Conspiracy Theory
They're in cahoots, I tells ya.
Wednesday started out with cake for breakfast at work, which isn't all that bad with a nice cup of tea; I had inadvertently guilted the front office gals into making up for missing my birthday last month, so a couple-dozen folks had a sing-along, two chocolate cakes and a card waiting for me, and despite the fact that someone referred to me as Matt in the card and that my boss' boss' boss called me "Rob" three times in five minutes, it was a lovely morning.
Wednesday was warm enough to bust open the sunroom and have dinner in there for the first time in FY08, with Ryan and I sharing a lovely mommy-hand-made Boboli pizza and his favorite veggie du jour, red peppers, which can either be "J"s or "1"s, he'll tell you, depending on which end he bites first. Although we had a disciplinary incident wherein we had to reinforce that The No No was sticking one's plastic drill in someone else's one's face (namely mine, particularly after the dental Hades session from Tuesday), we had a good long fun bath with his dinosaurs ("Sarah Tops!") and volcanoes before getting him to bed at a decent hour.
Then 4:55 the next morning rolled around.
Crying like someone had plucked out a nose hair, Ryan needed a big hug and back stroke session, then would cotton to being left alone to fall back asleep. I resorted to just lying down on the floor (thankful for the spare nursing pillow that seconds as a snoozing pillow) and hoping he would fall back to sleep with me. But when my watch alarm went off and roused me, he immediately inquired HEY WHAS ZAT!
Wanting to give Ainsley a few more minutes of more-precious-than-platinum sleep, I asked Ryan if he wanted to sit and read a book in his room or come help me shave, and he chose the latter, marveling as the blue gel turns to white foam, which, to tell you the truth, is pretty cool. Not sure how that works. My field is history. Also combating weapons of mass destruction. Not so much exfolitionary engineering.
Anyhoo, after fourteen hours of sleep in the three days, I was baked that night, nearly falling asleep in my crabcake at the dinner table. Thankfully, Grandad was around to play with Erin, because I plum forgot to. All night. Never even occurred to me to touch her. I suck as a father. But she was enjoying herself and sitting happily or playing the stand up sit down game -- she really is a love to be with when she's not screaming her fool head off. After dinner, I took Ryan upstairs to change his clothes and brush his teeth and wash his mouth out with bubble gum.
For years now, I've gargled while he's brushed his teeth, and we had a cute little game going where he'd ask if Ryan could gargle and I'd say no in a silly manner, then he'd say if Daddy could gargle and I'd say yes in a sillier manner, topping myself with every question, sometimes going so far as to responding to his "Ryan Gargle?" query with a Yes followed by a look of OOPS WHAT AM I SAYING and changing it to a quick no no no shake of the head (since my mouth is full of mouthwash at this point. But this night I confused him. "Ryan gargle?" "Yes." Pause Pause Pause. Wait, that's not how it goes, his brow furrowedly said.
"Daddy gargle?" "Yes." "Ryan gargle?" "Yes." "Ryan GARgle?" ("Really?" his eyebrows archedly expressed). Ainsley had bought him purple 'kiddie' gargle (bubble gum flavored!) for Easter, and although it was for ages 6 and above, we know he's a super genius and could figure it out with guidance. After appropriately scaring the living hell out of him that swallowing the liquid would cause his esophagus to solidify and his nipples to catch on fire, I gave him a small sip, then had him imMEDIATELY spit it out in the sink -- he sort of let it drool-hang out his mouth, but that was that. His first acid trip. (It is the first ingredient.)
After Grandad had read him some books, I took over, reading another book ("Feet feet feet!" by Mr. Seuss, M.D.), trying to get him the concept of counting in the mid-twenties:
Thirty-five minutes later, I woke up, and saw Ryan sitting happily, staring at me through the slats. I gave him a kiss and tried to leave, but he immediately started crying, wanting up. I got him to lay back down so I could fill his sippy cup, and he seemed to think that was an okay idea. Quiet and still when I got back upstairs a few minutes later, I debated whether he really needed any water over the next eleven hours or not, then figured a promise is a promise, and tip-toed in. Tip-toeing out was ineffectual, however, with tears and upstretched arms. Ainsley, by now in the hallway, said, "Let me try," and asked me to listen for Erin. I turned off the light and thirteen seconds later, I heard Erin.
