Hobbiests

I know I have pointed this out on numerous occasions, but one of the great joys of seeing our guys grow up is watching them develop their own interests, personalities, and passions. This was brought home to me tonight as the three boys pursued three very different activities in various places in the house.

 

Almost 9-year-old Cooper, our little jock, had a rare night off from baseball, and was using it to lay flat on the couch watching ... wait for it ... baseball! The Cubs v. the Cardinals to be specific. While baseball is his passion, Cooper will frankly watch any old competitive thing you care to show on TV - major or minor sports, boys, girls, men or women (or horses or dogs, frankly). He would probably watch a coin flip channel if there was such a thing.

 

His almost 9-year old twin Hayden, our little performer, had Amazon Prime music cranked up on the TV in the next room, where he was loudly doing karaoke to Train, Fun and Meghan Trainor songs. This involved holding his fist like a microphone and lots of "rock" moves, including warnings to me that he was going to try to do the splits. Yikes! He and a friend are gearing up for auditioning an amusing duet at the school talent show at tryouts this Wednesday.

 

12-year old Owen, meanwhile, is now months into the odd hobby of modifying store-bought Nerf guns. This involves the purchase of specialized batteries and motors on the internet, soldering, electrical work, sculpting of plastics, and lots of painting using spray paints purchased from the constant trips he request I do with him to AutoZone. At the end of the process, once bright orange or yellow Nerf guns are deconstructed, and reconfigured to shoot faster, further and stronger, and are painted with auto paints to look much "cooler" than the original orange and yellow they typically come in. He first learned to do modifications by watching countless YouTube videos, and has now started developing his own variations. Most recently, he has put some of his modified guns on eBay. While we assumed this would be futile, he confidently assured us it would not be. No one was more surprised than Deanna and I when he received a $50 offer on one of them and then proceeded to reject the offer in a strongly worded email that emphasized the fact that he was looking to make a profit on the gun and that $50 would not do the trick. Tonight, he was busily negotiating with someone different who was offering $80 plus shipping. Taking that deal.  The fact that anyone is willing to pay that much money for something one of my kids created is, quite honestly, stunning to me. Crazy times we live it. Crazy times indeed.

Cooper is a Fetching Name, Don't You Think?

So the name Cooper for boy babies seems to peaked in popularity for boys names several years ago at #75, and is now starting a slow descent. That is fine with us here at RedPlanet where we named Owen when that name was at about the same rank, only to see it skyrocket in popularity, to the point where you can't spit in a crowded schoolyard these days without hitting half a dozen little Owens.

Interestingly though, Cooper always has been, and remains, a top 10 dog name. And, much to our amusement, that fact could not be more fitting, as our very own 8 1/2 year old human boy Cooper has a personality that closely resembles that of a Labrador Retriever. And I'm not just talking predictable stuff like being sweet and smart and loyal, which he is all of in spades. In addition, to those things he really does seem to be part dog. He likes to hang his head out the window when we drive, letting his hair blow in the wind. He has been fascinated by balls since he was a puppy, er, I mean baby, and when he can't get someone to throw one to him, throws them to himself endlessly, before school, after school, in the yard, in the house. He has been very tactile since he was a baby, and loves nothing more than to have his back rubbed. And, he doesn't actually ask to have his back rubbed, but instead just sort of thrusts it at us - presenting it for rubbing. You know .... like a dog. He needs to be run outside every day. When he is not moving, he is draped in a chair or on a couch, in a state of boneless relaxation. Unlike the other two boys, when he is tired, he doesn't fight to stay up, but simply goes to sleep - it doesn't matter where - at a party, on a couch, floor, chair or bed; Hell, he even fell asleep at Blue Man Group! 

