Ringing out the old

So today is New Year's Eve, and I've got some sad news to report. On Christmas Eve, our cat Ishmael took the long walk to the vet's office. He'd been sick for a while, and we'd been kind of hoping that he'd somehow bounce back and act like his old self again. But he just wasn't the same cat anymore. The most telling sign was that he actually let Vicki put him in the carrier. Usually that process lasted longer and was more highly choreographed than most kung-fu movie fight scenes.

Anyway, it was hard for us to make the call and even harder for us to say goodbye, especially with Samson standing there asking when Ishmael would come back. The people at the vet's office were very kind, and the vet herself gave me the full scoop on what would happen before they did anything. I sat with him and petted his head while they gave him the shot, and I looked into those big green eyes and it was like watching the extinguishing of a candle. I was immediately sorry we had done it and immediately certain that we'd done the right thing.

But when the vet listened to his heart and told me he was gone, I just sat there and cried. [I would say "like a little girl," but Vicki has informed me that this is not only insulting, it will get me into trouble once Jane understands what I'm saying. Point taken.]

He was a good cat, and I'll miss him. It's strange being home and not having him sleeping in the kitchen or charging up the stairs and getting underfoot.

We did our best not to say anything to Samson that might make him afraid (as in "the cat is going to the doctor" or "he's just going to sleep"). I'm not sure that we came up with the best possible answer, but we told him that Ish's body wasn't working anymore. When I returned from the vet, we told him that Ishmael was given the chance to catch the special pet train to the North Pole to go live with Santa.

I mean, it was hard enough telling him his cat wasn't ever coming back; I didn't think he needed to know the rest. Of course, his eventual discovery about Santa may be a little more complicated because of this, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. If you have a better idea, well, keep it to yourself because you're about a week too late.

And lest you worry that Sam is taking this too hard, he has cried exactly twice about this in the past week. Once he asked for the cat, and the second time he said he wanted a dog. So I guess we're all moving on.

Despite this somewhat somber episode, this was a good year for our family. Sweet Jane came into our life, Vicki started a new job, Sam became potty trained (mostly), and I was reminded daily of just how lucky I am. Here's to 2008.

Christmas morning

With all the excitement of Christmas Eve (some good, some not so good, but more on this later), we figured Samson might never go to sleep. He was very interested in the Christmas pageant at Mass, especially because Mary was about a foot taller than Joseph [I think the fifth graders from the parish school provide the cast for the nativity play].

[Sidenote: For some reason, Samson was obsessed with whether or not Joseph was old/big enough to go into the street by himself. I have no idea why, but he asked this question at least three or four times. I told him no as I figured the likelihood of him seeing Joseph (with or without Mary) crossing the street was pretty slim.]

We had a nice dinner with Jacob and his family, and the boys were spinning like tops by the end of the night. Amazingly enough, though, both Samson and Jane slept past seven on Christmas morning. Insert your own Christmas miracle joke here.

And despite the warnings and the call from Mrs. Claus regarding Samson's precarious position on the "nice" list, old Santa made his visit and left a "fire set" for Sam and a rocking giraffe for Jane (whose place on the "nice" list was never in doubt).


I'm not sure how your family does things, but Santa just brings one gift per child to our house. The rest are probably credited to him anyway, but we like to get in on the action a little too.

As good as it gets

So this is the best we could do for a photo of the kids in their Christmas (actually Christmas Eve) outfits. We were already rushing to make sure we got a seat at Mass, and neither Samson nor Jane seemed inclined to sit still.

So it goes.

They looked pretty cute. You'll just have to take my word for it.

Santa's helpers

If hearing a roomful of preschoolers sing Christmas songs doesn't get you in the Christmas spirit, I don't know what will.

Samson's class were elves and sang a song about being Santa's helpers. Interestingly, only Nora had the sartorial sense to ditch the hat when the show was done.

Jane liked the concert, but what she really wanted was a cupcake. Sam's cupcake, actually.

A houseful

With a business, a part-time job, two full-time kids, and just five days to go until Christmas, Vicki did what any busy mom would do: She invited 9 kids age 3 and under to the house for a pre-Christmas playgroup-palooza. And their moms, of course.