Mission accomplished.
Now what.
Went from one crying child to another. At least Ryan I can have a semi-conversation with (though we can never quite get him to answer why he's crying and/or doesn't want to go to bed), but Erin is just a frustrated angry little cabbage I can't seem to do much of anything for. Ainsley, having gotten Ryan back down (though not asleep) calmly, came in and rescued me for the 6,546th time.
Over the next eight hours, Ainsley had to get up about fifteen times, changing diapers, letting whiny dogs out (one of whom threw up under my bed at 3am), and struggling with an extremely unsoothable baby whose teeth-to-be seem to be hurting like hell. I think she finally got to sleep a little after 5 am. My alarm goes off a little before 6. I felt like dirt. I heard her waking up, but was never able to coherently convince my body to get out of bed and help. Not that there's much I can do for Erin, but I can at least spell Ainsley for a few seconds. But you get that feeling when you wake up at 4am because your daughter's screaming and figure that Mommy can handle it and besides if you get up you'll have to pee so why not just wait until your alarm goes off and then pee which makes no logical sense and is probably biologically unstable, but that's what happens when you're just that tired. Apparently. Though Ainsley never has that luxury to tell the world to piss off. So, when I got out of the shower and dressed, and heard Ryan calling for Mommy, I decided that I didn't need to go into work right away today. Called in to a couple of people and said I'd be in around 9, giving Ainsley an extra minute or seventeen of sleep, while feeding Ryan cereal and watching The Upside-Down Brothers on Noggin, nestled between The Wiggles and Little Einstein on Disney.
So glad I'm paying all this money for cable.
I haven't watched SportsCenter in eight months.
Wednesday started out with cake for breakfast at work, which isn't all that bad with a nice cup of tea; I had inadvertently guilted the front office gals into making up for missing my birthday last month, so a couple-dozen folks had a sing-along, two chocolate cakes and a card waiting for me, and despite the fact that someone referred to me as Matt in the card and that my boss' boss' boss called me "Rob" three times in five minutes, it was a lovely morning.
Wednesday was warm enough to bust open the sunroom and have dinner in there for the first time in FY08, with Ryan and I sharing a lovely mommy-hand-made Boboli pizza and his favorite veggie du jour, red peppers, which can either be "J"s or "1"s, he'll tell you, depending on which end he bites first. Although we had a disciplinary incident wherein we had to reinforce that The No No was sticking one's plastic drill in someone else's one's face (namely mine, particularly after the dental Hades session from Tuesday), we had a good long fun bath with his dinosaurs ("Sarah Tops!") and volcanoes before getting him to bed at a decent hour.
Then 4:55 the next morning rolled around.
Crying like someone had plucked out a nose hair, Ryan needed a big hug and back stroke session, then would cotton to being left alone to fall back asleep. I resorted to just lying down on the floor (thankful for the spare nursing pillow that seconds as a snoozing pillow) and hoping he would fall back to sleep with me. But when my watch alarm went off and roused me, he immediately inquired HEY WHAS ZAT!
Wanting to give Ainsley a few more minutes of more-precious-than-platinum sleep, I asked Ryan if he wanted to sit and read a book in his room or come help me shave, and he chose the latter, marveling as the blue gel turns to white foam, which, to tell you the truth, is pretty cool. Not sure how that works. My field is history. Also combating weapons of mass destruction. Not so much exfolitionary engineering.
Anyhoo, after fourteen hours of sleep in the three days, I was baked that night, nearly falling asleep in my crabcake at the dinner table. Thankfully, Grandad was around to play with Erin, because I plum forgot to. All night. Never even occurred to me to touch her. I suck as a father. But she was enjoying herself and sitting happily or playing the stand up sit down game -- she really is a love to be with when she's not screaming her fool head off. After dinner, I took Ryan upstairs to change his clothes and brush his teeth and wash his mouth out with bubble gum.
