Merry Christmas

 

 

 

 

Click the Year for the Previous Christmas Cards 2009, 2010 and 2011

Wyatt Inspired

Our children's name's are inspired by artists.

The oldest boy, Maxfield, is named after Maxfield Parrish . Jackson Pollack is the inspiration for our youngest boy, Jackson.

Our middle child Wyatt's name is inspired by the artist family the Wyeths. Lauren and I both enjoy all three generations of the Wyeth art.  I am a bigger fan of N.C. Wyeth's work. My wife enjoys more of Andrew (N.C.'s son) and Jamie's (Andrew's son) work. We named Wyatt Wyatt instead of Wyeth so it would not sound as though he had a lisp when saying his name.

Although the winter has been mild both Lauren and I were feeling the winter blahs from a creative standpoint. The boys were just starting week two of a two week suspension from video games. Our whole house was feeling a little blue and antsy. In an effort to boost everyone out of their funk Lauren and I decided to take the kids to the Brandywine River Museum.  The Brandywine, located on the South West side of Philly, houses the largest collections of all three generations of the Wyeth family's artwork. The Wyeths lived in the Brandywine Valley. Lauren and I hoped the museum would give us some inspiration and relieve us of our blahs. We told the boys that if they were well behaved I would shave off 4 days of their suspension and that was their inspiration.

Walking into the first gallery I was overwhelmed by the size and color of the paintings. I have been to the Brandywine before but not since Wyatt was born. This was his first time being around the artwork of his "namesake" and I felt a wave of satisfaction at naming him after this family of artists. Lauren turned to me and said, "I really needed this."

I think Wyatt was excited that the day was kind of about him.

Even though there are signs that say "No Photos" I couldn't help but take a few pictures of Wyatt standing in front of the incredible paintings of the Wyeths.  N.C. Wyeth illustrated many novels in the early 1900s including Last of the Mohican's and Treasure Island. The kids seemed to like these paintings.

Maxfield Parrish was a contemporary of N.C. Wyeth and we were lucky that the Brandywine has some Parrish work. The above picture is my Max standing in front of the Parrish painting called the "Artist". My Max was very nervous because he read the "No Photo" sign and though we may get arrested.

The portrait work in the Jaimie Wyeth gallery was very impressive and I think I enjoyed this section the most. I was able to convince the kids to sit on a bench while Lauren and I had a chance to look around. I hope that as the kids get older they appreciate their names and the inspiration behind them and maybe actually the artwork.

I did not get any pictures of the Andrew Wyeth gallery because security started tailing me. Security either realized I was taking pictures or they heard me say "Don't touch." over a hundred times. The kids enjoyed this gallery the most because there were lots of "heinie" and "butt" pictures.

If you live in the Philadelphia area and you enjoy a good art museum I would highly suggest going to the Brandywine River Museum. Admission is free on Sunday mornings and you get to see some "heinies and butts."

Influence

Back in September Maxfield joined Cub Scouts. My wife and I discussed this issue back and forth for several months. At first I was against it, she was for it. Then I was for him joining scouts and she was against it. Then she was for it and I was not listening. Then I was for it and she was trying to decorate the powder room. We discussed the time commitments, the financial commitments, the volunteer time needed over and over again.

During our many discussions my wife made a very valid point, not just about scouts, but about many other group activities. She said, "This is the time where Max may be forming the bonds of life long friendships. Shouldn't we expose him to scouts and what the scouts teach? Don't you want him to grow up with his friends being a good influence?"

Now I have known many kids in my life that I grew up with who were part of scouts and turned out to be "bad" kids. These bad kids usually never continued with scouts past 3rd or 4th grade. But I have also known a few other kids who went through Cub Scouts and Boy Scouts and turned out to be incredible people. I am not saying that all the kids who stopped scouting were bad kids*. I am also not saying that kids who do not join scouts are bad kids. I just know that the kids who continued with Scouts into Boy Scouts all turned out to be exceptional people. I would like for Max, and my other boys, to be surrounded by exceptional people.

So we signed Max up for Scouts.

We are seven months into scouting and it seems like Max likes it. I have attended every meeting. There is a bit of a "insiders club" feel to the pack and the people who run it but you get that with every organization. Little League, Home and School Association, Soccer Clubs you name it, they all have their own inner circles of leadership, I get that, I understand it.

 I enjoy going to Scouts with Max and watching from the outside. I get to participate as a parent.

And that right there is the one thing that I see different about the Scouts than other club type organization or sports team. Everyone is involved. Everyone participates. I have yet to see (as I have with coaching) a parent drop off their kid and leave as if the den leader is a babysitter. All the parents stay. Some take a more active roll during the meeting than others but for the most part all the parents are involved. No parents are complaining that their kid is not getting enough playing time. No kid is upset that they did not get to play short stop. No parent is mad that their kid is second chair in the trumpet section of the band. The parents are spending time with their kids at Scouts. Good quality time.

The Scouts, so far, have been a good idea. Max is surrounded by good kids and I am surrounded by good parents. Both of which are good influences.

*For the record I stopped Scouts in 3rd grade. I am not a pot head, gangster, thug, hooligan, goon, ruffian or troublemaker...

Okay maybe a troublemaker.

Act of God

"I am sorry Mr. Meakim." The woman on the other end of the phone call, from the insurance company,  apologized. "But this is considered an Act of God. There was no property damage so we will not cover the cost of the tree removal."

"But if there was damage to my house, or shed or other property, it is not considered an Act of God?" I asked.

I had already explained to her that the freak late October snow storm caused my neighbor's tree to fall and crash over the fence into my yard. I was annoyed that the insurance company was telling me it was my responsibility to remove the fallen tree. They did not care it was my neighbor's tree. I had already talked to my neighbor from behind us, who is not that great of a neighbor, and he did not care his tree fell into my property. He knew it would be my responsibility and almost laughed it off.

"Again I am sorry Mr. Meakim. This is an Act of God which is not covered." she said.

"But if a Tornado, which is an Act of God, hell it is even called the Finger of God, destroyed my house, it would be covered? I don't get it." I was just annoyed and wanted to argue. What was their definition of an Act of God?

