Hot Freaks

While cooking dinner, I heard a howl come from the dining room. I wasn't particularly startled since I'm used to screams coming from just about any room in the house throughout the day. This scream seemed no different than any other. I was sure it was my two-year old, Eliana, crying out. Her brother probably looked at her funny. Or her sister had the nerve to use a crayon that she had been using three hours earlier. You know, the usual.

I stopped what I was doing and made my way towards the ruckus. In addition to the sobs of the two year old, I could hear hysterical laughter coming from at least a couple of her older siblings. Despite, or maybe because of, the mundane nature of the disturbance, my annoyance level was running high. There's something about mid-dinner prep disruptions that make me grit my teeth and huff harder and louder than normal. I could already feel a roar welling up in my chest before I even entered the room. Whatever these chowderheads were up to, this parental volcano was about to vent some steam.

They didn't disappoint.

My poor two year old daughter, tears streaming down her cheeks, sat in front of a partially eaten taco. A taco made entirely of shredded cheese and habanero pepper sauce. Her three older brothers could barely contain their laughter. Until they saw my face. Silence descended upon the room mere milliseconds before the first notes of operatic fury left my lips. I froze them in their tracks before they could make their breakneck retreats to the far corners of the house. Timeouts were issued sagaciously and without delay. While my hooligans quietly reflected on their heinous misdeeds, I tended to my daughter's scorched mouth.

Some cold milk and a lollipop were enough to soothe both Eliana's taste buds and her psyche. But what to do with the scoundrels that perpetrated the crime...

I had each of the boys stick out their tongues to receive two direct drops of unadulterated hot sauce. The anticipated heat was probably worse than the actual hot sauce, but the message was received.

Hot sauce retribution. Fitting? Silly? Cruel and unusual?

Smothered in Hugs

Over the years, I've developed a number of little games and rituals with each of my kids. They're not created with intention... they just sort of emerge over time based on our interactions and the meshing of our personalities. All dads must do it. It's part of our fatherly bonding experience and a way to show our kids that we share something special. Some of these routines only last through certain ages or phases of development. Some stick around longer. Some seem to go away and then pop up later when you least expect it. They're all important, though, and serve as little reminders of the unique relationship we fathers have with each of our children.

Eliana, my little two year old whose charisma cup runneth over, has several of these little rituals she shares with me. They are mostly madcap and always loving. And 100% unique to her. The one I love the most right now (and hopefully one that lasts) is our bedtime routine. After getting dressed for bed and brushing our teeth, we head downstairs while the remaining hooligans of the house prepare for bedtime under mom's supervision. We find a cozy blanket, turn off all of the lights and snuggle into the recliner to begin our nighttime wind down. Sometimes we read a book by the light coming in from the window. Sometimes we go straight to the music. Every time Eliana insists on picking the first song. And she ALWAYS picks "Book of Love" as sung by Peter Gabriel. It's an odd choice for her as any other time of day she prefers upbeat dance music. But without fail she scrolls through the music list on my phone and her tiny little finger taps her chosen song. As soon as the music starts, she lets me know that it's "Book-a-Love." And she reminds me again every time Mr. Gabriel sings those words throughout the rest of the song. Sometimes, without any specific prompting in the lyrics, she tells me "he's singing James and Eli." Needless to say, my heart promptly melts and I nestle her in even closer. (And this all but guarantees that one day, the first boy to break her heart will meet an untimely death at the hands of her hysterical father.)

Once her preferred song is over we listen for awhile to whatever music the random toggle serves.  Each time a song starts, Eliana immediately asks me "what's this song about?" I smile because she always responds the same way -- repeating whatever description I just gave her but prefaced with an "Ohhhhhhh." Like, "Ohhhhhhh, it's about two people in love." Or, "Ohhhhhh, it's about dancing all night." This goes on for several songs as she moves and adjusts to find the optimal arrangement for drifting off to sleep. Finally (and maybe my favorite part of our whole routine) her stirring subsides as she finishes fine tuning her position on my lap and she asks me to "put it back on Book-a-Love." She closes her eyes. Her little hand gives me a pat on the arm. Her breathing gets deep and slow in that way that only babies and puppies seem to master. And before the first verse is over, she's... out.

And usually before the second verse is over, I too am... out.

Before the Last Leaf Falls

Every year, when the leaves begin their color change, we head off to Caesar's Creek Lake for a hike through woods. Thank god. At this time of year it's about the only thing for which we slow down. It's always therapeutic. I've got dozens of pictures I've wanted to post for the last two months, but these were my top priority. Looking back at them again is a small dose of much needed medicine.

