Number 1 can't go Number 2

I was off by an hour in my previous calculation -- day one as the Acting Executive Officer for the Director (3-star General civilian equivalent) was 13 hours, not 12. And a comedy of errors at that.

Blackberry Follies I

Started out trying in vain for two hours to get a blackberry (the only approved wireless communication system allowed) so I could be contactable and make calls while we went to the Pentagon later in the morning, but the techie could not be found. At the last minute, I borrowed the Executive Assistant's, while the Director was waiting for me to put on a coat, then realized I'd never used a blackberry before in my life. Figured it out fairly quickly, but then couldn't get her password she hurredly told me to work, so I couldn't call the driver when we were done with his meeting. He gave me his phone, but call after call failed. Then he gave me his blackberry, a different type, but as I was fiddling with it, the driver pulled up, as he had seen us flailing away while looking out at the parking lot.

The job is just basically ferrying the Director from one meeting to the next, though I was able to get him a hot dog and onion rings, too. Arguably the highlight of my day.

A late Secure VTC started even later, since the retired Ambassador was late from an extended stay with the Secretary of State...and these just aren't the type of meetings I went to when I was in my old branch. Fascinating stuff, seeing things from the top. I'm sure if I were really The Man, I'd be given more to do, but right now the secretary takes care of the schedule, he has staff to work correspondence and briefings, and I just knock on his door and tell him when he's running behind.

Running Behind

Tuesday I learned to not ever drink anything ever. Because time to go the bathroom is not in the schedule, especially when meetings run over, causing the next ones to run over, and so on. It also doesn't help to lean against the room's VTC and lighting controls in the middle of a conversation with a Navy Captain up at Minot, causing the room to go black, the screens to come down, then up, then down, then up, as I try to figure out what the hell I did and the Senior Staff members mercifully laugh in my direction (apparently the actual Exec has done that a few times, too). I later opened the doors to the wrong conference room, then took three tries to get a 3-way call established with a member of OSD. The Director shrugged it all off, an affable fellow, realizing I'm new. Though that won't last forever.

I finally got my blackberry and some remedial training, and even though the boss was supposed to be done at 4:30, he was behind closed doors past 6:15. Ainsley is amazingly supportive, probably helped by the fact that this is a one-week thing (though they asked me to stay for two; I declined). Home a little after 7, where Ryan greeted me without his Mommy having heard me. He said "Hell-ooo!" and grabbed my travel tea mug, as he does, and Ainsley said from the kitchen, "Are you looking for Daddy?" He held up my tea mug: "Found him!"

Touched by a Dick

Had to get up at 4:45 to leave by 5:30 to meet the driver to then go get the boss at his residence by 7:00, then drive out west towards Dulles for an all-day conference on Counterproliferation and Defense In Depth for combating WMD, for which the Director was a principal guest speaker. Cool to hang out with a VIP, getting met by Colonels and security, being whisked through lines, front row seats. I dutifully placed my blackberry in the appropriate shelves, a sticky note with my name on it, then returned to stand approx. 2.3 yards behind the Director in case he needed anything, which basically amounted to me holding his stuff while he used the John. There was a problem with my registration, so I was away from him for two seconds while they got me a nametag, and when I caught up with him again, he was walking in with Senator Richard Lugar (R-Indiana), who was nice enough to shake my hand. We were running behind (BLOW ME DOWN!), so I couldn't even tell him I went to Indiana University, which I'm sure would have made him enormously proud.

The Senator read a prepared speech then answered some questions, then took off. The Director was next, who spoke extemporaneously for forty minutes. Very impressive. We then had a thirty minute break, though the Director didn't get out of the auditorium for the first 20, since people wanted to come up and ask more questions, or he had to chat with old friends. I finally broke away to go check blackberry messages...and it was gone.

No. 142 cellphones, blackberries, and pagers, and mine is the one missing? I look again. Every empty slot, every other piece with someone else's name on it, and no Gottrich blackberry.

I notified the front desk, and then checked again at lunch, and ... nothing. Someone walked out with it.

