$5 Coffee

The new dad survival guide says that all new dads need some sort of man cave, even if it's a walk-in closet that's stuffed with a chair, newspapers and old Sports Illustrateds. A place where dads can get away from all things parenting and return for a just a moment to the life they used to know before the little one arrived.

Well, that parenting guide never rented an apartment in the most expensive city in America where not even the clothes in our closet have nearly as much room as they need. I still like the concept, it just occurs outside the apartment, at one of two coffee shops on the way to work, Four Barrel deep down Valencia, with their preferred music, $2 house blend, and 7am opening, or, if I'm ready before then (but not before 6am), Ritual Roasters further up Valencia.

Ritual's daily cuppings of Colombian, Kenyan and whatever other beans they feel like brewing range from $2 to $5 and I, predictably, always choose the cheapest because even the cheapest is incredibly good. They also have a loyalty card which allowed me on this Wednesday morning to sample a $5 cup of coffee for free, a Colombian microblend. It was good, though I didn't prefer it to the $2 version, and even if I had, no way I'd return to it at 2.5x the cost of the incredibly good option.

Manliness

The Dragon Boss and I had our week of manliness, bike rides and refined carbs, and with Baleen back, there was time for more manliness, just with an average age of 34. The dads played 8 holes of golf on Sunday afternoon at Gleneagles Country Club.

Nestled between Crocker-Amazon and Bayview, two neighborhoods I haven't biked thru and don't intend to, Henley's dad and I teamed up against Coop and Rowan's dad, a rematch of the golf outing we lost up in Mendonoma last fall.

None of us tore it up, expected after what we've been up to for the last nine months, but Henley's dad and I did get our revenge on our 2012 loss. Pebble Beach awaits the deciding match.  

Drive for show, putt for dough

Baleen's Back (so I've heard)

The Dragon Boss didn't see Baleen today - she landed at SFO just before noon, then work called, asking her to boost that stock price and she didn't make it home until almost 9 - so TDB wanted me to tell her about our week together.

Mama, I can't wait to see you tomorrow and I couldn't wait to tell you about my week with dad so here goes. I really missed you when you left and I would have been a lot more affectionate, but I didn't realize then I wouldn't see you for five days! Dad started singing on the way home from the airport and his voice just isn't anything like yours so I started singing right over him until he stopped. We went for our first bike ride the afternoon you left, but the streets were full of people in 49ers jerseys honking their horns and dad was worried about over-excited fans so we only went to Dolores Park, watched chaos hour which is a sunny, Sunday afternoon at the playground, and then headed home. Dad stopped at Arizmendi and gave me the slightest taste of my first piece of pizza. Goat cheese and tomato.

The next day he insisted we go on a bike ride all the way to the Ferry Building, staying on the bike lanes and passing the little bridge on 3rd Street that took us by the ballpark. Dad said that's where the Giants play and that I must be the city's lucky charm as it's the first year the Giants and the 49ers have both been playing for the championship. I pointed out that the city's pension deficit is still astoundingly large and that at least a few thousand other babies were born last year, but he wasn't listening. We ate lunch by the boats and dad said you might be by the water right then, too, but by a completely different ocean. I asked dad if the water in front of us had ever been to where you were right then and dad said that was a good question, but he didn't think so. He also said that was a science question so you would probably know better. Has it? On the other nights we did some roughhousing either in the living room or on your big, comfy bed and last night dad took me to my first art gallery. You were featured there, as was dad, in some art work by the Black Sheep, but dad rushed me out of there before I could crawl on the carpet of wigs (the Black Sheep kept calling it a floor installation) as it was nearly bedtime. He was okay at feeding me each night and finding Monkey for me, but he sure didn't read as much as you do. I think he was a little tired, but he told me what you were doing each day and whether you were in Rio or Sao Paulo and tonight he said you were in Silicon Valley and that you didn't need a visa to get there, just a car. Well, I'm going to bed now so next thing I know it'll be morning and you will be here. Dad said he'd leave the door open a crack so you can kiss me goodnight. I hope it's you who picks me up in the morning.

The Boys

It's three days since we've seen Baleen and two until we see her. We've been holding up well enough, filling our time with manly things like picking outfits not by whether they match, but by what's on top in the drawers and going on bike rides to the park and the Ferry Building.

