Supertramp

So Connor starts school next Tuesday, and I'm making that the day that I finally get serious about the twins' education. Loyal readers will be tired of reading how smart Maggie is, and how the twins won't match her because we haven't had the same one-on-one time and opportunity with them as we did with Maggie.

Because it's been 14 months since my layoff, the twins' lack of facility with the alphabet, numbers, physics and Classical Greek is on me. I have chosen play over academic drills, my own fun and laziness over play and academic drills, and the result is that my 44-month-old twins can get to G before spewing a mishmosh of sounds until they get to U, V, W, X, Y, Z. That's why they can't read yet.

Meanwhile, Maggie plows through second-grade books while laying on her stomach, twirling her hair and humming.

So, I am using Connor's first day of fifth-grade to promote the preschoolers' first day of homeschoolergarten. Number and letter flash cards for the twinnie twin twins and in-depth study of definitions and sentence structure as well as math for Maggie. She's a whiz reading, but is like a 4-year-old with math.

Something I discovered with Maggie that is probably a well-known phenomenon with early childhood educators and researchers: while taking spelling tests here and there with me, like we do with Connor during school, there are words I know she can read with no problem that she can't even come close to spelling correctly.

So, it has something to do with successfully sounding out letters when seen on a page, but hitting a wall when matching sounds to letters out of thin air, as in a verbal spelling test. Anyway, I want to make sure she knows the meaning of words now that I know she can read them and pronounce them correctly. Oh the dic dic dictionary, is very necessary...(old-school hip-hop reference, De La Soul I believe).

So that's it. If they don't give me an apple next week I'll be pissed. But I think this will work--they are excited to be like big brother Connor, and their Kindercare experience should have softened them up for me.

I said 'Criss-cross applesauce,' god dammit!

Stevie Ray Vaughan

What's strange is once your kids go to some school, whether five times a week or two, they come back knowing things you didn't teach them.

So the small ones have been going to Kindercare two times a week, and we're hearing songs we don't know and learning about kids we've never met. Not really sure where Darcy is getting some of her slinky dance moves, but she's a tiny go-go girl. Seriously, she may have a natural dancing talent, though it's worrisome to see a 3-year-old go all Soul Train in the kitchen. No school dances or teen clubs for that one.

It's nice though, feeling so secure about a daycare. Connor was a Kindercare kid from 2 until kindergarten. He made some friends, one of whom is still a buddy, though we live further away than we used to. I don't see what paying more will get you--Creme de la Creme, the Snobbington Academy, etc. I wouldn't feel good about a step down from Kindercare, but I am not sure what the next level up does for your kid, especially at this age.

They play, do crafts, sing, dance, do letters, numbers, socialize, eat well, no TV or movies, and many of the teachers that I've met over the years have been attractive. Maybe that's it..the Creme de la Creme teachers are dressed like Hooters girls. Great, because I've never thought that outfit or for that matter most of the girls I've seen there are special. They bait with the calendars, and switch with the boots on the ground.

But I digress, just a bit. Sometimes they bitch about going, but when we take them inside their friends run up to them and say their names excitedly, and when we pick them up they're grabbin ass and running around and their friends say bye and it's a nice feeling to see your kids are liked by other kids.

Gavin had a rough morning or afternoon once and got to hug it out with a big frog they have just for that occasion. There's a guinea pig named Mr. Incredible. They go on field trips to Outback and Noodle & Co. I bet Snobbington Academy doesn't do that. They probably have Rick Bayless stop by for some PB&J grilling.

I'm not paying extra for that.

Squeeze

I thought I'd see how many neat-o moments from being a Senyor Madre I could list. The wee ones are going to Kindercare three times per week now, so I'm more Senyor than I am Madre lately. Before I forget:

*Reaching behind me while driving and grabbing Darcy or Gavin's toes and feeling them instinctively curl around my fingers.

*Listening to any of them sing to themselves while playing or drawing.

*Coming upstairs and finding Maggie on a bed or on the floor reading a book.

*Gavin sleeping late disguised as a blanket

*Anytime Maggie, Darcy and Gavin, in any combination, are caught hugging, kissing or both.

*Anytime they hug and kiss on Connor and you can see he loves being an older brother.

*When Darcy slam dances to any of my favorite music. When after an Eleventh Dream Day song in the car, Gavin says, "Daddy, do that one again." Ok, bud!

