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Showing posts with label Wyatt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Wyatt. Show all posts
Friday, December 21, 2012
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
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."
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.
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."
Monday, November 07, 2011
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.
"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.
"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 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.
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.
Friday, October 21, 2011
The Count
I remember the moment almost exactly as it happened.
Lauren and I, recently engaged, were in a darkened theater watching the Count of Monte Cristo. I always enjoyed the story of Edmond Dantes and his revenge and wanted to see the film starring (not so well known at the time) Jim Caviezel and Guy Pearce. It was about half way through the movie, Edmond , played by Caviezel, has already escaped his prison, discovered his enormous treasure and is hosting a party in an effort to introduce himself as The Count of Monte Cristo. I don't know if it was the scenery of the mansion grounds, the elaborate regal costume, the palpable air of wealth, or the wavy dark hair and manicured goatee, but I turned to Lauren and I whispered, "I would go gay for him."
She laughed at my joke. I chuckled. That was the moment. We enjoyed the rest of the movie and now The Count of Monte Cristo is one of my favorite stories.
After the movie we stopped by my mom's for a visit. My sister was there visiting as well. They asked if we liked the film and Lauren told them about my man crush feelings towards the Count of Monte Cristo and Jim Caviezel.
From that point on, which was 9 years ago, any time my mom or sister see Jim Caviezel they will tell me they saw my boyfriend. "I loved your boyfriend in Frequency." "I can't believe your boyfriend is Jesus in Mel Gibson's movie." "I saw your crush being interviewed on the Tonight Show." Which I don't ever mind because, one, I like Jim Caviezel as an actor and two, that seen in Monte Cristo when he descends in a hot air balloon, wearing a cape and carrying a cane he is, well, quite dreamy.
I have been getting calls and texts on a more frequent basis now that Jim Caviezel is in a new TV show called Person of Interest which is on Thursday nights at 9PM. I actually like Person of Interest and the concept of the series. I would consider the show an intense action/drama with a twist. It is good television.
Last night as we were getting the kids ready for bed Wyatt decided to put up an fight about wearing a pajama shirt. He claimed he wanted to sleep without a shirt. I tired to argue with him but he pointed out that sometimes I don't wear a shirt to sleep. As a parent sometimes you have to choose your battles and I chose to be the loser on this one. Wyatt could go to bed without his shirt on.
We put the kids to bed at 8:45. Lauren and I locked up the house, climbed into bed at 9 and turned on Person of Interest. This particular episode involved a kidnapping of a judge's son. Six minutes into the show a shirtless John Reese, the character played by Caviezel, is being treated for a bullet wound to his shoulder. He was shot trying to stop the kidnapping of a little boy. Like I said the show is intense action drama.
Two minutes later my phone chirps with a text that reads "Your boy looks great without a shirt!" I immediately think of Wyatt and our argument.
"My sister just sent me a text that says your boy looks great without a shirt." I said to Lauren.
"What the hell does that mean?" Lauren asked.
"I don't know. Did she stop by earlier? Are the boy's curtains closed? Is she out front now looking in our windows?"
"No. Yes, I think they are. What?" was her answers.
"Okay this is really strange. What the hell does she mean? Can she see inside our house? Not to mention the statement itself is pretty creepy."
I was perplexed. Actually somewhat freaked out. I was watching a show where a boy gets kidnapped and then I get a text about my boy not wearing a shirt. My heart started racing a bit. I think Lauren got out of bed to go check on the kids. It was creepy and disturbing, my sister saying that about a five year old. I texted my sister back asking how she could see what she saw. Waiting for my sister's response I looked back at the TV and saw Caviezel buttoning his shirt. Then I got it. She was referring to my man crush on the TV. My sister was watching Person of Interest.
My sister is not stalking my house. She is also not creepy. I was still a little freaked out though.
Lauren and I, recently engaged, were in a darkened theater watching the Count of Monte Cristo. I always enjoyed the story of Edmond Dantes and his revenge and wanted to see the film starring (not so well known at the time) Jim Caviezel and Guy Pearce. It was about half way through the movie, Edmond , played by Caviezel, has already escaped his prison, discovered his enormous treasure and is hosting a party in an effort to introduce himself as The Count of Monte Cristo. I don't know if it was the scenery of the mansion grounds, the elaborate regal costume, the palpable air of wealth, or the wavy dark hair and manicured goatee, but I turned to Lauren and I whispered, "I would go gay for him."
