kenny's parisian adventure - day 3: row, row, row your vedette

Wednesday, May 7, 2008 – Paris

I managed to pry my eyes open around 8:30am, and as quietly as I could, snuck downstairs to the kitchen to round up some breakfast for the troops. I was very cordially shooed from the kitchen by the staff and within minutes, housekeeping showed up at our door with a tray full of deliciousness. I had almost forgotten how incredible the bread in Paris is, and with each crunchy bite I grumbled about the lack of a bakery on every corner in Chicago.

Our morning game plan was to get up to Montmartre and wander the area around Sacre Coeur. We managed to leave the hotel around 9:45am and made our way to the Passy metro station, so Kenny’s love/hate relationship with Paris’ mass transit system could get underway.

Every time we saw a Metro train, Kenny would get very excited and happily hoot, “Choo-Choo!” Unless, of course, the train was on the opposite track and decided to leave the station without him. This was most unpopular and could often provoke screams of discontent and demands for the immediate arrival of a train he could board. Once we did get on a train, Kenny would mark each stop of the train with his ubiquitous “more” command, which he punctuated with the sign language move of bringing his fingertips together. God help the train that paused too long in the station before leaving.

We made our way out of the metro upon reaching the Pigalle station. From there, it was a short hike up the hills to Sacre Coeur. Pigalle appeared to be a bit of a Red Light district at night, which gave me the giggles as I pointed out to Overboard, “Hey! Look! Crepes! And look! Sex toys! Kenny? Did you see the sex toys?” Overboard was amused until I brought Kenny into it. Then I got a “shut up, you obnoxious American” jab in the ribs and I quietly pushed my son in his stroller up a hill and away from two for one deals on flavored lubricants.


Shamed into silence by his spouse, Evenkeel just shuts up and pushes the boy up the hill.

We had jerry-rigged a semi-elaborate system to hold the stroller’s sunscreen a bit lower to shield the vampire from the sun that longed to sear his skin with its evil, evil rays. Thankfully, it seemed to work fairly well and there was a decided lack of UV-based screaming. Super!

Haphazardly navigating our way up the hill by following other tourists and the lingering sense that what we were searching for was “Just up and to the right,” we finally emerged victorious at the foot of Sacre Coeur. We did a loop around the neighborhood to admire the storefronts and local artists and then went inside the church, before slowly beginning our descent.


Ah, Paris...

At the bottom of an enormous set of stairs leading up to the church, was a small landing with a mini-playground and an old carousel. Both of these proved to be quite popular with young Mr. Kenny.

After wearing a groove into the slide at the playground, Kenny and I took a ride on the carousel. He astride a horse, and me standing next to him, like a trainer, or perhaps a serf to his lordship. He was fairly unemotional during the ride, just sort of taking the whole thing in I guess, but when it was time to dismount, well, those buried emotions quickly made their way to the surface. Did you know that the sounds of a screaming toddler could carry all the way across six different arrondissements in Paris? No? Well, I’m pretty sure it did.


Kenny and Evenkeel before the ride came to an end and the screaming began.

After somewhat successfully containing a Stage Three meltdown, we found ourselves in a small park near the Metro. Having planned ahead, Overboard started to give Kenny a bite to eat from the food she had packed up that morning, and I went off to find some sandwiches, or something that could pass for lunch for us.

I eventually found a street vendor sandwich stand, which are fairly plentiful throughout the city. I got a chicken and tomato sandwich, where they place said ingredients inside a baguette, then stick everything in the oven to heat, and sort of seal it together. I thought I was being fairly clever and frugal at the same time. Unfortunately, Overboard wasn’t a big fan of Parisian street vendor chicken (a bit dry and bland, I believe). Me? I was okay. The boy wasn’t upset and I had food in my belly. All in all, not too shabby.

After our picnic, we went into the Anvers station and finally found a working photo booth, where we could take pictures for our Carte Oranges. Now, in the past, the technique for these things was to quickly take the first two pictures, then jump out and switch places for the second set. This way, two people got their pictures done for the price of one. However, modern technology has decided otherwise. Nowadays, you set up the picture you want, take it, approve it on screen, and then it prints four copies of the same picture. Not really the same charm as the old-school photo booths, non? C’est la vie moderne, I suppose.


