Sam crosses the wine-dark sea

Because Samson loves to hear stories at bedtime, and because I love to tell them but am not always at the ready with a new one, he's gotten some exposure to a few of the classics (like Beowulf, Sir Gawain, Icarus and Daedalus).

I usually switch him in for the protagonist. So he'll either feel totally prepared or unbelievably cheated when he hits that first Western Lit class and realizes how many of his bedtime stories were plagiarized. [Actually, he already knows because our local library has a great collection of kids-adapted versions of these stories, which we also read.]

Anyway, of late Samson is obsessed with the story of Odysseus. [Tip of the hat to my friend Rebecca for putting me wise to this clip.]

This came about innocently enough. Vicki was trying to get some painting done in the basement and found a late 90s kids movie called "The Trojan Horse" on our cable system. It's exactly what you'd expect from the time and genre: Bad jokes, fluffy hair, and more precocity than you can shake a stick at. But it presents the story in a way that's exciting and has been edited enough to keep it from being too violent while still keeping the story moving. And despite it's cheese factor, it's still a far cry from the dreck of movies like Cars, which insist on salting the dialogue with "grown-up" jokes to keep the adults interested.

[Note to the Disney executives: You've already rigged it so I have to watch the movie; don't do me any favors by trying to make it funny for me. You'll fail, and it will feel longer than it already does. Just get it over with quickly and go on with peddling your merchandise tie-ins. I digress.]

Anyway, this Trojan Horse movie has it all. Swords and spears, archers, a giant wooden horse, even a musical number (which, and he's watched it at least a dozen times now, Sam always asks to fast-forward through). Seriously, and I know this about my son, when he likes something he really likes it. So we're in the basement watching it and he's studying the thing like it's the Zapruder film. Afterwards he's out in the yard or running around the house fighting Trojans, battling a Cyclopes, etc.

Which can be dicey --- luckily, Jane has excellent reflexes --- but I love that he's connecting with this story that's thousands of years old. And his enthusiasm inspired me to re-read The Odyssey, something I hadn't done since I had to teach it years ago to a group of decidedly unenthusiastic first-year engineering students fulfilling their humanities requirement.

Not to mention that this new found fascinating with all things Hellenic has afforded us some leverage with day to day stuff. Like most boys, he's not big on washing his hands before eating or after using the bathroom, but since I've told him that the Greeks were big on cleanliness, he's scrubbing in like a surgeon. Likewise, at dinner we've talked about how the Greek soldiers always ate everything on their plate (especially when camped for 10 years outside Troy), so he's been a champ at the table.

Thanks Homer!

Unplugged

So it's been a while, and while normally I'd make some attempt at apologizing, it's actually been nice to be disconnected for a bit. I took last week off from work and had a great week home. We took a few day trips and actually got a couple of things done around the house.

I have lots of photos to post and a few stories to tell, but I was determined that I would refrain from logging on at all (for work e-mails, personal e-mails, Facebook, etc) while I was off. It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be (which probably says something about my work ethic), and I kind of enjoyed not being in the loop for a while. I'm not saying that I'll be shopping for abandoned buses in the Alaskan outback anytime soon, but it really was nice --- for a little while --- to be able to view the laptop as just another appliance and to turn off my BlackBerry without worrying that I might miss something. [Of course, I did miss something, but it all got sorted out in the end. And it's not like I'm a surgeon for crying out loud.]

Anyway, some good stuff to catch up on, including Jane's newfound interest in using the toilet and Samson's complete obsession with the story of Odysseus. More on both later, but right now it's off to bed for me. I've decided, for reasons I still can't fully explain, that I'm going to run a marathon in October. So three weekday mornings and Saturdays I am up at 6 to do my running. Good times. Actually, I'm really enjoying it.

Jane on the other hand? Not so much. I thought I was out the door undetected this morning, but Vicki said right after I left Jane was at our bedroom window [she is still coming into our bed in the middle of the night] and said "Daddy! He's running away from me!" My poor sweet Jane...

