Shots in the Dark

Before my son was born, I used to take pictures of things other than my son. Like creepy playscapes at night. Or me censoring myself.

Just thought I would share. (Click on any image to embiggen. Or here to view the whole set.)

Damn You, Universe. We Had A Deal.

On Sunday, we lost a man with whom I'd worked professionally. On Monday, we lost a neighbor whose grandson was my son's age, and who'd donated the sand for our sandbox. Yesterday I beseeched the universe to break from its "bad things happen in threes" mentality, but alas, the universe had other plans.

Last night, our dog Sonya passed away.

Unlike the two men, who I believe were both in their 50s, Sonya was an old lady. She was twelve, had gone deaf, was eating less, and had been having trouble with stairs for some time. But we figured she still had a few good months left. There was no sign the end was coming till the middle of last night.

Sonya was a rescue, pulled from the streets of Harlem at a year old. Denise wanted a way to bounce back after her first bout with cancer, and Sonya was it. Early on, they walked pretty much every day.

I met Sonya on my second date with Denise; we walked her around the neighborhood. She determined I was good people (or at least on the same side in her war against the squirrels), and that was that.

It wasn't long before I inexplicably became her favorite person. She'd be happy to see Denise, but overjoyed when I arrived. (The times I got home first and gave her 45-minute belly rubs probably didn't hurt.)

She was, as Denise called her, an all-American mutt. Part collie, part who knows what. Sweet as they come. Fluffy as all get out. Shed like the dickens.

In her youth, Sonya was so afraid of water she'd pull you across the street to avoid a small puddle. At dog parks, she'd separate the big ones from the little ones. She befriended our cat Schrödinger within seconds. And she'd take biscuits with the gentlest touch you've ever seen.

I've never been a dog person. Never will be. But with Sonya, I was the closest I'll ever get.

Farewell, my sweet puppy.

"When People Love Me, I Just Hug 'Em."

My son is now four and a half. I haven't been recording as many of his quotes and conversations lately, and the reasons are threefold: 1) many of them need context; 2) his stories go on forever; and 3) I forgot, okay? I forgot. I'm human. Leave me alone.

Anyway, here are a few of his from the past year...

Me: "I'll be right there. I just need a drink after all that work shoveling outside."
Him: "I need a drink, too, after all that watching Thomas at the Blue Mountain Quarry."

~~~~~

His cousin (7 months older) is explaining that girls don't have penises.
Him: "But my mom has a penis."
Cousin: "This book here says she doesn't."
(There was no book. They were simply standing there talking to each other.)

~~~~~

"She's not a girl. She's a boy girl."
(After some delving, we managed to get a translation: She likes playing with trucks.)

~~~~~

He's playing with his back to us, and it sounds like he's saying, "You're a bitch" over and over. My sister-in-law and I share a look to confirm that, yes, that is indeed what he's saying. I ask what he's doing. He looks up and explains the truck is collecting you're-a-bitch. I mean, gar-bage.

