A Special Day

“I Forgot to Be Your Lover” by William Bell

Have I told you lately that I love you?
If I didn’t, darling, I’m sorry.
Did I reach out and hold you in my loving arms
Oh, when you needed me?

Now I realize that you need love, too,
And I’ll spend my life making love to you.
Oh, I forgot to be your lover,
And I’m sorry, baby.

Have I taken the time to share with you
All the burdens that love will bear?
And have I done the little simple things to show you
Just how much I care?

Oh, I’ve been workin’ for you doin’ all I can;
To work all the time didn’t make me a man.
Oh, I forgot to be your lover
And I’m sorry; I’ll make it up to you somehow.

“I Found You” by the Alabama Shakes

This isn’t sometimes—
yeah, it’s for always
if I’m gonna love you with all of my heart
and if there is no more time,
this always remains.
even as the world spins itself apart…

cuz i remember them days i waited so patiently
for God to bring someone who’s gonna be good to me
and then He blessed my soul

well, i traveled a long way
and it took a long time to find you…
but i finally found you…

i remember all them lonely days
i traveled out on my own
then you brought me everything
ya made my house a home
if it’s not the real deal then i don’t know it
cuz it sho does feel, and i think it sho does show

i remember all them days i waited so patiently
until God brought someone who’s gonna be good to me
and he blessed my soul…

But, I traveled a long way
And it took a long time…
to find you…but, i did find you…

and he blessed my soul….

“Home” by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros

Alabama, Arkansas, I do love my Ma & Pa
Not the way that I do love you

Holy Moley, Me-oh-My, you’re the apple of my eye
Girl, I’ve never loved one like you

Man, oh man, you’re my best friend,
I scream it to the nothingness
There ain’t nothin’ that I need

Well, hot & heavy, pumpkin pie,
chocolate candy, Jesus Christ
There ain’t nothin’ please me more than you

Ahh, Home
Let me come Home
Home is wherever I’m with you

La la la la, take me Home
Baby, I’m coming Home

I’ll follow you into the park,
through the jungle, through the dark
Girl, I’ve never loved one like you

Moats & boats & waterfalls,
alleyways & pay phone calls
I’ve been everywhere with you

That’s true

We laugh until we think we’ll die,
barefoot on a summer night
Nothin’ new is sweeter than with you

And in the streets we’re running free
like it’s only you and me
Geez, you’re somethin’ to see.

Ahh, Home
Let me come Home
Home is wherever I’m with you

La la la la, take me Home
Baby, I’m coming Home

“Jade?”
“Alexander?”
“Do you remember that day you fell out of my window?”
“I sure do; you came jumping out after me.”
“Well, you fell on the concrete and nearly broke your ass and you were bleeding all over the place and I rushed you off to the hospital. Do you remember that?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Well, there’s something I never told you about that night.”
“What didn’t you tell me?”
“While you were sitting in the backseat smoking a cigarette you thought was going to be your last, I was falling deep, deeply in love with you and I never told you ‘til just now.”
“Now I know.”

Ahh, Home
Let me come Home
Home is whenever I’m with you
Ahh, Home
Let me come Home
Home is when I’m alone with you

from the vaults: Bedtime

So I have two old videos of prepping E for bedtime. One is set for private viewing only because, well because it’s of E taking a bath. It’s kind of hilarious but, you know.

The other one is of me reading bedtime stories to E. We go through a few before we settle on 누가 내 머리에 똥 쌌어?, which roughly translates to “Who pooped on my head?”

It’s about a mole who comes out of his burrow only to have some poop land on his head and, like the bird in Are You My Mother?, proceeds to interrogate a series of nearby animals as to what happened. It’s twisted and adorable, but you’ll have to forgive my halting reading of it.

Photos: Samurai Futaba

All I can say is, E is a good sport.

Reminds me of a cross between The Mikado and Samurai Futaba:

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via Saturday Night Live – Samurai Delicatessen – Video – NBC.com.

Photos: Bedhead

Yes, E has added winking to his arsenal of charisma. I think Grace taught him.

from the vaults: Reading and Singing

I am pleased to say that E loves books and loves to have books read to him. I mean to, one of these days, have a run-down of his favorite books, but for now I’ll just share some videos of us reading (and singing).

Last summer Dana and I discovered Aladdin Books. They’re an international Korean bookstore chain with a branch down in Annandale, Virginia. One of the best purchases we made there was this combo CD+songbook of fun Korean children’s songs. I swear E already has half the songs memorized; I can barely recall one or two.

Fortunately, I can (sort of) read Korean. Here’s me reading and singing the lyrics of a few songs to E:

I know, my pitch control leaves much to be desired. E’s no better. Here he is, climbing out of an ottoman having emptied it of all the board games we store in it, grabbing for the flipcam and engaging in a fairly incomprehensible medley of songs he knows. He eventually runs away with the camera.

And here I am, reading to E his least favorite book: Dare You Go…Into the Jungle.

It’s a book that I picked up at a thrift store. It has a pretty clever sense of suspense, and the last page has a pop-up of a crocodile that scares the bejesus out of E. Dana and I just had to record for posterity his genuine fear of this book:

Forgive us, E.

Scribble: The Resistor and The Capacitor

Note: This is an old scrap I came across. Still seemed interesting.

They started to come to every meeting—Bermudez and Putterman—like a couple, but they never sat next to each other. Bermudez always seated himself next to the coffee, Putterman near the door or sometimes facing a bank of windows to the clear.

Putterman was the Resistor. He stayed quiet for long stretches looking bored, blankly staring out to the clear with a slight and tired mien and, just as the room seemed to coalesce around an idea, he’d start furrowing and arching his eyebrows, and those of us who knew knew to deflate a little, back off our enthusiasm for—here it comes—that withering epithet. Fresh-faced executives or exasperated believers may then parry and push but that would set him off to his inexhaustible rally of tricks.

Putterman came to life as a wall, an undulating, flexing brick barrier swelling to resistance like a sea storm clenching to crush brave and hapless boats. Once he even got up and paced the conference room, jabbing and then chopping the air like a Roman orator, pausing at the end of the table and addressing the CEO directly. I wanted simultaneously to stand up and applause and catch him in a running tackle, but when he got to the coffee machine, Bermudez held his hand up like a kid in 5th grade, and everyone stopped shouting, and Putterman pursed his lips.

from the vaults: messy daredevil

This was e over the last summer, what I call his Daniel Craig phase. He had his first major haircut, which he got at Chinatown. It took three adults to hold still his screaming little head.

e was getting really good at climbing around over the summer, developing more confidence with his coordination, and here’s a typical example of his derring-do:

and again, this time with his blankie:

One of the smartest things we (okay, my wife) did was notice that e had particular affection for a certain felt-y fabric from the craft store and cut out several large swatches of it — one for his bed, one for our bed, one for the car, one for his grandparents’ house, etc. — so that we were always within arm’s reach of his blankie.

Here’s e trying to get a handle on eating yogurt and fruit with a spoon. Bib still needed.

And several clips of him eating watermelon. Man, he really likes watermelon.

Next week (or so): reading.

from the vaults

So I’ve had on backburner a bunch of videos that I’ve always meant to chop together into, I don’t know, something, but — of course — never got around to it. Looking back on them recently, I realized they’re sentimentally great on their own, sans music or editing, and they remind me of how much change e has gone through.

First, two clips of e at his 100 day celebration. Here’s him putting on his han-bok (traditional Korean dress).

And here’s a bunch of people eating at the buffet. Okay, so this one is not that interesting.

Here’s e around that time, I think. He’s pretty helpless, unable even to crawl, really.

Here’s him a bit later, climbing the stairs. Sorry about the quality of the video; it was dark in the stairwell.

More stairs, better visibility.

Okay, this next one is fairly long (4 minutes) and features e complaining in babyspeak. I forgot how chunky he used to be. Very cute when he’s cranky.

Fast forward a few months, e is mobile. He’s lost the goose-down hair and some of the baby fat. He knows a few words, but still speaks mostly gobbledygook. His articulation is clearer, though, and it’ll be no time at all before he’ll start challenging my Korean.

Next week: e now.

The Wild Thing

There was a time would E would sleep through the night, 12, 14 hours, without so much as a rustle. We knew we were lucky, lucky to have a baby that would let us have the night to ourselves, undisturbed.

That changed when E started climbing out of his crib. I think it must have been around month 20, in the summer. He’d start awake from a nightmare, climb out of his crib, and seek us out for consolation. What were we to do? The kid just had a nightmare. You’ve got to let him sleep with you.

Pretty soon it was every night. We changed out the guard rails for a set that had an opening in them because there was no point in pretending that nothing was stopping him from just hopping over them any time he wanted to. We’d put him to bed and sneak out when he fell asleep, but at one or two in the morning, when we ourselves were sure to be in bed, he’d climb out of his crib, march down the hallway with his favorite blanket, and claw at our bed.

The Chinese have a nickname for their little ones. They call them Little Emperors. E is almost two now. He is eagerly testing out newfound powers of refusal, of demand, of whiny attrition. He is our Little Emperor.

And Dana just gives in. She’s ragged from all the school work and stress and doesn’t have it in her to deal with wet eyes and screaming sirens of protest. But I’m the Dad. I’m the man of the house; I’m the law. The buck stops with me, buddy.

So one night, when Dana is away, I decide to take the opportunity to put my foot down. I give E his bath, put him in his pajamas, and turn out the lights. I fish around for the Mighty Brite reading light and read him Goodnight Moon. He’s yawning. Good sign. We say our prayers, and I lift him in my arms and set him in his crib. As I do so, I say, “I’m leaving, E, and I want you to stay in your crib. I don’t want you to leave this room tonight.”

He rocks his head back and forth and ever so faintly says, “No. No.”

“Yes, E. Stay in your crib. I am closing the door,” and I latch the door shut.

Then I go down the hall, get in bed, and wait.

And, indeed, ten minutes later I hear him get out of his crib. I hear him run his hand across the door. What is this? The door’s never been shut before. How am I supposed to get out? I can hear him scratch at the groove between the door and the frame.

And then I hear him go nuts. He starts to whine. And then bawl. And then I hear him stomp around the room blindly. He starts opening all his drawers and flinging out all his clothes. I almost get out of bed when he starts throwing his toys. He  starts banging against the door, first with his shoulder, then with his head. He presses all the buttons on the toys attached to his bed. And then it sounds like he’s ripping pages out of one of his books.

I hear a thud, thud, thud, and then I realize he’s tipping over the rocking chair.

I’m sitting up now, but it’s suddenly gone silent. I sit uneasily for five minutes, ten minutes. What’s happened? Is he hurt — trapped, perhaps, under the rocking chair? Is he lying on the floor, exhausted? Is he back in bed?

I think I see a flash of light underneath the door. No… how can…?

And then, dumbfounded, I hear the doorknob being rattled. Chk-chk. Chk-chk.

Is my son seriously…? Chk-chk. Chk-chk.

And before I could answer my question, the door flings open, and E comes howling like a banshee down the hall, waving the Mighty Brite wand so that I see white flashes of his wrathful, grimacing face racing towards me like an avenging spirit.

I was literally flat on my back in fright. I almost fell out of the bed and found myself scampering away from him as he came to the side of the bed and started clawing up. When I got him to settle down and nestle into bed — my bed — sweetly asleep, I could still hear my heart thumping, and I had to laugh out loud, nervously, to force myself to exhale and calm down.

Needless to say, he still sleeps in our bed every night.

The Secret on My Mind

Another scribble:

Dear Alex,

I have a secret. Actually it’s not really a secret, since a lot of guys here on the inside do know about it, all the guards and wardens and docs and, therefore, also practically every one in my block, but actually beyond that I think this information is surprisingly not real well-known. Maybe on account of me being a straight up guy and careful with others’ shit. Anyhow, I don’t know if you’ve ever thought about how I look. I’m 5’11”, 200 lbs. at the last weigh-in. I’ve got light-brown skin — so light that I’ve got red freckles around my nose. I laughed when you wrote that you looked like a kid version of Conan O’Brien in your letter ’cause my friends used to call me “Irish” when I was your age. One of the guards tapes Conan O’Brien and plays it in the rec room. Anyhow, I also got this Afro. You know what that is? I don’t know if kids around you still sport those things. I let my hair grow kind of long and then shape it back with a razor so it looks like I got this black foam ball on my head. Except my hair is not super tightly kinked, so it’s more like a mound of cotton candy on my head. It was kind of a thing back in the day. Here’s the thing — there’s a reason why I always, always have my hair this way. It’s ’cause I have a nail sticking out of my head. If you shaved my scalp, you’d see it sticking out maybe half-an-inch honest-to-Jesus. But my hair being as it is, you really wouldn’t be the wiser.

My dad did that, Alex.