The Fourth Row

Mother's Day

2011-05-08T00:51:00.003-04:00

My mother came from a family of great wealth.

My mother was the popular girl in high school.

My mother was not encouraged to attend college, but did anyway.

My mother forged her way in a world that was not forgiving to women.

My mother sacrificed some of her dreams to raise a child alone.

My mother helped me build my dreams.

My mother was my fiercest defender.

My mother was my greatest champion.

My mother was my loudest cheerleader.

My mother was my toughest critic.

My mother taught me to love. And hate. And forgive.

My mother gave more of herself than she received in return.

My mother let me make mistakes.

My mother loved me unconditionally.

My mother died to soon.

My mother caused my life's greatest pain.

My mother made me doubt.

My mother made me question my life.

My mother watches over my children.

My mother lives on in them.

I see her when I look in their eyes.

Then, all the pain, doubt, and questions disappear, and only unconditional love and blossoming dreams remain.

These Dreams

2011-03-29T19:48:00.001-04:00

I typically do not remember my dreams. This is somewhat unusual, and I am reminded of it whenever I'm scanning Facebook updates and come across someone relating to the entire internet that during a blissful REM event he or she bested Han Solo in a game of naked high stakes poker, but the Millennium Falcon turned out to be a pizza delivery truck they crashed in college. In recent months, my protracted battles with insomnia have negated any concerns over my lack of memory.

My mother used to have wonderful dreams. She also delighted in telling people about them. There was one where she was cooking Thanksgiving dinner for our entire family but the turkey caught fire so she made everyone eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches instead. My favorite by far was the night that she dreamt she was being chased by robbers. After a vigorous chase they cornered her, and she decided to fight. In the blackest depths of night, my father was sent sprawling onto the floor by the right hook of a diminutive, sleeping woman beating the stuffing out of her shadowy pursuers. The entire household was awakened by peals of laughter when she awoke and bore stunned witness to what she had wrought.

Last night, I successfully dropped into a blissful slumber without medication, alcohol, or as a result of extreme sleep deprivation. Last night, I dreamed a dream worthy of my mother. I was swimming in the ocean, a wholly relaxing experience under normal circumstances to be sure, and suddenly became aware that I was about to be the victim of a shark attack. I spotted the dorsal fin speeding toward me, cutting a menacing path through the waves. It dropped under the surface preparing to strike. I decided to strike first. My fist flew out in a desperate attempt to hit the creature on the snout, the mythical Achilles' Heel of the shark.

I too, awoke to the awful crunching of skin and bone making hard contact with another surface.

Before I finish my story, please note that I am not currently in prison nor sleeping in a hotel. There have been no calls for my head on spike. And my children still look at me with love in their eyes.

But also know this: Leah and I have an ongoing battle over of boxes of Wegmans Granola. They are yummy, delicious, and every last crumb is worth any amount of abuse for eating the entire box. Also, in keeping with the age old tactic of providing less of something good and charging money for it, the boxes are exceptionally small.

At breakfast this morning I took out a box of Granola and sat down to eat with the boys. Leah was getting ready for work, making herself pretty yet professional (or should it be the other way round?). She had, in her dietary wisdom, purchased a low-fat version of our beloved cereal last week. One so foul that we both agreed it would never again be allowed through our doors. I emptied my box of Granola into the bowl, and then strode to the back door to place the box in our recycling pile. We don't use a bin, per se, because every time we attempt it, the collection company men pick it up along with all our bottles and cans and recycle it. More than a few frigid mornings this winter have found me pacing in our front yard, watching my profanity infused breath disperse into the air, cursing the garbage men of the apocalypse.

Tossing in the properly collapsed cardboard, I took notice that at some point in the last few days, Leah must have fallen on the sword and finished the box of undesirables. Better she than I. I sat down at the table, poured out the milk, and tucked in. Yet with the first bite, the smallest crumble of oats, the merest scraping of a raisin against my tongue, I knew something to be very, very wrong. She'd switched the boxes.

I swallowed the bite. I stood. I walked back to the bathroom and slowly opened the door. The look of complete innocence that emanated from my beautiful wife said everything. That treacherous woman already knew. Her laughter echoed down through history. Girls rule, boys drool.

So I ask you, if while in the grip of Morpheus, thinking myself in imminent danger I accidently sent a haymaker her way, would I suffer eternal karmic retribution?

As fate would have it, we may never know. In my heroic efforts to dissuade the predator from making a meal of me, I punched through three slats of the headboard.

Books

2011-03-26T07:41:00.006-04:00

“Do something with the boys’ room, please. It’s filthy again.”

Sitting on the carpeted floor, the repetition of collecting small treasures that have somehow found their way into every crevice and corner strikes me as amusing today. Lego pieces lie like body parts after an accident. Books and papers assemble themselves into piles in an effort to gain the upper hand in catching the eye of an engrossed reader, granting new life and a temporary position of grandeur. It is survival of the fittest in the microcosm of the young male’s bedroom.

I slowly and deliberately charge headlong into my task. The multi-colored plastic toy bins are my primary defense against the chaos, and they quickly gain the advantage. The lowlands of the bedroom are mine, captured for the glory of dust control. Looming in the distance, the silent mountain stands. A bookshelf. Five tiers of conglomeration, arranged in nothingness.

I pause, in deep contemplation and strategy. There is no sense to make of the arrays on each shelf. Best to start fresh. I pull the first stack away and begin to sort.

Cutting though the overgrowth, I uncover titles with no memory of ever being opened. I find favorites from last month, and from years ago, when two little boys used to squeeze themselves into my lap anticipating another journey to literary kingdoms as distant as their imaginations could push. I pull out bookmarks of every shape and size – playing cards, rubber bands, and Legos (but only the flat ones, Daddy).

There are magazines. Folded, crinkled and stuffed into cracks, yet just as valuable as when they pristinely sat unread on the dining room table, fresh from their journey. Years of archived evidence proving evening after evening of time spent with Grandma solving puzzles on the front porch, horded into stacks of memories.

There are the remnants. The ones who were loved too much. Their sad, torn pages still trying to stay relevant and desired. Covers long since gone, stories now incomplete and unreadable, they are the innocent victims of voracious readers. It is an honorable death.

And there are the young ones with their fresh corners and shiny bindings, gloating victoriously from their position of favor. They too will be cast aside one day, only too late to realize that it is not love, but infatuation. Oh, there will be those lucky few who survive, but it is too soon to tell who will make that future cut.

I sort through them all. And I remember. I am sitting on a brown couch in a beige room reading aloud to two infants who cannot even hold a book. But the sound of my voice and the simple, rhymed words of Dr. Geisel provide a comfort. I am lying on a bed, surrounded by little boys and blankets. The Sidewalk has just Ended, but the laughter goes on and on. I am sitting on the floor, unemployed, wondering if I will ever be able to provide for my family again, yet the only desire my children have is to hear the next chapter.

I can trace our lives through the stories on their shelves.

But now their time has come. We are moving on. It is not the tales of Purple Crayons that hold our fancies. It is the high adventure of Tintin, the suspense of Hardy Boys, the journeys from the Magic Treehouse, the saga of Star Wars, the magic of the Potter boy, and the universe of Narnia. Less and less are they needing a story to be read.

And as I pile up those books that will travel away, a string pulls at my heart in the realization that never again will I read Dr. Seuss to my children. But because I did, perhaps one day they will do the same.

Stoddard Family Christmas Puzzle

2010-11-28T17:26:00.001-05:00

Phhewwwww. What a year! When I started this ten years ago, I never anticipated that people would keep playing year after year. I thank you for that. It's been great fun to come up with new puzzles every year. Hopefully, I'll be able to keep the creative juices flowing for many more years. This year's puzzle is dedicated to the memory of a good friend, who through all these years, I think enjoyed solving them more than anyone. So, if you've never taken part in one of my Christmas Puzzles, I invite you to give it a try. If you've been playing all along, I hope this one holds up as well as the others.

Happy Holidays and Best Wishes for the New Year,

Scott, Leah, Sam, Noah & Aidan

Welcome to the Christmas Spin Room! What would happen if the sensationalist press dug deeper into the origins of our favorite Christmas songs? Perhaps the headlines below? Can you figure out which songs the headlines refer to?

1. Persons of interest detained at border suspected of transporting banned substances claim diplomatic immunity. Bethlehem security forces on high alert.

2. Coroner still unable to determine cause of death in bizarre hit and run incident.

3. Health Department investigating complaints of substandard conditions at local motel. "It's like living in a barn," says unhappy mother of one.

4. No loss of life in avalanche caused by screaming climber.

5. Local man receives surprise visit and dinner with royalty.

6. Port Authority breaks human smuggling ring.

7. Rolling blackouts hinder search for child and mother.

8. Hometown hero to perform concert with King in audience.

9. Huge credit card fraud ring busted after charging hundreds of thousands in holiday presents. ASPCA called in to rescue animals.

10. UFO sighting by local farmers goes unsolved. Air Force denies operations in area.

11. Workshop on woodland trees and their identifying characteristics to be held tomorrow evening at library.

12. Global Warming? One man says he IS the solution.

13. City Council sets new curfew. Teenagers rejoice.

14. Amber Alert issued in village after local policeman witnesses children following man dressed in white.

15. Four alarm blaze rips through neighborhood when bonfire burns out of control.

16. Immigration officials spoil holidays for family of Arizona carolers.

17. Frustrated parents donate child's presents to charity after school expulsion.

18. Highway patrol loses candy-apple red sleigh in high speed chase.

19. Adultery charges thrown out in high profile divorce case.

20. Family Services still unable to identify baby left in barn.

21. County drunk tank overflowing.

22. Cooking tips: Find out what herbs bring out the flavor of pig in tomorrow's edition.

23. Hermit suing town for libel.

24. Fire Marshall shuts down local hotel for exceeding legal capacity, forcing families out into streets.

25. What to get the girl who wants everything - holiday shopping tips from the rich and famous.

Censorship in School? - You be the Judge

2010-09-27T20:47:00.001-04:00

The twins' first grade teacher had the opportunity to meet them last year while they were still in kindergarten. Once a week, they went to her classroom to read with the first graders. So she had some idea of what was in store for her this year. I like to think of this as watching a gentle snowfall just before the avalanche starts.

One of their favorite things about school is Publisher Parties. Each month students compose stories, edit them, refine them, and yes, publish them. There is a different theme with every unit, but the process always remains the same. When everyone has a finished product, they have a party. Parents can come visit and listen to the kids read their stories and ask them questions. Oh, did I mention that there are snacks too?

Noah was especially eager to talk about his "favorite thing of the day" at dinner tonight.

"I finished my story for the Publisher's Party on Friday!!," he beamed with pride.

"I wrote the story about the P and my B."

Everyone paused for a second, deep in thought. Aidan couldn't take it.

"He wrote about the time he swallowed the penny and it went into his belly."

"Yeah, and I drew pictures too!," added our budding author.

"What a great idea for a story," Leah said.

"I know Mommy. And I even drew a picture of me pooping it out, just like the doctor told us I would! There's a poop with a circle with a P in it. That's the penny."

Gonna be some party.

The Calvin & Hobbes School of Parenting

2010-09-22T20:19:00.003-04:00

Whose book of parenting tips do you use? I'm a fly by the seat of my pants type of father. Sometimes it works. Sometimes, well, not so much. I've read a few books They seem to me like they were written by people who didn't really ever want kids. And really, when it comes down to your children, who gives a damn what the highbrow authors think? Their kids are probably meth-head Trustafarians living off of Daddy's royalty checks in Soho. I say, if it feels right, go with it. We all know what worked from our vast experience of being misbehaving children ourselves.

Every once in a while, a potentially miserable situation will arise in our calm, quiet little household. Tonight was one of those nights. As the food hit the table, there was a chorus of, "Ewwwwwwwwww," accompanied by a, "that looks disgusting," and one or two whines of, "do we really have to eat that?". It was going to be a dinner right out of Beauty and the Beast - dancing silverware, singing plates, and the miraculous wonderment of three boys merrily eating their meals. Not.

I winced. Dinner has been a battle for at least one boy each night for the last month. We were about to be triple teamed. Before I could stop myself, I blurted out, "Boys, I want you to each make up three things that you think is in this meal."

"Carrots."

"No, make them up. I see monkey brains."

Their eyes went wide. And then they went right for the low hanging fruit.

"Pee!"

"Poop!"

I knew they would go there. It's the first thought that popped into my head too. But my keen parenting skills kicked in again. "No, those don't count. You have to come up with better ones than those. How about toenails?"

And for the next 5 minutes, while their bowls cooled off, we made up the following recipe, more or less:

Mommy's Tex-Mex Massacre

Monkey brains
Pee
Poop
Nails
Sand
Worms
Frog Drool
Pieces of glass
Snails
Bat Wings
Hippopotamus Tongues
Spiders
Cow Feet
Toenails
Dust/Dirt
Vacuum Tubes
Electric Cords
Witch's Brew

Laughing and loud grimaces ensued. And then I dropped the bomb.

"Boys, do you know what? Tomorrow at school, you'll be able to tell your friends that you ate all that!"

Cue dancing silverware.

Next Time They'll Wear Metal Cleats

2010-07-14T00:34:00.001-04:00

Summer sports are in full swing here in Buffalo. Sam's playing baseball and taking golf lessons and the twins are kicking the soccer ball around again this year. They moved up into the older league this year and at their first game, it was evident that they were the young ones on the team. They were smaller and slower than most of the other kids. Did that bother them? Not one little bit. Aidan and Noah are their own team. And that team loves soccer.

We watched the World Cup Championship this past weekend. Well, the final ten minutes anyway. I mean, really, who can sit and watch an entire professional soccer game? Dan Rydell put it best when he referenced the "sheer pointlessness of a 0-0 tie. A modest suggestion - make the goals bigger." But I digress. It's the kids' soccer we're talking about here.

We've been to five games now. The team is 3-2. Aidan has discovered that he can run. Fast. And Noah has turned his fearlessness into goalie skills that let him charge straight at kids that have him by six inches or more. I find myself drawn into every game they play now.

I never played soccer as a kid. In a friend's back yard is one thing, but as an organized sport, it never held any fascination for me. I'm not big on the running constantly for an hour thing. I have a feeling that I will know the rules and strategies inside and out in the coming years. Parental ignorance at sporting matches is a shameful thing.

Noah, with some amazing advice from the coach's son, has not let in a goal. Not one single goal. It's still a kid's league, and he doesn't play goalie the entire game, but I think he'd like to at this point. He seems to understand that if he makes the other player kick before they want to, they will screw it up every time. So Noah charges at them.

Every time there is a break away, he springs to life in a competitive jump and challenges the other player. Out of the goal he comes running, and every time, the other kid doesn't know what to do and ends up either kicking it right to Noah or trying to kick it and tripping. Of course, it the moment before this happens there is a collective wince from the crowd, as everyone at the game watches through one squinting eye to see if Noah has been kicked in the face or bowled ass over tea kettle. Won't happen. Noah doesn't flinch. He doesn't look away. The other kid hesitates first every time.

Aidan, after a little coaching also, now inserts himself into the scrum as much as possible. He goes after the ball now, something he did not do initially. He can match every kid on his team in speed, save one. If only those kids would learn to pass to each other, they would be unstoppable. I suppose at six and seven years old, that might be too much to hope for.

Aidan also challenges the other players, but on the open field. He steps directly in their path and either kicks the ball out from under them, or creates a good enough clog to allow the rest of the team to swarm over to where the ball is.

Tonight's game was no different, except that the white team wasn't so lily white. They were a bunch of dirty little bastards. They pushed, slid tackled, and tripped their way through the entire game. The ref actually kicked one of them off the field. One of them actually tried to slide into our goalie at the time. What a bunch of shits.

An example: Little Number 11 was one of the bigger, quicker kids on the other team. He always got to the ball first. But he wasn't able to do anything with it because someone was always in his way. So he ran up behind one of our players and slammed him to the ground from behind.

It was Aidan.

Aidan got up, dusted himself off, and laughed. His brothers do it better than Little Number 11.

It might have gone unnoticed but for one of the people on the sidelines jumping out of their chair and screaming at the top of their lungs, "COME ON!!!!!!!! THAT WAS DIRTY PLAY!!!! GET THAT KID OFF THE FIELD!!!!!!!"

That was me.

Scared and Proud All at Once

2010-07-04T01:41:00.003-04:00

I grew up, for all intents and purposes, in the water. Most people do not. Although no one would believe it now, I was actually a lifeguard at one time in my life. I saved my cousin when he became distressed when we were swimming in our grandmother's pond - less than four feet deep. If you're around it enough, no matter what steps you take to prevent it, at some point in your life you will be a part of or witness a crisis in the water.

We went to a wonderful birthday party this past weekend. My niece Julia turned five years old last week. It was a mermaid princess birthday, replete with pink and Disney ladies. The cake was a masterpiece, a perfectly shaped and decorated ball gown around a Barbie. Esther gets mad props for pulling that one off and, as I whispered to her, for fulfilling one of my childhood fantasies - pulling Barbie's dress off with my teeth. My father in law hosted, and it was a perfect day to jump into his pool and have an absolute blast with the entire family - 25 people including seven cousins under 8 years old. The party was fantastic. The kids all played wonderfully together. The food was great. It was the perfect start to the holiday.