For years now, I've gargled while he's brushed his teeth, and we had a cute little game going where he'd ask if Ryan could gargle and I'd say no in a silly manner, then he'd say if Daddy could gargle and I'd say yes in a sillier manner, topping myself with every question, sometimes going so far as to responding to his "Ryan Gargle?" query with a Yes followed by a look of OOPS WHAT AM I SAYING and changing it to a quick no no no shake of the head (since my mouth is full of mouthwash at this point. But this night I confused him. "Ryan gargle?" "Yes." Pause Pause Pause. Wait, that's not how it goes, his brow furrowedly said.
"Daddy gargle?" "Yes." "Ryan gargle?" "Yes." "Ryan GARgle?" ("Really?" his eyebrows archedly expressed). Ainsley had bought him purple 'kiddie' gargle (bubble gum flavored!) for Easter, and although it was for ages 6 and above, we know he's a super genius and could figure it out with guidance. After appropriately scaring the living hell out of him that swallowing the liquid would cause his esophagus to solidify and his nipples to catch on fire, I gave him a small sip, then had him imMEDIATELY spit it out in the sink -- he sort of let it drool-hang out his mouth, but that was that. His first acid trip. (It is the first ingredient.)
After Grandad had read him some books, I took over, reading another book ("Feet feet feet!" by Mr. Seuss, M.D.), trying to get him the concept of counting in the mid-twenties:
"Twenty-twooo…"By this time, Ainsley was in with Erin, trying to get her down, and I got Ryan into his crib and stretched out on the floor to keep him company until he fell asleep. Dogs and cats had been fed (thanks, Dad), I had no computer projects, chores, or shows; just tired. Just need to sleep. Need boy to sleep. Okay: go.
"Twenty-twooo…"
"Twenty ….
Threeee…"
"Twenty-freee…"
"What's after
twenty…..three?"
"...Seven?"
Thirty-five minutes later, I woke up, and saw Ryan sitting happily, staring at me through the slats. I gave him a kiss and tried to leave, but he immediately started crying, wanting up. I got him to lay back down so I could fill his sippy cup, and he seemed to think that was an okay idea. Quiet and still when I got back upstairs a few minutes later, I debated whether he really needed any water over the next eleven hours or not, then figured a promise is a promise, and tip-toed in. Tip-toeing out was ineffectual, however, with tears and upstretched arms. Ainsley, by now in the hallway, said, "Let me try," and asked me to listen for Erin. I turned off the light and thirteen seconds later, I heard Erin.
Mission accomplished.
Now what.
Went from one crying child to another. At least Ryan I can have a semi-conversation with (though we can never quite get him to answer why he's crying and/or doesn't want to go to bed), but Erin is just a frustrated angry little cabbage I can't seem to do much of anything for. Ainsley, having gotten Ryan back down (though not asleep) calmly, came in and rescued me for the 6,546th time.
Over the next eight hours, Ainsley had to get up about fifteen times, changing diapers, letting whiny dogs out (one of whom threw up under my bed at 3am), and struggling with an extremely unsoothable baby whose teeth-to-be seem to be hurting like hell. I think she finally got to sleep a little after 5 am. My alarm goes off a little before 6. I felt like dirt. I heard her waking up, but was never able to coherently convince my body to get out of bed and help. Not that there's much I can do for Erin, but I can at least spell Ainsley for a few seconds. But you get that feeling when you wake up at 4am because your daughter's screaming and figure that Mommy can handle it and besides if you get up you'll have to pee so why not just wait until your alarm goes off and then pee which makes no logical sense and is probably biologically unstable, but that's what happens when you're just that tired. Apparently. Though Ainsley never has that luxury to tell the world to piss off. So, when I got out of the shower and dressed, and heard Ryan calling for Mommy, I decided that I didn't need to go into work right away today. Called in to a couple of people and said I'd be in around 9, giving Ainsley an extra minute or seventeen of sleep, while feeding Ryan cereal and watching The Upside-Down Brothers on Noggin, nestled between The Wiggles and Little Einstein on Disney.
So glad I'm paying all this money for cable.
I haven't watched SportsCenter in eight months.
posted by Dan at 6:33 PM
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