Casey loves the Pancake House. The day Greg and Jordan got married, some of us got together for breakfast at the Original Pancake House in Edina.
Please note: this is not to be confused with the International House of Pancakes, which is crap and which doesn't deserve to be mentioned in the same sentence as the Original Pancake House. The one I'm talking about has, you know, good food.
Anyway, we had breakfast there once in October, and for weeks afterward, Casey would hand me his shoes, point at his coat, and explain to me, using all the words he knows, the process by which I'd prepare him for a trip to the Pancake House. I like when he's excited about things, but it's even more fun when it's his idea out of nowhere. "Pancake HOUSE! Pancake HOUSE!" he'd yell. I don't know why it made such an impression on him, but you no longer have to ask him if he wants to go. Just assume that he does. All the time.
So when friends were in town for Thanksgiving, and someone requested the Pancake House, I knew I'd have to take Casey along, even if the rest of the family stayed home. So I took Casey for a return trip to the Pancake House, where he spent 45 minutes running up and down the sidewalks following Sam, just like the last time. Then I set him up with some cinnamon French toast and chocolate milk. Maybe it's not such a mystery why he likes it there.
A lot of the dishes come with whipped cream. And a lot of the dishes come with whipped butter, which comes out white and looks exactly like the whipped cream. You see where this is going, right? It's not that hard to keep them straight, but if you're a toddler with a cup of what appears to be whipped cream, and you've been given a fork and a plate of food, and it's your choice what to eat first, what would you do? I was talking to someone at the time, so my attention was on the other end of the table, and while it was, Casey apparently stuck his fork in the butter, came up with a huge chunk of it, and stuffed it in his mouth. Mmm.
At least he ate it and didn't drop it into his lap. But I'm going to keep a closer eye on his butter next time.
This is a bit after the fact, obviously, but I'm writing it down anyway. I just know that someday, I'm going to wish I'd written this up so I'll remember the day Casey ate a cup of butter.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
I am concerned
Only recently did I realize that "Segway," the product name, was probably based on "segue," the word meaning "transition." Hey, that's clever! I thought. It was a nice moment for me, but it was a little bit ruined by my immediate flush of shame as I realized that it took me ... what, five years to figure that out? How long have those things been around, anyway?
Also, just today I realized that the skyway bagel place I've been mourning for the past four weeks is not gone, it's just moved -- across the hallway. And has been there since October.
I'm not entirely sure why I'm writing these things down here. I guess I'd like a record someday, so that when the doctor asks Erika about the whens and hows of my mental decline, she has some useful guideline anecdotes.
Also, just today I realized that the skyway bagel place I've been mourning for the past four weeks is not gone, it's just moved -- across the hallway. And has been there since October.
I'm not entirely sure why I'm writing these things down here. I guess I'd like a record someday, so that when the doctor asks Erika about the whens and hows of my mental decline, she has some useful guideline anecdotes.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
I am an excellent role model
The family sat down to dinner this week. We even pulled Darby's car seat up to the table so we could keep an eye on him, but at this point, Casey's the superior conversationalist.
We struggle a bit with keeping his outbursts appropriate. When he runs low on food or milk, he's more likely to scream "MORE! MORE!" than he is to ask for "more, please." We make him say please anyway, but he never thinks to ask nicely before we tell him to -- it's always straight to the yelling. He does that when he wants to escape, too. Everyone's sitting within a four-foot radius, and he's screaming "ALL DONE!" Charming.
But he's got another verbal habit: he often repeats the last word or two of any phrase he hears. So I'll be talking to Erika, and he'll parrot some part of what I said. Then she'll answer, and he'll imitate whatever he picked out of her phrases.
This time I had a brainstorm, which I quickly shared with Erika. We could use the way he repeats phrases to demonstrate the appropriate way of asking for things. That might be a good idea, Erika said. I replied, "Yeah. Now go get me a soda, woman." Casey didn't disappoint: "So-uh! Woo-en!"
We struggle a bit with keeping his outbursts appropriate. When he runs low on food or milk, he's more likely to scream "MORE! MORE!" than he is to ask for "more, please." We make him say please anyway, but he never thinks to ask nicely before we tell him to -- it's always straight to the yelling. He does that when he wants to escape, too. Everyone's sitting within a four-foot radius, and he's screaming "ALL DONE!" Charming.
But he's got another verbal habit: he often repeats the last word or two of any phrase he hears. So I'll be talking to Erika, and he'll parrot some part of what I said. Then she'll answer, and he'll imitate whatever he picked out of her phrases.
