One ha.

So I'm walking downstairs a few weeks ago to get a Coke (no comments, please), and I hear that the Middles are watching their morning cartoons. This one is "Higglytown Heroes" (which has a clever theme song by They Might Be Giants, that reverse-crossover sensation that started out making weird, silly pop songs and then decided that they should be making weird, silly kids songs instead; I wish them all the best).

For those of you without 2-5 year old children and/or without one of the various Disney channels, Higglytown Heroes is a show about appreciating everyone around you. Even taxi drivers, ice-cream men, etc. It's trying to fill the old "Who are the people in your neighborhood/Mr. Rogers" vacancy, but it comes off only slightly less preachy than Captain Planet.

It's like a bunch of DINK's sat down and decided over chai lattes to create a patronizing appreciate-the-bourgeoisie show, with CG pachinko dolls who carry things in their stomachs. Seriously, what kid needs to be told to appreciate the ice-cream man?

It's new for Disney, and they're pushing it with all their might. How well is it working, do you ask? While I'm in the kitchen pouring my Coke (I'm not allowed to take the cans back upstairs), I hear Jonah exclaim "HA! He dropped his pizza!"

What does Disney get for all its development and marketing dollars? One ha. For a 30-minute show. How sad. A 3-minute Road Runner cartoon gets dozens of ha's, and provides ample lessons on purchasing shoddy products by mail and a role model for perseverance (either the Road Runner or Wile E. Coyote, you pick).

Note to trite TV producers: educational TV doesn't work that well. In fact, because it's usually so boring and/or condescending, kids don't watch it as much and so it ends up being less effective than normal TV.

Case in point: one of the only things I can remember from vast years of childhood TV is that rabbit meat is called hasenpfeffer in German. I used that information once in a come-from-behind win of Go To The Head Of The Class, an early precursor to Trivial Pursuit. I learned that from a Bugs Bunny cartoon.

Johnny Cash

I checked out the last 3 Johnny Cash albums from the library last week. Yes, our library has CD's. In this age of iTunes, I admit that's not a wise move from a intellectual property standpoint, but there it is.

Anyway, Timothy and I were in the car the other day, driving to Costco, and I was playing these CD's in the car.

For a while there, Timothy was the family geographer. He loved maps, was always asking when we were going to California, Texas, the Carribean. So I played the song "I've Been Everywhere," hoping to interest him.

He liked that song just fine, so we played it several times. It was a long car trip, so I played the other CD's, most of which consist of Johnny Cash singing and playing the guitar all by himself. They're very good, but apparently, they're not to Timothy's taste.

During one particularly bleak and depressing old-school country song in which someone had shot someone else and was feeling sorry, Timothy called from the backseat, "Are there any good songs on this album?"

Just a story

When I was in high school, my family attended a church that had a pretty good youth group. The youth pastor lived an hour and a half away, and his wife had a tendency to keep him home (and he had a tendency to let her), but we had some volunteer adults who lived very close to the church and were very open with their homes and their time, so that really helped.

But that's another story for another time.

While there, I got into a group of friends that included a girl we'll call Denise (we'll call her that because that's not her real name). We all had a great time, skateboarding and playing D&D together, going to the park on Wednesday nights in the summer, etc.

In the fullness of time (?), we all graduated and went our semi-separate ways, but we stayed in touch with Denise and with a small group of folks that seemed to always be around. This group expanded, and eventually became what we call the "Denise Sphere." (We actually call it something else, because, as previously mentioned, Denise is not her real name; but let's pretend, shall we?)

There was nothing insidious about it; we were all just a bunch of people who had common friendships and who would, several times a year, gather for cookouts or, increasingly, wedding showers.

The group was defined by several characteristics:
1. We all knew Denise
2. Most of them were artsy (I was not; I may have been the token square; one never knows)
3. Most of us had grown up as Christians

About the time we all turned 21, most of us were Reformed in our theology to some degree or another (some of the folks went Orthodox for a while - Greek, not Jewish - but that didn't pan out). So about the time the law allowed us to do pretty much anything, we were discovering that The Law would allow us to do pretty much anything without any fears of "backsliding".

