Wistless

I believe Mariah Carey is one of the most talented singers in the music industry today, and to hear her hit the upper vocal registers is nothing short of awe inspiring. That being said, I'm not sure I actually enjoy listening to her lyrics screeched out in the same frequency in which fleas communicate. Mariah Carey fans, sorry to offend. 

In light of my feelings regarding the apex of the noise pitch spectrum, imagine how hard it is to come to grips with the squealing of our own resident Mariah impersonators. That is why I have decided to start up a house Irish band to harness the musical prowess of both Zach and Amelia while simultaneously preserving the integrity of our fragile eardrums. 

In the past few days I have been teaching myself to play the Irish drum called the bodhran, which I received as a gift from Shane and Liz upon return from their honeymoon in Ireland.

Zach is learning to play the xylodrum as my back up rhythm section, while Amelia is picking up the harmony with the tin whistle. 

I know what you are thinking; "Mr. Steve, it must worry you sick for Amelia to be playing an instrument as dangerous as the whistle." 

While yes, I agree that if she were playing something safer, such as the triangle or tambourine, it might ease my mind:  however, in my heart, I know that she loves the whistle, and there is no shame in getting hurt doing something you love

Sofun

I took home economics in high school. If anyone calls me a sissy because of it, I will personally knit a very warm wool sock, place a freshly baked delicious blueberry muffin inside, and bop them over the head with it. My reason for taking home ec as an elective, in actuality, was to avoid taking classes where I thought real work might interfere with my learning experience, but was unaware of two very important details at the time. One, is that it is real work, and, two, it would someday become my primary occupation. Now I'm just wishing I paid closer attention to that recipe for easy cobbler... I can't remember, was it one can of peaches or two?

One thing they failed to teach us in home ec class, though, is possibly the most important aspect of managing a household; which is, how to make proper couch forts. There is a formula which must be followed in order to truly maximize the funability of your couch. Failure to comply with said principles will result in an inferior couch fort experience and may lead to the myriad problems of chronic fun deficiency down the road. 

Do you know who used to suffer from fun deficiency? 

That's right. And you don't want to be like him, do you? 

No, I didn't think so. 

Perhaps the reason it could not be conveyed through a high school curriculum is because of its resemblance to an art form rather than that of an academic nature. The reason being, primarily, is that couches have a finite number of cushions upon them thus making fewer the obstacle types available. Fortunately for Amelia, Zachary and I, we have a sectional couch with ample materials for constructing structures of choice, and, hence, are limited only by our imagination. 

Today's impromptu playground consisted of a cushion slide leading down to a pillow splash pool. Zach was determined to walk down the slide and finally had a successful run at it, though each prior attempt ending in a roll down was pretty fun, too.  Amelia seemed to enjoy the climbing up part just as much, if not more so, than the tumbling down. Perhaps she sees the same benefit in the couch fort as me, which is getting some exercise on frosty December mornings without requiring GORE-TEX. 

 

Keep 'em crossed

The other day, Elijah and I were pondering the significance of our friend Zach's newest hand gesture, crossed fingers, which he has recently added to his repertoire. It is something he does quite frequently, and it doesn't seem to be just a random act. Elijah is convinced that Zach is hoping for something specific and I think he is absolutely right. It seems Zach is usually in deep deliberate thought at every crossing: about what, though, I cannot quite put my finger on. Let's see if we can shed some light on the mystery.

Since Elijah made up the game, I will give his impression of the meaning behind the symbol first. He believes that Zach is hoping to avoid getting hurt when climbing things. His hypothesis does make a lot of sense especially considering Zach hasn't been getting hurt nearly as much lately, and we all know how reliable a good luck talisman crossed fingers can be. 

My guess is that he is hoping that Santa's surveillance team is out on a coffee break whenever he has something mischievous planned; it seems every time I see him tossing wooden blocks over the baby gate to the dog, as sure as taxes, his fingers are crossed. Silly Zach...don't you know Santa never takes breaks?

Nadine is convinced Zach is hoping for more green vegetables with lunch. I'm only kidding. I made that one up. Nadine is smart enough to know any wishing done by Zach involving green vegetables deals exclusively with peas. Any over-generalization of "greens" above and beyond that would just be absurd.

Amelia believes that it is merely a quirky anomaly lending itself to a predisposed motion through his motor neuron routing resulting in the formation of just a simple bodily habit and has direct correlation to an excited emotional state; much like young children clapping their hands or swinging their arms when they are happy. Amelia is such a card... ha ha, kids say the cutest things, don't they? 

In reality, though, the explanation which makes the most sense is of Zach hoping that when he enrolls in his new class on February 16th, Amelia and he will continue to remain the best of friends. 

.

Moors! Say Moors!

Seinfeld ranks among one of my all time favorite shows. There are episodes that, to this day, still make me chuckle in recollection at some of the cleverly-labelled, quirky idiosyncrasies and general farce which govern the lives of its four central characters.  One of my all time favorite story lines is the one involving the bubble boy engaged in a game of Trivial Pursuit with George in an attempt to kill time while they waited for Jerry to show up. For anyone who has not seen this one, suffice to say, the gamesmanship between them is ultimately ruined by an obvious misprint on one of the cards. 

Feeling as I do about this episode, imagine my happiness every time I hear Amelia announcing her diaper is not soiled... and does so using the word, "moop".

Now's the time on Sprockets when we dance.

I'm thankful for...

I'm still trying to get back into the swing of this technology thing. Since my old laptop crashed its final time, I was forced to revert to more rudimentary forms of communication. My primary medium of mass mail was reduced to the sending of smoke signals for conveyance of important bulletins to my neighbors. Messages such as; "my chimney needs cleaning" or "my scones are highly flammable" etc. It's been hard re-acclimating myself to this "typing while sitting still" thing and, even more difficult, doing all of it without catching things on fire. Ah well, let me give it my best college try here.

 

"So where did you run off to, Mr. Steve?" You might ask...if you enjoy the drivel of my ramblings. Well, folks, much like captain Ahab, I have been obsessed in a quest; not in struggle with a white whale but rather, with conquering a black dog. Don't be alarmed, as it is not of the Winston Churchill variety, but instead of a much more literal sense. Yes, "the taming of the chew" saga continues with our powder keg of a puppy, Niko. 

