Tiny dancer

Last night I arrived home to find a little ballerina.


I'll be honest, before Jane was born I worried about being a girl's father. Years ago, I was a boy, so being a boy's dad is in some ways fairly easy --- if fraught with the dangers of vicarious living.

But I was never a tutu-wearing, pretty in pink little thing (at least as far you know), and so the thought of this brave new world was somewhat intimidating.

It's less so now, although if I'm being perfectly honest, the thought of her as a teenager is positively terrifying.

Best party game ever

Sam's buddy, Christopher (the Tin Man), had a birthday party/Halloween party this weekend.

Nice cool fall weather, pizza, costumes, and what could be the best party game ever.

Who needs apples when you can bob for donuts?

Block party

There was a Halloween block party in Nana's neighborhood. Jane had the best costume: It's all fleece and kept her (and whoever was holding her) nice and toasty.

And what could be better than searching for candy in a haystack?


Am I wrong, or does this picture look like it should be accompanying an AP story about FarmAid? Weird.

Outtakes

I've been too busy to post, but I do have these few random notes to offer:

Samson has started calling me "Dad" --- as opposed to "Daddy." Not all the time, but with some frequency, and it kind of makes him sound grown up.

Last night we were reading a book about the orchestra, and when we got to the page with the trumpet player, Samson asked me: "Does she have God in her heart?" Clearly, someone is paying attention during chapel.

Someone is also paying attention during the mornings at school. We haven't had a normal grace in two weeks now. Instead, we get the "Pledge of Urleejuns." That said, he knows the whole thing, and it lends dinner a kind of VFW Hall/Potluck feel. So everybody wins.

Turn on, tune in, count to 12

One of Samson's new favorite videos on YouTube:



It's a classic and one I remember pretty fondly from my childhood.

I've heard criticism over the years that Sesame Street --- because of its jumpy, segment-dependent nature --- fostered short attention spans.

But I'm amazed no one ever accused the Children's Television Workshop with promoting the use of acid. I mean, seriously, this is some trippy stuff...

Rebel, rebel

So Samson got a time-out yesterday at school. Whenever he tells us this now, we have to verify it because he kept coming home and telling us he'd gotten time-outs [or would that be times-out?] when he had not. I think he may be trying to impress his sister and burnish his street-cred.

Regardless, he did indeed get one yesterday. It occurred, as they always seem to, at nap time. However, I'm not sure what to think about the infraction. He got in trouble for taking his shoes off at nap time. Apparently the kids need to have their shoes on while they sleep. I have no idea why this would be. I know soldiers in combat sleep in their shoes, as do hobos on boxcars, cowboys on the range, and drunks in college dorms, but three-year-olds in school?

Samson had taken one shoe off when he was given a warning. By the time Miss Carrie turned back around, Samson had both shoes off and his socks on his hands. Hence, the time-out.

I've seen the socks on hands things a million times at our house, and it's kind of weird and sort of funny, but it hardly seems like a time-outable offense. Besides, isn't nap time just a giant time-out anyway?

I don't want to be one of those parents who meddles, and I'm fine with him being disciplined for not listening [which seems to be at the core of this little incident].

But it seems like a pointless rule to me. And I know I'm not the only one who thinks so. Sam's partner in non napping, Nora, is like "Girl, Interrupted" in that class every day at nap time. Her mom works with Vicki and has come to the conclusion that Miss Carrie is just barely hanging on in terms of keeping the kids in line. So perhaps this is less about keeping order and more about drawing a line in the sand.

Either way, I found myself last night telling him to keep his shoes on at school and not to put his socks on his hands. Good grief...

Trick or treat

Here's a little Halloween preview.

A bad day pumpkin picking is still better than a good day at work...

Actually, it wasn't a bad day at all. It was, however, a warm and humid day.

Like night-patrol-Mekong-Delta-looking-for-Charlie warm and humid.

Not to mention the parade of mom jeans that a class trip to the pumpkin farm apparently entails. Oh the humanity.

Still, I've been wanting to do this with Samson since his school trip last year. And the folks at the farm didn't disappoint. Hayride, petting zoo, brief discussion of agricultural subsidies; this place had it all.

When we got to the actual patch, I totally steered us wrong. For some reason, I thought we didn't need to follow the rest of the class. I thought we might find better and bigger pumpkins in the less-traveled part of the patch [see also Griswold, Clark].

