Parents of twins get out of birthdays for each other...it's a little known rule.

News of the recession has never before been met with such glee.

This shall be brief. Today is Jenner's birthday, and I got her nothing; her reaction was completely benign and accomodating. There is a sort of surrender to these sorts of things this year; I'm not proud of it, yet there it is. I'm not sure if it's more a function of our own laziness, or maybe a shift of focus away from ourselves. Either way, the most I could muster for the day was to do a hackneyed job of cleaning the house.

We did scurry off to Cave Vin for dinner, but that I could claim no part in: Grandma and Grandpa watched the girls, and the check is going to be on Steve and Joy, who'd given Jen a dinner-out for last year's birthday that we're now laying claim to.

Since it's late, and since I'm going to attempt to salvage this birthday by pampering Jen until she falls asleep, I'll cop out and throw down some pictures of the kids from today, starring Grandma and Grandpa Stalker.

Not Abby's best hair day.

Lily-pad loves the paper.

This hat is so enormously cute it makes me want to puke a little. The wistful, pained look doesn't hurt, either.

Grandma Marj feeding Lily.

Abby, the happy monster.

Grandpa Neil walking the Lilster.

Cakes are terrible places to store explosives

From their birthday party. We don't eat like this every night.

At some point today the movie "Back to School" popped into my head, for no reason really. I was performing a particularly idle and numbing task at work, and - as I've just found out - my brain, when presented with a void, apparently fills it with works from the Rodney Dangerfield canon. Maybe it is just me, but I can't believe the physical laws of our universe allowed to exist a movie that features Robert Downey Jr., Danny Elfman, M. Emmett Walsh, Sam Kinnison, Ned Beatty, William "Johnny Sweeptheleg" Zabka, Paulie from Rocky, Sally Kellerman, and Kurt Vonnegut. Kurt Vonnegut?!? Did this movie truly get made? Can you imagine the pitch?!?

If this blog were really something to behold, I would somehow tie this in to the rearing of twin-yet-completely-opposite girls. It's not going to happen, so don't even wait for it. Life is messy and random.

I would like to take a moment of hubris and mention that I did that cast list from memory and without any aid.

Jen missed a first tonight, and I feel bad about that. She was stuck in class while Lily, for the first time that I've seen, deliberately pushed off of me in an attempt to stand on her own. She'll "walk" while holding hands for just short of eternity and never get tired of it, so that's not new; but this was a very deliberate act and somehow was very different. Maybe six times or so she pulled herself up on me while I was on the floor, and would push away and stand on her own for a few seconds before crashing onto her butt. It pleased her to no end.

That pleasure turned inevitably to rage for her when she realized I couldn't let her do it anymore while I was changing Abby. Now this is the glimpse that you, the reader, might enjoy into the world of twins. There are indeed two of these yahoos. So while changing Abby, Lily was crawling all over me trying to get to my chest. I put her down a few times, told her no, and she bawled; no surprises there. Fortunately the sight of Abby's belly button (aka the Bee Bo, nods to Sandra Boynton) gave her reprieve. So she played with it, which was cute beyond words. Then she tried to grab it with such force that I thought she would in fact tear her in half, and then I would have three kids which just would not do. I pulled her off. Then again. And again and again and again. Then bawling. It all worked out when I finally -fiiinally - got Abby's jam-jams on and, with the bee bo out of sight, restored order.

It's non-stop action when doing the single parent role with them.

Off to watch Conan's last show...

Day five.

My sly cake destroyer.

Delicious.

I cursed that helmet so many times, and now I miss it in a way. She did look rather cute in it I think.

I would have made a great crime-scene photographer

I'm trying to come up with a wry caption here, something that doesn't smack of an ironic Successory...it's eluding me.

I almost didn't make it home today. One block to go, and Andrew Bird's latest tune came on, so I did a slow drive around the neighborhood. Passed the house again. Then George Harrison; more loops. I'd say the hardest part of driving, ever since I was 17 or so, is timing the drive to end right at the terminus of a really good song. It's hard.

What helps is not being in a rush to arrive. Jen was not yet home, and babies #1 and #2 were in the back seat jabbering happily. I lack the heart to put an end to such circumstances. Andrew Bird, blue skies, babbling babies...you'd have circled, too. I found myself particularly happy with the decision when, while waiting for a light at Bloomington, I peeked back and saw them both looking out their respective windows smiling at the world. It was a nice, subtle moment from the monkeys.

We finally made it home where sweet, satisfying anarchy ensued, as captured in these photos.

Day four.

Who amongst us doesn't relish the sweet nectar of security passes?

Abby adores her reflection, but we're only equipped with one mirror on the main floor, and it's part of the dining room buffet. Resting her atop that perch was dodgy; grabbing my camera for a picture was kinda reckless.

Barricaded. The gate is shut, and they come relentlessly, this swarm of zombies. The kitchen is my last refuge. I have enough beer to last the night...

Jen v. back pain

I'm a little spent today; Jen's lower back revolted on her - it is known to do such a thing from time to time - so I get to step up and do a bit more in the way of chores tonight. Still, she did partake in feeding and changing the munchkins - a credit to her staunch unwillingness to ever admit a need to convalesce. Imagine my relief when she finally began to unwind over a nice "Managing the Strategy Process" paper. She knows how to pamper herself.

Thus, I'm a bit tired. I hate admitting I'm tired; I'm tired all the time, so it seems like a trite observation. I may as well admit that I'm breathing or that my hair is receding..these are things that never stop, either.

