Dinner at the new house!

For the second consecutive month, the blog takes a backseat to photos. We’ve spent the month unpacking and getting settled, but no worries, I’m storing up lot’s of sexist family fun for May! Also, in May, Happy Birthday to Cousin Gemma, Cousin Elliot, and Aunt Melissa!

Gia helps dad work on her closet

Spring break at the Great Wolf Lodge

Kaya the Engineer!

New Living Room

Gia

FIRST DAY in NEW HOUSE - Pops & Jan, Terry & Tracy, Layne & Cindy

The Move: The Powell Family moved from Seattle to Edmonds! We’re sorry to leave Maple Leaf and Seattle, but looking forward to our new home. As this month is super busy this blog is photos only. Highlights: Trip to Bremerton, Ava’s 7th birthday, Kaya’s bowl o’ chocolate chips, and the new house.

Bremerton Ferry

Aunt Tracy, Uncle Chop, Uncle Danny

Ava Turns 7!

Gia the Rock Star

Kaya, you don't get a whole bowl.

Tracy in the new rec room

The Kids

Gia in the new living room

Downstairs

Kaya!

Are These Ladies Miserable?

Three bottles of wine...

Tracy & Terry/Beer vs. Wine: Would a man open a beer, find it unpalatable, dump out half, and open another? Not if he’s a man. A man knows how to commit to a beer. But when it comes to women and wine…whole different tale. They can open a $10+ bottle, sip, crinkle nose, and open another. The other day Tracy came over to dine with Terry and me, and at the end of the night the score was as follows:

Shirley Temples

Man: Three cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon. Estimated cost – $3

Two women: Three bottles of wine, two unfinished. Estimated cost – $35

Birthday Cake!

Paternity Test Breast Fest: Evidently, the wine got into the ladies, because they started talking about paternity and so forth, and there I was, a husband-on-the-wall, listening in. All kidding aside, my wife assured me that I was, indeed, the father of my daughters, and then she reflected: “But how do I know I’m really the mother?”

Halftime Show!

Game Time!

Most Girls Don’t Dig the Superbowl: Last year the family watched the Superbowl at Sanjay and Tracy’s house. As could be expected, the men watched the game while the women drank wine and chatted in the kitchen. Exactly how it should be. You’d think we had a great time, right?

Women "watching" the Superbowl

Wrong: Not according to my wife. This year, on the night Tracy and Terry wasted wine, Tracy told me that they were going to have a “Bingo” bet on the Superbowl. I’m not sure what this type of wager’s really called, and I don’t care, but the gist is people pick numbers and if the score at the end of the quarter or game ends on the last digits, you win. Basically, you hope for random chance. The idea was this would interest the women. I told them, “No thanks.” Tracy thought I was a traitor. Terry said, “We’re doing this because last year you guys didn’t pay attention to us and just watched the game. We ladies had a miserable time.” (See previous post about “HyTERRbolY“) So this year everyone put money into “Bingo” Superbowl except me. Rather than get the girls interested it just made for annoying interruptions about, “Let’s see, first quarter score is 9-0, let’s see who has a 9 and…blah bore-biddy blah…” As you can see from the photo above, even with the excitement of “Bingo” Superbowl, the girls didn’t give two poops about the game.

The Chuckles: Father and Son

Pops and the Patriots

Lil' Deng Xiaoping 小鄧小平

Asperger’s:  Ever since reading Greg Olear’s Fathermucker, a book about a stay-at-home father whose son has Asperger’s, my wife seems to think she has figured out what’s wrong with me. She says, “Check it out, it says Asperger’s syndrome means you have difficulty focusing and paying attention. That’s you!” I said, “Can’t be. I have empathy.” She said, “Well, perhaps you have partial Asperger’s, otherwise known as Pain-in-the-Assperger’s.”

Ava Turns Seven! Benihana (红花)

January Snow!

Balloon Heads

MO! YOU BE MEAN! Every parent has their “goofy-things-kids-say” story, hear one you’ve heard ‘em all. Nevertheless, for conformity’s sake, here’s mine. Our little Kaya had problems with certain vowels. For the longest time she couldn’t say the letter “N.” Instead she would say “M.” Thus “no” became “mo.” We’d tell her it was time for bed and she’d run crying, “Mo! Mo! Mo!” How effin’ cute is that? Kaya’s sisters started picking it up, and even Mom & Dad started saying, “Mo!” These days, though, Kaya no longer has this problem. She also has added vocabulary. Her mantra now is, “No! You be mean!”

