Christmas 2005

Where does the time go? I've been meaning to sit down and write this, but it seems like something else is always calling my attention to it. Sometimes, I think I feel like a whirling dervish... a lot of action, but not accomplishing much.

Christmas morning! Santa was the be-all and end-all of the boys, when they looked down the stairs and saw two shiny new guitars sitting by the tree for them.

They picked them up immediately and started joyfully strumming away, as if they had been doing it all of their young lives. Was there anything else under the tree? Did it matter? Who needs a little lamb to follow you everywhere you go (You know... Mary had a little lamb?), when you have a wonderful new guitar to take with you everywhere. The boys never set the guitars down for more than 30 seconds at a time it seemed, and couldn't get enough. Naturally, when we went over to Jim and Judy's for Christmas dinner, and to exchange gifts with Theresa's siblings and significant others, the guitars had to go too.

Before we left, Grayson was holding up his thumb. He appeared to have something on it, and wanted me to wipe it off. I just rubbed it on his pants (that's what dads do... right?) When it didn't come off, I took him into the bathroom so I could see it under better light and discovered that he had already developed a blister on his strumming thumb! I tried to put a band-aid on it, but he would have none of it. Apparently it would interfere with his guitar playing!

Naturally the boys and Mattea all got way too much stuff for Christmas. Auntie Lia was kind enough to ask me about what the boys needed, and offered clothes as a reasonable possibility, to which I agreed. When she asked what size, I thought a moment, remembering that they were growing out of many things in their closet. So I told her the appropriate size. It seems the boys were growing out of their 2T clothing, and starting to wear 3T's. So I guess my suggestion to Lia to get 4T's was perhaps a bit on the overlarge side. The upside is that when they start growing out of their 3T's, we'll already be prepared!

Theresa got the new Photoshop Elements 4.0, which she assured me had all of the latest and greatest stuff for her digital scrapbooking addiction... I mean hobby. If you haven't checked out her stuff lately, you really should. You can find it at Natural Designs in Scrapbooking.

One of our most thoughtful gifts though was from my sister, Edwina, and her new husband Mark, who offered a weekend of house- and baby-sitting so we could go off for a romantic getaway. We are already envisioning Irish Coffees in the Buena Vista in San Francisco. If you've never been, you simply MUST go. And they have a great breakfast as well. One stipulation agreed to, by us, was that our weekend may in fact be sometime during the week. Mark has seen the boys and what they can do, and would rather hand them over to daycare during the day in order to minimize the damage. It still sounds like a great gift to me! Although that does mean that their exposure to the boys serenades will be reduced!

Thank goodness for the little victories!

Yesterday, the majority of the members of clan Trageser gathered at Auntie Liz and Uncle Thom's place for a wonderful holiday dinner. The reason for the gathering existed in the form of Larissa and Christopher, as they would be going to Hawaii for Christmas, and would not be here to receive their gifts from the attendees on Christmas Day. This being the case, Liz and Thom offered to host an informal send-off party, and the rest of us, along with Liz and Thom, lavished our Christmas gifts upon them to enjoy on their trip.

Uncle Jeff showed up with his yellow guitar under his arm, which immediately endeared the boys to Jeff's guitar, while they merely tolerated Uncle Jeff's presence. But boy did they love that guitar! Jeff courageously allowed them to strum it, as long as an adult held it for them, and then a little later (I'm sure after a beer or two kicked in) propped them up on the window bench so that they could actually hold it themselves, and they were just in heaven. For most, playing guitar is a one person operation, but for the Hernandez boys, four hands at all times were a must. Mattea even got in on the musicality of it all when Jeff generously allowed Mattea to play Uncle Thom's white guitar (which, fortunately, Uncle Thom conceded to - if somewhat after the fact).

Everyone had a very enjoyable evening. As the annual cookie baking could not be coordinated easily with all of the requisite households, each baked their own cookies and brought them to be exchanged with others, so at least the Christmas cookie tradition continued this year, with just a slight twist to the format.

All of that guitar playing must have been very tiring. We got home just slightly later than the boys regular bedtime, but they were not happy campers at all when we tried to get them into bed. Tears, screams, demands - pretty much the entire range of delaying tactics were employed until weariness finally took over and the boys succumbed to dreamland. After they finally drifted off, I wandered downstairs to sample some of our newly acquired delectables.

Shortly after, Theresa and I headed off to bed, and I was actually able to get both boys into their cribs without any argument. When I awoke this morning, Theresa was still there! Grayson did manage to make his way into our bed at some point, but Noah slept in his own bed through the night. That is the first time that has happened in quite some time. Perhaps the boys should play guitar more often!

Mattea's kindergarten recital

On Wednesday evening, December 14, 2005, Mattea Theresa Claudia Hernandez performed in the first (of what I am sure will be many) school recital(s) of her career.

She, along with her classmates, and all of the myriad other kindergartners attending Shoal Creek Elementary School (Go Otters!) have been diligently practicing for weeks for this debut vocal performance. On hand for the occasion - her proud parents and two younger brothers (who managed to remain reasonably well behaved for the most part - although, they were spotted using the bright green programs as guitars while the young ones were singing), and Grandpa Jim and Grandma Judy - attired in appropriately festive holiday attire, including matching red and white Santa hats!

The program, entitled "December Celebrations" encompassed seven seasonal favorites, including "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer" and "Silent Night". It also featured some lesser known gems, including "I've Been Waiting for Christmas" (which sounded amazingly like "I've Been Working on the Railroad"), and "The Pinata Song" (which is probably not heard much outside of Southern California kindergartens).

Speaking of "The Pinata Song", Mattea had a speaking part to help introduce the song, with one of her classmates. Her line was "You'll see. It's something that we kids love to do at parties!" And she looked like this when she said it:


Mattea loves performing in front of an audience. As reticent as she as in meeting new people for the first time, she has no qualms about getting up in front of a very large group of strangers and performing, whether it is for dancing, as she has done for the last two years with her ballet group, or singing, as it was on Wednesday with her peers. And while she sang, Mattea brought enthusiasm and vitality to every piece performed, both in her vocal contributions and in her carefully arranged choreography, as you can see here:



Along with Mattea's deep enjoyment of performing resides her inability to carry a tune (which she inherits from her mother) and her almost total lack of rhythm, which is an unfortunate characteristic of the majority of white females on the planet. Our only hope is that she becomes somehow gifted in athletics (although occasionally running into walls and other stationary objects does not bode well in this department). I suppose that relegates her to becoming a model or an actress. Having seen what can become of those entering these professions, perhaps it would be best if she found some alternative outlet for her desire to perform. Perhaps she will become a mime!

