Our Sendak Story

Maurice Sendak saw the world through the eyes of a child his entire life. There was nothing sentimental in this, children are not magical beings who only see gumdrop trees and rainbows. Children quite often see the ugly and arbitrary more clearly then any adult. Sendak got that and, with his unstinting honesty, helped children process it for generations.

Of course the little Goofs know some of the Sendak classics - I bought GoofBoy a special copy of Where the Wild Things Are. But somehow the best known Sendak work at GoofManor is this:


It is a painfully insipid story, about a family celebrating Hanukah. The big surprise is that daddy surprised them with a kitten. It is a bit of Jewish organizational propaganda, featuring regular mentions of the Jewish National Fund box in which the children are urged to drop their coins. Naturally, the little Goofs love this story and insist I read it to them every Hanukah.

But the illustrations are classic Sendak - and as such are just a little bit creepy.





Especially this one:
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Sleepless Slumber Party

For GoofGirl’s birthday, in yet another triumph of hope over experience, we allowed her to have a sleepover extravaganza. Three little girls came over that night and were joined by yet another the next morning. Although GoofBoy has – for his own devious reasons stuck around at his sister’s birthday parties, for this one he readily agreed to be elsewhere. One of GoofBoy believes that one of GoofGirl’s friends is trying to kill (and she is capable of doing so, the little ninja.)

The party went pretty well. I was very pleased that there was no factionalism amongst the girls (a rare thing when more then two are together.) Sure, they occasionally got bored and couldn’t think of things to do – but the worked through that, sometimes with some parental intervention. On the downside we had as many as five sugar-primed little girls bouncing around our house. Parental interventions quickly turned kinetic. They discussed leaving the house in order to hunt down my son – GoofGirl was more then willing to reveal his undisclosed location. But instead the little monsters turned on me – forcing me to give horseback rides, be an indoor jungle-gym, and provide a target in the pillow wars.

It was exhausting.

But my fatigue was made worse because one little Girl hadn’t slept (coincidentally, this is the little Girl who has been plotting to kill GoofBoy). Her parents had warned us that this was possible, but I thought she’d drop from exhaustion from mayhem with her friends. But when everyone else crashed after the movie, this one insisted on calling her parents to say good night.

OK, I thought – that seems fair. She took the phone and shut herself in the bathroom. She was there for a very long time – way past goodnight.

“What’s our play here?” I asked MamaGoof.

I knocked on the bathroom door and chatted with the sleepless one’s parents. What we agreed is that we would tell her that her dad would be here to pick her up in about an hour (it takes 20 minutes) and that she should lie down in the meantime. I offered to keep lied down on the living room couch as sleepless one joined her friends on the living room floor. We were sure she would be asleep in no time and her parents did not need to come get her. These little deceptions are the very essence of parenthood.

The plan worked, she was asleep in moments, so I went upstairs and went to bed.

Three hours later she came up to our room and demanded to know when her father was going to arrive to pick her up. The sleep of four parents was at stake here – I decided I would take the hit.

“You fell asleep, so I told you dad not to come over. Now it is really late and I can’t call him.”

“Yes you can, your phone works.”

“But that would wake him up, it isn’t fair. How about you get in my daughters bed, and I’ll lie on the floor in her room to keep you company?”

“OK…” she said skeptically. It was unseasonably cold, but she fell asleep after a while (and MamaGoof let me sleep in and made breakfast.) The sleepless one, by the way, was bouncing around at full volume with her friends. If she was short of energy, there was no sign. Later it occurred to me that she had been programmed to wake up in the dead of night when GoofBoy was vulnerable…

Discussing all of this with the Sleepless One’s very grateful parents the next morning, we learned that this has been a regular occurrence at our house, and boy were they glad to get a good night’s sleep.

Every once in a while, it strikes me that I am a grown-up. When other parents engage me as peers (don’t they realize I’m an overgrown kid who is constantly being told by his progeny to calm down?) But gently handling a difficult, albeit minor situation by sacrificing some comfort – I guess that’s what grown-ups do.

