My daughter spiked her half-eaten apple on the floor like a football, slid her Sippy Cup off the high-chair tray as if it were a shuffleboard, and with finality, proclaimed, “Duh!”
I don’t remember which loinfruit introduced it or when, but for anyone under the age of two in our household, this has become the customary Closing Ceremonies for a meal, for alerting one’s parents that the eater is “Done.”
Looking up from dinner’s dirty dishes in the sink, I watched my wife release my daughter from the clutches of her high chair, pick her up, and bravely walk our kitchen’s version of The Green Mile–past an old bookshelf we’ve converted into a snack shelf (Pantry 2: This Time It’s Personal, if you will). Although our children claim to be “duh” with their food, as soon as we de-high-chair them they often notice Pantry 2 items that were not on that meal’s menu–morsels they must receive promptly if the parent on duty wishes to avoid a brilliantly-executed tantrum.
While they’ve learned many words so far, there are still a sizable amount of items for which the Twins still use the caveman-style point-and-grunt method, and on this particular day, my daughter’s finger shot out instantly at her target. Unfortunately for my wife, she did not leave enough distance between my daughter’s ninja arm and the shelf, and before we knew it, our daughter had snatched the entire bag of miniature Sun-Maid Raisin boxes.
This snack is popular with the Twins not because they are particularly fond of raisins, but because they absolutely adore having their own little boxes to carry them in. We have scientific proof of this phenomenon, as whenever my mother offers the Twins unboxed raisins at her house, they look at her like she’s nuts, as if to say, “What is this sh!t? Where’s my f*cking box?”
“Ooooh! OohOohOooooooh!” my daughter enthused, waiting for my wife to open her a box.
Tags: "I'm so mad I could fart!", caveman, Closing Ceremonies, crying, daughter, dinner, dishwashing, Eric Cartman, family, fart, farting, father of twins, flatulence, gas, Godzilla, my mom, new parent, Olympics, pantry, Pantry 2: This Time It's Personal, Raisin, Respect my authoritah, Respect my authority, SAHD, Sippy Cup, snack, son, South Park, stay at home dad, Sun-Maid Raisins, tantrum, The Green Mile, Toddlerzilla, Twincidents, twins, wife
My daughter hooked her arm securely around mine as I held her at my hip–a cripplingly cute mannerism of hers that melts me to my core every single time.
Vocalizing airplane sound effects, I made an extravagant production of swooping my giggling passenger down to the floor to pick up each member of the Hundred Acre Wood institutionalized as her Bedtime Crew, currently featuring Piglet (her go-to daytime stuffty) as well as Winnie the Pooh and Tigger (the night-shift support staff who allow for optimal snugglization).
Her teeth brushed and hands washed, she knew we were coming up on bedtime and began her nightly wind-down ritual: gripping Piglet and Company, sticking her beloved right thumb in her mouth, and embracing day’s end with open arms and heavy eyelids.
Our son, however–currently in his mother’s arms–was performing his own nightly routine: maniacal arm-flails punctuated by Oscar-worthy whines. Never ready to pack it in, he’ll dash for the playroom or point at the turned-off tv in a last-ditch effort to stay up just a little longer, to milk as much out of the day as possible. There are still so many blocks to stack, so many books to read, so many Sing-Along Songs to groove to.
And while his unrelenting desire to be awake can be burdensome, I don’t ever fault him for it.
He gets it from me.
Tags: "Leave everything on the field", "muh", "Ni-night", "They grow up so fast.", 100th post, 500-Disc DVD Special Edition Bonus Feature, a chip off the old block, A. A. Milne, academia, annotated bibliography, bedtime, beer, book, crotch shot, crying, date night, daughter, diaper, dishwashing, Disney, Disney Sing-Along Songs, family, father of twins, How I Met Your Mother, Hundred Acre Wood, laundry, legen--wait for it--dary, legendary, Lego, life, Magna Doodle, milestone, mind-blowing cuteness, new parent, Oscar (Academy Award), Ph. D., Piglet, pixie voice, playroom, Pooh Corner, poop, Pop Warner football, SAHD, sing-along, Sippy Cup, Skype, son, stay at home dad, stay-at-home dad/Ph. D. student hybrid, stuffed animals, tantrum, Tell Me Stuff To Point At In My Favorite Word Book, thirst for life, thumb sucking, Tigger, Twincidents, Twinfamy, twins, wife, Winnie the Pooh
There’s no gentle way to say this–I can smell the difference between my son and daughter’s fecal matter.
