Barf Me Out!

One of our favorite restaurants is Bahama Breeze. I am partial to their Caesar Salad and their Bahamian Kebabs. I don't know exactly what the seasoning is, but I find it irresistible.

However, I don't think we'll be going there for a while. A certain five-year-old took care of that last week.

All I wanted was a quick lunch with Rebecca and Rachel before they went to grandma's for Easter. I had to work the next day, so I was staying behind.

Right after the hot food arrived, Rachel said she had to go to the bathroom. I rolled my eyes, cursed the timing and took her. Within ten minutes, she had to go again. I took her again. During the time in there, again she spoke about needing to barf, loudly enough for others in the men's room to hear it. Finally, I brought her back, hoping my food was still warm. And that's when the fun began.

A few minutes later, Rachel said she had to go again, but with much more urgency. Loud enough for our entire side of the restaurant to hear, she proclaimed, "I need to goooooooo. I'm gonna barf!" This time Rebecca went with her.

I stabbed angrily at my kebabs, rice and beans, glancing toward the women's room door occasionally to see whether they had come out yet. Rachel emerged first, agitated. My wife followed.

As Rebecca attempted to finish her food, Rachel ran toward the front door. "Where are you going?" I asked. "I have to get some air or I'm gonna barf!" she yelled. "Rachel, c'mon!" I implored. "I have to get some air or I'm gonna barf!" she repeated. Not wanting to alienate the rest of the paying customers any further, I escorted her outside.

We sat on a couple of big rocks, because waiting for mommy inside my car was going to "make me barf!" Of course, after a while, she needed to go back inside the restaurant to use the restroom, because she was gonna (together now) "barf."

We drove home. I can't remember whether my wife and I were seething or silent. I think we were both. I hear Rachel walked around grandma's the next day continuing the barf discussion, at one point, carrying some sort of container under her chin.

The next morning, I went to pick her up after my overnight shift, because it was parent-teacher conference day at school for my wife, who is an assistant teacher. I still thought Rachel was faking it, but when she turned down a chocolate from someone and failed to play PBS Kids on the computer for longer than two minutes, when she usually won't budge for an hour, I decided to call her bluff. I scheduled a doctor's appointment.

I thought she might just be hungry. She hadn't had a meal since grandma's the day before. I took her to Chic-Fil-A for breakfast, ordered her scrambled eggs and fruit and watched as she refused to eat more than four bites. I ignored her barf fears long enough for her own parent-teacher conference.

Driving home, I was aggravated enough that I was probably more snide toward her than I should have been. I did tell her I owed her a big apology if she was "actually sick."

When the doctor appointment arrived, she played in the lobby. They called us in, took her temperature. No fever. She was still plenty whiny though. They took a throat swab, which she wasn't really fond of.

Well, guess what? She had not been lying. She had strep. I had to give her the big apology. While she still insists "I'm always gonna be sick" as she recovers, she has forgiven me. For that, I am grateful. I'd hate to work myself up into such a frenzy that I have to barf!

Sleeping Beauty Gets Her Kicks

Last week was the Jewish Holiday or Purim and the kids came to school in costume. While I don't remember her in the Book of Esther, Rachel dressed as Sleeping Beauty.

So I have to admit I was mildly amused when I stopped by the school to visit my wife after school and walked past the classroom where Rachel was in karate class. Amid all the children dressed in more traditional clothing to practice their jabs and kicks was Sleeping Beauty.

That is the essence of my child and I hope it never changes.

(Sound of Record Needle Coming Off Groove and Dragging Across Album)

Every once in a while, I gaze at my wondrous daughter and feel overwhelmingly blessed to be her father. Tuesday was one of those days.

Choking back tears, eyes misty, voice nearly cracking, I looked at Rachel and confessed, "Rachel, I love you so much...."

She held up a finger and replied, "I got a booger out of my nose."

Mistaken Identity

When I produce a newscast, I always go in with what is known as "pad time." You set thirty seconds or so off to the side, so that If something goes long, you won't have to get rid of more than a story or two. Or if some story develops in the newscast, you just add it in and have a plan in your head ahead of time about what stories you can "kill."

Today, about an hour before the newscast, we got word that Atlanta-based Delta Air Lines planned to issue voluntary furloughs to 30-thousand of its employees. That is half its work force. It's a huge story in Atlanta.

I am told our consumer and business editor is on his way in and planned to "front" the story on set. Basically, that means he will be on the set with the two anchors to present the story and answer any subsequent questions.

Bill can be wordy, so I set aside a block of time and kill some less significant stories to make sure I still have pad time. When the show begins, he delivers his report and anchor #1 asks him a question. Bye bye pad time. In fact, I'm now a minute "heavy." Anchor #2 asks a question. Another long-winded answer. I'm now a minute and a half heavy. I press the buttons to talk to the anchors in their headsets. "Wrap!" I say, meaning no more questions. I'm now a minute 45 heavy. My supervisor sends me a message on my computer. "This has gone long enough. Tell them to stop." I send back a message that this is exactly what I did. Anchor #1 asks another question! Bill begins to answer. Two minutes heavy. Another topline from my supervisor. Two-ten heavy.

