Good Idea

Maddie was helping me shovel snow this morning. Helping, you know, like pushing snow back into the sidewalk and such.

After shoveling, I picked up the bag of salt to spread around.

"Maddie, will you help me melt the ice?"

"I don't know how to melt ice, dad. But salt knows how, so why don't we just use that?"

Stroke of Genius

Daddy, that's me, by the way, had the brilliant idea to put a miniature Christmas tree (with lights) in the kids' bedroom. Naughty bedtime behavior is now quickly thwarted by the threat of removal.

My hat's off to whoever came up with all this about "You'd better not pout, I'm telling you why."

A family afternoon

Photos brought to you by Heather Hatch @ redtulipphotography.blogspot.com

A Post from Katie

While dining at the Creamery yesterday with the children, an elderly - by elderly I mean in their 80s - couple was enjoying an ice cream behind us. Tim and the kids were in line while I remained in the booth with Henry.
"Miss, is that your husband there?"
"Yes"
"Is he a return missionary?"
"Yes, sir." I start thinking, "cool, this guy knows Tim from his mission."
"I like the way he parts his hair. You don't see many youngsters parting their hair today."
"Well, sir, we are in our 30s."
"Still, most youngsters don't bother with the part anymore. His hair looks nice. Good job."
"Thank you sir. I'll be sure to let him know."
A compliment?

Indoctrination

Each night, Maddie assigns me a topic for her bedtime story. The pattern is pretty clear ("about a princess named Aurora," "about a princess named Brenda," "about a princess named Cleopatra," etc.) but I always wait for my assignment. Once the name is established, however, the details are up to me. A few examples:

Badelia the German auto-manufacturing princess from the magical kingdom of BMW.

Conagra the food marketing princess from the land of Naperville.

Debra the doctor princess from Harvard castle.

Helen the private equity princess..."Daddy, tonight can Helen just be a dancing princess?"

My Kind of Game

From the play house: "Dad, you're the monster in this game."

"OK." So I growl and approach.

"No, daddy. The monster lives over there around the corner."

"OK." I retreat behind the corner and then begin another growling approach.

"No, silly monster. The monster stays in its home all the time."

"Well then why doesn't the monster just live inside on the couch?"

"OK."

Perfect.

Fall

Off to school. Apply for jobs. Take a midterm. Take a final. What score did you get? How do you feel about your grade? Do you think we can negotiate this? Is that your final offer? Net Present Value.  Capital Appreciation Model. FASB. Did you hear back about the interview? Who got the offer?

Then: The late afternoon sunlight is yellow and orange. Pumpkins at the door. Rake leaves. Kids run through. Rake again.

"Bury me, Dad."

"Me too!"

I guess I can do this after all.

I Wonder Where He Gets It

After riding my snappy Raleigh Cruiser home from school and locking it up in the backyard, Caleb was waiting to greet me at the door.

"Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!"

"Hey, bud. How are ya?"

"I'm tired and my back hurts."

Caleb's Song

Old McDonald's had french fries. E-I-E-I-O.

Chloe is a Leo

No one bothered to confirm certain identity elements before we named the cat. Turns out Chloe's a boy. Maddie now calls him Leo but Caleb has been slow to adopt the change.

For my part, I'm warming up to this cat business. It's like a free babysitter. The kids go out in the backyard and play with her for hours. Good work, Chloe...Leo.

In other news, Maddie couldn't sleep in her bed tonight because it felt "unbelievable." I was surprised to learn that was a bad thing.

My Dead Body

Is this heaven? Or hell, I guess? I don't feel dead. But if not, how is it that we now have a cat?

I made all those statements: "Over my dead body." I remember it very clearly.

But there it is. Black and white. Whiskers. It's a cat. There's a saucer of milk out my back door. Where did I go wrong?

She even has a name. Chloe. Chloe the Cat. Caleb and Maddie follow her around all day.

Katie made her a house. Oh dear.

Got it, Buddy

Pointing to a photo of himself and a friend from school, Caleb astutely pointed out, "That's me in Tiger shirt. That's not me. That's Paco."

"OK."

"That's me, Tiger shirt. That's not me."

"OK." Katie turns away.

