A Perfect Evening.

On Friday, Abby and I got it into our heads that we deserved a dinner out of the house. We'd been working away at the baby/frugality/Social isolationist grindstone for quite a while, and it was time to pat each other on the back.

I saw your wife. Well done.

*reluctant back pat*

The initial plan was to go down the road to our local bar and grill. We're fans of the reasonable prices, the acceptable taste, and not-unfriendly wait staff. Somehow, this plan neglected the

portable obligations at home. So we packed the battle wagon and rolled out.

It has more class than a rich neighborhood's organic-local-source grocery store and four dozen cup holders.

As the waitress dropped off the menus, my sister called and said she'd be willing to watch the girls while we went out and ate. We finished our drinks and packed back up to get the, now hysterical, home and in bed. As they've gotten older they have both a happy hysterical and sad hysterical setting. This was the better kind. The two hysterias are actually very similar, with yelling, table slapping, strange gargle noises, and full body wriggling; but the happy one includes smiles and and the other has rivers of tears.

Anyhow, the girls went down without event and we waited to make sure there wasn't any bedtime meltdowns. All clear. So we slipped out to grab a bite.

Darling, shall we GTFO?

We went to a restaurant around the corner that we've wanted to try for pretty much the whole time we've lived where we do. It was fantastic. there was no baby monitor, no crying, no one trying to nibble off my plate (neither child nor dog). To start we shared a bacon and chevre salad. We ordered a low end bottle of wine, and it suited our unrefined palates just so. I had a wild boar ragu (fantastic), and abby had a steak and frites (truffle oil seasoned fries). The conversation was good and the mood was good.

We were finishing up the entrees and she asked, "Should we get dessert?"

That was really a formality, because when she asks, the meaning is really: "I'm going to order dessert, and I know you want it too; but if we act conflicted and then give in, we don't seem like such fatties."

I hmm'ed and haw'ed appropriately and then accepted the desert menu, "Just to look at."

Then both our phones vibrated. It was a text from my sister, saying simply, "Maynard(the younger dog) is throwing up. Everywhere." And just like that, our beautiful evening, and my chances of getting lucky, collapsed like a sand castle in the mojave desert. Fun Fact: Sand is not very adhesive when it's 120 degrees.

"Your turn to get up."

We came home to find that he had indeed thrown up all the vomit. In all the places. Dr. Seuss could have written a story about it being here, there and the smell filling the air. He somehow managed to eat Doc(the older dog)'s dinner, in addition to his own, in the shuffle to get the babies down and us out of the house. The pile in the bedroom was large enough, I had to use two pieces of cardboard to scoop it before the reclamation project could start in earnest. Then there was the laundry to do and the steam cleaner to run.

Saturday, we had the wonderful opportunity to take him to the vet. $300 in x-rays and several days later it's agreed by all that he had a bad doggie case of "feeling like shit after eating too much."

There's no judgement there. I've bought cheeseburgers I had no caloric need for.

The Balad of Banhammer

Edit: This is all Jesse's idea. I am a plagiarist.

Gather 'round young un's and I'll weave a tale for your ear-holes. It's a story that'll dazzle the mind and excite the nasal cavities. This is the story of Banhammer.

Now you see, our protagonist did not start out as a mighty warrior, nor a defender of family justice. He started out as a well meaning, but distracted father. After threshing the wheat fields all day (I think you thresh wheat), he would come home to his moderate, but modestly middle surf-class hovel. He'd attend to the duties of his house, and pay respect to the Tiny Twin Queens that ruled the domain, then he would seek refuge in his games of make believe. In the fantasies he was a mighty swashbuckler, or a sorcerer from the tales, or a man/monkey/robot hybrid. The Man/monkey/robot thing was sweet, but you had to be there to really get it.

The fact that he was not paying attention at all moments angered the diminutive queens. They demanded all in the kingdom(Queendom?) either be servicing them or lie in wait to serve them again. So, each night as he would really start hitting his fantastical stride, the queens would use their sonic blasters to shatter his mental veil and drag him back to their imperial castle to worship. Their Enforcer, named Awsomewife McIloveyousomuch, thought the queens' desires were to be met at all times.

I tend to agree with her. Whatever she's saying, it's persuasive.

This made the God of Fantasy, Vydio Gaeme, pretty jealous. Our hero was Vydio's prodigy and showed great promise. He was really good at WoW. But we're not going to talk about that, it was a dark time in his life... and he doesn't want to reactivate his account.....nope. Plus, the mention of the Game Which Must Not Be Named gives Awesomewife the great power to revoke marital sleeping arrangements. And the couch is cold and lonely.

Anyhow, one evening, the man delved into his imaginarium, and again the Queens sounded their alarms to recall all servants. However, this time as the portal to imaginationland collapsed, Vydio left a little power behind for the man.

