I remember blogging… vaguely.

It’s not them, it’s me. They are still as entertaining as ever. It’s just that I am lacking the time and energy to put it into writing and post it these days. It definitely has the making of a New Years resolution to post more but since I don’t believe in New Year’s resolutions [if you want to make a change, why wait until an arbitrary point in the calendar?] I may as well just start now.

Our childminder was away for a couple of days to do her Christmas shopping recently [I’m tempted to say that we are overpaying her if she can do her Christmas shopping in New York but you don’t want to undervalue someone who is taking care of your nearest and dearest]. We both had some leave left so we took a day to spend with the boys and tried to think of something Christmassy to do with them.

After much deliberation, we decided on the Christmas market in the IFSC area of Dublin. It was a beautiful clear day but the wind chill ensured that our noses were numb within minutes of arriving. The boys were reasonably amused by the different stalls there but there was one clear focal point for them. Right in the centre of the market there was a vintage merry-go-round that was at least a hundred years old and was probably operated by steam at some point in its history.

At first the boys showed some reluctance to getting on the merry-go-round. The bemused attendant was left looking on for at least ten minutes while we tried to sell them on idea of boarding one of the planes, trains or automobiles. Thankfully, it was a Friday morning and there was no-one else waiting for a turn or he couldn’t have shown that kind of patience. Finally we cajoled Fat Chops into getting on as long as I crammed myself into the seat behind and held his hand. He hadn’t completed a full lap before Monkey Boy decided that he wanted to join him. After stubbornly refusing to get in while it was stationary, he had no problem with his mother throwing him for me to catch as we spun around. He has a skewed view of risk evaluation! Of course, after struggling to get them on, it became a struggle to take them away. Luckily their Nana Aggo was on hand to pay for another spin but when they were told that they couldn’t go again, they decided to run beside the machine waving at the other children on it. I’m thinking of taking up pushy parenting and getting them involved in distance running. They showed a hell of a lot of stamina keeping up with that thing.

The following day we went to the Christmas party organised by my company. The kind [read masochistic] souls from the sports and social club put on food, entertainment and Santa visits for 900 children. It was as loud as you think it was. Fat Chops wasn’t overly comfortable in the chaotic environs but Monkey Boy revelled in it. There were some children singing over the PA system and Hannah suggested that he go up and perform his rendition of “Twinkle, Twinkle” fully expecting that he would shrink from it as if she had suggested broccoli for desert. He didn’t. Not only did he get up and mispronounce his way through the song, he wanted to go back up again later on. He followed that up by charging right into the middle of the carnage on the bouncy castles, which again is unheard of].

I’m posting this today because I am really looking forward to writing a blog after Christmas day and all the excitement. Before Monkey Boy had opened his eyes the other day he was asking “am I a good boy?” followed closely by “will I get a present?”. To be honest, I don’t think I have looked forward to Christmas morning this much since I was nine years old.

P.S. For the first time I am including pictures of Fat Chops and Monkey Boy in all their glory. When I first started writing this I made a decision not to include them to protect their privacy. Looking back it just shows that I had delusions of grandeur because just about everyone who reads this blog is a blood relative or a close friend.

Sleep Deprivation

You would think that on a blog about being the father of twins that this is going to be a gripe about how I don’t get enough sleep. Not so. The boys love their sleep and should they wake up at night, Hannah finds it easier to go and deal with them herself rather than kicking me into some state of awareness [I’m a VERY heavy sleeper].

This post is about how the boys are coping [or NOT coping] with less sleep than they would like.

Over the past fortnight of our holiday, morning time crept later and later. We had cut out their naps, we weren’t particularly strict about bed time and we most definitely were not jumping out of bed in the morning to wake them up. It was only when we woke one morning at 9.45 and realised that they would effectively have jet lag when we woke them three hours earlier when we had to go back to work that I started setting an alarm. The problem there is that I have a knack of hitting snooze on the alarm without being fully awake.

The first morning back into the work routine went well enough. That evening Hannah had a camogie match so I picked the boys up from the child minder and was going to bring them out to stand on the side of the pitch and cheer their mother on. By the time I stopped at our house for a bite to eat and a change of clothes they had already dozed off. I left them in the car while I got my things together and brought them down to their Nana Sheila’s for a brief stop before we went to see the game. My thinking was that they would be up later than usual so there was no harm in them getting a half hours sleep. That might have been true if they were napping but by the time I took them out of the car they were deep into their night’s sleep and not one bit happy about being disturbed. The only thing that kept them quiet was the soothing glow of the TV so I parked them on the couch while I got something to eat. When I suggested leaving the house to go to the game Monkey Boy kicked off and would not be comforted. I offered every bribe I could lay my hands on but MB’s firm [and very vocal] refusals ended with myself and Fat Chops arriving to the pitch at halftime while he stayed and watched TV with his Nana.

