Summer's almost gone

Samson and his buddy, Jacob, continued their end-of-summer tradition today with a trip to the state fair. [Sidenote: I know he has changed a lot since last year, but holy cow it's amazing to see the difference.]

There were animals to see, games to play, rides to, er, ride, and deep-fried Oreos to try. What more could you want for a weekday in late August?

Jane: A photoessay

Jane had a very eventful day at the state fair. And people wonder why we call her Sweet Jane...

Diminished capacity

Yesterday afternoon we went to the park near our house. It's amazing to see how much more agile Samson has become in just a few months' time; things he needed help climbing in spring he can how race to the top of. [Yes, I did just end that sentence with a preposition. And you know what? I don't even feel bad about it. In fact, I might even do it again. OK, probably not right now though.]

In any event, yesterday Samson was showing off his new found agility on the monkey bars. He can get himself all the way across with almost no help at all, and he's great at scrambling onto the platform at the end. So, emboldened by his playground prowess, I decided to test out my simian skills. Which I am happy to inform are pretty good. I too was able to swing arm over arm across the bars without touching the ground.

Unfortunately, my spatial relation skills are not so good. I thought I'd cleared the last bar when I pulled myself up onto the platform. Sadly, I had not. On the upside, I managed not to scream (or cry) any expletives. But it hurt. A lot.

Samson sweetly looked down on his broken old dad from the platform and planted a kiss on the top of my head, saying "There. That will help you feel better."

Which it did. Sort of, but it took me a bit to shake the cobwebs. And I discovered last night, in addition to the Adam Rich-sized knot on my head, that I actually broke the skin.

Pathetic. Skinned knees, sure. Barked shins, of course. But scraped scalp? Ridiculous.

That said, I may try to slip out of work early today. I've already started "losing my train of thought" in conversations, and I think I just need to call one more person "Vicki," and I'll be home-free...

A different kind of space oddity

Every once in a while, I find a show that I really like and then poor Vicki has to put up with it taking up space on our TiVo. If you haven't seen HBO's "Flight of the Conchords," you really are missing out.



Honestly, this never fails to crack me up.

Among the things I hope for Samson and Jane as they grow older --- in addition to being compassionate and kind and just and wise and true to themselves and all the other good stuff --- I really hope they are funny.

Right now, some kid's Dad is imagining his boy receiving the Heisman Trophy or picturing his daughter delivering the valedictory address at Yale. Not that there's anything wrong with those things, but I'd much rather Sam and Jane be able to make people laugh --- even if it's just each other.

Lies

One of the most vital but least appreciated parenting skills, I've learned in nearly 3 years as a parent, is the ability to lie. T. Berry Brazelton isn't going to tell you this. Your mom isn't going to tell you this [actually, maybe your mom will, but not mine]. And it isn't in any of those clever Seuss parables the way that other important lessons (like epicurean curiosity or nuclear disarmament) are.

In any event, years from Samson will read this blog. I only hope he can find it in his heart to forgive me.

Lies I told this weekend:

1. "Sorry Samson, we took that book back to the library" --- the book in question, "Strawberry Shortcake's Berry Merry Christmas" is almost as long as Dreiser's American Tragedy and way more tragic. It arrived by way of Vicki's mom, who probably mistook it for one of Vicki's childhood books and almost certainly didn't look inside [Strawberry Shortcake's bluetooth and Huckleberry Pie's baseball hat worn Mike Cameron style would have been dead giveaways]. Said book is not, in fact, at the library but instead is hidden between the wall and the bookshelf. Anyone who puts him wise to its whereabouts will be condemned to read it to him. All 64 pages' worth. It's berry long indeed!

2. "Sorry we can't come to the party, but we already have plans" --- the party in question was a backyard birthday bash for N. Aside from the fact that the heat index yesterday was 105, and that the featured birthday dish was a full lamb on a spit, there's the whole language thing. Our neighbors are Bosnian nationals, as are all their friends, and collectively they speak about three dozen words of English; in fairness, Vicki and I collectively speak no words of Serbo-Croatian. Regardless, nodding and smiling is only fun for so long. Particularly given the fact that apparently people from Bosnia smoke a lot. And by a lot I mean as often as they breathe. I'm not going to get off on a clean air tear here, but I watched one of the guests arrive for the party holding his cellphone and three packs of Marlboros. Even if you were having a party with Keith Richards and Andy Capp, that would be a lot of smokes. Anyway, I lied, and we were spared. Although they did stop by with a lamb shank this morning from the leftovers. What I'd really like is the head, so I could put it on a stake on our front yard. A little Mr. Kurtz maneuver would probably give the miscreant who keeps leaving empty Styrofoam containers in front of my house pause. I digress...

3. "That sound reminds people to pay" --- We were apparently witnesses to someone trying to boost a few back to school clothes from the Banana Republic in the mall. Luckily we didn't have to see them being caught and/or chased, which I'd have to explain as "tag that grown-ups play."

4. "Leaving Iraq would be like repeating Vietnam" --- oh wait, that wasn't me.

