So You Wanna Be in the Movies -- Part 1

The following is part of what I hope to someday turn into a magazine article on my experiences as an extra on a movie set. Hope you enjoy it, I plan to have more installments at irregular intervals.

"Ya'll doing okay?" asked the baby-faced production assistant.

"Fine," I replied, with considerably more heartiness than I actually felt. It wasn't every day that I stood on an open platform eight stories up, hanging on to a "railing" made of 1-inch metal rods, and where the "floor" was a metal gridwork that did nothing to hide unpleasantly long distance to the ground.

That was bad enough. But when the director yelled "Action!" (they really do that) my companion and I had to climb up another flight of stairs and end up a nine-story platform, this one without walls of any kind or even the impression of a roof. As small a comfort as those things seemed down on the eighth floor, they were sorely missed on the ninth.

But it wasn't so bad sitting down in between takes, where I could look at the clouds and pretend I wasn't all that close to them.

"Pictures up!" said the PA, scrambling to his feet. With a groan, I did the same.

***

The internet has almost certain made it much easier for people to find out about movie shoots and get involved. Its what I did. A site called AustinActors.net has a place where people can post casting calls for all manner of plays, commercials, student shorts, and feature films. The governor's office also has a website that lists major productions in the state of Texas. It was on the governor's site that I found the listing for a Sandra Bullock movie about Truman Capote with the working title ""Every Word Is True" (most pictures have a working title that may or may not be the one that goes up on the theater marquee). I printed my acting resume (very scanty), included a couple of pictures, and sent it in. Some weeks later, I got a call, not from the EWIT people, but for another movie, "Revolver", starring Sarah Michelle Gellar of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" fame. This is also fairly common, when a single casting company handles extras for several movies, for you to get a call for something you didn't even know was going on.

The caller asked if I was available for three days the next week, and if I was afraid of heights. I said I'd have to check back on the availability, and fudged on the fear issue by saying "not really". "Not really" was not really true. I am scared of heights, although it doesn't rise to the phobia level. I figured if I could handle being on a ski lift, I could handle whatever they were likely to have me do (extras don't "Tarzan from a vine" as Lee Majors once sang in the theme for his "The Fall Guy" TV show). As it happened I was right, but I surely did not enjoy it.

Next was a call to my wife, who is thankfully very supportive of my occasional forays into the acting world. This was important, as my life as a stay-at-home dad made it easy for me to show up for acting, but harder for us to have a place for our son to go after school. Arrangements were made, however, so my gig was on.

***

The next step was wardrobe. I showed up near the old airport with several combinations of "work clothes"; jeans, t-shirts, heavy boots, etc. I tried a couple combinations, put on a set of coveralls, and that was it. They labeled the overalls with my name, and sent me home to wait for a call time.

The "call time" is what time you are supposed to appear on the set or, more commonly, some gathering place nearby. My call time turned out to be 6:30AM Monday morning, at a park near downtown. The night before I packed my bags with stuff; extra clothes, some bottled water, a snack, a book, my notepad and a pen. I was ready.

Scattershooting

One nice thing about being in a house full of people in school (Jacob in elementary, Trish teaching at the U) is that when its Spring Break, everybody gets a Spring Break. We traveled hither and yon, with weather that alternated between mild to sunny and cold to wet and icky back to beautiful again. And it is clear to me that Spring has finally sprung around here, with wildflowers popping up and increasing temperatures (this morning we're having a spring thunderstorm). I think the sweatshirts can go back into their drawer for another few months.

One nice thing about having a voracious kid reader in the house is that he's grabbing books from the "young readers" section of the bookstore that also interest me somewhat, but which I'd never have had the guts to buy for myself.

Last night he complained that school was teaching him too much stuff he already knew. This after a week off. It is really too soon for that sort of thing to start. Are we going to have to start sending him books to read if he finishes his classwork early? And how much of that did he really mean? Whenever I ask he has something new to relate that he learned.

Because of the aforementioned storm, I don't think I'm going to get to one my planned Monday projects, throwing up a lattice for some vines to climb up. Perhaps I'll just try and pick out a power saw for my birthday. No, can't do that -- yet. Need to mail off some legal stuff, make a call or three on business matters, deal with laundry issues, run by the bank -- your standard list of stuff when you've tried to take a few days off from the regular grind.

Cut!

The cameras stopped rolling in my vicinity 36 hours ago, but I'm still tired. Since I'm in charge of the home fires, the next day I'm up at 6am (which actually was sleeping in, compared to when I got up on the days of shooting) getting Jake off to school and trying to catch up from three days of missed effort. Poor Trish had much to deal with while I was gone, and getting out from under that as well the normal stuff has left little time for rest.

I managed to scribble about 3 pages of notes about my experiences, which I'm thinking of trying to turn into an article-length…er…article. But that takes time, and since time is something I’m short on for, oh, maybe the next month, I'll let you have some tidbits.

I've been an extra a few times before, but one thing you never realize is the extent to which you simply sit around and wait. And you have no idea how long you are to wait. And even if you ask someone, they don't know, and if they do think they know, they are wrong more often than not.

The food on a commercial production is generally good. And on a major motion picture, it can be really good. Each day there was a full breakfast buffet, with sausage, bacon, eggs, biscuits, tortillas, cereal, fruit, doughnuts, bagels, coffee, juice, milk, yogurt, and probably some other stuff I've forgotten. Lunch was similar. I had grilled amberjack, an excellent chicken-fried steak, and pork roast, plus assorted veggies like roast potatoes, roast squash, grilled asparagus, etc. And of course dessert. We also (sometimes) had access to snacks during the course of the day; chips, candy bars, water, soda, pretty much whatever.

Something few people who haven't actually been on a movie shoot appreciate is just how much of moviemaking is about high-speed temporary construction. Platforms to film from, places for people to stand, reflectors for lights, shades to create shadow, smoke generating gadgets, "concrete" abutments, small offices…simply an amazing array of stuff that is built with surprising speed and attention to detail.

Years ago, I heard a grip say to one of his buddies about Hollywood "It ain't all sunglasses and cast parties", and that’s the truth.

Checking In

We had a good visit with my birthmother, who was walked, walked and walked over many of the area's pleasant trails. She has returned home now, and regular life resumes with its accustomed jolt. At least until Monday that is, since I am going to spend three days next week as an extra in a movie titled "Revolver" starring Sarah Michelle Gellar of Buffy the Vampire Slayer fame.

That's going to play hob with routines, but its part of what I want to do, so Trish is, thankfully very supportive. Of course, that mean not much is going to be written here, though once I'm done I'll give you all the details, juicy or not.

Meanwhile, I've reviewed a recent book, "To Rule The Waves: How The British Navy Shaped The Modern World" over at my other blog. Check it out

Family Matters

Tomorrow, my birthmother arrives. This will be only the second time I've seen her in person. Well, perhaps really the third, but I don't remember the first time, so I don't think it really counts.

You see, I'm adopted. Or was adopted, I don't know how you're supposed to tense this sort of thing. This was something I knew from a very early age. It was not dwelt on, but neither was it ignored. About seven or eight years ago, I got a call from the agency which had done the placing of baby Me. Long story short, I got back into contact with the woman who gave birth to me. Letters, phone calls, and eventually an actual visit. She lives pretty far away, and there are further complicating factors, so we haven't gotten to visit in person but the one time.

But now, a fortunate confluence of events means she is coming to visit, for about 5 days. This ought to be interesting. Last time, I was of course at work for part of the visit, and it was Trish who did the entertaining. This time it will be the reverse. What this means for next week's blogging is anyone's guess.

I'll let you know how it goes, maybe say a few words about adoption stuff, if anyone's interested.

By Golly, Time Does March On, Doesn't It?

This summer my high school class is having its twenty-year reunion. Good Lord, has it really been twenty years? I hadn't even been alive for twenty years when I graduated.

Anyway, this does bring up an interesting question for me. How much do I tell people about what I'm doing now, and how do I tell them? This is, of course, a subject I have visited before. And no doubt will again, as events warrant.

I could just give it to them straight. When my job ended and another one did not turn up after several months, we decided to just do the SAHD thing, and write and act as it came to me. Or I could say I've semi-retired, which amounts to the same thing, but with a different spin.

And do I say that it happened because of some luck in the market? Or do I admit the full truth, which is that the deaths of my parents created a nest egg (and lets face it, an opportunity) we didn't expect to have and which most people never get.

Its quite silly (but since my brain served it up to me one night it must mean something to me somewhere), but I was voted "Most Likely to Succeed" (more or less by default as the smartest guy in my class, as it was lacking in Joe Valiant types). I think I'd like to be able to lay some claim to having lived up to that, all these years later. One might say being able to leave the rat race at least part way is a pretty good definition of success, but the truth is that I didn't do much to achieve that. Managing not to do anything too stupid is an accomplishment of a sort, but it's not what I or most people think of when we say you achieved something.

Hmmm. Y'know, I think I've been down this road before as well.

Jake and the Seventh Birthday

We got through Jacob's birthday party in one piece. The guests, mostly boys, acted pretty much exactly like…well, boys. The lone girl did not seem to think much of the festivities, poor thing. We had gone to some trouble to set out toys and stuff for the kids to play with, but what they (the boys) did was head immediately to the toy swords and toy guns (or things that looked like they could be used as toy swords and guns) and proceeded to shoot and slice at one another. Then you had the fart and penis jokes.

If they had known about sexual innuendo they could have passed for tipsy college boys. I find this sorta scary.

There were only about 7 guests, and I found herding them to be more than a little tiring, even when all we were really doing was trying to prevent them from hurting each other, or to do something they would like, like eat pizza or have cake.

Seven years ago he was just a little lump. Now he's making fart jokes. Quite impressive in its own way.

