Chicken in the Yard!

Elisabeth Shue

Now there are a few childhood crushes that stick out in my mind. One of them being Princess Leia. I mean, come on, slave outfit. Exactly. But that's an obvious one because she was everyone's childhood crush. Another was Paula Abdul... I know, I know. I can't even believe I'm admitting that. But the point of all this is that when Karate Kid came out it was all about Elisabeth Shue. I don't know why but holy moly. To this day I can't hear that song Cruel Summer without thinking about that scene with her bouncing the soccer ball during PE.

Why do I bring this up? Well, we take Isabelle to gymnastics every Saturday morning. Katie usually takes her, but this last time it was the end of the summer session and we wanted to sign up for the next series, so I tagged along. I was up in the observation deck with some other parents when I noticed one Mom who looked familiar. I thought maybe I met her before at the YMCA, or maybe from church, but that wasn't it. After hearing the faint beat of Cruel Summer playing somewhere in the back of my mind it became clear, that's Elisabeth Shue.

To be sure I went online on my phone and looked it up, she was the right age, the right number of kids with her, and the right ages of the kids. So I was right, it was Elisabeth Shue. I just needed that extra confirmation because whenever I tell Katie I saw a celebrity she takes it with a grain of salt. So after class Katie and Belle met me up there and I pointed her out to Katie, to which Katie said: "Elisabeth Who?" Apparently she never had a crush on the girl from Karate Kid.

So, I will attend gymnastics class again this Saturday to see if she's there again. I believe her daughter has a class at the same time Belle does. So we'll see. Maybe I'll figure out a way to meet her with some casual conversation about the kids. Maybe I'll happen to take my Karate Kid DVD to class. And maybe she'll sign it for me. And my life will be complete.

This is for all you kids who want to travel back in time for a few minutes:

I really used to play in that stuff when I was a kid?

I don't know if you guys ever get the random Hispanic guys driving around with a truckload of fertilizer seeing if anyone wants them to treat their grass, but we do. They came by last spring and like clockwork showed up again yesterday. Last year I didn't do it, but I probably should have since our grass needed a little boost. Of course what I should have done was get off my butt and do it myself, but that's a whole different issue. So when they came around this year I gave it a go.

They were quick, thorough, and now my house smells like a sewer. Literally, a putrid cesspool. Like if I was blind I'd know I was on our street because my nostrils would be on fire. As you can imagine we don't open the windows much. I'm hoping the smell subsides as the days go by and eventually we'll not have to hold our noses as we step outside. Whenever we leave Belle holds her little nose and says: "Daddy, you have to clean up that poo-poo." Little does she know that I paid some illegal immigrants to poop all over our lawn but that would lead into an hour's worth of "why's" that I just don't want to get into. I mean, first I'd have to explain that poop is good for the lawn, but not dog poop, and that our borders are turnstiles, and then she'd ask "what's a border?" and I'd say "that's a good question, something our country could use a few of," of course I'm the one waving the carrot luring them over... you get the picture.

The bottom line is that our lawn stinks. If you come over, be warned. And yes, I did play in manure piles as a kid, though none of them smelled this bad, or if they did we made sure not to play on that one. I guess I'll have to write about that sometime.

Donuts, walking, and rock throwing

Last weekend was jam packed with family time including decorating the Christmas tree, wrapping gifts, shopping, and going for a nice walk along the marina. Since it was raining off and on lwe had to time our activities carefully. When it was wet out we trimmed the tree and wrapped gifts. But when the sun broke through we bundled up to brave the brisk breezes and went for a nice walk along the marina.

In order to survive such a walk we made sure to gear up with donuts and coffee. This was the first time Belle had an entire donut, and we didn't plan on her eating the whole thing, but she was dead set on it. When I tried to get Katie to break off pieces for her Belle melted down. Ok, maybe I was freaking out because her entire face was engulfed by donut and green icing was getting everywhere... so I may have overreacted a bit and spooked her. But in the end Belle ate the whole thing. We'd pay for it later in the day when she showed us her Tasmanian Devil impression.

We thought it would be nice to walk along the marina and see the sailboats setting out to sea while munching on our treats. I guess we didn't take into account the stormy weather which meant no sailboats were setting out anywhere. It was still gorgeous out though and we enjoyed the birds, bicyclists, and other marina activity. Eventually Belle started playing with the many pebbles on the path which led to her trying to throw them in the water. I took this opportunity to give her an official rock throwing lesson.