I didn’t realise at the time but this was a sign of things to come. I picked them up again last night and they were fine when I arrived but then they started fighting over a Barbie doll [they’re very macho like their father!]. Then they fought with everybody over anything. After ten minutes trying to calm them enough so I could get them into the car I tried bribery again.

“If you stop crying and get in the car we will stop in the shop and get you something nice” seemed like a reasonable approach to me but Fat Chops disagreed.

FC - DON’T WANT SOMETHING NICE FROM THE SHOP, WANT SOMETHING NICE FROM THE FRIDGE.

Me - OK, I’ll get you something from the fridge. Do you want ice-cream?

FC – DON’T LIKE ICE CREAM. I WANT CHOCOLATE!!

Me – No problem, stop crying and I will get you some chocolate.

Then as FC finally slows down his sobbing I get;

MB – NO CHOCOLATE. I WANT ICE CREAM.

Me – Calm down, we can get you some ice cream.

FC – NOT ICE CREAM!

Me – No ice cream for you, I’ll get ice cream for Monkey Boy.

MB – I WANT ICE CREAM

Me – Yes, no problem, just calm down and stop crying…

FC – Chocolate now?

Me – We’ll be at the shop in a few minutes.

FC – WANT CHOCOLATE NOW!!!

Me – Calm down, it will only be a few…

MB – ICE CREAM NOW?

FC – CHOCOLATE NOW??

In the end, I muttered something about chocolate ice-cream and just threw them both in the car and turned the radio up to drown out the racket from the back seats. I knew I wasn't winning this round.

The rest of the evening went in a similar vein. Hannah had cooked pizza for dinner and the boys as usual wanted to sample some. I have no problem sharing but they managed to take offense when I offered them a piece with pineapple on it, when I offered them a piece without pineapple on it, when their brother [allegedly] got more than they did, when I didn’t give them a drink quickly enough and when I had the bare faced cheek to try and eat some of my own dinner.

Needless to say, they both went to bed early that night and the afternoon nap has been reinstated!

Potty training - the results

This will make more sense [only slightly!!] if you have read this post

Day 1.

My sister in law, the Drama Queen offered to take the boys for a sleepover. We offered to pack the big boy pants so that she could start off the potty training. She didn't exactly decline, it was more a case of laughing and walking away.

Day 2.

Everyone knows that you don't start a new regime on a Sunday. Monday is a much better time to start these things. No, we were not putting it off because we were scared!

Day 3.

Ok, no more procrastination. This is the real deal. As soon as the boys woke up, we had a family meeting in the bedroom and explain that they are big boys now and they are going to start wearing big boy pants. The early signs are promising and they danced on the bed with delight at the news. We tell them that they have to let us know when they need to go to the toilet and they repeat the mantra with the appropriate earnestness. We took them downstairs, gave them breakfast [foregoing the usual morning bottle] and braced ourselves for what was to come.

9.30 to 10.30 - we asked the boys if the want to go to the potty approximately 473 times. The answer was always "no". It seemed like a very long morning waiting for something to happen. I can easily remember a dozen Saturday mornings when we had changed half a dozen nappies by now.

11.00 - we had the first incident of wet clothing but it was only a spilled drink.

11.20 - we sat them both on the potty, mostly because we were bored waiting. They both "tried" to go the toilet [sat there and grunted theatrically] so we gave them a little treat for trying.

11.25 - Hannah goes to the shop for supplies to get us through our house arrest.

11.26 - Monkey Boy has the first accident of the day

11.30 - giving them a treat for trying proved to be a big mistake. Fat Chops "tried" 7 times over twenty minutes without producing any urine.

12.00 - we managed to convince ourselves that they might be dehydrated since we cut out their morning bottle. Guilt overrided common sense so we gave it to them at about noon. Common sense drops in and kicks our asses. Monkey Boy wets himself four times over the next half hour.

Every time they wet, we told them that they have to tell Mammy and Daddy when they need a wee. They repeated the mantra diligently. Even when the wee is running down their legs, they repeated the mantra!

1.30 - Fat Chops didn't warm to the idea of peeing somewhere other than a nappy and was still refusing point blank to pee. Not even in his pants. This removes any lingering doubts that he has inherited his mothers stubborn streak.