I should have recognized my mistake when Samson and I found ourselves in the company of the crazy overmatched grandma and her three unruly charges. That and the little football shaped prickly things that clung to our clothes.

Anyway, we eventually found our way out of the wilderness and went properly in search of some pumpkins. We even picked one for Jane, which was Sam's idea (sort of).

Hand signals

I still haven't gotten a picture of it, but Samson is prone to doing the "rock out" fingers at the drop of a hat now. Sometimes --- like when he punctuates grace before dinner with it --- it's less appropriate than others.

But it's always funny.

Vicki added a wrinkle to the whole thing when she told him that in addition to being the sign for rocking out, the thumb, pointer, pinky combo means "I love you" in American Sign Language.

Which set the stage for a kind of Tyler Durden exchange Sam had with himself in his car seat while Vicki was driving the kids to the store.

Sam (in guttural rock voice): "Rock ouuutt"

Sam (in regular voice): "No, it's I love you."

Sam (in grv): "Rock ouuuttt"

Sam (in rv): "No. I love you."

We need to start filming this stuff.

Gratuitous Sam pics

Fall has finally arrived, and what better way to spend a sunny Saturday than in an apple orchard?

Clearly he gets his photogenicity [is that even a word?] from his mother. Seriously, you've got a better chance of seeing the Yeti than seeing a bad picture of Vicki.

Magritte: The Early Years?

Not exactly the Son of Man, but still...

Noted

What did we learn this weekend? That Jane really loves apples. I mean, really loves them. In a 28 Days Later "rage" kind of way. But sweeter, of course.

Also, Samson cheats at golf.

Fireman Sam

Samson's Halloween costume arrived in the mail yesterday. When he's in uniform, he reminds us to call him "Fireman Sam." I'm not kidding.

He also addresses us as kids in his class (Colin, Maeve, etc) and then lectures us about playing with fire: "NO Colin! You can't play with fire. I'm Fireman Sam, and you need to listen."

I'm not sure he really sees this as a costume so much as clothing that's way more interesting than anything else he owns. In truth, this is not surprising, given his history of fireman dress up.

Polonius at the dinner table

Monday night at the dinner table.

Me: "How was school?"

Samson: "R___ hit me. I told him: 'Please stop hitting me.' It's not nice."

Me: "Did he stop?"

Samson: "No, but I can't hit him. He's small. And we don't hit people."

And of course, he's right. We've drilled into young Samson that hitting is not OK, and that he cannot hit his sister, the cat, or other people when he gets mad or frustrated or feels especially hitty.

Even so, and I know who R___ is, it took everything in me not to say: Hit him once, hard, and he'll leave you alone. If he doesn't, hit him again. Harder. Also, sweep the leg.

I should confess that I'm not much of a fighter. Growing up as the only boy and having a sister nearly five years younger than you doesn't offer a lot of practice.

And for reasons I'm not totally clear on (but am grateful for), I never got picked on at school on in ways that involved regular beat-downs, locker shovings, de-pantsing [the scourge of junior high hall travel], or the like.

I can actually still recall the first time I was hit. I was in second grade, and the kid who hit me, who is now with the NYPD, wanted my new Nerf football, which I refused to give him. He hit me square in the eye, and I remember, in addition to feeling pain, having this weird kind of epiphany of "Wait? Did he just hit me?! There are people in the world who are going to hit me?! What just happened?!"

I like to think I landed a good punch or two on him before we were broken up and hauled into the principal's office, but I bet not.

Actually, I'm proud (mostly) that Sam took the high road, particularly with a kid who is younger and smaller. That said, I don't want him to be bullied, and well-reasoned arguments will only take you so far, especially at this age.

[Sidenote: I should mention here that Sam has already figured out the power of a put-down. Caroline in his class tried to take something of his last week and he called her, I kid you not, a "bad scientist" and made her cry. They have science class once a week, so I guess his words were particularly stinging.]

Don't tell Vicki, but maybe we'll start mixing in some UFC with his Caillou and Curious George. Not to give him any ideas, but just in case R___ has a growth spurt.

Calamity Jane

Perhaps I understated my case when I mentioned that changing Jane had become difficult. At this point, the only way to keep her from rolling over and crawling right off the changing pad is a strategic series of zrrbrrts, which make her laugh and weaken her Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu style defenses.

