The Patch

Agriculture is a big part of life in Colorado.

That’s mostly cattle, but we do have a fair share of agro-soil stuffs. Here are a few facts about Colorado crops that I bet you didn’t know (& neither did I until I decide to write this post!) –

Colorado is the biggest producer of proso millet (a grass that's grown as a grain crop for livestock) in the country.

We’re number five in the country for the production of sunflowers (which, by the way, is P.Pie’s favorite flower).

The highest alpine valley that produces crops is the San Luis Valley in SW Colorado. They grow 60,000 acres if potatoes there.

Our leading veggie crop is onions and our leading fruit is peaches.

We even manage to grow a few pumpkins.

And at this time of year, they open their doors, give hayrides, have corn mazes, and sell fresh grown pumpkins that you get to pick yourself. All this comes at a fee, of course. $10 per adult, $5 for kids under 12 and kids under 3 are free.

So for $20, the four of us got the opportunity to ride a flatbed trailer pulled by a tractor, pick a pumpkin and pay a premium price for a fresh pumpkin.

Yes, I’m a little upset that I paid money to get it, had to harvest the pumpkin myself and then pay more for it than I would at my local grocers. But, I’m a fan of the free market system and if they can make a go at it, then so be it. There was a line of cars to get in every weekend leading up to Halloween, so apparently I am the only one who feels shorted.

To be fair, they did have a plethora of things to see and do, not the least of which is a corn maze, and all of that costs them money t set up and maintain.

And finally, the kids had a blast so that makes it all worthwhile (and I even managed to eke out some enjoyment watching the kids have so much fun).

Enjoy the pics.


Yes, there were animals in the pen...


Look! Our holiday card!


"Daddy, Where do splinters come from?"


"Do we get all these pumpkins?"


"I know the way!"


Lunch break!


"Check out my Baby GQ pose!"


"Do I have to pose?"


"It's a bongo, right?"


"These are MINE!"

Boys vs. Girls - The Axe Man

This post is an Axe update post, but I want to start with a Squeaker story… in a round about sort of way.

When Squeak was young and we’d change her diaper (a distant memory now with potty training pretty much complete), she’d generally stretch out in repose on the changing table, contemplating whatever infant/toddlers contemplate, and let us change her diaper with minimal hassle or complaint.

By comparison, her boy cousins, Gunslinger & O-Pickle, would thrash around, catch hands full of poop, jump up, run around naked and just generally be pains in the arses. I wrote it up to… well… not poor parenting, but poor planning. That is, when at home, we always changed Squeak on her changing table. Whereas, her cousin counterparts were change where ever was convenient – floors, couches, beds… anywhere.

I assumed – incorrectly – that’s why they behaved the way they did. Secretly I was patting myself on the back for proper example setting.

That is, until we had Axe.

Since there is only 16 months between brother & sister, we did diaper duty for the former as we did the latter. Only, Axe doesn’t lie in repose; he throws himself around, grabbing at his junk and the diaper and squealing like a wounded monkey.

Honestly, it DOUBLES the time it takes to change a single diaper; and talking with other parents of boys and girls, this is standard for boys.

And that’s only the beginning.

Squeak is a bit of shrinking violet when it comes to many things, including being thrown about, roughhousing, and even walking (here’s a previous post about it).

Not Axe - he has no fear (which gives me great fear). Crawling is a thing of the past; he walks everywhere now. He loves to be tossed in the air, to jump, to crawl up and stand on everything (including the kitchen table)! He’ll probably be an X Gamer or the next Johnny Knoxville.

He’s also not the talker that Squeak is/was… at least not yet. He has picked a new word that he’s been bandying about a lot lately - dog. But it sounds like dag… much the way Brad Pitt’s character Mickey O’Neil says "dog" in Snatch. He could also be saying his grandfather Cappy’s name, Doug, but he’s looking at Beej when he says it, so I’m pretty sure it’s dog.

And BIG; he’ll easily outpace his sister in the growth department any day now. He’s already started standing up to her (both literally and figuratively) and swinging back at her when she takes a poke at him or takes a toy he had.

Like his sister, Axe loves to laugh. And their laughs sound alike. His face usually sports a sly grin, like he's got the inside scoop on a funny story. Or a better description might be that he's got a joke he's dying to tell.

Blue eyes, a big grin and a dimpled cheek… I may have to change his nickname to Killer.

She’s a Big Girl Now

Back in October, I mentioned that we were “easing” The Squeaker into potty training. I made it sound like we ordered her pre-potty trained from the factory.

Had that been a choice, we certainly would have taken it… but such was not the case.

During the intervening nine months, it seemed that with every two steps forward there was at least one step back. Fortunately, that still leaves a net gain of one step forward.

Today, all those single steps finally paid off; Squeak spent the day in real big girl undies! Well, not a real BIG girl’s undies rather, real panties like a grown up girl!

We’ve been at the Princess Pull-Up stage for a number of months, and it’s been sort of hit & miss – dry days, wet nights; wet days, dry nights. No real rhyme or reason, but we didn’t want to give her a complex about it. We simply praised her when she succeeded and poo-poo’d (no pun intended) the accidents.

But in the last week or so, Squeak had dry days and nights. The clincher happened at a friend’s July 4th party; Squeaker stopped us in mid-revelry and said, “I need to potty.”

This is a huge step. Normally when we’re out, she tells us she just went potty. In her pants.

But given the fact that the previous few days had been relatively dry, we decided a day of real panties was in order. In the interest of full disclosure, we did have an accident early on in the day in the backyard. But it taught her a valuable lesson – peeing down your leg is NO FUN. We stripped her down, cleaned her up and put her in a fresh pair of panties.

And I’m proud to say that we didn’t have a single accident the rest of the day.

We drove multiple miles and went to several stores and had no “accidents”. More than once we did have to RUN to a bathroom a time or two, but every time The Squeaker warned us of the impending event.

With a successful day of dryness in real panties, Squeak is sleeping in Princess Pull Ups tonight and tomorrow we’ll try for another day of dryness.

Next Stop, The Why Zone

There is a fifth dimension, beyond that which is known to man.