I'm blaming Senator Lugar.

The Director changed his mind a fourth time and left the conference at lunch, which meant he had a free afternoon to check e-mails I'd sent him two days ago, and I actually got to drive home when it was light out still (after stopping at Ford for 30 minutes to get a nail taken out of one of my tires).

I come home to Ryan, who now knows how to spell "Daddy" and "Erin". And can read the letters in his Washington Redskins bowl, albeit backwards, and instead of "T", he says "Tie". Since that's what T is for. And what Grandad wears. Besides his moustache.

Also a shirt and pants, in case I've lost any of you.

Generation Zz

We have come to resent our children.
Defying our hopes of countering Ryan's nasty sleep habits, Erin has joined forces and refuses to give us (read: Mommy) a moment's peace. I think she's slept all of twenty-three minutes since she was born. I fecal matter you not.
Ryan is only getting worse, now skipping his naptime (hanging out in the crib, yammering away for three hours at a time) upwards of three or four days a week. It usually means he goes down easier at night, though not necessarily earlier. Our frustration, I think, stems from the fact that all we want to do is sleep, and that's what he refuses to do given the chance.
He's doing very well at Being Two, turning his head away at mealtimes, throwing a fit when we want to put a coat on him in 20-degree weather, saying "no!" a heckuvalot more.
We only keep him around because he still comes up with things like adding a "mommy" to Old McDonald's Farm, with an "I love you" here and an "I love you there", or spontaneously saying to Grandad, "Thank you reading boo-oks!"
But after my last batch of photos, a friend with four kids wrote me that she's itching over having a fifth, and I just want to hit her in the face with a diaper pail. What is WRONG with these people?
We love our children immensely (during the day, anyway), and feel lucky to have them in our lives. It just bugs me that I have to yell to carry on a conversation with my wife over Erin's near-constant (when she's with me) crying, which adds to our stress level -- I hate being angry all the time, and the exhaustion is a big part of it (and I'm getting 8 times the amount of sleep my wife is!).
Outside forces don't help, as Salesmen proved they're just lying sacks of monkey farts.
Thursday I dropped off the Mega-Studly Mini-Van at the dealership to replace its jelly-absorbing coffee-sponge cloth interior with teflon-coated childproof spillproof stainproof ripproof funproof leather, but the "three- or four-hour" process wasn't done after nine hours, so I had to keep the loaner car overnight and go into work late the next day and pretend I don't hate people who renege on promises after I've given them several thousand dollars.
Then Bailey has been looking like the planet Jupiter all week, since half her chest-surgery stitches popped, leaving a gaping oozing attractive red hole. Ainsley took her back to the vet Wednesday (kids in tow), but he decided it'd be better to just leave it rather than carve her up like doggy sushi again.
Fortunately, Ainsley's parents came back in for a day to free our hands and let us get stuff done around the house and take stuff to the dump. We rewarded them with a meal at the Hard Times Cafe, a restaurant/bar that serves pretty good chili and has a jukebox Ryan likes to dance in front of. We usually get him a cheeseburger and applesauce, but we decided to order him some Chili-Mac, which came out instead on spaghetti. "Isn't that 'Chili-Spag'?" I asked Ashley the server. "...Um..."
Net week I sit in as the DTRA Director's executive officer, managing his calendar and ferrying from meeting to meeting, office to office. Should be a hoot. If a 12-hour-a-day one.

Yep. I have a 2-year old

A woman I followed in to work this morning dropped her purse.

"Whoop-sie!" I said.

Mini Man

si*en*na n an earthy substance containing oxides of iron and usu. of manganese that is brownish yellow when raw and orange red or reddish brown when burnt and is used as a pigment.