The insurance company representative then started to discuss actuarial stuff and underwriting and deductibles and I knew I was done. I thanked them and hung up. I was miffed by the "Act of God". I  knew that I was going to have to take care of the fallen tree myself.

I started by using loppers to trim off all the smaller leaf covered branches.

The process was slow going and somewhat tedious. I found myself mumbling, cursing under my breath,  irked at this Act of God.

I made tidy little piles of sticks, which would make bundling them easier later on.

With a  borrowed a chainsaw I went about cutting and dismantling the the rest of the tree. Power tools that are used in movies as a murder weapon or means of torture always make me nervous. This Act of God was now making me jittery and sweaty. Jittery and sweaty are not a good combination when operating a chainsaw.

I stacked the large branches in one pile to be used as future kindling. I stacked the larger  portions of the cut heavy trunk to be split and used for future firewood. The Act of God was causing my back to ache and knees hurt.

I went in the house for a few minutes to take a break trying to catch a second wind. This Act of God made me feel old. I was not happy about that. I was a mumbly, jittery, sweaty, achey, cranky old man. When I went back outside I saw that Maxfield, Wyatt and their friend G were moving all of the neatly stacked branches and pieces of wood all over the back yard. It was a mess. I was even more annoyed.

The three boys, who would usually rather be playing video games, were using their imagination and creativity to build forts with the branches. They made the sticks into pretend swords and guns. They moved the stumps to make walls and then drums and then seats. They moved every branch looking for just the right ones to use for their creative purposes.

The three boys worked together building an entire imaginary play world. They did not argue or fight. They played. They helped each other. They mumbled under their breath expressing their ideas for a fort. They were jittery with excitement from finding perfectly gun and  rifle shaped sticks. They were sweaty from all the hard playing.

They took a break to drink some water and catch their breath. I found myself seeking out the right types of branches, cutting them down into the perfect size for a sling shots. I trimmed a few sticks to give them the curve of a long bow. I didn't feel so old any more. When they were done they went right back to their adventures with the fallen tree undoing all of my hard work. I didn't mind.

I was watching the three boys, three friends, having fun and laughing. Boys bonding without a care in the world was another Act of God. It was an Act of God I enjoyed. 

Social Security

The Social Security Administration lists the name Jackson at #42, Wyatt  at # 84 and Maxwell (Maxwell was the first name even close to Maxfield)  at # 134 and just Max at # 148 of top boy names for the 2000's decade. The SSA lists the name Henry at #102.

Last weekend Lauren, Max, Wyatt, Jackson and myself went to a Camden River Sharks minor league baseball game with some friends of ours, including their 9 year old son Henry (who is also my Godson). The game was not sold out and our two families spread out over two rows of seats along the third base line.  As is typical for any type of event like this there is always some type of parenting in public (PIP) that involves the repetitive use of the children's names and at an above-normal volume.

"Max, let those people through."
"Max do you have to go to the bathroom?"
"Max, do you want a hot dog or a burger? Max? Max? Hot dog or Burger? Max are you listening?'
"Max, stop hitting your brother."
"Max do you have to go to the bathroom?"
"Max, sit down so the people behind you can see."
"Max do you need to use the bathroom now?"
"Max, stop... feet...the chair... front of you." You know because sometimes as a parent you just cannot form a proper sentence.
"Max, can you please keep an eye on your brother."
"Max, I am going to the bathroom, do you need to go?"

It was the bottom of the third inning, I was leaning back to ask my friend in the row behind us a question when I heard the woman in the row in front of me say "Max, you really need to stop doing that."

I snapped my head around.  First I wanted to see what Max was doing that required a total stranger to correct him and second, to see who was the person that was correcting my kid. Max was sitting quietly eating his fruit snacks. I realized that the lady in front of me was talking to a 4 year old little boy sitting beside her also named Max. I chatted with the lady and her son for a minute or two and we chuckled at the name coincidence. I mean if the kids were named Mike, or Jim, or Jacob, or Matthew I would get it. But two Maxs so close together was weird and cool. I then felt sorry for the little boy, figuring he probably was freaked out thinking that the guy behind him kept asking him if he had to go to the bathroom.

I told my friend behind me that there were two Maxs. He and his wife laughed. They just had the same kind of conversation with people in the row behind them who also had a son Henry.

The next day my family was at a birthday party for one of Max's friends. The adults at the party consisted of a mix of parents of kids from different aspects of the birthday boy's life, like from swimming or school or neighbors. All of the parent's kind of knew each other or knew of one another but rarely interacted with each outside the common bonds of the birthday boy and his family.  It is these types of parties where people may or may not be introduced with an indicator of where they are from. A point of reference for each other  in the social situation. The point of reference that provides a bit of security during conversations, you don't feel like you are talking to strangers. This point of reference sometimes becomes a last name.  Like "Bill, this is Diane Fromthepool. Diane this is Bill FromLittleLeague." Or "Lauren this Alexa Christian'sMom. Alexa this Lauren Wyatt'sMom."

We all chatted in the kitchen as the kids ran around playing. I positioned my self in a perfect spot in the kitchen, near the food and drinks, with a view of  the TV (Phillies game) in the family room to my right, and to my left a view of the dining room table (kids eating).

To my right, with a view of the family room was Diane Fromthepool. To my left was Lauren, Amy Fromaroundthestreet, and Janine Afamilyfriend. The host and her husband fluttered in an out preparing food and what not. At some point I was introduced to Janine's 4 year old son Nicholas. I made a mental note that Diane's son was also named Nick or Nicholas. Nicholas is the 14th spot the SSA top names for the 2000's which makes it more common for there to be a couple of Nicks together at the same party.  We all made small talk trying to get to know one another with out embarrassing ourselves, or in my case embarrassing my wife.

Janine's Nick, somewhat shy and not familiar with most of the other kids, needed the security of his mom in the social setting and hung out in the kitchen for a while. He eventually discovered that there was a dog in the family room and he went in to pet and play with the dog. At some point Diane's Nick also went into the family room to play with the dog. There was a commotion, laughing followed by growling, followed by a small ruckus.

Diane, had the best view of the situation. Her eyes went wide. She tried to say something but sometimes as a parent you just cannot form a proper sentence and she hollered, "Nick! Come!"

