Missing in Action

We've been sick around here...for days...and since no one is interested in a zombie-esque looking family not enjoying themselves, we'll remain in hiding until the house is virus-free. How's that for unapologetic honesty? Here's some more links to amuse you in our pathetic absence:

I want this poster.

Oh my...I might require an intervention to drag my scattered attention from this web emporium of awesome. Someday...someday.

It's like an angel wasn't watching were they were going.

How come calendars are always crap? This one isn't. I'm going to start designing calendars and get super rich ('cause everyone needs a calendar) and move to Encinitas/Leucadia and buy a cool little house on Neptune Lane, and you'll never, ever see me again. You think I'm joking. I'm not.

My kind of restaurant.

Pretty awesome.

Of course, it's much, much too early for these conversations with Zed, but if you've got a teenage daughter, this is impossibly awesome.

Good advice.

Friday Links...

Jesus H. Pavlov...Could all of the Psychiatrists on the planet please find a cave to get trapped in. Grief is not a disease.

I wish we had the space, and the necessary appetite for milk, to manage this awesome feat.

Our vote for Grandad's newest backyard project.

Powerful.

Has anyone more closely resembled a golden God than an eighteen year old Cassius Clay? No.

If Erin Vey can't make you want to own a dog, then the case is hopeless.

All you have to do is dream, dream, dream.

I'd sell my left foot for these but then I wouldn't need them.

Thanks Aunt Netta. Exactly.

iPhone's take good pictures...so do Mitch, Zed, and Coop.

It's Black History Month and there might not be another man who has impacted me as much as this one. Likewise for this woman.

Kinda desperate for this.

Sad.

Someday I will go here.

Meltdown...

This morning Zo had a Daddy meltdown...a wailing, life is over, "I want Daddy", heartbreak festival, and there wasn't a thing anyone could do about it, until she decided that she was okay, and that Daddy would come back. It was the first of it's kind, and I'm glad I didn't see it. June asked me if it felt a little good to know that she needed me so desperately, and I couldn't muster an ounce of satisfaction. I just wanted her to be okay...to be happy. I think that's the definition of love, isn't it? If it isn't, it should be.

Wild Geese etc...

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting–
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

--Mary Oliver, Dream Work

Read this awesome post by Joanne Goddard over at Cup of Jo, and male or female, try not to be moved.

I too have had my own struggles with anxiety and even depression. There aren't many of us who haven't. There are, however, far too many of us who don't want to talk about it. It's terribly heinous stuff, like water finding the cracks in a dam, and if you're unlucky enough to stumble headlong into it, you very likely won't recognize it until you trip on back out. It's serious business made even more serious if someone can find the strength and perspective to talk about it. Joanna's post is it's own kind of beautiful. Read it, but if you're a Mom you might want to reach for a tissue first...Dads too. The woman you love may just have a similar story but you've never heard it.

I hear it almost every single day, and I'm convinced that the deepest, darkest foggiest places on this planet are inside ourselves.

Be good tonight folks. Take care of yourself. Say what's on your mind. Talk to someone...try to listen. Go to sleep knowing that you're not the only one. There's lots of us...male, female, mothers, fathers...friends. Be good, stay cool. Mucho affection...which means "lots" in Mexican if you're keeping score at home.

If You Don't Own One of These...

Get yourself a Perplexus. I'm not kidding. Does stress kick your face in? Struggling with the oddest, most random anxiety ever? Just need a distraction? Perplexus is the answer. I'm serious.

Without getting into the ridiculous details of managing anxiety, and how your brain works, and all that stuffy amygdala crap, if you're feeling overwhelmed, and if you can't seem to get your mind off of something, you NEED to physically do something to ease the burden. You can't think yourself straight. On most occasions, you can't talk yourself into feeling better. You need to engage your brain, and tackle something tangible and tactile. You need to somehow manage the equivalent of that UPS dude who tattoos himself while playing chess and speaking Chinese. Like the Daniel Tosh joke, ever see a sad guy on a wave runner? No, you haven't...mostly because it's too damn fun, but also because it bloody well impossible for your brain to manage it.

Do yourself a favor, and pick up any one of the Perplexus toys. You'll thanks me later. It works.


Coop and Zo workin' on the Perplexus Rookie

We just spent the better part of 24 hours twisting and cursing this ball of emotionless plastic. It fully engaged all of us. Everyone had a hard time putting it back down, and as I suggested, it's kind of hard to feel consumed by your earlier problems when you want to chuck the thing across the room. It's easily the best tool I've ever seen for dumping your stress and anxiety away...and for attracting curious three olds with very few social issues.

