Always...no, never give a kid wasabi paste.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh! (story time)

There was an overabundance of vocalities today from our two wee fools. Chatterboxes. I'm not looking forward to the day when I wish beyond wishing for them to just close their crazy yappers; for now, it's sweet sweet music.

Especially aww-inspiring (I'm so embarrased that I wrote this pun, I decided to keep it in) is their self-sustained discussions. There begins a bit of blabbering by one child, to which we applaud like trained seals. When the other one sees the positive result gleaned by their sibling - and eager to not be left out while the gettin's good - they chime in happily. After a couple rounds, our inputs become less frequent, until eventually there is a non-coherent, spastic discussion between the two of them. Possibly it's about the Jonas Brothers; I don't know.

This is a fun part of the twin gig. Maybe single kids do this, too, but twins are all we have and twins are all we know. It's so much fun to listen to it. When it happens I feel like I invented nuclear fusion: just drop in a couple "gah gah"s and watch it go. My kids could power New England for a week.

We all went out tonight to Fuji Ya for our friend Nadia's birthday, who was awesome to invite us with the kids in tow. We got a 4 piece spicy tuna roll, but damn the luck, they filled up on crackers so we just had to eat it ourselves. I regret not bringing the camera and snapping a shot of us trying to cram a tuna roll into Abby's mouth using one of those tiny baby spoons. Hilarious juxtaposition! Kid + sushi = laughs. Both girls had a good turn at banging my Sapporo can with a chopstick. Abby is a born drummer, I swear to god, she loves anything that makes noise when you hit it. This includes Lily's cranium.

A fine day, all in all.

Day forty eight

Lily gazing towards the computer. She loves the blue power light, and enjoys pushing it for the requisite 4 seconds to turn it to "sleep" mode.

Another angle on story time. 10 tiny tadpoles swimming blah blah snore.

Lily considers "10 Tiny Tadpoles" a scathing manifesto against isolationism in a post-internet society. I'm amazed she got that metaphor.

Wanted: more specialists for my kid. Is there a doctor that only studies crazy blonde hair?

Steve and Tracey prep for dinner while talking to Dad on the speaker phone.

Today is our Mom's birthday; she would have been sixty five years old today. It was Tracey's idea to get together, have some food and beverage, and toast one of the people primarily responsible for making it all possible. So off to Chaska we drove, and indeed food was eaten and glasses/bottles/sippy cups were clinked together in a manner that proved satisfactory to all. Even Lily approved. Mom might've been sad to find that we didn't schlep our families out to the casino in her honor, but I would wager the spaghetti and meatballs and drinks-a-plenty easily made up for that transgression. Maybe I'll try and do right by her with a quick game of free cell before bed.

Jen had the unenviable task of taking both kids to the doctor today so Abby could endure yet another x-ray to see if the pnoomonia is still around. It is. Just barely, though, but it's a pesky ol' sickness. It isn't manifesting itself in any way, so it seems like this is just a formality, but we are now going to be saddling Abby with yet another specialist. This time around: pulmonologist. (I just asked Jen exactly what that means. Her reply: "It's a lungologist")

That makes this a fantastic time to play How Many Doctors Does Our Kid Have!?! (da da da daaa da di da ti daahh...) Let's see if I can get it right!

Pediatrician (duh)
Geneticist (little harder)
Pediatric Opthamologist (gah?)
Physical Therapist (not technically a doctor, but we'll accept it)
Pulmonologist (hrmm..)
Julie (ha! tricky one. Okay, I don't know what her title was, but she was in charge of Abby's helmet, and I feel bad about not knowing what "title" to give her because she was wicked nice and helpful)
Speech Pathologist (her "gah gah"s are way off)
Life Coach
and we've got an attorney on retainer, just in case.


I think it's a safe estimate to say that Jen takes her to roughly 104% of these appointments. How she juggles it all and manages to sail through her MBA courses is a mystery.

Day forty seven.

Happy birthday, Mom.

Tracey (aka Aunt Tracey, Mommy) hangs with the Easter Lucy.

She got Jen's face but my ears.

A Night Full of Stalkers

Abby loves her Grandpa (and his beer bottle)

Tonight is once again brought to you by Jen. Dave is busy in the kitchen making spaghetti sauce. Who doesn't make spaghetti sauce at 10:30 PM? I'll tell you who...normal people. But I can't complain, he makes a really good sauce which I get to enjoy tomorrow evening in Chaska. Yeah Chaska!

