glatt to be kosher

When Overboard and I moved into our new home, I agreed to live in a kosher household for the first time in my life. Now, we don't follow the ancient procedures to the letter of the law (pork and shellfish can cross the threshold, it just can't touch our dinnerware), but we do keep two sets of said dinnerware for milk n' meat. I'd love to say that I understand, or even comprehend, the full extent of what it means to be a kosher household, but I'm not fooling anyone.

At the grocery store this afternoon, I went to place some lovely Pepperidge Farm hotdog buns into our cart, but was rebuffed by Overboard. I looked at her and asked, "Oh, gorgeous love of my life, what is the problem?"

"Those aren't kosher," she replied with a touch of exasperation in her voice.
"Bread can be kosher?" I inquired, with true sincerity.
There was a deep sigh, an obvious roll of the eyes, and the following statement was uttered with much disdain: "Your Hebrew school totally failed you."

Now, with all due respect to the nice Jewish people who run Temple Sinai's youth education programs, she might be right. Of course, I also grew up in an ultra-reform household, where pork and shellfish weren't just delicious, they were sacred. Don't believe me? Just place a sizable lobster with healthy claws in front of my mother and hear her exclaim, "A four-pounder! Praise be to God!" Or something like that. Point is, she gets excited about such things, and so do I.

The trick to all of this is Mr. K. While I have agreed to live in a kosher home and raise him with said rules in place (whether Daddy fully understands them or not - you know, sort of like taxes or higher level math), I know a battle will loom one day when the lure of all-you-can-eat King Crab legs night, or a sizzling plate of Szechuan pork proves too much for him to bear.

Luckily, I do have a plan. As Kenny wrestles with his stomach and his conscience, Daddy will be forced to step in and devour the sacrilicious meal to help save his soul from a vengeful deity and an incensed mother. Because that's what fathers do - they help.

I leave you with this funny story from my first trip to Israel a few years back for Overboard's cousin's bar mitzvah.

As a special honor, Overboard and I were called up to the bima to recite a prayer before one of the Torah readings. In order to do so, the rabbi needed to know what our Hebrew names were. My lovely bride had hers in a flash, but I was stumped. I honestly had no idea what my full Hebrew name was, just a guess at the first part.

Overboard's cousin's father was absolutely incredulous and demanded of me, "Well, what did they call you in Hebrew school?"

"Greg!"

a very evenkeel birthday

Happy Birthday to me. Yes, another year, another birthday - this time it's the big 3-4. Funny thing is, I don't really get worked up about birthdays. They don't really freak me out. It probably helps that I still look 24, instead of 34. For that, I thank my grandpa Jesse, King of the Youthful Appearance.

Anyways, Overboard got me a great key lime pie and Kenny helped sing "Happy Birthday" (in his own way) when I got home. And that, my friends, is what I call a birthday gift. Well, that and a ticket to see the Police at Wrigley Field.

Until next year then...

one satisfied muggle

A disclaimer: This post contains no spoilers. I promise.

On Saturday morning I picked up the latest, and last, Harry Potter book (you may have heard something about this Mr. Potter). Overboard was kind enough to buy me some extra time during the day to read, and by 1am Sunday morning, I was done. Yes, I read the whole damn thing and I'm happy to announce that it was awesome. Quite possibly the best entry out of the whole seven book set (and that is saying a lot)

Now Overboard is taking her turn to read the book and I look forward to being able to discuss it with her when she's done. On an amusing note, the fifth Harry Potter book, The Order of the Phoenix, came out right when we got married. We actually took turns reading it on our honeymoon, often while sitting pool or beachside.

One of the exciting things about the Harry Potter phenomenon for me is the idea that, one day, when Kenny is older, I'll get to share it with him. I figure we'll read the books together and watch each movie after we finish the book. I can't wait to revisit the stories through his eyes and imagination.

Of course, after Harry Potter, we'll also need to cover the Star Wars saga...but that's a post for another time.

kenny's engineering ocd

Kenny loves his trains. LOOOOOOOOOOVES them. Just not all together.