It's a difficult point, but you probably know where this is going.

All of a sudden, everyone was smoking cigars, drinking obscure microbrews, and (oddly) cussing like sailors. Why?

I think for 2 reasons:
1. because they thought it would make them cool
2. because they could

Here's a group of folks who, as individuals, had been "good kids" growing up. We didn't do drugs, didn't get pregnant in high school, or any of the "fun" stuff that the cool kids did. All of a sudden, legality opens up the opportunity to do a lot of things that are still not bad (in a damnation, lose your salvation sense), but that are things that will tweak the noses of other Christians.

There may have been some sense of getting back at the people (or religion) that they felt had held them to just the brink of coolness for so many years. Sure, you can be a great artist or musician, but if you're not going to the orgy after the show, how cool can you be?

It was sad to watch, honestly.

Look, there's nothing wrong with smoking a cigar. In and of itself, I think it's value-neutral. But the attitude that went with it (and I'm talking specifically about the way these folks went about it) was very arrogant. It allowed them to feel superior to two different groups of people: those narrow-minded Christians who did feel that smoking was wrong, and those shlubs who smoked menthols.

Same with microbrews. We're better than non-drinkers (because we're interpreting the Bible correctly, so we're also smarter than them, nya-nya), we're better than alcoholics who progress from hard liquor to lysterine, and we're also better than the rednecks who drink Bud. Hat trick!

(Obligatory don't-write-me-a-letter statement: this doesn't mean that everyone who smokes cigars and drinks uber-expensive beer is like this. These were just the attitudes I saw with this particular group. I'm sure you have perfectly good reasons for cussing in front of your parents.)

After a few years (and, honestly, a few kids) everyone calmed down. I think most of them saw down the road and realized that they were never going to be ready to do the really bad things that would be required to get them into the really cool group. Driving fast is fun, even in a station wagon, but at some point you're going to get passed by some kid in a sports car, and then you realize you've got kids in the back, and you slow the station wagon down.

What's the point? I have only the slightest idea.

Grand Central Station

Growing up, I had a very good friend named John. (I guess we're actually still good friends, but we never see each other anymore, so I'd have to check.) John had the driest sense of humor, and was hilarious. He was also very quiet, so whenever I told someone how funny John was, they would just look at me in stunned disbelief.

I remember one day we were over at his house, possibly playing games (we played lots of wargames and I always lost; I'm lousy at wargames), when we got about 5 calls in 15 minutes. It was uncanny. John was getting miffed, and on the 6th call he just picked up the phone and said "Grand Central." You had to be there. I laughed for an hour (and still probably lost).

Today, our house was Grand Central station. Here's the thing: families with lots of kids tend to attract one another. Birds of a feather, etc.

This morning, there was Anna and John Robert. My wife was watching them for a few hours. I have no idea why. Timothy was at school, but the other 3 boys were home. Not too bad. 5 kids.

During lunch, I took a walk. That was my kid-free time for the day.

About 3:00, waves of children start showing up, beginning with Isaac, Lucy, and Nathan. Then came Phineas (Finny), Rose, and Winston. 10 kids.

Thankfully, at this point they all went outside.

At about 4:00, I went downstairs to get water and try to sneak some Oreos. I looked outside and the previous 10 had been joined by Emma, Mary, Daniel, Justin, and Anna. 15 kids.

Then a dog showed up. Much screaming ensued. The dog ate some mail, punctured a ball and led a large number of children on a merry chase.

All in front of my house. Welcome to Grand Central.

Holidays

Over the past weekend, Timothy asked me about half a dozen times, "What's happening on Monday?" When he asks that question while smiling, it means he knows the answer to the question, but would like to start a conversation. I always take the bait.

"It's Valentine's Day," I said, at which point he would do some little dance, or clap, or something to express his joy at the idea of receiving candy. He's also very excited about giving and getting cards. He made some great ones for everyone in his class (as per teacher request), and between his mother's "cropping" skills and his own love for making "crafts," they were very nice.

But one time, he asked if he still had to go to school. And it dawned on me that he had added an extra dimension to his definition of holidays.

