Earning my Da.D

I've gotten away from the parental existentialism I once seemed to spout without breaking a sweat.  Drifted more in to the realm of cutsie "updates" and silly projections.  It's not a bad thing.  It's how most of the parent blogs of the world go about it.  It's actually more in line with what the "web logs's were designed to be.  But today I feel like letting the beast from it's cage.  Writing something more from the heart than from the eye.  An OP ED piece rather than breaking news.  I'm dad.   Dad.  A masculine parental title meant to exude love and respect simultaneously.  A three letter word that sums up a sole purpose in life.  In the thousands of years prior to ours, this was the only title attainable.  You hunted or you gathered, eventually you might have farmed, but your main objective in this life was to populate.  Outside of the 10 commandments brought down in stone form, many people forget there was one given way before these.  "Go forward.  Fill the earth and multiply".  In a sense, be a Dad.  Of course another interpretation might be "get out of here you crazy kids; and have her back by 12:30!"  It depends on how your mind works.  So while it's great to be a Dr. or a PhD. or an Esq., even RN and MA. seem to carry some weight, they pale in comparison to the original title man once strode for. .... Dad.  Anyway, now that we've firmly gone off on a tangent, let me reel it back a bit.  The flu escapade of 2011 didn't end with my bout on Tuesday; it reared it's ugly head once again on Friday night.  We held Gina's hair back most of the night while she prayed to the porcelain god and we slept with a bucket in bed that night.  Wasn't really a bucket, it was a cooking bowl - but I'll never see it as a bowl to be used in cooking again. ... so it's now considered a bucket.  Saturday I took the girls so Gina could sleep (and to try and keep them from being exposed).  Of course, that didn't help.  Around 2:30 Sunday morning Arianna started crying "Daddy!". ... here's a tangent worth going on: I've noticed that whenever someone poops or throws up or does something else gross, they call for Daddy.  If they want love or to cuddle - Mama.  When it requires a hose and some rubber gloves. ... that's when I become numbero uno.   What the hell is that about?!  It's like Gina hardwired them or something so that I'm the default in these situations.  Anyway, now back to the currently developing article - so we ran in to find her pillow soaked in puke.  We got her up and cleaned and brought her to our room where we had to watch in heart wrenching angst as she threw up in to the newly minted "bucket" for the next 5 hours.  You forget how scary that first time throwing up can be.  It's not like the spit up of infancy or the gag reflex of learning to eat solid food. ... it's a whole other animal.  And as your body convulses violently and this burning, acidic froth is forced up your throat against your will. ... it's terrifying.  And she was terrified.  We were able to get her back in to our bed (after rotating every 10 minutes; one napping while the other sat on the couch with her) and played the new game, everyone sleep for half an hour and then wake up, try to grab the bucket and get it under her chin before she gets it all over.  We lost a lot.  So after exhausting our sheet and towel supply she finally went to sleep for good and woke up feeling a million times better.  Don't know why these thing metastasize so quickly in children (rather than us adults who have it for two days straight) but I'm grateful she only had to deal with it for a few hours.  I then spent the rest of Sunday prepping the new (or old, as it is second hand) bassinet for refinishing - don't have room for a crib in our new digs - while everyone else took it easy for the day; Gina and Arianna recovering and Genevieve just waiting for her turn to battle the bug.  So where was I?  How does this all come full circle to the dad title?  Well. ... how doesn't it?!  Life - or life as it was originally intended for our species - doesn't revolve around titles like Dr. and Esq.  It doesn't revolve around car payments and concerts, martinis and new film releases.  It doesn't revolve around politics and vacations, it doesn't even circle our friendships.  Life, my life, the life of a parent (those who've gone forth and multiplied per instructions) revolves around these little people with chubby hands and bright eyes who we've been given the honor of escorting toward adulthood were they'll take on the mantle and continue the process.  It's a grand journey that will look magnificent in it's finalized, abridged version.  But while it's still being written it's all about holding back tiny pony tails in the middle of the night to avoid ruining Elmo pajamas, and spending a Sunday sanding their future bed instead of watching football with the other y chromosomes.  It's about teaching "please" and "thank you" and playing on a jungle gym.  It's cutting avocado into manageable bites and enforcing time out when they try to take a manageable bite out of their sister.  It's about rubbing a swollen tummy and feeling a tiny foot press back.  It's about looking into a tiny face and seeing the amazing, wonderful, intelligent, beautiful, successful and inspiring adult with in.  Everything else. ... is just passing the time.  How's that for a Monday morning blog?  Now get out of here you crazy kids; quit passing the time.

