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Dad Blogs Family Marriage

Potato Soup for the Soul, Or Stomach Bug? You Tell Me

I fear that in light of several unfortunate intestinal problems this year, I am going to be forced to proclaim 2007 as “The Year of the Colon.”

Harken back if will to the ill-fated multi-family vacation to the beach earlier this year where I spent four of the most miserable hours of my life trying (unsuccessfully) not to puke over the side of the boat while on a deep sea fishing trip. Moving forward in time, just before I left on my vacation to Pennsylvania last week, I had what can only be called “pseudo-appendicitis” that included severe cramping symptoms among other things. On top of that, I’m on my second round of very strong antibiotics for the second time in 3 months. And now…oh now…

I knew that my going away for three days on a solitary (sans-family) vacation was going to cost me, but I wasn’t sure what form it would take. I figured that when I returned, my wife would pretty much hand me the kids and go for a walkabout around town. To her credit, she did give me a few hours of unpacking grace-period before doing so, but since returning, it’s pretty much been the daddy show in the evening. Which wouldn’t be so bad if our youngest of seven months hadn’t come down with an ear infection which has left him a blubbering mess, for which he is now on the very same antibiotics I’m on and which has also turned his colon into a sewage-like firehose from which there is no escape.

The night before last, my wife made a potato soup dish, no doubt inspired by something she read in a magazine her grandmother is fond of called “Cooking Light.” This magazine, in case you’re not familiar, basically takes really yummy versions of high-fat dishes and attempts to make low-fat versions of them. It also includes lots of pictures of MILFs in their little spandex outfits doing these cutesy little exercises while holding 5lb dumbbells (right!). This is the second such attempt at a recipe this month from this magazine, the first being a roasted chicken stuffed with lemons and rubbed with some kinda something (not oil mind you). The result was a terribly bland chicken…reminiscent of a poached chicken breast with no seasoning.

Back to the soup…in the place of whole milk and no doubt at least some butter and half and half, this recipe called for skim milk, sour cream and lord knows what else (I think I just threw up a little in my mouth while thinking about it just now). Now, this dish is one of those dishes that tastes pretty decent for the first few bites, but after a while, you realize that something just isn’t right. The connoisseur in me realized that for whatever reason, rather than having a light and creamy soup, we had a heavy, frothy concoction that wasn’t improved by adding any of the condiments (bacon bits, cheese, scallions) provided. Even as I told my wife it was yummy, I left a bit in my bowl complaining that I was full. No worries.

The next morning (yesterday) I awoke to a queasy tummy, which I blamed on both my antibiotics and on an…um…male pain that WebMD said was normal for prolonged infections in the body. As the day progressed, my queasiness worsened. I skipped the gym and headed home in hopes of some downtime before the fam arrived, only to be quickly followed by my wife suffering from the same ailment.

When I’m sick, I can’t sleep, but when my wife is sick…she sleeps for hours…so once again, I got to be up with the boys all evening (and night) and I’m happy to say that I’m feeling about 80% this morning. My wife is probably back up to 60% but since she started complaining of symptoms after I did, she should be pretty good by this afternoon.

So either, we got some kinda food poisoning from the soup (cuz neither child had any soup and neither child appears sick) or we both got a particularly virulent strain of a tummy bug. Either way, my mind blames the soup and as an added bonus, every now and then a “taste memory” pops up in my mind and in my mouth and it makes me want to just go let it all go. But alas, I have the stomach of iron (minus the fishing trip again mind you) and I just can’t throw up.

So, payback is a bit** and in this case, much worse than I imagined. But hey guess what? My wife gets to go out of town again tomorrow night so guess who gets to pay me back this weekend?

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A Boy's Life Dad Blogs Family Life in these United States

The Family (You Don’t Remember) Resemblance

 Weekend in PAI returned Sunday from a trip to Pennsylvania—Honesdale, PA to be exact—where I was visiting my maternal mother and my sister (oh ok, half-sister). Honesdale, in case it sounds familiar, is the sight of the parade at the beginning of the Gina Davis, Samuel L. Jackson flick titled “The Long Kiss Goodnight,” where Gina Davis plays a lowly-housewife jolted out of her hum-drum life only to find that she’s really a top-notch assassin with repressed memories. I give it two thumbs up.

At any rate, I made the distinction that this is my maternal mom because as many of you know (as if there were many of you) I’m adopted and have a caravan of family pieces scattered around the U.S. like goldfish crackers are scattered around the backseat of my truck. My maternal mom, lovingly self-referred to as “Bio-mom,” is a 50-ish aged woman enjoying a rebirth now that she and her husband (also father of my two half-sisters) have gone separate ways. She has a new boyfriend, a new hair-do, and has lost a number of pounds and has apparently sent them packing down here to Atlanta where they were delighted to find a DNA match for a new home around my waistline.

I did a lot of face studying while I was there this time, which is what one does when one looks nothing like anyone in their immediate family. And as one restauranteur my Bio-mom knew remarked upon meeting my sister and me, “Her…I see the resemblance, him, not so much. Must take after his father.” After which I simply sat and enjoyed the momentary noise of the crickets chirping outside until my Bio-mom filled the silence with, “He does.” Said restauranteur felt suitably embarrassed and beat a hasty retreat.

But it’s true, I don’t really look like my mother. I mean, perhaps there is some resemblance, but nothing like there is between my full brother or my two half-sisters so I really have no one to compare myself to.  Which I suppose is kind of good, unless I ever want to know what my hair will do by the time I’m 50 (I’m already going silver so I have a pretty good idea).

The weather turned nice and fallish just as I arrived and my mother and I suited up and took the bikes out on about a 15-mile jaunt. We kept up a pretty good clip actually, stopping a couple of times for a scenic break (the picture at the top is one break we took). I also got a couple of good workouts in at my sister’s house where her husband has set up a gym fancy enough to rival most hotels I’ve stayed at. So all in all, I felt good about all the wine and cheese I ate while I was there.

Monday morning I dropped by an old bosses’ office to say hi and I mentioned my weekend to him. Knowing that he is a recreational biker, I also mentioned that I rode about 15 miles this weekend. Then, as a courtesy, I asked how his weekend went and then I listened with increasing agitation as he explained how he did a 100-mile cross-mountain bike race up in the North Georgia mountains. Ah well, I guess I did ask.

I wonder what time the gym opens in the morning…