another is that the twins can't verify each others sightings. While they are not fond of this rule, it has been made necessary by the fact that even the most casual drive around the block with them will elicit shouted and insistent claims that they have found the likes of Idaho, North Carolina and Texas. Owen, however, has developed a keen eye and can identify the plates of all 50 states at distances that would make an eagle jealous.

The holy grails of plates have always been Hawaii and Alaska. There was much excitement when we finally found an Alaskan plate on a weather-beaten pick-up truck upon walking out of a roadside diner in Georgia of all places a couple of years ago (Alaska to Georgia is some drive!). Then, on a trip to San Diego last year, we bagged our first two Hawaiian plates in what remains a record-setting trip and month. Sightings of Canadian Province plates and Baja California, Mexico are always exciting as well.

Prior to our recent trip to Hawaii, we were talking as a family about what license plates we might see there. The general assumption seemed to be that they would be exclusively Hawaii license plates, since there is no way to drive in or out. I, however, suspected there would be some others, since transferees and military personnel might, in some cases, be shipping their cars there on freighters. Deanna, quite sure I was wrong, boldly proclaimed at dinner one night that if any of the kids found a Connecticut plate in Hawaii, she would give them $100. I thought that was a foolish bet to make, and in the days leading up to the trip, I gave the boys a choice - either 1) we would give them $100 if they found Connecticut, but if they did not, they would have to each give us $10 of their money; or, option 2) we would give them each $10 if they found Connecticut, but if they did not, they would not owe us anything. After wrapping their little minds around that proposal, they all took the safe bet of $10.

In Hawaii, it was largely as Deanna expected, with pretty much every plate being a Hawaiian one, with the exception of the occasional military or government plate. Then, halfway through the trip, while driving through downtown Honolulu, we saw, amazingly and within the space of 20 seconds, South Carolina, Texas, and, incredibly, Connecticut. There was much chaos and jubilant shouting in the car, as the boys had all, of course, conveniently forgotten that they had opted out of the $100 bet. Reminded, the mood turned ugly, with much arguing and shouts of "that's not fair!" Eventually, they all opted for taking the $10 rather than contacting their attorneys, although they later tried to double up when they saw, astoundingly, another Connecticut plate.

For any of you who think the boys got a raw deal, you should know that they had already been given some money to spend on the trip as a special treat. That money, along with their $10 from the Connecticut bet, was spent only in tiny dribs and drabs with agonizing deliberation over each $2 purchase. A typical transaction for the twins went as follows: they would spy some treasure in a shop - say a small glass jar filled with sand and shells with a cheap sticker on the outside that says "Aloha from Hawaii." A brow would furrow, as the potential purchaser considered the price tag and mulled over the dent this wonderful object would put in their accumulated fortune. The boy would almost always then place the object reluctantly back on the shelf, only to decide 20 minutes later, when we had all long since moved on to other stores or activities, that their little life will forever be empty and incomplete unless THEY OWNED THAT JAR RIGHT NOW. One of us would then make our way back with them, and the boy would then proudly tender the chosen item to an amused store clerk who would bag it up and give it and any change to the smiling and proud new owner.

As all three boys seem to prefer knowing they have money to spend to actually spending it (not a bad trait to have), their money remained largely intact at the end of the trip. So, the $10 they each received in the Connecticut bet therefore lies unspent along with their other trip money in a running account at our house from which each boy dreams of spending his small boy fortune.

Hawaii

noreply@blogger.com (RedPlanet) — Sat, 03 Mar 2012 16:34:00 +0000

Me: "I'm back!"

Valued and Patient CloudEight Reader/Subscriber/Follower: "About time slacker, there hasn't been a dispatch from CloudEight since December; where the Hell have you been?"

Me: "Hawaii! Well, not the whole time, but 10 fantastic days. My in-laws took us to that fancy new Aulani resort owned by Disney, because they are totally awesome (and I am not just saying that because they are Valued and Patient CloudEight subscribers!)."

