Tiny Pineapple

We finally got the rest of the photos from what Zoë still refers to as “THE COLDEST PHOTOSHUTE [sic] IN HISTORY.” And, just like the first batch, they came out beautifully.

Here are a few of my favorites…

 "The Girls"

 Emma Into The Woods

 Zoë

 Emma

As for the photos of the entire family, my reluctance to be in very many of them came back to bite me in the bum because that didn’t leave us with many to choose from. And, sure enough, even though my daughters can’t take a bad pictures, throw the Boiled Parsnip into the mix and I’m either squinting…

 Squinting

…or smirking…

 Smirking

…or making some other family photo blunder. For instance, in this photo I’m either trying to explain something of great import or I’m distracted by a small shiny object just outside the frame.

 Explaining

Who knows which? And who cares? I just wanted to get some beautiful photos of my beautiful daughters, and I think I may succeeded because, as of today, the girls are the first thing you see when you visit Wynona Robison Photography.

Speaking of which…I really can’t thank Nona enough. She was brilliant to work with and the results were absolutely incredible. (The Boiled Parsnip notwithstanding.) I told her that if people ever ask her for references, she can just forward them on to me and I’ll spout flowery adjectives at them for as long as they’ll stay on the phone.

 The Last of the Hot Chocolate

It was cold.

It was very cold.

We knew it would be cold.

We didn’t know it would be that cold.

The girls were dressed in nice school clothes to start with, but I brought along multiple changes of clothes and shoes, as well as a big, warm blanket in case the girls got chilly while they were standing around. Unfortunately, when we got to our first stop, I didn’t think we’d be gone very long, so I left everything in the car as we set off on foot and started climbing.

Big mistake…because when we got to the top, the location was so nice we ended up staying for quite a while and froze our tookuses (or should that be “tooki”?) off in the process. With their practical winter clothes packed snugly in the car, the girls gamely navigated the snow field in their school shoes, occasionally breaking through the frozen top layer and disappearing up to their thigh in the snow.

Fortunately, Wynona’s husband had come along as our Sherpa guide and had packed a quilt and a Thermos full of hot chocolate up the mountain. So, after a while, more out of necessity than anything else, she wrapped the girls up in the quilt and gave them some hot chocolate to try to warm them up.

(The photo above is Emma finishing off the last of the hot chocolate and looking quite pleased with herself…and Zoe looking a little less pleased.)

Apparently, the quilt was almost an afterthought, but it saved the day. And just as we were heading back to the car, the sun broke through the clouds and Wynona asked the girls to stop one last time so she could take a few final pictures…and I am so glad she did.

 The Quilt (B/W)

We were near the top of Emigration Canyon, where Brigham Young famously looked out over the Salt Lake Valley and proclaimed, “This is the right place,” but I’ll bet you even he didn’t have lighting that dramatic.

 The Quilt (Color)

Just look at those faces. Hypothermia has never looked so cute!

We’re having some official “family photos” taken tomorrow. At least, that’s what I’m telling the girls.

In reality, I’m taking the girls up to Little Dell reservoir where they will have their picture taken by an outrageously gifted photographer while I stand to the side and worry about whether, years from now, they will look at the photos and say, “Dad, I can’t believe you used to dress us like that! What were you thinking? We look like feral children just back from a successful raid on a thrift store dumpster!”

To appease the girls, I’ve agreed to sit in on a couple of the shots, but future generations will look at those photos and wonder why two beautiful young girls would want to have their picture taken while standing on either side of a giant boiled parsnip.

Seriously, I’ve got two highly photogenic daughters, but me? Not so much. The girls always ask why I’m not smiling in the pictures on my drivers license or employee ID badge, and they don’t seem to understand when I explain to them that if I attempt even the most simple of smiles when I have my picture taken, it always comes back looking like I’m wearing a partially-melted latex clown mask.

The weather is going to be dicey tomorrow, so we may all end up looking like drowned cats. But, even then, they would end up on Cute Overload with an adorable caption like “Soggy Kittehs!”, whereas I would only show up in Google searches for “waterlogged stray with mange.”

Emma has been growing her hair out for over a year for the sole purpose of donating it to Locks of Love, a non-profit charity that provides hairpieces to kids suffering from long-term medical hair loss. Last night we had Heidi, the überstylist, lop off 10 inches for Locks of Love and style what was left.

Here are some photos of the big occasion:

On a completely unrelated note, Beryl Markham’s West With The Night is one of my favorite books and would make a wonderful gift for any discerning bibliophile on your Christmas list.

“…she has written so well, and marvellously well, that I was completely ashamed of myself as a writer…she can write rings around all of us…I wish you would get it and read it because it is really a bloody wonderful book.”

— Ernest Hemingway

P.S. Oh, come on! I couldn’t pass up the oronym, and what other options did I have?

• Locks Talk and Bear Ill? (Nah.)

• Locks Tock and Bare Elle? (Macpherson, of course.)

• Locks Dock in Barrow? (Nope.)

• Locks Dog in Peril? (That’s really pushing it.)

I thought my choice, incorporating both the follicular announcement and my favorite little-known African aviatrix was brilliant.

Yesterday morning, Zoe was singing in the shower and I managed to surreptitiously record a little snippet of the work in progress:

• The 12 Dogs of Christmas (Snippet) (61 seconds, 1.1 Mb, MP3 format)

Zoe lost a tooth the day before yesterday and last night she received a dollar coin and a tiny stuffed bear from the Tooth Fairy. As she was going to bed this evening, she said, “Dad? Do you think if I put that same tooth back under my pillow that the Tooth Fairy would leave me something else?”

I suggested that trying to fool the Tooth Fairy might not be a wise course of action if she wanted to receive any dental reimbursements in the future, but she wanted to try it anyway.

