SIX

Great Scott, Elijah turned six yesterday.  The day started at 5am when he informed us that he would not, in fact, be able to sleep with all those presents downstairs. 

Within minutes, our living room was covered in wrapping paper and plastic shrapnel.  He informed Luca that today, since it was his birthday, he would have to be selfish and not let Luca play with any of his new stuff, but tomorrow he’d share.  We put a stop to that little logic right then and there.

A few hours later, we arrived at Chuck E Cheese, late.  Elijah’s little pals were already there, waiting patiently for their tokens.  Now, I agree with you.  Whatever evil thoughts, whatever germ jokes or white trash jokes or germy white trash jokes you’ve got, I agree. 

But here’s the thing.  The only thing we had to do is hand them a huge wad of money and they did the rest.  The cake.  The pizza. The games.  The little tube you stand in and blows prize tickets.  They handled it.  This is by no means an endorsement of  Chuck E Cheese.  It’s just the worst.  This is an endorsement of parental laziness.

Diana handed me her super expensive camera on loan from The Wine Goddess, at 702 Main Street, Evanston (I get a free bottle every time I do that).  I immediately took on the persona of war journalist.  I crouched behind ski ball machines and capture the horror or ski ball.  I shot the Chuck E Cheese band members like war criminals.  I was especially proud of my expose on cheese toppings.

The look on that kid’s face.  It was pure joy.  Pure, lovely joy.  If only he could stay that happy for the rest of his life.  They’d probably lock him up.

But my favorite part of the day?  Not the Legos or the cake or the mind numbing Chuck E-ness. 

While Luca and Diana napped, I took Elijah to Dominick’s to buy spaghetti and meatball stuff for birthday dinner.  We spent a half hour, just the two of us, running up and down the aisles.  He chased me. I chased him.  We both irritated the heck out of the stock boys.  It was an unplanned bit of silliness I’m afraid will become less and less frequent as he gets to be seven, eight or twenty.

Man, I love that kid.

p.s.  I don’t have a photo from the day, because all 3420 shots are on Diana’s camera.  So enjoy this penguin from Eli’s “Sea Animal Night” at school.

Coolest Dad

Last Sunday, Elijah, Luca, Diana and I went to a birthday party for a little Luca friend.  Elijah immediately raced for the incredible fun and incredible germs of the bouncy castle.  Luca took his position at the entrance of the bouncy castle, his genetically inherited “Rick-ness” preventing him from actually entering.

Which left Diana and I to engage in our own kid-birthday habits.  Diana took this opportunity to inspect every inch of the house, mentally taking notes for future trips to Cost Plus World Market.

I did what I always do: Inspect all the dads to verify I am the coolest.  Yes, it’s stupid and vain and petty.  But I happen to be stupid and vain and petty. 

I scanned the dads.  There were some pretty cool guys.  But I was sure my carefully constructed outfit of blue jeans, t-shirt and Vans shoes would win me the title of “Coolest Dad In The World.”

But then HE walked in.  Shaggy haircut.  Jean jacket.  Ear rings.  Two ear rings! 

I leaned over to Diana and whispered, “Uh oh.  Looks like I may lose my ranking of coolest dad.”

Diana replied, “Yeah, but number two is still good.”

What?  No!  She was supposed to say, “Oh, that guy is a chump. You are still the coolest, by far.”

I walked across the party to get to the bottom of this guy’s coolness.  Maybe his cool was only skin deep.  All ear rings and jean jackets. 

Blah blah blah, what’s your name, who is your kid, aren’t bouncy castles cool.  So…what do you do for a living?

“Oh, well.  I’m a musician.”

Damn it!  Okay okay.  Maybe he was a struggling musician working in some gin joint for free whiskey. 

“Oh, a musician? Who do you play with?”

“It’s kind of embarrassing.  I back up Bob Mould.”

Bob Mould?  THE Bob Mould?  Alternative rock god and founder of Husker Du?  I stared into my cake, listening to him be all modest and cool and musician-y.  I nodded a few times and mumbled, “Bob Mould,” at appropriate breaks in the conversation.  