This is actually kind of an annual tradition. The boys get together and make some Christmas crafts and generally tear up the joint. Occasionally there's a parade.

Interestingly, this year marked the arrival of a new (and possibly rival) group: The girls. 2007 brought baby sisters Kate (to Ryan), Laura (to Christopher), and Vivian (to Oliver), as well as sweet Jane, of course. They're a little disorganized right now, but I think this crew bears watching...

Oh Christmas tree

It's a good thing we don't have black lights on our Christmas tree. Ishmael peed on it. Actually, he peed under it, on the tree skirt.

"Dry Clean Only" are three words I don't want to see when I'm looking at a small but expanding pool of cat urine. Since we don't have a dry cleaners in our basement, I pitched it into the washing machine, and I think it came out just fine. More or less.

Interestingly, this wasn't a you're-not-paying-attention-to-me-so-I'll-pee-on-your-briefcase kind of pee [trust me, I know that scenario all too well]. I think the poor thing had an accident.

Now that Jane is crawling, we have to keep the gate at the top of the basement stairs closed. Which naturally means that we forget to reopen it when Jane is safely off the floor (sleeping, eating in her high chair, etc). Poor Ishmael, needing to use the loo but woefully incapable of unlocking the gate, summoned the wisdom of his ancestors, located a tree(!), and commenced peeing.

I mean it makes sense. There is a tree in our living room.

For further discussion

Good grief! Vicki helped out at Samson's school today with the pre-Christmas pizza party. Before they left, she noticed he was doing the jeans grab, so she walked him to the bathroom and then waited outside with Jane.

If you've never been to a preschool bathroom, it combines all the glare (and hopefully antibacterial qualities) of an airport restroom with the open-kitchen layout in vogue at upscale chain restaurants.

As she waited for Samson to pee, a big [read: four-year-old] kid walked in. What happened next could have been worse, but I think I'll have to have a talk with young Samson tonight about bathroom protocol.

Vicki couldn't see what was going on, but she could hear the big kid's half of the conversation, which went something like: "Hey, stop looking at me! No I don't sit down. Are you saying I'm a girl? Stop looking at me! Don't talk to me!"

Anyway, Samson managed not to get beat up in the bathroom, and Vicki managed not to have to intervene, so it all ended OK.

But I guess he thought my "don't look at anything and don't touch anything" advice only applied to rest stops on the Jersey Turnpike.

It doesn't. Poor little guy.

Bahoo Foray, Nahoo Toray

I'm not exactly sure of the lyrics the people in Who-ville sing, but Sweet Jane bears more than a passing resemblance to Cindy Lou Who, no?

At least in the first picture...

The guys

These boys have known each other all their lives, so any time you get the three of them together, it's a good, silly time.


They made it about halfway through "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" before reverting back to form [and by form, I mean, running around, brandishing candy canes like swords, and generally giving Jane cause to look at them with equal parts wonder and confusion.]

Oliver is clearly a boy after my own heart, because as the ruckus commenced, he issued a stern: "No talking on movie night!"

Of course, then Santa arrived, and all bets were off.

Santa (barely) avoids waterboarding

Our friends' neighborhood association does Santa visits each year, and we were invited to join in the fun. Or, as Samson put it later, "we saw Santa and ordered our gifts." Take that, Norman Rockwell!

Before the Santa sit-down, however, there was a lot of discussion about Santa's sleigh. Mr. Gary, Oliver's dad, kept teasing the boys saying it was pulled by Holiday Hippos and Magic Alligators [Magigators, actually]. Sure enough, before Santa even Sat down, Samson began the interrogation. A rough transcript follows:

Sam: "How do you pull your sleigh?"

Santa: "I have reindeer."

Sam (throwing Mr. G under the bus): "Mr. Gary said it's hippos."

Santa (laughing): "No, it's reindeer."

Sam: "He said it was alligators."

Santa: "No, it's reindeer."

Sam: "How do they fly?"

Santa: "It's magic."

Sam: "But what do you say? What words?"

Santa: "Uh, I can't say them now, or the sled might take off. [awkward pause] So ... who wants to sit on my lap and tell me what they want for Christmas?"

