BOGS

the breaks are springing

Somehow, Kevin and I once again planned separate trips with the boys for spring break this year.  Kevin's plans for a final Vermont ski trip were sadly ruined by global warming.  So literally a week before spring break started, he somehow managed to put together a whirlwind Florida tour that included a Miami Heat game, two Mets spring training games, an Orlando Magic game, and, of course, a day at Disney World.  Seriously impressive.   

They kicked off the trip with a stop at Jungle Gardens in Miami:

That night after after walking through the set-up for a rave festival (?) to stop at a Bubba Gump Shrimp Factory(?), the boys hit a Heat game.  Of course, Miami fans wouldn't dream of actually showing up on time for a game.  The place was deserted.

Owen randomly decided to root for the Suns and ended up sobbing dramatically when they lost.  On the other end of the overly-emotionally-invested spectrum, Brendan pretty much slept through the entire second half.  

Next up on the itinerary, Mets spring training.  The first day they waded into enemy territory to see the Mets and the Cardinals square off in Jupiter, Florida.  The next day, they headed to Port St. Lucie, the infamously dull spring home of the Mets. Our well-connected friend hooked them up with a special tour:

Where they met starting catcher Josh Thole, got tons of autographs, and somewhat randomly met Saul Katz, one of the owners.

As you can see, B was overcome by emotion.  He's really unhappy about the whole Madoff thing.

Kevin cleverly built in lots of pool time as well. At the Disney "Wilderness Hotel" Brendan initially refused to ride the 60 foot long waterslide with a 15 foot vertical drop.  After some intensive negotiations, Brendan agreed to give it a try, immediately declared it the "best pool ever!" and spent the next three hours running up and riding down.

Before dipping their toes into the magical waters of intensive Diseny branding, they boys closed out their sports tour with an Orlando Magic game. This time Brendan stayed awake the entire game and Owen managed to avoid tears entirely (although he had decided to root for the Magic who blew out the hapless Cavs by 13). 

So the next day, even though they didn't make it back to the hotel until after 10:30pm(!) the night before, the boys got their first taste of Disney World.

Buzz Lightyear and Splash Mountain were serious contenders for the favorite ride award.

I'm not totally confident either boy knew who Mickey or Minnie were before this trip.

Taking the boat back to the Wilderness Lodge after a long day in the happiest place on earth.

the play's the thing

The entire kindergarten put on a play this year.  Three classes.  FORTY-EIGHT KIDS.  One play.  Let your mind boggle on that for a minute.  The plot (about which I remain hazy, even after several script read-throughs with the boys) involved that Norse trickster Loki stealing the golden apples, causing the gods to grow old, until the Greek and Norse gods work together to get them back and thus regain immortality.  Owen was cast as Zeus and B was cast in the dual roles of one head of the Hesperian dragon (as I'm sure you're well aware, the guardian of the golden apples, callously slain by Herakles on one of his quests) and Cyclops.   

The week before the world premiere, the drama teacher cheerily emailed all the parents telling us to provide costumes and "be creative."  Words to send chills down a lawyer's spine if ever there were any.  After my efforts to sell them on a bedsheet toga (O) and a brown tshirt and shorts (B) totally failed, I ended up with an awesome muscle-bound Tarzan costume for Cyclops and a Roman warrior costume for Zeus.  We accessorized Zeus with some sweet lightning bolts and a (tasteful) gold crown, and a massive Cyclopsian eye stuck to a Knicks headband for B.  I will gloss over the drama of Owen's costume getting lost in the mail, my multiple discussions with postal office and the emergency ordering of two replacement warrior costumes that arrived literally at the eleventh hour.  And in what I can only imagine was a bad case of secondary stage fright, I spent the entire night before their debut puking, consoling a stuffed-up Hank, and then racing back to puke some more (and deeply regretting earlier me's sage advice to Kevin to leave for his business trip Thursday night instead of early Friday morning).   

Putting all that aside, the play was adorable.  Owen's Zeus led the cast in a rousing version of "We won't get old" and threw lightning bolts with gusto.  B's dragon performed a very emotional death scene and his Cyclops fenced masterfully with the robots in Hephaestus' forge.  And I was happy to see my acting notes (keep your hands off your penis, out of your nose, and out of your mouth) once again taken to heart.  All in all, a total triumph. 

going pro

Anyone who knows Owen knows that he's planning on a career in the NBA.  Lately, Kevin and Owen have been talking a lot about what it takes to make it. 

Conversation the First:

K: They have to practice a lot.  They probably take 1000 shots a day.

