Pink princess slippers

(For folks looking for pictures, we're heading up to Philly for Labor Day weekend, so we should have plenty of pictures when we return.)

After a nasty, putrid August, the weather in DC has become much cooler and less humid in the last week. In fact, it got so cool that Margaret asked for a sweater after breakfast on Tuesday. I ran upstairs and grabbed the gray fleece sweater that I'd bought for her in a sale at some point over the summer. "I don't like that sweater. I want my pink sweater," she said, after I brought it downstairs. "But your pink sweater doesn't fit you anymore," I said, "Just wear this one." "No, I want a pink sweater." We went back and forth for a while until I finally convinced Margaret to wear the gray sweater "just this once." After we pointed out, in the car on our way to school, that both Mama and Grandma Nancy have gray fleece sweaters, she seemed to tentatively accept that the gray sweater was actually acceptable. But she didn't seem terribly happy about it.

This exchange reflects a battle that I've been expecting for some time. Apparently, kids can become very obstinate about their clothes. This behavior has been evident in our family for some time - Margaret often puts up a fight over her clothes, for no apparent reason except to reject the proposed outfit. I've also heard many stories about girls who want to wear "pink princess" outfits. (Abby tells a story about how she wore a particular cowgirl outfit for an extended period when she was a kid.) To the extent that this behavior reflects random attempts to exert control, I have little sympathy for it. After all, Teddy will say "not that one" we pull out a shirt, even if he has no real rationale for refusing the shirt, other than the fact that we proposed it. (He has no clue, but likes to use the phrases that he knows in an appropriate context. Bravo, I say, but that still doesn't make me want to honor his "requests.") But if Margaret's behavior reflects an actual shift in her clothing preferences, it's more problematic as it runs counter to a strategy that I've been using for some time. Let me explain.

Most people that I know find out the gender of their children before they are born. We didn't. Certain friends of mine found this baffling. "Why would you refuse free information?," one friend asked me (as gender determination is trivial given all of the prenatal ultrasounds). In the case of Margaret, my rationale for not learning her gender was quite simple. If we don't know the gender of the kid, then we'll receive lots of "gender neutral" stuff, including apparel and other baby items. Not pink or blue, but green, yellow or some other gender neutral color. If we were then to have a second kid, which we planned to do so on some level, then all of that stuff for the first kid would be usable for the second, regardless of the second's gender. In contrast, if we had known that Margaret was a girl, all of her pink clothes would have been useless for Teddy. As it turned out, baby Teddy ended up wearing a lot of the stuff that we received prior to Margaret's birth.

This only works for infant clothes, as once Margaret was born, the girl clothes flooded in. (It also doesn't explain why we didn't learn Teddy's gender. I actually can't explain that one.) But I've tried to keep up the basic "gender neutral" theme. Get a green shirt or plain tan shorts or simple blue jeans - Margaret can wear it now, and Teddy can wear it later. This hasn't worked perfectly as many kids clothes are too geared towards one gender or the other, but for certain items, say a red winter coat or maybe a gray fleece sweater, it has worked pretty well.

Until now, it would appear. Margaret has apparently reached the "pink princess" phase where she can recognize the difference between styles of clothes and, moveover, has clear opinions about the clothes that she actually likes. Hence, in addition to the protests over the gray sweater, we had the following exchange earlier tonight.

"Where are my slippers?," she asked.

"Your dragon slippers?," I replied.

"Yes, where are they?"

"Well, I think that they're in your shoe bin."

After digging around for them, Margaret pulled them out, compared them to her Converse hi-tops, and asked, "Are they size 7? Will they still fit me?"

"I don't know. They may be too small for you, in which case Teddy can have them. We may have to get you some new slippers."

"Can we get pink princess slippers?"

"No, I think that we'll look for more dragon slippers."

"But I want pink princess slippers!"

"But dragon slippers are really cool! Don't you want more dragon slippers?"

"No, I want pink princess slippers!"

As Abby noted regarding the gray sweater, I'm probably fighting a losing battle.

My goodness

Has it really been almost a month since I last posted on this blog? If so, where are the cries of outrage from my many fans? Even if you don't appreciate my always insightful commentary, you must want pics of the kids. Right?

