Boogie Boarding Boy

Apropos the post below, witness this video of the elder boy's instinct for waves.

The California Debate

I think I can speak for my sister when I say that when we were kids we perceived California as a threat. Our parents both grew up in Southern California, to which they understandably often wanted to return. But despite (or because of?) the efforts of our California relatives to convince us that CA = Paradise, my sister and I were adamant in our opposition. Whether or not our obstinacy had anything to do with it, we were spared California and allowed to love life in New England.

When I was in graduate school someone asked me where I wanted to get a job. Figuring that geographic choice would be irrelevant in the job market, I said that I would go where ever they would hire me. I sometimes paused and said, "But I would hesitate about California." Their tax cutting jihad of the 1970s, I reasoned, had fundamentally undermined a commitment to such public goods as education. (Consider the fact that California went from being one of the top spenders, per pupil, on education, to one of the bottom feeders.) I suppose that was what caused the Fates to land me here in Santa Cruz.

I bring this up because of a note I got this morning from my sister in snowy New England. She writes.

I'm pea-green with envy looking at the pictures of your kids exploring the beaches. What a great, easy, cheap activity that they will probably remember their whole lives. Please tell me I'm lucky that my kid can go sledding all winter long. The sun is trying to rise as I'm watching the snow fall gently outside. It's beautiful and I almost never tire of it. Each time it snows I get excited and can hardly take my eyes off it. It's so magical!

I was not fond of beaches when I was a kid. New England beaches are mostly places for sunburns, horsefly bites, deer ticks and sand lodged in every possible bodily crevice. I loved the coast. Who doesn't like watching crashing waves and the far beckoning horizon? But the displeasures of sand made me vastly prefer a good rocky coast.

One of our strategies in arguing against our California relatives was to take the contrarian stand. Our relatives would extol the perfection of California weather and we would respond that we liked the snow (just because it was contrarian doesn't mean it wasn't sincere). They would assure us that you could have snow in California, too. You just had to drive to the mountains! We insisted that it was much better to have the snow available right outside your door. As I read Linda's message this morning, I thought I was the one who should be pea-green with envy. She was sitting in the midst of snowy splendor while I was looking at the prospect of another January day in the low 70s. (I swear: there is not a touch of sarcasmor irony in that sentence.) What I wouldn't give to be in the snow!

But now, here I am raising kids in a beach town, a five hour drive away from my beloved snow. I am learning to appreciate beach life. As the picture for the last post shows, we have beautiful sunsets, great beaches for strolling and scrounging and year-round availability. I'm even learning to tolerate sand (the absence of the horseflies turns out to be really important). But I sometimes wonder what the impact will be on mutual understanding as my boys' operating systems (brains) develop with their basic settings tuned to beaches and warm weather rather than snow and ice.

That said, the boys were sorely disappointed when we broke the news that we weren't going back to New England for Christmas this year. They love their relatives, don't get me wrong, but it was the missed opportunity for snow that seems to have really broken their hearts. Too bad we never drive the mountains.

A Question of Responsibility

End of a Warmish Day at the Beach
Originally uploaded by Takecrew

Last week, as the weather got unseasonably warm, I dragged the boys outside late in the afternoon for some fresh air (and peace and quiet for Noriko). I suggested that we go up north long the coast to a big, non-swimming beach we've been to in the past. But on the way up the coast, Peter complained that the beach was too far. So I pulled off the highway at a dirt road well before our destination, knowing we'd find some kind of beach to explore.

It turned out to be a lovely place (you can see pictures at my flickr page) and we had a great time. After passing through a natural tunnel in the cliff face, we found ourselves on a very big sandy beach with a few rock outcroppings hosting some nice little tidal pools. Normally, I'd have packed snacks, water and a change of clothes, but I was just too fixated on simply getting out of the house to think about preparations and with the cold weather we'd been having, I figured I wouldn't have to worry about the boys getting wet. Actually, "figured" probably suggests a more conscious approach than I really had.

Of course, I should have known better, for not long after arriving, both boys began flirting with the water's edge. I warned them that the water was cold and that I didn't have a change of clothes for them. But I might as well have been lecturing the cliffs. Happily, it took a while, but, by the end, they both had wet pants (Sammy's even more so).

As we headed back to the path to our car, Sammy demanded that I change him into dry clothes, to which I replied, as all parents always have, "I warned you not to get wet because I don't have anything for you to change into."

Sammy pondered this for a few seconds then said, "But I got wet because I was out of control out there. You were supposed to stop me!"

"Oh! I get it," I muttered scornfully. "It's my fault you got wet!"

"Yeah!" said Sammy, warming up to this idea. "It's your fault!"

Unable to take the inanity anymore, Peter adopted the elder brother role and shouted down from the moral (and topographical) high ground, "It's your fault, Sammy. You have to take responsibility for your own actions. You also have to think about how others around you might feel!"

