Deciding to Go Fifty-Fifty

As we prepare to turn the page on another year, I—and other members of my family—am prepared to turn many pages in the coming year. A couple weeks back, Beni presented me with a yearlong challenge/project that her college friend Lilly helped create. The project—called FiftyFifty.me—challenges its participants to read 50 books and watch 50 movies in 2012. The titles are self-selected, but they must be new to the reader/viewer.

This all appeals to me on many levels, including (1) a demanding but attainable goal (50 books and movies over a 52-week period require a tough-but-doable one-per-week pace—which still allows for a two-week break), (2) the opportunity to work down the stack of unread books that have accumulated on our bookshelves and my nightstand, and (3) my love for creating and maintaining lists.

Despite what the Mayans may have predicted for this year, I’ve been looking forward to 2012 with hopeful and non-fatalistic eyes. For starters, according to Chinese astrologers (and placemats at Chinese restaurants), we’re about to enter the Year of the Dragon, the same special animal-year in which I was born. Secondly, and even more superstitiously, the last two numbers of 2012 and I share an especially close connection, much like 1 and 2 on the number line. In 2004, this blurb of mine was published on the weekly compendium of feedback on the words for Anu Garg’s A.Word.A.Day website/newsletter, which was celebrating its 12-year anniversary by highlighting words relating to the magical number 12 (e.g., duodenum, dodecagon, duodecimal):

Duodeciphiliac

For some time now, I have been drawn to the number twelve. My obsession was born of a boyhood admiration of a basketball player. Inexplicably, I believed his talents were somehow tied to his jersey number. Since then, this fixation has taken on a life of its own. The most notable example is my requirement when setting an alarm clock. I only set the alarm to times that add up to twelve. For example, 6:33, 7:14, and 8:04 are okay but 7:00 is not. If only I had time for twelve hours of sleep a night …

(By the way, each of the sentences above contains exactly twelve words.)

Fanatical numerical attachments aside, this year—and specifically the 50/50 project—is stirring excitement among members of my family. To date, five of us—Aunt Liz, Beni, G, me, and Olivia (!)—have signed up, and I’m working on securing commitments from my book-rich (but film-poor) parents. The participants among us who aren’t in elementary school have decided to create a book club within a book-and-film club. Each month, one of us is responsible for selecting a title for our foursome. January’s selection is tied with blood—both with the author and the storyline. The Geneva Connection is a crime thriller set in the high-stakes, high-risk, high-reward (and highly bloody) world of investment banking. Penned by investment-banker-turned-author-who’s-also-G’s-cousin Martin Bodenham, the book debuted this month just in time for our project. Here’s hoping The Geneva Connection gets our year off to a bloody good start.

My family and I—and hundreds of others—are set to embark on a yearlong journey starting tomorrow. I encourage you to follow the travels and musings of Olivia, the project’s youngest participant, who’ll surely put her dad to shame with her timely blog posts and insightful commentary. I, on the other hand, will do my best to document the steps I take—months late, mind you—through my gone-to-that-well-already formula of lame puns, tangential remarks, and pithy attempts. Minimally, I’ll share the reason(s) why I selected a particular title, and the ways the book or movie changed my life. (Okay—maybe not much of the latter.)

Given my desire to flip many of the books I own over from not-read to finally-have-completed, a considerable portion of my selections will be from a collection a past version of me found interesting at one time. The other titles will come from our local library, recommendations from family and friends, and gifts. (Note: I’ll take a more quixotic approach when selecting movies.) Several years ago, my friend Van gave me Infinite Jest, the weighty tome—in both the literal and lb. sense—by the late David Foster Wallace. I’d like to make the 1,079-page masterpiece the book that gets me to the magic number by year’s end. To do that, I need to keep a three-pages-a-day pace for the entire year, which is my way of making a daunting and seemingly infinite work more feasible and finite.

And so this New Year’s Eve, we’ll bust out the noisemakers, party hats, and goofy glasses—but also our first selections on our paths to 50.

Gym Rats

By gym, I mean the place where one works out, aka fitness center.

By rats, I mean the lovable kind, e.g., Remy from Ratatouille.

This rat pack comprises Maddi, A.J., and Reed

Crayon-ing Achievement

Reed sketches for me his plans for an addition to his bedroom.