So this will be it for today, considering my latent sleepyheadedosity. First, an explanation of the above photo. I took some clippings from my Mom's Christmas cacti a few years ago. Most died, but a couple did okay. They soldiered on, though to be honest my care for them could never be described as stellar.

Yet, through the magic of my inaction, this little guy bloomed last week. I was astounded; not only was it bursting forth with great color, but the bloom was almost comically large. A few days later on another stem came along another flower - just as large, but purple rather than the original's pink (you can see it in the background).

They're lovely. I'll name the first Lily, and the second Abby for our little late-bloomer. Thanks Mom.

Day three.

Some recent photos:
(*just to be clear, these photos are not always from that day's blog. I'm not a miracle worker.)

Lils walking. This could very well be one of the root causes of Jen's current back issue.

The changing table queue.

Abs and a sunbeam make nice.

The day the music cried.

This picture is dedicated to my friend Mike, who steadfastly believed I wouldn't have the time tonight to watch the girls, make my own pizza dough, then cook and eat it.

Lots of people eat at 10:45pm.

Music seems to have taken on a new, utlilitarian life for me in the post-twin world. Rare is the day that I don't sing some sort of jibberish, made-up tune to the girls. Jen does it, too, and always to hilarious effect when I can hear her ad lib lyrics over a baby monitor. We normally take an established pop song - the cornier the better; I prefer Foreigner's timeless and excruciating "I Want to Know What Love Is" - and fabricate our own baby-themed lyrics. Hence, that song might morph into, say, "I Want to Know Whose Poop This Is". Are you reeling with laughter? No? That is, sadly, my best example. Jen's are better.

This does seem to placate them, though. Kind of. Usually. For example: Jen didn't get home tonight until after I did, but I didn't want to waste any time on making the pizza dough, since it takes at least an hour to rise. With Abby I took the easy way out and let her watch PBS and their mercifully timed airing of something animated (I have no idea what). Here she is, my little neglectarino, munching on a cracker:

And here she lounged until 5:30, when the Nightly News Report dourly began and she started whimpering, upset about the state of the economy no doubt (she just got her first toy piggy-bank, so she likely understands the fundamentals of macro-economics better than I).

Lily is not so easy. I'm not sure where TV wronged her, but Lily wouldn't watch it if Elmo leapt through the screen and danced a jig on top of the set. Apparently there are, in her mind, far too many electrical cords in our house that need a good yanking instead.


So I sang to her, quite loudly, while she stood at the kitchen gate (my wee prisoner) and I made vain attempts to heat a cup of water right to 110 degrees - the magic, yeast-party temp. Tellingly, I can't even recall what I sang...a toss-away song with stupid made up lyrics. She didn't cry once, though. Works like a charm.


Kids are quite strange - fickle, even - with their musical palate. I have found that in 9 times out of 10 they prefer "Wheels on the Bus" to anything by Radiohead (and they've admitted that the one other time they were just going through a "British phase"). I did, once, make the mistake of trying to sooth them during a car trip with Iron and Wine - arguably one of the most pleasing and potentially kid-soothing bands ever. They howled. Moments later and after one verse of "John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt", they were zombies. It doesn't make sense.

We decided a few months ago to play 80's music during their dinner to try and get them up to speed on relevant cultural material. YouTube was key to this venture. They could have cared less about the music, although seeing us dancing to Bananarama got some laughs.

I don't relish the eye-rolling I'll surely receive when, during their teen years, I play them "Mom and Dad's favorite music". Until then I'll keep singing "Karma Police" as "Diaper Police" and hope it eventually seeps in.



Day two.

Lily, oddly upset about having too much avocado.

Abby, happy with her avocado amount.




Finally, a tardy nod to Valentine's Day. I thought my halved pizza dough looked kinda heart-like. Aw.

V1....

I had this great idea once. It's likely that it was my last one, and it hit me almost a year ago now, as my kids were just a few weeks old when it happened. It came - as many arresting notions tend to - as I was trying to jockey my way through the 35W-Crosstown commons.
"You know, we should really keep a journal in the girls' room, right by where we feed them, so we can chronicle some thoughts and stuff during the dim hours of the night," I said to Jen, my now-very-frightened wife. "Think of the interesting parental scribblings that stupendous fatigue would bring." She cheerfully agreed, eager to coax my mind back to driving.

There was no shortage of journals in the house. I'm a whore for half-witted stabs at creativity, so I only had to tiptoe into the basement, pluck one from the shelves, tear out three pages of cloying drivel I'd written years prior, and we had our new journal.

It was a bust. We started diligently enough, but a nursery, as it turns out, a nursery in the middle of the night with a baby on your lap is hardly an opportune time to put pen to paper. So after some decent entries and some heartfelt meanderings, the journal languished (again; far too dismal a fate for a nice journal). It's still there, collecting dust. I may take a snapshot of it and put it on here.

The girls' first year of life, then, passed without much in the way of written record. I like photography, so we're sitting on some 152,000 photos (give or take), but not many nouns or verbs, or even adjectives, which is a shame; our kids are bursting with adjectives.

So here we are. One day after they've turned one year, I've decided to plunge into this stupid project. I chose the picture above because it really captures the mood quite candidly: those two morons, who I love more than anything, look like they're watching a train wreck, which this blog will admittedly and undoubtedly turn into.

But they're watching...and that's really the point of it all.

Year two. Day one.

Lily.

Abby.

Abby w/ Mommy aka Jen aka JJ aka Jenner.

Lily, pre-attack.