Even worse than a Turkish Delight

In honor of the original holiday, we held an Ostara egg hunt for our son this afternoon. One of the treats delivered by the good bunnies was a "candy"-filled plastic Scooby-Doo egg (yeah, I know, kinda contradicts the whole Ostara angle). At any rate, the quotes are deliberate 'cause when we sampled the concoction, its flavor was rather reminiscent of...well... soap. As one, Ki and I rushed to the kitchen in search of anything to remove the vile taste from our mouths. It was an amusing moment of father-son bonding as we both clawed at our tongues and uttered "bleagh!"

Mixed in with the initial revulsion was a flashback to the trip my DW and I took to Ireland some twelve years ago. During our wanders, we found a shop that sold actual, honest to goodness "Turkish Delights". As childhood fans of the entire C. S. Lewis Chronicles of Narnia series, we couldn't wait to try the jellied candies that the Snow Queen had used to entice Edward to her cause. Ever had to sit in church behind a little old lady who has apparently bathed herself in gallons of rose-scented perfume? That's what Turkish Delights taste like; like some evil prankster had added a packet gelatin to a cheap bottle of drug store perfume and foisted it off on unsuspecting tourists. Apparently, some cultural boundaries aren't meant to be crossed.

Ever want to just slap someone?

This weekend, my birth-mom and her family came up to visit. It was great to see them and made me realize that we don't see them nearly as much as we should. Must work on that this year.

As part of their visit, they took us out for brunch at a local restaurant, Slates. Great food in a casually eccentric (if somewhat cramped) atmosphere. In all there were seven of us: four adults and three kids aged 12, 4 and 4 months. As we were filing in to our table, I happened to spy a fellow sitting at a nearby table. He was looking at our entourage as if he had just chomped down into a steaming pile of cow dung. Okay, I know that some folks just aren't "kid friendly", but really... we're talking about Sunday brunch in a bohemian restaurant, not dinner at the Russian Tea Room.

Just too fun!

I came across a link to South Park Studio when I was browsing for info on the next version of Windows Mobile. It lets you assemble parts to make your own South Park character. Be sure to read the instructions at the beginning for how to save your creations to disk, however. It's not exactly straight-forward.

Update Here's me, South Park'd:

No doubt about it, parenting is HARD

Two children is definitely more than twice the work of one and DW, gods bless her, has to deal with the lion's share of that work. Who am I kidding, I'm like the relief pitcher who takes over in the 9th with a 10 run lead. She does all the heavy lifting; I just bring in the cash.

Child-rearing, however, is more than just work; it's also a lot of worry. Ironically, the main source of worry these days is not our 3-month-old little amazon, but our just-about-4-year-old son. K1 is having trouble at school and most recently at swimming lessons. And I worry. Are his issues just part of normal development for him or something that warrants more concern? Would I even recognize the difference, or do a father's love & pride remove any chance of making an objective assessment? Have I pushed him too hard to grow up, or made it too easy for him not to? He's had sleep troubles for a couple of years now; do those play a role in his difficulties and if so, have I been neglectful by not pushing for finding a solution?

I'm supposed to have the answers or at least know where to find them – it's my role, it's where I fit – and yet when it comes to knowing what's right for my son, I am completely, utterly lost. I long to find a pediatrician who cares about finding the answers as much as I do. Someone I could have confidence in. Where are the Dr. Sheehans for our generation?

I... have... HANDS!

Yes, that's right, K2 has discovered that those pink wiggly things that flit about and occasionally smack her in the face are, in fact, something over which she has a modicum of control. She is currently most fond of moving these "hands" up to her mouth where she can happily gum on the "fingers". It is a task that requires a brow-furrowing degree of concentration, and the "fingers" don't quite seem to enjoy the end results as much as she does, but it is a new skill and she is very proud of it.

Call of the Child

The cries of an infant are impossible to ignore. This is not a sentimental statement – I fully believe that we are hardwired to react to the sound of infants crying. That particular waveform triggers a cascade of neurological signals culminating in the area of the brain known as "do something about it now you bleedin' tosser". All in all, this trait is an advantage to mammals everywhere... except maybe with humans.

Sure, most of the time a crying baby lets you know that you've missed or forgotten something and, after remedying said problem, the crying stops. But then there are the days when you really can't do anything for the baby – like, say, when she has a cold. Then you get to listen to the crying during her every waking hour and the wiring in your head screams... "do something about it, do something about it, why the #%@*& aren't you doing something about it!" Meanwhile, the rational... well, conscious... part of your brain is trying to calmly explain "I did everything I can for her, it's okay, stop going into overload." Which is, of course, right up there with trying to explain to the rain that now really isn't a good time and could it please come back tomorrow.

Makes you realize that three isn't such a bad age after all.