Shiver Me Sad Timbers...

The last day at Camp Zed was flawless, without incident, absent of any kind of concern, and hand delivered by good fortune himself. We flew our flag, wandered the beach aimlessly, played in waves, ate a nice lunch in the shade, and hugged a lot. It was perfect.

The Last Day of Camp Zed...

The Last Day of Camp Zed will officially be a beach day according to it's lone camper. Zo is insisting on the beach (after watching some girls on Sesame Street play in the sand) and so what our lone camper wants, our lone camper usually gets, except for hard drugs, pellet guns, and complete autonomy.

I'm excited and sad. I'm not one of those people who bemoan the end of August as the end of the summer. It'll be beautiful for at least another month, and then absolutely wonderful all Fall, and in this area we won't see snow until shortly before Christmas, at least none that stays. Summer isn't over just because school starts or a calendar flips. It's summer as long as you want it to be. Some of us have been on summer vacation all our lives.

I loathe how people seemingly roll up the carpets and pack things away almost as soon as August arrives. Rather than living the hell out of the last two months of incredible weather (it just gets better once September hits) some of us prefer to start preparing for the leaves to start dropping. I tried to buy a kite yesterday and fell flat in my effort. I could have grabbed any number of Halloween decorations though. I prefer to celebrate the summer until it kicks me out...last one to leave the party kind of thing...last man out of Saigon, except by Saigon I mean summer.

There are still ball games to get to, still outdoor concerts...there are still beach days, and still amusement parks and zoos open...we're still wearing shorts and t-shirts...it's summer, and I'm not leaving.

As for Camp Zed...well, even though we say todays the last day, I don't think it really is. If I'm living the kind of life that I want to be living then it's Camp Zed every day. Viva la Camp Zed!

As old Willie might have said, "once more into the beach my good friends!" or something like that.

Camp Zed to Sin City in a Single Day

By the time Zo is falling asleep tonight, after the last rousing day of Camp Zed, I'll be on a flight to Las Vegas. June and I found an embarrassing deal for five days in the desert, and we snatched it up, which will make it the first time we've spent more than 2-3 days away from Zoey in two and a half years. We're a little overdue.

Baachan and Grandad have stepped up to the plate to handle all things Zed, and it's very likely that just as Zed has finally settled into a deep, deep sleep tonight, we'll be walking through the front doors of The Flamingo on Las Vegas Blvd.

Now, there's a day of camp to navigate, and I should probably pack.

It's Not So Much Bike Riding As It Is Shuffling...

Zed doesn't ride a bike so well, and of course, she's only two and a half years old so that makes perfect sense, but that doesn't really stop her from wanting to go for bike rides.

Zo got a new bike for Christmas last year (thanks to Netta and Mark) and between packing up our old house, moving to our new house, and all of the exhausting enterprises of Camp Zed, never really got to use it. Well, all that and Dad kind of neglected to drag it out. Bad Dad...she really digs it.



It's a cool new fangled, no-pedal type starter bike thing that allows Zed to use her feet to shuffle her along, scooter-style, until she gets the hang of it. She doesn't need training wheels that will build up a totally false sense of riding a bike, but rather she can slowly shuffle her way into balance and speed and a goddamnit I want pedals kind of attitude. It's painfully slow going but it's good for her and I'm good with that.



Zo's Saturday bike expedition occurred with her Uncle and cousins visiting, so as soon as she got tired of shuffling along on her pedal-free bike, she found another ride...on her cousin. Smart kid.

Dear Matthew...you weren't very nice but I kind of owe you a big high five

My first roommate ever (besides my parents and brother) was a guy named Matthew. He was a turd. For privacy sake, and out of respect, I should probably refrain from telling you his full name, but Matthew Anselmo was a pile of cheap hair gel that could talk...sh!t, that could talk sh!t. In fact, Matthew, if you ever read this after having Googled yourself, I suggest you go and Google yourself. You were one of the reasons I withdrew from college and left Missouri. You were a giant black hole of turdburglery and I loathed you from the minute I met you. BTW, thanks for taking my money and opening my mail. That was my favorite part of our short, unproductive relationship. Anyway, if I'd have had this roommate I may have never left Missouri, which means that I might have never have grabbed a backpack and wasted a decade of my life on Kerouacian awesomeness, would have never wandered around Big Sur surviving El Nino attacks, and never scuffled through Europe on several occasions with nothing to do but rack up the stellar memories. I'd have never landed in Ann Arbor, Michigan. I'd have never met my wife, June. I'd have never climbed a rock, camped in the desert, hung out backstage at The Troubador, or had addresses in Brooklyn and Waikiki. I'd have never met this incredible Zoey kid, and that trumps all of that other crap. I guess our relationship was super productive in hindsight. Still, I'd have rather had this dude for a roommate.

Saturdays Start With Art

Lazy Saturday mornings are made for artistic expression...like sidewalk chalk patio projects, and garden hose graffiti. So we did both in our race to accomplish nothing much today. We actually do have some weak semblance of ambition but it's foundering at the moment. Saturdays might just be made for foundering.



We're exploring our options for entertainment on this sunny Saturday...and you never know what we'll do to fill the hours. There's a nap in Zed's future (and quite possibly mine), and a drive to some undisclosed awesome dot on the map might be cool, but right now we're settling for creative, yet simple, backyard shenanigans.

Are we much too restless for our own good? I'm thinking yes. We can't possibly be the only people whose feet get this unimaginably itchy.

Search Terms That Surprise...and Baffle

It's not so much that we're surprised that someone wants to see Jenn Elfman's boobs, 'cause why not, but it's a strange thing to find someone searching that leads them right to your blog...a strange thing indeed.

