Ralph Covert

One of my goals as someone who isn't goal-oriented is to read Dr. Seuss stories with nary a flub. Was doing great on Happy Birthday To You tonight until late in the tale, then I almost choked on a line with some sounds that might have scared the kids.

One of the great revelations since having young'ns has been Dr. Seuss. I thought I knew him--Green Eggs n Ham, The Grinch, Cat in the Hat--but to know only his most famous is really to not know him. I found a book by chance with 13 stories, each prefaced by an author or famous person (Pete Seeger does The Lorax).

It has cool rough drafts, other Seuss artwork and advertising pieces. The collection includes the three above, but I had never read Horton Hears a Who, If I Ran The Zoo, Happy Birthday to You, Yertle the Turtle, McElligot's Pool and a few others.

So much fun to read, and so much respect for that writing. I don't care if he made up names to help rhyme; of course, those invented words doubled as his signature charm. The rhythm of the meter makes your mouth feel good when reading aloud.

The bonus of the discovery of this book was that even though I knew The Grinch and The Cat in The Hat very well, that knowledge was from a child's point of view and also from the cartoons. Reading them as an adult was like seeing them for the first time. The eureka also revealed that Green Eggs n Ham is weak, maybe his weakest. Over--rated, clap clap clapclapclap.

I'd cite my favorite lines, but it would take too long, and I promised brevity here. I know, better yet, read them yourself, and find your own (typed in a sweet, fuzzy tone of voice).

Van Halen

Man, there's a new fear in my life---swinging.

I know what you're thinking--swinging's not something to fear, Senyor Madre, could all your suburban friends be wrong? Hey! I'm typing about the chain-and-rubber-seat swinging, the kind where you give and get pushes and then move your legs a certain way when you start to slow.

Wait, that didn't help. OK, playground swings, playground swings, dear readers. They are making me crazy when I take the darlings to playgrounds; more wince-inducing than sandboxes and more uncomfortable than grandparents chasing their grandkids around the equipment.

I used to worry mostly about the cutiepies falling while climbing or being pushed accidentally from up high or pitching over the side of a tall slide. Now, I only cringe when one of them goes near a swingset with other kids already in motion.

I don't remember this being a problem with Connor, but Gavin and Darcy have each been knocked down, and the damn thing is, you could never blame another parent for it. Your kid was the dummy, not theirs. Luckily, the collisions haven't been hospital-worthy, but all it will take is one of those damn heavy plastic chairs with the roller-coaster-ride-type restraint, and your kid will remain permanently in the La La Land that made him run into harm's way in the first place.

Saw it nearly happen a few times today, to other folks' kids, and made sure to warn my own anytime they stepped in that direction. It's one of those events you can imagine and flinch just imagining.

So, to summarize, get some bubblewrap, stay away from playgrounds with swingsets, or try to go when there are no other kids, and go have fun!

Helmet

Poor Gavin's head had quite a week, and the damn thing is, with the way blows to the bean work, we'll never know how he's affected until he's 7 or so. No way you can judge if a 3-year-old's smarts are affected by concussive action. For the good or the bad.

First, on his request, he got his head shaved by Carrie and me. Then, later that day, at Monkey Joe's, he stayed too long at the end of the slide and then looked back as Darcy's feet biffed his right eye. Thought it would be a shiner for sure but turned into only two scrape marks. I really only have three rules at that place--we didn't come here to gape at the flashing lights and push buttons in the video arcade, only one ICEE for sharing, and get the hell out of the way at the end of a slide.

Halfway through the week, I threw squishy balls off Gavin's head repeatedly while the wee ones and I played something involving me throwing a ball and them chasing it indoors. I wouldn't do it if the ball wasn't soft.

I'm sure he banged into things along the way as well, but today I saw Darcy push him into a playground post. There was a metallic sound, and he grabbed his head and cried, so this one was confirmed. Without hair, his noggin is looking like a toddler's legs--happily marked with dark spots from playtime collisions.

And describing a bruise to them is fun, too. I think I have it right--a knock that doesn't break the skin but causes bleeding underneath, thus the discoloration. You could have bruise-free legs, sweetie, but then you might not have any fun. What would you rather have, bruises and fun or flawless skin while you watch?

We'll see how Gavin answers that when he comes to.

Blue Rodeo

My sister Ana sent me some pictures last week I had never seen, from my two visits to El Salvador when I was 7 and 11. She got them from her aunt Marta, who lives there still. Thanks to both ladies.

Freaky, because since then, my only recollections of those months were in my head. I had only one vision of a toddler Ana, and so I figured we didn't see each other much. But there were two family pictures with us in them, and one with her and I. Carrie thinks from looking at that latter picture that Ana really loved her older brother. Any new pictures of my dad are always cool, too.

