Cheez-its, Crush, tangerines, cheese . . . Blueberries?

About roughly four years ago, I told Michael that when the Broncos make it to the Superbowl I would throw him a superball party and all of the food and beverage would be orange and blue. At the time, I thought I had come up with a wonderfully creative idea. Now I am starting to worry. You see, every football season, the playoffs come and go, and Denver really hasn't been that close - Expect for the year the twins were born, and if the Broncos had gone to the Superbowl nobody would have expected me to start planning a party. This time two years ago I could barely walk and my mother-in-law was bringing hungry babies to my bedroom so I could play Bessie-the-cow.

The Broncos play on Sunday. If my calculations are correct, if they win this Sunday then they're going to the Superbowl. If they win this Sunday, I'm going to have to throw a Broncos party where every item of food and drink is orange or blue. I could totally bail out of it, being that our house is on the market and Michael knows I really don't need the added stress of a party (I had to apologize to my family on the day of the twins' birthday party for being what I can only describe as "a total freak"). The thing is, despite the added stress, I really want to have this party for him. What if, in our lifetime, the Broncos never go to the Superbowl again?

Orange and blue food . . . Suggestions, anyone?

My house talks, does yours?

Well, our house is officially on the market. Any takers? Yesterday we worked tooth and nail (Where does that phrase come from, anyway?) to get the house ready to be shown. Everything has its own "show" place, including the twins' toys. Michael worked his tushee off and then announced that I was not allowed to cook anything and that we would only be using paper plates. I wonder how long we can eat cold sandwiches before he asks me for spaghetti and meatballs?

One of the cool things we're doing is called the Talking House. When you drive up to the front of our house, a sign tells you to tune to channel 1610 AM (Don't try it now - You have to be right in front of the house for it to work). It's a pretty nifty idea, especially since our HOA doesn't allow us to distribute flyers (and let's face it, the flyers just get picked up by the neighbors anyway). So, when you tune into our special Talking House program, you get to hear my lovely voice tell you all about the property for 3 minutes, and then it repeats itself. I had such a blast writing a script. My favorite line is, "Improve your game on your very own putting green, or relax and enjoy mountain views from your personal balcony." That's marketing, baby!

The house really does look phenomenal, and I'm enjoying the tidiness, but I hope it sells sooner rather than later. Or, at least until I start craving some home-cooked meals.

My Boogins

It's 8:30 PM. The boys have been fed, bathed and are sleeping. Michael and I have eaten, cleaned the kitchen and I was feeling dangerous enough to clean the bathroom. Ahh . . . time to relax. So, I turn on the computer to check my e-mail and see if good old Joe has written anything in his blog as of late. He has.

Now, it's not what Joe wrote about that had me laughing hysterically - It's the picture of the cat (I just clicked back to his page to look at it again and laugh). I don't know what makes this picture so funny to me, but I'm seriously near tears even as I am writing this now.

I'm getting such enjoyment out of this (I'm remembering now that I had to wake up at 4:45 this morning to take one of our actors to a radio station), that I'm feeling inspired to share the most enjoyable characteristics of my favorite feline, Daisy (aka Daisy-the-Baggins-Spencer; aka Boogins; aka Daisy-Face).

• Daisy is a social eater. She could have just eaten a whole bowl of food, but when we're eating at the kitchen table, she immediately heads toward her bowl. Even if she's eaten all of her dinner already, we will give her a couple of bites so she can eat with the family.

• Daisy loves to have her belly rubbed and her armpits scratched. OK dog owners, I know this doesn's sound like a big deal, but most cats will hiss, scratch, bite or run away when you try to touch these parts.

• Daisy has to be in the same room as us. If Michael is upstairs and I am downstairs, she will sit on the middle of the staircase so she can see both of us.

• Daisy always knows when someone is napping. She has this weird cat-sensor that seems to notify her if you have decided to lie down, and she will immediately join you. This is most impressive when she is sleeping under the bed and Michael falls asleep on the couch upstairs.

