Missing

The emotions running through me were many when my wife broke the news to me at about the half way point in the work day.  An old friend had gone missing about an hour before the call.  Last seen in the hands of a three year old was the remote control for the Apple TV.  Fear and panic at first as well as anger.  This had been a problem before and I had sometimes resorted to taping it to the larger Tv remote.  I settled into a state of calmness though when I realized that I would find it.  "Our house is small" I thought to myself, "nothing hides from me in my own house!" 
I arrived home to dinner on the table and planned my attack silently not even tasting the food.  I issued orders that once I found the "bitty mote troll" as Jack calls it, no one under the age of 30 was allowed to touch it.  I started my search in the most obvious place, the living room.  Logically I started with the sofas first hoping in vain that it was hiding in the cushions or underneath.  I found numerous pretzels and crackers and things of that sort that children seem to leave in their wake but no remote.  The toy corner was next but nothing was found there but toys and a few pacifiers.  The book shelves and the TV stand were next.  The only thing out of the ordinary there were a flattened balloon and a couple of drops of sweat that was starting to bead on my forehead.  Dread was the emotion I felt now as I cleared the living room of possibilities.  What was I going to do if I couldn't find it?  After all the kids were asleep, how was I going to watch multiple episodes of horrible TV.  We've gotten rid of cable for the fantastic glory that is Apple TV!  I was going to find that little bitch if it took all night!  Unfortunately it was bath time, which meant I was going to be getting wet and soapy with them as they splished and splashed their way clean.  After I cleaned up afterwards, I got back to my search.  The twins room was first but I had no luck.  Not under their cribs, not under their dresser and not amongst their toys.  Jack's room was my only hope.  I dug through his window seat toy box I built with my own two hands and found only frustration at the bottom of it.  Searched his book shelves and nothing was my reward!  My only chance was under his bed.  The last place to look.  I threw myself on the floor and had a look.  I could see nothing through all the clutter underneath his bed.  As well as clothes that no longer fit him, a good deal of art supplies and projects are stored under there.  I was desperate.  I got on my knees, lifted the entire bed with one hand and sifted threw all the bullshit with the other.  Throwing aside Osh-Kosh overalls this way and Crayola washable markers that way, I found no remote and no satisfaction!  I gave up in despair.  There would be no Ice Road Truckers or Yukon men this night.  The kids were asleep and we settled in on the couches watching PBS or some shit.  I buried my feelings in a package of Pecan Sandies.  I resigned myself to going to Best Buy the next day and buying a new remote.  I woke my wife who had fallen asleep after a hard day with the children and we started off to the bedroom.  My path took me past a book shelf.  There, about six and a half feet in the air on top of the book shelf was my remote control I spent at least an hour total looking for.  I turned around to face my beloved.  "Babe...." I pointed at the remote.  "Oh yeah....".  What was I going to do slap her?  As I said, I lifted a bed with one hand!  My pimp hand is strong and shit!  I simply shook my head and put my arm around her and we went to bed.  I'm no animal, I'm a BadTwinDad.  Follow us on Facebook at BadTwinDad and follow us on Twitter @BadTwinDad.

BadTwinUncle

 

A couple of weeks ago, my brother so graciously agreed to watch the children while my wife ran errands and went to a meeting.  I asked if he would write about it and he came through in spades.  Enjoy.

My soul was dying one piece at a time when I got the call.  Could BadTwinUncle ditch cubeland in favor of watching his three nephews on Friday?  You're damn right he could!  I happen to own the most stubborn dog in the world who is now almost 16 and has a ton of issues.  How hard can three little boys be after that?

I arrived five minutes ahead of schedule and the dynamic duo were fast asleep, allegedly for the next few hours. BadTwinMom faded away like one of the baseball players in Field of Dreams and it was on.  Around that time, Jack informed me he had to tell me a secret. I swallowed hard, thinking it involved feces in some way.  He informed me the bat he'd made out of construction paper was named Madeline and I breathed a sigh of relief.

