Sunday, September 30, 2012

Mahoney to ?Kanatzer?

Phew.  It was beginning to look like I only have Irish friends, with these weddings.  Kanatzer, what ethnicity is that, anyway?
So, one of my little sister's best friends got married this weekend. You would never know it today, but Leah and I have not always gotten along this great.  If you had asked me, or Christine for that matter, 15 years ago, if we thought we would be invited to one another's weddings, it would have been a big "hell no!"  I didn't really care for Leah's friends.  I thought they were all stupid girls.  They were horrible at sports, because they'd all stand around talking during basketball practice.  They would do that petty crap that little girls do; best friends one day, enemies the next.  Just so dumb.  But, slowly, as high school crept along, then college, I grew to not mind these ladies.  In fact, I like them now.  Have for a few years.  Guess they just needed some maturing.  Conversely, when Leah would invite Christine over, she would ask, "Well, is Erin going to be home?"  As in, if I was, then NO, she did not want to come over.  I may have been somewhat of a bully.  What else are big sisters for, nice is boring.

Anyway, Christine and Nick have been together as long as Matt and I.  They have always been a fun, laid back couple, I look forward to seeing and enjoy hanging out with on occasion. Maybe Christine wasn't a total ditz all through grade school and high school, perhaps she just didn't care.  And I mistook this mellow attitude for complete airheadedness. Their wedding was one of those, "it's about time" kind of deals. Like many of Leah's and my friends, they have crossed that line and become friends with the whole Smith clan.  They have been frequenters of Michelle Park in the past, and probably will continue to be in the future. And, let's face it, my sisters, mom and I are kind of a package deal.
 Congrats to the new, Mrs. and Mr. Kanatzer!  Visitation Church, Drexel Hall.  September 29th, 2012.

Monday, September 24, 2012

Da Boys.

George is making a new face.  You have all seen it.  Remember?  That one I put on Facebook? That got 57 likes, a dozen or so comments, and multiple, face to face comments about how it nearly made you pee your pants, or that it's now your desktop background?  Yup, that's George. Ridden with personality.  He has really come out of his shell.  He is ALL OVER the house, getting into everything.  Seriously, since day one, our nanny, Kerry, would lovingly tell George to quit being so "nosey".  And now, he is so obviously nosey, doesn't even try to hide it.  He hears something, stares at it, then makes a face about it...he might have his mother's lack of a filter.  Most often it's this bizarre, pig nosed, possible raising-of-one-eybrow, stink eye kind of face.  But sometimes, it's a jaw dropped open, blatantly staring, blank look of wonder. Or confusion. Or fear.  Because, when a baby is sitting in the middle of the living room, while a linebacker of a toddler is running around the house, chasing the gangly, uncoordinated horse of a dog, with the large plastic dump truck, you can guess who gets hurt.  At least he joined in with the laughter at first, before he realized his proximity to the direct line of fire. And he has a right to be leery, see that scratch under his right eye?  You can thank Curtis, as well the the heel of one of my pumps.

George regularly laughs at Curtis.  He finds his big brother to be absolutely hilarious.  And too, too often, it is when Curtis is misbehaving.  I have a premonition.  This premonition does not bode well for anyone, except maybe those two little boys.  They are going to have a lot of fun.  A lot of memories.  A lot of wrestling matches [ending in injuries].  Pretty sure, Brock is going to be the oddball of this trio.  He is the oldest (and they are ALWAYS weird, duh).  He is further away, age-spacing-wise.  He is too caught up in his own little head, trying to solve all the world's problems.  He has bigger, better things to do, than join the debauchery of two little brothers.  He is busy.  Like always.  That is, until those two stumble upon something really interesting, like an object that makes a mess and a load noise.  Then, well, maybe he's interested.  In fact, maybe he needs to take over and figure out how to make the noise louder and the mess bigger, huh, amateurs.  He is a boy after all.
It is only a matter of days before George will climb all the way to the top of the stairs.  A matter of weeks before he begins cruising.  A matter of months before he is walking, then running, then talking, then behaving like a little boy.  For me, this process could slow down immensely, for him, those days could not get here soon enough.  He is not ready to run with the big boys, he screams like a terrified, little girl when he falls from the 6 inches that is a standing to sitting position.  He merely gets bumped and cries as if he had an extremely close brush with death.  I don't think he is being purposefully dramatic, like that middle child, I think he genuinely fears for his life on a regular basis.  Luckily, it does not appear he lacks tenacity - for this and his curiosity, he reminds me more of the Brockster.  We will see.  But as for right now, it's baby gate time.  Vacuum everyday time.  Make sure to pick up all the Legos and loose change time.  And, get all the snuggles in while you still can time, because he already dislikes being rocked to sleep.
OK...I'll give it to you one more time.

