Prepared for Mass

When we go to Mass on Sunday mornings, we allow the boys to pack their own backpacks with a few things to help entertain themselves. Usually, this means a train or two, a book, maybe a Matchbox car. Today, we didn't double-check J's bag before leaving. That kid...

They ARE Pretty Great

M has never been as big on saying "I love you" as J. But now, when you whisper in his ear, "I love you," the most common response is, "I love ...

... UNDERPANTS!"

Also, "... bananapants" never ceases to elicit peals of laughter. In fact, M and J both seem to think that is the funniest word ever.

Dinosaur Train

The primary reason that I have to go to the office every day is that I am not a genius. If I were a genius, I would have already invented something by now that would have made me millions.

For example, I would have invented the show Dinosaur Train. After all, when thinking of the perfect show to market to 4-year old boys, you'd think, "What do 4-year old boys like the most?" The answer, of course, is "dinosaurs and trains." I didn't figure this out. Some other guy did. He golfs 18 after dropping the kids off at daycare. In a gold helicopter.

At least I can reap the benefits of Dinosaur Train. One benefit is that both of my oldest boys, M and J, know how to correctly pronounce many more dinosaur names than I ever dreamed of. This was made apparent to me this evening, as I sat on the couch with a dinosaur book and patiently worked with M - or, better, he worked with me - on the correct way to say "ankylosaurus." For the record, that's one of these things.

Beautiful, no? Anyway, they are very cool, and M insisted that the name is pronounced "ANG-ki-lo-SAUR-us."

Big surprise - when I looked it up in the book, he was right.

I still can't say it correctly.

The Great Pumpkin

I should preface this by noting that my boys eat very healthfully, often by choice. My wife, S, has done a remarkable job of ensuring that they always have lots of fruit and vegetables placed before them. They love pasta, and M even devours meat when he declares himself a "protein predator" (like a T-Rex, it seems). None of them eat much candy or sweets, and view those things as special treats.

So, at least thus far in their short lives, Halloween has not been about gathering 40 pounds of candy. They love dressing up, and love trick-or-treating in its various forms (at the Detroit Zoo's "Zoo Boo," at daycare, or with Nana and Grandpa), but do not yet care how big of stash they're able to obtain. I know this will change in time, but right now, we like it.

However, while the boys don't care about the amount of candy, they are very aware of the amount. If it suddenly went missing, we'd have problems. We've accepted this in the past when it was time to get the candy out of the house (often at the expense of my coworkers), but this year, S heard about an alternative solution.

One of her friends has started the tradition of the Great Pumpkin with their kids. The basic premise is that the Great Pumpkin takes their unwanted Halloween candy on Halloween night, and leaves behind small gifts. While the boys would miss candy that simply disappeared, this (we thought) was something they would go for.

So, while on our way to visit PopPop (one of the boys' great-grandfathers) and then trick-or-treating, I told them of the Great Pumpkin, and that he was a huge pumpkin ("like in The Runaway Pumpkin [a favorite book right now]" chimed in M), and that he ate Halloween candy. I said that he wanted to eat their extra Halloween candy, but he wouldn't just take it. Instead, if we left candy for him on the front porch, he'd leave presents. "Boys, what do you think?"

J immediately said, "We shouldn't do that." M replied, "He should get his own candy."

And so much for that.

Actually, they ultimately went for it, and it went off without a hitch, but that exchange darn near killed us. If this how they are thinking at (nearly) 4, what do we have in store in ten years?

The Circle of Life

A few days ago, just after S had put A to bed, I pulled M and J onto my lap, M on my left, and J on my right, to read them their bedtime stories. As I do every so often, I asked them if they knew why I liked to hold them like that, with M on my left and J on my right. For the first time, J responded that he remembered why, that it was because that was the way Daddy got to hold M and J for the first time on the day that Mommy and Daddy got them. I really want them to know how much those little things mean to me, and how much getting them in our lives meant to us, so it made me quite happy that he was starting to learn the story.

Then we began to talk about how much bigger they were getting, and how one day they'd be grown up. I asked if they knew what might happen when they were all grown up, to which M asked, "We can drink from a glass?"

After I finished laughing, I explained that they might become daddies, too, and have little boys (correction: big boys) to hold and read bedtime stories to. We talked about how Daddy and Mommy started off as babies, then became kids, then teenagers, and then grown-ups. This concept seemed rather amazing to them, as they had little to say but their eyes were wide open.

Then, they snuggled in, and we read our stories.

Brotherly Love

The other day, M and J were out playing in the back yard when M ran over to J to give him a big hug.

"Ewwww!" yelled J, running to S with his arms outstretched.

J's arm was covered with boogers. Apparently, M had a very runny nose at the time.

Boys are awesome.

Baby 3 is here!

On June 17, 2009, baby 3 was born. We'll call him A.

With M and J, I missed out on the traditional birth experience. They were born four weeks early, and by c-section, so they were born in an operating room. I was sitting by S's head, but shielded from the blessed event by a plastic screen. I was only permitted to stand and see when each baby was already out and crying on his mommy's tummy. I remember those images vividly, but those moments and memories have always felt distant. Thankfully, the magic occurred a few moments later when they were brought to me, wrapped in blankets and placed in my arm. To do this day, I tell M and J when I read them their bedtime stories that I always place M in my left arm and J in my right because that is the way I held them the very first time.

They'll get sick of hearing that in a few years, but I don't care. Their father is a mush-ball, and they need to come to grips with that.

With A, the experience was totally different. First, S was late, uncomfortably so. Thankfully, A seemed to be very healthy, so there was no real cause for concern other than S's previous c-section. Second, we were at a smaller, more quiet, more peaceful hospital. Finally, we were hoping that A's birth would be "normal," so there was less of a sense of urgency.

In fact, I was shocked by the lack of urgency, even though S was induced. Don't get me wrong, people paid attention to us, but we often went an hour or two without seeing anyone. I now know that this was very normal, and that help was always a few steps away. I was just surprised a doctor wasn't in the room, monitoring the situation every moment! I think that explains a lot about my knowledge of these things. So, we walked laps in the hallways, tried different positions for S to labor in, and generally tried to pass the time as she grew more and more uncomfortable. Around noon - she'd been induced at 6:00 a.m. - she was not progressing much yet was in a lot of pain, and opted for an epidural. And I'm very glad that she did.

Needless to say, she was able to relax. In fact, she even slept for a bit. About an hour later, maybe a little more, she was ready to push - to deliver our son. That part only took her another 35 minutes.

I cannot easily describe watching A be born. It was like nothing I'd ever seen before, and felt unreal. On the one hand, here I was in an ordinary room next to my wife, while just inches away, in the harsh spot-light the doctor was using, a strange, almost unrecognizable object was emerging. And then, seemingly in an instant, that object turned into the head, torso, and arms of my son, who seemed to be reaching for S just as she reached down to help bring him into the world and pull him to her chest.

And there he was, my little A.