Knowing Your Roles

"Always be a first-rate version of yourself, instead of a second-rate version of somebody else." -Judy Garland

We all have a job as parents. Moms and dads. No matter how our families happen to be constructed. No matter which roles in the family we hold, we are responsible for teaching our children. Showing them the way. Whether we like it or not, they are watching us. Watching us for how to be and how to act.

My parents had traditional roles. My mom was a housewife for most of my childhood, before they opened their swimming pool business. Before that, my dad worked a lot to support us. There were a lot of late nights where I remember him coming home as I was laying in bed.

To a certain extent, My Director and I have turned those roles around. We both work. We divide cleaning evenly. The kitchen and bathrooms are my responsibility. She handles the finances and is even better than me at fixing certain most things. I do the cooking. We don't follow traditional roles for a mom and dad.

Two examples from Christmas, one past and one present, tell the story...

My Director fixing the tree.
(Me taking picture.)

A couple of weeks ago, our Christmas tree fell down while we were at work. My Director was the first one home and didn't hesitate to jump in and assess the tree stand situation. Meanwhile, once I arrived on the scene, I took pictures for the blog and attended to the more pressing matter of figuring out how to save Googily, our Elf on the Shelf. Googily was sitting in the tree at the time it fell. (The big thing about the Elf is if you touch him he loses his magic. You can read more about this hilarious and potentially catastrophic adventure HERE.) I was also concerned about how long this disaster would delay dinner.

Read more ...

THE PEANUT GALLERY: Welcome, Christmas

Christmas Day will always be
Just as long as we have we

Read more ...

#SundaySupper Christmas Eve Crab Cakes

Crab cakes with dip, shrimp salad,
scungilli salad, stuffed mushrooms

Christmas Eve is the big tradition in our family. It's more important than any other holiday, even Christmas itself. We do a modernized version of the Italian feast of the seven fishes. My family - my mom, my siblings, and I - are a rare breed: full-blooded Italian-Americans. None of my first cousins can make that claim. So Christmas Eve - our tradition - is a big deal.

Read more ...

The Song That Officially Means It's Christmas

There is a song that I have to hear to officially mark the beginning of Christmas season. Our tree may be up, our halls may be decked, our presents may be purchased and wrapped, but if I haven't heard this song yet, it just doesn't feel like Christmas. And in this digital age when you can play whatever song you want with the click of a mouse or a spin of a wheel, I don't cheat. It needs to happen naturally, like when I was growing up. It has to come on the radio. (Or Pandora.)

A few years ago, I didn't hear it until the morning of Christmas Eve while I was riding around town running last-minute errands. I called My Director, put her on speakerphone, and made her listen along with me. With tears in my eyes I sat in the driveway and listened to rest of the song, singing along hysterically.

Why did we not own this growing up? No idea.

It's Santa Claus Is Comin' To Town by Bruce Springsteen and the E-Street Band.

Read more ...

THE PEANUT GALLERY: Ghosts of Christmas Cards Past

We take pride in our annual Christmas card. It's one of our favorite, if not our favorite, non-traditional traditions. We are not the kind of people who pose for perfect pictures, or would pose our child for a perfect picture, to evoke an image of the perfect family for our friends, colleagues, and loved ones. No. No. No. Family is not perfect. It is most certainly, and wonderfully, imperfect. We must laugh at our imperfections every chance we get. Here is the image and caption from our first-ever family Christmas card, sent the year after we were married:

2003: "Here's hoping the holidays
don't make you NUTS."

Read more ...

God Rest Ye, Uptight Gentleman

"Everyone who wants musicals are children in different ways." -Andrew Lloyd Weber

We should consider ourselves blessed. After all, only one church congregation could claim Andrew Lloyd Weber as a member. That's right. The acclaimed composer of Phantom, Cats, and Evita, among others, is now focusing on the smaller stage. The MUCH smaller stage: Christmas pageants.

This is Andrew Lloyd Weber

For the second year in a row, Mr. Weber graciously volunteered his talents and ran our church's pageant. What are the odds, right? Adding to our good fortune, My Director and I were able to see the genius at work since Peanut was a member of the angel choir both years. Double bonus.

