Metaphor-phosis

Over the past twenty four hours, both of our former caterpillars emerged from their chrysalises as beautiful butterflies.  They are currently stretching out their wings in preparation for their pre-destined journey to the south.

Disclaimer: This serving is heavy on the cheese, if you know what I’m saying.  It’s not only cheesy but also clichéd because it focuses on a pretty trite metaphor – the transformation of a caterpillar into a beautiful butterfly – that’s right, a metamorphosis metaphor, or a metaphor-phosis. 

The Very Hungry Caterpillar

In addition to being one of our kids’ favorite stories, the classic Eric Carle picture book The Very Hungry Caterpillar also provides the overarching theme and metaphor for this serving of ‘mac & cheese,’ which is why I will somewhat randomly insert lines from the book throughout this post.  I’m also doing it because I feel that it will provide added gravitas, i.e. a literary element (if you consider picture books to be a form of literature, as I do).  You be the judge.

In the light of the moon a little egg lay on a leaf…

Last fall, Charlotte and Luke’s grandmother gave Charlotte and Luke a caterpillar, inside a plastic jar complete with a mesh top and milkweed, the caterpillar food of choice.  Grandma teaches third and fourth grade, and it’s a project she does with her students almost on a regular basis.  The kids were thrilled to witness the caterpillar’s metamorphosis, watching it emerge from its chrysalis as a beautiful Monarch butterfly, ready to begin its migration south.

I cherished the experience of witnessing the amazing life process of the caterpillar’s transition and of my children’s amazement at it.  They were excited as we set the butterfly, who we had named ‘Madame Charlotte’, free on our butterfly bush.

This year, Grandma gave them two caterpillars (actually, three, but one of them died as it was preparing to make its chrysalis). 

…pop! – out of the egg came a tiny and very hungry caterpillar…

From the day we became parents, Karen and I have continued to change and grow in both predictable and unpredictable ways (hopefully for the better).  Life has become one ongoing transition, or metamorphosis, made up of a series of smaller ones. 

He started to look for some food…

And each transition has been made all the more momentous/exciting/difficult/rewarding by the fact that we’ve made them with our children.  In most instances, the kids have defined the transitions.  Either they have been the cause and reason – transitioning from being the parent of an infant to the parent of a toddler… the parent of one child to the parent of two children… the parent of a diaper-wearing child to the parent of a potty trained child… (you get the point), or they make the transition more complicated, and richer, by their presence, whether it’s moving, employment changes, or other developments.

… but he was still hungry…

In the same way that the kids have enriched our lives as parents and as individuals, I’m hoping that we are having a similar, positive effect on our kids’ transitions as they continue to grow and develop. 

Granted, it’s taken a lot of effort and patience (and Charlotte’s only four), and we’ve been through a lot of ‘pupa’ (particularly with diapers and potty training – that’s right a caterpillar-based toilet joke) to get to the butterfly, with much more sure to come, but it’s definitely been worth it (at least it has been so far). 

…pushed his way out and…he was a beautiful butterfly!

Much like the kids have been amazed by the metamorphoses of our real-life butterflies, I continue to be amazed by the development of our own two butterflies, Charlotte and Luke.

Of course, I both long for and dread the day when it’s time to set them free so they can spread their wings (I know, I may have taken the metaphor too far, but it’s too late now) and begin their journey south (or wherever their lives may take them).

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

PS: Two interesting places to visit:

The Eric Carle Museum of Picture Book Art in Amherst, Massachusetts

The Butterfly Place in Westford, Massachusetts

When I Grow Up, Part 2

This serving is a thematic continuation of a previous serving from April.  Charlotte’s career goals have been pretty well defined for awhile now (well, ‘awhile’ for a four year old).  She decided several months ago that she was going to be a farmer, after considering careers as a librarian/storyteller and a ‘blood doctor’.

Since then, Luke has been doing some career planning of his own.  He’s decided that he wants to be both a garbage man and a baseball player.  I suppose he would collect the garbage in the off season.  Charlotte kindly offered, or should I say insisted, to help him paint his garbage truck like a rainbow (when she isn’t too busy farming).

It seems like a good fit.  Luke loves helping me take the trash out, and the passing of the garbage truck is one of the highlights of Monday afternoon.  And he certainly loves playing baseball, although he’ll have to work on hitting a curveball.  (And the other pitches, as well, for that matter.)  Unless he decides to become a pitcher.  But right now, he seems to have a passion for hitting.

He also has several fall back careers, at least from my perspective.  The following is a brief rundown of potential paths he could pursue.

Sailor and/or Pirate: Luke has quite an affinity for pirates and boats.  Plus, he’s starting to develop a certain dexterity in tying knots.  (He tied his shoelaces together when he was sitting in his car seat the other day.)  He seems to really enjoy playing with ropes and strings.  Here’s hoping he can parlay that into a lucrative career on the high seas.

Fisherman:  On a related note, Luke also enjoys ‘fishing’ with whatever piece of string he can find.  He’ll sit near the edge of the couch or bed and throw the string over, announcing, ‘I’m fishing.’  Apparently, he’s pretty good at it, because before long, he’ll often call out, ‘I caught a big one!’

