Chills

The end of October is here, bringing with it harbingers of things to come.

The first is Halloween, or as it may be called, "The Gateway Holiday." Avarice and fun, all rolled into one!

Honestly, I like Halloween. It seems to have "kidded-down" in the past ten years or so. My memories of Halloween have very sinister overtones; now it's just another kid-friendly holiday that includes too much food you probably shouldn't eat. No doubt devil-worshippers out there are bemoaning that we've lost sight of "the reason for the season."

When we were first married, my wife and I had a difference of opinion about Halloween. I was fer it and she was agin it. Long story short, I won and she lost, which makes the current score:
4 Boy Mom: 48,672
4 Boy Dad: 1

Costumes are a big deal when you've got to usher 4 candy buckets - excuse me, I mean children - around the neighborhood. Of course, no two can have the same costume. A couple of years ago there was some coordination, as the big 3 were Batman, Superman, and Spiderman. I believe Sam was a pumpkin that year.

Last year, Timothy was Harry Potter, Stephen was Batman, and Jonah was the Blue Power Ranger (for there is no other). This year, the lineup was looking to be remarkably similar, but some last-minute changes have created it all afresh.

Stephen will be a baseball player. He is the family "baseball fan," with a lifetime total of 17 innings watched under his belt. No other boy comes close. Timothy was going to be Harry Potter again, but then he announced the other day that he'd like to be a mummy. I honestly think his interest is geared more toward the mechanics of the costume than it is in the undead. Plus, it's toilet paper; I expect lots of poop jokes tonight.

Jonah was going to be BPR again. His costume is more than a little worse for wear, since he wears it at least once a week as he runs around the house, kicking and punching the imaginary evil ninjas that must surely populate every nook and cranny of our house. But dragons now populate Jonahland, and when he saw a purple dragon costume a few weeks ago at Old Navy, his heart would have no other. Alas! it was too expensive, and my wife said no (booooo).

But we were at another Old Navy over the weekend, and the same dragon costume was on sale for only $10, so we got it for him (yaaaay). He wore it all yesterday afternoon and still has it on now at H minus 5 hours.

This year is my year to take the parade out for trick-or-treating. I'm nervous, of course, because this involves having the kids both a) walking along the street, and b) walking in the dark. My efforts to keep the boys "in the curb" have proven fruitless in the past; Jonah especially likes to walk in the middle of the street. We'll have to see how this goes.

The second harbinger is what I refer to as "mouse hand" and my wife calls "The Icy Claw of Doom." My office is apparently at the very end of a vent line, so if I leave it open heat just pumps in, making it unbearable. So I shut it off and keep myself warm with the several computers and monitors, which are remarkably powerful heating devices.

This works well, except for my right-hand, which stays on a computer mouse for essentially 8 hours. (FYI, my left hand types a lot more and can be safely stowed under my leg when not in use.) This exposure on my right hand leaves it very cold, and I gain immense satisfaction from using it on my wife's back, arms, and face.

It's a small pleasure, but it's something to do.

Calling Poison Control

This pair of posts over at On Considering Inconveniences and The Ohoopee Letter News got me to thinking about our own experiences with the wonderful folks over at Poison Control (1-800-222-1222). I have, to date, made all of two calls to Poison Control. Here's how they broke down:

Timothy: none.

Stephen: two. Yep, all Stephen.

Jonah: surprisingly, none. He's never really been big for putting things in his mouth, for which we are all thankful.

Sam: none. By the time you get to boy #4, Poison Control starts to call you.

The first time, I was home alone with Stephen. I have no idea why, but there we were, daddy and Baby (which was his nickname at the time; Timothy was Brother). Nothing much was going on, until I walked into the bathroom to find Stephen with toothpaste all over his mouth. He had eaten about half of the tube.

Remembering my chemistry (fluorine = bad), I called poison control. They had me read off the active ingredients and then they told me that it wouldn't be too bad, but not to let him do it again. I said okay, hung up, and fed him a lot of crackers. There do not appear to have been any consequences, and when Sam something similar recently, I just went directly to the crackers.

