After I affirm (with a positive grunt) that water freezes at 36 degrees, Griffin twists his head and asks, matter-of-factly,
“Daddy, are you for real listening?”
Busted.
After I affirm (with a positive grunt) that water freezes at 36 degrees, Griffin twists his head and asks, matter-of-factly,
“Daddy, are you for real listening?”
Busted.
Today marks our first morning of the season with significant ice outside. We’ve had a few frosts and light glazes, but nothing you could slide around on. Griffin, Maggie, Zoe, and Cedar had a blast sliding around before the older kids caught the bus to school. On our walk back to the house, Maggie suggested that I take a picture to send to Mama (who is in iceless San Diego). Good thinking!

Music can be tough with our kids. Some children’s music is hard to listen to as an adult. And Griffin and Maggie both like to repeat songs endlessly, bludgeoning even great songs to death. They are also mercurial, wanting to switch songs, bands, and genres repeatedly, and always wanting to control it. My answer to this has been Pandora.
At first the kids were disappointed when I put it on, because they couldn’t make requests. For those that don’t use Pandora, it basically generates playlists based on some musical seeds that you create, but you can’t request individual songs. As you listen you can fine tune the station. I created a station for Griffin, called simply “Griffin Music,” seeded it with some songs that he liked, and then showed him how to use the “Thumbs Up” and “Thumbs Down” feature to mark songs that he liked or didn’t like. After he got used to this, he loved it. (Of course Sarah and I could also go in and “Thumbs Down” songs that drove us nuts.)
While glancing over the station details recently, I was shocked to see how many tracks Griffin (and Maggie, to some degree) had marked. We launched the “Griffin Music” station in 2011. Since then we’ve added nine seed tracks. Griffin has thumbed-up 228 tracks and thumbed-down 21. Read on if you’d like to actually see those lists, a snapshot of Griffin’s musical taste over the past few years. These lists are current as of November 17, 2015, and are sorted in reverse chronological order.
Continue reading Griffin Music
On the way up to bed tonight:
Maggie: Mama, will you be a monster?
Mama: Sure! Roarrrrrrr!
Maggie, looking nervous: Wait! Um, can I be a monster too?
Mama: Sure!
Maggie: Ok, since we are both monsters, we can touch each other.
Mama: Ok…
Maggie: Let’s hold hands on our way upstairs.
Mama and Maggie, holding hands: ROARRRRRR!
Update—the following night, with Sarah out of town:
Maggie: Daddy, play monster!
Daddy: Ok. Roaarrrr!!!
Maggie squeals, makes it half way up the stairs, and says, “Wait! I’m a monster too!”
We hold hands the rest of the way, roaring together.
Update—yet another night:
Maggie: You know what? I’m super tired so I runned out of energy. That’s why I don’t want to play monster.
Donald Trump came up tonight during an eclectic dinner conversation, mostly between Sarah and me, but including various spawn-sponsored tangents. I don’t remember what we were saying precisely, but it wasn’t flattering. This piqued Griffin’s interest, of course, so he started asking questions about this Trump character. Both Sarah and I backpedaled off our most colorful aspersions — “ok, maybe he’s not a total idiot,” “he just likes to say ridiculous things,” “we just don’t agree with him about anything” — which only made Griffin more interested. (We usually keep the trash talk out of earshot.)
Suddenly, a look of understanding crosses Griffin’s face, and he says, “Ohhhh! He’s that guy… um, that really bad guy.”
“Which guy?”
“That bad guy. The one we learned about.”
“Where did we learn about him?”
“At the u-boat exhibit in Chicago.”
“Oh … wait … Hitler?”
“Yeah! Hitler!”
<between gasps of appalled laughter> “No, honey, Trump is not as bad as Hitler.”
Rebel Queen by Michelle Moran
My rating: 2 of 5 stars
Although I usually avoid this sort of book, being suspicious of most western, orientalist portrayals of the “east,” I do love picking up random books from the many nearby little neighborhood libraries (those wonderful front-lawn libraries-on-a-post that have sprung up in recent years). This one leapt out at me, so I blazed through it over the past few days. The basic story was interesting enough to hold me to the end, but that’s built into the historical material: the clash of cultures, colonization, rebellion, etc. Beyond that, the book was a disappointment.
