Too Many Choices: Postcard #92 from the Garden of Estrogen

It's been a while since my last postcard, but if Law and Order can return after a ten year hiatus, this has been only half as long.

While chatting with D3 as she was at the supermarket, the line suddenly went silent. 

Me: What's wrong?

D3: My brand of shampoo just added four new formulas. Now there are seven in total. I need to pick one.

Me: Seven? What are they?

D3: Well, one has coconut oil, another has collagen, a third has Argan tree oil,... How am I going to decide?

Me: Look at the main ingredient, and ask yourself, "If I got this on my head, would I feel the need to wash my hair to clean it off?" If the answer is yes, then that's a good reason NOT to make it your shampoo.

D3: Well, that's one approach. Or... I could see what they are designed to do and work from there. A bunch of these say they are for breakage. I don't think my hair is broken.

Me: Well, if it ain't broke...

D3: Yeah, OK. This one says it has peptides. I don't know what a peptide is. Need to look it up... (silence) ...it says it increases moisture and body. I think I will go with the peptides.

I feel like I gave about as much help as a nearly bald man could provide here.

Romeo and Juliet: 15th Anniversary Valentine’s Day Postcard from the Garden of Estrogen

This Postcard was originally published for Valentines Day 2006

An archeologist searching in England for the ruins of an ancient druid temple recently discovered a box of manuscripts that had been buried for hundreds of years.  After an exhaustive study by the respective literature departments at Oxford and Cambridge Universities, the manuscripts have been authenticated as drafts written by none other than William Shakespeare.

Most remarkable was the revelation that the version of Romeo and Juliet that we have come to know is the shortened “made for theatre” version.  The genuine R&J Trilogy is somewhat different.  In the original Book I, A Midsummer Night’s Family Feud, Romeo realizes that Juliet has faked her death and they both flee to Venice, where they settle down to raise a family.  Romeo makes a fortune selling gondola insurance, while Juliet raises their SEVEN lovely daughters (and you thought I was outnumbered!).

Here is an excerpt from Book II, entitled Looking for Two Gentlemen - Try Verona.  As we can see from the dialog, aside from the difficulty of always speaking in verse, Romeo faced his own unique challenges, especially when it came to certain romantic holidays.

Prologue  and disclaimer (added by Don Staffin, A.D. 2006)

Three Muses appear on stage.

muses (in unison)

If thy sensibilities be easily offended,

We suggest the reading at this moment be ended.

But if bawdry humor pleases without pretense,

Then partake with us of mirth at poor Romeo’s expense.

Muses exit…

 

The scene: Venice, Italy, St. Valentine’s Day, 1578

Juliet 

Romeo O, Romeo,

A soft bed awaits the warmth of our slumber.

The fatigue of the day o’ertakes me,

And sleep’s siren song bids us make haste

To fair and blissful repose.

 

Romeo

Doth not trifle with my affection

Juliet my love.

‘Tis is the Day of St. Valentine!

Flowers hath I procured.

A romantic feast hath we consumed,

A Netflix painting hath we viewed.

 

Juliet 

Romeo my love,

May I be stricken

‘Ere I trifle with thy affection.

But wouldst thou believe

I am so easily lured into thine arms?

 

Romeo

When seven children hath we produced,

I wouldst think it true.

And yet, I will woo thee as at first.

Come hither, and hear in thine own ears

The sweet caress of my loving whisper.

 

Juliet 

My ears hath been touched but not by thee.

‘tis Daughter #5 who rends the stillness of the night

With her fair cry,

And I must sooth her countenance.

 

Romeo

There is no need to leave

The warmth of our lair.

D5 merely coos in her chamber,

Where D4 and D6 offer sweet sibling solace.

Dost not mine own countenance need soothing?

Doth not other desires make their presence known?

 

Juliet 

Quite apparent is thy desire

And thy presence.

‘Twould be nearly impossible to miss.

Nonetheless, thine own countenance must wait,

Unless self-soothing is what thou wilt.

 

Romeo

If thy words be true,

A stake through my heart hast thou driven.

Wouldst thou consign thy beloved to such a fate?

Wouldst thou risk the loss of these eyes

That behold a beauty such as thee?

O, what an inglorious end to an evening

Begun with roses, fair oysters, and truffles,

Upon which a goodly portion of the Montague estate

Hath been laid bare!

 

Juliet

O, Romeo, your eyesight would not I risk,

But thy patience do I request,

Lest the sounds of the child

Strike the mood from my soul

If she should remain uncomforted.

Juliet exits left

 

Romeo

On St. Valentine’s Day indeed!

O, that the privacy we shared

When but two of us there were,

Nary a care in the world

(save our respective families who wanted to kill each other, but I digress…).

Now steal our moments we must,

When happily coincides

The slumber of little ones.

‘Tis a wonder the last were ever conceived!

Juliet returns wearing something very revealing

 

Romeo

O, Juliet,

How I have longed for thee

In thy painful absence.

But do my eyes deceiveth me?

Self soothed have I not!

From whence cometh thy garment,

Barely visible in the moonlight?

 

Juliet

My garb cometh

From my dear friend, Victoria.

Come to me now, my love,

And knowest thou her secret!

 

Romeo

Ah, Venice!!!

 

epilogue

Three Muses re-appear on stage.

muses (in unison)

We can see by thy faces

That some of thee are shocked.

But we warned thee,

And did not simply go off half-cocked.

So before telling Shakespeare

Who might be tempted to sue,

You should see our rendition

Of The Taming of the Shrew!

