Check-In

It's starting to get cold out. I really noticed it yesterday while we were out taking a family run. We bundled the boys into their coats, made sure they had warm socks and shoes on, loaded them into the stroller, and started out on one of the variations of our southern-direction jogging route. I made the switch to long pants and a jacket a few weeks ago, but I think we've almost reached the point where I'm going to need a hat and gloves. Whenever we'd run in the shade I could feel the cold stinging on my hands. More importantly, we're nearing the point where I don't think we can load the boys into the stroller and force them to sit without moving for a half-hour, no matter how warmly we bundle them up and blanket them.

This is too bad, because they both really like going for runs. It functions as a reset for both of them, and if they've been cranking or whining (or if George has been whining on their behalf) they usually are in a better frame of mind after a little fresh air and a tour of the neighborhood dogs, stop signs, and Halloween decorations.

J was smart and actually wore a hat yesterday. She has a very fashionable new running beanie as part of our ongoing program of "we'll periodically spend a little money on fun running clothes to keep us regularly exercising because that's cheaper than spending a bunch of money on diabetes medication or triple-bypass surgery." As I was complaining about the cold at two miles in, she was probably still nice and toasty. It was at two miles in that we discovered Owen had kicked one of his shoes off.

This is a favorite game of his, although usually just with socks. I'll get him out of bed in the morning, and he'll be all smiles (as he usually is) as he wraps his arms around my neck, lays his head on my shoulder, and makes pleased noises. Then, as I put him down on his changing table, he rips a sock off one of his feet, waits until I notice, and then laughs uproariously. He's perfectly content to go around the rest of the day one-socked too. This is a sharp contrast from his brother, with whom we have deployed as a sort of nuclear-option disciplinary measure, the threat of taking off his socks and refusing to put them back on until he finishes his dinner, cleans up his mess, etc.

Anyhow, I got to do the majority of our running route twice yesterday, retracing our steps through the side-streets of the Laurelton neighborhood, looking for a size 4 green baby shoe lying somewhere in the road or on the sidewalk. If found it back on Hurstbourne Street, and then brought it back to smiling offender.

Owen's been having a rather rough patch, actually, if he's capable of such things. He has a mouth full of teeth coming in, and I think he still hasn't recovered from the trauma of J's absence during her Charlotte trip. He wants to be held a lot, and he hasn't been sleeping well. He knows he's close to walking but only tires himself (and everyone else out) by his continual efforts to fall down from chairs and sofas and to have his hands held, and he's putting all sorts of inappropriate objects (mostly things he finds in the bathroom when one of us leaves the door open) into his mouth. He rips books, he pulls plants down on his head, he falls down the basement steps, he attempts to stand up in the bathtub, and recently he dramatically stops in the midst of his tears, tilts his head back, and extends both arms straight in the direction of whichever adult is nearest with an expression of wounded desperation. Despite all this, he's still pretty smiley most of the time, and he makes you feel good about yourself not matter who you are or what you're doing. This goes for clerks at Wegmans just as much as his parents and brother.

James has had a pleasant few weeks, as far as we can tell. He only ever does one song and one obsession at a time, and he does them absolutely with all his focus and all his heart. The song is currently "Our God is Greater" (maybe not the actual title?) and he ranges from either humming it under his breath (while going potty, sitting at the dinner table, etc) to singing it in George's voice (while he's supposed to be napping, while Owen is supposed to be napping) to begging and pleading for it tearfully in the car if anyone should dare turn on another song, to shouting it at the top of his lungs in the stroller as we run through the neighborhood. His current professional ambition is to be a plumber. I support him in this decision 100%, and think he should start it on his training right away. He saw an episode of Curious George where George clogged up some pipes by putting toys down the tub drain (I've warned him REPEATEDLY that this is not something that we're going to copy) and then a plumber named Mr. Auger shows up. James really likes Mr. Auger. He carries around a toy wrench and screwdriver (and George and Steven, of course) with him wherever he goes now, and he routinely asks to go down in the basement or to get into the bathroom cabinet so he can "work on the pipes." He also, for reasons unknown to me, has been carrying around a comb. Yesterday he came up to me without saying anything, combed my hair for a few seconds, combed Owen's hair, ran it once through his own (the wrong way) then went back without any explanation to working on the pipes again.

