HELLO!!!

I've discovered that there is a very distinctive succession of events that lead to tears.

It usually goes like this: Thump, "Whoa!" and then screaming.

This doesn't happen just anytime, it happens when my hubby is with the boys. They love to play with daddy and daddy loves to play with them. The problem is that they get so wound up they lose the ability to control their movements and he doesn't always know when to stop.

The perfect example of this happened yesterday while I was well...shall we say, indisposed?

The master bath is located directly above the family room and the sound carries right through the floor! I could hear the boys - all three of them - giggling away then heard Thump, "Whoa!" and then screaming, followed by, "Oh my God!"

Oy Vey! OMG means blood!

Unless it's his own, hubby doesn't handle the sight of blood well. Anyone else's, especially one of the kids, and all bets are off. Composure goes out the window and panic sets in.

He began to scream for me and I foolishly tried to yell a response.

I then heard him wrestling with the gate at the bottom of the stairs while I desperately tried to finish my "business."

He yanked the bathroom door open just as I pulled my pants up and stood there, with a bleeding stuntman in his arms, looking shocked to see me by the toilet. Not sure what he thought I was doing but, "I have to go to the bathroom," usually means one of two things.

I grabbed the first aid box (not kit, we've learned that the small kits just don't cut it for us) out from under the sink and got to work.

Stuntman had bitten his tongue.

Saliva made it look like he was going to bleed to death, but as far as actual blood goes there wasn't much and it stopped bleeding very quickly.

Hubby announced that he had to go back downstairs because, in his state of panic, he'd left the Engineer on the sofa!

Seriously?!

His panicked states are pretty much the same regardless of the circumstances. His ability to think or act rationally just goes right out the window!

The other day while changing the Stuntman's diaper, the stuntman decided to poop. I had the Kitchen Aid whirling away and didn't hear him screaming for me. Suddenly there was loud banging followed by louder, "HELLO!!!"

I sprinted up the stairs to find hubby with a screaming stuntman on the table, legs up in the air as daddy desperately cleaned up the poop. The Engineer was on the floor screaming because daddy's screaming had frightened him.

Ummmm.....Yeah... really?! You were screaming because of poop?!

OMG! 

Despite his panic and gagging, there really wasn't much I could do. So I picked up the hysterical Engineer and tried to calm him while trying desperately not to yell at my hubby and upset the babies even more.

Most of the time he's a really laid back guy. Evidently, poop and blood are his kryptonite.

He's one of the handiest hubbies on the world. Need recessed lighting installed? How about hardwood floors? Sheetrock? He's the guy. He really can do anything except walk through a room without hitting a toy.

He. Never. Looks. Down.

We are 13 months into this parenting thing. He has tripped over countless toys. He has fallen down, stubbed his toes, and made things squeak in the dark and yet he has not adjusted his walk.

It's weird. I noticed early on that, while in the house, I had developed a gate that allows me to move forward, without scuffing my feet, by barely lifting my foot off the floor. This way if I do contact something I don't step on it or trip over it, I push it out of the way. Sort of along the same lines as the old trains with the cow catcher on the front.

We have a play-mat that we keep upstairs for the boys. We use the mat more as a home-base for the upstairs toys because we can move it from room to room as needed. At night we usually put it in the hallway out of the line of traffic so we don't trip over it in the dark.

Hubby decided the other night that he would leave it on the floor in the bedroom, precisely placed so as to not trip over it if he had to get one of the kids.

It didn't work.

He tripped.

And tripped.

And tripped.

The mat has these tube things that arch up and connect diagonally at the corners. Once in, it's like trying to get out of a crab trap.

The toys rattled, the one set to come on with motion began to play music and he even stepped on the praying Angel, "Now I lay me down..."

"Shit!"

Snark.

"Shut up," he said with a laugh.

Shut Up and Get in the Car!

Over the summer we spent four weekends away from home. Each trip was met with pretty good levels of success with a couple of little blips on the sleep schedule that can be more readily attributed to teething and growth spurts than to being in a different house. The kids are crawling so arriving anywhere involves an immediate sweep through the residence to put breakables, and pet food, out of reach.

