30 Cups of Concord Grapes...

I came home to sour grapes.



With the wet weather we have been having, the last bit of sun needed to turn the grapes on the vines into sweet concord fruit never did appear. But, as they say, when life gives you lemons, make lemonade. I did not have lemons, but had grapes, so set about making some concord grape jelly on the weekend.


Haley and I took to the vines and picked about five gallons of grapes. If we had have picked them about 3 weeks ago I suspect there would have been about ten gallons, but between the birds and Haley, there were many portions of the vines that were bare.

I have canned before, making jam, but never jelly. Finicky at the best of times, jelly needs the right mix of pectin, sugar and fruit syrup. Pulling out the canning cookbooks gave me a few tips, but it also gave me three recipes that were contradictory in cooking time. One said boil hard for 10 minutes, another boil slowly for 35 and yet another said to only boil for a minute. With 30 cups of grapes I was going to have to make at least three batches, so would have time to try them all.



We set about destemming all the grapes. A few of the recipes said to squish out the seeds and separate them for cooking, but that was quickly abandoned given the volume of fruit and the limited patience of a 7 year old.

Next we crushed the grapes, loosening the seeds, and slowly boiling for about 15 minutes. This gave a mash mixture I was able to strain, and the remaining skin and seeds were separated from the juice. I think if I had a smaller batch to make, or had larger grapes (Haley and the birds seemed to have eaten all the larger ones) I would have separated the seeds and the skins, like the Hungry Moose did, as my leftover mix did not have the deep purple concord color I was hoping for.

Three batches gave me room to play with the recipe, and as concord grapes are low in pectin naturally, I added more lemon juice and sugar than I usually do with the strawberry jam we often make. I roughly followed the Epicurious recipe, to get the lemon juice ratio, but using our Clearly Delicious canning book, followed these plans:

2 1/4 cups of grape juice
2 1/3 cups of sugar
juice of 2 lemons (6 tbl spoons)

We gave the mix a medium boil for about 15-20 minutes, but in all three batches, even one I added pectin to and lowered the sugar content, I could not get the jelly to set on a frozen plate. We hoped for the best and simply moved on to canning the jars, finally boiling them for 10 minutes to seal the lids.



I did leave some jelly on the counter and it had set by the morning, but in one of the batches I was not so lucky. Some was still fairly liquid, so I am going to reboil it and add more pectin and lemon juice. If not, I have a large batch of grape syrup to use for desserts!

Little J's Triathlon

Little J had his first triathlon this week. The 8 year old's version of short course consisted of a 100m swim, 5km bike and a 1km run.

The week before the race his procrastination subsided, and he started to get into the zone. "Dad, when can we practice transition!" was the echo heard throughout the house all week. Coming out of the shower "Dad, can I practice getting changed?". Finishing dinner, "Dad, can I go practice a quick transition!?", and then he would lay out his transition gear, and do a quick practice in the living room. After several virtual trials the one thing he decided was what not to do. "No socks! That saved me almost a minute!" While we applauded his effort to practice transitions the one - or rather three - things he did not practice was any actual swimming, biking or running. This meant while his race was bound to be slow, his transitions would likely be blazing fast!

Race day arrived, and he was up and ready to go the fastest we had ever seen him get out of bed and get changed. I was making my breakfast in the kitchen to fuel up for my long day of waiting when he plopped down. "I'm having some cereal for breakfast. Some Vector! Because that is what bikers eat!" The rest of the morning consisted of reminding him to get things ready, as he was so excited he kept forgetting things like "put water in your water bottle!".

The race times were set to have the different age groups go in waves, over a 3 hour period. Little J was excited about this as he was able to get there early and watch some of the older racers do the swim and transition. While we watched the other kids we went through his race plan, where to exit the swim and which way to run to the transition, and the route to get in and out of the transition area. All throughout it he kept asking things that implied he was going to be so lightening fast, people would be in awe. "So dad, what happens when I am riding in first, and I don't know where to go?". All I kept thinking was "I wonder if he'll dropout when he gets passed in the pool in the first lap and realizes he won't be near first place?"


