Things I won't post on Facebook

posted by Kevin......

• "I'm totally diggin' this iced Mocha Frappuccino with whipped cream right now."

Even if I drank such a thing, really does anyone care that 5 hours ago I was sitting in a trendy chain coffee shop with nothing better to do than "Facebook" my "status".

• "I'm in a Lithuanian prison and need money for bail. Please help."

My last 5 vacations have been to Wisconsin and Michigan. I'm too cheap to go to Missouri much less eastern Europe, if that is where this so called "Lithuania" is. Maybe I won a contest or something.....but really it's NOT ME.

• "I'm in jail in Fargo and need money for bail. Please help."

Okay, fair enough. Could be true. But I deserved it so it's best to let me get myself out of this predicament.

• "I know this Mom who used this secret trick to lose weight."

I'll tell you her secret right now.....eat well and go to a gym. Yep, it's out there now. Nice to get that off my chest.

• Kevin thinks you're stupid. Compare your IQ with his.

My IQ is 138.....which only means I'm good at taking IQ tests. Feel free to compare IQ if that's something you feel you need to do. Keep in mind I get lost driving to the grocery store.

• Kevin has lost something in Farmville.

There is actually a small town in central Virginia named Farmville. But the only thing I ever lost there was 30 minutes of my life when I took the wrong exit off of Hwy. 460.

• "As I watched the sunset, I felt sad for the expectations of this day are now lost forever."

Bunches o' Sap! Sappy covered sap with a sappy center. If I'm watching a sunset in Minnesota the only thing on my mind is......I gotta get inside before:

a. I freeze to death (winter)
b. I get eaten up (summer).

The (other) Son Also Rises

Posted by Kevin......

Such rigmarole, I must say. Getting Henry to bed may seem like trying to push water up a hill.

However, some optimism must be maintained. Our home life appears much like The House of the "Unslept". But at least a quarter of the people living here sleep quite well. Of course I'm talking about Walter.

(I'm not including the cats in this assessment because, a. they are not people, b. I hate them, c. they sleep on my bed more than I do, which I resent. A lot.)

You see, Walter can do no wrong. No, really. He is 6 months old, so technically speaking he can't deliberately do anything that is wrong. He is currently the only person on the planet that can spit apple sauce in my face and have me say, "Oh sweetie pie. Do you not like that? Let me get you something else."

As I hold him close, copious amounts of drool flow down my shirt. "Oh sweetie pie. That's okay. Let me get a burp cloth."

He is a good napper. As soon as he is rubbing his eyes I put him in his Graco Swingset and he is out. And when he is not napping, he will lie on his play mat and grab at the surprising scary looking stuffed toys hanging by their necks from a soft crossbar.

Or he is content to sit in his Exer-Saucer, presumably totally "blasting his quads" and getting "ripped abs". This sounds awful, but is necessary if he is going to get that football scholarship to OSU*.

*GO BUCKS!

The only problem is that he is done sleeping for the night around 5:47am. It is at this time that he rises (or rolls and kicks really....he is 6 months old) and lets out a series of "OOOOH AAAAAH" announcing he is ready to begin his day with vigor, and his expectation of his family is nothing less.

My expectations are, sadly......less.

With my eyes closed, I plead with Stace to get up and "shush" Walter back to sleep. Of course, Stace has "stolen away" to the kitchen to start her own blissful morning routine by starting the coffee pot and hovering over it, giant mug in hand, waiting for that first......precious......drop.

I then realize she has been replaced by a 2 and 3/4 year old boy named Henry, who himself has a morning routine. It's called "Sneaking out of bed at 3am and wedging myself between Momma and Daddy".

Henry is none too pleased by Walter being a "morning person" and now Daddy as the unenviable task of "shushing down" a cooing infant AND a cranky toddler.

And by "shushing down" I mean: "Alright guys. It's still dark. Go back to sleep now. Please? SLEEP NOW! Go......back.....to......SLEEEEEEP! Wait, is that coffee?"

