The Trap

Jesse and I spent a lot of time this past weekend talking about her plans to trap a leprechaun the night before St. Patrick's Day. The trap involves a shoebox filled with a number of rooms and furniture made out of construction paper - a bed, a couch, a television, windows...there's even a small ladder for him to climb to get up into the shoebox. She also has a note for the leaprechaun that says "don't be afraid" because she doesn't want to hurt him, she just wants him to grant her a wish. We're in the midst of figuring out how to set the trap so that when he enters the shoebox to eat the lucky charms we've left, the lid of the shoebox will close shut. I have watched "Survivorman" so I think I can figure something out. We also plan on placing it near a nightlight so he won't be trapped in the dark.

Steph, who started this a couple years ago, came up with her own elaborate trap for the leprechaun, which is about five times the size of Jessica's.

I'm not sure if we will be successful in catching the elusive little guy, but the girls are hoping that at least the leprechaun messes up the house, becasue we all know how much mischief they create. I have a feeling he'll be able to pull that off.

The Path

Lewis and Clark. Neil Armstrong. The Lombardi-era offensive line of the Green Bay Packers. Each in their own way blazed a new trail, created a new path, made a lasting difference; whether it was going west, landing on the moon or clearing a path for Bart Starr to get in the endzone and win the Ice Bowl.

I bring this up because in their own way, the girls created a path for the rest of our town to follow when we had the big "Snow-tacular" on Wednesday. We were so excited to get to the golf course and sled down the hills that we were the first ones out there. Our first oh, 20 attempts or so consisted of Stef and Jess sliding about ten feet, much too slow and much too disappointing for either of them. But I eventually convinced them that if they created a smooth path they would slide down the hill very fast and very easily. I kept thinking of that Lombardi locker room speech where he drew a play on the chalkboard: "We want to create a seal HERE, and a seal HERE, and run the ball UP THE MIDDLE."

Anywho, back to "Snowmageddon" (actually, a side note first. With global warming causing much harsher weather, will newscasters feel obligated to jazz up every storm with a ridiculous name? And yes Drudge, it's so funny that we're talking global warming and it's snowing out. The people of Arizona and Texas certainly thought so, especially since they haven't seen that much accumulation since...never.)

Okay, so we're back on the hill on the golf course. The girls and I continued to make a path, helped by a friendly woman who let us borrow her giant inner tube to make the path wider, more quickly. Soon after, dozens of people came up the hill, following the path that we had so earnestly created. Soon, the girls experienced their customary luge-like runs down the hill, followed by frequent hugging, laughing and pushing of each other in the snow.

Whatever you decided to call it - "snowmageddon," "snow-tropolis" or "Olympia Snowefall," the girls and I had a blast.

The Kitchen

Yesterday Steffi wanted to help me with the various appetizers I was making for the Super Bowl. Of course I didn't start making the food until 5 o'clock, and since my cooking skills generally stop at pouring soup in a pot I felt very much like a chef on Gordon Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmares. Luckily Stef was there. She knew where all the different ingredients were, knew where the various pots and pans were located, and basically "took over" the kitchen as Gordon would say.

Thank you Steffi; not only did you help me in the kitchen, you helped me get to the couch by opening kickoff.

Super

Two years ago, the best part of the Giants-Patriots Super Bowl was how much the girls got into the game. Okay, maybe that's not entirely accurate. The best part was the actual win by the Giants, but still, I was excited at how excited they were. We went to family swim at the Y to get our minds off the long wait for the game. We bought enough snacks to feed an NFL team. We cooked various kinds of apps. We cheered Eli, booed Brady, discussed why Tiki Barber wasn't there and why Michael Strahan had such a big gap in his front teeth. The girls were in bed by halftime but were excited to know what happened when they got up the next day.

I generally have a serious post-Giants-Super Bowl letdown, so last year I could not get into the game at all. No watching the game together, no talk of Tiki, nary a chicken wing to be had. But since Eli's older brother (as he is referred to in this household) is playing this Sunday, I'm thinking of getting back in the game, so to speak. Steffi is already on board; I just have to convince Jesse that Peyton is as cute as Eli.

