Goal!

Ok, for the record, Jen has a slightly different interpretation on the ending of this story than I do, but, for the record, I don't care. I don't have to - I am writing it.

A few days ago while the boys and I were downstairs, we did what we normally do when we want to blow off some extra energy. And when I say "we" needed to blow off extra energy, I am, of course, referring to the boys and their copious amounts of it. I have no extra energy to blow off while they seem to be fully capable of running nonstop for days or weeks at a time, stopping only to refuel, go to the bathroom, or laugh uproariously after one of them farts or burps.

We decided to play soccer, the go-to sport of the winter, and as we normally do I put on a soccer highlight show to give some inspiration. In the past I did this solely for myself because playing with the boys often resulted in lots of downtime when Ryan would get distracted by something or Ethan would steal the ball and run into the bathroom with it. The show gave me a chance to catch up on all the English Premier League games I missed over the weekend. Now, however, the highlights give Ryan something to try to emulate. Apparently the tricks his old man can pull off pale in comparison to Aaron Lennon whizzing down the wing or Wayne Rooney pulling off an amazing turn. He now watches for a while until he sees something he likes and then attempts it himself, often with consequences that often fall just short of life threatening for either himself or the dog.

As an example, last week we were watching the highlights of the Spurs v Wigan game when Tom Huddlestone, one of the best strikers of the ball in the English game, cranked a shot from about 30 yards away and forced a save from the keeper. Ryan immediately tried to see if he could to that. He placed the ball on the ground about 20 feet from the wall, backed up, and ran at it. He struck it with venom and, had he also struck it with accuracy, it would have smacked into the wall about 3 feet from the ground right in the middle of our makeshift goal. However, accuracy is not a strong point yet for the little dude and instead he hit Hope, our dog, right in the face. It was all rather impressive, really, especially considering that Hope was under a table at the time.

Undaunted, he tried again and this time was more successful. He hit the wall in pretty much the dead center of the goal area with quite a bit of power. Apparently he had paid attention to another part of the highlights show that evening in which a player scored and, in celebration, pulled his shirt up over his head to reveal a message written on his undershirt. As soon as the ball hit the wall he wheeled away, grabbed his shirt, pulled it off, threw it into the make-believe crowd and ran around with his arms up shouting "GOAL!" Ethan, the little sponge, absolutely LOVED this and attempted to pull his shirt off. He couldn't quite get it, so he ran over to me, said, "Daddy! Shirt off, shirt off!" and again tried lifting his shirt over his head. Of course I couldn't let Ryan celebrate without his teammate, so I helped Ethan remove his shirt so the two of them ran around shirtless for a few minutes before dressing and starting over again.

Approximately 2 minutes later, Ryan passed Ethan the ball and he kicked it into another wall to score a goal. Ethan immediately ran over to me for a repeat of the "Daddy! Shirt off, shirt off!" episode while Ryan pulled his own off, again throwing it into the make believe crowd. It is difficult to put into words how proud I was as a father at that moment in time.

This process continued for a while longer with the boys taking turns scoring goals, pulling their shirts off (or, in Ethan's case, getting his dad to remove his shirt), running around, and then getting dressed again. Ethan eventually lost interest in having me remove his shirt after each goal and found some Legos to play with while Ryan and I continued in our quest to save the world while playing Lego Star Wars on the Wii.

A week later we were invited to what can only be described as a warehouse party. It was held at a warehouse and was organized by members of a friends church as a way to give all of our young kids a chance to ride their bikes and scooters, play in a bouncy castle, and shoot some hoops all in the middle of February. It was a great idea and a rousing success. The boys loved getting a chance to run around and play with their friends and Jen and I had a good time chatting with the other moms and dads.

Jen and I were eating some of the great food that people had brought when I looked up to see Ethan playing soccer near the basketball hoops. He would kick the ball, struggle with his shirt for a second, and then go get the ball and start it over. I glanced down to continue eating, and when I looked up there he was, standing near the basketball hoop, smiling, with his pants around his ankles and his arms raised in the air. I couldn't hear what he was saying but he was clearly saying something. I ran over to him to help him pull his pants up when I heard that he was cheering "GOAL!" Apparently he couldn't get his shirt off so he went for the next best thing and dropped his pants to celebrate.