Beautician/Manicurist:  Charlotte recently got a vanity, complete with large mirror and different color nail polishes, and they both love playing ‘salon’ or ‘beauty shop.’  Luke loves painting nails and toes, his own and those of others, both real and pretend.  After he painted his own nails the other day with a blood red nail polish, it looked like his hand had been mangled in a meat grinder.  (I never said he was good at it yet.) 

Singer/musician/rock star:  Luke enjoys dancing, singing, and playing the Luke-elele and guitar.  He’ll stand on the toy chest/stage and strum away, making up songs.  My favorite is when he asks his toys what they’re names are and then makes up a song incorporating that imaginary name.  (He really knows how to work a crowd.)  When the show is over and he’s ready to get off the stage, he’ll call out, ‘Thank you, Paxton!” (Paxton is the town where we live.)  I admit it – I taught him that last part.

Knight/dragon:  Luke makes a great dragon, but unfortunately there’s not much of a career in being a mythological creature, or in fighting them, for that matter.  I suppose he could pursue a job with Dungeons and Dragons or in fantasy role playing, but I believe that’s more of a hobby than a career, for the most part.  But if he decides that’s his destiny, more power to him.  He can storm the castle with the best of them.

Baker:  Luke has exhibited a passion for baking and tossing flour around, but I’m guessing he’ll have to stop licking his fingers and spoons and putting them back in the batter if he wants to go anywhere in this field.

Dishwasher:  For whatever reason, Luke loves to wash dishes.  He’ll stand on the stool washing and rewashing dishes as happy as can be.  Lately, it’s been one of his favorite things to do.  He’ll stand at my leg, pulling on my pant leg, pleading, ‘Dad, I want to wash dishes.’  It’s not very profitable, but the work is steady.  Might make a good plan b (or hopefully plan z).

Cowboy:  Luke certainly loves to play ‘horse‘ and was over the moon when he met a ‘cowboy’.   I’m not sure why, in the words of Waylon Jennings, mamas aren’t supposed to let their babies grow up to be cowboys.  It seems like quite the life. 

Regardless of what he does, as long as he’s happy.  (Although I have to admit, I’m pulling for Rock Star.)  But heck, I recently turned 34 and I’m still not sure of what I want to be when I grow up.  (Actually, I take that back.  Rock Star.  Definitely.)

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

Porcelain Knights…

Charlotte and Luke’s penchant for dressing up is well documented within these pages, as is their love for the medieval.

Luke’s been on a lance kick of late.  He’ll put on his knight helmet, look for the nearest ‘lance’ (the closest stick-like object most likely to inflict harm) and attempt to mount his trusty ‘steed’ (either me or Karen, whoever’s closest).  In the absence of a willing steed, he’ll simply run around with his ‘lance’ outstretched, usually directed at a person, object, or wall.

In light of this, we searched for a solution, and inspiration soon struck.  (You might say it struck me like a lance, or it’s quite possible inspiration and a lance struck me simultaneously.)  I assembled our collection of used, cardboard, toilet paper rolls into a makeshift lance for our fearless knight.

As I handed it to him and announced that it was his new lance, re-knighting him Sir Luke (a porcelain knight, if you will, who derives his weapons from the bathroom), his face lit up like it was Christmas.  He was absolutely thrilled. 

“Dad, I want to ride you,” he stated immediately, struggling to climb up to my back with his new lance.

And off went Sir Luke on his trusty steed with his new lance.

Because at the Putney manor, that’s the way we roll.

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

Here’s the story…

Tonight, I was torn between writing a blog post and watching the Emmy Awards.  (I suffer from a television addiction.)

Needless to say, television would have completely won out were it not for the fact that I’m already slightly overdue to post and, if I don’t post now, it would be at least another day before I did.  (Tomorrow I have a full day of work, followed by a town recreation committee, followed by a game in the over age 30 basketball league I play in, followed by recovering from playing in the game.)

So today’s serving of ‘mac & cheese’ will be bite-sized.  (And, as you may have noticed, it already includes some filler/empty calories.)  I’m working on a longer post of some substance, but I’m hoping this little anecdote will hold you over until I have a chance to flesh out the idea).

Luke and Charlotte seem like they’re going to be pretty good storytellers (or at least will tell a lot of stories, some of which will hopefully be good).

When Luke fell off the kitchen bench yesterday (he suffered a minor bump trying to climb from the bench to a chair or from the bench to the floor), we weren’t sure exactly how it happened. 

Luke explained it in the following way:  “I was trying to get off the bench and fell down.”

Apparently, he felt that this told the entire story because he quickly added, “The end.”

He then turned to Karen and said, “Now you tell a story, Mom.”

I hope you enjoyed today’s serving of ‘mac & cheese’ (and the Emmy Awards).

How to be a Superhero…

Last week, Charlotte and Luke were playing in the backyard with two of their friends/neighbors.  They began talking about what game they should play.  As they’ve gotten older, their play has become more structured (loosely speaking).