That's life in my week as a single dad, which I didn't much think of, it's just a little more time with TDB instead of sharing that time with Baleen, until I woke up yesterday morning feeling fine. You see, the night before, I had had my second night of Barefoot Contessa's weeknight bolognese. That was the plan, cook up a sauce on Monday night that I could use most other nights this week, thus freeing my thoughts to feed, bathe and take care of TDB. But when I went to the fridge last night to find the left over bolognese, it wasn't there. I did what you normally do then, looked in each drawer and each part of the fridge three or four times, thinking it was in there somewhere when I knew that it wasn't. Then I checked the storage cabinet where we keep the glass containers. There it was, cream, tomatoes, herbs and sirloin exposed to 68 degrees for 24 hours. I was mad enough at myself to throw it on the burner and smell it once before gently tasting it, seeing if it was okay. All I was concerned about was the wasted effort and taste, not what would happen to me if I spent the night throwing up spoiled meat. That's something I have to, and should of, thought about as a single dad for a week.

What didn't pose any health risk was the pecan pie. TDB and I mixed up the corn syrup, the Texas pecans brought to Germany by Pumpkin, the sugar and the eggs, and baked it for 40 mins at 350. It'll still be there tonight after I put TDB to bed tonight, covered with a little foil and no need to be refrigerated, safe for any single dad to eat, maybe even to excess.  

Bayside Dining

I had half a day of work today, this MLK Day and 2nd Inauguration of President Barack Obama, and was back a little after noon. When I asked The Dragon Boss what he wanted to do with the afternoon, he said he'd like to bike to the Ferry Building to watch the boats depart for Larkspur and Oakland.

So we made sure his Christmas present to me was nice and secure, the big Dutch bike seat in Hup Holland Oranje, tightened the helmet, and headed for Valencia. We took it very slowly, TDB and I did, and made sure we were always in a bike lane, which means we took a right on 17th and a mile or so later, a left on 3rd that brought us across the little bridge to the ballpark, then a right onto the wide, wide sidewalks of the Embarcadero.

TDB didn't say a word for 30 minutes until we slipped under the Bay Bridge where the 3rd Street Rail passed us and he let out a yelp like he does when the J rumbles on by. When we got to the Ferry Building, I got a grilled cheese sandwich from Cowgirl Creamery and he had a lunch of country chicken, along with the pickles he pulled from my bag, and we just hung out, father and son, watching the boats reverse, turn around, and head on out. 

Headed out for lunch

Country chicken by the Bay

Mini Meals

Baleen's headed to Brazil for a week of work on Sunday so before she leaves, she did what mother's around the world used to do before a trip: she filled the fridge with food.

Except the food isn't for me. It's for The Dragon Boss and Rowan, a week's worth of mini meals labelled Mon, Tue, Wed, Thu, Fri. She does it every other week, Rowan's mother does it hte other week, and this week they'll have couscous with chicken and apricots, cabbage and apples, and Barefoot Contessa's weeknight bolognese.

Me? It'll be a week of gluten, whole fat milk, and nightly desserts, starting on Sunday night while watching Downton Abbey.  

Mission Suburbs

Baleen pointed out yesterday that The Dragon Boss must just think she and I stay home all day. Why would he think differently?

He wakes up, has breakfast, maybe goes for a walk with dad until he gets picked up to head to Rowan's house at 7.30am, plays all day with Rowan, then comes back home at 6.15pm to find dad wearing the exact same clothes in the exact same place.

I'm glad to see you dad, it looks he says when he sees me, but gee, you've just been sitting at home all day while I've been to the park, licked some toys and a few walls, climbed up and down a few stairs, had two naps and at least 3 meals. What have you done?

Sunrise

I snuck away on Sunday morning before Baleen and the sun were up for a little Hawk Hill. If I'm going to get out for a run or a ride, early is the only time that works. There's only one problem with that - not the early part, as you might expect, having The Dragon Boss around means that early isn't that early anymore -it's the San Francisco winter.

I know, it's not New England, it's not Minnesota, but still, Golden Gate Park was covered in frost. As my Los Angeles colleague would say on Monday morning, my pool froze. That's coastal California cold. I got a low of 30.2 degrees, while the Bridge was the typical 2-3 degrees warmer.

Over on the Marin side of the Bridge, I climbed down to sea level at Cavallo Point. This made the ride a little longer and the comparable easier. Because without Asprilla there to tell me to push until I puked or a wheel to follow, it's easy to ease up on the climb. Which I knew I did well before I downloaded the ride onto Strava back at home because when I got to the top, I had the tiniest bit of sweat starting, but I still couldn't feel my fingers.

Date Night

Baleen and I combed our hair, showed the babysitter the wipes, started the meter and got on out of there, headed to 3rd and Mission for Corporate Night at the SFMOMA. It was our first night out together in 2013.

