Like Riding a Bike, a ‘NEW’ Bike

Until recently, Charlotte was stuck between two bikes.  She was too big for her tricycle, yet too small for her hand-me-down, 16-inch bike from her cousin (it’s her ideal bike in terms of looks – pink, purple, and blue, with multicolored tassels/strands shooting out the ends of the handle bars.)

But when she tried out her friend Drew’s 12-inch bike, it was a perfect fit.  She experienced a bike riding epiphany of sorts.  She was able to pedal, albeit slowly, balanced high above the pavement (with the assistance of training wheels).  She was on top of the world.  Even with the training wheels, it definitely had the look and feel of a ‘big girl’ bike.  (Actually, the bike she was riding was more of a stereotypical ‘big boy bike,’ designed to look like a dirt bike.)

We realized we needed to get her a bike of that size, and soon.  Either that or be responsible for slowing the development of her bike riding skills.

Karen quickly found one on Craig’s List.  When Charlotte discovered her new bike in the garage, it was love at first sight.  She immediately jumped on it (with some assistance), and began pedaling (again, with some assistance.) 

Upon seeing our friends and neighbors playing in their yard near their driveway, a popular biking locale, she asked me to carry her bike over for her.  (Their driveway is slightly uphill from ours – hey, she’s not Lance Armstrong, yet.)  She was very anxious to show off her ‘new’ bike and ride it with her friends.

Unfortunately, the other kids weren’t in a bike-riding mood.  Charlotte would ride her bike for a minute or two, then run around in the yard with the other kids (engaged in some strange version of tackle tag in the wet grass that was getting them all soaked), then run back to the driveway to ride her bike for a minute or two, then run around with the other kids.  It was a vicious, play-filled cycle.

Desperate to ride her new bike with her friends, she attempted numerous times to get them to ride their bikes, using several versions of the following:

            “Hey, everyone, I have an idea!  Let’s ride our bikes!”

            “Hey, everyone, follow me!  Let’s ride our bikes!”

Each time, the other kids would begin to head for the driveway, then get distracted and start tackling each other again, playing tag, or just running around aimlessly.  Poor Charlotte.  She was so close to biking nirvana.

After her several failed attempts, she looked at me and asked, “Dad, how come they don’t want to ride their bikes?”

While she was somewhat disappointed, she was ok, but no dad likes to see his little girl disappointed.  I tried to say all the right things:

            “Charlotte, don’t worry, they just don’t want to ride their bikes right now.” 

            “If they don’t want to ride today, they’ll definitely want to ride in the next day or two.” 

            “Charlotte, have some fun playing in the yard now, and you’ll have plenty of time in the next couple of days to ride your bike with your friends. ”

Because after all, you know what they say about riding a bike.

I hope you enjoyed today’s serving of ‘mac & cheese.’

Quack Like a Duck, Neigh Like a Seahorse…

Tomorrow is a field trip day for Charlotte’s preschool.  Very exciting stuff.  Luke and I are going as chaperones.   (Technically, I’m the chaperone. Luke’s going as a sibling.) 

Destination: the Swan Boats in the Boston Public Garden.  We’ll also be seeing the Make Way for Ducklings statues.  Classic stuff.

Charlotte can barely contain herself.  She’s excited not only about the swan boats, but she’s also over the moon about the mode of transportation to get to the Swan Boats.  That’s right, a big yellow school bus.  She’s never ridden one, yet when her grandfather asked her last weekend what her favorite part of school was, she replied almost immediately, “The bus.”  The bus, mind you, which she has yet to ride.

A Horse of a Different Color

Charlotte and Luke went to a combined story time/craft project at a local science center yesterday.  They each returned with a new pet.  They had cut out and colored seahorses, which were then glued to popsicle sticks.  They couldn’t wait to show me, enthusiastically bopping them up and down around the dining room.

Luke’s sea horse neighs.  Repeatedly.  It’s hilarious.  He’ll move it around, saying, “Neigh… neigh…”, then touch its head to the floor while explaining to me, “Eat hay, eat hay.”

In addition to being extremely entertaining, it rhymes.

I hope you enjoyed today’s serving of ‘mac & cheese.’

Weekend at Berkies…

Ah, the glory of the long weekend.  The endless fun, the family time, the days stretching into infinity, the extra time to catch up on work and postponed errands…

Ugh, the burden and unrealistic expectations of the long weekend.

In an attempt to capture the highs, the lows, and the middles, I am putting together a running log of our weekend (somewhat similar to the synopsis of our diaspora in The Iceman Cometh).