Read the reviews...it's the most stellar toy you've ever seen. It's ideal for sensory development in small children, practically perfect for relieving stress ands train in adults, and wildly appropriate for skill development for populations struggling to develop more traditional skills...like autistic kids, or people with cognitive disorders. It's un-frikkin-believable. Get one or feel shame when you're the last person to bask in it's awesomeness.

Toronto doesn't have the letters "S" or "P" in it but if it did...

A crowded Family Day at the Toronto Zoo - February 20, 2012

Family Day weekend found us in Toronto with our good friends Coop and Michelle. We hit the Toronto Zoo, and Zed finally, and quite randomly, learned to pronouce words that begin with "SP." Up 'til now it was always "F"...so Springer Spaniel always sounded like Finger Faniel. Quite sweet when you're three years old, but not so good over the long educational haul.

Our friends Coop and Michelle are two of the most kind and thoughtful people that we know, and Zed tuned into it pretty quickly. Her and Andrew became fast friends, but more impressively was her impossibly fast and easy connection with Michelle. The two were BFFs before you could say Zoey Sakura. In less than 24 hours they went from complete strangers to inseparable Zoo buddies.


Michelle and her new BFF, Zoey - Toronto Zoo

It's easy to imagine that kids have infinitely more refined radars for sussing out the cool people than us grown ups do. Zed was quick to latch onto Coop and Michelle. She was almost instantly comfortable in their home, and happy to ignore half the universe if Michelle was available to pry some attention from with a smile, or a little grasping hand, or a quick shuffle to sit a little bit closer. We watched with quiet amazement as the two girls fell easily into one another's affection. It was paralyzingly sweet to watch.


Zo, Coop, and Michelle making their own pseudo-family - Feb 20, 2012

We don't get to Toronto enough, and there are times when we wish we could sell everything that we own and live a short subway ride away from some of the best people that we know, but reality always pulls back into reality. We'd certainly be out of orbit in Toronto. It's not that we aren't city people, it's just that we may not be Toronto people. Just as New Yorkers are New Yorkers, and Angelinos are Angelinos, Toronto has it's own kind, and we just may not be it. We'd happily give it a shot to see Coop and Michelle more often though. It's a different and amazing feeling to find the comfort of the easiest kind of friends around, and one we only find with a few people. That's not to say that there aren't plenty of people that we love, but few relationships are as easy as this one. We take our cues from Zed, and she's fairly convinced that Coop and Michelle are first rate friends.


Dad and Zo - Family Day, Toronto Zoo

After three years we're quite certain that we're Zoo people, even if we're not quite sure what else we are, we're most definitely Zoo people. Our obsession started with the Honolulu Zoo, and was further bolstered back home in Detroit, and then found a whole new gear in New York. We brought our infatuation with animals in cages to Toronto for Family Day, and weren't disappointed. It's a stellar Zoo...huge...and loaded with awesome displays...indoor Orangutan and Gorilla environments, elephants and rhinos...hippos, and giraffes...tigers, and a couple of lions that will take your breath away...the place is and incredible...kinda just like our friends, Coop and Michelle. Win-win.


One last carousel ride with the Carousel Kid - Toronto Zoo, Family Day, February 20, 2012

It was cold, but bright...and we walked a lot, and waited a lot (way busier than we thought it might be), and of course the food cost a lot...but there isn't much we'd have rather been doing than hanging out with orangutans and friends. After four or five hours and a little girl who oddly enough had more energy at the end of the day than she had at the first, we hit the carousel for one last ride and then said our goodbyes. We had an awesome Family Day weekend. Zoey has a new BFF, and we've got one more Zoo under our belt.

Going, Going, Gone

The weekend started with the Pistons and Kings at the Palace of Auburn Hills, and a sleepover at Uncle B and Aunt Header's, and will end with a sleepover at Coop and Michelle's and a visit to the Toronto Zoo. Busy, busy, busy. Back soon.

P.S. - Go Blue!

