Dear Santa: waaaaaaaaaaaah.

Found these girls wandering the lakewalk outside Fitgers. Kept 'em.

Today we were pleased and honored to find that the Gels clan passed along whatever illness we had to the Stalker clan (Lino Lakes chapter). Yay for proliferating disease! I'd be more proud if not wracked with guilt about it. Sorry, Jon and Kyla (and Suze, if you've gotten it by now)!

This morning we set off for Duluth proper (I consider Island Lake to be "fake" Duluth) so the Fitgers Brewery Complex could feel the blunt force of our girls. The idea behind this trek was that we could see Santa, who had just flown in for a quick visit. I invite you to take a moment and note how many pictures I've posted of the girls with Santa. Yup. Jen managed to make it to the couch beside Santa while holding Abby. I couldn't even get in the room holding Lily without inflicting some lasting psychological damage. She was right terrified of the jolly old chap.

What does it say about our kids - or even the psychology of kids at large - that we then went to visit 2 live reindeer on display, and they accepted this reality with no hint of apprehension or fear? Fat guy in a red suit with bells and candy? The devil. Large brown ungulates with horns growing out of their skulls? Commonplace. Were they not caged, I imagine we could have simply put the kids on top and called that our Santa picture.

Day two hundred and eighty five.

ps. Sorry to the Lukasewycz's for mispelling Andrew's name yesterday. Andred does have a nice ring, though.

Abby, peeping out from behind her mum.


Given a bit more time, this would have been a better shot. But she was crabby and I had to hurry.

Lily strolling

Yak. Flush. Repeat.

Abby, that little petri dish, successfully passed her illness from Wendesday on to me. Yesterday I was fine. Went to bed, couldn't sleep. Sharp abdominal pains. Gas. Lots of trips to the bathroom. Then this morning I threw up. A lot.

I can't blame Abby. I did my best to try and make her feel better, so I'm sure there was plenty of chances for some transfer of germs. Kisses are bad like that.

Holidays are great for sharing illnesses.

I can't say much about the day, really, it was a haze for me. The girls were fairly amusing, the little I saw of them. The rest of the family, they're pretty amusing too. Maniacs, all of them.

Even though I took yesterday off, I was going to write a little something and I forgot. I was going to say how un-holiday it felt not having Christy and Steve and Andred and Matthew here. It's hard shaking the feeling that there should be 4 more people adding to the anarchy. So yeah: we all miss them and wish they were here.

Day two hundred and eighty something.

Gobble.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! (I'm taking the day off.)

I'm much, much happier than I look in this shot.

Lilymonster
Abbygator

Day two hundred and eighty three.

Twin Power

See the burp rag? That's no mistake that it's right below her mouth. Bleeeeccchh!!

Last year Abby caught pneumonia (for the first of two times) on the day before Thanksgiving. Apparently, she's shooting for a repeat. I don't think she's even close, thankfully; sure she spent the morning vomiting and pooping and watching cartoons, but I don't think we're even flirting with the pneumonia stage.

This morning, then, Jen and I had to have one of those rare discussions where our days are pitted against one another in a match of outright importance:

J: "I've got two classes that I absolutely cannot miss or else I'll fail and be hung. What's going on for you at work today?"

D: "I was going to spend 45 minutes trying to throw a little red ball into a milk jug, which is kind of a little game we made up. But it's really competitive!!"

And so my day lost, miserably so. It was Jennifer, then, who drove off to day care and school whilst I stayed behind to care for Abby. This departure was rendered utterly heartbreaking when Lily, dressed and coated and being carried over the threshold, suddenly realized she alone was leaving and her twin was being left behind.

"Abby. Abs. Abby? ABBY??? ABBBBBBBYYYYYYY!!!!!!??!?!" she screamed, she wailed, as she threw her arms out over my shoulders back towards the house. It could have almost been funny if it wasn't totally devastating. Really sad, actually, and touching. According to Jen, it didn't end in the car. She kept repeating, "Abby? Abby, come. Abby come!" And of course, when they got to day care, she ran around looking for her.

It's this stupid crap that makes me love them so much it is painful.

Abby and I had a mostly uneventful day, by and large. She's a world class snuggler when she's sick, so I got to spend lots of time on the couch watching Curious George (who I have now realized reminds me a lot of Lily, actually) with a blonde 19 pound sack on my chest. In the afternoon, after a hashed together packing attempt, we wound up on the road and in Duluth, where the Stalkers have taken us in for the holidays. Hooray Duluth! Hooray Stalkers!

Everyone have a lovely Thanksgiving. Hug a lot. Eat a ton. Be gracious.

Day two hundred and eighty two.

Heading north on I35, the fiery glow of Duluth beckoning us on from afar.

Flex Spending...the working man's $20 bill in the long lost jeans pocket.

Bill the Cat?

