"What Sarah Said": a lo-fi, live action web comic (episode 24, Rabbit ars)

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Photo Journal of Spring Camping Trip

Four walls and a pot-bellied stove was all we needed to protect against unpredictable spring weather. Apparently this construct is known as a "lean to shelter" in the state of New Jersey. And only in the state of New Jersey.  Looks more like a primitive cabin to me. 

Sunlight wove her luminous fingers through the barren branches as she began to settle into her lunar slumber. For a brief moment, the brilliance diffused through the treetops in an angelic splash of late afternoon color. 

"You are in bear country," we were warned.  Couple that with the fact that we were the only campers on that side of the mountain. 

This trip had all of the proper makings of a deep woods slasher flick. I really shouldn't have stayed up late the night before watching horror films on Netflix. I should know better. 

My three-year-old son carefully observed as I prodded the campfire with a makeshift fire poke. 

"May I have a fire stick?" he asked. I reluctantly gave him a small branch to stick into the fire cautioning him about the dangers of fire. 

No sooner had I finished my lecture, that he had manage to whap the tip of his nose with the ember-side of the stick. Oh well. You burn, you learn. 

We looked out across the sea of moss. There are unseen worlds to be found beneath the soles of our feet... all waiting to be discovered by those curious enough to look.  

I always wonder what views there are to be seen up over that next ridge. This time I was richly rewarded with a peace-filled view, sitting on top of the world.

Maura Fern: The Hunger Games and a Look Back at 11 Months

The movie Hunger Games was just released into theaters this weekend. Watching television trailers of Katniss Everdeen evokes memories of the Children's Hospital of Philadelphia, eleven months ago when Maura was first admitted as a premie for her infant epilepsy.

It was about this time last year that I was scheduled to bring my middle school students down to the Scholastic Book Fair. I always try my very best to engage with my students to learn about what they are reading. Rooting for book recommendations to buff both my classroom and personal library.

A few of my students raved about The Hunger Games, and another handful had decided to purchase the book that day. To be perfectly honest, I typically tend to avert serial science-fiction and fantasy young adult novels like the plague, as most books are poorly written excuses for movie and merchandise tie-ins.

Adolescent fandom doesn't necessarily hinge on the merits of a book's literary qualities.Team Jacob or Team Edward anyone? Even Harry Potter's saccharine storytelling makes me feel nauseous within the first few chapters. Sadly, for every successfully franchise there are dozen other clones cloying for that same level of financial success.

So it came as some small surprise when I first picked up The Hunger Games off the bookshelf. Within the first few lines, I was immediately hooked on the quality of writing. A YA book that didn't appear to be dumbed down. Yay! I purchased the book from the Scholastsic Fare and set it aside for later reading.

Just a few weeks later Caroline was admitted to Virtua for prolonged medical observation due to bleeding with a placenta previa.

There wasn't much to do at that time other than keep my wife company and try to find the sweet spot in those clumsy hospital recliners, so I picked up the Hunger Games and plowed through, cover to cover, in a single sitting. The book helped me take my mind off the emergency of present situation, and helped pass the time.

So when Maura was later admitted to CHOP, I scoured every local library for a copy of Catching Fire and Mockingjay. The local bookstores were only carrying hardback, and I was reluctant to pay several times the price when a softcover would do as nicely. Fortunately a co-worker was kind enough to lend me her copies. I read through both books in a total of three days.

Somewhere deep in my mind, I wanted to associate my daughter's struggle against epilepsy with Katniss Everdeen's fight in the games. It's not like the conflicts were even remotely comparable. No. Although at times it felt that Maura was bound to CHOP like Katniss was confined to the arena.

Rather, I needed for my daughter to have enough toughness to endure multiple seizures a day and all of the medical tests and interventions that followed. The Hunger Games' Katniss appeared like a natural parallel: a strong female protagonist whose ability to survive hinged on her inner-strength, intuition, and ingenuity.

I needed for my own daughter to grow strong enough to thrive, and begin to resist the onset of her epileptic seizures. She needed to become her own Katniss.

The past year hasn't been easy for our family; rather, it's been pocked with developmental delays and the occasional seizure. Though, good progress on all fronts. Although Maura's future with epilepsy is still uncertain, at least my wife and I aren't crushed with feelings of overwhelming despair.

Watching my middle school students energetically talk about the books and movie comes with the mix of bitter-sweetness. On one level, I'm thrilled they are as excited about the books as I once was (and still am). Though it comes as a constant reminder of Maura's struggle in life.

Patrick on St. Patrick's Day 100m Dash (Haddonfield Adrenaline Kids Run)

There were only three things I wanted him to remember: today was St. Patrick's Day, you run to have fun, and his grandparents and godfather were here to see him race.

Patrick's pre-race enthusiasm could hardly be contained. He jogged up and down the track several times in full display of his Lucky Charms t-shirt and "Future Olympian" race bib.

He cautiously toed up to the 100 meter start, alongside two dozen other 3 to 4-year-olds. He confided, "Dad, I am a slowpoke." I assured him that was only a slowpoke at the dinner table.

With an informal ready-set-go , the children raced after their rabbit: a kilted man with Gatorade-orange hair and sneakers. The crowd shouted encouragements as each runner passed on by.

Somewhere along the 50-meter mark, Patrick stumbled over his Crocs and fell forward. Some random mother instinctively jumped off the sideline to assist my son back to his feet.