It is done.
Unlike my wife, I was never against owning a mini-van; I'm all about the practical. When the time was right, the time was right. (Future present particle of "it is what it is.")
Internet car inventory/spec, bank loan pre-approval, and affordability research all week, then Dad was nice enough to babysit Ryan for a few hours Saturday morning so we could test drive some. Ainsley had already driven her sister's Honda Odyssey, so we stopped by a Toyota dealership first. Slick Willies abounded, all long leather jackets and funky ties -- one guy looked like he was dressed like a 1960s-era sofa, and he turned out to be the Dealership Owner (and a retired Army O-6, so he was Sure To Give Us A Great Deal. After we each test-drove a basic-model Sienna while the other bounced/shushed Erin in the lobby, and got the inevitable Whadda We Havta Do To Getcha In This Car Today schpiel despite the fact that we told them it was our first car of the day, it was already lunchtime and time to get back home.
After lunch and putting the kids to bed, I drove out to CarMax by myself to get more bang for the buck, i.e., more models on one lot. I was in a bad mood when I got there, having taken 1.5 hours after getting stuck behind an accident on 28 near the ridiculously named "Frying Pan Road," and then Reality and my Navigation System not agreeing on where a road existed to the dealership. Ali told me where the minivans were, but seeing one lined up after another, meant they all just started to blend and look the same. I test drove a sharp-looking Hyundai Entourage, which was fine except for the right door sliding open every time I took a left turn. The Town & Country felt tinny; the Odyssey bulky.
But I drove back to Honda Woodbridge to test drive a newer model, an 07 they said they would lose money on to get rid of, and it grew on me, with cool bells and whistles, but ultimately they wouldn't give me a trade-in quote on the Subaru, and the price was out of our comfort zone anyway.
So after going home for a quick dinner and pat on the kids' heads, it was back to Toyota.
They were desperate, of course, needing our business or their children would starve. Or words to that effect. They were willing to come down 8K on a new car, and throw in the leather interior we wanted for free. Plus, they have a lifetime warranty, the first in the industry (supposedly), provided we do all our required maintenance at Toyota. We'd started out this little project thinking about a used car, saving the money, but since Toyota's used cars were certified and Not As Discountable, we would (supposedly) get a better deal buying new. And after seeing all the used cars at CarMax, driving someone else's dorito-stained boot-rubbed rickety rustmobiles really felt less appealing. And Ainsley and I have both proven that We Hold Onto Cars (my 11-year T-bird, her 9-year Forester), so if we got a good deal, and had lifetime warranty to boot, why not get something we liked?
What we liked, however, was having automatic sliding doors for She With Hands Full, which meant we had to look at the next model up. Between White, Gold, or Grey, site unseen, I suggested Gold, since we already have a grey car, but they could only find the gold in the close lot. Nice car, but there would have been 3 different colors in the interior after the leather was put in, so I asked if we could just compare the grey. Just like our Highlander experience from 2 years ago, Ron drove me to the WayBack Lot to find that the grey car was stuck behind another, so we drove back to the dealer, got the extra key, then back to the lot to drive the grey one back inside to take a look.
Awesome friggin car! It's really a dark blue as opposed to grey, and besides the power door (just one one side, for now), the upgraded model has tinted windows, a 6-cd changer, steering wheel-mounted audio controls, rear window venting controls, a digital directionometer and outside temp. reading, and way-cooler spacey nighttime dash lights compared to the basic blue lights of the base model. It's a way cool van. I just hope Ainsley likes it...
I was there past midnight signing paperwork and haggling over financing and all the 'add-ons' they like to add on, so when it came time to schlep everything out of the Subaru into the Toyota, I asked if I could just come back tomorrow and do that, since Ainsley had to come in anyway to sign forms to transfer the title. I figured Ainsley needed one last chance to say goodbye to her Sherwood, and also point out any hidden compartments where she had $100 emergencily stashed somewhere...
Mind still reeling from all the facts and figures (and Asha purring on my head) kept me up til 2, then the dogs had to just had to get up at 7.
I'll sleep when I'm broke. Meanwhile, I'll just enjoy the prospect of driving our Manganese Pigment Mobile. I told Ryan this morning that we bought a new car! And it's blue! He looked down at his crib toys du jour...
"Like blue fish!" with wide eyes and little boy oboy cuteness.
Glad he likes it, since he'll be driving it when he turns 16.

