The not so great (or even ripe) pumpkin

Samson's school took a field trip to a pumpkin farm last week. In addition to a petting zoo --- which he loved (surprisingly, given his track record) --- and a hayride, which, for reasons known only to him, he keeps referring to as "the ride in a cage," each child got to pick his or her very own pumpkin.

I have no idea if this thing is some special breed of heirloom pumpkin that's supposed to be green or if we'll have to wait until Easter for it to ripen.

Either way, he is very proud of his pick.

Trucks, trucks, and more trucks

We went to the "Touch a Truck" event on Saturday morning. It was a fundraising event benefiting the Junior League. I have no idea who these people are or what they do, but I had always thought they were like a kind of Superfriends type group made up of people named after their more famous fathers. You know, like Hank Williams, Jr.; Frank Sinatra, Jr.; Jr. Pac-Man. And I figured they helped other, less famous people who also bore their father's names.

[I'm like 95 percent sure that this is not this group. I reserve the right to believe such a group exists, however.]

This was one of the best events I've ever been to. It was like Lollapalooza for the pull-ups crowd. There's really no way I could do justice to the kind of time Samson and his friends had at this thing.

Suffice to say that every Saturday between now and Christmas will pale in comparison, and we're really going to have to upsell the whole come-be-my-helper-at-the-grocery-store thing for a while...

Kal-El marks a milestone

Here's a little Halloween preview. I made the mistake of letting him try his costume on just before bed, which meant that getting him into his pajamas was a process along the order of the six-party nuclear talks with North Korea.

Unlike Kim Jong-Il, however, Samson was ultimately willing to work with us. We offered him some naked time in exchange for ditching the costume. [I wonder if the delegates from those six nations tried this...]

Anyway, during Samson's mini Age of Aquarius, he announced that he had to pee. He said this as he was leaning against his train table. So, intent on saving the good people (and trains) of Sodor, I sprang into action and brought to him his potty --- which has been sitting in the corner of our bathroom literally collecting dust for want of use. But he sat right down and indeed, peed in the potty.

In case you're wondering, this is a very big deal. To date he has shown almost no interest at all in potty training. Since he's only two, neither Vicki nor I are inclined toward the hard-sell. But I think one of his classmates is no longer among the diapered masses, so there may be a little peer pressure at work.

I also think said classmate gets walked to the bathroom by the new teacher's aide, Miss Rasheeda, who Samson clearly has a crush on. [When Vicki picked him up from school the other day, all the kids were playing in the gym. Except Samson. He was standing at one end of the room watching "Misheeda," as he calls her.]

Sam Kenobi?

I knew this day would come, but I was hoping it would be later rather than sooner. Samson's teacher, Miss Jackie, is home sick today.

He was already unhappy about going to school. Actually, that's not true. We talked the whole ride there about what he'd do today (sing songs, make crafts, take a nap, play) and who he'd see (Miss Jackie, Jordan, Maeve, Charlie --- which he pronounces "Cholly," kind of like a cross between Brando and Dave Chapelle imitating Rick James).

In any event, when we turned the corner, it was like a light switched on that all this talk about school was not theoretical but actual. We were, in fact, at school. And so began the chorus of "nos."

Even so, he was fine until we got into the big room, at which point he lost it.

Usually when this happens, Miss Jackie takes him from me and they stand by the window to wave to me as I go to my car. He seemed to figure out before I did that MJ wasn't there today.

I don't know if he pulled an Obi-wan and sensed a disturbance in the force or just scanned the room faster than I did, but it was bad times.

On a more positive note, I did see that his class got pets: two goldfish. I asked Samson their names, and he told me "girls and boys." I think I'll ask again tonight.

Socks

So we're trying to get out of the house Saturday morning, and I'm trying to get Samson to simultaneously keep his clothes on and gather up the required quorum of Thomas trains for our big trip to the barber --- all while keeping him quiet so Vicki could get a little extra sleep.

I was brushing my teeth, looking for his shoes, and trying put some things in a bag in the event we went anywhere after he got his haircut. [If I've learned anything, it's that not carrying a diaper and wipes all but ensures a torrent of poo at the least convenient time.]