 

Muses Exit

Anyone Seen a Pen? - Postcard #91 from the Garden of Estrogen

Have you ever been to a trade show, a running race, a bank, or some other public place where they are giving away pens, and wondered where they all end up?  I think I have the answer: my house. 

Here is how I know this: When I woke up this past Sunday morning, my wife and D4 were already out and about.  Upon making my way downstairs I found a 7 item "Honey-Do" list.  The first six were easy enough – mostly routine maintenance items, like changing lightbulbs.

Speaking of which, The Queen was a genetics major at Cornell, so…

Q: How many geneticists does it take to change a lightbulb?

A: 23 pairs

OK, The Queen thought it was funny.

Anyway, the last item on the list was "Fix stuck kitchen drawer."  A look from inside the cabinet below the drawer revealed the problem.  The left side panel was separating from the back, and the drawer bottom had popped out of the slot.  Clearly the drawer was overstuffed.  Of course, to fix a drawer, one must first empty said drawer.  Fortunately I was able to get it open far enough to reach my hand in and pull out the contents.  20 minutes later, aside from the usual pads, batteries, paper clips, keys to cars we no longer own, etc., I had counted 171.5 writing implements (there was half a pen in there as well).

Think about that.  A single 12x18 inch drawer holds enough pens, pencils and markers to keep 21 octopi busy with a few extra legs to spare.  A cursory check of the work room The Queen and the kids share (remember, three are away at college, so this includes what they left behind) indicated that all the logo-embossed plastic cups my kids have received at various events have been converted into pen and pencil holders as well.  I’m not even going to try to count those!

So next time you are unsuccessfully trying to find something with which to write, while cursing a blue streak, rest assured that your missing pen or pencil is almost certainly trapped in The Garden of Estrogen.  Come on over.  Take 10, 20, 50.  Bring your octopus.  It’s fine by me.

Where's my EZPASS when I need it?

I was driving a rental car from Pittsburgh, PA to Wellsburg, WV, when I came upon a toll plaza.  Not having an EZPASS in the rental car, I went to the cash lane, only to find it unattended.  I had already passed the sign that indicated the amount of the toll, so I didn't even know how much to pay, and I didn't have any change anyway.  However, there was a bill slot that invited the motorist to insert a $1 or a $5.  I didn't have a $1, but I did have the $5, so I fed it into the slot. 

I think this toll used to be a slot machine in a former electronic life, because it reacted like I pulled 3 cherries. The toll (which was apparently 25 cents, was generating 19 quarters in change, which dropped into the little metal cup.  Kerching!, Kerching!, Kerching! 

Eventually the dinging stopped, and I tried to extract all 19 quarters from the cup.  Of course half of them fell on the pavement, so I had to open my door hop out, and start to fish around on the curb, under the car, etc.  By now a line of cars had formed behind me.  Let me tell you - if midwestern politeness exists, it wasn't on that highway.  People were beeping, flashing headlights.  Finally I stood up and shouted, "HEY, BE HAPPY FOR ME.  I JUST WON HERE!"

Relative Value

A recent text exchange:

D1: Dang, the vet check for my cow cost me $63

D3: Dang, my statistics textbook cost $114

Gardener: Dang, college tuition is costing me over $100,000.  #D4ismorecosteffective

Garden U - Off to College: Postcard #90 from the Garden of Estrogen

One of the side-effects of having triplets is that more people know me than vice versa.  As a result, for the better part of the last year, hundreds of people - from relatives to friends to people I barely recognize - have asked what it would be like having our three children headed to school at once.  In the last month this has changed to, “What is life like now that they are out of the house?”  I planned to chronicle this as a series of Postcards over several months, but it was easier to live in denial (i.e. if I didn’t write about it, they might stay home forever).  Now that it has happened, I have created a single mega-Postcard to try to capture the highlights.

Friday August 14, 2015

As the Somerset County Fair drew to its close on a perfect late summer evening, D1, D2, D3 and D4 walked through the grounds together as four full-grown young women.  This was their last day as simultaneous permanent residents of The Garden of Estrogen – the final page of a chapter that began nearly 19 years earlier when triplet girls loudly announced their entrance into the world.

The next day would be hectic beyond belief as the girls began to scatter, but for now, amidst the white noise of the fair, there was an almost surreal calm.  I had a few moments to reflect how we got to this point – not the whole 19 years, but rather the more recent steps that led up to this moment.

The Fantasy

That all of our children would follow in our footsteps to Cornell University was a certainty.  18 years of Big Red Brainwashing appeared to be a success as we attended the family admissions lecture at The Queen’s 25^th reunion.  Of course the kids would apply E.D. (stop snickering – that stands for Early Decision), and all would be settled before the holidays.  Perfect, right?  Well, there was a lot that had to happen first.

The Standardized Tests

Every child who wants to attend college in the United States has to endure a battery of standardized tests.  It starts with the PSAT, then proceeds to the SAT (generally 2-3 times), the ACT (because some kids do better on one format than the other), the subject tests (called SAT-2), and advanced placement tests.  Each exam has varying levels of preparation ranging from on-line to special classes (not practical for triplets) to good-old-fashioned practice books.  Between D1, D2 and D3 the best guess is they took about 40 actual tests and well over 100 practice tests.  And because The Queen and I needed to be on hand to explain the answers on the practice tests, we feel like we are ready to go to college all over again.  “If two chords of a circle intersect at a point outside the circle, then the location of the point marked X in the diagram is (a) the midpoint of line segment QR, (b) one of the foci of the shaded ellipse, (c) the location of buried treasure, or (d) it doesn’t matter because this is one of the experimental questions.”