My First Favorite

I'm no sports geek, at least not as much so as people might expect. I have friends (Aimee) who I pale in comparison to...but I would readily admit that I do get "geeked" about sports. I'm not a sports geek but I'm nowhere near being above getting geeked. When I was a small boy I was "geeked" about Gary Carter. It was an easy enough affection. He was the star on one of only two Canadian MLB teams. He was batting in over 100 RBIs a year, and he tagged people out at the plate like a boxer wearing a chest protector. He smiled a lot, I mean a lot, and he was a nice guy...a really nice guy. He wasn't the first ball player I remember, but he was the first favorite ball player that I ever had, and my first favorite to make the Hall of Fame. He died today after a long battle with cancer. I found out at the dinner table...in a Facebook status update from a good friend. In one of those strange experience/association deals that we all tend to make after big events, I'll always connect the day Gary Carter died with JP's simple status update. "RIP Gary Carter...



He was a Montreal Expo first, and then a NY Met...always #8...the number I eventually adopted in any sport that allowed me that privilege. In basketball I actually wore #44 so that simple addition provided me with the number I desperately wanted (4+4). The battery combination of Carter and Gooden sealed my love of baseball in stone. To say that I was enamored with blue pinstripes (not the Yankee kind) and the #8 would have been an understatement. I was so smitten with Carter that I couldn't have cared any less when Bill Buckner shattered Red Sox Nation with the least timely error in baseball history. The Mets went on to win the World Series and Gary Carter was my inextinguishable hero.



I'm young enough still that the number of sports deaths that has affected me with any kind of profoundness are few...Len Bias...Ernie Harwell...Sparky Anderson...very few. Someday there will be a landslide of childhood heroes gone, but for now there are few. Gary Carter was my first favorite, and the first I allowed to carve out a piece of my boyhood. He's also the first I remember that took a small part of me with him when he went.

Rest in peace Gary. Somewhere out there in the ancient universe is the wispy memory of a little boy in faded blue Chuck Taylors and a fraying, sun bleached Expos cap...his limp ball glove slipped over the cracked grip on his bike, riding down the road to round up a game...the number 8 written in marker on the back of his ratty t-shirt...a wide smile on his ruddy, sunburned face. He loved you very much. He'd almost forgotten how much until just now.

Thank to Mel for this. It was hard to watch through tears. Geek? Yeah, maybe I am.

Dangerous is a four letter word that begins with Z

When your daughter starts to challenge her mother in the "I'm borrowing your accessories, like this toque, and looking better in it than you do...respectfully speaking" department, then you're in trouble.

Zo stole June's favorite winter hat and made it her own. I mean really made it her own. We're well aware that if she keeps this up adolescence is going to be a dangerous and difficult time for us what with having to bury all those smitten boys in the backyard.

Linsanity and Links, and More Links

Add me to the thousands of other people consumed with Linsanity. Love it.

This is going to become my new go-to online retailer...and these are in my shopping cart as I type.

Must see this film.

This is moxy.

This seems like a uniquely American crime, which means it will soon be a much less unique Canadian one too.

Ridiculous...a better State of the Union than the real State of the Union.

Here's to hoping that Zoey grows up to be one of these girls.

Like sports? Have a decent sense of equity and fairness? Do you think that the NCAA sucks? Read all of the NY Times Joe Nocera's recent work.

Attempting Something Great...

"I believe if there's any kind of God it wouldn't be in any of us, not you or me but just this little space in between. If there's any kind of magic in this world it must be in the attempt of understanding someone sharing something. I know, it's almost impossible to succeed but who cares really? The answer must be in the attempt. " - Celine, in Before Sunrise

Yesterday I spent nearly two hours talking and listening to a young man with the most sincere and reasonable problems, who is trying to navigate the most unreasonable reactions to those problems. You could feel the energy in the air as we spoke, and could measure the emotional distance that we covered in miles. By the time he left I felt...I dunno...inspired...changed? I'm surrounded by people who don't feel that way, and each time I catch myself trying to articulate that kind of magic to them, I quickly spiral off in search of another conversation like the one that I enjoyed yesterday, and I know that it's time better spent...much better spent.

The fact that I get to have afternoons like that...well, I don't really know what to say. Maybe there is a God? Maybe I've somehow stumbled into the impossible. Maybe I did something really good once, maybe it was just once, but it was good enough to earn me this, every day, hopefully forever. I get to have those conversations every day. I never thought of myself as a lottery winner but I suppose I am.

Happy Valentines Day Little Girl

You couldn't find a more pleasantly and quietly subdued little fan of Valentines Day than our daughter. She gets terribly coy about it, and oh-so sweet and smiley. She was excited to get a present. She was excited to give a present. She was glowing all day.



