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

Sister Sledge

My sister Ana called the other day, just to tell me how happy she is that I'm in her life.

I'm a little strange when it comes to feelings, emotions, and dairy products, but I know enough to react appropriately when really nice things are said to me. We had a great talk, beginning with me telling her that I too was happy that she and my brother Jose and all their family members were in my life. Then I told her I wasn't sure how to be a brother specifically or a family member in general.

For those of you with siblings, this might seem odd--it's all you've known. No cry for help here, it's just natural that if I was an only child raised by a single Mom, with the nearest relatives in California or England, intra-family training was limited.

I have had role models all my life; it seems rare to be an only kid with a single parent, so my friends along the way have all had brothers and sisters. When I started having girlfriends serious enough to risk inviting me to dinner and holidays, I got a dose of the large family stylings. Hell, before I knew any better, I wanted to marry an Italian girl, so I could be a part of those noisy, 100-yard-table feasts and get money in envelopes.

My wife has a sister; they get along like sisters--they call each other all the time and sometimes don't like each other, but always say I Love You. It's too late to follow their lead, mainly because they have a lifetime of history, while Ana and I and Jose barely know one another.

We have only good history, though, no complications or old battles. It doesn't feel fake to tell Ana I Love You (but I'll probably just verbally punch Jose in the arm); it's not that I should say it just because we had the same father, it just feels right. I think it helps that Ana is so nice.

Anyway, I guess I will try hard to remember all the new birthdays in my life (I'm one for two so far with Ana's family and still have to think a minute to get Carrie's and the twins' right), and call for no other reason than just to say hey. People like those things.

So, on this Thanksgiving Eve, I'm thankful for the family I've made with Carrie and the family I found and the family I was born into. I am happy that as I've seen happening every day, the kids in my house won't need lessons in family relations.

It is a daily jolt to me that an only child with one parent is now surrounded by children who have siblings and who have two parents who kiss a lot. I can't relate to how they are growing up, but boy am I glad they have each other, even when there's maiming.

Just like I feel that every time I roll around with them, wrestling, tickling, nibbling, that bonds are tightening--like being able to make cats people-friendly by handling them when they are kittens--their interaction is shaping them. They will be so scarred, I mean, close.

Close.

Happy Thanksgiving, y'all.

Van Halen

I'm getting heavier.

In the first month or so after the lay-off, I was losing weight because I was getting to the gym five times a week, and me and the wee ones played outside a lot.

Well, my body got used to the extra exercise, and while some of the 10-poundage I've added is muscle, because I've been lifting weights for the first time in years, the rest is good old-fashioned blubber. Another factor is that I don't have the motivation of swimming pool appearances anymore. Oh, and I don't even try to let the kids have all the Halloween candy; I've snagged most of the best mini-bars (Nestle Crunch, Snickers, Hersheys), you know, to spare their teeth.

Above all, though, having little kids is the difference between being 212 pounds and 200. I cannot waste food, and they don't eat all of theirs. This equals me eating more than I should and things I would not choose for myself.

When it was just Connor, we named me The Vulture, circling as he neared the end of his meals, then landing and tearing at the leftovers. That was just one kid, though. He, at 9 years old and 100 pounds, finishes all his food now and asks for more. Four-year-old Maggie mostly cleans her plate, too.

The 2-year-old twins, though, will be the big-rear-end of me. Like most parents I will err on the side of making more than less, so more food will be ready in case they want it; we all want them to have good appetites and chow down. Until they pack it away, though, there are leftovers, and I'm the only one who a) has a problem wasting food; b) isn't disgusted by food with teethmarks (hey, they're my flesh and blood's teeth).

Unfortunately, there are only two foods we make or buy for them that I can't stomach--cream cheese and yogurt. They typically finish all yogurt--I push half-eaten cups on them, and Target's cups are best, because they have a lid you can put back on.

When Darcy and/or Gavin ask for bagels and cream cheese, though, I get worked up: first off, you have to make sure they don't just lick that nasty white substance--no, bite it, watch Maggie, see she bites it! Second, they're still not able to finish even a half bagel. I won't eat the rest, because it's gross, and Carrie and Connor and Maggie won't, because they think half-eaten food is untouchable.

The main problem then is that there are plenty of foods I will finish: chicken nuggets, peanut-butter and honey/jelly sandwiches, homemade quesadillas (with cheddar, so good), french fries, occasional fast-food burgers, grilled pork chops, ice cream (Darcy doesn't always finish her bowl--what's a guy to do?), cereal, mini-raviolis, waffles, eggs, sausage, toast.

Sure, I could store it and heat it up for them later, but I'm only human (more and more so), and eating is easier than putting it into Tupperware or bags. Most times I don't make a meal for myself, because I know there will be plenty to finish. Plus, since I wouldn't choose to eat what they want, I don't make something different for myself that I like because that's double the work.

Lest you think we're poisoning the little darlings, or malnourishing them, there is plenty of fruit and veggies that I have to finish. Just today, there are five half-eaten apples in the fridge--they're just too big for tiny tummies to finish. Some days I'll get fed up with such a display and eat five orange slices, two half-eaten apples and half-eaten pear, whatever the mix is. Seems healthy, but if you ate 100 pounds of fruit, it would still be 100 pounds.

The only solutions are: make less per meal, change exercise routines, store and re-heat, force feed. All but the last one are better than throwing away food. I'll start with the first and second before trying the third. The fourth will be on a case-by case, mood-dependent basis.

Manja!

Blue Oyster Cult

If men are truly just super-sized boys, in other words, immature, then being a father of kids under the age of 18 is perfect.

