Chachi Milk Poll


A. Never. They really add that certain something to the front of the house.
B. Next Christmas, but only to throw them away so he can buy new ones (they're on their last legs).
C. Over the summer, when the Phils are atop the NL East by 20 games.
D. This weekend.

I know, I know. It's ridiculous. I'm usually not the type to leave them out this long. I can picture the mailman walking by everyday thinking, "There's one on every block..."

Now it's time for my excuse: We've had a really busy month. Christenings, road trips, some freelance writing I picked up, Rose working a couple of Saturdays... I just flat out haven't had the time.

So please don't hold this out of character dip into ghetto habits against me. I'm just trying to keep the Christmas spirit with me all through the year. Now if I had told you we still had our tree up...that would've been ridiculous.

I took that down yesterday.



Welcome John!

Just a quick welcome note for our beautiful new cousin, John! We were able to take a jaunt up to Longeyeland this past weekend to visit our favorite 3 day old. So many little'uns in the family lately...2007/08 will officially be known around Chachiland as TIME OF THE NEW HUMANS.
Peter looked longingly at little Johnny's hair. His publicist later released the following statement:
"It's true that I don't have as much hair as my new little cousin. It's also true that none of us have as much hair as my new cousin Caroline nor will we ever. But I've got a few things up on all of these newbies - the ability to scream crazy sounds, kind of pick up cheerios with my whole fist, prop myself up onto ottomans, and swipe Daddy across the nose and make it look unintentional. So there."
Welcome to Chachi Milk, kid. You've hit the big time.


Vincent: 1, Clowns: 0

Vincent's thoughts on clowns are well documented.

It seems he's not alone. Check out this link. Clowns are "universally disliked." I guess well all kind of knew it. I've never really heard anyone say, "Man - I'm totally into clowns."

Thanks to both Aunt Theresa and Auntie Kate for sending the article completely independent of one another.

Photo note: I know it looks like he's hurting him but he's not. It's just where his hand lands.


5:30 AM

So Peter's been making a bit of a habit of waking up around 5:30 most mornings. We've tried to stop it but when you hear a 9 month old calling from his room in the pitch black hours of the early morning, there's no defense. Side note: "BAAAB" is Peter's main word lately. It's meaning ranges from, "Gee whiz Dad, this muesli is delicious." to "I MUST HAVE THAT LINT!" It's usually the word we wake up to.

Rose and I have been taking turns waking up with him, which at least gives us both every other morning off. Unusally enough, I've found that after a couple of weeks of doing this, something strange is happening.

I actually kind of like it.

Don't get me wrong. I prefer sleeping until my designated time of 7:00. It's just that with my work schedule, I'm out of the house from 8 AM until 7 PM, so I barely get to spend 2 hours with the boys each weekday. So on these mornings, after I take 5 min. to shake the concrete from my brain, Peter and I get to hang out, watch a little Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, crawl around on the floor and enjoy some bleary-eyed merriment. I feed him breakfast, maybe get a headstart on the coffee, and enjoy some time in my super domestic bathrobe. Yes, I have a bathrobe. I'm 75 years old. Rose got me one for Christmas and it's awesome. I never thought I'd own one, but man - when it's 13 degrees outside and you live in an 80 year old, drafty house, it's like wearing a giant blanket with arms.

So if you're trying to reach me for some reason and can't get me during the day, give me a call around 6. Hell - stop by. But bring your own robe.



Upon entering fatherhood, little did I know of a problem that afflicts thousands of fathers all over the world. Since this is an open forum, I've decided to get a little serious here and discuss my experience with this issue. Here goes.

I am routinely kicked in the balls.

I know, I know. It's hard to imagine, but it's true. Vincent is at the perfect height where in any number of circumstances, his feet are directly facing my groin and more often than not, the two meet.

Now, I don't want you to think that he's pulling an America's Funniest Home Videos and running across the room to give me a shot. Rather, it happens unintentionally. He could be sitting in a cart that I'm pushing at the grocery store and he decides to nonchalantly swing his legs out and POW! Or I could be picking him up to carry him somewhere when he's sleepy and OOF! Foot to nuts. Maybe I'm laying next to him watching TV and he turns the wrong way without warning and PHOO! Daddy's got himself some tummy pain to deal with for a few minutes.