The Essays

Several years ago an enterprising company devised something called The Common Application.  The idea is that so many schools ask redundant information, why not put it in one place?  Ask for one main essay that shows what the kid can write, and then let each school tack on a supplemental essay (just because they can).  At present several hundred schools participate and I think it’s an amazing idea.  Unfortunately, here is where our Cornell fantasy started to diverge from reality.  The girls decided to check out a lot of schools, and apply to quite a few as well.  And, as we discovered, many of them did not use the Common Application.  I think D3 may have written over 20 essays alone.  Some of the topics were cool.  My favorite was The University of Wisconsin, which asked D1 to write about an aspect of herself that would surprise people.  She wrote about being a girl who loves football.  The challenge was fitting each essay response into anywhere between 100 and 750 words.  And of course, despite our pleas to get it done during the summer, most of this happened during the last few weeks/hours/minutes before applications were due.  Not only are The Queen and I ready for the SAT, but we are now expert essay reviewers as well.

Now we have the actual college selection process…

The Cowgirl

From the time she was about 10 years old, D1 has been infatuated with cows.  As readers of these Postcards know, it has become a family endeavor that increased the female/male ratio in The Garden by three bovine beauties.  It has also resulted in seven annual pilgrimages by The Queen, D1 and D4 to the National Holstein Convention.  When it came time to select a college, there were only a handful of schools in the running.  D1 visited all of them.  Fortunately, the best dairy science program in the country is in the School of Agriculture and Life Sciences at Cornell, so it was not a surprise when she informed us that she would be Ithaca-bound.  That’s one into Cornell.

The Soccer Player

As committed as D1 has been, D2 was actually the first to begin the college search process.  About a year after our kinder-soccer player announced that she would play in high school, she extended the objective by announcing that she would play soccer in college.  She never wavered from the plan.  The actual athlete recruiting starts freshman year in high school at “showcase tournaments”.  The kids email coaches asking them to come watch them play.  Many also attend recruiting camps.  Rinse and repeat for the next 3 years in places like Long Island, Richmond, Pittsburgh, Atlanta, Orlando and San Diego.  I was D2’s primary travel buddy, and between the long drives and the plane flights, it was an experience I would not trade for anything.  Our only requirement on D2 was that she pick a school that she would like to attend even if she did not play soccer.  She plans to major in operations management which resides in the engineering program in some schools and in the business program in others.  Somewhere along the line, D2 attended a recruiting camp at Emory University and fell in love with Atlanta.  Hmm…

The Undecided

D3 had no idea what she wanted to study, and she had such a rich and varied high school experience she was not in a great hurry to find out.  The Queen and I made sure she saw quite a few different schools – we needed to help her understand that despite her consuming passion for music, Pitch Perfect was not a real college.  Eventually she started to develop an interest in business leadership that led her to select The Kelley School of Business at Indiana University in Bloomington.  Coincidentally, IU also has a great music school as well.

For the record, we are fine with their choices, and The Queen, D4 and I have a whole new wardrobe of sweatshirts, golf shirts, baseball caps, etc. from Emory and Indiana.  We also quickly discovered that of the twenty six American colleges who took the melody for their respective alma maters from Cornell (“High above Cayuga’s Waters…”), two of those twenty six are – you guessed it - Emory and IU.  D2 and D3 need only learn lyrics.

* * *

So the triplets had settled on three different points of the compass - which evidently leaves the middle of the Atlantic Ocean for D4 who, as we revealed in a previous Postcard, is named for a mermaid: Ariel.  Perfect!

Meanwhile, senior prom, awards banquets, the final concert of the triplet French horns, graduation ceremonies and parties raced by, until the time came to actually begin the transition process.  We really didn’t know what would happen when the Staffin three became individual college students, and it was a little unsettling to think about for all of us.  I think as a family we stayed in denial for as long as possible.

First Orientation

Indiana holds freshman orientation in early July, so D3 was the first to have the experience.  She flew out, found her way from Indianapolis to Bloomington and back again, and had a wonderful time.  When she got back, we had our first big “Welcome to College” moment. 

Apparently the big thing on college campuses these days – and a significant part of orientation - is “consent”.  Excuse me - consent to what? Call me old fashioned, but what happened to NO!!!!!  OK, maybe I wasn’t so old fashioned when I was actually in college, but having four daughters changes even a former fraternity president.

In some states this has all been codified into a set of strict guidelines.  For example, in order to have sex in California, consent must be (1) verbal, (2) affirmative, and (3) ongoing.  So basically all encounters resemble the deli scene from When Harry Met Sally: “Yes, Yes, Yes!!!”  But I digress.

The Load Out

We had to figure out how two parents could get three freshmen moved into three different campuses within a five day period.  Look at a map.  This would take some serious planning and some help from at least one third party.  However, first we had to get them equipped. 

Over a series of weeks, we engaged in an exercise whose objective I now understand is to transfer as much of the collective parent and grandparent bank accounts as possible to that of Bed, Bath and Beyond, while still leaving just enough to make the first tuition payment.  BB&B has this program called “Pack and Hold”.  The stated purpose is to avoid loading up the family car with stuff that can be held for pick up locally.  However, in reality what happens is that the freshman still stuffs the car beyond any reasonable load limit.  Then after emptying the car into a dorm room, one must show up at the store to pick up everything that was ordered, and buy a bunch more stuff.  Great business plan – buy their stock!!!