"Mommy, I tell you so'thing?"

"Yeah."

"That's me in Tiger. That's not me. That's Paco."

"Mommy, that's me in Tiger shirt."

People live this way for a reason

Promoting urban living is all well and good, but the backyard has revolutionized my life. The children can go OUTSIDE while I remain INSIDE. This is new. This is wonderful.

Not only that, but when Katie asks me to take out the trash, I don't have to go down four flights of stairs and walk through the dirty, slightly creepy storage area. My marriage has improved considerably.

Not only that, but I feel no pressure to get all 18 bags of groceries in one trip...you know, sliding bags all the way up to my shoulder like an old-time watch salesman. You can just go back out and get the rest.

New

Regarding the new church:

"Daddy, I like this church. My teacher is pretty."

Regarding the new house:

"I never knew houses had backyards. I like this house."

Regarding our friend Jacey's house:

"I like this house. The toilet flushes quiet."

Regarding Chris and Julie's house:

Whispering, "She looks like Ariel, Daddy. I like this house."

On the other hand, when Maddie slipped on the rocks in the backyard her response was: "I want to go back to my yellow house."

And Caleb sometimes asks, "When we go home?"

Urgent Idiots

Please forgive me for posting my first non-trivial entry not relating to my children. It was just on my mind.

There appears to be a subset of users of public transportation who live, sadly, in constant fear that the next stop will be the one in which the doors open ever-so briefly, allowing only that one heady passenger who fought his way to the front, to exit.

These people stand behind you. They fidget much. They are ever poised, muscles taught, ready to leap off the train during the painfully brief TWO MINUTES the doors ALWAYS remain open. As a stop approaches, perhaps even it is your stop, they press forward. "Excuse me," they say with feigned courtesy. Their tone reveals the true thought: THIS IS THE TIME THE DOORS WILL ONLY OPEN FOR ONE SECOND. MOVE YOU IDIOT!!!

An elbow. A frustrated grunt. They are in the front. They cast a satisfied glance your way and you see, even through their thick glasses, the glint of joy in their eyes: I beat you, it says. The door opens and they spring to the platform...followed leisurely by everyone else they pushed out of the way.

But they know, deep down, that the time will come and the joke will be on us.

Maddie Suddenly Sees

Her best friend Clara was the source of Maddie's revelation.

"Maddie, you can't move to Utah," she said. "Because you have such great princess dresses."

Later, as we were telling bedtime stories, Maddie reflected on her friend's concern: "Are there princess dresses in Utah?"

"Yes."

More thinking. "Will we have a yellow house in Utah?"

"No, honey, we'll have a gray house."

"But we can come back to the yellow house when we're done with Utah, right?"

"Not to the same one, but we can look at moving to a different yellow house," I fudged. "But you know, our new house in Utah is across the street from a big park," I diverted.

"How big?"

A successful redirect.

Fare thee Well 515 Putnam

It is over. The final documents were signed at 10 a.m. this morning. We were cleaning and making final preparations until 2 a.m. I am tired. I am nostalgic.

Our first home. Sitting on the floor watching the ALCS before we had any furniture. Maddie dancing to "This Old Man." Train tracks around the coffee table.

515 Putnam, we have outgrown you, but you will be missed.

Caleb-ese II

An axe in it = not on purpose
Popsipah dick = popsicle stick
Peanuts = um, let's just say he's fond of pointing out that Maddie doesn't have any
Baby's OK = I just hit Henry

Yippie

NFL training camps start this week! Kid in a candy store. Oh, and my kids are fine, thanks for asking.

Rules

I'm not really sure how this came to pass but Caleb and I now sleep together on a mattress on the floor of his bedroom. No decision was made in favor of this arrangement. Somehow it just came to be. He occupies 75% of the mattress and the pillow. I get about seven inches of bed and a pair of old jeans to rest my head.

"Daddy," he whispers at 6 a.m. with alarm clock precision. "Watch a show." And thus my day begins. There is more negotiating than I had anticipated...and wrestling...and discussion of bodily functions. When Maddie wakes up, I become referee of a game in which I don't know the rules.

That has to be a foul, Time out.

"Can I come out yet?"

