In my comfort zone defense

Georgia: Age 2

In the spirit of documenting this thing called life, I must say: June and all of its wonder marked more than a few milestones. (Yes, I'll figure out an appropriate four-year-old way to sum up July in the next week or so.) In no particular order of importance, we've tallied up the following events: Cabin time with Aunt Val and family, a road trip to Chicago and Madison, a lesson in finger snapping, the inaugural summer soccer league, and Georgia's 2nd birthday. Two, I tell you! Not sure how the world got itself in such a hurry, but we're having a ball.

Ken: Age 4

The latest ball involves my YMCA Youth Sport Thursday night soccer league. Yes! Soccer! Destination: World Cup. I think, though, that the best part is the running. I used to think that being the goalie was cool. But no -- soccer really is all about the running. And the friends. Once, while applying my newly acquired knowledge of zone defense, I toppled into my friend Veronica. We go to the same park. The soccer play all but stopped as we embraced and exchanged our latest summer happenings at the mid-field line. Soccer. Is. Awesome.

Sam: Loving summer

In all of my four years, I've never experienced Val's lake as fully as I did this year. She has a four wheeler. Enough said. We fished, we ate, we rocked in the hammock, we gained intimate knowledge of mosquitoes and their bites. So comfortable was it to hang out with Grandma and Grandpa Conrad, the aunts, uncles and cousins.

Hooray for family! And fishing. And four wheelers.

Georgia: Swimming

We planted tomatoes a few weeks ago. (Yes, a tad late for planting season) Four plants, to be exact. Sam decided to name each plant in order to ensure proper backyard blooming. And so, each evening, we venture into the backyard with Dad to inspect Larry, Junior, Bob and Cassie. So far, they're growing at the same delayed pace with which they were planted. But, they sure seem happy. Sam sings his special tomato song to them -- to help them grow. Ask him to sing the tomato song to you, and he'll decline. Apparently the song is saved just for the tomato plants.

Ken: Soccer!

Chicago! Madison! Two road trips and a few hotels in one week -- you can call me a pro at back seat driving. Amid countless family and friends, we witnessed Mom's cousin become ordained as a Catholic priest. So full of faith and peace was Andrew and his family, that I have a renewed belief in the power of community, prayer, and the ageless rhythm of "Veni, Sancte Spiritus." Congratulations, Andrew -- and may we always and everywhere give God thanks and praise.

We wrapped the week with a splash in Madison: To dance at cousin Sarah's wedding reception, drop a few tokens at uncle Mike's pizza shop, and kibitz with timeless friends over chocolate-laced ice cream. I could get used to both the comforts and adventures of summer vacation.

And so it goes. Sam and I continue to link arms and dive into life together. Georgia is always nearby -- and behaving as if she's leading the way. I'm not sure what we'd do without her. Most of the time. Here are a few more tidbits -- just to complete the most recent picture of toddler-dom:

• The three of us -- Sam, Georgia and I -- have been introduced to the practice of fishing off the

  

  Sam: Age 3

  pontoon. (Thanks, aunt Val!) After a few rotten casts (and a few respectable ones), I asked, "How long is a fishing line?" To which Sam immediately responded, "As long as it needs to be, Ken." Huh. Sam. The altruistic one. 
• Georgia continues to request "Mom music" when we're in the car. Typically, this means a few minutes (only) of country music, followed by  decent selection of current pop music. Upon Dad's request that his children are exposed to all types of music, Mom now has us humming long to artists like the Beatles, Elton John, Eric Clapton and Billy Joel. Not bad, really.  Any other suggestions for Mom? Send 'em along. Until then, we'll be humming memorable bars of "Piano Man," "Running on Faith" and "Paperback Writer."
• Thanks to the aforementioned exposure to classic rock, I've figured out how to snap my fingers. Watch out, world.
• Yesterday we celebrated the end of my soccer game with dinner at the local (and I mean really local) hamburger joint. Sam looked out the window at the gentleman with the smoke stick (I think you adults call them cigarettes) and said, "Look at that man steaming." I guess that's one way to look at it.
• And finally -- I'm proud to report -- that Georgia is starting to master the English language. While I still hear phrases like, "My did it!" vs. I did it, and "My wash teef" when reaching for her toothbrush, she now calmly reaches for Mom's morning hug and says, "I slept well, Mom."

Hope the summer is treating you right, loyal reader! 

Until next time,

Ken

In full swing low sweet chariot

L to R: Ken, Sam, Georgia

The month of May! What happened? Spring arrived, and life just started trippin' right along. Ken here -- to report that I've been hanging with the sibs and nanny Kate, finishing my preschool year, and exploring a variety of slides and sandboxes across the Twin Cities. And now: Summer is officially in full swing. Huzzah!