(Even More) New Territory

Well, I am taking a break from the project since Mama's fuse is a britally nub. So, instead I laid down with him (even though I have a thousand things to do - mostly work related, so it's nearly impossible to fall asleep). Didn't work. He's still up.

So I left his room. And shut the door. He opened it and said, "Stace, I told you to leave the door open."

I BEG YOUR PARDON????! Stace???
Fine, I tell him, I don't care if the door is open.
Then he came out. I said, "It's nap time, go to bed."
"Oh, okay, " he says, as if this was a totally different idea. ("Oooohhhh, that's what all this has been about.... I get it now.")
"Sure." he says running back into his room.

Still not in bed, still not asleep, instead blathering on loudly.

The Project

If anyone besides Karin is reading this, you should know that things regarding "the project" are somewhat grim. We continue on, although it feels like we are failing miserably. Yesterday naptime was somewhat of a disastrous mess for Kevin, I thought, and then today at naptime I very possibly surpassed that mess. Not only did I fail the goal utterly, my child got no nap out of the deal at all. Henry has treated this whole thing as a game - not at all what advocates for this model say will happen. In fact, they report that not only will this work, but it's not that hard to establish. HA! Still, I am committed (until someone commits me that is...).

It's grim, I tell you.

Tonight Henry never got up - one might see that as an enormous success - until I remind you that he had no nap and so was asleep before I ever left his bed. So... good for me that I had peace and quiet, but still no goal accomplished. (All the same, I'm taking what I'm given.)

We plow on. Wearily.

The Night

As I write this, Henry is in the hallway trying to sneak up on me. It's 9:49 pm. I started the bedtime process at 7:30.

I know my friend Karin is going to laugh at this, but I GIVE UP! I don't mean to make a rash decision, but I am utterly FAILING at this project and it SUCKS.

Henry is MUCH stronger, much more persistent, and very much more awake than I am. Ah, now Walter is awake. Well, this is a treat.

Staying in Bed - Or not

For the past 40 minutes I have been silent. However, there were plenty of times when I wanted to scream: "*^&*&&$&$ F)&^&^%^@!DDDFFF(*&*^&^%^%#$%@!"

I am trying to put Henry down for a nap. Big deal, you think. Yeah, that's what you think.

Since getting a big boy bed - or to be more exact, since a few days after getting a big boy bed - he won't stay in his bed. And in fact, since I sat down to begin writing this (about 25 mins ago - you can add this to the 40 above), I have been interrupted no less than 20 times. No kidding.

In the past, we have completed our nightly ritual of reading books, drinking milk, snuggling, singing, saying goodnight, and then promptly did everything absolutely and completely wrong in terms of teaching Henry to stay in bed. In our inconsistent manner, we would engage him, compromise with him (HA!), sadly - guilt him a bit by reminding him what a big boy he is and how big boys stay in bed (and then name various friends who we are certain have NO ISSUE with staying in bed), eventually break down and possibly put him in the crib, utterly exhausted by the feud put him in our bed, or do the one thing that Henry wanted all along - stay in bed with him.

Now, to be fair, on one hand, I have no problem with having him sleep with me (as long as I don't mind even less sleep than I already get having to get up every hour to tend to Walter, and as long as I don't mind being kicked, nudged, encroached upon, or having legs dangling over my belly). In theory, I have no problem with staying in his bed with him. But what I do know with the core of my being is that this is not going to teach him to stay in his bed. And is that issue really that important to me?

It is now. I just spent approximately 1 (or possibly more) hour(s) saying nothing, engaging in no way other than through redirection, walking (or one could call it pacing) up and down the hallway (if I even got that far) picking Henry up or taking his hand, and placing him back in bed. Now, I am committed. This was how it went:
Step 1. No speaking and no eye contact on my part
Step 2. pick up the child
3. place in bed
4. cover
5. walk away
6. turn around
7. repeat

I swear to God, I think I did it 80 times. I had to change clothes halfway through because I was sweating. No spanking. When it began to get a little over the top for me, I closed his door and held it closed until I could recover (important step 6.5 I forgot to mention) and then proceeded directly to step 7.

