A volleyball, a Sharpie and some leaves to the rescue

PB090063
Originally uploaded by spolay

When I first asked Benjamin last weekend if he'd like to help me make a scarecrow, he wanted no part of the project.

"I don't like scarecrows!" he shouted at me in defiance.

"But he'll be a friendly scarecrow," I tried.

"I don't want to make any scarecrows," Benjamin shouted back.

I tried to keep going, stuffing leaves nonchalantly in one of my old shirts, figuring I might be able to capture Ben's attention after a few more minutes.

"Daddy, stop! I don't like scarecrows!"

I had to pause in the interest of peace, and retreated to another part of the yard -- out of Benjamin's sight -- to resume the project by myself.

The real issue was not scarecrows, of course. Benjamin was wise to my true intent: To distract him from playing with Mason and his friend, who was over for the afternoon.

Mason and his friend were trying to play soccer. So was Benjamin, which is not inherently a bad thing. However, Mason and his friend were practicing the hardest shots on goal they could muster, and that meant the ball was flying pretty fast at just about the height of Benjamin's noggin.

Benjamin wanted to play with the big boys, though. The real issue with the scarecrow project was that Mason and his friend weren't doing it either.

I got most of the shirt stuffed, and was starting on an old pair of sweatpants -- and truthfully, feeling pretty silly at this point, working by myself in a hidden corner of the back yard -- when all of a sudden Benjamin appeared. The soccer ball had gone over the fence and into the neighbor's yard. Suddenly, while Mason and his friend were fetching the ball, hanging out with Daddy was looking more interesting.

My perseverance paid off. Stuffing leaves in pants, after all, can be a pretty captivating activity to a 3-year-old. Once Benjamin was hooked on the project, he was all in. He didn't even notice when the soccer game resumed. He, instead, was helping me look for a ball that would serve as the scarecrow's head.

The best part? No noggins were harmed on this particular afternoon -- except for our scarecrow, that is... he was beheaded briefly during the subsequent photo shoot.

So we named our scarecrow Wilson, in honor of his head. He's still in the front yard, and the three boys have been treating him more kindly. Each morning they check to see if his cap has blown off and make sure the hat and his head are properly situated before they get on the school bus.

Best of all, Benjamin has since declared that he likes scarecrows, and later in the week when he and I walked down to Crow Farm for some soup ingredients, he was pointing out the farm's scarecrow with glee -- and a little bit of pride that we had one to call our own.

(Postscript: I submitted the photo set for consideration in DC Urban Dad's balls contest. Will let you know how it turns out.)

No-school daze

No school for the boys today with it being Veterans Day, which translates to three times the normal distractions at the home office this morning.

The good news is Brandy is taking all to see Madagascar: Escape 2 Africa this morning, followed by an excursion to a friend's house in the afternoon.

Meanwhile, though, Benjamin is quite eager to be going to the movies, and was showing me a SpongeBob impersonation to demonstrate his excitement:



The movie doesn't start for another two hours though. Luckily, while I had raked and blown leaves all weekend, I didn't get a chance to move the resulting piles out of the yard. Hello, manual labor, the saving grace of any work-from-home parent on a no-school day.

Clearly, I am overworking my "staff"

Originally uploaded by spolay

One minute, Benjamin was singing "Wheels on the Bus." In the next minute, the accompaniment went silent. This is where and how I found him. When it's time to nap, it's time to nap!

You know it's time for a new car when (redux)...

...the manufacturer of your car decides to participate in a made-for-the-Web series targeted at women: Saturn, CBS Team Up for Online Series - Advertising Age - Madison+Vine: News

Although this could equally be a sign that it's time to turn in my Man Card... again....

The good news? My Ion is as manly as a Saturn can get. Well, OK, it's baby blue, and it has a petite-sized ACK airport oval sticker on the bumper, as opposed to the big, honkin' manly-sized one. On the inside, though, it is all man....

OK, that was weak. Here, have my Man Card back.... Not even a Hummer purchase can save me now.

Eating and drinking games

In between chicken and brussel sprout bites at dinner, we were playing a card from Family Fun Time's "Dinner Games," which works equally well as brain teaser and conversation starter. It also helps to keep the two younger boys engaged in the dinner setting, and contributes to them actually finishing their dinner because they spend less time fooling around.

The nightly Damoclean promise of dessert in exchange for a finished dinner helps, too, of course.

