Zoe and I are talking about school when she mentions that there’s a new staff member in her after school program.

Me: Is he nice?

Zoe: Yeah, he’s cool. I like him.

Me: What’s his name?

Zoe: Marco.

Me: Polo!

Zoe looks at me, confused.

Me: What’s his name?

Zoe: Marco.

Me: Polo!

Zoe scowls at me.

Me: What’s his name?

Zoe: Dad! I already told you!

Me: I know. What’s his name again?

Zoe: Marco!

Me: Polo!!

Zoe: (Angry now) Dad!!!

Me: (Innocent) What???

Zoe: You keep asking me what his name is and then when I tell you you keep saying polo!

Me: You’re right, I’m sorry. Is it annoying you? I’m sorry.

Zoe: Just stop it, Dad!

Me: I will. I’m sorry.

A moment passes.

Me: What’s his name again?

Zoe: (Warning) Da-a-ad…

Me: What? I just want to know what his name is. I forgot.

Zoe: No.

Me: No, really, I forgot. Just tell me.

Zoe: Da-a-a-d!!!

Me: No, seriously, I forgot. Come on, just tell me. Please?

Zoe: No.

Me: Okay, I’m just going to call him Picklehead the next time I see him because I don’t remember his name. And I’ll say you told me that’s what his name was.

Zoe: Dad!!!

Me: So Picklehead’s nice, is he? Does he play with the kids?

Zoe: Dad!

Me: What? You said his name is Picklehead!

Zoe: I did not! It’s Marco, Dad, you know it is!

Me: What is it?

Zoe: MARCO!!!

Me: POLO!!!!

Zoe: Da-a-a-a-a-a-a-ad!!!!

My kid is so gonna hate me by the time she hits puberty.

Damn, but I’m organized. Or… maybe not. As I was poised to begin writing this entry, thinking that I would start with “…and of course we saw fireworks,” I had a vague memory that maybe I had planned for this year last year. So I searched my own stupid blog for the word “fireworks” and found this. Reading the last line there, you’ll see that I know myself very, very well. Ha.

Anyway… So I obviously didn’t let last year’s fireworks advice get in my way this year. This time around we again viewed the Radford Studio show but from a different location — we went with Zoe’s friend Katie’s family and set up camp at the east end of Moorpark Park, which was the perfect spot. Great view, nice setting, not too crowded, etc. And if you’re a lazy bastard like me and let Beth and Zoe go in the car to stake out a spot ahead of you and then you show up an hour later on the motorcycle and park where ever you want because traffic and parking isn’t a hassle on a motorcycle, then it makes it that much better. For you, at least.

So as a note for myself next year: do it that way again. If, you know, you read this. Beforehand.

We also went to a barbeque at the home of the owner of my local dive ship. There were a lot of people there, many I knew from diving already. And they had scuba gear there too, so the instructors and divemasters in attendance were giving sample dives to everyone who wanted them. Zoe and Beth wanted them.

Zoe kept coming back for more — she suited up and bubbled her way around the pool four times and would have kept going if they hadn’t almost literally peeled the tank off her. Beth went around twice too and pronounced it “fun.” I think pretty soon now we’ll be a scuba diving family … which will not be cheap.

I need to find some more frugal hobbies.

Oh look, another vacation picture. This one is Zoe experiencing a “foot push” ride from two dolphins in Cozumel. There are two dolphins under her, one with a nose in each foot, pushing her through the water. I don’t know who that fat bald guy is right behind her.

Oh look, a few of the very few pictures I took while on our cruise!

This is the sunset on our first night out, I think. Yes, it’s out of focus (shut up, El Steve), but look at the pretty colors!

This is the sunset the night we left Urethra. (Check out that focus!)

Me and Beth atop the bridge as we left Montego Bay, Jamaica.

And last but not least, a camera phone shot of (l-r) Zoe and her best friends Sidney and Katie after they discovered the dessert section of the buffet.

At one point during Beth’s pregnancy with Zoe we thought the due date would be today, 2/29, Leap Year Day. But alas it was not; she was finally born on March 11.

We were really ohming for 2/29: we thought it would be cool for her to have an unusual birthday like that, and she would always look older than her age. She’s 7 now, but in Leap Years she’d be only 2 today. And I must confess, I was also thinking about birthday presents and how few I’d have to buy if 2/29 were her birthday. I can picture it now:

Zoe: Daddy, can I please have a present this year?

Me: No, sweetie, I’m sorry, but your birthday is February 29th and there just isn’t one this year. Maybe next year.