It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition. And, it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call the Why Zone.

“Dinner This Evening”

Daddy: “Tonight’s dinner is mac ‘n cheese with li’l smokies and green beans.

Squeaker: “Why?”

Daddy: “Because you love mac ‘n cheese.”

Squeaker: “Why?”

Daddy: “Because it’s good for you.”

Squeaker: “Why?”

Axe: “Eeeee-aaaaaahhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!”

Squeak has been pretty easy on the “Why”s for the last two years. In fact, if she had a why and you answered it, that was it. Done deal, question answered. On to the next thing.

Last Saturday, Squeak entered the Why Zone when she woke up.

And.

It.

Hasn’t.

Stopped.

I’m afraid this is a long term issue….

HowAboutTwo.com Picked Up for Another Season

I know it seems like we may have been cancelled*, but it was just an extended break.

I’d love to use the burglary as the excuse for a three month hiatus, but that would be a cop out. While it took nearly four weeks to settle up with the insurance company (they lowballed us the first time and we had to fight to get the write $ amounts) and another two to three weeks to get replacement items, I did have the use of my work laptop.

No, there is no good excuse. All I can say is that life got in the way of writing about life.

Funny how that works out; but we’re back with tons of things to blog about. So here’s a quick rundown…

The Squeaker is in full terrible two toddlerism. I know, I know… A few posts back I wrote that being two was no big deal for Squeak. I was mistaken – she’s developed quite the tantrum skills.

TV has become Squeaker’s friend… Good? Bad? Only time will tell.

In 2+ months, Axe has gone from carpet shark to crawler to furniture walker; can full-on walking be far behind?

Axe has also moved from mushed foods to self-directed feedings of pasta, veggie/fruit slices, Cheerios, and the occasional pieces of kibble snatched from Beej’s bowl.

We had some pictures taken for Mother’s Day.

We took our first family car trip! (I’ll actually post about that later)

And that’s just the tip of the iceberg… more to come. I am going to try to get back on the once a week schedule of posting. No promises, but I am going to try.

We’ve Been Robbed…

According to the Associated Press style guide, the proper term is “burgled”. The according to Hoyle difference is as follows:

Robbery is the taking or attempting to take something of value from another person by use of force, threats or intimidation. And Burglary is the unlawful entry of a ‘structure’ to commit a felony or a theft. Burglary is commonly known as a "break in," or, "breaking and entering." A ‘structure’ is usually in reference to physical buildings but not cars. Car break-ins or thefts are considered larcenies.

So, by definition, we were burgled.

Last Monday afternoon, a sneak-thief – or more likely thieves – broke into our house and stripped it of nearly everything electronic. Most definitely every piece of valuable electronica.

To add insult to injury, they thrashed the house, emptying every drawer, disturbing every piece of furniture in their larcenous lust for loot.

I was finishing up a five-day business trip to Oregon when PPie called me frantically, crying that we had been robbed, everything taken.

I grabbed my bags and headed for the airport, in hopes of catching an early flight home. Instead, I got to sit in the terminal an extra four hours. Yea.

In my absence, the cops came, took photos, asked questions, and before leaving, said the CSI would be by to take prints. PPie went to stay at her sister’s house with the kids and to wait for me.

My flight arrived at nearly midnight and I headed to our violated home, in hopes of making some sense of it, or at least putting out of my mind the idea that it was just some terrible dream or a horrible joke.

The house looked like a tornado had hit it. Rather than answering any questions, it simply opened up a whole new crop of them – why make a jelly sandwich, only to smear it on the carpet in the bedroom? Why take video games and not the DVDs? Why steal $100 in Jorja's birthday/Xmas money piggy bank, but not the $75 in silver change on my dresser? Why drink two beers, but leave two others?

Why, why, why????

I am not the type of person to say, “Well, I hope they can make use of it.” Or, “If they’d just asked, I would have helped them out.” Colorado has a “Make My Day” law; had I caught them in the act, I would have exercised that right.

As it stands, this is probably one of those crimes where the criminals are not caught, at least not for this crime. But, if there is one iota of justice they will go to jail for a crime they did not commit.

Finally, here is the partial list of missing items wrap up, SportsCenter-style:

Our 46” HiDef, flat panel TV? Gone

My XBOX360 and 20+ games? No longer in the house.

The Wii? Departed along with a half-a-dozen games.

Not one or two laptops, but all THREE laptops are history.

And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. I don’t doubt that three months from now I’m going to look for a specific doohickey and realize that I haven’t seen it since the EVENT.

For now, we have cleaned up and are back in the house, sans-electronica. We’ve made a claim to our homeowner’s insurance and I’m sure that is going to be another battle.

Another Year Past

Here we are, two years past and it’s still fresh. It still hurts.

I thought that pouring my heart out to you, for you, last year would help. But it was only a Band-Aid on a bullet wound.

I talked to your brother about you tonight. Yes, I know he’s only 9 months old. We share a maturity level… that and he’s a good listener. He has started crawling, army style. His legs want to get involved but they’re a bit spastic yet. I’m sure he’ll the hang of it in a week or two.

I am occasionally concerned that he might feel shorted – that I love him less or I love you more or something along those lines. But I don’t. No more than I love your sister more than I love you or your brother.

Speaking of your sister, she’s doing great. We did the 24 month well-baby (really well-toddler) visit, and she got straight As. She’s very much like your mother; a constant talker that wants it all. She can string four and five words together into simple sentences, stringing those sentences together into day-long diatribes about the life of a two year-old. She's got her tongue tied in the middle and loose at both ends.

Your mom talks about you all the time. She points out that you are a constant thread that runs through our lives… never seen but always felt. Always acknowledged.

My thoughts are sort of all over the place; one moment I want to rant and yell and curse at the stars for your loss, and the next I just want to cry.

But neither does anyone any good. So I will keep on keeping on, care for your family, and keep your spirit alive.

Anyway, we’re here and missing you.

Sickness, Birthdays & a New Favorite Toy

The Squeaker is back and better than ever! We spent two nights in the hospital and then week at home breathing oxygen when she slept. But she is now off the O2 and just being Squeak.