Because a defining feature of our weekend was our trip to visit Grandma and Grandpa at their condo in the Berkshires, I have dubbed this Weekend at Berkies.  Other possible titles were To Grandmother’s, and Grandfather’s, House We Go… and 72 (a play on the Kiefer Sutherland show 24).

And so, without further ado,

Weekend at Berkies…  (all times, facts, and recollections are approximate):

Saturday morning, 6:15am (EDT): The Putney Family is up an’ at ‘em.  Lots to do before our 11:00am planned departure for the Berkshires.  To-do item #1: pick up our ‘new’ used ‘work car.’  The transmission on our old commuter car went, and we found what seemed liked a decent deal on a ’98 Ford Escort wagon at a used car dealership about 40 minutes from here, which became a big pain when we discovered it needed a new emergency break and a new gas tank.  The dealer agreed to replace both, but getting it back there and doing without a commuter car made for a major hassle.  (Every time we walked into our garage, Luke would look at the space where the work car was usually parked and say, “work car getting fixed.”  But the end was in sight.

Saturday morning, 7:20am (EDT): We’re off to pick up the car, or, as Karen christened it because of its bright red color (much like a fire engine), Engine Two.

Saturday morning, 8:05am (EDT): Engine Two is back in our possession and the Putney fleet is off to Friendly’s Restaurant for breakfast, courtesy of a Mother’s Day gift card from my parents. 

Saturday morning, 8:52am (EDT):  Breakfast is done and the syrup is cleaned up off of the kids.  Both got ‘fun cakes,’ essentially a pancake with a face: M&M eyes, butter nose, and whipped cream hair.  Luke was already reaching for the M&M’s before the waitress had finished setting the plate in front of him, followed closely by the ball of butter (which his mother promptly removed from his mouth.)

Saturday morning, 9:32am (EDT): Back at home to finish packing, which would be followed by some play time, loading the car, taking out the trash and compost, a quick shower, a heavy snack and a last-minute visit to the bathroom before the two hour car drive, which would hopefully turn into a two hour nap for Luke and possibly Charlotte.

Saturday morning, 11:25am (EDT):  We get into the car and depart, slightly behind schedule.  The kids are quite excited to visit Grandma and Grandpa at their home by the water.  Charlotte classifies their homes as 1) ‘the house with the cash register,’ which is the house where Karen grew up in southern Connecticut.  Grandma and Grandpa have stocked it with fun toys, including a play cash register and vacuum, and 2) ‘the house by the water,’ which is their condo in the Berkshires.  The condo community has a pool, lake frontage, a playground, and lots of rolling lawns.

Saturday morning, 11:57am (EDT): We’re heading west on the Mass Turnpike and both kids are asleep. 

Saturday afternoon, 12:58pm (EDT):  We’re off the Pike and heading north.  Arrival time, approximately 1:25pm

Saturday afternoon, 1:25pm (EDT):  We pull into the condo driveway.  Grandma is anxiously awaiting our arrival on the front steps (by ‘our’ I mean Charlotte and Luke’s).  She’s quickly joined by Grandpa.  The car is quickly unloaded and we’re off to the lakefront.

Saturday afternoon, 2:05pm (EDT):  We’re making our way along the lakefront, carefully dodging the goose excrement (repeatedly referred to as “goose grease” by Grandpa).  Luke loves walking on the docks, which he refers to as ‘the bridge.’  Charlotte, not so much.  The docks sway and shift, making Charlotte very nervous.  Meanwhile, Luke likes to get as close to the water as possible.  Then it’s off to the playground, where Luke refuses to go down the slide.  He likes to climb up to the platform, but then has no way down aside from standing on the edge, arms outstretched, and pleading to Karen, “Come with you, Momma, come with you, Momma,” repeatedly.  We decide that the public park down the street might be more fun.

Saturday afternoon, 3:17pm (EDT):  Having returned to the condo to don our suits, it’s pool time.  Luke spends the first 20 minutes at the pool sitting on the first step, refusing to go any farther until Grandma eventually coaxes him further into the water.  Before long, he’s in the deep end swimming like a fish (with some assistance).  Meanwhile, Charlotte has stayed in the water so long, she’s shivering and turning blue.