Charlotte and one of the neighbors wanted to play ‘school’ (which is frequently the choice at the Putney house, although the ‘teachers’ often outnumber the ‘students’).  Luke and the other neighbor wanted to play ‘superheroes.’

They compromised and decided they would play ‘Superhero School.’

Charlotte was quite excited about the idea.  She immediately assumed the role of head instructor (not a surprise) and began speaking in her ‘teacher’ voice: “I’m going to teach you how to be a superhero.  You’ll learn how to fly, walk, and sit like a superhero.”

The learning to fly part seemed like an obvious superhero subject, and I’d never really thought about it, but I suppose that superheroes do have to have their own unique way of walking and sitting.

What got me was that the first lesson involved drawing on the driveway with colored sidewalk chalk.  Oddly enough, her charges never questioned the need for a superhero to draw with sidewalk chalk.

Then the real fun began – flying.  Charlotte instructed her pupils to follow her and began ‘flying’ around the driveway.  She employed a unique method – rather than stretching her arms in front of her in the customary Superman flying position, she stretched her arms behind her, mimicking a cape.  She included turning lessons and landing lessons (which made me think of the show The Greatest American Hero, who didn’t know how to land, and do various other things, because he lost his super suit’s instruction manual.  Classic.)

Charlotte’s landing technique was also pretty interesting.  She would come to a jump/hop stop and stretch out her arms to the side, palms down, to stabilize herself.

All in all, a pretty comprehensive first lesson on how to be a superhero.

I suppose in her next class she’ll cover the dangers of kryptonite and the importance of maintaining a secret identity.

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

The Name Game

Charlotte had developed an odd habit of announcing when she’s said something.

For example, if I ask, “Does anyone want more milk?”  Charlotte will respond, “Yes, I do.”  Then she’ll add, “That was Charlotte Fiona talking.”  She’s been doing this more and more often, and we’re not exactly sure why (although she’s clearly proud of herself when she does it, saying it with an impish grin on her face).

I’m not sure if Karen or I asked, “Who said that?” once or twice after one of the kids said something (as Luke gets older and speaks more and more clearly, it’s getting easier to mistake the sounds of their voices if we’re not completely paying attention).  But it is what it is.

Luke also enjoys singing people’s names.  When he wakes up (sometimes in the middle of the night), he’ll start calling one of us (usually ‘Mom’).  It quickly becomes a type of song or chant that involves just that one word.  He’s also started making up songs about his toy people.  He’ll hand one of us a small figure/person, instruct us that he wants ‘him/her to talk,’ then pick up his ukulele and bend down to get face to face with the small toy person, asking, “Now what’s your name?”  Karen or I will respond in a different voice with some name, which Luke will repeat and then start singing as part of a song.  He’s quite the entertainer.

The kids have also rediscovered the joy of knock-knock jokes.  We got a knock-knock joke book out of the library a couple of weeks ago, and the kids loved it.

One of their favorites:

            Knock-knock.

            Who’s there?

            Ivan

            Ivan who?

            I vant to drink your blood. (said in a vampire accident)

They absolutely love it.  Largely because, after the last line, we all (except for the person playing the role of ‘Ivan’) scream  “ahhhhhhhhhhh!” as if we’re running away from a vampire.  Classic stuff.

At dinner, we’ll go around the table taking turns.  “Dad, now it’s your turn to be Ivan.”  It took them awhile to get the hang of it.  Charlotte would initially say, “Ivan I want to drink your blood.”  And the few first times he tried to do it, Luke would say both of the first two lines, “Knock knock who’s there.”  But we eventually achieved a good knock-knock groove.

Charlotte also enjoys “Gorilla” “Gorilla who?” “Gorilla (girl-of-my) dreams, I love you.”  Another favorite: “Boo” “Boo who?”  “It’s ok, don’t cry.”

There’s also ‘the interrupting pirate’ (one of my favorites).

            Knock-knock

            Who’s there?

            The interrupting pirate

            The interrupt-

                        Arrrrrrrrr!

I tried to teach that one to our six-year old neighbor, but she couldn’t quite get the hang of it.  On the first attempt, she left out the interrupting part, which is somewhat key (who’s there? A pirate?)  Then she couldn’t quite get the hang of the act of interrupting.  I would attempt to really draw out the “The interrupting pirate who?” (T-h-e    i-n-t-e-r-r-u-p-t-i-n-g   p-i-r-a-t-e   w-h-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o….), but she just smiled and waited until I finished (how polite).

Regardless, the great thing about kids that age is that it’s always fun (and usually very funny), no matter how awry the joke goes.

Sometimes, Charlotte will say “knock-knock” before she has any idea of who it’s going to be.  I’ll say ‘who’s there?’ and then watch her scan the room to come up with an answer.

            Knock-Knock.

            Who’s there?

            Flower!

            Flower who?

            Flower GARDEN!

“Flower Garden” is  one of her better ones.  Sometimes she tells it using “Pony Island” instead of “Garden.”  I’m not really sure what the connection is,

And now, the simple act of knocking is seen as a precursor to a joke. 

