Saturday, September 15, 2012

Howlin' baby blues....

Have you ever sat in the back seat of an old, beat up Chevrolet Chevette for 8 hours down the 5 freeway as you are assaulted by the heat and humidity?  When you try to remove yourself from the vinyl seats, you find that you are stuck to it like a human colorform.  You scream a bit as you peel yourself off of that ancient vinyl and for the rest of the day you feel like a soggy potato chip.  It takes a special type of temperature to achieve that type of memorable joy that I am speaking of.  It takes the heat that we are having in Southern California right now.
        I am risking electrical shock by writing this in the bathtub that I have filled with ice and blue Gatorade (blue is a flavor, by the way!  Also, if you do attempt to emulate me, do not drink the Gatorade you are soaking in.), but that's the type of risk I am willing to take to stay cool.  I know I could write with a pen, but all of my ink pens have evaporated and become some sort of sentient poisonous vapor cloud that is wandering the house, cursing at the fact that we don't have air conditioning.  The kitchen is sealed off for this reason.
     Chunky fellows such as myself do not function well in the heat.  You could be wearing baggy M.C. Hammer parachute pants and your deviled ham like thighs would still rub together.  You find yourself encrusted in talcum powder like a sumo wrestler.  It's bad for me in the heat, but it is far worse for my toddler.  She is recovering from tonsil surgery so the humidity turns her poor throat into a desert wasteland of exodus proportions.
     As I went to work yesterday, my wife was blessed with my daughter's pleasant company the entire day.  Did I say pleasant...I meant to say maddening.  As parents, we have endless compassion and patience.  Endless in the same way that the "Never Ending Story" never ends.  The story ends.  And somebody is usually limping away into the shadows (Usually me, while the baby sits in the arm chair, victorious and smug.)  By the time I arrived home, my wife's nerves were obliterated, but the baby was finally relaxed and calm, albeit in a hair trigger hand grenade type fashion.  It's amazing that a mother can work for hours to calm a child, but a goofy father can destroy all that work in a matter of seconds.  I just come in and make a funny face..."Hi baby!".  Suddenly the cuddly calm baby is gone and she is transformed into Joe Pesci.  "You think I'm some sort of toddler?  Do I amuse you with my girlish giggles and cherub like smile?  You asked for it, pal!" Then she starts screeching like a barn owl on fire.  It gets to the point where my wife just yells, "Go...just go."
    So I spent the rest of the day in the kitchen with the poison cloud.  He's not that bad of a guy, his name's Tim and he likes show tunes and misses the original Law and Order. 

Sunday, September 9, 2012

Higher and lower education.

      Years ago there was a great documentary about the need of higher education.  In this landmark film, an older man was inspired to join his son in advancing his education and returned to school.  The man struggled at first, had an affair with one of his instructors and eventually excelled, leading his school's swim team to victory.  That movie was the legendary "Back to School" starring Rodney Dangerfield.  Oh yeah, a really young Tony Stark too!  Okay, it wasn't a documentary, but the movie did teach us about the importance of education, sort of.  Well, no.  No it didn't.  It was funny and had a party scene featuring Oingo Boingo playing "Dead Man's Party", so go watch it.  Last Thursday was the 14 year old's Back to School night.  Normally I hear of such functions, run into the woods and hide in an abandoned cabin like a zombie plague survivor in "Night of the Living Dead".  Being her first High School back to school night, it was somewhat important.  That, and my wife threatened to bludgeon me to death with my own shoes if I didn't go with her.
      What you need to understand is that school functions, especially those with parent/teacher interaction are sort of like tag team wrestling matches.  You cannot participate on your own.  You need your partner to jump in and help you.  In wrestling, there is always a dichotomy between the team mates that make them interesting.  You have the brawler and the strategist, the crazy person and the quiet person, the guys dressed like bees, the guys dressed like road warriors (Not Mel Gibson, although I would love to see his crazy ass wrestle...though you'd have to spend a lot of money boozing him up first.) among other archetypes.  With my wife and I, you have Mercedes the Merciless and Ryan the guy who really, really didn't want to be there in the first place.  Once we arrive at the School, my wife immediately put on her game face.  It's a big smile and eyes like a hawk.  Despite the fact that my wife wears glasses, she has the uncanny ability to spot any errors that anyone makes.  It's quite amerzing.  See, she's going to spot that typo and mock me for it.  The second we walk on the school grounds, the baby decides that running around and screaming like she's on fire is the best plan of action.  She is drawn to the many flights of stairs that dot the school's landscape.  Some stairs are just there and serve no function.  It's like a freaking M.C. Escher painting.

