So, I'm not a plumber.

We finally got our new kitchen counter tops installed today. Last night, a coworker (thanks, Mike) and I took a Fubar to the kitchen (okay, so I don't really own a Fubar yet, but I really, really want one. And the holidays are coming....) intending to remove the old counter top. It wasn't bad, really. We carefully detached the disposal and faucet, removed the sink, and lifted the counter off. no big deal. and I even managed to put my three-year-old to work removing all the jars of spices from the spice cabinet. She was so proud of herself.

Today, the cabinetry guy came and installed the new counter tops. They look great. And only some minor damage to the paint on the wall near the bar, which we expected going in due to the odd shape of this thing. So then, I took over, with a plan of putting in the new sink and faucet, reattaching the disposal, and reconnecting the plumbing.

By 4pm, it was time to call the plumber and have him finish where I left off.

The problems started when I realized that I planned for everything (a new sink, new faucet, all the connectors) except for the fact that the drains on the new sink were two inches closer to the face of the cabinets than the old sink. Oy. So, it was off to Home Depot. I bought $33 worth of PVC elbows, extensions, fittings, and doohickeys in hopes of finding the right combination of bends and twists to get a good fit. My hope was to return about $30 worth of those parts. In the end, I found the right combination and got it back together, but dang it, I just couldn't keep things dry.

I've learned, a couple of times now, that plumbing is not something to be taken lightly (as opposed to, say, electrical work). Fact is, if you don't know what you are doing you can cause some major damage to your house. Once, my newly potty-trained daughter got a little overzealous with the upstairs toilet, causing rain (along with some sheetrock and a ceiling fan) to fall on the dinner table. Another time, I reinstalled a toilet that was rocking in hopes of leveling it off, and only made it worse. Yes, plumbing is not my forte, nor something I strive to do. So I had no qualms about calling Terry's Plumbing (don't go to bed with that drip tonight!) and asking for a rescue.

One handy tip I did come up with, though. Getting the disposal reattached was not easy. Given the size of my cabinet, I found it impossible to hold it into position and attach it at the same time. So I came up with a nifty solution. I grabbed the jack from the trunk of my car, positioned it under the disposal, and cranked away until it slipped into place where it belonged. Worked like a charm.

So now that this milestone is done, I guess this means we've got to repaint the kitchen. Man, I hate painting. That's right up there with plumbing.

The Magical Express

We survived our Disney trip relatively intact. All in all, it was a good introduction to the Magic of the Mouse, but it could have gone better. For one thing, our poor six-year-old woke up on day 3 and threw up all over her bunk bed. This forced her to spend the day with mommy in the hotel while I ventured to MGM with my three-year-old. And it was the day she was supposed to see Ariel and Belle on stage, her life's dream. Very sad.

We learned a few things on our maiden voyage:

1. First-timers will get tons of recommendations of whether a park is worth going to or not. For the same parks some people said, "oh it's the greatest". Others said, "oh, it's a waste of time". You know what, they are all great, you make of it what you make of it, and the fact is that if you and your family are back to the room and fast asleep by 9:30 then it was a successful day.

2. The Disney meal plan caters to obese people.Or at least people who can't get enough chocolate cake.

3. Disney controls the weather (no surprise really). Jessica and I were at MGM, and at 2:30 they announced the parade in a half hour. It immediately started to pour rain. Jessica and I took cover under an awning. The rain stopped the very instant the parade started, and the sun came out. Two minutes after the parade ended, the rain started again as if Walt Disney himself were saying, "you've had your fun, now get out".

4. Disney also controls our minds. As you'll see in the pic of the castle at Magic Kingdom, throughout the morning there was a crane high above the castle doing something secretive. The crane was gone by noon. And no one saw it leave. A crane that size took three days to be dismantled at a construction site near my office.