Most delightfully, James has started to figure out reading on his own. He's still happy to have books read to him, but he is increasingly comfortable curling up in a chair on his own with a big stack of books and George. He'll either whisper the books to George, or just thumb through on his own and look at the pictures. (I don't THINK he's reading any words yet, but he does show some signs of recognizing what's going on.) He makes "nests" out of blankets, and is content to be on his own for 45 minutes...an hour...all afternoon. I'd love to curl up next to him some evening and just read side-by-side for as long as he'll let me. (Usually Owen prohibits this.) But I couldn't be more proud.

I've been worried, as I think about them, about my brothers. The biggest difference between this year and all the years previous, in our house, has been the relaxed work week for me. I'm in a fairly busy patch now, but not trying to do Hochstein or Houghton or Lima on top of all the trumpet playing has meant that I actually SEE the boys every day. Every week there are at least a couple days when I'm home all day, and I see way more of J in the evenings. There's no doubt about it--everyone is happier and healthier. We always made it work, and we could make a busier schedule work again if we needed to. But I'm no longer staying up past midnight trying to send emails about rearranged lessons or finding substitutes. I'm no longer rushing down to Lima to teach a half day before rushing off to a rehearsal, and then cramming make up lessons into the evening. I feel like, at age 30, I may have finished paying some of my "dues."

But none of my brothers are done paying theirs. Lux is student teaching, which is the ultimate paying of dues. (All of the work, none of the salary.) He and Melissa are trying to get a wedding planned. It sounds like he's constantly sick. Calvus and Beka have a new baby (and an old baby) at home, and are potentially rearranging their working lives again. Pax is a new homeowner, working full time, and doing grad school homework when he should be going to bed. M is in the glorious but exhausting rush of the undergraduate years, and must spend every minute of her time reading. I've hardly seen Sam in the past months, and I don't think Mom and Dad are exactly lounging about either.

So that's why my wish for this Halloween, if I could make just one wish, is that the Great Pumpkin would bring an extra hour of sleep to all the young parents, would shorten the commutes of all those driving about the state, would strengthen the coffee, flavor the leftovers, comfort the sore feet, and extend Sunday evening of everyone in my family.

Owen is getting big enough to say prayers at night, and it's good to say once more per evening:
Tonight we pray for Mommy and Daddy, and James and Owen. We pray for Nama and Papa, for Sam, Kaitlyn, Kristen, Hayden, Liam, and baby Korina. We pray for Uncle Oliver and Aunt Kylie, and for Abby. We pray for Uncle Calvin and Aunt Beka, and Silas and baby Roland. And we pray for Uncle Lucas, and for Aunt Melissa, and for Aunt Martha. We pray for Grandma Davis, and for Grandpa Davis, and for Uncle Dan and Aunt Emmy, and for Uncle Tim.

James' Conscience

I.
"Mommy's home!"
"Yayyy!!!!"
<Owen bounces up and down at the door and holds his hands up expectantly>
"Oh, James! I'm so happy to see you. I missed you so much!"
"I missed you too, Mommy!"
"Owen!!! I missed you!"
"Gah! Gah! Mama!!"
"Will you tell me all about your weekend? What did you boys do? How was Nama's house?"
<holding up George and covering his face> "James took books into his bed at bedtime and read when he was supposed to be sleeping."
"...oh? At Nama's house?"
"Yeah, James read books in his bed. And also there wasn't a spot for his wrench and his screwdriver so he took those into his bed too and he played with them."
"...there wasn't a spot at Nama and Papa's for your wrench and your screwdriver?"
"No, and there wasn't a parking spot for Lightning McQueen either, so James drove him when he was supposed to be sleeping."
<sideways looks between me and J>
"Maybe this explains why he took such long naps every afternoon."
"Thank you for telling us, George."