The end result of our long photo search. Nice mug shots, eh?

Back at the hotel, Kenny and Overboard went down for a nap and I went out looking for more to eat. My stomach led me back to the vendor alley near the hotel and once again I hit up the Chinese takeout place for some dumplings. Overboard had requested a crepe, but I couldn’t find one of the crepe carts to get something to go. When you don’t feel like having a crepe, these freaking things are everywhere. When you actually want one? Not so much. Arriving back at the hotel empty handed, my wife passed on the cold dumplings I offered, but I think she still loved me all the same. Just not as much as she would have if I had returned with thin, sugary pancakes.

While Kenny slept, I visited with Jean-Marie Clisson, who had dropped by to say “bonjour.” I then switched with Overboard and she had a café with Michelle while I hung out in the room reading.

After two and half hours, Kenny was still dozing, so we gently encouraged him to wake up, lest we waste our day away. Overboard had nixed my air horn idea, so we just stomped around a bit and turned the lights on. Not as satisfying, but effective nonetheless.

It was decided that a boat ride along the Seine was in order, so we made our way back down to the Eiffel Tower. I settled on a Vedette Paris, which was like a low-rent Bateaux Mouches, but I figured a boat’s a boat, so long as it had a tinny PA system telling me about the sights in French, English and Italian.

Kenny passed the half hour before the ride playing in the park underneath the Eiffel Tower, making friends with the various picnickers, especially anyone who had a ball of some kind to steal, er, share.


Kenny stops to smell the flowers before taking a boat ride.

The boat wasn’t crowded, which was nice. We grabbed a spot along the back right rail and kicked back to enjoy the ride and incredible scenery and architecture of Paris.

Kenny discovered a fun game early on in the ride. Sitting in Overboard’s lap, but behind me, he watched as the breeze made my t-shirt ripple and billow. He then took much glee in smacking the air out of my shirt by pounding on my back. Apparently, this was hilarious.


"Boat rides! Yay!"

I was proud of the little whacking man, as he spent the majority of the ride taking everything in and occasionally commenting on things. “Boat! Tree! Pretentious college students on the Left Bank arguing existentialist talking points while chain smoking Gauloises!” His vocabulary is getting really advanced these days, even if it’s making him a touch judgmental.


We have lots of pix from the boat ride, but this one had a nice landmark and the boat in it. So there you have it.

The final 15 minutes, however, were spent trying to keep Kenny from running amok on the boat and wrapping his hand or mouth around objects that were most likely last cleaned in the late ‘80s.

We rewarded him with another trip to the Trocadero playground for some intense slide usage and a few turns on the seesaw. Kenny discovered the joys of sliding down a slide on your belly, feet first, and tested his new technique an estimated 186 times before we finally convinced him to leave.

Back at the hotel, Michelle and Kenny played a raucous game of chase on the garden Astroturf walkway. After working up a good sweat, we gave the boy a bath, put him in his jammies and rolled him on over to Michelle’s apartment for a delicious dinner of steak and haricots verts (green beans).


How many times can a little boy run back and forth across the grass? A lot. Seriously.

Unfortunately, as hungry as the boy must have been, he only ate a touch of dinner and was more interested in playing “flip me” with Daddy and singing the “Lapin Song” with Michelle. What are you gonna do? The kid was on vacation.


"Thanks for coming! Try the veal!"

Afterwards, our phenomenal babysitter, Michelle, pointed Overboard and I in the direction of an authentic French restaurant near the hotel and took the jammies-clad Kenny for a stroll by the Eiffel Tower before bed.

Chez Géraud was fairly rustic in style and felt very comfortable. The portly owner came over and said some things to me in very quick French and with a terribly thick accent. I think I caught a few words, but since I was pretty sure he hadn’t asked me to describe my childhood or comment on the current state of European politics, I just smiled and nodded. This worked and he patted me on the back before wandering off to the next table, undoubtedly to inform them that the American couple in the corner was very sweet, even if the husband was mildly mentally challenged.

