7.26.2007

Not exactly "My Dinner with Andre"


Sometimes a picture really is worth a thousand words. Particularly when the words that accompanied the situation went something like: "Samson, please stop hiding in your shirt and finish your corn."

Enough of cute photo and darnedest-things-said contests. There needs to be some kind of contest for the most ridiculous thing you've asked your child to stop doing. Like "Samson, please come away from the screen door and get your pants on" or "Hey, Sam, please don't put the cat's tail in Jane's mouth."

It would be way more slice-of-life than precocious moments in the checkout line. [Sidenote: That being said, I did get word that the other day while Vicki was at the DMV, Samson took the time to point out that a very large woman behind them on line was not only "BIG" but had "crazy hair." Good times...]

7.25.2007

Somewhere, beyond the sea...

OK, not exactly. More like just past the docks and beyond the harbor. Even so, it was nice to be on the water.

I won a 60-minute sightseeing tour at a work function recently, and since Saturday was unseasonably nice, we figured it would be a good time to make use of the freebie.

Also, Vicki and I got home at 1:15 that morning from a Police concert the night before, and with Samson up just a few hours after that, this was about the only thing we could rouse ourselves to do. As if going to a concert in a minivan wasn't enough of an indication that we'd gotten old.

The narration for the tour is canned, so it was funny to hear --- interspersed among the facts about the harbor and its history --- how many American cities have taken the "Baltimore model" for developing their own waterfronts and urban areas. Presumably this means pedestrian malls replete with shopping and mid-range chain restaurants and not a homicide rate that even the Homicide writers couldn't have dealt with. So it goes.

We got a little tour of the captain's wheelhouse(?). [Sidenote: I have no idea what it's called, or, for that matter, what people mean when they say something is in someone else's wheelhouse, but for the sake of argument, I'm assuming it's the small-ship version of a captain's bridge. At least, that's what I told Samson.]

Inside were the captain and ship's mate, one of whom seemed only to be able to converse in questions --- Are you from out of town? Is this your first tour? Do you like it? Can you believe this weather? --- and the other who was visibly disappointed that the two or three 20-something girls who were probably accompanying maiden aunts on some sort of Saturday forced-march around the harbor were infinitely less interested in touring the wheelhouse than Samson was.

As usual, Jane took the high road and slept.

7.24.2007

Happy birthday!

Because today is Vicki's birthday, the kids decided to make it last as long as humanly possible by not taking naps.

Needless to say, Vicki's hoped-for scenario of peace, quiet, and reading the latest Harry Potter didn't happen. But we did get to have chocolate cake for dinner...

7.23.2007

Feeding time

Lots to catch up on but no time to write right now. Here's some shots of Samson the helper and Jane the good sport...


7.17.2007

Permanent record

Remember making forts? Man, I miss doing that.

By the way, the "temporary" tattoo on Samson's arm has lasted nearly two weeks now. No idea how to get it off, but let's hope his preschool doesn't have some kind of policy on this sort of thing.

Six degrees of Samson

Sundance channel has a new series called "Live from Abbey Road," where musicians play a song or two at the famous studio and viewers get to watch. Pretty straightforward concept, and the line-up over the past two episodes has been an interesting mix of new(er) bands, like the Zutons, some older acts, like Shawn Colvin, and some truly off-the-wall guests, like Iron Maiden.

Yep, Iron Maiden.

I imagine the mere presence of the band that brought you such classics as "Run to the Hills," "Aces High," and "Can I Play with Madness?" has left three out of four Beatles spinning in their graves. [OK, so Ringo's not technically dead, but still...]

Anyway, I thought Samson would greatly enjoy watching the Gipsy Kings do their "we have 87 people in our band each clapping and playing two guitars" thing.

And indeed, he did. The GKs were the segment immediately preceding Iron Maiden [to be referred to from here on out as "Maiden," in accordance with the rules set down by the guys in my high school who took auto shop, metal shop, wood shop, and (occassionally) my lunch money.]

So Maiden comes on to play their classic "Hallowed Be Thy Name," which starts out slow, and Samson turns to me and says: "Will they get loud?"

Ask and ye shall receive, young Samson. No sooner had the question been raised than the drums kicked in and the band, who all look old enough to remember the blitzkrieg in London, duly rocked out. Which scared Sam a little. Still, he was impressed by the number of drums and cymbals in the drummer's kit. He also noted that the singer "yelled loud."

I have "The Number of the Beast" on cassette, so when I checked out iTunes to see what Maiden had on offer digitally, you can imagine my surprise to see that Bruce Dickinson, legendary frontman for the band, was formerly the lead singer of a band called Samson. Go figure.