The second time was directly my fault. I misread the label on a cough medicine and gave Stephen 1.25 teaspoons instead of 0.25. That's a lot. I panicked and called PC again. They were very nice, asked for the active ingredients again (I sense a pattern). They said he would probably be very excited for a short time and then be very drowsy (as in, hard to wake up) for the rest of the night. He may skip the excited part, and he would be fine the next morning. He did, and he was.

Detente

If only Nixon could go to China (name that Star Trek!), then only Sam could go to Jonahland. Jonah-Sam relations have, in general, resembled Khrushchev at the UN: shoe-related violence, threats of burying, and yelling.

As usual, for the first three children, we had no idea how good we had it with respect to fraternal relationships. Timothy and Stephen get along ridiculously well. So when Jonah came along as a "difficult" (read: normal) child, his two older brothers were perfect foils for his personality.

Jonah would rumble and rage, Timothy would stay out of the way, and Stephen would (usually) bow politely to the inevitability. Like wise drivers when the gates go down, the older boys would stop and wait briefly while the train ran through.

Then came #4. (Someone we know calls our kids R1, R2, R3, and R4, or would if our last name began with an R. I've forgotten who it is, but I certainly admire their honesty.) Sam's antipathy towards Jonah is legendary. It took him 2 years to even say his immediate predecessor's name, and even still it sounds like "Unh."

Recently, however, things have been improving. I'm not sure if it's the absence of the other two boys during school hours, or if some kindred, mischievous spirit has awakened between them. The other day after lunch, I caught them playing slap-hands across the table. Both were laughing and the game ended amicably. This was a unique event.

And if friendliness is good, kindness is even better.

Jonah and Sam have been sick with runny noses, red eyes, and extreme whininess. Thankfully, no fever. I wouldn't be worried, but they have been playing a lot in that pile of dead chickens we got from China last week. (Such savings!)

Anyway, I had Sam downstairs, and Stephen and Jonah were upstairs playing with LEGO's. I asked Jonah to bring down a diaper. I heard him rummaging through the closet, apparently looking for something. Before I could yell at him to hurry up (it stank downstairs!), I heard him telling Stephen, "Make sure you get an Elmo one. Sam likes Elmo." I heard Stephen going through them, "Bert, Cookie Monster, Bert, Elmo!"

Jonah? Being sweet to Sam? The Thaw begins. What's next? Sam being nice to Jonah?

Not quite yet. Tonight, outside at dinner (we had chili and cornbread, the latter of which has been banned from inside consumption) Jonah brought over one of their plastic "roller skates" and showed me the spider webs inside. I told him to go get a stick to clean them out. He came back with one about 4 feet long and 2 inches thick, but not before Sam had snatched the skate and run off through the yard, shrieking.

What this family needs is a Ronald Reagan.

I am (apparently) it.

I got tagged by DAW over at On Considering Inconveniences.

1. Delve into your blog archive.
2. Find your 23rd post (or closest to).
3. Find the fifth sentence (or closest to).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions. Ponder it for meaning, subtext or hidden agendas...
5. Tag five people to do the same.

Having worked very hard to forget everything I ever learned in any English or Literature class, I had to look up "subtext" on Wikipedia. To wit: "content of a book, play, film or television series which is not announced explicitly by the characters (or author) but is implicit or becomes something understood by the reader / viewer as the production unfolds."

It has been my suspicion (which was confirmed by the Wikipedia entry) that subtext is most commonly used to find naughty things where they ought not to be. Since I have yet to come across a writer/actor/director who is not openly vocal about everything in their head (no thought left unspoken, etc.), it is my belief that most subtext discoveries and discussions have much more to do with the reader/viewer than with the author. If you find a transgender subtext in Peanuts cartoons, that almost certainly says more about you than it does about Charles Schultz.

That being said, I believe I have been pretty open with my beliefs in my writing:

1. I've got 4 sons, whom I love and admire very much, and with whom I am fascinated beyond belief.
2. I am a Christian.
3. I think Libertarians are ridiculous idealists who are out of touch with reality.

