More hot sauce please

My kids are chatty! They have been so completely adorable lately because they're starting to put words together into complete sentences. Here are some of my personal favorites:

"Look Mommy! Look! (insert object of interest)"

"No like it!" (Only said by Kyle--I know this isn't a complete sentence . . . deal.)

"No want it!" (Only said by Dylan--this is his version of Kyle's "No like it!" In case you aren't understanding, both statements are negative. I hear these phrases a lot, especially when I'm trying to dress them)

"More hot sauce please" (This is a Dylan request--Please note: "hot sauce" refers to any sauce/condiment; although, hot sauce is Michael's condiment of choice)

"No baby Dylan" or "No baby Kai-Kai" (They both say this when I try to cradle them like they are infants. Well, sometimes they like it. Really)

I'm still trying to figure out what the hell Kyle says when we go to visit our new house. When we drive down the main street and pass other houses that are being built, he says something that sounds like it's in Swedish.

Date Night: Revisited

I really try to keep my posts here to amusing anecdotes and not laundry lists of activities, but I just have got to rave about Saturday.

Michael was coaching a baseball game in the morning, so Dylan, Kyle and I set out on an adventure. Our destination? Little Chops in Glendale. You see, the last time the boys had a haircut, we took them to a regular in-and-out spritz, cut, comb place, and it was a DISASTER! Screaming, crying, kicking . . . Not fun. Actually, that wasn't technically the twins' last haircut . . . But we are never to speak of the horrible wickedness that plagued my scissors and poor Kyle's hair.

Little Chops was so great, the boys didn't want to leave! Each station has a different "vehicle," so the kids get to pick which one they like: a silver airplane, a red jeep, a white police car, etc. In addition, each station also has a TV with VCR and DVD player. I selected some lovely flick with Elmo, and they were in heaven. Dylan fussed a little, but there were no tears, no screaming, just beautiful little boy haircuts. When they were finished, they each got a balloon.

The balloons didn't last long. The trouble with my kids and helium balloons is that they won't let me tie the balloon down to anything - not their wrist, their overalls, nothing. So, off we went to Babies 'R Us to find a baby shower gift for our friends, and no sooner do we enter the baby warehouse then do those lovely balloons float up, up, up and away from my two, now quite un-pacified children. Shopping at Babies 'R Us was not fun.

On to the shower. We arrived at a packed house a women with the intention of only dropping off the gifts, but ended up staying for about an hour. Dylan and Kyle frequently got lost in the sea of legs, and I would hear, "Mommy! Mommy!" from multiple rooms. After a bite to eat and a diaper change, we were off!

Home. Nap time? No, just kidding! Michael cam home just in time to relieve me of my mommy duties, and I conked out for about an hour. Beautiful. When I woke up, the three of them were all equally ready for naps, and they all slept from 3 until 5 PM while I enjoyed the quiet time by myself. Lovely.

Since the twins had such late and long naps, we crossed our fingers and took them out to dinner to Paul Lee's Chinese Kitchen. We had never taken them to a sit-down restaurant by ourselves before (usually we travel with the grandparent posse), and it was such a success! They colored and chatted, and enjoyed the atmosphere, and they even let us eat.

To cap off our beautiful evening, we stopped by Michael's school's varsity baseball game. It was COLD, so we didn't stay long. Michael taught the boys to cheer "Go Tigers!" and "Go! Go! Go!" which they did. Whenever someone would hit the ball (be it from our team or the opponent), they would cheer "Go Tigers!" or "Go! Go! Go!" It was adorable.

What a great date!

Sedona Snow

On Friday I kidnapped Michael and took him to Sedona for his 30th birthday, and we couldn't have asked for a better experience. Mother Nature decided to give us the gift of snow, and it was unbelievably beautiful. We arrived at our beautiful hotel, got to our room, and it started snowing. These gorgeous snowflakes came floating down from the sky, and we stood on our little patio outside and just took it all in. After settling in, we headed to the restaurant there and had a very yummy meal (Michael has a new love for polenta). As we sat at our candlelit table enjoying our meal and each other's company, we could see the snow continue to drift down to the Earth, steadily growing heavier and heavier . . . I haven't felt that peaceful in a very long time.