5. The only person who knows if a ride is too scary for a three-year-old is a three-year-old.

6. If you have two children, bring two of everything. I made the mistake of thinking all their toys could go in one backpack. Sure, they fit fine, but toting one backpack caused more tirades than I cared to deal with. No, it's mine! No, I want it! No I want it! Sure, they each want to carry the backpack of toys. But will one of them even lift a finger to drag the real luggage? Of course not.

7. There's a coffee shop at MGM.

8. The wise-cracking silly-safari boat driver at Magic Kingdom has the best job in the world. drive a boat all day looking at fake animals, and making awful jokes about not losing your head when around cannibals. I want to work there.

9. There is a reason the TSA officials at the airport tell you to put your shoes in one of those plastic buckets before going through the X-Ray. That's because the X-Ray machine likes to eat shoes. They had to stop the machine and climb in to retrieve Jessica's Stride-Rite.

10. Expedition Everest was Natalie's favorite roller coaster of all that she's ever been on! (she's been on one other).

11. Spend the extra bucks for the lunch with characters (we chose Pooh and friends, as the princesses were booked). It's the best danged buffet you'll have anywhere.

12. The feeling of being hugged by Eeyore is like no other.

13. Even Pooh and Eeyore can frighten the daylights out of a small child if they appear suddenly around a corner. The child in front of me in the buffet line got so startled her dish full of chicken tenders crashed to the floor as she ran screaming from the room. I had a good laugh.

14. All the adult visitors are nicer in Disney. I think it's because when there, they become members of this closely knit fraternity of unrested, over-fed, financially damaged, physically exhausted brethren who feel the need to sooth each other's backs sore from carrying around tote bags full of sippy cups, Mickey sweatshirts and theme park maps.

So in the end, as you can see from the photo slide show, much fun was had by all. We tackled the Magic Kingdom, Animal Kingdom, and MGM. We made it home intact, with only three meltdowns on the way home. One in the hotel (mommy, the lobby is THIS way!), one on the airport (failure to share resulting in a seating change and a forced seat-belting), and one at dinner after the flight this one by an overtired elder child).

We'll go back to experience the magic another time, but mark my words...I shall never taking a three-year-old to Disney again.

Pooh for Lunch

One of our days at Disney will be spent having lunch with Pooh and his friends. Not much on the menu to select from. Check out the measly choices:

Mixed Field Greens
Ranch and Zinfandel Dressings
Mandarin Orange Sesame Vinaigrette
Sliced Tomatoes and Egg with Toasted Cumin Dressing
Sweet Plantain, Cucumber and Corn Salad
Shrimp, Black Bean and Mango Salad
Edamame Salad - Young Soy Bean
Couscous, Tofu, and Roasted Vegetable Salad
Mediterranean Pasta Salad
Tabbouleh Salad
Beet Salad with Sag Dhal Dressing
Romaine, Beef, and Bleu Cheese Salad
Papaya, Frisee, and Arugula Salad
Tropical Slaw
Sliced Turkey and Ham
Swiss Cheese and American Cheese
Apple Slices
Carrot Sticks
Garlic Redskin Smashed Potatoes
Broccoli tossed in Puri Puri and topped with Key Lime Ponzu
Medley of Vegetables with Balsamic Glaze
Fire Roasted Corn Spoon Bread
Braised Kale
Cheese Pizza
Vegetable Fritatta
Stir Fried Curry Noodles
Wild Mushroom and Chicken Pasta with Basil Asiago Cream Sauce
Vegetable Pasta
Cinnamon and Lemon Infused Balsamic Rice
Green Thai Curry Chicken
Fruit and Vegetable Tofu Curry
Ancho Chile Rubbed Atlantic Salmon
Flame Roasted Rotisserie Chicken
Citrus Marinated Flank Steak
BBQ Pork Tenderloin
Lemon Squares
Chocolate Chunk Pecan Squares
Chocolate Marbled Cheesecake
Mango Flan
Chocolate Chip Cookies
Tres Leches Cake
Boston Cream pie
Double Chocolate Brownies
Soft Serve Vanilla and Chocolate Ice Cream
Chocolate Sprinkles and Rainbow Confetti
Apple Cobbler
Banana Bread Pudding with Baily’s Irish Cream Sauce

The kid's menu is far more extensive:

Mac and Cheese
Chicken Fingers.