We had a great night tonight that just flew by. My dad's in town and he came over with my sister, her two boys , and some pizza. Abby took a little time to warm up to Grandpa (the mustache always scares her at first), but she eventually came around, in part thanks to his beer bottle. I've never known a baby that didn't love the feel of a beer bottle. Is that weird? Or does that mean I surround myself with other irresponsible parents that let their kids play with beer bottles? Either way, it calmed Abby down and she was able to enjoy Grandpa's lap.

Lily was less interested in Grandpa (sorry dad). She was far too interested in what her cousin Andrew was doing and trying to do it too (much to Andrew's chagrin). She was also strangely quiet all evening--not the Lily I'm used to. Usually she's busy testing out just how strong her pipes are--attempting to top each booming note with one higher and louder. Oddly, I found myself missing that often deafening voice of hers tonight--it felt like she wasn't even here. When bedtime finally rolled around (a little later than usual) I found myself missing her despite being in the same room all evening and I therefore had to be the one to feed her. What a surprise to find out that I actually enjoy her skills at audibility!

Here are a few pictures from the night. (And for those of you wondering about the title of tonight's blog, Stalker is my maiden name).

Abby on Grandpa's lap, trying to smile her way into him not noticing her trying to steal his beer.

Lily concentrating hard on doing whatever Andrew does

Auntie Christy with the newest addtition to the clan, Matthew (2 months old already!)

Green light...........................Red light!

Sheep mouth.

Every night, Jen and I go peeking. Right before we go to bed, usually in the neighborhood of 10:30, we creep into the girls room and peer at them from above. Is there anything cuter than a sleeping kid? No. There is not.

This covert little operation used to be quite simple; we'd walk in, check 'em out, then leave. Lately, though, the girls - Lily especially - seem to have acquired the sleeping habits of ninjas. We can rarely make it two steps into the room before somebody's head pops up like a little prairie dog. Desperate not to be seen, which would be the end of sleep as we know it, we synchronously collapse to the floor and freeze. It's a little like that game "Red light, green light".

I never fail to find it funny, and I usually end up crouched in a ball, hugging my knees, trying desperately not to laugh. Making eye contact with Jen only makes it funnier. We usually spend a good 30-40 seconds down there, waiting patiently like little elves. Then we get up, do our peeking, and we're on our way. Lately, this happens every single time we go in. I'm hoping we don't end up with light sleepers.

Day forty five.

All the photos today are courtesy of Mommy.

Abby gets a handful of sheep.

Lily hangs out with the dragon.

She loves being at the table.

Our day care is operating under the false presumption that Abby is in fact an 82 year old man.

How else can you explain our getting our daughter back like this?

Here she is, properly attired:

Ahhh.

So very much in life is left up to simple, cruel chance. Aye, fate is a shrewish mistress. Let's take this morning's affairs as witness.

Jen and I were both set to leave right at 7:30, so we got ready a bit early, and went in to fetch the kids when their plaintive cries went out from their room. I offered Jen the option of taking Abby or Lily. Abby or Lily? Lily or Abby? Now here is the fun part of twin-rearing; it's a bit like gambling.

Jen chose Abby, likely because she is the lighter kid (by 82 pounds), and Jen's back has been acting up again. Allow me to spoil the ending by saying now: Jen chose poorly.

Downstairs we went, sat on the couch, and fed a tasty morning bottle to our respective offspring. Nothing out of the ordinary. Then Abby opened her mouth and made what would have been a nice smile, if not for the fact that her entire bottle suddenly spewed out of it. Sploosh! This ended up mostly on Abs, but a good part on Jen as well. She mopped up quickly what she could, then laid Abby down for a fast change, then back upstairs for a new outfit for herself.

Back on my lap, Lily and I watched this hubbub with sleepy interest. After a bit, she turned back to me and gave me a few kisses.

Harsh, cruel fate. For Jen.

Day forty four.

Lily putting more miles on the hardwoods.

I liked this one of Olly. I think he's melting into the carpet.

According to Jen, water and handsoap gets baby feces out of clothes. Please tell me you're not eating right now...if so, I'm sorry.

Each and every time I show the girls this toy, I end up tap-tap-tapping on it for long stretches, long after the girls have wandered off to do something else. It's like a zen garden, soothing in it's utter simplicity and tapability.

