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Rhetoric with James

Metonymy-reference to something or someone by naming one of its attributes

"#95 is the fastest car, he is winning the race."

Synecdoche-a whole is represented by one of its parts (genus named for species) or vice versa

"The spicy does not taste good on my tongue."

Tautologia-repetition of the same idea in different ways, but (often) in a way that is wearisome or unnecessary.

"I don't eat chili because it is too spicy and George says that he doesn't like it either."

Chiasmus-repetition of ideas in inverted order

"We should go outside after we have dessert. So, no more bites of chili but we should have chocolate, and then go outside. Yeah!"

Litotes-deliberate understatement, often expressing a thought by denying its opposite.

"We should not have chili again for a while. Maybe next year."

Talking About Death

"What does Easter mean?"

I paused with a bite of toast halfway to my mouth yesterday morning, and began to think through the response. I was quite sure that James had heard the word "resurrection." He knows who Jesus is. He had probably heard the words "death" and "dead."

"James...do you know what death is? What it means when you say that someone has died?"

He's four years old. But I've tried to be honest about life in a mortal body with him so far, and I guessed that he would understand what dying meant. Yes, you get sleepy once you're awake for too many hours. Sugar can rot your teeth. You have a penis and you don't need to feel embarrassed about it. Yes, you too will die some day.

At any rate, we played in a graveyard today and he loved it.

That isn't quite so bad as it sounds. I remember how much I looked forward to visiting the Mt. Albion cemetery as a child. I loved climbing up the steep hills, looking through all the fascinating marble stones, and then ascending the great stone tower at the top of the cemetery and looking out over the county.

We bundled up both of the boys this morning after we ran and took them down to Mount Hope cemetery. James had a great time. He looked for his name on the stones and found it on several. (Plenty of J-A-M-E-S, but no O-W-E-N.) The grounds there are beautiful, and he admired the walkways and the brilliant green lawn. There were angles and crosses and obelisks and columns to look at, and a biting wind that cut through the bright sunshine.

He wore his boots and still got the seat of his pants all muddy from scrambling down hills. I don't think that the conversation from the previous morning even crossed his mind as he walked over and through all of the final resting places of the Rochesterians. J and I marked familiar names as we went through the paths--names that are also on college dormitory buildings, hospital wings, and recital halls.

We used a gift certificate that we'd been saving since Christmas afterwards and ate some hot Italian food. Owen flirted with a waitress and tried to eat crayons. But James told J that he would say please and thank-you and hello, and that he would stay in his seat.

He's encountering the adult world a little bit more every day, and it isn't bothering him.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cp9uVL29qiU

An Interview with James (Or, How Many People Do You Have In There?)

Me: Lightning, what's your favorite food?
James (as Lightning): Gas

Me: What's your favorite color?
James (as Lightning): Red

Me:Who is the fastest car?
 James (as Lightning): Lightning

Me: Who is your best friend?
James (as Lightning): Lightning is his own best friend

Me: Who do you like to play with
James (as Lightning): Lightning

Me: Mater, what's your favorite food?
James (as Mater): Wus mah favorit' food? Gas is mah favorit' one. Ah like gas d'best. Cuz cars eat gas.

Me: Mater, what's your my favorite color?
James (as Mater): Mah favorit' color? Brown.

Me: Who is your best friend?
James (as Mater): Lahtnin'.

Me: Mater, do you like Curious George?
James (as Mater): Ah like Curyus George. Yes, gee.

Me: Sally, what's your favorite snack?
James (as Mater): She lahks gas d'best cuz cars eat gas. Her favorit' color is byu, okay? She lahks Lahtnin'.

Me: Is Lightning her boyfriend?
James (as himself): Weww...yes.

Me: George, what's your favorite food?
James (as George):What's my favorite food? My favorite food is bananas, because monkeys eat bananas. Did you know that, okay?

Me: Who's your best friend?
James (as George): James!

Me: George, what's your favorite color?
James (as George): Umm...brown!

Me: Do you like Lightning or Mater better?
James (as George):I like Mater the best.

Me: What do you think of Owen? Does George love Owen?
James (as Mater) Yeah, he does. Hey, Owen's favorite color is green, okay?
(as James) Hey Owen, what's your favorite food? Owen says (as Mater) I like green beans...and milk. (as James) That's what Owen says. What's your favorite friend, Owen? Hey, one more magformer, Daddy! Grab it as fast as you can. I got them, I did it. I got those two, Daddy. Here they are, here they are Daddy.

Me: Hey, you didn't tell me...who is Owen's favorite friend?
James (indistuinguishable voice): James

Around the House

I. Kitchen Trim
I finally put the crown molding back up in the kitchen. It came down during the Great Plumbing Disaster of 2015 (also known as Küchedammerung) and has been stored in the basement ever since the ceiling was ripped out, then put back together, then ripped out again, then put back together again, and then left in an unfinished state for several months while gigs and small children happened. This morning I went down to the basement, pulled out my drill, and started piloting holes for trim nails. (Yes, I know you're supposed to use a nail gun to fasten crown molding, but I don't have one, or an air compressor for that matter.) I climbed on top of the refrigerator, bent my head and my hammer at awkward angles, sweated profusely, and made noises worrisome to those in the next room. But all the trim is up! It's spackled and caulked, and once I put on a coat of touch-up paint tomorrow everything will be finished and we can get into the bottle of wine we've been saving "for when the kitchen is put back together." Of course, it doesn't really look great, but that depends mostly on your perspective. From the western side of the kitchen, especially in the dark, the finished crown molding could look very nice in an impressionistic sort of perspective.

