Happy B-day, AJ!

On this your second birthday, Aidan, I find myself looking at the journal entry for your first birthday to see what's changed. "Cars, trains, and anything spherical" it reads. So based on that, you might say nothing has changed over the last half of your life.

Fortunately, you are so much more than what you like to play with. Your personality continues to shine. I can't even count the number of restaurants and other establishments where people know you and your brother as "the cutest kids", your eyebrow flirtations and toothy smile among the most memorable displays of said cuteness. Your speech improves daily. Your manners are incredible and natural and seem tenderly genuine. You have a bit of a tendency to react to displeasure with swinging fists, but also have a bit of a tendency to react to most things with smiles and hugs and love.

Your favorite indoor toy is at the moment actually shifting a little bit from the basketball goal to vehicles—you seem especially pleased with the Thomas the Tank Engine train/flashlight that Gavin got you for your birthday. Outdoors, you and the bubble mower are nearly inseparable. And recently you've developed a love of music, too. I mean, you've always liked singing, but now you beg for the chance to watch a Cedarmont Kids music video or listen to a Little Peoples music CD. You even like watching Barney, but prefer to skip to the end for the "I Love You" song. You are comfortable around the folks we are most often around at home or church, and count all such folks among your biggest fans.

You, my son, are a natural charmer. You've stolen my and your mother's hearts.

Happy Birthday, buddy.

The beach, in perspective

This past weekend, Amy and I took the kids down to Myrtle Beach. This was one of those things that, as a father, I've been looking forward to for the entirety of my sons' lives — their first time seeing the ocean.

We had a fantastic time, despite the weather being a little cold. (We had no greater expectations — it's the "off-peak" season for a reason, after all.) Shopping for hotels online is never fun. You see those photos showing the sparkling clean rooms and well-tanned über-family in Cleaveresque bliss, but you know those pictures were snapped ten years ago before the place begin to rot and crumble in the sea air. Stil, we placed our bets on the Avista Resort, and were thoroughly pleased with the place.

Oddly, though, upon reflecting back on my boys' reactions to the beach, I find that it doesn't really match what I'd expected. See, you say "beach", and Amy and I tend to think about water as far as the eye can see, touched only by the sky and offering no reason whatsoever to believe that there's anything but more water beyond what's visible. And as a bonus, it's bordered on the near side by beautiful, white, super-fine-grained sand.

But not to my boys. To them, the beach is a most enormous and wonderful sandbox they've ever played in. And it happens to have some (cold) water on one side, too.

To Santa, from Gavin

Today, Gavin wrote his first letter to Santa. Actually, it was his first letter to anyone. Amy told him to start with "Dear Santa", and then asked how he would ask someone for the things he wanted. He responded with a polite request for two things. Then he put pencil to paper and started writing, sounding out the words with minimal help from mom. The result was beautiful:

DER SANTU, MA I HAV A TREX AND A BEL PLES. LUV, GAVIN

(Translation: Dear Santa, may I have a T-Rex and a bell, please. Love, Gavin)

Why?

Or should I say, "What for?"

Yep, Gavin has reached "that stage". You know, the one where every description and directive provoke him to question the reasons and purpose behind them.

"Hey, Gavin. Can you take Mommy's shoes over to her?"

"What for?"

"Hm?" (I am biased against that particular phrase.)

"Oops. Sorry, Daddy. I mean, 'Why?'"

"Because she needs to put them on her feet."

I wish I could claim that that's really how all these exchanges go, but that would unfortunately be dishonest. I mean, generally I have a meaningful answer for him. And, even better, my plan to respond to "Why?" with "Can you think of a good reason?" — encouraging my boy to try to think through things just a bit before calling for help — has a hope of actually working. But today I actually did it. I said the thing I wanted never to say: "Because I asked you to." I mean, it's not exactly the same as "Because I said so", but I'm not fooling anyone here. I said The Phrase. I'm so ashamed.

Aidan is picking up more words, and starting to build phrases. This would be truly helpful if he actually spoke English instead of Old Aidanese. Oh well. Between Amy, Gavin and myself, we can typically figure out what the general notion of his somewhat less-than-precise babblings are. And of course, there's the cuteness value of it all.

But on an entirely different note, I just found something in my attic that's not so cute, and that I'm fairly certain shouldn't be there — several small, dead, animals (possibly bats… not sure) and a snakeskin.

And so it's my turn: "What for?!"

A day in the high country

Today was an incredible day.

It began much like every other day. The whole family was awake, up and about by 8:30am or so (okay, so that's new—I'm sorry to say that I usually sleep in until later). Cereal for breakfast. No real plans for the day. It was just another Saturday in the making.

But then something deviated from the normal path. I can't even remember now how it happened, but one minute we're downstairs doing much of nothing, and the next we were in the car, toting ourselves, some bottled waters, and a frame backpack kid carrier towards the North Carolina mountains. We were embarking on our first agenda-less little mini-getaway since our move to this state almost exactly a year ago.

[Sidebar: holy moly! It's been a year already. In, like, three days, we will have been non-residents of Illinios for a whole year. Where (besides house-hunting and setting-up) did it all go?!]