You always have an excuse for making strange noises (with your mouth), singing silly songs, making faces, and acting like animals/monsters/robots--many times all at once. As an aside, if you've ever been embarassed to show public affection, kids naturally melt that inhibition.

I don't believe they bring out what was already there, though, as much as provide inspiration. They are so carefree and un-selfconscious, sometimes it's like being with a best friend---anything goes, without fear.

I loved watching Connor when he was 3 and 4 and then Maggie and now the twins: marching and singing something, with or without pants; putting on a favorite ballerina dress and immediately assuming the pirouette position; wearing said dress to the playroom at the gym, along with rain boots. Of course, while you can.

I've blogged before about the funny things toddlers do and which of them we as grown-ups could get away with in the office or at home or the park. We're so conditioned now against silliness, even though it's been proven that laughter is good for you, that it only comes out with good friends or too many drinks, and hopefully the latter with the former.

I'm sure most parents let themselves go around their children, especially when they're tykes, but we've all seen those that are so clogged up they're uncomfortable even when their kids are being goofballs.

On the other extreme, I see grandparents all the time at the playground chasing their grandkids like they were another kid. Not graceful, and let's face it, playgrounds aren't made for grown-ups to be clogging the aisles and alleys and slides and ladders, especially when it's crowded.

When I see this discomforting sight, I quickly review what I've learned about CPR, and vow to not do that when I'm a granddad. That's sitting-back-and-appreciating-the-life-you've-lived time. Grandads tell stories, and smoke pipes, and take Junior for walks in the damn forest, slowing down and stopping to catch breath every so often.

Hell, I don't climb all over the equipment now unless we're the only ones there--then it's hard to resist. No, let the kids play with other kids and hone their social and combat skills. I draw my silly line at engaging at a busy playground.

Hide and seek is just no friggin' fun when the kids are too young: "One, two, four, seventeen, eight," while they look through their hands, or they go hide and come out in 10 seconds or are discovered by a sibling who is not familiar with the rules. Acting like I'm "Gonna get ya" is a lot more fun when you're the only one who's gonna get them. Other parents are not going to see me Godzilla or Jaws or Zombie it up.

I'm going to try to make these things shorter; maybe that'll help me do them more often. Thanks for reading--now go nibble an ear while saying Yum Yum Yum Yum Yum Yum.

Jigsaw

The best part about having kids is...wait, I am unable to choose among the plethora of best parts about having kids, who am I pulling the leg of?


Ok, one of the best parts of having kids is the world of media previously closed to you the single person. Cartoons, movies, music, websites--oh, the kaleidoscopic and cacophonous joys! Right?


I've done a list on this blog of favorite movies that I wouldn't have known without kids (left out Sky High--Kurt Russell is a hoot, and Kelly Preston manages to look OK). It has grown: Monster v. Aliens was pretty good--"What do they call you when they're scared, you know, 'Oh No, it's....?" "Susan."


Tonight, we cartoon. I can go old school here on cartoons, because you see, Connor was 2 when I met him, in 2003. That's only six years, I know, but that's an eternity for Nick Jr., Nickelodeon and Cartoon Network. Screw Disney and WTTW for Kids, they're for the brown-nosers who want to do science experiments while dancing in their classroom of five kids. (Full disclosure: I can do the Goofy dance from Mickey Mouse Clubhouse).


Connor was all Thomas the Tank Engine and Dexter (top 3 for me) and Billy and Mandy (love Grim--"I'm bleaching ma bones, mun.") and my least favorites, the Bob Dylan of cartoons for me (meaning channel-changer), Kids Next Door and Ed, Edd and Eddy. The former wasn't funny and the latter is mean-spirited and ugly animation and not funny and has annoying voices.


Then Fairly Oddparents came along, and I met crew-cutted and muscle-bound Jordy, the Ahnold sound-alike--accent and busted syntax and malaprops. So many funny lines--I used to tell Connor to let me know when Jordy was on. Teemy Tuhnah! (that's Timmy Turner, in Jordy speak).


PowerPuff Girls? Oh yeah, we loved us some Blossom, Bubbles and Buttercup, and I hope that Maggie or Darcy (or both, oh, could it be so?) get to one day take on an evil monkey named Mojo Jo Jo at least once in their lives. Har, har, maybe it's me, you say.


Teen Titans, too; thanks, Connor. Funny faces, interesting twists and topics/lessons, and of course the Japanese girl band theme song. na na na na na na na na na, Teen Titans!! Super nice cool groovy times, yeah!


I made the acquaintance of Jimmy Neutron (hot Mom, along with Dexter's), and Samurai Jack, and Johnny Bravo, too. Not nearly enough appearances by the latter two, but memorable, nonetheless. The former for the animation (Ren & Stimpy guy John Kricfalusi), mainly, and the latter, well, if you haven't seen Johnny Bravo, let me describe: hunky, blond, dumb, Elvis voice and Elvis hair that you never ever touch, always chasing the ladies.


For some reason there was a Johnny Bravo episode that included the Scooby-Doo gang. At one point Velma says "Jinkies!" as she is known to do. Johnny says--remember, in an Elvis voice-- "Jinkies? What is that, some sort of breakfast cereal?"


Even though Dexter and Samurai Jack and PowerPuff Girls are no-shows these days, I'm so glad that Connor and his pals have been and continue to be a part of my life. Disney and WTTW are favorites now (Connor's into Clone Wars now, animation-wise), with the wee ones, and if they're super-serious lab assistants by next year, so be it.


As long as they wear their safety goggles and matching hairclips (Gavin will most likely be their straitjacketed guinea pig, not a whitecoat), I'm good.