None of their cousins are swimmers at this point, and they require much greater attentiveness from the adults. At eight years old, Sam is now a competent swimmer in the pool. He is confident enough to be on his own in the deep end, and can safely swim to where he wants. It's not the prettiest stroke in the world, but he'll gets to where he needs to go. Aidan and Noah should be swimming by summer's end as long as they keep at it. Right now, their confidence sometimes outstrips their abilities. This becomes especially evident when the inevitable little boy playing in the water begins to get out of hand.

I know all too well what constitutes unnecessary roughness at the pool. I have scars on my shins from where my uncle pushed me into the shallow end and I landed hard against the edge of the concrete steps. Everyone thought my legs were broken, but luck was on my side that time. Leah and I set pool rules based on many years of getting yelled at by our parents. We survived, and our children will as well.

I'm sure you all have a good idea of where this is leading by now.

It was the third time the boys went in to play in the water. They were tired from playing in the water all afternoon. While working with his brothers in trying to pull down Uncle John's trunks, Aidan unknowingly ventured too far down the slope to the deep end. He also ended up behind John, who did not realize where Aidan was either. I was at the far end of the pool. Leah was out and dry. So was the rest of the family.

This is the point in time where everything happens in slow motion.

Aidan goes under. He starts kicking. His head pops up, but not enough for him to get a breath. He is visibly panicked and cannot help himself. He goes under again and stays under, his arms fighting to bring him back to the surface but not succeeding. Leah screams to John to get him. John realizes that something is wrong and immediately turns to find him.

And then.

Aidan is suddenly above the water. Two arms circle around his chest and lift him up, not letting him go. John grabs him. And only then does Sam let go of his brother.

It was finished in less than fifteen seconds. No one spoke. Aidan coughed, sputtered, and then whimpered. He was scared but fine. A minute after we checked him out, he was back in the water splashing around. I've seen my share of water and I know what it can do. The image of Sam's arms around his brother will forever be ingrained in my memory.

My Flat Stanley is Better than Yours

2010-03-29T22:05:00.005-04:00

The 2nd graders at Elmwood Village Charter School study and learn the 50 states each year. The first time they were quizzed on the states, they were required to fill in the states on a map given the first letter of each state. The average was 3-4 states. Sam filled in all 50. Here is part of the reason why.

One of the projects that accompanies their study of the states is the Flat Stanley project. For the uninitiated amongst you, Flat Stanley is a children's story character who gets sent around the world because, well, he's flat. The second graders each send out a Flat Stanley to someone who, they hope, will write about Stanley's adventure.

Being the ultra-competitive father that I am, I immediately looked at the map and tried to see just how far away Stanley could go. Well, that would be Alaska. And who did I know in Alaska? No one. But another glance at my friend list showed me the light. Let me tell you right now: Facebook is the single best invention to come along since white bread in my book now.

So after a few emails, Stanley jetted off to spend some time with my childhood friend Joel and his family. And today, Sam and his class showed off each of their Stanleys. Sam did not stop smiling the entire time. Nobody else in his class had a Stanley who went on such a wonderful adventure.

Stanley went up to Eagle River, Alaska. He hung out at Elmendorf Air Force Base and spent some time with the new F-22 Raptor. He inspected some of the new construction on the base. Stanley had emergency surgery because Joel's kids each wanted to bring him on their outings - at the same time. He braved the Alaskan wilderness and met moose and bald eagles. He posed with a stuffed polar bear. And, but for a few pesky clouds, a volcano. And he's got the pictures to prove it (see my FB page for pics).

So to Joel and your wonderful family, I thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for making Sam's day today.

P.S. Guard your daughter closely. He very clearly has a crush on her.

The Trials and Tribulations of a Choirboy

2010-03-22T22:33:00.003-04:00

Most everyone that reads this little piece of the internet knows that I am and always have been an avid singer. My fondest wish was that my children would be able to experience the magic that I did growing up singing in a choir. When we moved to Buffalo last year, my hopes were greatly diminished. There just isn't a group that comes close to the unique experience that is the Chorus of Westerly.

Just when I gave up on the idea, St. Paul's Cathedral announced that they had hired a new organist and choirmaster. On a wing and a prayer I emailed him and asked if he had time to speak with me. We had a wonderful lunch together and quickly discovered that we came from the same background - a wonderful choir. He had continued on with musical studies. I had not. But he was anxious to rebuild the choirs, and readily agreed to bring in Sam to see if it was a good fit. Thanks to my three sons, hot prospects all, I was also able to join the Men's Choir.

I am so out of my league it is amusing. Every person in that choir is a professional musician or student of music. Perfect pitch abounds,as does a level of musicality that I have never experienced before. I was usually ahead of the curve in the groups I sang with. Not the case anymore. These guys were the hardcore music geeks of your childhood memories. And I'm sure they took their share of ribbing over it. Even I dealt with the occasional teasing about singing in a choir while growing up. Hint: it's worth every harsh word thrown at you.

Sam fell instantly in love with it. He was hooked after one open rehearsal. He's been singing for just about two months now. And he is paid. Yes, you read that correctly. My seven year old is a professional singer. I believe his wage is $1 per month. Oh, and he's going on tour to London in two years, as will be his brothers if my evil plan comes together.

However, we all know that the likelihood of all three of my strong willed little men loving singing is about as likely as all three of them becoming professional baseball players. To wit:

Driving home from Sunday services two weeks ago, Noah was clearly enthralled with the fact that Sam was actually singing. Aidan? Not so much.

"Sammy," Noah gleamed, "how do you sing like that?"

Sammy, who was basking in the adulation of his younger sibling, replied, "Like what, Noah?", clearly waiting for a chest puffing compliment.

But before Noah could answer, from the seat next to him a lilting voice carried beautifully through the car, "Liiiiiiiiiiiikkkkkkkkkkeeeeeeeeeeee aaaaaaaa Giiiiiiiiirrrrrrrlllllllllll."

He Crawled Through a River of S**t and Came Out Clean on the Other End

2010-01-25T11:37:00.002-05:00

"Mommy, Aidan threw a car into the toilet!"

"What?!?! Aidan, did you do that?"

(Head down) "Yes, Mommy."

"Have you been told before not to put things in the toilet?"

(Head still down) "Yes, Mommy."

"He flushed it too, Mommy." (Nothing like an older brother to throw you under the bus and then back up over you to make sure the job is finished.)

"Aidan, did you flush the car?"

No answer.

"Aidan, answer me right now."

(Head down) "Yes, Mommy."

"Did it go all the way down?"

"No."

"Well we're going to go get it."

"You can't, Mommy."

"Why?"

"Because Noah is poopin'."

I'm surprised at this point that Leah didn't lock him in the basement. But the mother of three boys, put on her rubber gloves, grabbed the plunger, and went to work. When said vehicle was extracted from the depths, Leah told Aidan to go get his money. They were going to the store and Aidan was going to buy her a new pair of gloves. When they found them, Aidan was crushed.

"Mommy, they cost $2 and I only have $1."

Leah paid for the gloves and told Aidan he could pay her back when he got his allowance at the end of the week.

We all had a good laugh about this at the family dinner hours later that evening. The boys had finished at were scattered about the house, doing as much as possible before bed time. Sam was building train tracks & Lincoln log stations. Noah was building Lego spaceships. Aidan was in his room being very quiet. A few minutes later, Aidan came out to the dining room and put something in Leah's hand.

It was another dollar.

Wild Colonial Boy

2010-01-16T01:32:00.004-05:00

When my mother died, I wrote and read one of the eulogies at the funeral. It was the single most difficult thing I've ever had to do. In my sentiments to the congregation, I related the story of how she used to sing to me, and that I intended to do the same for my children. It is just this week, almost twelve years after her death, that the implications of those sentiments finally have sunken in.

When Sam was born, I made a mix tape. It contained a list of songs that I wanted him to know, to enjoy, to smile with, to remember his father by in such circumstances that I might not be around to teach him.
Here is the play list:

The Beatles - Yellow Submarine
The Playmates - Beep, Beep
Joanie Mitchell - Oh Lord, Won't You Buy Me a Mercedes Benz
Patti Page - The Doggie in the Window
Guys & Dolls Soundtrack - Got the Horse Right Here
Kermit the Frog - It's Not Easy Being Green
Billy Joel - The Longest Time
James Taylor - My Romance
Glenn Miller - Over There
Peter, Paul & Mary - Puff the Magic Dragon
BJ Thomas - Raindrops Keep Fallin' on My Head
Elvis Presley - Return to Sender
The Beatles - Rocky Raccoon
The Beach Boys - Surfer Girl
Bing Crosby - Swingin' on a Star
Soundtrack to Peter Pan - Tender Shepherd
The Andrews Sisters - Three Little Fishes
The Carpenters - Top of the World
Sam Cooke - What a Wonderful World
Frank Sinatra - High Hopes
Billy Joel - Ballad of Billy the Kid
The Muppets - Movin' Right Along
Sesame Street - Rubber Ducky
Guys & Dolls Soundtrack - Sit Down, You're Rockin' the Boat
James Taylor - Up on the Roof
David Wilcox - Rusty Old American Dream
Harry Connick - Heavenly
Bobby Darin - Mack the Knife
John Denver - Gramma's Feather Bed
The Beatles - When I'm 64

They aren't the most popular songs of all time, but they are fun and easy to sing. Most of all, I hoped Sam would remember them the way I remember the songs my mother used to sing to me. When Noah and Aidan were born, I expanded the list some to include a bunch more. They were infinitely more difficult to put to sleep than Sam, whether it be the dynamic duo twin stereotype or just that they had more they wanted to do each day, I don't know. But I ended up singing more to them than I did Sam.

As a parent, when you are strung out from lack of sleep, you resort to measures that might not be considered among the wisest courses of action. When my library of kids' songs was depleted, many of the songs that I ended up incorporating were Sea Chanties and Irish drinking songs. All the songs that I used to sing on Monday night boozings at the Griswold Inn before any of them were born. Before you judge, think long and hard on just what lengths you would go to in order to make your children fall asleep peacefully, rather than bounding and gagging them into submission every night.

In the years since, I sing less and less than I did when they were all infants. They want stories read to them. They get to stay up late for special nights. There just isn't as much time for songs. I'm not sad about this. There are so many more things we share, that they experience - none of it I regret.

I also have taught myself rudimentary guitar. I know enough to be a danger to myself, especially when I've had too much to drink. Then I'm a rock star. But the boys love it when I play. And sing.

A few times each month, when we have a little extra time, I will break out my instrument and sing songs with novice accompaniment for my sons. They are not the songs that are included in the playlist above. Damn James Taylor and his finger picking to hell. They are the Sea Chanties and Drinking Songs.

And last night, when I sat down on our bed to sing to my boys, for the first time, they all sang along with me. Not Yellow Submarine. Not How Much is that Doggie in the Window. No, we all sang this:

They sang so loud that Leah crept down the hallway and peeked her head in just to watch them. And when Jack Duggan was shot by the troopers, Aidan and Noah grabbed their chests and fell backward on the quilt. At that moment, I realized that they will remember that song when I have long since fertilized daisies. That, my friends, is what this life is all about.

When You Die, Don't You Know - You Will Help My Garden Grow

2010-01-10T14:47:00.002-05:00

I'm worried that I've forgotten how to write a decent story. I've lashed out against the 140 character updates too many times to not deliver on the other end. I'll try to redouble my blogging efforts.

I'm lucky enough to work about two blocks from the boys' school. It allows me to drive them each morning. Some days, we are very quiet - either because I've yelled at them for being awful little human beings or because no one is quite awake yet. Some days, the conversation is non-stop for the entire trip.

It's on these days that I experience some very interesting revelations

Two months ago, we had to put Rocky down. We were so sad. It was a crushing blow to an already difficult year. Leah and I agonized over how to tell the boys that their dog was gone. Yes, we already had Violet, but Rocky was their first dog. He was their friend. He was their quiet protector. He was everything one could hope that a dog could be. We finally bit the bullet and sat them down at the dining room table.

After explaining that Rocky was better off in heaven with Gramma Wilks and Great Grampa, they all looked at us, smiled, and said good. If Rocky was in pain before and now he wasn't, then that was all they needed to know. They asked where he was buried. I told them that he was in a special place in Pop Wilk's back yard, and we could go see him the next time we visited.

Weeks went by with no further mention of Rocky until one particularly talkative morning drive.

"Daddy, what's a coffin?"

"It's a wood box that dead people are buried in."

"Is Rocky in a coffin?"

"Well, he's in a small wood box, so yes, I guess he is."

"What happens to him?"

"He becomes a part of the earth."

"Does he turn the earth brown because he was a brown dog?"

This would have been a perfect time for me to be the educator. I could have spent a few minutes explaining how different nutrients in the soil create different colors, and that the darker the soil, the more healthy it was. But no.

"Sure pal. That's a nice way to think about it."

I thought this was the end of it. After a few seconds of contemplation, Aidan capped off our discussion with this chestnut:

"OH! Daddy, when our friends Phil and Na'Mia die, they will turn the earth brown too because they have brown skin!"

2009 Stoddard Family Christmas Puzzle

2009-11-28T00:24:00.002-05:00

Greetings One and All,

Welcome to yet another year of abuse! To all of you who have been playing along for the last nine (yes, nine!) years, I thank you. Having solutions actually returned is as much fun as making the puzzles themselves.

I hope that they have in turn afforded you all a little
entertainment, a needed distraction, a temporary challenge, what have you. I think that most people could use something to take their minds off of the craziness that seems to surround us all these days.

We wish all of you, puzzle partakers or not, good fortune, happiness, and health in the forthcoming year, and a very, very, Merry Christmas.

Scott, Leah, Sammy, Noah & Aidan

Instructions:
There is no hidden message this year. No list of cryptic numbers & letters. There is only one question:

Name the titles & performers in the file below.

Summer Smiles

2009-08-23T00:15:00.002-04:00

What I Did On My Summer Vacation

Not much, until it was almost over. One thing I haven’t done is blog. It was a nice break. Nuff said.

The twins have been playing soccer and Sam has been playing baseball. We’ve been carting them back and forth to summer camp, and trying to squeeze in as much as we possibly can on the weekends. We’ve been to a bunch of Bison’s games, hung out with friends, been on hikes in the woods, played baseball in the back yard, went kayaking on the lake, and I even went sailing once. In one week, our lives will take another turn as Noah and Aidan start kindergarten and Sam begins second grade. And for the first time, all three boys will be in the same school.

It’s hard to find any permanent measure of happiness and satisfaction in the world these days. But to look at my sons and think about how fast time really does flow, the daily worries of my life melt into sheer amazement. For the next 16 years, their lives will be focused on preparing them to make their mark upon the world. Even if that mark is nothing more than someone fondly remembering their smile, it will all have been worth it.

So over the next week, I am going to chronicle all the smiles I can from our summer. I’ll start with this one, which I sadly missed, but heard about.

The twins decided to exercise their artistic measure inside the family car last week. Our minivan is an incubator for crayons. No matter how clean we think it is, of our children can manage to uncover at least one. Typically, there are bags of them to be found between the seats, leftover from the previous lengthy trip that required them to entertain themselves and preserve our sanity for at least a little longer.

Violet has been assisting in keeping their spread in check. Each time she goes for a ride, we inevitably watch her root out and eat at least one crayon. If we don’t see the color, not to worry! It comes out the other end in a mere 24 hours. At times, our lawn has resembled a graffiti artist’s wet dream – sprinkles of color everywhere.

Noah and Aidan drew on the interior of the car once before a few years back. They were severely beaten and locked in the basement for two days with only water and bread that time. It’s said that torture doesn’t work. Apparently, this statement holds some truth. When Leah opened the door, she was greeted by a Crayola orgasm spanning the windows and ceiling the likes of which would have made Jackson Pollock proud.

Leah was in a foul mood to begin with, probably due to something I did. Believe it or not, from time to time I annoy my wife. When she saw what the demons had wrought on our vehicle, she literally had to walk away and count to ten. And then had to force herself not to drive off and leave them by the roadside.

In silence, and assuredly with smoke coming out of her ears, she unbuckled the twins from their seats. They knew they were in trouble. They knew they had committed a crime against humanity. They truly and wholly did not care one single bit. This only served to anger Leah even more. There is a look that Aidan gives you when he wants you to know that he is aware of the fact that what he has just done is reprehensible – and that he is willing to take whatever is about to be dished out. It’s a large, cocky smile. Something he must have inherited from his mother. Leah received not one, but two of those at that moment.

“Mommy, look under there!” Noah said.

“Under where?” Leah responded through gritted teeth, fearing the worst.

Both of them started laughing. Belly laughing. Laughing that shook them to their cores with seismic waves of hilarity.

“I MADE YOU SAY UNDERWEAR!!!”

And all sins were forgiven. Well, almost anyway.

10 Years

2009-06-10T01:52:00.002-04:00

Dear Leah,

There are so many more ways than just writing to tell you how wonderful the past ten years have been. Thank you for the journey so far. I love you.

Slugger

2009-06-06T21:59:00.013-04:00

I Love It When a Plan Comes Together

2009-05-01T23:42:00.003-04:00

Leah and I have been talking about this for a month now, but neither of us has bothered to write it down. And it needs to be written down. For all to see and take note of.

April Fools Day was pretty uneventful in our household. There were no earth-shattering pranks anywhere to be seen. There were however, three little boys who thought the prospect of fooling people for an entire day was just delightful.

But was one day really good enough? Absolutely not.

I have heard, “Ha Ha! Daddy, I April Fooled you!” at least once per day for what constituted the bulk of the month of April. Every joke is painful. Every joke is one that provides blissful glee for the little monster that propagated it.