When playing with his train set, I've noticed that he only likes to have one car going at a time, usually the engine. If I link together three cars, he will immediately yank two of them off (again, more often than not, leaving the engine to run solo). I have seen him put down other toys and cross the room (both walking and crawling) to stop this horrible offense to his engineering sensibilities.

I'd love to know what his rationale is, but in the meantime, I just crack up and link the cars together from time to time just to test him.

happy anniversary to us

Four years ago, Overboard and I went all in and got hitched. Best decision ever.

So let's raise a symbolic glass to my wife, who is my best and most favorite. She makes me laugh, smile, think, and love. She is the one I turn to and trust, and she is the incredible mother of our superstar toddler, Mr. K.

Here's to the first four years and to the many, many more to come.

Big sloppy kisses, gorgeous.

Love,

Evenkeel

sunday in the sun with kenny

Today was a nice day with lots of sunshine, which is always a good excuse to play outside. Plus, we had a visitor -- Overboard's childhood friend, Cristina, in from Boston. Kenny impressed with his walking skills, and Sadie vied for some attention as well in her own fuzzy way.


"So, little man, I hear you have six teeth and a clean diaper."
"Well, lady, one of those things is definitely true."

"Stop staring at my tush. I know you can't resist it, but you must try."

"This way, Mommy, I think Sadie buried something squishy over here."

This is the before shot. There would be an after shot, but it was difficult to take a picture of myself taking the grass out of his mouth.

"Yo, dog, you tried this stuff? It looks delicious."

We've hidden Kenny somewhere in this picture. Can you find him? If not, may we suggest a stronger eyeglass prescription?

"I don't know how to put this, fuzzball, but your breath could incapacitate a moose. You're very cute though."

Junior Great Books Enrichment Program...Class of 1986(ish).

my dinner with the silverbarsts

After getting to spend time with Curtis and Nancy, Overboard and I also got to share a lovely meal with Dr. Professor Silverman and his lovely (and incredibly talented) wife, Amy. Just like I can never go back to Atlanta without eating at a Chick-fil-A, Adam cannot come to Chicago without dining at Walker Brothers, an institution known for its deliciously ginormous pancakes.

Kenny behaved himself, for the most part, which means he didn't throw everything on the floor, maybe just a small pancake's worth. However, he did thoroughly enjoy eating some pancakes, part of my "famous apple pancake" (which was the size of small house and more than enough to feed a family of 26), as well as the meal Overboard had brought for him.

In passing, I would like to point out that there was a sinkhole in the floor of the restaurant to make it look like I was about two or three feet shorter than my friends. No? Not buying it? How about that I was trying to make them feel better about themselves? Not so much? Well, would you believe that I ate so much that it lowered my center of gravity and shrunk me down by a foot or two?

the wedding day-trippers

Last weekend, on the super-lucky day of 7-7-07, my college buddy Curtis got married just outside of Milwaukee. Overboard and I were able to make the drive there and back without much issue, while Kenny got to hang with a babysitter back at the homestead.

Because of scheduling/timing issues with the babysitter, we were forced to miss the wedding ceremony, but made it up for the reception, which was very nice. Even better, I got to not only see Curtis again (and meet his wife), but one of my good friends from college, Nancy, who was in from Seattle for the event (and thus known throughout the weekend as "Nancy from Seattle").


Evenkeel, Curtis and Nancy: The Vassar Brewers!

Nancy has two boys of her own, and we spent a lot of time laughing, catching up, and sharing parenting stories and tips. Overboard had never met Nancy before, but they bonded quickly, and thankfully it was not by making fun of me all evening.



Times like these, when you get to see friends for the first time in way too long, makes you wish there were a way to convince everyone to just live in the same place again, like, I dunno, Chicago. This all plays into Overboard's master plan for retirement, when she wants to accomplish that feat by having everyone we love move into Del Boca Vista Phase 2 together so we can play canasta and swap grandchildren stories in between Slimnastics classes and early bird dinners.

more teeth, please

Mr. K has two new teeth coming in, his upper lateral incisors, to be exact. This has led to an increase in drooling and grinning, both to show off the new developments.