In daylight and plain view, however, it looks a bit more like the subject for a brutalist painting. In fact, I think that my work this morning could be fairly classified as brutalist interior design.

II. Doorknobs
I need to order locksets for all of the rooms upstairs. It's gone from a convenience to a necessity. None of our upstairs doors close properly. You can attempt to close the door all the way, and there IS an old knob that theoretically used to latch into place, but the door always just swings back open, either from the worn-out age of the latch or from the gradual warping of the door in the frame. This happened with the bathroom too when we initially moved in, and I replaced that fairly quickly. The bedrooms, however, we've just allowed to be perpetually cracked open. For a long time we've lamented our inability to leave Owen, well, anywhere unattended for more than a few seconds. But if the upstairs doors could latch shut, we could let him play in James' room and actually go downstairs to pour another cup of coffee without worrying he was going to crawl out and fall down the stairs. We could put away laundry while he plays in his room.
But really what's making the locksets necessary is James' most recent revelation--he can get out of bed without asking. I blame Uncle Tim, as I'll explain later. For the longest time James was GREAT about staying in bed. I don't know what unknown consequences he feared if he dare put a pajama-clad foot on the floor after we'd tucked him in for the night, but even if one of his stuffed animals fell onto the ground within his reach he'd call for one of us instead of daring to get out from under his covers and retrieve it himself. He never has crawled out of bed on his own in the morning, always waiting instead for a parent to come and retrieve him. We've had it good.
Uncle Tim gave James a stuffed Pete the Cat doll for Christmas, and it was immediately added to the retinue. I'm not exactly sure how high Pete ranks...definitely not at George and Steven level, but at least as important as Woof-Woof and Meow-Meow (didn't this blog used to be about literature and theology, by the way?) and certainly important enough to merit sleeping at James' pillow. Well, James forgot Pete the Cat downstairs one night while we were in Pennsylvania. And wouldn't you know it if instead of calling to a parent, the little boy rolled out from under his covers, came down the stairs, and retrieved Pete himself.
A light bulb went off in that moment.
Since we've been back he's come downstairs after bedtime for cars, for Pete again, to ask for a drink, and to "put away books."
Yesterday morning he asked me "Were you and Mommy watching football or hockey when you were eating pizza in the living room last night?"
Given the serious problems that might arise from James crawling out of bed and sneaking around the house after bedtime, I called upon all of my parental wisdom to give him the following answer: "Get your coat on right now, we're already late for church."
Yes, locksets for all the upstairs doors are must-haves. I don't care yet to field any questions about why Mommy and Daddy were "wrestling."

III. J Running
This entry needs to be wrapped up shortly because J is going out for a run at 2:00, and it is 2:00 right now. Even though she is under a blanket reading Harry Potter, she definitely said she was going out into the cold to run at 2, and since that's a public statement she'll most certainly follow through with it. Anyone reading this right now should ask her how her run went, because now that it's 2:00 she's going to put down the book and head out. She must be SO excited!

Correction and Chastisement

Yesterday felt like one of those days when I was yelling at James all day long.

Don't throw your shoes at Owen.
Don't grab stuff from Owen without asking.
You can go to the potty without bringing the entire retinue of animals and cars...Owen can't possibly eat them all.
Please get into your carseat the first time we ask.
Seriously, sit down and be still so we can buckle you up.
No, you can't cross the parking lot by yourself.
What did we say about throwing shoes at Owen?
You have to eat that before you get up from the table.
No, we aren't going to give you any more Christmas presents to open. Christmas was over a week ago.
Seriously...don't throw shoes at Owen.
et cetera
et cetera
et alia

But do you know what? For a four year old boy, he's really a pretty good kid. Here are a bunch of things that I didn't tell him yesterday:

James, you came to a boring grown-up staff party with your parents and played quietly by yourself in an appropriate manner while the adults small-talked and your less behaved younger brother kept on attempting to fall down the steps. You were polite and social whenever people talked to you. Good work.
James, in a room full of screaming and writhing toddlers you calmly and quietly picked out the books you wanted, put them in the bag, and then checked out at the library without making any trouble at all. Nice work.
James, you didn't beg for any TV or iPad time today. When we got back from the library you crawled under a blanket with me and asked to read through your entire library bag. Twice. I couldn't have been happier to spend an hour that way, even though my voice hurt by the end of it.
James, when we loaded you up in the stroller and took you out on a run in the 39 degree weather you were quiet and peaceful, unlike your brother, who kept on screaming and attempting to take off his hat. Thank you for understanding and enjoying the situation.
You waited patiently for the cookies Mommy made, you requested vegetables for supper of your own free will, and you helped your little brother when he was making a mess of his own dinner.

You're a pretty good kid.

Please don't throw shoes at Owen, though.

The Difference Between My Sons

Taking James to choir rehearsal:
James sticks close by my side and avoids any unnecessary contact with strangers. If someone enters the room he doesn't make eye contact until he's checked in with me, and is usually shy about saying hello and explaining who his stuffed animal friends are.