At a young enough age, kids don't understand holidays. One day there's nothing, the next day there's a bunch of boxes, covered in paper that you're allowed to rip. Inside are toys to play with. Yipee. Maybe some new people have shown up, maybe the house looks different (and there are new things to get your hand spanked for touching), but when you can't remember things from one day to the next, what's the big deal? Is Mommy there? Check. Is the cat there? Check. All is right with the world. Hey look, boxes!

As kids get older, holidays become equated with one thing: parties. It's my birthday; when's the party? Christmas; when do we open presents? Halloween; let's take a walk and get some candy. You get the idea.

Birthdays at our house are a complex thing. There's the official, technical birthday itself, which we celebrate with singing, cards (containing money equal to your age in dollars), and maybe some presents. Then there's the party, which usually is after the actual birthday. Then there's some event with Memaw and Gaga (my parents). And finally, there's some sort of thing with my wife's family. There are so many folks on that side of the family that we basically get together once a month to celebrate all the birthdays within that month.

So it's no wonder that birthdays confuse the kids. On his last birthday, Stephen came downstairs and, as we started singing, he began to cry, asking "Where are my friends?" No friends = no party = no birthday. (We had the party later that week, and he was okay.)

But now, Timothy is at that age where he's in school every day. And, as a true lover of consistency (like his father), he notices that on some holidays he does not have to go to school. Also, since he spends so much time with so many people anyway, parties have been distilled down to their essence: receiving presents.

So, in Timothy's mind, there are two characteristics that define a holiday (or, nerd-wise, you could say that holidays are 2 dimensional).

1. Do I receive presents?
2. Do I get off school?

Which gives us four classifications of holiday, to wit:
A. Get presents, off school: Christmas, Easter (candy is by definition a gift, since you receive the same reaction if you try to take it away)
B. Get presents, not off school: Birthday, Valentine's Day, Halloween
C. No presents, off school: Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Day, Memorial Day
D. No presents, not off school: Groundhog Day, Arbor Day

So what about us? Holidays are very multidimensional for adults. Issues include:
- Do I have to work?
- Do I have to shave?
- Do I have to buy presents for anyone? If so, how many, and for how many people?
- Do I have to get cards for anyone, etc.?
- Do I have to drive anywhere?
- Do I have to cook, and has it been decided in advance what I'll need to cook?

There are many more, but these are the big ones. And yes, as a concern, shaving ranks above buying presents and interstate driving.

For example: today, St. Valentine's Day. I do have to work, and I also have to shave. I did buy presents, but just for my wife. I was supposed to get a card for her as well, but I forgot (it's okay, she forgot too). There is no driving involved, since we are not going anywhere, but I am cooking. There will be mac & cheese for the kids, beef stew for us, and then I'll make cookies, enough for our Bible study on Wednesday and to take to some friends who've had a baby.

But I got some chocolate, and a kiss from my wife. Not a bad holiday.

Gameboys

When we were young(er) and idealistic, we had a list of things that would not happen in our house: Barney, Pokemon, TV as babysitter, bribing with candy, etc.

Lo, how the mighty have fallen.

Timothy liked Barney and was so cute singing the Clean Up song. Some friends gave him Pokemon cards at school, and he enjoyed those long before the games or TV shows entered the picture. TV is a GREAT babysitter, but only if used sparingly. And candy soothes the savage beasts, but if they don't behave you have to stand firm and not give them any.

We also had plans about how to parcel out TV and computer time, but we have been lax about enforcing them. Thankfully, just like working in a chocolate factory, unlimited exposure seems to have dulled their desire for more.

And natural boyishness makes them incapable of sitting down and doing anything for longer than 15 minutes. They'll sit and watch TV for a few minutes, then run upstairs to play Bionicle for an hour or so, then run downstairs to play on the computer for an hour or so, then run back into the TV room to see what's on.

But a new evil has entered the house. In November, Timothy got a Gameboy and a Pokemon game. At Christmas, Stephen got one, too. They played it some at first, but not too much, so we didn't put any limits on it.

