Six years ago...

Six years ago today I woke up in a hotel bed with four brothers sleeping on the floor. I’d argued the night before that I was perfectly comfortable sleeping on a carpeted floor, and there was certainly no need for me to take the bed by default. At the very least we could draw straws. It was four against one, however, and they had each fixed their minds that I should sleep on the bed. Sam was 20, Pax was just turned 18 and in the midst of a transfer to Roberts, Calvus was just 16 and still in high school, and Lux was only 13 years old. They all had long, shaggy hair.

I had told myself not to rush through the coffee and breakfast, knowing already that the nervous hours of the morning would pass too slowly. My parents brought bagels, and we found ESPN on the hotel’s cable stations. This was long before my parents surprised us all by getting a cable subscription at the house, and it was a rare treat to watch some Sportscenter.

I showered, scrubbed my teeth vigorously, and shaved as closely and as cautiously as I dared—after all, it would be no good to nick myself shaving today. We drove to the church about 10 AM.

It was my wedding day.

I was nervous, but it was more from an abundance of excitement than an abundance of worry. Still, there were flitting moments in which I weighed the enormity of the day. I was taking the most irrevocable step I would ever take in my life. You can change careers if you’re in the wrong job, you can change schools if you’ve gone to the wrong college, and you can sell your house. There would be no taking back of marriage vows.

My brothers were great. They were as goofy and exuberant, of course, but there were no ill-timed jokes about what they’d do to embarrass someone in the ceremony or any complaints about putting on tuxedos. They kept me pleasantly distracted and helped wherever they were needed.

Our family was about to take an irrevocable step as well. There would be no more of “the six Smith kids.” We were bringing in a spouse for the first time, and there would never again be a vacation to Alleghany State Park or a Christmas dinner in which Mom and Dad sat down with only their own children. There was going to be, not just a girl in the house, but a grown-up girl. Family photos would be different, and I wouldn’t be spending my breaks in an old upstairs bedroom anymore. The Smith family, as we knew it, was coming to an end.

I practiced when we got to the church. There were still several hours until the ceremony, and it was the best way I could think of to kill a half an hour doing something that would keep me completely distracted. It didn’t really work. My Dad came around, somehow having agreed to our foolish request to photograph his own son’s wedding. Six years later, that would be the one thing I’d do over. The photos look great, of course, but he ought to have been able to enjoy the ceremony next to Mom.

I changed out my polo and jeans around lunch, and someone came around with food—I remember having no appetite, although I think I ate a few bites of something.

One of my brothers discovered a foosball table in their explorations, and we played a few rounds while one of J’s brothers regaled Lux and Sam with an impression of Gollum’s voice.

When we entered the sanctuary, I immediately missed my trumpet. It’s no trouble for me to be up in front of a few hundred or even a few thousand people, but I’m always holding a trumpet when I’m “performing.” As I walked with the pastor and the groomsmen to the front of the church, I made a mental note to see that my gig bag ended up in a car that was going to New York, since we wouldn’t be taking any instruments on our honeymoon. No need to bow or wait for the accompanist when I got to the front of the church, or to acknowledge applause. I turned and looked at the people in the church.

There were hundreds there. Hundreds of people had driven more than five hours from New York for us, and they were beaming at me as I scanned their faces and met their eyes. I listened to the trumpet prelude as a colleague, rooting for each high note as the bridesmaids processed in. I watched as a proud older brother as M came down the aisle, hair up, glasses off, looking much older than 10 years.

And then the doors shut, and there was a fanfare.

And then the bride came in…

Back Pain

I am currently shut down for repairs.

Last night I pulled James' stroller up the big hill on Colby Street so that he wouldn't be stuck pointed into a bright sunset for ten minutes while we walked to the playground. Somewhere along the way I tweaked a muscle on the left side of my upper back, and by the time I went to bed I knew something was wrong.

I woke up several times during the night. Once I went downstairs to hunt for aspirin, and around 3 AM I even roused my longsuffering wife to rub my back. Around 5:30 it was too painful to lie on my side anymore, and on the fourth or fifth attempt, I rolled my legs off the bed and limped downstairs. My neck was stuck forwards as I walked, and I couldn't turn my head at all. It was barely light out as I turned on hot water for coffee--all with my right arm, since I couldn't lift my left--and measured out four scoops of grounds.

