A few years ago, my wife and I started a tradition to purchase Christmas gifts for each other that cost no more than $35 and must begin with a particular letter of alphabet. In 2008, the letter was D. As a joke, I told my wife that dog begins with D.

Before I go any further, let me explain the significance of the aforementioned statement. I’ve wanted a dog for years. We had a cat when we were first married, but we had to turn him over for adoption after our second child was born. I liked the cat, but it was no dog. My wife was adamant that we would not get a dog until our oldest child was as old as her older cousin, Bri. Keep in mind that she repeated her assertion after each of Bri’s birthdays. Unless there was no break in the time/space continuum, Nee would never be as old as Bri, therefore, no dog.

Imagine my surprise when my wife said, “I was thinking about getting a dog too.” In fact, she had already begun searching for breeds that were good with children.

After studying the history and characteristics of nearly every dog breed, we finally settled on a beagle. I’ve always been a big fan of Snoopy so a beagle seemed like a good choice.

I started my search for our new pet on Craigslist. Bad move. After reviewing several listings, I decided that I’d rather adopt a dog from a shelter. I didn’t feel right about getting a pet from the classifieds. Here’s a word of advice if you do decide to search for a pet on Craigslist: Do not accept any free pets. Reputable owners will ask for a small adoption fee in order to keep away sadist and people who sell free animals to labs for testing.

I soon discovered Petfinder a website that lists adoptable pets. I filled in the search criteria and the site generated a list of beagles that were available in my area. I noticed that most of the beagles were listed by an organization called Houston Beagle and Hound Rescue, Inc. I went to the organization’s website, selected a couple of dogs that I was interested in adopting, and completed the long, detailed application.

After I submitted the application, a volunteer from the organization contacted me to ask a few more questions and to schedule a home visit. On the day of the home visit, my wife and I tidied the house and I repaired a couple of missing and loose planks on the backyard fence. The volunteer arrived with three beagles in her car. Two were hers and the other was one that she wanted us to consider adopting. Unfortunately, the dog was older than we wanted and had a few health problems. My kids, who were unaccustomed to dogs, were a bit jumpy because the dogs kept barking.

The volunteer walked around our yard and gave us a few suggestions on how to make it more dog-proof. She asked us a few more questions about our plans to care for the dog - where would it sleep, would we keep it indoors or outdoors, what would we do if we couldn’t keep the dog anymore, etc. We answered all of the questions and concluded our conversion by saying goodbye to her and her pack of beagles. We thought everything went well until I received this e-mail message:

Thank you for allowing us to come out today to check your fence. However, based on the information presented to the adoption committee, they feel that we cannot place a dog in your home. The kids are scared of dogs and we would not place a dog in that situation. Thank you for checking with us though.

I was flabbergasted. I called my wife to read the message and she, too, was stunned. Apparently our family was not good enough to adopt a dog from Houston Beagle and Hound Rescue, Inc.

If she has said, “The kids are scared of dogs and we would not want to place them in a situation where they would be frightened,” I could have accepted that. But placing all of the emphasis on the dog really bothered me. My wife convinced me to refrain from sending her a nasty response. “Maybe, those were not the dogs for us,” she said. “God will lead us to the dog that’s right for our family.” Her words soothed me and I resumed my search.

The next day, I located a lovely 1-1/2 year old, female beagle from an animal shelter in a neighboring city. It took a full hour to arrive at the shelter and I hoped that no one had gotten there before us to adopt the dog.

At the shelter, we found the dog curled up in the corner of her cage. She sprang to life when we walked by and I knew she was the one. I was determined to give that forlorn pooch a new home. My wife and kids were a bit standoffish because none of them had ever spent much time around dogs. By the time we completed the adoption paperwork, everyone had started to warm up each other and Ginger officially became a part of the Mocha family. The best part of this story is that my wife and I managed to stay within the parameters of our Christmas guidelines. The adoption fee was $75 only $5 over our allotted $70 limit.