By now, Vicki had her head under her pillow as Samson kept breaking out into choruses of "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" that would have made Joey Ramone proud.

So I figured, in all my wisdom, that the best option was to give Samson a job. "Samson," I said, with all the seriousness I could muster, "I'm almost ready to go; I just need to get some socks. Can you do me a favor and clean up a few toys while I do that?"

He looked up and headed into his room, closing the door halfway, at which point a low rumble of noises ensued. I couldn't see him, but I could hear him --- and besides, I was only a room away. [Sidenote: We live in a small house; everything is essentially only a room away, including the neighbors.]

I was now ready, and I called in: "Ok, Sam, time to go." No response.

"Samson? C'mon, buddy. Time to go see Mr. Garry and get a haircut."

Still no response beyond the rumbling of things definitely not being put away.

"Sam, you need to start listening. Come out here now!"

And there, in the doorway of a room positively bestrewn with toys and books and clothes, stood Samson, holding a pair of his red socks out for me.

Don't worry, I'm not going to get all Readers Digest/Darnedest Kids on you, but it was a nice corrective to my impatience.

No tears at the barber, by the way.

Although I think Samson felt insufficiently recognized for his bravery, because at one point while Mr. Garry and I were talking, he piped up: "I'm doing a great job!"

Up all night

For some reason this week is nightmare/separation anxiety/wide awake at 3 a.m. week in our house.

Last night was the third or fourth [I've lost count] night in a row that I was summoned to Samson's room by the plaintive cries of "Daddy; come a door, pleeese."

Each night it takes a little while to settle him down, but he's back up an hour or so later. So last night, I decided I'd just sleep on the floor next to his crib as a way of helping him stay asleep. As I put him back in his crib, much to his very vocal dismay, I went to get a pillow.

Of course, as I was doing all this, I was telling him what I was doing: "Ok, Sam, I'm going to stay in here with you. I just need to get a pillow. I'll be right back. Don't panic." [When he's really upset now, he'll sometimes say "I'm panicking," which always makes me laugh, not because he's "panicking" but because he's telling me that he's "panicking."]

So I got my pillow, got him settled down, lay down on the floor and closed my eyes only to hear "Daddy: get a blanket." This kid has all the angles covered.

It was actually good advice; I think I would have been cold.

In any event, it worked. He woke a few times during the night, but he didn't get up until 7:25 this morning. So it was totally worth it, but I may need to start going to bed at 8 o'clock to be able to handle this new routine.

Vive la diference

The French take a lot of heat in America for being so, well, French.

But I think they are definitely on to something when it comes to helping working families (mothers in particular).

Interesting story about France's national system of daycare and benefits from today's Washington Post.

Driving that train...

We went to pick pumpkins on Saturday at this place we used to go to years ago. Apparently word is out: It was so crowded that we opted just to let Samson play on their playground for a bit and then went and had an early dinner at the farm stand/restaurant a few miles down the road.

I don't think Samson minded. As long as he can drive a train, the trip is worth it. Although I don't know how excited his passengers were. He was kind of a wheel hog; and he kept announcing that he was taking them "to the bookstore."

You can take it with you

Samson has become a hoarder. I don't know when it started, but he now grabs as many trains as he (and I) can hold before embarking on any journey. This can include going to school or going upstairs to his room for a diaper change.

It's like he's got separation anxiety with Thomas and friends. Actually, it's not just his trains; he was panicking tonight as we headed up for bed because he didn't have his trucks (fire and garbage) with him. Wacky.

I hear Jacob is doing this too. So maybe it's a two-year-old thing.

David Plotz is dead to me

Ok, not really. But I think he missed the boat with his latest post. For those of you who are not readers of his, Plotz has spent the last few months Blogging the Bible for Slate. It's a great series, and I am terribly jealous of a paying gig that allows one to read the Bible and then post opinions about it.

In any event, I've been looking forward to him getting to the Book of Judges, and in particular to the chapters on Samson. When I made my first communion, friends of my parents gave me an illustrated children's Bible, and the story (and images) from Samson always stayed with me. I did some work in grad school on Milton's Samson Agonistes, which only sealed the deal for me regarding Samson as a hero. And also a pretty cool name.

