ON THE KIDS' PLAYLIST

Noodle:

My Maria - B.W. Stevenson
Don't Let It Bring You Down - Neil Young

Beast:

It Doesn't Have To Be That Way - Blow Monkeys (but not the parts with the blatty 80's sax)

MORE THINGS ONLY PARENTS SAY

"DON'T try to put the donut on your peenie."

"Once again, a toot does not require an announcement. Only an 'excuse me'."

"Pull up your underwear and you won't faceplant in the bathroom."

"Just because Daddy likes to watch the crazy people at Wal-Mart doesn't mean it's polite to stare."

"I told the llamas in your dreams not to spit. Not even on your baby brother."

JUST WHAT THE NOODLE ORDERED

So useful if you've got a little one venturing forth into kindergartenland: How To Tie Your Shoe (s). (Found on Parent Hacks)

FOR YOU ROMANTICS

During our trip we noticed that the garden at the Notchland has grown in amazingly well. If it's just the two of you getting away for that weekend in New England...kick it, Barry...the missus and I can hugely, enormously recommend it. Heck, the innkeeper doubles as a justice of the peace...in a town with a population of 42 that kind of thing happens...and will marry you two crazy kids like he did me and the missus. If you're roadtripping, it's almost exactly halfway between Boston and Montreal.

NOW MORE NOSHABLE THAN EVER

I've spent much of the evening improving the blog's list of Hudson Valley local and road-trip restaurants we've favored over the years. Most of them are reasonably kid-friendly and won't beat the living daylights out of your wallet unless you're ordering a big-ticket item. Noodle, for instance, has taken a liking to lobster. Since she's not normally the adventurous sort at the table, we sprang for the stuffed lobster at the Barking Crab during our vacation in Boston.

She liked it. Uh-oh.

Well, at least we've got another out if she wants a pony.

YE GODS, I'M BEING PRESURFED!

Welcome to Boogerland, and profuse thanks to The Presurfer for floating a plug my way. Come and set a spell; I hope you'll find it comfy. Allow me to introduce ourselves. First, that's me in the lederhosen up top. Ach du lieber, are those some sexy legs or what? Next come my amazing wife (Her Awesomeness) and the spawnlings:

That's my charming son (Beast a/k/a Li'l Sarlacc a/k/a The Ravenous Maw), fresh and clean from the tub and attempting to jam his bath crayon up my wife's nose.

The best birthday present I ever got: my sweet Noodle.

Captured herein are the tales of our adventures, along with whatever catches my fancy when my attention inevitably wanders. Once again, welcome.

ADDENDUM: And in the spirit of what the Presurfer did for me, you can drop me an email if you'd like a blogplug. It's not like throngs hang on my every utterance, but what the hey.

EIGHT DAYS THAT SHOOK - WELL, OUR BANK ACCOUNT

a/k/a the family vacation, from which we are now recovering - and in my own case we are literally recovering, because somewhere in the midst of repeated hoistings of Noodle and Beast into and out of cars, trains and theme-park rides, an occasional mild pain in my left wrist became a screaming needle of agony any time I picked up something heftier than the Sunday papers, and so I wait to see the doctor(s) while wearing a drugstore wrist brace that makes me feel like Earl Anthony. (Holy crow, that's a silly shirt Ernie Schlegel's wearing, even for 1981. I digress...)

New Hampshire is great for traveling with kids, and it'll get better once our little ones are more adept in the woods. The heavy rains kept us off the trails, but the mountains and waterfalls along 302 through Crawford Notch will keep the little ones plenty fascinated. And if you're sans kids or traveling with considerably older kids, right on 302 in the middle of the mountains in Hart's Location (population 40, tops) is the inn where Her Awesomeness and I got married, and it's a tremendously lovely and secluded place.

In New Hampshire there are still small-scale theme parks geared toward smaller children that are making a good go of it, from all appearances. We took in Santa's Village in Jefferson and Story Land in Glen, near our base in North Conway. Both will take up your full day quite nicely, and unlike more massive theme parks there's shade. From actual trees, even! Nothing like a 70-degree day in the mountains, even with drizzle, when you know your friends and co-workers back home are shvitzing through 85 and swampy.

The rain also washed out our planned trip to the beach, but the alternative was plenty good for kids: Boston. A great option is the Marriott in Cambridge across from MIT, which can be pricey as heck but often offers tremendous summertime deals, which we pounced on. The floor-to-ceiling windows could be a bit nervous-making at first, especially when Beast ran up to the window full-tilt before abruptly stopping. (Yeah, keep messing with mom and dad, kid.) With the T stop right across the street from the hotel, even at 22 bucks a day it's cheaper to leave the car in the garage for the duration. Get yourselves some CharlieCards from the MBTA and you're good to go. Most T stops have...get this, New York subway riders...actual working elevators! Amazing. Yes, some of them reek of urine, but still. It's a straight shot down the Red line to South Station, from which you can walk to the Children's Museum. The Red line also stops at Boston Common, and outbound it stops at Harvard in case you're doing college trips real early. Two train changes from the Red will get you to the New England Aquarium, and one will take you to Fenway Park.

