I spliced together all the video we’ve taken of the twins in their first year. Once it was done and i watched it back, i’m not going to lie, i choked up a bit. Enjoy!

Twins – Year One – The best home videos are here

Catch up post!

So the girls turned one.  One!  Can you believe it?  It was just one year ago that my wife was splayed out on a steel table, gutted like a fish, doctor’s hands roaming around body parts you only ever see in splatter movies.  I was standing idly by, scrubbed, twittering, sobbing like a pre-teen after a boy band breakup.  We’ve made it past the floppy body stage, the sleepless nights, the icky colostrum, the preemie diapers.  We survived the NICU, vomiting, aspirating, and humidifying.  We’ve moved past doubling up formula, bumbo trays, and jar food.  Jar food was gross.

The first birthday was exhausting.  We were already worn out from the week before – the 8yo (sorry, 9yo)’s birthday is just three days before the twins’.  We had her party at one of those bounce n play places, where kids jump around on huge inflatable crap, then eat cake and junk, all amidst a thick fog of pre-teen drama.  We had just a week between this and the big party.  We cleaned, scrubbed and cooked up till the end.  Droves of people came.  I think they even bused some in.  They ate, swam and pinched cheeks.  The babies withstood hours of passing, ogling, and cheek pinching.  The one mishap we had was because Jules missed her nap.  When it came to cake time, she dug in and made a mess, but then did her classic face rubbing to show she’s tired, and got icing all in her eyes.  A quick bath and pacifier was all she needed to get to sleep though, and Cordy soldiered on to entertain the guests.  Presents were ripped open with little regard to who they came from.  The day ended with us all just wiped out.

Then the next day, i broke Jules.

See, the booster seats are always in the kitchen, always strapped in.  We used them outside for the party, though.  That night, i took them inside, washed them off, and sat them on their chairs.  I didn’t strap them to the chairs, partly because they were wet, and partly because i didn’t need to.  Babies were asleep.  I did not remember this the next morning.  We were all in the kitchen.  I put the girls in their chairs.  We were all eating breakfast.  I turned my back for just a second.  I didn’t even hear Jules fall, i just heard the shrieking from my wife.  I looked down to see Jules head down on the floor, booster seat and all.  She indicated she wasn’t all that happy through a series of horrible piercing screams.  My wife scooped her up and examined her.  A bump was starting to form on her already large forehead.

We’re not the type to overreact.  The babies fall all the time.  If they fall or otherwise hurt themselves, we lovingly and with all gentleness tell them to man up and grow a pair.  But this felt different.  So we packed our shit up and headed to the local emergency clinic.  I had to hold Jules’ head still for an x-ray.  Babies don’t like that at all.  Everything looked good though, and we were out of there in about an hour.  A week later, the swelling has gone down, but she has a big black eye.

Just in time to show off her black eye to authorities, we had their one year doctor’s checkup.  (Advice to new parents – don’t schedule milestone appointments early.  Even if it’s just 3 days before their birthday, they’ll let you make the appointment, but then tell you you’ve got to reschedule after you’ve been sitting around in the waiting room for 15 minutes and you’ve just had to change a shitty diaper on the cold floor of the bathroom because they don’t have a fucking changing table.)  We were worried that the doc, who previously had us double up formula concentration (expensive) to get some extra pounds on our babies, would make a big deal out of their still small statures.  They are, at 1, 15lbs 12oz and 16lbs 12oz.  Which is pretty damned small.  They have tripled their birthweight though, which is the goal apparently.  We were also expecting to be chastised for feeding the babies everything.  We went through the list of foods you’re supposed to wait until after they’re one to give them, and aside from honey and peanut butter, which are obvious choking hazards, we’ve given them everything.  Chocolate, cheese, nutty products, even shellfish.  These babies eat the shit out of food.  The doc was cool though, and gave us the go ahead to switch to milk.  Which is awesome because it’s much cheaper, but i wonder how much more difficult that’s going to make packing bottles in the diaper bag.  Powdered milk?  What do you do?