Oh God. Not the Christmas Critters!

It was a hammer, one which was imbued with the power of The Might of The Gigabits. He did not see it as he went to glut the Mini-Queens; but upon his return there it sat. He grasped the hammer and a cutsceen was jammed into his brain, like a pimento into an olive. He suddenly knew, in no uncertain terms, that the God of Fantasy did not like his leaving early before a round of fantasy had finished; he also knew it because the email the administrators of Fantasicalsburg sent him said so. As a result they gave him the power to become Banhammer.

With the power to be a nerd in real life and the ability to not be distracted, as Banhammer he was burdened with the inability to meet Vydio Gaeme ever again. Or at least for 1 day, then 2 days, and then his account might get permanently suspended. You know, unless the Queens would let him play. Someday, possibly, once they grow into their dictatorship; they might like to imagine things themselves. Or at least we can hope so.

Busy busy busy.

This is the fifth time I've sat down and tried to write something. Just when I think I have a few minutes to ramble on in blog form, I am called away to do some fatherly duty. Wash that, feed this, clean those, what this in that...

I'll walk you through my average day:

6:20 - Alarm clock goes off

6:29 - Snooze expires

6:32 - stop staring at ceiling, and actually get out of bed, head to shower

6:43 - Finish showering, dress from basket of clean clothes. (folding laundry is a frivolity I have been glad to be rid of)

6:44-7:05 - Feed the dogs, Cook breakfast, bring breakfast in bed to Abby, try to get her latte done, take out the dogs, pick up non-human poop

7:06 - Bring up laundry, be told it's not dry enough, return laundry to dryer

7:08 - Transfer awake babies from cribs to the loving arms of female guardian

7:10 - Brush teeth, Floss

7:12 - Try to pack leftovers for lunch. We're out of leftovers. Shit. Grab an apple and a handful of banana chips.

7:13-7:15 - match socks and apply socks to feet

7:16-7:25 - Wash used bottles from the night before

7:26 - Kiss girls goodbye, wave to Sissy, and depart

7:28-7:49 - Listen to miserable morning drive time radio. Imagine what I'd do if I won a call in contest.

7:50 - Decide I don't have the time to go to a "free concert" and it's probably better "Greg from Tacoma" won.

7:55 - get to my desk and boot up the computer.

8:00 - Panic at crisis that arose while I was away.

8:01 - Solve all problems. Like a Boss.

8:15 - Have a cup of coffee; grimace.

8:20-12:30PM - Do all the work.

12:31-1:00 - Eat a desk sandwich, chased by a delightful apple, and some banana chips.

1:01-4:30 - Resume all-the-work-doing.

4:35 - Head home to my babies.

4:36-5:05 - Listen to slightly better drive time radio. Become enraged over lack of talk during commute and abundance of commercials across all dial settings.

5:06 - Pull in to the driveway

5:07 - hear Dog#2 slam himself, body and soul, into the door. Repeatedly.

5:07:15 - Come inside to smiles from everyone

5:08 - take dogs out, play 5 minutes of iphone games

5:15 - come back inside, pick up a baby, kiss it, set it back down. Avoid changing any diapers. If one is dirty, pretend not to notice.

5:20 - start cooking dinner, clean as I go... to a limited degree

6:30 - finish cooking, plate up gourmet entree.

6:31 - Open beer. Take sip.

6:32 - sit down to eat, pause repeatedly to prevent dog from putting mouth on baby, and vise versa

6:45 - Finish eating, take second sip of beer.

6:46 - start doing dishes while Abby and jenny watch the girls

6:55 - Dinner time for babies! Solid food, presented by either Daddy or Mommy. Non-feeder cleans dishes.

7:10 - Split duties again; One person cleans babies and preps for bath time, the other washes bottles.

7:20 - Bath Time for babies!

7:21-7:45 - Wash food, grime, etc. from baby skin-folds and surfaces. Short bath play time allotted, based on cooperation of non-bathing baby.

7:46-8:30 - Feed the younguns, and put them down to sleep

8:31 - Harlot falls blissfully asleep

8:40 - get frustrated with Juggla and put her down, despite being awake and very smiley.

8:50 - Juggla's crying transitions to meaningless yelling

8:55 - Juggla's Meaningless yelling transitions to silly noises

9:00 - Juggla's Silly Noises transitions to moaning

9:10 - Juggla is asleep

9:15 - She stirs, and yells for a couple minutes again, then falls back asleep

9:20-10:30 - Blissful personal time. Perforated by stirring, and possibly crying.

