"Before we get started I'd like to take a moment to talk about shop safety"

Boy and I watch TV together sometimes. Girl watches also, but she's still a little young to express her opinion on specific programming. So the boys tend to take over, except for the specific times I put on Elmo's World during Sesame Street or Jack's Big Music Show. Both excellent shows. Anyway, Boy and I like to watch some specific shows when we watch TV together. Dirty Jobs on Discovery. Good Eats on the Food Network. The This Old House Hour and New Yankee Workshop on PBS. Good times. We talk about animal poop, cooking and tools, respectively. The thing that cracks me up is the fact that he typically doesn't name the show host by name, he assumes the show host's name is the name of the show. To Boy, Alton Brown's name is actually Good Eats. Where is Good Eats going? he'll ask. Norm Abrams and New Yankee Workshop are interchangeable ideas. Except for some strange reason he knows Mike Rowe by name. Mike's become family, so to speak.

Boy recently celebrated a birthday. His 4th. He basically received a giant pile of toys and a giant pile of clothes. He plays immediately with the toys. The clothes pretty much are at the discretion of Mommy. She takes out his clothes in the morning. The clothes choices tend to not be a problem. He rarely questions Mommy's style aesthetic. Getting Boy to put the clothes on his body is the larger problem. I've pretty well established this fact, so I won't dwell. A couple days after the party, Boy says to Mommy, I want to wear my New Yankee Workshop shirt. Your what? My New Yankee Workshop shirt. Then, he goes to the closet and points it out. Grandma had given him the shirt. It's pretty cool. A dark plaid flannel shirt. Like Norm Abrams wears. Now, I feel the need to point something out here. This is a leap that he made. Never once have we discussed the wardrobe choices of any of our favorite television personalities. He, in his head, must have made some sort of mental note of how good Norm Abrams looks in his plaid flannel shirt. Or perhaps he sees plaid flannel in association with tools in general. Like some sort of woodworking uniform. And we all know how cool tools are. I'm not sure. I just enjoy the thought process. Clothes are somewhat of a novelty to young children. They don't really have any kind of established societal norms built in their heads. A Halloween costume is perfectly appropriate attire for the grocery store. A fireman rain coat for playing soccer. Why not? The lines are blurred between uniforms and costumes, pajamas and clothes. So I think he sees the shirt as some sort of uniform and in his head, he wants to try out the role.

Oh and this next point is somewhat irrelevant, but Boy is wearing his New Yankee Workshop shirt reversed. I have no idea why, but the buttons and collar are facing backwards. Just to complete the image. Again, he's not naked so I say go with it.

Birthday Dinner

Well Boy turned 4. I've always had a tradition growing up that when it's your birthday you get to decide what the family has for dinner. No questions asked. So I ask Boy. What would you like for your birthday dinner? Pie. With cake for dessert. As a lover of pie, I couldn't be happier. Mommy and I had wedding pies instead of cake. There are endless directions we can go in there being infinite configurations of pie. Savory meat pie. Fruit pies. Endless. I could go on for pages. Sounds good to me. Boy says, no, wait. Sushi. I want sushi for my birthday dinner. Now, Boy is turning 4, not 34. That sounds good too. I'm really not sure if he actually likes sushi or if he likes the novelty of the sushi experience. Soy sauce. Salty. Pickled ginger. Spicy. Wasabi. Too spicy. Chopsticks. He's actually kind of got it figured out. So we go and pick up the sushi at our take-out place. Boy comes in with me. He tells the man, it's my birthday. Good for you, happy birthday. I'm 4. Wow, 4, that's a big birthday. Nice guy. Then Boy says, I'm going to eat sushi. We get the package home and Boy does what he says he's gonna do. A first in our house. We ordered a couple with raw fish and a couple just vegetables and a shrimp tempura. All rolls. He starts shoving food into his face, he's got 2 pieces in there at once. Not the vegetable stuff, either. The raw fish stuff. Mommy asks if he should he be eating all that raw fish? Neither one of us is too sure. So we push the veggie rolls. He shovels them too. He's talking with a big smile. Mouth full of rice. I was actually a little hungry at the end of the meal as I didn't order enough food. This kid doesn't fool around. He eats sushi, lobster, ribs, all the good stuff. Needless to say I'm very proud. We next ate celebratory birthday cupcakes and opened presents.