For those of you who are regular readers, you may have noticed that the twins’ birthday was several days ago and I wrote nothing about it. Due to The Squeaker’s illness, we decided to cancel our party plans (a party at a children’s habitrail place) and just do a small family thing at Auntie & Uncle’s house.

Auntie made a FABULOUS cake, fit for a princess, and Squeak opened a bunch of presents.

Squeak got socks, a couple of puzzles, some Lego Duplex, a few outfits, and a magic drawing board (you write on it and then pull a lever and it wipes it clean). But her favorite present – and new favorite toy – was a child sized umbrella stroller.

The little pink stroller has held all of her babies, including Elmo and Cookie Monster, and has served as a napping place as well as a feeding station for the aforementioned toys.

She pushes it in her room.

She pushes it in the kitchen.

She pushes it in the living room.

She pushes it in the front yard and in the back yard.

Sometimes she even pulls the stroller, dragging it on its side, babies still safely buckled in.

I suspect this toy will be with us for some time to come. Good gift giving, Auntie.

Happy Valentine’s Day… Let’s Visit the ER!

Squeaker woke with a miserable cry so early on Friday morning that at one point in my life I would have called it Thursday night.

Long story short, she had a 101.5 fever. A shot of Tylenol later, her fever was down but she was sleeping restlessly.

Go past calling in sick and spending the day with kids, collect $200 and land on Saturday. She just can’t quite kick the fever, but she’s responded to the Tylenol, so we’re not overly concerned.

That is, until late Saturday afternoon. She became listless and her breathing was rapid. After a quick consult with “The Mothers”, we decided to visit the local Quik Stop Docs (it’s not really called that, but you know what I mean).

15 minutes after that, we were on the way to the emergency room.

Fortunately, the Quik Stop Docs called ahead for us (kinda like call ahead seating) and got the ball rolling so that when we walked in the door, we were shown to a table for four a exam room.

A short wait later, Squeaker was diagnosed with viral pneumonia. A few shots of liquid steroids, a dose of ibuprofen and a round with the weights, she was feeling more herself. We played a rousing game of “can’t get out the ER exam room door” while the ER Doc called Squeak’s regular pediatrician.

After a consult, the ER Doc recommended that Squeak stay overnight to keep an eye on her O2 level (which had been low when we came in). So she & P.Pie checked into Hotel Hospital while I went back home to relieve the sitter.

Fast forward to now (Sunday night) and Squeaker & P.Pie are still in the Hotel Hospital ‘cause her sleeping O2 level drops below 90.

When I know more, you’ll know more.

Life on the (Sesame) Street

The Squeaker has discovered Sesame Street.

Specifically, she has found that lovable red haired, googly-eyed, mop topped monster affectionately know as Elmo. And while it’s better than a certain purple annoyasaurus, I am a little concerned with her zealousness for Elmo.

Whenever a muppet comes on the TV – any muppet (including most Star Wars characters) – she begins to chant “Ehmo! Ehmo! Ehmo!” and pirouettes around the room.

And then there’s the toy issue.

Every Elmo toy in her collection is hers.

Everyone else’s Elmo toy is hers.

Elmo is hers. If she could get to Sesame Street, she’d hang around on Sesame Street corners, frequenting Hooper’s store and writing a barrage of multicolored crayon scribbles professing her undying love.

And if that was all, hoarding Elmo toys and daydreams of living in a one room NYC-style walkup with Elmo, we’d be a-okay.

Unfortunately, her demeanor deteriorates rapidly when Elmo doesn’t appear on the screen - the chants become questions and the pirouettes turn into lumbering stomps, each thud of her tiny foot punctuated by angry denials.

Ehmo…?
The lower lip quivers.

Ehmo!
Sadness turns to anger which quickly becomes tears of rage if we don’t divert her attention quickly with some bright, shiny object. It is a small window of opportunity and once the window closes, Katy bar the door.

Wailing and gnashing of the teeth ensues. Crying is certainly expected. Objects being thrown are not out of the question. Neither are wild arm swings.

I will say we are working on the ‘tude…

Two months ago, I mentioned that the terrible twos weren’t an issue for us. I may be rethinking that position… at least until the Sesame Street Police Department show up at my door with a restraining order for my daughter, the Elmo stalker.

XL

No, the title of the post is not my waist size… well, actually it is; but that’s not the point.

Today (the 14th) is my birthday – my 40th birthday.

Four-Oh.

Cuarenta.

Vierzig.

Cорок.

Yonjuu.

It doesn’t matter how you say it or in what language, it’s still old. And I know what you’re thinking…

40 is the new 20

No it isn’t. It’s not even close.

First, there are the minor aches and stiff joints; when I was 20, I could lift cinder blocks all day, drink all night and feel fine the next day. Now my back goes out more often than I do.

Second, where’d all this extra weight around my midsection come from? The spare tire I’m carrying around could fit on a Mack truck.

Third, what’s with hair in my ears? That’s just weird. At least my hair hasn’t started turning loose from my head. Yet.

And my memory… well, I can’t remember what bothers me about that, but it’ll come to me.

And I have a number of typical middle-age self-disappointments – like what the hell am I doing with my life?

If life was all parenting/family, I’d be the best. I am one-half of a parenting duo that is raising a pair of the most beautiful children in the world.

And I’m also told I’m not a half bad husband.

But my work life is, well… lacking. I have the skills to do better than my current position, but am I getting to a point in my life where I have to settle for the position I've got?

Perhaps I’ll spend 2009 working on that.

Being 40 isn’t all bad; there is wisdom in the intervening 20 years. I am much less apt to open my mouth before engaging my brain. While not completely cured of chronic dumbassedness, the chances of me looking like a fool are diminished, however slightly.

And I have not lost my ability to imagine; some people feel the need to put away the toys of youth and focus on being an adult, on being mature. I have kept my toys in arm’s reach, which allows me to keep thinking young.

So all is not lost, nor is life full of woe.