It's happened a few times that I actually flinch and get odd looks from passersby if we're in public. Most of the time though, I just grin and bear it. I'm that used to it.

I didn't used to be. I think I could count the times I've endured testitrauma on one hand before my sons came along. There was the time in 3rd grade when the soccer coach's daughter was...let's say 2 feet from me and decided to give it all she could. Or the time I was riding my bike when I was 8 and hit a bump. A big bump.

Good times.

I guess there's not much that can be done. I just have to tough it out. Vincent's only getting bigger and more powerful. And Peter's nearing the height where he'll soon approach the danger zone with relative ease. I could wear a cup but that would be sacrificing comfort just for the occasional deflection. Not worth it. We'll stick with it just being an occupational hazard. Par for the course. Comes with the territory. Insert cliche here.

So if you see me over the next few years and I'm making an unusual face, you'll know the deal. And please don't buy the boys any boots.

Now I feel better. Thank you.


Sunday with Peter

Another slice of life at home. In this video, we'll interrupt Peter watching a bit of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse while standing(!). Then we'll watch him crawl over to a pile of toys in order to to try to consume a Dora key.

Please enjoy.


Splitting Hairs

So we took Vincent for a haircut this past weekend. Sure it doesn't sound too exciting but for this particular trip, we took him to one of these new "kids only" haircut places for the first time. We (read: Rose) normally cut his hair at home since there's something about a barber shop/salon that creeps the kid out. We learned that the hard way about a year ago. So this was the first time in a long time that we let a stranger do the job.

Rose read that this new franchise called Snip-its had opened up close to our house so we figured it might be an opportunity for Vincent to overcome his nervousness about places like this. We built up the fact that there were characters on the walls and videos to watch and games to play and prizes to win, all for the low, low cost of $15.95! He was amenable to this.

Let me stop here. The way I'm writing this makes it sound like Vincent freaks out the moment we walk in. Let me give away now the fact that he doesn't. He was nervous at first, but pretty soon after, he enjoyed walking around the place, looking at the $6.00 bottles of shampoo, and learning the names of the characters that adorned the wallpaper and the giant fiberglass arch that greeted us (Ed. note: Snips, Curly, Flyer Joe Dryer, Maranga, Jean Luc le Spritz, Marlene & Charlene - the Clipette Sisters).

To be honest, I think we were more creeped out by it than he was. I mean, the friggin' place looks like a candy store - all lime green and purple. And the girl behind the counter was darn surly for someone who worked at Snip-its. They also had this cloistered party room for little girls who want to put makeup on and play dress-up...at a barbershop.

The haircut itself went ok. Vincent cried early on when he realized he was actually going to have to get his hair cut and not be able to just watch the other kids. I think the worst part for him was the spray bottle. He reacted to it like it was shooting molten lava onto the back of his head, causing him to lean dramatically forward for most of the remainder of his stay. Other than that though, he did well. He got his prize and told Mom-mom later about good ol' Jean Luc Le Spritz.

Who knows if we'll go back? After the job they did on him, he won't need another haircut for awhile. And at the rate Peter's going, he may not need one until he's 4.


Craft Attack, Vol. 1

Here's something cool to pass the time with your kids. Make your own coloring book! There are tons of websites now offering free "printables." You just go there, print out the pdfs, punch holes in them and pop them into a binder. The variety keeps it interesting. Who needs 48 pages of Diego when you can have 10 pages of Wizard of Oz, 4 pages of the Lion King, 8 random holiday pages, 4 pages with musical instruments, and the list goes on. This kept Vincent busy for hours over the past week. We just owe Nonna a new pack of printer paper.

I'd add a list of links but I can't remember them. Just google "printables" or "coloring pages" and you'll find some. Consider it a New Year's present from us.

P.S. I'm super excited about heading back to work tomorrow after 11 days off. Super excited.