Fact: Quitting Coffee Is Pretty Much The Worst Thing Ever

I’m a well-documented coffee addict.  Indeed, it’s my opinion that no baby registry is complete without a year’s worth of caffeine products.  But in the words of one of my favorite 80s jams, “here I go again on my own!” Yep, I’ve gone and quit one of the things I love most.  I must be crazy.    

Why did I quit?  I was hoping you would ask…

I started drinking coffee when I got out of college.  It began with one cup per day.  Then it became two cups.  But I limited myself to two cups a day… until law school began, at which point I began having a third cup before class. 

Note: can you blame me?  I mean, you try sitting through lectures on rules of evidence and corporate takeovers with nothing but your can-do attitude.   

So there I was: three cups a day.  Max!  But… the occasional all-night legal writing project added a fourth cup to the mix.  I’m no dietician, but that’s a lot of caffeine in a day.  To make it worse, coffee became a must…especially in the morning.  My addiction manifested itself at church, where I began bringing a coffee mug and sneaking an occasional sip or two when nobody was looking (I couldn’t wait until after the service when coffee was both provided and socially-acceptable).  Other coffee addicts would occasionally look at me as if to say “don’t be ashamed, I’m doing it too…”  We were the coffee-at-church pioneers. 

And speaking of coffee mugs, let me also note that two “cups” eventually became two mugs.  And I assure you, a mug is about twice as big as a cup.  Fortunately as a general rule, a “cup” of coffee is still a cup regardless of the size of the drinking apparatus used.  In other words, a cup is a cup, and a gallon of coffee is still a cup.  This all makes sense to coffee drinkers…

Note: it also makes sense to soda addicts.  For this reason, a 64 ounce mug from 7/11 is a “soda” the same way a 12 ounce can is a “soda.”  Either way, the addict takes comfort in knowing that they have only consumed one soda that day. How disciplined!   

And when I really needed to get going, I’d buy a venti (which means “large” in French or Spanish or something) coffee from Starbucks.  Ahh Starbucks coffee.  It’s feel-good speed.  Starbucks dumps about twice as much caffeine in their coffee as anyone else and then has the audacity to disperse all kinds of information about how “coffee is actually good for you and contains lots of valuable nutrients.”  We coffee drinkers love thinking that our addiction just happens to be healthy… 

Note: it’s kinda like those studies which show that “chocolate is actually good for your health.”  Who funds these studies?  Probably Hershey’s.  But go ahead and munch away at that 500 calorie chocolate bar…it’s good for your, uhh, heart.         

Anyway.  For years, I assured myself that I wasn’t a coffee “addict” because I “could totally quit if I wanted to…” But in six years, I had not gone a day without coffee.  Not one single day. 

I have absolutely no actual knowledge of whether or not it’s true, but I’m convinced coffee makes your hands tremble at an early age.  And I know it stains your teeth.  It’s also really expensive, and it makes you feel like a total loser when you have to walk out in the cold and grab coffee by yourself because everyone else at work has “already had theirs”.  Oh yea, and it’s addictive. 

I realized I had become far too addicted one morning when I was late for work.  My mug was cold, and I had barely touched it, but I nonetheless chugged the entire thing right there.  It was gross. But, coffee had become a box I checked off twice each morning just to make it through, and chugging it like an anxious frat boy was what I had come to.  (Insert “Frank-the-Tank” chant). 

So with all that stuff in mind, I had decided it was time to quit.  I had considered quitting coffee before, but then my wife bought me a “Keurig,” which is basically a machine that makes great coffee in a matter of seconds, and leaves no mess.  The Keurig single-handedly delayed my plan to quit drinking coffee by about a year.  But man I love that machine.  (Lustful sigh…)  

I decided I would go cold turkey – not even bothering with the “phase out” approach.  I also decided to quit drinking soda because I figured it would become a crutch, and I honestly believe coffee is much better for me than soda.  Call me crazy, but I don’t think Mountain Dew is the key to staying young.  For those of us approaching 30, Mountain Dew is more like the key to staying awake… and then getting a kidney stone.  (Man-I’m-getting-old sigh…). 

So anyway.  One night I just told myself I wouldn’t have any more coffee.  Of course, Jimmy got sick that next morning and had me up before 5am.  But I stuck to the plan and went in to work sans caffeine.  And it…SUCKED!!!

Yea, quitting coffee is terrible.  I had the worst headache of my life for a solid day.  In fact, I even broke down and “did the Dew” that afternoon.   I also took some Tylenol or Advil (I always get them confused) that night, and drank a TON of water.  The day went by VERY SLOWLY, and that night, class was miserable.  I cannot emphasize this enough: quitting coffee is pretty much the worst thing ever.    

The next morning, things were a little better, but the day dragged on, and when I got home from work, I took a three hour nap.  I pretty much never take naps, but this one was glorious.  I still fought the headaches, but they weren’t nearly as bad. 

Day three and four were on a weekend, and I was able to sleep a little bit more than usual.  Still, I craved the taste of some coffee goodness.  I settled for orange juice, which is nowhere near as satisfying as “the good stuff.”  I also tried decaf coffee, which felt like supplementing cocaine with Pixy Stix. Not that there’s anything wrong with Pixy Stix…

Well, it’s been exactly one month, and I have been coffee and soda-free.  And even though I still very much crave coffee, it genuinely feels good to not to be such a slave to it anymore.  I am sleeping better, and feeling better.  My breath, I’m sure, is much better.  Still, my energy level isn’t quite where it used to be.  That I have not blogged once since I quit coffee is probably no coincidence…

Will I be back?  Well, if we have twins again then the answer is 100% yes.  And given that I’m about to become a lawyer (where coffee flows like scotch), the odds are stacked against me.  But I’m gonna stay strong.  Indeed, I can do all things with coffee in Christ who gives me strength. 

And if I really need my fix? I will be sure to limit myself to just one mug of coffee… I mean, cup.  Cheers. 

This is why I drink (coffee, that is)

My Long Day As A Stay-At-Home Dad

With newborns around the house, going to work is much easier than staying home.  That’s a fact.  Indeed, I’d take 8 hours in corporate America over 8 hours at home with crying babies any day.**

** I realized this last year on Memorial Day – a “work holiday”.  I spent my time at home, changing diapers and feeding hungry babies.  Awesome holiday. 

So.  I have no desire to be a stay-at-home dad.  But this week, both kids are really sick (fever, cold, croup cough…).  Normally, the kids spend Friday with Jackie’s mom, but these sick babies are more than one person can handle.  I have plenty of leave, so I offered to stay at home with Jimmy while my mother-in-law has Riley.  Basically, for the first time ever, I am testing out what it’s like to be a stay-at-home dad.  Oh boy, here we go…

8:25am: this is where the story begins.  Jackie is on her way out the door with Riley, and I am watching SportsCenter for the second time (because Jimmy is already comfortable and if I reach for the remote, I put this whole seating arrangement in jeopardy). 

One sick boy watching SportsCenter

8:50am: Apparently this Jeremy Lin guy on the New York Knicks is kind-of-a-big-deal.  They have been talking about him the entire time.  People know him. 

9:15am: Jimmy falls asleep in my lap, so I take him upstairs and put him in his crib.  Phew!  I make some coffee, and then head to the bathroom where I notice Riley unrolled the entire roll of toilet paper onto the bathroom floor before she left.  I tell myself I will clean it later (manspeak for: “I’ll let my wife pick it up”). 

9:20am:  I grab the book I’ve been meaning to read, Gates of Fire.  Seems pretty cool.  At least the first page does…

9:21am: Jimmy starts crying.  Looks like this won’t be much of a nap.   I put the book down (promising myself I will read it later) and grab Jimmy. 

9:30am: I realize the TV options are terrible.   I have no desire to watch the news or House Hunters International, but I see that The Price is Right will be on at 11.  I can’t wait. 

10:00am: I check Jimmy’s temperature.  While I wait for the thermometer to do its thing, the song “Because of You” by 98 Degrees randomly pops into my head.  What a great song!  Unfortunately for Jimmy, his temperature is 102 Degrees – four degrees higher than Nick Lachey would prefer.  Bummer. 