It's not all just fun 'n games, you know...

Last night was not a good night.

Yesterday, Theresa and I went to see the Chargers get their butts kicked by the Miami Dolphins. Well, that's not really why we went... but that's what we saw. But the best part was that we got to hang out before the game with George and Lia and Linnea and Jeff and their friend Ken. We had arranged before hand to meet them and have a little tailgate party. When we arrived after everyone else (via San Diego Trolley, our usual mode of transport to the stadium), Jeff sensed our presence, and called us to tell us where to meet them (near the F2 light pole in the west parking lot). Jeff apparently is highly in tune with his sister's aura. (I prefer to think that, than to think that he is highly in tune with my aura). We enjoyed beer soaked brats, cheese weiners (don't ask), some snacks, iced beer and some type of premixed heavily alcoholic beverage that I chose to avoid. Anyway, it was way more fun than the game. It was Linnea's first ever professional football game. Didn't get a chance to talk to her after the game, so we'll have to wait til we see her again to get her impressions.

Oh, I almost forgot. Theresa, being a longtime season ticket holder, and something special in the Charger's eyes (and mine too, dear, mine too), was selected to participate in a DirectTV promotion. When we got to the game, we went to a little canopy, and were given a handheld DirectTV to view before, during, and after the game, if we so chose. We could watch all of the games that were going on, and we could pull up the stats of the games with the touch of a button. Very cool. In exchange, after the game Theresa filled out a short survey of the experience and they handed her a $25 gift certificate (which I'm sure she'll use to get her husband something nice for Christmas).

While at the game, the kids stayed home and were entertained by Miss Shelly from MGA, where the boys go to school. When we walked in the door after the game, it was as if all of the kids were on "speed". I don't really believe that Shelly is into drugging small children, so I will attribute their behaviour to being overtired. Shelly stated that no one had gone down for a nap. And it wasn't really all that late yet. I think slightly after five. So we talked about their day for a few minutes with Shelly and as soon as she left we fed the kids, changed them and they watched just a little tv to slow them down, and off to bed they went, earlier than usual. Normally they have been fighting going to bed lately, but they were worn out and drifted off within just a few minutes. Theresa was reading to Mattea, who was also going to bed early, and all of the kids were asleep by seven, which hasn't happened in I don't know how long.

So, Theresa and I went downstairs to watch a movie that we've had sitting around from Netflix for quite some time. It's one that I had put on our list, but we hadn't watched it after it arrived, as it was almost two and a half hours long. We rarely have that much time to give to just sitting and watching. So, in went "Kelly's Heros" (1970, Clint Eastwood, Donald Sutherland, Telly Savalas, Don Rickles war movie/comedy).

After awhile, over the mortar fire and grenade explosions, I thought that I heard one of the boys crying, so I ran up the stairs so that he wouldn't wake his brother. They were laying side by side, heads touching, both face down on the "green bed" with Noah screaming at the top of his lungs. Grayson was sound asleep. So I scooped Noah up and quickly carried him downstairs, still screaming at over 100dB into my right ear, his wide open mouth about an inch away from my tormented ear. Nothing that I could do would calm him down. He kept pushing himself away from me, and I thought he may have been saying, or trying to say, "Mommy", but through the hysterical screaming and crying, it was hard to tell. So I tried handing him to Theresa, and that was equally unsatisfying for him. He stretched his arms out as if reaching for someone, and arched his back, and generally wanted nothing to do with anything. So we just put him down on the couch and watched closely.

Meantime, Theresa had gone over to her laptop, which was sitting on the dining room table, and was checking out "night terrors" online. We had remembered that Mattea had a couple of similar episodes a few years ago. We learned that they can last anywhere from two minutes to forty minutes. There is no known cause, though they do tend to associate themselves with overtired children (of which all of our children were last night). And according to Babycenter.com, they are more terrifying for the parents than the children. Apparently, the children have no memory of them, and even though their eyes are open, they are not awake. After about twenty minutes or so, Noah started responding to Theresa's voice, and wanted a drink of water and stopped cying. I think he also said that he wanted a banana. So he got drink of water, but no banana, and we laid him down on the couch next to us, and as we watched our movie, he drifted off to sleep to the lullaby of more tank explosions and machinegun fire. Theresa soon joined him in slumberland, and I finished watching the movie, with Theresa waking up somewhere near the end. I scooped Noah up once again, this time sleeping peacefully, and lay him in his crib, and put Grayson in his as well. I'd like to stay that they stayed there all night, but we awoke with four of us in bed this morning. At least Theresa wasn't kicked out of her own bed.

Night terrors are not the things that you want your memories to include, so hopefully the researchers are correct, and we will remember them, but Noah will not. I asked the boys how they slept last night, and they both said "good", so maybe they are correct. One can only hope.

Creative opportunities

The day before yesterday, as Mattea and I were walking into the Merry Go Around to pick up the boys, Trish, one of their teachers, was leaving for the day. With a big smile on her face, she said "You know that I love you and Theresa, right?" And then she mentioned something about Grayson's hair.

When we had signed the boys out, and gone into their room to collect them, it became apparent that Grayson already has career aspirations: he took a class in "Self-barbering at the age of two".

We greeted them as we normally do - "Hi guys!", and asked Grayson what happened to his hair. He smiled and said "I cut it with scissors!" He didn't really need to tell me that as it was impossible to ignore. Now I had only recently given them their monthly (or so) buzz cuts, so his hair wasn't that long to begin with. But he had decided to place the scissors flat against the top of his head and start cutting. Somewhere above his right frontal lobe, I believe. By the way, the frontal lobe of the human brain performs the following functions:

Frontal Lobe- associated with reasoning, planning, parts of speech, movement, emotions, and problem solving

So, if you think about it, he was probably involving all of the functions, as he performed his task:

"If I place my scissors flat against my skull, right around here, I will probably shorten my hair if I move them by squeezing my fingers together. This will make me very happy. Also, it will solve that pesky problem - that is: people wanting to rub my head because my hair is short, and it feels neat. If there is no hair there, they will not want to rub my head!" I have no doubt he said this to himself whilst performing said act.

So, really, he was just using his brain!

There's nothing to write about!

OK, the two of you... are you happy? (The two of you, in this case, being my sister Edwina, and my mother-in-law Judy.)

They check out my blog on a VERY regular basis, and when I haven't updated it in a few days I hear about it.

So... I'm writing! I'm writing! (And for the rest of you, this is what I write about when there is nothing to write about.)

Our little family has just been kind of rolling along, with no exciting antics to report on. No boys climbing furniture. No little girl in dance recitals. Although, that does remind me of our trip to Balboa Park over the weekend.