All of which leads me to think that Plotz is off-base in his analysis. Inasmuch as Samson is a violent and feckless character, I think Plotz is right on. But I'm not sure Samson is bad to the bitter end.

And I wondered how much junior high lunchroom baggage was brought to bear on the description of the biblical Samson as proto-"hockey goon" or "fraternity rush chair." [Full disclosure: I hated junior high, especially the lunch room, because of hockey (and football and lacrosse) goons; and while I was never rush chair of my fraternity, I was its pledgemaster for a semester. What does this all mean? I don't know.]

Plotz offers up Samson's shortcomings [he does tend to kill a lot of people out of rage] as a way of denying Samson hero status. But I think the prologue of his life is what makes his heroic transformation possible.

Simply put, Samson was a flawed character who ultimately recognized the error of his ways and made amends. What more can you ask of someone? Especially in an Old Testament context. Not exactly a parade of G-rated happenings. [Sidenote: If you don't believe me, check out this site. The Legos don't lie.]

That said, I hope for a much different life trajectory for my Samson. And he's already my hero.

Getting better all the time

This morning was a red-letter morning: It was the first time since Samson started school that he didn't cry when I left him.

And if you think this isn't a big deal, you try starting your day prying your toddler's fingers from your shoulders as he wails "Don't leave me. Daddeeeee."

[Thank God Vicki only works part-time; I don't think I could do it every day.]

But today he was ok. We walked around his school a bit; I got a little tour of his classroom --- "this is my cubby; that's my cot." --- and then he was off to play in the big room. Before 9, all the kids play together in one big room [think GenPop on Oz, minus all the stabbing] and then they break out into their respective classes.

There are, as best as I can tell, only four other children in Samson's class. And there are only two who merit any mention: Jordan and Maeve. When I say they merit mention, I mean that according to Samson, Jordan makes a high-pitched noise when he eats. And he runs inside and gets a timeout. Maeve, well, I think she's got a temper. That's all we know.

I see other names on the cubbies, but these kids just don't make the highlight reel. To be honest, the Dalai Lama could show up as a guest speaker in his class and we'd never know.

We are, however, apprised on a near-daily basis of the fact that Samson's teacher, Miss Jackie "is a woman." He's big on that. Still.

Curiously, Samson has developed a slight accent since he started school. It's only on a few words, and I can't imagine where it's coming from, but Vicki has noticed it too. When he says "outside" now he sounds Dutch and it sounds like "outsoid." When you ask him where he naps at school, he'll tell you "on a cot" but he sounds almost Punjabi and so it comes out "onnakott" with the final "t" sound really pronounced.

I have no theories on the provenance of his newfound cosmopolitan polyglot mash-up. But it's pretty funny.

Navel-gazing

With Vicki closing in on her final trimester and getting bigger by the day, there's a lot of talk in our house lately about bellies. Specifically, what's in them.

We know what --- I should say who --- is in Mommy's belly. But the larger question of other people's bellies remains.

We've rented a Stork Radio, so we can listen to the baby's heartbeat without having to wait for the monthly trip to the doctor. I highly recommend this; it's terrific for peace of mind. We did it when Vicki was pregnant with Sam, and it really was great. This baby is a lot more active than he was, so Vicki is feeling her bump and wiggle all day long, but I still appreciate the chance to hear that little heart beating away...

It's also been fun for us to watch Samson listening to his own belly. He remains unconvinced about the absence of a baby in there.

Unfortunately, he is also under the impression that everyone in the wider world [no pun intended] with a big belly is pregnant.

You can guess the kind of excitement this lends to trips to the store, the mall, the park, etc.

I know the NIH and others keep writing about this, but I can confirm it from a nonscientific, non-evidence-based, research perspective: there's a lot of big bellies out there.

Yet another gratuitous Samson pic

Something is not letting me upload photos today. I managed, however, to get this one through. More later...

Incomprehensible

The great time we had at my Dad's party this weekend comes tinged with sadness. My mother called me yesterday to let me know that one of the guests, who has been a friend of our family for years, was murdered the night after the party by her mentally ill son.

To say that I'm in disbelief would be an understatement. This was a woman who had raised five kids on her own and who was the essence of patience and kindness. My folks are shattered, as is everyone who knew her.