Niko's training is actually progressing better than I anticipated, and, happily, some of my hair is even beginning to grow back. I have discovered the benefits of keeping him on a grueling regimen of physical exercise to burn off some of that puppy zeal keeping him just a tad more relaxed and giving greater retention to his obedience training exercises. A great method our family has found for killing four birds with one stone is to practice "sit, stay and come" while running up and down our stairway. It can be done anytime rain or shine, and it is fun for everyone. Niko gets exhausted physically, learns obedience commands, understands stair safety rules, and I get a work out walking the stairs when it's just me and him. Of course, it is no substitute for a good old fashioned walk to get him accustomed to the world outside the four or more walls which confine him but I do find it to be an often necessary addendum to the sometimes too short walks of the Ohio wintertime.

All and all, I would have to say he's got great manners for a puppy...especially when he has temporary lapse of being just that.  

.................

This morning, as Amelia, Zach and I sat by the living room window watching the snow fall in front of our Gators 2006 National Football Championship flag, I witnessed an incredible sight quite foreign in these parts: some completely unprovoked sharing. Amelia had stacked several blocks next to the window. Zach, sitting at my other side, began to state with distress that he too wished to stack blocks but possessed none with which to construct. Amelia glanced over at his sad expression and pulled a block off the top of her stack and handed it to him to much smiles and gratitude. 

There is truly so much happiness to be taken from an act so simple as this. It gives to me hope for the cooperation of all humanity to rebuild whatever block stacks whether they were knocked down by inherent weaknesses in infrastructure or a gradual slant in hardwood sub-flooring. I know we can all work together to make those stacks even stronger and higher than they originally were. Look to the stackers, people. Look to the stackers.

The moral of the story is...

I am a positive person. Partly because of my loving upbringing and the paths I've chosen for myself, but mostly I believe it is because whenever I meet someone with a positive mental attitude I seem to be inextricably drawn to them. Those people have always made me want to become a better person just by their sheer example and energy. In striving to be the best I can be, the best secret I've found to maintaining your PMA is finding a way to change the things you're not OK with and being OK with the things you can't change. It's really that simple. Now, considering my positivity, I'm now finding it difficult to make this confession; I've been a little stressed out lately.

Before I explain my conundrum let me just point out that the stress has had nothing to do with contractors jack hammering my basement slab for two weeks to install a flow valve and subsequent re-jackhammering because the first two jobs weren't done right. Nor does it have anything to do with my washing machine breaking last night when my laundry was already hitting critical mass because of the jackhammering and rejack...well you get it. Nor does it have anything to do with the GI bug that is stinging the stomachs me and all of those that I love this week. Nor does it have anything to do with my writers block...a-ha, things are looking up already. 

No, the reason I am stressed is because of the toddler/dog dichotomy developing in our once peaceful home. Here's how it works. I get Niko into a calm submissive state and he is happily laying on the living room floor with his beloved Bully bone. Elijah is carefully extracting a 24 ounce bottle of blue Gatorade from Amelia's hands which is full and just recently opened. The screaming ensues. Niko runs to little Meelee and licks her face as if her tears were composed of beef jerky. The licking causes her to scream ever so more intensely and the dog's tail wags even faster, ad infinitum. Dad pulls out a large wad of his hair, chuckles, and crumples to the floor shaking. 

So as with most crises situations, I did what any normal human should do and calmly went to the library. After reading up on toddler psychology it became apparent to me what I was doing wrong. Since I am a sharing individual, I will share with you my findings and solution.   

The first point you must understand is her screaming is not because she wants something but rather because she wants you to know that she wants it. "What difference does that make?" you might ask- if you were a total jerk. Well, smarty pants, it actually makes all the difference when dealing with meltdown situations. Once you realize she is crying not because of a toy she wants or a place she wants to go, but rather because she wants you to pay heed to her desire and hopefully deliver on it, you will be better equipped to respond appropriately. A lot of parents will surely retort with the conventional wisdom of toddler cries being an indicator of insufficient TLC (which could be the case or could very well be the opposite) while, in actually, giving her the TLC she craves in response to cries will only exacerbate the problem you are trying to address. You need to wait and give her the love and attention she wants only after she has rationalized the fact that screaming and crying will not get her her way. Only then will you get her to start vocalizing in a civilized manner about what she wants from you and then you can go ahead and heap all the toys and ponies you want to on her as she is now completely problem free and will remain that way until she is twenty-five. Nope, not really... just making sure you are still paying attention. 

My solution, when she wants your attention in regard to something but can only vocalize it in ear splitting monkey screams; smile while calmly telling her that you will talk to her whenever she's ready and go to another part of the room focussing your attention elsewhere. If it's too hard to listen to her, feel free to walk in the other room. Do not be tempted to reason with her to get her calmed down, it may work to appease her this time, but you are doing nothing to address the real problem of the child's ill communication skillz. When she has finally stopped crying after five hours or so, you can sit down and talk about what she wants even though you already know exactly what it is, which is toys and ponies.  

As for the dog, I'll get back to you about how to become your dogs pack leader once I am promoted from disrespected pack shift supervisor who is the only member of the pack not privy to his impending sixty day notice. This may take a while folks. 

Happy Birthday Grammie!!!

Back like a rebel making trouble

Despite the warning from my friend Shane that the purchase of a Macintosh computer becomes, invariably, the fast track to Scientology, I have at long last decided to purchase an IMac with some early Christmas assistance from Grammie (Thanks a million, Grammie, you earn the Mr. Steve Humanitarian award for the year even though I know that seeing pictures and videos of the kids is one of the larger motivations behind your tremendous act of altruism) and additionally from all of you folks clicking on the completely non-enticing ad at the top of my blog page in contribution to my twenty fifth concurrent occupation. Thanks, friends and family. Welcome back.

