Dear Mom, Ole’ Henry is still out there

Dear Mom, Ole’ Henry is still out there

Claire and I went fishing last weekend. She is always asking to do something again. “Can we go fishing again, can we go to that one park again, can we go to Disney World again?” I am happy that fishing falls near the top of the list. We always have a great time, and I think catching a fish is that kind of instantaneous gratification that also comes with a great sense of accomplishment. So far, we have never left the lake empty handed.

As with many a great adventure, you start out with the planning. You have to make sandwiches, pack some snacks, lots of root beer and anything else you might need. Then you have to stop off and get worms. Rather you go the little bait shop or Bass Pro Shop, getting worms always seems to put you somewhere that is worthy of exploring and always requires more time than you have. That is okay we always leave wanting to see more and that is probably a good thing.

We arrive at the lake and pack up our chairs, cooler, tackle box, fishing rods, and picnic basket then head off to our super, duper, super secret fishing spot. No one knows about it except us. Well, and all the boats that go by, the ranger that stops by to say hello and whoever leaves all the beer bottles and old worm cans laying around. But other than that, it is super, duper, super secret.

We set up our chairs and I cast a rod into the water and she sets about watching her bobber. In no time I had all the rods in the water and we were doing the important fishing stuff. Eating snacks, trying out those new lemon drops we picked up, poking things with sticks, drinking root beer, singing songs and telling stories. We had a lot of nibbles. Not the good kind, the kind those little robbing fish do to steal your worms and make your bobber wiggle in the water a bit. We had gone through about 6 worms when Claire started to get bored and wander around. There is a lot to look at when you are at the lake. It does not take a girl long to wander off following a butterfly, chasing a grasshopper or just looking for cool stuff along the bank. It is incumbent upon a good daddy to figure out a way to keep a girl from wandering too far.

“I wonder if we are going to catch Ole’ Henry today?” I say staring at the lake.

“Who’s Old Henry Daddy?” Claire stops poking the mud with a stick long enough to take the bait.

“Well, he is just the biggest, smartest fish to ever grow up in a lake. He is bigger than you and twice as long.”

“Bigger than me?” she asks. “Really, that is pretty big.” She gazes down at her feet and sizes herself up.

“He is a wily ole’ catfish that has probably stolen more worms that just about all the other fish put together.” I point out to the lake. “I hooked him once right out there. I was sitting right here in our super duper super secret fishing spot and suddenly I got a mighty tug on my fishing pole. Almost pulled me right into the water.”

“Almost pulled you in? He must have been pretty big.” She looks a little astonished at the thought “What did you do? Did you go in the lake.” Then she giggles a bit at the thought of her Daddy falling in the lake.

“No, he didn’t pull me in. I caught myself just before I went in the water and I started reeling him in.” I held my pole like I had a really big fish on it. “I was reeling in and I could tell it was a really big fish. Suddenly Ole’ Henry comes up to the surface of the water and kinda rolls his head back and forth as if he was looking to see who had hooked him. My eyes probably grew as big as saucers when I saw I had Ole’ Henry on the line. Then with a quick twist, and a swish of his tail he dove back down in the lake and my line just snapped and Ole’ Henry got away.”
“Does he still have that hook in his mouth?” She asked trying to figure out what a fish does with a hook in his mouth.

“I don’t know, maybe. He didn’t have it the last time I saw him though, so maybe he pulled it out somehow.”

“You saw him again,” she asked.

“Sure I did.” I pointed out to the middle of the lake. “Once I was fishing with a friend in a boat, right out t here. I hooked a fish and didn’t realize how big it was till it started to pull the boat across the lake. He had pulled the boat half a mile or so and I think he started to be suspicious there was something tied to his dinner. He stopped pulling long enough to pop up out of the water and look around. There he was again. Rolling his head one way, then the other as if to get a look at us. Then he went back under water and just took off. Dragged the boat all the way across the lake. We were way over there.” I pointed to the far end of the lake.