Grumpipants, Sr.

Erin better be 6' 7" by high school, what with all these growth spurt-feedings. She didn't nap at all between 11:30am and 10pm yesterday, after spending most of the previous night bouncing up and down the stairs between Ainsley (nursing her 'til she fell asleep) and me (keeping her asleep upwards of fourteen seconds). Finally got a good stretch of sleep out of her from 11 to 1, then fell asleep for 4.5 hrs before Ryan woke up at 6.
I was frustrated all night that A couldn't catch a break -- Erin's gas wouldn't let her rest comfortably and the dairy dirigibles were the only things that could soothe her -- and little things were starting to set me off, so I was sent to bed at 9:30 for a much-needed (if guilt-laden) 9 hours of sleep.
I took leave to take Bailey to her lumpectomy and Ryan to his post-cranial beummp audiology test, with a haircut in between. Ryan needed one, too, so that was fun potential -- I thought maybe if he was listening to music through my "hi-pod" earphones, he wouldn't notice the clippers. He seemed intrigued enough by the "mookis" upstairs to give it a shot, but then Ainsley suggested "Cartoon Cuts" -- hey, go to the pros, right?
Only the place was empty, a typical salon only with crayons in the waiting room, neon lights, and two green elephant heads in the back with shower nozzles coming out of their trunks. Then two rows of chairs in front of mirrors. Like any barber shop. But with little TVs. I dunno, I was expecting more -- a giant projector TV playing Bugs Bunny while the kids sit in fire trucks or on the back of zebras while Lathy the Clown makes Towel Animals. Like Chuck E. Cheese with Shears.
As it was, Ryan watched "The Wiggles" and licked the under (less hairy) half of a lemon lollipop, and after some initial tears, he settled down and got a nice & short haircut. Well worth the price, says Mommy.
Ryan's test showed some lack of movement in the right eardrum, perhaps due to some fluid still back there somewhere, so we'll see what ENT says Friday. But we wasted a bunch of time in a small enclosed bunker room seeing if Ryan (on my lap) would turn his head to the left to look at the bear banging his drum or to his right to see the bunny blowing his whistle. (Tip to audiologists: if you're trying to test a 2-yr-old's ability to hear whisper-quiet beeps, don't give him plastic stars to bang together.)
Back home with him only to turn around and pick up Bailey (all better, if still a little loopy, and clean teeth to boot) and get Tomas a distemper shot, then get home to dinner and get a tired napless boy to bed. Erin's been asleep on my chest for 2 hours, so A's getting some sleep (and I'm getting one-handed typing practice). The woman was ridiculously giddy that she'd gotten 3 Straight Hours of sleep last night.
Motherhood's just nuts!

Watch your fork and mouth

As always, we have to be careful what we say around these kincentric parts.
As in, perhaps the order should be "Ryan, take your plate and fork to the kitchen."
A week ago, I was listening to an old mix tape and got a song stuck in my head. Apparently I shared it with Ryan, since today, out of the blue, Ryan started singing "There's Only One Way To Rock."
He also got a new toothbrush for Christmas with spinning bristles (his seventeenth). I called it the spaceman, but when I was nefariously not around, Ainsley had referred to it as the astronaut. Don't want to confuse the poor lad, so I'll give in. Compromise is the key to parental joint fortitude. Or something.
But we do want to help him with his pronunciation:

"Ryan, do you want the purple toothbrush or the astronaut?"
"Assnot?"
"Ass-TROE-not."
"Ass-HO-not?"
...."Spaceman?"

Pro-Deforestation?