Saturday evening, 5:49pm (EDT):  After a barbecue on the deck, we head back down to the playground and meet some of the other kids at the condo community, including a ten year old girl with shimmery sandals.  Karen compliments her on her footwear, to which she responds, “Thanks, your shoes are fun, too.”  She also tells us how good the fishing is off the deck – she caught almost a dozen fish earlier, which she threw back in the lake.  Charlotte remarks, “I’ve never been fishing,” looking at us with hopeful eyes.

Saturday night, 8:45pm (EDT):  The kids are finally in bed (actually, in sleeping bags) after a prolonged bedtime ritual.  Thee adults then watch a movie.

Sunday morning, 7:00am (EDT):  Surprisingly enough, the kids sleep in (for them).  Both Karen and I get to shower (a rarity).  Then it’s breakfast and off to Mass.

Sunday morning, 9:17am (EDT):  A slightly late departure for 9:15 Mass.  Definitely Grandpa’s fault.  Granted, the Church is close.  Grandma rides with me and the kids (and Sue-Zée, our GPS) in our car, and Karen rides with Grandpa.  Grandma and Sue-Zée had a slight disagreement on how to get to the Church.  I wisely followed Grandma’s directions. (Actually, it was a no-brainer.)

Sunday morning, 10:35am (EDT): Back from Mass.  Grandpa rode back from church with me and the kids, while Karen rode back with Grandma, running some errands on the way.  Partly because neither Grandpa or I have a key, and partly because it looks like it will rain before too long, we make our way down to the playground for a rousing game of ‘princess, knight, and dragon.’  Grandpa gamely plays the role of dragon, climbing up the play structure and going down the slide several times (he turns 60 in July).  The kids are loving it.

Sunday morning, 11:16am (EDT):  Back to the condo for lunch before Luke goes down for what turns out to be a three hour nap, a three hour nap (sung to the tune of the Gilligan’s Island theme).

Sunday afternoon, 12:35pm (EDT):  Mom, Charlotte, and Grandma embark on Charlotte’s first kayaking excursion while Grandpa’s on Luke duty (I alternate between taking pictures of the kayakers from the shore and checking on Luke and Grandpa at the condo).

Sunday afternoon, 3:15pm (EDT):  After Luke’s nap, we attempt to play a game of bocce on the rolling and expansive lawn on the condominium grounds, but the kids keep wandering into the path of the bocce balls.  At one point, Luke grabs one of the bocce balls and moves it, a definite faux pas.  So it’s back to the playground, along with some of the other kids.  There are two girls fishing on the dock with their father, and Luke is all too happy to go check it out.  They were literally catching fish every couple of minutes, placing them in a bucket.  Luke was thrilled.

Sunday evening, 5:20pm (EDT):  It’s off to a local lakeside restaurant to have dinner on the deck.  It had turned out to be another beautiful day.  When informed that they had run out of milk, the kids are excited to get lemonade.  They are also excited by all of the motorcycles in the parking lot.  Luke in particular has been on a big motorcycle kick lately.

Sunday night, 7:45pm (EDT):  Departures, after hugs and kisses from Grandma and Grandpa.  Unfortunately, we’re leaving on a somewhat sour note because Luke bit Charlotte, hard, during a disagreement over a toy, but things seem to have settled down.  We’re hoping the kids will fall asleep shortly after we leave. 

Sunday night, 8:15pm (EDT):  Charlotte had fallen asleep almost immediately after we left the condo, but awakens when we stop for gas before getting on the Pike.  Luke is showing no signs of falling asleep (darn that three hour nap.)

Sunday night, 9:15pm (EDT):  Both kids are STILL awake.  (Heck, if I wasn’t driving, I’d be falling asleep.)

Sunday night, 9:30pm (EDT):  Still awake.  (Luke’s not only awake, but requesting animal crackers.)

Sunday night, 9:45pm (EDT):  Home at last.  And yes, both kids are still awake.  Not only that, but Luke is asking to go downstairs to the rumpus room to play.       

Sunday night, 10:15pm (EDT):  Both kids are in bed, relatively quiet (who knows if there asleep) and the car is unpacked.  Fun trip, but good to be home.  Relaxing day planned for Memorial Day.

Monday morning, 9:00am (EDT):  I’m woken up.  Karen, bless her heart, let me sleep in.  She and the kids have already watched Peter Pan (Luke absolutely loves it and has been constantly requesting it), made smoothies and cinnamon rolls (saving me three), and had breakfast.  All week long, the kids have been looking forward to our town’s Memorial Day parade, partly because they love parades and partly because our neighbor Grace, who’s a Daisy/Girl Scout, will be marching in it.  The parade essentially consists of the Girls Scouts, the Boy Scouts, a veterans group, and the Fire Department.

