40 It's Just A Number, Although a Very Big One...

Happy Birthday to me. I'm forty. So, I failed in the Hope I Die Before I Get Old competition, although I did make a valiant effort through my twenties and early thirties. Getting older doesn't really bother me, and with the triathlon under my belt I feel pretty good at the moment. I've signed up for the San Jose triathlon next weekend, although the thought of getting up at 4:30 am to be down there for a 7:00 am start is not appealing.

Tash gave me a killer birthday present, a photo album of my first 40 years, apparently she spent the last year collecting and printing photos. Now thats love! There are plans for the day, but I've been told I'll find out what they are in good time.

Birthday Boy

He's all of two today, our Cian. A rambunctious, boisterous, good hearted little boy, if ever there was one. Tash has taken to calling him Taz, after the Tasmanian Devil in the Bugs Bunny cartoons. In him, I may have found my little musician. He is obsessed with the guitar, and insists on being in the studio with me whenever I play. He will demand a pick, and strum one of the other guitars while I practice.
He has no awareness of his place in the sibling hierarchy. As far as he is concerned, even if he is the youngest, he is the King, and demands that respect be accorded him. His older brother and sister, who delight in his charm, are happy to play along...up to a point. There have been some older sister younger brother standoffs.

He had clonked his head while playing a few minutes before this photo was taken, hence the tears. He had been comforted before I took it, I'm not that cold hearted!

Birthday Boy

Shane is five today. I can't believe its been five years since his birth.* This picture was taken last week when we were in Ireland. Drinking Nash's Red Lemonade on a hot summer's day was a rite of passage for every Irish kid when I was growing up, and Shane discovered it all by himself. He saw another kid with it when we were home last year, and asked me if he could have some. He doesn't get sodas back in the States, but was indulged in Ireland, and was delighted when someone would suggest going to the pub. He knew the deal: pub = crisps + red lemonade.

He actually starting referring to the red lemonade as his "pint." At one stage I went up to order and he sidled up to me, "Daddy, can I have more red lemonade?" "No, I think you've had enough for now." "But Dad, you're on your third pint and I have only had one..." "Well, it's differ... oh all right."

Another Irish habit he has picked up is meat. And more meat. It became his rallying call around mealtime. He could eat his way through a pig farm's worth of bacon and sausages. My father was only delighted - of his four kids, three are vegetarians. Shane became his BBQ buddy. The weather was so good that every meal was barbecued. For dinner, himself and Shane happily burned some fine steaks to a crisp on the BBQ, while sausages and rashers were routinely carbonised for breakfast. Much bonding was had. The interesting thing is, when he is back in the U.S., he never asks for meat as he seems to only associate it with Ireland.

I passed a Dad rite of passage myself last night: assembling a kid's bike, replete with misguided instructions. Its a cool, BMXy kind of bike, with Spiderman pictures all over it. He'll get it when he gets home from preschool today.

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