We made a bit of sense of the menu and ordered dinner and a nice bottle of Bordeaux. A 2003, in honor of our anniversary, ‘cause I’m romantic like that.

The meal was legen…wait for it…dary. We started with some sort of puffy pastry amuse bouche, and then split an appetizer of sautéed mushrooms. For the main course, we both got the veal with super thin sautéed/roasted potatoes. And for dessert (yes, we got dessert), Overboard had the crème brulee, while I got an incredibly rich chocolate cake. While forcing ourselves to eat our veal as slowly as possible – so we could savor every bite – we commented that PETA wouldn’t have as much issue with veal if they tasted some that was this good.

After we were done, we just sat and grinned at each other for a few minutes. Here we were, in Paris, out to dinner alone and with a babysitter who wasn’t charging us an outlandish hourly rate (or any hourly rate, for that matter).

Just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, I waved the waiter over and asked for the check. He hustled off to get it, but the other waiter swung by 30 seconds later to inform us that “Madame Ferric has taken care of the bill.” Yes, the Godmother had struck again. I think she would take it as a personal insult if we actually attempted to foot a bill ourselves. Unbelievable.

We stumbled back to the hotel in a wine and incredible food stupor and Michelle told us that Kenny had crashed out around 9pm after a nice stroll about town. I thanked her profusely for both dinner and the babysitting, but she just smiled and brushed me off in her “bien sur” way. If there were an Olympic competition for spoiling, this woman would be the most decorated gold medalist the world has ever seen.

Maybe it was the red wine, but even after our wonderful evening, Overboard and I both had a fitful night’s sleep. At one point, Overboard stayed up surfing the Web on her Blackberry, and I spent a good 45 minutes in the tub reading my book. It was the price we paid for living the high life en Paris, I suppose.

kenny's parisian adventure - day 2: le vampire

Tuesday, May 6, 2008 – Paris

I woke up Tuesday morning at 9am. And then at 10am. And again at 11am. Just as I was about to set the internal clock for “noon,” I decided it might be a good idea to get up and not waste our first real day in town. While Overboard and Kenny continued to snooze peacefully, I showered and went downstairs to grab some breakfast from the kitchen.

Armed with a tray full of croissants, baguettes, jam, juice, milk and coffee, I went back up and lured my family from their slumber with tasty French breakfast items. Success!


Kenny devours some yummy French bread and "confiture" with American gusto.

We managed to roll out of the hotel around noon and set off to wander the city with only the slightest hint of a game plan.

From the hotel, which is located in the 16th arrondissement, we wandered over towards Trocadero, the plaza and museum campus across the Seine from the Eiffel Tower. Along the way we spotted a small playground, which was the perfect place to let Kenny get out some energy and test his theories of the joy factor differential between French vs. American slides. Luckily for international relations, it was a draw.


Vive les playgrounds!

Once properly pooped out, Kenny was snapped back into the stroller with his ever-present sippy cup, and we rolled up towards the Trocadero plaza. In between ducking African tchoke dealers, we snapped the prerequisite pix of everyone in front of the Eiffel Tower and then made our way towards the Arc de Triomphe.


"Nice arch ya got here."

Along the way, we learned that Kenny was what the French call “le vampire.” Even though he had his own stylish pair of sunglasses, Kenny refused to wear them. He also refused not to scream in agony when the sun dared shine it’s evil, evil rays upon his face. This caused much stress for les parents, and necessitated strolling on the non-sunny side of the street as much as possible, even when said street was the famous Champs-Elysées.


"Look, Daddy! Tourists!"

Along the way, we tried ducking into two photo stores to get the pix for the Carte Oranges, but at the first shop, the one guy working was in no hurry to help, and at the second, Kenny was in no hurry to stop fussing at top volume.

To try and get Kenny out of the sun, and to find a place to eat, we ducked off of the Champs-Elysées, but ended up in a fashion district. This was problematic, since fashion people don’t eat, and there were no restaurants of any kind to be found. Eventually, after some genial arguments between Overboard and myself, we crossed the Seine to the other bank and found a café that would serve our purposes. It didn’t have high chairs, but it did have a rugby theme, so there was plenty for Kenny to look at.

