I set  up  thresholds for deposits,  bey0nd which I  get an email alerting me to “unusually large deposits.”

So every time my paycheck hits my account (once a month), I get an email from Mint which says, “An unually large amount was just deposited into your checking account at Bank of America.” 

 Of course it’ s large.  It’s my paycheck, bitch.

Hint: you can set the threshold at any level, so you too can enjoy this feeling.

[You believe this.]

If you have the means, you can buy ANYTHING you want.  Movies are pre-released in Manhattan.  Restaurants offer the best cuisine from everywhere in the world.  The best bars are in New York.  The best parks.  The best museums.  The best comic books.  The best chess shops.  The best coffee.  The best clothing stores.  The best cheese shops. 

[You are entitled to this.]

I can remember running around lower Manhattan with Greta at 1 am one night, to find a copy of the next DVD in the 24 series.  I thought, “We’re in Manhattan, that means we have infinite choice and convenience and we’re going to find this disc.  I don’t care if it’s 1 am.”  On the fourth rental store (in a 3 block radius), we found a 24 hour Blockbuster with the disc we wanted.

Not only are the best products in Manhattan, but the best people. 

[You are one of them.]

All the winners of society, from all over the world, converge on this little island to engage and compete with each other.  When something goes well in Manhattan, you truly feel special, because you succeeded in the big pond where the big fish play.

[You earned it.]

Then you move out of the city.

[No, you don’t.]

At first, you look down on everything.  You go out to eat and you are amazed that these hokey people actually pay for this bland food in this plain setting.  You see advertisements for movies that you watched 2 months ago.  There is nothing worse than grocery stores, where obese old people flock with coupons to plan every depressing meal of their next week.  You are like an alien visiting an inferior world where people don’t seem to know any better.

You casually mention, in every conversation, that you just moved out of “the city.” 

[You do this every time you go home for Thanksgiving.]

But gradually, a change starts to happen.  It’s slow at first.  Your living space is dramatically larger.  You don’t knock your knees and elbows on the furniture.  When you go outside, you can wander off without constantly filing into a line and walking in a grid. 

You see stars at night.

[You do remember stars.  Don’t you?]

You stop eating out.  You have a real kitchen, and you use it.  You go to the grocery store and find an overwhelming selection of the finest ingredients in the world, at reasonable prices.  So you start to create meals.  You stock up on spices and rubs.  You cook with live fire.  Instead of trying to constantly buy the best experience, you create it yourself.

[You specialize.]

You build things.  You cut grass, you rake leaves, you shovel show, you stack wood.  You go to bed early.  You wake up early.  Crickets mate, birds chirp.

All of a sudden life is rewarding again.

[You believe this.]

I’m sorry, but have you ever heard anything so stupid? 

My 19 month old son couldn’t be more innocent.  He is the purest little ball of love that ever existed.  Watching him learn how to interact with and shape his environment is a daily joy.

Last night, Michael Lewis appeared on The Daily Show to promote his new book “Home Game: An Accidental Guide to Fatherhood”  If you are a new parent, stop reading this post immediately, go to Amazon, and buy this book.  It is the funniest thing I’ve read in a long time.  Like all brilliant humor, it’s achingly honest. 

Anyway, Lewis made the point that it’s actually quite hard to screw up our children.  They are resilient.  If they weren’t, he argues, our species would have died out long ago.  He says that telling your children to act a certain way is often pointless.  If you want them to act a certain way, quit talking about it and starting acting that way yourself, and they will get it.  I think that’s a great lesson.

And it raises a very serious question: when is the right time to teach my son that blowing kisses is not the appropriate way to greet people?  Sure, it’s adorable now to watch him clumsily raise his chunky hand to his lips, make a great big puckering noise, and then extend his hand in the general direction of the recipient of his love.  There’s nothing cuter. 