Of course, Mr. Weber's involvement totally justifies the four hours - FOUR HOURS - we spent at church one Sunday, including the service. Still, I submit the only people who should be spending that much time at church on Sundays are clergy. What Mr. Weber doesn't realize is we've got other things to do. You see, he can't be bothered wasting his time with such trivial pursuits as food shopping, walking the dog, feeding children, and spending part of your Sunday relaxing and watching football. Why would he? A genius doesn't concern himself with such things. We should be honored to have him produce and direct our little show.

Read more ...

Mulled Wine: Spiked and Steamy for Christmas #SundaySupper

For several years, we made this glogg ("mulled wine" for easier reference) for our families' Christmas Eve and Christmas celebrations. It's warm, festive, strong, and delicious. Always a crowd favorite. We first had it at a friend's Christmas party and loved it. We haven't made since Peanut arrived. But this week's #SundaySupper theme reminded us of it, and we'll be sure to make it for our Christmas Eve celebration this year. It's really simple, and a lot of fun.

Read more ...

#PayItForward: A Story of Giving from @SaskaDad on @DadsRoundTable

Most Fridays, I will share with you a post from another blog that I find particularly moving, interesting, or funny. They will be posts that fit the DKL mold... ones I think people who read this blog would enjoy. Another blogger I follow started something similar. I also wanted to do this because someone paid it forward to me, giving me tons of new followers. So this is the least I can do...

Read more ...

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.)

Read more ...

THE PEANUT GALLERY: Comfort and Joy

A long time ago, even before My Director was around, I started a collection. This collection has turned into somewhat of a tradition. But like some traditions, it may be time to retire this one. Pretty much everywhere we go, I insist on getting a shot glass as a memento. Even though my days of chugging Rumple Minze two ounces at a time are long behind me, we have dozens of them:

How COOL is that Nashville one?

Read more ...

I Believe

"There's no question in my mind that he does exist. Just like love I know he's there waiting to be missed." -From A Year Without a Santa Claus

Santa Claus is real. I've never seen him. But I have proof. My proof lies in the heart and mind of my daughter. Evidence of his existence can be seen in the excitement, anticipation, and joy of Christmas morning. I've seen it on her face and heard it in her voice. He is most certainly real.

But some people say we're lying to our kids by telling them Santa is real. (Even I joked about it in a recent post.) I've seen several discussions of the subject this week. While I respect everyone's beliefs as much as I expect my own to be respected, I think the people who insist we are perpetrating a fraud against our children need to relax. Kids are smarter than a lot of people give them credit for. They believe what they want to believe until they are old enough to know better. 

Read more ...

THE PEANUT GALLERY: If a Tree Falls in the House

Some unexpected traffic on the bus ride home meant I would be a little later than normal. So I texted My Director with some basic instructions on how to get dinner started. This way, I could get a jump start on cooking as soon as I got home:

"Can you put some water on for brown rice and heat the oven to 350 please?"

I was planning to make pan-seared tilapia over brown rice with baked Brussels sprouts and bacon. Yum. Her response was quick, and unexpected:

"Our tree fell over. Have to deal with that right now."

I have to admit, I laughed a little when I read that. Have to deal with that right now? Ya think? A classic line from my straight man. When I got off the bus, a stunned Peanut met me at the corner. "Daddy, you're NOT going to believe this." She escorted me inside. My little girl was beside herself. But not because of this:

Yes. That's My Director working on the tree
while I snap pictures for the blog. Priorities.

Read more ...

Two Christmas Movies to Make a Grown Man Cry

Full disclosure: I turn into a big pile of yuletide mush this time of year. Songs that conjure up fond childhood memories; the look of wonder on Peanut's face that often warms my heart enough to produce ocular precipitation. But perhaps movies are the biggest cause of this grown man's crying. Yes, despite my recent rant about early-decorating over-achievers, I really am a big, soft, sensitive Christmas cuddle bear:

Hands off, ladies

Read more ...

