The TV Hierarchy

Laying on the couch with a severe case of Man Cold for past few days, I've watched a lot of television. Most of it classic, awesome movies like Die Hard With a Vengeance, Field of Dreams, and Midnight Run. There is no better way to sweat out a bad case of Man Cold than by channeling the testosterone and coolness of the likes of Bruce Willis, James Earl Jones, and Robert DeNiro.

Watching all of that television inspired me to unveil this list, the undisputed rankings of what takes precedence on the television in our house. It is the result of years of negotiations. Now despite its length and detail, you'd think we watch a lot of television. Fear not. We watch just enough. You will notice it is very top-heavy in my favor. That is because I am willing to sacrifice what's on the television for a majority of the year, just to have complete authority when it counts. So without further ado, here is what rules the tube in the DKL house:

1. Pro football: For the sermon at our wedding, the pastor asked me and My Director to write about why we love each other. Neither of us was allowed to know what the other wrote until we heard the sermon. One of the things I wrote was, "Because she understands Sundays are for football." The pastor made sure to interject that Sundays are for church too. Well played, padre. Entire weekends are planned around me getting to sit on the couch for six hours and watch nothing but football. Or the Jets, who occasionally resemble football.

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Six Crucial Rules for Grocery Shopping

For me, it's a weekly chore. Maybe for you it's more often than that. If so, God bless you. I'm talking about grocery shopping. Or, as I like to call it, "food shopping." Since I do the cooking in our house, I also do the food shopping. And I do it solo. Over the years, I have perfected my system. And I am here to make your supermarket experience easier. Coincidentally, in doing so, I make my shopping experience more pleasant. Isn't it nice how that works?

The holidays just add more complications and obstacles to this necessary but annoying endeavor. Rookies and neophytes who don't know where anything is, looking for obscure ingredients for random recipes, clogging your aisles with unexpected mayhem. But it doesn't have to be this way. So as we all descend on the grocery stores in the weeks leading up to Christmas, there are certain rules to follow to ensure everyone stays sane. (Relatively speaking, of course.)

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The Junk in My Trunk

My phone rang on an otherwise routine Tuesday. As they once joked on Seinfeld, Tuesdays have no feeling. But that was all about to change drastically. On the other line, My Director hit me smack in the face with a pungent problem:

"The car smells really bad. Are you sure you cleaned all of the milk that spilled?"

When I came home from grocery shopping on Sunday, I opened the trunk only to find a grocery bag filled with milk. The plastic gallon jug had cracked open somehow. I performed what I thought was a thorough cleaning. Apparently not.

"I think I know what happened. I probably missed some of the milk that got into the crevices of the molding." 

"Can you COME HOME EARLY to clean it?" (Mind you, she's home.) 

"Are you serious?" (When did I become Mr. Belevdere?) 

"It smells really bad. Peanut says it smells like garbage. And it really does."

I was later informed that upon pickup from camp, the swagger wagon smelled so bad that Peanut actually cried when she got back into the car. Regardless, I arrived home at normal time. After getting dinner started (Reminder: I'm a catch, ladies), I checked out the car. This is what I found:

Quoting Shawshank:
"Smelling Foulness That I Can't Even Imagine."

This is why doctors don't like to make a diagnosis over the phone. Because once I saw it for myself, I could see and smell that my initial assessment was WAY off. The milk had seeped under all of the beach chairs and toys I had stored back there for summer. (You see, I always like to be prepared in case a spontaneous beach emergency pops up. Who needs to waste time carrying all of that stuff fifteen feet from the garage to the car?) But here, my readiness backfired because I had no idea of the real mess the milk had caused. On Sunday, I just  cleaned what I saw, ignoring the principal law of spilled-fluid dynamics stating that milk goes anywhere it damn well pleases, especially where you can't see or reach it.

My Director hosing off the emergency beach supplies.

Since I do not have the capital to install smell-o-vision technology for you here on the DKL site, let me describe it the best way I can. Disgusting, rotting, fermenting death. Or, as I stated on the DKL Facebook page at the time, I officially knew what Henry Hill felt like after moving the body of Billy Batts in Goodfellas:


Cue tons of Resolve, baking soda, hours of vacuuming, and then an overnight fabric softener mask:

Thanks to my my friend Dave at
Musings of Munch for the suggestion.

The next morning the swagger wagon smelled considerably better... until it got hot out. More baking soda, more vacuuming. There was still a smell, but it wasn't nearly as foul as the day before. And those dryer sheets did help big time.

As My Director and I drove to an appointment later that day, I said:

"I kind of feel like this is what it's like to drive in a dryer."

"Or a garbage truck." 

"Yeah. Or a garbage truck IN a dryer."

Every morning, My Director and I have a quick phone conversation as she's starting her day and I'm putting together my show. My first question is always some form of, "How's Peanut?" Now? My first question is, "How does the car smell?" Suffice it to say, as we approach its second birthday our beloved swagger wagon has forever lost its new car smell.

(Please take some time to catch up some DKL you might have missed. I've been doing this on summer Mondays, telling a new story and following it with links to previous posts about that subject. Today's story allows me to reintroduce a topic I don't often bring up: our swagger wagon. Enjoy:) 

Inquiring minds wanted to know how we survive as two working parents with one car. So I answered with Dude, Where's My Car?. (This post is nostalgic now, since My Director took a new job in our town and now does pickup herself.)