On the way to Disney...

Just a note that Saturday we embark on a Magical week's vacation to Disney. I've personally never been there. My parents never took me anywhere. Yes, between Disney and Chuck E. Cheese, I never left the house as a kid. It's true. Really, they just locked me in a closet in the cellar until I was 14, tossing me the occasional fish head for nourishment whenever they felt bad. I'd still be there if I hadn't gotten accepted to Carnegie Mellon. But I digress....

So really, this was just a blog post to say there will be another blog post if we survive the trip without getting swallowed up by the DisMAY machine. More to come. Speaking of which, the DisMAYniacs have now added Disney Princess Eggo waffles to the DisMAY product arsenal.

Oh, side note. My Home Depot rebate arrived today. Boy, that month went by quickly.

Home Depot Rebates STILL suck

Back on September 30th I wrote how Home Depot has been in the process of driving me frigging nuts with a $200 rebate for our kitchen counter tops. Last week I sent them mail asking why in the name of all that's good and holy I was still waiting for this rebate, which I originally submitted July 13th. Their response last week was that the paperwork (which they say they never originally received) was not processed until September 13th and please allow 4-6 weeks for processing from this date.

The end of that 6-week processing time was last Friday, so today I checked the website to see if I needed to send another email. I saw this:

"Your gift card was mailed on 30-Oct-2006. Please allow at least 30 days for delivery."

Thirty days??? THIRTY DAYS????? How on earth could ANYTHING take 30 days to mail? I suppose if it was being shipped to Alaska on a barge, then carried over the mountains by a Himalayan sherpa with an incontinence problem who had to stop at a public restroom every ten miles, then perhaps I could see thirty days.

Followup. I came across a site called Complaints.com (my kind of site) that contains plenty of venting about Home Depot rebates, or lack thereof. I also sent a letter to customer relations from HD's web site. Let's see if maybe it gets me a free Fubar.

Pittsburgh 3-1-1

This is interesting, our esteemed and young mayor of Pittsburgh has given us city folk a way of reporting non-emergency issues and getting a response about them. I can think of many reasons this would be useful. But of course my first entry will be:

Dear Mayor Ravenstahl,
I am disgusted with the way old people are depicted on television. We are not all vibrant, fun-loving sex maniacs. Many of us are bitter, resentful individuals who remember the good old days when entertainment was bland and inoffensive. The following is a list of words I never want to hear on television again. Number one: Bra. Number two: Horny. Number three: Family Jewels.

New Stanley Tool: The Fubar

I love this. Stanley Tools has released a new tool as part of their "FatMax" product line known as the Fubar. It's a claw hammer. It's a pry bar. It's a whole lot of other things used to break, demolish, and tear apart stuff. Whomever came up with the product name was a genius. For those who are unaware, "FUBAR" is a military term, stolen from the military by computer geeks, referring to, (echem...) "Fouled Up Beyond All Recognition". that first word of course being changed to protect the innocent. If there was ever a product with a name based on its purpose, there it is.

Uncle Harry and the Trail Of Courage

This weekend Natalie and I went on the YMCA Adventure Princess fall campout. Two full days of nothing but dads and daughters, bonding with nature. The weekend began Friday night when we arrived at Camp Kon-O-Kwee, after carbo-loading at Applebees with friends (we were forewarned about kon-O-Kwee's state-of-the-art institutional cuisine ahead of time, so I made sure to pack the antacid) and a couple of wrong turns. The first event was the Halloween costume ball. Natalie went as a princess (of course), and I was a dashing young lad made all that much more dashing by my five-dollar "Instant Geek" costume. I know, I know, not much of a stretch.

The dance lasted perhaps 45 minutes (you can only hold kindergarteners' attention for so long, after all), and we all retired back to our barracks...I mean our bunks.

