Of Space ships and TVs
So this weekend, we finally bit the bullet and went out and acquired a new TV. After some vigorous discussion about the size of our existing TV (has it been said before that guys always think things are bigger than they really are?), which turned out to be a 20" rather than the 27" that I was sure it was, we decided to stay the course.

First, we thought "We'll pick up a cheap used one somewhere, and save some money."
Just a F.Y.I., nobody sells small TV's to second hand/pawnshops. The sizes ranged from 27" to about 45 feet. They were all huge. It did, however, afford me a chance to wander through some of Hamilton's more colourful pawn shops on a Saturday afternoon.

Not quite as much fun as army surplus stores, but pretty close.

So in the end, I went back to Wal Mart to get the lowest price possible on a TV, and had...you may want to sit down for this... a really good customer service experience.

You can breathe now.

I know I have been...oh, a little critical...of Wal Mart in the past, but I went in there expecting a total grind from the showroom to the till, and instead bumped into the VERY pregnant Assistant Manager doing some price checking. She found me the TV I wanted (last one in stock) got me the cheapest DVD player in the store, and even strongarmed two young hooligans working in the warehouse to come and take it out to the car for me.

I wished I'd caught her name, she needs a raise or something. Failing that, it taught me a valuable lesson about getting good service in a Wal Mart. If you need something done, go around and only ask for help from people who have a big bundle of keys on a lanyard, and are not wearing a stupid apron. That oughta do it!

So we took it home, and Isaac wanted to
a) Watch a DVD immediately. It was like an Alcoholic who's been dry for 60 days pouring a glass of gin, and
b) Turn the box into a space ship.

Now, his last spaceship had disappeared one night under highly suspicious circumstances, owing to the fact that it was a) Very large, and b) garbage night on the night it vanished. We made up some dodgy story about daddy having tripped over it and wrecked it...scary part is, when he saw the new TV box, he then recited the "whole cloth" story about the previous space ship's demise, word for word. Oops.

There's a great line in a Louden Wainright III song called "Being a Dad" that goes:
Being a dad, takes more than a tad
of good luck and divine intervention.
You need airtight alibis, foolproof disguises,
Desperation is the Father of invention.

What can I say?

Needless to say, Isaac has a new, and I might add, greatly improved, rocket ship. On Sunday we went alternately to planets inhabited only by
a) Rabbits,
b) Chickens,
c) Lions, and
d) Dragons...
at which point the puppet collection was exhausted, and we ended up visiting Luigi, on whatever planet he lives on.

One more thing. Isaac is on a bit of a "law and order" kick right now. Not the show, or the Conservative platform, more like "Being a police officer, and catching the bad guys" is one of his favorite games. It should be noted that he recieved a pair of handcuffs for christmas or birthday, I'm not sure from whom.

The challenge is, that the bad guys in our house are usually puppets; and puppets don't have wrists. So in order to "collar" them (literally), they get one handcuff around the neck. Then they are taken to whatever appropriate jail (Chicken Jail, or Dragon Jail, etc), where the handcuff is released from a great height, and they are dropped to the floor.

Oh well. At least it's not a Taser.

Of Ants and Skulls
So several peculiarities about Isaac's turbo-imagination have emerged in recent weeks.
The first is the ongoing discussion between the "good ants" and the "bad ants".

Isaac is extremely sensitive to the concepts of right and wrong. So in order to sort things out in his mind, he acts out little morality plays - often while in the car seat, that involve him just having discussions (including all appropriate voices) between the good ants and the bad ants.

"Don't steal the fire truck from the good ants" he'll say in a high pitched voice.
"But we want the fire truck" he'll reply in a *deep* growly voice.
And back and forth, until the Bad ants end up getting vanquishe somehow.

This whole discussion took on new meaning recently when he started referring to his hands as his 'ants'. Admittedly, when you're three, the two words sound similar. But what I anticipate (if it hasn't happened already) is him blaming "bad ants" for doing things, when in fact it was his hands (i.e. HIM) that perpetrated the offense in the first place.

So ants are complex.

Then comes the Skulls. He was in the tub the other night, and looked down at all the bruises on his legs, and said "Wow, look at all the Skull bites." So he isn't a clumsly little boy prone to walking into things and falling down alot, he is in fact the victim of a vicious skull that bites him when he's sleeping. I'm not sure what kind of skull it is - I'm hoping a mouse skull, or maybe a vole. Hopefully it's not a badger, or God help us a Tyrannosaurus.