Where I come from rock throwing is a family tradition. I descend from long line of rock throwers. Why I've been known to hit a running stray dog 50 yards away with a headwind. So I showed her how to hold the rock in her hand, pull her arm back over her head, then throw the rock forward. The result was her mostly emphasizing the pulling her arm back over her head part.

This freeze frame is deceiving because it looks like she's just throwing it like a normal kid, except maybe for the funny faces and odd body positions. But you have to keep in mind that the second frame of her holding her hand back actually lasted many seconds. Like it took her about 12 seconds to throw the rock and 10 of those seconds were spent in that second pose. It was like watching my child in the Matrix. She'd pick up a rock, draw it back, and stop as if someone hit pause. Then with little to no notice she'd throw the rock with all her might. Maybe she thought holding it back there would draw more power, like charging up before releasing its energy. Apparently it worked because after repeating that performance many times the rocks started to actually hit the water.

As time went on it got colder and the clouds threatened to open up on us. It soon began to drizzle so we zipped Belle up under her rain cover and made our way back to the truck. I'm happy we went out walking that day as a family, spending quality time together while experiencing some cold weather out here for once. It was magical to see our daughter play and learn, looking completely ridiculous at times. I know these days are slowly slipping by and soon I'll miss these crazy poses.

I listened to The Clash with my daughter today

Today Isabelle was introduced to a little band called The Clash. It could quite possibly be my favorite band, though I still hold a special place in my heart for Oingo Boingo. As I just typed that I realized both of those bands are among my Dad's favorite bands as well. Which goes to show that the music I was exposed to as a kid, from my Dad, has stayed with me. Hearing The Clash instantly reminds me of two things, my 67 Firebird and my Dad. Both of those things go hand in hand since I got my car from my Dad and listened to The Clash a lot while driving that car. This was because I had a radio with no reception but a tape deck that played my Clash tapes quite well.

But I'm getting way off topic here. The point of all this is that while Belle and I were playing blocks today I decided to slap on The Clash. Usually when I start some music Belle reacts by requesting music she wants to hear or asks to watch DORA! This time there was no response as she continued to stack away. I figured that was a good sign. Many songs later, as she ate her snacks in her high chair, I noticed her moving to the music a bit. I asked if she liked it and she nodded yes. At that point I told her what she was listening too. "This, my love, is The Clash."

I don't know how old I was when Dad introduced me to The Clash or The Who or Oingo Boingo for that matter, but it doesn't matter. When I think back I don't get a specific memory. It's more of a general feeling of fun and happiness, enjoying some awesome records at a high volume with my Dad. I know Belle won't remember today. But there will be many todays to come. One of them will get lodged into that brain of hers and stick. Then maybe when she's driving down the road one day, maybe even driving her own kids to school, The Clash will come on the radio and she'll remember. "Hey kids, this is The Clash. Your Grandpa used to play this for me all the time."

Crossbows and Catapults

Some of you may remember a little game from your childhood called Crossbows and Catapults. Others will have totally forgotten about its existence until reading this right now. And still, others may have no clue what I'm talking about at all. To those in the last group, I pity you. This is a game I played in my youth that I was completely in love with, second only to my Nintendo of course. The concept of the game was to build up your fortress with little bricks, men, and flags. Then take aim with your crossbow or catapult and hurl little discs of death at your opponent. I believe there were rules, but the bottom line was to obliterate your enemy. I remember setting this up on the kitchen floor with my brother and battling it out many a time. It was the smoothest floor in the house so the discs would really go flying. I can't think of a better way to end a grudge match with your brother than going head to head with a crossbow and a catapult. What's not to love about this game?! Nothing, it's perfect.

Now, I had forgotten all about Crossbows and Catapults until this weekend. I took Belle on a Target run to get some household items and decided to let her run rampant through the toy section. It's something I don't get to do nearly enough so it was more for my benefit than anything. She enjoyed it too mind you. Anyways, while walking by the games I thought I glimpsed a catapult, no maybe it was a crossbow, out of the corner of my eye. I stopped, turned, then stared in wonder. "It's back... sweet glory of all that's good in this world, it's back!" They remastered the childhood game of my dreams into a magnificent wonder game of my adulthood. I give you, Battleground: Crossbows and Catapults. The concept is mostly the same with some new weapons here and there, but the detail, and overall awesomeness of it all was way above the charts. There are more bricks, more men, the addition of a hero character, updated crossbows and catapults including a catapult turret at the top of your castle, and the debut of the new cannon weapon. Plus it's now Knights vs. Orcs instead of random guys vs. other random guys.

