If ever there was time to break back in to post, it’s now.

Here we see the classic toothless grin every kid gets to enjoy once, for a very short time in his life.

Not only is this little face just too cute for words, it’s fun to hear him say things like “Cereal” and “SpongeBob” and “Thoughtful.”

I’d like to put Michael on hold and keep him at just this age for a couple more years.

While brushing Michael’s teeth last night, I became acutely aware of a foreign object in his mouth; one I think he’d been hoping I wouldn’t notice. I set the brush down and leaned in for a closer look, to see a wad of indiscernible foodstuff that had been masticated beyond all hope of recognition, enrobed in a minty froth.

“Spit that out!” I said, urgently. He complied. “For crying out loud, have you been chewing that all night long?” The answer was obvious. For whatever reason he was not able or willing to chew up and swallow whatever it was.

My brow furrowed in disbelief at his re-working a bite of food for hours on end.

And then the memory came back. A similar incident. Twelve years ago. While running a bedtime bath for sister L, who was not quite three at the time, I noticed she was still working on a bite of food from dinner. Frustrated, I demanded that she chew it up and swallow it. Her expression immediately changed to one of frantic determination as her wide-eyed gaze focused on a fixed point in the distance, her fists clenched and her jaws ground that bite at top speed. After a minute of this fruitless endeavor, I heaved a sigh of resignation and told her to just spit it out, which she happily did.

Returning to Michael’s tooth brushing, I smiled, having been gently reminded that Michael has a twin, and that it’s only a phase.

Yesterday Michael, his mom and I drove up a short way into Washington to retrieve sister S, who’d spent a week with her dad.

Her first grand announcement as we pulled back onto the freeway headed for home:

“I’m a vegan now!”

“Good luck with that,” I replied.

See, this is a girl who only recently has maintained that she will one day be owning a combined Hot Topic / Taco Bell store. She loves steak, chicken and ice cream. She never met a piece of bacon that she didn’t like. The thought of her going one day without consuming an animal product in some form or another is by all rights absurd.

On the trip back, we prodded a little bit for more on the how, why, when and what of it.

“Who got you interested in being a vegan?”

“Mr. Sparklepants.” (Note: this is not his actual name. However, the name we were given is not any more believable.)

“And how old is Mr. Sparklepants?”

“He’s in seventh grade.”

A sterling credential if ever there was one.

“And is he a dietician?”

“No, but he knows what he’s talking about.”

“Give me an example.”

“Well, you can get all your Omega 3s and protein by eating walnuts.”

“Okay…”

“So that’s what I’ll do.”

“Just walnuts?”

“And Ramen.”

Sounds to me like she has the plan all worked out. She explained it to us with such confidence, we figure she must have notes:

“Where are you going to get your calcium?” her mom asked, after a brief pause.

“And your vitamin B?” I asked, immediately afterward.

“And your vitamin D?” her mom asked before I’d finished my question.

“I don’t know… I’ll figure it out.”

This is where we let it drop. My wife and I know when to step up for battle and when to stand down.

While we certainly support lofty goals and noble causes such as protecting animal rights, it is our job as parents to ensure that our children understand every aspect of what they’re getting themselves in to. Knowing sister S, we’re pretty sure she’s missing quite a big chunk of the picture. She latched onto one facet of the vegan lifestyle and a couple of tips and figures she’s ready to run with it.

I give it a week.

Michael and his sisters and cousin are back from vacation at Grandma’s.

I drove 173 miles to pick them up, 3+ hours of driving along the mighty Columbia river through alternately verdant and barren countryside, to reach a small town whose main claim to fame is being home to one of the few remaining coal-fired power plants in the state of Oregon. It’s also a convenient midway point between our house and Grandma’s house. It has a big park, where Michael can burn off some pent-up energy and stretch his little legs before getting strapped in for the second half of his journey home.

It had been a grand week.

Michael, two sisters and a cousin were all in eastern Oregon, enjoying the relaxed pace and small-town atmosphere of the Wallowa Lake area, along with the diversions afforded by its rugged mountain features and glacier-forged landscape. One of Michael’s favorite activities was to chase crickets, of which there are plenty. His other favorite activities apparently centered around keeping his sisters in a state of high annoyance, at least by their account. With the low horizon and clear skies, his days began at the very crack of dawn, as the crimson sunrise flooded the loft room where he and his sisters bunked.

