Mea culpa, a haiku

All apologies
New job and freelance project

I will post more soon...

Because I do not hope to turn again

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

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

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

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

Cousins

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

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

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

Road trip

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

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

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

Trip highlights include:

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

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

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

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

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

Good times in minivan nation.

The taste of victory

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

OK, everyone else: You were warned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Time delay

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

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

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

Sam works the refs

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah progress...

A New Hope

What this video lacks in clarity, it more than makes up for in nostalgia. I didn't have this toy, but I definitely remember the commercial.

After a six-month hiatus, the Star Wars figures are back in circulation. Yesterday was a typical midwinter Sunday, and Samson and I made the best of Jane's marathon nap [almost 3 hours] by playing Star Wars in the basement. I say "playing," but this was like the Bataan Death March of action figure play.

If my attention wandered for even a moment, I was reprimanded with "Daddy! You're not playing." In fairness, he did let me leave the room for bathroom breaks. But he also followed me to ensure my swift return. [Sidenote: Vicki was out at a craft/business conference, which was for the best because Sam is suspicious of her ability to "play right" with the Star Wars figures. Poor Vicki tries, but I think Samson knows she spent her youth with Barbie and not Boba.]

Sam's surveillance notwithstanding, it was good to see the guys again. As is his wont lately, he immediately laid claim to the bad guys and consigned me to the clearly inferior "good guy team."

Again, I'm pretty sure it's all costume-based. Seriously, who looks cooler than Boba Fett? Not pasty Luke Skywalker in his weird bathrobe and leggings get-up, that's for sure. And apparently, when I was about six or seven, my favorite figure was Darth Vader. This couldn't possibly be genetic, could it?

I blame the parents

Aaaaaaaaaand we're back. Long time between posts, I know. Sorry. Oh like you've been waiting by the monitor all this time...

So the other night, we're having dinner and Samson starts another round of "questions that don't really have answers." What follows is close to verbatim:

Samson: "Was God around when there were superheroes?"

Me: "What do you mean?"

Samson: "I mean, are they friends?"

Vicki: "Superheroes aren't real. They're stories."

Samson: "I know. But is God their friend?"

Me (to Vicki): "Hey did you see his school is running a 'Superheroes of the Bible' camp this summer?"

Jane: "APPELJOOOS"

Samson: "I could be a Bible hero. Maybe I could be Daniel."

Me: "That would be pretty cool. Or you could be Samson..."

Samson: "Or maybe I could be one of the Roman soldiers that got Jesus dead."

[Silence.]

Me: "Really? You'd want to be a Roman soldier? I don't think they were very nice; you know, they hurt Jesus."

Samson: "But they have cool weapons. And helmets."

Vicki: "I am really not looking forward to Easter."

Needless to say, Samson's interest in his kids' Bible and continuing affection for chapel is kind of a double-edged sword. [And yes, I intended that pun. I intended the hell out of it.]

I overheard him telling Jane the other day about how after David beat Goliath, he cut his head off. Which I'm pretty sure is not what happened (although it does give the story a cool Braveheart kind of denouement).

Either way, this Pascal Season is going to really interesting.

By the way, I thought it was OK to let his misuse of "got" go in this case. As much as I'd like him to be using transitive verbs when needed, somehow our conversation didn't need the addition of the word "kill."

My girl

Cookie crumbs and all, you are a beauty sweet Jane.

Dada on the roof

With the winter now hard upon us, finding things to do on the weekends is critical. There's only so much time we can all spend together in our little house before, well, let's just say it's good to get out into the world.

We've been fans of the train museum for a few years now, and it's fun to watch Jane exploring alongside her brother. She can climb into and onto most of the trains now (even the ones marked "Do not climb"), and we had a great time strolling around the roundhouse.

What struck me when I looked at this picture later was just how grown-up Samson looks in this photo. I don't want to get all Tevye on you, but where did the time go?

In a somewhat related vein, we ran into Samson's best friend (and fellow train enthusiast) Jacob during on our visit. The boys played, and Jane sort of followed along a bit.