Apparently in the future I'll have to ensure that all of his shirts are easily removed to avoid this problem.

Spreading Christmas Cheer

I hate Christmas music, and I really mean that. I am not a scrooge who hates the entire holiday season, but as soon as I hear the opening notes of basically any Christmas tune, I immediately reach for the dial to change the station. This is due to what psychologists would call "Classical Conditioning" and is entirely down to a series of jobs I had while I was in high school and college.

A long time ago in a place very similar to this one, I worked in a store called The Gift Source. It was everything that it's name would have you believe in that it was a source for gifts. This is, of course, assuming that your idea of a "gift" was a wooden duck with a chip in its beak, one of those Troll dolls with ample amounts of pink fuzzy hair, or a musical water globe in which, due to poor manufacturing, the objects inside floated around along with the snow when you shook it up. If this is not your idea of a gift, then you would have been out of luck and the only thing this place would have been the source of is frustration.

I worked there for several years and, in fact, started dating my lovely wife while she and I were busy stocking the shelves with holiday cheer and/or tasteless crap, depending on your particular viewpoint. The store was located in a busy part of the mall and was known for its holiday cheer. There was a giant display window in front and like little elves, every year workers from the corporate office would come and decorate this window with the most amazing displays of christmas cheer you had ever laid eyes on. There would be a giant stuffed Santa Claus sitting on top of a sleigh filled with snow and presents and helpful elves and candy canes and more presents and gumdrops and kittens and whatever else your little heart could desire. Additionally, throughout the store, there would be what we always called "foof" - fluffy, lacy, colorful displays set up to remind you that Christmas was just around the corner! If you have ever been in a Hallmark store that is decorated for Christmas you only have a small inkling of what I am talking about. This place screamed (sometimes literally, depending on what displays we had) "IT IS GODDAMN CHRISTMAS AND DON'T YOU FORGET IT!"

And then there was the ubiquitous Christmas music. Sometimes it would be classic songs sung by old crooners like Bing Crosby, and sometimes it would be some bastardized version of Jingle Bells sung by Debbie Gibson. And then there was the Kenny G - sweet Jesus the Kenny G. Nothing can kill a mood faster than having to listen to that smooth-jazz playing, rhythmic breathing, curly haired wanker blow into his saxophone for a few hours. Top all this off with the fact that approximately every 12 to 18 seconds, someone would come in and ask if we had any Precious Moments figurines.

Now, you might be just like the customers and think that with the Gift Source being owned by Enesco, the company that manufactures these big eyed pastel figurines, that we would have a few stashed away somewhere. You, like the customers, would be wrong, only they didn't handle this news nearly as well as you are handling it now. Often there would be angry accusations that we were keeping them for ourselves or that we were idiots for not carrying these stupid porcelain figurines. Each day was a battle and each day we lost because, as they say, the customer is always right. Unless, of course, they irritated me by asking one too many times for me to go in the back and see if we had what they were looking for, whereupon I would go in the back, sit down for a few minutes, and despite an entire case of their desired object sitting in the middle of the stock room floor, I'd return to tell them that there were none of what they were looking for and that I was terribly sorry.

So I hate Christmas Music.

This makes musical choices difficult when it comes time to decorate the tree and put up all of our Christmas knick-knacks. This year we decided to let the kids decide, and Ryan first suggested that we listen to the Charlie Brown Christmas CD which, despite the fact that it is technically Christmas music, doesn't suck as much as the rest. The disc finished up after about an hour and we still had plenty of decorating to go, so Jen posed the question to the boys about what we should listen to next.

Now, the day before I had gone on a little iTunes tear, downloading several old 80's hair metal songs which I planned to use while working out. While we were in the car I played some of these songs for the boys who, being my sons, immediately thought that they were the greatest things ever to come out of a speaker. We must have listeded to "Final Countdown" by Europe about 76 times on the 15 minute car ride back from wherever we were. This was by far the biggest it of the bunch, but "You Give Love a Bad Name" by Bon Jovi and "Rock You Like A Hurricane " by the Scorpions were well recieved as well. After Laurie Berkner and the Wiggles, it is good to see that they have not completely lost the ability to appreciate good music.