Valued and Patient CloudEight Subscriber: "Wow, they do sound awesome, got any picture evidence of how great your trip was? Those boys of yours are darn cute, and I have a sudden hankerin to see them in some matching Hawaiian shirts."

Me: "Wish granted!"

Here is Hayden during our loooooooong day of travel. Chicago to Dallas-Fort Worth for a 2-hour layover, followed by some more hours of flying before an emergency turn back over the Pacific back to Los Angeles for an exciting emergency landing, a two-hour wait, a new plane, and 6 more hours in the air to Honolulu.

There are those shirts! In order to prepare for the trip, the family watched Elvis' Blue Hawaii, "Aloha Scooby Doo" and the Brady Bunch Hawaii episode so that we would have a totally accurate view of what Hawaii would be like. Although we all oddly enjoyed Blue Hawaii, Owen here is striking the same "leaning against the tree" pose as a sultry young thing being sung to by Elvis during a beach scene - an unnatural and awkward pose that we couldn't help but mock everytime we ran across a leaning coconut tree during the trip.

The RedPlanet Ohana, hanging loose.

Me and Sunny D.!

The extended Ohana, including Deanna's brother Rob, his wife Alana, and the afore-mentioned awesome in-laws, Bob and Linda.

Owen lets loose a mean javelin throw at a luau.

7:30 a.m. fish feeding in the lagoon - big bone fish would come within a few feet of shore.

Hayden underwater

Searching for crabs in tidepools by the shore.

The twins chilling in the lagoon.

The atmosphere at the resort changed when Kelly Ripa and her show rolled in for taping during the last few days of our stay. While it was fun to have celebrities hanging around (Carson Kressly by the pool, Jon Cryer in the elevator!), they also brought with them squadrons of frowny-faced, high-heeled NY staff girls, strutting around talking to each other about Kelly this and Kelly that. They also kept taking over parts of the resort for filiming pieces, including our favorite hot tub, causing Owen to declare "that Kelly woman is ruining my vacation."

Competitive even on vacation, the boys had to build a sand volcano that was bigger than the other three being constructed by beachgoers nearby. We eventually triumphed. Here Cooper uses water to cause an eruption.

Here I am paddleboarding, which was fun, but a bit harder than it looks. Owen took a turn and was almost swept out to sea in a current that would have required us to pick him up a couple of days later in Kauai. He was, thankfully, rescued by his Uncle Rob before things got that far.

Hayden at sunset.

Shaved Ice at Matsuamoto's on the North Shore, in the surfing town of Haleiwa.

Lunch at the bar!

Hayden and Grandma Linda in the infinity hot tub, our favorite hangout.

At the top of Diamond Head after a nice hike up.

The boys hug Deanna farewell as we prepare to enter the world's 2nd largest maze at the Dole pineapple plantation. While I did stage the photo somewhat by telling them they may never see her again, we did have reason to be concerned. Deanna is notoriously bad at mazes - so bad in fact that she once had to be rescued from a maze in Niagara Falls by staff.

Deanna survived the maze, and the family, reunited, enjoys some Dole Whips at the plantation.

Cooper and I at lunch. I deny all responsibility for dressing him on this day.

Me and the boys never cut off our daily pool access bracelets for each day. By the last morning, pictured here, we had quite a collection.

The best place we have ever stayed.

Slow Boat to New Mexico

noreply@blogger.com (RedPlanet) — Sat, 10 Dec 2011 02:49:00 +0000

Snippets from recent conversations with 5-year olds.

Conversation No. 1:

FYI, we live in Illinois.

Deanna: "If you could go anywhere in the world for vacation, where would you go."

Cooper: "I would take a plane to Mexico."

Hayden: "It's Mexico; you should take a boat."

Cooper, in his most dismissive, know-it-all 5-year old voice: "I said Mexico, not New Mexico."