As we drove home, I asked Sam and Jane what their favorite thing at the museum was. Samson's answer was the crane used to fix the wrecks (I'm sure there's a technical term for this, but as my knowledge of trains comes almost exclusively from the Island of Sodor, I'm calling it the break-down train).

Jane's answer: "Jacob."

Good grief.

Samson James: Zen master

Yesterday, I was sitting at the dining room table playing with Play-Doh [the kids were playing too], when Samson, apropos of nothing, asked me the following:

"Isn't jumping just like falling up?"

I still have no idea how to answer that question.

Almost two

Sweet Jane turns two tomorrow. Hard to believe how big she's getting.

So what have we learned in the past year? Jane likes capes. And swinging. And the ocean. She's pretty fast but usually tips you off before making a move by announcing: "running, running."

Jane likes to eat. A lot. And she's not shy about asking for seconds. Or thirds.

She would also rather not wear socks or shoes. Even in winter.

Jane loves her brother, but she is not afraid of him. At all.

She loves her nana. And dogs. Usually in that order. Also, she likes to play and watch TV (all day).

She is sweet and strong and funny and full of surprises. Here are a few of my favorite pictures from the past year. Happy last day of being one Sweet Jane.

Beauty and grace

I'm not big on "inspirational quotes." I steadfastly refuse chicken soup (or any other soup, consomme, or chowder) for my soul. And I avoid movies that have been called "life-affirming" like the plague.

But a few months back when I was reading Annie Dillard's "Pilgrim at Tinker Creek," I was struck by a line she had written about walking in the woods and, well, paying attention:

"Beauty and grace are performed whether or not we will or sense them. The least we can do is try to be there."

I thought about this line quite a bit and thought it applied as much to raising children as to walking in the woods.

This morning, as I was trying to get ready for work (late, as usual), as Vicki and Samson were haggling about who should remove his pull-up and whether or not there would be TV before breakfast (there would not), sweet Jane walked into the room and counted to 10.

I should point out that Jane is not yet two (not until next week, anyway), and while she has lately become more chatty, she's never been a "hey look at me" kind of kid, particularly when it comes to verbal feats. She counted out loud in a voice barely above a whisper, as if doing it only for herself. But we immediately stopped, each of us, and looked at the other as if to say "did you know she could do that?"

At which point she realized she had an audience and gave us this big, beatific smile. Beauty and grace, indeed.

Sweet Jane, you are a wonder.

School concert

Samson's school concert was the Tuesday before Christmas. I have no idea who this guy is, but he stood, just like that, for the entire performance. I'm not sure if he was planning on selling a bootleg of this later on or if he's making a documentary about his son's early Christmas carols, but more than a few people were a little curious at this guy's seeming inability to register that there were other people in the audience, at least a few of whom had children they wanted to see.

I was standing in the back with Jane and so had a clear line of vision right to Samson (in the blue shirt, not quite singing, not yet picking his nose [he saved that for "Silent Night"].

My folks were staying with us for the week, and I think they really enjoyed the chance to be at his school and participate in what is an awfully sweet little tradition. The classes come in by age group: first the 3s, then the pre-K [which Samson, for reasons known only to him, pronounces so that it rhymes with "Enrique"], and then the 2s (they go last to head off any runners).

Each class sings one song on their own, and they do a few together and the the show ends with everyone singing "Silent Night." Well, almost everyone.

Also, and this has nothing to do with anything, but do you think Samson has been giving unrealistic expectations concerning the attractiveness of all his future teachers? Not trying to be a creepy pre-school dad or anything. I'm just saying is all...

Injured reserve

Occassionally, and through sheer stupidity no fault of one's own, injury occurs. It could be anything: trying to move a dryer still full with wet clothes fighting off would-be assailants, running into a burning orphanage to save children, lifting a box that your wife clearly told you was too heavy, or one too many 500-pound squat thrusts.

Who knows how I hurt my back? Regardless, hurt it is, which means I have not done much posting of late because blogging means sitting, and since I sit at a keyboard all day at work (sounds exciting, no?), the thought of sitting more when I get home is not so appealing.

Regardless, I am on the mend. And while I may yet be walking around like Verbal Kent with a slight grimace and twinge in my gait, rest assured: I'm ok.

