Worth reading

Saw this article today in the NY Times. Worth a read.

Obviously, Samson and Jane are a long ways away from college, but I look at the current environment and the long, joyless processions of kids I see shuttled to and from music lessons, sports, and compulsory community service projects with a fair degree of dread. It reminds me a little of Fritz Lang's "Metropolis," albeit in minivans and SUVs.

I'm not nearly as old as the author of the Times piece, but I wonder at this generation of high school overachievers and where all this application-worthy experience is leading.

One of the best summer jobs I ever had was working as a busboy/waiter/barback at a restaurant. I'm sure a summer internship with my district's congressman would have done wonders for my resume, but I'm kind of glad that I wasn't thinking about my resume at 19.

I'm not trying to sabotage my kids' futures or anything, and who knows, perhaps they will both be desperate for schedules as full as any CEO's, but I really hope they can just be kids.

There's no spot on a college application for tree climbing. Which is kind of what makes it fun, no?

Pagan babies, take two

A while back I posted about a colleague who in her joy at Jane's arrival was also grimly concerned about the fate of Jane's immortal soul.

Well, apparently she can worry no longer. The church (or the Church, if you prefer) has declared the whole limbo thing to be a little, well, wrong.

OK, not exactly, but it's as close as you're going to get to an admission of error on the issue.

Regardless, Jane's baptism is scheduled for next week. And let's be honest, the initiation into the church is important (at least to me), but does anyone really believe, in their heart of hearts, that 'original sin' --- which, for my money, is a great plot device but hardly a solid operating principle --- is more powerful than innocence and love?

And what, if not those two things, are infants after all?

If there's no saving those tiny ones who haven't yet had the chance to make a mess of things, why on earth should the rest of us get a chance?

Seriously, you might as well just join the yakuza --- those guys don't forgive anyone. Ever.

Random

So we're at the zoo today, and as we walk past the food court I see a guy walking around with a bottle of Bud. This surprised me. For one, I had no idea they sold beer at the zoo. [Do you really want to increase your chances of somebody accepting a dare to hop into the rhino habitat?]

And for two, I couldn't for the life of me figure out why you'd need to have a beer while at the zoo. Either you really, really like the taste of beer [3 pm Sunday in the petting zoo be damned!] or spending time with your family is so painful that you've stopped caring what anyone else thinks and you're just going to tilt back that little brown bottle and let it ride.

Either way, it's weird, no? Like the people who buy pornography at an airport newsstand.

Saturday in the park

Spring has finally arrived, and we finally got the chance to get outside and enjoy a picnic lunch and some general running around.

Jacob joined us, and he and Samson spent a good deal of time gathering sticks, running with said sticks [to repeated choruses of "no running with sticks, guys!], and trying to climb trees.


Good times.

Friends, real and imaginary

Samson has a lot of friends. I bring this up because you would think (or at least, I would) that in making up names for his toys, he'd pick from the list of children he knows. Between friends he's known all his life (literally) like Jacob and Oliver to kids he's met at school this year, like Jordan, there should be no shortage of names.

Even so, almost every toy gets named either Bedai [pronounced BEE-dye] or Dai-dai [pronounced DYE-DYE].

Full disclosure: I'm guessing here on the spelling, but I feel like going with the "ai" at the end gives them a kind of Old Testament meets Kung-Fu sensibility. Plus, that's how I see them in my head when he says them. [Am I the only one who sees words in his head when they're spoken?]

Any attempt to get him to see the difficulty in having a whole society of toys with the same two names seems to fall on deaf ears. Yesterday, his Playmobil plane took off for Congo [no, I'm not kidding] with five passengers, four of whom were named Bedai. The fifth was Gog, which apparently still resonates somewhere in that swirling little mind of his.

Speaking of planes, we've started playing a game where we spot a plane in the sky and try to figure out where it's going. Lately, all flights seem headed for Congo, with an occasional flight bound for Australia and a rare one headed to "my school."

Foreshadowing

I realize that Samson looks like me, but wow...

The best thing about this, if you're looking for the story behind the photo, is that while he may look deep in thought, this was apparently a nanosecond before he started picking his nose.

Makes you wonder about all those very serious-looking book jacket photos of authors, doesn't it?

Head on

Jane is apparently a lot more tolerant of "tummy time" than her big brother was. This may be because she's given up on feeling safe on her back; even when she can see him coming, she can't stop him.

Something tells me she's going to be an early walker.

One little monkey

Apparently we do jump on the bed in our house. I stand corrected.

Grace

I've written before about Samson's strictness when it comes to saying grace before meals, but tonight we finally got to hear the whole version of what they say at school. All two lines of it:

"We fold our hands and softly say: thank you for our food today. Amen."

This may not seem like a big deal to you, but we've been asking for months about what they say at lunch with no success. We do get full reports on who got a time-out, who tried to eat his lunch (usually Jordan), and other assorted dispatches (e.g., I didn't kiss Nora today). But we've never gotten to hear the whole thing.