Every year, the City of San Diego sponsors Christmas on the Prado in Balboa Park. Only now the city calls it December Nights for political correctness. (So, what, if you don't call it Christmas, it doesn't exist?)

Anyway, there is a citywide dance group called the San Diego Civic Dance Association, which is actually a service of the city's Park and Recreation Department. Each year this group auditions their youth members (apparently over 1,000 citywide) to assemble a troupe of their best performers to put on several shows at the park during December Nights. After we had looked at all of the glittering Christmas lights in the park (and once again our camera battery died as we were about to take the kids picture in front of the giant Christmas tree by the Organ Pavilion), and taken the boys to see the train museum (where they got to see scale trains in action), we made our way over to the patio where the dance troupe was performing. As a fund raiser, the group also sells pasta, drinks and gingerbread cookies to decorate. So we got some pasta for dinner, and the lovely ladies behind the folding table were kind enough to heat up some noodles with no sauce so Mattea wouldn't starve.

As we were having dinner, we found a seat on the floor of the balcony overlooking the patio, as all of the "real" seats had been taken. We could hear the music being played for the dancers, and if we scrunched up against the wrought iron railings, we could see a portion of the stage (which we were above and behind). The boys couldn't decide if they were more interested in eating, or watching the dancers. Fortunately for us, the dancers were scheduled to perform every hour, so as we finished our dinner and the dancers finished their half-hour show, we headed back down stairs to get some gingerbread cookies to decorate.

As the kids finished their edible artwork, showtime was approaching. Once again, the "real" seats had already been taken, but there was ample room between the folding chairs and the stage, so we arranged ourselves in a five abreast line, sitting and kneeling a couple of feet in front of the stage, as others did likewise.

The boys were totally mesmerized by the young dancers. I think the announcer said that the dance company consisted of kids up to eighteen, but many had started when they were six. It showed. The talent was univerally good, with a couple of exceptional kids (two boys and about 28 girls). The first show that we saw from the balcony included belly dancing, while the show that we watched offered tap, jazz/contemporary and ballet. In fact, Noah was so taken with the dancers that by the end of the half-hour show, he still hadn't finished his gingerbread cookie. (Although it must be said that Noah eats VERY slowly.)

So, there you have it. Another entry in wdihtnmb. I guess I did have somthing to write about after all!

Now I know why Theresa sleeps on the couch

We didn't even make it into bed last night before the boys decided to join us.

I had just moved them from our bed into their cribs. (They refuse to go to sleep in their cribs anymore.) Noah was on his stomach, and it's difficult to turn him over onto his back to carry him 'cause he'll just flip back over onto his belly before I can scoop him up. So, I'm carrying him into their bedroom to put him into his crib, and his arms and legs are just dangling around my arms while his head nested precariously on my right bicep. Then I went back and got Grayson.

Apparently the ride over was a little too unsettling for Noah, and then when I dropped Grayson into his own crib, the noise was just too much, which got Noah howling, which got Grayson howling, which got them both trips back to "the green bed" (take a breath) after I tried rocking them to sleep in the glider to no avail. (by the way, that take a breath back there was actually an instruction for you, not a part of my narrative.I'd hate to have you pass out at your monitor solely due to my run-on sentences!)

Anyway, Theresa and I got ready for bed and the boys were moving around trying to get comfortable. Generally the configuration goes something like this (from left to right, looking up from the foot of the bed): me, Grayson, Noah, Theresa. And that's how it was last night.

The boys were settling down and Theresa and I were reading on our respective sides of the bed. Theresa's light went out first, and I think Noah and Grayson were both pretty much out by then. My light went out not long after that.

One thing that you should know about me, before I go on, is that I am a very sound sleeper. I can't tell you the last time that I remembered a dream. Generally, once I'm gone, I'm out for the duration. That being said, I was awakened at some point (I have no idea by what, but I have a pretty good idea by whom.) Theresa had already been flushed from her side of the bed. Actually, now that I think about it, I think I do know what awakened me. The pain that I was experiencing in my neck from having my head hang over the side of the bed. Grayson had his head wedged against the left side of my head, as I lay on my back. Apparently he had been leveraging himself against Noah's feet, as they both lay sideways across the bed with Noah's head being on the far side. And Grayson managed to move me into a less than comfortable sleeping position. The situation needed to be remedied before I could carry on with my much needed rest, so I twirled the boys into the proper position, Grayson clockwise and Noah anti-clockwise. (I was just working with a Brit, and it's amazing how quickly you pick things up - kind of like an accent when you're in the south.) (Although he called the intersection of two streets junctions rather than intersections, and I never seemed to pick that up.)

So, I drifted off to sleep.

Speaking of which, that reminds me of something that I was going to write about a few days ago.

Think of the social circle that you currently travel in. (If you have no social life, perhaps you can subsitute co-workers or neighbors. If none of those fit your situation, insert random strangers.) Inevitably, some of the individuals that you know will be older than you, and others will be younger. I suppose if you are really, really, really old, that may not apply to you, but I think for most of you, it will. Among that group will be a man of approximately fifty years of age. Picture that man going to sleep at night. (I'll leave the specifics up to your imagination.) Now, think about that moment right between awareness and slumber. Ideas, thoughts, images float through your head that may have no connection to anything other than your what your subconscious may be kicking around right then. How many of those fifty year old men do you picture with this running through their head?

When a fifty year old man has three children aged five and under, asking for the same song to be played over and over again on the way home from school, it is not very surprising what gets stuck in the ol' subconscious!

So, where was I? Oh yes, drifting off to sleep.

Until I awoke with Grayson furiously grinding the top of his skull into my chin.

We have very tactile children. All of them love being held, cuddled, touched. Often, after waking, Grayson will reach over and stroke the stubble on my cheek, first against the grain, then with it, feeling the difference in coarse roughness and lighter texture. Last weekend, I gave the boys their usual buzz cut with my twenty dollar Sav-On clippers. I believe that he was showing me that his week old stubble was stronger than my overnight growth.

And if you need something else to go to sleep by, I might recommend this:

(OK, so the audio is less than audiophile quality, but you get the idea!)

Oh, to be two...

As we age, our priorities change.

Relationships. Careers. Faith. Any number of things impact the things that we do, and the importance that we attach to any particular item.

I don't remember events from when I was two years old. I have no conscious memories of people or things. I'm fairly certain, though, that all kinds of things happened to me, around me, and because of me when I was two.

By now, you know of the Hernandez household sleeping habits. I don't know of the common-ness, or uncommon-ness of two year olds wandering around in the middle of the night, and ending up in their parents bed, but I would expect, because of the nature of two-year-olds, that ours is not too uncommon an experience. So, what are you blathering on about, man, just get to whatever it is you have to say! Fine.

