Kinecting with Family

In preparation for Thanksgiving: "Noah, we're gonna celebrate Grandpa's birthday and Thanksgiving with our family like Brynn and Candace and Augusta and Grandma and Baby Kate and..." -> Noah as we pass the Galleria: "and Galleria!"

Me: "Happy 65th birthday, Grandpa. Can we play with your present?" Grandpa got an Xbox Kinect, and their house has never been more intense. Now we wear comfy clothing because we know we'll break a sweat when we visit.

Noah is so into Kinect that he pulled a muscle and popped a blood vessel in his leg from jumping around so much. Every time he finishes a game: "I got a gold medal!" Even Ari gets into it and imitates the hilarious movements, but she doesn't have to worry about hitting her head or hands on the ceiling.

It's a lot of fun to watch everybody play, especially seeing Grandma and Grandpa working it. I can't wait to see the dancing game. Noah has even been very patient about sharing turns. The main problem now is explaining that we can't just go over there anytime we want.

Noah: "I'm thankful for Chuck E. Cheese and going to the park with Daddy. What are you thankful for, Daddy?" -> Me: "I'm thankful for my wonderful Kinection with you and the rest of our family."

Frame her vs. Blame her

I'm not sure which bothered me more: the fact that Noah purposely placed his toy right next to Ari, who was laying on the floor at the time, or the fact that he chastised her and repossessed the toy from her slobbery grip. We've been dealing with new baby sister issues longer than we expected, but as down as we get during these episodes we certainly cherish the other moments of contrast.

Making Ari giggle is an addictive game: She bounces up an down, curls up her body, reveals her big dimples and shining eyes, sticks her hand in her mouth and squeaks and drools uncontrollably. Nobody elicits this response as powerfully and easily as Noah. Ari can't get enough of his games like suddenly appearing from behind a door, dancing around the room Risky Business style in his undies, singing loud gibberish, and the grandaddy of them all: his own intoxicating laugh.

Despite his intentional interruptions of her naps, his adamant protests when I hold Ari in my arms, his sometimes violent physical impulses, and his play-by-play announcing of every house rule she unknowingly violates, Noah is still Baby Ari's rock star, her protector and her crush.

As their relationship continually levels out and turns into Klaber vs. Klaber, I hope the competition between these two seemingly strong-willed siblings serves mostly uplifting ends and retains the laughter and adoration we now enjoy.

In Appropriation

In an attempt to keep direction consistent at his preschool and at home, we use the term they recommend: "inappropriate." If there is another child in the room, in this case his cousin Augusta, Noah has a strong tendency to immediately want to play with whatever that child is playing with. After being warned several times that it is inappropriate to take something before the other person is finished, Noah went in for the steal one final time. In response, Mary cut the visit with the grandparents short, and Noah protested adamantly, "I will act appwopwiately! I willll!"

If our school's objective is to make our kids sound so adorable that we can't stay mad at them, then they have succeeded. If their goal is to simply and clearly convey boundaries to our kids, then I'm still not quite sure if Noah gets this word. Since he is a master of appropriation, maybe I can explain the meaning of that word and how he should try to refrain from its practice. Or maybe a word like hurtful would have a better chance of eliciting empathy. Either way, the key is for Noah to consider another person's point of view. Otherwise we will continue playing a perpetual game of tug of war with his impulses and desires as he encounters boundaries by repeatedly bouncing around a dark room.

Appropriate is actually a vague, philosophical and subjective term that is less likely to convey the desired message than a specific and relevant warning. Recent advice that seems to have been effective: "If you touch that thorn, your finger might bleed." In this case the empathy is for his future self. Other instruction has been met with mixed results, often dependent on his current mood. We know that these concepts are not completely lost on Noah, but it is very frustrating to repeat what seem like obvious truths like "you can't kick your sister" or "you really should ask nicely." An additional complication is a disadvantage of specific advice and warnings. Children can take things literally, and circumstances are never exactly the same. Thus, you might need to repeatedly clarify limitations and try to predict all conflicts ahead of time, an issue that laws typically try to avoid by using vague terms like appropriate.

For the most part, we instinctively feel appropriateness. This makes it confusing for us to see our own child hurt a family member, an action which feels so obviously unkind. That's why, for me, it comes back to feelings. For Noah, it feels good to play with what he wants when he wants it, but whether it's because he doesn't want others to take things from him or because he's happy to see how much his cousin enjoys a toy or some other reason, he needs to feel good about not acting on the impulse for this change of behavior to last.