"Well learned" I marveled to myself. Now if he could only apply that to himself as well.

Sammy objected, with tears, so I intervened Solomonically.

First to the stem the tears: "In point of fact, Sammy's right that I'm legally responsible for his safety because he is incompetent. So, in a certain sense, it is my fault that his pants are wet." (Certainly, Noriko would look at me askance if I tried to pass the blame off entirely onto the 4 year-old.)

Next, to affirm the natural family hierarchy: 'But Peter's moral stance is superior" I admonished Sam.

Naturally, my balanced approach was as satisfying as cutting a baby in half. The two boys carried on the argument for another half hour, at least.

Lesson learned: always bring dry clothes.

The Rewards of Popcorn

A few days after Christmas, Sammy sauntered into the kitchen as Noriko and I were getting ready to haul the lot of us over to visit friends for an evening kid play date (while their kids' dad and I went to catch a Stanford basketball game).

"Peter put a popcorn in my ear!" he announced somewhat whimsically.

I quickly grabbed and tilted his head, peered into the indicated ear and spied a hard, slick kernel wedged into the entrance to the ear canal. It was in too tight to allow the gentle insertion of any safe prying object (not that there's anything safe to put in there, the ENTs all tell us). All we could do, no matter how gingerly we tried, was push it further in.

We immediately bustled the kids into the car, telling ourselves that we'd be able to laugh about it one day, but slightly bothered by the image of a popcorn kernel working its way into Sammy's brain. Figuring that it would be difficult to manage Peter and Sammy simultaneously at the doctor's office, we headed to the friends' house first, where Peter and I would wait the news.

About an hour later, Noriko and Sammy arrived back at the friends' house, Sammy bearing his usual grin. With that, the boys set in to play and the friend and I headed off to the basketball game in peace.

I got home late, after Noriko and the boys had returned home, so I only discovered the latter half of the story the next day. In the late afternoon, I stepped out to the car to retrieve something when I found a small, orange-lidded jar containing a thin, off-color liquid in the coffee cup holder. I brought it into the house and asked Noriko what it was. She broke down in hysterical giggles.

It seems that it took the doctor about an hour to dislodge the kernel. In the end, he used a syringe to inject water on the other side of the kernel to blow it out with water pressure. Sammy was apparently a very patient patient, complaining only of some slight tickling, so on the way out of the doctor's office, the doctor offered him a choice of sticker (oh for the days of my youth when doctors would offer good children a pack of smokes...). But Sammy spied something better: the urine collection jars, like the one he was so proud to have properly filled on his last check-up visit to the doctor.

"I want one of those!" he shouted.

"You know what those are for, don't you?" inquired the kindly doc.

"Yeah. You pee in them!" Sammy affirmed.

Noriko assented with a shrug of her shoulders and a "whatcha gonna do?" roll of her eyes and Sammy proudly marched off to the bathroom with his prize on a mission to fill 'er up. Which he did, quite properly.

Not being a fool, however, Sammy also made sure to score a sticker.

The Best Thing about Wii Is How Active the Kids Are When They Play

The Best Thing about Wii Is How Active the Kids Are When They Play
Originally uploaded by Takecrew

The seven year-old recently discovered video games at his friend's house (pictured here with remote in hand, head inside a butterfly net). His friend has both PS2 and Wii, but Peter was most enamored of the PS2 because it had a Lego Star Wars game. We discussed the various game options with friends who have both (a shocking number!) and were invariably told to get a Wii. "The kids are much more active when they play Wii," everyone said.

So Grandma Barbara went out and bought the boys a Wii console and a couple of games to play on it, including a Wii version of Lego Star Wars, for Christmas.

We have been having fun with it as a family, especially with the bowling. But Q shows us in this picture how near catatonia can still be an effective mode for engaging with Wii.

Now we are contemplating a Wii Fit to combat familial sloth. Any advice or thoughts out there?

Back to Blogging

I first took up blogging around 2005 when the takecrew family moved to Tokyo for a two-year stint. It was primarily a way to stay in touch with family back in the U.S., to let our families and friends see how our boys were growing up. It turned out to be a great way for us to keep notes on all kinds of things, especially about our boys.

I was using a pretty easy piece of software written by a Korean company and tightly bound up with my mac.com membership. But both have now expired (the company and my membership) and my comfort level with other platforms has increased (although I am not as digitally able as friends like goyaboy). I signed Noriko up for a blog on blogger for Christmas in 2006, but she let that lapse after a few months, so our on-line presence evaporated.

Lately, I've been feeling the urge to go back to some of the daily life note-taking we had back in Tokyo, so I've started up this blog to see if we can do it again. Hopefully this will turn out to be a good place for those who care about us to keep up with the shenanigans of our boys and our half-hearted attempts to live healthy and happy lives. At the very least, we can post some pictures with words.