Advent: The Police State

Samson and Jane received a really sweet (and thoughtful) gift from their Uncle Greg's parents.

It's called The Elf on the Shelf and includes a story about one of Santa's helpers as well as a little elf doll.

The elf, which the recipient names, flies up to Santa every night to tell the big man about the kids in the house. [Samson named his "Google." I wish I was kidding.]

Each morning it's a game to see where Google is hiding. So basically, we now live with a pixie-sized informant who lurks among the books, toys, and general clutter of our house.

I can't wait for my sister to get this gift. That clown scene in Poltergeist had a profound effect on her, and she's still a little freaked out at fixed-smile dolls.

Young Samson, however, carries no such baggage [not yet, anyway], and he loves looking for Google every morning.

Little Miss Sunshine

I know these pictures aren't quite in focus, but I just love the look of pure joy on Jane's face.

All the holiday cheer, none of the tsouris

Samson and Jane attended their very first Hanukkah party Saturday night. We had gotten our tree that morning and started decorating around the house, so we gave Samson plenty of prep about what to expect at his buddy Ethan's house. Which boiled down to: Yes to latkes, no to nativity sets.

Jane had a great time: There wasn't a hint of Santa anywhere.

Sam proved surprisingly disinterested in playing the dreidl game. There was a train table and an electric guitar and lots of running around to do. Also, and I realized this later, he had no idea that the gelt had chocolate inside.

He discovered this as I was putting him into his car seat for the trip home and, of course, demanded his due.

In what could be the biggest lie I've ever told on the fifth day of Hanukkah, I told him that he had to be seated and buckled in before he could have any gelt. When I got the inevitable "why?" I coolly told him that it was a special Hanukkah rule.

Laugh if you want, but it worked.

More lobbying and fear with Santa

Sam's school had a pancake breakfast with Santa this morning. As you can see from the picture, he is continuing his lobbying efforts for a "fire set" at every possible lap-sitting.

Jane just continues to be terrified.

Apparently this Santa was not thrilled to be headlining a preschool, pancakes or no, because he left in his street clothes while the kids were still there.

In fairness, all the kids had gotten their turn, but Vicki said it took her a while to convince Samson that Santa has "travel clothes"

Said outfit consists of jeans and a gray Members Only jacket. Also a briefcase.

First snow

We got our first snow of the season today. Nothing big --- maybe two inches, but certainly enough for Samson to convince us he should wear his snowsuit [this is quickly becoming the #2 outfit of choice behind his fireman gear].

Sweet Jane is wise enough --- even at this young age --- not to trust her brother when he says "here, try this."

Unfortunately, she's not fast enough yet to act on her instincts and so ended up cold and with a weird little snow soul patch.

Ahead of the curve

CNN and the Associated Press have teamed up once again to bring you the breakingest of news.

The first bulleted item in this story, for those unable to commit to reading all 600 words, sums it up nicely: "Toy kitchens for boys seen as OK."

Clearly Vicki and I are far more progressive than we give ourselves credit for. We were almost two years ahead of this trend.

The story takes pains to note the prominence of celebrity chefs and the reality that more dads cook these days. Both, I'm sure, are accurate, but that line of argument feels a bit defensive.

And to be perfectly honest, if I thought for a second that having a toy kitchen in our house would turn Samson into Emeril (BAM!) or Bobby Flay, I'd get rid of it like a hand grenade.

Not to mention the fact that I do almost all the laundry in our house, but Samson has yet to ask for a play washer/dryer set.

I think boys play kitchen for the same reason girls do: it's fun. And (almost) everybody likes to eat and play with food.

I have a friend at CNN who is very excited about their next collaboration with AP. I can't give away all the details, but it's going to be a three-part series and will take on the issue of women and the trend toward "wearing pants." Stay tuned.

Verbatim

We've often wondered if Samson is the same kid at school that he is at home. I think the question has been definitively answered.

What follows is an e-mail Vicki received yesterday from the mother of one of Sam's classmates.

Vicki,

Hope you are all doing well and enjoying the holiday season.

