Riding the Special Bus, the Wheels Upon Which Went Neither Round Nor Round

The snow is gone, save the old piles that Ryan still likes to kick with his little shoes, but we're still ending January on a cold note. Today we were invited to Ryan's friend Oliver's third birthday party at his house, and his parents had arranged for The Fun Bus (TM) to park in the driveway. It's basically a gymboree on wheels, with standard Excitable and Engaging Lead Dude coupled with Obviously Not Glad To Be There Trainee Dude Who Probably Has To Drive and Clean Up Spittle. They ran, bounced, swung, shot little baskets, rocked in a doughnut, hung from chains, and then went down a slide out the back door, all with raucous kiddie music blasting through the speakers. Back in the house, there was a few-minute period when I was in the romper room with about 8 kids under 4. Ten years ago? Would have felt overwhelmed, uncomfortable. Now? I'm Solomon, telling kids to share things or I'll take them.
Maybe that wasn't Solomon. Who was going to slice the baby in two?
Need to get back to Sunday School.

I got Erin back to sleep once in her crib, but when she woke up again, I brought her downstairs, thinking she was all done, but she actually crashed again in my arms in the chair -- sadly, away from the remote, so when my movie ended, I had to sit and watch all the credits, then wait for the tape to run to the end and then watch whatever was on that particular channel (end of U.S. Marshalls, the first 30 minutes of "Die Hard With A Vengeance").

Snow Business

IT'S ABOUT TIME!!!!

Got a call at work, caller ID says it's home, so I say something silly to Ainsley.

Pause.

Little boy responds: "Hi, Daddy!"

Oh, dear. Ainsley's dead, and instead of dialing 9-1-1 like I trained him, he's called me at work to chat.

"It's SNOWWW-ing!" he exclaims.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"It's snowing at the Pentagon, too."

"Whoa." Clearly too much excitement for one day. But I was able to convince Ainsley (not dead, it turns out) to bundle up the munchkids and get them out in their first snowfall of the season in the off chance that it's the last.

There was enough daylight when I got home to join him outside again per his request to go and build a snowman, but the consistency just wasn't quite there, so the results aren't going to be put in the Louvre anytime soon. The neighbor across the street provided the carrot and buttons, then her son and Ryan spent another twenty minutes throwing wispy snow at each other's backs. So thank you, Mother Nature, for reading my blog. Sorry about all the nasty things I said about you the other day, but we needed this.

Snuffleupagirl

"Again?" says the boss when he asks how my weekend was and I tell him I'm sick.
I know! Twice in one month! It's insane (in the mucus membrane, as the song goes by those dudes. Way back when. Had to look it up. Cypress Hill. They spelled Cyprus wrong. Perhaps they're from Turkey. I know the lead singer from System of a Down is. But I believe I am slightly digressing)!

My eyes sting, my nose feels like a cannonball was shoved inside it, and I'm sneezing with the regularity of a Swiss clock. DayQuil, no help. Three cups of tea, a little help. Temporary.

The whole house is miserable; Ainsley was at a friend's yesterday afternoon, and when Erin got up at 3, she cried until 4. Went all over the house, from the basement to our bedroom, looking for Mama with the Mammoes. Finally took everyone's Happy Ass to Grandad's to dirty someone else's dishwasher for a change. Though this is the last time with the seating arrangement of both of them on the bench together. Too much leaning and wandering hands. Got home and started to do laundry wrong (apparently cold water doesn't work) so I drowned my sorrows in NyQuil.

But I came home from work today to find everyone in a much better mood, helped by the fact that we had "We Love Daddy" cake. I'd never heard of it, but I sure liked the sound of it. (Turned out to be yummy plain vanilla pound cake. Bland Like Me.) And Erin finally walked for her mother; she (Erin) had always walked around when Ainsley was out of the room or not home or sleeping, so she (Ainsley) didn't believe me (Dan). Entirely. But she walked five steps towards the front door when I got home, and walked a good five yards between the ottoman and the dining room after dinner. So Yay for little Miss E being even More In The Way.
I mean just Yay.

Catch ZZ

After a typical Up A Bunch couple of nights, Erin's surprised her mother with two consecutive nights staying asleep 7 hours. (I say 'her mother' because I just can't be trusted with whether or not I hear her in the middle of the night.)
Unfortunately, those 7 hours tend to end around 4 o'clock, which does us no good, so: new bedtime: Midnight. I figure she should get to know David Letterman before he keels over with another heart attack anyway.
The other issue is that Erin may be getting 7 hours sleep, but Ainsley isn't; she's either awake every fifteen minutes wondering if she's heard her; can't sleep because she's worried about her; or is having dreadful dreams about losing her in a roller disco or something. She could count on her 50-minute cycles and had adjusted her body. This, this bizarre 'sleep' thing is new ground for her.
Actual conversation this afternoon showing the depth of our care and concern for our children:

Me: Ryan's monitor's batteries died. He could be on fire.
Ainsley: No, he's not. I'd be able to smell it.

Tried out a new Japanese hibachi place tonight, the third one in a span of 5 miles. The first has all the ambiance of a truck stop on I-70. The second I love (see my last birthday entry). This one was somewhere in between, not great, not bad. Nice enough folks, entertained my son well enough (though scared the hell out of Erin with the big fireball), but the food was absolutely drenched in sauce. At least Erin enjoyed her saltwater soup and ate a Buddha Body Weight in steamed rice.

Another cold front came through tonight, which is cutting into my hot tub time. I mean cold nights are fine (went out there the other night when it was 19 degrees), but there's just something about a cold breeze that blows the whipped cream off my coffee, if you will.
Yes, I understand there are children in Ethiopia who don't even have the option to pick and choose their hot tubbing experience, but this is my house.
Speaking of cold fronts, we all have one again. Not surprising, since we're constantly sharing silverware and toys, and what with Erin grabbing my tongue for fun. I just wish we could have some snow for once if we're going to continue with this cold weather (those of you in Wisconsin, yes, I know where I can stick it). I promised my son a snowman last weekend when the Weathermen forecasted it; you know how hard it is to make a partlycloudyman?

O

Coming down from the high of a bonus four-day weekend, thanks to the federally endistrictized of us being told to stay home rather than battle inauguration crowds, and bolstered by the fact that Erin Leigha slept nine hours straight last night.
It's just a tease, we realize.

Sunday Ainsley hosted a Gal's Night Away From Their Stupid Husbands, or whatever they call it, so I took the wee peas out to look at the fish birds geckos and kitties at PetSmart before stopping off at Hard Times Cafe for chili and hot dogs and fruit cups and cornbread (kids eat free Sundays!). We had a blast, and Ryan was amazingly behaviorant. It's Erin who was the more screechy and throwy, but most everyone else in the joint was engrossed in the NFL playoffs on the big screen. Got 'em home and bathed, and Ryan chatted away with the ladies while Ainsley put Erin down, showing them his grass-eating whale named Ryan (really a blue oven glove).

Erin still surprises me with this growing up thing of hers, with a little-girl personality emerging every day. I was startled by a clear and lucid "apple" coming out of her mouth this morning, and she's thrown out a "kitty" and what a cow says, too ("Voooooo"). Tried to teach her banana ("ba-na") this afternoon, and yesterday reading her books (she does the sign very well), she preemptively danced at the dance part and did peekaboo at the peekaboo part. And she cracks me the hell up by responding to her brother doing the elephant commands from "Jungle Book", immediately echoing his "Company...!" with a hands-spread "Halt!" of her own ("Uh!"). Then waits patiently to answer his "Forward!" with a "March!" (also "Uh!", but we get what she means).

Today Dad came over to watch the inauguration, which is a difficult concept to explain to a 3-year-old who just wants to watch "Rescue Heroes." Not that I remember Ford being sworn in. We probably had lousy internet coverage at the time.

Buckarootine TDY

Just back from a few days in Texas to scope out locations for a future tour. Invaluable to get "eyes on target" if that target is going to include places to eat with names like "Booger Red's", "The Elephant Bar & Saloon", and "Lonesome Dove Cafe". I will also now be able to tell the attaches to avoid the 'cattle fries'.
Those of you in the Pikes Peak Region who enjoy the occasional Rocky Mountain Oyster know what I'm talking about.
Though I would recommend the rattlesnake sausage, kangaroo nachos, deer chops, and St. Arnold's Fancy Lawnmower beer.
Despite a few problems with the GPS sending us hither and yonder, it was a good trip, to two locations (Ft. Worth and San Antonio) I'd never been, the latter city apparently close to a mortal sin for someone 16 years in the Air Force -- it has four AF bases ringing the city, as well at least one Army post. It's going to be hard to narrow down stuff to do with our group. Especially with the Alamo and the River Walk, with all the restaurants and mariachi bands therein.
New career goal: open a restaurant in downtown San Antonio that specializes in putting ice cream on top of other things. Call it "ALaMode's"
This idea hereby trademarked by the Federal Department of Commerce & Agriculture, Sec. 1492.3 dash A.

As always, nice to get home, though these single-digit temps can go bye-bye in a hurry. The cabin fever just adds to the end of a crappy week for my son, which started with him almost pulling a motorcycle on top of himself at a sporting goods store (the next one in line broke its fall, but it still scared the bejoojooze out of him). It ended on a high note, though, celebrating a friend's 3-year old birthday at what amounts to his first tea party -- he looked dapper in a clip-on red-and-black square tie, Erin in her finest look-I'm-starting-to-walk tights, and even his father in a bow tie and bowler to look the part. His daddy's a bit silly, it's been noted.

Abbasault

Bless her heart, but as previously mentioned, for Christmas my wife got me the film version of the most popular musical on the planet for anyone over 12, "Mamma Mia!"
It is now not only a daily request from the boy, but Ainsley was also good enough to find my "ABBA Gold" cd, so at least we could pick and choose a few songs for him to listen to after dinner, rather than trying to coax him, crying and pouty, away from the television.
He now wants to hear the cd every night during dinner (no), and can't wait to get down and run around in the Office in a marionettesque dancing-like fashion.
"Can I hear ALL the songs of Mamma Mia?" he asks between bites of peas.
Maybe two, after you finish your milk.
"Can I hear...'You can dance...you can dance...having the time of your life...ooo...see that girl...watch that thing...diggin..dancing tween...'?"
What else.
"Mamma Mia...here I go again...my my...how can I a sister?"
Meanwhile, Erin claps and sways and undulates and grins in her booster.

Okay, good that something makes him super-happy, and Ainsley notes how neat it is that the musical and the movie are bringing the Abba music to a whole new generation, but I am beginning to resent their very Nordic, spandexed existence. I'll be at work and a song will stick in my head. I will wake up in the morning humming "S.O.S."
For a third change of pace, I found some of their videos on YouTube, so that's fun for a lark if you're every bored or need a Halloween Costume for 70s-themed party.

Walk Like Amanda

Been a rough week, getting-to-the-computer wise. Felt like crap the first half of the week, so much so that I had to call in sick on Monday. It didn't help that Sunday night I had an MRI on my elbow at 11:45 pm (Bethesda runs 24/7 ops, and that was the earliest appointment I could get), got home around 2, and then found myself alternating with Supermom trying to get Erin to go back to sleep -- she had a fun awake and crying period from midnight until 3:30.
So when my alarm went off two hours later and my head felt like the Hindenburg, I figured work didn't need to see me that day, and I'd get better soup at home.
Having failed pretty miserably at trying to nap with the rest of the house, I stayed up after lunch, and brought Erin downstairs after her usual wisp of a snooze (she's going to be great at college, with all the late-night studying and sleep deprivation practice she's had here in these formative years). For a lark, I decided to try her (no) hand at walking, and tarnation if she didn't take a few itty bitty steps with no help before plopping on her haunches. I managed to bust out the video camera and got her to go again a couple more times, so she's definitely on the precipice of finding her land legs. She's also climbing up the stairs with wild abandon and sliding down them with less wild and abandon-free precision. I don't know where my wife came up with the whole "toes and knees" idea, but the kids just get it. Down stairs, off the bed, from our laps on the chairs, she's a sliding, floor-bound fool. The other morning I plopped her down in the couch, told her to stay (works for Bailey), then went to go get her a banana. Came back, and there she is on the floor, looking around the corner at me on all fours. "Howdy!", was her smiling, didn't-fall-off-the-couch expression.
Her vocal acuity is getting better, too, as her "Maaaaaa-MA" and "datdat" attest to. "Grandad" comes out as a definitive two-syllable g-sounding thing quite different than her 'daddy', and we think we're hearing the attempts at "kitty" or "Tucker" in the yiddish-like "chcchchch" she spits forth when she sees him. But the Word of the Month is definitely "up." "Up" means "I want up." "Up" means "I want down." "Up" and a point means "I want that." "Up" can mean "do that again."
Not such a good thing, though: I was reminded, during one of my 3:30am sessions of walking her around her room to get her back to sleep, how Ryan learned the word "open" and used to say it so sadly and pathetically when I was holding him, reaching out to the door, hoping his mother would come in.
But despite the fact that Erin still gets up 4-7 times every night, we are seeing progress -- she actually put herself back to sleep once, and a few other times I've gone in and she was still lying down, so, sleepier than the usual grabbing onto the siderails. I even got her to go back to sleep without picking her up, just by gently shaking the end of the crib. But it occurred to me that except for that one night in December, she hasn't really slept through the night, so neither of I, since the last night in Hawaii back in early November. Granted, this doesn't compare to the years Ainsley's gone without, but this is my blog, and these are my beans. As it were.

Say Goodbye to Holly, Wood

The holiday adrenalin protective viral force field has now, the weekend after, failed. My wife put me on NyQuil last night, and I slept till nearly 8:45. Tea and grits for breakfast helped soothe my throat, but it's still a head- and body-cold that looks like will be visiting for a while.

I did get Ryan out into the backyard with me after lunch to do yardwork, which turned into just playing in the sandbox and driving him around in the wheelbarrow.

Did manage to dehang some of the Christmas lights outside, put away the Redskins Christmas village, and stopped turning the tree on, as we slowly pack Christmas away again, going so far as to tell Ryan that I would in fact NOT sing him Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer on the guitar.

Anyone know any good January songs?

Barnes & Pudding

Wanted to give Ainsley some time to herself to do things women do when they have time to themselves which are understandably unbeknownst by guys since we're guys and are rarely women alone, so I saddled up the kidders and took them to the library.
Which, on a cold, cloudy day, was more crowded than I'd have liked, making me wish I could stop having bright ideas to take my kids to where others are with their germs and stuff. But we watched a short movie, did some puzzles, read some books, rocked in a rocking chair, hugged a teddy bear, coveted the Spanish version of Cat in the Hat, looked at Squirt the Turtle, and then got disappointed:
Ryan, at the front desk, holding his football book to check out -- "Can I have a library card?"
Lady, at said desk -- "How old are you?"
Up go 2, then 3 fingers -- "3."
Evil lady -- "I'm sorry, you have to be 5 and in school in order to get one. Maybe your father can get one, though."
Dad, incredulous -- "I'm not in school..."

I mean, seriously. He's cute as a button, asking so nicely, and you slam the door in his face? Give him a coupon to Bath & Body Works and call it his Library Card. Make him happy. No, the gingerbreadman bookmark and the orange "I Visited My Library Today" sticker aren't going to cut it.

After naps, we all went to my Dad's to bring him some soup post-dental surgery. We also brought him some tapioca pudding, and Ainsley made him some jell-o. So he should be good to go for a couple days. He was also on cloud 9 having won the inaugural version of Chutes & Ladders, though that may have been the pain medication.

Starting the year with a bang. Then 11 more.

I woke up on the wrong side of the year.

What it with being 12 minutes past midnight, and the third Battle of Manassas taking place on Pocomoke Court.

It seems our dear sweet neighbors aren't your average 'county regulation readers', as the law clearly states:

Any fireworks that explode, rise into the air, travel laterally or fire projectiles into the air are not allowed.
Violations can lead to fines of up to $2,500 and or 12 months in prison.

After the 6th Football Stadium-appropriate cannonade and accompanying aerial explosion, I was on the phone trying to call the cops in one hand, soothing a screaming daughter in the other. The police never answered, which didn't matter since the idiots ran out of artillery fodder (I heard someone else down the street yelling at them, too), but it was another hour before Ainsley could get Erin back to sleep (despite my two successful attempts, lasting all of the distance from her door to ours).

I've never been so upset with another human being in my life. Not helped by the fact that I haven't slept particularly well (relatively speaking) in three days. Dogs got me up at 7, so I just let them out and sat in my 'stew pot' as my wife lovingly, but this time appropriately, calls my hot tub.