Monday morning, 10:05am (EDT):  We are on the town green, awaiting the start of the parade,  We find our neighbor, who is concerned that Grace doesn’t know the words to the song she’s supposed to sing.  Her grandmother told her that if she didn’t know the words to just move her lips and no one would know.  Before long, it’s parade time.  Very fun.  Charlotte and Luke are thrilled to see Grace, who appeared to know exactly what she was doing.  Plus, she had dyed her pig tails blue.  Very festive.

Monday morning, 11:15am (EDT):  The kids have a heavy snack outside before Luke goes down for his nap.  Unfortunately, I have to catch up on some work, so I spend the majority of the afternoon in my office while Karen and Charlotte alternate between our house and the neighbors (who have a small kiddy pool) playing with Grace, basking in the glow of her parade triumph.  Both girls go through many costume changes that include bathing suits, summer outfits, and dress-ups.

I’m assuming that, if you’re still reading, you may have lost interest by this point (this is slightly longer than I had originally planned).  We also had dinner, gave the kids baths, and went to bed.

And that, in a nut shell (for a very large nut) is our Memorial Day Weekend. 

I hope you enjoyed today’s very hearty serving of ‘mac & cheese.’

Call and Response: Split Milk

Charlotte and Luke have really been enjoying “call and response.” (I think that’s how to refer to it.)

We started doing it at dinner a couple of weeks ago.  One of us will say (or call in a sing-song voice) something like, “Everyone in the house say, ‘Pan-cakes!’” 

Which is then followed by everyone in the house saying, “Pan-Cakes!” 

It is pretty fun.  Give it a try sometime.  You can insert just about anything.

Charlotte is often very literal when she’s the caller, adapting it to wherever we are at that moment.  For example, when we’re driving, it’s, “Everyone in the car say…” and when we’re playing outside on the swing set, it’s, “Everyone on the swing set say…”

In addition to the “everyone in the house” format, we also enjoy the following format:

“I say, ‘peanut,’ you say, ‘butter’… 

            “Peanut!”

                        “Butter!”

            “Peanut!”

                       “Butter!”

Charlotte and Luke love it.  The words are usually pretty random, often whatever we’re eating, whatever their eyes fall upon as they look around the room, or whatever they’ve been thinking about.  They’re pretty good at connecting related objects (cup and plate, spoon and fork) or people (Mom and Charlotte, and Dad), although sometimes there’s no apparent connection. 

Charlotte will often pick something along the same lines as Karen or I just did.  For example, when I was drinking orange juice the other day, I went with, “I say, ‘Orange,’ you say, ‘Juice.’”

When it was Charlotte’s turn, after beginning with, “I say…” she struggled with an ‘m’ sound or word, obviously trying to abbreviate something, before finishing with, “You say, ‘ilk.’”

Of course, she was drinking milk, which unfortunately isn’t even two syllables, never mind two words.  Hysterical.  It just goes to show that while you shouldn’t cry over spilt milk, you can definitely get a good laugh out of split milk.

I hope you enjoyed today’s serving of ‘mac & cheese.’

Where the Wild Things AREN’T

For those who have read  ‘mac & cheese’ for awhile (by ‘awhile,’ I mean a duration of a couple of months), I imagine it’s pretty clear that I’m a big fan of the children’s book Where the Wild Things Are, story and pictures by Maurice Sendak.

It’s a true classic.  Written in 1963, it won the Caldecott Medal for the most distinguished picture book of the year in 1964.

The night Max wore his wolf suit and made mischief of one kind…

I’ve loved the book for as long as I can remember, so you can imagine my excitement when I came across another book by Maurice Sendak. 

… and another.

Unfortunately, I soon discovered that while I was a huge Wild Things fan, I was most certainly not a Maurice Sendak fan, or at least not a fan of all his books.  More specifically, not a fan of any of his books aside from Wild Things. 

…so he was sent to bed without eating anything…

His other books are downright creepy, or at least his other books that I’ve read, because after reading two creepy children’s books, I stopped.  It just goes to show that you can’t judge a book by its author… (or that you can’t always judge a book by its author.)

…they roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws…

I suppose that there are hints of his dark side in Wild Things, but it works within the context of the book. 

…and made him king of all wild things…

Thankfully, my, let’s just say, ‘lack of appreciation’ for Maurice Sendak’s other books has not diminished my appreciation for his masterpiece in the least.