Finally the time to race arrived and I offered him one more piece of advice. "J, before you go to the race do you have to go to the bathroom?" His reply was as anticipated: "Nooooo!" Knowing what was about to happen next, I tried to steer him towards the inevitable and tried to coax him with a "Ok, so go try anyway.". Not surprisingly I was rebuffed and he took off towards the pool deck for the briefing.

The next scene was classic Little J: Imagine a cluster of 20 kids, all getting ready to race and one line disinter realizes he has to depart the crowd and head for the bathroom. "Is that my child?" I think, only to confirm a second later that sure enough, it was. While all 19 kids went one way to line up for their swim, one headed in the opposite direction to the bathroom. It was at that moment I made a mental note to share with him the age old tradition of peeing while racing.

We had rehearsed his race plan a few times, and all of them ending with "Do a swim warmup, but only about 10-20 meters!". I was foolish enough to think he would heed my advice, and we all watched from the stands as he did a 100m warmup, about 2 minutes before the race was set to start.

Right before the race start, I took a mental note of what Little J's mental status was:

I had said to do a 10 meter warmup. He did 100.

He kept asking what would happen if he was in front but didn't know where to go.

He kept forgetting to do fairly important things, like pack his helmet and full water bottle.

He decided to make a break for the bathroom, 5 minutes before the race start.

This was going to be an epic something of a race, with the something to be determined in the next 30 minutes.


The gun went off, and like a shot he pushed off and proceeded to swim the fastest front crawl I had ever seen him do. Unfortunately for Little J his burst of speed only lasted for about 20 meters, then he dropped off and was passed by another racer. He must have decided to mix it up because at that point he floated over and switched to a leisurely backstroke pace for the remaining 80 meters. He finished the swim, and made a quick exit to his transition area, which he had strategically positioned by a tree so he could find it when he came out.

All the practicing of drying off and sitting down to get his shoes on seemed to go out the window, because once he hit transition he just wiggled on his shirt over his wet body, and then stood there while trying to stuff his wet, sockless feet into his shoes. Most of the kids seemed focused on transition, a few even ignoring the overbearing parents yelling instructions, but Jordan had a huge grin on his face as he exited on to the run. Two laps of ring-road gave the same picture: Most kids gunning it with a nice even cadence, tongues hanging out like MJ going for a dunk, and glassy eyes focused on the road ahead. Little J on the other hand was merrily biking along like he was out for a ride to the market.




He rode by us heading into the bike to run transition, and was out in under a minute, helmet gone but the same little grin attached to his running face. In fact, he was happily jogging along, only to add in a burst of speed when he was about to be passed by another racer. Like the swim, his burst didn't last long and he soon dropped back to his happy pace. We were all there for his finish, which his final time was 27:24. He came in 22nd, and later announced "I like the number 22, so I'm happy with that".



Like any true triathlete, his next stop was the food table where he devoured about four rice crispy squares and two slices of pizza.

He did have some post-race memorable quotes:

While riding home in the car:

"Maybe we should go back. Someone may want my autograph or something."

While eating a second helping of pasta at dinner that night: "Man, being a triathlete makes me hungry!"

Pretty much for the rest of the day: "Whew! My legs hurt!"

When we asked him why he switched to the backstroke he had two good arguments. "Well, first I am fast at the backstroke. And second, when the other racer passed me I knew I wasn't going to win so I just decided to have fun." We couldn't argue with that.



And with that his first triathlon was done, and he's already asking when the next race is.

BBQ some Artesian Bread!

With the summer approaching, I am looking to see how I can move my no-kneed artesian bread baking from the oven to the BBQ. I find our gas oven in the trailer is temperamental with temperature (say that five times fast), and since we spend most of the summer BBQing wanted to use my Opposable Mind to solve the solution. Surprisingly with the long tail of the internet, there is little on BBQing bread, so I did some test this week.

