Month: August 2015

Mommy (hereinafter SMM or Sergeant Major Mommy) comes to me and tells me that is my responsibility to plan the boys’ birthday party this year.  I suppose it would have been easier if she said it was my responsibility to find Jimmy Hoffa.

In previous years, the boys have celebrated their birthday by huge and extravagant parties which lasted days, cost thousands of dollars and involved more than 132, 000 people.  Sending out the invitations alone took almost a year.

But now, I (me, moi, numero uno, big daddy, Mr. Right) have a week.

The first thing I need to do is hire a concierge.  After all, she can’t really expect me to do all of the planning, coordination, decorating, guest management, gift buying, label printing, envelope stuffing, food preparation and chauffeuring all by myself, can she???  Even SMM has a heart.

Check that, the first thing I need to do is plan the location, of course.  Where is it going to be this year?  All they’ve been asking for is an elephant ride. Unfortunately, a safari in Kenya is out of the question. I can’t get the time off work.

No, no, no, the first thing I need to do is take a break, get something to eat and take a nap.  SMM will surely let me eat something.

Oh ok, it’s the boys, gotta take care of the little buggers first, don’t I?

The real first thing I need to do is read my emails, check my Twitter account, update my Facebook page, edit my blog, then take out the trash, clean the kitchen, put the laundry in the dryer, clean the boys’ room, mow the front yard, trim the hedges, paint the garage door, put the dishes in the dishwasher, sweep the dining room, pay the bills, balance my checkbook, make all the beds, go to the grocery, drop off my shirts at the cleaners, dispose of the old TV, solve world hunger and of course, then, finally, solve my own hunger.

About this time SMM calls and ask me how it’s going and how far I’ve gotten.  I tell her that I’ve had to take care of a few things first, but that I am well on my way to solving the Birthday Party riddle and that it will be done before she gets home.  Luckily, it is my day off and I am now primed and ready to tackle the assignment since all my chore prerequisites are taken care of.

But, where do I start?  Oh yeah, the checkbook.  Well, this year has been a tough one financially since we’ve spent extra money on Archibald’s tutoring and daddy hasn’t done so well on his fantasy football only because Joe Namath is not interested in playing football anymore since he retired thirty years ago.  Ugh!

That’s ok.  We can still have fun and be together as a family and have some friends meet us somewhere, even if it is only local corner grocery where we can share some big mouth slushees.

Finally, the first thing I need to do is check the finances.  Done.  Check.  No finances, but now I know.

The SECOND thing I need to do is…. eat.  All of this planning has really helped me work up an appetite.

The second second thing I need to do is sleep.  I’m tired.

Well, it’s now almost two weeks later and Daddy failed miserably in the task he was assigned.  Ok, maybe it was not failed miserably in the execution of the birthday festivities, but it was horrendous in the planning.

On the day, SMM and moi were very tired and the little buggers were more than happy to go to that place that serves cheezy pizza and has a million thousand pinball and video games.  Of course, we had to take Grandma (Gma) who wanted to attend and help the boys celebrate.  The boys loved it and so did Gma interestingly enough.

Gma’s birthday is only in three weeks and we now what she likes and, of course, the boys would like help her celebrate.  It seems my planning for Gma’s bday is a lot easier.  Now, I can have a snack and lay down for a few minutes to “rest my eyes”.

We don’t let the boys watch much television.  Like everything else, we feel it is ok in moderation.  Of course, the boys don’t quite get that.  They would like to watch tv a lot more.  Their tastes have changed through the years, too.

Yes, they just turned seven, but their tastes in programs have changed.  When they were very small, like 6 months, they were really into true life crime shows.  Maybe it was a little early for those types of shows and some people would respectfully assert that the boys were way too young, but SMM (Sergeant Major Mommy) and I thought those shows would not only help prepare them for real life, but also (added benefit) develop their logic and deduction skills.  Too bad they cried at lot at those shows, but, as we told them, it was for their own good.  The irony is that they would cry if they did not watch them.  On the other hand, they did cry a lot anyway in the early months.

Archibald (not his real name) and Mortimer (not his real name, either) watched a lot of the kiddie dinosaurs, small mammal characters and huggable aliens, as well as the fairy tale royalty, sea animals with human voices, and big people who dressed like little people.  The boys found them all interesting for a while, until they got older or friends told them about other shows.