Anyway, this was how we handled the move:

• Saturday: D1 heads out of town for Cadets 2 drum corps practice (first goodbye).  D4 and I work county fair takedown all morning.  Then D2 and D4 leave to stay with The Queen’s mom.  The Queen, D3 and I load up the van with D2 and D3’s stuff and start driving West.  We stay overnight in Wheeling, WV.
• Sunday: D2 gets on a plane for Atlanta to attend preseason soccer camp with only what she needs to survive for 5 days.  The Queen, D3 and I continue to Bloomington via Cincinnati, eventually arriving in the evening.  D1 returns from her weekend and picks up D4, who will stay with her at home.
• Monday: Move-in day at Indiana, including multiple trips to Bed, Bath and Beyond.
• Tuesday: Leave Indiana, say goodbye to D3.  Drive to Nashville to celebrate 25^th wedding anniversary in the epicenter of country music.
• Wednesday: Drive from Nashville to Atlanta via Alabama (because neither of us had ever been there and we really wanted to drive aimlessly on back country roads in the middle of a torrential thunderstorm), finally arriving in the evening.
• Thursday: Start moving in D2 (in between soccer practices).  Locate and visit the correct Atlanta-area Bed, Bath and Beyond.
• Friday: D1 leaves for Cornell with my sister (also a Cornell alumna, so she knew exactly what to do to effect the move).  The Queen and I continue to unpack D2 and spend time with relatives in Atlanta.  Meanwhile, back in NJ, D4 goes to the Hunterdon County Fair for the next 2 days to show her cow.
• Saturday: D1 takes a bus back to New Jersey for drum corps rehearsal.  The Queen and I attend freshman parent orientation at Emory.
• Sunday: D1 goes back to Cornell, The Queen and I leave Atlanta (third goodbye) and drive 14 hours back to NJ, stopping along the way to check out Virginia Tech, which we had heard is very pretty and which we both wanted to see.
• Monday: D4, The Queen and I are all back home: Recovery time!

* * *

The New Normal

So after nearly 19 years, we finally discover what it is like to have one child in the house.  Granted she is not in a high chair and needing a diaper change every few hours, but this three person family thing is fascinating. 

People ask us if the house is quiet now.  Our answer is, well, sort of.  D4 is very different from D1, D2 and D3.  They are a force of numbers.  D4 is a force of nature.  To put it in the language of science, we may have lost three quarters of the weight, but only one quarter of the volume.  Nevertheless, we are thoroughly enjoying getting to know D4 in a way that has not been possible before.  Of course, D4 suddenly getting a boyfriend was a jolt I was not ready for, but we are surviving that experience as well.

The Group Chat

When The Queen and I were in college, we called home once a week.  Sometimes we received letters or care packages.  Other than that, we were on our own.  My sister was at Cornell at the same time – which would have been helpful in case of emergency - but she was a 20 minute walk away and spent 24/7 in the design studio, so we did not see much of each other the first few years.  Obviously the world is a bit different now with cell phones – we got quite a few calls or texts early on “How do I…”

What we had not anticipated was the group chat.  It turns out that these three are not going to school as separately as we thought.  Sure they have individual experiences which are unique to their campuses, and are already making new friends.  But there is a constant chatter of texts that literally fills the day.  There are at least three separate streams:  The all-family, which includes the Queen’s mom; the nuclear family (just the six of us); and the Sisters (just the 4 of them).  I suspect there may be a triplet stream as well.  When I say my phone burns up with literally hundreds of texts some days, I’m not kidding.  Sometimes in the evening my phone is vibrating so much I miss calls because I think they are just rapid-fire texts.

To add to the hilarity, the triplets share an Apple account.  Every time one of them does a software update on her iPhone, if she doesn’t remember to fix the message settings, all three of them start getting each others’ messages.  This precipitates an electronic “Who’s on first?” until the offender can be identified and corrected.

By the way, I have also discovered through this group chatting that civilization has come full circle.  Between all the emojis (little pictures embedded in the text) and abbreviations, the language that passes back and forth is so cryptic we seem to have returned to hieroglyphics.  I finally realize what the pyramids are: giant text streams between the pharaohs’ children at school.  The classic Egyptian sideways two-dimensional pose showing the half human/half dog with one arm up and one down?  It’s the ancient LMAO, which translates to “Laughing My Anubis Off”

Last but not least, there is the Skype video conference.  The four of them get on a call and it’s like they never left home.  Or they have a one-on-one tutoring sessions in biology (The Queen), accounting or economics (The Gardener).

The net result of this high volume of multi-directional communication is that D1, D2 and D3 are each in some sense experiencing Cornell, Emory and Indiana, and so are the three of us back home.

Wow, did this all really happen?

Amidst all that has taken place the last few months, the biggest hit for me happened as we pulled out of the driveway for the first leg of the trip to Indiana.  The car was crammed so tightly with D2 and D3’s belongings there was barely room for D3 in the seat behind The Queen.  I looked back at the house that had been The Garden since we moved there in November, 1997 (even before we called it The Garden).  I stared at the window of D1, D2 and D3’s bedroom, and knew that we were turning a page that could never be turned back.  I love the women they are becoming, but I already miss the girls they have been: The Queen pushing the triplet stroller coming down the driveway, first day of school, soccer, bicycle lessons, Halloween costumes, everyone flying out of the garage into the minivan to get to so many different activities, and what seemed like a thousand other memories that whipped through my mind in an instant.  I suppose every father feels the same thing as his daughter heads off to college, but somehow times three it seemed magnified.  I have no idea what will happen in The Garden going forward, but this has been an amazing time.  This is definitely NOT the last Postcard, but nevertheless a heartfelt thank you to all my readers for sharing the journey.

