Why We Have Kids

Ainsley woke Ryan up from his nap so they could get ready to have dinner with some friends of ours, who have a 16-year-old daughter. It'd been over a year since we saw them, so Ainsley told Ryan who they were.

"...and they have a daughter, who you may not remember, but she's a very pretty girl."

"...like Mommy!"

BigBoyBed!

Sunday was gloomy and overcast, but after watching Way Too Much TV, Ainsley wanted the boy OUT, so he helped me push around the wheelbarrow to move some old rotting leaves into a less conspicuous area of the backyard, throw nuts and sticks and marvel at the little grasslings growing in front of the porch ("No Way!" says Ainsley).
Had to study Air War College for a couple hours, then swung by to pick up the bed, which Dad and Ryan helped put together with Swedish Simplicity. Ryan was especially adept at handing over the long black screws (or putting them in himself).

He was thrilled with the concept, dove right in (even before we'd put in the mattress), and after reading some books, I was able to place him into his bed with four of his favorite stuffed animals du jour. I decided to hang out with him as long as he needed, lying on my chest next to him, face on forearms, eyes closed. He was quiet, though one time I felt him reach down and touch my back, and when the dogs started carrying on outside, I told him I had to go let them in. He was fine all night, and when he woke up at 6:50 Monday morning, he called for Mommy, as opposed to somersaulting out of bed himself and banging on the door with his sippy cup yelling "ATTICA!" Which I'm sure will come in time.

Decadamp

What a great day Saturday was.
Until Ryan broke the caterpillar.

But before that, Ryan slept through the night, Erin gave Ainsley a good 3.5-hour chunk of rest, and we had a lovely a.m. pile-on session all together in our bed, sun coming up, birds glistening.
After breakfast and lawnmowing, we went to IKEA to shop for a BigBoyBed, in the hopes that we can start to transition Erin into the crib. Someday. The experts say to get a bed once the toddler is old enough to climb out of the crib on his own, but who wants that thunk and broken collar bone on one's conscience? Ryan was ready. Or so he said. He wanted a yellow and orange one. How about no.
Found one we liked, but the kids were cranky after a swedish meatball lunch, so I planned on picking up the big pieces the next day. One last night in the Man-Cub Cage.
Ryan fell asleep around 2:20, and once Erin finally crashed after 3, Ainsley took me up on my year-long suggestion and actually joined me in the hot tub! Whee! A coupla parents listening intently to two baby monitors over the roar of bubbly jets, we were the picture of percolating lazy weekenders. Until I knocked my beer into the water, but what's a little foam between friends?
We even had time afterwards, thanks to two good snoozers, to enjoy a cup of tea and snacks and light chit-chat -- as if we didn't have kids! Free time! Who knew!
We called my Dad and told him that Ryan missed the Coyote lawn ornament he had bogarted (much to Ainsley's delight), so we brought chinese food over and let Erin explore Grandad's house for the first time. In a girlie dress.
Which will take some getting used to.
Enjoyed some backyard ball-kicking and brick-sidewalk-running time, until an unfortunate run-in with a caterpillar and Ryan's sandal brought the night to a close.

Leave a Message

Ryan's not available to talk right now.




Can you please leave your contact information with his lovely secretary down the hall?



Never mind.

Can you bore me now?