The only downer on the day was the fact that it took us an hour to get seated at Benihana for the birthday dinner. Had I felt hungry even 15 minutes sooner, I don't think we would have had that problem (calling ahead for a reservation would also have helped). Well, live and learn, I guess. At least the kid thinks its more fun to eat at Benihana than Peter Piper Pizza.

Friday Miscellany

Tomorrow is Jake's 7th birthday party. Got a lot to do, and it just seems like one of those days where scheduling could be nightmarish. Carpet cleaner types, store runs 9including cupcakes for a school treat -- I'd forgotten that, extra-special housecleaning…I know I'm going to forget something or get behind an eight-ball time-wise. Here's hoping.

After all that effort laying down fresh sod, it looks like its going to rain all weekend. Oh well, we needed to lay it down anyway.

The problem with today's high-tech, well-grooved (like an all-weather tire) sneakers is that it is really, really hard to dig all the dog poop out of those ridges and divots. You just can't do it the way we learned as kids, which is to find a good clump of grass and twist back and forth like Chubby Checker on meth. Boots, which I wore quite often in my youth on the brushy plains of South Texas, had it all over sneakers when you needed to clean off less than desirable substances. Too bad they aren't as comfy.

Wrap Them In Many Layers of Cotton

Its funny sometimes how we go through phases of protectiveness with out kids. At first they can't really move or get into trouble on their own, but you constantly check to make sure they are still breathing. Then they start to move around, and you follow them everywhere, watching every move. Eventually, you feel you don't have to watch every move, but you still prefer to be in the same room with them. Then they go outside.

Outside, you follow them everywhere as they toddle, rarely more than six inches away. Then you allow them to wander farther away as you watch every move, and then you aren't watching every move, but you are outside with them the whole time. Then you allow yourself time to dash in to get a drink, go to the bathroom, or grab another book/magazine. Finally, you stay in the house and just poke your head out from time to time.

Now they start to want to go over to other people's houses. Not just the people across the street, but people around the corner where you can't easily see what's going on. I swear, that's the hardest for me for some odd reason. It's odd that taking Jacob to a near-stranger's house a mile or two away to play with some other kid from his class is easier for me than to take him to another near-stranger's house in our neighborhood. I suppose it’s the theoretical ease of checking in that does it. I could check, but I won't. At least, not unless he's been over there for a whole day or something (which he did occasionally with some folks who have unfortunately moved away).

Then there's the fairness factor. I don't like Jake being over at someone else's house for several days in a row without reciprocating. But what if they seem uninterested in coming over? As long as its clear we've made the offer, should I just get over it?

DANGER! FUN MAY BE HAZARDOUS

Not too far from our house is a city park. We can walk there easily by traveling up a drainage ditch if we want to. Yesterday we took my SUV. This was because we took Jacob's bike with us, and the ditch is pretty much impassible to bikes.

Why a bike? It’s a pretty large park, with soccer fields and a full-size pool, playscapes, a jogging track, the whole nine yards. One of the yards is what we called in my day a BMX bike track. Dirt trails, ramps, and berms, that sort of thing. Totally cool for anyone under the age of 18, or who has not had a recent reminder concerning the laws of gravity. Thus the bike.

On a tree at one corner of the bike trail area was a warning sign. I think you know the kind of sign I'm talking about here.

WARNING! The activity for which this sign is a warning sign is dangerous for pregnant women and people with disabilities. Also, non-pregnant women and men, as well as young children, teenagers, people in their twenties, Sherpas, EMT's, Olympic athletes, Green Berets, Navy Seals, and Spiderman. Anyone who actually gets out here and engages in this activity is a complete fool. Even stopping to read this sign suggests you are in dire need of a refresher course in common sense. Idiot.

Anyway, in addition to all that was this: No one may use these trails without having a permission form on file at the City Park Office.

That last really got to me. A permission form? On file? What else could it possibly have on it that the sign lacked? I suppose the form could be in Latin, just to make it really official and legal-like. As if even that would protect the city from being sued if little Johnny took a jump wrong and scraped an elbow.

I think we really do have too many lawyers in this country sometimes.

Earning My Pay

There are days when I wonder if taking this course (of stay at home dad) is worth it financially. Do I really add as much value doing what I do as I could by holding a "regular" job? The intangible benefits are certainly real, but they are hard to add up.

Still, there are times when I feel like I'm really earning my pay (so to speak). This is one of them

Jake is sick. Apparently, some variety of the flu. Not too bad (though for one 24 hour period the kid was really, really trying to cough up his lungs), but he's been stuck at home for 5 days now. We've been to the doctor's office twice. Rented a lot of movies. Played on the computer. Finally went to the hobby store yesterday to get some things he could do on his own that would at least partially engage his brain.

Oh, and Trish is out of town this weekend. She left Thursday and will be back on Monday. So, except for a couple of hours in the evening, I've been in charge of a sick kid since last Monday.

Okay, okay, its not like I'm facing cancer or people trying to repossess my home because I'm on dialysis and can't work, or lost everything in a tornado. But you spend a week at home with your sick kids, who are unable to play outside, or go to a park, or go and do anything fun out of the house, and see what it does to your brain. Especially if you're an introverted type like me.

I just hope this passes by tomorrow. He could use some air, and so could I.

Sodding Off

So I was going to post last Friday about dealing with The Kids Next Door. Or The Kids Around The Corner down The Street. But I had a problem with my internet connection in the morning (minor bit of winXP weirdness, not worth the effort to explain), and the rest of the day I spent sodding my back yard.

Yes, laying sod. Why? Glad you asked.

In this part of Texas most lawns are composed of a grass called St. Augustine. It’s a reasonably durable grass, and has the added feature of propagating via runners instead of seeds. In theory, a single 12" square chunk of the stuff could eventually spread to your entire yard. Most folks don't want to wait that long, and so new houses have their yard completely covered with these squares of grass, cut up from a grass farm with about an inch or two of dirt holding them together.

I said this stuff was durable but you have to give it an inch of watering a week, more during late July and August, to really make a strong root system. I didn't really water it enough to do that, but it survived just fine. No big deal, except…this stuff goes pretty dormant during the winter. And, we've never had three dogs. Including two very young and active dogs. Who like to romp and play and tear around the yard.

You see where this is going right? A vast strip of yard, about 1300 square feet, was worn down to bare earth. Any kind of rain turned that strip into a sea of mud (it didn't drain well anyway, creating a swampy area that didn't help it hold onto grass back when there was still grass). And in about 1.5 weeks, we'll be having Jake's seventh birthday party. Here.

February weather is extremely unpredictable. It could be 70 degrees and sunny one week and 30 degrees with an ice storm the next (that actually happened last year). We could make do with a swamp, but not a mud pit.

Fortunately, numerous outfits around here will sell you little (in our case, 16" x 24") chunks of grass, and even deliver them, for a reasonable fee. They dropped the stuff off bright and early Friday morning. After lunch, I headed out and proceeded to spend about 5 1/2 hours (with a working break of about an hour -- I wasn't humping grass, but neither was I sitting still) covering the dirt patch that was our back yard with about a zillion (well, somewhere between 450 and 500) patches of grass.

I finished up in pretty much complete darkness, knowing that, as the final pile of grass to be plopped down grew shorter and shorter, if I stopped for so much as a cookie, I might never get going again. I was, as they say, wiped. At Trish's suggestion, after dinner I sat in a hot bath for 30 minutes, sipped on a strong margarita, and ate ibuprofen like it was candy.

I honestly don't know why I wasn't a mass of throbbing, aching, unable to move muscles for the next two days. The bath? The ibuprofen? The margarita? Beats me. But I'm not complaining.

Celebrity Baby School Holiday Keepin' It Real

Today through Wednesday are school holidays, so I've got Jake at home, expect little blogging until Friday at the earliest. But I also have things to do on Friday, so it might be next week before I get 'round to more observations.

I don't want this blog to turn into a simple recounting of my week and the (sometimes) interesting things that happen to me. I always wanted to deliver a kind of meta-narrative on what its like about being a SAHD. But that sure does seem to get harder to do as I continue along this path. There are only so many times you can revisit the "Wow, lookit how much more time we have!" theme. Is this a silly concern of mine? Do people who try ther meta-narrative have ideas for how they are able to keep it fresh? Feel free to comment.

Finally, I can't help but comment on the Celebrity Babies site. I've gotten quite a lot of hits from the folks over there (and I love them all!) but I just have to ask the question: Why are coming here? I like to think Homo Domesticus provides entertainment, education, and witty social commentary, but it does seem a step or two removed from the starry offspring trail! Not that I'm complaining! Far from it. I'm just, you know, curious. Please leave a comment and tell me what you like/dislike. Or even if you're just trying new links. One thing about blogs is you can get reader input and decide to make changes if you feel like it.

A Days Work Before 9AM

If I can ignore the dogs long enough (squirrels have been in the yard this morning, and so every time a leaf blows or I scratch my nose they bolt for the back door) I can write this short post about this morning.

Today is group picture day at Jake's school. I've known this for a week. The note with the little envelope to send in a check for the photo has been on the kitchen island for the last three days. Each day, I would forget to write the check, gripe at my failure, and say to myself that I'd write it "tomorrow". Well, today there was no "tomorrow" to be had, as after seeing Jake off at the bus stop and walking the dogs, I came home to find the picture envelope leering accusingly at me from the kitchen island. Just to add insult to injury, I hadn't taken into account the described background ("rustic red brick with ivy") when dressing him in a red shirt.

So there was Jake at school with no picture money, a shirt that would clash, and no doubt a serious bit of upset coming on. But, I was at home, staring at that hateful envelope, and not at work, suddenly remembering (assuming, that is, I remembered at all).