Pic of the Week

"Story Time With Karma. ...

'Clifford' of course."

Life Flu By

Kids. ... when it comes down to it, they're basically just cute little virus monkeys.  My 3 year old nephew seems to be the latest culprit, introducing a 24 hour flu bug which is knocking us off like domino's (he had it Saturday, my mom fell Sunday, my step dad Monday) of which I was the most recent to fall.  Woke up about 3am Tuesday with stomach cramping. ... I'll spare details and just refer to it as such.  Tried to get up and go to work at 5:30 but I couldn't even straighten out enough to take a shower.  I ended up in bed until almost 1, then the couch till about 4 and then back to bed until 8.  Woke up at 2am this morning completely soaked in sweat, but aside from that completely fine.  Just as quickly as it hit, it went away.  I'm crossing my fingers now that it doesn't hit the girls, or more importantly Gina.  I don't think stomach cramping is conducive with 8 months pregnant.  Aside from the symptoms, it was harder to deal with being quarantined all day.  The girls got up and wandered in to our room around 7 and all I could do was wave at them as they were herded in to the other room.  Through out the day they'd poke their little heads in to check on me, trying to hug or kiss me to make me feel better, only to be shoo'd away for their own well being.  I thought being at work, away from them all day was tough. ... much harder to be with in sight of them and not be able to play or hold them.  I felt like if I could just scoop them up and hug them I'd be miraculously cured. ... of course that would have required getting up, and probably exposed them more than they already were. ... and I'd feel worse watching them "stomach cramp" than I did when I was "stomach cramping" myself.  That was actually one of the hardest moments - rushing to the bathroom, doubled over, and having them just stand there and watch. ... I felt like big, strong Daddy has just exposed his humanity.  They looked at me like the kid who just watch Daddy eat Santa's cookies on Christmas Eve. ... like how could this be happening.  I had to grip the porcelain god with one arm and hold the other outstretched to keep them at bay until Gina could intervene.  Their sweet little faces showing great concern and desire to help.  They just kept repeating "Daddy sick. ... Daddy sick" the whole time.  All in all, not the most pleasant day I've had - but as with everything, my children made it a moment to behold. ... another revelation of what love looks like. 

Pic of the Week

"The Ugly Side of Halloween"

Who's Afraid of the Dark?!

I always found it interesting how secure my girls were.  How unafraid and bold they were in their fresh and natural condition.  I made mental notes to avoid corrupting that part of them, because, while fear can equate to safety it can also hinder life.  Yes, we should be afraid of heights cause if we fall it will hurt, but too afraid and we never climb the Eiffel Tower or ride in an airplane.  It's conditioned to be afraid of insects and spiders (poison) but I'm not going to be the sole bug killer in this house.  And dogs should be approached cautiously and under supervision, but I don't want one of those kids who's shrieks in terror at the mere site of a tea cup chihuahua.  So I avoid saying things like "oh, that's scary" or "oh no, run away from the big bad so and so".  So you can understand why now I'm scratching my head trying to figure out how in the world Genevieve became afraid of the dark!  Like, literally, in the past two days.  I always assumed fear was learned, especially fear of something like the dark.  I mean, kids spend 9 months in the dark before they every see the light, and the last two years they've always gone to bed in a fairly dark room - we've never really done the "night light" thing. ... tried, but they were always crappy.  Suddenly, last night I go to bath them and I send Genevieve ahead to turn on the lights and she comes running back "No daddy, me scared. .... dark."  Qua?!  "Turn on the lights honey, it'll be fine." "No daddy. ... dark.  Me scared."  We had the same thing happen later in the night when we went to their room to read stories.  "Me scared.  Dark."  I have no comprehension of how the dark suddenly became a scary thing since Monday.  I asked Gina, later, when she got home from teaching and she said the same thing had happened the night before (I was studying so I wasn't at bath on Tuesday).  She can't figure out where it came from either.  The only thing we can be certain of is she wasn't scared of the dark on Monday. ... and now she apparently is.  Fortunately she's still not afraid of anything else (she was hugging a giant rat Halloween decoration on some one's porch the other day) so we'll just have to work on this dark thing. ... otherwise we'll have to rule out deep space exploration as a future career choice.

On a potty training update, we've now completed day 2 of no accidents. ... so one of two things is happening. 
1) They've totally mastered their bodily fluids and the modern day disposal methods, or. ...
2) The pressure is building and any moment both girls are going to explode and strewn our home in bodily waste.

.... I'm really pulling for number 1 here. .... no pun intended.