To my right Janine's jaw dropped and her head snapped around towards Diane. I am sure first to see what her Nick was doing that required a total stranger to correct her kid and second to see who it was  that was correcting her kid. The kitchen fell silent. There was an awkward moment. Janine's face was full of shock and surprise. Diane turned toward the rest of us shaking her head in that way a parent does to silently communicate to other parent's What can you do? Diane saw the look on Janine's face and realized that Janine thought Diane was barking at her kid. Diane's face turned red as she tried to explain she was yelling at her Nick.

The two Nicks entered the kitchen. The older one with his head down knowing he was in trouble, the younger one seeking the security of his mom because some strange lady was yelling at him.

Parenting in Public is often entertaining.
I laughed for a good five minutes.

Accounting

I took the boys to the Five Below store (No Five Below is not sponsoring this post although I think they should since I just wrote about the store the other day too) and before we left I told both Maxfield and Wyatt to grab some of their money from their banks.

"I am going to bring 3 dollars." Max said knowing he was not going to bring all of the money from his bank.

"You may want to bring more Max, just in case." I then explained the concept of the Five Below store. "So maybe you should bring 5 bucks."

"No. I only need three dollars." he said confidently.

Wyatt collected 2 dollars from his bank. He took only his silver coins, he left the pennies. Two bucks is all he had.

There were over a hundred different things at the Five Below store that both boys wanted. They grabbed and touched everything in the store; cap guns, rubber balls, markers, cars, candy, water pistols, yo-yos etc. They held up each item asking the same question every time. "How much is this dad?"

They both decided on the same type of toy, a small Transformer figure which cost 3 dollars. I told Wyatt I would spot him the extra dollar. Max then said since I was spotting Wyatt an extra dollar could I spot him 2 dollars and asked if he could also get Marvel Super Hero Squinkies. Wyatt then said our favorite phrase in our house. "That's no fair." pointing out Max was going to get two things. ("No Fair" is said in our house about 150 times a day. Jackson,our 2 year old, even says it.). I then told Wyatt I would get him Squinkies as well.

We went to check out and placed the four items on the counter. I handed Max his three dollars, Wyatt his two. The teller told him it would be $10.60 with the tax. Both boys placed their money on the counter equaling five.  I only had a $10 bill so I scooped up the kids money and handed the teller the ten spot with a few of Wyatt's coins for the tax.

"Why did you take my money Dad?" Max asked.

"Yeah, Dad. Why did you take our money?" Wyatt chimed in.

I did my best to explain how I used my money for the purchase and how I used their money to pay me back.

"But that was my three dollars." Max said.

"No, Max I paid for the toys with my money and the three dollars you had is paying me back. You still owe me two dollars."

"But you used my coins dad." Wyatt said. "So I don't owe you anything."

"Actually Wyatt you owe me three dollars."

"But you used my coins. You didn't use Max's money. That's. No. Fair." Wyatt started to raise his voice.

We quickly left the store.

The boys played with their new toys the whole ride home and for most of the day. Every now and then Max would ask for his money back.

"Can I have my three dollars?"

"Max it is not your three dollars."

"You took my money Dad. And you put it in your pocket. It is mine."

"But I paid for the toys with my money." I said.

"And mine." Wyatt added wanting credit for the 60 cents that was originally his.

"No Wyatt I used my money and your coins became part of that."

"But you took MY money. I want it back." Max demanded.

"And mine." Wyatt also demanded.

"No. That's not how it works guys." I said.

We had the same conversation several times throughout the day. Max and Wyatt never made an attempt to pay me back.  Every now and again Wyatt would ask for his coins, Max for his bills. Finally after about the tenth request for the money I tried to explain how it all worked.

"Max you only brought 3 dollars to the store. Three single dollar bills. You bought two items. One was 3 dollars, the other 2 dollars. How much is that? Five dollars right? You only had 3. So I was giving you two dollars. Wyatt's toys cost $5. He only brought $2 so I was giving him $3.  I only had a ten dollar bill. So I took your three singles and Wyatt's money to replace the money I was spending out of my money. So Wyatt OWES me 3$ and you owe me $2. Do you get it?"

Max's eyes tilted towards the ceiling, letting the numbers tumble in his brain.

"Kind of. So If I owe you two dollars, and you took my three dollars doesn't that mean you owe me a dollar in change?"

I am never going to get my money back.

Drinking Jenga

When I was in my late teens-early twenties I used to play a lot of Jenga. It was Drinking Jenga but it was still Jenga. To play Drinking Jenga you take every wooden block and you write different phrases on them like -Drink 2, or Give 3, Or Give 1 and Take 1. The basic rules were when you removed a block, you did what the block said. If you pulled a Drink 1 out you had to take a sip of the beer in front of you. If you pulled a block that said Give 4 you could make the other people paying drink. Whoever knocked over the tower had to finish the drink in front of them. There were different ways to play too, where you would pass the beer to the left or the right etc. It all depended on how much Busch Beer (pounders in a can) we could purchase from the shady joint on Cheltenham Ave. The more people drank, the more fun the game became. I think at one point there was kissing and drinking involved (kiss the person to the left or across or what have you). The game Jenga has never been the same for me since

This past Christmas the boys received a Jenga game. We played several times over the winter break and had a good time. One day in January I decided to make the game more interesting and I wrote a bunch of the letter "C"s on the blocks. Every time Maxfield or Wyatt had a successful turn with a block with a C,  I would give them a Skittle. They loved playing this way. We played Cookie Jenga, M & M Jenga and of course Skittle Jenga.

We have not played Jenga in a few months.

The other night we pulled it out for family game night and played the good old fashion way. Wyatt was very upset that there was no candy involved. He kept looking for the blocks with the letter "C".  He got angry every time I told him there was no candy. It was becoming a long and frustrating family game night. We put the Jenga away and decided to play Chutes and Ladders. I am not a fan of Chutes and Ladders.

During the Chutes and Ladders I kept trying to come up with ways to make it more interesting. Any Suggestions?

Heroes and Villains

"Look how cute you all look." the train conductor said. She flashed a big toothy grin. "You are all wearing matching orange shirts."

"Thanks." I smiled back at her. "We are heading downtown. The orange will make it easier to keep track of each other."

"Oh. Where you heading?"