My verdict: Percy Jackson bests Harry Potter

We are nearing the end of the Percy Jackson series. I reviewed it before and argued that while it would be easy to deride it as a Harry Potter knock-off, it was pretty good in its own right. Further, one of the things I really liked was that there was something at stake. The doings of the Greek pantheon and their heroes were plugged into the mortal world and we learn that if the pantheon goes, Western civilization goes with it. (I’m pretty keen on Western civilization.)

One thing that always bugged me in Harry Potter was the scene at the beginning of book six, when the Muggle Prime Minister meets with the Minister of Magic. Top-level politicians don’t tend to be passive types. I can’t help but think that the prime minister’s reaction to these magic types wreaking havoc in his country might involve F-16s and Tomahawk cruise missiles. Being a wizard does not make one bulletproof and for all of their magic powers, except for Dumbledore none of them seemed all that clever.

I’ve probably gone a bit farther with this then is completely healthy. I imagine the prime minister calling in the head of MI-5 and bringing George Smiley out of retirement. I see Mundungus Fletcher being waterboarded. I see cruise missiles slamming into Hogwarts and Special Air Service commandos clearing out Diagon Alley.

OK, maybe I went a little far with this. But in the Percy Jackson series, usually the mortals are unaware of what’s going on – but when given a chance they fight monsters and do pretty well. In fact, my favorite scene is when the tide of battle turns and the father of a daughter of Athena shows up in the Sopwith Camel he had reconstructed – machine-gunning Titans and medusae. I kept hoping for a reprise, but no luck.

There are innumerable intriguing bits in this series. In the section we just listened to Hermes and Percy discuss the “Mist” which prevents mortals from seeing the activities of the deities and monsters. In some profound sense, this rings true. Not that I’ve become a pagan, but the idea that we only understand the surface of things and how we create stories to explain things to give us an illusion of understanding is humbling.

Also, I love the centaurs. In Harry Potter they are mysterious creatures that possess a deep wisdom. But the ancient Greeks saw the centaurs as dominated by their beastly appetites – and in Percy Jackson they are party animals.

I can offer no higher praise then to say that I am sorry the series has come to an end.

Puppies, Coyotes & Snakes, Oh My! Kids dealing with Scary Animals

The Carpool Clan (with four children) decided that they needed more mammals in their house – so they got a dog. It goes without saying that they are insane (although I should probably be nice since I rely on them to move my children about and leave my schedule open for blogging) It is a very sweet dog, an energetic, good-natured puppy that is very cute and – all things considered – well-behaved. His name – for the purposes of this blog and eternity – is Declan.

GoofGirl is terrified of him.

This is a real problem, since we visit all the time (3C is the go-to playdate when neither have anything to do.) But, whenever Declan came near her – romping as puppies do – she would run terrified. The puppy – being a puppy – was thrilled that the chase was on and would bound after her.

I was a frustrated, this was just a sweet puppy and if she would just stand still, he would ignore her and go find something disgusting to sniff. GoofGirl knew this. When the dog was secured on a leash or behind the screen door she tried to get to know him. She played with other dogs. But, when Declan slipped his leash and began bounding – GoofGirl fled.

I rebuked her sharply, but as someone wise pointed out, “Look, she’s really scared.”

This caused a little paradigm shift. Where I saw a sweet, tumbling puppy resembling a moving carpet that nips as a puppy will (they are training him not to). GoofGirl, being much shorter, saw a big fast-moving, unpredictable creature with teeth. Her brain told her he means no harm, but GoofGirl’s heart didn’t believe it for an instant.

I thought about looking into some sort of therapy – GoofGirl couldn’t just not go to her best friend’s house. But GoofGirl came to terms on her own. On an after-school outing she went with Declan to the vet (our lives are all a bit too intertwined.) She held his leash at the vets and got to know him a bit. She is still tentative, but not wracked with fear. Best of all, she asks to go see him. She’s a brave one.