10:31-1:30 - Sleep

1:31 - Feed Baby #1

1:46 - Go back to room to sleep

1:55 - Baby #2 wakens, shake Abby, groan "Your Turn"

1:55:15 - Fall back asleep

2:00-3:39 - Sleep

3:40 - Baby #1 or #2 wakes again, feed it.

3:50 - Other baby decides it's time to guzzle some mommy juice. Feed it too.

4:45 - Realize I passed out in the rocker, set the relevant baby down to sleep.

4:46 - hope she doesn't stir.

4:47 - I think we're good.

4:48 - she groans, I hear movement. But no escalation of tears.

4:50-6:20 - Sleep

For those of you playing along at home, that's 6:09 of sleep each night. Not too shabby.

Repeat.

I'll try to take a few of my blissful moments of introspection to update more consistently; but know that if you don't see anything, I probably have 4-5 unfinished entries that I intended to go back and finish.

Cha Cha Changes

There's been a lot of changes in our household as of late. That's the reason I am going to blame for my lack of posts. I say that like there's dozens of fans waiting on my pearls of wisdom. I doubt there is; it's probably mostly mark, my mom, and Chelsea. I suppose I could have some hidden, secret underground following. A bot in China breaks down my ramblings and posts them to twitter, and then a team of theologeans search them for clues to solve missing person cold cases.

"Sweet foil hat, man."

To be honest though, the reason is that I've been busy, and not feeling particularly hilarious. Mind you, I think of myself as just as awesome as always, I just haven't felt the need to validate myself.

Some of the changes we've seen that people may or may not have been aware of:

1. The girls are pretty stable, physically at least. They're really needy when it comes to affection. If I had a girlfriend like them, I'd say things about "needing space" and "you're smothering me" and "why do you cry so much about stupid shit?" and "I love you? is that what will make you stop?"

2. Big Momma has joined (willingly) the unwashed masses of min-van owners. It was the best negotiating that either of us had done, because we didn't really want it; and babies have made us poor.

3. I still think boobs are great. Somehow that sense of awe has survived the pumping and feeding and objectification of my wife's chesticles. That makes me happy, cause boob-loving is kind of a landmark in the landscape of my mind. Without that monument, I would probably get lost in my own psyche and latch onto one of my lesser interests, like personality, or "a sense of humor."

4. I can function on much less sleep than I thought. Where we're at now is nothing compared to the first few weeks, but there's enough short notice meetings in the middle of the night to really mess with your REM cycles. Plus, we're running with a pretty heft deficit. From what I hear, you never get caught up, you just get enough to keep going.

5. Abby's hair is falling out. She went to pull her hair back in a ponytail and realized that here temples are much thinner than she remembered. After setting up a doctor's appointment, she started in on one thing I've told her never to do: go to webMD and look up her symptoms. She convinced herself she had Lupus. Again. Blood was drawn, tests were run.

The doctor thinks she's under stress (dur!) and her hormones are going wonky (Double Dur!). Her body is realizing she's not pregnant, so it's letting go of all that lustrous hair her prenatals bestowed upon her. With twins, there was double the lady juices, and so the crash is double the depth. Her scalp is overshooting the expected shedding levels.

6. Our girls are developing distinct personalities:

JuJuBee has figured out how to roll back to front and will use that ability to get closer to you and claw your face with her talons.

Har Gow has decided that she would like to spend her life well fed, happy, and right where you left her.

7. We've moved the girls out of the room, and as of tuesday, are letting them cry themselves to sleep. This causes the Mrs. some physical discomfort, but it give me a sick sense of power. "I'm not a slave you your tiny vocal cords!"

8. I'm going through some serious withdrawals. I need my football. College, Pro, Lingerie (Go Mist!), I don't care. ESPN has stretched their offseason coverage to the limits. FoxSports has reported on the lockout past where a reasonable person would stop. The sports blogs have all thrown their hands up and said, "I got nothing. Seriously, I already covered spring ball, and all the schools are leaving for summer break." My fantasy football page won't even let me start the league because of the stupid lockout.

9. My sister is back from South Korea and living with us while helping with the girls, so abby could go back to work. I'm not sure if I had ever mentioned that, but it was a while ago.

In the words of a much more interesting man than myself: That's all I have to say about that.

I'm a bad blogger

I was pumped about it, and then I hit a lull. Then the lull became writer's block, and subsequently a writer's anchor. I upgraded that to a guilt spiral, then an embarrassing... uh... other thing.

Anyhow, it's been weeks since I relayed the trials and tribulations that make up the bulk of my existence. The girls have developed a lot in the last month's span. I guess you should do some maturing anytime you become 25% older. They're full babies now. They do things like smile, babble, and make faces when they poop. They're doing other things though, that make the process feel like it's getting better. They can sit up almost on their own. They're ovbiously scheming. I can see it.

Also, their insistent hunger has shifted to a ravenous anger at the lack of food. It's pretty counter intuitive. I mean seriously, if you were sitting at dinner and the Azteca staff was taking forever with your Chicken Fundido, would you protest by screaming your damn head off?




If I wanted to be judged, I would have gone to Red Lobster.




No. You would cluck disapprovingly and say a little too loud;y, "I wonder if something is wrong in the kitchen, our food seems to be slow; and my iced tea is empty again."

But their solution is to scream to the point of exhaustion and write sarcastic reviews on Yelp about our parental skills.

I've been trying to get it on camera, but because I'm clumsy and slow to react you're going to have to live with the internet meme version. Baby A does this all the friggin time.





Vomit in 5...4...3...2....blarg! Just in time to miss the towel and hit the dog.





Another interesting fact: The dogs don't mind being vomited upon. Not sure how to capitalize, but there has to be a way to turn that into a facebook game or something.

The Mrs. is back and work and she loves being away from the girls. Not really. She wants to be a stay at home mom, despite spending the first 8 years of our relationship denying that she would ever have the desire to not work. As a result, most of her income is going to be devoted to scratch tickets. It's a valid investment strategy. What? I feel like I'm at a goddamn Red Lobster, what with all the judging and what not.

...And Regression.

So, just when I think we had this thing down, and the universe was going to let us sleep. Mother nature tossed us a whopping mushroom stamp. The girls have again decided that waking up semihourly is a great idea. The articles I've read say it might be because they move in their sleep and wake themselves up, or it could be a developing social awareness, driving them to desire cuddle time.

I tend to think they're just messing with us. I don't want to set up an adversarial relationship where Abby and I are a coalition against The Twin Federation, but that's how it seems; at 3:42 AM, when you were up at 1:27 and will be again at 4:44. It's an endeavor of loving attrition. We're doing our best to hold the lines, and sleep in the foxhole between marching and fighting. But they are growing in power, size and force of personality.

Fun note: Julia has learned a new cry. It combines all the best aspects of a scream, a dog whistle and a squeaky toy.





Like this but instead of cow, it's full of rage.






Harper figured out she can save her poop up for about 4 days before the dams burst. At which point, the evil flowing from her rear was described as "looking like peeling open a peanut butter and jelly sandwich."

Also, Julia had something going on called "Baby Neck Cheese." I shit you not. It's a real thing, and I guess it's common. We also thought everyone had worms, but it was just a weird poop.

Progress.

Babies are dumb. I do not mean that as a slam on my children, nor on the current and future idiots of my friends. I mean it as an empirical and indisputable statement of fact.

Evidence:
The need rest in order to get a good nights sleep. What. The. Shit?

Abby has started to read a book about how to get babies to sleep. I had been operating under the false assumption that children functioned like milk powered robots. They Expend all energy is the form of fussing, enter standby mode; then, when the batteries have cooled, reactivate and demand fuel for their lactose fueled tantrum.

But, as it turns out, they need a sleeping start at their rest. The crying seems to be a symptom of too little sleep, and by crying they work themselves up too much for sleep. Dumb. Then, since they're awake, they eat and eat and guzzle, then vomit. And then do this strange thing that's like vomiting, but really slow and the consistency of boogers. Yet they're happy to have a mouth full of rancid milk-slime.

Anyhow, Abby got a contiguous 7.5 hours of sleep a couple nights ago. We have the girls split up in two little bassinets, one on either side of the bed. The idea is that if your baby sleeps, you get to sleep. At this point it beats trying to keep them on a schedule, because waking up a baby and jamming a spout of boob-juice in their cry-hole does not endear them to anything. The conversation, upon waking went like this:

Abby: Wha..*gurggle*
Des: oh baby, oh baby. You light my fire.
A: Are the babies alright?
D: I think so, Why?
A: I feel fantastic.
D: And that's bad, why?
A: I feel like singing, and the world has color. I... I don't know if I can go back... What do I do?
D: Let's start with feeding the baby.
A: Oh, right! I had almost forgotten.
D: Yeah, you were out. Like a breathing rock. Or a very attractive hibernating bear.





They hibernate so adorably. Not that I watch them sleep or anything. I was acquitted on all counts.











A: Did you take care of [Baby Jungle-Juice] for me, to let me sleep?
D: No, she slept right on her own...... Wait, No, Yeah; I daringly took care of her while you rested. That's totally what happened.
A: Oh god my boobs hurt.
D: Do you need them massaged?
A: No, silly-willy. I haven't made a withdrawal at the mammary store in too long.
D: So... No boob touching?
A: No.
D: OK, offer stands.
A: Appreciated, but unnecessary.

But back to the subject of dumb babies. After some reflection, I don't think they are really all that stupid, I'll hope that judgment for when they're 16 and bring home a boy named "Chud." On the plus side, by the time that happens, I'll be a well established member of society, and he'll be a tattooed punk that no court would believe over me.

Generic Post Template

**Don't Post**
[Outrageous Statement]

Weak Justification. Rational explanation and further explanation. Bordeline offensive metaphor.

*Body*
Insinuate mental prowess and superiority to peers. (note: don't overtly state "I'm better than everyone, and have better taste in music." big turnoff) Pop Culture reference. Weak jsutification to post silly, non-sequiter picture.





mmmmmm..... Yeah; just like that.







*New Topic*(Note: Abrupt change in topic prevents reader from noticing I have no idea where I'm going with this)

Statement of fact. Twist fact. Propose examining of social norms from "outside the box." Attempt to set the box on fire. Realize box is important part of fabric of society. Pull it back in a bit, through the use of an off-putting simile. Wikipedia Link to relevant data.

Heartfelt/Mushy statement of adoration toward wife/children/sandwich/weather. Intentional mis-statement to cause calls of concern to Wife. Obscure 80's child's cartoon reference. (note: obscurity=hilarity.) Another crude transition as an excuse to use cool image.




Goddammit, I love you, Peyton. There's no need to be angry. You had me at "hot-route." I'm still trying to come up with a way for us to be together. Does Vermont have a football team? Maybe I can get Roger Goodell to start an expansion team there.





*Conclusion*
Use a good sentence from above, but use Google thesaurus to change all the words. Rap reference.


***Possible Topics to be explored/tasks to accomplish***(delete after use)
-Diaper contents
-Frequency, pitch, and enjoyment of farting
-Lack of sleep
-Wife's Body (update: Avoid! Danger! Tell her she's pretty... frequently.)
-Jenifer Lopez: validity as judge of American Idol
-Cry translation software.
-How far away can I pee into the toilet from? (research without Wife home)
-Dogs as mounts
-Bob Villa
-Peyton (swoon): I can't get enough
-Use thesaurus to find words to make me sound smart
-Find more obscure references: TMNT, Cory Haim, Piranhas, Huffing sharpies, D.A.R.E., jorts, neon hammer pants, gold hammer pants, JNCOs, Boobie posters at Spencer's, Breast/Fruit shape comparison, Dick-shape fruit, list of double entendre, Jesus.
-Which baby is Godzilla, which is Mecha-Godzilla? Didn't Mothra have something to do with twins?
-Figure out some reason to mention Jesus, Buddha and Joseph Smith doing a jumping triple high-five, with explosions and monster-trucks in the background.

Sip Bacardi like it's my Monday

It's my birthday, and as such I had a few demands. Most of them have been satisfied, or at least placated.

1.I wish to have a birthday dinner.
-Status: Satisfied. We went out to a delightful Greek dinner where I overate, and regretted it not in the least.

2. I wish to consume alcohol.
-Status: Placated. This is more of a standing desire than a unique event. However, at dinner Abby and I split 2 bottles of wine. I suppose that could be reclassified as we each drank a bottle of wine, if the split were even. I don't think it quite was though. My darling bride has a way of keeping a wine glass between 1/4 and 1/2 full. Keeping enough there that you don't think you've had much, but it's not obvious it has been re-poured. Then we went down the street to a bar with $2 PBR. I was too full from the gyro-love I had slammed down my wine-soaked gullet to properly take advantage though.

3. I wish to see a dancing lady.
-Satistfied. Dear sweet baby Jesus, Satisfied. And a little scared, and scarred.
At dinner, our server/owner's daughter stood on a small podium and got the whole place's attention. She thanked everyone for coming, and explained that's it's always a pleasure to host events, and the Greek culture has a special custom for special events. "And, with that, I present Zaphora!"

The music starts. It's obviously a belly dancer. The only people I've heard that sort of music played for are either belly dancers or trying to sell me a rug. I didn't see any storage space for a fine assortment of area covers. I'm pretty excited at this point, but tempering my enthusiasm, for the sake of my wife's pride.





That is not what I expected. I'm not mad, just disappointed.





The show went on awkwardly long, and there was far too much playing coy. The longer I look at that picture, the more it's like a snapshot.

In order to tuck a dollar bill in her bra-string (the nightmares), she had to give some slack to the string. Said slack was achieved not through the standard erotic dancer method of pulling the string away from the body, but instead by lifting the aged mammary from beneath.

She was a nice lady though, and very friendly. So friendly. And she smelled like the sort of perfume you would smell wafting from the classiest isle of the classiest Rite Aid you could ever happen across. I think she would be the zany grandma that every kid loved because she gave you dollars for picking dandelions int he yard. I never would have guessed those dollars had been jammed haphazardly into her sequined hosiery.

4. I Wish to Sleep.
Status: Not fulfilled
The girls have been uncooperative. I am sleeping oodles more that I did at first, but I think they just like me so much that on my side of the bed they wake up extra times to hang out.

5. I demand to Game.
Status: Addiction fed. I want more.
Friday night, Abby took the girls over to her Maid of Honor's house to chill. I took the chance to play a down-loadable game on Xbox. It was so awesome I did it again Saturday. Then, all Sunday. I should probably keep myself from diving headfirst down that rabbit hole, but who knows when that town portal is going to close. And think of the treasures and unidentified items that would go to rust without my adventuring heart.




Hey man, you got any health pots? I can quit any time I want. It's just a little fun. I like to party. Like Ke$ha, but better grammatically. My Guild needs me... Maybe I should log in to WoW, just to see what they've done with the expansions...

Hitting our stride

It's been a while since I've had the chance to put my meandering thoughts to paper...err... keyboard. Things have progressed well, and as far as we can tell, they are still lovely little girls. Abby is still enjoying her work-free liberation, but somehow has found a way to fill the days.

The girls have broadened their available range of emotions. At the outset, they were pretty much limited to "asleep" and "Raging Fury." They've added quite a few, that I will attempt to relay via ASCII symbols:

Confusion >:|
Mild amusement :)
I just vomited, and feel better :D
Daddy smells like Rum :[]
The Dogs licked my forehead %)
It's too dark in here 8|
I'm imitating daddy's serious face >:(
Listen to me :P

My personal favorite is the too dark in here face. When it's time for bed, we turn out the lights, and both of them react the same way: they open their eyes as wide as they can. From a physics standpoint I guess it sort of makes sense too. Catching more light would make things more visible. I doubt the girls understand the particle/beam theory behind it, but getting that eye ISO up is important.

The other major development is that we(I) can fairly consistently complete a REM cycle each night. Not two, but I'll take what I can get. The first break in feedings at night is usually between four and five hours. That may sound terrible, but it means that the first gauntlet is drawing to a close. From what I've heard and read, the start of parenthood is a battle of attrition, and the parents win only because they're too stupid to give up. Now, we transition to the next part; where they have personalities and skills at patri-manipulation. Then I get to kick them out at 18.

We've been busy recently, but everyone around us has been great, and tremendously helpful. All joking aside, if anyone still reads this thing, thanks. We're both finally rested enough to start realizing how awesome all our family and friends are.

Good News and Bad News

The bad news:
There are so many things about pregnancy and child-care that people just don't mention. THe topic of current times is that babies are bad at digestion. You know that cute face babies make when their pooping? Yeah, that's because it's painful. Everytime you, as an evil parent, force them to eat, their digestive system hurts.

Then, this discomfort peaks at about 6-8 weeks. That's where we are. So there's two babies, in the most gastro-intestinal distress they have ever experienced, and then there's another gem. Their milk-laden guts can just get bound up, and they might not poop for up to seven days. Let me tell you, if I was corking it for seven days, I doubt my demeanor would be pleasant. So Monday, they cried. A lot. Then they pooped. A lot. The adjectives I would have to use to describe some of the atrocities are usually reserved for horror movie monsters, and natural disasters. Things like surging, explosive, and demonic.




And Hug-able.

If you read that pokemon's powers, that's basically what it's like: "what is that smell? Oh, you reshuffled him into your pants."







The good news:
We slept for a solid five hours last night. We bought new basinets for both girls and their much more willing to pass out in them. That meant less baby-night-holding. It also meant I had a good chance to have my advanced brutally rebuffed.




Headache, huh? Why? It's not like you were holding a screaming infant with a veritable gut-geyser stopped up for eleven hours today.






But, life is becoming something resembling normal again. Normal has changed, but we can make plans and do something other than wait for a feeding now.

Let's play Pretend

My sister watched the girls last night. She volunteered so Abby and I could have a nice couple's night/Valentines dinner. It was pretty marvelous. We had an exquisite dinner, that no one vomited, pooped or cried during. Abby had 2 glasses of wine, and I think she was pretty loopy by the end of the meal.

It was a pleasant treat to see that we still have something in common even without our little genetic legacies. Consciously or not, we kept conversation away from talking about parenting, money or the short term future. The topics de jour were vacations, winning the lotto and the proper way to skin a cat.

I feel comfortable saying that we came to a consensus. It was decided that we should obtain a large amount of wealth, sit on a beach, and eat things that only really rich and really poor people eat. Like snails, or obscure local produce.

Abby looked beautiful. The combination of seeing her in makeup, low lighting, and a couple glasses of wine myself; turned me into the blubbering man-child she started dating all those years ago. Hopefully it was endearing.