The last six weeks or so have introduced us to the intricacies of tire swings, inflatable swimming pools, backyard barbecues, nightly ninja baths* and toddler-sized sunglasses. And we're still weeks away from the annual family reunion(s). Does life get any sweeter? I think not. 

Nanny Kate and us

Occasionally, we have movie night. This entails the choosing of an all-audience appropriate movie, and dinner together in front of the aforementioned flick. We recently watched the movie The Rise of the Guardians. It's good. You should watch it. I speak of this because, in addition to the sweetness of summertime, we're also learning the ins and outs of saying goodbye. From the lighter goodbyes -- like our goodbye to the spider we sent down the bathroom toilet -- to the more serious goodbyes, like to our graduate school-bound nanny, Kate -- Mom and Dad are carefully and confidently explaining to us the importance of change. Of the goodness of growing up. Of giving thanks for and believing in our guardians -- whether they're physically with us or not. (We love you, Kate. Thanks for safely guarding and growing with us!)

Uncle Rick and Sam: 2011

And sometimes our guardians are suddenly guardian angels -- whether we're ready for it or not. On Mother's Day weekend, Dad's oldest brother, our best uncle Rick, entered hospice care after a lengthy battle with his health. A few weeks later, we learned from Dad that the doctors couldn't fix Rick anymore, and that Rick was done living. Dad misses him. So does Mom. I am sad, for sure. Rick had a great laugh. He read us good stories. Being done living is tough business, becuse, as three-year-old Sam so eloquently put it, "Living sure is fun." 

Watch over us, Rick, and may your chariot ride to heaven be glory-filled and pain-free. We love you.

Spring 2014: h/t Kahnke Brothers

The next few weeks promise a glut of sunshine, new friendships and family time. I'll return more regularly with reports of outside adventures, pictures of toddlers in sunglasses, along with ideas and reflections big and small. Until we meet again, keep your guardians close, and always believe in the goodness and power of change.

With love,

Ken

*The ninja bath differs from the typical bath, in that it is conducted assembly line style: Kid One follows Mom into the bathroom and completes the following steps, in this order: 1) Clothes off. 2) Jump in. 3) Remain standing for the body lather and hair cleansing. 4) Jump out. 5) Towel off. 6) March into the bedroom for jammies, books and bed. Kid Two = Repeat steps 1-6. Kid Three = Repeat steps 1-6. Kids One through Three are clean and bedtime-book-ready in 17 minutes. Flat. (Note: A layer of sunscreen and dirt will remain on the floor of the tub after every ninja bath. Be prepared to clean regularly.)

That's not fair weather fan

Ken: At the zoo

Another march madness come and gone, and I can officially say that -- even with a busted bracket -- Mom's a basketball nut. We may have to practice our dribble together once the snow puddles are gone. Ken here -- to report that spring has arrived, and we're all swingin' to the heartbeat of warmer weather. Hooray, and happy Easter!

We stayed local for the Triduum this year -- mainly due to some kind of flu bug that decided to plague our house just prior to Holy Thursday. So much for road trips to Grandma Corrigan's house. The good news is that we're all on the mend, and the bunny still managed to sprinkle a little hardboiled love across our backyard.

Life moves on, and I have to tell you that I've been thinking a lot about fairness lately. Fair play, fair games, fair trade, fair calls, state fairs -- you name it. A variety of events have transpired over the last few weeks around this concept of fairness. And so, if you'll read on in order to humor a relatively old soul, I offer a small reflection.

Sometimes life's not fair.

Georgia: Lovin' the dress

Two weeks ago, at Grandma Conrad's house, Sam and I were playing nicely on the iPad -- no fighting. Then, Georgia walked over, and without a word, laid down on top of the iPad. I may have freaked a little. Sam cried, and without even a word of seeking to understand, Mom took the digital glory away from all of us. Boo.

I spoke to Mom about this later -- shedding as much four year old perspective on the situation as possible. My argument was met with patience, empathy, and a bit of an explanation. Grateful I am, for that. Upon further reflection, however, I've decided the instances such as this iPad sitting may continue weave itself into the existence of my human experience. What's a guy to do?

Have you ever experienced this element of fairness, dear reader? Something happens, not within your control. And, while you know you're not at fault, you see the ramifications of someone else's actions lying in pieces at your feet. You are then left to decide how to piece it together, remain true to self, and move on.

Sam in Springtime

Further observation tells me that we see this more often than we'd like. A miss on a promotion due to ineffective leadership. A finished marriage due to one's inability to respect. A postponed road trip due to a flu bug. An early death due to a freak accident. Your hockey team's loss in the playoffs. Detention for both of you, even though she started it. It happens.

I've decided that -- in any of these events -- the most important decision we can make is the decision to move forward. To acknowledge the unfairness, hold our heads high, and respond with a smile. Because, at the end of it all, it is our response to injustice that is remembered.