It may be the beginning of the end for our status as a non-minivan owner.
A check engine light on the Subaru refers to some wonky O2 converter dealie that isn't leaking, isn't broken, just a 'fault' that will take $800 to replace.
Considering that my back has been feeling mooey tair-eblay driving it the last two weeks, and that Ryan isn't growing like a middle linebacker (thereby allowing us to move him into a smaller booster and giving Ainsley her car back), we're thinking that we may need to get a new family-centric auto that either she can use so I can have my Escape back or
well, really, that would be it. No or.
Buy used? Certified? Carmax? Lease a new something for 3 years until the Escape is paid off? Buy a new if it has 0% APR? Honda Odyssey? Toyota Sienna? Hyundai Entourage? Chrysler Town & Country? Indian TaTa? Ford Crossover Utility Vehicle? Another Hybrid? What can we afford with the promotion/pay raise? Why can't the internet answer all my questions at 1 in the morning when I'm exhausted with a <1 month-old who Just Won't Let Mommy Sleep Dammit?

I'm going to get shot someday

I was in Enterprise Information System training to learn how the Agency does electronic staffing of taskers. Full room. 30 folks or so. It was supposed to be 2 hours, but the instructor breezed through the slides in an hour, answering a few questions along the way. At the end, she asked if there were any other questions.
A lady off to the side put her hand up and half-turned to the room and said, "Yeah, uh, this doesn't have to do with this, but is anyone leaving directly after this who give me a ride to my car? I parked really far away."

silence.

I turned to the room from my front-right position. "I'm going to Safeway after work, anyone need anything?"

"Milk!" came a response.
"Steak!" "Eggs!" "Can I give you my whole list?"
It's good to be helpful.

The Perect Storm

Ryan didn't nap. So Ainsley didn't nap. Not that she could have with Miss Slurpipants needing constant -- CONSTANT feeding. A friend called and offered to help if she could; I told her to just bring her boobs over.
Bailey used this opportunity of hubbubbery to tear open an old sebaceous lump on her chest, oozing blood and gunk that a) she wouldn't stop licking and b) you shouldn't describe over the phone when your wife is eating a tomato salad. It got worse, so here I was leaning back in the computer chair, with me holding one hand over her wound and the other holding my daughter while Ainsley took a quick shower -- finally got Ryan to follow instructions to stop what he was doing, go upstairs and say "Mommy, help Daddy." So he'll be good for dialing 9-1-1 when I have my inevitable nervous breakdown.
The Vet was still open, and he gave her some steroids for the swelling, antibiotics for the infection, and a half-body two-tone bandage wrap to keep a gauze pad over the festerance. (We had a spare head cone megaphone deal to keep her from licking it.)
So despite banging into furniture and walls and spooking Ryan, she seems to be doing better today. But she'll have to go in for surgery next week to get the lump permanently removed.
Erin, meanwhile, continues to grow like a fish, needing constant nourishment and/or attention. It was a night that felt like she's been crying since 2007. I tried to sit with her, but she would have nothing of it. I had to bring her up to Ainsley before she had even gotten to sleep.
She had her two-week checkup (at 3 weeks, thanks to scheduling issues), and Ainsley reported a 'boring' analysis: she's fine. Everything's fine. She's 7lbs 9oz and a smidge below 22 inches.
Not that any of you care; that's just for me in thirteen months when Ainsley asks if I remember her stats from her first appt.

Broken record broken record

Stop me if you've heard this before. Say, on the January 06, 2007 entry.

El Neato
I don't care if it's global warming, depleted ozone, or nuclear winter, but hanging out in shorts and sandals on January 6th is the coolest thing since sliced pizza. After twenty-six straight days of above-average high temperatures, trees are budding, flowers are blooming, bikini lines are being waxed, and it looks like Spring is upon us. It's even a balmy 22 degrees in Votkinsk.We took advantage of the record-breaking 70-degree weather and wagoned our offspring up to the playground.

Well, same same. (Except it's -4 in Votkinsk.)
Monday and Tuesday were in the 70s, with Tuesday smashing a ten-year old record when it hit 73.
Okay, I realize we don't live in upstate Rhode Island, but still. Two straight warm January shorts-worthy, bust-out-the-tricycle weather is just ridikilus.
I have tons of good firewood just getting peed on.