So Skulls are complex too.

Meanwhile, in Sam land, the Down Syndrome Clinic therapist came to see him yesterday, and was very impressed with how well he's doing. She is going to work with him in the next few weeks to get him up and crawling and sitting up on his own. She left though, with Sam laughing and giggling, and smiling his huge one-toothed smile, and said "I'm really looking forward to working with him."

Because, of course, he is a total charmer. Which, of course, he comes by honesly. :)

Random Thoughts
You guessed it, it's time for more right brained musings from Me.

1. You never really understand what people say about the "consumerism and excess" of Christmas, until you have two small boys. On Christmas morning, we could barely get into the living room from the loot. Now don't get me wrong, I am very gratefull, and we contributed to it as much as anyone, however I was struck by the fact that halfway through Christmas day, with a ton of expensive presents in the other room, Isaac wanted to sit in his $12 sled/toboggan, and play "snow boat". He then insisted we make him cardboard paddles, so he could play properly. He then insisted we push him around in said snowboat while he pretended to paddle.

Noelle said I won the Dad of the season award for the moment when I was holding Sam, and pushing Isaac in the snow boat with my foot so she could get five minutes' peace and gobble down some food.

2. He ain't heavy, he's my boy. Isaac and Sam had a Dr.'s appt (in Isaac's words, "Dr. Rock-a-man is a very nice man") and we now know why our backs are always so sore.

Isaac is at 37 lbs, and Sam at 22lbs. Isaac also is in a bit of a clingy phase where he wants to be picked up all the time. So Noelle has great definition in her Biceps and Triceps, and Dad is going to need a new rotator cuff soon.

3. Bending the needle. Isaac has an incredibly annoying tendancy that when you say something to him, he responds with "huh?" So you repeat it, and he says "huh?" again. If you are really patient, you say it a third time very slowly, to which he almost always responds "huh?". Otherwise, you just go directly to step two which is "You heard what I said."

Now I admit I can talk a little fast, but I always make sure to slow it way down the second time, so I know he understands. He's just a) being cheeky, or b) trying to get out of doing something he doesn't want to, or not doing something he wants to.

So the other day, he opened his mouth and a string of absolute babble came out. His brain was moving at about 300 m/s, and his mouth just couldn't keep up. I caught something about Snow Bears and rescuing, but the rest just drifted off into a mumble.

"What was that, Isaac?" I asked innocently.
He looks coyly at the ground and says "You heard what I said."

It was all I could do not to a) laugh my head off, or b) send him for a time out.
Instead I explained to him that I did not hear him, and that's why I asked, and that this was the only circumstance in which you should ask someone to repeat themselves. But I used smaller words.

4. Sam is officially moving out of "the golden age of babyhood." In the golden age, according to the books, the baby is just interesting enough to interact with, but (and here's the thing) when you put him down, he stays there. This is no longer the case with Sam.

Now, in the past, if it was my turn to rise at whatever ungodly hour one of our boys inevitably wakes up at, then I would come downstairs, and either let Isaac watch a Diego video, or put Sam down on his mat, and give him a toy, and then retire to the couch for a few more minutes of shut-eye.

However, when I did this two mornings ago, I looked up after dozing off for what couldn't have been more than a minute or two, and Sam had rolled sideways out of the living room, and then scooted backwards on his tummy on the hardwood, until he was in the Kitchen, and practically underneath the Kitchen table. Hmmmm.

5. The TV has officially died. There had been some discussion the other day about whether or not to replace it when it finally went, and we weren't sure whether or not we would. Then yesterday it just stopped turning on, and the morning was fine, Isaac and I read books until Noelle woke up. Then came Noelle's time to make dinner, which for the last 6 months or so has been facilitated by Diego, Dora, Toupy and Binou, or Bob the Builder. Not yesterday. So while dinner was lovely as usual, the conversation took an abrupt turn to "when we would be replacing it", rather than "if."

Now I have said this a few times, but if you had told me 3 1/2 years ago that the TV would become an essential appliance in the house, whose replacement when broken would take on the urgency of say, the stove or fridge, then I would have punched you. It's funny how before having kids, you have all the answers, then that all dries up suddenly the moment you hear the first cry.