Pie Day

In a few weeks, my son Eiji is going to celebrate his fifth birthday.   Five seems like a milestone birthday to me, and as his brother notes “five is a big birthday because it is half of ten”.  So it is.  Not to be outdone numerology-wise by my 7 year old, I realized that when Eiji turns 5, the cumulative age of our family will be 100 years old!   Yeah! 100! And we vote, suckas!

And it gets better!

Eiji’s birthday is on March 14.  This is especially cool, because it is “pi” day. (Get it? 3/14 = 3.14).  Nice. As an MIT grad (and let’s not forget high-school varsity “math-lete”), I was pretty jazzed to have a kid born on pi day.  It’s an irrational dream come true. Sure, it would have been better if my wife could have somehow held him in for more digits of pi accuracy (ideally until 1:59pm and 26.5 seconds).   But that is just ridiculous!  I would never jeopardize my wife’s health or that of the baby!  Unless she wanted it too.  But trust me, it’s a tough topic to broach – especially while she’s making so much noise grunting.  It’s my own fault for not including a NASA countdown “hold” in the birth sequence.  He launched of her like a little rocket about one hour shy of pi.

Still, pi day is pi day.  I’m very happy.  And it gets even better because we always celebrate pi day with pie.  Delicious pie.  But even pie can have complications.

A few days before Eiji’s first birthday party, in 2006,  I realized I needed to order a pie.  I immediately thought of Pasadena’s “Pie ‘n Burger” diner and their excellent pies (http://www.pienburger.com/ ). But a key detail popped into my head: Pie ‘n Burger is located very close to the Caltech campus.  As I dialed the phone,  I started to freak!  Pi day + Caltech nerds equals massive run on pies!  Argh! I waited too long and now I’m going to have to scramble to find a pie for pi day!  Someone answers the phone and I breathlessly ask about pie.  I’m surprised by the lack of panic on the other end.  She says they have pies, but I can’t believe it.  At the risk of starting an Abbott-and Costello routine, I press my case: 

Me:  I’m very surprised you have pies, considering it is “pi day”. 

Pie ‘n Burger waitress:  What day? Pie day?  What do you mean “pie day”?

Me:  You know, in math, the number pi? 3.14159256...?  The Greek letter “pi”?

Pie’n Burger waitress:  Honey, I don’t know what you are talking about.  We have pies if you want to order one.

It turns out, to my surprise, “Pi day” is not celebrated as widely as I would have expected.   Or maybe, just maybe, it’s just another way that MIT rocks over Caltech.  

Happy Birthday Eiji!

The One

My wife and I recently attended a wedding and it sure was an eye-opener.  It’s not that I didn’t enjoy myself.  I did.  It was a nice wedding.  Beautiful garden ceremony at a very nice hotel on the marina.  Perhaps 11 am is a tad on the early side, but pleasant.   It’s just that everything is different when you attend a wedding after you’ve been married awhile. And have kids.  Everything.  I should say that my wife and I have been married for thirteen years, and we are very happily married.  And we have kids.

And I’m telling you -- it’s just different. 

For example, one thing that made me super happy at this wedding is that they served coffee upon our arrival.  There was a big urn filled with delicious hot coffee and satisfyingly solid coffee mugs! Mugs I tell you! The faces of every married couple perked up when they found out about the coffee.  Sample conversation between us and some close married friends:

Us: Oh hi – how are you?  We’re so happy to see you!

Other Couple:  It’s great to see you guys! It’s been a long time... Hey is that coffee?

Us:  Yeah.  Coffee.  It’s really good too.  Go get some.

See, people with kids need coffee.  This coffee was a very positive sign for Paul and Jasmine’s wedding: they demonstrated that they care about us - the guests.  That’s exactly the type of reassurance we “couples with children” need.  I bet lunch is going to be wonderful.

I should mention a key point here:  This was an “adults only” wedding.  So as we delighted in our caffeine bliss, we inquired about the baby-sitter arrangements. Each couple explained who was watching their kids.  Being “sans enfants” with other “sans enfants” couples at a social gathering is an extremely rare situation. With a younger crowd, this type of freedom could easily set off an orgy.  Not a concern here, as we are all far too tired for that.  Yet, for couples in the midst of a temporary kid-free dreamworld, it is like being whisked away on a hot air balloon without pants.  And the younger your kids, the higher your balloon floats. You feel very free.  It’s lovely and it’s intoxicating.  We had it all.  Coffee, and no kids.

But trouble loomed, at least for the men. You see, the men were all wearing dark suits, and it was partly sunny.  Sweat began to bead on our faces!  Suddenly I was melting inside my suit! When we were younger, and single this never happened!  When is this wedding going to start!?  My god, Global Warming!  I briefly contemplate if I could pull off wearing an all-white suit like Travolta in Staying Alive.  Sadly the answer is no.  But the point is moot.  I’m melting in my dark suit. Meanwhile, my wife, who is sitting right next to me, is wearing a dress and a wool coat. Yes. Wool. Coat.  And get this: she was drawing residual heat from her coffee mug, pressing it against her cheeks.  The lesson for you newlyweds: couples with children require individualized thermal settings.

I tried to concentrate on something else besides the heat.  Back when I was single, it was easy: I’d check out the bridesmaids and other single ladies at the wedding.  I’d laugh at heat!  I’d generate my own heat! That instinct never really goes away.  But today I found myself pondering details like “why is one groomsman wearing sunglasses, but none of the others? Who is going to clean up all these rose petals?  I hope they compost them.  I really can’t even hear that violin.  Is she really playing?  Is that what “sotto” means?”

The minister launches into his schpiel while I wonder what will be served at the reception.  I’m hungry, but I snap out of my reverie when he starts to talk about THE ONE.  Paul and Jasmine, like most newlyweds, were meant for each other.  A miracle has occurred and brought them together. Somehow, against all odds, they found each other.  It seems to be standard wedding fare.  But then I start doing some calculations in my head, thinking about all the people on the planet Earth. Maybe this minister is mocking me.   I twist his loving speech in my mind:

“You married folks have so much baggage that there is only one true love that will put up with your shit.”   Is that true? Is my wife the only one on the planet with whom I’m compatible? She’s the only one that would love me? No, that can’t be true.  I’m weird maybe, but I’m not that bad.  I’m still loveable.  Right?

This mockery leads me to indignation.  HEY! I was a newlywed once.  A fine newlywed. In fact, my wife and I had a very long and romantic “schmoopie” phase which sickened PLENTY of people, I will have you know.  In retrospect, it’s humiliating, but man, she was THE ONE.  And I’m pretty sure I was THE ONE too.

Suddenly we are at the reception and concerns about my worldwide compatibility give way to enjoyment of a very nice heirloom tomato salad.  For all of us married couples at the table, the food is made ever so delicious by the absence of our children.  The subtle nuances delight my tastebuds (this salt is so salty!) as I say yes to a refill of wine.  And then every single couple spends the next hour talking about our children.  As much as we enjoy being without them, we can’t stop thinking about them.  To outsiders, I’m sure it must be as annoying as our schmoopie phase.  And then it hits me, and I understand why I’m stuck with my one true love, and she is stuck with me. Yup. She’s THE ONE.

Happy Valentines Day. 

Cross-posted on Sahmmy.com

Getting started

When I swim, it often takes me forever to jump into the pool.  I need to acclimate to the water - it feels cold.  Today, with this blog, I am doing the opposite: I'm jumping right in.   Wow.  The water feels pretty nice.