Dad In Charge

I have to say that my husband is GREAT about letting me go and do my thing on the weekends to have a break from the kids, and I am REALLY grateful for that. However, he is WAY more laid back about certain things than I am. The house, for example, often looks like a damn bomb went off upon my return, and he often keeps the kids on a MUCH longer leash than I typically do. And this past weekend was certainly no exception to the go-with-the-flow-Daddy-on-duty routine.

On Saturday afternoon the hubby packed up the kids and the pooch and headed over to the dog beach while I went for a nice, long run by myself. When I got home, however, I found my kids changing clothes for the THIRD TIME THAT DAY. Apparently, they decided to get into the freezing cold waters of Lake Michigan with the frickin’ dog. WTF?! Where was their dad when they decided to take this little polar bear plunge, you ask? Good question! I would LOVE to know the answer to that as well, but I never got a straight answer.

Yet another example occurred on Sunday, when we all decided to take a family bike ride together. My husband, AKA Mr. Speedy Gonzalez, was naturally the leader of the pack, whereas I was moseying along at the back of the bunch. We were no more than a block from our house when my daughter completely ate pavement when she made too sharp of a turn around a corner. I jumped off my bike and yelled to my oblivious husband to wait up and then proceeded to comfort the screaming kid at my feet. So, when my son later asked me why I always ride my bike so slowly, I simply explained that SOMEBODY’S gotta keep an eye out for any unforeseen accidents since their father seems to think he’s Lance Armstrong.

And then the real kicker was when I came home from the grocery store on Sunday evening to find two buck naked (and might I add VERY MUDDY) children waiting for a shower. The nonchalant explanation I got from my husband was that the kids were playing in the mud in the backyard. Oh, of course! Why didn’t I think of that? Cause that type of productive activity is something that’s TOTALLY encouraged around here. Do you know that I’m STILL trying to get the mud off my son’s caked shoes? Yeah, good times.

So I guess if I want to look on the bright side of things, nobody has lost a limb or burned the house down (yet anyway). I should just be happy that I get a moment here or there to escape by myself, right? Besides, he’s an amazing papa, and I can’t blame him if the hospital forgot to send us home with our how-to parenting guide when the twins were born seven years ago.

A Tantrum Tale

     

     I suppose every parent has his or her own personal way of dealing with a kid’s temper tantrum.  Some choose to ride it out, while others run like the wind to avoid it all together.  My husband is one of those parents who tries to rationalize with the kicking and screaming child, treating it as some sort of business negotiation.  He doesn’t seem to understand that the more he talks, the worse the fit becomes and the more pissed off the kid gets.  And then there’s the “experimental” parent who truly has no friggin’ clue how to handle the situation and is willing to try anything and everything to just make the kid shut the hell up.

     My mom tells me that my dad fell into this particular category when I was a baby. He traveled a lot and was by no means very experienced in Babycare 101.  However, my mom decided to test his parenting skills one afternoon and leave me with him for a few hours so she could run over to the mall.  She had started to shed a lot of her baby weight and was desperately in need of some new pants, so she figured that surely he could handle a couple measly hours alone with the baby.  (Famous last words!)

     She’d barely even made it into a dressing room before my dad had hunted her down and called the department store where she said she’d be (remember this was the “olden” days when you actually had to let people know where you’d be at all times in case of an emergency — no cellphones back then!)  The sales lady told my mom that there was a very frantic man waiting on hold for her, so she rushed to the phone thinking something awful must have happened.  Worst case scenarios filled her head as she picked up the phone and tried to prepare herself for the horrible news.

     She immediately heard hysterical crying in the background as my dad frantically explained that he didn’t know what the hell to do with me.  With a pit in her stomach, my mom tried her best to get him to simmer down enough to tell her just what had happened.  He explained that I’d started crying and crying and that he just could not get me to stop.  When the cries grew to a fever-pitch level, he recalled something he’d heard on the news about splashing a hysterical person with ice cold water to get them to calm down.  So he decided to run a cold, cold bath and dunk me in it, only to find out that this made me cry even harder (yeah, go figure!)

     My mom told him that she was leaving that instant for home and ended her shopping excursion right then and there.  She raced home to rescue poor little me and to tell my dad what a complete dumbass he was.  Turns out that I was simply hungry for a bottle.  My dad tucked his tail between his legs and openly admitted defeat.  

     Now, clearly my dad had watched one too many cartoons (what, with the cold water in the face and everything?!), but kids most certainly do not come with an instruction manual.  When it all boils right down to it, parenting truly is just all about trial and error, especially when it comes to handling temper tantrums. What works in one particular case may just blow up to shit in another.  That’s why I’ve learned to come prepared and packin’ heat to any and all situations, duct tape in one hand, candy in the other.

