Words Are Worlds I Sailed Upon

#Instagram Reflection of the Week

2012-02-09T17:21:00.000-08:00

Our pleasantries measured the changes in life since our last acquaintance. I eagerly shared the news of my daughter Maura. She remarked, "As long as they are born healthy… that is all that matters." I choked back on the thought of my daughter's epilepsy, and decided to end the conversation with a silent nod. After all, wasn't she a happy and healthy child?

"What Sarah Said": a lo-fi, live action web comic (episode 21, Super Bowl XLmnop?)

2012-02-05T16:55:00.000-08:00

*** Click image to enlarge. ***

#Instagram Reflection of the Week

2012-01-26T21:02:00.000-08:00

We stared at the thinning crescent of the waning moon and wondered where the sun had gone. He asked if the sun was asleep. I pointed out the sun was always shing, but sometimes just beyond our sight.

"What Sarah Said": a lo-fi, live action web comic (episode 20, Rebekah's First Snow)

2012-01-21T06:48:00.000-08:00

*** Click image to enlarge. ***

Maura Fern: Phased Topomax & Recent Epileptic Seizures

2012-01-20T20:51:00.000-08:00

Patrick Finn rooted through the Fisher Price medical kit kit with surgical precision. Although the word stethoscope wasn't yet a part of his 3-year-old vocabulary, he could expertly demonstrate how to use the instrument. The blood pressure cuff was a particular hit, as each pump of the bulb sent the dial spinning into a frenzied rotation. Yupp. We're talking Dr. P-Finn.

My wife and I always wondered how much he would remember of Maura's 2-month stay at the Children's Hospital of Philadelphia, or the flurry of neurological and pediatric check-ups after her release. Judging by his sense of purpose applying the medical kit, those memories were still a part of his vivid recall. The toys offered him a creative means to activate and explore those memories.

For all his deliberate play, I was shocked when he plunged the fake syringe into my mouth. It caught me off guard, and I nearly managed to choke out a reprimand when my wife shot me a sideways glance from across. the room. Then it dawned on me. This wasn't a pointy needle for immunization; he imagined the oral syringe we used to administer Maura's anti-seizure medication three times a day. Who could fault such a keen observer?

As for Maura, each and every day was marked progress. Each and every day distanced us from her last episode of epilepsy in early Septmber. Having already weened her off the anti-seizure medication Phenobarbital, my wife and I were eager to begin phasing out Topomax-- a medication more commonly known to treat migraine headaches.

Topo was also the only medication which required constant refrigeration, which seriously hampered our ability to "pick up and go" without more seriously planning our outings around her medication schedule. With a fair amount of consultation with CHOP's neurology specialists, we delicately planned to decrease Maura's Topomax schedule over a three week span-- ultimately eliminating the need for this particular treatment.

My wife administered the last dose of Topomax earlier this week. We allowed that major milestone to gracefully pass by with not much more than a FaceBook post acknowledging the event. It only took one incoming phone call to break that piece of mind.

Twenty-seven of my seventh grade students continued to research and write annotated bibliographies well into that Friday afternoon as the front office directed the phone call to my classroom; I discreetly answered the phone, nervously anticipating the next weighty words to drop with crushing gravity.

"Joe, Maura had a seizure this afternoon." There wasn't much more that could be said over the phone, and I could accomplish even less from my remote location miles away from my wife and children. We exchanged a few more words: Caroline outlined the narrative with a few critical details, and I offered a few words of heartfelt support. I hung up the phone and turned to finish out the rest of my school day.

Am I disappointed? No. The word too heavily conveys the idea of failure, lack of hope, and feeling unfulfilled. If anything I feel very relieved that Maura and her medications were able to hold the seizures at bay for such a long duration. Proud in my wife's determination to work with Early Intervention and physical therapy to develop the gross motor skills. Relieved that my son is handling our family crisis like a well adjusted 3-year-old.

So... we restart the clock back to "day zero seizure free," continue to manage Maura's seizures through the best medical attention CHOP can provide, and and continue to hope Maura will one day outgrow her epilepsy.

"What Sarah Said": a lo-fi, live action web comic (episode 19, We Shall Overcome!)

2012-01-16T18:23:00.000-08:00

*** Click image to enlarge. ***

Instagram: an late-comer app review for the tech secluded

2012-01-14T20:00:00.000-08:00

2011 has come and gone, giving way to several weeks worth of the year's "best of" from critics and bloggers alike. Jumping over to my iPhone's App Store, I explored through the Rewind 2011 and browsed through the best apps of the year to discover Instagram.

I eagerly shared this tidbit with my wife to discover that I am late to jump on the bandwagon. Very late in fact. Ah well, looks like I am one of the last to know about this gem. So I'll bring up the rear on this with my Instagram app review for the tech secluded.

WHAT IS IT?

Instagram is a free app offered exclusively available through the Mac App Store and iTunes.

On the surface, it is just another photography app that offers a limited variety of finishes, most of which give a blurred or washed out appearance as if the picture aged from the 50's or 60's. Filters are applied after the fact, allowing for both spontaneity and thoughtful post-production. All-in-all, the controls are intuitive and can be fully explored within several minutes.

I found the resulting alteration somewhat gimmicky, and could quickly loose entertainment value (like CamWow after 5 minutes of play). For those seeking a wider array of visual effects, consider Instagram can directly import from the photo album. Apps like Leme Camera, Photo Toaster, and 100 Cameras in 1 (just to name a few) can be used in tangent, allowing for a wider range of expression.

Layering effects proved easy to learn, but time-consuming to master.

WHO WILL LIKE IT?

Dig a little deeper and Instagram offers a layer of social networking. Images are published directly to a feed, which means you can follow others as they can also follow you. Images are aggregated directly into the app in an easy to view photo stream. Contacts can be imported from various other social networks, including FaceBook, making it easy to connect with others.

Email. Facebook. Twitter. Flickr. Four Square. Tumblr. Yeah, who needs another social network, right?

The most brilliant aspect of Instagram are the toggles to push photos out into your other various social networks... simultaneously. As a social networking app, Instagram felt... well... networked. The integrated nature of Instagram enhanced the way I engage with my other networks; though I am disappointed there is no direct port to Blogger outside of a widget or badge.

WHY USE IT?

Check it out. From my standpoint, Instagram appears popular with the +25-something tech savvy mommy/daddy posters. Consider how the Noah's Dad blog utilizes Instagram as an added layer of social media. Or how my wife's Rivergirl 365 + 1 blog uses Instagram photos on the go to maintain her efforts to post once a day over the course of a year. Another half-dozen mommy/daddy friends are also using Instagram to publish to Facebook.

There is also the burgeoning moblog (mobile blog) and photography scenes. Actually, I'm quite impressed by what people are able to achieve given the fixed focal length of any mobile Apple product. For those who didn't know, the "zoom" feature only crops! Check out the works of my friends PraiseBoognish and HeadManSays who are really pushing the boundaries of technology and art. Quite astounding.

And ooh, check out my feed while you are at it. I'm trying to balance visual curiosity combined with those small, family moments.