But this can’t go on forever.  At some point, he needs to learn basic male awkwardness.  Once he figures out that a simple, stoic “good night” is sufficient, we will move on to the critical “high-five.”  Then we’ll master the most important greeting technique he will ever need: a crushing death-grip handshake delivered with a straight back and an effortless grin. 

Once those basics are mastered, I’ll teach the exceptions to the basic no-contact rule: any male hugs should be brief and accompanied with constant raucous back-slapping.  Ass-slapping is ok only if you’re on the field/court in full view of your teammates.

This topic reminds me of an interesting thought that runs through my head periodically: sometimes I feel like a pedophile when I’m playing with my children. 

Let me explain.  A few months ago, after we had moved into our new house, I brought Jack outside with me to get the mail.  I was wearing a classy red flannel pajama set from Brooks Brothers, a pair of slippers, and some black leather driving gloves.  It was cold outside.  On the way back from the mailbox, I decided to explore our property with Jack, so we took a detour through the woods. 

We emerged from the woods near my neighbors house.  The father (who i’d never met) was shooting hoops in his driveway, and he looked over and waved.  I waved back.  Then I imagined what he was seeing: a grown man in pajamas wearing OJ Simpson gloves and holding a baby.  Amber Alert!!!  I wanted to walk over and explain that I was just exploring my property, I did not own a sketchy van, and that the little guy in my arms was in fact my own son….but instead I just turned around and raced back inside.

Awkward.

Last night, I was playing with Jack on our bed.  He would climb on top of me as I lay face-down, and then I would jerk my body up and try to throw him off me.  He squealed with delight each time.  Greta thought this scene was worthy of recording for posterity, so she grabbed the video camera and started filming. 

I did a few more bucking bronco maneuvers, to Jack’s endless amusement, and then somehow I flipped over onto my back.  Jack climbed right back on top of me, straddling my lower stomach area.  You can see where this is going.  The only way to flip him into the air would be to thrust my hips upwards off the bed.  Which would have been totally fine, except now there was a video camera trained on my every move, and someday my son would watch this video and start asking serious questions.  “Dad- why did you hump me?”

So I awkwardly scooped him up and tried to switch into the airplane game, where I hold him above me and ‘fly’ him around the room.  He didn’t want to change games, though, and the whole playful father/son scene ended in a crying fit.

Do I have an abnormally sick mind?  Any other fathers experience this stuff?  What would be going through my head if I had had daughters?  Jeesh.

Advertisements for baby products line the sides of the emails.  Expecting parents will spend as much as they can afford on any product with the word “safety” in it, so this is a pretty rich set of advertisements.  I’m not complaining…in fact, the advertisements are helpful as you try to decide what products to buy, whether it’s car seats, pack n’ plays, strollers, bouncy chairs, baby cribs, swings, pacifiers, rocking chairs, or any of the dozens of other ridiculous contraptions that parents use to cope with the madness of caring for a little human.

After the birth, BabyCenter continues to send the weekly email, except now it focuses on your child’s development outside of the womb.  Since all of this activity is readily apparent just by looking at your child, the emails are no longer as helpful in explaining the physical changes.

There are two reasons you keep reading.  First, you want to know whether your child is progressing normally.  New parents spend 50% of their day worrying about how their children compare to other children.  (The other 50% is spent worrying about they, as parents, compare to other parents.)

If that isn’t enough, BabyCenter teases you with catchy subject lines like “15 Common Deadly Poisons.”   Or “28 Signs That Your Child May Be Autistic.”  Because new parents aren’t frightened enough.

The crazy thing is that I continue to read these emails, 19 months later.  The developmental milestones are increasingly off the mark – last week’s said “Your child may be starting to say nonsense words and occasionally you might think you recognize simple words like ‘Mom’ or ‘Dad.’”  Jack knows the entire alphabet and just about every word associated with farm animals, clothing, or fruit.

But they are still useful barometers of what we’re going through as parents.  Will this continue into Jack’s teens?  Will I get emails with advice on how to avoid walking in on my son while he discovers the joys of, er, himself?  All brought to you by Master Lock?  Will Johnson & Johnson facilitate the onset of my mid-life crisis with a barrage of emails about motorcycles?

