yin/yang. good/ugly. bath/urine.

Kids are easy moment of the night: It’s bath night, so I dunk Abby’s little 0.01% tooshie into the tub and go about picking up the upstairs while she sings to Ariel.  Lily’s in the bathroom too, casually keeping Abby company like someone jibberjabbering at an old friend.  I check back after a couple minutes and see that Lily removed every last stitch of clothing and climbed herself into the tub with her sister.  Hooray, autonomy!

Kids ain’t easy moment of the night: 20 minutes later I walk into the family room; there’s Abby, same wee bare little tooshie, this time pee streaming out of it, making that horrible, unmistakable urine-on-rug noise.  “I’m going pee pee on the carpet!” she yells

Sigh.

(on the positive: I now know, after writing this post, that every time I try and type “urine”, I spell it “uring”.  That’s why I embrace blogging – the little discoveries and moments of self-mental revelation)

—-

This post is short because I fell asleep during the Daily Show, and now I’m writing in a haze of pre-stumble-upstairs, and the Daily Show is yesterday’s version of daily.  I’ll make it up to you by sharing this song, which for some reason is stuck in my head to the point that it’s going to define this period of my life in a couple years when the Current plays it, and I think, “Oh yeah…the spring of 2011.” 

Turn up.  Rock out.  I’m off to sleep.

(one last thing, speaking of sleep: I just had a dream the other night that I was sitting in an airport and Jon Stewart was sitting on my lap, eating a pizza.  My friend Kari showed up out of nowhere and helped herself to a slice, and it got really awkward, and I had to apologize to Jon for her over and over again, but Kari couldn’t figure it out, because the pizza was so good it only made sense to share it.

No point in sharing that.  Just thought I would.)

(I’m not really that into the Daily Show, despite my having mentioned it in two separate ways tonight.)

(okay, really, I’m going to bed now)

I spent my creative bloggity juices working on my first review for Critic’s Corner.  It’s pathetic and stupid, but feel free to read it if you’re morbidly interested in what goes on in my head when I read children’s literature.  Clickity here.

Girls are fine.  Lily had a monster hissy fit the whole way home from day care; we were playing the “Lily tells me what direction to turn the car” game, and we came to an intersection, she told me to go “Left, Daddy!”, and I turned left, and apparently she really meant right.  And when you’re 3, that’s just not the sort of thing you recover from.

Sleep is good. Not getting sleep is…the…opposite of good.

Sleep deprived.  And sleepy.  As it turns out, a direct side-effect of sleepiness is wanting to sleep and not wanting to blog.  I am nothing if not a thoughtful blogger, though; enjoy these photos, taken a few minutes after the girls and I got home and enjoyed some “tea time hot chocolate”.

This is how Lily points at things.

Hot chocolate face.

Belle being persuaded to talk.

“This is my Cindarella. She’s pretty.” (It’s no accident that Abby likes Cindarella and Lily likes Belle.)

Conspiring with Belle. Conspiring conspiring conspiring. Or….babbling.

Sluurrrrrrrrrrp (ahh!*)

I’m awesome.

I’d like to write this post directly to the girls when they are reading this as women.  Hi, future girls!  I’d like you to take a little break from driving your hovercars around and listen so I can go on record and tell you something:

I gave it my all today.  As a parent, I really honestly think I just about aced it.  Mommy did, too.  I only bring this up because there were so many things that went wrong, in so many times.  Nothing tragic, obviously, but man, you guys certainly make it hard sometimes.  We gave timeouts when necessary, caved when we felt it was the right thing to do, played with the dolls, picked up after you, made your favorite foods, did your favorite things, told you to be polite when you were rude, made sure you said please and thank you, looked the other way when you hit each other.  Yet it all felt so amazingly difficult.  Maybe I was having a bad day, but it just seemed long.

I hope this makes sense.  It simply seems like one of those days where I tried really, really hard.  Maybe this will be something you’d like to hear.  Maybe it will be all the more poignant if I’m not around anymore when you read this (died in a tragic hovercar accident on Interstate I-35,000). 

Abby and I on the zipline at Kenwood Park. I look like an idiot, but it's also kind of a good shot. Fun zipline, too.

Sliding down the slidity slide.

