tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-47679268743787322912024-03-13T17:26:45.408+01:00The Johnson's ZooThe Johnson's Zoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06255731622839030180noreply@blogger.comBlogger517125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767926874378732291.post-13353769889469752902022-07-15T20:01:00.441+02:002022-08-08T21:29:07.997+02:00Peaky Drivers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhCyzubZzMNt97NAy-9jsORAgRn_nwQOqwMliGRKGe9flvBN8j29e0TZzkqoAGUw1X5pwgDnLBL8ydTXkRNDsK6IswmqAxEIHPbFrZHl0eFwzU6ilIYS_7FWm82dMUIObgub5FIhfCceGTgDrJYL4gzgo0Av2k93X6OOUEic00C7vjsY6-qBP-hp1f2g/s2715/The%20Graduate.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2715" data-original-width="2169" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhCyzubZzMNt97NAy-9jsORAgRn_nwQOqwMliGRKGe9flvBN8j29e0TZzkqoAGUw1X5pwgDnLBL8ydTXkRNDsK6IswmqAxEIHPbFrZHl0eFwzU6ilIYS_7FWm82dMUIObgub5FIhfCceGTgDrJYL4gzgo0Av2k93X6OOUEic00C7vjsY6-qBP-hp1f2g/s320/The%20Graduate.jpg" width="256" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p>Peter has reached a number of milestones lately. Earlier this month, Peter officially graduated from high school. Next on his bucket list was getting his driver's license, which he proudly passed on his first try three days ago. <i>Stay off the sidewalk, folks!</i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikw0unoJlQoFLxiHxP7c_QXojvPz8Isix1p9J3IDgm6V4jl6Lpg5a0F__3kBn-F9prM6kc6c13nVvtprpalU39hchsBuMQVkGIHZ3T-aq5juscSrFmcH9e4gCYT_04XXjTSZ-zWAu9QLLUOpxaHzvcO4zZVhpfhgvGKHSAUStdJyyBplGTcUttR4Ii8A/s4032/Licensed%20to%20Smile.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikw0unoJlQoFLxiHxP7c_QXojvPz8Isix1p9J3IDgm6V4jl6Lpg5a0F__3kBn-F9prM6kc6c13nVvtprpalU39hchsBuMQVkGIHZ3T-aq5juscSrFmcH9e4gCYT_04XXjTSZ-zWAu9QLLUOpxaHzvcO4zZVhpfhgvGKHSAUStdJyyBplGTcUttR4Ii8A/s320/Licensed%20to%20Smile.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>Peter was not the only one that was ecstatic. Angie and I were beyond thrilled to finally have a designated driver. <i>Frankfurt, baby! Buckle up!</i></p><p>Both of those milestones played a role in today's main event - Peter's graduation ball. He and his friends had decided to wear suits like in <i>Peaky Blinders</i>, so Barbara took him to Frankfurt a few weeks ago to pick out a kick-ass three-piece suit and a Paddy cap. On his 18th birthday, we were already aware of this well-thought-out plan to dress up like late-19th century gangsters, so Angie I bought him a very nice silver Tissot pocket watch and chain, engraved with his initials on the outside and <i>'Carpe Diem'</i> on the inside. Now all he needed was a kick-ass ride to really impress the ladies. <i>How about a 1976 Porsche 914?</i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfw0NUZY2JCq_S0fexCSOUA5mCtJZ3VsSSt4Ejuo2qeOnOzbJwuad-Pq2z9BGBWG3-lJXupZWbkKrWX8oqcFXe0ihYsp4smP2PacBZSWU4lSklxjtv9EV4niXmV3nphVr4188jjvbfWwkN5UaammqTHWdryNznXuwZVWJfY0WDEl6hrRDU04-54lxfTw/s4032/Peaky%20Pete.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfw0NUZY2JCq_S0fexCSOUA5mCtJZ3VsSSt4Ejuo2qeOnOzbJwuad-Pq2z9BGBWG3-lJXupZWbkKrWX8oqcFXe0ihYsp4smP2PacBZSWU4lSklxjtv9EV4niXmV3nphVr4188jjvbfWwkN5UaammqTHWdryNznXuwZVWJfY0WDEl6hrRDU04-54lxfTw/s320/Peaky%20Pete.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>Yup, that'll work. </p><p>We have had the 914 parked in a garage with the battery disconnected since late last year. Yesterday, we finally got it insured, although I think we might have inadvertently gotten a poor old lady fired. <i>Est culpa uxor mea. </i></p><p>Angie had called our old insurance company by mistake, who explained to her that an <i>'old-timer'</i> car can only be insured if we already have a car insured with them. We agreed that we would switch our other car over and that problem was solved. Then Angie explained that she wanted to also add Peter so that he could drive it to his graduation ball, which turned out to not be a problem. That is, of course, until an hour later when her boss came back from lunch. I imagine the conversation going something like this:</p><p><i>'You did WHAT??!! He's had his license for THREE days and you thought it would be beyond brilliant to insure an 18-year-old kid for a Porsche 914?? Please tell me that you have not already sent them a written offer.'</i></p><p><i>'Yeah, funny thing, that.'</i></p><p>Not so funny was the man calling us to try and get out of it. <i>Nice try, mister. As much as we enjoy listening to you back-pedal, I think we'll accept the nice lady's initial offer. </i></p><p>To distract my guilty conscience, I went to the garage to put the plates on. To mount the back plate, I had to move the car up a little. I was relieved when the engine fired up on the first try. I had never driven the 914, and I immediately noticed that you need to really release the clutch a lot while pushing hard on the gas. It was a bit awkward, so I suggested to Peter that maybe we go for a practice drive before his graduation ball so that he does not stall out five times in the parking lot in front of his friends. <i>He agreed. </i></p><p>Peter got in the car and fired up the engine. He was literally shaking with glee. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-t5IsU6uvMhv382gjiq6PfsYejHeEDkea7iTcb7rEDb60VcGlgLSk9WQKPDNIY3He0ZpXr6KnbVT6MyRi9Rla_yrTqUORhaVlZx2WqsCpRY-dWITxIsWzmarg1w-suvnM-xaYQwmBuHT37ooD-abrUQFxTMiGB5afQlGjlPde_3KtyArB4oeLcUfd9A/s4032/Shaking%20with%20joy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-t5IsU6uvMhv382gjiq6PfsYejHeEDkea7iTcb7rEDb60VcGlgLSk9WQKPDNIY3He0ZpXr6KnbVT6MyRi9Rla_yrTqUORhaVlZx2WqsCpRY-dWITxIsWzmarg1w-suvnM-xaYQwmBuHT37ooD-abrUQFxTMiGB5afQlGjlPde_3KtyArB4oeLcUfd9A/s320/Shaking%20with%20joy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>Mr. Safety immediately noticed that there was no side mirror on the passenger side and that the driver side mirror cannot be adjusted. Apparently, in 1976, you were either the right size for a Porsche or you were not. <i>Peter was.</i> </p><p>After a brief and rather shaky start, Peter quickly got the hang of it. I was quite impressed. I was also quietly relieved that the federal law requiring new cars to be equipped with seatbelts came into effect in 1968. <i>You're doing great, son! </i></p><p>After about forty minutes, I told Peter to take us home so he would still have time to gangster up. About two minutes from our place, the car died. I thought Peter had stalled, but he turned the key and the engine just kept turning and turning. Cars were backing up behind us and not far off a bus driver started long-honking. Peter started shaking again, but this time it was not with glee. </p><p><i>'Relax, Peter. You gotta deal with shit in life when it happens, and this shit is happening. Put it in neutral - I'm going to push you backwards - just pop the curb there and let's make this sidewalk sexier.'</i></p><p>We got the car off of the street, which earned me a one-fingered wave from the friendly bus driver as he blew past us, still honking. </p><p>Luckily we have the equivalent of Triple-A Gold Member status, so after a quick call, I was assured that we would have road-side assistance within 15 minutes. As we waited, Peter was obviously stressed out. He confided in me that he had not told any of his friends that he would be showing up in a kick-ass sports car because it was still not sure if it was all going to work out. When I told him earlier today that Mama had secured the insurance, that the plates were on, and that we should go for a test run, he promptly got on social media and began bragging the shit out showing up to the ball in a Porsche. </p><p>Needless to say, he was sweating buckets. In case you are wondering what an 18-year old kid looks like as he is contemplating how best to roll back premature cloud boasting, here's one angle. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNLsLCDMZ4kvyLU_D6W2RwRYypv0mzT0eJv0Jliz9hEk2j2950mbWaqZktMQ3eaa6XaosB1H6wAG_DEGpBlDy8QL1hWoeJ5YCLCx0imRRcSBfLmAgluX1zTowh4AAMqMFlZYEFP0JjLxntPottrxdyzRMYIzBNYD7PhMI7IUt67jINsIYCip8J96G__Q/s4032/Pit%20stop.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNLsLCDMZ4kvyLU_D6W2RwRYypv0mzT0eJv0Jliz9hEk2j2950mbWaqZktMQ3eaa6XaosB1H6wAG_DEGpBlDy8QL1hWoeJ5YCLCx0imRRcSBfLmAgluX1zTowh4AAMqMFlZYEFP0JjLxntPottrxdyzRMYIzBNYD7PhMI7IUt67jINsIYCip8J96G__Q/s320/Pit%20stop.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>But the show must go on, so I told him that I would wait for ADAC and that he should go home and get changed in case they could not fix the car and he would simply have to drive the Smart. <i>Two-seater plastic toy cars impress the ladies, too - right?</i> </p><p>As I waited, I seriously questioned whether someone in the roadside service business would really be able to help with anything other than a dead battery or an empty gas tank, especially with a car that is only slightly younger and a tad more temperamental than Angie. </p><p>The guy showed up after ten minutes and I was mega impressed. First off, he knew that the engine was in the back. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUFBqtXO2o4fZTEcCq4SS61Ycvsubhn8tmaOb6LPidDjEfAbhLdKjKqPM52grzEi-QZpKpDwFZh8EkUFxaK6o3yaV8f3SP5ciYuPvDORb9-XxaZkTS2YebS17Ogk86E0dLpNm7s063gMZ-4jYB2bFYP_SP-Ft1go0exzKVLKbXw_ksdfVCXF-NTIYW6g/s640/ADAC%20to%20the%20rescue.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUFBqtXO2o4fZTEcCq4SS61Ycvsubhn8tmaOb6LPidDjEfAbhLdKjKqPM52grzEi-QZpKpDwFZh8EkUFxaK6o3yaV8f3SP5ciYuPvDORb9-XxaZkTS2YebS17Ogk86E0dLpNm7s063gMZ-4jYB2bFYP_SP-Ft1go0exzKVLKbXw_ksdfVCXF-NTIYW6g/s320/ADAC%20to%20the%20rescue.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>I would have probably figured that out eventually, too, but my lack of car skills was not the point. The point was that after a few minutes, he had pinpointed the doohickey thingamabob that wasn't working and fixed it. <i>Vroom, vroom!</i></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1ZhiJ_zeG2D6BvWzy0RTly-EkznyBH5IbxuCIVYzz5I0OGVS7UCic8jDhP0hy4oR53BpITewnpAfJxablJpf1-fU_Sz9kF1hKTNt4DWyMLHaUljEIvrprPH3qxsqOAml5QFn5--Vx5WT1CFeFeu9JP5U0zbJUcOOzqq-0Jl147yVVB1YKLkFuRS3ZMg/s4032/Peaky%20Peter.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1ZhiJ_zeG2D6BvWzy0RTly-EkznyBH5IbxuCIVYzz5I0OGVS7UCic8jDhP0hy4oR53BpITewnpAfJxablJpf1-fU_Sz9kF1hKTNt4DWyMLHaUljEIvrprPH3qxsqOAml5QFn5--Vx5WT1CFeFeu9JP5U0zbJUcOOzqq-0Jl147yVVB1YKLkFuRS3ZMg/s320/Peaky%20Peter.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>After parking with style, Peter made a grand entrance and had a proper meet and greet with the Godfather. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMcdm-jnm6Z163Sp53XOdHsD4N4qdjSjPYAlwPb6ex1xpHclzdqoHGneSTTo1P64DwMovVzxIiFqUUb8pAGBD9uV2kEO9GJWxB18U9WiIlxwxdPYZaLQrx2-W7nCDKnyd-5hcrIH1KoLFypEAgP5WBVe5SSkxtF8P203w7xEv9Hltg6QVbmBltm8axTg/s4032/The%20Godfather%20Returns.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMcdm-jnm6Z163Sp53XOdHsD4N4qdjSjPYAlwPb6ex1xpHclzdqoHGneSTTo1P64DwMovVzxIiFqUUb8pAGBD9uV2kEO9GJWxB18U9WiIlxwxdPYZaLQrx2-W7nCDKnyd-5hcrIH1KoLFypEAgP5WBVe5SSkxtF8P203w7xEv9Hltg6QVbmBltm8axTg/s320/The%20Godfather%20Returns.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>The ball itself was rather anticlimactic. The buffet looked promising at first. Until, that is, they ran out of food while we were in line and what they brought out after was, well, also lacking in climactics. </p><p>After dinner, Peter allowed a single photo. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyMPGnNJWOL98o7NO64Y77xm5LunrrUbAGhieXTPOnIaXhrjXZwvhh3_zAvQmQMzXHIsicT-y4fFHDS3PwbPO_uzlXxF_0crQd24TolFKVy4B6wtAlhdAY3pPn0QkXA27W7eVsr7-iWcebNwlu2FVf6Qd6f_SS4Lr4R2HdcfWEcH1JvoKp-BXiDjJ9Tg/s4032/Proud%20Mama.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyMPGnNJWOL98o7NO64Y77xm5LunrrUbAGhieXTPOnIaXhrjXZwvhh3_zAvQmQMzXHIsicT-y4fFHDS3PwbPO_uzlXxF_0crQd24TolFKVy4B6wtAlhdAY3pPn0QkXA27W7eVsr7-iWcebNwlu2FVf6Qd6f_SS4Lr4R2HdcfWEcH1JvoKp-BXiDjJ9Tg/s320/Proud%20Mama.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p>Shortly after, he politely informed Proud Mama that parents do not need to stay for the dancing part. I'm not sure if <i>'sending your parents home to bed'</i> was on his bucket list, but he looked quite content with himself as we waved goodbye from the Smart. </p><p></p><p><i>--------------------------------------------</i><br /><a href="http://thejohnsonszoo.blogspot.com/2008/06/ladder-talk.html">Ladder Talk:</a> <i>[David and Tom were off being teenagers]</i></p><p><i><br /></i>1) What was the best part of your day?<br />Peter: <i>The Abi ball, which I got to celebrate with my friends</i><i> and of course that I got to drive the Porsche to and from the ball.</i></p><p>2) What was the worst part of your day?<br />Peter: <i>The shock of the car breaking down and that this was the last official school event and now my friends are all leaving.</i><br /><br />3) What would you like to do tomorrow?<br />Peter: <i>Figure out a name for the 914. </i><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>The Johnson's Zoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06255731622839030180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767926874378732291.post-69489615951489196042021-05-20T22:56:00.003+02:002021-05-21T19:11:51.389+02:00Have you ever had one of those days?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aQz-H2kpQYo/YKbGQN8YsKI/AAAAAAAAOUM/EKBDgoudLJ4gbi3i2fTKa7mtjNPJZfdigCLcBGAsYHQ/s1214/Road%2BRage.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="935" data-original-width="1214" height="308" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aQz-H2kpQYo/YKbGQN8YsKI/AAAAAAAAOUM/EKBDgoudLJ4gbi3i2fTKa7mtjNPJZfdigCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h308/Road%2BRage.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>Have you ever had one of those days when the cops show up at the front door looking for you because four weeks ago, you began honking at a slow driver in front of you on a narrow one-way street? The same driver who claims that you also jumped out of the car when he stopped and began screaming at him? You don't remember doing any of this, but studies have proven that road rage can fog your recollection of events. </p><p>It doesn't matter - you weren't even home, so they explained this all with a phone call, informing you politely that you now have to go down to the station next week to make an official statement. Then, on your way home, you decide to stop and fill up your toy Smart car with gas, after which you thought it would be a fun financial experiment to see if your card would be blocked if you tried entering a six-digit pin, even though German bank cards only accept four-digit numbers. After finding out that it does not block your card, you try it again, using the same six-digit number. </p><p>At this point, the whole thing becomes more of a <i>'How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?'</i> type of quagmire. The answer is 364, as was discovered by a group of engineering students from Purdue University, who designed a <span class="ILfuVd"><span class="hgKElc">licking machine that was modeled after a human tongue. You decide to proceed with your equally intellectual quest to find out how many times you can enter an incorrect six-digit number for a 4-digit pin. After your third attempt, you stare at the screen puzzled, trying to comprehend the blinking message informing you that your card has been blocked. The clerk at the gas station tries to help.</span></span></p><p><span class="ILfuVd"><span class="hgKElc"><i>'It means your card has been blocked.'</i></span></span></p><p><span class="ILfuVd"><span class="hgKElc">Remembering that the police had shown up at your door earlier that day on an unrelated anger management issue, you suppress your urge to respond and instead grit your teeth, harness the rage swelling up inside you, and redirect your fury on your hunk of a husband, who has ignored your nags for the last several years to order you a credit card, which would have come in quite handy when trying to pay for gas with a blocked bank card and no cash. Your incredibly intelligent husband provocatively suggests that you ask the clerk if you can simply come back later with cash. Thinking that this is a stupid idea, but knowing that he is right 99% of the time, you ask the kind lady behind the counter, who tells you this is no problem and writes down your license plate. </span></span></p><p><span class="ILfuVd"><span class="hgKElc"><i> </i>In a move that would baffle most normal laymen, you then decide to go to a German bank after 4:00 in the PM and expect a human to be there to help you out. You only realize that the bank is closed after parking in the lot behind the bank. The same parking lot that has a gate arm that will open to let you out, provided that you slide your bank card into the slot. Not wanting to limit yourself to merely one financial adventure for the day, you decide to see what happens if you try entering a blocked card when trying to exit the bank's closed parking lot. You almost find it funny when the machine sucks up your card and says that you have to talk to the non-existent humans inside the closed bank, but you stop just short of a giggle. <br /></span></span></p><p><span class="ILfuVd"><span class="hgKElc">You park the car and spend the next five minutes deciding whether to ask your muscular ball of love for help or to spend the night in the car and try again in the morning. </span></span>As luck would have it, a friend of yours comes walking out of the bank, sees you in the parked car mumbling obscenities at your steering wheel and offers that you follow him when he drives out. He then gets in his car and pulls up to the exit. It's at this point that you try and start the engine and remember a funny little quirk about your car that's not so funny at that particular moment. Smart car engines automatically lock after five minutes of sitting idle while contemplating life's choices, so the only way to get the car started is to remove the key, lock the car, unlock the car and stick the key back into the ignition. You realize that the car is not starting because of this non-humorous glitch and finally get your car started just as he drives though the gate, honks twice and disappears into traffic. You're parked in the first spot in front of the exit, but as luck would not have it, you cannot make it to the gate before the bar closes again. </p><p>You curl up in a ball in the passenger seat, now ready and committed to weather the chilly night air until the bank opens when you remember that you need to pick up Tom from training. Your choice of a life mate was certainly wiser than your choice of a pin number or a car, so you call his wallet, which has both cash and an unblocked bank card, to the rescue. Not wanting to shock the love of your life by thanking him, you instead issue a clear and present statement. </p><p><i>'I'm ready for wine.'</i></p><p>After making it home without any further monetary bumbles, you find that the chicken Caesar salad that your husband had planned to make was replaced with a pizza because, according to him, he got sidetracked rescuing a smart girl in a Dumb car. Or maybe it was the other way around. Doesn't matter, 'cause look - mama's medicine!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rGj4T7Wsg_M/YKbB5OmHXNI/AAAAAAAAOUE/AKI4a861f14w9_MVTedIpOZqZGXbFJFDACLcBGAsYHQ/s380/Mama%2527s%2BMedicine.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="380" data-original-width="278" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rGj4T7Wsg_M/YKbB5OmHXNI/AAAAAAAAOUE/AKI4a861f14w9_MVTedIpOZqZGXbFJFDACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Mama%2527s%2BMedicine.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p>Have you ever had one of those days when you really, really wish that your husband did not have his own blog? </p>The Johnson's Zoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06255731622839030180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767926874378732291.post-59371317550373656642019-07-31T23:14:00.000+02:002019-09-15T17:21:49.000+02:00Making America Loud Again: Discovery<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Today was all about discovering new things. Patrick, along with myself, was surprised to discover that Peter, like Gizmo, can become quite the ass when you put him in water. </div>
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This was Peter's evil grin directly after he had given Patrick an unwanted chlorine eye-bath. The next gleefully wicked head-shot came shortly after he had thoroughly baptized David without his permission.<br />