*When Gavin or Darcy say they want to watch or have me read "Hat in the Cat".

*Dropping them off at the gym's playroom, and Darcy turning to me and saying "Daddy, you go exercise."

*Seeing kids at the playroom or Kindercare get excited when they see Maggie, Darcy and Gavin come in.

*How brave Maggie is, from asking a bully to say sorry when she was 3, to insisting on practicing treading water in the pool.

*Any time they obey.


Time to go do other things now, as always, but you can guess that the preceding was a small sample of the wonders that balance the aggravations. Feel free to leave some of yours in the comments.

Ricardo Lemvo

Oops, missed the anniversary. Just too tired, fell asleep on a bedroom floor helping Darcy get to sleep.

Nevermind, here I am. 8:20 a.m. Three wee ones playing puppets upstairs with me, Carrie sleeping downstairs in our old-person first-floor master bedroom, Connor with his Dad for the weekend, three cups o'coffee already in me, listening to some Afro-Cuban All-Stars.

That musical group reminds me that Maggie at 4 is already having image issues with her brown skin. It ties in with my final ESL-certification class--Cross-Cultural Something or Other; how to educate and nurture kids from different cultures who are trying to assimilate in the dominant U.S. culture.

Now, Maggie is not from another culture, but she looks around at home and sees Irish skin everywhere but herself and me. She got my brown skin (naturally exacerbated in the summer), while Connor and Darcy got Carrie's North Atlantic ivory. Gavin is in between. Still, even the twins will say, "Daddy, you're brown, and Maggie is brown. I'm white."

With Hispanics expected to be half the U.S. population by 2050, Maggie may eventually feel more comfortable outside the home than in. Right now, she doesn't see many brown-skinned (not African American) kids at Kindercare or in playdates. In Carrie's women's group--most of the kids our kids know come from there--there are a couple families with Hispanic parents and their kids show it, too. I'll make sure to point them out from now on. Once elementary school begins in 2011, she'll blend more.

Maggie has told us a few times that she wishes she was lighter-skinned, and said yesterday that a girl at Kindercare made fun of her skin. Of course we tell her that she'll be so happy for it later, as Darcy will be with her unique curly-Q hair, and that that girl is just jealous. Then she says that the girl also has brown skin. Oh.

So there's no moral here or lesson or even a plea for advice. I'm proud that my skin reflects my heritage and looks great with yellow shirts, and we will be sure to dress Maggie in bright colors as well.

The Go-Gos

So, back after another one of my hiati (plural for hiatus?). Good thing I don't get paid for these, or I'd be unemployed! Um, wait...

Anyway, let's catch up:

*Gavin is just about potty trained (he and Darcy wear pull-ups at night; occasional accidents during day)--haven't changed a poopy anything for more than a month at least. I am not sentimental for that shit, so to speak.

*The twins had their first dentist visit, and it couldn't have gone better. Using a new place, which said it wanted kids to start at 4 y.o., because they want them to go to THE CHAIR w/o a parent.

(A digression: when I was 7 or 11, can't remember which trip, I had to go to a dentist in El Salvador for a very painful molar. I don't recall all the details, but I do remember the novocaine situation was me squeezing a kleenex. Been dentist-shy ever since, as in, haven't been for close to 10 years and will only go for severe pain or nasty breath. This will not affect my children's regular visits.)

Well, I didn't feel like calling another place so I said, let's try it with the 3 y.o. pair. Maggie had an appointment same day, and in a flash of genius, I sent her first. She had gone by herself at the former dentist, when she was 3, so I figured IF she came back, the twinnies would see it was no biggie. She came back with a smile and a goodie bag, and the twins fought to be next. Yee-haw!

Quick hits:

*The Fancy Nancy Fathead sticker on the girls' wall has finally peeled off, and won't stay. I know it's a climate thing, but can't figure out if it got drier or more humid. A shame.

*Darcy is the accident-prone one we've decided. She's taken the most spectacular falls; yesterday, ass over tip off our bed, clipping her ear on some furniture (no blood; could've been so much worse) and today, ass over teakettle (my next band) off a chest onto the hardwood floor. Wow, you could've fed the family off the egg on her forehead.

*Connor's getting to the end of fourth grade, holding steady with mostly Bs and Cs. Stayed up on his bike for 15 seconds, but has no wish to do it again. Hey, Einstein never learned to ride a bike (no idea if that's true). He's into the scooter we have, and still likes to play catch with the football, play PS3 and sneak food into his room.