10:05am: I give Jimmy some baby Motrin.  It doesn’t taste good, so I let him chase it down with some milk.  To date, the “chaser” concept is the only thing I learned in college that has been of any use as a parent. I’ll let you know when that changes…

10:10am: Jimmy is making fart sounds with his mouth.  So proud of him!

10:20am: I change Jimmy’s diaper and begin watching “Matlock.”  It’s been about a decade since I have seen this show.  But aside from maybe Elle Woods, no lawyer can fish out a courtroom confession like this guy. Period.

10:25am: Jimmy – standing completely still – is grunting and his face is bright red (which means poop).  Now it smells bad.  Real bad.  Like, “bits of real panther” bad. 

Note: in case you haven’t noticed, I just made my second “Anchorman” reference.  Looks like I’m gonna have to run with this…

10:30am: a commercial comes on for guaranteed acceptance life insurance, and the next one is for the Scooter Store.  Gee, I wonder what age group they think is watching this show!

Jimmy is making fun of those pictures of people's feet at the beach.

10:34am: After just 15 minutes of viewing time, I think I have determined who the killer is on Matlock.  I make my hypothesis by applying the Dwight Shrute Doctrine of Killer Prediction…

For those who are unfamiliar, the Shrute Doctrine posits that the killer is never the person you most suspect, and it’s also never the person you least suspect.  Indeed, the killer is always the person you most MEDIUM suspect!

Well, I most medium suspect the owner of the pool at which the murder took place, but I also medium suspect the brother of the victim.  It definitely isn’t Matlock’s client (whom the show would have me suspect the most).

10:58am:  Yep! It was the pool owner.  I “medium suspected” him all along.  Thank you, Dwight Shrute. 

11:00am: Jimmy has fallen asleep in my lap and I really need to go to the bathroom.  This is typical. 

Note: when sitting with babies, I usually find myself in one of three scenarios: (1) I am incredibly comfortable but the baby is squirmy, (2) the baby is comfortable but my back is killing me, (3) the baby is comfortable and I really need to go to the bathroom.  Well, here I was in Category 3. 

11:20am: Jimmy goes in his crib for a nap.  Epic Succeed! 

11:30am: I decide to DVR The Price is Right so I can watch the Tom Crean Show (head coach, IU basketball).  I think back to Dwight Shrute and realize he resembles Tom Crean, at least slightly.  I’ll let you decide:

Jim Halpert is so weak

 and then…

 

Purdue is so weak

11:34am: I notice a stark contrast in these commercials as compared to the ones I saw during Matlock.  Indeed, I watch one commercial for 5 Hour Energy, one for Papa Johns, and one for State Farm.

Note: and in case you’re wondering, “Jake from State Farm” is wearing khakis…

12:00pm: time to begin The Price is Right.  I know Jackie loves this show.  Hey speaking of Jackie, I wonder what she’s up to right about now. I consider two options: working hard or playing Words with Friends.  My money is on Words with Friends…

12:05pm: Nope.  She’s been playing a game called “Bayou Blast.” I should have medium suspected that…  

12:20pm: just before the Showcase Showdown on The Price Is Right, I see a commercial for guaranteed life insurance, and one for the Scooter Store.  Now, I’m not one for conspiracy theories, but something tells me that the people who watch The Price is Right are some of the same people who watch Matlock. Maybe it’s just me…

 12:40pm: nothing is on TV.  Holy cow.  My choices are news (entirely about Whitney Houston), House Hunters International, and What Not to Wear.  Indefensibly, I choose What Not to Wear. 

12:42pm: apparently lip gloss is a great way to bring out the natural colors of your lips. Now before you judge me, I know I have no business watching this.  But… for some reason… I am kind of intrigued…

12:48pm: I realize this is getting out of hand.  I switch to the Ion Channel, which is playing “Terminator.”  Now give me my man-card back!

1:50pm: Jimmy is crying, so I get him. After holding him for a while, he’s still crying. He’s definitely in a glass cage of emotion.**

**Boom!  Three solid Anchorman references.  I’m done here.

1:51pm: I go through my “List of Things To Do When The Babies Cry:”

1. Bottle?  No.

2. Diaper?  (Sniff). That’s not it either. 

3. Ahh!!!! There is no #3!

Eventually I realize his medicine is wearing off.  Time for more morphine Motrin. Then I prepare some chicken nuggets and applesauce for lunch.  He seems to enjoy it. I’ve been watching a lot of “Chopped” recently, so I’m feeling pretty good about my cooking talent…

Watch out Chick-fil-A, dad makes some mean nuggets!

2:45pm: before I return to the living room, I realize how gross I feel.  Shower is necessary.  I head upstairs, turn on the water, place a few toys on the bathroom floor, and hop in. 

2:48-ish pm: I realize that showering while watching a baby totally sucks.  He starts screaming right as I lather up with Shampoo.  Shower abruptly ends.  

3:22pm: I’m getting sleepy.  And bored.  Come to think of it, this whole day has been kinda boring.  Jimmy has crawled into the kitchen and is banging on pots and pans.  I go in there to join him.  When in Rome…

3:55pm: Jimmy has decided he would much rather drink my Mountain Dew than his formula.  Looks like milk was a bad choice.**

**Ok, seriously.  I’m done making Anchorman references. 

4:07pm: Jimmy falls asleep on the couch. I decide that a nap is a great idea. 

This is how a true player sleeps

 4:12pm:  Right as I’m falling asleep, some dude knocks on the door offering tree cutting services.  Had he woken up Jimmy, I would have cut him.  Thankfully, he didnt.  And no, we don’t need our trees cut.

4:25pm:  I hear Jimmy making fart sounds.  He must be up.  But I look over and see that he is asleep.   Huh?  That’s when I discovered that my son makes fart sounds in his sleep.  THAT IS INCREDIBLE!

Eventually, Jimmy woke up.  The afternoon dragged on until 5:48pm, when Jackie finally arrived.  Let’s just say, Jimmy and I were both very happy to see her. 

Yay mom's home!

Dont get me wrong, we had fun today.  But!  I am thankful that come Monday, I will be spending my 8 hours in corporate America, not at home… 

And I medium suspect the kids feel the exact same way.

 

Decorating A Baby Nursery (With Help From Top Gun)

When I first started this blog, my intended audience was other dudes who hadn’t had kids yet.  My goal was not to give advice, but to give warnings – all while speaking in a language that fellow cavemen would understand.  Well, women account for about 95% of my readership.  Turns out cavemen like reading about sports and other manly things.  Fair enough. 

With that in mind, I’m about to ride this blog right into the Danger Zone, as before you is a post about how I decorated our baby nursery.  And because I don’t want to lose the precious few male readers I have, I’m going to dress this up with quotes from one of the manliest movies I can think of – Top Gun. 

 

Note: I considered using quotes from an even manlier movie, Face/Off, but it turns out far too many of them contain the F word.  No dice. 

 

I know what you’re probably thinking: mixing Top Gun quotes with a post about decorating a baby nursery is dangerous.  Well, you’re right, Ice…man. I am dangerous.

 

Let’s rewind about one year, shall we?  It was a time when Jackie was right in the thick of her pregnancy.  Aside from the occasional Chinese food run, I was utterly useless.  Eventually, the opportunity presented itself to do one productive thing, and that was design the baby nursery.  This was my shot to contribute.  There was no danger, so I took it.**

 

**Actually that’s false: this was a very dangerous operation.  The nursery was extremely important to Jackie, and if I screwed it up she would have had me flying a cargo plane full of rubber dog (poo) out of Hong Kong!

 

The first thing I needed was a theme for the room.  For people who are having boy-girl twins, this one is a no-brainer: Noah’s Ark!  

I’m not really sure why a story about millions of people drowning to death makes such great fodder for nursery rooms, but somehow it does.  It’s probably because we tend to focus on the fact that Noah and his family got a spot on the Ark; and we tend not to focus on the fact that to all the other Ghost Riders on the planet, the pattern was full.  But who knows.     

