Ringing out the old

So today is New Year's Eve, and I've got some sad news to report. On Christmas Eve, our cat Ishmael took the long walk to the vet's office. He'd been sick for a while, and we'd been kind of hoping that he'd somehow bounce back and act like his old self again. But he just wasn't the same cat anymore. The most telling sign was that he actually let Vicki put him in the carrier. Usually that process lasted longer and was more highly choreographed than most kung-fu movie fight scenes.

Anyway, it was hard for us to make the call and even harder for us to say goodbye, especially with Samson standing there asking when Ishmael would come back. The people at the vet's office were very kind, and the vet herself gave me the full scoop on what would happen before they did anything. I sat with him and petted his head while they gave him the shot, and I looked into those big green eyes and it was like watching the extinguishing of a candle. I was immediately sorry we had done it and immediately certain that we'd done the right thing.

But when the vet listened to his heart and told me he was gone, I just sat there and cried. [I would say "like a little girl," but Vicki has informed me that this is not only insulting, it will get me into trouble once Jane understands what I'm saying. Point taken.]

He was a good cat, and I'll miss him. It's strange being home and not having him sleeping in the kitchen or charging up the stairs and getting underfoot.

We did our best not to say anything to Samson that might make him afraid (as in "the cat is going to the doctor" or "he's just going to sleep"). I'm not sure that we came up with the best possible answer, but we told him that Ish's body wasn't working anymore. When I returned from the vet, we told him that Ishmael was given the chance to catch the special pet train to the North Pole to go live with Santa.

I mean, it was hard enough telling him his cat wasn't ever coming back; I didn't think he needed to know the rest. Of course, his eventual discovery about Santa may be a little more complicated because of this, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. If you have a better idea, well, keep it to yourself because you're about a week too late.

And lest you worry that Sam is taking this too hard, he has cried exactly twice about this in the past week. Once he asked for the cat, and the second time he said he wanted a dog. So I guess we're all moving on.

Despite this somewhat somber episode, this was a good year for our family. Sweet Jane came into our life, Vicki started a new job, Sam became potty trained (mostly), and I was reminded daily of just how lucky I am. Here's to 2008.

Christmas morning

With all the excitement of Christmas Eve (some good, some not so good, but more on this later), we figured Samson might never go to sleep. He was very interested in the Christmas pageant at Mass, especially because Mary was about a foot taller than Joseph [I think the fifth graders from the parish school provide the cast for the nativity play].

[Sidenote: For some reason, Samson was obsessed with whether or not Joseph was old/big enough to go into the street by himself. I have no idea why, but he asked this question at least three or four times. I told him no as I figured the likelihood of him seeing Joseph (with or without Mary) crossing the street was pretty slim.]

We had a nice dinner with Jacob and his family, and the boys were spinning like tops by the end of the night. Amazingly enough, though, both Samson and Jane slept past seven on Christmas morning. Insert your own Christmas miracle joke here.

And despite the warnings and the call from Mrs. Claus regarding Samson's precarious position on the "nice" list, old Santa made his visit and left a "fire set" for Sam and a rocking giraffe for Jane (whose place on the "nice" list was never in doubt).


I'm not sure how your family does things, but Santa just brings one gift per child to our house. The rest are probably credited to him anyway, but we like to get in on the action a little too.

As good as it gets

So this is the best we could do for a photo of the kids in their Christmas (actually Christmas Eve) outfits. We were already rushing to make sure we got a seat at Mass, and neither Samson nor Jane seemed inclined to sit still.

So it goes.

They looked pretty cute. You'll just have to take my word for it.

Santa's helpers

If hearing a roomful of preschoolers sing Christmas songs doesn't get you in the Christmas spirit, I don't know what will.

Samson's class were elves and sang a song about being Santa's helpers. Interestingly, only Nora had the sartorial sense to ditch the hat when the show was done.

Jane liked the concert, but what she really wanted was a cupcake. Sam's cupcake, actually.

A houseful

With a business, a part-time job, two full-time kids, and just five days to go until Christmas, Vicki did what any busy mom would do: She invited 9 kids age 3 and under to the house for a pre-Christmas playgroup-palooza. And their moms, of course.