In attempting to simulate the oven, I opted to bake the loaf on a cast iron pan (due to the high heat) and a smaller skillet for putting water in for steam generation:



To get the artesian crust, and airy crumb, you need two things: Steam and high heat for a quick initial rise. For no-knead bread the steam is usually created by cooking the bread in a dutch oven, but I was aiming to avoid putting LP-ette's expensive dutch oven on the BBQ so had to improvise.

Here was my final result:


And a nice open crumb:


The bottom did scorch a little so I think I need to put either a baking stone under the cast iron pan, or a firebrick to stop the direct heat. On the flip side, I did get the crust I have been working to replicate from the Tartine Bakery in San Fransisco with the constant addition steam inside the BBQ.

Overall, not nearly as good for what I was baking at home, but for my first try on the BBQ it was pretty successful. The kids liked the bread, and the baguettes were gone within a few hours.

I will be in NYC next month, so am planning a culinary trip to Jim Lahey's Sullvian Street Bakery...

Homemade Ravioli

After being away for a week of travel Haley wanted to have some time with her dad so we decided to make some homemade ravioli together. She was pretty excited to be up on the counter mixing the ingredients.

To make it more colorful (and to use up some ingredients we had in the fridge) we made two batches, one Butternut Squash and the other Spinach & Cheese. The first make-work project for Haley was to pull off all the stems on the spinach and dice it up. Measuring in the cheese and other filling mixtures also provided a lesson in me about the attention span of a 6 year old cooking. I explained some of the measuring to her before she was to start.

"Haley, you need to put in 1/2 cup of this grated cheese. This measuring cup is 1/4 cup, so put two in"

Turning away to get the other batch of filling ready was my mistake. Even if I was only looking away about 10 seconds she managed to scoop in who knows how much of the cheese. I peered into the bowl, it now brimming with more grated cheese than I thought we even had in the house. "So Haley, how many scoops did you put in?". She postulated for a bit, then finally announced what she had done. "Mmm. One, but maybe two or even three. I don't remember."

The amount of scoops she put in was of no matter to her, only the fact that she was the one that got to do it. As a result this may end up being "Spinach with some Cheese Ravioli", or "Lots of Cheese with Little Spinach Ravioli".

Here was the filling recipe we used for the fillings:


Butternut Squash, Sage, and Cheese Ravioli:

a 2-pound butternut squash, baked and mashed.

1 medium onion, chopped (about 1 1/2 cups)

1 1/2 teaspoons ground sage

pinch of ground nutmeg

1 tablespoon unsalted butter

1 garlic clove, minced

2/3 cup ricotta cheese (or other)

Cheese Ravioli Filling:

1 cup ounce container ricotta cheese

1/2 cup ounce mozzarella cheese, shredded

1/4 cup Parmesan cheese, grated

1 egg

1 cup fresh spinach, chopped

Pinch of nutmeg

Salt and pepper


The butternut squash was a different story, as I "helped" out more closely and we got the proportions right. She dutifully mashed and measured the filling, all the time loudly proclaiming that she was only there to help mix but wouldn't eat any "mashed orange stuff", regardless of the culinary feast that awaited her.

While that was going on I made up some fresh pasta and rolled it out into strips, and Haley helped spread out the filling. Finally, after 2 hours of mixing filling, shaping pasta we were ready make the pockets of goodness using a ravioli roller:

Haley helped roll out the ravioli and cut them into the final squares. A light dusting of flour later we now had a heaping bowl of fresh pasta waiting for our dinner.

And in true 6 year hold fashion when it was all done and finished she looked at it and pouted "Chef Boyardee would have been better". Little J was too busy playing Wii to come for dinner and LP-ette was too busy reading to also attend.

So I did what any other aspiring weekend chef would do - had some fresh ravioli on my own and then went to bed.

A colored set

Jordan was so excited today when we stopped at the store to pickup some new deck chairs for the house.