I guess my dog comparison is really a way of saying that Cooper is uncomplicated. People will often tell us, when they hear we have three boys, how lucky we are that we don't have girls; that boys are so easy. I've heard this enough to have internalized an image of the parents of girls sitting in front of a giant mixing board, tweaking this switch or another, as they try to manage the delicate and complicated and unpredictable psyches of their daughters. The parents of boys, on the other hand, I picture holding the type of control that comes with a basic remote control car from Radio Shack: up, down, left or right. Thankfully, that has been our experience to date. The other two boys are somewhat more nuanced perhaps, although, through happy accident, and not stellar parenting to be sure, they seem fairly well adjusted. Cooper is not nuanced, and in fact may just have up and down controls. He admitted last night that he didn't want to continue with TaeKwonDo lessons on Monday nights because it interfered with his watching Monday Night Football. When he pulled the turkey wishbone with Hayden the other night and won, he admitted that his wish had been ... to win the wishbone pull (and it came true, unlike those of us who might make more ambitious wishes only to be let down when they don't come true).

There is something very comforting about Cooper and his uncomplicatedness. He does his homework as soon as he gets home, and can't fathom why his brothers procrastinate. He loves baseball and when he plays, the simple joy he takes in playing it is evident to everyone who watches. He likes what he likes with a passion, and doesn't like what he doesn't like. He is literal. He is strong, athletic and popular, yet generally kind. He is happy. And he makes us happy. Every day.

And, best of all, he is house trained!

Not So Gifted At Giving

While most things appear to suck about getting older, at least one theoretical good thing that comes with age is awareness of your shortcomings. Case in point: while I used to think I was an awesome gift-giver, I am coming to realize I may actually be pretty bad at it.

 

Clue #1: When I was younger and living in Lakeview, I would pretty much do all of my gift-shopping at an import boutique in Lincoln Park, showering family members with rain sticks, giant-clocks, mother-of-pearl boxes and other knick-knacks they generally did not want. Looking back, I am a bit more cognizant of the fact that seeing those gifts regularly show up at family garage sales, or be offered back to me after a year or two sitting on some one's shelf, meant they were probably not the awesome hits I imagined at the time.

 

Clue #2 When Deanna had our first child Owen, she was preparing to return to work after maternity leave just as we celebrated her first Mother's Day. For her first Mother's Day, I chose the "reaffirm that I still see her as a professional and not just a Mom" route, and got her a then-cutting edge Sony Clei (remember those!) with an attachable keyboard. Totally cool! Totally not. I somehow missed that she was struggling hard with the guilt of going back to work at all, and my gift failing to acknowledge her as a mother opened a floodgate of unpleasantness that I have yet to live down. Epic fail!

 

Clue #3: I have a bit of company in the occasional gift miss-step in Santa. While Santa has brought some pretty awesome gifts over the years, he also has brought some very pedestrian and downright bad gifts. When Owen was 7, he remarked one Christmas morning that it was the first year he could remember that Santa hadn't given him hand sanitizer in his stocking. Who knew Santa was being keenly monitored from year to year for cheap and easy filler! Other memorable Santa stocking clunkers include foot powder for Deanna, and organic deodorant for Deanna. While such gifts might be downright insulting from a spouse, we can hopefully write-off Santa as simply being somewhat insensitive and perhaps stretched too thin in the stocking stuffer department.

 

Latest Fail: My most recent gift fail came last night as we bestowed gifts on the twins for their landmark 8th birthday (why landmark? Isn't every birthday landmark until you stop wanting to have them???). While generally uninterested in looking good and even less interested in smelling good, Cooper had gone through a phase several months ago where he would show up post-shower smelling strongly of one or another of my manly-smelling body washes (I have several, in an effort to generally smell decent, with bad marketing-to-guys names like "Elixir Black," "Twilight Woods" and the way over-the-top, "Wolfthorn"). So I get the kid his own, awesomely-named "Aqua Reef." "Are you sure?" Deanna inquired as I wrapped it up. Of course, he'll love it, I assured her, wrapping a pleasantly scented arm around her shoulder, which of course caused her to immediately swoon and suggest something inappropriate for this family blog.