I don't currently have much to report on the kids. Teddy is becoming a "big boy" in many ways. He's not only physically big, but he's starting to "talk" in the broadest sense of the word. He says lots of stuff, often involving actual words which occasionally reflect complex sentences with nouns, pronouns and verbs. Still, only the teachers at daycare, Abby and I can generally decipher what he's saying.

As for Margaret, she continues to become more and more interesting. Lots of interesting thoughts and opinions. She's become a serious fan of books without pictures, especially those written by Beverly Cleary. She spied a shelf of Ramona books in Barnes and Noble the other day which led us to buy a book from the Henry Huggins series. When we read them at night, she sits there on the edge of her bed, while Teddy drifts off to sleep, waiting for the next exciting episode. And for a three year old, she has an amazing ability to not only absorb the stories but also to recall them. It's a lot of fun, especially when I'm recounting stories about Henry and Ribsy that make me chuckle.

Here's a mish-mash of pics from the last month:

Why?

Everyone out there with (older) kids will smile and sagely nod his or her head in response to this post. Because Margaret has reached the point where one of her favorite words is. . . Why?

Margaret is a pretty vocal little kid. (By the way, although this post isn't about him, so is Teddy. He just isn't terribly articulate or comprehensible at this point.) She loves to talk and talk about all sorts of things in a very piercing voice that cuts through everything else. That voice is very effective at waking you up in the middle of the night. Or, as the case may be, in the morning. As I think I wrote about before, Margaret talked the entire time during a flight from Chicago to DC. On the one hand, I was happy that she wasn't fussing, given that it was a late flight. But I also felt bad for everyone near us who had to listen to the incessant chirpy voice from a nearby seat. The upshot is that Margaret is very difficult to ignore.

Margaret also has interesting things to say. On our recent drive to Connecticut, we started trying to distract her with "stories" about her and Teddy. These stories, told by Abby, chronicle the first few days of one kid or the other. Margaret has found these stories to be fascinating and keeps requesting them. To the point that I'm pretty fed up with the whole "birth story" genre. After it became apparent that her requests for "my story" or "Teddy's story" wouldn't be met, she has started telling those stories on her own. It's fascinating to hear her take on our pre-kid life and the subsequent disruption caused by the arrival of the kids.

On our walk home, we have always had interesting conversations. But lately, she has started asking "why." It really doesn't matter what we're talking about - she just asks "why." "Why is the fire truck not in the fire station?" "Why did that person ask you for directions?" "Why do we have to cross the street?" "Why are you yelling at that taxi cab?" And so on.

The "why" sequences fall in two general classes. In the first, variations of the same question are repeated over and over.

For example, Gypsy, the cat belonging to a former neighbor, went AWOL a few months ago (and has not returned).

"Why did Gypsy leave?," Margaret will ask, during our walk home.

"I'm not sure. Gypsy didn't tell us," I'll reply.

"Why did Gypsy go away?"

"We should ask Marissa." (Gypsy's owner.)

A pause. "Why doesn't Marissa have Gypsy anymore?"

"I don't know."

"Why didn't Gypsy tell us when she left?"

"I don't know. We really don't know where she went."

"Why didn't Gypsy tell us where she went?"

"I don't know."

And so on, and so on. The general theme is that I don't know the answer and give a vague response, but Margaret won't let the issue go.

The second, and more sophisticated, form of "why" questioning involves questions that are distinct, but logically follow one another. For example, after running into Marissa while walking home:

"Where is Marissa going?"

"She's probably going home to walk Boone." (Her dog.)

"Why is she going to walk Boone?"

"Because he has been inside all day."

"Why has he been inside all day?"

"Because Marissa has been at work."

"Why has Marissa been at work?"

"Because that's what adults do, they go to work."

"Why do adults go to work?"

"Because that's what adults do."

"Why do adults do that?"

"Because they need to buy groceries and stuff."

"Why do they need to buy groceries?"

"Because people need to eat food."

And so on. Occasionally, Margaret will catch me in a tautology, because I rarely pay much attention to my responses. Such logical problems rarely seem to bother her. Instead, she's focused on getting answers to the series of questions that pop into her head.

Why, why, why?

Eventually, I get tired of the whole routine and try to distract her with another line of conversation. Currently, I often succeed. However, I suspect that she will eventually figure out when I'm stonewalling her or, alternatively, just bullshitting. That's when the "why" will really have bite.