I don't know. "No, that's a two-minute foul."

"Why?"

I DON'T KNOW. Geeze, what's with these kids.

Stars of the Show

This morning I took the kids to the Independence Day Parade at Boston City Hall Plaza. The crowd of maybe two thousand, mostly foreign tourists, stared with befuddled curiosity as Mayor "Mumbles" Menino spoke near-coherent sentence-like utterances. He announced the Army...a whisper in his ear...he meant Navy Color Guard. I leaned to my foreign co-bystander: "Don't worry, I can't understand anything either."

Caleb, for his part, was eagerly waving his mini US flag. Aforementioned co-bystander got the idea to photograph my posterity for theirs. Then it went viral and I stood by as dozens made "click, click" of my son.

Next stop: The reading of the Declaration of Independence at the Old State House, site of the Delcaration's first declaration. I was near the front with a crowd of hundreds squeezing in on me from all sides.

The reading began and, on cue, so did Maddie: "TAKE ME HOME! TAKE ME HOME NOW!" I looked around and saw no escape through the tightly packed crowd. I stepped back: "Who's the idiot who brought kids to this?"

Henry Joseph

6.27.08
10:22 a.m.

8 lbs, 5 oz

20.5 inches

No News

Katie is still pregnant. Maddie and Caleb both beat their respective due dates by ten days so we had a false expectation of a repeat performance. That has left us (by "us" I mean Katie) disappointed even though we're still six days from official due date.

Meanwhile, we're getting ready to move to Provo, which is a pain...not Provo, but the moving. Katie claims that she can't bend over to lift up boxes. Pretty convenient time to be pregnant.

Firsts

Last week brought two firsts: bee sting and stitches.

Maddie stepped on a bee. The trauma was real but short-lived. She announced her full recovery at about 6 a.m. the next morning when I woke to a foot in my face: "Daddy, look. It's all better."

Caleb got stitches. In his own words, this is how that happened:

"Muzeen a sinance. I was runninin. Bonkinin my head. Stitchinin me. Ouch."

Maddie's Birthday Party/Modeling Session

Poor Neighbors Downstairs

"I'm a dinosaur. Roar!"
Pitta, pitta, pitta, pitta. Two children run down the hall.
"I'm eatin' you."
"I'm a 'pider."
Pitta, pitta, pitta, pitta. Two children run up the hall.
"I'm a shark...dooh, doot (as in Jaws)."
Pitta, pitta, pitta, pitta.
Ad infinitum.

Plans

"Mommy, what do you want to be when you grow up?"

"An attorney."

"Great. Caleb is going to be a fisherman and I'm going to be a fisher-ballerina."

"Daddy, what do you want to be when you grow up?"

"Brand Manager with a Fortune 500 finance company."

Brief, blank expression..."Excellent. That's a good idea."

Maddie's New Song

"Maddie's Special New Song" debuted at bed time this evening. As close as I can recall, it goes as follows:

There was a Princess Unanuna.
She moved both of her hands.
Then there was a beach of Lin and Tinkertooraloo.
They floated in and out of the sky
and landed on the Idaho.
Idaho.
Idaho.
And Cambridge.
And Boston.
And America.
And Binanoonabinbin...din.
The end, Daddy. You can leave now.

Daddy, Can I Take the Credit Card

Springtime brings spring cleaning and, for us, buying new clothes for the kids. Maddie, not yet four, insisted on picking her own clothes from the catalog. At the store, she sifted through the options herself, selecting astonishingly well-coordinated outfits.

She wore one of the new outfits to pre-school on Monday. You would have thought the center of the classroom was a cat-walk: posing with each step, head poised coyly down and to the side. She paused periodically as though giving the Paparazzi her better side.

Her charm is extreme. Mom and Dad are fully transfixed. But what does this mean to my budget ten years from now? Do they have fashion 529 accounts?

Kids are in Bed

We're watching yesterday's episode of The Office, recorded on Tivo. We have two lap tops out, browsing via wireless. Katie is on her cell phone. You know you're a thirty something if...

Out of the Storm

"Hurry, daddy," Maddie yelled. "Come out of the rain."

I ran to her.

"No, daddy," she corrected. "You have to yell when you do it."