For Henry, it was a bit more like Elisabeth Kubler Ross's stages of grief in action. It went like this, but not necessarily in this order:
1. Run, laugh, scream at top of lungs. Denial.
2. Run into room where Walter was sleeping and repeat step 1. (And create major Anger in Mama.)
3. Run into me coming at him to pick him up.
4. Fall down and go limp to ensure that I pick him up.
5. Cry, cry, cry, cry, cry, cry, cry, and cry. Depression.
6. Beg. Barter.
7. Try to engage me: "I want to read you this book", "I am done sleeping" (AS IF!), "Sleep with me", "Keep the door open", "Mama!!"
8. Walk out of room, down hall, stand there with arms crossed until I came, took his hand, and walked back into room with him. Acceptance. Sort of.
9. Scream, kick. Anger
10. Lay in bed assuring me that he is done sleeping as he rubs his eyes, and FINALLY, doesn't get back up. Acceptance. At least for now.

Is it a battle? It is now.
Will I win? Damn tooting I will. I might die trying, but I WILL WIN.

On one hand I hate to make this a battle, but on the other hand I think, I didn't make this a battle, and I feel that I have no choice but to fight it. Practically speaking, the crib is no longer an option. He's too big for it and Walter needs it. And, Kevin and I need to buck up and get consistent with this or nap and bedtime is going to be a major pain in the wazoo (which, by the way, it already is). And, it is time for Henry to learn to stay in bed.

It was emotionally challenging. And not just because there were times when I wanted to holler, but because it was so emotionally challenging for him. It broke my heart that he wanted to read me a book, a book about feelings, no less. It killed me to not engage with him when he begged me to lay down with him. But, it's a very quick slippery slope, I have learned. Even throughout all of this, at one point nearing the end, I sat with him and gently stroked his head. And then he was up on his feet. So then so was I. I had thought I was in the clear, but I wasn't.

The battle continues.

They are funny 'cause they're just like us.

Posted by Kevin.....

Monkeys...God love 'em.

Henry and Walter have been to the zoo a bunch of times in the past two months. Henry really enjoys the monkeys (the primates, not the inexplicably popular 1960's made for TV "Rock and Roll" performance group of the same name. )

Actually, apes are much more like us and sometimes I feel like I'm visiting "Ape Prison" when I go to the zoo.

"Whatcha in for?" I'll say.

"I busted up some guy's luggage." A chimp might say. "Then I stole a car. The orangutan turned me in! That sanctimonious jerk!"

But we can laugh at the monkeys (Again, the popular 1960's made for TV "Rock and Roll" performance group not withstanding.)

However, recently I had taken advantage of our oldest son's simian fascination and warned him that if he misbehaved, I would send him to "Michigan to live with the black monkeys".

(Editor's note: While on vacation in Michigan Henry and I were lucky enough to see a few black squirrels near our cabin. Having only the gray and red (or el Diablo) squirrels in Minnesota, black squirrels were frequently misidentified by his zooilogically impaired Daddy.)

Naturally, this "threat" was seen as a "reward" and I had to convince him that living here with Daddy and Mama and Baby Walter was significantly (or even slightly) preferable to living with a bunch of fun loving monkeys. (No, this would not be fun.)

I put this to the test when, while washing dishes (for this story, please lets assume I was washing dishes...) I heard the back screen door slam closed. Henry had taken advantage of a rare moment when the door was unlocked and spirited (or actually stepped tentatively) out into the fenced in backyard. This was an egregious violation of the highest order and had to be dealt with quite harshly I'm sad to say.