We are called to remember that we are an Easter people living in a Good Friday world (h/t Fr. Charlie). Despite life's sometimes-unfairness, we must know and continue to believe that good has already triumphed. And we must respond to injustice by picking up the pieces. By confidently and patiently continuing. By remaining true to self and doing what we know is good, and right and true.

Until next time,
Ken

For what it's worth every minute

Penguins!

Truth: I sometimes encourage a movie after dinner so that I can cuddle on the couch with my kids without actually having to give any more physical or mental energy away.

Sometimes we sing This Old Man...He Played [Number], and I skip all odd numbers, so that we can finish our bedtime routine just a hair faster than usual.

Sometimes, we play Trouble with only two pegs per person, instead of four pegs. And you don't have to roll a six to start.

Sometimes, after a less-than-stellar day at the office, a dinner full of (delicious!) carbs, and a quick once over of the kitchen, bathrooms and laundry room, I'd like the kids to put me to bed at 8:00 -- instead of the other way around.

Sometimes.

Ken's Play Dough
snowman

And then, I listen to the chatter, engage in the conversation, watch. And I'm reminded why we do this crazy thing called life. 
Examples of household dialogue tonight:

[Dad] "Georgia, eat your food."

[Georgia] "No thank you."

[Ken] "It's okay Georgia. You can use the poddy when your older. Then, when you're done pooping, you can scream for Mom or Dad or Kate."

[Sam] "Yeah, or Katie Perry."

Fish!

[Sam] "Dad, can we listen to the Beatles and have a dance party?"

Ken -- Smack dab in the middle of building his Lego tower, declares his sudden urge to see a man about a dog. He then proceeds to belt Frozen's Do you Want to Build a Snowman? at the top of his lungs whilst taking care of business.

[Ken] "I'd like to watch a show. How about you, Sam?"

[Sam] "Yep, me too. What show should we watch, Georgia?"

[Georgia] "Dora!"

[Ken] "I'm okay with that."

And I decide: yes. It's all worth it.

mbc

Something's gotta give it your best shot

Ken: Age 4
Sporting 3D glasses

Ken here -- at age four -- not-so-proud to report a recent self-realization. I am a poor sport. Yes, it's true. I just like to win. And when I am not the first to cross the finish line, I feel very little joy. You name it:

Candy Land.

Memory.

Slap Jack.

Go Fish.

The Keep-The-Balloon-Up-In-The-Air-game.

I just want to be the best.

This drive to win carries with it certain measurements of success. Candy Land, for example, sports the icons of victory. The cupcake, the Popsicle, the lollipop -- all of these picks earn you a faster trajectory to the castle. The best card to pick, however, is the bon bon. More commonly known at our house as the Cinnabun, drawing the card that pictures the golden brown fluff with white icing virtually guarantees first to finish. I try to keep my competitive juices at bay, but at times, emotional outbursts abound. Last week, Georgia drew the Cinnabun, and I actually said aloud: "The Cinnabun! Ak! I have to go faster!"  To divulge such a strategy so early in the game all but garanteed my demise. 

I digress.

Georgia: Age 1
Balloons and static!

Mom tells me that I come by this competitive spirit honestly. Dad -- ever the steadier of the rocked boat -- smiles and agrees. Despite my natural tendencies, I am a nice guy. I simply like to be first, best and at the top of my game. Who can fault me for that? 

Recognizing that her eldest apple has not fallen far from the tree, Mom regularly reminds me that no person wants to play with a poor sport. And, not every game needs a winner. Such talk. Nonetheless, Mom has proven her wisdom in the past, and I've promised her that I'd give this good sportsmanship thing a try. Now, I practice phrases like, "I'll give it my best shot," and "Good job Sam -- you won!" I even shook Georgia's hand yesterday and said "Good game." Whew! I have to say, it has improved the game-time atmosphere among the siblings.

Sam: Age 3
At the park

Here's the thing, my loyal readers: In my effort to recognize that winning isn't everything, I am also learning the importance of trying. And failing. And trying again. In my past quests for perfection -- drive for first -- I'd exercise caution -- shy away from new challenges. My inner monologue would whisper, What if someone is better at this than you? What if you don't do it right? Such talk. It's time to shove that voice aside and give it my best shot. For, to be perfect the first time prevents us from learning the real lesson, from acquiring our true character.

And so, here's to giving it a go. Here's to trying and failing and trying again. Here's to attaining your personal best -- and remembering to be a good sport along the way. Because, every game needs a player, but not every game needs a winner. (Although, it's still pretty sweet to pick the Cinnabun.)