II.
<playing my trumpet in the living room while Owen dances>
"Daddy, I'm going to reduct you!"
(Everything is prefixed with a "re"-syllable recently. For example, we need to keep Owen out of restruction, and make sure he doesn't rescape from the baby gate.)
"Okay, conduct me while I play!"
<James swings a roof slat around the room wildly, jumps over to where I'm practicing, and deliberately strikes the bell of my trumpet with it.>
"Oh, James. Hold on a minute. We musn't ever do that. You could hurt Daddy if you hit his trumpet while he's playing, and you might hurt the trumpet too."
"Okay, Daddy. Sorry, Daddy."
"That's alright, James. You didn't know. Just don't do it again."
<I play trumpet again, Owen continues to dance and attempt to climb up my knees.>
"Hey James, where'd you go?"
<I find him in the living room, curled up under a blanket in the chair, covering his head with his arms and sobbing.>
"Oh, James. It's okay...I didn't get hurt and it was just an accident. You didn't mean to do it."
"I'm SORRY, Daddy. I'm SORRY, Daddy."
"Come here, everything's okay. You're going to be alright."

Martial on Gilmore Girls

matrem, quae cupit esse se sororem 

nec matrem iuvat esse nec sororem.

Recently Reading

Homer-
The funeral games of Patroclus in Book 23, which are an excellent way of consuming classical literature and sports drama. Speaking of sports drama, J and I successfully stayed awake through and ENTIRE movie last night, and I highly recommend Moneyball. It sort of reminded me of the Iliad, actually, when Antilochus boasts before the foot-race of his fleetness of foot, whereat Achilleus son of Peleus arose and to the Achaians made address that the son of Nestor was indeed fleetest of foot among the young men, but could he get on base?

Martial-
Clever writing, but it's all either really filthy or horribly sycophantic. I guess that's kind of what sells epigrams in first century Rome.

Dickens "American Notes-"
Lux, if you're looking for your copy of this book, I guess I have it. (I don't remember borrowing it, but your signature is inside the front cover. So far it's delightful, although he's showing far too much preference to Boston. I particularly enjoyed the account of the steamer journey across the ocean and how the various members of his company dealt with seasickness. His comedic timing and voice are wonderful...I get the sense that Mr. Dickens would have been hilarious company on a long journey, even if you were dealing with seasickness. His recounting of the deaf-blind Laura Bridgman is also particularly touching. Dickens had a remarkable ability to find and appreciate the humanity in the most marginal of fictional characters, and I'm enjoying his compassionate interest in a real-life invalid as well. Her physical handicaps were no deterrent to him at all--the only thing he cared about was whether she could get on base.

THIS WEEKEND:
-Mom and Dad will be wonderful and let me move back home with the boys temporarily while J goes to Vegas Charlotte for a weekend with Jess.
-The music of Revueltas and Copland tonight with BPO, a Broadway show with George Costanza Jason Alexander tomorrow night, and a Halloween show on Saturday in which I will fulfill my lifelong goal of getting paid to wear a toga.
-I will be the lone parent responsible for getting up with Owen in the middle of the night. Currently we both have nasty colds, so I expect to see a lot of him.

Dinner From Three Perspectives

R: I worked on keeping the kids distracted with M once J had finished teaching her lesson, teasingly reminding her that bacon and green onions would be a great garnish for the mashed potatoes. She thought it was very funny, of course, because that was the fourth or fifth time I'd dropped a "subtle hint" over the course of the afternoon. James played indoor baseball in the library for about 15 minutes to the extreme peril of everyone in the room, including himself, and then requested to do "sock wars" in the living room.

Sock Wars is a simple game. We bring down all of my balled up dress socks, blockade the middle of the living room with the dining room chairs, turn up battle music from Star Wars, and whip socks at each other as hard as we possibly can. James and I got things started while M brought in Owen, and J worked in the kitchen on the potatoes and the chicken. It might have been a little loud at times, but both of the boys certainly had a great time. Owen laughed the hardest when I picked him up and pretended he was an airplane dive bombing his big brother, and James only tired of the game after George was hit by a few stray socks.

We set the table as dinner neared completion, and then I was tasked with cutting up a chicken leg for James while J worked on one for Owen. James complained about having to eat mashed potatoes throughout the meal and attempted to barter his way down to fewer bites. We kept him going with the lure of pie, even though he finished his chicken almost as soon as it was on his plate and was left staring at (to him) repulsive piles of spinach and potato.

I was thoroughly enjoying my dinner and had just finished wiping the barbecue-y goodness off my fingers when James suddenly lurched and threw up his attempted potatoes all over his plate, the front of his shirt, and George. Staying calm in the crisis, I ran upstairs to get him a change of clothes, then threw George and the soiled clothing into the wash downstairs while J cleaned up and James begged for cake. Poor M. I bet that she'd really been enjoying a non-Garlock meal before she had to watch someone vomit.