“Cool,” she exclaimed. “That sounds fun for him to drag you around.”

“It would have been, except we were parked over here and had to row the boat all the way back across the lake.”

“What happened to Old Henry?” She realized I had not finished the story.

“I was reeling in the line and thought I finally had Ole’ Henry and was about to pull him into the boat. He didn’t like that idea much and he pulled real hard on the line and POP, out came the hook from his mouth. He had pulled it so hard it was bent straight.” I held my finger up in a hook and demonstrated how it went straight.
“Wow, that Old Henry is some fish!” She sat back down in her chair and picked up her pole. “You think we will catch Old Henry today Dad?”

“I don’t know, maybe that is him stealing all our worms. He is the wiliest ole catfish to ever grow up in a lake.” I could see her staring at the bobber now imagining that wily ole catfish nibbling the worms off our hook.

“What will we do if we catch Old Henry?” She was staring at the bobber watching it intently in case it stopped wiggling so much and maybe took a dive into the water.

“He could fill up the freezer for sure. We would be eating catfish for a year if we caught Ole’ Henry.” She was still staring at the bobber for a long time, pondering this possibility.

Suddenly she spoke up again. “Dad, I don’t think we should eat Old Henry.”

This was a surprise. “You don’t, why not?” She paused now and didn’t say anything for a long time.

I broke the silence and spoke up. “Do you think maybe Ole’ Henry has been around long enough that maybe we should let him go if we catch him so maybe we could catch him again someday?”

She thought about this for a few seconds then said, “Yea, that would be a good idea.”

We sat and stared at our bobbers for a while and didn’t talk. Then she spoke up again.

“Dad, you think if we caught Old Henry we should maybe get his picture before we let him go?” She didn’t look at me, just kind of commented while staring at the lake. The way ole fishermen do when they are chewing the fat on the bank.

“I suppose that would be a great idea sweetie. I am sure Ole’ Henry would appreciate it.”

We talked about a lot of things, sang a few songs, and eventually caught a two lb catfish. It wasn’t Ole’ Henry, but then again she did not mind taking him home, cleaning him up and eating him that night so it probably worked out for the better.

I guess Ole’ Henry will have to wait for another day.

Love Mike

Dear Mom Goodester is not a word

Dear Mom Goodester is not a word

There is an age where everything a child says is something to celebrate. Then they start saying things that can’t help but make you smile. Eventually, as they get older, you realize the really, really cute things become rare. At last, there comes a point when they say something really cute you wonder if you should correct them.

This morning Claire asked me for pop tarts for breakfast. She said, “give me some poptarts for breakfast.” In my never ending effort to improve her manners I answered. “Can you think of a nicer way to say that?” I stood in the kitchen while she went through the drill. She looked up at me blinking her eyes. “Can I please have a poptart pleaseeeee?”

I handed her a poptart and went to pour her a glass of milk.
“I said please twice, that is way gooder than one time. If I had said please three times that would be the goodest.”

“Yes.” I answered, “Three times would definitely be the goodester.”
She giggled. “Daddy, that is silly. Goodester is not a word, it is only gooder.”
“You are right,” I said, “I don’t know what I was thinking.” I stood there chuckling at her observation realizing these kinds of moments were becoming more and more fleeting with every year. She would turn 6 next week and just the thought of that was a little sad.

The conversation was filled with improper grammar and words only a child could appreciate but I was not in a hurry to have these moments disappear. So, this morning, I let it go. Instead of thinking of ways to inspire my young daughter to say “May I?” and “Good, better and best.” I was instead thinking up ways to use goodester in a sentence. I was fairly sure goodester was going to be the word of the day.

“That is a good trick Carnahan learned to day, but you know what would be goodester?”
“Strawberry jam is good, honey is gooder, but seeded raspberry jam is goodester.”
“That is a great job you are doing planting those flowers. You are doing it way goodester than I do.”