This is actually kind of an annual tradition. The boys get together and make some Christmas crafts and generally tear up the joint. Occasionally there's a parade.

Interestingly, this year marked the arrival of a new (and possibly rival) group: The girls. 2007 brought baby sisters Kate (to Ryan), Laura (to Christopher), and Vivian (to Oliver), as well as sweet Jane, of course. They're a little disorganized right now, but I think this crew bears watching...

Oh Christmas tree

It's a good thing we don't have black lights on our Christmas tree. Ishmael peed on it. Actually, he peed under it, on the tree skirt.

"Dry Clean Only" are three words I don't want to see when I'm looking at a small but expanding pool of cat urine. Since we don't have a dry cleaners in our basement, I pitched it into the washing machine, and I think it came out just fine. More or less.

Interestingly, this wasn't a you're-not-paying-attention-to-me-so-I'll-pee-on-your-briefcase kind of pee [trust me, I know that scenario all too well]. I think the poor thing had an accident.

Now that Jane is crawling, we have to keep the gate at the top of the basement stairs closed. Which naturally means that we forget to reopen it when Jane is safely off the floor (sleeping, eating in her high chair, etc). Poor Ishmael, needing to use the loo but woefully incapable of unlocking the gate, summoned the wisdom of his ancestors, located a tree(!), and commenced peeing.

I mean it makes sense. There is a tree in our living room.

For further discussion

Good grief! Vicki helped out at Samson's school today with the pre-Christmas pizza party. Before they left, she noticed he was doing the jeans grab, so she walked him to the bathroom and then waited outside with Jane.

If you've never been to a preschool bathroom, it combines all the glare (and hopefully antibacterial qualities) of an airport restroom with the open-kitchen layout in vogue at upscale chain restaurants.

As she waited for Samson to pee, a big [read: four-year-old] kid walked in. What happened next could have been worse, but I think I'll have to have a talk with young Samson tonight about bathroom protocol.

Vicki couldn't see what was going on, but she could hear the big kid's half of the conversation, which went something like: "Hey, stop looking at me! No I don't sit down. Are you saying I'm a girl? Stop looking at me! Don't talk to me!"

Anyway, Samson managed not to get beat up in the bathroom, and Vicki managed not to have to intervene, so it all ended OK.

But I guess he thought my "don't look at anything and don't touch anything" advice only applied to rest stops on the Jersey Turnpike.

It doesn't. Poor little guy.

Bahoo Foray, Nahoo Toray

I'm not exactly sure of the lyrics the people in Who-ville sing, but Sweet Jane bears more than a passing resemblance to Cindy Lou Who, no?

At least in the first picture...

The guys

These boys have known each other all their lives, so any time you get the three of them together, it's a good, silly time.


They made it about halfway through "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" before reverting back to form [and by form, I mean, running around, brandishing candy canes like swords, and generally giving Jane cause to look at them with equal parts wonder and confusion.]

Oliver is clearly a boy after my own heart, because as the ruckus commenced, he issued a stern: "No talking on movie night!"

Of course, then Santa arrived, and all bets were off.

Santa (barely) avoids waterboarding

Our friends' neighborhood association does Santa visits each year, and we were invited to join in the fun. Or, as Samson put it later, "we saw Santa and ordered our gifts." Take that, Norman Rockwell!

Before the Santa sit-down, however, there was a lot of discussion about Santa's sleigh. Mr. Gary, Oliver's dad, kept teasing the boys saying it was pulled by Holiday Hippos and Magic Alligators [Magigators, actually]. Sure enough, before Santa even Sat down, Samson began the interrogation. A rough transcript follows:

Sam: "How do you pull your sleigh?"

Santa: "I have reindeer."

Sam (throwing Mr. G under the bus): "Mr. Gary said it's hippos."

Santa (laughing): "No, it's reindeer."

Sam: "He said it was alligators."

Santa: "No, it's reindeer."

Sam: "How do they fly?"

Santa: "It's magic."

Sam: "But what do you say? What words?"

Santa: "Uh, I can't say them now, or the sled might take off. [awkward pause] So ... who wants to sit on my lap and tell me what they want for Christmas?"

Advent: The Police State

Samson and Jane received a really sweet (and thoughtful) gift from their Uncle Greg's parents.

