Finnegan: Ringbearer

Erin Go Bragh

If you name a boy Finnegan, you really oughta take him to the St. Patrick's Day parade. So we grabbed Grandma and hauled her off downtown to see the parade on what had to be one of the nicest days this town has seen in at least 120 days.

My mother is not known for her photographic prowess, but I have to admit she documented the day pretty well and it was a good time had by all.


Finnegan's favorite moment was either the giant white dog we met or the civil war re-enacters firing their muzzle-loaders. He wanted to follow them for the rest of the parade.






Miss Indiana was especially kind to take a shot with the boy, even if he seems a little stern. But when you're mama's as pretty as his, it's hard to be too impressed with beauty queens.

Even grandpa got a little irish spirit at the end of the day.

Snow Shovelling

You just gotta hope this boy keeps his enthusiasm for the snow shovel with him into his teens.

On a snowy day alone in a house with the boy and Horton Hatches the Egg gets you this.

Wrote most of this in my head as I changed over laundry then posted it to facebook:

Spencer Valentine wonders if it's ever happened to you upon reading much Seuss to your child under two.

Have you noticed your speech patterns evolving to mimic storybook rhythms and rhymes idiomatic.

Over coffee. Through brunch. As I shovel the snow. I hear it and speak it without realizing its so.

In compact car or kitchen or in front of my screens, Ted Geisel’s influence practically screams.

Thanks to Horton, a Grinch, green eggs and ham, ham, ham, ham.

I think I could throttle that damn Sam I Am.

Is there a support group or a pill my doc could prescribe?

Google can’t show me one, so I think I’ll imbibe.

He’s just 16 months, years more Seuss to get through.

Mayzie, Lorax, hatted cat, a billion or so Whos.

I’d best settle in, the Doc’s got a lot more to teach us.

Finn, maybe someday a sibling, will likely soon ask me what the hell a Sneetch is.

Random Sights of Christmastime

First Haircuts Suck

I felt like the guy who plays violin outside the gas chamber. The poor guy trusts me. He likes me. I bring him to a colorful fun looking place. It has a little jungle gym even. I pick him up and sit him in a shiny toy car. We put the larges bib he's ever seen on him. He's gotta be thinking, "This is awesome! Dunno what we're eating but it must be big and messy? That Dad guy is a little bit of alright."

Then the snipping begins and it's right in his ear. And he is certain that he is back in the emergency room again getting stitches.
Did I mention that he had just minutes before had his stitches removed? Did I mention that he fell down and hit his head and got stitches last week? Well, he did. There you are all caught up.Anyway, he was pretty inconsolable about the whole situation. Even a remote control in his hand did little to ease his ill temper.
But in the end there was a blue balloon and a nap. He bounces back pretty well.

Old Things Are New Things If You Son Has Never Seen Them Part III: The Resurrection of Seabiscuit

Don't tell me miracles don't happen. In our house we spell miracle G-R-A-N-D-P-A. If you are among the small cast following this blog you will remember that when last we left our hero and his mighty steed Seabiscuit, the ancient horse had shed his mortal coil and proceeded on to his eternal reward. All of us were saddened at the passing, especially young Finnegan.

But alas a mysterious figure entered our story. Seabiscuit was taken away and trough the laying on of hands, and no doubt some drilling, gluing and driving of screws, new life was breathed into the old fella.

Who was that masked man who saved our heroic horse. I don't know, but he left behind a silver screw.

Seabiscuit
1964-2009, 2009-?
Yippie-kuy-aye!

Old Things Are New Things If You Son Has Never Seen Them Part II

Remember a few weeks back when I got all sentimental about my son playing in my old toy box and on my old rocking horse? Well the bittersweetness continued today when I turned around to check why Finn sounded flummoxed and saw this.

I saw it coming. Seabiscuit had become a tad wobbly of late and had to go down sometime. I'd like to fix the old boy up but it looks like we'll have to take him out back and shoot him. Finn was inconsolable until the apple juice showed up.