 

Later, the gift opening is upon us. The twins first open book lights. Nice gift for our dedicated little readers, right? Apparently not for Cooper, as he would later let us know he "already had one." Then, he unwraps the body wash. Tears. Lots of them. Enough to fill a shower or bath in fact. As he sobbed in the other room after we sent him away to calm down, Deanna consoled him: "Dad thought you would really like it" she explained. "Why? I'm eight!" I heard him sob in reply. "I don't like to smell good. That is a gift you give someone who is twenty!" Ouch. While well-intentioned, I had apparently mis-judged the likes and dislikes of 8 year olds by quite a large margin. So, while all ended well, as the remainder of our gifts to him hit the mark, I have added another chapter to my "starting-to-get-a-bit-lengthy" book of gift fails. Oh, well. At least I smell like an Aqua Reef.     

Slow Boat to New Mexico

Snippets from recent conversations with 5-year olds.

Conversation No. 1:

FYI, we live in Illinois.

Deanna: "If you could go anywhere in the world for vacation, where would you go."

Cooper: "I would take a plane to Mexico."

Hayden: "It's Mexico; you should take a boat."

Cooper, in his most dismissive, know-it-all 5-year old voice: "I said Mexico, not New Mexico." 

Conversation No. 2:

Me: "What do you think potato chips are made out of?"

Hayden: "Rice?"

Me: "Po-tat-o chips"

Hayden: "Potatoes!"

Me: "Good, now what do you think french fries are made out of?"

Cooper: "French people?"

Coop-Dee-Do

Cooper is "Star of the Week" this week in kindergarten, which entails daily sharing with the class of stuff special to you - showing off your favorite stuffed animal, telling everyone about yourself, display of a you-centric poster full of pictures of yourself and details on things that you are into. You know, sort of like a 3-D Facebook.  

At any rate, I was Wednesday's main event. Having been alloted a 15-minute time slot by the teacher, I dropped by promptly at my odd 10:55 a.m. start time. With Cooper seated by my side, I engaged the class in a dramatic reading of "I Stink", a book narrated by a New York City garbage truck. While the kids have always liked this book more than me at home, Cooper's instincts in picking this to bring with us proved to be dead on, as its alphabetical recital of gross out garbage items like dirty diapers, moldy meatballs and puppy poo really got the audience going.

Having sufficiently warmed them up, I then proceeded to give them instruction in juggling. I had brought some juggling beanbags from home and started by showing them one bag (tossed up and down in a single hand), then two, and finally three. I finished with a flourish with some tosses under my leg and behind my back and with Cooper tossing me a ball to start me out. I must say, the audible ooohing and aahhhhing were fairly satisfying, as was a little girl telling Cooper "your Dad is awesome!!" If only the rest of the world were so easily impressed. On the negative side, the teacher was visibly not impressed when I told the kids that really good jugglers could do harder stuff like chainsaws, prompting an admonishment by her that I probably would not have been let in the school if I had brought chain saws. Killjoy. Another kid asked me if I could juggle cookies and take bites while I juggled. That one I promised to develop for next year  (you will know I have been training hard if you notice a 20 lb. weight gain by me during the year). All in all, though, quite a fun time. Hope I made Cooper proud!

For a trip into the CloudEight archives to revisit my swing by Owen's class when he was star of the week three years ago, click here.

A New Family Tradition

Taking the "cut your own Christmas tree" and "pick your own pumpkin" ideas to their logical next level, Cooper suggested the other day that we go out and "kill our own turkey" for Thanksgiving. Not quite sure what to say, Deanna went with an easy out by pointing out to him that we have no gun. Unfazed, and apparently having already contemplated this possibility, Cooper earnestly responded that all we would need would be a net and a knife.

While I appreciate his old school, do-it-yourself Pilgrim attitude, I am not quite sure what he is picturing will happen once the family, armed with our largest kitchen knife and perhaps some of our impressive collection of plastic light sabers, manages to trap a wild turkey in a net somewhere in the woods. What I imagine, however, is each of us standing around in a circle, passing the knife on to the next person and saying "I'm not doing it, you do it" and the whole thing ending with us having a new pet named "Gobbly" living in the backyard. 