So tonight was pretty special.

Not to mention that seeing young Samson fold his hands, put on his most serious (and presumably thankful) face, and say grace almost brought tears to my eyes.

I don't know about you, but given events of late, I could use a little more grace in my life.

Safety first

Vicki's uncle is in town and arrived bearing the best of gifts: safety goggles.

This is the same uncle who has already given Samson a genuine hardhat and safety vest, so he's pretty much cemented his status as a superhero in our house.

Sitting up, taking notice

Vicki, ever the vigilant web researcher, found this seat online called a bumbo seat.

Essentially, it's a piece of molded foam/plastic that allows a very tiny infant to sit up without being physically able to sit up.

We think it's pretty cool; Jane doesn't seem all that sure.

Holy orders

Apparently Samson has been paying a lot more attention in church than we realized. Yesterday he started walking through the house with his wiffle ball bat raised like this and telling us he was an altar boy. And a priest.

It's not like we discuss Vatican II at dinner or something; to be honest, in a good month we make Mass two Sundays out of four. But clearly something has resonated.

So we're sort of torn between thinking this is kind of funny and being a little unnerved at our two-year-old walking around the house like an extra from "The Warriors."

At last...

Finally, proof of Jane's smiliness. Here's a shot of sweet Jane in her Easter outfit.

For those about to rock...

Samson got a little toy electric guitar in his Easter basket and spent much of Easter weekend rocking out. At one point, he must have been channeling guitar legends of the past because he stopped in the middle of the kitchen floor at my parents' house and uttered this low, throaty, MonsterTruck-style, growl of "ROCKOUT!!!!!" and then proceeded to do just that.

Tough to catch on film, but this is him rocking out in the living room on Easter Sunday.

Speaking of which, is there any greater holiday for choking hazards than one which involves tons of small candy before breakfast?

He is risen; have some candy

We're back from a nice long weekend in New York to celebrate the choking-hazard festival that is Easter. It felt like February for most of our time there, but we managed to get outside and play every day anyway. I'm back at work, and the photos are on the laptop at home, so more to come later today...

Side by side

Samson and Jane took the new stroller out for an inaugural run (actually a walk) for some lunch by the lake.


A good time was had by (almost) everyone. Sorry Janie...

The wrong stuff

Samson is home from school today with a wicked diaper rash. He's going through some kind of Omerta phase about letting us know when he's pooped --- which is no big deal when we're home but really causes trouble when we've spent the day outside.

In order to speed the healing process, Vicki thought it made sense to let him go sans culottes this morning.

But we stressed that if he felt the need to go to the bathroom, he should let us know. To make things even easier, we put the potty in his bedroom, just a few feet away from his train table.

And it worked. Mostly. All morning, he'd announce "I have to pee!" and then go sit on his potty. He'd then announce "I peed!" and proceed on his merry way.

That was before I left for work. At about 9, just as I was pulling into the lot at my office, I got a call on my cell from Vicki. She was in the bathroom brushing her teeth when she heard the following from Samson, who was playing in his room: "It looks like a banana!!!"

I'll let her tell the rest of the story...

The right stuff

Yesterday was the kite festival on the National Mall. It was part of the Cherry Blossom Festival, which, in case you were wondering, is being brought to you this year by the good people at Target. I'm sure that's just what the citizens of Tokyo had in mind 95 years ago. Nothing says friendship and understanding like super-low prices on home goods and toiletries.

[By the way, what did they do with the Cherry Blossom Festival during World War II? Did they pull an "I Love Lucy" after Castro's ascendance, pretending Ricky was Mexican? (I think that's true by the way, but I can't find any evidence right now; besides I'm supposed to be working on my thesis). Or do cherry blossoms seem sufficiently American that they didn't need to do any freedom fries type maneuvers? I digress.]

Anyway, the wind was gusty but not constant, which meant I had a better chance of getting Sam airborne than our kite. Which was fine, as he really just wanted to run around on the giant lawn anyway [especially since the last time we were in DC, the Mall looked like this].

So we did lots of running and ultimately ended up at the Air and Space Museum.


Lots of cool hands-on stuff, but I think we oversold it on the walk over. Samson, apparently, was led to believe we'd be flying a rocket ship.

This pretty much made up for it, though.


In case you're wondering, he's looking at the girl patiently waiting her turn behind him in line.

Christ on the cross, Sam on the drums

Palm Sunday Mass, we've just heard Luke's account of the Passion. Samson is sitting on the floor quietly and contentedly coloring. As the choir begins to sing, he picks up two crayons and begins air drumming.

When they finish he adds a "psssh" sound and strikes his air cymbal. He did this after every song for the rest of Mass. Including the super somber flute solo/closing hymn "Were you there?"

Nothing like trying to stifle laughter in church on the most solemn day of the year. I had always assumed having children might be my ticket into heaven.

Smiley face

This is as close as we've gotten to "ocular proof," but Jane is full of smiles these days.

We'll keep trying...