After about 18 hours of luxury, we headed out of Sedona and decided to really trash it up by going to the Cliff Castle Casino for lunch. Michael kept telling me that the place was actually a lot classier than other Arizona casinos, which kind of frightened me. After our meal, Michael decided we should put his birthday luck to good use. I lost $10 in a matter of about 15 minutes, which sounds better than it really was. About 13 of those minutes were spent scoping out the perfect machine with which I should fork over my money. I've never really gambled much, but the whole idea of it makes me very nervous. I'm especially weird about not wanting to sit right next to anyone, and I'm not interested in sharing any of my gambling experiences with random strangers. Apparently, I was the only one in the casino who felt that way because any time I sat down somewhere, immediately some guy smoking a cigarette and drinking a beer (at 1:00 PM) would plop down next to me and say, "Are you winning much?" or "How's your luck today?" or "These chairs are heavy, aren't they?" After losing my last $2 on some game that I still can't figure out, I went to find Michael.

Michael was sitting at a virtual Blackjack table. The table itself wasn't virtual, I mean, he was actually sitting on a real chair at a real table. Instead of a live dealer, there was a big screen and every once in a while the dealer would change between a blonde with cleavage coming right at you, an Asian woman with cleavage coming right at you, and an African-American man at some sort of tropical location. A few men were playing along with Michael, and the group already had its own little rapport. I almost lost it when the older guy next to Michael commented that he didn't like one of the dealers and another guy at the table announced that the dealer will hesitate if she has Blackjack. It's a freaking computer, people! Michael cashed out when he was up $25, so with my $10 loss, we left the casino $15 richer.

What a gift for us to be able to just be with each other, even if for only 24 or so hours.

I've been tagged!

So the rules are, once you've been tagged you have to write a blog with 6 weird things/habits about yourself. In the end you need to list 6 other people to tag and list their names. Don't forget to leave a comment saying "You've been tagged" in their comments and tell them to read your blog...

1. I unintentionally transfer stress from myself to my husband. What I mean is, if I'm stressed out about something like the house being clean, the way I like to deal with my stress is to tell Michael every little thing that needs to be accomplished to make me happy. Then I feel better because after I've verbalized the list of chores, it's not as bad as I originally thought. The problem is, then Michael gets all stressed out because he likes to deal with one problem at a time. So, in de-stressing myself, I end up stressing out my husband.

2. I jump at the chance to tell you that you're wrong and why. I don't know why I do this. I think I just like to be right, and I'd like to know everything, even though I know that is impossible. Once I told Joe, "I know I don't know everything, I just want people to think I know everything."

3. I get caught in horrible cycles. For example, I haven't been to the dentist in almost a year (and yes, I sort of already blogged about this in December). I hav been putting off going to the dentist because the last time I went, he gave me this stuff called Gel-Kam. I was instructed to brush my teeth with it right afterI regularly brushed my teeth. It's not horrible-tasting, but you're not supposed to drink or eat anything for 20 minutes after using it, which is really hard for me because I HAVE to have a drink of water after I brush my teeth. So, I haven't been using the stuff, and I don't want to disappoint the dentist. I figured I would put off going to the dentist, use the Gel-Kam and maybe he wouldn't notice I hadn't used it for a while. The thing is, I hate using it, so I haven't been using it, so I can't go to the dentist, etc. etc.

4. I will always see the bad before the good. This is true for so many things, and Michael points this out to me all the time. I'll come home and not notice clean dishes or pictures hung or weeds pulled, but I can walk into a room and in two seconds see Cheerios on the floor . . . and man, I jump all over him!

5. I have to pee right before I go to sleep. This may not sound odd, but you don't know the extent of it. I will pee when I get into my PJs, but if I don't immediately crawl into bed and go directly to sleep I will be back in the bathroom peeing again and again. Sometimes I will go play on the computer, then come back to my room/bathroom and pee, then get into bed and grab my book. After I read a bit, I'll go pee again. Then if I don't fall asleep quickly, I'm bound to get up once again to pee. Why? If I have time to think, 'Do I have to pee?' then, well, I do. I'm kind of surprised that I have anything to eliminate. Why didn't it all leave my body 3 minutes ago when I last went to pee?