2.00 - They wet every single pair of shorts they own and were running around the house in their big boy pants and a t-shirt at this point. We gave serious consideration to putting their nappies back on when Fat Chops asked to sit on the potty again. The pressure on his bladder must have gotten too much for him and we finally have one in the potty. We cheered as if he has arrived back at Dublin Airport with an Olympic gold medal in his hand luggage.

Needless to say, he loves the attention and they both sit on the potty every two minutes for the rest of the day. At one point MB has a nose bleed and I can't help thinking that it was caused by straining too hard to pee just because he wanted another piece of chocolate.

There were one or two more accidents during the afternoon and evening but we made progress. I couldn't wait to put on a nappy them that night so that I could finally relax a little.

Day 4.
Since the boys spent most of the previous day in varying levels of dampness, we decided to throw them in the bath. They squatted down as soon as they got in and seemed to think that we won't notice that they were peeing in the bath. We sit back to watch them play with the bubbles but a couple of minutes into it I spot a small floater behind Fat Chops in the bath. Then another. Then a bigger one. Hannah whipped him up and put him on the pot where he proceeded to take an ENORMOUS poo. He refused to poo yesterday but this looks like he had been saving it up for a couple of weeks, not just a couple of days. We spent all of yesterday practising our fake enthusiasm for each filled potty but this deserves an Oscar. Despite our burning noses and streaming eyes, we celebrate with gusto.
The rest of the day follows a similar pattern to yesterday. Every couple of minutes the boys announce that they need a wee wee. They actually urinate on maybe 10% of the occassions that they sit on the potty. Any time that Fat Chops squats and fails to produce the goods, he announces ruefully that "wee wee go bed".
The difference today is that there are only a couple of isolated incidents of wetting themselves. In case you didn't already know, the TV is the devil. The only times that they have an accident is when the TV has them in a trance and they can't tear themselves away. Forced to turn the TV off, we now have to entertain them too. Work is a doddle compared to this.

Day 5
They really have adapted well. While I was attending to Monkey Boy, Fat Chops came in to the bathroom and said something about poo poo. I finished with MB as quick as possible and went to lift FC on to the toilet but instead he pulled me out to the potty in the kitchen where he had made another XXXL turd and pulled his trousers up all by himself.

Although, they have needed help pulling their trousers up most of the time. Yesterday, FC pulled his most of the way but left his ding-a-ling dangling over the top of the waist band. I made the mistake of laughing as I went to tidy him up and when I turned back around MB had adjusted his underwear so that he was swinging a bit more freely too. Generally, they hare acting like they just found out that they have a penis and are so happy about it that they hold it protectively for most of the day.

Finally, the big news. THEY WENT THE WHOLE DAY WITHOUT AN ACCIDENT. I'm not naive enough [despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary published in this blog!] to think that they are fully trained and won't ever have any more accidents but this is a big deal. Not only have they figured out the potty training but they have the incentive scheme sussed too. Why go for one big pee and get one treat when you can go for six smaller pees and get six treats?

Reasons for Optimism

It’s time for a little experiment. Myself and Hannah are taking leave from work for the next fortnight with a view to potty training the boys. It’s a daunting task, I won’t lie but overall I am pretty optimistic that it will go well. I’m posting this as the before picture and in two weeks I am going to post the after picture and see how close to reality my prediction of events were.

Hannah actually went as far as saying that she was looking forward to it the other day but I suspect that had more to do with the kick she got from buying cute little dinosaur adorned underwear for them.

The case for them potty training quickly;
• They have inherited Hannah’s OCD. They HATE being dirty. This has to be a good thing.
• Assuming that they will love the dinosaur pants, they will really HATE getting those wet.
• They have been pretty desperate for approval the last few weeks. At least four times a day [and more on weekends] they will turn to one of us and ask “Fat Chops good boy?” Once we make it clear that we aren’t all that chuffed about mopping up pee then they will likely try to keep on our good side.
• We’ve invested in every aid we could think of. In addition to the dinosaur pants we have a Thomas the Tank Engine toilet seat, bubbles, Frisbees and a paddling pool as treats for when they successfully use the potty. Last time I checked, bribery was still a valid currency for toddlers.
• Washing their hands makes them strangely happy. This is not unrelated to the first bullet. It should help them get into the routine though.
• Fat Chops has a real independent streak. On the rare occasions that he is not looking for approval he is saying “I do it.” So now is the chance for him to do it all by himself.
• There have been two pee related incidents in the past few weeks. Once, partially due to parental neglect, Monkey Boys nappy was filled to the point that it overflowed. The child hit the roof when the pee ran down his leg. The other time, he was about to get into the bath and dribbled a bit of pee onto the carpet. The OCD kicked in and he insisted on wiping it up with baby wipes.

