Boys are different 'n stuff.

What good parents wouldn't allow their kids the chance to play in the dog's water dish?

Why do I feel like the only person who gets sick like I do? I feel awful for one day, fine the next, then I languish for 12 more days feeling tired, mucky, sore throat, and just deflated. Maybe it's H1N1, despite the fact that I never ran much of a fever and never threw up. Who knows. My physiology is a mystery.

Most of the day with the girls was rather hazy and unremarkable, to be honest. We went on a walk. Lily has a wicked rash; bad enough that I get that tingly-awful sensation in my spine when I see it. Ouchie. This means that dressing and changing her is pretty tortuous and makes us feel terrible about doing it. Not helping is the fact that she's going into crap-factory overdrive lately. She's getting decaf from here on out.

I wonder if it's something viral or yeast maybe, because Abby is now showing some nasty signs of it. Joy! Rashes are a pox on the good experience that is parenting.

Tonight we headed over to the Dockters' house, where they gregariously shared their Sammy's brand frozen pizza (producto de Duluth) with us. Frozen pizza may not sound like a notable event, but this was a pretty decent approximation of the real Sammy's pizza, which is fairly outstanding.

The Dockters have a 4 year old and 2 year old twins, all boys. It was lunacy. Being around little boys is a nice chance to see just how different an experience it is. They are so very boyish, in every way. There's a lot more leaping. And snakes and crocodiles and millipedes and bouncing. I don't think the girls knew how to handle it right away (too many girl cousins), but after a while it sunk in they had a good time. Nico sang us some songs, and Lily danced in front of him. It was her ho-down yokel dance with the right leg stomp. Fun times.

Day two hundred and eighty eight.

This picture makes our sidewalk look so long.

It was a short and slow walk. Olly is seen here, silently pleading with the girls to, "Hurry the $&%(# up!" (in Beaglese, of course)

Lily practicing for her future career in corrections and detention.

The good. The bad. The French.

Blondie McNaked and Scratchelopodess

My Dad once loaned me a book titled, "How Soccer Explains the World". The conclusions this piece of non-fiction came to were largely on a macro scale and dealt with macro issues: racism, fascism, idealism, patriotism, and a hobnob of other isms. I'm wondering if a sequel titled "How Soccer Explains Parenting" might be a worthy endeavor.

To wit: as the girls are in their nascent stages of learning the ever-confusing line between right and wrong, I'm constantly wondering if I have the proper tools to teach them what "the right thing" is. Thankfully, I now have the prism of Thierry Henry, France, Ireland, Diego Maradona, FIFA, Robbie Keane, the papacy, and the world at large to look through for the perfect analogy of how to properly decipher what to do in any number of sticky situations.

"Girls," I can now ask, as I sit them down to watch the youTube video (see below), "is the dependence on authority a valid reason to set aside your ethics?"

"Meow!" they'll likely respond.

"Suppose, then, you succeeded in circumventing the rules of society and did something you weren't allowed to: would you then blame us, your parents, for dereliction of our duty to catch you in the act?"

"Color!!!"

"Girls, are you going to try to get away with things because you think you can, or because you think I'll catch you anyway? Now be aware: it's a damning question. There is no right answer. Either you tried to do wrong and get away with it, or you were just doing it to test me. Both don't fly."

"..."

True lessons can be learned from this handball and the fallout that is still occurring. Henry admitted blame - deftly claiming, though, that it was unintentional - and capitulated that the Irish have a legitimate claim in requesting a rematch (the winner of this game goes straight to South Africa for the world cup. Heady consequences indeed). Should Henry, right then and there on the pitch, raised his own hand in fault? In every pickup game of soccer, with every person I've played with, I have no doubt that this would happen; in the absence of oversight, people will inherently fall back upon their ethics. Not even ethics, but belief in the game, in the knowledge that allowing a cheap goal will further cheapen the fabric of the sport itself. And these are pickup games, where the ramifications of a goal are about who has to walk to go get the ball.

In a telling quote which highlights exactly the moral quandry that is this goal, Thierry Henry stated that it's up to the refs to catch him in the act. Everything else is fair game. You see where I'm going with this, the lessons I want to teach the girls? And is he vindicated for admitting wrongdoing, but not until after the match? Tough questions.

I didn't used to try and transpose normal everyday life into super life lessons that I can pass on later. But I think I'll bookmark the video.

