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?

Jane learns a life lesson

Vicki had a school meeting last night, so it was dinner for three. While I was in the kitchen getting some pineapple cut up for dessert, Jane decided --- it being taco night and all --- to reach into the bowl of shredded cheddar and put a few pieces up her nose.

I can usually count on Samson to give a running commentary of what Jane is doing if she even thinks about doing something she's not supposed to. Last night? Not so much.

I arrived back in the dining room, after a minute's absence (two at the most), to find Jane's eyes watering. She was looking up at me, pointing to her nose and saying, "Nose, Nose, Nose."

After about a minute of this, it became apparent what she had done, and we worked all six (!) little pieces out of her nose. Good grief.

Lightning round

I am really proud of the kids on our tee ball team. Because we could all see that a big storm was coming, the coaches from both teams agreed we'd skip the "clinic" part of the evening and just jump into the "game." Which meant that everyone got a chance to bat.

But it was far from the leisurely pace we usually move at. This was more like speed chess. With bats. And toddlers.

Our side batted first [sidenote: Sam laced a shot that nearly made it out of the infield], and by the time we'd taken the field, the sky was an angry color gray.

The other team got three quarters of the way through their lineup before the first rain drops fell. Amazingly, nobody left the field. Our guys stayed put; they did, of course, notice the rain. And they let me know that it was raining. Repeatedly. But Team A did itself proud by letting all the kids on the other team have the same incredibly hurried chance to bat that they got.

As the last player on Team E rounded third base, we heard the first crack of thunder, and the skies opened. Perfect timing.

Interestingly, all the parents headed for their cars only to find their kids headed for the moms who were on snack duty. What's a little lightning when there's Capri Sun to be had?

Did Dewey Decimal have kids?

I'm guessing he did not. Why, you ask. Because this morning I took a little field with Samson and Jane to the library and got to see the dark side of his system.

Vicki was proctoring an exam, so I took the morning off and got to spend a sunny Tuesday morning with my guys. [Note: This Tuesday morning is not to be confused with the other Tuesday Morning, which somehow manages to combine all the warmth of a Soviet era DMV with the charm and selection of a post-tornado yard sale. I digress.]

Anyway, there's a new library not far from our house, so we happy few packed up our stuff (everyone is carrying a bag and wearing sunglasses these days) and headed out for an hour of play and reading. So far so good.

Samson and Jane had a great time in the kids' area, which is full of kitchen toys and costumes and the like, and they also enjoyed picking out a few books to check out and read at home.

Foolishly, I decided I'd try to find something for myself. We were nearing an hour and fifteen minutes on-site, and Jane was definitely ready for lunch and a nap. But for some reason, I thought it would be a good idea to take a quick spin in the travel section to look for a book [I've been hunting high and low for David Grann's "Lost City of Z"]. No luck.

But I did learn that the travel section, in addition to including narratives and guidebooks, is in the same aisle as graphic novel compilations (that's bound comic books for those of you who weren't in Mathletes) and Spanish-language kids' books. All of which were helpfully placed at around the 3-foot level.

So after a quick scan of what was there, I spent the next 10 minutes trying to wrestle the Batman version of Encyclopedia Brittanica away from Samson only to then find Jane clutching Dora's big book of buenas noches. She was not happy, to say the least, to be told she couldn't bring the book with her and threw herself on the floor.

After asking her nicely to get up, I pulled the "OK then, bye" move. At which point Sammy Superego jumped in with: "Daddy! What are you doing? Jane is part of our family. We don't leave our family behind."

She, of course, was unfazed. But it made me smile to see Samson sticking up for Jane's right to lie on the floor of the public library.

Montessori league

So we finally had weather that was baseball-friendly, and the kids were thrilled not to be shivering while waiting to bat. They were also thrilled at the fresh shoots of grass and dandelions in the infield. So much to see and play with. And none of it remotely related to tee ball.

Which means I need to get some better ideas for fielding drills pretty fast.

We played the light blue team (team E), and at one point, six of their players were sitting on the pitcher's mound. I think I actually saw two of their guys thumb wrestling.

It really is a great time of year...

Hide and seek

Jane tells her first joke

Last night at dinner, Jane was looking out the window into the backyard. What follows is almost verbatim.

Me: "What do you see out there Jane?"

J: "I see a squirrel." [It actually sounded like "EYESEEUHSKWURREL"]

Me: "Oh yeah, what's he doing?"

J: [pause, smile]: "He's pooping!"

I wish you could have seen the twinkle in her eye just before she said it and heard the huge laugh that followed.

I almost choked on my dinner, but I was enormously proud.

The silence of the Peeps

Lock up your Easter baskets, Jane is on the loose...

And yes, that is X-wing pilot Luke holding up the row of mangled Peeps. I needed some way to hold them still, and he just happened to be sitting (minding his own business) at Sam's place on the dining room table.

My girl

"Daddy, I play soccer."

Jane is really starting to put words together, and despite the uber-chattiness of her big brother, she manages to get more than a few words in edgewise.

And I'll be honest, watching her take the world in with those big blue eyes and put her ideas into words is equal parts awe-inspiring and humbling. There's never been a doubt (not since day one) that Jane is her own person, but it's so apparent now as she tells us what she's thinking and feeling.

She and I went to the zoo today, and as I was buckling her into the car seat, she looked at me and said "I had fun."

Not a girl of many words, but boy she sure makes them count. Thanks for making my day Sweet Jane.

Opening day

So Team A had its first practice/game tonight, and I think it went pretty well. Samson, who is usually brutally honest, told me he had fun.