The Gardener

Spring Cleaning: Postcard #89 from the Garden of Estrogen

Spring is just a few days away.  The grass is starting to re-emerge from under the blanket of white (unless you live in Boston, in which case that will happen sometime in June).  This is a perfect time for the first in what will be an occasional series known as The Housecleaning Chronicles.

* * *

I have noticed among males - I occasionally observe members of my own gender as well - that we fall into one of three general types when it comes to cleanliness of living space.  The first type (and the least common) is the male neat-freak.  This male is more often than not a bachelor, and when one walks into his domicile it gives the impression of being in a furniture gallery.  The second type is the tornado – so distinguished not by what he does, but by the fact that his living quarters looks like the aftermath of said catastrophic event.  Most boys (and as I have discovered, young girls as well) have a natural tendency in this direction.  When I was growing up I definitely fell into the tornado category.  However, during the few years that I had my own apartment, I managed to migrate to the third, and in my opinion, most common male state – constant manageable clutter.  Characteristics include some subset of the following:

• Unsorted mail on the kitchen table
• An occasional unwashed dish or two in the sink
• A possible article of discarded clothing on the couch
• Athletic equipment in the entrance hall, golf putter and pitching wedge in the living room
• Tie and/or blazer on the desk chair
• Bed made sometimes, but not always
• A dresser drawer or two may be slightly open
• Bathroom passable - not great, but certainly not a hazmat area either
• Expired items in the refrigerator positioned toward the rear

In other words, in this state there is a persistent level of moderate disarray, but not so much that the place can’t receive a female or parental guest with a half an hour of warning (large closets being a definite plus here).  I am reminded of the scene from the movie Working Girl, where Harrison Ford carries a passed out Melanie Griffith up the stairs, wondering/hoping aloud if his cleaning lady has made a recent visit.  On the other hand, if the visitors are male friends or siblings, who cares?  Probably their places look the same or worse, and since everyone is glued to whatever game is on the tube, no one will notice anyway.

I have to confess: because my wife and I met while we were still in college, my apartment during the three years after graduation and prior to our marriage was never the true “bachelor pad”.  I was never looking to bring Melanie Griffith or anyone else back there other than the Queen-To-Be.  And as I began my career determined to pay off my college loans as quickly as possible, I spent the first year with my entire living room furniture consisting of a futon chair, a lamp, and a television resting on the box in which my microwave oven had been delivered.  This certainly limited the number of surfaces on which articles of clothing could aggregate.

So how is our behavior modified when we marry?  Note that I say “marry”, because while engaged and maintaining separate residences, the female can still turn a blind eye to the clutter with which she has become familiar.  After all, she can still go home to her own place.  Plus, there is something manly about a tie draped over the chair during courtship that instantly disappears with the phrase, “…as long as you both shall live.”

Assuming the man is not a neat freak, the merged domicile seems to result in less clutter than that of the bachelor.  Sure there might be some extra dishes in the sink or a few articles of clothing around the bedroom (more on some nights than others), but for the most part the house looks pretty good.  Of course, there is the adjustment period in which the man needs to learn to accept this higher order, while the woman simultaneously learns to let go a bit from the ideal.  It is also advisable to find a safe place for the man to store his sports equipment, particularly the ice hockey goalie pads. 

Point of clarification – the above use of the term “ideal” is intentional, because young women living together are not necessarily neat freaks either.  It’s just that they recognize that this is a state from which they are supposed to evolve (i.e., mature), while left to our own devices, men would persist in our natural state indefinitely.

* * * Beep, Beep, Beep, Screeeeeeech * * *

We interrupt this missive for an observation from The Queen of the Garden of Estrogen:

Your beloved Queen would like to take the opportunity to get a few things straight here:

• Did anyone else with two X chromosomes read the description of “constant manageable clutter” and wonder how much worse “tornado” could possibly be?
• The tie on the chair is manly only if you wore it to work that day.  If your office went casual in 1997, it doesn’t hold quite the same appeal.
• We do not let go of the ideal.  We continually strive to teach you men how to maintain a domicile.  Those nights when we throw our clothes on the bedroom floor are a brief incentive.
• The fact that children of both genders are messy, while only one gender grows out of it should tell you something.
• If there is any acceptable place for hockey equipment outside an ice rink, it is not within the four walls of any place inhabited by humans.
• And on the subject of sports, I was a basketball player – a very tall center, if you must know.  Hitting the basket was the entire objective.  And believe me, it wasn’t easy with the hoop 10 feet off the floor and two or three opponents draped over my shoulders.  By contrast, the clothes hamper is about 30 inches tall and is totally undefended.  How does the laundry consistently end up on the floor next to the hamper?
• We now return you to your regularly scheduled Postcard.

* * * Beep, Beep, Beep, Screeeeeeech * * *

Notwithstanding the interjected observations of the Queen, I would maintain that the new ‘cohabitative’ state is relatively easy to maintain, because after all, how much mess can two people who work full time really create anyway?

We will continue this series at some point in the future with “The Housecleaning Chronicles, Part II – The Babies Arrive”.  Household stability goes out the window.