6. I spell things with my thumb and index finger. Say I'm a passenger in a vehicle, and I see a sign. I'll pick a word or phrase printed on that sign and use my index finger to spell out each letter on my thumb (right hand only). Sometimes I get fancy and curly-qy (Ys are fun). Often I keep repeating the same word or phrase with my fingers over and over again until it kind of starts to hurt, and then I force myself to stop. Don't worry, I don't do this when I'm driving!

OK, now I don't know who to tag because the only blogs I read on blogspot are Joe's and Ted's (and Ted tagged me and Joe). Joe just informed me that I could tag myspacers, so here goes: Sara, Sarah, Missy, Mike, Stephanie, Jen K. You are IT!!

Dylan's Pink Hat

This morning Michael and I found ourselves shopping with the twins for new hats. We were headed to a baseball game in Scottsdale (the USA team vs. the SF Giants' B-team--pretty cool), and the kids needed something to protect their eyes and face.

We encountered the same situation we always encounter: only one decent hat left. I don't understand it. There are always tons of hats for girls, and there will be 1 boyish toddler hat. The one hat that was there was a Bob the Builder hat - adorable, and it fit Kyle great. With no other options for Dylan, we purchased two hats that were paired together. One was beige and the other was pink. I told Michael, "It's only $4 for both of them, so he'll wear the beige one and we can give the pink one away." Fine. Great. We paid and headed to the car.

One problem: Guess which hat Dylan wanted to wear? Uh huh, the pink one. He would NOT wear the beige hat or the Bob the Builder hat. When we got into the car Michael discovered Kyle's old Pooh Bear hat. Dylan wasn't interested.

Dylan wore the pink hat all the way to Scottsdale, which drove Michael completely crazy. The only thing that concerned me was that the pink hat clashed horribly with Dylan's orange t-shirt.

When we arrived at the park in Scottsdale, Michael was adamant that Dylan not wear the pink hat. So, I convinced Dylan that the pink hat had to stay in the car. Kyle wore the Pooh Bear hat, Dylan wore the Bob the Builder hat, and all was well. Until the 6th inning . . .

A couple of hours later, Dylan took off his hat, shoved it at me and said, "Pink one!"

By the end of the 6th inning, they had basically had enough, so we headed home. He put the pink hat on as soon as he got into the car. He's upstairs right now watching Veggie Tales, wearing the pink hat.

Hair today, gone tomorrow

Yesterday I did something awful. The twins and I were having such a good day: We went grocery shopping, watched a movie, went for a walk around the lake, rode their tricycles in the backyard . . . And that's when the tide changed. We were outside playing when I noticed how long their hair had gotten. It was so long, in fact, that Dylan's hair was covering his ears like little muffs, and Kyle's was draped down over his eyes. It seemed like the perfect time to give them haircuts. They were getting pretty dirty and would need a bath soon anyway. I ran inside to grab a comb and some scissors. I thought, 'I'll just give them a little trim.'

I have a vision now of Kyle in therapy sessions.

Dylan wouldn't let me touch him. Kyle, on the other hand, is a good little boy who does basically everything his mommy tells him. He sat very still and let me completely destroy his hair. Too much on this side, too much on that side, and too many attempts to even it all out . . . Oy vey!

Future Kyle: "I always wanted to please my mother. Once, when I was two, she butchered my hair, and I just sat there and let her do it. I just wanted to please her. I wanted her to be happy."

I swear I will never ever cut my children's hair. Ever.

Speaking of hair, when I got home from a glorious day of chit-chat and vegging with Sadie, Michael greeted me at the door with a shaved head. "I'm bald," he announced.

About once every two months, Michael re-realizes that he is going bald. He keeps trying to justify his abnormal hair growth (or lack thereof): "These hairs grow this way, and those hairs grow that way, and I have this empty spot here," he tells me. Yeah, it's called a BALD spot.

What cracks me up is that I have known Michael was balding since our very first date. I also knew he was a bit on the short side (something he "confessed" to me on our second or third date) and that his tummy was, well, being sucked in. None of these things bothered me at all - not even for a second.

The only thing about Michael's appearance that worried me was that he was wearing white socks with his brown sandals on our first date. Occassionally, I have to remind him of this, and, more importantly, that I chose to go out with him again after that!