Conversation No. 2:

Me: "What do you think potato chips are made out of?"

Hayden: "Rice?"

Me: "Po-tat-o chips"

Hayden: "Potatoes!"

Me: "Good, now what do you think french fries are made out of?"

Cooper: "French people?"

Coop-Dee-Do

noreply@blogger.com (RedPlanet) — Fri, 09 Dec 2011 05:34:00 +0000

Cooper is "Star of the Week" this week in kindergarten, which entails daily sharing with the class of stuff special to you - showing off your favorite stuffed animal, telling everyone about yourself, display of a you-centric poster full of pictures of yourself and details on things that you are into. You know, sort of like a 3-D Facebook.

At any rate, I was Wednesday's main event. Having been alloted a 15-minute time slot by the teacher, I dropped by promptly at my odd 10:55 a.m. start time. With Cooper seated by my side, I engaged the class in a dramatic reading of "I Stink", a book narrated by a New York City garbage truck. While the kids have always liked this book more than me at home, Cooper's instincts in picking this to bring with us proved to be dead on, as its alphabetical recital of gross out garbage items like dirty diapers, moldy meatballs and puppy poo really got the audience going.

Having sufficiently warmed them up, I then proceeded to give them instruction in juggling. I had brought some juggling beanbags from home and started by showing them one bag (tossed up and down in a single hand), then two, and finally three. I finished with a flourish with some tosses under my leg and behind my back and with Cooper tossing me a ball to start me out. I must say, the audible ooohing and aahhhhing were fairly satisfying, as was a little girl telling Cooper "your Dad is awesome!!" If only the rest of the world were so easily impressed. On the negative side, the teacher was visibly not impressed when I told the kids that really good jugglers could do harder stuff like chainsaws, prompting an admonishment by her that I probably would not have been let in the school if I had brought chain saws. Killjoy. Another kid asked me if I could juggle cookies and take bites while I juggled. That one I promised to develop for next year (you will know I have been training hard if you notice a 20 lb. weight gain by me during the year). All in all, though, quite a fun time. Hope I made Cooper proud!

For a trip into the CloudEight archives to revisit my swing by Owen's class when he was star of the week three years ago, click here.

Music Video No. 1

noreply@blogger.com (RedPlanet) — Fri, 18 Nov 2011 03:58:00 +0000

This one needs no words. Enjoy. Oh, and maybe fear for the future a bit while you're at it.

A Quiet Return

noreply@blogger.com (RedPlanet) — Fri, 04 Nov 2011 04:19:00 +0000

3 months and no posts. A sad new record. Can't promise I will do better, but I will at least try.

So what is shakin' on CloudEight you ask? Not much really, at least at the moment. Owen is asleep on a large footstool in his "fort" - Harry Potter-style in the closet under the basement stairs. That kid has slept in pretty much every place a kid could sleep in this house at one time or another, including at least three closets. The twins - who turned five in May - are finally quiet upstairs - their constant patter of fart and poop jokes and stories eventually trailing off into snores. Deanna should be home soon on an 8:40 p.m. train after working late. We have both been under the gun lately and today was her turn to make some serious office progress. One of our newest additions, gerbils Chubs and Junior Gerbil, sounds like he has taken a break from their obsessive hobby of chewing apart their cage and is instead jogging on the exercise wheel. The other one is probably asleep or, of course, chewing. It is pretty quiet at the moment, and quiet is good. I am going to go be quiet too, but it was nice getting back in touch with you, my much appreciated and patient readers. We should keep in better touch, me and you. Talk soon.