Boy of Summer

One of the joys of watching kids go from squalling, helpless little balls of need to occasionally squalling, sometimes helpless four-year olds is seeing them develop their own interests and passions. So it was this summer when baseball planted a seed in four-year old Cooper that grew and flourished to the point of insanity. Our story began with a couple swings of the wiffle ball bat in the Spring (ahh, nothing signals Spring like the crisp sound of plastic on plastic, at least for four-year old baseball fans), and continues unabated to today, as the World Series limps towards its end barely ahead of the first snowfall.

Owen was in his third year this year of playing first tee ball and now baseball in our local little league. The twins won't be five until next spring and were therefore still ineligible for tee ball this year. Anyway, Owen was on the local little league Twins this spring (an amusing coincidence to our own twins). As I occasionally began to work with Owen in the backyard, Cooper began to take some turns swinging as well. He was soon hitting my underhand pitching regularly, and by the end of summer he was practically taking my head off with line drives. He was out there playing constantly, and home plate was quickly worn down to a patch of dirt. Some days I would come home to find all twenty or so of our wiffle balls lying in the neighbors yard (despite our suburban location, our neighbors are not particularly welcoming types, and have a giant pet pig that is so large and in charge that the boys won't venture through their gate to collect balls when it is out in the yard).    

Anyway, as interest grew, I decided to brush everyone up on their baseball basics and dug up a game I had bought on vacation a couple of years ago where you simulate a baseball game by flipping over cards that say things like strike, ball, foul, single, stolen base, etc. Cooper was soon obsessed with both batting in the yard and, when inside, playing the card game, constantly badgering anyone within earshot to do either. An amusing offshoot of the card game is that because the boys learned baseball rules through the game, they tend to sound like the game cards when playing real baseball in the yard, making pronouncements like "Hit by Pitch, Take Your Base" or "Strike Three, Batter Out."

By July, Cooper had moved beyond playing. Although he can't really read, he quickly mastered being able to recognize the name of each major league team in print. Every morning from mid-summer on, he charged outside for the newspapers as soon as he woke up, flipped them open to the box scores, and pored over them, interrupting whatever else was going on to make exciting announcements like "Dad, the Marlins beat the Astros 4 to 3." This led us to develop a system of categorizing the margins of victory - any game where there was a margin of victory of six or more runs is a "cream" and any victory by ten or more is a "super cream". You can imagine the excitement when the Minnesota Twins beat the Kansas City Royals 19-1 on July 26. You have never seen a more impressed group of little boys - a "super, super cream!!!"  Also in common usage in our house is the term "versing," as developed by the twins. It is a variation on the term "versus," which, if it isn't actually a word already, really should be. An example of its use is: "Who are the Red Sox versing today?"

By August, he was also poring over the standings in the newspaper, marveling at six game winning streaks and studying how many games such and such team was behind some other team. By the end of the regular season, baseball fever in Cooper had reached its most ridiculous heights. When I arrived home one night after work, Suzy the Nanny was sitting on the couch reading to Cooper and Hayden, pretty much like every other night when I arrive home. This particular night, however, she was wading through a book Cooper had chosen to check out from the library; an exciting tome entitled: "How Baseball Managers Use Math." As Cooper sat in rapt attention (Hayden's attention level looked something well below rapt, and possibly even below bored, although he was being a good sport (pun intended!)), she read "ERA is the average number of runs a pitcher gives up in nine innings. ERA is a decimal number. To calculate ERA, take the number of earned runs given up by the pitcher. Multiply that number by 9. Then, divide that by the number of innings the pitcher pitched." Tough stuff for a 4 year old, yet Cooper kept her moving through the book each day. Some of the exciting chapter names included "The Manager and His Percentages," "Keeping a Close Eye on the Pitch Count" and "Decimals and Decision Making."