Woe is me.

This happened once before, in the summer of 2008. J and I were in Hanover, getting ready to drive to Philadelphia for a week at Csehy. These were the olden times, before small bears, and we would stay up late every night and sleep in late every morning. Our bodies were younger then, and they didn't break down. It wasn't like now, now that we're 28 years old and our youthful prime is behind us. Interestingly enough, it was that same week at Csehy that I played with the Syracuse Symphony Orchestra for the first time. They needed a trumpet player in a pinch, and they called the RPO personnel manager asking for a recommendation.

We were in the backyard of the Davis homestead, throwing a frisbee about with J's two brothers. I reached high for a toss that was sailing over my head, and I knew instantly that some muscle had moved into a place it shouldn't. We drove to Csehy that same afternoon, and my neck stiffened more with each passing mile of the Pennsylvania Turnpike. By the time we arrived my head was bent over my chest, and I couldn't move my neck at all. Our assignment for that evening was to drive back and forth from the campus in Langhorne through the city of Philadelphia to the airport, and to bring back arriving campers with their luggage. J was, for reasons long forgotten, somehow unable to drive. She checked the lanes around me to tell me when it was safe to turn, since I couldn't turn my head, and I tried to keep track of the dizzying interchanges as we made each half-hour trip in and half-hour trip back. I think we made eight runs before we quit.

Fortunately, our friend Opifera was there that night.

The record should show that I don't like to be massaged. I am painfully ticklish, I'm not particularly good at sitting still for long periods of time, and just when you think that adults can't be reduced to spasmatic giggles at a feather's touch, I am painfully ticklish. "But wait," you say "haven't you and your wife ever passed a cold winter evening with glasses of red wine, some jazz turned down low in the background, and a family-blog-appropriate 'back rub?'" I'm sad to say that back rubs are unromantic when convulsive elbow flailing leaves one or both parties with black eyes.

I was not expecting much help, in the summer of 2008, when Opifera offered to work on whatever knot was immobilizing my entire upper body. She put her hand on my back, felt around where the center of the pain was, and then started to work on what felt like an entirely unrelated spot on my back. My whole neck seized up for about ten minutes, and then just like that, everything had relaxed. I was still a little sore for the next day or so, but I could stand up straight again, and even managed to carry in our luggage from the car.

This morning, as I waited for my coffee to brew, I was thankful that Opifera lived only a few minutes away, and that she'd had six months of formal massage school to hone her gifted instincts.

I enjoyed the hour and a half before James got up--I read Homer and Pliny, and blundered through a few verses of Genesis in Hebrew, and was even fairly comfortable in a hard wooden chair. When I heard James begin his morning chatter upstairs, I climbed my way out of my seat--goodness, my left shoulder throbbed--and made my way up to him. He doesn't wake up from afternoon naps very well (he's always angry at the world) but he's a little angel in the morning. He was cooing to Steven Bear as I walked in the room, and he bounced to his feet in excitement when he saw me.

"James," I said softly "would you like to go downstairs and play with toys?" He gave me a big smile behind his binky and nodded several times. I grinned back and reached in to pick him up. The first two tries were unsuccessful, but he eventually climbed into my outstretched right arm. I couldn't lift him any higher than my waist, so a new diaper on his changing table was out of the question. He snuggled with me in the big downstairs chair for a few minutes (which made the trouble of standing up out of said chair worth it) and then mostly cooperated when I changed his diaper on the floor.

J texted Opifera as soon as she was up, and we got through the morning just fine. James would forget about every fifteen minutes or so that I wasn't available to rough-house or tow him along in a laundry basket or play ring-around-the-rosie today, but then he'd find some way to entertain himself--I even let him watch a little television this morning--and he'd help J look after me. They filled an old brown sock with old white rice (and, unfortunately, some nice brown rice when we ran out of the cheap stuff) and used it as a heating pad. I was given permission to spend the whole morning on the couch reading Annales articles on the Middle Ages, and I was even excused from washing the dishes.

I went over to Opifera's before lunch, and I'm much improved now. I can move both arms freely, and there's just a little bit of stiffness in my neck. It's tough getting to be an old geezer like me, but I'll manage a full recovery on this one.

