Land of Candy

I want my money back. You should demand yours, too. That is, until Hasbro admits that the rules and regulations which govern the play of their flagship game, Candyland, are grossly incomplete when it comes to some of the issues which may arise while the game is in play.
It is common knowledge that the average age of a Candyland player is somewhere between two and four years, and a different set of rules needs to stand for this specific demographic.
I have compiled an list of proposed amendments to the rules, which I believe will help to clarify some of the more cryptic aspects of this very complicated game:

1. Contrary to popular belief, there is no actual candy anywhere in the box. The game pieces, cards, and game board should stay out of the mouth.
2. No matter how frustrating it may be, you must never tear up the Plumpy card, even if you draw it after having passed Queen Frostine. This rule applies to grandmothers, too.
3. You must only draw one card and move to the appropriate space according to color. Don't just keep drawing cards and then move your game piece to the end before your daddy even gets a turn.
4. Never place the game pieces between your toes and then flick them toward your little sister.
5. When you finish the game, it is imperative that you assist your father in cleaning up the cards which have miraculously spread themselves helter skelter across the living room floor.
6. Enjoy, my good friends, enjoy.

Lead Singer Wanted

Remember last spring when I told you about my plan to paint the house? Well, that didn't exactly happen on schedule. What I can say, though, is that a considerable amount of prep work was accomplished in the additional year of procrastination thanks to our old pals Mr. Golden Sun and Mrs. Arctic Wind. In fact, the paint of the entire east end of our house peeled away in one giant wall shaped sheet. The layered paint was so thick, I was able to lean it up against the garage and make a twelve foot quarter pipe skateboard ramp out of it. Now all the neighborhood kids have a place to shred without getting hassled by the man.

The thick paint, however useful it may be in creating the next site for the upcoming x-games, does stir up some concerns about the possibility of lead content, and since our home was built in an era when everything, including baby pacifiers, was made from lead, the possibility easily enters the realm of probability. Rats.

Having never scraped and sanded a house before, much less, one coated in a neurotoxin, I am feeling a little bit anxious about working the task with a two year old around. I want, more than anything, for someone to tell me I am being ridiculous about this and that lead paint is not nearly as bad as California seems to think it is.

 

A Breif History of Time Signatures

Do you like music?
Yes? Well that's about to change as soon as I tell you that music is responsible for my lack of writing in the past few months. Welcome, newly converted music haters.
For my birthday, in February, I was given the most wonderful present from my loving parents and wife; Apple Logic music production software. However, with every blessing there is a hidden downside. In my case, the down side is that I find it difficult to allocate time to both music production and writing while in the same sitting. When confronted with the decision between the two, unfortunately, as of late, Apple Logic has remained victorious in the battle for my attention. Which will win over the long term remains to be seen. Perhaps both will remain in equal parity to allow me to become the first to achieve greatness in both hemispheres...well, other than Jim Carroll, of course, if you're into that sort of thing.

Being a philosopher, I am forced (literally) to ponder the significance of music and other art forms, which seemingly have no practical application in the endeavor of humankind survival. In ancient times, music production software would serve only to scare away the woolly mammoths which may have otherwise served as a month worth of meals for the tribe. Canvas paintings would only slow one down in migration from one camp site to another in a quest for the most fertile land. Sculptures would just be a waste of resources which could serve as something useful such as flatware. Not to mention the time it takes to create art, which could have been better spent gathering berries and nuts. It just doesn't make good business sense on paper.
It is important for the artist to remember, though, that art is not the end product of their labors. When you strip these things down to their fundamental construction, the Mona Lisa is nothing but color on a canvas, Beethoven's ninth is but vibrations compressing the air, Michelangelo's David is just intricately carved marble...OK, I admit, that may something in and of itself. However, the true essence of art is not the physical creation, but actually the inspiration it invokes in the beholder. And in the grand scheme, it is something that doesn't just last one generation and fizzle in to obscurity and uselessness. These art symbols are responsible for countless generations of creativity. Whether it be Weiniawski's Violin Concerto No.1 inspiring Stephen Hawking's black hole theories, Wagner inspiring Ludwig II to built the Schloss Neuschwanstein, or Kansas's Carry on My Wayward Son inspiring countless carpenters and roofers not to cut corners, the true value of these compositions can be measured not in what they are, but by what they inspire in others.