Which my darling son mooned from the 12th-floor window. I'm so proud of him.

Photos and more info to follow...

THANKS, YOU KIDS PARTYING IN THE PARK

Making an unholy racket at 2:45 in the morning today was actually helpful, seeing as I'm back to work at the station tomorrow and that's the schedule I need to be on.

I hope you had a pleasant encounter with the county sheriff's deputy who paid you a visit, also.

Next time, be more mellow and I won't have to call The Man to come hassle you. (That phrasing ought to work with the kids, long as it's 1972.) Pack out your empties and don't drive, and a swell time shall be had by all.

This shall be official Boogerland policy until such time as my daughter reaches her teenage years, at which point all yoots partying in said park will be greeted with a smile by Heinz and Klaus, our twin dobermans.

STILL ON VACATION - BUT HERE'S SOME BABY MOOSE

(Tip of hat to The Presurfer)

SO FAR, SO GOOD

We've been holding it to one meltdown a day, and that's not so bad. Today, however, is rainy in the White Mountains...and that means outlet shopping for fall necessities (yeah, that's the ticket, necessities) instead of the usual itinerary. Could work out well, could be a nightmare, will definitely eat a hole in the wallet.

SERVICE ADVISORY

The clan is headed out on a weeklong road trip, so posting will be light (if any). See ya!

SIGNS MY WIFE HASN'T HAD ENOUGH SLEEP

She just told me "I think I'll hit Wal-Mart with the kids tomorrow."

My wife hates Wal-Mart with the intensity of a thousand suns. Not for any political or labor-relations reasons, but just because it's a freak show. Me, I like freak shows because they're a fount of material for the radio show, but the kids really don't need to see the 250-pound tattooed woman in gold tights telling her troglodytic husband/boyfriend/rutting partner "Now this here aisle is the one I was in the last time I got kicked out."

How far off the bell curve of acceptable behavior do you have to be to get kicked out of a Wal-Mart?

And yet my wife is talking about going there tomorrow - with the kids, on a Friday, before a summer's weekend.

She will need a glass of wine tomorrow night. And a foot massage. I shall provide.

RAVE REVIEW: THE CATSKILL MOUNTAIN RAILROAD

They don't know me from Casey Jones, but they did right by the kids and my wife this past weekend up there in Phoenicia. Kept the Noodle and Beast entertained, absolutely buried them with arcane trainy details whose importance won't emerge in Beast's world for another year or three when he will explain to me the specs of the typical E2 Class 0-6-0T locomotive. It was 90something down here in the valley, but up there in the mountains under the trees, rolling down the tracks, sitting...

Sitting was what made my darling wife the happiest. Just to take a load off and enjoy the scenery for once.

Anyway, up in the Catskills it wasn't the shvitzfest it was down here where the Pepere and I got about two-thirds of the way through installing a new floor for the master bedchamber. I am the Pergo freakin' king, man. And by the way I'm digressing all over creation with this post, being cooped up in the bedroom with a bunch of flooring planks has made me (more) hinky. Back to the train, now.

www.catskillmtrailroad.com is where they're at. It's a straight shot out 28 from Thruway exit 19. Just keep going, and you'll know you're close when the tracks cross the road. A more peaceful 90 minutes with kids you will not find while awake.

14 bucks for the grown-ups, eight for kids 4-11 (but they let Noodle slide even though she's almost 5), free for the wee ones like Beast. That is one tremendous deal.

ON THE LAMENESS OF RESTAURANT HIGH CHAIR STRAPS

Beast is beyond high-chair age now, but when we take the wee beasties to a restaurant we still have a look at their high chairs by way of divining how well they take care of kids and their general attention to detail. And if the high-chair straps suck eggs...we're outta there.

Restaurant owners and operators: if a high chair is broken, fix or get rid of it. Or at least get it off the floor and away from staff and customers, who will try again and again to use it. I know restaurant work can be fast paced and hectic, but it seems like high chairs get the shaft, if my numerous outings are telling. That missing seat belt is a real bummer, since the high chair is unsafe to use without one. A wiggly kid could squirm, fall or otherwise risk injury. Bussers or managers should regularly check that the chair has all parts, isn't wobbly, and that the belt fastens and stays locked in position. When high chairs are presented as dirty, sticky, and/or missing a seat belt, it sends a message.

Heck yes it does. That's a piece from San Francisco, but with so many Culinary grads sticking around our region I'm hoping our local restaurants get on the ball and stay there.

MORE THINGS ONLY PARENTS SAY (BEDTIME STORY EDITION)

"Yes, the Big Bad Wolf needed lotion on his butt after that."

"Sleeping Beauty was probably too old for night-time Pull-Ups^TM."

