Thursday, 19 August 2010

I took Owen to the Minnesota Zoo today.

After living within four miles of the zoo for about 14 years, including 4 years in which I lived within a mile, and several years as a member, let’s just say the zoo has lost some of the wonder and appeal it’s supposed to carry.

Nevertheless, here are a few random items I feel like mentioning:

*When we first entered the Tropics Trail, we stopped to observe the tortoise enclosure. Inside that enclosure, there are three life-sized wooden models of extinct animals, including one of an elephant bird, which was the largest bird to ever exist. Standing next to Owen and me was a father with two young children, around Owen’s age. “What’s that?” asked the little boy, pointing to the elephant bird.

“That’s a bird that some people used to think exist.”

“What’s that?” the boy asked, pointing to a foot-long model of an egg that shows the enormous size of the elephant bird’s egg.

“That’s the egg that some people think came from that bird.”

Nice job, dad.

Later, Owen and I went on the monorail, which is a great form of transportation for moving cash from a parent’s wallet into the zoo’s cash register. But later, as we were driving home, Owen asked if that was his first time riding on a train, and then I figured maybe it was worth the money.

Did you know the zoo has a trio of grizzly bears now? Yeah, super cool. We watched as one bear lumbered into the water, chased around a salmon (you can see under the water thanks to some thick plexiglass), catch the salmon, carry it onto the shore and then eat it. Made me hungry for salmon.

There’s also a butterfly enclosure now, too. That was especially enjoyable, as they give you a little plaque with all the species listed on it, along with accompanying pictures. This works out great, since Owen asked “What kind of butterfly is that?” about 20 times, and I was able to answer with the correct nomenclature. Hey – did you know some caterpillars lose their entire digestive tract (including mouth) during cocoon stage? So when they emerge as butterflies, the only energy they’ll ever have to live off of is what they ate back when they were caterpillars? Gives me a new appreciation for The Very Hungry Caterpillar. There was a sign in the enclosure saying that most butterflies live only two to four weeks. I pointed out to Owen that all the butterflies he was seeing were all the same age as Isla. He gave me a slack-jawed look that indicated he either thought that was really nifty, or that he had no idea what I was talking about.

Later, Owen lost track of me at the tiger exhibit, and freaked out. He stared crying and said he wanted to go home, but I told him I was right there, I was just on the other side of a display. We went and watched the otters for a while (Owen got me to lost another dollar by insisting I donate to the save-the-otters program) and then he laughed when he saw them playing with ice chunks.

I explained to him that ice is what some people think happens to water when it freezes.

Friday, 20 August 2010

We took Isla to my place of employment today, so that she could see where her dad has to bust his ass everyday to pay for her crap.

Oops, sorry. Let’s try that one again, slightly less cynical:

Today the four of us ventured to my job to show my co-workers the latest in a series of JamesJennifer-spawn.

We had to check in at the front desk, because visitors need to obtain a pass to enter the building. In the few weeks I’ve been gone, they’ve gone computerized, so I had to use this little laptop to fill out my wife’s name and some other info. While I was doing that, the receptionist was busy fawning over Isla, then she turned to Owen, put her hand on his, and said: “Oh, you have a little sister now, don’t you?” He meekly said yes, and then she said, “And you know what? I have a coloring book for you.” She turned around and opened up a filing cabinet. As she did so, she said: “And it’s all pictures of princesses, too.”

Hm. Okay, I don’t like princesses – especially the Disney and British versions – but I was busy entering my wife’s reason for visiting (“Other”) and, besides, I didn’t want to sound gruff, so I just figured she was apologizing for not having anything else to give a little boy except a princess book.

Anyway, so she pulls out this wad of princess pictures, hands it to Owen and says, “’Cause you’re a princess, aren’t you?” Again, I was only half-listening, so in the moment, I just figured she was making a joke, but as my wife and I walked into the building, my wife said: “Why didn’t you stick up for our son?”

“What do you mean?” I said.

“She thought he was a girl.”

“Oh-“ I said, the reality of the situation suddenly dawning on me, and then I went on to explain what I just wrote, above. Then I think I ended with: “Why didn’t you stick up for our son?” I think my wife said: “Because you’re the head of the house.” Just kidding. Jennifer’s the head of the house. I abdicated that shitty job in June 1998.