The case for leaving them in nappies until they are teenagers;

• Despite our best efforts to sit them on the potty when they are getting into the bath, they have never actually peed in it. The only time we have caught any pee in the potty is if they were trying to fill the bath themselves and we threw a potty under the stream. [I could probably do a whole post on their insistence on peeing in the bath before they sit down in it. Why would anyone do such a thing??!!]
• They are very, very stubborn. If they decide that they don’t want to do it, there will be a battle of wills. It is not just OCD that they have inherited from their mother so if they refuse to train there will be a battle of wills [like this]. If anyone is looking for me during that battle, I will be cowering behind the couch!
• You could sneak a full orchestra into the living room [wishful thinking that we could fit more than a violinist and a couple of oboes into our living room] and play an entire concerto while they are watching TV and they won’t take their eyes off Fireman Sam.*
• Change is bad. They like their routines and won’t want to change.

Wish us luck, we start on Sunday and I'll post the results in two weeks time.


*We should light fires in the bottom of the toilet for them to put out by peeing and take advantage of the Fireman Sam obsession.

The Abandoned Balloon Blues

This is an original composition by the legendary bluesman Howling Fat Chops. It is based on a true story from his harrowing childhood and features some of his family members as back up singers.

Fat Chops: I want my balloon, I want my balloon
Hannah: Your balloon is in Nana's, we'll get it tomorrow.
Fat Chops: I want my balloon, I want my balloon
Hannah: Your balloon is in Nana's, we'll get it tomorrow.
Fat Chops: I want my balloon, I want my balloon
Hannah: Your balloon is in Nana's, we'll get it tomorrow.
Fat Chops: I want my balloon, I want my balloon
Hannah: Your balloon is in Nana's, we'll get it tomorrow.

Fat Chops: I want my balloon, I want my balloon, I WANT MY BALLOON!
Hannah: Your balloon is in Nana's, we'll get it tomorrow.
Fat Chops: I want my balloon [HOWLS LOUDLY]
Hannah: Nana is minding your balloon.
Fat Chops: [HOWLS LOUDER]
[Repeat entire sequence by 8]

The next part is a vocal solo for Fat Chops where Hannah was trying to ignore him and let him cry it out allow his vocal virtuousity to come to the fore.

Fat Chops: I want my balloon [repeat by 30 in varying levels of grief]

Me: Where is your balloon?
Fat Chops: In Nana's [sobbed]
Me: When are we going to get it?
Fat Chops: NOT TOMORROW! NOW!!!!

Fat Chops: I want by balloon
Monkey Boy: In Nana's [sung in a weary tone]
Fat Chops: I want by balloon
Monkey Boy: Tomorrow [sung in a weary tone]
Fat Chops: I want by balloon
Monkey Boy: In Nana's [sung in a weary tone]
Fat Chops: I want by balloon
Monkey Boy: Tomorrow [sung in a weary tone]

Fat Chops: I WANT MY BALLOON [Repeat by 8 and fade out]

Indecent Exposure

Yup, Fat Chops is the flasher of the future. He waved his junk at me and grinned; however, there are a couple of extenuating circumstances that mean we don’t have to register him on the sex offenders list just yet.

Firstly, it was just a progression of their nap time antics already documented here and here.

Secondly, we have been trying to encourage their independence and getting them to do some small things like dressing and undressing themselves. It’s been going pretty well but apparently we need to do some more work on explaining the boundaries! Fat Chops insists on doing everything he can but Monkey Boy will try once [half-heartedly most of the time] and if it doesn’t work, will just leave it up to us to do]. He doesn’t quite understand the concept of ‘if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again’ . His motto is “if at first you don’t succeed get one of your servants to do it.”