Importantly, Noah brought along two of every unclean animal with him.  This is where twins and Noah’s Ark merge: two babies, two animals – obvious nursery theme.  Oh, and just so you know there’s also two “Os” in goose, boys… 

I knew I wanted to make the bottom half of the room into the ocean, and that the ark would go somewhere above the cribs.  Beyond that, I needed ideas.  A Google search turned up hundreds of different designs…

Some were a little too cheesy:

Where are the unicorns?

And some were a little too…scary:

Not exactly the Titanic

Eventually, I stumbled upon a simple ark theme that wouldn’t give the babies nightmares. I decided to run with it.

Ahh, just right.

At the time, the color of room was orange, so I primed it.  Then I began to trace the waves of the ocean on the wall.  This was where Jackie and I disagreed: she wanted perfectly uniform waves, and I wanted more spontaneous, random waves.  We debated for a good day or two over this.  Ultimately, I disregarded Jackie’s idea and went with mine…AND BROKE A MAJOR RULE OF ENGAGEMENT!

Once I had traced the waves onto the wall with a pencil, I painted the ocean and the sky with a big brush.  This covered the wall pretty good, but wasn’t as effective for the more detailed aspects of the design.  Ergo, I used a tiny brush to ensure the waves were nice and crisp.  I guess you could say I was too close for missiles, so I switched to guns.

Then I proceeded to draw the actual ark, which was trickier.  The ark I was going for had three layers, which I drew with a level.  The curves in the front and back of the ark had to be re-done many times, which was very time consuming.  In fact, one day I was playing beach volleyball in jean shorts and a sleeveless shirt (while listening to Kenny Loggins) but had to leave early so I could get home and keep working.  It’s true.

Once I finished painting the waves and the ark, I was feeling pretty good about the room. But then Jackie gently reminded me that there’s a rainbow in the Noah’s Ark story that just had to be included.** 

** I’ll note that at the end of the story (featured in Genesis), there’s also a bit about Noah getting drunk and passing out naked in a tent.  For some reason, Jackie didn’t want that part of the story represented in the nursery… 

So to recap: rainbow, in; drunk Noah sleeping naked in a tent, out.  Roger that.

Anyway, Jackie wanted the rainbow to be huge – spanning two walls.  The ark was gonna go over Jimmy’s crib, so this rainbow was Riley’s big feature.  When I told her how hard that would be, she said “Maverick, you big stud, paint the darn rainbow or lose me forever.”  Or words to that effect.

I thumb-tacked a piece of string to the wall, and drew a big semi-circle for the first ring of the rainbow.  Then I moved the same thumb tack up two inches on the wall, and drew another one.  I did this five times, and then painted the rainbow with five different colors.  You might be wondering what I was thinking at this point.  Let me just say that I didn’t have time to think up there. Indeed if you think, you’re dead. 

Then came the clouds.  Sigh.  Clouds, oddly enough, are really hard to draw.  The clouds I originally painted looked really, really stupid.  I re-did them and they still looked stupid.  Several re-dos later and I finally got it down.  Unfortunately, the precise manner in which I completed the clouds is Top Secret. I could tell you exactly how I did it, but then I’d have to kill you. 

At this point, the room looked pretty good but it needed animals.  Lots of animals.  That’s the whole point of the Noah’s Ark theme, right?  Well, we got some decals from Wal-Mart and placed them on the ark.  Then we got some stuffed animals and hung them on the wall.  Finally, the room was decorated.

But I wasn’t finished! Oh no…  I still had two cribs, a changing table, a rocking chair, and a dresser to assemble.  Doing all this would make any man lose that lovin’ feelin – I was no exception.  And let me just say that if I could communicate with the people who write the instructions for these things, I definitely would give them the bird.  You know, the finger. 

The last touch was taking the remaining decals from the nursery and putting them in the bathroom.  It was a simple way to tie in the nursery theme to the bathroom.  Then, Jackie thanked me for my help, and told me I could be her wingman anytime.      

(I think we all know what I said next…).

Here’s the finished product: 

And another…

You'll notice the color-coded closet. Yea, she's good...

And another…

Dang you, clouds!

 And one more…

Why can't we just call it Noah's Boat?

While the room probably doesn’t win first prize, fortunately for me there’s a plaque for the alternates down in the ladies room.  I’ll take it.  Now it’s time to celebrate…

“Tower, this is Ghost Rider requesting a flyby.”

Part Two: Beer and a Box of Pregnancy Tests

This is the second installment of a two-part story on how my wife and I lost our first baby, and fought like crazy to have another one.  Read “Part One” of the story here.  

*******************************************************************    

So there I was, beer in hand.  And there she was, pregnancy test in hand – apparently it was positive. 

We were definitely skeptical.  Even though all three pregnancy tests showed up the exact same way, Jackie and I figured there may have been something wrong with the box.  So, we marched back to the same store, grabbed more of the same pregnancy tests, and paid the exact same cashier.  Umm…awkward!   

It took about five tests to finally convince us that Jackie was pregnant.  I was a giddy school-girl.  But I was also very cautious.  “Oh please God let us keep this one!” was our constant prayer, and we took it seriously.  Please, please, please let us keep this one. 

Meanwhile, we were determined to keep the pregnancy our little secret.  We agreed: absolutely NOBODY can know about this until the second trimester!  Nobody… except some of our close friends.  And some family members.  Aaaaand some people from our church.  When you continually find yourself saying “but you can’t tell anyone…” you know your secret is doomed.  Well, ours was doomed. 

Of course, there are ways of telling people the news without *actually* telling them.  I mean, you can only order so many lemonades at an open bar wedding before people (like my dad) become suspicious.  And as a general rule, if you are a woman near 30 and refuse alcohol in any social setting for any reason, the pregnancy flags start flying.  It’s science. 

Either way, pretty much everyone knew about the pregnancy within two weeks.  Secrecy fail.

From the beginning, I enjoyed following the progress of our baby.  Indeed, I had a “pregnancy calendar” set to Jackie’s due date that I checked daily.  And while I still have no idea what a baby’s “crown to rump length” means, I was sure excited that it was getting bigger.  Our little tadpole was growing up!

I was particularly excited about Jackie’s first sonogram.  I couldn’t be there in person, but I got one heck of a phone call: “there’s two of them!” 

Two tadpoles.

Random side-note:  I see lots of “LOLs”, but am often suspicious that no one on the other end is laughing out loud.  For this reason, I hereby propose we add “ALOL” – or, “actually laughing out loud” to our online vernacular.  And I’m about to be the first person to ever use it in a sentence…

So, I get the news, and all I could do was ALOL.  Twins?  Really? 

Really.

Throughout the pregnancy, Jackie was a trooper.  Since she was carrying twins, she was deemed “high risk,” which meant constant doctor appointments, endless contractions, daily monitoring sessions, and bed rest.  I’m no expert on pregnancies, but I have seen the movie “Juno” and thus feel minimally qualified in saying that this was not a normal one by any stretch of the imagination.

That said, Jackie did go through many of the same experiences other pregnant women go through.  For instance, one day I got a frantic phone call from what I thought was a heroin addict.  Turns out it was my wife.  She needed a cheeseburger from Five Guys and she needed it RIGHT NOW!!!

The months flew by for me.  Working full time and going to school at night will do that.  I went to as many doctor visits as I could, and was amazed by how many other fathers went to them as well.  Like most men, seeing them move around for the first time was the coolest experience of them all.  Our little girl, “Baby B,” was already throwing punches.  And our little man, “Baby A,” was already taking them.  It’s been 13 months, and I can tell you nothing has changed.

When we had free time, we watched the TV show “Lost.”  All 121 episodes.  That show was awesome, and Jimmy’s name came close to being “Sawyer.” **

**Actually that’s not true at all.  I totally just made that up.

Speaking of Lost, there I was one morning studying for my upcoming Evidence Law final… totally lost.  Jackie’s due date was over a month away, and I get a call: “it’s happening this afternoon.”  The first thing that popped into my head was that their birthday would be on Cinco de Mayo… LUCKY!  In the meantime, I was told to “keep studying” (a downright laughable order).  I had to do something productive, so I moved the lawn instead.  I also cleaned up a little bit around the house and re-arranged some of our furniture.  I was basically nesting. 

