Jim Dandy to the Rescue

"My advice to you is not to inquire why or whither, but just enjoy your ice cream while it's on your plate." -Thornton Wilder

There are few greater joys in childhood than when your parents announce the family will be going out for ice cream that night. Immediately, visions of combinations of flavors and toppings flood your head like sugarplums on a sleepy Christmas Eve. Oh, the wondrous, endless possibilities. You dream of multiple scoops with multiple sauces, topped with whipped cream and a cherry. You even venture to imagine what it would be like to order and consume the Stanley Cup of ice cream sundaes: The Jim Dandy.

Five scoops of ice cream, marshmallow, strawberry, and chocolate topping, walnuts, bananas, sprinkles and whipped cream served in a massive goblet. A confectionery paradise that my siblings and I would clamor for any time my dad would agree to take us to Friendly's. We'd pile in the back of the car - four of us crammed in, dreaming of Jim Dandy's frozen goodness, vocalizing our wishes.

 Until...

"YOU"RE NOT GETTIN' A F*CKING JIM DANDY."

My dad had the ability to go from zero to maniac in less than six seconds. More like three. That's how little time it took him to crush our chilled dreams and dash our ice cream spirits.

"IT'S TOO MUCH. YOU'LL NEVER FINISH IT."

Ok... but do you have to yell like a madman? Ice cream was YOUR idea, crazy person. Excuse us for getting excited. Of course, we'd never say these things out loud, out of fear of a solid smack from Mr. Not-so-Softee. We'd end up getting a scoop or two. Maybe one topping. Two max. While DAD got a Jim Dandy. The hypocrite.

This little passion play took place so frequently that it has become part of my dad's legend. So for the first time, My Director and I decided to perpetuate that legend, and took Peanut for a Jim Dandy on Saturday.

She approves of this obnoxious concoction.

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The Game Changer

"Simplified spelling is all right, but, like chastity, you can carry it too far." -Mark Twain

This is it. I am done for. I have lost my ability to effectively communicate with My Director... in front of Peanut. We have been speaking the same language pretty much since Peanut was born. And now, the kid's in on it. Peanut just started Kindergarten, but she can already spell.

This is the game changer.

Tastes a lot better that it spells

One night last weekend I asked My Director if we should "go out for I-C-E-C-R-E-A-M." And Peanut immediately jumped in with, "We're getting ice cream?!" Yes, apparently we are.

Now, granted, when you spell ice cream it SOUNDS a lot like "ice cream." So Peanut is no prodigy aiming to be the youngest ever to compete in the National Bee in Washington, D.C. next year. There are plenty of words she can't spell. And there's that little detail about not being able to read yet. (Although: she did just read a book to me last night, almost all herself.) Still, the game has changed.

It's only a matter of time. What am I going to do? Once she's able to spell, how am I going to name people, then disparage them, in front of her? How am I going to swear? How am I going to have any thoughtful or even mildly controversial conversation with My Director with our burgeoning little blonde-haired dictionary monitoring my every letter?

That's not even the worst of it.

While we already have a code for - ahem - "the bedroom," there's nothing in our secret lexicon for, "Your mom is crazy." There's "Why does she have to be so C-R-A-Z-Y?" There's no code for "Should we just order Chinese food?" (Because Chinese food is Peanut crack.) There's "Should we just get C-H-I-N-E-S-E?" And as if on cue, as I write this My Director just said, "He's a D-O-U-C-H-E," while watching a story about about Michael Phelps. Soon that's all going to change.

Thanks to spelling, words like "stupid," "idiot," and "a$$hole" now roll of my tongue one letter at a time like a familiar Starbucks order. I've even grown accustomed to spelling E-F-F-U instead of "f*ck you" because, you know, it's classier.

Peanut's got brains and she knows how to use them. It's only a matter of time before our spelling language goes the way of Sanskrit. But I do have a solution. It's not going to be easy, but we have no choice. We're going to have to brush up on our Pig Latin. For the sake of our S-A-N-I-T-Y. We need to ixnay on the ellingspay.

This post originally appeared last month on You Know It Happens at Your House Too. For another one of my snarky takes on one of Peanut's milestones, check out this post from her Pre-K stepping up ceremony.

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Let's Get Ice Cream!

Today I am honored that my friend Heather at My Husband Ate All My Ice Cream is featuring me on her blog. Heather is a force in the blogging community. She ran Blogger Idol. (I was runner-up!)  And her idea also inspired my Pay it Forward page. So the fact that she's been gracious enough to publish my post on her page is huge for DKL. Please go check out my post about how my wife and I are trying to NOT raise a little "d-bag." (The reason I use that term is explained in the post.)

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Father of the Bride

"You stop worrying about her meeting the wrong guy, and you worry about her meeting the right guy. That's the greatest fear of all because then you lose her." -George Banks in Father of the Bride


We all went to #34

My wife and I recently attended another wedding. I say "another" because we've now been to 36 weddings in our 14 years together, not including our own.

You can say we're wedding professionals. East coast, west coast. Winter spring, summer, fall. We've seen it all.

Us at #35

You know who I couldn't keep my eyes off of? The bride's dad. Because that's going to be me some day. It used to be, I would focus on the groom. That was me once. I liked to watch his reaction upon seeing his bride for the first time. It's pretty cool. I nearly lost my cool up there when I saw my soon-to-be wife, a stunning, glowing, floating angel approaching me.

While I still do watch the groom, the bride's dad is who I'm most fascinated by now.

And this father of the bride did not disappoint. He was a big, sweaty, hulking mess. He was crying and he wasn't even trying to hide it as he and his wife walked their only daughter down the aisle. And once they were at the altar, he was constantly dabbing at his eyes, and getting emotional all over again.

I wondered what was going through his mind. The first time he held her? The first day of school? The first time a bone was broken? The first time her heart was broken?

What will I think of?

"It's so nice to finally meet you."

Maybe the first time I held her when I said, "It's so nice to finally meet you."

Or maybe those times that I get to spend alone with her, one-on-one, if my wife is working late or staying in the city for a night out with her friends. I often make it a daddy-daughter date night. We go out to eat, maybe get ice cream, and go home and watch a movie. Maybe I'll think of her looking across the table at me while she amuses herself by simply sipping a glass of ice water through a straw.

These are some of my favorite times. The times I get to be the one to read all of the books and sing all of the songs and wipe all of the tears and give all of the hugs.

Now, there's a reason why the pending nuptials of my 4 year-old daughter are so fresh in my mind.

One day recently, as I entered my daughter's classroom to pick her up from daycare, a little boy came up to me. A classmate of hers. He walked over as I squatted down for a hug and kiss. He looked me in the eye and asked me, "Can I marry (your daughter)?" I didn't know what to say. I turned to her and asked her, "Do you want to marry this guy?"

She thought about it, shifted her eyes as if she were looking to some far off place, then said whimsically and dismissively, "Ok."

Weddings suit her.

And that was that.

As we drove home I turned around to look at her as we were stopped at a red light. She sits in a booster now. Not a baby seat or a toddler seat anymore. She held her Lammie and sucked her thumb... just as she has since she started doing it so many years ago now. She was staring out the window, unwinding from a busy day of learning and playing. In that moment I thought to myself... my little girl is growing up so fast.

She's going to be married in no time. And just like that dad this weekend... that big, tough man with the thick Long Island (or LawnGUYlind) accent... I am going to be a mess.

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