In Sickness

Well, we've all got colds. Every one of us. It's 2AM and I can't breathe, much less sleep. Thankfully, I am the only one having trouble in the sleep department and the house is quiet. Blissfully quiet. I'm not sure how the wife made it through the day with the twins. I can only imagine how fussy they must have been all day long. She did say that she put them down early, and I can hardly blame her for that.

Me? I was at work, wishing I could remove my head. That is, until I took the advice of some co-workers and bought two products: Zicam and Tylenol Severe Sinus.

Zicam is a nasal spray that contains, among other things, "soothing aloe vera". It's billed as a nasal decongestant, and decongest it does. It's like taking a pressure washer and shoving it up your nostril, and then having your liquefied brain drain out of your sinus cavities and down your throat. This may cause some initial discomfort and possible brain gagging, but it's all worth it just to be able to breathe again.

Tylenol Severe Sinus is my new wonder-drug. In order to get it, I had to ask the pharmacist for it and then show her my I.D. "Can you take it out of your wallet, sir? I need all of your information," she said to me disapprovingly. Apparently they have to log you into their database because if you have any knowledge of chemistry, which I don't, you can make crystal meth out of this stuff. (Interesting side note: a woman actually found crystal meth in the bathroom of my restaurant last week. When the police came to pick it up, they said, "You did the right thing to call us. Sometimes these people will come back looking for this stuff and accuse you of stealing it and make a big scene. Just call us if it happens." It didn't.)

Half an hour after taking the Tylenol, I was flying! I had so much energy, I was bouncing off the walls, but was completely unfocused and loopy. At one point I was literally jumping up and down in the server alley yelling, "C'mon everybody! Let's get pumped up! Whoo!" I referred to a girl named Denise as Danielle, and even though she corrected me, I argued with her over her name until she showed me her driver's license as proof. I've worked with Denise for almost four months now. Did I feel bad about calling her the wrong name? No way, baby! This stuff was good and I felt invincible.

Until the drive home. The drugs wore off, and I was nodding out. I didn't think I would make it, and almost called the wife to come pick me up. I was slapping myself in the face trying to snap out of the trance I was in. I turned the A/C on full blast and the radio up loud and tried to shake it off. I was going to die in a fiery crash and sue the makers of these medications. By the time I pulled in the driveway, I could barely put one foot in front of the other. Just before I trudged off to the bedroom to call it a day, I gave the Zicam and Tylenol Severe Sinus to the wife. "Here. You gotta try this stuff," I said. "It's great."

Pictures at an Exhibition

We have primarily given up naptime these days as the twins sleep much better at night without it. Sometimes, however, it is not only necessary, but imperative. There are times when tempers flare and tantrums rage out of control, and we deem it naptime, if only to preserve our own sanity. In truth, our kids could pull an all nighter worthy of a college sophomore, but the fits of screaming and crying and wailing would be enough to put Mother Theresa's patience to the test.

And so it was the other day that we put the twins down for a nap. There were the usual signs... finger sucking, eye rubbing, and yawning galore accompanied by short fuses and ill tempers. So the wife and I laid the kids down to slumber, and we took advantage of this opportunity to catch some zzz's ourselves.

Perhaps we were more tired than the kids... a thought that never occurred to me personally. But upon our awakening, the house was silent for a few blissful moments. I took advantage of this window to check my e-mail, and the wife retired to the kitchen to set about preparing for dinner.

Jack awoke shortly thereafter and wandered into the kitchen in search of apple juice. The silence was broken by his Mother's bewildering tone... "What is that all over you? Go show Daddy."

I stepped into the kitchen to find my beloved son's epidermis riddled with strange and artistic lines, like jailhouse tattoos. Some parts were oddly yellow, but mostly just black lines racing off to dizzying ends. "Is that magic marker, or some kind of paint?" I asked naively. "We don't have markers in this house," the wife replied with a sour pucker, as if I had suggested the Pope were a Jew.

So I ventured into the twins' bedroom to find my daughter asleep in a similar predicament... although it was impossible to tell where the lines on her body stopped and the lines on her mattress began. It was as though she had exhausted herself with this artistic outburst. Her muse had sung to her so sweetly that she could not contain herself. In a fit of passion, she had decorated herself, her brother, the walls, the crib, the mattress, the dresser, the nightstand, the walls, the door, the trim, the carpet, the upholstered rocking chair, and even the curtains and the carpet. I uttered only four words: "Honey... get the camera."

So I proudly present to you Ella's first art exhibition. We will soon set up an auction with a Paypal option for those of you who appreciate the finer things in life. FYI, chunks of drywall will start considerably lower than the rocking chair, which as you can see is her masterpiece.

The Bachelor

Well, the wife and kids are back, and the house is a mess again. There are puzzles scattered all over the floor, the contents of the wife's purse are strewn about the house, potty chairs dot the landscape like rusty cars in a field, the kitchen is overflowing with dirty dishes and half eaten meals the twins grew bored with, and I couldn't be happier. I must admit that I missed everybody more than I could have imagined.

