Play date #1

From: samcooksey@yahoo.com
To: cliftonofun@yahoo.com, aminchicago@yahoo.com

Dad & Mom,

I love you both dearly. You know that, right? Good ... then know that I mean this in all Christian love: you guys can be a little boring. So I've decided to take matters into my own little hands.

You are officially invited to a family play date, this Saturday, at 4:30 p.m. You bring the stroller and your wallets, I'll bring the fun.

Love ya,

Sam

Where have the Johnsons been?

Where have the Johnsons been? Well, the short answer is: the kitchen. Last week I exchanged my keyboard and digital camera for some power tools and ceramic tile. After all, I had been a homeowner for over six months, but I had yet to undertake a large improvement project. And so I embarked on a major rite of passage previously trekked by many 30-something males with little to no expertise in construction. Several discoveries were made during this (very) long weekend. First off, two years living in a developing country did not magically transform me into someone with great aptitude for manual labor. Secondly, when estimating the timeline for replacing your kitchen floor, arrive at a logical prediction (three days) and then multiply times two (six days). Third, when hiring a carpenter to teach you everything about kitchen tile, make certain that he is very kind, very patient, very bearded and very prone to listen to 80s and 90s pop music while working. At any rate, the results of another man's expertise and my own best efforts can be seen below. Our little home is now far friendlier to those who crawl rather than walk...although Sam cannot quite manage either just yet. He did seem to smile whenever he heard a power tool, though; start them young, that's what I say.

Cliff



BEFORE

AFTER

"He nice, the Jesus."

Over the weekend Amber, Sam and myself celebrated Easter with my parents in the bustling metropolis of Woodburn, Indiana. In commemoration of this momentous occasion, I thought you might appreciate (above) a photo of little Samuel dressed up for church and (below) a hillarious David Sedaris excerpt. Sedaris' essay "Jesus Shaves" describes his very rudimentary French course and the beginner students' attempts to explain Easter using only their limited French vocabulary. Enjoy the reading and enjoy some extra Sam photos by following this link:

http://picasaweb.google.com/clifton.t.johnson/Easter

Cliff

**************************************************************************************************************

The Moroccan student interrupted, shouting, "Excuse me, but what's an Easter?"

It would seem that despite having grown up in a Muslim country, she would have heard it mentioned once or twice, but no. "I mean it," she said. "I have no idea what you people are talking about."

The teacher called on the rest of us to explain.

The Poles led the charge to the best of their ability. "It is," said one, "a party for the little boy of God who call his self Jesus...oh s#*t." She faltered and her fellow country-man came to her aid.

"He call his self Jesus and then he be die one day on two...morsels of...lumber."

The rest of the class jumped in, offering bits of information that would have given the pope an aneurysm.

"He die one day and then he go above of my head to live with your father."

"He weared of himself the long hair and after he die, the first day he come back here for to say hello to the peoples."

"He nice, the Jesus."

"He make the good things, and on the Easter we be sad because somebody makes him dead today."

Part of the problem had to do with vocabulary. Simple nouns such as cross and resurrection were beyond our grasp, let alone such a complicated reflexive phrases as "to give of yourself your only begotten son." Faced with the challenge of explaining the cornerstone of Christianity, we did what any self-respecting group of people might do. We talked about food instead.

"Easter is a party for to eat of the lamb," the Italian nanny explained. "One too may eat of the chocolate."

"And who brings the chocolate?" the teacher asked.

I knew the word, so I raised my hand, saying, "The rabbit of Easter. He bring of the chocolate."

"A rabbit?" The teacher, assuming I'd used the wrong word, positioned her index fingers on top of her head, wriggling them as though they were ears. "You mean one of these? A rabbit rabbit?"

"Well, sure," I said. "He come in the night when one sleep on bed. Which a hand he have a basket and foods."

The teacher sighed and shook her head. As far as she was concerned, I had just explained everything wrong with my country. "No, no," she said. "Here in France the chocolate is brought by a big bell that flies in from Rome."

I called for a time-out. "But how do the bell know where you live?"

"Well," she said, "how does a rabbit?"

It was a decent point, but at least a rabbit has eyes.

- David Sedaris, "Me Talk Pretty One Day"

Three month check-up/check-in

Well, earlier this week our doctor confirmed what we already suspected: our 12 week old son is huge...I mean, he's got his own weather system...I'm not kidding, that boy is like Sputnik...he'll be crying himself to sleep tonight, on his huge pillow.

In all seriousness, Samuel has grown quickly. The boy is now 25 inches long and 16 pounds, 15 ounces. Looking back at photographs from January, we sometimes wonder whether THAT baby and THIS baby are completely different people. Feel free to stroll down memory lane with us: check out some new pictures of our boy and catch up on another month of parenthood, the craziest trip we've ever taken (yes, including Peace Corps Tonga).

http://picasaweb.google.com/clifton.t.johnson

Cliff

When Dad's away...

As you may or may not know, Cliff's job as a Peace Corps recruiter dictates that he travel to college campuses throughout the midwest. These absences are hard on everyone in our family, so we rely on e-mail to stay in touch. The following is an actual e-mail exchange from earlier this week.

To: cliftonofun@yahoo.com
From: aminchicago@yahoo.com
Subject: Adults do strange things

Dad,

Help me out here - I'm confused. Mom was just holding me and we were in that room in the house where you guys torture me with baths, which you claim are supposed to be relaxing, though I beg to differ. Mom was standing in front of that place where we can see the cute baby - I think you call it a mirror? She was holding me with one arm, and with the other arm she started moving this purple stick in and out of her mouth, and then foam started forming at the edge of her lips. What's up with that? She's okay, right?