Fourth of July

We had a barbeque to attend in the evening but decided to spend the early part of the day at Ft. McHenry, a local attraction and the scene of the battle with the British during the War of 1812 that inspired Francis Scott Key to write what would become our national anthem.

One of the coolest things about the fort, in addition to the cannons they fire, is the fact that they have a replica of the original star-spangled banner (30 feet x42 feet) and enlist (no pun intended) vistors in helping them unfurl it. Sam and I were picked to help for the morning display, and it was pretty neat to listen to the park ranger tell us the story of the Battle of Baltimore, how 1,000 men fought off an attack from British naval ships lobbing 200-lb bombs at them for 25 hours. The citizens of Baltimore, fearful that the British would burn the city the way they had Washington, DC, were looking to the fort for a sign of hope. The sight of the flag still flying let them know the fort had not surrendered and the city --- at least for the time being --- was safe.

I admit I'm something of a history buff (not on the order of the fanny-packed, reenactor groupie who almost ran Jane over to get nearer to the munitions exhibit, but I love learning about how people used to live). And I love the connection visiting a place like Fort McHenry can foster, particularly on a day like Independence Day. Yes, I know the 4th is about burgers and beer and not very bright teenagers losing digits. But I want my kids to know it's also a very important part of their nation's complicated, imperfect, and fascinating history.

At noon, the rangers asked all the visitors to gather for another unfurling of the flag and a singing of the national anthem. We stood up on one of the grassy ramparts that allowed us to look out to the bay or in to the fort. Two gigantic flags were unfurled, and the master of ceremonies led us all in singing the national anthem. Now I don't sing much in public. Not even in church. Not even when the priest (or worse yet, my mother) looks at me like "hey man, what's the problem?" But I sang. And it was really something to see all these people gathered and to hear them singing together.

When it was over, the most amazing thing happened. Out of nowhere, a guy in the crowd started singing the second verse. This was amazing to me for two reasons. First, because I had no idea there was a second verse. So that was nice to learn. But there this guy stood, unabashed and not looking for praise or attention, just somehow moved to sing there in this place where people had fought hard, not for a flag but for an idea and a way of life that may not even have been available to some of them. The guy was probably in his sixties, wearing a pair of shorts and a t-shirt that read NAVY on it. The look on the man's face reminded me of Norman Rockwell's Freedom of Speech painting. Completely unselfconscious and right there in the moment.

As I stood there, holding Samson's hand and watching this man, I thought of the men in that fort during the battle. How they must have been afraid and exhausted. Victory certainly wasn't guaranteed, but they fought because they believed in their country. I thought of my dad, who spent the end of his teenage years in the navy in the Pacific theater of World War II. I thought of my brother-in-law, who is serving in Iraq right now, away from his wife and baby daughter.

And I was profoundly grateful for them and for people like them. Not because they are heroes (although they may be). And not because they are perfect (they are not). But because they serve. And they sacrifice. And in so doing, in a very real way, they stake their lives on the very promise articulated with the sentence that begins "We hold these truths to be self-evident..."

Spanish-language optometry?

No matter how many times we correct him, I still find it hilarious that Samson thinks the Star-Spangled Banner's first line is "O Jose, can you see?"

Happy Independence Day everyone!

Game on!

Thanks Uncle Tim! Vicki's uncle (and Sam's great-uncle) Tim treated us to an O's vs. Nats game on Friday night at the Yard. For good measure, Papi, Samson's grandpa, was also with us. That smile you see on Sam's face was there the whole night.

The night was humid, and for a while it looked like we might be treated to a spectacular thunderstorm. But the rain held off, the Orioles prevailed (11-1 over the Nationals), and it was a great night.

And although Samson didn't make it through the whole game, he went eight strong innings (better than the starters for either team).

Some things I learned at the ballpark:

1. 24 ounces of Gatorade plus Samson equals a trip the restroom every inning. The price of proper hydration, I guess.

2. Eating peanuts and dropping the shells on the floor never gets old. Seriously, I think I was as excited about it as he was.

