Looky, Daddy!

But Enough About Me

I'm pleased. Very pleased. My blog account tells me that there are either an awful lot of you reading my little blog daily or my mother has learned how to mask her IP address and just make it seem like I'm popular. And I really did not expect this. To tell the truth, it's kind of weird to have these limited one-way conversations with so many people. I mean, who are all of you? Some of you are simply numbers on my stats page while others comment so regularly that I speak of you as friends to my, um, real friends, which makes me look mighty geeky to say the least.

So I'm going to step away from my computer for a while (consider it a three-day weekend) and I'm going to open this post up to you, Gentle Reader. Tell me a little about yourself. You need not include any real identifying information, just little stuff like where you are from, if you have kids, what you do, etc. And fellow bloggers, feel free to plug your own blog here if you like.

I'll start on the first comment.

Flying the Friendly Skies

I’m blogging in real time here. We are 30,000 feet above the earth, facing a strong headwind, traveling to Dallas/Fort Worth at eight-tenths of the speed of sound. My whole family is here. The Mom is in the row in front of me squeezed between Kathryn and Victoria while I’m in the middle seat behind her, between Lila and a woman I don’t know.

There is an art to flying with twins; an art you must learn quickly. Our first flight, a little under a year ago at Christmas, was horrific. The second flight, just a week later returning home, was much better. Now, on this flight, we are seasoned pros.

I have learned that it is necessary to dress your little ones in their cutest clothes, and then let them run around in front of the check-in desk before your flight. Tell them to wave at the check-in attendants and even blow kisses if possible. Make them so adorable and irresistible that even the most harassed check-in clerks' hearts will melt, because nothing makes your day go better than when the people in charge like your babies.

I did not know this a year ago. Back then, the babies were crawling, not walking, and The Mom and I set up them up in a defensible and enclosed location far removed from the gate where they could crawl around and get their wiggles out beforehand. The gatekeepers never saw the kids and thus their icy hearts never melted. And when the time came to board, they were ugly. Oh so ugly.

But that is a topic for another post. I think I’ll call it “I Made 145 People Miss Their Connecting Flights and Other Stories of Traveling with Twins”. Come to think of it, that would be an awesome title for a book, wouldn’t it? Okay, nobody steal it—it’s mine.

I have also learned that car seats can only go in an airplane’s window seat. They cannot be placed side-by-side because the FAA says that a car seat in a middle chair will block the window seat passenger’s emergency escape route. It does not matter to the FAA that the window seat passenger is also an 11-month-old whose ability to escape is already blocked by simply being an infant and a car seat or two is not going to change anything.

I have learned that it is better for twins to be one behind the other, not across the isle from each other. That way, when they kick the seat in front of them (and they will kick the seat in front of them), only one of them is kicking a stranger.

I have learned that having a flight attendant who also happens to have twins can be the difference between a bad flight and a flight that is nicer and more relaxing than many spa trips. “More wine, The Dad? You look like you could use it. Courtesy of American Airlines.”

I have learned that pre-boarding a toddler is just plain dumb. In fact, airlines should board everyone else first, make sure that everything is ready to go, get clearance for take-off, and then bring on the babies.

I have learned that nothing can keep a toddler more entertained than a game of "airsickness-bag surprise." This is when you take random toy and place it inside a folded, secured, and above all unused airsickness bag and then let the toddler wrestle with it for a good 20 minutes just to see what's inside. And if toys aren't an exciting enough reward, place a little 'Nilla wafer in there. They'll go nuts.

I have learned that pilots will wait until just after your baby has gone to sleep to announce that you are now flying over Lake Whogivesacrap.

I have learned that babies love turbulence. "More shakey! More shakey!"

And most importantly, I have learned that a little half-teaspoon a half-hour before take-off of Benadryl never hurt anyone.

Dorothy's Been Thinking About Feminism, Too, and Dorothy Has a Question! Let's Ask Mr. Noodle.

Monday on Elmo's World there was no Mr. Noodle. There was no Mr. Noodle's brother, Mr. Noodle. Instead there was a rare appearance by Mr. Noodle's sister, Ms. Noodle. Now if you don't know who the Noodles are, or even the steps to the Noodle Family Dance, then perhaps you should go explore the LookyDaddy archives    let your child watch more television   congratulate yourself on your parenting skills    go ask the nearest 3-year-old read something else, because this post is definitely not for you.

