Esmeralda and the Beach, by Jasper

Let’s keep it simple… 1 Photo = 1,000 words.

Mr. B and his Cannoli, by Russ

First a little housekeeping. It was a big weekend at the Russ residence. First Mr. B pooped for the first time in the potty! Yeah! He followed that up with three poops in his pants. Boo. He has had his first taste of success, so I'm hopeful that we have turned the corner (or more likely, we've reached the corner and will be turning it soon).

As if that wasn't enough, Miss L took her first steps! (We have plenty of video, but the Wife is featured prominently as I was the videographer, so it won't be aired here.) We figured she was close, as she could stand unassisted and was only hanging on to my fingers while walking as a security measure. I figured she would have been walking sooner than her brother, instead of several months after him, but he was a little too good at getting down on her level and crawling or just flat out brought her what she needed/wanted.

I guess life just got a little more interesting for me.

Now on to the main body of the post.

The family made a trip to see Grandma and Grandpa. To no one's surprise my sister and Damien were there as well.

After the usual fights over toys, totally normal for a two and three year old I'm well aware, and a brief but odd debate with my sister over how best to deal with a tomato hornworm it was time for Mr. B to pee pee. My sister, who wants Damien to be potty trained this summer, encouraged him to accompany Mr. B to the potty.

Now the rest of this is hearsay as I was busy rolling my eyes with my Father at my sister's inability to deal with garden pests.

I heard Mr. B "making bubbles", followed by some cheering, which was followed by a SLAM! As you might guess, there was plenty of crying to follow that. It would seem that Damien, who was tired of not having the attension on him, slammed the toilet seat onto Mr. B's cannoli.

For some reason, Damien didn't get a spanking, time out, or even a stern (enough for my taste) talking to. Nope, all he got a "we don't do that Buddy!" (Frackin' Right we don't do that!)

Needless to say, Damien will not be invited to go pee pee with Mr. B anymore. He can learn from watching his Father.

I Am Russ, by Jasper

As the title would suggest, I pulled a page out of Russ’s Home Alone Handbook. Sydney, Esmeralda and Millie have left the building, leaving me alone.

Before the wife’s departure for what was to be a two day jaunt at the beach with her mother and our daughter, I was rather looking forward to some Jasper Alone Time (JAT). I have been able to resume my role as King of the Castle, doing what I want, when I want, how I want. That is JAT. The Mockingbard Manor has, for the time being, become Jasper’s Shirtless Club. (I’ll explain the Shirtless Club next week, but I can tell it could become the next big trend!)

Of course, there are a variety of chores, tasks and projects that I need to do before the ladies return. And I’m sure that those jobs will be completed in a timely manner. In the meantime, I have found myself slipping into the world of Russ.

Wednesday, as soon as Sydney’s car was out of the driveway, I headed to the computer room. Millie had occupied the room for the last week, and I was eager to revisit one of my usual haunts. I parked my skinny ass in the chair and stayed there for a good two hours. Despite the lengthiness of my computer time, my attention span was minimal. I fluttered about the internet, looking at everything: email, news, sports, porn, video games, youtube, porn, machinima, blogs, porn, etc.

When I had my fill of the worldwide web, I reheated leftovers: ribs, coleslaw and corn-on-the-cob. I watched “24: Redemption” while enjoying my meal. After my massive bowl of ice-cream, I joined Russ for some zombie killing. If you haven’t checked out Call of Duty: World at War, you should, just to play the zombie mode. The newest map, Shi No Numa, is tons of brain-exploding fun! By 11:30, Russ was "too tired" to continue playing, plus he knew the wife would be calling. I pouted for a bit after being abandoned.

As I attempted to fall asleep, I kept cursing myself for staying up too late. I knew I would have trouble sleeping without Sydney next to me. I tossed and turned most of the night. The lack-of-sleep-headache began around 3:30 AM. I had wanted to get up at a decent hour in order to attack the to-do list, but getting up proved to be difficult.

The jackass teenager across the street finally woke me with his lawn mower at 8:52. I pried myself out of bed, bemoaning the day of chores. I knew my first priority would be to post today’s blog entry. Inspiration was lacking, so the post turned into Coffee Time with Russ.

My day did finally become productive. I ran an errand, caulked a bathtub and rearranged Esmeralda’s room, organizing her toys and books in the process. There are more tasks for Friday. Strangely, I feel eager to finish them. Perhaps my soul wants to escape Russ’s world of lethargy and laziness.

