I thought Henry's head might pop from all of the joy and excitement last Saturday at the Alaska Railroad open house. Aside from touring some cars, engines, maintenance machinery, and acquiring a temporary tattoo, a 20 minute train ride was on the docket.

The event was scheduled for 11-3, so we arrived at 10:45am only to find the parking lots swelling amid throngs of strollers and preschoolers. I'd be amazed if any less than 75% of the toddlers in Anchorage were there.

We met up with our friends fairly quickly and by 10:50 were in line for a train ride, a train ride that we would not board until 12:30. If that seems downright crazy to you, I would agree. God have mercy on those that arrived around noon -- they must have stepped aboard that train around 3:15.

Thankfully our friends had a stroller. Combining the stroller with 4 adults, we were able to stake down a spot in line while the kids were led around the joyous trains (Henry seemed most fond of the captain's chair in the engine and the microwave in the kitchen car). We were able to tour everything, minimize standing and fidgeting, and enjoy the 60 degree bluebird skies.

We often pointed at the Alaska trains in their bold blue and gold paint and stated, "Henry, we're riding that train in a little bit." His smile led me to believe that he must think his parents are kings. How else could we swing a ride on a machine of dreams like that?

As we walked past the ever-snaking line of parents and toddlers I encountered two story lines on a loop. One, a child sitting on the cement, crying, rubbing their hands in dust, and melting down. Secondly, a parent quietly saying, "Our turn is coming in a little bit. We need to wait our turn."

The whole event felt like a day at Disneyworld, if Disney only had a single ride.

Looking at the picture below you may conclude that we had a great day and did not have a meltdown, largely due to our arrival early enough (next time we'll shoot for 10 am).




Later that day while rocking Henry at bedtime, he was happy to point out that my shirt had a fire engine on, just like his jammies (under the image on my shirt reads "Chicago Fire Department -- Southwest Side").  I agreed and watched his fingers trace the graphics. "Daddy, we are fire engine guys." Yes, we are.

If it decided to snow again that would be a very cruel twist. The trails and roads are dry and clear, the skies blue, the days around 50, and the only snow remaining stubbornly hides under shadows in the woods.

Henry happily bumped along in his bike trailer over the weekend, loving every minute of it. Last summer I used to turn my head back every few minutes to check on him, whereas now I listen to the play by play of our ride to know he's doing fine.

"Tanker! Mail truck! Muddy puddles! Satellite dish!"

He thinks riding in the trailer is the cat's pajamas and is now actively asking for his own bike. Mission accomplished. We're currently leaning toward a push bike over a pedal bike, but still need to stew on it for a bit.

The warm weather means the sandbox is open. I don't know the details of the work order, but from what I've observed on the job site, the focus is in loading up the dump truck with sand via the excavator over and over again. It just never gets old. As the underwriter of the job, I only ask that we try to hit the sandbox on scheduled bath days.



Moments after putting on his new fire truck jammies, Henry decided for the first time to fix the light switch in the kitchen. Like a bullet out of a gun he could not be stopped, and we happily sat back and enjoyed the show.

Saturday we happily headed to St Elizabeth's for the honor of being Ann's godparents. Ann was less than excited about the water and oil while Henry kept running onto the altar to inspect the font. By the end of the ceremony I held Henry in my arms and Ann powered through. Success was achieved and we headed back for dinner and visiting at the Hamel's.

Henry sat across from Maggie and they both ate their meals nicely (though Henry finished early and headed quickly to the toys that loomed just out of view).

I offered Henry some conversational advice. "Ask Maggie how her day was."

"How was your day," he said.

"Good," Maggie replied.

A few oranges and spoonfuls of rice went in before Henry tried again. "There is a washer and a dryer."

Maggie offered, "They are red."

More chewing and sitting politely.

"How old are you, Henry?"

"I'm 2," Henry said.

"I'm 5." I remember Maggie just turning 3 a few months ago, but what do I know.

...

When showing Henry the photos uploaded to flickr, he smiled after pointing and naming Maggie and Ann. A serious face then turned to me. "Where are pictures of the washer and dryer?" Sorry, kid, we missed that detail.
 




The important things always stick in our memories. If I ask Henry what he ate for lunch he'll say, "Macaroni and cheese." If I then crane my head towards Becky I'll see her rolling here eyes. "It was a peanut butter sandwich." If you ask him what happened at the end of playtime at St Elizabeth's last week, expect a play by play whose accuracy will not be in question.

"The smoke detectors went off."

"Why?"

"There was a fire drill. All of the doors shut."

"Were you scared."

"No. The smoke detectors keep us safe. The man was checking the smoke detectors."

At this point he'll spiral into a description of the long wand the workman used to check the smoke detectors in the gymnasium. This may be his most important memory made thus far.

It's still in the teens most mornings, but our daytime highs end up around 40, so the melt is on. The local lakes are not terribly safe for skating anymore, so we've been heading to UAA to lace up the skates each Friday evening. It's ended up being mainly a Daddy and Henry event, though Mom did come out to take some pictures last week and noticed just how much better Henry is.

He can stand very well in his skates and tic-tac right ahead without falling, which is far beyond the ankle rolling he dabbled in 3 months ago. Even though he fusses greatly when I let go of his hands, the fact remains that he is able to stand just fine without help. Mentally, he needs to embrace the fact that he does skate on his own.