Sigh. When I think of the money we could have saved if Beth had only squeezed her out on time…

One thing that sucks about all the traveling I do is the time spent away from my daughter. So I have a folder of pictures of her that I look at whenever I feel like being homesick. Here’s one of them, Zoe with her two cats March and Sparkle:

I don’t talk much about my extended family here, but I will today because I’m an uncle again. My sister had her 4th child — a boy — Thursday, making me the afore-mentioned uncle x 4, and also making Zoe a cousin x 4. She’s very excited by that.

We went to the hospital today to see the new addition to the brood. They don’t have a name for him yet; they’ve pretty much settled on Will for the first name but the middle name is up for grabs. Much hilarity ensued as everyone threw out suggestions: Knot, Won’t, Call, Burr, Son, Derness, Kommen… The new dad commented on the increasing laxity in naming as they have more and more kids. With the first one, naming it was a solemn affair, heavy with import and tradition, and the name had to be perfect. Now he’s down to Will Knot — and liking it.

Young Will * himself didn’t provide much in the way of entertainment — he mainly just laid there like a lump and snoozed. It was his 2-year-old big sister who filled the cute baby requirement. Zoe brought her a toy duck with a spring-loaded head that wobbles when you shake it, which prompted my brother and I to start shaking it madly while singing Outkast’s Hey Ya: “Shake it, shake it, shake, shake it, shake it like a Polaroid picture!”

This did not amuse baby Kay, who got very upset and stomped her feet and declared, “No! Shake it like a DUCK!”

At 7.5 years old, Zoe is reaching the outer boundaries of Santa belief. She asked us the other day if Santa was real and I explained it in a roundabout way where I never explicitly answered the question, but instead turned it back to her and suggested that it was more fun to decide to believe. (Beth wrote about it here in her blog.)

So we figure this Christmas is going to be it for ol’ Saint Nick. She sort of already knows the score but wants to believe strongly enough that she’s keeping it alive for one last season. We’re playing along; having her send Santa her wishlist by email, saying “Maybe Santa will bring one” when she pines for an electric guitar, explaining away the dozens of mall Santas by saying they all work for the “real” Santa… We’re working it hard and pulling it off pretty well, I think.

Or we were until this morning.

Zoe woke up while I was getting ready for work and we sat and talked for a few minutes. She was very concerned about getting this electric guitar that she’s absolutely dying for, and I told her that Mom and I definitely didn’t get her one because they’re too expensive, so ol’ Santa was her best bet. “I can’t say for sure,” I told her, “but Santa knows you really really want one, so I have a feeling he’ll probably bring you one.” She was satisfied with that, and I went back to ironing. Zoe went into the family room to watch cartoons — the same family room where we were wrapping presents last night. One of which was her new electric guitar.

She came right back out.

“I’m not stupid, Dad,” she announced. “There’s a guitar case in the family room.”

Oops. We wrapped the guitar, but stuffed all the cords and strings and picks and etc into the soft case we got to go with it. We didn’t wrap the case, figuring we’d present that to her after she opened the guitar. And then we didn’t hide the case after stuffing everything in it. Oops.

I played it off as best I could, reminding her that I said I had a feeling Santa was bringing her an axe and that we got the bag “just in case” he did, but she knew, I could see it. But she also still wants to believe, so she played along.

But she knows — that she’s getting a guitar, at least.

Zoe’s been playing Zoo Tycoon on her computer lately, and frankly it’s been a little bit disturbing.

None of her animals are happy. There’s a little window at the top of the screen that appears when the system has information to give you, and Zoe’s window is open permanently with a scrolling display of woe:

Gorilla #2 is not happy with its enclosure.
Wolf #9 is not happy.
The zookeeper cannot get to the zebra food.
California Sea Lion #2 is sick.
Grizzly Bear #5 needs water.
Giraffe #13 is not happy.

The in-game zoo regulating agency keep shutting her zoo down for animal mistreatment and won’t let her buy any more animals until things improve, so I showed her how to check the health of her animals and find out what they need to make them happier. So now she is easily able to identify which animals are sick and are bringing her score down — so she can help them, I thought. I was wrong.

Zoe’s treatment for a sick or unhappy animal? She feeds it to the lions. And what do you know — her score improves.

The lions are the only ones who are happy. They’ve been dining on penguin for days.

Email from Zoe received here in Fresno this morning:

Dear daddy,I wish you never had this job.You go awy to much.happy HALLOWEEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Oy.