Sydney called around 7:00 to let me know that the trio was having so much fun at the beach that they wanted to stay another day. She asked if it was okay with me, and I gave her my blessing. I could use another day of peace and solitude. Of course that means it will be another late night, followed by sleeplessness. Oh well.

By the way, this is the song that's always going through my mind when Sydney is gone. (I really miss Esmeralda, but I couldn't find an appropriate song.)





** I'll pretend that you care and tell you this... This post was scheduled for auto-post at 8:00 AM. For some unknown reason it did not auto-post. I apologize if your morning was ruined because you visited our blog and there was nothing brand new to read. Sorry to keep you waiting. You can always read the old stuff, particularly mine, in the Flashback section, if there is nothing fresh for you to read. In case your morning wasn't affected by the apparent blogger blunder, then you should take a look at yourself and find a way to care about the blog that Russ and I write for YOU. Have a fabulous Friday.

Coffee Time With Russ, by Jasper

I spent a solid 2 hours trying to write today’s post. During this process, I did get to chat with Russ. Needless to say, my train of thought was derailed. As a result, I decided to share our exchange. The following is a typical conversation:

Jasper: I plan to post. Trying to get started.
Russ: Coffee helps me
Jasper: I better get a cup.
Russ: I'm contemplating my third
Jasper: I made enough for three.
Russ: people or cups?
Jasper: 3 cups for one person, or 1 cup for 3 people.
Russ: good enough
Jasper: since I'm the only one here, it would be the former.
Russ: didn't know if you had company
Russ: how late did you sleep today?
Jasper: who could that be?
Jasper: slept crappily until 8:52.
Russ: dunno
Russ: better than crappy until 7
Jasper: since I honor my wife (and family), I don't invite strippers, hookers or single college girls to my home.
Russ: I don't know, it makes the time go by faster!
Jasper: yes, but I don't want to be an adulterer either.
Russ: so you won't be the governer of SC?
Jasper: HA!
Russ: brb
Jasper: nope. going to get coffee.
Russ: I'm back
Jasper: hurray?
Russ: Mr. B was going pee pee
Russ: I had to keep Miss L back
Jasper: fun. may use the chat session in the post. will omit names of course.
Russ: sounds good
Jasper: phone. Syd?
Russ: can't see the caller id
Jasper: it was her.
Jasper: Esmeralda was up until 11. woke up at 7:30.
Russ: fun
Jasper: i'm sure. they're getting ready to go down to the beach.
Russ: That should be fun!
Russ: Mr. B is finally settling down enough to eat breakfast
Jasper: and I need to settle down, drink my coffee, eat breakfast, tcb and write the post.
Jasper: I'm sure we'll chat later.
Russ: tcb?
Jasper: take care of business… you know… go to the reading room, make a deposit...
Russ: I'll be dropping the kids off at the pool too.
Jasper: gotta run... I have the call of dooty.
Russ: lol
Jasper: brb later
Russ: later


A few minutes later....

Jasper: you should watch this:



Jasper: it will be a post for tomorrow, me thinks.
Russ: I saw that!
Jasper: the writing process is slow today.
Russ: it's like that some days
Jasper: brain break. maybe a shower will de-cloud my mind.

And so, with the cleansing of the body, came the cleansing of the mind. The post intended for today has been tossed aside so you could enjoy experiencing the collaboration techniques utilized by Russ and Jasper.

Speaking Easy, by Russ

We're resuming, or Mr. B is resuming speech therapy today. The only issue is that since school is over, this is no longer being paid for by my tax dollars. Today we start private lessons. We give the dripping faucet that is our bank account another little twist.

Mr. B's therapist said that she offers private lessons for $50/hr over the summer. This is much less than nearly everyone else, but I can't use insurance with her. In as much as she would be considered a "specialist" her co-pay would be $50 anyway, so I wouldn't get any benefit from insurance anyhow. Other than them jacking up my rates come January.

While Mr. B has shown vast improvement in the short time that he has had therapy, he does seem to have some inconsistencies. What would they be you ask? Mostly, it is the "k" sound. He can pronounce "cake" and "cookie" with no problem and it will be understood by English speakers everywhere. However, "candy" and "car" come out "daddy" and "bar".

This makes for some interesting, if frustrating, conversations. For instance, he just finished using the potty and he will yell out, "Daddy!" I respond, "Yes". That is followed up with, "No! Daddy bar!" (As I get him his candy bar, I have been known to mutter on occasion that Daddy would like to go to a bar. The one that just opened up down the street. In walking distance.)

