Preschool

We aren't totally sure what Roan does there all day, but pictures like this suggest he doesn't miss us at all.

What Pedals?

Grandparents - part I

It's that time of year when our apartment is overrun by senior citizens bearing gifts. It's Roan's birthday.

My parents came first. After packing all of Roan's presents, they actually didn't have any room in their luggage for stuff like clothes, which is why my father is wearing his MACS' sweatshirt in every single photo.

At The Top of the Rock, Roan gazes longingly at the Lego truck he can't open, my mother gazes southwest, out across the city, in the general direction of all the clothes she left behind.

Eric McClure: the only man in New York City wearing shorts.

Bike ride in Prospect Park

That yellow speck on the horizon is my son's helmet. He broke away and rode for freedom. Team MACS' never had a chance.

Eventually we caught up. We threw some leaves.

My parents commune with nature. Look closely and you will note that underneath her kangaroo sweatshirt, my mother is also wearing a MACS' sweatshirt.

Roan and Mia, at Mia and Taj's Halloween birthday party. In the background, my father, and the ubiquitous MACS' sweatshirt.

Choo Choo Halloween

Puzzle Man

Around the preschool, Roan is getting a reputation. A reputation as someone who loves puzzles. His teacher starts to tell me about his puzzle obsession, and of course I am interested in anything Roan related, and I am doing my best to pay attention, but...

I have this habit. When a conversation is full of text book phrases I go into a sort of translation mode. I mentally dumb down anything elaborate into something simple and catchy. So when Roan's teacher goes on and on about Roan's puzzle savvy in her Masters-Degree-in-Early-Childhood-Development terms I tune her out and think: Puzzle Man.

Puzzle Man's powers include undivided attention to putting together any puzzle ever devised. His single-minded focus is his greatest strength, but also his greatest weakness. Should a puzzle piece go missing, Puzzle Man will become distraught, even angry. The puzzle must be completed. He will not to be distracted from this mission. You will bribe him with other games, fruit, even ice-cream, and his will not even look at you except to insist that you produce the missing puzzle piece. You will explain the puzzle piece could be anywhere, under the stove, outside in the sandbox, downstairs under the couch, in the dark and dusty reaches under the bed and a thorough search would take hours, possibly days, and who wants to go to so much trouble when there are so many other puzzles to complete, so many slides to slide down, so many swings to swing on, and hey, shouldn't we go to the playground? And Puzzle Man will fix you with his steely gaze, undeterred and untempted, point to the spot where the missing puzzle piece belongs, and make that exasperated question mark noise that sounds like "eh?" and means, "Mom, we need to find it."

Back at the preschool, Roan's teacher smiles at me, somewhat expectantly. I have a bad feeling I've missed a conversational cue, it is probably my turn to say something with the words "executive function" or "synapse" but I've been checked out, daydreaming about Puzzle Man: The Halloween Costume. It's an awesome vision, but I let it go, and listen to her tell about the time that Roan commandeered all three teachers to scour the room for a lost puzzle piece. Eventually, they found it. Puzzle Man clapped, then dumped out the pieces and started all over again.

Apples and Bananas

Week in Review

Shabbat Abba

Making the challah

Expired rice

Daddy swing