The next hour and fifteen minutes were a blur of building bridges and towers with wooden blocks, playing with Play Doh, and trying to play board games with half the pieces missing.  Things were going so smoothly I just knew we were heading for the "I just shot Marvin in the face" portion of the day.  Sure enough, one of the twins started crying.

After a few minutes, I went inside to quiet down the screamer. Both twins were awake and staring at me, perplexed. Jack handed Henry his pacifier, which had fallen on the floor and triggered the ruckus.  I slowly back out of the room and closed the door. Then both twins started crying.

I texted BadTwinDad. "Both are awake. Please advise."
"Get them out of there!" he responded.

I hoisted the little bruisers out of their cribs.  After checking to see if either of them left me any surprises, I turned them loose. They toddled around, still blessedly half asleep, looking like tiny drunks staggering around.  It was at this point when Jack informed me that he wished to build a rocket.  He intended on using two sheets of paper and a marker for this purpose.

"It needs buttons," he said.

I hastily drew two rows of buttons.

"I can't press those," Jack said.

My brow furrowed.  It was going to be a long afternoon.  I colored in the buttons and Jack was satisified.

"Now it needs a door," he said.

I drew a rectangular door beneath the two rows of buttons, complete with knob.  It wasn't authentic but Jack wasn't going for authenticity.

"It's locked," Jack said

I sighed and drew a key in the lock. Jack set the piece of paper on the floor and proceeded to do several countdowns before shouting blastoff. Then he got up and told me we were playing restaurant. The twins were getting more active, so I kept one eye on them and one on Jack's diner in the corner of the living room, which apparently resembled a pile of toys.

As Jack took my order, Henry and Oliver climbed the piano as if it were Mount Everest. I scooped them up and placed them on the floor, where they began running in big circles through the house. Damn you, open floorplan!

I coralled them under the kitchen table, where they proceeded to play peekaboo with me, their adorableness momentarily distracting me long enough for a plastic whistle to bounce off my forehead.

"That's your Happy Meal toy," Jack said.

I sighed and continued the peekaboo game until Oliver found the whistle. For a few minutes, his routine consisted of tooting on the whistle and giggling like a serial killer. Somewhere around this time, Jack informed me he wanted to watch Youtube videos and needed the bitty remote. I eventually deduced that he needed the remote for the Amazon Fire Stick and found it on top of the bookcase. I handed it to him and returned my gaze to the twins. They seemed fine, each with two pacifiers in his mouth, watching me in amusement.

Henry took out his pacificer and played his favorite game: picking things up and asking "What's this?"
After four or five items, I was growing tired of the game. Henry called me Mommy a couple times and I felt my Spider Sense tingling.

I turned around to see Jack about to buy some Amazon coins or somesuch. I eventually figured out how to work the remote and got Jack settled in with Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. The three boys were enraptured.  Jack sang the theme song, Henry mumbled the song around his pacifier, and all three of them bobbed around. The identical savages clapped every time the audience clapped. Things were looking good.

"I'm so hot in these pants," Jack said.
"Keep them on," I said.
"No."
"Yes."
"Ok. Can I have some circle crackers?"
"Sure," I said.
I scoured the pantry and, now fluent in Jack-anese, found a box of round crackers. I counted out eight and handed them to him.
"I need some water in a circle cup. With ice."

I handed Jack the cup of ice water and took a look at my nephews.  They were all content suckling at the TV's glorious teat so I had a few precious seconds to myself.  I decided to draw Jack a picture of Batman.  I'd barely finished the basic lines of the face when I heard a clatter and saw ice and ice water all over the floor. Had he even had the cup in his hands for a full minute?

Once I settled Jack down and remedied the ice water catastrophe, Oliver decided to train for his future career as a mountain climber and Henry decided he really wanted to open and close the refridgerator door many times in rapid succession. I found the fridge lock, an ingenious U-shaped piece of metal and grabbed Oliver off the kitchen table.  It was at this point Jack felt the need to reiterate his dislike of pants.

