Vintage Sam

We are finally going to meet Luke , and in anticipation of the trip this coming weekend, we went through Samson's clothes from his infancy to offer whatever hand-me-downs we could for the little guy.

Sam helped, as you can see, and he really enjoyed putting on his old clothes. I think he's got three or four things on in that picture (most of which are either 0-3 or 3-6 months in size).

Not to mention his old fall/winter hat, which now looks like a sporty wool yarmulke.

Flashback

Vicki just sent me some photos of Samson from when he was Jane's age.

Wow, where did that time go?

Guess who's not napping?

Also, guess whose crib mattress was lowered immediately after this little photo shoot?

Renaissance Man

I was out of town for work this weekend and so missed Samson's first brush with the alternative universe known as a Renaissance Festival.

As with anything, his impressions come out in bits and pieces, so I expect over the next few days to hear about jousting and jugglers and other period-appropriate activities. For now, he's pretty big on the bubbles. And pirates?!

I'm no Elizabethan expert, but methinks somebody at the RenFest decided to capitalize on Disney's ride-turned-endless-sequel-franchise.

And you can forget the turkey legs and mead. There was ice cream there that would have made a Tudor blush.

Bring your daughter to work day

Ok, so it's not officially BYDTWD, and I'm sure the designers of the day --- however well intentioned --- did not mean for it to apply to 8 month olds. But Vicki's mom is sick so we split the difference with her going in until noon and me taking Sweet Jane to the office with me.

I think she was pretty underwhelmed with what I do for a living, but at least she was polite about it.

And to be honest, she couldn't have been better behaved. Not only did she give a lot of strangers smiles, but she slept soundly on my shoulder for nearly a half hour while I proofed and revised a document I'd been working on.

We didn't tell Samson about this, as I don't think bring your toddler to work day would go nearly as smoothly.

Plus, I've told him I'm an astronaut...

A Sam by any other name...

If I ever availed myself of all those child development books we (read: Vicki) purchased before Samson was born, I'm sure I'd learn that 3 is just about the age where experimentation with identity begins. Further, I'm sure I'd discover that this development is particularly associated with a growing appreciation of play and a burst of growth in the imagination department.

What this means in real life, to me, is that for the past five days, I have come home to a small boy who proclaims: "I'm Diego." Except he says it more like Dee-AYE-goh. I have only seen the Diego show once or twice, but apparently it involves being naked except for a fleece vest and jumping on the couch. At least, that's Sam's version of Diego-dom.

He's also been assigning us roles. Vicki is various teachers from his school, assorted swim instructors, Alicia (Diego's sister?), and/or a firefighter.

Somewhat more prosaically, I am usually Jordan, a boy from his class. Or a sea turtle.

Milestone

This is post number 500 of the blog, which gives me an excuse to post some gratuitous Sam and Jane photos. Enjoy.

Scared straight: birthday edition

Samson's buddy, Jacob, had his birthday party on Saturday at the local volunteer firehouse. Sadly, we forgot our camera, but we've been assured some photos are on the way.

We had initially thought we were going to miss Jacob-palooza, but Sam's low-grade fever was just high enough to keep us from visiting Luke [if there's one thing new parents don't need, it's a sick baby]. However, we figured Jacob and the rest of the crew were all germy enough to handle Sam's runny nose and sneezes. [Note: If Jacob is sick today, he was probably already coming down with something before the party, and we take no responsibility.]

So we got to the firehouse and were greeted by "Fireman Mike," who looked sort of like Henry Rollins and had the demeanor of a state trooper at a Phish concert. He began by letting all the parents know that if at any time the fire alarm went off, we were to grab our children by their "hair, ear, hand, or whatever and get them out of the way." Good times.

He then informed the kids, all without taking a breath: "When Fireman Mike is talking, you're not talking. If you have a question, you raise your hand. But while I'm talking, you are sitting down and listening." It was sort of like the first time Maria met Captain von Trapp's kids, but way less gay and campy.

Anyway, the kids were impressed/intimidated. I have never seen a roomful of three-year-olds sit still for 20 minutes. Fireman Mike's presentation was actually very useful; he gave a really good talk on fire safety --- even if it was peppered with the kind of delivery that would probably have worked better with kids who'd been caught playing with matches. Or maybe kids who were five or six.

Perhaps one of the best parts of his spiel was when he showed another firefighter donning his gear and kept emphasizing to the kids that even though the heavy coat and mask may look scary, firemen are not scary and are there to help.