• Daisy can sit on the bathroom counter all day long, waiting for a drop of water to escape from the tap. Every once in a while, she'll lick the dry tap, just in case something is on its way out. This is most perplexing to us as she has her own special kitty water cooler in the kitchen. Also perplexing is the fact that she only started doing this about a year ago.

• Daisy will let Kyle and Dylan put their head on her belly like a pillow; brush her with the wrong side of her brush; and attempt to feed her treats or pieces of her food, only to pull their hands away when her mouth touches their fingers.

(I just looked back at the cat picture again . . . Seriously, my stomach is hurting from laughing!)

• When I adopted Daisy, the rescue organization had named her "Cuddles," which I immediately changed because a) I think it's very important to give animals "people" names and b) at the time I was very much into naming plants and animals after literary figures - An increasingly difficult feat as some of my favorite literary figures die tragically (oh, poor Phineas the goldfish . . . If you don't understand, read A Separate Peace. Actually, if you haven't read A Separate Peace, you should). Anyway, the rescuers weren't kidding when they named her "Cuddles" because she is a very cuddly cat. P.S. One day I will have a male cat named Gatsby . . . Oh shit! He died tragically too. Man!

OK, I'm thinking sad thoughts now about a future, non-existent cat dying so you know what I have to do? That's right, look at the cat picture again.

My Odd Couple

When I think ahead to the future, I can picture the twins' bedroom: One side is completely disheveled with clothes strewn about on the floor, empty cups littering the furniture, blankets balled up on the bed . . . The other side is immaculate.

Of all of the gifts received on Christmas and Chanukah, Kyle has shown the most interest in his child-sized cleaning supplies. He loves to take his broom and sweep, sweep, sweep the kitchen floor alongside me. His sweeps may be less stroke-like and more like banging the broom on the floor, but you've got to give him credit for his effort.

This evening while I was making dinner and chatting on the phone, the boys were busying themselves with taking pieces of food out of Daisy's bowl and bringing them to her mouth (Daisy has got to be the most patient and tolerant cat in the world. How on Earth did we luck out with her?).

I went to check on them, and apparently they had scattered bits of Daisy's food on the carpet, and Kyle was attempting to vaccuum the food up with his toy Dirt Devil. I was happy to see him trying to clean up the mess, but there's no doubt in my mind that Kyle had purposely scattered food about so he could clean it (Over the weekend I caught him wandering around, spilling his milk onto the kitchen floor and wiping the floor clean with a towel).

Now I've got to plan their second birthday party, and here's what I'm thinking: I'll give Dylan a bunch of paper that he can rip up and scatter around the house, and I'll give Kyle a trash can so he can throw it all away . . . Or maybe a bucket with some sponges and a pair of rubber gloves . . . Or a feather duster . . . A toilet brush?

Ranting For Love

OK, it's soapbox time.

Right now my mother-in-law is in the emergency room waiting for a bed in ICU because she may have bronchial pneumonia. What started out as a "cold" on Christmas worsened, and she didn't go see a doctor.

About a month ago, Michael and I were in the emergency room because he was having intense headache pain that ended up being caused by a neglected sinus infection.

Noticing a trend? If there is one thing I inherited from my father (because this is definitely a Spinner trait and not a Meronoff trait), it is GO TO THE DOCTOR IF YOU ARE SICK - Especially if you are sick and then it gets WORSE.

I've been trying to understand why people don't go to the doctor when they are sick. Perhaps they are afraid of what they might discover. Perhaps they are lazy or simply won't make the time to take care of themselves because they are too busy "living" (I use quotes because, really, how well can you live when you are ill?). Maybe they think they've been down this road so many times that they think they know what they need to get better (A total disregard of the concept of progress - anitbiotics that worked for you 5 or 10 years ago may now be outdated. You wouldn't still put leeches on your body and bleed the problem out, would you?).