P-Finn picked up his pace, pushing himself to pass the kilted man once again. 50 meters later, he looked down to the scratched-up palms of his hands and considered crying.

Not allowing him to dwell on either falling down or minor abrasions, I ushered him to cross the finish line; he ran straight through with a sense of accomplishment.

Patrick proudly receive his medal of participation for the Haddonfield Adrenaline Kids Run, on St. Patrick's Day. Quite memorable for his first race.

Daylight Savings Strikes Back

I can't quite exactly pin when it first started to occur.

There's vague memories of P-Finn sneaking into our bed to fall back asleep in the grayness between late, late night and early, early morning. Of course, I managed to sleep through most of the disruption, only to wake with him situated sideways with his heel lodged into my rib cage.

Those visitations were few enough. It once seemed like an anomaly when Patrick would actually wake... moments before I was ready to leave for work while everyone else continued to sleep.

Turn on the TV, and flip to either Disney or Nickelodeon. Grab him a teacup full of dry cereal. A glass of ice tea. Toss a blanket atop (while carefully tucking in the sides to cocoon him under a quilted mass). I could actually manage to sneak out the door before the next commercial break.

We had unknowingly established a new morning routine.

This waking before work became a bit of a habit. Somewhere between rotation, revolution, and the tilt of the earth-- my son started to wake up a little earlier every morning as the darkness of winter gave way to longer hours of spring daylight.

The sunlight would creep, curling his luminous fingers around tightly drawn shades, prying my son's eyes open to the breaking dawn."Dad. The sun is out!" he'd exclaim as he'd burst out of the bedroom. Standing on his tippy toes, Patrick would stretch and bellow an exaggerated yawn, interjecting, "Dad. I do like you!" before resuming a mock up of my morning stretches.

The man appeared to enjoy the additional father/son time (free of Mom & Maura). So did I... at first. A few seconds compounds over time. One week I am enjoying cereal and cartoons on the couch for a few minutes.

The next week I'd find him patiently sprawled out on the cold, tile floor waiting for me to step out of the shower. I'd struggle to keep him entertained as I readied myself for work and maintain my own morning schedule.

Waking earlier provided P-Finn with the opportunity to him to flex his opinion. Morning juice? Ice tea. No... orange juice. No... apple juice. Green cup? No... Blue cup. Sorry bub, that one is in the washer. Can you believe this kid actually asked for popcorn instead of cereal? Pop corn: no good. Corn puffs: well, they are OK.

Then there was the selection of television station. We had to compare Nick against Disney to see which offered the better program. He'd ask for programs that weren't airing, and we'd have to settle on what was currently being televised.

My morning had become mired down in meeting the picky demands of a 3-year-old. It was only a matter of time before I found myself serving up a breakfast platter, satisfying his request to watch particular cartoon episodes on either Netflix or On Demand.

It wasn't as if I didn't value the added father/son time. His waking had an inverse relationship with my leaving for work on time: the earlier he rose, the later (and later) managed to sneak out the door. Handling a toddler strictly by myself, while under a tight schedule, was a bit tough.

I started to question it all: how did it come to this? Where did I go awry as a parent? I needed a fast-acting solution short of waking Mom & Maura to divert Patricks's attention in the morning.

I looked forward to the prospect of resetting the clocks to Spring Ahead. An adjustment in one hour would allow me to slip out of the household under the cover of darkness. Sure, I'd loose an hour of sleep over the weekend, but it would pale in comparison to what I'd regain with my solitary morning routine.

In reality: daylight savings is a sick experiment on the sleep time routine of little children.

Yeah, so P-Finn wakes to the rising sun a clock hour later; his nighttime routine is offset by an equal amount. It's a difficult concept for a toddler to understand that exact clock hours do not necessarily correlate with sunrise and set; our biological needs are attuned to the rhythm of day and season.

This change in clock time and extra sunlight translates into a later bedtime hours for several more days until we can veer Patrick onto a new evening routine. At least he should start sleeping through my pre-work routine. Though, to be honest, I'll miss out on that small window of father son time.

"What Sarah Said": a lo-fi, live action web comic (episode 23, Zelda Multi-Player)

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Lately P-Finn and I have started to explore our video game options outside Little Big Planet. We breezed through Kirby Yarn (well, me pushing through the heavy platforming with him making superfluous use of the "Angel" button). One day he woke early enough from a nap to catch a glimpse of me playing The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword and decided he wanted to jump in. 

Up through now, Patrick was accustomed to multiplayer options and couldn't fathom a game without an "opt in" feature. This led to some creative parenting on my part: we each took one control of the Wii nunchuk. Sometimes he would assume the analog stick and constantly run off cliffs or into lava. Other times he would figure out how to get into my inventory and use one item ad nauseum. 

We are getting better at coordinating our movement. I've managed to get through a few dungeons (sans boss fights) with P-Finn in tandem. Although my meta-gaming tendencies flare up every now and again, I can be quite content watching him aimlessly run around in circles as I try to cut down bushes and clay pots to pick up a few rupees along the way. 

#Instagram Reflection of the Week

The iPhone 4s is so intuitive, even a 3-year-old can easily navigate its features. And apparently, he manages Netflix well enough to queue up and watch episodes of Sonic Underground. Don't ask. His choice-- not mine. It's just a matter of time before he figures out how to request FaceTime with my parents.