Sunday, November 10, 2013

Daddy's Assistant

   I am coaching an ultimate frisbee team at the high school where I teach. Wyatt came to practice one day and caught on pretty quick:

"My daddy's so awesome, he wears a cape when he coaches!! Also what's up with my tongue?!"

"I can coach everyone from up here!!"

"Ooooh. Daddy gets serious when things aren't going well. He's so intimidating."
"I can do this too!! Go over there!! You're awful!!"
   The kid's a natural. At everything he does, btw. Like, the other day I was all "Hey Wyatt, hand me that pillow!!" and instinctively, he just knew that I wanted him to kick me. He's probably the smartest kid in all of Eugene Oregon 97408.

My mood: disgruntled, like every good coach is
Wyatt's mood: gotta get those kids running drills!
Listening to: Pumped up kicks

Friday, November 8, 2013

Today, I Spell "Redemption" T-R-U-C-K

Look at the little guy, just hanging out, chillin, in the back of a truck. Like he was meant to be there all along.

   You remember the manlyvan, right? It was the nadir of my existence. When I from being a cool, independent, strong you man who could easily be believed to own a motorcycle, and turned into a guy with a car that his high school students point and laugh at. No, that actually happened once.
   Never again!! No more!! For I, Grant, have a truck.

Look! Hauling garbage cans AND strollers, just like any manly dad would. Which I am. Obvs.

   What kind of truck, you ask? Gosh, I don't know, I don't know stuff about trucks or cars or machines. It's a Chevy 1990-something 1500? Quad Cab? 12 Liters? Those are all things, right? The point is, look at that bed. As you can see, it's already being used to haul garbage, strollers, yard debris, probably some bear meat too... It would have gone hunting with me if I hadn't gotten incredibly, absurdly sick. Like, go-see-the-doctor, temperature-of-104.8 KDUK, nurse-literally-yells-"Holy crap!!"-when-she-sees-the-thermometer sick. I've taken three - three! - trips to the dump since getting this slab of iron on wheels. You can tell that I am a man who was in need of a truck.
   You might recall that I've taken the manlyvan to the dump. And was summarily judged by everyone there. Not this time!! Well, I was judged, but not for having a minivan. I was judged because A) my truck squeaks incessently (I think it has mice... that only squeak when the engine is running because they are all scared), and B) I only had $6 cash on me, and the dump costs $7, so I was the guy in the squeaky truck with a kid in the passenger seat trying to bum $1 off other people in line. This is still better than being judged for driving a minivan.

   Here's the most important part. Wyatt, also a man, loves trucks. Every time he sees it he says his word for "truck" which I cannot type here for fear of getting fired. When he's in the truck, driving, he's super happy. When he's in the back of the truck, playing, he's beyond super happy. Why did we ever get the manlyvan in the first place?

So much space!!

He sure loves that little flower pinwheel thing.

Remember when the sun was out? This was taken just a couple weeks ago...

   I, Grant, MAN, have a rusty beat up old pickup truck. The battery is about dead on it. It squeaks when it drives. The dome lights don't turn on. The back, driver's side window can't latch. It barely fits in my garage (we're talking about 4 inches of space). Much like Zoolander, it cannot turn left. One of those previous things is not true. I could not be happier.
   Yes I could. The Ducks could've beaten Stanford.

   My mood: proud to be king of the nerds
   Wy's mood: loves the adventures in the truck!!
   Listening to: that "Like a rock!!" song. You know the one.

Saturday, November 2, 2013

"This Reminds Me Of An Episode Of Curious George..."

Cara painted that picture of The Curious Monkey from looking at a picture online. Pretty impressive, you ask me.
I picked out that shirt after looking at the shirts in my closet and thinking "Am I leaving my house today? No." Equally impressive, you ask me.

   There are six seasons and sixty episodes of the cartoon Curios George on Netflix. Now, if you were Wyatt, you'd probably be okay with four episodes playing on repeat until the end of time. For Cara and I, it's nice to have some variety. George is an absolutely wonderful show. It's clever and lighthearted, has great music and very enjoyable voice acting. I will never complain about having to watch so much George, when purple dinosaurs and annoying French kids are the alternatives.

   But Cara and I were at a dinner party with two other couples. (I know!! A dinner party!? We never get invited to those, even before we had Wyatt! Truth be told we weren't invited to this one either, but we knew what time it was and where it was, so we went for it. They actual invited guests and hosts were so happy to have us, and there was almost enough food for everyone after I ate half the lasagna!! I love lasagna.) At this DP, as the kids are calling them, a story came up that reminded me of something in my life that happened recently. I started to tell the story, then realized I was just giving the plot and events to an episode of Curious George.

   "Oh, man, that's just like that time The Man In The Banana Suit needed to run down to the museum and told George not to play with the muffins but he did anyways and then everything was awful but in the end it all worked out okay and we all laughed!!" That's literally a description of what basically took place. I was so embarassed. I was mortified. Has all of my life experience in the last 6 months really just been a cartoon monkey and a fence I had to stain? There are no interesting stories about staining a fence.

Little guy is a little snotty. Also, I'm there again!!
   This same thing happened in class yesterday. I was teaching my adorable little freshman some adorable little math, and thought "This is exactly what The Man In Those Coats You See People Wearing On Fishing Boats At Sea was telling George a couple of days ago," and then I proceeded to explain the whole episode to my classes. Two periods of this nonsense. I will never be the cool teacher.

   When I was young, my mom would sometimes tell me "Grant, if you aren't doing anything, you wont have anything to talk about with friends." She was telling me this because I didn't have friends and knew that I wasn't able to talk to anyone about anything that wasn't the latest episode of Dragon Ball Z. Well, after a few successful years of doing things and making friends, I am back to sitting at home, watching cartoons, and having nothing to say at DPs. It's middle school all over again.

   Luckily, I love cartoons.

My mood: curious
Wyatt's mood: sick and sleepy
Listening to: Neon Trees