Most sentences are either declarative or one-line jokes. I'm not that deep or hidden a guy. Sorry. With that being said, here's what I found:

• 23rd post: Ash Wednesday
• 5th sentence: "He does this in pretty much every sermon, although I doubt there were too many 'seekers' at an Ash Wednesday service."
• Ponder it for meaning, subtext or hidden agendas: hmmm. none. I was talking about our (now former) pastor, and his preaching at the Ash Wednesday service. Specifically, I had commented in the previous sentence that part of this sermon had been directed at non-Christians. This sentence points out (hopefully) what is one of my favorite things about our church: that the Gospel is always presented, even at a service that is not at a normal time or day. Because there's always a chance . . .

Tag five? Mmmm. Probably not. This is not my favorite meme, and one of the best aspects of these viral, getting-to-know-you games is that bloggers forward them on in an effort to get information from others. Everyone I can think of (and, to be honest, everyone who would even know they had been tagged by me) is someone whose "subtexts" I already know. People don't blog because they have something to hide.

Even more movie goodness

In return for getting to see a preview showing of Serenity, I have turned over 37% of my soul to Grace Hill Media. The Narnia movie this Christmas will most certainly take the rest.

The deal is this: they give us tickets to go see a movie, and I post my honest (honest!) opinion about here, for both you and my Mom to read.

Last week, we got an invitation to go see Elizabethtown. Despite the Kirsten Dunst aspect, this movie was a "meh" for me and not on my radar. "It's a renter," I declared, but I dutifully forwarded it on to my wife (which I have been forced to do ever since we missed getting to go see Constantine; who knew?).

Her response to this movie was shockingly quick and affirmative, "Sign me up, I'll find someone else to go." Totally secure in my place as the head of the household and of this marriage, I promply waited 3 days and then responded to the invitation.

She got the tickets anyway.

To my surprise, she did not take that cute guy from the paint store; she took one of her myriad sisters instead. Here's what she had to say (warning, spoilers may exist therein):

A few nights ago, my sister and I went out on a date to see an advance screening of Cameron Crowe's new movie "Elizabethtown". I have enjoyed all of Crowe's films in the past, so I was looking forward to seeing this one. As a very busy wife and mom, my main pre-requisite for a good movie these days is a fun movie with a happy ending. I don't have time for depressing movies that teach a moral or advance a political agenda. Give me sappy romance that ends with the stars riding off into the sunset or a great action flick that ends with the bad guys dead and the stars riding off into the sunset. Life is depressing enough: movies are pure escapism. With this in mind, I have to say that I loved "Elizabethtown".

The characters were wonderful. Orlando Bloom underplayed the main character of Drew perfectly. There was never a minute that I didn't believe that he was a man who had just experienced a major career setback (to say the least) when he gets the news of his father's death. Alec Baldwin was a hilarious head of the company that fired Drew. Kirsten Dunst is always beautiful, and she played Claire the flight attendant with style. I could have done without her hokey on-again-off-again southern accent, but that is a minor complaint. The setting of Elizabethtown, Kentucky, where Drew went to pick up his father's body made me long for life in a small town. There were many memorable minor characters. Paula Deen played Drew's aunt, pretty much as herself, which was great fun to watch. Drew's cousin Jessie was played by Paul Schneider, and I think that we will see more from him. Drew's mother was played by Susan Sarandon, and I liked her more than I usually did. She interacted with Judy Greer, playing Drew's sister very well.

There were many scenes in the movie that I loved. One of my favorites is the part where Drew and Claire had their first marathon phone session. I think that every couple remembers the first time that they were on the phone for hours and couldn't bear to get off. They talked all night about any and everything, then decided to meet half-way to watch the sunrise. I also loved the laugh-out-loud part at the funeral where Drew's cousin Jessie, newly reunited with his hick-rock band, plays "Free Bird" with a very interesting result (you just have to see it). "Elizabethtown" was surprisingly clean, except for two f-bombs thrown in purely for the PG-13 rating, which was very annoying. I really wish that filmmakers would not be afraid of leaving movies fit for adolescents. Also, the music was great. There were several Ryan Adams songs, and as he is my new favorite singer, I was thrilled. This movie passed my happy ending criteria, but more than that, I thought it was a really good movie. It is a good date movie, so don't be afraid to take your beloved. I promise: it's worth the price of admission.