Thursday, Ryan had follow-up checkup #27 for his ear injury from Christmas. A fun ninety minutes through late-rush hour traffic had us arriving twenty minutes late at Walter Reed, but the audiology staff were nice enough about it. Only this time, when Ryan saw the lady in the white coat, he started to cry. Perhaps residual effects from Erin's nasty trip to the doctor on Monday; the doctor took her coat off and brought him a rubber airplane being flown by Grover, so that helped settle him down.
Again with the tubes and sensors in his ears, testing his reaction to hearing various noises (speech, tones, other white noise) in each ear. Ryan again behaved beautifully, not talking, following instructions, being very demure. When he did speak, it was a quiet, low, throaty, gurgly-because-he'd-been-crying few words. It was all subjective -- did he turn his head all the way to the right to look at the bear playing the drums when he heard a particular tone, or just because he liked looking at the bear playing the drums -- but they think his hearing in the right ear had improved. However, the 'puff' test showed both ears, particularly the left one now, as being 'flat' (little movement) with non-shiny eardrums -- possibly because of an ear infection, they said, which makes sense with his fevers all week. But they said they wanted to see him again in 4 to 6 weeks.
How about no. His bad ear has improved, he's feeling like crap, it's five hours out of our day, he's fine.
They even had the Obamacity to ask how his speech was coming along. No doubt worried about the throaty incoherence they heard in the room and the fact that he had been reaching for the Grover plane, then putting his hands down, as if he didn't know the words NO HE'S A SHY, POLITE LITTLE BOY DAMMIT HE'S NOT GOING TO JUST SNATCH IT.
They said, even on the printout, that he had possibly 'lost interest quickly' in the test, worried that in one ear, he hadn't reacted to one frequency's 'tone'. He's a two-year-old! Not an alien spaceship you need to communicate with through tones! You want to check his hearing, put on a Wiggles video two floors down, and he'll sing right along. Thursday night, outside on our walk on Pocomoke, Ryan was being held by my dad, and he looked down from shoulder level and told Grandad that his shoes were squooshy.
At any rate, his follow-up #28 with E&T has already been scheduled for next week, so hopefully cooler heads will prevail and we can convince them that further subjection to this subjective subject is unwarrantous.

Nic-picky

3:56, the clock read when I woke up. Sweet, I'm thinking. I get to sleep for two more hours. As most of you know, for me, this is the best feeling ever. It's the slumber equivalent of a three-day weekend.

Of course, at 4:02, Ryan starts calling. Doesn't need anything, just "awake." Wanted Mommy. Well, you're getting Daddy, how can I help you?

I was able to leave him a little before 4:30, though he wanted to know where I was going. ("Need to go water a cactus." "Oh okay.")

After my biggest accomplishment at work was deciding that Toyota's next car should be called the "Iota"*, it occurred to me on the way home that my family would like to have a picnic somewhere. So hey why not the front yard. Stopped by Shoppers Food Warehouse, filled eight bins with various sundries from hot and cold food bars, and laid out a raggedy pink painter's blanket under the tree out front where the dogs could watch from the porch.

Erin seemed to enjoy looking up at the leaves, and Ryan was able to take a break between bites to go smell the flowers blooming all over the bushes.

Some neighbors stopped to chat, while Ryan raced around with their 2-year-old. I'd never seen Ryan truly run before. It was usually a fast stomp-walk deal, but to see him really tear down the driveway... makes a Dad all proud and stuff.

*Don't buy just one!

An Open Letter to Child Welfare Services

If any of you are reading, I really do love my daughter. A lot.
I just have to remember that though I hold her like a football, she is not actually a football.
Ainsley had promised some friends she would join them for a ladies-only night out at a restaurant, but since it's Thursday, Dad was over to help, so what could go wrong?
I'd asked him to put Erin down for a hot second while I was cooking dinner so he could go wash Ryan's hands, but then she started to complain in that adorable spitting cobra way of hers, so I took her out to the front porch for a change of scenery and temperature. Did the trick. But as I opened the front door, Tomas darted out, so I instinctively bent down
NOT OVER BUT DOWN
and grabbed his body with my spare hand. Unfortunately, the non-nerf that is my daughter's upper half bent down, too, and she caught the corner of the door with the crown of her head.
So we went from snake to screeching chimpanzee in a flash.
It was all I could do to quickly get a thawing bottle ready and try to soothe her, which I was finally able to do on the back deck after Dad tried in the living room, fearing that I would somehow drop her in my frustration and palatable disbelief that I had actually hurt my daughter again in so short a time. Grr.
She enjoyed another stroll up and down the street, and while Dad took care of Ryan upstairs, I walked Erin around downstairs, feeding the dogs and cats and cleaning up whatever I could with just one arm. She finally started really crying again, until she suddenly had enough and fell asleep across my arms, a fistful of shirt in her right hand. She woke up twenty minutes later, but Ainsley returned ten minutes after that, so I was finally able to go spell Dad, who was still trying to get Ryan to enjoy that lovely period everyone else on the planet calls bedtime. It was after 10:30 before he stopped gabbing. At least he went to bed with a 98-degree temp.