"I hate wearing pants!" he said.
"We all do," I said.

Jack wriggled out of his pants like a snake shedding its skin and I said to hell with it and let him go.
"My tummy is so empty," he said. "I want some lunch."

"It's after 3. You'll get dinner soon."
Jack said "No" and I briefly wondered how much heat I would catch if my brother only had two kids when he returned. Life on the run seemed like a lot of work so I stayed my hand.

"Sit down and watch Muffin McStuffin or whatever that crap is. Your mom will be home soon."

God, I hoped so.  I imagined her drinking martini's with her co-workers. "My brother-in-law is such a sucker. We should have martini Fridays more often."

Other than the nephew in the grips of crabby starvation, things settled down. Oliver sat next to me on the couch and Henry lay on the floor, using Daniel the Tiger for a pillow. My mind drifted until I heard a car door!  Salvation!

Nope!  It was only the mailman.

Fortunately, BadTwinMom pulled into the driveway not long after and received a warm welcome from the boys.  I waited around for BadTwinDad to get home, punched him in the junk, and rode off into the sunset.

You can read his book reviews on Goodreads.  You can see his photos for sale on Society6 and as always like and share us on facebook at BadTwinDad and on Twitter @BadTwinDad.

A Trip to the Library

A day off during the week is usually a welcome escape from the grind of the work week that can drag on.  Supermom had a doctor's appointment and needed time to work on her dissertation which is becoming as long and as tedious as the dead sea scrolls, so I was on duty trying not to mess up the routine of the house.  Part of that routine is every Tuesday the children go to the library for story time.  No problem.  I herded everyone into the van and off we went.  After a stop at the bank and post office we arrived at our destination for some stories, a craft and maybe some dancing under a hail of bubbles from the bubble machine.  Henry and Oliver went into the stroller and Jack was at my side carrying, for about ten feet, the books we had to return.  We took the elevator down, because who can navigate a flight of stairs with a double stroller, to the Childrens library, signed in and took our place around the semicircle.  I glanced around the group at the other kids.  Here it should be noted that our three boys are constantly running around bonking heads, falling down, wrestling, and generally doing little boy stuff all day.  They get knocked around to say the least and as I looked at the other children I notice something.  All their faces are devoid of scratches, bruises, cuts and all the stuff my kids have in spades.  Even the other twins at story time, little girls, a couple of cutie pies, have not a scratch on them.  I guess my kids are a little rougher than other kids, oh well it builds character.  Moving on.  As the group starts a killer rendition of Old McDonald had a farm, everything is going pretty well.  Henry and Oliver are still in their stroller munching on pretzels and mumbling the words to the song as best they can and Jack is sitting in my lap criss cross applesauce.  After about 17 seconds Henry expresses to me that he would like to be removed from the stroller by looking at me and screaming like a panther.  I took them both out at which point they proceeded to go stand right in front of the sweet old librarian who is facilitating this little powwow, blocking every one's view of the book.  I kindly asked them to return to our little area and they responded by going in opposite direction neither being towards myself and Jack who was starting to look around for some trouble to get into of his own.  My first instinct was to stop Henry first who was headed for the emergency exit.  Nothing would throw a monkey wrench into story time like a fire alarm 8 minutes in.  I returned Henry to the confines of the stroller with much protest and headed for Oliver who had made his way to the other corner of the room and was standing in a rocking chair.  Jack beat me there and being the policeman of his brothers, was about to grab Oliver and throw him to the ground.  I grabbed Oliver probably saving his life in the process and returned him to his bonds in the stroller.  At this point only 10 minutes has gone by, I'm sweating, my blood sugar is low and Jack is making his way into the main library without us.  I ran after him brought, him back, bear hugged him and sat back down.  How in God's name does my wife do this every week.  Why does she do it!?  Because she's better than me that's why.  The next 4 minutes goes OK and then the twins start straining against their restraints and Jack says he wants to leave so I say to myself "we have bubble at home and to hell with that farmer's hat that they are going to glue on a little wooden stick...we out".   We returned our books and skipped out early of a story time that no one was interested in and after our antics probably we would not be missed anytime soon.  I'm sure my wife has this routine down but I would sooner shove bamboo chutes under my own finger nails before attempting this story time again but I'm a BadTwinDad.  Like us on facebook at badtwindad and on Twitter @BadTwinDad.