Then he jumped the shark, demonstrating the emergency locator beacon feature of the fireman's suit, which is activated when a firefighter remains down for more than 45 seconds.

Not only was the sound ear-splitting, but just in case any of us had spent the past few years with the good folks of the Dharma initiative, he referenced it as something we might remember hearing on 9/11. Nothing like bringing up the nation's worst domestic terror attack just before we all adjourned for pizza and a ride on the fire truck. Not to mention the fact that Sam, Jacob, and the rest of the funky bunch were all negative three years old on the date that Rush Limbaugh and the rest of Red State America started loving NYC and stopped thinking of it as Gomorrah to San Francisco's Sodom.

Anyway, Mike was actually a very nice guy, just not particularly at ease around toddlers. I'm guessing he showed up late to a meeting or something and this was the result.

For their part, the kids were all amazingly well behaved [maybe Mike is on to something]. The ride in the engine was awesome, and the kids all got to hold a fire hose while Mike helped them put out a "fire."

And Samson, because he's Samson, got us a tour of the radio room by asking about the dispatcher.

Birthday recap

Samson spent his third birthday much like he spent his first, kind of sick and slightly feverish. Even so, we had a little pizza party at the house with Nana and Papi, and Sam got some pretty cool gifts, including the Playmobil skate park you see above.

For weeks he'd been asking for a skateboard, and we actually did get him a scooter for his birthday [pictures to follow, including one that shows what happens when speed and Samson meet gravity and pavement]. But this seemed like the most sensible way to handle the skateboard request.

And I'm pretty sure it's a hit: He tried to take it into bed with him last night.

We pulled up some old Bones Brigade videos on You Tube so Samson could see real skaters doing cool tricks. Which got me to thinking that when I was a kid, part of the appeal of skateboarding was its rebellious image.

There were probably only a handful of kids (mostly guys) in any given junior high school who could have told you who Animal Chin was, much less who was looking for him.

Likewise, to have a "skateboarding is not a crime" sticker on your locker, book bag, etc. signaled you were out of the mainstream and intentionally so. [Full disclosure: I didn't have one of those, but I wanted one. I was also pretty lame on a skateboard, lacking the necessary components of coordination and fearlessness --- and of course, actually owning a board --- that would have made me a decent skater. I did have a lot of friends who skated though, and I'm happy to rewrite history so that my son thinks I had to make a tough decision between focusing on my skating or writing for the school paper.]

[Sidenote: This is not unlike the kind of revisionist music history that you see in movies, like Donnie Darko, where the Halloween party has Joy Division and Echo and the Bunnymen playing in the background. I can say, proudly and truthfully, that I listened to those bands in the 80s, but I remember the parties I went to usually had soundtracks provided by White Snake or Steve Miller Band. I digress.]

Anyway, clearly times have changed, which makes me wonder if Samson's generation --- having been raised to think of skating as mainstream in the same way that listening to "alternative" music is hardly alternative at all --- will go the other way. Will we see stickers on lockers like "Debating is not a crime" or "Model U.N.: If you have to ask, you wouldn't understand."?

Year in review

My how you've grown...

Mom and Janie and I sure do love you, Samson James. Happy birthday, little man.

Shoeless Sam

This morning was Sam's first day in shoes since the spring thaw. Honestly, between the no shoes thing and his desperate need to be naked, you'd think his parents were Pap Finn and Nell.

Yes, I realize he's been wearing Crocs all summer. But I don't feel like those really count. As much as I love them, and I do, they're shoes in the same way that a visor is a hat. Which is to say, not at all.

Anyway, we put his new sneakers on this morning, and I immediately began the P.R. offensive: "I bet you can jump really high in those cool new sneakers."

Sam: "I jump high in my Crocs"

Me: "Yeah, but they fall off."

Sam: "I put them back on."

Me: "Well, I bet everyone at school will really like them."

Sam: "I just don't know."

We finally convinced him to try them by letting him break them in with a footrace around the living room.

If you've been in our living room, you know that we might as well have scheduled a footrace in a FotoMat [remember those?]

Regardless, it seemed to work, and we heard no more about the shoes. Tomorrow, of course, is another day...

Rotisserie league

Jane has become a master at rolling over.

Which means she is getting really close to being able to crawl.

It also means that she has gone from near inertia to a giggly, chubby, flash.

It also, also means that changing her these days is like a cross between a log roll and alligator wrestling.

Obviously, there are no teeth involved [not yet, anyway, but she's got two coming in on the bottom].

I do wear a flannel shirt and watch cap, however, in the spirit of the thing.