I immediately ran out the door and admonished him for going outside without Mommy or Daddy! "There are monkeys out here!" I said. "They will carry you away." A very harsh thing to say, agreed, but it was the first thing I could think of that would connect with him. He looked around the trees and said, "Black monkeys? Outside?" "Yep", I said. "Do you want to look for them with me?" I said.

Walter was napping inside and I carried our 21/2 year old around the backyard looking for the monkeys. I kept repeating, "Never go outside without Mommy or Daddy". Henry did not seem to grasp the graveness of his actions.

So I crossed a line that no parent should ever cross.

I held Henry up over my head and yelled, "Black monkeys, come get my son! Here he is. He want's to be one of you!" Henry laughed, then said "No please. Don't take me to the monkeys."

I let him down and told him I would NEVER give him away and hugged him tight. "PLEASE don't go outside EVER AGAIN without me, okay?"

"Daddy, I'm talking about you, outside. OKAY?"

I think he got the message.

The Legend of "Dustie Rhoads"

(the most awesome photo of me biking on a gravel road ever taken)

Posted by Kevin......

I have been looking forward to the 2010 Rawland Gravel Tour since.....well...finishing the ride last year. And this year did not disappoint. Much.

There was something lost during the annual "epic" unpaved bike tour this year. Me, and about 30 other riders. You see, the course was meticulously planned as a challenging and scenic mini adventure along seldom traveled but magnificent back roads of the beautiful Sogn valley.

Unfortunately, only written directions were given to the 60 or so riders....who were also instructed to stay in a tight group with a "no drop policy" (always slow down if riders are falling behind). This of course lasted for less than 30 minutes.

(I'm in the black with white stripes with some form of alien skull on my head.)

At many gravel intersections, packs of 10-12 riders arrived nonplussed, looked at the directions, turned and took off. It was like this all day. About 3 hours in, I was stopped on a paved rode with about 20 other bikers all looking at directions and arguing about whether we had taken a wrong turn (WE DID!) and if disc breaks are really that much better that cantilever brakes. (THEY ARE!)

Suddenly I yelled, "It doesn't matter. Let's just take ANY gravel road that goes west." I was amazed by my own assertiveness as well as how united this group was in it's choice to ignore me and keep looking at the "cheat sheet" for another 15 minutes.

The course was different than last year, and included some real grinder hills and even a few steep, rutted single lane road through thick woods which was awesome! However there seemed to be approximately 30% less "epicness" in this year's offering.

There was a big pasta lunch at the about the 22 mile mark, and of course there was almost nothing I could eat there. I had a bowl of almonds with my Hammer bars. As I sat on a bench, I felt a surge of melancholy.

(this is just a reenactment using a professional actor.)



(and here is an actual photo of us wondering if we will see our homes again)



(and here I am apparently about to ride a cyclo-cross bike off a bridge)

We made it back to Dennison with energy to spare.....which was nice since I had another 8 miles to my house.

Sixty one miles of dusty, rocky "Epic Lite".

Assertiveness

We were at the playground today and just as we were getting ready to leave another family came over to play. Well, this is heaven for Henry as he loves other kids. But he also struggles with sharing, and so as a little girl (younger than he) was trying to play with the tractor, he approached her and began pushing her away. I intervened and pried my son's hands loose (which I hate to do) and set to managing my noodle legged, screaming child. We had a talk. "This behavior is not ok," I tell him. "We don't push, grab, hit people. We take turns, and you had walked away from the tractor. It was her turn." I tell him.

Next stop: Library. Here Henry gravitates immediately to the kids computer, which I wish they would just get rid of because it is not needed, kids sit too long at it, it's a distraction, and a point of contention with all the kids. (Sounds a lot like how adults are with public computers, now that I think of it.) So, this boy is sitting at the computer, and he looks like he's been there for awhile, and staying put. So, I announce to Henry that he has to wait his turn. Fine. He waits. And waits. He plays with other things. Then, he comes back and looks at me and says, "My turn?" Well. YO KID. Get off the computer, I wanna yell.