"To the comic book convention." I replied.

Maxfield, Wyatt and I found some empty seats on the SEPTA train. I used the train ride to prep the kids on what to expect and what to do in case we get separated. I explained that a comic convention would be filled with lots of cool stuff, there would many distractions, but no matter what we all had to stick together. I wrote my cell phone number on a pieces of paper, placed the paper in their pockets and told them if they did get lost that they could get someone to call my phone.



Not an orange shirt to be seen.



As we stood in line at the convention center someone else commented on the matching orange shirts.

"It is so I can easily spot them in a crowd." I answered. "I chose orange because no one wears orange to a comic convention."

"How's that?" he said.

"People wear red and blue super hero shirts and black Goth-y things to these events. Aquaman is the only super hero that I can think of to wear orange. And no one wants to be Aquaman." I answered.

Max and Wyatt seemed to be enjoying themselves. We met Colleen Venable the author of Guinea PI (g) comics, who was very nice and personable. We discussed the orange shirts and how I picked the color so the kids could see me and I could see them. I joked how I dress them in bright green for Fourth of July Parades. We talked with the artist and writer of Lazerman comics. We visited many booths, like the Garrison Carida, a very cool  Star Wars themed charity organization.

We even stopped by to the see the Bat-mobile, which Wyatt recognized from the 1960's  TV show that airs on the cable channel the Hub.

We made our way through aisle after aisle looking at cool super hero stuff and collecting free comics, trading cards and other things. We saw the Mystery Machine from Scoobie Doo and the General Lee from Dukes of Hazzard.We stopped every so often so I could take pictures of the kids. We entered the area where celebrities were doing meet and greets and autographs.  Adam West, Burt Ward, Adam Baldwin, Jon Schneider, Billy Dee Williams and countless other B and C list stars from shows like Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Firefly and Star Gate were in various sections with lines of fans snaking in and out of the booths. It was very, very crowded.

I stopped at an intersection of rows trying to look at the floor plan map. I wanted to get out of the crowds. I turned around.

"Max, Wyatt we are going to go this way." I said pointing to my right.

Only Wyatt replied.

It took me about 5 seconds to register that I was only looking at one orange shirt.

"Wyatt, where is Max?"

"I don't know." he said.

I looked down each of the four rows at the intersection. I did not see one orange shirt. I called out Max's name. My voice did not carry far. It was dampened by the huge crowds around us. My heart started racing. I looked in the booths of action figures near us. No orange shirt. Crap. I grabbed Wyatt's hand and I started to move up and down the aisles. No orange shirts anywhere.

Should I stay put, hoping he comes back to where we got separated? Do I go look for him? Do I scream his name louder? I grabbed my phone to make sure I could hear it ring over the noise of the crowd. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of an orange shirt. I pushed my way through the crowd. As I got closer I saw it was someone wearing a General Lee "01" shirt. Who the hell wears orange shirts to a comic convention? I ran back to the intersection. A few minutes passed and I tried to calm myself down by telling myself that Max was just at a vendor's booth looking at comics. But then as I looked around the creepiness factor hit me.

People were walking around looking like this...

or like this. Creepy right?

About 5 maybe 10 minutes went by (It felt like 30 minutes) when I decided to just go up and down the aisles. I pushed through the crowds yelling his name. Nobody stopped to help. People were annoyed I was yelling too close to their ears. I was flabbergasted. With all the super hero vibes going through the place you would think someone would have stopped to help the panic stricken screaming man in the orange shirt.

As I pushed down the second aisle I caught a glimpse of an orange shirt sitting in a booth about 30 feet away. I stood on my tip toes trying to look over the heads of the crowd in front of me. I felt Wyatt's hand slipping from mine. I held Wyatt closer as I nudged past a few more people to get a better look for the orange shirt. There, sitting on a high stool in the booth of the ECW and WWF wrestling diva Dawn Marie was Max. I caught my breath.

Max hugged me and I could tell he was scared. I could also tell he was mad at me for losing him. I had a lump in my throat.  Dawn Marie stroked his hair and tried to calm him. Dawn Marie explained that Max approached her and another woman volunteer and said that his dad was lost. Dawn suggested he sit in her booth while the volunteer went to the main office. Dawn told me that Max did the right thing and not talk to anyone until he saw the volunteer.

"BILL MEAKIM. PLEASE REPORT TO DAWN MARIE'S BOOTH." boomed over the loud speakers.

I stuttered a thank you to Dawn for taking care of Max. She noticed the orange shirts and mentioned them. I explained my idea of how I wanted the kids to stand out and how it apparently failed. I noticed Wyatt was staring at Dawn and her, uhm, muscles. She had, uhm, rather, uhh big muscles and she was showing them off.

"BILL MEAKIM PLEASE PICK UP YOUR SON AT DAWN MARIE'S BOOTH." echoed through the convention hall again.

Dawn offered to let us sit in her booth until Max and I calmed down a bit. I declined. Wyatt continued to stare.  People were lining up to get her autograph and I could tell Wyatt was on the verge of saying something about her outfit. I thanked Dawn again and made a lame joke about how she was a real super hero to me. We walked away a few feet to let the lines form at her table. I asked Max why he did not use the phone number I gave him. He said he could not find it. With Max and Wyatt safely at my side, I started laughing at the situation. I took a quick picture with the camera knowing that no one would believe me.

A muscular Dawn Marie on the left. 

As we left the convention I heard my name over the loud speaker another 3 times. I felt like such the bad guy.

Me as a villain. Wyatt took this picture.

How to Play Second Base

In order to play the position of 2nd base on a baseball team one must first dress the part. A ball cap, a glove, cleats and eye black are all the important parts of the 2nd baseman's uniform and equipment. Most important is the eye black. A second baseman has to look good.

A second baseman must be quick on his feet and ready to move at the crack of the bat. He should position himself between the first base bag and the second base bag for optimum visibility

It is in this gap between bases, along the edge of the infield grass, that the best bugs and dirt are found. Playing second base requires the ability to identify each bug and then determine whether it gets set free or squashed.

A second basemen also needs to have excellent hearing so he can hear his father/coach yell directions to him from the outfield. The standard baseball direction terms usually are "pay attention","look alive", "eye on the ball" and "holy cow how many times do I have to tell you to get up off the ground".