I enjoy seeing Samson along with Jordan and a few other classmates in Friday's keyboard class. I usually go every other week. This week the teacher asked everyone how they were doing and most just said great, good, etc. But Samson gave a dissertation about firetrucks and going poo poo on the potty. It was so funny (and cute)!

Talk to you soon, D—

Fear and loathing at the B&O

What would a trip to the train museum this time of year be without a visit with Uncle Jessie, er, Engineer Santa Claus. [I guess we should be thankful it wasn't Railway Riding Hobo Santa or Trainyard Bull Santa.]


Regardless, Samson was all business. I'm not sure if he's even begun to wonder how there could be a Santa who wants to talk to him in just about every location he visits.

What he is certain of is that he's going to let each bearded guy in a red hat know what he wants: A fireman set.

Mind you, none of us has any idea what a fireman set is. He talked at great length with my parents about it over Thanksgiving, and they are now all Gallahad and Lancelot in pursuit of one. Good luck to them, I say.

Jane was a little less sanguine about the whole encounter. Her face is obviously telling, but watch Samson's eyes as the sequence progresses. Nothing beats fast shutter speed, man.

Apt pupil

Sweet Jane is already wise beyond her months (11 next week).

Vicki said that Samson and Jane were playing in the basement, and Samson took a toy from her. She let out a pathetic sounding cry and then turned to look at Vicki's reaction.

Sam duly gave her back the toy (which he should have), but he was totally unaware that Jane was beginning the grift.

I think she's just testing things out right now [a "listening tour," if you will], but it won't be long.

I have a younger sister, and she was particularly adept at the Jane maneuver when we were kids, so part of me wants to warn Samson about what's coming. I feel like I've been given some kind of time-traveling ability, and I can use my powers for good to warn Sam of the certain doom that awaits him.

The other part of me (the less charitable part, I guess) thinks it might be fun just to sit back and watch how this all plays out.

Bleak Friday

Rather than spend the Friday after Thanksgiving fighting the hordes at the mall, we decided to spend the Friday after Thanksgiving stuck among the hordes at the annual Festival of Trees.

It was nice, in a 19,000-people-stuck-in-an-arena-with-Johnny-Matthis-being-piped-in sort of way. Actually, it was fine --- although there were a few moments where I wondered if there were any religions I could convert to that didn't require annual exposure to Bing Crosby on an endless loop. Maybe Zoroastrianism?

The event is actually a fundraiser for a local research and treatment hospital for children. So as I browsed the rows of dancing Santas and NFL-themed trees, I kept reminding myself "good deed, good deed, good deed."

And my parents and the kids loved it. Actually, so did Vicki. So maybe it's just me.

Regardless, there was a Santa and a magic show and some rides. The highlight for Samson was his favorite band, Milkshake, but I'd have to say his second favorite thing might have been the foot-long hot dog he ate.

It was uncanny; maybe we just need to put whatever we want him to eat in a foot-long bun. He might yet crack the 30-pound mark.

Dentist

Yesterday was Samson's first trip to the dentist. I was unable to go but got a full report afterwards, including a discussion of the "magic chair" and an explanation of why it's not scary when the hygienist wears a mask.

According to Vicki, when the hygienist put the mask on, Samson became like a Victorian gentleman in the presence of an exposed ankle. He turned his head and simply looked away. It took a bit of coaxing to get him to face forward again, but we've noticed this is something he does when he knows there's something that might frighten him. [For the record, he is not afraid of ladies' ankles.]

Man I wish I had a photo of him in the dentist's chair wearing the little lead blanket and waiting for his X-rays.

Clearly this dentist knows what she's doing, because he came back with a bag full of goodies and couldn't wait to go upstairs and brush his teeth.

I expect we'll be playing a lot of dentist in days to come. Which means Jane better watch out...

Membership has its privileges

Apparently I look like a detective. I mean, I get it: Irish, short hair, navy suit, raincoat.

Let me explain: I grabbed lunch today at the Chipotle near my office, which, I guess, is a popular lunch spot for police in this part of the city.

A few weeks back, the cashier, who doesn't speak much English, asked me "Police?" I was confused but said no and was rung up and sent on my way.

Today, she didn't ask, but she did give me a knowing smile and the "discount" ($3.50 off a $7.89 bill). I thought about correcting her misapprehension but then thought it was silly to look a gift burrito in the mouth.