The Mac functions have a wee bit of a learning curve to them which feel a bit like driving in London for the first time... Big Ben... Parliament... but not so bad that I inadvertently end up in Piccadilly Circus. I based my decision to go Apple on the fact that everyone I know who has gone over to the dark side of Macdom has given nothing but positive feedback, so there may yet be something to this hype. Besides, I need a reliable computer that will wash the horrible taste of the old Dell laptop out of my mouth lest I turn against computers all together and opt to live in a cave atop the Himalayas, leaving only little scribblings on the wall. Hail Xenu.

Lately, Amelia is finally giving forth the additional effort to actually repeat the words Nadine, Elijah and I say to her rather than just labeling everything with a blanket statement of "that". With this important development comes the challenging part of attempting to decipher the language she tries so desperately to master as she frustratingly regurgitates it back to us in a series of monosyllabic phonemes progressing inevitably into a crescendous screech. Ah, the joys of having a high frequency high amplitude vocal cord. Fortunately, as the weather gets colder, the question of whether Amelia wants to scream outside upon each offense is answered most often with a simple "no". 

Zach has concluded the world as he knows it is no more than his own private jungle gym as he has been getting in touch with his inner monkey. If an object has a foothold, no matter how large small or wobbly, Zach will climb it like it were Kilimanjaro. He seems at his absolute happiest when he can climb up on the couch while holding a toy of his choice as if he has finally come to achieve one of his most coveted life goals. Come to think of it, that so happens to be one of my life goals, too. Huh, that's weird. 

Equally chatty, though not yet quite as intelligible, Zach often speaks streaming sentences like a news radio host, all in a language he invented.  My best guess is that he is making up jokes since he will often stop talking to laugh spontaneously at the punch lines only he seems to understand. Here's one of my favorite jokes he tells; budga-budga-budga-budga, hahaha. Well...perhaps it loses something in the translation. 

      

I'm sure some of you are wondering how the training of Niko is progressing. I'm happy to say he is coming along nicely in both departments of obedience and operation dry carpet thanks in no small part Cesar Millan. After reading his books, Cesar's Way and Be the Pack Leader, I have managed to get Niko into a more submissive state by establishing my position as a calm assertive pack leader. It is truly an exhilarating experience to walk an animal the first time without it being the other way around. One thing I've discovered with puppies, though, is that they require a continual reminder of their subordinate position otherwise, if not addressed immediately, my control of him quickly degrades from status of dog whisperer to old yeller. In short, he goes right back to being a doggy dog. Take for instance Saturday night, as Niko was fervently exploring the living room, he managed to get his head stuck in a jack o lantern candy bucket. He ran around in haphazard circles wearing this large toothy pumpkin grin juxtaposed humorously to his obvious state of panic. It was exactly like a scene from America's funniest home videos except that I wasn't so cruel as to leave it on him for fifteen minutes while I found the video camera and some working double A batteries.  No, I got him calmed down as quickly as I could. After a few moments of realizing that flying blind may not be the wisest mode of locomotion he stopped and I was able to free him from his plastic pumpkin prison. 

Perhaps the only thing more exciting than having a well trained puppy is having well behaved kids. I can remember having that feeling long ago when Elijah was 20 months old. He was proudly one of the best behaved kids I have ever met, even to this day. I used to call it beginners luck and in retrospect that might have just been the case. Amelia has just a couple social graces short of Jackie Kennedy and may need a bit of polish. Perhaps I am to blame for not realizing that my one concrete adage of understanding about the female mind, which is "let them have their way" may have one little thirty pound caveat. 

   

Absentee

In case you are wondering, my hard drive crashed again as I expected it would. It may be a while before you hear from me since I have no way to blog during the day. In the meantime, though, if you want to click the advertisments on my page a few thousand times, it will provide a bit of financial assistance in saving up for a new one.

I miss you guys.

TTYL

Please, no autographs.

I'm not a braggart and tend to shy away from those of braggadocios demeanor because I find them generally too self absorbed to do the right thing by people. That being said, let me tell you how awesome I am.

This morning after dropping Elijah off at the bus stop, Zach, Amelia and I made the long arduous (one block) journey back to the homestead only to find that we had been locked out. The side door to our home contains original hardware installed in 1939 including a self locking latch which, up to now, had only burned me once (It was a week after moving into our house and was snowing at the time, but I will tell you no more for I do not wish for that story to outshine my experience today). I am forced to conclude that people were generally more responsible back in 1939 and always had their keys in their pocket when they pulled the door shut, otherwise I see no reason for the builders to have included such a sadistic piece of hardware in a door most conducive to becoming the primary exit...but I digress.

As Murphy would have it, today's lockout occurred on a cold wet morning the day after the end of our Indian (oops, I mean Native American) summer. It was literally thirty degrees warmer and 100% dryer yesterday afternoon, so, in the last 24 hours, we have had to run both the air and heat. Amelia and Zach were still in their PJ's without shoes, so I quickly set them both up in their seats in the truck to keep them warm while I came up with a plan.

My first attempt at breaking in involved the use of a couple long metal pins I procured from the garage. Have any of you ever seen a cops and robbers movie where the burglar takes two metal rods, inserts them into a deadbolt, and somehow manages to open the door in two seconds flat? Let me share with you my stunning realization that I am either not cut out for a life of crime or those movie producers are a bunch of snotty faced liars. I succeeded only in wasting five minutes and learning a valuable lesson.

My next plan was to grab the doorknob and shake it forcibly to see if I could coerce the latch to open after it saw how desperate I was. As you probably guessed, the latch and I are still not friends. Another minute went down the drain.

Then I remembered that there was a window near the back of the house which I had opened a few days before to air out the horrible smell of something I had mis-cooked: I think it was a bratwurst, which would make sense seeing as how I am the only non-German in the family. Quickly, I ran to the back of the house and found that the window was in fact unlocked. Within five minutes I had popped out the screen, knocked everything off the window sill, squeezed through the small opening, and touched down onto the kitchen floor. In my excitement I let out a disturbingly loud and very redneck sounding "wha-hoo" at having accessed the impenetrable fortress that is my home without the aid of a locksmith or wife.

Immediately, I hurried to the truck to get the kids who were quite confused about being put in their seats without driving anywhere. They seemed to be happy about getting back inside where the warm air was, though.

...and then I deactivated the self latching door, quite possibly for the last time.

