Bright eyes

Jane, you are a vision of loveliness...

Freckles

It's official: Samson James has his first freckles. We spent a lot of time over the past few days playing outside, and well, it's not like he's going to tan. Truth be told, I feel like this is one of those "from father to son" moments.

Melanin, the gift that keeps on giving.

Table for two

Jane and I had a tea party this afternoon, complete with pretend tea (lots of sugar) and pretend sandwiches (cucumber, natch). It was all very civilized. For about six minutes.

And then things went right off the rails...

Finally!

I had my doubts that this would ever happen, but I have finally graduated. [And yes, that's my big fat head on the screen in the picture above. Vicki said that when my name was called and I appeared on screen, Samson acted all shy. Hilarious.]

Even though I finished up with my thesis a full month ago, it didn't really feel final until I crossed the stage and shook the dean's hand. So now it's done, and I am officially a "Master of Arts." If you've got some arts that are being all surly and are in need of mastering, let me know and I'll be right over.

Actually, the best part of the day was when Samson told me he was proud of me.

Good morning from Crazy-stan

Vicki is out of town for the day, so I'm "working from home" while Jane naps. Knock wood, she's been asleep for two hours now. We are also watching Vicki's mom's dog, Lady, while her mom and stepdad visit her brother and sister-in-law and their new baby, Emily, in Colorado. Still with me?

So far so good, and I think this picture pretty much sums up the morning as I tried to get everyone ready to take Samson to school. (You don't see Jane because I was holding her.)

Giant steps

There have been rumors of Jane walking for a few days now, but I have finally seen it for myself.

Of course, none of these photos captures that moment because we were all too busy cheering for her, but you get the idea...

The Equalizer

Samson is not a particularly aggressive child. And, as I'm sure I've mentioned before, he's got a pretty firm grasp on the whole "we-don't-hit-people" thing. Which is great, of course, but there are times when I wish he was a little, well, morally flexible.

There's a kid at his school, whose name is Ruddy (short for Rutherford, so you've already guessed what his parents are like), and Ruddy is a hitter. He is in the twos, so they only interact on the playground, but Samson has come home more than a few times telling us about Ruddy hitting him. We've kept the party line --- tell him to stop, move away from him, tell a teacher --- and it has worked pretty well.

However, on Friday, as I was dropping Samson off and all the kids were playing, Ruddy walked up behind us and hit me. Now I realize I'm not particularly intimidating, but I think most two-year-olds don't even talk to adults they don't know much less assault them. He kept on walking, and once I got over the shock of "did that kid just hit me?" I sprang into action.

I said, loudly, "Hey you. What's your name?" Obviously, I know the kid's name, but if I learned anything by being raised by two teachers, it's that you immediately assert your authority by demanding at least a name (if not a hall pass).

I then told him to go sit in the corner. At which point his teacher, who was in the room, asked "Did he just hit you?" and gave him a time-out over by her. Samson was a little confused by all of this but must have figured it out because I left him with a huge smile on his face.

Vicki thought it was hilarious that I gave someone else's child a time-out, in school no less, but I just kind of reacted. It didn't occur to me not to give him one. I felt like Edward Woodward (see below).

Anyway, I told Samson that if Ruddy hits him again, he might think about hitting him back. Hard. Just once. I told him he could expect to get in trouble at school but that I would not punish him. [Heck, I might take him out for ice cream.]

That said, I think Samson is a better person than I am. Plus school's out in two weeks...

At the breakfast table

Here's the conversation I had with Samson this morning at breakfast. I have no idea what it all means, if it means anything, but I wanted to write it down before I forgot.

The chattier he gets (and with Jane starting to chime in), the more I think we should Nixonize our dining room so years later we'll have a record of all those silly fleeting moments that never get recorded (unlike birthdays, graduations, etc) but that really make up life.

Samson: When will I have a son?

Me: When you're older, I hope.

Samson: But it won't go in my tummy.

Me: No. Mommies have babies.

Samson: But I'm not getting married.

Me: Oh?

Samson: No. I'm going past that.

Epicure

We made fresh whipped cream to go with sliced strawberries and blackberries for dessert. Samson, who follows the Greystoke diet, only wanted the berries.

Jane, on the other hand...

Little creatures

For Mother's Day, Samson and Jane got Vicki a membership to the zoo. So we took our little creatures to see the big ones. Including the new baby elephant, whose name just happens to be Samson. You can imagine how excited our guy was at seeing and hearing his name all over the zoo.

Speaking of things overheard, Sam has entered a phase of, er, anatomical awareness. Lots of discussions about who does or does not have what part [sidenote: for some reason, he insists on pronouncing it pea-NUSSS, which renders me Beavis-like every time.]

Anyway, and probably not coincidentally, this new found knowledge has surfaced alongside what we think may be the home stretch of potty training. Add to this scenario a public bathroom at the zoo and the inevitable toddler "outside" voice, and you've got yourself a perfect storm.