Anyway, when the question was posed to the boys, Ryan quickly answerd, "Hair Metal!"

Ethan responded, through his ever present pacifier, "Yeah! Air Ettal!"

I couldn't dissapoint my boys, so we tossed the iPod onto the stereo and the dulcet tones of the Scorpions began rocking us while we put lights on the tree. Eventually all thoughts of Christmas music evaporated (at least from those of us with only one X Chromosome) and the day took on a whole new tone. Ethan jumped around singing "...(mumble, mumble) Final Countdown!" along with Europe, and Ryan danced around and asked, "Dad, is love really a bad name?" All thoughts of Maria, Bing, and Kenny G were eradicated and we just sang along and had a grand old time.

We must have burned through that playlist 3 or 4 times before we finished trimming the tree, and it is now one of my favorite Christmas memories. I think my next job is to explain to the boys that "Dr. Feelgood," and "I Can't Drive 55" are not holiday classics, but like finding out about Santa Claus, this can wait a few years.

A Day in the Life

7:00 am. Ethan, Ryan and Jen are still asleep. Ethan is a world champion sleeper most of the time, unlike his brother. When Ryan was 2 he normally started the day sometime between 5:45 and 6:15am and when he woke up he would pound on his crib and yell until someone came in to get him. Ethan is the exact opposite. Even if he wakes up early, he will sit in his crib and talk to himself until he exhausts all possible conversation topics.

8:00 am. I think everyone is still asleep. Ethan might be talking quietly to himself. Either way, he's not requiring any services and so Jen and Ryan are free to sleep. I am currently at an eye exam but I would rather still be in bed. This represents the last time I schedule anything before noon on a Saturday.

9:00am. I am now home and Ethan is now awake. He runs to the door to greet me and grabs my legs so that I either have to pick him up or risk tripping. He's got quite a grip and the best bet is simply to lift the little dude in the air and carry him around for a bit. He knows what he is doing and he knows how to get what he wants.

9:30am. Ethan and Ryan are downstairs watching Elmo on the TV and sitting peacefully next to each other on the couch. They are sharing a blanket that is pulled up to their laps, and Ethan is enthralled with the little red monster on the screen. This has got to be one of the best brother moments I have witnessed. Two seconds later, Hope, our 35 pound (and growing!) dog runs downstairs and leaps onto the couch, scattering little Doyles and inflicting at least one tongue swipe on Ethan, the slower of the two boys. He wipes it off and pushes her away. "NO, Hope!" he says. "Bad Grill!" He still calls her a "grill" rather than a "girl". I don't think I am ever going to correct him on that because it is just so darn cute.

9:45am. Perfect brother moment ruined, Ethan makes his way up to the living room where he sits on the rocking chair and watches me pick up all of the paper that Hope has shredded while the boys were downstairs. He then, inexplicably, shouts "Daddy! Watch this!", stands up and attempts to leap off said rocking chair. Unfortunately for him the concept of action/reaction has not crossed his young mind and when the rocking chair moves back as he pushes off from it he ends up diving face first into the coffee table. I see this from the other side of the room and the only thing I can do is rush over to console my now crying son. Jen and I attempted to put ice on it, but trying to put ice on a 2 year old's face is kinda like trying to give a cat a bath - there is a lot of squirming, scratching, and anger and in the end the only thing that was accomplished is that you are now slightly more tired than you were when the ordeal started and the cat/kid is now more upset. His face is puffed up and he now has the first of what will be, given his propensity for climbing and then leaping off of tall things in the house, many black eyes.

10:30am. Dance party. Thanks to the Black Eyed Peas, Beyonce, and a little Bob Schneider, the coffee table incident is forgotten and we commence with the getting down. "You don't know me but my name's Eileen!" screams Ryan as the first line of "The Californian" by Schneider comes out of the speakers. Ethan jumps around like he has no cares and is simply enjoying the moment and I soon join him. Soon I am tossing the boys into the air and swinging them around while the stereo plays at a level almost certain to produce hearing loss. Eventually I run out of gas and fall to the floor, which Ethan takes as his cue to jump on my testicles. Immediately after Ethan rolls off me laughing his little head off, Ryan leaps onto my stomach in what appears to be a coordinated attack. I roll onto my stomach and tell the boys to go find mommy because daddy needs to lie on the floor for a while.