Sledding

Do You Know How Miserable I Can Make You? Is my wife, Terry, the only wife who, whenever she wants to persuade me to shop or do some other unpleasant task, unholsters and fires the quasi-rhetorical, “Do you know how miserable I can make you?” Is this the right way to be persuasive? Lately I’ve become a little defensive. When staring down the barrel of this query, I batten the hatches and fire back, “Yes, I do…unfortunately. Why not ask me how happy you can make me?” Touche! Fortunately, we both appreciate the importance of repricocity, and have the prerequisite sense of humor.

Hiding

Custard vs. Crème Anglaise : My wife is a foodie. Or a food snob. I suggested I’d make custard for the kids, and my wife came back with this, “I don’t like custard, it’s crème anglaise or nothing.” What? That’s like not drinking coke unless it’s served in a champagne glass.

Sled for three!

The $3 Mafia Lunchroom Bill: What is it with Seattle Public Schools? We put in money in a school cafeteria account so our daughters can buy milk for lunch. Inevitably, we get this left on our phone: “This is a message from Seattle Public Schools. Our records show that your daughter, Gia Powell, is delinquent 50 cents. It is very important that you settle this account as soon as possible.” Are they the mob? I let the bill go up to $3 before I paid, my way of sticking it to ‘em. I would have let it go further, but the daily calls really started to annoy my wife.

VIDEO of the MONTH:  The girls make snowmen!

THANKSGIVING OR ALL-INCLUSIVE? This year we left Seattle on Thanksgiving morn and headed to Mexico. I love holidays, but missing Thanksgiving stress not entirely a bad thing. Nevertheless, Christmas lurked around the corner, so it would not be total escape.

The Girls Paint

THE LOST SHOES: Kids lose things. Usually they turn up. My wife, however, does not wait for missing things to appear. When anything of the girls disappears, an inevitabillity, chaos ensues. Me? My “Don’t worry, they’ll turn up” attitude does not console. I figger – My wife works hard, why spend time searching? She figgers – an afternoon spent ransacking the house because a $10 hat is missing is time well spent. The latest tragedy concerned Gia’s shoes. It was the theme of Christmas week, as if we don’t have enough going on. No rest for the shoe-misplacers.

The Lost Shoes

My wife spent three days looking, every minute when she wasn’t working, eating, or sleeping. Not only that, she wouldn’t let anyone else rest until those damn shoes popped up. “Caleb, we must find those shoes. Everyone, we’re not doing anything until those shoes turn up! Caleb – search the car. Ava and Gia, get your butts downstairs and find them shoes!” Aaaaaargh! Turned out nephew Elliot wore them home last time he was here. We picked them up at Grandy’s on Christmas eve.

Kaya drinkin

Ava & Gia

GENDER CONFUSION – HOW vs. WHAT: Why do people talk endlessly about nothing? Yes, I’m not innocent, yet I’ve learned to keep my boring thoughts to myself, for the most part. Others? Maybe it’s just a me vs. everyone thing, because my dad and father-in-law have their moments, gab is a human affliction, not just a female one, but as a sexist with an inferiority complex regarding women, I’ll focus on the ladies. When a sister or wife calls, I need to be careful to ask them “how” they’re doing, but no matter how much room I give them for a short answer, I’m in for a detail-laden screed about kids eating/playing/related chores/ or a gallery of shopping and work-related detritus.

The Girls at the Pool

Gad-friggin’-zooks. There is beauty in simplicity. When they ask me about my kids or life, I’ll say, “All’s fine.” For the most part, you hear one kid/life story you’ve heard them all. It’s not that I don’t care about family & friends, it’s just that I don’t care about minutia. When I ask my wife about her day, unless there is actual news, I’m looking for a one-word answer, or at worst, a sentence. I treat as I wish to be treated, and this is a problem, as my wife could talk all day about coffee and clothes, so there’s a disconnect. Do men and women interpret the meanings of “how” and “what” differently?

Mom & Ava

So I phrase the question as a yes-no, using the interrogative pronoun “how”. It doesn’t matter how the husband (stay-at-home dad) phrases the question, though, because the woman (hard-working wage earner) will answer in essay form.