“And now,” cried Max, “let the wild rumpus start!”

There is evidence of my family’s love for Where the Wild Things Are throughout the house: the Wild Things kitchen magnet on the fridge, Luke’s Wild Things growth chart in his room (it’s pretty cool stuff), my Wild Things t-shirt (our librarian loves it)…

Furthermore, ‘Where the Wild Swings Are’ is the leading candidate in the “Name Our Swing Set” Contest and one of my previous servings of ‘mac & cheese’ is entitled “Let the Wild Rumpus Start.”

In developing news, they’re making the book Where the Wild Things into a movie.  Where the Wild Things Are (set for release in October 2009) is directed by Spike Jonze with a pretty cool cast. 

These things can go either way – instant classic or abominable travesty – but I’m hoping for the former.  The preview is definitely promising, leading me to believe that it will indeed be a ‘wild rumpus’:

Note: Unfortunately, the video won’t work when embedded (embedding has been disabled by YouTube by request, but I left it in because it just looks so cool), but here’s the link to the working video at YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2NOkQ4dYVaM

I hope you enjoyed today’s serving of ‘mac & cheese’ (and that it’s still hot).

Baby, you can drive my car…

Our neighbors have one of those electric children’s vehicles.  It’s a John Deere truck (with a small cargo space/truck bed in the back).  Classic. 

Our six-year old and four-year old neighbors tool around the yard in it, having a blast.  Recently, their 18-month old sister has gotten in on the act.  She’ll sit in the passenger seat in her bike helmet patiently waiting for one of her siblings to take her for a spin.  Often, there are two kids in the front and one (sometimes more) in the ‘truck bed.’ 

Of course, Charlotte and Luke love it, too.  If it’s just sitting in the yard, Luke will hurry over and climb right in, content to just sit in the front seat or even in the truck bed.

Unfortunately, Charlotte is somewhat of a hazard behind the wheel.  (Women drivers!)  She hasn’t yet grasped the concept of the steering wheel.  She treats it like a prop, happily turning it one way or the other without realizing that it actually steers the vehicle.

A couple of days ago, she was driving it in their backyard with our four-year old neighbor as the passenger.  She kept steering it directly into the bushes.  She would then stop, get out, walk over to where she wanted it and point to specific spot on the ground (apparently instructing her co-pilot where she wanted it positioned).  Her friend would slide over behind the wheel, move the vehicle to where she had indicated, and then slide back to the passenger seat so Charlotte could get back behind the wheel.

This happened repeatedly.  She would immediately drive the John Deere into the bushes, get out, and point to where she wanted it.  He would slide over, do as she wished, and slide back so she could reassume her place behind the wheel and promptly drive back into the bushes.  Our neighbor’s a good (and brave) kid.

The next day, she ended up behind the wheel with a full truckload.  As the kids piled in with Charlotte behind the wheel, I got a little nervous.

“She’s got to learn sometime,” said our neighbor, a very patient dad.  

And off they went up the hill in the backyard, careening left and right, out of sight around the corner of the house.  (Actually, they weren’t technically ‘careening,’ but they were moving forward at a relatively steady pace.  I just like the sound and visual imagery of ‘careening.’)  Our neighbor walked by the vehicle, gently redirecting it when necessary.

The trip around the house took much longer than the usual expedition, and as they came back into sight, it became apparent that our neighbor must have had to repeatedly pull the car from out of the bushes or from against the house.  Charlotte sat in front, happily turning the wheel from side to side and patiently waiting to be redirected or repositioned when she met up with an obstacle (like the house).

I suppose she does have to learn sometime, I just hadn’t anticipated that it would be before her fourth birthday. 

If the anxiety caused by Charlotte driving a small, electric, toy car around our neighbors’ yard is any indication, I’m going to be a mess when she’s 16 and actually driving a car for real.  I can’t even bear to think about when she goes out on her first date (with whomever’s driving).  I’ll have to steel myself for her first car trips with friends, whether it’s to the movies or an even longer road trip.

I guess I’ll have to get used to her being behind the wheel, no matter how she steers.  Hopefully, I’ll be patient enough to let her make her own mistakes while also gently (and sometimes maybe not so gently) nudging her in the right direction when necessary.

I hope you enjoyed today’s serving of ‘mac & cheese.’

An Episode of the Courtship Chronicles

Karen proposed to me eight years ago this week (on Monday, to be exact).