This time I had a brainstorm, which I quickly shared with Erika. We could use the way he repeats phrases to demonstrate the appropriate way of asking for things. That might be a good idea, Erika said. I replied, "Yeah. Now go get me a soda, woman." Casey didn't disappoint: "So-uh! Woo-en!"
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Do not mess with the parking lot game
Things Casey likes: Almost everything, but notably ... Cars. Ice cream. Sesame Street. Jellied fruit snacks. Moonbeam Bear. Pushing buttons that do stuff. Learning the names of things. Hiding under blankets. Bathtime. The neighbors' dogs. Whatever Dad's eating (as long as it's not tuna).
Things Casey does not like: Tuna. Diaper changes. 5-10 percent of bedtimes. Teething. And the number one thing that Casey does not like ... *drumroll* ... fathers who try to participate in the parking lot game.
I offer this example. The parking lot game is a game in which Casey moves his growing array of toy vehicles around on the coffee table, lining them up and rearranging their order. I have this idea in my head that children like it when people play their games with them, and I'm usually correct where Casey's concerned -- but the parking lot game is different. It is a game of precision, balance, and deliberation. Fools who interfere with the delicate feng shui of placing the fire truck next to the hot rod might as well be turning on a ceiling fan while you're building a house of cards. But I'm a lot bigger than he is, so what's he gonna do about it? I involve myself anyway.
This weekend Casey was enjoying a rousing game of line-up-the-vehicles, and in a stunning display of sheer audacity, I pushed the sand rover out of position. What followed was the greatest temper tantrum consisting only of body language that I have ever seen. King Kong's roaring, rock-throwing, chest-pounding display has NOTHING on Casey. I was glared at, frowned at, huffed at. The sand rover was hurled to the floor. Other innocent vehicles were individually plucked from the table and hurled to the floor. Each vehicle hurling was punctuated with another glare and another scowl, as if to make sure I understood. See this Mustang, dad? See it crash to the floor? THAT WAS FOR YOU. Arms were folded. Feet were stomped. And always, always more glaring. But don't misunderstand, this was no raw, out-of-control display of toddler emotion. Every action was undertaken slowly, deliberately, and with the most menacing eye contact a 1-year-old can muster. Casey was angry and upset, but just feeling it wasn't sufficient; he wanted me to KNOW he was upset, and he wanted me to know exactly whom he was upset at. And all in near-total silence. If you rear-ended a mime on the way to work one morning, this was what exchanging insurance information might have been like. I got everything but the kiss of death, and that's probably just because it's too sophisticated for Casey for now.
When Casey's anguished over something, I usually try to be comforting, but this was really a sight to see. There was no way I was going to interrupt this show before it was over. His mom and I simply watched to see how far he'd take it. Eventually he slowed down, and it's just as well, because Mommy and I couldn't keep straight faces any longer anyway. I helped him pick up his cars and resume his game, and then I got the hell out of his way, like he'd wanted in the first place.
I don't mind much that he was mad at me. I got the message, and I won't interrupt his car games lightly again. But when it comes down to it, this was a proud moment. Sure, the only words the kid says are "car" and "oh no," but who says my child can't communicate?
Things Casey does not like: Tuna. Diaper changes. 5-10 percent of bedtimes. Teething. And the number one thing that Casey does not like ... *drumroll* ... fathers who try to participate in the parking lot game.
I offer this example. The parking lot game is a game in which Casey moves his growing array of toy vehicles around on the coffee table, lining them up and rearranging their order. I have this idea in my head that children like it when people play their games with them, and I'm usually correct where Casey's concerned -- but the parking lot game is different. It is a game of precision, balance, and deliberation. Fools who interfere with the delicate feng shui of placing the fire truck next to the hot rod might as well be turning on a ceiling fan while you're building a house of cards. But I'm a lot bigger than he is, so what's he gonna do about it? I involve myself anyway.