I don't know what comes after this, but I have to believe that she went someplace good. And I'm doing my best to keep everyone in her family (and I do mean every one) in my prayers. It's not easy.

In memoriam: Sue Carlson, 1936-2006. You will be missed.

Let them eat cake

No nap. No lunch. No problem.

Object lesson

Ok, I've got lots of photos to share and some good stories, but I'm just too busy right now to post much.

I will, however, share a cautionary tale about being tired and not paying attention when dressing your child for bed. Stare at this photo for a minute and it will become clear.

Road trip

Today is Samson's Papa's 80th birthday, so we're heading up to New York tonight to spend a long weekend with him.

We've got a big party planned for him on Saturday, so Samson will get to see some family and friends and generally run around a restaurant for a few hours.

Should be fun. See you in a few days...

Elvis with a tail?

Sorry for the lack of posts lately. I've gotten very busy at work, and I'm getting buried by things I need to read before I can begin my thesis proposal. [By the way, if you've got any great ideas about military recruitment messaging and the ways in which it is informed by and seeks to counteract the impact of a wartime environment, feel free to pass them along. I digress.]

Before we visited the farm on Saturday, we went to Samson's friend Emma's birthday party, where we had lunch with a huge anthropomorphic mouse. No, not that one.

This one.

It was crazy. And kind of fun, in a toddler "Lord of the Flies" sort of way.

Lots of games and blinking lights and kids running around, into, and over one another. But the highlight was the animatronic band on stage that would play every 10 or 15 minutes. You've probably already guessed that Samson spent a lot of time standing by the quiet, unlit stage waiting for the drummer to blink those giant staring eyes and move his weirdly suspended hands.

In any event, at some pre-appointed time, Chuck himself came out. He was flanked on either side by bored looking teenage girls who served as his backup singers/bodyguards. I'm not kidding. They announced his presence, gave a set list --- "If You're Happy and You Know It" and "Happy Birthday," natch --- and set the ground rules [e.g., "when we say Happy, you say Birthday" or "Chuck E. is leaving now; say goodbye everyone!"].

It was like Elvis in his late, fat period. Shuffle on, muddle through a tune or two, throw a scarf, and exit stage left. Ok, Chuck didn't throw any scarves. And he actually was available for a few hugs, which Samson bravely stepped up for. The fact that there was pizza and cake and other goodies was completely lost on him.

But he did get to go on some cool rides. And he was clearly proud of his bravery in the face of a 6-foot-tall rodent. He spent the rest of the day saying "I hugged the mouse! I did it!"

Sometimes it's the little victories in life that matter most. Now if only he wasn't afraid to hug Emma...

Life imitating art

Have I mentioned that Samson loves to draw? With crayons, pens, pencils, ketchup. He's a regular Basquiat when it comes to using what's at hand. And he's got no preference for medium: paper, table, floor, wall, his pants. It's all a canvas for young Samson.

I, however, am not a gifted artist. In fact, one of the only things I can draw is a teepee. Which, when you get right down to it, is really just a triangle.

Anyway, I've been sketching these for Samson for as long as he's shown any interest in drawing.

So you can imagine his excitement when we got to the farm and there was a giant corn-husk teepee for us to play in.

Child of the corn

This past weekend was picture-perfect fall weather. So we broke out the barn coats and headed to a farm for some pumpkin picking [more like pumpkin-picking-up] and a run through the corn maze. This maze was a lot bigger than I'd expected, given that the farm is just a few miles from the city, and we got a little lost. A few times. But in the end we made it out safely.


[Sidenote: I think my sister must have seen "Children of the Corn" at a really impressionable age because to this day she has a real fear of cornfields. Seriously. Accordingly, I had Samson call her and leave a message about our adventures. I can't tell Samson that this is one of the things he can look forward to as a big brother, but I'm pretty sure he'll figure it out on his own.]

They even had a little maze made of hay for the little guys. Samson kept stopping at the dead ends and simply climbing over to continue. He was also thrilled to be at a place where he didn't have to use his inside voice. Not even once.


And we did, indeed, pick ourselves up some pumpkins.