Cate & Levi...and Mitch

Zo with her new Cate & Levi bag...workin' it perfect.

Our friend, Michelle, sent home presents for Zoey. Mitch works as a designer/creative brain type girl at Cate & Levi and manages to spoil Zed blind on occasion with fairly lavish gifts that she might not otherwise enjoy. Both Cate & Levi, and Michelle Cooper are cool as cucumbers. Check 'em out...Cate & Levi, I mean, not Mitch, she's married. My friend, Coop, would be upset about that.

A Lesson in the Physics of Friendship

Two thirds of the best people I know were side by side across a table from me on Thursday night, while two more of the highest quality people life will ever chuck at you occupied either side of me, and all I could manage was a single gritty, pixelated cell phone shot of the night. Fool.

But my foolishness was pure bliss. I haven't felt that fortunate in awhile, at least, not in that completely unnecessary way...you know, the way good luck feels when you stumbled into it, not when it's planted, nurtured and harvested...this was just unfiltered happenstance that these four friends and I were tipping pint glasses, laughing, losing ourselves in shared and often times deeply consuming side conversations. You don't set out in life to secure these kinds of friendships. They just happen, and not often enough.

My friends Andrew, and Keith, and Mitch, and Matty are easy yo brag about, so I do, and often. It's an obvious enough characteristic of the group of people that sat around a crowded table on Thursday night that it was noted out loud, by each of us in turn, and on several spontaneous occasions. It's an exercise in the energy of good people if you wanted to explore the phenomenon further.

Keith carries with him the weight of several hundred admirers, all quite impressive I'd guess. His sister and her husband, responsible for my introduction to Keith, are impressive people...a prosthetic engineer, and a teacher. Amazing human beings.

Andrew's wife, Michelle, is beautiful and kind, and a favorite of my my own wife. She loves her, and that's no exaggeration. It's easy to imagine adoring Michelle. She takes advantage of her art school education by designing plush toys and puppets and accessories with re-purposed materials for children. Paralyzingly cool.

Andrew's family, his parents, his sisters whom I'm most familiar with, are unfathomably incredible people, equal parts cool and contented, overwhelmingly close, kind...oh so kind.

Matty, whom I became instant friends with what seems like a billion years ago, is as intelligent a man as I know, and his own wife, Jill, is impressively thoughtful and sweet.

Together the group is a living, breathing, laughing experiment in the boundless magnetic power of impressive people. It's always a selfish, indulgent feeling when you soak yourself in their company but it's often difficult to find any less satisfaction when sharing them with others. They often make the others so much more impressive themselves.

It was a consuming night of smiles and even sighs. I don't know where we were. I don't. I read the sign but forgot it the instant another conversation started. We nearly forgot to eat. We paid no attention to the bill, nor to the hour long wait for a table. We were just happy to imagine a world that feels that good every day. It wasn't just what I needed, it was what each of us human beings are desperately looking for every day. When loving and feeling loved intersect it explains a lot toward believing in magic.

Sometimes a Great Notion...

“Affection is responsible for nine-tenths of whatever solid and durable happiness there is in our lives.” - C.S. Lewis

It's easy enough to go the better part of a decade and not see someone, or perhaps to see someone not nearly enough, and then suddenly you do, and you're reminded how quickly time slips past and all the reasons why you unabashedly fell in love with them in the first place.

That was last night.

Tornado Schmornado

All of Southwestern Ontario is under a tornado warning less than a week after Goderich, ON was devastated by a tornado on Sunday. We're drinking Tecate, watching Dazed and Confused, and laughing at our daughter. Oblivious to the warnings, she's in bed...or supposed to be in bed. We just heard the sound of her keyboard coming down the stairs, and a quick look around the corner shows her desk lamp on. She's rocking her way through Environment Canada's weather warnings it seems. Maybe we all should be.

In case you needed some perspective...

Meg over at The Wild and Wily Ways of a Brunette Bombshell posted this today, and it knocked me over. It's been a long time since I read Salinger, and I forgot how incredible he is...Read this and stew in it for the rest of the night.

"...among other things, you'll find that you're not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and sickened by human behavior. you're by no means alone on that score, you'll be excited and stimulated to know. many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. you'll learn from them--if you want to. just as someday, if you have something of offer, someone will learn something from you. it's a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. and it isn't education. it's history. it's poetry."

J.D. Salinger - The Catcher in The Rye

That Meg is like the the Mariano Rivera of blogs. I'm not kidding. Lights out. Read the next quote. Holy Mother of Mickey Mantle.

It's Funny...

It's funny how little attention the world pays, to you, that is...It's funny how we expect it to, but if we disappeared tonight there'd still be a tomorrow...It's funny how inconsequential we all are, you know, in the great, grand scheme of things. So what if you're great at your job. There's somebody better. So what if you think you're kinda cool. There are an infinite number of people who are cooler, and...in case you forgot, there's that whole first thing I mentioned. There really aren't that many people paying attention to you. Go ahead, wear the same shirt for three days in a row and see who notices. One, maybe two people...out of the sea of people that you interact with each day two people will notice that you're a dirtbag.

It's funny how important we feel the events in our lives are, when there are so many people experiencing so many other important events as to render ours ridiculously petty, silly even. It's funny how we're always changing...how what we enjoyed five years ago means nothing to us now, and how what defined us a decade ago seems impossible to comprehend today. It's funny how we get older but our memories stay exactly where we made them.

