Tag / kids

So I got two boxes of Scabs in the mail…

Which, though gross, wasn’t all that surprising since I ordered them. Scabs are bandages designed to reflect all the grossness of being a kid (and, I guess, a Dad.) It also wasn’t surprising that I had two opportunities to use them this weekend since my kids seem inherently clumsy. I decided to conduct a little (un)scientific anecdotal study to see which design would be more in demand.

Scabs come in five designs: a zipper, stitches, eyeballs, worms, and spiders. Both times, the bandagee– (bandagie?)– ah, heck, kid with the cut, chose the spiders. These were both girls.

Grace went so far as to say, “I don’t want the zipper, Dad.” Really? I dig the zipper. I can’t figure out these kids…

Want to have some fun? Pick up some scabs of your own.

Like being a kid again


There’s something about birthday parties that make everyone feel like a kid again. Especially kids’ birthday parties. Lily celebrated her eighth this weekend with fourteen of her closest friends and a few party crashers (her brother, her sisters, Grandma, and a few who stopped by when they caught a glimpse of the movie – you know who you are.)

We celebrated by making pillowcases, eating pizza and ice cream cake, a few rousing renditions of “What time is it, Old Witch?” and an outdoor viewing of “Nim’s Island,” projected onto the screen affixed to the side of the garage with stadium seating arranged in the yard. Not to mention a large collection of blankets and pillows strewn about.

Ah, to be a kid again, even if only for a night.

USA! USA! USA! USA!

For the first time in nine years, Team USA has recovered the Ryder Cup. Jack and I spent our Sunday on the grounds of Valhalla, walking amongst the crowds and 24 of the best golfers in the world.

We were there as Anthony Kim produced the spark that propelled his teammates forward as his relentless play bested Sergio Garcia. We were there when team captain Paul Azinger skidded his cart to a halt in the 13th fairway to pump up the crowds. We were there as the crowds welcomed homegrown favorites Kenny Perry and JB Holmes at every step and we were there shouting “Boooo!” as Weekly made one great shot after another, including a towering drive on 17th that he turned away from as he tried to expend the adrenaline flowing through him. We were there when Hunter Mahan made a 50-foot birdie putt to win the 17th and the crowd roared and roared and roared…

We were there to watch Furyk and Jimenez tee off on the first and we were standing in the 17th fairway as they hit their approach shots into the 17th green, securing the final point to win the trophy.

It’s my turn now, but I hope in years to come Jack will look back on this day and say, “We were there.”

Inside a Norman Rockwell painting

I’m sitting in the front yard, saved from the heat by the shade of the maple and elms, watching seven kids running a lemonade stand near the street. They’re selling raspberry lemonade for twenty-five cents a cup, probably losing a nickel with each transaction. But the lessons they’re learning have nothing to do with economics. They’re plainly exercising the real world skills of negotiation, persuasion, compromise and teamwork. Customers not required.

The wind is picking up, smoke billows from a neighbor’s burning pile of sticks, and the serenade of little voices continues unabated, non-stop, ever-sweet. If, like Rockwell, I could paint, I would paint this picture. I’ve tried to photograph it. I briefly considered video. But in the end, I opted to just pay attention, to record it in my memory, realizing that all attempts to capture it any other way would be wholly imperfect.

The thing I like best about me is…

Lily was given a form to fill out at school today, her second day of second grade. It was used to describe herself by writing the endings to several sentences. Things like:

My favorite colors are green and blue and pink
I am good at tennis and swimming
One way I help at home is by getting my sisters drest

My favorites were:

In my family there is twins and one brother
The thing people like best about me is I’m nice

But the absolute best was:

The thing I like best about me is I am smat

(She was mortified to realize she forgot the ‘r’, but Char and I thought it was hysterical.)