Trendsetter? by Jasper

The mother-in-law arrived last week, so I have been essentially banished from the computer room, which also serves as the guest room. When I can manage to sneak into the room, there is very little time for me to write. I suppose investing in a notepad would be worthwhile.

Mille met Sydney for lunch, so I figured I should post something to give Russ a break. Esmeralda is sitting in my lap as I type, attempting to solve the Rubric's cube. (She's getting close!) This wil be short and sweet, so I'll get right to the point.

With the arrival of Grandma, came a new sense of fashion. I'll expand more on Millie's style in another post. Esmeralda, it seems, has created a new manner of dress for toddlers.

Yes, we live in Florida, but Esmeralda isn't quite that tan. She borrowed some of Grandma's stockings.

It should be noted that it is blazing hot today- around 96. At the time the pictures were taken, the power had gone out because of a thunderstorm. So, the air conditioner was not running. It was approaching the mid 80's in the house, and Esmeralda didn't seem to be phased in the least.

I really hope this fashion statement doesn't become a fashion trend.

Golf, by Russ

Well I hope all you Dad's out there had a good Father's day. I know I did. This morning was a different story, with Miss L wailing at 0-dark early; followed by Mr. B awake at the crack of dawn. Third shift sucks.

One of the nice things about this weekend was the US Open. I vastly prefer playing golf to watching it, particularly because they cut away from the action to show human interest stories. I just don't care (does this mean I'm not human?). But NBC has done nothing but show golf. Just about everyone in the field, not just Tiger, Phil, and who ever might be leading (Lucas Glover, just a shot off the lead, Clemson alum).

Even during all the rain delays, and there were a lot of them, they either replayed what golf had been played, or replayed previous US Opens.

The Wife even called the coverage, "Fast paced". That is not a usual descriptor for watching golf. Normally, while plenty of people are playing, we get to watch one of the names walking to his next shot. So I turn it off because it is not worth my time to watch someone walk.

That is all. Brain is still fuzzy due to lack of sleep and only one cup of coffee. That and Mr. B is bellyaching that there is no more Curious George on.

Water water, everywhere, By Russ

Do you remember some time ago when I complained that one of my neighbors has a water leak and has done nothing to fix it, for over a year? Well if you don't, here is that instant classic post. Well, a few weeks ago I got the opportunity to put my money where my mouth is. (I've had worse things in my mouth, my foot comes to mind.)

I first noticed it about a month ago, an area on my lawn never seemed to dry out. To be honest though, it was really hard to tell. About that time we were averaging about a half inch of rain every other day, so nothing was really drying out and the area in question is in a bit of a low spot to boot.

All doubt was removed when water started trickling over the curb long after the rains had stopped. So I alerted my next door neighbor and we had a good look at the area. He is an engineer by trade, so he most likely has a better idea about drainage and where the leak might be. (Unless he is an Electrical Engineer, in which case my accounting background is about as useful.)

We determined that the leak was from his water meter because he had a lot of standing water well on to his property, where it would have been very unlikely for mine to moisten. That is, not without geysering. Since we determined that the leak is most likely on his property, he was to call the city to have it fixed.

Over two weeks later, nothing had happened. My lawn was starting to develop a bit of EU DE SWAMP. Lovely.

Now I figured that my neighbor had called, he's an engineer so he is anal, right? I end up calling the city, to find out a) was it reported (it was) and b) when was it on the schedule to have it fixed. It seems that it wasn't to be fixed until next week. I explained, nicely, to three different people that it was called in several weeks ago and that it seems to be getting worse.

As you expect from government employees, the reaction I got was, at best, indifference. Professional, but indifferent.

Imagine my surprise, when that evening two city trucks pull up to my house one pulling a backhoe and the other, well, I'm not sure what it was they never used it. Mr. B was in heaven watching my tax dollars at work (one guy working and four watching, seriously, they could have done this with two guys unless each one has a specialty that was needed, but I never saw more than two guys working at any given time). To Mr. B, it was like Bob the Builder had come to life and was now a very large black man. (I didn't hear any of them talking, so I'm not sure who was Spud.)

Life is good and other than the large area of dirt where grass once was, it is all fixed. Now if my neighbor down the street would just have theirs fixed...

...But Her Ass was Old (Hilton Head pt2), by Russ

Yeah, we'll get back to that in a moment.