Anyway.  Babies are 1.  Warranty voided.  Black eye healing.  Here’s hoping the second year is just as fun.

And your video, Cordy’s first steps ever:

So the babies are talking…maybe?  A whole new level of frustrating.

Before having babies, i pictured all of their firsts in premature anticipation.  Their first time sitting up.  Their first time walking.  Even their first time opening their eyes (because once,  i believed, babies didn’t open their eyes for days or even weeks, like puppies, because  that’s the closest thing i had for a frame of reference.  as my babies opened their eyes in the delivery room, i actually made a comment to a nurse about it).

Anyway, i thought that when they said their first words, it would stand out.  They would spew out an endless stream of jibberish, then utter one solitary word.  Ball.  Or Dada.  There would be sun flares behind their head.  The air would slow down around us, like in the Matrix.  Angels in the background would sing.  Unicorns would dance atop rainbows.  And there would no mistake what had just happened.  But that’s totally not how it happens.

It’s all like ‘huh did she just say yes?’  And ‘was that thank you?’  It’s so frustrating.  It’s like raising Bobcat Goldthwait.  You think words are being said.  But you just can’t be sure.  There’s no lens flares, no unicorns.  Only bewilderment.  Frustration.  Babies rehearsing for the role of Zed in Pre-K’s production of Police Academy 4.

So again, the babies might be talking.  Yes, thank you, dada, hi, these may or may not have been said collectively by the twins.  Everyone seems to know definitively what their baby’s first word was.  Are all parents making it up?  Are they too embarrassed to admit that they, too, are totally confused by what their babies were trying to say?  Is this all just a big conspiracy, something only seasoned parents are in on?  Or even just some cruel joke?  Do old parents tell new parents their ‘first word’ story, yet smirking and snickering behind their backs?  Telling them its such a wonderful event?  Knowing full well that it wouldn’t happen?  That the new parents would become crazy and guilt-ridden that they couldn’t identify their own ‘first word’ story?  Is this parent hazing?  After this, are 10 random parents going to pop in wearing togas?

On the other hand, the babies are standing.  Learning how to, anyway.  Collectively they’ve stood up by themselves, for anyway from 2 to 30 seconds, a few dozen times now.  It’s awesome, and there are totally lens flares and angels singing.  Cordy will stand up twice.  Then Jules will stand up just to join in.  I run to get my camera.  And it all stops.  I follow them around for 20 minutes.  My camera’s LCD screen waits in anticipation.  I eventually give up.  They’ve been standing  for over a week, and so far all i have are pictures of them just as they’ve sat down.  I’ll have better luck taking a picture of Bigfoot.  Hey, maybe he’d even say a clear word for me.

A picture:

And a video:

I’ve become a two trick pony.  My parenting has been reduced to Cheerios and Yo Gabba Gabba.  Are the babies fussy?  I pour some Cheerios out across the table.   Are the babies bored?  Apple Cinnamon Cheerios.  Crying?  Banana Nut Cheerios.

If that doesn’t work?  Yo Gabba Gabba.  I sit my laptop somewhere where they can see it but can’t click-clack click-clack all over it, and play like 20 episodes of YGG in a row.  They aren’t fixated on it yet, like they will be by the time they’re five and are full-blown tv zombies like i was as a kid.  But they do watch it, and their fussiness is decreased by a full 70%.  They go from banging on the gate like inmates in a riot, to meandering around the nursery floor looking for rogue Cheerios.

I mean sure, i guess playing with them would work, too, but daddy’s got shit to do.  Laundry, dishes, facebook scrabble, they don’t do themselves.