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Normally the second-born child would simply delegate the love and vent his aggression on the third born. The problem with that sound logic is that the third born in this case has been training hard-core for three hours a day, six days a week, for the last five years. <i>David never stood a chance. </i><br />
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At one point, Evil P decided to take break from tormenting younger humans to use the bathroom. Along the way, he discovered that my parents had recently installed surveillance cameras that were digitally capturing his nefarious and tortuous escapades for all of eternity. <i>Smile!</i><br />
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The next discovery came in the bathroom. Over the years, my dad has decorated the entire house in what one can only be described as eclectically-bizarre with a dash of bat-shit crazy. The toilet closet was no exception.<br />
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Take another look. This truly frightening sculpture of Van Gogh sporting a Russian medal is hung at exactly the eye-level of a grown human that is standing.<br />
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If this is not the best deterrent to standing and peeing ever, I don't know what is. I used the bathroom shortly after Peter and I certainly sat the hell down. </div>
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Tom also made a discovery of his own. I call this one <i>'Don't-fall-asleep-if-your-brothers-are-total-asses-and-have-a-ball-point-pen'.</i></div>
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After lecturing Things One and Two on the dangers of ink poisoning their sibling, we rewarded the entire crew with frozen sticks of milk-chocolate, because, you know, that's what good parents do. <i>Right?</i><br />
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Time flies when you're doping up delinquent young-ins and before we knew it, it was time to free up three beds at the Johnson ranch.<br />
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Knowing that my parents had just dealt with a week of loudness, we decided to give them a bit of quiet time. After saying goodbye to Christine, Patrick and Stephanie, we hit the road and invaded the northern side of Carolina.<br />
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For reasons only privy to Tom's arguably faulty brain, he decided to drive around a roadside market riding a tricycle that he had found in the corner collecting cobwebs.<br />
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After nearly getting kicked out of a rather nice and rustic roadside market, we ventured on to a beach close to where they claim the first plane was flown.<br />
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The boys had a blast. They're city kids, so drinking a gallon of sea water and inhaling sand particles was something new and strangely exciting for them. It did build up a mighty fierce hunger so we were all glad to come back to the ranch to find Pop-Pop manning the grill and flipping burgers.<br />
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After almost twenty years of living in Germany, I have discovered the root cause of why German burgers suck. NEWS FLASH - IT'S THE BUN. In the land of Deutsch, the buns are crap. <i>Entschuldigung</i>. They either turn mushy because the patty is too juicy or they crumble because the bread is too dry. The buns in America are probably not even made using real bread, but they are delicious so I don't care. I also prefer American peanut butter which looks and tastes nothing like the real peanut butter you can find at Aldi. And don't even get me started on mustard that is not yellow, the lack of which also prevents German burgers from even competing with what my dad brought to the table.<br />
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After the old man and the BBQ, Pop-Pop tucked the boys in bed and started to read <i>'The Old Man and the Sea'. </i><br />
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It's not exactly the most riveting story and the boys had spent all day in the sun and had bellies full of burgers, so it was not a shocker when they conked out after the third page.<br />
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<a href="http://thejohnsonszoo.blogspot.com/2008/06/ladder-talk.html">Ladder Talk:</a> <br />
1) What was the best part of your day?<br />
Peter: <i>That we went to Kitty Hawk and had a good time. </i><br />
David: <i>The beach. </i><br />
Tom: <i>That we went to the Kitty Hawk beach. </i><br />
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2) What was the worst part of your day?<br />
Peter: <i>That Patrick and Stephanie had to go. </i><br />
David: <i>The drive. </i><br />
Tom: <i>That I got smacked by a couple of huge waves and water came in my nose and my neck and everywhere. </i><br />
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3) What would you like to do tomorrow?<br />
Peter: <i>Go to the mall. </i><br />
David: <i>Go to the mall. </i><br />
Tom: <i>Go to the mall. </i>The Johnson's Zoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06255731622839030180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767926874378732291.post-6393200688761129732019-07-30T21:30:00.000+02:002019-09-07T08:59:55.419+02:00Making America Loud Again: Landfall<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Being the Johnsons, we did not trust ourselves to wake up in the middle of the morning in time to make it to the airport for our flight to the States. To shorten the drive and decrease the odds of inadvertently leaving any children behind, we stayed at Grams overnight. At 4:00 in the morning, my alarm went off. Our flight was scheduled to take off at 7:30 in the A.M. from Frankfurt, which is only about 25 minutes away at that God-awful hour. I checked my phone, wishfully hoping for a flight delay. I then rubbed my eyes and checked again. WHOO-HOO!! Our flight was delayed until 11:00! <i>Thank you, American Airlines!</i><br />
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</i> I then reset my alarm and got three more hours of that beauty sleep that Angie keeps telling me I don't need. We also called Heidi and Klaus, who had graciously volunteered to let us park at their place and have them drive us to the airport. They live about five minutes from the airport, so this saves us some seriously ridiculous parking fees. Klaus was also loving the extra beauty sleep that Heidi keeps telling him he needs.<br />
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As I slept, I had a nightmare and flashed back to <a href="http://www.thejohnsonszoo.com/2011/06/coming-to-america.html" target="_blank">our last trip to the U.S</a>, where Angie had impatiently thrown a stuffed teddy bear at a TSA agent while going through customs, causing a complete lock-down that ended with bomb-sniffing equipment being brought to the scene and us missing our connecting flight.<br />
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I woke up sweating, but tried shaking off the anxiety by telling myself that nothing similar could possibly happen again. Of course, I've also told myself the same thing about family members embarrassing me in public, so I'm obviously shit at paying attention to ominous foreshadowing.<br />
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A short side note, and I am not trying to assign blame at all, but... it was ANGIE who was in charge of packing the suitcases for the boys. The only mistake that she will never own up to is that she allowed each of them to pack their own carry-on.<br />
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Sensible Peter packed earphones, a pillow, a book, and a sweater in case it got cold on the flight. Not-so-sensible David packed a bag of potato chips, fifty individually wrapped Life Savers, a soda, and three decks of magic cards.<br />
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Tom was really the joker card. Was he going to lean more towards Peter or more towards David? In the end, Tom chose the by me-self path, and that one told his ten-year old brain that what airplane folk needed the most in their carry-on were water pistols. Two of them. <i>And nothing else. </i><br />
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This is Tom, quite tickled with himself that he had been chosen out of all the people going through security to be invited to a personal interview with a security agent that was not quite as tickled. Oddly, though, he didn't address Tom. No, no. I was slightly less than tickled to have that honor.<br />
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<i>'Sir, you are not allowed to bring weapons of any kind on an aircraft!'</i><br />
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</i> <i>'Okay, but come on! They're brightly colored plastic water guns and obviously look nothing like a real weapon. Besides, they're not filled with any liquids.'</i><br />
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</i> <i>'Sir, you're gonna have to take a step back. I'm calling in the Federal Police, they can decide.'</i><br />
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</i> I glanced over my shoulder to make sure that my lovely wife was not wielding any stuffed animals.<br />
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<i>'No problem, Sir. I'll wait here patiently with my delinquent third-born.'</i><br />
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</i> A few minutes later, two heavily armed police officers showed up. After a few brief explanatory exchanges, the officers lowered their weapons and had a peek into Tom's carry-on. One of them then stood up and glared at the security agent that had initially stopped us.<br />
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'<i>Oh, </i>c<i>ome on! They're brightly colored plastic water guns and obviously look nothing like a real weapon. Besides, they're not filled with any liquids.'</i><br />
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</i> I vaguely tried to avoid smirking and failed miserably. Instead, I avoided eye contact with the red-faced security agent, quickly collected Tom's arsenal of dangerous plastic weaponry and fled the scene with my fugitive family to our gate.<br />
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Despite Tom's lack of attention to detail when it came to what was allowed in your carry-on luggage, we actually made it to our flight twenty minutes before boarding. Being the wise and seasoned sailor that I am, I asked my merry bandit of seamen if anyone needed to hit the head before embarking on our voyage. When they didn't understand my jargon, I asked if anyone needed the bathroom. Tom and David signaled their interest.<br />
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When we got to the restroom, there was a cleaning lady standing by the sinks and repeatedly hitting a green button on the wall. I am witness to strange things on a daily basis so I simply ignored this and went on with my business. When I was done, I went to wash my hands. The lady looked a bit startled and quickly pushed her cart out of the bathroom. I washed my hands and then had a closer look at the buttons she had been frantically pushing. <br />
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That's right. The buttons were to allow patrons to vote on just how satisfied they were with the cleanliness of that particular restroom. The green button was a smiley, which apparently worked well. It made me smile.<br />
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After visiting what was beyond a doubt the most satisfyingly clean bathroom ever, we boarded a shuttle to take us out to the plane.<br />
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We had a brief layover in North Carolina where we had to clear customs. One short hop later and we landed in Norfolk. While waiting for the bags, the boys began to wonder if the belt would be rotating clockwise or counterclockwise once it started. I don't remember which way was correct, but as is apparent with this picture, Mama was right. <i>Again. </i><br />
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After collecting our bags, David and Tom raced across the room and began attacking an elderly couple that looked a lot like Oma and Pop-Pop.<br />
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About a month ago, Christine and I were talking and we realized that her visit with my parents and our visit were going to overlap. Her kids go to a U.S. school and ours go to a German school, so we had always thought that there was never a possibility for the cousins to see each other during the summer break. We were wrong, though. There was a one-day overlap, and they made the most of it.<br />
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Holy shit! Zoom in and check out Tommy. I'm quite sure that this is the same glimpse that pterodactyl victims witnessed seconds before having their entrails presented to them.<br />
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The cousins had an absolute blast for several hours. The evening ended with the only respectable way I know of to feed ten humans - pizza.<br />
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After dinner, my dad brought out a homemade strawberry-Jell-O-sugar cake that highlighted his utter lack of wisdom when it comes to winding down hyperactive cousins. The only thing that saved the day was that our wild ones had not slept on the plane and were losing power quickly. <i>Good night, and have a pleasant tomorrow! </i><br />
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<a href="http://thejohnsonszoo.blogspot.com/2008/06/ladder-talk.html">Ladder Talk:</a> <br />
1) What was the best part of your day?<br />
Peter: <i>That we arrived and that we saw Patrick and Stephanie - that was a surprise. </i><br />
David: <i>The surprise with Stephanie and Patrick and Christine and jumping in the pool again. </i><br />
Tom: <i>That we came in and that Patrick and Stephanie were here. </i><br />
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2) What was the worst part of your day?<br />
Peter: <i>That we had to fly almost the whole day. </i><br />
David: <i>Finding out that Patrick and Stephanie had to leave the next day. </i><br />
Tom: <i>That the waiting in Germany for the flight was really long. </i><br />
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3) What would you like to do tomorrow?<br />
Peter: <i>Go in the pool. </i><br />
David: <i>I want to have fun with the rest of the time with Patrick and Stephanie and go in the pool and, oh, yeah - eat a dill pickle. </i><br />
Tom: <i>Go into the pool again with Patrick and Stephanie. </i>The Johnson's Zoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06255731622839030180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767926874378732291.post-15564452233894280552019-07-05T00:01:00.000+02:002019-07-16T17:54:39.507+02:00Sweet SixteenAt the stroke of midnight, I exchanged the following texts with my dear wife, who was just wrapping up another Irish Pub Trivia night and, apparently, eager to get paid. <br />
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<i>'That's great, honey. Happy Anniversary!'</i><br />
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<a href="http://thejohnsonszoo.blogspot.com/2008/06/ladder-talk.html">Ladder Talk:</a> [<i>No Ladder Talk tonight...</i>]<br />
1) What was the best part of your day?<br />
Peter: <i>ZZZzzz...</i><br />
David: <i>ZZZzzz...</i><br />
Tom: <i>ZZZzzz...</i><br />
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2) What was the worst part of your day?<br />
Peter: <i>ZZZzzz...</i><br />
David: <i>ZZZzzz...</i><br />
Tom: <i>ZZZzzz...</i><br />
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3) What would you like to do tomorrow?<br />
Peter: <i>ZZZzzz...</i><i> </i><br />
David: <i>ZZZzzz...</i><br />
Tom: <i>ZZZzzz...</i>The Johnson's Zoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06255731622839030180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767926874378732291.post-65984388399881138262019-03-24T21:01:00.000+01:002019-03-24T21:04:58.313+01:00Mom's getting old<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Angie was on the phone with Gramms today, who kept complaining that she could not hear Angie. </div>
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<i>'I hear you just fine,'</i> repeated the woman with superhero-like hearing. </div>
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After five minutes of this, Angie huffed and hung up the phone. </div>
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<i>'Mom's getting old...'</i></div>
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Angie muttered this as she put down the phone and as she did, she realized that she had been holding the phone upside down. Then she made another mistake and told me. </div>
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<i>'Yup. Mom's getting old...'</i></div>
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<br />The Johnson's Zoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06255731622839030180noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767926874378732291.post-80708492556480651102019-03-08T15:30:00.000+01:002019-03-30T14:59:42.123+01:00Be careful of what you ask for...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-o5dEg1xTXgQ/XJv4dfBDi5I/AAAAAAAANqU/elg41NyxmnQCk1FYOauWmgvm6rwrp0M4gCLcBGAs/s1600/Noise-o-meter.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="330" data-original-width="455" height="290" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-o5dEg1xTXgQ/XJv4dfBDi5I/AAAAAAAANqU/elg41NyxmnQCk1FYOauWmgvm6rwrp0M4gCLcBGAs/s400/Noise-o-meter.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
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David was in class today and the teacher brought in a device that measures noise. Then, she made the mistake of asking her students to get loud to test the device.<br />
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As expected, the kids began screaming their heads off. Surprisingly, this did little to move the needle. What the teacher did not know is that David's father has a chest of hair that makes llamas jealous. Okay, that has nothing to do with this story, but hey, it's my blog.<br />
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The other tidbit of intel that the teacher was lacking was that years ago I had shown David how to whistle with his lower teeth. I remember this vividly because for the weeks following our father-son knowledge transfer bonding session, Angie, Peter, Tom, and even our neighbors had thanked me repeatedly for sharing my skills. What the teacher did not anticipate was that asking David to be as loud as possible was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. To make a long story short - the bull charged.<br />
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Whistler's Mother's lost stepchild took off within seconds, sending the noise-o-meter immediately into the red while the teacher screamed at David to stop. <i>Be careful what you ask for...</i><br />
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<br />The Johnson's Zoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06255731622839030180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767926874378732291.post-44992230727573492562019-02-01T23:11:00.000+01:002019-03-26T19:32:13.398+01:00Dances with MothersFor more than half a year now, Peter has been disappearing on Friday nights to go to a dance course. In Germany, this is traditional for kids his age. It culminates in a big fancy schmancy event in the City Hall - somewhat similar to a prom, except that for some reason parents are allowed to attend.<br />
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It's a big deal and you definitely can't go alone. Shortly before Christmas, Peter finally mustered up the courage to ask Momo, a girl in his dance class, to go to the ball with him. Her <i>'yes'</i> resulted in two months of preparing and by preparing, I of course mean freakin' the freak out. <br />
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<i>'I don't have a suit that fits! Aaaaggghh!'</i><br />
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<i><i>'A tie?! I don't have a tie! I don't even know how to tie a tie. Aaaaggghh!'</i></i><br />
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<i><i><i>'These shoes don't match my suit! Aaaaggghh!'</i> </i></i><br />
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<i><i>'My hair is too long!</i></i><i><i><i> Aaaaggghh!'</i> </i></i><br />
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<i><i>'Flowers! We need to order the bouquet! </i></i><i><i><i><i><i>Aaaaggghh!</i></i></i> </i></i><br />