Tomorrow morning, Zoe will find the following note under her pillow:

My Dearest Zoe,

After a thorough examination of the tooth under your pillow, I have determined that this is, in fact, the tooth for which I compensated you last night. According to Tooth Faerie Procedures and Practices, Volume 9, page 512, paragraph 3:

“The child may receive only one (1) gift per incisor, cuspid, bicuspid, or molar…”

Therefore, I am not authorized to leave you an additional gift this evening. But I do hope that you enjoyed the bear and dollar coin that I left last night and look forward to serving you again in the future.

Yours most sincerely,
The Tooth Faerie

 Zoe's Card

 Emma's Card

I received Fathers Day cards today from my two favorite artists.

Zoe’s card is a highly-saturated representation of Claire, her Mom’s basset hound. Zoe informed me that she had wanted to paint each individual blade of grass a different color of green, but after that proved too difficult she just shaded the whole area in and added the lawn mower to explain why it was all a uniform height.

Emma, on the other hand, was worried that her card might not be relevant after yesterday’s accident, but I assured her that it was absolutely perfect.

When I was a new parent and my daughter had a cold that was bad enough to require medication, I’d stand in the Cold Remedy aisle at the supermarket for half an hour trying to decide which cold medicine to buy. Not wanting to over-medicate my child, I would spend a great deal of time trying to find a cold medicine that contained only those ingredients necessary to address her particular symptoms. But even after I had decided on just the right combination of ingredients, I’d then have to decide on just the right combination of non-ingredients:

• No Artificial Colors!
• No Artificial Sweeteners!
• No Sugar Added!
• Alcohol Free!
• PPA-Free!
• Dye-Free!
• Non-Staining!
• OU Kosher!

I remember standing there thinking…

“Am I better off going with the ‘Dye-Free and No Artificial Sweeteners’ combination, or should I choose ‘No Artificial Colors and No Sugar Added’ instead? And what the heck is ‘PPA?’ Maybe it causes learning disabilities and my daughter will come to me in 15 years and say, ‘Thanks a lot, Dad! I just got my rejection letter from Harvard. They say I would have been accepted if my SAT scores had been 50 points higher, but noooooooo…you had to pour PPA-laden brain poison down my throat every time I had a sniffle!’ Maybe I should go home and do a few hours’ worth of research on the Web and then come back…”

Fast-forward two years and that same process probably would have taken me no more than 2 minutes and 5 seconds, tops. It would have taken me 5 seconds to choose the cold medicine. The remaining 2 minutes would have been spent tracking down a syringe and a box of Twinkies to inject it into. Because what difference does it make what’s in the medicine if you can’t get the medicine in the kid? And getting the medicine in the kid ain’t always easy.

My daughters aren’t picky eaters in the least, but they are especially sensitive to things that are sour or bitter. They’re probably “tasters,” and they most likely inherited this trait from their grandfather, who was once brought to his knees (literally) by a Sour Ball.

This makes medicine-taking a struggle. We’ve tried countless brands and flavors of cold medicines over the years and all of them have been met with stiff resistance. Nowadays, two chewable tablets = 15 minutes of negotiations followed by much shuddering and face-making.

They’ve grown highly suspicious of any medicine that is cherry- or grape-flavored, so a few years ago I purchased bubble gum-flavored Triaminic Flu, Cough & Fever. I mean, really, how bad can bubble gum-flavored anything be? But just to be safe, before I gave it to Emma I tried it myself. And after taking the tiniest sip from the bottle, I couldn’t get the vile liquid out of my mouth fast enough.

As I stood over the sink, sputtering and gagging, Emma walked into the room.

“What’s wrong, Dad?”

“Nothing, dear. <gasp> I got you some cold medicine. <wheeze> We’ll mix it with Tang…”

Tang^® is our last resort. If I can’t get them to take the medicine any other way, I’ll mix it with Tang, which can mask just about any other flavor in the world. The astronauts took Tang with them into space so that if they ever ran out of water on the journey, they could mix the Tang into any other liquid they could find (rocket fuel, urine, etc) and it would just taste like Tang.

So I mixed the bubble gum-flavored syrup into a glass of Tang and after taking one sip Emma was standing over the sink, sputtering and gagging. Even Tang was powerless in the face of such evil.

But while getting cold medicine into the kids was a battle that only needed to be fought a couple of times a year, getting them to take a multivitamin was a daily skirmish. As a child, I remember my daily Flintstones Chewable being a real treat, but my children weren’t of the same opinion. Again, I tried a number of different brands and flavors, but they were all bitter pills to chew and swallow.

After a while, I turned to Gummy Vites. They didn’t have the same bitter aftertaste as regular chewable vitamins, so at least my girls would take them, but they weren’t ideal. There was some controversy last year when it was reported that Gummy Vites contained excessive amounts of lead. But while some people were concerned about what they might contain, I was more concerned about what they didn’t contain: namely, vitamins. Take a look at the nutrition label:

That barely beats a bowl of Coco Pops.

Then I discovered Vitaballs.

“For many kids, taking a daily-vitamin is not something they look forward to. It’s hard enough for parents to get their kids to take them, never mind ask for them. But now there’s a multi-vitamin your kids will look forward to each day. Vitaball, the vitamin gumball!

“Vitaballs look and taste like the candy gumballs kids love, but it’s so much more! Each delicious gumball is packed with 100% RDA (Recommended Daily Allowance) of 11 essential vitamins. Chewing just one Vitaball vitamin gumball for 5-10 minutes delivers the vitamins needed each day!”

Take a look at the stats:

And best of all, my girls love them.

Some people won’t approve of Vitaballs because they contain sugar, but if I had to choose, I’d prefer to have my kids lose their teeth to sugar rather than scurvy. And while others might worry that turning vitamins into “candy” might encourage kids to overindulge, I think it provides you with the perfect opportunity to discuss with your child the dangers of Vitamin A toxicity and the importance of not consuming polar bear liver when stranded on arctic ice flows. Granted, they’ll hear it all again during their regular Arctic Ice Flow Survival Training, but I believe you should take advantage of every “teaching moment.”