Oh yeah, while I was gone, the family de Sr. Steve went to Florida for Elijah's b-day. In six days, we were able to go to Orlando, New Smyrna Beach, Gainesville, Tampa, Epcot, Hollywood Studios, 2 beaches, 2 sets of Great grandparents, grandparents, aunts uncles, and parents of both mine and Nadine's, eat at our favorite sushi restaurant, visit the best man of my wedding, see the new addition to his family, buy Elijah some sunglasses and a new pair of jeans for me.
We could have easily spent two weeks there and still felt a little rushed by our ambitious agenda. All in all it was a great trip and if we didn't get to see you this past visit, I promise we'll see you the next time.

Sharp, 'eh?

Experts tell me that in order to maintain blog readership, I must post new entries on a regular basis, otherwise, people will lose interest and just go back to watching videos of dogs doing handstands. That considered, mine is most likely to receive some type of "worst blog ever" award this year as a result of my lack of contribution to my faithful reading public. My blog has become the proverbial tree falling in the forest with no one around to hear. crash...

It has been a rough couple of days for those of us in the house standing below the three foot height threshold. Niko and Amelia have shared in a little misery between the two of them in two completely unrelated incidents.
Yesterday afternoon was another beautiful one in Ohio, leaving all but the memory of bitter winter behind in a cloud of warm polleny bliss. Since it was such a gorgeous day, I decided I would let Niko hang out on the back porch to catch some rays. He loves to bask in the sun sprawled with his tongue hanging asunder, stirring occasionally only to lap from his giant metal water bowl.
For some reason, though, yesterday he seemed to be fairly restless as he paced the porch and scratched at the gate.
Deciding that he had had quite enough of it, I let him inside and he ran straight to bed.
A few hours went by and it occurred to me that he had not asked to go out in a while, so I decided to wake him up. When I found him, I made a most startling discovery.

Everyone likes spring, am I right? I mean, whats not to love? You got your warm air, your sunshine, beautiful flowers, fresh foliage on the branches, baby ducklings waddling across grassy fields behind mama duck, itty bitty squirrels popping their heads out of dens for the first time, butterflies flitting, birds twittering, and the world in perfect harmony with its dwellers.
Oh yeah, and wasps. A whole bunch of angry, unreasonable, and spiteful wasps.
Evidently, Niko, being the fun loving soul he is, wanted to make friends with a colony of these flying little wolverines setting up shop under our deck rail. They politely declined his offer in the form of a dozen plus stings around his eyes, mouth, and shoulders. No wonder he was in such a rush to get back inside.

By the time I found him, his eyes were swollen almost shut. His mouth was puffy and looked as though it had been stuffed with pom-poms. Poor guy didn't want to go anywhere after that unless I was right next to him.

Fortunately, though, he is looking a lot less like the shar pei of yesterday and more of his boxer collie self today.

---------

Remember how I told you about Amelia's gymnastics class and the parachute being her absolute favorite thing to do in the world? Well, not much has changed in that department. In fact, it is my opinion that her love of the parachute has actually grown to an almost alarming level.

Most of today's gymnastics class went by unremarkably. Amelia did her usual round of walking across the balance beam, then over to the uneven bars where she hangs and giggles for thirty seconds and then drops to the mat in a full on guffaw.
Everything went fine until the teacher broke out the parachute.
The parents lined up around the edge, heaved the parachute in the air and all the kids ran underneath screaching and waving their arms as if the parachute were Godzilla about to bear down on them. As the parachute drooped Amelia came sprinting out so as to not get trapped underneath, but instead of stopping where I was, she excitedly ran right by me.
I assume it was because she was far too distracted about recently being under a giant sheet of colorful nylon that she didn't notice that her feet had reached the end of the mat. She tumbled off the soft edge and onto the hard linoleum floor. Her screams of joy suddenly gave way to something substantially less joyful.