The card had prompted the family, starting with the youngest, to name a food. The next person repeats that food, and then adds a food that starts with the same first letter as the starter food. Keep going until someone gets tongue-tied.

I'm probably getting the food order wrong in this recitation of what happened next, but you'll get the idea.

Benjamin started us off: "Hot dog!"

Mason: "Hot dog, hot chili pepper!"

Sam: "Hot dog, hot chili pepper, hamburger!

Me: "Hot dog, hot chili pepper, hamburger, horseradish!"

Brandy: "Hot dog, hamburger, hot chili pepper..."

Mason: "Wrong order! Everybody drink!"

Brandy and I shot looks at each other, nearly doing spit takes with our seltzers and were unable to suppress our laughter. I'm pretty sure in between chuckles we were simultaneously and telepathically wondering what our 7-year-old has been watching on TV, home or away, and whether he's been playing Kool-Aid quarters or apple-juice pong when we're not looking.

Everybody drink indeed.

Contents under pressure

P1191027
Originally uploaded by spolay

On the outside, my Saturn -- complete with its tricked-out, ACK-emblemed bumper -- is in decent shape. Sure, there's a slight ding in the rear bumper from when a Jeep skidded into me after I stopped short on a wet New York road two years ago. All in all, though, it has held up pretty well after 5 1/2 years and 161,000-plus miles of interstate commuting.

The inside, though, is another matter.

I'm not sure why, but I never bought floor mats, so the carpets are a wreck, especially when you combine Northeast winters with the kids and I tracking in mud from the soccer fields and crushed shells from our driveway.

The real problem, though, are drink spills, and those stains are not limited to my carpets. I've had co-workers look at my blotchy cloth seats, and wonder whether their clothes are safe.

It's reached the point that if I know I'm going to be ferrying colleagues on the road, I borrow Brandy's Toyota Highlander and its leather seats. It's the family car and takes its own beating, but those seats have sustained the kids' and my punishment much better than my Saturn.

If I don't have the Highlander at my disposal, I'll employ reverse politeness:

• "Would you mind driving? My car is a mess."
• "Can someone drive? I've got child safety seats in the back, and I can't fit everyone."
• "You drive. I'll navigate."

The last two days have been no exception to drinks meeting their demise on my automotive interior. Yesterday, while returning home from Lookout Farm, Benjamin wanted a sip of his Gatorade. We were stopped at the time, so I dared to open the bottle and let him sip without a straw. No mishaps occurred at that point in the process. The truly foolish thing I did was jump back in the driver seat, and start the car. Benjamin's sip was a quick one, so he tried to hand me back the bottle, spilling some Gatorade on himself in the process.

I reached back for the bottle, and in the process finished the job by not maintaining the bottle's equilibrium and dumping some more on the seat, floor, and bag of apples we'd purchased at the farm.

Worse? I had no napkins in the glove compartment. I pulled a tissue -- unused, I believe -- from my pocket, and did my best to dry Ben's arm. No such dignity for the Saturn, though. The carpets and seats were forced to air dry on the way home.

Barely 18 hours later, I was on the road again, headed to New York, when after two cups of coffee I decided to forego a third and instead open a Poland Spring orange seltzer I had brought along.

I hadn't thought the ride had been too bumpy, but I guess storing the bottle upside down didn't help. The next thing I knew, I was wearing some seltzer, but my seat got the worst of it. Still no napkins in the glove compartment, so I had to drive with the windows down and the vents blowing in fresh air so at the very least my pants would dry by the time I disembarked at the corporate office an hour later.

As I pondered my liquid klutziness, a warning on the seltzer bottle caught my eye:

"Contents under pressure. Open slowly. Away from face."

Please add, "Away from car seat."

In addition to having missed my face with the cap and the liquid, the other silver lining was I don't think the seltzer will stain. For all I know, it might actually help remove the existing blotches.

One thing about which I am certain: I will listen to Brandy's seat advice when I zero in on my next car. Whatever replaces the Saturn will have leather seats.

Coffee, don't fail me now

My alarm apparently awoke Benjamin this morning, because as I headed
for the shower, he met me in the hallway.

"Daddy, what you doin'?"

"I'm getting ready for work"

"But it's too dark to go to work."

Exactly.

(Little did he know that my 6 a.m. wake-up call was actually "sleeping
in" after staying up late to watch the Red Sox last night.)

--
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