One of the great joys of vacationing, not like I'm telling you guys (and gals) anything you don't already know, is you get to do things you wouldn't ordinarily do. Or as one of my coworkers back in the day used to say, you can hang your freak flag. Well, my flag ain't that freaky. Now other people's flags, well, that is a horse of a different color. Which leads me to my second great joy of vacationing, people watching.

(These "great joys" aren't in any particular order, I would put eating as my first great joy, vacationing or not.)

People watching at the beach can be a treat. Or not. It all depends on your taste and how freaky your fellow vacationer's (and your) flags are. Since I enjoy watching people, the relative freakishness of the flags didn't unnerve me too badly. In most cases.

I don't know if I have a true measuring scale by which I rate my fellow vacationers. Certainly I have several groupings I put them into. Example, Innocuous: wearing something appropriate for their spot in life and or body type (these aren't much fun and where I put the Wife and myself) to Dear God, What are they thinking!?: wearing swimwear totally inappropriate for their body. Then there are the ones in between. This is the most populated group, usually inhabited by folks who haven't updated their swimwear even though their body has changed.

While the Wife and I were thumbing our noses at skin cancer, we noticed a group of young ladies next to us. It wasn't terribly difficult to notice them, they weren't very quiet. Most of them fell into the innocuous grouping. The last, bless her heart (as we say down south), was overly self confident.

She wasn't as wide as she was tall, but she was certainly (as the Germans might say) zaftig. She was wearing, wait for it, a string bikini. To her credit, she was strutting around like she owned it. I just wish that she wasn't.

The Wife had a few moments of jealousy, envy, bitchiness, at a couple of ladies on the beach. Fuck You moments I called them. You have seen these Moms, they have pumped out two or more kids and are back into their pre-pregnancy clothes and have their abs back (hell, I still don't have those). Basically, if they said that the kids belongs to their siblings, you would believe them (except the kids scream,"Mommy!" and go running to the "Fuck You Mommies").

Unfortunately, the worst was yet to come. We had just finished lunch and were in the car pointing ourselves back to the hotel. I noticed movement off to my left, and there were a husband and wife tandem walking toward the parking lot. No biggie.

Well, they turned the corner and started walking towards the restaurant. I noticed that she was wearing an inappropriately small skirt (for both her age and body). She dropped something. Then she bent over to pick it up.

Did she bend from the knees to pick this item up? Noooo! No, she had to bend from the waist to pick the item up. All I can say is thank God she wasn't wearing a thong. If she was, I doubt I would have been able to keep my fried oysters down.

The Wife's response, "I don't know how old her face is, but her ass is old!"

HIlton Head pt 1, by Russ

First off, we had a fantastic time at the beach; being husband and wife. We slept late, we took naps, we did what we wanted when we wanted to. It was everything a vacation is supposed to be.

The weather was what you would expect, hot, humid, and sunny. Amazingly, the only rain we got was on the way in and on the way out. You can't ask for much more than that. I suppose it might have rained during the night, but I was either asleep, or otherwise occupied...

I got the required sunburn, not because I didn't put on sunscreen, but because the Wife missed some of the spots I can't reach. I didn't get too toasty, and it is starting to tan out as we speak.

The hotel where we slept was a bed and working air conditioning. Generally, I don't ask for much more in a room. Technically, we were "roughing it" as the hotel had no room service, but they did serve breakfast in the morning. (Nothing exciting, cereal, bagels, and the highlight, a make your own waffle station.) The place was better than a Motel 6, yet far below the many Marriotts on the island.

Food. You know this is where I put most of my effort for the vacation. It paid off. We didn't have a bad dinner any of the three nights. The first night we ate at a place called The Studio. I had the seared ahi tuna with tapanade trio. The first was a standard tapanade, the second had chiorzo added so it had a kick, and the third had black truffles mixed in. It was excellent.

I don't remember what the Wife had, but it was good too. I think it was grilled grouper (it was one of the nightly specials, so it isn't on the menu). Then for dessert we split some coconut cake. It was worth going just for that. Add to the fact that the restuarant was within walking distance to our hotel, and I we didn't have to worry about drinking too much!

The next night we ate at Flora's Cafe. We were already familiar with them as the owners had a restaurant in NJ that we used to frequent, or my parents did at least. Various things forced them out of NJ and they took over an existing restaurant. Then they made it their own.

We had two appetisers, fried calamari in a chiorzo balamic glaze (which is off the menu) and eggplant rollatini. Both excellent, and for two people, could have been enough for dinner. Then for dinner I had veal chop saltimbocca and the Wife had lobster ravioli. Both excellent, but the veal was better!