He asked me what I did and I blurted out, “Advertising.”  He lit up and said, “Oh cool!  Like Don Draper.” 

Luckily, Luca saved me by falling down and crying across the yard.  At least Luca still thought I was the coolest dad.  Just to make sure, I kept him away from Bob Mould guy.  

First Training Wheel Free Ride

I didn’t learn how to ride a bike until I was 8 or 9 years old.  I seem to remember having a strong desire not to rack myself.  But eventually, my older brother forced me to wobble around on his ten speed in the parking lot of our tiny apartment.  And rack myself.

Elijah, on the other hand, has been obsessed with riding his bike since we bought it almost exactly a year ago.  Countless times this winter we had to explain how it wasn’t good for your health to pilot your bike through a blizzard.

Now that the weather has broken, Eli won’t stop talking about getting on his bike.  And most notably, riding without training wheels.

His two pals from down the street, the ones with the more sporty gaits, have been riding sans training since last summer.  And Eli wants to join their ranks.  All last week he forced me to promise over and over to take his training wheels off and let him be free.

I urged him to take a more cautious approach.  Maybe he could take this summer to practice on the training wheels and next year we’d take those wheels off.  I felt an ache in my groin just thinking about it.

No way.  Eli wanted those training wheels off.  Now.  Punctuated by his pal Lincoln, who literally rode circles around us as we debated.

“Okay okay,” I said, “I’ll take off your training wheels.  But listen.  It’s really tough at first.  You’ll get it.  But first you have to fall down a few times.  Do you understand?  You won’t instantly be an expert.”

“But what if I do get it on the first try?  I’d be a genius!”  His face glowed.

Fine.  I got my wrench and removed some of the last tethers keeping him my baby boy. 

Elijah straddled the bike and I instructed him how to position his feet and get a good start.  He immediately fell over and cried.  The words “I told you so” tried to fight their way out of my mouth, but I resisted.

Like any good cowboy, Eli got back on that horse.  Adding my name to that cliché seen literally billions of times, I ran behind him and steadied him. He fell a few more times and I accidentally chocked him with hood.

But then, for the briefest of moments, he rode.  Maybe 5 or 10 feet, but it was glorious.  I felt a strong desire to weep, but I couldn’t give Lincoln the satisfaction.

Elijah shouted, “I’m doing it!  I’m doing it!  I’m a genius!”

And then he fell into the bushes and decided to go play inside and Star Wars with Lincoln.

Jesse The Body

At Diana’s dad’s house, there is one of those old nylon airline bags filled with toys.  Now, this isn’t to be mistaken for the identical old nylon airline bag filled with toys at my dad’s house.  Ancient Matchbox cars.  A few army men and decrepit Happy Meal plastic things.

Don Jacklich’s toy bag has one unique item.  It’s a The Rock action figure.  You know  The Rock?  He was a professional wrestler before becoming a big fancy movie star and revealing his real name is Duane.  Anyhoo, The Rock figure is bulging and shirtless and clad in leopard patterned pants. 

A year or so ago, Luca was playing with it and Diana mistook it for another wrestler and Governor of Minnesota, Jesse The Body Ventura.  Luca latched onto the name and ran around the house shouting, “Jesseeee The Bodeeeeeee” over and over.  I’m not sure how Diana could confuse Duane and the Governor of Minnesota, but I you’ve seen one HGH abuser you’ve seen them all.

His love of Jesseeee The Bodeeeee followed him back to our house and every once and a while he’ll break into his Jesseeee The Bodeeee thing while he’s playing with Spider Man or something.  It’s as cute as you’d expect.

Over the course of my recent odyssey across this great nation of ours, I got to work with a director named Jesse (last name withheld).  On a conference call, I filled an awkward silence with the story of Jesseee The Bodeeee.  It got a big laugh.  If you could find the exact physical opposite of Jesse The Body, it would be our director. 

