Uh-Oh SpaghettiO's

Authors Note:  The following is a copy of an e-mail sent to Campbell’s Soup on 2/10/2011.  I hope to get a response back, and I’ll post it when I do.

Dear Campbell's Soup,

Just yesterday, I opened a can of Alphabet SpaghettiOs for my eldest son to eat.  When I saw the label claiming 'All Letters A to Z', I had to admit that I was very skeptical.  Being experts in the alphabet, as no doubt you are, I'm sure you understand the lonely plight of the letter 'Q'.  This poor, misunderstood consonant has silently suffered years of abuse and neglect from not just the local public but nearly the entire world.

For example, did you know that 'Q' is the only letter in the alphabet that doesn't appear in the name of any of the United States?  And though it's not the only one, 'Q' has been intentionally excluded from the list as a possible first letter in any Hurricane Name.  Worse than that, this meek, unassuming letter has been entirely banned in the country of Turkey under article 222 of the Turkish penal code.  Apparently it's just not "Turkish" enough!

Since Q is usually buffered from contact with other letters by U, it's been said that “the letter Q is a useless, co-dependent letter that is utterly incapable of doing anything on its own.”  That's why I'm so happy to see that your company has chosen to take a stand and not discriminate against it!  When I saw 'Q' lying on a pile of SpaghettiOs atop my son's spoon, I was overjoyed.

Though everyone is quick to judge Q for its seeming lazy attitude, I ask you, where would James Bond be without his master of gadgets, Q?  What kind of heathens would our children grow up to be if we couldn't tell them to mind their Ps and Qs?  How would NASA know the maximum point of aerodynamic stress on a spacecraft in atmospheric flight if they couldn't calculate the Max Q?

With bold steps, like your company has taken, we may someday live in a society that no longer rejects letters based on their infrequency of use.  If more industry leaders would step forward and follow your lead, and if we could get Gottlieb to re-release the arcade game Q-bert, we could very possibly correct the unjust treatment of this gentle letter.

Thank you for all you've done to advance this worthy cause.  And, by the way, the SpaghettiOs were delicious.

Sincerely,

Michael Thomas

You can read there response here.

Beware The Teen

This past weekend, we enjoyed getting to spend some time with our nephew and niece from Northwest Arkansas.  Dexter and Alex stayed with us from Thursday to Sunday evening, much to the delight of our own children.  Our kids love their cousins and have never gotten to spend this much time with them, so we were all glad to have their company for a few days.

Now, that being said, our house is quite small, and when you go from three kids to five kids, it presents a bit of a challenge.  But beyond that, there are certain considerations that must be taken into account when you have a teen and pre-teen in the house.  They just don’t operate the same way as the little ones.

I’m not saying that they’re any harder to deal with, by any means.  Dexter, for example, is very easy to entertain if you are willing to give up your TV and gaming system.  Ever the scientific minded one, this young man religiously follows Newton’s First Law of Motion, which for our purposes states:  Every object in a state of rest (in front of the playstation) will remain at rest (in front of the playstation) unless acted upon by an outside force (like a baseball bat…or hunger pains).

This brings me to another point…food.  Did you know that the average teen/pre-teen, in a single day, can consume twice their body weight in chocolate chip or blueberry muffins?  I personally saw it happen and was amazed.  My wife looked at me on Sunday morning and said, “We’ve got to go to the store and get some more food, we’re out of stuff to fix.”  And so, on my way back through town that day I stopped at Wal-Mart and resupplied.  Upon reaching home, I brought the first bags of groceries in and went back to the truck for the others.  When I returned to the kitchen, Dex and Alex had annihilated the first load and were chewing on the empty plastic bags I had used to haul them in.  I admit that I may be exaggerating to an extent, but hold on to that mental picture because it’s not way too far off.

Though they share a penchant for ravenous appetites, pre-teen girls differ from teenage boys in most every other way.  You can’t just stick them down in front of the playstation and expect them to be content.  No, they often suffer from an affliction known as Chronic Boredom.  As you can imagine, this condition was only compounded by the fact that we’ve had such foul weather.  And in a house that has been dominated by boys for the last five years, there are just not a whole lot of ‘girly’ things around.  Thankfully we have many art supplies and she often contented herself to drawing pictures.  She’s very talented.  However, I began to notice that most drawings bore a frightening resemblance to the layout of our house, and more specifically ways that a person could escape our house and get out into the world at large.  Good thing her mother picked her up on Sunday.