—-

Abby cute moment for the day.  She’s goofing around, on the floor face down, her head buried in a pillow.  She’s only wearing a diaper.  I grab a pair of jeans and start to wiggle them onto her legs.  She doesn’t move or turn her head, but I hear her yell into the pillow:

Abby: “I’m getting dressssed noooowww!”

Everything I learned about parenting from “Pretty Woman”, (or), Blood on the Pavement

We’re in Rainbow, and kid Brown and I are getting eggs.  Our kids love eggs, more than anything else in the world. Except maybe the moon.  If the moon were made of eggs (and not of candy, as Abby recently declared to me), they’d be up in their room right now calling NASA trying to book tickets. 

I pull the eggs out of the cooler.

Lily: “EGGS!”
Me: “[sigh]”
Lily: “Can I touch them?  Can I say hi to them?”
Me: “Sure, buddy.”

I open the thing up for her to touch them. She reaches in very slowly and, making Richard Gere proud, I snapped the thing shut on her hand.  She jumped about a foot, laughed for a few seconds, and then said crossly:

Lily: “Daddy you hurt me!”

Damn you, Richard Gere!!

(our girls’ fascination with eggs does not end with them wanting to touch them (although that’s a favorite) or talk to them; they do love to eat them as well.  Earlier today I was surfing youtube with them on my lap, and we watched a time-lapse-y video of a little chick breaking out of an egg.  They loved it.  I’m not sure how that can be anything but horrifying for them; they only know these things as the fragile little orbs that you break and goop comes out, now they’re watching a tiny wet bird coming out of the same object.  This should blow their little minds, shouldn’t it?)

(one more egg thing: I just cracked an egg for french toast last weekend, and it was a double yolk.  Twins.  It made me want to be a vegan.  Or possibly spread my kids on some toast and splash them with Sriracha)

—-

Jen and I both would later independently say that we had the thought that we should lock the front door.  It was 2:30, both kids were obnoxious and tired and punchy and just barely clinging to functionality.  Yet Abby kept begging and begging to go on a bike ride, despite the fact that she was in her jammies and it was almost -20 degrees outside.  So they’re both out on the porch playing, Abby’s got her helmet on, and I thought Lily was kinda pushing her around the porch on her bike.  I said some sarcastic comment to Jen about the possible non-existence of nap time, and a few seconds later Jen says, “Oh shit,” and tears out of the kitchen.

I run to the window, notice that the front door is open.  Lily’s in the doorway holding an umbrella (she’s always prepared); Jen yanks her out of the way.  “Oh,” I think, “Abby made it outside.”  Then I see Abby’s bike come flying into the house.  “Oh, she made it down with her bike.”  Finally, Jen appears back on the porch, Abby screaming, her forehead leaking blood.

Not exactly a crime scene, but that IS my kid's blood out there in the world.

I couldn’t get a straight answer out of them, so we don’t know if she tripped trying to carry the bike down the steps or if she actually tried to ride it out the door.  I feel horrible, guilty, awful, but a little part of me would be pretty thrilled if she actually tried to ride it down the steps, because that would be amazingly bold.

Jen said when she got to her she was face down on the pavement, helmet a few feet away, with the bike tangled up on top of her.  As it turns out, she had a little cut on her forehead that looked a little bit like a puncture wound.  We agonized for a bit over whether we should bring her into the ER or not, but she wasn’t complaining about it too much (after the initial blow out), and there was no extensive bruising. 

Later, after a well-earned nap, we noticed that one of her little digits is pretty bruised and cut and she’s not using that hand.  So we may find ourselves in the ER eventually.

We’re bad parents.

4 Looks for Abby

Abby gets a lot of looks from strangers.  They usually come in threes.

1. I’m a guy holding a kid.  People just check me out, maybe do a mental note to see if there are any amber alerts.
2. She’s got that blonde hair.  That alone warrants a second glance from most.
3. She’s a little pixie, and she just plain looks cute/odd/unique/different/tiny.  So people do a triple take.

Today, though, we added a number 4 to the list.

Jen got a call from day care (aka, daytime parents) to tell us that Abby rubbed her eye and one of the tubes she’d had put in for her blocked tear ducts was now hanging out and she looked like some horrible science fiction movie special effect, and could we please come pick her up because she was making the other kids vomit.  Or something like that.

