The Two-Kid Diet

I've figured it out. You can order all the crap you want at Mall Food Court establishments, you just need to share your lunch with your kids! Smaller portions! Perfect! I'm trademarking this idea! Look for it in bookstores! Just down the way from the Food Court! How convenient! Turns out Erin LOVES chili dogs.

Erin does NOT yet love, however, Mommy's Night Out, that rare quadrennial occasion where Ainsley gets to spend a night out with other adults, sans kids, oppositeofsans margaritas. Ainsley said her goodbyes at 7:00 pm last night.
Erin stopped crying around 7:40.
Of course it didn't help that at 7:01 I took her upstairs because Ainsley's cold was obviously preventing her from noticing that the Hezbollah was trying to smuggle some biological weapons of mass doodoo in my daughter's shorts, and the fallout was significant. I stood her up on her changing table to roll the stained onesie up against itself to keep it off her skin, so of course she pees all over her changing cushion. I quickly got her shirt off and put her in her crib so I could change the cushion cover, and she promptly and voluminously pees in her crib. So I quick stick a cork in that dam (Pampers, Size 3) and grab the phone to call Ainsley to find out where the sheets are kept and all the while Erin's shrieking because boobs are nowhere near her face (present daddy excluded) and I get the sheet but due to Federal Safety Regulations Concerning Acceptability Levels of Loose Bedding, it's like trying to pull a condom onto a Buick, and by then Erin was halfway down the stairs backwards all Screw It I'll Find Her Myself Dammit and meanwhile Ryan broke the mouse to the computer so Pluto certainly isn't going to be able to find those instruments on the Playhouse Disney maze. Finally got Erin calmed down and to sleep soon after 8, with Ryan following soon after, then I fed the dogs and cats and sat down on the couch and complained not an iota to anyone, since Ainsley deals with two kids and six pets by herself all the time.
I just need to get better at it.
And buy Ainsley a lot more professional massages.

Parenting Isn't Brain Surgery

Forgot I was working the closing shift yesterday, so, since I was going to miss out on slugging back to my car, I told Ainsley I'd be home much later, whenever the bus left the Pentagon to get me down 95 through traffic. Only she came up with the much better idea to shoehorn our co-children into the Vanulator and have dinner with me up near the Pentagon.
Unfortunately, Erin's now got a hacking gramma cough, probably a sore throat, what with her lack of appetite for anything that isn't an ice cube chip. It's probably against sanitary regulations, but dammit, if me pressing my hand up against the ice drop lever thingy is going to keep my daughter from crying her fool head off next to her mother, my hand will be a cold press.
So it was nice to almost sort of have dinner in the same vicinity of a restaurant as the other half of my family.

Tonight I came home to more maternal exhaustion, as Ryan is being more refuserant than ever to not only take naps but be quiet not doing it. So he was a unibarrel of monkeys tonight, hands a fisted blur of movement, our little IncrediRobot. He did join in on a rousing rendition of songtime at the dinner table, since Erin seems to love short little ditties seemingly sung just for her. Claps at the end, big smiles, signing 'more'. Ryan even busted out all three verses of "Mary Had A Little Lamb," politely asking his parents to not join in, thank you very much. Ham.
Got everyone upstairs and changed just in time for more Hop On Pop time, Ryan enjoying a see-saw action of my holding him up with my knees and pushing his whole body up with my feet. But then Erin wanted to get in on the action, and climbed onto my chest, only she slipped a little, catching her fall by shoving her ring finger palm-deep up my nasal cavity.
So now I can't get the taste of baby lotion out of my mouth.

Have you ever seen bridled joy?

Ainsley woke up feeling crapatocious, so I schlepped the kids out of the house so she could rest. Went to Lowe's first to spend a coupon and let both kids climb on the tractor mowers, then tried to find a McDonald's with an indoor gym since it was too cold and rainy to go to the park (and I didn't feel like hanging out at a mall). I was a little worried because it was basically a series of little-boy hamster tunnels suspended fifteen feet off the ground, and the last time we had hit the Chick-Fil-A playroom, he freaked out and asked for help I could not give (a four-year-old helped him down). But today he had a ball! Climbing all over the joint, screeching, zooming down the winding tunnel-slide, back up again, over the netted portions, lookit me, red faced, huge smile. The picture of unbridled joy.
Erin had fun, too. Climbed up a few steps, wandered back and forth, chatted.
I was even able to convince Ryan that we shouldn't eat there, but rather go to the Carter restaurant. (Carter's his stuffed panda, figured the kids would like rice and chicken, expressly.) Ryan spied Carter everywhere. On the doors, on the walls, on the trash can in the bathroom.
Dad came over to watch my new PDQ Bach video, and because of the cold, blustery evening brewing outside, I was going to build a fire, but then Ryan decided he needed to play chasey chase with Grandad, getting all red and hot, so I figured the fire would be overkill.
Stayed up until 11:30 to await the in-laws, back from Costa Rica, to kick their Costas downstairs to get some sleep.

Dellightful

The Pets worshipping at the Box of All Knowledge

Finally got the new computer on-line, after 1) it sitting in the living room for two weeks, 2) needing to talk to "charles" in India for 40 minutes to realize the error on the screen was a simple fix and 3) spending another 30 minutes on the phone with Verizon to realize my stupid fault for not being able to get synced up with the internet.
So here we are, six years after the purchase of our last computer, which, in technology terms, is like buying a Ford Escape Hybrid when your last car was a stegosaurus. So far, it rocks. I mean, you double-click on an icon, and it opens! Like, right away, not twenty-eight minutes later!

Ryan was better the day after my birthday, so whatever he had went away just as quickly, thank goodness. And having a four-day work week was nice, though I worked late the last two days, making me miss my daughter grow six months. It's incredible. Where did my infant go? Now I've got a girl who looks like she even forgets how to crawl, walking this way and that way and in a circle and over yonder. She's learned how to sign "please", blow her nose, and sent text messages to her Aunt Beth.
Okay, not that last one, but it's coming! She's going to be dating soon!
*wheeze* *wheeze*
As it is, I'm the object of her affection; as I say 'bye-bye' to her in the morning, and she waves bye bye back and I say "kisses?" and she walks all the way past the length of the couch, lips tightly together, going "mmmmmm" the whole time, till she catches up to me to stick her forehead against my lips.
And the plus side for her rapid expansion into womanhood is that she's sleeping so much better, we could just about cry. She still gets up anywhere from two to three times a night, but rare are those occasions when it takes longer than a few minutes to get her back down, and usually she stays asleep for four or five hours after her initial nocturnal nursal nightcap.

Meanwhile, we can't even get our son to remember to say please the first time:
"Can I watch 'Mickey Mouse'?" he asks today.
"What's the next word?" I retort.
"Clubhouse."

He's also recently found his knob.
That didn't sound right, let me expand:
He now lets himself out of his bedroom. Nice thing in the morning for Ainsley, as he can come on downstairs when he's ready and she doesn't have to deal with Erin and go get him at the same time, but today when he was supposed to be napping and was all-a-sudden wandering around the house, it was a little unnerving.

Took the Roo back to the vet today to try and figure out if some medication can help her more-frequent dizzy spells (shakes her head, falls over, freaks out), but the doc said it's not really treatable (or diagnosable). No one knows why it happens in older dogs, but it does. Just need to keep her in a safe, quiet environment, the vet says.
He's a funny guy.

38? Special.

Slept in until 7:07, what a treat. And if my fifteen-year-old former self could hear me now, he'd put a gun to his head.
The good news is that all of that carrying on at Grandad's house seemed to wear out our daughter, rendering her fitfully sleeping a solid 9 hours.
The bad news is that 9 hours ends at 5 a.m. But Ainsley got up with her and let me snooze another two hours, just like yesterday, just like most days. I have the best wife in the history of ever.
The kids rank up there, too, though, with Ryan quick-stomping his way downstairs when he woke up to wish me a Happy Birthday. Aw. Big hugs, pal.
Yummy cinnamon rolls for breakfast, then Ryan helped mommy with my cake, insisting that it be a cake, and that it be yellow, since I made the mistake of telling Ryan a while back that of the two color cups in the tub, I pick the yellow one, so now he says that's What I Like. So no pumpkin pie for me this year. If you're reading this, Mrs. Lacer, you have my address.

Unfortunately, Ryan turned into a bit of a Grumpy Pill on Steroids, even during a quick walk up the street to get out of the house. He ended up not falling asleep during naptime, even under the threat of not getting to eat any cake, if he didn't. So we knew the evening was going to be a treat with him, mood-wise.
As it was, after we ate cake and opened my presents, he started randomly complaining that his belly hurt. I didn't really believe him, since he'd be fine and rambunctious and annoying and then stop and start to whine that his belly hurt, as if he just wanted the attention.
So he got our attention outside the restaurant when he threw up all over the pier by The Chart House in Old Town Alexandria.
My favorite color is no longer yellow.
Lousy service in a hot, loud dining room didn't help our mood any, and Ryan got sick at the table again (his shoes just took a beating), so we quickly got the check and got everyone home, Erin happily singing and chatting away, Ryan falling asleep, towel in his lap. He got sick twice more in his room, reverting to dry heaves, since he hasn't really had much of anything except a few sips of water since his first episode.
So I'm thinking it's back to pumpkin pie next year.

I Heart Speedy McMuffin's Mommy

The Grover Cleveland Awareness weekend started early, and not in a good way, but more in a dental way. Thought that turned out well in the end (or the front), since the Cleaning Lady was a delight, in that she didn't seem to take great joy in causing me an enormous amount of pain. It was almost a pleasant experience. Waterpick, slurp, polish, fluoride goo, you're done.
Wrote her name down for next year.
Then the boss called me into the back room mid-afternoon, and I was genuinely surprised by few folks in the office today singing Happy Birthday around an ice cream cake with a solitary candle burning in the corner. So hooray for military records.
I had planned to take Ryan shopping for a V-Day card for his mother after dinner, so asked that we eat a little earlier than usual. As it was, she had me stop and pick up some pizzas, one of which was in the shape of a heart. Papa John, ya big smoosh.

We started Valentine's Day early, with presents over breakfast tea, before schlepping the gang up to the Verizon Center in downtown DC to go watch "Disney On Ice", your basic lip-synched production centered around The Incredibles saving Mickey and Minnie Mouse from Syndrome's Robot Bowling Ball-cum-Dr. Octopus. Erin really enjoyed the show, even tapping her foot to the songs while nursing, while Ryan sat transfixed by it all, until he offered a short little wave to Alice (as in In Wonderland). Apparently he thought it was Cinderella. Whom we saw later. Along with Buzz Lightyear.
It was an eclectic show.

At intermission, I decided to let Erin stretch her legs in the concourse, and bought Ryan some cotton candy with an Incredibles head-mask thing of the superhero-fast little boy from the movie (Dash) whose name escaped me at the time, so I called him "Speedy McMuffin." Though it really just made Ryan look like a Keibler Bandit.

If my new computer could actually get on the internet, I'd share pictures.

Thanks to Frozone (the only one comfortable on ice, really) and Audience Participation, we were able to save the day, but Ryan still lost it at the end, all sad that no one came to shake his hand or that the show had actually ended or something, who knows. Been a while since I've been 3.
When Erin woke up, I took her to the store to buy dinner, then drove it to Dad's to stick in the oven, even leaving Erin there (the house, not the oven) to go pick up Ainsley & Ryan and give Erin quality Alone with the Big G time. I'd gotten a heart-shaped lasagna to continue the theme, after which the kids ably ran around the house like a couple of nutheads on too much sugar.
Did I mention Erin loved the cotton candy? Or at least it stopped her crying for a few minutes?
I'm such an awesome daddy. I should write a booklet.

Potty Mouth

Had to go to the dentist yesterday, as the military mandates we go every year for a check-up and cleaning in exchange for all those free paper towels in the men's room.
Before the doctor came in, the assistant, a civilian lady in her mid-forties with a strong African accent, took some x-rays and my blood pressure, then asked a rather odd question, I thought:

"Did ya youse da bat'room?"

Jeez, how long is this exam going to take? I thought that little bowl was just for spitting.
"Excuse me?"

"I sed, 'Do ya use tobacco?'"
Well sure, that's where all the free paper towels are.
The dentist came in, saw my name on the form, and started speaking German inquisitively to me, but I responded in the American. Perhaps I should take up Rosetta Stone again.

If I may have only been teasing before, Erin is a full-fledged card-carrying member of the Bipedal Elite, Squirt Edition. Yesterday it was bending over, picking up toys, and straightening up again, and tonight it was walking hither, yon, and spots in between. She grabbed a two-pound tractor (not to scale) from the toy box and walked across the room with it in one hand. She's even rarin' to hurdle the side of the tub to let her damn self in, thank you very much.
I came home yesterday to everyone outside in record warmth, waiting for me on the porch, like the good ol' days of summer, only now I've got two kids on the sidewalk standing and pointing and acknowledging, with Erin's machine-gun Da-DAT! jetted out between a sparsely-toothed grin. She also really liked me doing the noise a bee makes and copying (sort of):
Me: "Bzzzzzz."
She: "Sssssss."
Last milestone, then I'll leave you to your own recognizances -- she pointed at a picture of herself on the mantel, then pointed at herself. Which really is amazing, because we have no idea who that 3-month-old crabby girl who never slept is in that picture; certainly not the angel we see before us. Because WHOO were those a rough 3...8...11 and a half... months.
In unrelated news, congrats, Chris and Todd on the new additions!

Sprig in a Blanket

Tagged to go to another embassy function tonight, meaning arriving home late, after kids in bed, which made me glad I was able to talk to my son twice on the phone though he's still struggling with the concept:

"Hi Daddy I Love You Erin is Here Ummmmmmmmm Are You Done With Me Bye Bye Daddy See You Later Bye."

Perhaps this will nip that telemarketing career in the bud.

Turned out to be a nice evening, in a grand ballroom at the HQ of the Organization of American States, not having realized that Serbia had recently moved next to Guatemala, Balkan Squatters that they are. It's nice to feel more comfortable in the settings, recognizing more folks and being reciprocally noticed, able to say hello in various languages, kiss various cheeks. Plus the finger-food was awesome, to include asparagus wrapped in a prosciutto-like meat, loosely surrounded by a baked pastry, making it look vaguely like a vegetarian corn dog. Sadly, by the time I was done talking with the Zambian and Kenyan Air Attaches and heard the speech from the Ambassador and some American Congresswoman, the plate of them was empty and sad, much like, I imagine, the hole left in south-east Europe, thanks to Serbia's move. Perhaps Montenegro can buy some large plants at Hellenic Home Depot.

With the venue at Constitution and 17th, I stole five minutes away for myself and crossed the street to go look at the WWII memorial, as I'd not seen it at night, other than driving by. Unlike the the Look At Me bright white searchlights on the White House and Washington Monument, the lighting here is yellower, dimmer, subtle, everything awash in a soft glow, literally like a night light. Despite the recent warm weather, disappointed that the lake and fountains were understandably drained for the winter, so I'll have to come back in the summer.
But when I turned a corner at the front of the memorial and saw the Lincoln Memorial shining like a temple in the distance, I literally got chills. Something about the quiet night, being in uniform at that location, the clop of my dress shoes echoing against the marble, American flags billowing slightly... I don't know. Wonderful feeling. I do so like this job.

I wonder how green beans would taste in a Pillsbury Crescent Roll?

I love summer

Had a lovely weekend if you discount Ryan getting smacked in the nose with a baseball.
Granted, it's a plastic baseball, and we think his pride was more hurt than anything. Builds character. Hones the instinct to catch. (Or duck.)
A little early in the year for outdoor sports, one would think, but a couple days in the high 60s had everyone out washing their cars like us or walking dogs or going to the park. Erin loves going down the slide, and wants to walk back up it like her big brother (what say you master walking on a flat surface first, there, cricket). And she still loves being pushed in the swing as long as she gets to pretend she's kicking her father halfway across the playground. Big, toothy, squinty grins and chuckles with every pump. Warms the already toasty cockles. As does Ryan's peacock-feather-like emoting for the 4- and 7-year old girls who joined him on the playgrounds, all "look at me" and "I'll show you how to do it." He also busted out a "Thank you for sharing" to his sister all unpromptedly and stuff, swelling his mother's head full of pride bubbles.
You kinda hadta see it.

Wiesbaddy

Happy Birthday, Tom Lindenstruth. Wherever you are.

Ralph

Heard a funny noise at 5 this morning over Ryan's monitor that sounded like Donald Duck was singing the last few words of the National Anthem. I went in to investigate, seeing as the garbage truck had just stopped by and I was up anyway.
Ryan was showing concern that his stuffed rabbit was sitting on the floor.
I was more concerned with the six gallons of vomit on his pillow.

Got all his bedclothes off and changed his shirt, and he happily crawled on the floor next to a floor pillow thing I used to use when I had to pretend to sleep next to his crib, and pulled the comforter over him. He threw up on that later. Then the couch, then his mother, then the cat...it was a Monty Python movie.

I asked for frequent updates, which was pretty much the status quo: couldn't keep anything down. Even ice cubes. Heard Erin LA LA ing away in the background, so at least she was okay.

Had to go to Walter Reed yet again for an elbow consult -- thanks to a surgery call, I didn't get seen until 2 for a one o'clock appointment, which would have been fine if he had been able to tell me anything at all about how to fix my problem. It's not tender to the touch, I have full range of motion, and granted it's much better than it was five months ago, but it's still 'there' and no one knows what 'it' is. The inner-elbow-version of tennis elbow was ruled out since it wasn't swollen or painful to the touch. The professional recommendation, just like my back, just like my hand, is to Live With It. Let Pain Be My Guide. What. Ever.

Checked on Ryan from work, who I heard was lying on the couch, moose slippered-feet still on the ground, blanket over his head, telling his mother to take him to The Man Village.
I wanna go to the man village!
When I got home, he was a pitiful mess, warm all over, not hungry, not moving, except to tell Mommy he doesn't feel well over and over again. (Which is ultimately less heartbreaking than the "Mommy, fix it," he tried earlier in the day.) And to throw up yet again into a bowl I was directed Just In Time to bring mouthward.
The issue was compounded by the fact that Mommy didn't feel well, either. They must eat at the same chiliburger joints. The two of them to bed early, I read with Erin for a bit (she's SO into books now, and MAN a lot of them star a cow she can go voo to), let her watch me eat dinner, then was able to sway her struggles and protests into a sleep of her own, now entering its third hour thankfully. Ryan's only been up once, with whatever going on inside him causing him to just say, "No, no..." but he just coughed a bit and then plopped back down on his pillow. He's still moaning and heavy breathing from time to time, which makes me wish we didn't even have monitors, the poor thing. Just a button like Wallace to ring me when he needs me. :-(

Daddy-Do Due

Begged out of another invitational family jaunt to take care of things in the house that I've been meaning to get to for months. Felt bad leaving Ainsley alone with two crabby kids (Ryan has finally found his "no"), but I crammed more into those five hours than I've been able to accomplish in a year. And left a handful of things still on the table.

Late back home, so late naps, but perfect for Super Bowl night, with Dad's help throwing nachos and lima beans into our respective soy- and cheese-eating and soy- and cheese-averse children. Erin started out the evening a wreck, just crying hysterically whenever she was in the same room with Ainsley and not being held by her, or even hearing her talk from a different floor in the house. But the lima beans did the trick, and she got excited with open-mouthed-smiling screams when the action during the game called for it. And she was nice enough to stay asleep through a very exciting second half before the Steelers squeaked out a victory. Ryan, on the other hand, seems to be turning into a night owl like his ol' block.
This won't win me any points with the missus, son.

But as ornery as he is becoming, with two new phrases in his vernacular competing for orneriest (1: accompanied by a stop-in-the-name-of-love fully extended palm, "Don't Worry About Me"; and 2: a sharp-eyebrowed "Don't Tell Me No."), coupled with other displays of "tude" at the dinner table (whoever taught him how to roll his eyes? A dead man.), we still feel lucky that he's not a holy terror, and relish the good in him, if I can get all Jedi on you.
This evening, overheard on his bedroom monitor, while he was all alone:

*burp*
"Excuse me."