Last night Theresa transferred the boys from our bed to their cribs as she and I got ready for bed. I was finishing up on something on the computer when Grayson wandered in. I tried to rock him for a bit and put him back in his crib, which he would have none of, so he joined us in bed right off the bat.

Theresa is a lighter sleeper than I, and for some reason, the boys' movements and flailing and general thrashing about tend to wake her. I sleep through much of it. So I put Grayson down beside me, opposite the side where Theresa lay. And we all drifted off to sleep. (I may be fuzzy on the order of this stuff, but rest assured, it all happened.)

Then Grayson fell out of bed. We have a king-sized bed, double pillow-topped mattress, which upper surface is precisely 27 inches above a hardwood floor. And his head fell between the steel rail frame and the solid oak end table with raised moulding and corners for additional damage potential. Which makes it all the more surprising that all I had to do was pick him up, say "that's okay", kiss him on the head, and he drifted right off back to sleep!

Noah joined us at some point, which woke Grayson up, which woke me up. Naturally, Theresa was already awake. Everyone settled down, and drifted back off. Then someone lost their "paci". (The only time they use these now is when they go to sleep at home. They don't use them at school nap-time, nor any other time. We started to ween them, then I started this current program, and my traveling interrupted their schedule. I'm going to try to terminate their use with the upcoming completion of this program at the end of the week.) I had to track it down for him. As I looked, I noticed that Theresa was missing. Theresa had already apparently had enough, and headed to the couch downstairs looking for greener pastures.

Paci found, all was well again. The next time I awoke, my arm was entangled in Grayson's legs as if we were making a human basket. I'm not quite sure how we did this, but it did prove to be an impediment to my sleep.

Shortly, Noah was calling for his paci. I rummaged around, finding it on the floor and stuffing it back in his mouth.

Behavior of this sort continued, more or less, throughout the night. Now I have a better understanding of why Theresa surrenders the bed to the kids, and looks for slumber elsewhere.

For those of you that know that we have a guest room, and are wondering why Theresa just doesn't go in there and lie down (come on... do I really have to tell you why?) As I'm sure is true of most guest rooms, when our guest room is not being occupied by a guest, the bed becomes yet another flat surface for storage of items that should have been thrown out long ago.

The only rather amazing part of the evening was that Mattea ended up sleeping in her own bed the entire night.

So, what does all of this have to to with priorities? Nothing. I just know how much you enjoy hearing of our night-time experiences.

I actually do, though, have an observation regarding things important to the boys right now.

Both boys have been working very hard on their potty training. They have progressed to the point where they wear underwear during the day (except at nap time), and have reduced accidents to the exception, rather than the rule. And many mornings, they wake up dry as well.

Two years old is a time of curiousity, wonderment and experimentation, and being the curious types, the brothers want to watch each other as they use the facilities. Two years old is also a time of possesion obsession. This can lead to never imagined scenarios.

On Saturday, Grayson told me that he had to go poop. I was grateful for this, as the prospect of him not telling me, and going anyway, is a less than pleasant alternative. So off we went, with Noah not far behind.

The boys toilet habits are a bit unorthodox. They must strip from the waist down to properly prepare. Once this has been accomplished, they step up onto the toilet seat, and walk around until they face front and lower themselves into a straddling position atop the seat. Although this may not be how you or I would approach the situation, it seems to work reasonably well for them. As might be expected, they both "saddle up" this way. (I would imagine that one learned it from the other, but I don't know which one did it first.)

So Grayson is comfortably arranged, and tends to business. Upon completion, Noah has somehow worked his way around me, and is approaching the toilet. Grayson sees what Noah is headed for, and apparently, based on prior experience yells "Don't flush my poop!"

My wife, the entrepreneur!

And yes, I did spell entrepreneur correctly... I looked it up. (Thank goodness for online dictionaries!)

I write from Phoenix this Halloween evening, because the evil people that I'm working with required me to be here to work with them tomorrow. Imagine that! Work before Halloween! What is this world coming to? (Goblins really do exist!)

The only reason that I make mention of that little fact lies in the understanding that Halloween remains one of Theresa's favorite holidays. We may not throw large Halloween parties anymore, but the house has been decorated and the front walkway, I'm sure, was ablaze with luminary candles to light the way this evening. Although I forgot to ask Theresa who the candles were lighting the way to. I am generally the giver of treats, but I was on a plane before the ghosts and monsters (and adorable little black cat with two little black and white cows) broke loose tonight. Several of Mattea's chums joined her this evening, as they did last year, so perhaps an unsuspecting father was "recruited" in my stead.

Oh yeah... the wife.

Theresa has been putting many of her "spare-time" hours into the creation of digital scrapbook images to chronicle our childrens' lives. Basically, this means, while the kids are having breakfast in the morning, and she has a few minutes, she'll go work on her art. After everyone is in bed at night, Theresa will be found on the computer. Whenever she can track down a little "unspoken for" time, she will be hunched over a keyboard.

If you've not had the opportunity to see any of her digital mastery, I encourage you to check it out. And where might you find some examples of her work? Why, at her new online store, of course!

No... she's not selling the children (although I know that at times she is (as am I) sorely tempted.) The world, it seems, can't get enough of "scrapbooking" (and, yes, I have been told that "scrapbooking" is not a verb.) (Although, I am guessing that it will be recognized as such before long.) Theresa has been creating the digital equivalent of traditional paper scrapbook pages. Background papers. Little trim items (which, I guess, are called embellishments.) Even fonts.

She started out offering her digital scrapbook materials through other scrapbook artists' web sites, but after putting some thought into it, decided to pursue it on her own. Some of her wares are exclusively offered at these other sites, but she has created many additional "kits" that she is marketing at Natural Designs in Scrapbooking. Which is one of the reasons that I haven't posted for a few days. Even though I was home last week, I wasn't really "off". I was just working for Theresa.

Theresa wanted to get her store opened by the weekend, and while she hired someone to get her store up and running, we still needed to do some last minute work on her new home page. You would think, "How hard can it be to design one page?" Unless you've done it, you'd be amazed!

Then, naturally, I found there were some things that could be improved after the new site went live, so I was messing around with stuff all weekend, and we still had to make time to go and watch the Chargers whoop up on the Chiefs (Go Bolts!) Oh, and take the kids to Mattea's school for their fall festival on Saturday. (Twin holsteins never fail to raise a grin!)