It's funny how life takes you places that you never intended for it to take you, that you never knew existed even, and that all of the efforts to land elsewhere are fairly fruitless in the knowledge that we go where our situations bid us to go, and we make the most of what we find when we get there, or we don't...and those people who don't are miserable.

It's funny how "normal" could be more accurately defined as "familiar," and how what you see isn't what you get at all but rather, just what you see.

It's funny that living and dying is less defined by how we did it then by how long we did it. It's funny how frightened we are to take responsibility for our own...whatever...actions, children, happiness, anger, problems...It's funny how we're more inclined to wait for something to happen than we are to meet it halfway. It's funny how we usually end up exactly where we deserve to be.

It's funny how parenthood changes us, and it's funny how it doesn't too. If you're too cool, too oblivious, too self-centered, too angry or vindictive, too complacent, too spoiled, or too indifferent to being split open, turned inside out, made to adjust every single thought and belief, and set down dizzy and confused...well then maybe you'll always be those things, and never once find out who you maybe really are, or how quickly a little girl can spin you in circles and leave you breathless, happy, and uncertain of yourself.

It's funny, that's all.

It's funny how the only thing that really, really matters, I mean in the end, is what you helped build her into.

One of my new all-time favorite photos...

If June is around, and there's a camera handy, it's very likely that you're going to end up snapped up and framed into a photo before you even know it...and so that's what happened last night while we were out psuedo-celebrating Zoey's seven day sojourn of no accidents and no diaper ruination. As we munched and struggled to reign in an excitable little girl, the sun slowly slipped down over Michigan and passing freighters and sailboats. We settled into one of our favorite spots, this super sized, wicked-old looking, perfectly placed pavilion overlooking the beach, and often empty, and we soaked up a rapidly disappearing summer.

As Zed and I fiddled with scratching her name onto a cup, Mom was busy snatching up memories. I thought that the light was nice for chilling with my family at the beach. June thought it was nice for photos. Of the two opinions, hers was more accurate. Mine was bang-on too, but hers yielded this awesome shot. It feels like summer ending, and summer camp, and a Dad and his daughter, and a dozen other sigh inducing ideas, and I love it.

Silly Kid Stuff That Really Isn't Silly or Kid Stuff

Ever since I was a kid I wanted a car like this. I never really got into cars like my uncles or father had. I played sports instead. I read a lot. I was drawing and swimming in rivers and running around a wide countryside rather than dreaming of motor oil and gasoline (but oh how I loved the smell of gasoline). SOmehow, through all that seeming indifference, there was this anchor attached to whatever was firm enough to hold it in place , that tethered me to a car like this.

I think part of it was the overly romantic connection to a history I never knew, to a place where things seemed easier to define, but part of it was just the common awe that we all share when we're in the presence of manmade awesomeness. Last weekend we slipped over to catch the Woodward Dream Cruise for the first time and it was all shock and awe, with some ten year old boy giggles thrown in. It was incredible, and I'm forever making it a part of my summer, every summer. I'm still giddy from it.

The air was thick with the rumble of American muscle, and there was a faint smell of gasoline everywhere. Tires squealed, and squaked, people were smiling and street signs shaking...it was one of the coolest scenes I think I've ever seen. There was an endless parade of history purring past us on the street, and we explored parts of Detroit's suburbs that we were never all that familiar with but now love...Ferndale, Royal Oak, Birmingham...it was so much fun I nearly blew a gasket, or busted a tie rod...something.

Now all I want to do is find some cheap piece of American metal to marginally invest our time and energy into and spend portions of our summer feeling like we fell out of American Graffiti. For a short period of time I think Zed would find that pretty cool. I know June would, 'cause despite what your average woman might admit, it was fun to watch her melt in the presence of a smokin' hot car. She even admitted as much. As cool as it is to find a boy who listens and laughs and is fun to be around...it wouldn't hurt if he drove a car like the ones we saw on Saturday. Put together that package and watch teh rest of the world fall away in your asphalt wake.

Maybe next year we can actually cruise Woodward, instead of stumbling down it's length in awe.

Beaches and Tasteless Ethnic Jokes

Dinner at the beach, in honor of Zed scootching a whole week without soiling a diaper or having an accident. After a day of awesome leisure it's always nice to follow it up with more awesome leisure but with food. So we packed up a stellar dinner...I packed up a stellar dinner...and coordinated with Mom who was returning home late from work and a photo job. BOOM, beach pavilion...freighters echoing their horns as they entered the lake, sailboats drifting by, teenagers smoking dope in the bushes, and us with a nice little set up. Of course, I felt somewhat emasculated and...wait, somewhat more emasculated than doing the best job I can at this Dad thing can make you feel...but we were gonna eat at the beach dammit, whether I felt much like a man or not.

I pack a mean picnic BTW. If your husband doesn't than too bad for you.

We even had cupcakes that June grabbed on her way back. Strangely enough, they were exactly like her ethnicity, except the chocolate part.



Even stranger was the fact that while we were celebrating Zed's recent poddy skills she went and filed a diaper with a ball of poo that had to be brewing all day. It was like finding a plum in her pull up. The kid knows a thing or two about irony, I'll give her that.

How do you hopscotch?

Zoey doesn't give a s#!t about the rules of hopscotch. She doesn't care to learn the rules, doesn't care if she's doing it wrong (your wrong, not hers) and she has almost no fear of making mistakes in whatever game she made for herself. All those hopscotch lines laid out on the concrete just don't look like regular old concrete, so...I wanna play on 'em.