So Kathryn is sitting there, watching Mr. Noodle's sister, Ms. Noodle, lamely try to answer the Dorothy's question when she turned to me and said, "You'd think Ms. Noodle would be smarter. I mean, she is a girl."

Right on, sister. Right on.

The Fast Track

This past week, as you may have read, The Mom stumbled and sprained her ankle on her daily commute in New York City. This kind of thing happens there all the time and she said nobody gave her a second look either during or after the incident. But almost exactly two years ago to the date, The Mom stumbled and sprained the exact same ankle in an event that came very close to knocking the world off its axis and sending us all spinning into oblivion. That's because she was 8-months pregnant with the twins and approximately the size of a small moon. From the impact alone, we are lucky she did not generate an earth-swallowing dust-cloud ushering in another Ice Age and bringing all humanity to the brink of extinction. (Except, of course, for Canadians who might never have noticed.) There is still a small crater in the spot where my wife and her belly landed.

Fortunately on this occasion, The Mom was a mere two blocks from our house when she stumbled and she was lucky enough to have been spotted by a dog-walking neighbor. He, with the aid of a back-hoe and half a dozen immigrant workers with leaf blowers, managed to get The Mom and her hijacked-by-twins body back home safely.

Now near our house is a hospital. It is a small hospital, within easy walking distance of our house, but it lacks many features that a young family might need, like a pediatrics ward or a NICU for at-risk births. Before the twins were born, we interviewed with many local pediatricians and one had this to say about our local hospital. "It's okay to go there if your child gets a scratch or a bump." Then she paused thoughtfully. "Or a scratchy bump," she added, making the list as comprehensive as possible. But we thought for a sprained ankle it would be fine.

Never have I seen a hospital staff as excited as they were when I helped my wife through those emergency doors. She was treated like royalty. Very big royalty. People came out of the woodwork to ooh and ahh, coo and squeal at my wife's enormous rotundity. Then they learned about her ankle. "It's not labor?" they wailed. Doctors, orderlies, and candystripers walked away crestfallen as they learned that, in fact, no water had broken, nothing was dialated, and the contractions were still months apart.

Still, a sprained ankle on a woman who weighs seven times more than she weighed only 8 months ago is nothing to sneeze at, so my wife was "fast-tracked." Sadly, this meant that we were whisked away to a separate wing of the hospital which, it would seem, few staff had ever heard of, much less visited. (I have since then learned that over a third of the workers at this hospital believe the "fast-track wing" to be a myth.)

We found ourselves in an area there were about six examination rooms radiating out from a central nurses' station. There were no other patients in the other examination rooms. There were no nurses at the station. Not a single computer at the nurses' station was on. And there we waited. And waited. It occurs to me now that they probably sent us to that remote hospital wing with the idea of waiting out the twins. If my wife weren't in labor yet, dadgummit, then she'd stay there until she was! That'll teach her!

But anyway, to make an already long story short, eventually someone came through the ward, possibly using it as a shortcut from one place to another, and I scared the living crap out of her by emerging from our little room and asking when we would be seen. She was properly horrified that we had been there so long and rushed away to get a doctor. I swear I saw her cross herself several times as she scurried off.

The doctor finally arrived, switching on the computers as he came in, and with his arrival, the rest of the visit was pretty run-of-the-mill. Except for the x-rays. It took multiple orderlies to get The Mom onto the x-ray table, and, while they struggled to get her and her ankle into the proper position, one poor man kept trying to pour buckets of water over her saying they'd get her back to the ocean if only she could hold out until the tide came back.

Just another day in the life of The Mom. God bless her.

Pat, Pat, Pat

Clomp, clomp, clomp, clomp go their shoes down the sidewalk.

"Puppy!" the twins squeal. "Daddy, puppy!"

Pat, pat, pat. "Good puppy."

Clomp, clomp, clomp, clomp...

Researchers say children have no sense of death. They say that it is too abstract for a child to grasp.

"Puppy! Daddy, puppy!"

Pat, pat, pat. "Good puppy."

Clomp, clomp, clomp, clomp...