Waiting for Godiva

Last week Michael and I were watching The Office, and it was Valentine's Day at Dunder Mifflin. Poor Pam had to keep receiving gifts for Phyllis, and nothing ever came for her. I thought, 'Oh boy, this is going to be me on Valentine's Day.' Michael and I even talked about it, and by the end of the conversation, I was expecting my man to pull through. I even enlisted the help of Joe to guide my husband; although, I'm doubtful Joe came through for me because today Michael called me at work and said, "Did you know you can't order flowers on Valentine's Day? It's too late!" Yeah hun, I knew that . . . (Joe, you owe me something pink, red, fuzzy or chocolatey)

My afternoon was filled with phone call after phone call from Michael:
M - "Did you get my thing?"
J - "No, what thing?"
M - "Hmm . . . OK . . . bye"

M - "Did you get it?"
J - "No"
M - "WHAT?!"
J - "I gotta go . . . bye!"

M - "Did you get my card yet?"
J - "Card?"
M - "Check your e-mail"
J - "It's not here"
M - "Check your Cox account"
J - "It's not there"
M - "WHAT?! Bye."

You can see how in the beginning I thought I was going to actually get something. It wasn't until late in the afternoon that I realized I was waiting all day long for an e-card. I left work at 5:15 PM, e-cardless.

Later that evening when Michael was changing the twins, I went to the computer to check one last time. Sitting in my inbox were three messages, all the same:

My husband is a dufus, but I love him. Four years ago today I was sick as a dog, and he made me his "famous" spaghetti dinner (which involves undercooked pasta and Ragu spaghetti sauce). Two days later he proposed to me in front of my entire family while we were visiting them in California.

You just can't get better than that. It's not fancy, but it's real, and it's sincere.

P.S. No one else in my office received any deliveries today either . . . But Sarah got gorgeous saphirre and diamond earrings from her long distance beau . . . And Stephanie was going to dinner with her fiance . . . And Amy's husband is a pilot and was out of town . . . And Sara and Joe were out of the office (This duo could have dramatically changed the atmosphere today - Sara's husband Ira is the flower-giving type and Joe's in a brand new, lovey-dovey relationship).

Mine! Mine!

According to an article on Parentbytes.com, "Territorial and possessiveness are common behaviours for two year olds."

This is something I was aware of before I had babies, it was something everyone told me would happen when I actually did have babies, and it's something I am experiencing now.

I felt better when I read this: "If your child is reasonably good at sharing by the time they are five, then you are doing well."

Oh good, only 3 more years of this.

You see, Kyle and Dylan will pick 1 item during a paricular period of time, and all I hear is "MINE! MINE! MINE!" It's like watching parts of Finding Nemo in surround sound.

Two nights ago, this two-year-old behavior far surpassed any of my expectations. I was fast asleep, and all of a sudden I heard Kyle screaming. This is not entirely a strange occurance. He often has little night tremors that don't even wake him up. He'll scream, roll over, and go back to sleep. However, on this particular evening, his dream was so vivid that he kept screaming and screaming until I went to his side and rubbed his back and smoothed his hair. He never woke up, just relaxed and quieted. Here's what he was screaming: "MINE! My ball! No! No! No! MINE! My ball!"

My kids are fighting in their sleep.

This wasn't just a one-time occurance that evening. He actually got up 3 hours later at 2:45 AM and 3 hours after that at 5:45 AM (that did it--he was up for the day after that).

The culprit? My mother's giant exercise ball. Dylan found it in her closet earlier that evening, and both he and Kyle were entranced. They had never seen a ball that big before. I mean, they call their little soccer ball "big ball!" Apparently, Kyle was so entranced by the ball that he dreamt about it. Well, not about "it," but about Dylan taking it away from him.

I also just want to add that during these evening festivities, Michael did not stir. Not once. I wonder if there's a webpage for that . . .

Weird things the twins really enjoy

Dylan and Kyle have such goofy senses of humor. I'm not sure if this stuff is normal for two-year-olds, but it just cracks me up. Maybe I can work as a comedian for toddlers. I'd travel from day care to day care, spreading joy and laughter. Here are some of my best bits:

I say "ring! ring!" and then put one of their feet to my ear and say "hello?" They think this is hysterical.

They love the whole "this little piggy" bit. Really. I mean, I did it to Dylan's left foot today, and when I was done he shoved his right foot in my face and said "other foot!" Then Kyle put his feet in my face and said "more! Kai-Kai feet! more!"