More sicker

As if the jackarse's car alarm going off at 2:22 in the morning wasn't bad enough, Ryan awoke at 4:00 with sputters and whimpers, so I went in to check on him. He wasn't crying, just rubbing the his eyes with the back of his hands and grimacing. When I went to pick him up, he was on fire. 103-degree temperature. Which, I thought, was the danger zone. So I did what any blue-blooded American Dad would do:
I went to Mommy.
She gave him some Motrin, and I let him lay with us for a while, not falling asleep, and still not fussing, chatting away, very matter-of-fact. I finally put him back in his crib when his temp was back down to 100, and got him to sleep about 5:30, and I'm up, what the hell, may as well get ready for work.
Ainsley was feeling like hell, too, so I was determined to come home early to take care of them.
Unfortunately, at 1:30, I started scrambling to work an overdue tasker that we had never received, so I didn't get home until around 5:15 -- I changed clothes, watered the seedlings, and Ainsley handed me Erin and went to bed.
Two and a half hours later, with a meal barely into Ryan, a fussy Erin walked all the way down Pocomoke, and a disastrous looking main floor of the house, Erin was through with me and needed Mommaries. If you follow. Still amazed that Ainsley ever does anything. Eat, tidy, self-hygiene. How does she do that with no free hands?

"I'm sick, Daddy."

See, this is the reason I tried to convince my wife not to teach my son English. Who wants to hear that when he comes home from work?
Poor little lad sitting with a glass between his legs, sipping juice out of a long curly straw. Ainsley said he had a 101-102 fever. This after Erin has a terrific ordeal at the doc's yesterday during her checkup, getting shots and having to have blood drawn when the technician pricked her own finger with the needle. So she's been feverish and cranky the last two days, too.
Officially, she's a perfectly healthy "not-so-little," as Ryan calls her, girl. At 4 months old, she's 14 pounds and 25.5 inches tall (50th and 90th percentiles, respectively). She's also found her voice since I was gone, and has become quite the Chatty Katherine.
She also apparently likes hockey. All she could do to twist her head around 270degrees to look at the action on Comcast SportsNet.

Too much of a good thing

Spent several hours yesterday raking, soiling, fertilizing, and seeding the barren area next to the back deck.
Today it rained for eight hours straight, washing away most of my work down to North Carolina.
Double-G rrr, as Pooh's friend spells the back half of his name.
Also had a fun time getting drenched on the roof, as I noticed some of my gutters overflowing in spots, so I had to crawl out there and release the clutter. Realized one downspout was clogged, so I got down there, changed into dryer shoes and shirt, and jiggled away at the bottom of the spout ... causing it to break apart a yard from the top, which sure cleared the pathway, let me tell you. All over me.
Good thing it was warm out.
Pulled it to the side of the house and was able to dislodge a good gallon's worth of mud that had caked up in there* before putting all the parts and pieces back together.

*poor choice of words to use when relaying the story at dinner. Ryan: "Cake, please?"

Yes, the family is back as one again. A long week apart, but I got a ton done with the house, with only a minor hammer claw injury to the back of my shoulder and a near-miss to the fatherlands, if you get my drift. But it was so good to see Ryan, who seemed a little overwhelmed himself. Whispering hellos through smiles. Seemed to appreciate the seashell I got him, though. Grandad had expressed how much he missed them, too, so we invited him over to walk the dogs (which we skipped, since we don't have five umbrellas and Dover keeps dropping his anyway) and have some enchiladas for dinner. During which Ryan played peekaboo with his sister. Such a good big brother.

Carded!