"What Sarah Said": a lo-fi, live action web comic (episode 18, Sunset Over This Year's Resolution)

2012-01-08T16:26:00.000-08:00

*** Click image to enlarge. ***

P-Finn's Secret Wish

2012-01-08T13:35:00.000-08:00

P-Finn broke away and sprinted toward the fountain under the mall's spacious atrium. "Mom, can I have a coin?" he requested. My wife shook a few pennies and dimes out of her coin purse, and handed them over to the toddler. In a single motion, my son threw a fistful of coins toward the water, sending back a hearty splash.

In reconsideration, he turned back to my wife and asked, "Do you have any more coins?" She shook her head in denial. P-Finn the turned to me. "Daddie, why are there coins under the water?" I began to explain something about making a wish... or the monies being donated to various charities. He looked confused.

Switching subjects, I ask if he made a wish. Caroline quickly interjected, "Wishes don't come true if you tell somebody else. Keep it a secret." At that moment, my son scrunched his eyelids shut into his keeping-a-secret facial expression. Guess now I'll never know about his wishes.

"What Sarah Said": a lo-fi, live action web comic (episode 17, Christmas Morning Part 2)

2011-12-30T13:28:00.000-08:00

*** Click image to enlarge. ***

Toddlers are naturally inquisitive... but my three-year-old son is a roving questionnaire. He speaks in interrogatives, and knows how to redirect answers into follow-up questions. Although I sometimes have to shut down his interrogation with the occasional "just because", I love P-Finn's quest for knowledge.

When it came time to write another character into "What Sarah Says", P-Finn's inquisitive nature came to mind. With Sarah reporting her observations of the world, Rebekah's curious disposition felt like a natural fit; they compliment one another. I'm curious to see how their companionship develops over time.

Epic Christmas Fail: Moon Dough Barn (not Play-Doh Barn)

2011-12-27T19:46:00.000-08:00

Whether asked by Santa, grandma, grandpa, friends, neighbors, or any Joe on the street, my son P-Finn only had one answer when asked "What do you want for Christmas." That answer was surely stated "Play-Doh Barn." And by Play-Doh Barn my son was actually referring to the Moon Dough Barn he once saw in Target.

Play-Doh. Moon Dough. It was a minor detail that was lost on my wife and I. Now mind you, we typically thoroughly research every gift online to read product reviews and scour the webs for the bet sale price. But when my found the Moon Dough Barn at TJ Max for 50% off, she pulled the trigger and made the purchase without any further consultation.

And who can blame her? It was the one and only thing my son asked for, time and time again. It wasn't as if he asked for an expensive video game system or the newest and most expensive iTechnology. This was a Play-Doh knock-off for God sakes. I mean, lots of exploratory, imaginative, and fine-motor playtime… for cheap. Who would ever question igniting that Christmas magic by giving a child the one and only thing he wants?

Come Christmas morning, my son patiently waited to unwrap each present. I could read into his countenance. Each tear of wrapping paper suppressed the anticipated look of, "Will this be the one? Will this be my Play-Doh Barn? Did Santa follow through like I hoped?" And my wife and I… we played into the tension by ensuring the Moon Dough Barn was the second to last gift to be opened. Poor thing.

That look… on his face… when he finally opened THE GIFT! Sheer exhilaration. Every other gift was now meaningless. P-Finn had his one and only, his precious. Pure Christmas magic that you can only be viewed through the reflection in a child's eyes. The family rushed over to the coffee table to assemble the parts and churn the first Moon Dough barnyard animal out of the mold.

Let me tell you… the difference between Play-Doh and Moon Dough is like the difference between drinking designer bottled water and the brackish flotsam that floats past South Street Sea Port in New York City. Let me put it this way, Moon Dough is all the fun of a silica packet ripped open without the benefit of keeping dried beef or shoes dry.

The Moon Dough "Magical Molding Dough" website boasts the substance never dries out, is hypo-allergenic, and wheat-free. Seriously? Wheat-free? This ensures that a child can safely consume vast quantities of the Stuff ™, especially if they suffer from celiac disease. I guess that's a bonus over Play-Doh if your child also happens to suffer from Pica.

The product is like crossing three parts beach sand with one part Silly Putty-- very dry and gritty to the touch. At first, the Moon Dough was very crumbly until I kneaded it several times, and then it was slightly less crumbly. Just think back to making sand castles in Jersey shore days of summer hood past; it's like that, but Moon Dough is a finer particulate, and unusually dry.

Fortunately the assembly on the barn was a matter of snapping in a few plastic parts; that is where the fun begins and ends. From there, you smash gobs of Moon Dough into a mold atop the barn, crank away, and the barnyard animal while magically pop out of the barn chute. And yes, the first animal looked picture perfect. The second animal? Well, let's just say it resembled the man+fly monstrosity in Jeff Goldblum's version of The Fly.

The mold wasn't releasing correctly. Excess Moon Dough was accumulating in hard to reach places that compounded the initial problem. I attempted to disassemble the product, only to be blocked by deeply recessed triangle head screws. My wife and I were in utter shock. My son had that Christmas Story "Drink your Ovaltine" decoder ring look on his face. We quickly shelved the toy and gave P-Finn his last present: a Lionel Little Lines Polar Express Train Set.

Good thing our son loves trains more than anything else, as that last gift saved us from a truly embarrassing moment. in a "Daddy saves the day" moment, I jumped back onto Amazon.com and ordered the last Play-Doh Barn… but this time the real Play-Doh. Now if only my wife and I can concoct a Santa-switch story to swap out the products so the Moon Dough Barn can find its way into the deepest recesses of our garbage can.

"What Sarah Said": a lo-fi, live action web comic (episode 16, Christmas Morning Part 1)

2011-12-25T12:18:00.000-08:00

*** Click image to enlarge. ***

"What Sarah Said": a lo-fi, live action web comic (episode 15, A Radiant Christmas Wonderland)

2011-12-22T17:49:00.000-08:00

*** Click image to enlarge. ***

Letters from Santa Claus 2011

2011-12-20T18:34:00.000-08:00

Letters from Santa Claus finally arrived this year for P-Finn and Maura. Looks like he has a fairly good idea about exactly what is happening in this household. With less than a week until Christmas, the kids had better be on their best behavior!

*** Click image to enlarge. ***

"What Sarah Said": a lo-fi, live action web comic (episode 14, Christmas Tree Lighting)

2011-12-11T14:02:00.000-08:00

*** Click image to enlarge. ***

Toddler Christmas Toy Train 2011

2011-12-10T19:42:00.000-08:00

Last Christmas my parents gifted P-Finn with a train set. Now, this wasn't any ordinary train set, oh no! This Disney-themed steam locomotive was modeled after the engine that picks up guests as they enter the park on Main Street. Finn would sit right in the middle of the oval-shaped tracks and watch the train circulate round and round, mesmerized for hours on end.

Poor child nearly had a meltdown when we had to box the train away with all of our other Christmas decorations. Right away he started to frequently ask, "When is Christmas," and "When can we get the Mickey Mouse train down?" And that started right away in January and persisted throughout much of the spring and summer.

In fact, my parents purchased their own Disney train this past fall, and gladly setup the tracks anytime P-Finn visited. Considering Walmart started to air Christmas commercials well before Halloween, my son was conned into believing the winter holidays were imminent. In response to these circumstances, my son stepped up his requests to take the train down from the attic. We politely declined until the time was appropriate.