Rock and Roll

Get your RockOut fingers ready, Samson. They're back.

Swimsuit issue

Jane had her first swim lesson today and by all accounts did quite well.

She's not crazy about going underwater [neither is Vicki, truth be told], but she managed nicely on the "all fall down" part of "Ring Around the Rosy."

She'll probably nap for the next six hours now. These lessons were always good for tiring Samson out and ensuring a good two-hour nap when he was little.

He starts his lessons tomorrow; we'll see if that still holds true.

The birthday party

The pizza for the party arrived a little late, so we went with dessert first. There were no complaints. [At least not from the kids.]

Also, apparently we got the Tom Petty birthday package. Don't believe me? See here:

And then here.

Samson and his buddies had a great time, and I know I keep saying this, but it's amazing how much more Samson and his crew are able to do in just a year's time. Whereas last year quite a few of them looked like the Scarecrow right after he came down from his perch, this year they looked like a tiny version of the crowd on the parade ground on Han's island. Without the nunchuks, of course.

A few of the boys tried showing off for Jane, but she played it cool.

So now we're counting down to Sam's actual birthday on Friday. Which basically means he wakes up every morning and asks "Is it my birthday yet?"

Update

We had Samson's birthday party yesterday, and he started his music class on Saturday, so there's lots of stuff to get to, but since I don't have access to any of the photos, this brief update on school will have to suffice for now.

We met Ms. Carrie, who seems very nice and who made Samson her special helper this morning. [Apparently, the ticket to getting these patronage jobs is being on the verge of tears; just fyi.]

Not only has the birthday board been fixed --- and not a moment too soon with his birthday just a few days away --- but apparently that boy in his class really is named Ruddy. Imagine my surprise when I met his parents, Swarthy and Olive.

OK, that last part isn't true; but I did see the name "Ruddy" on his lunchbox.

Just wanted to set the record straight.

Sweet Janie blue eyes

I've never been much of a camera phone user, but as I was holding Jane up, something about the light in the sky and those big blue eyes seemed like they'd make for a nice photo. I realize the contrast is off and the image quality isn't terrific, but it's still awfully sweet, no?

M.I.A.

Still no sign of the elusive Ms. Carrie. So either she's got Ebola or is pursuing other career options.

Either way, Sam's other teacher [the one he really likes and who kind of babies/spoils him] was in his classroom this morning and had just put out graham crackers and apple juice for the kids.

I don't think he even noticed Carrie's non-presence.

Stay tuned...

Rock on

So Samson was sitting on the couch with me two nights ago playing with his fingers. He does this sometimes. Apparently this was something his mother did as a child. A lot. I digress.

Sam is sitting on the couch playing with his fingers, when he slowly puts out the thumb, raises the index finger, pushes the middle and ring down, and extends his pinky.

Big smile. "I DID THE ROCKOUT FINGERS, DADDY!"

A proud day in our house.

Rock on, young Samson. Rock on.

Back to school (again)

OK, it's for real this time. Summer is over, and school has started in earnest.

Unfortunately, Samson's teacher was sick yesterday. Needless to say, the two weeks of school talk and excitement-ginning-up about meeting Miss Carrie were all for naught as we arrived on a multi-purpose room full of kids and teachers with Sam's class wandering around like a pint-sized lost tribe of Israel.

I come from a family of educators --- both my parents, a few uncles and aunts, my sister, and my wife. Teachers are like cops and chefs: They don't get sick. Not the first week of school anyway. This lady better be missing a limb when I see her tomorrow.

Drop-off in the early days of back-to-school is tough enough without this added to it. At the very least, she could have called those few kids whom she had yet to meet and let their parents know. Not the end of the world, I realize, but how much effort would that have taken? [in a class of 11, probably not too much.]

To top it off, Samson's name was misspelled on the September birthday bulletin board. They added a "p." Which would be correct if he was a county in North Carolina.

But he's not. And the fact that he's a returning student makes it even more annoying. Looking at the phone list we received, where again the "p" is present, I'm sure he's not the only one.

Unless that little red-headed boy in Sam's class really is named "Ruddy."

A man and a woman had a little baby...

There were three in their family. And that's a magic number...

The good earth, part II

We had spotty Internet connection last night or I would have posted these then. Peaches are now in season, and Samson really enjoyed picking them.

Blackberries [none of which made it past Sam and into the basket] and apples (early Galas) are also available. Sweet Jane is apparently a big fan of the latter.

And Samson, of course, is a big fan of anything that lets him be a "helper" with Jane.