I loaded all of these boxes into the basement the night before Charlie was born (four weeks ago).  Today, I tried to move all the boxes up to the attic.  But I only moved about 4 boxes, because I kept opening them to read the mementos.

Crazy stuff.  To get reacquainted with your old dreams can be eye-opening.

I love my job and I live in an amazing house.  It goes without saying that my little boys are precious and my wife is amazing.  I have an incredible job in New York City.  But I never imagined that I’d end up here.

9 years ago, I was taking art classes in Madrid.  I wanted to write short stories like Ernest Hemingway.   I never thought I’d join “Corporate America.”

Mostly I was naive and spoiled.  But to this day there remains a sliver of ridiculous resentment that I didn’t end up writing novels for a living.  Every time I tell myself that it’s a childish dream unsupported by any recognition of talent…I start to think that maybe if I just had more confidence, I would have made it.

What keeps you up at night?

We went to an estate sale today.   All the contents of a huge house (~6000 sqft?) were up for sale.  It was really fun to explore the house and comb through all of this person’s belongings…from books to forks to rugs to VHS tapes to lawn equipment to notepads to chainsaws to trunks to couches to glass figurines to Vagisil to an Audi.    A little creepy and sad but lots of great bargains so I got over it pretty quickly.

For $55, we purchased 5 science fiction books, 2 pieces of particle board and 40 hooks, a large broom, an axe, a sledgehammer, 4 wedges for splitting wood, 6 old-fashioned wooden buckets, 3 metal pails, 2 hanging flower boxes, 3 long wooden flower boxes, a leather document holder, and a jigsaw.

It was great.

On Saturday, there is a huge sale in Wilton called Minks to Sinks.  I guess it happens at the high school.  Everyone we talk to says that this is the place to get deals.  We’re looking for firewood and a lawnmower but I guarantee we’ll come home with some strange stuff.

Ingredients:

• 2/3 cup coarsely ground coffee
• Whole milk
• Starbucks coffee liqueur

Instructions:

1. Grind 2/3 cup coffee.  Coarse.
2. In a glass jar, stir together coffee and 2 cups cold water.
3. Seal the jar.  Let sit overnight.
4. Strain the mixture through a coffee filter, twice.
5. In a tall glass with ice cubes, add 1 part coffee concentrate, 1 part cold water, 1 part whole milk, and 1 part Starbucks liqueur.
6. Put feet up.  Enjoy.

If you don’t want the alcohol, you’re crazy.  But that’s fine, just substitute 1 part concentrate.

If you don’t read Scott Adams’ blog, you’re missing out.  Not only is he funny and smart, he is an inspiration to anyone who wishes they could draw wickedly funny cartoons and get paid for it.

Thanks to Iliana and Zony for dropping off some Stamford treats!

When we lived in New York, I used to pity the suburban shopper with his shopping list and grocery bags and need to plan ahead. Now that I’m older and wiser, I realize the obvious truth: good suburban grocery stores are the fundamental expression of wealth and plenty, and they symbolize everything that is superior about country living.

First, we have an actual kitchen where real cooking can take place.   I have never seen a kitchen in New York as nice as ours in Wilton (except maybe on TV shows like Friends).  Second, while it’s certainly fun to walk around to each little boutique in SoHo (the butcher shop for meat, the cheese shop for cheese, the bakery for bread, etc), you end up spending $30 for a meal that should cost $10.  Finally, cooking without a grill is like having sex without….well, you know what I’m getting at.  If you don’t, come over some time and try my grilled banana sundae.

Anyway, I’ve basically taken over the grocery shopping since Charlie arrived.  It would be near impossible for Greta to bring a 16-month and a 2 week old to the store.   Since I’ve been really into cooking lately, I’m actually starting to enjoy controlling the process from start to finish.  (If you’re not into cooking, buy this and watch this and you’ll be well on your way to discovering Beauty and Truth in a simple act of creation.  And check this out while you’re at it).