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

Well, there ya have it.

Nothing is simple.  Or straightforward.  Or lonely. When it comes to my family. Nothing.  I can ask a sister to watch the boys on a Saturday night while Matt and I go to a shower, or birthday party, or just to a relaxing dinner, only to come home to my mom asleep on the couch with one, or two children passed out with her.  Or my brother over, watching a movie and drinking a soda.  Hell, I have even come home to find that "my mom" watching the boys turned into a BBQ on the deck with every one of my siblings and nephew, using our charcoal, our grill, and numerous other items!
The complications, or change in plans, or shenanigans, or whatever you want to call it don't stop there.  Just tonight, I called my younger sister to see if she would like to accompany me and the three littles for a nice evening stroll.  She happily accepted stating she had to first bake some chicken as Neal does not know how to make dinner and has informed her that he "never will".  Mixing some salt, pepper and herbs on a couple chicken breasts and throwing them in the oven for an hour took me years to perfect, so, I don't blame him.  At the ripe old age of 27, there's not point to learn now.  So, I loaded the van and headed to her place.  We had nearly rounded all 3 kids up and gotten the strollers going, when Leah's phone rings.  It's the eldest.  She was calling to see if Leah had any Jalapeno peppers she could have to use with her dinner. And, oh, you're on a walk!?  Well, then you can just stop by and drop them off on your way.  Leah goes inside, the boys run a muck, then Leah returns with a bag of Jalapenos, to which Curtis exclaims, "cookie!? cookie!?  cookie!?" - and people wonder why we question that one's intelligence.  And we are off, finally, only in the direction of my mom/sister's home, instead of directly to the Trolley trail.

No less than a block away, who do we see at the corner, but Xander.  As soon as Brock recognizes his cousin, he dashes off to greet him.  Curtis suddenly comes alive and hops out of the stroller, also ditching his pacifier, to call Xander's name, which is something more like "Neener", moving his little feet as quickly as possibly, creating the appearance that he is running, but in actuality is not moving any faster than my or Leah's stroll.  He is so cute.  We get to the front door, my sister greets us, the dog gets out the front door, and eventually my mother makes her way to the yard.  But just the 4 of us girls, with the 4 boys, and the dog isn't enough.  My mother invites the passing pedestrian, whom I doubt she has EVER seen before, to let her dog play with Marley.  So, we now have three boys playing tag and two large dogs rumbling. And one awkward feeling stranger, who was just too nice to say no to the crazy lady insisting the dogs play.

Anyway, we get rid of the stranger, we finish looking at proofs of Leah's wedding invite on my phone, and we start to get the boys back in walk mode, and now, we are plus one.  As Xander and Brock are clearly not going to separate. We make it on our pleasant stroll, but have to leave Brock and Curtis at my mother's while Leah, George and I make our way back to her place so I can drive back with the van.  Leah calls Neal back, as he has called, because he is unsure how to get the chicken out of the oven.  Long story, short, or shortened at this point, the walk is over, I get the boys home, put them to bed, and reflect on my evening as nothing but a positive experience.
Despite how frustrating it can get at times, to try to coordinate with my expansive family.  Or that a simple walk turns into a fiasco.  Or that I am never really sure who is watching my kids when one of them agrees to it.  Or that we can never all be driving somewhere without my mother insisting on spending 20 minutes trying to figure out how we can all make it in 2 cars as opposed to 5, since it is a whole 25 minute drive somewhere, therefore making us all late, not to mention uncomfortable.  Or that a classy graduation from Medical School or Graduate school turns into doing kegs stands, mom included. Or that I can never be sure what condition I will get my child back in, after a day at MaGra's. Or that you can't really do lunch with one sibling, without another catching wind and joining in, turning my quick, 30 minute lunch into an 1.5 hour experience, where we inevitably stop at an Estate sale or three on the way home.  And often my grandmother gets pulled into the mix.  Despite all of this.  I love it.  I love them.  I was raised in this chaos, and it is the norm for us.  And I really don't think I would ever want it any other way.