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Me handing him a brown paper bag and asking him to breath in it did not calm him down as much as I thought it would. My wallet helped, though, and Peter acquired a complete new wardrobe that he will undoubtedly outgrow in the next two months. It was worth it, though. He looked quite debonair and Momo looked exquisitely radiant. <i>Our little baby's all growns up!</i><br />
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Shortly before the ceremony began, Peter asked if I knew any ball dances.<br />
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<i>'Hell no. But when I was your age, I could breakdance with the best of them. I'll show you later, if you want.' </i><br />
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I ignored Peter's lack of a response and went to the bar to get two glasses of wine for me and one for Angie. When I got back, Peter had disappeared and we watched from the balcony as the festivities began. <br />
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Peter had explicitly forbidden me to take any pictures of him dancing with Momo. I can even understand this one. I've been known to be quite the pesky paparazzi when given the chance. Peter's mistake was not to include Mama on his black list of exclusions. <i> </i></div>
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<i>'Hey, Peter! Over here! Come on! Show me them pearly whites!'</i></div>
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Peter kept ducking and weaving throughout the first dance. The next song began and Angie somehow got confused and thought that she was now Peter's new dance partner.<br />
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I changed tactics and moved to the balcony. I mean, come on - that's why zoom lenses were created, right?<br />
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<i>'Hey, Peter! Up here! No, over here! Perfect! Great! Now I want you to be a TIGER!'</i> <br />
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As the third song began, Angie once again offered her seasoned dancing services to Peter. For the second time tonight, he responded with a non-verbal gesture that said more than words ever should. <br />
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Unfortunately for Peter and, quite frankly, everyone else there, they did not play anything that I could breakdance to. At one point, though, they did play a version of '<i>The Macarena' </i>that had my name written all over it. <br />
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I never made it to the dance floor, though. Like Batman, Angie appeared out of the shadows and forcibly convinced me to take her home, presumably so I could bust out me moves in the privacy of our own home.<br />
<br />
<i>'God no! I'd rather cook food than watch you do the Robot again.'</i><br />
<br />
<i>'Ouch! You really need to have Peter teach you the delicate art of communicating using only your face. He's really good at it.' </i><br />
<i>--------------------------------------------</i><br />
<a href="http://thejohnsonszoo.blogspot.com/2008/06/ladder-talk.html">Ladder Talk:</a> [No Ladder Talk tonight - Peter was busy dancing on Cloud 9 and David and Tom were spending the night at friends]<br />
1) What was the best part of your day?<br />
Peter: <br />
David: <br />
Tom:<br />
<br />
<br />
2) What was the worst part of your day?<br />
Peter: <br />
David: <br />
Tom: <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
3) What would you like to do tomorrow?<br />
Peter:<i> </i><br />
David: <br />
Tom: The Johnson's Zoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06255731622839030180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767926874378732291.post-76981599908428474372019-01-26T23:20:00.000+01:002019-03-14T22:16:30.476+01:00Optical Delusion<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Today was the long-awaited trip to Stuttgart to cash in the musical tickets to see <i>'The Hunchback of Notre Dame'</i> that my parents gave the boys for Christmas.<br />
<br />
It was a long drive and the stuffed bags the boys were gripping only foreshadowed the impending pillow fight Royale that I recommend to all siblings who are forced to spend more than twenty minutes together in a cramped space. <i>Let's get ready to RUMBLE....</i><br />
<br />
We stayed at the same hotel as last year, mainly because the boys found it so incredibly cool. They got their own suite which was 12 doors down the hall from our room. It has a touch screen TV in every room, including the bathroom and the shower and the floors are heated. <i>How can you compete with that?</i><br />
<br />
Last year, conservative Peter decided to go full-on David on all of us as we were getting off of the elevator on the way to checking out. He surprised us all by waiting until the elevator hit the ground floor and then swiping his hand from top to bottom, lighting up every floor.<br />
<br />
He could not control his giggling as we exited. That is, of course, until he ran into Irmgard, the slightly overweight cleaning lady with the cart of fresh towels waiting to take the elevator up. She was not amused. <i>I was. </i><br />
<br />
Let's just say, it ended with a red-faced Peter and Angie trying to convince the both of us that it was not funny, even though she started cracking up as soon as Irmgard made it to the first floor.<br />
<br />
As we made our way to the reception, I joked with Peter that the next time we come, there would probably be a sign stating that children are not allowed to ride in the elevator unaccompanied. Germans are notorious for their rules and signs. Americans are notorious for ignoring rules and signs. I'm not typically one to buy into stereotypes, but we found this lovely plaque shortly after checking in. <i>Peter was thirteen the last time we were there. </i><br />
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This sign was not there last year. <i>Just saying. </i><br />
<br />
After checking in, we made our way to the rooms. Yes, rooms. One of the many joys of having a family of five is needing to book two hotel rooms whenever we travel. <i>Thanks, wallet!</i><br />
<br />
Obviously, we went to the boys' room first. There was one single bedroom and in the living room, there was a fold-out sofa bed big enough for two. Peter took one look and pointed at the single bedroom.<br />
<br />
<i>'That one's mine.'</i><br />
<i><br />
</i> David immediately started hyperventilating and his cheeks flushed.<br />
<br />
<i>'WHAT??!! Peter! You have your own room at home ALL THE TIME! AND - you had the single room the last time we were here. THAT ROOM IS MINE!!!'</i><br />
<i><br />
</i> It was either the booming voice or the twitchy eye, or maybe even the spittle clinging on David's clenched jaw, but Peter wisely chose to back down. Tom also chose the path of compromise.<br />
<br />
<i>'Ok, but next year it's mine.'</i><br />
<br />
Once David's breathing returned to normal, we left the wild animals to tear apart their hotel room in ways that would have made Keith Moon proud. <i>I Can't Explain. </i><br />
<i><br />
</i> Angie and I slipped out to go to the gas station across the street. We thought we would buy some water and juices for the morning. Along the way, Angie insisted on stopping and taking a picture of this wall mural.<br />
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<br />
<i>'Ah, crap! I guess Peter won.'</i><br />
<i><br />
</i> Over the years I've grown accustomed to ignoring Angie's useless banter, but this one intrigued me.<br />
<br />
<i>'What do you mean </i>"Peter won"<i>?'</i><br />
<i><br />
</i> <i>'Well, when we drove in, Peter saw this wall and made a bet with me that it was not flat. I bet him that it was an optical illusion and that the wall was actually flat. Looks like he was right. Hee hee.'</i><br />
<i><br />
</i> <i>'And, dare I ask, what was the bet?'</i><br />
<i><br />
</i> <i>'I have to do the dishes for a week.'</i><br />
<i><br />
</i> <i>'So, let me get this right. You made a bet with our first born and the reward was that you do the chores that he is already getting paid to do each week? </i><br />
<i><br />
</i> No response. Angie blinked several times. Her left eyebrow lowered slightly.<br />
<br />
<i>'Yeah.'</i><br />
<i><br />
</i> I have been married long enough to know when it is a bad idea to keep poking a wounded Mama bear that has just realized that she had been conned. Instead, I turned my attention to my other cubs who had huddled up to the hotel bar for our <i>'complimentary drink'</i>.<br />
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<br />
In Germany, you are able to drink beer, wine and champagne at the ripe age of 16. Oddly enough, Peter, who is now fourteen, was the only one not trying to convince the bartender to give them an alcoholic champagne.<br />
<br />
After enough bubbly to float a small armada, I asked David to take a picture of Angie and me. Peter then decided it would be funnier than that time when that guy threw both of his shoes at George W. Bush to give Mama bunny ears on THE only picture that we took of us together. <i>I honestly don't know where they get it from. </i><br />
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<br />
In a bizarre twist of events, we were actually on time. We even had enough time to document this rare moment. <i>Yeah! No bunny ears!</i><br />
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The boys lately have perfected the fine art of fighting each other over anything and everything. This evening's drama started when David wanted to sit next to Tom and Peter insisted on sitting in the assigned seating listed on the tickets that I had randomly handed out. Tom stood quietly by and enjoyed the pre-show drama as his two older brothers argued about who could sit next to him. <br />
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In the end, Peter won, as is evident by his <i>'I won'</i> smile. David lost, as is evident by his <i>'I hate you, Peter'</i> smile. Tom called it a draw, as is evident by his <i>'everyone wants to sit next to me'</i> smile.<br />
<br />
The show was amazing. A tad too much singing for my liking, but Angie tells me that's normal in a musical. <i>Thanks, Butter Buns!</i><br />
<br />
The show ended rather late, so we made our way back to the hotel to settle down restless animals. We got the boys tucked in and explained again that we just down the hallway and that if they needed anything, they could just call us. Angie and I then took bets on who would call first and how soon that would be. Thirty minutes later, Tom called. <i>I won. </i><br />
<br />
<i>'I can't sleep.'</i><br />
<br />
Angie lost the bet, but instead of doing the dishes for a week, she had to go over and get Tom to go to sleep. Not surprisingly, that turned out to not be that easy. Peter and Tom were sharing the sofa bed, only Peter had turned sideways and had spread-eagled Tom out of any sleepable space. Angie peeked in the single room and saw that David was fast asleep. Then with one whisper, Angie both completed her mission and shattered David's dream of having one night alone in his own room.<br />
<br />
<i>'Do you want to crawl in with David?'</i><br />
<br />
Angie flaunted her way back into our room looking prouder than Mary.<br />
<br />
<i>'Tada!'</i><br />
<i><br />
</i> <i>'Bravo! But you're explaining to David in the morning how his single room turned into a double.'</i><br />
<i><br />
</i> Luckily for everyone, no explanation was needed. The boys were super excited about the breakfast buffet, which is really awesome at this hotel.<br />
<br />
After chowing down, we still had some time before checkout, so we decided to check out the new <i>'game room' </i>that was not there last year.<br />
<br />
When we walked in, there was a man sitting on a bench next to the dart board with a laptop and headset. He didn't register that five other humans had suddenly joined the room and that the three smaller ones were picking out sharp pointy things to throw at the dart board.<br />
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<br />
<i>'Um, excuse me. You might want to move.'</i><br />
<i><br />
</i> <i>'Why?'</i><br />
<i><br />
</i> <i>'Because my kids are crap at throwing darts and that looks like an expensive suit.'</i><br />
<i><br />
</i> The man then huffed like a little kid and stood up with his laptop.<br />
<br />
<i>'This is unbelievable.'</i><br />
<i><br />
</i> <i>'Which part? That my kids want to throw darts in the game room with a dart board as the centerpiece or that you didn't consider going to the conference room next door to take your mega important call?'</i><br />
<i><br />
</i> The self-proclaimed important man did not respond. He amused me with one more huff as he stormed out of the room. <i>Ba-bye!</i><br />
<br />
After almost half an hour of poking holes in the wall around the dart board, we decided to leave. We walked across the street to the parking garage and along the way, we saw an Irish pub with the same name as the one where Angie hosts a pub quiz every week.<br />
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<i>'Hurry up, Steve. The guy at the checkout said that we only have thirty minutes to get out of the parking garage.'</i><br />
<i><br />
</i> <i>'That's not what he said.'</i><br />
<i><br />
</i> <i>'Yes, it is. Do you wanna bet?'</i><br />
<i><br />
</i> Roughly ten minutes later, we were pulling out of the parking garage and got to the turnstile. Angie shoved the ticket in and the display lit up: <i>'Insufficient funds'</i>. Angie half-glared and half-smirked at me before hit the <i>'Call'</i> button.<br />
<br />
<i>'Yeah, I'm sorry. My husband is a MORON and didn't understand the concierge at the hotel. We paid for the parking and checked out about forty minutes ago and ...'</i><br />
<i><br />
</i> <i>'Bzzzzz...'</i><br />
<i><br />
</i> And that is the not so hilarious story about how I will now be doing Peter's chores for the next week.<br />
<i>--------------------------------------------</i><br />
<a href="http://thejohnsonszoo.blogspot.com/2008/06/ladder-talk.html">Ladder Talk:</a> <br />
1) What was the best part of your day?<br />
Peter: <i>The musical, definitely. 2nd best thing was the room & the darts.</i><br />
David: <i>That we didn't really fight, it was super fun, and the room was cool, and that I learned magic tricks today. </i><br />
Tom: <i>The musical and the cool room with the cool breakfast and, actually, everything.</i><br />
<br />
2) What was the worst part of your day?<br />
Peter: <i>That we had to leave so early because of dance school (which was cool). </i><br />
David: <i>The drive. </i><br />
Tom: <i>In the musical when my belly hurt. </i><br />
<br />
3) What would you like to do tomorrow?<br />
Peter: <i>To go to training and, if the weather is okay, to go play some hoops. </i><br />
David: <i>I want to see my friends again. </i><br />
Tom: <i>I don't want to go to school. </i>The Johnson's Zoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06255731622839030180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767926874378732291.post-59913537014921443032018-12-31T23:59:00.000+01:002019-01-31T00:11:37.170+01:00Dinner for 18<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
It all started a few days ago when Angie informed me that Simone and Flo would be coming over on New Year's Eve. The next day, Angie was on the phone with Katherina. </div>
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<em>'Sure, you guys can come over. Lauri can also spend the night.'</em></div>
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<em><br />
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The next night was quiz night, and Kristina spontaneously needed an alternative plan for New Year's Eve. <i>Angie came to her rescue.</i> </div>
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The day after that, we went to dinner with Tobi and Erica, who are visiting from the States. On the way to the restaurant, Tobi asked a question disguised as another question.</div>
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<em>'So, Steve, are you guys making chili again this year?'</em></div>
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<em><br />
</em></div>
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<em>'Yes, Tobi, we would love if you and Erica could join us on New Year's Eve.'</em></div>
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<em><br />
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And that's the funny story about how I voluntarily ended up making chili for 18 humans on New Year's Eve. The recipe I use is one that my dad handed down years ago. It actually won 1st place in a Virginia chili contest in 1981. My dad even named it - <em>'SHIT HOT CHILI'</em>. Over the years, I have scaled up and adapted the recipe to accommodate nine people, which is our normal guest quota. I included the recipe for 9 people at the end of this blog. If you ever find yourself needing to make it for 18 people, just double everything and your <em>'before'</em> picture should look something like this.</div>
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Despite fully justified assumptions, the beer and Tequila are not for the cook - they are the secret ingredients. Ok, full disclosure - the recipe was conceived when my dad was still drinking like the sailor he was at the time so it may not be needed at all. I wouldn't know - I've never been brave enough to stray from the original recipe. I photocopied this original recipe many years ago. It was covered in grease stains, sweat and comments written by my dad in all caps, his go-to writing style. One of them stood out for me. </div>
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<u>October 4th, 1981</u></div>
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<em>WE FIRST TRIED THIS ON SUNDAY OCT 4TH, 1981. THE KIDS WERE AT LISA'S BIRTHDAY PARTY AT THE COLLEGE PARK ROLLER-SKATING RINK AND PAT AND I HAD A NICE AFTERNOON JUST BEING TOGETHER AND MAKING CHILI. 'FEEDBACK' FROM 1ST TRY: EXCELLENT!</em></div>
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I think about that every year that I make this recipe. Angie and I often get caught up in the chaos of raising kids. Every now and then we get a moment to ourselves and I'd like to think that we cherish those kid-less moments together like my parents did so many decades ago. None of that shit happened on New Year's Day, though. I was busy kicking Angie's ass out of the kitchen so I could make 3 pots of SHIT HOT CHILI. </div>
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It's not a party at the Johnson's Zoo until the police show up or someone breaks something. While I was adding the SHIT to SHIT HOT CHILI, Peter decided to try breaking his foot by launching a Kung Fu Panda move in the hallway. The good news is, he did not break his ankle as we initially thought. The bad news is that his overly muscular dad snapped a few shots of him being carried to the sofa by his mamma, who is now shorter than him. <em>When the hell did that happen?</em> </div>
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Peter tends to over-nurse his injuries, but when Tobi and Erica showed up with bags of sweets from the U.S. of A., Hop-along Pete rose to the occasion and secured his place as the primary gift-receiver.</div>
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At first, I was fully on board with Tobi's plan to bribe our kids into loving him. That was before the sugar snacks were distributed to the greedy masses. <i>Talk about your all-time backfires. </i></div>
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Being the wise parents that we sometimes are, we timed the sugar high perfectly so that the low came crashing down just before it was time for our yearly <em>'Dinner for One'</em> showing. For those of you that have not heard of it, it is a comedy skit making fun of the Brits that has somehow become a standard New Year's Eve show that every self-respecting German family must watch. No British person that I know has ever admitted to hearing about or seeing the show, but that's besides the point. <i>Roll the film!</i></div>
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A weird coincidence - <em>'Dinner for One'</em> has a run-time of, you guessed it, 18 minutes. After almost twenty minutes of border-line silence, it was time to prep for blowing shit up. I assigned the work package of filling refillable lighters to two of the few remaining sober adults. </div>