3. Apparently I am doomed to be seated next to incredibly scrupulous ticket-holders. This was not a sold-out game (surprise, surprise), but for some reason, the large man to my right (in full Nats gear, no less) never moved even a seat away to take advantage of the four empty ones directly to his right. Seriously, he got up to get food more than once and came back right next to me each time. [I had a similar experience on a flight to Kenya years ago. I had the end seat of a five-seat row, and there was a guy on the other end. Our third row-mate arrived and sat in his assigned seat, right next to me. Fair enough, but once the plane was in the air and we could be certain no latecomers were going to materialize, I suggested to him he might move to the middle so we'd all have some space. To which he replied "no" and then went to sleep. Good times.]

4. Samson is not totally clear on girls versus boys. As we drove toward the parking lot, we passed two 20-something blond girls in player jerseys and denim micro minis. We could see only their backs, but Samson wanted to know if we'd be seeing them on the field. I told him I was pretty sure we wouldn't.

5. The whole crowd dancing thing escapes my son (as it does me, if I'm being honest). When people got up to dance to the YMCA, Samson looked at me and said, with a serious-bordering-on-concerned look on his face, "Why are they doing that?" To which I gave the most honest answer I could: "Sammy, I don't know."

6. Although he has yet to crack 40 lbs, Samson when asleep is serious dead weight. He fell asleep on my shoulder as we walked to the car, parked about a mile away in the lot next to Ravens Stadium, and I walked the whole way with a smile that probably looked a lot like his.

Life skills

There were lots of things I hoped to learn to do when I became a father. And I'll be honest, starting off with a boy was kind of a soft landing as I'd already been a little boy and so could figure most of that stuff out. This is not to say there weren't any surprises, but Jane's arrival two and half year ago (!) opened up a whole new world.

One of the best things I've learned is how to do Jane's hair. This was borne as much out of necessity as anything, because without tails (pony or pig) Jane looks like 1970 Ozzy.

Our mornings now have a little ritual built in, where Jane will say "Can I have a ponytail?" and I'll go get the little rubber bands (we have millions of them) from their box on her dresser and let the day begin.

I've been getting more ambitious lately and going for the pigtails option. You'd think this would simply be twice as much work. You'd be wrong. Still, most mornings I get it right and feel confident that she won't get asked "Is Mommy out of town?" by strangers when we're in the supermarket.

In the fall, Vicki goes back to work full time, which means that I'll soon be on tap for getting both kids up, dressed, fed, and out the door. Mind you, the space between "fed" and "out the door" is the trickiest time as it involves the washing of faces, the brushing of teeth, the combing of hair, and invariable wardbrode changes. Lately Samson is obsessed with wearing only shirts and shorts that are the same color and tucking in his shirt in a way that would make Steve Urkel wince. And Jane is developing her own, er, look, which involves a layer or two of pajamas and whatever else is handy.

Nothing I can't handle, mind you, but come the fall I think I'll need to be pretty specific on the "you'll-wear-what-I've-put-out-for-you" front...

Gratuitous Sam and Jane pics, beach edition

Whistle a happy tune

I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but Samson can whistle.

And when I say he can whistle, I don't mean in just the occasional serendipitous note-producing way. That's how it started, of course. But over time he has kept at it, and so his whistling is now more like when Woodstock channels Madame Butterfly or the marching scene with the guys in Bridge on the River Kwai.

One the one hand, we always know where he is in the house. Unfortunately, he seems to have inherited my predisposition for ohrwurm, which I find hilarious and Vicki finds less than endearing.

In any event, for the longest time (and I'm talking years), I had a piece of a song that would intermittently pop into my head. It came out when I was in junior high, and while I knew the band, I couldn't locate the track. Of course, the magic of iTunes changed all that, and as soon as I found it, I downloaded it.

I then shared it with Vicki to prove to her that I was not imagining the song's existence. [If not for Wikipedia I would never have convinced her that Barbapapa was real; another one of those things from childhood that I couldn't find/prove existed until the Internet. Thanks Al Gore!]

Anyway, the keyboard part [the video below is not much of a video, but it's the best way I know of to share music via this site] is really catchy and is what was stuck in my head. It is now stuck in Sam's, and he happily whistles it around the house. All. Day. Long.