Embarassing the brother

While I posted a version of this some time ago on YouTube, I recently learned (while posting the video of Teddy in the fountain) that I could upload better quality videos directly from my camera. Hence, I shall embarass my brother by posting this (higher quality) video from his wedding reception.

I can only say three things.

First, I think that he's playing my dad's old guitar which, if I recall correctly, became my guitar at some point. Not sure when ownership was transferred, but I've been looking for a guitar to entertain the kids. I've been thinking about getting a Martin, but an old, beat up Gibson that tears up your fingers would probably work just as well (and after using this one, you'll surely agree Steve, you can play any guitar).

Second, the song is actually pretty catchy.

Third, I have three regrets from my own wedding. First, and perhaps superficially, my tux didn't fit well which made me unhappy during the reception. Second, Abby was unable to follow my lead during our dance. Hell, it wasn't a very complicated song. As one of my friend said at the time, "Mark's trying to fox trot, but Abby won't let him lead." Finally, and relevant for this post, I didn't "toast" Abby. I know exactly what I would've said. When we met, what I thought about her, when I knew that she was "the one," where we'd been, what we'd done together, and so on - no need to rehash it here. Still, I didn't get off my ass to do it.

In contrast, Steve pulled this off like a champ. And I hope that this video serves as a memorial of sorts to his wedding.


As a complete aside, for those who are interested, here's a version of our song from my wedding. Who couldn't fox trot to this? (And, for the sake of completeness, here's a poem that Joe read during our ceremony. I just like it, that's why I'm linking to it.)

A fine weekend

We had a pretty good weekend. (After taking the above photo, I said, "Teddy, this is Teddy. High five?" And our little Teddy gave big Teddy a big high five. Margaret kept saying, "Who is Teddy Roosevelt?")

Again, we had a pretty good weekend. But it didn't start that way, as little Teddy was a real crank yesterday morning. He just fussed and fussed and fussed, especially whenever his mama put him down. When we went shopping at Target, Teddy would give a heart wrenching rendition of what is currently his most complex sentence - "Don't leave me!!" - every time Abby walked away, despite the fact that I was right there pushing him in the shopping cart, smiling and nodding at all of the people who scowled at me for my obvious negligence. It got to the point that we thought he might be sick, with an ear infection or something like that. By noon yesterday, I was thinking about what a bad weekend it could be and how nice it would be to send the boy back to daycare on Monday. He was just being almost indescribably petulant.

However, his fussiness quickly dissipated once we got to a birthday party at a public water park in northern Virginia. Where he had a great time and where we also were able to observe some notable differences between Margaret and the boy. (BTW, the next few paragraphs are all of the profound parenting ruminations that I'll be writing today.)

As I said, the birthday party was at a nearby public water park. These parks are scattered throughout Arlington and involve a small area with jets of water that periodically shoot up in the air. They aren't terribly fancy, although DC would never be able to put together something like them. We've visited this type of park in the past with Margaret, and although she likes them, she has never been very active in them. Instead, she sort of loiters around the edges, giggling and jumping when she gets sprayed with water, but never really exposing herself to the jets.

In contrast, after an initial period of hesitation, Teddy dove right in. As you can see in the pics below, he would put his hands, feet and even his face in the stream. He ran all over the place and, for better or worse, learned various tricks, like drinking the water, from the "big boys." At some point, he figured out that he could stand over a jet so that it would shoot up into his pants. He seemed to enjoy this sensation.



The behavioral difference between Margaret and Teddy at the water park illustrates a more fundamental difference between the two: the boy tends to be much less cautious than Margaret. He'll throw himself around in ways that Margaret would have avoided at the same age. For example, to the extent that he can, given his still limited mobility, he'll launch himself down slides. Such as the circular slides found at many parks and a big, old-school slide (roughly 20 feet high) that he insisted on using (with me close behind) at a park last weekend.

As another (non-physical) example, Margaret tends to be pretty reserved around people in costumes like the big Teddy Roosevelt in the photo at the top of this post. Frankly, I can understand her concern - a clown or big guy like Teddy R. can be a bit frightening, especially if you're a little person. In situations like those with big sports mascots, Teddy doesn't necessarily throw himself at the guy in the costume, but he certainly doesn't show the same apprehension that Margaret does.

