Some of you may have read the previous post about my turtle, Baby Einstein Buddy Killer George Cooter I about a quarter-sized Painted Turtle a friend handed me in 1996 upon our return for the Fall semester. I kept the turtle in a small fishbowl in the dorm, hiding it from the RA and others. For lack of a better name, I called it “Baby” and later added Einstein after my favorite dead guy. Others who helped care for the turtle chose different names, then, a few years back, my male turtle laid an egg. Shortly thereafter, all other names were disbanded and she’s been Georgia (or Georgia Girl) ever since. It’s only fair seeing that we’re pretty sure only girl turtles lay eggs.

So, as the distance between college life and adulthood passes, my infatuation with Einstein has subsided. I’ve always had a thirst for knowledge and enjoy the challenge of learning new things. This trait has been passed to my child, who incessantly asks questions and actually retains my responses for future conversation. Today I taught her the numbers 1 through 1 quadrillion in tens and how to properly place commas in large values. We also did a subtraction problem which she got right! OK, she used her fingers, but did so on her own accord. She also completed her first Soduku (kid’s version) puzzle, so today was quite intellectually successful.

It seems that despite my attempt to mature beyond childhood idols, the past has a sneaky way of creeping back into the present. And so it happens that my daughter has acquired a new title as the family’s budding Einstein.

This morning we Devon and I were busy in the kitchen, making breakfast and cleaning up. Claire had been playing in her little tent this week and pretending there were wolves and monsters and such around, requiring her to “hide” in the tent and play games.

Well, as I’m cooking I hear her scream bloody murder and run towards the kitchen. Knowing my kid and her standard volume, I barely flinched and continued my chore, concerned, but not panicked. Devon, however, caught on a bit sooner, shut off the faucet, and met her on the edge of the living room.

Claire screamed “there’s something in the cave!”. I’m thinking there is a bug and am still not too worried, but I take over hugging duty while Devon investigates the beast.

A moment later Devon exclaims “it’s a bird!”. A what?

I edge closer, still holding a hyperventilating Claire.

A dove, sitting on the other edge of our fireplace guard, calmly sits and looks over its surroundings. I pause, knowing that the flue was closed this winter, and wonder how this bird managed to get down the chimney and why it brought so much dirt into my house.

Then another thought occurred to me. How are we going to get this bird out???

I throw open the sliding glass doors as Devon removes the guard and I begin calling to this bird as though I speak the language.

It flaps wildly around the room.

So does Claire and Devon.

He runs to the garage. I run to the kitchen. I mean, I need to check on breakfast to – live goes on.

Then the bird comes into the kitchen and I scream. (It was aimed at my head, of course).

Devon charges in with a fishing net.

Seriously.

My screams panic the bird, who reroutes its course into my office. Drat! Why weren’t the other doors shut?

Devon chases after the bird; I reach for the camera.

The dove is released on the porch, flies away, and directly into our brick fence. It bounces off, lands on its back, feet in the air, and doesn’t move.

I grab a stick and flip it over, take a few pictures, leave it with a few parting thoughts, and return to the porch, happy the dog has been safely locked in the dog run…

After scrubbing our hands, eating breakfast, and going on about our day, Claire approaches me.

Mom?

Yes Claire?

I know what we can call the bird.

What?

Santa Claus!

[insert lightbulb above Donna's head]

Why Claire, that’s a great idea.  You know what mama thinks?

What mom?

I think Santa sent the dove to be sure you were being a good little girl.

No, it’s not Christmas yet.

It’s halfway there Claire; this is when Santa checks on kids.

Ah, man…

Claire sitting at the coffee table eating dinner while Dante lays under her feet in hopes of catching some crumbs, “Dante! Leave! You’re pissing me off!”

Mama and Dad’s eye brows raised toward one another.

Me, “um….” Thinking it’s my truck driver vernacular that got us to this point.

Mama, “Claire, you shouldn’t tell the dog that he’s pissing you off. Tell him he’s upsetting you. That’s an adult phrase.”

Claire’s reply. “But, Mama, what if he IS pissing me off?”

Jogging the Canal, originally uploaded by nooccar.

Every so often I think (read: I know) I need to exercise, and recently I became friends with an exercise freak. She bugged me (read: ecouraged me) all of the time to get out there, but part of my problem (read: excuse) is that it’s damn hot in the summer. Well, two things happened recently. 1) It’s cooler in the fall/winter. 2) She began teaching an online jogging class.

I know how funny that sounds, and I’ve gotten some odd looks. Well tonight I began my class officially. I did a run through last week with the dog, which I loved. All weekend I promised my daughter, Claire, that I would take her on a long walk up to the park where there’s a pond. I figured we could walk the canal after that and then come home the same way the dog and I walk.

Claire wanted to bring her wagon to carry her water and doll. Dante hates the wagon and won’t ride it it. Claire won’t really ride in it either since she’s pretty active. She runs a lot and never gets winded too. I ended pulling that damn thing 2.5 miles while she walked the dog, ran around, and had a good time at the park. I finally convinced her to let me pull her when we hit the highway on the other side of the canal, but as soon as we were off the frontage road, she was out of the wagon and running down the sidewalk with the dog. Even thought it was kinda fun, I think next time the daughter and wagon get to stay home.