Terrific Two's

The terrible two's are not a myth and they are coming your way.
"Not my little princess." you say.
Yes, your little princess too will become as feisty as demon spawn and will emit screams to the point of laryngitis replacing what were once soft delicate baby cries. What used to be a pleasant evening out to dinner will become a race against time, points taken from any family member who attempts to talk after food is set on the table thus extending the high chair time which is known to be in strictly limited supply. Parents become psychic and can see events in the future they know would result in a meltdown and steer the young ones attention accordingly. Take heed, something wicked this way comes.

Amelia, much like Elijah before her, has arrived at the terrible two's prematurely, much to mom and dad's dismay. Zach, likewise, seems to be acquiring some of the finer points of selective emotional breakdown possibly by proxy to our ex-princess but mostly likely because he is experiencing the same types of growing pains as she. So tell us, Mr. Steve, what are Amelia and Zach trying to tell us with these drop-of-a-hat tantrums they seem to be prone with these days?

Basically, they have both come to realize a world exists beyond the realm of baby play-land that requires the extensive use of effective communication to negotiate its intricacies...oh, and also a "grown ups club" membership card which parents give to the store clerk when they want to take something home.

Zach and Amelia are merely trying to explain that they want to live in that world, too, but are somewhat frustrated with the complexity of getting up to speed within it.

"Seriously? That's it?"

Yes, that's it.

Now, of course you didn't think that I was just pointing out that your children will become evil life sucking creatures and there's nothing you can do about it. Right? I am a professional after all and wouldn't be writing this blog if I didn't think I had anything constructive to say.

Let me use a real life example to explain my methodology: Say, for instance, you are sitting at the table of your favorite steak house and your little bundle of joy decides that he absolutely will not be happy unless you let him hold the steak knife which your kind but dim witted waiter set down right in front of him. You notice that since you took the knife away he has been inhaling for the last minute and a half preparing to expel the loudest wail your ears have ever been six inches away from.

The first step is to get a change of scenery. Oh good, I see you are already sprinting away from the table with your hand cupped over the tykes mouth. The change of scenery will help him change gears with a fresh new set of stimuli to take in and distract him.

Next, get yourself to a nice quiet place where there won't be a lot of strangers standing around who are tempted to try helpful things like making awkward scary faces at them.

Lastly comes the most important step in derailing the the downward spiral of banshee screams: direct face to face conversation. The terrible two's should be seen as the perfect opportunity to start talking to your child like an adult in calm and complete sentences. Tell them what you perceive them to be feeling and you can even tell them how you are feeling. Even though they may not understand the exact meaning of the words you are saying to them, they will most certainly get the tone and realize that you are attempting to give them the keys to the grown up world. Eventually they will match the tone you set for them and realize the benefit of using words. Just remember to keep your tone in a manner consistent with what you would like to get in return and don't let frustration take over. If frustration does take over, well, it's time for mommy or daddy to take a time out. Go sit facing the corner and let your little one laugh at you for a while, as goofiness can be a good ice breaker, too.

my train of thought left the station

What kind of story teller am I anyway, dropping a bombshell like that without any further details? Puppies are big news, after all. My brevity can partially be attributed to Amelia's new found maturity in which she has decided to downsize her nap schedule to one short nap a day, on occasion, (...and strangely enough, needs to be holding a baseball when she does. It appears the October excitement is not lost on her...go Sox!!) but is mostly due to the fact that we got a puppy that I wasn't able to tell you more about the puppy we got. This little vortex of attention has eaten up much of my spare time and, in turn, I am forced to give you a more condensed version of the news, which probably works better with your short attention span anyway. Hey, do you want to go ride bikes?

Oh, the puppy. Right.

I'm sure the first question you are asking is "why?". Well, my job was starting to get a little too easy and there just weren't any more challenges for me to face in a day, so it made good business sense to get a creature that doesn't listen, pees on the carpet, can't wear a diaper, and likes to attack babies. I'm just kidding about that last part: you can easily cut out a tail hole in the size 4 Huggies to make them work.

...but seriously folks...

"Big Boy"*, as he is currently named for lack of a better one, is a boxer/border collie mix and is actually quite gentle with kids. The family we adopted him from had two of their own, a little younger than Elijah and Amelia respectively, so he already had an idea of what behavior is appropriate around the small and wobbly. He is taking to his obedience training wonderfully as well. For those of you who have never heard of clicker training your dog need to look into it today. Amazingly, it is a far more effective training method than a newspaper across the rear and they actually enjoy it, so you get reap the rewards of good behavior with none of the puppy eyed guilt which inevitable follows with use of the latter method.

Well, I've got to cut this short since today is the day we're going to learn how to sit still...not me of course, I'm an old dog and am unlikely to learn that trick, even with a clicker... click.

So long.


* I wrote this on Friday but didn't get a chance to post it since: Amelia and Zach woke up, and the dog had to go out, and the we were all getting a little hungry, and I had some laundry, and dishes, and...
Since the day it was written, the Mr Steve clan has unanimously agreed on the name "Niko" for our dog. Let it be written, let it be done, that Niko shall be his name and his name shall be Niko.

Stimulus

Usually I avoid discussing current events in this panel mainly because two thirds of us are way to young for that sort of thing, but I felt in light of recent developments, I would like to interject my two cents on the matter.
There is no doubt that it is a fearful time for many, with uncertainty in the markets at every turn. We are all being affected by the current economic climate and my heart goes out to everyone going through hard times right now. Furthermore, it is impossible not to think of the long term ramifications of the current state of affairs and what, if any, foundation will be left for us rebuild upon once the smoke clears. All this considered, it is not unusual right now to feel completely overwhelmed and anxious about what tomorrow brings.

I feel it is essential, though, for us to remember that love is a commodity of unlimited supply and is in no way tied to what is being traded on Wall Street. Its value is much greater, the essence of which is the hope it allows us to have. Whether it be love of family, friends, or world, there is nothing more powerful or pure a force in the human experience. I know it's a long hard road ahead and each of us will be tested: but as long as we don't forget that which is most important to us as a people we will eventually find our way out.

Keep your love strong, my friends. It's good for the economy.






Oh, yeah...and the Mr. Steve family got a puppy. Isn't he cute?