Then Timothy lost his. We had gotten an older one (Gameboy Color) for pretty cheap ($13 on Ebay) just in case this happened. But we had to decide what to do about replacing it. After a quick prayer ("God, I need help"), I decided that we would pay for all of the first one, half of the second one, and none of the subsequent ones.

Thinking about it now, this is a pretty good policy. See what praying gets you, George?

So Timothy would have to pay for half of his replacement. He was okay with this, since he has a source of income (feeding the cat and making his bed) and had already had to save for something once before (a Bionicle?).

After 5 weeks, he had enough to pay for half of a Gameboy Advance that we had gotten (cheap! $20) off Ebay. God bless Ebay.

But now he and Stephen were addicts. They played all the time and were running through batteries at a ferocious rate. I got a pack of 36 AA batteries at Home Depot last weekend (during one of my 7 trips there; another story), and they had already run through 10 by yesterday.

Something had to be done. So we put them on a time allowance. One hour per day, no rollover minutes. Once the clock starts, there is no pause. When the time is up, they give the Gameboys back to us.

Announcement of the new policy was met with great weeping and anger. Stephen pouted with the intensity that only he can muster, and he's a champion pouter. Timothy went into the downstairs bathroom, hid behind the door, and banged the door until I assured him that I was aware of his displeasure.

Then we had hot dogs and new chips for lunch, and new chips cover a multitude of transgressions.

We'll see how the plan works, but initial results are good. Yesterday, right after the hour was up and I had collected the Gameboys, I heard Timothy say, "Hey Stephen, do you want to go outside?" And they did.

The Village

We saw "The Village" last night, by M. Night Whatshisname. (No offense meant. I have a headache and I'm not looking anything up right now. I'm sure somewhere in the world there is someone who thinks my last name is the funniest thing he's ever heard. Have at it.)

HUGE SPOILERS AHEAD

We thought it was an excellent movie. It's his monster movie, to follow up on his ghost, superhero, and alien movies. As usual, what he's really doing is telling an excellent story about ordinary people in extraordinary circumstances.

It has A Twist, though, and that's really getting old. At some point, you're just looking for The Twist, or clues to The Twist, and you're not paying attention to the incredible characters or story. One of the things I liked about Signs was that there was a distinct lack of Twist.

So here's The Twist. There are no monsters. The town elders dress up like the monsters in order to keep anyone from going into the woods that surround the village. Because the village is actually in a wilderness preserve, and it's not 1897, it's 2004. Wah?

Apparently, back in the 70's these folks were in a support group together. They each had lost someone to a violent death. But one of them suggested setting up a village and isolating themselves (and their children). Essentially, they ran away to live in a utopia of their own making.

Of course, it doesn't work. All man-made utopias fail, and this one is failing, as well. And it turns out (at least in my mind) that the parents really are monsters. Their children go blind, get sick, and die, but they refuse to go get help. They swore, you see, not to leave.

But their problem is not with modernity, it's with reality. And you can't run away from that.

More about that later.

Ash Wednesday

Our church had a short Ash Wednesday service this evening, and I took Timothy with me. He's only been with us once or twice in a church service, so I was surprised he did so well. He sat there and tried to listen, but it was a little long for a 7 year old.

Our pastor did an excellent job (as usual) of saying just what needed to be said, both to the Christians and non-Christians in the room. He does this in pretty much every sermon, although I doubt there were too many "seekers" at an Ash Wednesday service. Still, you never know. If you build it, they will come, etc.

Throughout the service, I explained to Timothy what was going on, what Ash Wednesday and Lent are, etc. He seemed to take it in and accept it pretty well.

Near the end of the service, when we were going up to get the ashes put on, I asked him if he wanted to go. At first he said yes, but when he saw folks walking back to their seats, he looked a little shocked and told me he did not want to go. I told him he could go up with me but not get the ashes applied, and he said, "I'll be okay here, dad." So he stayed in his seat while I went up.

Honestly, I think that was the best part for him, sitting there all by himself. Whenever I looked back, he smiled and waved at me. But he enjoyed the brief independence.

Oh, well. It has begun. I hope he remembers to call.