Is this a gender thing? I don't know, although I have heard many stories from other parents about how their sons are much more reckless than their daughters. And I think that I've read somewhere about how male traders tend to take bigger risks, and are correspondingly more likely to blow up, in financial markets. Do I have any deep insights or thoughts about this? No. All I know is that Teddy is much more active at places like the water park than Margaret. He gets the high of feeling water shoot up his shorts, but he's also more likely to slip and bonk his head. On some level, that's just, I suppose, the risk-return trade off that also drives those male traders.

The other reason that we had a good weekend was that the Cubs were in town for a four game series against the Nationals. I managed to attend games on Friday night (with a friend from Chicago), Saturday night (with Abby), and today (with the entire family) - all without paying for a single ticket (whoo-hoo!!) due to various connections (I'm very proud of that accomplishment, especially as our tickets for every game were primo - on Friday, we actually had waitresses serving our section). Despite the fact that it was really, really sunny and warm in our seats today, and despite some difficulties with the Metro - a stroller on a train full of baseball fans isn't very easy to maneuver, even without the delays due to the recent Metro accident - we ended up having a fun time. The kids ate pop corn and Cracker Jacks, in addition to a couple of cups of ice that a nice vendor gave us. I kept putting chunks of ice under Teddy's hat to cool him down, but that didn't seem to staunch his enthusiasm. Instead, he had fun watching "baseball" or "tennis" or "basketball" or whatever he felt like calling it. And he really enjoyed grooving to the music.

Best of all, the Cubs ended up sweeping the Nats. Nothing like a trip to DC to make a team look like a real winner.

I'm sure that neither of the kids comprehend the game at all. And they don't really seem to have a clear sense of a "rooting interest," as both kids would clap, for either team, whenever other people clapped. Still, they both seem to enjoy the crowd and the whole spectacle. And Teddy would point at people in Cubs gear that we passed - and we saw lots and lots of people in Cubs regalia - and would say "Go Cubs!"

Faces of the kids

Bedtime battles

Life with a three year old involves many battles. Getting dressed, using the potty, eating dinner - each may or may not involve its own little power struggle between us and our little sweetheart. (As an aside, I think that Margaret randomizes, perhaps strategically, over whether she'll put up a battle for a given task. Will she get dressed tomorrow without yelling about it? Who knows.)

Lately, the most prominent battles have occurred at bedtime. For the past month or so, as soon as the light has been turned out, Margaret has declared, "I can't sleep." There's no lag at all, just an immediate declaration: "I can't sleep." We've tried all sorts of tricks to encourage her to sleep. I've made the "Grandma Mary" argument - your body is tired, so just close your eyes and try to rest your body - that was used on me as a child (and, hell, I still use that approach as an adult). For a while that worked as Margaret would rest and eventually fall asleep. We've tried bribery: If you sleep tonight, you can go for a walk with Mama and Maddie tomorrow. And we've tried moral suasion: The teachers at daycare (and the Berenstain Bears) say that you should avoid bedtime battles and should instead listen to your parents.

Lately, however, none of that has worked, and she's been much more difficult at bedtime. If we leave, she gets more and more agitated to the point that she ends up yelling for us (really Mama) at the top of her lungs. In the worst case scenario, such behavior ends up waking the boy, so we end up with not one, but two kids who are awake at 10:00.

In the past week or so, disruptions to Margaret's sleep schedule have exacerbated the problem. She stayed up until 11:00 after the fireworks on July 4th. Then after we had people over the next night, she was too wound up to fall asleep again until around the same time.

In the past, she would settle down after a few books. Even though we've started reading her "big girl" books without pictures (e.g., Beezus and Ramona), she doesn't calm down in the same way. (As another aside, it's very exciting that Margaret shows such enthusiasm for big girl books. But that's a subject for another, more positive post.) And none of our previous tricks, such as the "Grandma Mary" argument, are working either. Even if, in desperation, we give her a nuk, defying every parenting bone in my body, she still won't go to sleep. Instead, Abby or I (more commonly, Abby) end up sitting with her until she finally nods off, which takes way longer than we would like.

Good grief, what a lame post. I'm complaining about a normal toddler "phase." At least I hope that it's just a phase. But even if it is, we're reaching the end of our rope with her. (Any advice from current or former parents would be greatly appreciated.)