Until next time, 

Ken

Better with age before beauty

The cherubs

Ken's mom here -- with a mini monologue on the aging of children. I'm quite certain that one of Time's telling-est tricks is Its ability to bamboozle us into believing that we naturally allow our children to grow up. That, coupled with our inclination to assert a child's future state onto the present (i.e. "A few more weeks, and we'll have you sleeping through the night," or "...if you could just get to the age where you can sit on your own," or "It'll be easier once s/he can [walk] [talk]") can have us caregivers playing fool to the notion that we are ready for the day that our child actually grows up.

Ken yesterday asked me to explain the meaning of the word serious. A reasonable question for a four year old. Not a minute later, he said, "Mom, at school today we played on the playground. I'm being totally serious!" Nicely stated, and well-applied, my inner voice cheered. And, by the way, how have you suddenly gotten so ... tall?

Last week, my three year old asked me why I was putting on my inside shoes. "Well, Sam, my 

Georgia, 3 months shy of two

feet just hurt a little bit. And these shoes help my feet feel better." He then studied my feet, placed his hand on my sneaker and asked, "Mom, what is ... hurt?" I hope I said something age-appropriate and parentally brilliant.

And now, a small story about waffles.
And pie.

Since the dawn of -- well -- Ken's birth, we've enjoyed homemade waffles from our Target-brand Belgian waffle maker. And, on the weekends, it's an extra special treat to squirt Target-brand whipped topping over the syrup-y goodness. Now, the only other time the boys and Georgia have seen this type of topping is at Thanksgiving, when all pies are donned with a dollop or two of this airy goodness. And so, since the dawn of kid time, Ken Sam and Georgia ask for pie. And we know, of course, that they'd like whipped cream. Thusly, for the last four years, all meals of waffles, pancakes, or french toast have been met with kid requests for syrup and pie. Of course.

This weekend, when I asked the cherubs who would like pie, Ken looked at me and calmly stated: "Mom. It's not pie. It's whipped cream."

Really? Who told you that?

Best birthday gift ever

I can only imagine that these "grown up" surprises happen at multiple stages in a parent's life -- these moments that leave us caregivers with a heart-swell. Proud of your age. Your beauty. Your smarts. Proud, yet not quite ready. My cup runneth over. For now, I share the toddler moments -- in hopes that you'll draw strength from the mild humor and stand in solidarity with me as I continue to grow with my children.

And, until we meet again, I'll take my waffles with pie, thank you very much.

Love,
Molly

Throwing caution to the windchill factor

Ken: Lord of the ring

Birthdays are a celebration of interest as of late. At pre-school, on your birthday, the group sings the classic song, and the person of honor brings a celebratory treat to share. The school handbook requests that we NOT bring food.

I know.

Because we looked.

Call me a cautious rule follower. 

On my birthday, we brought stickers. 

Despite the rule book's request, our two most recent celebration-makers brought cupcakes. (So. Delicious. I'm not breathing a word to the handbook writers.) Let me tell you, though, it's not the mini-cake and topping that have my attention. It's the cooler-than-ever ring wedged in the center of the frosting. A RING, I tell you! The first ring was a plastic snowflake with a touch of glitter (pictured). Charming, gender-neutral, and exactly the token needed to drive behaviors and activities between Sam, Georgia and me. Until Sam stepped on it. Broke into three pieces. Samwise. The guy just doesn't know his own strength.

Sam: Loyal companion

As luck would have it, a second ring arrived via preschool birthday and cupcake. Hoorah! Pink, heart-shaped, with a Disney princesses slapped on the center, this piece of precious has rekindled a fellowship of activity between us three siblings. Despite its more effeminate features, the ring proves a constant comrade (minus bed time and bath time), and I am happy to  whistle along to the rhythm of its calling. Three cheers for handbook rule-benders and preschool birthdays.

Indoor entertainment abounds these days, and I'm compelled to tell you about our pirate ship. Yes! At Christmas, we scored a real pirate ship. (Thanks, Monty and Sue!) It sits in the basement, next to the bar, and provides hours of toddler-sized entertainment. Mom dug through the Halloween bin and found last year's pirate hat. Typically, the one who dons this captain's hat and princess ring charts the course of imagination for the day. We sail to little-known places like: the corner of the laundry room, the top of the roof, or up and down the chimney. 

Georgia: Captain of the ship

In other  news, we fired up an annual membership to the Minnesota zoo. Who goes a'zoo-ing in the winter, you ask? We do. The indoor trails, penguins, fish (and the three-toed sloth!) provide just the right kind of escape from the hum-drum of these can't-go-outside-because-the-wind-chill-will-numb-your-teeth-and-rip-off-your-face kinds of temperatures. So, while some lucky buggers jet set to places like Mexico and Jamaica, we happily trundle to the Tropics Trail, shed our jackets and bask in the glory of 72 degrees and humid. It's the best 6.3 miles ever traveled. 

And so it goes around here at the Corrigan Conrad abode. Here's hoping this message finds you creating your own kind of fun as we march ever vigilantly toward spring.

Until next time,

Ken