“So remember, dear, only one Vitaball a day…unless, of course, you want to experience the same severe irritability, vomiting, blurred vision, hair loss, large-scale peeling of the skin, and agonizing death as those intrepid arctic explorers.”

Zoe won in her age group in the “Design a Blobby Contest!” Ciko, who looks vaguely like a Parisian Pac Man apparently charmed the judges with his razor-thin mustache and rhyming couplets. Zoe’s other entries, Plod 1 and Plod 2, didn’t place, but I think they stand as shining examples of the importance of reconciliation after inter-sibling strife.

And I absolutely loved Emma’s entry, Oshkosh Opera, but I fear she may have been the victim of the public’s waning interest in both the Operatic Arts and women’s heavyweight figure skating.

Additional Reading/Viewing:

• Design a Blobby Contest Winners
• Blobby Contest Flickr Photo Set

The sweetest girl I know turned 10 this past week.

Back when Emma was four years old, a friend of ours recruited her to be in a small video production called Little Voices, which was sort of an LDS version of Kids Say the Darnedest Things. If I could only show you one thing to introduce you to my not-so-little-anymore girl, this clip would be it. (Emma’s on the left…)

Little Voices

(2 MB, QuickTime Format)

Over the years, I have been the blessed recipient of a million of those smiles (I’ve gotten my share of those furrowed eyebrows, too.) And every day I give thanks for having those smiles (and eyebrows) in my life.

I can’t tell you how much I love that girl.

I’m sitting in the waiting area of Gate E31 in Concourse E of the Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport.  Flight 237 to Stuttgart will be departing from Gate 31 at 5:45pm, but I’m not headed to the Vaterland tonight.  I just settled down here because the gate area was relatively empty and I needed a place to sit down, spread out, power up my PowerBook, and finish answering the last my email. As soon as the area starts filling up with Germans in their Official American Summer Vacation Uniform (too-short shorts, sandals with black socks, no sense of humor) I’ll grab a bite to eat and head over to Gate 33 where my flight leaves in a few hours.

I’ve been in Atlanta for the past week attending the unfortunately-named SANSFIRE 2005 information security conference.  The organization that conducts the conference is the SANS Institute and I think they call it SANSFIRE in an attempt to make it sound “hot.” But if you speak French, you could get the impression that the conference is entirely without heat.  And in my mind, the word “sans” is forever be linked with Sans-A-Belt slacks…which are also entirely without heat.

[Aside #1: The German woman who just sat down across from me is the spitting image of Richard Branson.]

I’ll just be glad to be home. I’ve seen my daughters for a total of 24 hours in the last three weeks. They went to Hawaii with their mother for two weeks and the day after they got back I was on my way to the hot conference for information security professionals who wear trousers that require no additional fastening device at the waist.

Like all long breaks from parenting, it was great for about 48 hours. After that, it just sucks. Sure, you’ve got loads of bonus discretionary time, but what you find is that when you have loads of bonus discretionary time you’d like to spend it with your kids…who, of course, aren’t there…which is, of course, why you have the loads of bonus discretionary time…which, of course, you can’t spend with them…which sucks. So, as far as I’m concerned, the best present I’m going to get for Father’s Day tomorrow is the fact that I get to be a father again.

My girls got RollerCoaster Tycoon 2 this past Christmas. It’s a great little simulation game where they get to create and run their own amusement park, but there’s more to it than just building rides. By playing the game, they are learning the basic tenets of business management and coming to understand the delicate balance that is required to run a successful business.

For instance, they get to set the price of admission to the amusement parks they build. If they charge too much, nobody comes; if they charge too little, they don’t have enough money for maintenance and expansion. They have to hire handymen to empty the trash, maintain the lawns, and keep the paths puke-free (I kid you not). They have to hire mechanics to keep the rides running. And they can even hire a guy in a large panda costume to walk around the park and entertain the people who are standing in line.

But if they don’t hire enough handymen, the park gets gross and people leave. If they don’t hire enough mechanics, the rides break down and people leave. And if they don’t hire the guy in a large panda costume, people get bored standing in long lines and leave.

And in the user manual it really emphasizes the importance of good customer relations:

Caring for Customers

The satisfaction of your park guests is probably your most vital concern. Happy visitors stay in the park, spend more money, and (through reputation and word of mouth) draw other guests to your site. Unhappy guests leave with cash in hand.

How do you know what your visitors are thinking and feeling? As manager, you have access to powerful polling and reporting tools that let you monitor the thoughts and actions of every guest in your park.

The other day, I walked into the office and Emma was engrossed in one of her amusement park creations.

“Hey, Emma, whatcha doing?”

“I’m just making sure everyone in my park is happy.”

That’s my girl. In many ways this type of game was tailor-made for Emma. In any activity, she always makes sure that everyone is feeling included and having a good time. She’s caring, conscientious, attentive to other people’s needs. She is my little Customer Service Representative.

And as I watched, my little Customer Service Representative used the Guest Summary Window to gauge the happiness level of all of the guests in her park. She then used the Mini-Map to zoom in on a particularly disgruntled fellow standing in line for one of the roller coasters.

She clicked on the Grab tool, picked up the unhappy patron up by the scruff of the neck, and carried him over to the small lake that housed the rowboat rentals.

Then, without the slightest pause, she let go. The dissatisfied customer landed in the water with a splash, bobbed on the surface for a few seconds, and then went under.

She then went back to the Guest Summary Window and started scanning the crowds again.

“Wha…what in the world are you doing, Emma?”

“I’m getting rid of all the people who are complaining.”

“But,” I sputtered, “I think the idea behind the game is that you’re supposed to find out why they’re complaining and then solve their problems.”

“Oh, I know why they’re complaining,” she replied.

“Why are they complaining?”