I grabbed my checkbook, scrawled some numbers on it, stuffed it into the envelope, dashed upstairs, tried to find a shirt (or two) that might go with red and green (I'm not sure I succeeded), jumped in the car, stopped and goed my way to his school, jogged up to his room, dropped them all off, and got back in time to pay bills and write this piece.

I'd pay myself on the back harder if I couldn't help remembering that if I'd just written the doggone check last night none of this would have been necessary. :-)

Spare the Rod, Spoil the Parent

Last night I was well and truly rebuked. And the hell of it is, it was totally deserved. As rebukes go, it was quite gentle, actually. I suspect that the rebuker didn't even realize part of it.

What happened was…well, it was kind of complicated in the details. Suffice it to say that while they were playing, the kids next door (lets call the boy M and his older sister N) did something that really upset Jacob. Just short of tears, in fact.

The story came out as we were eating dinner. It started out as a tale of goofing around on the part of one of the neighbor kids, and evolved into quite a bit more. I should state right at the outset that it wasn't anything that would have gotten anyone hurt, and these kids aren't any better or worse than your typical kids of that age. But what isn't good is Jacob's being unwilling or unable to feel like he can leave, or tell them what is going on isn't right and make his vote against it stick.

M is the only boy about Jake's age in the immediate vicinity (he's actually a year older). They have played together ever since we moved here. I've gotten a bit dependent on them. And I think having M be Jake's only out of school playmate has begun to be a bit of a problem. It may be that Jake feels that if he walks away form some game or activity of M's he doesn't like, then he doesn't get to play with anyone his age (parents are still cool to play with -- we played a lot of football last week, but still, kids your own age are always better). It would be better if he met some other kids from school, from his own grade, more often. You know, the occasionally maligned "playdate" (mostly maligned by those who lack a real understanding of families lives today, I might add).

I'd like to say that those were my insights above, after having gotten him to talk about what was bothering him at dinner last night, but it wasn't. They weren't my insights. Nor was I the one who kept asking questions and got him to spill the beans. Both of these accomplishments were the result of Trish's efforts, not mine.

So I stand thrice rebuked: Failing to dig deep enough, failing to see the problems beginning to crop up (this wasn't the first time M had done something that Jake went along with against his better judgement, or had upset him in some way), and failing to move before to involve other kids in Jacob's after school playtime.

I'm not Superdad (though someday I hope to play him in on TV), and I know that we parents are going to screw up. Its part of life. Still, I'm the guy on the front lines, and I didn't notice or act. I got lazy, and Jake had to pay the price for it.

Friday Short Takes

I just installed Windows XP on my computer. I had managed to keep 98 running for a while on up to date hardware, which some folks seemed to feel was kinda impressive. I did this partly to be cheap and partly because XP was the new target for every bit of mal-ware to come down the pike. Win98 was apparently passe` for hackers. But I went to spend some of my Christmas money on a new game and it wouldn't run on 98. I checked around and the supply of software that would run on 98 was getting thin, so I decided to bite the bullet. The install actually went quite smoothly. My old copy of Norton AV doesn't quite work, and I hard a surprisingly hard time getting Firefox going, but all seems good now. I'm sure a few more kinks will turn up, but all in all, it went a lot better that I feared it might.

I could use advice on how to make Explorer (not Internet Explorer) open up on the C drive instead of My Documents. 90% of the time, I don't need a document.

I'm having a devil of a time getting Jacob to drink milk for lunch. Its not that he dislikes milk. Quite contrary. The problem is that he vastly prefers whole milk over any lower-fat version. And the organic milk we like to give him does not sell small (6-8oz) containers in whole, only lowfat, or flavored lowfat, which of course makes them very sugary. So far, he isn't real thrilled with the other varieties of whole milk that do come in smaller containers that we've tried. The other option, using a thermos or kids cup to send in his regular brand of whole milk, is foundering. The best device we have found so far to use to hold the milk is actually a variety of baby cup. It's actually pretty "big kid" for a baby cup, being equipped with a straw that folds down to make a solid seal using a flip-top thingy. But apparently some kids at lunch teased him for having a baby cup. I might head up to lunch with him today and use it myself. With luck, that'll put a kibosh on the baby cup thing, but we'll just have to see.

One problem with being home all day is snacking. I've done a lot more snacking on cookies, chips, etc. in the past month or so that I used to, and certainly more than I did while working. Now, I am getting more exercise than before, so I'm not actually gaining weight, but it is still irritating. I could lose 20 pounds and not miss it, and this isn't helping. At this moment I'm chomping on an apple, which I hope will help.

Disguised as Dogs

I'm pretty sure one of my dogs is really a cartoon space alien. I'm also pretty sure one them is really a cat, or perhaps was a cat in a former life, like Shirley MacLaine (and if Shirley hasn't claimed to be a cat in a former life, just give it time), or maybe is a cat driving a big robot dog. Only one of the beasts in this house that looks like what we commonly refer to as a "dog" is really an all-out dog.

Why do I say these things? I'd like to give you some examples. Start with Hubert. Hubert looks like a Great Dane. But he is pretty obviously really a cat. The main clue is that he is the finickiest eating dog I've ever seen. Despite having a mouth bigger than most European cars, Hubert manages to eat his food with a daintiness that would impress Queen Elizabeth. Most dogs, when given something that isn't totally off their "food" list, eat so fast that you wonder if their taste buds aren't actually located in their stomachs, and only after they have swallowed and are licking their chops do you see the occasional quizzical look come over their faces, suggesting that maybe that hunk of broccoli might not have been so tasty after all. Not El Huberto! He somehow manages to operate that gaping maw of his such that any medications hidden in his munchies are left behind, often licked clean of the tastier bits. Then Trish or myself gets to do our lion tamer trick, where we stick our arms down his gullet up to our elbows in order to deposit whatever medication he's on that day. About the only thing that periodically makes me doubt the cat hypothesis is the number of times he manages to injure himself, but that can be explained by the fact that his cat brain doesn't fully understand how to handle his dog body.

I'm convinced that if could communicate the idea to him, he would be completely capable of performing that trick with the cherry stem where you tie it in a knot using only your tongue. There are other clues (like his love of fish), but that will do for now.

At first we thought Marquis was a pig of some sort. He makes the oddest grunting sounds, and like a pig, will eat almost anything. I caught him gnawing on a carrot one day. But he didn't like to root around like pigs and despite his grunting grumbling was actually a bit of a snuggly dog. Then Jacob decided that Marquis was in fact Stitch.

This made a lot of sense. Marquis is much stronger than his size would indicate. He doesn't like to swim, though he does like to wade. He has a somewhat short temper but his bark is far worse than his bite (I don't think he's ever snapped at a person). He is very destructive of his toys. And paper. And cardboard boxes. He makes those odd gruntings, which we now realize aren't grunting at all, but his native alien speech. Granted, he isn't blue and doesn't have six limbs like Stitch, but I'm certain there is a good reason for that. Some sort of disguise, no doubt.

This leaves George. Now George is all dog. He eats anything in front of him, and he eats really, really fast. He is totally in your face, licking away. He will jump up on his hind legs to hug you (especially if you have a white or otherwise nicely clean shirt on). And he's a good 6'2" standing up, so it's an impressive hug. He obsesses over squirrels and birds in the yard. So much so that I'm almost afraid to type the word "squirrel" for fear he will attack the back door. And he manages to get into dog sorts of trouble. You may recall that he was forced to wear a funnel for a while to protect his face while he recovered from a minor operation. Just yesterday I discovered what looked for all the world like a piece of fishing line sticking out of the scar. I think it’s a suture that was missed when they removed them, but who knows? It might really be a piece of fishing line. I've no idea where he could have gotten into it, because we don't have anything like that in the house, but that is exactly the sort of trouble a real dog would get into.

Update:

Upon arriving at the vet, we couldn't find the consarned bit of string. But the vet at least said that wasn't unheard of for internal stitches to do that. Disappearing ailments seems like a cat thing to me, but I'm pretty sure that is only an isolated incident.

Just Checking In Again

As you could see from the lack of posts since Tuesday, Jacob was not quite well until, I think, last night. I mistakenly let him go to school on Wednesday due to an apparently broken fever and claims of feeling good, but that evening the fever was back (our doc has said that fevers tend to be highest in the afternoon and evening). But yesterday numerous temperature readings showed normal, and we declared him healed. Of course, now Trish is showing signs of coming down with something.

School is out Monday for MLK day. Probably won't be any blogging then.

The writing project hasn't really gone anywhere, what with the disruptions of the past week, but the acting one at least has something to aim at. Two productions are going to be shooting soon in here in Austin, and are accepting submissions. I've got the photo place working on some 8x10s as we speak. It would be nice to get something with a line. Crowd scenes are completely necessary, but you should know, I'm a complete ham.

Speaking of smoked meats, we are having a potential candidate for new pastor of our church down this weekend, and I have been volunteered to smoke brisket for the meal. Cool. I love working my smoker, but rarely get the chance to do so. It takes so long, and with Trish being vegetarian, its serious overkill to get the thing going for just Jacob and myself. Which is too bad, people seem to think I'm pretty good at it. Another good thing about this is that it might mean the end of the Call Committee, which Trish has been on and has sucked up a lot of her free time over the past 6 months.

Brief Appearance

A quick note here. Light blogging due to Jacob being slightly ill. Nothing serious, but he has had to stay home from school, and it did give my wife and I a bit of a sleep deficit one night. More for her than me, since she volunteered to stay up with him. As I told her the next morning "I'd complain about lack of sleep, but I'm afraid you're too groggy to kill me cleanly." Playing catch-up by napping didn't work for me, as one of our dogs dropped a wooden block on my head, suggesting, I think, that he wanted to play.