I quickly got her nose and lip cleaned up in the bathroom and applied direct pressure where applicable. Being the brave one of our family, Amelia stopped crying after a few short minutes but the damage had been done. Her lip was now swollen and looked as though several pom-poms had been stuffed underneath.

Despite her sudden and accidental resemblance to Niko, Amelia is doing just fine. She was back to her laughing self in less than an hour.

Happy first day of spring

It is a little known fact that the word "Spring" is actually short for "springkler".

Twisted Fairy Tale Retelling- 1st grade writing assignment

Big Bad Riding Hood

by Elijah 

LIttle Red Riding Wolf's mom sent Little Red to Grandma's house to bring her a basket of meat. She was sick.

Little Red went into the woods. After she was in the thick part of the woods, Little Red met a woman. 

The woman asked, "Where are you going?"

"To my grandma's house," she replied. 

"Where does she live?" the woman asked.

"Near the bridge," she replied.

Hmmm...the woman thought. I'm kind of hungry, she thought. Then, the woman saw some flowers.

"Surely your Grandma would like some of those flowers," she said.

"Yes," said Little Red.

While Little Red picked Flowers, the woman ran to Grandma's house.

Little Red got back on the path.

Then the woman saw Grandma's house. She ran towards it, and then knocked. A weak voice called out "Who is it?"

Yes, it's the right house, thought the woman.

"It is Little Red Riding Wolf," the woman replied.

"Come in," the Grandma called.

Then the woman ran in and ate the Grandma all up. She jumped into Grandma's clothes and into her bed.

Not long after that, Little Red came. She was surprised to see that the door was open. Then she knocked.

"Who is it?" the woman called in he weakest voice.

"Little Red Riding Wolf," said Little Red.

"Come in," the woman said. 

Little Red went in. Little Red did not recognize her Grandma.

"Grandma, what small eyes you have."

"The cold."

"Grandma, what small ears you have."

"The cold."

Grandma, what small teeth you have."

"To eat you with!"

And she ate her all up.

She was tired.  She went to bed.  A wolf came and heard the weird snoring and he went in. It was a shocking sight! It wasn't Grandma! In fact, it wasn't a wolf! A woman was in Grandma's place!

The wolf bit her open! Out jumped Little Red and Grandma! Little Red gave Grandma the basket. They ate and lived happily ever after.

Not a Song

"We are the music makers and we are the dreamers of dreams."

                                         - Arthur O'Shaughnessy

While working on music yesterday I was reminded of a very important lesson learned several times in the past; a lesson I have progressively failed to follow through with in its continued adherence, regardless of the heartache each incidence has caused. That lesson being: always back up your work and back it up often. 

I was in the process of adding several new instrument tracks to a composition I'm working on and, lo and behold, the precious life blood required of my dear friend, Mac, ceased to flow due to a power outage in the northeastern grid. 

My mind raced to remember when I last saved the progress. I couldn't remember doing it since I first opened my DAW and, therefore, could only assume it was the worst case scenario: absolutely everything I had been working all morning and afternoon was wiped clean. ***hits "save now" on blog***

I was, to put it lightly, a bit crestfallen by the day's course of events. I couldn't help but to think of all the work invested and how it all came to naught because of one careless oversight. Thoughts about how the arrangement would never be exactly like it was ever again no matter how I much time was poured into it were taking over. The happiness I was feeling only moments before in the satisfaction of a job well done, was now replaced with the sinking dread of lost creation. Things seemed hopeless.

Trying not to dwell on the loss, I began the laborious process of piecing together every drum, cymbal and melody, in my mind with the hopes that some of the more meaningful elements could be recovered. 

When the power returned, my fears were confirmed. Nothing was saved to file. It was as if the half day of work never existed. As I sat down to start rebuilding, it occurred to me, perhaps I was looking at this the wrong way. Maybe I should look at it as an opportunity to reinvent the song and make it even better than it was. After all, I was the one who wrote it in the first place, shouldn't that be sufficient to prove to myself that I have the ability to create a piece of music that I am happy with? Or at least happy enough to get a little bummed when the power goes out? 