7.16.2007

Happy Feet, Unhappy Fashionistas

Really silly article in Slate about Crocs portending the end of Western civilization.

I'm not sure if the writer has kids, but any shoe that a two-year-old [almost three; I know, Sam; I know] can put on himself is OK in my book.

As for the adult-sized versions, I'm with her on the no socks with Crocs rule. But quoting from the editor of Lucky magazine (the Paris Review for the QVC set) as she channels her inner Heather lends no credence to the argument.

If anything, it makes me want to wear the goofy rubber shoes even more.

7.15.2007

Overheard

I've always found the whole kids saying darnedest things shtick kind of cloying. This aversion, however, will not stop me from subjecting you to it, so consider yourself warned:

Samson is now at an age where he is repeating a lot of what he hears. Which is, well, interesting. Particularly since he clearly picks up on things we don't even realize we say.

Like "apparently." Apparently I use this word a lot. Also in heavy rotation are "You sure can" and "of course." He's also big on "probably."

Consider this Friday morning exchange about a possible hot pocket [slang at our house for poo in the diaper. I should point out that credit for that phrase is due to Jacob's mom. I'd love to claim credit for being that clever, but she reads this blog and would surely --- and rightly --- call me on it.]

Me: "Hey, did you poop?"

Samson: "Probably."

So nearly every day we get an odd phrase or word handed back to us, rarely in its original wrapper.

Lord only knows what he took away from Vicki's annoyance with the whole Thomas train recall, but the other day at breakfast he kept addressing us as "Consumers: Chinese boys and girls."

He also requested a snack at lunchtime by saying to Vicki: "Let's get some grapes goin' "

7.11.2007

Weighing in


There's probably a reason that the scales at the pediatrician's office are shaped like little cradles...

Jane has her six-month checkup next week, but Vicki was curious to see how much weight she'd gained since her last visit. We think she's up to 15 lbs, but it's kind of hard to vouch for the accuracy of the measurement.


7.10.2007

Big Brother is Watching

Samson's lifelong friend Oliver became a big brother yesterday. Vicki took care of O for the day while his parents were at the hospital, and the boys had a really fun time.

When I got home from work, I asked who in the house was a big brother and got two very enthusiastic "ME"s. When I asked what the baby's name was, I got the following responses:

"Curious George" (from Oliver)

"Doo-doo" (from Samson)

Perfect. Just fyi: The baby's name is Vivian, and she is doing just fine. Interestingly, this is the third of Samson's friends to have a new baby sister this year. So playgroup 2.0 is well under way.

Because Vicki is terrific, she organized a big brother party for Oliver. Which included cake and ice cream and a party hat. And of course, there was music.


So welcome baby Vivian, and congrats to O and his mom and dad.

7.08.2007

Mad Dogs, Englishmen, and Our Family


It was easily 95 degrees outside today, but since today was the second Sunday of the month we didn't want to miss our chance to ride a miniature model train (two actually).

These guys (and I do mean guys) offer free rides once a month. It's kind of a well-kept secret around here, but it's well worth whatever kind of weather you need to endure to experience it.

The track goes in a two-mile loop, complete with crossings, signals, sidings, and the rest. My knowledge of train jargon comes almost exclusively from Thomas the Tank Engine, so all you train cognoscenti out there will have to forgive me if I'm not doing the track justice.


Samson and I rode the freight train, and then he and Vicki rode the freight train, which Sam and I followed up with a ride in little Pullman cars on the New York Central locomotive. Did I mention it was a well-kept secret? There were about two dozen people there, including parents and children, so there was really no waiting and no limit to how many rides you could take. Which accounted for the two Daniels on board for both rides I was on.

I don't want to make any sweeping generalizations from such a small sample size, but Daniel might be making a bid to become the new Kyle.

7.06.2007

Aeropostale

We visited an aviation museum today. Not only is it situated next to a working airstrip, but it's about a half mile from the tracks that carry the DC Metro, Amtrak, and CSX freight lines.

Samson and I were sitting under a tree watching a guy do the pre-flight check of his Cessna when we heard a train whistle and saw a freight train with about a hundred cars go roaring by. I thought Sam was going to explode.

The museum itself is terrific: very kid friendly and lots to do and see. It was pretty empty, which was good because somebody kind of hogged the virtual Wright Brothers exhibit. [I'm not naming any names, but I think it's safe to say that in addition to writing "Mrs. Corey Haim" on her Trapper Keeper folders in junior high, somebody spent a good portion of 1987 on her Commodore 64 playing Flight Simulator.]

