A perfect day Let me count the ways. We're up before dawn, to get the kids ready for the trip to Long Island. Have to wake Alex up, which sometimes results in tired crankiness, but today he crawls out of bed and heads right for the kitchen -- time for breakfast. Even Lea doesn't cry this morning but wakes up googly and happy and rarin' to go. The Bridgeport Ferry is near-empty -- ten cars, tops. We get a table in the cabin so that Alex can look out at the water, bouncing excitedly in his seat. I'm pretty sure he views the Long Island Sound as simply a really, REALLY big bathtub. And he loves the bath. Water in any form -- oh boy! Let's splash! So we threw him in, and he had a fine old time. Well, no. But I honestly don't think he'd have minded, for the first few seconds. Anyway. Got to the Folks house and was told that both brothers would be joining us -- Adam is a given, he lives ten minutes away. But Daniel's up in Boston and I wasn't expecting to see him until the MIT Mystery Hunt in mid-January. The kids fell asleep at just the right time, and we men sat down to watch the Giants take on Philly for the big season finale. A terrifying nailbiter, just the way football should be. The Giants dominated in every possible way except for points -- three times in the Red Zone resulted in three turnovers: one interception in the end zone and two fumbles. Worse, two long touchdown passes were called back on extremely dubious holding penalties. The Giants simply could not get out of their own way -- the end zone may as well have been in the center of the Earth. They were losing 7-0 until mid-way through the fourth quarter, when finally Kerry Collins connected with Jeremy Shockey for a touchdown. Shockey's aggression and desire often translate into extra yards -- the first tackle never stops him -- or acrobatic mid-air catches that can only be described as didjooseethat?! His touchdown catch was a classic: It was, in fact, in the opposing player's hands for an interception, and Shockey simply ripped it from him while both players were still in mid-jump. When the two men landed, only one player had the ball, and it wasn't a Philadelphia Eagle. And so, tie game! On the Giant's next possession, however, Tiki Barber fumbles for the third time that game -- and Philadelphia starts deep in Giant territory. It looks to be all over, but Eagle David Akers actually misses a 35-yard field goal attempt -- only the second time this year he'd missed from that yardage. An incredible break. It should have been over. It seemed impossible that it wasn't over. But no, it's on to overtime. Tiki Barber seems to carry the ball on every play, getting the Giants set up for a 39-yard field goal attempt. Kicker Matt Bryant had already missed earlier in the game from closer than that, and even scared the hell out of us by bonging an extra point off of the goalpost uprights. The Berlin family held its breath, aaaaaaand it's good! The Giants are in the playoffs! They don't have a chance in hell of making the Super Bowl! But it's nice that they'll get to play at least one more game before heading home to watch the rest of it on TV. And then upstairs to even better news than this: Lea coughed! No, wait -- that's not the good news. But something amazing happened immediately after that. Janinne, who explains absolutely everything to Alex, said to him: "Lea coughed." And Janinne coughed, by way of example. And then Alex coughed. On purpose. Imitation! He imitated Janinne! Imitation has been a huge iron door with many, many locks. Alex has long been able to imitate select gestures, but only occasionally -- he's been shaking his head happily for a year, and just lately I can say "Hands in the air!" and he'll oblige. But he has never purposefully imitated a sound from his parents. Until tonight. In the car on the way home we all practiced coughing like a wardful of tuberculosis patients. We don't want to get overly optimistic, but it's hard not to see a light at the end of the tunnel: Coughing could lead to staccato vowel sounds -- "Ah! Oh!" -- which could lead to full-fledged syllables, which could lead to... dare I say it... actual words. It's hard not to be climbing the walls in excitement over this development. And all because my son coughed. The grand finale: A typical gigantic meal from Mom, my whole family around the dinner table, Lea in her car seat dozing off, Alex in his high chair coughing happily. A birthday cake for Daniel, and then happy goodbyes and it's back on the ferry and home. I've printed out the Sunday Times crossword, and I'll sit in bed and solve it. And think about this good, good day.