I'm sure it's a combination of many of these issues, and I know I am being completely judgemental right now, but I just hate to see people that I care about going through what could have been prevented.

So please, read my rantings as an act of love.

Organized Chaos

Our office at ATC usually falls into that oxymoronic category of "organized chaos." Things may look completely uprooted and insane, but there tends to be a method to all the madness, and in the end we make things work.

Today I had to set up the lobby at the Herberger Theater Center. We don't own the space, so whenever we are performing a show there we "brand" the lobby with all things ATC so our patrons will know they are at an ATC show. Setting up the lobby isn't very difficult, but I had to do it myself this time since Heather is gone and Joe is on vacation.

So, there I am, doing the manual labor part of my job when I realize that I have brought the wrong easels with me. ARG. Now I have to go back to the office and get the right easels--which is baffling me as I'm driving because I don't remember seeing any other easels. Sure enough, I get back to the office, and I cannot find the easels anywhere. I've now enlisted the help of Sara, and the two of us are hunting around the marketing office, looking for black easels that (and now I remember) should be in skinny white and orange boxes. Our conversation goes something like this:

Sara: Are you sure they're in here?
Me: Yes. Heather and I brought them in here when we broke down the lobby for Bad Dates.
Sara: Where did you put them?
Me: Right here (I'm on my hands and knees) by Joe's desk.
Sara: Could they be downstairs?
Me: I don't see why. This doesn't make any sense. They are always right here by Joe's desk.
Sara: Can you text him (meaning Joe)?
Me: No. His phone won't work. I think I'm going to have to call Jonathan (Now realizing I don't even have Jonathan's number, just a head's up from Joe that I might be texted by him through Jonathan's phone).
Sara: Who's Jonathan?
Blah . . . Blah . . . Blah . . . Explain to Sara who Jonathan is . . .
Me: Joe cleaned up before he left . . . Where would he have put the easels?
Sara: Yeah, this is the cleanest I've ever seen this place.
Me: Unless he put them in the closet (open closet door)
Sara: And there they are!
Me: Right where they should be all the time, instead of on the floor near Joe's desk.

The beauty is, no one who attends Hank Williams: Lost Highway at the Herberger Theater Center will know about my messy office. They'll just see beautiful photographs displayed on easels.

Mashed Potato Madness

My children are quite unpredictable when it comes to meal time. If they're hungry, they'll eat. If there's something more exciting going on, food may be the farthest thing from their minds. As a rule, Kyle tends to be what people would call a "better eater" than Dylan. Kyle will actually try things that you offer him, while Dylan tends to stick to the familiar: bananas, bread, PB&J and pasta. Sometimes he'll surprise us, but I don't expect to see him chowing down on a stalk of asparagus anytime soon (unless, perhaps, he's dipping it in barbecue sauce).

Last night we celebrated Chanukah. My mom made a wonderful meal, and we were all gathered around the dining room table enjoying our roast beef, latkes, kugel and other yummy dishes. Kyle was doing a pretty good job with his latke and apple sauce (until he was full and then proceeded to smoosh his leftover piece of latke into the small crevice in his high chair tray--a signature move). Dylan was absolutely refusing to sit in his chair, so he climbed up on his papa's lap and was stabbing away at David's plate with his own fork. One thing my boys will do when they get tired of eating themselves is feed others. Dylan started out by offering David small bites of cranberry sauce and green beens with his Donald Duck fork; however, he had some difficulty when he got to the mashed potatoes. Fingers worked so much better. Within minutes, Dylan was grabbing fistfuls of mashed potatoes and shoving them into David's mouth (who was such a good sport, I might add). Dylan wasn't trying to be silly or messy--he was in the zone. His goal was to feed his papa, and if that meant grabbing fistfuls of mashed potatoes and feeding him that way, that was how it was going to be!