It's actually a really good song. Not on 24-hour repeat, mind you. But still...

Enjoy.

Fever (real and dance varieties)

We had plans to go to visit friends in Virginia for a pool party on Saturday.

And by "plans" I mean we had bags packed --- new beach towels, new bathing suits for the kids, a fresh thing of sunblock [we buy in bulk, as you can imagine if you've see our family] --- and were ready to head out the door. But Jane seemed a bit listless when she got up from her nap and just wasn't interested in doing much beyond being held.

A quick scan with the thermometer revealed she was at 101. Not critical, but certainly not pool-friendly either. [Sidenote: It's nice to have Fahrenheit readings back; at some point last year one of us hit some hidden button and we were only getting Celsius temperatures. Having a child with a fever is stressful enough without also having to do math.]

Anyway, we called and canceled, which Samson took about as well as you'd expect.

After a dose of Children's Motrin and another nap, Jane perked up a bit. Our dinner plans now scuttled, we decided to go grab some ribs at a local barbecue joint. Some things I learned:

1. Samson will not eat ribs with his fingers. He will, however, eat coleslaw with them.
2. My children do not like corn bread. At all.
3. Apparently soul (blue-eyed and otherwise) and R&B make Samson want to dance.

This last point fascinates me because Samson has never been a particularly dancy kind of kid.

Lots of people have home movies of their kids grooving away, completely unaware that they are being surveilled. Sam is more of a head nodder. But for some reason, a succession of songs by James Brown, Aretha Franklin, and Hall & Oates (?!) flipped some inner switch. The last song, in his defense, was "She's Gone," so it's not like he was wiggling around to "Private Eyes" or something.

Anyway --- and I say this often, but I really wish I had video of this --- Samson was just completely oblivious to the fact that we were watching him. We were outside the restaurant at a picnic table, and he just got down. Sort like a combination of David Byrne, Rerun, and Grover. It was magic. He ate almost none of his dinner (except the aforementioned cole slaw), but he was having a blast.

Unfortunately, Jane crashed. We hadn't been out for more than 30 minutes when she just shut down. Her whole body was hot. And not warm-let's-run-a-tepid-bath, but hot. The kind of hot that a laptop gets on the underside. Just before it catches fire.

We quickly decamped for home, where we checked her temperature again and saw she was now running 103.

My first thought was "Oh God, she's got West Nile virus." Vicki's first thought was "She needs more Motrin and probably a cool bath and some rest." We met in the middle with a call to the doctor and spent the night keeping tabs on her.

According to our pediatrician, there is some weird virus going around that causes kids to have this fever spike. It lasts a day or two and is then gone. It's cliche, but I think just about any parent would rather be sick than watch their child in pain.

And while this was a relatively quick episode [she was laid low all day Sunday too], it struck me how blessed we've been that both Sam and Jane have been generally healthy. It's easy to get caught up in the daily craziness (who put this diaper in the washing machine? why are you wearing a snowsuit?), but sitting by Jane's bed and watching her as she slept put things in perspective.

Anyway, I'm not trying to get all afterschool special on you. Jane woke this morning feeling much better. I think she's trying to make up for having taken the weekend off because Samson was bothering her by getting in her face and she hit him square in the nose.

As we were scolding her, I could see the wheels turning in her head as she contemplated pretending to still be sick. Our Jane is back.

Four out of five dentists...

Are not as cool as the one my kids go to.

Samson and Jane had a dentist's appointment today. And despite some initial fear (from Sam) and loathing (from both), I think they had a pretty good time. The dentist only works with kids and gives out all sorts of goodies and even offers rides in the chair. Good times in proper oral hygiene.

I won't get to hear all about their adventures until dinner tonight, but thanks to Vicki and her handy camera phone, I got at least a glimpse of how things went.

I don't think I've ever seen such nonchalance in "the chair" before. It's certainly not how I roll...

The kindness of strangers

For my birthday, Vicki got us tickets to see the York Revolution play. The team is an independent league team, and the stadium is only a year or two old. Like many minor league parks, the atmosphere is really festive. Lots of silly contests and promotions, which is great for keeping the kids at least sort of interested. When all else fails, there's also a carousel.