Finn exploded with excitement when my wife finally started to remove Christmas decoration from the attic, including his Disney train. Nearly every day he falls into a meditative trance as the locomotive circles around and around. Being in the Season Spirit, I made this quick 30-second film for my son to commemorate the Christmas train (and tide him over those upcoming summer months).

"What Sarah Said": a lo-fi, live action web comic (episode 13, #occupy #education #occupyedu )

2011-12-04T19:15:00.000-08:00

*** Click image to enlarge. ***

Like most Americans, I have seen a fair amount of media coverage surrounding the whole Occupy movement, but know very little about the ideals propelling the whole revolution. Lately I've busied myself watching the tweet grid #OCCUPY, yet I know little more than the whole "We are the 99%" notion about the 1% possessing the lion's share of money and power.

The more I read, the more I wonder about the possible intersections between #OCCUPY and what is happening with the current state of education. The political mandate of "No Child Left Behind" and so-called education reform "Race To the Top" constrains public education to test prep readiness, suffocating anything that cannot be measured through multiple choice and a #2 pencil. Of course there is the whole matter about who really stands to profit from all this.

The random Google Search of OCCUPY and EDUCATION led me to Occupy Education's tumblr and Facebook websites. I love how the sentimentality of the site empowers students and teachers to express their voice in speaking out against testing culture. There's more. Like Jersey Jazzman at Blue Jersey wrote a very sarcastic op ed piece about "Occupy Education Reform". Though, I often turn to Bob Barker's "School Finance 101" for a quantified analysis, or Diane Ravitch for a rallying cry.

There is a healthy counter-revolution forming in response to heavily politicized ed reform. I hope resistance to standardized testing culture takes hold before my own children attend public school.

"What Sarah Said": a lo-fi, live action web comic (episode 12, Happy Thanksgiving 2011)

2011-11-23T17:33:00.000-08:00

*** Click image to enlarge. ***

By the time I had finished explaining the design concept behind this week's Sarah comic, my wife looked at me dumbfounded. It only seemed like a natural progression to attempt 'on location' staged photos as a means of developing this strip.

"You could get arrested taking photos from inside a supermarket."

Huh? I Never heard such a thing in my life... Besides, what's something like supermarket security to stand in the way of art. OK, well maybe not art, but definitely a work... A work in progress!

"Yeah. Something about preventing competition from stealing ideas for product placement. Listen. I'll pretend that I don't know you in the event you get escorted into some security room."

Now there's a thought for you. Getting cuffed by the Shoprite Fuzz for taking pictures of a lawn ornament in the frozen foods section. For a moment, I daydreamed how that might read in the local police blotter.

"And oh, I need to head up to the BIG Shopright, not the one around the corner."

This store was conveniently located right by my place of work. Double the odds. Now imagine being carted away in front of the middle school students I teach and their parents. Imagine the cafeteria talk the next day if anyone was to spot me. High risk, but do-able. Very worthwhile.

"Yeah, count me in," I replied. There was no backing down.

So I suited up: an outer shell with a breast pocket for quickly stashing my iPhone, and an over the shoulder one-strap backpack to conceal Sarah. After several practices, I mastered grabbing the phone in one hand and lawn ornament in the other. This action must have appeared surreptitious to say the least.

For all my anticipation, nothing could properly prepared me for the obstacle course of the Frozen Foods aisle. Did I say aisle? No. Correct that: one of those grocery floor refrigeration units, flanked on every side by supermarket clerks. And oh, this was right after rush hour the day before Thanksgiving; the place was packed.

All of my life experienced prepared me for this moment. Don't hesitate. Don't look suspicious. Work with purpose. Make it appear as if it was my business to take digital photos of lawn ornaments situated on bags of frozen peas and corn. Otherwise somebody might actually stop and ask me exactly what was I doing.

Ooh. All this AND my three-year-old son speaking at top volume, "Daddie, what are you doing? What are you doing Daddie?" over and over.

I snapped my three photos and walked out of the supermarket with my family... never to look back. And this is my way of saying, "Happy Thanksgiving" to you all!

P-Finn's Observations of the Wedding & Reception

2011-11-13T19:07:00.000-08:00

As the bride and groom entered the room, my son P-Finn turned to me and inquired, "Daddie, Jon is marrying a princess?" I nodded my head in a silent affirmation and thought to myself, Yes... he is marrying a princess.

At the reception, my 3-year-old son danced... all... evening... long. He grew indignant whenever the crowd meandered away. "Cmon every-body, get on the dance floooor!" he commanded.

On more than one occasion, he took the bride by the hand and escorted her back out to dance. Each time the bride elegantly accepted his request. I swear that child had more face-time with the bride than her husband.

Songs I Want to Learn: "Let My Love Open the Door" & "Question" Acoustic Covers

2011-11-11T04:50:00.000-08:00

Today one of my best friends is getting married in the Mohunk Mountain House up in the New York Catskill mountain range.

Over the past year, we had knocked around the idea of an acoustic performance-- Jon singing in his "James Taylor meets country twang" voice, and me accompanying on acoustic guitar. For all of our good intentions, we were all talk... until a month ago. Jon asked me sincerely, "So, are we really going to do this." I nodded, and we set to task.

We both pitched ideas for songs: easy enough to learn, good vocal range, thematically appropriate. The six song selection was quickly narrowed down to three, and again to two. It's better to perform a few songs well than to have a larger set at the risk of mediocrity. Besides, it's the thought that counts.

Tonight we will perform Old 97's "Question" and Sondre Lerche's "Let My Love Open the Door." As usual, finding good source material to learn from was a critical part of our process. Here are two YouTube videos that helped greatly.

"What Sarah Said": a lo-fi, live action web comic (episode 11, Fun With Siri Part A)

2011-11-06T19:58:00.000-08:00

*** Click image to enlarge. ***

Maura Fern: Snapshots at 1 mos. & 6 mos.

2011-11-02T18:49:00.000-07:00

Maura, 17 Days Old

Maura, Just Shy of 6 mos

Born four weeks premature. Two months in the hospital.
I never imagined her growing up... and then she did.

"What Sarah Said": a lo-fi, live action web comic (episode 10, It's The Great Pumpkin)

2011-10-28T13:09:00.000-07:00

*** Click to enlarge image. ***

Run for Your Lives: Notes from the Zombie Apocolypse #Z5K

2011-10-25T19:50:00.001-07:00

There comes a time in every man's life when he must pony up to survive the Zombie Apocalypse or submit to become fodder for the walking undead. Although that might seem a bit farfetched, that's exactly how my little brother Mikey pitched the first annual "Run for Your Lives" 5k mud run.

The course was designed as a traditional off trail mud run with obstacles peppered throughout the course with one significant distinction: zombie hazards around every bend. Runners were equip with a flag-football belt with three red flags. Zombies attack runners to swipe their flags (aka hit points) and runners try their best to stay alive.

Considering my past inexperience and under-training with this strain of race, I decided err on the side of male bravado (once again) and register for the course. That, and I would be participating with a pair of non-runners. . . not to mention my good friend and running buddy Jon who doubled-up the event as his pre-wedding bachelor outing.

It was set, we had our cast of characters: the jort-wearing hipster, the absent-minded professor, the Dudley Do-Right leader, and the shifty-eyed brooder. We speculated which would survive based on TV Tropes, and formulated our strategy for survival. The black sharpie marker emblazoned on my brother's stark white T-shirt said it best: I'll trip you first.