Body English

The girls and I have been doing a steady amount of Wii'ing since Santa Wii'd down the chimney on Christmas Eve. We're very big on Wii Sports, and as the girls found out from the beginning, I'm very big on body English, particularly with bowling. The first time Jess saw me lean over on one leg to nudge a pin for a spare, she said, "Dad, what are you doing?" I replied, "It's body English - it helps move the ball where you want it." She looked at me like I just told her I was the President. I can't help it that I watched "This Week in Baseball" religiously as a kid, which ended every broadcast with Carlton Fisk waving his shot to left field fair to win Game 6 of the '75 Series in the 12th inning.

Anyway, the last few times Jess and I have played I have seen a tremendous amount of body English from her, including the twirl, the fist pump, the hip check, and "the Pele" (falling on her knees and extending her arms and face to the heavens). Tonight during out fierce bowling match (won by her) she finished off a strike with a twirl - and a warning - "Don't mess with the Jess!"

True Blue

Yesterday I was playing Madden Football when Jess walked in the room. The Giants (my team) were playing the Chargers in the Super Bowl. She asked if I always chose the Giants as my team and I said yes. She was quiet for a minute, then said, "Um, daddy. A lot of people at school are Jets fans." I told her that the Jets are close to the Super Bowl and a lot of people are rooting for them. She had this 'I have to confess something' look on her face. "Um, Daddy?" she began. "A lot of people were cheering for the Jets at school yesterday, and I did too because everyone else was, but on the inside I was rooting for the Giants." I told her she can root for any team she wants. And to myself I muttered, "As long as it's not the Dallas Cowboys."

It's Been a Long Ride

Okay, it's been a while since I posted anything. Me and the girls have been having a blast, which I'll talk about in the near future. However, the most recent discussion in the homestead has been "the car." I finally broke down and replaced the 12 year-old, 171,000+ mile Ford Escort that was the envy of anyone who ever said, "You know what, I'm going to ride this car into the ground." Like Eli Manning in a two minute drill, that car had a "never quit" mindset. All the years, miles, and yes, accidents have gotten that car no closer to "in the ground" than the Democrats have of getting us a national health care system.

But what does any of this have to do with the girls? I believe they are actually happier than me to have a new car. To quote Steffi, "Now I can actually open the door to get out!" (Okay, so the back right door didn't open from the inside. I looked at it as friendly chauffeur service from a Dad to his first born child.)

When I pulled in the driveway last night in the new Ford Fusion, the girls came running out of the house all excited. After telling Jess to get rid of her ice cream before stepping into a new car that I've owned for 20 minutes, she and her sister jumped in the back seat and started checking out the cup holders, the moon roof, the stereo and everything else important to a child in a car. It was too late to go for a spin, and tonight didn't work out either. Their anticipation level for riding in the car is so high that I dare say it could only match what Neil Armstrong must have felt after strapping himself into a rocket to go hurtling towards the moon.

To underscore why the girls are so excited for the car, and why it's been such a topic of conversation in my house, I'd like to spend a moment to reflect on what the American landscape was like when first brought the Ford Escort home in early 1998. Consider that:

The only reality show on television was "The Real World"

Director James Cameron would soon win a best picture Oscar for his hit movie Titanic.

Eli Manning was the star of his high school football team. Brett Favre's Packers had recently lost the Super Bowl to John Elway's Denver Broncos.

Thursday nights on NBC consisted of Friends, Seinfeld, and ER. Everyone in America was gearing up for the Seinfeld finale that May.

George W. Bush was Governor of Texas. (sigh)

Roger Maris was baseball's all-time Home Run King with 61 homers. The talk of spring training was that Mark McGuire, Sammy Sosa or Ken Griffey Jr. would break Maris' record that season.

The Sony Walkman was a cultural icon. There was no such thing as an iPod.

Netscape was one of the most popular Web browsers. There was no Google.

Howard Stern was on K-Rock in NYC. There was no national Sirius satellite radio, no XM radio, and defintely no Sirius/XM radio.

The name Britney Spears did not ring a bell.

Hillary Clinton complained of a "vast right wing conspiracy" on the Today Show.

I was married for 4 months. There was no house, no kids, no blog.

Thanks for the ride - it was great!