Milestone

First words, first step, first spray of milk through the nose.

Tonight was a milestone night in our house. Jane made Samson laugh so hard that milk came out his nose. I was reminded of all the times I did that to my sister, and it made me glad to see the tradition carrying on.

I have to say, however, that I was surprised that Jane was the instigator and not the recipient. Although, to be fair, what she lacks in vocabulary (she is only three), she makes up for in comedic timing. Sam had just taken a bite of cookie and some milk, and Jane looked him dead in the eye and said, in her sweet little voice: "poopie." Gets him every time.

Snow

The forecast called for just a dusting, but by the time the snow stopped falling on Saturday night we had about six or seven inches on the ground. Which meant that Sunday, which bloomed cold but sunny, was perfect for getting out into the backyard and building a snow fort.

What we actually built was more like a snow wall that looked like it had been through the siege of Sarajevo. If career predilections/abilities are inherited, my two are in no danger of becoming architects or engineers.

Still, we had lots of fun throwing snow around and keeping Jane from unleashing her inner Godzilla on our sad little snow structure.

Concerning the issue of who exactly is the rapper and who is the dj

The jury is still out actually.

The one and only thing Samson asked Santa for this year was a dj keyboard. The man in red delivered, and our house has since been turned into a kind of beat factory.

Seriously, for a kid's toy, it is pretty impressive. It comes with dozens of beats, loops, and preset songs, as well as a mini recording device, headphones, and a microphone.

Hours (and I do mean hours) of entertainment.

Space issues

I have written before on my name theory, and the new boy in Sam's class is doing his best to confirm it. It all started at the beginning of the school year, when we were introduced to K. [Because it's a small school, and because it combines actual school, i.e., instruction, with daycare, there tends to be low turnover and a pretty long waiting list. Not to mention the whole "legacy" thing: There are at least a half dozen kids in Jane's class who are the younger siblings of kids in Samson's.]

Anyway, K is new to the school. During orientation I met his mom, who encouraged the boys to talk about about what they'd done that summer as a way of getting acquainted. Samson mentioned his trips to see family in New York and Connecticut, and he talked about how much fun he had going to the beach. K's family had also gone to the beach (somewhere in Georgia maybe?) for a family vacation at some resort. The highlight of this, according to K, was "shooting guns." Which I assumed meant at some kind of amusement park arcade. Nope. Real guns. At a range. K is four. I'm pretty sure even the Al Qaeda webelos wait until five for target practice.

[Now I should state right here that I'm cool with the second amendment. I don't own a gun but don't begrudge anyone the legal right. And while I think maybe a few laws could be strengthened [do you really need hollow-tipped bullets to hunt turkeys?], I am not someone who is anti-gun. Indeed, I'm in line with Flannery O'Connor on the utility of shooting people (or at least threatening to) to get them to mind their manners. I digress. As usual.]

So whatever. This is his family, and as long as he doesn't bring a gun to school, it's really none of my business. What is my business is his inability to stay out of my children's faces. Literally. And not in a mean, bullying way, but in a really, really excited-to-see-you sort of way. Sort of like an Irish setter. But without all the self-control.

Samson just sort of freezes. I think if he could, he'd fake death just to get the kid to leave him alone. Again, it's not a mean thing, it's just, well, a lot to handle at the start of the day. Imagine if you showed up to the office and a coworker whom you were friendly toward but not friends with was all of a sudden close enough for you to count his pores and know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he'd had hazelnut coffee with breakfast. I usually try to stay out of it (it's good for Samson to figure this stuff out on his own), but it has become a staple of his morning drop-off. Arrive, take off coat, get barnacled.

With Jane, however, I can't stand idly by. For one, because she's my little girl. And while I realize it isn't very Free-To-Be-You-and-Me of me to say so, I'm being honest. Mostly, though, it's because K isn't content simply to be in her face, but he feels compelled to put his hands on her face. Which she is not a fan of. In fact, she confided to me one day that she didn't like it because she thought he might rub her freckles off. I told her he might just and that she should hit him square in the nose the next time he touched her.

OK, I didn't really tell her that, but I probably should have. For now, I'm just keeping a close eye on the lone gunman. Stay tuned...

Bisquick(er)

If you tell Jane you're making pancakes, you'd better be at the griddle.