Taking Owen to choir rehearsal:
Owen attempts to crawl out of the choir room and explore the church whenever I set him down. If he does get out the door and sees someone in the hall he rocks back onto his knees, grins, and waves madly at them, then gestures to be picked up.

Giving James my baton while I rehearse the choir:
James exactly mimics the motions that I was making with a look of intense concentration on his face. He attempts to match his movements to the texture of the music and to maintain a proper grip on the base of the baton.

Giving Owen my baton while I rehearse the choir:
Owen holds it like a club and repeatedly hits me over the head with it, smiles delightedly at the choir's reaction, and then continues to take swipes at me with a big grin on his face.

James interrupting the choir:
James waves his hands and stands up next to me, then says in a "rehearsal voice:" "Everybody, that was TOO loud. The music needs to be more quiet after rehearsal J--J is for James. That's what Mater says."

Owen interrupting the choir:
Owen blows raspberries and looks expectantly for a reaction.

Taking James into the Christmas Eve service:
James sits quietly by my side on the pew with George, Steven, and a stack of books. He thumbs through his books as the readings go by, and when we stand to sing a hymn he peers over at my hymnal and sings along if he knows the hymn.

Taking Owen into the Christmas Eve service:
Owen wiggles on my lap and applauds for any and everything that happens in the service--scripture readings, unison confessions, moments of silence, etc. He pretends to conduct during congregational singing, bounces in my arms, pretends to sneeze and bless himself if there is a quiet moment, and eventually wriggles down from my lap. He attempts to play my trumpet, then to get into the box of auxiliary percussion instruments by the organ. He almost knocks over a microphone, and then gets into James' stack of books. He loudly rips one of the pages, then holds it upside down and "reads to himself" out loud during the passage about the baby Jesus.

Conducting the anthem with James in the service:
James sits quietly and looks at his books while I conduct the choir. When I come back to my seat I find that James has shifted into it, He tells me that I need to find a new place to sit.

Conducting the anthem with Owen in the service:
I hand Owen to a responsible adult to be taken out of the service temporarily. He screams bloody murder from outside the sanctuary door in the silence before the music starts. When I cut off the final cadence, he is still audible, screaming bloody murder, albeit from further away. The pastor makes a comment about the line "no crying he makes" being rather unlikely.

James Gets "What-For"

"First we will go to our repointment, then we'll get a treat, then we'll go to the library?"
"Well, first we'll get gas, since Daddy's car is just about out of gas, and then we'll go to the doctor's, and then we'll get a treat, and then the library. I think."
"Why is your car out of gas?"
"Because I drove it a long time, and all the gas got used up."
"Oh, you should turn the GPS on."
"That will help with the gas, you think?"
"No, I just want to watch the picture of the car."
"Sure. I'm turning the GPS on. Tell you what, I'll even put in the address so that it takes us there."
"Okay. The roads are purple on the GPS."
...
"You know James, I thought we needed to take 390 North to get there...I wonder why the GPS thinks we should go 390 South?"
"Are you gonna make a wrong turn, Daddy?"
"I hope not."
"recalculating route"
"Oh, come on now, you can't tell me to go the wrong way and then recalculate as soon as I follow your advice!"
"Did you take a wrong turn, Daddy?"
...
"Are you gonna take the wrong turn this time, Daddy?"
"I hope not. Let's see, now it wants us to use the service road...that's closed for construction."
"recalculating route"
"Did you take the wrong turn, Daddy?"
"...James, I think we're going to turn the GPS off for a bit."
...
"Hey, is this the hospital where we got Owen?"
"This isn't where we GOT Owen, but do you remember coming here with Mommy a few times so that we could look at pictures of Owen while he was still in Mommy's tummy?"
"I do. We took the elevator up."
"That's right. I think we're going to take the elevator down today though."
"If we get a new baby, we would need to take the elevator up."
"James, we aren't having a new baby anytime soon...but do you think that maybe we should sometime?"
"Would we ride the elevator up again if we had another new baby like Owen?"
"Yes, we would need to ride the elevator up to go see Mommy's doctor."
"I like to ride the elevator up."
"Do you think, if we had a new baby some time, that maybe we should have another boy baby or a girl baby."
"Hey, if we have a girl baby we should name it Alexa."
"Maybe. Yeah, we could talk about that."
"Hey, Owen is a boy baby, right?"
"Yes, Owen is a boy."
...
"Hi James, my name is Christine. It's nice to meet you! I'm going to see how tall you are and how much you weigh. Can you follow me? And can you tell me who your friends are?"
"My name is George, and this is Steven Bear."
"James, please talk to Ms. Christine in James' voice, not in George's voice."
"My friends are George and Steven."
"Oh, I see that they must go with you everywhere. They look very well...loved. How long have you had them?"
"James says he doesn't remember."
"He hasn't set the bear down since he was six months old."
"James doesn't like shots."
"Don't worry James, you aren't going to get any shots today."
"Oh, okay. Hey, do you know, we have an Owen at home."
...
"That was it James...do you think we should go get our treat?"
"Yeah, are we going to get a milkshake?"
"Yes, we will go to Wegmans and get a milkshake for you."
"You know, we should use the GPS to get there."
...
"So what do you think of that milkshake?"
"It's pretty good. Hey, can I have some more of your ice cream?"
"Yeah, one more bite. Do you want to look for a pastry brush for Mommy once we're done here?"
"Okay. We should get something nice for Mommy."
"I think that's a great idea. What's something nice that you think Mommy might like?"
"Do you think she might like some Cinnamon Crunch Toast?"
"Ummm...I don't think that's her favorite cereal. Should we get her favorite cereal, though?"
"Yeah, we should get Mommy her favorite cereal that she likes best."
"James, I think that's a great idea."