Overall, we had a lot of fun with them.  We managed to pull a lot of board games out of the closet and dust them off, and though no one was keeping track, I don’t think Alex won a single time.  Still, a good time was had by all, and they were missed when they left.

New Exercise Program

I am somewhat new to the exercise scene.  In my younger days, I was so physically active that I never worried about staying fit, it just happened.  But life has a way of pushing you toward a sedentary existence, and as a result, my waistline has expanded far beyond where it should be.  I find that I now need someone to explicitly tell me the details of how and when I should be working out, and let me tell you, there’s no end of fitness guru’s willing to step up and take that position.

When I bothered to start listening, I heard about all these cool exercise programs with mysterious names.  P90X and C25K quickly funneled themselves to the top of my list, and I got excited about taking my future health into my own hands.  That feeling quickly wore off.

You see, I have a theory about people.  I think that when most people start a job, they are excited about going to work and think it’s because they want a career.  A little ways down the road, they figure out that they didn’t really want a career, they just wanted paychecks.  It’s very similar with exercise.  I don’t think people want to exercise because they like to exercise.  They exercise because they want to be thin.

With that goal in mind, I decided to try and make my own exercise program.  Like any good routine, I needed a cool name to go along with it.  Following the current trend, I made a random character generator and it gave me *22_ (That’s pronounced Splat Twenty-Two Underscore).  In retrospect, I realized my programming left out a few important limits, but decided to stick with it because it’s really unique.

The entire brunt of the Splat Twenty-Two Underscore workout is very simple.  You always walk to the mailbox.  That’s it.  It’s not complicated, it’s not complex.  Every day you walk to the mailbox.  Admittedly, those of you who live in the country and rent a P.O. Box are going to get a much bigger workout than those of us who get their mail at the curb, but that’s the way the low-fat cookie crumbles.

Now, here’s the catch, and I’m not even putting it in small print at the bottom of the page.  Like any exercise program, the real secret to the effectiveness lies in the diet.  The Splat Twenty-Two Underscore diet is as simple as the physical regimen.  Eat anything you want…but if it’s bad for you, you have to spit it out when you’re done chewing on it.  This, in part, is why I decided to keep the randomly generated name.  Splat is an accurate description of how your half-chewed food will sound as it rolls out of your mouth and hits the plate.  An added effect is that when one family member is on this unrestrictive diet, the rest of the family will probably tend to shed pounds due to a loss of appetite.  It’s a win-win situation for everyone!

As with most of my Blogging suggestions, I have no intention of giving this a whirl.  I’m sticking with C25K for the time being.  But, if anyone is crazy brave enough to give it a try, please let me know how it works out.  I’d love to get rich off this idea and quit worrying about a career.

All The World's A Toilet

Since the dawn of history, man has always been there to answer the call…the call of nature, that is.  I imagine that when our forefather Adam first felt that need to relieve himself, he found a nice big tree or hedge of bushes to get behind and take care of business.  I’m not real sure that’s exactly how it went because the Holy Scriptures didn’t see fit to give a lot of insight in this area.  Eve, on the other hand, probably just held it and complained about the severe lack of indoor plumbing.  We’ll most likely never know unless we get a chance to talk to them in Heaven some day.

But my point is, sometimes you’re out in nature and nowhere near a toilet when the urge strikes you.  That is why God invented trees and bushes and such.  It’s a lesson that has to be taught to your children at some point, and potty training sometimes forces this particular skill to be explored.  After all, it’s better to have them pee in the grass than in their underwear.  This is how my oldest son first learned that all the world is a toilet.

My father and I were at an air show some years back and had Griffin with us.  He was in the midst of potty training, and he let me know that it was time.  The problem:  there was no bathroom in sight.  I found a stand of bushes next to the Interstate and took him to it.  He was a little confused at first, but after he got started, he became enamored with the idea of using the bathroom outside.  Still to this day, he tries to dream up situations where he can’t make it to the bathroom in time and has to go in the great outdoors.