Hi, my name is...

Few persons throughout history have been lucky enough to have their own announcer to give a proper personal introduction whenever they enter the room. Johnny Carson had Ed McMahon, Simon Cowell has Ryan Seacrest, and Slim Shady has Eminem... What? Those are the same person? Who's Marshall Mathers then? Oh, I see. Alright, let's strike that last example and move on.
Recently acquiring membership along with those sacred few in this ridiculously exclusive club is our very own Zach-o. His announcer, of course, is none other than little Ms. Amelia. The past several times people have stopped to comment how cute the both of them are, which happens a lot because, let's face it, it's completely true, Amelia immediately points at Zach and exclaims, "Zshaah" (which translates to Zach, for those of you who do not speak Babinese). On cue, Zach cracks his widest smile and waves at his adoring crowd to much ooh-ing and ahh-ing. Then the bystander inquires as to whether or not they are twins, to which I exclaim, "They are twins, but they were born five months apart." The person then slowly and inconspicuously sashays away with a polite but apprehensive smile.
Now, If I can just teach Zach a couple jokes, he can be promoted from appearing in the bloggity blog blog to late night TV. Zach could invite me on as a special guest. Well...guest, anyway.
Heard any good ones lately?

One More Thing

Every day is a new story. Just this morning, for instance, we almost missed Elijah's bus because we were so busy looking at a mole who has somehow managed to trap himself in an empty flowerpot. As I was maneuvering the double stroller around the all too prevalent clutter currently plaguing the valuable real estate of our garage, I could see Tikki Tavi sticking her paw into the pot and something screeching loudly every time she did. I investigated expecting to see a cicada, since they seem to fall out of the sky in large numbers and can't always seem to fly whenever they want to.

I called Elijah over to look at it, to which he exclaimed, "Hey that's pretty neat. We should let him go". All I could envision after Elijah's words were the lumpy dirt trails in random spirals decorating my front yard. This now leaves the seldom thought question, what do you do with the mole after you catch him, and in performing said action does one's moral character descend to depths lower than that of the mole they seek?

So after careful ponderation I decided to let the mole go...in case anyone should happen to ask.


Oh yeah, there's one more thing I almost forgot. Last Sunday we had a visit from hurricane Ike strengthened considerably by a simultaneously arriving cold front generating eighty mile per hours winds downing countless trees into roadways and crushing several houses in our neighborhood. Total chaos ensued after 80% of all traffic lights ceased to function within an hour time span with nary a warning of the windstorm's impending arrival. Power failed in almost four hundred thousand homes and businesses within the city limits. A large percentage of American Electric Power workers had already been dispatched to Texas to assist with the restoration efforts down there further complicating the recovery plan at home. Our electricity finally came back on yesterday evening after being without it for five days. For those of you wondering if I've moved out of Ohio and back to Florida, I haven't.

Have a high wattage weekend.

Possess(ed)ions

Part of my job as a stay at home dad and professional day care provider is to administer risk management for young beings who seem determined to seek out any and all risky activity. From jumping off the arm of the couch, to standing on the seat of the tricycle, Amelia and Zach are lucky that Mr. Steve has a strong heart and quick reflexes. With Zach getting his land legs about him, I have been especially mindful of his surroundings so as to avoid the falls which could leave a lasting impression, so to speak. A hazard that neither of us could have foreseen, though, was the rattle hoop bear Zach was carrying around the living room this morning. Anyone beholding of this benevolent little toy consisting of a fluffy little teddy clinging to a clear plastic loop with tiny balls inside would think it impossible to injure oneself upon. The bear's smile alone seems to say, "I'll be your bear-y best friend from birth to 18 months." That same cuddly bear showed its claws today.

Let me preface by saying that Zach is a very skilled walker and has taken great metaphoric leaps and bounds steadying himself on this big spinning hunk of rock we call Earth. The only difficulty he seems to face comes whenever he's compelled to make sudden sharp turns, which, at his age, turns out to be every minute or so. Such was the instance today as he was holding the aforementioned toy. As he was falling, his arm shot up to brace himself and the bear got sandwiched between poor Zach's cheek and the living room carpet. Elijah and Amelia immediately rushed to his aid rubbing his back and asking if he was alright; to which he replied he was.

One must always carefully consider their possessions that those things may eventually turn against them. Even in the 0-18mo appropriate range. Choose wisely, friends.

Fancifully fancy free weekend.

Hugs for thugs

Though certain to impact my popularity, I have no choice but to report on my observation that summer is slowly coming to a close.
The first irrefutable morsel of evidence showing autumn's arrival is the fact we are finally down to our last three zucchinis from the garden after an unsuccessful stab at making zucchini bread yesterday (quick tip for the bread baking challenged, when the recipe calls for a certain amount of zucchini, don't double it, unless, of course, you wish to have a cold, wet, loaf shaped slab of spongy sickly sweet vegetation; then, by all means, you may even triple it if you wish.)
Secondly but no less convincingly, as it seems to go every year around this time, my running routine has been canceled once again by the common conditions cursing those quick on their callouses. My bunion bones have grown bigger than babe the blue ox and my trick achilles tendon is hurting worse than Achilles's tendon.
It's time to kick up my dogs and give them a rest, while I sit down to write another edition of Mr. Steve's Daycare.

I've finally got the cuddly daughter I've always wanted, and no, I didn't trade Amelia in for a more snuggly model. It appears she is finally at a point in her life where her exploring bug can finally be satisfied long enough to want to give hugs to mom, dad, relatives and friends. She actually lays on the couch for minutes at a time with me these days. For some toddlers, a couple minutes wouldn't be a big deal, but for Amelia it is completely unheard of. Simultaneously, I've found that her big brother Elijah is starting to respect her space more and, just generally, her protection rights as a member of this family; though I'm sure the one development has nothing to do with the other.

In addition to her hugginess, Amelia seems to have an exponentially increased love of laughter and almost anything gets her going. Horsey rides, Elijah pursuits, and Zach chauffeurs are among her favorite things but she can even find humor in every day things like our dining room light's dimmer switch.

OK, I admit it. I find dimmer switches pretty cool, too.