Songs and Memories

It's amazing how strongly a song can be connected to a particular event in memory.

I remember humming Radiohead's "How To Disappear Completely" the entire time Jonah was being born. There was an intial scare with what they thought was an irregular heartbeat on his first APGAR, and the whole event had a surreal quality to it. He spent a while in NICU, and when I think back to the time in the birthing room and standing outside the glass staring down at him in his little bed, I hear, "I'm not here . . ."

He's okay now, of course, and that's a real depressing way to begin a blog. Let's try a different one.

On iTunes today, I got the song "Roundabout", by the band Yes. In high school and college, my friend Mark was a huge Yes fan. At the end of one summer, when his girlfriend (or maybe they were engaged by then) was in Europe, he and I decided to drive down to Florida for a weekend. Seaside was pretty new then, and the beaches along 30-A were empty and gorgeous (they're still gorgeous).

We drove down in his VW Scirocco, listening to Yes and Beastie Boys' "Check Your Head" album.

(Hang on, let me check that one out on iTunes. Wow. I'll have to buy that, too.)

We stayed in a crappy old motor hotel in Panama City, a block or two off the water, so the room was about $20 per night. We didn't care, because we'd wake up and drive out to Seaside and spend the day on their beach. Sneaky. And cheap.

The last day we were there, a serious thunderstorm blew in from the ocean, and we watched the sheets of rain coming across the water and onto land, first from the beach, then from inside the car. Thunder and lightning are awesome to watch when they're far away, but they're really really scary when you're unprotected on the beach.

In the middle of the storm, sitting in the car, we decided to drive home. Right then. So we drove all the way back to Atlanta wearing our swimsuits with beach sand still in them. Ouch.

So when I hear old Yes songs on the radio (or now, in iTunes), I remember that trip. Salt water, thunderstorm, sandy shorts. Not bad.

Night Time

Jonah has some sort of cold, and his coughing woke me up early this morning. As I went to go get him some cough medicine, I looked at the clock.

Something about waking up at 2:56 in the morning always makes me wonder if I'm still asleep, and if I'm just dreaming that I'm awake. I have the same problem at 3:14, which I guess makes me a nerd. (If you know why, that makes you a nerd too, so just watch it.)

Usually, this waking/dreaming confustion means that I have to pinch myself as I'm walking, hopefully to wake myself up if I am indeed dreaming, and therefore avoid whatever is big and pointy and is about to jump out at me.

Which I guess makes me a wuss, but I should also probably stop watching so many shows with big, pointy things that jump out at people at night.

Only five?

I am walking downstairs for lunch when my wife opens the pantry to give Sam some crackers. Of course, Stephen and Jonah come scooting over, like cats to a can opener.

As soon as Sam sees Jonah, he starts pushing his older brother out of the way with one hand, and points with his other one at the pack of crackers that his mother is desperately trying to open. Sam and Jonah start a screeching match at each other, convinced that a pack of Publix knock-off Ritz crackers is a zero-sum game. Kids.

She gets the pack open, hands a few to Sam, then Jonah, then Stephen. Sam and Stephen walk away happily, but Jonah starts counting his. Then he shouts, and I quote, "Only five?!? I wanted four!"

Welcome to Jonahland.

Now, the teacher in me wants to explain that 5 is more than 4, so having 5 is a good thing. And honestly, I probably did explain stuff like this when we just had one.

But we've visited Jonahland before, so thinking quickly I say, "Okay, sorry. Why don't you give me one of those?"

He hands a cracker over to me with glee and then walks away, chuckling, "Heh-heh, four crackers."

Breakfast

One of the great things about being an adult is that I can eat whatever I want for breakfast. My wife grew up eating healthy food. On their birthdays, the kids in her family could get "their cereal," like Lucky Charms, etc. And that was it; they ate some sort of gruel every other day of the year, to hear her tell of it. And how well did that training take? Not well at all.

She eats the same crap the kids do. When we first got married, she would bring home boxes of junk cereal. Our pantry looked like a shrine to marshmallows, brown sugar, and food dye.