Jane in repose

I'm sorry to report that Jane isn't feeling any better today. If anything, she was actually worse, despite the fact that she slept through the night.

She actually fell asleep and then right over while sitting and playing. Let's hope those antibiotics kick in soon.

King bed

Is there any better place to hang out, watch TV, and be silly than a king-sized bed?

Thanksgiving redux

Hard to believe this was Jane's first Thanksgiving. Obviously, I know it was, but it feels like she's been here forever. My parents came to visit, and we had a great time. Given last year's turn of events, I was ready to consider the day a win as long as it didn't end in the emergency room.

But it really was fun.

And educational: According to my parents, Samson's obsession with discussing poop is some kind of cosmic payback from my obsession with same 32 years ago.

I can honestly say I don't remember saying "Happy Thankspoopy Poop," but according to them, I did.

Working backwards

I took the day before Thanksgiving off and so was able to enjoy a five-day weekend of reckless abandon. Or at least five days of not shaving or wearing a tie.

Unfortunately, Jane decided I needed a sixth day off and came down with an ear infection late Sunday night. So I stayed home today to take her to the doctor and just do what I could to help the poor thing out.

Somewhere around hour 3 of last night's marathon, it occurred to me --- as I sat on the rocker in her room with her little sleeping head on my shoulder --- that this was the most uninterrupted time I'd gotten with her since those very early months when she hadn't yet gotten night and day straight.

Which is not to say I ignore her, but I just don't get the time with her that I got with Samson because of, well, Samson.

In any event, after a trip to the doctor and an ear exam that left the nurse noting with approval, "she's got quick hands," we got some medicine and were on our way.

There were no naps today, which made my attempts to "work from home" interesting. [I don't think I've ever used any of the Function keys on the laptop; Jane has now used them all.]

But I think she should be OK in a few days. Sleep well, sweet Jane.

Take back the Street

Interesting piece from the NYT about the early seasons of Sesame Street and their apparent unsuitability for today's toddler.

Mr. Hooper must be spinning in his grave.

Not nearly as fun as UB40 would lead you to believe

OK, so we don't have a rat in the kitchen, but we do have a mouse, somewhere in the house.



We discovered this yesterday and have not mentioned it to Samson --- he freaks out about spider webs on the deck, so something tells me that real live vermin in our house might just traumatize him. Even more than our ill-conceived attempt to do his room in a Willard theme.

Needless to say, with my folks coming into town tomorrow for the holiday, this is not exactly the most convenient time to be infested. And I'm not really sure, since we have a cat, how this is even possible. As old and incontinent as Ishmael is, I always cut him a little slack because I assumed he was doing preventive work simply by his presence. But clearly he's been phoning it in.

So now I'm looking into giant bubbles for Jane to crawl around in. Maybe Travolta is selling his on eBay?

From Sam's kitchen

We hit the farmer's market yesterday morning in preparation for this Thursday's feast. The Sunday before Thanksgiving is always really crowded, and this year's showing did not disappoint.

In addition to throngs of people getting everything from pumpkin pies to hefty bags full of greens, there were news trucks there shooting B-roll for the early evening slice-of-life news segment.

Samson was impressed with the TV truck and the reporter doing a stand-up, but he was really impressed with the two firefighters he saw doing some shopping. It must be pretty awesome to know that wherever you go, throngs of toddlers mark seeing you as the highlight of their day.

Back at home, Sam and I cooked up some cranberry applesauce. I don't know about you, but that ribbed stuff from the can just creeps me out. And this is pretty easy to make. Even with a three-year-old "helping."

Ingredients:

2 lbs apples (4-5 apples, preferably Golden Delicious)
1 cup cranberries
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 cup cider
2 T butter
2 t lemon juice
3-inch lemon zest (I usually just cut a piece of the rind and put it in)
1 cinnamon stick

Basically, you peel and cube the apples and then throw everything together in a stock pot. Heat on a medium flame for about 15 mins, stirring occasionally. Remove the rind and cinnamon stick, and place the mixture into a food processor for, er, processing.