But what if my babies start to identify more with DJ Lance Rock than me?  Sure, i play with them tons, throw them in the air, make them giggle, but i also have to correct them too.  I have to tell them NO when they grab the tv remotes.  I have to take the batteries away from them when they’ve fallen out of the remotes and they start sucking on them.  I have to shout NO and run across the room when they’ve crawled on top of furniture and are grabbing at half full cans of soda.  How much longer are they going to put up with what they probably consider my bullying?  DJ Lance Rock doesn’t do any of that.  As they’re circling around their nursery floor, making a racket by rattling crib rails,  DJ Lance Rock looks on amiably.  When they’re throwing toys and crying at each other, DJ Lance Rock keeps singing about teeth, or pajamas.  When they’re crawling on top of each other so they can reach an assortment of crap high up that they’re not supposed to, DJ Lance Rock smiles and asks them what they’ve learned today.  And what have they!  They’ve learned that while daddy gives but also takes, DJ Lance Rock sings and dances and provides a rules-free environment where anything goes.  While Muno and Plex learn about high fives, the babies roam an anarchy-laden landscape where they are queens and the streets are lined with Cheerios.  DJ Lance Rock, as all-giving god, sings their soundtrack with total indifference to their actions.  MAKE A MESS BABIES, START FIRES IN THE MIDDLE OF THE RUG AND SMASH YOUR BOTTLES AGAINST THE WALL AND START A FIGHT CLUB!  LIVE IN A CONSEQUENCE FREE WORLD WHERE SINGING AND DANCING AND STEALING AND DESTROYING ARE THE WHOLE OF THE LAW.  IT’LL ALL BE OK BECAUSE I HAVE A FUZZY ORANGE HAT AND YOU CAN TRUST ME.  CAN WE RIP SHIT UP?  ARE YOU READY?  UH BREAK IT DOWWWN.

What if i turn this around on them?  What  if i play with them as daddy…but when i need to discipline them, i wear a DJ Lance Rock costume?  I could run to the  bathroom, and rip open my shirt like Superman, revealing the orange and white striped DJ Lance suit.  I jump in and shout HELLO KIDS, STOP GETTING INTO SHIT AND MAKING A MESS!  YOOOO GABBA GABBA!  Then i change clothes again, throwing Cheerios and toys at them.  Is this effective parenting?  Would they love me?  Would they think DJ Lance Rock was the bogeyman, hiding under their beds or in the closet, for years afterward?  We’ll find out!

And now, a series of videos.

Jules gets dunked in the pool for the first time:

This adorable sound Jules makes when she wants something.

And Cordy waving:

Dude, i’m sorry, i just don’t have time for a regular post this week.  The babies are a handful, being totally fun to play with, and right on the cusp of walking and talking, i swear.  Aunt Jesi swears that Cordy says ‘up’ when she wants up on the couch.  While i don’t discount her belief, i can’t verify it either.  That and i’m two missions away from beating the last campaign of Guild Wars, yet i still don’t have my chaos gloves.  Doesn’t that piss you off?  We’re also in the process of planning all the girls’ birthday parties.  As you may remember, all my girls are Cancers.  Ab and the twins are only 3 days apart.  So we’re having a kids party for Ab one week, and a cookout/pool thing the next week.  Ab is going to be 9, and the twins 1, so this is our 911 Birthday Emergency.  Clever, right?  Yeah, i’m cool.  My wife’s birthday is just two weeks before that, which i remembered just now, so i now have to figure out a third birthday.  Crap.

Anyway i wanted to share this, for any new dads.  Hooks on strollers.  And even though the aforementioned Aunt Jesi burst my bubble by saying they make hooks just for this purpose, i prefer my low-tech Macguyver approach of taking regular wall hooks and attaching them to my stroller using cable ties.  It’s totally changed my world.  Today i had to lug the babies into work with me.  I had my laptop backpack, diaper bag, and babygate, and didn’t have to carry a thing.  Jealous?

Later on, in Office Depot buying thousands of invitation envelopes,  the hooks held the hand cart, and later the bag.  Man, i’m awesome.  You can be too.  Hooks and cable ties.  That’s it, buddy.

That’s all i have, really.  I meant to do a Wordless Wednesday, too, but i was i think stuck in Abaddon’s Gate of Pain, where undead Shiro was waiting for me.  So here it is:

El fin.