"Can I pick the colors?" is all I heard.... I agreed and after much deliberation about what mom would like the best, this is what he picked for me to bring home:




If his mom is impressed as much as he is excited, this is going to be awesome.

Put those on your hummock and smoke it....

The Placebo Effect in Alcohol

She giggled a little. Softly. Like she was getting away with something wickedly secret.

"Well, how about it?" I offered. I set my wine glass down and reached for a clean one. "I'll pour you some. You seem old enough." She paused, tilted her head and giggled a little more, only this time with her fingers pressed over her lips, and the sounds starting to rumble from deep in her gut.

The wide eyes of two women sat across from me. One, LP-ette, a bond formed by a twenty-eight year friendship (with some marriage at the end). The other, LittleH, our 5 year old daughter. Both couldn't believe I was doing this, but for very different reasons. To the sound of more excited giggling and snickering I pushed my chair back and walked over to the wine bottle, preparing to pour another glass for LittleH. More giggles, with some snorts added in for effect. At five years old it was as if Santa had arrived again: Mom and Dad were inviting me to be adults with them and drink some wine at dinner!

"Are you sure?" I called over my shoulder.

With another resounding bout of giggling as my reply, I took it as an affirmative reply. With my back turned reached behind the wine bottle and picked up another batch of liquid to share - only instead of wine she was getting the next best thing for a 5 year old: cranberry juice I had at the back of the counter.

Returning to the table LP-ette glanced over at the 2 glasses, immediately knowing what was up, decided to play along. LP-ette looked at me rather disapprovingly and shook her head. "Whoooh Daddy. I can't believe you're doing this. Not that she isn't getting old enough, of course," she added with a smile to LittleH while she grabbed hold of the glass.

It was as if time froze with the aura of breathless anticipation in the air. Punctuated by yet another round of giggles she raised the glass up to her lips, hardly able to contain herself. She paused, the oversize glass trembling in her little hands. "Daaadddd," she drawled, "I can't drink this!" It was as though reason had finally grabbed hold of her, the wafting placebo scent of wine swirling below her nose.

"Why not?" we asked in unison, glancing around to see if there were others around; Riley jumped up, sensing something was amiss, and trotted over. With 3 faces looking at her she broke into full on laughter, point at her mom and I. "Because, you know. Wine makes you...makes you....OLD!" With that reply it was now our turn to break out into laughter.

It took a few tires but she finally suppressed the giggling enough to have a sip. As the liquid hit her lips her eyes grew like saucers. "Hey! This is good!" And just as quickly as she had clamored to join in with a glass of wine, she went from sips to draining the entire glass in about 3 gulps. Looking mighty satisfied she smacked her lips. "Mmmmmm...you know what guys? That tasted like water and grapes!"

Epilogue: After she was finished we did tell her what was in the glass. She was a mixture of disappointed and relieved that she had not drunk any wine so "she wouldn't get any older like you guys!". What she did seem most impressed about was that she was able to drink out of an adult glass for the dinner hour. It was as almost as her karma was chanting "Small wins, LittleH! Be thankful for small wins!"

Grandpa is a liar

Little LP, very seriously, addressed me today with the following: "Dad, did you know Grandpa lies to me?"

"Oh," I said, "what kind of lies does Grandpa tell you?". I was hoping it was about things like the birds and the bees, but I soon found out - while animial related - I didn't have much to worry about.

"He tells me things like giraffe's have short legs!"

He was so serious, it was too funny to not laught at him!

Hammock's r' Us

I spend my long weekend balancing the trifecta of being sick, snoozing in ferry line-ups, and entertaining at least to of: a dog, a 6 year old, and a 4 year old.

I did, however, bring something in my weekend arsenal which would balance these needs perfectly.

A Hammock. BUT not any hammock, a double hammock...... and with this double hammock spread between 2 trees in the shade, I spent the better part of the weekend trying to sleep off a cold that had been plaguing me for about 10 days now. I highly (and I mean highly) recommend the family size hammock from The Hang Out Place on Granville Island. As I dozed in and out, all I could think of was "This is what summer is all about."