The C-section itself was rather anti-climactic.  I mean, this is supposed to be one of my life’s most beautiful moments and here I am staring into a strange, creepy operating room.  I went in with camera in hand and sat down.  Minutes later, both babies were born.  It was so bizarre.  And instead of saying something meaningful, I just asked questions like “is all that blood normal?” Useless.  Oh, and Jackie was totally high from her epidural.  So to recap, we have a useless dad and a stoned mom.  Great start. 

Picture 9 nurses and 1 doctor all scrambling to care for our babies, and me sitting there wondering what I’m gonna post on Facebook.  That was our delivery room. 

I knew one thing: those babies were tiny.  4 pounds, something ounces.  Out of nowhere, a nurse handed baby Jimmy to me.  As happy as I was to finally meet him, I desperately wanted the nurse to take him back before I dropped him.  Indeed, holding a newborn baby is far more responsibility than a man like myself should bear.  Heck I shouldn’t even be allowed to hold a cell phone!     

And then nurse placed Riley in my other hand.  I’m pretty sure I blacked out for the next 30 seconds… 

Scariest moment of my life

Anyway.  Those babies spent a while in the “NICU” (where newborn babies go for intensive care).  Neither of them were breathing well, and Jimmy wasn’t eating.  Seeing my daughter in an incubator and my son with a feeding tube in his mouth was hard – my first experience as a helpless parent.  That was the moment when it *truly* hit: I was a father.  Holy cow.    

Somewhere in there, my sister flew in town and I took my evidence final.  For all I know I could have killed a man, too.  It’s all a blur… 

Eight days later, Jimmy and Riley were healthy enough to come home.  Finally, the page of our lives that was marked by the loss of our first baby had been turned.  What a mountain we climbed. 

Without a doubt, adjusting to lack of sleep, crying babies and diaper disasters has been challenging.  But know this: we count our blessings daily.  We know what a miracle it is just to bring a child into this world, and our hearts melt for those who are trying desperately to experience that miracle as well.     

God doesn’t promise everybody that they will get to have a child of their own, but He does promise us life through Jesus Christ – the child He lost.  God was graceful to give us both.  This is His awesome story of trial and triumph. 

It’s one that ends with Jackie and me holding two healthy, beautiful babies… and one that, oddly enough, began with me holding a case of beer and a box of pregnancy tests.  

His awesome story indeed. 

Part One: Beer and a Box of Pregnancy Tests

Not too often does a man find himself holding a case of Bud Light and a box of E.P.T.s. But there I was.  And this was one of those days.  Does it get any more sketchy than this?  And more importantly, why the heck were these two things in my hands? 

I can easily explain the booze: I was out of town for a wedding and looking to stock up.  The pregnancy tests; however, are gonna be a bit harder to explain.  But I’ll try… 

In January of 2009, my wife told me that a pregnancy test she had just taken was positive (which means pregnant).  Being the skeptic I am, I didn’t believe it.  Jokingly, I told her I was “throwing the red flag,” and that we would need a review from the booth (or in this case, a blood test from the doctor) to confirm the ruling on the field.

Clearly, I had been watching way too much football…  

For the next few days, I tried to put it out of my head, and pretty much did.  Until I got “the call.”  I kid you not, I pick up the phone and the first thing I hear is: “the ruling on the field stands.”  Oh boy.

“Ok, I’m on my way home.” 

Needless to say the pregnancy was a total shocker.  At the time, I was working an intense Pentagon job, and just completed my first semester of law school.  I mean, I was hoping for a little more time before this all went down.  Jackie, then 28, had always dreamed of raising a family.  Recently, she had begun giving me the full court press on having a baby…   

Constantly, I was reminded that Jackie’s “biological clock was ticking…”  Translation: YOU BETTER GIVE ME A BABY SOON!  But neither of us figured it would be *this* soon. 

The sun was setting, and that biological clock was ticking!

Well, I was biologically-clocked right in the face.  And my first order of business was to tell my friends.  I mean, A BABY??? Oh they’re gonna love this…  I told everyone: family, friends, strangers.  Everyone had to hear this hilarious news. 

And then one day, suddenly, it became not so hilarious. 

Everyone has a few blink-of-an-eye moments characterized by the instant realization that life as they know it is about to change.  Well, this was one of those moments.  Exiting the bathroom, Jackie dropped to her knees.  Without saying a word, her tearful eyes told me all I needed to know: our baby was gone.  Panic, shock, horror, disbelief, and tragedy were among thousands of bricks that fell on us all at once. 

Days became weeks, and weeks became months, and I gradually moved on with my life.  Jackie didn’t.  She blamed herself.  She was embarrassed.  In her eyes, she had failed the most important job she had ever been given.    

Meanwhile, our friends started getting pregnant, and that was really hard.  Mother’s Day came along, and that was nearly unbearable.  Father’s Day was hard, too.  EVERY FREAKING DAY WAS HARD!!! 

“Why did this happen to us?” was a question I was constantly expected to answer.  But I had no good answers. 

“I just wish you could understand,” she pleaded. But her wish didn’t come true – I never understood.  I mean, I knew God was in control, but I sure didn’t know what the heck He was doing.  

Months later, we began trying to have another baby.  Unfortunately, as soon as we started trying, it seemed like EVERYONE was getting pregnant.  Their stories were all similar: “oh-my-gosh-we-got-pregnant-the-first-month-we-tried!” 

Oh did you?   

Months and months of trying led to nothing.  People who knew our situation either avoided the topic altogether, or approached it very delicately.   It was becoming the elephant in the room.  I mean, we were trying so hard… and we were praying super-nicely, too!  But all we heard was silence.   

God?  You gonna give us a baby?  Bueller?

Nothing.  And every time we thought our prayers had been answered, a pregnancy test would rebuke us.  “Not this month,” Jackie would say.  Couples struggling to get pregnant know that phrase well… 

People started coming out of the woodwork telling us their stories about how they coped with infertility – a word I absolutely hate using.  We read bible verses about women like Elizabeth (mother of John the Baptist), who miraculously got pregnant.  But the angel Gabriel was nowhere to be found, and as far as having a baby was concerned, I was becoming a Doubting Tom. 

After 16 exhausting months of trying, we surrendered.  We needed a break, and began to realize that God’s timing wasn’t in line with ours.  This resignation was strangely comforting.  For the first time in years, Jackie and I just began looking forward to just hanging out together as friends.  An out-of-town wedding was the perfect venue – finally, a relaxing weekend.  Hence the beer… 

But Jackie grabbed a box of pregnancy tests as well, just to be sure.  I mean, there was pretty much no chance there was a baby in there, but we were planning on having a few drinks that night and by this point we had already bought so many pregnancy tests that it had almost become a habit.  So why not.  

And there they both were, sitting in my hands.  

Naturally, I made Jackie pay for them.  I mean, beer and pregnancy tests?  I wouldn’t be surprised if protective services came in and grabbed me right there!  We got back to the hotel room and Jackie went through the motions of yet another awkward test.  A mere formality. 

I had already cracked a Bud Light.  And then I saw Jackie crack a big smile…

Why I Refuse To Buy Girl Scout Cookies From Parents

Girl Scout cookie season is upon us, and that really is a wonderful thing.  Samoas, Thin Mints, Tagalongs…where have you been for the last 8 months of my life!!!  

I know it may seem a little off-topic for this blog, but I like to rant (and it’s my lunch break) so let me just say a few things about these delicious treats. 

First off, they’re the best!  I mean, compared to other kinds of cookies they’re expensive ($4/box), but they have two things working in their favor: 1. you can’t always get them, and 2. they’re always good.  

Others have tried to replicate the greatness of a Girl Scout cookie but haven’t succeeded.  Wal-Mart sells “Fudge Mint Cookies” (which look suspiciously like Thin Mints) and Keebler has “Fudge Shoppe Coconut Dreams” (which look suspiciously like Samoas).  Don’t be fooled.  Or, as Buddy the Elf would say, “it’s a fake!”