Brawl on Boardwalk

noreply@blogger.com (RedPlanet) — Fri, 05 Aug 2011 03:40:00 +0000

We found ourselves at home the other night, done with dinner and with a couple of free hours stretching out ahead of us. What else to do then than to break out Monopoly! Deanna teamed up with Hayden, and I teamed up with Cooper, while Owen flew solo. Owen's dubious 8-year old strategy of not wanting to buy any properties other than Boardwalk and Park Place, and my dubious 45-year old strategy of leveraging everything to buy and build at all costs both backfired, and eventually we were forced to concede to Deanna and Hayden and their imposing collection of fancy houses and luxury hotels. At the conclusion of the spirited game, Cooper was in tears because we lost, bawling loudly and yelling that he should have teamed up with mommy instead. Hayden, in our family tradition of being bad winners, was singing a victory song, doing a victory dance, and generally taunting his brothers. This bought him a kick to the groin from a frustrated Owen, resulting in exponentially more crying and shouting and chaos followed by punishments. Ah, family game night. Next time something a bit less competitive perhaps.

Complete Game

noreply@blogger.com (RedPlanet) — Wed, 03 Aug 2011 03:56:00 +0000

From the moment the first thud of a ball hitting a catcher's mitt at spring training echoed up from Arizona to, well, right this minute, our house has been pretty much all baseball all the time this summer. A sampling of the many ways it has dominated our lives.

Playing: While the twins were heartbreakingly 12 days too young to play t-ball this year, Owen was able to play in Junior Minors little league, then on the league all-star team, and finally on a travelling all-star team. The season was one of ups and downs - playing well enough to be an all-star was great for him, but the travelling team's 2-10 record against kids from other towns was a real eye-opener for all of our hometown big fish in a small pond. It's tough out there boys! Still, I loved Owen's post-game post-mortems, especially when he would excitedly tell me things like "I threw him a four seam fastball for the strikeout" (the rainbow arc of his four seamer looking oddly similar to all of his "other" pitches). Watching the 8-year olds spitting sunflower seeds in the dugout and speculating to each other whether the opposing team was using a corked bat was priceless, as was watching them grow into better players and an actual team. Overall good experience. Cooper, for his part, was content to practice almost constantly in the backyard for his future chances to play - spending hours, and often heading out by himself in his pajamas - throwing the ball up and hitting it time and again, or practicing pitching endlessly with the pitch back.

Statistics: Cooper is usually the first kid up, at which point he stumbles downstairs, unlocks the front door, grabs the paper from the driveway, comes back in and sprawls across the floor while he proceeds to study the standings and previous days' baseball statistics for the next 15 minutes. The kid literally taught himself to read last year by learning the names of baseball teams (see http://cloudeight.blogspot.com/2010/10/boy-of-summer.html) and is now a great reader of everything. In addition, he now has a grasp of baseball statistics that is amazing to me in a 5 year old still weeks away from kindergarten, studying earned run averages, how many games out various teams are, winning percentages, etc.

Lore: Owen and his friends spent the spring studying baseball history in some book at school and he certainly knows a lot more baseball lore than me already. While as a parent you can bullshit your way through a lot of kid questions, I am unable to bullshit my way through ones like "what made Rogers Hornsby so good?"; a stumper I received the other day. Hell if I know kid, although I assume it wasn't steroids since the guy played in the 20s and 30s. Hmmmmm, perhaps it was the extra s tacked onto Roger. In case you get this question parents, the things you need to know are that he has the second highest lifetime batting average ever (.358, second only to Ty Cobb) and hit over .400 an amazing 3 times.

Trading: Much to my delight, the guys have all been avidly collecting and trading baseball cards since the Spring. This has given me a convenient excuse to do the same in the name of father-son bonding. I am currently the subject of much jealousy after my acquisition of the only Darwin Barney rookie card in the house. Owen has taken his collecting to the extreme - given $15 to spend on a recent vacation, he choose to spend it on a box containing 36 unopened packs of baseball cards ... from 1990. Due to his freakish knowledge of past players, this seemed to give him as much joy as opening packs of 2011 cards, although it all seems a bit surreal. Seriously, how many other dads this summer have heard their 8 year old happily exclaim while opening a pack of cards: "Dad, I got Wade Boggs!!!" Owen and I both tried pieces of 21 year old gum from the 1990 packs by the way - BIG mistake. Deanna, for her part, could not be less enamored of the fact that cards are pretty much everywhere in our house. Despite being largely kept in binders by each kid, you can pretty much find loose cards in every room. Deanna has an old George Brett edition mitt from her youth, and the guys excitedly planned weeks ahead of her birthday to give her a 1990 George Brett baseball card using the mitt as wrapping paper for her birthday. Her excitement was palpable.