We were slated to run in the 8:00 AM wave, and had arrived in Shuresville, MD (just outside of Baltimore) well over an hour advance of start time. I could foresee parking would be problematic later on, as cars were already getting stuck in the mud first thing in the morning... and the event catered onward until 5:00 PM! Very reminiscent of festival parking.

The packet pickup system was chaotic at best. Participants were crammed into a carnival style tent with no discernible line leading into three checkpoints: running bib, flag-football belt, and runner's swag. The latter was especially disappointing: a WarWear (which I re-dubbed WarioWear) knockoff UnderArmor shirt with no event logo. Event shirts were for sale at the mercy tent. Lame.

That's where my criticisms start and end. The rest of the day was pure kick ass.

The event started in a canopied chute that blocked out visibility of any obstacles. Runners were channeled into one of three queue's: Appetizer for the elite runners, Entree for the 8 - 12 min/mi jogging crowd, and Dessert for the +12 min/mi walkers. Waves were released every 30 minutes. Since parking and registration took over two hours, we jumped into the 10:30 wave (which did not pose any problem).

In a matter of seconds, our cohort hurtled out of the chute in a surge of athletes running to an uncertain fate. We were pumped out into an open field inhabited by dozens upon dozens of zombies. I lost my footing, and slide down a grassy embankment, only to abruptly crash into the shins of a zombie. Somehow I managed to dart off to the side, narrowly evading the first wave of attack.

Now disoriented and dislodged from the guys, I trudged onward. Avoiding erratic runners proved quite a challenge. Finding myself wedged between a runner and the woods, a zombie managed to grab my first flag. Let me tell you, the zombies were very realistic in both make-up and role play. The whole event felt as if I was dropped into an episode of "Walking Dead." Poor luck or not, I managed to reconnect with the group within the first half-mile.

Run For Your Lives 2011 from Alexander Turoff on Vimeo.

Much of the running took place up hill, in sloppy mud, with hoards of zombies waiting at the top. Let's just say that hill training mixed with wind sprints was the perfect way to train for the event. I underestimated my ability to bob and weave. For my every zig, another zombie was ready to catch me on the zag back.

Flags two and three fell down quickly and I was marked for certain death unless I could locate another health pack rumored to be hidden on the course. Keep in mind runners were prohibited from picked up a pulled flag from the ground. The rulebook stated that cheaters might have their timed invalidated or else be removed from the course.

It's challenging to survive the zombie apocalypse solo; groups enhance survival.

Bands of strangers bonded together in numbers with the impromptu plan to surge the mountainside. Always run behind and towards the middle. Safety in numbers. This is exactly how my brother and his friend, the non-runners, managed to survive much of the race. We also conserved strength by plodding along at a comfortable pace, knowing we might have to high-tail at any given second.

All in all, the event was entirely worth the $80 price of admission. "Run for Your Lives" is far more than a themed mud run; it was also a full blown festival complete with a beer tent and an entire day's lineup of live music. Imagine health fair expo mashed up with Comic-Con… then add in copious amounts of zombie makeup and you might have some idea of the "Party at the End of the World" (as it was billed).

Next year I might be interested in volunteering as a Zombie and camping out after the event (which was $$$ add-on). Hopefully the series will continue to improve throughout this year, and will be a more refined race experience in 2012.

Playing Little Big Planet with my Toddler as Father / Son Time

2011-10-17T20:53:00.000-07:00

Developmental milestones never cease to amaze me. Like the time P-Finn first managed to toddle up the staircase… and into the library to grab a CD out of it's jewel case, toddle back down the steps, and successfully insert it into the DVD player. And just under two years of age. Your either born with that technology intuition or not, and my son seemed to have it.

Just saying'.

So it came as no surprise when P-Finn asked me to have the second game controller having observed me play video games. Not wanting to ruin my current high score, I handed him a dummy controller and attempted to con him into believing that he could manipulate the main character. P-Finn didn't fall for it one bit.

In what ever three-word sentence he could string together , this child firmly requested a live joystick (or else he would commandeer mine). Seeing no other possible course of action, I plugged the little guy in. Left. Right. And use the "X" button to jump. Very straight forward. And wouldn't you know, my little kid had it figured out in only a matter of seconds.

Again, just sayin'.

P-Finn and I quickly and deeply fell in love with the cooperative style of Playstation 3's "Little Big Planet." The game is a physics-based platformer set in a world of imaginative creation. Entire levels are pieced together using various swaths of cloth, cardboard, stickers, and puppets. It's all the fun of arts and crafts... packed into a video game.

The DIY theme carries straight through into the level creation toolkit. Not only did Patrick and I attempt to build our own railroad-themed levels, but we tapped into the wealth of community created levels... well over five million of them! We spend most of our time in Little Big Planet playing through the various community created, railroad levels (especially the ones created by JubJub67 and TSFRJ).

It's one thing to watch trains in movies or television, but it's something else to get behind a freight engine and virtually pull a load of box cars. There is nothing better to a train-enthused, three-year-old. And it's become one of many father / son activities we've come to enjoy together as of late.

"What Sarah Said": a lo-fi, live action web comic (episode 9, Feeling Kinda Blue)

2011-10-15T20:36:00.001-07:00

*** Click to enlarge image. ***

"What Sarah Said": a lo-fi, live action web comic (episode 8, What Sarah Didn't Say)

2011-10-15T19:55:00.000-07:00

*** Click on image to enlarge. ***

"What Sarah Said": a lo-fi, live action web comic (episode 7, Going Hulu)

2011-10-09T12:03:00.000-07:00

*** Click image to enlarge. ***

When Netflix decided to split their business model into streaming content with their mail delivery service (renamed Qwikster), I decided to downgrade my account to streaming only. This decision was made on the premise that my son could continue to watch an entire digital library of "Thomas and Friends" any hour of the day.

Since I've now managed to watch every A-list movie and way too many three-star B-movies to count, it seems D-grade content is all that remains. Crap. Crap. And utter crap. Yes Shaolin vs. Evil Dead, I mean you! There's only so much SyFy Saturday monster made-for-TV movies that can get passed along as cinema before one begins to despair.

Looking forward to breaking my cable contract with Verizon Fios and going the way of either Hulu Plus or Qwikster (aka old Netflix). Then again, I might re-initiate my passion for Miro and figure out what internet TV is worth watching... as it can't be any worse than either cable or streaming movies.

Maura Fern: A NICU Infant's Development (Feed Her, Grow Her)

2011-10-03T20:29:00.000-07:00

I thought Maura would never grow. Two months in the NICU and she hadn't gained as much as an inch or a pound in all that time; her entry weight was nearly the same size upon departure. She was our perma-infant, to live out her life in some nightmarish, never-ending NICU loop.

By the time she came home, her weight percentile was only in the single digits. Two months old and she still fit into newborn clothing with plenty of wiggle room. We had one immediate goal: feed her, grow her. And yes, within a matter of weeks our dear little Miss Maura wasn't so little after all: she had jumped to 70% in her weight class!

My daughter's skinny chicken legs had butterballed into some massive thunder thighs! Even her ankles and knees were draped in rolling flabs of baby fat. Can't say that I would ever have another opportunity in my entire lifetime to compliment anyone of the opposite gender on exponential weight gain.