On the last Saturday of the regular season, I bought a pair of tickets to the long out-of-contention Cubs and whisked Cooper off to his very first big league game. First of all, when you are a twin, it is pretty cool to go anywhere with a parent by yourself, even to the bank or Home Depot. When I told him we were going, he got a huge smile and said "Just me???" Second of all, IT WAS A MAJOR LEAGUE GAME!!!! We had a fantastic time. We ate a bag of peanuts and tossed the shells under our seats ("These are tasty!" he told me repeatedly), as well as hot dogs, soda and french fries. Cooper bought his mitt and asked me repeatedly whether I was ready to catch a foul ball when one came our way, and then assured me each time that HE was ready. Despite 5 relatively close calls, no dice. A month later, he still likes to remind me of the final score of the game (Cubs 7, Cardinals 3!) and to recall other details.

It has been a blast seeing something take hold of my little guy and stir such passion. Truly one of my favorite parts of this past summer. I sincerely hope he enjoys 96 more years of baseball love and perhaps, someday, gets the joy of seeing the Cubs super-cream somebody in the World Series.

That Twin Thing

Time rolls on here on CloudEight; I blink and it has suddenly been almost two months since I posted. If I had to pick a headline among recent events here, it would be that the twins turned four last week!

As is all too common these days, they woke up bickering on their birthday. In fact, as a special birthday treat for us, they set a new record by bickering even before they were awake. Hayden had one of his recurring dreams where he is not getting his fair share and started yelling in his sleep "Cooper, give back my cereal!" Cooper woke up and starting mumbling "I didn't take your cereal" which only caused asleep/half-asleep Hayden to start yelling more. Oy.

They have been waiting to turn four for months, and Cooper in particular seemed to sense that being four would result in dramatic changes. He asked us repeatedly on his birthday whether he looked taller. He seemed mildly surprised that his pants still fit and reassured Deanna that she did not have to buy him new gym shoes as the old ones continued to appear to be able to contain his four-year-old feet.

While in many ways it has been awfully nice to have three-year olds, there are certain things I will not miss:

It would be nice if they were tall enough to stop hitting their heads on doorknobs. Hayden in particular, seems almost like he has a magnetic plate in his head that draws him to every doorknob he passes. Or he will need a metal plate soon enough if he doesn't stop whacking his melon this year.

It would also be nice if they were tall enough that they were not resting either their penises or balls on the rims of every public toilet and urinal they use. Nothing causes me to lose my appetite faster than watching Cooper shake the last drop of urine off his penis after peeing by whacking it repeatedly against the pee-stained rim of a fast-food restaurant urinal.

I will not miss the most commonly heard phrase in our house being "Can you wipe my butt?" This phrase has already mostly gone by the wayside, but was seriously heard more than any other this past year. It goes without saying that I will not miss the actual wiping of their butts either, except for maybe their excited inquiries as to how many wipes it was taking to actually clean them up each time. I guess it could be said that all the wiping helped them learn to count.

Things I will miss very much:

Naps!!!

Mispronunciations and odd phrasing. They still call going to sleep at night a "dark-out nap." The are crazy about all things Star Wars and like to fight each other with light "savers." At night, we either read from the Harry Potter books (Owen's preference) or from what the twins endearingly refer to as "storybooks with pictures."

Picking them up. I have enjoyed carrying the guys more as requests have become less frequent over time. Nothing like having a little guy snuggled against your shoulder.

That semi-fresh toddler smell. Not as good smelling as babies, but certainly better smelling than a boy.

While they are very different people, and more their own individuals every day, they remain extraordinarily close in that twin way. Cooper was giving Hayden a hard time about a young female acquaintance of theirs the other day, teasing him "You are going to marry her, you loooovvvvvve her." Hayden's reassuring reply: "I love you more Cooper." Ah, twins.

Cupcakes and Firetrucks

Hayden and Cooper commenced their educational careers today at their very first session of two-day a week pre-school. They were little bundles of nervous anticipation and excitement this morning, as we made our way the two long blocks to school. Typical boys, most of their pre-arrival questions centered around whether there would be a bathroom at the school and whether they would be getting anything to eat. Cooper's specific inquiry when he was informed there would be snacks, spoken in his most hopeful tone, was "Donuts???". As luck would have it, his wish was not that far off, as it was a classmates birthday right off the bat, resulting in cupcakes for the class at snack time. Score!!