Lastly, it was their first nap time without nu-nu’s*. The nu-nu fairy came over the weekend and took them away. We decided that it was time that they gave up the nu-nu’s so on Friday night we told them that if they put their nu-nu’s into a bag, the nu-nu fairy would come overnight and swap the nu-nu’s for a present. Well they couldn’t throw them in quick enough and they both marched happily up the stairs and into bed, settling with a minimum of fuss. I’m pretty sure that Fat Chops woke up on Saturday morning, opened his eyes and said “present!” They were very excited and we the nu-nu fairy brought them a couple of swords, not just any old swords though. A pair of really obnoxious swords with flashing lights and ear-piercing sound effects. Obviously they loved them. After a tiring morning of shooting each other with the swords [it DOES make sense, the alternative is that they stab each other with hard plastic swords] they were pretty worn out so Monkey Boy asked for the comfort of his nu-nu. We told him that the nu-nu fairy had taken them away and he had the sword instead. He wasn’t too happy about the permanency of the arrangement. When we calmed him down his pragmatic side kicked in. He picked up his sword, carefully placed it back in the box and starting gathering wrapping paper. We can only assume his intention was to send the sword to the nu-nu fairy and get his nu-nu back.

Anyway, thinking that they were tired, I put them down for their nap a little earlier than normal. In hindsight I realise that they were just cranky, not tired and cranky. After a couple of trips upstairs to explain again that the swords were here to stay I decided to let them grumble themselves off to sleep. After about ten minutes the grumbles escalated into cries so I went up to settle Monkey Boy. As I was doing that Fat Chops lay in bed, wide awake, his eyes following me around the room. As I was leaving, he continued to stare at me and I paused for a second, waiting to hear what he had to say. Actions DO speak louder than words and he pulled down the blanket to show me that he had managed to take off his nappy. I must have failed to hide my laughter because when I gave up on them sleeping twenty minutes later he had removed the nappy again and was proudly showing off and expecting congratulations for his work. I sent him downstairs to Hannah without his nappy and he walked into the kitchen with his vest hanging down over his crown jewels and when Hannah looked up at him he grinned, lifted his vest and gave them a little juggle. Hannah proceeded to choke on her tea.

*A nu-nu is a dummy/pacifier/soother. They heard their cousin say it once and it has stuck since. I was told the origin of the term once but can’t remember.

The Case for CCTV

Myself and the boys have a little game that we like to play. They get up to random mischief, I give out to them, they pretend to respect me as an authority figure and act repentant. Then as soon as I turn my back, they resume whatever mischief they were in the middle of.

Tonight’s mischief follows a familiar pattern that I have already described here. In fact, since I wrote that post I am only surprised when I go up to their room and the furniture hasn’t been rearranged. I would guess that the average time between being put to bed and actually falling asleep is somewhere between 45 minutes and an hour.
I’m very tempted to put a camera in the room just to see what accompanies the soundtrack that we hear through the monitor. So far tonight;

• I have listened to the usual gibberish for about twenty minutes, punctuated by giggling, singing, shouting and screeching in various stages.
• I went up to the room when I heard some genuine crying and found that Monkey Boy had somehow hit his head off the side of the cot. [Of course, all the blankets, pillows and anything not nailed down had been strewn around the room.]
• I went up again for more genuine crying and found Fat Chops holding his head and grinning at how clever he was for using the same excuse as Monkey Boy to get Daddy to run back up the stairs. [No harm going up to them, turns out I needed to make the beds anyway.]
• The last time I heard them jumping up and down and bouncing the cots off the walls so I went in and did a really convincing job of acting stern and told them to lie down and go to sleep or else [after I made the beds. AGAIN!!]. The boys for their part did a really good job of only grinning a little bit and not laughing at me overtly.

Yesterday, we put the boys up for an afternoon nap and they bounced off the walls for about an hour and a half before we gave up completely and took them downstairs. Fat Chops handled the lack of nap pretty well and spent the afternoon helping Hannah around the garden. Monkey Boy did not handle it so well, he spent about five minutes in the garden moaning about every little thing before gratefully accepting my invitation to come inside and watch TV. As I suspected, he drifted off within minutes of getting comfortable and got a half hour shuteye. Fat Chops got increasingly cranky as the night wore on and eventually persuaded us to put them to bed early. For once, we were confident that there would be no messing after bedtime and for once, the boys didn’t prove us wrong. Monkey Boy did cry after twenty minutes and Hannah went up to him and asked him what was wrong. He looked up with a jutting lip, pointed across to his brothers cot and said “Fat Chops asleep”*. Poor lad was upset because his partner in crime had gone asleep and he had no one to play with!

*He said nothing of the sort but I’ve stuck with their nicknames this long, I might as well misquote him.