Unfortunately, while the bar staff was quite welcoming, the kitchen staff’s creations left a bit to be desired. If you can’t count on random Parisian café food to be excellent, what can you count on in this world? C’mon!

After a less than stellar meal, we rolled back onto the street and let Kenny push his stroller a bit. This went well until he decided that he wasn’t touching the wheels of the stroller nearly enough. This touchy-feely session was followed by a thorough “Purell those dirty fingers” session that wasn’t quite as popular with Mr. K. However, after we strapped him back in and took over the stroller directional duties, he graciously decided to pass out for a bit.


Overboard just loooooves to clean dirty fingers.

Paris is exhausting.

Overboard and I took advantage of the sleeping vampire to roll our way back to the Champ de Mars, by the Eiffel Tower. While Overboard searched out some ice cream, Kenny woke up after a 30 minute repose, and then proceeded to romp around the grass after a quick (but scenic!) diaper change in the shadow of the Tower.


"So this thing is pretty popular, huh? Looks like a big Erector set to me."

We figured that it was as good a time as any to take a ride on the famous Bateaux Mouches along the Seine, and went down to check out our options. Completely ignoring the tour boats further down on the left or right, I investigated the ones closest to me. These turned out to be “Batobus” water taxis, as opposed to the sightseeing boats we were seeking. Sensing that Kenny wasn’t really up for being stuck on a boat for an hour, we passed on the water angle and instead made our way back across the street to the Trocadero playground for a return visit.

This time around, there were tons of kids scampering around, which Kenny found to be quite interesting. Since he speaks the international language of “play” he had no problems communicating with his young French comrades about how cool slides are, no matter what country you’re in.


"Wheeeee!" said Kenny, in several languages.

It took some convincing, but we managed to get Kenny back into the stroller and made our way to the hotel, completing our big loop for the day.

After a round of showers, we met up with Michelle and went out looking for Chinese takeout to take back to her place for dinner. She led us a few blocks away to an incredible alley that was closed to traffic and filled with various restaurants, shops, markets and stores.


Dog Parking! I love these people.

After loading up on a few Chinese dishes, we swung by another market around the corner where Michelle gets her fruits, meats and other sundries. In her Gallic Godfather way, she instructed her fruit guys not to charge us if we ever came by looking for anything. I told her that if she kept this up we’d never leave, but I think it might have only encouraged her.

Once again, we tried to get the pix for the Carte Oranges (this time at the post office), but the photo booth there was broken. This search for instant pix had become a bit of quest. One we were not succeeding at.

At Michelle’s, Kenny insisted on a few more rounds of “Flip Kenny onto the Chair While He Laughs Manically” before digging into dinner. Afterwards, he managed to break a kitchen magnet on Michelle’s fridge and one of her lamps. So, all in all, a successful evening out for the boy.


"What happened? I think I blacked out there."

Michelle also introduced Kenny to a rabbit puppet she had and a variation on the song “Le Cerf et Le Lapin” (The Deer and the Rabbit), a French nursery rhyme. To his delight, she would nuzzle him with the rabbit and sing, “Ce matin, un lapin est venu chez moi” (“this morning, a rabbit came to my house”). This would become a highly requested song over the next few days. And by request, I mean demand. But in a cute way…most of the time.


Kenny meets his new ami, le lapin.

We got back to the hotel, gave Kenny a bath, and managed to get him (and ourselves) into bed
around 9:45pm. Early, by French vacation standards!

kenny's parisian adventure - day 1: on y va!

Monday, May 5, 2008 – Paris

Properly geared up for a week in Paris, we made sure to get to O’Hare extra early in preparation for our big flight. In the terminal, I struck up a conversation with a woman who was traveling with her husband and young son, Ben, who was only a year older than Kenny. As it turned out, they were from Minneapolis, but were living in France during her husband’s two-year work assignment for a company that manufactures credit cards (or something along those lines).

Ben was very friendly and he and Kenny had a nice animated chat while standing in front of the window, staring out at the planes on the tarmac. While the boys kibitzed, Ben’s parents gave us all kinds of nice travel tips, like how to properly pre-board and to be aware of the pasteurization differences between American and French milk (and the potential toddler gastronomic repercussions).