The Sixth Rant of Christmas

Call me the Grinch. Call me Scrooge. I'm fine with it. Just don't call me a Christmas decoration over-achiever, because I'm not. While I take pride in my annual exterior light display, while I too painstakingly string the lights on our family Christmas tree, I refuse to decorate my house this early. That's just obnoxious.

Good grief!

On Saturday night, friends of ours had us over for a dinner party. Upon pulling up to their house, I immediately became annoyed. Their front yard was more lit up than Snoopy's doghouse. Lights in the bushes, strung up the trees, and a row of candles lining the flower bed. A lovely display. But too much, too soon. It didn't stop there. We entered the house to find all of their Christmas knick-knacks - Santas, snowmen, even the stockings hung by the chimney with care. Because my friends have a sense of humor, I immediately gave them a hard time about it.

"First of all, you're making me look bad," I said. "Second, have you seen a calender? There's still a week left in November."

Read more ...

Christmas in July

The song leaked from the backseat like the creak of a loose floorboard on the steps of my childhood home. Familiar but eerie. Comfortable, yet at the same time, jarring. It was Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy from The Nutcracker Suite. But this, after all, is July.

Peanut was playing with the iPad as we waited in the swagger wagon at the train station for My Director. This is our routine. I bring the iPad and she plays with one or two of the many apps that live in the folder marked with her name. Usually she plays a memory game or spelling game. So when I heard that song, I turned around with a smile:

"Why are you playing a Christmas game?"

"Because we don't have any summer ones, daddy."

Duh. Stupid of me for asking. So with that app, she made this for Santa:

Whimsical and festive

Read more ...

The Gift of Time

"Time is relentless. Only true love perseveres." -Billy Joel, Two Thousand Years

Christmas came early for me this year. I got a gift – one of the coolest gifts ever – a couple of weeks before Christmas. And since I’ve decided to dedicate an entire post to a material object, let me be clear: this is not a product review. I don’t do those. I just really love this gift. And in opening that little brown box, I was reminded of the significance of this particular gift, and why it means so much to me.

My Director bought me this gift more than four years ago, and not for Christmas. It just recently arrived after I had sent it away to get repaired..

It does not take me 11 hours
to run 1 3/4 miles

It's my running watch. But not just any running watch. A Garmin Forerunner complete with GPS, distance tracking, and a running buddy feature where you can race a virtual "friend." We named my running buddy "Steve," for no reason in particular.

I'd been without my watch, and my running buddy, for almost four months. It just conked out while I was on a run at the beach over the summer. Started blinking wildly, wouldn't turn off. Then when I finally managed to turn it off, it wouldn't turn back on unless it was on its charging dock. Pointless.

I went through the normal stages of grief. First: denial. I didn’t want to deal with the possibility that I had to buy a new one. Then: anger. I was angry that this very special, very useful, very expensive gift was broken. Then: acceptance. I went to my local running store to price out new ones. And in doing so, I learned that Garmin refurbishes old broken watches, for a small fee. Score.

Read more ...

So This is Christmas

A week after my daughter was born, I wrote her a letter. I used a word to represent each letter of the alphabet. Each word is an action I hope she chooses to take during her life. Here's what I wrote for the letter "O:"

Observe. Observe traditions, like eating seven fish on Christmas Eve... traditions are a huge part of who you are, and where you came from. Learn them. Appreciate them. Make them your own. Maintain them, while making changes to fit the times. That will make passing them on even more special.

I wrote that more than four years ago. It's still true. It's come true. And will always be true.

Christmas Eve is the holiday for many Italian-Americans. More important than Christmas. It goes back to the old country. And my family is no exception. Our tradition, what makes this event so special, is the seven fishes (yes... it's fishes. This is one of the few instances where I will allow a grammatical mistake.)

We eat seven fish on Christmas Eve. But to tell you the truth, we don't really know exactly why. We're funny that way. Some say it represents the seven Sacraments of the Catholic Church. Some say it's the seven deadly sins. Others argue the seven days it took Mary and Joseph to get to Bethlehem. Then there's the seven hills of Rome theory, and the seven winds of Italy one.