But Theresa's new store, at her new site, is up and running. And, amazingly enough, (to me, anyway) she had a paying customer on Saturday, the very first day of operation! And more on Sunday! (Woooo-Whooooo!) (I've started making retirement plans, based on the exponential increase in sales thus far, although, to be safe, I haven't mentioned anything to Theresa.) We put a site meter on the site that tracks how many visitors have been attracted, where they originate, along with some other statistics. My wife is an international businesswoman! Her site has already been viewed in Australia, Canada, Germany, Singapore and the Netherlands! And that is in just one weekend! Congratulations on an awesome launch!

This internet thing... I think it may really turn into something someday...

Is it always like this?

If you've not read my previous entry, you may wish to jump down to "She's Back!" before digging in here.

So... now Theresa is out the door, and on her way to the apparent bliss of seeing a real, live television star in New York City (of all things!)

Gee, so much has happened since Sunday night, I'm not sure that I can recall everything properly, so I'll just focus on some of the things that I'm pretty sure about. Let's see... when Theresa left, it must have been about 7:30. So I guess the kids had already been fed, as we had generally been trying to get the boys to bed by 7:00. With all of the previous activity, obviously no one was in bed yet. So I rounded up the boys , changed them into their pajamas, and headed upstairs.

The boys have been without their father many, many times, and are used to his comings and goings by now. But this time was not the same. Mommy left them. Mommy had never left them before. And they didn't want to get in their cribs. They wanted to get in the "green bed". (Our bed has a green coverlet on it.) And they wanted me to lie down with them. So I laid Grayson down, and then I laid Noah down, and I lay down in between them. Noah was content to just have me near him, but Grayson kept trying to burrow into me. He just couldn't get close enough. Eventually they both settled down, their movements becoming less restive, their breathing quieter. About 8:15, Mattea came up and woke me up and said it was time for her to go to bed. So I slithered out from between the boys and helped Mattea get ready for bed.

It is customary for Mattea to sleep with her mom when I am out of town. Theresa still keeps the body pillow from her pregnancy days for these nights. She will place the body pillow between the two of them to keep Mattea's active elbows, legs and feet from finding her back or bottom. As this practice had already become standardized, I told Mattea that she could sleep with me if she wanted to. Naturally, she wanted to. So after tooth brushing and hair brushing (actually hair picking, as I had to dig up an old hair pick that Theresa had in the drawer, because Theresa had taken all of the brushes with her. Why Theresa had a hair pick I don't know. Perhaps she used to have an afro.) I read Mattea her night-time story, and we placed her in bed next to the boys.

Even with a king-sized bed, two two-year-olds and a five-year-old take up a fair amount of space. I wandered off to let Mattea settle down and follow her brothers into slumberland. Now, it had never been my intention to let the boys sleep with us. I had planned all along to move them into their cribs before I went to bed.

So after Mattea fell asleep, I cradled Grayson carefully into my arms and deposited him gently into his crib. One down. Noah was not so cooperative. As I tried to lift him, he rolled over onto his stomach. Fortunately, I was able to carefully scoop him up and gently lay him into his crib. Two down.

Theresa had only been gone a couple of hours and had just hopped on her plane and I was already missing her!

5:00 AM: Pad, pad, pad, pad, pad, pad, pad, pad. "No... get in on this side so you don't wake Mattea up!"

5:50 AM: Pad, pad, pad, pad, pad, pad, pad, pad. "No... get in over here so you don't wake up Mattea and Grayson!"

One's perspective on life is greatly influenced, I'm sure, by the situations that one finds oneself in. There's little better than lying in bed, looking at the ceiling, with all of your kids cuddling up next to you for love and support, lying warm and content in each others company.

Fast forward to Monday night. Same scenario. The boys go to sleep in the green bed, while Mattea watches television downstairs. But on Monday, I roused myself in time to get Mattea ready for bed. This night though, the boys were taking up more real estate. They were both kind of laid out sideways when Mattea was ready for bed. So I asked her to go to sleep in her bed, and told her that I would move her into my bed when I went to sleep. (By now, you've figured out that there is a lot of sleeping child movement in our house!)

As I'm getting ready for bed, I move Grayson into his crib uneventfully. Noah, on the other hand, rolls over onto his belly again just as I get ready to move him. I can't get him back onto his back, so I'm carrying him, with his arms and legs dangling about, into his room. As we get to his crib... "I don't want to sleep in my crib!" As he continues to raise a ruckus I quickly back out and place him back into the green bed, so as not to awaken his still sleeping brother. Then I go collect Mattea and place her into the green bed. Then I climb in. Keep in mind I skipped the part during the day of getting them dressed and ready for school, actually getting them to school, the laundry; you know, the stuff that has to go on anyway.

5:00 AM: Pad, pad, pad, pad, pad, pad, pad, pad. "No... get in over here so you don't wake up Mattea and Noah!"

Tuesday night... Mom's coming home!

This time it's Grayson that wakes up as I'm transferring him to his crib. So back he goes into the green bed. But Mom's home now, so all is right with the world.

2:00 AM: Pad, pad, pad, pad, pad, pad, pad, pad. "No... get in over here so you don't wake up Mattea and Grayson and Mommy!"

I perch on my side lest Noah be forced onto the floor (I'd put him on the inside, but then he would start messing with Grayson and then they'd both be up.) I wonder if they make wider beds?

I do have to revisit Tuesday morning though. I had taken the boys and Mattea downstairs and gotten them started with breakfast. I then headed back upstairs and hopped into the shower. As I was finishing, I heard the sound of fighting brothers and crying coming from down below. So I hurriedly dried off, dressed and headed downstairs. Before I finished dressing, the noise died down, but I still wanted to see what was going on.

As I came around the banister I saw Grayson sitting in his timeout rocking chair in the hallway, parked inches away from the door to the guestroom, sitting quietly and facing the door. Mattea had seen fit to assign him a timeout, and he actually complied with Mattea's disciplinary course of action! (Would that they might only be so cooperative with us!)

Theresa left for barely more than forty-eight hours... long enough for me to gain even more appreciation for her world in my absence. Perhaps next time Jon Stewart would like a couple days off in San Diego.

She's Back!

Well... almost anyway. She's probably landed by now.

"Who?" I hear you asking. "From where?" "I didn't even know she was gone!" All reasonable observations to be answered in good time.

Turnabout is fair play, I've heard said. So it would appear that my time for fair play has arrived.

I have been traveling on business once again, I think this time going back to the beginning of September or so. Generally only for a week at a time, but the first leg had me gone for almost two. I have had a couple of bye weeks though. Temporary lapses in the schedule designed to disharmonize my family's routine of being without me, except for the weekends. This week happens to be a bye week for me, between Los Angeles last week and Phoenix next. So apparently, Theresa figured it would be a good time to ditch the family for a couple days. Not that she doesn't deserve it. So... off she goes... traipsing to New York City, of all places, to see some television star of all things!