Lo and behold, I had misplaced some pictures of me and my Dad from when we lived in San Francisco and Carrie found them tonight while looking at some of her old pics. I will scan every one of them--wait until you see 1) how chubby I was as a baby, 2) how much the 3-year-old me looks like Gavin, and 3) my mom's late-60s hair and fashion. She was a looker, no doubt, though.

Ana and I had exchanged photos back in October when Maggie and I visited, but to my dismay there had been none from my time in El Salvador. Now, with Carrie's discovery, Ana can see some pics of her dad she had never seen as well.

So strange to look with my kids at pictures of him--and maybe she and my brother Jose have the same feeling--and tell them that's their Grandpa, dead nearly 20 years before they were conceived. Funny, too, when they say my name as they look at a picture of him, or Gavin's name when they see a picture of me as a little guy.

Bob Seger

Carrie surprised me tonight by getting our favorite babystitter on last-minute notice, and we went to see Ralph Covert at Two Brothers Brewery in Warrenville.

Ralph was the leader of the locally-legendary Bad Examples in the 1990s, and then got really famous by doing children's music, most noticeably on the Disney Channel. Folks around here love him because he'd do well-attended shows at the Morton Arboretum. Our kids loved him, and a lot of his songs stick in our heads as parents.

Carrie sees him every once in awhile at Whole Foods, shopping, and he will be at the Borders in Danada March 25 at 11 am during their regular storytime, for a few songs and probably a CD launch. Anyway, at Two Brothers he was solo acoustic, and his first number was Not Dead Yet, the Bad Examples' best-known song.

That surprised me, and since I didn't know any other Bad Example songs, I wanted to then hear "I Wanna be a Puppy Dog," "Dinosaur Rumble," "Surfin' In My Imagination," and what is more appropriate for a brewery crowd, "Peggy's Pie Parlor Polka."

Have you listened to the words to that last song? "When I wanna a piece of pie, I polka down to Peggy's, I know I'm a very hungry guy, so I say 'May I please have a slice...."; "....if you want pie of any kind, polka down to Peggy's Pie Parlor...."; "...and in the sun or in the rain, I do the Peggy's Pie Parlor Polka."

You see it, right? Do I have to spell it out for ya?

Peggy's Pie Parlor=The Chicken Ranch. Pie Parlor Polka=The Horizontal Bop.

If you're still not with me here, "I love Peggy and she loves me, at least she gives me pie to eat."

Are you horny now? Or hungry?

Snoop Dogg

I've got a three-headed dog guarding the gates to Daddy Nirvana, and its name is MagDarGaverus.

The fun is being stubborned out of this whole Mr. Mom thing by the ganging-up that was inevitable and is solidly here. I hear 'No' as much as I hear 'Can I have?' Then there's the seemingly-illogical choices that slow things down as seats are fought over in the van; shiny objects distract when focus is needed; 4-year-olds named 'Maggie' decide that since 'Maggie' didn't make the mess, 'Maggie' doesn't have to help clean it up.

And on and on. Today, they all chose leaving the playground as Daddy's soft white underbelly, and each made me chase him/her. I carried the twins, asking Gavin to pick up my keys from a bench, and when we got to the van, them laughing all the way, no keys.

I didn't hear them fall, so I retrace steps with them in my arms and don't find them until we return to the bench. He of course had not snagged them from the start. Darcy escaped and I had to start over. Got Gavin to the van, returned to chase Darcy, got her in the van, returned to chase Maggie. I spanked her while I carried her, imagining what a casual observer of this mayhem might think as they reach for the phone to report an abduction.

Calgon, abduct me!

James Taylor

There's been a lot of poop in my life the past 36 hours.

First I had to remove one of our toilets, clean it out and dislodge a little doll that had been gumming up the works. Here's the conversation I had afterward with three little people: "Three things go in that potty--pee, poop and toilet paper. No toys, no wipes, no food, no toothbrushes. Pee, poop and toilet paper."

New wax ring, new water line, bathroom spotless until...no names, but someone's stomach problems couldn't resist a gleaming target--the newly spotless bathroom.

No more details, but it was late last night, so it was unfortunate as well as ill-timed. It led to little sleep as well as the need for diaper-rash cream. I left that jar out and tonight, the Terrible Two got into it and smeared the cream all over the boys' bedroom.

TV screen, bed frame, wall (little white handprints like some Native American tribe or the Blair Witch Project tent scene), poor Spiderman plush doll. Is life a great big bang-up NOW, Spidey?

Thanks go to Connor for doing a great job cleaning up the cream. I'm done.