Thursday, September 13, 2012

The Godparents

In the midst of the busiest time in my life, to date, I decided to have Maureen and Sean, two of the busiest people I know, to be the the Godparents to my third child.   This created quite teh scheduling problem, so George remained a heathen for over 6 months, but it had to be done.  Maureen and Sean were meant for the job.  Only a select few qualify as Godparent material.

Back when Brock was born, we discussed for quite some time who we would choose as Godparents, and why.   We both looked to our own Godparents and to our siblings' Godparents to come up with the criteria.  Matt's Godparent's are a married couple, Steve and Mary.  Steve and Brian, Matt's father, were BFF's.  Since grade school. Still have a lunch date every first Monday (or Friday, or something like that) of the month at a little hole in the wall Mexican restaurant.  This couple has proven to be great family friends and a great mentors to Matt, and now me.  They have visited with each birth of our own children, have hosted wedding showers, attended graduations, and have been involved in most every big event of Matt's life. A perfect selection.

My Godparents are not related, married or connected in the least, except that Marlys was my mother's close friend and Mike my father's cousin and friend.  I always felt I got the BEST set up, because I would get a birthday gift from both people, instead of one married couple!  And though, neither hosted events for me, both have attended nearly every significant event in my life.  Both have continued to be very close, great friends with my parents.  And both are wonderful people I enjoy visiting, and seem proud to be my godparent. Marlys still comes to my birthday dinners every so often.

Some of my siblings' had aunts and uncles as godparents.  But some of these have since divorced, and the none relative never to be heard from again.  Some of our siblings have a friend of one parent or another who have grown apart and no longer keep up with one another's lives, and perhaps have forgotten they even have a god child.  These are things we absolutely wished to avoid.  Therefore, we decided, Godparent's should be people that we know, without a doubt, will be part of our family for the rest of our lives. This should automatically make you think, SIBLINGS.  And God knows, we have enough siblings between the 2 of us to cover our current 3, and possibly 6 kids!  But, as history has shown, siblings don't always stay married to their significant others.  And siblings are already "aunt" or "uncle"...they have a title and connection.  Forever.  It's called blood.  There is nothing closer or more superior.

We looked at Godparents as a way to forever include our close, dear, wonderful friends who have shared a near lifetime of memories. These are people who visited the hospital with the birth of our children.  Lived in our home for a period of time.  Continue to come over to have game nights, drink, hang out, despite there being small children running around.  People who don't knock. Hell, they don't even call and will come in the house even when we are not home...maybe to just use the restroom because their hole in the wall Mexican lunch wasn't sitting so well, and our house is the closest destination (and they know they can get in without a key). People we knew, without a doubt, would be involved in ours and our children's lives forever.  People that, if something, God forbid, were to happen to us, we would be more than happy for them to take over the care of our child.  People we think will guide our children well and provide an excellent example.  We decided we would only have married couples if we were friends with both sides...that way, if divorce happened, we knew we would remain in touch with both sides [not that we really think it's a possibility, but this is learning from past events].

And that, is how we ended up with this motley crew.  Four members were part of our wedding party, five and a half years ago.  Jon Twibell and Beth Maggard for Brock.  Not married [to each other].  Good friends though.  And mutual, very close friends from high school for both Matt and I.  Jon was a big reason as to why Matt and I even met.  And Beth, well, she is like the daughter we never had (nor will have, apparently) and lived with us for almost a year. No getting rid of these two, they just keep coming back.  Gabe and Christin Olsen for Curtis. Married [to one another].  Now, these two were a hard decision, as Christin is not Catholic.  An original criteria that we opted to drop due to the fact that these two join us for nearly every event.  They are our go to couple in KC.  We even housed their chiminea on our deck for a couple years. They are those kind of friends that you don't really need to call or discuss anything with, it's just assumed we are all on the same page, and that we all want to hang out...but someone is the weak link in Sequence, and it's NOT ME!  Most recently, Maureen Walsh and Sean Gratton for George.  Married [to one another]. These two complete "The Quad" as we were nicknamed in high school. Though they have been out in Washington DC for 5 years, we remain extremely close.  No matter how many times I call Maureen for a "quick talk" we end up on the phone for an hour, or two.  And despite them both having a lot of family in KC, we nearly always find time for a visit when they are in town.