Nothing doing; plus, clone babies and lottery winners A good, good day -- exactly what a day off should be: Did naught but play with my son, cuddle my daughter, solve a few puzzles, and watch TV. Now I'm cooking up a mess o' dinner, to last us until the middle of next week. Asking Janinne to play housewife -- where's my dinner, woman?! -- is a bit much, considering (a) she can't cook and (b) she's busy teaching Alex from sun-up to dark. So I try to fill the refrigerator on the weekends. Tomorrow we are heading for the Parents to watch the big finale to the Giants season. It should be a good game; all the better to watch it surrounded by family. Meanwhile... Is it going out on a limb to say that this clone baby will prove to be no such thing? Is it truly possible that the first cloned baby will be brought to the world by a religious sect that believes their founder, a former race-car driver, was abducted and wooed by voluptuous female space robots? Wasn't this an episode of Futurama? Anyway, I'm betting this will prove not to be a clone at all, and a whole lot of major media outlets will be deservedly red-faced that they ever gave high-volume headlines to these silly, silly people. Speaking of high-volume headlines, I thoroughly agree with Best of the Web. Why do we treat lottery winners like celebrities? It only serves to promote gambling -- in this case, Lotto, the most easily accessible form of gambling around, one that amount to nothing more than a tax on the poor. All those local news snippets of long, long lines at the Lotto stations whenever the jackpot gets big -- man, they turn my stomach. Our culture is so tuned-in to the get-rich-quick frequency, we forget there are other possibilities -- like, oh, saving and investing one's money over a period of time. It's not as much fun as dreaming that this is the week all your problems come to an abrupt end, but it's a hell of a lot more realistic.

What? No plans to sue? But this is America! Associated Press reports on a couple whose children found pornographic material inside a Barney book. Astonishingly, the parents have no plans to sue the publisher, and furthermore do not care who is at fault. All they want is an apology. Can you imagine? They're not going to sue! It's gotten to the point, when I read these articles, that my eyes skip down to the insane figure being demanded by the plaintiffs. Would anyone be surprised to see that this couple was demanding $45 million from the publishers? For pain and suffering, or trauma, or what-have-you? Publications International, the publisher in question, should count its lucky stars. The company, in its "apology" to the couple, noted that picture found by the children was, to quote the AP article, "not especially shocking." Quoth the company: "The material is no more graphic than what's seen on magazines, billboards and TV every day." Umm, perhaps. But maybe this is one of those instances where context is everything. Even if it was just a bikini shot of Cindy Crawford, it's not something you expect to find in a Barney book. And even if the material -- which was captioned "Wilder Sex" -- was no more graphic than what's seen on television these days, that doesn't make it automatically appropriate for Barney-aged tots, now, does it? Hey, Publications Int'l: If this couple wanted to sue your asses, you'd settle in a heartbeat. A simple "sorry" would suffice. While we're on the topic, let me recommend Overlawyered.com, a great blog specializing in the great gold rush that is our legal system.

Me and the boy Janinne took off with Lea for a friend's house, an hour north of here, so it was just me and Alex all day. It's very easy to simply fall into the trap of letting him do whatever he wants -- he has so much fun simply wandering in the basement, opening and closing drawers, pulling books of shelves, etc. Have fun destroying things, son, I'll be over here doing a crossword. But, oh, there is just so much we need to teach him. Alex has Fragile X, a genetic disorder that can lead to a wide variety of manifestations, and there's no doubt he is at least slightly learning disabled, and it's hard to rule out the notion that he might be genuinely retarded. Our sole weapon in combatting this is simply to repeat things to him one ZILLION times, in hopes that suddenly the light bulb in his head will flicker, buzz, and then magically glow. Lately I've been pushing colors on to him, as forcefully as I can: "This is red, this is blue. This is red, this is blue. Okay, Alex: Point to the red circle. Point to red!" He makes a random jab at the page. "No, that's purple. Here's red, Alex! Here's red, over here!" Aaaaaand repeat. And repeat again, and again, and again. This is Janinne's day, every day, and I frankly don't know if I could do it if I were her. Anyway. You can tell when he's had quite enough of one lesson and is ready to move on to another, so we gave up on colors and moved on to Simon Says -- raise your arms! Cover your face! Arms out wide! He doesn't get this game, either, but he enjoys watching Daddy make a fool out of himself. Then it's on to a rousing game of Push the Ball Back and Forth. Then lunch and nap. And then, well, time to wander around the basement destroying things while Daddy does a crossword puzzle. We'll get back to red and blue a little later, okay?