So from my first lesson , I was able to derive another, and perhaps, even more valuable lesson: 

Abilities outweigh prior accomplishments.

Keep moving forward, people. Success is within us.

***save now***

Happy birthday, mi Amelia. March 31st.

The Cookie Paradox

"Quick! Walk around to the other side."

"Why, Nadine? What's wrong? What is it?"

"Just move. Quick."

"Is it because of those girl scouts over there?"

"Yes, it's because of the girl scouts. They're everywhere, I tell you. Can't we just go to the mall in peace?"

"Oh, I see. You don't want to be tempted to buy their cookies?"

"I've already bought two boxes and I don't need to buy any more. You know, they should really start selling carrots: it would be much healthier and a better influence on these young ladies."

"But the reason it is such a great fund raiser is due to the fact that they are selling cookies, ridiculously good cookies at that. I mean, seriously, Elijah and I just had a Samoa eating contest before we left the house. I was able to down an entire box. Elijah didn't stand a chance."

"And that's exactly my point, Steve. You don't need to be eating a whole box of anything, much less a high calorie box of cookies."

"But they're delicious. Tell me honestly, do you think they would do even half the sales if the products were vegetables instead of sweets?"

"I would buy some. You would buy some: I would make you buy some."

"I would miss the cookies, though."

"Yeah, I probably would too. Well, how about selling both?"

"You've got a deal.

"Now, lets go buy a Dora the Explorer talking Boots doll which can switch from loud to super-loud with just a click of a button."

"OK."

Worth the Wait?

One of the more difficult pills to swallow in the transition to stay-at-home-hood from bread winner is shifting the focus of your monetary worth to something considerably more abstract. Admittedly this is something I struggle with to this day, especially since, after Zach left, I am no longer a financial contributer to our family. Even though my salary as a home day care provider was less than one-sixth of my previous wages, I still retained the feeling of pouring something into the pot from my end rather than just syphoning it out. In these troubled times, being a spending non-earner feels, to put it bluntly, akin to the way a deer tick might feel were it to possess a conscience.

So, how then, you ask, do I justify sitting at home on my tokhes, doing only the things I love to do? Well, that's just it; I love to spend time with Amelia and there is no price tag you can put on that. You can't pay someone to love hanging out with your kids the same way that you can't buy your way into love. Now, don't get me wrong, there are wonderful day care providers out there who care deeply about the well being of all their students and give everything they can to provide all the necessary means for healthy child development, but there is truly no substitute for the bond a parent feels with their own child.

Alright, now that I've made all the working parents out there feel like crap (not intentionally, of course), I will attempt to make it up to you by offering my exciting conclusion of free style friday:

http://stevedaycare.blogspot.com/2008/08/fsf-i-iv.html (for those of you who have just tuned in)

The year following the insemination of Helen September was the most difficult ever endured by Adolphus: far more than the years he spent conjuring the idea of a horse he could one day give a name to. Nary a moment went by he was not under extreme duress pondering the possible and quite literal miscarriage of his dream. In that single year he had lost almost 27 kilograms from his already gaunt frame, giving the appearance of something undead, and were it not for Berndi forcing the occasional schnitzel on him, he may have very well become the opposite.

To remain close to his investment, Berndi allowed temporary lease of the small loft apartment above his garage. Adolphus would have just as gladly lived in the barn with Helen, sleeping on and eating from a mere pile of hay, just to be near when his foal arrived.

All day he would gaze at the beautiful mare the same way a child would contemplate the wonders of what lie within a large gift beneath a Christmas tree. As she would lazily graze the meadows of Helmut's 600 hectare ranch just outside Düsseldorf, Adolphus watched fondly, perpetually as her guardian, and, indeed, her best friend. Miraculously, the mare who could bear nothing of all prior pregnancies, carried her foal to full term without even the slightest hint of complication.