Perhaps my favorite promotion was the Velcro wall home run challenge, where one fan agrees to be velcroed to a wall outside the right field fence in the hopes that a ball is hit his way. If he catches it, he gets $5,000.

The coolest thing that didn't involve fabric adhesive was the pre-game catch on the field. Fans are invited into center field to have a catch for 20 minutes or so before the game starts. It was, as you can imagine, pretty awesome. Bright sun, super-springy grass, and Sam throwing heat.

Our seats were right on the left field foul line halfway between third base and the outfield. In any park, that's a pretty good seat. In this one, we were just a row behind the guys in the "bullpen." We were also on the alert for any foul balls slicing our way. [Indeed, I spent a good portion of the game intently watching each pitch for fear of being inattentive and having Jane be forever tattooed (literally and figuratively) as "Janie Foul Ball."]

The opposing team, the Long Island Ducks, were warming up as we took our seats, and so the starting pitcher and catcher were just on the other side of the fence from us. Sam was watching them pretty intently and was impressed by the sound of the pop each time the ball hit the catcher's mitt.

He watched for about five or 10 minutes, only turning his attention when Vicki (and the food) arrived. As he was facing away from the field, the pitcher and catcher finished warming up, and the catcher walked over to our seats, reached through the fence and tapped Samson on the shoulder to give him the ball.

I wish I had a photograph of the look on Sam's face. I have to imagine that ballplayers recognize themselves in young, wide-eyed kids at the ballpark. But I also have to imagine that given the length of the season, the wear and tear on your body, the annoying fans [we had one in our seats when we arrived hectoring the players for autographs], and the prospect that you might never make the big leagues, could turn you a little, well, pessimistic. Or at the very least it could make you aloof since it's really just another day at the office, so to speak.

I don't know anything more about John Pachot than what's stated in his team bio, but I can tell you that his singular act of kindness not only made my son's day, but it made mine as well.

Samson and Jane

I'll write about this later, but here's a shot from our trip to a local nature center/preserve. Something about the symmetry of my two moving up the big grassy hill just struck me.

The (pretty) good earth

With all the rain we've had lately, I was starting to wonder if we'd ever get the chance to go strawberry picking or if we should look for some terraced rice paddies and offer to help.

This trip has become something of an annual ritual for our little family, and it's something I really look forward to. I have such fond memories of our first trip with Samson, who seemed to cotton to it right away.

Jane still seems unsure about the whole farm-labor-as-family-outing thing, but the kids definitely enjoyed being able to eat as they went.

And they really liked being able to eat and not having to work for it.

The crop this year was not overly abundant, so there was a little more work involved than usual, but we left with more than five pounds of fresh strawberries and made a terrific (and easy to prepare) salad. The recipe, adapted from one I found at epicurious, calls for the following:

3C sliced, hulled strawberries

3 navel oranges, peeled and sliced [you want these to be about the same size as the strawberry pieces]

1T brown sugar [it calls for more, but you won't need it]

2T finely chopped mint leaves

You mix everything together in a bowl and you're ready to go. It suggests letting it stand for 30 minutes before serving, but I'm never on the ball enough to have an extra half hour before meal time. In any event, it's delicious and really light.

I didn't make jam this year, but if we can get our act together and get out once more, I may still try. See here for an easy recipe for that too.

Overdue

My posts, like my library books (sorry Dad) are overdue. So to the three of you still reading this, I apologize. When I look at the archives of this site and see how much I posted in years past, a few things occur to me:

1. Vicki takes some great photos
2. It probably shouldn't have taken me 18 months to write my thesis
3. In addition to being a wonderful procrastination enabler, this site has helped me to keep some precious memories.

So once again, dear reader, I will do my best to keep up to date. Lately work has been all, um, work-y, but if you really want someone to blame for the radio silence, I think the obvious choice is Jane.

OK, not really. But I did need an excuse to share this picture from the weekend.

Good to be back. Lots more to come. Stay tuned...