But one stands above all the rest.

One of my children, on actual April Fools Day, decided that he was going to play an April Fools joke on everyone. That morning, before we left for school, Aidan somehow managed to sneak his slippers into his schoolbag without Leah or me seeing him. He stayed silent about this for the entire car ride to school. Upon reaching said institution, he put away his coat and lunchbox, and smoothly took off his shoes, replacing them with two soft, plushy faces of Lightning McQueen.

He got caught by his teacher as soon as he walked into the classroom. But get this: she was so impressed by the fact that one: he thought of an April Fools joke, and two: he carried it out successfully, that she let him keep the slippers on all day.

When Leah picked him up from school, it was the first time either of us had any inkling of what he had done. When she asked him where he got the idea from, he said, “I thought it myself, Mommy!,” with a beaming, victorious smile.

While Sam thinks up grandiose schemes and Noah is completely fearless, Aidan is fast becoming a scary combination of both.

P.S. Puppy pictures coming soon!

Doing It All For My Babies

2009-03-31T12:12:00.005-04:00

We listened to Huey Lewis tunes during dinner last night. Noah plays a mean air saxophone.

Remember this?

Yes? No? Really Scott, why are you showing me a picture of a jungle gym?

Aaahhhhh, you who know so much. They aren’t called jungle gyms anymore. Maybe it’s because they are neither found in jungles nor are they gyms. Maybe there is some awful, leftover, unenlightened, 1960’s racism in the term that we are all unaware of. I truly don’t know. And truly don’t care.

For those of you who don’t know, three years ago I worked my very rotund, white bottom off to build this ~~jungle gym~~ play structure for the boys’ birthdays. They had about six months of enjoyment until we up and moved to Connecticut.

Like a spurned woman, our play structure sat in the back yard of our Buffalo house and patiently planned the demise of my job and the necessitation of our move back into her arms. She also has some sort of communicative ability with Sam, who, upon our return in January, promptly asked when we would be bringing her over to the new place.

He also planned out exactly where it would sit in the yard – after he had torn down the fence between Grandma’s house and ours. Ha ha. Funny. Only not so much. The fence came down last week. And I went to visit the good old girl in the hope that she would come quietly without a fight.

Let me say for the record that I built the crap out of this thing. Every piece of lumber is oversized, and all the connections are either lag-bolted or carriage bolted (that means very, very strong). It exceeds all Federal Government standards for children’s play structure specifications. I kid you not. It’s better than the Obama girls’ – I’ve seen pictures.

I started to feel my way around tentatively, reacquainting myself with all her angles. She was all mine, swings to slide. My plan of attack was virtually guaranteed for success. She was coming home with me. Slowly yet confidently, I pulled out my shiny, silver socket wrench. I found the spot from where everything else would come undone. The socket fell snugly into place over the head of the bolt and I gave a short tug. Then another. She gave way. I gave a full stroke. Another. Another. More quickly now. Almost there. And . . . YES! Out it came.

It felt painful and wonderful all at the same time. Though I didn’t want to pull her to pieces, I knew then that she was going to bend to my will with no fuss at all.

I dove in once more, more forcefully this time. I found my next mark and applied the same pressure as before. It was a practiced skill now. In a moment I would have my second small victory. I placed the socket wrench into position and yanked.

Blinding White Light.

Darkness.

Pain.

What the hell just happened?

I was on my knees when my eyes opened, the wrench on the ground. The lag bolt I was working on had snapped, and the socket wrench had rebounded and struck me full on square in the middle of the forehead. It hurt. Badly.

I came out from underneath the platform of the structure and sat down for a second to regain my bearings. My head was pounding, but I wasn’t disoriented. I figured at that point that hard as the blow was, I came out on the good side of the collision. Gingerly, my fingers explored the fast growing bump. They came away bright red.

At this point, I knew I had better get someone to witness my stupidity. I knocked on our tenants’ door and luckily Lisa was home. It wasn’t a large gash, and there wasn’t a lot of blood. And Lisa’s a nurse. Best combination possible. Bandage securely in place, I picked up my tools and loaded up the car to go home, utterly crushed by my play structure’s rejection. I spent the rest of the afternoon with a steady diet of Ibuprofen and an ice pack.

The next weekend I came back with power tools. Bitch.

Kids. Can't live with 'em. Can't sell 'em.

2009-03-27T14:47:00.003-04:00

I'm a day or two off from the BufBloPoFo schedule, but this only occurred to me today:

I spoke with a friend this afternoon who is facing some difficult decisions in his life in the coming months. He told he was concerned that our friendship might be damaged by his choices. This was my answer:

"You decide what is right for you. Let what other people think be damned. If you feel that you are making the best choice for yourself, then your true friends will stand by you no matter what. And I will be there whenever you need me."

It occurred to me that this translates into my belief system for my children. This is the single best advice I can think of for parents:

You love your children like nothing else on this earth. Every decision you make affects their well being. Never let what other people think of your decisions affect how you make them. Taking people's advice is one thing, but caving in to other people's opinions of how you should raise your kids only serves to create self-doubt in your ability to be a good parent. And every parent knows that your kids see cracks in the armor better than your worst enemy.

Easier said than done? Surely. We lost some very dear friends for three years for this very reason. Thankfully, time heals all wounds (except dismemberment or losing an eye), and we resolved our differences. Now we vacation together.

It also helps that they supply me with snacks and treats.

Almost 7

2009-03-23T23:35:00.004-04:00

Sammy's school picture this year (beat you to it, Leah).

Sammy's latest activity after finishing his homework. He didn't just say yes, so I guess that's something . . .

And a quick story:

Sam does not have homework over the weekends. The school policy is that weekends should be family time, not school time. Obviously this will change as he gets older. And apparently he already knows it, because on Friday he convinced his table to ask for extra homework over the weekend. And true to genetic form, the Stoddard boy ended up doing his homework on Monday morning five minutes before he walked out the door.

I looked over his shoulder as he toiled away, endlessly adding and subtracting single digit numbers. His math homework has been the same thing since January. I'm all for rote memorization in some areas, but Sam doesn't need to see something more than twice for him to remember it. He told me weeks ago that he is very bored with school, so at home we've learned a bit of everything: algebraic equations, basic geometry, multiplication, addition and subtraction of integers (that's negative numbers for you liberal arts majors), and how to "carry over" for adding large strings of numbers. He just soaks it all in. I discovered last week that he has essentially taught himself fractions, thanks to his Leap Pad.

When I told his teacher that he's been learning how to solve equations at home, her eyes nearly popped out of her head. I'm pretty sure she thought I was full of crap. As I examined his last sheet this morning, I did a double take. It was an entire sheet of advanced double digit, multiple number addition problems. His teacher was actually testing both him and me.

He finished the entire sheet in less than five minutes. Take that, Mrs. Sullivan!!!

Inflation and Deflation

2009-03-21T20:58:00.002-04:00

Inflation:

Deflation: He got $1

BufBloPoFo - Day I Really Don't Care At This Point

2009-03-17T00:02:00.026-04:00

Ahhhhh, there’s nothing like the smell of spring in the air, the feeling of the rebirth of life, the shirking of one’s commitments to BufBloPoFo 09. . . (that's Buffalo Blog Post for a Fortnight for those of you too lazy to click the link, which will be most of my readers, 2 of the 3 anyway)

~~While I feel badly about not keeping up~~

~~I’ve read all the participants' entries~~

I truly admire Mikey for running this thing. Good job, you. But really, I don’t take instruction well anymore. So I'll post when I'm damn good and ready. My reasons why I’ll save for tomorrow’s post (brag about something). For today, I will offer up a smattering of an absolutely brilliant meme that has arisen from the fiery postings of the past few days.

My Favorite All-Time, Hall of Fame, But Not Last Meals*

(*That I’ve Actually Paid For)

A preface: Since December, my family has lost 40% of our income. 40 fucking percent. Take a quick moment to calculate what impact that would have on you and yours. There are as many memorable meals that I’ve been privileged to take part in that I have not been responsible for. The fact that we’re finding ourselves able to survive this is a testament to my entire family (more on that tomorrow, for anyone who cares). So I’ve discarded any meal that we were not directly involved with funding in some part.

Oh, one more thing: Leah and I came up with a lot more than just these. She’s going to post her portion of the list. Her #1 is by far, the best and most unbelievable meal imaginable.

Really.

You will need very badly to read about it.

Washington Square Tavern, Brookline - the first bar where the bartender knew my name. Well, maybe not my name, but every time I walked in the doors, by the time I reached the bar, a half Sapphire - half Belvedere martini was already in process. MMmmmmmmmm. I seem to remember the food being really good as well.

Mistral, Boston -Back in our free-living Boston days, Leah and I decided that we were going to become opera aficionados. Our introduction to opera on the social scene was a production of The Magic Flute by Mozart and dinner at this restaurant. When we walked in the door, we were transported to a world in which we clearly did not belong. The wine list included bottles that were over $2,000. The host offered to have a limo take us to the theatre, as we were running a little late. The seared tuna was to die for, as was the view from the twelve foot arched windows.

Bay Tower Room, Boston - Shortly after my mother died in 1998, my family decided that we were going to get together every 3-4 months and celebrate life. The Bay Tower Room was our first foray into this territory. The restaurant, which sadly has closed in the time since, was on the 33rd floor of a building overlooking Boston harbor (see above photo). The seating was dispersed over two levels, and the glass facade was open to both the harbor and the stars above. My mother looked down (I hope) and watched my family drink bottle upon bottle of champagne, wine, port, and whiskey. We ate some of the best food we've ever had, but it was all lost. As was the beginning of our grief over her loss.

Wolfgang's/Smith & Wollensky's/Peter Luger's - NYC - Every year for the last 5 my father, brothers, and I have met in New York City in April to attend the annual Auto Show at the Javit Center. We have a tradition of having lunch at Carmine's in Times Square. We also have a tradition of seeking out the best steak dinner in the city that we can find. Dad pays for lunch. We pay for dinner. And let me tell you, we do it in style. At Wolfgang's, we enjoyed a three-tiered appetizer of raw sea-food. At Smith and Wollensky's, we became such good friends with the waiter that he bought us our dessert drinks (20 year old port - yum!). This never-ending quest has led us to a number of unforgettable meals, which I choose to lump together here at #3. I have eaten the best steak in the entire world during these outings. And the chance to spend time with my father and brothers is not something that I will readily give up. We are forced to downgrade to pizza and beer this year, but we will someday rise again from the ashes to continue our search for the perfect slice of cow.

Le Petit Zinc, Paris - On Valentine's Day 1998, I surprised Leah with a long weekend in Paris, France. Our favorite story from this trip is how Leah lost her passport in the taxi ride from the airport to our hotel, but there are some other wonderful experiences that we don't readily share. Truly, I don't remember how I stumbled across this place. I am not your average world traveler. I do not stick to the well-trodden path. However it came to be, when we walked in, the reservations we had were non-existent (ant? Mikey?) But Leah, bless her French at heart soul, pulled out her college French and spoke to the maitre de and smiled. He actually told us that he was seating us only because she was cute. It was worth every bit of the flirtation.

Breakfast - 90 Kilsyth Rd, Brighton, MA - More than the location, more than the food, more than the atmosphere. A meal shared with true friends is the one that leaves me wishing we could share the experience just one more time. Jesse, Michelle, Colleen, Suzanne, Mark, Ryan, Debbie, Ken, Leah, Gina, Brian & Dena (you get half credit for making the cross-country trek as often as you did) and whoever else we could fit into our little one-bedroom apartment. The ones that I remember best are the New Year's Day mornings after our night's out at Northeast Brewing Company's all inclusive (glasses too!) celebrations. We would crash wherever we landed. But whenever we woke up, Leah would aleady be awake and cooking in our tiny little kitchen with the weird, glass, floor level cabinets. Blueberry muffins, pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, fresh orange juice, and exquisitely painful hangovers were the menu. It was here that Suzanne taught me that every guest got to eat first, no matter how hungry I was! It was here that we laughed endlessly at Ryan's biting sarcasm. We sang silly songs (except Suzanne). We hung out around the tiny kitchen table. We watched hours upon hours of horrible movies. We ate our food and then didn't move for half a day, until we regretfully returned to our regular lives. Still friends. Still happy. Still fearless of what the world had to throw at us.

I sorely miss these days. I sorely miss my friends. Friends through thick and thin. Friends who wouldn't hesitate to tell you when you were acting like an idiot, and would actually make fun of you for doing such. Friends who, when you called them on a Thursday evening, would scream at you, "NO ONE I KNOW WOULD CALL DURING FRIENDS!!" and promptly hang up. Friends who after feuding with for years you can call up and say "My God we've been stupid" and pick right up where you left off. Friends who you can call after months of not communicating at just have a simple conversation as though you still lived down the street. Friends who, if you ever truly needed help, would be at your side in the time that it took to get in their car and drive. Friends who don't judge you, but will not hold back their opinions. I love you all.

How about breakfast in Buffalo?

For Leah

2009-03-10T16:49:00.001-04:00

A is for Amazing
B is for Breathtaking
C is for Compassionate
D is for Determined & Deserving & Dedicated & Dazzling
E is for Excellent
F is for Feminine
G is for Genius
H is for Honorable
I is for Intelligent & Identity & Integrity
J is for Just
K is for Kind
L is for Leah & Loving & Learned
M is for Mother
N is for Nurturing
O is for Outstanding
P is for Professional
Q is for Qualified
R is for Really, Really, Really Cute
S is for Searching & Steadfast
T is for Tender
U is for Unwavering
V is for Virtuous & Vivacious
W is for Wonderful
X is for nothing. No good words actually begin with X besides xylophone and xenophobe. Stupid letter.
Y is for Youthful & Yearning
Z is for Zowie!

They don't know what they're missing.

Let Them Eat Cake

2009-03-03T13:49:00.006-05:00

The boys are not overly picky eaters. Sure, they have their respective favorites. Sam can sit down and eat an entire box of cherry tomatoes without breathing. Aidan will devour bell peppers whenever they are put in front of him. And Noah? Noah likes spaghetti sauce. And orange juice.

They also each have foods that they can't stand. Sam thoroughly dislikes bell peppers and spaghetti sauce. Aidan hates orange juice and tomatoes. And Noah absolutely refuses to eat pizza or tomatoes.

Sense something of a pattern here?

Mealtimes in recent weeks have degenerated into elementary school versions of Animal House. Each one incessantly tries to get the other two to laugh until they snort milk out their noses. They sing songs. They complain that they are full. They make rhymes that I'm sure are causing Dr. Seuss to cry out in agony in whatever afterlife he exists in. Take that, Geisel!

So Daddy dropped the hammer last week. Boys started going to bed with no dinner. Boys had no time for anything but teeth brushing and pajamas after dinner. Boys had all snacks removed from their small handed grasp. It made me miserable. And it didn't work.

Leah didn't buy into the heavy handed approach this time. Instead, she painted. In our kitchen, we now have a door that functions as a chalkboard, thanks to the coolest paint I've ever seen. At the top of said chalkboard there is a note that reads:

Good Meals:

5

5 More Until Rainforest Cafe!

Bribery.

Works every time.

After the boys got hold of the chalk, the door quickly became a crowd of scribbles and odd pictures. But above where the twins could reach, the following note was written:

Dear Mommy, thank you for the yummy dinner on March 1.

The next morning, I walked into the kitchen to see the response:

Dear Sammy, you're welcome. I'll feed you again on March 2.

Do Guardian Angels Get Promotions?

2009-02-25T23:59:00.003-05:00

I've had a weird day.

To be honest, it started out with me in an awful mood, but very quickly my entire life changed just a little bit. There is a fantastic passage in The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul, my favorite book by Douglas Adams, that describes how if you manage to turn your body "billionth part of a billionth part of a degree" you find yourself in Asgard, homeland of the Norse Gods. Obviously, I don't think I'm there. But there was a point today at which I decided that I believe in parallel universes and the soul's ability to transfer in and out of them. I haven't yet figured out if that fits in with the Episcopalian religion yet, but that's for another time.

I woke up in a foul mood. The kids were absolute shits last night and 66% of them were sent to bed without finishing their supper. I went to bed early too, although thankfully, Leah did not send me there because I wasn't listening to her. Anyway, I woke up with the badly misbehaving children still on my mind. Then the shower wouldn't get hot. There is nothing in this world I hate more than having to take a semi-warm shower when I wake up in the morning. I grumbled through helping get the kids ready for school, grumbled Sam into the car, and grumbling, set off for the city.

Sam has a prescribed route we drive to his school that is his favorite. We take a couple of extra turns, but he gets to see the Cheerios plant, the City of Buffalo Fire Boat up close, the City of Buffalo trolley house, HSBC arena, Coke a Cola Stadium, Gramma's work, and he gets to drive over a cobblestone street. We drove in silence past all of these landmarks this morning.

This route puts us on Washington Street in downtown Buffalo. It's a typical Buffalo street, a little small for the amount of traffic that flows on it, but still in better shape than most of the other options. There comes a point on Washington Street where you basically have no choice but to turn left. To continue on straight brings you into Roswell Park Cancer Center, and there are too many morning deliveries and pedestrians in that area to make travel by car efficient at 8:00 in the morning. The left turn occurs at the intersection with Goodell Street. It's an odd intersection by comparison. Goodell is a one-way street with four travel lanes going from my right to my left as we faced it. Washington is a two lane road. Here's the Street view in Google Maps.