Only other note: When Jacob is home sick, even when he is occupied watching TV or playing on the computer, I am unable to get myself to perform any but the most elementary of tasks. Strange.

Choose, But Choose With Knowledge

I wanted to write about what made for drudge work and what made for play work in the SAH world, but the ideas I had seemed to evaporate as I sat down to write. For now, I guess we'd better just acknowledge that doing the same sets of things every week can become boring and seen as drudgery. You just have to be ready for that and recall the other drudgery you faced in the office -- because I suspect that if you loved your away from home job, you wouldn't make the choice to be at home, unless it was forced upon you by circumstances. But then you'd still be faced with the end of the novelty at some point, and yearn for what you loved before, assuming it was possible to get back to it in some way.

I have had jobs I liked and jobs I loathed, and in my case it really boiled down to the people I worked with and for. As a solitary type of person, I find the loss of that contact (when it was good) a negative, but nearly so as to make me want to change my mind about being mostly a SAHD. And the crap-shoot aspect of finding a good office environment doesn't make me eager to try again, either.

Is This a Guy Thing?

A couple of things are on my mind as I type today. First we have Rebel Dad's announcement that he is taking a job (something I will explore more fully in Friday's post). The second is an observation my lovely and brilliant wife made last night, that these things that are a revelation to me would not be so revelatory to a woman, and that my blog would not be all that interesting if it were written by a woman. Or at least, not as interesting to others.

After thinking about what she said for a time, I've decided that's not quite right. Now, certainly, a woman writing about staying at home with the kids would be totally in the category of dog bites ma-…er, person. But I can't help but think that its actually quite likely that any woman today choosing to leave the "workforce" after 15 years to take up a place in the home would discover many of the same things I have, and face many of the same issues. Especially if she came from a family where the mom worked outside as well. And popularity would depend on the quality of the writing as much as the subject matter. Erma Bombeck wrote a column for years just about things she did with her family (and how many Bombecks were there? Good point, but I think that had as much to do with opportunities for women in general as interest in the subject matter).

[pause to toss dog toy across room]

We'd both discover time, we'd both probably struggle with the change in tasks, issues of self-worth in sweeping the floor as compared to memo-ing Marketing to death, that sort of thing. Maybe she wouldn't be as surprised by the amount of pet hair that collects in just 48 hours time (having gotten some training in domestic issues that a brother wouldn't have), but that's not the sort of revelation that I think about when thinking about the changes I've made.

I even suspect there have been about as many news articles written about women leaving the "working" world for the home as there have been about men doing the same. More, even. Granted, they would have a different emphasis, but its not as if there is no interest.

[pause to toss dog toy across room]

Differences there would be, of course. Vastly fewer people would look askance at her or call her manliness into question, for example. A mom that says she stays at home in response to "what do you do" doesn't have to explain any further. But she might feel pressure from other women that are working to justify her decision in ways that are uncomfortable. I don't pretend to truly understand the contradictory pressures women face in dealing with work and home, but I do know they are there. Issues of working and staying home affect women very differently, and I'm not saying it would be easier at all, just err..., different.

I await the slings and arrows of women who will point out to me all the ways in which I've gotten it wrong. And really, if I have I'd appreciate hearing it. I'd like to think I've cogitated on the matter logically, but I'm no woman and many a beautiful hypotheses has been slain by an ugly fact -- and rightly so.

The Meaning of Time Off

I see from my Sitemeter that folks checked in here regularly over the Christmas Holidays. Thanks! Sorry there wasn't anything new to read during that time, but vacation is over now, so regular posting will re-commence.

I'll spare you the detailed holiday post-mortem, except to say that it was great. The one exception to sparing will be in this detail: I can't recall a more relaxed Christmas, ever. After some thought, I realized the reason for that was that I was at home.

Other things contributed, of course. We had no visitors, no travel to visit relatives (Trish had to duck out for about 3.5 days for a conference, but that didn't affect MY relaxation -- well, mostly. I got to welcome her back, which was very relaxing), and most importantly, no schedules to keep. That really hit home this past Friday, as I reckoned on what today would mean. Up at 6am, get Jake off to school, the dogs fed, laundry going, etc. meet him at the bus at 3pm, off to karate at 4:15, drum practice, dinner, etc. For two weeks we got up when we were ready, did things as we pleased, and never worried about bedtimes.

The big thing there is still that two weeks. I don't think I've had a two-week break since I started working, with the exception of Jake's birth. If I was still working away from home, I might have taken 1 week off this year. And that would have been nice, but it would have been nothing compared to what we had. Instead of an extra seven days having fun, I would have spent most of them basically just marking time at the office (the period between Dec 21 and Jan 1 has got to be the most unproductive of the year).

Okay, I didn't spend that entire time laying on a couch, popping bon-bons and watching all 6 discs of the "Return of the King" Extended Edition (Jammer sez -- thumbs up!). I still had the basic cleaning and the laundry and straightening up of the after-effects of Christmas Day (that took about three days all by itself). But still, with no places to be and no marks to hit, it was still amazing laid back and restful. Mark me folks, big blocks of time are generally better for relaxation that lots of little ones.

I'm Alive

Just enjoying the Christmas holidays. Check back next week for a full report!

Tis the Season to be Tired

Man. I planned to write a short post on Friday, noting that the school Christmas break had arrived, and that I wouldn't be blogging much until January. Maybe I should have written that for Tuesday! I've been kept hopping by christmas preparations, trying to make sure everyone has good presents lined up, shopping for food, running other errands and such. I've been left wiped out! I was out for 4 hours yesterday. You'd amazed how hard it can be to find something like a sleigh bell the one time you really want one (thanks to the Polar Express movie. His school saw it yesterday at the IMAX. I liked the original book a lot, too. Highly recommended).

All this and the tree still hasn't been decorated. Heck, it's not even in the house. We got a live tree this year, and so it weighs a ton. We also need to move the loveseat in order to make room for it. Moving the loveseat and the tree are both two-person jobs. But someone has either been sick or busy everyday for the past week.

Last night, George, the dog who was wearing the funnel, got into Hubert's anti-inflammatory medication and at 20-45 pills. At most a dog should have 1 of those a day. So Trish forced hydrogen peroxide down George's throat, making him throw up and rushed him to the emergency vet. He should be fine, but that pretty much put the kibosh on tree moving last night. Make a note: Medication that tastes good to a dog is not always a good thing.

Oh, I've fixed the link to the Hubert Blog. I hope.

Now off to clean house and run more errands. Today is Jake's class party, and I'm supposed to bring the drinks.

Santa Clause Is Comin' To Town

There are days when I envy my parents. Every generation faces its own troubles in rearing kids, but I know that when it came to toys, my own folks were only constrained by three considerations: 1) can he hurt himself 2) will he play with it for more than 10 minutes before becoming bored 3) can we afford it?

Now, Trish and I are hardly the sort of parent that sweat over getting Jake into the right daycare at the age of 18 months so that we can be sure he'll make it into Harvard Medical School. On the other hand, we aren't the laizez faire sort of parents that are happy to get him the latest Power Rangers gear, GI Joe Armageddon Playset (be it noted that I had a lot of GI Joe stuff as a kid and loved it), or every Hot Wheels racetrack package that was ever extruded from a plastic mold. But we do have a few more somewhat vague criteria for toys than I think my folks did.

Striking the balance, between something he wants and thinks is fun and what we think might be fun, educational, and non-harmful is hard. We do, occasionally, from time to time, maybe sometimes try just a wee bit too hard to get him interested in something like the Junior Nobel Laureate Practice Science Kit (Create your own weather Station! Design a Computer from tin cans and old D batteries! Make your own working submarine! Clone your pets using our simple techniques! Some Assembly and/or Parental Supervision Required.).

This desire for balance is compounded a bit by our recognition that we have overdone it in the past (and lets not get into trying to convey the real meaning of the holiday. That's another series of posts, probably). Christmas 2002 was way excessive in terms of stuff. A bike, 3-4 Matchbox/hotwheels playsets, just too too much. We've been struggling to make space in his room ever since, including tossing out or giving away toys he broke, lost many of the parts to, or just plain doesn't play with anymore (just to be clear here that we only give away stuff that either still works are is virtually complete. I've little use for people that give away broken toys, unless the receiver is aware and okay with it).

So he has made his list, which includes an Xbox (no chance), a toy-size dirt bike (for sure), and many, many items that require a long hmmmm. Now we get to cull it and try to sneak in our own brilliant (we hope) ideas. The proof shall be in the pudding Christmas morning.

No. Yes. Maybe.

Last night, I checked my Site Meter and was surprised to see I had over 25 hits. I figured someone must have linked to me. Sure enough, there were many from Rebel Dad. So I moseyed on over to see what he had to say, which was that I was walking away from the title of "at-home dad." Am I? Well, yes and no.

In my last post, I stated that I was choosing a certain way to try and approach life. I wanted to try certain things, and was uncomfortable with the "pure" label of a stay at home dad, even if it was likely that was what I was going to be in practice. In re-reading, it has become apparent that when I talked about writing and acting, it might have sounded as though these were to be, well, careers, that would put Jacob back in day-care…

Hah.

One problem with blogging (or any sort of personaly narrative communication, come to think of it) is that you occasionally forget that other people have not necessarily been privy to your thoughts and ruminations of the past several months, in all their branching, back-tracking, and wandering 'round in circles past the notions counter one-two-three, glory.

I don't intend for either of those activities to be careers. In fact, one of the reasons I chose to pursue them (other than I like writing and I really really like acting) was that they would allow me to continue doing something I'm enjoying quite a bit, namely, being around the home, taking care of things, and being around my son for more than a couple of waking hours each day.