Because she's not fooling around about breakfast. And she will just go to the box looking for the cakes she expects to find inside.

Failing that, she'll just eat the mix.

For real.

Airplane(s)!

Today was build your own Lego aircraft day at the aviation museum down in College Park. It's a great little museum --- right next to a working airport, ridiculously reasonable, and almost entirely hands-on.

It was also packed today because of the aforementioned Lego festival. And by festival I mean half a dozen bins of lego pieces, a few sets of instructions, and more socially awkward middle schoolers than a spelling bee between the Mathletes and the student council.

We've been there two or three times before, but only in summer and usually during the week. Which means that in the past we've had the place to ourselves. Today the place was besieged by brick-building hordes and air/space enthusiasts. And one Abraham Lincoln impersonator. In street clothes. I recongized him as he'd spoken at a staff retreat I attended a few years ago in Gettysburg. [It's a long story, but even if I'd never seen him before I would have guessed his hobby. He really looks like Lincoln, even in a sweatshirt and jeans. I digress.]

Despite the crowds, the kids had fun checking out the different exhibits, and of course, Samson is all for anything that lets him dress up in clothes worn by thousands of other kids before him.

As for the building activities...that went as well as could be expected. Actually, I can't honestly report on how Samson's endeavors went. I took the easy way out and went with Jane over to the little kid area. She and I had a great time building towers on wheels and making patterns with the different colored bricks. [Sidebar: Duplo blocks are totally my speed when it comes to Lego and building. Even when I was a kid, I had little interest in spending hours following directions and diagrams. And no amount of marketing was going to convince me that such activities were "play." Vicki, on the other hand, has read all the owner's manuals we have ever received and was right there with Sam to help him build his miniature Apache gunship (and to keep the bigger kids from taking the pieces he needed to complete it).]

And although the kit was missing a piece, and the pilot wouldn't sit right, he rallied (eventually) and was able to spend some quality time virtually crashing planes for the old Aeropostale.

Really, what more could you ask of a Saturday afternoon in January?

Belated

Because I've only started blogging again, I missed being able to post a shot of Jane from her birthday a few weeks back. I still can't believe she's already three. Cliche though it is, it seems like only yesterday that she arrived.

Happy belated birthday Sweet Jane (although only on the blog; it's not like I'm three weeks late with presents or anything).

Transcript

The following are pieces of conversations I've had in the last month or two. I realize that hearing the "darnedest" thing that somebody else's kid said is the aural equivalent of being forced to watch vacation slides, so you are duly forewarned...

In the grocery store:

Samson (pointing to a bag of Doritos): Can we get those?

Me: No. They make your hands turn orange.

Samson: I know. That's why I like them. I love orange.


At home:

Samson: Did they have bathrooms on the Death Star?

Me: I don't know. I mean, I guess so.

Samson: It would be weird to walk into the bathroom and see Darth Vader peeing.

Me: [silence]

In the car:

Jane: STOP!

Me: What's the matter?

Jane: The sun is bothering me.

Me: Is the sun in your eyes? Turn your head.

Jane: No. The sun keeps looking at me.

Nevermore (at least until next year)

As a treat, on Saturday night Samson got to stay up late and watch his hometown team get their collective head handed to them by the Colts. In truth, he didn't make it past halftime. Also, he was more excited at having wings and celery (mostly celery) and getting in on something his sister was missing than the "big game."

Which is just as well. In explaining the post-season to him, I boiled it down to "the team that wins keeps playing, and the team that loses goes home." So Sunday morning, when I informed him that the Ravens lost, he said: "That's ok. Now they can be with their families."

I'm glad he's a silver lining kind of kid. [He's going to need it when baseball season starts.]

The wages of sloth

My good friend Jen over at Clever Title TK was kind enough to give me a year-end prod about getting back to blogging. I stopped, without truly meaning to, toward the end of the summer as Vicki was headed back to work, Jane was starting school for the first time, Sam was starting school full-time, and I was getting into the core of training for the marathon. So I'm not saying I have an excuse for these many months of silence, but...

In any event, I'm back. Mostly because I'm afraid of Jen. Not really. (But a little.)