Kenny and Ben talk trucks, planes and international travel.

Once onboard (ahead of the pack), we strapped Kenny’s car seat into his airline seat, and then strapped him in as well. Seeing how close Mr. K now was to the seat in front of him, I began to quietly stress out about the next eight hours, and who would be the happy recipient of Kenny’s kicks to the back of their seat. In a miraculous stroke of luck, no one ended up sitting in the seat in question, even though the plane was quite full. Seeing as this undoubtedly averted an international incident at 36,000 feet, we were, how you say, relieved.

Kenny’s close proximity to the seat in front of him also meant that he was able to easily touch the in-seat monitor screen with his toes. Since the monitors are touch-activated, this lead to a joyous round (or six hundred) of turning the monitor on and off with little piggies one and two (“market” and “stayed home”).


Overboard is so proud of her son's toe-tastic abilities.

The in-seat monitor also had a special channel devoted to cartoons and this provided Mr. K with HOURS worth of enjoyable TV viewing. Now, generally, Kenny is allowed to watch a TV once or twice a day for around 20 minutes at a time. I would say the three to four hours he put in during the flight made up for all of his lost time in front of the tube at home.

The humorous part of his TV watching was his frustration with credits. When the cartoons came to an end and the credits appeared (or when someone made an announcement over the plane’s PA system, thus putting the TV on “hold”) Kenny would fuss at high decibels. We fixed this problem by teaching him to count down to the start of the next show. So, over the next few hours, at 10 minute intervals, a little boy’s voice could be heard throughout the cabin shouting, “One! Eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one…ACTION!”

Kenny did manage to fall asleep for a few hours during the flight. Graciously, he announced his intention to pass out by screaming at the top of his lungs for a minute or two, before closing his eyes and slumping over to his left. Just like I taught him to do.

By the end of the flight, we were all ready to go. Not just Kenny, but Overboard, myself, and all of the other passengers onboard who I had apologized to and given each a duty-free gift card (that may or may not have been valid in an EU country).

While taking the crowded bus from the tarmac to the terminal, Kenny and Ben were reunited and amused the huddled masses with rousing renditions of “The Itsy Bitsy Spider.”

After we managed to get our luggage, etc., we made our way out to meet the car Michelle has sent to pick us up and deliver us to the hotel. The very nice driver, Joseph, spoke excellent English, so I chatted with him in a mixture of French and English as we drove into the city and Overboard and Kenny crashed out in the backseat.

Driving through Parisian traffic I began to realize a few things: 1) It had been 14 years since my last visit and I truly missed this city; 2) Man, I’m glad I don’t have to drive here. It’s like Boston with smaller cars and less rules (if that’s possible); 3) I’m really, really tired.

We arrived at the hotel and were greeted by Michelle who, for the first time since I have known her (which is something like 22 years now), had let her hair grow out and go grey. She looked great (as always), and from the moment I reluctantly detached myself from her tight embrace, the spoiling began.

Michelle put us up in a fantastic room on the third floor of the hotel, complete with a pack n’ play and high chair for Kenny. We took the opportunity to clean ourselves up and then head around the corner for some lunch, since it was already after noon.

Michelle had also obtained a stroller from Laurent, but it was a jogging stroller, and a bit cumbersome. Super for a sprint through the Tuileries, but a bit difficult for navigating the Metro. Not a problem, however, as Michelle and I replaced it later with a more agile stroller, which would later become a hotel perk for future visiting families.

But in the meantime, we strapped Kenny into the jogger and rolled around the block to a small Italian restaurant called “Dino” with a groovy purple interior and a decided lack of amenities for children. This was our first indication that Paris, for all its wonders, may not be the most toddler-friendly destination. But we thought of ourselves as intrepid world travelers, and forged on undaunted, and slightly deluded in our beliefs that we could keep a sleep-deprived, slightly jet lagged toddler entertained and still in a small Italian restaurant in the heart of Paris.