So, there’s part of me that shouldn’t really be surprised about what happened last Saturday.  Tamara and I were in the front yard, working on the flower beds.  The boys were alternating between helping us and playing.  They had been gone a while when I finally gave up on the liriope I was yanking at and went into the garage.  The vehicles had been backed out on to the driveway and by mere chance, my gaze fell across the young ones, crouched down and examining something by the back wheel of our Acadia.  “What’s that boys,” I called.  Griffin looked up at me and said, “I had to go poop.”

My mouth started working, but there was no sound coming out.  After a moment of chewing on air, I was able to focus on one single sentence, “Get in the house.”  Yes, my five…nearly six year old boy had stood in the front yard, yanked his shorts down, and dropped an impressive load on our grass.  I was mortified.  It’s not like we live in the country.  Saturday was a pretty day with lots of neighbors outdoors.  Yep, lots of people.

Once I got him inside and made sure he had cleaned up, I lectured him good and proper on why the front yard was not appropriate place to cop a squat.  Then came the fun part…telling mama.  Her reaction was no less glorious than what I expected.  There’s a certain measure of satisfaction watching someone else display the same look of horror you had on your face only a few moments before.  Griffin took it all in stride until we made it clear that he would be cleaning up the mess.  That may have been the turning point for him. 

Consequently, it was during this clean up time that the logistics of the whole situation began to work themselves out in my head.  “How did you manage to do it without getting any poop on you,” I asked.  “I stood,” he replied.  A cursory inspection of his shirt and shorts proved out that he did NOT, in fact, manage to poop without getting any on him.  “Get back in the house and take your clothes off, you’ve got it all over you,” I told him.

In retrospect, the situation could have been a lot worse.  Not quite sure how at this moment, but I suppose there’s a way.  I do believe we’ve worked out an understanding, though, so I think we’ll avoid future repeats.  At the risk of a totally awful pun, I guess you could say the problem is behind us.

Spinalectomy

It’s a little less than two months until Griffin’s sixth birthday, so we still have quite a ways to go before he finishes high school, college, medical school, and then gets married.  Still, I have this growing sense of dread about when he and his wife have their first child, because I know it will be time for Tamara and me to get our spinalectomy done.  This is apparently a process that every new grandparent undergoes in which the spinal column is removed so that the individual loses all ability to say ‘No’ to their grandchildren.

I had back surgery last year, and it was an unpleasant experience.  But I’m pretty sure this isn’t the same type of surgery.  I don’t recall my parents ever going into the hospital for it, yet the mountain of evidence is undeniable.  No request from the grandchildren is too large for them.  For instance,

My Boys: Pa, will you take us on a ride across the frozen tundra? 

My dad: Sure, Just let me go get the tractor warmed up!

Another example, 

Griffin: I want to sleep at your house.

Mammy: I’m sorry honey, you have school tomorrow.

Griffin (turning on the tears): But I just want to sleep at your house.

Mammy (to me): Let him spend the night.  I’ll take him to school tomorrow.

Maybe it’s not that they can’t say ‘No’, they just make it a personal challenge to never actually do it.  And I must admit that being at the grandparent’s house has a positive effect on them.  For some reason they will do things there that they won’t even attempt at home (like using the potty, eating grilled cheese sandwiches, etc.).

But if you think grandparents are peculiar in their ability to avoid the N-word, you haven’t seen anything yet.  I’m talking about Great-Grandparents here.  The other night, my grandmother watched the boys while we met with Griffin’s Kindergarten teacher.  When we made it back to her house, we saw the two kids playing outside in their long-sleeve shirts.  Upon going inside, we asked why they didn’t have their coats on.  Her answer was, “Well, they wanted to go outside, and they haven’t been out there very long.”  Then she proceeded to tell us, “They were hungry so I gave them a popsicle and some cookies.”  Why did she give them junk food?  Because that’s what they wanted.

I don’t know what process they go through that turns an adult from a responsible authoritarian into a weak-kneed grandparent, but it seems to be an almost universal rule of nature.  And I wouldn’t have it any other way…okay, maybe with a little less sweets right before bedtime, but other than that…

My Weim

We have a grey beast that lives in our home.  Piper is a Weimaraner and has been a part of our life for the better part of 11 years.  She’s getting pretty old now and not quite up to all the antics that a young pup puts their owners through.

