Chaos Reigns Supreme

The past two weeks have been fairly eventful. We spent the first week on a week-long family vacation in Door County, Wisconsin and this most recent week completely obliterating any sort of benefits a week of relaxation on vacation may have provided.

Vacation was awesome. Owen had been packed for about a month prior to the trip in anticipation so it had a lot to live up to. Thankfully, the trip probably exceeded his expectations. Door County, thanks to strict zoning, is largely and blissfully devoid of any national chain establishments other than gas stations and of the rampant commercialism and giant water parks found in places like Wisconsin Dells. Old fashioned entertainment is the name of the game. We went to a drive-in movie, a family sing-along at a small-town Village hall, took a car ferry, threw rocks into Lake Michigan, checked out cherry orchards and boats, hung out at the beach, frequented shops that ranged from the tacky (Owen admiring the hand-carved "tobacco" paraphernalia in a hippie store) to the sublime (yay, Maxwell's House in Egg Harbor!), played minature golf, ate at restaurants (including Al Johnson's Swedish Restaurant with its grass roof and grazing goats and waitressing staff that miraculously had us in and out so fast the babies were actually still eating when the check came rather than creating havoc - a stark contrast to a place on the way up that was so slow they actually comped our entire meal without us even asking), and just generally chilled out. Despite some talk around the County that tourism is off a bit because kids are demanding giant water parks and other modern high-tech thrills for their vacations, it certainly seemed to be thriving up there. And Owen was the perfect age, reveling in every detail. The twins adjusted well and generally seemed pleased just to be checking out some different sights.

Since our return from the trip, it has been non-stop craziness. Deanna was out of town for work from Tuesday through Friday. Our nanny's mother passed away so she was out of the picture all but one day this week. This left me and my mom and father-in-law to tend to the brood as best we could (thank God for them, as I was absolutely swamped at work and was therefore stressed out and distracted). In summary, chaos reigned supreme all week. On Wednesday morning alone, our beloved 93 Camry reached the breaking point and had to be taken in for repairs in an attempt to coax it back to life and Hayden, who may or may not have eaten some glass from a broken Christmas ornament had to go to the emergency room. He is fine, by the way, although his eating nasty stuff is obviously becoming a bad habit! Can't wait until the twins stop putting stuff in their mouths. Deanna and I had set, at the outset of summer, modest goals related to emergency room visits of a maximum of one (her goal) and two (my more practical goal, considering the ages and activity levels of all the boys, and rapidly developing climbing skills of the twins). Here's hoping Deanna's prediction was the more accurate of the two, and that things settle back to somewhat normal in the coming week.

Best! Wife! Ever!

One year and three months past my 40th birthday, Deanna threw me an awesome 40th surprise birthday party this past Friday. Not only were 50 or so of my very favorite people there, she hired the incredibily talented Robbie Fulks, our favorite performer, to play in our backyard. With the kids all disbursed out to various grandparents, I had a rip-roarin good time until 2 a.m., as, I hope, did everyone else. Deanna has now earned the title of Best Wife Ever! for the foreseeable future.

The following day, we were off to Springfield for my Grandmother's 91st birthday spectacular, an event long known for its oppressive heat and humidity and family infighting. On Saturday night, as I stood, still vaguely hungover, in the bathroom of a Springfield hotel, washing the day's grime off of baby bottles in the bathroom sink, and about 16 crying and whining jags past my daily tolerance level for such activities from our severely overtired kids, I reflected wistfully on how much cooler my life had been 24-hours ago.

I suppose that sounds a little selfish, and it is true I am often selfish, a prime example being my periodic complaining about not having had a fun 40th birthday despite the fact that we were one week away from moving and Deanna was 7 months pregnant at the time. But, as awesome as it is to be a father and a family, it is also important to remember that we are individuals, and a couple beyond who we are as parents and who we are at work. Beyond the obvious - the fact that my wife is wonderful and apparently still digs me enough to do something really special for me - the party served to remind me that I was, and still am, when time actually permits, the person who once upon a time had cool friends and outside interests and that we were a couple who had a hell of a lot of fun even before being blessed with our little guys. So, considering how much of ourselves we devote to our children and the time we invest in making their lives as great as we can, I don't think it is unreasonable to want a little something for myself now and again, to see those friends and pursue those interests, as doing so contributes to my happiness and thus theoretically makes me a better parent.

Having written the above a day or two earlier, it strikes me that this whole "a happy parent is a good parent" thing is really a pretty good rationalization for more nights drinking until 2 a.m.!

Everything in between was okay though, really

How I kicked off last weekend:

On Friday night, we were in a furniture store with the boys. I returned from an "emergency" trip to the bathroom with Owen to find Deanna chatting with a salewoman. "Guess where she lives??" Deanna asked excitedly. Within about a half block of us turned out to be the answer. Deanna and the saleswoman then tried to explain to me exactly which house she lived in. At this point in the conversation, I apparently partially tuned out, and at some point concluded they were merely trying to give me a reference point house - something I could recognize that was near her house. When I figured out what house they were giving me for reference, I identified it with the exclamation "the ugly brown house!" Well of course the ugly brown house turned out to be her house instead of a reference point. Whoops. This was embarrassing but even tougher to swallow since we had just learned she had a 16 year old daughter who liked to babysit. Oh, well. I am sad about my lack of social skills, but it sure is an ugly house. Even after she said "thats my house" in response to my comment, I still couldn't believe the house was hers and just starred at her dumbfounded, as I had always pictured the owner as a toothless crystal-meth addict with five naked kids running around the backyard.

How I finished last weekend:

On Sunday night I was standing in the driveway at about 7 p.m., holding Hayden, when he erupted out of the blue, sending a warm fountain of vomit onto my shirt, shoes and the driveway. In the next couple of chaotic minutes, as we struggled to get the worst of the incident off of me and Hayden, Cooper toddled merrily into the middle of the pool of puke in his bare feet like he was playing in a puddle and Owen started a game that involved showing off his jumping skills over the puke puddle, insistently yelling "look dad, look what I can do!" A series of more minor eruptions followed over the course of the next several hours. At about 2 a.m. I went into the twins room, thinking I was hearing Hayden hurl once again, only to find Cooper sitting perplexed and crying up in his crib with his dinner pooled around and on him. From then on, it was twice the food poisoning fun. By morning, we had gone through copious amounts of pajamas, diapers, sheets, bathtowels, washclothes, a rug and tears, as our guys struggled along, their little bodies racked by dry heaves when they ran out of anything further to spread around. The low point for me came when, desperate to find a pacifier for Hayden in the dark, I grabbed one off the floor and popped it into my mouth to clean off any residual carpet strings, realizing only then that it had come to be on the floor when it was dislodged from his mouth by a torrent of puke. I'm still a little queasy about that one. All in all, the night was not a snapshot for the "favorite moments in parenting" album.