The only guy . . .

Traci has successfully talked me into taking "resistance training" class with her at the YMCA. I prefer to call it weight lifting. Resistance training sounds significantly less manly . . . and I guess that's the point, cuz I've been about 7 times now and the class is 99.99999% female. I'm a pretty secure guy, but I gotta admit to feeling kinda odd on Monday when the class was so packed that we ran out of weight bars. Yeah, as a substitute people were lifting chairs, large purses, even some of the smaller kids from the nursery - it was that busy. Anyway, the only spot left was right in the front/middle behind the teacher. As you might say, quarters were close. And you guessed it, in this room of 3,000 or so (yes, I'm exaggerating, Traci) women, I was the only guy. And not only that, my position in the room made me feel like everyone was looking at me, because, well, they were. It was unavoidable. The instructor is cool and knows me by name, cuz I'm the only "Scott" in the room I suppose. But I was kinda weirded out that day. Guys out there, comment for me - how would you feel? Traci thinks I'm just crazy.
Anyway, I did my little sweat thing for an hour and scurried out of the mirrored room as quickly as I could. From now on I'll keep going, but the class will be called CO-ED WEIGHT LIFTING. (at least in my little mind)

The Great Glitter Disaster of 2007

And I'm not referring to Mariah Carey in any way.

So on Sunday afternoons we give the kids (the older 3) a bit of free reign downstairs while we take naps or read upstairs. Oh we're used to coming down and finding special kinds of messes, but they're usually clean-up-able (with industrial-grade chemicals or a bulldozer). But today we were greeted with a special, sparkly, surprise. (I love alliteration!)

My first sign of trouble was a shriek from Traci, who went down first. The typical thoughts went through my mind dealing with some combination of permanent markets, a recently removed diaper, and some honey. The noise summoned me downstairs, and Traci called for me just as I was getting there. What I saw amazed even me, who isn't surprised my much in terms of evil-doing by small children. We still don't know the full story, but the culprits had broken into Traci's craft stuff (which gets used twice a decade or so) and located a large container of gold GLITTER.

The four of them had started in the kitchen, but the glitter soon was spread like Ebola virus from room to room. You could literally make out footprints. And in all their toddler wisdom they had decided to add water to the mix - helping the glitter like an adhesive. They even made their way outside the front door and our porch and bushes are similarly covered. We tried mightily to clean up with brooms and vacuums, but I'm sitting here right now still surrounded by golden glitter on the floor and the bottom of my feet. It's now spread to every room in the house.

At this point it's so pervasive that all I can do is smile a bit. I'm kinda guessing that these little specks of golden happiness have become a permanent part of life. So my advice is to lock up your glitter and only use it under strict adult supervision, or at least use it when you're at your neighbor's house.

Backseat Quoters

This afternoon we (the entire O-Town crew) loaded up in the minivan and drove to Omaha for a mini-vacation. It's entirely possible that we're the only people to ever vacation in Omaha, Nebraska, but well, . . . It's close, and it's cheap. Just a few minutes after we pulled out of the driveway for our 3 hour drive the quotes started flying from the miniature backseat judges. Traci had the wise idea to make note of the best of 'em. Most of these insightful questions came out about 5 minutes after we left:

1. Is this the way to the hotel?

2. Can I have something to eat?

3. How long does it take? (Traci answered "3 hours") How long has it been then? (Traci answered 5 minutes)

4. Is this the right way?

And of course:

5. Are we there yet? (repeated roughly 4,879 times between Kansas City and Omaha, beginning in our neighborhood)

As we were driving through downtown Kansas City . . .

6. Where are we? To which I sarcastically answered "New York City"
Sydney's response: "Wow" "Ooohhh"

7. I gotta go now, . . . bad!! (3 of the 4 kids said this multiple times)

8. It's taking FOREVER (20 minutes into the drive)

Pulling into the hotel parking lot . . .

9. Is this Omaha? (Said by Sydney with wonder and amazement in her voice)

10. (Said by my 7 yr-old, Ethan right before going to bed in the hotel room) - I looked at the room service, it's not that expensive!

So as you can see, my kids are keen observers of their environment and a joy to travel with.

I'll have more quotes tomorrow - the Zoo is always good for that!

When "under water" doesn't involve getting wet

I had a conversation with some friends over lunch today. The term “underwater basket weaving” came up. This was in the usual context where we were talking about really easy school classes. One of my friends pointed out that actually it sounded kinda hard because it would probably involve scuba gear or at least someone holding their breath for a really long time. Fair point. Another person asked where in the world the term came from. So I had to look it up on wikipedia. Click here for the article.

Here’s the blurb I found interesting:

This generic term for an undecided major first arose during the Vietnam War era to describe the sorts of majors that many young men, who would otherwise not have entered college, undertook to escape the draft. See also: Mickey Mouse degrees.