And to prove it, we’re having a party where we can all act like 20 year-olds and we mix mirth with equal parts boozing and carousing to create a little good-natured debauchery.

Of course, we’ll still have to pay the physical price for it in the morning.

So, if you’re in Denver this weekend let me know and I’ll get you direction to the party. Be sure to bring your drinking hat.

The Axe Files

It’s been a bit since I’ve written an "all Axe" post. As you might imagine, things are changing rapidly… in fact, he borrowed the car this weekend for his first date!

Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but not by much.

We’ve had a number of firsts in the past month (fortunately driving and dating aren’t among them), including sitting up and man-handling the bottle by himself.

But by my estimation the most important first his was the move to his own room.

Yes, at six months he was still sleeping in our room.

And not sleeping through the night.

When your baby is not sleeping through the night AND in your bedroom, you tend to do whatever it takes to get them back to sleep. In Axe’s case, we would bring him to bed, feed him, and let him sleep with us.

As you might imagine, this quickly became a habit. A bad habit.

From the get-go, Axe would wake up once or twice a night. The first time, we’d feed him and put him back in the co-sleeper. He’d wake up a second time, we’d bring him to bed and sometimes he’d sleep, usually with me. Sometimes on my chest, other times curled up against me.

If he didn’t sleep – which was as often as not – Axe had a one man party. And I was the chaperone.

I’d love to say that we kept him in our room because we wanted to. But that’s not the truth. The truth is I was lazy about setting up his room. We realized spoiling the boy was not doing him any favors.

So last month I finished his room and he moved in. In the movies, this is the point where we all lived happily ever after, sleeping comfortably through the night. But such was not the case.

He continued to complain and we continued to answer to his beck and call. So we decided on a plan.

The plan was to stop being at his beckon. He was fed, warm, clean, and safe. Axe was complaining just to get attention.

So here we are at week two of “The Plan” and already we’ve noticed a big improvement. When Axe gets up, we feed him in his room, in the dark. And he usually falls right back asleep. If he doesn’t, he cries it out.

So here’s the plan – we put him down for the evening at a specific time. If he cries, he cries for 10 minutes the first time. At the end of 10 minutes, one of us goes into his room, comforts him (no more than five minutes) and puts him back in his crib. If he cries again, we wait 15 minutes and repeat the process.

So far we haven’t had to go beyond the second 15 minutes. And he’s getting used to his crib/room. I’m sure we’ll have him on the same schedule as his sister in no time – in bed by 7pm, awake no later than 6:30am.

At least that's the movie ending.

Holiday Leftovers

Santa came and was good to all, despite the occasionally questionable behavior - paricularly from me.

Squeaker received several new toys and an assortment of coloring books and new princess colors. The big hit of the gift season for her was an Elmo laptop; she carries it everywhere and when it’s not in her possession, Squeak asks, “where ‘Lmo?”

My favorite part of the Elmo laptop is the computing noise Elmo makes. When you insert a 3x5” plastic card (punch card?) with a picture of a Sesame Street party and pull the lever on the side, Elmo’s eyes at the top of the laptop go left/right/left/right and, in Elmo’s voice, says beep-boop-beep-boop-beep-boop-beep.

Well, reading it doesn’t do it justice, but trust me, it’s funny.

All of Axe’s toys were opened by Squeak, which I think was a bad precedent. Of course, I guess it wasn’t that bad of an idea since The Squeaker thinks that everything is hers (mine, mine, MINE).

We also had family in town for the week between Christmas and New Year – one of P.Pie’s brothers (Eeyore) and his two daughters (Glitter Barbie 2 & Moon Unit), as well as P.Pie’s mother.

Nana gave all three of the families a Wii for Christmas. I don’t mind saying, I love the Wii, but as I write this, P.Pie is down with a bad back… strenuous Wii play (specifically, bowling) is thought to be the culprit.

The family visit went well, with one minor exception - Nana had a cold and Moon Unit caught a raging case of pink eye; both of which The Squeaker caught. Truthfully, I’m surprised everyone didn’t get the pink eye since the kids touched all the toys… especially the Wiimotes.

New Year’s Eve was spent at P.Pie’s sister’s house and ended around 8:30 (the New Year comes earlier when you have kids).

But we did get lots of pics, so here’s a little something for everyone -

The Spoken Word and the Terrible Twos

According to the National Institute of Health, there are several points every 18-23 month-olds must reach in their speech and language development.

Here is the U.S. Government’s official list –

• Enjoys being read to
• Follows simple commands without gestures
• Points to simple body parts such as "nose"
• Understands simple verbs such as "eat," "sleep"
• Says 8 to 10 words (pronunciation may still be unclear)
• Asks for common foods by name
• Makes animal sounds such as "moo"
• Starting to combine words such as "more milk"
• Begins to use pronouns such as "mine"

At 22 months, The Squeaker has hit all of them out of the park. Especially the “Says 8-10 words” part. 8 to 10?! 8 to 10!? Squeak has, at a minimum, 40-50 words. And I think that’s a conservative estimate.

Squeaker can string together up to four words in a simple sentence and understands complex sentences like “put the doll in the bucket,” or “don’t hit your brother,” or “pick a book and let’s go get ready for bed.” and even, “I can’t understand you with the ‘fire in your mouth, take it out and tell me again.”

Maybe I should compare her to the two year old bracket. More after the photo jump.

Does the “terrible twos” also include goofiness?

Don’t get me wrong, The Squeaker is definitely feeling her oats; she’s refusing a number of things…

“Do you want to take a bath?”

“NO!”

“Do you want to eat dinner?”

“NO!”

“Let's put our jacket on.”

“NO!”

…and the list of NOs goes on.

And don’t even get me started on her sideways looks at things she doesn’t want to do and the frequent stare-offs we have in our battle of wills.

But she’s also developed a goofy streak; long, maniacal laughs at simple daddy jokes (Why is 10 afraid? Because 7, 8, 9). Also, she spins herself in circles until she falls down, dizzy with the giggles.

So the twos are not so terrible. In fact, dare I say, I love the “terrible twos”.

Of course, we're still two months away from two...