A few hundred other people had the same idea we did, as did the van Oftens, and we all congregated in the ground floor lobby with the bar and the food while the exhibits, where you couldn't take a drink, were almost empty.

That's where we stayed until we walked on over to Oola, the site of the van Oftens second date, and had the best of what the Swedish chef can find in the Dogpatch and the greater Bay Area. Then Baleen paid while I ran to the garage to pick up the car, ending one meter, to pick up Baleen and her heels and drive back home, pay the babysitter and end the second meter. That's date night 3,000 miles away from any grandparents.

Virginia

Papa and Marmee returned to Williamsburg today for the first time in a month. They stopped by Bangor, Maine on the way home, naturally, as that's where the C-117 dropped them off.

They say they miss The Dragon Boss (and us), but they're not mourning the separation. Since TDB last saw them, they drove right on through Austria to Brixen, Italy, decided they wanted to be back in Garmisch, and drove right back, getting the last hotel in town for the year.

Good thing they did, too, otherwise they never would have seen the German heartthrob, Martin Schmitt, land 131 meters from where he took off. They're the first in our family to see a World Cup Ski jump, the New Year's Eve Four-Hills-Tournament no less, and they're full of stories to tell TDB in Christmases to come, like if you don't get ski-jumping by the time you're eight, more likely six really, then it's probably too late as the fear takes hold. We definitely want TDB to be a robust, brave boy, but I think we'll be fine if he never stares down a ski jump.

Martin Schmitt, about 20 meters in, 111 to go

Downton!

I thought on Sunday night that the hard work was behind us. Gigi's arrival had been the prompt Baleen and I needed to clean our apartment, part of our New Year's resolution (Organization! the child of Preparation!), but that was nothing compared with staying up to 9pm for the first episode of Downton Abbey's third season.

We hadn't seen 9pm since back in 2012, not even with Gigi in town, but we did it, fueled by two bars of Trader Joe's chocolate and reminiscences of the Crowleys and the arched eyebrow of the Dowager Countess.

Baleen was comatose by the time Matthew and Mary returned from their honeymoon (Spoiler alert!) around 10.45pm local time and asked for me to carry her the ten yards from the living room to the bedroom. Next week's 1 hour episode should be easier on the both of us.

Hawk Hill

I forgot how much it hurts. I hadn't been on a morning raid since August, August of last year, and I didn't recognize half the guys on the hill this morning which means I didn't know which wheel to follow. It's just like it was back in youth soccer, too, when lining up against a team you haven't played before. I always looked, but you can't judge the team's best players by their shoes, just as you can't judge the best riders by the bike; all you get is either the biggest purse, or the one most willing to spend the largest amount of their income on their bike and accessories, which often isn't who you want to follow.

So I just started riding, passing Packy Bonnor on the bottom, and then hurring to get on a wheel I didn't recognize just before the False Flats. But I should have waited for another wheel because I didn't last a minute on this group of three, the new (to me) group of hummingbirds and I was stuck in no man's land on the Flats deciding whether to push thru solo or wait for another. I did what I almost always do then and almost always shouldn't, which is just put the head down and push.

By the end, I think I'd passed a few more than passed me - what you hold on to when you can't reach the podium - and most definitely passed a few people in the last hundred yards to finish in 8:23, the 28th fastest time in 33 timed attempts over the last 18 months. Small victories, that not getting passed at the end part, which is I remembered after I rode the sprint pretty well, but not well enough to lose the hummingbird I never used to see in the Presidio, St Nick, who flew on by with fifty yards to go, leaving me a view of CYTOMAX spread across his bottom, getting further and further away, then closer and closer, but not close enough.

2013

It's 2013, or TYATDBB (The Year After The Dragon Boss's Birth). We celebrated the German New Year somewhere over Colorado as that's when our bodies told us it was 2013 and we've been praying for TDB to get back on his 11-hour nightly nap routines. Night two is much better, suggesting night three might be the one.

Baleen has used the New Year's holiday to organize the first few weeks of 2013 and we now have a shared iCloud calendar with two weeks of recipes, including a Sunday night grocery list for the week to come. Organization was her New Year's resolution. Her closet's next.

Since I don't have a better one, since we're a team, and since I really like hers, it's mine, too. I'm not sure what The Dragon Boss' is. Maybe it's to figure out why all the leaves from the tree outside our apartment, the ones that he loves to pick as we wait for his ride in the morning, have turned color and are not where they normally are, but down on the driveway. It's a wonder, he thinks.