And of course, she was all about the cards. She's always all about the cards. Happy Valentines Day little girl. We realize now that we didn't know what love really was until you showed us. Now we're certain.

And Then Suddenly, It's Winter...

The snow just kept falling and falling, and after 24 hours of snow, it finally felt a little bit like winter around here. So we loaded up the sled with an eager child, and Daddy and Zed hit the hill in the park for some serious tobogganing, and an even more serious reminder that we need to get in shape.

After a day of sledding, trudging through snow, shoveling and snow fort building, Dad's exhausted.

Hockey Day in Canada

Today is officially Hockey Day in Canada and we celebrated by going tobogganing, building a snow fort, and wearing long underwear. There's a full slate of games today, and we're gonna settle in and watch while the weather stays nasty outside.

My relationship with hockey has been a tricky one. When I was a kid it meant just about everything. We did the whole 6am scraping the car off to get to the rink thing, just like so many other families, and some of my best friends came from beneath a half inch of horrible smelling hockey equipment. I have at least a billion stories, and by the time I was on the precipice of adulthood I'd burned through three or four hockey lifetimes...there were endless games of road hockey on Dora Drive, frigid marathon games on the Sydenham River, House League, Travel, Junior camps...and then suddenly and strangely, nothing. I walked away in an evening.

My hockey obssessions began with Ken Dryden and Guy LaFleur, and as I grew older and Wayne Gretzky emerged as Canada's favorite son, the Oilers became my obsession and remained so for nearly two decades. Heartbreak, disappointment tainted my love affair with the Gretzkyless Oilers, and distance from Northlands Coliseum, contrasted with proximity to Detroit and Joe Louis Arena, turned me slowly but surely into a part time Red Wings fan. Success in Hockeytown pushed me back into fandom but with a hesitant uncertainty of a jilted lover. I'd been hurt and I wasn't going to get hurt again. It sounds dramatic. It was. The departure of Ryan Smyth from Edmonton sealed my fate as a jaded, jilted, and faithless fan. It was the last blow that was dealt to my hockey heart before I checked out and swore indifference.

As a boy I idolized Ken Dryden, then Mike Palmateer, and finally Tom Barrasso...the 18 year old was mere months out of high school and already hoisting a Vezina Trophy. Of course, Dryden retired, Palmateer disappeared, and Barrasso slipped off to Pittsburgh. Vladislav Tretiak, the other embarrassing obsession from my childhood was an old man, a figment of our hockey memories, and every Oiler I ever loved was no longer an Oiler. Sure... we won another Stanley Cup in New York disguised as the Rangers, but hockey had deceived me...had let me down, and now that I was no longer a little boy, and just like playing the game itself, I walked away.

I still have hockey friends, best friends from years past, and I still love the game, but I own ten jerseys instead of one, and I pledge allegiance to no one, not anymore. I love this fickle game but it feels so often as though it's never loved me back. A daughter...a wife...a life...have all replaced the game that I swore my allegiance to almost a million years ago, or so it seems. It's been a long time since the outcome of a hockey game ruined my day, but I can't remember a time when a simple hockey game couldn't make it.

Don't Eat Gummy Bears at Midnight...Seriously. Don't.

Tonight I ate pizza, drank several Rolling Rock beers, then ate more pizza, and then devoured gummy bears with a pregnant woman at midnight. That's right, I said pregnant, but at the moment that's not what matters. I think I might puke.

Today's lesson? Don't ever eat handfuls of gummy bears at midnight, ever. Well, that, and also come up with better ways to tell everyone that you're expecting another child.

I feel terrible. Mostly it's the gummy bears, but also that horrifically insensitive baby announcement too. That was bad.

BTW...when I searched Gummy Bears and Pregnant on Flickr, I got this frightening search result. Now I feel nauseous and traumatized, but not pregnant. That's June. She's pregnant. We feel nauseous for very different reasons.

Now That's Funny...

I don't even know what to type about this. What do you write? We sat there in shock and awe as Zed watched Professional Bull Riding in all her glorious nothingness, and required her rocking horse and squeals of "Yeeeeehaw," to do it. I'm still speechless. Her Uncle Ian can't even look her in the face anymore.

Work vs. Love

“From my experience, you can’t wait around to find what you love. You gotta work your ass off. And then you find what you love by doing piles and piles of work.”