Instead I say, "why don't you ask the boy if you can have a turn?"
Oh, I want to do this for him, I want to, I want to, and in a way, I am since I say all of this out loud and as it happens, his mom is sitting nearby. She informs him that it's time for him to get off the computer. He doesn't, she doesn't do anything, Henry loses interest. Next thing I see is Henny standing next to the boy and very appropriately saying, "Boy," then garble garble garble, "computer". YEA HENRY!!!!!!!!!!!! I am SO proud. He does it beautifully and I LOVE that he calls the kid, "Boy".

The kid gets up and moves over to his mom and starts crying because he wants to use the computer. His mom tells him that he had his turn. Damn right.

Pokiness

My children and I go out to breakfast on occasion. We go to a local place where Henry orders his "usual": 1 pancake, 1 french toast, bacon, and OJ. We wolf it down, read The Gruffalo or work in our sticker book while I hork down cup after cup of coffee, then we leave, usually on our way to the playground down the street. Last week, on our way out, I life Henry into the car.

Mistake #1. "NO! I can do it."
Oh yes, of course.
So, he climbs down out of the car, turns around to get into the car, doodles a little with something on the floor, steps up, doodles a little with the door...
"Come on Henry, let's get to the playground." I remind him.
He keeps doodling around, then all of a sudden turns to me and says, "What you doing?"
What am I doing?? "Waiting for you little Poke, hustle hustle mister!"

Privacy? What privacy?

I took the boys to the zoo yesterday and Henry was a total dreamboat. Today, he was a Monster. But, let's focus on yesterday.

So, we were in the restroom and made a beeline for the handicapped stall (if I say disabled stall, it sounds like the stall is not working, doesn't it? Hmm, hard to be politically correct here.) Anyway, I go to the stall that is meant for the differently abled, and I take my position saying the normal things:
"Stay with Mama."
"Please don't touch anything."
"NO NO NO NO!" As he heads for the door. (Actually, he didn't really, but it's always on the tip of my tongue just in case.)

My dreamboat son stands close to me, slightly behind me, and says as he peers down into the toilet, "You pooping?"
No, I assure him I am not.
"Oh, you peeing?"

There was a time when I used to be somewhat anonymous going into the restroom, but now it's a play by play for all to hear.

Minutes later I am diapering each child one at a time and while doing so, a woman walks in with a duo glider, much like mine, with 2 kids, slightly different than mine, with 2 very brightly colored and messy lollipops. She maneuvers the stroller into the big stall the whole time instructing them not to move a muscle in case a lollipop touches something. In no time she pushes the stroller back out saying, "Forget it."

Well, I'm going nowhere fast (sometimes in more ways than one) and I ask her if I can help. I show her that I am up to my elbows in diapers, and I just got started. I assure her that I won't run off with her children because, a) I too have a duo glider and couldn't ever handle more than one at a time, and b) there is no way in hell I could manage one more child ( I don't say the latter, but I guess it's pretty well assumed). She is relieved and leaves the stroller by me, and well, she is ... relieved.

I am beginning to embrace the Monster in my Child. I think I'll write a book called, The Monster in My Child. Actually, it would be a short book, more of a pamphlet, thankfully. And I am beginning to love the other people out there who are good, kind, loving people with strong memories of what it was like for them. I was at the co-op the other day - around nap time - and Henry was utterly losing it, and a lovely woman looked at me with a face full of empathy and asked me if she could help me. I thanked her and said no (altho really, I need much more help than she can probably offer - still I appreciate it). Another woman cheered me on saying she understands as she has a 4 yr old at home.

A cheering squad for parents with screaming children is truly needed, and I think welcomed. At least it is by me. Maybe I need some pom poms. Sometimes I find that I need to be my own cheerleader.