10:45am. The boys are "helping" me to fix the switch in a ceiling fan. This "help" consists of Ryan taking my tools away as soon as I set them down and handing them to Ethan while Ethan repeatedly hits my knee with whatever tool Ryan has just given him.

11:30am. Lunch. Nothing terribly exciting. Sandwiches, applesauce, water, and the occasional demand for cookies, cake, ice cream, or all of the above at the same time. Request denied.

1:30pm. Ethan's nap time and Ryan's story time. As mentioned before, Ethan sleeps like a champ. Apparently so do mom and dad because after Ryan's stories, Jen and I both laid down to rest while Ryan colored on our bed. Thankfully he had coloring books. Had there been no coloring books, I am fairly certain that he still would have colored on our bed. I think that he thinks our white comforter is like a giant blank canvass.

1:40 to 3:30pm. Ryan is done with his books and had now switched from artist to politician. Almost immediately he began lobbying and pushing for his "Halloween Decoration" agenda. Jen and I were behind this proposition, but we felt that there was room for negotiation, mostly as it pertained to the time frame. He felt that immediate action needed to be taken on the item while we were more in the mood for a slow deliberation on the matter. He began more aggressive negotiation tactics which consisted of expounding on the merits of pumpkin carving while pulling my eyes open, while Jen and I preferred the silent filibuster route to put off voting until a future time to be decided later. Finally after much negotiation, with Ryan conceding ground on the "pick-up-your-room" amendment as well as the "put-away-your-toys-in-the-living-room-first" provision, a consensus was reached and we all got moving. By now, Ethan had exhausted his list of solo conversation topics and was now yelling for us, so it was time to get up anyway.

4:00pm. Before pumpkins could begin to be carved, Ryan and Ethan jumped onto a large Thomas The Tank Engine riding toy, taking turns being the rider and the pusher. After a few rounds of pushing each other, Ryan accidentally (for real - I saw it) pushed Ethan too hard and Ethan fell off the train and banged his head on the kitchen floor. After a little comforting he was back to normal and ready to carve the pumpkins. For Ethan, carving pumpkins consisted of sitting on either my lap or Jen's lap while the other wielded the carving knife. He didn't really get into the whole pumpkin carving thing, and his sole contribution to the process was to make a face and say "Yuck," while pointing at the insides of the pumpkin.

5:30pm. Ryan is hungry and Ethan is getting cranky. Ryan deals with his hunger by asking for something to eat and then playing with his maze books until dinner is ready. Ethan deals with his crankiness by moving furniture around. Chairs, tables, drawers - whatever he can push or pull, he moves it. His favorite thing to do is move his wooden high chair to the sink and play in the water, so he attempted to do just that. However, since there were pumpkin guts and knives in the sink I quickly moved his chair back to the table before he could climb it and hurt himself. Unfortunately, he then climbed into his chair at the table and then tried to push both himself and the chair away from the table. This was successful up to a point, but the point where it became unsuccessful is also the point at which he fell face first into the edge of the table. The rest of the injuries suffered today were all bloodless, but this one more than made up for those others. He had blood on his hands, his face, my shirt, and the floor. Looking back on it, the amount of blood was rather impressive considering that it all came from two little cuts on the inside of his lower lip, but I guess if you are an already cranky two year old a little blood is going to go a long way. We got him calmed down and gave him a little pain killer, and by now dinner was ready so he sat and ate fairly contentedly.

7:00pm. Bedtime for Ethan and Story Time for Ryan. Ethan drifted off to sleep uneventfully just like almost every other night and Ryan moaned a bit about having to get ready for bed just like almost every other night.

8:00pm. Ryan has brushed his teeth and is in bed "sleeping". Normally he grabs a book and looks at the pictures or listens to music on his little radio for a while before falling asleep.

8:30pm. The first of several nightly visits to either mom or dad explaining that he has a "small problem". This small problem can be anything from needing more water to needing the clock set to the correct time ("Because my clock says that it is 100 o'clock and I think that it is wrong.") to needing his pillow fluffed.

9:00pm. Now he needs "A healthy snack" because "I haven't had enough fruit/cheese/yogurt/etc. today." This is a nightly thing.

