Jesus and Superman

I can't believe I forgot to mention this. You know how Samson is into superheroes these days? I mean, really into superheroes.

As in asking classmates who are believed to be knowledgeable about superheroes to help identify characters he doesn't recognize. On his underpants. You can imagine that the conversation with Maggie's dad the other day was a little awkward. Not as awkward, as he readily admitted, as it would be if they were in high school together. But still. I actually had to have a talk with Samson about not asking kids in his class to look at his underpants. Even if it's to verify that yes, indeed, that is Doc Ock on your bottom.

I digress. So we've been watching TiVoed episodes of the old "Super Friends," and in the later years of the series they have this intergalactic bad guy named DarkSeid. As far as bad guys go, he's pretty lame. Which is good, because the last thing I want is for Samson's "treat" of watching cartoons to become a source for nightmares.

Anyway, we were at church last week, and the priest, Fr. Hank, referenced Jesus' 40 days in the desert and his temptation. He then talked about Lent and all of us, and how we may challenged by the "dark side." Needless to say, that was the one thing Samson got out of the entire Mass, and he was pretty interested to know that there was some kind of crossover between church and the Super Friends.

And to be honest, if it keeps him interested, I'm all for it. He's a bit more aware of things this year, and Green Lantern might be just what we need to take the edge off the whole crucified on Friday, chocolate eggs on Sunday thing...

Just like old times

Jane must have been nostalgic for the old days. I just now put her to bed [she's usually out cold by 6:30]. Vicki is out with some friends for dinner, and Samson is uncharacteristically quiet up in his bed. So it was just me, Jane, and some Grateful Dead from a show at Madison Square Garden in 1981.

People don't believe me, but nothing settles that little girl like some live Dead. Which is kind of a win-win really.

Jane's first word

I have waited for a few days to report this, but I think we've officially registered Jane's first word. It's "daddy." No, I'm not kidding.

She only says it when I'm around and when she's looking in my direction. When I got home from work last night, she looked up, said "dah-dee" and crawled furiously toward me.

Needless to say, it just melts my heart to hear that tiny voice and to see those big blue eyes looking up at me.

Shaving cream

With Jane just starting to feel better (and only a little bit) and the weather too cold to let Samson run around outside, Vicki pulled out the emergency play kit.

The girls are still housebound, so it's a good thing he has school today or they might have ended up giving each other prison-style tattoos.

Interestingly --- and I noticed this as I was tukcing him in last night --- even after a bath, Samson smelled a bit, well, manly.

E.R.

Jane continued vomiting throughout the weekend and so yesterday our usually laid-back pediatrician suggested we take her to the Emergency Room. I stayed with Samson while Vicki took sweet Jane to the E.R.

I should note here that I'm not a big fan of hospital/medical dramas. I've spent more than my fair share of time in hospitals and am not exactly in awe of Hippocrates' descendants. [My Dad has battled one form of cancer or another off and on since I was 19, so the proverbial shine is well worn off that apple.] Which is not to say that doctors and nurses (who do the lion's share of the work, in my experience) don't do great work; it's just that I don't see them as heroes the way TV would like me to.

For one, everyone on a show like Grey's Anatomy talks like the people on West Wing, had they majored in biology instead of poli sci and gone to med school instead of law school. Anyone who has ever watched a doctor checking the chart so he remembers the patient's name/illness will be quickly disabused of that fantasy. Not to mention that the whole brooding physician fighting the system thing is as tired as, well, the whole brooding cop/teacher/private eye fighting the system.

In any event, this is relevant because Vicki was sitting with Jane in one of the treatment rooms and was approached by an intern. Said intern asked how Vicki knew Jane's stomach was upset, as in, and I quote: "Did she tell you she doesn't feel well?"

Now I like to think that both my children are, as the man says, above average, but am I the only one who finds it silly than an intern assigned to a pediatric E.R. would ask if a 13-month-old --- who, incidentally, is not exactly "big for her age" --- can not only talk but locate and articulate discomfort? Really?

Vicki is a lot kinder than I am, because I would have said something like "She didn't say it exactly, but I think the haiku she left me on her highchair this morning was pretty unambiguous. [Or at least I like to think I would have said that. I probably would have just stared blankly.]

Anyway, Jane is OK, but she's got a really nasty virus and will just need to continue on a diet of Pedialyte until she stops throwing up, which is hopefully soon. She's already feeling a little bit lighter when I hold her, and it's awfully hard to look into those big blue eyes and see so little of the spark that is usually there.

House of pain

What a difference a day makes. Yesterday, as you can see from the pictures of Samson and Jane below, all was sweetness and light. Today was a completely different story. As I type this, Jane is sprawled out on our bed like a tiny chalk outline, which is probably the best response to the day.

I'll begin at the beginning. When Vicki went in to get Jane this morning, she found her sound asleep in her crib and covered in vomit. And when I say covered, this was like the final scene from a "Behind the Music" special.

Samson was feeling fine and so went to school to collect his Valentines [more on this later]. And while neither Vicki nor I felt great, we figured we could split the day, work-wise, and tend to sweet Jane. I got home from the office before noon, and Jane spent the bulk of our time together throwing up, sleeping, or looking wan. [It was like spending the afternoon with a more articulate version of a contestant on America's Next Top Model.]

Anyway, the poor thing rested most of the day and into the evening, but we're afraid to leave her in her crib for fear she might end up getting sick again in the night. Hence the chalk outline.

So tonight, as Vicki was settling Jane down into our bed, I was telling Samson stories and getting ready to tuck him in. We had just finished up one of our epic tales about Sam and his adventures with the Super Friends when he asked: "If I pick my nose, will it bleed?"

Now I should note here that Vicki and I spend a lot of time reminding Samson to get his finger out of his nose. And indeed, one of the reasons we give when the inevitable "why" is raised is that he'll give himself a bloody nose. This is not a scare tactic as he has done this before.

Back to our story: No sooner had he asked this then a veritable torrent of blood came streaming out of his left nostril. Honestly, I've never seen so much blood in person. It poured out and onto everything --- La La, the comforter, the floor, his pajamas, me.

And despite my best attempts to stanch the bloodflow, we went through three washcloths.

His mouth kept filling up with blood, at which point he would spit, so I had a spatter pattern on me worthy of a Manson family member. Honestly, we could have written all the words to Helter Skelter on the wall with all the blood that was flowing.

So Samson is crying and screaming, I'm doing my best to calm him down, and Jane --- who you'll remember is with Vicki in our bed --- has resumed throwing up. Even by our standards, this was a weird Friday night.

Never in my life have I wished more fervently for a visit from an LDS missionary or Jehovah's Witness. Honestly, wouldn't you love to be able to answer the door with a screaming toddler in your arms and blood sprayed across your face? You would forever be on their "do not call" list.

Ultimately, I got the bleeding to stop and was able to calm Samson down. Vicki did likewise for Jane, except with vomit. Everyone changed clothes and sheets, and the laundry was set on "boil" in the washer.

Boy am I glad tomorrow is Saturday...

Gratuitous Sam and Jane pics

I have no time to write and no real stories to tell right now. Also, I am not above shamelessly posting cute photos of my kids (which, let's be honest, is what most of you are looking for anyway).

Samson comes alive!

With all the focus on super heroes and crime-fighting in our house these days, it's nice to see Samson still taking some time to rock out.


Today was a snow/ice day, so he was home with Vicki and Jane and treated them to an extended version of "Old MacDonald."

Table for two

This bowl was actually out of Jane's reach (and full) when Vicki walked out of the dining room and into the kitchen to get something.

Samson, ever helpful, moved it closer to Jane. It's nice to see the kids working together. I got home just in time to take pictures...

The strangeness of strangers

The older Samson gets, the more likely he is to say something quasi-darnedest in public. Case in point: We were at the gas station, and a woman in an African-style head wrap walked past. Smooth Sam J pipes up with : "That lady sure is fancy!"

We were at supermarket earlier today, and the deli line was stacked three deep. We pulled "57" out of the little ticket machine, and the red number on the Now Serving sign said "32." Not good.

[Sidenote: Is it me or is there an overwhelming number of people desperate to test drive their prosciutto before committing to the purchase of half a pound? Honestly, if it's midday Tuesday, I don't care if you sample the whole case, but if the wait time for lunchmeat rivals that for tech support on a Dell, maybe you could do us all a favor and take a leap of faith. I'm just saying is all...]