The bunkhouse was designed to sleep 94 people. There were probably 93 staying there. You know what happens when you put 45 or so young girls into a big room when they are tired but not ready to go to bed? Chaos. Utter chaos. Add that to the fact that the acoustics in this log cabin were such that every sound was amplified about thirty times the normal volume, and we didn't get much rest that night. But kudos go out to Stu, one of the dads who bravely climbed out of bed to quiet a small group of dads who were getting a bit rowdy late at night. I say kudos because it takes a brave man to ask a bunch of other men to quiet down when he's wearing fluffy rabbit pants. He had forgotten his normal sleepwear, so he'd improvised using his costume.

First thing Saturday morning, we were introduced to the dining facility, and to Uncle Harry.

Uncle Harry, the veritable Pide Piper of Camp Kon-O-Kwee, is a gentleman whom for years has taken ownership of this camp and made it what it is today. Each meal was spent listening to Uncle Harry explain how the girls are owners of this camp, not the dads, and that "girls rule, boys drool". Dads who fell out of line with the rules of the weekend (no newspapers, no blackberrys, no drinking) were promptly disciplined by their daughters with a buttwhacking aided by a canoe paddle. the rest of Harry's speech involved not-so subtle suggestions that monetary donations to the camp would get us special favors. Like not being smacked in the butt by our daughters.

After a meal of French toast so hard that I bent a knife trying to cut it for my daughter, we ventured off to the craft room to paint T-shirts, and then to the Trail Of Courage. The Trail consists of several kid-friendly challenges like a rope ladder, zip line, a high wall climb, and log bridges. The kids certainly strutted their stuff, taking on these challenges like they were the living room coffee table and the back of the couch. I kept expecting to turn a corner in the woods and come upon the obstacle where the kids have to crawl under barbed wire through the mud while we fired rifles over their heads, but no such luck.

The rest of the afternoon involved all the classic camping activities such as canoeing, rock climbing, archery, and hiking, until their little feet gave out (the dads' feet, that is), and then it was back to the dining hall for a dinner of government surplus burgers and dogs, bug juice, and convict-grade cheese.

After dinner was the ceremonial campfire. I've been sworn to secrecy here, but let's just say it involved flaming torches, small explosions, and some screaming. Along with my daughter "Butterfly Princess" I, "Running Deer" became one with our circle and one with the tribe. And we finished up our enlightenment ceremony with a viewing of the movie Casper the Friendly Ghost. How spiritual.

The bedtime hour begat chaos, as the gaggle of overtired kindergartners felt it necessary to chase each other around the room while screaming at the top of their lungs (reminder here that the bunkhouse greatroom has the acoustics of the inside of a municipal water tank), while that dads stood around with a glazed look, wondering if perhaps they should call a mom or two to help bring order to the craziness. After about a half hour of this, an idea finally occurred to me. I borrowed a copy of a children's' book from one dad who was already making a pitiful attempt to try and sleep, and announced to our flock that it was story time. As I read through the trials of Frog And Toad, a calm swept through the barracks, and soon there was evidence of yawning. By 9:30, they were all fast asleep, and so was I.

The next morning, after another industrial breakfast, we tackled the Trail of Courage once more, and we were off for home. After having made so many new friends, Natalie was absolutely giddy to get home and tell her tales of the weekend to mommy. So excited, in fact, that less than a block from the house she threw up all over the back seat of the Mazda. Aw, swell.

First it's Huck Finn, now it's Tag

We live in sad, sad times. CNN reports that a shool in Attleboro, MA has banned elementary students from playing tag, touch football and any other unsupervised chase game during recess for fear they'll get hurt and hold the school liable.

This is downright pathetic, sad, and upsetting. I don't want my kid to get hurt any more than anyone else, but is this going to protect our kids, or is it going to foster the idea that human contact is bad, and lawsuits are good? And it's just another excuse for kids to not exercise, get fat, play video games, and die early.