Arlo Guthrie Thanksgiving Wrap Up

Our Thanksgiving Day started when the alarm clock went off at 3:30am, so we could shower, dress, get the kids up and get to the airport for a 7am flight. By 10am, we were firmly ensconced at my sister’s house in Houston, Tx.

The whole weekend was a blur of cousins, siblings and at least one first (Axe started solids!), all of which are better expressed in pictures.

I will tell you one quick story; The Squeaker had a problem understanding that Uncle Esquire & Aunt Tintin were different than Uncle Picasso & Aunt VP, but still Uncle & Auntie.

But by day two, she was onboard with the concept of multiple Aunties & Uncles and enjoyed herself thoroughly.

So, without further adieu, here is the Arlo Guthrie Thanksgiving Wrap Up (you know, an eight-by-ten color glossy pictures with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one… get it?):

My boy, myself, & my dad... straight off the plane and all of four hours sleep (just Axe & I, Cappy drove in).

Cousins 'round the table - Chunkalicious, Prince of Wails, & The Squeaker - enjoying a pre-Thanksgiving snack.

Day after Thanksgiving - cousins playing in the sand box of what is possibly Houston's best Mexican food restaurant, Lupe Tortilla's.

Axe's first solids! Well, as solid as rice cereal can be...

This started as a blanket for Axe and turned into a Cousin scrum... Axe is obviously getting the better of the group.

By Saturday's bathtime, the girls were BFFs.

My sister and her husband took us to their favorite Italian restaurant - Collena's - where it's BYOB... we took three bottles of red wine & wished we'd taken a fourth. Mom (Golly to you regular readers) watched the kids and Axe wouldn't sleep for her... why should he be different for her?!

My sister's family is a big fan of Christmas, so the tree goes up right after Thanksgiving... so on our last day, we trimmed the tree and exchanged presents with the cousins.

It was a wonderful visit that we have sworn to do more often and I certainly hope we do!

An Open Letter to My Son

Axe –

Shortly after you were born I was showing off pictures of you and your sister, which lead to a discussion of siblings close in age and then to a discussion of your brother, Doss.

In short, she said that you were your brother, coming around again. And while she meant well, I think that sells you short. You are your own person. You are special in your own right and I will never, ever think of you as your brother.

Let me give you a few examples:

Unlike your sister, you like to have a one-man party between 2-4am. You wake up, eat, and then coo and giggle and squirm. I don’t really mind the one-man parties, except I have to chaperone…

Two weeks ago, around your five-month birthday, you got your first teeth! The Squeaker didn’t get her first teeth until 10 months.

You giggle. A lot.

You like to sleep in our bed; your sister’s not a big fan. In fact, you have a habit that your mother has – when you sleep next to me, you get as close as you can. So I scoot over. And you scoot over. And we keep doing this until half of me is hanging off the edge of the bed and you are pressed up against me on the other side.

There are many more, but that’s not the reason for this letter.

At some point in your life, probably some where between the years of 16-18, you are going to say, “I am not related to these people…”

I am here to tell you – you are.

And if there is any question, the photos below should dispel it. The first photo is you at about four months… the second is me at three months.


Starting to notice some resemblances?

Even though you carry the visual stamp of your forefathers, we are not rubberstamps of the other. Just because I succeed or fail at something does not mean you will do the same. Or that you even have to do the same things.

You have a long journey in front of you and it will be filled with up and downs. I am going to try to be there to hold your hand as long as I can.

But, far sooner than I care for, you will have to walk down your own road, either by preference or by necessity. When that time comes, I hope our time together will help you make the right choices.

In the meantime, we’re gonna play games, go places, and do things, all in the name of fun.

And let me pass on one piece of advice… be nice to your sister. I know that right now she’s a little rough on you, but she means well. Very, very soon you are going to out size her (as I write this, you’re and she are both wearing size three diapers!) and you will be able to push her down. But don’t. It only comes back to haunt you.

I Love You,

Your Dad

A Sickly Weekend

The Squeaker and I shared a virus this weekend that came from daycare; the highlights include a low grade fever and upset belly, which for Squeak meant throwing up chunky milk and grape juice… sort of a purple cottage cheese.

I managed to dodge the throw up bullet and merely burped a nasty tasting sulfur/rotten egg taste. Really both are awful, but I haven’t thrown up since I was 17 (and that time involved alcohol, but that’s just between you and me).

So she and I spent the weekend laying low – just watching tv and drinking Pedialyte (well Squeak drank the ‘Lyte, I had water and juice).

We also played a few rousing games of Hi, Daddy. The rules of the game are pretty simple - player one says, “Hi, Daddy.” Player two says, “Hi, Squeaker.” And repeat. You may know the game as "Yes/No".

The Squeaker’s leading, 1,375,683 to 987,624. I’m planning a catch up strategy using a computer program written in basic –

10 say “Hi, Squeaker”

20 goto 10

(wow, that was really bad computer geek humor)

But I know my readership, you just want the pretty pictures; so here you go…

All Hallows Eve

Actually, on Halloween we just answered the door* but, the weekend before we went to our local amusement park, walked around and got free candy.

Yes, they loved it. Well, Squeak loved it; Axe just came along for the ride… since he called shotgun, he didn’t want to let it go to waste.

We also discovered we LOVE candy. To be fair, I actually knew that I liked candy… The Squeaker got her first taste. After three suckers, we had to hide the Elmo head bucket.

Next year Axe will be almost the age Squeak is now and Squeak will be almost three (YIPE!), so we’ll have to go all out and do a family group costume. Maybe the Wizard of Oz?

I do look good in ruby red slippers….

____________________________________________________

*Where I told the following joke to EVERY kid who came to the door:

"You want to see the best costume ever?"

"Yes!"

Pointing to the dog, "That's my cat!"

And I'm still laughing...

Coach & Eeyore - Like Father, Like Son

Today is the third anniversary of P.Pie’s father’s death and the second time I’ve covered it on the blog; you can re-read it here. I was considering reposting the original when I received a text message from P.Pie’s brother, Eeyore.

And that got me to thinking.