- Kate Bingaman Burt

Learning To Fly...

Today Gramma and Zoey baked cookies, and the conversation was worth noting.

Gramma: I don't have the recipe so I think that I'm just gonna wing it.

Zed: What's wing it Gramma? I don't know how to wing it...(pause)...I want to learn how to wing it."

Gramma: Okay.

Zed: Yessss...(fist pump)...Let's wing it!

Oh, The Good Old Hockey Game...

You don't understand what it's like to be cursed with such awesomeness. You just don't understand how it feels to make magic with a floor hockey stick and know that you'll have no one to share the experience with, at least not on the level that you experience your own amazingness. Sure, there are people to play with, but they don't know what it's like to be you. It's a lonely Wednesday night when you're a three year old floor hockey phenom.



Of course, there's Daddy...and Mummy too, and Gramma's pretty good, I guess...but the real gauge of Zo's gymnasium heroics might be Randy, the owner of every floor hockey record in what used to be the old George Perry Elementary School gym. He's like the Gordie Howe of those hallowed halls, and Zo got to play a little puck with the Hall of Famer Wednesday night, in preparation for Hockey Day in Canada this week. It was one of those moments we'll tell her about when she's older but she just won't believe us. YOU played floor hockey with Randy Steinman. It's true.


Zo...Dad...Randy "top shelf" Steinman playing a little puck at the Y.

We must have run around for over an hour...passing, shooting, laughing, blasting pucks at Mom in goal. Before we knew it the clock read 8pm and we were scooting for the exits and home for bath time. It was an impromptu night of premature Hockey Day in Canada celebrations, but a fun night of running around like fools and laughing at the absurdity of three year olds and hockey sticks.



I bet you had less fun than us tonight. We rattled what could have been a quiet night right down to the ground. We got some exercise, giggled enough for two or three nights worth of fun, and somehow managed to drag Gramma and Randy away from their busy work schedule to swat around a little blue plastic ball, and degrade themselves with our version of nonsensical entertainment.

Jesus and All of His Sexually Deviant Dinosaurs

A quick stop at a local thrift store in search of more books for Zed led to the discovery above...a book deceivingly titled, and designed, called The Great Dinosaur Mystery...and the Bible. I especially like that post-script, "...and the Bible," part. Sneaky...and kind of offensive if you're into the whole worshipping a deity thing. Just funny how the Bible part is on the back burner, and I wonder what the hell this Great Dunosaur Mystery has to do with the Bible anyway? Strange.

I also saw this...which really freaked me out...



Yikes! I didn't have the guts to pick it up. Thank Jesus and his magical dinosaurs that I found an Olivia book, four Best Little Golden Books, and a slew of other awesome funster reads. That LaHaye jobbie would have look awkward on Zed's shelf.

The Importance of Bacon

Zo and I discussed thoughtfulness yesterday, well, that and consideration. I fumbled to explain to her the similarity of both. What spawned such weighty conversation amoungst toddler and Dad? Garbage on the concrete. Zoey was curious as to why she had to step on discarded coffee cups etc...as we walked through the parking lot of a local grocer. I explained the phenomenon with a back and forth discussion about thoughtfulness. Zo asked a lot of questions, and I gave a lot of examples, and before I knew it, the conversation was done.

At dinner when asked what thoughtfulness was Zed decided to reference our meal.

"If there was only one piece of bacon left," Zo said confidently, "and you gave it to someone else, that's being thoughtful." She grinned wide, and shoveled a forkful of tater tot into her face.

Uhmm, yup. Nailed it.

The High Life...

This really is livin' the High Life. Grilling burgers in February...Rainbows on my feet...tasty beverage in my hand...daughter flying around the yard in a sweatshirt. This has been the most stellar winter ever. Zed's been to the beach more times than she's made snowmen.



I used to hate cooking, now I don't mind it so much. I think mostly because I'm cooking for someone little and super eager to help. When I know that what I'm doing in the kitchen is more than just frustrating myself...it's doling out sustenance to a three year old little lady, then it's a lot easier to get down and dirty creative in the kitchen.

You know what else makes a guy eager to cook? Ten degree Fahrenheit weather, flip flops in February, and Miller High Life.

I Was Busy Dancing Like a #%&!$ The Whole TIme

I shamelessly parented during halftime of the Super Bowl. Zed and I zipped away for the fastest bath in the history of baths, then came back in time to catch Madonna's halftime show. I wanted to watch it but was coerced into dancing for much of it. Everyone's talking about it...trashing it...propping it up...and I am mostly void of opinion since I spent most of it dancing like a twelve year old girl.