This weekend Casey was enjoying a rousing game of line-up-the-vehicles, and in a stunning display of sheer audacity, I pushed the sand rover out of position. What followed was the greatest temper tantrum consisting only of body language that I have ever seen. King Kong's roaring, rock-throwing, chest-pounding display has NOTHING on Casey. I was glared at, frowned at, huffed at. The sand rover was hurled to the floor. Other innocent vehicles were individually plucked from the table and hurled to the floor. Each vehicle hurling was punctuated with another glare and another scowl, as if to make sure I understood. See this Mustang, dad? See it crash to the floor? THAT WAS FOR YOU. Arms were folded. Feet were stomped. And always, always more glaring. But don't misunderstand, this was no raw, out-of-control display of toddler emotion. Every action was undertaken slowly, deliberately, and with the most menacing eye contact a 1-year-old can muster. Casey was angry and upset, but just feeling it wasn't sufficient; he wanted me to KNOW he was upset, and he wanted me to know exactly whom he was upset at. And all in near-total silence. If you rear-ended a mime on the way to work one morning, this was what exchanging insurance information might have been like. I got everything but the kiss of death, and that's probably just because it's too sophisticated for Casey for now.
When Casey's anguished over something, I usually try to be comforting, but this was really a sight to see. There was no way I was going to interrupt this show before it was over. His mom and I simply watched to see how far he'd take it. Eventually he slowed down, and it's just as well, because Mommy and I couldn't keep straight faces any longer anyway. I helped him pick up his cars and resume his game, and then I got the hell out of his way, like he'd wanted in the first place.
I don't mind much that he was mad at me. I got the message, and I won't interrupt his car games lightly again. But when it comes down to it, this was a proud moment. Sure, the only words the kid says are "car" and "oh no," but who says my child can't communicate?
Monday, February 25, 2008
Oscars '08
Thank you, No Country for Old Men. It came down to the final award of the night, but the heftier weighting we lend to Best Picture meant that my correct guesses outweighed Erika's correct guesses (though our totals matched). I also hitched my wagon to The Bourne Ultimatum, which won me a handful of technical category points. (I grudgingly admit that Erika deserves some credit for spotting Tilda Swinton.)
To recap our rules, it's one point for short film categories, three points for technical awards, five points for acting, writing, and directing, and nine points for best picture. I'm writing this here in the hope that next year, my wife will remember our scoring system and stop feigning surprise. Erika, it's been the same point system for four or five years now -- I'm not buying the "I didn't know it was worth that much" bit much longer.
It's now been two years since I lost, and back then I needed three straight wins just to break even. Now that it's in reach, I'll have to pay more attention in 2008. I wish I could believe that my recent success would cut down on Erika's trash talking, but I'm still at least two years away from that.
We didn't do too badly in terms of tracking down the movies. In the end, I was 5-for-5 on the best picture nominees, although it meant seeing both There Will Be Blood (spoiler: it turns out there was blood) and No Country for Old Men on Saturday. I made it home without driving off an overpass, but ... damn. That's a tough double feature right there. Javier Bardem in particular deserves his Oscar; that guy scared the crap out of me.
I was most proud of the day we both saw Atonement -- although not together. I went in the morning while Erika watched Casey, and then Erika took her turn in the afternoon while I watched the boy. Yes, we take this that seriously. But at least we saw the same one so we could talk about it later.
So this year ... what's with all the grim endings that knock the wind out of you? Last year brought us The Departed, so now everybody's gotta be rife with nihilism and hopelessness? And Juno failed to get us out of that rut, so brace yourselves for some dark fare in 2008. Somebody needs a hug.
To recap our rules, it's one point for short film categories, three points for technical awards, five points for acting, writing, and directing, and nine points for best picture. I'm writing this here in the hope that next year, my wife will remember our scoring system and stop feigning surprise. Erika, it's been the same point system for four or five years now -- I'm not buying the "I didn't know it was worth that much" bit much longer.
It's now been two years since I lost, and back then I needed three straight wins just to break even. Now that it's in reach, I'll have to pay more attention in 2008. I wish I could believe that my recent success would cut down on Erika's trash talking, but I'm still at least two years away from that.
We didn't do too badly in terms of tracking down the movies. In the end, I was 5-for-5 on the best picture nominees, although it meant seeing both There Will Be Blood (spoiler: it turns out there was blood) and No Country for Old Men on Saturday. I made it home without driving off an overpass, but ... damn. That's a tough double feature right there. Javier Bardem in particular deserves his Oscar; that guy scared the crap out of me.
I was most proud of the day we both saw Atonement -- although not together. I went in the morning while Erika watched Casey, and then Erika took her turn in the afternoon while I watched the boy. Yes, we take this that seriously. But at least we saw the same one so we could talk about it later.
So this year ... what's with all the grim endings that knock the wind out of you? Last year brought us The Departed, so now everybody's gotta be rife with nihilism and hopelessness? And Juno failed to get us out of that rut, so brace yourselves for some dark fare in 2008. Somebody needs a hug.
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