I weighed the level of cuteness of each statement. It occurred to me the level of cuteness was dependent on who was listening. To friends and family gooder and goodest were pretty cute. To random people in the check out line, they were kind of embarrassing.

Today would probably be a good day to start fixing this. I was going to have to start sooner or later. Tomorrow would be gooder. Someday next week, would probably be the goodester.

Love Mike

Dear Mom I am still her teddy bear

Dear Mom I am still her teddy bear

Last weekend we went on our first Girl Scout camp out. It had all the requisite things a camp out should have. Smores around the fire, dozens of sleeping bags scattered over the floor of the cabin, Claire will tell you tents would have been way cooler but that is a different story. On Saturday we were all going to go down a zip line. That is we were going to strap ourselves into climbing equipment attach ourselves to a pulley system on a long cable then propel ourselves using gravity down a hill to come to a gentle stop before we splat on a tree. Sure, I know it sounds fun and exciting. Our group of 5 and 6 year olds could not stop talking about it. On Saturday morning even before breakfast, they were already asking, “When are we zipping?”

This inspired me to come up with several time delay tactics. “Well, before breakfast we are going to hike down to the lake, then we are going to eat breakfast, then we are going on a Bigfoot hunt, then we are zipping.” You wouldn’t think this required an exact schedule, but managing the expectations of Kindergarteners requires an accurate watch. You want as little standing around with nothing to do as possible.
Armed with this plan and a couple of games lead by the other leaders we made our way at the appointed time to the foot of the zip line. Just as the threatening rain turned into a constant drizzle. We had enough girls we were going in two groups. Claire was in the second group so she watched as the first group went through the orientation. She was all ready to go. She watched as the first group put on their gear. She asked questions, “What is that for? What does that do? Does that hurt?” She was ready for her turn.

For the next hour and a half we stood or sat in the rain and watched, one by one, as all the girls in our first group and girls from another troop took their turns on the zip line. We watched as each girl was hooked onto the belay and asked if she wanted someone to hold the ladder. Watched as they asked to climb up the ladder and the zip leader at the top of the platform said, “Come on up.” Watched as they were told what all the safety equipment was for and given instructions on how to sit on the platform and push off and what to do with the line when they had to walk back up the hill dragging the pulley back to the platform. Then we watched as each girl zipped down the hill.

“When is it my turn?” She asked repeatedly. “Be patient.” I answered. As the last few girls from the first group were going we started our orientation. Everyone stood in a raccoon circle holding onto a piece of webbing. And you are thinking, what is a raccoon circle and what is webbing? Okay, it is a bunch of girls standing in a circle holding onto the same rope. Everyone gave their name, then talked about what they like at camp.

“What does Challenge for choice mean?” asked the zip leader. After many answers he explained. “You get to choose to put on the gear. You choose to climb the ladder. You choose to hook onto the zip line, and you choose to push off.” He was very gentle with the girls. I had done a similar exercise many times and he did a great job explaining how there is no shame is choosing not to zip. It is not for everyone and maybe they needed more time, or maybe they would want to do it a different year. But that was okay, because it was their choice and the challenge belonged to them, no one else.

“When do I get my gear on?” Claire asked. “Be patient.” I said, “Everyone will get a turn.” Being one of the smaller girls we had to wait a bit while the small harnesses were freed up and passed down the line for the next girl. Most of the girls were older, thus bigger. Our kindergarteners were in the minority, but no less enthusiastic. Claire was not the only one who was building anxiety. But this was a good thing. They were not nervous about zipping, they were nervous about not getting their gear on and getting their turn.

The rain was taking its toll on the people running the zip line. And not a few of the leaders standing around in the rain were a bit testy as well. Girls were kind of standing around wondering if they were going to miss their place in line, or miss their chance to zip. I tried to relieve some of the anxiety and reassured them they would all get a chance. I helped where I could and assisted getting gear on properly and helmets fitted correctly and herding the cats, I mean girls into the line on the front bench.

