Sunday Mornin'

... the smell of bacon coming from the kitchen and the sound of Mammacita and Sister Baby having a pleasantly animated conversation. Brother Man is still asleep and probably will be till around noon time ...

It feels like complete happiness. I am recording it so, someday in the future when happiness seems hopelessly elusive I can remember how very simple it is.

DUDE & FOOD ...

So …

The other night I got up in the middle to make one of my infrequent raids on the old fridge …okay, so their fairly frequent but I usually just window shop these days. HONESTLY ... I get up, open the door look around for goodies and then end up getting a glass of water and going back to bed. But on this particular night I had more sinister intentions – you see, Shemetra had brought home a nice 2 liter bottle of orange soda … it was for Jared (DaddyO gets diet Coke ONLY). It’s 2:30 in the morning – not a creature stirring. I make my move. My side of the bed is against the wall so getting out requires some agility (so as not to disturb Mrs. O) and some fortitude (just in case I do). Success … and from there it is a short tip-toe to the fridge and the frothy orange deliciousness. But, alas, I open the door and there … where it should be … is the two liter bottle. But it is nearly completely EMPTY … I’m sayin’ the thing has about half a thimbleful of orange soda in the very bottom of it. “Who the … what the … why would anybody …”

Rage, despair, bewilderment …

... and then a shudder of realization. My son is no longer my little boy, no longer the kid he used to be. He is now a DUDE … a fledging, a young-blood but a dude nonetheless. Only a DUDE would drink all except the last fifth of an ounce of soda so he wouldn’t have to dispose of the bottle.

Well, it’s been a long time since I co-habited with another DUDE so I thought it might be worth my while to remind myself what that was like so I can prepare myself for what’s in store. DUDE just turned fourteen so, the way I see it, I have four more years before I kick him out … I mean, send him out … into the world. Couple of DUDE stories for those of you who haven’t had the privilege of encountering one in its natural habitat.

When Shemetra and I were dating, she made me this gorgeous chocolate birthday cake. It was the most amazing cake I had ever seen … chocolate with shaved pieces of Hershey bar and little silver sugar candies on top. It was divine – when she gave it to me I just knew THAT girl loved her some ME. Next day, one of my roommates stayed home from work because he had a cold. Later that day, he called me at work, “Uh, VanO, I was wondering if I could have some of your cake.” I should have known better – I mean, this was a DUDE. I knew that the only consumables in the house were a half a box of four month old Grape Nuts, a can of tuna and my cake. But I gave in. “Sure, buddy. Have a piece.” Well, I got home that evening looking forward to my dinner of grape nut tuna casserole and chocolate cake for desert. When I lifted the bowl that had been covering my cake I witnessed a veritable miracle. Before that moment I would never have believed that a sliver of cake that thin could have remained upright. There it was, quivering on the plate, a piece of cake so thin you could see through it. I gasped, and the slight stir of air it caused knocked the piece of cake over and it disintegrated.

Rage, despair, bewilderment. “DUDE … seriously!?!”

Then there was the time (same apartment) when the other DUDES and I decided to have a bunch of fellas over to watch a football game. They all came in. At first I had them take of their shoes so as not to dirty the carpet, but when I realized that the room smelled of corn chips and there were no corn chips on the premises I had them all put their shoes back on. Someone had the grand idea of ordering pizza, which we would all throw in for. I ordered it … but as we were going around asking people to contribute, one DUDE had forty five cents; another had a bus token and a ticket stub, a third had an expired coupon for a different pizza shop … some had no money at all. Out of twenty DUDES I collected about six dollars … and the pizza was already ordered.

Rage, despair, bewilderment …

... but wait, that’s not the worst part. I coughed up the thirty five bucks needed to cover the balance of the meal and, just as the pizza was arriving, the phone rang. It was Shemetra … so I had to take that call, I mean the girl LOVED her some ME and I LOVED me some her. We talked for a few minutes. When I got off the phone – maybe twenty minutes later – every box of pizza, I mean EVERY SINGLE BOX was empty!!! All that was left were the grease spots on the bottom. “DUDES … seriously!!???!!!” I watched the football game while eating tuna and grape nuts.