4th of July

One perk of living in DC is the great parades. While I remember going to parades at various points in my childhood, living a 20 minute walk from the usual parade route down Constitution Avenue in the nation's capital, a place which ends up having lots of parades as a matter of course, means that we end up seeing lots of parades. And again because we live in the capital, the parades tend to be top notch.

The standard parade in DC involves a combination of floats and big balloon characters, celebrities (Hey, isn't that Alex Trebek? Or, hey, that's apparently a guy from American Idol!), high school marching bands, people on miscellaneous modes of transportation such as motorcycles, old cars, unicycles, or old fashioned bikes with big front wheels, community groups such as clowns, boy scout troops, or veterans, and representatives of various ethnic groups doing whatever dances and music are typical for them.

Now, I recall high school marching bands in the parades that I attended as a child, but the number and quality of bands in DC parades beat anything from my childhood. After a few parades in DC, one becomes quite the connoisseur of high school bands. The best are those that toss some fancy footwork into their marching when the drums are playing their boom-boom boom-chicka-boom bits. Although I remember not liking when the drums and not the horns were playing when I was a child, Teddy and I like to groove along to the beat when only the drummers are playing. There's nothing more fun in a parade, I've concluded, than a good high school band. Although the music isn't always that good. And their outfits are invariably terrible. And they always look so damn hot in those terrible outfits, especially because our standard vantage point is at the end of the route when they're almost falling over. Still, you have to give them credit for the effort, and the whole event of a passing marching band makes us (especially Teddy) perk up and pay attention.

I suppose that the old cars and such were present in the parades of my youth along with the community groups, but what really distinguishes a parade in DC are the contingents from various ethnic groups. Today, we saw marchers from Mexico, Bolivia, Peru, Vietnam, and China. On one level, I suppose that's not different from the Irish or Polish groups who march in the parades in Chicago, but the groups in DC really put on a show. Not to get too philosophical, but at the end of the day, these groups really makes me think about how heterogeneous the U.S. really is and how we're fundamentally a nation comprised of immigrants from all over the place. For all of the tension that immigration creates, we ultimately end up assimilating immigrant groups while also, to varying degrees, keeping their idiosyncratic traditions (for example, think Italian food, St. Patrick's Day, Cinco de Mayo).

In any case, below are some pictures and a video of our trip to this year's 4th of July parade. One observation: As readers might notice, this set of pictures involves more pictures of Teddy than pictures of Margaret. To some extent, that reflects the fact that Margaret was being a bit petulant during the parade while Teddy was being a jovial little guy. But on a broader level, the focus on Teddy is indicative of the fact that he's becoming a much more interesting little person. Not only is he talking more, but he has interesting things to say and interesting ways of saying those things. Of course, much of what he says is garbled nonsense, but part of the fun is trying to decipher what he's trying to communicate. And he can be very charming as he tries to communicate with us. Or infuriating depending on the situation. Which makes it even more fun.

Pics and more pics

I don't have any deep thoughts about kids at this point. Frankly, I suspect that no one wants to hear my deep thoughts anyway, rather they want to see pics of the kids. Thus, here are a bunch of pics, most from our recent trip to the Great White North:

A funny thing happened while we were sitting in the Minneapolis airport...

At the outset of this post, I have to apologize to two sets of (potential) readers of this blog. The first are those who we saw during our recent travels around the country. Those readers likely expect a post in which they play a more central role and may be disappointed that such a post isn't currently forthcoming. The second set of readers to whom an apology is due are those with rooting interests that diverge from those of yours truly (you know who you are). Not much that I can really say to those readers except to note that they have to grant us poor U.S. futbol fans some leniency to celebrate. And perhaps even to gloat a little bit.

On Wednesday during our trip back from Minneapolis, Teddy and I shared another one of those sublime father-child moments, like the one that I wrote about a month or so ago. A long background:

We were heading from Minneapolis back to D.C. on a flight that left at 5:00 PM with a 36 minute layover in Chicago. Based on our experience during the trip to Minneapolis, the short layover in O'Hare seemed problematic, to say the least. On the trip out, our early morning flight had a layover closer to one hour, but a delayed departure from National left us with only 30 minutes to make our connecting flight, so Abby took the kids to the next gate, while I waited (and waited, along with other frustrated people trying to make connecting flights in Chicago) for the stroller that we had gate checked. I ended up running through the American terminal with a car seat, stroller, and a couple of carry-on bags and just made the connecting flight to Minneapolis. Good thing too, because otherwise we may have missed a very important event in Minneapolis. But that's not the subject of this post.