(TV was the same way. They didn't watch much TV growing up, and now she owns the thing after the kids go to bed. When we first got cable, I came home to find her flipping through the channels, over and over again, mesmerized.)

So, parents who think that by hiding such abominations from your children you will be instilling in them good habits for later in life, think again. TV and Captain Crunch will always win. Haha.

Anyway, the kids were sick last night, so my precious 10 hours of sleep was interrupted several times in order to dispense various medications. So I woke up late this morning, which usually means several things:

• I don't get to take a shower before work (yes, I think that's gross, too)
• I drink way more Coke than usual
• I don't get to eat a normal breakfast

A normal breakfast, for me, consists of a bowl of cereal (usually Frosted Mini Wheats), with milk, which I eat at the table while reading. Also usually, Sam* is in his high-chair eating a pop tart. The other boys swirl in and out, making mad dashes between the dining room and the TV room. We don't let them eat breakfast in there (imagine it: 4 boys with cups of Captain Crunch cereal; how much of that do you think is in the couch now? We can't let diabetics sit there.), so they run in, shovel in food, and then run back to catch House of Mouse, or some such.

So, when I get up late I'll just grab a cup of junk cereal and eat it while returning the overnight emails. No big deal.

But when I looked through the pantheon of cereals this morning, there wasn't much left in any one bag/box. We haven't been to the grocery store for a few days, so supplies are getting low. Cinnamon Toast Crunch - 1 serving, knock-off Crunch Berries - 1 serving, Special K - forget it, blech, Frosted Mini Wheats - baby was eating them, so only 1 serving left, Peanut Butter Crunch - gone. And there was but one pop tart left in the whole house, not counting the half-chewed one on the floor of the kitchen. Ew.

So I had peanut butter toast. And I had to use the hippie peanut butter out of the fridge, because the kids' stuff was running low, as well. And here's what being a dad is like: I didn't mind; didn't give it a second thought. No big deal, no self-flagellation or yearnings for praise. This is what dads do.

Along this train of thought, we watched Cheaper By The Dozen last night, the new one with Steve Martin. This is my new favorite. What a pro-family movie.

All of it was good, but here's the part that got me the most. The dad is on a train in the station, having just found his runaway son. They're talking, and suddenly the train begins to move. What does he do? Does he panic: does he jump up, scrambling or demanding for a way off the train.

No. He sits down.

That's very important. He sits down, accepting that the train is moving and letting it take him and his child wherever it wills. Whoever wrote that scene is probably a dad with lots of kids.





*Yes, that's his real name. I've realized that nobody actually reads this site, so I can use real names. Plus, it makes my brain work better, not to have to translate everything to this unorganic code of boy names. Sam is the baby, previously known as S2.

Talking

Our fourth son, Sam, turned 19 months on Sunday. He's "talking" now. For those of you without kids, or on your first run around the block, here's some information that nobody ever passed along to me.

Kids start babbling around 9 months or so, about the same time their personality shows up. "Mama" and "Dada" may show up in there somewhere, or maybe not. Around 12 months, their first word shows up. This is also about the time they start walking, so if you miss one First while on a business trip, don't commit hari-kari. Try to stick around the next weekend, and you may catch the other one.

But after the first word, that's it for a while. They may never repeat that same word again for months (several of ours didn't). Don't sweat it.

Also, keep in mind that all times are estimates. Your kid may talk in full sentences by 14 months, or may not say anything at all for 2 years. I'd say don't worry about it, but if you're a first time parent you're going to worry anyway (we did), and if you have more than one kid then you already know how different each one is.