When Charlotte was in the bathroom the other day, Luke wanted to go in and wash his hands, so he knocked on the bathroom door, prompting Charlotte to say, expectantly, “Who is it?” Luke responded, “Luke!”  “Luke who?” said Charlotte, fulfilling her perceived role in the ‘joke.’

Luke’s response: “Luke Putney!”  (He emphasized the last name so that Charlotte could hear him through the door, which had the unintended effect of making it sound like an actual knock-knock joke.  I guess it really is in the delivery.)

Appropriately enough, it brought down the house. 

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

When Push Comes to Shove… The Terriblific Twos

We’re going through a bit of a relatively rough stretch with our lovable Luke.

First of all, ‘no” has become one of the most dominant words in his vocabulary.

            “Luke, come into the kitchen for dinner.”

                        “No.”

            “Luke, get down off the top of the couch.”

                        “No.”

            “Luke, come here for a diaper change.”

                        “No.”

He says it very simply and matter-of-factly as he attempts to continue on his way.

He also went through a bit of a throwing phase, tossing his sippy cup, food, toys, and other items around the dinner table (and other venues) like a football.

Most recently, he’s developed an affinity for roughhousing, particularly on the playground with other kids.  Last week, there were two separate incidents in one day when he pushed down another child pretty hard.

When it happened at the playground in the morning, the other child was pretty shaken up and his dad came over to comfort him.  I brought Luke over to apologize, although he didn’t seem very remorseful.  He seems to think it’s a form of play.  I tried to explain otherwise.

            “Luke, you can’t push down other kids.”

                        “Why?”

            “Why?  Because it’s not nice, and people don’t like it.  Other kids won’t want to play with you.”

During lunch, we had a more prolonged discussion about it.

            “Luke, would you want to play with another little boy if he kept pushing you down?”

                        “Yes.”

At which point, Charlotte chimed in with a helpful (note my sarcasm), “Dad, I would play with someone who pushed me down.”

Great.  I mean, I’m all for forgiveness, but what am I supposed to do with that?

That evening, we went to an outdoor concert where there was an almost instant replay of Luke pushing another boy down.  Granted, the other boy was also a roughouser, but Luke upped the ante, and apparently the stakes got too rich for the other little guy (who, for the record, was a little older than Luke.  Luke’s not picking on smaller kids.  Both kids were bigger than him)

The little boy went running to his mom, upset, saying, “Mom, he pushed me down.  I don’t want to play with him anymore.”  (Aha!  Vindication!  Don’t think I didn’t emphasize that comment to Luke later on.)

Part of his mother’s response: “Jake, I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”  (Um, I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Jake’s mom.)

I guess this is what people mean when they talk about the terrible twos.  Don’t get me wrong, the age of two is also pretty terrific in lots of ways – it seems as though he’s developing more and more of his personality every day (for better and for worse, but overwhelmingly for the better).  So I guess the most apt phrasing would be the ‘terriblific twos.’

A few days after the dual pushing incidents,, Luke was leaving for the playground with his Mom and came into my home office to say, ‘Good bye.’

Before he left, I attempted to give him a bit of fatherly direction:

            “Remember, Luke, if you’re playing with other kids, you can not push them down.”

His simple, one word response…       “Why?”

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

Adventures in Babysitting…

Several months ago, when we first learned that one of our college friends would be getting married in New Jersey (about five hours away), we asked Aunt Jen if she would be willing to babysit Charlotte and Luke for the weekend.

She said yes almost immediately.

Aunt Jen takes her position as an Aunt very seriously.  She’s game for just about anything when it comes to her nieces and nephews.  (Except for baking with them on her own.  She’s fine as long as one of us is there, though she does get a little taken aback by the mess.) 

Aunt Jen has definitely gone above and beyond in fulfilling her duties as an Aunt.  She dressed up as a member of our bee entourage for Halloween,  she drove an hour just to participate in our self-organized neighborhood parade (and paraded on her roller skates, no less), and she played the role of the tiger in the Enchanted Forest on Charlotte’s Birthday.

Anyway, the appointed weekend of babysitting arrived last weekend, which would be perhaps the greatest test yet of her mettle as an Aunt. 

We were a little anxious.  It would be the longest period of time we’d been separated from the kids – almost two days (we do need to get away more, and for longer periods of time).

As the weekend approached, we made sure Charlotte understood that we’d be gone for a while, but that we’d be back, and that Aunt Jen would be babysitting.  In response, Charlotte repeatedly pointed out that Aunt Jen would not be babysitting but that she would be big kid sitting.  True enough.

We stocked the fridge and prepped a meal that Aunt Jen could simply throw in the oven (chicken pot pie, one of the kids’ favorites).

We also began preparing for our own adventure to New Jersey.  When Charlotte found out we would be bringing Sue-Zée, our GPS, she insisted that we should leave it for Aunt Jen because Aunt Jen “really likes Sue-Zée.”

Quite the contrary.  Aunt Jen happens to be quite suspicious and untrusting of GPS’s, preferring to use maps.  In fact, on a recent sisters’ road trip, Jen was not at all pleased that Sue-Zée was giving directions and, map in hand, second guessed her throughout the trip.