Upon our eventual arrival at school, they both made a bee-line for the bathroom , so most of our pre-class time was spent in there while Cooper took care of number 1 and Hayden took care of number 2. While accompanying them, I was able to answer their usual press conference-like onslaught of bathroom questions, including classics such as why there are sinks in bathrooms, why we wash our hands with soap and warm water, and why some paper towels come out automatically and some toilets flush automatically and some don't, and, of course, the all-time most asked favorite, where do the poop and pee-pee go when they are flushed. They seemed no less fascinated at my answer to this last question at the school than they have been the 10,000 times they have asked me that same question at home. While modern plumbing systems are indeed amazing, especially when measured against human history as it relates to sewage, I really don't think it is that much more amazing than say, a microwave oven cooking food (something I frankly wouldn't be so hot at explaining (pun intended)). It strikes me now as I am writing this that my little teaching lesson in the bathroom was actually their first in-school student experience.

Anyway, we made it out of the bathroom just in time for parents to be kicked out of the classroom and after kisses goodbye, we left them happily playing with toy firetrucks. When asked what the two best parts of his school day were later, Hayden replied "cupcakes and firetrucks." To my two littlest guys, your proud dad wishes you many, many cupcake and firetruck days in your school career and in life. Godspeed.

Cold, Cars and Evil Cackles

Dropping by with some brief thoughts from a chilly CloudEight:

I am not sure which is more annoying: Having to wear coats in June or people who point to any spate of unseasonably cold or cool weather as some sort of "proof" that global warming is not occurring.

The boys have been entertaining themselves recently while we drive by enthusiastically shouting "C'mon lady, lets move!" at the cars ahead of us every time a traffic light turns green. This is allegedly a behavior they learned by hearing me shout it at a fellow driver(s). While the statement is maybe not the greatest behavior for the boys to be modeling, I comfort myself with the fact that they could certainly be repeating much, much worse statements I have made. So far, so good on that front - so don't cross me on the road.

Sharing is hard for three year olds and, I'm guessing, even harder for three-year old twins since there is not a lot that seems uniquely "yours." While the little guys are okay at it, they are constantly on guard for any perceived advantage one is being given over the other, as well as opportunities to assert their individuality. When I had just Cooper on errands recently, and a local business owner gave him a sucker, he promptly told me he was going to save it to show Owen and Hayden and then proceeded to let loose what can only be described as an evil cackle at the thought of lording it over them. His plan had the desired effect, resulting in jealous whining, tears and demands for suckers from his brothers. Meanwhile, Hayden, the more obviously selfish of the twins, has slowly come a long way in his sharing ability. Several times in the last couple of weeks, however, he has apparently been having twin-sharing nightmares that have caused him to shout out things in his sleep along the lines of "No, Cooper, No! Don't take the whole thing!"

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.

Hot Time in Chicago - That Toddler Town

Deanna and Owen are thawing out in Florida for a few days with her parents, leaving the twins and I to fend for ourselves in this subzero meat locker of a city we call home.

While others may have seen this as unfair or depressing, the twins saw it simply as an opportunity to host that all night "Go Fish" party and tournament they are always scheming to have but that Deanna would never let them do, what with their 8 p.m. bedtimes and all. I can be a bit of a soft touch, and soon enough on Saturday afternoon both boys were making some calls to their little friends on their plastic Mickey Mouse cellphones and sending text messages that to me all looked like "psihPPP7&^$plmmmmm," but which is apparently toddler for "game on" as it was not long before a rowdy bunch of two-somethings was gathered in the basement. The buy-in was sixteen cheerios, a wheel from a hot wheels car, and "something shiny." Beverages of choice were non-alcoholic jello shots and whole milk shooters.