Later, we were standing around with a bunch of my co-workers, showing off the kind of good-looking baby that we can create, and one of them looked at Owen and said: “Do you ever feed your baby sister?” Owen just looked at her with an extremely confused look, until Jennifer prompted him to say no.

Okay, I don’t mean to rip on or make fun of my co-worker, because it’s a perfectly understandable question from her viewpoint and from mine. But not from Owen’s. See, I’m pretty sure Owen is unaware that some babies are fed from bottles. He’s never had a bottle, and neither has his sister. So, I’m pretty sure Owen’s confusion stems from the fact that, when my co-worker posed the question, Owen was probably thinking: “Of course I’ve never fed my sister. I don’t have breasts of any kind, much less the lactating sort.”

Poor kid. First someone thinks he’s a princess, then someone inquires as to his ability to lactate.

Princesses. Yuck.

Sunday, 15 August 2010
Some friends came over today. We first met at Buca for lunch, which pretty much made up for the bland crap I had a Ruby Tuesday lat time I went out to eat. So, good for me and my taste buds.
Later, they came over to our house and, right before they left, Owen whispered into my ear and said he wanted to give their daughter a hug goodbye. So I said to the little girl that Owen wanted to give her a hug goodbye, and she consented. Then I asked Owen if he wanted to hug anyone else goodbye (since our friends also have two sons), but he said he didn’t want to.
Aww, cute. I think he has a crush.

Monday, 16 August 2010
A few good things today:
First: I’m happy to announce that we’ve gone 48 hours without any cat puke to clean up. Also, I never thought I’d say this, but I was happy to see some poop in the litter box, too. This is great because it means food is going in the font end, staying in, and then coming out the back end. I’m so glad because any other scenario wouldn’t have been good at all (e.g., putting the cat to sleep, spending hundreds of dollars at the vet to figure out what’s wrong…).
Second: Some friends stopped by today to see Isla and they brought vegetarian soup. Total score! The soup tasted great and it’s like, the best present for new parents to bring them food. Actually, to be more clear: bringing food is always the best present for me, whether I’m a new parent or not.
Third, I finally got in contact with the Minnesota Department of Health this morning. I called the woman (Roxanne Summers) at 9:00 this morning, left a message, then declared to Jennifer that I would call her every hour and leave a message, until she responded. I didn’t expect this, but when I called again at 10:00, she answered her phone and as soon as I said my name, she said: “Oh, yes, James, I have your paperwork right here. Ha! Dam right you do!

Tuesday, 17 August 2010
More visitors came today. My sister made a return visit, and claimed that Isla has noticeably grown since she’d last seen her a little over a week ago. She’s probably right – Isla had a visit with the midwives yesterday, and we found out that she’s 8 pounds and 6 ounces, which means she’s put on one pound since birth. The midwife told us that a general rule of thumb is that babies bulk back up to their birth weight by the age of two weeks. So, in less than three weeks, Isla not only got back up to her birth weight, but even gained a pound. Man, with all that pooping and spitting up, all I can say is that my wife must be making massive amounts of milk. Either that or she’s feeding our daughter straight-up butter.
Then we had more visitors this evening. They brought over a gift for Isla and some books for Owen. Did I mention our friends who came over on Sunday brought a kite for Owen? Well, I’ll mention that now: our friends who came over on Sunday brought a kite for Owen. All I gotta say is, baby gifts are nice, but I looove the presents for Owen. Kites and puzzle books are way more fun than burp rags and onesies.
On a related front: we’re down to three chocolate cigars. Owen said: “What will we do if people come over and there’s four of them?” I told him that we’d have to convince them to share. Not sure what other solution there is…if anyone can think of one, let me know.

Wednesday, 18 August 2010
Today, while on our way home from somewhere else, I decided to stop at the Dakota County Library in West St. Paul. Owen and I stopped at a library in Hennepin County last week, and I asked the front desk clerk if she ever had any passes for the Children’s Museum. (In case you don’t know: the libraries in the metro area have passes available to get into museums for free.) She said they no longer had passes for the Children’s Museum, but that I could check with Dakota County.

So that’s what I did today. And – what luck! – they had one pass left just sitting there. Owen, who has ventured with me to a few libraries as I’ve searched for said pass, was very excited that we’d finally found one. We quickly took it up to the check-out counter, and the clerk took my library card and then announced, “Oh, actually, these passes are only for residents of Dakota County.”