View Larger Map

I consider myself a good driver. I've had a couple of speeding tickets and have been in a couple of fender benders, none of which were my fault. I have never actually hit anyone. And as a good driver, I've developed habits that I use to make my driving better. One of which, as most every person who steps into an automobile will agree, is to pull into the intersection when taking a left turn. It makes the turn quicker and lets you get out of the intersection that much faster.

This morning, as I sat silently stewing in my foul moodiness, I didn't pull forward when the light turned green. For the first time in 20 years of driving, I didn't pull in the intersection. I don't know why.

What I do know is that a second after my foot didn't hit the gas, less than a second after my car wasn't pulling into the middle of that intersection waiting to turn left, a 10-wheel dump truck barreled through the red light, directly across what would have been my path, going at least 35 miles per hour.

It would have crushed us.

A few seconds after all the horns of petrified motorists were silenced and normal traffic flow resumed, I started to shiver as I realized what just occurred. I can't explain why and some of you are going to think that I've really started to go over the deep end. But I truly believe that in the instant before that light changed, reality fractured into different dimensional time lines in some way. In a parallel dimension, I pulled into that intersection and we were pulverized. Someone or something grabbed hold of our souls and pulled them into the alternate reality where I didn't step on the gas. Just a billionth part of a billionth part away from where we were previously in the universe.

I more than just a little bit thankful for it, no matter who or what caused it to be.

17 Different Kinds of Awesome

2009-02-24T22:03:00.007-05:00

In stark contrast to yesterday's post, let me tell you a little bit about how my brain works. I like Nerd Rock. It pleases me in many ways. Nerd Rock, when you can find musically proficient performers of such, is wonderfully fulfilling. It not only sounds good, but you are most likely dealing with someone who bothered to learn more than the basic three chord rock riff, so there will be some tonal complexity to it. Add to that constant sarcasm, one of my favorite things. Although I'm not an expert, I can admire from a distance. Sprinkle a healthy dose of pop culture references on top, and you get songs like these:

Nun Fight by Paul and Storm:

Tom Cruise Crazy by Jonathon Coulton:

The X-Box Song by Tripod (which I think I've posted here before):

or Even My Baby Loves a Bunch of Authors by Moxy Fruvous:

Although he is the almighty reigning Nerd Rock King, Nerd Rock got its start much earlier than Weird Al Yankovic. It's roots are found, in my humble opinion, with a genius from Harvard (graduated at age 18) named Tom Lehrer. Tom was a nerd's nerd. He wrote musical satire through the 50s and 60s and his self-published albums became cult hits. He took a "break" because he was fired by the TV show he worked for because his songs became too political and because he apparently hated touring.

And this is the truly awesome part: he went to college with Joe Raposo. Does that name sound familiar? It should. You all know at least 5 songs by him. I just finished reading "Street Gang: A Complete History of Sesame Street". Joe was the genius behind the music of Sesame Street and The Electric Company. He brought Lehrer out of retirement to pen "Silent E" and "L-Y" and a bunch of others as well.

I was formally introduced to Tom Lehrer by my 9th Grade Geometry teacher Mrs. Carocari. Her name alone made people want to commit suicide, but she had a twisted sense of humor which one day led her to play this recording for us:

However, for all the greatness of Nerd Rock, you will notice that there are no women included in the above list. Nerd Rock is a manly endeavor. And if you went to college where I did, there were over 5 men for every woman, proving that ratios really, really do matter. I simply hadn't come across the somewhere less than 20% of Nerd Rockers who were female. Until now.

I discovered the genius behind this gem when I encountered a Nerd Rock Nexus, called the Masters of Song Fu, where Nerd Rockers are challenged to write songs with a specific theme in one week. Her name is Molly Lewis. She has a YouTube page with even better material. And her entry into the latest Song Fu contest is an instant classic. Seriously, it's worth a listen. I guarantee your day will improve.

A Big Steaming Pile of Dog Crap on Hollywood’s Lawn

2009-02-23T16:18:00.003-05:00

Each year for the past ten, Leah and I have sat down to watch the Academy Awards. Not out of a crazed addiction to award shows or a fanatical devotion to the movies, but as more of a friendly diversion. We have always run betting pools with our friends and/or family as to who would be the winners. This year was no different, other than the fact that I didn’t know that the Awards were this past weekend, had no idea as to who the nominees actually were, and have seen two movies in the last year (Dark Knight & Quantum of Solace).

Luckily, Esther still felt the spirit of competition swell in her bones and organized the pool in my stead. She also proceeded to wipe the floor with me, Leah, John, and whoever else she sent it to. I think she ended up missing one pick the entire night. Esther has obviously invented the flux capacitor.

I usually don’t offer critiques of too many things here on The Fourth Row, but it struck me this morning that the Academy Awards last night were simply awful. And I lost four hours of my life that I can’t get back. So let the vitriol flow.

Hugh Jackman. Hugh was, in my humble opinion, the high point of the show (him and the big band soundtrack). He's not a comedian, but can pull off comedy. He is more of an entertainer than any host I can think of. And he can sing. The opening number was actually pretty good. And Anne Hathaway does indeed have a nice voice as well.

But the “Ode to the Musical” number? That was garbage. All of it. Beyonce. The closet homosexuals from High School Musical. The chubby girl from the Abba movie. Utter garbage. But what’s beautiful about it all is that Jackman knew it. He admitted he was being hokey in the opening number. Anyone could see that he could barely keep the laughter in at times.

The musical medley was supposed to be extravagant. It wasn’t. It was awkward and all-over-the-place, like a spastic child. And Hugh called out its creator at the end as if to say, “Yeah, I did it. But it didn’t change the fact that it still sucked. And so do you for forcing this on me.” Jackman called out Baz Lurman on national television and gave him the velvet gloved middle finger. Absolutely brilliant!

However, even though the show itself was somewhat tolerable, what really got me fuming were the tributes that were paid to all the best actor/supporting actor nominees. While the idea of bringing back a bunch of past winners to have them on hand for congratulations and a better wow factor is half-way decent, the honey dripping soliloquies that vomited from their mouths was gut-wrenching to have to endure.

These people weren’t about to win a Noble Prize. They did not cure cancer. In fact, some of their past movies are so bad they might cause cancer. They are not negotiating world peace or fighting drug-related gang killings in South Central LA. They are getting paid millions upon millions of dollars to play make-believe. They are the ruling class of high profile prima donnas. And God forbid their highly pure mountain spring water is a degree warmer than stipulated in their contract rider. . .

But to watch their reactions to what was oozing out all over their heads you would have thought that there was something truly important going on. The thing I find most fascinating is the fact that all of those speeches were clearly scripted (half the presenters didn't even bother to read them before hand - well done jackasses), yet every single nominee mouthed the words “thank-you” to the speaker as if they had just improvised the entire thing straight from their alcohol soaked hearts. Sophia Loren could barely utter an intelligible word, let alone string them together without a script.

And poor Robert Downey. The Academy really didn’t want him to be nominated. They didn’t even bother to write an original “tribute” to him. They just stole it right from the movie he was nominated for.

So that’s my take on the Oscars. Big Steaming Pile of Dog Crap on Hollywood’s Lawn, with Hugh Jackman tap dancing over the grass. All that being said, I guess we should go see Slumdog Millionaire.

The Fourth Row Brag Book

2009-02-18T09:32:00.003-05:00

Okay, it’s time to strut a little bit here at The Fourth Row. We had parent teacher conferences for the twins yesterday. They have both tested at the top of their respective classes in every single category. They were associating word sounds that were two steps above the normal range, or something of that ilk. I actually have no idea what that means at all, but I’m sure it’s very good because their teachers were smiling as they told us. I quickly realized that that the smart kids are the most difficult for the teacher to talk about.

Teacher: Your son is a joy to have in class. He has excellent blah, blah, blah. And he has tested at the top of his class.

Smile at Parents.

Pregnant Pause.

Parents: Oh, thank you so much. He really enjoys every day here. We’re so happy he is doing so well.

And both teachers suggested that we have the twins tested for the gifted program.

And there is literally nothing left to say. Except that took less than a minute, and we have fifteen of our public school taxpayer minutes to fill. So now, instead of filling the ensuing time with advice on how to improve the child's skills at home, the teacher and the aide must expound upon the cute little quirks the each child has and how endearing they have become. Noah is a wonderful block builder. He even puts windows in his buildings. Aidan loves to give hugs to the teacher’s aide. She loves to get them. So nice. So sweet. So Hallmark.

And after every short story, we as parents smile again, laugh on cue, and reiterate how happy we are that they are doing well. By the end of the second “conference” I was grinning on the inside. But then, almost as though it was planned for the climax of the meeting, Aidan’s teacher said to us, “There is one more thing that I’d like to discuss with you.” Her look became very serious. Our smiles faltered, and I wondered what had happened with our lovable, huggable, boy wonder genius.

“Aidan would like to drink the milk we serve here in the classroom and not the milk you send from home. He says your milk tastes yucky. We serve one percent here. It’s not the organic milk-in-a-box you send in, but it is still very good for him”

If I had been drinking milk, it would have come out my nose.

Oh, and for the record, Leah caved like a faulty mine shaft. I love you dear, but I hate that milk too.

VICTORY!!!!! (Well, sort of)

2009-02-11T12:05:00.003-05:00

In what could be a serious blow to Pastafarians everywhere, the Vatican announced today that Darwin's Theory of Evolution is compatible with Christianity.

Can you hear the pin drop in Kansas?

This will hopefully start to raise the collective IQ of the mid-western United States. Someday, I'll dance around the crumbling remains of the Intelligent Design Museum.

With a dinosaur bone through my nose.

Stop Tagging Me. I Bruise Easily.

2009-02-04T16:36:00.002-05:00

This has been floating around Facebook for weeks. I don't do long posts on Facebook, and I need blog material. So . . .

25 Things About Me that you really don’t care to know, but will skim over anyway to find the juicy bits.

25. I’m left handed.
24. I’m an only child.
23. I love my kids more than life.
22. I love my wife more than my kids.
21. I once had to make an emergency landing in an airplane.
20. I love to sing.
19. I once sang a solo in St. Patrick’s Cathedral in New York City.
18. At one point in my life, my parents and my voice instructor told me that if I wanted to, I could pursue a professional singing career. This was long before American Idol.
19. I really, really miss my Mom.
18. I sucked my thumb until I was five years old.
17. I once played a practical joke on a friend that shut down my college administration building for an entire day.
16. My favorite color is somewhere in the shade of Caribbean blue.
15. My dream is to own a castle in France or Italy.
14. I have rowed through the canals of Venice.
13. I love to sail, but have never owned my own boat. Yet.
12. I am almost guaranteed to have prostate cancer at some point in my life.
11. I fancy myself a guitar player.
10. I do not dress well enough. Most of the time I don’t care.
9. I once snuck onto the field at Fenway Park and ran to first base.
8. I once tried to break up with Leah, but she wouldn’t let me.
7. I was a lifeguard in high school and saved my cousin from drowning.
6. I love good Irish whiskey.
5. My favorite food on the planet is lobster.
4. I was accepted at one of the most difficult colleges in the country to get into and then left after four months.
3. I love what I do. Building things makes me happy.
2. I had a really wonderful childhood and hope I can provide the same for my boys.
1. The hardest part about living in Buffalo for me now is being away from the ocean.

New Digs

2009-02-02T13:01:00.001-05:00

We finally got ourselves into the new place this weekend. There is still much work to be done (like actually finding all my clothes), but at least we’re in our own space now. The geek in me won’t be content until the surround sound is working again. Hey, you gotta have goals, right?

It was like having Christmas all over again for the boys. They gleefully unpacked all their stuffed animals, toys, and books that have been buried in the basement for the last month. Sam was very methodical about it. His books are all neatly arranged on the bottom shelf of his bookcase and his animals are piled high at the foot of his bed. And as of this morning, his floor is covered in Legos and Lincoln Logs to the point where you cannot walk with bare feet for fear of receiving a puncture wound. Just like old times.

Aidan and Noah were more excited about their new bunk beds than their books and toys. At rest time yesterday, they discovered that their stuffed animals could be passed back and forth through the small spaces between the mattress and the headboard. This made for an extremely entertaining, albeit completely unsuccessful rest time. Meh. Oh, and they too succeeded in burying their floor under Lincoln Logs constructions.

John, Gina, and Ginny came over for the Superbowl last night, and we christened our new home with Muffelettas. These are the greatest sandwiches ever conceived. Your arteries will harden just be making them.

Now that I think about it, the twins really christened the new living room yesterday afternoon. When I rearranged the furniture to try out yet another possible configuration, Noah came out of his room. He looked around at the open space and his eyes went wide.

“Daddy! This is great! I’m gonna skip.”

And he did. In circles. For 10 minutes straight.

We've Got Spirit! Yes We Do!

2009-01-30T11:43:00.002-05:00

City school is not all bad. I’m trying very hard to forget everything and just be positive. This helps:

This week has been Spirit Week at Sam’s school. It ends tonight with a spaghetti dinner put on by the 4^th and 5^th graders. The spaghetti could very well be green and I wouldn’t care. Because Monday was Crazy Hair Day. Sam’s hair was too short, but he wanted a wave in front – just like Tintin. But Monday was also a school play. One in which co-anchors Sam and Katie reported the class news to the entire school. I wanted so badly to walk over to see him, but when I told him of my plan, I received a shake of the five year old head.

“It’s a School-Only play, Daddy. Parents aren’t allowed.”

Tuesday was School Colors Day. Leah managed to find green and grey shirts that actually fit him. Wednesday was Silly Hat Day. Sam wore one of our super-long Christmas caps. Thursday was Pajama Day. Sam would prefer to wear pajamas all day long for the rest of his life, so this was complete Nirvana to him. Today is Sports Team Day. Sam has been talking about today for an entire week. But not just talking. At random points he has walked up to me and asked, “Daddy, can you tell me what Friday is?”

At first, I was slow to catch on. I told him that it was January 31.

“What else is it,” was the response.

“Is it Sports Team Day?”

“YES!!!!!!!!!!”

On Monday, Sam decided he would wear his Patriots shirt over his Red Sox shirt (that I bought for him, so shut up Amber) and his Yankees hat. We said nothing. It was Spirit Week after all. By Wednesday though, plans had changed. And this morning, Sammy went off to Sports Team Day in his very own sports team uniform – his T-Ball shirt and hat.

And it’s not just Sam. Aidan and Noah are coming into their own as little schoolboys. Every morning, Noah practices writing his name and gets a sticker from his teacher. Aidan made a construction paper snowman with a buttoned vest this week. Except that his snowman was clothed on both sides.

They both break out into song at any given moment now. While listening to a Phil Collins song on the radio one morning, Noah shouted out, “Mommy, this is the Tarzan singer!” For those of you who don’t know or remember, Phil Collins recorded the soundtrack to Walt Disney’s Tarzan. This was the only other time that the boys had ever heard anything by him.

But best of all, their not-so-little minds are expanding every day. Last night during dinner the three of them had a discussion on bombs and explosions, complete with sound effects. When Sam made a particularly good exploding noise, Noah tried to give him the appropriate compliment:

“Good blow job, Sammy.”

The Aftermath

2009-01-23T08:59:00.002-05:00

So the twins are at school again today. We didn’t move. We didn’t fly away. And although my reaction yesterday stemmed from having to stew in my office for most of the day thinking about the incident, and I realize fully that this kind of thing happens in suburban settings as well as cities, I still can’t help but want to never ever, ever put my children into that building again. After hearing the full account of what happened, I give full credit to the school administration for acting swiftly and properly to ensure the safety of the students.

I am in my office, less than 3 miles from their classroom. But I feel as though I am in a different world.

In my career, I have had things thrown at me and thrown things back. I’ve hurled profanities that would burn your ears off should you have ever heard them. I’ve even had threats against my well being. It’s part of my world. I don’t deal with the niceties of corporate culture on a daily basis. But this morning I feel as though my job is a quilting bee compared with running the gauntlet of growing up in today’s society.

To every school teacher I know: Pam, Aimee, Martha, Lucy, Mark, Brandon, Julie – God Bless you and the good work you do.

I'm Done With This Place.

2009-01-22T15:41:00.003-05:00

The kind of violence that you read about and don’t breathe because it’s so unthinkably horrible brushed past my children today. Today, an eleven-year-old kid brought a gun into the twins’ school.

Luckily, eleven year olds are inherently stupid about most things in life, and this kid was no different. He showed it off to other kids on the school bus, and they promptly turned him in when they reached the school. It doesn’t change a single thing.

Ed. note: Portions of this entry have been deleted at the request of a reader. Thank-you all for your comments.

Ooh Es Mas Macho?

2009-01-15T21:49:00.004-05:00

I promise some coherent thoughts farther down. . .

1. So, I guess the answer to the question above would now default to Lorenzo Lamas. RIP, Mr. Roarke!

2. Tippi Hedren and Rod Taylor are somewhere cowering in a corner of their retirement villas, screaming incessantly, and Alfred Hitchcock is looking down and smiling. . .

3. It is really, really, really cold.

So the boys have settled nicely into school. And I have lasted almost an entire week without getting fired. For the record, at my previous place of employment I was canned 4 times. Twice by my boss, but I never listened much to him anyway. You hear that, Bob? That's right! I'm 5oo miles away now, and I can write whatever I want to! I'm not afraid of you! Or your wife! I might be a little scared of your daughter, though. I digress. Apologies.