Ab:  How do you make crab dip?
Me:  I dunno.  Mix stuff together.
Ab:  I think it’s crab meat.  And little bits of onions.  And that’s it.
Me:  Uh no, i think there’s more than that in there.  Sour cream?  Or no, cream cheese.
Ab:  You mean creamed cheese?
Me:  Uh no, cream cheese.
Ab:  No, CreameDUH cheese.
Me:  Hahah no, CreaMUH cheese.
Ab:  NO.  CREAMDUH cheese.
Me:  Sigh.  I will buy some and show you.
Ab:  Whatever.

Mommy:  No i’m 32!
Ab:  That’s right, you guys are older than me, you’re gonna die before me!
(15 minutes later, after much homework drama)
Me:  We’re definitely gonna die before you, you’re gonna send us to an early grave!
Ab:  Nah uh,  i’m gonna get your ashes!

Me:  Woah, look at your hairy legs!  They look like Paul Bunyan’s legs!
Ab:  Who’s Paul Bunyan?
Me:  He was a big dude.  Had a blue ox.  Farted or something to create the Grand Canyon.  Don’t you learn tall tales in school?
Ab:  Nope.
Me:  Do you know who Aesop is?
Ab:  Nope.  But i know who Andre the Giant is.
Me:  Ok.  You have Andre the Giant legs.

——-

So, daddy is burned out.  Twice a week i work from home and watch the babies at the same time.  They’re fine when they’re with babysitters, but when i’m home they’re stuck to me like a Rockbiter to limestone.  I sit on the couch with my laptop and they cling to my legs.  Tiny barnacles with dirty diapers.  And they whimper the whole time trying to guilt me into picking them up.  So i’m dealing with whiny, needy babies, and since i’m in IT, i’m also helping whiny, needy users at work.  Like i’m a father of 75.  And my reward for juggling all of this is to pick up, bring home, and do homework with an 8yo in the running for world’s most melodramatic drama queen.  It’s like i’m trying to teach multiplication to the entire understudy cast of Hamlet, but in act 5 scene 1 the director told them that instead of finding Yorick’s skull, they should dance stage left, go total apeshit, and sing a verse about how math is ruining their life.

And repeat.

So yeah, daddy is burned out.  Fatherhood has its ups, but its downs sure are ballsy and in your face.  And the downs sneak up on you, don’t they?  They happen gradually.  They creep in so you don’t notice.  You’re in father heaven one day, and the next thing you realize, you’re feeding a shrieking baby with one hand and smacking a shrieking pre-teen with the other.

I wonder if i could get back at them.  What would the twins do if i hung on them all day?  If they’re off in the corner playing with their musical octopus, and i just hovered over them like those spaceships in Independence Day.  Or if i just like laid right on top of them.  Carefully, you know, as to annoy, and not crush or smother.  But annoy, definitely.  What if they were trapped in my grip like Bugs Bunny in the hands of that big orange dude.  For hours.  Yeah, i bet that would teach them.

Ab would take more thought to get back at her.  I would have to muster up a lot of fake tears.  Whine and tell her my something arbitrary was hurting, like my uvula, just as she needed me to do something for her like sign her homework or cook her dinner.  I’d shout random crap for a few minutes, then obstinately declare that Justin Bieber was ruining my life, and i wished  iCarly would get cancelled.  I think i’d finish by making ridiculous sounds, breaking 4 pencils, and defiantly claiming the words shoe and butterball rhyme.

Nah, all that would probably just amuse her.  Maybe i’ll just send her to the corner instead.

Me:  We’re in Delaware.  Chuh-kow!
Abby:  I already knew that.
Me:  No but we weren’t in Delaware until i just said chuh-kow.
Abby:  But no i already knew!
Me:  Sure ya did.
Abby:  Because it’s been two hours and after two hours in Delaware and… (only an hour in to the drive)
Me:  Uh huh
Abby:  …and we’ve been on the road and with two hours it’s…
Me:  You’re priceless.
Abby:  Nuh-uh.
Me:  Yeah, you’re priceless.
Abby:  I am not!
Me:  If i were to sell you on ebay, i’d list your estimated retail value as priceless.