The picture is from when I was at the Hang Out Store with LP-ette, testing out the Hammocks. It gives you a representation of what I was doing on Hornby, only I wouldn't let anyone in with me lest to spoil the tranquility. I will admit upon discovering the room I had to sprawl, I dutifully wiped out my Blackberry to update my Facebook Status: LP is testing the "Hang Out Place" queen size hammock, and is currently suspended between 2 trees... Man this thing has girth!

With a few naps out of the way I was strong enough to get out for a good paced ride up Mt. Geoffery, if you consider a "good pace" as riding behind Little J, age 6. He kept asking me to take me where I go riding, so we rode up to the green trails and did some gentle - yet undulating - out and backs. He had a great time, and upon the return back home I collapsed again in the hammock, and snoozed until the next requisite game of "hit something over the volleyball net".

Here are the statistics from my 3 day weekend:
4 naps
2 beach excursions
2 hours of riding
6 Tylenol for Cold
umpteen giggles from the kids...

A 4 year old's perspective on travel

On airport lights: Ohh, look, it is still lit up for Christmas.

On phoning home: How does daddy's voice get from there to here?

On Hotel Stays: Who are you staying with? Nobody? Well, that's lonley.

A Blue Haley

It was breakfast time, with some help from the kids. Or so we thought.

"Haley, can you set the table?" we asked, merely hoping for the placemats to be put out.

But not today. She was efficient. Not only did she get the placemats out, but also her plate. Without us knowing, she also managed to sneak the box of blueberries over to the table. By the time we looked over Haley had managed to open the blueberry container and put a heaping pile of blueberries on her plate.

“Haley! I just bought those! They were for muffins I was going to make today. Do you know how much they cost?”

Her reply was quick, and amazingly accurate: “Yes. Like sixteen dollars.”

“That’s about right.”

A Green Jordan

“Dad, how much money do you have?”

“About $2000”

“No… that’s impossible. Nobody has that much. Maybe like $200, but that’s all you probably have.”

... and Riley makes 5.

The newest addition to the LP family arrived yesterday. A nine week old Labrador Retriever named Riley.

Riley

After months years of begging and cajoling, LP-ette finally just did what she always does to get me to comply: ignores me and does what she wants. In reality she does what I end up doing, so I can't really complain. Except when I do what I want, the end result usually isn't her cleaning up after a puppy that happens to find it more convenient to relieve himself in the living room than the garden.

The first night at home he wouldn't stop crying when we put him in the crate so LP-ette ended up sleeping on the couch with him at her feet and getting up with him every 2 hours or so to take him out to the bathroom.

Today, after I asked her where she was sleeping tonight, she looked at me and threw her hands up in the air. "I know! Don't even say it!"

"Say what?"

"You know, me being crazy for this whole dog thing!"

"I didn't say that. I was just wondering if I would get to stretch out across the whole bed tonight."

Needless to say I am now more than 1 point down in the books of matrimonial support.

Hornby Island here we come!

After 10+ years of saving,
3+ years of searching,
2+ years of setbacks...

It is finally official, we found exactly what we were looking for, and the deal is ready to be closed!

Wanted

Minimum ½ acre island property

ferry boat accessible

walking distance (with 2 kids) to a public, sandy beach

Sandstone bluffs to walk on a plus

It was serendipitous, as we actually were up looking at different properties when this one, which had been taken off the market, was suggested by the realtor as a private sale. Within the day of us getting back from our 1 day adventure turned into a 3 day tour, the offer was in and we were on our way to testing the structural integrity of the outhouse, and making sure the well was not full of iron supplements for the kids.

While the only structure on the lot is an outhouse, we have our work cut out for us, but I'm hoping I have a lifetime to get the list done that Logical Philosoph-ette has started to draw up for me.

This is the view from the Galleon Beach across the road:




And from Grassy Point, a 5 minute walk:



And there is even a bike shop! Maybe this summer I will pull my Kona back out and turn back from being a roadie to the dark side of mountain biking.