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After another twenty minutes of border-line contemplation, we were ready to get our crackers on. We loudly made our way down to the park in front of the City Hall building at the end of our street. Shortly before midnight, I looked over and caught Peter stuffing his face with rockets. I of course whipped out my camera but I was too late. </div>
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<em>'Ah, come on, Peter. One shot'</em></div>
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<em>'Ok, but don't get my teeth.'</em></div>
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<em>'Um,...Weird, but ok.'</em></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GfyazzVHD5k/XD-VBdm5BUI/AAAAAAAANjA/TmqK0ZFPoW056T2fB0pLl3XUXCsZxSEgQCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_5635.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GfyazzVHD5k/XD-VBdm5BUI/AAAAAAAANjA/TmqK0ZFPoW056T2fB0pLl3XUXCsZxSEgQCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_5635.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Feel free to zoom in on the picture and let me know in the comments if you see any teeth. I won't tell Peter though - he seems to be a tad self-conscious about his grill. </div>
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A few minutes later, the clock struck twelve and all hell broke loose. It was Matti's first New Year's with the Zoo and I don't think he was prepared for just how loud it gets downtown. He raced across the street and took shelter under the City Hall awning until it was all over. </div>
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The rest of the fireworks blowout went as it normally does with one exception. Peter and David discovered that if you drop fireworks in the sewer, it make a very loud explosion. <em>Matti was not impressed. </em></div>
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To anyone that lives across the street from City Hall that had their water pipes inexplicably burst on New Year's Eve: '<i>um, ... sorry 'bout that</i>.'</div>
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As soon as the smoke cleared, it was clear that Matti was having no part of joining us for the after fireworks party. We also lost Kristina who was off to celebrate Johannes' birthday at Vater Rhein's, the best place downtown to get a mean bowl of spaghetti at 2 o'clock in the morning (so I've heard). <em>And then there was thirteen. </em> </div>
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The hour after fireworks is typically wasted trying to explain to adrenaline-pumped post-generation Z types why they need to go to bed. I give Peter points for trying a new approach this year. </div>
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<em>'But I'm taller than Mom!'</em></div>
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<em>'You're right. Angie - time for bed!'</em></div>
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Angie laughed a little too loudly. Peter sighed defiantly and raised his hands in the air. I then reminded Peter of the family rule that children cannot ignore their parents even if said parents occasionally ignore each other. Okay, it's more than just occasional and that exception only tends to work in one direction, but that's not the point. <em>GO TO BED!!</em></div>
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The whole <em>'veins popping'</em> trick always worked with my dad and I thank him each year for teaching me that trick at an early age. </div>
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After an involuntary rendition of <em>'So Long, Farewell'</em>, the von Trapp kids retired to their sleeping quarters to continue on with rather loud activities that bore no resemblance whatsoever to anything remotely related to sleeping. But, hey! Their door was shut. </div>
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I'm sure that in one of Sebastian's previous lives he was a high-ranking official of the Star Trek Fleet Command, but in another life, I'm quite confident that he was a bartender specialized in making gin and tonic's for ladies who had already consumed copious amounts of Champagne. <em>Move over, Brian Flanagan. </em> </div>
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Two and half gin tonics later, someone asked Simone to get half naked so that we could check out one of her tattoos. She found this funny. <em> </em></div>
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Three gin and tonics later, Angie yanked on one of the left-over Christmas crackers and proudly displayed what she started calling a dog-horse.</div>
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After grinning like the village Trump for almost a minute, Angie started making what I can only hope she thought were dog-horse noises. I've never heard a dog-horse but I can state confidently that they do not sound anything like what was coming out of Angie's mouth. </div>
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Needless to write, the night was involuntarily winding down. Even Simba knew it was time to find his human warm bottle, also known as Simonelina. </div>
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Simone was the domino piece. She toppled, followed by Angie. Sarah went home. Sebastian and I stayed up and took pictures of marquee signs made by wild animals that only make sense to the inner circle of The Johnson's Zoo. <i>Frono!</i></div>
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<u><b>SHIT HOT CHILI:</b></u><br />
3 Kg Ground Beef<br />
4 Steaks (cooked)<br />
2 green pepper<br />
2 red pepper<br />
3 medium onions<br />
6 celery stalks<br />
6 cloves garlic<br />
3 cans peeled tomatoes (400 g)<br />
5 boxes tomato sauce (500 g)<br />
2 tube tomato paste<br />
3 bay leaves<br />
1 TBSP garlic salt<br />
2 TBSP parsley<br />
3 TBSP Oregano<br />
1/2 jar jalapeno peppers<br />
2 Habanero peppers (diced)<br />
1 TBSP Tabasco sauce<br />
1 TBSP Cumin<br />
1 TBSP Cayenne Pepper<br />
2 TBSP Chili Powder<br />
1/2 Beer<br />
8 cl Tequila (4 shots)<br />
3 cans kidney beans<br />
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Cook steaks - 4 minutes per side on medium-high heat. Cut into tiny pieces. Brown and drain ground beef. Add to a pot. All other ingredients go into a blender. Throw everything into a big-ass pot and let simmer for 3 hours, uncovered. After 3 hours, add the kidney beans (with juice) - cook for one more hour. Enjoy!</div>
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<a href="http://thejohnsonszoo.blogspot.com/2008/06/ladder-talk.html">Ladder Talk:</a> <i>[We were lucky enough to get the animals locked in their room - there was no way in hell I was going in to try and do Ladder Talk]</i><br />
1) What was the best part of your day?<br />
Peter: zzzzzzZZZZZZZZZ....<br />
David: zzzzzzZZZZZZZZZ....<br />
Tom: zzzzzzZZZZZZZZZ....<br />
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2) What was the worst part of your day?<br />
Peter: zzzzzzZZZZZZZZZ....<br />
David: zzzzzzZZZZZZZZZ....<br />
Tom: zzzzzzZZZZZZZZZ....<br />
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3) What would you like to do tomorrow?<br />
Peter: <i></i>zzzzzzZZZZZZZZZ....<br />
David: zzzzzzZZZZZZZZZ....<br />
Tom: zzzzzzZZZZZZZZZ....The Johnson's Zoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06255731622839030180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767926874378732291.post-86214713297995142042017-12-25T22:19:00.000+01:002018-03-02T18:44:17.225+01:00Every day has a sunset<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Christmas morning always comes earlier than I'd like, but the boys were actually somewhat civil this year. The first wake-up call was from, surprise, surprise - David. He tried convincing Angie and me that he should be allowed to open his gifts while his brothers slept because removing all of his gifts would only make it easier for his brothers to find theirs. I tried to explain to David how life really works, but he disappeared in mid-sentence. <br />
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A few seconds later, I heard David singing opera as loud as he could just outside Peter's room. <br />
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<i>'Peter's up!'</i><br />
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Next, I heard the home phone ringing. David answered and then ran into Tom's room screaming. <br />
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<i>'Tom, wake up! Telephone for you!'</i><br />
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Tom then crawled out of bed and grumpily grabbed the home phone from David.<br />
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<i>'Hello?'</i><br />
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David then pulled his cell phone from behind his back. <br />
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<i>'Hi Tom. Merry Christmas! Bwhahahahahaha!'</i><br />
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Before Tom could complain, David had raced into our room.<br />
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<i>'You said we need to wait until Peter and Tom are up. They're up. Can we open the gifts now?'</i><br />
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I gave David eight points for creativity, ten points for persistence and twenty-five points for being a pain in the ass. <br />
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I then went to the the kitchen for pot. Unfortunately, I could only find the kind that you pour coffee into. Angie and I then proceeded to guzzle liquid energy as the gift frenzy kicked into full gear. <br />
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Peter was the first one to strike a pose with his prize gift. Oddly enough, he ignored all rules regarding teenagers receiving gifts and actually liked getting clothing. <br />
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In his defense, he also got into knitting with his Oma on our last trip stateside. Okay, this doesn't really help his defense, but I'm sure this outing will score points with my mom. </div>
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David took a different approach. He got mega excited about a bell for his bike. </div>
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Kids get excited for different reasons, so this might even be normal if it weren't for the fact that David's bike was stolen several months ago and we had already explained to him that he would not be getting a new bike until spring. <i>But hey, have fun with that bell!</i><br />
<i></i><br />
Tom took a Mr. T approach. <br />
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<i>'I pity the fool that takes pictures of me!'</i><br />
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Let's ignore the fact that the Santa Claus beard-hat was actually Peter's gift from Santa. Peter didn't mind, though, and I'm guessing that you can guess Santa's interest in the matter. </div>
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There were many other gifts that were victims of the present-frenzy, but the next one was the one that brought all the gift receivers to a frenzy. </div>
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At first, my parents' surprise gift remained a surprise. It wasn't until we explained to them that Oma and Pop-pop had paid for a hotel plus tickets to the Mary Poppins musical in Stuttgart that they started to huddle with joy. <br />
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After this year's present frenzy, we made our way to Frankfurt. Today is Sonja's birthday so we decided to surprise her by crashing her pre-planned museum visit with her parents. On the way, we stopped by to pick up Barbara. <br />
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A few years ago, we, as a family, handed over the '<i>late torch'</i> to Barbara and she has never disappointed us. I'm pleased to announce that today was no exception. We were on time and Barbara had just gotten out of the shower. Angie was pissed, I was indifferent and my imagination was cracking up as it envisioned Barbara, snickering away as she blow-dried her hair, muttering over and over again <i>'yeah, take that for stealing my childhood sticker collection'</i>. <br />
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When we got to the museum, we tried not to stand out. As I mentioned, we were there to surprise Sonja on her birthday. I won't say how old she was turning - that would just be embarrassing. <br />
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After waiting outside for ten minutes, we called them and asked them where they were. They explained that they had been there for almost an hour and were waiting in the restaurant which, oddly enough, is exactly where we had agreed to meet them. I thought about rethinking my thoughts on whether Angie's brain should be allowed to organize anything, but I looked up and got distracted by a flashy photographer. <br />
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The museum exhibition was called <i>'Diorama' </i>and focused on optical illusions and three-dimensional miniature models. Outside the museum was a an open-air rotunda that boasted a mirrored ceiling. Every ten seconds, the lighting would dim, revealing a second mirror that created the illusion of an endless tunnel of mirrors, which is just what the world needs. <i>One BILLION mini-me's!</i><br />
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With detective-like skills, we eventually found the birthday girl hiding in plain sight in the exact place where we had arranged to meet. <i>Ha, ha - gotcha!</i><br />
<em></em><br />
After brunch, we dumped our coats and bags in the lockers by the front entrance and made our way up the elaborate staircase to the exhibit entrance. Heidi had invited all of us so she had the tickets. She handed them to the uniformed lady at the entrance. She had a hand-held bar-code scanner and began to scan each ticket with a level of complete disinterest that I had not thought possible. Each scan registered a BEEP! which was the only sound echoing off the walls. Even the boys seemed to be quietly mesmerized by the robotic movements of the woman scanning our tickets. <br />
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As the woman scanned the second to last ticket, Heidi realized that she had reserved a ticket for Leif, who had opted for studying the optical illusion that his pillow makes when his face is planted in it. <br />
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<i>'Sorry, sorry! I gave you ten tickets, but there's only nine of us - one person couldn't make it.'</i><br />
<i></i><br />
Robot-lady gave Heidi a blank stare and replied without emotion. <br />
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<i>'I'm sorry, I'm not the cashier. There's nothing I can do. I've already scanned the tickets.'</i><br />
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The woman then slowly moved the last ticket to her hand-held scanner. <br />
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BEEP! <br />
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She handed the tickets back to a rather flabbergasted Heidi and Barbara tried to make the best out of a bizarre situation. <br />
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<i>'Oh well! There are worst things that could happen.'</i><br />
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Most normal people would have taken Barbara's statement as rhetorical, but Robot-lady apparently felt compelled to chime in. <br />
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<i>'Yeah, there are worst things. I just read an article about a pregnant woman in her seventh month that just found out that the baby has a tumor and they could both die.'</i><br />
<i></i><br />
Trust me, I have initiated my fair share of awkward silences, but this is probably the first one where I was the one to break it. <br />
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<i>'Ok, boys, how about you go catch up with Mama and don't make any eye contact with the lady scanning tickets.'</i><br />
<i></i><br />
Like Mama, the boys are crap at following orders. They did run away from Robot-lady, but instead of catching up to Angie, they chose to plop down on some white blocks and pose for an upcoming GAP ad. <br />
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The museum itself was a let down for several of us - just for different reasons. For me, it was simple - I thought we were going to be looking at a lot of optical illusions, but there were none. There were just a bunch of miniature models and most of them looked like some of the science projects that Angie and I have made for the kids over the years because they had forgotten about them until bedtime on the night before they were due. </div>
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Angie and Barbara got super interested in the exhibition boasting an Axolotl. </div>
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If you're a normal human like me, you probably don't know what an Axolotl is. Unlike me, you might actually care, so I'll tell you - it's a Mexican salamander. They then spent about an hour searching for it before Google informed them that the Axolotl is nocturnal. I found it funny that a museum that is only open during the day would have an exhibit of a creature that, by nature, hides all day long. Angie and Barbara were not equally as amused. <br />
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Klaus was not amused by any of the exhibits, but it was this one that put him over the top. At first glance, it looked like a Native American riding a Harley.<br />
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Klaus and I approached together, both of us wondering what the hell this had to do with optical illusions or three-dimensional miniatures. On closer examination, it was a transvestite Indian sporting neon nail polish and fishnet lingerie riding a Suzuki. <br />
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<i>'Oh, this is just ridiculous!'</i><br />
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With that, Klaus exited stage left. On his way out he caught a glimpse of Tommy and David's review of the <i>'Diorama'</i> adventure. <br />
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Tommy was so happy to leave that he started doing cartwheels on the way out. <br />
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David also did a cartwheel. Kinda. Okay, it didn't resemble anything like a cartwheel. He basically threw his body at the ground and damn near broke his wrist. </div>
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Angie was glad to leave the museum without any broken bones. I was just glad to leave the museum. I think Klaus was on my side of the camp. <br />
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Outside, we herded everyone together for a group photo. Just before taking the shot, Angie suggested that we all go for a coffee. <br />
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Like Garth Brooks, Klaus is not big on social graces, so I initially assumed that his glance to the heavens was a call to be saved. Turns out he was just admiring the only interesting attraction that you could see, which, by the way, you could do without even purchasing a ticket. <br />
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We then thanked Heidi again. We don't get to see each other often enough, so it was nice to visit with them. In the end, though, we skipped the social caffeine rush, which meant that we were actually on time for turkey time. <br />
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The meal was, as always, great. By great, I of course mean that it made us all a bit fatter, but isn't that what Christmas is really all about? I mean come on - just take a look at Santa. <br />
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After dinner, the boys tried forcing everyone to join in a new role-playing game that involved werewolves. Horst was the only one that managed to escape that fun. Halfway through the game, as I had my head down on the table and was being tapped on the shoulder to indicate that I was a victim, I reflected on how Opa had actually managed to get out of it. <br />
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<em>'Hey, Opa - do you want to play a new game with us where village people use clues to find out who is the werewolf?'</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>'No.'</em><br />