Only, I may not be quite well enough to help with the dishes yet.

Exodus

And it came in those days that R. Dudlius dismissed his musicians and played no longer with the great orchestras, nor did he rise early in the morning nor drive his hollow-bellied neon, but he made a great rest in his home and took refreshment. And his wife also rested and so did James Bear, the son of R. Dudlius, although he rested in no wise to the whims of his parents, for he was always minded to be outside and in the grass and slime. And the corn grew tall and sun waxed hot overhead, and it was summer, and R. Dudlius took much refreshment.

And in the eighth month of the sixth year of the rule of one whose name means "blessing," R. Dudlius met J. of Raschella in a far journey, and he enticed him with poor enticement to take an oath to sound his trumpet in places far to the East, beyond many lakes and much further than any man should walk on a day, and even further than a horse might ride, but only where the subtle engines might go and come back because of their quickness.

And R. Dudlius said to his wife "Woe unto us, for I have sworn a heavy oath that I should sound the trumpet far in places far to the East, and only poor enticement is my reward! I cannot make my journeys on foot or horse, but I must drive our subtle engines, yet these also are of evil quality, and they always devise to work against us their tricks and wiles."

And his wife said to him "You have taken poor enticement indeed to sound your trumpet, for you are much skilled in its playing, yet your wages are as that of an unskilled servant. We must make our dwelling to the east, although I too must drive our subtle engines to the west among the homes of your kin."

And R. Dudlius asked his wife "Wherefore must you drive subtle engines among the homes of my kinsmen?"

And his wife answered to him "A priest has bidden me to sing among the halls where long ago we met, before you married me and before we journeyed to the south."

And R. Dudlius said to his wife "If I must make my way to the East beyond many lakes and you must make your way west to the halls wherein we met before you grew heavy with child, we must find a suitable place to dwell between."

And his wife made him swear with great fear never again to say "grew heavy with child," and she told him of the wages she would be paid, which were far better than his own, and they searched for many days to find suitable habitation, nor did they sleep on their bed, for their worries were great and the sun had waxed hot even through the night, and their habitation had not air conditioning.

And it came also in the eighth month of that year that R. Dudlius found a suitable place between the viae Durobrevis, and they were exceeding glad. The place which R. Dudlius found lay on the eastern slope of Mt. Wegmans, which is the holiest hill in all their land, and its ways are always full with pilgrims, rich merchants, and great men. The name of the place is melitolus, which they say in their own tongue "clover." R. Dudlius was pleased on account of the strong wall, and his wife was pleased on account of the many fine rooms, and James Bear, the son of R. Dudlius, was pleased on account of the great courtyard full of green grass and many stones fit for throwing.

Also in that place was the priest Calvus, son of Thomas, who was the brother of R. Dudlius, son of Thomas, and his wife. And Calvus greeted the tidings of R. Dudlius with gladness, because they had ere yet been many miles away from each other.

And it came that R. Dudlius ascended Mt. Wegmans with his wife and James Bear his son, and James Bear was in a cart with wheels that looked as though he drove a subtle engine, and he was much pleased. And also upon Mt. Wegmans did R. Dudlius' wife drink a cup of much sweet milk, which is called "latte" in their tongue, and she was much pleased. And R. Dudlius beheld the treasury of Mt. Wegmans, which is many fine cheeses and all manner of fruits and sweet smelling vegetables, all ripe and good to eat, along with coffees and chocolates from beyond the salt seas and flowers of exceeding brightness.

And R. Dudlius said to his wife "Look, wife, this is a a fit and suitable place where you might go to the halls of my kinsmen in the west, and I might go beyond the lakes to the east to sound my trumpet."

And R. Dudlius wrote on many papers and sent letters to the masters of this suitable place, and he wrote with much eloquence, for among those people the wages of a musician are base and not to be trusted. And he long waited their answer, and thus passed the eighth month of the sixth year of the rule of the one whose name means "blessed," and in that month that very king traveled by Mt. Wegmans.

Locked Out

It was a gloomy August morning. We were in southern Pennsylvania, and James had been begging for "outside" from the moment he got up. I was moving in slow motion, and every time I peeked out the windows it looked overcast and drizzly. J and her mother were gone shopping, and her father was on the way out the door.

