Guitars

Okay, I think we can all agree neither Elijah nor Luca will be playing first base for The Yankees, or the Blue Sox or one of those other sports playing teams.  But they never really had a chance, did they? 

I blame myself whenever I hear about one of Elijah’s friends making fun of him for not being sportive enough.  As a defense mechanism, I tell him those friends are idiots who will be working for him one day.  Which works to make him feel better zero percent of the time.

Well, Elijah’s happiness and long-term coolness factor shot through the roof a week or so ago when his brother Luca uttered the now famous words, “I don’t want to be a fireman anymore.  I want to be a music playing guy.”

Ah ha!  My sons don’t have to play sports.  They can play music!  And as anyone who has a photograph of me from high school knows, they are genetically pre-disposed to musical ability.  Just so long as that ability involves marching band.

Like all great ideas, Diana immediately threw $200 at it.  In the form of a mini guitar for Eli and a ukulele for Luca.  Of course when we presented them with the instruments they coveted and fought for their brother’s. 

The first thing Eli did was go show the girls next door his guitar.  Exactly. 

Luca, on the other hand, carries his ukulele around constantly.  And he, unlike Elijah, plays it.  A lot.  The fact that he plays the ukulele like an upright bass makes complete sense.  He likes to play us “sad songs.”  They don’t really sound that sad.  In fact, they sound completely awesome.

I even dusted off our other family guitar and squeezed out a few chords with the boys the other day.  I attempted in vain to show Eli how to play an E-minor chord, but I realized we would need professional help because I kept breaking his fingers placing them on the strings.

So instead of sports camp, we are enrolling him in the world famous Old Town School of Folk Music.  The place Diana learned guitar and fell in love with her instructor. 

I plan on taking him just in case the instructor is still there.

Dada

This is an unprecedented string of Luca only blog posts in a row.  I feel good about it.  Real good about it.

When I left for South Africa (I promise this is almost the second to the last time I am going to rub that in your face), Luca was deep into his Oedipus fueled period of calling me “Rick.”  Or “Wick” if you aren’t strong on R’s. 

I sat him down right before I left and said, “Hey.  I really prefer you called me ‘Dada.’ Or ‘Dad.’  Or ‘El Dadarino’ if you aren’t into the whole brevity thing.  But let’s not call me ‘Wick’ anymore. Okay?”

“Okay Wick, I mean Dada.”

I came home from my trip to…well, you know, and Luca immediately started calling me “Dada.”  Oh good.  Balance was restored in the universe.

Except it wasn’t.  Things were broken in the universe.  Somehow the move to a new house, plus an absentee father for 2 weeks, caused a spring to come loose in Luca’s head. 

He simply could not be alone.  Anytime a parent left the room, he would cry uncontrollably.  In my case, he would also shout, “Dada!  Dada!  Dada!  Dada!” over and over until I returned.

We’ve resorted to lying down with him until he falls asleep rather than run the risk of waking up the neighbors with hysterical cries of, “DADA!”

On the Saturday night after I got back, I was bathing both boys and got a call from my boss.  It was a DEFCON 1 call.  Yes, it was a full blown advertising emergency.  Unfortunately, we have the world’s worst cellphone coverage in our new house and all I could hear from him was, “Titanic…iceberg…Kate Winslet nudity…”

Fortunately, we do get cell coverage on our front lawn, so I turned to Luca and Eli and said, “I have to go take a quick call.  I’ll be right back.  Don’t freak out.”

At which point Luca freaked out.

He simply would not let me out of his sight.  He began heaving and wailing and shouting.  I said I simply had to take this call.  What did he want me to do?  Sit with him, nude and dripping wet on the front porch?

Luckily, it wasn’t cold on our front porch.  Our neighbors didn’t seem to mind a completely naked boy standing next to me as I talked on the phone.

Luca Style

While I was gone, Diana took the boys to Kid Snips, the $18 haircut joint.  Yeah, $18 seems like a lot to me too, but it buys you a chance to sit in a hair covered race car or hair covered boat.  You also get to play a hair covered video game or watch a hair covered DVD.  And yes, it all comes with a hair covered sucker as a treat.

When Diana walked up to the hair covered door, she noticed a sign.  “$10 buzz cuts!”  She turned to the boys and asked if either of them wanted a buzz cut.  Elijah rolled his eyes through his surfer bangs.  But Luca immediately volunteered, not even remotely knowing what a buzz cut was.  And when he walked out a half hour later, it was as if the buzz cut was created for him and him alone.

That’s what I love about that kid.  He barrels through life his way and he doesn’t give a rat’s patootie what you think.

Shoes are another example.  He likes to wear them on the wrong feet.  Left on right, and vice versa.

I’ve spent countless seconds readjusting his footwear.  It just looks so painful.  And vaguely creepy to see him waddle down the street with his toes pointed out all wonky.

I try to point to landmarks on his shoes.  “See?  Those buttons go on the outside of your feet.  That means they are on the right foot…”  I chastise.  I cajole.  I forcibly remove and reapply shoes.

The other day, we were heading out to the park and I said, “Freeze!”  Shoes on the wrong feet, pal.” And I bent down to get down to business.

