Because I do not hope to turn again

Today is Ash Wednesday. And aside from being pretentious and quoting T.S. Eliot, I'm thinking about Lent. Also, I'm eating a giant ham and bacon sandwich. OK, not really; just putting that out there in the (very) off chance my folks are reading this.

No, I'm thinking about Lent because, as I've noted earlier, I expect this Easter is going to require a LOT of explaining. I mentioned to Samson last night that today is the start of Lent and that it's the time we spend getting ready for Easter. So far so good.

I then said, since he goes to an Episcopal school and might see folks showing up for services, that today is a day many people put ashes on their foreheads as a reminder that we're just sort of passing through this life on our way to the next one. Heady stuff, I know, but it's not like I'm making it up.

And unfortunately, he's not old enough yet for me to refer him to the catechism of Eddie Izzard.

Cousins

When I was a kid, my favorite cousins were a year and two years older, respectively, than me. Which meant that getting together with them was always a lot of fun. Unfortunately, they lived in Montreal, so seeing them was kind of an event.

It's possible that this made our times together (vacations, family occasions) all the more special, but I remember always wishing we lived nearer to each other. And I still treasure those memories from my childhood.

I don't have any interest in moving, but watching Samson and Jane play with Luke certainly made me wish our families lived closer. And it not only brought back lots of good memories from my own childhood but made me happy at the prospect of my children creating their own memories with Luke and Nate in years to come....

Road trip

We took a trip up to Connecticut this weekend to meet my new nephew, Nathan. For a baby weighing more than 9 pounds(!) at birth, he was smaller than I'd expected. I think it's probably just been a long time since I've held a newborn.

What a sweet little guy he is. And big brother Luke is doing very well. He still seems a bit confused about it all. Which makes sense. I think Samson is still wondering what hit him, and Jane is now 2.

Anyway, we went up Saturday morning and returned Sunday night. You're probably thinking: "wow, that's a lot of time in the car with two small children." You know what? I KNOW!

Trip highlights include:

* Sam's discovery that the words "pee-pee bottom" make Jane laugh this terrific belly laugh. Every time. Seriously. Every. Time.

* Jane's slow transformation into Michael Winslow. We're not big beepers in our family, but occasionally, you just need to beep. Every horn honk (ours or others) was met with Jane's approximation of the sound.

* Samson has been paying more attention in chapel than we may have realized. On the turnpike going home (somewhere near Cherry Hill), we heard him having a duel with two Playmobil guys. Guy one: "You can't defeat me." Guy two: "I can. I'm a bad guy." Guy one: "You'll never defeat the ISRAELITES!!!"

Also, apparently the kids have unionized. On our trip up (somewhere near the Amboys; God I love New Jersey!), I suggested, for about the 11th time, that they might want to put their heads down and take a nap.

To which Jane said "Noway." And then Sam chimed in: "No. We're not napping. We'll never take a nap." And then they both laughed this weird conspiratorial laugh and started up again with a round of "pee-pee bottom."

Good times in minivan nation.

The taste of victory

If you have a heart condition, diabetes, or take cholesterol medication, stop reading now.

OK, everyone else: You were warned.

Last week, in the spirit of Super Bowl XLIII, Samson and I made a friendly wager on the outcome of the game. [Sidenote: For a nation with a collectively dwindling interest in foreign languages, why does the NFL make us all remember how to use Roman numerals every winter?]

With the big game approaching, I asked Samson whether he wanted the Pittsburgh Steelers or the Arizona Cardinals to win. Because much of our life these days seems to revolve around the events from a galaxy far, far away, Samson picked Arizona. Why, you ask.

Because the Steelers made him think of bad guys (i.e., people who steal, not the blue collar pride of western PA). From the bad guys link it was just a degree of separation connecting them to these guys. And nobody wants them to win.

So the bet was set. It took a while to figure out what the stakes would be, but we settled on the loser having to make the winner a "victory dinner" the following Saturday night.

To be perfectly frank: I was kind of hoping to lose. Not out of any animus toward Pittsburgh (although it would be funny to see Tuskens in the huddle), but because I thought it would be fun to let Samson revel in winning a bet by dictating the terms of dinner.

And but for that last minute catch by Santonio Holmes, he would have gotten the chance. That said, I never really planned to have him make me dinner. And good thing, too. When I woke him up last Monday to inform him that I'd won the bet, he offered to make me "boogies and poo."

I politely declined. His second choice was a little more all-American: mini cheeseburgers, hot dogs, french fries, and milk shakes.

So on Saturday night, I fired up the barbecue, and Vicki and Samson made little burger patties. Jane "helped" with the milk shakes. [Fun parenting tip: Toddlers and blenders are not a natural combination. Still, Jane liked pushing the "pulse" button. Perhaps a little too much.]

All in all, it was fantastic. And probably double the caloric intake either Vicki or I needed for the week. But delicious nonetheless.

Time delay

It's snowing this morning, which reminded me that I'd forgotten to post these from our first snowfall a week or so ago. We had about three or four inches, and the kids were going bonkers.

Sam taught his sister all about eating snow. Sadly, none of us could convince her to keep her mittens on, so her time outside was short-lived.

But the guys hung outside and worked on our snowfighting skills...

Sam works the refs

Now that Samson and Jane are old enough to play together (or at least near each other), there are the inevitable squabbles that arise between siblings. Which is not a big deal, and Vicki and I are usually content to let them sort things out amongst themselves.

Unfortunately, Jane is a bit, um, feisty, and (like Terminator X) lets her hands do the talking.

Luckily for Jane, her brother is not particularly aggressive and has a strong enough moral compass not to push or hit her back. Usually.

But he has figured out how to work the system, and so more than once now I've caught him getting in her face and bothering her, only to report out "Jane hit me" or "She pushed me." Which, of course, she has, but not without provocation.

At which point sweet Jane will look at me and say: "mime owt" and go sit herself on the time-out step. If there's a sight more pathetic than my two-fisted little girl putting herself in time out, I don't want to see it. It just about breaks my heart to see her sitting there, thumb in mouth, looking up with those big blue eyes.

I'm sure at some point she'll figure the whole self-reporting thing out [her brother sure has] and either hit him more quietly or deny everything once Vicki or I arrive on the scene. Just like her brother does now.

Ah progress...