When Kids Fly

One of my favorite relationships of the past decade has been the one I've shared with the youngest of my sister-in-laws.  She was two when I arrived on the scene so she's been kind of like my practice kid.  When I'd walk in the door she'd climb up on me like a jungle gym.  When she had soccer games I was there taking notes on the sideline.  But my favorite was/is the pool.  I got to be the launching device that would send her skyward towards the deep end of the pool, flipping, splashing and belly flopping into the water below.  Fortunately, thus far, I've managed to keep in good enough shape to accommodate her size swing from toddler to pre-teen.  But lately, even though we swim almost daily, my attention is focused on the girls; working on their exercises and then keeping vigilant watch on their doggy paddle's as they free swim, with only the aid from their flippered feet, afterwards.  The point of all this work in the water is simple: I want to get to the stage where they can just play effortlessly and I don't have to worry so much about them remembering to come up for air.  This takes practice of course.  Practice and time.  But I got a little teaser yesterday of things to come.  Toward the end of our pool time my sister-in-law sheepishly asks "Can Thea fly today?"  Like I could say no to that request.  I had the girls sit on the side of the pool and spectate - they can't be swimming around if my focus is elsewhere - as Thea climbed upon my shoulders and I pressed off the bottom of the pool to send her flipping down the length of the water.  "Again, again" they cried to both of our delight.  Then, the request changed.  "Me turn!" Arianna shouted.  "Me turn!"  This is what I was waiting for.  Obviously I didn't launch her skyward, but she climbed on my shoulders as I held her little hands and slowly stood up, pulling her off and simulating the jumping motion.  "Again, again!" she squealed through the broadest of smiles.  There are some aspects of being a dad that are tough.  I'm never the first choice when they're not feeling good.  When they pick out prom dresses or (god forbid) wedding dresses I won't be consulted, just handed the invoice.  Five days a week I'm here in the office blogging instead of working while they're off on some jealousy inducing adventure.  But there's one market I've got cornered. ... the human playground.  And fortunately for me, I enjoy this much more then dress shopping.

Me, Myself and I

We headed over to Gina's aunt's house yesterday for a swim and a barbecue.  They'd moved about an hour away from where we are so, while Gina had been there a while back, a few of us had not yet seen the new digs.  After splashing around for most of the day and scattering our collection of toys around the house, Gina took the baby inside to be fawned over by everyone and I settled into a hammock with the two big girls and we counted airplanes (Grandpa Steve's as they call them; since their Grandpa is a commercial pilot).  As we laid there - well, I laid there, they bounced and flopped and squirmed and wrestled and did everything BUT just lay there - I had this nearly indescribable moment of serenity.  My wife filled a large hole in my heart when she came into the picture, it's like she completed me.  But simultaneously she's still a separate entity.  It's like the round peg in the round hole, you still have a peg and a hole, they're just together.  But my children aren't separate from me.  At least, that's not how it feels.  Sitting with them, being with them is really just like being alone.  Not in the "I'm sad and alone so I need to wallow and eat comfort food" alone but in the "let's sing at the top of my lungs and dance around in my skivvies because no one will judge me" alone.  They are me.  They're not pegs that fill up the void they're part of the object itself.  It's a very strange thing.  And it's not a new feeling, it's just one that hit me as unique and notable.  I don't think there's anyone that makes you feel more "you" then you're children do.  There were three of us in that hammock, but really was just me.

Pic of the Week

"Don't turn around kid. What ever you do, don't turn around!"

Pissin' the Night Away

Well, now that I have Chumbawumba's Tubthumpin' firmly planted in my head (and hopefully yours too - I get knocked down, but I get up again, no you're never gonna keep me down) on to today's post.  Potty training. ... oh it seems so easily conquered in the beginning.  Both girls took to it very well and we've had, literally, zero accidents (aside from the occasional trying to get out of the swimming pool fast enough but only make it to the patio when the stream starts, then turn and sheepishly ask "Is this ok?").  But night time. ... well, we just sleep too heavy.  The truth is Genevieve has been wearing underwear to bed for months now.  She has no problem.  I think she's also half camel, though, because she can go like 8 hours with out a drop.  But poor Arianna.  She chugs everything like a little frat boy and then passes out like one at night, so she just can't get up to take care of business.  The past few weeks she's done very well, waking up in the morning with dry pull ups like 75% of the time.  Then, at night, when we're getting ready for bed she looks up and desperately asks to be in underwear like her sister.  That's got to be awful, and it's part of the difficulty of twins.  They're not always at the same stage and it's really hard to treat one differently then the other.  If they were a year apart I could say, well, sissies older - when you're older you can do that too.  But I can't.  So on Tuesday, after four straight days of dry mornings, we put her to bed in underwear.  Before we went down, around 11, Gina took her potty and she emptied her bladder and went back to bed.  Unfortunately that wasn't enough.  Gina woke up in the morning and Arianna was passed out in a cold puddle of old pee.  So sheets were washed and I was told (Gina teaches Wednesday nights) to go back to the "ladies" (pull-ups with princess on them) that night.  But I couldn't do it.  I couldn't look into her big, blue, baby doll eyes as she asked for "Khakis. ... please daddy?"  So I devised a plan: I would take her at 11, then I'd get up when the baby had her midnight nursing and take her again.  That should do the trick.  So right before bed she unloaded a gallon's worth of pee, then at 11 she went like thoroughbred before the derby, so around 4 am when the baby was nursing I popped up ready to help her get through this night dry.  By 4:30 I'd finished changing the sheets and she was back asleep in new pajamas. ... sigh.  Once again she was passed out in a cold puddle.  As I tried to wake her she was shivering.  I told her we needed to change cloths because she had pee'd.  "No me tsiza, I'm just cold Daddy!" she refuted.  So congratulations Pull-Up's, you get to keep us as loyal customers for a while longer.  I hope you're happy.