Me! A robust thirty-seven year-old! Ordered a beer, and St. Paulie Girl wanted to see my ID! How adorable!
Until she checked the IDs of the people next to me who looked a hundred and three. Must be an airport thing.
Friday was a day of outbriefs to the 3-star general and his merry gang of thieves also wearing tons of stars. Our group's went the quickest, which meant that the senior leaders didn't have many issues with our report, unlike the hour-long gab/critique sessions other groups had to endure, one of which was led by a civilian in altogether inappropriate "Friday casual" attire named Mr. DeVorss, who, if you can believe his bling, is ironically married.
I scooted out at 3 to be able to change clothes at the gym and get to the airport without any issues. Found a "Mandatory Metallica" segment on a local rock station, something I miss immensely from C-Springs. Who knew "Seether" had a new song out? Doesn't get reported in TIME a lot. Got a little depressed when I gassed up, since the guy next to me was making goo-goo face with his toddler in the back seat, who was grinning up a storm thinking daddy was the cooolest ever and not even knowing how wrong he is that the coolest ever was filling up the PT Cruiser in the Redskins shirt.
There was some traffic on Bayshore Blvd, as well as Interbay Blvd and Bay to Bay Blvd (guess where I was!), but I still got through car rental return and then the airport in plenty of time -- to see the flight was delayed at least an hour. Hence the beer.
Got home at 11:30, in bed at 1, not asleep, thanks to miss happy paws, until after 2.
Dogs up at 6:45. Spurting and farting and carrying on. At least they weren't waking up any of the kids. Let them out, then set my alarm for 8 to make sure I didn't sleep the day away, whichicooda.
Gorgeous day, allowing me to hang out in the back yard for over eight hours draining, cleaning, and filling my hot tub and prepping a 100-square ft patch to beat the odds and grow grass for the first time in over twenty years. Should be a fun four-week project of watering and hope. Dad and I hit a brazilian-style charbroil grill ("ham-stuffed turkey wrapped in bacon carved off a sword that smells like a steak?" "Yes, please."), which was odd for both of us without wee ones to attend to. Adult conversation! Who knew!
I miss unadult conversation about where things are and what color they are and how fun it would be to not stick that there. Plus I need to thank Ryan for thoughtfully leaving me a very-Daddy-specific plastic toy food dinner on the table in the sunroom before he left for the barn.

Today is not April One Seven

Pet Peeve:

We had a horrible thing happen to us on September 11th. Shortening that phrase to "nine-eleven," I'm fine with.


But "nine one one" is a phone number. Not an event. I thought it was just newscasters reading a teleprompter too literally, but I've heard it a bunch of times this week from briefers.

Vexes me.


But not as much as the acronym soup we deal with in the military. There was actually someone from the NCTC CCTG here this week. And we've not only got the CTC, but the CTCC and NCPC. And you can't even shorten it by saying it phonetically, like calling "AFSPC" AF-Space. Or calling an SVTC a "sivvits". There was a popular acronym in use this week that people referred to as the "Hip Pickle." Most fun I had all day.


Sorry. Just bitter that the cleaning lady threw away the water bottle I was going to use at the gym. If it's on the counter, lady, it's mine. If it's in the garbage, it's yours. You owe me a dollar.

And quit making my bed. It's annoying.

Sunrise, Sunset

Up early enough to see a very pink sunrise to the east of the Davis Conference Center, over one of the sixteen bays scattered around the area. Here for a US Special Operations Command-hosted Global Synchronization Conference-6 (sign up now for #7!) with 729 of my closest friends. There are a couple other colleagues from other DTRA offices here, plus I got to meet some of the DTRA liaison officers assigned to other commands I've occasionally e-mailed with. Also ran into a guy in my Joint Forces Staff College seminar from summer '06, and a recently retired Colonel I worked with at the Pentagon.

I guess the conference is a big deal, since the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff himself showed up.

Via Video Teleconference.
But still.

He says hi. Go do good things, he said. Synchronize globally. Or something.

Listened to briefings all day, then broke out into ten different working groups we were assigned to for the rest of the week. Broke at 4, so I was able to stop by the BX and buy some flowers and AF trinkets for my dinner date with the Carsons, friends from my first C-Springs assignment I hadn't seen since my wedding 1.5 kids ago (theirs). Their youngest, a 5-year-old, got a simple keychain with the AF logo, the value of which she seemed to appreciate:

"Did you steal this?"