First, I tripped over the language. Moran makes use of some astoundingly clunky imagery. Consider a few examples:
“As anyone who’s ever lived inside a house of eggshells knows, nothing is more fragile.”
“I became like a frozen stream—hard and impenetrable on the outside, but secretly bursting with life within.”
“By the time we rode out, the lump in my throat had grown so large I could hardly swallow.”
“Love can be like the seasons, turning a green leaf into something frail and yellow.”
Hello… editor? How did these make it into the final draft? Those first two are on the same bloody page. On the bright side, as a writing teacher, it’s always good to find such stink bombs. I’ve already shared them with one English class… and even seventh graders recognized their flaws.
Second, the book succeeded in dampening my interest in the title character (the famed Rani of Jhansi). I was certainly sympathetic to the rebel cause, but after reading page after page about the overwrought opulence of the Rani, the Raja, and the members of their court, and then contrasting this with the lives of the bulk of the people in their community, it was difficult to maintain a sense of sympathy. When the British first annex Jhansi, there is a chapter that focuses on the Rani being forced out of her stupendous palace and moving to a smaller, older, stupendous palace. It’s filled with pathos, with lines like, “Thousands of people lined the roads to watch our procession to our new home, and they were utterly silent.” And the dramatic tension was sustained by focusing on whether the Rani would be able to keep her stuff, including her “elaborate peacock throne” made of emerald studded gold. But luckily, in the midst of the central drama of who gets to keep the bling, the Rani says, with tears in her eyes, “And what will happen to our people?” See, she really does care!
Ultimately, I recommend reading an actual historical account of this period and these legendary characters rather than this clumsy fictionalized version. And, don’t forget that your house of eggshells is fragile.
The Road Not Taken and Other Poems
by Robert Frost
My rating: 4 of 5 stars
Robert Frost never leapt out at me during my sporadic forays into poetry. I was familiar with—and moderately fond of—a few of his most famous poems, and certainly the title poem of this collection, but never enough to seek out more. I picked up this collection because of David Orr’s introduction, which did not disappoint. I love an intro that can contextualize the author both historically and in terms of current sensibilities. Orr is erudite, efficient, and precise, with enough wit (and delicious dashes of pop culture) to avoid any whiff of pedantry.
I intended to skim through the rest of it, but found myself sucked in. To my surprise, I was particularly drawn to his longer poems; I rarely have patience for these, preferring poetry that packs a quick wallop. The first that wowed me, and still my favorite in the collection, was “The Death of the Hired Man.” I read it, was stunned at how evocative it was, and reread it immediately—I was there on the porch steps watching the conversation unfold. A 166 line masterpiece. Others that leapt out were “The Housekeeper,” “The Fear,” “Birches,” and “The Bonfire.” Each of them packed an emotional punch and grew with each rereading.
My former English teachers may be relieved to know that I finally, a few decades late, get what all the Frost fuss is about.
A conversation yesterday:
Griffin: I know what I want to be for Halloween!
A skeleton!
Sarah: Oh, I think that will be a fun costume to make!
Maggie: I know what I want to be for Halloween!
Elsa!
Or, I could be superman,
but I think I’ll be Elsa.
Overheard tonight after putting the kids to bed:
Griffin: <whispering, excited> Maggie, do you want to go to sleep right now?
Maggie: Yes. Because I am SO tired.
Griffin: Oh. Ok.
Our annual pilgrimage to the Minnesota State Fair. This year we were all a bit crankier than usual, but that didn’t stop us from staying for nearly 12 hours (and 17,000 steps, according to my trusty fitbit).
Fair food included (basically covering all of our meals today):
Favorite discovery this year was the play area outside the Eco Experience. Sand + water + building supplies = infinite fun.
As a postscript, in the interest of keeping things real, I should mention that shortly after putting this post together, Griffin puked all over his bed. Besides being gross, it was a good reminder that fair food, though fun, isn’t really what a growing body wants.
(But man, those waffle sandwiches were awesome.)