4lb 6oz

With a little less than seven weeks to go "new baby sissie" - as the girls have come to call her - is measuring in at 4 pounds 6 ounces. ... So she should fit right in with our other monster babies. Expectations tell us she should put on a 1/2 pound a week going forward, but those same "averages" say she should only be about 3 and a half pounds right now. ... So who knows what to expect anymore. All I know is we still won't have a chance to use those newborn cloths everyone got when the girls were born. Oh well... Better drag out the 3-6 month box again.

On a potty training note - zero accidents yesterday. That's gotta be some kind of a record. And that includes a big trip to the mall!
Sent from my iPhone

All Tricked Out With Treats

So I'll be honest, I fully expected today to be a rant post.  Before Halloween had even gotten under way I began mentally drafting a post about my dissppointment with the back slide of the whole Halloween experience; overun by teenagers and transplants looking for a free hand out, displacing the community event where neighbors interacted with each other and build a stronger sense of self by handing out treats to the little ones down they way, while parents taught their kids respect and gratitude by emphasising "please" and "thank you" simultaneously teaching their kids to use the walkway and not trampling the prized flowerbead and overwatered lawn.  But for once I didn't get to this point.  No out of town minivans pulled up with 40 people crammed in side this year.  No grandmothers dressed in their grandsons cloths brought up the rear of a mob, seeking one more free "fun sized" snickers.  Only about a dozen or so young adults bothered to attempt trick or treating this year, which is my biggest pet peeve of all.  If you can legally drive a car. ... no treats for you.  There was one which really pissed me off. ... kid was in street clothes save for a piece of paper taped to his shirt that said "costume". ... keep walking son, nothing here for you.  My problem with these two groups is they ruin it for everyone else.  Not only are we dodging skateboards and screaming teen hormones, but we can't even park in our own neighborhood because of all the out of town traffic that's arrived for free candy.  As a result, this year nearly 50% of the homes in our neighborhood were dark in retaliation. ... that's not fair to my kids who are the ones this day was invented for.  It's for cute little ghosts and goblins who can barely reach the doorbell, not for the back up quarterback on the high school football team and the out of towners.  Anyways, I said this wasn't going to be a rant post (or at least I alluded to it not being one) so that part is done.  Overall our Halloween was a real treat this year, the girls had an absolute ball.  Dressed as fairy princesses, complete with twinkling wands, they eagerly bounded up entry ways, ringing door bells and gleefully shouting "trick or treat" when the homes inhabitants came out to greet them.  My favorite part was the "thank you's".  Genevieve would give her coy little "thank you" as she sheepishly turned her head, while Arianna would bend over, hands on her knees and scream through her smile the biggest "thank you" imaginable.  That's the stuff that makes me happy.  Yes, there is free candy tonight, but there's also a slew of free lessons we as parents are presented the opportunity to teach our children. ... I felt they did very well.  I think the highlight for the girls might have been the Yo Gabba Gabba family, though.  Grandmother dressed as Plex, granddaughter as Fuffa, and the mother had picked up the fathers DJ Lance mantle and combined it with her Muno ensemble.  As we walked away the girls just stared back in wonder at the "magic robot", which really was the piece de la resistance of the group, and Genevieve kept mumbling "Plex, yellow; Plex yellow Dada".  Afterwards (the girls lasted way longer than I ever would have imagined) they sat on their Elmo potties eating chocolate and doing their best not to fall asleep before peeing and getting their jammies on.  It was every bit as magical as it was supposed to be.  Now my other thing about Halloween is the pumpkins.  Ever since I was a kid I loved carving pumpkins, but as those around me quickly learned I don't settle for faces.  So every year I've striven to come up with something new and better than the last.  I've done the Superman logo, an Autobot from Transformers and last year I even carved the girls profiles. ... so this year it seemed about time to turn the entire concept of a jack-o-lantern on it's head. ... literally.   So I carved the S.S. Gourd and boarded her with a fearsome crew of produce pirates.  As you can see in the picture below, the grape is forced to walk the plank at the tip of Captain Pickles sword. 



S.S. Gourd

By the end of the night, we even discovered that the Gourd was seaworthy and she took her maiden voyage in the pool.

Girls pumpkin.

For the girls pumpkin we kept it simple, a sweet little smiley face. ... just like theirs.  As they get older, they can decide what they want to do with their vegetable, but for now we'll keep it traditional.



Face time





So ready for candy!

All in all, it was a great Halloween.  And I look forward to next year when Rosaline can join us.  In case you missed that, I just formally announced baby Bean's name for the first time. ... so get used to hearing it.  Happy Halloween everybody.