Despite our continued life craziness (we're not in our apartment yet - all of our stuff? Still in boxes.), I have to say that I still feel unbelievably lucky. I get to drive Sam to school now. He starts school just early enough that I can drop him off and drive around the block to my office. We take the same route each day, past the General Mills plant where they make Cheerios. By the way, if anyone reading this know ANYONE who works for General Mills, please see if they might be able to arrange for a tour of the Buffalo Cheerios plant. I . . . that is . . . we desperately want to see how they are made. We also see the Buffalo Fire Boat every day. It's cool.

Another very nice little perks of my present job is that I have a clicker. This is not a magic clicker, but it does allow me entry into the Heated. Underground. Parking Garage. My little VW diesel loves, loves, loves being warm all day. I don't even have to put my coat on when I leave work. It is quite wonderful. Oh, and did I mention that all of the people I work with sail? Yup.

I am also putting some good karma back into the world this week. I actually get to hire someone for my project down in Maryland. And hopefully, when I start my New Hampshire project, I will get to do the very same thing there as well. With so many people looking for work, and more layoffs every week, at least I can help a little bit.

If you consider yourself one of my friends and are upset that you haven't heard from me, first, you should know me well enough by now to know that I suck at keeping in touch. Second, fear not. I am trying to reach out to everyone I can think of to say hi and catch up on where life has taken us. I promise I'll get to all of you. As long as I have your contact info.

Fare Thee Well New England Shore

2009-01-07T14:53:00.000-05:00

I’ve been intermittently staring at a blank white page on my computer screen for most of the morning now, trying to find the motivation/inspiration/punctuation (wait, what?) to post a real, honest-to-goodness blog update that consists of words and thoughts rather than links, embeds, and bullet points. Over the last year, every blog I read on a regular basis has slowed posting to the point of non-interest, mine included. Why? What is the reason for this national, irrational ennui that seems to be sweeping over us? Is it just that we have all grown tired of trying to inform the masses about our daily thoughts, hopes, and dreams? Has the Facebook/Twitter/IM/Chat phenomenon altered our communications so much that my life at any given moment can be summed up in two sentences or less? Or do I just not care anymore?

My life, my family’s life, is not one that can be summed up, all consideration to Inigo Montoya aside. However, setting time to actually write something I consider being of some value to the reader is more of an issue now than it used to be. Life getting in the way? Status Updates are the ready-made solution.

Here’s mine for today, not summed up at all:

Oh my God, here we go again.

Yup, for the fourth time in eight years, we have moved. The difference is that this time around, we moved out of necessity. Back in September, just about six months after everyone had realized that Indian casinos were not recession-proof, my position here at Foxwoods/MPTN came within reach of the grasping claws of our failing economy. My contract was not to be renewed for the upcoming year.

Throughout my career, I have never had any difficulty finding employment. I have been met before I walk out the door with at least one job offer. This time, however, things were different. In the past four months, I have sent out over 50 applications, been in contact with no less than 10 recruiters, and have only had two interviews to show for my efforts.

I am very good at what I do. There is simply not enough development and construction happening to accommodate the ever-growing number of professionals who are now looking for work. At one point, I was told by one recruiter that he could not even place an executive with 30 years of experience.

Faced with the real possibility of having to find interim employment, we made the decision to leave Connecticut and move back to Buffalo. We have more family support available there. We have property there. We would be able to move into the house next to Leah’s mother. And our cost of living would decrease significantly. Unbelievably, the job market in Western New York is actually better than that of Southeastern Connecticut and Rhode Island, so there was a better chance for me to find a position up there anyway. Based on what I had received for feedback, there was also a real chance that I would end up having to travel for work beyond what my family could do or what we were comfortable with. Being in Buffalo would give Leah and the boys the security, and support they would need if I was forced to work somewhere they could not go.

So the weekend before Christmas, we packed up a moving truck, and I drove across New York State again. All things considered, the move went amazingly smooth.

We were then blessed with the best thing to come out of this craziness, and that was Sam being admitted to the Elmwood Village Charter School. It is considered the best school in the city right now. There was one opening available for the entire City of Buffalo, and somehow the Gods smiled down upon us and granted him admittance. Sibling preference assures that Noah and Aidan will go there next year as well. The twins are now in a great full-day pre-K program on the Buffalo State University campus.

Then, one more piece of good fortune. One of the two companies that I actually had interviews with offered me a position last Friday. I accepted and will start my new job this coming Monday. In Buffalo. About two blocks from Sam’s school. I’m going to be building hotels all along the eastern seaboard for a private firm whose owner used to take his children sailing in Mystic during the summer.

So despite the frustrations, the worries, the anxiety, the fights, the tears, and the endless hours of hopeful speculation and contingency planning, things seem to be working out. We will miss our friends and family in Stonington/Westerly very much. But we will return for long vacations in the summers. My brother Chris’ mother-in-law put it best.

“You were meant to live in Connecticut for a reason, now you’re meant to live in Buffalo. Life is going to happen whether you like it or not. And really, it’s only a drive across New York.”

Annual Stoddard Christmas Puzzle

2008-12-11T20:20:00.002-05:00

After some thought, and a little pushing by friends, I decided today to issue this year's Christmas Puzzle. I wasn't planning on it. There is just too much craziness in my life right now for me to have to worry about one more thing. But this afternoon I said fuck it, did some quick work, and sent it out. If you didn't get a copy, my bad. Here it is:

Rules: I make all the rules up as I go. Just finish the puzzle and return it to me for judging.

DO NOT LEAVE YOUR ANSWERS IN THE COMMENTS SECTION. THEY WILL MYSTERIOUSLY DISAPPEAR, RENDERING YOUR HARD WORK COMPLETELY POINTLESS.

The theme this year is Christmas in the Movies. Just name the movie associated with the quote, hint, or question. The answer is not necessarily going to be a movie with a Christmas Theme – maybe it just occurs around Christmastime . . .

1. “Yippee ki yay, Motherfucker”

2. Irving Berlin wrote 12 songs for this movie. That’s a little overkill, don’t you think?

3. Name as many Christmas movies with Tim Allen in them as you can before you feel sick.

4. Robert Zemekis had to cut the budget from the unbelievably high costs of the special effects, so one guy played five characters.

5. Barbara Stanwyck made two Christmas movies in the 1940s. One was A Christmas in Connecticut. What was the other?

6. Dumbo had long ears. So did the donkey that Mary rode on to Bethlehem. What was his name?

7. Eleven years before she screamed in the shower, Janet Leigh starred in this under-appreciated Christmas gem.

8. Tired of being “the shadow behind the great man”, Santa’s little lady goes on a bender, steals the reindeer and sleigh, and ends up in NYC.

9. “Where do you think you're going? Nobody's leaving. Nobody's walking out on this fun, old-fashioned family Christmas. No, no. We're all in this together. This is a full-blown, four-alarm holiday emergency here. We're gonna press on, and we're gonna have the hap, hap, happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap-danced with Danny fucking Kaye. And when Santa squeezes his fat white ass down that chimney tonight, he's gonna find the jolliest bunch of assholes this side of the nuthouse.”

10. What does the DA’s son ask for on the stand in A Miracle on 34th Street?

11. Ignatius Thistlewhite has Christmas spirit!

12. Identify three Misfit Toys.

13. Tagline: A Tribute to the Original, Traditional, One-Hundred-Percent, Red-Blooded, Two-Fisted, All-American Christmas...

14. Mary Lou Retton and the Solid Gold Dancers in a production of A Christmas Carol?

15. Robbers murder his family. He’s sold into slavery to a bunch of kings. His lamb is injured. But he can still come up with a song for Baby Jesus.

16. “New York is a wonderful town. Everybody dreams about going there. But we're luckier than lots of families because we're really going. Wait until you see the fine home we're going to have and the loads and loads of friends we'll make. Wonderful friends. But the main thing Tootie is that we're all going to be together just like we've always been. That's what really counts. We could be happy anywhere as long as we're together.”

17. Filmed in the first person cinematographic view, this slasher film never showed the face of the killer.

18. A lonely, obnoxious young millionaire pays a family to spend Christmas with him.

19. “Presents? Is that what you said? Presents? We'll open them when we get there. No, in fact, I'll save you the trouble. Your present is a giant fucking canon. And you're gonna crawl in it. Then I'm gonna get 2 pounds of gunpowder and I'm gonna shoot you right out of Jersey! And then I'm gonna drive to Jersey, and pick up all the parts of your body and put them in a plastic bag. Then I'm gonna drive to my house with you in the bag and toss you into the fireplace. I'm gonna get my glass of whiskey and watch the Charlie Brown special with your ashes burning IN MY FUCKING HOUSE! AGH!”

20. In addition to the Christmas edition, this character has also been to jail, Africa, school, the Army, but never went to sea as a Pirate because he died before the film was complete.

21. If they had filmed the wedding, her name would have been Mary Contrary Piper.

22. Tagline: Two Dads, One Toy, No Prisoners.

23. If Buzz had taken his money to Paris like any normal kid would have, we would never have had to deal with the three awful sequels this movie produced. Kevin would never have made it to the next one without a toothbrush.

24. What gifts does Father Christmas give to the children in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe?

25. Name all the gifts that Harry Potter received for Christmas through the entire 7 book series. (I know - not all of them are movies yet. Complain about it. I dare you.)

Snow? We Don't Need No Stinking Snow.

2008-12-07T19:44:00.000-05:00

Scenes From A Halloween Weekend - Take 2

2008-11-02T12:48:00.000-05:00

Time: 8:00pm
Location: surprise birthday party for Leah's cousin Bridgette at a local restaurant

Sam, Noah, and Aidan are about to leave for an overnight with Pop and Gramma Marcia. Aidan jumps up into my arms to kiss me good-bye.

"How much do you love me," I ask him.

"More than cheese!"

Halloween Road Trip - Scene 1

2008-10-31T12:24:00.000-04:00

Time: 9:00pm
Location: Soemwhere on the New York Thruway

All is quiet and dark. The car moves smoothly along, with minimal traffic. From the back seat a little voice calls outn "Mommy . . . Daddy . . . If giants were real, they probably wouldn't be able to see ants."

I Am NOT A Morning Person

2008-10-27T15:58:00.002-04:00

Anyone who knows me is well aware of this fact. Given the choice, I would gladly sleep until lunch and skip all the a.m. nonsense altogether. An agrarian lifestyle would send me over the edge. Since college, well, not really college so much (8:00am class? Thank you, but no), I have been forced into waking in the early morning hours, surviving on a combination of coffee and diet pepsi to chemically boost myself into self-awareness.

Anyone who knows my wife is also well aware that she loves mornings. Leah likes to get up and greet the sun. To me, this is like a Disney movie on a bad acid trip. It sounds nice, but the imagery of it is completely nightmarish.

Since our darling children have emerged from the comfort of their biological beds, they have tended towards Leah’s penchant for waking up God Awful early in the morning. Only Sam shows signs of coming over to the dark side. Being the good father, I try very hard sometimes to conform to the wishes of the rest of my masochistic family. I dutifully wake up, or at least get out of bed, to spend early morning “bonding time.”

To their credit, the boys are occasionally very cute in the mornings. One certain days they quietly crawl into bed and wake us up by asking us to read a story. I say certain days because they only happen when planetary and lunar alignments create cosmic waves that prevent their higher brain functions. Usually when they wake me up it is by the sound of crashing, crunching toys or bowls and plates being dropped on the dining room table in the hopes that the breakfast fairy soon will be there.

As the demands of Leah’s job have forced her to abandon her regular exercise regimen, she has started getting up even earlier. In darkness, she tries to sneak out of bed and into the car without waking anyone up. If she wakes me up, I can very easily go back to sleep. And I have. But sometimes, one of the munchkins hears the motor turning over, and thinks that they have overslept and missed Daddy leaving for work. Cue lights. Cue sound. Cue Daddy dragging his sorry ass downstairs.

In the last few weeks, I have relearned how to prepare breakfast, a task for which until recently, Leah had gloriously assumed responsibility. I can pour milk onto cereal with the best of them. But the third or fourth time I found myself in the kitchen alone, three whining little boys refused Honey Nut Cheerios and demanded pancakes.

In a panic, I called Leah (hey, I at least knew she was awake). I successfully repeated back to her the correct ingredients, and started to breathe. In about 10 minutes, I was actually feeding my children pancakes! Leah came home to find all three of them horking down their breakfasts. Victory!!

I have since repeated this feat twice. The second time, I wasn’t so sure about the ingredients, but mangled my way through it. The boys were happy and full, so my job was complete. The third time, I called Leah just to ensure that I was, in fact, not poisoning our children. I recited what I thought were the correct proportions of each ingredient.

“That’s completely right, sweetie,” was Leah’s reply, “I’m just going to pick up some flour quickly and I’ll be home in 5 minutes. Just keep them occupied.”

Ok, I thought to myself, no problem. I pulled out all the other ingredients – oil, eggs, baking powder, milk, and a little pinch of cinnamon. I also found another jar full of flour. Sweet, I thought. I’ll have them cooked by the time she gets home, and will impress the pants off her.

Out flew the measuring cups from the cupboards. On came the gas burners. Keep the dry stuff separate from the wet stuff. Measure. Pour, pour, pour. Crack. Measure. Pour, pour, pour. I was ready.

In walks Leah. She looks at the counter. She smiles. She sticks her finger into the flour and baking powder, and then pokes it into my mouth.

I suspect that my powdered sugar pancakes would not have met with the same levels of success of my previous efforts.

If Chris Farley Were Alive Today . . .

2008-10-16T17:20:00.002-04:00

He would be playing Joe the Plumber this Saturday. He would have given us the presidential plumber's crack. And Hanz und Franz could be Joe Sixpack and his brother. I mean, really, is the GOP just stealing old SNL characters for their "common guy" examples?

Simplify

2008-10-15T13:27:00.000-04:00

Simplify.

It’s occurred to me in recent days that I’ve missed too much of my family’s life over the last few months. Thinking back, our family dinners that we value so much only occurred about one or two times each week over the summer and early fall. Sam, Aidan, and Noah aren’t even all in elementary school yet. But somehow, our lives have already become busy to the point of missed opportunities.

A few poignant moments brought me to this realization.

Each time we sit down to dinner as a family, we start the meal with a recurring conversation. Taking a cue from some friends back in Buffalo with amazingly well-adjusted kids, we take turns telling everyone at the table what was our favorite moment of our day. The boys look forward to this with great anticipation, as evidenced by their efforts some nights to begin the discussion before the food is even on the table. The last person from the previous meal gets to go first on the following night. As with everything else in little boys’ lives, there is from time to time, a genetic need for goofiness.

Rather than follow the rules and choose the next person, the boys have taken to either closing their eyes and, with the arm motions of what I can only describe as a crossing-guard having an epileptic fit, flailing their little limbs in every direction until they actually point to a real person. Their other option for creatively extending the length of our talk is to choose inanimate objects and answer for them. It is this practice that brought about my enlightenment.

At the dinner table some two weeks ago, the Favorite Part of the Day came around to Aidan. There was only one person left for him to choose, and he decided that the conversation was going to be over much too quickly. He began rattling off all the furniture in the room, saying, “I choose the chair. The chair’s favorite part of the day was . . .”

He continued on for half a dozen different items, none of which made even the remotest bit of sense. Just as Leah met my eyes in silent agreement that we needed to cut him off, he came out with this:

“I choose the light. The light’s favorite part of the day was having dead bugs in it.”

Instant Slow Motion.

In the seconds that followed, four pairs of eyes gazed up at the ceiling. Two mouths dropped open and peals of pure child laughter poured out. I looked at Leah again. Then two additional voices joined in.

A quick aside: My children love to tell jokes. Or at least what they perceive to be jokes. I suppose in some alternate dimension, they might actually be funny. Anyone who has sat down to dinner with us or been in the minivan when the mood strikes them has been subjected to their tortuous slapstick. In strict adherence to Chaos Theory, they get progressively worse and nonsensical with each successive turn. Our threshold holds out for about ten of these gems.

Random Child: Why did the chicken cross the road?
Audience: Why?
Random Child: Because the dinosaur told the pirate!
Other Children: HA! HA! HA! HA!
Adults: [cringe with mental anguish]

Back to the point: Aidan told a joke – an honest to goodness, funny joke. One that his big brother didn’t say first moments earlier. He absolutely beamed as the entire family laughed and laughed and laughed.

When we were finished, I realized that it might not have been the first time. I realized that by only sitting down to dinner once or twice each week as Leah and I have been pulled in every direction but home, that we were missing countless opportunities to tell each other stories, or jokes, or answer their questions about their world. How sad.

Fast forward one week. Sam came home from school in an absolutely horrible mood. At school that day he got himself into trouble because he was fooling around with another boy, one who I know has major behavior issues. Sam fed right into it on this particular day, and paid for it, losing a privilege in class.

At home, he yelled at his brothers. He threw fits. He stomped up the stairs to his room in tears after I sent him to bed right after dinner. A little later, Leah went up to talk to him.

Getting into trouble was not the only crappy event of his day. Apparently, another boy in his class told Sam that he didn’t want to be his friend. Because Sam couldn’t do subtraction as fast as he could. Upon hearing this, my heart broke.

Kids can be mean. This isn’t even close to the worst thing Sam will ever hear. It still hurt, though. What made it worse for me was that for the last six months I’ve been telling Leah that I intended to spend some time with him working on math skills. The school focused so much on reading that to me it seemed numbers took a back seat.

I had plans to solidify Sam’s basic skills, and to try to teach him some advanced stuff just to see if he liked it. Yet for the past six months, every time I’ve sat down at a computer, I do thirteen other things than work on a project for my own son.