Between Kenny’s desire not to sit still for longer than two minutes without screaming bloody murder (which, remarkably, seems to be easily translatable into French), and my needing to send my first pasta dish back due to unforeseen crème sauce that would make a lactose-intolerant person such as myself shudder, lunch was not so much a success. Overboard and I took turns shuttling Kenny outside to see Paris (“Look! A dog! Bonjour, monsieur chien!”) and scarfing down lunch.

Afterwards, it was universally decided that napping was in order, so we slept for a solid three hours before I forced everyone to get up, in an attempt to adjust to local time sooner than later. I may have been correct in my theories of defeating jet lag, but I wasn’t necessarily popular.


Kenny wedged himself into a comfy spot and snoozed like a champ.

While Overboard and Kenny roused themselves, I went with Michelle to the Passy Metro station to get Carte Oranges for the week. These are passes that let you ride the train or bus, but require pix for security purposes (mostly for the bus). Getting the pass was no problem, but finding a photo booth would soon prove to be problematic.

After getting back to the hotel, we made an enjoyable trip to the local supermarket and then over to Michelle’s apartment for an outstanding dinner of tomatoes, veal, asparagus, potatoes and champagne. This was enhanced by the breathtaking view of Paris from Michelle’s balcony and the new game Kenny and I invented before we ate.


Les Invalides, as seen from Michelle's balcony.

Michelle got the memo about Evenkeel's favorite French beverage.

The game involved me grabbing him around the middle, counting down from three (in French or English), and then flipping him over onto a big leather chair. This game’s popularity rivals Thomas the Train’s in Kenny’s world. That is to say, it was a hit.



Kenny and I spent some time after dinner watching the French version of “Who Wants to be a Millionaire?” before retiring back to the hotel and finally passing out around 11pm.

One day in Paris and Kenny was already eating and sleeping on a European schedule! Formidable!

starting tomorrow: kenny's parisian adventure

This is the story of how Overboard and Evenkeel managed to take Kenny on an actual vacation that didn’t involve going to some sort of family function. This would be the first such “vacation” taken by Overboard and Evenkeel since their “Babymoon,” which Kenny was at, but has no recollection of.

Ok then. It's a long story that is broken up into seven parts, and tomorrow we get underway. However, if you can't wait (and don't mind pictures without the proper context), then you can always click here and here to check out our Paris pix.

À bientôt.

guess who's two!

I'll give you a hint. His name rhymes with "Shmenny" and he looks remarkably similar to this guy:


Kenny's grandparents, great-grandpa (aka "GG"), Cousin Adam and a cast of thousands* came to visit this past weekend and celebrate his tremendous milestone. There was a lot of eating, playing, and running around so much that you collapse into a heap and take a two and half hour nap. So, all in all, a huge success.

Video highlights coming soon, but in the meantime you can check out all of the birthday weekend pictures here.

Send your birthday wishes to Mr. K by posting a comment, hiring a skywriter, or sending really extravagant gifts that his father will have fun playing with.


*Maybe not exactly thousands, but it sure felt like it at times.

paris - the novella

The extended (and quite detailed) Parisian adventure recap is coming soon, I promise. I'm still working on getting everything typed up and organized. But in the meantime, may I present a few "normal" updates to satiate your need for Kenny:

Feel the Rush

The other night before bed, Kenny decided to run in circles in his room. And not just once or twice. I think he was on Lap 25 or so when the dizziness really began to sink in and he began to fall over mid-turn, like a college freshman heading home around 2:30am. Overboard finally decided to pull him into her lap to stop him from circling, but when she leaned him forward a touch she paid the price. Yes, to continue his college freshman impersonation, our little boy threw up a tiny bit in her lap (but in the cutest way possible, of course).

Daddy's Shoes

Kenny has a new thing now where he takes my flip-flops (or other shoes, but especially my flip-flops), and instead of putting them on his feet, demands that I put them on mine. "Daddy's shoes!" he announces, and lays the footwear at my feet. When I slip them on he gets very happy, but then wants me to take them off again so we can repeat the process, complete with the pronouncement of, "Daddy's shoes!" (lest I forget).