She laughed at my joke. I chuckled. That was the moment. We enjoyed the rest of the movie and now The Count of Monte Cristo is one of my favorite stories.
After the movie we stopped by my mom's for a visit. My sister was there visiting as well. They asked if we liked the film and Lauren told them about my man crush feelings towards the Count of Monte Cristo and Jim Caviezel.
From that point on, which was 9 years ago, any time my mom or sister see Jim Caviezel they will tell me they saw my boyfriend. "I loved your boyfriend in Frequency." "I can't believe your boyfriend is Jesus in Mel Gibson's movie." "I saw your crush being interviewed on the Tonight Show." Which I don't ever mind because, one, I like Jim Caviezel as an actor and two, that seen in Monte Cristo when he descends in a hot air balloon, wearing a cape and carrying a cane he is, well, quite dreamy.
I have been getting calls and texts on a more frequent basis now that Jim Caviezel is in a new TV show called Person of Interest which is on Thursday nights at 9PM. I actually like Person of Interest and the concept of the series. I would consider the show an intense action/drama with a twist. It is good television.
Last night as we were getting the kids ready for bed Wyatt decided to put up an fight about wearing a pajama shirt. He claimed he wanted to sleep without a shirt. I tired to argue with him but he pointed out that sometimes I don't wear a shirt to sleep. As a parent sometimes you have to choose your battles and I chose to be the loser on this one. Wyatt could go to bed without his shirt on.
We put the kids to bed at 8:45. Lauren and I locked up the house, climbed into bed at 9 and turned on Person of Interest. This particular episode involved a kidnapping of a judge's son. Six minutes into the show a shirtless John Reese, the character played by Caviezel, is being treated for a bullet wound to his shoulder. He was shot trying to stop the kidnapping of a little boy. Like I said the show is intense action drama.
Two minutes later my phone chirps with a text that reads "Your boy looks great without a shirt!" I immediately think of Wyatt and our argument.
"My sister just sent me a text that says your boy looks great without a shirt." I said to Lauren.
"What the hell does that mean?" Lauren asked.
"I don't know. Did she stop by earlier? Are the boy's curtains closed? Is she out front now looking in our windows?"
"No. Yes, I think they are. What?" was her answers.
"Okay this is really strange. What the hell does she mean? Can she see inside our house? Not to mention the statement itself is pretty creepy."
I was perplexed. Actually somewhat freaked out. I was watching a show where a boy gets kidnapped and then I get a text about my boy not wearing a shirt. My heart started racing a bit. I think Lauren got out of bed to go check on the kids. It was creepy and disturbing, my sister saying that about a five year old. I texted my sister back asking how she could see what she saw. Waiting for my sister's response I looked back at the TV and saw Caviezel buttoning his shirt. Then I got it. She was referring to my man crush on the TV. My sister was watching Person of Interest.
My sister is not stalking my house. She is also not creepy. I was still a little freaked out though.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Do you think you should do that?
I think I was ten years old, riding double, on the back of my best friend's bike, when I thought it would be a good idea to cover his eyes.
"Do you think you should do that?" Bob (probably) asked since he was steering the bike.
We were just cresting a small hill by the Methodist Church near Round Meadow Elementary School. Bob with his eyes covered missed the path on the down slope, we hit a tree, then hit the steep side of the hill and then hit the street. Bob broke his front tooth, bad. I thought it was a good idea at the time, two friends on a bike being daredevils.
When his parents asked me why I thought it was a good idea I told them I was checking to see if Bob had a radar sense. The second time I tested his radar sense we crashed and Bob ruptured his spleen against the upturned handle bars.
"Do you think you should do that?" My dad asked me as I set out to change the spark plugs on my 1976 Ford Granada. I was 19 and it was my first car. I don't think he asked me because he thought I could not do it. I think he asked me because he knew that I could not do it.
"How difficult could it be?" I replied. "I don't have the money for a real tune up." I thought it was a good idea at the time, saving money and learning about cars.
It took me 6 hours, a phone call to get the car towed and something like $200 dollars for the mechanic to fix my mistakes.
"Do you think you should do that?" is a rhetorical question that my wife asks me from time to time. "Do you think you should do that, putting that red shirt in with the whites?" "Do you think you should do that, feeding the boys Skittles and Slurpees right before bed?" "Do you think you should do that, drinking all that vodka, you have an early morning?"
