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.

Back in blog

OK, so I'm finally done with my thesis. Almost. I defended successfully, but I need to submit my copies to the library. Still, all the thinking (hopefully) is done.

So I apologize for the silence, but I will now do my best to get back to this.

Lots and lots to catch up on (including Samson's new found love/obsession with baseball and Jane's continuing attempts to walk).

As usual, not as much time as I'd like [I am at work, after all]. Still, I wanted to at least put up a few recent pictures. Nothing sadder than an out of date blog, sitting like a ghost town out there in cyber space.

The Book of Judges, according to Stan Lee

With Luke's christening this weekend and Sam's chapel class focusing on something other than Easter, there's been a renewed interest in our house in Bible stories. Specifically stories like Noah, Jonah, and of course, the story of Samson.

So we read the story of Samson and his battle with the Philistines. Lots of "why" concerning Delilah and the whole hair thing. Not too many good answers from me, I'm sad to say. Still, he's clearly picking something up. Last night I came upstairs to find him wearing a pair of red wool gloves my mother gave him [his Spiderman gloves] and "shooting his web at the Philistines."

There's got to be a movie idea in there somewhere, no?

Roadside assistance

Apparently you can deflate your tire just by hitting it really hard on the curb. Want to guess how I know?

We were driving home last evening from a friend's house, and I took a corner a little too fast. There was a loud thud, and we limped across the intersection to witness our hubcap spinning away from us and the air leaking out of our rear passenger-side tire.

If you need to get stuck with a flat tire, especially one that's totally your fault, you should try to do it on a nice spring night in an upscale neighborhood. Vicki took the kids for a walk while I wrestled with the tire iron. The van is a 2006, so the original tires are still on, which meant that the lug nuts were nearly impossible to remove.

We have AAA, which Vicki called, but I was determined to at least get the tire off and changed before they arrived. I figured they could fix the tire or try, but I didn't want to be the guy standing there waiting for someone else to come and change his flat. I realize this is what AAA is for, but still...

After about 15 minutes of struggling with the tire iron, it occurred to me that I could lower the jack back down and simply stand (actually jump) on the handle of the iron to undo the lug nuts.

Worked like a charm, and it was done just in time for the guy to come, hammer our bent rim back into shape, fill the tire back up with air, and send us on our way.

Meanwhile, Vicki and the kids picked some flowers, met a neighborhood cat, scoped out a few houses for sale that we'll never be able to afford, and had a generally pleasant time of things.

I'll be interested to hear Samson's retelling as it evolves, because he got back just as the AAA guy arrived and today he kept talking about "the mechanic" fixing everything. I kept trying to include "but Daddy changed the tire," but I'm pretty sure that part is not making the final narrative.

The play's the thing

Samson's class play was Friday. As I've mentioned before, this was an eagerly anticipated performance. Lately we'd been getting sneak previews during dinner, but nothing could have prepared me for the actual show.

For one, this was Goldilocks as told by Homer. There was a whole prologue to the familiar part with the porridge and chairs that involved Goldilocks walking through the forest and being met by different creatures. She was warned of the dangers of walking in the forest by frogs, caterpillars, butterflies, ladybugs, bunnies, and, per Sam and his buddies, flowers.

Goldilocks, played by Samson's friend Sara, was fantastic. Seriously, this child was not only comfortable in front of a room full of (mostly) strangers, but she was like a little method actor. At the point where GL breaks baby bear's chair, she actually pitched forward in the chair to let it fall to the ground as if it had broken. If there was a Variety for preschool it would say things like "Inspired!" and "A brave performance!"

Samson on the other hand looked, well, bored. The flowers (and all the other creatures) had singing parts for the whole play, but sometime around the middle --- before the three bears returned home but after Caroline, who played the sun, yelled out "poopy!" --- he turned around and started looking at the kids behind him. Then he put his head down and stretched out for a bit. I really wish I had brought the video camera. Classic Samson in (in)action.

Of course, once the play was done, he was all fired up about it. Or at least about the lemonade and cookies provided.

Jane was with me as she had been up sick the whole night before. She did really well despite not feeling her usual cheery self. And while I'd like to say I feel bad for bringing my sick child to Sam's school, I'm pretty sure every bug we've had in this house since September 2006 has come from that place.

Opening day

I am finally, if belatedly, putting in real hours toward finishing my thesis, so blog posts will be a little sporadic for the next few weeks.

Still, Vicki lucked in to three tickets for opening day yesterday, and I somehow managed to tear myself away from the keyboard to take in a few innings of the O's losing to the Rays. We were practically on the roof, but it was great to be back watching live baseball (even if didn't exactly feel like spring).