"Gwo wa da moo ne DWO-luh."

"Does that mean that you want to go for a walk in the stroller?"

He nodded.

I looked out the window again. The front yard had a dark and soaked look, but there wasn't any rain actively falling either.

"James, we'll take a short walk. We'll just go around the block."

He nodded excitedly and began to do his half-skip over to the garage door.

I was still practically in my pajamas--glasses on, athletic shorts and a t-shirt. I slid on flip-flops and looked around for my keys. I hadn't slept well the night before, and morning coffee had done little to cure me of a glum headache. Oh yes, my keys were upstairs.

My father-in-law was slipping his shoes on, and James was drumming excitedly on the inside garage door.

"Dad, do you mind if I leave the inside garage door unlocked while I take James for a walk?"

He didn't mind, so long as we kept the outside overhead garage door closed. He gave me a code to open the overhead when we returned, and I unloaded the stroller from the back of our car.

I grabbed my tall umbrella and pushed James down the street. He was also in a t-shirt and shorts, and I wished I'd dressed him in something warmer. I tried to cover his bare legs with a cloth grocery bag, but he pulled it off and threw it in the street. Oh, well. It would be a short walk.

We went up the street and waved at three basketball hoops before it began to drizzle again. I opened my umbrella and turned around. James wanted to keep going, but I wasn't keen on being caught outside if the rain grew heavier.

We arrived back, and I opened the outside garage door. James immediately pointed to his uncle's motorcycle and "asked" to get on. As I put my umbrella in the back of the car he pulled himself (still in the stroller) up to the grease begrimed grill and attempted to turn the gas on.

"Tell you what, James" I said as I lifted him up "Why don't you wait for Daddy inside while I put your stroller away."

I opened the door, set him down, and quickly closed it again before he could his little fingers in the door frame. I collapsed the stroller and wheeled it over to the car. I still had a headache, and I felt like I could fall asleep at any moment. Shuffling back to the door, I put my hand on the knob.

It was locked.

I reached for my keys. No pockets. My hands slowly went to my side as I remembered that I also had no phone.

I was perfectly still for a moment, and then leaned into the door and asked:

"James?"

The knob wiggled.

"Did you try to open the door by yourself?"

The knob wiggled again.

"Do you see the little piece of metal on the doorknob? You need to turn that back."

Wiggle wiggle wiggle, went the knob.

"James, if you unlock this door I'll give you ice cream."

Wiggle wiggle.

I fruitlessly tried to insert a non-existent fingernail into the lock for a few minutes, and then spoke into the door again:

"James, you locked Daddy out of the house. I'm going to see if I can get in through any of the other doors."

I ran back outside, where it was now raining heavily, then skipped up the concrete steps to the studio door. It was locked. I ran to the laundry room door, which forms a breezeway with the garage. I could see James still standing there and twisting the knob. Locked. The kitchen door was locked. The basement entrance through the Bilko was locked. And of course, the front door was locked. I ran back to the laundry room, where I could see James and he could see me.

"James, can you hear me?"

He turned around and came over to me, stepping carefully past the scary vacuum cleaner parked next to the dryer. He had started to cry, and and he lifted his hands up at me imploringly.

"James, I can't get in! Can you please try to turn the lock on this door?"

He tried for me, then lifted his hands up again, crying even harder.

"Oh James, I can't get in while it's locked!"

I stepped back for a minute and thought. No one would be arriving home for at least an hour. It was really raining now, but I was even more worried about James. I thought about all the scrapes I'd saved him from just since we'd arrived...catching him from falling off of a rolling chair he climbed up on twice, pulling him off the dining room table, and a near fall down the stairs.

"James, Daddy's going to be right back. You need to stay right here and wait for me. Do you understand? I want you to stay right here." He was still crying, but he looked up at me and nodded.

I ran down the driveway to the street in front of the Davis house and surveyed the neighborhood. I needed a phone, which meant that I needed to find someone who was home. It was about 10:30 on a Thursday morning, and I suspected most everyone would be at work. Would there be anyone at home?

I looked for cars in driveways, and didn't see any...but then I remembered seeing pre-school aged children at the house across the road and to the left. There were no signs of life from the outside, but I ran up knocked on the door.