Although this sort of activity isn't a normal occurance for us, the chaos of mealtime is something I believe we will be experiencing for a while. It will get better when they're three, right? Four?

An Evening of Silliness

I believe it is official. The worst pick-up line EVER was uttered at Rosie McCaffrey's Pub last night: "So, did you order food here? [Yes] So, did it take a real long time? [No, not really]." You would think that would be the end of the conversation, but then came the lingering awkwardness, limp hand-shake and I couldn't hold back my giggles. Thankfully, Joe arrived to talk about adventures in the bathroom, and the poor, poor man was gone . . .

I had such an amazing time last night (of course, all under horrible circumstances since one of my favorite people is leaving ATC). I believe the evening's moment to be treasured was when a stretch race-car/limo pulled up and a crowd of drunken and happy men poured out (bachelor party, perhaps?) of it. As we were all admiring this very interesting vehicle, I saw that Joe actually reached into an open window of the car, stole a beer (Michelob Ultra, I think), put it in his pocket, took it to our next destination, and then drank it. Hmmm . . . Maybe it doesn't sound as funny or exciting now, but last night . . . . No, it does still sound funny.

I feel so grateful to have such amazing people in my life. We often face some very stressful times, but our camaraderie makes whatever sacrifice we have to make so very worth it.

Dental Hygiene Enigma

At some point yesterday, UPS delivered a small box to our house. This is not an unusual occurrence around this time of year; however, when Michael opened the box (expecting to find goodies of some sort) he discovered 72 tubes of trial-sized toothpaste (all Crest). Strange, right?

Even more odd, the box was sent to "JMKD Productions," a title Michael once used as a signature on a home video of the boys' first year. Also listed was a phone number to our supposed office (Proctor & Gamble apparently think JMKD Productions is a dental office as the box also included the following message: "Thank you for recommending Crest to your patients"). I called the phone number and received an error-type of message.

Since I have no idea as to WHY this box arrived at our doorstep, I will contemplate WHAT to do with 72 tubes of trial-size toothpaste (oops, I mean 71--Michael wanted to use one of them last night, just for fun).

• Insert ornament holders into the bottoms and decorate the Christmas tree
• Discreetly place them on co-workers desks
• Attach them to the tops of holiday gifts
• Develop my own line of practical jewelry
• Be "that house" and pass them out on Halloween
• Empty all of the toothpaste into a plastic container and then just dip my toothbrush in whenever I need toothpaste
• Donate them to the local food bank?
• Generate an additional income by selling them at a cheaper price than the supermarkets
• Use 1 a day for 71 days until I develop OCD habits and need to seek therapy
• Take the delivery as a message from God that I am 4 MONTHS OVERDUE for my dental check-up and need to call immediately to make an appointment!

You know you're at Disneyland with the Spencer twins if . . .

Dylan is attached to his papa's shoulders.

When any major piece of machinery zooms by (ie, train, people mover, rollercoaster, etc), Kyle shouts, "Toot-toot!"

Dylan is climbing up a strange lady's leg, trying to get her balloon.

Kyle is in a great mood, doing his screaming schtick which sounds like a loud, high-pitched bark that lasts for several moments at a time.

Dylan is climbing into a strange child's stroller, trying to get his balloon.

Kyle is falling and getting a boo-boo on his (insert body part; ie, head, finger, toe, etc).

Dylan is drinking his papa's beer (Bad Papa).

Kyle is saying "whee!," even if a look of complete fear is on his face.

Dylan and Kyle go on more rides than their daddy, who is afraid of anything that moves up and down or round and round.

My Guide

Over the past few days I've been feeling this strange sort of pain in what I can only describe as being in my soul . At first I thought I was having anxiety about selling our house or our upcoming move (Which would be well justified)--maybe there was a little bit of that, but Michael and I talked through everything, and I felt better . . . kind of.