It is now 9:27pm and I still hear him occasionally upstairs. I expect at least one more "small problem" before the night is done.

It may take an hour or two after we officially put him to bed for him to fall asleep, but he is adorable when he sleeps so it is well worth the wait.

Good or Bad?

I love Star Wars. I am not able to quote lines from the movies, I can't give you the names of all the minor characters, nor am I able to tell you what planet Wookies come from, but I do enjoy a good lightsaber duel from time to time. I distinctly remember cheering along with the rest of the audience on the opening day of Episode 1 when, at the climactic fight scene, Darth Maul pulled out his saber, pressed a button it on, and blades extended out from both ends. I am fairly sure that several of the people around me had actual nerdgasms. Darth Maul then proceeded then to kick the crap out of the good guys for a while, even (spoiler alert from 10 years ago!) killing the one who's name I can't spell before getting cut in half by a quick-thinking Obi-Wan. Due to its sheer awesomeness, this particular fight scene is burned into my memory with such clarity that I don't even really need to watch it ever again. But of course I will watch it again. That is one of the great things about having a son who is now old enough to get into Star Wars.

After much debate, I decided that the best way to introduce Star Wars to my son was the same way that it had been introduced to all of us, namely with the older 3 movies followed by the newer three movies. This was not a simple decision to make, nor is it easy to explain to a 5 year old why we are watching movies 4, 5, and 6 before we watch 1, 2, and 3. But, as it turned out, like about 98.3% of the population, Ryan could not have cared less about which order we watched them in as long as he got to see himself some Star Wars lightsaber action.

We started watching Episode 4 - A New Hope (commonly known simply as "Star Wars") one Friday night for Ryan's movie night. It opens up with a dramatic scene in which Darth Vader and his Storm Troopers board a ship containing Princess Leia, C3PO, R2D2, and a whole lot of cannon fodder. There is a battle royale in which, eventually, Leia is captured and the two droids are shot into space in an escape pod. Lots of fighting and lots of action, but all Ryan wanted to know was who was good and who was bad.

"Is that a good guy or a bad guy?" he'd asked when Leia was talking to R2D2.

"First of all, she isn't a 'guy', she's a girl," I informed him quickly. Like most males my age, I had a huge crush on Leia and I was not going to allow Ryan to refer to her as a "Guy". "Second, she is good. She is Princess Leia."

"Oh," he said, nonplussed. "Why is she talking to that trash can?"

"That 'trash-can' is R2D2 and he is a droid." Anticipating the next question, I continued, "And a droid is a type of robot that helps people."

"Is he good or bad?"

"He is good."

"How do you know it is a he?"

I had no idea. "I have no idea," I told him. "Maybe because he is blue?"

"Does he have a penis?"

"What? No! He doesn't have a penis. At least I don't think so.... Never mind!"

I'm not sure if he was messing with me or not, but thankfully he changed topics and asked "What about the big gold one? Is he good or bad?"

"Good. That is C3PO."

"What does 'C3PO' mean?"

"I have no idea. You are taking some of the fun out of this."

"Ok. Who is the big guy in the black?"

"Darth Vader," I responded, back on firmer footing.

Continuing with his theme for the night, Ryan asked, "Is he good or bad?"

"He is bad. Really bad. The worst guy in the universe."

"Worse than Glenn Beck?"

That's my boy! Apparently he has heard me rant a few times about that dude, and apparently I have to be more careful about what I say and when I say it. He's like a little malfunctioning tape recorder that records everything but plays back only the stuff he shouldn't have heard.

I laughed. "Yep. Even worse than Glenn Beck."

"Wow."

"I know."

The pattern then continued for each and every person, droid, ship, machine and star in the entire movie. "Is that (blank) good or bad?" After hearing this question about 100 times it actually got tough to answer. Not because I got tired of it, but because for some things I felt like a simple "good" or "bad" was not a proper answer. He just wanted a black and white, good or bad, with-us or against-us type of answer and I was spending far too much time thinking about these things. Is a ship good or is it bad? Does it depend on who is in the ship? Are droids good or bad? Doesn't it depend on who programmed them? And if they are just responding to their programming can they be considered to be either one? What about Han Solo? He is a smuggler and owes a bunch of money to a known gangster, which is bad, but he helps Luke and Leia, so that is good. Luke? He is kind of whiny, petulant, and hard headed (not great characteristics) but he is the hero of the story and saves the day (good. Probably. But he did kill all those people on the Death Star to do it, so...).