I suppose I should back up a bit.

Theresa's friend Ann was flying to Washington, D.C. on business, and then needed to go up to New York, to attend to some other business. Ann figured that, as long as she was in New York, she would try to get tickets to "The Daily Show with Jon Stewart". Naturally, Ann being Ann, she asked for more tickets than she could use, and when they did, in fact, materialize, immediately thought to offer one to Theresa, because she knew that Theresa had nothing better to do than to take time off from work, desert her three beautiful children and loving husband, and fly off to New York City to see some television star, of all things! Which she did.

But, as I'm sure you know by now, if you are more than just a few weeks old... nothing is simple.

Theresa had asked me to arrange a rental car for her while in New York as she had a friend nowhere near New York that she wanted to visit while she was there. Being the loving husband that I am (see above), I graciously agreed to make such an arrangement. As I was filling out the online form asking for various bits and pieces of Theresa's life, I came to a question that I had no answer to. So downstairs I go, to obtain this bit of information.

The question seemed simple enough. "Drivers License expiration date?" Of such minutia are mountains turned to molehills (some say it the other way around, but I truly think in this case, a mountain was ground down to a molehill.)

By now, clever reader, you have figured out that Theresa had been driving on an expired drivers license for almost two months. Complaining that the Department of Motor Vehicles had never sent her a renewal application, I calmly asked her which address was listed on her license. Correct again... thereupon appeared the address of the home that we sold and moved out of over three years ago. I would think that the weary souls over at the Postal Service have tired of forwarding Theresa's mail quite some time ago.

Surely, no rental car awaits, based on this news. But then I start thinking (generally something to be avoided, if at all possible... the consequences are generally not good.) Whenever I get on an airplane, in addition to my boarding pass, the good and kind security personnel always ask for a government issued photo ID. I started to think that this should probably be a valid government issued photo ID. Which would mean an unexpired drivers license. Theresa's passport? No... that expired long ago. Hmmmmm...

Theresa is starting to get very upset, though hiding it well from the kids. No swear words come flying out of her mouth, although her lips are clamped together pretty tightly, I'm thinking to prevent exactly that.

Oh, one other thing. Theresa's flight is only about three and a half hours away at this point. On a Sunday evening. So we start making phone calls, and conducting web searches. No useful information from Transportation Security Administration (the kind and good folks mentioned above.) Although, to be fair, it's not their fault. Theresa terminated the phone call prior to completing the negotiation of TSA's bureaucratic voicemail system. And she hadn't even been into the call for ten minutes yet. No definitive help from American Airlines, the provider of Theresa's flight. I say no definitive help, because Theresa had talked with a cordial young woman, and she thought that it would not be a problem for Theresa to fly on an expired license, but there didn't seem to be a strong, confident tone about her.

So we were coming to realize that there was a very real possibility that she would not be going to New York. One other airlines' web site had stated specifically that boarding documentation required an unexpired government issued photo ID.

So I called American Airlines to see about cancelling the ticket, or checking on the ability to use the value on some future flight. When I explained the situation to the nice woman that answered the phone, it was immediately apparent that this was a person of some experience. She asked if Theresa had a copy of her birth certificate. She did. Birth certificates do not expire. She asked if Theresa had a copy of her marriage certificate. She did. Marriage certificates do not expire. (Although, from what I understand, they can become invalid through issuance of yet another certificate.) The nice woman directed us to have Theresa take this additional documentation to the airport, and, since her drivers license had only expired the previous month, it should not prove to be an issue.

And so it was. Theresa showered, packed, and was out the door with plenty of time for the additional screenings by those nice security folks that we knew were sure to be in her future.

But that's not why I even started writing. I was going to tell you about my past couple of days. But Theresa is home now, and I really should be going to bed, as it's getting late, and I need to take my kids to school in the morning.

Stay tuned for Part II.

Hey there, Hi there...

I truly believe that we shall be laughing for a rather large part of our lives, due in large part to our wonderful offspring. (I should qualify that statement - what I meant to say... when we are not swearing under our breath... trying really hard not to yell at our kids... or, in fact, yelling at our kids.)

We have a couple of stories to pass along today.

While getting ready for school yesterday, Mattea, Noah, and Grayson were all heading in different directions, rather than trooping out the front door in single file in an orderly fashion. (Yeah... like that's ever going to happen.) One of the boys was heading back into the house while the other was making his way back upstairs. Mattea (ever the sweet child) was the only one actually heading in the direction of the driveway and the van. So Theresa is running around trying to collect everyone and point them in the right direction.

You might wonder where I am with all of this activity taking place. I am safely ensconced in my hotel room about eighty miles away. Getting ready for a nice, leisurely breakfast before heading out to work.

So, where was I? Oh yes... the chase. So, Theresa gets the boys rounded up and herds them in the direction of the van when she finds Mattea "rinsing off her shoes" in the sprinklers, which had come on to water the front yard. With a proper reprimand, Theresa gets Mattea out of the sprinklers and into the van, where she immediately starts complaining of being cold with both sliding doors open and the breeze passing through. Noah and Grayson are putting up a fight at being strapped in, Mattea is whining about being cold and not strapping herself in, and Theresa at this point becomes the best mother in the world in my book for not dumping them all out on the sidewalk, and driving away to work, leaving them to be cared for by the first unsuspecting stranger to happen along.

The boys finally get strapped in, screaming at the top of their lungs, Mattea continues whining about how cold she is, although she now, too, will not be ejected in the event of a water landing, and Theresa finally does yell at the kids. And then somehow discovers the reason for Mattea's complaining. While rinsing off her shoes, Mattea managed to thoroughly soak the backside of her pants in the sprinklers. But by now, they are on their way to school, and nothing can be done about it for the moment.

Ever the quick thinker Theresa sees the time, and takes the boys to school first. They have a washer and dryer at the school to wash linens, spare clothes, and assorted odds and ends that need laundering in a pre-school environment. As the boys get dropped off, Mattea's pants are removed and thrown in the dryer (I can only assume that she now wanders the halls and classrooms of Merry Go Around in her underwear) and Theresa makes an effort to calm the male beasts while transitioning them to their caregivers. The boys finally calm down (due in large part, I'm sure, to the second breakfast that they have at school every morning), Mattea has nice warm, dry pants on, and they somehow manage to get Mattea to school prior to the dreaded second bell (after which the child arriving late must enter the school through the office, wait in line with all of the other scalawags, and get a tardy slip before proceeding to class. Not that I have personal knowledge of such an experience!)