In the space of just a few days, she has not only become a really fast crawler, but she's also developed this unbelievable stubborn streak. Honestly, we watched her crawl out of our room and nearly all the way into hers in pursuit of a toy that Samson was holding.

Likewise, on Saturday, she actually had to be restrained from pursuing the cat around the living room.

Samson is in trouble when she learns to walk (which at this rate might be before Christmas).

Gratuitous Jane pics

Now that Jane is crawling and sitting up pretty well, she's discovering all kinds of fun things to play with.

Something tells me Samson is about to become very interested in his heretofore ignored piano.

Three feet high and rising

Samson had his annual check up yesterday, and he is now 3 feet 1 inch tall. He's still not quite 30 pounds, however, which may have less to do with his diet [he eats almost everything] and more to do with the fact that he is rarely not in motion. Even when he's asleep.

I know this because he slept in our bed last night. Why? Funny you should ask.

I am not a betting man, which is probably a good thing because I clearly have no sense of playing the percentages. I changed Sam's sheets last night, switching out Star Wars for pirate ships, and figured I'd give the mattress cover thingy a wash too. I mean, it's been months since he's leaked through a diaper, so he could go one night without the cover, right?

Wrong. I was downstairs, having successfully put him to bed if not to sleep when I heard the familiar staccato cry of "Dad-deee, Dad-deh, Dad-deee, Dad-deh. I'm wet. I'm weee-eeee-eeee-eee-eee-eee-eee-eee-eeeTTTT"

He actually held the last word for the entire time it took me to climb two flights of stairs and get to him. And indeed, he was wet. Not from leakage but from spillage. Apparently the plug in his sippy cup (a cup of water is a requisite sleeping aid for young Sam) was not fully, er, plugged. I didn't notice this. Vicki didn't notice this. But Samson did. And he decided to pour it over his head. So when I arrived, he was soaked, literally from head to toe, and his mattress had a nice pool of water beneath the now soaked pirate ship sheets.

Change of diaper, change of PJs, change of venue: Instant sleepover with Samson. To be fair, it was pretty damn funny, and I was hard-pressed to look stern while telling him he shouldn't pour water over his head in bed.

In other news: Sweet Jane had her nine-month check up yesterday, and she too is low on the weight percentiles.

Interestingly, she's tracking right along with where her brother was at this time. Our pediatrician, God love him, assured Vicki there was nothing to worry about: the kids are happy, healthy, and developmentally on target.

He thinks we might want to start letting them snack on sticks of butter during car trips, but otherwise no worries...

Forward motion

There have been rumors of Jane's ability to crawl, but I can now report a confirmed sighting.

Maybe next time I'll remember to grab the camera. She not only crawled several, er, steps forward, but she's pretty darn fast.

And super proud of herself.

As she should be.

Scene from a rest stop

"Stand right there. And don't touch anything." This is the advice I gave young Samson in the men's room at the Clara Barton rest stop on the New Jersey Turnpike.

What I forgot to provide, unfortunately, were instructions about not looking at anything. Fortunately, there was only one other person at the line of urinals.

Unfortunately, this man, who was wearing a cowboy hat, did not flush. Or wash his hands.

These omissions did not go unnoticed. And despite the fact that we were definitely inside, there was no inside-voice to accompany Sammy J's observations.

Samson: "Are you going to flush?"

Me: "I don't have to. There's a sensor that does it for you when you walk away."

[Cowboy-hat guy walking behind us toward exit.]

Samson: "That cowboy didn't flush." [watches him exit] "How come that cowboy didn't wash his hands?"

Me: "Don't worry about him. Mommy and Jane are waiting for us in the car; let's go."

Samson: "Don't forget to wash your hands, Daddy."

Me: "Thanks, pal."

A day at the beach

Man, I miss having the ocean nearby. Not enough to move back to Long Island, mind you, but still...

Tenderness

I have lots of work to do and little time to post right now, but we had a terrific weekend in New York. The kids had lots of fun with their new cousin, and we even made some time for a brief trip to the beach.

I can't even tell you how many times the words "gentle" and "Samson" were used in the same sentence this weekend...

Unfortunately, there was never a time when Samson, Jane, and Luke were all awake at the same time. Actually, I should amend that statement: Sam never napped and so was completely available for photo ops. Luke and Jane, however, were sleepyheads.