“Oh,” I said, “I didn’t know that. That’s disappointing.” I looked at Owen, who was slumping his shoulders. He’s not one to spazz out, but if he ever was gonna have a meltdown, I really wished he would’ve right then. ‘Cause then I could say to the lady: “Can you please explain your arbitrary rule to my five year old?”

It’s not that we can’t go to the Children’s Museum, it’s just that it’s so expensive. In fact, I am even eligible for a discount thanks to my employer, but it’s still so expensive. So…you know, it’d be nice if the Museum Pass Program didn’t discriminate against non-Dakota County residents. Shame on you Dakota County Library. Shame on you and your stupid policy.

Saturday, 14 August 2010

I don’t even recall how we came up with the idea for Single White Male. I think it had its origins in our joking around about what Owen, as a newborn, would want in a mate. We figured, for example, that since nearly all the girls his age were bald, that he must like bald girls. We also assumed that, since he slept three-quarters of every day, that that must be what he would like in a mate, too.

So, one day – September 12, 2005, to be exact – we filmed Owen as he placed a classified ad for a lady companion. This was about the earliest possible day in Owen’s life that we could create such a film. He was just old enough to hold his head up and just old enough to listen to some of our cues as we directed him.

I finished that film today.

What could possibly have taken me nearly five years? you ask. That’s a great question. Let me try to give a great answer.

The thing is, when we first filmed the video, we weren’t much in the mood to create fun films like that. It was only at my insistence that we filmed it at all and, like the ICP Pregnancy Test, we knew there was a narrow window of time in which we could effectively get the footage we desired. So, after shooting the video, I shelved the project for about two years. At that time, I was ready to get working on films as a hobby again.

The first thing I did was import the footage into my computer. I then spent several lunch hours at work editing the footage down into a workable 2.5 minutes. Then I asked Jennifer to help me come up with some clever dialogue. Then, one evening when I had the house to myself, I recorded my voice as I read the script.

But there was part of the problem: an adult man’s voice did not fit very well with a little boy’s face. So I played with the audio filters until Jennifer first complained that it sounded like a man who had sucked in helium, and then that it sounded like a creepy midget.

“Well,” I said, coming up with a great idea, “how about we just wait until Owen is old enough to say the words himself?” Jennifer agreed this was a good idea.

Then my hard drive crashed. Thankfully, I had learned from past episodes to back up all my data, so the only thing I lost was (drum roll…) the edited footage for Single White Male. Oh well, no big deal. I figured I’d just wait until Owen could talk fluently.

So I waited. And waited. And waited.

During the summer of 2009, I again imported the footage, edited it down and (to make a long story shorter) lost it again.

So, about six months ago, I imported the footage a third time, and edited it once again. Jennifer and I worked with Owen one winter afternoon to get him to say the dialogue but, as fate would have it, he was just getting over a cold and his voice sounded too nasally. We repeated our attempt in June and, finally, had successfully captured audio that could be married to our video. Embroiled, as I was, in another video, I didn’t bother to finish up the video until mid-July.

On July 27^th, the video appeared to be completed. I played it on the TV screen, and we noticed the titles looked a little pixilated. “No problem,” I said, “I’ll fix that tomorrow and then it will be all done.”

Well, instead of finishing the video that next day, our attention was diverted to the birth of our daughter. I thought it would be months before I finished the video.

Alas, hanging out at the local elementary school while Owen was in his community ed. class afforded me some spare time to work on selfish pursuits. At long last, I put the final touches on the little film last night and uploaded it to the worldwide web this morning.

Here then, at long last, is Single White Male:



Thursday, 12 August 2010

Here’s a conundrum we’ve thrown around for a few days here: what are the chances that a set of parents, who have two children, have one boy and one girl? Is it a third (~33.3%) or is it half (50%)?

It’s a third. There. Problem settled.

Now on to more pressing issues:

So…I have 31 days from the time of my child’s birth to get them onto my insurance plan. If I don’t get them on my insurance plan by then, then any medical costs they’ve incurred up to that point will not be covered and, further, I won’t be able to get coverage for them until the next calendar year begins.

So, it should be easy enough, right? I mean, I just have to log onto my company’s HR site and add her. The only problem is that, after asking for her name and date of birth, I have to enter in her Social Security Number.