In more normal blogging news, the girls are good. There is a great deal of talking, and in the next few days I'm going to need to rundown some of their favorite phrases.

Jen was making a buzzing sound tonight, due to seeing a bee in a book. Abby, mouthful of milk and unaware of the consequences of physics, tried to buzz and spewed milk all over herself. Delightful.

Day two hundred and eighty seven.

The good replay starts at 1:00. Also note the fact that the French are totally offsides during this play. Also remember: this is to decide who goes to the world cup. And for a backstory, Ireland totally owned the rest of this match.

Scream therapy.

Walking a mile in Daddy's shoes.

(5:03pm. Chicago Ave South and 52nd Street. Inside the unassuming blue Forester with an ironic Apple sticker on the rear window, rocketing north towards Powderhorn.)

"...how was your day, girls??"

[nothing]

"Did you guys do anything fun today at day care?"

[belch. slight whine.]

"Do you guys want to sing songs on the way home?"

Lily: "Yah!"

"Okay. 'Iiiiiiiiiiiif you're happy and you know it clap your hands...'" (continued to its logical conclusion)

Both morons: "Yaaay! More more more more more more more more"

"Sure! How about this: 'I'm all made of hinges and everything bends, from the top of my head way down to my ends....'"

Lily: "No! No no no! Nooooo!"

"What?"

Lily: "More"

"Oooookay. 'Sarasponda sarasponda sarasponda ret set set...'"

Lily (and Abby chiming in now): "Noooooooo!"

[I'm thinking]

Both: "more more more more more more"

"'If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands??'"

[Both laugh. I finish the song.]

"More more more more!"

"Sure." (I know better, but try this anyway) "'There was a farmer who had a dog and Bingo..'"

"Nooooo no no no no!"

I went back to "If you're happy" for about 18 more refrains. Sick of 'clap your hands', it soon became:

If you're happy and you know it...snap your fingers
...hit your head
...stamp your feet
...yell 'Hello'
...scream at the guy driving slow in front of us (you think I'm joking; oh no, we sang it)
...slap the dashboard
...say 'Hi Daddy'
...swerve the car (that was fun, actually)
...swear at cabs

Okay, this makes me sound like a bad/dangerous/angry driver, but it was all in fun. Except maybe for the cabs thing, as I truly hold those guys in some serious contempt.

Later on during the commute, I'm not sure how the ball got rolling, but we all got in a shouting contest. Not the bad kind; a fun one, where we all took turns yelling. It was hilarious. Lily would scream her head off, Abby would yell at the top of her tiny little lungs, and I would follow suit. All of us, really pretty loud actually. I told them it was cathartic. I think they liked it...they did clap their hands, so that meant they were happy and they knew it.

Day two hundred and eighty six.

Shorty.

Asparaguses

Today's pictures are a couple weeks old. See how young they look! So little!

Tongue out = face-shattering concentration

First, let me address Lori's comment from a couple days ago: "The angel in that picture could not have shoved her sister! No way!" I think you and Andy and the kids should definitely stop by so you can get a dose of the Angry Lily. It's a rare thing, but a sight to behold.

Last night, we gave the girls some asparagus during dinner. Against all logical expectations, they really enjoyed it - so much so that we had issues because I didn't want to give them any more of mine. There's always a measure of self-satisfaction when they take to a new vegetable, especially one so delicious and perfect with hollandaise as asparagus. It's delusional, but when this happens, I can't help but mentally take the credit for it. Was it our presentation? Was the tiny morsel of limp greenery just too much to resist, stabbed as it was upon the tines of our fork? It's a win, so we'll take it.

The exciting sequel to this story arrived this morning, when their diapers were ripped open and we were assaulted with that oddity of gastrointestinal side-effects: asparagus pee. Our kids have asparagus pee! How freaking exciting is that?? Honestly, not really, probably, but I was thrilled. My understanding is that not everyone's urine reacts so noxiously with those benign looking spears; that it happens to the girls, then, is like finding out they've got your eyes, or nose, or receding hairline. They got our pee! What a wonderful world.

Day two hundred and eighty five.

The southside of Powderhorn Park has never seen a goofball so goofy as my wife.

The singing poo(h) and the passed mashed potato.

Best hiding spot ever.