There are many such stories, most of them ending with me hungry – ALL ending in rage, despair and bewilderment. And now that Jared is fourteen, I fear that the cycle may repeat itself. But, look on the bright side … I am older and wiser now. And yesterday I took three Devil-Dogs out of the box and hid them in strategic places throughout the house. So, if you will excuse me, I am going to have a snack. .........................

………………Well …no Devil Dogs!!! The DUDE strikes again …

.... rage … despair …bewilderment. “Jared … DUDE …seriously!!!???!

The Brother-Man / Sister-Baby Comedy Hour ...

Two jokes my kids recently told me:

From Bro'-Man:
Three men arrive at the Pearly Gates and are standing before St. Peter. "I am afraid that heaven is beginning to get very crowded," Peter said to the three. "We are now restricting entrance through these gates to those who died the worst possible deaths. The first man steps forward. "I suspected my girlfriend of seeing another man, so one day I paid her a surprise visit to her twenty-fifth floor apartment. Much to my dismay, I find a man hanging from her balcony. I was so filled with rage and despair that I took a hammer and began to beat on the fellows fingers until he loosed his grip. He fell to the ground but landed in a bush and was relatively unhurt. Well, I was still seeing red. I went back into the apartment grabbed the refrigerator and as the cad was brushing himself off I dropped the fridge on him crushing him to death. The stress of the whole thing was too much for me and I had a massive heart attack and died."

"That's pretty horrible," Peter said, "I guess you can come in."

The second man stepped forward. "I am a health conscious man, Peter," he began. "I was exercising on the balcony of my 26th floor apartment. I got a little carried away and before I new it, I had flipped over the rail. Somehow I managed to grab onto the rail of the balcony below mine but then all of a sudden this raging maniac hits me with a hammer. I fell, my life flashing before my eyes. Then another spot of luck -- I landed in this particularly soft shrub. Because of the bush and my fantastic physical condition I survived the fall with only minimal injuries. I was dusting myself off, looking up, counting my lucky stars when suddenly a refrigerator fell from the sky and that was the end of me!"


"Now that is the worse on I've heard all day," Peter said. "Dude, you are totally in!" Then, turning to the third fellow, Peter said, "I hope you have a good story."


"I do," said the third man. "You see, I was hiding in this refrigerator ...."


And this one is from Sister Baby:

"Why did the chicken cross the playground ..

...to get to the other slide!!

Ba-dum-BUM!!!

Daddy-OLD!

So ...

There's this commercial that comes on, usually during the evening news -- an advertisement for hair-restoral for balding men. Every time that commercial would come on Abby would look at the TV then look at me then look at the TV and then at me again and say, "Daddy you need that, huh?" Whereupon I would patiently explain the fact that Daddy is not bald, he just keeps his hair cut very close because that's the way that he likes it. It took weeks for her to get it -- every time we would see the commercial we would have the same conversation.

An then, a couple of nights ago, the commercial came on and Abby looked at the TV then looked at me and ... didn't say anything. Victory! But a few minutes later a commercial advertising hair dye for men came on. "Daddy, you would need that if you had some hair."

Yeah ... okay ... you got me, kid.

Mammacita, Brother-Man, Sister-Baby & Daddy-O

Nothing to say about this -- except that I love the picture. It is soooo US!

A Gender-Role Call ...

So ...

Mammacita and I have gotten into a Saturday morning groove. She and Sister-Baby get up and get out ... doing dance class, shopping etc. Brother-Man and I stay home and clean-up the house. And I am completely cool with it ... seriously. This is the 21st century and a dude is no less and dude if he does housework. Besides, it makes Mammacita happy and that's the number one rule of this house:

Happy Mammacita = Happy Hacienda!!

But today there was a disturbance to the normal copacetic flow of things, caused by a momentary surge of old-school chauvinism on my part. As Mammacita was leaving today, I said "Honey, are you going to Target today?"

"Yes."

"Would you mind picking me up a new pad for my dishwashing sponge -- I've worn the old one out."

I don't know how she replied because at that moment I thought to myself, "Dude ... what's going on here? You should be the one going out ... to the golf course or the bowling alley or the pool hall or something ... and she should be staying here cleaning the house! Oh, how the mighty have fallen!! What a world, what a world!!! DUDE ... Whiskey-Tango-Foxtrot!!!"