Pressing matters

I caught a rebroadcast of Everton versus West Ham Utd. last night while doing some laundry. [I'm nothing if not a multitasker.] If you haven't watched English Premier League football (or soccer), it's worth it if only for the commentary. At one point, the announcer --- and there was only one for this game --- noted a player's "impudent" move at the corner.

Beyond the high-level play-by-play (I'm sure the EPL has its own Tim McCarver somewhere), I am always amazed at just how big the playing field is. Seriously, it is absolutely enormous, and despite the complaints often invoked about low scores or lack of scoring, the game is constant motion. Which brings me to the following.

With the Chelsea/A.C. Milan friendly coming to town in July, and with it a heightened attention locally to soccer, I think the time has come for Samson and I to pick a team. Bill Simmons (patron saint of office worker procrastination) wrote a nice column a few years ago about his quest to pick an EPL team. And while I appreciate his thoughtful analysis, I feel the need to strike out on my own in this endeavor.

I'm agnostic when it comes to hockey and basketball [indeed, I find myself amazed that both of those seasons are still going on], so Samson is on his own for those sports. And I'm not an "enforcer" type of Dad who mandates his kids root for "his" team. Indeed, I grew up rooting for the Yankees (albeit in a house that was the sports equivalent of CAPE [figure it out] Catholics), but I think it's important for him to support the O's --- even if they break his heart every year for the next 20.

The Ravens, despite their awful purple and tawdry history, are, as he says "our homemade team" [I'm guessing he means hometown], so he's free to root for them heartily. Again, I tepidly rooted for the Jets but am starting to wonder if even they root for the Jets anymore.

For lacrosse, which matters more here than most places, we root for Hopkins. Or at least, I root for Hopkins and hope Samson will too. He picked Syracuse for the championship this past weekend, earning the right to pick his victory dinner. And his favorite color is orange, so we'll see.

Which brings us to soccer. Or football, if you like. He played last year and keeps talking about how excited he is for the new season in the fall. I suspect this has a lot to do with my promise of cleats, but still, he's excited so I'm excited.

Any thoughts on our rooting interest? My inclination, despite warnings from a colleague who lives in England against it, is to go with Arsenal. I get that there's a bandwagon element to it, but they have a cannon on their team shield (perhaps the only thing Samson would like more on a soccer shirt would be Boba Fett), and I like that their team is owned by its fans. Or at least some of its fans. OK, some of its wealthier fans. Still.

We've got two months before the EPL starts up again. Any and all suggestions are welcome.

Art (that may lead to) therapy

We visited the newly build National Harbor on Sunday. If you didn't know we had a "national" harbor, you're not alone. And it's not finished yet, but there's a cool beta version of a children's museum and a nice waterfront area, complete with a sculpture that is both climbable and terrifying.

The piece is called "Awakening" and is the work of sculptor J. Seward Johnson Jr.

Jane, who is afraid only of Cookie Monster [I'm not kidding], headed right toward the giant hand. And from there, of course, she headed for the water. That girl is crazy for the sea (or in this case, the Potomac).

Samson required a little more coaxing to check the giant out. He wanted to know why it was there and if the giant used to be real but was now dead. To which I answered "I don't know" and "Yes, and legend has it that one day he'll rise again from the sand and devour those who played on his grave." OK, I didn't really say that last part, but I can only imagine the look on Sam's face if I had.

Johnson, in addition to scaring small children with his work, is the guy who created one of my all-time favorite statues, The Hitchhiker, which happens to be located on the campus of my alma mater and made me smile every time I headed past it on a road trip.

If you're in the area, you should totally check out the museum. It's free, easy to get to, and you can do it in an hour or two and then go climb on the scary giant down the road. Good times.

Field of dreams

I work for a large and fairly complex organization, so I'm used to occasionally missing a directive and having to run to catch up. I did not think the same would hold true for coaching tee ball. Sadly, I was mistaken.

Apparently, we were supposed to introduce pitching to the kids at some point a few weeks back. I did not, as they say, get the memo. So we started during our last game. Which is great, as some of the kids (mine included) are used to being pitched to by their parents anyway and find the tee a little confusing.