Thanks to the glorious wonders of the internet, I've discovered a fun new game to play with the girls. I call it "Find the Singing Poo(h)". It's quite simple. We have a lovely Pooh bear that has a music box in it (see graphic above), one of those pull-the-string type deals; finding this item is the goal of the game, and results in hugs. Not finding it will bring scorn and shame to the player, ie. Lily. The game is: we usher the girls to the dining room, one of us hides the Pooh, and then we turn them loose to find it. Lily especially loves the game. Abby seems to get it, but I think she loses interest pretty quickly. She'll wander in, listen for the music, then see something interesting, which she'll then pick up and likely cram in her mouth.

So far, I'm quite impressed with their ability to find the pooh. I've hidden it in some pretty crafty locations, and they come through almost every time. If you have kids in this age bracket, I highly recommend this lovely activity. It has Pooh in it!

The girls' cute moment of the night was Lily feeding Abby mashed potatoes on her finger during dinner. Lily will get a dollop on her digit, then begin chanting, "Abs...Abs...Abs." (It's wicked cute that she calls her that, which she picked up from us doing it) Finally the blonde one looks over, sees the potatoes and leans in. This pivotal stage always finds them quiet with concentration, each one straining to find their mark. When there is a successful transfer, they both erupt with laughter. Can't go wrong with that.

Day two hundred and eighty four.

The offering.

A moment of distraction.

It's good!

Meh.

Not even December yet, and I'm already grappling with what feels like my second round with illness. Woke up feeling blah, throat protesting every breath and swallow. The day didn't improve it, nor did caring for the girls solo tonight, as Jen had class. Here are some brief, random tidbits.

- Lily got a timeout for pushing Abby really hard.
- Abby splashed us all quite solidly during bathtime.
- One of their leapfrog toys is almost out of batteries, and it started making a funny noise as a result. Abby slowly backed away from it until she hit my waist, then bent down and laid her torso on my legs. It was super cute, I think she was scared kinda, but not really.
- Lily tried to wash my head with a washcloth, again during bathtime.

I think tonight was the first time ever with the morons that I did not (from what I remember) laugh at all, not once. I was just so exhausted, I could barely muster the energy to keep going. Meh. Springtime, you are far off indeed.

Day two hundred and eighty three.

Trying to figure out kids' brains, one blog post at a time.

Abs doing some serious work on finding out what exactly the brown bear sees. (Spoiler! It's a red bird.)

Tonight during dinner at Papa's house, Abby was squandering some time playing with a magnetic board. It's white, and it comes with some plastic shapes that stick to it. As I watched her, she put all the shapes on the board one at a time. When they were all up there, she reached for an unrelated clear plastic bag and pressed it to the board. I watched her face become confused, ever so briefly, when it failed to stick to where she'd put it.

This began my thinking about the assumptions kids make at this age. I'm fairly certain, unless they've been doing some extraneous reading late at night (and it is true that I've found some books in the cribs), that they have no clear working knowledge on the science of magnetism. Yet, when they tinker with toys that feature a heavy usage of those principles, there is never any alarm at what has occured.

"Holy crap, Dad, " they ought to say, "I just put that monkey on the fridge door and he stayed there! He's just HANGING THERE! With a complete disregard to gravity, which seems to work with everything else! What gives?"

Is Abby wrong to think that, since all those shapes stuck like magic to the board, so would another random object? Would it not stand to reason, then, that they should reasonably expect to have the ability to press random objects to vertical faces of anything else (ie, the wall, the dresser, the dog) and have them stick there? Sometimes I wonder if things like this have an adverse effect on their learning process. To be truthful, I think I've actually seen them trying this with crayons on the wall. Or could it just be that they're trying to draw on the wall? Nah.

Also, this is what's so infuriating with kids: it's impossible to impress them. Magnetism is treated as commonplace. Television and electricity get no special regard. But pick them up by the ankles and dangle them a couple feet from the ground, though, and you're like a god.

For some reason, this train of thought makes me think of that part in Dumb and Dumber, where Jim Carrey sees the framed newspaper article from 1969 about man landing on the moon and says, "That's great...we landed on the moon!" It's a state of being strangely unaware of progress. When the girls see an airplane roaring overhead, I still expect them every time to say, "Yay!! We've mastered the art of flight! What a world!" As if they should be somehow aware of mankind's thousands of years of failing in this regard, and should celebrate it appropriately.

I'm eager for the next few years, when they will finally be able to tell me what they were thinking when they were 21 months old.

Day two hundred and eighty two.

Sunny buddy.

Is she trying to do a Spock hand gesture here?