So, for those of you keeping score at home, we're currently up to six teeth (and counting).

open up, it's tha po-lease

The view from our seats along the right field line.

On July 5, I got to go see one my all-time favorite bands, The Police, play at Wrigley Field. Big thanks go to Shoes for securing the tickets, and for Overboard for buying mine as a birthday gift. There were six of us all together, and it was made even more special when the sixth member of our group turned out to be Dr. Professor Adam B. Silverman, a friend of mine since I was but a wee lad in Sunday school.

As it turns out, Adam and his wife were in town for the week, and Shoes had an extra ticket. Our IM conversation when something like this:

EVENKEEL: Hey, where are you? You in Chicago?
DR PROF: Yes I am.
EVENKEEL: Wanna go see the Police tonight?
DR PROF: Yes I would.

I never said we were really eloquent or profound in our IM chats, just to the point.

Anyway, the concert was a lot of fun and the performance ranged from the "pretty damn good" to "wow, that's awesome" to "holy %$#@, that's why they were once the best band on the planet." For a more detailed recap of the show, check out what Grant had to say.

From high school through the first five years or so post-college, I went to a lot of concerts. A LOT. Hell, I was even a cog in the "music industry" for a while there. But these days, not so much.

I'm starting to show my age a bit. See, two or three times during the show, I had to sit down because my lower back was aching a bit, and to be honest, I just wanted to sit and enjoy the show anyway. Also, one of the few new bands that I'm into these days, The Cat Empire, came to town on the 10th and played a club in Chicago. As much as I wanted to go, I knew I couldn't/wouldn't because: A) It was a school night, B) The club was located in the city and I am a Suburbanite, and C) Sleeping just sounded better than anything else.

All of the above makes it pretty official that I am no longer cool, connected to the kids and their crazy rock 'n' roll, and this close to being a grumpy retiree who wishes you'd all just shut the %$#@ up and turn the music down.

What happened?

and just like that, everything changed

After hearing stories of how well Kenny was walking at daycare for almost two weeks now, we finally managed to cajole the kid into strolling around the driveway on his own this evening. Unfortunately, the camera card was pretty full, so I could only get two quick videos, but I think it came together nicely. It was torture knowing that he was able to walk, but just wouldn't do it while he was at home. Hopefully, this is the end of crawling and the beginning of walking. Because, as we all know, the next evolutionary step is skating. I'm just sayin'.

happy birthday, america

One of the cooler things about living in the suburbs is that every 4th of July, the Glenview parade goes right in front of the house. Each year, I make sure to put chairs in my driveway extra early in the morning, lest I get blocked out of seeing things. See, this is actually a pretty popular event, and people line up and down the route, grabbing whatever free lawn space they can.

This year, our friends the Beckers came over to join in the festivities, and we even set up a picnic table in the driveway for easy munchies and drink access. Hell, Kenny got to eat his lunch "al fresco" when we set up his highchair where he had a prime viewing spot for all of the action.



The real action each year, however, involves our neighbor's annual water balloon battle with the Boy Scouts. This constituted a two-wave attack this year, but Overboard questioned why he let the Brownie troop pass by without incident. "Unarmed Combatants," was the explanation. Fair enough.




Afterwards, there was much napping and consuming even more hotdogs for dinner.

God Bless nitrates and other ingredients we best no little about. But enough about the current administration. Badump-cha.


Click here to see the rest of our 4th of July pix!

the raspberry king (aka spitty mcgee)

Kenny may have given up on his blowing raspberries habit when it comes to daycare, but he still loves to do it to us. We've tried a number of approaches: Ignoring it; Decrying it; Swearing under our breath at it; Covering it up with a towel; and many more options that have all come and gone. We're really hoping it's a phase that will work itself out naturally. Otherwise, we're left with but one option: Send him to the Bronx. And let's be honest, there's no way our boy is gonna live in NYC...that's sacrilege. As a matter of fact, let me go get Mr. K and see what he thinks of the idea.

straw man

After our hockey gear expedition, we stopped off for lunch and Kenny impressed us with another new skill: drinking from a straw. He made short work of his milk with his fun bendy straw. I'm dying to teach him how to blow bubbles in his drink, but that's a can of worms we just can't afford to open just yet.

did i say mark spitz?