Once a ball is hit a second baseman's first moves should be towards the ball. His momentum should either direct him to a bag to cover, or to the ball itself to make a play.

Sometimes that momentum and the ability to throw the ball to the right bag results in the batter being called out. The OUT results in the coach/father to smile, run in from the outfield to give his son/player a congratulatory five.

While on offense a second baseman is also required to bat. In the event of a hit the second baseman should run as fast as he can to the base. Sometimes fast is not fast enough and the second baseman will be called out.

Being called out usually makes a second baseman sad, but that is okay, as long as long as he looks good.

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We just finished our Little League season. I had a good time coaching and I think Maxfield had a good time playing. I am looking forward to coaching Wyatt next year.

All photographs were taken and copyrighted by Sharon Monaco and used with permission of the photographer.

ROY G. BIV

Over the years people have asked me what I like best about blogging. Sometimes I like the community and social aspects that blogging has exposed me to. Sometimes I like just having a forum to write and practice telling stories. Other days the best part of blogging is the feedback left by others. Whether they be negative or positive comments it is always nice to know there is an audience from what I write.

Lately my favorite part about blogging is having the ability, pretty much from anywhere I have Internet access, to look at the past six years of my life.  Every now and then I like to go through the archives and look at lucky I am to have such a colorful life.

This picture was taken in August of 2008. A rainbow over our neighbors the Jones' house. Lauren was pregnant with Jackson, Wyatt just a toddler, and Maxfield is waist high. Life was good.

This picture was taken last week. My family standing in the Jones' driveway under a rainbow. Jackson is now the toddler, Wyatt is about to go into kindergarten and Maxfield is chest high.

Life is still good.

Middle Finger

"Dad, can I ask you a question?" my seven-year-old son asked. He and his little brothers were helping me put away laundry.

"Sure Maxfield. What is it?" I responded not looking at him. I was mindlessly sorting pants by size using the air hockey table as a folding table, I had a system going and I was in a groove.

"Kevin, at school, not my cousin Kevin, showed me his middle finger and told me that it was a very bad thing to show just your middle finger to some one. He said you should never do this." Max held up his middle finger, his thumb crossed his other three fingers to hold them down*.

I don't know if my kids noticed that I stopped folding the laundry, my mindless system disrupted, or if they saw me look at the clock wondering if their mom would be home soon to field this question, but they sensed that they were on to something important.

"Like this, dad, like this." Max said trying to show me his middle finger.

"You shouldn't do that pal." I said.

"Why? Why is it bad? What does it mean? Kevin just told me it was really bad?"

"It is like saying something bad in sign language." I told him. I noticed Wyatt was struggling to point his middle finger. I sighed.

"But what does it mean?" Max asked. He was very curious and had a concerned look on his face.

"Just don't ever do it to someone. Okay?"

"Why?"

"Just don't."

"Can you tell me what it means?" Max asked.

Every day, as a parent, I go through some type of debate in my head between telling the truth, protecting the innocence, keeping it real, keeping their youth, knowing is half the battle (GI JOE),  ignorance is bliss etc. etc. I do believe that sometimes the best answers are "Because I said so." But at this time I felt some type of explanation would take some mystery out of the equation and maybe give Max some understanding as to why he should not give the finger. I did not want to talk about the sexual nature of flipping the bird, that would be whole other conversation, but I didn't want him to think it was okay to do. He is too young to be labeled a bad kid for something innocent. I searched my brain for something that I could use to explain the nature of the gesture but also impress upon them why it was bad. A long time ago I read an article about giving someone the finger and it's history. The only part I could recall was the story (which is a false story) about some king cutting the fingers off of his enemy's archers.

I took a deep breath and told them a story.

"A long time ago there was a very evil king. This king was the most evil person alive at that time.  He sent his army from village to village taking property and stealing to expand his kingdom. He would make the villagers work for him in the farms and not pay them. Some of the villagers tried to fight back. The villagers used bow and arrows and swords. The kings army was too strong. When they won the battle the king's army cut off the middle fingers of all the men so they could not fight any more. They cut off the middle finger so the villagers could not pull back a bow or hold their swords. After a while none of villagers in all of the land had middle fingers. The kings army would ride into town and the king's soldiers would hold up their middle fingers to show they were loyal to king and also to make fun of the people without fingers. Over the years, showing someone your middle finger has now become a meaning that you wish that person to be hurt. You wish them harm. It is not nice to wish other people harm. It means you support the evil king."

The room was quiet. Max looked at his middle fingers. Wyatt was still playing the story in his mind.

"So that is why I never want you to show your middle finger to someone." I said.

"What if it is an accident?" Max asked. "What if I use it to point at something. I am not trying to be mean."

"I use my middle finger all of the time to point. Just never point it at someone in the way which you think is bad. Okay?" I said. "Don't do it as a mean gesture."

"Okay." Max said.

I looked at Wyatt.

"Okay." Wyatt said.

We went back to folding laundry.

"Dad, why didn't they just cut off the whole hand?" Max asked.

"Uhhh....so they could still work the fields and do their jobs for the king?"

"Dad, why couldn't they shoot arrows using their other fingers?"

"It's tricky." I said. I grabbed a clothes hanger pretending it was a bow and tried to demonstrate. "Without their middle fingers their aim was off and the strength was off."

"Dad, did they cut off the middle finger on just one hand or both?"

"Both."

"Dad, does a finger grow back if it gets cut off?"

"No. Once it is gone it is gone."

"If a person has their finger cut off and has a baby, will the baby be missing their fingers?"

"No."

"What if both the mom and the dad had their fingers cut off, would the baby still have fingers?"

"Yes."

There was another 30 or so questions that followed (I can't remember them all) as well as a quick discussion about Luke Skywalker's hand being cut off and how it was replaced. Max and Wyatt discussed why pirates could fight with hooks instead of hands and how they would make a hook to replace their middle finger. I listened to them talk and went about putting clothes away. I walked into Jackson's room.

"I would hook you." Wyatt said to Max.

"I would hook you." Max returned.

"No. Hook you." Wyatt said.

"Hook. You." Max said.