Tuesday was more of the same, only the first briefing/discussion after lunch ran almost two hours later than scheduled, so by the time I gave my DTRA briefing, the crowd and interest level had thinned out a bit. My compatriots said I did very well, so we'll go with that. I also gave out more business cards* in one afternoon than I have in my whole career.

*three

I gladly hit the gymnasatorium for the first time in several weeks to stretch out my weary chair-sittin' buns, then countered that productivity by joining the fellas for a couple pints, bangers, and also mash at a local pub called "Mad Dogs and Englishmen". The Boddington's was good, but the bangers looked sad and small in the middle of a large bowl. It must have been how the British felt in 1942.

No idea what that means. Moving on.

Today I hooked up with a coworker from the Space Operations School for lunch, sandwiched (har!) between another long morning and afternoon of briefings and discussing the war on terror (consensus: we're for it). Back up to Palm Harbor for a late grill-out with the Carsons, before they drove me over to the beach (not a mile from their house) to watch the sun quickly set into the Gulf of Mexico. Followed by a greek dessert and shark-tooth shopping in Tarpon Springs, Sponge Capital of the World (they were number two until Chernobyl went boom).

My first self-e-mailed cell phone pic!

Tamper

Good ol' Dad. Came over to walk the boy and canines, then sat with Ryan forever while the lad super-slowly ate a Peanut Butter and Jelly and Banana (ew!) sandwich, then put him to bed while I finished packing -- he would come back for dinner to help put him down for the night while I was on a plane. He sure is hairy for a super nanny.

Thanks to a major cluster fox at the airport with broken TSA equipment and a 17000-member high school marching band cramming the aisles, I barely made it to my crowded flight, though it didn't matter because we were stuck for over an hour at the gate while Dulles tried to unclusterfy the baggage situation. The Captain even came out of his royal perch to look us in the faces while keeping us informed, which I'd never seen before.

Got to Tampa and realized my rental car info wasn't included in my itinerary printout, so I had to do a sort of "Are You My Mother?" inquiry from counter to counter to see if they had a reservation in my name -- finally remembered after the first two strikes that it was Alamo. Got lost on the way to the Air Force base, then got lost on the base, so it was after 10:30 before I got to my room.

But I have internet connection and both a humming de-humidifier and roaring A/C unit, so sleep should be fun.

Sproing

Spring has sprung, as the tree out front and the porch-guard azae... ezali... azayl...
...bushes have sprouted their annual colorful flowers.

After checking to see if Erin was allergic, we headed out back and christened the back porch with a lite meal after I got home from work yesterday (after Ainsley had spent the better part of the afternoon washing it last Saturday for the BBQ, not knowing that Mother Nature was going to wash it all day Sunday for her). Erin got fussy as dusk fell, but she fell asleep in my arms as I walked around the back yard while Ryan and Ainsley ate a fudgesicle and Dover monitored for drips.

This morning I took the Toyota in to finally get the back of the driver chair fixed, hit Lowe's for gardening supplies, then brought Arby's home for lunch in the cool basement. Ryan was ready with a box and a question: "Watch Fox? Todd and Copper?" he asked, opening the case and handing me the tape. I miss the days when I could pick the trans-meal entertainment.

After Ryan's nap, I did some raking and rock-ing while Ryan got sandy in his box, followed by an all-wiener shower and a bath for Erin while Ainsley took a shower. Squeaky clean all, we had wine & cheese while watching "The Corrs: Live in Concert" video that I CHOSE THANK YOU. Partly due to a hot upstairs, and partly to keep the dogs' daily morning "coughs and farts," as Ainsley puts it, from waking Ainsley-then-Erin-then-Ryan prematurely, I'm sleeping downstairs with 85.7% of our pets where it's cool. Should be a hoot. If I can ever bring myself to turn off the TV.