SMM and I always kept their tv viewing to a regulated amount.   Ok, so maybe I was a little more lenient with their tv watching.   Mommy was more strict, is more strict.  Nevertheless, I DO NOT use the tv equipment as a babysitter.  That is, UNLESS the Yankees are on and, more specifically, winning.  Or, one of their really, really favorite shows is on.  Or, Daddy (when did I start referring to myself in the third person?) has to get some laundry done, or washing dishes, or monitoring his Twitter account.  I mean, those are important things, are they not?  Daddy (oops, me) needs to take care of his social media platforms not only to manage his transition to a new job and career, but ultimately to enhance his/my sense of well-being which can only be done through social media since, interestingly enough, my real life social contacts have dwindled since having kids.

I met a fellow online Daddy a few weeks ago.  He is a real-life Daddy, too, but I “met” him on Twitter, of all places.  Coincidentally, he lives only a few miles away and we decided to meet up for lunch one day.  We shared Daddy stories as well as a mutual understanding of what it means to be a Daddy today vs. 20, 30, or 40 years ago.  It was very enlightening and comforting that what seems like just a personal experience of being a Daddy with all its struggles and triumphs, is shared by other Dads.

Plus, daddies are “networking” with other daddies to enhance their own individual parenting (daddying?) styles, i.e., what works, what doesn’t, how to do this or that, etc.  What people would think of guys getting together and talking sports, women or cars, is usurped by guys/daddies sharing and communicating what is, for most, a totally rewarding, but also totally new, act of being a daddy.

Oops, I would like to go on, but the little buggers just got home and Alien-Dinosaur-Machine-Animals is on and they were hoping to see it and I have to send out some Tweets….

Having twins isn’t easy.  Swimming the English Channel isn’t easy either, but it’s doable, with some practice and training.  I haven’t found any training for raising kids.  Sure there are books, though one has to wonder if all the books on the market actually work.  Don’t believe me, just look at the newest generation.  I rest my case.

Of course I can’t place all of the blame on the parents.  The kids are involved in the “raising kids” process, too, aren’t they?  Maybe if the little buggers actually LISTENED to their parents, a great many problems could be avoided, like injuries, hurt feelings and most importantly, parental stress.   But then again, maybe problems shouldn’t be avoided altogether.  Kids might actually learn something from falling down literally or metaphorically. And then, they’d listen!  Or maybe not.  Did you listen to your parents regardless of how many thousands of times they told you they knew better?  And you, and me, turned out relatively ok, didn’t we?  Well, I did.  Who knows about you?

So I’m driving little Archibald (not his real name) and Mortimer (not his real name, either) on their way to their new summer camp yesterday.  Their previous camp ended last week unceremoniously.  They had a talent show on the next-to-last day, which Sergeant Major Mommy (SMM) taped on her cell phone and kept viewing for three days to the detriment of the kids (and daddy) when she literally stayed in bed and watched the video and then kept saying “Awwww” every three seconds.  (Note: imagine hearing THAT for three days in a row!)  Nevertheless, the camp ended and everyone said Good bye, See you at school or see you next summer or see you on (any one of the thousands of) social media sites (where people don’t actually see each other anyway).

When we leave the house, little Archie decides to take one of the birthday toys they had received the preceding week.  Mortie chose not to take anything.   So, we’re off.  Not three minutes into the drive does little Mortie decide that “the toy” actually “belonged” to him and that little Archie should share it.

Archie respectfully disagreed with Mortie’s assessment and counter-offered that he would share “when he was good and ready.”  Now, keep in mind, that Mortie is a consummate (or will be someday) attorney.  He replied, “Now, see here, Archie.  That particular toy was given to me and even though it was given under the pretense that we would co-own “the toy”, it does rightfully and dutifully belong to me and the only reason you have it is that I have given my consent for you to play with it.  However, at this time, I am revoking that consent and thus, you are legally and responsibly bound to return said item to me, it’s rightful owner.”

Archie said NO! and the fight ensued.

The only thing that saved them (and daddy) is that they were both buckled into child seats.  Otherwise, well, who knows what kind of devastation would have occurred?

Daddy is driving and trying to remain cool, calm and collected while quietly chastising their behavior and keeping the car on the road while navigating the twenty-five hundred traffic lights and hundreds of blind drivers in the three-mile drive.   Nevertheless, daddy, rather uncharacteristically, says in a borderline loud voice “Stop it.  If I have to stop this car, “the toy” will become an ex-toy and it will magically transform in a reverse kind of metamorphosis into “car food”. The term we had for that kind of condition in Ohio was road kill.”

The two Vikings suddenly realize the severity of the situation and the urgency in daddy’s voice and they lowered their bazookas and quickly ceased all hostilities.

We arrive at the camp, the little buggers, daddy and “the toy” in perfect condition.  When I asked them later in the day if they learned anything from “the toy” incident, they replied, Yeah, keep all toys out of Ohio if you don’t want them to become road kill.