Our Silent Partner

If one was to ask us about the members of our family we would list each other, our three daughters, our two sons, our two cats, and our dog. But there is a family member that we would be missing. That member is Chimney. Now Chimney isn't a member of the family in the traditional sense. Chimney lacks a circulatory system, doesn't eat, doesn't poop, and is by far the quietest of our brood.

It's the little one

Chimney is Merritt's constant companion.  If we are going on vacation, Chimney rides shotgun next to Merritt in her seat.  If Merritt is heading to bed Chimney is next to her on her pillow. When the zombies rise and begin to feast on the living, before we retreat to our subterranean stronghold, and begin our new life as mole people;   I better make sure that we have Chimney packed and secure.  If we forget that small bundle of fluff, I'm going to have to hack and wade my way back through the walking dead to retrieved our honorary family member.

Merritt inherited Chimney from her eldest sister about three and a half years ago and for a long time our 7 year old proudly announced to strangers that we have a pet wolf. A REAL PET WOLF NAMED CHIMNEY.

God help anyone foolish enough to doubt this claim.

I bring Chimney up because we are about one month into the beginning of the new school year. This timeline is in spite of my attempts at flying around the earth and increasing it's rotation thereby speeding up time. 

shut up and let people have fun

This has brought up memories of the last time we were in this place. I'm speaking of Merritt's first experience of show and tell. Being that Chimney had been Merritt's constant companion up until this point, and remains her buddy to this day, I assumed that her wolf was a slam dunk for the first show and tell.

Sadly her long term buddy had to wait until the next week and was superseded by this costume.

Wakanda Forever

I'm not opposed to my child dressing like T'Challa. Far from it. In fact, I think that all school uniforms should be Avengers based. I'd much rather watch the East County Asguardians take on the Central City Agents of Shield.   Hell I'd watch those teams in a golf tournament, and I don't even like sports.

I found myself worried about Chimney's feelings. It's a weird place to be in when you are in your 40's and experiencing anthropomorphism. 

Logically I know that Chimney is a stuffed animal, has no brain, and no ability to feel rejection. That being said, I made double certain that Chimney was placed next to Merritt for several nights following that event. You know... just in case. In case Chimney needed extra cuddles.  In case the stuffed wolf was sad. 

As parents, we are always worried about how our kids are going to turn out. We want our children to be kind, smart, clever, fun, funny, and interesting.  

I suppose that when Merritt decided to leave her life long buddy behind I was worried that our sweet heir to the throne of Wakanda was demonstrating a lack of empathy and concern for her friend.  I need reminders that sometimes my kids are just going to be kids. Being excited about a new toy is appropriate and doesn't mean that she's going to turn her back on friends later on in life. I have an amazing partner that gives me those reminders.

It turns out that so far my fears have been unfounded.

As I write this Merritt and her brothers are throwing a birthday party for Chimney. It consists of music, dancing, and a request for baked goods.  The sound track consists of songs that Chimney "likes". I have no idea how that selection criteria works or how today was decided as the day of her REAL pet wolf's birth.

The important thing is that Merritt is making sure that her friend being celebrated.  Just like a good friend should.

Cheers

L&P

Adventures in Maggie Rearing vol. 5

The decision to move to a smaller town was one filled with anxiety. One of the largest sources of this anxiety was that a smaller county would mean fewer resources for our sweet Maggie. While living in a bigger town we had access to a cheer leading team for kids with special needs, we knew other parents of kids with special needs, were a part of the community, and were already on a first name basis with many emergency room workers.  

Another thing that we were leaving behind was the hard fought progress we had made with the school district. To give credit where credit is due, my wife did the fighting. I was the Adrian to her Rocky. After several battles and years of struggles we finally had a teacher with which we were happy. Prior to this we had suffered through several individual education plan (IEP) meetings which frequently began and ended with tears (and also had tears in the middle).

For the uninitiated, an IEP is the course that the educators are supposed to follow to best serve an individual with special needs. A road map if you will; tailored to maximize a student’s strengths and best support the areas that need improvement. 

One meeting in particular comes to mind.  When we say "that person brings nothing to the table" it's usually a figure of speech. When you have an IEP meeting and the other half of the table; including the speech pathologist, special ed. teacher, occupational therapist, regular ed. teacher, and special ed facilitator, all LITERALLY bring nothing to the table, it was a bit disheartening. This meeting took place END of the school year.

They had worked with our child for near a full school year and had learned exactly nothing about her. They had no input as to what goals should be set for the next year. No trail of bread crumbs for her next team to follow.

Imagine hopping in a vehicle that you were wholly unfamiliar with, I don't mean having to drive a manual transmission when you are used to an automatic.  I mean driving a helicopter when you typically pilot a rickshaw. Also in a town that you had never been to before. One where everyone speaks Klingon.  You decided on a lark that you were going to find a speakeasy that plays fusion jazz. You would be lost and confused quickly. 

This was the same course of action that many of our daughter's former educators took

Were we more litigious individuals, I’d be writing this blog on Maggie's fancy new computer.  As it stood, we were honestly too devastated and overwhelmed to take any such action.

This is not to say that we have not been a party to legal action on Maggie’s behalf in the past. A few years back it was brought to our attention that the school district had been cutting the special needs class time short daily to accommodate bus traffic. Now if you are an individual that does not have a child with special needs you may think, “Well they might take longer to get on the bus so that makes sense.”