To avoid an unpleasant experience on the way back to D.C., we called on Tuesday and were able to rebook our outgoing flight from Minneapolis for 3:50 PM. Beyond averting the stress of a short layover in Chicago (we kept the Chicago-D.C. leg the same), that rescheduling had two effects. First, it compelled us to return our rental car at the appropriate time, thereby avoiding late fees (geez, I'm so cheap). Second, it introduced the possibility that we'd be able find someplace in the airport to watch the U.S. play Spain in the Confederations Cup.

For those of you who aren't big futbol fans or haven't been following recent events, the Confederations Cup is a tournament that serves as an operational dress rehearsal for the next host of the World Cup, in this case South Africa. It pits the winners of a series of regional tournaments against one another in a competition that is a bit more prestigious and intense than a "friendly," but doesn't approach big tournaments like the World Cup or Euro Cup. The U.S. qualified based on its victory in the CONCACAF Gold Cup tournament, due to a great win over Mexico in Soldier Field two summers ago.

Unfortunately, the U.S. wasn't making a good showing in the group stage of the tournament. A 3-1 loss to Italy followed by a pathetic 3-0 loss to Brazil made it look like the U.S. would head home embarrassed, just as in the last World Cup where, I believe, we scored the fewest goals of any team. By the last game of the group stage, the U.S was technically still alive, but would have to beat Egypt by 3 goals while having Brazil beat Italy by 3. Unlikely.

I had pretty much written off the U.S., but while Abby and I were walking around the Gaslamp District in San Diego, where we had attended our second wedding in less than a week, I started to see clips on TVs in bars that we were passing that indicated that the U.S. may have pulled off an impressive victory over Egypt. As we weren't barhopping, despite being sans kids, we had to stop a few times to peer at the TVs, but I still couldn't make out the results. When we got back to our hotel, ESPN verified (after interminable baseball highlights - who cares about baseball anyway?!?!) that the U.S. had indeed beaten Egypt 3-0. And, even more amazing, Italy had lost 3-0 to Brazil! So, astonishingly, the U.S. had moved on to the semifinals.

Now, these things don't happen in American futbol. Other than the freak episode in which the U.S. advanced to the quarterfinals of the 2002 World Cup (and almost beat Germany to go to the semis), U.S. fans are accustomed to beating up weak CONCACAF teams like Trinidad & Tobago, but losing, often in pathetic fashion, anytime the U.S. plays a decent team. So this was a remarkable development. However, by advancing out of the group stage, the U.S. had the misfortune of facing Spain, the number one team in the world which had won Euro 2008, hadn't lost in 35 matches, and had won 15 straight. As I told Abby on Tuesday night, "It's great that they got there, but there's no way the U.S. beats Spain. No way. Absolutely no way."

Thus, the stage was set. The U.S. had beaten the odds to get a match-up with the best team in the world, while Abby, the kids, and I were arriving at the Minneapolis airport to return our car just as the game started. Of course, we still had to check in for our flight. After we checked our baggage, there were two security lines. As I eyed the more daunting of the two, I noticed that the Applebees near that security checkpoint was showing the game. Perhaps I'd be able to watch some of the game as we waited. After checking our bags, I pointed Abby and Teddy towards that line while I took Margaret to check on the score. Miraculously, the U.S. was up 1-0 with the first half winding down. I traipsed back to Abby with a big grin on my face and said, "The U.S. is up!" A guy behind us said, "Who's playing?" When I told him that the U.S. was beating Spain, he said, "Wow, that would be a pretty big upset, wouldn't it?" I just bobbed up and down.

As we wound our way through the line (completely missing the "family" line with no one in it that we could've used), the first half ended, and I figured that I'd be able to watch the second half somewhere near our gate. Once we got through security, I immediately took off towards our gate with Teddy in the stroller. The first place with TVs was a silly French-themed restaurant showing Wimbledon (not silly for being French-themed, but silly in its attempt to be French). Moving on, I found a "sports bar" right near our gate. Unfortunately, when I asked someone at the bar what they were showing, he said "CNN." "Are you looking for the game?," he asked, "Because I've asked them to change it, and they won't. I'm following the score on my cellphone." That wasn't quite what I was looking for, so Teddy and I ran back towards the security checkpoint where I'd noticed a Rock Bottom Brewery. We shot past Abby and Margaret, who were making their way towards the gate. As we passed them, I said, "We're going to find someplace to watch the game." It wasn't until we got to the bar that I noticed that I'd left my cellphone with Abby and that it might be a bit close to our departure time when the game ended.