His grandmother made sure to keep him well occupied, providing trips to the lake and trips to town, adventures in the parks and up the mountains and of course plenty of busy-work to keep his little hands engaged and out of mischief. His sisters and cousins pitched in, taking shifts to ensure that grandma didn’t get overwhelmed. The daily reports his mom and I got back were quite colorful; text messages from the girls, phone conversations from Michael and his grandmother.

to wit: “Why is it that michael always wakes up at 5 AM and then chooses the LOUDEST toy in the room to play with? X(” (this from sister L)

And from his grandmother, a report about Michael at the lake: “He told me he had to go to the bathroom really bad, but said he couldn’t make it back up the hill to the potty so I told him he’d just have to use the lake. So he comes out of the water, stands up on the shore and starts pulling down his shorts…”

Meanwhile, at home, Michael’s mom and I spent a week in a quiet house. The only noise came from the cat, who was VERY CONCERNED that all of her people were disappearing, and wanted to BE SURE WE UNDERSTOOD HER CONCERN. Repeatedly, every ten minutes or so.

We did a whole lot of nothing, which was wonderful. We didn’t paint anyone’s room, we didn’t re-work the garden or re-decorate the house, and we didn’t travel.

Well… not much. We did go to the beach for one day, spending the night at a bed-and-breakfast inn along the coast. This place was magical on all counts, and we’ll be back one day. For one thing, they had a guests-only wine social the afternoon we checked in. They handed us a couple of glasses of wine and pointed out a couple of forest trails behind the inn, encouraging us to explore, which we did. Never before had either of us hiked through the forest holding a glass of wine.

The dinner we had that night was truly amazing. Neither of us had ever had an “amuse bouche” before either, the sort of pre-appetizer course they served. To say dinner was good would be to say the ocean is deep.

But time marched onward, and she and I both had to get back to our normal occupations.

Thus on Sunday, while she was at work, I drove alone to the middle of Oregon to pick up children.

After transferring bags and blankets and assorted gear from Grandma’s car to ours, and a few hugs goodbye, we were on our way back to Portland.

And even though I’d had a week to recuperate, any vestige of parental patience I’d gained was quite deftly erased after fifteen minutes in the car.

I can’t wait for school to start.

We’re watching “Shrek The Third” at Michael’s request.

As usual, he’s watching it mainly with his mouth:

“Why he’s green?”

“What’s the cat doing?”

“Where are they going?”

“The donkey is mad.”

“Shrek has a big hand. He’s loud, too.”

And on, and on, and on. From the first frame, Michael continued to make observations, ask questions, and make his internal dialog very loudly external.

Finally, sister S had had enough:

“Michael! Can’t you be quiet for just one minute?”

“SHHHHH!” Michael scolded her. “I’m trying to concentrate!”

Yeah. How rude of his sister to interrupt his concentration.

Today, Michael presents a useful tool for five-year-olds everywhere.

Hey, kids! Michael here. You know when your parents glare at you with the angry face and words are coming out of their mouths but you really don’t know what they mean? Me too! I’ve done some studying and I think I have a few of their phrases figured out. You can try these yourself and see how well they work.

Parent says: “Come down stairs now and eat your breakfast!”
It means: “Please stand in the doorway of my bedroom and repeatedly lock, unlock, shut and open the door.”

Parent says: “Do not pick up the cat!”
It means: “Pick up the cat by her midsection and rake her panic-induced claws across your sister’s knees.”

Parent says: “Okay, sport. You need to nap for at least two hours. Got that?”
It means: “Just lie here for a minute or so, then get up and run around in your room, being sure to distribute books and toys evenly across the floor for the next thirty minutes, then go to the door and call out that you’re done with your nap.”

Parent says: “It’s only six o’clock, and it’s Saturday! It’s way too early for you to be getting up!”
It means: “I’m glad you’re up! I’ve been so bored just lying here in bed. Now we can watch SpongeBob and eat Froot Loops and Pop Tarts and make noise and turn the couch over and build a fort and…” (ed: actually, that does sound kind of fun…)

Parent says: “Eat your dinner.”
It means: “Pick at your chicken a little, blow bubbles in your chocolate milk, drop your fork on the floor and plug your nose because you swear someone at the table is eating cheese.”

Parent says: “Get in the car seat and buckle up.”
It means: “Stand next to the car and play your Leapster.”

Parent says (while sister is reclining on couch): “Please stop bothering your sister!”
It means: “Place three pillows and a blanket on your sister’s face and then climb up on them and crow like a rooster.”

I hope you find these phrase translations useful. I promise you’ll get your parents’ attention!

Last night Michael, his mom and I went to his Kindergarten orientation.

It marks the start of his public school career; the point where he is added to the official rolls of a brick-and-mortar learning institution.

He is growing up.

He could have started Kindergarten last year. In fact, we had signed him up. But his mom and I decided that for his sake (and the sake of the other students) we’d keep him back just one more year to let him get fully socialized. We instead enrolled him in a private, in-home school that covers the gamut of preschool and pre-k learning. In essence, he’d be getting a Kindergarten education, but under much more concentrated scrutiny and nurture.