And while I love the Girl Scouts, they are a bunch of cute little LIARS!  Indeed, every box seems to claim a serving size of just 2 or 3 cookies – about 10 cookies too few for the average consumer.    

So.  Girl Scout cookies are awesome.  According to their website, the purpose behind cookie sales (aside from generating about $700M in annual revenue) is to develop the following skills:

1. Goal Setting; 2. Decision Making; 3. Money Management; 4. People Skills; and 5. Business Ethics.  Which goal is my favorite, you ask?  “I choose Business Ethics.”**

**Yes, I just made an obligatory (off-topic) Billy Madison reference.

Ok seriously though.  Those are all great skills (I’m going to come back to them in a little bit, stay tuned…).  And the Girl Scouts of America is a great organization that I hope one day my daughter decides to join.  Fact is, I’m already a sucker for Girl Scout cookies, so I can only imagine how many boxes little Riley will coax me into buying (it very-well could end up being a three-figure number).

Anyway.  Here’s my totally unrequested take on Girl Scout cookie sales: if you come to my door, or even give me a phone call, I’m sold.  If you hit me up at the right moment on the way out of the grocery store, I’m also probably sold.  In fact, I’m pretty much willing to buy anything that any child is selling for scholastic/charitable/community purposes so long as they make their pitch in person.  This includes wrapping paper, popcorn, and discount cards that offer random things I will never need, like 10% off catering orders at Benigans.

But everything changes when parents are the ones making the pitch.  Sorry moms (and dads), but I will *not* buy Girl Scout cookies on your daughter’s behalf.  Indeed, I won’t buy anything on your child’s behalf.

It’s the principle.  Cookie sales are a great vehicle for learning valuable life skills, and all of that is totally thrown out the window when kids don’t actually make the sales pitch themselves.  When I tell people this, I usually get one of three responses…

There’s the “these are dangerous times” and “you just never know” and “it’s not like it used to be” response.  In some neighborhoods that’s true, but not in most neighborhoods.  And definitely not in my neighborhood. Next…

Then there’s the “this is just the way it’s done now” argument.  I hate this one.  I award you no points for it.**

**Holy cow I just made my second Billy Madison reference! Now I gotta make at least one more…

Finally, there’s the “my daughter has swimming and soccer and tutoring and church group” and just “doesn’t have time” to do it on her own.  I’ll get to this one in a little bit (but let me kill the suspense: I don’t buy it).

Look, I get that prizes are a big deal, and I also get that the people who organize these fundraisers brainwash kids into making outrageous sales goals by waving toys in their face like cocaine.  For instance, when I was in fourth grade, I was determined to sell enough magazine subscriptions to get a really cool SuperSoaker – the gold standard of aquatic firearms.  To do so, I had to sell 50 subscriptions, but I only ended up selling about 12 (thanks Uncle Steve!).  Unfortunately, this was just enough for a cheap Styrofoam airplane.  Bummer.

Eventually I learned that I would never be one of those kids who sold a million subscriptions and got a drum set or a minute inside that device that makes it rain dollar bills.  At my school, the only people who got those prizes were the kids who had super rich parents that either (a) bought a million subscriptions, or (b) bought them for the company they owned.  Those kids are the ones got the cool prizes.  Not. Fair!

Which brings me back to Girl Scout cookies.  Your kid is “just too busy” to sell cookies on her own?  Lame!  I mean, how does it help your daughter’s “people skills” (Girl Scout goal #4) when the entire operation is passed to her well-connected mom or dad?   Here’s a thought: if your daughter is super busy, maybe she shouldn’t expect to sell 5,000 boxes of cookies (after all, two of the stated purposes behind the whole sale are goal-setting and decision-making). 

Furthermore, those parents who sell cookies at the office are usually the ones who collect and account for the money involved, which defeats Girl Scout goal #3 – money management. 

Hate to say it, but pretty much the entire purpose of selling cookies (as stated by the Girl Scouts themselves), is defeated when parents take over and hit up their co-workers. 

Am I the only one who feels this way? I FEEL LIKE IM TAKING CRAZY PILLS!!!

I know that I am young and naïve, and I can already hear moms telling me why I’m way off base and why “some day I will understand what it’s like” and how “this is just the way things are done now.”  Scout moms and dads can be a tough bunch.  Trust me, I know…

A few days into my current job, a woman in my office was making the hard sell.  When I told her that I didn’t buy cookies from parents she pretty much tortured me until, in a moment of weakness, I gave in and bought a box.  I’m no Jack Bauer.    

People will do whatever works for their own family.  But if your kid is looking for my business, he or she would be wise to ask residents of our household in person. 

As for me and my daughter?  Well, I intend to be her coach, not her quarterback.  That means she will definitely be hitting you up in person.  And as Scar would say, “be prepared,” cuz she already makes a mean sales pitch.  Heck, if she can convince me to give her the remote control in exchange for absolutely nothing, then I’m pretty sure she’s gonna find a way to get you to buy a few boxes of  Do-si-dos.  And maybe a box of Tagalongs too…

Oh by the way:  Knibb High Football Rules! 

"Dad quit being so stingy and buy a few more boxes of Thin Mints!"

Traveling With Twins: How We Survived A Week In Paradise

A note to all the soon-to-be-dads out there: nothing will slap you in the face and make you realize how different life is with children than going on vacation with them.  Trust me.   

Last month, we went on a family trip to Jamaica (awesomely paid for by my mother-in-law) and stayed at an all-inclusive resort.  The trip was excellent.  But also kind of exhausting.   

Preparations commenced days before the trip even began.  Jackie and I went through a mental checklist of things the babies “needed” to have, which also got us thinking about all the things we wouldn’t have on the trip – things like exersaucers and electronic pianos and bouncy seats.  Oh my!

Even so, Jackie packed a lot of stuff.  Mind you, I used to go on trips with literally just a grocery bag, so you can imagine my disbelief when I discovered we were bringing the following items: two gigantic suitcases, two not-quite-as-gigantic suitcases, a backpack, a stroller, a diaper bag, and Jackie’s purse.  Hooray baggage fees!

Here’s how it went down: we woke up at 3:30am, left at 4am, and got to the airport at 5am.  We were hoping the babies would be asleep the whole time, but one sure thing about vacations is that they throw sleep routines out the window from the moment they begin. 

Note: there are three sleep routine killers: vacations, Daylight Savings Time, and grandparents. That is a scientific fact.

Anyway.  We were sure to bring passports for the babies so they would be legit. 

Two very sketchy international travelers

Fast forward.  We’re checked in.  Next major obstacle?  Getting through security. 

Before we had kids, pretty much the only thing I ever worried about when going through security was whether or not my socks matched.  But with two babies and a million bags, there are far more important things to consider.  Things like… 

- What the heck am I supposed to do with this gigantic stroller?

- How am I gonna take off my shoes while holding a baby and placing bags onto the conveyor belt?

- Are there chemicals in this baby formula that will trigger a TSA pat-down?

Ahh!!!!!!!!!!!

Somehow we got through and on to the gate.  Once we get there, the kids are being pretty loud, but I have coffee at this point so it doesn’t really bother me.  And then I hear: “would Mr. Howland please approach the ticketing counter?” Oh boy… 

Note: I have never heard my name over the loudspeaker at an airport and had it be a good thing.  I’m gonna go ahead and say that unless you’re on standby, hearing your name at an airport is pretty much always a bad thing. 

So anyway, I hear the guy say something about how (I’m paraphrasing) “somebody’s flight somehow got mixed up and (blah, blah, blah), so I regret the inconvenience but you have been moved to the very back of the plane.”  Translation: your family’s gonna be obnoxious, so sit in the back and like it.   

Note: we actually did like it.  I would much rather be in the back of the plane where crying is drowned out by the sound of a ridiculously loud engine, and the babies can roam free.  So my whole theory about hearing my name over the loudspeaker is pretty much false…

Before we had kids, I slept on planes.  (Sigh…).  That was nice.  Now I hold babies.  On this particular trip, I got to sit with Riley, who hates sitting still!  I spent a decent portion of the plane ride on the ground, playing with her and allowing her to crawl through the aisle. 