M: Owen is the easiest kid to please. No matter if his brother is throwing baseballs in his direction, socks in his direction, or he is falling off a step onto a wooden floor, all you need to do is raise your eyebrows or slowly push a book onto the floor and he will start belly laughing. I spent most of the pre-dinner hour doing just that, and occasionally throwing a stray sock back at James, who was doing some pretty hearty belly laughs on his own. They were two happy boys when we sat down to dinner.

I've been reading J's blogposts this last month with some serious yearning. When she invited me over for the night, I did a fist pump. No more overcooked and unidentifiable meat tonight. It was as good as I'd anticipated: Really juicy chicken legs, mashed potatoes made from real potatoes, spinach, raspberries, and I even caught a glimpse of apple pie for dessert!

We were about halfway through, me with a half an ear on the attempts to get James to eat his mashed potatoes, when I heard R say, "Uh-oh." I looked up. James was looking down at some yogurt on his spoon. I was just trying to remember whether I'd seen J bring yogurt out when he started to wail. Not yogurt. I occupied Owen while R and J cleaned and comforted James, all the while replaying a fairly recent episode that involved me holding a cool whip container for a whimpering and vomit-covered Moxie at 10:30 at night. Poor kids. Does this mean I've earned my vomit badge?

J: Sock Wars is a great game because it means all the boys in the family are entertained. I was running behind getting dinner ready, thanks to a late lesson, and was attempting to do too much at one time. I could hear the laughter and fun, kind of wishing I could join in, but powered through kitchen prep with the help of the dramatic John Williams score bellowing through the downstairs. (That music makes dinner outcome seem a lot weightier...the fate of these chicken legs hangs in the balance.)

We finally sat down around 6:30. I wished the potatoes were smoother, but I decided slightly lumpy was better than eating later. The chicken turned out great and everybody was enjoying together. I think, I think, I finally made something that M actually likes. She is far too compliant, but I know there are lots of foods she'd rather not ingest. Owen was chowing down on chicken and raspberries, which is always a good sign for a long night of sleep. James wasn't happy about mashed potatoes, but after I showed him the egg-sized portion on his plate and promised him apple cake for dessert he quieted. I peeked at him periodically and he was doing an AWESOME job of trying to take small bites without complaining, even though I could see he wasn't enjoying it. This is major progress for him and my mommy heart was glowing.

And then it all came back up. Aaaaaaand then some. George got the brunt of it I'm afraid, so into the wash he went (twice in three days--that's more baths than James has had recently). My proud mommy heart turned into melty-gooey mommy heart when I saw the shamed look in my son's eyes. He had tried so hard and instead ended up embarrassing himself. Needless to say, he got some cake. And the two hours away from George brought out his delightful, chatty self. He insisted on joining Mommy and Aunt M on our girls excursion to Hobby Lobby and gave M the grand tour. He was the happiest person in the store, which is saying something, because Hobby Lobby is a pretty happy place.

Perhaps the best part in hindsight was that there were no encores of the vomiting, because even though I've had my badge for years, it's not something I care to whip out.

Weekend Update

I. Pile of dust
"So why is there a toy hammer next to a pile of dust in the living room?"
"Oh, I forgot about that."
"Right. But...where did that come from?"
"Well, it would take some explaining."