This Labor day weekend proved we chose well.  Despite three members being out-of-towners, they ALL made it to George's baptism celebration. They all happily and gladly indulged me in a group photo, in humid, disgusting 85 degree weather with 3 cranky boys.  Not pictured are a lot of other supportive friends and family, who are in the running for 4.O Godparents (whenever that might be) and, I am considering breaking the "no family member rule".  I know Leah would love to have the honor bestowed, and she is more like a friend than a sister often times...but not sure how things will go-just know that you were considered, sissy. 

Oh, and as for the ceremony.  It was beautiful.  Father Rush knew Matt's recently passed Grandma Genny and shared a great little memory from his interactions with her, and related it to George's new life's journey. George was dunked, as opposed to poured on, and took it like a champ.  He had a moment of panic, but by the third dunk, he was starting to like it...even stuck a hand in to splash.

Sunday, September 9, 2012


Imagine, if you will, rush hour, in Chicago, at the train station with loading docks above the bustling streets below.  Doesn't quite seem like the place for 2 adults and 3 children under the age of four to be hanging out, but alas, there we were; trying to board the Green line - 4 days in a row!  It tested my heart's limits to withstand extreme anxiety every time we got to the docks.  As much as we insisted Brock not step foot on the demarcated blue region that is the edge of the boarding platform, there were far too many things to distract him from this restriction.  Such as pigeons.  Nothing more irresistible to a 3.5 year old, than fat, lazy pigeons that merely run from you when chased.  Catching one has got to be possible, right? As an aside, Brock referred to every bird as a pigeon from the first sighting on, if it was a little bird, it was a "tiny, baby pigeon", seagulls were pigeons, and normal size pigeons were "big mommy and daddy pigeons".
We made it on and off multiple public transportation vehicles up to a dozen times a day, with 2 strollers, a diaper bag, a camera bag, a Bjorn, drinks, souvenirs, food, toys, a "binka beear and pappi".  Hmmm, come to think of it, that Blanky Bear, who toured all the same sites as us, as well as inspected most of the flooring, streets, sidewalks and train seats has yet to take a bath since his many adventures.  Whoops.  Anyway, the fiasco of loading and unloading became a smooth dance that Matt and I were able to perform near flawlessly.  We did notice many an outsider staring with wonderment and concern.  Often, you could tell they were making mental bets as to whether we would make it on or off in time and with all of our belongings, and I must admit, a few times, it was quite amazing indeed.  A particular occassion on the bus, George was crying so I had to take him out of the stroller, then a handicapped person boarded so we had to break down and store away a stroller, and I got the Bjorn out to put George in it, and our stop was approaching.  So, I threw George in the Bjorn and was assembling it while grabbing the diaper bag and folded stroller as Matt pushed Curtis and Brock out the doors and made it!  Pretty sure we left people applauding our little one family show on the bus, or I like to think they were...

We did so much public transit because we didn't stay in the city. We were out in the 'burbs with Matt's Aunt Sue and Uncle Bob.  They live in this fantastic old house, in an area that used to be run by the mafia. Therefore, it was surrounded by tasty, one of a kind, Italian cafe's and restaurants.  We tried an Italian Beef from Johnnies, my mouth is watering right now, I just refuse to describe it further.  We enjoyed breakfast at Grandma Sally's diner; homemade cinnamon rolls sliced and french toasted. Of course, we ate deep dish pizza, and Garrett's popcorn. We visited the Shedd Aquarium, the Planitarium, the Field Museum, the Museum of Science and Industry, the Willis (formerly Sear's) Tower, Millennium park with The Bean and Navy Pier.  We visited our good friend Beth.  We stopped in St. Louis to visit Aunt Mary Lynne on the way.  Oh, and you know all those obnoxious billboards advertising Nostalgiaville, yeah, we stopped there, not recommended, a whole lot of advertising for a whole lot of nothing. We stayed one night in a hotel in Davenport, IA.  Where we scared off this complimentary old couple at breakfast, who told us our boys were very well behaved and that we're "on our way to becoming the Romney's with 3 boys already", then proceeded to ask Brock his name, and I am fairly certain they mistook him to say, "Barack" because they just replied, "Oh" in a slightly frightened manner and walked off.
The trip was truly wonderful.  It was exhausting and the boys were in bed by 8ish and us by 10 almost every night.  I would even consider it relaxing, because I am crazy, and site-seeing with babies is relaxing to me.   It was the first time in so long that I spent 8 straight days with just my boys, without interruption, and I think I really needed it.  I feel like they are mine again, and that no one in the world knows these kids better than me.  Matt and I laughed at their quirky little behaviors, constantly.  I think we turned on the television twice.  These 3 boys alone are enough entertainment for even an entire bus load of Chicagoans and train passengers, that apparently Curtis felt needed "shushing". Next time though, I think we might go beach.  As in, the most traveling we do while on vacation is walking from the hotel to the ocean edge.
See Matt's interpretation of our visit, via his PHOTOS HERE!!!