Cookies Monsters

Much like sugar molecules, our kids bond with Aiden and Alayna, especially when sweets are involved. On this night, the candied quartet took their spoonfuls of sugar in the form of cookie à la mode.

Separate the Tweet from the Chaff

To my Luddite friends—Bob G., I cast my eyes in your direction—who find social media cumbersome, oppressive, unhealthy, and pervasive, I understand where you’re coming from. But to call it worthless would be a mistake. As a counterargument, I offer a dozen delicious ginger bread cookies, which I won from a Twitter trivia contest today.

Festive Occasions

It’s lazy of me to lump together the pictures of the kids with their Christmas presents and the one of Beni’s birthday cupcakes, but together they help illustrate my point. Growing up, Beni found it difficult to share her birthday with the Christmas holiday: she got the occasional—but dreaded—combo gift, couldn’t schedule parties on her actual birthday, and, worst of all, was often forgotten about by many of her friends who were busy celebrating the day with their families.

Those mixed feelings haven’t completely faded away, but I’ve noticed—and Beni herself has conceded—that the hard feelings have softened over time. In fact, the birthday girl now sees the positives of having to share: that her mom and sister will always have the day off so that they can be present to open presents, and that she too will likely never have to be at work on her special day. And in that spirit of goodwill, I offer some of the pictures from earlier in the day.

With G in the fire truck/ball pit

Olivia with her many American Girl accessories

The Slinky was very popular in the 1940s (and in 2011)

Red-Letter Day

With our living room readied for tomorrow—presents under the tree, a fire “lit” on our TV, and cookies and milk out on the table—there was one detail left for Olivia before she retired for the evening: her note for Santa. Here’s what she penned:

Residential Oath of Office

Olivia—wearing her homemade Lady Liberty crown—wrote, presided over, and administered our first attempt at a family oath this evening. My favorite line: “…, and forever we will be together in our hearts.”

No truer words have ever been sworn on.

No Narration Without Re-Presentation

Poster board? Check.

Multiple photos of presentation subject on said poster board? Check.

Timeline of said subject’s life on said poster board? Check.

Pointer for pointing out said timeline of said subject on said poster board? Check.

Snazzy suit coat and tie? Checkmate.

Drop It Like It's Tot

As we North Americans get ready to officially transition to winter, we—a tiny subset of that continental population—made a big change of our own in our home: Reed is moving on from crib to toddler bed. The switching of sleeping platform was simple enough—I took down the one side of his crib and replaced it with parts from the toddler-bed conversion kit. Our son’s newfound freedom has proven to be a bigger challenge. Most nights, he’s made multiple trips between his bed and the bookcase and toy box. His mattress, in turn, is overflowing with books and toys, as if he were auditioning for A&E’s Hoarders. This, as you can imagine, makes sleeping—and the process by which we get our youngest to sleep at night—quite difficult.

Whine and Dino

Gripe, and ye shall receive. (Especially if your parents are still tired from another restless night of sleep.) The kids were complaining that we’d made their dinosaurs extinct—i.e., put them out of reach—and so they started a campaign to bring them back. They celebrated the fruits of their protests with a parade through our living room.

Put Two and Two Together

A perfectly good excuse to post some cute pics of our favorite two-year-old boys: the QT (cutie—get it?) above is now Q2. Cousin Quintin turns two today. And although we couldn’t be with him on his big day, our two-year-old marked the occasion by getting a new spiffy haircut.

Seeing is Believing

Above is the face of a child who received a personalized video message from St. Nick. Here is her response, which she prefaced by stating, “Your [sic] the apple of my eye Santa! Love, Olivia K.”

A Sprinkle in Time

What are the holidays without traditions? One of our favorites is when the kids make and decorate holiday cookies with A.J. and Maddi at their house. An essential part of this tradition is that the parents consume a vast majority of the cookies created by the kids.

Sole Man

Reed’s doing his best to get a leg up on the competition.

Around the World

My parents got the kids an interactive globe as an early Christmas present. Reed enjoys taking the quizzes and hopes for wrong answers—he likes the exaggerated way the globe says “too bad.”

Here are Olivia and Grandpa Tsune studying the many places he’s traversed.