The last 2 trips I made were polar opposites.  In one, I used the list pictured here on yellow lined paper.

Shopping list as prepared by Greta (with help from her mother)

The piece of paper that was selected for the grocery list was previously used by our 16 month old to create art.   My brilliant mother-in-law felt it was the best backdrop for her sleep-deprived son-in-law to interpret her drawly letters and even more obscure food ingredients.  I had to visit 3 stores (Stew Leonard’s, Stew Leonard’s Liquor, and Caraluzzi’s) before I found everything I needed.  And I had to ask at least 7 people for instructions on where to find some of the wackier stuff (like Rotel tomatoes).  Note the chaos of the page.

The second trip, which I took yesterday (with Jack), was an exercise in efficiency.  To see why, simply examine the list I made.

Shopping list as prepared by me

The first thing to note is the clipboard.  I got a few stares from other shoppers, but mostly they were envious of my organization and foresight.  Next, note how the page is laid out clearly and succintly.  On the right hand side is a Plan for each dinner of the week: spaghetti, fettucinni alfredo, chicken pot pie, salmon, leftovers, pizza night, and bacon-wrapped pork loin.  On the left hand side, I’ve listed the necessary ingredients.  It’s hard to tell since each item is crossed out, but they are grouped by type of food.  (Soon I will start grouping by aisle.)  I would have been in and out of the grocery store in 3 minutes, except I stopped at several locations throughout the store to make small talk with women of various ages.

It’s amazing how the male mind transforms previously complex and difficult tasks into clear, simple missions.

From ‘God’s Debris’

In December, we bought a house in Wilton.  The crowd in Wilton doesn’t seem to be as digitally connected as in The City That Works.  Actually, that’s an understatement.  I couldn’t find a single blog through fairly extensive google and technorati searches.  WTF?

Here are a few things I did find:

• Town government site - packed with information about town agencies, history, maps, taxes, an annual report, etc.
• Site for “Road Geeks” - covers all of Connecticut, including a summary of the Super 7 project
• Proposed route of the Super 7 highway
• Wilton Newcomer’s Club
• Description of Town Forest that’s super-close to our house (probably only interesting to us)

There are plenty of intersting people here, obviously.  Last weekend had an “offline” interaction with the owner of Yankee Doodle Stove & Fireplace in Georgetown.  I stopped in to pick up something for our woodburning stove, and ended up having a 45 minute conversation about development in town and the proposed Super 7 project.  He pulled out some old maps and shared some history.  It was a great conversation…something I wish I could replicate online.

Why don’t more Wiltonites blog?  There are many possibilities.  It could be that with fewer residents (17,633 vs. 118,475) there is a smaller potential pool of bloggers.  It could be that people in Wilton are older and therefore less likely to be participating on the Internet.  It could be that they are busier because they have larger mortgages to pay off.  Or maybe they’re boring and they just don’t have anything interesting to write….

Home Improvement

Originally uploaded by christopherh01

I just bought this “handyman” book for $2 at ferguson library. My brain is filled with images of home improvement projects and yardwork, of workshops filled with sawdust and oil.

Yes, I know that of all of this information is on the internet for
free. I know that I am a workaholic with zero free time. I know that I now have 2 kids to care for and provide for. And I know that what I don’t know about home improvement could fill a book. (see picture)

But I am not discouraged. I can learn. I have a great teacher in house for the next couple if weeks. My father in law, an engineer and chemist and all around handyman, has already inspired me to clear some if the drainge ditches, build a sandbox, and fertilize the lawn. Most importantly, he has a way of offering advice that doesn’t make me want to automatically go do the opposite. In other words, he somehow
convinces me that his ideas were my ideas.

Most likely I’ll spend any free time over the next few months napping on the couch. But today, sitting in starbucks reading “handyman,” I am inspired.

Charlie winks at all the pretty nurses.