A few weeks ago, I was in Portland, Or. for a few days on business. And as it happens, Eeyore and his twin brother, Dog, live in Portland. We made plans to get together; unfortunately Dog was out of town at the time. So it would just be he and I and Eeyore’s youngest daughter, Moon Unit.

I had never really thought of Eeyore as looking much like his dad or even being much like him personality-wise.

They were definitely different people; Coach was, well a football coach. Coach was an outstanding person who showed great love for his family and mentored hundreds, maybe thousands, of young men on many high school and college grid irons.

Eeyore was (and still is) quite the tie-dyed free spirit.

Eeyore definitely marches to the beat of a different drummer. He was never a football player, at least not American football. Eeyore has followed the Dead, beat bongos in a drum circle, and finally made his way to live in his personal Mecca, the Pacific NW.

I have not seen Eeyore in at least three years. And not because I didn’t want to, as some people are prone to do with troublesome in-laws. When we both lived in California – and I was merely dating his sister – we hung out often. I even helped him get a job waiting tables.

I do not use the term “brother” lightly and I use it when I talk about Eeyore.

So when I sat across from him at the Rouge Brewery & Public House for a few beers and a burger, I realized how much of Coach I actually do see in him. I don’t know if it is something in his eyes, or perhaps it’s in the facial structure. And their demeanors are very much alike; both of them caring more others than themselves.

I not sure what it was, but it nearly knocked me down with a flood of memories about Coach and how much he is missed by all (and even now, I am nearly over come).

So to wrap up, I will leave you with Eeyore’s words, send to family & friends via text messaging –

To all my family: his love is alive and with us always. Just look at the glimmer in the eyes of our young and you can see all the good work he has done.

My Girl Likes to Potty All the Time

Yes, the photo makes The Squeak look like an old hand on the ol’ porcelain plastic throne but photos can be deceiving. She’s really just in it for the book reading.

We started the path to potty training* sort of by accident; we receive a potty as a gift. Rather than force it on Squeaker (the pediatrician said two years is about the time to start, so we’re still four months out), we figured we’d put it in the bathroom and let her ease into it. Figuratively speaking, of course.
*the path of a thousand miles starts with the first pee

A couple of weeks ago, she started pointing at her diaper and saying, “Poopies?”. We’d check and nothing would be there. A few minutes later, there would be a distinct odor.

Putting two and two together (no pun intended), we decided to offer the “potty experience” the next time she gave us a sign.

When the sign came we scooped her up, stripped her down, and sat her on the throne. Squeak wasn’t very interested, standing up every few minutes. So we grabbed a book (one of the great toilet pastimes) and read to her.

And finally, after 10 minutes, we called it quits.

But on the next try, we got gold! Well, yellow really.

And since our first success, we’ve repeated it a few times, even scoring a true poopies.

We’re not hardcore about it. We are trying to build a routine – when we get up in the morning, when we get home from daycare and before bed. If we get results, we applaud and practically put it in a jar for display; and if The Squeaker doesn’t want to sit on the potty, no big deal.

But I won’t lie. It would be nice to not have two in diapers.

There's Something About Axe

We are about a week away from Axe’s fourth month. Four months! Axe is growing like the federal deficit and developing his own little personality.

I haven’t given much thought to his budding personality until this weekend. Yesterday was Picasso’s 34^th birthday and to celebrate we over-imbibed Saturday night then recuperated with a surprise barbeque in Picasso’s backyard.

Anyway, at the barbeque one of the partygoers mentioned how quiet Axe was being. In fact, I realized that he is usually somewhat reserved around strangers (unlike his gregarious sister, to whom a stranger is only a friend she hasn’t met yet). So we may have a thinker on our hands… I guess only time will tell.

So what else is new? In the past four months, Axe has reached a number of important milestones… sleeping through the night, rolling over and holding his head up. He also has an interesting habit… throwing up on his father.

Yes, I know there’s difference between spitting up and throwing up. And to be honest, he does like to spit up on me… a lot. But Saturday it was a full on throw up.

P.Pie was out and Axe was fussing, so I made a bottle of formula – a full six ounces. Now normally I’d just make four ounces, but in the last couple of days he’s been eating more so I was loading for bear.

And it turned out to be the right thing to do because he gobbled it down.

A word of note – no matter how rapidly a child is eating, stop halfway through and get a burp.

Can you guess where this is going?

So we go for the after dinner burp (I’ve even got the burp rag on my shoulder) and I get a burp. Along with six ounces of body temperature formula. All. Over. Me.

Yea for dad.

A Gunslinger Repeat, of Sort…

Rather than thinking that Axe has suddenly grown up, this photo is of my nephew/buddy, Gunslinger. Because of his love of skate boards and Star Wars, I call this picture Obi Wan Kan Skate.

If you’re a long term reader of HowAboutTwo.com, then you are well aware of just who Gunslinger is as well as his birthday preferences.

He LOVES Pump It Up Palace for birthday parties (an inflatable bounce house business).

He loves it so much we’ve gone there for his last THREE birthdays (and yes, he just turned four). So, rather than bore you with stuff you can read at this post, I will instead entice you with pictures (mostly of my kids at Gunslinger’s party).

P.S. Be sure to check out the NEW header at the top of the page!

No, We Didn’t Fall of the Face of the Earth

We had another child.

Two children in diapers. Two kids with limited language skills. Two humanoids with restricted abilities to care for themselves. So my time is a little…taken.

But, much like many of my readers, I have been chastising myself for slacking off on one of my favorite pastimes…motorcycle riding er, blogging. So, I have a ton of topics to expound on and I will seriously try to post AT LEAST once a week.

Or at least not once every six weeks.

Anyway, here is the first topic that I have “stored” in the vault (and started writing a month ago!)…

When Axe was born (over three months ago!), The Squeak was nearing 16mos and crawling. She was a speed crawler. Much like the Olympic sport of speedwalking, she moved her hips in a funky way and is faster than I can run…almost.

But still, it was only crawling.

Yes, she’d cruise on the furniture; if there was a line of couches from here to Texas, Squeak could cruise there. But ask her to walk (read: take her away from the support) and her knees would buckle like a cheap leisure suit and she’d crumple to the floor in a heap.