We all need a little more of that. Their only rules if you believe them to be rules, socially speaking...don't go and start stealing cars 'cause, you know, you don't believe in the concept of personal property. I'm talking about the rules that govern your social and emotional this and thats. Don't let other people define you. Don't do something because it's what people expect. Don't fall in line if a line is tha last thing you want to be a part of. Just be, and be happy.

If you want to play hopscotch, play hopscotch, but if you want the lines in the hopscotch outline to be the only thing keeping you from the hot molten lava of asphalt beneath you, then cool. Do that. Just don't complain about hopscotch and then start hopping. People might look at you a little funny when you're teetering precariously on the edge of some painted line on the cement, and, of course, some people will be frustrated that you're in the way of their game of hopscotch, but in the absolute end...like let's say symbolically the end of morning recess, 'cause until you're dead or have given up, there's always another recess...people will you respect you more for being yourself, and doing your own thing than they ever will for hopping when you just don't want to hop.

How do you hopscotch?

She Ain't Skeered...I Mean, Mostly

Zoey going canoeing with Grandad.

Zed isn't skeered of much, especially not canoeing, in case you were wondering. If you weren't, well, now you know. She also not skeered of...

- snakes
- tornados
- Cleo, the beach monster
- tsunamis
- broccoli
- crowds
- volcanos (including lava)
- bullies
- long car rides

She's not such a big fan of jumping in the pool though. Can't be perfect, I guess.

Down Woodward...

Today's the Woodward Dream Cruise and that's all I have to say about that. Adios muchcahos!

An Open Letter to Our Second Favorite Day of the Week

Dear Friday,

I hope you don't find it offensive when I suggest that Zoey and I are going to kick your @$% today. Of course, I don't mean that in the literal sense, we would never do that, and naturally, you're a day and so subsequently...no a$%, but what I mean is that we have every intention of using up every hour of your generosity and milking you dry like you were some kind of farm goat. Sorry, bad analogy.

As you might imagine, we absolutely adore you, but I think most people do. However, we are clearly aware that we only get the chance to celebrate you a finite number of times in our lives so we're going to make the most of you today, and every time our paths cross, from now until forever. In fact, I'm going to teach my daughter to do the same so that long after I'm gone someone can still be busy kicking your lovely face in...you know, hypothetically.

So, with all due respect, hang on tight 'cause Zed and I are going to ride you hard and put you away wet today...hope you've got your saddle strapped on tight.

Much love and respect...

Brian

What you don't know can hurt you...

"Everybody is a genius. If you judge a fish by it's ability to climb a tree, it will live it's whole life believing that it's stupid." - Albert Einstein

That Einstein guy was a smart cookie, and I love that quote. I don't even know why I'm posting it except that yesterday reminded me that Zoey is everything that we invest in her. She's every bit the advice we give her, the lessons that we teach, and the people that we are...every day, no days off, no one time exceptions, no excuses. Our encouragement matters. Our criticism, both timely and untimely, matters. The beliefs and stereotypes that we perpetuate in front of her, matter.

I think I'm going to be a big fan of dropping quotes subtly in her lap...via prints on the wall in our house, or maybe...no, that's it. I think we'll have a constantly evolving, rotating, or growing collection of framed quotes in her room...you know, things to unintentionally ponder, to subliminally sink in. At least to leave her aware, you know, anything but foreign to their meaning. Things like this, and this, or this one. Without question I want to frame this and hang it where she can see it every day. It's something that I read a long time ago and that I always remembered.

Think about the smallest memories that have stuck with you your entire life...the words someone said, or the thing that you read. It doesn't always have to be a big deal kind of thing...the giant lesson learned. It can be a print on your wall that you read every time time you looked up from your homework. Don't underestimate the power of not knowing that something existed, that some phrase or advice or perspective was out there to steer and shape you. Until you've heard it, seen it, or read it, how can you know it? We don't know what we don't know, it's that simple. Blank canvas, it's what I tell myself every time I lose perspective...blank canvas, and us with all the paint.

Zo's First Lesson in Bullying

Today Zo got bullied. She totally did, and by a dirty faced little psycho mall urchin running wild and largely unsupervised in the mall play area, which makes it something like ten times more stereotypical and at least three times easier to believe. He followed Zed around and wouldn't stop getting in her face, literally right in her face. He would just growl and stare at her, side step when she sidestepped, circle her when she turned around to avoid him. He was a filthy little freak. He ripped the hat right off of her head twice. He squealed at adults. He ran by and jumped on my feet. His parents dropped in and out of their role as parents, and even in those moments when they happened to accidentally be there, they did nothing to curb their pitiful offspring's nasty enthusiasm. So Zo did.

She took care of her own business assertively. She never asked for help, not once. Sure, she tumbled back into the safety of dad's arms a few times, but didn't ask for help, and didn't ask to leave. She didn't get aggressive, but was plenty defensive, and told the little monster, in no uncertain terms, that she preferred a world without him in it. My words, not hers.

Never thought about what kind of school your child will attend someday? Some have a much greater density of urchins. Zoey would rather eat gravel than go to a school with that particular monster. She never wants to go the mall play area again, she says. We made sure to praise her for how she handled the situation, and reinforce the calm and cool she exercised, but there's no getting 'round the damage a bully does. Zo's two and a half, and a champion socializer, and now grub boy has ruined someplace for her. Cool to see her stick up for herself though...and cooler still to see her not resort to a violent outburst like her father might have. I'd have one punched the dirt right off that funster's face.

Zoinks...A Mystery.

Lsat night, after an inspiring sit down with two episodes of Scooby Doo, Zo decided that she needed to go outside and solve some mysteries. It was cute, and sweet, and hilarious...every few minutes we'd here, "Aha!" and we couldn't help but laugh. She had a magnifying glass, and never actually specified just what mystery it was that she was trying to solve, but boy, it sure sounded like she was finding an awful lot of clues.



