Heeeeey yooooou guuuuuyyys!
Remember that one time when I was in a roundtable discussion about parent blogging on WordPress.com’s Daily Post and stuff? Remember when I said it was the first of a three-part series? Remember in Die Hard when Bruce Willis had to cross all that broken glass without his shoes on and there was nothing he could do about it so he just walked on the broken glass with his bare feet?
Wait, where was I?
Oh right, the roundtable.
So the second installment of that roundtable twinterview is being featured today on The Daily Post, and I may be biased, but I’d venture to say it’s the dailiest post EVER.
But on your way, please watch out for broken glass.
I was recently asked by the fantasmic people at WordPress to
board a helicopter to their secret volcano lair and participate in a roundtable discussion with other blogging parents regarding our expertise on the subject, an endeavor for which I was well prepared, as I also happen to be an expert on my own expertise.
We had some laughs, some scrumdiddlyumptious WordPress-logo-shaped bacon-wrapped scallops, and an excellent conversation about the labor of love that is family-flavored blogging.
This historic meeting has resulted in a series of WordPress “Daily Posts,” the first of which is titled Mommy and Daddy Bloggers Shoot the Poop: Part One, and is now available here for your reading pleasure.
Thanks to Michelle W. and WordPress for inviting me
to their volcano to participate, and to my fellow roundtablers not only for their thoughtful responses, but also for not getting mad at me for eating all of the scallops.
I had low blood sugar, I swear.
This is a picture of my son doing an impression of a zombie, but it might as well be a picture of me as of late.
If you’re anything like I imagine you to be, you’re checking in here at least twice a day to make sure your eyes aren’t deceiving you, and possibly even calling your Internet provider claiming that your strand of the World Wide Web must be tangled in a knot, resulting in the loss of almost a month’s worth of Twincidents.
“Surely John hasn’t stopped writing!” you lament, blotting tears of frustration off your trackpad. “Surely it is the Internet’s fault! I knew I should never have trusted Charlie. That kid bit his own brother’s finger without batting an eye. And it really hurt!”
No, Charlie has not bitten off my fingers, thus crippling me as a typist. And no, a LOLcat has not taken off running with my laptop, enthusiastically meowing “I can has computer?” And I certainly have not been busily studying the craft of how to write in a more Gangnam Style.
No, you must free your mind from these highly possible scenarios, O Loyal Reader. The truth is that lately, I just haven’t had a free frickin’ moment to sit down and spew genius into this fine publication. The reasons will probably not surprise you, since many of you have already told me you don’t know how I’m able to write at all while spending half of my week wrangling twin toddlers and the other half getting my PhD on. Factor in being a trophy husband and maintaining a shadow of a social life, and there’s not a whole lot of time left for pseudo-clever wordplay and bow-wearing stick figures.
For a year and a half, I have shared the epic saga of raising my son and daughter. Although it is, in fact, my life, I sometimes cannot help feeling as if someday as teenagers, they will ask me to please stop reading tales of them smearing poo on their own faces and blowing baby-food bubbles out loud to their boyfriends and girlfriends. With that in mind, I thought it only fair for them to have a voice in this fine publication, and since I’m very preoccupied this week with smearing warpaint all over my face for finals, I felt it was a perfect opportunity for the Twins to allow their voices to be heard–to finally tell THEIR story, to set the record straight once and for all.
They’re not usually allowed to use Daddy’s laptop because Daddy is familiar with their innovative flair for breaking things in new and unanticipated ways, and is certain they will someday figure out how to flush it down the toilet or fling it across the living room with a catapult fashioned from an Elmo chair, wiffle bat, and blankie. And so you can probably imagine their eyes lighting up when I sat it down in front of them on the ottoman with a blank Word document open.
“Go ahead,” I told them. “It’s okay. Write a guest post for Daddy’s blog. Daddy’s busy studying this week.”
Gleeful giggles and the pecking of keys filled the room as the Twins collaborated on their first ever written composition. You should have seen the passion they exhibited, especially when I picked up the laptop, which triggered a loud protest, as if to say, “You’re stifling our creativity, Daddy! It’s not ready yet! We’re still developing its theme, and the dialogue still doesn’t quite sound true to life yet!” However, it was bathtime, and we couldn’t take Daddy’s computer in the bathtub.
I later realized they had not yet given their work a title, so I asked them if they had any ideas. “What do you want to call your guest post, kids?”
My daughter spoke, “Jingo Bezz.”
“Baby, there’s already a song called ‘Jingle Bells.’ Do you have any other ideas, like maybe a play on words or a pun?”
“Jingo Bezz! Jingo Bezz!”
My son nodded pensively in agreement. “Jingo Bezz.”
“All right, kids. ‘Jingo Bezz’ it is. All the way.”
I do realize they had plans to edit their work further, but upon reviewing it, both Mommy and I were astounded by its complexity, its depth, and have no doubt in our minds that we are raising two future New York Times Best-Selling Authors.
And so, without further ado, Twinfamy is proud to present “Jingo Bezz,” The Pseudonymous Twins’ much-unanticipated writing debut. Enjoy:
Thanks so much for browsing in on such short notice. I know we’re in the midst of The TwinfaMaui Saga, but dire circumstances have prompted this brief interruption. I don’t have much time, so I’ll get right to the point.
Just a few days ago, scientists at the Twinfamy Research Labs unearthed a lost and long-forgotten relic from the elaborate network of catacombs beneath the Pseudonymous residence: the (tw)infamous Dead Draft Scrolls. For those who don’t know, this highly sought-after artifact is a hard drive containing sacred ancient writings of the Pseudonymous people, including drafts of compositions that really ought to be New York Times Bestsellers by now (and surely would be had yours truly realized how much free time I had before becoming a parent).
Among these legendary texts is a collection of war stories from my career as a middle school English teacher, a stint that ended in a blaze of glory as I was summoned to stay-at-home greatness. The writings are dated 5 B. T. (5 years Before Twins), placing them around the year 2006.
As you can imagine, there was much rejoicing in the Twinfamy camp, as my Prodigal Brainchildren had been found. However, it is with a heavy heart that I report one of these pieces is already missing.
Which is the reason I’ve called you all here.
On the verge of our second family vacation since Twinification, a significant discussion point in the Pseudonymous Household as of late has been the Twins’ maiden airplane voyage. How will we keep them occupied/quiet/sedated? What do we do if all six hours of the flight are fortified with stereophonic banshee shrieks and full-body flails? And most importantly, is there an alcohol consumption limit for passengers–and if so, how can we beat the system?
Having scoured these Internet waters for answers, I made a startling realization–the answer was right there under my invisible stick-figured nose all along, in the form of my esteemed colleague Barmy Rootstock, self-insisted parenting guru and author of one of my very favorite blogs, the hilarious I’ve Become My Parents.