Claire finally got her small harness and I helped her into it. I am sure the people running the site were good at what they did but I felt an extra feeling of security knowing I had put her harness on myself. After all I had done this a thousand times and was confident in my ability to do it correctly. And this was my little girl after all. I tugged on her harness several times making sure it was snug. I traced the track of the straps several times, making sure they were fitted correctly and had the right amount of tension to be comfortable and safe. I wiggled her helmet several times to make sure it was on correctly and was not going to come loose. She complained a few times about the chin strap, but I assured her it was supposed to feel like that, and she did not want it to come off while she was zipping.
Then we waited. In the rain. For another hour.

One by one we watched each girl go through the routine. Have her gear checked, asked if she wanted someone to hold the ladder, requested to climb the ladder, listen to the speech at the top of the platform, sit down and zip. I was pretty proud. Not a single one of our girls had backed out. Every girl came back up the hill smiling and excited. Some of them were shivering a bit. That was mostly because they were standing in the rain, but maybe a little from the excitement of the occasion.

I commented to one of the leaders, “WOW, not a single girl has backed out! I really expected a few of our kindergarteners to get scared.” We both noted how surprising this was. As Claire’s turn approached I took out my camera and went to the bottom of the hill for the big moment. I had filmed both of her sisters on their first zip line and this was going to make a complete set. Though her sisters were 14 when they zipped the first time.

Standing at the bottom of the hill I watched as she approached the ladder and got strapped to the belay. I could see her looking around for me. She turned her head one way then the other searching the crowd. She was going to be pretty surprised when she got down here and saw me when she got off the cable. I was looking forward to the excited look on her face the exclamations of revelation, the thrill of the accomplishment.

She had some trouble climbing the ladder. Evidently when she was asked if she wanted someone to hold the rope ladder, she said no. She was leaning back too far and I was sure she was getting exhausted. Finally someone came up and held the ladder. I knew when she got to the top she was out of breath and probably shaking a bit. She was not up there long and the zip leader asked for someone to hold the ladder. This was a bad sign. She was backing out. I dropped my camera in my pocket and ran back up the hill.

I had failed her. I knew what they were saying. “It was your choice.” “There is nothing wrong with going back down.” In a second he was going to ask everyone to “give her a hand for trying.” I had been there, I had seen it many times. You were supposed to encourage and support, but respect their decision and not judge them.
That was easier when it was not your little girl. As I approached the tree I knew the staff would be looking at me and seeing a father full of anxiety over his scared little girl. I knew because I had sat in their seat many times. What they did not know was I had been there before, I knew what they were thinking and I also knew if she did not zip today she was going to cry all the way home. I saw the nervous looks on their faces as they watched me walk over to her. “Did you change your mind honey?” she kind of put an arm around my leg and nervously walked away from the tree with me.

“That’s okay,” said the staff member. I was not being convinced. The staff member had a look on her face of don’t blow this for her. I gave a look back of I know what is best for my little girl. She turned away.

“Let’s give her a hand.” The zip leader called out and all the girls cheered for her.
I pointed her over to the end of the bench and we sat down. I put my arm around her and hugged her. There was a balance. I had to make sure she would not be ashamed if she did not do the zip line and I had to make sure she did the zip line. There are some times when the cost of failure is too high. There are some times when you must encourage to the point of badgering, when you must cajole, taunt, and threaten to get something done. This was not one of them. I knew my little girl far better than they did.

“Did you not see where I was?” I asked her. She looked up at me. Her eyes were not sad, but they were looking for something to say. “I was down the hill. I was going to take your picture so you could show it to Jessica and Amy. I filmed both of them on a zip line.”

“Did they get scared too?” she asked.

