Checking In

Is it just me, or does it feel like today might just be the first really real day of Spring. Not just an oddly warm winter day, but it’s got the tingly feeling of better things to it.

The sky seems blue with such purpose. Not the winter blue sky cheat that becons through the window and then slaps you in the face with an icy blast the moment you step out the door. This is a sincere blue sky that apologizes for the other sky’s behavior by putting warmish arms around you and saying, “There, now doesn’t that feel better than what you’ve been suffering through”. And you don’t even try to resist closing your eyes and thinking, “Yes, oh, yes. So much better. I accept your apology.” And then it becomes time to prepare for the rocky bliss of that co-dependence that is the weather through the next 8 months of the year.

I appreciate winter so much more once it’s over. Although I’m not complaining about this one. Best on record, not to put too fine a point on it. Most bearable. Had a week or so of bitter cold, but I’ll concede that for all the warm temps we’ve been gifted with. But it feels like it’s going to actually get on with it today. It's got that drive with the windows down, music radiating from your iPod, always landing on a good song feeling.

And the schedule that goes with it, this time of the year.

So, I guess it’s my turn to pen the "apology for lack of posting and commenting" post. It seems to be quite the rage at the moment among the blogs I read. And the podcasts. And the video blogs. And webcomic. Seems that anytime people create content for the internet as a hobbie, they have times where the pull of life works against the desire and feeling of obligation to be regular with their offerings. I guess I’m in another one of those places.

But it’s not that I haven’t been thinking about it. Every time I do something remotely interesting I start to compose in my head how I might write about that moment. And I’ve got a couple of stories whose salience is growning a little musty, but they’re still good stories I think. So I’ll try to get them down.

If you’ve been in a similar place, please know that I understand and I’m here waiting for you when you get back. And I also apologize for not posting more regularly. It was brought to my attention that I’ve been negleciting my photos, too. The 5 on the 5th that I was trying to keep up with in 2005 has become me trying to post at least 6 pictures a month in 2006. Never was good with deadlines, but I do have 6 up for Feb----which include Kitten's haircut pictures.

Check them out over at my Flickr account (www.flickr.com/photos/cyberjazzdaddy).

(Good Night! I just took a look at my Flickr page and the picture of my youngest on his potty chair in the living room has had almost 100 views since the 14th! What is up with that?----Mom, is that you? ;-)

Viva La Olympiad

Tonight as I was driving home, a light snow greeted me as I pulled into town. Despite the unseasonably warm temperatures that we've been having (at one point we were only three degrees cooler than Pheonix), winter showed up almost like confetti to celebrate the opening night of the Winter Olympic games this evening.

We don't do many sports things in our house together. I watch my football alone. Robo has his eXtreme games. Mom has her ice skaters and ballroom. But we all come together for the Olympics. Summer and Winter. We started being real followers with the winter games, though, back in 1994. I imagine we're not alone in that. You remember those games, don't you. Those crazy ice skater clubbing games that grabbed the headlines. We were in living in Virginia Beach at the time. I was finishing Grad school. Our one child, our little Kitten, only three years old, played around on the floor like her feline namesake.

A few years later my folks actually got to attend the Atlanta games. I remember waking one morning during that week to the announcement of a bombing at an outdoor concert that took several lives. My blood turned to ice. I know how my parents like to take in free outdoor entertainment and I was panicked trying to think of a way to contact them to see if they were ok or not. Of course, I learned later, to my relief, that they were ok. Still sad though for the people effected by that senseless act.

But my dad's involvement in those games went beyond just a spectator. The little company of under a hundred employees that he works for somehow got the contract to cut a critical piece that went into the manufacture of the torches for those games. It was a hollow cylinder that housed the flame. My folks have one of the pieces in their house. A proud contribution.

And now tonight we were here again in front the TV, all huddled together on the sofa enjoying what could be arguably one of the few truly international events covered on American television. Little Bear faded out first. Then before it was over Kitten had to go to bed early for another speech competition tomorrow. Lemur conked out next on the chair and I carried him to bed before the flame was lit. So only the Robo, the mom and I were here to see the end of the opening.

I must say I liked the fireworks opening much better than the stalled out flying saucer that the U.S. had to light the flame when we hosted the games. Some of the original music was very cool, too. I hope it shows up on iTunes. I didn't quite understand why cultural cradle of European music played U.S. disco and pop tunes for the parade of countries though, but whatever.

I'm sitting here cozy in the surprise V-day gift I found from my mom when I got home tonight---Jack Skellington Pajamas!

I have very jealous children right now.

Our Superbowl Flushes!

Last night we went to our Pastor’s new house for a Superbowl party. It was very cool. We got to socialize while our two boys played with their two boys the same age. And Bear thought it was cool because the house was A) bigger than ours, B) had long hallways and C) most rooms were void of furniture. Being under three feet tall, all these things together mean that he could run and laugh like he hasn’t been able to since October. I think don't think he stopped moving for two hours.

We had to leave at half time because all the kids needed to get to bed for school the next day. This last weekend’s activities (spending the night and speech tournaments) caused sleep to be at a premium. So we needed to make up for that as well.

However, it would appear that I left just in time too. When trying to orchestrate getting the boys to bed while they bounced around like espresso drinking ferrets, I found myself uttering an entire sentence completely void of consonants. I sounded like a caveman gargling cream of wheat.

Sometimes I feel like I blog just to remind myself that I do have a vocabulary and some fleeting command of a recognized language.

In other news, we had an unexpected topper to the evening. As I was trying to wind everyone down to get to bed, some switch flipped in the heavenly realms and Bear decided he would concede to being potty trained. There in our bathroom, after months of anxiety and drama that didn't even get us to toilet training first base, he was led easily into the potty chair with gentle motherly encouragement, he sat himself down . . .and piddled.