Two little girls came to the door, and they found their mother, who immediately grabbed the phone when I explained that my one-year-old had locked me out of the house. J's mother was able to tell me where to find a spare key, and when I opened the door James was standing exactly where I'd left him by the laundry room door.

I couldn't find any ice cream, but he gladly settled for a spoonful of Nutella.

On Running Late

I'm a hypocrite.

When it's time for me to leave for a gig, I'm always ready to walk out the door at least 15 minutes before I actually need to walk out the door, and that's including a 10 minute traffic buffer...so that I can arrive 20 minutes early. Being late is a mortal sin in the orchestra world. You can get away with a lot in the back few rows of the orchestra, but you must be on time. Everyone has a horror story about the one time they were late for a rehearsal. One friend was riding a train that broke down. Another wrote down the wrong start time and thought that the rehearsal started a half-hour later than it actually did. I was late once because I drove to the wrong rehearsal space. I've never actually known anyone who was late to a concert, but sometimes you hear the faint echo of a ghostly scream coming from the subterranean corridors below the concert hall, and I think that the wraiths of old conductors must be torturing a violist who was late for a pops concert. (Although, admittedly, it would be difficult to distinguish the sound of a violist being tormented from the sound a violist practicing.)

Otto Karl Shdenkenheim was music director from 1962-1968. Now a wandering spirit, he is best remembered for the extraordinary slumber he produced by programming every Haydn symphony during his tenure with the orchestra.

So this is why I always make sure that NO MATTER WHAT I will be on time to my rehearsals and concerts. And I'm a horrible hypocrite, because when J needs to get to a rehearsal, I show all the foresight and haste of a elderly yak. Sunday morning was just such an occasion. I'd had a concert the previous night and made a deliberate effort to procure the two grocery items I'd need for the following morning--coffee and shaving cream.

I was out of both, so between my rehearsal and show I wandered up and down Elmwood St. in Buffalo. I found shaving cream in a discount grocery store, but they didn't carry anything except plebian coffee. (I passed the plastic tubs of pre-ground Folgers and made a face for the benefit of the empty aisle that conveyed both superiority and disgust, as if even the smell of cheap coffee was turning my highly sophisticated stomach.) I did find shaving cream, and thereby gave occasion to awkwardly explain to a clerk in each of the next two stores that I visited (neither of which had coffee) that although I had just purchased my shaving cream elsewhere, I hadn't the faintest idea where my receipt was or if I'd even been offered one, but I would be leaving their store without buying anything because they didn't carry any coffee products that met my lofty standards.

And this was why I woke up at 7:30 on Sunday morning and didn't have any coffee. We agreed to stop at a Tim Horton's on the way to church (and a Wegmans on the way back, thank goodness there was still some remnant of civilization left in the world) in order to caffeinate, which J reminded me again was an expensive habit.

I limped my way downstairs to the kitchen table, and opened my Greek New Testament. The whole world seemed to be in black and white. I put my head in my hands, and started to pick up the translation I was making from St. Mark. J sat next to me and worked on her cereal, occasionally making pleasant remarks to which I grunted acknowledgement. Sometimes in movies with loud explosions (these are the types of movies which make up the majority of my high-brow fancy-coffee-drinking film diet) an explosion will occur particularly close to the main character, and the director will convey his disorientation by cutting out all sound except a high pitched ringing, and scanning the camera around unsteadily. This is what its like to be without coffee, except you also have a headache. Yes, it is actually worse than surviving a nearby explosion.

We needed to be on the road by 8:00, and J was ready to go by 7:50. I was nowhere near ready to go, and I was also profoundly unhelpful with the hardest part of going anywhere as a family--getting James ready. I didn't particularly want to go to church anyway. Her church is far away, and it is a contemporary music church. I don't hate contemporary music, but I also don't make any effort to listen to it unless there are special circumstances. It's sort of like listening to Spohr. If Spohr comes on the radio, I change to a different channel unless the performer is truly exceptional. When Spohr is on a concert program, I avoid the concert unless a close personal friend is part of the performance.

Spohr's name even sounds uninteresting. It's a cross between "boring" and "snore." Sopor is Latin for deep sleep, so it's no surprise that Spohr is soporific. If Louis Spohr were a campfire treat, he'd be a lukewarm tofu between two unsalted wafer crackers. We'd call them S'pohrs.