Going Vogue

"Daddy, turn on the blue light!" "Alright, Noah. Are you ready to strike a pose?" Noah spread his arms wide and puckered his lips. Then I flipped the switch on his fluorescent blue light to reveal his uncanny resemblance to Ben Stiller's Blue Steel. Our little Zoolander loves to be dramatic, and he has helped me revive my own inner ham.

Together, Noah and I have slow danced to High School Musical 3, led lively parades around the house, pretended to be monsters and robots by putting blankets and empty boxes on our heads, scolded stuffed animals for their inappropriate behavior, and sung our hearts out cause "We all need somebody to lee...ean on."

Although I wasn't exactly afraid to go vogue before Noah, fabulous was certainly not the adjective people would use to describe me. I'm sitting here writing this in my first ever pair of jeans that aren't gigantic, hiding the actual shape and size of my body. I think they're the only pair I've bought in the past 10 years. Noah, on the other hand, often looks handsome and stylish, thanks to Mary's inclination for fashion.

Considering his outgoing personality, showmanship, strong individual will, and utter exuberance, Noah will be turning heads wherever he goes. Throw in his forced smile that looks like he's being simultaneously attacked by a spotlight and a barrage of neck and chin tickles, and he's downright unforgettable.

Nobody knows how much his imaginative, unfettered charisma will affect me, but as long as he's conducting, I'll let my body move to the music. There's really nothing to it.

Breath Taking

When you hear me or Mary tell Noah, "Take a breath," you know that his emotions and/or body are totally out of control. The first time I made this request, I was mostly reminding myself to cool down before I dealt with our little guy whose will is inversely proportional to his undersized figure. Taking a breath together became routine, and he even began instinctively asking for a second deep breath.

This week, when there was still time left before dinner, Noah was eagerly awaiting his bath. I agreed to let him splash in the tub earlier than usual, but his excitement got the best of him. I was trying to start the water and undress him while holding Ari in my other hand, but his impulses took over. He turned the cold water handle all the way up over and over, despite my repeated explanations of why he probably wouldn't want to take a cold bath. I told Noah that he had one more chance to listen to me or he could forget his bath that night. I immediately took Ari to a safe place to put her down so I could focus on Noah, and by the time I returned he had TP'd our bathroom. Bursting from frustration, I called off the bath.

Following in the footsteps of his attorney ancestors, he protested, "I listened!" Technically I hadn't recently reminded him of the rule against playing with our toilet paper, but we had discussed this behavior many times before. After a period of wailing and convulsing, he walked down the stairs and ran to the kitchen. From a distance I heard him plead, "Mommy, I want to breathe with you." After a period of silence and a hug (my will power to deny Noah now being sucked out of my body with the exhale), he looked at Mary and asked, "Can I take a bath now?" Though he was clearly playing to his audience for his own benefit, it was still a sweet moment and a sign that our efforts to help him center himself were at least being recognized.

Whether his problems are complex or simple, lasting or fleeting, dire or trivial, I hope he continues to ask us to breathe with him for years to come. When it comes to my family, despite my asthma, I will never have shortness of breath.

Treading on Thin Vice

Mary and I finally joined a gym this week, now that we feel comfortable leaving Ari in a playroom for an hour. To be honest, I felt a little deceitful telling Noah about the cool place we were going and how he could play with other kids. Throughout my life I've gone through periods of overdoing things like tv, video games, food and other mostly tame vices. Exercise is my latest insatiable craving.

I got my first taste (in a long time) about two months ago when I started playing basketball on Sunday nights. Never in my life have sore muscles felt so good, and I think I'm actually going to miss the feeling once my body is in shape again. My skills were rusty, but I made up for it with some gutsy defense and creative play making.

I have had varied relationships with the gym over the years, even though the literal experience has changed very little. As a young teenager I was excited to develop pro wrestler-sized muscles, checking myself out in the mirror between each set. I soon became embarrassed in front of the varsity athletes as I failed to move up to the all-important 45 pounders. Then in college I always had a few other things I felt like I should be doing instead. When I finally had more free time than anyone can imagine, living with two roommates and working 9-5, the gym routine had become mundane, and I was only trying to maintain my level of fitness and strength. Thus, an excuse or distraction was easily rationalized.

Although the playroom at our gym certainly isn't Disney World, Noah made some friends, and he displayed a reasonable level of satisfaction with the situation. He thought my muscle-building activities were pretty cool, and he pointed out all of the machines that he was gonna try.

We try to keep our self-focused activities to a minimum, but both Mary and I would admit that our entire family is better off if we treat ourselves a little bit. Sometimes when I feel like I can't take any more of Noah's antics, his behavior probably wouldn't sound utterly horrible to an observer; however, our state of mind, fatigue and health can easily swing our reactions from slightly annoyed to infuriated. As we sneak in a few seemingly simple treats every week, we will continue to balance our desires and our energy, responding to our young children's needs.