Many thanks to Donna at Coast Realty for helping make it happen.

This summer is so going to rock.

Overheard this week

To my younger, more hip, relative as we walked along the ocean:

"Hey, check that out. The river otters are playing across the inlet."

"The River Otters? What band is that?"

"Uh, it's mother nature, not a Band."

****

Two friends sharing a futon: "Those are very special parts. Don't poke them."

****

Sandritia, on trying to decide what crackers to put out for an appitizer. "Digestives? It's the dessert cracker!"

****

Little LP, during a car ride home:

"Dad, can we go to 7-11 for a slurpee?"

"Maybe."

He then turned to his little sister and wispered "We're not going because maybe means NO!"

Principal's Office

Little LP was sent to the Principal's office today for punching another boy.

Not so surprising, except keeping in mind he is five and only in kindergarten. The other side of the story is that he swung back at the other boy, after he hit him first.

As a parent I am struggling between having my child hit someone elses child, and having my child not back down to the bully that hit him first.

pause

Now that I think about it, I'm proud of little LP for taking the swing back! All those days of watching Star Wars with him paid off. He's taking after Han Solo - the revised edition where Greedo shot first

I worked it out: Only 2500 days of school left between now and grade 12. That's a lot of days to shoot first.

Who sold my beer?

As soon as he saw them on the shelf, the whining started. We were there for a roll of film and had so far managed to avoid the toy aisle, but like any five year old, he zeroed in on something else he “just had to have”.

“Come on dad, everyone has one. Even Grandpa, and he lets me use his!”

I tried to reason with him, wondering if I was yet again wasting my time. “Yes, but Grandpa has a boat and needs them so he can read markers on the ocean and doesn’t hit rocks. You are five. Five without a sail boat I should add. You’ll use them to spy on the neighbors.”

A moment passed and it became evident I was right. I had wasted my time. He peeled open the Velcro on his Mr. Incredibles wallet, spilling loose change onto the counter. “Look dad, I have lots of monies. At least 20. I can buy them!”

I looked at the pennies, nickels and quarters spread onto the counter and realized he was about $18 short of his goal to buy the binoculars. Sigh. This was going to be one of those times where I wasn’t going to get out of the store without some sort of scene. Seeing my face of desperation, the sales associate who has been watching the exchange came over to help out. “Hey buddy. Why don’t I count up your money and see if you have enough?”

After a few moments of counting he broke the news. “I think you are short a little money, but I am sure you can earn it. Maybe you’ll have to do some chores at home to earn some more quarters to get the binoculars.”

With a sigh and a shoulder shrug only a disappointed five year old can do, he slowly started to put his change back into his wallet.
Wanting to help some more, the sales associate offered some additional unsolicited advice to little LP. “You know, one thing you could do is take back some bottles. I am sure your mom and dad have some pop bottles that you could get five cents for. That is what I used to do!”

Little LP stopped, and slowly looked up, the wheels starting to realize that he could make his fortune after all. “Yeah…” he quietly exclaimed, looking back and forth between us. “I can take back bottles. Like dad’s beer bottles!”

He gave him an encouraging nod. “That’s right! Now you get it!”

The wheel turning picked up the pace to a rapid RPM of movement. “You know what I’ll do?!” he exclaimed. He was so excited about his idea he started to wave his hands around like he was doing a sales pitch. “I’ll take dad’s full beer bottles and sell them! That way I will get money faster and I can come back sooner to get the binoculars!”

Wow. Only five and he’s already scalping my liquor to pay for toys. A true entrepreneur… I just wish he would do it with some else’s liquor cabinet.

Moldy Kids

“I don’t think you’re going to be happy… again. I think we have mold growing in the house.”

“Ahhh….” I said, as I closed my eyes and sunk back into the couch. “I swear this house will be the end of me. 80 years old and always something to fix, rip out or totally gut and rebuild from scratch.”