O: Ohhhh, I only take about ten. ... Maybe I do take more.  Maybe I could take more.  I just don't have enough time. 

At which point Brendan pipes up:  Yeahhh, school's the real problem for you. 

Conversation the Second:

K: You might want to think about how long you go to college for even if you don't make the NBA.

O: Yeah, you can only go early if you're really good.

K: Wellll, not everyone who plays in college goes to the NBA, so you want to have something else.

O, clearly perplexed:  Like what?

K: Like a degree.

O: What's a degree?

K: A degree shows you finished all your classes and graduated from college.  You need that in case you want to become a doctor or a lawyer or a scientist.

O: Hmm, I don't think I want to be a doctor. ... I think I'll go for three years. 

And Third:

K: Jeremy Lin is eight inches taller than his parents.  If he was eight inches taller than mommy and me, he would be 6'7".

O: I don't think I'm going to be 6'7".

K: No, probably not, you'll probably be about six feet.  All the guys in your family are about the same height.  Maybe Uncle Dave and Uncle Colin are a little bit taller (B, amazed: "Taller than you?!?") and maybe Pop Pop and Papa Doc are a little bit shorter (B, knowingly: "Yeah, you get shorter when you get older.")

O: Who do you think the tallest in our family is going to be?

K: Probably Henry.

O, assessing Henry, somewhat dejectedly: Yeahhhh, I think so too.  I think I'm a point guard.   

Owen's clearly feeling a little threatened by Hank, if his repeated questions about when he started playing basketball are any indication.  He seems to feel that starting at age three is putting him at a real disadvantage compared to Henry's age one, especially when combined with Henry's potential hugeness (if he continues to grow at his current trajectory).  But he makes himself feel better by saying things like, "Well, I practice every day.  Henry definitely doesn't do that."  You know your kid's hyper competitive when he's trying to beat a two year old.

In other, semi-heartbreaking, basketball news, Kev and B were shooting hoops outside this weekend.  B was making his shots and feeling pretty good about himself, so much so that he said, "I might even be better than Owen.  Maybe I'll be a pro basketball player too!"  Alas, when they went back to the park after dinner, this time with Owen, B immediately got discouraged and frustrated by Owen's perceived shooting superiority (and Owen's constant chatter about how many baskets he was making) and stomped off.  Life as a twin is distressingly rough sometimes. 

summer teeth

FINALLY!

The long-dangling tooth called it quits during class park time yesterday.  When he realized it was gone, the kids and their teachers organized a search party and finally found it.  His teacher kindly sealed up the tiny white pebble tooth in an envelope and sent it on home to meet its maker.  When we examined it together that night, we decided that it definitely wasn't big enough to be a tooth (seriously, TINY) but that it conceivably could be a tooth fragment.  Hey, teeth are crumbly, and the rough and tumble playground is no place for them.  So he wrote a letter to the Tooth Fairy explaining the situation and hoped she would cut us a break.  She came through.  In fact, between the fairy gold coin, the first tooth performance bonus, and the nana payoff, the kid made out like a bandit. So much so that Owen was desperately/dejectedly wiggling his teeth in hopes of finding a loose one.  Your turn will come, kid.

athletes

Life with the sports-obsessed.  Skating at Lasker Rink with their hockey-playing pal:

  

The stars of the Mountain Creek junior racing team:

Hank hitting the gym:

B demonstrating the Rangers captain's celebration after scoring the winning goal in OT:

O posing for more b-ball trading card pics:

Hank interfering (adorably) with said posing:

H hooping it up:

Hiding my jersey-less shame behind them:

Studying the sports pages, specifically, the NBA standings:

artistes

Artistry abounds around here.  What with life-size "our bodies, ourselves" portraits from science class:

Or super-sized paintings of our apartment building:

Not to brag, but yes, it's true, our building is blessed with both automatic doors and a package room:

It's even fancy enough to have its very own awning:

Never one to be outdone, Hank is deep into his blue period:

Self-portraits and the "clay bar" at the Soho Children's Museum of the Arts:

And some (very brief) art appreciation at the Met:

Our time at the Temple of Dendur mostly involved a lot of gleeful scampering:


The boys also gave film criticism a whirl, pronouncing Sound of Music "BO-RING!"