Last week, I printed out a bunch of addition and subtraction sheets. I told Sam that for every one he finished, he would get 5 minutes of free computer time (games on Nick Jr.). He blew through two pages of addition and two pages of subtraction.

Then I taught him how to solve basic equations.

And after about 25 minutes, Sam solved an entire page of equations that I hadn’t learned until seventh grade. I saw his demeanor change when he understood what I was teaching him. The widening of the eyes, the mouth opening, and the little hop in his chair in eagerness to do more. I realized then that I’ve neglected my responsibilities as a teacher for my kids.

The next day, I went for a walk in the woods after dinner with Noah and Aidan. It was the first time in four months that we’d been out together. Four months since I walked with my children.

It’s time to simplify. It’s time to realize how unbelievably lucky I am in the face of what is happening in the world around us. It’s time to be thankful for what I have, and not push so damn hard for what I want. It’s time to remember that living happily in the present is more important than putting all your effort into trying to shape the future.

Otherwise, you might not hear the joke.

Be Careful Who You Quote

2008-10-04T08:22:00.002-04:00

From today's New York Times:

Raising the white flag of surrender — to Medicare
Freedom in danger

Unbelievable. Sarah Palin finished her closing remarks by quoting Ronald Reagan:
It was Ronald Reagan who said that freedom is always just one generation away from extinction. We don’t pass it to our children in the bloodstream; we have to fight for it and protect it, and then hand it to them so that they shall do the same, or we’re going to find ourselves spending our sunset years telling our children and our children’s children about a time in America, back in the day, when men and women were free.

When did he say this? It was on a recording he made for Operation Coffeecup — a campaign organized by the American Medical Association to block the passage of Medicare. Doctors’ wives were supposed to organize coffee klatches for patients, where they would play the Reagan recording, which declared that Medicare would lead us to totalitarianism.

You couldn’t make this stuff up.

I Helped Found This Group!

2008-09-30T01:13:00.001-04:00

And I'll take credit for naming them, too.

Overheard from John McCain

2008-08-31T00:49:00.000-04:00

"I'll bet there's a hell of a lot more people who are in favor of Alaskan drilling now!"

Sorry, couldn't resist.

Things I've Done This Summer That Have Made Me Happy

2008-08-26T04:34:00.000-04:00

Hung out with Leah on Tuesday nights.
Played with my kids in the backyard
Played with my kids at the beach
Watched Sam learn how to boogey-board
Watched Aidan and Noah teach themselves how to read
Listened to stories about Pirate Camp
Went kayaking
Drove to Ogontz and saw lots of old friends
Went to see Wall-E
Went to see The Dark Knight
Drank good wine
Met my new niece
Skipped church
Played guitar
Went to a Yankee game
Went to Maine
Watched Sam ride his bike without training wheels
Watched Leah get a job that she loves
Started planning a very, very large fundraiser
Welcomed a good friend home safe from Iraq
Did lots of puzzles with my boys
Took the boys to the Mystic Art Festival
Went swimming in the ocean
Taught the boys a little geography by searching for license plates
Ate giant lobsters
Watched Sam have his first sweetheart
Saw some amazing fireworks in out neighbor’s back yard

And didn’t blog.

No apologies. It was a good break.

History Truly Does Repeat Itself

2008-06-26T14:20:00.004-04:00

Me to Them:

1. "Don't you make me pull this car over!"

2. "There are people in the world with a lot less food than you. Sit there and eat."

Them to Me:

1. "It wasn't my fault."

2. "I didn't do it."

Blueberry's Bumpy Ride

2008-06-25T12:08:00.003-04:00

Here's the story of my phone:

I love my Blackberry. It's like technological crack. I am trying to keep my life organized inside its processors.

Last Thursday, we were supposed to go to a Chorus picnic. It was a Summer Pops donor party at the hall. Because I had rehearsal after the party, Leah took the boys in a separate car. I was rushing around trying to find the correct shirt (don't ask) and my music. I ended up going back inside the house before I started the car.

At some point in all of this, I placed my little Blueberry on the roof of my car.

And forgot it was there.

We live about 15 minutes from the Chorus hall. My phone bravely held on for about 10 of those minutes, with me driving around 40-50 mph. Thanks to the friction created by the blue, rubbery, shock-absorbing skin I put on it, my phone was like the Indiana Jones of Blackberry's, holding on to a fast moving vehicle for dear life.

I didn't realize that any of this had happened. When I woke up the next morning, I looked around the house and realized that something was amiss. Immediately, I began to retrace my steps, but couldn't think of where my poor little phone could be, because I remembered walking through the door after work and placing on the shelf like I always did.

I looked under all the furniture in the house. I tore through all the clothes in the bedroom. I cleaned my car!!!! It was at this point that I had to assume that I probably drove off with it on the roof, but I still couldn't remember when. So I went back to the grocery store parking lot and searched. I went to the bank and searched. All the way down the road to our house, I drove at a crawl, desperately trying to spot my poor phone.

During the afternoon on Friday, I sort of resigned myself to the fact that it was gone. I felt so empty inside. After work, we all piled into the van to drop off our blanket in the park to reserve our spot for the concert the next day. Bad luck just piled on me, as we found ourselves stuck in a traffic jam due to a bad car accident on the other side of the road. We were only 5 cars back, and could see multiple fire engines, police cars, and all sorts of other emergency vehicles. Eventually, we made it past, put down our blanket, and went home.

Sam and I went to T-Ball the next morning, phoneless again. When the game was over, Leah and I switched cars and I took the boys home. Before we parted ways, she looked at me laughing and said, "Call your cousin Josh. He knows where your phone is."

"What in God's name are you talking about," I asked.
"I don't understand the whole thing. Just call him," were my instructions.

So I called Josh as soon as we got home. Josh is a fire fighter in Little Compton, Rhode Island. He lives an hour away from us. There was no way that he knew where my phone was.

But no.

And here's how it goes:

My phone flipped off my car and shattered. The skin flew off. The back cracked away. The battery popped out. Just as any phone would do when flying off a car going 45 mph. The important thing is where.

My phone landed about 25 feet away from the car accident that we witnessed. While we were sitting in traffic waiting for the lanes to open up, one of the firemen who was walking the scene found all the pieces and reassembled it. What's more, it actually turned right back on - after sitting in broken pieces for over 24 hours! He just scrolled through my contacts until he saw my cousin, and gave him a call.

I picked up my phone, a little scratched but in perfect working order, Saturday afternoon. Apparently, quite a lot of people leave their phones on the roofs of their cars, because when I met him, he told me that he just assumed that's what had happened.

Bizarre, eh?

Hhhhhiiiiiiiyyyyyyyyyyaaaaaahhhhh!

2008-06-24T13:02:00.000-04:00

We took the boys to see Kung Fu Panda a couple weeks ago. The only other time we’ve all been to the movies as an entire family unit was to see Ratatouille, so needless to say, they were excited.

Leah, ever the movie cheapskate, had the boys pick out snacks and smuggle them in to the theater. If you think this is a new activity, ask me about the “big” bag sometime. I was running late, so I asked her to get me a popcorn and soda. When she got up to the counter, the boys all stared through the glass at the array of candy, and Noah yelled, “Mommy, look! I have one just like that!”

The police were not called.

I finally arrived and in we went. A brief crisis ensued because not every boy could sit next to Daddy. However, that didn’t really matter because after they saw the bad guy/snow leopard, Noah and Aidan were in Mommy and Daddy’s laps. Admittedly, he was a scary bad guy.

Scary enough so that they did not like him at all. So much so that by the final fight scene, the twins had clearly chosen the side of the Panda, because every single time he landed a kick or punch they shouted at the tops of their little lungs at the screen, “YEAH!!!”

There were many, many punches and kicks.

Shit Piss Fuck Cunt Cocksucker Motherfucker Tits

2008-06-23T08:34:00.001-04:00

RIP Mr. Carlin 1937-2008.

One for the Ages

2008-05-20T08:46:00.002-04:00

Congratulations to Jon Lester, who, after beating cancer last year, made his way up through the ranks of Red Sox AAA pitchers to earn the start in World Series Game 4 last October, and, who, as the third biggest accomplishment of his life (as Jeff Passan so eloquently writes) threw a no-hitter last night, missing a perfect game by a mere two walks and an error.

Today, it's ok to like the Red Sox.

Who'd a Thunk It?

2008-05-14T13:11:00.001-04:00

Some Interesting Things that John McCain is Older Than:

Bugs Bunny
Daffy Duck

Of Mice and Men
The Grapes of Wrath

Gone with the Wind

Batman
Superman

The Carmina Burana

Israel
Alaska

The March of Dimes

Hewlitt Packard

The National Baseball Hall of Fame
The Jefferson Memorial
LaGuardia Airport

The Manhattan Project

Check out the rest:

Things Younger Than McCain

Dancing Child? Ayuh, That's a Bloggin'.

2008-05-09T19:02:00.005-04:00

Here's something to make up for the lack of humor of late.

The beauty of it is that he has no clue who Hanna Montana is.

Inch by Inch. Row by Row.

2008-05-03T14:37:00.001-04:00

Now that we have some really warm weather, the boys are spending most of their time outside. It is truly a blessing, because they would find me unreceptive to requests to dig through the living room floor.

Yes. That’s right. We have boys. They like to dig. Big surprise, eh?

This week, their excavation took place directly next to one of the posts to the swing set. When I got home from work, I was asked to pick up a truck and assist. I took one look at their hole and had a small panic attack. My sons had almost successfully undermined the entire swing set. In layman’s terms, one end was about to come loose from the ground up.

I managed to redirect them to a new location. The garden.

Our garden is a little slow out of the gates this year. Actually, it’s still grazing in the field. It’s not that we don’t want to grow anything. On the contrary, in our heads, there are already sprouts growing.

So I gave the boys the opportunity to dig in good dirt. I also gave them the opportunity to clear the weeds, sticks and stones. They started right in. Digging. There was no interest in getting the garden prepped. So I grabbed a rake and did the job while they excavated for a tunnel.

As I raked, we talked about the garden and what we were going to put in it. Sam was going to plant tomatoes. Aidan is planting green peppers. Noah? Well, let’s just say that Noah is going to have quite a special garden.

Noah: I’m goin’ to plant a tree.

Sam: What kind of tree, Noah?

Noah: A Rock Tree.

Sam: What?!? There’s no such thing.

I had to ask.

Me: Noah, how to you grow a rock tree?

Noah: You use a rock seed.

Best. Fark. Headline. Evar.

2008-04-30T00:38:00.004-04:00

"Illegal immigrants arrested after defying physics by cramming nine men into a Toyota Celica. After their trial, they're expected to remove a stuck couch from Dirk Gently's landing"

And no, Brian, I'm not being chased by the Taxman (anymore). I've been busy trying to get people fired for being incompetent, lying blowhards. Good times.

Ayuh. Storm's a-comin'.

It's Now OK to Enjoy Country Music

2008-04-15T21:15:00.001-04:00

Well, not really. But this certainly makes a strong argument.

Sign From Above

2008-04-14T23:16:00.002-04:00

The week that my family goes away, Blogger decides to not recognize my template edits. So now I have something to do besides worry about my dog. After an evening of frustration, I think I've figured it out. Stay tuned for some minor tweaking and such.

You Hof to See These

2008-04-08T10:42:00.003-04:00

A couple years ago, I tried to sign up my dear sister-in-law for the David Hasselhoff Fan Club. Damn confirmation emails. . .

I can't understand why she didn't want to be a part of it, though. He is one of this generation's single greatest entertainers, as evidenced by the video's below. Many thanks to Harvey and Cate, who came over for dinner and introduced me to these gems.

If you don't listen closely enough to the ladies in the beginning, it sounds as though they say, "I know you're gay." Priceless.

We thought that this one was a cover of the Madonna song. Oh, how wrong we were.

This last video is without a doubt the best of the three. Are there others, you ask, obviously wanting more? Oh, yes. Yes there are. Thank you YouTube Gods.

The Young Men and the Sea

2008-04-06T14:04:00.005-04:00

My Future Hostage Negotiator

2008-04-02T09:30:00.004-04:00

I have too many meetings this week. And I'm not even talking about work. I came home Monday and sulked to Leah so much that we decided to go out for a nice dinner with the boys. After hemming and hawing about where to go, the restaurant we chose was closed. Of course, we didn't know that until we arrived at the doorstep. So it was off to Applebee's we went.

Actually, Applebee's was pretty darn good. They have a great WeightWatchers menu and also a really good kids menu. It was clean and the service was friendly and prompt. They did screw up the order, though Aidan did not get too upset about it.

He got french fries instead of broccoli.

As he happily munched away on his fries (Daddy, my chicken is too hot - yeah, right), we all looked on, green with jealousy. When it just became too much to bear, Noah asked for some fries.

"Nope."
"Aidan, give you brother some french fries."
"Ok, he can have four."

A couple minutes later, it became too much for me as well. I reached over into Aidan's basket to grab a fry. He pushed my hand away.

"Aidan, may I have a french fry?"
"Nope."
"Aidan, I would like you to share your fries with me."
"Nope."

At this point Leah's mouth dropped to the table.

"Aidan, give me a fry."
"No Daddy."
"Aidan, I'm paying for those fries, and I will have one."

[pause . . .]

"Okay, Daddy. But no ketchup."

Good Heavens, Miss Sakamoto!

2008-03-30T19:25:00.011-04:00

I have very mixed memories about my Science Fairs. Some years, I completely half-assed my project, and I still won a 3rd place ribbon. No big deal. I did a lot of science work outside the school system, and that was what really kept me interested. But one year - 8th grade - I went all out.

I made a working seismograph and conducted experiments into to its sensitivity. My father helped me build the basic structure of it, but the rest was up to me. I stripped the gears out of a robot toy I had, and figured out a way of continuous recording with a felt tip pen on adding machine paper rolls.

I tried it out on the plywood subfloor of our unfinished addition. The kicker of it all was that the thing actually worked. The larger or closer the disturbance, the greater the distortion of the recording line.

I got second place. Second F*&^king Place!

So my nervous projection onto Sam's first Science Fair had nothing to do with leaving the entire project until the 24 hours before it was actually due. The truth be told, I had no clue what we were going to do until I saw a piece of scrap lumber sitting in our neighbor's yard.

Levers: The Simplest Machine

Experiment: Can Sam Lift Dad?

"No way," says Sam.

Dad can lift Sam.

Sam can't lift Dad. (don't say a thing, bastards)

Or can he?

Up . . .

Up . . .

Up! With a lever, Sam CAN lift his Dad.

Sam's Principal actually quizzed him on what he did. He took her through the panel with all the pictures on it.

"And what did you learn, Sam?" she asked.
"I learned that I can lift my Dad," he replied.
"But how did you do it?"
"We moved the fulcrum. The longer the arm length, the larger the load you can lift," he answered.

At that moment, I think she realized that he could very well be smarter than she was.

Sam stayed by his presentation for as long as his little kindergarten mind would permit. He taught his friend Rhys how to balance an uneven load by shifting the position of the fulcrum of the lever.

But the remainder of the night was spent on his own. Leah took the twins home to bed, and I let Sam go off with his friends. I would see him every few minutes or so, off in his own world with one of a dozen different kids. When it was all over, we packed up and went for an ice cream.

It was an absolutely wonderful night.

This is our next door neighbor's project. The boys have all tried his home grown lettuce. But it occurred to me after reading this little section of his project that maybe his Mommy bought those lights to grow something entirely different.

Happy Easter

2008-03-23T11:33:00.003-04:00

Before:

After:

Try Rooting Against This

2008-03-19T08:24:00.000-04:00

Whatever kind of fan you are.

Ready? Okay! Goooooooooo God!

2008-03-17T20:11:00.002-04:00

For all you Godless heathen out there, this past weekend was religiously significant. It was the Sunday before Easter, more commonly known as Palm Sunday. Leah just explained to me why they call it that. She learned it at church. This past Sunday.

The crown of thorns was accompanied by the scepter of the palm leaf. Who knew?

Every year, I grab a bunch of palm fronds and turn them into crosses by making ritualistic folds, nips, and tucks. It is an ancient practice, dating all the way back to my childhood.

This year each little boy wanted a palm, placing my ambitious cross fabrications on hold until next year. But oh, the happiness those palms brought. For the car ride home anyway. On the way, Aidan decided to vocalize his enjoyment.

"Daddy, I love my palm. I'm glad today is Palm Palm Day."

New Fantasy Team Name

2008-03-14T09:57:00.001-04:00

Last year, the name of my fanstasy baseball team was the Mystic Mystics. Really creative, eh? This year? Divine Inspiration.

The Spitzer Swallows.

Yeah Baby.

BufBloPoFo Day Pi to the -1 Power - Are You Talking About Cock, Scott?

2008-03-13T00:07:00.002-04:00

This blog title is dedicated to my friend Aimee, who actually said that to me tonight when I asked her if she was a good organ player. I love you, Aimee.

Here's the quiz:

What is your favorite word?
That's an easy one: Daddy!

What is your least favorite word?
It's a toss up, but I'd have to go with "multi-tasking". Anyone who can't do more than one thing at once should be euthanized. People who brag about the fact that they can do more than one thing at once should have their tongues cut out.

What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally?
Creatively: acapella music
Spiritually: classical choral music
Emotionally: my wife

What turns you off?
Incompetence, stupidity, lack of common sense, insincerity, minor annoyances that build up during the course of the day, Red Sox fans

What sound or noise do you love?
ocean surf

What sound or noise do you hate?
Those loud test beeps that smoke detectors emit from time to time.