Escape

It happens in every parents career of putting their kids to sleep, whether it be at naptime or bedtime and it will probably only happen a few times before something has to be done.  I did not witness it myself but I could sense a huge disturbance in the force just before my wife called and said "Shit just got real".  At first, I thought to myself "Shit has pretty much been real since we brought these two home".  She explained to me the horror of opening the door to find Oliver sitting on his changing table when he should have been in his crib taking a nap.  He had climbed out of his already lowered as far down as it will go crib and climbed onto the changing table and was throwing wipes around the room like they were seeds in a field.  As if this wasn't hard enough already (see blog post 2 "Bedtime") now they can just climb out whenever they please!  My first reaction was chicken wire and a lot of duct tape but that would probably lead to a Mad Maxish sort of look to the room that my lovely wife would frown upon.  Then I thought we could put them in little strait jackets that might remind them of their swaddling days but that would make night time diaper changes difficult.  For sure if I spread Crisco all over every square inch of the cribs that would solve it but honestly that's a little gross.  Binding an ankle to a crib spindle would probably leave marks and I'd like to sell these cribs eventually.   The best alternative to cribs that comes to mind is a couple of dog kennels big enough to fit crib mattresses into but I'm pretty sure the wife will be displeased with this obvious remedy.  Chloroform is too risky on toddlers period.  So I suppose we will just keep going on until either some breaks on arm by jumping from a crib with no parachute or they are old enough to sleep in real beds.  I'm sure perfect fathers could keep these Houdinis on lock down but I'm a BadTwinDad. Like us on facebook at BadTwinDad and share it please and follow us on twitter @BadTwinDad. 

Dinner Time!

The Mongol Horde sacked the city of Kiev in 1240.  Kiev was the most populated city in the area what is now Ukraine.  The Mongols must have had a feast of epic proportions after this victory.  Can you imagine the table manner situation of these nomadic sheep shaggers?  Let me tell you they have nothing on my little gang of boys.

My wife puts a lot of effort and care into dinner.  Every night she puts forth a spread with all the bases covered.  Fresh baked bread.  A fruit and vegetable with every meal.  Well rounded.  The meal usually starts off with Jack saying grace.  Whether or not he lets a fart slip in the process is a roll of the dice.  He's only 3 so misplaced flatulence here and there can be overlooked.  Everyone usually starts eating pretty well for the first thirty seconds or so.  This is valuable time.  This is when the adults present at the table should get as much food down as possible cause it only goes downhill from here.  The first drink of water Henry or Oliver take usually turns into them pouring it all over the table, the plate, or themselves resulting in said water usually being taken away from them.  After they get over this unbelievable affront to there dining sensibilities, they will eat a little more and then the throwing starts.  From forks to french fries, if they can pick it up it flies.  It's normally around this point in the meal when Jack requires that he be chaperoned into the bathroom.  Sometimes his trousers can be difficult.  We usually call it quits around this point.  One of us throws all three of them in the tub while the other cleans up the aftermath that the Mongols have just spread the through streets of Kiev.  Every night it seems like there is more food in the dust pan than was on there plates at the beginning of the meal.  Sometimes we wonder how they survive because most of their food ends up on the floor.  I'm sure at some point they will grow out of this but what do I know I'm a BadTwinDad.  Like us on facebook at BadTwinDad