Samson held on to that ticket for the first half hour we were there. He has, of late, become really interested in baseball, and it was fun to explain things like rally caps and relief pitchers to him.

For her part, Jane was busy watching (and mocking) the drunks a few rows up from us.

OK, so maybe there are some small parts

Vicki just called from the car. She picked Samson up from school and he'd been crying. Apparently, the parts for the class play, "Goldilocks and the 3 Bears," were handed out, and Samson did not get the coveted role of Papa Bear. Instead, he will be a bunny. I don't remember bunnies from the story, but I'm guessing they serve as a kind of Greek chorus, warning Goldilocks and alerting the audience to important morals and themes.

Or maybe they just hop around in the background.

Either way, Jordan got the part of Papa Bear. Which, to be honest, seems fair to me.

For one, he's a five-day-a-weeker at the school. And he's easily got 20 pounds on all the other kids in the class. I think having a 53-pound bunny hopping in the background would be a little distracting, don't you?

Excuses, excuses

I took a few days off to spend Easter with my family (as in, all of them, parents, in-laws, etc), so I've got lots of stories and tons of photos and no time to share them. Here are a few from my nephew Luke's first visit to our house.

Amazingly, we weren't any later than we normally are for church. That Luke is a fast (and snappy) dresser...

Jane works the system

So Jane has added "uh oh" to her little repertoire of words. This isn't the "I just fell down, but I'm OK" uh-oh, but rather the "I think I'll knock my milk on the floor and pretend it's an accident" kind of uh-oh.

Last night I watched her slowly move her bottle to the edge of the table and then push it over. She then looked up, said "uh-oh," and laughed like crazy.

Unfortunately, what is cute (at least the first 70 or so times) for a 14-month-old is rarely so for a 3-year-old, so Jane not only got away with knocking her milk on the floor but --- and I believe this is the first documented instance --- also helped get her brother in trouble.

Uh-oh, indeed.

Bells are ringing

Samson has a habit --- especially when he's uninterested in eating --- of jumping up from the table and saying "The fire alarm is ringing. We have to go put on our uniforms!" I have to admit, it's way more clever than simply saying "I don't want to eat," but it still doesn't work.

Anyway, he did this at my parents' house, which prompted my Dad to mention that he had a bell for Sam to ring in the basement. Said bell weighs about 10 pounds, but Samson rang the hell out of it on Saturday afternoon.

He kept making my Dad go upstairs and lie down so he could then ring the bell and wake him up.

Circus minimus, part 2

Where was I? Oh yes, the tigers.

So this year's show had lots of trained animal stuff. I mean, you expect the elephant parade and the attendant standing on one foot and linking trunks routine. But the tigers, for some reason, just make me sad. I know I mentioned this last year as well, but part of me (a big part, if I'm being honest) always roots for the tigers.

I know we'd be talking through the incident in our house for the next 20 years [we had a smoke detector with a low battery that went off some time around Christmas, and we still discuss it at least three times a week before Samson goes to sleep], but I just can't help it. There's something profoundly ignoble (and depressing) about watching a giant predator reduced to jumping through a hoop by a guy in sparkles and spandex.

Anyway, Samson seemed sort of interested in them. And there was just enough noise to keep Jane moderately interested. Unfortunately, there was also a trained horse and zebra act. Three rings of horses (and zebras) running clockwise, counter-clockwise, and then doing some kind of drill where half of them ran one way and half ran the other. No, really.

But even this was preferable to the trained dogs. I'm pretty sure I didn't say this out loud while I was sitting there, but Jesus H. Christ is there anything more boring that watching dogs do tricks? Probably listening to people talk about dogs doing tricks.

Honestly, with the tigers at least I've got some kind of vested interest. When it comes to poodles in skirts on scooters and the people who train them, there is absolutely no one to root for (see also: existential dread).

Surprisingly, the one thing missing this year was the guys on motorcycles in the giant metal ball. Samson remembered them and kept asking when they would appear. I assumed they were part of the show [why wouldn't you include them?], but alas, they were not. I assume they're out in the world somewhere doing that right now, right? I mean, it's probably not a hobby.

Still, Brian and Tina being shot out of the cannon was pretty neat. By that time, however, Jane was sound asleep.

Gratuitous Jane photos

Jane has been working on her facial expressions. So far she's got vaguely crazy and incredibly sweet down pat.

Circus minimus

The circus is in town, and Sam's class made its annual pilgrimage to the downtown arena for a few hours of ... well ... for a few hours.