Game Theory

We all do things for our spouses that we'd rather not, but we go along with it just because we love them and want them to be happy. Okay, everyone say what that is right now without thinking one two GO:

And now you know what to talk about in marital counseling.

I said "playing games."

We used to play Phase 10 all the time when we were dating. It was important for us to spend lots of times playing games, because we were college kids and we couldn't cook or drink wine. Also, J LOVED (and still loves) playing games and I liked getting to see her.

She won all the time. Maybe not every single time, but a ridiculously high percentage of the time. Her game-playing dominance was kind of like watching the Bills and Patriots over the past fifteen years, even down to her propensity to wear hoodies. (She didn't cheat to my knowledge...) I'll let her speak to whether or not she was a gracious winner and a good sport. (If you want to ask her about it, start by asking her what "the doggy" is.)

Anyhow, she agreed to marry me, and then I didn't have to pretend to enjoy playing games anymore.

Okay, it wasn't quite like that, but we definitely stopped playing games nearly as often as we did when we were dating. And I can't say that I really missed it.

Every once in awhile we'd get into something, like with the Wii. We've been through Wii sports phases, Mario Party, and even Monopoly. We play poker with great enjoyment when we visit Pennsylvania with J's brothers. But we've never picked up the regular habit of card games between the two of us again like when we were dating.

But now there's a twist: James likes games.

We were visiting PA last week and we played Battleship with James. He loved it. He was completely into it, and he played the game all the way to the end. He's always been fascinated with playing cards (and poker chips) and I think that he has the disposition to love card playing.

There may be a renaissance of game-playing at the Smith house. This is probably just--in many ways I took advantage of J's good faith when she walked down the aisle.

I just hope James doesn't get into Phase 10.

James Takes the Matter Up

James still regards his room as a structure separate from the rest of the house. Well, not HIS room. Technically it's a house he shares with George.

But that being the case, he needs Christmas decorations for him and George that are different than the ones downstairs. (In OUR house.)

So once we finished setting up the Christmas tree yesterday and strung up all the lights and stockings, we proceeded upstairs to set up James' Christmas tree (the tiny fake one that we bought in North Carolina) complete with three decorations, a bow, and a window candle.

He even remembered which decorations he had from last year. An clay star with the letter R on it, a Winnie-the-Pooh ornament, and an "apple." (Really an old red bulb that used to have an R on it, but was long ago rubbed off.) "R stands for Christmas" he told me.

We didn't get around to setting up the odd strand of colored lights yesterday before we gassed out on finishing the decorating. James had requisitioned them by that point for his tree. (Me and George need some lights for our tree up in our house.) He went to sleep last night reminding me that we needed to set up his lights in the morning time. And also to have some Cinnamon Crunch Toast cereal.

The first thing he asked for this morning when his eyes opened were to have the Cinnamon Crunch Toast cereal, and then to decorate his tree. I'm not entirely sure that he slept.

He hasn't been holed up in his room (house) all day, though. He's set up a juice stand underneath our Christmas tree and is taking orders for juice and selling them to me, J, and Owen.

J is currently re-reading the Harry Potter books, and we were jokingly going through what we thought we might see in the mirror of Erised the other night. I asked "What do you think James would see in the mirror of Erised?"

We just sort of looked at each other for a long time. As someone who knows him well recently said "Isn't he just a psychological treasure trove?"

I don't claim to know what he wants at his deepest, most subconscious level. (And I'm not sure he knows either.)

But he definitely loves Christmas.

Windy Night Alone With the Boys

"Alright boys, shoes and coats on, we're going to the bank and to Wegmans and to the bank."
"Which Wegmans."
"The Pittsford Wegmans."
"Oh. Are we going to the wine store too?"
"Yeah, probably. Are you going to just stay in your pajamas?"
"Yep."
"Alright, well at least put your rain boots on."

"Owen, do you want to bring your George?"
<shakes head no>
"Okay, we're going to leave him here. Is that okay."
"Huh."
<Start to carry him out to car>
"WAAAHHH!!!!"
<Reaches for George>

"Daddy, we need to go to the wine store FIRST."

<Take James out of his carseat>
"AIEEEE! The wind blew my hood off! I'm cold, I'm cold!"

"Hey Daddy! Hey Daddy? Do you see that big wine glass filled with Christmas ornaments? We should get one of those for OUR house."
"Mmm...probably not. I think that's just for the wine store."
"Oh, Daddy, look! The Eiffel tower!"
"Oh, over by the Bordeaux! You're right! And there's a French flag too."
"Yeah, we should get an Eiffel tower for our house too."

"But why not?"
"Because if you open up an umbrella in the car then I won't be able to see out the back window."
"But I NEED to open up my umbrella."
"You can, just not in the car."
"But what if it rains in the car?"