We informed Charlotte that Aunt Jen and Sue-Zée didn’t really get along and that we needed her more than Aunt Jen anyway.  (Upon our return, Charlotte informed us that Aunt Jen used not one but two maps during an excursion to a local museum.)

When the day of reckoning arrived, Charlotte and Luke were very excited.  Upon her arrival, they ran to the driveway excitedly yelling “Aunt Jen! Aunt Jen!”

Thankfully, it seems as though the excitement never really dissipated.  Although Luke did get a little wary as bedtime approached (the plan was to leave post-bedtime and drive partway to New Jersey.)  While we had indicated that we would be going away, we had definitely downplayed it with Luke, and he appeared to be getting wary of Aunt Jen’s presence now that our departure was imminent.  He gave her a dirty look as she helped clean up from dinner.  After bath time, watching television on our bed, Luke asked her to move when she tried to cuddle next to him.  (“I want my arm to be there.”)  And he panicked slightly when he thought Aunt Jen would be putting him to bed instead of Mom.

 But he got over it.  When we were gone, he didn’t sleep as well as he usually does (although that’s a pretty low bar), but that was more because he was coming down with a cold.

We knew Charlotte would be pretty helpful – she likes to explain things to her brother in her big sister voice.  She would surely comfort him and tell him we’d be back before long, that we were at a wedding, that we were dressed up, etc., etc.

Anyway, once the kids were in bed, we finished packing up, moved the kids’ car seats into Aunt Jen’s car, and left.  (The kids were excited by the prospect of riding in Aunt Jen’s car.)

By all accounts, things went extraordinarily well.  Everyone seemed to have fun (us included, though we did miss the kids).  They went to a museum, a local park, and Dunkin’ Donuts (one of the kids’ favorite stops).

When we called to say goodnight while we were gone, the kids were all too anxious to get back to the Big Bird movie they were watching with Aunt Jen.  (Charlotte: “Good night, Dad, I love you, here’s Luke.”  Luke: “Dad, we’re watching Big Bird. Good night.”)

Before Aunt Jen left (she was on her way to babysit another niece on Sunday evening), she offered to do it again, despite the lack of sleep – Luke got her up a few times, and he woke her up early – Jen’s not necessarily a morning person.

But it appears Aunt Jen is. 

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

Seventh Heaven

Two of the most important days in my life are celebrated exactly one week apart. 

Karen and I were married seven years, two kids, three homes, and lots of laughs ago today.  (Time seems like such an inadequate measure of a marriage.) 

And in one week, I turn 34 years old.  (It’s becoming harder and harder to keep track of my age.  When I saw, “Chuck turns 34,” written on the calendar, I actually second guessed it.  Thirty-four?  Really?  I’d like to think age is becoming less and less relevant, although I will be eligible, age-wise, to run for president in exactly one week and one year.)

While the whole “most important day of your life” is certainly a cliché and definitely overused, it’s safe to say that my life wouldn’t exist were it not for my birthday, and life as I know it wouldn’t exist were it not for my wedding.

Today, we (the immediate Putney family) will be celebrating with take-out Chinese food, a stroll down memory lane through our wedding album, and a special dessert.  Also, Karen and I went to a college friend’s wedding in New Jersey over the weekend, which was a nice way to commemorate our approaching anniversary.

In honor (or, as they say in England, in ‘honour,’) of my blushing bride, I’m linking to a previous post that recounts the moment I realized I was in love with Karen:  The Moment… (Mission: Impossible)

Speaking of my blushing bride, she’s pointed out that many of my recent posts have been somewhat lame because I’ve been simply writing an intro and then pasting a previous post from the archives.  Just for the record, I’ve only done that a few times, and I only do it when it’s a past post that’s particularly relevant and one that I really enjoyed (and hope that you will, as well).  Ok, and sometimes I’m pressed for time and can’t come up with any new, good material.

But rest assured that I’ll be serving up new stuff this week.  Some possible servings include Aunt Jen’s adventures in babysitting over the weekend (she stayed with the kids while we went to Jersey) and Luke’s recent insistence on playing rough with other kids, tentatively titled, ‘When Push Comes to Shove.’

But in the meantime, I hope you enjoyed today’s serving of ‘mac & cheese.’

Soccer Pitch…

This week, we signed up Charlotte and Luke for soccer.  They’re very excited.  Charlotte has played in the past (last summer), but the prospect of playing with Luke has renewed her interest (it’s a program for kids from ages two and a half to five).  When we told her she and Luke would be playing, she responded, “I’m going to play soccer with my brother!”

She then immediately put on her shin guards, which still fit since they were somewhat big on her the last time she played.  We had gotten shin guards for Luke last year on sale, but they’re a little too small.  He was excited about them nonetheless, and after putting the shin guards on, asked, “Where’s my big shirt!?”  (Each kid gets an official shirt, and Charlotte’s was huge on her.  Even a year later, it’s still so big that she wears it as a night shirt.)