The technical director says, "You need to tell them to 'wrap.'" The director says, "He did." Two-fifteen heavy.

I'm exasperated. Right before I press the anchors' buttons with an emphatic, "WRAP", as I listen to Bill drone on and I'm getting more behind on time, I exclaim, "Stop talking, Rachel!....I mean Bill!"

The control room, including me, erupts in laughter.

"Guess someone has said that before!" my director says, as I tell the anchors, "WRAP!" in their headsets one last time. Two-thirty heavy.

I was laughing about it the rest of the newscast and still find it funny tonight. Even Rachel laughed when I told her.

My Tuesday With Rachel

Rachel kept feeding me great material for the blog Tuesday, so thank her for this entry. I met up with her and Rebecca at a Mexican restaurant and when we were done, I invited her to come with me to Kroger.

She is now old enough to strap herself into her own seat, so I went to the front seat and waited for the telling click from the back. What I didn't know was the metal part was wedged behind Rachel's seat and she couldn't maneuever it out. After a while, I asked Rachel what the holdup was. The frustrated reply was, "It won't raticipate!" So I unbuckled and fixed the problem for her.

From there, we went to Kroger. We selected a cart with a green and yellow plastic front kid car, so Rachel could steer from there. I ran from the car to the front door, about 20 cars, because Rachel had a "need for speed" and was laughing heartily as the wind rushed through her hair.

It took us a while to get our goodies, because Rachel had to climb in and out to look around and most importantly, choose her own non-bruised red delicious apples. Daddy opted for Granny Smith. The doors to the kid car don't open and close, so she looked like a miniature NASCAR driver as she climbed in and out.

Eventually, we made it to self-checkout and since there was no line, I allowed Rachel to run the items through the scanner. She enjoys doing it and I enjoy watching her, as long as we're not holding up anyone else. She scans the first item, the scanner beeps and the mechanical voice instructs, "Please place the item in the bag." And my clearly irritated daughter replies, "I know that! We've shopped here BEFORE!" I'm still laughing the next day. It was adorable and perfectly captures our daughter, who apparently, at age 5, doesn't suffer fools gladly, even if they are electronic.

After checking for traffic, I then ran her out to the car, the wind again rushing through her hair amid laughter. She then climbed into the car, but found a Sponge Bob sticker and wanted to affix it to the outside of the car. I told her the outside was not an option, but the inside was okay. So she takes forever to decide where to put it, refusing to get in her seat.

She settles in the driver's seat and since I have the keys, I decide that two can play this game. I climb into the back seat, straddle her child seat and demand "I want to hear my music!" We both laugh, or at least I did before it almost required the Jaws of Life to get back out of the car.

After the groceries are put up, I go into our bedroom to talk to my wife, who is getting much-needed rest after working a lot of extra hours on backdrops and costumes for a play at the Temple. Rachel comes in and at various times, asks to be tickled or performs front somersaults, as Rebecca and I pray we don't get socked with a stray leg. At one point, Rachel tries a somersault and I either grab her or try to tickle her. Her head ends up at an awkward angle and she is not happy. "Daddy, you made my head go the northeast!" Apparently, she has a weather vane or Doppler Radar in there.

I learned my lesson. Next time she does a front somersault, I'll make sure I don't "raticipate."

Sombreropalooza!

I'm wearing 18, if you were wondering....

Not M & M's.....

...This left a chocolate mess!

Pony RIde

I found this picture rummaging through some computer files and just had to include it. As always, Rachel accessorized with a happenin' hat!

Color Blind

There is a young African-American Police Officer named Christie who works security at the Temple. During Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, she often sits outside the room where children are babysat while their parents attend services. Rachel likes her a lot and usually tells her hi.

Recently, Rebecca and Rachel encountered Officer Christie at the Temple and Rachel looked at her and asked very seriously, "Are you a black police officer?"

Christie looked a little stunned and didn't know quite what to say.

My wife managed to get out a startled and embarassed, "RACHEL!"

Undeterred, Rachel pressed on. "It's a little dark and I can't tell. Is what you're wearing black or blue? Sometimes, dark blue can look like black. So are you a black police officer?"

As Rebecca emitted a big sigh of relief, Christie told Rachel her uniform was blue.

"Oh, okay," said Rachel. "Then you're a blue Police Officer."

Tell Me Little Girl (and Boy) 'Cause I Need to Know!

Congratulations to singers Jennifer Lopez and Marc Anthony. They are the proud new parents of twins, one boy and one girl. They have decided to name them Max and Emme.

As I read it, I thought, "Wait....Max and Emme? Max and Emmy are the names of the two children who go visit Dragonland in the children's cartoon Dragontales.
I have to admit, it gave me a chuckle.

But then, I deciphered the code. Mom and dad are going to be pretty tired taking care of the needs of their twins. So what they were saying was this: Max and Emme=Dragon. Jennifer Lopez=ass. Dragon Ass! Now I get it!