All of which is to say I'm sorry for the lack of posts lately. I'll be doing some catching up in the next few days, and I thank you for your patience.

Mondegreen: the journey continues

I've written before about the mondegreens in our house, and Sweet Jane has just added a new one: teeveeallday.

Let me explain: For the past two weeks, Jane has decided that she wants to sleep only in our bed.

She doesn't usually decide this until somewhere around 11 o'clock at night, just as Vicki and I are ready for bed and deep enough into Samson's sleep that we're not inclined to teach her a lesson by letting her cry in her crib for fear of having two wide-awake and crying kids on our hands.

Clearly Jane is smarter than we are.

That said, having her with us means she no longer wakes up at 6 AM but rather stays asleep until well past 7 (which, for the uninformed, is "sleeping in" in any house with toddlers).

We don't watch a lot of television in our house. I mention this because Jane, after waking, almost immediately points to the remote and says "teeveeallday; teeveeallday."

Presumably she's heard us cutting Samson off after his half-hour of Noggin by saying "Samson: you're not going to watch TV all day." So it makes sense, if you think about it.

I'm thinking that rule might be amended today. Samson is home sick with an ear infection, and Vicki is now on day 4 at home with both kids and no chance of going outside because of four straight days of rain.

So go ahead, Jane. Ask and ye shall receive...

T minus seven

With Christmas only a week away, this is usually the time of year when I am finally able to slow down and get excited about the coming holiday.

But with work busier than ever and the economic picture starting to feel bleaker by the day (on both the macro and micro level), it's felt more like slouching toward Bethlehem than following that guiding star.

Which is not to say things are all doom and gloom at our house. To the contrary: The tree is up, the stockings are hung, there are presents to wrap, and cookies to bake for Santa. My parents will be spending the holidays with us, and I can't wait for them to experience the joy of being with Samson and Jane on Christmas morning.

Yet there is still that nagging something, like the draft that creeps into the house and gets under even your warmest blankets. So in an attempt to help anyone else with a touch of December malaise, I give you: Linus Van Pelt.

Memo to the monsters in my son's room

To: Monsters, ghosts, phantoms, bad guys et al.
Fr: Brian/Daddy
Re: Late night appearances

It has lately (and I do mean lately) come to my attention that assorted monsters have been appearing in my son's room in the middle of the night. I understand that it's very crowded under his bed and you prefer to wait until dark to get out and stretch your legs. Likewise, I'm sure the closet, especially with the hamper in there, is not the most pleasant place to hide and so a midnight stroll is probably quite refreshing.

Unfortunately, you are scaring the s*#! out of my son. And, selfishly, you are keeping us all awake. Except, of course, for Jane. Who doesn't see you or care about you. At all.

Samson, like his dad at age 4, has a vivid imagination. And we already live in a house with creaky floors and pipes that can sound like something from a Poe story. But you lot are not helping. And despite my best efforts (spreading the invisible bubble shield over Samson's bed, giving him worry dolls for under his pillow, bequeathing him the sacred necklace of Jor-El) nothing seems to work. [That last one may be my fault as they're just Mardi Gras beads with the superman shield on them.]

I understand you've got a job to do, and that your role involves archetypes and subconscious forces concerning the dark that stretch back millenia. It's all very impressive in a freshman-intro-to-anthropology kind of way.

But I'll be honest: It's really not working for us. Perhaps we could arrive at a schedule that would allow you time to be out and roaming around doing your best to terrify, but I hereby request that you cease and desist all activities between the hours of 8 PM and 8 AM, weekends included.

I have so far held back on using the anti-monster spray (cleverly camouflaged to look like Febreze), but if my request is not met, you leave me no other course of action.

Thank you for your attention to this matter.

Outtakes

We had planned to cut down our Christmas tree today; there's a farm not too far north of here, and we thought it would be fun and kind of Currier and Ives-y.

But with a temperature that never got above 33 and the kind of windchill that would make Shackleton nostalgic, we opted instead for inside activities. Among them was an attempt to get a photo of the kids for our Christmas card.

I'm not sure if we got anything that will make its way into the U.S. mail, but I thought I'd share some of the ones we probably won't be using.