When Charlotte played soccer last year, she seemed to really enjoy it for a while, but things didn’t end on a high note.  She completely lost interest before the program ended and has essentially taken a year off, a sabbatical, so to speak.  She walked off the pitch (is that the right expression?) halfway through either the second or third to last practice never to return that summer, forgoing the last practice or two.  It was like Michael Jordan walking away from basketball in his prime to play baseball, except that Charlotte wasn’t quite as dominant, and she didn’t leave to pursue a career in professional baseball.

Anyway, I came across this previous submission to another blogging site, which I wrote when Charlotte was still in love with the sport.

Hopefully, she rekindles her passion for soccer this fall.

Soccer

August 8, 2008

In the spring, we signed Charlotte up for “Li’l Kickers,” a soccer program for small children, and it’s been quite the adventure.  For those who have never seen a gaggle of small children (in this case, about 20 two and a half to five year olds) playing soccer, let’s just say it’s quite the scene.  Kids in matching yellow t-shirts running every which way, youth soccer balls flying in every direction.

At the first practice (and most ensuing practices), Charlotte didn’t really pay much attention to directions, and often wandered off, kicking the ball toward another open field.  Most of the time, she seemed more concerned with getting the single pink soccer ball rather than achieving the object of whatever drill or game that most of the rest of the kids were doing.

During the week after the first practice, Charlotte kept talking about “the winners,” as in “the winners said this,” or “I want to show the winners that.”  We eventually realized she was talking about the coaches (high school kids who help run the program.)  At some point, one of them must have said something to the effect of “we’re all winners,” and Charlotte took it to mean that that’s what they should be called.

One of her favorite things during practice was water breaks, when all the kids would run to the sideline to grab their water bottle from their parents.  At one point, as one of the coaches was attempting to give directions to her young charges, they all must have decided to run to the sideline at the same time.  Responding to a futile situation, the coach quickly announced, “All right, water break, everyone.”

Without a doubt, Charlotte’s favorite drill is the one with which they usually conclude practice.  All the kids line up on the sideline, and one of the coaches rolls a ball out toward the middle of the field and calls out one of the kids’ names.  That player then runs to the ball, dribbles it up the field, and kicks it into the goal as everyone chants his or her name.  It’s awesome.  I wish I could do it.  Charlotte loves it.  When we get home, she’ll call her grandparents to recount how everyone was yelling “Char-lotte! Char-lotte!”  It’s priceless.  She often tries to jump her place in line and go before her turn.  As she gets closer and closer to the goal, each subsequent kick tends to get smaller and smaller, softer and softer, in an effort to prolong the experience.  By the time she reaches the goal, she’s barely moving the ball at all.

Who knows if she’ll end up playing soccer as she gets older, but she seems to enjoy it now.  (She said yes when we asked her if she wanted to do it again, and she’s almost done her second session.)  Although her grandfather (who does not enjoy soccer) has voiced his concerns.  Upon hearing a year or two ago that his grandchild was expressing an interest in soccer, he emailed: “I only have one comment to make about Charlotte enjoying soccer—-please give her a baseball to roll around (or a softball), and I’ll be sure to put a golf ball and golf club in her hand this weekend.  We have to nip this in the bud!!”

While I’ve never played or been a fan of soccer, I am looking forward to learning the game.  From a parent’s perspective, it definitely has its benefits.  In addition to being good exercise and teaching teamwork, it’s not a wallet buster (although I may say differently if my kids ever join a travel team).  It involves limited equipment and requires only a ball, a net, and an open field.  God help me and my wife if either of our children gets into hockey, both because of the cost, the early morning ice times, and the time spent in cold rinks.

Alright, that’s it for now.  Water break, everyone.

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

King Kong Art

This morning, I was wrapping up a few things in my home office and getting ready to leave when Luke wandered in and started rummaging around in the corner of the office that has evolved into a pseudo storage area for unused household items.

When I got up from my desk and went to walk out, I almost tripped on a metal cd rack and a big stuffed monkey, which had been stacked in the doorway.

I put them into the corner and headed into the kitchen, passing Luke on the way, who was aghast.  “What happened to my sculpture?” He asked, looking at me, incredulous.

He then ran back into the office, grabbed the monkey and cd case, and started to set them up again, right in the doorway.

Luke must have  been inspired by our visits to two art museums over the weekend (the Worcester Art Museum and the Eric Carle Museum of Picture Book Art).  His creation was reminiscent, in my mind, of King Kong climbing the Empire State Building.  (Even though this monkey’s name was Morris.)

Speaking of which, Luke seems to be in a King Kong stage, and not just art-wise.  He’s taken to constantly trying to scale our couches and love seat so he can sit atop the backrest, high above the floor.  (Despite the fact that this is strictly prohibited.)

Unfortunately, Luke had decided that the threshold of my office was the ideal exhibition space for his work of art.  As he began to reposition the monkey and cd rack, Karen suggested he reinstall his piece in the living room, next to the couch, which he was agreeable to.  (After all, no one likes a temperamental artist, or is that phrase redundant?)