The other day I thought it was a good idea to try to cut the kids' hair. We have clippers, why not use them right? How difficult could it be? I would save us money, time and aggravation.
Lauren came out onto the porch in mid cut and asked "Do you think you should do that?"
It was too late.
His hair, or lack there of, is not as bad as this picture shows.
Besides he is incredibly handsome no matter how foolish his father is.
"Do you think you should do that?" Bob (probably) asked since he was steering the bike.
We were just cresting a small hill by the Methodist Church near Round Meadow Elementary School. Bob with his eyes covered missed the path on the down slope, we hit a tree, then hit the steep side of the hill and then hit the street. Bob broke his front tooth, bad. I thought it was a good idea at the time, two friends on a bike being daredevils.
When his parents asked me why I thought it was a good idea I told them I was checking to see if Bob had a radar sense. The second time I tested his radar sense we crashed and Bob ruptured his spleen against the upturned handle bars.
"Do you think you should do that?" My dad asked me as I set out to change the spark plugs on my 1976 Ford Granada. I was 19 and it was my first car. I don't think he asked me because he thought I could not do it. I think he asked me because he knew that I could not do it.
"How difficult could it be?" I replied. "I don't have the money for a real tune up." I thought it was a good idea at the time, saving money and learning about cars.
It took me 6 hours, a phone call to get the car towed and something like $200 dollars for the mechanic to fix my mistakes.
"Do you think you should do that?" is a rhetorical question that my wife asks me from time to time. "Do you think you should do that, putting that red shirt in with the whites?" "Do you think you should do that, feeding the boys Skittles and Slurpees right before bed?" "Do you think you should do that, drinking all that vodka, you have an early morning?"
The other day I thought it was a good idea to try to cut the kids' hair. We have clippers, why not use them right? How difficult could it be? I would save us money, time and aggravation.
Lauren came out onto the porch in mid cut and asked "Do you think you should do that?"
It was too late.
Besides he is incredibly handsome no matter how foolish his father is.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
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.
"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.
Friday, July 22, 2011
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?
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?
Monday, June 20, 2011
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.
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.
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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.
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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.
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People were walking around looking like this...
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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.
As we left the convention I heard my name over the loud speaker another 3 times. I felt like such the bad guy.
"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.
 |
 |
| 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.
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.
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| A muscular Dawn Marie on the left. |
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| Me as a villain. Wyatt took this picture. |
Thursday, June 02, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, May 23, 2011
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.
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* 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?
"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.
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* 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?
Friday, March 25, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, March 04, 2011
Whatifits
Wyatt, like most middle child four year olds, starts most of his sentences with one of the same three phrases. The phrases are not really phrases at all but more like a an amalgam of words that have become a word in itself.
The words are Thatsbecausehe, Whatifits, and Thatsnofair. They come up in any and almost all conversations.
Let us start with Whatifits, which is used in conversations based around Wyatt trying to use Jedi Mind Tricks to get his way.
Eating dinner--Whatifits really gross? Can I still have dessert?
The words are Thatsbecausehe, Whatifits, and Thatsnofair. They come up in any and almost all conversations.
Let us start with Whatifits, which is used in conversations based around Wyatt trying to use Jedi Mind Tricks to get his way.
Eating dinner--Whatifits really gross? Can I still have dessert?
Going to the bathroom--Whatifits got germs in there? Do I have to go?
Going to bed-Whatifits really itchy in my bed? Can I sleep in your bed?
Discussing safety issues--Whatifits zombies attacking? Can I call 911? Whatifits a stranger wants to talk to me? Can I call 911? Whatifits a kid that is the stranger. Can I talk to them? Then can I call 911? (Wyatt is now fascinated with 911 partly due to lessons at preschool as well as the fact that Jackson accidentally dialed once and Wyatt was impressed that the police actually showed up.)
Playing games-Whatifits the Darth Maul level? Can we play longer?
Whatifits is used as much as Thatsbecausehe. However the word Thatsbecausehe is usually following a sentence or a cry from another person.
"Dad, Wyatt hit me."
"Thatsbecausehe wouldn't give me a turn with the Ninjago spinner."
"Dad, Wyatt pushed Jackson."
"Thatsbecausehe ate my cookie."
"Dad, Wyatt won't let me sit on the couch."