There's no question Maura's physical growth was a blessing, though it also caused significant complications. Two month of laying prone in a hospital bed had not only delayed her gross motor skills, but had actually atrophied whatever muscles she was born with. Now add to that the added healthy girth of a breastfed baby.

Thankfully Maura qualified for Early Intervention. Having worked for 10 years in the mainstream model of special education, it was odd to be on the opposite side of evaluations and the crafting of an intervention plan. We were to work alongside a physical therapist on tummy time exercises to enhance her core muscle groups.

It was more than obvious that a task as simple as holding her head up was not physically possible… at first. It took another two months just to gain enough neck control for her noggin to teeter back and forth like a bobble head. Needless to say, I'm simply astounded by how much strength Maura has gained in just the past two weeks alone.

We noticed her getting antsy when placed in an incline position. She'd strain every last abdominal muscle to bend herself forward. It was then we got the idea to try placing her in an exercise saucer. She took to it right away. Although she doesn't quite have enough strength to balance her torso, she appears quite content to stand supported in an upright position.

Five months in the making, this milestone feels like a major breakthrough and a Win for the little lady.

"What Sarah Said": a lo-fi, live action web comic (episode 6, Date Fail)

2011-10-01T06:57:00.000-07:00

*** Click image to enlarge. ***

Songs I Want to Learn: "Forget the Flowers" Acoustic Cover

2011-09-24T11:52:00.000-07:00

First encountered Wilco as an alternate stage act during the mid-90's H.O.R.D.E. tour. I still have that "A.M." era demo/single somewhere in my tape collection. Didn't really become a fan until the late 90's when my wife started playing "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot" and "Summerteeth" in heavy rotation. Then I fell in love.

Recently heard a friend sing an acoustic cover of "Forget the Flowers" from the Wilco's "Being There" album. Decided to revisit their earlier material and was really captured by this particular song. The song has catchy lyrics over a simple chord progression with some banjo and country guitar licks in the background.

I feel comfortable with chords & strum patterns and would eventually like to learn the electric guitar parts. Here are a two notable acoustic cover versions I found on You Tube (none of which are my friend's).

"What Sarah Said": a lo-fi, live action web comic (episode 5, Duck Season)

2011-09-21T14:05:00.000-07:00

*** Click image to enlarge. ***

This afternoon Comic Life suggested I upgrade to the most recent version. After running the install, I was prompted to upgrade for only $9 on what would be a $30 new software purchase. What a great deal! Comic Life 2.0 offers the same easy publication with twice the templates and formatting options. I felt inspired to immediately bring the next issue of "What Sarah Says" to publication a few days early. Enjoy!

My Toddler is the *rain Man

2011-09-20T18:45:00.001-07:00

Earlier this summer the family took a day trip to the Jersey shore. Having spent a major portion of that day in the sun and sand, we readied to head back home. My three-year-old son refused to put on his sandals, even after taking a few sizzling steps onto the sun-soaked blacktop.

"What are you, a BEACH BUM," I cracked, mildly amused that he would rather endure the treacheries of walking barefoot.

"No dad, you a beach bum!" he asserted.

We exchanged words a few times, and then I allowed him to get the final word. Needless to say, my son walked barefoot all the way back to the car.

A few weeks later, the family took a camping trip up to Vermont. Having parked the car, my son kicked off his sandals and proceeded to run about the campsite barefoot. Yes. Sixty degrees, raining, with that brisk New England late summer chill. And there he was, digging his toes into a carpet of pine needles.

"What are you, a MOUNTAIN MAN," I cracked. This time I new the rules of the game meant he now had to volley back a remark.

"No dad, you a mountain man."

"No, you're the mountain man!" I shot back, attempting to best this toddler.

This time, he looked at me in earnest and replied, "No dad, I'm a *rain man."

I blinked. A rain man? My wife and I exchanged looks of befuddlement. What did my son know about autism and Dustin Hoffman? Yeah, my son's a keen observer, but this definitely didn't make sense.

"A rain man?" I asked.

"Yes dad, a *rainmain. Choo choo."

Oh yes, of course. A TRAIN man. Of the Thomas the Tank Engine variety of train man at that. "Why yes, you are a train man, aren't you." And to that, he nodded in agreement.

Toddler is a language of all it's own; apparently I am not all that fluent.

"What Sarah Said": a lo-fi, live action web comic (episode 4, Duck Hunt)

2011-09-16T14:13:00.000-07:00

McGuire-Dix-Lakehurst "Beast of the East" Mud Run, 2011

2011-09-13T20:41:00.000-07:00

When my neighbor Carl asked if I would be interested in creating a five-person team for the Joint Base McGuire-Dix-Lakehurst "Beast of the East" September 10th, 2011 mud run… my only answer was, "Hell yeah." A few keystrokes later and our testosterone-filled impulses committed us to running this hellish 10k.

I've run for endurance. Run for speed. Never quite had the opportunity to participate in an adventure race (except for the Morris Mauler 5k where I had to crawl up an icy hill). This would be my first opportunity… and I certainly didn't want to pass up the possibility of forming a team.

Forget training. We had no real chance in completing the race with any respectable finish time. Therefore we set upon the strategy of style above substance. We needed flash, not fast. You might compare this against starting up your first garage band. Picking a good band name and style of performance art is sometimes more important than the song choice, or being able to play instruments for that matter.

We set to task with heart and determination. Skimming through the team registration online, we knew we were up for a good battle. Cereal Killers. The Asstastics. FudMucker. It was then I had a moment of brilliance. Run For Morass.

Carl gave me a squinty-eyed look, and pointed out that pulling together a team of five men under the banner of Run for Morass might give the wrong impression Forget that we are all straight, happily married men… a name like that might draw scowls from the Don't Ask, Don't Tell military crowd.

So, we set our sights for a team name that exuded uber-masculinity. In terms of 80's action flicks, it came down to two simple choices: Arnold Schwarzenegger or Sylvester Stallone. This was a no brainer. We immediately agreed upon the team name Rambo, First Mud.

Fast forward our lackadaisical late-summer, training routine to the week before the event. Hurricane Irene swept through New Jersey in a downpour, flooding wetlands, streams, and rivers. Another round of cloudburst activity came through on a separate storm front. Considering the ground was already saturated from Irene, the runoff from the second wave caused even worse flooding conditions.

To be perfectly honest, I wasn't sure whether or not the race organizers would need to cancel the event due to extreme flooding. This suspicion was stoked by a lack of information and updated regarding race-day logistics. With very little time until race-day, an email came blazing through my inbox with "Working on last minute stuff" frantically types into the salutation. This was the final confirmation: the race was on.

The day prior, Carl and I drove down to the base to pickup our registration bibs and runner's booty. In casually speaking with some of the event staff, we learned that some of the obstacles still needed to be drained. Yes, drained. It was then I realized that the mud run might better described as a marsh run. Another volunteer imparted that we had better bring bug repellant, as the combination of high humidity and standing water was fertile grounds for breeding mosquitoes. With that last bit of advice, we departed.

Route 68 is a two-lane highway that narrows down to a single lane. It exists for one reason only: to bring visitors off the New Jersey Turnpike and onto Joint Base McGuire-Dix-Lakehurst. And we were bumper to bumper with a few hundred other cars waiting to pass security check to enter the base's main gate.