Lord knows, Blockades certainly would have been out of the question. I recall getting hammered numerous times, and I seem to recall my dad saying, "serves you right" when I got a black eye. I also vividly recall getting a scratched cornea when a rogue snowball hit me in the eye. That led to a doctor's visit, some meds, and perhaps a day off from school, but certainly not litigation. Sad, really really sad.

The Gashleycrumb Tinies

My friend Paul sent me the link to this. A warm, family oriented children's tale and classic of literature, perfect for Halloween. Enjoy.

Carrying the torch for the younger generation

I mentioned the YMCA Adventure Princess program in an earlier post. The father-daughter bonding begins. But speaking of bonding, I'm finding this program to be a great opportunity to disappear into my workshop. And yes, Natalie gets to join me on this one....

Our tribe of 15 father-daughter couples needed a torch for the upcoming campout. The torch consists of a long straight tree branch, with a large steel coffee can mounted on the top, along with a smaller can inside. In the smaller can is placed a roll of toilet paper, doused in kerosene, and lit on fire.

Needless to say the construction of this torch was something I wholeheartedly volunteered for. After all, I already own a table saw, a router, and about 300 extra feet of electrical wire, so surely I could come up with the perfect solution for building this torch. I felt the need to make Red Green proud, discovering all kinds of creative uses for duct tape.

The real challenge was mounting that inner can. I didn't want to screw it to the outer can, for fear of the kerosene leaking and causing combustion of a small child. Duct tape was too flammable (sorry, Red), and hot glue would melt. So hmm, how to mount it.

First I considered expandable foam. But no, the can says expandable foam is highly combustible. I thought, gee, maybe I could cement it somehow. Two minutes later, after browsing through home renovation leftovers, I came across a half-used bag of floor tile cement. There'ya go. Mixed up a batch of that, poured it in the big can, set the smaller one into it, and voila.

The next step is to paint the can in our Adventure Princess Tribe's colors, and rig up a remote detonation-I mean, remote ignition device so that we can "light it up" just like that scene from LOST.

By the way, as a footnote, it looks like we're one step closer to inventing transparent aluminum, so that our Captain Kirk and his team can transport whales back to the future

Painting in our free time

As the parent in our household responsible for going to work each day, sitting in front of a computer for hours and hopefully bringing home a paycheck a couple of times a month, I have a somewhat narrow view of what it must be like to be a stay-at-home parent. On the rare occasion where I do get to stay home, I tend to be ultra-productive. The kitchen gets cleaned, the bills get paid and, heck, I might even find some time to build a custom armoire in my workshop complete with inlays and dovetail joints. So why is my wife so stressed about this stay-at-home thing? What's the big deal?

Well for one thing, there's the parenting part. If I was a stay-at-home dad, my six-year-old would still be in diapers. My three-year-old would weigh about seventy pounds, after having been raised on nothing but pizza, crackers, and bag after bag of goldfish crackers. The two of them would be completely illiterate, but know every line of every episode of the Simpsons. Yes, being a stay-at-home parent is a full time career that takes a level of expertise for which I am totally unqualified.

This is the point of the story where I give my wife credit for the amazing job she does. She keeps us fed, she keeps us clothed (well, them, anyway - she doesn't shop for me). She's a brilliant teacher, as demonstrated by the fact that my six-year-old daughter's favorite word is pulchritudinous, and she even knows how to spell it. Okay fine, so I come home and the kitchen's a mess, but when my kids both graduate from Harvard on full scholarships, become successful doctors, and fund our retirements, we'll hire someone to clean the kitchen.

I was reminded of the massive responsibility and effort this parenting work takes only recently, at the tail-end of our major home renovation. We had several coats of paint to apply to various rooms, and I just didn't see how or when it was going to get done by me, working eight hours a day outside the house. I only half-jokingly said to my wife, "boy it would be great if I came home one day, and the family room was totally painted." After she was done pummeling me with her copy of Oprah Magazine, my wife proceeded to explain why I was completely off my rocker to think that there was even the remotest of remote possibilities of getting a room painted during the day with the kids awake. The conversation went something like this....