And so that is what the middle finger now means. Hook You.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

* For scientific purposes I am conducting a survey. There are two ways to give someone the finger.
1- Middle finger up- thumb holding the other fingers down.
2-Middle finger up- Thumb out to the side.

Say someone cuts you off in traffic and you have to flip them off, do you use #1 or # 2?

Discovered

Right after I took this video of Maxfield playing Ode to Joy, he turned to me and said "Put that on your blog."

I was shocked. "Excuse me?" I asked. "Do you know what a blog is?"

"No. Not really." He answered.

"Then how do know I have a blog?"

"You talk about it." Max said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Do you know what it is called? What I put on there?"

"Poop and Boogies." He smiled as he said it. "You write stories and put pictures and stuff on it."

I started to give him an explanation but he was already moving on to Lego Ninjago. Once Ninjago spinners come out, well, then there is no hope of having anyone pay attention to what is being said.

Max knows about the blog. He was 1 when I started it. He is now 7.

I am still trying to wrap my brain around all of the moral and ethical questions that arise in regards to what I should and should not post on here now that I know that he knows.

Loser

A few weeks ago Lauren convinced me to run in a 5k race called the St. Patty's Day Shocker. The race raised money to buy defibrillators for the areas public buildings. Hence the name "shocker" as part of the title of race. The run was the Sunday before March 17th, hosted by a local bar, each race participant was going to recieve a free pint of Guinness at the end of the race, hence the "St. Patty's" part of the name. People were encouraged to wear green, dress in costumes or other St. Patty's day themed get ups.

The race met my three criteria for my participation. 1)It was a small race, not too crowded with serious runners although competitive. 2)People in costumes or semi ridiculous outfits (which most runners by default even without trying wear semi-ridiculous outfits). And 3) Beer. By the way these three criteria pretty much are my criteria for participating in anything.

I placed 80th out of 230 with a time of 26:39. Lauren came in 66th place over all. Runners that finished before me included, a 60 year old woman, a man wearing a beer stein hat and some dude who wore a green sequined jump suit. To see pictures you can go here.

Lauren and I enjoyed a breakfast buffet and our Guinness' beers while discussing the course and the competition. Even though neither of us placed in our age groups it was nice to be involved in a race together. There is nothing like good friends and beer to make you feel less like a loser.

Later that same week, Maxfield was involved in a race of his own. His school hosts a pinewood derby race every year which raises money for the Home and School Association. I approached building Max's car with a "it takes a village" mentality. Max drew the shape, Mr V. ,our neighbor, cut it out with a ban saw. I sanded it. Mr. Jones, another neighbor, chiseled the spaces for the weights. Max painted it.

A fine looking car.


The night of the race is a big family event at the school. Mr. V was there helping with the race. Mr. Jones showed up to watch. Lauren and I brought Wyatt along so he could cheer on his brother. High school kids volunteered helping to run the concession stand as well as keeping kids occupied with face painting and crafts.

The way the race is run is similar to a playoff bracket. Races are held within each grade, heat by heat until there is a winner. Then the first grade winner competed against the Kindergarten winner, the 2nd grade winner vs. the third grade winner, 4th grade vs 5th grade, heat by heat until an overall champion is determined. Maxfield won his first heat but was eliminated in the second heat* to his buddy DK. Max was genuinely happy for DK. I was pleased that there were no tears.

During a lull in the racing action Max and Wyatt got their faces painted and we bought Popsicles.

DK went on to compete against G, Max's best buddy who lives up the street. G went on to win 1st grade then compete and win third place overall. Max, Wyatt, DK and G all sat together watching the other races. Each of them happy.

There is nothing like good friends, face painting and Popsicles to make you feel less like a loser.

*Max's car's first race ranked 29 out of 125 races with a time of 3.697 seconds. The over all winners car ranked first and had a best time of 3.588 seconds.

Also the commenter Mindy won the Supercuts gift card contest from a couple of posts ago. Nothing like a haircut to make a you feel less like a loser.

Filter

Maxfield's Mom Mom bought him a Snap-Circuits electronics project kit for his birthday. Using the resistors, capacitors, battery packs, motors and choke filters a kid can build all kinds of neat projects as long as he makes the right connections. Max and his Mom Mom discovered the Snap-Circuit toy at Henry's grandmother's house and Max's Mom Mom thought Max would enjoy one of his own.

Max's Mom Mom, my mother-in-law, is very close friends with Henry's Mom Mom. Henry is my best friend's son. Henry's Mom Mom is my best friend's mother-in-law. So my mother-in -law is friends with my best friend's mother-in-law. They live down the street from one another. Henry is also my Godson. Maxfield is also the Godson of Henry's dad. It is not as confusing as it sounds but it makes for an interesting grapevine. It is all how it is filtered.

"Johnny and the Mothers are playing 'Stompin at the Savoy' in Vermont tonight."
"Vermin's going to kill my brother at the Savoy theater tonight?"
"I didn't say that."
"No. But I know this grapevine."
~Johnny Dangerously~

Anyway, Henry told Max that one of the 300 projects in the kit was building a radio. Henry told Max that when he built his radio he was able to listen to the Phillies Game.

The other night I cam home from work and Max was working with his circuit kit. He was determined to build the radio by himself. He already succeeded in building the receiver and making a noise but was unable to tune the radio into a specific station. Somewhere on the board there was a connection missing. I looked over the plans, tweaked a line and showed Max the tuner which would filter and pinpoint the signals. Soon he was able to hear voices from the small plastic speaker.

"I want to hear the baseball game." Max said beaming.

I knew that he wanted, the next time he saw Henry, to be able to tell him that he too built a radio and listened to a game.

"Sorry Max, there are no games on yet." I said. "The season hasn't started."

Max continued to turn the tuner. He finally landed on a very clear signal from the local news radio station.

"What's this?" he said leaning in to hear the tinny voices and fake news ticker.

"It's the news Max."

"Hey Wyatt. " Max called into the other room, "Do you want to listen to the news with me?"

The two little boys sat at the kitchen table together listening to the news for about 10 minutes.

"How big is a tsunami?" Max asked clearly picking up on something said through the radio.