Anyway, we do some shopping and come back to the red counter of doom showing "46." So we're getting there. Samson is with me, hoping (in vain, as it turned out) for a slice of cheese from the deli person. [He got his slice, but not from the girl who helped us. For some reason, only old guys think to give a child a piece of cheese. I'm not sure if it's accrued wisdom or a common bond of needing small meals all day, but whenever I see a guy who served in Korea lined up to wait on us, I know Sam is getting a sample.]

The guy next to me is loudly proclaiming the slowness of the service, the ineptitude of the staff, and the general hardship of waiting a half hour for some meat. He's kind of saying it to me, hoping, I guess, for that "I hear you brother" moment that sometimes happens on lines.

If you know me even slightly, you know I'm not that guy. Especially if I already have someone to talk to. Doubly especially if it's one of my children. So supermarket solidarity guy delivers his spiel, and I give him a sort of half nod in the hopes that this will suffice and I can stop hearing about his travails --- especially since when his number was called (52, in case you're curious) he didn't order everything all at once [as in "I'll take a pound of turkey, a quarter pound of cheddar, a half of roast beef, etc] but did it piecemeal. Each time the counter guy arrived with a new thing, he ordered something else.

Anyway, I give the half nod and then Samson says, loudly, "Who is he talking to?" followed by "Is he talking to us?"

Perfect.

Super Sam

Samson is crazy for super heroes. From his SpiderMan pjs to the TiVod episodes of Super Friends (circa 1981) he and I watch, he is all about secret identities, flying, and wearing capes.

So it's perfect that PBS has a reading show called Super Why!, which is all about reading. He usually catches this show on Monday and Friday mornings as I'm getting ready for work. These are the days Vicki works, and so she and Jane leave the house before the sun is up and Sam and I have our "just the guys" time. Which translates, roughly, to eating cereal bars in bed and watching Super Why! and Curious George while we get ready.

In any event, the Super Why! site has a reading/letter recognition game that kids can play and then create their own super hero. Without further ado, I give you Super Sam...



It's a pretty good likeness, don't you think?

Overheard

Sorry for the radio silence. Here's a lame attempt to catch you up:

I don't have pictures, unfortunately, but Samson has been playing a lot with his little kitchen. Specifically, he's been putting a pot on his head and walking around the house singing "I'm a pot-head; I'mmm a pot-head; I'm a POT-HEAD!" I can't wait to get this note from school. Although to be honest, I think his teacher, Ms. Carrie, has probably been to her share of Phish concerts, so this might not be a big deal after all.

He also met the girls next door yesterday. [Did I mention we had two college juniors move in next door? The family who bought the house over the summer couldn't sell their current house and so have rented this new one for the time being. Which means we now have Brittany and Erica and assorted other people next door to us.]

Anyway, they're very nice. They are also, apparently, under surveillance. When Samson met Brittany, who was returning a pyrex she'd borrowed, he said "We always watch you from the window." Which, since I'm pretty sure neither Vicki nor I are spying on these two, means that Samson has been looking across the way from his bedroom. Maybe he meant "we" as in "me and Jane"?

Potty-training continues apace, and Sam is doing really well. He is, unfortunately, obsessed with bottoms. As in "Want to see my bottom?" or "Boys stand and pee but girls, they pee from the bottom." The less said about this the better.

As for Jane, still no real words, but this morning at breakfast she looked over at Samson and said "sa-sa," so I think we're getting there. Unfortunately, she's just too busy climbing things and not sleeping and trying to walk to worry too much about words right now.

Clearly I spoke too soon

Want to know how long Jane can scream in the middle of the night before settling back down to sleep?

91 minutes.

Can you guess how I know?

The return of Sweet Jane

For the first time in about a month, Jane slept through the night.

Which meant that when she woke up, she wasn't Calamity Jane (as we've taken to calling her when she is grouchy or shrieky) but was back to her old, sweet self.

Thank goodness, because man, she may not look it, but she is tough.

Big brother is most definitely not watching

I'm sure there's a "cat's away" line in this somewhere, but given that our cat is permanently "away," it just seems wrong to conjure up the image.


We had some freezing rain this morning, and Vicki's school was closed. Sam's school and my work were not, so the guys soldiered on with their days while Jane and Mommy enjoyed a cozy day at home. Apparently, with Samson's toys.