My father isn’t the most social or warm person in this world, so the times in my youth where he was focused more on his children were those memories that held tight in my mind. Two large parts of this included camping/fishing and skiing. He’s already been dragging Claire off to the slopes for two years now, but we’re not typically anywhere near Pittsburgh in the milder months.

This became my quest. Take Claire camping & fishing. I really miss the GREEN of nature from my youth, so anything to get out of the desert was great for me. We’ve just not gotten around to taking her and when she was younger she was too young.  Her babysitter had been up to Christopher Creek, and the photos she posted online were great. I was ready to go!

Last week we headed north, and we were impressed at how close some of this beautiful nature really was to us. It only took 90 minutes to get to Christopher Creek campground under the Rim. The forest ranger told us it may snow that night, and the temperature would be in the low 40s at best. I’d packed the car, and realized we didn’t really bring coats, hats or gloves. Ooops.

Claire was dressed in an old pair of jeans, Merrell shoes I’d bought her, a Grand Canyon sweatshirt we rummaged from day care, and my Smart Wool cap. She ran around the campsite while we unpacked and put up the tent. I was eager to get to the creek for some fishing, and the ranger didn’t really gave a good idea of where to fish. We decided we’d walk down creek and look for a spot. The four of us (Dante too!) headed down the creek. I had the fishing stuff, and Donna had the kid. Dante was a real good sport about walking over rocks and through water. We found a hole around the creek bend and dropped our lines. Donna took some photos of me teaching Claire how to fish with the new pole I bought her. Donna and Dante sat against some trees so Donna could read while we fished. I enjoyed myself, and Claire was relatively and surprisingly quiet. She didn’t really dig the whole fishing thing because we didn’t catch anything.

At dusk we headed back to cook some hotdogs and marshmallows. Donna made up a fire and we unlocked the food from the truck (bear & elk are common in this area). Claire wasn’t really into the whole idea of Smores, but she liked the marshmallows. After a bit, Claire announced she was ready for bed. Donna took her into the tent, and Claire went right to sleep. Donna beat me in a game of Continental before we headed into the tent ourselves.

When we moved to AZ we bought this perfect little "tent in a bag", which was perfect for two skinnier newlyweds. Now that there are four of us and we’re thicker, this tent was squished! It’s 6′ X 6′, and I quickly realized that I need a new tent. I didn’t sleep well and was up at 6AM. We cooked coffee in a french press and boiled water for oatmeal before deciding to hike down the creek a few miles. We packed up a backpack with jackets, an axe, tons of water, snacks, a compass, etc… and off we walked. I had Dante and Donna had Claire. We found a few people who pointed us towards a scenic walk south along the creek. The weather was beautiful even if they now called for rain, and after about 2 1/2 miles we climbed onto a huge rock to have a nice lunch.

One thing that was a bit of an event was that Claire would not go to the bathroom in "the hole" (outhouse), so we were a little concerned she wouldn’t "go" until we got home in the next day. After modeling what she needed to do, she finally went! It was really funny, but after that first time, for the rest of the trip she’d just drop trou wherever she was! Later on a trail, near a road, she just began pulling down her pants to pee!

After our nice lunch, we walked back up the creek, grabbed our gear and drove out toward the general store. The cashier pointed us up the Rim to Woods Canyon Lake, and she said they’d stocked the lake with trout. As we rolled up to the lake, the clouds rolled in. I tried to get Claire to fish some more, but she wanted nothing to do with it. Donna, on the other hand, saw some crayfish (the call ‘em crawdads here!) in the lake. She grabbed the net and began catching crayfish, which she wanted me to use to fish. We didn’t really catch anything and eventually it began to pour. My rain coat was in the tent back at camp, but I wanted to catch my kid a fish so I stood there fishing in the rain while my women waited under a pine tree.

We were all wet, and I didn’t bring Claire clean socks or panties! The nice woman in the store found Claire some socks in the back, and we bought some dry wood. Back at camp the rain had dissipated somewhat, so we began dinner while I dressed me and Claire in our rain suits. I mostly put my rain pants on so I could sit down! We threw some corn in the fire, roasted some dogs and sat soaking went and happy for a few hours. We were soaking wet, and that night the tent felt wetter than ever.

The next morning Donna was up packing at 6AM, and we were off to Phoenix at 7AM to get home in time for Claire’s first bowling league. 

We’ve not scrubbed the turtle tank for some time, and we finally convinced ourselves that this was the night. So after dinner, Claire asleep, and my proposal sent for the journal article due this summer, we grabbed the siphon. Now our syphon is huge, rocks, and you don’t have to suck any hoses. But the sink is being goofy and shoots water underneath the sink while we syphon. We yanked everything out from under there and tossed it in the hallway. Toilet paper rolled down towards the kitchen and Donna filled and refilled the damn tank. I scrubbed the filter and after an hour the tank was refilled, the toilet paper was stacked near the kitchen (minus the soaked ones in the trash), and the turtle swam happily in his algaeless tank.