An officer on the side of the road spotted the driver's Department of Defense identification and suggested we bypass the wait by driving to a military-only entrance. Following command, we drove off (only half-remembering the directions) in search of this alternate entrance. Truth be told, someone didn't have their stories straight, as we were redirected back to the main gate upon arrival. Fortunately, everything onward operated like a well oiled piece of machinery.

The race was staggered into multiple heats-- at least eleven if rumors were correct. We anticipated many of the military-grade obstacles would be relatively free from grunge since we were schedule for the third heat. Our cohort was a mixed bag: costumed amateurs (bonus points goes out to the BraveHeart group who ran in kilts), military personnel, a few crazed adventure seekers, peppered with some die hard runners.

This wasn't a traditional race by any means as evidenced by the lack of passers by or even a passing lane. Participants patiently waited his or her turn to take a whack at the obstacles. A generous amount of time between heats proved an effective means of crowd control; I did not experience bottle necking at any point in the course.

The course was naturally flooded. I was soaked within the first half-mile. Running the next six miles with waterlogged footgear over a sandy surface was one of the more challenging aspects of the race. The three mile mark felt like running a full 10k. Running through mud puddles felt reminiscent of puddle stomping as a kid, and wading through the swamp was mildly amusing. There's nothing like feeling unidentified objects brush past your legs beneath the murky depths.

Scores of plastic "Jersey Dividers" were spread throughout the corse. A few showoffs with bravado would either hurdle or leapfrog over, whereas most others approached the highway medians one leg at a time. Climbing up sheer embankments of festival-grade mud required knuckle deep finger holds to gain better traction. Each aspect of the race layered another coating of filth: sweat, festival-grade mud, swamp water, duck weed, and a dusty film of sand.

Rounding that last bend, I spied something better than the finish line: fire hydrant's rigged to spray into the running lane. Not even caring for my finish time, my team and I soaked in that the direct blast, watching as layer after layer of grime melted away leaving me drenched and mud-stained. After crossing the finish line, I removed my sneakers to reveal a bed of sand having accumulated in the toe box. Another stratum of sediment came to rest inside my socks.

My old running sneakers found their way inside a dumpster and I began the walk back to the car barefoot, with a satisfied look on my face. The Beast of the East was unlike anything I had ever run before.

Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

Maura's Story: Diagnosis & Treatment of Infant Epilepsy in Retrospect

2011-09-12T17:46:00.000-07:00

It started to become complicated about half-way through my wife's pregnancy. She was diagnosed with placenta previa, a condition where the placenta comes to implant itself right over the cervix. A very serious condition considering the placenta is a massive organ of blood an nutrition, obstructing the baby from being naturally delivered. God forbid the placenta were to pull away from the lining of the uterus, it would quickly threaten the lives of both mother and daughter.

We hoped the situation would resolve by itself. Best case scenario would be for the placenta to move away from the cervix as the uterus grew in size. Although there was mention of scheduling a C-section, my wife's OB was agreeable to postpone any decision making until Caroline was much closer to the expected due date. She never even came close. Nearly four weeks before the expected delivery, my wife experienced heavy bleeding and had to be rushed to the Virtua Hospital in Mount Holly.

After three days of close observation, the OB decided it was too risky to allow for her to go home. It was decided to schedule the C-section later that afternoon. This decision was necessitated by the urgency of bleeding with placenta previa. Although we were disappointed the option deliver naturally, we knew it was in the best interest of mother and daughter. We only wanted a healthy child. We only wanted what was best for him or her.

The operation was marked by some 'excitement' (as the OB later came to call the event). The baby was both breech, wrapped in the umbilical chord, and didn't naturally take the first breath. The medical professionals were very cool under pressure, and we only came to learn about the riskiness of the delivery well after the fact. Maura Fern was born May 2nd, six pounds five ounces. Because she was four weeks premature, the doctors took Maura into the NICU for observation while mom recovered from her operation.

That was the longest three hours of my life. Well, at least up through the life I had lived. We anticipated the worst. Concerned that the complications with Maura's birth had cause some sort of serious condition. Our fears were belied when Maura came back to us, healthy, content. For all the hardship my wife had endured with the complications of her pregnancy, here was the perfect baby. The next day gave way to a never-ending cycle of visitations from family and medical professionals.

With the exception of jaundice, it appeared we would be able to finally take Maura home. We made the necessary preparations and following every prescribed checklist. By the end of the day, she only needed to pass a car-seat test. This baby exam mainly consisted of having Maura buckled into a car seat, under close observation, for a 90-minute period. I was so certain of ourselves, that I had started packing the car with every last possession.

Just as I was organizing the last round of baggage, the nurse came back with disappointing news: Maura had a blue-spell towards the end of the study, and would need to stay in the NICU for observation.Sleep deprived. Emotional. Worn down from the preceding days. We were both absolutely crushed. I slowly trudged back down to the car and started regathering all the bags for at least another night's stay. Another night. We had already spent the last five nights at the hospital, and now we had to contemplate the possibility of a much longer stay.

My wife and I turned our thoughts on the "What-To-Do" with our 2-year-old son, Patrick Finn, who was staying with my parents. It seemed unfair to have him stay much longer. Caroline and I made the tough decision to split up. We had two children, both who dearly needed us. Again our options were forced. Patrick couldn't come to stay in the hospital room just as Caroline couldn't leave Maura. With a kiss, I left my wife and infant to care for my son.

Later that night my wife called with an update: since my departure, Maura had experienced several more blue spells. The nurses started to suspected these apnea-life events were the manifestation of seizures. My daughter was immediately placed on EEG monitoring and administered the drug Phenobarbital. At the bare minimum, the NICU would need several more days to monitor the situation and adjust medication if necessary. Things had gone from questionable to worse. I felt so powerless as my wife and daughter were so many miles away… and there was nothing I could do to help.

Little did I know this was only the beginning. Maura suffered seven seizures on the following day. It took my every last reserve of energy and emotional strength to teach the final session in my graduate level course. The day thereafter my parents took Patrick for the day while I visited Caroline and Maura at the hospital. The NICU decided the situation called for more specialized services which could not be provided by Virtua. We would need to send her to either St. Christopher's, Dupont, or Children's Hospital of Philadelphia. There was no question, as CHOP's reputation was unsurpassed in our minds.

For the first time I outwardly cried. Such a small child. Vulnerable. So many miles apart from her parents. Separated. I cringed to see her securely placed in the incubation box as the emergency transport staff rolled her out of the NICU towards the ambulance. There we stood, speechless, my wife and I holding one another. We were now entirely devastated. This was our seventh day in the hospital, and any trace amount of optimism was now utterly quashed. Caroline and I entered the car to drive home, empty handed.

Upon admittance to CHOP's NICU West Ward, Maura was fitted with a 24-hour video EEG and placed under Bili lights to address her jaundice. A highly expert neurology team administered a battery of tests to determine the cause through process of elimination. Blood work. Cat scan. Blood work. MRI. Blood work. Genetics. Blood work. Metabolism. Blood work. On and on and on. For every test that came back negative, leaving possible the outcomes as entirely more simple or exotic without middle ground. Caroline and I were trapped in the limbo between testing and results.