I thought it would be a piece of cake. I had a sound plan. Play golf and relax without the wife and kids to bother me. Sure, the golf was fun, but when I got home to an empty house... I got bored. There was no wife for me to pester and annoy. Nobody in sight for me to pick on and aggravate. I had nothing to entertain me for four whole days but a few old episodes of the Phil Silvers Show, otherwise known as Sgt. Bilko. I watched each episode twice and fell into a deep depression, unable to remove myself from the couch.

I thought I might be more productive without having to watch out for two toddlers, but without those twins providing me with motivation, I was useless. Usually the twins will use me as a trampoline-slash-monkey bars for a couple of hours when I get up in the morning while I try to drink coffee and catch up on the news. Then I get frustrated and must remove myself from the kicking and prodding and clawing and climbing and the smashing of my private parts. There's only so much I can take, after all, so I put on Thomas and go clean the kitchen or take out the trash, just to get some peace. But here I was, all alone, enjoying nothing but peace, and I was too miserable to clean a thing. Fortunately for me, there was nobody here to make a mess, so the house looked pretty much like it did before the wife up and left me to my own devices.

I survived on the bare essentials... chips, Rotel dip, bratwurst, and buns. I had some sauteed onions and peppers with the bratwurst because I needed some vegetables in my diet. One morning I got creative and made a bratwurst, onion, and pepper omelet. It was a masterpiece of bachelor cuisine, if I do say so myself. That's not all I ate, of course. There were a few helpings of fine fast food in there also. In four days, I dirtied one skillet, three plates, two glasses, and three tupperware dishes. Not bad. I did manage to mow the yard and set off a couple of flea bombs, just so the wife couldn't say I didn't do anything. Of course, the cats have replenished the house with fleas by now, but at least the flies are dead.

I was glad to come home last night to find the wife waiting up for me. I missed her dearly. So much so that I didn't even pick on her one little bit. Then I snuck into the kids' room just to have a look at them. I got down on my hands and knees and kissed Jack on the cheek. Then my eyes adjusted to the dim light and I realized it was his butt cheek. No matter. I would have kissed Ella, too, but she was writhing and moaning and speaking in tongues as if a Pentecostal pastor were laying hands on her, casting out her demons, and I didn't want to wake her. But I sure was glad to see them this morning... and my dirty house, too.

Potty Like A Rock Star

Ella is now pooping in the potty pretty regular, and we are so proud of our big girl! She wears big girl panties with Elmo on them and she struts around the house showing them off. This is not to say that she doesn't have accidents, because she does, but she is growing up, indeed.

Of course, the downside of potty training is that everything you own will get peed upon or worse. As I laid down in my bed last night, I noticed that my right shoulder blade seemed much cooler than the rest of my body. Rolling on to my side, I could feel the moisture evaporating from it. I first placed a towel over the offending spot and changed the covers, but after a very short time, the cool sensation came back. I turned on the light and found that the wet spot had returned. The towel was not strong enough to thwart the saturated pillow top mattress, and was instead acting as a wick to draw the moisture back from below to taunt me again.

Then the wife told me a story. It seems that at some point earlier in the day, Ella had peed in the potty chair and not been interested enough to tell anybody. Later on, she rediscovered the pee and decided to redeem it for her customary "potty chocolates". She got overly excited, and ran toward her mother with the removable cup full of cold urine yelling "Mommy, mommy! Look!!". And as she thrust the cup toward her mother with great pride, the poor wife was covered in cold pee pee. But in true mommy fashion, she praised her daughter and gave her potty chocolates before going to change clothes herself. Yes, indeed. Now that's how you potty like a rock star!

Clean Car

As the wife prepares for a trip to her Mother's with the kids to learn how to can vegetables and such, I am preparing for a few days of bachelorhood and golf. But before I can start scratching myself where it itches without being chastised, I must make sure the car is safe and ready for travel. So I took the car in for an oil change and then decided to clean it out for the first time since our vacation five weeks ago.

Every time I clean the wife's car, I am amazed at just how disgusting it is. And each time it always seems worse than the last. I usually start filling up the trash can with the contents of the front seats and floorboards. This go 'round began with a few Chic-Fil-A bags followed by a six month old copy of "Gourmet" magazine and several bad directions courtesy of our friends at Mapquest. I wonder who has the worst track record, Mapquest, or your local meteorologist. Even the guy at the carnival guesses my age/weight/birth date more than 60% of the time, and he doesn't even have teeth. Anyway, back to the car...

As I open the back door to survey the damage, I say a little prayer that I don't get lost in the flotsam and jetsam collected therein, check my cell phone to ensure the batteries are charged, and tuck a couple of granola bars into my socks just in case. One day that Survivorman guy is going to shoot an entire episode inside our Nissan Murano, I'm sure of it. So here's a partial list of what I found...