Abby:  Daddy you’re a ‘Re’.  From now on anytime you say something i’m going to call you a ‘Re’.
Me:  Oh as in remarkable?

———-

So how early can you give your kid GED cliff notes and push them through some sort of trade school?  Public school is so much work – for me.  I don’t remember putting my parents through this kind of hell when i was a kid.

Everyday there’s the homework journal that *I* have to check and sign.   Every week there’s the friday folder that *I* have to sign.  And i have to go through her stack of completed assignments from the week so that i can give her a congratulatory thumbs up or a disparaging frowny face.  And homework.  So much homework.  Every day its books and worksheets and journals.  Pencils invariably need to be sharpened.  Erasers worn down to the metal.  We need scratch paper and rulers and graphs and charts.  She either understands what she’s doing, or not at all.  And i feebly try to explain this stuff to her.  Which is really hard for me.  I spent my entire school career in GT/AP classes.  Which means we all just got stuff.  It just happened.  The teachers’ hardest job was to feed us information fast enough so we wouldn’t be bored and disruptive and loud as hell (true story).  So here i am in the kitchen, baby in one hand, shake & bake pork seasoning the other, saying to an 8yo, ‘uh, don’t you just get it?  No i can’t explain it, it just, you know, works.  See?’

On top of that there’s field trip permission slips and lunch account forms.  Book order forms and fundraisers and technology pretzel twists (which she wants so badly but she never ate a single pretzel when we paid for it before but she says its because i wanted you to have it, it being a stale pretzel covered in pencil shavings in the bottom of her backpack, daily).  I send in a check for a field trip in March and have to remember on this one particular day to pack lunch in May?  Can’t i get like an email reminder?  Or a facebook event update?

Fridays are wonderful days.  She comes home and throws the backpack down on the ground.  We run from it as fast as we can.  Sometimes we’ll throw it in the middle of the room and set fire to it, and dance around it and blow on a conch shell to thank the friday gods for the blessings they have bestowed upon us for three days.

What am i going to do when all three kids are in school?  Randomly send in blank checks so i know everything is covered?  Hope a teacher doesn’t clean out my bank account?  Keep MRI rations in their backpacks in case of field trip emergency?  Buy a Little Professor Calculator, because he can probably help my kids with their homework better than me?  Will they grow to love and respect him more than me?  Will i come home early from work one day and find Little Professor making out with my wife??

Maybe i should just home school?  But teach them nothing but science and economics in hopes that they become mad scientists bent on the acquisition of wealth.  Make daddy rich, girls!

Woah it’s Mother’s Day!  Often, i use my wife as just a character, or comedic foil, for the benefit of my blog.  But today in truth i will say how grateful i am for her.  She’s my connection to reality, and sense of reason.  She’s the one who teaches me it’s not a great idea to carry babies around exclusively by their feet, no matter how funny they look when i do it.  She’s the one who teaches me you actually have to read all that crap the school sends home for parents, no matter how boring it is.  She’s the one who teaches me it’s not all that nice to laugh at the babies when they cry, no matter how ridiculous their faces look.  She’s the one that teaches me that ‘i guess they’re clean’ usually isn’t all that acceptable when it comes to washing baby bottles.  And the most important, she’s the one that teaches me you gotta wipe the suzy front to back.

We’ve been together since i was 15 and we haven’t been apart since.  She’s not just my wife, but my best friend.  And i’ve always known she’d be a great mother.  Whether it was from her 18 younger sisters, or even me, she’s kind of always played the mom. After many many years together, i’m happy that she’s finally a real mom.  I’m grateful that despite decades of me driving her so crazy that she’s got one foot in the grave and the other in a loony bin, she still chose to make babies with me.  And naturally she does a great job.  It amazes me that she has time to beat all three kids equally and still have time to play her video games.

Happy Mother’s Day, mama!   With 3 kids, it’s now economically impossible for you to get rid of me!  Sucks to be you!