Christmas in February

That's what we're headed towards, at this rate.
As I type, our Christmas Tree, still fully ornamented, stares at me from the middle of the office. Santa hats still adorn the top of the bookcase. Our nephew/nieces combined (need to come up with a word for that, like Ryan gets to say "cousins") paper-cutout-hand-trace wreath thing hangs on the desk doorknob. Harmonica butt-waving leather-jacket Santa silently mocks me over my shoulder. (Shut up. It was a present to Ryan from one of his playmates -- don't think we'll be seeing much of it next year.)
It's just hard to carve out the time to disennoelize the house. Especially during football playoff season. Dad offered to come over before the Redskins game Saturday to help take down the tree, but that's prime nap time for a good portion of the house. And there were a million other things to take care of in the morning. It's amazing how it all piles up.
Dad did come over to walk the dogs on Sunday, but we instead put him to work helping me set up the log storage rack I got for Christmas, re-attach some downspout add-ons that had fallen off in a recent wind storm, and help Ryan go hammer whatever he wanted in the back yard. We took a curtailed stroll to the park instead, Ainsley and Erin-in-a-sling included.
Ainsley's parents arrived Sunday afternoon, with a gift of a truckbed full of firewood. Fil helped me tear down boxes and clean up the garage, and by then it was time to get ready for dinner. It was all I could do to run out and take down the porch Christmas lights while it was still relatively light out. One little thing at a time.

See-Saw Sleep

It seems I'm no longer sixteen and a half.
The plan was for me to stay up late with Erin, hanging out, making sure she didn't turn green or catch fire, then hand her up to Ainsley when she needed to be fed, then hanging out with Erin some more if I could, showing her late-night TV while letting Mommy catch more zzzs. Friday night I was successful, as we watched (at the same time on different channels) "Ferris Bueller", "The Natural", and something else, then after a quick fillerup, "Timecop" on video, inspired by the Mia Sara sighting in "Ferris". On the next squaw squawk, I let Ainsley be in charge for the rest of the night, falling asleep around 2.
But the house woke up at 7, and though Ainsley brought Erin in to me and we managed to snooze together in bed for a couple hours (Ainsley briefly terrified that I was smothering her with my massive biceps), I was still a little yawnie the rest of the day.
Not wanting to be around That Mood anymore, Ainsley told me to go to bed at 10:30, and I didn't have the strength to protest. So we've done that ever since -- I get one late night in me, then have to crash early the next. I went to work on Monday with bags under my eyes the size of portabella mushrooms (not helped by Ryan getting up at 3:25 and not being able to get him back down till 4), so I was sent to bed at 9 last night. Tonight I feel fabulous. Erin's been asleep for a couple hours, and Ryan seems to be breathing heavy on the monitor. I'll send the wife to bed, and watch a Christmas DVD or something. I told Ainsley that being able to watch all my old movies, it was like being single again. With a kid. Which made no sense. That was one of the nights she sent me to bed early.

I had a stiffy

So I'm walking down the hall at work last Thursday around noon and make a fist (as you do), and realized that not every finger wanted to cooperate. Look down, and the inside (bendy bit) of my right middle finger was swollen and pinkish purple.
Huh.
Odd. Didn't hit it, didn't let it get bit by a neighbor cat.
Did my cold spread to my finger? A virus cause this digital infarction? Let's give it a day.
A little better, but still tender and stiff and dark at the knuckles. May as well get it checked out.
Had to drive to the Pentagon to pick up my records, then back to Fort Belvoir, since I'd decided after a day of trying to get an appointment at the Pentagon, and now that I don't have easy Hybrid HOV 24/7 access, it made more sense to get seen closer to work. Granted, this is my third clinic in ten months, so we'll see.
Still not used to having doctors be Captains. Young punks. Doctors are supposed to be "sir"s. Experienced. Gray hair. White coat. I think Dad said he felt this way the first time we elected a president that was younger than he was (T. Roosevelt).
The guy was stumped -- sometimes blood vessels just pop, he suggested, after giving me a once-over to see if I had any other bruising (we glossed over the red hot-tub-jet circle burned into my back that Ainsley noticed the other day). They took blood to see if my platelet count was down, but assumed it was just one o' those things. It's gotten better, and I again type like the wind.

