Archives for July 2011

Just for Kix

There is a cereal called Kix that you two like. It says “Kid Tested, Mother Approved.” However, after breakfast, Mom put the box on the counter while getting your stuff ready for your day at daycare. One of you, we’re not saying which one, Lucas, climbed up on the counter, got the box down, took it into the living room, and then proceeded to dump the entire contents onto the carpet.

Let me tell you – you kids tested Mother, and she did not approve. Since it was a new box, there was a lot of it. We picked up most of it and put it back into the bag. So if there’s a few more dog-hairs in your cereal this week, now you’ll know why.

July 4th

Today is the Fourth of July – a holiday where we set of massive amounts of fireworks as an annual celebration of our independence from the British a little over 200 years ago. It’s also the time when the dog goes absolutely bonkers, as she fears it is nothing less than the coming of the apocalypse. Fortunately, we have taken to doping her up over the weekend of the 4th with the equivalent of doggie Valium because our neighbors seldom pay much attention to the ban on fireworks throughout the weekend. The dog still gets scared, but at least she’s a bit more mellow about it.

You two are still too young to stay up for the fireworks, and thankfully, are managing to sleep through the entire thing without so much as a peep. When you get older, we’ll probably make a big deal out of the 4th as a family event, but for now, it’s not a big deal. When I was younger, I remember going with my parents to Lake Fairfax Park in Virginia to see the fireworks, and it was always fun, except for the hassle trying to get out of the park when it was over and having to fight all the traffic leaving at once. One year, we made the mistake of bringing the dog with us to the show. “Lady” was a cute Cocker Spaniel, and I swear that the event traumatized her for life. To this day, I have no idea what my parents were thinking, but the dog was so terrified that we could actually hear her teeth chattering as she trembled.

Leaves of Grass

Last week, I went to meet a prospective client for coaching work, and we met at a bookstore called Third Place Books.  This is a “small” bookstore, yet far larger then our home.  As I looked around, browsing, I could not help but be overwhelmed by the sheer volume of books, and in each one, the vast number of thoughts and ideas.  So much human thought preserved in words, and yet this small shop is but a tiny fraction of the works of fictional and non fictional writings.

Then I look down at this page where I scrawl my own thoughts and musings to the two of you, online, aware that every word adds to both my and the world’s digital footprint.

But mostly, my loves, I wonder about you — what great thoughts will you have, create, and add to that immense sea of ideas?  It matters not their significance or meaning to the world at large, for as my children, your ideas are precious to me.

And as you two begin to develop greater language skills, even the simplest of thoughts expressed are milestones in your own understanding, and our amazement, at who you are becoming.

O ME! O life!… of the questions of these recurring;
Of the endless trains of the faithless—of cities fill’d with the foolish;
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light—of the objects mean—of the struggle ever renew’d;
Of the poor results of all—of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;
Of the empty and useless years of the rest—with the rest me intertwined;
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?


That you are here—that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.

– Walt Whitman (1819–1892).  Leaves of Grass.  1900

Whoop Ass and Beer

A few days ago, Anna, you started saying “Whoop Ass,” and Mom and I were both baffled — where had you heard THAT? Then you started using it in reference to your brother when you were mad at him. Only then did it dawn on us that “Whoop Ass” was your way of saying “Lucas.”

And you, dear Lucas, have starred demanding beer just before bed. And if we should put in you into your crib without your Teddy Bear , you scream like the dickens that you want your BEER! So you can be sure before we put you to sleep for the night, we had better make sure that Whoop Ass has his beer.