“They’re complaining because there are no bathrooms.”

“Then why don’t you build some bathrooms?”

“Well, I had some bathrooms, but I had to demolish them to make some room for a new ride.”

“Then why don’t you build more bathrooms?”

“I can’t. I used up the last of my money to build the ride.”

And so I watched as my little Customer Service Assassin made her way systematically through the park, looking for anyone else who had the gall to be displeased by the lack of facilities. And after the summary execution of about a half-dozen more urine-engorged malcontents, there wasn’t a single dissatisfied customer in the park.

I had to hand it to her. With a clear mandate to keep her customers happy, but without the budgetary resources necessary to meet their needs, she’d found another way to achieve 100% customer satisfaction.

NORDSTROM Children’s Shoes

Visit Children’s Shoes Friday & Saturday, February 18th and 19th.

Come get your toenails painted. Piggy Polish “Peticures” on Friday, February 18th

Paul Mitchell will be on hand from 12-4 PM doing updos on Saturday, February 19th.

Man, just say the words “Piggy Polish” and “updos” and I am there! So, the girls and I headed down to Nordstrom on Friday for “Peticures” and Saturday for a taste of the hair glamour that is conspicuously absent from their lives when they’re with me.

You see, while I am pretty good at most of the girly stuff associated with…well, girls…I can’t do hair. I not only lack a basic knowledge of hairstyling techniques, I’m completely unfamiliar with the tools. I’ve only used a blow dryer once in my life (during an ill-conceived, junior high, pre-dance grooming session that is still referred to as “The Dandelion Incident”) and the thought of using a curling iron leaves me clammy.

I know women who have used curling irons for decades who still manage to char their flesh on a regular basis, so, as a rank amateur, I’m a little reticent to brandish a wand of white-hot death near my daughters’ faces. Perhaps if my morning grooming ritual growing up had carried with it the ever-present possibility of grotesque, disfiguring burns or self-immolation (like applying my contact lenses with a soldering gun, or trimming my sideburns with an acetylene torch) I wouldn’t be so squeamish. But, as it stands, when they’re with me they usually have to settle for a few spritzes with a squirt bottle, a thorough brushing…and, if I’m feeling especially bold, perhaps a few barrettes.

So I went to this thing hoping to pick up a few “idées de coiffure” that I could use at home, but this probably wasn’t the place to go for practical hairstyling tips.

Emma's Crack Team Of Follicular Engineers

Zoe, Obviously Pleased With The Process

When it was over, Emma ended up with a remarkable recreation of the fountains of Versaille:

The Fountains of Versaille

And Zoe’s hair was like an Escher woodcut. It seemed to turn in on itself and circle around and turn in on itself and circle around and turn in on itself and circle around…:

The Gödel, Escher Back

But even though I didn’t learn much in the way practical techniques, I studied the process carefully enough that I’m pretty confident that I could recreate the hairstyles if the girls ever get invited to a cotillion…or the Westminster Dog Show.

This entry is a week late…

We ended up staying at the park until 9:30 on Saturday night to watch the fireworks and by the time we got back to the hotel I was too exhausted to put together two coherent sentences. So I collapsed into bed and thought, “That’s OK, I’ll have plenty of time after we drive home tomorrow night to write about both days.”

Then, at 2:30 in the morning I awoke to find myself on the phone, probably five sentences into a conversation:

“What port are they using?” I asked. “Do we know what IP address they’re trying to get to?”

I honestly had no idea what had taken place before that, but I must have been at least semi-coherent because the gentleman on the other end of the line didn’t appear to be overly alarmed or amused by anything I’d said up to that point.

This is quite a change from when I was an adolescent. Members of my family used to vie for the opportunity to wake me up because I was always good for some bizarre, out-of-context quote while emerging from my early morning dreamfest:

“Grettir, it’s time to wake up.”

“Wha…? I…I…can’t. The watermelon is too expensive.”

…or…

“Grettir, you need to get up. You’re going to be late for school.”

“Could you let Cookie Monster know that his shoes won’t be ready until next Tuesday.”

However, now that I’m an adult, I seem to be capable of emerging from the soundest of slumbers and carrying on lengthy technical discussions without actually knowing what I’m doing. But these middle-of-the-night phone calls are never good news. They don’t come very often, but when they do I know that the next few days will be consumed with work. (Two weeks before we left for Disneyland I went 3 days with only 7 hours of sleep.) I was able to put off the emergency for a while, but I got a follow-up call about a half-hour north of Cedar City on the drive home and here we are seven days later and I’m still incapable of putting together two coherent sentences. (Exhibit A: That last paragraph.)

So, here are some semi-coherent photos of our trip instead:

With Koda and Kenai

R

In Wonderland

A Jolly Holiday with Mary

Cup o' Henry (and Sam)

Pocahontas in Tennis Shoes

A Diversity of Opinions on Splash Mountain

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls… Disney proudly presents our spectacular festival pageant of nighttime magic and imagination in thousands of sparkling lights and electro-syntho-magnetic musical sounds — Disney’s Electrical Parade!”

Hippo Pulling Calliope

Turtle with Sombrero

Monochromatic Colonial Dancing Mice

Hyperactive Bee

Elliott the Dragon

Maniacal Spinning Turtle With Glasses

Taking It All In

The day began with breakfast at the Carnation Cafe, which is tucked away in a little alcove about half way down Main Street USA. The Carnation Cafe is one of the best places to eat in the park and yet, surprisingly, given its heavily-trafficked location, you can almost always get a table. I had Oscar’s Scramble (with Oscar himself visiting our table just as we were leaving to make sure that everything was up to snuff) while my sister Amy and her husband Sam had the Croissant Benedict.

(Like last year, we’re here with my sister Amy, her husband Sam, and their kids, Isabel and Henry.)

Our first princess of the day was Ariel, who maintains a grotto adjacent to the Matterhorn. (Which, geographically speaking, isn’t really feasible, but at Disneyland you tend to let things like that slide.)