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I've learned a lot from Opa over the years, but today confirmed for me that the fountain of wisdom is far from drying up. <br />
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After revealing and subsequently killing the pesky werewolf, the younger generation moved into the living room. Peter, David and Tom have been fine-tuning their lady skills and Sonja indulged them for hours as they played games and swapped jokes. <br />
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After a nice visit, we made our way home. On the ride back, the boys giddily talked about all the cool stuff they had gotten and how awesome this Christmas was. By the time we got back to the ranch, the cattle had worked themselves into a stampede of happiness. <br />
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Every day has a sunset, but it doesn't always end with your children power-hugging you and loudly whispering in your ear how much they love you. <i>Unfortunately.</i> </div>
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<a href="http://thejohnsonszoo.blogspot.com/2008/06/ladder-talk.html">Ladder Talk:</a> [No creatures were stirring, not even a mouse - so I could not get to Ladder Talk]<br />
1) What was the best part of your day?<br />
Peter: <i>ZZZZZzzzzz....</i><br />
David: <i>ZZZZZzzzzz....</i><br />
Tom: <i>ZZZZZzzzzz....</i><br />
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2) What was the worst part of your day?<br />
Peter: <i>ZZZZZzzzzz....</i><br />
David: <i>ZZZZZzzzzz....</i><br />
Tom: <i>ZZZZZzzzzz....</i><br />
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3) What would you like to do tomorrow?<br />
Peter:<i> </i><i>ZZZZZzzzzz....</i><br />
David: <i>ZZZZZzzzzz....</i><br />
Tom: <i>ZZZZZzzzzz....</i>The Johnson's Zoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06255731622839030180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767926874378732291.post-61272714845273108142017-12-21T21:43:00.000+01:002017-12-30T15:44:12.965+01:00WTFAYHDN?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Every year, I take one of the boys with me to pick out the family Christmas tree. Like Trump's cabinet, it's on a rotational basis and this year it was Peter's turn.<br />
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The problem was that two weeks ago, I pinched a nerve and managed to throw out my back. I was watching Peter totally rocking the bench at one of his basketball games. After three hours I tried to stand up and the emphasis is most definitely on <i>'tried'</i>. I couldn't stand up, walk, or sit down without piercing pains, so it's been a fun two weeks.<br />
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On Monday, I had an MRI done and at least it is not a slipped disc and no surgery is needed. I know this has nothing to do with this story, but MRI's suck. <i>Big time. </i>Angie and I recently watched an episode of CSI Las Vegas where a horse with a broken leg was given an MRI. What a load of horseshit! If there is an MRI machine big enough for a horse, then why the hell do they make super-humans like me cram myself into a custom-fit coffin for 20 minutes?<br />
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The bright side of my being immobilized is that Angie finally got to fully embrace the tree hunting experience. Even brighter is that she was not saddled with David or Tom, who generally pick the first tree they see. No, no - she hit pay dirt with Peter, who takes his responsibility of picking the family tree extremely serious. <i>Winner, winner, chicken dinner!</i> <br />
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Angie and Peter left to get the tree and David and Tom spent the next four hours asking the same question.<br />
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<i>'Why are they taking so long?'</i><br />
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<i>'Because it's Peter.'</i><br />
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<i>'Oh, right.' </i><br />
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Don't get me wrong, I love the tradition. It's just that Peter can drive you nuttier than fruit cake when it comes to picking out THE perfect tree. Our last adventure involved going to three different lots and inspecting every single tree on all three lots at least twice. He does not waver or cave into pressure like <i>'I'm freakin' cold! Would you just pick one already? How about this one? This one looks great, doesn't it? Come on, Peter. PLEEEEAAASE!!!'</i>. Oh, yeah - he also has an undersized bladder and Christmas tree lots, at least the ones in Germany, do not have toilets. They also do not accept anything other than cash, but there is no point in bringing up old shit that really happened to me and pissed me off beyond belief at the time. <br />
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I thought at first I might be overdramatizing my memory of Peter's last hunt, but the excerpt above matched Angie's recount of events almost word for word. <i>Unless you ask Peter.</i><br />
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The only point where I can take pride is that out of all of the trees that I helped to hunt over the years ALL of them fit in our car. Angie had to pay the guy an extra five Euros because the tree did not fit and he had to secure the trunk with string. Ha! Who the hell goes hunting without the ability to transport the trophy back to the cabin? <i>Angie. </i><br />
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Anyone that has been to our place can confirm that Simba is a crazy cat.<i> </i>His look, though, when we turned our living room into a forest, confirmed that our feelings for each other are mutual. <br />
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<br />
I call it the <i>'WTFAYHDN?'</i> look. The last five letters stand for <i>'Are You Humans Doing Now?'</i> and I trust in your creative cryptic skills to decipher the rest.<br />
<i>--------------------------------------------</i><br />
<a href="http://thejohnsonszoo.blogspot.com/2008/06/ladder-talk.html">Ladder Talk:</a> <br />
1) What was the best part of your day?<br />
Peter: <i>That it was the last day of school, that I went to Jonas' house and started on the project for religion, that I'm going to Arman's house to spend the night, and that I got to pick the tree. </i><br />
David: <i>That finally it is the break and I could meet with Cyril. </i><br />
Tom: <i>That I didn't have training and that we got the tree. </i><br />
<br />
2) What was the worst part of your day?<br />
Peter:<i> That David was bugging me. </i><br />
David:<i> That after playing with Cyril, I remembered that I still had training. </i><br />
Tom: <i>I didn't have a worst part. </i><br />
<br />
3) What would you like to do tomorrow?<br />
Peter: <i>Decorate the tree with Arman. </i><br />
David: <i>I want to have fun on my first day of the break. </i><br />
Tom: <i>I want to have fun decorating the tree and play with Lilly and Max. </i>The Johnson's Zoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06255731622839030180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767926874378732291.post-88397487650690376212017-12-10T21:45:00.000+01:002017-12-30T14:11:10.626+01:00Split Decision<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tr_y0Zbs1a8/WkVStZnA_gI/AAAAAAAAM-w/1BN6UTY-u8IZ-qkw9tHG5hSoh72TXvXnwCLcBGAs/s1600/Split%2BDecision.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tr_y0Zbs1a8/WkVStZnA_gI/AAAAAAAAM-w/1BN6UTY-u8IZ-qkw9tHG5hSoh72TXvXnwCLcBGAs/s400/Split%2BDecision.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Tommy's gymnastics training switched after the summer break to six days a week. That's right! It's not enough that Angie and I inflict sufficient pain on ourselves on Saturday mornings; we now have the joy of watching Tommy inflict a different type of pain on his body. It's also worth pointing out that, after this switch, Tommy now spends more hours in training than Angie does working. <i>Just saying. </i><br />
<br />
Most of the gymnastics clubs in the area are "hobby" clubs. The "hobby" clubs are the ones for normal kids. You know, training is twice a week for an hour, they have tournaments every other weekend and win lots of trophies and medals. They play to have fun, not to win, and everyone can stay on the team for as long as they want. Needless to say, Tommy is not a normal kid. <br />
<br />
Tommy is in a special program. They only have two tournaments a year and instead of a medal, they determine whether or not you get invited to continue in the program for another year. If you don't show steady improvement, you might want to start looking for a nearby "hobby" club. Tommy's group started three years ago with ten kids and they are now down to four.<br />
<i> </i><br />
Within the program, there is a special group called the Cadre. These are the cream-of-the-crop. If you're lucky enough to make it into this elite few, you get your own locker and, well, that's pretty much it from what I can tell. Oh, and bragging rights.<br />
<br />
To get into the Cadre, you have to excel on both of the two tournaments and score high on all of the stations. Leading up to today's tournament, Tommy's group has had several practice tournaments. Tommy did not make the mark in any of them except the one last week. The training tournaments mean nothing, though, it's how you perform on the big day, so Tommy was a bit nervous. Okay, bullshit. He was more petrified than fossilized wood. My words of wisdom probably did little to quash his anxiety.<br />
<br />
<i>'Just do what you did last week.'</i><br />
<br />
Tommy has never been one to listen to anything I tell him, so of course he ignored me and did even better than last week.<br />
<i> </i><br />
Well done, Tommy! Welcome to the Cadre. Don't forget to brag about the locker.<br />
<i>--------------------------------------------</i><br />
<a href="http://thejohnsonszoo.blogspot.com/2008/06/ladder-talk.html">Ladder Talk:</a> <br />
[Tommy was too busy doing victory flips to do Ladder Talk ] <br />
<br />
1) What was the best part of your day?<br />
Peter: <br />
David: <br />
Tom:<br />
<br />
2) What was the worst part of your day?<br />
Peter: <br />
David: <br />
Tom: <br />
<br />
3) What would you like to do tomorrow?<br />
Peter:<i> </i><br />
David: <br />
Tom: <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />The Johnson's Zoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06255731622839030180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767926874378732291.post-74198666926605879172017-08-06T22:59:00.000+02:002017-08-17T14:00:48.918+02:00¿Cómo se dice "loud"?<div style="text-align: center;">***********************************************************</div><div style="text-align: center;">TRAVEL TIP FOR AUGUST - AVOID THE EAST COAST OF SPAIN</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">***********************************************************</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;">The kids used to wake me up at 5:30 in the morning all the time, but I certainly never fell asleep at an airport café while waiting for a flight.</span><br />
<br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fubjR3nu_-I/WYm9N4P-NtI/AAAAAAAAMnY/i-BNTIWmZCkIbIukHxfqR_xRdciQHWtWgCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_6953.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fubjR3nu_-I/WYm9N4P-NtI/AAAAAAAAMnY/i-BNTIWmZCkIbIukHxfqR_xRdciQHWtWgCEwYBhgL/s400/IMG_6953.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
Luckily for David and Tom, Peter stayed vigilant. He also devoured David's chocolate croissant as he drooled on the wall, but the important thing is that he woke up both of the sleeping beauties before boarding. Okay, it took some parental convincing to get him to do that, but the important thing is - he did.<br />
<br />
Directly after taking off, a kid sitting next to us (not one of ours) got up to use the bathroom. While climbing over us, he stomped all over Angie's purse that was laying on the floor and broke off the strap. I laughed. Angie almost cried. Destructo Dave said nothing, but cast an admiring eye towards the boy with the weak bladder and heavy feet. <br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>In case the travel tip didn't give it away, let me narrow down our whereabouts for the next ten days. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hnQAnSg9zuQ/WYm9DGHYhJI/AAAAAAAAMnY/PWvVYmV4RpEjhdfSSQt3KV_n0rJayVhKQCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_5173.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hnQAnSg9zuQ/WYm9DGHYhJI/AAAAAAAAMnY/PWvVYmV4RpEjhdfSSQt3KV_n0rJayVhKQCEwYBhgL/s400/IMG_5173.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
After landing, we moved on to our next adventure, which was picking up our rental car. As we approached the counter, Angie was dragging her broken purse by one strap and looking absolutely thrilled at the sound this was making. Or maybe that was me. Not sure - it was a long flight. Doesn't matter. <em>To me. </em><br />
<br />
We dumped our baggage in front of the counter and Angie told Peter to watch the bags and disappeared with David and Tom to get drinks. She ignored my request for a <em>cerveza</em>, but I'm sure that is because she studied nine years of Latin instead of Spanish. <em>What a waste.</em><br />
<br />
As I was finishing up, I turned around to find a uniformed man sporting a machine gun trying to hit on my wife, who had just returned with nothing closely resembling a beer. <br />
<br />
<em>'Señora, you need to watch your bags. </em>¡<em>Siempre!'</em><br />
<em><br />
</em> <em>'It's okay, my son was watching the bags.'</em><br />
<em><br />
</em> As it often happens with men dealing with my wife, the policeman shook his head and laughed. <br />
<br />
<em>'¡No, no, </em><em>Señora</em><em>! ¡<strong>YOU</strong> need to watch your bags!'</em><br />
<em><br />
</em> With that, our Spanish friend and helper pointed to his female partner in crime, who was standing at the opposite end of the airport. In her hands, dangling by one strap, was Angie's purse. <br />
<br />
The Hollywood side of my brain immediately raced to the logical conclusion that this was a shakedown and that we were going to need to blow our already low pool of funds on getting Angie's broken purse back. <br />
<br />
Luckily, Sergeant Jefe just shook his head and laughed for the second time. Then he whistled at his partner, who came over and gave Angie her purse back. My mind immediately transmitted two thoughts:<br />
<ol><li><em>Pull the guy aside and tell him politely that whistling at women stopped being cool in the eighties.</em></li>
<li><em>Check for missing money.</em></li>
</ol>I cannot control my mind when it comes to transmitting thoughts. Angie can testify to this fact, even if no one has asked her for her opinion. Unlike the love of my life, though, I can control how my mouth responds to such thoughts. <br />
<br />
<em>'</em><em>¡</em><em>Muchas gracias!'</em><br />
<div></div><br />
After picking up the rental car, we did the same thing that I'm sure all families do shortly after landing in Spain and drove directly to Taco Bell. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SYk1_R-AlLE/WZS4UHnE5CI/AAAAAAAAMrc/EJ1PoWIohmYNPm1xLBHCFdzqB3xToz2KQCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_6972.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SYk1_R-AlLE/WZS4UHnE5CI/AAAAAAAAMrc/EJ1PoWIohmYNPm1xLBHCFdzqB3xToz2KQCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_6972.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
In our defense, they don't have a Taco Bell anywhere close to where we live, so, unlike their regular customers, we were genuinely excited to be there.<br />
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Our final destination was actually about an hour from Valencia in a beautiful city called Jávea. Leif's mom has an amazing place at the foot of the mountain bearing the name that sounded a lot like an imperative to our family - <span style="font-family: "calibri";">Montgó. </span>The view is breathtaking in any direction, it's about ten minutes to the beach, it has enough rooms to house a zoo and she made the nonretractable offer once for us to stay there. Oh, yeah, it also has a pool. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2POIWNc7T9U/WYm-B8Bs2hI/AAAAAAAAMnY/BbQInJLfoVouaTZX0hlO1VIOnIe7T-hwwCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_0655.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2POIWNc7T9U/WYm-B8Bs2hI/AAAAAAAAMnY/BbQInJLfoVouaTZX0hlO1VIOnIe7T-hwwCEwYBhgL/s400/IMG_0655.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
By dinner time, the Zoo Crew was collectively losing energy. That's when Patricia woke up the boys by unveiling the "Beefer". </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-f9POwZee3BI/WYm9-zqFlrI/AAAAAAAAMnY/XWpL5W0602cm3DXO5mvJmT6PQSPqUCfiQCPcBGAYYCw/s1600/IMG_6996.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-f9POwZee3BI/WYm9-zqFlrI/AAAAAAAAMnY/XWpL5W0602cm3DXO5mvJmT6PQSPqUCfiQCPcBGAYYCw/s400/IMG_6996.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">If you have never tasted food cooked in a "Beefer", my recommendation is not to. No other steak or burger in your life will ever taste like you know how it should taste and they can be a bit pricey. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Basically, you raise the tray with meat until it is less than an inch from the flames, which keep the entire hot box at a whopping 800 degrees Celcius (1,472 F). The result is an incredibly crispy outside and the searing completely seals all of the juices inside. You can only do one large steak or two burgers at a time, but it only takes a minute per side so my belly accepted the tradeoff. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
After dinner, we got the kids to sleep and Patricia woke Angie and me up by unveiling the "Gin Tonic". </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3CPKPY_cbdw/WZSvorsvdII/AAAAAAAAMrM/tbb-T1ne988Ci8FH_sUM6rl38X8sCgROACLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_0654.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3CPKPY_cbdw/WZSvorsvdII/AAAAAAAAMrM/tbb-T1ne988Ci8FH_sUM6rl38X8sCgROACLcBGAs/s400/IMG_0654.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">If you have never tasted Patricia's "Gin Tonic", my recommendation is not to, for reasons that will become blatantly obvious in the morning. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-image: none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-image: none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><i>--------------------------------------------</i><br />
<a href="http://thejohnsonszoo.blogspot.com/2008/06/ladder-talk.html">Ladder Talk:</a> <br />
1) What was the best part of your day?<br />
Peter: <em>That we came to Spain and the flight was good. </em><br />
David: <em>That we landed and could play in the pool. </em><br />
Tom: <em>That we came here to Spain, that Patricia is SO nice and that the house is so nice with the pool. </em><br />
<br />
2) What was the worst part of your day?<br />
Peter: <em>That David was kinda grumpy at the end of the day. </em><br />
David: <em>That I accidentally did a belly flop and that hurts. </em><br />
Tom: <em>That Peter and David were the whole time dunking my head under the water. </em><br />
<br />
3) What would you like to do tomorrow?<br />
Peter:<i> Play in the pool and maybe go to the city or the beach. </i><br />
David: <em>Play in the pool and maybe go somewhere and have fun. </em><br />
Tom: <em>I want to go in the pool and eat burger meat with the Beefer. </em>The Johnson's Zoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06255731622839030180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767926874378732291.post-77381273793148210332017-04-28T22:04:00.000+02:002017-05-19T11:46:04.324+02:00The Wheels on the Bus<div style="text-align: left;">
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3H5mTOnvpRw/WRTHMlegQcI/AAAAAAAAL64/znUirk7j3HgTIIhoFwSXu-mQypgEmF9awCLcB/s1600/The%2Bwheels%2Bon%2Bthe%2Bbus.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="295" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3H5mTOnvpRw/WRTHMlegQcI/AAAAAAAAL64/znUirk7j3HgTIIhoFwSXu-mQypgEmF9awCLcB/s400/The%2Bwheels%2Bon%2Bthe%2Bbus.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
<i><br /></i></div>
In case it's not obvious, the kid screaming frantically at the back of the bus is Tommy, but more on that fun later.<br />
<br />
For the last two weeks, we have been experimenting with letting Tommy use public transportation to get to his gymnastics training. This has worked fine so far. He meets a friend of his at the main square and they know which bus to get on and where they should get off. <i>Should.</i><br />