I will admit, it wasn't Clint Eastwood's awesome halftime commercial, but you could dance to it.

If You Only Had Five Weeks To Live...

If you can watch this and not cry then maybe you're made of cinder blocks. You say, "'til death do us part," but you can't really comprehend it. Chris and Lakeasha Draft knew exactly what it meant. It meant five weeks of being husband and wife.

If you only had five weeks left to live, what would you do?

Are You Ready For The Summer...Are You Ready For The Good Times

We watched Meatballs the other night and now I'm bubbling over for summer and Camp Zed. We're already making plans. Last year we missed out on a lot of road trips and chances to visit etc...Not this year.

We wanted to go to the Toronto Zoo...didn't, but we will this year.

We had hopes to meet up with more friends...didn't, but we will this year.

We wanted to go to African Lion Safari...didn't, but we're gonna this summer.

We had plans to go camping...didn't, but we'll be doing a lot more of it this year.

I don't know what you get to do all summer, but I get to play Super Dad and re-live all of my most favorite summer camp days. It's been an easy winter but we're still daydreaming about summer. We've been lucky enough to knock off a couple of beach trips to bask in the sun and the abnormally mild weather, but you still long for the lazy days of July, and Zo can't seem to stop talking about Camp Zed.

I know it's only February but the countdown has begun in this house.

Super Sunday...Super Lazy

What are you doing for the Superbowl? We're doing absolutely nothing. We had a few options but chose to just stay home and soak one another up since Zoey had been gone all weekend. It's funny 'cause I'd always thought of myself as a Patriots fan, what with Tom Brady and all, but these Giants have me a little excited to see Mario Manningham get himself a ring.

What's better than a Superbowl where the winner doesn't much matter to you? The Giants have a crap load of Michigan people on their sideline, and that might trump Tom Brady, you know, that's if anything trumps Tom Brady.

Here comes kick-off and while Zoey is doing her best to sing along with the Star Spangled Banner we'd better get settled in.

Professional Development and Miniature Health Inspectors

I had a hot date for lunch last Friday. It was a professional development day in our school board, and between Harrassment Training and Trauma research I slipped out to have lunch with Zoey. When I scooted home to pick up my date, Gramma had her decked out pretty cute, and I was quite sure I'd have the best lunch company of anyone.

We loaded the little girl up, packed Gramma in too, and snuck off to Arby's, where someone was so happy to be there that you could hardly see her eyes through the smiles.



It was an enterprise I think I'd like to try to manage more frequently, perhaps a regular Friday routine, if my ridiculous schedule allows. She was a perfect guest...thankful for everything, polite, giggly. She even took the opportunity to practice her sleuthing skills, bringing along her magnifying glass and giving her food the once over. I don't know what she was looking for but she made the Manager a little nervous. I'm quite certain that he was unsure if Health Inspectors came that small.



Ever since Gramma and Pops stole Zo away to Arby's a few weeks ago, she's been enamored of curly fries...something we've denied her until Friday. She devoured an entire sleeve of curly fries..mine, while I was stuck with her pathetically small kids meal ones. She then tore into some of her Mom's from the take out bag. McDonald's has nothing on Arby's. Zed's officially in the Arby's camp as of Friday. It may have been the only part of our date that fell short of my expectations. No one likes to come in third place behind curly fries and magnifying glasses.

Gramma's Grandkids

Reece, Brent, Avery, and Zoey.

Who'd have thought that all of Gramma's Grandchildren would have blond hair? Go figure.

Red Wine Rules

I'm drinking red wine and making up ridiculous rules to live by...or at least remember...maybe even pay half-arsed attention to.

A good story is all they'll remember, not the half hour on either side of it.

People lie, but they're all we have.

Everyone thinks it's about answers, but it's really about questions.

Be as short and simple as possible...writing...life...same, same.

You can’t push a rope.

Know the rules...pay attention.

Let them hate.

When you're successful, keep your mouth shut.

It's all about tradeoffs.

There is no such thing as objectivity.

If they don't get it when the kids are taken away, they ain't gonna get it.

Perception is reality, but it isn't.

It's not at all what you say, it's what you do.

Uhmmm, that's about all. Now I have to watch The Men Who Stare at Goats.