~~~~~

I tell him he needs to go to bed, so he won't be too tired when his cousin wakes him up in the morning. Because his cousin is always up really early.
"Well, I'm up early and a half."

~~~~~

His cousins are already asleep on either side of him. His aunt is sitting nearby to make sure he doesn't wake them before he falls asleep.

Him (whispering): "Aunt Connie."
Connie: "You need to go to sleep."
(a few moments pass)
Him: "Aunt Connie."
Connie: "What?"
Him: "I have a new plan. First one to move gets to go downstairs and play with all the toys."

Stealing My Son's Soul

On Thanksgiving day, my son decided he no longer wanted any pictures taken of him. Of course, that didn't stop me from trying, but now the only good pictures come when he's having too much fun to remember he now hates photos.

Anyway, here's an assortment of Pre-Thanksgiving shots, for those who've been missing their Professorial fix.

Mind the Gap

Between May and December of last year, The Wheel was eerily silent. I had my reasons for abandoning my post(s), though for the first time I can recall, laziness wasn't one of them.

Maybe you're curious what I was up to during my hiatus. Probably not, but I don't really care; I'm going to tell you anyway. Here's a taste of what has happened in my life the past eight months:

• I lost 15 lbs on my new diet regimen, the Get-Stressed-and-Overwork-Yourself-Fixing-Up-the-House-to-Sell Diet Plan. (I have since gained 2/3 of it back with the classic Show-No-Willpower-During-the-Holidays Plan.)
   
• We moved one town away, to a bigger house with a larger yard, and we still don't have room for all our belongings. (Okay, technically we do, since we haven't sold the old house yet. But that's a tale for another day.)
   
• In the span of four days in June, I laughed at a big baby with some senior citizens, flashed a stranger on a busy street, played ping pong with a trio of Swedes, finished off a Ginger Ninja, and high-fived a guy who once wrote a novel about a sock monkey.
   
• For Halloween, I reprised my costume from a decade years earlier and went as the superhero Captain Spatula. (My first time around, he'd been merely Spatula Man. With his promotion, he got a shinier cape and spiffier kitchen utensils.)
   
• I won a 100-word writing contest primarily because I found a way to make the word "weekly" creepy. No, really. I'll share it with you soon.
   
• My cat was named Mr. January in a nationally distributed calendar. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, librarians everywhere are already fawning over lil' Schrödinger. Thanks, Baker & Taylor!
   
• My son turned four. He's damn cute.

"...So, I Get Ten Ninja Clowns"

Over the holidays, my son branched out. He's still enthralled with construction trucks, but now he's equally into Legos and games. And thanks to one of the latter, he's also getting good at telling stories (which never stay on plot, but always include a boy seeing a burning building).

Anyway, these aren't even the craziest things my son has said the past couple months. They're just the craziest ones I remembered to write down.

We're starting dinner, but he's still in the living room. I know nothing we're eating that night will entice him to stop playing, but there's also a bowl of fruit on the table. So I call out, "I'm eating one of your graaaapes."
From the living room: "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO(now keep in mind he's never seen The Simpsons or Family Guy or anything like that)OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO(so we have no idea where he got this from)OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO(but he kept going for 8-10 seconds)OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

And then he comes to dinner. Five minutes later.
~~~~~
I have just left the room. My nephew turns to my son.
"We need to see Uncle Nat."
"No, he's gone forever."
~~~~~
"Why don't I have brothers or sisters?"
"Because Mommy and I haven't had any other kids yet. Do you want a brother or sister?"
"I want Nick and Alex [his cousins] to be my brother and sister. I want Nick to be my sister and Alex to be my brother."
~~~~~
I'm trying to explain the concept of English.
"We speak English."
"I don't."
"Sure you do. The language we speak is called English."
"No, I speak Normal."
~~~~~
"Can I PLEASE eat the head of Santa?"
~~~~~
He stands next to one cousin, who is 7" taller, and looks up at him.
"We're the same size!"
~~~~~
To a cousin, while in said cousin's house:
"Did you know you have toys in your basement?! Come on, I'll show you!"
~~~~~
Explaining the rules of a game we're "playing":
"...so, I get ten ninja clowns."