How to Compose Yourself

Recently, we've come to the conclusion that children shouldn't get in the way of our busy social lives. The culmination of this realization is that we dragged them cooing and pooing to a Superbowl party. Those girls know how to party.

I didn't expect it at all, but they were all about the crowd, just couldn't get enough. Doing body shots, eating pizza-dip; they got so drunk they crapped themselves. Both of 'em. I mean that's a major party killer right there.




Picture this, but more socially acceptable.




I suppose we're going to have to go over some of the basic party rules with them.
-No fallen soldiers
-If you spill it, you should make at least a halfhearted attempt to look like you plan on cleaning it up. Patting it with a bare hand, while looking around plaintively, is the bare minimum.
-No double dipping. This hasn't been much of an issue, but it's always good to remind people.
-Try not to pass out on anyone. This was a big issue.

To be honest, they were awesome little munchkins. They didn't cry hardly at all. They used some pretty creative anti-steeler insults. And they didn't have any major freak-outs. We just set up their pillows in a corner and plopped them down on the floor. I don't' think they got stepped on more than a couple times. Plus, Abby got the chance to have more than one beer for the first time in almost a year.

Happy Birthday girls

Well, not birthday really... It's more of an anniversary of sorts. Even that's the wrong word. I think the Roman word would be something like uncia-annual celebration of birth.

Fun Fact: In the process of trying to find that out, I figured out that biannual is a 1/2 yearly anniversary; and biennial is a two year anniversary.





Then what the fuck is semiannual?





Anyhow; the girls are now one month old. Harlot has enrolled as a non-metriculated student at SPU, and she's hoping to have her AA busted out before she has to commit more time to daycare and preschool. She hasn't decide on a major yet, but she's taking Babbling 101 and Staring Vacantly 104 this quarter. We're advising her to start with her inherent strengths and develop a skills base before she tried to tackle international tax law.

Meanwhile, Juggla is taking some time off from academic pursuits to "let the spirit world guide her." I don't know what that means, but there's a lot of incense burning and she's been hanging out with dirty filthy hippies. She has a tentative plan to go on a backpacking trip through Southeast Asia, but we'll see if any of the pieces ever end up falling into place.

Abby is recovering well, and if she can get her core strength back up she's considering a career switch to close-combat skydiving.

(I couldn't find a good picture of Keanu from Point Break diving out after Swayze. But imagine if I did. That would be a good picture here. Would you like to know more?) Abby would start training to do this.

In non-baby related news:

...uh...

...wait, there's got to be something..... huh.

...I made chili last night, but it was pretty mild. I guess the taste can bleed over to the taste of breastmilk. No, that's vaguely baby related.

Nope. Babies are pretty much everything right now.

Oh! I got it. The Pro-bowl. It's on Sunday, and I'm totally going to watch a bunch of uninspired, lousy football between the best of the best. I'll drink one or several beers, and hopefully eat the flesh of an animal, but not too loud. No need to wake the dragons.

Lets give this a shot.

I am married to a paragon of patience. A martyr (without dying) of motherhood. A champion for the children.

A little before lunch, I was at work and received a text roughly to the effect of: "They're screaming, and won't stop screaming. I'm taking them to the nail salon so the little Korean ladies can play with them." I, of course, offer condolences and volunteered to valiantly leave work early to assist. She indicated she had it under control, and that I could continue to jam my face against the grindstone.

As I was finishing up, I sent a message home: "Headed Home, need me to stop for anything?"

And her response was: "Thank God. They haven't stopped screaming today except when we left the house."

I walked in the door to find my domestic goddess looking like this.

Except instead of a chair, it was a baby. And instead of a poor black child, she was a middle-class white twenty something woman.

Pity overtook me, and I sent her straight off to the bath, then dinner, then bed. So, I guess it wasn't much of a straight shot, more of a meandering rest break. So here I sit, watching a pair of sleeping infants and watching a TV show that's not about housewives, be they Real or Desperate. Meanwhile she's taking a nice, night starting, nap.

We're going to try to switch off a feeding or two for a couple nights and see if one person can manage the ladies long enough to give the other a shot at a full REM cycle.

Are we there yet?

Ok girls, it's getting old.

feed, burp, change, finish feeding, put down, pick up, re-wrap, putdown, wait 1 hour. Repeat.

I appreciate that you're growing, and quickly. I understand that it's not malicious. I even think that you've, individually, been far better behaved than most babies. But seriously. You've got to bring something to the table.

I'm tired, Mom's tired, the dogs are exhausted. They've stopped responding to crying though, which is a plus. Maynard still moves to the opposite side of the bed, but he's figured out nothing is really wrong.