“Jessica did.” I answered. It was true, when Jessica was 14 she sat on the tree for a very long time before she went. I told her she had to go because all the boys were watching and they were going to call her a girl. “Amy did it right away.” I said. “I just told her Jessica had done it.”

At this point I could see she was considering. I was afraid one of the staff people would come over and ask her to remove her gear but I wanted them to give her another chance. One of the older girls was being very encouraging. In fact almost over doing it, but I was not really against that. Just one more thing I had to say. “You can always wait and do it next year.” Now some might think that was a reasonable compromise. And it may even give her a way out. Say no today and then you have a year till you have to try it again. But my daughter is not patient. Just ask her.

One of the staff came over and asked her if she wanted to get hooked up and do a short wire. This was where they put them on the wire down the hill by using the ladder they usually use to take them off the wire. Claire nodded her head yes, but I am not sure if she understood.

“Do you want to climb here again and go down from the top, or do you want to go down the hill and do the short wire?” She looked at the girl getting ready to zip and then looked at me. “I want to go here.” She pointed up to the platform in front of us.

“Well, then you have to go tell the staff lady there.” I pointed over to one of the staff with a red helmet. She looked at me and I pointed again. “You have to go tell her it is your choice.” Besides, walking up and saying my daughter wanted another try was not going to be good for me or the zip leader. She stood up off the bench and went over and told her. “Are you sure you want to do this one again.” The staff member asked pointing to the platform. Claire nodded. “Okay, let me check your gear again.” At this point the staff was not too happy about this. At least gauging by the look on her face. Hey it was her choice all I did was give her a pep talk. Sure it was a pep talk only a father could give, but it was just a pep talk.
“Do you want me to stay up here with you or go down and take your picture?” She looked at me and was building a little anxiety at this point. “I want you to take my picture so I can show Jessica and Amy.” That was my girl. I was still a little nervous. I thought maybe she needed a little security knowing she could see me. I suggested, “Why don’t I stay up here to be near you and then I can film you from here?” “Okay,” she answered.

“Ready to go,” the staff lady asked. Claire nodded.

“Do you want someone to hold the rope?” Claire pointed at me. “I want my daddy to hold the rope.” I quickly popped a helmet on my head and went over to hold the rope. She was up it in no time. I stood back and took out my camera. “I am right here.” I said. She looked back at me. I started the camera. “I am filming you.” I shouted up at her. She looked at me again and turned to look at the long hill ahead of her. This was a tense moment. She was hooked up and given instructions. They shouted down the hill to make sure they were ready. Then “Zipping!” she shouted. One little jump and she was off.

I filmed all the way down. When they unhooked her from the line she was running back up the hill. It was a long hill, she slowed a bit. She dragged the pulley to the top of the hill and I pulled her over.

“What is scarier, the zip line or Space Mountain?” She pondered for only a second “Space Mountain.” She answered. “You going to do this again?” I asked. “Yes,” she smiled.

She did it. I may have had to stand beside her but she did it. There would come a time in the future when she would have to stand on the platform by herself and take that leap without me here. But that day can wait, today I am still my daughter’s teddy bear.

Love Mike

Dear mom I am Claire’s Teddy Bear

Dear Mom I am Claire’s Teddy Bear

When Claire was born I had prepared for the event by purchasing four pink blankets. They were all cotton and they were soft and cuddly and I was sure they would be the perfect blanket for her when she needed something to comfort here. I had this vision of the blanket getting messy when she was sick and wearing out as we washed it every day. I imagined it getting dragged outside and covered in mud and grass stains. I saw it with many holes and multiple repairs. To take care of this problem I had backups.

When I was a kid I had a blanky. I remember my grandmother repairing several holes in it. I remember sitting in bed and going over the repairs trying to decide if these scares were enhancements or if I was better off with the gaping holes. Holes, of course, are prone to become bigger holes. That being the case I was pretty sure the visible scars were a better trade.