Husband: Did you have a nice day?/How was your day? (The correct answer is either “yes” or “no” or something like “nice”)

Wife & Father-in-law

Wife: It was okay, it started off fine, but now my flight home is delayed a half hour so I thought I’d call you while I wait at the airport, I’m so tired. I think I’m going to have to buy new shoes. These shoes started to hurt my feet, but maybe it’s just because I’ve been standing a lot all day. I really worked hard today, but when I was driving to the airport there was this accident and traffic was blocked for about five minutes, but at least the flight coming here to San Francisco was smooth. And the weather was good, too, sunny, although it wasn’t that warm, maybe 60 degrees. I arrived to the meeting early so I had time to prepare, and that was nice. But even though traffic was bad the line at the airport was pretty good and I was happy to get through and then I was major disappointed because the flight was delayed. (By this time husband is chewing on his gums) Then she’ll ask me:

Christmas at Grandy's

Wife: What’d you do today?
Husband:It was fine.

That being said, truth of the matter is, I love hearing my wife chirp about her day, especially at the end when we’re winding down, but when you’re a hard-working stay-at-home dad (don’t roll your eyes) long, endless conversations need to end.

Nephew Julian loves his Tofurkey & Gravy soda

Even Grandpa Gave It a Try

TOFURKEY & GRAVY SODA: My wife works with retailers, and Jones soda gave her a free case of this holiday season’s brew: Tofurkey & Gravy Soda. I guess I’m late to the game as this concoction has been out for a while, but it just shows people will buy anything. It is a gag, but it’s been successful, and evidently sells out every year around the holiday season. Go figure. So…with that, happy holidays to all!

From the Powell family...Merry Stressmas! And for those who do not believe in stress...Merry Christmas!

My father in a canoe, Terry & Gia watching

Ready for school!

Who took the noodle from the noodle pan? Kaya!

THE SHORT BLOG: This is a short blog. October has been extremely busy and I had to put something together in order to maintain my quota of at least one blog post a month. The following is a tribute to all those women who love football.

Mother & Daughters

FEMALE FOOTBALL KICKERS: It’s fall, school has started, as well, football season. Every now and then we get a kick in the pants in the female-male gender battle during this time of year because some girl at some high school put on the pads and kicks an extra point. This grabs a headline or two. However, is this really news? This only illustrates gender inequality. Look no further than the Kate Hnida college fiasco, with tragic footnote, a story of “women can’t play

Kaya's Private Table

Schnerds

football and men are pigs” and then she ends up writing a memoir.That’s called cashing in. Talk to me when there’s a female linebacker or running back. Hey, women are superior in everything except physical feats, and us men need to retain this last vestige.

PHOTO of the SUMMER PAST:

Family at Lake Chelan

At the Rose Garden with 三朵金花, or "Three Petals Golden Flowers"

Nai-nai teaching Ava & Gia watercolors

Carnival

This summer has been busy, busy, busy. Family in town, side projects, and the usual kid drama. As they grow older my wife and I are learning, by a form of trial & error and conventional wisdom, about discipline. As usual, the male and female clash. Dad would rather use a hammer, and mom wields a feather.

Kaya, Ava, & Cousin Gemma

My friend Layne on his birthday w/Ava & Leann

CRIME & REWARD: The modern parent lives in an age where punishment is seen as “mean.” Drug crimes get the offender more time than rape, murderers help sell sh*tty clothing, posing as martyrs in moronic ad campaigns ala United Colors of Benetton, and society blames crime on society, not the individual. How can the parent discipline? Corporal punishment? No chance. Thus we are left with timeouts and deprivations of treats and privileges.

Dad & his girls

Grandpa, Tra-C, San-J & Ava in the Kitchen

EFFECTIVE? It depends on how willing the parent is to be “mean.” Enter: The Spider Room. We have three spooky corners, a closet, storage space under the stairs, and the “wine cellar”, dank and dark formers stairs that led to our backyard from the basement, until our remodeled covered it up. It’s grungy, it’s dirty, and appropriately terrifying to a kid. Put them in (closet “spider room” for mild offense, egregious merits the “wine cellar spider room”), turn the lights out, and they learn quickly what happens to varmints that throw food, take crayon to sofa, bite each other (they’ve lefty nasty teethmarks on skin), or lie about leaving a “present” in the toilet (happens all the time, it’s the lie not the no-flush that’s the problem).