Random Bullets III

• It’s still a struggle to get the boys to eat “grown up” food but we made a tiny bit of progress yesterday. We were having fajitas for dinner and the boys took a notion that they wanted to join in. They must be in the midst of a growth spurt because they had already worked their way through two bowls of cereal each before they started eyeing up our meal. They took a couple of bites off the end of my fajita but when they finally got through the tortilla to the filling they decided it wasn’t for them. I knew this because I pick up on the subtle little signals. I listen carefully for when they shout “YUCK” loud enough to rattle the windows. I also watch their mouths for hints like food being spat out. They loved the tortilla part though so we broke one up and gave it to them to eat. Fat Chops showed his appreciation by putting so much of it in his mouth that he had to stretch his jaw to the limit to chew any of it. Then he decided that he wanted to be more like Mum and Dad so he took the next piece of tortilla, went over to his little table and carefully arranged a spoonful of cheerios with milk in the centre of it and rolled it up, exactly like we were doing with our meal. So be warned, if you are ever invited for dinner in our house be aware that you might be offered fajita’s to suit your personal tastes – chicken, beef or Cheerios.

• Hannah was explaining to the boys that Daddy had to go to work the other day. They needed more details so she went on to say that Daddy had to go to work to “make money”. Now we go through the conversation every morning and I go to work with this song in my head. Now anytime Hannah mentions anything about Daddy having to work (and it could be just putting out the bins or emptying the dishwasher) they both shout ‘to make money’.

• You might have seen this clip already, I’ve seen it posted on a couple of friends facebook sites so I imagine that it’s widely viewed. It’s easy to complain about the tougher parts of being a parent but I get a live version of this almost every day to balance out all of the tough stuff. It also led me to this blog. Perhaps I shouldn’t be promoting the opposition but I feel like I could swap R&S for Fat Chops and Monkey Boy and no-one could tell the difference.

• We were having a small disco yesterday while listening to Close to You by The Cure. For no particular reason, Fat Chops decided to pull my face down to his, kissed me and told me he loved me. I tell them I love them when I put them to bed and often pester them into a response but they have never spontaneously offered up the declaration. It was great. I haven’t felt like that since the first time Hannah told me she loved me. Yesterday now ranks up alongside meeting Hannah, getting married and the boys birth on the list of my favourite days ever.

• To go back to the disco. I try to expose the boys to a wide variety of good music. Yesterday it was The Cure, the day before it was Mos Def and on any given day it could be anybody from Aretha to Zeppelin. I am a self-confessed music snob and am training my sons in the same mould. Hannah is not a music snob, she is a Gleek and plays one of her many Glee soundtracks in the car most of the time. Guess whose musical tastes they prefer. Yup! Guess how much it kills me. Right again!

Twins Versus The Conventional Wisdom

We try to stick to the conventional wisdom when it comes to parenting. It normally makes sense to stick to it when you can. Unless you have twins.

The conventional wisdom says that when you put your child to bed, don’t talk to them too much, don’t stimulate them, lay them down, wish them goodnight and walk away. If they cry, you should leave them cry it out for a few minutes before going back in, settling them without talking or stimulating and walking away. Lather, rinse repeat and eventually they will cry themselves out or give up and go to sleep.

The conventional wisdom is pretty good but not without flaws. Flaw number one, everything is stimulating to a curious and mischievous toddler. Flaw number two is that twin boys sharing a room like to take the conventional wisdom, roll it into a ball and throw it as far as they can out of their cots.

When they were younger it was just a case that they would sit up in the cot and chat to each other in earnest expressions of gibberish for a couple of minutes before drifting off. Then they got a bit bigger and Fat Chops realised he could reach the light switch which was often twenty minutes amusement. A little older again and they were jumping up and down in the cot. Now I am at the point where I am very worried about it escalating any further.

The root cause of these worries stems from their afternoon nap last Saturday. They were a little off colour so I was pretty confident that they would go asleep easily enough but I should know how they love to prove me wrong by now. I tucked them in, turned on the monitor and went down to get some lunch. I checked the monitor downstairs and could hear them chatting and laughing to each other. No harm there, I was sure they would tire in a few minutes and quieten down.

A few minutes passed.
Then a few more.
Then the singing began.

I decided to leave them to it, they weren’t unhappy and we had no plans for the afternoon so it didn’t matter if they slept a bit late. It was quite the sing song in the end and there was some dancing done as well judging by the racket coming through the monitor [and through the floorboards]. I ate my lunch and started to worry about them coming through the floorboards. I forced myself to relax over a cup of tea and failed miserably to ignore the din from above. After an hour, I decided go up and try and settle them down.
I was not prepared for what I saw. My wannabe rock and rollers had trashed the room. The first thing that hit me was the smell of a freshly filled nappy. I had to take a step back, wipe the tears from my eyes and compose myself before I went back in. The lights were on and what a scene it lit up! The cots had been emptied of everything. I mean everything including the occupants. They had thrown their pillows, blankets, soothers on the floor between the two cots and then they had stripped their clothes off and thrown them too. It took me a minute to figure out where they had gone but it was more a case of having to stop hyperventilating and look properly rather than them escaping completely. They had somehow worked their way under their sheets so they lay between the sheet and mattress laughing maniacally. As I tidied up I noticed a chip of wood that used to be part of one of the cots lying on the floor. Maybe I shouldn’t have been ignoring the din!