The night her labor began, Adolphus was convinced his heart would spontaneously cease to beat. The idea of giving birth was one so foreign and beyond his control, he could have waged war on the concept were it some type of physical entity. A scream welled just under the surface of the face held calm only by sheer will in an attempt to contribute serenity to the agitated mother obviously in a great deal of pain. After what seemed to be days of solitary anguish, the veterinarian arrived and reassured Adolphus that the delivery was progressing exactly how mother nature intended.

'Mother nature?', he thought. 'My mother never understood this dream of mine, could the mother of nature possibly be more understanding?' He hoped and, being a man of fair weather faith, prayed.

A bolt of lightning cut the dead calm of the night standing the hairs of all creatures for miles on end. Whether there had been any stormy weather previous to that burst of intense white, Adolphus could not have guessed. The thunder which followed, though, was the only sound he heard apart from the braying of Helen as she grew weary with fatigue. Then he saw it; the first gorgeous hoof of the beast that would soon be his.

"He is coming!", He shouted with infectious glee radiating from his face like ripples in a still pond at sunrise. "His hoof. Ah, both of them. Yes, there they are. His leg. Oh, look Berndi, there are his legs!"

Berndi placed his hand on the young man's shoulder. The thought of how much money he could be making eased slowly from his mind, now giving way to the obvious joy brought to this boy who had so very little.

Adolphus turned and put his twig-like arm around Berndi's rotund middle and began hopping up and down. "I can't wait to see his face."

Sooner than he expected, he got his wish. The horses snout appeared resting on its front legs, as if exhausted from the difficult journey both he and his master had just faced.

"OK, doctor, go in and get him!" He implored the veterinarian, who was standing at the other side of the stall observing the proceedings.

"I can't, Adolphus. It is up to her. She is a strong horse. It won't be long, I'm sure." But the vet was not sure. Had he been sure, it would not have taken the ten additional hours from when they first caught glimpse of the head. Adolphus must have asked the vet seventy times, to which every inquiry he replied, "Every horse is different, son. Some deliveries take longer than others. There is nothing to worry about."

Finally, and close to fainting with exhaustion, Adolphus met his horse in its entirety. The foal dropped into the straw and lay motionless like the wet sock of a giant.

"Get up. Please, get up.", he pleaded with the newborn, hands clenched tightly at his chest. "Please. This means everything to me."

The mare stood then turned to face her offspring. Her long tongue extended and began to polish its soaken black mane. Almost imperceptibly, the foal stirred and lifted its tiny snout to greet its mother.

As it righted itself to a kneeling position in the straw, Adolphus heaved a sigh of relief in finally receiving the fulfillment of a dream seventeen long years in the making. As tears streamed down his drawn but lively face, he whispered over and over, "My champion. My champion."

The three men stood in awe of the spectacle of birth, sure they had witnessed a miracle within a miracle, and watched as Helen bonded with her newborn. After cleansing his shiny coat, she nuzzled and nudged its hind quarters urging him to stand upon this earth on which she, herself, could so majestically trot.

Slowly and awkwardly he placed his wobbly legs before him and pulled himself to a stance. It was then the men realized that the legs beneath this animal were half the length, at most, of any other foal they had ever laid eyes upon.

The vet gasped and his jaw hung open like basking crocodile. Berndi turned to Adolphus with his hands in the air and shoulder locked in a tight shrug.

"Oh, my." Berndi stammered. "A-Adolphus. I- I am so sorry."

To which Adolphus smilingly replied, "He's perfect."

Caution: Splash Zone

They say age is a necessity of wisdom but the opposite is not necessarily so.

My thirty-fifth birthday passed in recent history theoretically qualifying me for some totally kick butt knowledge of this mysterious world we occasionally dance upon. I'm just sitting here waiting for it to beam into my head like the automatic downloads of software updates my Macintosh computer requests on a bi-daily basis. So, yeah...anytime now. No? Well, I guess I'm going to have to earn it like everything else in the equitable stasis of human existence. Darn it, too. I was really hoping for a free handout, what with my birthday and all. Well, in the meantime, In the place of something incredibly deep and insightful, you will get this instead. Enjoy.