We left the house around 10:15 or so, with Linville Caverns as our target. Gavin seemed thoroughly intrigued by this cavern concept, referring multiple times throughout the day to "going underground". Around 11, Aidan fell asleep in the car, and caught a much-needed 45-minute nap. We grabbed lunch at a Wendy's about 15 miles away from the caverns, and then made our way to the site. In all, the trip took about three hours.

After parking, we transferred all our stuff into the kid carrier. (This turned out to be a mistake, as we were later informed that there'd be no room for that carrier in the caverns.) We hung around for a little while before entering the caverns, trying to let the boys see the nearby creek and boulders and such, snapping some photos, etc. The caverns were cool (literally, and figuratively). Gavin enjoyed walking around in there, and was surprisingly obedient to the no-touching rule that our guide, Candice, laid down. Aidan didn't seem to mind the experience either, save for the bit where total darkness is experienced. But he calmed down when I spoke gently into his ear, and when I let him walk back to the cavern entrance, he seemed to completely forget that momentary fright. And then as quickly as the tour began, it was over.

It was now only about 2:30pm. Me being the type of person who loves to cram a day full of activities, and loves being out-of-town (even when I have nothing against the town), we just started driving deeper into the mountains. I was hoping to do a little hiking—by golly, I brought that kid carrier, and it was gonna get used! Fortunately, Linville Falls is quite close to the caverns, and offers a hike to the falls that's less than a mile round-trip. Amy was cool with the idea, the boys were in good moods, so we took the opportunity.

Hiking to and from the falls was fun. With Aidan loaded onto my back, and Gavin helping Amy down the trail (or maybe it was the other way around...), we made it down there in pretty good time, and without too much work. We spent a little time at the viewing point, just taking it all in. Gavin and I took more in than we were really supposed to, hopping over the ropes to climb around on the rocks closer to the water. It just can't be helped—God built this world to be enjoyed, and I want my boys to experience the same thrill that I get when actually touching nature beyond the safety of man's well-manicured little walkways. In all, we probably spent only 20 minutes or so at the falls, then began the return hike. Gavin was in a silly mood, and Aidan wanted to walk, so this time Gavin and I paired up (with Gavin energetically leading the way), and Amy and Aidan walked hand-in-hand behind us. Some fellow hikers even remarked about Gavin, "That's one tough little guy." I beamed. And Aidan—wow—four-tenths of a mile, uphill the whole way, and he walked every bit of it!

Figuring there was still a little more to be squeeze out of this day, we continued up Highway 221 toward Boone. We passed Grandfather Mountain, but decided against stopping. Besides, Aidan was grabbing another quick snooze at the time. We ate dinner at a little homestyle cooking place in Boone itself, and then headed home. With two sleepy boys (Gavin hadn't napped all day), the return trip wasn't the most peaceful thing. But eventually we made it, and the trip ended in characteristic Pilato style—with Gavin serenading the bunch of us. Tonight's feature: a tortured mishmash of "The Wheels on the Bus", the alphabet song (as delivered by Tad et al on a LeapPad DVD Gavin owns), and "There's a Hole in the Bottom of the Sea", that included such verses as, "The horse on the bus says 'Move on back, move on back, move on back' ... The log in the hole goes bump, bump, bump ... Every letter makes a sound ..."

Today was an incredible day.

Home ownership, defined

In a word—or non-word, as it turns out—home ownership has much to do with being anti-Nature. Not, like, "Nature's no good" or "I hate Nature", but more like, "Why can't Mother Nature keep her kids in line? What kind of mother is she, anyway?!"

Okay, I admit that I'm just a little battle worn. Nursing a pair of matching beestings, each strategically placed equidistant from the poison ivy sores in their respective locales, I am quite literally itching to finish ripping out seven ugly bushes that line the back of our home and harass passers-by with their leafy tentacles. To Nature's great credit, reproduction is her strong suit—these suckers shoot their root systems every which way, popping up little micro-bushes all over the place. And not just all over the easy-to-excavate place, either. No, we're talking about under and around such interesting artifacts as the main cable, television, and electrical trunk lines to the house.

Mike pauses to scratch.

Anyway, I'm starting to get the hang of it. Four down, three to go. Another six hours in direct 98-degree blistering sunlight, sweat dripping uninhibited down my buzzed head (I have recently realized one of the benefits that a non-trivial amount of hair provides), and I'll be free of those bushes.

Then I can move on to the other 2,371 home ownership responsibilities.

Ahem. Home at last, I said

Okay, so it's true that way back in March, we finally closed on a home purchase. But now it's mid-May, and last night we actually all slept in the house for the first time. See, we've been really busy as of late. I've had a bunch of business travel. And we're just now starting to realize that from March to June, there are a thousand different birthdays and anniversaries in our close family to celebrate. Plus, we wanted to replace the carpet in the home before move-in, and we wanted to drive screws through the floor boards before the carpet came in, and … well, you get the point.

But now, at long last, we can really say it—we're home.