Jul 22 2012


My friend Mel, mother of the world’s most adorable baby, has a new baby. She coined this term based on a recent diaper change (I don’t know which baby’s it was). Thankfully, I do not have photos to confirm whether this qualifies for poop-mageddon status.

Much as being a patient in a hospital debrides you of a great deal of your modesty, being a parent destroys much if not all of your squeamishness. Most parents I know have comedy/horror stories related to various solids and/or liquids being projected upon them by small children.

I think the worst was my friend Jess who licked what she thought was bean dip off her arm….

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Sep 11 2011


I have long despised bananas. Maybe ‘despised’ is too harsh, but I certainly was not fond them. Before July I only ate maybe four bananas a year, just whenever I got a potassium-deficiency-induced craving. Since being diagnosed with diverticulitis, I have changed my diet significantly for the better, and eat 1-2 bananas a day.

But I may accurately state that I have always despised banana bread. And zucchini bread, squash bread, and all other heavy breads with vegetables in them. I loathe them all. Heather, being an amazing pastry chef, makes lots of other nice things anyway.

So back in the spring Kaleb brought in a dessert his wife, Mrs. Kaleb, had made. Kaleb, being a keen observer pretty much everything in a 120′ radius of his person, knew of my hatred.

KALEB: “So I got this dessert I want you to try. It’s made with banana br–.”

ME: “I don’t like banana bread.”

KALEB: “I know you don’t like banana bread, but this is so amazing.”

So I tried it. I can’t remember the exact composition, but it was made fromĀ 2 white chocolate chip banana bread cakes sandwiched with peanut butter, and frosted with a mixture of chocolate chips and cream cheese.

It was so amazing. Even so, I forgot about it.

Fast forward a month. We go to the birthday party for Kaleb’s little girl, aka, The World’s Most Adorable Baby.

It was a great party, and we had a blast, despite how sad I look in the Facebook pictures. And, we had some incredible strawberry cupcakes (I think I had like four, and they made me take two more home).

Right before we left, Kaleb mentioned something about the recipe for Mrs. Kaleb’s chocolate-cream cheese-peanut butter-banana bread sandwich.

“Oh, Daniel doesn’t like banana bread,” Heather said.

“Really? Kaleb said he loved the one I sent to work,” said Mrs. K.

Uh oh. Busted.

“Oh really?” asked Heather

It was one of those, ‘He never drinks two cups of coffee at home,’ moments, except with the implication that because I had enjoyed another woman’s desserts (in the most literal sense), I had somehow committed an infidelity, at least on a pastry level.

But, I seem to have gotten away with it.

Well, except for the marriage counseling.

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Dec 20 2010


We just got our Christmas card from my friend Kaleb and Mrs. Kaleb. Of course it has a picture of their baby on it. They have the World’s Most Adorable Baby, and they don’t want you to forget it. Every few months they find some occasion to send out a new card:

Our New Baby!

Merry Christmas!

Happy Yom Kippur!

It’s Canada Day!

It wouldn’t be so bad if they wouldn’t rub it in our faces (the cuteness, not the actual baby).

Their baby is so cute even Kaleb’s mom accidentally broke mom-protocol and hinted that Kaleb was not quite as cute when he was a baby.

“She’s so cute! Compared to her Kaleb was as ugly as sin waking up in the morning after a turpentine hangover on Monday!”

It’s not that I mind pictures of cute babies. In fact, I’ve glued all the pictures they have sent over my own children’s faces on all of their pictures, though things do get a little Brazil-esque as the girls get older.

But the real problem is Mrs. MadMan. Nothing fires up the “I Need Another Baby” boiler like seeing Kaleb’s Adorable Baby.

“Awwwww,” she starts. “We need another baby!”

“We have a baby,” I reply, “And she’s 13. It’s too late to have another one.”

This logic does nothing to sway her, so I continue.

“Besides, I know this baby. I’ve seen what she can do. I was there–at Apple Butter Day.”

At the aforementioned Day the little one had released such a poopsplosion that they had to take all of her clothes and put them in a bag and tie that bag to the outside of the car. And then they had to burn the car.

But it’s not like I’m unwilling to compromise. I told Heather we could have a baby if she could convince Mr. & Mrs. K to give her their baby.

Whaddaya say, guys?

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