Tuesday

Not sure if I wrote about this last year or not. But things surrounding St. Patrick's Day have certainly become more complicated than when I was a kid.

I mean, when I was in Grade 1, we just all loaded up in the teacher's van and headed to the bar for some green beer . . .

Grade 1, um, I don't think we did anything beyond colouring some pictures of some leprechauns, rainbows, pots of gold, shamrocks. And then it was on to Easter.

But today, I'm helping Sonwun build a Leprechaun trap. Seriously.

Honestly, I didn't know one could trap a Leprechaun. I didn't think they even lived around here. But I guess they're in season, so what the heck. Any good recipes out there?

Oh, and I didn't know they snuck into schools (and apparently homes) and messed stuff up on St. Patrick's Eve. Mischievious, don't ya know. The trap, so I'm told, is set in the classroom on SPEve with the hopes of capturing one of these little guys whilst he goes about his mischief making. So . . . the trap.

Now, as I see it, the Dad challenge in these situations is to encourage, help where necessary and fight all urges to help too much or offer too many suggestions. This morning, I had Sonwun draw up his plans. And then I tried to interpret them, so as to understand the genius.

It's a simple trap. A box . . . with a door . . . tied to a string. When I'd first seen his sketch, the Dad in me started thinking about automatic release mechanisms, rubber bands, sharpened spikes . . . the standard coyote stuff. And that's the kind of thing I've got to stifle. With my luck, it would actually capture one of the little buggers and he'd be all skewered on the spikes, the children would be traumatized and I'd have some very impressive psychiatric bills to deal with.

I should point out that the teacher has pulled a dirty trick on me. She's told the children that the leprechaun can escape through the smallest of spaces. And, believe me, it's difficult to put together an airtight cardboard-box-and-popsicle-stick creation. Each time the trapdoor closes, Sonwun points out a small crack through which escape is possible. I'm at a loss. Yeah, the teacher has an easy out when no one traps one of the little green buggers, but I have to try to find a way to patch every hole. Not fair.

Well, I'm guessing they play up the St. Patty's deal because Easter must be downplayed, at least anything beyond the Easter Bunny, you know, the reason for the season.

Such is life, such is "progress."

Have a great Tuesday.

A confession . . . or two

So, I have something else to blame on a brother . . . a new addiction.

It's one of those stupid Facebook games that I swore off more than a year ago, when I gave up Mafia Wars. But then he invited me to play Battle Pirates, I thought I'd take a quick look and now I just can't wait to expand my island, build more oil platforms, plunder the Draconians and collect my booty. Good lord, that's pathetic. And it's all JackSparrow's fault. That's his pirate name. Mine's CaptainCrunch. 

Pathetic.

So, I was confessing this to my wife this morning . . . excuse me, must go repair my fleet.

So yeah, we were talking about this game and how it was similar to an educational game back in high school in Geography class.

And that reminded me of an amusing little story, involving geography and high school. And I guess I should explain that I went to a Mennonite High School, though I am not Mennonite. That's a story for another time.

But this school had a dress code. Blue corduroy pants and shirts with no letters or numbers. The school had a lot of other silly little codes, but, again, that's a story for another time.

I forget if it was Grade 9 or Grade 10 Geography, but it was exam time. And somehow I got the impression that the dress code was a little relaxed for the exam hall. So, being the wild and crazy guy that I am, I wore my t-shirt with the number 32 on it. Crazy rebellious hellion.

Now, there was a prissy little teacher that had been dubbed "Sister Jim" by the students. Sister Jim didn't like me much. Not sure why. 

But Sister Jim took great pride and pleasure in "catching" me in my flagrant disregard for the rules of good behaviour. I wasn't too difficult to catch. I was just kinda standing there, waiting to go into the exam hall to write my geography final. But you'd think he'd captured Osama Bin Laden. Or, at the time I guess, John Hinckley Jr.

Anyhoo, he told me to stay put and pranced off to conference with another teacher or two . . . just a sec. Gotta go attack a Level 4 Draconian Cargo Ship. Pathetic.

Where was I? Oh yeah, Sister Jim.

So, apparently after the Nuremberg court met to decide my fate, it fell to Sister Jim to deliver the bad news. Which he did with a smug little smile on his face.

And it had been decided I would NOT be allowed to write my exam in the exam hall (gymnasium). Instead, I would have to write it, all alone, in one of the classrooms. I was marched down to an empty classroom, told to sit down, was handed my exam and I was left to write.

Now, I should point out that a major portion of this particular exam involved remembering where a lot of the world's countries were located. I was provided with a blank map showing only the shapes of the countries. I had to fill in the names. It was a part of the exam that I was dreading. I wasn't very good at meaningless memorization.

I looked at the blank sheet, sighed, shook my head and then looked up . . . at the gigantic map of the world, in front of me, on the classroom wall. It had all the names.

I did very well on that part of the exam.

Have a great Monday!

MasterChef must wait . . .

Saturday . . . the weekend. But not.

Neomom's on night shift through the "weekend." And that means it's just us boys, left to our own devices . . . hmmmm.

It's 6:30 a.m. It's currently -17C, with a windchill of -26C (that's -15F for my friends down south). The streets are pretty clogged with what I believe is the biggest snowfall we've seen this winter. Weird for this part of the world.

