Monday, March 8, 2010


So, Jack, Isaac, and I are in the park. Doing a practice-run Easter Egg Hunt. Between age 13 and parenthood, these peripheral holidays meant squat to me. Now I understand why stores put out holiday stuff so ridiculously early: because there are people like me, who want to buy plastic Easter eggs on February 15th. Easter seems particularly apt for wild little boys: the pagan overtones, the pull of the outside, a whiff of freedom. We're in a place in the park that the boys call the "Dut-duh-duh Dah" (imagine a sort of triumphant fanfare. The "big reveal" in a cheesy magic trick. You get the picture...). I'm not really even sure of the origin of this name, and the boys are too impatient with my dimness to fully explain, but as the name implies, it's a really nice spot in the park.

In absence of candy, I'm filling the Easter eggs with money. Mostly change, a couple of dollars. The boys are interested in money, but they never really buy anything with what I give them. They just sort of carry it around like a magic talisman. Which it kind of is.

The boys harvest their eggs, and Jack puts his spoils in his coat pocket, remarking, "I'm gonna give all this money to mom."

"Oh yeah, Jack? How come?"

Jack purses his lips and pulls his eyebrows together.

"Because she doesn't have very much."

Wednesday, March 3, 2010


So Isaac had us cut his hair (which was getting pretty long). He wanted Grandma to like it. Fair enough. It's all about the ladies, in any case.

Both boys have been informed as to the tenuous hold their hair has on their head, and the fact that if they ever want long dreadlocks, a mohawk, or anything other coif that requires active growth between 30 degrees and 150 degrees north latitude, they best get on that train. Current estimates run the clock out at about 19 years of age. Carpe diem, boys.

But Ike truly does sport the crewcut with grace and style. It suits him, especially with his jaunty "bang" that Rebecca left hanging (most likely by accident).

Jack has held on to his mop, but since he is The Worlds Filthiest Little Boy, it presents some unique challenges. Food for the most part is the culprit, also gum, and the odd un-identifiable. And this time of year, he is stuffy-nosed, so his speech is interspersed with little puffs (him blowing his hair out of his face) and snorts:

"Daddy? (puff) Todaaaaaaay, (snort)I want to do magic tricks (puff) with magnets (snort) and then (puff) go play with Vera (snort, puff)."

Isaac was sitting across the table from him the other day, listening with his brows knitted together. When Jack paused (to get his hair unstuck from his snotty nose), Isaac advised Jack that he should "Get a haircut!"

Very Easy Rider.

Jack brushed his 5 year old rocker hair from his eyes.

"Isaac, some people don't want to be like everyone else."