That’s right, Karen asked me.  For those who wonder how the goofy guy got the hot chick, it’s actually the hot chick who got the goofy guy. 

I remember it like it was yesterday: May 11, 2001.  It was a joyous day.

We had been dating for over four years.  I think we had both realized that we were going to get married (to each other) long before that.  I had graduated two years before Karen, and she wanted to wait until after she had graduated and had lived on her own for a little while before getting engaged, so we had decided that she would propose when she was ready.

Plus, since I had asked her out on our first date, it seemed only fair that she would do the asking when it came to getting married.  Her willingness to be ‘the girl who asks the guy’ speaks volumes about whom she is (and is part of the reason I’m so in love.)

Further thickening the plot, I maintained that, since if I was the person proposing I would have been expected to ger her a ring, she should get me something equally precious, like a big screen television or a laptop.  I said this in jest, but at a later date, she asked me to clarify if I wanted a laptop or a television.  I went with a television because a laptop would last only a couple of years and, well, we’re still using our engagement tv.  (That’s right, I got an engagement television.  One of my friends insisted that I should give seminars, another one of my friends, an avid outdoorsmen, tried in vain to convince his fiancée to get him an engagement rifle.)

Karen proposed on the Friday of Mother’s Day weekend.  I had a sense it was going to be that weekend, partly because we were going down to her parents in Connecticut and would be passing by our alma mater, where I thought there was a strong possibility it would happen, giving us the the chance to share our good news with her family that weekend.

But unbeknownst to me, she had made arrangements with my boss (I was working at my high school at the time).  So my boss and another of my coworkers picked Karen up from the train station while I was at a meeting that afternoon. 

As a side note, I’m not a complete putz – I was planning to have a ring ready (rather than a large diamond ring, I had bought a sapphire surrounded by smaller diamonds).  I had ordered it and was going to pick it up after work that day on my way to picking uo Karen.  Luckily, because my boss knew what was happening, she strongly encouraged me to pick it up that morning, which I did.

I had also prepared a small, purple, leather bound journal.  I had written a poem to commemorate the occasion, and I had glued the pages following the poem together, cutting out a small square within those pages in which I could insert the ring in its foam ring nest.

Anyway, once I returned to my office from the meeting, my boss told me there was something I should check out on the school roof, which overlooked a river and was easily accessible from our office.  Actually, she told me that she had finally gotten patio furniture for the roof, for which I had been lobbying for months.

And when I went up to the roof, there was Karen, holding flowers and a ring box that contained a small picture of my dream television from a circular.

Needless to say, my answer was yes, and I immediately ran back to my office to get the journal and ring.  (Karen insists that I didn’t answer before I ran off to get the ring.)

Anyway, the rest is history. 

I’ve included our proposal poem below (bear in mind, it’s circa 2001 and is somewhat dated, and is also rather long).

I hope you enjoyed today’s serving of ‘mac & cheese.’

 

The Proposal Poem, May 11, 2001

I’ve waited, and wondered, and longed for this day,
First I thought March, then April, then May,
I dreamed of the moment when you would propose,
I asked and I asked, but you wouldn’t disclose.

And now that it’s come, I’m elated, ecstatic,
And my affirmative answer couldn’t be more emphatic.
My emotions inside are so sweetly chaotic
As I gaze at this gift, so richly symbolic.

What a beautiful, magical, excellent vision,
(Such) A magnificent 32-inch television.
We’ll watch it together, like a king and a queen,
We’ll see so much dance across its broad screen

We’ll watch Monica, Chandler, Phoebe , and Ross,
And we’ll wonder which one the Survivors will toss.
We’ll view them both, contestants and Friends,
And we’ll watch to see what the news portends.

We’ll hear Oprah, and Rosie and all of their talk,
We’ll see nature specials on the plight of the hawk.
We’ll watch Martin Sheen pose as the Prez,
We’ll laugh at the weird things Dave does and says.

We’ll witness The Practice and Law and Order,
We’ll see Andy Sipowicz and Ricky Schroeder.
We’ll watch Dr. Carter, as he yells STAT,
We’ll see SNL and Toonces the Cat,

We’ll watch Will and Grace and Jack 2010,
Whether it’s in our kitchen, living room or den,
We’ll sit awash in its bright luminescence,
As we look on with friends, siblings and parents.

We’ll watch Weakest Links matching their wits.
We’ll see Nomar and Manny rack up those hits,
With Everett, and Jimy, and a pitcher named Pedro,
We’ll root on the Red Sox for as far as they go.