If this were a family sitcom --- especially one from my childhood --- four months away would have been enough of a time lapse to have Samson now in college (but still living at home), Jane in middle school, and introduce a new member of the family (like the late season additions of Jeremy to the Bradfords or Luke to the Seavers). Before my mother-in-law reads this and thinks I'm sending a coded message that Vicki is pregnant, let me say this: We are not having a baby. Also, we have not adopted Leonardo DiCaprio. Sorry Vicki.

Still, four months is a fair amount of time. And while it would be tedious (for me as well as you, dear reader) to go through the litany of what happened since the end of the summer, I think I can best sum it up in the following formats: movie trailer, haiku, interpretive dance, and tweet.

September

[Scene opens on the second floor of our house, camera goes from room to room; toys are strewn about and children are sleeping soundly. Suddenly, a curtain opens and daylight fills the room. Sam sits up, blinking, then buries his head back into the pillow.] Voiceover begins: In a world... where mom's out of the house by 6:15 a.m., where beds don't make themselves and kids have a sense of time that borders on the Aboriginal, one man stands between order and chaos. [Jump cut to me, Matrix-style, serving up waffles; fixing Jane's ponytails, and diving through the air with a toothbrush in each hand toward Samson and Jane.] Coming this fall: "Weekday Mornings at My House."

October

Oh, did I mention?

I ran 26.2

Miles (in a row!)

[And yes, that is a gratuitous shot of me post-marathon. Despite the fact that the race was in October, I'm milking it for all it's worth.]

November

Sorry, I couldn't get the video link to work. Trust me, it's better this way.

December

@dada-ism: Looking back on this year and the decade. Lots to be thankful for (Vicki, Sam, Jane, sandwiches). Here's to 2010 and beyond.

Crossing the Rubicon

Vicki started back to work yesterday. This is not her first time back, obviously, but she hasn't worked full-time since Samson was born, nearly five(!) years ago. Which means that our schedules will begin a grand, if somewhat gradual, readjustment over the next several days. Earlier to bed, and much, much earlier to rise.

The kids (plural) start school next week, so Vicki's mom has graciously offered to help out with both Samson and Jane a few days this week, and I'll be taking two days this week and one day next to make sure we're covered. Truly summer's almost gone.

But there's something exciting and hopeful about all of this. And I don't just mean the second full paycheck coming in (although that really will be nice). But it's like our little family has reached a kind of milestone. Starting Monday, Sam and Jane will go to school together three days a week.

Jane has already starting referring to "my school," which Samson --- ever the Martinet --- never fails to correct her on, as he doesn't think it's her school until she actually attends. [He's apparently a real stickler for matriculation.]

Still, we're ready with supplies (how many glue sticks can one child possibly need?) and lunch bags and crib sheets and spare clothes and all the other things one can possibly fit into a 3-foot high by 18-inch-wide cubby.

So there's no true point to this post other than to mark the passage of time, the impending fall ritual that we are all now part of , and to wonder --- albeit in a not very original way --- where all the time has gone. Not just the summer, which is always fleeting, but the years. How is it possible that sweet Jane is ready for school? And when did Samson become a "big kid"? I can still clearly remember his first day in this brave new preschool world.

The godson of soul?

I don't know that there's anything I could really add to this. Samson has discovered James Brown (and also, apparently, his bad self).

American idyll

Admittedly, I have not been good at keeping this site up lately. Heck, I even missed my own bloggiversary (4 years on August 8). It's not like there's nothing going on these days. To the contrary, there's too much going on. I am training for my first marathon, so that is taking up some time.

Of course, longer summer days means later nights, and by the time the stories have been read, the backs rubbed, the cups of water gotten or refused, I'm kind of worn out. And to be honest, it seems silly to hustle the kids off to bed early so I can sit in the warm glow of my laptop and write about them.

So I make no promises as to regularity moving forward, but I'm not ready to call it a day with this blog just yet. I guess I would just ask that you stay tuned...

Here are some pictures of the most perfect night we've had this summer. I was just about to start a week off from work, and the movie Wall-E was showing on campus. We had no idea if the kids would even last until the movie started much less make it to the end. But it was one of those nights when the stars just seemed to align.

Samson and Jane were amazing; the night turned chilly enough to require sweatshirts (always a bonus in July); and we got to watch the whole movie under a beautiful, clear summer sky while munching on popcorn and enjoying the breeze. And not only was the movie free, but they had a guy there doing balloon animals and flowers (also balloon light sabers, but only by request).

Seriously, what more could you ask for?

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