His artistry was contagious, as Charlotte immediately begun working on her own sculpture consisting of a Life cereal box, torn in two, and lots of tape.  Very Warhol-esque.

When I got home from work, the King Kong piece was nowhere to be seen.  I asked Luke what happened to his sculpture, and he replied, “It’s done, Dad.”

Apparently, it was a limited showing.

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

The Drop Off

For the past several months, I’ve been writing a column for a mother’s group newsletter.  My column is called The Y Factor… One dad’s take on life and parenthood.  The newsletter topic for September was ‘Back to School.’  Because my kids aren’t really school going age yet, I have a relatively limited frame of reference as a parent, so I recounted dropping Charlotte off for her first day of pre-school.

I clearly remember dropping off my daughter for the first day of pre-school last year.  It was her first day of school ever – a momentous day in her life as a three year old and in our lives as the parents of a three year old.  I wasn’t quite ready to let her go.  (In many ways, I never will be.)                                           

I had been both dreading and looking forward to this momentous occasion.  Her mom and I were filled with excitement and anxiety, unsure of how she would do on her own.  Like any three year old, she could be somewhat clingy and temperamental.  We imagined some pretty traumatic, worst-case scenarios.

School is such a defining experience, and we wondered how it would affect her and what it would reveal about her personality.  Would she be the type of student who raised her hand immediately anytime the teacher asked a question or would she daydream and only offer up an answer or response when pressed?  Would she play off by herself during free time or would she push herself to the center of activity?  Would she make friends easily?  And if so, would she establish one or two close friendships or would she have less intimate friendships with a larger number of kids?

It seems that cliques form even earlier today than in the past, and that kids learn much more than they need to know much sooner than they need to know it.  Would pre-school mark the beginning of this process?  Would she begin to lose some of the optimism and naivety that contributes to the wonderful innocence and simple joys of childhood?  Would she be bullied by other kids or, worse yet, be the bully herself? 

Considering all of this as I drove out of the parking lot, I had a lump both in my throat and in the pit of my stomach.  I did manage to turn to my one a half year old son, sitting by himself in the backseat, and say, “Hey, Luke, I guess it’s just you and me, kid.”  The larger implication being that, while we had each other, Charlotte would be fending for herself, without us, in the larger world.

I suppose this year will be easier.  After all, Charlotte’s pre-school experience went far better than we imagined.  There were no tears of protest when she was dropped off, and she was already looking forward to going back when we picked her up.  Although the most we could get out of her at first was that she liked the bathroom because she could reach everything – the toilet, sink, and toilet paper were all low – and she liked the snack-time crackers, which were triangles, not the circle ones we have at home. 

She had also concluded that her brother Luke was going to like her school (and that she was willing to share it with him when ‘he gets bigger’.)  Unfortunately, she couldn’t remember anybody’s name (a trait she gets from me.)  Even a week later, she can still only tell us that there were two Aidans, a big one and a little one.  But before long. she was referring to her classmates collectively as ‘her friends’ (as in “I have lots of friends at school”), knew all of their names, and was sharing stories about them.

Now that she’s four, it’s a little different.  She’s in a different classroom, which she’s very excited about, and she’s going three mornings a week instead of two.  It also means that she’s one year away from kindergarten, and one year closer to everything else – first grade, middle school, high school, being a teenager, and college.  (Here comes that lump in my throat and in the pit of my stomach, again.)

As I said earlier, I’m still not ready to let her go.  I’m not sure I ever will be.

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

Turning the Tables…

I was cornered – my back to the wall, I was on one side of the table, my pursuer on the other.  I’d fake one way, she’d move in that direction only to stop almost immediately.  Foiled.

Our games of ‘Get me!’ have definitely evolved.  First of all, the kids are now more likely to be the ones doing the chasing.  And what was once follower the leader at high speed, a simple case of running in the same path as the person being chased, has become more challenging.  Charlotte has more of a defined purpose – not just to chase me but to actually catch me.  (Although she definitely does enjoy the chase, squealing with laughter the entire time.)

 Earlier this week, I was running from the kitchen, to the dining room, around the dining room table, back through the kitchen, into the living room, around the living room table, and back through the kitchen and into the dining room again (rinse, rather repeat)

But it was becoming more difficult to evade her tickling grasp.  When I was most of the way around the table, rather than simply following the same path I had run, she would head me off at the pass.  She no longer mindlessly follows in my footsteps, although she still embraces the spirit of the game and doesn’t just stop along the predefined course to wait for me.

Not only have her ‘Get me!’ pursuits gotten more sophisticated, but she’s now much better at hide and seek.  Her hiding spots are less obvious (at times), and she remains quiet for a longer period (although her hiding spot is inevitably betrayed by her giggles.)

Unfortunately, it appears her attempts at deception may also be growing more sophisticated.

During bedtime the other night, she didn’t get as many bedtime stories as she would have liked.  After Karen left the room, Charlotte called down several times, claiming she was scared of the monsters in her room.  (After she’s in bed, she rarely calls down.  And she’s never claimed to be afraid of monsters in her room before.)