Pictured:  Michelea's High School

Of course, Babies running up and down stairs is just a brilliant idea, so I let her go.  She's tough.  Like a slinky, she'll just bounce up and down the steps.  And like said slinky, she'll never move again. (I always had bad luck with slinkys.  I felt like they only worked once and that was that.)  So, I chase her around while Mercy deals with the school.  After realizing that her first teacher is pretty hands off and about ready to cash her pension check, Mercy's not to pleased with the way this night is shaping up.  We go to the next class and then the next and suddenly...tag!  It's my turn to go back to the second class and sign the sheet.  Of course my mini-toddler partner had no intention to allow me to quietly sneak into the room, so she wails and wails, while going limp and forcing me to drag her to the sign up sheet.  

Next, the toddler and I ran to the field where we watched some people playing handball.  The ball rolled to Luna and she refused to give it up, shouting..."Run, Run!" when the people asked for their ball back.  This was followed by a kite crashing down next to us and Luna proclaiming "Get it! Get it!"  So, I stole it away from a crying 5 year old.  Let her parents deal with their kid's tears, I had my hands full.  Other than becoming the proud new owners of a Tinkerbell kite, one good thing that came from the night was that we learned Michelea is doing great in High School.  See, constant floggings do work.  I'm just kidding, the floggings are now semi-regular. 

Saturday, September 8, 2012

Surgical Success

Things in the House of Castro-Miller have been nutty of late.  We've been busier than beavers jacked up on red bull.  I am not sure how the beavers in this example came into possession of said red bull energy elixir.   I imagine it involves a shipment of the magic pixie drink falling out of a truck on its way to the local 7-11 and landing in a nearby creek where beavers, mistaking the cans for logs gnaw into them and are imbued with fantastic energy powers.  Then their little beaver hearts explode in their little beaver chests.  What a sad, story.  For some happy, clappy news, Luna's tonsillectomy surgery was a success.  Part of the business that I referred to before becoming sidetracked by my tragic woodland creature story was that Luna's tonsils and adenoids had become very large and posed a potential problem.  By the way, I had no idea what an adenoid really was before all of this.  I always just assumed it was that annoying red guy from those old dominoes pizza commercials

Wait....they gave him his own NES video game?  What the hell?  

Anyway, an adenoid has nothing to do with delicious (Or disgusting) dominoes pizza.  It is actually a lumpy mass of spongy tissue that sits in the back of the nasal cavity and helps protect from infection. 


It kinda looks like a little wad of gum...or Krang the brain from the Ninja Turtles.


 So, unlike the Noid whose pizza stealing ways make him a harmful menace, the adenoid is helpful....most of the time.  In Luna's case, the tonsils and adenoids both became inflamed...so out they came.  I have to admit that it is creepy anytime anyone in your family needs surgery, it's creepier when it is your itty bitty baby.  
Despite the case of the worry wart itus that we all suffered from, all is well.  So, to cut this one short, we are very thankful to everyone who helped us (Grandma Cathy, Grandpa Diego, The Jarmans, Grandma and Grandpa up North and everyone who had the baby in their thoughts and prayers.) and to the great doctors at Kaiser. (Except for that one doctor who barged in the hospital room while Luna was asleep and insisted on waking her up to check her vitals.  I am just happy that Mercy didn't punch her....although in the hospital, any fighting wounds would be tended to quickly.)   More details and madness next time!