<br />
Today, Angie walked with Tommy to get the bus. While waiting, she got a frantic call from the other kid's mom that he was late. My quick-thinking wife then shoved Tommy on the bus and waited for the other kid.<br />
<br />
The other kid showed up, but because he had missed the bus, Angie raced home with him and drove him to practice. I know, I know, this kind of defeats the purpose of having Tommy ride the bus to practice, but I'd really prefer if the witty comments calling logic into question come from you and not me. Anyway, Angie showed up to practice with late boy and ran up to the coach, who can bit, mmhh... let's just call it direct.<i> </i><br />
<br />
<i>'Where's Tommy?'</i><br />
<br />
<i>'That's your job to know.'</i><br />
<br />
Angie searched for Tommy inside, then raced outside and tried calling the public transportation office.<i> </i><br />
<br />
<i>'If you would like to access bus schedules, press 1...'</i><br />
<br />
<i>'If you would like to organize a private event, press 2...'</i><br />
<br />
At this point, Angie was hyperventilating, and not in the funny way.<i> </i><br />
<br />
<i>'If you have lost a child on one of our buses, please press 3...'</i><br />
<br />
BINGO!<br />
<br />
Angie was pacing the sidewalk outside the gym and trying her damnedest not to scream at the first human that talked to her. Halfway though what I can only imagine was a mix between a death threat and a plea, Angie saw a tiny dot on the horizon. The dot grew bigger and bigger and as it came closer, Angie noticed that it was moving incredibly fast. When it came even closer, she saw that it was Tommy and hung up the phone.<br />
<br />
See, up until now, Tommy has ridden the bus with his friend and everything worked out fine. The bus stopped in front of the gym and they got out. Easy, peasy. The problem, as it tends to be, is that we are in Germany. Buses only stop at a station if someone on the bus pushes a button that tells the driver that someone would like to exit the bus. Up until today, there has always been someone who needed to get off, so everything worked fine. Today, nobody apparently needed to get on or off at that bus station, so the driver simply drove on. Tommy, being the smart kid that he knows he is, picked up on this shortly after the bus flew past his gym. <br />
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>The wheels on the bus go round and round,<br /> round and round,<br /> round and round.<br /> The wheels on the bus go round and round,<br /> all through the town.</i></div>
The Johnson's Zoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06255731622839030180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767926874378732291.post-76616452676024017202017-04-17T22:15:00.000+02:002017-04-27T21:51:00.309+02:00Monday Madness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Mondays suck. Period. The fact that today was a holiday just means that Tuesday will suck. It also means that a simple plan to go to an art exhibition was a lot like allowing Angie into the kitchen - sounds innocent, but inevitably ends in disaster. </div>
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Our fun started at 11:30 when we were supposed to pick up Angie's aunt. I pointed out to my lovely wife when she got out of the shower at 11:15 that Heidi lives about an hour away and we still had to pick up her mom along the way. Angie has a real knack for ignoring problems that involve math, logic, or admitting guilt, so my subtle attempt at getting the show on the road was a problem that she ignored. </div>
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We eventually rounded up everyone and arrived in Frankfurt. Gramms has a thing for Mexican food, so she suggested going to Chipotle's for lunch. Chipotle's might be a dime a dozen in States, but in Germany, it's almost as rare a finding an honest politician. </div>
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We parked at the Skyline Plaza and admired the skyline view as we took the emergency exit down to the street level. </div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-a2bwk5GqaMU/WP5gquD0G2I/AAAAAAAAL3s/LvX4WcVvPKQ25izuDKOsldjIxtYmSbBNwCEw/s1600/IMG_5622.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-a2bwk5GqaMU/WP5gquD0G2I/AAAAAAAAL3s/LvX4WcVvPKQ25izuDKOsldjIxtYmSbBNwCEw/s400/IMG_5622.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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If you're like me, you might question why we had to take the emergency exit down. You might also question why the parking garage was so empty on a holiday. The only question that David and Tom had was how could they possibly slow down our exit. It was at that point that we passed a massive ball made of steel wires that screamed <i>'climb me'. </i>From experience, I know that David and Tom do not respond well to anyone screaming anything at them, so I was a bit surprised when they caved in. </div>
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We finally made it down to the street level and waited for our navigator to take over. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<i>'Right. We need to go right.'</i></div>
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We followed Gramms' appetite around the corner. The good news was - we found Chipotle's. The bad news was - it was closed. The funny news was, depending on your point of view - the entire Skyline Plaza was closed because of the holiday. This explained the empty parking lot and the need to exit the garage via an emergency exit, but did little to fill our bellies. For that, we decided to try the restaurant at the top of the Skyline Plaza, which was open. </div>
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The good news was - they had a table for seven people. The bad news was - it took another fifteen minutes to flag down a waiter. The funny news was delivered by the impatient waiter. </div>
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<i>'We only have the breakfast buffet. If you want lunch, you'll have to wait another hour.'</i></div>
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With that, we moved on to the museum. Before leaving the empty parking lot, I asked my lovely wife if she was SURE that the museum was open on a holiday. Blank look. Crickets. </div>
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The good news was - we all had Google on our phones. The bad news was - most of the sites stated that the museum was closed. The funny news was - Angie found one that said it was open. </div>
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At that point, I simply drove downtown with the sole mission of finding somewhere to eat. If we happened to also visit a museum that might or might not be open, then great. Gravy on top. </div>
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After parking for the second time, Peter started to get very agitated with David, who was pushing his button. This button was apparently on Peter's left shoulder as is evident here. </div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-g6AWPzLhHMo/WP5gfxUPvmI/AAAAAAAAL3s/TzBUzqtSz_Qy4KTx2EQJKZa4qIsVtn9SwCEw/s1600/IMG_5636.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-g6AWPzLhHMo/WP5gfxUPvmI/AAAAAAAAL3s/TzBUzqtSz_Qy4KTx2EQJKZa4qIsVtn9SwCEw/s400/IMG_5636.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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We finally found the exhibition and I was relieved to find that other humans were walking in and out of the building. </div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GCx5K1CIkVE/WP5jOhsApLI/AAAAAAAAL4A/IA2fh4g1kTU1czslcuIuioGbS9ZYrxCeACEw/s1600/IMG_5638.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GCx5K1CIkVE/WP5jOhsApLI/AAAAAAAAL4A/IA2fh4g1kTU1czslcuIuioGbS9ZYrxCeACEw/s400/IMG_5638.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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Everyone took this to be a sign that the museum was open, but I was understandably reluctant. The coin dropped for me when I finally saw the front doors. Open. </div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Dcdr1x-4y-I/WP5jNrBhLQI/AAAAAAAAL34/AU5-c9nZJoc-FhtTgqAGcct1rHEaB73vwCEw/s1600/IMG_5643.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Dcdr1x-4y-I/WP5jNrBhLQI/AAAAAAAAL34/AU5-c9nZJoc-FhtTgqAGcct1rHEaB73vwCEw/s400/IMG_5643.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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I would most likely have paid closer attention to the long line inside if it wasn't for the restaurant across the hall, which is where we went first to have lunch. They had breakfast tacos on the menu, so Gramms was all set. We recently found out that David has a wheat allergy, so we ordered the corn tacos. When David's order came, though, it was clearly flour tortillas and not corn. The waitress looked confused and exasperated when we sent the order back, but we eventually got something that he could eat without turning his stomach into knots. </div>
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So, there we were. Three hours behind schedule, but ready to check out René Magritte's surreal exhibit. The good news was - the museum was open for another four hours. The bad news was - the museum was so insanely packed that they had a <i>'safety stop'</i> for two hours, which meant that they were not letting anyone in for two hours and after that, they would only allow in some people and those people were already forming the long line that I had hinted at above. The funny news was - Angie tried to lift up everyone's spirits. </div>
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<i>'Doesn't matter - they have an awesome gift shop here. Let's just go there! That's always the best part!'</i></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-b9QUtYBssSc/WP5greOK3UI/AAAAAAAAL3s/7056PoS-Gz4Q9aTHcLreq66cFkE2eyvOACEw/s1600/IMG_5639.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-b9QUtYBssSc/WP5greOK3UI/AAAAAAAAL3s/7056PoS-Gz4Q9aTHcLreq66cFkE2eyvOACEw/s400/IMG_5639.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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For those non-Germans, the sign in front of the gift shop reads <i>'Closed due to sickness!'</i>. </div>
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In her defense, Positive Angie did not let the clouds ruin her day in the sun. She spotted a small counter that sold postcards that impressed her and disgusting rubber replicas of a human thumb that impressed - surprise, surprise - David and Tom. </div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XLt2VwXrsvQ/WP5jLXMwX_I/AAAAAAAAL30/2z_ssqlCEV4mOZ6EbR8yfUwKGF6Ora30wCEw/s1600/IMG_5641.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XLt2VwXrsvQ/WP5jLXMwX_I/AAAAAAAAL30/2z_ssqlCEV4mOZ6EbR8yfUwKGF6Ora30wCEw/s400/IMG_5641.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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After buying enough postcards to choke a curator, we walked back to the car. Along the way, I asked David and Tom what they thought of our Monday Madness. </div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Z51vFhxQQcw/WP5jOyt8oYI/AAAAAAAAL38/O6uAykhGurk6EKEENSRiR9UdHNSMpFLGwCEw/s1600/IMG_5661.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="299" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Z51vFhxQQcw/WP5jOyt8oYI/AAAAAAAAL38/O6uAykhGurk6EKEENSRiR9UdHNSMpFLGwCEw/s400/IMG_5661.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://thejohnsonszoo.blogspot.com/2008/06/ladder-talk.html">Ladder Talk:</a> <br />
1) What was the best part of your day?<br />
Peter:<i> That we had a wonderful lunch in Frankfurt with Gramms and Heidi.</i><br />
David: <i>That it was so much fun in the museum. </i><br />
Tom: <i>That we saw Gramms and Heidi. </i><br />
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2) What was the worst part of your day?<br />
Peter:<i> That my head started hurting and I was tired all day. </i><br />
David:<i> That the museum was closed. </i><br />
Tom: <i>That we couldn't go to the museum and that my belly hurts. </i><br />
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3) What would you like to do tomorrow?<br />
Peter: <i>Play outside and hope for good weather. </i><br />
David:<i> I want to meet and have fun with Luca.</i><br />
Tom:<i> I want to eat something yummy at gymnastics. </i>The Johnson's Zoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06255731622839030180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767926874378732291.post-83398945289396816312017-04-15T21:41:00.000+02:002017-04-21T23:31:16.537+02:00Easter Odyssey<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_MufbiHnyB8/WPkOrVSfblI/AAAAAAAAL3A/GLgzlN4rT_UIjm7K-ju9ocMEg4xtNaatACLcB/s1600/Egg%2Bheads.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_MufbiHnyB8/WPkOrVSfblI/AAAAAAAAL3A/GLgzlN4rT_UIjm7K-ju9ocMEg4xtNaatACLcB/s400/Egg%2Bheads.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Easter morning normally starts out with the brotherly tradition of fighting over who gets which bucket for their stash. Not this year, though. For unknown reasons, this year's bucket choices were based purely on logic. David was wearing a black shirt, so he picked black. Tom was wearing a purple shirt, so he picked purple. Peter was wearing a gray shirt and we even have a gray bucket, but he picked pink. <i>Logically. </i><br />
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Also logical, I thought, was explaining that because it was so cold and wet outside, the Easter bunny had decided to hide the eggs and sweets inside. Luckily, nobody questioned the fact that bunnies live outdoors, even when it's cold and wet. They also didn't question how we knew that all of the stashed eggs and candy were restricted to the living room and the hallway. <br />
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No Easter is complete without a second round of egg hunting at Grams and Opa's. Gram's took a slightly different approach to explaining why the Easter Bunny had hidden the eggs indoors this year.<br />
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<i>'I forgot to hide the eggs and it's too cold and wet to go outside. You guys go in the other room and I'll let you know when you can come out.'</i><br />
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So, yeah. That approach worked as well.<br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tTTkpG5KExc/WPkOrvbB1wI/AAAAAAAAL3E/v5eJnEFoblAMsikx8j7Oj3mmIG25dTp4QCLcB/s1600/Basket%2Bcases.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tTTkpG5KExc/WPkOrvbB1wI/AAAAAAAAL3E/v5eJnEFoblAMsikx8j7Oj3mmIG25dTp4QCLcB/s400/Basket%2Bcases.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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It was about that point that Tommy decided to turn Easter into an adventure. <br />
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<i>'I can't breathe.'</i><br />
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He then started wheezing horribly and complaining that it hurt when he breathed in. We took him outside to see if some fresh air would help. It didn't. <br />
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Like most of us, I've always secretly wondered what the emergency clinic looks like on Easter, so I guess I can thank Tommy for that lovely experience. In the end, they deemed it to be a bronchial infection combined with a likely allergic reaction to pollen. They prescribed what looked like an asthma inhaler. Tommy took two puffs and then complained. <br />
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<i>'That didn't help at all, it still...Oh! It's gone!'</i><br />
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It really took about three seconds and his wheezing was gone and we were back on track for devouring white asparagus topped with sliced ham and parmesan, another Easter tradition. <br />
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After an unplanned late lunch, Tommy and David gave me a glimpse of the swingers they are becoming. <br />
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As with any adventure, the trek home can be exhausting, and today's Easter Odyssey was certainly no different. <br />
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<a href="http://thejohnsonszoo.blogspot.com/2008/06/ladder-talk.html">Ladder Talk:</a> [The boys' nap on the ride home must have tired them out - no Ladder Talk]<br />
1) What was the best part of your day?<br />
Peter: <i>ZZZZZzzzzz....</i><br />
David: <i>ZZZZZzzzzz....</i><br />
Tom: <i>ZZZZZzzzzz....</i><br />
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2) What was the worst part of your day?<br />
Peter: <i>ZZZZZzzzzz....</i><br />
David: <i>ZZZZZzzzzz....</i><br />
Tom: <i>ZZZZZzzzzz....</i><br />
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3) What would you like to do tomorrow?<br />
Peter:<i> </i><i>ZZZZZzzzzz....</i><br />
David: <i>ZZZZZzzzzz....</i><br />
Tom: <i>ZZZZZzzzzz....</i>The Johnson's Zoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06255731622839030180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767926874378732291.post-35075592736335207822017-03-29T22:36:00.000+02:002017-12-28T21:46:53.105+01:00Going for Gold<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
When Tom was still in kindergarten, scouts from the local gymnastics club swooped in and inspected the new cadets. They looked for kids that had the right height, body mass and, most importantly, the ones that were stubborn and determined. </div>
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<i>'Hi, Mrs. Johnson! We'd like to have Tommy for the next 13 years.'</i></div>
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<i>'Yeah, you can forget that. With my work schedule, I'm lucky to get him to kindergarten on time. There's no way I can manage to get him to training twice a week.'</i></div>
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<i>'Sure you can.'</i></div>
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They should have realized that the whole "stubbornly determined" trait they were seeking in Tommy must have come from somewhere. <i>Hmmm, if only we could pinpoint the source.</i> </div>
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Okay, flash forward to a year later, when Angie decided to take a year off of work to help Tommy start primary school and Peter to move to his new school. </div>
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<i>'Hi, Mrs. Johnson! We'd like to have Tommy for the next 12 years.'</i></div>
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<i>'Okay, fine! I'll chauffeur him to gymnastics for a year.'</i></div>
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Tommy started training with one of his best friends. They met twice a week. After the second training, his friend dropped out and after the third training, Tommy came home crying. He then tried turning to me for sympathy. <i>Silly rabbit, tears are for kids. </i></div>
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<i>'Papa, it hurts everywhere.'</i></div>
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<i>'Sounds like any given Saturday morning. What's the problem?'</i></div>
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<i>'It hurts. Everywhere. I want to quit.'</i></div>
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At that point, I was in a real dilemma. Did I want to take the easy way out and avoid getting up at the crack of dawn for the many tournaments and trainings that would inevitably prevail or did I want to teach my son a lesson in life? </div>
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<i>'Tommy, I'll make you a deal. It's October now. You stick to the training until the end of the year and I will ask you again on New Year's Day if you want to quit. If you say 'yes', I will not question it at all. Until then, you just pop the snot bubble and deal with it. Deal?'</i></div>
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<i>'Fine!'</i></div>
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For the next weeks, I massaged his sore muscles and worked with Angie to juggle his pick up and drop off for his trainings twice a week. Unlike marriage, the constant complaining gradually decreased and he actually started to look forward to training.</div>
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January 1st came and I thought back to Tommy's initial revelation. </div>
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<i>'Angie, everything hurts.'</i></div>