"Uh. Uh-uh! UNNHHHhhh!"
<Owen points furiously>
"What is it? What do you see?"
<points again>
"Oh...the toothbrushes. I'm sorry Owen, we can't brush teeth in the store. With the store's toothbrushes. We'll brush teeth once we're home."
<pushes the cart away>
"AIEEE!!!!"
"We'll brush your teeth as soon as we get home."
"AIEEE!!!!"

<stops cart>
"Owen, do you know where we are?"
"I know where we are."
<Owen looks, points straight at tub of cookies, opens mouth expectantly>

<takes James out of steering wheel cart>
"AIEEE! The wind blew my hood onto my head! Now I am too warm!!!"

"So do you think we should take a bath when we get home? With our new bath colors?"
"No."
"Even if we didn't use soap and it was just a fun bath?"
"Are you going to wash my peeenis?"
"No, I won't wash your penis."
"Are you sure? No peenises?"
"No penises."
<silence for a minute>
"You're SURE I don't need to wash my peenis?"

<unlocks James' door with Owen in one arm and lets James into the car>
"James, wait, no NO DON'T LOCK me...out."
<James looks through the window of the car and grins>

"Owen, how'd you get your shoe off again?"
"Dah."
"Hey Daddy, the groceries are blowing away!"
"Wait, AHH! That has Mommy's prescription in it!"
"Oh, no, Mommy's rescription! We need to get it!"
<both chase grocery bag blowing into dark backyard with Owen still half strapped into carseat>
"Daddy I need my flashlight!!!"

"Okay, I'm going to take Owen's diaper off in his room, yes I see that you want to brush your teeth, Owen...just don't"
<click>
"...lock the bathroom door on me."

"I'll put a color in as soon as I can get the lid off, it's just sealed really tight."
"You need to let me do it. You don't hold, I hold it."
"You need to remember your manners if you're going to put the color drop in."
"Hey, what's Owen doing."
"Uh!! Dah!"
<smiles up happily>
"...looks like he's peeing on the bathroom floor."

"OH NO! Owen, don't pull on your penis! You'll hurt yourself!"
<Owen laughs maniacally>

Recovery

James lies on his Mother's lap. The two of them are on the couch with a stack of books beside them. They've been working their way through Frog and Toad books all morning. J will finish one, and James will ask in his raspy post-cold voice to have another one read to him. Finally they reach the end of the last book and James snuggles down into her arms. She looks up at me in surprise.

He's hardly ever openly affectionate, and even less frequently will he be held and snuggled just for the pleasure of it. She strokes his hair and face as he smells Steven bear and smiles up at her. His eyes are big and full of expression. She looks over at me, then back down at him.

"James?"
"Yes, Mommy?"
"What are you thinking about?"

He's quiet for a moment, then looks up at her with a loving smile.

"Eating."
"Oh?" What are you thinking about eating?"
"A jelly sandwich."
"No peanut butter? Just bread and jelly?"
"Yeah."
"What are you going to have for your vegetable?"
"A cucumber."
"We don't have cucumber. How about a carrot?"
"Green beans."
He climbs up on top of the couch.
"Hey, do you know how to be up here?"
"I see you're up there."
"I'm going to roll off onto you."

He does this multiple times.

I guess he's getting better.

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."

Picture Story-Running

How to Paint Tile

forsan et haec olim meminisse juvabit-Virgil

The true tests of marriage are setting up a tent together and painting a room together-Darryl Smith

It had been a great week.

I was home all day long, and we'd really done a great job of cleaning the house from top to bottom. Sure, there were a couple odds and ends that we hadn't managed to take care of--J had never gotten around to pulling out the bin of Owen's 9 to 12 months clothing, and I hadn't ever swept and mopped the floor in Owen's room--but on the whole, we were feeling pretty good about how the week went. We switched the library and the family room, we scrubbed the whole downstairs, we kept up with the dishes and the laundry, we ate healthy, we took long runs as a family, and we kept faithful to our goals for August--no meals out and no unnecessary shopping expenses. In short, we were feeling happy, healthy, and clean.

Saturday was going to be the day that I repainted the tile in the tub.

We knew from the day we moved in that the bathroom was going to need some work. I think, the next time we buy a house, we're going to make sure that the previous owner's take care of all the "little things" before we move in. The threshold to the bathroom is still in sad shape, and although I'd refinished and painted the bathtub a few weeks earlier, I wasn't sure how the tile would go. I went to Lowe's to ask for help picking out the right type of paint, and they sent me to Sherwin-Williams. At Sherwin-Williams I was handed a spray-on acrylic. "Are you sure?" I asked. "I used a brush in a kit to do the tub, and that worked really well." "It will be fine. Just make sure the surface is thoroughly prepped and cleaned, and give it three days to cure."

The three days to cure would be the hard part. We'd timed the tub refinishing with our departure for Csehy a few weeks earlier. I shut down the bathroom on the Saturday afternoon before, worked all day getting the tub cleaned and painted, and then no one was allowed to use the shower or bath until we returned from camp. The only sensible day to do the tile was Saturday, the day before we all left for Pennsylvania. Everyone took their last shower/bath that morning, and then as soon as J returned home from Melissa's bridal fitting, I went to work masking the tile upstairs. "I'll work as quickly as I can." I told her. "You know that I have to be at church early today, and that I have a wedding to play afterwards, right? Do you know what you'll do with the boys if they wake up?" "I think they'll get to watch some TV. We'll figure something out."