It seems to me that what I object to on some level is the seeming limitation of the label of "stay at home dad". It strikes me as every bit as limiting and non-explanatory as the older label of "housewife" or "homemaker" was to another generation. Perhaps that is just my own biases rearing up too strongly. Perhaps to many other SAHD contains multitudes. I don't know.

I wonder. Has this cleared up anything, or is it still clear as mud? Am I simultaneously avoiding the title of SAHD and not wanting to "abandon" those who have embraced it with pride? Am I conflicted amd writing way too much about a simple matter of nomenclature?

I tell ya, its a lot easier to tell people how to make a PB&J sandwich that won't go soggy in your lunchbox.

My lovely and brilliant wife once said that I had a calling to be a husband and a father. So while my lifestyle choice may not qualify in the Census Bureau's eyes, or even in my own self-image, I intend to honor that call, and hope that I can pursue acting and writing in addition to that.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

As Jan 1 approaches, I feel a certain sense of trepidation. Months ago, during the summer sometime, Trish and I decided that I would get the rest of the year to decide what I wanted to do with myself. I was to decide upon my career direction. I read a book or two on the subject, wrote in my blogs, dealt with matters domestic and not-so domestic, and settled into something approaching a routine. From time to time Trish and I discussed various aspects of the decision.

But that time is coming to an end, and even though I had really made the choice some weeks ago, the passing of the deadline nevertheless carries a fair amount of psychic weight.

In the end, I'm not calling myself a stay-at-home-dad, full stop. I do want to try and make a go of writing and acting. Now, it may be this is just some foolish attempt to pretend to remain intellectually engaged in some outside activity while I become, in fact, your basic househusband (which, I should note, is my problem). I have to be honest with myself about this. However much I talk a good game of pursuing some very creative if probably not terribly renumerative gigs, I'm well aware that doing much at either of them requires one to do a fair amount of duff-getting off of. The hard truth is, I've never been great at getting out of my ruts.

For me anyway, for all I periodically grump about the number of things I need to get done, I have a pretty clear set of tasks, and I also have complete control over how they get done. Plus, I get to build in my own rest breaks, and take them the way I want. Surf the 'net? Sure. Play loud music? No sweat. Fire up a game? Right on. Read? You betcha. And of course, the dress code is very casual.

This is a long-winded way of asking the question: If I say I want to be an actor and a writer, in addition to being a SAHD, just how hard am I going to work to make that happen? Not how hard am I going to have to work, how hard am I willing to work.

Haven't the foggiest. The acting part is easiest, oddly enough for precisely the opposite of the reasons its nice being a SAHD. You take an acting gig, you be there, on time, wear what they give you, eat when the director is done shooting, all that sort of thing. Writing is quite different. You have to seek out topics, you have to seek out people to talk to, you have to make yourself sit down and write (and its not like writing a blog).

We'll see how it goes. Forth the great adventure.

Misc

The smoke alarm went off a few minutes ago. It seems that Trish, who isn't feeling well and is home today, wanted to make herself some tea. Unfortunately, she turned on the wrong burner, and now we need to re-season a cast iron skillet.

I've always been sentimental at the darndest things. Music has the strongest effect. So it may not work for you, but I reckon if I need to gin up some tears for a scene in acting, I could do worse than getting the chorus to Kelly Clarkson's song "Fly Away" into my head and visualizing a grown-up Jacob preparing to head out into the world as the music swells. Makes a lump in the throat, it does.

Housekeeping Note

Actually, this is about blog housekeeping, not the house housekeeping. Got that straight? Anyway, if you look over to the right will see that the blogroll, once empty, then for some weeks a whopping two, has expanded considerably. I hope I've included everyone who has placed Homo Domesticus in their blogrolls -- if I've missed you, please let me know, I'll add you in ASAP.

Right now, its just a list. I hope to do a bit of categorizing eventually, but what you have are SAHD blogs, personal blogs, several friends who cover everything from politics to the personal, and last, but not least, our dog.

One Unexpected Bent Gender role Reversal from a Prior Decade, Hold the Mayo

Life is constantly handing us things we do not expect. Some are good, some are bad, some are just weird. This is about the third one.

Trish is busy this semester (nothing tells the world you are married to an academic person more than the tendency to think and speak in terms of semesters). Really busy, at least in terms of time away from home doing stuff. And not just in teaching, research, and her writing (40K words this year) and trying to do her part to corral the herd of cats that is the typical university department (and really, you can just hear Alec Guinness intoning that famous line from Star Wars:TOS "never was there a more wretched hive of scum and villainy").

It's scary to consider how snowed under she would be if her classes this time around required a lot of grading, because in addition to that she has been working on our church's Call Committee, engaged in the search for a new minister for our congregation. Oh, and she has also been acting as a mentor for one of the teens in our church.

Now naturally, part of the reason she can do all this is because I'm not working late. This also creates an exaggerated sense of her being away; when I got off work at 4:30 and picked Jake up at his day care at 5:00, we might be home a hour or less before Trish arrived. But now he comes straight home from school and we spend three hours before she gets home. That, plus the extra time away because of these (note emphasis here) temporary extra duties have created a peculiar situation for me.

You see where this is going, right?

I caught myself the other day worrying if Jake is seeing enough of his mom, if she is working too hard, wishing she could get home earlier, and not have to have evening meetings.

About thirty seconds later I snorted my English Breakfast tea out my sinuses (I don't recommend that, by the way. Hot or cold). Was I in a Bizarro World Sixties time warp or a Seventies one? Or what? Whichever it was, I'm not sure if it means I need to switch to decaf or get as much more caf as possible. File this one away under Things You Don't Expect When You Become A Stay-At Home Dad, cross referenced with Gender Bending.

Back To Work, You Sluggard!

A good Thanksgiving. Had dinner with some friends across the street and the family of their son's best buddy from second grade. No work to rush to, no school to rush to, no rushing, period. A nice break from the Fall grind. We have to get back into it now, of course. With a vengeance.

I'm one of those people that doesn't think you should be thinking much about Christmas until after Thanksgiving. This year I swear I saw stores sneaking some Christmas décor up right after Halloween. It must not be as bad as I sometimes think; if stores really were moving Christmas up earlier every year for as long as it feels like they have been, we'd be hearing carols over the MUZAK in July.

Anyway, I still like to wait until Thanksgiving is done before giving much thought to Christmas. Problem is, that doesn't leave you with much time to do all the things you'd like to do. You have to think of things you'd like and see that the list is available (if you're the sort of family that does that), you need to shop for your loved ones, either in the increasingly insane stores, or on-line (which is calmer, but then you have to sweat things getting delivered on time); we need small things for Jacob's Advent Calendar, I need to get the lights up (and lights will be different this year, since we've pulled up a bunch of shrubs I used to drape the lights across), and…well, you get the idea.

This year I have more time available to do all these things, thankfully. No sneaking an extra half-hour into my lunch break for shopping. No need to squeeze the lighting into the half-hour of daylight left after getting home from work. Which is good, because looking at today's to-do list make me wish for one of those time-turner things from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Wanna see?

A few more groceries
Gift list for Jacob to his grandmother
I need to call three different people for three different things
Pay bills
Fold and put away laundry
Sweep floors
Make a vet appointment for one of the cats
Clean the litter boxes
Fiddle with Trish's scanner
Create a "garden tool nook" for Trish
Add to my blogroll there. A lot more than two links need to be on it
I need to write a book review
I have lines to memorize for acting class
I need to stuff leaves into the composters
I need to cook up some old meat and fish for dog food
I need to mail some stuff
I need to deposit checks at the bank.

If I can get half that done I'll be thrilled.

Minor Notes

This being a holiday week, I shan't be blogging much. Those of you observant types might have noticed that I have finally added some links. Only two at the moment, but I do intend to link back to all of you who have been kind enough to place me on your blogrolls. Probably I will be doing that over the next couple of days instead of writing up new stuff. But of course you never know when something interesting will turn up.

Enjoy your thanksgiving holidays!

Kiss the Food Preparation Specialist

I have blogged before about food issues, but I've never touched directly on the subject of getting Jake's meals. Back in the first part of this year, I used to live for Friday morning, not only because I got to sleep in, but also because I didn't have to deal with the issue of getting Jacob's breakfast and lunch ready.

It had developed into a hassle on a day-in, day-out basis. This time around, it's not so much, because of our effort to plan ahead. When I was a kid, I ate cold cereal for breakfast pretty much every day of the school week. Usually, it was Cap'n Crunch. We don't want to go that route with Jacob, but it does make our job a bit more complicated.

Here are the factors we need to consider. Breakfast should be ready quickly, to give him the maximum amount of time to get through it. Ideally, it would have protein in it (my wife's side of the family has this weird "morning slows" thing that protein seems to help) and complement his lunch and dinner in terms of stuff (your food groups). Lunch has to be something that will be okay to eat cold, can be put together fairly quickly, will fit into a lunchbox, and it also needs to complement his other meals. Both need to have plenty of variety, so he doesn't get sick of eating the same thing every single day (this was always a killer for me the first time around -- how to keep from repeating meals too often). We also like to avoid overdoing it on pre-packaged food. And last but certainly not least, both need to be meals a mom or dad who have just gotten out of bed and have not had any caffeine can make without violating any FDA or EPA requirements (I'm dead certain our kitchen is not OSHA-compliant, but fortunately I can only sue myself).

Like dinner meals, planning ahead and artful use of leftovers can work wonders (save some bacon from a weekend breakfast for a Tuesday breakfast or sandwich). Fruit is always good, keeps well, and is easy to mix up (banana one day, apple another, grapes another, etc.). Add condiments to the lunch (ranch dressing with the carrots, or maybe ketchup).