Back I went.

"Hurry, daddy. The storm is going to get you."

I yelled and ran back.

"Good job, daddy. That's how you do it."

Caleb left. We yelled. He came in out of the storm. Maddie left. We yelled. She came in out of the storm.

It was sunny and roughly 70 degrees.

Lightning

The rain caught Katie and the kids on their way home from a bike ride (please allow me some poetic license as I use the phrase "bike ride" to describe a walk during which a frustrated parent endures the taunts of his or her children as they find great amusement in said parent's dragging, dropping, kicking, and cursing two unriden tricycles).

Enduring thus, Katie suddenly found herself in a down pour with 50 yards to home. Then lightning followed immediately by a terrible thunder clap. Maddie was so startled as to lose the use of her legs and discover the use of her lungs. Caleb, ever biding his time, siezed the moment and, sporting a devious grin, fled.

About 30 minutes of consolation later, Maddie was contently observing the lightning storm from the comfort of our living room, the lights turned off for effect.

"Why does the sky do that?"

I blabbered for a moment about electromagnetic charges.

"But daddy, why does the sky do that?"

"God makes lightning so we can have pretty things to look at."

"That silly God, he just keeps making it over and over."

Why

"Daddy, can you roll down the window?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because it's too cold."
"I don't think it's cold. Please, Daddy."
"No."
"Why?"
Then, having passed a long day for other reasons, I lost it. "Maddy," I yelled. "It doesn't matter why. If Dad says it, that's how it is. There's no other reason than my saying it."

Silence.

In the sweetest, softest who-down-in-whoville voice: "Ok, Daddy. Whatever you say." Broken hearted, I rolled down the window.

Later, facing another "why attack," I took another approach. Calmly: "Maddie, you have to stop saying why to everything we ask you to do."
"Why, Daddy?"

Loud laughter from mom.

If I know anything, I know when to fold 'em. "You win, kid. Ask away."

Reversal

In some ways it was a sick perversion. I, the father, stood by laughing as she, the grandmother, struggled through endless Cinderella reenactments. "No, Grammy, you forgot to say your line." "No stand here, Grammy." "Now you're the mouse."

I laughed--evil, ungrateful son--and read the newspaper. THE NEWSPAPER! I'm home, and I'm reading the newspaper! How can I keep from singing?

But am I not occupying the grandparent's role, I wondered. Nevermind, I have a newspaper to read. And she's doing a fine job as the prince...fairy godmother...evil stepmother...

Grammy and Fast Planes

Sunday

Maddie: When is Grammy coming?
Dad: Tomorrow.
M: Why isn't she coming today?
D: Because she lives so far away.
M: Why does she live so far away?
D: That's just where she lives.
M: But why isn't she here now?
D: Because she has to take an airplane.
M: Does it fly fast, fast, fast, fa, fa, fa, ffffffff? (with hand spinning in a tiny circle in front of her eyes)
D: Yes.

Monday

M: Is today tomorrow?
D: Yes.
M: Where's Grammy?
D: She comes today.
M: But why isn't she here now?
D: Because she has to take a plane.
M: Does it fly fast, fast, fast, fa, fa, fa, ffffffff? (hand spinning again)
D: Yes.

Caleb at Two

Caleb turned two on Monday. Madeline helped wrap his presents: Bright red paper quilted over the gift in ill-fitting patches, blotches of tape all adrift.

To Caleb, they were the most immaculately wrapped gifts since the dawn of the Martha Stewart era. Upon seeing the two globs of tape and red paper, his eyes widened and his chin dropped. He cast nervous looks to mom. Are they really mine? What's the catch?

No catch, kiddo. Welcome to the joy of birthdays.

The next several minutes were awkward as brother and sister insisted it was pure insanity for mom and dad to assemble the toy before use. "Caleb, no. Give me back the screwdriver." "Madeline, please, I need that piece." "Stop touching that." "Sit. SIT. Would you...Hey, you guys want a lollipop?"

Then, thirty minutes of parental bliss as two silent children discovered the inexplicable joy of putting toy cars into a garage, and then taking them out again.