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<i>'Sounds like any given year. What's the problem?'</i></div>
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I ignored my wife's complete lack of pity and decided to take my agony out on my third-born. </div>
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<i>'So, Tommy - are you ready to quit gymnastics?'</i></div>
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Tom didn't answer. Instead, he cracked up laughing for fifteen minutes. I hadn't seen that much lack of control since Angie had almost peed herself after at my <a href="http://www.thejohnsonszoo.com/2009/03/gumby-goes-to-church.html" target="_blank">minor faux pas in church</a>. </div>
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And that, my readers, is the story about how Tommy became addicted to bending his body in his positions that would make Play-Doh jealous. </div>
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Since then, Tommy switched to training three times a week and, just recently, to training for two and half hours every day. Over the years, he's had his ups and downs. For shits and giggles, let's just start with the downs, which would be basically any tournament that he has been in for the last three years. Now that he's cried on that shoulder, let's ask Proud Tommy what he would look like if he had actually won gold at the Regional Championship. <i>That's right, baby - 1st place!</i> </div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cIdeqFymBdQ/WQJWgHP9VGI/AAAAAAAAL5E/uTt-rOtUFggdV2Yeqk6k6dsvYlay_BpWgCLcB/s1600/Going%2Bfor%2BGold.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cIdeqFymBdQ/WQJWgHP9VGI/AAAAAAAAL5E/uTt-rOtUFggdV2Yeqk6k6dsvYlay_BpWgCLcB/s400/Going%2Bfor%2BGold.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
<i>--------------------------------------------</i><br />
<a href="http://thejohnsonszoo.blogspot.com/2008/06/ladder-talk.html">Ladder Talk:</a> [No Ladder Talk - Tommy conked out after dinner]<br />
1) What was the best part of your day?<br />
Peter: <i>zzzzZZZZ....</i><br />
David: <i>zzzzZZZZ....</i><br />
Tom: <i>zzzzZZZZ....</i><br />
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2) What was the worst part of your day?<br />
Peter: <i>zzzzZZZZ....</i><br />
David: <i>zzzzZZZZ....</i><br />
Tom: <i>zzzzZZZZ....</i><br />
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3) What would you like to do tomorrow?<br />
Peter:<i> </i> <i>zzzzZZZZ....</i><br />
David: <i>zzzzZZZZ....</i><br />
Tom: <i>zzzzZZZZ....</i>The Johnson's Zoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06255731622839030180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767926874378732291.post-64976633158834954522017-02-11T22:08:00.000+01:002017-02-24T20:29:21.860+01:00Sushi and Broken Bones<div style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
There are some typical questions that people ask when they are looking at moving into a new place. Is there a school nearby? Is public transportation easily accessible? How is the parking? Most people overlook the most important question. How close is the nearest emergency room? But more on that fun later.</div>
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The real fun started at 4:00 in the A.M. when we woke up to kick Peter out the door and off to his week-long ski trip with his class. I was in the kitchen making a pot of liquid caffeine when I heard a frantic muffle from the bedroom. <i>Mmm..., intriguing.</i></div>
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Instead of asking Angie why she was wearing a diaper on her head, I whipped out my iPhone and started snapping pictures like a seasoned paparazzi. I shit you not, I only got off one shot. When she heard the camera shutter, she released a guttural roar that would have made the Predator blush and started twitching like a flipped beetle. </div>
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I finally realized that she had gotten stuck taking off her top. Now, there's no way in hell to make that whole ordeal less funny, but in her defense, she did recently break her right shoulder. I felt bad for the poor T-rex that couldn't lift one of her limbs over her head and of course came to her rescue. There's often no thanks for helping others and this was certainly no different. </div>
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Right, so back to kicking Peter out the door. It wasn't hard, actually. He is not normally a morning person, but today he was wearing a disguise that was also, well, not normal. </div>
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<i>'I am Pedro, the ski master. Can I have a coffee to go?'</i></div>
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<i>'No to the coffee, but yes, you can go.'</i></div>
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I almost told him to break a leg, but considering our recent luck and the rather clever foreshadowing at the beginning of this blog, I thought I would take Angie's advice for a change and keep my mouth shut. </div>
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In the evening, Angie announced to me that she needed some extra time to get ready because Götz and Isabel were coming over for dinner. I questioned the extra time and innocently asked if she needed any help getting <i>'changed'</i>. She retorted with something that I'm sure she thought was witty but only came across as hostile and either provocative or vulgar. I wasn't exactly sure which, but I wasn't afforded the time to contemplate. Let me just say, for a one-armed woman, she packs a hell-of-a powerful left-push out of the bathroom.<br />
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Tonight, Götz and Isabel were coming over to cash in the first of six dinner vouchers that we had given them for Christmas. First on the list was Sushi and Gyoza. <i>Hai! Arigato!</i></div>
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Unlike the Johnson's, they actually showed up on time. I wanted to make sure from the beginning that they didn't think these vouchers for dinner at the Zoo were free rides, so I put Isabel to work straight away. Unlike Angie, she knows her way around the kitchen and was rolling Sushi logs in no time at all. As if to rub it in Angie's face, she didn't even use the kitchen. </div>
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Feeling safe that Angie wouldn't set anything on fire (like a <a href="http://www.thejohnsonszoo.com/2009/12/homemade-fire-salad.html" target="_blank">salad bowl</a> or a <a href="http://www.thejohnsonszoo.com/2008/12/colder-than-witchs-picnic.html" target="_blank">cast iron pan</a>), I left the lady to her work and went to the kitchen to fry up a few hundred Gyozas. <br />
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After stuffing ourselves, Sumo-style, we let the kids run wild until we had room for dessert. As we were waiting for Asian food to wear off, we heard screaming from the boys' room. <br />
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Screaming kids generally just annoy the kidless, but those of us with ankle biters can confirm that those shrieks are like fingerprints. Within seconds, you immediately know exactly which kid it was, whether the pain is real, and, more importantly, whether it's one of yours or not. This was real and not one of ours. <br />
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Götz raced into the room first and scooped up Paul. I followed and scooped up Angie's kids. <br />
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<i>'What did you guys do to Paul?'</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Luckily for the Zoo Crew, they had nothing to do with it. Unluckily for Paul, he had been swinging from the rafters of David and Tom's new loft bed and had decided to test the crash landing pad that we unfortunately don't have. <br />
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When the noise levels returned to what we like to call normal, it seemed like an ice-pack and some Jell-O might actually work. Surprisingly, all of the kids immediately quieted down and came to the rescue. David whipped out one of his favorite books and started reading to Paul. Marie was in charge of pointing at and sometimes licking the pictures. Lisi was supervising the whole operation and Tommy was in the background making burping noises. Okay, Tommy wasn't really helping, but the gyozas did have a lot of garlic and he has a very short attention span. <br />
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Everything seemed to be working out until a tall and self-denying undercover cop decided to launch his own investigation. <br />
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<i>'It's broken.'</i></div>
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<i>'Ah, come on. Just give him some more Jell-O. He'll be fine.'</i></div>
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<i>'Nope. It's broken.'</i></div>
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Götz has three kids as well, so I didn't need to give him directions to the emergency clinic. We both have earned permanent parking spots there unless you ask them. </div>
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A night with the Johnson's is never boring. I just hope that the next five dinners, if they dare to come back, will be less eventful. </div>
<i>--------------------------------------------</i><br />
<a href="http://thejohnsonszoo.blogspot.com/2008/06/ladder-talk.html">Ladder Talk:</a> [Peter was on his ski trip and for some reason refused to call me from his room with all his friend and do ladder talk with me]<br />
1) What was the best part of your day?<br />
Peter: <br />
David: <i>That we had a lot of friends over and we ate sushi. </i><br />
Tom: <i>That Lisi and her family came and that Elijah spend the night. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
2) What was the worst part of your day?<br />
Peter: <br />
David: <i>That Paul broke his arm. </i><br />
Tom: <i>That Paul broke his arm and that Peter is gone. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
3) What would you like to do tomorrow?<br />
Peter:<i> </i><br />
David: <i>Meet with friends. </i><br />
Tom: <i>I want to do a challenge for the YouTube channel. </i>The Johnson's Zoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06255731622839030180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767926874378732291.post-66727682411487264322017-01-25T23:16:00.002+01:002017-01-25T23:39:25.296+01:00In my defenseIn my defense, I drew the last cartoon when Angie and I both thought that her fall on Saturday was nothing more than a bruise. Had I known that she had ripped her tendon off of her broken shoulder, I probably still would have laughed, but I might have toned down the finger pointing and the belly clutching. And I definitely would have waited, like a day, maybe even two, before publishing the cartoon.<br />
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On Monday, we knew something was strange when she still couldn't raise her arm higher than her waist - and trust me, we know strange. Angie finally agreed to go to see a doctor, who gave her his highly professional medical opinion. <br />
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<i>'Of course it hurts - you fell on it.'</i><br />
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Oh, if only the doctor had ever met Angie before. It didn't take long before the doctor reassessed his initial diagnosis and ordered an X-ray. <br />
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<i>'Okay, there is a piece that's broken off and it's the part where your tendon is attached to the shoulder, so I can understand why it is so painful.'</i><br />
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After more than a decade of pure bliss, I can testify that Angie just loves to be right. Even with the immense pain, I'm quite sure that she was grinning like the village Trump as the doctor was busy back-pedaling. All that fun came to a halt, though, when he explained that she would need to have an MRI to see if she would need an operation. Until the MRI, she had to wrap herself like a mummy in an upper body brace. <br />
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And that brings us to today. Angie has problems driving with two hands and I value the lives of pedestrians, so I volunteered to drive her to the clinic. After four hours of tests and waiting rooms, we finally got to the see THE DOCTOR. Yes, I'm pretty sure after all the waiting that they only have one. <br />
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The doctor whisked in, picked up the chart and plopped down in his chair. <br />
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<i>'So, does it still hurt?'</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>'Yes.'</i><br />
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<i>'Of course it hurts - you fell on it.'</i><br />
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I shit you not, I thought Angie was going to try her damnedest to beat the doctor with her left hand. Either the doctor has a sense of humor, which would be odd because he is German, or he saw '<i>the look</i>' in Angie's eyes. Either way, he chimed in again before Angie could figure out how to unravel herself. <br />
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<i>'Just kidding. Let's look at the MRI results.'</i><br />
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In the end, the news was, mmmhh... let's just call it <i>mixed</i>. <br />
<ul>
<li>The tendon did not retract from the shoulder, so no surgery is needed. <i>Yeah!</i></li>
<li>Angie can go back to work tomorrow. I had somehow chalked this up to the negative side, but apparently she's one of those people that actually enjoys working. </li>
<li>She cannot drive. For the sake of pedestrians everywhere, I saw this as a positive thing, but Angie has a <i>'thing'</i> about using public transportation. </li>
<li>She gets to continue sporting the arm thong for the next 9 weeks. I think you know both my view and Angie's view on how to tally this one. </li>
<li>Starting next week, she starts physical therapy so that in 10 weeks she can start working out again. When the doctor explained this, Angie actually laughed out loud. So yeah, I think it's safer to say that in 10 weeks, Angie could theoretically start working out. Strike <i>'again'</i> and emphasize <i>'start'</i>. </li>
</ul>
When we got home, Angie was still feeling sorry for herself. Simba, our extremely bizarre cat, who normally would have seized this opportunity to console her by peeing on her head or using her leg as a scratching post, decided for a change to afford Angie the distinct honor of snuggling with him. <br />
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Yes, fine - I was jealous. In my defense, though, I was able to control my green streak by reminding myself that this day was all about Angie falling out of a trashcan and not about me.<br />
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<a href="http://thejohnsonszoo.blogspot.com/2008/06/ladder-talk.html">Ladder Talk:</a> (I'm writing again, so back off on the fact that I forgot to do Ladder Talk tonight!)<br />
1) What was the best part of your day?<br />
Peter:<i> ZZZZzzzz....</i><br />
David: <i>ZZZZzzzz....</i><br />
Tom: <i>ZZZZzzzz....</i><br />
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2) What was the worst part of your day?<br />
Peter: <i>ZZZZzzzz....</i><br />
David: <i>ZZZZzzzz....</i><br />
Tom: <i>ZZZZzzzz....</i><br />
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3) What would you like to do tomorrow?<br />
Peter: <i>ZZZZzzzz....</i><i> </i><br />
David: <i>ZZZZzzzz....</i><br />
Tom:
<i>ZZZZzzzz....</i>The Johnson's Zoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06255731622839030180noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767926874378732291.post-81305960650127826832017-01-21T17:22:00.001+01:002017-01-21T20:49:43.100+01:00Don't try this at home!<br />
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This morning, I asked David to take out the paper trash. He complained that it was so full that he couldn't possibly manage the task. That's when Mama threw on her cape and came to the rescue.<br />
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<i>'Look, David, I'll show you a trick.'</i><br />
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She then put her foot in the paper trash and started crushing the papers down with one shoe. This freed up some space, so she began pushing even harder. This worked so well that she thought it would be beyond brilliance to put both feet in and start frantically jumping up and down. On about the third hop, our flimsy plastic container had apparently had enough fun and sent Angie on a 180 degree flip that ended with her shoulder and head getting a free but unwanted closeup of the floor.<br />
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I think I showed great restraint by neither bursting into laughter, nor running for my camera. I even helped her up and asked her if we should go to the clinic, despite the general rule that weekend trips to the emergency room are normally reserved for the kids. Angie has a high tolerance for pain, though, and can be more stubborn than our cat. So, instead of pushing the issue, I retreated to the kitchen, made sure she wasn't within earshot, and laughed my ass off.<br />
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<br />The Johnson's Zoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06255731622839030180noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767926874378732291.post-67522964207522565202016-07-30T21:07:00.000+02:002016-09-26T22:55:56.451+02:00On the road again<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We hit the road early this morning and on the way to Pennsylvania, we came across this diner. Like me, it looked normal at first glance. Then we looked at the fine print.<br />
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That's right. This wasn't your average roadside diner. No, this was one of those unicorn diners, apparently owned by a guy named Mike. I was tempted to pull over and see if the diner was for unicorn patrons or if crazy Mike was serving unicorn burgers 24 hours a day, but we had a schedule to keep. <br />
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Our schedule included a stopover to visit my Uncle Bob. <br />
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The boys had a blast playing in his <i>'secret basement'. </i>Now, before you weird types get the wrong idea, it was just an entertainment room downstairs that had a flat screen TV, stereo equipment and a lot of other breakable shit that made me a tad bit nervous. Especially when I found out that they were playing a game that David had invented called <i>'Ninja Warrior</i>'. Bob found a solution for my nerves, though, which I called his <i>'secret garage'</i>.<br />
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The <i>'secret garage'</i> was where Bob stored his tasty home-brewed Pale Ale that would make Doyle jealous. <i>And thirsty. </i><br />
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Before Happy Hour became too happy, we went to go visit Nana and the boys were mega impressed to meet their great-grandmother. <br />
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The boys gave Nana a bar of German chocolate and then promptly helped her eat it while they talked about life in Germany. It was a memorable chocolate bar and they enjoyed every morsel. </div>
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After Nana-time, we took the Ninja Warriors back to Bob's for dinner and a few more underground battles before bedtime. </div>
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As we were getting the boys ready for bed, Tommy screamed, as he normally does, that he had a wiggly tooth. Peter and David winced knowingly and quickly left the room. </div>
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What Tommy apparently didn't know or remember is that Angie gets kickbacks from the tooth fairy. She immediately head-locked him and began her patented pull-twist-yank method that has worked just fine with Peter and David. <i>Unless you ask them. </i> </div>
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I thought I would help Tommy out. <i>After taking the picture, of course. </i></div>
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<i>'Butter Buns, they were just playing "Ninja Warriors". Are you sure that wiggly tooth is one of the ones that's supposed to come out?'</i></div>