For Jacob at least, repeating the same things on a weekly basis is okay. We are kinda stuck with meat sandwich one day, cheese the next, PB&J after that, etc. etc. every week. That business of stuff that will be okay cold is a killer. I do try to vary the bread types, and toss in a bagel or a breakfast biscuit (Trish's excellent idea) from time to time.

One day a week, we let him take in a lunchable-type thing. But only one. For the most part, those things are just crap in a fancy package. Our local Whole Foods used to carry something called "The Good Lunch" which was mostly organic. It was still too high in fat, but at least the total calories were not indicative of a meal better suited for a company of US Marines than sub-teenagers. Unfortunately, they quit carrying it a while back.

So there you have it. A short look at the things we try to do to keep our son fed in a healthy and tasty manner. I'm happy to hear any suggestions from the gallery, and if you need any, I hope this entry sparked an idea or two.

By the way, here's a little trick to keep your PB&J sandwiches from getting all mushy (from the jelly soaking into the bread). Put the peanut butter on both slices of bread, and the jelly in the middle. The PB will serve as a lining to prevent the jelly from turning the bread into mush. Slick huh? Able to cook with Argon or not, Trish had never thought of that one.

Rain Rain Go Away

It's raining. It has been raining here for 4 days now. Today will be the fifth. According the the weather guys, we might get some sun tomorrow. I suppose for folks in Seattle or the UK, this must be par for the course, but we just aren't used to this level of continual steady rain for days on end.

Jacob at least can amuse himself on the computer or playing in the neighbor's garage with his buddy Luke. The dogs are pretty much stuck. I'm unwilling to walk them in the pouring rain, and with one exception, they don't want to go. Hubert pretty much hates the rain, and will wander to the front door and look mournfully at me, perhaps hoping the weather will be better out that door, as opposed to the door to the back yard. The back yard, of course, is a swamp. At the rate things are going, it may become a lake, which will pretty much put paid to my plans to file for federal funds to protect a wetland. Marquis isn't too wild about the water falling from the sky (on walks he enjoys splashing through shallows but refuses to swim), but is willing to go out long enough to do what he needs to do and give the squirrels a quick once-over. George doesn't care about the rain. In fact, he doesn't seem to be aware that it's raining.

Speaking of George, he's got his funnel off, and he has had his sutures removed. Still has some swelling in the spot, so I have to keep up with the warm compresses. I wonder at what point I should ask the vet about it.

Last night as the thunder rolled and the rain contrinued to fall, the dogs refused to settle down. Hubert was especially problematic. He kept ringing the bell to go out (we've trained the dogs to ring a small bell haging from the doorknob when they want out. It saves mucho wear and tear on the door). We'd get out of bed, let him out. He'd come right back in. We'd feed him, he'd eat, we'd all go to bed. He'd eventually get up and ring the bell again. Lather, rinse, repeat, as they say. I finally removed the bell, and got some sleep.

The Reader

We have this ranch. Its located around 100 miles south and west of San Antonio, at the intersection of highways 97 and 72. There is much that could be said about this land (1200 acres, give or take), but all that is necessary right now is that it takes about 3 hours to get there from our home north of Austin, and we needed to get down there and take a look around.

One problem we've had in past in making the trip is that three hours is a long time for a little boy to sit still. I cannot complain (much) about Jake's ability to put up with this journey. He has done about as well as a guy his age could be expected to, but there were times when the patience of his mom and dad wore mighty thin.

But not this time. You see, at some point over the course of the summer and fall he has become a Reader. Not just able to read, but a Reader. There's an important distinction here. An ordinary reader is capable of reading, perhaps even at a very high level. But a Reader wants to. And not just Dick and Jane either. I think he first started reading independently with Zia. No, I'm not kidding.

We've been reading the Harry Potter books lately. He's seen all the movies, and was sort of agitating to read the next book. I convinced him to start at the beginning, and though we started by having Trish and I do all the reading, he has gradually taken to doing a lot of it on his own, briefly before we finally make him turn out the lights, at odd moments at the house, and on our way to run various errands.

This past Saturday, for three hours on the way down, and another three hours on the way back, he read Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Six hours of reading. I'm not sure if I should be proud or scared.

Domesticity Isn't Always Pretty

I sure don't want this blog to turn into "10 Easy Ways to Brighten Your Whites without Using Bleach" or anything, but I had to share this, its a case of my outsmarting myself.

When I was in college and doing the MBA thing, I took several marketing classes. One of the things we learned was about ways to increase the sales of your product by finding ways to get people to use more. "Lather, rinse, repeat" is one example. Arm and Hammer Baking soda is another (it seemed for a while there they had a new use for baking soda every week).

Anyway, I've been suspicious about the amounts recommended for various uses of household stuff for quite a while now.

About two months ago now, I noticed that the glasses in our dishwasher were coming out covered with a bit of a film. They just weren't sparkling clean. I re-wahed some, but it didn't do much. Then I thought that it was just a too-full washer, but over the next few days, the size of the load didn't matter. Then I refilled the rinse-aid dispenser. No good. Then I tried running the washer empty except for some stuff supposed to help clean the washer and get rid of calcium deposits. No help. I pre-washed the glasses. Zip. I was getting a bit frustrated. What's the point of a washer if you have to re-wash half the stuff?

Finally, I consulted the owner's manual and carefully read the directions on the back of the detergent box. they indicated amounts to be used based upon the hardness of the local water. Well, I had no clue what the local hardness in parts per million was, but I knew it certainly wasn't soft.

Based upon my marketing classes, I had been going a bit light on the dishwasher detergent. So this last time I filled it up about 2/3 of the way instead of 1/3 to 1/2.

The glasses were much cleaner. The next time, I loaded the detergent thing up the whole way. Super clean glasses. So now it was clear what was going on. I had been underfilling the soap dish, and thus the water wasn't getting enough of whatever chemical reaction was needed to keep the calcium from sticking to the glass. Busted!

Revenge of the Funnel Dogs

George update:

He's smashed two e-collars so far. The current one is looking pretty banged up, but no cracks yet. He upended a legal pad my tea was sitting on this morning, spilling it into my keyboard.

I literally poured tea out of my keyboard. Too often people use the word "literally" as a form of hyperbole, but in this it its the actual truth, I poured spilled tea out of my keyboard.

It's still working, but I'm guessing its about to become an insect hazard as the sugary tea sends out its tiny siren call of tasty goodness to the zillions of sugar ants living in the walls. At least the keys aren't sticky.

He's also developed some swelling on the place where the surgery was done, so now I get to apply warm compresses to it three times a day. At least he's pretty good about keeping still while doing it. Just rub his tummy and he blisses out.

I hope I can make it until Friday.

Attack of the Funnel Dog

Our middle dog Geaorge, tangled with something a couple of months ago that left a small knot under his right eye. We're sure some bug, like a scorpion, did it, because it appeared overnight. Heck it might have appeared in minutes. Anyway, the first round of treatment didn't get rid of it, so recently we took him back to the vet for a more radical bit of surgical removal. As a consequence, he has a bunch of stitches across his face, and he is now a funnel dog.

You may have seen these things. They are called e-collars because the resemble the giant collars and ruffs of the Elizabethan era. George is supposed to wear this thing for 10-14 days, until he has his stitches out.

Now the reasons for this are sound. Basically it boils down to protecting the wound until it heals. Dogs scratch, and those claws can be rough on sutures. It also helps keep dirt and what-not away. But they do make any animal forced to wear them look completely ridiculous. And even if animals lack concerns over their appearance and dignity (something I am given to doubt, even for dogs), they hate the collars, and with good reason. It's weird, it's strange, it's on their heads, and they don't understand what the heck is going on.

I like the vets we deal with, but one thing vets ought to be forced to do is spend some time with the animal at the beast's home before prescribing any sort of behavior modification lasting more than a day or so. In theory, George is to be on very restricted activity. He is to be taken on a leash into the back yard to do his business, then brought back in. No walks, leashed or otherwise. For 10-14 days from his surgery.

Yeah, right. This is a part-lab barely out of puppyhood. He's a teenager in human terms. These dogs are not slugs, people. They like to run around. George is no excpetion. He's also so totally a dog in that he dashes around when you come home, jumps up on beds with, gets in your face to lick it and get petted, etc. And there is more.

You see, George is a believer in the Squirrel Conspiracy. I'm not entirely sure what he thinks they are going to do if they get to hang out in our yard unmolested, but whatever it is, its bad. Really bad. And it is his job to make sure they are kept away. And he has to be out there as much as possible keeping an eye on things.

It has more than a small element of the ludicrous. If we're upstairs, every time we move towards the stairs, he's down them. And waiting. I really do not know if I can impress on y'all just how eager this dog is to run outside. I can stretch a certain way while sitting in my chair at my computer, and he's off whatever bed he's laying on and down to the landing. Assuming of course, he hasn't been sleeping on the landing in order to get a head start on the next opening of the door.

By now you've probably figured out that the odds of keeping such a dog in restricted activity are somewhere between slim and none. At least, not if I have any interest in maintaining my own sanity. We have two other dogs that like to go out periodically and check to make sure the squirrels haven't tried anything funny (they just aren't obsessed about it), and George would go nuts (no pun intended) if he were prevented from joining them. So he has to go out unsupervised (for at least short periods) and he has to go on walks.

Now, remember that e-collar he has to wear? In order to do its job, it has to cover his face, which means that it sticks out, funnel-like, all around his head. What should be the predictable result of a largish but lean dog who likes to dash about but now has to carry around something bigger than he is?

Yup, he crashes into everything. He's knocked stuff off the coffee table, cleared the fridge of low hanging magnets, walloped my legs innumerable times, scratched up walls, moved chairs and smashed into doorways. He also broke the first collar in about 24 hours. I ran out and got another, and so far its holding, but it does have a (duct taped) crack in it, and the snaps that hold it in place have been yanked out at least three times so far.