We figured we could make the decision at some point during this year as to whether we felt he was ready to move on to first grade, or whether he should start out in public Kindergarten.

We decided the latter. It was not an easy choice, but we think it’s the right one for Michael’s well being. He’s smart enough that in some future time he might be moved up a grade, so we hold out that possibility.

At the start of his orientation last night, we were introduced to the teachers, the principal, the parent volunteers, the school nurse, the administrative assistants and others who would be regulars in our child’s daily life.

Then, only ten minutes into the assembly, they called the children into two groups and ushered them out the door with the teachers to go see their classrooms.

We parents stayed behind and had time to hear the “grown-up” stuff.

But as Michael left, with not even a glance back over his shoulder, I couldn’t help but notice his mom’s eyes were just every so slightly welled up with tears. She was obviously feeling a mournful loss.

Her little boy isn’t so little any more.

As the evening progressed, we met with the nurse to go over Michael’s history of seizures and storage of his emergency medication. We met with the administrative assistants to talk about transportation and after school care. We met with the principal to introduce ourselves and suggest that we’d probably be seeing a lot of each other in the next few years.

Then we went back to the Kindergarten rooms to pick up the kids. Upon seeing us, Michael came out to loudly proclaim what he’d learned about Guinea Pigs, about how they think your fingers are carrots, and that they poop a lot.

He was having no problem getting used to a whole new school, a new class, new classmates, a new teacher, a new beginning.

He’s moving up, and it’s something that he’ll keep right on doing.

And it’s a good thing, even if it is a little sad.

Okay, kids, here’s a scenario: you walk into the bathroom, and just after you shut the door you notice there’s no toilet paper. The dispenser has an empty cardboard tube, and the spare rolls are all gone.

What will you do? What Will You Do?

True, you could use the facial tissue that’s in the box on the counter.

Or, you could even use the paper towels that are under the sink, even if it is going to be pretty uncomfortable.

Here’s a tip: go to the closet where the extra TP rolls are kept, and get a roll yourself! You know, the closet your mom & dad have directed you to repeatedly? Yeah, that one! It’s easy:

Step 1: Open the closet door.
Step 2: Reach for a roll. Any one will do.
Step 3: Firmly grasp the roll.
Step 4: Carry said roll to the bathroom.
Step 5: Unwrap roll, discard outer protective paper, place on dispenser hook.
Step 6: You’re ready to go.

Life skills, kids. They’re a good thing.

As I’m making dinner, the kids are all playing Beatles Rock Band.

They’re really good at it; even Michael joins in, playing the drums sometimes and other times singing. He’s actually got a pretty accurate voice, and considering the fact that he can’t actually read the lyrics, he gets most of the words right.

And as they played, it occurred to me that the Beatles songs are around 40 years old.

Who’d have thunk that kids would be enjoying songs that were popular more than a generation ago?

To follow the logical thought along, if we’d had the Wii back in 1980, my brothers and I probably would have been playing “Glenn Miller Big Band”. And we’d be saving up our money for “Clarinet Hero III”

Amazing what technology can do. That, and the Beatles are just way cool, and always will be.

While a vast portion of the United States is being buried in snow, here in Oregon it’s sunny and warm-ish.

So there’s no excitement in the weather.

I heard that Illinois got hit with a respectable earthquake last night, and lived to tell the tale.

And while we didn’t exactly have an earthquake, we did have some small adventure.

See… lately, Michael has been doing really well with staying dry all night. Like his sisters and his daddy did when they were his age, Michael has had trouble with his bladder when sleeping. Not a huge deal, but it is a hurdle to overcome. The last couple of weeks he’s hit about an 80 to 90 percent success rate. We were thinking we’d be able to ditch the pull-ups completely pretty soon.

But he’s had the occasional accident. These come on the heels of two or three successful nights in a row, when we try to see if he can make it without a pull-up.

And for the last three nights in a row he’s been dry in the morning, and I’ve been hopeful but cautious. So of course when I put him to bed last night, even though I meant to, I forgot to put a pull-up on him.

Harmonically converging with this scenario is the work schedule Michael’s mommy has had. Yesterday she worked from noon until 10:30 in the evening, and after an hour’s drive home, she’s pretty tired. Since she had to repeat the same work hours the next day, it follows that she was planning on sleeping in.

So it comes with no surprise that at 1:15 AM a very wet Michael stumbles into our room crying, waking both of us up from our sound slumbers.

His mom got him new jammies while I gave him a shower. Then I had him snuggle with his mom while I changed his sheets.

Fortunately, he went back to bed and fell asleep right away.

So… nothing earth-shattering, monumental, traumatic or shocking… just a typical night with one mistake coupled with bad timing that resulted in some lost sleep.

It could have been much worse. There could have been spiders.