You guys do the strangest stuff ... it's really kind of me to put up with it.

Love you,
Sam

PS - Mom says to tell you not to think less of her because she didn't brush her teeth until 11:30. Dad, what are teeth?

***

To: aminchicago@yahoo.com
From: cliftonofun@yahoo.com
Subject: Re: Adults do strange things

Hi Sam,

I'm so glad you wrote with some questions; no matter how busy I am or where I might be, I always have time to answer your questions about life.

First of all, that room you were in is called the "bathroom." It makes sense when you think about it: after all, that is the room where we give you baths.

Secondly, you might have noticed that the pretty lady in the mirror looks just like your mommy. Well, that's because the mirror is a two dimensional reflective surface...there's no one in the mirror, but the mirror can reflect people who stand nearby. What does that mean, Sam? It means the cute baby in the mirror is actually you! Cool, eh?

Third, teeth grow in people's mouths to help us chew food that's harder than milk. You don't need teeth yet, since you pretty much drink every meal. Once you get them, though, and you start grinding up food, you'll notice something: teeth get really dirty. That's why we clean our teeth with brushes, just like the way we clean your body with wash rags. Hopefully, that makes sense.

Tell your mom I don't think less of her, but that I really hope she wasn't still wearing pajamas at 11:30 too.
Dad

An Announcement: From Samuel C. Johnson

My fellow Americans,

In this time of war and divisive politics, of strained budgets and a burdened middle class, of spit-up and poopy diapers, I have made a decision that will greatly affect the future of my family, my country and my world. The road will not be easy, but the path of hope never is. Never before in my life have I been so convinced that things needed to change...that I could be a part of that change in some small way. And so I, Samuel Cooksey Johnson (a Presidential name, if I do say so myself) will throw my support behind a candidate who just may lead this nation to someplace more unified, more decent, more daring. I cannot technically vote in the 2008 election, but I live in Chicago so anything is possible really. I hereby announce my support for Barack Obama's candidacy for President of these United States.


God bless America.

Sam Johnson here (just checking in).

Hey all.

So I have been alive for about seven and a half weeks now, and you are apparently very interested in what I do. I say this because - according to my Dad - people actually read this blog pretty regularly; and now that I'm almost two months old, my parents think it's cool if I write on here myself. Please pardon any typos (I still have pretty small hands, you know). So here are this week's updates:

• I have started smiling occasionally. This isn't as easy as it sounds. First off, I'm just figuring out how to control the way my lips move. Secondly, it's not like anyone in this house is particularly amusing. It's like, "There goes Dad, acting like a total bozo again." So what?
• The parents also seem pretty adamant about me learning to grab things. Dad in particular keeps shoving stuff into my hands and showing me how to hold my grip. Let's be honest here: what's the point of me holding on to objects when I have absolutely no motor control? I mean, seriously. Every time I try to get my hand in my mouth, it ends up hitting my ear or cheek....so why do my parents want me to have extra ammunition in hand? Is the goal for me to have some new hard object to shove into my eye? These people are crazy.
• I have to be honest here. I still spend most of the day pooping, sleeping, eating or preparing for one of those activities. Especially now that football season's over. There's just not much else to occupy my time. (Can you believe the Bears didn't run the ball more against the Colts? Hello! Against that questionable Colts run defense, I could have called a better game than that...and I'm seven and a half weeks old.)
  
• Speaking of sleep, I am trying to figure out how to rest for longer stretches. Apparently, you grown-ups can sleep for like 8-10 hours straight?! You gotta be kidding me. At this point, my longest stretch is 6 hours and I woke up STARVING. Sure, I don't have to get up to go to the bathroom, but I really prefer to stay full while I'm sleeping. That's just me, though.
• I guess I'm pretty big. I'm basing this on the fact that I can't wear the same clothes anymore and total strangers keep harping on how big I am. The other day, Dad got on the scale without me and then with me. Apparently, I weigh about 14 pounds. But - as I pointed out repeatedly - what kind of a scientific method is this, anyway? I think that bathroom scale adds like 2 pounds at least, and Mom couldn't even read the numbers very accurately. The folks take care of me fine and all, but they cannot be trusted with math.

Well, that's about it for this week. I've included a photo of some time I spent on the floor earlier this week. I pretty much just played with my toy and napped in the sunshine. Good times...feel free to join me sometime.

XOXOXOXO
Sam
(Not Sammy, please. I really prefer people call me Sam...just for the record)

All in a day's work

Sunshine, hiccups and sneezes...oh my.

4 more weeks...and a few more pounds

Sam is growing like a weed...and we are doing our best to avoid deluging family and friends with photos. But really, which would you prefer: random writings from us or random pictures of our little guy? That's what we thought. If you'd like to look at Sam's first month in pictures, be sure to check out his month one photo album at:

http://picasaweb.google.com/clifton.t.johnson/SamSFirstMonth

Baths: Not Sam's favorite pastime.

















Sleeping? Well, that's more enjoyable.
















Notice that his face is getting chubbier.
















But there's still plenty to smile about.

Losers? Not in Africa.

In case you haven't heard, World Vision (Amber's employer) is distributing Chicago Bears Super Bowl championship shirts in Africa. No, that's not a misprint. The NFL prints t-shirts for BOTH Super Bowl participants every year so that players have something to wear post-game and so that merchandise can get sold promptly. Where do the losers' shirts go? Thanks to international humanitarian organizations, the losers' shirts go to Africans who need clothes. That means the Bears are champions in two places: in Africa and in Cliff's twisted alternate reality. :) Check out the article:

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/02/04/sports/football/04gear.html?lid=far_away&lpos=alertbox