We've got about 7 days to go before he can get rid of the stitches and collar. I'm not sure anything below three feet is going to be able to make it that long.

A Post Halloween Note

Trish likes Milk Duds. A lot. The Tuesday after Halloween, Jacob came downstairs carrying an empty Milk Dud box. His expression was gravely puzzled, a bit like that of a puppy from whom you had just taken a very fun and especially tasty sock. Please note for the record that a bag containing at least 3-5 pounds of candy was squatting in near-overflow conditions on the kitchen counter.

He said "You said you would ask me before eating any of my candy." He didn't precisely say J'ACCUSE! but you could hear it.

Trish was caught off guard. "Bear, you were already asleep. I didn't want to wake you."

"You said you would ask."

Hugs and apologies restored the situation with no harm done, though I nearly sprained my face trying to maintain a neutral expression.

Halloween Debriefing

We had a nice Halloween. Jacob went as a Cheyenne warrior. Or was he Crazy Horse (Crazy Horse was Sioux, but at the time of Little Big Horn, was working with the Cheyenne)? I got confused after a while, things shifted a bit near the end.

Trish is always in charge of Jake's Halloween costumes, which is a good thing. They are always pretty cool. He's been Robin Hood, a pirate, Bob the Builder, and a knight. I think I might have been able to get him into a sheet he wouldn't trip over...

We met up with the neighbor kids and did the loop of our block. Our block sits off by itself, not reachable by other residential streets. You have to go out to the main arterial and walk down a length of sidewalk. Not all that far, but you could be spending that time wandering more easily reached streets and getting a lot more goodies. So after the initial rush, things get pretty quiet at our house, and this year was no exception. I took Jake around the block, which went much faster this year (he skipped some houses in his excitement, but mostly he can just move a lot faster on those growing legs). Then Trish took him to neighborhoods farther afield. All in all, I'd say everyone had a great time, except maybe the younger two dogs, who had to stay in the house. Hubert sat out on the sidewalk with us and helped distribute candy, but I'm not sure he enjoyed it exactly, what with all the odd noises and strange creatures wandering about.

The weather was good, a bit warmer than it should be for this time of year, but the forecasters had been predicting rain. It stayed dry until the kiddos were done, and sometime during the wee hours we got 1.5" of the wet stuff. I finally find the perfect lawn sprinklers, and have no need of them (some day I'll have to talk about my quest for the ideal lawn watering device).

And after that, Fall finally arrived. It was pleasant yesterday, but today we've got the gloom and wet and cold (for Texas) of November. About time, too. But I'll have to stop wearing shorts, and they are mighty comfy.

Oh yeah, keep hearing about something going on today...Correction, detection, dissection, or some such. Gonna have to look into that, it might be interesting.

Recycled -- Hubert

This post originally appeared on my other blog, but I realized you folks would almost certainly get a kick out it. I originally wrote it last January, before my job ended and I became a stay-at-home-dad.

****

We have two dogs (and three cats, but that’s a story for another day). Hubert, a three-year old Great Dane, and George, a 3.5-month old – something. He shows signs of Dane, Lab, and German Shepherd. Odds are he’ll be pretty big, though not as big as Hubert, who is skinny at 120lbs.

Hubert is a peculiar creature. All dogs have personalities of their own, but some have more than others. Hubert is one of those. There’s no need to go into all his traits. For now we need only recall that when he gets upset about something, he has a tendency to grab low-hanging food and eat it. And being a Great Dane, just keeping stuff on a counter or table isn’t enough if he is determined. Being left alone all day when it looked like Trish or myself was going to stay home is something that upsets him; and trust me, he knows by how we dress if we’re likely to stay home. In particular, he takes note of Trish’s shoes.

But I digress.Yesterday, I picked the munchkin up at day care and we got home. He headed up to let George out of his crate, and I let Hubert outside to take care of business.Then I noticed the onion. Or rather, the bits of dried onion skin on the floor.

There was a bag of red onions (big red onions) on the edge of the kitchen table, with the bag opening hanging over the side. This did not look good.While Jake proceeded to watch a little TV (PBS, natch), I hurried through the house looking for signs of onion. I couldn’t imagine Hubert, Mr. Finicky himself, eating an entire red onion, but there was no sign of a partially chewed and spat out onion anywhere. And George had been in the crate all day, so he couldn’t have done it. I tried calling Trish, but she wasn’t in her office or answering her cell phone.

I decided I’d better call the vet, a place that should be on our speed-dial.The vet people were a bit taken aback at the idea a dog would eat a red onion, but promised to look it up.

One of the many nice things about having a really big dog is that it takes a lot of whatever is bad for them to make them sick. But the onions in that bag were at least as big as my fist. At any rate, I was hoping that we would only have some really bad gas to deal with (our recently deceased Dane mix Chester once got into some moldy bread. Even the French would have voted in favor of the UN resolution to disarm the resulting gaseous WMD).

No such luck. Although no toxic dose was found for a dog of Hubert’s size, red onion could do unpleasant things to a dog’s liver and thus his blood. They recommended I try to induce vomiting, and if I couldn’t get that to work, to call the emergency vet for more advice. Oy. I tried calling Trish again, no luck. I made a last-ditch effort to find a partially chewed onion carcass in all the places Hubert normally liked to lie down. No dice. I began to sweat. I fielded a call from Trish’s father, a retired pathologist, but he had little advice except to remain upwind.

I gathered up the hydrogen peroxide to induce vomiting. You ever try to get something that legitimately wears a horse bridle instead of a collar to take hydrogen peroxide? Yeah, I didn’t think so.The phone rang. It was Trish. I asked her about a missing onion.

She laughed. I resisted an urge to strangle someone. She told me about how George had gotten himself an onion, carried it upstairs, and taken a nice big bite. And immediately spat it back out again and got as far from the offending vegetable as possible. I looked deeply into the trashcan, and found the onion.

“Is everything okay?” She asked.

“It is now,” I replied, and allowed myself to fall into post-adrenaline rush collapse.

Ahead Flush Factor Four...

We are thankfully done with potty training, but my friend Mark will get his chance in a year or three. I'm just glad they didn't have this sort of thing when we were working with Jacob:

Oh sure, I know, you probably already have a laser in your toilet. But does yours make noise? When this one first turns on, it sounds like Microsoft Windows starting up. It's a nice little chime, and while it doesn't explicitly ask, "Where do you want to go today?", you know that's what it's thinking.

Found on The Trixie Update.

What Is It About Errands, Anyway?

One thing I had not counted on when started this kind of blog was getting worried that I'd start to repeat myself. And its only been what, 3-4 months? Still, there are things that keep coming up in my mind, even if they haven't made it onto the blog. I hope.

Like the need to run errands. This week, for example, I am going to spend at least part of every day away from the house. Why is this? I really do not know how it happens every week, but I seem to have to leave at least 3 out of every 5 days.

You have your groceries, then the inevitable forgotten items, a run to the Lowe's for a sprinkler and sandpaper. The dogs need to see the vet, something is happening at school. The car needs an oil change, you need to make copies of some documents, then they need to be mailed from the mailbox store because you need the correct postage. Stuff needs to go to/ get picked up from the cleaner's. And on and on. And it always takes longer than you expect, which certainly plays hob with your desire to get the 196,483 little items done around the house.

And we haven't gotten into the trekking out to Jake's karate classes, which I don't count.

It's really strange. I can view paintings hanging across the ocean in the Louvre without moving from my desk, but to get dog food I have to drive 3 miles. And no, I do not intend to walk those miles with a 40lb bag of Senior Canine Hip&Joint Formula slung over my shoulder.

The Weekender

Busy weekend. Fun, but busy. Herewith my observations of taking Jake out of school on Friday and dashing off to Houston for Friday and Saturday:

The Houston Children's Museum is way cool. Jacob thought so too, judging from his bouncing.

The Houston Museum of Natural Science is pretty cool, too. Saw exhibits on the Dead Sea Scrolls and the treasures of Tibet. The scrolls exhibit used little MP3 players with headphones to explain a lot of the stuff. Jacob listened to all of the kid level ones and many of the adult as well.

Churrascos is as good as ever. I think the plantain breaded fried shrimp was not quite as good as the last time. Which means it is still in the top two of fried shrimp I've ever had anywhere (the other place being the King's Inn, located on the Texas Gulf Coast near the small town of Riviera).

You can still educate 1st graders better by an occasional outing than leaving them in school every single day, but its getting harder. The little nipper know 6 x 7 = 42, which was a lot more than I could do at that age.

Getting dressed up for the Renaissance Festival works out okay, even in the rain, as long as you have a big hat. It quit raining after lunch, but for a while there I managed to be both hot and cold at the same time, something I don't think I've ever done before.

And finally...

One should take advantage of the chances to do things like this. Near the end of church yesterday, I watched Jake crawl into his mom's lap to snuggle. He just did it, totally unselfconscious about it, because he wanted to. He's almost physically too big for that now, but how many more years until he's emotionally too big for that? Two? Three? And how fast will those years go by? Better not waste them.

Off Into the Wild Blue

Only for a couple of days, though. Off to Houston for various kinds of fun and the Texas Renaissance Festival. Kind of a last-minute thing, but now my next few days are very busy. Blogging to resume Tuesday, probably. A good weekend to all except Colorado Buffalo Fans! Heh.

Minor Bummer

Last night, I found out that the acting class I had signed up wasn't going to have enough students to go forward. We had four, we needed six. There had been six signups, but two of them never showed. Our instructor said that wasn't uncommon for this class. The problem for those people was likely the thing that attracted me in the first place: the class puts on a performance at the end. You don't just practice being an actor, you get to do it, live and on stage with no nets.