Poor Maura. She knew no other life other than monitors, needles, nurses, and sleep. Seedy little ideas creeped into our minds, and germinated the doubt that our little girl would ever survive this whole ordeal, much less ever leave the hospital. That was a dark place, filled with the despair of not-knowing. We were very fortunate to have the best team of nurses and doctors who made every attempt to put us at ease. In my limited experience with hospitals, I have never met a staff that so delicately balanced medical realism with the comforts of consideration.

Treatment, not cure or even diagnosis, proved to be the only forward movement at this time. The team started to adjust medications. Upped Phenobarbital. No impact upon her seizures. Added Keppra. Little impact. The nature of the seizures began to change in manifestation, from apnea "blue spells" to all out tonic clonic (the old grand mal). One doctor finally dropped the "E" word, clarifying that epilepsy is defined as two or more unproved seizures with an unknown etiology (or known cause of origin).

One week. Two weeks. It would have been all too easy to loose the meter of days and nights in that room if it wasn't for us having to go home at night for our son. Having utilized paid leave (an upgrade from Family Medical Leave thanks to my empathetic administration), I had to return to work. Caroline spent every morning down at CHOP. I would visit nights when I could. We both managed to balance time with my two-year-old, even managing our "Thomas the Tank Engine" crazed son to CHOP via the Trenton to Philadelphia line as a special treat. Family life was wrapped around our new routine visiting Maura. This was our new normal.

Things began to quiet down. Maura's seizures started to slowly abate. Morning rounds were starting to entertain our questions of "when" with the conditions of three-days seizure free. Two. And then one. There was the matter of choosing another coming-home outfit. The feeling that we had put everything behind us. Friday seemed like the perfect day, as it would leave an open weekend ahead. The car ride home was filled with the breath-holding worry that another seizure would send us right back into CHOP's NICU.

Saturday was absolutely perfect, a perfect script for an unfilled movie. We proudly marched Maura up and down our Town's street fair at the amazement of all our friends and neighbors. There we were, finally a unified family happy in the the late arrival of our second born. We should have seen it coming, with the moment seeming too perfect. Sunday saw to our unnamed fear. In stepping out the door, Maura was caught in another seizure with an uncomfortably long blue spell.

We whisked Maura up to Princeton Medical, an affiliate of CHOP. There we waited five hours in the ER for the transfer order back down to Philadelphia. We panicked. In retrospect, it would have made more sense to make the forty-minute drive back down to CHOP rather than thirty-minutes in the opposite direction. If anything, the experience humbled us into completely acknowledging CHOP as pure heaven on earth (especially in comparison to the present condition of waiting in a sickly ER). Sadly, watching the emergency transport team take Maura away was an all to familiar feeling. An hour later, she was readmitted to the NICU.

Pushing aside her feelings of doubt, Caroline became a steel rudder, resolved to see Maura back home. At night, she would Google every known iteration of infant, seizure, epilepsy, etiology, neonatal convulsions. Most of what she read were the absolute nightmare stories other people choose to blog or forum post about. A smaller fraction returned links to medical journals riddled with professional jargon and acronyms. She stumbled across studies conducted at the Children's Hospital up in Boston where a researcher had marked success using Topamax with infant seizures. After some amount of persuasion, the medical team acquiesced to my wife's request.

Phenobarbital. Keppra. And now Topamax. Three medications administered through an nasal-gastrointestinal tube four times daily. It was a rough going as the medical cocktail was adjusted to therapeutic levels. Blood work. Blood work. Blood work. Still more testing. The seizures persisted, with upwards of seven tonic clonic episodes per day. And then… and then they started to dissipate once again. This time the medical reevaluated the terms for Maura's release: less than three seizures per day, less than three minutes in duration, without the characteristic blue spell.

For every two good days, a bad day followed in its wake. Like a pendulum swing coming to rest, the instances grew less frequent. And then, release. Having spent the past 35 days in the hospital, Maura was finally ready to come home for good. Although Caroline fought to nurse and pump, Maura didn't thrive in that clinical environment. All that time laying prone in a NICU crib. She had gained only a few ounces during her stay. Little to no development of gross motor skills. We knew we had handwork and setbacks ahead, but this time we were better prepared to live with Maura's epilepsy.

Day In A Sentence: Sept. 7, 2011

2011-09-07T19:05:00.000-07:00

"Day In A Sentence" is brought to you by Kevin's Dogtrax blog. This week he was asking for the blogosphere to submit the D.A.I.S. in haiku format. Here's my take on the first day of (middle) school.

The quiet stillness
of anxious first impressions
is far too short lived.

"What Sarah Said": a lo-fi, live action, web comic (episode 3, Back To School)

2011-09-06T19:24:00.000-07:00

I wanted to bring the life of my first few "Sarah" FaceBook postings into a more fully realized web comic. So here she is: the disciple of the obvious (who is a few clicks counter-clockwise off kilter), ready to report her observations of a slightly idiosyncratic world. ***Please click the comic to magnify the image.***

The Boy's Badge of Summer

2011-09-05T19:15:00.000-07:00

My son lacks the finesse of eye-foot coordination (it must come from his mother's side of the family). Anything faster than a trot, and my son is nearly guaranteed to stumble and fall flat on his face. Prepping him with the parental warning of "no running" has little effect, and apparently pain has no memory... Otherwise P-Finn would have learned his lesson many times over.

I'm somewhat at odds here. On one hand, the kid clearly needs to burn off pre-nap energy, not to mention the whole bit about learning to run for enjoyment. Sure, give him a rolling park. Grass stains have a fairly quick recovery time. But oh, just a little bit of concrete is enough to grate away layers of skin and scabs. Damn, that sucker would bleed bright, bright red. Just enough to garner the attention of any onlookers.

The kid knows how to play sympathy's fiddle. "Daddy, I have a boo boo. It's bleeding. Pick me up." He would just stand there, paralyzed, one hand lifting his pant leg, giving the trickle of blood an unobstructed path towards his ankles. Depending on his audience, he might either give the sobbing performance of a lifetime, or laugh it off and jump right back into playing. You never quite know, though trust me: the remedy is not the answer he was looking for.

I did had some minor success in daddy triage utilizing a rolled paper towel to bandage the knee. This approach exaggerated the painful appearance of his injury. "I don't wand a band aid," he would pine on with a grimace that would suggest the cure more painful than the injury.

So... I quickly changed my approach and called it a "boo boo badge." It sounded somewhat tougher to me. Yeah, that didn't work either. It all came down to a moment's distraction while I slapped that band aid on his knee. Let me tell you, peeling away a half-way removed band aid was cause for an even bigger production!

The mosquito bites. The unexplained bruises. A blotch of what might be poison ivy. Splinters. Bee stings. And the skinned knees. These are the perpetual marks of a boy's badge of summer.

Star Wars Pancakes

2011-09-02T06:17:00.000-07:00

I was psyched the day Caroline came home with Star Wars™ Vehicles Pancake Molds she acquired from a clearance sale at Williams Sonoma. Saturday morning breakfast was elevated to a whole new level: not only could I cook a nutritive breakfast, but now my family could be 'force'-fed (pun intended).

I ripped through the cardboard packaging, quickly discarded the directions and special recipe, and readied up the batter. C'mon. Who has time for reading instructions with a hungry family ravenously waiting for their morning meal? Cooking pankcakes is an inherent part of fatherhood, along with BBQ grilling and potty training your son to pee on trees. How could I fail?