For dessert, we had to have dessert Flora is a pastry chef by trade, we split some tiaramisu. I haven't had any like it outside of Italy. It is that good. So good that it is worth going there just for dessert.

The only thing that was a little unnerving about the joint was the clientel. Sure they were nice enough. Clean, well dressed, polite, and ancient. I mean the Wife was the only one with naturally colored hair. The others, well, if they had a color other than grey, chances are it doesn't occur in nature. Don't let that dissuade you from going, should you find yourself in Hilton Head, the food is well worth the geriatric set. For the record, we were there at 7pm, not for the sunset menu.

Tapas was in store for us the final night. (They don't have a website, so I can't link it for you. The name of the joint is, "Tapas Restaurant") I can't even begin to go into what we had. It was made doublely hard as we met the Wife's old roommate and her wife for dinner. So now instead of two plates per course to remember, I have four. To say the least, we didn't have a bad course. The worst was good, the best, well, you'd just have to go there.

If you only have one night on the island, eat dinner at Tapas and dessert at Flora's. You won't be dissappointed.

Well, I'm off to do laundry now. All good things must come to an end.

Let the Fun Begin, by Jasper

Since I had a crack-free weekend, there will be no poems today. Sorry, SciFi Dad. In fact, with it being a slow blog day, I’m not going to get too profound. I may even ramble.

Russ is still getting his groove back, but you should expect him tomorrow. I skipped back to town last night, and my thoughts are still a bit disjointed. Things will come together later in the week once things have settled-down at the Mockingbard Manor. Because I didn’t plan the week’s activities while I was absent, I’m not on any kind of schedule today. Esmeralda and I are just taking it easy. You see, today marks the official beginning of the Summer of Jasper with Esmeralda in Tow. (She was at daycare last week while I completed a few projects.)

If the first event of the morning is any indication, our summer should be a hoot. Esmeralda switched to the big-girl bed a few months ago. With pillows, and then real bed railings, she had no problems staying in the bed. We put a gate in front of her door to prevent her from wandering around the house in case she climbed off the bed. Typically, if she woke-up on her own in the morning, Esmeralda would whine or fuss until one of us checked on her. Either she had not figured out how to get off the bed, or she knew the pillows/railing were meant to keep her on the bed and was really requesting permission to get off the bed. Whatever the case, today was different.

At about 8:30 this morning, I awoke to the voice of Esmeralda. She was chanting, “Mommy, Daddy. Mommy, Daddy. Mommy, Daddy.” When I got to her room, she was standing at the gate, smiling. “Good,” I thought, “she knows how to get off the bed now. And she’s happy about it!” Esmeralda immediately began singing, “Diaper change! Diaper change!” It was at that moment that I realized she was holding a clean diaper. Smart girl. She was ready to be changed.

As I followed Esmeralda into her room, I saw her cute little baby bottom. Apparently she was ready to start without me. The girl promptly plopped to the floor and assumed the changing position. I took charge and put on the clean diaper. When I looked for her wet diaper, I discovered that she had put it in the diaper bin. I had to laugh. Esmeralda was the one ready to take charge. Perhaps it will really be the Summer of Esmeralda with Jasper in Tow.

Capable Hands, by Jasper

Oh Capable Hands of mine,
I have one, I have two.
Oh Capable Hands of mine,
Tell me, what shall I do?

Russ has run for the seaside,
With no children in tow.
Russ has fled with his bride,
What they will do, we know.

R & R is in the plan.
It is much deserved, for sure.
R & R makes a happy man.
For any ill, it will cure.

Oh Capable Hands of mine,
I have one, I have two.
Oh Capable Hands of mine,
Tell me, what shall I do?

Left alone, I must write,
For words and phrases, I look.
Left alone, I must write,
Sitting in my quiet nook.

I wonder what I could say,
To seem witty or clever.
I wonder if I could play
As a wordsmith forever.

Oh Capable Hands of mine,
I have one, I have two.
Oh Capable Hands of mine,
Tell me, what shall I do?

Thoughts stream from my fingertips,
As I begin to write.
Thoughts climb from my mouth and lips,
I may finish tonight!

I can say, the end is nigh,
For I am nearly through.
I can say, the end is nigh,
What else is there to do?

Oh Capable Hands of mine,
What a fantastic feat!
Oh Capable Hands of mine,
The poem is complete!