“Look at it,” she said, pointing towards the bathroom, “it’s these weird black flecks that keep sprouting up on the wall, even as high up as on the ceiling!” Some days, I thought, all I want to do is live in a van down by the river. No maintenance, or responsibilities, required. As she pulled me up from the couch and into the bathroom I could see what she was talking about. Over the last month mysterious black specks - like small flat pieces of seaweed, were randomly covering one wall and parts of the ceiling. One day I would scrub them off, only to have them reappear a few days later.

A few weeks later – after multiple more random black mold episodes – I heard giggling and the sound of squirting water from the bathroom. Little LP was having a bath, so when I peaked in I was rewarded with a stream of water being shot towards me. Not quite quick enough I felt a wet streak go across my shorts. Then, as I looked down at my now dripping shorts, I saw some pea size flecks of the mysterious black mold – now stuck to my clothing. Huh? I thought. How did I get this on me? I looked up and on the wall, were wet dripping streaks of water, with fresh black flecks throughout!

“Hey dad” he giggled, “check out my new bath game. If I fill up my squeeze bath toy I can shoot these black bits of dirt out!” As I stood there in disbelief he continued on “And you know what? I can even hit the ceiling sometimes!”

You guessed it – Little LP was my random mold growth generator. By putting dirt in his bath toys he figured out how to mark his shots of accuracy, or inaccuracy in this case. Then, with mom and dad erasing his work of water art every evening, he was given a fresh canvas to work on during his next bath.

I suspect when you think about it kids really are like mold – you leave them unattended for any period of time in a wet environment and they manage to leave their mark. Leave them long enough and they become a hazard to your health, via the stress of house repairs.

Ride 'em Cowboy

The stories have been plentiful, but the deadly combination of extremely nice weather - and me having to spend it indoors huddled with my lawyers - has kept me too busy to write. Details shall be forthcoming... perhaps.

I shall be back next week for sure. In the mean time I'm still doing my "daily links" updates - just LOOK LEFT!

In the mean time I leave you with Little LP's comment of the week:

"Hey mom. When are you going to grow taller like dad?"

"Umm. I don't know. I don't think I will ever get taller."

"I know why you don't get taller. Because you drink coffee. Dad doesn't drink coffee and that's why he's tall and you're not!"

Let me know if you figure that logic out...

Medical School for 4 year olds

“Dad, what’s a scull?”

“A what?” I asked, slightly perplexed. Only four and he was already into asking me questions that were probably leading somewhere I didn’t want to explain.

At least this time he didn’t ask me why his younger sister didn’t have a ‘dangly bit between her legs’.

“A skull. Yeah. What's a skull?"

I thought for a moment, trying to decide how to describe anatomy to a four year old. “It’s a bone, but in your head. Like your arm bone, your skull is like your head bone.” To demonstrate I made a hollow tapping noise as I gave my head a few taps, which gave way to a few giggles.

He thought for a moment, then cocked his head and squished his eyes together. “Like an eye bone?”

“Eyes don’t have bones. They are just flesh, made out of an anterior segment with the cornea and iris, and a posterior segment where the retina and optic nerve lie.”

After another rather long pause he asked “Ant mints? You mean beads, right?”

“What?”

“Aren’t eyes made of beads?” he inquired.

I turned to look, seeing if he was serious. “Where did you ever get that idea?”

“Well,” he stated, “someone told me I had beady eyes.”

Next thing I know he’ll be yelling “Oh no, not the gumdrop buttons!” when I try to wash his belly button out.

Digital to Analog

I emailed a one of my older relatives a question the other day. After getting no reply I called her up to ask if she had received my email.

"No dearie, I haven't gotten your email. I'll do it next time I turn on that computer."

A few days later she called and left a message on my voicemail, telling me she had replied to my "mail message". After checking my email, and getting no reply, I gave her a call back.

"No dearie. I printed your email out and wrote the answer on the printout. But don't worry, I posted it this morning so you should have it by the end of the week."

Sure enough, a few days later Canada Post delivered my reply.

So that's what it was like in the old days...