-[The Lovely] 4 Boy Mom

By the way, "Hick-rock" is a term that I brought to the marriage. Just so you know.

Fall is here?

Okay, to celebrate the return of the comments section*, here's an interactive post. Post a comment and answer this question:

What one thing tells you that Fall has arrived?

*There's that wavy-word validation on the comments now, which disables bots, but lets humans post. Have at it.

Goin' To The Far (you have to say it out loud, like Bob Loblaw)

Statistically speaking (ugh; you know it's going to be bad when the first word is "Statistically"; it's like reading an essay that begins "Webster's Dictionary defines . . ." Aaahhhh! High school flashbacks!)

Ahem. Statistically speaking, if there are 52 weekends in a year, and you have a 4 bazillion things to do, then you should have a bazillion/13 things to do each weekend. (There's math in there, so be careful. Re-read it if you have to.)

In real life, though, it doesn't work out that way. Sometimes the stars align just right to provide you with a perfect, thing-to-do-less weekend. Birds sing, children play, various sports thingys are watched on TV or played in the yard (snicker).

Of course, in order for that to happen, there also must be an opposite member at the other end of the line. There must exist a weekend so concentrated with events that to-do lists begin to crumple in on themselves. Eventually, there is an event-event horizon, and even the strongest RSVP's cannot escape.

Once weekends like this begin to form, they attract even more events. Birthday party invitations begin to pour in, previously postponed soccer games are rescheduled, additional meetings are called. By Thursday, you're afraid to answer the phone; mail stays in the mailbox; you don't answer the door.

This past weekend was one of those.

Friday: Dinner with friends. Of course, in 4boydom, this means dropping off said boys with someone responsible. Get off work at 5, be in car by 5:05 (it's good to work at home, I must say). The original plan was to have the brood to my parents' house at 6 and be at the restaurant at 6:30. But Adam bit the apple and caused traffic, so it looked like our house of cards was going to collapse at around 5:30 on Friday. Not a way to begin a packed weekend.

Note to kids: be nice to your parents. Honor them, obey them, feign polite interest when they tell you things. If you are good (or if they are very benevolent and forgiving and/or forgetful), they will meet you at the restaurant at 6:15 and pick up your children so that you don't have to spend an extra hour in the car and re-arrange dinner reservations. (Thanks Mom & Dad!)

After dinner with our friends and an hour at Starbucks drinking coffee and laughing about our children while avoiding actually going back to them, we all headed our separate ways. Since a simple majority (50%+1) of our Saturday events were in Cumming, my wife and I stayed at my parent's house.

One would think that a night in a king-sized bed in a sound-proofed basement apartment 2 floors away from our kids would be relaxing. Not so. My wife does not sleep well anywhere but her own bed. And since I'm not allowed to sleep if my wife doesn't, this technically counted as an event and not as rest.

Saturday: Oh! what were we thinking? I had a meeting at 8:30 AM in Marietta, precipitating a long, early drive. There were doughnuts, however, so it wasn't a total wash.

Also, due to the fact that Tammy remnants were still overhead on Friday, we figured that Stephen's Saturday soccer game would be cancelled. It was not, so my wife had to drive all the way back to Tucker for the game. We won, 12-2; Stephen made a goal. w00t!

By 1 PM, we were all back together in Cumming, although now we were at my wife's parents' house. Change of venue, and all that. The event was the First Birthday party for Margaret (sister of Frances and Charlotte).

Since dinner (and therefore the party) wasn't until 6, we had plenty of time for what was apparently the real main event: The Cumming County Fair and Festival (link not permanent).

Shudder. Suffice it to say, I was over-dressed and under-tattooed. Okay, that's not fair. I'm sure Cumming locals would feel equally out of place at the Decatur Wine Tasting Festival or Film Festival. Cough.

Due to a sudden influx of sanity, I only took Timothy and Stephen. A good time was had by all, except for Stephen, who cried a lot. The boys played Skee-ball, and both cried when they didn't get a prize. I tried to explain rigged games to them, to no avail. I probably should have attempted the explanation farther away from the carny, who gave me evil looks.