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Other encounters haven’t gone so well. We are great friends with a spirited (and extraordinarily athletic) little boy who epitomizes daring and he loves GoofBoy. So one Shabbat afternoon he came home with us. But on the walk to our house we were having a good time exploring the woods close to our house. Our companion rushed down the hill to get to the stream. GoofBoy noticed something in the grass along the path.

“Check it out, a snake!” GoofBoy was excited at this discovery but his friend was not. He burst into tears and started yelling. I was some distance away. GoofBoy tried to calm him down, “Don’t worry. He’s more afraid of you. Just walk slowly back and leave him alone.”

“No, no, he’s gonna bite me! I’m gonna die.”

GoofBoy added, less helpfully, “I’m pretty sure it isn’t poisonous!”

Grown-up time.

“Buddy, not helpful,” I told GoofBoy then turned to our companion, “You want me to come get you?”

“Uh-huh!”

I rushed down. It was a pretty big snake, black snake. I don’t like snakes much myself. But it was just sitting there.

I went to pick him (the boy, not the snake – which may have been female) up, but as I did, he effectively climbed up me as if I were a tree. He was practically sitting on my head. We walked back up to the trail, giving our reptile acquaintance a very wide berth. He didn’t want me to put him down, declaring, through his tears, “But he’s gonna bite me!!! He has poison.”

When I finally did, he sprinted along the trail. Back at the house, GoofBoy got his big book of reptiles (from his kindergarten birthday party when we had a reptile guy come) and looked for what we saw. He found something that looked right and assured his friend that it wasn’t poisonous. I’m not sure GoofBoy’s calming words worked – unlike puppies, snakes are kind of an acquired taste.

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GoofBoy had a sleepover at a friend’s house. While there, I chatted with the friend’s mom who mentioned that there was a coyote in their neighborhood.

“Cool!” I said.

She looked at me askance. She’s a New Yorker and not a fan of all this wildlife in suburbia.

“No! Now the cats and the boys can’t play in the backyard!”

“You should keep the cats inside, but your son will be fine.”

“Really?” she looked skeptical.

“Coyotes don’t mess with people –we are too big for them. Way more people are bitten by dogs. Just leave them alone and they’ll leave us alone.”

She looked skeptical.

“I promise I’m not making this up. There was a big article in the paper about this. Cities with large coyote populations have quickly developed education programs and really managed the problem. Don’t worry about it, let the boys play outside. And also, despite what you’ve seen on TV, there is no evidence of coyotes ever using explosives.”