Clearly a portion of that gene has been passed along...

For her part, Jane was pretty impressed with the exhibit on wind currents. It had floating beach balls and a cool vacuum cleaner sound.


And of course, what would a visit to an aviation museum be without the chance to wear an old-school flight suit? Mission accomplished, indeed...


7.05.2007

Happy birthday, America



We went to the parade on July 4 morning. I mention morning (10:30 to be precise), because apparently people tailgate for this thing?

We didn't notice the guys on the hill behind us until after we got home and downloaded the photos. Look at the trees in the upper right corner. I'm with them: If I can't pee in public, the terrorists have already won. God bless you Lee Greenwood.

And I'm not sure what the deal was with the woman on the blanket behind us. She arrived with her husband and a small child. They left to get a pretzel, and she immediately turned into an extra from "Trainspotting." Weird.

Anyway, the parade itself was fine. Since it's not an election year, we had far fewer candidate floats. But they stacked the parade up so that everyone who won office last year was in the first part of the parade. Which meant convertible after convertible of politicians but no music. Not even a drum. So by the time the clerk of courts rolled by, it was getting kind of quiet.


There were, however, lots of firetrucks and some Army vehicles. And quite a few marching bands, including, interestingly, this one. I'll tell you what, those Lutherans can get down. I'm not sure which of the 95 Theses mentioned bringing the funk, but they blew us away. OK, not really. They just marched past us in cadence on their way to the reviewing stand, where they gave a rousing version of "A Might Fortress is Our God." It's the sousaphones that really make that song; I've been saying it for years.

Department of Apologies: Samson was a pill for the first few hours of the day, so by the time we got to the parade site and ran into some friends we were supposed to meet, I said hi but barely stopped the stroller in my quest to get a shady spot [exactly how shady would later be revealed in our photos] before the parade got underway. So, sorry guys.

7.02.2007

Baba O'Samson

That YouTube is a powerful thing. Samson is constantly trying out new ways to play his guitar [we're in trouble if he ever sees the footage of Hendrix at Monterey].

In any event, he was doing this crazy arm thing, and I told him he looked like Pete Townshend of the Who. Later on that day, I sat him on my lap, typed in "pete townsend baba o'riley," and hey presto: this clip.

By the way, this song (and possibly even the performance linked to above) predate the birth of both of Samson's parents. I'm just saying...

So we now have Samson jumping all over the house and trying his best to do that windmill thing "like PIT TOWNHEAD." If Blogger ever allows me to post video directly, you can see for yourself. I'll try to get some photos up in the meantime.

Long live rock.

7.01.2007

Food and drink

Apparently watermelon for Jane is like Scooby snacks for Shaggy [and Scooby too, but you'd expect that, no?]

To date, Sweet Jane has shown absolutely no interest in food at all. At her last few visits with the pediatrician, he has asked "Is she interested in food? Does she try to grab your food?" Aside from the fact that she's on her first nap when we eat breakfast and headed to bed as we're sitting down to dinner, I just don't think she has much interest in food right now. Honestly, we've mashed up banana, given her a taste of mashed up avocado; heck, we even got these little rice cookies made especially for babies. No deal.

Watermelon, however, is a whole other story. We were having dinner last night and had some watermelon for dessert. On a whim, I gave her a tiny piece to suck on. The reaction was sort of like the one I remember seeing on the face of the kid who "experimented" with drugs in one of those mandatory school indoctrination films. [Remember those? Where a bunch of nebbishy junior high kids have somehow scored the kind of pot only Bob Marley roadies could find. And what's more: They're dead set on making their one friend try it. Said friend immediately becomes Ray Milland from "The Lost Weekend." I digress.]

After the tiniest taste of watermelon, Jane's eyes opened wide(r), her little arms started to wave and wiggle, and she pretty much went bonkers any time we tried to pull the fruit away from her. Crazy, no? [And we didn't even need peer pressure.]

Along similar lines of food discovery, we've determined that Samson has no use for flavors or names when picking out ice cream. He goes for the color. And by "goes for," I mean shows the same palette preference as a girl from the Valley circa 1983. The last time we went out for ice cream, he had this electric green concoction that was supposed to taste like sour apples. It was sweet enough that he'll probably have cavities in his permanent molars when they come in six or seven years from now.

Today, he opted for ice cream that was pink and blue and yellow and about as tasty as you'd imagine those three colors/flavors of ice cream to be.

Of course, his selection criteria make sense in a way. Despite the fact that chocolate and strawberry are great and classic flavors, unless you know they're good, you're probably not going to opt for the cylinder of light brown or pale pink looking stuff. And forget about vanilla...