"Thatsbecausehe won't let me watch what I want to watch and thatsbecausehe wouldn't let me on the couch yesterday and thatsbecause he wouldn't give me a turn with the Ninjago spinner!"
Lauren and I are still trying to figure out where our kids have learned their sense of fairness, especially Wyatt. Thatsnofair is one of his favorite words.
Thatsnofair he gets to stay up later than I do.
Thatsnofair he gets to go to bed before I do.
Thatsnofair he likes his dinner so he gets dessert and I don't
Thatsnofair he always gets to watch his shows and I don't.
Thatsnofair you always go to work.
Thatsnofair he has his a Ninjago spinner and I don't.
Wyatt has recently added a new word to his vocabulary, the word canihave.
Canihave a banana? Canihave breakfast? Canihave a drink? Canihave a snack?
Pointing at the commercials on the TV -CanIhave that? Canihave that? Canihave that? Canihave that? Canihave my own Ninjago spinner?
We are working with him to be able to pronounce the word Canipleasehave.
Monday, February 28, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Post From The Future
Poop and Boogies 3.0
What's for Breakfast --2/10/2056
I had to drop my rocket jet pack off at the dealer this morning. I have been having problems with the throttle. The other day on my way to work at the hologram theater I nearly lost power and dropped about 100 feet. At first, I thought it may be the bypass line, but the seventh Fetzer valve was sticking so I thought the dealer should take a look. Sure I could have taken the Green Transporter Line to work, but ever since I was nominated for a HAG award and a HolOscar I get recognized. Besides, the dealer is right down the street from the home where my dad is placed, so I decided to pay him a visit.
I stopped at the front desk and spoke with the RN. I asked if I could speak with someone who had a little more authority and knowledge about my dad. Robot Nurses do a great job and all but sometimes dealing with a real person is better. The RN tapped a few times on her I-Stamp and a few minutes later I was talking to Colette, dad's primary human caregiver.
"Wyatt, It is so nice to see you. William, I mean your dad, is doing great. You are just in time for breakfast. Would you like to stay and help me feed your dad?"
"Sure." I said. The whole reason for stopping in was to spend time with him.
"William, I mean your dad, is pretty hungry this morning. He refused to eat his dinner last night."
"Really? What were you having?" I asked.
"Spaghetti." She said. "He used to eat it all the time. Last night he refused. He said the sauce was too spicy. It is the same sauce we use every other time we make pasta which he never had a problem with. It is the same sauce we use for the Pizza we make, which he eats with no problem. I don't know, last night he was just being stubborn."
"What did you do?" I asked.
"I told him he would not get any snacks or anything else to eat until breakfast."
We walked down the hallway towards his room when a memory crept out of the corner of my mind. I could see myself sitting at our table in Hatboro. I was 4 years old. Maybe 5. I refused to eat my spaghetti. My mom was so frustrated. I remember her saying something like, "What, so now you don't like spaghetti? I am running out of things to feed you Wyatt. I will not let you be a kid who only eats chicken nuggets and fries." I remember dad getting angry. "Nothing else to eat tonight! Do you understand?" I got up from the table. "You will be having Spaghetti for breakfast tomorrow. Do you understand?" I nodded. I think I heard dad say something to mom about "going all Mommy Dearest with breakfast".
As we got closer to dad's room Colette asked me something but I was not paying attention. I was lost in the memory of the next morning of me screaming as my dad was taking the plastic wrap off my plate of spaghetti from the night before. I still can't stand the smell of microwaved cold spaghetti. I remember dad holding his ground and telling me I had to eat the pasta before I would get anything else like fruit or yogurt. I also recall that as soon as I started crying he had to go to work and left mom to do the dirty work.
"Wyatt? Wyatt?" Colette's voice pulled me back to the present.
"I'm sorry." I said as I shook off the memory.
"That's okay. I know sometimes visiting can be difficult. I asked what would you like to feed your father this morning? We have pancakes, waffles, oatmeal or cold cereal." She said.
I thought a moment.
"Do you have any spaghetti left over from last night?" I asked.
Colette was hesitant. "Uh, yes." she said.
"Then that's what he will have." I said.
I really, really enjoyed my breakfast with my dad that morning.
Posted By Wyatt- at 2/10/2056 at 9:17 AM
This post was inspired by my brother the LawnWhisperer. When I told him about feeding Wyatt spaghetti for breakfast he said that when I am old and I need my kids to take care of me they will remember those moments.