from the wilderness archive

Here's a good story. So 2 days ago (actually, it was 2 years ago, I just never posted this anywhere and I came across it in my email and it made me laugh), there is clearly a skunk in the neighborhood. I was away from home for the night with Boy. Mommy smelled it in the air. It had clearly sprayed in the yard. Nobody thinks too much of it, just that it sucked. So yesterday morning, Mommy and her parents (who were in town visiting the just born Girl) are leaving the house to run errands at about 9. Mommy calls me to say they see the skunk roaming about in the back yard and could I deal with it. Wildlife apparently falls under my jurisdiction. This is bad. Skunks don't come out during the day, only at night and dawn. He's nosing around in the garden, then in the sand box Mommy tells me. Great. I get to come home with Boy to deal with this. Poor timing. I stop at the garden center and pick up some fox urine. It's a skunk's natural predator, but really, it doesn't do anything. Anyway, I'm putting the urine out in the yard in tiny little bottles when I see the tail. It's just a little feller. He's wedged in between the little rock wall in our backyard and a large pot we grow tomatoes in. I was a couple feet away. After a pause, I take off running. No chase. Thank god. Then I wasn't sure why he didn't move so I went back a little closer. He seems a little off in the head. There are flies buzzing around him. Big flies. I poke in the area with a long stick. He doesn't move. It could have been a cartoonish scene if he all of the sudden jumped up, but nothing. I think to myself that Costco probably has giant cans of tomato juice just in case. I love Costco. I call the police, who are somewhat helpful on the phone, but they do nothing. They give me the number of some guy from some licensed wildlife company. I get him on the phone. He says he can get rid of it. $100 cash. Cash? Trying to avoid paperwork. He says he'll call back when he's on his way. Fine. Couple hours later he calls to say he's on his way. It sounds like he's at a BBQ or pool party or something. I run out back to see if the critter is still there. Yup. Tail sticking up. Come on over, make it snappy. While I'm waiting for this dude, I go to watch the area. The skunk shuffles his way back a few steps, then falls over on his side. Flies buzzing. A pickup truck pulls up. Big dude gets out. I show him the scene. He goes over to the fence. Where is it? Turn around I say. He turns around and makes a wincing face. Oooooowwww. Without skipping a beat he bends down and picks the thing up by the tail and starts heading towards me on the deck. Did I mention I stayed on the deck? At that very moment Boy comes out the back door in his underwear. Seriously, no pants. Is the skunk sick?, he asks. Yes, Boy, the skunk is sick. The man is going to take him to the doctor. The thing had clearly died when I saw it fall over. He has some foam around his mouth. The dude says something about rabies or distemper and to look out, cause these things sometimes have a family. Rabid animals will attack. Super. Thanks for that. He takes the thing out front and asks for a garbage bag. I bring a large garbage bag out front and open it as if I'm looking to help. I'm not. He takes the bag and says he better do it as he's up on his shots. I did not argue, as I'm not really sure what kind of shots I would have needed to get to have been helpful. Not to mention, that's one of the benefits of a paid service. You really don't have to assist. As he's dropping the animal in the bag, Boy, of course in his underwear, is standing in the picture window out front of our house watching. The man take the sick skunk to the doctor? Yes, Boy, the man take the sick skunk to the doctor. I slip the man a benjamin. Best money I ever spent. I just paid a man (that the town referred me to) cash to remove a dead rabid skunk that had fallen dead on my patio. I then went and hosed off the area. Oh, and I got a quote for the groundhog we have digging up the yard. $275 to trap and dispose. $100 to just dispose if I catch him. He says they are tough to catch, you need special traps, says I might get lucky though. I think I've decided I like having him around.

Vomit Part I Reprise

Well, Boy vomited in the car again. He is coming down with something. Of course all the grandparents decide to feed him chocolate ice cream to make him feel better. Super. Mommy leaves Nana and Papa's house with Girl and a sick Boy full of chocolate ice cream. Here's the irony. He vomits at the exact same spot in the trip as he did on Thanksgiving. Right outside a liquor store. What I mean by exact same spot is where on the road on which the car is traveling. It's as if his belly has timed the trip exactly. An internal alarm clock, if you will. I won't go into the details (see Vomit Part I if you want them). Let's just say the stink is still wafting subtly in the air when I open the car door. Later that day Mommy calls me on the phone to let me know the situation. Vomiting definitely qualifies as a "situation". When she is telling me about what happened, Boy overhears about how he vomited in the exact same spot during the car trip as he vomited in on Thanksgiving, outside the liquor store. Upon hearing about how he's a repeat location vomiter I hear over the phone, "Oh, I'll have to find a new place to throw up".

Pants Optional

I can't get Boy to wear pants. I'm lucky if he's running around with even his tighty whiteys on. I was travelling for business the other day. My flight left late, shocking, so I got home around 8:00. I was expected a little earlier. I typically take cabs back from the airport. I live pretty close, it's convenient, hop right in the cab and go home. I live in a 1950s cape style house. The front door opens right into the living room. I walk in, the lights are low and nobody is there. There is a door at the rear of the living room leading to a hallway. I haven't announced my presence at this point in case Mommy has attempted to take the children upstairs to bed. Suddenly, Boy bursts out of the back hallway. Yes, he's completely naked. Why should he care about clothes. He proceeds to go into a body builder flexing the muscles stance. Big growl on his face. Grrrrrrrrrrr. You know the stance, both arms flexing down in front with fists, to truly maximize the muscle tone in the chest, shoulders and arms. I burst out laughing. The beach is that way! I yell. This gets him to do the stance where both hands are over his head pointing to the side. An alternate body-building stance, my personal favorite. Boy of course has no muscles. He is a wiry 3-year old. Mommy follows, looking irritated. I have to assume she's spent some time trying to get Boy to put on clothes, at least underwear. Clearly, she has fought a losing battle. At least she still tries. I take my pants off in solidarity.