Last year's trip was an adventure unto itself, what with the motorcycles, the tigers, and Miss Sarah. This year was a different theme and a different cast. Sadly, Miss Sarah no longer teaches at Sam's school, but his teacher, Miss Carrie sat next to us.

I'm not sure if she wanted to or just took pity on me because I had both kids. [Vicki's mom was in NY, so I had Jane with me too. Which was no big deal, but I think dads really bear the brunt of the "soft bigotry of low expectations." I put Jane in a little corduroy dress and had a pink clip in her hair, which elicited a "Jane looks so nice" comment from one of the moms that was equal parts sincere and surprised. I don't know if she expected to see Jane in a stained Jets jersey munching on a Slim Jim or what, but I can get my kids out of the house just fine thank you.]

I digress. Perhaps one of the funniest things about being at the circus with Sam's class was the way each of the kids greeted each other. The responses came in two varieties: complete and total silence accompanied by staring or amazement at the incredible coincidence that they too happened to be at the circus and in our section. It was awesome.

As for the show, this probably seems like a strange appraisal, but it was kind of boring. You know how they send out the clowns to divert the audience's attention while they set up for the next big thing? More than half the show felt like the diversion part of the program.

There was a whole subtheme of this clown in love with a trapeze artist that was completely lost on Sam. They also did a bit where two kids were picked from the audience to learn to be clowns. And there was a 15-minute parody of Dancing with the Stars called Dancing with the Clowns. Which was probably wildly entertaining for those who enjoy slapstick physical comedy and ballroom dancing.

In fairness, I'm judging the circus on whether or not it appealed to my three-year-old. And he enjoyed some of the bigger stuff, like the guy getting shot out of a cannon. But there was just a lot of downtime to contend with. For Sam, not for me, as I had Jane practicing standing by holding on to the hair of the girl in front of us. Erica, who is in Samson's class, was a really good sport about it and seemed to enjoy the attention Jane was paying her.

I've got more to cover, but I should probably get to work. I'll post more later. Stay tuned, there will be tigers...

Sights and sounds

Samson's class has science once a week, and they've been working on the senses. They did a blind taste test (which Samson aced, correctly naming all 5 foods). Why this makes me proud, I don't know, but it does. That's right, my boy knows a marshmallow even when he can't see it.

Anyway, the results were posted on a chart outside his classroom and included the child's name, the food, and their response.

Charlotte, who shares a cubby with Samson, identified the olive as "martini." Her parents must be very proud.

In keeping with their senses unit, the kids were later asked about their favorite things to see, taste, etc. I saw the list outside Sam's classroom and just stood there smiling. I don't think there's anything I can add that wouldn't be superfluous, so here it is:

My favorite thing to see: whales jumping

My favorite thing to taste: carrots

My favorite thing to touch: marshmallows

My favorite thing to smell: pasta

My favorite thing to hear: Jane laughing

Verbatim

Life with a three-year-old (at least with our three-year-old) can feel at times like a Beckett play. I submit for your consideration the following conversation Vicki and Sam had this morning:

Samson: When babies have a diaper rash, does God have one too?

Vicki: Does God get diaper rashes?

Samson: Yes.

Vicki: God gets them too?

Samson: He gets them for the babies so the babies won't cry.

Correction

Sweet Jane was not just along for the ride after all. She was busy getting the eye infection too, so now those big beautiful eyes are all crusty. Add to that her crazy morning wake-up hair, and you've got one very unhappy little girl.

Still, the doctor gave us extra drops, so she should be right as rain in a day or two. Poor thing.

We had almost no snow this winter, and there were only a few cold streaks that I can think of, but this has definitely been the sickest winter for our family. I can't wait for some warmer weather so we can just open the windows of the house and get some fresh air circulating. It feels silly to complain about winter when it really never arrived [we might as well have left the tags on the kids' snowsuits for all the use they saw], but I'm really ready for spring.

Profiles in courage?

So Samson has an ear infection. And pink eye. The latter we knew about, since he had the viral form --- i.e., the kind that doesn't need antibiotics --- last week and now has the bacterial form, which does. Or maybe it's the other way around. In any case, the poor kid has brown goop on his eyelids, and we now need to put drops in them. The doctor suggested doing it while he's asleep. When Vicki pressed him on this, he said: "You wait until he's asleep and then one of you opens his eyelid and the other puts in the drops."

This is a child who is afraid of his curtains in the dark. Something tells me two shadows entering the room, prying open his eyelids, and dropping in liquid will not be well received. That said, we're bound to get at least one eye done before the screaming begins. I'll let you know how it goes.