What absolute mind boggling sponges these little people are. Zed watches two episodes of Scooby Doo and she needs to go out and solve a few mysteries. Wow. How are some of us not paying attention to all of the little important things that we expose them to? How are we not watching what we say, or how we say it? How do we sometimes pay more attention to what we feed them at the table than to what we feed their rapidly developing brains? Books, music, conversations, fun, rules, relationships...all of it is fodder for developing a child that's just not a dick to other human beings, and maybe, if you're lucky, a really smart and confident one with some serious values, and a good idea of who she is, with the strength not to compromise. Sorry...it doesn't need to be that dramatic, maybe you can settle for just the "not be a dick t other people" part and be happy with that. Seriously...sponges and sometimes we're more interested in America's Got Talent than inspiring our funsters to go solve imaginary mysteries.

I occasionally forget. I think that we all do, but Zo is awfully quick to remind me. There are little eyes watching, and little ears listening, and if your inquisitive little package of pride isn't playing mystery solver in the backyard then maybe you've never showed them how it's done. Rut roh.

Magnifying glasses cost $1 and Scooby Doo is on the television every single day. Have fun.

Rise and shine...

Rise and shine. Are you $#&%ing kidding me? Lately I've been getting about six hours of sleep a night, and it's my own fault, but rise and shine just doesn't seem possible. Rise and shimmer maybe. Rise and flicker a little is something I could possibly manage, but rise and shine...no way.

I need coffee...and a breakfasty sandwich of some sort.

I'd like to kick Thursday's ass but don't have the slightest idea how yet. It'll come to me.

Growing Up Beautiful

"Happy girls are the prettiest." - Audrey Hepburn

I'm a terribly biased Dad...terribly, but I figure it's part of the job. I look at my daughter and am taken aback by how beautiful I think she is. What no one tells you about this fatherhood gig though is what it might be like if your daughter actually is undeniably beautiful. I keep waiting for her to get a little ugly but it's just not happening. She's somethin' to look at, and that's soul warming and a little staggering too.

I remember the beautiful girls from school. I was forever petrified of talking to them, perpetually intimidated by them, and always blushing around them, always tripping over myself. It started in elementary school, extended into high school, and didn't lessen in college. Beautiful girls are where nice boys go to die.

Despite my embarrassing misgivings about finding myself conversationless and paralyzed by a beautiful girl for most of my life, I look at Zo and wonder what all the fuss is about. She's a girl, they all were once, and if their father's are worth anything at all they don't grow up any scarier than that. I see beautiful girls in an entirely new light these days. I look at mine and wonder what was I ever so frightened of?

An Important Lesson in Sneakery

When June finished up work today and went to check on a napping Zo, this is what she found.



She came downstairs laughing and told me that I had to go see Zed. She had no idea how she got so buried under her blankets, pillows, etc...but that it was hilarious. I was busy with some work and so she went back upstairs before I could muster the trip myself. She discovered that what she thought was Zoey wasn't Zoey at all.



What!? Where the hell is our daughter? Suddenly she started thinking in Hogan's Heroes or Stalag 17 terms and wondered why our daughter was pulling the pillow trick at two and a half years of age. There was no Zed, no nothing but an empty bed where Zed should have been.



That's when I heard the muffled laugh, and heard the creak of the stairs.

"Oh my God, you've got to see this." June guffawed. "It's awesome. I can't believe it."

So I trucked up to Zo's room and this is what I found...



I was wondering why it had gotten so quiet up there. She struggled with trying to nap for what seemed like an hour, but I left her to just quietly play and maybe rest a little. When it got really quiet I thought that she had just fallen asleep, like she usually does. I suppose, that's what she did...just after a little stealthy sneakery.



I shudder to think what she'll try to pull in high school. The pillow trick? Already? Oh man, we're in for a steady diet of trouble. Either that or she's just the most inquisitive, adorable, joyous bundle of curiosity in seven square blocks of our small but happy little universe. I'll hope she's the latter and then I can stop worrying about how much it'll cost to put bars on her windows when she turns thirteen.

Raindrops Keep Falling...

Every once in awhile a creeping kind of rain cloud type feeling finds me and sets me down in dark rooms and keeps me from going outside. It makes my patience short and my apathy long, and I loathe it. It's found me today, despite blue skies and beautiful girls, it's found me and books, or blogging, or coffee, or baseball, or nothing can rid me of the Eeyoresque look I have when I stare in the mirror. Today I need a haircut, some time to gather myself without distraction, a new and exciting discovery (music, book, long lost t-shirt, I dunno), and I need to be reminded that getting a base hit three times out of ten gets you into the Hall of Fame, but you're still allowed to be pissed off when you strike out...or when it just feels like you're striking out.

I'm good...just in a bit of a surprise funk. It happens. I just tell people about it, that's the difference.

It's not unusual that it happens after I do something good, like visiting my friend Dustin, or coming home from a trip, or whatever it is that fills me back up after being depleted. The good times are good, and their sudden and noticeable absence only reminds me that they're gone. I wish I lived closer to the people I wanted to spend time with, but I don't. I wish that I had endless distractions at my disposal, but I don't. I want to go to bookstores that don't exist, and parks that aren't here, and zoos every day. I want to people watch where all the people don't look the same, and I want to own less than what I do.

I want a lot of things.

Then there are the things that I should be doing. Why aren't I writing more? How come there are a million and half sketches, and no book for Zo? Where do all the ideas go after I think them up and do nothing about them?

