Marin Daddy Blog

I've found that one of the ways to get my kids to eat so-called "yucky" food (or rather potentially "yucky" food, since usually they've never actually tried it) is to involve them somehow in the preparation of it. Since it's summer, we tend to cook outside on the grill quite a bit, so combine participation with the spectacle of charring food over an open flame and you have pretty much an irresistable combination.

Let me first note that safety is first and foremost when cooking on the grill with kids around. Anything that gets hot enough to put a nice sear on the outside of a steak can similarly do so on someone's hand or arm, so the first rule of helping Daddy cook dinner on the grill is "stay away from the grill". The second rule is—wait for it—"stay away from the grill". Sensing a pattern here? Kids are not allowed outside unattended when the grill's hot, and trips outside to see what's going on are on a strictly escorted basis and confined to a safe zone on the deck overlooking the barbecue area.

I feel I haven't written a blog post in something like forever (the last one was May 9), which I've decided it directly attributable to working on getting a huge website project off the ground at work (check it out: the all-new Drupal-powered www.famsf.org), and of course undertaking my favorite activity ever: moving! Perhaps you detected a note of sarcasm in that last statement. I'm sure I'm not alone when I declare that without a doubt, moving is the least enjoyable human experience. Although the end result may be happiness and a possible quality-of-life improvement, getting there is definitely not half the fun.

Of course when we set out to start I launched right in to the process with a cheery "Oh, this'll be easy!" Naturally, I remembered the last time we moved when we loaded up all our possessions into a 16-foot rental truck (one load only!) and bribed family and friends with the promise of beer and pizza at the close of day. I neglected to consider that this was a couple years before we had children, and I was utterly unprepared to face the horrors that lurked in our garage and indeed every room in the house. How is it that two small people can accumulate so much stuff over the courses of the so far not very long lives?

Happy Mothers Day to all you hard working moms out there! And if you're not hard at work, I assume you've been that way to get to this point, so happy Mothers Day to you, too! And dads, I hope you're doing something today for the mother of your children to make her feel special. One of the great side benefits of having kids is that you don't have to run out to the card store at times like this. Give them some crayons, stickers, maybe some glitter, too, add some nice heavy paper, and you have a veritable greeting card sweatshop right in your own home. Moms, grandparents, and just about everyone loves to get a unique home-grown card decorated by a genuine preschooler. This comes in especially handy if you've forgotten to go to the card store, and don't have time to run out and grab something—anything—from the picked-over card selection left at this point in the game (of course you'll be in the company of many other anxious dads in the same boat as you, so don't feel too bad).

One of the springtime's treats is homemade strawberry rhubarb pie. My four-year-old somehow got the notion that we were going to make a pie, and has been lobbying me to do that for a couple weeks now. So I went out shopping and picked up some strawberries, rhubarb, and some of the frozen pie crusts that Trader Joes sells.

Just so we're perfectly clear: I may be a wannabe house-husband, but I don't make pie crust, since those that I have tried to make end up with the texture of cardboard. The Trader Joes offering is made of pretty decent stuff (i.e. no partially hydrogenated oils) and is really good, so I usually just buy those when I find it necessary to do some pie making. Right now strawberries are fresh, abundant, and cheap (I heard a news story on the radio recently that explained why, but I wasn't really paying attention so I don't remember), so go get a mess of them and make yourself a pie!

Here's my recipe, amalgamated from a variety of sources to make a pretty tasty pie:

There's nothing quite like spring in Northern California. There are those among us—East Coast transplants probably—who tell us that California has no seasons, but they're dead wrong. They're just more subtle than in other places. I'm not going to go into a treatise on the subject here, but if you're really interested go and read Steinbeck's monumental East of Eden, where he describes the situation in a much more articulate way than I can. Spring is perhaps the most definite season here in California. It's warm, the hills are a bright verdant green, creeks are running, and wildflowers about. It's a fantastic time to go hiking and to take in those fleeting seasonal sights.

Since today is St. Patrick's Day, why not celebrate by gathering the kids in the kitchen and whipping up a loaf of traditional Irish brown soda bread? It's so easy to make—and so good—that I bet you'll find yourself making it more than just on March 17.

This dense, moist bread gets its leavening from baking soda and buttermilk, hence the name. I happen to like the brown kind, made with whole wheat flour, the best, but you're welcome to use all white flour if you so choose.

After over a month of happily swimming around his little tank—and eating all his fellow tankmates in the process—our lone surviving Aquasaur has finally shuffled off this mortal coil to the great vernal pool in the sky. He had a pretty good run, I guess. Most triops have a lifespan of between 14 and 50 days, so our guy was pretty much smack in the middle. Some Methuselahs of the triops world have been known to kick around for up to 90 days or so, but this one wasn't one of them. Regardless, they're not exactly the pets for those who get overly attached. They are, however, ideal for those who are afraid of long-term pet committment.

He was kind of gross, but he was ours, and we all miss him in a way—that is until we grow another batch of Aquasaurs with the rest of the eggs included in our kit by the generous Uncle Milton. Farewell, Aquasaur!

While there are a lot of parenting books out there, I haven't found too many that I really like—until now. Pregnant: a Field Guide to Fathering (134 pages, $10.95), by Marin County father and author Gary Kleiman, is exactly the parenting book I wish would have written. It's funny, comforting, useful, and profound, and if you're a hands-on, inquisitive dad or a dad to be, it should be required reading. (I only wish that Gary published it six years ago so I had it when my first child was born.)

Pregnant: A Field Guide to Fathering is divided into two sections. The first, "Getting Daddy Ready," deals with the preparations for parenthood that every father-to-be experiences, and offers sage advice on mentally and emotionally preparing yourself for your new role, as well as supporting the mother-to-be. The second section is titled "Field Guide to Your Child," and is relevant to parenting children of all ages. It features discourses on such topics as the finer points of choosing a diaper, crying and how to live with it, what to do when your child decided she wants a pet, the joy of undertaking art projects at home, and much more.