Then I started craving (This probably isn't the right word, but I truly cannot think of a more appropriate verb) strange things like specific songs (By bands I never listen to, of which I don't even own a single piece of music) and then certain smells . . . It's just been so odd.

Today I was playing with the twins and Kyle had this look on his face, and there he was--It was my brother Kevin. And then everything made perfect sense. I've been missing Kevin so much lately, and the knawing feeling I'd been having intensified at this realization. Let's be clear: I always miss my brother. Not a day goes by that I don't think about him in some random way or another, but it's really never a sad feeling. It's more like I'll see something funny that reminds me of him, or he'll just enter my thoughts and kind of hang out for a while. And it's never heavy or depressing or painful.

I think there are two main reasons why I've been struck with these pangs lately:

First, Dylan and Kyle are not really babies anymore. They're becoming little boys, and their features are changing. Everyone knows that Dylan is the spitting image of me (With Michael's chin and possibly his nose--let's hope!), and lately Kyle is a perfect blend of Michael and Kevin. Put some curl in Kyle's hair, and there you go! They're starting to act like little boys, too. When Dylan does something goofy or deviously destructive, I think of Kevin (Like the time he sawed off the wooden handles of two hammers to make nunchucks). Or when Kyle does something really sweet and cute like "oohing" and "ahhing" over new clothes or rubbing soft fabrics on his face, I think of Kevin (Was there ever a more tactile kid? He used to bury his face in clothes at department stores).

Second, as my children get older, they begin to understand the world around them and become more familiar with the people in it. I know that one day I'm going to have to talk to them about Kevin, and I just don't know how to do that. I know what I would say to them if they were much older and could understand more, but how do I begin to talk to them about this as toddlers or as preschoolers? I'm just putting it all off until one day they look at one of the many pictures my family has of him, and they'll ask me--I know they will--who he is.

And the calm wave that is rushing over me right now assures me that when that time comes, Kevin will be there to guide me.

Not your typical Yoplait commercial

Lately, dinnertime at the Spencer house leaves our kitchen looking more like a zoo than anything else. I always knew the stereotypical image of a toddler sitting in his or her highchair with food everywhere, but for some reason I guess I thought my twin toddlers would be exempt. Ah, the good old days when I could believe my own lies . . .

Last night all four of us were actually together for a meal. As I was preparing the side dishes for our "adult" dinner, Michael was attempting to get some food in the boys: meatballs, bananas, bread . . . then the magical winner, yogurt (or as Dylan calls it, "yoshow!"). Finally they were interested in eating something, so we dished out the yogurt into two small bowls and handed them their spoons. They're not exactly pros at feeding themselves yet, but they refuse to let us feed them. Sometimes, when they're trying to feed themselves, we can shove a few spoonfuls into their mouths without them really realizing it. Ah, victory.

So last night they're dipping away into their yogurt, and Kyle is absolutely covered with blackberry yogurt. He has purple gunk EVERYWHERE. It's in his hair, in his ear and smeared across his face. It's covering his mouth and chin like a yogurt goatee. All of a sudden, he happens to spot a pencil eraser-sized bit of yogurt on his left hand, and he goes berzerk. He starts crying and holds up his hand, screaming, "HAND! HAND! HAND!" until I wipe his hand clean. Then, he's calm again, and goes back to the bowl of yogurt, all the time wearing his purple gunky mask that is starting to resemble a spa treatment.

At this point, Dylan is no longer in his booster seat, but has insisted upon sitting on my lap and has taken to eating my rice with a fork (which isn't working out too well for him). I try to feed him some with my fork, which inspires him to do the same to me. Unfortunately, he's not handy with the fork and rice, so he decides to grab a little. This fistful of rice, you see, is for me. Now, this is very sweet of him, but the snot dripping down his face from the temper tantrum he threw in order to get out of his chair and onto my lap is kind of grossing me out. I deny the rice, but he insists and starts kicking his feet. I guess I've insulted him and his offering, so now it's clear that I'm going to have to eat the rice--snotty face, yogurt-gunked fingers and all.