Saturday, September 8, 2012

From McInerney to McCormick.

Congrats to:
 Kaitlin & John McCormick 
June 29th, 2012

I think Kaitlin managed the wedding that I secretly wanted.  Absolutely, the most laid back couple ever.  When I showed up to the reception, Matt, who shot her photos, walks up to me and pulls up her wedding day "itinerary" on his phone and says, "Guess how much of this actually happened?"  I make a guess, and he points to one thing: the couple, did, in fact show up to the church at the appointed time to get married.  That's it.

I mean, the girl had a pool party for a shower! Genius.  Her bachelorhette party ended up at Missy B's (somewhere I have always wanted to experience, but alas was not able to stay out to attend).  I mean, our weddings were similar in many ways, her engagement was about as long {or short if your a pessimist} as mine. We both married great guys, with Irish (maybe Scottish in his case though) last names.  We both had beyond fantastic photographers.  We both had great friends involved in the day.  And we will both remember the day as perfect, beautiful and a great time!

Thursday, September 6, 2012

First Rule: There are no rules.

I have broken the my own, personal, Cardinal rule of blogging, I have a list of posts. This list I have going in my head is causing constant pressure and making me feel the need to quickly document!  They are somewhat time sensitive events in my life.  I have been so busy, but it's not really the time to blog that's a problem, it's the brain power. The inspiration.  The lack of fluidity.  The reason I so easily write post, after post, after post, is not because I feel obligated to, but because the mood strikes, my muse (usually either too much caffeine or too late of a night) has found me.  The muse has been missing.  And I have had an awesome birthday.  A friend or 2 get married.  A family trip to Chicago.  A close family member pass.  A 5 month old become a 6 month old, now nearly 7  month old.  A little boy start preschool.  Another little boy start to talk, A LOT.  A son get baptized. A husband had a birthday.  And so, so many pictures and other things, that I feel I MUST remember.

I frequently get the comment, "You are so good about blogging."  And often, these people have attempted it, and add in the fact that they let theirs get outdated and now it's too overwhelmin to "catch up". This implies there is some sort of obligation to blogging.  Absolutely not.  I never feel pressured to write or post anything for you people (whomever is reading this, that is.  Sorry to burst your little bubble.) Usually, I don't even feel pressured to post anything for myself.  This is a hobby.  And a great way to scrapbook, and capture memories.  It is something I do for me, and me alone.  I share it, because I think that someone might get a laugh, or a grandma might get to see more of her grandchild, or someone might see that life can be crazy, insane, busy, happy, sad, chaotic and still FUN.

But suddenly, I do feel pressured to get it all out on paper.  All of it.  Every last bit of my wonderful, depressing at times, yet celebratory August 2012.  So, it is coming.  A bunch of posts with lots of information, and probably very little entertainment value, as they will be passion-less.  They will be a much more muted version of what was actually experienced and felt.  I will break this rule of mine, so that I may free my mind from the chains that bind it, and the words will flow again.  As they have for this worthless little rant...I could have been updating events for these last 15 minutes.  Too bad my glorious trip to Chi-town is not where my mind has wandered.

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

Ponderings. By Brock.