Rooting: Cruelly, I have passed on to the boys my love of the Cubs. The Cubs spate of injuries, poor fundamentals, lack of leadership and all around terrible play have left them with a terrible record and 15 1/2 games out of first in a crappy division, leaving us with precious little to root for. Still, the boys have a Cubs fan's optimism even at such young ages and ability to find hope in even the most dire of circumstances. We recently cheered as the Cubs finally put together their first three game winning streak of the season (only four months into the season!) and blasted past the Orioles to have only the third worst record in the league. Look out, Kansas City Royals, were gunning to move past you for fourth worst! Cooper in particular seems to take it all in stride, taking the news of yet another loss with a momentary sadness followed by a smile and a "maybe we'll win tomorrow." Although Hayden is less enthusiastic about baseball in general than the other two, he is a good little rooter as well from time to time. A couple of weeks ago, the whole family ventured to Wrigley family, where we witnessed the home team surge to victory in extra innings.

I have watched more baseball this summer than the previous ten years combined. The boys watch as late as we will let them and then drift off to sleep to the call of the late innings on the radio. And so it goes - the pace of our summer dictated by the unique rhythms of this most-American of games. While much has been written in recent years about the inability of today's quick-cut youth to connect with the slow pace of baseball, two of my three guys have fallen for it head over heels and appear to perhaps have lifetime afflictions. Not a bad sport to fall for, if I do say so myself; not bad at all.

Table Talk

noreply@blogger.com (RedPlanet) — Sat, 11 Jun 2011 05:53:00 +0000

Deanna was out tonight so the boys took the opportunity to lobby me to make my signature Dad meal - grilled cheese, tomato soup and apple-sauce with cinnamon-sugar sprinkled on top. As we neared the end of our sumptuous feast, talk turned to the future. After our recent spring-break trip to Coronado Island near San Diego, Deanna and I had declared to the boys that as soon as they were out of college, we would be moving to Coronado and that given the price of real estate there, we would be unlikely to have room for them. I took this opportunity to back off this declaration a bit - and not just because after putting three kids through college, we are unlikely to be able to afford more than maybe a couple feet of dumpster space on Coronado. I also felt that the kids, being younger, needed the security of knowing we weren't just going to pick up and leave, regardless of what they were up to. Families should stay close to each other, I declared, comfortingly telling them we would be living here except for a couple of months each winter.

They seemed to have already taken this families should stay close to each other point to heart, as all three informed me they would be moving to California with us. Hayden, who has inexplicably become an Oakland A's fan, told me that while he would be living in Coronado with us, he would be spending his vacations in Oakland. That kid is in for a sad shock. Owen, on the other hand, had obviously given the matter some thought, and cited several advantages to California living. While many might cite the weather, Owen is attracted by the fact that if whatever California baseball team he decides to root for starts to tank, he will have plenty of other California teams to choose from. He also likes the fact that California is big enough that he can vacation in different climates without leaving the State - in, say, Oakland for instance. After mulling things over for another minute, though, Owen went back to his long-time plan of building and living in a log cabin in the backyard of his best friend Jack, since Jack has informed him he will not be leaving home after college (heads up Lisette and Brad - not only will you be unable to unload one of your own kids, you will be apparently acquiring one of ours! You may want to talk to me about the aforementioned "Coronado Plan").