Internal monologue: I used to see people doing these things and thought about how ridiculous they looked.  But then again I’m a big fan of American flag ties, Hawaiian shirts and fanny packs, so I guess I’m just carrying on a long history of looking ridiculous. 

Internal monologue continued: but seriously, there’s nothing ridiculous about American flag ties…

Well, we finally made it to Jamaica.  Normally when we arrive at all-inclusives the first thing I do is snag about six pieces of pizza from the kitchen and order a strawberry-banana daiquiri from the bar.  But now before I do any of that I need to make sure the hotel knows that we need two cribs in our room. 

“No, no, TWO cribs…twins…”

 After a great dinner, everyone is tired.  It’s a good night for everyone pack it up early and get some sleep.  And by “sleep” I mean stay up and party all night.  I’m serious.  You would have thought we laced their bottles with Red Bull.  Remember what I said about vacations throwing everything off?  It’s soooo true.      

A message to dudes out there who don’t have kids and think it’s ridiculous that new parents always talk about bedtime/naptime routines: you’ll be here soon, young grasshoppers.     

By 6:00am Jimmy was asleep and Riley was awake, so I took her out to breakfast where I notice lots of young couples with their infants/little children.  We didn’t sit together, and we didn’t talk to each other, but we all gave each other that forced “I-know-why-you’re-miserable” smile.  We’re all just parenting in paradise… 

I also talked to a woman who told me that there was a free nursery at the resort, and that she used to take her baby there during the day.  I asked: “IT’S FREE?”  Then I told Jackie about the nursery and she pretty much goes: “WAIT! IT’S FREE?”

That’s my wife!

Since this is not just a vacation story but also a survival story, let me just say that the resort nursery was our lifeline.  We took them in there from 1pm-5pm.  Until then, it was the storm before the calm.  In fact, one day, I asked Jackie what time it was.  A few minutes later I asked again.  Then I got busted.

Jackie:  “are you counting down the minutes until the babies go to the nursery?”  

Another one bites the...sand?

Me: “uhh… no?”

When the babies weren’t in the nursery, they were in the sand.  Literally.  

 

Of course, before we went out to the beach, we had to apply gallons and gallons of sunscreen.  See, Jackie usually gets the kids dressed and ready to go places, but because she hates putting on sunscreen and the kids get their pale complexion from me, she “allows” me to do it.  We cover them good: hats, sun shirts, etc.  At the beach, those babies looked more like they were going paintballing. 

No Shoes? No Shirt? Big Problem!

And here’s another problem: one night Jimmy literally didn’t sleep.  He cried uncontrollably in our room for hours, and the only thing that calmed him down was fresh air.  So, at 2:30am, I grabbed the stroller and walked him for about an hour.  He eventually fell asleep in his stroller, and I slept on a loveseat in the lobby.  Turns out he had a fever…FOR MORE COWBELL!!!**

**Actually, he had an ear infection.  True story.  A cowbell probably would have made things worse…

Some lessons learned from our big trip:

1. Jamaican ants are attracted to baby formula.  Fortunately, Jackie doesn’t believe in killing ants… she believes in genocide!

2. Saying “respeck mon!” instead of “thank you” gives you a little bit more street cred in Jamaica. 

Note: but every time I said “respeck mon” people looked at me funny…

Kids, do not try this at home

3. Riley loves having ice cream and cheese fries served to her on the beach.  And who wouldn’t? 

4.  Jamaicans are great dancers, but nerdy white guys like me can still teach them a thing or two!  

 

 

It’s a good thing there’s paradise in parenting, because parenting in paradise can feel like it’s anything but. 

Jamaica: we came (with babies). We saw. We…survived.

This picture pretty much sums up the week perfectly

How We Deal With Twins That Basically Never Sleep

One thing I’ve learned over the past 8 months is that sleeping with twin babies in the house takes patience and prayer.  And sometimes alcohol.

Look, all babies have a way of changing nighttime routines; I get that.  But twins provide a one-two punch that’s hard to match.  One will cry, the other will sleep.  And then they switch.  Basically, they’re working shifts.

Lack of sleep has been my toughest adjustment to fatherhood.  Nothing else even comes close.   I miss sleep so, so much.**

**Obligatory mention of the fact that I love my babies to death and they are worth every minute of lost sleep.  But still.

For the first six or seven weeks, our house was like an IHOP – we were serving breakfast 24 hours a day.  Jackie would generally care for the babies downstairs from about 11pm – 4am (while I slept upstairs), and we would switch from about  4am-7 or 8am.  On a good night, Jackie was getting 3 or 4 hours.  I generally got 4 or 5 hours.  Hello coffee.  

Being upstairs in bed while the babies were downstairs with Jackie felt like I was at home base during an intense game of capture the flag.  For the time-being, I was safe.  But not for long…

I remember one morning Jackie came in the bedroom and told me it was my turn to watch the kids.  She then got into bed, closed her eyes, and said “ahhh…glory.”  That’s exactly what it was like.   

What made it even worse?  This whole thing went down during the dregs of the sports calendar (June-August).  SportsCenter is terrible this time of year, and the news cycle is unbelievably slow.  Pretty much all there was to watch was (a) shows about people buying/fixing houses, (b) fly-fishing, and (c) NBA/NHL reruns.  I generally opted for the NBA reruns, but I have to admit I watched quite a few shows about buying houses. 

Oh, I forgot option (d): infomercials.  In case you’re interested, I could probably tell you anything you would ever want to know about the Ionic Breeze Air Purifier.

Anyway.  After a few months the babies began sleeping in their own cribs, and Jackie and I were sleeping in our own bed.  The problem was that the sleep was being interrupted every 45 or 50 minutes.  Let me just go on the record as saying this is the worst kind of sleep ever.  If faced with the choice, I’d take 4 straight hours of sleep over 8 hours of sleep interrupted on a semi- hourly basis any day of the week. 

And it was during this phase that my hatred for the device they call “the monitor” began. 

Many parents of babies learn to hate the monitor very quickly.  Why? Because baby monitors are essentially alarm clocks without a snooze button.  They’re evil!  They’re also pointless – those babies scream loud enough for my out-of-state parents to hear them at night.  Nothing adds to the frustration of screaming babies like a device that works to amplify an already ridiculously loud sound.  Remember: the monitor is on your baby’s side – not yours!

Our monitor comes with three settings:  constantly on; on when there’s a sound in the room; and off.  If it were up to me, that thing would always be off.  But we compromised on the middle setting – it’s on when they cry.   So for a while, it was pretty much always on. 

Here’s how bedtime worked: we would put the kids down at about 10pm.  Bath, bottle, prayer (“Dear God please let us all get some sleep tonight” was a common one…).  They would fall asleep, and we would plop them in bed.  As my bride would say: “Ahhh.  Glory!”

But this was always the calm before the storm.  Within an hour, one of them would scream.  And scream. And scream!  (The monitor picks up this sound quite nicely).  We got up so many times every night just to calm them down and feed them.  And just when you got one down, the other one would wake up.  This would carry on until about 6am when one of us would surrender to the babies.  For a while, my first words in the morning were “ok, ok, you win.”  In the battle between sleep and babies, babies always win.

This process was physically brutal.  Literally!  Early one morning after Jackie went to feed Jimmy, I heard a loud crash. 

Note: anytime you hear “that sound” (and parents know exactly what that sound is…), you panic.  It’s a distinct, unmistakable thump.  When you hear it, something is always wrong.    

Ok, back to the story.  I’m lying in bed (half asleep) and I hear “that sound.” I ran into the hallway half expecting to see Jimmy fallen on the floor.  But Jimmy was in bed.  It was Jackie.  She ran right into a wall and broke her nose.  Sometimes those walls just come out of nowhere!  