I could describe their distinct aromas for you in gag-reflex-inducing detail, but have chosen not to in case you are currently eating, or plan to ever again. (After all, you should never bite the hand that reads you.)
Not sure how many of you know this, but I am a world class dishwasher. This is not due to any concerted effort on my part–I’ve just wound up logging my 10,000 hours since the Twins’ birth, conquering mountains of soiled bottles, Sippy Cups, and high-chair trays on a tri-daily basis.
Thus, on the morning of the Twincident in question, I had stealthily ducked into the kitchen to knock out the breakfast dishes. Despite both having nasty colds and ear infections, the Twins were in excellent spirits having just been fed, and babbled baby limericks at each other while surveying the playroom toyscape. Since the Twins made their outside-of-Mommy debut, we rarely have more than two minutes to eat human-style at a proper table anyway, so we chose to convert our house’s “dining room” to a playroom, which has worked swimmingly at moments like this, when I can watch them in the next room while still actively pursuing 20,000 hours.
Having successfully sanitized the load’s umpteenth and umptieth items, I Deion-Sanders-High-Stepped from the sink to the playroom threshold.
And that’s when it hit me.
The Wall of Stank.
Tags: "I'm getting too old for this sh!t.", 10000 hours, 30 minutes or less, 911, alligator wrestling, artist's rendering, Ass Sniff, baker's dozen, beeline, biological terrorist, bite the hand that feeds, booger, bottle, bottles, Clear and Present Danger, cold, crying, daughter, Deion Sanders, Deion Sanders high-step, diaper, diaper changing, DiaperFest 2012, dishwashing, Disney, ear infection, electrolyte/electrodark, Ewok, FAIL, family, father of twins, fecal gotee, fecal humor, fecal matter(s), financial crisis, gag reflex, George Lucas, gotee, high chair, Jack-O-Lantern, junk in one's trunk, kitchen, laughing, Lethal Weapon, limerick, Malcolm Gladwell, mucus, new parent, ninja, offspring, Outliers, Pedialyte, performance art, playroom, plaything, Pluto (dog), Pluto (planet), poodunnit, poop, post-DiaperFest world, pundit, recession, Roger Murtaugh, Running Man, runny nose, SAHD, sh!t warrior, sick, Sippy Cup, smell, snot, son, Star Wars, stay at home dad, streaker, The Wall of Stank, touchdown dance, toy, toyscape, tray, Twincidents, twins, umpteenth, umptieth, walk, walking, whodunnit, wine, wipe, world class
I spread myself thinly across multiple, often conflicting responsibilities. Student John and Stay-At-Home-Dad are in a constant death match, each plotting against the other to undermine the otherwise phenomenal jobs they each perform. They let Writer John out of his crate roughly once a week, and as soon as that latch is lifted, Writer John careens through the door and sprints figure eights around the living room with the laptop, spouting mirthful gibberish like The Great Cornholio. But as soon as Writer John has flung his brainchild out into the tangled Interweb, he’s back in the holding cell, from which he shouts genius ideas for blogs, novels, and 3-D feature films, hoping against hope that the other Johns hear, but knowing deep down that a majority of them tragically will vanish into the ether, neglected and unwritten. While all of this goes on, Husband John–the unofficial fearless leader–watches from the couch. It’s been difficult for Husband John to get a word in as of late, with all of the demands the others have needed to handle, but at the last chapter meeting, he dropped a bomb on everyone.
“So has anyone had any thoughts about what we’re doing for Valentine’s Day?”
The room fell silent.
“You all forgot, didn’t you?”
Tags: 3D, banshee shriek, Beavis and Butt-head, blog, brainchild, crate, dishwashing, family, father of twins, fearless leader, figure eight, genius, holding cell, holiday, homework, Husband John, internet, interweb, laundry, nerding out, new parent, novel, O Loyal Reader, Ph. D., run, SAHD, spread thin, stay at home dad, stay-at-home dad/Ph. D. student hybrid, Stay-At-Home-Dad John, student, Student John, study, The Great Cornholio, The Johns, this fine publication, twincident, Twincidents, Twinfamy, Valentine's Day, wife, Writer John, Writer John's crate, writing