Also, on a different note, is anyone else aware that in that first battle that I already described as the two droids launch themselves toward the planet in the escape pod, the Empire gunman actively chose NOT to shoot the escape pod containing the only hope of the rebellion? Had he simply pulled the trigger, this entire series would have been approximately 7 minutes long, including opening and closing credits.

Aparently I have to turn my brain off when watching Star Wars with him in the future.

Anyway, Ryan now has a better idea of what good and bad mean, and thanks to Anakin Skywalker/Darth Vader and the "Clone Wars" cartoon, he is getting the idea that it isn't always a clearly defined line. Given that there are many adults out there who struggle with this concept, it will probably be a while before he understands it completely. In the mean time, I'll simply enjoy the fact that we get to have some father-son bonding time and watch some totally fun lightsaber duels.

Me love you long time.

Parents have lots of jobs to do when it comes to rearing their children. You have to teach them to poop in the potty, not to poop in the plant, not smear oatmeal all over themselves and the dog, how to properly strike a soccer ball so that it bends just a bit around the outstretched arms of a diving goal keeper and into the upper corner of the goal, and how to talk. Sometimes little things that we do can affect how our little offspring begin the process of learning, but often these aren't visible to the rest of the world. Not so with the process of learning how to talk.

For example, when Ryan was young he wasn't very specific when it came to his desires. A whine could mean anything, and even if he was pointing in the general direction of whatever it was that he wanted, it was often a guessing game to determine what, exactly, he wanted.

"You want this?" we would ask holding up a cup. Ryan would shake his head.

"How about this?" as we held aloft one of his many Thomas the Tank Engine trains. Again with the head shake.

"This?" More shaking.

This could go on for many minutes until we finally picked up on the one thing in the car that he was looking for. As a result, he spent several months thinking that everything in the world was called "this". Sippy cup, train, stuffed animal, goldfish crackers, it didn't matter. His misunderstanding led to him simply pointing at anything and saying, "This," which wasn't much of an improvement on the point-and-whine system we were used to. It was still a guessing game ("This?"..."How about this?") but now he was using a word instead of a sound.

We have recently run into a similar issue with Ethan, but it doesn't seem to be so innocuous. He doesn't call everything "This" like his brother did, and in fact he is fairly good at knowing the names for things he wants. He might use his own particular version of the word but at least most things have their own sound. For example, "Peng" is his penguin, "juice" refers to any liquid that is not milk or water, and "weenie" is Tortellini, his favorite dinner.

He is also remarkably good at delineating when something belongs to him, and when it belongs to someone else. "Ethans juice" is clearly his juice, while "Ryan cookies" are Ryan's cookies but with the caveat that if Ethan wants them he should be entitled to them.

One issue that he is having, however, is telling the difference between "me" and "you". This is understandable given that whenever he wants something, like a book read to him, we ask him "Do you want me to read to you?" He now comes up to me and says "Read book to you," which means "Read the book to me". We are trying to get him to use the proper word, but he is still only 2 and there is plenty of time.

All of these little errors can lead, however, to a big misunderstanding. This afternoon, for example, I was preparing tortellini for his lunch, and he wanted to make sure that everyone knew that it was his tortellini. He also made sure to throw in the fact that he wanted his tortellini as soon as possible. All of these ideas are not remarkable, but today at lunch when they all came out of Ethan's mouth, it sounded like this:

"You want Ethan's weenie now?"

To me, this sentence simply means that he wants his lunch right away, but a poor babysitter is going to think that she is being propositioned by a two-year old.

We'll just have to make sure that tortellini is not on the menu when Jen and I go out before dinner.

The coolest crash up derby in the world.

Scintillating conversation is not normally something you expect from a 2 year old, but sometimes you can get some amazing things to come out of the mouths of these almost talkers. Ethan, for example, is great at having conversations. The problem is that the person he is having the conversation with is generally completely unaware of what the hell is going on. I had this experience the other night at dinner.