Runnin' for the Hills, by Russ

Okay, so I'm not really running for the hills, but the Wife and I are going to the coast for some much needed R & R. To make matters different, it will be sans kids. Most of that will be good. No potty training, poopy diapers/undies, or waking up before sun up to "Daddy, me go pee pee". Yep, three mornings of sleeping until we wake.

Both sets of Grandparents will be sharing kid duty. Batting lead off will be the out-laws. Actually, it was them forcing themselves for a visit that led us to this vacation. It just wasn't that long ago that we saw them and I just couldn't bring myself for another session with them. So the Wife, this is but one reason that I love her so, suggested that we skip town while they are here.

Of course, this means that we will have to deprogram Mr. B from all the bad habits he will pick up from FIL. I'm sorry if I seem like a stick in the mud, but chewing with you mouth open, among other things, is not acceptable. Particularly for a child who does not realize that there are times when such behavior is wholly inappropriate (as opposed to just poor manners).

At least I can count on my Parents to begin the deprogramming. I know they won't tolerate it.

Since I will be gone, I am leaving you in Jasper's capable hands. Of course, I think that he is skipping town on Friday, so you may not have anything new from us then, but he will be back on Monday, and I will be back on Tuesday.

Paging Dr. Freud, Dr. Freud, by Russ

With Jasper back, I have to learn how to share again. It's a good thing.

Anywho.

So as you know, we have been potty training (Putz, it is just my current station in life, sorry dude), Mr. B has been going unassisted and without prompting for a couple of days now. He needs help getting his shorts back on, but overall it seems to have clicked. At least going #1 has clicked, #2 not so much.

To say the least, my son is odd. Apple and tree, I know. But he has taken to a rather peculiar habit.

You see, he has a basket of stuffed animals in his room. Basket probably doesn't give the right connotation to its size. It is fairly large (2ft x 2.5ft x 2.5ft, l x w x d) and it is overflowing with stuffed animals. Some from my youth, some from the Wife's and my courtship, and some from aunts. All of that added to the multitude that he was given as presents (and not just a place to dump unwanted stuffed animals).

Mostly he likes to sleep with the animals. (Should I have been paging Dr. Doolittle?) He will unload the basket with great flourish onto his bed and then bury himself in the pile of animals. There has been more than one occasion that I only saw an arm or foot protruding from the animal pile when I check on him.

Well recently I went up to check on him during his nap. The first thing that hit me was the stench of poo. I was at the bottom of the stairs at the time. You can only imagine the stank that slapped me in the face when I opened his door. (The Wife could smell it in the den after a few moments, it was that bad.)

Back on topic. The animals were piled on the bed, but there were no appendages apparent. Curious, (I had no doubt he was in the room, clearly he was) I checked the closet, nothing, cleared the animals, nothing. Where could he be?

Just then, I noticed a little bit of his blanket sticking out from under the overturned basket.

Yep, he was balled up, sleeping in an upside down basket with dirty pants. Dirty pants aside, I wonder what Dr. Freud would have to say about that!

What's In My Pocket? by Jasper

Since I live in Florida, it isn’t very often that I wear a jacket. The last time I wore one because of the temperature was probably early March. Recently, the afternoon rain showers have been fairly regular. On my way out the other day, I grabbed a jacket because the rain was coming down in buckets and my umbrella was in the car. I dashed to the car but still managed to get drenched despite the jacket.

The jacket had to come off because I didn’t really feel like driving around soaking wet. As I removed the jacket, I noticed something bulky in the front pocket. “Odd,” I thought, “I don’t remember putting anything in my pocket.” As I carefully unzipped the pocket, thoughts flashed back to another surprise I discovered in the car… What’s in my pocket?

To my relief, I discovered this treasure.

Soon my relief turned to amusement as I thought about what could have happened. Every school day for breakfast, I eat a peanut butter sandwich. When all that is left in the bread bag are a single slice and the ends, I make a triple-decker peanut butter sandwich. I wrap the sandwich in a paper towel because I take it with me in the car. On this particular day, it was cool, so I wore a jacket. I must have been distracted in the car since I didn’t finish the sandwich. I probably put it in my pocket to save for later. In all likelihood, there was a crisis with a newbie teacher waiting for me when I arrived at school. As a result, I forgot about the rest of my breakfast.

Based on my calculations, the sandwich is at least 2 ½ months old. Notice that two of the slices of bread are still held together by the peanut butter. The third has begun to pull away. The bread was so stale, that it began to crumble as I unfolded the paper towel.