Mind you, it also puts a lot more pressure on the coach not to strike out the side. We do three pitches and then switch to the tee. The kids don't seem to mind, but it's killing me to look into all those little smiling faces as they stand waiting for the pitch --- feet apart, hands together, back elbow up, eye on the ball --- and either swing late/early/above/below or, worse yet, get an unhittable pitch from me or the other coach.

Of course it is only tee ball, and they are only four and five years old, but as I stood on the mound looking at my son's shining face --- watching him dig in and take his practice cuts [he's nothing if not an expert mimic of what he sees on TV, right down to the batting gloves] --- I could feel the entire universe contract for a second so that there was only a narrow corridor of light by which to see and the rest faded away.

A slight breeze crossed the infield, and I could smell someone's newly cut lawn, somebody's flowering dogwood tree. I asked him: "ready?" and he nodded, tongue out, feet scuffing the dirt slightly.

I threw an arcing underhand pitch that seemed to float on the mid-May air, spinning slowly toward him. His eyes narrowed as his hands gripped the bat a little tighter. Moving his left foot up, he brought the too-heavy bat forward with a nice level swing, and I watched the ball slip just half an inch under the barrel of the bat.

The next two pitches didn't go any better, and we switched to the tee, from which he promptly hit a nice bouncer between the four infielders standing between first and second base [I did mention this was tee ball, right?].

There's no moral to this story, and I remain resolutely against vicarious living through my son. Or at least I'm trying to remain resolutely against it. But man, there are times when it feels like the whole world hangs on hearing the ping of the bat.


Crack of the bat would be cooler, I know, but we use aluminum, so it's more of a ping or a clang. Possibly a ding...

Darth Vader's theme song

Samson, as I've mentioned before, is all about the Empire. I only just remembered that I've got the Star Wars soundtrack on CD [did you ever doubt my nerd bona fides?]. So I put it in my car's CD changer for our rides to school in the morning.

There's nothing quite like looking in the rear-view mirror at your four-year-old as he rocks out to the "Darth Vader song" in preparation for his arrival at preschool. And he's very specific: I am not to start the music until the car is in motion.

Of course, Samson being Samson, he wanted to know what the words to the song are. I tried to explain to him that there are none, but he wasn't buying it. So I made some up. Feel free to use these should a similar situation arise.

I'm Darth Vader and this is my song
I'm Darth Vader won't you sing along?
Bad guys, we're really really
Bad guys, we're really really
Bad guys
In cool uniforms
Uniforms

Clearly I'm no Lennon in need of a McCartney (or even a Seals in need of a Crofts), but it's not half bad for something made up on the spot.

Fish (not the TV show)

No, this is not a post about Abe Vigoda, although his name has been invoked on this site from time to time. Yesterday Samson and Jane got a pet fish. When Vicki asked the kids what they wanted to name it, Samson answered before she'd even finished asking the question: SAMUEL.

Perfect. So Samuel the Beta fish (or the Sammyfish as Jane calls him) is now swimming in a little square bowl on the sideboard in our dining room. As far as pets go, this one promises to be a lot less work than our late, er Santa-visiting, cat.

Although it's not as easy to play with him as it was with Ishmael. And, while it seems unfair to compare our new pet to our old one, Ishmael was way better at laying on the couch with me while I read the paper. Samuel's sort of floppy and frantic in that kind of annoying pay-attention-to-me-I'm-rapidly-losing-oxygen kind of way.

I guess it will just take us a little time to get used to each other.

A day at the yard

Last Sunday was Little League Day at Oriole Park. All little league teams from the metro area were invited for a parade around the warning track. Unfortunately, it was 96 degrees in the shade that day.

Fortunately, the chance to be on the field (but not on the grass; the O's management was very specific about that) and get high fives from a few players (thank you Brian Roberts, Nick Markakis, Adam Jones, and others) made Samson forget about how hot he was.

That and a special appearance from the Oriole bird and a giant lemonade when we got to our seats.

I'm not sure why this picture looks so pixelated; maybe it was the heat waves rising from the concrete in the upper deck playing with the camera's lens?