It was such a relief to have these trips go well because packing for them was insane. I honestly had no idea what it took to get a family of four packed up and on the road. One night away or three, didn't matter the amount of stuff that we needed was nothing short of crazy!

When I was  child my grandparents owned a farm in Chesapeake City, MD on the Bohemia River. We would spend a week or two at "the farm" every summer. To us kids, the farm was nothing short of heaven. Acres of cornfields that led down to the woods through which one had to travel to get to the boat house and the Bohemia River. There was old barn that housed a big beautiful owl, multiple out-buildings for exploring and a tractor and trailer that was used, among other things, to tow us kids around the property.

Depending on the time of day, you could walk forever before actually getting to the water if the tide was out. There was no shortage of rocks to look under, shells to collect and snakes to catch. If you were willing to sit quietly for long enough the deer would just about walk over you and woodchucks were abundant. Legend has it that my grandfather's dog even chased one up a tree.

The house was three stories tall with a central bannister that was sturdy enough to slide down from the very top all the way to the bottom, which we did every day. I don't think I ever actually walked down the stairs. I mean really, why would I? There was a banister. The front porch had the best swing imaginable. Napping on that thing was pretty commonplace.

The farm was such a great place! As a kid I could never understand why my parents weren't as excited about going there as we were...until now. I had no appreciation for the work that went into packing up a family for vacation.

Not only did mom have to do the laundry and pack for all five of us but she had to go to the grocery store, with us three in tow, to stock up on food for the week or two that we were going to be there. Dad would arrive home from work and pack the car or begin first thing the following morning while we all had breakfast. The last thing to be loaded was the dogs, one of whom would inevitably barf in the way-back of the station wagon.

Just before we got in the car the bathroom, "but I don't have to go!" battle would begin. We were instructed just to try sitting on the potty to see if maybe there was something that would come out. Then there was the seatbelt fight. My dad worked in the insurance industry. I'm pretty sure we were the only family whose children wore seat-belts in the early 70s.

The stress of getting the family ready for vacation had to be almost overwhelming!

The drive wasn't much more enjoyable either. True to form, my little sister would pass out as we backed out of the driveway. My brother and I would proceed to play volleyball with her head for as much of the trip as we could until one of us would bounce her head a little too hard, she would cry and the fights would begin.

We had a country squire station wagon with vinyl seats and no AC. Air conditioning then was 4/60: four windows down at 60 mph. If we were lucky our parents would angle the little triangular window on the door toward the back so that the breeze would really blow.

There was almost always a chorus of she's/he's touching me followed by my dad shouting, "don't make me pull this car over!" If we kicked the back of his seat or pushed our knees into the back of his seat he would perform the most amazing contortionist act where his arm would come over the seat and his vice-like hand would get ahold of the top out our knee. If you saw it coming you could try to squirm out of the way; however, remember - we wore seat belts, avoiding his grip was really almost impossible.

I distinctly recall asking every parent's most dreaded question: "Are we there yet?"

Why they never left us on the side of the road is beyond me!

Packing for two adults and two infants is no less insane. I can't get over the amount of stuff that we need just to go away for the night: two pack-n-plays, two booster seats, a double stroller, baby food, toys, clothing, blankets, diapers, wipes, spoons, bowls and a bib for each boy for each meal.

Loading the car is akin to assembling a 3D jigsaw puzzle. Put one item in the wrong place and the rest will not fit. Packing, loading and driving all needs to be coordinated so that feeding can commence upon arrival and doesn't interrupt what little nap schedule they have.

Comparatively, right now I have it easy.

I do all of this while the kids sit in their highchairs eating Cheerios or Puffs. The do not whine about which toys to bring, they do not argue about having to go the bathroom and they don't fight with each other about who gets to sit on which side of the car.

This too shall pass. I have no doubt that the time will come where I will be just as cranky as my parents were after getting the car loaded for the family vacation and arguing about going to the potty one last time. I am absolutely certain that the day will come when I utter the words, "Shut up and get in the car!"