For a few minutes I was reeling ... asking myself who wears the apron and who wears the pants in Daddy-O's household? Then my brother called me ... just to relay some necessary logistical information which is why one dude calls another. In the midst of the conversation I felt it necessary to fess up and admit to my shameful lapse in machismo. I told him the whole sad story. I was hoping for some word of wisdom to get me through my current crisis.

"Dude," said my brother (who is a black-belt martial arts instructing city COP), "I spent the morning reorganizing the kitchen cabinets and I'm on my way to the girls' ballet practice. Here's what you need to do: Take your shirt off and go stand in front of your house. Burp, spit, fart, scratch your crotch and get it all out of your system. Then go back in and finish folding the laundry."

Wise man, my brother ... I could go on and on about him but I gotta run now. The pot roast is almost ready!

Brother Man: On the MOVE, Yo ...

Gotta give both bambinos equal time and Brother Man is down two entries to none ...

I am so proud of Jared and the way he has really come on academically ... He is really embracing the challenges I gave him as school started this year and I honestly believe he is doing his best. He is a remarkable boy ... quiet, deep-thinking and very intelligent (takes after his mother in that way). I am sometimes too hard on him but evne then his attitude seems to be, "C'mon ... bring it ... need more of this."

Dude is getting big too -- but he is a gentle giant. Once I was teasing him in his room, trying to start a play-fight with him ... you know, popping him in his head a stuff. "C'mon, chump. Whatcha got, whatcha got?" "I can't hit you, Dad -- you're old."

Well, I shoulda listened but didn't and persisted in my teasing. "I give you permission to do your best. C'mon chump, whatcha got, whatcha ---"

Thus released from any liability, Brother Man pushed his old dad ... not as hard as he could but hard enough to send me hurtling shoulder first against the hallway wall. Hurt so bad I wanted to cry. "Good one, Homes," I said holding my shoulder. "Now ... uh, clean up this room." Whereupon I retreated to the bathroom to wince and cry and find the Ibuprofen and the Ben Gay.

Strong Boy. Smart Boy. My Boy!!!

Our House (in the middle of our street)

Here's a recent picture of the Miles Street gang (my beautiful family). There's:

Abigail Alexia Owens -as- Sister Baby

Shemetra Epps-Owens -as- Mammacita

Jared Nathaniel Owens -as- Brother Man

and

Your's Truly -as- DaddyO {the sunglasses are no mere affectation ... I need 'em for the sun!}

Now you have faces to attach to the names and aliases. Don't we just look so Huxtable-ish!

Lyrics (fortunately) MisHeard ...

So ...

Shemetra, Sister-Baby and me are channel surfing and we come across the 2008 VMA Awards and Katy Perry comes one singing Madonna's "Like a Virgin." Well, before we could switch the channel ... and much to Dad's consternation ... Abby picks up the chorus and starts singing along.

Thank goodness she misheard ...

"Like a surgeon --- Woooo! --- Cuts for the very first time. Like a sur-ur-ur-ur geon ..."

So, if one day Chica becomes a world-renown cardiologist and wins the Nobel prize for curing heart-disease, in her acceptance speech she'll have to give a shout-out to MADONNA!

Abby's Letters

That's Abigail Alexia Owens ... my five year old daughter.

When we moved into the condo, one of the very first things we did was put magnetic letters on the refrigerator. We figured that it would help Abby to start recognizing letters and encourage her to start reading ... and it has. But there's also been an unexpected development.

Abby has constructed a whole world for these letters. They have each become (or are in the process of becoming) individual characters, and with them she acts out all kinds of extravagant adventures. They sometimes act out things that go on in her own life -- like the episode where the character Sweetie -- who is portrayed by the lower case "k" -- had to confront her dad about throwing away her important things (earlier that day I had thrown away some old, and I thought, unimportant magazines she had stored in the corner of her bedroom). Sometimes the stories are pretty wild and adventurous ... I've often found on the floor letters who have perished in the pursuit of some wild adventure or another.

When I ask Abby to let me in on what transpires in letter world she usually takes exception. Apparently she doesn't know what they're going to do or say until they say it. I've thought about sneaking up on her and recording the whole thing, but it just seemed like an untoward invasion of her privacy (and theirs!). Sweetie and company made an exception to their strict confidentiality policy and allowed me to take this here photograph.

The saga continues even as I type ... and from the sound of things, there will be some dead letters on the kitchen floor this afternoon.

Who knows ... maybe this is how Harper Lee or JK Rowling got started!