The Very Picky Reader

In the past, Kenny was quite content each night before bed just to sit in my lap while I pulled out book after book to read. Usually, I would stack up a selection of literature on the nightstand by his rocking chair and just move seamlessly from story to story (even if he turned one away, I had another ready to go). Now, even though I try to do the same pre-reading stacking routine, Kenny generally opts to sit through one story, turn down my attempt to grab another book, slide down off of my lap and sort through the bookshelf himself until he finds something he would like to hear. I don't mind the self-determination, but it just sort of slows the process down a bit. And although Daddy doesn't like to admit it, he's a slave to routine. Oh well. At least it's becoming increasingly clear who's really calling the shots around here (after Overboard of course...she's still at the top of the family food chain).

The Lil' Hurler

Kenny loves to throw things. Balls, Lego blocks, cell phones, dog food, you name it. He does it with a gleam in his eye and a hitch in his wind-up. Although there are often times when this is not preferable, what I'm really having issues with at the moment is when he does this in the basement in close proximity to the nice plasma TV. You can dent Daddy's walls, car or ego, but please, for the love of all that is holy and available on the NHL Network, don't damage the TV! You'd think he could appreciate this, but have you ever truly tried to reason with an almost two year old? Not as easy as you'd think. He doesn't appreciate what a damaged TV could do to George, Tigger or the Little Einsteins, in addition to Mommy and Daddy's habitual post-Kenny-bedtime TV watching. Now, if he can learn to throw a knuckleball left-handed, well, he can smash whatever the hell he wants. But until then, the battle rages on.

happy birthday, dr. overboard!

"I don't know who this Overboard person is, but Happy Birthday, Mommy!"

bonjour, paris!

Kenny took us to Paris for a week to visit his "Mimi" and engage the locals in extended philosophical discussions about the deeper existential truths behind Thomas the Train. Stories, pictures and videos coming soon. First, we battle the jet lag and mountain of work...

my little teamster

Here are some shots from an afternoon expedition in the backyard/driveway.


Kenny surveys his latest construction site.

Construction Man doesn't need a hand when he's got a shovel!

I tried to get a shot of him running towards the deck, and as I was about to take the picture I thought to myself, "Gee, I hope he doesn't trip." Then I caught this. Luckily, Kenny caught himself and disaster was averted.

Kenny tries to get Sadie to play "follow the leader" around the deck.

Sadie did not show much interest in Kenny's game and wandered off to the yard to eat grass clippings. This prompted Kenny to grab the railing and start howling her name in a misguided effort to win her affections (and play follow the leader). He punctuated his cries with occasional kissing noises, since this is how I tend to call the pooch. Eventually, I tried to help him out, but the dog was still having none of it.

It looked/sounded something like this:

an afternoon at the museum

We made the most of our membership to the kid's museum last weekend and dropped in for an hour or so of fun. Kenny made his usual rounds of the car room, water room, and train set. Much fun was had. We ended it all by grabbing what turned out to be an excellent duo of pretzels from the cafe. And there you have it. A week late. Whatareyagonnado? At least we have pix to share:


Kenny mans his position near the end of the track, where he can pick off any car that tickles his fancy.

"Hey, where'd my pit crew go?"

Overboard imparts her extensive nautical knowledge to Kenny.

Kenny plays, "If I rip off the sail, will it still float?"

Not sure what he was thinking here, but it looks suspicious.

Please note the change of shirts from the above picture to the one below. This is what happens when you get really excited in the water room and play vigorous rounds of "splashy, splashy." Lucky for Kenny, his parents are getting smarter and starting to travel with a change of clothes when we go to such aquatically emotional places.

Kenny makes sure that the 5:25 stays on schedule.

three magic words

Overboard has a new post-bath routine with Kenny. After getting him back upstairs and on the changing table, she puts his overnight diaper on and then rubs some lotion on his arms, legs and tummy. While she does it, Overboard slowly says to Mr. K, "I...love...you!" The payoff is that Kenny loves to say the same thing back to her: "I wuuuuvvv ewe."

It's a very cute and sweet moment, and I like to take it all in and then hit up Overboard for a favor while she's feeling overcome with the warm fuzzys. You gotta know when to pick your moments in this house.