At about five months, we got out of bed one morning and collectively said “oh-my-gosh-we-need-to-do-something-about-this-nighttime-thing-before-we-lose-our-minds.”  If your babies don’t sleep through the night, chances are you’ve been here.  So the research began…

We reached out to many of the people reading this blog.  My cousin (who has twins) gave us some great advice.  The rest we got from “Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child” – a book I highly recommend.  We ultimately decided that a modified “cry it out” plan was best:  feed them once a night, and let them scream the rest of the way. 

Let me just say something about the “cry it out” method: it’s hard.  It basically entails hearing your babies cry and not doing anything about it.  The idea is that in the long run, they learn how to calm themselves down and ultimately sleep better.  It’s a tried and true method.  But while you’re going through it, it’s pure misery. 

Jackie would often stand right outside their door as they cried, thinking of excuses to go in.  Here are some: he’s hungry, she’s sick, he’s going through a “growth spurt” right now, they’re cold, etc… 

 Note: if you’re a dude, and you somehow manage to come out this process without looking or sounding like a heartless fool, then you are a better man than me.  

Also: if you and your wife intend to let your baby/babies cry it out at night, you had better come up with a good answer to the question “how can you just let them cry like that and not go in there?”  There’s a 100% chance you will be answering it.  Choose your answer ahead of time, and choose it wisely… 

Anyway.  Riley responded well to the cry it out method. In fact, she was already sleeping through the night off and on.  Jimmy, however, was a different story.  He hated it.  Oh, and he let us know it too. 

The craziest part about this whole thing was that Jimmy would scream (ridiculously loud, and sometimes for 40 minutes in a row), and Riley would sleep right through it.  It was amazing! I have to wonder if she ever told Jimmy, in her baby language, to give it up.  Something like: “hey, Jimmy, they’re not coming for us so why don’t you just give it up!”  To this day Jimmy fights the good fight.

So.  Here are some things we tried that didn’t work: keeping them up late so that they would sleep in, feeding them just before we went to bed so they wouldn’t wake up for a while, and not giving them naps late in the afternoon so they would be more tired.  Let those babies sleep as much as possible!

Oh by the way: babies know when you’re hung-over – even if only slightly.   I’m just sayin.  If you don’t believe me, try having a few drinks with your wife one night and see how things go the next morning.  Babies just know.

The result of the cry it out method?  Generally positive.  For a while, they were going to bed consistently around 7:30, which is nice because Jackie and I are finally getting some time to hang out.  Jimmy still wakes up once or twice a night, and we have never been able to get both of them sleep all the way through.  We don’t always get them in bed at the same time (for instance, last night Jimmy went down at 7pm and Riley went down just after 10).  But, praise the Lord, it’s much better than it was before.  One of these nights, Jackie and I will both go to sleep at 11pm and wake up at 7am.  In all likelihood, that will be the night they decide to sneak out of the house.    

We aren’t out of the woods yet.  Jimmy reminded us of that on our recent trip to Jamaica (the topic of a soon-to-come blog post).  As for sleeping, older parents love to say things like “it gets better in about 22 years.”  Thanks for that. 

In the meantime, I’ll plan on sleeping when I’m dead.  Of course, that assumes Heaven is a place with no baby monitors. 

Trust me, they wont look this cute and peaceful in about 5 minutes...

On Being a “Night Student Daddy”

Now that school has ended for the semester, it’s officially time for me to discuss (which means “complain about”) how hard it was.  Those of you who are night students may be able to appreciate some of things that I “have”:

I have a boss who expects me to do my job; several bosses, actually.  They support me going to school and all, but they also expect me to actually work for my salary.  They’re demanding like that.  

I also have professors who expect me to be prepared for class. More often than I’d like to admit, I “research” important cases on Wikipedia and sketchy legal blogs.  And yep, I could soon become your lawyer… 

I have a body that’s beginning to fight back from all the 7/11 Big Bites (with nacho cheese and chili, or course), coffees, Mountain Dews, Red Bulls, Quiznos, and bags of peanut butter m&ms.   You know it’s bad when fruit snacks are literally your biggest source of fruit. 

I have a backpack filled with ridiculously heavy books that I bring with me pretty much everywhere I go.  Nothing says “professional” like a suit, tie, and a high school backpack.  

Oh, and then I have my beautiful wife.  We see each other in person on the weekends, and on Facebook during the week.   On my first day of class last January, Jackie said “bye babe, I’ll see you in the summer.”  

(It’s funny cuz it’s true).

Friends?  Facebook claims I have a lot of them.  But the call history on my cell phone would beg to differ. 

(It’s sad cuz it’s true).     

Also, being a night student comes with some unique dilemmas:

Should I finally take Jackie out on a date or should I finally start writing this paper? Should I save $50 and buy the old version of the textbook or buy the new one the professor says I “need” to have? Should I take a day of leave from work so I can study, or should I save it and go in?

These are things night students just have to deal with – a balancing act between work, school, marriage, and on occasion, friends.  I sometimes jokingly refer to it as “the night life.”  Amazingly, I’ve been living this night life since the Bush Administration. 

But now I also “have” something else:  two babies (that are super cute).  Which makes me a “night student daddy.” Or is it “daddy night student”? 

(Thinks about it…) 

Definitely “night student daddy.”    

Anyway. This past semester was the first full semester with the babies, and it was a grind. Nobody in our house slept much, and everybody in our house did some screaming. 

But now that it’s over, I can look back and truly admire what my wife has done for me and my family, and it’s really awesome.   

WARNING: it’s about to get real sappy up in here…

Here’s a quick-hitting list of things Jackie does:  she works (32 hours per week), she watches the kids, she wakes up with the kids, she does my laundry, she gets them to bed all by herself, she does the shopping, she runs all the errands, she pays all the bills, she cleans the house, she packs my lunch and dinner (and few snacks for in between…),  she sends me adorable pictures of the babies during the day, she thinks it’s important that I play racquetball on Sundays, and she makes me “soup and sandwich” when I start to get sick.  Yea, she’s good.

Me?  I take out the trash.  Unless I forget. 

One of these days, I may actually get to reward her with some of the “finer things.”  But until then, we will continue to use our old washing machine that, with the help of duct tape, usually works.  And we will continue to have a plywood board serve as a makeshift countertop in our kitchen.  And we will continue to pay for new semesters of tuition while holding off on the new refrigerator I know Jackie is lusting after.  And we will continue to go to restaurants that serve endless free chips.  Confession: I have signed my fair of $6 dinner tabs. 

Look, I’m not saying we’re poor; we’re not.  But we have had to make some sacrifices over the past four years to pay for school, and I’m glad I have a wife who is capable of thinking long-term.  

God hooked me up with a wife who is ridiculous, but also ridiculously awesome (for instance, she often answers the phone with “what up player?”).  I would have it no other way.  And when I finally finish school next semester, that degree will be every bit as much hers as it will be mine. 

Being a night student is tough and being a “night student daddy” is even tougher.  But my wife is a “night student mommy,” and that’s by far the toughest gig of all. 

Told you it was about to get sappy in here. 

Textbooks arent cool but these people are.

How I Watch Babies and College Basketball

People who know me know that I absolutely love college hoops. My wife isn’t quite as enthusiastic.  Army Wives?  Yes!  90210 repeats?  Yes!  Infomercials?  Why not!  College basketball?  Ugg.  College basketball…

In fairness, I feel the same way about “Say Yes to the Dress.” Bottom line: I watch basketball alone. 

Anyway, it’s Sunday morning and I missed the “highly anticipated” Indiana/Savannah State game last night because I was gone.  Jackie’s asleep, so I’m gonna watch it now.  With the kids. This should be interesting.     

Before we begin, I note that Jimmy was screaming from 4:30-6:15am.  He was hungry.  Or lonely.  Or bored.  Or just felt like torturing us.  Either way, he was up and so was I.  Now it’s 6:30 and he’s asleep.  And as if on cue, Riley’s awake.  Fact: they’re not twins, they’re co-conspirators.    

Ok, so here’s what it’s like watching babies and a basketball game…

7:00am: get Riley out of bed, go downstairs, start the game on the DVR, and lay about 10 toys on the floor.  Lots of toys are crucial – boredom usually sets in on a given toy after about 2 minutes.    