Despite the Florida humidity, the peanut butter had begun to dry-out. I was surprised to find the sandwich was mold-free.

When Sydney saw the sandwich, she rolled her eyes and laughed. She added, “Procrastination wins this time, Jasper.” The instant those words hit my ears, I knew she was questioning my ability to overcome my issue with putting things off to the last minute, including eating. I smiled, picked up the sandwich and started to take a bite. I could see the horror on Sydney’s face. Just then, Esmeralda strolled into the kitchen with doll in tow. She immediately stopped in her tracks, looked up at me, and said, “Daddy, yucky sandwich. No, no eat.” Esmeralda was right. The 2 ½ month old peanut butter sandwich was yucky. There was no reason to eat it. Sydney breathed a sigh of relief, and I tossed the sandwich artifact into the trash.

With the discovery of a very stale sandwich, I think it would be best if I checked all my jacket pockets, backpacks and briefcases. I seem to recall having misplaced a banana in January.

The Summer of Jasper, by Jasper

School's out!





Greeting readers! I have returned, for the umpteenth time! I am free at last to resume and hopefully maintain my blogging responsibilities. There should be no excuse not to write on a regular basis. School's out!

I should be sad that I will have so much free time this summer. Let me explain. Last fall, I took the job of Administrative Liaison. The purpose of that position was to mentor new teachers as well has some of the challenged students. Rookie teachers tend to be lost for most of the year, so I was supposed to guide them throughout the year. Periodically I reported to the principal or assistant principal about their progress. Based on performance, I sometimes provided very specific training. For the students, it was a matter of establishing a common ground with them, and then redirecting their behavior issues into something productive. It was also meant to be a stepping stone into administration. In a drunken stupor, I apparently had a notion that I would want to be a principal someday. I still can't remember what I was drinking.

At times, I struggled with my job, but ultimately the bosses were pleased with my performance. Most of the teachers would have floundered without me. Unfortunately, my position was eliminated. With the current state of the economy and the constant barrage of budget cuts, it was no longer viable to pay me a salary to mentor teachers or students on a full time basis. (This job paid 50% more than my previous job as P.E. Coach.) Other jobs were eliminated too, so I wasn’t the lone head on the chopping block.

Thankfully the principal decided to give me my old job back. The guy that had taken over for me had a meltdown right before spring break. Coach Chernobyl slammed a few 5th graders around during a game of “tag” football, and then went on a tirade about trust and respect. It seems that his wife left him for another woman, his 13 year old son was caught smoking weed and his 16 year old daughter was a wee bit too promiscuous. Coach Chernobyl must have been bottling-up the rage and embarrassment, and exploded when those boys challenged his manhood. (It’s typical for these kids to think they are faster/stronger/tougher than the P.E. coach.) Poor bastard. Last I heard he was recuperating at a nice facility along the Tampa Bay.

Since I am back to being Coach Mockingbard, I get the entire summer off. If I was still the A.L., then I’d be working four 10 hour days a week this summer and have very little time to mock and muse. The elimination of the job stress is the best part. What about the cut in salary? It’s no big deal. All the extra cash went straight to the bank. We’re not big spenders, so we didn’t go nuts when I got the raise. The Mockingbards will make do, as if there never was extra coinage on my paycheck.

The Summer of Jasper will be better than ever! I get more time with Esmeralda! We'll get to potty train! We’ll go parks and libraries! We’ll play in the pool and on the swing set! We'll potty train! We’ll go to Sea World or the zoo! We’ll meet Sydney/Mommy for lunch! We'll potty train! I’ll work on the lengthy list of projects that the lovely wife wants completed! I’ll blog more than ever! I'll workout everyday! I may even rediscover my abs! This summer is going to be the best ever! And I hope to share it all with you, loyal reader!

I'm just a little excited. Forgive me. School's out!

And....

And now for something completely different...

News from the Potty Training Front, by Russ

Aside from the brown bears, the potty training is going swimmingly. (No he hasn't fallen in, yet.) Mr. B has developed a slight phobia however.

It seems that while he was putting down the toilet seat after peeing (see ladies, I'm training him right by you!) and it slipped out of his hands. The seat clapped against the commode in close enough proximity to his cocktail weenie and beans (it's not big enough to be a frank yet) to give him a start. One might say it scared the piss out of him!

Well now, he has to hold the seat up while he wizzes, or have me hold the seat for him. This can be a bit ungainly for someone of his stature.