It's called The Elf on the Shelf and includes a story about one of Santa's helpers as well as a little elf doll.

The elf, which the recipient names, flies up to Santa every night to tell the big man about the kids in the house. [Samson named his "Google." I wish I was kidding.]

Each morning it's a game to see where Google is hiding. So basically, we now live with a pixie-sized informant who lurks among the books, toys, and general clutter of our house.

I can't wait for my sister to get this gift. That clown scene in Poltergeist had a profound effect on her, and she's still a little freaked out at fixed-smile dolls.

Young Samson, however, carries no such baggage [not yet, anyway], and he loves looking for Google every morning.

Little Miss Sunshine

I know these pictures aren't quite in focus, but I just love the look of pure joy on Jane's face.

All the holiday cheer, none of the tsouris

Samson and Jane attended their very first Hanukkah party Saturday night. We had gotten our tree that morning and started decorating around the house, so we gave Samson plenty of prep about what to expect at his buddy Ethan's house. Which boiled down to: Yes to latkes, no to nativity sets.

Jane had a great time: There wasn't a hint of Santa anywhere.

Sam proved surprisingly disinterested in playing the dreidl game. There was a train table and an electric guitar and lots of running around to do. Also, and I realized this later, he had no idea that the gelt had chocolate inside.

He discovered this as I was putting him into his car seat for the trip home and, of course, demanded his due.

In what could be the biggest lie I've ever told on the fifth day of Hanukkah, I told him that he had to be seated and buckled in before he could have any gelt. When I got the inevitable "why?" I coolly told him that it was a special Hanukkah rule.

Laugh if you want, but it worked.

More lobbying and fear with Santa

Sam's school had a pancake breakfast with Santa this morning. As you can see from the picture, he is continuing his lobbying efforts for a "fire set" at every possible lap-sitting.

Jane just continues to be terrified.

Apparently this Santa was not thrilled to be headlining a preschool, pancakes or no, because he left in his street clothes while the kids were still there.

In fairness, all the kids had gotten their turn, but Vicki said it took her a while to convince Samson that Santa has "travel clothes"

Said outfit consists of jeans and a gray Members Only jacket. Also a briefcase.

First snow

We got our first snow of the season today. Nothing big --- maybe two inches, but certainly enough for Samson to convince us he should wear his snowsuit [this is quickly becoming the #2 outfit of choice behind his fireman gear].

Sweet Jane is wise enough --- even at this young age --- not to trust her brother when he says "here, try this."

Unfortunately, she's not fast enough yet to act on her instincts and so ended up cold and with a weird little snow soul patch.

Ahead of the curve

CNN and the Associated Press have teamed up once again to bring you the breakingest of news.

The first bulleted item in this story, for those unable to commit to reading all 600 words, sums it up nicely: "Toy kitchens for boys seen as OK."

Clearly Vicki and I are far more progressive than we give ourselves credit for. We were almost two years ahead of this trend.

The story takes pains to note the prominence of celebrity chefs and the reality that more dads cook these days. Both, I'm sure, are accurate, but that line of argument feels a bit defensive.

And to be perfectly honest, if I thought for a second that having a toy kitchen in our house would turn Samson into Emeril (BAM!) or Bobby Flay, I'd get rid of it like a hand grenade.

Not to mention the fact that I do almost all the laundry in our house, but Samson has yet to ask for a play washer/dryer set.

I think boys play kitchen for the same reason girls do: it's fun. And (almost) everybody likes to eat and play with food.

I have a friend at CNN who is very excited about their next collaboration with AP. I can't give away all the details, but it's going to be a three-part series and will take on the issue of women and the trend toward "wearing pants." Stay tuned.

Verbatim

We've often wondered if Samson is the same kid at school that he is at home. I think the question has been definitively answered.

What follows is an e-mail Vicki received yesterday from the mother of one of Sam's classmates.

Vicki,

Hope you are all doing well and enjoying the holiday season.

I enjoy seeing Samson along with Jordan and a few other classmates in Friday's keyboard class. I usually go every other week. This week the teacher asked everyone how they were doing and most just said great, good, etc. But Samson gave a dissertation about firetrucks and going poo poo on the potty. It was so funny (and cute)!

Talk to you soon, D—