We already had a brief discussion about tidal waves and tsunamis a few days earlier when the events that happened in Japan first were unfolding. During that conversation I flashed back to memories of Peter Jennings, Barbara Walters and Harry Reasoner discussing events and showing images of a jungle littered with bodies in the Jonestown Massacre, blindfolded and scared US hostages in Iran and large smoking reactors on Three Mile Island. Back then we only had 3 networks and a daily newspaper but I remember feeling inundated with the bad stories. None of it was filtered because it was the news. Or maybe it was filtered because it was the news. But I also recall being totally frightened by those stories, but that was also a time where at least once a month in our elementary school we held duck and cover drills in case the Soviets started bombing us. All of this scary stuff was happening in the real world, not to forget that with my overactive imagination, I was also terrified of alien abductions, Bigfoot, ghosts, the Hookman, and the dark.

We now live in a world where there is a constant flow of images and stories on cable TV and the Internet. I saw articles blaming the people of Japan for the earthquake. I saw videos and heard stories on Facebook and Twitter of people using God's punishment as an answer for the reason behind the tsunami. And as much as those videos and stories bother me, nothing was worse than various commentators and newscasters discussing the loss of life with so much indifference as if they were talking about a score in a football game. I felt inundated in the late 1970's I can only imagine what my kids must feel now.

I bookmarked some web pages with videos I considered safe for my kids to watch regarding the tsunami in Japan. I felt the need to filter the information they received. I want them to learn and be aware of the world but I don't want them afraid of it. When Max asked me how big a tsunami was we watched those videos together. Max and Wyatt were amazed and in awe of the strength of the water and amount of destruction it caused. They asked a few questions to which I had very little answers.

Mother Nature, acts of God (which I mean in the non religious, smiting or smoting way but more in the way to say things just happen) and Natural Disasters rarely have any answers. But making sure that kids have an understanding of what is happening in the world is all about how the information is filtered.

I wish more people filtered what they put up on Facebook or other internet sites and in the news. The world is a scarey enough place already with Bigfoot lurking about.

Happy Father's Day

When I started this blog, Poop and Boogies, I never intended for it to be a Daddy Blog. Actually the term Daddy Blog wasn't even part of the blogging vocabulary back in 2005 (I am not a big fan of the term Daddy Blog because I think it limits a person's perception on what this blog is about or any other blog that gets the two word description like Mommy Blog or Craft Blog or Political Blog). I did intend for this blog to be about my life and my family. Since I am a dad and most of life and time is consumed in an effort to make my kids life better, this blog has become mostly about parenting. So yeah, I guess I am a Daddy Blogger.

Seven years ago, on a beautiful Sunday afternoon this happened. Seven years ago, throughout the day, and in the middle of the night this happened.


My dad used to call me on March 1st and wish me a Happy Father's Day because it "is the anniversary of when you became a dad." Seven years ago Maxfield was born. Seven years ago I became a dad.

To celebrate Max's Birthday we took Max, a few of his friends, and Wyatt to a Rock Climbing Gym. Max and his buddies put on harnesses and helmets and had an hour to climb and jump and flip and learn to rock climb.

As a "Daddy Blogger" I am supposed to write a heart touching post using analogies and metaphors about how watching Max rock climb is kind of like life, letting him go, trusting him, watching him climb and fail only to try again, being worried about him falling and getting hurt, using the support rope and holding it too tightly,

making sure he accomplishes his goals and reaches the top.But I didn't think about any of those things at the Rock Climbing Gym. The truth be told the only thing I was thinking about was,
"Damn, my kids are the cutest rock climbers ever."

I am not a very good Daddy Blogger.

Encyclopedia

"Dad, can you show me how to Google something?" Maxfield, my 6 year old, asked.

I was curious about his request. The only interest he shows in the computer is when a game is involved. And he mentioned Google by name.

"Sure. What do you want to look up?"

"Billy Inschool* said that applesauce is a fruit. I told him it wasn't because a fruit is a fruit and applesauce is made from apples which is a fruit but that apple sauce is not a fruit because it does not grow that way."

*Tangent-I always find it funny that to a kid, another kid's last name is the same as where the kid knows the other kid from. Inschool is not Billy's last name and if it was he would have many siblings. There is Marissa Inschool, Kyle Inschool, Zach Inschool, Nicky Inschool etc. These are the same kids with the same last name as Inmyclass. Billy Inmyclass, Marissa Inmyclass, Zach Inmyclass. Billy also has the last name Fromteeball and Fromaroundtheblock, it all depends on when and where the point of reference to the conversation is. *End Tangent.

"And you want to look up, on Google, if applesauce is a fruit?"

"Yes."

I explained to Max, to the best of my knowledge, how the Internet works and what Google does as a search engine. I showed him how to get to Google and where he should type his key words. I told him the Internet was great for looking up information. I told him how when I was younger we need to look up information in books like encyclopedias. I also told him he is to never look up anything without an adult around.

"Why?" He asked?

"Well sometimes the answers to your questions may be something that is totally wrong for you. Do you know how I don't want you to watch certain movies or play certain games? Well it is kind of the same thing. Mommy or Daddy should be around to make sure you are learning what you need to learn from your questions."

"Okay."

"Looking up whether applesauce is a fruit should be okay for you to do." I said. "Now what should you type?"

"Is applesauce a fruit?" He said.

"Give it try."

Max started typing in the Google search bar. He typed a letter I and then the letter S. Google started to do the auto fill thing it does when it thinks it knows your search. Max started to read the Google questions suggestions.

I could see his innocent brain start to process the first Google auto fill response. He looked at me and then back to the screen. He looked at me again and then back to the screen. I quickly reached over top of his arms and typed the word apple to change the Google auto fill response to something more apple related. I quickly changed the topic to apple and sauces trying to distract him from his thoughts about Santa.

Seriously Google? The first response to the word IS in your searches is about whether Santa is real? Now I have no idea if that was what Maxfield was reading. I hope he was trying to figure out if Lady Gaga is a man. I know I would have an easier time talking to my kid about Vin Diesel's sexuality then I would explaining the existence of Santa.

Does anyone know if there is a kid friendly version of Google? Or does anyone know someone who sells Encyclopedias?