What's for Breakfast --2/10/2056
I had to drop my rocket jet pack off at the dealer this morning. I have been having problems with the throttle. The other day on my way to work at the hologram theater I nearly lost power and dropped about 100 feet. At first, I thought it may be the bypass line, but the seventh Fetzer valve was sticking so I thought the dealer should take a look. Sure I could have taken the Green Transporter Line to work, but ever since I was nominated for a HAG award and a HolOscar I get recognized. Besides, the dealer is right down the street from the home where my dad is placed, so I decided to pay him a visit.
I stopped at the front desk and spoke with the RN. I asked if I could speak with someone who had a little more authority and knowledge about my dad. Robot Nurses do a great job and all but sometimes dealing with a real person is better. The RN tapped a few times on her I-Stamp and a few minutes later I was talking to Colette, dad's primary human caregiver.
"Wyatt, It is so nice to see you. William, I mean your dad, is doing great. You are just in time for breakfast. Would you like to stay and help me feed your dad?"
"Sure." I said. The whole reason for stopping in was to spend time with him.
"William, I mean your dad, is pretty hungry this morning. He refused to eat his dinner last night."
"Really? What were you having?" I asked.
"Spaghetti." She said. "He used to eat it all the time. Last night he refused. He said the sauce was too spicy. It is the same sauce we use every other time we make pasta which he never had a problem with. It is the same sauce we use for the Pizza we make, which he eats with no problem. I don't know, last night he was just being stubborn."
"What did you do?" I asked.
"I told him he would not get any snacks or anything else to eat until breakfast."
We walked down the hallway towards his room when a memory crept out of the corner of my mind. I could see myself sitting at our table in Hatboro. I was 4 years old. Maybe 5. I refused to eat my spaghetti. My mom was so frustrated. I remember her saying something like, "What, so now you don't like spaghetti? I am running out of things to feed you Wyatt. I will not let you be a kid who only eats chicken nuggets and fries." I remember dad getting angry. "Nothing else to eat tonight! Do you understand?" I got up from the table. "You will be having Spaghetti for breakfast tomorrow. Do you understand?" I nodded. I think I heard dad say something to mom about "going all Mommy Dearest with breakfast".
As we got closer to dad's room Colette asked me something but I was not paying attention. I was lost in the memory of the next morning of me screaming as my dad was taking the plastic wrap off my plate of spaghetti from the night before. I still can't stand the smell of microwaved cold spaghetti. I remember dad holding his ground and telling me I had to eat the pasta before I would get anything else like fruit or yogurt. I also recall that as soon as I started crying he had to go to work and left mom to do the dirty work.
"Wyatt? Wyatt?" Colette's voice pulled me back to the present.
"I'm sorry." I said as I shook off the memory.
"That's okay. I know sometimes visiting can be difficult. I asked what would you like to feed your father this morning? We have pancakes, waffles, oatmeal or cold cereal." She said.
I thought a moment.
"Do you have any spaghetti left over from last night?" I asked.
Colette was hesitant. "Uh, yes." she said.
"Then that's what he will have." I said.
I really, really enjoyed my breakfast with my dad that morning.
Posted By Wyatt- at 2/10/2056 at 9:17 AM
This post was inspired by my brother the LawnWhisperer. When I told him about feeding Wyatt spaghetti for breakfast he said that when I am old and I need my kids to take care of me they will remember those moments.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Baby Cheeses*
Wyatt Blue, my four year old, attends a pre-school in a local Methodist church. The school is highly regarded as an excellent pre-school with a focus on education with a Christian foundation.
Last week I was driving Wyatt to pre-school and I asked him what they were learning in school.
"Christmas." He said.
"What did you learn about Christmas?"
"Christmas is a the time when Jesus becomes a baby again. You see, Jesus is a man who at Christmas time becomes a baby. He then becomes a boy so that by Easter he is a man again. You see Jesus is two men, a boy and a baby. His super powers are that he can become a baby again. But I think he should just stay a baby because then we could have Christmas longer and oh look at all those Gooses. Why do Gooses sit there?" He pointed to the field next to us.
"They're are called geese when there are more than one." I corrected.
"Why are all the geeses there?" Wyatt asked. "Hey Dad. Geeses, Jesus, that rhymes!"
"Yes it does Wyatt. What else can you tell me about Jesus?" I asked trying to get him to focus back on our original conversation.