Zoe, Ariel, Isabel, and Emma

When you have kids, one of the things you really come to appreciate about Disneyland is the tremendous job the Disney “characters” do. No matter how long they’ve been there signing autographs and having their picture taken, they always take time and really focus on each child. All of them are great, but occasionally you’ll get someone who’s especially “on.”

I still remember a Cruella DeVille we met at Disney’s California Adventure two years ago. Our brief little photo/autograph interaction lasted maybe two minutes, but it was a masterpiece of villainous sneers, raised eyebrows, and snide asides. It wasn’t until we looked at her autograph later that we saw the little bonus she’d left us. On each page of the girls princess autograph books there were line drawings of various Disney princesses and Cruella had taken the liberty of “decorating” the princesses on the page she’d signed by drawing a handlebar mustache on Snow White, giving Belle a pair of glasses and a goatee, and adding a big scar to Sleeping Beauty’s forehead.

Well, when we visited with Ariel this morning, she asked each of the girls their name and then referred to each of them by name at least once during the rest of the conversation. As she signed each autograph book, she took the time to ask each girl a couple of questions (“What kingdom are you from?” What ride are you most looking forward to going on?”), listened attentively to their answers, and responded with sometimes lengthy answers of her own. All of it perfectly in character.

But halfway through signing Zoe’s book Ariel looked up and noticed that Zoe was wearing a T-shirt that featured Hello Kitty riding atop a leaping dolphin. Then, without skipping a beat, she said:

“You know, I have many dolphin friends, and yet I don’t think I’ve ever seen Hello Kitty riding one in a two-piece.”

Perhaps you had to be there but, in context, it was the funniest line of the day. Leave it to a fashion-conscious, adolescent, sea-dwelling princess to notice Hello Kitty’s swimwear.

We set out this morning on our yearly pilgrimage to The Happiest Place on Earth. The Annual Passports that we purchased on last year’s trip expire on the 17th, so we’re sneaking one more trip under the wire.

We were all business today; up at dawn and on the road, stopping for nothing but bathroom breaks and meals. After checking into the hotel we had just enough time for a bracing (read blue-lips frigid) dip in the pool, after which the girls collapsed into bed…and I’m about to do the same.

More tomorrow.

But since I feel guilty about not posting anything for quite a while and then leaving you hanging until tomorrow, let me give you two things to ponder until then:

• Is this where you go after you’ve graduated from The High School Academy of Academy High School?
• Is “Hardware and Outdoor Living” really the most appropriate category for this?

The Flower Girls

Emma and Zoe had the opportunity to act as flower girls at Charles’ and Ashley’s wedding up at Alta this past weekend. Never having been a flower girl before, Emma spent the week worrying about proper flower girl protocol. (“Where will I walk? Where will I stand? Will I have to say anything? I’ll need to practice, won’t I?”) Zoe just wanted to know if she got to throw flower petals. (She did.) They did a beautiful job and, as you can see, they looked beautiful, too.

Emma w/Floral Garland Headpiece

Zoe w/Floral Garland Headpiece

This is just a mid-month reminder to check out this month’s FWiC if you haven’t done so already.

FWiC’s matière du mois is Choreography and Chis was kind enough to include Zoe’s Run Skip Galup Srkls, as well as Emma (in “blurry pixie dancing” mode) performing said movements in Run Skip Galup Srkls 2.

Here’s the picture:

And here’s the conversation that accompanied it:

Zoe: Hey, Dad, here’s a picture I drew for you in Sunday School.

Me: Zoe, I can’t help but notice that everyone in the picture is smiling except for this one little boy. Why is he frowning?

Zoe: He’s sad because Jesus doesn’t love him.

Me: But…um…Zoe…Jesus loves everyone.

She just looked at me and shrugged her shoulders like there was nothing she could do about it. Jesus didn’t love him and that was that…

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon. Emma and I were reading quietly and Zoe was doing a puzzle on the floor when, out of nowhere, Zoe started singing:

There’s an order to things
There’s an order to things
There’s an order to things, now that you’re gone.

There’s an order to things
There’s an order to things
There’s an order to things, now that you’re gone.

It’s the chorus of “Sleeping With the Light On” from Jonatha Brooke’s new CD, Back in the Circus:

Listen To A Clip (MP3 format, 42 seconds, 500k)

It’s a melancholy song to begin with, but to hear those words carried through the air on that sweet, crystalline, little voice was downright haunting. I haven’t been able to get the song out of my head since.

I was cleaning up my voice mailbox today when I came across the following message from my daughter, Zoe, that I’d saved from back in July:

Listen: Zoe’s Voice Mail Message (MP3 format, 45 seconds, 185k)

To give you a little background, she was on her way to Training Table, a local restaurant, with Emma and their Mom and she was calling to invite me to come along. She also wanted me to know that she’d won a small, stuffed SpongeBob Squarepants pineapple at a local amusement park the previous day and wanted me to have it for my collection.

Zoe's SpongeBob Pineapple

We got home late, late Friday night…or early, early Saturday morning, depending on whether your a “glass half full” or “glass half empty” kind of person. (Personally, I’m a “if that’s all the water you wanted you should have just stooped down and drunk straight from the tap” kind of guy.)

Our drive time was extended because of a detour caused by the San Bernardino fires and just as we caught in the flood of gamblers returning from their Fabulous Las Vegas™ Weekends on the way down, we got caught in the flood of gamblers heading off on their Fabulous Las Vegas™ Weekends on the way back.

The girls held up remarkably well given all the delays. They are good little travellers. In fact…can I just take a moment to gush about my daughters?

The older they get and the more their personalities emerge, the more I love them. They’re not only great kids, they’re great people. People I would choose to spend time with even if I didn’t have to.