A couple of hours in, hunger descended on the crowd, the plastic cellphones came out again, and next thing I knew, a delivery guy was at the door with the entire contents of the kids menu from the local Mexican place. Not too much later, a fight broke out - there was pushing and nonsensical yelling ("Bubblebutt!" "Bad boy!" "No you bad boy!") - followed by all of the participants and non-participants converging on me for a mass tattle. Having dispensed some of my judge-like justice in the form of timeouts for the main offenders, I returned upstairs to find some female toddlers had arrived - those damn plastic cellphones again, how the hell were they doing this?!? As the responsible parent present, I was initially concerned that a game of strip "Old Maid" might be in the offing, but was comforted by the fact that none of the attendees possessed the manually dexterity to actually remove all of their own clothes.

Instead, it turned into a crazy toddler rave, with some three year old kid wearing sunglasses spinning Ralph's World and Dan Zanes tunes until the pacifier-sucking crowd on the floor was worked up into a well-past-bedtime frenzy. The endless loop of Baby Einstein, Teletubbies and BooBah videos running on the large screen TV in the background lent the scene a surreal quality. As the only adult present, I was for all intents and purposes the bathroom as well, as most of our guests were not potty-trained. The line for diaper changes snaked around the corner into the hallway at times and there was loud complaining when we ran out of wipes. From there, the evening could only go one place: karaoke. Let me just say you haven't lived until you have heard a band of tone-deaf, sugared-up two-year-olds massacre the lyrics to Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star and the Alphabet Song at 10:00 p.m. on a crazy Saturday night.

With the crowd collapsed into fits of giggles, I knew it was time to send everyone packing. I made a round of calls to what turned out to be largely surprised parents who had assumed their little bundles of joy were tucked safely in their cribs. By 11 p.m. - the toddler definition of staying up all nite by the way - I had cleared the house of all but my two little troublemakers. After confiscating the plastic phones - as well as the plastic keys to their Step 2 foot-powered cars, just to be on the safe side - it was off to bed for all of us.

Twenty four hours later, most of it spent cleaning up - I swear I will be finding half-filled sippy cups of congealed milk until Spring - I am still exhausted and just now finally able to muster the energy to write this.

Polygamy, Yay-Yay & Poopa and More!

Due to my lengthy absence, I'll briefly summarize some recent events:

We recently spent a long weekend at the beach in Michigan, sharing a rented house with three other couples and a total of 10 kids, of whom Owen, at age 5, was the oldest. The sheer number of small children lent the weekend sort of polygamist commune feel, absent the sex with multiple women part. Actually Owen was more of the polygamist hero, as at one point there were was a scrum of naked little girls duking it out on an air mattress for the right to marry him. On a polygamist commune, he could simply have married them all - problem solved.

Owen is growing up before our eyes. He lost his first tooth and started kindergarten this week. Judging by my perusal of other parenting blogs, I will give birth to an obligatory reflective post on this subject sooner or later, but at the moment, it still appears to be gestating.

The most exciting event has been the fact that the twins have gone from worrisomely nonvocal, like two miniature Silent Bobs, to constant chatter in the space of a month. They are counting, laying down sentences, and, charmingly, referring to themselves as Poopa (Cooper) and Yay-Yay (their variation on Hay-Hay, which is what we most commonly call Hayden), which remind me of the sort of fun names rappers used to give themselves back in the 80's . If we could lure Spinderella out of retirement to round out the group, we might have something going. Maybe record a number called Hip-Hop-Hooyay-yay (featuring DJ Fresh Poopa).

Oddly, they both seem to speak with some sort of heavy working class Boston accent. In addition, Hayden has a rather high-pitched little voice, which has me constantly trying, for my own amusement, to teach him to say "miiiiiiseryyyyy" like Helium in the Strindberg and Helium cartoons. No luck yet but I'll keep you posted. Get it - blog, posted. All right, enough already.

Attack of the Giraffes

The twins turned 1 1/2 a couple of days back. They are slow to talk, especially compared to how verbal Owen was at this age, but I feel they are, at last, on the verge of a verbal-explosion.