That's my boy

Samson James had his first taste of sushi today. I realize in the photo that he's actually eating a tortellini with his chopsticks, but he did make his way over to the eel and avocado roll in the foreground, and he liked it a lot.

As the only seafood lover in the house (so far), this makes me very happy. And since Jane already thinks everything Samson does is cool, I may soon have a majority in the house.

Domo arigato, Samson. Domo arigato.

Space oddity

If you really want to confuse a toddler, photoshop him into a costume or landscape that he knows he's never inhabited. You can see their literal-mindedness fighting with their imagination; it's like Rocky vs Apollo in Rocky I. Without all the yelling. And cigar smoke.

This, by the way, is a graphic Vicki created for Samson's birthday invitations. He's really into space these days. I never thought I'd find myself watching the NASA channel. That said, it's way better than Hip Hop Harry.

Outside

More on our Saturday hike later, but I wanted to share these two pictures of Jane, who seemed to like her inaugural ride in the backpack.

[Full disclosure: These were shot at the beginning of our hike; somewhere around 40 minutes in, she'd had enough and was definitely not smiling.]

The constant gardener

We've been growing tomatoes and trying to grow peppers all summer. It's amazing how much fun you can have with a little dirt and some vegetables (or, in the case of the pepper plant, no vegetables).

The tomatoes are actually quite tasty, and while we're in no danger of becoming the Ingalls family, it's kind of fun to be able to go out on the deck and grab a few small tomatoes for a snack before dinner. [It's also probably not a bad idea for Samson to learn that food doesn't just come from the supermarket.]

Back to school

Today is Samson's first day back to school. I knew it would be different than last year because he's older, he has friends at school, and he knows the teachers. Even so, I was prepared for a little early-morning drama. Particularly as today is also Vicki's first day of work, so she and Jane were gone well before sleepyhead Sam was opening his eyes.

We'd been prepping him for the big day for a week or two now. Vicki and he had been playing school, and we'd been reading books about going to school. He even got a back-to-school haircut (complete with lollipop).

Because it doesn't officially start until after Labor Day, his school is run kind of like a day camp in the summertime. Which meant that we arrived on a scene of little people playing in a big room. The teachers all noted how big he'd gotten, and a few of his friends were sitting on the floor playing with trucks. He saw his nemesis from last year, Kaylee, and pointed and said: "That's the girl who takes things from me."

But beyond that, once he saw his buddy Colin and some trucks, he was ready to go. I leaned down to give him a hug and to offer a little pep talk and was greeted with a smile and a wave and a "bye Daddy!" And with that he was off to play.

So at least one of us didn't get teary this morning.

The wages of sin

Or at least the bribery of former lead peddlers. Because of the recall of Thomas trains, we had to return a half-dozen of his favorites (basically any of the red ones). Presumably we will be reimbursed or get a whole new crew in the mail sans lead. In the meantime, the good people who make Thomas toys (or, at least, the people responsible for damage control) sent Samson a free train for his trouble.

I wonder if they randomly chose the one they had the most of in stock or if they settled upon this after a series of focus groups to determine which train seemed most like a fun toy and least like an admission of guilt.

I imagine somebody with a powerpoint emphasizing the "need to move on." I wonder if this set will remain on shelves.

Model behavior

Luckily, the gift shop at the museum did not have Sam-sized aviator jackets [this one was a loaner].

I mean, it's cute for a photo and all, and it was generous of my folks to offer, but do I really want my child looking like a little version of the guy who wrote the Little Prince? Mon Dieu!

Anyway, my mother did think he might enjoy putting together a balsa wood biplane model. And she was totally right. Although the nailing on of the propeller was a little dicey.

And apparently "glue" and "paint" are not really distinct in Samson's mind. So while we put the model together last night and plan to paint it tonight, it's got a weird kind of Elmer's icing on the fuselage. Still it was a fun project for the two us.

I wasn't much of a model guy as a kid. Which is funny, because the one and only time I stole something from the 5-and-dime [yep, we really had one in my town], under the tutelage of my older (and clearly street-wiser) neighbor, it was a model.

The plan was like a grade school version of Ocean's Eleven. We would each buy a model, get our purchase, and then go back into the store (under the pretext of "having forgotten something"), and switch out the purchased one [cheaper and probably a Snap-Tite] for a more expensive one [presumably one needing glue]. Oddly enough, it worked.

So I think I "traded" a Japanese Zero that I was eminently capable of constructing for a pickup truck I had neither the skills nor the interest to put together. Come to think of it, I gave it to Ronny --- which was probably his plan in the first place.

Anyway, Sam and I are model guys now. Or at least we will be again when this one breaks. Which may be soon as he keeps asking when we can take it outside to fly. Stay tuned.

Come fly with me

My folks were in town this past weekend, and we took them to the aviation museum. The weather was perfect, and we got to have a picnic lunch outside and watch some of the single-engine planes taking off and landing on the airstrip behind the museum.

Sweet Jane is really starting to enjoy the perks of being able to sit up.

Sweet Jane

This is a few days late, but here's sweet Jane celebrating 7 months on planet Earth.