Tonight was supposed to be ECFE. S'posed to be. When I got to day care, I picked up Lily and smelled The Smell. I didn't even have a chance to ask them if I could change her diaper there before I felt The Moisture. I held her away from me and saw that a good portion of her pants were wet, and were sliding from blue to brown.

At that point I was holding her away from me, and my first instinct was to check myself for contamination, which struck me as slightly bad form. I felt kinda prima donna-ish checking myself for poopy residue, but Lily was laughing through it all, so my narcissism falls somewhere short of incompetent parenting.

Of course, this was her second Defcon 5 poop (I just caught the last 16 minutes of Wargames on TBS last night) of the day, so she had no onesies at day care; only a couple overshirts and a jumper. I opted for the jumper, but wasn't sure how warm it was. I was considering the possibility of running home before ECFE before the creeping and enjoyable notion of skipping it altogether took hold.

I finally got Lils out to the car where my phone was ringing Jen's ring. Apparently her car was making a catastrophically bad sound and Abby hadn't napped and was proportionately crabby. The final nail had been driven into ECFE's coffin for us, so it was back to the house.

Dinner. Bath. Bed. Then more fun with Jen handwashing the Lilypoo out of two outfits while I tried to ascertain whether the beef we'd taken out of the freezer a few days ago was still good (it was decidedly not). I decided dinner should be easy, so a frozen tray of enchildas clanged into the oven. The box said 45 minutes, which would have put us right at 8:10. We didn't eat until 8:50.

Finally on the couch with some food, I decided to watch tv. I rarely feel that tv is a great option, but I was very much in the mood for a dollop of lazy with my enchiladas. Maybe PBS would have something good on. The best I could find was Steve Wozniak dancing with all the style and grace of a houseplant. I turned it off within minutes.

So much to gripe about. Yet, thanks to the two idiots sleeping upstairs, it's an unequivocal success of a day.

Day forty three.

Ditched the camera; non-today-taken pictures are in order.

I think Mommy's getting more out of this than Abs.

The basket holds dozens of books, but only one has fuzzy bunny ears. It's a no-brainer. Thanks to the Bensons for that one.

Drinking out of a bowl: 0 out of 5.

I kinda love Lily a little more tonight. Is that wrong?

Tonight we got home from Steve and Joy's, where we'd had a fantastic dinner with those folks and the Reichert clan. A lovely group of people. All the kids are savages - including ours - but the adults are top notch.

Abby was fine at first, but became progressively crankier as the night went on, then broke down into outright inconsolibility. The other kids eyed her warily. It was another one of those situations where we were diagnosing, and everything we tried just made her a little more irritated. It was shaping up for an early night for us, when we decided to do some teething gel. This on a kid who got two teeth halfway in almost 7 months ago and hasn't even hinted at getting more since.

I gooped up her lower gums (with great difficulty; she's decided now that she hates teething gel). Then I went to the upper gums and felt one, maybe two, definite teeth poking through. I was ecstatic. Our little monkey is finally getting some more choppers.

This paled in comparison to later on, when we were resting on the couch just prior to bringing the girls up for bed. It was after 8, they were tired, and that tends to be one of their more charming moments. I don't know how exactly it started, but Lily - kneeling on our laps between us - started giving us kisses. "Kisses" is really too weak a word. They were slow, deliberate, very wet, long sloppy smooches - I'm not overselling it when I say that this is probably the highest pinnacle of parenting so far. She would lean in to Jen, press her lips to hers for a bit, then sit up and laugh. Then she would do the same for me; probably my favorite was that it took no prompting, she would just lean in unrequested. I am beside myself.

Now for a more serious topic. My friend Nick recently sent the girls a gift of 5 toy tree frogs from Seattle. They melded well with the general toy populace at first, but recently we've noticed some "organization" happening. Worried about the welfare and safety of all those within the home, we set up a secret camera before leaving the house today, and returned to find these shocking images.

Day forty two.

Tree frogs love to watch soccer, so they forced other toys to play for their amusement.

A ruthless game of bloody knuckles rages across our coffee table.

Frog porn is now on our computer.

You hate to see something like this. An innocent cat, overrun by thug frogs.

They raided my beer supply. They got into the Surly. Those bastards.

Finally, we get a glimpse of who is behind it all. Lily, the bilingual master frog behind the proverbial curtain.