<br />
Sorry, Tommy. I tried.<br />
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<i>--------------------------------------------</i><br />
<a href="http://thejohnsonszoo.blogspot.com/2008/06/ladder-talk.html">Ladder Talk:</a> <br />
1) What was the best part of your day?<br />
Peter: <i>That we went to Uncle Bob's, that we went to Nana's and that we invented a new game. </i><br />
David: <i>It was just great! That we came to Bob and he's so nice, and that I met Nana. </i><br />
Tom: <i>That we are sleeping by Bob's and he's so cool and that we went to visit Nana.</i><br />
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2) What was the worst part of your day?<br />
Peter: <i>That we had to leave New York.</i><br />
David: <i>It was hard to say goodbye to Nana because she is so nice. </i><br />
Tom: <i>Nothing. I liked the whole day!</i><br />
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3) What would you like to do tomorrow?<br />
Peter:<i> I want to visit Oma and Pop-Pop and hope for great weather and swim in the pool.</i><br />
David: <i>I want to see Pop-Pop and Oma - that's gonna be so cool.</i><br />
Tom: <i>I want to have fun with Oma and Pop-Pop.</i>The Johnson's Zoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06255731622839030180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767926874378732291.post-33060216693346819732016-07-29T21:29:00.000+02:002016-09-24T01:03:51.785+02:00In a New York minute<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Day two of our USA trip started out all wrong. The boys had obviously missed the executive memo outlining the basic concepts of travel. To start out with, they didn't sleep in. Their blatant disregard for the sanctity of jet lag didn't bother me in the slightest until they burst into our room at half past early and started screaming frantically about how much they like American cereal. <i>Super. How is their coffee?</i></div>
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After several pots of black gold, we rounded up Puff, Crunch and Pebbles and hit the streets. My gut's first stop was a bagel factory, where the boys found it rather cool to a) actually find a place that sells bagels and b) to buy a bagel that was strawberry flavored. Thankfully, the deep-fried bacon bagel covered in chocolate sprinkles was sold out. </div>
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After <i>'Breakfast for Bonzos'</i>, we moved deeper underground. </div>
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Our kids go to Subways all the time, but I don't think this prepared their ears for the real McCoy. </div>
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Shortly after getting on the subway, a guy walked in carrying a boom box. He placed it down on the ground and then began doing things to a pole that I've only imagined Angie doing. </div>
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By the time we made it downtown, the morning's sugary milk buzz was wearing off. Luckily, David's adrenaline compass guided us to the Hershey store, home of the World's largest Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. <i>Love is...</i></div>
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After an unhealthy shock to their system, we decided it was time for a healthy snack. We couldn't find that anywhere, so we decided to settle for some Yorker cuisine. </div>
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They have <i>'hot </i>dogs' in Germany, but there is a reason that I put that in quotes. It's not so much the <i>'meat'</i> they use, but it's a complete FAIL when it comes to the bun. In Germany, hot dog buns crumble into dust when you bite into them. In the States, it's like eating a moist sponge, only it tastes even better. Still, when I got to Germany sixteen years ago, they thought hot dogs were poodles wearing thongs, so I guess there's still hope. <i>If only we could find it...</i></div>
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No trip to New York is complete without getting mugged in Central Park. We didn't get mugged, but our trip to New York is not yet complete. Instead, we had a picnic and gawked at gaggles of crazed locals racing around the park trying to catch Pokémons.</div>
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After twenty minutes of explaining to David why he could not join the Yorkémon hunt, we moved to a cool water park to cool down the cool trio. <i>I didn't need a water park. Obviously. </i></div>
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After a cool time at the park, we decided to spice things up a bit. We met Doyle at a local Mexican restaurant that served beers that I've never heard of. Luckily, Doyle's liver is a drinking encyclopedia when it comes to local Pale Ales. Somewhere between nachos and Margaritas, two thirds of the herd got a tad bit tuckered out.<i> </i></div>
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We managed to make it back to the J&D ranch before the animals completed tranquilized themselves. After getting them into their stables for the night, Doyle took Angie and me to the roof for a metropolitan sunset. Talk about your <i>'New York minute'</i>.</div>
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<a href="http://thejohnsonszoo.blogspot.com/2008/06/ladder-talk.html">Ladder Talk:</a> <br>
1) What was the best part of your day?<br>
Peter:<i> That we could go to Manhattan and that we visited so many shops.</i><br>
David:<i> That we were in Central Park. </i><br>
Tom: <i>That we was in the Central Park. </i><br>
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2) What was the worst part of your day?<br>
Peter: <i>That Tom was bugging me.</i><br>
David: <i>That I was in the end a bit fighting with Tom. </i><br>
Tom: <i>That I was at the end fighting with David. </i><br>
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3) What would you like to do tomorrow?<br>
Peter: <i>I want to visit Uncle Bob and have fun. </i><br>
David: <i>I want to visit Uncle Bob and Nana.</i><br>
Tom:<i> I want to visit Uncle Bob and Nana.</i>The Johnson's Zoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06255731622839030180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767926874378732291.post-79790160372994069662016-07-28T23:20:00.000+02:002016-09-18T22:14:26.577+02:00Out of Heidelberg<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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To be honest, I was a little surprised that we managed to get to the airport this time without any last minute hiccups, like finding out six days before your flight that your children do not have valid passports. Or having your patient-challenged wife check the Homeland Security ESTA application the night before flying and noticing that a) you got her birthday wrong and b) you used her maiden name. This is the same wife, by the way, who managed to break two of her toes two days before our last trip to the States. But I digress. My point was that it was nice to finally board an airplane without anyone doing anything silly. <i>Well, almost.</i><br>
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After vocally encouraging silly posers to <i>'get on the plane and stop embarrassing your mother'</i>, I found my seat. As luck would have it, I had a seat on my own and Angie was stuck in the middle section one row back with the boys. By luck, I of course mean that I did the online check-in last night, which included seat assignments, and I thought that Angie would enjoy the bonding time with the boys. <i>Nine and a half hours of bonding, to be exact. </i></div>
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Shortly before takeoff, I noticed a curtain separating my seat from the front section. Just above the curtain rod was a sign that said "STOW DURING TAKEOFF". Since we were taxiing out, I thought I would simply do what the stewardess had obviously forgotten to do. I started to slide the curtain to the stow position, but as soon as I touched it, the whole thing came crashing down. </div>
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The stewardess, who was buckling herself in, whipped around and gave me a look that told me that she is obviously married. I shrugged my shoulders and turned to Angie for support. She didn't have a whole lot of that, but she did whip out her camera and cackled loudly enough for the pilot to notice. </div>
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I tried reattaching the curtain, but the stewardess started angrily snapping and motioning for me to put the curtain down. Luckily I am used to women snapping orders at me, so I dropped the curtain to my feet and patiently waited for takeoff. </div>
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Shortly after takeoff, I noticed a wagon coming down the aisle serving champagne and an option of two snacks. As it got closer, I could see that one was a nice looking chicken-pesto dish and the other was some type of beef in a red wine sauce. My mouth was watering and I was about to turn around and ask Angie which dish she was going to have when the cart stopped at the row in front of me and then returned to the front of the plane. </div>
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Some people learn something new every day, but my brain has been 99% full for some time now, so I'm still surprised on those rare occasions when it does happen. Angie never is, but I tend not to dwell on what could possibly surprise her brain. Anyway, what I discovered is that the curtain that my muscular biceps had inadvertently ripped out of its tracks was actually there to separate the Business Class from the common folk. </div>
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When we landed, Angie and I, but mainly Angie, were running a tad bit short on patience. When we got on the AirTrain to get from the terminal to the rental car, Tommy asked what would normally be a normal question. </div>
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<i>'Papa, what is an AirTrain?'</i></div>
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<i>'It's a TRAIN that's in the AIR!'</i></div>
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Maybe it was my tone, but David giggled and Tommy suddenly stopped asking questions. </div>
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When we got to the rental car hub, we told the boys to sit on the bench and behave. I guess we should have been more specific, because Tommy interpreted our instructions to mean that he could mount his new suite case and zip around the waiting area making race-car noises. </div>
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For better or worse, Angie and I are used to tuning out disobedient children, so we ignored Tommy Samsonite and went to pick up our rental car. I had booked this online with Advantage and was quite proud that, after spending multiple hours, I had found a deal that would cost $1,500 for three weeks, with unlimited mileage and insurance including Angie as an additional driver, in case I decided that cruising on the sidewalk would be fun. </div>
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<i>'Hi, the name's Johnson - I'm here to pick up our rental car.'</i></div>
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<i>'Do you want unlimited mileage?'</i></div>
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<i>'Yes, I already booked that.'</i></div>
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<i>'Mmh. I don't see that. Would you like insurance?'</i></div>
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<i>'Yes, I already booked that.'</i></div>
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<i>'Mmh. I don't see that. Would like your spouse to be able to drive?'</i></div>
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<i>'Not really, but I already booked that.'</i></div>
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<i>'Mmh. I don't see that. Your total is $3,000. How would you like to pay?'</i></div>
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After nearly ten minutes of arguing with the staff that their offer was nowhere near what I had booked, we walked away. Then we went down to Budget and asked for the same exact deal. </div>
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<i>'No problem, Mr. Johnson, that will be $1,530 and your spouse is, of course, covered without charge.'</i></div>
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And with that, we were on our way to Jen and Doyle's, the coolest kid-less married types in New York. The boys were dead, but they managed to keep it together for pizza.</div>
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I was dead, too, but managed to keep it together for beer. </div>
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After a delicious culinary welcome to New York, we made our way back to Jen and Doyle's. Peter had insisted on bringing his oversized pizza pillow with him, so he was all set. Luckily, David and Tom found an acceptable alternative. Her name is Olive. </div>
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<a href="http://thejohnsonszoo.blogspot.com/2008/06/ladder-talk.html">Ladder Talk:</a> <br>
1) What was the best part of your day?<br>
Peter: <i>That we flew to New York to visit Doyle and Ms. Jen.</i><br>
David: <i>That we came to New York with Doyle and Ms. Jen.</i><br>
Tom: <i>That we went to visit Ms. Jen in New York. </i><br>
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2) What was the worst part of your day?<br>
Peter: <i>That we had to fly for more than 8 hours. </i><br>
David: <i>That Tom was annoying me in the car.</i><br>
Tom: <i>That we needed to drive and fly for so long. </i><br>
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3) What would you like to do tomorrow?<br>
Peter:<i> I want to eat Captain Crunch and maybe go to Central Park.</i><br>
David: <i>I want to have a lot of fun with Doyle and Ms. Jen. </i><br>
Tom: <i>I want to have fun with Doyle and Ms. Jen and Olive. </i>The Johnson's Zoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06255731622839030180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767926874378732291.post-33116891546381891382016-05-17T22:41:00.001+02:002016-05-19T22:58:54.409+02:00So, how was your day, Butter Buns?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>'So, how was your day, Butter Buns?'</i><br>
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<i>'Well, I thought since it's the first day of the school break that I could sleep in, but NOOO. I had to leave at 8:30 this morning to take Tommy to training at 9:00 for THREE hours! And, by the way, that's the same schedule for every day this week. Did I mention that already? Yeah! Then, after I dropped Tommy off, I went into school to prepare a budget request for next year. While I was there, Peter was supposed to get a haircut at 11:00 but somehow managed to leave the house without any money and without his keys. Luckily he had his cell phone and tried calling me several times. I didn't see this until 11:05, though, when I was leaving the school to pick up Tommy. I thought I would have plenty of time to watch the end of Tommy's training until I saw that I had had six missed calls from Peter including one text message that said "HELP!". I called and calmed him down and told him to get his hair cut and I would meet him there with money before I picked up Tommy at 12:00. I then raced back home and thought I would take my bike to the barber shop to save time, but I could not find it anywhere. So then I ran all the way over there. No Peter. Of course not, right? So I asked Florin where Peter was and he told me that David had just picked him up. And I was like "What!! David was supposed to be waiting at the bus station to be picked up at 11:00 for a birthday party!! And he doesn't have keys either!". I then went to pay and realized that I only had ten euros on me and the haircut had cost twelve euros. I explained to Florin that I would be back to pay him later. He told me to just forget about it, but I assured him that I would be back. Then I raced back home and found Peter and David on the steps almost ready to cry. David explained that he had waited and waited and the dad that was supposed to pick him up never came. Then I looked at my phone and saw that I had several missed phone calls from the dad. </i><i>I called him back an</i><i>d he explained that he had waited and waited and David had never showed up. See, I had told his friend's mom that David would be waiting at the first bus station after the Congress Hall. The mom had understood that to mean the first bus station after the bus station called Congress Hall and had told the dad to wait at the Marstall bus station. Anyway, the dad at that point was about halfway to their house, which is about 40 minutes away. He then turned around and picked up David. Before walking to the bus station with David to make sure he actually got picked up, I gave Peter the missing money for his haircut and told him to go pay it. I also gave him my keys and suggested strongly that he not forget my keys in the house. David got picked up and I took off to get Tommy at 12:00 and picked up two of his friends who were coming over for a play date. I dropped them off in the garden and told them that I was running to the store around the corner to get something for lunch and would be right back. When I came back, the kids were not in the garden, but the garden hose was on full blast and flooding the sidewalk next to our cellar, which was probably also getting wet. I turned it off and stormed upstairs to find one of Tommy's friends soaking wet from his head to his feet and giggling. Tommy wasn't wet, but he was covered in mud and also giggling. I cleaned up that mess, got them fed and then sat for a moment thinking about where my bike could be. Then I remembered that I had taken it last night to Johnny Mac's pub quiz and then walked home with Paula. So t</i><i>hen I went to pick up my bike from the pub and found that someone had kicked the basket and bent the railing. So I drove home and spent a good twenty minutes unbending metal. Then I came upstairs to find that Tommy had spilled soda all over his gymnastics outfit, which he needs again tomorrow morning. So then it was laundry time. Oh yeah, I also mopped the floors, don't they look great? It was about that point that Peter suddenly "remembered" that he had a geography report due after the break, but he did not have the sheet of paper explaining what he had to do and he, of course, could not remember. So then I spent the next thirty minutes looking up parent phone lists and having Peter call all of his friends to find someone who actually knew what they were supposed to be working on during the break. This didn't work, but that's okay because then David came back home with splatter all over his pants. When I asked him what that was, he said "oh, a little bit of mud, but mostly vomit". Apparently, one of the other kids sitting next to David had vomited three times on the way there. So, yeah - laundry time again. I just finished the second load. So, how was your day, Jelly Belly?'</i><br>
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I know a lot of readers think that I must be making all this shit up, but our life really is this hectic. Luckily, I am well versed when it comes to dealing with wives that are borderline certifiable after their first day of "vacation". I am sure that I responded the same way that any loving husband's liver would.<br>
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<i>'Wanna beer?'</i>
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<a href="http://thejohnsonszoo.blogspot.com/2008/06/ladder-talk.html">Ladder Talk:</a> <br>
1) What was the best part of your day?<br>
Peter: <i>That Bailey came over and that we played together on the playground.</i><br>
David: <i>That I finally made it to the birthday.</i><br>
Tom: <i>That Jan-Mathis and Janick could play by me. </i><br>
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2) What was the worst part of your day?<br>
Peter: <i>That Mom freaked out about my Geography report.</i><br>
David: <i>That someone threw up on me.</i><br>
Tom: <i>That we let the water on,</i><br>
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3) What would you like to do tomorrow?<br>
Peter:<i> </i><i>I want to play with David</i><br>
David: <i>I want to have fun with Luca.</i><br>
Tom: <i>I want to have fun by gymnastics and have fun with Simeon and Constantin.</i>The Johnson's Zoohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06255731622839030180noreply@blogger.com0