While Stephen wanted to do everything (including the hot tub sales booth [?]), Timothy had eyes for only one thing: The Pirate. Very similar to the old Flying Dutchman at Six Flags, this ride is a ship that swings back and forth, never quite going over. I hated that ride when I was a kid, and I wasn't looking forward to riding it this past weekend. I tried several dodges and distractions, to no avail.

So we rode it.

Side note, not all carnies are evil. This was a 4-ticket ($3.33) ride, and Timothy was not tall enough to ride it by himself, so I had to go too. An 8-ticket ride, and we only had 7 tickets. When I turned around to explain this to Timothy, tears were already rolling down his cheeks. I heard the carny yell over the ridiculously loud Def Leppard background music that seems endemic to fairs (sorry Kevin), "How many tickets do you have?"

"Seven!" I yelled back. He nodded, took our tickets, and let us on. My boy was ecstatic.

The ride started, and Timothy was fine for the first few swings. He was smiling, the boat was swinging back and forth. The Def Leppard song switched to Pink Floyd. I was explaining to my son about the humongous tires that were below the boat, pushing it higher each time we came back through. Joy, rock, and geekiness; all was good for about 10 seconds.

Then we got airborne.

I remember it vividly. My nerd lecture had moved on from ride mechanics to actual, Physics mechanics and I was saying to Timothy, "This is called free-fall, blah blah . . . astronauts . . . blah, blah." As I said this, we did hit free-fall, and the boy's face went from a huge smile to an even more huge grimace.

His cheeks bulged, and I waited for the onslaught. I had noticed the copious drainage holes in the seats and the shiny metal decking on the steps to the ride. I knew what they were for, but my feeling was that I was about to get a lesson in the difference between knowledge and appreciation.

[begin hyberbole] Luckily, he had been at my wife's parents' house, so he hadn't eaten in about 12 hours. If he had been at my parents' house, his stomach would have been full from the candy they would have thrown at the car as we drove away in an effort to supplement what had been shoved into pockets on the way out the door. [end hyperbole]

Thankfully, blessedly, he did not throw up. He did not smile again, either, until after the ride was through. Then he went and told Stephen how awesome the ride was! Kids.

A few more kiddie rides for Stephen (thanks to the generosity of my excellent brothers- and sister-in-law), a quick trip down the tasteless Titanic inflatable slide, and several thousand more exclamations of "Don't touch that!" and we were ready to go.

Good bye conveniently placed Lotto machine. Good bye thong store. Good bye Brian Ruth "Master of the Chainsaw"(whom we did not see). Good bye deathtrap ride playing Steve Miller band at defeaning volumes (I think they do that to mask the metal fatigue sounds). Good bye sickly petting zoo animals. We'll most likely be back next year.

Note: we did not take Jonah to the The Cumming County Fair and Festival. Doing so would be like taking a bull to a china shop. Well, not really. More like taking a bull to a place where there were lots of other wild animals, and where said bull would be very unlikely to hold onto his dad's hand as well as being very likely to get lost and/or pitch screaming tantrums.

Not that he minded. When we got back, he was singing this song: "If you're happy and you know it, fight some bad guys!" (dance around, kicking and punching).

Look ma! News!

In a rare acknowledgement that there is a larger world outside the walls of my house (and knowing I'll regret this in the morning . . .), we at 4 Boy Dad would like to bring attention to the following news stories:

1. Eisner Drops off Disney's Board of Directors (link most likely not permanent) - w00t! Gone. Out as CEO, off the board. Ding-dong, the . . . well, you know the rest. Seriously, I have been waiting for this day. Disney has been as profligate with its legacy as a Bangkok family with its daughters. Do we really need a Cinderella 3? Did you know there was a Cinderella 2?

2. IAEA, ElBaradei Win Nobel Peace Prize (ditto) - providing further evidence that the Nobel Prize committe is made up of expat university faculty. I was of the opinion that the Peace Prize was for making war less likely. Apparently not.

Okay. I'm done. More booger-eating next post, I promise.

Update
Now this is what I'm talking about: