O Captain My Cap'n!

As part of an inside joke during our trip to Boston, Sheherazade was kind enough to buy me a bit of the "forbidden fruit" otherwise known as Cap'n Crunch. Anyone who knows me well also knows this particular cereal played an almost mythic role in my childhood. Our family would go grocery shopping only once a month at the army base BX about 45 minutes from our house. The one "child concession" was a single box of Cap'n Crunch. In an unregulated state, the cereal would cause us kids to get up at 3:30am in order to have bowls of cereal before the competing siblings could scarf it down. Many fights in footsie pajamas followed suit. As a peace-keeping measure, we ended up getting a ration of our share of the cereal in a cleaned-out Country Crock butter tub (this was the early '80s; the recycling involved was revolutionary). My goal was to successfully hide my ration --the crawl space was my go-to spot-- and then roll out weeks later with my Cap'n goodness while my greedy siblings, who had long ago eaten their rations, had to sit silently, glowering into their bowls of Shredded Wheat. Nice. Revenge is a dish served in little yellow squares.

As a kid, my dream of adulthood was a pantry full of Cap'n... Crunch Berries, Original, Peanut Butter, all good. I never factored a Molly-figure putting a ban on this and filling the house with Special K and Cheerios. As luck would have it, Molly left town right after we got home from Boston. So it was just Finn, me, and a box of the good stuff. As the saying goes, "When the cat is away, the mice will play." It is with great paternal pride that Finn's first sugary food was Cap'n Crunch. Let the long glorious road to food addiction begin...

I think I'll go to Boston, where no one knows my name

After listening to Augustana's "Boston" all summer, we decided to take Finn to our favorite city in America and show him what all the flowery pop magic was about... the song also briefly mentions Spain, but we couldn't financially swing that and Finn doesn't have a passport. We got to catch up with our good friends David and Sheherazade, who headed north after David got his PhD this last fall. Apparently, even PhD recipients still move themselves with milk crates full of dishes and such, and even illegally re-paint their apartments to salvage their security deposits. I guess old grad student habits die hard. Moving into their post-student lives, they now have a beautiful apartment in Cambridge and they were kind enough to invite us for a visit. We had a great time walking around Cambridge, and David gave Finn a lesson about roses and thorns (literally not figuratively). We had a fantastic dinner at the Helmand, an Afghan restaurant not far from their apartment. One side benefit was that none of the staff nor patrons batted an eye at us bringing a baby in for a 9:30 pm dinner... I guess that is how they roll in Afghanistan (or at least Afghan restaurants.)

We also went to the Science Center where the big attraction is a new butterfly habitat. Turns out that Finn really likes butterflies... he likes to crush them in his little fat baby hands. It's a tough blow to humanely capture a butterfly in a Peruvian rain forest, ship it all the way to Boston, await the detainment period in customs (yes, our government detains butterflies to ensure they are not part of a bio-terrorism plot) only to be crushed by a drooling, over zealous infant with a bewilderingly large head. We got Baby Dahmer out of there and checked out the other parts of the center, and Finn loved the exhibits. He equally loved the elevator in the parking garage so I am not sure we should put too much into these early signs of a love for science.

On Sunday we got to visit the Roethkes who live and work at Milton Academy. The place looks far more like a college than a high school... amazing facilities, beautiful historic campus, quaint New England neighborhood. We had brunch and then Finn hung out with Davis and played with some of his music toys. I think the boys bonded and Davis even gave Finn a hug before he took off for Nantucket. We got in the car and headed back to New Jersey, which I think is often called the Nantucket of the mid-Atlantic. Yes, it's that nice here in the Garden State... scrimshaw baskets and turnpike tolls for everyone!

Woody Woo I love you

Finn had so much fun at the beach his godfather Kevin wanted to take him up to the Woodrow Wilson School fountain. Why a world renowned international relations school has what amounts to the largest baby pool on the east coast is beyond me. A further mystery is why this "baby pool" would have a deadly sharp metal fountain in the middle of it. We lure kids in with nice granite steps down into the shallow water and then lacerate their spleen on our bronze fountain sculpture of knives. It's like the fountain is it's own version of a Venus flytrap. Finn had a great time splashing around and watching the kids (including a middle-age couple making out like teenagers. nice).

Beach Baptism

One of Molly's main concerns throughout the winter (outside of BC's lack of success in the ACC championship game, I assume -- that is an unspoken worry) has been whether Phineas would like the beach or not. I personally hoped he would simultaneously realize he hated the beach but loved used bookstores, movie theaters, and Friendly's Reeses Pieces sundaes. Sadly, Finn absolutely loves the beach. You will be seeing a lot more postings from here. We go to Spring Lake, an old time Irish beach enclave (try and find a greater oxymoron than that). Molly's cousins live down there and we always have a great time. When Peter Mike isn't grilling his clams, we hit Vic's pizza and Hoffman's Ice Cream. If you ever want to retire early, open a dermatology clinic in Spring Lake... Irish people have absolutely no business being out in the sun.

Party Party Party....Party

Wow. Is that a lame post title or what? Is that even a song? I think I am singing the other song... got it... the one that goes money money money money... MONEY. That's terrible misappropriation. Better a lame post title than a lame party. Finn went to two great parties. Mrs. Bracken retired from teaching in the Sparta school district so she could attend 175 off-Broadway theater shows and arcane museum visits instead of the 95 she would attend while working full-time. The school district had a lovely party for her at the Lake Mohawk Country Club, replete with tons of skits and a slide show. Mrs. Bracken, always out to prove she was raised as a classy lace-curtain Irish woman, provided the crowd with a champagne toast. The Crons came down from Connecticut as well. You know the Reavey mafia; they will drive 400 miles to see a second cousin's nephew play t-ball... family is thick as thieves. In these times of budget constriction, the school district also recognized another teacher as well. I can't recall his name but I do know he has/had a serious collection of corvettes and a solid decade of mutton chops and other period-specific facial hair. He may have done historical re-enactments. It is amazing what you can learn about a stranger in a five minute power point slide show.

The second party was for Mr. Bracken. He turned 95 this year. We are just hoping he hangs on until he can be featured with Willard Scott on the Today Show. That said, he did look dapper and remarkablely cogent at both events. The whole family came in for the birthday, even Kevin from the OC and Matt and Lisa on the BBQ express from Charlotte. Remember what I said about this family logging the miles for family fun fun. Now that both Brackens are retired, we hope to see an uptick in the cruise industry. They both deserve to reap the rewards in consideration of a lifetime of service to the Garden State. Finn proved to be a capable party accessory at both events. We should rent him out. It's about time he adds to the balance sheet around here...

Finn's first (non free) babysitter

Well, it was bound to happen, the gravy train of free babysitting from the Brackens and Colleen ran dry one fateful night this past June and we had to break down and actually hire a babysitter. Colleen went as far as to selfishly end her sabbatical and get another finance job in NYC to circumvent our babysitting needs. We did land an A-list babysitter, Emily, whose last name is withheld due to the risk of "babysitter poaching" which venomously happens in these parts of town. If I knew photoshop better I would digitize her face or block her out with shadow.

Emily came over and was all professional, asking for cell numbers, doctor/medical information, Finn's routine, diaper location, etc... I was like whoa, hey, that's what we are paying YOU for. Don't try and ride my parent coat-tails... you are the big-time expert. Actually, I didn't say any of that. Molly directed me to not to speak with her. What bothered me was Finn's reaction. No parental separation for even a nanosecond... he saw Emily and lit right up, all smiles and playful flicks of cheerios in her direction. He started motioning to the iPod sound dock to set the mood right... his little baby mouth struggling to pronounce Barry White. He couldn't wait to get us out of the house so he could spend time with her all by himself. I knew at some point we, more specifically I, would become a liability in Finn's social/love life. But I thought it would happen in fifteen years or so, not at nine months. Finn loved Emily and we are lucky to have her in our arsenal. It was great to leave him with someone you trust; particularly since we were going to the Cotters for dinner and there is always a slight to moderate chance that dinners at their place can lead to a weekend incarceration or an impromptu trip out of the country. No one likes to wake up in Lisbon and remember you have a baby at home, no matter how much fun you had. Look at what happened to those Scottish folks (the McCanns, I think. The wife is the beautiful doctor who looks like Diane Lane... come to think of it, she is like the hot older sister to the attractive American study abroad murderer in Italy... holy international tabloid crime connection!!) in the media when their child turned up missing and they were just across the street! Everyone needs a go-to babysitter. And no, you can't have Emily's number. She is in Lisbon.

Editor's note: OK, I will just go ahead and acknowledge that it is a problem, and this is me speaking as a parent, to glibly refer to people with missing children and dead study abroad roommates. This may be a new low for the blog. I apologize and I am more than a bit ashamed. Sorry to weave these two tales into your baby story, Finn. Still, they (the exchange student is the top pic and the doctor is the last pic) are too attractive to commit any crime. I think that just must be a law-of-nature thing. At any rate, they should be free to walk the earth. Come to think of it, Emily the babysitter looks like another potential sister candidate in this thread I am unraveling here... I think I may have discovered some type of archetype here, Joseph Conrad style. It also says something about someone, most likely me, but also the culture at large, that I can type "study abroad Italy murderer" into Google and they deliver back the glamour shots they know I, and possibly countless others, are looking for without even taking a beat to pretend to struggle with the query. OK, I am stopping here... this cannot be helping us long term with booking Emily in the future.

Crazy Eights!

On May 11th, 2009, Phineas turned eight months old. The fact that his picture is just getting posted now is a sad testament to the publishing timeline of this blog. The thing is, he just keeps getting older... I am too lazy to dig out the 9 and 10 month pics out of the copious photo archives. Anyway, happy eight months Finn.

Photo note... moments after this picture was taken, Finn ripped the entire center out of the impatiens and held the severed mass above his head with an unnerving glee. It reminded me of that 90's video game Mortal Kombat where you would kill a guy by pulling his head off with the spine attached and quivering... and we are surprised kids bring guns to school nowadays? Lets be thankful most kids get through the school year without their spine being flung about like vermicelli. Finn is like a vegan serial killer around plants... a methodical, lethal force of destruction.

Going Back to the Best Old Place of All....

Reunions! Phineas' first exposure to the weekend when our town and campus are over run with orange and black and alums from all over the world. We even have various off-year attendees crashing at our house, which Finn absolutely loved since he is a "the more the merrier" type of guy. There is nothing else like Princeton reunions... about 40% of all living Princeton alums (and presumably 100% of the dead ones) come back and enjoy a weekend of free alcohol in courtyards, a self-congratulatory class parade down the middle of campus, dinners, fireworks, and an occasional 70-year old world-renowned cardiologist drunkenly heisting a golf cart and driving nude through campus at 3:00 am (this actually happened a few years back). It's basically Mardi Gras for investment bankers, tax attorneys, consultants, art historians and the like. Classes even bring in great bands for parties each night; I've seen Neil Diamond and Blues Traveler playing the reunion tents. It's all orange and black, all the time.

Finn loved every last minute of it, and skipped his afternoon nap so he could rock out to Lady GaGa at Ivy Club. Is it a bad sign when your seven-month old is clamoring to play drinking games with women in their twenties and thirties?