We landed in LA and met Jesse The Director and his crew.  His producer presented me a gift: a Jesse The Body action figure for Luca.  This particular action figure hilariously depicted Jesse as the Governor, with a black three piece suit and plastic wing tips.

I flew back home with it packed away in my backpack.  Elijah was on his trip to Florida with Grandma Connie and Grandpa Ed, so I thought this would be a nice special treat for Luca.

On that Saturday, I really built up the present.  I kept telling him I had a big surprise and he was going to be super duper excited.  At long last, I sat Luca down and said, “Hey Luca.  Remember Jesse The Body?  You know, Jesseeeee The Bodeeee? Well take a look at this.”  And then I dramatically extracted the toy.

Now, it didn’t occur to me that Luca had no idea who the real Jesse The Body was.  Or that I was paying homage of The Rock toy he loved.  Or why I would think a bald man in a black suit would remotely be good thing to play with.

Luca took one look at it and said, “I don’t like him.  I hate him.”  And then he started to cry. 

Diana mercifully tossed the toy into the garbage and I took Luca to the fireman exhibit at the Children’s Museum to make up for my stupidity.    

Easter Panic

Sorry about the lack of posts this week, gang.  I’ve been in Los Angeles, Portland and New York in the last week or so.  Keep you eyes out for my “taking the family on vacation using frequent flyer miles” post coming soon.

I’m a week late on this story, but I got another Easter gem.

I was home for 48 glorious hours last weekend, thankfully Easter being a chunk of it.  But, most importantly, I got to spend some quality time with Diana.  With my travel schedule and the wine store, we try to soak up as much time with Elijah and Luca as we can.  As a result, our marriage gets booted down on the priority list.  Rick and Diana time is precious.  We had to make last Saturday special.

By ordering Indian food and watching “Homeland.”  Yeah, it wasn’t a five star restaurant followed by the opera, but it counts.

After our curry was finished, Diana bid me a fond goodnight and I watched whatever it is I watch while searching for open bottles of wine Diana tasted for the store. 

Around 11, I decided to call it a night.  I did my usual obsessive house check.  Back door locked.  Front door locked.  Stove burners off.  Did I check the back door?  Better check again.  Oh, and those burners.  Did I mention the back door?

Eventually, I crept up to the boys’ room to watch them sleep.  Oh how I love them.  They are so awesome and sweet and I’d do anything for them.  Especially on these special holidays like Easter.  With the candy and vague religious references and hiding eggs…WE FORGOT TO HIDE THE EGGS!

I raced downstairs and searched for Diana’s Easter stash.  After much cursing, I eventually found it in the car. 

I uncovered baskets, plastic eggshells, candy, some toys and a child’s manicure/pedicure set.  It was a big pink box with a tween on the front.  And Tween toes.  Gross.  There was pink and purple polish and little things you stick on your nails and other things that made me feel weird.

Manicure/pedicure?  Yes, we are gender neutral in our house.  Yes, I support all declarations of the love of pink and ponies and the occasional wearing of Diana’s bras, but somehow the manicure/pedicure thing crossed a line.  Wouldn’t it confuse things if Eli had better nails than his Kindergarten teacher?

I focused on things that made sense to me.  Like stuffing the eggshells with marshmallows.  And eating marshmallows.

I successfully hid the stuff and made a little toy pile for each boy.  Lego Star Wars junk for Eli and a Spiderman bank for Luca.  I contemplated the manicure/pedicure thing.  By pure Neanderthal instinct, I hid the mani-pedi thing in the office, away from the Easter stuff.  I figured if it was something Diana really wanted the boys to have, we could pull a “Christmas Story” and unveil it like a last minute Red Rider BB Gun.

Easter morning came and the boys tried their hardest to contract childhood Diabetes.  They loved the egg searching so much we had multiple hunts throughout the day.

Eventually, I pulled Diana aside and asked what the deal was with the pink box in the office.  She said it was purchased for an auction at Eli’s school.

An Easter miracle.