Overdue

So yeah, it's great that Vicki has her business up and running, but it's seriously cutting into her duties as official (and unpaid) photographer for this site.

In any event, in between trying to clean the house for Thanksgiving, trying to clean the yard [I bought a leaf blower and ironically listened to the "Into the Wild" soundtrack while blowing leaves into our neighbor's yard], and trying desperately to get Jane and Samson to nap at the same time, we took a break for a little photo shoot.

Anyway, if we learned anything today, it's that Samson will work for lollipops. And the chance to play with sticks.


And Jane, well she was a good sport for a little while. But even Sweet Jane has her limits.

Once inside, the day of no naps reared its ugly head. Not quite Altamont but a nice "behind the music" look at our family. [Just fyi: Only Vicki is faking distress in this picture. Jane has a real death grip, and Samson, well, he may need to work on his grappling skills.]

From the Dept. of Shameless Commerce

Finally, this blog has a commercial sponsor. Or at least a potential one.

Just in time for the holidays, Vicki has gotten her stationery design site up and running. I'm biased, but she really does some great work. See here for cards, invites, and other fun things made of paper.

Sam: The new Kyle?

Not my Sam but another one. I'll set the stage. We were at a birthday party on Sunday for Samson's friend Madelyn, who is 4. Our friends live in a rural part of Virginia, so they have a sizable backyard and for the party had a hay ride and a pony.

Their backyard also has a swing set with rope/ladder thingy to climb and this was pretty much all Samson wanted to do. He did enjoy the hayride but not as much as being able to climb.

To be honest, they could have had Sesame Street meets Burning Man in their backyard and Samson wouldn't have noticed.

As guests arrived, it was funny to watch the kids size each other up. For the most part, they all played really well together. Which is pretty impressive given that there were 4- and 5-year-old girls and 3- and 4-year-old boys, who, developmentally, might as well be different species.

I digress. At one point, a small boy who appeared to be Samson's age arrived with his mother and a sleeping infant. This boy's name was Sam. And Sam, which may have been short for SonofSam, was bad news.

I've often thought that it would be helpful --- as a way of gauging whom to approach and whom to avoid --- if people came with theme music. I like to think that my entrances would be accompanied by something from Curtis Mayfield. Or maybe Leonard Cohen's "Everybody Knows."

Anyway, if such an aid existed, this kid Sam would be accompanied by the opening movement of Carl Orff's Carmina Burana. Or maybe the music from "The Omen."



So Samson saw Sam and another kid (this one inexplicably named after a rock in Europe) playing with trucks. Assuming they were kindred spirits, Samson went over to play. At which point Sam turned and growled. Loudly. Like the feral kid in the Mad Max movies. Which not only startled Samson [not a lot of growling at his school or among his friends] but made him cry.

I happened to be playing with Jane and so missed most of this but came in on the tail end of things, i.e., the crying. Vicki, because she is wise, thought it best to let the kids sort it out themselves. [For my part, I would much rather have been admonishing Samson for pasting this kid in the face than reassuring him that he'd done nothing wrong and simply needed to tell Sam not to bother him.]

Of course, I wouldn't change Samson for anything, but I do tend to lose perspective when I see him getting his feelings hurt. He pretty much stayed away from Sam for the rest of the party, but he did keep tabs on him. And every once in a while he'd call out across the yard: "Hi Sam. You're mean." Presumably he's hard at work right now on a letter to the editor.

Obviously, all this is part of growing up, and Samson needs to learn to fend for himself. And for the most part he does pretty well. But man, this Sam kid was weird. And indeed, mean.

Scatology

The intense focus in our house on bodily functions [see training, potty; see also, accident avoidance] has had the unintended consequence of creating a running stand-up routine for Samson.

It's a fairly simple formula: He takes a sentence, like "Samson, please pick up that book" and then switches in the word poop or pee. Incessantly.

I'm not saying this is sophisticated stuff, and I imagine 3-year-old boys and bathroom humor are the bane of every nursery school teacher. Not to mention their parents.

But if he's going to try to be funny, it seems only right to give him some guidance. The other day Vicki was actually trying to get him to understand why poop is not always funny in a sentence. He was singing Dan Zanes' "Pay Me My Money Down," and I heard her explaining to him "Pay me my poopy down" was funny but "Pay me my money poop" was not.