Not to be outdone in the giving of affection department, Zach has been taking a lot more time out of his busy walking schedule for a caring embrace as well. Of course, he has always been a chummy little guy but now it seems his hugs are more out of friendliness than out of want for comfort: after he became a full time walker, he now feels like he is no longer in need of such a petty thing as a healing squeeze but still enjoys them from time to time for the sake of nostalgia. Fortunately, as his feet have steadied and the number of falls decreased, the need for healing squeezes has diminished significantly making the transition as smooth as these things may possibly go.

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Over the weekend, Amelia approached me carrying Zach's stuffed animal duck saying, "Zach, Zach." She walked over to the stairs and began climbing. I followed close behind. When she made it to the top of the stairs she ran into mom and dad's room where Zach's pack n' play is normally set up. She looked around utterly distraught at the fact that neither the pack and play nor Zach were anywhere to be seen and started to cry. I explained to her that Zach stays home on the weekends and showed her where she could leave the duck on top of his folded up pack and play for Monday. She set down the duck and sadly walked back out the door.

It's easy to take the presence of others for granted sometimes and forget to do kind things such as bringing them their duck. Don't postpone the gesture. Give them that duck today.

Why you buggin?

Mary,Mary. Did you get anything to grow this crazy dry Ohio summer?

Well, there are no silver bells nor cockle shells, but there are some delicious yellow xitomatls that rank within the top three your humble narrator has ever eaten. Thanks to Jen donating a couple plants for our new (as of this year) garden, I have been able to cook up some family favorites including Mr. Steve's famous five/tenths alarm chili and, more recently, gazpacho. On top of that, there are still a bunch of tiny tomatitos growing for a plentiful harvest to come.

Zach helped me harvest a couple of ripe ones today we can use for lunch tomorrow. Hopefully, I can whip up something he and Amelia will like. They are both seasoned connoisseurs when it comes to tomato recipes who will only compliment the really tasty dishes; a bit like the judges panel on Iron Chef... well, all except for that one celebrity judge actress who thinks everything is "so good".

AT-ST version 2.0

As he looked down at the forest moon of Endor through his screen o vision 3000 from his battleship, the S.S. Decimator, Lieutenant Jim "funny helmet" Burke watched as the Ewoks jumped up and down, dancing the night away to some really horrible showtune-like music. He pondered deep about the only assignment ever given to him directly from commander Vader several days ago to formulate the logistics for defeating several hundred overgrown teddy bears with bad teeth. As soon as Vader had stepped away on that fateful day, Jim jabbed his buddy Ted in the ribs with his elbow and chuckled hysterically. "How easy is my job?", he commented as Ted shook his head in disbelief. Jim then rang his comrade Phil who worked at the armory on Endor telling him to get four AT-ST walkers and fifty storm troopers prepared for this "big" battle he had been charged with.
As we all know, the battle did not play out as Jim had planned. For one, the armor on the AT-ST's was too thin and, hence, easily crushed by two opposing battering rams on strings. Secondly, the AT-ST's were easily thrown off balance by just a few strategic logs rolling down a hillside. These were not the mighty machines he had long believed in.
A tear ran down his face as he personally bore full responsibility for the overthrow of the empire.

For the next couple of months, Jim could not sleep. He tossed and turned all night with visions of little fuzzy creatures shouting "jub-jub" in his face. He could only guess at what type of insult this was, but he was pretty sure the gist of the meaning was "wussy boy". Jim's fury grew.
Having had quite enough of his torment, he came up with a plan to put the empire back on top again, which would start with the defeat of those vile pint sized Wookiees. He set his screen o vision 3000 to peer long into the future, to a galaxy far far away seeking superior walkers of a more advanced technological age. His search ended as he found the distant planet Earth where there lived a sure footed creature named the Zachers. Jim's heart raced as he watched the Zachers negotiate difficult obstacles like the dolly pram of Mr. Steve's Daycare as well as the deep layers of mulch next to the monkey bars of Thompson park just down the street. "This little man is a thousand times more stable than the AT-ST walkers. I must have him." He shouted, his dialated pupils bearing a slight resemblance to Captain Ahab's whenever he spoke in reference to the famed white whale of lore.
Since Jim had several connections in his Facebook network with Klingons from Kronos, he decided to send out a batch IM to see if any one of them could lend him a long range time transporter so that he could acquire his secret weapon. A particularly nasty Klingon named Klackor, who shared the common goal of destroying anything good in the universe, agreed to allow Jim to borrow his. "Make sure you get it back to me by Saturday or my mom will kill me." Klackor warned; he was serious, too. His mom had a hair appointment on Sunday morning and tends to get quite violent in those few hours before church.
"No problem.", replied Jim. He would only need the device for one afternoon anyway.
After receiving the transporter from the UPS guy, he assembled it in the living room of the S.S. Decimator next to his Wii, focused the sights on Zachers, who was in the middle of his first naptime of the day, and pressed the "grab" button. Zachers whipped through space fast asleep completely unaware of what was happening around him, especially due to the fact that he had awoken at five AM that morning and would not let his mom, Jen, go back to sleep. He was truly exhausted.
When he finally arrived on the Decimator, Zachers was beginning to stir at the sound of Jim's uproarious laughter. He looked around a little confused, but, as he is pretty easy going, Zachers gave Jim a little smile as he rose to his feet.
"Zachers, I will now send you to the planet Endor to defeat the Ewoks. Do you hear me? Defeat the Ewoks!!!"
Zachers smiled again and nodded his head.
Jim pounded the controls of the transporter once more to beam Zach down to the forest moon, smack dab in the middle of Ewok territory, and he appeared among them with a tiny little pop. Somewhat startled by the sudden appearance of this superb walking machine, the Ewoks readied themselves with their ineffective little sticks and slingshots. Zachers walked over to a tiny warrior Ewok named Bob, moved his stick out of the way, and gave him a big long hug.
"Drat.", Jim quietly exclaimed and hit the reverse button on the transporter.

The Ewoks then played another ridiculously bad song in celebration.

