Ain't No Party Like a Pee-Pee Party

It appears that I have only been able to muster a single post in the last month. Where have I been? Well, there was that period where everyone was a little sick. And then there was that stuff at work. The refusal of Hayden to sleep except during a random two hour window every two weeks or so has also contributed. So, honestly, has the improving weather. Oh, and several times I was simply distracted by TV and just didn’t feel like posting.

So what has been going on on CloudEight, you ask?? Hmmm. To touch on a couple of our favorite themes, there have been two incidents of puking in the car since my last post, along with all of the post-puking clean-up fun that car puking incidents lead to. There has been one trip to the emergency room: Cooper v. coffee-table = 3 staples to the back of the head. Yuck. Second trip to the emergency room caused by this particular table, by the way, as it also sent Owen there with a wound to the forehead three years ago. Either we are slow learners or the coffee-table has blood-lust, not sure which. Cooper and Owen have since been engaging in sometimes heated arguments as to who was hurt worse by the coffee-table, and we would certainly be wise to move it before Hayden, who loves a good argument, intentionally self-inflicts some damage to his own head just to get in on the action.

Mostly, though, I have spent the past month hanging out in the bathroom. The good news on that front is that I may have actually changed my last diaper, retiring after a respectable career. I can’t say that I have put up hall-of-fame numbers, mind you, as I only have three kids after all, but I have certainly worked it hard. I have left it all on the changing table, so to speak, and have no regrets. Well, there was that one time I guess, that I regretted my lack of vigilance and failure to note a penis aimed at my head. And there were certainly times I regretted having a sense of smell. Other than that though, it has been tedious but sweet, as a swift change of a diaper has long been one of my parenting strengths.

Anyway, my career is coming to an end not due to me losing a little something on my fastball or some sort of marital decree laid down by me that henceforth, only the women in the family shall change diapers. Instead, the twins went from reluctant and seemingly unready to potty-train to wearing nothing but underwear in the space of a week. Seriously, it was that fast. That was three weeks ago and not an accident since.

My changing of diapers has been replaced, however, by endless trips to the bathroom, during which the guys proudly eek out the thimble full of pee that has trickled into their bladders since the last bathroom trip ten minutes ago. And so it goes. We read books, we sing songs, we chit-chat. There is dramatic grunting and bragging about the size of poop (they are actually quite generous in oohing and aahing over the size of each other poops; a mutual admiration and support society). There is endless wonder as to where everything disappears to when the toilet is flushed, complete with numerous questions and close examinations of areas of the toilet that no one has business examining. Then there is the rinsing out of their little potty seats, followed by extremely enthusiastic hand-washing, leaving our little bathrooms perpetually looking like a freak thunderstorm has just raged through. Leave bathroom for five to ten minutes, repeat ... and repeat ... and repeat. Still, much like bodily waste, this too shall pass - hopefully in time for me to catch a bit of out-of-the-bathroom sunshine before winter sets in again.

The Club Scene

While the rest of you have probably spent your recent Saturday nights maybe renting a movie or doing something equally tame, we have been out hitting the club scene. Well, one Club in particular. You would be in awe if you saw it - huge cavernous place, with a whole wall of flat screen TV's, all showing the same thing (hello mindfreak!). It is too hip to have a "theme" per se, but if you pinned me down, I would say that its theme is supersized consumer goods - with authentic reproductions of food and household items on steroids stacked in row upon row and rising towards the heavens in an effort to make you feel tiny - Alice in Wonderland style (mindfreak no. 2!). Some sort of ironic commentary on American consumer culture I suppose. And did I mention exclusive? I have a card that I flash at the door and am waived right in, but if you just showed up for the first time, no way you get in unless you are willing to pay. I keep my VIP status intact by dropping loads of cash at the place every time I go. This time, my night out cost about $500, and that was without even hitting the jewelry kiosk that they have on premises for those inclined to buy their significant other or new Club friend a bit of bling on the spot - a stroke of marketing genius. While Deanna and I have been known to hit the Club for a night out, we have recently gone with the whole family in tow, as kids appear to be a trendy Club accessory right now. I would have been wise to hit the jewelry kiosk during our last visit, because as our little accessories were gulping down some of the retro-chic hot dogs, I saw some dude with a funky American-flag hearing aid (as if the music wasn't already loud enough!) and crazy wisps of gray hair chatting up Deanna. He claimed he was only commenting on how cute our kids were, but I didn't buy it, and challenged him to a fight in the "radial room", a room of the club where the walls are stacked with tires (mindfreak no. 3!). He backed down and the night proceeded without further incident, other than the usual crazy fun. Anyway, I hear the owner of the Club, one Sam Walton, is opening these things everywhere, so keep your eyes open locally. If a Sam's Club opens near you, you can be as cool as me next Saturday night.