We’ll watch history unfold in front of our eyes,
(Unfortunately, we’ll see politicians tell lies)
We’ll cringe and we’ll wince as Battlebots clash,
We’ll cheer as Olympians sprint in the dash.

We’ll watch actors with Oscars thanking the world,
On MTV we’ll see bands we’ve never heard.
We’ll watch travel shows about faraway places,
That we’ll eventually visit with matching suitcases. 

We’ll watch home videos we’ve yet to make,
Of our very own children eating their cake.
We’ll watch concerts and plays and each t-ball game,
Full of small children seeking acclaim.

We’ll see all the classics, the old and the new,
We’ll watch Gone with the Wind, just me and you.
We’ll even sing along with Plummer and Andrews,
For It’s a Wonderful Life with you as my muse.

We’ll hold hands and cuddle in its gentle blue glow,
As our true love continues to grow and to grow.
And as we get older, we’ll start to like Regis,
(I know it’s real sad, but that’s just how it is.)

And, oh, will we build on this grand ol’ tv,
We’ll add surround sound and dvd.
And maybe, some day, upgrade to hd.
(It’s amazing how good the picture will be.)

But looking into your sparkling eyes,
I know this tv is a frivolous prize.
(Despite its large 32-inch size)

For I love you more than I ever thought,
You’re the wonderful woman that I’ve always sought,
You’re beautiful, brilliant, funny, and kind,
You’re so incredible it blows my mind.

I know you don’t really care about sports or Survivor,
And I think you’d prefer to see a sapphire,
Surrounded by diamonds in all of their glory.
If that’s the case, you’ll like the end of this story.

T-E-R-R-I-F-I-C

Today, we celebrated Karen’s third Mother’s Day as a mother (four, if you count in utero.)

I hope anyone who reads ‘Mac & Cheese’ realizes that Karen is a terrific mother.  (If I’ve left anyone with an impression that she’s anything but that, then I’ve done a horrible injustice.)

The day began with Karen being able to sleep in until after 8am (perhaps the most significant gift I could have given her).  As has been the case lately, both kids were up not long after 5:30am.  I brought both of them to the rumpus room, where we watched Mary Poppins.  Great movie.  The kids loved it. 

Having recently watched Mary Poppins and Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang, I’ve arrived at a newfound appreciation for the wonderful talents of Dick Van Dyke.  He’s hysterical.  Two great performances in two really fun movies.

After the movie (and after Karen woke up) we had breakfast and then left to meet my parents, my sister’s family, and her in-laws for an early lunch in southern NH.

This afternoon, we went to a production of Charlotte’s Web in Boston.  The kids were very well behaved.  We’ve taken them to live theatre several times, and they’ve never really disappointed (even when we went to Shakespeare in the Park last summer).

The kids enjoyed the show (as did we, although I did miss a significant portion of the play prior to intermission due to an impromptu nap – getting up at 5:30am will do that.)

A niece of E.B. White spoke briefly at the end of the play, presenting a donation to the theater and assorted gifts to the performers, including a copy of the book to the actress who played Charlotte the spider, prompting Charlotte the daughter to comment, “so she can read it to her children,” referring to the 514 spiders that arrive at the end of the book/play.

Five hundred and fourteen children?  No wonder why mother spiders die before their eggs hatch.  The timing of Mother’s Day was somewhat ironic, or perhaps appropriate, in that the kids have been extremely difficult over the past few days – not listening, very whiny, and prone to spontaneous crying and hissy fits.  But even when frustrated, Karen is ‘ome’ mother.

I hope you enjoyed today’s serving of mac & cheese’ and that all mothers and families had a great Mother’s Day!

The Home Depot Myth?

Apparently, stay-at-home dads hang out at Home Depot, or so I’ve been told. (By the way, is it referred to as ‘the Home Depot,’ or just ‘Home Depot’? I’ve never been sure, but the introductory the seems to give it an elevated sense of importance.)

Anyway, I was talking to someone on the phone the other day, and when it came up that I worked from home part-time and was responsible for taking care of my kids several days a week, she asked the following questions:

“So what do you stay-at-home dads do?  I heard you hang out at Home Depot.”

I wasn’t quite sure how to respond.  I think my actual answer was, “Ummm… not really… I take the kids to the library and story times…” and then trailed off.