"Prince Charming always shaved. Not like Daddy."

"They're fairies, so they can still fly okay even if they're a little chubby."

IN WHICH I EXCORIATE THE ICE CREAM MAN

Diamond Dave says you roll at 11 in the morning. Not 8 at night when we're trying to put the kids to bed. You and your endless loop of Music Box Dancer and your bomb pops, you know where you can go, yes? Fie on thee.

SPARKLEPOOP

The nearest Club Libby Lu to Boogerland is an hour away.

This, we found today, is a tremendously good thing, for the Noodle was invited to a birthday party today at the Club, during which there was two solid hours of ear-splitting girlish squealing with occasional intervals of cake, pizza and commerce. Me and Little Mr. Creosote temporarily decamped to the nearby Chuck E. Fargin's for a few laps with the stationary Bob the Builder bulldozer before returning to collect our better halves. So yeah, that was me at the Galleria this afternoon with the giant Libby Lu bag. Inside the giant bag were various containers of beauty products, all of them redundant in my mind's eye since sending Noodle in for beauty treatments is like adding blue to the ocean. And as if to prove she's still daddy's little girl, she ate a goodly quantity of the body glitter while attempting to use it as lipstick - thus the title of this post, in anticipation of things yet to emerge. For emasculating myself so by hauling all this Libby Lu stuff about, Her Awesomeness has granted me a moment or two with you before returning to our latest home-improvement project: namely, re-painting the bedroom, because clearly this shade of blue:

is inferior to this shade of blue:

The nuances are obvious to you, the casual observer, but not to me, the guy who's schlepping the paint. And the flooring. And moving the armoire, and hauling the nasty old rug off to the dump, and I do believe I have the vapors just pondering the task.

Wait, no, that's just the primer fumes.

Why is there a blue kitten in the scoop of the Bob the Builder ride's bulldozer? Is it some Tiananmen hommage or something, or does Bob have it in for the cat?

ON DASHER, ON DANCER, ON ALAN DERSHOWITZ...

It would not be good for the kids to see the Santas in a rumble:

The Amalgamated Santas, one of the nation's largest Santa groups, are dealing with a schism in their ranks. The rift has left burly bearded men accusing one another of bylaw violations, profiteering and behaving in un-Santa-like ways. Some Santas have filed complaints of wrongdoing against others in Kentucky and Pennsylvania.

(snip)

The Amalgamated Santas will be on high alert at their Kansas City convention, which starts Friday. The schedule is lighthearted: Events include a "Santa, Baseball and Me" charity night at the Kansas City Royals stadium. But at least one of the splinter Santas has let it be known he plans to drop by.

And Mr. Trolli says his family has been threatened by breakaway Santas, who deny it. "My children have been instructed that, if anyone looks like Santa, to run," Mr. Trolli says.

So warm and fuzzy.

ONE NIGHT AWAY AND IT'S ALL SHOT

We finally had Noodle getting to sleep by herself, but last weekend she slept with Mommy for one night while we were away at the great-grandfather's big 90th birthday celebration. And now she's back howling at night and can't get to sleep without one of us there, or until she's completely fried from 90 minutes of bawling. So we're trying the pick-her-up don't-say-anything put-her-back-in-bed routine, and so far we have some very sore backs to show for it, but little in the way of success.

Beast, meanwhile, sleeps through all of this drama. We hope.

HYPERMILING UPDATE (WEEKEND ROAD TRIP EDITION)

22.6, but that incorporates most of last weekend's trip to see the kids' great-grandfather in Massachusetts, during which we discovered what a speed table is while driving through lovely West Hartford.

Me: "Hon? That sign says 'speed table'. What's a speed table?"

Her Awesomeness: "Beats me, but YOU TWO STOP POKING AT EACH OTHER RIGHT NOW. NO POKE. NO POKE."

Me: "Hey, thanks. That cleared everything right up for me about those speed ta--"

WHOMP.

A-ha, said my butt.

Because my speed table curiosity was still not sated and maybe yours isn't either, I found this here (PDF):

Speed humps and speed tables are both raised areas on the surface of roadways that are usually 3.7 to 4.3 meters (12 to 14 feet) long (measured along the travel direction of the street) and 7.6 to 10.2 centimeters (3-4 inches) high. (There are also much shorter humps, typically referred to as bumps, used at grocery stores and other locations where very low speeds are desired.) Usually they are installed in a series about 100-200 meters (300-600 feet) apart. The main differences between humps and speed tables are:

• The speed hump has a rounded top while the speed table is flat-topped.
• The speed hump is slightly shorter than the speed table.
• Tables frequently have two 1.8-meter (6-foot) ramps on each side. (Typical length of a speed table is 6.7 meters (22 feet) with a 3.0-meter (10-feet) flat section.)

Deep stuff, this. I don't know of any speed tables in New York, but I've come across the odd hump here and there.

Oh, stop snickering.