I'll try to be better, for those who enjoy these, but still job searching, freelance writing, taking two classes in pursuit of ESL certificate, wifing, touching myself, and wasting time on FB and my favorite sports blog (The Big Lead)--all but the last two have to be done after bedtimes. Plus, still trying to get my freelance website up and running. Oh, and always always trying to find time to reflect and marvel at the wonder and joy life brings.

Which one don't you believe?

I'm not perfect, which may come as a surprise to you.

Ralph Covert

One of my goals as someone who isn't goal-oriented is to read Dr. Seuss stories with nary a flub. Was doing great on Happy Birthday To You tonight until late in the tale, then I almost choked on a line with some sounds that might have scared the kids.

One of the great revelations since having young'ns has been Dr. Seuss. I thought I knew him--Green Eggs n Ham, The Grinch, Cat in the Hat--but to know only his most famous is really to not know him. I found a book by chance with 13 stories, each prefaced by an author or famous person (Pete Seeger does The Lorax).

It has cool rough drafts, other Seuss artwork and advertising pieces. The collection includes the three above, but I had never read Horton Hears a Who, If I Ran The Zoo, Happy Birthday to You, Yertle the Turtle, McElligot's Pool and a few others.

So much fun to read, and so much respect for that writing. I don't care if he made up names to help rhyme; of course, those invented words doubled as his signature charm. The rhythm of the meter makes your mouth feel good when reading aloud.

The bonus of the discovery of this book was that even though I knew The Grinch and The Cat in The Hat very well, that knowledge was from a child's point of view and also from the cartoons. Reading them as an adult was like seeing them for the first time. The eureka also revealed that Green Eggs n Ham is weak, maybe his weakest. Over--rated, clap clap clapclapclap.

I'd cite my favorite lines, but it would take too long, and I promised brevity here. I know, better yet, read them yourself, and find your own (typed in a sweet, fuzzy tone of voice).

Van Halen

Man, there's a new fear in my life---swinging.

I know what you're thinking--swinging's not something to fear, Senyor Madre, could all your suburban friends be wrong? Hey! I'm typing about the chain-and-rubber-seat swinging, the kind where you give and get pushes and then move your legs a certain way when you start to slow.

Wait, that didn't help. OK, playground swings, playground swings, dear readers. They are making me crazy when I take the darlings to playgrounds; more wince-inducing than sandboxes and more uncomfortable than grandparents chasing their grandkids around the equipment.

I used to worry mostly about the cutiepies falling while climbing or being pushed accidentally from up high or pitching over the side of a tall slide. Now, I only cringe when one of them goes near a swingset with other kids already in motion.

I don't remember this being a problem with Connor, but Gavin and Darcy have each been knocked down, and the damn thing is, you could never blame another parent for it. Your kid was the dummy, not theirs. Luckily, the collisions haven't been hospital-worthy, but all it will take is one of those damn heavy plastic chairs with the roller-coaster-ride-type restraint, and your kid will remain permanently in the La La Land that made him run into harm's way in the first place.

Saw it nearly happen a few times today, to other folks' kids, and made sure to warn my own anytime they stepped in that direction. It's one of those events you can imagine and flinch just imagining.

So, to summarize, get some bubblewrap, stay away from playgrounds with swingsets, or try to go when there are no other kids, and go have fun!

Helmet

Poor Gavin's head had quite a week, and the damn thing is, with the way blows to the bean work, we'll never know how he's affected until he's 7 or so. No way you can judge if a 3-year-old's smarts are affected by concussive action. For the good or the bad.

First, on his request, he got his head shaved by Carrie and me. Then, later that day, at Monkey Joe's, he stayed too long at the end of the slide and then looked back as Darcy's feet biffed his right eye. Thought it would be a shiner for sure but turned into only two scrape marks. I really only have three rules at that place--we didn't come here to gape at the flashing lights and push buttons in the video arcade, only one ICEE for sharing, and get the hell out of the way at the end of a slide.

Halfway through the week, I threw squishy balls off Gavin's head repeatedly while the wee ones and I played something involving me throwing a ball and them chasing it indoors. I wouldn't do it if the ball wasn't soft.