Ah…there’s the kicker. How to get a Social Security Number…hm…

I called the Minnesota Department of Health on Monday. Specifically, I called the woman who passes out birth certificates for home-brewed babies. She wasn’t there. She was out of the office. I was going to leave a message, but her mailbox was full.

So I called Tuesday. Same story.

So I called Wednesday. Same story. But then I pressed 1 for more options, which let me talk to someone else. That woman told me that I could just go ahead and call any county office to get a copy of my daughter’s birth certificate. I told her that my daughter had no birth certificate yet – that’s why I’m calling: I need to create one. She said I’d need to talk to Roxanne. I said I’d called Roxanne three days in a row, but that I just get her voicemail telling me she’s out of the office. This woman didn’t even know Roxanne was out of the office and, after putting me on hold, said there was no one else in the entire Department of Health that could assist me.

So I called back today. No out-of-the-office message. But I still got her voicemail. I left a message asking her to call me back. She hasn’t.

Friday, 13 August 2010

Today, seeking a little venture outside the house, Jennifer and I went and dined at Ruby Tuesday’s. Like the bland Rolling Stones song with which the restaurant shares its name, I’m gonna go ahead and declare Ruby Tuesday’s to be the most mediocre restaurant I’ve been to in a long time.

Let’s see…

The salad bar – probably larger than any other salad bar I’ve seen at other restaurants – had nothing beyond the ordinary: basic lettuce, one choice of cheese, those mouse-turd looking bacon bits, plain, dry-bread croutons, week-old onion bits, and all the blandest dressings you could ever want. There was Ranch, French, lo-cal Ranch, Italian, Thousand Island, and a couple of other super cheap dressings. No poppy seed, or anything else that could possibly take the food outside the ho-hum world of salads.

I ordered the Southwestern Quesadillas. Then the waitress said: “It comes with beef, but if you’d prefer chicken I’ve had it both ways and I think it’s just as good.”

I said: “Oh…um, I didn’t think it came with any meat. I was hoping for no meat.”

She said: “Well we can make it without meat, that’s no problem.”

I said yes, and then she tried to sell me guacamole for an additional $1.99.

Here’s my problem with that: the most expensive ingredient in the meal is the meat. Since I’ve asked to have that removed, shouldn’t I be given the guacamole at no charge? In fact, why slight vegetarians at all? Why not just list the meal as coming with your choice of beef, chicken, or guacamole? Or better yet, why don’t you hold the meat, give me the guacamole AND the $1.99.

Anyway.

Jennifer got fries with her meal, and so I grabbed one off her plate, because I’m greedy that way. Yuck. I’ve had better fries at McDonald’s. And they were less expensive, too. These were just the most absolutely plain fries you could possibly ask for. They had no seasonings on them, they were soggy, they were limp, they looked like they were snagged out of a frozen meal.

And did I mention they sat us at a booth that was in the bar area? Do you know why I hate the bar area? Because of the TVs. It just occurred to me that I should make a list of things I really hate, and TVs at restaurants will have to rate pretty high. See, if I’m going to bother putting pants on, driving in a car, showing up at a restaurant with other people, then I want to talk to those people. If I wanted to stare at a TV and not talk to anyone, I could do that at home. In my underwear. With better, less expensive food, and waaaay better beer. If the TV is airing a show I care about, don’t worry: I’ll catch it at home when I can give it the attention it deserves. If it’s playing something I couldn’t give a Ruby Tuesday’s french fry about, then I don’t want it thrown in my face when I’m trying to talk to my friends.

Monday, 09 August 2010

Today I brought Owen to his first class of “Little Engineers: Robotics.” It’s a community education class that Jennifer signed him up for several months ago. We knew there’d be a new baby to deal with at this time, but we figured (correctly!) that this class would begin after the baby’s arrival and that Owen would probably like a class like this to give him something to do.

The class was advertised as being for First through Third graders. Owen is a Kindergartner, so he’s a little young for the class. But since it combines computers with robots with Legos, we figured it behooved us to advocate on his behalf.

I sat with Owen for the first few minutes. The teacher instructed everyone (there are ten kids in the class) to write their name on a name tag, and Owen was so nervous that he forgot the W. When I pointed this out to him, he meekly inserted the W in between the E and the N, so I guess his name is Oewn for the week. If anyone asks, I’ll just tell them it’s a Welsh name.

Before breaking into groups of two and getting started, the teacher asked each kid to say their name, hold old they are, and one fun thing that they did this summer. I whispered into Owen’s ear and reminded him that he can say he just got a new baby sister. When the teacher called on him, though, he just shook his head ‘no.’