The Aboriginal Bedtime Dance

It's a very complex ritual. Like something you might find among bees and their decision-making dances and wiggles.

1) Family prayer: circling, running away, coming together, it's like a flock of birds trying to gather in the middle of the living room...somehow, through this intricate pattern of arm grabs, false starts, redos, standing and kneeling, exhausted glances between parents, meaning is conveyed: they are a family.

2) Story time: first, the number of books is meticulously negotiated. It always settles on three, but both parties have to start at one and five respectively or entire ritual explodes into noisy confusion. The first book, then a cheese stick. The second book, then a sippy cup. During the third book, the female brushes her front teeth. After the third, dad brushes her back teeth.

3) Pajamas: with the male it's a matter of force, but as demanded by the strict code of ritual, he makes the obligatory kicks and screams. Then there is a feigned decision process between whether mom or dad will put him to bed. It will be mom but the question must be asked. One song. Lay him down. He's out for the night. For the female, more negotiations. It ends with her wearing a sun dress with leggings underneath. But again, it has to start with pajamas versus Cinderella dress, otherwise neither party will know the script and the process will fall into choas.

4) Bedtime for the female: two stories, four songs, three kisses and a bonus kiss from mom. Two stories, four songs, three kisses and a bonus kiss from dad. This is followed by ten minutes of playing in her room alone with the doll house. Then she retrieves three books from the living room and returns to her bedroom. Eventually she turns of the light and goes to sleep on a pile of books on her floor.

Ditto

We were playing school. This is a very popular game along the lines of "Follow the Leader." Maddie, apparently tired of my continuing to claim it was time to lay out my nap mat, suggested a new game.

"Daddy, now we're playing Nana's house and I'm Nana."

She cradled my head. "You'll always be my grand-daughter," she told me. "Love you forever."

The Kids

Hunter and hunted

Pillows and blankets were piled all around creating a formidable obstacle course. Maddie was working her way over a particularly bumpy patch. Caleb crouched atop the highest point ready to pounce. With the timing of a cheetah after his prey, he lept.

The tackle, for a football fan, was a thing of beauty: head in front of his target, wrap up, drive the legs through the point of contact. This kid has a future.

Decisions

"Caleb, do you want to watch Cars?"
"Ya"
"Or do you want to watch Nemo?"
"Ya"
"Cars?"
"Ya"
"Which one buddy. Cars or Nemo?"
"Ummm...Ne-Cars."

Princess Presto

"Daddy, the princess needs to go to the ball."
"OK"
"Well...she can't go to the ball without her gloves."
"Oh, right." I fetch the gloves.
"Well...she can't go to the ball without her wand, Silly Daddy."
"Of course. Silly, indeed." I fetch the wand.
"Daddy, she can't go to the ball without her purse."
"Clearly." I fetch the purse. "Is that everything."
"Yes...but she can't go to the ball without her daddy."
My pleasure.

Caleb-ese

Cah = car, clock, croc (as in the shoe), Lightning McQueen, also used to express general excitement
Ah (hard "h") = off, on (context is clearly important here)
Goga/Kaka = dog
Nah = Nana
choo-choo = train, Thomas
Gode-nee = Gordon
Moo = cow, animals generally
Pss = please
Moo pss = more please; specifically in reference to scones, lollipops, and Cheez-Its
Mee-mo = Nemo, Elmo
Anonie = another
I do, I do = responding to our asking Maddie if she wants to do something

Mommy was mastered long ago, usually pronounced Mah-MEE accompanied by a "come here" gesture. We're still waiting for "daddy," who is generally hailed with "cah."

The Flying Bench

We went to Sugarbush, Vermont over the weekend to ski. It was Maddie's and Caleb's first time on the mountain. Maddie got skis and Caleb got a sled. This was not well received by Caleb.

Maddie, for her part, was in heaven riding the "magic carpet," a conveyor belt to move kids up the bunny hill (a vast improvement over the burn-inducing rope tow of my day), and then riding down with Katie. I took Caleb home quite early due to his inability to cope with not doing everything his sister did.

After a few hours back at the ski house, Papa J showed up with Maddie. "Daddy, the bench flewed," she told me with grand gesticulation. "It went around and around and then it flied us up the hill."