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.