While recounting this entire encounter to me later in the day, Theresa thinks to tell me of her previous morning.

On her way to child care the boys were in much better moods. They were singing and laughing, entertaining each other as none other could. Which in turn made Theresa laugh as well, and you will soon see why.

The lexicon of today's youth bears little resemblance to my own. The world has changed dramatically over these last many years, the music scene, as always, influencing the language of the young.

If you have not had reason to observe society's adolescents, you might be surprised at their language. Randomly search a handful of blogs. It will be immediately apparent to you when you reach the blog of a teen. Disrespect of parents, adults in general, (and each other for that matter) reins supreme in their dialogue. (Although it could easily be argued that this behavior carries on a long and strong tradition.) Hip Hop music, in particular I think, has injected a strong disrespect of women, which has made its' way into widespread and common use. But I digress. The word Ho, once meant to express surprise, or even joy, now refers to a woman. A woman with a less than sterling reputation. Without further illustration I believe I have probably passed along its' current meaning.

You probably hate reading my stuff, don't you! Here I was, talking about singing and laughing kids, now I'm off on some tangential, stream of consciousness track that is leading who knows where! Well... how can you possibly expect to be with me next, without the proper background. Hmph!

Ah yes... singing and laughing children. Noah and Grayson have been learning new songs at school. They love music, and enjoy entertaining each other with their newfound and expanding repertoire. Which brings us to what they were singing on the way to school the other day (sing along... I'm sure you know the tune...):

My Ho... My Ho... It's off to work we go!

Damn those Blue Angels!

Fall has arrived, and in San Diego this also marks the arrival of the Navy's Blue Angels for their annual air show at what used to be known as Miramar Naval Air Station (the home of the Top Gun training school), now known as Marine Corps Air Station Miramar (somehow not nearly as endearing).

Last weekend the Blue Angels put on several shows. Prior to these shows there is a significant amount of practice to assure the safety of the pilots and the crowd, as well as ensure an acceptable showing for the masses that attend. The shows I don't mind. It's those practices that have wreaked havoc in our household.

If you have never been to a military air show, they are a sight to behold. I have not attended one for a number of years now, but the precision and power demonstrated is a thrilling experience. Unless you are two years old.

For those of you that are unaware of this next small fact, it is an important contributing factor to this addition to our families' tale. Noah and Grayson are cared for at a child care center that is part of a government facility. Said government facility is right across the street from the Marine Corps Air Station Miramar.

Just a moments worth of deduction will bring you to this conclusion - if the air shows were held over the weekend, the practice for the air shows would necessarily be held during the week. During the day, during the week. While my boys are at school.

What some people see as grace and might and skill, my little boys see as large, thunderous machines roaring at full thrust five hundred feet over their heads while all they wanted to do was slide down the slide.

Grayson and Noah loved seeing airplanes up in the sky. They would see one off in the distance and joyfully point and cry excitedly "Airplane! Airplane!" They don't do that now. They are absolutely terrified of any airplane, of any size, at any distance. They don't want to go to sleep at night because they are afraid of airplanes. They try to climb up your body if they even think that they hear an airplane. For no reason, Grayson will exclaim "I don't want the airplane to come in the window!"

Damn those Blue Angels!

No, really...

It dawned on me, as I was thinking about the antics of the boys, that you probably read these posts, or listen to our stories, and think that we are giving you just the worst (or best, I suppose, depending on your point of view) of their behaviour. In actuality, our lives are a 4-dimensional collage of images, actions and responses that are an ongoing tropical storm, if not quite a hurricane.

I got home late Friday night while everyone slept. I slaved in Portland, Oregon last week. On Saturday morning, Grayson awakened before his brother, and in order to try to let Noah sleep a little longer, we brought Grayson into bed with us. As Theresa was exhausted from managing the household in my absence, when Noah got up I took the boys downstairs so that T could get a little extra sleep. Mattea was still sleeping, so we headed downstairs and got the boys some cereal for breakfast. After pouring their second bowls for them, I went into the family room and lay down to stretch out my back.

Edwina and Mark had come down on Wednesday to spend a few days, and had gone up to LA to see the King Tut exhibit at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art. Friday was Edwina's birthday and apparently Theresa had gotten an ice cream cake, which everyone shared after dinner on Friday. The remainder obviously went into the freezer.

The boys couldn't see me as I lay on the floor, stretching my back. After I was out of sight for a moment or two, I heard in a stage whisper "Noah! Want cake?"... "There's some in the fridge!"... "It's chocolate!" Then the pat, pat, pat of footsteps, and I see Grayson moving toward the freezer. From my prone position in the family room I just said "No!" Grayson didn't say a word. He just executed a quick 180, glanced my way, and made his way back to the table and sat back down as if none of this had actually occured.

On Thursday night, Theresa thought she had covered all the bases. Mattea was in her room, and her door was locked. Mattea's door actually locks from inside her room, so Theresa had locked the door after Mattea went to bed to keep the brothers from waking her in the middle of the night. She closed the doors to my office, to keep the boys out. She had locked the upstairs bathroom to deter another band-aid mellee. And yet, Theresa awoke to lights ablaze. They weren't the hall lights. They couldn't have been from any source other than the boys' room. But that didn't seem right. There is a light switch by the door, but we always turn the light out at the ceiling fan, so that they can't use the light switch to turn the overhead light on and off, which they delight in doing. Investigating, Theresa found Noah standing on the changing table, which had apparently been navigated under the ceiling fan by Grayson, who was still moving the changing table around with Noah standing on it to reach the pull chains.

I won't tell you about them attacking the raspberry tart on the kitchen floor with a knife. Now we're probably delving into CPS territory.

Bittersweetness of Parenthood

I’ve said before that it is the moments that make up a life. I don’t know that my personal experience is different than most regarding my recollections of past events. But many of my most vivid memories are not of weeks or of days or even of hours – but of a particularly strong moment in time.

Yesterday I was traveling from San Diego to Portland on business. As it happened, I had to connect through Los Angeles. Also as it happened, yesterday was the first day of the Padres post season effort, so naturally I had to watch the game. The Pads made a strong comeback effort in the 9th but not strong enough as they lost game one to the Cardinals 8 to 5. Watching the game put me behind schedule and I had to hurry to make my flight, which meant that I didn’t get lunch before I left. There being about an hour and a half on the ground in LAX prior to my connection to Portland, I stopped to grab a bite.