Let it be stated publicly that I did all my research for this project. I watched Youtube tutorials, carefully reread instructions multiple times, and looked up information on brush and spray techniques. The cleaning and preparation part all went according to plan, although admittedly taking longer than I'd hoped. "That's alright," I told myself "Once I start using the spray-paint I'll be at the easy part." I was a sweaty mess (so much for that last shower) sitting in a plastic-sheeted bathtub filled with old yellow paint flecks, bits of steel wool, and dirty sponges. But the tub was ready to go.

The result of the spray-paint was this: It smelled so vile that it woke both boys and J up from their naps, and it looked terrible. The paint sagged and dripped, the film hardly covered any of the discoloration, and I looked horror-struck at a painty mess that was clearly worse than the mess I had just started with.

J came upstairs and asked what that awful smell was. With my head spinning and my heart sinking, I told her that I was going to need to go to Lowe's again and figure out how to take care of the spray mess before it dried and cured on the tub. She reminded me that she needed to leave for church in a half an hour. We heard both boys making noise in their rooms. Still feeling woozy from the paint fumes, I asked her to set James up with a movie in our room and to put Owen in the pack and play. I would figure out what to do with them after I managed to get a coat of paint on.

While I drove to Lowe's and tried to clear my head with some fresh air, J changed both boys and brought them into our bedroom. We pride ourselves on limiting their screen diet, but sometimes this works against us. For example, in a bona fide emergency situation, when you need to leave for work in twenty minutes and both boys are insisting on being held and have only one very specific movie they want to watch (VeggieTales: The Toy that Saved Christmas) it isn't very easy to remember how to set up the unhooked and unplugged DVD player to the TV in your bedroom.

There were tears, and by the time J finally managed to get the DVD player turned on and properly displaying on the TV screen, Owen was wailing from the pack and play, I was back in the bathtub sanding and re-painting, and she was already fifteen minutes past when she wanted to leave for work. Stepping back in triumph from the working TV, she grabbed the VeggieTales DVD case and opened it up. Inside, of course, was the DVD to Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.

"I've gotta go," she yelled "and I think Owen just pooped in his diaper."

"Okay, I can break in a second." I yelled back. "Just go, and I'll look after them."

James: "Hey, George wants to watch VeggieTales. Where are the VeggieTales? George wants to watch the Toy the Saved Christmas!"
Owen: WAAAHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I finished painting over the last potential disaster spot, and set down the brush long enough to go and attempt to sort out the boys, only stopping for a moment to grumble about how they should both be sleeping. I stepped out of the tub, and immediately left a big white painty footprint on the floor. I took off my shoes and made a note to also clean THAT up before it dried. Apparently I'd spilled some paint on the dropcloth.

Owen was in a sad state. He'd managed to untuck the sheet from the bottom of the pack and play and wrap it around both his hand and his head, which was pinned down by his flailing hand with his butt stuck up in the air. The poopy diaper wasn't even remotely contained. In fact, it was visibly dripping down his back and up to his shoulders as he struggled and flailed in the crib. Meanwhile, James kept blearily asking about watching a movie.

I picked up Owen and brought him into his room, trying not to touch him or let him drop onto the floor. As soon as I set him down he began oozing out onto the changing pad, and I peeled his onesie off and tossed it, with the changing pad, onto the floor, making a mental note to come back with a plastic bag before anybody stepped in them. The child was absolutely covered in...well, you know. "Owen," I said "you've just gotta go right into the tub."

I think I actually took a step towards the door before I remembered what was going on in the bathroom. Owen looked at me helplessly as I held him up by his armpits and tried to figure out where to set him down. I glanced back at the changing table, still covered in his explosion, and then he grinned at me and shook his head "no." (This is his newest trick.) He's very proud of it. I set him down naked on the floor just long enough to grab a handful of wipes. And in the second that I wasn't holding him, he immediately rolled onto his back, his stomach, and began to crawl away.

"AAHHH!! Why didn't I clean your floor!" Now he was not only covered in poop, but there was a poop streak on the floor and little bits of dirt and lint and dust bunnies were stuck all over his unbatheable body. I wet-wiped his wriggling body, wet-wiped the floor, and set a squirming naked boy (much happier now that he was out of that diaper) into his crib. Knowing he wasn't remotely sanitized but would need to be put back into some clothes, I struggled in vain to get some 6 to 9 month clothing over his enormous head and then put him back in the pack and play with the too-small snaps left unsnapped. James had continued asking for TV for that entire time, and was finally quiet when I unplugged the DVD player, plugged the Wii back in, and put on a George.

"Okay, George will watch himself."

J, meanwhile, had been routed by a traffic detour onto 490 E instead of 490 W and then spat out into Henrietta when she took the wrong exit onto 390 once she got turned around. She ended up being 45 minutes late to her rehearsal for church.

I finished up the first coat of paint (which looked much better than the spray job) just as James finished his George, and I texted J "I'm pulling the emergency parachute on a Wegmans pizza." With another coat to do in three (but no more than four) hours and being already exhausted, I gave up on the resolution about eating out to make sure I could get some sort of dinner on the table. I loaded the boys into the car and picked up some frozen pepperoni pizzas and a case of beer. They shared a steering wheel cart and Owen shouted in excitement most of the time we were in the store.