I then asked the guys how many kids they were going to have. Cooper - none, because he doesn't like girls, kissing is gross, and because kids would interfere with his plans to play Wii all day. He added that the only girls he really liked were his mom, cousins, and his grandmothers. Sounds like a prime candidate to be living with us for the indefinite future, since I am reasonably sure having a "job" would also interfere with said plan to play Wii all day. Owen - zero or one kids; maybe just a pet. Hayden - 20 kids. He will literally need a bus for those family vacations to Oakland. He subsequently scaled this back to 14 or 15 kids and later, out of earshot of his girl-hating brothers, confided to me the names of some of the young ladies in town he has his eye on to bear his 14 to 20 children. Rather than name names here, I will individually warn you mothers in town whose daughters risk a future of being almost constantly pregnant with nothing to look forward to between pregnancies other than bus trips to Oakland. Well, I will name one name - unfortunately another heads up to Lisette and Brad - he has his eye on your daughter!

Milk-Post

noreply@blogger.com (RedPlanet) — Thu, 09 Jun 2011 04:12:00 +0000

So, let's say you are employed as a marketing consultant by the Midwest Dairy Association. The Association rings you up one day and asks you to come up with an idea to increase the health profile of chocolate milk. Charged with this task, would you, in a million years, come up with the idea to try to position chocolate milk as the new Gatorade? And, assuming you took such an ambitious tack in your assignment, would you decide that the best way to position chocolate milk as the new Gatorade would be to create a fictional race of small green stuffed monsters, called ChocoNoGos, and to spread the word that ChocoNoGos are "a group of creatures that live to sabotage athletic performance by draining athletes of nutrients" and that these creatures "hate physical consistency, excellence and chocolate milk"? No? You wouldn't? Well obviously you are not thinking far enough out of the box to be a highly paid (or perhaps soon to be unemployed) marketing consultant.

From the annals of failed marketing campaigns I bring you "ChocoNoGo."

For those of you who are without the means to clink on the foregoing link to watch this video in all its glory, it features athletes who are flagging in their performance. Why? Well, quite obviously because they are chocolate milk deprived - that devious little devil ChocoNoGo is up to his usual tricks! Now right off you can see that this is a dubious premise. I mean this whole convoluted reverse psychology idea that a lack of chocolate milk is what will prevent athletes from achieving good performance is illogical and vague and simply makes no sense. Did they really think they would be able to convince anyone but the most gullible athletes to reach for the chocolate milk instead of water or gatorade following a workout? Oy. The fact that this video link has only had 200 something views should give you a clue. And what is up with the narrator? What kind of accent is that supposed to be?

Speaking of gullible, however, ChocoNoGo could not be a bigger star among the 5 - 8 year old demographic here at RedPlanet. At the State Fair a couple of years ago, a Midwest Dairy Association representative (or a carnie, I can't remember which) handed the boys a stuffed ChocoNoGo. In the ensuing months, the boys would fight over him all the time for some mysterious reason. When the boys insisted to us that he was actually called ChocoNoGo and Deanna and I did not believe them, we found the video, and this other video, (the English angle the Association decided to pursue in this one is puzzling as well), both of which the boys have delighted in watching numerous times. In fact, I would wager that our house alone accounts for approximately 5% of the total views of these ChocoNoGo videos. Still, it is one thing to race around the house yelling ChocoNoGo at each other, and quite another to actually demand a thermos full of chocolate milk to bring along to your little league game so you can really maximize your athletic performance. The latter demand has yet to happen, by the way, despite the boy's love of ChocoNoGo. Nor has the peak athletic performance happened either though? Hmmm. Worth a try? Could Owen's little league teams 2-9 record in reality be due to a ChocoNoGo infestation???? Drink for thought indeed.