Seabiscuit
1964-2009
It was quite a ride.

Punkinhead

Finnegan's grandpa Larry found this cool pumpkin hat for the little guy and we think its awesome. But we couldn't get him to keep it on long enough to get a picture. He has yet to develop his father's affinity for chapeaus.

Fortunately he will do almost anything for his Grandma Sandy. Especially when she plies him with goldfish, the crack of the 14-month-old set.

Anyway, we think it's a good look for the holiday. Thought we'd share.

Bath Time

We are still big fans of bath time at the Valentine homestead. And these from last night are just a slice of the life here during a bath. What's new? Well with new found walking comes new found tub walking. Graceful? Yes. Inspiring? Certainly. Terrifying in a steel clawfoot tub with protruding chrome fixture that seem to demand his attention. A little.



Not much to say about this, just good bath pictures. And very natty in the robe with the fox on the pocket. Very Hef.

Old Things Are New Things If You Son Has Never Seen Them

I try not to idolize stuff. That is I hope to avoid longing for material goods. Things are just tools to be used. Don't get me wrong. I've bought a lot of stuff. I've bought a lot of useless stuff. And, though Alisha may not see it this way, most of it I've gotten rid of over time. But we develop attachments to some things. Sometimes even things that aren't really that important or that have outlived their use, we find ourselves wishing we had kept them. I'd love to have back some of the comic books I know ended up in a landfill or in some evening newspaper. I wish I still had the 1971 Ford Maverick I finally destroyed after several attempts.
Now and then though, things show up that you thought were gone forever. And you'd have probably been alright with them being gone until you look over and see your son playing with it or climbing out of it.When Finnegan was born my parents regifted my old 1960's era wooden plank and rope-handled toybox to him. It's original era is clear due to the faded white cowboy stenciling that is still an emblem of a time when there were three networks and they all were dominated by westerns. Mom cleaned the wood and Dad added locking hinges to keep him from smashing his hands with the lid, something that didn't concern parents (spelled l-a-w-y-e-r-s) of that day.
But now it is Finn's first stop after breakfast. He pulls out a toy and either plays with it or doesn't for 23 seconds and then reaches in for another. More recently he has just made it his job to get the toys out as fast as possible so there is room inside for him. This morning as he stared up at me from the inside corner of the box with a questioning look that could only mean, "What did you do when all the toys were on the outside and you were on the inside?" I didn't have an answer for him so I responded with Confused Father Trick Number 7: Get the camera.
This weekend at the birthday party for our friends' daughter Bryn, a lovely little peer for Finn, my boy started playing on a very plush, well-designed, low-to-the-ground rocking horse. It actually might have been an elephant, but I digress. Finn tried to ride it and understood it instantly. He tired of it just as instantly. Because, while it rocked similarly to the rocking horse he had at home it lacked that 1960s danger.By far Finn's favorite toy, other than my stomach, is the rocking horse that my parents regifted from the Spencer collection. This red and white painted and lacquered pony with a simple flat seat a good 14 inches above runners seemingly designed to pinch, if not sever, plump bare toes, and a painted on face that I have always thought looked more like a muzzled collie than any kind of horse. If it were a horse it would be three decades late for a glue factory. But Gads does he love it!Tirelessly, he will grunt and gasp as he tries to get on, rocks three or four times and then slide off. Pushes it. Stands and grins next to it. Pauses and starts again. He has run over his feet, fallen on his head, pulled the Disney-like wooden head down on him and cried as if bucked by a live bronco. Every time after you pick him up, he grasps at it again with greedy eyes that also seem to call you a coward for not trying to ride.So now my old steed, which I am reminded was beloved by me as well, and my old western toybox have a new life with a new cowboy and I have never enjoyed any of my childhood possessions more. I wouldn't trade them for much of anything. It wouldn't matter if I did. Little cowpoke wouldn't let me.

Mother & Son, Part 1

Sometimes it is just important to remind yourself...

...how beautiful life can be.