My wife has had this turtle that I’ve mentioned elsewhere. Turtle’s have always been her favorite animal (are they animals?) and I don’t think I’ve ever really remembered her without her turtles. Even when she physically didn’t have a living turtle in her possession, she’d have someone taking care of it with the understanding that she could have him back at the drop of a hat. This has always been how it is, and sometimes it really bugs me. Her current turtle is George. Yeah yeah I know this guy has had like a billion names and I could probably list them all here and some are silly. But I won’t. My brother calls him George. So do I. And I know here we discovered George was a girl, but hey it’s my post, not hers. Anyway, so George now lives in the guest room, and I typically don’t go in there. We were in there the other night cleaning the damn tank. Yuck. It needed it. So we cleaned it until about midnight Sunday. And my job is to turn on and off the lights while my wife is gone and to feed him.

Well, last night was very long and I came home, crashed, and woke up (thank God no one called). I went in to get something off my network printer, and I admired how nicely clean the water is. And I looked at all the goldfish swimming in circles, oblivious to the fact that they are, in fact, dinner. And then I did NOT see the turtle. Crap! I wasn’t too thrilled. Oh no, I thought. My wife’ll kill me. She’s going to think I killed her turtle or something like that. I slowly walked out of the room and closed the door behind me. I then found on eof my maglites, walked back into the room, and closed myself in. I began systematically moving items here and there, searching every inch of the room for George. I wandered how long she’d been out, and if she could live without water, and how long, and what dead turtle smelled like. There was no water anywhere on the dresser or floor, so I really didn’t know how long ago it was.

Finally, after searching every nook and crannie in half the room, I flipped up the bedspread. There, looking at me, smiling, was GEORGE! He was dry as a bone, but happy happy. He asked me "what took you so long? I need a drink!"

Me too, George. Me too.

Things will never be the same again.  Not that they ever could be, but I am occasionally a dreamer.  Especially when I’m being lazy and it is easier to dream about something than to actually do it.

But to imitate Devon, I digress.  Last week, Devon and I returned from a wonderful two week vacation in Pennsylvania.  It was relaxing and joyful.  The weather was wonderful.  Only two humid days and one day of rain.  (Athough Devon would have loved the weather even if it had rained each day).

Mini-trips to Conneaut and Warren were made to visit relatives.  Philly relatives made the trek to PGH at the latter part of our vacation.  We packed the time between trips by getting a mani/pedi (me and mom), attending my 11 year high school reunion, seeing Pirates of the Carribean 2 AT THE THEATER, visiting the zoo, going to the mall, celebrating Meghan’s 25th birthday, taking a Ducky Tour of the city and doing a few other random things.  Claire had a great time with her peeps and learned to speak a few new words – all of which are acceptable at daycare, so no damage has been done – yet!

We returned Sunday afternoon after a day of travel to 94 degree temperatures.  No, not outside (it is over 100 in AZ right now).  The AC at our house broke while on vaca and we had to vacate and stay with Ryan, Laura and Emma.  Thank you, thank you, thank you for your hospitality!!  Devon and Claire battled it out in the heat temporarily on Monday while the AC guy replaced the transformer and wiring.  Good news – it didn’t cost too much.  Better news – AC is now working.  Woo-hoo!

While Devon and Claire were home, I spent my first day back at work.  Now considering that my job is the same, it shouldn’t be too different, right?  Wrong.  Gail is gone!  ….  (I literally cried about this many times since she announced her retirement in May).  Now Jim is in.  OK, Jim is a nice guy, but he is not Gail and I quickly note MANY differences.  It has been a rough week back at work and I am now crossing my fingers, legs and arms that I’ll make it through the year.  Same job, different boss actually makes the job very different when your title is Administrative Assistant.  Your job is to assist the boss, so the actual person in the position has a HUGE effect on your job.  Well, I guess I’ll survive.  If you want more details, you’ll have to ask me in person because I don’t want to pull a dooce.

Sitting down on the couch after coming in from a long drive
home from work, I shudder and frown.

“Devon, what’s wrong?"

“I killed a duck. Ran right over it, squished it like
tartare. I feel horrible.”

Donna just looked at me for a second and replied, “I bet the
duck feels worse than you do.”

George is our pet turtle that was found in the wilds of Pennsylvania.  A friend of my "rescued" him from the dangers lurking in a nearby creek and gave him to me to protect.  At the time he was only a little larger than a quarter.  I hid him in my dorm room and eventually moved him to my parent’s house and then to an apartment.  His original name was Baby Einstein; one because he was a baby turtle and two because I had an infatuation with Einstein at the time.  My parents became his keeper for the last part of college and when Devon and I moved to Phoenix he went with us.  My dad called him Buddy and taught him to do a few random turtle tricks that only turtle lovers can appreciate.  My brother then adopted him, named him Killer, and would use him to gain the attention of young women.  When Danny moved to Phoenix, he brought the turtle with him, and, once again, was living with me.  Devon and his brother, Jaime, call him George.

Having a random conversation with a friend one day, it was determined that cooter was another word for turtle.  Therefore, the turtle is now officially named Baby Einstein Buddy Killer George Cooter I.