Today is my eleventh anniversary and my wife is away at a conference in New Orleans. Other guys out there reading this might think: ‘What’s the problem, brah? You’re off the hook!’

That might very well be the case, but I present a quick recap of my day:

• A morning trip to a local diner for breakfast where I had to break up a fight over the last sausage link that ended up on the floor.
• Taking both boys to the older’s piano practice where the younger came out of the bathroom with his pants around his ankles into a room full of waiting parents screaming that he could not find any toilet paper.
• I managed to squeeze in a trip to the wine store to buy some bottles of a 1990 Barolo that just came into the PLCB system ($25 which could be a complete score if it does not suck).

• Lunch was next. I tried for a nice bistro.

Shot down.

Tried for Chipotle.

Shot down.

Tried for Subway for Pete’s sake.

Shot down.

Why? Because every kid on the planet can recognize those effing golden arch pieces of crap and once we drove past, that’s all they wanted. Normally, I would resist. Normally, I would be steadfast. But today was my anniversary, my wife was in another time zone, and I was going to miss my football game (you decide what was the most important).

I needed some Zen.

That never happened.

Halfway through his Opium Meal, the younger decided he needed to exercise his right to his 2nd #2. Problem: the men’s bathroom was locked.

We waited.

And waited.

He started to grab the seat of his pants.

I panicked.

I burst into the ladies room and made a deep throated soliloquy about how very sorry I was to broach one of the last bastions of gender segregation, assuring the patrons that my eyes were firmly shuttered. I explained that my son was in desperate need of a commode and I begged their forgiveness for the violent intrusion on their oasis of silence in the morass of gluttony that is McDonalds.

Crickets.

I slowly peeled open an eye.

Then the other.

I was expecting to see some shocked/irate/(slightly) overweight patrons organizing to body slam me against the wall.

The toilet room (why are they called either a ‘bath’room or a ‘rest’room?) was empty.

I rushed the boy in and then stood sentry outside the door, ready to deny entry to anybody, regardless of girth (full disclosure: if there had been a 300 pound woman extending her meat hook for the door while wolfing down her third Mayor McCheese I would have capitulated–I did not have a fall back plan–I was going to fold like an outdoor wedding reception chair).

All the while I was also keeping an eye on the younger who, despite his advanced age of nine, was trying to abscond with his sibling’s ‘toy’. Luckily, but also sadly, he struggled and was unable to free the toy from it’s plastic bag confinement.

After a terse few moments bracing for confrontation, I decided to duck my head into the estrogen lair to check on my progeny. He was singing a John Cougar/Mellencamp diddy.

‘I need a mother that won’t drive me crazy.’

Oh boy.

Off to the baseball game.

Yes, for some reason I thought it was a good idea to sign my older up for ‘Fall Ball’. Not really sure why. Summer baseball had not been the greatest of times. Perhaps I harbor illusions that his years of baseball mediocrity will metamorphose into mind-blowing magnificence.

Meh.

We get to the field and within moments, the younger needs to relieve himself yet again. Luckily (?), there is a port-o-potty at the field. Again, I stand guard as my younger attempts another ‘void’. Third #2 of the day. This does not bode well. It turns out to be a false alarm and we head back to the game. Having the younger at the game is always a challenge since he cannot sit still and never gives me a moment to watch his brother. An hour into the game, there was another trip to the port-o-potty. Ugh. The four year old still ‘needs’ a nap daily, so I tried to get him to take a nap in the car at the game. That went swimmingly. I told him to sit in the car, close his eyes and try to go to sleep. He wanted me to leave and I gladly obliged (after lowering his window to half mast). A scant ten minutes later, another parent sauntered over and ‘infomred’ me that my child was in the car and she hoped that I had not forgotten about him.

Thanks.

I’m on it.

Finally, the game is over (after another trip to the P-o-P to retrieve the jacket left behind) and we head home. On the way home, the younger falls asleep, which was expected but rarely turns out well. The ‘transfer’ is not an option since he always wakes up and never is able to go back to sleep to complete the nap. We got home and I decided to leave him in the car (after lowering the window again–the high in Philly was 64˚). I turned on the T.V. and started watching the DVD recording of my game. Every two minutes or so, I would hop off the couch to peer out the window to see whether he was OK. I went out three times and even sent out the older once to check on him. All of this over the course of about 37 minutes.

In the 39th minute, there is a knock on the door. A woman that I honestly had never seen before expressed her concern about leaving my child in the car. How she knew it was my car, my kid, or my house, I have no idea, but she emphasized that she was concerned about the boy and hoped that I had not forgotten about him.

Thanks.

I’m on it.

Once he woke up, we tried to decide what to do for dinner. After considerable, acrimonious debate, I chose our new favorite BYOB (our previous favorite has since acquired a liquor license and can no longer be considered our favorite ‘BYOB’). For the anniversary, I decided to pull a pinot, since that is just how I roll (and I had not had the forethought to chill a bottle of Champers).

The meal was fine, the wine was good, my kids were adorable (despite another trip to the ‘rest’ room).

But clearly something was missing–my lovely bride who was suffering through this wine menu in the ‘Big Easy’:

Happy (?) Anniversary.

2001 Au Bon Climat Pinot Noir Santa Maria Valley: The owner/winemaker at Au Bon Climat, Jim Clenenden is a legend. I have only had a few of his wines, but have never been disappointed. This was no exception. Clearly, the fruit has faded a bit, but the tart cherries and subtle vanilla remain. A tad on the austere side, but that is how I prefer my pinot. This was a great choice for the salmon and only would have been better if my wife had been there to share it. Excellent. 87-89 points.