While Hayden already sports a massive vocabulary consisting of "mama, dada, duck and boo (the latter having gotten quite a workout in the recent Halloween-season), both Hayden and Cooper currently communicate primarily through baby sign language and by grunting and pointing. The pointing by Hayden is often accompanied by quite a bit of animation and urgency, along with a series of plaintive little "ah, ah, ah" sounds. Sort of like Lassie, but instead of trying to alert us to trouble down at the old mill, it usually turns out to be something much more mundane - most commonly that Cooper has swiped something from him.

Cooper meanwhile, has, in recent weeks, taken a stab at making animal noises. Hopefully a precursor to actual words and a ritual I would guess has been enjoyed by toddlers for the last 6000 years or so. Apparently channeling those cave-dwelling ancestors, Cooper makes the same drawn out monotone grunt for every single animal. It actually sounds an awful lot like Phil Hartman doing Frankenstein on those old Saturday Night Live skits. Probably for that reason, I find it endlessly amusing to sit with him and go through a book featuring different animals. After I turn each page, he gazes at the new animal with a serious little face, points at it and goes "aaaaaaaagggg." So, although giraffes don't actually have voiceboxes (or so my smart wife claims - sounds like crazy-talk to me), I like to imagine a pack of them lumbering along stiff-legged, making their ominous Frankenstein-sounds as they bear down on an unsuspecting Village while Lassie attempts in vain to wake the local Sheriff.

Summer, Part II

Last summer, my mother, I'm sure in all sincerity, wondered aloud to me whether I was having my best summer ever. I can see how she might say that, since after years of struggling to have kids, we had been blessed once with Owen and then blessed twice more with the birth of Cooper and Hayden in May 2006. Although I am thankful and appreciative every day for those little guys and the joy they have brought to our lives, that appreciation is separate from the everyday unrelenting grind that was last summer with a toddler and two newborns in the house. In short, last summer, with its sleep deprivation and constant feed and caring of two fragile, slightly premature newborns was, in the final summation, probably in my bottom ten summers ever.

Best summer ever, by the way, is, and probably will always be, reserved for the summer of 1983; a summer of firsts and lasts, fueled by hormones, beer, recreational drugs, sun, a newfound sense of freedom, close friendships, and the pure joy of being alive. First girlfriend, first real kiss (and more!), first summer with a driver's license, playing my first concerts with my first rock band, last summer without a steady job (just my lawn mowing business where my hours were dictated by myself and the weather). A intensely happy blur of fireworks, concerts, new friends, parties, movies, cruising around in cars, staying out late, etc. I recall how sad me and my friends were over labor day weekend, as we all realized a truly special time was coming to an end. Happily, I made an audio record of this particular summer, ranging from the sweetly mundane (me and my sister washing dishes) to the classic (me and my friends being kicked out of the local pizza parlor for not having a table).

This summer has been a vast improvement over last, due in no small part to more regular sleep and the increased mobility of the kids, freeing us to wander further afield, eat out, etc. (although Cooper's annoying habit of screeching in a very loud and obnoxious manner when he doesn't get his way - predictably unpopular with those unfortunate enough to be dining in the vicinity - has tempered our desire to frequent restaurants of late). It has also had its handful of moments that create the sort of indelible imprint in your memory (see, e.g. my awesome surprise party!) that enable you to look back, even years later, and say that was a damn fine summer. What has been especially cool though, is enjoying the season through the eyes of the kids. Owen's excitement over vacation and just about everything else is infectious. And the twins, despite not talking yet, have clearly had a ball wire to wire this season. From the second their shoes and socks came off in spring and they cackled with glee as their toes felt the grass beneath their feet for the first time, they have been a joy to spend time with. So, while adult summers, necessarily and probably thankfully, pass by on a more limited emotional plain than those of my youth, watching the kids delight in their own firsts as they have turned into little people with big personalities and an appetite for life has somehow been extremely satisfying. Parenthood, as it turns out, has its own unique rewards.

Wet Kiss

Cooper starting kissing us last week. This currently consists of lunging at our faces with his tongue stuck out while making a humming noise. Very cute (and wet)! It did occur to me, however, that he will need to refine his technique over the next 12 or 15 years if he wants to go on any second dates in the future.