As you might expect, the game has absolutely nothing to do with clowns, barely anything to do with ninjas, and he had just rolled a 6.
~~~~~
He holds up something built out of Duplo-style Lego blocks. It looks like a top-heavy tower.
"I made a pewer with a window."
"A what? You mean a tower?"
"No, a pewer."
"A pewer?"
"With a window."

It took another 20 seconds of back-and-forth before I figured out what a pewer is. (It's something that you point at people as you go "Pew! Pew! Pew!") (Duh.)

For the First Time Ever

My first 13 Christmases were spent at home, without any sort of celebration (unless the day happened to coincide with Hanukkah). I spent my next 16 Christmases in movie theaters and Chinese restaurants. Then I met my wife. The past 8 Christmases have been more "traditional" in their yuletide cheer: trees and gifts and ham and cookies and gifts. And for some reason, myrrh.

And yet, despite this year being Christmas #37 (of a sort), I still managed many Christmas firsts...

• For the first time ever, I saw It's a Wonderful Life. Wow. Jimmy Stewart is an amazing actor.
   
• For the first time ever, I saw Elf. Wow. Will Ferrell is an actor.
   
• For the first time ever, I performed a christening. Only afterward did I learn it's not traditionally done with two bottles of wine, and also there's no reason to ever christen a driveway. But in my defense I'm still relatively new to all this stuff.
   
• For the first time ever, I watched grown men battle for victory in perhaps the most hotly contested game of dreidel ever — a game that did not involve real money or real chocolate. The lone Jew (me) was ousted first, leaving six Catholics to vie for the crown — and there wasn't even a real crown.
   
• And for the first time ever, I watched my three-year-old son receive a Nerf gun that shoots darts up to 100 feet, weighs nearly 5 pounds, and is 4 inches taller than he is. Thanks a lot, Tim.

One Ring to Bind Them

Four years ago today, Denise slipped this ring on my finger, and I haven't taken it off since.

Well, except a few nights early on, when it was irritating my skin. And those occasions when I set it aside in the bathroom and only remembered hours later. And whenever I've done gardening or masonry or some other activity that could sully it. Oh, and of course that time I jammed my finger playing football and couldn't get the ring over my knuckle for twelve months.¹

It's okay, though, because Denise knows that even if I don't wear it all the time, my feelings for her are constant. She is my everything.

Or rather, she was. Until our son was born. Now she's half my everything. Or if you go by weight, 80% of my everything. Though really it's more like 78 or 79%. And that number's dropping.

I guess what I'm trying to say is this: Math is hard.

I mean, I even screwed up the title to this post. It didn't take one ring to bind us; it took two. Which proves I'm nothing like Gollum. I'll have to tell this to my preeeecious. She'll be so relieved.

(Happy anniversary, Denise!)


¹ I also may have removed it once to take a photo of it. Maybe.

Webs for Other Bugs That are Good

My son will soon be three. He still loves animals and books, but he recently moved onto the gold standard for boys his age: construction vehicles. Most nights before bath time, he's more dirt than boy.

Here are some more tidbits from the past few months:

We're setting the table for dinner.
Him: "That's my barracuda!"
Me: "These are my salad tongs."
Him: "That's my barracuda!"
~~~~~
"I watched a beetle with Wyatt and Narayan. But not DJ and Arav and Lily. They were mad."
"They were mad at you? Why?"
"I had a hammer and hit the floor. They were mad. And I said 'No thank you!' to the kids who were mad at daycare."
~~~~~
"No, Daddy, you don't sing."
"Why not?"
"I'm going to sing better songs. You sing silly songs."
~~~~~
Along with many recognizable characters from Seuss, Disney, Henson, and Milne, there are other imaginary creatures my son talks about as if they're real and everyone knows what they are. A partial list: the Backson (from this), the Snatchabook (from this), the Gulper, Grabular, Undersnatch, Spiny-Backed Guzzler, and Saber-Toothed Yumper (all from this), and Santa Claus.

I'm kidding about that last one, of course. He never mentions Santa Claus.
~~~~~
He is looking at a drawing of two chipmunks.
"What are they doing?" he asks.
"They're playing croquet."
"No, they're playing hockey."
"They're playing croquet."
"No, they're playing hockey."
"Basketball?"
"Nooo, they're playing hockey."
"Soccer?"
"Noooo, they're playing hockey."
"Okay, they're playing hockey."
"I think they're playing chess."

We're on a walk, and I've been carrying him for a while. I ask if he'd like to walk some more.
"Are your arms tired, Daddy?"
"Yes, they are."
"That means you have to carry me all the way home."
~~~~~
"I want to eat bulgogi."
"We don't have any. We're having pasta tonight."
"Put it in the bowl, mix it up, it becomes bulgogi."

(Note: He's never tried bulgogi. He's only heard of it thanks to this book.)
~~~~~
"Spider-Man makes webs for other bugs that are good."

(Note: He's never watched any Spider-Man. He's only seen him on clothes. Oh, and on one refrigerator magnet.)
~~~~~
And what would a summary of a 2-year-old's activities be without a mention of poop?

Grandma: "Let's go change your diaper."
Him: "No. I didn't poop."
Grandma: "You stink. If it's not poop in your diaper, what is it?"
Him: "It's..." (pauses to think, then looks down at the furniture he's leaning on) "...stool."