When people ask how much we skate, I honestly reply, "We do about 1-2 laps around the rink. It takes 35 minutes."

Even though his skills are increasing, I believe his concentration on the movement is taxing. So we stop to play in the penalty box, then spend some time in the corner staring at the zamboni through the glass, take another break on the player's benches, and then finish off at the goal with our eyes fixated on the scoreboard up above.  Oh, do we love the scoreboard.

The only problem with skating these days is how comfortable Henry is with his skates on carpeting. I used to be able to get his skates on and then take my time lacing up my own while he held himself up on my leg. That has gone the way of the dodo. He's off runnings once those skates get tied off. The new plan I have been using is taking off his boots, lacing up my skates, and then placing his skates on. It's tough to fight his need to explore, particularly when the scoreboard is a mere 20 feet away.






The most exciting news in our home is that Henry will have a new baby sister this August! Everyone is healthy and doing well and Henry seems very warm to the new addition. When asked over several occasions what a good name would be, he offered 3 options: Henry, Baby Sister, and Ice Cream.

There is not a loser in the bunch.

A week earlier our Friday night brought us a Saturday morning of 12 inches of snow, though much of Anchorage had closer to 20 inches. As the week ticked on the sun remained strong in the blue bird skies and the temps hovered a few degrees above freezing. The roads recovered and our trip a week later to Seward ended up being a perfect drive -- 10 degrees in the morning, sunny, and dry. The roads could not have been better and in 2 hours on the button we pulled into town.

Words cannot express how much of a champion traveler Henry was. He's rarely difficult, but this was exceptional. Over the two hours I only had to peel 2 oranges and in the final 30 minutes dig out a plastic helicopter. We pulled into our parking spot and shuffled across the street to the SeaLife Center.



It's really only a 2 hour museum, but Henry seemed to enjoy every inch of it. Digging around the fishing boat and its sound effect buttons was pretty glorious, but he also really enjoyed touching the starfish and anemones.

He even produced a thrill in identifying Fox Island poke out way in the distance of Resurrection Bay. We stood on the observation deck in the glaring sun, I pointed to the island on the map, then lifted my finger straight up and out into the blue ocean. "Fox Island out there," Hank confirmed with a smile.


On our slow drive out of town we passed a large and extremely busy playground. Becky called an audible, boots were slid back on, and in we went. 30 minutes later the 4Runner headed out of town, pushing south towards Moose Pass, a town Henry would not see as he had closed his eyes a handful of minutes outside of Seward.

Thanks to some nasty frost heaves he was shaken awake near Turnagain Pass, but that only gave him occasion to reiterate what he loved most about the day. "I like the Cash machine." Yes, the ATM in Seward really is that special.

Full Seward photo set here.

Henry's counting is going fairly well these days -- the main hitch being a switch to auto pilot after hitting the correct number. He'll count all 5 ducks on a page, pause, and then shift into "6, 7, 8, 9, 10." It'll work out just fine in the end. He does know how to buckle his shoe quite well.



Thanks to a PVC skating aid (we call it his "helper"), Henry has become much better at ice skating as well as much more excited about it. I've been suggesting it about once a week, but he's up for it 3 times a week, so off we go to either Cheney Lake or UAA every few days. We usually spend 10 minutes skating, followed by a 15 minute detour climbing around a snow bank, before concluding with a bit more skating. I'm trying to be careful and feed this fun without smothering it with too much enthusiasm to try just a bit longer.

Our dinnertime prayers find Mommy and Daddy having a tough time holding back the laughter. He often thanks God for food and family, but always thanks God for smoke detectors and flood lights. He's very earnest about it to say the least.

For the first time since settling in up here, we decided to skip the Sunday Iditarod restart in Willow. Our usual group of tailgaters were taking a pass as well, leaving us to flinch at the idea of going it solo. I'm certain we'll make it back up there next year with a little more spring in our step. Absence does make the heart grow fonder.

Therefore, we decided to double down on the Saturday ceremonial start here in Anchorage. Standing amidst the crowds downtown wasn't terribly alluring, but spreading out along the Campbell Airstrip on the east side of town was. Parking and elbow room were easily available, not to mention the science center being open with heat, snacks, and a few exhibits for Henry (photos here).

We watched about 20 dog teams come by, chased Henry around the woods as he happily discovered what "old man's beard" is, and ultimately found ourselves shocked that 1pm was moments away. Time to head home and wind down before nap started calling Henry's name.



Fur Rondy is drifting to a close, and we took advantage of a handful of events -- fireworks, carnival, running with the reindeer, and the train shows (photos here). Ah, the train shows -- where the true joy resides. At the Alaska Train Depot we spent well over an hour repeatedly watching the HO and Z trains buzz around their loops. Randy took a few shifts holding up our engineer as well.



The final event of our Fur Rondy was the open house at the Northern Lights Model Railroad Club, where they allowed visitors to view their large, permanent HO set. It was very impressive and gobbled up another smiling hour of Henry's time. They repeat this open house one Sunday a month, which is something we'll need to pencil in for sure. It was an absolute home run. (The set below is protected by plexi-glass, thankfully).



Ok. Spring, please.