This guys music is Spohrrible.

So that's why we were running late on Sunday. I was uncaffeinated, unhelpful with James, and dragging my feet to go listen to Spohr with drumset.

"I think it's going to be a good day." said Julie

I looked over at her, and she was neatly done up in a short black skirt, a snazzy brand new top, with cute black shoes and sunglasses atop her head.

And it was a good day.

Summer So Far

So far Summer 2013 has been about:

Cleaning
This week was all about getting control of our house again after being away at camp for two weeks. I got up at 6 AM on Monday and started in on the dishes. Five days later, we still aren't finished. (Although the pace of our efforts has diminished considerably as we've made progress against the mess.) We scoured the countertops in the kitchen, scrubbed the sticky kitchen floor until it was once again smooth and clean to bare feet, ran endless loads of laundry, rummaged through the storage boxes of the laundry room, threw away two garbage bins of junk, moved book stacks back to their rightful places, paid old bills, answered old emails, dusted, vacuumed, held James at a safe distance from the terror of the vacuum, sorted the toy box, put away outgrown clothes, gave away outdated ties, installed more baby-proofing equipment, and even scrubbed the carpets. My favorite project, however, was the total transformation of the Neon. I emptied the backseat of all the gigging debris that had accumulated over the course of the year (old choir music, bits of wire-stands, spare mutes, parking receipts). I scrubbed the passenger side carpet where a milkshake had spilled and left a sticky (and stinky) mess. I vacuumed out half a driveway of pebbles. I wiped down all the glass surfaces, scrubbed the dash, and completely reorganized the trunk. I had a brand new car at the end of the day. It was a wonderful feeling to sit inside of the Neon and think "Wow! This is what rental cars smell like!" Of course, the outside still looks terrible--the paint on the hood is peeling away in huge stripes, and it looks like the front of the car caught on fire. But still, I've been proud of my clean car, and I've really enjoyed driving back and forth to Buffalo in it.

Gigging
I've been driving back and forth to Buffalo a lot. This is a very good thing, since there was no summer work whatsoever in Rochester this year. I've played a couple of tent concerts on the harbor front, a lunchtime show at M&T plaza, an anniversary celebration for Artpark, and tonight a "Classics" concert at Kleinhans. Every summer there seems to be a piece or two that show up on every concert I play. Perhaps the music library gets to choose one number that they never have to take out of the folders? In years past it's been the Victory at Sea suite in Rochester, or the Brahms Hungarian Dance no. 5. (I take it for granted, by the way, that 1812 will be on every concert.) This year it's American Salute in Buffalo. J and James came to the lunchtime concert, and it was a lot of fun to watch him react to a real live orchestra. (He begged for a few minutes to be allowed on the timpani, then spent the rest of the concert wandering over to homeless people and trying to climb into the fountain.)

Camp
We spent two weeks in Houghton, NY at the Csehy Summer School of Music, where J taught flute. We stayed up late with lots of great musician friends, and James was fascinated by people riding bicycles. (We may need to borrow a baby seat and take him for a ride sometime soon.) I was in and out with orchestra work, but J taught some great students and had some solo playing opportunities. We juggled childcare (thank goodness the camp has someone on staff for that) and tried to stay cool in the unairconditioned dormitories. Fortunately, there was Perry's ice cream available at every meal.

Auditions
Well, one audition. For the Virginia Symphony. I drove ten hours to Virginia with all the windows rolled down, then spend two days going back and forth to a Jewish temple in Norfolk playing excerpts and waiting to hear the advancement notices. There were two spots open, and out of the three of us that made it to the very last round of playing, I was the one that didn't get a job. To be honest, it was awful. And I still feel awful about it. I played really well, and I don't think there was anything I could have done differently--in fact, I got to talk with the music director afterwards, and she assured me that there was nothing else I could have done. But it still stinks. It was my third visit to the finals in the last year, and I'm simultaneously elated with encouragement and sick with disappointment. But for now, back to the practice room.