Fourte Returns

Click the link to see Fourte's Bridgewater Raritan High School Broadway Night 2015 Performance of Something Good/Happy Together:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vG8Nflt4Hrg

Postcard #88: Boyfriends II - Tenth Anniversary/Holiday Postcard

In December of 2004, the first Postcard from the Garden of Estrogen made its appearance.  It was just a single essay, with no plans for anything else.  I have republished the Postcard elsewhere on this blog.  But thanks to the five women in my life, the past ten years have provided a limitless supply of material.  And with over a half million miles spent in the air, I have had enough time to write it all down. 

Whether you have been with me from the beginning or have joined along the way, thank you for reading.

And now we turn to a topic that was not even on the distant radar when my daughters were 8, 8, 8 and 5.

* * *

Come on in boy, sit on down
And tell me 'bout yourself.
So you like my daughter, do you now?
Yeah we think she's something else.
She's her daddy's girl and her mama's world
She deserves respect, that's what she'll get, ain't it son?
Now y'all run along and have some fun.
I'll see you when you get back
Bet I'll be up all night
Still cleaning this gun.

Rodney Atkins, “Cleaning This Gun”

I know some people like to poke fun at country music, but how can you not like lyrics like these – especially if you have daughters? 

* * *

When D1, D2 and D3 were ten years old I wrote a Postcard entitled Boyfriends - OK, not a very original title, I admit, but also not at all confusing as to the topic.  The purpose (aside from general amusement) was to document their views on the subject of boys and dating while they and their friends had virtually no firsthand knowledge of the subject.  Postcard #30 is posted elsewhere on this blog. 

At the time, I made one prophetic statement:

I don’t know what worries me more:

• The idea that one day my daughters will have boyfriends.
• The idea that it may happen at approximately the same time (at least for the big three – this is NOT one area where I want the little one to play catch-up). 

Through intermediate school and middle school I watched as my daughters’ peers started to experiment with relationships.  Boys would appear on the spectator sidelines at the games I was coaching. Or we would hear at the dinner table about who liked whom, who was going out with whom, etc.  The Queen and I just listened.  As far as we could tell, all of this was going on around our daughters, but not directly involving them.  Nevertheless, just to be on the safe side, I would find a way to periodically remind the girls that I had won a number of awards shooting target rifles when I was a teenager.  My own version of Rodney Atkins.

Then came high school.  First year, same story.  Then suddenly, boys started showing interest in D1, D2 and D3.  I didn’t interview any of the boys at the time (now THAT would have made for an interesting Postcard), but perhaps it had something to do with the fact that at 5-6, 5-8 and 5-6 1/2 respectively, the girls no longer towered over the boys the way they used to (D3 in particular is far less intimidating when she is looking up).

However, just because the boys started paying attention doesn’t mean their efforts were reciprocated.  Every single one was unsuccessful.  Eventually we reached a point where I started to become more curious than fearful to see what kind of boy was going to manage to break the ice.  D2, misreading my curiosity, reassured me that (a) she does like boys, and (b) she and her sisters would not settle for any boy just to be able to say she had a boyfriend.

Note:  Not that there was ever any doubt, but D2 has since stated on multiple occasions that “I would never want to date a girl.  I don’t know how guys do it.  We are impossible!”

By this time, D4 had passed her sisters in height (currently approaching 5-10).  With a hairstyle that looks like Darryl Hannah’s in Splash, it would be easy to think she would be the first to attract a beau.  However, not to worry – I think she can be even more intimidating than D3.

Note – apparently among the high school set, the term “beau” has been replaced by BAE (pronounced “bay”), which means Before Anyone Else.  At some point these kids will discover that “bae” is the Danish word for poop (the ae becomes a single letter).  Wonder what will happen then?  At the very least, if your daughter starts dating someone named Lars or Magnus, you might want to warn her not to use this term of endearment.

In any event, at the beginning of this year, without any warning D2 suddenly had a BAE.  By late summer, D1 and D3 had followed suit (and before anyone asks, no they are not dating triplets).  Now here’s the amazing part:  I haven’t thought about making a firearm purchase even once! 

For years I have been thinking up all the clever things to say that will strike fear in the hearts of potential suitors:

• “Thanks for bringing my daughter home.  Yes, I always stand on my front porch late at night.  See ya!”
• “Sure you can take my daughter out again - her next free night is in 5 years.”
• “The movies?  No problem - what are you planning to see?  Oh, The Queen and I were just heading out to the same movie.  We’ll be sitting behind you.” (The Queen’s parents really did this the first time I took her out when we were home from college – no joke).

And yet I have used none of these lines.  What is wrong with me?  In fact, the only restriction I have put on my daughters is that I get veto power over the transportation arrangements, and they seem to be fine with it.

Maybe I’m saving it all for what my vivid imagination is cooking up for D4. 

D4: “But Dad, you didn’t give my sisters a hassle about their boyfriends.”

Gardener: “Your sisters’ boyfriends weren't 6-5 with a Harley Davidson tattoo.  And no, he can’t pick you up for a date on his motorcycle, even if he does have an extra helmet!”

Until then, the gun cleaning will just have to wait.

* * *

Whatever holiday you celebrate, I hope the season brings you happiness and peace.

Postcard #30: Boyfriends - A 10 and 7 Perspective

This Postcard appeared in 2007.

