The Modernish Father

As usual, life intervened and left me precious little time for blogging last week. However, that shouldn’t be a problem this week though, as I’ve taken the whole week off to sit around at home with The Boy and save us a little money on day care.

I guess I shouldn’t assume that it’ll be easier to blog this week though, since I’ve been trying to get this post written all day long and I’m just now getting to it. And The Boy – a child who’s usually content to play in his room or sit in front of a computer for hours on end – keeps on running in here every twenty seconds with something new to tell me. Right now he’s banging loudly on a set of Guitar Hero drums and telling me about some Mexican coins he has in his room. The perfect writing environment.

This most recent weekend wasn’t overly interesting (it wasn’t bad, it just wasn’t interesting), so I’ll instead give you a recap of the weekend before that – Independence Day weekend. It was pretty good.

Cold chillin’

The Boy’s day care – er, I mean summer day camp (he gets offended if I refer to it as day care) – was closed on Friday, but The Girl’s day care was open as usual, so we did what any good parents would do. We sent our toddler to day care and took her big brother to an ice cream factory. Seems fair, no? That’s what happens when both parents are first-born children themselves.

Even though we’ve lived in Texas for nearly our entire lives, neither The Wife nor I had ever been to the Blue Bell creamery in Brenham. The Boy had, but he wasn’t going to argue if we wanted to go. I mean, what kind of kid turns down a trip to an ice cream factory?

We got there around 10 a.m., which turned out to be a wise decision. The factory isn’t open for tours on weekends, so that means usually the only way you can take a tour is if you’re unemployed, not in school or just a deadbeat in general. On weekday holidays such as this, the line for tours gets out of hand pretty quickly, but fortunately we managed to beat all of the madness and only had to wait for about fifteen minutes before we got in.

They have a strict prohibition on photography (which of course I felt the need to ignore), but I’m not actually sure why. It’s not like we saw Oompah Loompahs or anything that could have been considered any kind of trade secret. Imagine a giant room filled with conveyor belts and people putting tubs of ice cream into big boxes. Boom – you just took the Blue Bell factory tour. Kind of like an episode of How It’s Made, except with the inconvenience of walking and waiting in line. The real reason people make the drive down there is because they give you free ice cream at the end of the tour.

In the areas where photography was allowed, it was pretty boring. They had some impressive tanks filled with magical “ice cream mix” and a lot of redundant signs to point stupid people in the right direction. They also had a little pavilion with some unique statues. I did appreciate the fact that the person who created the statue of the company founders went to all the trouble to include wallet bulges in their back pockets. That, my friends, is attention to detail.

All in all, The Boy had a good time there. After we were done with the tour, we headed back to civilization to collect The Girl, but not before we discovered an abandoned set of batting cages and enjoyed a delightfully belt-busting lunch at the Somerville Steakhouse (which is actually named the Country Inn, but no one ever calls it that). And The Wife did whatever it is she does on her phone all day long.

A trip to the library

The Bush Library and Museum (no one cares about the library) was offering free admission on the Fourth of July, so we decided to take the kids out there and let them take a look around. Both kids got their fill of history, but of course, it was the stuff that wasn’t actually part of an exhibit that got them excited. The Girl was fascinated by things on the floor, whether they be giant stars or projected CIA logos, and the highlight of The Boy’s day was discovering a Garfield book in the children’s play area.

They also had a temporary exhibit about mankind’s exploration of space which gave us an opportunity to take pictures of a really big LEGO astronaut, our toddler in a space suit, and a very creepy Yoda peering over our son’s shoulder. After they were done inside, the kids ran around outside for a while. The Girl was angry that we wouldn’t let her in the fountain and The Boy took a picture with a tank that he didn’t really care about. After admiring the miles of port-a-potties they had assembled for the festivities, we headed home.

Later that night, The Boy and I returned to campus to watch the fireworks. After dealing with parking officer on a power trip that relocated us and about sixty other cars minutes before the show started, we found an approved spot to park in and settled in to watch. The show itself, which started about twenty minutes late (as usual), was actually pretty good this year. This was the first time The Boy had stayed up to watch the big show and he was sufficiently impressed by the giant colorful explosions.

Other assorted bits of revelry

• The Boy got his hair cut and kept insisting that he wasn’t crying about it. (He was.)
• The Girl was just crazy in general all weekend long, but that’s par for the course.
• While The Boy was at his grandparents this week, the ladies of the house enjoyed the pool.
• Looks like someone has been redecorating gas pumps.
• In another move that will secure our place in the annals of parenting, we took The Boy to a liquor store. And if you think there’s nothing in a liquor store for children, you’re wrong.
• We also found a wine holder that was most definitely not for children (or possibly anyone else).
• They say this door is broken, but I’m not sure if I believe them.
• I like sugary goodness as much as the next guy, but even I think this is just too much.