I put Riley down and she does something incredible: crawls right past the toys and grabs the remote control, which I take away.  Next time I turn around she has my cell phone and has begun eating it.  So I take it away.  And then, I kid you not, she has her hands in the box of Oreos we left out.  Baby girls are smart. Slash evil. 

7:11am: Riley makes her way over to the toy bin and dumps it over.  I suppose this is a fair compromise.  Oh yea, IU is winning 9 to 4. 

7:16am: as I watch the game, I notice an advertisement on the side of the basketball court which says “Ken Nunn loves IU basketball.” 

Note: for those who are unfamiliar, Ken Nunn is Bloomington, Indiana’s most prominent ambulance-chaser.  I see his sign as an example of yet another slimy attorney trying to make a name for himself.  But then I start thinking about how many fans at that game will probably get arrested by the time it’s over, and suddenly realize that Ken Nunn is a brilliant marketer.  So now my respect for him goes up ever-so-slightly. 

7:21am: Riley is getting hungry so I make her some applesauce and rice cereal.  Meanwhile, I think I hear Jimmy crying upstairs.  I’m a big fan of denial, so I tell myself that I don’t hear Jimmy crying upstairs… 

7:23am:  Dang it, I definitely hear Jimmy crying upstairs.    

7:30am:  Having grabbed Jimmy from his crib, he is now sitting on the floor eating his toes while Riley drinks her bottle.  IU is up 31 to 18. 

Note: if you saw the title of this post and thought it was gonna be about college basketball, by now you probably realize that it’s not.  Just know that before babies I was 100% focused when IU was on.  Now?  2% focused.  Pathetic.     

7:33am: I sense that Jimmy is getting bored so I make fart sounds because they’re always good for a cheap laugh.  And indeed, I get a cheap laugh out of Jimmy. 

7:37am:  the announcer notifies us that it’s “Superhero” day at Indiana, and the camera zooms in on many fans who have dressed accordingly.  I would say that they look like idiots, but I went to several basketball games dressed as Spiderman…where I looked like an idiot.  Ok, they look like idiots. 

7:40am: Jimmy and Riley are staring at each other and laughing hysterically. They are letting out random shrieks and drooling all over the place. Seeing this stuff literally makes my day. 

7:42am: a commercial comes on. When people DVR sporting events they typically fast forward through the commercials; however, the remote control is on the ground and I am feeling lazy.  So it looks like I’m watching these commercials. 

7:53am: I need coffee.  I would consider taking the kids for a walk to the nearby Starbucks, but I happen to know from personal experience that our stroller doesn’t fit through the door, so that’s out of the question.  I scoop up Riley and go make it myself. 

Note:  I’m convinced that if I make coffee with Riley, she will magically start making it for me at a young age.  So for now she comes with me whenever I make it.  Which reminds me: I need to start bringing Jimmy with me to mow the lawn, clean the garage, and take out the trash… 

7:57am: Riley is now in her “exer-saucer.”  For those who don’t know what that is, it’s a sitting apparatus with a bunch of toys on it.  It’s genius.  And by its name you would think that the primary activity would be exer-cise, but for the past few minutes Riley has been trying to suck the ear off of a poor giraffe.  Her usual victim is the panda bear, so I suppose she has developed a sensitivity to endangered animals. 

Meanwhile, Jimmy is sitting in his “eating chair” (I’m pretty sure that’s not what Jackie calls it but I don’t know how else to describe it).  I feed him a bite of applesauce, and he gives me the “what-did-I-do-to-deserve-poison” look. 

I try doing the “airplane” and “choo-choo train” maneuver that I have seen Jackie execute but it doesn’t work.  I then make fart sounds and Jimmy laughs.  While his mouth is open, I stuff with applesauce.  Gets em every time. 

8:01am: Jimmy goes in his “bouncy seat” and starts bouncing like an absolute madman. 

Meanwhile, Riley seems bored so I give her some crackers.  To eat?  No.  To crumple up into a million pieces and drop all over the floor? Yes. It’s her favorite!    

 8:03am: babies are occupied, and I finally get to pay attention to the game.  Bliss.  IU is up 46 to 31. 

 8:05am: Riley wants out, so I hold her while IU freshman Cody Zeller nails 2 free throws. Money! 

 8:07am: I look over to realize that Jimmy has literally been bouncing this entire time.

Riley (now on the ground) eyes my pen.  She wants it.  Somehow, she will get it.  But for now, I take it away. 

 8:12am:  I need to go to the bathroom so I leave. Immediately I hear Riley fussing. 

Note: when you’re buying time with twins, you’re not buying minutes…you’re buying seconds. I make every one of them count.  I run back to the living room and grab the box of donuts on my way in. 

8:14am:  Jimmy is still bouncing.  Still smiling ear to ear.  Still got the moves like Jagger.  

"What mess?"

8:14-and-a-half am: Timeout!  Now, before I get into how I fed Riley a donut, let me make a quick comment.  When it comes to donuts, our babies don’t like your standard bran or classic glazed.  Oh no, they gotta have the white powdery donuts.  You know exactly which ones I’m talkin about.  These donuts don’t make a mess, they make a crime scene. 

8:15am:  I feed Riley white powdery donuts.  I quickly realize that she would much rather feed herself.  “Oh, I’m so sorry.”  

8:19am:  Riley’s donut is doing exactly what I figured it would do: multiplying.  I tell myself I will clean it up later (which is a feel-good way of saying “Jackie will take care of it”).  

 

8:21am:  IU sophomore Victor Oladipo slam dunk.  Nice!  IU is up 61 to 39.  Somehow 22 points were scored and this is the first one I’ve actually paid attention to. 

 

8:25am: Riley is once again fussing so I sing “BINGO” because Jackie always sings it to them and they love it.  I switch up the lyrics and make it “RILEY.”  Somehow I don’t think she really notices the difference. 

Jimmy briefly stops bouncing to listen.  He’s entertained for a second, but then goes back to bouncing.  Apparently he doesn’t have time for my silliness. He’s got work to do.   

8:29am: Jimmy is now tired of the bouncy seat so I put him on my lap and feed him a bottle.

8:32am:  bad call goes against IU.  The drunk college students let the ref know that they don’t agree with the call. “Hey kids, earmuffs!” 

8:34am:  Riley grabs my phone off the ground.  I’m too lazy to stop her from eating it. 

8:36am:  Riley grabs her old donut and begins spilling it everywhere.  Ok, now I’m up. 

8:40am:  Jimmy pukes on my pajamas.  “It’s ok bud, I did my fair share of puking during IU basketball games…”   

Fortunately, it’s not enough puke to induce me to grab a new pair of pajamas.  As a general rule of thumb, I won’t change unless the radius of the puke is greater than 3 inches.  This radius is only about two inches…well within my limit.  Don’t judge me. 

8:43am:  Riley is ready for her morning nap.  I take her up and put her in her crib.  1 down. 

8:45am: now it’s just me and Jimmy. Score?  Goliath 71, David 42.  Also, it only took me an hour and 40 minutes to realize that Savannah State is a historically black college.  What triggers that realization? Two things:

1. at this point in time there are 5 black players on the court for their team, and 4 white boys on the floor for Indiana. 

2. wikipedia confirms it. 

8:49am: Jimmy spots white powdery donuts on the floor and begins eating them.  I half expect him to look up at me as if to say “hey no fair Riley got donuts!” but he doesn’t.  He’s content with her crumbs, which makes him awesome. 

8:51am: The game suddenly stops because I forgot to record the next event on the DVR. The two hours that the Big Ten Network has allocated to this game apparently weren’t enough.  Rookie move on my part – I know better than to trust that the game will fit squarely within the allotted timeframe.  I suppose this is what you can expect from someone who is 2% focused. 

Now that the party’s over, Jimmy goes in for his morning nap.  Both babies are asleep, which pretty much is the most beautiful thing ever.  Time for me to go downstairs and evaluate the damage caused by a few white powdery donuts. And wouldn’t you know it; our living room isn’t a mess…it’s a crime scene. 

The suspects?  Just a few co-conspirators…  

Guilty on all counts!