"I'm free to roam? Really?"

"I'm an old pro."

"Maybe Mom will walk faster if I shove a leaf in her ear."

Sprouted acorns. I don't think I had ever seen one before.

Sprouted acorn. Again. For effect.

All orangey and stuff.

Leaf hunters.

Group shot.

"Thanks for including me in the group shot. Dicks."

Definitely a fall girl.

Teaching? Protecting? Threatening?

Our fearless leader.

And now back to your regularly scheduled madness...

Weekend in Pictures - Birthday Edition

My nephew celebrated his 5th birthday this weekend and my sister threw a killer party for him, complete with pizza, puppies and pie fights.

Baseball themed. Natch.

If there's one thing all pregnant women love, it's being poked in the belly.

Yay! Cute puppies!

Yay! Cute babies!

Ready! FIGHT!!!

Director of activities.

How did we never play this game in college?

Dignity is overrated.

Cheetos perms gone bad.

You have no idea what just happened, but trust me, you won.

Dear god when will these fools stop.

Ewwwww, a piece of grass in my hair.

I could get used to this look.

The aftermath.

The Other Twins

Healthy Habits

They say kids shouldn't watch any amount of television before age two. But, I haven't read any guidelines about limits on playing LEGO Batman with your big brothers.

World Famous Delicious Lemonade

This weekend we crashed my sister-in-law's garage sale to hawk some of our own junk. The kids took the opportunity to set up a lemonade/cookie stand and make a few bucks themselves.

A few notes from our first garage sale:

• I forgot to bring my camera. Doh.
• Garage sales seem to be as much a social event as anything.
• I'm not good at garage selling. I accept any and all offers. I'm just amazed that someone wants my crap.
• Given the above, many people missed out on deals. I told a little boy that a toy gun was $1.00. His mom said "we're not paying $1.00 for a toy gun" and they walked away. I told another boy that the same toy gun was a $1.00 and he said, "I'll give you fifty cents." Sold.
• There are two types of people in this world: Those who can't say no to little kids selling lemonade. And jerks.
• Each of my kids have their own selling style. Jameson is very straightforward - here are our products, here are our prices, here is the deal. Truman assumes the sale - he brings the lemonade to you, puts it in your hand and then waits for you to pay up. Amelia is all about enthusiasm - announcing to the world how great her product is... with exuberance. Darwin plays the cute card - in a quiet voice he says, "lemonade" and then lays on the puppy dog eyes, big time.
• It's best not to sell previously received gifts at a garage sale where the people that gave you said gifts will be in attendance.

We squeezed lots and lots and lots of lemons.

When you weigh less than fifty pounds, lemon squeezing is no small feat.

Juicy.

Lemon juicing. From above.

Rotate!

As usual, Eliana was of no help. Though she certainly seemed amused by our efforts.

Lemon juice squirting accident waiting to happen.

Never trust a toothless lemonade salesman in a worn out old hat.

Oh What a Weekend - Part III

I survived the first part of the weekend and was awoken Sunday morning by a mob of kids who could hardly wait to show me their handmade Father's Day gift (that Julie somehow managed to get done during the madness of Friday and Saturday). In a matter of seconds my bed went from a heavenly cocoon of hibernation to a tangled mess of bed sheets and tiny ice cold hands and feet. After graciously accepting my ceremonial offering I promptly kicked everyone the hell out of my room so I could grab a few more precious moments of sleep on this third and final day of fatherly féting.

Sunday was the more traditional Father's Day celebration of beer, barbecue and backyard football.

Fathers of the day. Some old. Some new.

Truman giving Uncle Kip a lesson in perseverance.

Aunt Hannah, incubating her own Father's Day gift.

Pregnant women love public displays of affection caught on camera.

Eliana enjoying her final days as grandma's only grand-baby.

Grandpa with his only (as far as we know right now) granddaughters.

Another long, fulfilling Father's Day weekend in the bag. We should do this again sometime.

I Do It for the LOLZ

Shaky camera work? Check. Creepy dad too close to the microphone? Check. Obnoxious mom laughing in the background? Check.

All the makings of a cute baby video.

Julieta

As with nearly every aspect of her life, Julie made Mother's Day more about her children than about herself. I guess that's kind of the mother's calling -- putting their children first. It starts when they give up their body just to grow that little creature inside of them and I doubt that the giving ever really ends.

When we are out with all of the kids, it's not uncommon for people to compliment Julie on how wonderful her children are and how great of a mother she is. Those people have no idea just how great.