Here I go again.  Bragging about my amazing kids, who are better then everyone else's kids, yadda, yadda, yadda.  But I swear.  It's not my fault.  I really cannot help that Brock was born better than everyone else's kids.  I think there are 2 things that make Brock appear older than his stated age, or more "mature" if you will.  The first are his looks.  He has always been skinny, tall and he never really had that baby fat, or chubby cheeks.  He also never toddled, he has always been quite agile and coordinated, so his movements don't appear as unsteady or calculated.  He is a natural.  The other reason, is his speech.  He is articulate.  He probably has a bit of his mother's OCD and tries to pronounce and speak as clearly and properly as possible. He also has the memory of an elephant. He knows A LOT of words. Just the other day, as we walked through Target, and he says, look mom!  A Pinata...can I have one for my birthday?  I think he has encountered one of those once, when he was 18 months old.  Daily, he throws out a word that I am flabbergasted not only because he knows it, but because he uses proper context.

A few weeks ago, while we were at the lake playing in the pool, Brock began playing with this 11 year old girl.  He asked her name, then how old she was, and she returned the questions.  Brock replied, "My name it Brock, and I am three years old".  Then attempted to hold up three fingers, but I think he used both hands and it was more like seven (which should have tipped everyone off that he in fact was the age he claimed).  The mother of this girl then chimed in, "Are you sure you're only 3 years old?" Brock just nods.  She then says, "When is your birthday?"  And Brock replies, "I don't know" in a tone that implied what he was really saying is, "How the [bleep] should I know, lady?  I am only 3 years old, no 3 year old knows that [bleep]".  She then says to him, "You must be almost 4, because 3 year olds don't speak as well as you."  Brock didn't even acknowledge her presence any longer, he was done with this boring lady, but the woman continued to smile and laugh at him, and would repeatedly mention that he talks way too well to be three.  I finally made my way close enough to interject that he was, in fact, 3 and a half.  She couldn't believe it.  This is not the first time a stranger has been baffled by Brock's overall appearance/age.  I doubt it will be the last.

And maybe I lied, maybe there are 3 things that throw off the kid-age guessing meter.  He is quite quirky.  Curtis, I feel, follows a lot of the same trends as his 21 month old counter-parts.  Not to say he isn't brilliant or unique, but well, maybe I am saying least he easily make friends.  I worry about that with Brock.  Quirky, unique, ummm, shall we say OCD types tend to struggle in the social scene as kiddos.  And Brock is a problem solver, already.  He has to have an answer to everything.  And he is not that kid that just asks, why?  He comes up with the why's all on his own.  He loves to theorize.  One night, he was having difficulty with a BM, and he said to me, "Maybe I have a screw up my butt.  Right?  Right, mommy?  Maybe there is a screw up my butt so it's why the poop just won't come out. Right?"  Right Brock, MAYBE, it's a screw.  Probably not. But maybe.  He has also decided that since babies are in moms' tummies, then the only logical way they could get out of their tummy is through the mouth.  He told the nanny that mom's go to the hospital to throw up their baby's in the toilet.  It's fairly logical.

The little synapse's in that boy's brain never stop firing and making connections, he see's a pineapple, and says, "Oh, Sponge Bob's house."  He tells me his heart is broken after not seeing me all day (and being the sentimentalists we are, Matt and I say that all the time.  Or, no we don't. Ever.  Really, I don't think I have ever said out loud that my heart was broken.)  Right now, his big thing is "NO" and "YES" signs.  And what I mean by this, is that he points out every single sign with a red circle with a strike through it.  No parking.  No smoking.  No shirt, no shoes, no service.  He can pretty much read them all or make a great guess as to the meaning of all signs these days.  I believe he made his Mimi take him on a "No sign" hunt one afternoon.

Recently, Brock took his cousin's wallet.  Which was then found by our cleaning lady. But it was missing the cash.  My sister insisted Brock was a liar because, when asked where the $15 went, his replies: I don't know.  Down the sink. In the wallet. In the electricity. Doubt they're lies, more like guesses, because he truly doesn't know.  And speaking of cousins.  One afternoon, while riding in the way back of the van, Xander asked Brock if he wanted to go to the farm to ride the 4-wheelers.  To which Brock adamantly replied, "No, Xander!  We cannot drive. I can't drive cars.  I can't drive a fire truck.  I can't drive a bike, well, not a big bike..."  and the story continued, while Xander just kept exclaiming, "I know, Brock, I know."
I mean, I really just don't think it gets more quirky than a locust for face paint.  Or more OCD than a "to-do" list.  I just hope he uses his powers for good someday, and not to become the socio[psycho]path that his traits suggest as a possibility.