I'm not sure how many times you can read the same 12 page/12 word book in a row before your head bursts like a Gallagher watermelon, but I may be nearing the qualifying mark. Amelia's favorite (octo-daily) book these days is Duck and Goose's Book of Opposites, mainly because she likes to point out that the goose on page 5 is "sad" whilst herself making a frowny face and speaking with exaggeratedly empathetic overtones. The funny thing is though, even if I knew I had only one more reading in me before the folks in the front row would need raincoats and a tarp, I would still agree to read it five times beyond that. Yeah, it's really that cute.

Elijah has become quite the reading machine, too, and has completed almost all 40 thousand books of the Magic Tree House series. I can't tell you how much joy it brings to me to see him so involved in expanding his mind and doing it with reading material of a more practical application than that of pocket monsters waging in endless/pointless battle. It seems authors in our day and age have become quite clever in disguising education as entertainment to the pleasure of both parent and child. I mean, here is Elijah, voluntarily reading about world history without me having to do a single leg take-down with a half nelson in order to encourage the action. Thanks, Mary Pope Osborne: Let me buy you a watermelon.

Not Guilty

I hear the buzz.

It gets louder and becomes more difficult to ignore. As the buzz grows to an almost deafening level, I begin to pick up on the gist of the message, which is, "Just because you don't watch Zach anymore doesn't mean you can stop blogging. There are people who still read this thing who want to hear about Amelia and Elijah stuff, too, you know?"

I reply, "But I'm tired and I have a lot of chores to do" even though I'd rather get a hair cut with a weed wacker than to jump into some of the tasks on my to-do list today.

"Fine, Steve. Let your blog rot and wither away while all of us sit around wondering how Amelia's potty training is going and stuff."

"OK, you got me." I throw up my hands in mocking surrender with a smile, "But I won't like it."

Guilt is a powerful tool completely undeserving of it's bad reputation. I would venture to say, about half of the things which need doing in the world would not get done without the motivation of guilt. Whether it be recycling, weight loss, or piano recitals, we would be so much worse off without the noble acts guilt brings, as unpleasant as it may be sometimes. Just chalk it up as another victory for the hen-peckers. Please, eyebrows up, people.

With Zach at his new school these days, (I hear he's doing wonderfully apart from a little trouble napping in the new environment. Hey, let's see you take a nap with ten toddlers in the same room!!) we have a bit of a power vacuum to be filled, so naturally I have taken on the role of Zach in our household; to some difficulty. I'm still getting used to the position as it is a lot more responsibility than I had realized. For example, I had no idea how important it is for children's social development to desire the same toy at the same time. To me, all of the toys look exactly the same, so you can imagine how challenging it is for me to find exactly the right toy to make Amelia insanely jealous and hysterical. Zach was an expert at finding this toy, and evidently, much of Amelia's happiness depended on his doing so. With the way that I just try to hand any old toy to her, she may as well not even have any. They are cheapened beyond recovery by my total lack of taste and callous acts of kindness, so she tosses the toy back into the bin as if to say, "dad, if you don't mind, I'll handle this on my own.".
Zach, if you're reading this, could you e-mail what you think her favorite toy is? I promise I will just walk around the room with it of top of my head teasing her with it. What ever you can do, bud-zo, I'd appreciate.

Amelia has enrolled in a toddler tumbling class down at the rec-center, which she gets incredibly excited about. Her favorite part of the class is at the very end when the teacher breaks out a huge, brightly colored parachute for the parents to lift high in the air while the kids run and scream like crazy monkeys underneath. Eventually, the parachute droops down on their heads as they sprint to the sides, each generating a static charge powerful enough to drop a horse. I think if she were given the opportunity, Amelia might sell off our house and live under a parachute.

Elijah is keeping in shape through these winter months with a wrestling class where he is being taught the proper way to assault and pin kids his own size. The way I figure it, I would rather Elijah be taught the proper wrestling techniques from a professional instructor rather than from the Power Ranger's academy of theatrical planetary defense. Maybe that's just the underwriter in me talking.
On a side note, I'm sure Elijah would want me to notify you that he won his first wrestling match last night with a single leg take-down and a half nelson pin. Be afraid. I know I am.