Later, they broke into groups and Owen seemed to warm up to his partner (a young guy named Aaron). As we left, I asked him if he wanted to come back tomorrow, and he said he did. He also said: “Hey, I never got to tell anyone about Isla.” I reminded him that he was supposed to say that during the introductions, and he said he forgot.

Tuesday, 10 August 2010

Know what I’m sick of cleaning up? Puke.

No, not Isla’s little bits of spit-up. The cat’s smelly, yellowish-green vomit that she splays all over the carpet.

On Sunday, our cat Emmaline puked about 8 times over the course of 3 hours. This has happened before, and we just concluded that she ate something she shouldn’t have. She vomits at just about any opportunity she can, so much so that one of her nicknames is “Little Puker.” When she and her brother Oliver were kittens, I would sometimes give them little pieces of cheese or lettuce. Oliver would be fine with it, but Emmaline would search out a bit of carpet, and then regurgitate it for us.

Yesterday, she puked again about five or six times.

This morning, I was greeted to more puke on the floor.

We have a gate up, restricting her from coming into the bedrooms, but that doesn’t change the fact that I still have to clean up the puke. It’s a big ordeal, really: use paper towels to scoop up the big globs, pour water on it to soak up the rest, spray with this stuff that kills the germs, then more water to sop up the germ-killing stuff. Then dry. Normally, Jennifer and I would split this task, but I don’t want a nursing woman to get any crazy bacteria. I’ve tried ‘catching’ the vomit, but the cat prefers to mock me. Last night, for instance, she began heaving, and I set some newspaper right in front of her. She hacked and hacked right on top of the paper, but when the time came to upchuck the goods, she turned her head and purposely soiled the carpet.

When Owen and I got home from his class, there was more puke to clean up. So I took Emmaline to the vet. I don’t mind bringing my animals to the vet, really, because I love them and I don’t want them to suffer. What I hate, though, is that the vet’s never really know exactly what’s wrong. They just guess, do some procedures, and then send you home with a bill and instructions. The instructions generally end with “if that doesn’t help, come back and spend more money.” Ugh.

Wednesday, 11 August 2010

Fun topic:

Isla left the City of St. Paul for the first time today.

Owen was invited to a play-date with his (former) preschool classmates at the Woodbury Community Center, and so we all ventured there. One of the mom’s had a gift for Isla (and she thoughtfully included something for Owen), and I spent the better part of three hours running through too-small tubes with Owen and his buddies. The play area is a fun habitrail, but it’s really geared for people who are shorter than four feet. For those who don’t know, I am taller than four feet.

Not-so-fun topic:

I also brought my computer with me to the community center today. There are a library and a cafe’ in the same building, both of which generally equate to free internet access. I was able to hop online for about five minutes, and then it just cut out on me. This is the same thing that happened at a coffee shop last week, and at the co-op a few days ago. In fact, the only place I can consistently remain online is at Owen’s community ed. class (which is held inside an elementary school). Even then, though, the hook-up is quite slow. As in: I click on a page, go get a drink of water, then come back and see if the page has finished loading.

So, either several unrelated places are conspiring to keep me off the WWW, or something is suddenly configured wrong on my computer. I had Jennifer get online today and set up an appointment for me at the “Genius Bar.”

Not-at-all-fun topic:

Before going to the community center today, I attempted to confine our cat to the front closet. Well, that didn’t last. Despite being ill and hungry, she mustered the strength to move the gate (she’s too fat to jump over it). Thankfully, however, there was no puke for me to clean up. The vet had called while we out, so I called her back and told her what I’d observed in the past 24 hours: the cat peed, finally. She only puked twice, and hadn’t puked in about 5 hours. She was eating. The vet said things sounded positive – and that perhaps she would get better now. She recommended I purchase some generic Pepcid A/C.

Owen and I went out and bought some. When we arrived home, Jennifer said the cat still hadn’t puked, marking 8 hours of such success. But, a few minutes later, she puked again. I forced a Pepcid A/C pill down her throat (which was more traumatic for Owen than for Emmaline), and then went to bed.

I’m really glad to have to spend all this time and money on my cat, especially since there’s a new baby to care for, and I’m not getting any overtime at my job right now (oh – and they also shorted my paycheck, too).