Stay Strong,
Mocha Dad

Question: Are you a pet person? If so, tell us about your pet.

Tags: animal shelter, beagle, christmas, dog, houston, pet, snoopy

A new year is upon us and now is the time for making those New Year’s resolutions. As I was writing my 2009 resolutions, I took a few minutes to reflect on how well I did with my 2008 goals:

• I will go to the gym 3 times per week - I accomplished this goal and managed to lose 25 pounds in the process
• I will take a dance class with my wife and an art class for myself - Didn’t accomplish. In my defense, my work travel schedule kept me away from home regularly
• I will buy a new car -Actually I bought a used car from eBay
• I will go on a family vacation - We took a trip to Key West and to Disney World and had a great time
• I will take the kids fishing - I didn’t take them fishing, but I did buy them new fishing poles for Christmas
• I will read the whole Bible - I read the New Testament and Proverbs
• I will save money for kids’ college education - I didn’t accomplish this goal, but 2009 may be a better time to begin since stock prices are much lower.

Although I didn’t accomplish everything as I had hoped, I am satisfied with the things that I did accomplish in 2008.

My friend Tyler, who blogs at Building Camelot, challenged other dad bloggers to develop a list of resolutions to be a better dad in 2009. My list is as follows:

1. I will take care of myself physically by exercising, eating right, and scheduling regular exams and checkups.
2. I will love my wife with undying devotion.
3. I will play more tag, Red Light Green Light, Hullabaloo, Uno, and Mario Cart
4. I will work hard at my job to provide a comfortable living for my family.
5. I will get a puppy (I have already accomplished this goal. Stay tuned for my upcoming post)
6. I will remain involved in my children’s education by going on field trips, volunteering at school, attending Parent/Teacher conferences and helping with homework.
7. I will teach my children spiritual principles. As their father, this is my main job.
8. I will treat my children as individuals. It’s easy to lump them together as my kids, but they each have a unique personality that I must help nurture and develop.
9. I will complete a family tree so they will not forget their ancestors.
10. I will live a life that my children will want to imitate.

Happy New Year,
Mocha Dad

Question: What are your 2009 resolutions?

Tags: building camelot, children, father, new year, resolution

During the Thanksgiving holiday, our family started a new tradition. All cooks who are brave enough to step up to the challenge will participate in our annual “Throwdown.” I got the idea from the Food Network show “Throwdown with Bobby Flay.” If you’re not familiar with the show the basic premise is as follows: Food Network identifies chefs around the country with signature dishes and Bobby Flay challenges them with his version of their dishes.

I challenged my mother and mother-in law to a “Sweet Potato Pie Throwdown.” I chose sweet potato pie since this disn was no one’s claim to fame. Everyone had a level playing field. Besides, I wasn’t brave enough to challenge them with their signature dishes. The consequences of my making their dishes better than them would have been quite unpleasant for all involved. 

The Moms were a bit hesitant when I challenged them, but they came around quickly. Throughout the week, I taunted and intimidated them with trash talk. I think my tactics rattled my mother-in-law a bit because she chose to take all of her ingredients to my sister-in-laws house and make her pie in private.

Actually, I was only full of talk because I had never made a pie before. I searched online for a suitable recipe, but none of them struck me as a winning contender. I was discussing my pie dilemma with my wife when out of the blue my daughter says, “Why don’t you try some chocolate on it?” Brilliant!

I made a basic sweet potato pie and then concocted a creamy chocolate rum sauce. I garnished the pie with fresh pecans and drizzled the sauce on top. It was a work of art. There was no way that my pie was going to lose.

After Thanksgiving dinner, each contestant revealed his or her pie. My competition was my mother’s traditional sweet potato pie and my mother-in-law’s Sweet Potato Pecan Pie with Bourbon Sauce.

There were six judges and each got to sample the pies and cast a vote. I tasted both pies and still felt confident that my pie would win. I tried to bribe the judges with an extra slice for some extra assurance, but they weren’t taking the bait.