Speaking of screaming, Samson has been having a hard time hearing us of late. Once again, Vicki called the doctor two weeks ago and was assured that it was part of a head cold and would right itself. It didn't, and in fact, the poor kid has probably only been hearing us with one ear for a week now. Which, given the past week's tally of time-outs for ignoring us, might explain a lot.

Anyway, the good doctor needed to use a metal tool to remove wax that was beyond the reach of a mere Q-tip. [Sidenote: Not that I want Samson to have special impacted wax in his ear, but it made me feel better that this was something I couldn't have fixed had I been better about cleaning his ears after bath time.] As you can imagine, the insertion of a lance into his ear did not sit well with young Samson.

I was on hand to hold him still, which I did. Mission accomplished, the doctor decided to show me what he'd found, which was a tiny, waxy, bloody kernel. Now I have a pretty strong stomach, or at least I used to, but at the sight of that --- combined with the wailing child in my arms and the fact that the office was like a kiln --- I almost passed out. I could feel my stomach drop and all the blood drain from my head as if someone had just pulled the plug.

I tried my best to be attentive while Sam's doctor showed us some illustrations of the ear and what healthy versus infected ears look like. He made a point of getting a book to give us all the details. All of which was kind. And thorough. And totally unnecessary. I'm already squeamish about ears [don't ask], and I just wanted to get the hell out of there.

So Vicki is on her way to the pharmacy, Samson is enjoying a well-deserved lollipop, and Jane, sweet Jane, is (as usual) along for the ride. She watched all of the above-mentioned action pretty intently.

I imagine behind that big sweet smile she was thinking: "better him than me."

Fantastic Sam

One of the great things about being a toddler's Dad is that you have a ready-made excuse to watch the shows you loved (or at least thought you did) as a way of screening them to ensure they are appropriate.

I remember watching the Fantastic Four only a few times as a kid, but I remembered it being a lot better, apparently, than it was. Which is OK, because Samson is still trying to figure out who the good guys and bad guys are and what makes them so. As in "Is he mean? Why?" or "How come he's a bad guy?"

So there's no need to get caught up in the finer points of things, which is good because I just don't have answers to some of his questions --- like why The Thing wears only blue underpants or why that guy (The Watcher) has such a giant head.

The joy of painting

We've been wanting to repaint our bedroom for a while now and finally got around to it yesterday. Jane obliged by taking two really good naps, and Samson was only too happy to pitch in and help.

His technique is a little more Jackson Pollock than Benjamin Moore, but it was really fun to have him working alongside us. Also, he is apparently union, as he kept stopping because he needed "a break."

Baby steps

Mine, not Jane's. She's still showing absolutely no interest in walking. She is, however, fascinated by trying to climb up the little walking stroller toy we thought would get her to stand and walk.

No, these baby steps were taken by me. At long last, I have turned in the first draft of my thesis. So if the blog posts are fewer and farther between than normal, you'll know my advisors came back with lots of revisions. I'm hoping for just two rounds of rewrites and then a defense in April so I can graduate in May. Keep your fingers crossed.

In other news, today at swimming Samson channeled his inner Aquaman and retrieved a ring from the bottom of the pool. He was also able to hold his breath under water while his teacher counted to 10. This last accomplishment, as I type it, makes it look like we send him to some Soviet-style swim gulag, but I can assure you Miss Annie is watching carefully over young Samson in the pool.

Man in a suitcase

I had to travel to Ft. Lauderdale this weekend for work [I know, poor me], and while the trip was nice and short --- I left Friday afternoon and was back home mid-morning on Sunday --- Samson is much more aware and affected by my travel now than even just a few months ago.

I'm not sure Jane noticed I was gone, but it was nice to see that big smile when I returned.

It was interesting watching people on my plane who were traveling with kids manage all the things they needed to manage. I had just my carry on bag and tried to look with both sympathy and solidarity as they struggled. And then I fell asleep.

On the way down, I sat, unintentionally, behind a couple with two small children, which worked out really well because then no one wanted to sit next to me. Honestly, it was like those two kids had dynamite belts on and were reading copies of the Turner Diaries.

Eventually, the plane filled up and those seats were taken by a weirdly tan couple, the female half of which looked like Rod Stewart. She spent the majority of the flight drinking rum and cokes. Look, I'm no Calvinist, but if you need three or four rum and cokes for a two and a half hour flight, maybe you should consider the train. Or AA.

Anyway, I'm back. The weekend was fine; the weather was amazing, and it looks like spring is starting to make some tentative steps forward here.

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.