At Lake Chelan

DETERRENT? Our daughters, 6, 5, & 2 1/2, and nephew Elliot, have all done hard time, and the mere mention of “spider room” gets them to behave. Yet my wife (and sister-in-law Tracy) have different methods. When the kids are naughty my wife gives a hug, kiss, and explanation of right and wrong. Eeeeek! That’s not deterrent…that’s incentive. Let’s look at a hypothetical situation:

Gia graduates from WIS

WHAT MOM SAYS: “Ava and Gia, you know you are not supposed to play with peanut butter and milk in the backyard. That wastes food. Look at all these dishes and this mess. So now we have to clean it up. Okay? Mommy loves you, but mommy doesn’t like it when you girls are naughty. What should you do? That’s right, you have to put the food back in the refrigerator. And the dishes, where do they go? In the sink. Do you want to make mommy happy? Or do you want to make mommy sad? Good. Now you girls don’t be naughty, and mommy will show you how to clean it up.”

My dad takes pictures of his grandchildren

WHAT KIDS HEAR: Ava and Gia, blah-biddy blah blah neeter natter peanut butter and milk. natter natter chatter chatter hubba wubba lova wubba food gibbledy gloo biffity bop. Dishity messity food deener dorf differ dibbledy biddle gorf Mommy loves you hoinchy hoinchy hoinchy mommy will clean it up.

Mom at the Coupeville Festival

WHAT DAD SAYS: I see you girls are making a mess with food and dishes again! Spider room! Five minutes!

WHAT KIDS HEAR: Roarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!! Spider room! Aaaargh!!!!!

As to deprivations, or the “No cookie for you!” schtick, who relents? Mom can’t bear the thought of kids not getting the cookie. Dad sadistically eats, in their face, the cookies of naughty kids.I think my way produces tangible results, however, funny thing is, our kids behave under the tutelage of mom. Perhaps better. Hmmmm?

PHOTO and ART of the WEEK: A vase my mother did for me when I was in high school – the Judas Priest!

Canoeing with the girls on Penn Cove

THE GROUCHY CHEF: There’s a chef in Mukilteo, a Mr. Masumoto, a real life version of the Soup Nazi of Seinfeld fame. The guy loves food and hates

Mom & Ava

Eagle

mankind. Or does he? A while ago my wife and I decided to try him out.

From the Seattle Times:“While this guy makes the Iron Chef look lighthearted, you’ve got to hand it to him. He’s proud enough of his social defect to design his logo around it (tall toque, big frown), put his crotchety motto on his business card (“What you see is what you get!”) and trumpet the grouch factor on bold red signage (“Grouchy Chef, Eat In or Take Out”). But lest you think he’s the Shogun of Schtick, think again: Masumoto means business, and he’s quick to point out that he doesn’t need yours.”

Three Girls in the Kitchen

The Grouchy Chef restaurant had signs in rudimentary English, “No picture no photo no camera!” “I learn very hard to speak English. You make fun my English we talk in my language. We see how good your Japanese.” “I only buy fresh vegetable, meat, and fruit to make good dish. No Costco food!”

Grouchy in my "Grouchy Chef" T-shirt

I noticed these black “Grouchy Chef” T-Shirts, I wanted one, but noticed a sign: T-Shirts Not for Sale! I went to the counter; told Mr. Masumoto that I’d like to pay for the shirt. He said, “Shirt not for sale!” I said, “C’mon.” He said, “Not for sale! Read sign!”

At this moment a customer leant over and whispered, “Take one, they’re free.” And so I did. Mr. Masumoto just ignored me and kept his eyes on the knife.

Kaya Loves Her Guacamole

The menu was European cousine, schnitzel, salmon, rice pilaf, salad with strawberries and gorgonzola, very simple, refreshingly few selections for entrees (a good thing), and all satisfactory. My wife and I ordered and sat. Then this young man and his female companion stood up to leave and pay.

I'm a Happy Chef

As the man waited he started taking pictures of the signs on the wall. Mistake. Mr. Masimoto said, “You read sign? No photo!” The young man shrugged and smirked, and then handed over his money. Mr. Masimoto took the bills and threw them back. ”Get out! I don’t want your money. You get out!” Terry, my wife, said, “I’m scared.”

Ava's Last Day of School

Other signs, though, said that Mr. Masimoto and his family came to America, and that he is proud to be an American. He works hard, and prepares the best food he can. Military personnel who show an I.D. card will get a free meal. My wife and I had a tasty meal and an entertaining experience, although it’s not the place to relax with children. Bottom line: Good and inexpensive food. A rare combo. Ambience on the eccentric side, but nothing wrong with that.

JOKE TIME: What do you call a man who hates giving women backrubs? 

A Massage-ynist.

Artwork of the Month: Another painting by my mother -