So my day went careering off the tracks of normalcy while I tore northward to scrounge together some supplies and whisk the blonde kid to the eye doc.  For something that looks so bizarre and attracts so many stares, it was an almost obnoxiously easy thing to take them out.  After watching the doctor do it, I’m pretty sure I could have just given that tube a quick tug and it all would have ended up okay.  I bet I couldn’t put them in, though.

Blondie must have been too excited from the Dr., because she didn't nap over naptime. That caught up with her around 6, though.

AJ

Jen and I look forward to reading the Sunday paper every week, but I think it would be a safe bet to say that we actually intake, maybe, oh, 1.2% of it.  At best.  Really, it’s a $2.50 copy of the comics.

One of our favorite things/little traditions/inside jokes/nerd-hobbies about the paper is trying to figure out what the eff Arlo and Janis is about.  It’s easily the most grating, visually uninspiring, unfunny comic ever created (apologies to those of you out there who love it and buy Arlo and Janis bedsheets), yet most weeks I look forward to it just the same, because I can never. figure. it. out.

Case file #139: last week.  Take a gander:

What the shit?  Someone explain this to me.  Is it comic minimalism?  Does the end of the fence signify anything?  Is the point here that she, too, has trouble defining herself once she’s not engaged with the phone?  Why is the old guy so smug in the first frame, what’s his deal, what, like people can’t walk down the sidewalk engaged in an earnest discussion about Himalayan bovines?  I like to imagine myself on my front stoop, one of my neighbors walks by on the phone, and I jump up, chest out like a gorrila, “Hey….hey hey hey…hey….you talk too much on the tellyphone.”  It’s exactly this type of behavior that would get you shivved in my part of town.  But in the Arlo and Janis take on reality, it’s just a setup for a joke about…not…uhh…responding in any way except to quietly finish your conversation and continue your constitutional?

Arrrgh.  [tears up paper]

I spend more time than is normal trying to puzzle my way into whatever comic code these people are laying down. 

—-

I fully meant to write more, even include some anecdotes about my kids, since the blog is about them and all. But I let time get away from me, and I’m exhausted.  Sorry.

(slightly, barely) new digs

I squandered much of my allotted bloggity blog time tonight tweaking the site just a bit.  You may have noticed your socks over in the corner, smoking quietly from me having blown them clear off of your stunned corpse. 

Big change of the night – the addition of Critic’s Corner, where I plan on weighing in with my opinion on a variety of media that my kids are forcing upon me these days.  This can include books, movies (or just movie (singular), since we really only watch “Beauty and the Beast” right now), music, magazines, games, television, opera, etc.  Because we all need to face the grizzly truth: most kids’ media is absurd and stupid and is richly deserving of my scorn and ridicule.  I take requests.

In the meantime, let’s do video.  Uber quiet time at the Gels house, the girls playing on their computers, and Jen, sadly, far too occupied with what she’s occupied with.

Ahh, springtime. Birds singing. Flowers blooming. Larcenies attempted.

This morning we got to the car to find that both the glove compartment and the console storage thingy-ma-job were open, and had been emptied of all their contents. All around the floor were zip ties (leftover from my incident hitting the deer last summer), napkins, proof of insurance, and more random items.

At first I was suddenly annoyed that the girls would do this. Slow like mollasses came the realization that they girls hadn’t played in the car yesterday. It took a minute, but I suddenly realized that someone had made their way through my car, looking for keys, valuables, or possibly a garage door opener.

I’m not sure about the garage door opener. Maybe they would have grabbed it, maybe they wouldn’t; but serendipity came into play since I had just taken it out a couple weeks ago because I was worried the girls would open the garage while they were playing in the car. Whew.

I’m going to choose to focus on the birds and the flowers.

A Park Too Far (aka, the Phugoid Cycle of My Life)

Oh. Someone put Cookie Monster (snoring happily) and Baby Belle to bed. I wonder who would....

Aaaaahhh! The culprit in my midst!

 

 My afternoon starts out in equilibrium.  Then I pick up the girls.

Them: “Yay!  Daddy!”
Me: “Girls!  It’s effing gorgeous outside!  Let’s go home and play in the sunshine!”
Them: “Okay!”

We drive home.  This takes our usual 8 minutes longer than it should, since both of them fancy directing my turns at absolute random (“Daddy, go THIS way!”).  I indulge them because it’s always fun to see where we end up, and I get to discover new pockets of south minneapolis.

Them: “We want to go to the playground!”
Me: “Yes, absolutely, let’s do it.”

