Saying Yes: Another Sunday Guest Blog

O:  Daddy, will you dance in the rain with me?

J:  Yes.

I was already a half-hour late for work when O posed this question to me one morning.  Without hesitation, I said, "yes."

We danced and laughed together in the gentle rain for a few minutes, and then I left for work.  I didn't care that I was late anymore.  I didn't care that traffic was a little bit heavier now.  I didn't care that my dress shoes were a little (or maybe a lot) wet.

I had danced with my daughter in the rain.

Birthday Cake: A Sunday Guest Blog

O:  I want to have the first taste so it won't taste yuck!

This is O and P's Dad. No, I haven't hijacked Not Sure How Today Ends, but rather this is a guest post in honor of Kate's birthday next week.

Since Kate was rehearsing and performing all day Saturday, I had the chance to conspire with my children to come up with the perfect birthday celebration. P thinks we should celebrate by eating bananas all day. O thinks we need fancy decorations and round balloons. The long skinny balloons that we actually have in the house have not been deemed to carry the appropriate celebratory weight. I think as long as we celebrate together as a family, Kate will be happy.

So, here's the compromise we arranged. O and P made birthday cards and once P went to bed, O and I baked a cake. It is not a fancy cake. It came from a box. But it was a box that O selected at the market, and it was easy enough that an almost-four-year-old, and a baking-challenged father, could complete with relative success in the hour before bedtime. Fortunately, we had strawberries in the refrigerator. I didn't realize frosting wasn't included in the box so I had to  convince O that cut strawberries mixed with sugar make a sweet, syrupy topping that is WAAAAAY better than frosting. Come to think of it, maybe it really is.

Where the $%@# is the frosting? Come on, it's shown on the box!

Anyway, happy birthday, Kate! You are loved.

Wanted: Infinitely Patient, Brillant Scientist

O: Why does our skin move? Why don't our bellies have any bones? What's the ooey stuff between my hair and my head? Why is a dragon not a dinosaur? Why am I not a dragon? Why does bread get hard when you leave it out? Why? Mom? Moooom? Mom?

O: I got a smart thinkin' brain.

Wanted: an infinitely patient, brilliant scientist, preferably with a weird sense of humor and a background in earth science, biology, paleontology, evolution, and mythology.  Needs to love children and answering questions.  

Why am I worried that this is some kind of upside-down flag, anarchy symbol that means Jim and I should be very afraid?

I'm no dummy. I love science. I studied botany and physics in college (and political science, and linguistics, and psychology, but that is a conversation for another day). 

I'm doing my best.  Drawing on everything that I can remember,  I am trying to take each query honestly and answer it genuinely.

K: Our skin moves, because we move and it needs to be flexible so that it will move with us. There are no bones in our bellies because that soft tissue is where a lot of our organs are and they expand depending on what they are doing and bones would get in the way of their function. I have no idea what the ooey stuff between your hair and your head is, but we are definitely washing your hair tonight. A dragon is not a dinosaur because dragons are mythical beasts and dinosaurs are archeological fact that we can observe in the fossil record. You are not a dragon because you were born of human parents, and for that I apologize, because it is almost entirely my fault. Bread gets hard when you leave it out because the moisture in the bread evaporates into the atmosphere and it becomes, what we call, stale.  

Oh, no.  Next, P is going to start asking me questions about trees.  

But, apparently, it is not enough.  So if you know anyone who meets the above description and works cheap, please, send them my way.  

O: Why does the sky turn orangy pinky when the sun sets?

K: Because, well, light refracts at different angles and then, well. Why don't you ask Daddy?

I would also settle for a very talented creative writing major, who could tell her beautiful, artistic and complex lies, but watch out, the kid knows when you're reaching.  She's got a smart thinkin' brain.