ANSWER: quite easy.

The molds are quite complex in shape. Intricate appendages stem off a central body. I found that my pancake batter proved to be too thick for the smallish spaces and didn't completely fill the mold from a central pour. I adjusted by trickling in more batter, nearly overflowing the mold. Way more cake'ish than I was aiming for, though I thought it seemed the lesser of two evils than eating a half-formed X-wing fighter.

I distinctly remembered the words NON-STICK advertised alongside a glossy image of a perfectly formed Millenium Falcon. Could not be farther from the truth.

The half-cooked batter stuck to the mold like you wouldn't believe. I found myself tracing the outline of the mold with a butter knife to pry the pancake from the frame just so I could cook the other side. My once 'rebel rebel' Jedi Knight X-wing fighter looked like it had been struck down by the Death Star. Next time I'll need to generously coat the mold with a non-stick spray or bathe it in an immersion of vegetable oil.

Not wanting to disappoint my 3-year-old son, I fell back on an old standard: the three-pour Mickey Mouse pancake. Despite having a busted appearance, the X-wing fighter was quite tasty with a liberal dousing of butter and Vermont maple syrup. A pancake breakfast never fails.

Maura Fern: A Portrait of Infant Epilepsy

2011-08-31T04:13:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was conceivably Maura Fern's worst day since leaving Children's Hospital of Philadelphia where It wasn't uncommon for her to have upwards of seven seizures per day. Yesterday she experienced five episodes (up from the two the day before that).

It's hard to believe her first episode occurred within the first 40-hours of life, and here she is almost 4-months-old. As you can imagine, the appearance of her seizures have changed with her age.

The seizures typically begin with a piercing cry. it is unmistakable, like nothing you have ever heard (and you can hear it across the house). Right then hear back arches upward and eyes roll to the back-left. They appear keenly focused on some distant object, and will not track faces or voices.

Maura's muscle tenses. Her arms fall to the side and fists start pumping. Every last muscle in her face starts to twitch… All of which is coordinated in a rapid, pulsing rhythm of contract, release, contract, release.

Even her breathing is gripped by the seizures as her lungs struggle against shallow, rhythmic breaths. When she was much younger, she would enter a state of apnea, sometimes requiring assisted breathing from the CHOP nurses. Now, she becomes quite pale… and you wait for her to regain control.

120 seconds of pure helplessness. There is nothing we, the parents, can do outside of just hold her lovingly, call her name waiting for some response, and count every tick of that clock, and wait for the typically, two-minute episode to end.

There is no rhyme or reason to the onset, though Caroline and I have recently associated a trigger upon waking. Right now that is purely speculation, as we are grasping at straws for any real answers.

Just imagine looking at a peacefully sleeping baby, and worrying about the next time she wakes. You might have some idea… Though, to be honest we aren't fearful… just anxious knowing it can happen at any time (and very grateful when it doesn't).

We are hopeful for a reprieve from Maura's epilepsy, and can have a least another month-plus seizure free; though we are really praying she grows out of this condition.

"What Sarah Said": a live action web comic (episode 2, Hurricane Irene edition)

2011-08-30T03:12:00.001-07:00

"Sarah the roving weatherduck reporting from the West Jersey evacuation center where one person lined up to take advantage of services. Miss Maura, what did you think of... Oh wait. Did you just poop your pantaloons?"

"Sarah the roving weatherduck reporting the after effects of the storm. Here in West Jersey a plight of "downed" acorns litter the streets, and at least two squirrels seem to have fallen from the trees. And in other news..."

Stepping away from her duties as an on-the-scene action reporter, Sarah rubs elbows with the locals to toast smores during the West Jersey power outage. Marshmallows are sweet, good friends you can rely upon are even sweeter.

"Sarah here, joining with the benevolant, humanitarian efforts of the West Jersey communities to thoroughly clean up after the devastating effects of Irene... though, it looks like I brought more devastation upon myself. Oh dear God, I am really never, never drinking again."

"Local schools & businesses are closing due to flood conditions caused by storm water runoff. For those who braved going into work, it sucks to be you... unless you have amphibious inclinations like m'self. I'm rather enjoying the dip."

"What Sarah Said": a live action web comic (episode 1, Hurricane Irene edition))

2011-08-29T07:16:00.000-07:00

Went with my neighbor Carl to pickup batteries & water from Lowes. Instead, I'm coming home with this present for Maura & Car. Perfect item to weather the storm together.

"Sarah the roving weather duck reporting from Bordentown, NJ. The weather appears... uh, wet... with severe flooding conditions as seen here on this sidewalk. Stay tuned, more news to follow..."

"Sarah the roving weatherduck here. Torrential downpour is 2nd only to heavy, hurricane-like winds blowing at umpteen-gazillion miles per hour... Just look at... how hard... it is.... to... stand..."

"Sarah the weatherduck reporting. Darkness continues to spread throughout the lands as the effects of Hurricane Irene continues to blot out the sun. Oh wait... Nevermind. That's just night. Next report at the 'quack' of dawn."

"BREAKING NEWS: earlier this evening a tornado was spotted east of Trenton. The only 'twister' here is the room is spinning out of control. Oh dear God, I promise never to drink again."

"This is a test of the emergency quackcasting service. Had this been a real emergency, you probably wouldn't be on FaceBook jamming reload to check for new notifications. No, I know you... Of course you would! Turn off the computer & head to bed!!!"

Calm Before the Storm

2011-08-27T13:07:00.000-07:00

A light blanket of precipitation began to pepper the street outside, as the television continued to drone "news" of Hurricane Irene. This reporting mainly consisted of the same three-minute weather forecast interspersed with "man on the street" interviews. The media-frenzied descended upon supermarkets and hardware stores to ravage the shelves of fresh water and batteries.

I reached my saturation point, and needed to get outside to forestall any feeling of ennui that comes with being locked indoors on a rainy day. I turned off the television. Grabbed my running sneakers. And began to head for the door. My son Patrick asked "Daddy, I go running with you?" as he climbed up into the running stroller. Together, we took to the streets to observe the calm before the storm.

Our first destination was Bordentown Beach, where we could look out over the Delaware River. Ducks swam playful circles around one another, quite unaware of the impending storm. Small minnows darted in the shallows beneath the boating dock. The currents converged at the now-revealed sandbar, and reversed tides upstream towards the Trenton-Hamilton Marsh.

The difference between high and low tide is approximately nine feet on any given cycle. Given the perfect mixtures of storm runoff, full moon, and high tide, the forecasters expect the Delaware to swell over 25 feet. One-by-one, the more cautious members of the yacht club began to draw boats onto dry ground in anticipation of the surge. Fortunately, residential Bordentown is strategically located on a bluff above the marsh and flood plain.

We turned to head back into town, with me slowly trudging behind the jogging stroller uphill. All things considered, Bordentown was relatively quiet. A jogger here. A dog walker over there. Maybe the occasional buzz of power tools (which might suggest some final fortifications). A jog down Farnsworth Ave proved much the same business as usual. Even the liquor store/pharmacy didn't seem swarmed with those facing last minute preparations. All seemed well here in "West" Jersey. Rounding that last corner, I did stumble upon one business who took the storm a little more seriously.

It was a nice a quiet morning. It remains to be see what this evening might bring.