I'm sure he banged into things along the way as well, but today I saw Darcy push him into a playground post. There was a metallic sound, and he grabbed his head and cried, so this one was confirmed. Without hair, his noggin is looking like a toddler's legs--happily marked with dark spots from playtime collisions.

And describing a bruise to them is fun, too. I think I have it right--a knock that doesn't break the skin but causes bleeding underneath, thus the discoloration. You could have bruise-free legs, sweetie, but then you might not have any fun. What would you rather have, bruises and fun or flawless skin while you watch?

We'll see how Gavin answers that when he comes to.

Blue Rodeo

My sister Ana sent me some pictures last week I had never seen, from my two visits to El Salvador when I was 7 and 11. She got them from her aunt Marta, who lives there still. Thanks to both ladies.

Freaky, because since then, my only recollections of those months were in my head. I had only one vision of a toddler Ana, and so I figured we didn't see each other much. But there were two family pictures with us in them, and one with her and I. Carrie thinks from looking at that latter picture that Ana really loved her older brother. Any new pictures of my dad are always cool, too.

Lo and behold, I had misplaced some pictures of me and my Dad from when we lived in San Francisco and Carrie found them tonight while looking at some of her old pics. I will scan every one of them--wait until you see 1) how chubby I was as a baby, 2) how much the 3-year-old me looks like Gavin, and 3) my mom's late-60s hair and fashion. She was a looker, no doubt, though.

Ana and I had exchanged photos back in October when Maggie and I visited, but to my dismay there had been none from my time in El Salvador. Now, with Carrie's discovery, Ana can see some pics of her dad she had never seen as well.

So strange to look with my kids at pictures of him--and maybe she and my brother Jose have the same feeling--and tell them that's their Grandpa, dead nearly 20 years before they were conceived. Funny, too, when they say my name as they look at a picture of him, or Gavin's name when they see a picture of me as a little guy.

Bob Seger

Carrie surprised me tonight by getting our favorite babystitter on last-minute notice, and we went to see Ralph Covert at Two Brothers Brewery in Warrenville.

Ralph was the leader of the locally-legendary Bad Examples in the 1990s, and then got really famous by doing children's music, most noticeably on the Disney Channel. Folks around here love him because he'd do well-attended shows at the Morton Arboretum. Our kids loved him, and a lot of his songs stick in our heads as parents.

Carrie sees him every once in awhile at Whole Foods, shopping, and he will be at the Borders in Danada March 25 at 11 am during their regular storytime, for a few songs and probably a CD launch. Anyway, at Two Brothers he was solo acoustic, and his first number was Not Dead Yet, the Bad Examples' best-known song.

That surprised me, and since I didn't know any other Bad Example songs, I wanted to then hear "I Wanna be a Puppy Dog," "Dinosaur Rumble," "Surfin' In My Imagination," and what is more appropriate for a brewery crowd, "Peggy's Pie Parlor Polka."

Have you listened to the words to that last song? "When I wanna a piece of pie, I polka down to Peggy's, I know I'm a very hungry guy, so I say 'May I please have a slice...."; "....if you want pie of any kind, polka down to Peggy's Pie Parlor...."; "...and in the sun or in the rain, I do the Peggy's Pie Parlor Polka."

You see it, right? Do I have to spell it out for ya?

Peggy's Pie Parlor=The Chicken Ranch. Pie Parlor Polka=The Horizontal Bop.

If you're still not with me here, "I love Peggy and she loves me, at least she gives me pie to eat."

Are you horny now? Or hungry?

Snoop Dogg

I've got a three-headed dog guarding the gates to Daddy Nirvana, and its name is MagDarGaverus.

The fun is being stubborned out of this whole Mr. Mom thing by the ganging-up that was inevitable and is solidly here. I hear 'No' as much as I hear 'Can I have?' Then there's the seemingly-illogical choices that slow things down as seats are fought over in the van; shiny objects distract when focus is needed; 4-year-olds named 'Maggie' decide that since 'Maggie' didn't make the mess, 'Maggie' doesn't have to help clean it up.

And on and on. Today, they all chose leaving the playground as Daddy's soft white underbelly, and each made me chase him/her. I carried the twins, asking Gavin to pick up my keys from a bench, and when we got to the van, them laughing all the way, no keys.