My daughter would be spared this because I had backups. As her blankets wore out and developed un-repairable gaping holes, I would just substitute a backup. My daughter, awed by my infinite powers of repair, would never notice the change and be happy I was able to mystically restore her treasured blanket.

It did not work out as I had planned. She could care less about the pink blanket. In fact she could care less about any blanket. Although she may have a favorite to curl up in when she was on the couch, there was not necessarily a visceral attachment to it. She was almost as likely to drag a different blanket to the couch and curl up with it instead. At night, she did not demand a particular blanket to sleep with. Even though I vainly attempted to stick her pink blanket with her every night it usually got wrapped around a teddy bear or a group of teddy bears.

And what about teddy bears? Every time I went out of town I would pick up a new stuffed animal for her. As time went on I noticed something. Whatever animal I brought home became her favorite for a while. Before she was 4 there was never really a favorite. That is there was never a favorite that stuck. She would make demands for a particular animal but I knew it would not last long.

This troubled me a bit. Shouldn’t she be attached to something? Shouldn’t she be focusing her anxiety and fear into something to comfort her when it was dark and to get her through thunderstorms?

As I lay there in bed one night and heard the thunder roll in I could hear the pitter patter of little feet entering my room. I could hear the rustle of the bedspread as she climbed into bed. Tossing aside two friends that had accompanied her, whoever the friends de jour were, she curled up beside me and said, “The storm woke me up Daddy.”

It occurred to me at that moment, my daughter did not develop an attachment to any blanket or teddy bear I gave her because she already had an attachment, Me. I was her Teddy Bear.

This brought on an entirely new set of worries. Will she ever learn to do things on her own? Is this attachment healthy?

I never really worked all that out, but trusted that if I was her teddy bear, then, she was mine. It would work itself out.

Before Claire turned five she received Alice the Camel. Other than me, Alice was probably the closest she ever came to having a real favorite. Alice had a good run, over a year. Alice, caused her to completely skip over a few friends. Allison the Unicorn, George the Chimpanzee, Long Necked Goose, they never got a real turn at the top. Last night as I put Claire to bed, Alice the Camel was wrapped tightly in a pink blanket in the corner of her bed. Around Alice were a few other friends, all tucked with care into a complex sleeping arrangement involving multiple blankets and pillows. But as I kissed her goodnight she was tightly holding Godiva the bear. A recent acquisition from only a month ago.

Before I went to bed that night I walked into her room and Godiva the bear was still wrapped in her arm, though a little less tightly now that she was fast asleep. I bent over and whispered, “I love you,” as I do every night before I turn in and I kissed her on the forehead. In the dim light I could see Alice the Camel and Marvin the Shark standing guard over our little girl in the corner of the bed. They did not appear jealous of Godiva the bear, though how could they not be just a little envious?

I went to bed and fell asleep. Sometime later I was awoke by the sound of little feet. I heard them come into the room, I could hear the bedspread rustle as she climbed into bed. With my eyes barely open I could see her dragging Godiva the Bear and Alice the Camel. I could not help but smile just a bit at the thought of Alice saying, “Wait, take me!” just as she was getting out of bed.
She did not curl up with her two friends, instead she placed them under my arm. Very gently, very quietly she leaned over my head and whispered, “I love you Daddy.” And kissed me on the forehead. Then she curled up next to me and put her little arm around me.

There was no thunder, there was no dog barking. I have no idea what woke her up. She seemed to fall back to sleep quickly and I lay motionless, unwilling to disturb such a perfect moment. It did not take long for me to fall asleep too.

Love Mike

Dear Mom, Tigger shrunk

Dear mom Tigger shrunk

Claire walked into the kitchen the other day carrying a stuffed Tigger. It was a big Tigger. It used to be a giant Tigger, that is when she was smaller. He stands about 30” high. I remember when he and his friends in the 100 acre wood were used as a kind of fence to pen her in on the floor so she could not crawl off. Now he would make little more than a knee size hurdle if I laid him down.