My sister-in-law counted the votes and announced that the winner of the first annual Throwdown, by a vote of 4-2, was my mother-in-law’s Sweet Potato Pecan Pie with Bourbon Sauce. Of those two votes, one of them was mine and I assumed that the other was my wife’s. Wrong! It turns out that my own wife betrayed me. I felt like Debra (From Everybody Loves Raymond) did when Ray voted for her opponent for school president (A Vote for Debra 2002).

“Her pie was better, what can I say,” was the excuse she gave. If my pie were made of maggots and feces, she should have voted for it. Bottom Line. We may need some marital counseling before next year’s Throwdown.

I took solace in the fact that the children, even though they didn’t have a vote, liked my pie the best. In essence I won the popular vote, but lost the electoral vote. I was the Al Gore of pie.

Anyway, here is the winning recipe.

Stay Strong,
Mocha Dad

Question: What is your favorite holiday tradition?

Tags: al gore, bobby flay, everybody loves raymond, mother, recipe, sweet potato pie, thanksgiving, throwdown

One day at work, while I was enjoying my lunch of leftover crawfish etouffee, my co-worker walked by and said, “That smells good. Your wife must be a good cook.”

“Actually,” I said, “I cooked this.”

Looking at me dumbfounded, he stood silent for about a minute, and then said, “If you’re going to cook, why did you get married?”

His ignorance troubled me, especially in this era of Bobby Flay and Emeril Lagasse. Although women have made tremendous strides in social, political and business arenas, they are still expected to cook any bacon they bring home. I cook because I enjoy doing it, and I’m the better cook. My wife manages the rest of the household because she is much more organized than I am. We chose which responsibilities we wanted without regard to gender, and I believe our relationship has benefited because we aren’t pigeonholed into traditional male-female roles.

For me, the kitchen has always been a special place. It is the soul of any home, the place from which all the warmth and nourishment radiate. When I was younger, I’d spend holidays in the kitchen chopping onions, basting turkeys and preparing salads instead of watching sports with the men. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy spending time with my uncles and cousins. It’s just that the buzz of the kitchen was much more exciting than football games. My male cousins chided me for being a “mama’s boy,” but I never allowed their insults to damage my self-esteem or lessen my desire to cook. Even then, I realized knowing how to cook was much more valuable than knowing Walter Payton’s stats.

My mother, realizing the value in honing my culinary acumen, insisted that I sit in the kitchen with her as she prepared dinner each night. While she baked, sautéed and stewed delectable dishes, I noted each step and stored them all in my mental recipe book. I also retained the lessons on self-reliance, independence and creativity that my mother imparted as she cooked. Through these stove-side sessions, I learned not only how to be a good cook, but also how to be a good man.

Eventually, with my mother working all day and attending classes at night, cooking dinner became my responsibility. I started slowly with simple dishes such as chili, hamburgers and spaghetti. Although these early meals were barely edible, my mother ate them as if they were manna from heaven. Her quiet encouragement gave me the confidence not only to attempt more difficult recipes, but also to make them palatable.

My first challenge was my mother’s gumbo - a mixture of chicken, seafood and Cajun spices. I was so nervous when I first attempted the recipe because I knew that it would never compare to hers, but I had to try at least. The most difficult step was making the roux. Only the most skilled chef can fuse flour and oil into the golden-brown paste that is the soul of the gumbo. It took me five attempts to make the roux the right color and consistency. But when I finally got it right, the sense of accomplishment was immeasurable. The satisfied nod my mother gave me after she finished a bowl of my novice gumbo let me know that my lessons had paid off.

Now I’m sharing these lessons with my own children. They are always eager to help daddy in the kitchen. At 7 and 5, the kids are not old enough to handle knives or the stove, but they chip in by stirring batters or pouring seasonings. When they help to prepare the meals, they are more likely to eat their dinner because they have some ownership in it. Cooking meals together also allows the kids to spend a few minutes of uninterrupted time with dad. These special moments are what memories are made of.