But she seemed truly distraught.  Karen went up twice, and I went up the third time, prompting this exchange:

“Charlotte, what’s wrong?”

“Dad, I’m scared of the monsters.”

“There are monsters in your room? Where are they?”

“Under the bed and in the closet.”

“Did you see them?”

She nods somberly.

“You saw a monster?  What color was it? Was it green?”

Charlotte’s favorite color of the moment is rainbow, so if you ask her about something that involves a color, her answer is invariably, “Rainbow.”

So naturally, her response was, “Rainbow.”

“You saw a rainbow monster?”

At this point, a wide smile broke across my ‘distraught’ daughter’s face, and she couldn’t help but laugh.  The sun had finally broken through the rain clouds of her ‘distress’ to produce her radiant, rainbow smile.  If only there were a pot of gold at the end of it.

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

Code Blue

Last weekend, we went to visit my in-laws at their vacation condo in the Berkshires.  The condo community is great – right on the water with a swimming pool, tennis court, rolling lawns and mountain views.

Charlotte and Luke were particularly excited.  Charlotte because she’s been taking swimming lessons and was looking forward to showing off her new skills in Grandma and Grandpa’s pool.  Luke because he’s been on a tennis kick and was anxious to play on a real court.  (We’ve been hitting balls back and forth in our driveway.  Luke uses a racquetball racquet.)

Unfortunately, it rained pretty much all weekend.

Undeterred, we (all of us, including Grandma and Grandpa) went for a swim.  In the rain.  It wasn’t raining hard, but it was raining.

Charlotte and Luke certainly didn’t care.  They had a blast.

But after about an hour, Charlotte’s lips had turned blue. 

“Charlotte, are you cold?”

She immediately responded, through blue lips with teeth chattering, “N-n-n-n-n-n-no.”

Beavers

On Sunday afternoon, while it wasn’t raining, we stopped at a wildlife preserve to check out a beaver pond.  During the hike, I was encouraging Charlotte to keep her voice down so we wouldn’t disturb or scare off any animals, particularly beavers.

She was doing well, talking in a low voice, on the lookout for beavers, until she realized that Luke and Mom were falling behind.  She stopped, quietly commented that they were falling behind, and then yelled, “LUKE AND MOM, WE’RE UP HERE!!”

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

You Sank My Battleship!

Lately, Karen and I have been playing “Battleship!” after the kids have gone to bed.  (I guess we don’t play enough kids’ games during the day.)  Not on a computer, but the old school version with the red and white pegs.  Actually, I guess real old school would be using pad and paper.  Apparently the game dates back to the early 1900’s.

So far, Karen has proven to be the better player.  I’m currently down two (maybe three, who’s counting?) victories to one.

On a related note, I just learned that Universal and Hasbro are planning to make a Battleship movie, directed by Peter Berg, that’s ‘loosely inspired’ by the game.  

Hollywood and the toy industry appear to be on a quest to make movies out of all of our childhood games (Transformers, GI Joe, etc.).

 Returning to Childhood

After Karen and I got married and bought our first home, we started a short lived tradition of an annual ‘Return to Childhood’ party.

It was pretty fun.  I came across one of the invitations the other day (admittedly after I searched for it to include in this post):

The Putney’s Annual “Return to Childhood” Party

(although some of us have never really left….)

2pm to Bedtime

 All are welcome – fun for children of all ages.

What better way to celebrate the joy of life than to return to childhood! ?  We invite you to bring friends, a childhood photo of yourself, and your favorite childhood snack, book, movie, game, music, or memento. Enjoy a reading from “Where the Sidewalk Ends” and listen to the entertaining tunes of Raffi.

Making appearances: Mr. Potato Head (including Darth Tater), Sega, Nintendo, Etch-A-Sketch, UNO, Rubic’s Cube, Play Dough, Battleship, Albert Einstein (life-size cardboard cutout), Care Bears, Monopoly, and a Pixar Movie Marathon.

Refreshments will include three (count ‘em, three) flavors of milk, root beer floats, Shirley Temples (that’s right, Shirley Temples), warm chocolate chip cookies, Rice Krispie Treats, Mini-hotdogs (that’s right, mini-hotdogs), Mini-cheeseburgers, Chicken nuggets (with assorted sauces), fixin’s for PB&J and  PB&Fluff (crust/no crust, smooth/crunchy PB), tater tots, make-your-own sundaes, freeze-pops, fudgicles & creamsicles.   

It was a blast.  I mean, you read the invitation, how could it not be?

The first year we had it, we included the following line because it was an open house of sorts, our first big gathering in our new condo:

What better way to celebrate a new home than to fill it with the joys of childhood?

Some of our friends mistook this as a pregnancy announcement, which was funny for two reasons:  1) because it wasn’t,  and 2) because we found out we were poregnant a week before the party.

Anyway, now that we have two kids, we don’t really have time to ‘Return to Childhood,’ aside from some post-bed time rounds of Battleship.  Hopefully, we’ll be able to bring the tradition back to life and re-institute the ‘Return to Childhood’ party before too long.

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