I meant Wayne Gretzky.

While Kenny is getting used to life in the water, Daddy still prefers playing on the frozen kind.

I finally cashed in on my Hanukkah gift from Overboard last weekend and we made a nice pilgrimage out to Jerry's Hockey Warehouse. I picked up a sweet new pair of gloves and shinguards, but the highlight was when we rolled Kenny through the front door in his stroller.

The high school hockey player kid working there held the door open for Overboard, who pushed Kenny in and announced, "We need to outfit this kid from head to toe." The look on the kid's face was priceless.

Kenny didn't get any gear this time around, but he did have fun toddling through the aisles, holding onto Overboard's hands.

some more father's day pix

Courtesy of Aunt Carol...


Mike and Xiao Pao Pao pose for the paparazzi. How the paparazzi got into the basement, I'll never know.


Boys love remote control cars. And beer. But until some of the boys turn a little older, we'll stick with the remote control cars.


The pasty-white Rolnicks enjoy a day at the pool.


Kenny nibbles on a little snack which he pulled out from under his hat.


Adam and Uncle Evenkeel look cool for the ladies.

little swimmer

The US Navy is in dire straights these days, with recruitment down and a war going on, so they've started aiming young. Real young. Consequently, Kenny has begun taking swim lessons every Saturday morning at the park district center pool. Now, while I can tell you a bit about the lessons, I'm unfortunately unable to go into any detail when it comes to Kenny's aggressive SEAL training.

Now, I say "swim lessons," but it's really more about getting him comfortable in the water so when he's really ready to swim he'll do so without hesitation. This involves a great deal of singing while splashing around in the water. Of course, since I'm not the foremost authority on remembering kid's song lyrics, I often have to improvise. For example, my version of "Duke of York" goes something like this:

There was some guy from York
Who had ten thousand grand
He spent it all in Vegas
Now he ain't got a dime in his hand
And when you're up your up
And when you're down your down
And when you're only halfway up
Daddy tosses you all around

The first week, the water was pretty cold, and Mr. K was nonplussed, probably because he was shaking and wondering if this is what hypothermia feels like. He did allow me to dunk him a few times, but he didn't so much want to play with the toys at the end of the session.

This weekend, the water was a bit warmer (and he had taken a nice nap before class), so he was much more full of smiles, and thoroughly enjoyed jumping off of the side of the pool and into Daddy's arms. Lest ye think the boy is jumping anywhere on his own, I was holding onto him the whole time. So please put down the phone and leave the nice child services people alone.

In the meantime, Kenny will continue his rigorous training and if he decides to forgo a life of military service, maybe he can be the next Mark Spitz. We'll start working on that mustache right away.

kenny's stylin' new kicks

To help Mr. K with his walking, we got him a stylish new pair of sneakers that offer much needed ankle support, and a bit more weight than his Robeez. You see, Robeez have comfort, but little stability. They somewhat resemble ballet slippers, which may explain why Kenny had such a proclivity to move around on his toes.

The shoes have been pretty successful so far, and when he's wearing them he does a much better job of planting his whole foot, and not tiptoeing around.

Maybe I should invest in a starter gun...

they revoked my cool license

So I'm driving down the street yesterday, sun shining, dog in the backseat, music blasting. I've got my shades on and I'm feeling pretty damn cool as I bop along to the beat and sing at the top of my lungs. Other cars pull up alongside of me, and I give a tiny nod and acknowledge how supremely stylin' I am.

When I get to my first destination, I get out of the car and take a look at my back window and Kenny's sun shade. Suddenly, I'm feeling a little less than hip.