Us denizens of the Gels household are procrastinators of varying degrees (me = horrible, Jen = manageable); thus, our paperwork for flex spending reimbursement normally goes out once a year. Today, I got my check, which was a whopping $4k and change. Now, I realize this is my money in the first place - tax free, which is nice - but I can't shake the feeling that I've just won some sort of prize. Trumping the pathos of this kneejerk mental reaction to getting my own money back is the fact that I'm more than willing to let my brain carry on with the illusion. From here on out, that money is NOT mine, it IS a windfall, and I DIDN'T already blow it all on daycare.

I'm always frustrated that, every time we find ourselves at the pediatrician for the girls regular tune-up (with free wheel rotation), months of cumulative questions that I've squirreled away for our doctor always evaporate in a puff of parental idle-mindedness. I am therefore writing down the question I have come up with over the past couple days: why do our kids crank out poopy diapers like an assembly line when they are suffering from scathingly bad rashes? Is this a cause/effect thing? Either way, linger outside our back door for longer than 40 minutes and you will be privvy to our clockwork delivery of another steaming ball of poo. It's uncanny.

Abby's already been up tonight for a change. She was so cute and patient about it, and totally calm about all the pain I caused her for the wiping. Tough little monkey. Lily, I'm sure we'll get her by midnight.

On another note, Lily has started randomly calling us "Mom" and "Dad". Guess she's growing up?? Should we just go straight to "mother" and "father"? I command respect, Lily! I'm gunning for the Captain von Trapp school of rearing. It will be "Sir" or it's off to bed without your porridge.

Day two hundred and eighty one.

Abby took this. Technically.

Saddest picture of her I've seen in a while.

Lounge time. I like that you can tell she's laughing by the eyes. Also notable is the fact that I'm not amused in the freaking slightest by whatever we're looking at, yet she finds it hilarious. Maybe it was a Jim Carrey movie?

Watching CNN is bad for parenting.

Kids are a battlefield.

CNN has crackerjack timing. Seeking the refuge of some mindless drivel from the newsies while I cleaned up post-bedtime, I turned to CNN. The girls had been been down for less than 2 minutes. The first words out of the tv:

"...thanks Frank, that was a super human interest piece. Now we've got some breaking news you won't want to miss. You will not want to put your kids to bed before watching this."

Thanks, Ted Turner. As it turned out, it was a story about a crib recall. Apparently some drop-sided cribs can come apart and the tots can become trapped. Their heavily-used graphic for this story was a still shot of a baby-sized rag doll pinned between the crib wall and the mattress, which is going to give me nightmares. It took a monumental effort of will to not run upstairs and peek on the girls and make sure all was well, despite the fact that the recall was not for a crib we have. But still: should they not run this story just a little earlier?

The real question is: if it DID affect us, would I roust the girls, or just assume that they've gone this long, certainly one more night in a recalled crib couldn't hurt? And what would I do with them if I got them up? Make them sleep on the couch? The good people at CNN offered no alternatives; just grim photos of asphyxiating baby dolls.

Tonight was swell. I was flying solo (I never miss an opportunity to mention if I have to be alone; this ensures I get maximum empathy from our readers. Awww...) since Jen had class. Me and the girls came to our usual Monday night agreement: they don't scream at Daddy, and Daddy lets them play with the electrical outlets.

I did find out the interesting way that Lily is now able to clamber up on the dining room chairs with no aid (I assume there was no aid. I didn't help her, and I don't think Abby was down there giving her the two handed boost. But if that did happen, how awesome would that be??). I'd left a pair of scissors right in the middle of the dining room table, went to the kitchen for a minute, and found the brown one sitting complacently, gingerly running her hands all over those shiny blades. Super job, Dave. So the dining room has been lost as a horizontal surface that can be used to hide/place things. We're almost down to just the mantle, and I imagine it won't be long until the girls fashion their own ladders. Then, it's boarding school.

Day two hundred and ninety.

Yup. So, we're starting to introduce this whole topic.

So thoughtful.

Our Rashy Day

Shellshocked from a changing nightmare.

Upside down Lily cake.

I'm exhausted, and I have to be honest I don't really want to do an entry tonight. I'm still mystified by this cold and sore throat that I can't shake, and it's sapping my energy at every turn.

The girls' rashes look ridiculously terrible. Changing them is a nightmare, complete with shrieking, thrashing, and cursing. I can't blame them: it looks absurdly painful, and the guilt of having to clean them and cause them that pain is like a needle in my heart.

We spent most of the day having a lazy house day, usually naked or pantless, letting them air out as much as possible. During the afternoon, I headed to the Bensons' to do a family photoshoot with those crazy people, which was fun because their kids are hilarious and well behaved - a rare combo.

Tonight, went to my Dad's, celebrated my birthday (a week early), had some pizza and cake (it was good cake, Dad, really), and enjoyed each other's company before the elder Gels flies south for the winter. We'll all miss DaJiPapa this winter...

Day two hundred and eighty nine.

Yeah, she's naked under there.

Does this not just look like lazy Sunday or what?