Cooking With Kids: Gluten-free Chocolate Chip Cookies

You can skip this and just go here, but remember for best results to use a real egg and add some milk.

All we need is a puddle with some tadpoles

The boys have discovered somewhat of a secret oasis.  It's this big garage behind the Denver aquarium called Sharkey's playground.  It's filled with giant fake fish you can climb on.  No one uses it except us.  Well, except us and two or three other families, and we all kind of leer at each other in a suspicious and territorial way when we show up at the same time. 

Some people say they look alike.

So every week we careen through the Aquarium exhibit.  We rush past sharks, giant turtles, puffer fish, tigers and exotic species we'd only otherwise see if we traveled by flying jungle submarine to the Great Barrier Reef--just so we can get to a rubberized playground.

There was more I was going to write about that, but now I can't remember.  Somewhere, my wife is laughing.

Quin is a thousand stories, and Otto is catching up. He's definitely catching up in attitude. The guy has been dropping more NOs than an abstinence group. He doesn't even know what he's talking about, but he knows "No" has some value.  Maybe it's the entertainment of my head getting red. And all those funny noises I make that to me are eloquent paternal soliloquies. Isn't it sad, when you wake up and you're a Peanuts adult.

I do have a lot of fun with the boys though. They are as real as people get. I mean I was near nuts when Quin tossed an all-out protest over my denying him a soda. But it makes perfect sense. If we weren't all caught up in being grownups we'd totally throw down over a Coke. I left him alone for a while (and enjoyed a rare soda of my own) and he eventually came around. He emerged to tell me there was a huge spider in the kitchen. And then Otto charged in to see it.  It got more attention than a million gallon tank full of sharks.

But it's when you're on the floor in a guy triangle, our large heads forming something of a lunar grouping, when Daddy Daycare is super cool.  As long as the spider doesn't make me scream in front of the boys.

Otto and the Alphabet.

Love the "L-M-N-O-P".

Q Tip O' the Day: Love, love, love. Everything.

Oh to be Quin. To be so happy and so not concerned about your surroundings. To be naked, like he was when we rose to the third floor in the glass elevator of the Embassy Suites. We'd just gotten out of the pool, and he insisted on taking off his swim trunks. In turn I insisted he at least wear a towel around his neck. This was good to cover the front, but it exposed his back and, as we parents are prone to dote, his precious little butt. We got in the elevator and he leaned with his back to the glass, putting his rump in full view of the crowded room of hotel breakfast goers. I glanced down to see one person grab another who alerted another to look at the little butt rising like a tiny moon. Quin was unfazed. He was actually telling me about how much he loved hotels whilst giving three or four dozen nameless faces something to smile about.

Ever since the beginning, Q has been a lover of life, and bubbles.

So to be Quin would be priceless. I'd love to ride an elevator with my butt pressed against the glass. But I'd definitely want pants before they took me to jail. And then I'd probably be on some list that would make it hard for me to find a place to live. This of course means at some point Quin is going to need to have his naked spirit wrangled. We'll have to ensnare him in clothing and the belief that nudity is bad. And one day he'll probably cringe at my retelling of this story. For now though he's as free as we all should want to be. This afternoon in the back yard he went from telling the neighbor boy that he loved him, to helping me carry wood, to pretending to fly like a seagull--all in about sixty seconds. It was a seamless motion of chattering superlatives from our neighbor's yard into ocean soaring.

Of course, who wouldn't love this life?

There's no tepid review of anything. The cartoon on TV is the best and he loves it.  Today he announced he loved hamburgers and McDonalds. He also shared his passion about crayons, worms and our dog, Paco. He loves them all. His little brother follows suit, not so much with the poet's tongue, but with hugs and elongated interjections of joy. So if you get called out as a favorite, please spare some time for the announcement ceremony and the follow-up hug from his little assistant. Granted, in less than a minute you might hear the same thing said about you to a patch of grass, but don't take offense. When you have little reason to not like things, there's a lot of love to go around.

Why You're Coming to My Comedy Show on March 22 and/or April 5th

Because you told me to do it. I'd say I'm going to be a media consultant or a cobbler or a nurse, and you'd say, "I think you'd be great doing comedy."  And I listened, and then while you enjoyed a Norman Rockwell evening with your family, I battled for my life in a bar in Pueblo.  

So now I ask you to come to the show. On Tuesday, March 22 at 7:30 I'll be live at the Avenue Theater. There's beer and wine, and a host of comic talent that will make you feel a lot better than when you paid twice as much to see Prince of Persia.

Steven Young - A finalist in the Great American Comedy Festival, you'll love his twisted take on being married with kids.

Dick Black - He's opened for Dave Chapelle and delivers the raw truth in hilarious style.

And your headliner, me- Raised by wolves, like David Sedaris on crack, and the statute of limitations has expired on being seduced by my teacher so I'll reveal details about that sad and sordid affair.

It's difficult for me to ask people to do things. I know Quin is my son when the other day his mother asked to help with this pants and he shouted, "NO! 'Help' is a bad word!" I think he might have thought she said, "Hell," but for most of my life I would have rather endured that than actually requesting assistance.

So now, I ask you to come to the show. It's laughter. It's a centering of sorts, and it's the rattling off of life's rust.  But the true gift of comedy is that we find we're all screwed up, and that makes us feel better about ourselves. I know, that's a lot of good things. You can thank me by just being there.

100 Shows in 10 Days for Volunteers of America: Final Day

100 Shows in 10 Days: VOLUNTEERS OF AMERICA