Get back to work!

Well, you've frittered away another perfectly good year reading this blog. Today marks the second anniversary of dada-ism, and I just want to say thank you for reading. This is truly a labor of love, not to mention an excellent procrastination tool (see Thesis, still unfinished).

But don't take my word for it. Here's what the critics have said:

"I printed out your blob. You write very nicely." --- my mom

"Guess what? I don't do e-mail." --- my dad

Needless to say, I'm trying not to let all of this go to my head. But it's been a good two years. Thanks for being part of it.

Jane is now seven months old (!), and Samson turns three (!!) next month, so there's certainly much more to come.

Stay tuned...

The importance of being ironic

So we went to an 80s-themed barbecue on Saturday. With the kids representing the Bonsai dojo, we thought it only right that Vicki and I represent Cobra Kai.

So, ever-industrious, Vicki designed a second set of t-shirts featuring the All Valley Karate Championship logo and the Cobra Kai dojo logo. We even got to wear those tough-looking black headbands made popular by a young Billy Zabka back in the day.

At the party, there were some very clever outfits --- some mullet wigs, lots of ripped up jorts, a guy in Richard Simmons gear, and even an original charm necklace.

Like any costume party, some folks opted not to dress, which to me is not only weird but kind of rude. But I digress. It was getting late [and by late, I mean near Jane's bedtime of 6:30 pm] when a recent, non-costumed arrival sidled over to me as his daughter and Samson were playing. He looked to be about my age, maybe a year or two younger. [This is important to remember.] Taking note of my t-shirt, he asked: "So, were you at the All Valley championship?"

Assuming he was in on the joke, I said, "Oh, yeah. All the Cobra Kais were there."

To which he followed up: "So how did you do?"

Again, still thinking he was being ironic, I said, "I was disqualified. You know, the whole 'sweeping the leg thing.' "

He then paused, looked a bit confused, and asked, "Is that move against the rules? I mean, I guess it could be really dangerous, right?"

At which point I realized we'd been having two entirely different conversations. Now I should point out that we were at an 80s party and that I was not only wearing a black t-shirt with a fierce-looking cobra on it but also a black headband.

I would have understood if I'd shown up as disgraced former Secretary of the Interior James Watt or pine tar or the winner of the 1983 Nobel Prize in literature. Even Clara Peller has been lost to the ages...

But Cobra Kai? Cobra freaking Kai?

We are the 80s

We were invited to an 80s party on Saturday. More on this to follow (including a life lesson on the importance of being ironic), but I thought you'd appreciate some pictures of Sam and Jane's costumes.

PS: Samson's not unhappy here; this is his All Valley Karate Championship tournament game face. You can't see it from this angle, but he's actually preparing to do the crane kick.

Damn you, Curious George!

My office is pretty close to our home, so occasionally I can slip out at lunchtime [usually when I forget my lunch] and get home for a sandwich. Today I stumbled upon a veritable feast: Vicki had made gnocchi with an olive oil and garlic sauce with some herbs (basil and thyme) from our garden. Needless to say, I was glad I'd forgotten to pack tuna.

Unfortunately, Samson has, of late, become a little less adventurous about trying new foods. He's still a pretty good eater, and he's probably already tried more types of food at nearly 3 [yikes!] than I had by age 10. And the message of "Green Eggs and Ham" has not been lost on him, because he keeps offering me things to eat (like Play-Doh) and responding to my rebuffs with "try them, try them and you may I say..."

I digress. Curious George, the PBS kids show, has several characters that seem to come out of 1930s Central Casting. Among them is a large Italian chef who speaks in broken English and is very emotional. Chef Pisghetti, in addition to being like a cross between this guy and that one, has a cat named Gnocchi.

So you can imagine Samson's reaction when we served him up a nice steaming plate [OK, actually a cooled and neatly cut up plate] full of gnocchi.

On the plus side, if I can convince him to watch a little VH-1 Classic, we may never ever have to face meatloaf for dinner.

Let the wild rumpus begin...

Sorry for the lack of posts of late. Busy at work. Busy at home. Too lazy to write in complete sentences.

Anyway, this past weekend Samson's friend Jordan had a birthday party at Port Discovery. Lots of fun to stuff to see, do, and climb on.

The theme of the party, I guess, was "Where the Wild Things Are," so at one point, one of the party attendants/employees announced that all the kids were going to another room to hear the story and do some crafts. To which she added, "Any parents who want to come are welcome, but you can also stay here in this room and chat and enjoy the food if you like. We'll be making masks and using scissors and glue." Not one parent stayed behind.

To her credit, she was great with the kids. But a dozen two- and three-year-olds with scissors and no parents is never a good idea. As Samson's classmate, Caroline, demonstrated: The "safety" part of a safety scissor is not like the safety on a gun. You can still poke yourself in the eye with it.

I'm assuming the party attendants were both college students --- probably early child development or education majors. Again, they were very nice, but their sense of "we can handle it" was sort of a "bring it on" moment.

No doubt full of can-do good intentions but probably best left untested.