Luca balled up his fists and shook with anger.

“Dad!  Don’t!  This is my style!”  And he stomped off, wonky footed.

I decided not to worry about his footwear again until we need orthopedics to fix whatever this style is doing.

Bugs Zebras and Elephant Hair

On my past business trips, I avoided getting the boys any presents.  Mostly because I wanted to extend the time I have to hear the dreaded words “What did you bring me” for as many years as possible.

But when I was in South Africa, I my pal Chris Reed described how he had this cool little shelf in his kids’ rooms that over the years he’s filled with nice little tokens from his travels around the globe.

Well, there was no way I was going to allow Chris Reed to win “Dad Of The Year: Traveling Team.”  I had to destroy him.  By buying useless crap.

Luckily, South Africa has a very centrally located center for useless crap.  It’s a town square overloaded with vendors’ tables.  Each one featuring a slightly different version of the same six African items. 

I walked around the place with a deep sense of dread.  I just hated being the big, dumb, rich, fat American trying to negotiate with people whose livelihood depended on my big, dumb, rich, fat American-ness. 

After much walking a lot of awkward mumbling of, “No thank you, I’m good,” I was satisfied with my purchases.  A couple carved African animals.  Some bracelets made from (I assume humanely acquired) elephant hair.  And my favorite: massive formerly alive African beetles encased in plastic.

That night, I called the boys to tell them they would be receiving gifts when I got back.  Both were very excited.  Particularly Luca. 

“Did you get me a toy?”

“Well, no.  These are more like things to look at and hold and think are cool.”

“Like a fire truck?”

“Well, no.  They didn’t have any fire trucks.”

“There are no fire trucks in Africa?  How do they put out fires?”

“Please put your mother on the phone.”

I continued to build up the fact that I was bringing them home gifts in the days leading up to my return.  I worried a bit that I was overplaying things.  The little carved and plastic and hairy things in my luggage may not be as impressive as they originally were on the tarp covered card tables.

When I arrived home the first thing the boys said was, of course, “What did you bring me?”  But that was my doing.

Surprisingly, they loved all my gifts.  Especially the bugs.  They were sufficiently gross.  Luca became attached to a carved zebra and proceeded to carry it with him all day.

Maybe I succeeded in taking down Chris Reed after all.  But on a walk around the block, Luca chucked the zebra across a yard and its leg snapped right off.  He left it behind.  A sad little broken creature far from home.

Don’t worry folks, I gathered up the little guy and nursed him back to health with the help of super glue.  So now it can join the herd of other completely ignored toys on Luca’s shelf.

Key Lime Cove

Wait a minute.  I write a blog?  I love blogs! 

Sorry for the lack of posts, but I came back from my shoot to a smallish mountain of work just waiting for a completely jet-lagged man like myself to mess it up. 

But allow me to back up a minute to tell a tail of the greatest/worst place in the world.

About three days before I was set to come home from South Africa, I got the call that happens every time I go out of town:  The Broken Diana call.  It usually involves bouts of crying mixed with detailed descriptions of all Elijah and Luca’s transgressions.  This latest one involved Luca punching Diana in the eyeball, at the request of Eli.

I offered my condolences and said if there was anything I could do from my luxurious 5 star hotel bar, I would.  Diana suggested when I get home, I get the boys as far away from her as humanly possible. 

I suggested Wisconsin.  Namely, the Key Lime Cove waterpark.  I’d seen it from the highway on a few trips north and looked simply awful and great.  A big beige building with brightly colored waterslides erupting from every angle, kind of like a poop-filled Medusa.

I also heard it was wonderful and hideous from a few friends.  Great for kids, but Hell on earth for adults.  I was hooked.

I invited my brother’s clan along and after changing into our various super hero themed swim suits, we entered the pool.  It was glorious and miserable.  The air temperature was slightly too cold to be comfortable, yet warm enough to hasten the spread of disease.  The smell of urine/poop/chlorine was deafening. 

Eli’s eyes bugged out and I could tell I had just become the greatest dad in the history of the world.  I looked at Luca and instantly remembered, “Oh yeah.  Luca hates the water.”

Wanna go on the water slides?  No.  Want to go in the kiddie pool? No.  Wave pool?  Nope. 

I did finally convince him to ride an inner tube around the lazy river a few times.  But I accidentally capsized us and almost drowned Luca in a very un-lazy way.

We both decided our favorite ride in the park was the showers right before entering the pool.  They were so warm.  And so free of diaper residue.  Luca and I spent an hour lathering each other up and rinsing off. Glorious.

After our 50^th shower, I suggested we all head to ye olde timey ice cream shoppe for burgers and, God willing, beers.  After we ordered from the perkiest waiter in the world, I noticed Luca did not seem well.  He was laying lifeless on the booth and his eye had a decidedly goopy look. 

Pink eye!  He also complained of an earache.  Most likely from whatever microscopic things lived in the lazy river.     

Exactly a half hour later, his ear became unbearable and along with it, his screams.  Since we were all sharing a room, I decided to drive him home to Evanston, wailing the whole time.  Thanks to a healthy dose of Children’s Tylenol, he fell asleep and his ear felt much better.

But his eye is still goopy.