James
James really likes to have Daddy home for the summer. We're bouncing around quite a bit outside, and he's turned a corner with his "talking" recently. I suspect that camp had quite a bit to do with this, because he was surrounded all day by conversation, and he's started to imitate it. He's now pouring forth torrents of nonsense syllables not only in response to our questions, but without any prompting as he plays, cries, takes baths, throws things, eats, and does all the things little boys do. Two days ago, we even got a real word: Basketball. Basketball might be his favorite thing right now, in addition to rocks, balls, dogs, drums, tractors, driving, sidewalk chalk, Chika-chika boom boom, conducting, and forks. I think his life was made complete the other day when we found a Youtube video of a dog shooting basketball. (With drums in the background music.)

"Parents" of three

Now that I'm home for the summer I can help J watch our niece and nephew two days a week. S&K need the childcare between their work and school schedules, so we are happy to watch our bubbly three year old niece Hayden and her newborn brother Liam. J has been watching them ever since Liam was born in April, and she is understandably tired after the days where she watches all three kids. This is very good practice for when we someday have multiple children of our own.

Here's how the day went:
9:30 Hayden and Liam arrive. J makes a bottle Liam, and Hayden and James play nicely with a balloon. He is super excited to see her and expresses this by emitting loud high-pitched shrieks repeatedly. (I think that he thinks he's talking to her when he does this.) Hayden tells me several times how nicely she and James are sharing. Sometimes she is so eager to share that she rips the balloon right out of his arms, so that she can give it back to him again. Liam is fussy while the bottle is being prepared. Hayden takes off her shoes and puts on a pair of J's high heels.

9:45 J begins to make pizza dough for lunch. (N.B. Her pizza dough turns out beautifully, without any of the drama that certain other people have experienced while attempting it recently.) I hold Liam on my lap with a book, by far my most peaceful 15 minutes of the day. Liam works on his bottle contentedly. James and Hayden both insist that they be allowed to "help" Aunt Julie with the pizza. She pushes two kitchen chairs up to the counter, and they climb up to assist, mostly by asking questions about what everything is (Hayden) and stacking the spices into towers (James.) James is continuing to emit high-pitched shrieks every fifteen to thirty seconds. At one point I suggest that the pizza be topped with dirt instead of pepperoni, and Hayden is deeply upset. She tells Aunt Julie that this would be "disgusting."

10:00 The pizza dough is in the bread machine, and it's time for everyone to get dressed. I take off Hayden's high heels and put her crocs back on. I take James upstairs and put on his socks and sneakers. I close the door to my room and change into jeans and a long sleeved shirt. Hayden and James both bang on the door with Hayden insisting that they come in since I'm all "nakey." James assents by shrieking.

10:05
James has pooped his pants. J takes him upstairs to take off his shoes, pants, and diaper, put on a new one, and then put all his clothes back on. He shrieks through the process. Liam has also pooped his pants. I change his diaper downstairs, and he begins wail/shriek. We ask Hayden whether she needs to go to the bathroom before we visit the park. She is very noncommittal, so I take her upstairs to sit on the potty just to be sure. She doesn't need to go. I pull her jeans back up and we are ready to leave the house.

10:15
J carries out Liam in his carseat while I try to corral Hayden and Liam into the PT Cruiser. I load James first, who initially fusses and then gives great guffaws of laughter when he realizes Hayden will be sitting next to him in her booster eat. I strap in James, then strap in Hayden, then take the carseat from Liam and attempt to put in unsuccessfully several times before J gets it secure. James is shrieking again, and Liam is still crying. The door doesn't close on the first attempt, but it does when we reposition Liam's carseat. All three kids are in the backseat.

10:30
We listen to a CD of children singing Bible songs. Hayden provides musical criticism on several points, including "Why are there kids singing these songs?" We listen to "This Little Light of Mine" three times. We get to the park, and Hayden informs us that we are at the wrong park. Liam and James are both quiet.

10:40
We unpack the kids from the car. I carry a sleeping Liam in carseat over to the playground. Hayden walks on her own, but J has to carry a kicking and fighting James, who has seen the stream that runs through Hubbard Park and wants to get down and play in it. Hayden informs us, upon closer inspection, that we are at the right park after all. She tells me many stories about the last time she was here, with Aunt Martha.

10:45
Liam is asleep in his carseat on a park bench. Hayden and James are both in kiddie swings. Initially J is pushing Hayden while I push James, but then I push both, mostly giving underduckies.