Curious, this rain Eeyoresque cloud mood that strikes me...curious indeed.

Hey Look...Free Unsolicited Advice

It's a good idea to keep an eye on your ice cream when in the company of leacherous scum like your Dad. That's good advice. Write that down.

Here's some more good advice...

Find a big river that requires big beautiful bridges to span it...if there are big boats floating around, even better...even cooler if the river separates two countries.



Don't settle for anything less than a playground and an ice cream shop beneath it...bring a couple of beautiful girls if you can swing it...pay particular attention to the girl that is amazed by it all and likes to throw rocks into the fast moving current...do it as often as you can...but in the end it's probably most important to keep an eye on your ice cream.

Oh...and bring a photographer for best results.

What the expletive...

A new Zoey Blog feature...

WHAT THE #%&! IS THIS...

Seriously, what the #%&! is this? That's ridiculous.

Oh...wow...what the #%&! is this? That's cool. I wanna do that.

What the #%&! is this nonsense? Now that's cool.

Alright. What the #%&! is this? No seriously...what the #%&! is that?

What the #%&! is this, and why don't I have one?

Someone somewhere in Dallas (or on Adelaide Street in Woodstock) is thinking, What the #%&! is this? right now...and they should be.

Jesus H. Delman Young. What the #%&! is this!? That sounds incredible!

Hmmm, What the #%&! is this? It's mega bad @S$, that's what it is.

Whoa! What the #%&! is this!? Perfection, I think. Gerry, get out your tool belt. I'll need a lot of help.

Ahahaha...what the #%&! is this!? It's the kind of Japanese cuisine that this gaijin can manage with smooth results.

Oh my. What the #%&! is this!? It's our lunch tomorrow, that's what!

What the #%&! is this? His name is Tayshaun Prince and he's our next family member.

You know what the #%&! this is? It's Zoey at fourteeen I hope.

I know what the #%&! this is. It's my new mantra, that's what.

I'll start with this.

Totally Psyched

Dunno who the original photographer is but June found it here.

While we were on the road this morning June sent me this photo with a note that asked if, I was this psyched when we got married? I responded with an emphatic yes, and then remembered leaving City Hall in New York and getting in a good fist pump in celebration of our recent ascent in wedding bliss.

I have a wedding story so unlike a lot of the guys I know. It was worthy of a fist pump.

Camp Zed Takes To The Road

When your daughter doesn't fall asleep until 11pm, and then wakes up at 4am...and when only one of you have to work the next day, and there are good friends on holidays less than 2 hours away...well, the best course of action is to get up and get on the road first thing. So we did.

This morning Camp Zed packed up shop and without having a clue where we were going and hit the road in order to get Zed some car sleep, give Mom a chance to stumble into work (from home today, but still...dangerously fatigued) and Dad a chance to enjoy his coffee and music without a zombie child wrecking both. We weren't in the car five minutes and Zed was out cold. We grabbed some gas, texted our good friends, Dustin and Kelly, and snatched up some gas and got gone. 'Bout an hour and a bit later we were in Woodstock and Zed was swimming in her clothes with a pug named Heidi. Now that's a good start to a potentially disastrous day.


Pug, pool, and Zed.

Good fortunes abound in the world surrounding Zed, and both Dustin and Kel were home and available for a chill morning visit that eventually turned into a nekkid romp around the Wellman Estate for Zed, a grilled lunch for us all, including a surprise drive by lunch visit for burgers and beers by our mutual stellar fella, Jimmy Whynot, and about three or so hours of easy conversation and no hassle friendship. The naked kid getting who was stealing handfuls of M&Ms incessantly and whose face was licked raw by two pugs was just a garnish to the days main entree, cool people.


Zoey Sakura DeWagner...not James Douglas Morrison.

Cool people is just what we've found in D-Funk and Kel. WIth no necessary rhyme or reason attached to our friendship, we can just be happy to really like one another and that's it. There are almost no relationships on the planet that don't dangle some sort of straggling need or demand, and so when you find one, you'd better celebrate it by randomly making yourself a houseguest with a nudified funster and a lunch appetite. As if it wasn't good enough that I'd call Dustin my first choice for desert island company he went and married the absolute sweetest and kindest woman on planet earth and so it was no surprise when Zo reached for hand and followed her around the house, or when Kel appeared with a gift for Zo because she said that she would surprise her with something weeks ago. It was no surprise when Zed crawled up on her lap, and no surprise when we left that a desperately tired and subtly out of sorts Zo didn't want to go.


Kel and Zed...besties without effort.

If you don't have friends like Dustin and Kelly, we'll gladly loan them to you, and highly recommend picking some up. They're terribly affordable and not much maintenance at all, in fact, you'll hardly have to clean up after them ever. Both are housebroken and only Dustin has the occasional accident on the carpet. If unadulterated affection and a connection with impossibly thoughtful and interesting people is what you're after then I can get you their address.

We didn't know where we were going when we left the house this morning but we couldn't have found a better place to end up.

The Breakfast Club

The new tradition is a once a week breakfast date between Daddy and daughter. It's fun. It gets Zed used to eating out and practicing manners, patience, etc... but mostly it's just a chance for someone else to make the coffee. This morning we ate out for a stellar $11.00, and Zo was a stellar dining companion, even if she was a little distracted with our window seats and the customers coming and going.



Daddy ordered the house special, bacon and eggs with home fries. Zo ordered the chocolate chip pancakes. It got ugly. There was chocolate everywhere. Despite being more than a little distracted she still managed to lay waste to her pancakes. Of the two pretty large slabs of fluffy goodness, Zed dismantled most of both of them.