As soon as we got packed, Owen had another blowout up to his shoulders. I changed him again into another too-small onesie, then laid down on the floor with all the downstairs windows open while both boys crawled on me and James sang Sunday school songs. I was covered in paint chips, tub grime, and sweat. At some point the pizza was done, and I cut James' into tiny pieces. I gave Owen a bowl full of peas and corn with torn up ham and cheese, and he mostly spread them around his tray. J came into the house shortly after 6:30, and I unlatched Owen's tray so I could hand him to her. James got up and ran circles around the table, and promptly knocked down Owen's tray, spilling peas, corn, ham and cheese bits all over the freshly mopped and swept floor.

It was good, when I went back upstairs to work on the second coat, that I'd brought back some beer.

J had some too.

James' Day

I used to be the cute one,
Little and round and sweet.
Now it's my blonde-haired brother
Smiling and kicking bare feet.

I used to be the cute one,
Who girls would kiss and coo
Now I'm covered in scratches and mud
(The creek will do that to you)

I used to be the baby
Patted and coddled when crying
Now I get a stern look and rebuke
When I make a sound like I'm dying

I used to be the baby
And helping was volunteer stuff
Now I've chores to keep up with
And I can't seem to do quite enough

I used to stay out of trouble
'Cause trouble was out of my reach
But when I said "Daddy, what's this"
And suddenly there sounded a screech,

I stood staring shocked and I knew
by the look on his face I did do
Something awful which soon I would rue
Although the red gadget was new
And in four white letters P-U-L-L was written...
...well, "WE DON'T PULL FIRE ALARMS"

I used to be the cute one,
But now I'm headed to jail
Like George, who fooled the Fire Department
Maybe I'll get a cell with my pal.

I used to be the cute one,
So Owen, I'll spare you some harm:
Don't ever grow up
Don't learn how to talk
And don't pull the Fire Alarm.

Boys at Camp

Owen has become a grabber.

This afternoon when I brought him out from his nap I had set up shop on the kitchen counter in front of a big box fan overlooking the back field behind the flats. I brought him over to where I'd stacked my books and papers, hoping to finish the last few lines I had in my chapter before I changed him and got down to play.

He immediately started grabbing for the book. I held the book further away, but this made it hard to hold him and the book, so I leaned up against the counter. He grabbed the wireless mouse to the computer and threw it down on the ground. One of the plastic covers broke off and skidded across the floor. As I reached down to grab the mouse, he grabbed a pen on the counter, and through that on the floor. So I reached down to grab the pen after I'd put the mouse back up on the counter, and on the way down he grabbed the power cord to the laptop and tried to put it in his mouth. I took the power cord away, and went to retrieve the missing plastic piece to the mouse. He knocked down two of James' hot wheels cars as I was leaning past that section of counter, and I shifted him into my other hand. When I stood up again he was holding one set of index cards in one hand and he had my phone in his mouth with the other.

There's lots to explore as an eight-month old.

Especially now that we're at camp!

We're here (mostly) for the next two weeks and my only responsibilities (mostly) are to watch the boys and practice, so that should be favorable news to those of you who like reading blogs. Our apartment (or, capartment, as James calls it) is sweltering hot, as usual, but the people are lovely and the campus is beautiful.

So far James has taken the task of teaching Owen about camp life very seriously. "Owen, this is a big rock. And it used to be purple, but now it is sparkly. And Owen, these are swings. You've never seen swings before, but I'm gonna swing on the swings with George and then we're gonna go frow rocks in the water."

There's ice cream available at every meal, and that's a nice little bargaining chip. More importantly, we don't have to do the cleanup or the preparation for any of the meals.

Today we puttered around the flats in the morning, then took a long walk over to the stream for rock-throwing. James found a huge spider under one of the rocks he picked up, and he's been very careful to examine each rock thoroughly before picking it up and throwing it ever since. Owen sat in the stroller for most of the morning and only occasionally lurched forward in an attempt to break his bonds.

Since we don't want to attempt sleeping the boys together, J and I have set up our mattresses in the middle of our big "living room." This makes for a big bounce pad, and James and Owen spent most of the hour before their naps laughing at each other jumping and falling off the mattresses.

One of these nights we'll let them stay up for singtime, but tonight they were both tuckered out from lots of exploring and in need of baths.

And it isn't even too hot here in the flats, as I sit beside a big stack of books and scratch off bits of reading I was hoping to do. Plus, it's a lot easier now that Owen isn't trying to eat my book.

Sleep-Deprived

Our boys are usually pretty good to us, sleep-wise. James was sleeping through the night practically from the night he was born. (Okay, not really) Owen has been a pretty consistent once-a-nighter, with an occasional all-night for a few months now. (And yes, I don't get up with him, so I don't really have grounds for thinking this is a good or a bad thing.)

Last night he blew it all up. He was up at 11, he was up at 1 in the morning, he was up again at 3 (I rocked him back to sleep that time) and then he was up at 5, at which point he just came to our bed and slept with us. I was supposed to get up at 5:30 for reading and exercise, and that didn't happen. When Owen popped awake with an eager smile at 6:30, I offered to take him off of J's hands so she could catch up on some more rest.

"Okay," I whispered to him as I made my coffee "you can get up impossibly early with Daddy if you want to, but you're going to do Daddy things. We're going to read quietly and sip coffee, and we're going to do it for a long, boring time. Got it?"