I was putting Ethan into his seat for dinner when he said, "Foamers."

"What?" I asked, looking around his seat for something he might have dropped. With a 2 year old, context clues are everything.

"Foamers," he said again, this time pointing in the general vicinity of the rest of the house. Precision is not something he is known for.

Seeing nothing around on the floor or on the table that could be described as a 'foamer', I turned to my wife. "Jen? What is a 'foamer'?"

"No clue," she said. "He's been saying that all day."

I asked the same question of my oldest son, and he replied, "I think he means 'Transformer'. He loves his new shoes."

"Foamer shoes," said Ethan smiling, pointing at the rest of the house again. He has some new shoes that have Bumblebee, one of the Transformers, on the sides and back, and Ryan is right in stating that Ethan loves them.

"Do you want to wear your new shoes?" I asked.

Smiling and nodding vigorously, he replied, "Foamer shoes. Outside."

Another mystery solved. "Ok. After dinner we'll go outside and you can wear your new shoes. Does that sound good?"

Another vigorous nod and smile, followed by a single word, "Fants."

Feeling on firmer ground with this cryptic clue, I told him, "No, there are no elephants outside at our house. You don't have to worry."

"Scared. Elfants," he said. Then, pointing at the rest of the house agian,"Foamer shoes."

"Elephants are not going to eat your new shoes."

"Scared. Roars."

"There are no dinosaurs either."

"Elfants. Roars. Foamer Shoes. Crash derby."

The first three seemed to make sense, but I was at a loss to explain the "crash derby" reference. I know he had been to the crash-up derby at the fair with Nonnie and Papa a few weeks ago and really enjoyed it, but I am fairly certain that there were no elephants or dinosaurs involved. I wasn't there of course, so I could be wrong, but it seemed unlikely that a county fair would have the money or the desire to either bring in an elephant or genetically engineer a dinosaur. Again, I turned to my fellow codebreakers.

"Little help here," I said to both Jen and Ryan.

Ryan chimed in first. "Dad, I think he is worried that the elephants and dinosaurs are going to have a crash up derby to see who gets to have his new transformer shoes."

"That is quite a story, but I don't think that there is any way that he is thinking that."

"Ask him," Ryan said, smiling. Looking back on it, it seems that he said it smugly.

"Ok. Ethan? Are you worried that dinosaurs and elephants are going to engage in a crash up derby to see who gets your transformer shoes?"

Ethan smiled and nodded vigorously.

"Ethan?" I said. "Do you know what a crash up derby is?"

In response, he grabbed his two cars that were sitting on the table and smashed them together. "Crash derby!" he said.

"And do you know what a dinosaur is?"

"Sookis," he said, pointing outside. This is another cryptic clue that I know. "Sookis" is his word for Sarcosuccus, a 40-foot long Cretaceous crocodile. He is afraid of these, along with T. rex, Velociraptor, and cows.

"And you are worried that Sarcosuccus and an elephant are going to have a crash up derby in our backyard so that they can have your Transformers shoes. Is this right?"

Smile and vigorous nodding.

"And you still want to go outside?"

"Well, Dad, wouldn't you?" said Ryan. "That would be awesome."

Indeed it would. Then it hit me. "Ryan?"

"Yeah," he said, smiling.

"You wouldn't have told your brother that an elephant and a giant 40-foot crocodile were outside waiting for him, would you?"

Still smiling, Ryan responded, "I don't know."

As it turns out, Ryan is not as difficult to read as Ethan, and his "I don't know" is as good as a "Yes" to me.

"And you also told him that they wanted his new shoes, right?"

"I don't know." Smile.

"Please don't scare him with stories like that in the future, ok?"

"Ok." Smile.

Clearly this isn't the last time Ethan will be messed with in this manner, but at least this time Ryan basically admitted to it. The next time won't be so easy.

So after dinner we put on Ethan's Transformers shoes, convinced him that Sarcosuccus was still extinct and wasn't going to be in our backyard, that elephants still only lived on other continents, and that there were no cows that we knew of out grazing in the dog run, and stepped outside to enjoy the evening.

Fun at the Park

Ah, the park. One of natures greatest inventions, so full of bark, slides, swings, and strange screeching children. The Doyle Boys love going to the park, sometimes so much that they are willing to injure each other to get to one.