As you already may have guessed, I bought it. And I bought the expansion pack. And I would have bought anything else with their logo on it if I could find it. I now have this game at home in all its glory. Katie and I have only played once but it was interrupted by a giant monster that tore through the battlefield killing all before her path. Godzilla has nothing on Isabelle. Although it's not completely true that Belle destroyed all. She actually liked watching what we were doing and learned to launch the catapult with our help which made her laugh. When Katie and I were playing we did the turn based strategy game play, which was fine. But it's slow and you realize right away that you miss a lot. I mean, A LOT. So after Isabelle arrived we just started rapid fire play and that was much more fun. In the future it will be all about the rapid fire with some pauses here and there to regroup. So now you know. I'm home, raising my child, staring at my new Crossbows and Catapults game just waiting to play someone. You are all invited. Please come over. I wish to destroy you.

Pop!

When I was opening my presents on my birthday Isabelle came across some bubble wrap in the packaging. Thus began her very first bubble wrap popping adventure. It took her awhile to get the first one popped, but once she figured it out she maintained a nice steady popping sound for a minute or two. The first thing it made me think of was my Mom. She loves to pop this stuff, always has. I remember many a time when we'd all be sitting around doing whatever and there would be that popping sound in the background. My Mom would be sitting on the couch just popping away while reading or watching TV. It looks like Isabelle has taken a liking to this past time. So this pop's for you Mom.

I used to be a rich man

Some of you may know that I was in the high school musical back in the day. Some of you may not have known that. Others may not care. Either way, my Senior year we did "Fiddler on the Roof" and I had the honor of playing the lead role of Tevye. I bring this up because it so happens that I recently got the crappy copy on VHS tape converted to a crappy copy on DVD which allowed us to watch it and laugh at ourselves. This got me thinking, why keep all this embarrassing glory locked away, never to be seen by the masses? And so I've been converting some of the scenes and posting crappy copies on YouTube for the world to see.

This was the first and last musical I was ever in, but I did enjoy doing it. I believe my girlfriend talked me into it at the time. Her name was Katie, maybe you've heard of her? She's married now you know. She played my daughter Tzeitel in the musical which made for some odd backstage kissing. Anyways, without further ado, please enjoy a little diddy I like to call, "If I Were a Rich Man." Or, as Katie's cousins used to tease me, "do the dance, do the dance!"

And just in case you'd like to torture your eyes some more, here you go:

• "Tradition"
• "Matchmaker"
• "To Life"
• "The Dream"

Dirt

Today I witnessed the dirtiest little Isabelle I have ever seen. This could be because she was indeed playing in dirt, and not just any dirt I might add, we're talking about some good 'ol fashioned Fontana dirt. I know it well. Thankfully this was just dirt and not manure. I don't think Katie would forgive me if I let Belle play in the manure piles of my childhood. At least not yet.

You may be wondering why Isabelle was playing in the dirt, and why in Fontana, so I shall enlighten you. I was bored. Or maybe I was going a bit stir crazy at home. Either way, I put Belle in the car and drove to Fontana to visit with my folks. It was a nice change of scenery for both of us and as you can tell Belle had a wonderful time. I wasn't joking earlier when I said she played in the dirt, that's basically all she did. That and climbing all over their little playhouse, going on the swings, riding the teeter-totter, and generally having fun.

The nieces and nephews arrived after school and played along with her. Mark got hugs, as always. Afterwards she took a much needed bath and had some snacks. When it was time to go she threw a small fit not wanting to say goodbye, but she napped the entire drive home which made for a smooth ride. We both had a good time visiting the family and I know it was good for Belle to see her Grandparents and play with her cousins. It was also good for her to roll in the dirt a bit. She needs to do that more I think.

Go pull weeds

Working on the backyard garden over the weekend reminded me of when I used to get into trouble growing up. There were many punishments in my parents' arsenal when it was time to pay up for our bad deeds. One of these was weed pulling. Odd, I know, one wouldn't think to use weed pulling as a punishment and even if they did it seems like a fairly easy task. That's where you'd be wrong. As I mentioned before, we grew up in Fontana, the old school district. This means 2 acres of land. We actually didn't have much grass back then, most of it was weeds. So when we were told to go pull weeds you have to picture that battle scene in Braveheart with the open field full of the enemy spread as far as the eye can see... only they are weeds.

There severity of the punishment was measured by the magnitude of the weeds that were to be pulled. We could be sent out with a bucket, multiple buckets, or one of those giant metal trashcans. The goal was always the same, fill the empty receptacle. I think at first they would have us pull weeds for a set time limit but they realized that if we worked really slow then few weeds would get pulled. That's when they switched to the quantity driven punishment. It was those times when we were really bad that we got the giant trashcan. Those days sucked. Whatever bad deed we did better had been worth it because the rest of the day would be spent hunched over yanking weeds.