“DADDY, DADDY, Tigger shrunk!” She was holding Tigger off the ground. I am sure a lot was going through her head. I didn’t used to be taller than Tigger. I didn’t used to be able to carry Tigger. I didn’t used to be able to get him into a different room without dragging him on the floor and falling over several times.

“Tigger did not shrink,” I told her gently, “You got bigger.”

She had a quixotic look on her face, “NO, he shrunk.”

It had not quite stuck they way I intended. “Sweetie, when you get older you grow, remember how you used to be able to wear the cloths you now put on your stuffed animals? Well you used to be small enough to wear them, and when you were that small, Tigger looked pretty big. Now you are bigger than Tigger and you look pretty big to him.”

There, that should do it. She looked at me with a wrinkled brow. “So, how did he shrink?”

Every once in a while you come across a situation where it is difficult to properly define a word. In her head shrinking meant something was perceived as smaller than it used to be. Now, I needed her to make a paradigm shift Change her idea of it being perceived as being smaller than it was, to only applying if it actually is smaller than it used to be. I make a note, this subject will make a great paper when she is enrolled in philosophy 101 in about 13 years.

“Sweetie, Tigger has not changed sizes. It only looks like he has changed sizes. See Pooh?” I point out Winnie the Pooh, in the corner of the living room, who has experienced a similar change in size, err perceived size.

“No, Pooh is the same size.” Hmm, this is not working as I planned. Pooh seemed to have received more regular attention that Tigger. I am guessing Tigger was stashed in the corner for the last year and didn’t get much play time. In the long run it worked against him because although she has steadily seen Pooh, she did not notice him getting smaller, err the appearance of him shrinking as she got bigger. Now with Tigger’s reappearance it seems he has shrunk.

“Well,” I think for a moment. It is time to cook the veggies and the food on the stove needs to be turned. “As you get older your animals will sometimes shrink, there is nothing you can do about it. It just happens.”

“Oh.” She says. Grabbing Tigger around the middle she carts him like a surfboard under her arm and carries him back into the living room.

Someday, she will be sitting somewhere and suddenly grasp the difference between shrinking and “appearing to get smaller.” I hope at that moment she does not hold this against me. But nothing gor burnt and the veggies are done at the same time as everything else.

When I go to put things on the table, I notice Tigger is sitting at a chair beside us.

“He probably shrunk because he did not eat enough vegetables .” She says matter of factly.

“Let that be a lesson to all of us.” I put some broccoli on her plate, and Tigger's.

Love Mike

Dear Mom, It’s almost Mother’s Day again

Dear Mom, It’s almost Mother’s Day again

I remember when you died Mom, it was ten years ago next month. It is easy to remember. You died in 2000 on Mother’s Day. So, with great fanfare I am reminded every year as the entire world sends cards, flowers, candy and whatever to their mother celebrating, what seems to me to be, your death.

Still, in spite of everything I do that makes me a great dad, and in spite of all the great support I have had from my stay at home dad friends, I find myself with an affinity for Mother’s Day.

For some reason I just relate more to Mother’s day than I do to Father’s day. Last year as I was watching my Facebook page and everyone was wishing everyone else a Happy Mother’s Day. I was kind of tickled, after all I was everyone too. My darling girlfriend, sensing my distress, invited me to go to Mother’s Day Brunch. I noted that everyone was complaining about the crowds on Mother’s Day and commenting it was a very bad day to go out to lunch.

I, of course, knew exactly what their problem was, they were going to the wrong places. I quickly announced we were going to Barley’s Brewhaus a little local restaurant that has 33 beers on tap and another 100 in bottles. I know you would have preferred this to most places other people were taking their mother that day. For one, you despised buffets. Most places on Sunday were advertising their fabulous buffet. You just liked to be served. If you were going to forgo making Sunday brunch to allow someone else to do it you wanted to be served. Second you enjoyed drinking with your kids. Mind, you would have preferred a mimosa or a Bloody Mary with your Sunday Brunch, you were also very mindful of what your children wanted to drink and knew that I drank “weird beer” as you put it. Since Barley’s not only served “weird beer” but also made mean mimosas and Bloody Marys it was the perfect place to have brunch.