So this is love.

Hospital Gurney Bliss

8:00 PM

Saturday evening started out so peacefully. The kitchen had been cleaned, the twins went to bed, and Michael and I sat down with his mom, Ricky and Gigi to play a game of Spades. We sat as a family at our dining room table (some of us with glasses of red wine, others with cream soda) and played a cheerful game while holiday music entertained our ears. Feeling full and warm, we headed off to bed fairly early, enjoying the first cold evening in Arizona.

12:30 AM

Michael awoke with the worst headache of his life. After 45 minutes of crying and vomiting, we rushed to the emergency room. Tick, tock . . . Tick, tock . . .

2:00 AM

Dr. Johnson was thorough in both his questioning and physical examination, and he was clearly concerned. He recommended both a CAT scan and that he extract spinal fluid to look for a blood clot, tumor or aneurysm.

2:30 AM

Shot of Vicodin (For Michael. No one offered me anything).

3:00 AM

The CAT scan was painless, but the spinal tap was quite unpleasant for Michael. This is now the second time I've seen this happen to someone (the first was Dylan at 11 months old). I felt horrible for Michael, but remember, I carried and gave birth to twins.

4:00 AM

Michael woozily asked me to join him in the hospital bed. Now, if you've ever visited the ER, you know that by "bed" I mean "gurney." So there we are, curled up on this gurney that couldn't have been much more than 2 feet wide. In his drug-induced haze he asks me to list the items that we're going to sell at our garage sale next weekend, and somewhere in between infant car seats and crappy formica furniture, I dozed off.


5:15 AM

The lights tear my eyelids open and there's Dr. Johnson, telling us that Michael's been walking around with a sinus infection for the past 2 weeks. We leave with prescriptions for pain medication and an anti-biotic. Halfway home, Michael turns to me and says, "So, what did the doctor say about my migraines?"

5:30 AM

Lying in bed . . . home . . . sleepy . . .

Maybe it was the thought of something horrible happening to Michael, or the cold night, or (to be quite cynical) the fact that football season has finally ended, but I snuggled up close to him that night, trying to recreate the feeling I had just before I dozed off on the hospital gurney.

The following evening I did it again.

Use As Needed

After about a month or so of debating the question "to blog or not to blog?" -- Oh dear, Wm. Shakespeare I am so sorry for that -- I have decided to join the club (I blame Joe). Yes, this is even in spite of my previous announcements that I would never do such a thing. The more I considered the idea, it kind of grew on me. I spent some time on my commute once considering what I could possibly offer the e-world in a blog. It wasn't until last Tuesday evening that I considered the blog could be for me (which I could then share with those who are interested in my world).

On Tuesday I was bathing my toddlers, and for the past week or so had been trying to get them excited about Thanksgiving. Every evening when I picked them up at day care, I'd tell them how many days we had left until Thanksgiving, who was coming to visit, what we were going to eat, etc. In between trying to keep them from swalling cupfuls of soapy water, I asked the boys, "Who are we going to see on Thanksgiving?" Kyle was too busy shoving a pink rubber duckie into a cup, but Dylan looked up at me thoughtfully. He scrunched his face to let me know that he was deeply considering my question, and then, as if he realized he had just solved the Final Jeopardy question, he said (with enthusiasm), "Animals?" Images of my family corralling in the kitchen and grazing on cheese and crackers sent me into a fit of giggles. This pleased my boys, who then started talking about animals at length (something they do best).

So how does this cute anecdote translate into I am going to blog? You see, it's the little things in life, the "Inconsequential" details or stories that are so important for me to remember. You might even call those inconsequential details "Essential." My life has been a rollercoaster ride these past five years, and this blog is my SLOW DOWN prescription.

I can't promise a daily dose, but I'll use as needed.