So You Think You Can Avoid Nigh-Night

Surely our nearly 4 year old twin girls would be finalist if there was such a show. After all, fewer human beings with less than 48 months of experience could come up with the list of reasons why entering into dream land should be avoided at all costs.

Many nights involve comments like these - in stereo usually with tears and in many cases involving hyper-ventilation.

My belly hurts. I need my bean bag (for her belly). My bean bag is cold. My bean bag is too hot. The music is off. The music is too loud. Read me a book. Another book. Tell me a Mickey story. The door is not open enough. The door is too closed. I am thirsty. I need to potty. I need creme on my butt. I need medicine. My animals are not covered up. I need creme on (name it). My knee hurts. My leg hurts. Max is in the room (our dog). I'm scared. It's thundering. It's lightning. It's raining. It's pouring. The old man is snoring. My panties are wet. I have fever. What are we doing after nap? What are we doing today (which means tomorrow to them). What are we doing the next day? I want hugs from mommy/daddy. It's dark. It's too light. I need more water. I need a "nemo" (ice pack). We didn't take a bath. I forgot to brush my teeth. Where's daddy? Where's mommy? I wanna sleep in your bed. I want to play a game. My pillow is not right. I need a bandaid. My back is itchy. I'm not tired.

I don't want to go nigh-night.

The best ever, though was the other night when one of them said to mom, "I want to watch So You Think You Can Dance with you."

"Well, it's not on."

"What about American Idol?"

"It's not on either."

"What are you going to watch then?"

Champions at delay they are.

Never Say Never

"I will never own a mini-van!" I boldly proclaimed right after having our twin girls.

Three years later.

"Great doing business with you!" I said to the nice sales rep. "This is exactly the van we wanted!"

Yes, today, we fell into line with the rest of you morons, and became a mini-van clan. Just two years ago I was driving a brand new, fast, hot, 405hp Corvette. The envy of everyone at every red light I stopped at. Plus, I owned a bright red, double cab Toyota Tacoma that made Home Depot visits a breeze.

But life is different now with twins and another child to arrive any day. The Vett was sold last year, and today the truck is on the market. All dignity has been lost. My kids have finally completely taken over. Nothing is sacred.

The mini-van clan is moving forward full-steam ahead and the forecast shows no signs of change. I feel dizzy, lightheaded and confused. My world is going dark....

What's really scary, is we both actually got excited about this thing too. Before I knew it, even I was talking non-stop about all we could do with this mini-van. The trips we could take with fewer stops, the openness of the windows, the smooth ride and the family fun to be had! Almost as if I was trying to convince my male psyche that stacking bags of mulch into the back of this thing in the parking lot of Lowes really wasn't gonna be so bad.

From what I heard from numerous car salesmen, I was simply one of many men who eventually succumb to taking the proverbial walk down "Daddy Vehicle Lane". Right past the 300hp sedans, the incredible dual cab trucks, the new hot rod sports cars, all the way straight to "MiniVan Parkway".

And just like many before me, and many who too will follow, my walk ended with me driving a minivan right out of the parking lot. All the while, a timid look of joy on the face of another dad who has no idea when life as he knew it would ever return.

Now I guess I get to start saying I am the husband of one of those hot minivan moms.

Never say never.

Grandparents Detox

I don't get it.

The key word in Grandparents is GRAND. Yet, for some reason as soon as we (their kids) have kids, these people seem to suddenly lose all sense of the second half of the word - PARENT.

How is it that almost overnight these people, who have years of dealing with and handling children of all ages, appear to be clueless about nap times, night time, food, sugar, clothes spankings, and more.

Most of us recall our parents saying "Just you wait until you have kids!". I guess this is all part of their master, GRAND plan. Spoil the grandchild and you repay your child.

Oh how I wish I would have never missed my curfew, or maintained straight As, never talked back and avoided the troubles I put them through. Maybe then when my two year olds come back for a few days with the Gparents, I would not feel their wrath.

As a friend recently called it....this is Grandparents Detox.

Kids that once new when nigh-night time was. Kids that once knew that you could not eat cookies before dinner. Kids that once knew watching Leno as a toddler was out of the question. Kids that once knew screaming and kicking would get you nowhere. These kids have to be retrained each and every time.

Suddenly all rules are gone, all sense of rational parenting has disappeared and we are left with 3 days of withdrawl and pain.

In the end, it makes you realize just how smart our parents have always been. The older I get the more I come to grips with the reality that mom and dad truly are smarter than anyone I know.

Now our kids are their bank and the withdraws we made for years are all being returned, one weekend at the GrandParents at a time.

This is Grandparents Detox. Enjoy.

Baby Jesus and Poop

The "terrible twos" do bring with it some of the most challenging aspects of parenting. Especially when you have dual toddler action because of twins.

But being the parents of double-trouble also brings with it some of the most fun things done and said by little tots. My wife and I got a funny taste of that this Holiday Season, especially during our visit to our church's annual living nativity scene.

We decided it would be nice to spend some family time checking out a live nativity, fresh with donkeys, chickens, ponys, a camel and some other wild beasts. Of course, Mary and Joseph were there along with Baby Jesus. The girls eyes were all wide-eyed, taking in everything, from a distance mind you. Just like Santa, things were cool as long as the chickens, rabbits and reigndeer keep their safe distance. Any thought of trying to get either one of them to pet the soft bunny was just a stupid idea on our part. No way.

After taking in baby Jesus and trying to convince the girls that the plastic doll was as real as Mary and Joseph, we headed over to the donkey and pony ride area. Maybe we could get them to sit on one for a neat memory making photo for the scrapbooks. Lord knows we need a few more...