He is so much smarter than he has any right to be.

And Then The Professor Got His Hands On A Duplicator

click to view this photo in its full glory (i.e. larger)

About a year ago, I shared some Calvin & Hobbes with my son. This included parts of Scientific Progress Goes "Boink", which has a duplicator on its cover. He was only 1½ years old at the time, so I assumed he wouldn't absorb any of it. Little did I know...

For most kids, Calvin & Hobbes is a fun comic about a boy and his stuffed tiger.

For my son, it's a How-To manual.

The Wit and Wisdom of The Professor

The Professor has no idea he's The Professor. No one has ever called him that in real life. He may never have even heard the word. Nevertheless, as his tireless student, I watch and listen, taking notes...

Denise and he are discussing which animals have tails. The last one she asks is...
"Does Daddy have a tail?"
(long pause)
"Probably not."
~~~~~
Denise points to a candy cane and asks what it is.
"A reindeer stalk."
~~~~~
Whenever someone asks, "How are you?" he will inevitably answer: "Two." Then he'll hold up that many fingers.
~~~~~
"Mommy, look what I made in the living room!"
"What did you make?"
"A mess!"

He comes into the kitchen and says, "I want some more milk please."
I also want him to eat some lunch, so I ask, "Would you like some cheese, or an apple?"
He walks over to me, and taps on my leg with each word, for emphasis. "I. Want. Some. More. Milk. Please."

Clearly I have a hearing problem.
~~~~~
Like many parents, we began the ritual of kissing a boo-boo to make it feel better. He did us one better: While running around the living room, he banged his knee against the table. He stopped, bent down to kiss his own knee, then got right back to running.
~~~~~
"Hey guys! Go in the kitchen!" He then takes off for the other side of the house. His 6-year-old cousins look at each other, then get up from what they were doing and follow. Within moments, he's chasing them in circles around the house, laughing his head off.

It's good to be the king.

"I'll be right back."
He'll say this sometimes. He could be going upstairs, or across the yard, or down the sidewalk. I start to follow.
"No, you stay here. I'll be right back."
~~~~~
He's sitting by the front door at his grandma's house. Denise asks what he's doing.
"I'm just sitting here."
~~~~~
While Denise is at Target and I'm home with him, he sees a loose thread in a pillow. So of course, this is his natural thought progression:
"I have to clip this...
I have to clip this at Target...
I have to clip this at Target tomorrow...
I have to go to Target tomorrow."
~~~~~
He'll refer to himself in the third person when using a puppet. For instance, last week I asked what he did at daycare. The alligator on his hand told me, "He drove a police car in the village, and Marty pushed him."

He has wrapped his fork in his napkin.
"My fork doesn't like the cold."
~~~~~
"Let's go upstairs and I'll push Mommy's buttons!"
~~~~~
He has shown little interest in using the potty. Then one day he says what sounds like "Can I use the potty?"
Happy to hear it, I ask, "You want to use the potty?"
"No, you want to use the potty. I'll wait here."

Curses, foiled again.


...by the little man with the chocolate ice cream goatee.

By the way, clicking on any of the above images will fill me with immense joy (and allow you to see the picture larger). And if you're so inclined, you can view all of his latest photos on Flickr.

Raptor vs. Turtle

Raptors vs. The World #5
vs. Elephant | vs. Sheep | vs. Pig | vs. Tiger | vs. Turtle

Murray ambled along, taking in the scenery. Out of nowhere, some young buck shot past him, nearly trampling him in the process. He shook his head and kept walking. He'd never understand the need to rush everywhere. What was so bad about enjoying the here and now? Even in his youth, Murray had extolled the virtues of patience and persistence, but then as now, few listened.

And as if on cue, here was someone else quickly approaching from behind. Well, he'd be damned if he was going to step aside. No, sir. Like his grandpa always said, slow and steady wins the—

~~~~~

Now try this: Read the story again, but this time ignore the photo. That is, think of the characters as people, not animals. (It's interesting how much a single image can change your perception of a story, isn't it?)