Our little guy, however, has added a lot of words in the last month. Here's what we've got today:

• Mah-mee - Mommy - my wife
• Dah-dee - Daddy - me
• Mee-mah - Memaw - my mom
• Dah-dah - Gaga - my dad
• Pahpah (very fast) - Pawpaw - my wife's father
• Nahnah (also very fast) - Nanna - my wife's mother
• Dee-dah - Dee-dah - this is Stephen's nickname, but Sam appears to use in reference to any of his brothers
  
• Bah-pee - puppy - anything he thinks is a dog (currently an Eeyore doll), also dogs on TV (this boy loves dogs, but only at a distance; we watch a lot of dog shows right now; God bless Animal Planet and the Eukanuba Kennel Club)
• Dah - dog - another word for dog, follows several uses of Bah-pee; usually used once he is comfortable with the dog or TV show in question
  
• Juu - juice - any drink he wants, usually juice, but also Coke, water, or anything that his mother is drinking
• Hee-oh - here, or here you go - what he says when he's handing you something, usually from off the floor
  
• Uh-oh - Uh-oh - something is wrong. Example: he came into the kitchen yesterday and said "uh-oh" while pointing back into another room. I followed him into the computer room, where he pointed to the computer and said "uh-oh" (actually, he had been saying it the whole time we were walking, about 7 times in all). Someone else had turned the monitor off. I turned it on and he was okay.
• Pah-tah - Pop Tarts - his favorite food; heaven help us if someone leaves the pantry door open
• No - yes - what he says if you ask him if he wants something and he does indeed want it; T did the exact same thing
  
• Miyee - mine - self-explanatory
• Way-o-way-o-way... - Larry the Cucumber - he has a Larry doll that sings The Hairbrush Song; when Sam wants it, he starts singing the chorus
• Wah-wah - (what a parrot says) - he has a train that plays Talk With The Animals, along with parrot, pig, and cat sounds; when we've hidden it and he wants it, he asks for his wah-wah
• Buh-bahee - The Leap Pad - which says "Bye-bye" when you turn it off.
  

However, as extensive as his vocabulary has become, Sam's main method of communication is to either point, scream, or both. He is the master of the double-point. If he wants me to take him into another room, he'll stand on the floor, point to me, point to the other room with the other hand, and either grunt or cry.

Better example: last night he was crying for no apparent reason. I came into the TV room to see what he wanted and saw him pointing to Blaze, our rocking horse. I picked him up and put him on it, but he kept crying, and pointed back to where he had been standing. Knowing I had missed an important hand signal, I put him back in the same spot. He again pointed to Blaze, but this time I watched his other hand, which was pointing to my wife (ok, not "at" her, but in her general direction). She picked him up and put him on the horse, and he immediately stopped crying.

Thank heavens he's not a Motie.

In the interests of fairness (a big issue at 4BoyHouse), here are the first words of each of the other boys:

• Timothy - coke - we didn't think he would ever talk, but one day after church we had stopped at McDonald's and brought home some lunch. He walked over, picked up my cup and said, as clear as day "coke." I felt chastised and elated at the same time.
• Stephen - mine - he and Sam are alike in many, many ways. Actually, Stephen was a prolific and early talker, and invented many of the terms we still use around the house (see below).
  
• Jonah - night-night - when Timothy was a baby, he had a green fleece blanket named, appropriately, Green ("gee"). When Stephen was born, we gave it to him as his main blanket. He loved it and carried it around everywhere (actually, he still does), calling it his "night-night." The name stuck, and when my marvelous sister gave us a yellow one for Jonah, we called it "night-night" as well. So his first word was "nye-nye", which he said while in his crib. I went and found it immediately.
  

Noisy Toys 2; Revenge of the Grandparents

For a perspective from the other side, I point you to the blog Pig In A Pen. Not bad.

Full disclosure, Pig In A Pen is my dad. So I learned to read from my mom, and learned to write (and to speak publicly) from my dad. How about that?

Microsoft

I rebuilt my wife's computer today, starting from scratch and formatting all the drives. It had gone a long time without anti-virus and -spyware, and with the kids using it, who knows what was on there.

So I wiped it out and reinstalled Windows 2000 Pro, SP3 from CD. After installing, I went to the Microsoft Windows update site to get all the updates. Here's the list of updates:

• Critical updates and Service Packs - 50
• Windows 2000 - 13
• Drivers - 1

Fifty critical updates! How long, oh Jerusalem? How long?

I've already switched her over to Firefox and Tunderbird. I probably won't reinstall Microsoft Office back on there, but will use OpenOffice instead. I'll let you know how it goes.

If I ever get some money, she's getting a Mac.