Rainy Sunday Save

Sunday was a bit dreary last weekend. Little League was cancelled, and the little Goofs looked ahead at a long day in front of the TV. If I were a good parent, I would have taken them somewhere. But sometimes my energy lags, and I have my own things to do. But Carpool Buddy's dad called and suggested we take the sluggers to the battings cages. We got there early enough that there wasn't a crowd and we rented a cage for just our two. The switched off for about forty minutes before some friends arrived and we shared with them. The adults did not take turns, unfortunately, but I did find out that a pitching machine only costs $2700 - which strikes me as very reasonable. I mentioned this to Mama Goof, but she shut down that discussion quickly. I was going to explain how I was going to build a hanger-like structure to contain the pitching machine in the backyard. She doesn't trust me to build things - she's right. Other dads gave very precise and detailed instructions about stance and swing. Unfortunately, we had a lot less knowledge to share CarPool Clan's dad is Canadian so he has an excuse to not know anything about baseball. I know a great deal about baseball, but none of it applies to the actual events on the field. I know anecdotes about Moe Berg (a pre-World War II catcher-spy) and a huge number of baseball statistics. Also, my baseball knowledge stops with the 1989 Orioles. So we encouraged our sons by stating the obvious: "Hit it!" "Swing hard!" "Keep your eye on the ball!" I urged GoofBoy to channel Johnny Mize - a Giants first-baseman who was known as the "Big Cat" and who retired before I was born and died almost a decade before GoofBoy was born. Still, a long Sunday yawned before us. GoofBoy planned to watch the Washington Capitals in the NHL playoffs. Mama Goof had the brilliant idea of calling one of his buddies, who he doesn't see to often. Worked perfectly. When the little Goofs have friends over, they are not permitted to just watch TV. Sometimes, a movie is part of the plan but not just sitting around watching TV. But sports are different, somehow that seems ok - almost social. It counts for GoofGirl too - although she isn't that interested in sports, but if she were it would. Am I wrong about this? For GoofBoy and his buddy, watching sports on TV is very much an activity. Besides all the yelling at the TV, they play ga-ga as they watch. Gaga is basically an Israeli dodgeball game in which the ball is rolled. From a parent's perspective this has the huge advantage that it can be played indoors and is less likely to damage the house. As a kid I considered it a huge improvement over regular dodgeball. I got out just as quickly, but a rolled ball was less likely to hit me in the head and break my glasses. It isn't impossible, but at least it didn't happen every single game. And what of GoofGirl? She had had gymnastics in the morning and had been up late the night before so she dozed and read. Then we got a surprise call from friends with younger children who wanted to go bowling (apparently they had begun to get cabin fever as well.) These two little boys love GoofBoy who is a natural camp counselor - and is just great with both of them. But GoofBoy was booked. Fortunately, they also love GoofGirl - who is always looking to polish her baby-sitting skills. So she went along, had fun bowling and playing grown-up mom. For a day with little promise of adventure, it turned out as a neat day for the little Goofs. Glad they have so many good friends to make this kind of surprise possible (without me having to do much of anything.)

Tooth Fairy vs. Disney: The Final Battle

Because GoofGirl is extremely interested in the political and social affairs of the Tooth Fairy realm I tend to tell her when friends and acquaintances lose teeth. If she knows the person she has a pretty good idea what kind of tooth fruit the planted tooth will yield (reminder, GoofGirl explained that Tooth Fairies need our teeth as seeds.) Thanks to Facebook and the awesome power to tell everyone everything all the time, I usually have a fair amount of datato share with her.

The other day, a little boy we know who is vacationing at Disney lost his tooth. Naturally, as we were going to bed I told her, but instead of describing the fruit from the boy’s teeth she got very concerned.

“Daddy, this is not good.”

“What’s wrong?”

“The Tooth Fairy and the Disney Princesses, they don’t like each other.”

“Why not?” I asked innocently. Since my day job involves modeling violent conflict, Ithought there might be a grant in this.

“No one really knows who started it. But they battle with magic, the whole world could be in danger!”

“Why would that be?”

“The Tooth Fairy isn’t allowed at Disney because the Princesses and Tinkerbell don’t like her. But if there is a tooth she’ll try to get it,” she rolled her eyes at me – clearly in a hurry to get to the control center and enact Toothcon Four.

Then she turned suddenly, “Daddy, do you know about this from Facebook?”

“I guess, sure,” I answered – getting nervous because she was takingall of this so seriously.

“Oh no, Daddy! The Tooth Fairy reads everything on the internet. Now she’ll know, she’ll try to go to Disney, the Princesses won’t let her in, they’ll battle with magic and we’ll all be doomed.”

“There’s nothing we can do?” I ask, knowing that she will really worry about this and never get to sleep.

“Send them a message. Tell them to glue the tooth back in and don’t talk about it anymore.”

“I don’t think you can glue a tooth back in.”

“Then tell them to mail it to their house. Get it out of Disney territory right away.”

“OK, you go to sleep now,” I told her in my most comforting voice.

She lay in bed, one arm extended up and cried, “Tell them Daddy, tell them!”

So I told them, sparking a very strange Facebook thread. If the world comes to end, you’ll know why. And if it doesn't, you'll know who to thank.