Lovely Wife: "How can you possibly think that I..."
Daughter #1: "Mom, can I have a snack?"
Lovely Wife: "Sure honey, let mommy finish first. So how could you possibly think that I..."
Daughter #2, yelling from upstairs: "MOMMMMM!!!!"
Lovely Wife: "YES????"
Daughter #2:"My unicorn is in on the shelf!"
Lovely Wife: "One second! ....possibly think that I would have..."
Daughter #1: "Mom, I don't know what I want for a snack"
Lovely Wife: "Well, when you decide, and when I'm done talk..."
Daughter #2:"MOMMMMM!!!! I need a tissue!"
Lovely Wife: "....think that I would have time to pa..."
Daughter #1: "Can I have goldfish?"
Lovely Wife: "No, you just had dinner. Have some fruit."
Daughter #1: "MOMMM!!!! I have a booboo!"
Lovely Wife: "Coming! I'm sorry honey, you were saying something about sending me to a spa?"

Happy Birthday, Thing #2

A couple of people informed me that my posts don't seem to provide much in the way of detail about my younger daughter, what's-her-name. Yes, the now-three-year-old, sweet and lovable, exceptionally opinionated toddler that currently rules the toy room with an iron fist. So, in an effort to provide equal airtime, here's a Jessica update.

As mentioned above, she has reached the golden age of three, today in fact. I'm currently traveling in Minneapolis and attempted to wish her a happy birthday when I called home earlier, but being three years old she had no real interest in speaking with the disembodied voice coming from the telephone handset as she was too busy arranging her Fisher-Price farm animals by order of date obtained.

Last Saturday was her party. For six months before the event, if you asked her where her party was going to be, she would authoritatively proclaim, "I'm going to see Chucky!" That'd be Chuck E. Cheese. Ah yes, Chuck E. Cheese. Processed, overpriced, high-fat fun for kids of all ages. There's nothing that makes me itch more than spending an hour at Chuck E. Cheese. But I seem to remember that when I was a kid, my parents never took me to CEC's, and I only dreamed that it was some sort of Taj Mahal, a magical place on the order of the Wonka Chocolate Factory, where animatronic wild creatures smothered you in piles of magical gold coins that made all of your dreams come true. And I'm sure that's how Jessica sees it now. Either that, or she sees it as "the place with the ball pit". Frankly, in our circle of families it's well known as the place where your kid gets to catch her first cold of the season.

Jessica is definitely the second kid. She will spend hours playing by herself, unsupervised, with a set of blocks. She graciously accepts hand-me-downs, and doesn't insist on having the pink Dora plate with her afternoon snack. Unlike her sister she hasn't been read every book in our vast library seventeen times. Sometimes I wonder if we've been unfair, having spent countless hours paying focused attention to her older sister, educating her on everything from the alphabet to power tool recognition, only to not have time for the same effort with our second child. But Jessica's no slouch. She already knows the important stuff, such as how to manipulate her father, how to tantrum until we give in, and how to wait until the very moment we sit down to ask for a second helping of raisins.

Here's a perfect example from a while back. After dinner, I was tossing dishes into the dishwasher when she pitter-pattered up to me and asked, "Um, dad? Daddy? Daddy? Dad? Um...dad?"

"Yes?" I responded.

"Can you play with us?"

"Not right now, I'm washing dishes."

She then waddled back into the playroom to proclaim to her sister, "He said YES!!!"

This is true. If you reread the above, you will see I did, in fact, say yes. Not to the question she asked, but that doesn't matter now, does it? She got me on semantics.

Happy third birthday, Jessica. It's gonna be a big year. Preschool, separation from Mommy, and being forced to poop in designated locations are all part of your to-do list. So enjoy it while you can!

Now THAT'S Co-branding!

Yesterday at the supermarket, we came across Lego Eggos. Yes, waffles in the shape of Lego pieces. The marketing lackey who thought this one up deserves a raise.