The Maine Loon

Maine loons are very social creatures even to the extent of prizing close familial bonds over their own safety and well being. No matter how far apart the habitats they each respectively call home, loons always maintain an almost supernatural connection with their extended families. A little known fact about loons is their tendency to congregate at the lakes of their relatives for reunions during warm summer days. It is not uncommon to see large groups of loons swimming together in ponds of the desolate Maine wilderness on sunny Saturdays all the while catching up on old times in their unique way of speaking. In between swims, they feast on the local underwater fare until every last one of them is completely stuffed and cannot eat another bite. When the sun crawls over the mountains of the west giving its grand finale of orange fire sprawled across the evening sky, one can hear the loons late into the night laughing away, each trying to outdo each other with funny stories and amusing anecdotes. When the all together too short visit is over, they lovingly say farewell to their children, cousins, grand-kids, aunts, and uncles and assure them that it will not be such a long while before the next time they meet. As the loons from afar fly back to their homes, they reflect on the great time they had, how special their family is to them, and start planning when the next great get together will be.

Curiously, aquatic birds of an identical namesake exhibit similar behaviors.

Play Date

Elijah had arranged for a play date this morning with his friend Julian to begin at 10:00 AM. On most days the critters under my care can't make it past nine thirty let alone 10 so I figured it might be in all of our best interest to keep the agenda packed to avoid any realizations of fatigue from setting in. After the flurry of diapers changes, bananas, and outfitting we were ready to walk out the door at 8:40. Since Julian only lives fifteen minutes away and we had a little more time to kill, Elijah suggested that we play in the back yard for a bit. Great idea. I set up the water table and got a soccer ball for Amelia. We had a great time until Zach noticed that the morning dew was beginning to soak the soles of his monkey shoes and made him feel a little funky. Plus, Amelia had decided that she was already way ahead of the 16 month old curve in her soccer skills and instead wanted to start climbing the neighbors steps.

OK, check the time. 9:03. That's it? Still not soon enough to jump in the car.

I got out the jogging stroller and asked Elijah if he would like to go for a walk with me to pass some time. Fortunately he said yes, otherwise I would have just forced him to go thereby removing the illusion that he actually had a choice in the matter. The less of those letdowns he experiences the better, especially at this pivotal age where his friends seem so much cooler than his dad.

We walked for a few minutes up the hill when Elijah decided he would rather jog since he is at the threshold of a new soccer season and needs to be in shape in order to beat the seven year olds. Even though I was not dressed in my usual exercise garb, he never has to twist my arm to go running. We were now moving much more quickly and would be back to the house ahead of schedule so I decided we had enough time attempt one of my usual jogging routes which is quite a bit longer than the walking route originally planned. Seven year olds are really good at soccer.

9:30. OK perfect. We are right at the halfway point and will be back home just in time to climb into the car on schedule. We'll just turn to go east on this street here. Hmm, what is that thing next to the road there? Oh my gosh, it is a hawk laying down in the grass . Stop for a second and make sure it's not just stunned; It's pretty big and could be dangerous. No, it's definitely dead.

"What do you think happened to it?" Elijah asked peeking around me at the bird of prey laying on the ground, frozen with its legs in the air.
"I think it was probably hit by a car." I answered.
"I think it was a cat. Maybe Hagbard."
"Well if any cat could do something like that and get away unharmed, it would be Hagbard. He is a mighty hunter."
I'm not proud of that fact, but it is unfortunately true.

I then explained my scenario of how I think it may have happened; with the hawk swooping down in pursuit of the famed neighborhood white squirrel as it dashes across the road in a last ditch effort to evade the hawk's crushing talons. The albino rodent spots an approaching Fed-ex truck closing fast and really turns on the scamper gas to get clear. There is one hair at the very tip of it's fluffy tail which gets caught under the left front tire of the truck and stings slightly as the squirrel yanks his tail free diving deep into the dense holly bush next to the Waterson's front door. Before the Fed-Ex driver can even react to the situation (he is too busy searching for 684 W Pike Ave.) the majestic predator soars within inches of the delicious albino squirrel and is intercepted instead by the steel giant in its mad determination to reach its final destination.

"Oh." Elijah said.

We were almost home by that point. We had slowed down to a walking pace again while we talked about the hawk and other stuff that dads and sons talk about, and it had taken a good chunk more time than anticipated.

It's 9:50. That's fine. So we'll be a few minutes late; not a big deal. Play dates are usually planned liberally in the start time, so really 10 could mean any time in the vicinity. OK we're almost home and...where is Zach's monkey shoe?
"Elijah, have you seen Zach's monkey shoe."
"No."
"Oh, no. I think we lost a monkey shoe."
"Oh, no."
"Alright, let me look under their seats to make sure it's not...no, it's definitely not in the stroller."
"It looks like it's gone for good."
"We have to go back and try to find it."
"But my legs hurt."
"Come on. We have to. It's a monkey shoe."
"OK."

Elijah reluctantly agreed to retrace our steps in search of the monkey shoe. His spirits were a little down, so I pulled the other monkey shoe off Zach's foot and spoke to it, "Monkey shoe, go find your friend!!!" and threw it in the grass. Elijah loved that joke.

We started nearing the half way point on the reverse route. Both of us were starting to lose hope of recovering the monkey shoe, when out of nowhere it appeared in the front yard of a little green cape cod home. Without another word, we snatched up that monkey shoe and turned 180 degrees for the second and last time today. It made me especially happy we had found it before we had to walk by the hawk again. I think we all were.


A good week's end to you all.


Vacation begins for the Family of Mr. Steve today as we prepare to visit the extended family in Maine. Sure to be an exquisite affair. I'll see you the following Sunday and be sure to post some picture

The only downside of our vacation is that we won't be able to see Mr. Zach on his birthday, but I know it will be a fantastic one with his loving family able to share in his happiness. Enjoy, little man, and happy first birthday to you.

Writer writing

For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to be a writer. I was temporarily cured of that affliction for the decade following the acquisition of my writing intensive Philosophy degree from the University of Florida. Fortunately, the shock of elaborating about Plato's Symposium has finally worn off; I've cleared away the spider webs from my typing fingers, and I am at it once more. After all, I don't think there will be a better opportunity to fulfill my dream in this lifetime than I have right now.
I will keep you posted on projects coming to fruition. Thanks to all who have encouraged and maybe even to some who have discouraged.