From reading the interwebs, I guess you're supposed to start smiling and possibly interacting slightly in the next couple weeks. That would be nice, as the closest thing we have to emotion yet is a funny head-bobble that indicates the desire for a nipple. All other emotions are indicated by a furrowed brow and slight puckering of the mouth.

About to poop: Furrow and Pucker
Happy: Furrow and Pucker
Solved world hunger: Furrow and Pucker, then tell no one the answer
Ambivalence: Pucker, then Furrow; then Furrow and Pucker, pass gas

To finish I wanted to compare these girls skill at filling a diaper to a Jackson Pollock. Complexity, layers, innovation, colors, action. They've got it all.






But with Poop. Get it?

Babocolypse

I'm afraid that we've both been under siege by the babies a little too much for me to come up with anything creative, witty, or inciteful. So, I figured we should just keep everyone posted on what's been going on.

The Battle of Slumber Hill
The city of Sleepytown, USA is under a trade blockade by the armies of the Twin Federation. (Before I forget, the girls have unionized and formed a trading conglomerate) Nightly shipments of rest are being intercepted and re-purposed to sinister means. Fortunately, the leadership of Sleepytown (Abby and I, it's an oligarchy)has made some progress in the form of black market nap dealings. The blockade is unlikely to fall anytime soon, and we hope that moral can hold.




Pictured: A Butt-Smuggled Heroin-Balloon of Rest.

That's the Good Shit. It'll keep you rocking for 2, maybe 3 hours.





The Big Diaper Offensive
Sleepytown's strategy has been mostly a reactive one thus far, as proactive diaper changes and burpings have proved ineffectual. There is some amount of futility to the fight. The act of diaper changing seems to wake the demon inside the Twin Federation's collective bowels. We posit that the TwiFed soldiers view a full pant-load as some sort of camouflage, psychological advantage, or body heat retention system. We have top men working on it.



Top. Men.







The Blitzkind
The TwiFed's tactics are developing and maturing at a disturbing rate. Already they are addign personality, cuteness and funny noises to their list of available options. Previously, we had only had to content with furrowed brows, crying and strange odors. According to and What To Expect and The Art of War; the standard development of an opponent is slated to include "awake time" and "rudimentary intelligence" soon. Their neural pathways are developing and forming connections at exponenial rates. Fortunately they currently lack the skill to challenge me at sports, checkers, or competitive paintball.

As a result, I'll have to give them some time to develop before I force them to earn my love. Right now they're in the grace period, where they get the love without having to put much effort into relationship management. I think the grace period usually last between 14 and 40 years.

Sleep Deprivation.

Here's things that babies do:
-Eat
-Poop
-Pee
-Cry
-Look around
-Make faces that indicate one of the above

That's pretty much it. I think the goal is to get the balance to an equilibrium that you would like.

For us, the daytime balance involves a lot of eating and sleeping, but the nighttime alloy is heavier on crying and looking around. Their starting to really show some different personalities though. Neither one is all that interested in letting mom and dad rest much between the hours of bar-closing and walk-of-shame.

Ok, this isn't so bad.

Just Kidding. This is fucking hard. And a little intimidating. But also pretty straightforward.

I apologize if my verbiage, grammar and spelling work together to form an orchestra of literary clam-city. I'm a bit tired.

The Twins and mom are home. Everything went splendidly, and the hospital stay was a good warmup period for home life. It's pretty tough to get started well with a new mom that's flooded with a cocktail of crashing hormones and serious pain meds. Everyone is adapting well and learning skills at a mind expanding rate. We spent 3 days, 2 nights at the hospital, just as a precaution to make sure everyone was well on the road to recovery.

The dogs were an adventure in that they are wholly dependent on us(read: me); but if push came to shove, they could derive sustenance from shoe leather and paperback book bindings. These little meat-bags would be totally lost without us, and somehow that is incredibly endearing. We started out purely breast feeding, but then added some formula supplementation so everyone involved was having a good experience.

Then, we came home. The waves of life hit the walls of the sandcastle house we had built in the hospital. Night 1 was a trial, Night 2 was a horror. The next morning we introduced a bottle so mom could spend more than 45 minutes not-feeding at a time. I'm not much of a religious man, but the inventor of the bottle has my adoration and is now the object of my false idolatry. ( just tried to spell idol, like "idle", which would an entirely different thing) This morning I showered, brewed a cup of coffee and had a bagel I prepared myself, plus I have a chance to write here.

Abby's now had a solid 4 hours of sleep and I got around 6 broken up hours last night. Things have drastically improved. We're still pumping and using mom's special blend as our primary. I just thing the switch from point-of-sale milk transactions to a temporary credit system has everyone happier and more rested.

Now, it's a grind, but we're going to grind successfully.