But I was honestly a little worried about this trip. We’d taken plenty of trips as a family of four, but this was our first as a new family of three. I was afraid that, with no real opportunities to take a break from each other, by day two they were going to be sick to death of me, tired, and homesick. Even the best little kids can get out of sorts when they’re out of their element for an extended period of time.

But I underestimated them. They were delightful companions from beginning to end and we had an absolute blast. And even when adults around them were losing their heads, the girls kept their cool.

Late one hot afternoon we were in the stand-by line for Soarin’ Over Calfornia when they started having problems with the whole center section of seats on the ride, cutting their capacity by one third.

Progress in the stand-by line slowed considerably while people with Fast Passes, which have priority, were flowing past us onto the ride. After about half an hour of moving very little, a lot of the adults in the stand-by line started getting surly. The people immediately in front of us and behind us were especially vocal.

After listening to all of the complaining going on around her, Emma looked up at me and said, “The line isn’t moving very fast, is it, Dad?”

“No, Emma. It’s not.”

She thought about it for a moment and then said, “That’s OK. It’ll be worth it.”

“Yeah,” Zoe concurred.

I could have kissed them. In fact, I did.

Today was Disneyland’s Greatest Hits day. Everyone got to choose their favorite rides and we did them all again.

Zoe was denied a 7th ride on it’s a small world, since they’ve shut it down for a few weeks to put the Christmas version of the ride together. And we ended up missing Splash Mountain altogether this trip. It has been closed for renovations the whole time we’ve been here, but it was supposed to reopen today. Unfortunately, they didn’t finish the renovations in time, so it looks like we’ve missed it completely.

Once again, Zoe shocked everyone by suddenly deciding to go on The Haunted Mansion and, once again, ended up loving it.

But the highlight of our day was finally meeting Jasmine, from Disney’s Aladdin. Jasmine is Emma’s favorite Disney princess, and we were starting to worry that we’d never have a chance to meet her.

We’d already met Zoe’s favorite, Belle, on Tuesday.

Zoe Meets Belle

But late in the afternoon, as we were coming back from Emma’s second ride on Indiana Jones and the Temple of the Forbidden Eye, there she was.

Jasmine at Last

And, yes, Aladdin was wearing more makeup than Jasmine…and, yes, it was a little disconcerting.

Today was spent at Disney’s California Adventure. We’d visited California Adventure once before shortly after the park opened and my only lasting memory of that visit is of the Superstar Limo ride, the lameness of which was absolutely breathtaking. In it, you would ride in a garish cartoon limousine through a garish cartoon Hollywood as garish cartoon plywood cutouts of ABC TV stars leapt out at you.

“Look! It’s Regis Philbin, host of ABC’s hit show Who Wants To Be A Millionaire? I wonder who the next millionaire might be. You can find out by watching Monday nights at 8 o’clock, 7 Central.”

“And look over there! There’s that wacky Drew Carey, star of the hit ABC comedy The Drew Carey Show. Drew and his wacky friends can be seen Tuesday nights at 9 o’clock, 8 Central.”

Mercifully, the Superstar Limo is no more.

Another problem with the park back then was that it was very kid unfriendly. There was just nothing for young kids to do. Mercifully, that problem, too, has been remedied. Not only have they added a terrific Playhouse Disney Live show, but they’ve opened a whole mini-park within the park called Flik’s Fun Fair.

While the rest of Disney’s California Adventure is a “theme park” in only the loosest sense of the term, Flik’s Fun Fair (based on A Bug’s Life) is exactly what a theme park should be. It has a theme and it follows that theme down to the tiniest of details.

For instance, Tuck and Roll’s Drive’Em Buggies are located under a discarded umbrella and decorated with Christmas lights and the contents of someone’s purse.

Tuck and Roll's Drive'Em Buggies

Flik’s Flyers are made up of Chinese take-out, Snack Pack, animal cracker, and raisin boxes.

Flik's Flyers

Shade in the area is provided by towering clover.

Under Cover of Clover

And The benches are made up of used popsicle sticks.

Popsicle Stick Benches

Even the landscape lights fit into the theme.

No. 2 Pencils

It’s brilliant…and another sign that the best stuff coming out of Disney right now is really coming out of Pixar.

One of the reasons we decided to come to Disneyland when we did was because my sister and brother-in-law were planning on being here at the same time. With their one-year-old son, Henry, in tow and a daughter, Isabel, who falls somewhere between Zoe and Emma on the Fraidy Cat/Fearless scale, I knew that if the collective was deadlocked over any rides, we could exploit them on occasion to break the deadlock.

Isabel Arrives to Break the Deadlock

So, today we were able to switch off so that those who wanted to go on the scary rides could, while the those less willing could stay behind and/or go ride it’s a small world until that wretched tune could etch itself into our brains for all eternity.

As expected, Emma “loved, loved, loved” Indiana Jones and the Temple of the Forbidden Eye. It instantly became her “first most favoritest ride.”

Her First Most Favoritest Ride

Zoe, meanwhile, shocked everyone by suddenly deciding to go on Pirates of the Caribbean and ended up loving every minute of it…to the extent that it even displaced it’s a small world as her “first most favoritest ride.”

(I’m not exactly sure when the phrase “my first most favoritest ride” weaseled its way into our theme park lexicon. I’ve tried for three days to whittle it down to “my favorite ride” or even “my most favorite ride,” if they must, but there is no getting rid of it.)

As for my favorite ride, I’m with Zoe on this one. As far as I’m concerned, there is no ride in the world that can compete with Pirates of the Caribbean. I have a terrible long-term memory, but that ride had such an impact on me as a little boy that I have never forgotten it. The thrill of the first drop, the noble futility of the skeleton pilot still trying to steer his shipwreck through the howling storm, the almost certain destruction of our tiny boat by an errant cannonball, the drunkenness, the recklessness with which the pirates brandished their firearms. It all seemed so…so…unsafe. But safely unsafe.

Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate’s life for me…

Lesson learned: When visiting a theme park as a single parent with young children, your great power as a decision-maker and tie-breaker is taken from you the moment you walk through the gate. You are, from that moment on, merely part of a collective. When there is a decision to be made, it must be brought before the collective. If all members of the collective do not agree on a particular decision, then no member of the collective may enjoy the benefits of that decision.

If one member of the collective decides that Pirates of the Caribbean is too scary, the collective does not go on Pirates of the Caribbean. If one member of the collective decides that The Haunted Mansion is too scary (even though it is in its less-threatening The Nightmare Before Christmas mode), the collective does not go on The Haunted Mansion. When you are part of a collective, you tend to go on it’s a small world quite a bit.

The Collective Buys Hats

The Collective Waits in Line for it's a small world

(For the Third Time)

We were making good time until we hit Las Vegas, where we got caught in the flood of California gamblers who were returning from their Fabulous Las Vegas Weekends™ and who, based on the aggressiveness of their driving, had lost a lot of money. So, halfway across the California desert, we needed a little break and allowed ourselves to be lured from the highway by the promise of “The World’s Tallest Thermometer!”

In my mind, I pictured a gigantic depression-era scientific instrument with 18 gallons of mercury rising and falling with the desert heat. Instead, we got this:

The World's Tallest Thermometer

Baker, California

Pthhht! Then again, if we hadn’t been lured from the highway under false pretenses we never would have seen the dilapidated splendor that is Arne’s Royal Hawaiian Motel:

Arne's Royal Hawaiian Motel

Baker, California

Shortly after getting back on the highway the traffic went from bad to worse when we were brought to an hour-and-a-half-long halt by a seven-car pileup on I-15 between Bartow and Victorville.

But, in spite of all of the obstacles, we still made it to the park before sundown. Barely.

Finally There

(And a little glassy-eyed...)

Fantasmic! didn’t start until 9:00 p.m. but at Disneyland people start saving places for the shows and parades hours in advance. Having spent the last seven hours sitting in the car we didn’t feel like sitting for a few more waiting for the show to start, so we went on a few rides first. Then, at about 7:45, we headed over to the show area to try and find some acceptable seats.

After looking around for a while, we settled on some stairs that were off stage right. They weren’t going to be ideal seats, but they didn’t look bad to me. But just after we sat down we were approached by Bob. (I call him Bob because he reminded me of a shorter version of Bill Murray in What About Bob?.)

“Would you guys like to sit closer to the show?” asked Bob.

<blink, blink> “Um, sure…” I replied.

“I just ask because you guys are in the worst possible spot for this particular show. You’re not going to be able to see anything from here.”

(So much for my seat-picking abilities….)

Bob continued, “We’ve got a blue tarp down in the front with plenty of room. You’re welcome to come sit with us if you’d like.”

I hesitated for a second trying to figure out why a total stranger would make such an offer, but I finally said, “What the heck…” and we followed Bob down to what were surely the best seats in the house.

Apparently, this is what Bob does. He comes to Fantasmic! four hours early, sets up a tarp, front and center, and then invites random people to come down and experience the show with him.

You could tell that Bob was a regular because all of the other regulars on the front row knew him by name. In fact, at one point, one of the Disneyland “Cast Members” came over and asked, “Hey, Bob, do you have room for two more?”

“Sure,” said Bob, the epitome of hospitality. “Send them down.”

So, there we sat: A Korean family of five, a Hispanic couple, me and my girls, and my brother-in-law, Sam, and his daughter, Isabel. Strangers on a blue tarp. All enjoying the show from the perfect vantage point. All thanks to Bob.

Well, we’re about half way to Disneyland and we’ve stopped for the night in St. George, Utah, famed in song and story as the home of Cafe Rio, the best Mexican grill on the face of the earth. We had quite a pleasant drive down in “The Maple Bar,” the new name for our car this trip. The girls had a farewell brunch at IHOP with their Mom right before we left and the thick, sweet aroma of maple syrup was so strong it was fogging the windows.

Our Intrepid Travellers

The girls kept themselves busy in the back with their coloring books and the new Barbie of Swan Lake DVD. We also spent a great deal of time talking about what rides we do and don’t want to go on when we get to Disneyland tomorrow.

Emma, our quiet, cautious, careful daughter has an inexplicable fondness for horrendously scary rides. Since she was three, she has been longing for the day when she would be tall enough to go on the Indiana Jones Adventure. She missed the height requirement by one-eighth of an inch the last time we were there and she carries still the scar of that most bitter of disappointments.

To prepare her for the ride, which is really quite amazing, I’ve explained the basics of what she’ll experience, but I’ve refused to divulge exactly how the car avoids being crushed by the huge rolling stone at the end of the ride. She quizzes me almost daily:

“Does the car crash through the rock?”

“Nope.”

“Does the rock bounce over the top of the car?”

“Nope, not really.”

“Come on, Dad! Tell me what happens!”

“Nope….can’t. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

Emma’s not the kind who likes to “wait and see.”

Meanwhile, Zoe, our wild, fearless, and physically reckless daughter has a deep and abiding distaste for anything hairier than the Flying Dumbos. It takes quite a bit of coaxing just to get her on Mr. Toads Wild Ride, which, despite the name, isn’t even that wild a ride. As far as Zoe is concerned, she couldn’t care less how the car avoids the huge rolling stone at the end of the Indiana Jones Adventure because she has no intention of being anywhere near the vehicle when that moment arrives. She plans to be sitting safely outside, anticipating the exquisite thrill of “It’s a Small World.”

We’re planning to get to the park by late afternoon tomorrow. In all of our trips to Disneyland, we’ve somehow missed Fantasmic! (note the ever-compelling exclamation point) every time we’ve gone, so tomorrow is the big day. We’ll be in our places at 9:00pm when the “magic!” begins.