They say the idea that something can be alive one moment but not the next is impossible for a child to comprehend.

"Puppy! Daddy, puppy!"

Pat, pat, pat. "Good puppy."

Clomp, clomp, clomp, clomp...

They say that a small child cannot understand the permanence of death, that they believe the deceased can simply stop being dead and come back to life again whenever it pleases. Just like sleeping.

"Puppy! Daddy, puppy!"

Pat, pat, pat. "Good puppy."

Clomp, clomp, clomp, clomp...

I believe the research. Because my twins and I take walks nearly everyday. And we stop to pet every animal that we see on the way. Most of the time we see dogs. In fact, it is amazing the number of good and very patient dogs that we see and pet on each and every walk we take.

"Puppy! Daddy, puppy!"

Pat, pat, pat. "Good puppy."

Clomp, clomp, clomp, clomp...

But it's not always dogs.

"Ant! Daddy, ant!"

Pat, pat, pat.

Pause.

Pat, pat, pat.

Pause.

"Ant? Daddy, ant?"

Pause.

"Night-night, ant. Night-night. Shhhh."

Clomp, clomp, clomp, clomp...

"Puppy!"

Twins, pt.3

More things that should come in twos: Bookends and contact lenses should come in twos. Airline tickets to the Bahamas should come in twos. Despite what I believed between the ages of 18 and 23, earrings should come in twos. Monopoly dice, chopsticks, and Noah's ark collectible figurines should come in twos. Olives in a martini should come in twos--and often at that. Extra-strength Advil should most definitely come in twos. And there should always be two straws in a milkshake.

Babies should still not come in twos.

Flashdancer

I was a freshman in high school when the movie Flashdance came out. It was one of those movies that leaves a lasting impression on a young man, and while I cannot recall the plot (if it had one) or any of the names of the characters, I do vividly remember a few scenes. Like the one with the sweatshirt and the bra.

If you are male and in your late 30s or early 40s, you don't need me to help you recall the scene. For the rest of you, the whole scene can be summed up by this: Jennifer Beals, in the middle of a conversation, reaches into her baggy, over-sized, gray sweatshirt, and methodically removes her bra, eventually pulling it out one sleeve while leaving her sweatshirt on the whole time.

Now that I am older, I know that this was no real great feat, but at the time, I wouldn't have been more surprised if she had pulled a live pink and green chihuahua through that sleeve. "You can do that?" my tiny puberty-fuddled brain asked.

It is over 20 years later and I must say, the female of the species can still befuddle my brain. Take Friday afternoon, for instance. Naptime for the twins had just ended. I know this because I hear Lila yell, "Fluffy! Fluffy!" Don't ask me why she calls Victoria Fluffy, but considering she uses one of the foulest words in the English language when she means to say sock, I think Victoria's getting off easy. Anyway, Fluffy soon awakens as well, and the after-nap giggling begins.

Naps can end in one of three ways: talking, tears, or giggling. Talking is a good sign. Tears are a little harder, but it is really the giggling that freezes the blood. Giggling means something is up. And that is never a good thing.

But silly me, I tarry. I go downstairs to the kitchen, pour some fresh milk into two clean sippy cups, get out two bowls of Cheerios for snack, and perhaps even check my email one last time before I go into the nursery, fool that I am.

When I finally enter the babies' room, I immediately see the reason for the mirth. Victoria is waving a diaper over her head. Her diaper. The one that should be providing a much needed buffer between her private parts and the rest of the world. And here's the Flashdance moment, she is still fully clothed. She is still wearing everything she was wearing when she went to bed: her shirt, jeans, and even her socks. Somehow she had reached inside her clothes and removed her most important item of clothing, leaving the rest intact. And amazingly still dry.

As my child waves her diaper over her head like Team Toddler had just won the World Cup, I stand there in wonder. Then I start thinking what a great Looky Daddy post this will make. Then, still standing there, I even start composing the post in my head, trying to remember the name of the lead actress in Flashdance, and whether or not YouTube will have any videos of her doing the whole sweatshirt/bra thing. Then, as though she is wondering about this too, Victoria stops waving the diaper, gently cocks her head to one side, looks at me a little funny, and pees all through her clothing.

It's not quite the same as Flashdance, but what a feeling!