Of course, my daughters seem to just want to stack them rather than eat them. Go figure...

Not all gun nuts are in the South

So here is an article about a lawmaker in Wisconsin who wants to introduce legistation that would allow teachers to carry concealed weapons in shool, citing how this seems to work for schools in Thailand.

Thailand. "Where officials have been waging a bloody fight with Muslim separatists for the last two years..."

Now let's think about what just happened in the Amish schoolhouse in PA this week (forgetting for a moment that it's an Amish schoolhouse, and the Amish wouldn't carry a gun anyway). So the teacher owns a gun. Probably keeps it in her desk drawer, because you can't conceal it under a skirt too well. A gunman bursts in. The teacher is at the blackboard. The gun is twenty feet away in a desk drawer. Seems pretty pointless, and chances are good the teacher is gonna get shot in the process of diving for it.

And I think about that teacher in high school that tossed an eraser at my nose when I gave a dumb answer (I deserved it, and never once thought about a law suit) and wonder just how many unstable teachers there are that really shouldn't be toting guns in the first place.

Rejuvenation.com

I came across this company called Rejuvenation on the web while I was searching for a match to our kitchen drawer pulls. Rejuvenation sells period-style light fixtures. They seem similar in concept to the store Restoration Hardware, in that they make new stuff that looks like classic old stuff. But the stuff they sell is gorgeous (albeit pricey). I recommend ordering a catalog. Check them out at www.rejuvenation.com.

Oh, and I highly recommend considering the bat light.

Home Depot Rebates suck

Can I just take a moment and whine about Home Depot's rebates? Yeah, it's well known that companies do rebates simply because they know not everyone is going to fill in the right info or even bother to send them in, and odds are they will make money in the end. I have to say that Home Depot does a great job of making their rebate program the biggest pain in the rear possible.

About six months ago I bought a Rigid shop vac for $40, minus a $20 mail-in rebate. I mailed it in, as instructed. A few weeks later I got a letter saying I didn't follow the directions, and failed to include the bar code from the box...the box I threw out at least a week before. Since the box was gone, I had no way of proving that I sent it, even though I remember doing so. I was screwed with that one.

So as part of the renovation we bought several new kitchen cabinets, which resulted in an offer of a $200 rebate. I was very, very careful to follow the directions precisely AND make photocopies of everything AND scan those photocopies into PDF form. After over a month, I thought I would check into the status. Home Depot conveniently has a web page you can go to in order to check on rebate status and, go figure, my $200 rebate wasn't even listed. Oddly enough, the $20 one for the shop vac was. So I then tracked down my paperwork, and emailed Home Depot with the PDF copy of my paperwork. In response, I got a letter saying they couldn't use what I sent them because the scan of the receipt covered over some of the rebate form. Fine, so I re-faxed my original paperwork so they could read everything.

Now, three weeks later, Home Depot's website lists the $200 rebate submission. TWICE. And today I received both a letter in the mail and an email saying "we received your submission, and you have exeeded the maximum number of entries per household. Duplicate submissions cannot be honored." On the web site, one of the two entries has that statement on it, the other says it's still being processed, expected completion another three weeks.

So how come they can take the time to DENY a request, sending a paper letter and an email out, but they need another three weeks to send me my two hundred dollars?

I think I'm gonna start acting like that kid from Better Off Dead, chasing the CEO of Home Depot on my bike with the snow ski attachment, yelling, "I want my two hundred dollars!" the whole way.

Soduku

Having never seen one before tonight, my 6-year-old daughter completed her first ever Soduku puzzle, without help, after only about 5 minutes of instruction. Sorry to beat my parental chest here, but I'm flabbergasted.

I've become a Princess

With entry into kindergarten comes the right of entry into a special secretive cult known as Adventure Princess. This is a group sponsored by the local YMCA with the goal in mind to provide opportunities for fathers to bond with their children. Natalie and I have joined this Adventure Princess tribe, along with about a dozen other local dads and their kindergarten-aged daughters.