And I smiled the rest of the way to his school as he rhymed other words with Jesus.
Wyatt continued, "Cheeses...Pizzas... Sneezes... Pieces..."
*Baby Cheeses from ABC's Modern Family, best show ever.
------------------------------------------
Here are some gift Ideas for the holiday season although some of them may not be able to make it to your tree in time.
Maze Man--A friend of mine does his own hand drawn mazes. They are cool and complex. He even does custom mazes for business and what not. Very cool.
B Toys--I wrote about these folks a year ago here and how funny their instructions were. They included my post on their website. Check them out. This is the company's first Christmas season. We were trying to purchase a Veterinary kit/Critters Clinic for Wyatt but have not been able to track down at Target. They keep selling out. That is how awesome their toys are.
Books make great gifts and awesome stocking stuffers. I highly recommend Frankie Pickle books by Eric Wight as well as The Dread Crew by Kate Inglis for the young readers. And of course for the older readers on your gift list there is anything by Brad Meltzer (my secret man crush) as well as For a Good Home by Eve Mont. Brad has a new book coming out in the next month or so and he has a television show on the History Channel. Eve Mont just signed a deal for three new books with her publisher.
If there is a hairy sweaty man in your life I also would suggest Shave Secret and Anti Rash Underwear as gifts. Both have changed my life.
----------------------------
Kcinnova --won the Tassimo Single Serve Coffee Machine. I had over 60 entries between comments and emails. I used a random number generator and her number was picked. Thank you to all who entered and thank you to all who read Poop and Boogies.
----------------------------
Remember when you are having your Christmas dinner and someone asks, "What's in this?" just say "Poop and Boogies. Shut up and eat it."
Happy Holidays everyone.
Last week I was driving Wyatt to pre-school and I asked him what they were learning in school.
"Christmas." He said.
"What did you learn about Christmas?"
"Christmas is a the time when Jesus becomes a baby again. You see, Jesus is a man who at Christmas time becomes a baby. He then becomes a boy so that by Easter he is a man again. You see Jesus is two men, a boy and a baby. His super powers are that he can become a baby again. But I think he should just stay a baby because then we could have Christmas longer and oh look at all those Gooses. Why do Gooses sit there?" He pointed to the field next to us.
"They're are called geese when there are more than one." I corrected.
"Why are all the geeses there?" Wyatt asked. "Hey Dad. Geeses, Jesus, that rhymes!"
"Yes it does Wyatt. What else can you tell me about Jesus?" I asked trying to get him to focus back on our original conversation.
And I smiled the rest of the way to his school as he rhymed other words with Jesus.
Wyatt continued, "Cheeses...Pizzas... Sneezes... Pieces..."
*Baby Cheeses from ABC's Modern Family, best show ever.
------------------------------------------
Here are some gift Ideas for the holiday season although some of them may not be able to make it to your tree in time.
Maze Man--A friend of mine does his own hand drawn mazes. They are cool and complex. He even does custom mazes for business and what not. Very cool.
B Toys--I wrote about these folks a year ago here and how funny their instructions were. They included my post on their website. Check them out. This is the company's first Christmas season. We were trying to purchase a Veterinary kit/Critters Clinic for Wyatt but have not been able to track down at Target. They keep selling out. That is how awesome their toys are.
Books make great gifts and awesome stocking stuffers. I highly recommend Frankie Pickle books by Eric Wight as well as The Dread Crew by Kate Inglis for the young readers. And of course for the older readers on your gift list there is anything by Brad Meltzer (my secret man crush) as well as For a Good Home by Eve Mont. Brad has a new book coming out in the next month or so and he has a television show on the History Channel. Eve Mont just signed a deal for three new books with her publisher.
If there is a hairy sweaty man in your life I also would suggest Shave Secret and Anti Rash Underwear as gifts. Both have changed my life.
----------------------------
Kcinnova --won the Tassimo Single Serve Coffee Machine. I had over 60 entries between comments and emails. I used a random number generator and her number was picked. Thank you to all who entered and thank you to all who read Poop and Boogies.
----------------------------
Remember when you are having your Christmas dinner and someone asks, "What's in this?" just say "Poop and Boogies. Shut up and eat it."
Happy Holidays everyone.
Thursday, November 04, 2010
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.
"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.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
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:
This is our annual fall photo. This was much easier to take than last year's photo.
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.
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