No such luck Charlie.

The girls would have nothing to do with riding one those scary creatures and looked at me like I was the jack-ass. But the fun was in what followed.

We all know when horses, pony's or donkey's walk the "bowel factory" gets a crankin.

And leave it to our little Sidney, who thought it would be nice to point out the poop to everyone else around. As if we all didn't see or smell it.

"Yes, that's poop," I said in agreement. "We all poop."

On the way home, our other tot, Chloe, reminded us all of what we had witnessed.

"Baby Jesus and poop," she said.

"Yep, Baby Jesus and Poop."

Thus began a new family tradition.

Twice the price, but twice the fun.

If Only Last Year Would Have Lasted....

Last year our girls had their first conscious meeting of Santa.

It all happened one cool, December evening at the Gaylord Texan Resort in Grapevine. It was time to get into the "spirit of the season" so we we figured it would be a great time for us to meet my sister and her family along with my parents there and introduce the girls to Santa for the 1st time that they would be aware of anyway. (You know, year one doesn't really count.)

If you have not visited the Gaylord during the holidays, it is a wonder world of Christmas lights and fun. Trains, decorations, people, music and of course a huge Santa's workshop to boot. Figured it would be a great place to get some memorable family photos and fill the brain full of laughs and gaffs.

Such are the naive thoughts of people who have been parents for all of 15 months.

Things were progressing nicely until the girls caught wind and got in eye-shot of the big old man in the all red suit. I am sure their little brains were confused....

"Take a look at this dude Chloe," I can imagine Sidney saying in her developing twin babble.
"Yea, what is UP with that?" Chloe agrees.
"Is he for real? What is he anyway, a fireman that can't find it in his heart to retire? I mean how old can this man be?" Sidney chides in.
"I don't know Sid," Chloe says, "but I do NOT like the way he is looking at us and I think mom and dad are giving us away to this bearded man. Why is he smiling?....."
"AHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!" they screamed in perfect Christmas harmony while kicking Julie and I in every place imaginable.

Needless to say, the picture we got of them with Santa in 2006 WAS memorable for sure. Their scream wrenched faces tell it all.

It wasn't until a few weeks ago, when I noticed this sudden affinity for Santa which seemed to come out of nowhere, that I realized how great I could have had it. But now their frightened hearts a year ago suddenly beat with excitement at the sight of the "weird man in red". Call it Christmas magic.

That's when it hit me that them liking this guy was not a good thing for the checking account of a dad of multiples.

Twice the fun, twice the price.

If only....

A Great Day for Daddy

Being a dad of twins has its challenges. But more than anything, life is double the pleasure most days. Especially one particular day for me a few weeks back.

Anyone that knows me, knows that despite living in toddlerville twice over, I remain faithful to my NFL games. Specifically my Dallas Cowboys games. It's my only tie to sanity. Once a week for 20 weeks (yes, I do include pre-season) I take a mental vacation from it all and scream and yell at my TV. Yelling is like laughter to me. It's healing in a way. This of course is done with soda, popcorn or chips and dip being spewed everywhere at the same time, but still.

I love the Cowboys. I have more shirts with blue stars on than most. I bleed blue.

When the Cowboys score a touchdown, my running around, screaming, and dancing really freaks the girls out. Last year they cried and ran to mommy. This year, they look at me like I am a moron and go back to their tasks (yes, mom has taught them well). I had been trying to get them to join me all summer long. But no such luck. I'd spent hours trying to get them to understand. I spent night upon night with drawings and story telling books to get them to come aboard the Cowboys train. Not a squeak. Not even an effort. I was talking to the hands.

But my two year old girls must have a had a plan. For mine already know how to prepare me for the "Sucker" tattoo which one day will firmly be placed on my forehead. They know what buttons to push to get what they want.

And for me, their biggest gift to daddy occurred literally the week before the NFL season started as I came in from changing with one of my Cowboys t-shirts on and they both pointed at the blue star and screamed "Owwwwboooyyys".

I nearly cried as I gave them the cookie they immediately asked me for after making me melt.

I am THE dad in this story....

Let me introduce myself. I am the father of identical twin girls - 2 years old. My amazing wife is Julie. She takes care of the family while I busy myself selling health insurance. (Yea. I am an insurance salesman. Your favorite.) We live in Toddlerville aka Mansfield. This monthly column is about one simple thing - being the father on the parenting side of raising twins!

Maybe a lot of dads won't read this - most are probably trying to hide from mom and the kids while catching a little of the "biggest game of the year"- and just don't have time to read some boring "parenting column" about what its like to parent multiples. Blah, blah, blah. I know. I did that myself today. (Thank GOD football is back, right ladies?)

But the bottom line is, when it comes to raising more than one at a time, the dads are the biggest challenge! The same-day sibs are only part the problem - dads make up the other all by themselves. We double the doublemint gum and we know it. And, in some ways, we are proud of it. Someone has to make the claim. So why not dad?

Who else is going to to teach the twins that making fart noises with their mouths is fun?
Who else is going to teach them how to tag team and scare the living heck of someone and jump out from behind the wall?
Who else is going to teach them how to leave every shoe they own in the living room for mom to trip on?
Who else is going to teach them that if we all feed the dogs we can save money on dog food?
Who else will educate them about the nutritious value of more than one cookie a day?
Who else is going to show them that we really only need to bathe when mom is around to smell us?
Who else is going to get all of the glory when mom admittedly tells a stranger that "their dad taught them that?"

Who else, but dad?

Two or more - ahh the joys. More soon!