Actually, it would take some explaining to do the explaining. You see, running parallel to the much more serious problem of the water gushing out of the hole in the pipe through the hole in the ceiling because of the inaccessible pipe being permanently backed up we've been dealing with somewhat less serious but equally maddening problem of blocking Owen's access to the stairs. We borrowed a baby gate from some friends, but after multiple failed attempts (some of which involved drilling into the wall) to set it up in the landing, I took it down to the basement in disgust. Of the two possible spots to mount it in the landing, one doesn't run parallel to the walls, and the other is apparently an umountable distance for that particular baby gate. So, we gave up on gate number one and purchased a cheap plastic gate from Lowe's for a second attempt. Attempt number two was an obvious failure from the beginning. For one thing, the gate didn't have an opening mechanism, which meant that you had to step over it every time you wanted to get up or down the stairs. This is dangerous, especially when you're holding small children. Secondly, James was completely shut off from the stairs. And finally, the gate constantly fell down under the least amount of pressure, such as Owen touching it. So, we decided to scrap gate number two. We kind of keep it around for ornamental purposes and to sometimes temporarily block off a room that has a project and/or vomit underway. Our third attempt was a cheap Aldi knockoff of gate number one which we hoped would be a better fit for our oddly shaped stairway. The gate came in a box without instructions, and was manufactured by a company that does not have a website. I couldn't figure out how to mount the gate, and there were some choice words muttered. Eventually a customer servicehuman replied to my snarly email about needing instructions for the gate, and I managed to get it successfully mounted in the stairwell. Well, somewhat successfully. It falls down about once a week, and then I have to re-position it and try to mount it again. One of the tricks I figured out to compensate for the odd shape of our stairwell was to use an old piece of scrap 2x4 to shorten the distance of one of the mounts. And that was working well, until yesterday when Owen was standing on the landing yanking on the gate (as is his wont) with a big grin on his face...and I noticed that the 2x4 was slipping out above him. I stood up from the couch and darted across the room just as the whole gate collapsed on top of him. He emitted a klaxon-wail and rolled to his right, which meant that he rolled off the landing step and fell onto the hardwood floor of the living room. The gate, of course, slid off the landing and fell on him again.

J knew that this happened earlier, but at the time of her asking me about the pile of dust and the toy hammer on the floor, she knew of no connection between the mysterious mess and the most recent baby gate calamity.

"Well," I said "Once I managed to get Owen calmed down I thought to myself that I might be able to mount the gate more securely if I cut the 2x4 in half and used both pieces to get a more even spacing between the pressure screws. So I took Owen, who was still crying, and the piece of wood into the garage to get my saw. I knew that I would probably make a big sawdust mess if I tried to cut it anywhere else, but I didn't have anywhere to set Owen down in the garage. I went over to put him in the stroller, but all of my drywall tools were in the stroller from earlier, when I didn't have time to put them away properly because I had Owen in my other arm. So I set Owen down for just a second on that old piece of scrap cardboard, just to move the tools out of the stroller, and in the time that it took me to move the tools he had somehow put a piece of dry styrofoam in his mouth (don't know where it came from) and was holding up two little hands that were completely blackened with garage dirt. So I decided not to keep him in the garage. I brought him, and the piece of wood, and my handsaw, and a 5-gallon bucket into the living room. I brought the bucket so I wouldn't make a mess of the sawdust. I had to keep Owen from going up the stairs (because there wasn't a gate) but I also didn't want him getting to close to the saw. So I started sawing through the wood and walking away from him every couple of strokes, because he was trying to climb up in the bucket, but then I'd have to stop when we got too close to the landing, because he'd try to go up the stairs. And then James came down when he heard me working with tools, and got out a bunch of his plastic tools to "help" me. So I had to keep him away from the saw too. And when I finally sawed through the thing I stepped away from the bucket just long enough to put the two pieces of wood down by the baby gate, and in that time Owen tipped it over and spilled sawdust on the carpet. And James left his hammer out by the sawdust. And that's why there's sawdust and a hammer on the carpet. I was going to vacuum it up, but I got distracted by trying to get the baby gate back up and then looking after the kids."

"Oh. That is complicated. I thought maybe James was hammering ritz crackers on the carpet or something."

"That would have been simpler. But no, that's sawdust. And also there's sawdust all over the bottom step, from where I sanded down the rough faces of the wood. Owen was trying to climb all over that too."

II. Pizza comparison
We knew back in August that this was going to be a free week--a week with no orchestra services whatsoever, no teaching for me, and no commitments except church over the weekend. We talked about trying to travel somewhere and get away for part of the week, but we chickened out, partially to save some money and partially because we just couldn't believe that a Saturday evening would pass without me having a gig some place or another.

It was a glorious week, but we were nearing the end of the week and we still hadn't really done anything special. We decided to use my lesson cash from the week to order a pizza once the kids were in bed last night. It was Salvatore's, and it was amazing.