10:50
Liam is still sleeping. James and Hayden climb up the swingset to go down the slides. J rules out the "twin slides" facing south since they both have large pools of standing water from a recent rain. James goes down a tunnel slide and gets his rear end soaked anyway. He slides very slowly with a damp bottom, but still laughs uproariously and goes down several times. Hayden climbs to the top of the slide once, but is too scared to go down. James climbs over her head and goes down again. Hayden decides to go on the swings again.

10:55
James is upset that Hayden is in her swing. Hayden does not switch swings, so Aunt Julie starts a timer for Hayden's turn and then James' turn. James' interest does not last to the end of the timer, so he goes back to the slides. Liam is still sleeping.

11:00
James starts down one of the super-wet slides, and I catch him halfway down before he reaches the puddle at the bottom and pull him off. J yells something to me from across the playground. I walk a little closer to listen to what she was saying. I don't end up listening, because in my absence James begins to play in the puddle of water at the base of the slide. His frontside and his backside are now soaked. I pull him away from the puddle and attempt to splash most of it off the slide and into the dirt below. James goes to another slide with another puddle and tries to pick up an enormous bug that is flailing in the water. I take away the enormous bug, and he reaches his hands down into the mud puddle from where I drained out the first puddle. He is completely soaked and his hands are coated in dirty woodchips. Hayden is shrieking on the swings, and Liam is (to the best of our knowledge) still asleep.

11:05
I carry James (sopping wet) over to the stream that he was trying to get into earlier, hold him upside down by his feet, and instruct him to rinse off his hands in the water. He cleans his hands and thinks this is enormous fun, but then is upset when I don't let him play in the stream. I carry him (still wet) and crying back to Hayden and J. I offer to take Hayden on a walk with James, and J sits down with sleeping Liam.

11:10
We follow the stream through the park, and see a mother duck fly over our heads to her five little ducklings swimming in the cat-tails. We follow them as they swim upstream (probably trying to escape from us) and I hold Hayden in one arm and James in the other so that we can keep up. They utterly fascinated by the little ducklings. Eventually we let them swim away when we reach the empty old basketball courts. James wants to be let down to play basketball, even though I tell him that we don't have a ball with us. Hayden insists that she knows where one is secretly hidden, but I don't let her down either. Both of them cry as I carry them back to J and Liam.


11:20
Liam is awake. We take one more round on the slides (then another, then another) as we gather everything up, and then load back into the backseats of the SUV. James cries a lot as we leave--we pass the stream without playing in it again--and Hayden shows everyone how tall she is when she stands on a rock. Liam is fussy. We listen to "He's Got the Whole World in His Hands" four times on the way back home. Cracking open Liam's window helps with his fusses, but Hayden insists that he doesn't like it.

11:30
We all come back inside and J shows Hayden how the bread machine turned their mixture into dough. Hayden goes upstairs and puts on another pair of J's heels, then wears them into the kitchen to model. James imitates her by putting on (without much success) a pair of my flip flops. J begins to assemble the pizza, and Hayden and James take up their positions on chairs at the counter again to help.Hayden is worried that there might be dirt on the pizza when J puts on the sauce. She also helps put pepperoni on the pizza, but is upset that she can't eat more than one before its cooked. James makes more spice towers and spills a cup of flour onto the floor.

11:45
J is looking after Liam. Hayden and James go upstairs to James' room. I knock on the door, and Hayden informs me that I'm not allowed in their house. She then tells James that his room is a mess, and they need to clean it. James laughs.

12:00
The pizza comes out of the oven, but when Hayden can't have a piece before it's cut and cooled she sasses J and ends up in time out for three minutes. She begins to cry, which makes James cry. Liam needs a bottle, and when he hears the other two crying, he begins to cry as well. I work on giving Liam bottle while J cuts up the pizza. Time out ends, and J serves pizza to Hayden and James while Liam drifts off to sleep again in my arms.

12:15
J, Hayden, James and I eat pizza around the kitchen table. Hayden is very relieved there isn't any dirt on the pizza.

...and this would probably be an excellent opportunity thank my Mother, who used to watch three three-and-under-year-olds EVERY SINGLE DAY.