One thing I've hoped I might be able to do if I pursue the stay-at-home route is return to this long (delayed? sublimated? restrained?) love of mine. I got the acting bug back in high school, like a lot of people. I was in three plays (should have been in four, I'm told, but the director stuck his favorite in), got Best Actor once, All-Star Cast the other times. I also did other stuff on the Speech Team. Probably my finest hour came when I and three friends did a little skit in the finals of a tournament and got both a standing ovation and a encore! After, I had bit parts in college plays, made extra on a few movies, but nothing that really satisfied.

Any performer can tell you that a sincere standing "O" is pretty much the best feeling you can get short of marriage, births, or illegal drugs. Indeed, the one complaint I have about our otherwise excellent local theater is that the audiences are way too generous with standing ovations. Almost every performance I've seen has gotten one. Those folks are good, but not that good. Anyway, even plain old applause short of the standing "O" is worthy, and its been too long since I got to hear that. It's an amazing rush when you know the crowd is with you, and you can feel it on the stage. It's easier to tell with comedy, since you have the immediate feedback of laughter (or silence when there should be laughter) but even with drama you can sense what's going on out there most of the time.

Ah well, I've waited this long, I can wait a little longer for the next go-round. At least now I know I'm waiting for the opportunity to come by, not for the time to take it...

Time, Again

I blogged once before about how going the stay at home route (for either spouse) gives your family a lot more time to do fun stuff together because you're doing all the stuff that used to get stuffed into the cracks of your workdays and weekends during that vast river of time between 7AM and 5PM.

But I have come to realize that, despite being a lot of time, its not as much time as you think! Yup, when I started this gig, I figured I would be able to read the morning blogs, do the laundry, write long, complex analysis in my political blog (that would change the world you know, or at least the face of American politics), walk the dogs, sweep the floors, deal with the family finances, write an article for a magazine, exercise for 45 minutes, read more books, watch that blood and guts sci-fi comic-booky movie the wife would never want to see, work in the yard, get the groceries, run miscelaneous errands, and play some computer games. And that was just Monday.

Hasn't worked out that way, and if you've been doing this for longer you no doubt are wearing an indulgent smile. Sure, I probably could do more than I actually get done (I'm a famous procrastinator), but even so it would never approach what I thought would happen.

Well, we live and learn, yes? Reality is always such a pisser, as my old buddy Pete would say.

Interesting Question

My friend Mark Hasty asks the question: If you could choose your kid's vice, what would it be?

Daddy Agonistes

As time marches on, I come closer and closer to deciding that what I want is not to go back to a regular, 9 to 5 type job. But I confess this is something that also makes me feel guilty. I would be making this choice because, well...I like it.

Yes, it sounds ridiculous put that way. Why should we feel guilt for choosing something we like? But this choice, while good in many ways (I'll skip talking about time issues) does have the problem of not likely to be making much money. No, we don't really need the income, but...there is a second-hand couch in the living room right now. If I was working it would be a new one.

It has to be said that even so, we could have afforded a nice new couch. But a thought that we needed to be more careful played a part in that decision, and the fact that thought existed has irked me more than I had thought it would.

And yes, I am well aware of the fact that not being able to afford a nice new Pottery Barn couch is really a pissant level of problem in one's life. But since it connects the issue of what I am choosing to do with my life, it gets a certain kind of magnification.

Of course, getting to choose one's life and having the option of not working full-time is also fairly close to pissant level on the Great Life Problems Meter. But, they are the ones I've got right now. And here I always hated those sorts of "woe is me, the SUV has a scratch and the lawn service can't come before the party this weekend" kind of yuppie suburbanite angst tales, only to find myself living part of one.

Where was I? Ah yes, life choices...Granted, my thoughts were leaning in the direction of getting an acting gig from time to time, and trying to write articles for a magazine, in addition to becoming a true Stay At Home Dad (though I guess that technically would make me a Mostly Stay At Home Dad, or MSAHD). That would make a few bucks from time to time, enough to provide us with some extras. I haven't the foggiest idea how much realism there is in that. I can write, and I can act, Austin gets a fair number of movies, etc. etc.

Can I demonstrate the discipline that writing real magazine articles takes? Its one thing to crank out something like this for a blog every few days. It's quite another to write long articles for publications. And just how good can I act? Better than average, but acting classes or no acting classes, there are a lot of good actors out there working as computer programmers or whatever.

Where did I start? Oh yeah, guilt. Yeah, I'm thinking of taking up a life choice that is, from my POV, very low stress. Nobody is on my case, almost all the deadlines are my own, the commute is very short, it leaves our weekends free, etc. etc (I rhapsodized about the sudden expansion of time in this older post). But the pay is low.

Man, this is a gloomy-sounding post! Thank God for proofreading (which will still fail to catch a missing word or extraneous letter).

I think they call this "buyer's remorse". You get it almost any time you make a major purchase, like a house or a car. No matter how much homework you've done, no matter how many other options you've looked at to arrive at the decision that this is the right one, once you've committed, you spend some time worrying if this really was the right way to go. Well, this is a lot more committment than a house or a car. I think I've touched upon this before.

I hadn't really done very much thinking lately along these lines until I started this post today. Something about writing forces you to think about things you skip over while making sure the chicken is properly defrosted and the celery chopped, I guess. Funny.

And now I can't figure out how to close this. I'm not as gloomy or angst-ridden as the first part of this post sounds, but just saying "I'm fine guys, really!" doesn't seem like its enough. Is this what they call writing yourself into a corner?

I guess it is. Well, yes, I do sometimes worry if I'm doing this just because its fun and easy as opposed to right, but I'd be less than human if I didn't. But I'm also determined not to allow myself to be guilted into a choice I don't want. I guess thats just going to have to do for now.

Take the Day Off

Today is looking like a simply gorgeous day. Mild, sunny, with a bit of a breeze. Texas gets some payback from its typically miserable Augusts and lame winters with lovely mild weather like this. It's also a school holiday, so Jake and I are going to head out for a bit of miniature golf and video games after he gets done practicing his drums.

We also slept in, ate blueberry muffins and banana for breakfast, and will almost certainly manage a quick run to the grocery store. If I was at work, he would have gotten up at 6AM and be sitting in his day care right now[*]. And I would be making DO loops or some fool thing.

Later, before karate class at 5PM, we might do some soccer or go to a park. Assuming his best buddy across the street isn't home. I am apparently great fun to have around, but 7-year-olds are still WAY cooler. :-)

* Actually, I shouldn't snark about his day care. Bluebonnet was actually a very good place with fun and some teaching, not simply a holding tank. Pricey, however, like most better day cares.

Dust to Dust. Hair too.

One of the few bad things about Austin from a geographical perspective (other than sitting on a Hellmouth) is that it is Ground Zero for allergens. Austin is the intersection point of several of the areas of major allergy creating molds and pollens. Probably space aliens as well, as anyone who spent much time on South Congress might suspect. So at any point in time, something here making someone sneeze.

I myself do not suffer too much from allergies, though like most people I get them in the spring. Right now is a bad time for ragweed, apparently. Bad enough that I've actually had to take antihistamines from time to time over the last 2-3 weeks. Trish has suffered a lot more, especially in the past week. It doesn't help matters much that she reacts strongly to all antihistamines we've tried. You know that bit about operating heavy machinery? They wrote that for her, poor thing. Again, that's something I don't suffer from. Kind of a cosmic joke that I don't need the medication as much and also don't suffer from its most common side effect.

Because of all this, I've tried to be a bit better on matters related to dust. Now, you might imagine that in a house with two cats, three dogs, and a six-year-old boy, there would be a fair amount of dust and hair to get up. I certainly imagined, but the reality is amazing. I feel like I gather enough animal hair every two days to make a small dog or cat. And enough dust that God could whip up another Adam at least twice a week, should He feel like it. Or if you're looking to start making your own island, I can help you out.

Before I stayed at home, the floor might get swept twice a week -- if that. Most likely it was once a week, Friday. That's when we have someone come over to do housecleaning. Yes, she still comes over. Cleaning was never my strong suit. And she does stuff I'd never even think of, like dusting off pictures on the wall. Anyway, I shudder to think of the amount of dust and hair and what-not she used to find.

I think I'd better go deal with the air filters now. They don't last three months at our house like the label says.

Time, Tasks, and Getting Off Your Duff

There are days when it seems you have so much to do that you just sort of sit there and don't do much of anything. You look at the list of things you need or want to do and it seems overwhelming. Where to start?

This certainly feels like a day that could happen. I have at least three phone calls I should make. I need to get some more dog food, milk, and 60-watt light bulbs. I wanted to clean out a device we originally purchased to hold bills but instead has morphed into a thing where we hold generic papers we can't decide what to do with. You know the sort of stuff, you need to keep it, but you don't need it every day. Where does it go? Where do you put it so you can find it again if you need it (preferably without having to search for an hour). You organized people with file systems you actually use can stop snickering now.

Then there's some laundry. And I wanted to get more air filters and change the old ones out. And dust the air vents. Spread some soil out in the area we are going to turn into an herb garden. Write some blog posts (one of which Blogger already ate as I write this one -- So I'm composing this in Notepad, just to be safe). Oh, and gather some materials and send them off to the bank.

***

Well, I didn't get it all done but I got some of it done. Did the dusting and laundry, got the dog food and light bulbs and milk. Made two out of three phone calls. Wrote blogger posts. Realized I needed to straighten out the kitchen and put away all the clean dishes. Amazing how little that seems, yet I spent almost 6 hours today doing it (and some incidentals like lunch).

I truly don't understand how time manages to pass that way.