What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
Marine Biologist

What profession would you not like to do?
Sewer plant operator. I have to conduct walkthroughs of the reservation's treatment plant for potential bidders for the next two weeks. It's nasty.

What is your favorite curse word?
By far - douchebag

If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
Nice Work.

BufBloPoFo Day Brazillion - I Got No Titles Left

2008-03-11T21:36:00.004-04:00

What do I Love about where we live?

Well, if this was a year and a half ago, I would have written many of the same things that the Buffalo contingent wrote, with the addition of cheap real estate. But now, we’re in a different place, with a different life. One that most of our Buffalo friends and family haven’t even seen, let alone experienced. I’ll have a shot at it anyway.

1. Fresh Seafood. I really don’t have to go any further than this one. I mean, really, lobsters right off the boat? Heavenly.
2. My job. Can you believe it? I actually love what I do. The experience I’m getting right now is going to write my ticket for the rest of my earthly life. Energy and utility infrastructure will be the single most important issue this country faces in the not too distant future. So far, I’ve done water treatment and filtration, sewer and sanitary treatment, cogeneration, water supply, natural gas supply, and now I’m working on clean fuel alternatives. Anyone want some bio-diesel? I work nine miles from our house and I get to spend real time with my family every single day.
3. The Atlantic Ocean. We’re technically straddling Long Island Sound and open water, but I always look to the East. I love the dark blue hues of the waves.
4. Watch Hill sunsets on the water. One of the main reasons why we got married there.
5. Boating - Must. Get. Sailboat. Soon. In the meantime though, I’ve found a new place to put in with my kayak.
6. The Chorus of Westerly. It has to be in the top 5 anyway. Nowhere else in the entire country does there exist a group similar to this one. They are our extended family. Just ask Mrs. Kitchen, who had to get down on her knees in the Walmart parking lot to give the boys hugs.
7. Christ Church. Yup, we’re actually churchgoers again. It feels like we’re home when we are inside.
8. Pawcatuck Little League. I’ll say it. I’m partial to baseball. Sam loves it. Hopefully, the twins will too. Read The Smell of the Grass and you might catch a glimpse of what I’m talking about. The lore of baseball will always be more powerful than the reality.
9. Michael Jordan's Steak House. Casinos aside, there are some damn fine restaurants in those two gambling meccas.
10. Land. We can walk down our street and go exploring. We can walk behind our house and get lost in the woods. We battle with deer and rabbits and the occasional deranged woodchuck over our garden.
11. The Captain Daniel Packer Inn. Easily my favorite restaurant of all time, bar none. The best calamari I’ve ever had the pleasure of consuming. A basement pub with a huge stone fireplace. And some of the most delicious food anywhere.
12. Our neighborhood. We live in what is easily one of the best neighborhoods on the planet. Our next door neighbor teaches at the twins’ school. There are two babysitters on our street, soon to be three. We know the names of all the people that live on our street. And all their kids, who occupy the road more often than automobiles do. Pig Roast in July. We’re blocking off the entire street, so get here early and park in the driveway!
13. Sea Chanteys at the Griswold Inn. This is where we decided to buy our first house over way too many drinks. It’s probably also a contributing factor to the conception of our first child. It’s also one of the most entertaining musical experiences I’ve ever had on a weekly basis.
14. The Mystic Aquarium. Going there is like watching the boys step into a different universe. Their faces light up, eyes wide, and mouths open. Every time we go, they discover something new. And the educational opportunities are unbelievable. Plus, they have really cool sharks.
15. The Mystic Seaport. Leah’s grandfather used to sell scrimshaw pieces here. It has a special place in both our lives.
16. Noah’s Restaurant. Awesome breakfasts. Even better name.
17. Living within driving distance of both Boston and New York City. We have so many friends still living in Boston. It’s wonderful to be able to see them again. And I’m headed to the NY Auto Show with my father and brothers in two weeks. Without having to burn an entire day traveling. Anyone want to go to Yankee Stadium before they tear it down at the end of the season?
18. Christmas in Stonington. We must have seen Santa a half dozen times this year, and each one was great. The wagon ride around the Borough was by far the best. Santa led everyone in caroling through the streets. He never seemed to tire of Rudolph.
19. The Mystic YMCA. This place rocks. Swim lessons, free babysitting. Hey, we even went there and played tennis last year! And this summer? Beach camp!!!
20. Industry. Pfizer. The Groton Sub Base. The largest casino in the world. Sikorsky. Pratt & Whitney. Amgen. Hasbro. Bristol Myers Squibb. Raytheon. Just to name a few. All of these are within 50 miles of our home. This was the most lamentable aspect of life in Buffalo for me.
21. Great Public Schools. I would have moved just for that.
22. Having the opportunity for Leah to go back to work – because she wants to, not because she has to.
23. Beaches. Before she died, my mom and I went to the beach to take a walk. “The sea is my strength,” she said. Whenever I’ve found myself wanting, I drive over and listen to the crescendos of the waves. They set everything right again.

BufBloPoFo Day Six Thousand Seven Hundred Forty-Two - Is It Over Yet?

2008-03-10T20:50:00.002-04:00

Ok, Mikey, it's getting difficult to motivate. Maybe it's just a case of the Mondays. Luckily, I have a bunch of easy ones to get me through.

What's in Your Wallet?

1 - coupon for haircut
1 - post it note with Vonage's contact number - bastards
2 - credit cards - dates expired
1 - AAA membership card - expired
1 - Mystic Aquarium membership card - not expired
1 - Home Depot gift card - unknown balance
1 - Dental Insurance ID card - no longer current
1 - handi-wipe
1 - Red Cross blood donor card
1 - Social Security card
1 - OSHA 10 hour training certification card
1 - photo of the boys
1 - photo of my mom
1 - uncashed check for $24 - my first tax return from a real job
1 - reminder card for haircut - missed the appointment
1 - business card for Ryan Saunders
1 - business card for Boston Vineyard
1 - note from my wife - "I love you always"

no cash.

BufBloPoFo Day ?? - Sorry, Boys Come First

2008-03-09T19:28:00.004-04:00

Here's why I've been lax in keeping up the posting.

BufBloPoFo Day 6 - What Annoys Me

2008-03-06T23:30:00.002-05:00

I like being a day behind in topics. I feel light the burden of actually sitting down and writing is lighter. That does not annoy me at all. Neither does my wife. Leah and I were talking at lunch today. She and the boys had quite the busy day.

L: And tomorrow we have story time!
Me: Who?
L: We got in to Story Time.
Me: What are you talking about?
L: Story Time at the Stonington Library. Apparently it's so popular, you only get in by lottery.
Me: Wow. So when is it?
L: Tomorrow morning at 10:00.
Me: How long does it last?
L: I don't know.
Me: Who reads the stories?
L: I don't know.
Me: So you just drop them off?
L: No, I stay there and pick out a book for myself.
Me: While they hang out in the lion pit?

Crickets.

Me: So, Story Time tomorrow morning. Sounds great!

What annoys me most? Incompetent people. Unfortunately, there is one in our lives right now. Let's call her . . . Enna. This woman is the single most incompetent person I have ever encountered. What's worse is not only is she awful at her job, she truly does not seem to care. My hatred for her burns brighter with every passing day. She is the first real life Blue Meanie I've ever met, and I will take the utmost joy in helping to destroy her and repair the damage she has done.

BufBloPoFo Day 5 - Boy #3

2008-03-05T21:08:00.004-05:00

The other day, Pop Wilks came over to watch the boys for half an hour while Leah and I took the car in to the shop to be serviced. We arrived home, and Leah turned around and drove off to a meeting. My father scooted out the door quickly too.

I walked into the living room to see Gramma Julia's puppet theater in full dinner production. Apparently, Noah had gone first, Sam second, and now it was Aidan's turn. The problem was that the puppet theater kept falling over. Poor Aidan had straightened out the wing walls, and it had lost its stability. Making matters worse was the laughter of both Sam and Noah every time it happened.

Aidan is our sweet little boy. But like most sweet little boys, when pushed hard enough, they go from 0 to $#%@#$^%@%#^$%^ in less time than it takes to flip a light switch. Well, the puppet theater toppled over one last time.

Noah laughed.

Sam laughed.

Aidan did not laugh.

But neither did he cry or throw a fit. Instead, he calmly stood up from his spot on the rug, walked over to the couch where Sam was sitting and belly laughing at him, and

Ok, I have to tell you, at this point I swear to God on High that everything went into super slow motion.

Aidan drew back his left arm, made a fist, and laid three haymakers into Sammy's head.

I had no idea what to do. Poor Sam couldn't process what had just happened. His face just collapsed into hubba-hubba crying. And Aidan simply stood in front of him looking very satisfied with himself.

With Aidan thoroughly ensconced in the corner, ears ringing from the scolding, I calmed Sam down and said to him, "Sammy, the next time someone tries to hit you, get out of the way."

And Mommy was not informed until the following day.

They are going to break every bone in each other's bodies.

BufBloPoFo Day 4 - Boy #2

2008-03-04T22:02:00.003-05:00

Two weeks ago, I took the twins and picked up Sam from school. This was the conversation that ensued.

Noah: Daddy, when I grow up big like you, I'm goin' to work with you. I'm gonna drive the wreckin' ball.

Me: Ok, pal! That sounds great.

Aidan: Oh! I'm gonna drive a wreckin' ball too.

Sam: Aidan, you can't drive a wrecking ball. There can only be one. Daddy, I'm going to drive the loader. You will drive the excavator. Oooh, I know. Aidan, do you want to drive the backhoe?

Aidan: Ooooooohhhhh. The backhoe!

Construction Manager with 15 years experience in commercial construction seeks venture capital to start a new company so that his sons can drive trucks . . .

In response to Mikey's topic of the day for Monday, I offer this: Was your day better because you had to think about what was good about it? Mine was.

Way to spread joy, dude.

Who would play me in a movie?

Young Scott: Jason Bateman (he and I could have been separated at birth when I was 14)

Old[er] Scott: Tom Hanks.

Look people, it's a Hollywood movie. I can have anyone I want play me. I like Tom. Plus, in the Hollywoodized movie of my life, I'd give the script writers a little artistic license. I would have been horribly scarred in a fire, my face reconstructed, and I would be seeking revenge on the criminals who slaughtered my family and destroyed my life.

And you Mike? Seth Rogen all the way. Not a pretty guy, but at least you'd be f*cking Elizabeth Banks. . .

BufBloPoFo Day 3 - A Boy A Day for Three Days

2008-03-03T20:06:00.003-05:00

Let's talk about my children. We haven't done that in a while. Leah has been the stalwart picture updater and anecdote logger of late. Let's discuss how Sam is reading, and I mean fully reading, everything he can put his eyes on. He has moved up two levels in less than two months, and is at level H (whatever that means). This does not surprise us at all. We always knew he'd take to reading like a fish to water.

No, the thing that caught us off guard is when Leah asked him who else was at his level. Sam told her that one of his friends was at the same level as he was, an one other boy was at a higher level.

"Well what else is everyone else at," Leah asked him.

So he told her. There are close to 25 kids in his class. Sam listed off every single person in his class and their current reading level.

BufBloPoFo Day 2 - A Combination Post

2008-03-02T22:23:00.004-05:00

Mikey suggested in today’s blog, we write about our best gift. And for tomorrow, a quick note about what went right, or, the optimist’s blog post. For my next trick, I will be combining both in one. Leah mentioned that today was a concert day. In the present state of craziness that our lives sustain, concert weekends surpass all the limits of insanity. In a little over a year, Sam will be joining me in all the foolish splendor. I’m not going to be able to sing a note the first time I see him on the risers with his white shirt and bow tie on. I am quite confident of the fact that there will be many, many tears rolling down my cheeks, and were I to attempt to sing, my voice will completely crack and I will just transform into a heaping mess of emotion. Why?

The greatest gift I’ve ever received is the opportunity to sing. In life, it is a rare thing to find yourself with the ability to do something well. It’s even rarer to be a part of a group that does something exceptionally well.

I started singing when I was eight years old. I’ve never stopped. My voice has carried me across oceans, into some of the most awe inspiring buildings in the entire world. Singing has connected me to history, music, culture, and has shaped me into the person I am today. But most importantly, and I’ve written this before, singing has provided me with the most wonderful friends and family a person could ever ask for.

I met my best friend while singing. My then future wife and I used to do exchange concerts in college. Almost all of my friends I can trace back to singing. Most of them I consider to be extended family. I can think of no greater gift in the world than the prospect of my children having this opportunity before them. And when Sam takes the stage for the first time, it will be the realization of hopes and dreams that I cannot adequately quantify in words.

So what goes right in a weekend where I have to essentially abandon my poor family to spend seemingly countless hours standing on wooden risers, shifting my weight from foot to foot, trying to keep my concentration level up and my voice in tune?

After a successful concert, as the ones we finished earlier tonight, I experience a complete renewal of strength and focus. To witness the reaction of an appreciative audience, to listen to cheers and applause, to see smiles from something that I had a hand in producing? That makes for a good day. And when the rest of my family can join me? That will make for the best of days.

BufBloPoFo? WTF?

2008-03-02T00:41:00.002-05:00

Today marked the beginning of BufBloPoFo, or, mandatory blog posting for a fortnight organized by Mikey. So, as it is now after midnight, I suppose I am disqualified on the first day of this little venture. Apologies all around.

In lieu of actually thinking about my post for the day, I played games with my family, went out to breakfast (muffins at Mystic Market), played more games, rehearsed for a concert tomorrow, rapped in public, read to Aidan, went to dinner with friends, ate too much, and got writer's block.

Yes, you read correctly. I rapped. Badly.

And yes, I have awful, mind curdling writer's block.

It's taken me over an hour just to spit out these pathetic lines.

I'm going to bed.

I Know Musical-type People!

2008-02-26T11:47:00.002-05:00

It has just occurred to me that I know a bunch of really, really good musicians. Not rank amateurs like me, but professional (some part time), good-sounding, instrument playing, song producing musicians. I think that's pretty cool. Check them out

My friend Brendan plays in a band in Connecticut. I promise we'll come see you play before our kids graduate.

My childhood friend Ben also plays in a local band.

My elementary school pal Craig just won an LA Music Award for Jazz Album of the Year.

My college mate Jon has his own band, his own recording label, and just put out his first album.

My family friend Susan just won a Parents' Choice Award for her amazing children's music.

You Who Know So Much. He's Only MOSTLY DEAD.

2008-02-22T00:21:00.004-05:00

[cue trumpet overture]

[loudspeaker: on]

Ringmaster: AND NOW . . . LADIES AND GENTLEMEN . . . WE ARE PROUD TO BRING YOU A NATURAL PHENOMENON LIKE NO OTHER . . . THOUGHT TO BE EXTINCT . . . ONLY RECENTLY REDISCOVERED LIVING IN THE DEEPEST, DARKEST, MOST FORBIDDING JUNGLES OF INNER MONGOLIA . . . HE KILLED TWELVE GOOD MEN DURING HIS RECAPTURE . . . THE MOST DANGEROUS MAN IN THE UNIVERSE . . .

Ryan has resurrected his blog after an eighteen month hiatus.

How's that for a reintroduction, buddy?

It's Raining Blogs!

2008-02-22T00:06:00.002-05:00

First there was Chris, then Brian, and now Dena (Brian's wife/my kept woman) has started a blog as well. Dena is posting all the kid stuff that I like reading about, as compared to Brian, who is posting all the stuff that I will be able to abuse him for. Actually, if Dena keeps it up, I'm sure I'll be able to abuse Brian on her blog as well. Excellent.

Check out Dena's efforts to convince us that her children are cuter than everyone else's.

Fresh Meat

2008-02-21T01:51:00.002-05:00

Hey everyone, my best friend Brian has started a blog. Check it out. Feel free to harass him incessantly. He loves that sort of thing.

Brian and I lived together in college. I played horrible jokes on him. He called me the day before I started my first job pretending to be the HR Department and told me that I'd been transferred to Washington DC. Yeah, I still remember that one, pal.

Brian was the best man at my wedding. He made everyone cry. He made everyone laugh. He told everyone that Leah asked him to make sure I brushed my teeth.

I was the best man at Brian's wedding. I told everyone that the van he rented to take the wedding party wine tasting ran out of gas while he was driving it. I also told everyone about the time that he fell out of a moving pick up truck while heaving rotten vegetables at unsuspecting college students.

So welcome, my friend. Welcome to the world of flaming anonymous comments. Welcome to the world of overly picky grammar checkers. Welcome to the world of poorly phrased jokes and misunderstood double entendres.

And remember, you only fail if everyone else says you do in your comments section.

My Family Went to Buffalo and All They Got Me Was This Crummy Stomach Virus

2008-02-18T01:17:00.004-05:00

Crummies in the Tummies.

Thank you Dr. Seuss for putting abdominal misery into metered rhyme. Thank you family for leaving me to curl into the fetal position on our couch whilst you play in the snow. Thank-you HBO for having such crappy programming this weekend. I actually resorted to the NBA Slam Dunk Contest. Which, by the way, was amazingly entertaining. Except when they spoke.

My father stopped by this afternoon to see if everything was ok. He'd left a couple of messages, and I haven't looked at my phone in over 24 hours. He actually backed away from me when he saw my face.

So I got that going for me.