Although it did have its moments:

no justice

So my children's lives are officially way better than mine (as if there was ever any doubt).  Last week, Owen's friend invited him to the Knicks-Hornets game, where they sat THREE(!) rows from the court, surrounded by such luminaries as Paul McCartney, Jerry Rice, and Giants WR Mario Manningham (Owen only cared about that last one).  Naturally, given Owen's track record attending professional sporting events, it was one of the few games the Knicks have lost since the onset of Lin-sanity.  And the mother of one of Brendan's friends just called me to invite Brendan to the Rangers game on Saturday.  Front row seats!  Whereas I will be staying home catching up on Downton Abbey episodes.  I clearly need fancier friends. 

   

things that are awesome

Uncle Dave gave Hank these phenomenal white Air Jordans with black patent accents for his birthday.  And Dave's special ladyfriend got Henry his very own Amare Stoudemire Knicks jersey, and Aunt Erin showered him with awesome sporty/superheroes attire.  Do these people know their nephew or what?  Naturally Henry insisted on putting it all on immediately, and ran around the playroom like a crazy person playing basketball and football.  The next morning, the first words out of his mouth were "back on! shirt back on!" right before he hustled off to find his new sneakers.  

The jersey looks particularly good accessorized with penguin pjs:

Naturally, his big brothers donned their Knicks pjs and insisted on posing for basketball trading card pictures:

Go Knicks!  Please let the Lin-sanity continue!

craft nerds

A while ago, I came home from a typical weekend afternoon of carefree waltzing about town to find a cottage industry had sprung up in my absence.  B&O were industriously working away at their little table, and excitedly told me they were making Popsicle stick men - "It's so easy!  All you need are popsicle sticks, markers, and elmer's glue.  Seriously, that's it!!" 

They then decided their men needed a popsicle stick house to call home.  So they created the frame and we glued it together, and then colored it with markers.  Then we decided to add colored paper, and some green construction paper grass.  They were seriously ecstatic at this point, beside themselves with the complete and utter awesomeness of their project.  We added some 3D pipecleaner flowers out front and they each drew bikes and scooters and skateboards (and B drew a pair of Geox shoes, what a brand snob) in the front yard, and Owen constructed a ramp up to the house with a sign "Walk Go Slow."  They played with their popsicle stick men until bedtime, at which point they hastily constructed beds for them all so they could go to sleep too.  Maximum adorableness achieved. 

saturdays with hank

Have I mentioned how awesome my Saturdays alone with Henry typically are?  B&O, along with one of their best friends, are on a "pre-racing" ski team called the Super Stars or something equally empowering, so they head off with Kevin at dawn to Mountain Creek.  More often than not, I wake up at 8am(!!) to the sounds of Henry contentedly singing to himself in his crib.  We have a leisurely breakfast, read the Times together (he takes the sports pages, I get to start with real estate since Kevin isn't here to snatch it), then head out for an "adventure" before he goes down for a three plus hour afternoon nap.  Nothing against B&O, but it's pretty glorious.  Of course, the Saturdays when we both get up at 6am when the boys leave are a different story, with approximately 1000% more crabbiness from both of us. 

This weekend, we read about Jeremy Lin's continuing awesomeness (Henry was very impressed if his insightful "baskeyball!" commentary is any indication), built some train tracks and then went to a free "get up and dance" class.  Henry was a tad skeptical of the salsa and merengue moves, but very keen on waving the neon scarves, admiring himself in the full-length mirrors, hugging the teacher, and cleaning up.  That plus lunch out with his dance partner carried us straight through till nap time.      

A few weekends ago, though, I got a little more ambitious and decided to try a run in the park with a friend.  Nothing like pushing 50+ pounds of toddler plus stroller up and down hills to get your heart rate up.  He happily paged through Sports Illustrated as we set off, and commented enthusiastically on all the dogs! bikes! and occasional trucks! we came across.  Alas, about halfway into the run, his mood soured, presumably because his mittenless hands were freezing (in my defense, it was at least 50 degrees out, and it is next to impossible to read a magazine with mittens on, especially if you are incapable of putting your thumbs properly in the thumb holes).  After my efforts to wrap his hands up in his hat, my windbreaker, and his coat pockets failed, I spent the second half of the run half-walking, half-jogging while holding his hands in mine and pushing the stroller with my elbows.  Lesson learned.  Next on the day's agenda - the Natural History Museum to meet up with his pal Felicity.  Cue gleeful scampering, exclamations of "dino bones!  in the floor!  look!" and, most adorably, hand-holding.  Worn out from his action-packed morning, Hank completely passed out in my arms one block away from our lunch destination, and slept soundly through the cab ride, elevator, key finagling, coat/shoe removal, and crib depositing process.