I didn't hear them fall, so I retrace steps with them in my arms and don't find them until we return to the bench. He of course had not snagged them from the start. Darcy escaped and I had to start over. Got Gavin to the van, returned to chase Darcy, got her in the van, returned to chase Maggie. I spanked her while I carried her, imagining what a casual observer of this mayhem might think as they reach for the phone to report an abduction.

Calgon, abduct me!

James Taylor

There's been a lot of poop in my life the past 36 hours.

First I had to remove one of our toilets, clean it out and dislodge a little doll that had been gumming up the works. Here's the conversation I had afterward with three little people: "Three things go in that potty--pee, poop and toilet paper. No toys, no wipes, no food, no toothbrushes. Pee, poop and toilet paper."

New wax ring, new water line, bathroom spotless until...no names, but someone's stomach problems couldn't resist a gleaming target--the newly spotless bathroom.

No more details, but it was late last night, so it was unfortunate as well as ill-timed. It led to little sleep as well as the need for diaper-rash cream. I left that jar out and tonight, the Terrible Two got into it and smeared the cream all over the boys' bedroom.

TV screen, bed frame, wall (little white handprints like some Native American tribe or the Blair Witch Project tent scene), poor Spiderman plush doll. Is life a great big bang-up NOW, Spidey?

Thanks go to Connor for doing a great job cleaning up the cream. I'm done.

Cowboy Junkies

Tomorrow is our annual day/night without the kids for our anniversary. We used to get a room at the Herrington, but last year just had the house to ourselves and will do the same this year. It's the same, just no room service or frosty views of the frozen Fox.

Connor is with his dad this weekend; Darcy will be with a friend and then her godmother and her family; Gavin will be with his godmother and her boobs and her family; Maggie will sleep over at one of her good friends' house.

Carrie and I will not clean, not serve food to anyone but each other, not get anyone dressed or changed or bathed-- be semi- to fully naked ourselves in fact-- watch some Mad Men (and maybe re-enact a scene or two, especially the ones with bourbon) and eat some treats.

Mine will be some kind of meat on the bone; hers will be wine and something like sushi and a vegan ice cream. We'll maybe fall asleep at 10 and wake up at 10.

Thanks so much to our friends and the kids' godparents.

Cheech and Chong

I think we can call Darcy potty-trained at this point. She wears a pull-up to bed only.

Gavin is as usual another story. Pull-up during the day and night, and not above pooping and then taking the damn thing off, then running and hiding because he knows Dad's going to flip a lid.

The hiding place has been in a blanket rather than the more convenient standing behind a door so the poop on his butt wouldn't smear whatever it's touching. He goes all out, in other words, and I can only hope this trait follows him to school and sports and career.

His wearing of pink things would be much more palatable to me if he would just figger this out, though, like his oh-so-sweet twin sis. Where's his sense of competition, his pride, his muscle control?

Not sure if he's showing independence, doesn't want to grow up, just spaces out, or simply enjoys the sensation of squishy drawers. No alarm here--he's only 38 months--but it's been a drag the few times it's happened, especially since we've eliminated the diaper pails. Now, whereas I can throw a peed-in pull-up right in the trash, for #2 issues, I have to get a ziploc.

Then make sure I put the right thing in Connor's lunch.

Hee hee.

Foreigner

I was reading Miss Rumphius to the girls at bedtime tonight. Maybe you know her as the Lupine Lady. Well, Carrie and the preschoolers planted some watermelon and lupines indoors the other day and we've been seeing every day how much they've sprouted.

Anyway, when the Lupine Lady was a wee one, her grandfather told her to set a goal of doing something to make the world more beautiful. I read that aloud, and thought, what have I done or what could I do to make the world thus? A nanosecond later I thought "My kids make the world more beautiful."

I pondered telling Maggie and Darcy this right then, but decided that even they would think it was too sweet. So I'm telling you.

Pink Floyd

One of my favorite songs is Megadeth's Peace Sells...But Who's Buyin? Lots of fun lyrics, but a repeating one is "If there's a new way, I'll be the first in line."

Well, there's a new way of me writing this blog; instead of agonizing over how I'm going to fit in a 500-word post with all the other things I've got going--job search in two industries, homework from two ESL classes, kidcare, occasional housecleaning, freelance assignments, grooming--I'll just do smaller ones more often, like daily.

So, I'll put a word limit on them; better for

Skid Row

Field notes from potty training of twins:

January 23rd: Yuck.

January 24th: Ick.

January 25th: Blecch.

January 26th: Yay!