Lastly, and because I asked for it, Amelia's potty training is going great, measured, of course, by the successes only.

Will it stop?

Amelia and I walked down the stairs this morning with her usual load of fifteen stuffed animals and her essential blanket to get some breakfast while seeing Elijah off to school. It was a morning like any other morning of the week except for one small detail. Zach was not in his high chair eating his waffle, banana and yogurt breakfast greeting Amelia as she sat in her booster seat.

"Where's Zach?" She asked motioning toward the empty station.

"He's at orientation for his new school." I replied.

As I stirred some oatmeal into some yogurt for Amelia something occurred to me; just how quiet it was then, and would be from now on. Now by no means am I saying that Zach is a loudmouth, because I think decibel for decibel, Amelia might by able to beat him in a screaming contest by three, but rather that they engage in perpetual conversation with one another in their own language during the times I am preparing breakfast or lunch. It's very amusing to listen to both of them giving instructions to each other on how to conduct themselves in a manner consistent with the day to day lessons given by their respective parents, all the while without using any actual words. As a family, we were able to enjoy this exchange every morning for the last year.

It makes me sad to think that we will be losing their daily banter after today. While, sure, I chat with both of them individually all the time I can never seem to get that free flowing, experimental ramble they evoke from each other. Honestly, I think their words sound more fun than talking about shapes, colors and the letter "A", anyway, so from here on out, I will be speaking only Zach and Amelia's language, aka Zamelish, so as to lesson the impact of Zach's departure on Amelia. Enjoy.

Baabaabaabaa. B'danke bwowket.. Ish..ish..foood. nah, nah, nah. ogut. toklat. mamee wock. I'shah buh pop. Bap pap, dacket, itten. Poppy, elmo, poppy, neh'ee, b'danket. Nigh nigh.

That's right. Nigh, nigh, everybody.

So long

When you go through "contacts" listing of your cell phone, do you sometimes see names you would love to call and just say, "hi" to, but it has  been too long since you have spoken and you're not really sure if you still have anything in common with them anymore? Do you feel like a call out of the blue would be too awkward to bear and you might just end up trying to force small talk about the weather or news? Well, if you are anything like me, I enjoy hearing from long lost friends even just to tell me they are OK; or even if they want to tell me they're not OK, I am all ears either way. 

At least I hope you're like me, because today I am that long lost friend calling out of the blue after a multiple week hiatus from the blogosphere.

So how is the weather where you are?

Yeah? Here, too. 

Wow, so how about that Obama, eh? Yeah, tell me about it!

OK, then. Great talking to you. 

Go Gators!

Bye, now.  

Oh, you're still here? Good. Because this week is a momentous week in history and you should dedicate the next minute or so to reading so you can find out why. 

This approaching Friday will see my prize pupil graduate to begin attending an institute of higher learning (which happens to be much closer to his home). Yes, Zach will be moving to his new daycare at weeks end to sorrowful goodbyes on the parts of myself and his best bud, Amelia. 

It's amazing to think back to when he first arrived at my doorstep wrapped in a blanket, laying in a bread basket with a note attached reading, "I like mac and cheese"... no, just kidding, his parents have way more social grace than that. It was a Longaberger.

Those were fun times indeed, with Fred, Zach and Amelia, the spunky three, keeping me on my toes all day long. While it was three times the fun at play time, it was also a bit tricky to manage on occasion, what with me having only two hands and all. Parents of triplets, my hat is off to you. 

After Fred left, though, it was just Amelia and Zach, who have become very close. It's a funny kind of relationship in which I believe Amelia thinks of Zach as her son and Zach thinks of Amelia as some type of ogre. Granted she is a super cute ogre who is fun to play with, but an ogre nonetheless. And it is of no fault of her own, as it is only because she is a bit taller than he. The height difference can be a little intimidating sometimes when you're the little guy on the playground, though. Fortunately, for Zach, he has always had an even taller friend than the tallest kid in school who also happened to be a peaceful mediator and could resolve any territorial disputes with book time, crayon art, or snacks. 