Allow me to explain.

The other night, Ryan and Ethan were playing outside when the metaphorical dinner bell rang and they had to come in and wash their hands. Ryan was unhappy that his playtime was cut short and asked if we might be able to go to a park after dinner. Jen and I both thought that his was a good idea, but we wanted to hold it out as a reward to increase the possibility that there would be no incidents during dinner. So we promised the little ones that if dinner went well we would go to a park. This went over fairly well, as did dinner. After dinner, however, things turned for the worse when Ryan and Ethan, in their excitement to go to the park, started running around the house jumping into each other and, in general, having a fairly good time. We tried to put an end to this, but short of physical restraint nothing was working. Eventually their boisterous play ended badly when both ended up injured after one body slam too many and we had to put off the park until the next day. This resulted in many tears due partly to the impact injuries but mostly due to the loss of the park for the evening.

The next morning, though, I surprised the boys by telling them that we would go to one of the big parks in the area. This particular park is basically 2 medium sized parks merged into one giant mecca of playtime fun. It also has a decent sized pond with walking trails, ducks, birds, and other fun nature things. There were, it must be said, no elephants or giant prehistoric crocodiles despite Ethan's testimony when we got back home.

After a relatively uneventful half hour of playing on the slides and jumping around in the sandbox, I asked if they wanted to cruise down the trail and around the pond. Both boys shouted their approval and off we went, Ryan at a run, me at a walk, and Ethan at a run/walk/complete stop/walk the wrong way back to the swings/run away from me when I tried to catch him/walk again. This particular trail starts up on a fairly steep hill and follows a switchback route to get to the bottom. From the top of this trail the entire pond is visible, as are the various bridges, paths, and open spaces surrounding it. It is rather beautiful, but Ethan didn't waste any time protesting.

"Scared," he said, pointing to the open land to the east of the pond. "Elfants."

Confused, I asked him to clarify. "Are you scared of Elephants?"

He nodded and pointed again. "Scared. Elfants."

Ryan joined the conversation and tried to be helpful. "But Ethan, there are no elephants out there. Do you see any Elephants?"

"Scared." Point. "Elfants." Point Hard.

"No," Ryan said again. "No elephants!"

"ELFANTS!" yelled Ethan.

I could see that this was going to go nowhere, so I just said, "Why doesn't Daddy pick you up, and we'll go show you that there are no elephants here, ok?"

Ethan paused for a second while he appeared to think it over, nodded, and put his arms up in the universal childhood symbol of "pick me up". I grabbed him, and set off again down the path. I kept reassuring him that there were no elephants down there, that elephants did not live in this area, and even if for some reason one or two relocated from their African or Asian homeland (I'm not sure which type of elephant he imagines is down there) they would be very visible due to the fact that they are the largest land animals around.

When we got to the bottom of the path, Ryan led the way ("Just like Nigel Marvin, I'm in search of giant dinosaurs...") and Ethan squirmed to be put down. I obliged and we followed our tour guide.

"I've been here many times, Dad, so you just follow me and we'll be ok."

"OK," I said, "but just be careful not to get too close to the water, and watch out for ducks and geese."

"Why?" Ryan asked. "They're not that big. And they are kinda slow."

"Sure, ducks are small won't normally do anything, but geese can be big and will bite if they feel that they are in danger."

Ryan turns around, looks me right in the eye and calmly says, "I'll fight a goose."

Trying hard, and mostly failing, to suppress a laugh, I said, "Really?"

"Really."

"Fight Goose!" said Ethan, flailing about with his legs and hands in his best Power Ranger impression. "Quack!"

The time had come to lay down the law. "Ok - No one is going to fight any animals while we are here, understand?"

"Why not?" asked Ryan.

"Fight Animals!" said Ethan.

"Because," I said pushing on, "this is where they live. You wouldn't want an animal to come into your house and try and fight you, would you?"

Ryan thought for a second. "No, but if a goose ever comes to my house, I can fight it then, right?"

"Right. You can fight a goose if it comes into the house."

I bet you don't have to have this conversation with little girls.

The rest of the walk went well and we eventually made it back home. And Ryan was a little disappointed to see that in our absence no geese had invaded our house.