Magical

On December 22nd Maxfield lost his first tooth. He was very excited to leave the lower left central tooth for the Tooth Fairy that night. At 4 am on the 23rd of December Max ran into my room to wake me up and show off the new five dollar bill he found under his pillow. I told him the Tooth Fairy was being generous because it was Max's first tooth and it was close to Christmas (and it was the only bill the Tooth Fairy had in her wallet). He was amazed by the magic of the Tooth Fairy.


On December 24th Max woke with the excitement and anticipation that goes along with Christmas Eve. Throughout the day we discussed Jesus' birthday and the spirit of giving and the three Magi. We visited family and exchanged gifts with God parents and grandparents. That night we were invited to dinner by our neighbors at a Japanese style steakhouse/hibachi joint, where the chefs cook on the table top and entertain the diners with cool tricks and knife work. My boys were in awe of the flaming volcanic onion as well as the chef catching food in his hat. It was a great night and Max could not stop talking about it.

Christmas morning was filled with toys, stockings filled with treats and the talk of Santa and his magic of giving. We had a incredible day assembling toys, pretending to be superheroes, playing games and using our imaginations to accomplish great feats of strength and magical powers. We visited with more family and exchanged presents with aunts and uncles and Mom Mom.

It was a great and magical long weekend in our house. And after it is all said and done, the wonderment and awe between the Tooth Fairy, Santa, Jesus, the three wise men, Lego Star Wars guys, Iron Man, countless super heroes, aunts, uncles and Godparents, I truly think that Maxfield was most impressed with the Hibachi chef guy. So much so that he asked that we take him back to that restaurant for his birthday.

Jewish-ish

Susan is a friend of mine since childhood and while we were growing up she always invited me, the Catholic, to her Jewish family's celebrations. I attended various nights of Hanukkah and many Passover Seder dinners at her house that Susan's Uncle Kenny knighted me an Honorary Jew. He told me that after someone attends enough events with his family that by default they are Jewish-ish enough. He may have given me the honorary Jew title just because he wanted me to keep coming back to the Post Seder dinner poker games that I usually lost.

Susan still invites my family, more so my kids, to her house to celebrate and learn about Hanukkah with her daughter Estella. We have attended the past two years and the kids would exchange small gifts and my boys would get to light the Menorah and play Dreidel and eat chocolate "gelt" coins.

Last night Max told me that they were learning about Hanukkah in school.

"What did you learn about Hanukkah?" I asked.

"Nothing new." he said. "I already knew it all."

"Really?"

"Yeah, from Estella's house."

"Oh." I replied.

"Are there any Jewish kids in your class?" Lauren asked Max.

"No."

"How do you know?"

"The teacher asked if anyone in the class celebrated Hanukkah and I was the only one to say yes."

I laughed.

"The teacher asked if I was Jewish." Max added, "I told her no, but my friend Estella is, and that is where we celebrate Hanukkah."

I need to get Estella's Great-Uncle Kenny to knight Max.

Brothery Love

It was Wyatt's turn to pick what color cereal bowl he wanted. Ever since the continuing red plate arguments we have started to let Max and Wyatt take turns on picking what color eating instrument/utensil they want.


"Wyatt, which bowl do you want?" I asked. "The blue or the green?"

Wyatt put his finger to his chin and thought about the choices. "Uhmmmm." he hummed to himself.

"That's not fair. Wyatt got to pick last time." Max whined from across the table.

"That's not true Maxfield." Lauren corrected. "Last night at dinner you got to choose. Now it is Wyatt's turn."

Max pouted.

"C'mon, pick already, blue or green Wyatt?" I was getting impatient.

Wyatt turned his soft, big, round,brown eyes towards Max and said "Max, what color bowl do you want?"

Lauren beamed. "Awwww Wyatt. That is so nice."

I sighed and smiled.

Max perked up. "I would like the blue bowl."

Wyatt tilted his head back towards me, his eyes narrowed as his lips thinned into a smirk. "Then," he said, pausing almost for affect but also weighing the consequences of his decision "I will take the blue one."

I am not trying to be mean but the look of satisfaction on Wyatt's face as Max cried out in protest was priceless.

Autumn

Autumn is my favorite time of year. The crisp air, falling leaves, Halloween, Thanksgiving, back to school, Football season, Sam Adams Octoberfest on the shelves, new TV shows, the list goes on and on. This year I thought I was going to be able to add Soccer to the list of good things about Fall.

This Fall was the first Fall where our family was involved in Soccer. Both Maxfield and Wyatt joined soccer teams this year with mixed results.

Max did not play last year because he was still healing from his broken Femur so he was a bit behind the abilities and knowledge of the other players in his 6 and 7 year old league. A few games into the season the nature of the game finally clicked with him and he did pretty well. He loved to play goalie and actually played that position for at least a quarter of every game. The last day of the season, during a tournament game, he let up two goals. His emotions got the best of him, his eyes filled with tears as he declared at the top of his lungs "I am the worst goalie ever." My heart broke. Soccer is not being added to my list of Fall favorites yet.

Wyatt's approach to Soccer was to show up at games and watch from the sidelines. Wyatt would join his team at half time to eat Orange slices and then go back to sitting out the rest of the game. He refused to play in half of his games and getting him dressed and out the door became a 45 minute chore every Saturday morning. Soccer is not being added to my list of why I love fall.

Although without Soccer there would not be Soccer babies, who are so darn cute.

Also without Soccer there would not be Soccer Mom's who are so damn hot.

Funny story:

Dick's Sporting Good's was one of the sponsors of Max's league. Each child received a water bottle with the Dick's logo (as you can see in the picture). Every Saturday morning Lauren and I would get the kids dressed for the games, pack various snacks and lunches, and load up the van to spend the day at the fields. One morning I was in the living room getting Wyatt dressed and Lauren was filling the various water bottles for the kids and some for us. I could hear her getting frustrated as she kept banging something on the counter.

"What's wrong?" I called out into the kitchen as I was struggling with Wyatt, attempting to put on his shin pads.

"Nothing." she said in a tone that I could tell she was gritting her teeth. She banged something against the counter.

"Are you sure?"

"Arrrgh." Lauren growled in frustration. " I am having such a hard time with this Dick's top."

After five minutes of me trying to compose myself Wyatt finally asked, "Daddy, what is so funny?"

This is our annual fall photo. This was much easier to take than last year's photo.