Zoe was wearing her sloppy slops this evening during our 4th of July festivities and while runningjumpingchasing she tripped twice…twice…on the concrete, skinning both elbows and both knees quite badly.

Henceforth, my daughters shall only wear these. An exception will be for their Junior Prom, when they will be allowed to change into these for the actual dancing portion of evening.

I turned forty a week ago last Saturday.

You’ll notice that I wrote out the word (forty) rather than using the numerals (4 and 0) to represent my age. In recent double-blind laboratory studies, test subjects retained both “generalized allure” and “a certain je ne sais quoi” an average of five years longer than the control group simply by avoiding the use of the numeral 4 in the the tens column when representing their age to the opposite sex. (Side effects are similar to sugar pill.) By spelling out their age, the test subjects benefited from the homonymous relationship of their age with the Latin root “fortis.” Thus:

Anyway, the girls and I pulled out all the stops and celebrated by going to Chuck E. Cheese with a couple of their cousins. A good time was had by all, as manifest by my niece who, in mid-bite, looked up from her pizza and enthused, “This is the best birthday ever!” I don’t know about that. I remember my 26th quite fondly, but I appreciated the sentiment.

The next day the girls flew with their Mom to Chicago to attend their Uncle Ben’s graduation from the University of Chicago Law School. I should have spent my childless bachelor week shopping for a Miata/Boxter/Z4/H2/Harley/<insert your preferred mid-life crisis vehicle here>, but as luck would have it I spent every passing day getting steadily sicker with what I thought was the flu.

By Wednesday I was semi-comatose, but I had to drag myself in to work so I wouldn’t miss getting laid off. They want me to hang around and help out with some big projects that are going live in September, but after that I’ll be looking for work along with the other 6.1% of the population.

The next day I was diagnosed with pneumonia.

So, to recap:

• Turned 40/forty.
• Soon to be divorced.
• Soon to be unemployed.
• Consumptive.

This is the stuff of opera. Bad opera, to be sure, but opera nonetheless.

So, there I was, having one of those George-Bailey-on-the-bridge moments, feeling profoundly pathetic, and thinking that everyone would probably be a lot better off if I just “died of the damp” (as Dill’s Aunt Stephanie would so eloquently put it). I even had Mr. Potter’s “You’re worth more dead than alive…” ringing in my ears.

You see, if I were to die tomorrow of some tubercular catastrophe, my girls would walk away with about half-a-million dollars for college and a new Mini/Beetle/Jeep/<insert your preferred fun-and-fancy-free-girl’s vehicle here> in about ten years when they’re old enough to drive. And thanks to the modern wonders of Accidental Death and Dismemberment coverage, if I were to die tomorrow in some fiery automotive catastrophe, they’d walk away with twice that amount.

But as I lay there, sicker than a dog and wallowing in self-pity, I had to acknowledge the fact that I’m far too selfish to croak right now. For one thing, I’d miss our weather talks too much.

I’m not sure how it started, but we’ve developed this odd little bedtime ritual where I’m required to dispense some weather-fact-of-the-day before my girls will go to sleep. In the past few months we’ve covered all of the dramatic weather phenomena: tornados, hurricanes, giant hailstones, raining frogs. But they’re even interested in the most mundane of cloud facts.

So, the girls got back late Saturday night and I was able to spend all Father’s Day with them. We all slept in, played on the computer, made paper helicopters, practiced riding our two-wheelers (we just took off the training wheels last week), watched videos, ate too much dessert. To paraphrase my niece, it was the best Father’s Day ever! By bedtime, I was exhausted and so were the girls. But after “hugsandkisses,” as I turned out the light and was about to leave the room, Emma said, “Wait, Dad. You have to tell us something about the weather.”

We covered barometric pressure. We’re going to make a barometer out of a 2-liter bottle later this week.

I know that may not sound very exciting to you, but I live for this stuff. Literally.

As you can probably tell from my post a few weeks ago, my youngest daughter, Zoe, has a way with words. “I can swing my apples” is only the latest in a long line of malapropisms and mispronunciations. Here are a few of my favorites:

Lellow = Yellow

For the longest time, she couldn’t pronounce the “Y” in “yellow.” We even tried breaking it into sections:

Me:	Say “yell.”
Zoe:	Yell!
Me:	Say “low.”
Zoe:	Low!
Me:	Say “yellow.”
Zoe:	Lellow!

Thrispee = Frisbee

This one has gotten closer over time. The flying disc is now referred to as a “Frispee.”

Slogs = Clogs

Last Thursday, her Pre-K class was going to the zoo. When I woke her up, she sat up groggily in bed and said, “Dad, I’m supposed to wear tennis shoes today because we’re going to the zoo. I’m not supposed to wear sandals or slogs.”

Sloppy Slops = Flip Flops

Sometimes when I’m trudging across a beach and one of my flip flops comes off I’ll think, “You know…she’s right. These blasted things are sloppy slops. Maybe I should have worn slogs.”

Floppy Joe = Sloppy Joe

Whenever she eats one, the filling tends to flop out all over the place so it stands to reason.

Curse = Crush

The other night she was talking about the various ongoing romances in her Pre-K class. “I’ve got a curse on Max,” she declared. Then she turned to her sister, Emma, and asked “Who do you have a curse on?”

Ron’t = Won’t

Pronounced: roant

Me:	Don’t get too close the edge, Zoe.
Zoe:	Don’t worry, I ron’t.

Pupcakes = Cupcakes

My personal favorite.

Zoe: Listen, Dad, I can swing my apples. Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…

Me: “Swing your apples?”

Zoe: Yeah, I can swing my apples. Listen. Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…

Me: Do you mean “roll your Rs?”

Zoe: Yeah. Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…

Zoe: Here, Dad, I drew a picture for you.

Me: That’s a great picture, Zoe. What is it?

Zoe: It’s a leprechaun with a squid living in his hat.

Me: Well, so it is…