Nine socks, thirteen books, four and a half pairs of shoes, three blueberries, twenty six stickers drowning in pools of melted petroleum that once held them fast to leather seats (thank god for leather), six Chic-Fil-A waffle fries without the first sign of decay, three battery operated toys (the most annoying one with dead batteries... lucky me), one soiled pull-up (number one, again, very lucky), an unopened package of pop-tarts, seven Capri Sun packages (none of which were totally empty), two shirts, one skirt, my baseball cap that has been missing for weeks, two sippy cups full of fermented apple juice, three toy cars, one toy dump truck, a baker's dozen melted crayons, seven grams by weight of unidentified crumbs, and enough raisins to choke a baboon.

And I learned something in the process which I will share with you now. Are you listening? YOU WILL NEVER, EVER, GET THAT PADDING OFF OF YOUR TODDLER'S CAR SEAT SO THAT YOU MAY WASH IT CLEAN OF URINE WITHOUT SEVERAL TOOLS WHICH YOU DO NOT CURRENTLY POSSESS OR WITHOUT SEVERELY DAMAGING SAID CAR SEAT SO JUST DO YOURSELF A FAVOR AND PUT IT OUT IN THE SUN TO DRY BEFORE YOU PAINT YOURSELF RED AND RUN THROUGH THE NEIGHBORHOOD SCREAMING "I NEVER LEAVE MUFFLE MOUNTAIN AND I DON'T FRIGHTEN YOUR HORSE AND I WILL PROTECT THE LOST ENGINE EVEN THOUGH I CAN'T MAKE HER STEAM. HOO HOO!"

Mommy Immitation

So as I'm strapping Jack into his car seat on the back of the golf cart the other day, Ella climbs in the front seat and begins to jump around like a little frog. She's having a great time, smiling and laughing and making frog noises, when Jack furrows his brow and says, "No bouncing! Do you understand me? No Bouncing.". Apparently he can now channel his mother at whim. It's only a matter of time before he starts asking me to take out the garbage.

Daddy's Dirty Day Out

The wife had a wedding to shoot today, leaving me alone to rear the children however I saw fit. Too lazy to clean, I decided we would be dining out today and drove them to work for a free lunch. Yes, the restaurant business has it's perks sometimes. Besides, after recently being transferred to a different location, I wanted to show them off a little bit to my new staff.

But the twins would have none of it. They were in no mood to perform. They would sing no songs and recite not a single letter of the alphabet for anyone. Once we were seated, Jack spotted a picture of a locomotive which sent him into full blown autistic train mode. Ask him any question and he would respond by pointing at the picture and exclaiming, "Diesel engine! No trouble. Thomas." Then he would shove an entire roll into his mouth, muffling his tirade and rendering his ramblings unintelligible for a moment or two while continuing to shake his finger at the picture. Then he would clap twice and say, "Come on, diesel!". Ella was too busy eating chicken and kicking her daddy in the knees to notice.

Then we went for ice cream cones at Bruster's, where there is no indoor seating and also nothing to provide shade of any kind. Jack and Ella took their ice cream and sat on the bench while daddy paid the ice cream lady. I'm not sure if they were having trouble with their coolers or if it was just really hot outside, but before I even got my debit card back my ice cream started to melt. One look at the twins and I asked for extra napkins. There seemed to be a constant stream of chocolate pouring down upon them, as though they had been served a never ending dribble cone. Had the ice cream lady played a cruel joke on me? But the twins were happy and seemed to be enjoying the ice cream bath as though it were some exotic spa treatment. They made no effort to stay clean, and Jack was so focused on devouring the ice cream cone that he even ate the napkin that was wrapped around it.

After naptime, I took the kids to a Mexican restaurant for dinner. I was a little self conscious that I hadn't bothered to change their clothes or clean them up before taking them out again. It looked like I had bathed them in one of those chocolate fountains you're supposed to dip strawberries in. But then, a lapful of salsa and multiple drippings of cheese dip later, I congratulated myself on not ruining two more outfits in one day. Thank goodness there was a big napkin dispenser on the table, and thank goodness the wife wasn't with us. We stopped by the park on the way home to slide and swing and throw rocks into the pond.

Then it was off to Wal Mart where Ella decided it was time to throw a fit. As soon as her butt hit the basket, she started crying and yelling, "Stuck! Want Daddy! Stuck!" over and over again. I paused to look at some video games, and spent about five minutes completely ignoring my screaming daughter when two blue vested employees came over in my direction. "Can you help me with a game?" I asked, pointing at the locked display case. They walked right past me a few feet, one of them holding a yellow pad with some numbers written on it. I tried again. "Excuse me, can you help me with a game?" Still no response. Maybe they couldn't hear me because of Ella. All of a sudden, the guy behind the photo booth jumps in front of the two guys, waves his hand in front of their eyes and says, "Hey! Are you two gonna help this guy or what?". I'm not sure if he was being nice to me or if he just wanted me to remove my screaming child from his immediate vicinity. Either way, it worked, and we were on our way back home for bath time.

The kids were clean, their teeth were brushed, and they were sent to their room for bedtime. The house was still a wreck, and I'm pretty sure I dozed off to sleep before they did, but I had made it through the day alive, and they had, too. And I had learned a thing or two. Ice cream deteriorates rapidly in the sun, dirty kids are happy kids, and a screaming toddler can actually improve your level of service in big box retail stores. Interesting...