I'm not going to provide a transcript. In fact, I wasn't there [I was sitting, mercifully, with Jane on a bench watching birds], but suffice to say Samson Crying-Gamed Vicki in the stall.

Oh the humanity...

Happy Mother's Day

Happy Mother's Day!

Grrrl power

For some reason, Jane is growling at the camera lately.

OK, I guess it's not for some reason.

While you were out

Apparently while I was in Denver, I missed a trip to the saddest carnival ever. Don't believe me? See the look on Sam's face. [Vicki said he never got the hang of the bumper boats and basically went around in circles until the ride attendant took pity on him and, literally, bailed him out.]

It's probably safe to assume St. Pius X parish will not be using any of our pics for next year's promotional materials. Which is pretty funny, considering his last fair experience.

Can't you just see the ad: "Come to the carnival. Your kids will be nonplussed! Adequate rides! Food that is neither delicious nor terrible!"

Catch of the day

Have I mentioned that Samson is crazy for baseball? And yes, those are batting gloves on his hands. He's also apparently crazy for accessories.

I'm not sure when this happened, but this spring was Sam's awakening to the national pastime. And I'll be honest (if immodest), he's got a really good stance and terrific eye-hand coordination. More important: He doesn't get mad when he misses the ball. I've been trying to give him a little Buddhism with his batting practice, namely: "missing is as much a part of baseball as hitting."

I was not a little leaguer as a kid [see: ball, afraid of; see also, parents, athletic agnostics], but I have always liked the game, and I am having the time of my life every night after dinner with Samson.

I know this weather won't last, and who knows how long his interest will remain [a few months ago he was all about superheroes], but this spring (and especially since I finished my thesis), one of the best parts of my day is when I am "on the mound" watching Samson dig in at the plate [he taps his Crocs and home plate before taking his practice cuts] and hearing him say "ready for the pitch."

Last night we finished up our game and went for ice cream. It was 7 o'clock and about 68 degrees outside with a light breeze from the south. We sat in front of the ice cream place, and Sam looked at me, his face already covered with cotton candy ice cream [which, incidentally, tastes even worse than it sounds], and said "Thank you, Daddy. I'm really having a fun time."

I don't want to get all George Bailey on you, but I am the luckiest guy I know.

New look

Thanks to Vicki for giving the blog a much-needed makeover. Now all I need to do is get better about posting more regularly...

Slings and arrows

If a picture is worth a thousand words, a thrown object must be worth at least a dozen, right? Jane still isn't talking much, but she has taken to voicing her displeasure by throwing things. Usually food. And usually onto the floor.

She's kind of like the little girl with the curl on her forehead. When she's good, she really good, but when she's mad, watch out. Especially if she's got a waffle in one hand and a full bottle of milk in the other.

In other news, I got back from Denver on Monday and went right from the airport to Sam's school. He wasn't his usual upbeat self, and when I asked him about it in the car, he told me that Jake, his buddy at school, had called him a baby.

Looking at my son's little face and the hurt in his eyes just broke my heart. I know that kids are kids, and I definitely know that one of the things kids do to each other is test for weak spots. But it doesn't make it any easier.

[Sidenote: I can still recall with a kind of cinematic clarity the day that our entire kindergarten class surrounded a new kid --- his name was Steven and he was wearing a green shirt --- and said, in some kind of weird "Lord of the Flies" unison: "You can't play." And I can remember this kid just bawling his eyes out and trying desperately to get away. I have no idea how long this lasted, probably a minute at most before a teacher broke it up. I'm pretty sure we all got "silent lunch" the next day for it, but I remember at the time feeling both really scared and really glad it wasn't me in the middle.]

Anyway, apparently being called a baby is one of Sam's weak spots. Also, his buddy Jake has two brothers who are in high school, so I imagine he's a little ahead of the curve in the verbal sparring department. We told Samson that if Jake called him a baby today, he should say "So?" and see what the response is.

Actually, I'm hoping Jake has just forgotten all about it. I'm also hoping that Samson doesn't remind him. [He tends to do this. We were at the park one time and a boy pushed him. For the rest of our time there, he kept asking the kid questions like "Why are you mean? Why do you push people?"] Stay tuned...

Bubble boy

Samson and Jane went to the dentist yesterday. Their dentist only handles kids and is apparently very kind and patient and gives out loads of swag. Including the little surgical masks that hygienists wear. Which meant that for the rest of the day, Samson insisted on wearing his "catcher's mask."

After the dentist, Vicki took the kids food shopping. With the double seat shopping carts, the kids face forward, and she couldn't figure out why people kept looking at her with some mix of alarm and pity. She figured it out at the checkout counter.

He took it off for dinner, but that was about it. Last night, at the park, he pulled the thing out of his pocket, and I spent a half hour playing catch and probably looking like either the most over-cautious parent in the world (this being high pollen season) or some kind of mean dad making his obviously ill child play catch despite having some horrible disease that necessitates the wearing of a surgical mask.

Samson is at school today, sans mask, so maybe it was just a one-day thing. If not, I'll be sure to get a picture so you get the full effect.