Sitting at my table, munching my late afternoon heat lamp burger and (gratefully) fresh fries, I noticed a woman pick up her order and make an effort to find her way to a table of her own. Actually, it was not really the woman that attracted my attention, but her 1 ½ year old daughter. She had beautiful big blue eyes, straight short brown hair parted in the middle with short bangs, a cute round face and the very quick legs of a newly liberated runner. By the time mom had made it to a table and dropped off her food, along with the little ones stroller bound older brother, little sister had run out into the concourse and was joyfully trying to escape. As mom tracked down and repossessed her child (with me sitting there smiling the smile of the knowing), I couldn’t help but think of similar activities that we had been involved with - times two at that with the boys. It also made me think that I’d never see my children in that stage of their lives again.

Not that they don’t run off now, often in different directions. But the sight of newly minted running legs being exercised is just plain fun to watch. And I’ll not have that opportunity again with my kids.

Thinking of the days that have already gone by made me think of those days yet to come. And realizing that before we know it, they will be leaving home. And Mattea has a three year head start on the boys. Which leads me to the bittersweetness of parenthood. The unalterable fact that we are raising them to leave home and live their own lives, most likely earlier than we will be ready for them to leave home and live their own lives.

I don’t want them to leave! I don’t want to give up the days of Mattea curling up with me on the couch to read a book. I don’t want to give up the days of Grayson forcing his way onto my lap while I’m having breakfast saying “I want you cereal!” I don’t want to give up the days of Noah absently playing with the hair on my arm while he watches television. I love my kids! I love the moments that they’re giving me. And, yes, I realize that these moments will also end all too soon. But they will be joined by others, which will be joined by even more.

My hope is that the moments that we provide to Mattea, Noah and Grayson will lead them to lives of integrity, appreciation, respect and, in turn, love for their kids as well.

If I'm going to start writing again...

today is as good a day as any to start!

Better than most actually. "Why is that?" I hear you wondering. Primarily because of activities around the old homestead a couple of evenings ago.

Thursday night we put the boys to bed around 7:00, maybe 7:30. They had just finished dinner and a bath, and Theresa got them changed and into Noah's crib. Although they each technically have their own cribs, they have been able to get in and out of them at will for some time now, and usually end up with both being in one crib or the other. We've yet to determine why one is more attractive than the other, although they do tend to favor Noah's.

Mattea was wrapped in towels, (likely butterfly, bear, and frog, but I'm not certain) lying on our bed watching the Disney channel. As the boys were giggling and getting up and moving around, I directed Mattea to get into her pajamas, and went back and ordered the boys back into bed. They complied, but not without a fight. They cried, and climbed out of the crib, and I fought with them and threatened to close the door (which Noah and Grayson both equate with a fate worse than death). I generally bathe the kids, but for some reason Thursday night the chore fell to Theresa, so the bathtime routine was not as routine as it generally would be. Perhaps that was the start of it all. I ended up closing the door on them.

I should probably mention an architecturally important detail at this point. When the boys gained their freedom through advanced climbing skills, we found it necessary to reverse the door knob on the door to their room, so that it locked from the outside. Yes, I know. We are horrible parents, and will henceforth be reviled throughout the known universe. But it was one way that we could think of that would keep them somewhat contained.

Alright, now you are wondering why we wish to keep them somewhat contained. You don't have kids, do you? You don't have two-year old twin boys, do you? When they were previously free range, they found it necessary to get out of their cribs, go downstairs, and exit the front door which was deadbolt locked. The front door deadbolt has now been replaced, and requires a key to open it from inside, as well as outside. (Actually, the last one did too. But we generally left the key in the lock, and the boys had slammed the door/key into the wall so many times that the key could no longer be removed. So they learned that they could open the door by turning the key. We no longer leave the key in the door.) They were now safely locked in their room.

Theresa and I started eating dinner, and watched something on television. I thought that I heard some sounds that were not coming from the television. When I got up to the boys' room, it was clear that they had not heeded my previous request. The sliding doors to the closet were open, with a majority of the easily reached content gleefully re-arranged around the floor of their room. Apparently, if they couldn't get out, they would have a party in their room! Ignoring the mess, I scooped them up, put them in their cribs and told them that I would be watching them from my office, just down the hall. When they settled down, I went downstairs to finish my dinner. A short while later, more noise. This time they were playing on Mattea's bed. As they have a history of turning this type of behaviour into a longer lasting pattern, I decided to separate them. One (Grayson, I believe) was sentenced to Noah's crib, and the other (probably Noah) was placed on our bed. Mattea, who had by now fallen asleep, was carried into her own bed, in her own room.

As Theresa and I resumed watching television downstairs in the family room, I thought that I had heard some noises that I shouldn't have been hearing, coming from above. Investigating, I found the two of them in the upstairs bathroom. Noah had apparently deemed it in his best interest to free his brother in order to allow them to immerse their arms up to the elbow into the water in the toilet bowl (with long sleeved pj's on). This behaviour, being generally frowned upon in our household, led to a change in pj's for both of them, with Dad deciding to ride herd over them, each in their own crib, from the glider in the corner of their room. I'm not sure who dozed off first - Noah, Grayson, or me. But I do recall Theresa checking on everyone, and so I got up and trundled off to bed.

I slept through this part, so you are getting it second-hand. Noah woke up and decided to explore. (Apparently we had decided against locking them in their room, because they were already asleep.) Theresa woke up to the sound of little footsteps and lights on in the bathroom, Mattea's room and the entry hall. Noah was on her side of the bed, with an empty plastic water bottle. (We never found any signs of excessive water spillage, so either he drank it, poured it out in a place where it would drain, or it was empty to begin with.) She took his water bottle away, put him in his crib, and turned out the lights. As she was drifting off to sleep, she was awakened by more noises. This time she found him in Mattea's bathroom with band-aids liberally applied to most surfaces in the room.

It was at this juncture that Noah joined us in our bed. Mattea sleeps like her dad, and had slept through Noah slogging about in her room and turning on the light. Seemingly, Grayson had slept through all of this as well. Theresa, by now, had realized that the water bottle had come from downstairs, so she went downstairs and turned off the kitchen lights. And Noah was happy to snuggle up between mom and dad and drifted peacefully off to sleep.

If I recover, perhaps I'll write again.

PS: If you read my original post below, you will note that you must be registered to comment. I've learned since then that this is a changeable setting. Theresa has (or had) her blog set up to require that comment posters be registered. I have set mine up so that anyone can comment. So maybe Google's not so bad after all.

is google becoming the next microsoft

All I wanted to do was to leave a comment on Theresa's blog. Google said that they couldn't accept anonymous comments, and that I had to register. So I go to register, and it asks me what I want to name my new blog. I didn't want a new blog! I just wanted to leave a comment! And why do I have to name my blog!