This sparked a celebration to rival anything that happened in Pittsburgh last night. There was such tangible relief and joy beaming from my wife’s I though she might burst into tears. I do believe I detected a measure of pride about Bear’s countenance as well.

He did again this morning.

The walls just keep falling.

P.S. Did anyone else notice the huge hole in the Superbowl last night where the Pepsi/iTunes bottle cap promotion commercials should have gone? I did. *grumble*

When I grow up. . .

. . .I want to make cool videos like Josh Leo.

Dang dude, that dude has skills. (Nun-chuck skills, bow hunting skills, ninja skills. You know---SKILLS! Although I'm still not so sure about the Dustin Hoffman/Mother Teresa/Ghandi juxtaposition. I mean, I like Dustin Hoffman just as much as the next guy, but, well. . .you know ;-)

Still, Josh always comes up with such cool stuff.

An evening at half capacity

My wife turned to me this evening and told me, “Your son wrote a story in school today and got sent to the office for it.”

Lemur. Of course it was Lemur. Good grief. My mind raced. What could have possibly sloshed out of that crazy, over active brain and onto the paper that would so freak out his teacher so much that he would get sent to the office for it? I almost didn't want to know.

But I could hardly be upset about it. It's almost seems like a genetic trait with this family. His dad wrote stories in Jr. High during free writing time with such lurid, graphic moments of Gothic horror that the teacher held me back after class one day to chat about my personal life, trying to serupticiously see if I needed further counseling. Kitten, when the rest of her first grade class was writing cute little stories of puppies and parties and playing outside, wrote a story called the 3 bird friends ----a story where two birds try heroicly to save their other bird friend from the hunter, but in vain as all three end up dying tragicly in the end. I remember thinking, Heaven help us, we've given birth to a Russian novelist.

But when the wife saw the panic in my eye she gave me a smirk, seeing the intended response of her misdirection, and reassured me that he had been sent to the office for doing good this time. His teacher had so enjoyed his story that she allowed Lemur a special trip to the Principle to share his good work.

That's why I love this school. We have to petition every year to get our kids into the school because we live outside of the district. They have special program considered 'experimental' in our little burg. It's not so vastly different that if you walked in during the middle of the school day that it would seem odd or unconventional, but this was a small example of the nice touches that the school uses to go above and beyond what I experienced growing up. Lemur has spent his fair share of time with the Principle being "guided to better behavior". I was thrilled to hear that they took the time to have this special little celebration moment too, so that he might have a relationship with his Principle built on respect, not just fear of an enforcer. I can't help but believe that this will help him to take her guidance more to heart.

Here at the home tonight we're at a bit of a reduced capacity. Kitten is off on an overnight Speech Tournament out of town with her high school team, and Robo is spending the night with a friend from his class, so it's just mom and dad and the two littlest boys. As much as I miss our kids when they're not here, I do enjoy evenings like this when we can get a little more one on one with our two youngest. Gives you time to connect. And connect we did.

Lemur wasn't able to bring his story home because it's going to be something presented as special work on parent/teacher night. But he described it. It was a little autobiographical micro-moment in out home life. He wrote how once he sat petting the cat with his bare feet, then Bear came in and scared off the cat and jumped on Lemur's head. Hard to say which exact time he was recounting, that scenario happens so often these days.

Then we both got to tuck Lemur in bed, and HE read US a story for bed time. It's so wonderful to hear him reading. He takes such pride in it. And I'm right there with him---not being simply proud of a grade achieved, or a bench mark skill attained so it can be checked off on the developmental charts, but just reveling in the joy he finds in this new world he's unlocked. That he can pick up any of the zillion books in this house and enter into it, at least partially, all by himself.

This quiet moment of mom and dad sitting on the edge of the bed listening to the young boy read by the light of the Darth Vader head bedside lamp is not quite as Rockwell as it might first appear, though. There was the one interrupted moment of giggles profound with seven-year-old praise at the substantial belch that escaped from his Mom. Then Dad trying to keep little Mr. multi-task focused on the book so we could get to bed before midnight. But it was nice.

After that, I tucked my wife in too. She had woken up at 4:30 this morning and couldn't get back to sleep, so she spent the rest of the day salivating over the thought of being able to go to bed again this evening. Her hips had been bothering her from picking up and carrying Bear here and there through the day (sometimes it's the only way to get him going in the direction you need to be going at any given moment), so I was trying to massage her a bit as she faded off to sleep.

This is not quite as ideal as it might seem, either, though. I am a very willing masseuse, but alas, not a very skilled one. I just don't have the sixth sense that makes a good masseuse---the one of going right to the tension with just the right touch. So I'm really just going through the motions depending, like a show dog, on verbal commands. "Up, Up, Over, harder, softer, softer---There! There! Good, yes, good. Goooooood."

During this, in the almost light of our digital alarm clock, a little timid figure carrying a Christmas teddy bear comes in through our door. He couldn't sleep without his brother in his room with him. We're making progress on that, but we still have a way to go. Of course, so does big brother's new room. We're all working in the same direction.

So he crawls into bed with mom while I finish the massage. Then I slip out, leaving the two lumps in the covers, for a little blogging before bed while everyone drifts deeper into sleep, some smooth jazz flowing out of the iPod connected to the stereo system.

When I finally carried him back to his own bed asleep, I had a "that moment" I'd had with the two other kids before him. That moment when you pick up one of your little babies, and his little butt sits in the crook of your arm where it has always been, but this time as you walk the trek back to his room you realize you can feel his feet hitting your knees.

Breathe deep. These are the moments we'll want to remember.