I witnessed him doing this as I was changing Miss L's diaper, I have a clear shot to the kids bathroom from her changing table, and there he was naked as a jay bird (he must be naked in order to pee) holding his dangler in his left hand and holding the seat up with his right. All the while yelling, "Making bubbles!"

I guess I can't fault him too much. The thought of the toilet seat falling on my schwantz is enough to make me consider sitting for the show.

Stupid, by Russ

Why am I so freaking stupid?

It is not like I couldn't predict with almost absolute certainty what is going to happen! So what did I do? After playing video games with Jasper (and hanging up at a very reasonable time), I stayed up watching crappy TV. I would have saved brain cells by just getting myself liquored up.

Combine that with knowledge that Mr. B rises with the sun and it makes for a short nights sleep. Another interesting aside. As you know, we are potty training. I have had to encourage him to come and get me so he can use the potty (he still has some problems pulling down his pants).

Yes, he won't leave leave his room. Won't even open his door once I close it. This by itself has lead to accidents. He will just sit behind the door calling for me. If I'm vacuuming or outside for the moment and can't hear him. He will just piss himself. I don't get it.

So after the aside. I have to encourage him to leave his room, if he has to pee pee, and get me. Well this morning he does just that. A good hour before I'm used to getting up.

To recap. I stayed up too late watching stupid TV followed by Mr. B getting me up a solid hour before I usually would because I have given him permission to get me if he has to wizz. I suppose it is for the greater good, ultimately.

Potty Training Hell, by Russ

Okay Alex, I'll take, "How to make my house smell like a urinal" for $100.

The answer, or question for those Jeopardy people out there, is of course "What is teaching my son to pee in the potty." "What is potty training a stubborn child" is also acceptable.

I don't mean to jinx myself, but we seem to be making some headway on the wizzing front. Normally, we will have one accident in the morning before he remembers that he is walking around with live ammo, so to speak.

The back door bombs, well, that is just the cost of doing business right now. I hope that he will make the connection soon. Real soon. Until then, lots of cheese for him. It might plug him up a bit, but they will be good and firm when he does pass them. Easier clean up.

For him, candy bars, Snickers specifically, were the trick. Laggin, what seems like many moon ago, suggested candy and it has taken us a while to find the right trigger sweet for him. I was hoping that the Mr. Goodbars would work for him, I hate them. (This is weird as I like both chocolate and peanuts, together even, but this candy bar doesn't work for me.)

So now we are looking for a proper stimulus to poo in the potty. The Wife bought him a five pack of Matchbox cars that sit on the vanity where he can see them. This has not worked yet. All he wants is the cars and produces prodigious tears when he is denied them.

Sigh. We'll get there. I'm not sure when, but it will smell better and we will have new carpet.

Chimichurri, by Russ

Last week I made a batch of Chimichurri. Somehow, it lasted for most of the week. What is more amazing is how versatile this sauce is. I served it on all sorts of grilled meat (pork and beef) and I was very close to putting in on some grilled Swordfish. I opted for a Gremolata instead. We even served it on veggies.

Now some of you may be asking, "What, kind sir, is this 'chimichurri' of which you speak?" Well, the short answer is this. It is a traditional Argentinian sauce in the same vein as pesto. The main difference is the herbage. Pesto is mostly basil (if you are looking at Pesto a la Genovese) where Chimichurri is mostly parsley (in its traditional form). There are, of course, other differences but that is one of the main ones. The other major flavor difference is Chimichurri contains vinegar; where pesto does not.

I stumbled across Steve Raichlen's version of Chimichurri, and, well, I haven't been able to find one better. So, because I like you all, and I can't keep too many secrets from you, here it is:

Three Herb Chimichurri

1 cup packed fresh flat leave parsley
1 cup packed fresh cilantro
1/2 cup packed fresh mint
(all herbs should be washed and stemmed)
6 cloves garlic (I use as many as 8 cloves)
1 tsp salt or more to taste
1/2 tsp pepper or more to taste
1/2 tsp pepper flakes
1 cup extra virgin olive oil
1/2 cup distilled white vinegar
1/2 cup cold water

Put garlic in the food processor and pulse three or four times to rough chop the cloves. Add the herbs and run the processor to finely chop the herbs. Add the salt, pepper, and pepper flakes and pulse to combine. Add the water and vinegar, then turn the processor on and drizzle in the oil to form an emulsion. Serve immediately.