The struggle continues.

bay area by way of boston

The other weekend my buddy and Boston roommate, Geoff, came in for a visit from San Francisco. Amazingly, his presence in Glenview did not involve any sort of computer repair.

On Saturday, we took Geoff for the obligatory lunch at Hot Doug's before heading over to one of the millions of street festivals that take place in Chicago from May through September. In this case, it was the Belmont Arts and Music festival, or BAM!

Arriving on the early side, we wandered through the various vendor stalls, and Geoff even purchased a new stylish hat. There was a rock band playing on one end of the street, but we thought it would be a bit loud, so we meandered in the opposite direction.


Kenny loves his first street festival and the nice balloon lady who decorated his stroller.

By the time we got down to the opposite end of the street, there was a band playing on that stage as well. However, this band was a bit more kid-oriented, and featured songs about digging in the sand and pulling on your pants. While Geoff teased me about this being the future of my iTunes, I launched into my well-practiced spiel about not letting Kenny get too immersed in the dangerous world of The Wiggles, and their ilk. I talked at length about making sure he learned about The Beatles and The Rolling Stones, and learned to appreciate the differences between P-Funk and Prince. Of course, as I rambled on with great sincerity and intensity, Kenny was transfixed by the band and their song about saying "Hello" to your neighbors with "a great big wave." Game on.


Kenny can't turn away from the nice lady singing about bubbles.

When we made our way back to the middle of the festival, we ran into my friend Chris Glynn, who Geoff knew from our days in Boston. We asked Chris what he was doing at the festival and he explained that his band had just finished playing their set. D'oh. Yes, the band we kept Kenny from featured my good friend, Chris.


Chris forgives us for blowing off his band. Notice the empty cup in his right hand. This was the 18th of 345 free steak samples. The cup in his left hand was refilled often too.

After a bit, Overboard decided to take Kenny home while Geoff and I drank, I mean, hung out, with Chris. We were eventually joined by Grant, who lives nearby, and decided to stick around for the long haul and see Bob Mould, who was headlining the event.

Much beer and free steak samples were ingested, and a very long and drony Bob Mould set was saved when Geoff disappeared from our spot near the stage, only to reappear with a 12-pack of El Pacifico and some Red Bulls. Good man, that Geoff.



This made standing on my feet in a big crowd listening to Mr. Mould rage on about things that bothered him a bit more tolerable.

The aforementioned Mr. Mould and his guitar of woe.

Sunday was much more relaxed, as we mainly hung out and ran a few errands. Not really the exciting stuff you tell your friends back in San Francisco about when recounting your adventures in Chicago, but it was nice nonetheless.

forward thinking

Now that Mr. K is old enough and big enough, we were able to turn his car seat from rear-facing to forward-facing*. This is very cool because not only can we see him without resorting to a David Copperfield-worthy series of mirrors, but he can see us, and where we're going. His backseat chatter has increased considerably, now that he can comment on things that aren't moving backwards. Furthermore, having him face the front makes it a helluva lot easier to pass him snacks, toys, or high-fives.



*In the interest of full disclosure, we were "allowed" to do this right after his first birthday, but didn't get around to it until about a week ago. All just a part of the grand conspiracy of lazy parents to keep the boy down, I'm sure.

walk like a man

Kenny is this close to walking on his own. He's gotten comfortable enough to totter along while hanging onto your hands/fingers, often by just holding onto one hand/finger. He gets a fair amount of practice with his walker wagon, cruising up and down the driveway, or cutting tight turns in the living room.



At daycare they have a neat trick where, instead of holding Kenny's hand, they use a bright rag or towel. Kenny grabs one end, and the daycare provider holds the other end. Kenny can lead the way, and gets to feel like he's in control (which, to be honest, he is).




The little boy can walk, he's just hesitant to make the conscious effort to do so. Right now, crawling is still highly effective (and speedy), but he's gonna start stumbling around on his own like a drunken sailor any day now.

We don't want to pressure him, but we are trying to encourage him to start casing the joint. Next up, repeated viewings of the opening sequence from "Saturday Night Fever."