I don't know who's more excited, her or me. I mean, what's not to get excited about? There's campouts, hiking, biking, canoeing and other outdoorsy stuff. There's crafts (okay sure, but I can find reasons to bring tools), and monthly get-togethers with other dad/daughter couples. And all with no moms allowed.

Good thing. I've been trying to convince my wife to go camping for about 7 years now. After our last experience, tent-camping in northern PA, where it dropped to 32 degrees at night and the spiders in the shower wanted to get friendly, she swore she'd never camp again.

In the end, this Adventure Princess thing is all about bonding with my daughter. I'm sure that during those overnight camping trips there will be several episodes where she'll need to mop my fevered brow as I go through Blackberry and laptop withdrawal, but I'm definitely looking forward to it. And I'm sure it will make for some good blog-fodder.

Blockades

As I sit in front of the Mac listening to my younger one singing "twinkle twinkle" from her crib into the baby monitor at the top of her lungs, while the wife rests comfortably upstairs and the elder child snoozes with her Little Mermaid book perched atop her snoring nose, I figure it's a good time to catch up on a few things. As I mentioned in a recent post, Natalie has started Kindergarten this month. It's a new world, people. gone are the simple worries, like who's gonna be snack mom, or is she going to poop at preschool, or will she catch a sniffle from a fellow classmate. Now we're into the real stuff. Is the bus going to make it to the school without spontaneously combusting? Will her classmates accept her? Do we really have to sell all that freaking holiday wrapping paper and overpriced stale popcorn to our unsuspecting neighbors just so her class will have the funding for that fabulous class trip to Cleveland?

As Natalie gets into her kindergarten groove, I am starting to see obvious traits of my own passed down to her. I'm also starting to see ways she's as different from me as peanut butter is from, say, sidewalk chalk.

There are the regular reports of her visits to the school nurse. Yup, that's a piece of my DNA double helix. So far, the most minor visit was for a raging case of chapped lips. The most urgent was for a bleeding hangnail. Again, just like her dad. I always was a bleeder.

She's different from me in one very, obvious way. After attending "dessert night" at the school tonight, which is sort of a kids/parents social hour to meet the teachers and other families, I realized that main difference.

My daughter isn't a nerd.

I mean, okay, maybe I wasn't the biggest nerd in the world at school (Guys, you shut up now - there was worse, you know there was!), but I was by no means a member of the A-list. Oh sure, being the token Jew of the school I had some notoriety, and I was one of the select few that the potheads would come to asking, "um, duh, so you're smart 'n stuff, right?" But heck, the only varsity letter I got was for golf team. Really. But I DID have a solo once in choir. And I was one of the first to come to class wearing parachute pants. Does that count for anything? No? Anyone?

But as I watched Natalie interact with the other kids, I realized she's quite the little leader of her posse. A couple of kids came in pointing and mouthing to their moms, "there's Natalie over there!" as if she was some sort of a cool version of Condoleeza Rice. I realize now that if and when she brings any sort of social concerns to me, I will be completely out of my area of expertise.

Throughout the evening, Natalie and her gang expended the usual energy running in circles in the school gym. I suddenly had flashbacks to "Blockades".

Blockades, a game that was often referred to as "Kill Scottie", was what my own group of friends played every day at recess. Within seconds after the end of third period we were outside, and without debate were immediately separated into two opposing teams. The object of the game was simple.

Kill Scottie.

Scott, whom I remain friends with to this day, was the non-elected defacto leader of our our own little schoolground government. But it was a government with little in the way of politics, few if any issues, and no opposing forces to protect ourselves against. Each day was spent with one simple goal in mind. Half of us would chase our leader in an attempt to beat the crap out of him, while the other team tried to protect him by putting up a blockade. It was simple. It was pure. There were no referrees. No instant replays. No out-of-bounds. And rarely any injuries. Just good clean fun. And perhaps it was the reason we all did so well in Social Studies class.