* * *

The big girls have moved on from their elementary school (K-4) and have begun intermediate school this fall.  The little one is only in second grade, but she thinks she can keep up (and in many ways she does).  It’s an amazing age.  Sometimes they give glimpses of what they will be like as adults, and then they can turn around and be little girls again – which they still are most of the time.  But before the little girls disappear entirely, I need to take a few snapshots for the time capsule.  This month we take a close look at the subject of dating.

* * *

I don’t know what worries me more:

• The idea that one day my daughters will have boyfriends.
• The idea that it may happen at approximately the same time (at least for the big three – this is NOT one area where I want the little one to play catch-up). 

However, I remember how completely inept most boys are at all things social, so perhaps I still have some breathing room.  Of course, one should not assume the topic doesn’t enter their thought process, but for the time being I can still observe and be (mostly) amused.

Disclaimer: my daughters claim that I have muddled some of this account.  If so, I take full responsibility for any misidentification of my daughters or misinterpretation that may have occurred.  I was writing as quickly as I could, and 10 year old girls have a tendency to talk simultaneously (no, really?).  Of course any actual names that appear here have been changed.

The scene: Dinner time at the Staffin house late spring – the girls are about to conclude their 4^th grade experience. 

The Queen has a speaking engagement and I am alone with the kids.  As we have learned, this means they eat, while I serve and listen.

D3:  “Kevin is so annoying.  Daddy, why are boys so annoying?

Father: “It’s something we practice starting in pre-school.  There is a special ‘annoying’ class that only boys can attend, where they teach us how to drive girls crazy.  Then we spend a lifetime perfecting the techniques.”

D4: “Really?”

D3: “No silly, you can always tell when Daddy is joking.  He gets that look like he’s about to smile.”

D1:  “Are you writing this down?  Oh no, he’s making a Postcard!  Let’s change the subject.”

I think I’m going to have to change tactics one of these days.  They are getting wise to my research methods.

D3 (ignoring D1’s warning): “Daddy, are you Mommy’s boyfriend?”

Father: “Yes.”

D4: “How can you be her boyfriend if you are married?”

Father: “You get married when you decide you want to be boyfriend and girlfriend forever.  I take it none of you have boyfriends, right?

D2: “D1 likes Mark”.

D1: “Eew, I do not.  He curses.”

D2: “D3 chases him.”

D3: “He asked me to.”

Father: “And so you do?”

D3: “Sure, why not?”

Why didn’t I think of that when I was a teenager?  She looks cute.  “Hey chase me.  Want to go out on a date?  Great!”

D1: “He thinks he is funny, but he is completely annoying.”

D2: “Totally.”

D3: “You know, boys think it’s cool to have a girlfriend.”

Father: “Why?”

D1 and D2 in unison: “I have no idea.”

D3: “I don’t know, but it seems that way.”

Father: “What do they do?”

D1: “They don’t do anything.  They just say they have a girlfriend and leave them alone.”

Father:  “So let me get this straight.  Boys annoy you, right?”

D1: “Yes”

Father: “And then they leave you alone?  This sounds like a good thing.” (especially for Dad)

D1 and D2: “No, you don’t get it.”

D1: “They say they have a girlfriend, but they don’t do anything.  They don’t give Valentines or go out on dates.  They just leave the subject alone.”

Father: “What if you ask the girl?”

D3: “The girls say ‘No, I don’t even talk to him!’  or ‘He’s the most annoying person in the universe!’ ”

Father: “So the boys are making it up.”

D1: “Yes.  They just say it and go do boy things.”

Father:  “Has any boy said he likes you?”

D1 and D3: “No”

D2: “Well…”

D3 (always the helpful one, whispers): “Jake”

Father: “Did Jake say he likes you?”

D2: “No, but I think he does.”

Father: “And how does that make you feel?”

D2: “Bad.”

D3: “I put ice down his back.”

D1: “Yeah, she beats up the boys.”

Father: “So, boys like D2, and then D3 beats them up.”

D3: “I don’t really beat them up.  I just protect the girls – especially when boys steal their stuff.”

D2: “It’s really nice to have D3 on your side.” Note:  D3 is only 10, but she is about to reach 5 feet tall and is as strong as some adults.  If I were an annoying little boy I think I would steer clear of D3’s friends.”

Now let’s see what D4 thinks of all this.  She has been listening to this whole conversation with a mixture of fascination and skepticism.

Father: “D4, what do you think about boyfriends?”

D4:  “They’re dumb.  I want to marry a boy that doesn’t like kissing.”

Father: “Have you ever had a boyfriend?”

D4: “No”

Father: “When do you think you will have a boyfriend?”

D4: “College.”

Father: “Good answer.”

D4: “Or high school, whichever comes first.”

D2: “Not such a good answer, eh Daddy?”  I don’t know which is more scary – D4 dating or the fact that D2 is starting to find me predictable.

D3: “You know what’s cool?  They have to ask me if I want to be their girlfriend.  And I can say no whenever I want.”

Father: “What if they don’t ask?”

D3: “I’ll ask them.” At least I’m raising a modern woman…

D3: “Or else I’ll hypnotize them.” ...and apparently a mystic as well.

D2: “Or better yet, ask them just before they are about to go to sleep when they are really tired.”

Father: “You aren’t going to be anywhere near where boys are going to sleep.”

D3: “Sure we are.  In college.  You just walk into their room when they are lying in bed and scream ‘ASK ME!!!’.”

You have to give D3 points for originality there.  I attended four years of undergrad and two years of graduate school and never heard of anything like that.  Not sure if my girls are typical in the way they look at this whole boyfriend thing at this age (aside from the screaming in the dorm room tactic), but it will be fascinating to see how this all resolves itself over the next decade. 