It took me ten minutes to change the nappy and put everything back together again and they must have had their fun because they slept soon after I went up. I think maybe we should get a couple of those sensory deprivation tanks.

Hide and Go Seek

I’ve been finding all sorts of reasons for not getting around to writing a post but this was an incident that I couldn’t allow to pass without putting it on the record.

We were having a lazy Sunday morning. It’s a rare occasion that we have no plans and aren’t in a rush to be somewhere so I took full advantage by having a long breakfast and “spending quality time” with the boys. They were in playful mood and when I got on the floor with them Monkey Boy thought it would be fun to eat my nose. I must admit I was scared when I saw him bare his teeth, especially after he had left Hannah with bitemarks on her nose earlier on, but he had learned the lesson and it was more about slobbering on my nose than gripping with his teeth. Fat Chops heard his chuckles and thought he would get in on the act so I ended up pinned to the floor having my nose eaten by both of them in turns. I consoled myself with the fact that they were playing together and sharing as I wiped the slobber off my nose and cheeks.

Kids have an amazing capacity to laugh at the same thing over and over and I needed a break so I suggested a new flavour nose. The invite was gleefully accepted and they started running relays, Fat Chops would eat my nose while Monkey Boy ate Hannah’s and then they would swap over.

By now I was reaching the limits of my saliva tolerance not to mention I was wondering how long it would be before one of the boys got over excited and clamped down on my nose. I delayed Monkey Boy to let Fat Chops catch up with so both of them were chasing after their mother at the one time. Then I hid behind the curtains in the living room.

No matter how many times it happens, it’s always disappointing when you leave the boys and they carry on like they couldn’t care less. They stuck their heads into the living room and when they couldn’t see me, shrugged and decided that eating Hannah’s nose was more than enough entertainment. Hannah fancied a break too and when she realised what I had done she spotted an escape route.

“Daddy’s hiding, go and find him”

So it became a game of hide and seek. Well, kind of. I hid a couple of times but I’m 6’4” and there are limited hiding spots in the house for me. Even when you are playing with toddlers who don’t think to look behind the curtains. I crouched down behind a settee with my head clearly visible above it and my knees poking out the side and they still struggled to see me. I was getting uncomfortable so I decided it was their turn to hide.

I love the way a toddlers mind processes things. What Fat Chops did next makes perfect logical sense but an adult would never think this way. He “found” me behind the couch and bit my nose in a casual, matter of fact way . Then I told him it was his turn to go and hide and toddler logic kicked in.
-I need a hiding place
-Daddy’s in a hiding place
-I’ll just hide here beside him

And so he did. He parked himself beside me and turned to me with a look that was either challenging me to go and find him or waiting for me to praise him for his clever hiding spot. I couldn’t get up to “find him” though, I was laughing far too hard.

Hannah decided it was time to teach him to pick his hiding spots better so I was banished to the hall to count to 100.

“Ready or not, here I come!”

I came back into the kitchen and you didn’t have to be a hide and seek champion. You just had to follow the giddy chuckling. Monkey Boy was spotted first, as soon as he heard footsteps he poked his head out from underneath the chair in the sun room. I gave him a perfunctory tickle and looked around. The second chuckle had a metallic, echoing quality to it. I looked at the blanket draped over the dryer, surely Hannah wouldn’t have…

Turns out she would!
Turns out she wasn’t thinking of how much fun the boys have pressing buttons and twisting knobs!

Obviously the boys loved it in there. After I eventually persuaded Fat Chops to get out, Monkey Boy insisted on getting in and sure enough Fat Chops came over to shut the door and play with the buttons while he was in there. That is why we don’t leave the dryer plugged in unless we are using it anymore.

So for once, it wasn’t me being the irresponsible one which made me so happy that I rushed to write this blog. Then I started thinking, if Hannah starts being careless and isn’t keeping me in check, how will the boys ever survive??!!

Developmental progress check.