The Month My Warranty Expired

noreply@blogger.com (RedPlanet) — Fri, 15 Apr 2011 04:38:00 +0000

Last month I turned 45 with a minimal amount of fanfare and not much in the way of trepidation. The only changes I really anticipated were a modest increase in gentle ribbing from Deanna based on her being six years younger, and an inability to any longer claim that I was in my "early 40's." Little did I know that immediately upon turning 45 both my luck and the warranty on my body would run out causing me to essentially become elderly overnight.

My actual birthday passed uneventfully. Only a nasty cough that had settled into my lungs a week or two prior gave any indication of trouble ahead. At the time, I assumed it to be merely a nagging leftover of the most recent rounds of kid-inflicted illnesses in the house.

As our planned Spring Break trip to Anaheim and San Diego approached, I thought periodically of visiting a doctor to look into the cough but figured a little sunshine and time away from work would knock it right out. This proved to be a poor assumption, as it never did get better. Each morning during our 10 day vacation, I would lean over a sink, coughing up bits of my lungs. As we traveled around, my periodic coughing fits spread fear throughout the Southern California natives (I could hear their frightened whispers: "Who let that consumptive into Legoland?? And so pale too. Maybe he's an escapee from a TB ward."). Even now, 5-weeks after its unheralded arrival, the cough remains, although antibiotics currently have it on the ropes at last.

Next, whether it was stuff related to the cough or simply the flight, my head felt full of muck and my left ear never "unpopped" following the flight to California, significantly decreasing hearing already long-impaired by too many rock band rehearsals and concerts in my younger days. This, combined with the kids annoying kid-habit of talking with their heads facing away from you or towards the ground, left me pretty much resorting to asking everyone to repeat anything they said to me during the trip. As the trip went on, my requests were shortened to an old-man like "eh?" each time I realized someone had said something to me.

On the third night of our trip, we were waiting in yet another line at Disney's California Adventure themepark (next door to Disneyland) as darkness fell when sweet 4-year old Cooper looked up at us and asked if we were going to see the fireworks. He was asking, he added, because it was our last night in Disneyland and because "fireworks make my heart happy." Parental hearts sufficiently melted, we bolted across the park, each carrying a 40+ pound kid at what might best be described as a loping, speed-walk, since the fireworks were actually taking place at Disneyland, where we were not. We caught the end of the fireworks, but not without some cost to my lower back - an unpleasant tweak to my lower back and its ruptured disk that periodically acts up. The sore back decided to stick around for the rest of the trip too, thus adding sleeping and walking, along with the previously mentioned breathing and hearing, on the list of activities that carried some level of difficulty and/or unpleasantness in the first month of my 45th year.

The fourth day of the trip, I managed to essentially serrate a fingertip with the five awesome blades of my Gillette Fusion razor. Bled a lot in the bathroom of our fancy hotel. While this injury did not particularly bother me, it did have an unfortunate one-two punch. One, it was positioned so that a band aid would not stay on for any length of time; and two, seeing it seemed to cause an immediate unpleasant reaction in the squeamish. It was indeed fairly unpleasant to look at. The solution, fairly constant application of band aids.

The fifth day was our first at the beautiful beaches of Coronado Island in San Diego. Feeling decent despite the travails of the first half of the trip, I spied a crab in a tidepool and decided to capture it for the kids. No problem, until I prepared, captured crab in hand, to jump off of the slippery slope of a wet rock onto the safety of the beach. What happened next before a crowd of onlookers was several seconds of slipping, attempting to regain my balance, and a nasty feeling that something bad had just happened to my right hamstring before I fell face-down into the tidepool. When I first got up, I had a bloody left knee and was unable to put any weight whatsoever on my right leg. Two of my charming children, despite our best efforts to teach them empathy, immediately asked where the now-escaped crab was. This injury, since diagnosed by my doctor as a partial hamstring tear, left me limping badly the remainder of the trip and with a scary-amount of bruising - so much blood emptying out of the torn muscle inside the leg that the entire back of my right thigh turned solid purple and during the course of the trip actually migrated down into my calf. Pretty freaky amount of bruising for an injury that involved no direct impact on the leg at all. Anyway, after this one, previously mundane tasks like putting on my right shoe or hoisting myself in and out of car seats became exciting but painful adventures.