The driveway needs shovelling, I need to bake some bread, I need to get a little shopping done. And I think I need to come up with something different for supper. Something I haven't made before. Something drawing inspiration from The Food Network. And something in which I can use a crapload of basil. My hydroponics are going crazy!

Basil aside, for a moment, I'm thinking I want to try messing around with wonton wrappers. Why? Cause they looked cool when someone made them on Iron Chef. And I haven't ever made them before.

So . . . recipes. On to allrecipes.com. Buffalo Wontons. We have a winner.

So, if I can get the manly minivan out of the driveway, and not stuck in the street, I can get everything I need on my shopping trip and then spend the day in the kitchen. Cream cheese, chicken, hot sauce, vinegar and, of course, wonton wrappers. If they have them. If not, I saw a recipe for them, but I'd prefer to take small steps and buy them this time.

As for the basil, I guess a salad is in order.

Okay, 9:30 a.m., shopping done. Change of plans. Now plan on making beef stock and using it to make braised short ribs for supper, assuming stock is done by then. Also cooking up a couple of chickens and may use the Buffalo Wontons as an appetizer. Should be YUMMY!

And now, it's 6:20 p.m. I have been working in the kitchen, it seems, almost all day. Preparing, planning, chopping, shredding, simmering and baking. Neomom's getting ready for work, without supper, and the kids will be having Kraft Dinner. I'm guessing I will not be the next challenger on Iron Chef. And I'll be holding off on my application to Master Chef.

Let's see . . . the stock I was making is still not done. Really needs to simmer for about 8 hours. Then it has to be strained. And then, when it's ready, it's still gonna take at least three hours to braise the short ribs. Bad, bad planning.

The two chickens I got were roasted in time for lunch. So we had some nice chicken salads and chicken sandwiches. The silver lining on a rather cloudy day. The leftovers were to be used for the aforementioned Buffalo Wontons. And they were. Cut with hot sauce, butter, cream cheese, mixed well and folded into the wonton wrappers.

Should have watched the YouTube video on how to wrap wontons BEFORE wrapping the wontons. Bad, bad planning. I ended up with a cookie sheet full of butter, cream cheese, hot sauce and some pretty flat looking wontons full of dry, cheese-flavoured chicken. Live and learn.

As far as I know, the stock should be okay and I'll take a run at those short ribs tomorrow. All in all, not one of my more successful culinary outings. 

Oh, and I still need to shovel that driveway . . . tomorrow.

Have a great weekend!

Family

Been feeling kinda funky lately. I blame my brother, and a friend who came over here for Sontoo's birthday party Wednesday.

Well, I don't really blame them. But I think they both helped me shake loose what's been bugging me lately.

First off, my brother . . . the one that lives in NY State. He Skyped me the other day, regarding a plumbing  problem. With him using his iPhone, I was able to use my computer to look at what he'd done to a faucet and try to help with a few suggestions. And I was able to call him Butthead a couple of times. It's what brothers do. 

Then, a friend came over here a little early for Sontoo's birthday party. She helped Neomom cut veggies, had a glass of wine, and just talked . . . about kids, about life, about nothing, about everything.

So, what do these events have in common and why am I blaming them for my mood.

I'll tell you. In a minute.

First, one more piece of the puzzle. 

Every so often, when Neomom has a day or two off, and I'm moping around the house, she'll say, "Why don't you take off, go do something on your own."

If you're a stay-at-home parent, you can appreciate this. As much as you love the minions, there's nothing like a little time away, doing something all by yourself. Something you enjoy and don't have to answer a thousand questions about. You know what I mean.

So, how does this all tie together?

Well, Neomom recently had a few days off and she offered the escape. But I realized, in Portage at least, there ain't much to do. And what I really wanted to do, more than anything, was head over to my brother's house and spend the day solving a 20-minute plumbing problem. I wanted to drink beer, head to the hardware store, head back, examine the crap out of the problem, call my brother a butthead, drink some more beer, fix the plumbing problem, drink another beer, accept an invitation to stick around for a steak, shoot the shit, argue about the best seasoning for steak and best way to cook it, call him a butthead again, drink some more beer, talk about the kids, talk about life, talk about everything, talk about nothing.

I miss my brothers and there are days when I would kill to live within driving distance (better still, stumbling distance).

And I miss my sisters. And would like to be close enough to do the Sunday dinner thing, men cooking meat, women cooking the other stuff, cutting veggies together, arguing about steak seasoning and gas grill over charcoal. I want to play stupid games like "Bullshit" and Sequence and laugh with them for hours on end.

This stuff does actually happen on the rare occasions that we all manage to get together. Most recently, it was in Kansas at my niece's wedding. Good, good times. The wedding was awesome, the reception even better and the lengthy game of "Bullshit" back at my sister's made us all laugh until we cried. 

I haven't laughed like that, um, probably since the last time we were all together.

So that's what's bugging me. I see it, I know it, I must work to solve it.

"Call it a clan, call it a network, call it a tribe, call it a family.  Whatever you call it, whoever you are, you need one."
  ~Jane Howard

My tribe, my clan, my family, 2006.