A Dad’s Perspective

So recently I began following this guy on Twitter who not only has his hands full with a toddler going through his terrible twos, but he and his wife also gave birth to boy/girl twins in January of this year.  (Yeah, I know, sucks to be him, right?)  Because the infant stage of my own little twinkies’ upbringing is pretty much a blur of a memory, I have been finding his sleep-deprived humor more than just a little funny.  His Twitter name is @havingtwinsnow and you can follow his hilarious blog by clicking on this picture:

I asked @havingtwinsnow if he would write a guest post for my blog, so he could shed some light on the insanity that’s an inevitable part of being thrown into the world of twin parenting.  I thought it would be a cool switch to see a male’s perspective on trying like hell to juggle everything.  And good God almighty, did he ever deliver.  Here’s what his brilliantly crazy brain came up with:

HOW TO SHUT ‘EM UP

Pretty much the first thing you notice as a new parent of multiples is that you are now the center of attention wherever you are in public.  And if you weren’t aware of your awesome powers, wipe the sleep out of your eyes, the puke from your shoulder and the dried puke from your cheeks that was put there from the wet puke on your shoulder which you’ve learned to ignore unless you can feel it actually ooze down your arm. With great medical, food and diaper bills comes great fucking responsibility!

How? You ask. I have no clue. But here is at least one situation that while completely ridiculous, will state the ignorance of some upright humans while allowing for a few laughs from everyone else.

When you are out at a family function or birthday party, you can pretty much say anything and those family members/friends will believe everyfuckingthing you say. Just this past weekend I was sitting next to my wife, feeding a twin alongside her, or “tweeding” if you’re a kitchy prick. We were operating in our normal manner, communicating with grunts, clicks and whistles, and spastic head movements, when a mother of one since grown and moved out son (who has now apparently moved back in) asked us flatly:

“How do you do it?”

I glanced at my wife and gave her the sign that I would take this one, which is a handless gesture for oral sex involving my tongue striking the side of my cheek which to a fellow immature friend would possibly look like a penis! In my mouth!

So I answered as flatly as I could.

“Three things actually:

1.) A schedule that we dare not impinge upon or suffer its wrath upon our very souls.

2.) Coffee, which is the nectar of the gods and we are actually researching to discern if it is, in fact, Jesus’s semen.

And 3.) Anal sex. Lots and lots of ass fucking. It is really quite remarkable the amount of butt humping I’ve managed to squeeze in in just a few weeks.”

I then playfully tilted my head to the right, removed the bottle from my kid’s gullet and proceeded to burp her over my shoulder gently.

Blank stares from all around the room greeted my rapidly blinking eyes.

It appears that using the term “anal sex” is a show stopper. The entire room stopped what it was doing and looked my way. So rather than curl up into a ball, I got technical.

“See, the amount of strain on Julie’s vagina and uterus was so severe during her twin pregnancy that anal intercourse was really the only way to experience any semblance of sexual pleasure. To go even longer without coitus would probably generate so much marital strain that we would grow to hate each other, and right now, and particularly at 3:16 am every morning, we’re all we have. We need each other. And if that means I put it straight up her pooper, by golly, that’s what I’ll do.”

Still more silence.

As I went to open my mouth for more bullshit, my lovely wife elbowed me in the kidney. Monologue over.

The conversation around us gradually kicked back up, but it was odd, we were never made to feel as if we were disgusting or smelled of the shit of the bull that I was allowing to spew from my mouth. No, these people BOUGHT IT! I wasn’t being disgusting to them, no; they perceived what I was saying as me allowing a brief, truthful snapshot, although pornographic, into our interesting lives!

The pity you receive as a seemingly exhausted parent of multiples allows you to say the most disgusting things without the fear of reprisal, judgment or backlash!  You should really try it!


Daddy/Daughter Dance

 

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     Last night was a very big night in our house.  It was the Daddy/Daughter Dance for which my daughter had been waiting on the edge of her seat for weeks. She absolutely could not wait for this special night with her dad.  She was even more excited to be going on a double date with her best little girlfriend and her dad (who just so happens to be one of my husband’s favorites of all the dads).  So, it was a win-win situation for both parties involved.

     It was no shock to anyone who knows my daughter that she picked out the pinkest dress she could possibly find in her closet to wear. She had two very important wardrobe stipulations:  it had to be VERY pink, and she had to be able to twirl in it.  Her final selection covered both of these criteria. Because she was going on a date with her daddy, we decided that he should probably coordinate with her outfit.  So, we went shopping yesterday afternoon for a pink tie to go with my husband’s suit.  Now, I wasn’t even sure if he would actually wear a pink tie, but I figured he wouldn’t be able to resist my daughter in all her dolled-up charm.  We even took the dress along to the mall to make sure we picked out just the perfect shade. My daughter was very particular about which tie looked best, and of course, following in the footsteps of her mama, she had her heart set on the most expensive one.  What can I say?  The girl’s got good taste!  

     As an added bonus, my husband very sweetly decided to stop at a florist on his way home from work and pick up a little flower corsage for my daughter to wear with her dress.  Unfortunately, they didn’t have one small enough, so, instead, he bought her the absolute cutest little bouquet to carry.  She was over the moon when he gave it to her, and I almost cried at the extreme cuteness before me.  

     We took lots of pictures before they headed off, my husband decked out in his pink tie and my daughter clutching her tiny bouquet.  They raced off, and I had to wait in anticipation for hours to hear about the details of the evening. My son and I went out to dinner with some friends in the meantime, so that he didn’t feel left out of all the fun.  When my daughter and husband finally returned home, it was more than obvious that they’d had an awesome time.  My daughter had so much fun dancing that she didn’t want to come home.  Apparently, she’s a dancing machine just like her mama.  It was definitely a very sweet moment that I’m sure they’ll remember for a long time.  Now it’s time for a Mama/Son Dance, so we, too, can get our groove on….