He smiled and tried to eat my bathrobe. The first part of the morning went okay. He gnawed on my highlighter (I think he likes the color yellow) while I read, and then got progressively whinier as I tried to continue reading. Some paternalistic instinct eventually reminded me to change his diaper, and when I took him upstairs I heard that James was also up an hour earlier than usual today.

When I brought Owen into James' room his feet began to kick and his whole body bucked with excitement. "Hey Owen, you're awake!!" shouted James at the top of his lungs. Owen was equally excited and wrapped his arms around James' neck when I held him up. And then they started yelling at each other.

"Boys, shhh, Mommy's trying to sleep!"
"Owen is yelling!!! AHHHHH!!!"
"AHHHHHH!!!!"
"I know, but Mommy is trying to sleep, let's yell with inside voices, okay?"
"OWEN, USE YOUR INSIDE VOICE!"
"AHHHH!!!!!!"

And so we went screaming down the stairs (J later told me she heard none of this) only to turn around a minute later because James needed to put on his rain boots before we went to the breakfast table. He absolutely refused to wear his rain boots for the first year he owned them, and just last weekend he finally took me up on my longstanding offer to let him splash in puddles if he wore the rain boots. He had a grand time and got his soaks socked despite the boots, and has wanted to wear them all the time since. Except, of course, when he's going to the potty, so I had to take them off again as soon we got downstairs "for good" and then put them back on again.

At that point James remembered that he had left something upstairs. I didn't pick up on exactly what he needed to get, so he went clomping up the stairs in his rainboots shouting back to Owen about how "I'LL BE RIGHT BACK AFTER I GET MY BUZZ-SAW LOUIE CAR THAT RACES WITH LIGHTNING MCQUEEN BUT DON'T BE TOO NOISY CAUSE MOMMY IS STILL SLEEPING!"
"AHHHH!!!!"
(J didn't remember this either.)

Owen looked around with a disappointed sort of expression until James came back. Apparently chewing on a highlighter while I read my books is not very interesting compared to James.

Once James came back and got out all of Owen's toys, he decided he wanted breakfast. I poured out some cheerios for Owen, and then set James up with his bowl of cereal. I even gave him some strawberries. I worked on cleaning up the last of the dishes until I heard James declaring "you DO like strawberries, Owen!"

When J came down they were both sitting in the living room hitting each other with sticks and laughing uproariously.

But she said it was her alarm that woke her up.

Messy Boys

We decided to cook over the fire pit tonight. Food tastes better outdoors, especially when you're eating hot dogs. J had picked up some good brats from Wegmans, and we ate them alongside a fresh fruit salad and some zuchinni, squash, onions, and mushrooms roasted up in basting oil over the fire as well. Finish that off with a s'more, and you can imagine what both of the boys looked like.

James' face was completely covered from cheek to cheek in marshmallow goop, bits of graham cracker, blueberry stains, and ketchup. At one point he had dropped the hot dog out of his bun and into his lap, so he had big globs of ketchup sticking to his shirt and his shorts as well. All the mess on his face didn't bother him a bit, but he's rather particular about keeping his hands clean. Any time he sensed he was getting some marshmallow or ketchup on his hands, he'd get up and rinse them off in the five gallon bucket under the leaky spigot, tracking through a mud puddle in the process. But at least he had clean hands.

Owen, on the other hand, had been continually dribbling peach juice down his front for the entire time we were outside. At various points he made a grab for my hot dog and my blueberries, achieving some success each time. He dived into the grass and managed to get some of that in his mouth whenever anyone wasn't looking, and he finished off the evening by eating oatmeal cereal in his high chair which he spread all over his face and hands.

It was bath time.

I stripped James off of everything but his socks and underwear, and tried to help J get Owen cleaned up enough to carry up to the tub. James reappeared a moment later, declaring that he had the hockey puck in his pocket.

The bath was run, Owen was put in, and then James climbed in after him. Almost immediately, he declared that he was going to pee in the tub.

"Don't pee in the tub James."
"But I need to pee in the tub."
"Can you wait until you're out of the bath?"
"No, I need to pee now."

I lifted him up, dripping everywhere, out of the bath, and set him on the toilet seat just as J cautioned me that he was probably slippery. Sure enough, he fell into the toilet with two little legs sticking up out of the bowl. He was retrieved, did his business, and then deposited back in the tub.

The actual bath part went smoothly. Owen laughed at everything James did, and James found the one remaining bath letter (the letter B) and held it in his mouth for the entire length of the bath. ("I'm just biting the letter B.") J asked him if he could think of any words that started with the letter B, and after thinking it over he decided that the letter M was a word that started with the letter B. We played the Imperial March, per his request, as he got out, and here he is looking like a Sith Lord. You can't see it, but the B is still in his mouth.

Afterwards we dressed them both in basketball shirts. We tried to get a photo of both of them smiling at the camera, and....well...this is what happened...

in tempore illo

How do you convince a three year old to listen attentively to 18th century lute music? Why, the answer is quite simple. Just tell him that the composer is none other than the obscure Italian musician, Giovanni Zamboni. (He is a real person)

Also, for those of you who have interest in watching videos of the boys, the most recent purging of photos data (we're both running out of space on our phones) led to a bunch of new uploads on the youtube page. Here's the link, if you don't have it:

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UChtZIIZmDIgdzKo3LG9CoxQ/videos