But at least the bar had a few TVs tuned to the game. I grabbed a stool at the bar with a TV right in front of us, plopped Teddy on my lap, and ordered french fries for the boy and a Diet Coke for me (I figured that I had to order something, but couldn't order a beer without receiving even more glares for bringing my toddler into a bar.)

So there we were, in a Minneapolis airport bar, Teddy on my lap eating french fries and watching the U.S. defend a 1-0 lead against the best team in the world. A few other people in the bar were watching the game, but most were pretty clueless. Recognizing that I was a fan of sorts, they asked me silly questions like, "What is this, the World Cup?" Teddy just sat there eating his french fries while I bounced him around on my lap, full of nervous energy given the precarious lead. "Go go go," I'd yell as the U.S. moved the ball around. "Go go go," Teddy would parrot, leading people in the bar to grin at him. "Get it! Stop him!," I'd say. "Dop him!," Teddy would cry. Every once in a while, he would point at the TV and yell, "Baseball!" (baseball and basketball being his two favorite sports).

"No way they can keep this lead," I thought, especially as Spain started pressing. But then, BAM, Clint Dempsey scored a garbage goal to put the U.S. up 2-0. I yelled, started clapping, banged on the bar a few times, startling the bartender and the barflys around me, and started tossing Teddy up in the air. "Your dad is pretty excited," the fellow next to us said to Teddy. "That goal was huge! Huge!," I said to him. "Is it a big deal if the U.S. beats Spain?" he asked. I just jumped around while Teddy tried to grab his french fries.

Teddy and I spent the next 20 minutes at the bar bouncing around, hoping that the U.S. could hold its lead (especially after going a man down), and keeping an eye on the clock to ensure that we made our flight. When the game finally ended, we jumped up and down some more and hooted a bit (or at least I did) before running down the terminal to board our flight at which point we informed a disgruntled Abby about the outcome of the game.

Overdue post

So after a spurt of blog posts, I haven't written much lately. I'm sure that my dedicated readers want an update. Or at least some kid pictures.

Below are pics that reflect the following events:

• We have turned Margaret's bed into a "big girl" bed by removing the side of her crib (it's designed to work this way). Although she occasionally gets out of bed in the morning, she doesn't do so at night. Despite a newly developed pattern of sleep problems. Immediately after being put in bed, she complains, "I can't sleep." We reason with her, cajole her, and try tricks. The only trick that consistently works is one that we've stolen from Grandma Mary - "Even if you're tired, just close your eyes and rest your body, because your body is tired." But usually I have to lie to her ("I'll be back to check on you soon") and she finally falls asleep
• We went to the Memorial Day parade here in DC and had fun waving flags. Teddy especially likes the drum sections in the marching bands.
• We took a trip to Philly where we had fun with the cousins while their parents took off to NYC for the weekend. Among the highlights of the trip was the opportunity to watch Andrew play baseball. Teddy likes baseball. And basketball and tennis.
  
• Teddy has started working on stairs and is becoming quite vocal. As various people have noted, he doesn't engage in conversation, unlike his sister, but he is quite opinionated.
  
• We went to a Nationals baseball game for the first time this season with Katie, one of Margaret's friends from school. No one paid much attention to the game, but everyone enjoyed the spectacle.
  
• Margaret took part in a "Power Tots" performance at school.
• We went to a futbol/soccer game for the first time this year. Again, Teddy really liked the drums that they beat. Boom - boom - boom boom boom - DC United. Margaret started to chant along at times, when she wasn't busy stuffing her face with popcorn. Again, no one paid much attention to the game, but we all had a reasonably good time (qualified because the kids got pretty tired by the end).
  
• We went to the zoo today and flew a flag out in front of our house for Flag Day.

Such excitement. It's hard to convey how exciting each of the above events really were. Perhaps the pictures will help: