Day 1448 - Stranded in Santa Clara

This weekend, Lisa took Friday off so we could drive up to Santa Clara for two parties:  Lisa's sister's surprise birthday party and a baby shower for Lisa's nephew's wife.  It's always nice to get together for family celebrations, and I've always firmly believed that family should always come first.  But now that we have four year old twins, my new belief is that family comes second when dealing with six and a half hour car trips over a three day weekend.

Friday was actually pretty good.  Traffic was minimal, and the kids were well-behaved due to a mixture of a dvd player, iPad games, and three Benedryls.  We all had a good night sleep and were ready for Saturday's big event:  Auntie Susan's (Pediatric Intensive Care Nurse) surprise 60th birthday party.  And before you give yourself a headache, there is about a twenty year difference between Auntie Susan's and Lisa's birthday; Lisa is almost 80.

On Saturday, Emma complained of a slight headache.  Ever since she turned three, these long car trips have occasionally caused her to get headaches.  Probably a mixture of motion sickness and being in the car for too long.  So for the last few trips, we have taken more stops.  When we went up this past summer and made three stops, Emma didn't complain of a headache at all.  But as this day went on, she turned into a grumpy grump.

Sadly, Emma really didn't feel good when we were at the surprise party for Auntie Susan (PICNU).  Lisa and I quickly ate up our dinner and left without even having any dessert.  Emma was slightly flushed, so I bought some children's Tylenol in hopes that this would make her feel better.

When Emma woke up on Sunday, it was like she was a new person again.  Gone was the grumpy Emma, and happy, cheerful, occasionally defiant and prissy Emma was back!  Since Lisa had to return to work on Monday, we began to pack up our bags and decided we would take additional stops to make sure Emma could stretch her legs.

But just around noon, guess who started to complain of a headache?  Andrew!  One moment, he was in the backyard attempting to shoot a small soccer ball into a regulation basketball hoop, and the next, he was inside lying in bed complaining of a headache.  WIMP!

So what was suppose to be a weekend of celebration became a weekend of toddler invalids.  The current plan is to return to Los Angeles tomorrow as long as neither of the kids feel sick.  If Lisa feels sick, we'll still drive home.  If I feel sick, there's no way in hell I'm letting Lisa driving all the way back by herself.  She not only tailgates big rigs, she tries to drive on top of them.  Wish us luck!

Day 1447 - Quote of the Day

Day 1446 - Picture Friday

 Senior or disabled?  You decide!

ineverhadsodabeforeandmommyanddaddystillhaventnoticed

soiamgoingtocontinuetodrinkupthisdeliciouselixircalledcocacolaohboydoihavetopee!

Public water fountains are the only way we get Andrew cleaned.

That's right, Emma.  If you can get your chin closer to the area on Mickey's shoulder with the bird poop...

Have a great weekend!

Day 1445 - A New First

When I thought things couldn't get weirder with Andrew peeing on my arm, something else happened to me in the bathroom with Andrew.  There are occasions when Andrew goes to pee by himself, and there are times when he's whiny and needy and wants someone to help him.  Today was a whiny and needy day.

The one thing with Andrew is that he's a typical boy:  impatient, scattered, and fast.  Funny enough, those are the three reasons my first girlfriend broke up with me.  And all of those three things apply to Andrew in the bathroom.  The bathroom to him is an inconvenience.  Why must he pee and poop in the toilet when all it does is take him away from something more important like his Legos, Cars toys, and Fox News. 

I pulled down Andrew's pants and waited for him to pee.  But he suddenly turned around and started talking about the books in the magazine rack.  I didn't want him to pee all over the floor, so I used my knee against his butt to get his stream back on track.  As I moved my knee, it got caught in Andrew's butt crack.  And just at that time, Andrew let loose a gigantic, juice fart.

Today was a bad day to wear shorts.

I won't go into much more detail except that my hairy knees are stained with tomato juice amongst other things, and the smell still won't go away.  I'm not too sure what I said after the blast of gas, but it was weird enough that Emma peeked in the bathroom door to make sure everything was okay.  When a four year old is checking up on you, you know you didn't have it all together.

For the record, I've been peed on, pooped on, and now, farted on.  Who knew my previous job as a man-whore would've prepared me for parenthood.  I really hope there is nothing more Andrew can share with me in the bathroom, but just in case, I ordered a month's worth of disposable body condoms and bleach on Amazon.  I will explain my appearance to the kids by saying I'm practicing to be a rotting banana for Halloween.

Day 1453 - Doctor's Visit

Just like me and showers, the kids had their yearly visit with our pediatrician.  The kids seems to be growing and developing pretty well.  Emma is around the 80th percentile for height and 60th for weight.  The only thing we have to follow-up on with Emma is this little mole on the bottom of her foot.  The pediatrician recommended that we have her see a dermatologist within the year to just get it checked out.  I recommended a dab of yellow Liquid Paper, but the doctor did not see the humor in that.

As for Andrew, he is in the 30th percentile for height and 25th percentile for weight.  He has always been a little shorter than Emma, but hopefully when puberty kicks in he will be able to defend himself from a 7'2" Emma.  I also mentioned to our pediatrician that upon the suggestion of our preschool, Andrew was going to receive a speech assessment.  The doctor asked Andrew several questions from a picture book and agreed that he has a slight articulation problem with certain sounds.  She inquired if anyone in our family received speech therapy, and that was my cue to stuff my face with saltine crackers and spew out "Naaaaaht toooooo mah knahwedge!!!"  The doctor did not see the humor in that either.

After getting a clean bill of health, it was time for a couple of shots.  The doctor used her big doctor words explaining the different types of shots the kids needed.  Big words like "ouchy", "pointy needle", and "stabbing pain".  The doctor then turned back into the friendly pediatrician, told the kids what a great job they did, how they would get toys on the way out, but first, a nurse needs to see them.  And out she went.

The kids were slightly confused why the nurse needed to come back in; this made me uncomfortable.  The old switcharoo, good cop/bad cop, Charlie Sheen/Ashton Kutcher ploy was in play.  I diverted their attention by reading them some books and pamphlets on vaccinations, but it only increased their uneasiness.

Eventually the nurse came in.  The first thing she said was, "Who's fussier?"

It was like a pediatric Sophie's Choice.  I pointed to Andrew, and she said, "He's first."

As soon as I lifted Andrew on top of the examination table, he saw the needles and crapped his pants.  Literally.  I had to change his pants.

"I don't want that!  I want to go home!" screamed Andrew without even getting a shot.

The nurse was having a difficult time giving him the shot, so she asked me to hold him on my lap.  I had to cross my legs over his legs, and then cross my arms over his arms.  We looked like a Disney Channel version of the Human Centipede.  Emma crept in to see what was going on.  I told Emma to go read a book, but she was too fascinated with this human train wreck.  As the nurse gave Andrew his two shots, each time the needle was put into his arms, Andrew screamed, and Emma's eyes widened -- she almost looked Caucasian. 

Obviously after seeing Andrew's meltdown, Emma was none to happy to be next.  Once again, I had to lock Emma into my lap.  After much screaming and kicking, Emma's two shots were over.  And I swear...after having both kids on my lap, it felt like my balls got shots too.

The nurse left, and I let the kids calm down in the room.  After several long minutes, Andrew stepped back and looked at me with his angry eyes.  He yelled, "I don't like this place.  This is no good.  I don't ever want to come back!"  And like a little Victor Borge, he made a little sound and stomped his foot on the ground.

As we walked out of the doctor's office, there was a little cafe nearby so I bought the kids a juice box for the ride home.  All I could think about on the walk to the car was how much things have changed over the past four years.  For the first year or so, every time your kid received a shot, you felt pangs of guilt and remorse.  You just wanted to hold them close to you and make them stop crying.

But a few more years pass, and my how things have changed.  Guilt and remorse are replaced with exhaustion and frustration.  And you don't want to hold them too close to you because you're afraid you'll end up doing what the Indian did to Jack Nicholson in Cuckoo's Nest.

My feeling is that this is the first year that planted the seeds in the kids that going to the doctor's office is not a fun experience.  Coincidentally, those exact same seeds were planted in me too.  But the bottom line is that the kids are healthy, and if you have to deal with a few tears and bruised testicles to keep the kids healthy, so be it.  Next time, I'll just wear a cup.

Day 1451 - Conversations with Emma

As I was putting Emma to bed one night, she mentioned to me that her vah-jay-jay area was a little itchy.  So I told her that I would go get some diaper cream and put some on for her.

"Emma," I said.  "Why don't you just pull your pants down a little bit."

"Okay, Daddy," said Emma.

I began to put a little cream around the irritated area, when Emma sprang a question on me.

"Daddy, do you know what you call this part?" she asked pointing to her own private Idaho area.

Stumped, I wasn't too sure how to answer.  I was a little hesitant about calling it a vagina because I didn't want her to repeat it at school plus every time I say that word I tend to flop sweat. 

"Umm, gee, Emma.  That's a good question, but I'm not too sure."  Fine, I wimped out.

"Oh!  I know what you call it," exclaimed Emma.

"You do?"  I began to imagine the phone calls from the preschool.  "What do you call it?"

"It's my front bottom!" said Emma.

Day 1450 - A Tip for Waiters

We were dining at a fancy restaurant called Johnny Rockets today.  And to clarify, a fancy restaurant to us is any establishment where there is not a buffet line.  The waiter was one of those struggling actors whose true bitterness is hidden behind the facade of a happy-go-lucky 1950s waiter.  The kids were behaving great because they got crayons and a coloring activity menu.  But then it happened.  The waiter brought them balloons.

To me, there is nothing worse than giving four year old twins a balloon.  So after we finished our lunch, Lisa and I decided to leave the balloons as we walked out.  But then it happened again.  The waiter followed us out the door with the balloons!

"Hey, Daddio!" said the method waiter.  "Don't forget the balloons for the kiddos!"

I wanted to kick him in his water balloons.  I shoo'd the waiter away, and thankfully the kids didn't see the balloons because were playing around on the 4th floor railing of the shopping mall.  Thank god for vertically-inclined railings!

The waiter looked at me as if I was the worst parent of the year for not allowing his kids to bask in the glory of a balloon.  I know all of you non-parents just see the smile on a kid's face when they're carrying around a balloon at the mall, a zoo, or the ICU ward of your local hospital.  But let me tell you what would've happened if we took the balloons home...

For the rest of our day at the mall, we would've had Emma and Andrew running around with balloons entangling mannequins, display racks, and slow, elderly people.  Somewhere along the way, one of the kids will have lost the balloon and watch it flying into the air.  Cue the hysterical crying.  Meanwhile, the other kid who still has the balloon eggs the other one on by saying, "I still have my balloon!"

To stop the hysterical crying in public after repeated consolations of "It's only a balloon.  It's just going to fly into the air and kill a bird," one of us ends up scouring the mall for a kiosk that sells overpriced balloons.  Cue more hysterical crying from the other child because they're pissed off that the new balloon is better.  Watch Daddy mutter profanities while pulling out his wallet to buy another balloon.

When we return home, the kids continue to run around with their balloons entangling furniture, pendant lighting, and slow, elderly people (Crazy Gaga and Lazy Papa were in town).  Momentarily, the kids forget about their balloons and play with their other toys like Del Taco collectible cups, Souplantation bowls, and Olive Garden plastic breadsticks.

But as the days progress, one balloon will lose its helium before the other.  This will make the owner of this particular balloon livid, angry, and jealous.  Observe this furious child try to take the other child's balloon away.  Look at how the two children push, hit, and claw at each other.  Notice how the child with the better balloon protects it from the angry beast.  Amid the clutter, the child protecting the balloon is pushed over, falls on top of the balloon, and said balloon pops.  So despite the lack of helium of the former balloon, this child takes joy that this balloon still exists.

What does the kid do about the popped balloon?  Pop the other balloon of course.  Now we have a house echoing the bloody cries of two pissed off kids.  Mommy's and Daddy's foreheads show as many veins popping out as Madonna's left forearm.  Not knowing what else to do to put everyone at ease, what does Daddy do?  Take everyone back to Johnny Rockets for lunch and balloons.

And THAT'S why you NEVER give kids balloons in restaurants.