After a meal like that you've got to work it off, so we slipped on out to investigate the train station. Sarnia has one of those typical midwestern half-forgotten train stations that sees two, maybe three trains a day...it has weeds growing through the cracks of the station platform, and a virtual parking lot full of used up, long retired freight cars. I love it. It's our history on life support, but refusing to give in. They're lonely places, and I feel bad for the station masters who work long empty hours there. I feel bad for all of them except the one we met today because she was the coolest lonely lady ever. She met us in the lobby, gave us a little tour, and slipped us a bag full of cool stuff including a cardboard train! Zed now thinks that the train station is the coolest place on earth, so much so that she didn't want to leave. She just wanted to sit there and wait for trains. Freak.



Only one train came...very likely the only one for hours, so I conned her back into the car by promising we could play the organ at the local thrift store. Yup, it's a schweet old Hammond deal, the kind that Ray Manzarek would be happy to play, with a crazy price tag on it that no thrift shop patron is going to fork over, so it's made our list of summer highlights. Zo plays Doors tunes while I scoop 99 cent kids books. Most importantly, I manage to make it out of the train station without having to wait for the 7:10 Chicago Cruiser.



It was a full day after a full breakfast, and I've decided that this Camp Zed thing is the best gig I've ever had. I highly recommend it to anyone who could realistically get their own Zed and then hang out with her for ten hours a day.

Do you remember...

Do you remember when you hardly needed anything to have fun? It's tough to imagine that there was a time when all you needed were some hopscotch lines painted on the pavement, or a tree fort, or an empty beach to have the most fun of your life. What happened to that feeling. I want it back.

The Things That We Keep

Flying our flag on fridges and beaches and anywhere Camp Zed goes...forever and ever.

Sometimes I need reminding that not all fathers get the privilege of spending entire summers with their children. I do, and occasionally I forget the immeasurable value of that. Every once in awhile I need a nudge to wake me up to the wonder of it. I'm going to camp, with my daughter, every day. That's pretty incredible.

Just as these dog days of summer roll in I've needed more than a little motivation to push through exhausted creativity, a lingering ankle issue and the pain that goes with it, and I've tripped over the fact that I've done not a single thing for me this summer...not a single thing for us, for my wife and I. It's entirely been about Zed. Just as I was wondering how I might pick myself up and dust myself off I found some perspective at the kitchen table...painting flags for Camp. As Zo destroyed a random bit of cloth, I worked more diligently, and when we were done, we had a flag to drag along with us on all our little adventures...to the beach, to the pool, to the park, on adventures...We could fly our flag for the remainder of the summer, and for every summer after that, and laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. A Dad and his daughter at camp together...their camp, no one else's, their own smile inducing memory factory of sunscreen and swimming suits, of sun and sand and smores.

I haven't watched the news in six weeks. I sometimes forget what day it is. Camp Zed has been a gift, and every summer that we get to add adventures to the pile will be a similar souvenir of the time we're able to waste together. I think I'll keep this flag tucked away with me forever. There's very little I value right now as much as this ragged bit of fabric and paint. Camp Zed...turning princesses into pirates, and Dads into nostalgic, sentimental fools.

Knights of The Asphalt Table

Zed's become increasingly curious about knights and castles, a by-product of all those princess stories, I'm sure. She wants to see pictures of castles, she's baffled by the armor slung from the shoulders of knights, and then there's that whole business of dragons and magic etc...intriguing etc...She's smitten.

Now if we can just get her to call Lancelot by his proper name instead of the one she presently uses indiscriminately...

Parkinglot.

Oh my.

Tied, Dyed, and Officially Obsessed

This is the end result of an afternoon of fairly high maintenance fun via a tie dye kit and some ambition. Zed can't stop asking to wear one of her shirts. I think this might be the start of an unreasonable affection for tie dye.

The Illusive Poddy Perspective

It's probably safe to say that there aren't many Dad's in the position of doing the lion's share of poddy work with their two and a half year old, but with the summer off and all day to hang out with a little girl trying desperately to not soil herself anymore, the poo stops here, with me...or at least in theory in stops here.

Dad could be more diligent. Dad could make a more concentrated effort. Dad could take this whole poddy thing just a little more serious, but see here's the thing. It works out regardless. It does, it just does. Shrug. I dunno what else to say. Zed went all day yesterday without a single incident, not one. There was little prompting, a lot of encouraging words, and no hassles. I'm starting to wonder if the no hassles part is the most important. Dad's just gonna try not to get in the way of Zo's very symbiotic relationship with her own body and that Mother Nature lady. Together they know what they're doing.

It's funny, when I hear Moms talking (and sometimes it feels as though that's all I do is listen to Moms talking...at the park, at the Y, etc...) about toilet training their kids its a big deal/ giant fuss type conversation about methods and the best advice they've ever gotten and annoying fuss after astonishing angst, and I don't have anything to contribute, at least nothing that wouldn't leave me judged and stereotyped. I encourage her to use the poddy. I don't make a big deal out it. She does it. Bad Dad? I know, how dare I not read the books. How presumptuous of me to not solicit the advice of these women who obviously have read the books, and who so obviously are experts on the topic of raising children. I just don't care to bother. Every child is different. Every home, parent, etc...is different. Just do what you do and pay attention to what works and what doesn't. Done. That's the Daddy way. It doesn't earn you any respect on the playground. In fact, I'm learning that I got more respect on playgrounds when I used to hit three point jump shots from the corner than from parenting, but that's another blog post entirely.