Olympic Dreamin'

So in case you rely on my blog as your main source of news and information (which you probably should rethink) the Olympics are now well under way.  This is my first summer games as a parent and, incredibly, I have yet to sit down and watch anything with the girls.  It's not really on their list of viewing requests. ... pretty much anything but Pocahontas can suck it as far as they're concerned right now (we're slowly working our way through the Disney princess catalogue in two week periods of obsession. ... apparently Mulan is next).  But it does get you thinking; you read about these amazingly coordinated and determined physical specimens who would make you blush just standing next to them in a speedo, leotard or short-shorts and you wonder: does my kid have what it takes?  I know the girls are going to be tall. ... like, really tall; but will they have the hand-eye coordination that I lack to make them any good at basketball.  I was a volleyball player (pretty good) in high school, but I'm not sure I'm cool with them wearing bikini's and diving on the sand in front of a bazillion spectators - same goes for the so called "shorts" they wear on the indoor floor.  There's a point when short is not descriptive enough of the lacking material they wear.  They did extremely well at swim lessons this summer, Genevieve can even swim the entire length of the pool with out assistance. ... of course she forgets to come up and breathe so I'm not sure that bodes well for the 4x100.  Arianna, meanwhile, doesn't like putting her face in the water so she's really great at just treading in one place.  Water polo?  Well, she talks too much while she's doing that so unless the strategy is to distract the opponents with conversations on your favorite Disney princess I'm not sure she's got the chops there.  Both of them prefer to look at ponies rather then ride them so equestrians out, and I'm not giving either one of them a weapon just for my own safety let alone yours, so let's scratch archery and rifle. .... riflery?  Rifling? Rif. .... gun shooting off the list.  At my moms last night all the kids were running around "racing" down a hill and Arianna still has the "butterfly run" where her arms flap behind her while she prances.  It's not turning out to be some sort of seceret track weapon I had hoped when she was younger.  She came in third behind her much younger cousin, only because there were only three of them running.  Shot put and javelin might be options, and their great grandpa (Gina's step grandpa) actually competed for Greece in the Olympics in both those events - as well as basketball - so maybe he can Mr. Miaghi them.  Gymnastics is right out.  Not only did Genevieve get my lack of equilibrium gene, but she's projected to be somewhere in the six foot range. ... I don't know if you've seen female gymnasts but they're not typically on the tall side; unless their standing on each others shoulders.  Even then they might not reach the six foot mark.  The way I look at it, this really only leaves us with one category of events, but it's one I think they both have natural instincts and great ability in: fighting.  Judo, wrestling, boxing. ... I've seen Arianna pull off a textbook headlock and she's almost perfect the fireman carry.  Genevieve on the other hand throws a mean right cross (I've taken a few).  It's not what you hope for in your kids, but you got to work with their natural gifts, right?  Maybe Rosaline will be my delicate lotus flower gymnast. ... nope, probably not.

Pic of the Week

"Hungry Picture"

Remember That Dad That Used to Blog?

What happened to THAT guy?  Where did he go?!  Well, the truth is, I'm asked all the time "how do you find the time for work, fatherhood, law school and still manage to blog?"  Clearly that answer is "I don't."  But after a crazy couple of weeks I'm finding a second to breathe and write something truly awe inspiring inspirational entertaining cheap filler. So let me fill you in.  We went camping. ... oh how we went camping.  I was hoping to give my family the same wonderful memories I gathered as a child in the shadow of Yosemite's Half Dome.  Instead we stayed at a camp site run by the folks in Deliverance and the girls came down with Hand Foot and Mouth on Monday of the week long vacation.  So yeah.  That was awesome.  Apparently they contracted it before we even left, it just takes a few days to manifest in the fever, swollen gums and mouth sores that wouldn't allow them to eat anything and had us giving them water out of a medicinal syringe.  We made one fond memory at the campsite breakfast when Genevieve throwing up forced Arianna to throw up which made their four-year-old cousin Conner vomit as well.  He looked up at me and says "Someone just threw up on me."  It's was you buddy. ... it was you.  Good trip.  Gooooooood trip.  Fortunately, before the plague struck we did get to go on a couple of really nice hikes and do a little kayaking on the lake.  After that, though, it was pretty much just misery. ... and bowling.  Later we stopped by our friends house in Turlock for a few days and enjoyed the 104 degree temps and her mothers pool.  Then we came back home and spent a week trying to regain our appetite and our enthusiasm for brushing teeth.  We couldn't do any oral hygiene during the stretch because their mouths would just start bleeding (not to mention the crying and screaming that brought) so they both kind of smelled of weeks old road kill when you kissed them good night.  But we're back to normal.  Eating.  Drinking.  Fighting.  It's like old times.  Then, on Sunday, we had Rosaline's baptism.  It turned out beautifully.  Turns out it was also her new Godmother's "baptism".  She walked in the the service holding our naked little baby with out any towel or sheet and Gina leans in to me and says "you know she's getting pee'd on." 3-2-1. ... the face said it all.  Our newly minted Godmother (Nouna) simple tells the congregations with perfect dead pan "Oh yeah. ... this is happening."  Not exactly Holy Water.  She's going to be a first time mom in October though, so this is just a warm up.  Anyway, throw in there law school finals, a couple of unsuccessful house hunting trips and a month from hell at work and I think I've got myself a pretty good excuse for being MIA.  Hopefully it won't be too long before we chat again.  Oh, and did I mention I wrote a novel and am currently working with an editor in New York on securing an agent?  So yeah, there's that too.