FSF- I- IV

The pear shaped man continued to chuckle in a way that seemed well beyond his means of control. His hands we're firmly pressed against either side of his belly button and every fifth laugh or so, his hands shifted down to his knees as he held himself from toppling forward.
'This is the laughter of condescension. This man is mocking me.' He thought as he could feel the heat beginning to rise again under his three coats once again. Still, he fully realized the need to be civil. Keeping an emotional levy strong against the blunt force of insulting laughter dropping heavily from the fat man's perch high atop the ladder of privilege was no less than a matter of complete success or failure.
"Listen, I would like to talk about your horse."
"Hahaha. I thought you said she was your horse. Bwahahaha!"
Breathing in ever so deeply to weigh his words and tone, "I believe you've misunderstood me. I'm looking for a broodmare to breed a champion. I'm interested in your horse for that reason."
Still smiling widely but starting to catch his breath, he finally brought his chortle under control.
"What is your name boy?"
"Adolphus"
"I don't mean to be rude, Adolphus, but you must have a very poor knowledge of the horses in this circuit. Helen has tried unsuccessfully six times to birth a colt. Everybody knows about her and doesn't want to waste their time. We have given up on her bloodline. She just will not reproduce."
"I know all about Helen. Her bloodline is immaculate. Her quality is beyond this circuit."
"Thank you. We are very proud of her performance."
"The fact that she cannot breed is the very reason I have sought you out. Berndi Haut, I presume."
Berndi turned his head to face Helmut still standing in the doorway who was now shaking his head to affirm he had also not heard him utter his name in front of the stranger.
When he looked back at Adolphus, his look of merriment had been replaced by one of profound confusion.
"Let me get this straight. You know all about Helen and about me. You are aware of the fact that she cannot breed, so that is the reason for seeking her as a mare stud. Pardon me, but that doesn't exactly fit any standard of logic I'm aware of."
Hulmut let out a small Guffaw from the doorway. As Adolphus glared over at him, he decided it in his best interest to depart. The aluminum door slapped shut behind him.
"Berndi, I am not a rich man."
Berndi smiled smugly, "I would not have guessed that."
Unstirred by the obvious jab at his squalid appearance he continued,"But I must own a racehorse. A winner. It is not even an option for me. My life will be meaningless without realizing this dream."
"But why me, why my horse? There are thousands of winners you could breed from. What makes her so special?"
"I would like to make a proposition for you, Berndi. I have saved 40 thousand Deutsch Marks to buy a horse from you."
Berndi's face lit up again as he burst into laughter. "Son, if she produces a colt, it is likely to be worth 15 times that at least! Why would I give you a colt for such petty pocket change?"
"Because the money is yours regardless of whether the birth is still or live. I give you the money just to have Helen impregnated. You keep it no matter what. It's not like the other six times where you received nothing."
"That would be terribly unethical. No one pays for a dead horse, son. Agreements are made for live births only."
"How long did it take for the horse to miscarry?"
"Two month."
"Easily within the off season for her. 40 thousand for two months is not a bad deal for you any way you cut it. For me, it is my one shot at getting what I want. I will never have this much money to throw at my dream ever again. If your odds are correct, there is almost no chance that the colt will be carryied to term and she would be ready to race in the spring."
"Yes, but ethically? No one would buy another horse from me if they knew I operated in a manner as you propose."
"Absolutely no one would know about this arrangement. You have my word."
"Do you have a stud already in mind?"
Adolphus smiled at Berndi, nodded, and extended his right hand, which Berndi cautiously accepted.

The Picket Line

6:30 came early this morning. Nadine notified me of its arrival as I reluctantly receded from slumber on our living room couch. The reason for being on the couch was not one of a domestic dispute nature as many would hastily assume but rather of a giant mutant lobster who paid a visit to our home over the extended weekend. The nature of this beast is an interesting one if you will indulge me for a brief overview. First, the lobster selects a couple of fun loving hosts and lays one egg in their tummy each. Amazingly, that little egg will grow to a one hundred fifty pound adult in the matter of two hours. Its first act of president under his flawlessly orchestrated coup d'etat, the lobster begins to flap its tail forcing all liquids from the body in every of their respective shortest paths. When it has cleared away everything which may stand in its way, it crawls slowly to all two hundred points of articulation in the body and pinches the joints with its strong claws until they become almost numb with ache. One would hope that at least as a consolation, this beast would become the equivalent of a lobster dinner when its life cycle of three days was complete, but alas, the creature merely degrades directly from a solid organism to methane gas when it curls up in eternal slumber.


But that wasn't even what had awoken Nadine, whose lobster had expired sometime in the night. No, what woke her up was the sound of organized chants emanating from the front yard. I picked up my eye-glasses from the couch cushion next to me and walked to the window. Outside I could see a hundred grandmothers all carrying picket signs which read something to the effect of, 'We're tired of hearing about your computer problems and other non-baby topics. We want to hear about the kids and see some cute pictures'. To quell what could have been a full scale riot, I walked out to my front stoop and announced to the agitated crowd that today I would be sure to give a write up of both Zach and Amelia. Oh, and pictures. Cute pictures.




As you know, Zach has been flirting with the prospect of becoming a featherless biped. Aw, who am I kidding. Zach has already rounded a sloppy third base with that prospect and the coach is waving him home. The transition from a single step to five took a matter of days as Zach is now zombie walking from couch to fireplace to bilibo with little to no reinforcement. Zach's vocabulary is picking up, too. He has become fluent in English assuming that the subject of the conversation can be covered solely by the words "hi" or "yeah", which most conversations can.




Amelia is going through perhaps the most difficult time in a toddler's development or at least the most difficult for those around her. She has discovered the power of physical dominance as a means of dictating her will. Poor Zach and Elijah have had first hand accounts of this dangerous phase she struggles to pull through. As much as humanity would like to ignore the fact that overpowering another can temporarily get the result the assailant seeks, its existence pervades our world to an almost nauseating level at times. What Amelia is finding out, though, is that all physical dominance is eventually dwarfed by a power much greater. Whether that power be love of life, love of family, respect for society, or Mr. Steve, the peaceful way will always prevail.