The boys went for their developmental check the other day. In the main, they did us proud. It’s never nice to be poked and prodded that way but they stood still while the doctor measured their height and although Fat Chops moaned a little bit, Monkey Boy was stoic and didn’t as much as whimper. He did however; glare suspiciously at the doctor for the duration.

There passed all the tests with flying colours but even after over two years, there is little to separate them. They are both exactly the same weight [13kg] but Monkey Boy is 88.5cm tall while Fat Chops is a mere 88.2cm. That should help people tell them apart in future, Monkey Boy is the tall one!!!!

Anyway, regardless of what the Doctor said, the real development milestone was hit last week. I was feeding Fat Chops when he let a little fart. I was trying to distract him while I shovelled food into his mouth so I went for the theatrical “Oh my goodness!! You let a rudie!!!” and laughed a little bit. FC was impressed that he had solicited such a reaction so he pushed another one out. Firstly, I’m slightly juvenile. Secondly, farts and people falling over are always funny. Thirdly, he gave me a really earnest look seeking my approval so I had cracked up laughing. He giggled too and I shoved another spoonful into his mouth. Obviously with toddlers, if something is funny once, it will be funny the next thirty four times. They can squeeze every drop out of anything that amuses them. Speaking of squeezing every drop, he clenched and pushed out a little more gas, then again, and again, and again! He milked it until the well ran dry and he was left straining, grunting and a little red faced. I was also red faced and had tears running down my face.

You can say what you like about his vocabulary and physical attributes but to me the important part is that laughing at farts brings him closer to being a man.

Dog Day Afternoons

I’ve intentionally mangled the title of a Dustin Hoffman movie because this post is about the method acting skills of my heirs. It’s tempting to leave it at that and pretend that I am a big fan of that classic movie and I spend my time watching worthy movies like that, The Godfather Trilogy or something off the list of Academy Best Movies. Truth is, I was going to watch it but then I decided that I didn’t want to deal with something that serious so I watched The Commitments instead.

Anyway, time to carry on towards my point. The boys have been dabbling with a little bit of thespianism. Nothing major, they still can’t read and to be frank most of their conversation is unintelligible so they won’t be performing in the panto any time soon, never mind the works of Shakespeare.

What they can do, and in fact are very good at, is barking. Yup, they are acting as dogs these days. Not just an odd bark here and there, the whole enchilada. They crawl around, not just in a babyish way, but bringing both legs forward together like a dog would. When not barking or howling they pant constantly, tongue out and they are really living the role. For long periods of time they will stay in character [Fat Fido and Monkey Pup???] and play fetch, roll over and look to have their belly scratched.

All well and good in the comfort of your own home and I am sure there are stranger things happening behind closed doors all over the world but they decided to take the show on tour over the Christmas. The debut performance was in Uncle Cheddar Terry’s house when we met up with a group of friends to exchange Chris kindle presents. One minute they were cheerfully dismantling UCT’s house*, the next they were crawling down the hallway with drool covered Christmas decorations in their mouths. I was sitting in the corner of the living room and half hoping to get away with it by keeping them out in the hallway but it wasn’t long before everyone noticed and collapsed into laughter. Still, these were my closest friends and the people that have witnessed most of my “finest” moments so treating my children as household pets was just another entry in the long list of embarrassing moments.

On Christmas Eve we called into our former next door neighbours. It’s not that I don’t feel comfortable being myself in front of our neighbours, they are great friends and we’ve got to know them quite well but I’ve been cultivating a public persona in our area. I am involved in the community basketball team so I try to appear respectable. Needless to say, we were in their house for all of ten minutes when Monkey Boy noticed a stray ball of wrapping paper that had fallen on the floor. I saw him look at it and could almost see the gears moving even as I implored him not to do it. I looked around for a distraction and I’m sure there were plenty [it doesn’t take much to amuse them, they wanted to play fetch for goodness sake!] but panic had started to set in and I couldn’t think clearly. Then Monkey Boy dropped the ball in my lap and started panting.

Loudly.

Everyone turned around.

I’ve always believed that if you are in for a penny you should go in for a pound so I threw the ball and scratched him behind the ears when he returned it. There are worse things than letting your neighbours know that you play fetch with your children – like writing a blog about it for anyone and everyone** to read.

*I am strongly considering offering the boys services to new and expecting parents. For a not so small fee we could bring the boys to your home and they would go from room to room highlighting what parts need to be childproofed. Candles on the coffee table, photos on a low shelf, delicate ornaments on the fireplace and the like are a veritable magnet for their exploring hands.

**Everyone meaning family members, friends and one or two friends of the aforementioned.