And then as if to complicate the problem:

The University of California, San Diego's recreation department first offered an underwater basket-weaving class in 1984. Saint Joseph's College in Indiana offers this class as well, as does Simon Fraser University in Canada. Reed College in Portland, Oregon also offers an Underwater Basket Weaving class during Paideia, its festival of learning. [1]
Most recently, University of Central Arkansas actually went so far as to issue a document apparently outlining a proposed Doctorate in Underwater Basket Weaving, replete with required courses, for example "College Chemistry I and II (to determine pH of the water)", presumably satirical[2].

So I learned a little something. I’ll think a bit more before using the term. Oh yeah, and by the way, here’s the real definition:

Underwater basket-weaving is a process of making wicker baskets which involves dipping reeds or stalks of plants into (or, as the name suggests, under) water and allowing them to soak. This process will provide a very supple and flexible reed which can then be woven into a basket given enough time. The baskets then will be allowed to dry and provide a sturdy container. For example, some kinds of basket-weaving are done with the canes submerged in water from the Arabian sea to preserve suppleness. The weaver is generally not fully immersed using scuba gear or otherwise.

6 Year Old Birthday, and I'm a Rock Star

Last week our Braeden turned 6. It was a beautiful thing to watch. We had a baseball-themed party for him in the gym at church. He had a ball, but got a little frustrated with us having he and his friends play games while there were perfectly good presents piled up ready to be opened. As a result he kinda moped for a bit, but eventually got better - the healing power of opening presents I guess. That evening he walked up to me, unsolicited, and said, "Daddy, this was the best birthday ever." Yeah, so that made it worth whatever effort and money we (by which I mean Traci) put into it.

On Sunday we had our family party to celebrate my Dad's b-day too. (they're both July 11th) Braeden got more cool stuff. One of his favorites was a 3-foot-tall plush penguin. He quickly named him "Pen-gwee." (that's along the line of "wormy" and "fishy" - you get the naming convention.) Later that night the named changed to "Happy." And last night when I referred to Happy, Braeden corrected me and let me know that the name was now, obviously, "Nick." Of course it is . . .

Somehow though, one of the items that has given my little man the most glee was a Shrek card from my parents that sings, "All-Star" by Smashmouth when you open it. He can't get enough of that thing. Last night he walked up to me and said,

"Daddy . . . You know what you are?"
"What Braeden?"
He opened the card and it sang those profound words: "Hey now you're an All-Star . . ."
So I said, "I'm an all-star?"
He emphatically said, "No way, Daddy - Keep Listening!"
Then we hear, "Hey now you're a Rock Star . . ."
He says, "See Daddy, you're a Rock Star!!!"

So now everyone knows.

A Night in NYC

Click here to read an article about Spoon in the NY Times today.

Spoon on Letterman & #2 on iTunes

Ok, in case you missed it, here is Spoon playing their new hit song, The Underdog, on Letterman last night. My brother Rob is playing the bass in front of the brass section.

Incidentally, Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga hit number 2 on iTunes!!! Congrats fellas!

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DDR and the 5-year-old

My kids have really gotten into Dance Dance Revolution at the YMCA. It's a ball to watch do it, but I guess this kid is what they'll all aspire to.

The Underdog Video

Here's Spoon's newest video. My brother is the happy bass player! I dug the one-shot action. I'll have to find out how many takes it took.

The Underdog

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Spoon swoon

So my brother Rob started playing in the band Spoon a while ago (he plays the bass). I heard a few things here and there, but last week he gave me their new CD that hits stores on the 10th. WOW! It's really good stuff. I won't do a full-on review or anything, cuz I'm clearly too biased to be objective, but I'm a big fan now. You can pick it up in Target on the 10th-14th for only $7.98.

They are going to play on Letterman next week on the 11th. (the birthday my Dad and 5 yr old, Braeden) So be sure to check that out.

Here are some more Spoon links:

Their MySpace site

Their newest video for "The Underdog" This is a marvelous song that I can't stop humming this morning!

Let me know if you're gonna try to see one of their shows while they're touring this Summer/Fall.

Attention spans, sleep deprivation and fireworks

I'm a big fan of the Fourth of July for all your typical reasons (patriotism, BBQ, swimming, family, not-working . . . etc.) But I remember absolutely living for the fireworks. At the mall here in O-Town the city puts on a pretty good show every year. We have our designated spot on the backside of an Aldi. (yeah, you're jealous) The view is ok, and we can actually drive home afterwards without being snarled in traffic. (I just really wanted to use the word "snarled" for some reason.) Yesterday our kids played hard. We spent the morning at the YMCA, and the afternoon at a multi-hour BBQ with some friends. There were several kids there and all four of mine played hard. By the time we were headed to see the fireworks it was pretty clear that the kids were wasted. (Oh fun) We waited for the show to start for what seemed like an eternity. The kids went through all the kid-phases of being tired. (combative, goofy, apathetic, whiny, hyper, lethargic, and comatose) You could also use those names for a new version of the Seven Dwarfs, but it wouldn't be as fun. By the time the thing got going it was almost anti-climactic. The kids barely paid attention to the massive explosions going on right above our heads as they continued to cycle through the phases. They all agreed on the "comatose" phase during the short drive home. Anyway, it was a fun day. We just need to find a way to get that sun down about 4 hours earlier on this one day a year. =)