A couple of days later, I decided to limp up to the hotel's lovely weight room, figuring that although my leg was shot, I could still do some non-leg-related exercises. Shortly after starting, I was leaning on a machine, trying to adjust the amount of weight (upward of course!). I shifted my weight off the part of the machine I had been leaning on and it sprang back to its resting position, causing a metal cross-bar to spring up into my face and cut a nice gash next to my right eye. The gash commenced to bleeding profusely, and continued to do so every time I optimistically removed the band-aid at any point during the next 24 hours. So not only did I quickly develop a black eye, but I had to wear a big band-aid adjacent to my eye for the next couple of days.

Despite all of the above, we really did have a great time. A quick shout out to Deanna for shouldering the parenting load, figuratively and literally, during vacation as I was fairly useless during certain stretches. She was very patient despite not particularly enjoying having an elderly traveling partner.

Anyway, if this was the year 1511, I would be pretty excited to be alive at the ripe old age of 45 with nothing but a bad limp, suspect back, consumption, marginal hearing and eye and finger injuries. But it is not 1511. One or more of you may be inclined to say something optimistic to me, like "those injuries sound unpleasant and it is unfortunate they happened on vacation, but they don't sound permanent so you can probably eke out another few decades before permanently assuming the mantle of old man." To you, I simply respond "eh?" Yep, I should've bought that extended warranty when I had the chance.

French Post

noreply@blogger.com (RedPlanet) — Thu, 24 Feb 2011 22:50:00 +0000

4-year old Cooper, during our Tilapia dinner the other night: "I want to eat candy for dessert, but I don't want to eat the fish."

Deanna: "Sorry Cooper, the world doesn't work that way."

Cooper: "Maybe yours doesn't, but mine does."

Deanna, in her most world-weary Mom-voice: "I don't know what world you are living in then."

4-year old Hayden: "Yeah, Cooper, where do you live, France???"

I am not shy about my opinion that France makes an awesomely funny punch line to almost any joke, and am glad to see the little guys picking up the concept and running with it. Je suis tellement fière.

Ham Alone

noreply@blogger.com (RedPlanet) — Sat, 12 Feb 2011 04:27:00 +0000

We jokingly told freshly-minted 8-year-old Owen the other day we may leave him behind when the rest of us go out of town for Spring Break. He then surprised us by reeling off a list of the things he would do if left to his own devices for a couple of days. These included sneaking into the cookie and candy jars, watching an R-rated movie, eating popcorn, playing with Star Wars Legos, and having his best friend over to watch YouTube videos featuring Lego figures and bad words. I imagine his failure to mention playing endless hours of Wii was simply an oversight. Not a bad list, and I get that he is 8, but he did not exactly make us feel like we are trudging down a path that leads to leaving him in charge of his younger siblings in a mere handful of years.

Four year old Cooper's take on what he would do if left alone: break some of our house rules. I can live with that to an extent - stand on the couch all you want pal, but no bare butts on the table (sad that we have had to articulate a rule for that one, but we have).

Four year old Hayden's take on what he would do if left alone: he would take some money from my wallet, go to the store, buy some ham, come home and eat it, and then do the dishes. Please note that we are doing nothing currently that prevents Hayden from eating all the ham he wants, or from doing the dishes for that matter, yet he seems to show no inclination to do either on any regular basis. We do discourage pilfering from parental wallets and unaccompanied trips by four year olds to the store however, so maybe the appeal to him of this little scenario lies in those. Strange kid.

At any rate, it is apparent that all of the guys have a ways to go in the personal responsibility department. If anyone does want to make plans to meet us out for a drink or dinner, we are now booking dates for 2031, when we anticipate being able to leave the boys alone and unsupervised.