January 27th: Yuck.

And that's just Gavin.

We decided to use the method where you go cold-turkey and deal with the consequences. Supposed to work quickly.

Darcy has been mostly Yay! We've even been oot and aboot with just panties several times now, and no accidents. So, she's just about set, and I'll tell you what: apart from the milestone that it is for them (well, her), benefit 1a is fewer (none) diapers to change and less stink from the diaper bins. Just typing this made me realize that the nearly-5-year practice of diapering is damn near over. Smile.

Carrie even said the other day that we should get rid of the bins--one upstairs and one down--and throw anything that does come up in the regular garbage. That was like a bolt from the blue. Haven't calculated money saved from not needing diapers, but it will surely be made up on therapy costs for Gavin, who really has some issues.

He will go in the porta-potties, but only after he's been busted for peeing (or, yes, pooping) in some out of the way place, or even, right next to the potty. Just today, he ran out of a room in which I had placed a potty with great fanfare--Look At This Guys, I Have a Potty Here, For You, To Poopie and Peepee In.

I followed his path to the stairs, where sure enough, he had marked his territory, then ran and hid. The running and hiding is really a drag if he poops, as you can, and probably will, imagine.

It doesn't take a psych degree to know that young Gavin is flexing one of the only control muscles he has right now. Damnit, the other day, Maggie's first day at her new preschool, he peed his pants right in front of the new teacher as we were dropping off Maggie. Good thing he's 3, or we'd have loudly made fun of him.

I'll let him have his fun for another day or two. Then, you guessed it, I'll let him have a couple more days after that.

But after that, he'll only get a few more before I give him another couple. He'll know who's boss by then.

Orleans

This is a long-overdue piece about Carrie, my lovely and pliable wife.

There would be no Senyor Madre without a Senyora Madre, especially this particular one. We have so many children because I just had to lay with her more than twice. Had to.

She's The Catch in this relationship, so many things that I'm not: beautiful, volatile, smart smart smart, forgiving, energetic, sociable. Ok, I am some of those things.

Let me try again: computer whiz, industrious, female, emotional, human, great mom, employed, nurturing, and cooking from scratch. Also, she's fun and has many friends because she likes people. Mostly though, she's who I envisioned marrying when I was single--ponytailed, serious, girly, argumentative, and above all....fertile as the old woman who lived in the shoe!!

I kid because I love, but only about the last part. We have so many kids, too, but we do know what to do, mainly because she's ambitious about planning and wants the best for them. When she was home and I was working, their days were full with her women's group (Newcomers shout-out!) playgroups and walks and trips to the gym and I'm sure some dancing and singing and water-hose play.

I do that stuff, too, but not as much. What I do, though, is because of her example.

We're approaching our fifth anniversary, and thankfully, the official gift of fifth anniversaries is wood. I can give her that, easy.

Ahem, moving on, she's a great spackler and does not wait for me to take care of home projects. She loves to garden and make messes with water. She probably could install ceiling fans and light fixtures, but she lets me, because she knows it's the sort of thing I wanted to do when I became a husband.

She laughs and I like it a lot, particularly if it's me who made her laugh. I will tell Connor and Gavin that if they can make women laugh, they'll do alright (unless they turn out to prefer men; then I guess they should make men laugh). They could snag a babe like their Mom (unless they turn out to prefer men; then they could snag a....I can't finish that).

I like that people like her, because I know it makes her feel good. I've seen her go all Momma Bear on folks, too. We have one well-defended litter, to take an analogy too far.

I try to remember to tell her nice things, and say thank you, and clean the house more, and not call her Momma even when the kids are in the room, but I don't as much as I should. Carrie does so much to make our lives better and happier, and I take her for granted.

Doesn't mean I'll stop, but now it's out in the open, so we can deal with it. Communication like that will get us another five years, and after that, we'll just grab onto the romance rocket and blast through another 40 years.

I'll be 88 then, and she'll be younger than me still. And we will be that old couple holding hands and shuffling down the middle of the bike trail, wondering where our house is.

I love you, Carrie

Mick Jagger

The cliche for parental sacrifice for the good of the family is Dad and Mom working two or three jobs just so Junior can have a personal trainer for traveling-team baseball and Princess can follow her ballet dreams with private lessons 300 miles away three times a week.

Well, I've made a couple sacrifices this week, I'm here to write ya.