Wolf Pack

Breakfast for ten this time, with Uncle Dan back in the room under the weather, before we packed up the last of our stuff and checked out electronically. Fortunately, we were still allowed to use the water resort for as long as we wanted that day, so we were able to enjoy each other's company a while longer. Ryan, feverish, coughy, and snotty, seemed to be even less into the whole pool experience than yesterday, with unexplainable crying when we tried to sit as a family on double-innertubes around the lazy river (though Erin didn't appreciate getting a random overhead bucket of water tipped over onto her head, either). Ryan didn't want to go down the slides, didn't want to hang out by the fort, just wanted to be held. But of course, when we're ready to go, he says, "More swimming?"
After two days of no naps and a lousy night of sleep, it took Ryan all of eight seconds to fall asleep in the car, and after a while Erin found la-la land, too (joined later by Mommy), so an altogether quick and painless ride home. I used a $6.99 SuperCuts coupon, got $3.25 gas for the Escape, and brought dinner home from Harris Teeter for Dad's customary Thursday-night dinner. Ryan was asleep by 8, me by 9.

Crying Wolf

So if you discount the visit to the ER, Wednesday was a pretty fun day.
Ainsley had a morning spa appointment, so Mimaa and Grandpa joined Ryan and me for a hearty breakfast buffet, if your definition of hearty includes powdered doughnuts. Everyone marveled at how cute Erin was while the three adults took turns walking her around the restaurant to keep her occupied.
Ryan and I hit the pool around 10:30, though he seemed less interested in everything (and still wasn't feeling well), though we had a good long splashing war in the kiddie pool that he seemed to enjoy. The intent was to swim with Ainsley and Erin, have lunch, then get the kids down for a nap for a change, but at 1 o'clock, Erin was in hour three of a deep morning snooze still, so there went those plans. Lousy service kept us at lunch way too long, though we Ainsley again marveled over how great a kid Ryan is. I watched him unwrap his napkin, pull out the fork and spoon, and say, "There you go," to Mommy, who was engrossed in the menu. "There you go-oo" Ryan singsongedly said again. Then, as if to emphasize his point, he said, "That's a knife." Ainsley hopped up on her buns, grabbed the knife, and kissed her son on the head.
I stayed in the room with the kids while Ainsley went to get a massage, trying to coax Ryan to sleep while walking around with Erin, occasionally let her nibble on a bottle. Just too much distraction for the two of them, though, and Ainsley found three awake people back in her room when she returned at 4. No naps again. The plan was for the whole pack to meet in our room at 5 for drinks and snacks before going out to eat, but I wanted to go work out or use the hot tub to stretch out my sore Erin-holding shoulder muscles. Ainsley popped in the shower first, while I started to change Erin's outfit up on the counter by the sink. But Ryan wanted to get in the shower with Mommy, so I quickly reached down and pulled up his shirt and down his pants and off his diaper--which of course was full of diaperfilling stuff, so I had to reach up for wipes and clean him up first and
T H U N K !

A floor-reverberating, brief gunshot of an impact, and Erin was on the floor, face-first. As dainty and feminine as she is, you just think of her as a little feather, a light, bendy, echo of a person. But the sound she made was as loud as dropping a dumbbell on a gym floor.
After a stunned half-second, she started to cry, and Ainsley was out of the shower, offering to take her from me to nurse her back from hysterics, but she was obviously in shock and/or pain. I just couldn't look at her. I couldn't believe it had just happened. Ryan even tried to hold up my chin, but I was stone-cold, white-faced, blood-chilled still. A couple pink welts began to appear on her head and forehead, so I called a buddy of mine stationed at nearby Langley AFB for directions to the clinic.
I'm not saying anything, but let's just report that the Sienna does very well at a high rate of speed.
While Ainsley kept her from going to sleep in the car, she protested, but seemed to simmer down and smile occasionally, so we were less worried as we got to the Hospital. A small bruise was on the top left of her head, but the knot wasn't swelling all that much. We were seen after a couple hours, and the doc said that it was good that she cried right away, all her limbs and neck seem to be fine, the fact that her head is still fusing means her head is still pretty malleable at this stage, and as long as we watched her for the next 24 hours, she should be fine. He also said that he's dropped each of his kids less and less, so that's somewhat comforting. One was reminded of dropping Ryan on his face in the tub years ago.
So the bad news is I screwed up a good portion of planned family time, though Ryan had fun with his cousins and grandparents. The good news is that Erin was her old self, sleeping on and off as usual. But Ryan had another midnight crying fit, and then coughed in my face almost non-stop from 2 in the morning, so I should be good and viral in a few days.

Wolf Gang

Departed only 45 minutes after our planned 0900 launch time to the Great Wolf Lodge in Williamsburg, so not bad. Ryan complained about my choice of non-kiddie music (I tested out the iPod auxiliary attachment thingy for the first time), but Erin only fussed for about fifteen minutes of the 2-hour drive.

Ainsley's sister's family had arrived early the day before, so they had a good head start on us, so after hellos and Subway sandwiches and cousin size readjustments and stolen Elina kisses, we were all in our trunks to head to the attached indoor water park. Ryan did okay, if a bit shivery at first, though once we got him good and dunked in the water, he found his sea temperature and braved the long (for him) kiddie water slides. We hit a few more of the pools, the lazy creek, the wave pool, the one with the snake and the basketball hoops, before Ainsley released me to go on a big ride with my brother-in-law and 7-year-old nephew, who was a good half-inch above the you-must-be-this-tall-to-ride sign. Went backwards down the Howlin' Tornado, which is basically like being flushed down a big yellow and orange toilet. Highly recommended.

Back with Ryan, hanging out under the big, sprawling water fort, where a 1000-gallon bucket dumps the crowd underneath every five minutes, and various spouts and waterfalls abound. It was all I could do to drag Ryan away from some of the fountains shooting up from the floor.

It was decided that we should get bathed and ready for dinner, but I wanted to try another big-kid slide first, so they left me on my own recognisances.

So, a sliced elbow later, I plodded back to the room, band-aid applied.

We were awaiting the girls' parents, so we decided to just hit the dinner buffet at the resort, five kids, four adults. Bad math. But it went okay, with nary a thrown dinner roll. And bonus: there was pudding!

Once the grandparents arrived, the kids migrated down to that side of the table so they barely got a fork in sideways, then we piled into their hotel room to receive a multitude of elephant-intensive gifts from their trip to India. Though Ryan didn't have a nap, he was still wound up to beat the band, and was impossible to get to sleep before 11. Unfortunately, he woke up in a crying fit around 12:30 and was an inconsolable coughing nearly-barfing mess. At least I was able to walk around with Erin and keep her awake while Ainsley tried to soothe him. And compared to the next day's histrionics, this was a breeze.

Ryan's Brush with Metaphors

I was late getting home from work, so dinner was late, bathtime was late, and I was no help(ish) down in the basement showing my daughter "Star Wars III" on TV. Okay, she was dead asleep. But that was the point of me being away from bouncipants, giving Ainsley one-on-one time with Ryan, and also giving her room to pack their bags for the trip to Williamsburg.



Getting late into the 8 o'clock hour, Ryan down in the kitchen with me while I'm one-arm-feeding the dogs, then coaxed him back upstairs to go help mommy pack, trying to encourage her with one of my favorite phrases:



"Ryan," I say to him, "go tell Mommy to 'pack like the wind'".



So he walks in to Mommy's bedroom, sees her grabbing socks out of her drawer





wait for it









and blows on her.

Slow News Day

I usually start the morning at work by scanning my e-mail for mega-important stuff, then reading the national, local, Air Force, and Space Command websites for the latest news. Not surprisingly, the following two headlines caught my eye:

Police: Man used hedgehog as a weapon

"Crazy" diaper-clad monkey chases man

Okay, we lied. It's going to rain on Sunday

Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Weathermen

ALL WEEK. Rain Saturday, Nice Sunday. Thunderstorms Saturday, better Sunday. Okay, rain all day Saturday, maybe into early Sunday, then clearing.
Boy, did we ever pick the right day for a barbecue, we're thinking.
Saturday? Gorgeous. Toasty. Washed the car. Kids down the street bathing in big tubs of ice cream. Penguins in swimtrunks.
Sunday? Pissing rain all day. ALL DAY.
Despite a couple phone calls inquiring if we were canceling, we had a ton of folks show up, including about 20 kids, most under the age of 3. We learned several things:
1. Nice to have a covered front porch. No bbqing under an umbrella for this hombre, no senor.
2. Nice to have a sunroom, even on a cloudy day. Good for ten or so folks, assuming four of them have already graduated from grade school.
3. Things were relatively calm until people started leaving; with more room for the molecules to bounce around, the kids got a little more feisty. It was all I could do from keeping the Smith kids from smashing my guitar into the treadmill.
4. Don't believe the gauges. Running out of propane could be disastrous. Thank goodness for the George Foreman my dad bought me 8 years ago.
5. Speaking of, Grandad will make a great babysitter when he retires. For anyone! He was great with all the kids, even strangers. He's in the book! Use him!
6. I didn't know we had that many toys.
7. I didn't know all our toys came apart that easily.
8. My son loves rice krispie treats. Seems we ARE related.

Everyone gone, we collapsed in a heap of dishes and Hasbro flotsam & jetsam, the dogs trying to find a few square inches of carpet in any room to lie down on after spending the better part of the day in their room or outside in the mud. Having missed a nap, Ryan was leaning on his hands on the arm of the couch watching TV, so we shoved some dinner in him and shot him up to bed, out and snoring 2 hours earlier than usual. We joined him soon after. But I had to put his Lego Mac Truck back together. Just had to.

Gigglefart

My daughter laughed today.
"Were you doing something funny?" my wife asks in a did-she-really-laugh-or-was-it-just-spontaneous-guffawing when I report to She of Infant Milestone Annotation.
"To her, sure."
Just simple peek-a-boo behind a pillow case I was folding out of the dryer, but there were definite laughs in response to my laughs at her, twice, and then again ten minutes later upstairs while making googooface, so as to prove it nonflukish.

Better mood than Ryan, unfortunately, who melted like Nachos Supreme at Cartoon Cuts, despite the fact that he'd been there before and got to watch Wiggles and seemed to be looking forward to seeing the large green elephants. But as soon as his bottom hit the chair, out came the closed-eye waterworks and two reaching hands. The girl was very good about doing his hair quickly, since he didn't even calm down after I got him a quick lollipop (imagine!). I'd brought Erin with me so Ainsley could take care of last-minute cleaning, and she was mesmerized by his breakdown.

All set for tomorrow -- tons of people supposed to come, but unfortunately a boatload of rain that was supposed to arrive today now looks like it stopped in North Carolina to do antiquing or something, and now will spew on our parade instead. Guess I'll bust out the Parcheesi for the kids.
Of course, I haven't actually seen the e-vite, and this whole thing could have just been a ruse on behalf of my wife to clean the house. Though that's a lot of hot dog buns to buy in the name of subterfuge.

Resistance is cutechild

Doctor's orders were to wait two weeks before working out, so Happy Birthday, Fortnight. Though I knew I was going to be busy as snot at work today, so I didn't bother to bring gym clothes in (I didn't even eat lunch until quarter til two!). I also knew Ainsley had plans for this evening, getting the house ready for a bbq we're hosting, so I decided to try and walk on the treadmill with Erin sitting in the baby bjorn on my chest watching TV with me. Which would have worked fine if she hadn't fallen asleep.
It' s ridiculous: dead asleep at night in a comfy, cushy, still bed, and Asha breathes in the next room and Erin wakes up. Tonight, the TV's blasting the news, Ryan's chatting with me over the din of the treadmill motor, and she's bouncing around like she's on safari, and she's out like a Miller Lite. 15 minutes. I walked an extra ten than I'd planned just so I wouldn't bother he by stopping the ol' motion of the ocean.
So yay, her. Providing an extra 12lbs of upper-body weight training on top of the aerobics. Do they sell leg warmers in "wee"?

Full

The thing about infants is that nothing ever interesting happens to them.

We spent twenty minutes the other night just staring at each other on her changing table the other night, sharing smiles and coos. It was lovely. And a couple nights this week, I've gotten her to fall asleep in my arms after lengthy fussing sessions with Ainsley (though MAN she's heavy).

Yesterday, her grandparents got back from a month in the subcontinent, so it's nice to have the babysit--

I mean, it's nice to have the whole family back in the area.