When I take off their socks, I always smell their feet and say, "EEW! Stinky feet!" and make a grossed-out face. Sometimes their feet really do smell (especially Dylan, WHEW!). They laugh and laugh . . . I'm now having visions of farting contests between Michael, Dylan and Kyle.

(Noticing a trend? They seem to have a thing about feet . . . )

I wander around the kitchen, looking in cupboards and drawers and pretend to be looking for one of them. "Kyle? Kyle? Where are you?" "Dylan?" Are you in here?" They giggle hysterically in the middle of the room with their hands covering their eyes. They think they're fooling me. It's great.

Occasionally, I ask Kyle, "Does Daddy need his diaper changed?" He'll look at me kind of funny, then waddle (yeah, it's definitely a waddle) over to Michael, then look at me again, then try to tug at Michael's waistband, then look at me and grin as if to say, "Aw, Mom! You got me again!"

More Nemo! More Nemo!

Last night we took the boys to Disney on Ice: Finding Nemo. The evening started out a bit rough as we attempted to grab a bite to eat beforehand, and didn't anticipate the slow service nor the torpidity of Grandma and her beau (which was clearly our fault, for senior citizens don't move faster as they age, and Grandma has been a senior citizen for a long time).

We ended up making it to the arena with ten minutes to spare, and luckily it wasn't too crowded. I mean, who in their right mind would bring children to a 7:30 PM performance? Uh, yeah. That would be us . . . In our defense, it was the only possible time for all of us (me, Michael, Mom, David--Grandma and Seymour just need 24 hours notice, and then they are good to go).

Every few yards there was another kiosk set up with every kind of Finding Nemo thing you could possibly want. The first time Kyle saw something Nemo-ish, he pointed and shouted, "Nemo! Nemo!" Three yards later, "More Nemo! More Nemo!" Three yards later, "More Nemo! More Nemo!" I cannot describe the excitement in his voice, but it is a sound I will remember for a very long time.

When we entered the main part of the area and headed to our seats, both boys got a little freaky. Dylan wanted to run around, and Kyle was gripping Mom and kept repeating, "Scared, Scared!" But once the show started, they were in heaven. Dylan was so mesmerzed, he didn't even notice that his papa was right there. He sat on my lap without moving throughout the entire first act. Kyle was WAY into the show. Anytime there was music, he started dancing. Now, try to imagine he's sitting on my mom's lap, kicking both legs forward at the same time and punching his arms out (with his hands in fists) as if he is rowing a boat as fast as he can. Oh, and there is a big (no, huge!) smile on his face. It was great.

Again, a wonderful experience that they will probably not remember, but I will never forget.

Blasphemy on the Highway

Yesterday was a long day that involved many hours in traffic. Thank goodness Sara, Joe and I had each other. When my iPod battery ran out of juice, we switched the radio onto NPR (Correction: Joe put it on KFYI and I changed it to KJZZ). We sat and listened to the reports regarding the Hamas victory in Palestine.

We were quiet for a while and then tried to "fix" the problem. Isn't there a way they can all just get along? Maybe not. This thought did not improve the mood. You see, the three of us are kind of the types of people who look at a problem and come up with a solution. It might be a very complicated solution that involves a lot of compromise, but there's always got to be a way to fix the situation. Twenty-something optimists, right?

Finally, my thoughts became so heavy and we were about to reach our destination. In an effort to lighten the mood I offered this suggestion:

Well, maybe we'll have Christ's second-coming and all of the Christians would be happy, return to God and leave everyone else behind. Then, the Palestines and the Israelis could have all the land they wanted!

OK, OK, so it doesn't completely help because everyone wants the HOLY land, which is on one location. Joe suggested that the holy land be reallocated. You guys have this part of the world, you over there have that part of the world, etc.

In any event, something's got to change. Right?

They Lost

So, the Broncos lost. Michael was devastated. I got home from the theatre this evening and asked him, "Is there anything I can do to cheer you up?"

He smiled, took my hand, and said, "I was hoping you and I could watch the documentary one of my football players made about the season. It's called The Road to State."

We watched an hour and forty-five minute documentary about high school football. And he was happy.

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.