All in all, despite any disagreements they have over who gets the "rootin' tootin' pig racer mobile" they have interacted wonderfully with each other and are both happier as a result of having their everyday play-date in a type of kinship only siblings can share. 

Zach, we will miss you buddy. And remember this advice for the future, never feel like you can't call just because it's been a long time. I will always love to hear from you.

Don't be testy

Under the dictionary definition of "male", our dog, Niko, no longer qualifies, therefore we are considering adding an "le" to the end of his name. On the brighter side, there are only seven days remaining in his forced victimization to Queen Elizabeth's fashion advice: Yikes, girl...what on earth were you thinking?!!

Please, folks, try to remember while looking at this picture, pity is a weak emotion and will serve only to make your quest in becoming pack leader a more difficult one. 

The Absence of Krampus

Santa was good to us this year, as he is often expected to be, (despite a few white transgressions I've personally beheld in the household) delivering just about everything we had hoped for. A large part of the everything was being able to spend Christmas with the people we love, making it a true success to be recorded in the annals of historic celebrations. The only present we couldn't have was the presence of a few loved ones living afar, but fortunately, via web cam or, at least, Christmas spirit, we could be with everyone else...you know who you are!

..and a happy New Year.

Our kids, who are still very much kids, still see Christmas mostly as "the day to get presents", which makes sense, since one's true appreciation of together time kicks into high gear only in adulthood, usually right around the time when the family tree of origin becomes too large for the flower pot in which it was planted. Even still, under the materialistic pretenses of toy wishing, it was enjoyed thoroughly; maybe even three quarters to the extent of Santa's jolly; and that's an awful lot.

Among Amelia's favorites were a kitchen set, which includes an oven, cookware and knives that can cut through toy bread like a lightsaber through warm krylonium: and, her other favorite, a Dora the Explorer rocking horse, which looks to be more fun than most of the playground equipment I remember riding on as a kid : I know what you're thinking, but the weight limit only goes up to 45 pounds, so you might be just a tad too big. Sorry.

Elijah has been darting all around the house with his new spy-gear equipment in his quest to become the next James Bond...by the way, he likes his chocolate milk shaken , not stirred. Most of his lego sets have taken on more of the form of Star Wars vehicles and less of giant plastic puddles of pointed pokey pieces, to Elijah's (and Dad's) delight; though Elijah admitted to me that he enjoys the part of putting them together best. Such is life. All fun rides come to an end, but I suppose you just have to get back in line and wait for the next one to start.

Speaking of fun rides, Zach, too, has been enjoying the spoils of Amelia's high tech Dora hobby horse. Zach rides that pinto as if it were lightning streaking across the western planes in search of the promised land of gold and tasty snacks. Just this morning, I could have sworn I heard him hollering yee-haw. Yep, it's that fun...but remember folks, before you start making travel arrangements to come over to our house, there's a 45 pound weight limit.

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A man and his seven year old son were laying on the couch on Christmas day among mounds of wrapping paper and carelessly torn open boxes.

"Did you have a good Christmas, son?"

"Yeah, it was pretty good."

"Just pretty good?" Dad inquired.

"Well, it's just that," the son began whispering, "last night after I went to bed, I thought I heard a noise in the living room and tiptoed down stairs to see if Santa was here."

"So, what did you find when you got there?" asked Dad

"It wasn't Santa."

"No? Who was it"

"It was you, Dad. You were standing next to the fireplace, and you were eating the cookies off the mantel that I had left for Santa."

"Oh, I see." The man paused, unsure how to proceed.

After a long hesitation, the son whispered pensively, "I've been thinking a lot about what I saw last night, and I think I might have figured something out."

"Really? What did you figure out, son?" His dad, at full attention, perked up in his seat eager to hear his son's revelation.

"Well", he said, "We probably could have gotten a lot more presents if you weren't such a jerk."