The Daddy poddy approach is a markedly different thing than the Mommy one, I think. Fortunately in my house, that's not the case. We're largely on the same page. I can imagine, as that's all I can do in these hypothetical situations, that in other homes, and in other families, Daddy doesn't stand a chance at influencing this process, and that's too bad. There's a yin and a yang to this whole parenting thing, and more often than not men choose not to participate in a response to not mattering much in the process in the first place...again, another blog post entirely. In a unique way, the toddler in training and your average Dad have a lot more common than you might think. Too often neither one is given the space, time, and trust to manage things largely on their own, and when pushes start to turn into shoves, Dads, like daughters just avoid the hassles altogether. Of course, the end result isn't us peeing down our own leg, or it shouldn't be, but you get the drift of it.

Hey, Check Us Out!

The Zoey Blog has been nominated for the Best Daddy Blog at Parents Magazine. Whoa! Kinda cool. I dunno what that all means (except more traffic on an already busy blog) but it sounds awfully nice. Whatever the deal is, we'll take the compliment and run with it. So far the leading blog only has 16 votes. Huh? We can beat that in an afternoon if people are logged onto their computers as this beautiful day outside unfolds...uhh, yeah, maybe we might need a little more time than that.

Either way...cool.

Click on the little pink icon to the right and vote now. Do it or your toilet will clog and overflow later tonight, I promise. That's what happens when you don't vote.

The Princesses of Detroit

Like a lot of little girls I suspect, Zoey has a little fascination with princesses. It started, I'm sure, with her story books. The old Disney books are the worst culprits of this wicked fairy tale gender stereotyping deal. It's awful. I'm not particularly sensitive about such things but I'm regularly flabberghasted by the over the top stereotyping. Every one of those books has a princess that needs kissing or rescuing from some chiseled jaw looking prince with bad hair. It's ridiculous. So it shouldn't have been surprising when I played this Supremes video at the kitchen table this morning and Zo asked if the girls were princesses. I suppose they look like it. I told her the first thing that popped into my head.

"Yes," I said confidently, "they are princesses. They're the Princesses of Detroit."

She seemed satisfied with that answer. Me too. They definitely were. My Mom remembers a year, 1967 or '68 she thinks, where absolutely every song on the radio was a Motown song...every one. The world's never seen that kind of a musical phenomenon before and never will again. Princesses of Detroit indeed.

The rules of photographic indulgence...

Is it even possible to have too many photos of your child sleeping? I don't think so, in fact, I think you go straight to Hell without collecting $200 if you aren't snapping photos of your sleeping children on a regular basis.

So far, our Top Five recurring photo opps...

1. sleeping child

2. smiling child

3. child's impossibly cute arse

4. child in pigtails

5. child snuggling/kissing parent

If you're not regularly snapping these pics then you should say thirteen "Hail Marys" really fast, throw salt over your left shoulder...or was it right? I forget...wish on a star, touch wood, and beg the grandparents forgiveness. That's just how it works. I don't make the rules. If you've got a problem with it take it up with a stork.

Jerry's Kids...Camp Zed Pays Tribute to Jerry Garcia

Camp without tie dyed tees is like...well, I dunno what it's like. That's a difficult analogy to stretch but trust me when I say that summer camp without tie dye just isn't summer camp, either that or you're really rich and your camp didn't stoop to dyed fabrics and faint counterculture tributes for one more generation of funsters removed from the fray of communal camping. We do.



Dad brewed up the idea over coffee this morning. Mom used up her lunch break to help out, and in the true spirit of it all, Zed got naked, doffing only an apron.



Now that you can buy full tie dye kits with bottles, dyes, rubber bands, etc...it's fool proof. You don't need dreads, bead necklaces, or a faint patchouli smell like you used to. All you need is the kit, then grab some soda ash, to help the dye set in the fabric. Done. Well, kinda done. You'll need a bucket, a flat stain resistant surface (big cardboard box), Saran or plastic wrap, a dinner fork or a larger BBQ fork, some rubber gloves, and a tray or aluminum foil dish to set the finished shirts in. Done, and done. It's really that easy. You're almost ready to tour with Phish,or at least hit a single Bob Weir show.



It's not exactly the best hands on project for a two and half year old, but when you've got a good one, and some extra hands, it's fine. Zo couldn't touch the soda ash, and we weren't thrilled with the idea of Zed and a squirt bottle full of colored dye, so she helped set things up, helped us select colors and tie our rubber bands onto the shirts.



She even twisted tees, and in a hilarious turn of events, helped out with the Saran wrap. She was most thrilled about her rock responsibility...placing rocks on our fresh Saran wrap so that it didn't get all tangled or blow away. Mostly I think she was just happy to be outside naked.



It really is an idiot proof project. If you drag your funster along to gather up materials, buy a shirt or three, and then prep and finally get down to business, you've wrapped up a huge amount of their time, and then all you have to do is twist, tie, and squirt dye...BLAM, instant hero.



We all made a shirt or two...Zo made three. It only took about 30-45 minutes but she was thrilled, and was desperate to see the end results. Sadly, she has to wait a good few hours for the dye to really set, and because little miss 6 AM needs a nap!



What a cool afternoon, and what a timely idea. We listened to the Grateful Dead when we settled down for a nap, and Zoey told me all about her stance on harsher drug sentencing and the commercialization of what's left of the touring Dead scene. She's a smart kid. More than one Jerry would be proud (the grandfatherly one spells his name with a G not a J). She's also a tired kid. As I type this the little hippie is asleep in her cardboard castle. Apparently, tie-dying takes endurance, or at least, the excitement surrounding tie-dying does.