On daughter. Yawn. Kabitzin.

It's still all surreal to be a father of two. The first one is so amazing, it's hard to imagine that we'll get lucky twice. And I remember not making an immediate connection with Ryan, no doubt brought on by the fact that I went back to Ohio two weeks after he was born. There's some of that with Erin, too. Because she is literally connected to Ainsley 83% of the time, it's hard to get a Parent In Edgewise.
One hopes this is forgivable, but I sometimes even forget she's there in the next room, snoozing in her car seat. I get into a routine, feed the dogs, clean up the kitchen, get the boy to pick up his toys, the phone rings, take out the recycling, and Ainsley walks in and asks how Erin is doing.
!
Oh, yeah! Whoops!
As she gets older and into a steadier pattern of wake and sleep, and I can start throwing a football around with her, I'm sure things will be fine. It's just fun remembering all the things I'd forgotten about the infantiles -- the spit up on the shirts (sorry, Dad!). The near impossibility of bending a leg into pajamas when she's crying hysterically. The use of a pinkie finger to temporarily placate. The diapers too small and light to even fall through the pail's trap door. The struggle to keep her head afloat while bathing in a bucket.
And on and on. I keep imagining what she'll look like in two years, what it will be like to interact with her when she's Ryan's current age, and how Ryan will be as a four-year-old...
It's really a remarkable life.
Mabye she'll be more into socer than football. Her feet are eNORmous!

Forgot to mention

My son can spell his name.

Just seems rather advanced for a 26-month-old.

He also knows how to negotiate:

Mommy: "Okay, Ryan, we'll nurse for five minutes, but then it's time to go to bed."

Ryan: "........seventeen?"

My car misses me

I'm sure of it.
The whole point of the Ford Escape was to replace the two-door Thunderbird, which was good for picking up the chicks (mostly Bailey), but not good for easily emplacing eminent offspring. So here came the family car. Which I love. Fun to drive, green to drive, hot to drive (what with the heated leather seats).
Only ... Ainsley loves more her car. She has a name for him (Sherwood). Redskins logos festooned all over it. Stick shift. Compact, yet wagony.
She didn't want to give it up. Easy enough to stick a kid in, she said.
Even when she was With Sister, she repelled my hints to start using my car so she wouldn't be bending and stretching and hauling the 30-lb lad. "Mine," she said, pointing at the black car. Stubborn.
But now...
Her back seat was just getting too cramped for Ryan's legs, and having to sit an extra car seat back there, it was just getting to be too much.
So here comes the family car. Sitting idle, cold, and sad in the driveway in Just In Case status, while I take the Subarubble up to work Not Using the HOV Lanes Ever No Sir.
My butt is cold.
My back hurts.
On the plus side, I can listen to all my old tapes, since the Ford Escape only plays CDs.
...piece of crap.

Gift Exchange

Erin and I had a fairly even swap:
I got her a pink military camouflage outfit and some socks that say "First Lady."
She gave me something I've never had: the ability to go to sleep with the lights on and TV blaring. Wearing all my clothes.
So that was my New Year's Eve at 10:30pm. Ainsley sent me to bed, then decided to see if the three of us could crash together for the first time. Erin woke up a few times, needed a diaper change at 3am, my back killed me from trying to lie still, and Ryan got us both up at 7.
So that technique's a big No.
Spent most of the morning today at Babies Is Us, me chasing Ryan around the maze of clothes and letting him drink from the water fountain, while Ainsley nursed Erin and random salespeople asked if we needed help. We eventually got around to buying a new glider for the nursery, since the wooden rocking chair from the front porch was doing Ainsley's back(side) no bloody good. It was one of the easiest things I've ever put together out of a box, so yay Canada. So now she can maybe catch some zzzzs while/after nursing. Also changed a bunch of light bulbs in the house, installed our new computer monitor, recharged my iPod, and basically only accomplished 16% of everything I wanted to accomplish before heading back to work tomorrow for the first time in eighteen days.