No Rest for the Weary Travelers

My mom and dad are here this weekend for a whirlwind tour of their grandchildren’s many programs and events. And just in case they weren’t satiated by Olivia’s piano recital yesterday, they had three additional offerings on this day: Olivia’s participation in the UU holiday play, Reed’s Christmas concert, and O’s dance recital.

Sweet Piano

Olivia with Margaret, her inimitable piano teacher

Today was the day that Olivia swore would never happen: that of her first piano recital. She was so resistant to the idea at first that she threatened to go on strike. But then she started warming to it when she realized she’d be able to wear a fancy outfit and sparkly shoes, and that we’d serve snacks to our guests and performer afterward. She even composed and performed “Angel Stars” for the occasion.

Clean House

Grandma Randi was on bath duty tonight, giving both Beni and me a respite from this hyper-charged (hyper-churned?)—and often highly chaotic and sometimes stressful—daily routine.

Just Duet

Reed lends a hand—or two—to Olivia as she practices for her upcoming recital.

No Time Like the Present(s)

Reed and his partner played beat-the-clock as they stuffed a sack full of gifts and delivered the goods to the holiday-party volunteers across the way before time ran out. And just as the Marriott corporation extended my gold-elite status for another year even though I fell a couple hotel stays short of the requisite number, those working the game were similarly charitable when granting Reed a prize even though he and his partner got to the other side after the timer had hit zeroes.

Strictly for the Beards

The Christmas parade rolled through town, with Mr. and Mrs. Claus serving as the grand marshals atop the bucket of a fire truck. Reed passed on the opportunity to sit on the jolly one’s lap, but he and his sister found comfort on the lap of another prominent bearded fellow.

Escape Claus

Santa gave us an early demonstration of the fleetness he possesses when delivering gifts to children around the world on Christmas Eve. One minute he’s posing for pictures with the kid; the next he’s competing in a game of sidewalk chess.

Pig(skin)headed

Reed paired his favorite sweater—the one featuring a digger—with his favorite winter cap.

Elf Hatred

With Thanksgiving in our rear-view window, we have this to look forward to now:

The Elf on the Shelf is a misnomer. He doesn’t stay on the shelf at all. In fact, he flies back to the North Pole every night when the kids are asleep, reporting to Santa whether Olivia and Reed have been naughty or nice. He then returns to our house and camps out in a different spot each morning, waiting to be discovered. I can’t say much beyond that without being accused of being a Grinch given that this tradition brings our kids a lot of holiday joy, but it’s nice to know that there are other parents out there who are as elfish and peevish as we are.

Into the Wind(y City)

We took on the toddling town of Chicago (I’ll say it again—Chicago—for Frank’s sake) with our toddler in tow. Aunt Liz joined us as we made our way to the Lincoln Zoo and the Christkindlmarket. Highlights included the 3D lights, a giraffe spotting, cookie decorating, singing German carols, and feasting on Bavarian pretzels.

Ride Away

Grumpy dwarf made way for Sleepy once the wheels of our vehicle resumed rotating in the direction of our destination.

You’ve Got Another Thank(s) Coming

Our kids are a constant reminder of why we should be especially thankful—and especially so on this day of giving thanks. The two of them gave us thanks (taped on fridge) and provided thankful reminders (written on chalkboard) as part of their pre-Thanksgiving meal activities, adding to all that they constantly give us in the form of laughs, hugs, kisses, and shared life experiences.

Around the Bend

Congratulations to the father of Brooklyn, Romeo, Cruz, and Harper on capturing his first Major League Soccer Cup as his Los Angeles Galaxy team defeated the Houston Dynamo in last night’s final.

Reed celebrated Beckham’s triumph—and his kids’ cool Hollywood names—by sporting this jersey all day.

Get a Jump On Off

He’s faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful (vocally) than a locomotive, and able to leap off not-so-tall buildings in a single bound—he’s Super Lil’ Man.

The Puck Stops Here

So we went to this fight the other night and a hockey game broke out.

Hockey games are not what they used to be—events where the on-ice action was the main attraction (and a good place to take your future spouse on a first date)—now that promotion departments offer all sorts of incentives to get families to spend time (and money) in their arenas. The kids enjoyed getting their faces painted, playing with their friends, and “meeting” an indifferent Disney star who’d apparently been paid to sign autographs but not smile or interact with fans. Reed and Olivia occasionally glanced iceward, but I think that was to see the zamboni zoom around.