Luckily there was quite a variety of weeds to choose from which kept it interesting. There were the ones that were low to the ground and pricked the hell out of your hands with their little burrs, we labelled those "goatheads" and tried to avoid them as much as possible. The ones that stood straight up were the easiest to pull and were usually the first to go. Then there was the tumbleweed. Oh, the glorious tumbleweed. It truly was a beautiful thing to behold because it was relatively easy to pull and took up tons of space in the trashcan. My sister caught onto this first I believe. She'd get a giant tumbleweed and put it in the bottom of the trashcan which took up most of the space. Then she'd put normal weeds piled on top. Sadly, when she presented this to dad he realized she couldn't have pulled that many in so short a time and stomped on the weeds crushing them to the very bottom of her trashcan. That was the end of that technique.

Anyways, all that weed pulling Katie and I did over the weekend really made my hands and fingers sore and it reminded me of how they would get as a kid after a day of pulling weeds. I don't think our daughter will be punished with weed pulling for her bad deeds. Mostly time outs, losing toy or video game privileges (which was always worse than weed pulling for me), or some other non-manual labor related task. I may change my tune when actually confronted with the situation, but our backyard just isn't that big and weed pulling just won't do. Maybe house painting, brick laying, or re-roofing will do. "That's it, you go out to the garage and fix my Firebird and think about what you've done." That could work actually.

His backpack's got jets

I had a BobaFett action figure once... and my brother reminded me of this fact over the weekend. He came by on Saturday to pick up some stuff and check out the new kitchen. During lunch we started talking about old times and he brought up BobaFett, my BobaFett, the one he lost in the manure piles running from the bull that got loose.

Us kids didn't really have a normal childhood. I mean, we had loving parents, food on the table, roof over our heads, etc. All the important stuff was there but when you took one giant step back you realized we were in a giant twilight zone-esque bubble. At least that's how it seemed. Growing up in Fontana meant living on 2 acres of land with farm animals and manure piles next door. That wasn't really the norm it was just that we were in the more rural part of Fontana and we were unique. My parents liked animals so we had lots of them, including chickens. But that's another story. The point of this one is that we lived next door to a fetilizer company which meant they had giant mountains of manure perfect for playing on. Thankfully this wasn't the super stinky manure, it was basically dirt but I'm sure there was stuff in there we shouldn't have been rolling in. Which we did lots of.

The manure piles rocked because they were tall, I mean way up there, and when you climbed to the top you were king of the hill. Great for riding bikes up and down, jumping off the top, pushing others down the sides, or just plopping down with your favorite Star Wars toys and having a battle to be remembered throughout the ages. This was one of those times where we broke out our alter-egos and were having a grand time in a galaxy far far away. It goes without saying that I had my BobaFett up there flying around with his jets as I'm sure he did in real life all the time. My brother was playing with some other less cool characters, let's say Bossk for instance, even though I don't think we ever had a Bossk. During play we'd often share toys, play with different characters, and once and awhile I would even lend BobaFett to him for a minute or two. Inevitably, Dylan ended up playing with BobaFett.

It was about at that point that the bull got loose. Oh, I didn't mention that one of our neighbors had a bull? Well they did, and it got loose. This means that there was a bull running around our streets, running through the manure piles, just running everywhere. If you are picturing a bull running through a bunch of brand new track homes don't, remember this is old school Fontana I'm talking about here. Anyways, once someone yelled that the bull was loose that meant grab your toys and run. RUN! And so we did. Sadly, when we got home and did the headcount we were one BobaFett shy, my BobaFett, the only BobaFett we had. Gone. My brother had left BobaFett to his doom on the sarlacc pile of manure. Either that or the bull would trapple him to death or just eat him. I don't remember going back to look for him, but I'm sure we did many times. Regardless, it would be an impossible task, like trying to find a BobaFett in a pile of manure, literally. I never saw BobaFett again.

It wasn't until college that I got BobaFett back, granted it wasn't my original one, it was used but still in good condition. Then they re-released the movies and the new movies came out and now I have a ton of brand new BobaFetts and JangoFetts. But it's not the same. I still haven't fully forgiven my brother for losing my original favorite plastic bounty hunter. Even though in the end it was probably my own fault. I just hope one day I'll be working in our garden at home planting flowers here and adding shrubs there. I'll grab the bag of fertilizer to help the Yoda topiary grow taller and out will tumble my favorite mandalorian rogue warrior with jets. Hey, it could happen.