My kids will reminisce that Dad stopped sports gambling so they could eat, and stopped the family gym membership so Maggie could go to a more-challenging preschool. Sentimental? For me, you bet (pun alert!).

I already miss gambling, which I'm good at until I bet too many games because it's fun to have action, and any half-assed gambler will tell you you have to be patient and disciplined so you can do the opposite of what I do. I have less than half an ass, apparently. For me, it's fun, but the winners, the guys in the black, make it more like work.

I win, say Yipeee, then bet three more games, and lose more than I won. No need to know how much I've lost this time, but suffice to say that unemployed people shouldn't lose anything. Another reason I need a job. You can see that I'm finally getting it, yes?

As far as the gym, we've been members of Lifetime Fitness since 2003. Great place, well worth the expense. Maggie's been a member of our family since 2005, and unfortunately, as has been recorded in this space before, her birthday is at the end of September, meaning she'll be the towering kindergartner who steals lunch money and understands algebra because she'll be almost six when she starts.

That is bad enough, but the main problem is that Carrie and I have somehow produced a child who could read at age 3. Her park district preschool is boring her, which isn't as ugly as you might conjure---Daddy, I'm so bored, I want a new school and a squirrel, now! She only admitted it under interrogation, and I believe her. Her class is mixed 3- and 4-year-olds, and the descriptions of what the class will be covering this winter is pretty fundamental. Wow, there's no way to type this stuff without seeming like a real butt hole.

Anyway, I've been slowly looking around for where we can send her for more challenge, yet knowing that the right place would cost more. And knowing that if and when we found a place, the gym would be the first to go. Jefferson Preschool came highly recommended and is part of our school district, so Maggie and I went to register her for next fall, but got lucky that there was space in a 4-year-old class that she could join in February. We're all excited.

Four days a week, 2.5 hours each class, comes with a screening, and is twice what we're paying now, but also more hours. When I get a job, all the wee ones will go to Kindercare, but for now, January 30 will be my/our last day at Lifetime. So I will either become a runner or a lard-ass, because my metabolism is slow and slowing, and I will not diet.

Push-ups; maybe some jump-roping because we have lots of 1st-floor hardwood space; we have a nice-sized and steep staircase to run; I can do that personal-trainer favorite where you run with your butt in the air and hands on a towel, sliding it across a slick floor (did it once, it's uneasy, you might say). Yes, all those things I can do. But, will I?

Hmmmmm, better get the kids trained on what to do when Daddy (or Joe, for Connor) grabs his chest and screams "Kelly Clarkson!!" just before landing with a squelch on his blubbery belly and coughing up a half-eaten double cheeseburger. No, don't eat the rest! Call 9-1-1!

I had other thoughts for today, but let's stop there. Ciao

Danny Elfman

So, let's do this thing. Ok, you start....

I'm going to warm up, ease back in, with a few randomosities from the past six weeks. See if you can spot the jokes.

*I've finally gotten the little ones to flinch when I enter the room.

*Potty training in earnest the past two days, with no-diaper shock treatment. There have been messes and successes. I think they will be trained when the latter outweighs the former. I have said "Who needs to go poopy-pee-pee" at least 12 times per hour.

*I thought the biting stage was over. I was wrong. Today, Gavin bit Darcy at the gym playroom, and per house rules, we had to go home. I said to the girl, because I was only halfway done with my mega-muscle-building workout, "Look at my triceps." No, I said, "Do we have to go, even if it's his sister?" I realized as I was saying it that it was silly. They're all meat to him.

*Not sure how it started, but I've been able to combine two loves of mine in the past month: air guitar and my kids, at least the ones small enough for me to lift and hold in the air.

There was dancing and iPodding one afternoon, and next thing I know I'm drumming on someone's head and playing piano on another's. Eureka! I picked up Darcy sideways and played her like a guitar. Instead of stinging, acid-scratched solos, there was tickling and laughing as one hand was on the "neck" and the other strummed.

Creativity was at a peak, and I lifted Maggie, with her facing away from me, raised one arm and blew on her hand like it was a saxophone and tickled her tummy like it was the holes on the reed (or whatever the terminology). More tickling and laughing.

They ask for it by name now. I think Connor would be a tuba, with me having to sit.

Oh, I'm exhausted. My blogging muscles are slack and I find myself short of breath. Must...slow...down....get....a....secretary....to....take...dic