Should I have been insulted?  I take care of the kids, that’s what I do.  The odd thing was, the person who asked was a mom in a similar situation to me – two young kids, works from home part-time.  I’m not sure if she thought I had older kids, dropped them off to school, and headed to Home Depot. Or if I brought the kids with me – “Luke, check out this hammer…  Charlotte, does this plywood look warped?…  Luke, get down off the ladder… Charlotte, take off that tool belt…  Luke, that’s not a sword… Charlotte, I know you want to paint your room pink and purple.”

I mean, if I need something from Home Depot, I’ll go get it, but I definitely don’t hang out there.  Am I missing out on something?  Is there a spot where other stay-at-home dads hang out?  When I have gone to Home Depot during the day, I haven’t noticed other dads ‘hanging out,’ so to speak.

 If it hadn’t been an innocent comment that was probably meant to spark conversation more than anything else, I could have gone snarky and responded with the rough equivalent:

 “Yes, I do hang out at the Home Depot.  Where do you stay-at-home mom’s hang out?  The salon?” 

Burn!

I hope you enjoyed today’s serving of ‘mac & cheese.’

Nail Polish, Pink Boots, and Teacups

The other day, Charlotte and Karen decided to paint their nails.

Luke wanted in.

Charlotte sat down on the bed and extended her legs, placing her feet on top of the old towel used for this purpose.  Luke sat right next to her, extended his legs, and asked, “Paint my nails?”

Karen gave them a choice of three colors – purple, beige (aka “nude”), or red.

Luke chose red.  Actually, he chose “royal red.”  And he opted to have his toenails and fingernails painted.  He was thrilled.  He still is.  When he woke up yesterday, he stood up in his crib, held out his hands to admire his nails, and proudly said, “Nails painted.”

Luke has a wide range of interests that are not limited by traditional gender expectations or stereotypes.  He has no sense of what’s considered girlish or manly (or maybe he just doesn’t care).  He absolutely loves his pink, kitty cat rain boots (hand-me-downs from Charlotte).  He also enjoys tea parties, baking, dolls, and playing family.

On another hand, my dad is what some would call a man’s man.  He’s a hunting, fishing, wood-chopping, engine-fixing type of guy.  And, to put it simply, I’m not.  (Thankfully, my dad never cared. Hopefully, Luke feels the same unconditional love from me as I’ve always felt from my dad.) 

Luke is also a man’s man in some ways.  He loves trucks, dirt, tools, baseball, and knocking things over. 

I suppose that right know, Luke could be described as a dragon-slaying, muffin-baking, ball-throwing, tea-sipping, stick-swinging, pink boot-loving, book-reading, royal red nail polish-wearing type of guy.

And I couldn’t be happier.  The world is his oyster.  Or, perhaps more appropriately, the world is his teacup.

I hope you enjoyed today’s serving of ‘mac & cheese’ (potentially while wearing royal red nail polish).

Silent H…

Charlotte is becoming more and more conscious of language and words – how they sound and how they relate to each other and fit together.

The other day, she pointed out that the letter “R” is also a word, and followed by using the word “are” in a sentence.  She’s also pointed out when one word is contained in another word, for example, “can” and “cantaloupe.”  (As an English major and lover of words, I couldn’t be prouder.)

When Charlotte mentioned the letter “u” and the word “you,” Karen added that itr was also the word for a goat, “ewe.”  When I mistakenly added the word “hue,” I struck a nerve with Karen.

For whatever reason, I mispronounce several words that begin with h, dropping the h sound.  I pronounce “huge” as “uge,” “human” as “uman,” and “hue” as “ue.”  It absolutely drives Karen crazy, and I just can’t help it.  I usually don’t even notice it.  This verbal tic (if that’s the right word), combined with a slight speech impediment, a Boston-area accident, and a tendency to not enunciate clearly, presents certain aural and oral challenges. 

Thankfully, it appears Charlotte and Luke will be better speakers than I am, largely due to their mother’s influence.  In addition to the battle of the silent h, she’s also taking pains to ensure they don’t have regional accents, stamping out the slightest indications of Worcester and Boston accents.  A humorous side note: I was talking to someone in Fargo, ND, a couple of weeks ago, and he made light of my accent, even going so far as to ask me to say, “Park the car in the Harvard yard.”

As Charlotte continues to explore the beauty of the English language, she remains blissfully unaware of some of life’s harsher realities.  While visiting the farm the other day and watching the chickens, she pointed out that the farm word “chicken” sounded the same as the “chicken” that we eat, but went on to say that they’re different.  Oh, sweet Charlotte.

I hope you enjoyed today’s serving of ‘mac and cheese.’