It's Easy If You Try

2008-02-14T23:53:00.002-05:00

Last December, Leah and I agreed to take over and run the Annual Fund Drive for the Chorus of Westerly. No one else had stepped up to volunteer, and we agreed it was too important to let it continue with no one at the helm. The organization had gone for eight months without anyone in charge of the single largest source of income it has.

So in the last two months, we have learned how to use one of the most powerful Fundraising software packages in the industry. We have printed over 4,000 envelopes. We have written letters, instructions, and tried to motivate a group of 250 people to hand write 4,000 letters asking for donations.

Leah has jumped back in to her role as a leader with full force. She is amazing to watch. There is no way that any of this could have happened without her professional expertise. She is the manager, organizer, and leader.

I am the computer geek. I am also the cheerleader. I fire up the crowd. I try to make everyone think that writing letters asking for money is fun. This week, I recruited a teenager, the son of friends of ours, to play a song.

It was John Lennon’s “Imagine”.

I changed the lyrics.

It went over very well.

The entire chorus sang, “ooh-ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh” and waved pretend lighters in the air.

Afterward, as we changed out of our hippie clothes, Ben said to me, “That was great. I was just glad that people knew the song.”

“Ben,” I said, “every person over 30 knows the words to that song. It’s John Lennon.”

“Really?”

I suddenly felt very, very, very old.

McNamee, Clemens, and Roids. Oh My!

2008-02-12T16:39:00.000-05:00

I have never been a huge fan of Roger Clemens. I loathed him when he was on the Sox. I hated him when he was with the Jays. I tolerate him with the Yankees. Two notations to the last. First, I thought the bat throwing episode with Piazza was classless. Second, I was very vocal last season in my view that the Yanks were the stupidest team in the MLB for signing him again. Each win he produced cost them just over $5 million.

And now, after all this, what do I think?

The same thing I think about Barry Bonds. He’s a no good cheater who shamed himself, his teams, his teammates, and the game. Kick his ass out. I realize he’s not been found guilty yet. I don’t care. If he’s proven innocent, then I’ll despise him a little less.

But here’s the thing. Roger Clemens and Barry Bonds are just two players. Granted, they are arguably the best players, but they are still just two. How many others have used steroids and/or HGH to try to gain a couple percentage points on their average or a couple of miles per hour on their fastball? If you believe the Mitchell Report, it’s not a widespread problem.

I disagree.

I think the steroid/HGH problem in Major League Baseball reaches into every dugout, every bench, and every bullpen. And while there are some players who’ve never tried the stuff, I say that up until last year, the majority of baseball players, had testing been mandatory, would have tested positive.

Remember one key thing; the so called random drug testing procedure currently used by MLB includes notifying the player up to 48 hours in advance. Surely no one would take measures to cover up their drug use with 2 days notice, would they?

The entire thing makes me sick.

But still, the press only focuses on Bonds and Clemens. Why just the two? Why is no one trying to find out how deep the issue goes? If you think about it, you wouldn’t even have to get players to confess or snitch on their teammates.

Instead of looking at player stats on the field, why doesn’t someone look at player stats off the field? When a player goes on the DL, the quicker he gets back into the lineup, the better off the team is. Surely, with the increased use of HGH, the average amount of time that players spend on the DL for certain types of injuries must be decreasing at a statistically significant level.

If anyone knows of a study like this, I’d love to hear about it.

Mind? Blown.

2008-02-10T23:28:00.000-05:00

Good Lord above, I must have one of these soon.

I Think It's Allowed in Latvia

2008-02-08T10:03:00.000-05:00

The boys discussed who they wanted to marry at dinner the other night. Sam has apparently moved on from his first love and chose our next door neighbor’s daughter Heidi. Sam and Heidi go to kindergarten together. He took care of her on the bus one day last week when she didn’t feel well. She sent him stickers and a thank-you note. The contract is as good as signed.

Aidan chose his friend Lilly from school. Lilly is the lovely girl who plays doctor with Aidan and Noah. I’ve never met her, but any woman who agreed to play doctor with me would definitely receive their due consideration for marriage.

Noah?

Noah chose his first cousin. Any chance she’s adopted, Esther?

Responsibilities

2008-02-06T00:14:00.000-05:00

That's When I Fell For . . .

2008-02-04T21:53:00.000-05:00

A Leader Like Barack

GObama!

Conspiracy. Treason. Subversion.

2008-02-01T17:45:00.001-05:00

My oldest son is hereby cut off from any and all interaction with every single member of our family and all our so-called "friends" who do not root for the team in pinstripes.

Damn you all.

Damn you all to heck.

My Friend Chris

2008-02-01T13:22:00.000-05:00

Everyone has friendships that they formed in youth that were made to last. It’s not as common to find a close friend in adulthood, one that feels like you’ve been friends for longer than you really have.

Thanks to Leah, I was lucky enough to meet someone who fits that bill. Chris and I first met when Leah and I were dating. We quickly discovered a shared love of Irish drinking songs and whiskey, which, after we moved to Buffalo, lead to many a night of revelry and mornings of pounding hangovers and scratchy voices.

Chris put himself through law school with the help of a Navy ROTC scholarship. I’ve watched his career take him far. But I know he will always want to achieve more. Chris demands nothing but excellence from himself.

Chris is one of the most honest, moral, upstanding people I’ve ever met. Yet he also maintains a vibrancy of life that does not seemingly fit his persona. He is also hands down one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever met. He can sit and talk about any topic in the universe. And over fires in our back yard, we were wont to do just that.

Last fall, Chris was forced to put his life on hold. He was involuntarily recalled to service in Iraq. He arrived just before the New Year, and has been documenting his life on a blog – Chronicles of a Judge Advocate at War. Give it a read, and realize how lucky we all are.

I could rage on and on about how wrong I find his situation. But I will take my cue from Chris, who quietly and courageously accepted his responsibility and is serving his country to the best of his ability. I think about him every day.

Stay safe and come back, my friend.

Christmas Puzzle Winner and Loser

2008-01-30T15:41:00.001-05:00

Although he didn’t win (he never will either). My friend Mike’s responses deserve a wide audience. My particular favorite is #11. Simply brilliant.

1. 0 CorkScrews in the North Beach Coaster (it’s more of a flume)
2. 92 Years Of Kindness for whom a Silly Porter is Observed by Nine Kentucky Chickens
3. 26 Dames of Denmark, that is the Fantasy of Stan
4. 39 ½ Foot Pounds that I wouldn’t Torque the Gear with
5. 33 Degrees Fahrenheit at which Fish Mate
6. 3 Hams in Sunday Lunch
7. 42 Sections of Boardwalk To Bicycle in Jamaica Bay
8. 2 Canoes in the Gulf of Lawrence, that Liquid River
9. 2 Arians who Kayak Topless in Lower Delaware Bay
10. 7 Herbs on the Mid-east Kabob
11. 364 Goat Molesters Take Levitra. Goats Tote Mace.
12. 25 Dials on an Antique Camera
13. 15 Shout-outs per Wiseman for Birth of Christ
14. 3 Soirees the Grand Hyatt Gave
15. 200 Superlatives in an Otherwise Retired Religions Caucasian Arbys Restaurant Manager’s Annual Review
16. 5 Cellists played by The Horns in the Philadelphia Ensemble
17. 25000 Cut Limes on Coast Guard Helicopters
18. 31 Hours that Scott has to Do Puzzles
19. 9 Cucumbers on a Menu
20. 7th Day of January that is Coveted in the Janitor’s Closet
21. 2 Times Scott Courted his Leah
22. 1.87 Minutes that Dumbo has for Cardio in the Gym of the Marriott

The Actual Winner of the Stoddard Christmas Puzzle this year is Sarah W. Way to go!

Enlightenment Begins Anew

2008-01-28T11:03:00.000-05:00

Here’s our intrepid father coming out of my 2 month blogging funk just in time to go to a funeral. My grandfather died last week. He was 87 years old. 87! I should be so lucky.

He served in the British Army in WWII, was awarded the highest honor the Boy Scouts have, and worked with mentally retarded children in the ministry of his church. Oh, and he also used to sing bawdy British drinking songs. I’m gonna miss him.

After his priest administered last rites, the family gathered around his bed and toasted him with Tetley’s British Ale. A friend came in a few moments later and asked my grandmother if she wanted some water. She looked up from her chair and answered, “No, I’ve got some beer here.”

A few minutes after that, my grandmother looked at Grampa, and stood over him fussing and saying, “He must be hot. Look at how much he’s sweating.” She starts wiping his forehead.

My father starts shaking his head and says, “Mom, that was the Holy Oil.”

More to come:

The Answers & Winner (finally) of this years Xmas Puzzle.
My friend Christopher, the Navy JAG stationed in Bagdad.
Getting ready for T-Ball season.
New pictures of little boys.
Stories about pee.

I know you are all here to read about that last one.

Christmas Puzzle 2007

2007-12-03T21:19:00.000-05:00

Ok, here it is. My web based puzzle last year didn't go over well. So I've gone back to basics. If you didn't get the email copy and would like one, let me know.

Example:

12 = D of C - Days of Christmas

You remember how? Go for it!

0 = CS in the NBC
92 = YOK for whom a SP is O by NKC
26 = D of D that is the F of S
39 ½ = FP that I wouldn’t T the G with
33 = DF at which FM
3 = H in SL
42 = S of B-TB in JB
2 = C in the G of L that LR
2 = A who KT in LDB
7 = H on the MK
364 = GMTLGTM
25 = D on an AC
15 = S per W for BC
3 = S the GHG
200 = S in an ORRCARMAR
5 = C played by TH in the PE
25000 = CL on CGH
31 = H that S has to DP
9 = C on a M
7 = D of J that is C in the JC
2 = TSC his L
1.87 = M that D has for C in the G of the M

So Mary, How's Jesus Doing in School?

2007-11-26T23:11:00.000-05:00

We try to go to church as often as possible. This equates to about 1 or 2 times per month, but it’s enough to keep God in Sammy’s little head. The twins aren’t old enough to actually sit in church yet, so they hang out in the playroom with Miss Wendy (we love Miss Wendy).

Sam goes to children’s chapel for the first half of the service, then marches upstairs with the rest of the kids and sits with us for the second half of the service. Half of Sam’s time is the sermon. Why? Torture. The other half is the eucharist, which we are hoping that he will at least join in the Lord’s Prayer the next time we go.

Who in their right mind thinks that a kindergartener will sit and listen to an old guy/lady speaking in a near monotone voice about things they know almost nothing about. It’s like Leah trying to tell me about makeup. I hear “And this one . . . blah blah blah blah . . .”

I have a lot of sympathy for Sam’s predicament. I myself experienced the same suffering as a child. I think it’s some sort of rite of passage. Needless to say, we bring with us some sort of writing utensil for Sam to entertain himself with in order to fend off the squirmies.

Sam sits down with us. We sing a hymn. The priest steps up into the pulpit. Leah reaches into the magic Mommy bag and retrieves a pen, which will be the savior of us all. Sam plops himself down on the kneeler and starts to scribble. This has been the same for eight months (with most of the summer off, of course).

But these days, Sam has other distractions. Sam has Miss Grace. Miss Grace is the daughter of friends of ours. She sings in the choir. Sam spent some quality time with Miss Grace a few weeks ago when we went to her house for dinner.

Sam loves Miss Grace.

Grace, as she so aptly lives up to her name, treats Sam like he was the only boy in the world. She is eleven years old and mature beyond her years, but only in the most positive ways. She is an awesome kid.

At first, Sam could not even talk to her. She would smile and say hi, and he would turn beet red and bury his face in my side. But Sam has grown bolder over time. This past Sunday, Grace was standing in the back of the church, getting ready to walk down the aisle to take communion. Sam turned around. She mouthed “hi Sam”, and gave him a little wave.

In the middle of church, Sam winked at her.

Good God, indeed.

But Sam’s religious escapades don’t end there. Nosiree. While walking up to communion, Sam stopped, looked up at me, and asked, "Did God die?" Not having time to think about the answer, I replied, "No pal, God lives forever. His son Jesus died, but he came back." You could see the smoke coming out of his ears as he tried to figure that one out. Later that morning, Leah and I sat down with him and tried, though not very well, to explain the resurrection. Have you ever thought about trying to explain your faith to a 5 year old?

But the topper of the entire morning, for me at least, was this: Instead of the usual scribbles this week, he decided to do something a little more productive.

Like math equations.

Delta Tau Xi Doll House - Grab a Brew. It Don't Cost Nothin'.

2007-11-07T08:42:00.000-05:00

We went to my brother’s house for a family dinner on Sunday. He just renovated his kitchen, and its new configuration allowed for viewing of the Patriots game while comfortably munching away at hot dogs and home made butternut squash soup. Mmmmmmmm.

My brother Chris has two daughters. My brother Tom has one daughter. My cousin Kay has two kids also. Together, all the kid cousins’ ages are 11,9,6,5,4,3,1. They all play extremely well together. Of course, this will change soon, and one of them will become the odd man/woman out. But we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

Chris has a house full of girl things. His oldest is a princess in every form of the word. She is a total sweetheart, but every last bit of her is girl. She and her sister wear girl clothes. They play with girl toys. Visiting their house is like stepping foot on foreign soil for me. The land might look familiar, but I don’t speak the language.

However, it’s not me that I’m concerned with. I always grit my teeth for the first few minutes when we visit, waiting for one of the boys to come sulking out of the back of the house, saying that there are no toys.

It never happens.

Alexandra and Lauren have make believe kitchens, replete with plastic food-stuffs. The boys love to cook. It’s a match made in heaven. And when I walked back into the bedroom this past weekend and poked my head in the door, I was pelted in the forehead with a faux lemon.

“Daddy, we’re having a food fight!”

And plastic fruit rained down like hailstones amid laughter, both male and female.

A little later, things had settled down a bit. Alex brought out her dollhouse. Her dolls were cool, and actually had movable limbs. She also populated the dollhouse with little Disney Princesses. Aidan and Noah sat right down with her and started to play dolls.

I’ll say it. I’m not crazy about boys playing with doll houses.

I turned back to the game, not wanting to spoil a fun time, but not really enjoying watching the twins use the dollhouse. A few minutes passed, and I had forgotten about the entire episode. Until Alex came and sat down next to me.

“Hey Alex, why aren’t you playing with the twins?”

“They’re not playing dolls the way I want them to.”

Curious, I quietly walked back over to where the dollhouse was located.

I watched in amused horror as one, two, three Princesses plummeted to their deaths after jumping out the top floor window of the doll house. The remaining dolls somehow managed to climb onto the roof, only to find that the pitch was too steep, and they also dropped to their doom, with full sound effects in production. One doll somehow escaped with minor injuries, only to fall down the center staircase a few seconds later.

Walking back to my beer with a smile on my face, a felt a tug on the back of my pants.

“Daddy, come with me. I made somethin’ really funny,” said Noah.

I walked back to the house. Apparently, the doll house was, in actuality, a fraternity house. One of the blonde dolls was bent over at the waist.

“Daddy, that girl’s face is in the toilet!”

Little League of Justice

2007-10-29T11:44:00.000-04:00

At Sarah's advice, I'm getting over it & moving on.

Life in Connecticut is good. There is more to say, but please know that the lack of proper posts over the last couple months does not indicate that I am going crazy with work, or sickness, or just plain going crazy. Having an active family means less time sitting at the computer.

We have bikes to ride, baseballs to hit, holes to dig, puzzles to solve, pictures to color, frisbees to throw, goals to score, swings to swing, slides to run up backwards, shoes to lose in the grass, balls to kick, hoses to spray, and sticks to transform into swords. And that’s just in our back yard.

Add to that hunting for sea shells and crabs, learning how apple cider is made, stopping by to say hi to the beluga whales, going to festivals, coming to see Daddy sing, hanging out with cousins, visitors from Buffalo, swim lessons and going to school, and you have a pretty full schedule.

Even Mommy & Daddy manage to get out by themselves once in a while. However, through it all, we have three little boys who are growing and learning every day, and it is a wonder to be a part of it.

I came home from work one day last week, and was greeted by the three amigos sprinting and screaming across the yard. They rushed up, yelled their hellos, and rushed back to the playhouse. Usually I am mobbed upon my return, so naturally I was curious to see what the distraction was. I walked back to the playhouse and checked in.

“Hey guys, what are you doing?”

“We are fighting super villains! AAAHHHHHHHHH!”

And off they went again. Now, when I was a kid, we had Superfriends and the League of Justice on Saturday mornings, which kept me well familiarized with superheroes and their enemies. These types of shows are long gone, and for the life of me I couldn’t figure out where they had learned the term super villain. I walked into the house and asked Leah about it.

“Oh, they saw it on a Backyardigans episode. But you should ask them who they are.”

So back outside I went. At this point, they were hurling buckets at an imaginary evil-doer.

“So if you guys are fighting super villains, are you superheroes?”

“Yes!”

“Well who are you?”

“I am Yucky Man. Sam is Captain Hammer. Aidan is Weather Woman.”

Day of Mourning

2007-10-29T08:22:00.000-04:00

In honor of the tragic events of Sunday night.

The only positive note - Mike Lowell will play third base for the Yankees next season.

Old MacDonald

2007-10-09T09:19:00.000-04:00

We went to the zoo this weekend. Pics later, but here's the best part.

Coach of the Year

2007-09-25T10:02:00.001-04:00

Jackass reporters deserve this and more. So do jackass parents.

That's What I'mTalkin About!

2007-09-21T18:18:00.000-04:00

Couldn't have said it better myself.