A subtle difference to be sure, but therein lies the comedy. I can't wait to have to explain this next week at his parent-teacher conference...

Once more, with feeling

Samson has re-emerged from last spring's unsuccessful bid at potty training with a new Gore-like confidence.

He's grown since then, having written a book about the experience, dabbled a bit in teaching, and he's even putting together a documentary and PowerPoint about a topic he feels pretty strongly about (firetrucks).

Most importantly, he's back in the, er, saddle again.

And once again, we are bribing the heck out of him. No more stickers, however, as he saw through that ruse. The stakes are much higher this time: Sour Patch Kids. At this rate he'll be fully potty trained but toothless by Easter.

Today marked the first day he wore underpants to school, and apparently he was like a little Paul Revere about the whole thing. Which is not only sweet [who is more enthusiastic than Samson James?] but useful: Every teacher has essentially been put on notice should they see our boy quietly making his way over to a corner of the playground for some privacy.

Standing room only

Of late, Sweet Jane has become Jane on a mission. Now that she's figured out how to pull herself up to a standing position, she's lost all interest in doing much else.

Except crawling.

Gone are the days of holding this sleepy little wonder in my arms. If she's in her crib, she's standing; if she's in your arms, take a picture, because she's got things to do and they don't involve being held by you.

I'm pretty sure if she could get Vicki "to go," she wouldn't even take the nursing breaks.

All of which has put the cat completely over the edge and caused Samson to offer a running commentary of the things in our house that are not Jane's.

He's particularly concerned about her putting his backpack in her mouth as she might choke.

That piece of Lego he left on the floor, however, seems to be less of an issue for him.

The Secret Sharer

Apparently Samson has been getting out of bed at naptime/bedtime. I say apparently because neither Vicki nor I have witnessed it, but yesterday, after both kids woke up from their naps, Vicki found some of Samson's toys (play food, actually --- a red bell pepper and an asparagus, to be precise) in Jane's crib.

And this morning, when I went in to get him, the pirate action figure he'd taken with him into bed was somehow standing in the crow's nest of the pirate ship across the room.

So either his room is haunted or he's getting up and cruising around when we think he's sleeping.

Stay tuned...

And so it begins...

Nora and Samson were line partners for yesterday's school parade.

Interestingly, this shot was taken before the boys and girls were asked to line up. Or to hold hands.

Halloween recap

In keeping with tradition, Samson, Jacob (the bee), and Oliver (ducky, which is his version of La-La) got together to do some trick or treating. Apparently three is the age where it clicks that free candy from strangers and being out at night is awesome.

Vicki was trying to get these guys to sit still and smile for the picture, when, in a fit of inspiration, she asked them to say "trick or poop." Comic gold. Also a little confusing for the houses left to be visited, but well worth the looks on their faces. Say what you will, but the word "poop" is just funny. I don't care how old you are.

Because Oliver's costume required explanation, I guess Samson figured that such action was part of the Halloween experience. So after saying trick or treat (or poop), he would inform the candy-giver, in all seriousness, "I'm a fireman." Occasionally he'd also let it be known that he was really Samson but in a fireman's costume. Full disclosure trick or treating.

It was too cool for Jane to go in just her dancer's costume, but the tutu held up pretty well over her pajamas. And she's started doing this really funny thing where she makes bubbles with her saliva while saying "mmwaaa, mmmwaaa." Apparently I did this as a child. We'll try and get a photo.

She's got two teeth coming in on top but not the front ones. So very shortly sweet Jane will have fangs. Good times.

I don't know that she's ever been outside at 7:30 at night, so for her this was like Alice stepping through the looking glass. We were probably only outside for 20 minutes, but she spent most of our walk looking around in absolute wonder.

Or maybe it was silent envy at the dozens of lollipops Samson was hauling in at every stop on the way. We all discovered last night that the downside to the boys being big enough to approach the houses on their own, as opposed to being carried to the door, is that they tend to pick out the candy they want. Which means Samson came home with enough lollipops to reenact the entire first season of Kojak. Bleah.