I don't really have anything to report. Other than the fact that for reasons I can't even begin to fathom, our team has me for a coach while Team B has a guy who used to play minor league ball and who has no kid in the program. Weird. We were running the bases while his squad was working on sacrifice bunts.

OK, not really, but I wondered if this was some kind of little league community service for parents who get ornery in the stands at the upper age levels.

Anyway, Vicki and Jane braved a cold and windy night to watch their guys on the field, and Vicki got a perfect photo of our team.

I wish I could take credit for lining them up at that well, but at that point, I was in the infield making sure our runners advanced from first to second base and so on. It's not as easy as it sounds...

Paging Morris Buttermaker

I mentioned in my last post that we'd signed Samson up for tee ball and that it would be starting soon. Apparently it starts tomorrow night. The league coordinator is not, um, coordinated about schedules and stuff like that.

Also, apparently, I am the coach. [Where's Walter Matthau when you need him?] It started innocently enough: We got an e-mail from the league coordinator with a roster and a note that said the team needed some parents to help out and be "assistant" coaches. Sure, I thought. Why not?

Now I never played tee ball as a kid [see: parents; see also: sports agnostics], but I love playing ball outside with Samson. And while I can't take any credit for his good hand-eye coordination and solid swing, there is almost nothing I'd rather do than be part of his tee ball experience. So I e-mailed the league guy to say I'd be happy to help and was told to show up last Thursday night for "coaches clinic" at 6:30 pm.

I came right from work and arrived about 15 minutes early. So I headed into the elementary school gym, which the school custodian kindly told me was where the meeting would be. So far so good.

Finding myself alone and with some time to kill [an occurrence almost as rare as Halley's Comet], I figured I'd take a seat and get some reading done. Since I'm no longer in school, I've been trying to challenge myself with books I should have read by now and was some 600 pages into Ulysses and struggling to finish before it was due back to the library. By the time I realized no one had shown up, it was 6:40. So now, I was not only late, but I was lost.

The meeting was in full swing --- outside --- when I arrived, still in my suit and with a copy of Ulysses with me. Nothing like starting off on the right foot.

I'm guessing the first order of business was picking team colors, because by the time I got there, all that was left was lime green or brown. And I'll be honest, I went for the brown first. One of the head guys there said: "You're really going for brown?" To which I replied, "Sure, why not?"

His answer: "In all the years I've been doing this, no one has ever picked brown."

So we'll be wearing lime green. And black hats. Which, to be honest, is fine. I'm sure the kids won't care, and we'll know where each of them is at all times.

It's a good thing I did show, late or not, because I was the only one from our team there, hence my rapid promotion from guy willing to help to guy with equipment bag full of balls, bases, hats, shirts, and a brand-new tee that smells like the plumbing section of Home Depot. [Seriously, what kind of rubber do they use for those things?]

Samson and I got out today and practiced a bit with the tee (a perq of being the coach's kid). And although the bat is a little heavy for him, I think he'll be just fine. Half the kids on the team are friends of his, which is nice because it means I can enlist lots of help from the parents who are there. I think this is going to be good.

Stay tuned...

Custom of the country

I grew up on Long Island, and lacrosse is sort of a big deal there. But here in Maryland, it's pretty much a religion. And Samson has already caught the fever.

[That said, we signed him up for tee-ball for this spring. He's still too young for youth lax here, and while he likes playing in the backyard with me, something tells me that baseball --- in all its pastoral glory --- may be a little more his speed. I mean, he liked soccer (keep your eye on #5 in the photos), but I think he's really temperamentally suited for the dugout.]

Still, we take the sticks out and play at the park. Jane has shown little interest so far, which makes sense. For one, she's only just learned to walk a few months ago.

And for two, it involves her brother running around (sometimes at her) with a big stick in his hand.

But she really liked throwing to him.

Jane's Vanilla Sky

On the weekends, the reservoir near our house is closed to traffic. Which means it's a perfect place for biking, running, and walking.

It also means you really need to give people context before sharing your pictures...

Redshirt Sammy

Because this is Samson's second go in the three-year-old class, some of the things he is doing are repeats from last year. Like the class play.

[I should explain: He's got a late birthday, and since we knew he'd need to repeat one year somewhere along the way, we figured it might as well be this one. He'll be five about to turn six when he enters kindergarten, which I'm ok with. I've yet to go on a job interview where they asked if I was a "true kindergartener." And let's be honest, it's not like he's a giant, aggressive kid or anything. His class was learning about weight for their science lesson last week, and so everyone got weighed. Despite being one of the oldest kids in his class, he was still on the light end of the chart. I digress.]

Unlike last year (when he was a flower), this year he had a "lead" role: Baby Bear. Of course after a few minutes of wearing the mask, he decided to put it up it like a visor. I'm pretty sure this was so he could more easily pick his nose, but let's give him the benefit of the doubt and assume this is the early mark of a Method actor. [Seriously, Brando wouldn't use a bear mask, right?]

Interestingly enough, their music teacher --- in addition to being the director, narrator and having the patience of Job --- has a fairly thick Russian accent. Which leant a little extra something special to the story of "Goldeelux" and the bears.

All in all, a terrific way to start the morning.

My two

We were at the reservoir yesterday (more pics to follow). It was a crisp spring day, and even as Vicki was taking this picture, I knew it would be a keeper.

I have no idea what they were talking about, and I'm sure they forgot 10 minutes after themselves. But there is something (at least for me) profoundly special in the capturing of this very ordinary moment in time.