The Cliffs of Insanity

Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. That pretty much sums up how I’m feeling right now.

This summer we’re going to start this big comedy all over again. This is the reason why blog posts have been few and far between lately. Karen said that there was an elephant in the room that we didn’t want to talk about. That’s great for her to say but I’m not going anywhere near there. Rule #1 is husbands of pregnant women should not compare them to pachyderms. EVER.

Finding my culinary roots

There’s lots of Gordon Ramsay on TV these days, and that’s good. He’s good television. You have to respect a man who can swear like that on national television while standing next to his mother. And his British shows that I get on BBC America are way better than the American ones produced by Fox.

Anyway, watching Gordon Ramsay makes me want to eat simple, honest, British cooking so that means that when Karen came home from the store one day with a two pound beef roast I instantly thought of Yorkshire pudding. But guess who didn’t include a recipe for it in his cookbook Gordon Ramsay’s Kitchen Heaven? Thanks for nothing, Ramsay. So then I try my trusty friend Google and it takes me to this site, where I find Gordon’s recipe for roast beef and Yorkshire puddings. Way cool, let’s go.

Now, I’m sure I will be laughed at by people who know. Blogging about how excited I was to try Yorkshire pudding. Go ahead, it gets even better if you keep on reading.

So you mix the batter together and let it rest, then mix it again. It smells a lot like pancake batter. You put some oil in the cups of a muffin tin and put it in the oven to get hot. When it’s hot you take out the tin and pour in the batter.

Stick it back in the oven and cook until risen and golden brown and crispy.

Take it out and let it cool a little bit before getting them out of the pan. Wait, why are they so stuck? I got out a spoon and had to dig them out, and when I was done the pan looked like this:

But they tasted okay. Yes, I burned them a little, but what do you expect? They tasted WAY better than the beef. I had put it in the crock pot early in the morning and Karen came home from work pretty late, so it was in there for about 11 hours or so.  How to turn beef into a brillo pad.  When it started I put in one cup of water, and when it was done I got out 3 cups of gravy. If a pint is a pound the world around that means that my beef roast lost a pound of water weight while it was in the slow cooker. That ain’t good eats.

Does whatever a spider egg does

Easter brings to mind many different images.  Crosses, Bunnies, chocolates, eggs, and of course Spider-man.

Jonathan’s preschool had an Easter egg hunt and along the way he found this little gem. I mean, of course there’s an Easter egg in the shape of Spider-man’s head. Why wouldn’t there be? And why would I think this is the slightest bit weird or creepy? Well, there is the notion of popping open his noggin to get to the booty inside:

This brings up an interesting question. What kind of candy is filling Spider-man’s head? Candy corn, perhaps, because of all of his corny jokes. Or maybe candy bugs.  Spiders eat bugs.  What do you think?

Ode to my car

When Jonathan was born I sold my beloved ‘94 Mustang so I could purchase a minivan. But with three kids and expanded car seat laws these days you’re breaking the law if you don’t drive a minivan. I’m not sure if the oil companies, automakers, or the car seat manufacturers were behind all these laws, but I was safe enough riding on my Mom’s lap in the front seat with no seat belt.

If you’d told me on that fateful day five years ago (as I watched my Mom drive off in my Mustang) that I would one day pine for my minivan I’d have thought you were crazy. But here we are, 2008 and for two years running I’ve had this thing in the shop for about a week in the spring. This time it was for some body work.

So from Wednesday of last week until Monday of this week I had to squeeze three boys in the back seat of Karen’s Oldsmobile any time I needed to go anywhere. Oh, how I missed the ease of getting in and out of the minivan. The sliding door that makes it so easy to haul children and gear in an out. The roominess - Jonathan’s feet can’t yet reach the front seat so he can’t kick. I even like being that high off the ground so I can see since I’m short. But mostly it’s Ben’s car seat. We’ve got the base strapped into the van so all we have to do is click it down, but in Karen’s car it’s a pretty big ordeal to strap him in.

So that’s it. I miss my minivan when it’s gone, and I’m happy when it comes back.  I’m officially a soccer mom.

More than you ever wanted to know about feeding pumps

Below is a photo of a feeding tube snaking through an Enteralite pump on its way from the bag of milk to Ben’s cute little belly.

That’s a very fortuitous arrow right there, because that’s the spot where the tube split open. It held on by the tiniest of threads, like Nearly Headless Nick.

Lots of spillage. Some milk got into the inner workings of the pump, rendering it useless. It would alarm over and over, showing us an error message on the display. No pumping was going on.

Now tell me, when do things like this happen? Do these things happen between nine and five on a weekday? Not a chance. These things happen to us at midnight.

On a Saturday.

During spring forward weekend.

That was one happy individual on the other end of the phone, let me tell you. Talking to our medical supplier at midnight, he told me he’d get a delivery guy to bring us a new pump right away. Except it’s a ninety minute drive from them to us.

So here’s the scenario for the poor sap who was on call this past weekend. It’s a little after midnight. Maybe he just lolled off to sleep when he gets a phone call telling him that he’s got to get dressed, go to work and get a replacement pump, and then drive an hour and a half to our house and an hour and a half back.

Since it was so late I thought it only fair that I stay up and wait for him. I didn’t want him standing at the door ringing the non-working doorbell while I lay in bed not hearing him. I got a little caught up on a video game I’d been neglecting. He arrived at that magical hour when the clock turned from 1:59 to 3:00. I thanked him profusely and took the new pump upstairs to start Ben’s overnight feed, albeit a few hours late. He was a little restless in his bed, but calmed down once everything got going again.

As for service, the delivery guy called back Sunday afternoon to make sure everything was working okay.

I am Kevin

Stay At Home Dad.
Mr. Mom.
Karen’s Wife.
Mr. Karen.

I’m not really sure what people call me behind my back, but for a long time now I’ve been looking for a good analogy. Something I can point to and tell people “This is what it feels like to do what I do.” I found my analogy, my champion, a couple months ago. His name is Kevin. And thanks to Kevin I can tell you who didn’t know and who were curious as to what it’s like. It goes like this:

Being a stay at home dad is like being the straight guy on Project Runway.

I know what you’re thinking. “YOU watch project runway?” Yes, get over it. I don’t have to prove anything to anybody.

You may ask “How is being a stay at home dad like being a straight male fashion designer?”  Let me enlighten you:

1.  You’re not really “one of the guys,” and you’re not really “one of the girls” either.
2. When you answer the “What do you do for a living?” question you’re greeted by “Wow, really? That’s great!” but secretly they’re thinking do guys do that?
3.  The people you work with act like four year olds.  (In my case they are four year olds.)
4.  You act like you know what you’re doing, all the while fooling no one.
5.  Every woman who sees you work thinks to herself “I could do better.”

See, and since I watched Project Runway this season that makes me an expert on the fashion industry.  So I know what I’m talking about.