I do have what some might describe as an unhealthy love for my swagger wagon. It's all because I sometimes wish the rest of life could be as easy as my minivan makes things, with The Push of a Button

We almost lost our beloved swagger wagon during a destructive autumn snow storm last year. See how close we came in The Joys of Homeownership: Jersey Chainsaw Miracle

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THE PEANUT GALLERY: Our New Addition

"They want you to cook the dinner; at least they ought to let you shop for some of the groceries. " -Bill Parcells

That quote is from one of the best football coaches in my lifetime, explaining why he also wanted to be general manager of the team and pick the players he was coaching. "Shop for some of the groceries," if you will. That is why I do the food shopping in our house. I cook the meals, so it makes sense that I shop for the groceries.

I have it down to a science. I go alone. I am usually in and out in 45 minutes. (Remember: I don't lollygag. Ever.) I also do my own bagging and unloading. (The kitchen is my domain. And I'm a control freak.) I keep a running list of items we need on a pad of paper hanging on the refrigerator.

The quality of my penmanship is inversely
proportional to the urgency with which I am writing.

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You Never Know What's in Store

"Patience and perseverance have a magical affect before which difficulties disappear and obstacles vanish." -Pres. John Quincy Adams

The most seemingly inane decisions - the ones you think are as inconsequential as belly button lint - end up being the ones with perhaps the greatest impact.

There I was, two ingredients short of what I needed to pull off a successful taco night. The kind of taco night my family comes to expect: delicious, nutritious, and barely superstitious. Two crucial ingredients if you ask me: an onion, and peppers. So I decided to make a quick stop at the grocery store after I picked up my daughter from day care.

Since we were just running in to pick up a couple of essentials, I told her we wouldn't be using a shopping cart. She was alright with that.

So off we went.

Within 30 seconds, we had the onion. Then I remembered I was out of soy milk. That's when our road to Tacoville took a very entertaining detour. She started browsing. Fifteen seconds later, she was holding a tub of Country Crock, asking me what it was. "That's butter, sweetheart."

"Do we need butter, daddy?"

"No. Please put it back."

Then the milk... and all of the multi-colored caps identifying the varying amounts of fat content within. "It's pretty, daddy." I never thought of it that way. She especially liked the purple one. Then the blue one. "Can we get that one, daddy?"

"No, honey, we don't need that milk."

Moving down the dairy aisle to the sour cream, which she also thought was pretty. Luckily, it was on sale and since it was taco night, this was a welcome addition to our list.

At this point I'd like to remind you we went in for two items, and after one aisle we have three... and are still in need of one of our essentials.

Then, my daughter had to remind me of an urgent matter. "Daddy, we need Crunchies," she warned with all of the ambiguous seriousness of a 'check engine' light. "Crunchies" is what she calls her favorite cereal which, randomly, ridiculously, and nutritiously enough, is Special K with Strawberries.

So off to the cereal aisle we go. Big mistake. She wants Apple Jacks. She wants Trix. She wants Corn Flakes. The Corn Flakes, in turn, fall off the shelf and hit her on the head. I remind her that we're here to get "Crunchies," which I locate, and are also fortunately on sale. All is well with the world.

I learn later that evening that my daughter thinks we're out of Crunchies any day when I don't send them to day care for her to have for breakfast. I had made the mistake of packing her Rice Krispies that day.

Just for the record... four items in hand. One necessity still to go.

I strategically managed to steer our course away from the cookies, crackers, cakes, and candies. Remember - she is walking around on her own. Looking and touching and asking and shopping. And my hands are getting full. Thankfully, she is carrying the Crunchies.

We pass a woman whose daughter is whining incessantly, and she points to my daughter as an example of a little girl who is being good because she's not asking her daddy to pick her up. Oh, if she only knew about the pumpkin patch.

As we approach the frozen foods aisle. Yes - I admit - I use frozen pre-sliced peppers when I make my tacos. Forgive me. I work ten hours and have a 2 1/2 year-old and a wife who also works full-time. Something's gotta give. And slicing peppers is one of those somethings.

Before we turn the corner, we are greeted by a display of Disney character pez dispensers. Damn this store and its strategic marketing tactics. My daughter is beside herself. To her, this is the happiest place on earth. She immediately states that she "wants a lot of them."

This is where I use my wife's sage advice. She says sometimes you have to give in to preserve yourself. "Don't say 'no' if it's not going to hurt her," she says. So wise she is.

Again, remember the pumpkin patch.

"You may have one of them." She grabbed a pez dispenser featuring a female character I'd never seen before. "OK, you want that lady?" Then she gave the display a second look.

"I want Eyeore," she had carefully decided. "Really? Eyeore's kind of a buzzkill," I replied, all the while listing to myself all of the reasons I despise Eyeore: no self-confidence, no motivation, he's a drag on society, the economy, and his friends. But they somehow love him anyway.

"How about Tigger?"

"No. I want Eyeore." She wasn't budging. Until...

The top rack was filled with princesses. But my daughter noticed one was missing. "How come there's no Cinderelly," she asked. I was thinking the same thing myself. Here was my chance to replace Eyeore.

I searched for and found Cinderelly.

"I want both of them." Of course she does. "You may have one. So choose... Eyeore, or Cinderelly?" I strategically spoke Cinderella's name second so it was freshest in her mind.

She looked from one to the other, calculating, deliberating, and finally deciding, "I want Eyeore."

Ugh.

"Really?" I then told her, "you always manage to surprise me. Every day. I love that about you." Even if she did it by choosing Eyeore.

We got our peppers and our seven other items. We checked out, dodged some rain drops, buckled in, and she asked for the candy that goes in her new Eeyore Pez dispenser. There's no getting anything past this child.

"When we get home, you may have one piece."

Self-preservation rules once again. She had earned it. She was a good girl in the store. That other mom even said so.

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