Of course, cooking meals isn’t my only responsibility around the house. I still perform “traditional” male tasks such as fixing, installing, and lifting things. None of these will ever replace my love for cooking. Even if this confession forces me to rescind my membership in the “Macho Man” club, I am not ashamed.

Stay Strong,
Mocha Dad

Question: Who does the cooking in your household?

P.S. - A few people have asked for the Crawfish Etouffee Recipe so here it is. I usually don’t measure things when I cook, but I tried to estimate as best as I could:

Crawfish Etouffee

Ingredients

 2 pounds crawfish tails (shelled)

1/4 pound butter

1 cup chopped onion

1/2 cup chopped bell pepper

1/2 cup chopped celery

2 cups seafood stock (or chicken stock)

1 tablespoon corn starch

1/4 cup chopped green onion

Tony Chachere Creole seasoning blend, to taste

Dash dried thyme

1 bay leaf

Tabasco Sauce to taste

Directions

• Add about a tablespoon of butter to a sauté pan over medium heat and sauté the onion, bell pepper and celery until translucent
• Add the remaining butter and 1-1/2 cup seafood stock and season with Creole seasoning, thyme, oregano, bay leaf, and Tabasco sauce
• Add crawfish tails and bring to a boil, then reduce heat to low and simmer for 30 minutes
• Dissolve the corn starch in the remaining 1/2 cup of seafood stock and add to the mixture
• Add the green onions and cook an additional 5 minutes
• Serve over hot long grain rice

Tags: bobby flay, cajun, children, cook, creole, emeril lagasse, etoufee, gumbo, macho man, tony chachere

We have survived Hurricane Ike. I’m thankful that no one was hurt and that we suffered minimal property damaged. Many Texans were not so lucky.

I wrote an earlier post about our hurricane preparations. Things were fairly calm then. As the day progressed, the situation quickly deteriorated. My house was full of people - my family of five, my sister-in-law and her nine-year old son, my parents and my two-year old niece. They all arrived by 5PM. The storm had already caused flooding around the coastal regions of Texas and the worst was yet to come.

Figuring would lose power soon, I frantically completed some last minute tasks. I cooked dinner for a couple of nights, made several bags of Microwave popcorn for snacking, and washed the dishes. I made a last minute sweep of the yard to make sure that there was nothing lying around that could become a projectile. Finally, I filled the sink with fresh water for washing and flushing. I was going to fill our master bathtub as well, but my wife, K, reminded me that it would be dangerous for our one-year old.

Meanwhile, My sister-in-law stuffed bags of ice into coolers and K prepared sleeping areas for the guests. With a few sheets, pillows, and an air mattress, she was able to create comfortable accommodations for everyone.

With all preparations complete, we hunkered down to await the storm’s arrival.

We lost power around 11 p.m. while the winds steadily increased their intensity. By the time we went to bed, we were experiencing 35-40 mph winds and the storm was still about two hours from making landfall.

It was around 2 a.m. when Ike really started to pound our house. I was sound asleep. Fortunately, for you, the storm kept K up most of the night so I will let her give you an account of what the next five hours were like:

With the power out, the house was eerily dark. Outside the high-pitched gusts (85-95 mph) were relentless, causing tree shadows to dance frantically on the walls. The windows shook in their frames. By 4 a.m., I was holding my breath and praying that our house would hold together. “Even the winds and the rains obey him,” was my mantra. It was then that I heard something thrashing against our bedroom window. Was it a tree? Our newly assembled play system? The rain made it impossible to discern what the culprit was so my imagination ran wild. I even awakened Mocha Dad with my fears. He muttered something about “if God is awake, I don’t need to be,” and went back to sleep. After creeping upstairs to reassure myself that the kids were okay, I managed to get a little sleep before daybreak. I must admit I have never been happier to be awakened by our one-year-old or to discover that the thrashing culprit was nothing more than a few displaced solar screens.

