That's What Sushi Said

OK, Magoo, we have a special guest blogger today. Take it away, Mom!

My Dearest Little Case,

When I first met your dad, he had a lot of issues. To be honest, Case, your dad was weird. He would randomly do push-ups in public places. Because he was bored. He didn't have online banking. Seriously, he would drive twenty miles to the closest bank just to check his balance. He wore horrifying Bears shirts that homeless men would burn in their trash cans. He played his music so loud that Helen Keller donned ear plugs in her grave.

Now, I knew your dad was going to be a great father. So I wasn't worried about that when I found out I was pregnant. But it occurred to me he might pass on some of his quirks. Yes, quirks is a better word than "issues." And I wondered how he might adapt once you arrived. Would he blast his music at the playground? Would social services intercept our family if the two of you happened to be walking under a bridge together? These were concerns that plagued me.

Well, my concerns were unfounded. Sort of. As I type this your father is singing "Who Let the Dogs Out?" to you. I hope by the time you read this, all members of the Baja men have been eaten by Rottweilers. But, if not, you should Google (is that still around?) the song. And mock your father. He also currently has you dressed in gym teacher gray sweat pants and a shirt with yellow tractors that has no business being matched with your current athletic wear. But I will scurry you away shortly to change your clothes. Your father has no awareness that I do this on a regular basis.

But, beyond these small transgressions, your father has basically become a new man since your arrival. He dresses (a little) bit better. He recently added sleeves to his general wardrobe. He is more cognizant of his swearing. That doesn't mean he's stopped. He's just more aware. This is a substantial change. And instead of relaying his boring Rain Man Bears statistics and anecdotes, he talks about you. And his pride in you. And your overall infant perfection. Seriously, your parents cannot get over the fact we created something as beautiful as you. Maybe your dad can write a post about that later. I digress. But last night there was a little incident that illustrates your father and his recent transformation to the 19th-century modern male. (Again, 19th century is an improvement)

We went out for sushi. This, by itself, is a shocking area of advancement for your father. This is a person who made spaghetti wraps before you were born. (As a side note, your dad is obsessed with  wraps. It's another one of his quirks. Every freaking night I ask him what he wants for dinner. I can roast a chicken, make homemade soup, bake a little ziti, whatever he wants. Without fail he responds "How 'bout some wraps?" It's not even a dinner food!! )

I had to explain sushi to your father once we got there, but I give him credit for going into the situation open-minded. We got some basic sushi rolls -- nothing too weird. I like eel, but your dad has his limits. And he's probably right. So we started off with a little salad and ginger dressing. Your father gingerly (pun!) handled his chopsticks as he attempted to escort a little lettuce into his mouth. One attempt. Two attempts. Three attempts. Four attempts. Five attempts. Six attempts. Seven attempts. Eight attempts. We were basically counting Indians at this point.  The entire waitstaff is standing mere feet away, completely transfixed. I attempted to help your father by capturing his failure with my camera phone.

Our server finally stepped in, probably after she had posted a video of this debacle to YouTube. But instead of handing your father a fork, she handed him "chopstick helpers," which is basically a device used to train toddlers on how to use these tricky utensils. Your father looked a little sheepish. I did not make fun of him AT ALL. But your dad gamely went ahead and utilized his new tools. One attempt. Two attempt. Three attempts. Four attempts. SCORE!!! Lettuce made it into his mouth!!!  (Lettuce really is not worth THAT much effort, Case). But we laughed, and your father's dexterity with chopsticks improved through the next few courses, and we left dinner with a good story, a good picture, and less than 1,000 calories in our stomachs.

I guess my point in those above paragraphs, and in sharing that silly restaurant story, is that I have some hopes for you, my dear. And they are related to your dad.

I hope you are quirky, because it means you don't depend on what other people think about you. And you think for yourself. Your life will be richer for it.

I hope you are willing to try new things. Keep an open mind, but don't feel bad if something is not for you.

I hope you can laugh at yourself. And be a good sport. There is so much humor in the world, in almost every single thing we do. Sometimes it's hard to see that after a long day. Or after a night of no sleep. But a little laughter can make a casual experience so much more fun. Or make a bad experience tolerable. Just look around you. Humor is there.



Finally, I hope I get to guest write on here a little more often. I have so many stories to share with you -- and almost all of them involve making fun of your dad. We will have a lot of laughs at his expense. :)

But I hope you take away a little something from this, too. Yeah, you guys will have some tough moments as you grow older. I'm sure you and I will, too. But I hope that every once in a while, after you have rolled your eyes at yet another one of your dad's quirks, you will also remember these words. And why I am sharing them with you.

Your dad is a great man. He's just dressed in the wrong clothes.