Things you never think about . . .

. . . when naming your kid.

June is the cruelest month, for us at least. My father, my sister, and my wife's father have birthdays on the 17th, 18th, and 19th, respectively. There's also Father's Day for 3 dads.

Add into this that 3 of my wife's nieces have birthdays in or about June, and it all adds up pretty quickly.

In order to save money on gifts, my wife has gotten creative. Last year she made dresses for all 3 girls. These were very warmly received, but my wife swore off sewing anything ever again.

This year she got some very nice beach towels and had a friend embroider them. Gorgeous, excellent, well done. There's one for Ava, one for Frances, and one for Charlotte. When folded and rolled, they look quite nice. With one exception.

Charlotte's name is centered in such a way that, when folded into thirds, the capital "C" gets folded around to the left and the final "te" get folded around to the right.



I think that this particular towel will be folded in half for the rest of its useful life.

Brothers

When Stephen was born, Timothy was 22 months old, about the age that Sam is now. Also like Sam, Timothy was none to quick to begin talking, and so he wasn't able to say his brother's name, "Stephen." The best Timothy could do was Deedah.

My wife and I referred to the boys, when talking about them to each other, as Brother and Baby, which was fine until the new baby came about 16 months later. Suddenly Jonah was Baby and Stephen needed a different name.

Timothy remained Brother, Jonah was Baby, and we adopted Timothy's nickname for Stephen: Deedah.

Fast forward about 3 years.

There was a new baby; the titles Brother and Baby had fallen aside. Only Deedah remained. Sam was about 1 and was not talking at all. Why should he, when crying, screaming, and pointing communicate his intent perfectly well?

Stephen, having just turned 5, decided that he didn't want to be called Deedah anymore. He announced this to all who could hear. I was scolded once at a soccer game for yelling "Go Deedah!"

Then Sam started talking.

And guess whose name he could say first? And guess how he pronounced it?

So Stephen is Deedah again, all original protests thrown aside. Sam wanders through the house calling out, "Deedah, Deedah!" And Stephen smiles and runs to him, every time.

FYI, Sam pronounces Timothy as HiHee. Jonah's name is not attempted. A scream and a leap is sufficient.

A New Hope

The starwarsification of our home is nearly complete, as would be expected of a house full of boys being raised by a nerd.

To wit, one of Sam's new words is "lola." He first said it when he and his mother were reading news on the Internet together (he sits on her lap). She didn't recognize what he was saying until she looked at the top of the screen and saw a Star Wars ad containing a diminutive, green Jedi master. That's right, Yoda. Sam knows Yoda.

Meanwhile, Jonah's journey to the dark side is nearly complete. He said to me the other day, "One day I will have power!" I asked him about this, and he said that he would use it to rescue Sparkles (our cat) from a tree. Then he chuckled. He's also taken to calling Timothy "my master" in a deep and menacing voice.

I'll have to keep an eye on that boy.

And finally, amid all the hullabaloo of whether or not Episode 3 is any good, the boys have been devastated by the PG-13 rating, which means that they probably will not be able to go see it in the theater (Timothy might, we'll see). But yesterday, when I had just the two big at home, they asked to watch The Empire Strikes Back. That's the ORIGINAL one, on VHS, and it's their favorite Star Wars movie.

There is hope for the next generation.

Update - lunchtime
After writing the above, I came downstairs (altogether now . . . to get a Coke) and heard Stephen and Jonah watching The Empire Strikes Back. From the hallway, I could hear Jonah jumping on the couch, yelling "Get him! Get him!" I looked in just in time to see Darth Vader whacking away at Luke. Stephen started to yell, "No Luke, you can do it!" But Jonah continued, "Get him! Get him!"

The boy may need counseling.

Update - after midnight
We saw Revenge of the Sith tonight. All throughout the movie, my nerd-self and dad-self kept arguing about how much of this Timothy could handle. Everything was going fine . . . then Anakin caught on fire.

The end. Not gonna happen.

Thanks, George. I have 4 little boys who would like a word with you. Be careful, Jonah may try to crush your trachea from across the room using The Force. He's been practicing.

Kids and yards

My mom has the little 3 for the day, and I just got this email:

I did manage to get the boys outside for a few minutes - while Sam is sleeping. The boys ran around for a few minutes and then Stephen said, "Why don't you take care of your yard, Memaw?"

Then Jonah said, "You should ask my Mom." I said, "Oh, your mom does yardwork?" and Stephen said, "No. Don't ask my mom. You should ask Mr. Mark - he takes care of his yard." !!!

And then we came back in the house "Because your yard's too messy." :) That was my laugh for today!

Ah, kids.

Careers

When I was young(er), we had a board game called Careers. It was fun to play for everyone, as they say. For us kids, it was a glimpse at what we believed was the exciting world of adults.

Ooh! I can be a doctor (no mention of medical school or gore). Ooh! I can be a lawyer (no mention of 80 hour weeks, stifling practice hierarchies, or the fact that you hang out with other lawyers all day). Ooh! I can be a professional athlete (no mention of not making the cut for the high school, college, or minor league teams). So we loved it.

Parents liked it (I believe) because it let them indulge in that favorite parental mental game: what will my child become? Your kids plays this board game, gets a card that says, "You're a doctor," and immediately the parent thinks about that beach house that their grateful son will buy them. They can almost smell the sea air . . .

I think all parents do pretty much the same thing, especially with their first child. Timothy was born with long fingers, so I'm in the delivery room thinking, "piano player?" He's 7 now and has never touched a piano. I'm thinking I should get used to being wrong on these things.

Even before any of our children were born, we were doing this. We'd watch TV and see some walk-on actor with his single line and we would wince. "He's not going to be an actor," I'd say, "or a professional musician," remembering the amazing people I had seen playing in the subways in New York.

"Mom, you've got to watch ER tonight," my wife would mimic, "I'm the third corpse from the left near the end of the show!" I would join in, "Only 15 years in Hollywood! What a lucky break."

So Kris was outside yesterday while the boys were playing in the yard. Timothy was busy at his favorite outdoors pastime, seeing how big of a "sand castle" (i.e., pile of sand) he could make in the sandbox. (My parental wishinator kicks in: architect?) Jonah was waiting in the wings for his favorite outdoors pastime, which is knocking down Timothy's sand castles. Oh, how he laughs.

She asked Timothy if he'd like to be an architect when he grows up. "No," he said. "I want to be an artist." Pushing, like only a parent can with a first child, she continued, "Well, an architect is an artist who makes buildings." No response.

"How about you?" she asked Stephen, who had climbed up into the highest reaches of the swingset like only he dares to do. "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

The reply was quick, factual, and practiced, "A doctor. Doctors help people." This has been his goal ever since my aunt Pat was living with my parents during her cancer treatments. Stephen got to help take care of her and my mom mentioned that he would make a good doctor.

Kris looked at Jonah, who, though running around the backyard, was still keeping an eye on Timothy's sand pile. "Jonah, what do you want to be when you grow up?"

"Darth Vader."