Food: Fuels You Up and Slows You Down
It took twenty-four minutes to walk to this really good (and really cheap) Mexican restaurant in New Brunswick-- even while pushing the kids in the stroller-- but on the way back we had to slow down because I got a stitch.
But . . .
Ian begins every sentence with the word "but" (e.g. but I have to pee, but I like this worm, but I was crying for you to get me) so it's like he's stuck in an eternal argument with everyone in the universe.
Sleep: That's Where I'm a Viking
Catherine and I have resolved to stop snacking so much after dinner-- we both want to get fit before the summer-- but the only way I could stop eating last night was to go to sleep.
Summer = Two Month Weekend
Although tomorrow seems bleak: rainy and the end of spring break, there is still the solace that in the school year as a week metaphor, it is the beginning of Friday (for those of you who are not teachers, my condolences).
Waves: They Just Keep Coming
We get up at five in the morning and drive home; our plan was for the kids to sleep int he car, but Alex is up like a shot, before he can rub the sleep out of his eyes he's calling dibs on the box of Apple Jacks, which he had been plotting to eat (there was only one box in the treat cereal selection) all week long on the ride home, but despite no napping the kids are well behaved-- thanks to modern technology: the LeapPad (Diego has a hang-glider!) and the DVD player (which isn't working so well because Ian likes to kick it when he loses his temper-- but one last thought, when Ian was playing in a hole full of water on the beach he kept looking up at me and saying, "I'm so happy . . . I'm so happy that the wave came!")
Bruce is Patient
Friday: my college buddy Bruce, who runs Kittyhawk Kites-- the largest hang-gliding school in the world-- gets Alex and Ian airborne in a glider; each of them fly two runs down the dune with Bruce and I holding onto the wires of the glider-- and Alex tells him he dreamed about it and then it came true; Bruce-- who is very patient-- also answers between four and five hundred of Alex's questions about the glider and teaches him what a "wing nut" is.
Wild Wild Life
Thursday: a list of the wildlife we saw: dolphins, raccoon, gray fox, fiddler crabs, sand crabs, ospreys, herons, terns, pelicans, and-- of course-- bikers (it was bike week).
The Mental Age Game
Wednesday: Good weather returns and we hike over the tallest dune on the East coast (Jockey's Ridge) to the sound, where Alex and Ian brave the cold water until their lips are blue; later in the day Whitney shows up for some beer drinking, and we stay up late computing everyone's mental age-- this is Whitney's new thing and it often offends people to hear his decision on their mental age so I'll just tell you his: 19 and mine: 91 . . . you'll have to figure out the rest on your own.
Two Visits in One Day
Tuesday: rainy day, so we visit the aquarium and my friend Bruce-- he has two boys of similar age and demeanor as Alex and Ian, so there are lots of experiments, wrestling, and couch diving.
Ominous Vacation Monday
Monday: things look grim, Catherine has a sinus infection and rain is headed our way, but we did get some beach time in the morning while Catherine was at the doctor's-- the wind was howling off the ocean and Ian spent his time huddled in a deep hole inspecting a sand crab.
Running: Young or Old, It Makes You Tired
Sunday: A great day on the beach , and even though I kept letting Alex and Ian beat me in countless footraces down the beach, Catherine and I were the real winners when they took a three hour nap (I did as well).
Loser = Whitney
Friday night, Whitney and I stayed up drinking beer until four in the morning-- which wasn't the brightest way to start vacation-- except for the fact that I won a crucial dart bet and now Whitney has to wear the t-shirt of my choice for an entire day of the fishing trip: I'm open to suggestions and so far I'm thinking either an Elton John concert tee or some kind of cheesy vacation slogan shirt (Board me, I'm a pirate!)
Sometimes You Should Think INSIDE Your Brain
No sentences for a week-- we'll be at the beach and I purposely left my laptop at home, but don't get your panties in a bunch, I'll be hand-writing sentences and I'll post them when I get home; last night while drinking beer I contemplated out loud about writing seven fictitious sentences, beginning with these two:
1) Woke up in Mexico next to my new bride;
2) Mexican divorce laws are complicated;
and I said the second one loudly just as a short brown woman and her tall brown boyfriend walked out the back door of Charlie Brown's and she gave me a withering glare and it took me a second to realize that she thought I was making a racial remark directed at her . . . and I wanted to run after her and explain that I wasn't talking about her but my Spanish is rusty and so she'll have to hate me forever.
Hard Habit to Break
I commuted to work twice today; Catherine actually made me recite "take the Jeep, take the Jeep" because she needed to clean and pack the Subaru for out trip, but still, I took the Subaru . . . and I didn't realize it until I was half-way down Route 18, playing with the satellite radio (that's what clued me in, I remembered that the Jeep doesn't have satellite radio)-- so I had to turn around and do it again.
Wherein Dave Eats A Young Lady's Food (Without Permission)
After a frantic morning in class (I screwed up and permanently burned the director commentary on the DVD I wanted to show-- there was no turning it off-- so I had to come up with something to do on the fly) I ran into the English office, grabbed my sandwich, had a co-worker look up the hours of Blockbuster, and decided to walk across the orchard to get a legal copy of Michael Clayton-- but as I was about to leave the office I realized something about my sandwich . . . there was yellow cheese on it . . . and we didn't have yellow cheese at home . . . we had Swiss cheese . . . nor did we have turkey; I had eaten nearly half of a co-worker's sandwich and I didn't know what to do, so I followed the advice of everyone else: "Finish it and play dumb!" but when I was half-way across the orchard I realized that I should have just cut the sandwich in half and gave her half of my ham, swiss, and lettuce along with her turkey, yellow American, and mustard-- but it was too late and I had to face the music (someone ratted me out), but Kristyna wasn't that angry and so we swapped sandwiches and she thought mine was pretty good (aside from the balsamic vinegar, which she liked but was mildly allergic to, but I didn't see any hives on her-- and now I have learned my lesson: I will look before I eat).
Mom's a Good Teacher . . . Just Great
Yesterday, when we informed Alex that we would be watching mommy on television (on "Classroom Close-Up" on NJN) he started pacing around the sandbox, ranting: "Just great. Great. Now we'll have to watch that. Now we won't get to watch any video. We won't get to finish Meet the Robinsons," and though my wife is a celebrated and wonderful teacher, it is because she saves all her sarcasm for in the home, and now it has rubbed off on Alex.
The Best Band Name Ever
Here we are-- "The Hanging Chads"-- a teacher posted our entire performance, including the interminable fiasco with the cords, so if you want to see us actually play, fast forward (also: you can hear Ian in the background yelling "Daddy!" although I am hard to recognize and usually blocked by the PA speaker.)
The Grand Total Is . . .
After much frustration, deliberation, and soul-searching, I spent the extra cash and sprung for my first Apple product-- an Ipod Nano-- and in honor of this purchase I would like everyone to tally how much they have spent in their lifetime on portable music players -- I know there's some closet in my parents house with thirty broken Walkmen in it; I think I'm over a grand.
Poetry Versus Chemistry
High school drama . . . science teachers denounce the poetry festival . . . students are denied access to the dark artists of the pen because of quarterly reviews and quizzes in their real courses . . . tension between the departments . . . will all be forgiven by June?
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