There might be "better" pizzas that you can get somewhere in Rochester. I'm sure that at one of the fancy restaurants (like Six-Fifty, which is sadly no longer) you can order some specialty-topped fancy and fine pizza that uses high class ingredients and is subtly flavored. But I'm convinced that as far as take-out pizza goes, you just can't do any better than a Chicken Charlie pizza from Salvatore's. It's a country sweet flavored chicken pizza with a blue cheese base, and the crust and the cheese are just perfect. It had been a really long time--maybe since the Spring?--and it was every bit as as hot and gooey and amazing as I remembered it. I ordered it about 10 minutes before the kids were in bed, and we spent probably an hour downstairs just eating it and savoring it as slowly as we could stand in our pajamas.

Apparently turning 30 means that you can't binge on greasy pizza and bounce out of bed the next morning. I felt like garbage for most of the morning, and even 24 hours later I'm still a little hesitant to poke through the fridge. But it was totally worth it. And whenever we have a free Saturday night again, it will be really hard not to think about how good it was...

III. End of George?
We're seriously considering limiting James' time with George and Steven. It's really George that's the problem.

The trouble is that when James has George, you can't access James. Whenever he gets even a bit stressed out or uncomfortable, our child stops speaking to us. Instead, he holds up his stuffed monkey and speaks in a nasal, nearly unintelligible voice that mimics the "monkey voice" from the George TV series. "James, can you please put those library books back on the table?" "Oo-ah, James wants to bring those home for our room." "I need to talk to James, not George." "Oo-ah, James wants to bring the books."

This was mildly cute the first few times it happened, but because George is with him CONSTANTLY and because the boy is starting to become more aware of social cues, he's using George as a perpetual retreat from anything he doesn't like. And he's almost four. (My son is almost four!) And he can't carry those stuffed animals around with him forever.

Today he came to church with me, and, as usual, he didn't answer any of the greetings from my choir members as "James." Only George spoke to them. Granted, "George" did a decent job of listening to their questions and being friendly, but anyone who interacts with him must think he has some kind of speech impediment. And do you know what? We miss the real James.

The other day, George and Steven had to go through the wash. J spent the morning with James baking granola and working on his much beloved States puzzle. She had three hours of our wonderful son, unfiltered by the fictional monkey. Without his puppet, he's really pleasant. He can look you in the eye and talk to you.

But he loves that monkey, and if we start to take it away...well, it probably won't go over very well.

Growing up can be hard work.

IV. The Good Scotch
The Bills lost today in frustrating, hair-yanking fashion. Lux and Melissa came over. Watching football with other people is a great idea when your team wins, but there's no socially graceful way to watch them lose. Tonight's drink is from the good bottle of scotch. Cheers to the next game.

V. Practice Habits
I'm appreciating, as I attempt to patch the drywall in our kitchen ceiling, the intricate technical mastery some people must have to make perfect drywall seams. It currently looks awful, and I'm going to have to cut out some of the tape and just start again. Even on the sections I "got right," it still is painfully obvious that some amateur did a bad patch job. I enjoyed practicing the trumpet tonight and thinking through all of the techniques that have become "second nature" in my professional life--transposing, articulating, shading subtle tone colors. It's nice to feel like a pro.

Quick Hitters

I.
Happy Birthday to my dear sister in law, Rebekah! As I was sitting in bed thinking about what I was going to type, I leaned over and asked J..."I can never remember...does she spell her name with an A or an H at the end?" She told me it was with an A, but I wanted to get on her Facebook page just to make sure. This is what I saw:
Linda: Hope your birthday was wonderful Becca.
Sharon: Happy Biryhday, Bekah! Hope it's been a great day!
Jane: Happy Birthday Becky
Karen: Happy Birthday Mrs. Smith!!!!
Melissa: Happy birthday Bekah!
Lucas: Happy birthday, Beka!

So I'm with everyone else when I say...Happy Birthday, Mrs. Smith!

II.
I turned on the heat in the house today. Neither of the boys was asleep during naptime, and I think it was because they were both freezing in their rooms. (It doesn't help that they both, like their father, need to have a fan on to fall asleep.) Of course, I also was so warm that I stripped down to my t-shirt after mowing the lawn this evening, so I don't think that we've officially entered the cold season...but we're definitely getting there.

III.
Favorite things I've eaten over the last week:
Dill pickles
Homemade macaroons
Peppadew peppers
Butternut squash muffins with sage honey butter
Sweet banana peppers
Pumpkin gnocchi soup
Olives
Fresh Albion produce-apples, pears, and grapes
Acorn squash with butter and brown sugar
Molasses cookies
Sun dried tomato and spinach pizza