I like to think of the Biblical significance of the number seven: three for the divinity plus four representing earth. Seven is the perfect number, representing Christ on Earth. I'm not super religious, but this is the explanation I prefer.

Regardless, on Christmas Eve, we eat.

My parents made Christmas

My parents made sure Christmas Eve was always special. The fish and the gifts and the memories. Ah, the memories... not all of them fond. You see, we're no Norman Rockwell family. We have our warts just like everyone else. There was the year my niece screamed bloody murder because we had skipped a part in the Nativity play she was producing (I was Joseph and my performance was spot on.) There was the year one of my sisters nearly choked to death on a fish bone, requiring the Heimlich Maneuver (the downside of eating nothing but fish). There was the year my dad got irrationally angry and threw a fit because there was only hazelnut coffee made. (that's genetic.... hazelnut makes me mad too.)

Read more ...

Oh, Christmas Tree: The Fifth Rant of Christmas

"The little lights... they aren't twinkling." "I know, Art. Thanks for noticing." -from Christmas Vacation.

What's wrong with this picture?

My Christmas tree is f*cking with me. And now it's war.

Today I told My Director that I hate the tree. Hate it so much I want to get rid of it. Why the sudden burst of Grinchness from an otherwise festive fellow such as myself? The lights. For whatever reason, this year they decided to make a fool-tide of my Yuletide existence.

This is the one area of interior design most men truly embrace. So like many men, I take pride in my ability to string lights on the tree. Like many men, I test them before I string them up. And like many men I have thrown many tantrums when the entire strand inexplicably doesn't light. Or worse, half of it doesn't light. What the hell happens in the attic from February to November when these lights are hibernating with the rest of the decorations? They work less frequently than Congress and are just as frustrating.

Read more ...

Kicked by a Donkey

"Sometimes the most real things in the world are the things we can't see." - from The Polar Express

How many times have you almost made an ass of yourself in front of a group of strangers during the holiday season? (Emphasis on the word ass. Explanation to follow.)  I came very close last weekend.

You never know when emotion will grab hold of you and not let go. At least, I never do. I almost lost it during what was an otherwise wonderful Christmas memory, perhaps our favorite event of the season and possibly the start of a new annual tradition. We took the Peanut on a train ride last weekend complete with Santa and Mrs. Claus, a sing-along with a guy playing banjo, and cookies and hot chocolate.

Santa gave her a bell just
like in the movie

It was festive and adorable. Peanut absolutely loved it. She wore her pajamas even though the train left at 3:30 in the afternoon because she wanted it to be like The Polar Express. She told Santa what she wanted for Christmas. (A Rapunzel baby doll that My Director manipulatively planted in her mind earlier that day because it's already purchased and hiding in the attic.)

So why was I nearly overcome with emotion, you ask, that I was ready to sob in front of a train car full of strangers, their children, and my in-laws? Were they tears of joy because we had made our child so happy and she was enjoying herself so much? No. It was because of that damn banjo player. How dare he? He had the nerve to play "Dominick the Donkey," that ridiculous song about the much-celebrated beast of burden that helps Santa deliver toys to the children who live in the "hills of Italy."

Read more ...

The Second, Third, and Fourth Rants of Christmas

When I wrote my First Rant of Christmas earlier this month, I honestly had no intention of writing eleven more. I was simply employing what I thought was a clever reference to "The Twelve Days of Christmas." But after these three quick, unplanned rants on things that have popped into my mind over the past few days, I am one third of the way to twelve. Behold, a Christmas miracle.

So without further ado, and no plans to add to this list as of this writing (subject to change), I give you:

Gross and outrageous

The Second Rant of Christmas: There are two popular Christmas songs I can't tolerate. First, I Saw Mommy Kising Santa Claus. This is disgusting. I am, quite simply, appalled. The child who is singing this song has no idea that "Santa Claus" is actually his dad. In fact, I didn't know that Santa was supposedly the boy's dad until a couple of years ago. So as far as this kid knows, two of the heroes in his world - his mom and Santa - are committing a vile betrayal of trust. His mom is an adulterous whore. Santa is a horny sleazebag. Nice. Merry Christmas.

Read more ...