Even better, there was no waiting. I never actually ate brunch with you at Barley’s but I ate brunch with you 100s of times in similar places and I am very sure that less we took it upon ourselves to eat somewhere extra special it would have been an ideal location. But isn’t Mother’s day “Extra Special.” Well, yes it is, but also the ideal time to help out a business that was in need of more customers on a day when the extra special places were not. We could save a visit to the extra special places on a different extra special day, like the anniversary of Nelson Mandella being released from prison or the first Sunday after I published my first game, or to celebrate her promotion, all days I had brunch with you at extra special places.

You were never short of a reason to celebrate. In fact you took special care to see that even when I was not paying attention to reasons to celebrate you would come up with one for me. On Mother’s Day it was much more likely we would be in a place like Barley’s, and there was no waiting.

As I sat there drinking my favorite Trappist ale and discussing the issues of the day it occurred to me it was not unlike any of a number of Mother’s Days I had spent with my Mother. Darn I almost made it through the entire note without crying.

Love Mike

Dear Mom Teddy Bears are PETA friendly

Dear Mom Teddy Bears are PETA friendly

I am thinking of starting a Teddy Bear farm. Why you may ask? Because Teddy Bears are PETA friendly.

Last Christmas I was standing in line with my little girl Claire. The two women in front of us evidently were acquaintances and were catching up after not seeing each other for a long time. I was not trying to eavesdrop but it was difficult not to catch the conversation since they were speaking loud enough to insure everyone on that floor would know how well off each of them had become, with their rich husbands, 2.6 children, and suitcases full of expendable income.

At one point one of them turns to the other and says, “Is that coat real fox?” The other responded “No it is not real fox it is real raccoon.” She said it in such a way as to imply that raccoon was way more cool that fox, though I got the idea she was trying to relay that her coat was real genetically pure raccoon and not Chinese raccoon dog which had been in the news a lot lately.

The first lady says, “Oh, it looks like real fox.” The other lady responded again matter of factly, “No its not, it is real raccoon.”

My daughter was looking up at them watching the exchange. I am not sure what she was getting out of the conversation but with one hand holding onto her own brown furry coat she tugged now on the real raccoon coat trying to get the ladies attention. They both looked down at her and she put both hands on her coat and announced very proudly, “My coat is made from real Teddy Bears.”

Everyone within 20 feet of us was either laughing uncontrollably or giggling to themselves with the exception of the two ladies who were stunned as if Oscar de la Renta himself had just told them “Their cloths were so last year.” My daughter was beaming, taking in the attention that had just been cast upon her and I was again wondering why I do not walk around with a camera pointed at her at all times.

The ladies were now recovering from the shock and trying to find a way to not look completely out of touch with humanity. I spoke to them reassuringly, “And it is one hundred percent PETA approved.” I think at this point if they would have just laughed and said “How cute” they could have played it off with relatively little collateral damage, but they decided to pretend they were not amused. Which had the result of everyone standing around uncomfortably for the next 5 minutes while they finished with their purchase in silence and moved on. Claire and I continued to comment on the Teddy Bear coat industry.

“The Teddy Bears are only raised on free range farms under the most humane conditions.”

“What do Teddy Bears wear when they take their fur off to make coats daddy?”
“Why they give them wool sweaters, of course.”

It occurs to me there is probably an entire marketing plan set around making coats out of real Teddy Bears. Sure there is the Teddy Bear lobby that will continually complain about the poor living conditions of the Teddy Bears but I am pretty sure with regular visits from PETA and the Humane Society we can assure the public the Teddy Bears live long happy lives.

Love Mike