Posts tagged Rex-Goliath

Equal to 20,000 Words

Let’s be honest: Just like Playboy, people really only read blogs for the pictures. So we bring you the pictures of the first 1/3 of summer, uninterrupted by useless prose.

Bath time on the balcony = fun time for babies


Rex-Goliath, giving that lazy bum Frog a ride


Dan teaching Chloë to ride a bike


Xavier, stylin' and profilin'


Rex-Goliath with Leah and Frog


Rex-Goliath will turn anything into a train. Notice how all of the other kids are doing all of the work, though.


Daddy and Xavier on a trip to Grandpa Steve's


J and Bill, in coordinating outfits as usual. Note: on his lower half, J is sporting cargo shorts, black Pumas, and knee-high white socks. If this were a dressy occasion, he might wear a paisley button down in lieu of the tank top.


Only Grandpa Steve takes out the trash with a cigar and a glass of red wine.


Rex-Goliath, cashed out on Grandpa Steve's floor after a hard day of tractors and trains


Dan defiling Grandpa Steve's grill with seitan ribs


Xavier, shortly after taking his first steps. Princess Pug, dejected upon realizing that she is now the sole family members on all fours. Also, confused as to how he did it. She might ask him for some tips when he learns to talk.


This walking thing can tire a baby right quick


Rex-Goliath and Willy play in the sand bottom pool at Willy's house


Xavier watching Rex-Goliath and Willy


Rex-Goliath at the pool


Xavier participating in his own impromptu Pride Celebration


Rex-Goliath's new bed - a half-height bunk bed with room for trains below and a train tunnel on top


The tunnel


Chloë plays in the little house we created behind her lofted bed, much to Dan's chagrin

And that should cover June.

–Mrs. Wonderful

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Rex-Goliath’s First Baseball Game! But Enough About That, Let’s Talk Trains.

It as a sunny, beautiful June day in good old St. Paul, big time Minneapolis. I spent my morning hustling with Uncle Dave hearing about the latest communist plot being perpetrated by the black man in the White House, all while sweating into some salsa. I cut out early, because this particular day was a big day. Today I would be bringing Rex-Goliath to his First Baseball Game. Significantly – his First Baseball Game at Target Field. But, even more significantly, we would be taking the light rail commuter train to the game. Wait, I should, in an appropriate Victorian Style, capitalize an essential word; let me try that last sentence again.

But, even more significantly, we would be taking the light rail commuter Train to the game.

Train. This is a big deal.

Rex-Goliath dying, going to heaven.

Yes, Rex-Goliath was intrigued by the baseball game proposition. It held his interest, but his interest was in a vague thing – baseball is on T.V., and is allegedly a thing that Daddy had been involved in before, but a baseball game isn’t a rock-fucking-solid Important Thing like trains. A boy can wrap his imagination wholly around riding on a train as a whole body experience. Trains after all, are very useful, and communicate real ideas, and have faces, and literally actually talk.

Daddy is cheeky and is a troublesome engine, courtesy of Sean Olene.

The ball game was a 12:15 start, which was just about the time we left the house for the Fort Snelling light rail station. By the time we drove, parked, walked and began our wait at the train station, a couple of innings had passed. The sun was shining brightly, the birds were singing, and we were all by ourselves at the station, as if the entire train was coming, specially, just for the good little mister and his old man.

A few minutes passed, and lo and behold , a train arrived. Now, the idea of a train and the reality of a train do not necessarily share the same shape, and I could tell from Rex-Goliath that the meeting of these two versions might be a bit at odds. The train was a little too large, a bit too fast, way too loud, and Rex-Goliath was a smidge intimidated. We boarded (although nobody said “All aboard!” as one might expect.) and had to quickly find a seat, because the driver certainly wasn’t waiting for us to sit down to start chug-chug-chugging along the track. Rex-Goliath and I took a seat at the front of the train, and soaked it all in.

A wonderful panorama of surging people, cars, and buildings!


One nervous boy.

Rex-Goliath was in quiet shock and awe for the entire trip, and was admittedly a bit happy once we arrived at Target Field, i the heart of the fourth inning. Rex-Goliath’s reaction to the spectacle of the field was of mild acceptance – the entree of the ballgame was certainly dwarfed by the first course. He was a excited that they were playing baseball, but only when I pointed it out to him, at which point he promptly lost interest in the whole affair. We walked around a bit, pausing briefly to score a $85 beer, went up a couple flights of stairs to our seats, and settled in for the fifth inning. We had a frozen lemonade, a juice box, cotton candy, umm yum yum.





We saw a Justin Morneau blast to the plaza in right field, watched Johnny Damon complete botch a routine fly ball, cheered a bit, clapped a bit, and even heckled the umpire (from the third deck, I’m sure it stung) a bit. By the time Rex-Goliath was getting antsy (and began his incessant request to go back on the train), it was the bottom of the eighth inning and a perfect time to cut out.

Joe Mauer's statue and the boy whose statue will eventually supplant Joe Mauer's statue.

Rex-Goliath was more than ready for the train ride back, but neither of us was prepared for the severe clot of people on the train. Seriously – we could barely get on the damn thing.

Where do these people all come from? Oh yeah, Twin's game.


A tired boy, a busy train ride, a good day.

– Mr. Wonderful

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Little Tikes Road Rage

Today Rex-Goliath and I were doing jokes and assaulting each other for a bit in the afternoon. At one point he was coming at me full bore in his Little Tikes car and after he rammed into me I punched it (the car, not Rex-Goliath) in the face. (these cars have faces)

He became irate and angrily got out of his car, came around the front and started hollering at me, while looking inquisitively at the front of his car to see what kind of damage I had done, like a bitter old man looking for the slightest ding or scratch of the paint. There was a little scratch on the bottom (not from me) that he pointed at accusingly. I could tell he was disgusted with me. I laughed and I laughed.

My little guy, the angry driver.

– Mr. Wonderful

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