One of my favorite stories about her comes from the time we lived in Maryland.  We had a townhouse that backed up to an 80-acre nature preserve.  We’d often take her for walks down to the Little Patuxent River where she’d swim and play in the water.  One of the easiest routes to this canine playground was down a repurposed railway.  The train tracks had been removed and a hiking path was put in their place.  On this occasion, we spent about half an hour throwing sticks in the river and watching her retrieve them before deciding it was time to make our way home.  We had climbed back up the steep bank and got on the old ‘rail-trail’ for our return, when a bird caught our young pup’s attention.  Quick as a flash she turned toward the river and shot off after it.  We yelled for her to stop, but in her youthful exuberance, she ignored our calls.  Coming to the end of the trail, her way onward was blocked by a small stand of bushes covered in honeysuckle.  Like a gazelle, she gracefully bounded over them…and into thin air.  You see, she had reached the riverbank, and more specifically the place that the railroad trestle used to be.  I ran back down the path that led to the river, expecting to jump in and swim out to where my dog’s broken body lay on the rocks below.  But when I got there, I saw a little grey head poking out of the water, and swimming around the bend, sneezing water out of her nose.

With a canine that’s this accident prone, it’s always important to have the number of a good Vet in your phone list.  In moving back to Arkansas, we struggled with finding a place that fit our needs.  Sure, the staff was knowledgeable, but it seemed you could never go and get something done without dropping more than $100, no matter how simple it was.  I started to get the same feeling that I did when taking our car to Jiffy Lube.  You go in for a simple procedure, like an oil change, but when you reach the other end, they’ve found all these problems that ‘need’ to be fixed.  One of the last straws came when we spent thousands of dollars on some mysterious problem that they never identified or fixed.

You can imagine our excitement when we heard about Cornerstone Veterinary Clinic going in.  We immediately made an appointment to have a lot of stuff done that we had been putting off (teeth cleaning, shots, nail clipping, etc.).  Among other things, I found that their location is extremely convenient; I was able to drop her off before work and pick her up afterwards without having to drive all the way across town.  

The entire staff was pleasant and friendly.  Dr. Coston was extremely personable and did a good job with our old dog.  He had taken before-and-after pictures to show me the extent of what they performed on her.  The best surprise is when it came time to pay.  I had expected to clear $400 on this one visit (we had a whole lot done), but it wasn’t even close to that.  We took our vet bill home and compared it, procedure-for-procedure, to another vet bill we had from a previous facility.  There was a stark difference in pricing.

Finally, we’ve found the vet we’ve been looking for!  If you live in the South Sebastian County area of Arkansas and are looking for a vet, take your beast to Cornerstone Veterinary Clinic.  I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.

An End

Author's Note:  As a result of a recent health screening, it's been brought to my attention that some life changes are in order.  This is a copy of a letter I sent to Dr. Pepper, in an attempt to make a clean break from a long-standing habit.  Hope you enjoy.

Dear Dr. Pepper,

I’m writing you this letter because I think its best we not meet in person anymore.  I've been doing a lot of thinking about where my life is headed and who will take this journey with me.  I want you to know that I’ve not reached this decision lightly.  I've talked to a lot of people who have helped me understand that it’s time for you and me to see others.

It tears me up inside to think of the years we’ve spent together and how it feels like I’m throwing that all away.  At 20 fluid ounces a workday, for the last five years, we’ve had more than 195 gallons of quality time together.  And that’s not even taking into account the ten years previous where we had a more casual relationship.

I need you to understand that it’s nothing wrong that you’ve done.  This is my fault.  Maybe if I had a little more self-control, we could still be close friends, but as it is, I need space and time to just settle on who I can become.

I know that without you, I’ll be less of a person.  I’m hoping by at least 10 pounds.  I’ll not easily forget the sharp, bubbly flavor of the time we spent just chillin’ at my desk.  Because of you, the number 23 will always hold a special place in my heart.  Not only is it a beautiful prime number, but it reminds me of the mysterious 23 flavors that you contain.

Please remember that I’m not doing this out of malice.  I’ll still proudly wear my Dr. Pepper hat when I work out at the gym, and throw my Dr. Pepper football with the boys.  I’m not ashamed of you in any way, and I hope you can find it in your heart one day to forgive me for ending our relationship so suddenly.

I wish you the best,

Michael