Down with pregnancy! Right now there are toy buyers at Wal-Mart -- not to mention product development types at Mattel -- who are throwing up their hands and just... giving... up. When I first read the headline "Barbie's pregnant pal pulled from the shelves," I assumed someone in the toy industry had lost his mind again. Happens every so often. Someone gets an idea for Ax-Murderer Elmo, and that idea grows legs and sprints for the finish line before anybody can muster up a decent argument why this can not, should not, must not be done. Only when the toy is pushed back by an appalled public does the company wake up to its insanity. So I assumed this was simply another toy industry debacle. Just in time for Christmas! Teenage Single Mother Barbie! Comes with an envelope of food stamps! (Sorry, there is no Single Father Ken. He's run off.) But while the toy industry is perfectly capable of catastrophe, this isn't an example of it. Not at all. The controversial product -- which generated so many complaints that Wal-Mart felt compelled to pull the product from the shelves -- could not possibly be more wholesome. The "Happy Family" set included Midge, her husband, and her three-year old son. (You don't even have to buy these separately. It's the whole family or nothing!) And, yes, Midge is pregnant -- her newborn is held in her stomach via magnet, and can be simply snapped out. Midge even wears a wedding ring. So Wal-Mart customers (in large numbers, apparently) were complaining about a traditional, no-nonsense, nuclear family. Calling it bad. And Wal-Mart executives said, "You're right! What were we thinking! Get those toys off the shelves!" The whole lot of them: Idiots. Toy companies think about the Wal-Mart audience every single day -- Wal-Mart is, after all, the number one retailer in the country. A toy simply does not get developed without someone asking, How will the Wal-Mart crowd react to this? And here we have as conservative a product as one might want, one that seems specifically designed for Wal-Mart and its audience. And that audience's reaction is: My GOD! Are you saying Midge and her husband -- a healthy married couple -- had SEX?! Avert your eyes! I assume that was the complaint, anyway. What else could it possibly be? The blame for this falls squarely on Wal-Mart, which has been coddling its customers for years. If you're a musician and you want to sell your product at the number one retailer in America, you better not have any offensive language -- Wal-Mart simply won't carry it. (And musicians comply, providing alternative tracks or otherwise cleaning up their act for the Wal-Mart audience. Such artistic integrity!) That's Wal-Mart's right, of course, and I'm not suggesting they do a 180 and start stocking Hustler. But the resulting message delivered to Wal-Mart customers is: "You have the right to not be offended by anything. And we shall protect you!" The only possible result of this is customers demanding more and more such protection, even from goods that are not even remotely damaging. Once you a draw circle and say, "Only good things are allowed in the circle," it becomes all too easy to look around, make up reasons why this or that thing is "bad," and cast it out. It makes a consumer feel powerful. Look how I can yank this gigantic company around! Sit up, Wal-Mart! Beg! Beg for my dollars! But the customer is always right, and so get that toy nuclear family off the shelves!

What the heck am I doing? Every year, the same thing: I make a New Year's Resolution to keep some kind of journal. It's over by March -- dead, beset with cobwebs, forgotten. So this year, let's present that journal Blogger style! In front of millions! This way, when it dies, as it inevitably will, I can be embarrassed on a more public scale. No more private humiliations for me! What a great idea! Today was my day with the kids -- Janinne woke up at 4:00 a.m. for no good reason, and by 11:00 had crashed back into a heavy slumber. No problem, that's what Dad is here for! And by glory, I seem to have found a rhythm to it -- working with Alex while Lea snoozed, giving Alex a gourmet lunch of Easy Mac + chopped-up hot dog while Lea looked on, awake but not yet clamoring for her own lunch of baby glop. Put Alex in his room for a nap, fed Lea the aforementioned glop. Got her started on sweet potatoes, which she loved. Good. Veggies have been a bridge this 5-month old has been unwilling to cross, so it's nice to stumble across something for which she will actually open her mouth. After a bottle, Lea dozed off again in her swing. A trifecta of sleepers! Alex, Lea, and wife all down simultaneously! Off to the computer to play a game. This dad stuff is so easy sometimes! Last night, we watched Ice Age. Humdrum. The first few computer animated-movies, you could sense love and pride in every aspect of the production -- you could tell the filmmakers thought they were embarking on something truly special. Well, Ice Age brings that era to a crashing halt. Within five minutes you get the first of several stepping-in-poop jokes, followed by a pair of cringe-worthy gay rhinoceri. Started tuning out right then and there. Hardly any laughs in the whole damn thing. Lea is screaming upstairs, and dinner needs to be cooked, so here endeth My First Blog Entry. Wasn't that exciting?