Maybe it's the surefire predictability of the activity or the forgotten memory of dripping sweat or the chance to actually accomplish a goal that I set, but the once loathed activity of the treadmill has now become a steadfast gateway to new heights. Or maybe it's just the music blaring out of the hip hop dance class. Either way, "I've got a feeling..."

The Outsiders

After a long hiatus due to relentless snowstorms, Noah and I recently took one of our random walks around the neighborhood. It was good to catch up with our neighbor, Marge, who might as well change her last name to cookie, because that's always the next word out of Noah's mouth after Marge.

The whole experience of being an outsider was brand new to me when we moved to Lebo. Growing up, I didn't venture outside with other people unless there was a planned activity. In fact, I found walking the streets of my neighborhood so boring that my body would unconsciously start jogging to wherever I was going.

Although we didn't have much to show for it except a cookie and some wet shoes, the experience of taking a stroll around the block, chatting with a few neighbors, and hiding behind the bushes from Noah was exhilarating.

When I come home from work I secretly hope that I won't even get my feet through the door, that Noah will be pressed against the glass like a bull ready to charge the ring. For me, coming home is looking for the next dog to pet, stick to swing, Mini Cooper driving by, or just a random person so he can proclaim, "Hi, I'm Noah. We're going to the Hobby Shop!"

The past two years have brought new meaning to the phrase, "Let's take this outside." Compared to completely different phases of my life, sometimes I've accomplished the least but experienced the most being an outsider with my family.

Patience, My Dad, Patience

As for most people, Christmas for us this year was filled with family, giving, celebration, joy, fatigue and stress. Making a surprise appearance for me, though, was karma. Noah reciprocated one of my commonly used excuses and made Christmas my first "Someday."

He was having fun coloring with his cousins, and I asked if I could join them at their table. Noah politely responded, "No, Daddy. Maybe someday when you get bigger." The simple assumption would be that he doesn't actually understand what the phrase means, since I usually provide that response anytime he wants to try something dangerous. In truth, he may be more perceptive than we realize since I often use it as a quick and easy excuse if I don't want him to do something; and I don't want to argue with him about it, put up with a tantrum and go into a detailed explaination of the pros and cons of the proposed activity. Thus, it appears that I may have to either adjust my repsonses to his requests or be a very patient man if I want to color with my son, because I haven't grown in a decade.

What probably brought me the greatest joy from the experience was his comfort on his own and with his cousins. It looks like I will be reluctantly observing from a distance more and more as he explores, armed with a purple crayon and his imagination.

Let it Be

Another recurring theme in Noah's life, besides anticipating Somedays, is the bedtime ritual of songs, and "Let it Be" typically takes center stage as the grand finale. The song often offers a fascinating, fun glimpse into Noah's memory, concerns, desires and imagination. Sunday night's example (with Noah in bold):


Let it Be (4x). It's time to go to bed now, Let it Be (2x)
Today Vivi came to play, and we threw lots of snowballs
And we sled down the driveway and went inside and drank hot chocolate!
Let it Be (2x)

Ari looked like a pink furry starfish, and Noah wore his cool snowsuit
And Noah's boots and hat and mittens - ouch hands are cold!
Let it Be (2x)

Let it Be (4x). Good night my boy Noah, Let it Be (2x)

Sometimes when we play hockey - we shoot and lose the puck
And then we get the flashlight and I find it and shoot and score and you fall down!
Let it Be (2x)

Tomorrow Daddy goes to work, and I hope you have a good day
Maybe you'll... watch Monster's Aliens and play hockey and drink chocolate milk and eat my sandwich and take a nap and then you'll come home?
Let it Be (2x)

Let it Be (4x). Sweet dreams and sleep well, Let it Be (2x)


Mare and I find ourselves singing the song in our heads for sanity purposes, so the Beatles have served us well. I think it first surfaced after a day when Noah fell and cut himself pretty badly, but it has helped rejuvenate much more than a skinned knee ever since.

Let it be a Merry Christmas for all of you.

What's in the name?

The title comes from an experience with my son, Noah, who was 2 at the time. As we walked by a skateboard park he smiled and questioned, "Noah try, Daddy?" I thought for a moment and answered, "Someday." He pumped his arms in the air and shouted, "Someday! Someday, Daddy!" Of course I had to explain that "Someday" was not one of the seven days of the week we'd been teaching him, but the word has become a cornerstone of his always-growing vocabulary to refer to our adventures to come.

My family treats life as an adventure, and I hope to share our experiences, both large and small, with those who are curious to find out what can happy on any given "Someday!"