We get home.  The first little upset to our existence is that I park in the sunlight, which is right on Abby’s face, and she’s really light sensitive, so I run around to get her out of the car first.  Pick her up, she’s crying a bit.

Me: [pointing into the sky] “Look, honey, it’s the moon!”
Abby: [sniffle] “H…h….hi moon.”

We’re back to equal.  I run back to get Lily, but I sense Abby wants to follow me into the street.  I sternly instruct her not to step off the curb.

I’ve got Lily unbuckled and am about to hoist her into the world when I feel a tiny, blonde little tug on my pants.

Me: “Abby!!  I told you not to come in the street, you could have been hurt or killed!”  (I’ve used this wording before, and one of these days they’re going to ask me what exactly it means to be “killed”.  I’m so utterly unprepared for this question.  For now, it’s funny, they just accept the word.  I should actually ask them sometime if they know what it means)

I pick her up and put her back on the devil’s strip.  She starts bawling.

I let Kid Cocoa down to go run in the yard and play with dog poop so I can console Kid Vanilla. 

Me: “Buddy, it’s okay, shhh shh, I just want you to know you can’t ever go into the stree…[insert typical street safety speech here]”

She calms down. We’re back to Good. 

Me: “Okay girls, let’s go in the house for a second.”
Lily: “BUT I WANTED TO GO TO THE PLAYGROUND!”

She starts to lose it.  I remind her that we will go there, and in short order; but I just need to run in side to get the dog and my cell phone and a couple quick things.  She is mollified; we are once again back to Happy.

I open the door, there is the typical whirlwind of dog kisses and anarchy.  I start to go inside, but Abby turns and starts walking down the hill towards the sidewalk.

Me: “Abby, stop.”

She doesn’t. 

Me: “Abigail.  Stop walking right now!”

She makes it to the sidewalk, turns downhill and starts running in the general direction of Texas. I can just barely hear her babbling something about going to the playground.

Lily: “I’ll go get her, Daddy!”
Me: “No Lily, please don’t.”

She’s off after her sister.  I finish whatever I am doing on the porch and sprint after both of them.  Abby’s already made it almost 4 houses away, and somewhere in my subconscious this makes me, on some level, kinda proud.

Lily gets to her and grabs her. 

Me: “Lily, it’s okay, it’s not your job to help, let her go.”

Lily hears me, then grabs Abby’s jacket and yanks her to the ground, hard. Abby erupts into tears instantly.  Lily almost kinda drags her on the ground for a bit.

Me: “LILY!  STOP IT RIGHT NOW!”

Lily starts crying.  I pick Abby up and we start back to the house.

Me: “Girls, you guys need to listen.  Daddy’s in charge, when I tell you to do something, you need to do it.  I’m just trying to keep you guys safe, okay?”
Them: “[sniffle]”
Me: “Do you guys want to go to the park and playground?”

They nod, sadly.  We’re back to Normal, but I’ve got serious doubts.

Me: “Okay, great.  We’ll go in a minute, I just need to grab something from the house.”

Abby loses it again; tears, flailing, hatred.  I give up; the playground/park will not happen at this point no matter what happens.  I tell them that, and Abby doubles her crying efforts.

A few minutes later I have them calmed down a bit in the house.  Back to Zero.  I suspect they’re tired, so I suggest a movie.  By amazing luck, they both ask for Finding Nemo.

Me: “Yay!”
Them: “Hooray!”

Okay, so we’re back to nominal.  I turn on the DVD player, under the impression that Nemo is still in it from the last movie watching experience; I am (devastatingly) wrong, it’s Beauty and the Beast.  As soon as Lily realizes that, it’s a knowledge that can’t be undone. 

Lily: “I want to watch Beauty and the Beast!!!”
Me: “Abby, do you want to switch movies?”
Abby: “No, wanna watch Finding Nemo.”

Lily loses it.  She throws herself onto the couch and, as a lovely bonus gift, bonks her head on the table behind it.  A hurricane of tears.  I let her vent for a while, then explain that she’d already asked for Nemo (like, 7 times), and that she could either watch that with a snack or go play and do something else.  She accepts this, grudingly at first, then happy and forgetful, while they both settle in on the couch happily clutching a banana and reciting lines from the movie.  And for the final time, peace is attained, and this time it sticks.

Lil' Biker Buddies!

Biker kid