Postcard #1: Getting Ready

This is the Postcard that started it all in December 2004:

* * *

The setting: Family is preparing to go to worship services. Four daughters (ages 8, 8, 8 and 5) are scrambling to get ready on time. Mother calls out "5 minutes!!!" from downstairs.

Daughter #3 (panicked): Daddy, my tights don't feel right. Can you help me find the right size?

Father: I don't know anything about tights. They all look the same crumpled up in your drawer.

D3: But you know all about sizes and stuff.

Father (trying to be helpful): What size are you?

D3: Daaaadddddyyyy!

Father: Look, I really don't know anything about girls stockings. I don't wear them - (then adding, in a flash of brilliance) - just like you don't know anything about underwear with a fly in the front.

Daughter #2 (arriving on the scene): A what?

Father (oblivious to warning signs): A fly in the front.

D2 & D3 (unison): We don't get it.

Father: You know how your underwear is flat across, but your jeans have a zipper? Well, boys... (suddenly senses the magnitude of the tactical blunder) Oh, never mind. (hastily retreats to master bedroom and closes door)

D3 (through the door): Oh, now I get it!

Father (also through the door): I'm sure I don't want to know! Go downstairs and tell your mother you need help. 

Cookie (Postcard #87)

Dear Readers,

I have asked The Gardener to skip one so I can try this Postcard thing. My name is Stump Valley SS Cookie ET ("Cookie" for short), and I am a Holstein heifer. In layman's terms I am a female cow with black and white spots. About 90 of the dairy cows in the United States are Holsteins, but if you can't remember what we look like, just grab a Ben and Jerry's container. That's us.

I know what you are thinking: It's been several months since the last Postcard. What have you been doing? Cut me some slack here. Do you have any idea how hard it is to type with split hooves? And don't even get me started on touch screens.

Anyway, I met D 1 and The Gardener at the Delaware Valley College Cattle Auction this past March. It was a cold, miserable, rainy weekend, but the cows had a nice warm barn. I made the trip from Stump Valley Farms (from which I take my full name) and took my place in between two other yearlings.

After a while, people started walking through - mostly men. If I could read at the time, I would have noticed that a lot of them were wearing John Deere hats. I was tied up facing toward the wall, so most people that looked at me were staring at... well, let's dispense with the subtleties, they were examining my rear end. I know what you are thinking: "It's such a meat market." But you are mistaken. The meat market is the local Hooters restaurant. This is a dairy market, thank you very much. And incidentally, we don't go to Hooters. We go to Udders. If you have never seen cows on roller skates serving beer, it's quite a sight.

Anyway, back to the pre-auction. While standing there ruminating (chewing my cud), I started to hear comments like, "Looks like she will calve well.", or "The hooks and the pins seem about the right height." Do you mind?! Of course it was hard to tell which comments were directed at me and which were directed at my fellow heifers either side of me, but either way it's bit objectifying, don't you think?

Eventually this man and his teenage daughter came over to look at me. They were different. For one thing, the girl was telling her dad what she thought of me, rather than the reverse.  Eventually I figured it out. The man had no idea what he was doing, and the girl was the brains of the operation. She would talk, and he would write stuff down. A lot of times he would ask, "What does that mean?" But I figured he was there serving some purpose, and I kind of liked the girl.  So I tried to put my best hoof forward and impress them both.

The next morning they began parading us into a ring in the next barn. All the people were sitting in chairs and bleachers. There was a guy talking really fast. I couldn't quite understand what he was saying at first. He was calling out numbers and people were raising these white cards. Sometimes the people got really excited. Eventually someone else would smack a hammer on a table, a person would stand up looking very happy, and walk away with whomever was in the ring.

When it was my turn, the girl from the previous night was staring at me. The fast-talking guy started doing his thing. Eventually, the girl raised her card. Then someone else did.  Then she raised her card again. Back and forth a bunch of times, until finally the hammer sounded and she jumped up with her father. They led me to a table where he pulled out a whole lot of pieces of green paper and handed it to a man. Now I know what her father was there for: He was the keeper of the green paper. Then they led me back to the barn.

The girl introduced herself as "D1" (an odd name, I think). She kept hugging my head - not sure what that means, but she seemed to like doing it. The man said he was "The Gardener", which I thought was a particularly strange name for a farmer. I guess when a farmer gets a bunch of green paper he becomes a gardener.

Finally they put me in a trailer, and we drove to a farm I had never seen before. This was my new home.

At the new farm I met a huge 2 year old cow named Eclipse. She also belongs to D1. She was pregnant, and seemed a lot happier about it than I expected. I wondered about that. It turns out that while most Holsteins get pregnant from something called a "veterinary procedure", Eclipse had an unscheduled romp in the pasture with a Hereford Bull named Nelson. Herefords are beef cows, so I think Eclipse may be expecting a cheeseburger.

D1 and I have become friends. And I have learned that she is part of a herd as well. There is a D2, a D3 and a D4. I think their farmer (The Gardener) needs to come up with more original names - just saying…

In early summer, Dl picked out a bull for me - his name is "Canyon Breeze AT Airlift". I had the "procedure" - suffice to say that Eclipse had way more fun making the cheeseburger. But the procedure appears to have been successful and I'm hoping for a baby girl next spring.

* * *

The Gardener will return for the next Postcard. In the meantime, remember the Holstein motto from my bovine sisters who work in advertising at that fast food place: EAT MOR CHIKIN!