K was not the only one who had a sleepless night. My sister-in-law spent the night comforting her son and two of my children in addition to coping with her own fears. My mother, who is usually a sound sleeper, was kept awake by one of our trees slapping against her window. My step father sat awake in our game room as the storm grew serious. When the screens started crashing against the house, he thought someone was trying to break in so he ran downstairs to confront the intruder. When he discovered it was only a loose screen, he braved the storm to retrieve it.

K finally woke me up around 7 a.m. to have me look at something in the kitchen. I walked in to see the screen by the sink. “I don’t understand what happened here,” K said. I don’t know what she thought had happened, but I gave her a pass because I knew that she was sleep-deprived. “It’s okay, honey,” I said. “Dad must have brought it in.” I could see the relief on her face.

I got dressed and went outside to survey the storm’s damage. It was still raining and windy. Several of our solar blinds and roof shingles had blown around our yard and across the neighborhood. My neighbor was gracious enough to offer some tarps to cover the roof. I accepted his generosity and proceeded to repair the roof. I quickly changed my mind when I realized how high and steep my roof was. Instead, I placed buckets in the attic to catch the water and called a roof contractor.

Unlike the majority of Houstonians, our power was restored early in the day. We were so thankful because we were not looking forward to spending several days with ten people and no air conditioning.

Around noon, things had finally calmed down and our household was glad to see Hurricane Ike take a hike.

Stay Strong,
Mocha Dad

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Tags: dark, flood, Hurricane Ike, power, rain, roof, screen, storm, survive, tree, wind

America. Bernie Mac is dead.

He died on Saturday, August 9, 2008 of complications from pneumonia. Mac is best known for his work on “The Bernie Mac Show.” In the sitcom, the professional comedian Bernie Mac and his wife, Wanda, take in his drug-addicted sister’s children: 5-year-old Bryana, 8-year-old Jordan and the headstrong 13-year-old Vanessa, whom Mac refers to as the Evil One. With the success of this show, Mac was thrust into the pantheon of memorable TV black dads that include Cliff Huxtable, James Evans, and Philip Banks.

As a TV dad, Mac chose to bring an edgier portrayal of fatherhood. He epitomized the aging black father who was beset by marital demands, nosy neighbors and, most of all, today’s back-talking, undisciplined kids. He cursed, yelled, threatened to “Bust heads open until the white meat shows,” and was not a believer in time-out or the naughty chair.

I must admit that I was not a fan of “The Bernie Mac Show” when it first debuted in 2001 (the same year my daughter was born). To me, he was a loud-mouthed, fake Robin Harris. Besides, I couldn’t even consider yelling at my little princess in such a manner. But as my daughter grew up and we added two more children to the brood, I began to relate more and more to Mac’s parenting philosophies.

Where I relate to Mac’s character most is his effort to raise black children in predominantly white suburbs. Just like Mac’s character, I send my children to a private school. We also attend an integrated church. I worry that they won’t have the same connection to the black community that I did or that they will become alienated because of their race. We teach our kids to love everyone and try our best to downplay race to the extent that we can. But we also teach them to have pride in their culture and to celebrate it at every opportunity. Mac showed me that I was not alone in my concern and that made me feel a lot better.

I also relate to the way Mac loves the children. I often want to pull off my belt and tear into my children’s behinds, but the other 90% of the time, I want to hug them and never let them go. Mac was the same way. Despite his blustery personality, he always softened to reveal a hapless affection for his kids. His eyes lit up when he saw, “Baby Girl,” even “Evil Nessa” was able to pull his heartstrings from time to time, and Jordan sometimes managed to get an approving nod from Mac.

Although Mac, was not the perfect father, she showed us all how to be better fathers despite our imperfections.

Stay strong,
Mocha Dad

Tags: adoption, bernie mac, bill cosby, black man, children, comedian, discipline, father, parent