I thought something was amiss when, at her cousin’s house while playing with a “popcorn popper” push toy, she would walk behind the push toy. You’re probably thinking, “Well, the push toy was supporting her.” Not exactly.

If she came to an obstacle, she’d pick the popcorn popper up, walk around said obstacle, and continue on her merry way. But remove the push toy and down goes Squeaker, down goes Squeaker.

We were concerned (silly parents), so we took her to an orthopedic specialist. Said specialist told us her legs were strong and she should be walking anytime.

Two days later, she walked four steps. Day three, a baker’s dozen worth of steps. After a two weeks, we had no idea where she was.

Just kidding.

Now she walks everywhere; sippy cup in one hand, toy/blanket/personal item in the other. Sure, we have the occasional trip up (well, frequent, really), but she definitely has her legs under her.

Oh, and you should see Axe! He’s… in the next post.

Introducing…

We finally have a blog name for Atticus!

Not that it has been critical, since I haven’t posted in almost a month. I don’t even have a good excuse, other than the fact that we have two children under the age of two and in diapers.

Yeah, it’s a lame excuse… but still.

Anyhoo. We bounced around a lot of nicknames, but nothing seemed to stick.

And Atticus wasn’t helping any; unless we wanted to call him “Wailer”. And now that I think of it, that’s a pretty good name for him given his penchant for crying.

It’s not that bad; he only cries when he’s hungry or his diaper is dirty.

Or he’s tired.

Oh, and at bath time.

Also when the sun is up.

And most the night.

Truthfully, he’s gotten better in the last couple of weeks. But we still have frequent flair ups.

No, Wailer won’t do. Neither will anything else P.Pie or I could come up with.

Instead, we are going with the name that The Squeaker calls her brother – Axe… with a little modification. Squeak adds the sh sound to the end, so it comes out Axsh.

And she elongates the middle of it, so it sounds like Accksshhh. But who wants to be called something that sounds like a flat tire at low speed when you can be an implement of destruction?

Welcome to the show, Axe. Brace yourself.

Good brace!

Hey, Macarena!

Most major hospitals have a baby picture service and ours was no different.

A quick word about the photography equipment and the “photographer”; the camera was a basic digital jobber mounted to one of those infant carts and the whole thing was operated by a young gal that was really nothing more than a candy striper.

Anyhoo, the ‘striper let us put Atticus on the table while she tried to get his attention by waving toys at him. A 24 hour-old. Waving toys and calling his name.

As you might imagine he wasn’t having any. So I stood over him and called his name. He looked up and she snapped the photo. It’s the only one with his eyes open.

Now that we are a month into it, I have a couple of thoughts on parenthood, version 2.0:

I don’t remember so much crying.
I suspect that there was crying with The Squeaker, but the brain has a way of forgetting about it. In fact, I can hardly remember the 11pm, 1am, 4am, and 6am feedings/cryings from last night… or the previous 29 nights. It must have something to do with the promulgation of the species… because if you remembered, you’d only have one.

Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold that head up!
Holding a new born is a lot like holding a fish out of water. They both flop around a lot.

No! Not there! Not there either! Push! Push!
Dressing an infant is different than dressing a toddler. The toddler knows how to put his/her arms/legs through the proper holes – the infant does not. In fact, an infant has spaghetti arms and legs that have to be threaded through arms and leg holes. I’m not really sure when Squeak got to be such a helper with dressing, but I’ll be looking forward to it in Atticus.

Who knew you could live without sleep for weeks on end?
P.Pie & I have fallen into something of a routine with regards to the boy; she usually does everything before 3am, I do everything after. This is not a hard and fast rule, but it’s generally how it works out.

All that being said, he’s a good boy and these things will give way to other issues, I’m sure.

There is much to tell in the world of The Squeaker, so look for another new post with lots of new photos in a few days.

Toddlers Who Say “Nee!”

Today, we saw our first film in a theater as a family. And as an extended family, no less – P.Pie’s sister and her whole family came along, so there we eight of us.

I have a thing about going to see a film in a theater; I rarely see it on the opening weekend. The lines are long, there are throngs of people and hardly ever more than two seats together unless you get there an hour early. But if you wait a week or three, the crowds thin out and it’s usually no problemo.

Of course there are exceptions to that rule, exceptions that revolve around science fiction series films and possibly comic book related movies. But the older I get the further apart those exceptions come into play.

My lack of desire to see movies on an opening weekend ESPECIALLY applies to kids’ films. Don’t misunderstand, I love a number of kids’ films including, but not limited to, Pixar movies.

Anyway, I bet you can guess what movie we saw.

We threw caution to the wind and saw WALL-E. Well, we saw MOST of the film. To Squeaker’s credit, she hung in there for an hour and a half. Unfortunately, there is at least 30 minutes worth of previews before the film, so we were doomed from the beginning.

Also at 16 months, she’s not yet a big TV watcher (not that I’m complaining), so expecting her to sit still through a feature length movie is not realistic. But it was worth a shot and she did pretty well.

My only complaint is that now I have to see WALL-E again so I can find out how it ends. And no, I don’t want you to spoil it for me.

*************************

In other news, Squeaker has picked a new word; and that word is “Need”. As in, “I need _______ ” (fill in the blank with whatever is in her line of sight, especially if it is not hers).

Except she drops the “I” from the first line of the sentence and the “d” from the end of the second word, as well dropping the entire word of the item she wants. So it comes out as simply a frantic “Nee! Nee! Nee!” as she points to the item that has caught her eye.

So whenever she does this in a public place, I say (a little too loudly), “Are you saying nee to that old woman?” in an English accent. To add insult to injury, I will usually go on to lament living in the dark ages as a schrubber.

If you are unfamiliar with the quote, click here to watch the clip on YouTube.

This sort of behave used to turn P.Pie bright red. Now she just rolls her eyes and ignores me.

I can’t wait until The Squeaker gets older so I can have someone new to embarrass.

Packing the UV Suitcase

Okay, let’s get everyone caught up, shall we?

Last week, Atticus went for his one week check up and his bilirubin count was a little high, making him more like one of The Simpsons than one of the Barrons.

Oh yeah, and who the hell is Billy Rueben anyway?

Actually, calling it “a little” high is me downplaying the situation; his count was 18. If it had been 20, they would have admitted him to the NICU for phototherapy under the UV blue lights. And while we didn't have to go to the NICU, it still brought back memories not that far removed.

But, since Atticus was just under the count, they sent us home with a UV suitcase.

What, you might ask, is a UV suitcase? It is EXACTLY what it sounds like. It’s a self contained grow light system that bombards the person laying in it with UV rays (the non-tanning varietal).
So, for 24 hours, unless Atticus was eating or being changed, he was under the lights.

The first hour I kept him company as he wore the little cloth eye patches to keep the light out so he wouldn’t stare at the lights, effectively blinding him. And I can see how that would happen.

After an hour of looking into the UV suitcase, everything looked yellow. It took 10 minutes for the effect to wear off; from then on, I tried to wear my sunglasses every time I sat with him. It’s a funny sight, me sitting in the master bedroom, wearing my sunglasses inside, at night.

What a difference a day makes.

His bilirubin count was down five points the next day and his color was much better. The next day he was well within the realm of normal.

Well, as normal as any child of mine could be.

Other items of note:

• We’re still working on a blog name for Atticus; currently, At-At, Scout, and Finch are in the running. The geek in me likes At-At for the unspoken Star Wars reference, but Scout rolls off the tongue.


• At the two week check up, Atticus had grown a ¼ of an inch and was above birth weight.


• Fresh out of the womb, I thought his eyes were brown. But, they appear to be Barron Blue (actually, they should really be called Schlather Blue, because my mother’s side of the family has a darker shade of blue. But, since my last name is Barron, it’s Barron Blue).


• Atticus is not the sleeper The Squeaker was… nor does he squeak like she did. He sounds like a Howler Monkey in a vise. Actually, he has gotten better… more of a squawk than a howl. Perhaps he should be The Squawker?!?


• And finally, over all The Squeaker seems to like her little brother. Overall she plays nice and we only have to tell her “Gently!” every other minute.

Greetings, Little One

Entering the world at precisely 7:32am and weighing in at 7lbs 15.6oz with a body length of 21.75in, please welcome Atticus to the world!

We arrived at the hospital this morning at 5am (which means a wake up call of 4am!), got checked in and changed into scrubs, then rolled up to the operating room. As par for the course, the temperature in the OR was just a hair above meat locker temperature.

After it we get into the OR, things move pretty fast. They strapped PPie to the table, put up a drape (to save me from seeing the gore) and got busy.

10 minutes later, a gooey, hairy, bloody boy popped out, peeing immediately on his mother and the doctor. They whisked him over to the Star Trek sick bay-esque warmer and cleaned him up.

As soon as they pulled him out, they all recognized the boy as a Barron. In fact, at first glance, he could have been The Squeaker (except for the boy parts, of course). While Atticus definitely bears the mark of his sister and brother before him, but at the same time he is uniquely his own person.

His blood oxygen level was a little low as was his blood sugar level. So we got to sit under the oh-two hood and had formula dumped straight to the belly.

After a couple of hours of oxygen huffing, we moved to the clean up area and then to mom’s room, which is where we are now, working on the nursing skills.

More to come!

Kismet

Yes, it’s that time – the eve of the eve of the eve of the birth of BBC.

We are on the cusp of welcoming the newest Barron into the world. P.Pie and her mother, The General (aka Nana), are busy with sticks and twigs nesting the house up.

As they scurry about – sorting clothes, putting things away, buying new stuff, etc. – I thought I’d take a moment to share and interesting happenstance.

Neither my mother nor my father have taken a shine to the name Atticus. I imagine it’s because A). they haven’t met him yet (I think he’ll definitely wear the moniker well) and B). it’s not a run of the mill name… like, oh, I don’t know…Robert.

Anyway, all the nay-saying about the name had, for the briefest of moments, given me pause. Then I received a sign. No not a clouds-parting-hand-of-God-anointing kind of sign. Rather, a radio signal.

I was listening to a morning radio show on Sirius and out of the blue, the host started talking about the Atticus Finch character in Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird. Now, if I was listening to the NYTimes' Book Review podcast, I might not have been too surprised. But this particular talk show host NEVER talks about literature.

So what does it mean, really? Probably nothing.

You can take it as a sign, or kismet, or happenstance, or coincidence, or whatever. But in my mind, it reaffirmed the name.

In for a penny, in for a pound as they say.

Fun On Saturday

The Squeaker LOVES to get up early on Saturday and Sunday. Monday through Friday, she’ll sleep until it’s time to leave for work (7:00-ish). But come the weekend, she’s up by 6am and rarin’ to go.

And this Saturday was no different.

Squeak was up at 6 and her pj bottoms were soaked. We ran out of our usual diapers and had to pick up a new brand and they do not keep her dry through the night (I won’t mention the brand name, other than to say it starts with a P and ends with an Ampers).

Anyway, I got her up, changed her diaper and brought her to bed with us, sans pants. We played. We wrestled. We laughed. By 6:40 we were out of Mommy and Daddy’s bed and on to breakfast.

I won’t bore you with a blow by blow of our entire morning, but suffice it to say that we went down early for our late morning nap, still sans pants.

When she woke, I found this –

Well, the picture doesn't do it justice, but

Oh.

My.

God.

Apparently, before she went to sleep she pooped AND pulled her diaper off.

Of course, she was in the middle of it and covered.

Poop was everywhere. I grabbed The Squeak out of bed and toted her over to the changing table for an initial “once over” before we hit the tub.

And, yes… it gets worse.

Because she had removed her diaper and played in the poop prior to falling asleep, it had set up harder than concrete in August.

So I managed to pick some of the crusted poop off of her before soaking her in tub full of warm, soapy water and scrubbing her down.

So we have a new rule in our house…. if you’re you’re sleeping, you’re wearing jammies.