Well check your privilege my friend, because this is in fact a violation of a kid's right to a free and appropriate public education (FAPE).  If you are still wondering what the big deal here is ask yourself this question. If the school district had cut all of the Hispanic kids' days short would it be a big deal? What about the African American kids? What about the kids with red hair? Is it OK to reduce their amount of time in the classroom to make it easier for the other kids?

The correct answer (in case you were wondering) is NO! That is bigotry! Also illegal. Also a violation of their civil rights. Long story short, we were a part of a class action lawsuit; which ended with rewarding us two weeks of summer school.  You can find the story here. Fast forward to the first day of school in a smaller town.

                Maggie’s bus drops her off.

                I look at the time.

                The school day should not be over for another 10 minutes.

                I look at a fan.

                I see some shit.

                My stomach drops, because I know what is about to happen to that fan.

William Congreve wrote, “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” That saying only exists because Ol’ Billy C, never saw a mother of a child with special needs fighting for her kid.  To paraphrase Charles Xavier, “I feel a great swell of pity for the poor soul that stands between my wife our childrens’ FAPE.”

              
Upon the mention of the previous legal action we were involved in and a few other choice words the school district remedied the situation immediately. On this I am torn. I’m happy that the situation was resolved quickly. I am upset that if we had not threatened to rock the boat, Maggie would still have a shortened school day. I am also saddened that I have no way of knowing how long this practice was par for course prior to my wife's involvement. I shudder to think of the dozens if not hundreds of children with special needs whose rights were violated and hours of education missed.

We did the math and that equals about a week of missed instruction a year. That is a lot considering this is also a population that is prone to health issues. This makes every minute in the classroom that much more valuable.

I suppose if any good can come of this it is that none of the children with special needs in our school district need worry about missing out on their free and accessible public education. Especially the Hispanic students at the elementary school with special needs whose parents may not know about FAPE; either due to English not being their first language, or fear of rocking the boat due to immigration status.

Except that isn't what happened.  For the two years following my wife's phone call, we watched as the students with special needs at a school attended by our other children left early on a daily basis after.  We mentioned this inconsistency to school staff on several occasions. Finally, over summer break we submitted an email to the school superintendent. 

This school year started last week. Thus far, to our relief, the buses are running on time; for ALL students. I don't know our email had anything to do with it (we never received a reply), and we don't care. Well, maybe a little. In a petty 'ha ha told you so' kind of way. Not very mature of us. But we have to take our wins where we get them. Even the petty ones.  

On a happy note, our anxiety regarding Maggie’s current teacher was misplaced.  She is amazing. Really amazing, a wonderful advocate for our kid and we have been beyond pleased with her. Also, Maggie's grade school teacher up to grade 5? Her original home address is likely behind pearly gates. That woman is an angel sent strait from Valhalla and I'll have words with anyone that says otherwise.

Transitions are hard.

Cheers

L&P

               

Stuck

It's been about 10 years now since the two halves of Levity and Perspective joined forces
and I thought it would be fun to share what I consider an important moment in our relationship.
Before I shed some light on this particular moment, a little background information.

One of the fun things about having a kid with Down Syndrome is that the diagnosis comes
with a host of other medical issues. One complication that Maggie had dealt with was frequent
choking. Due to this, my wife, myself, and Maggie's older sister have gained more than a
passing familiarity with the Heimlich maneuver. After several doctor appointments, 911 calls,
and more than a few PTSD inducing choking events, it was decided that in order to counter this
issue Maggie would need vascular ring surgery to reroute her esophagus.


Maggie had already had several hospitalizations due to chronic aspiration pneumonia, a mitral valve repair, an AV canal repair as well as a diaphragmatic hernia. When I say several hospitalizations I don't mean like a couple of dozen. For the first few years of her life she was in the hospital nearly as often as not. I learned all of this second hand as I was not yet in the picture. This surgery would be my first venture in to the wonderful realm of inpatient care.

At this point we had been together for several months and were in love. It was wonderful, but I had been in love before. I did not know yet that this was going to be the big one. I remember the moment that I came to this realization.

Maggie was having her central line dressing changed. This was located in her neck and as far as I understand, was a line that fed directly into her aorta. Probably a fairly routine procedure when done on a willing patient. Due to Maggie's inability to understand what was going on, she would not be a willing participant. Imagine trying to thread a needle, but you are performing said needle threading on horseback at a gallop, also if you miss the eye of the needle your needle can bleed to death. Nurses really are amazing.

I myself had no idea what was about to unfold but began to gain the smallest bit of understanding as my wife prepped the nurses. I remember the phrases, "Don't underestimate her strength" and "we'll need more people" being repeated several times. Part of me thought that five adults to restrain a 9 year old child seemed excessive. But the confidence with which the woman that would eventually become my bride spoke caused me to believe that we may be short handed.

Don't worry she made it. We had her raking leaves within the hour.

What transpired next would forever redefine the words love, trust, and strength to me.

As the nurses held Maggie down and performed their duties, my better half held our daughter's face and reassured her. Maggie did not understand the procedure but she knew that it hurt and she was afraid. She fought with every ounce her little body could muster. The nurses were nearly outmatched. They performed admirably.

I have never felt more useless. As the nurses and Maggie and a woman that I'd only known for a few month's struggled, a shameful thought occurred to me.

I could just leave.

Everyone was distracted and I could be halfway to the parking lot before anyone even noticed I was gone. This was too much, WAY too much for me too deal with. I wasn’t ready for this.
Up to this point in my life I'd never dealt with anything this scary or intense. I'd had relationships aplenty, but I'd also done a pretty solid job of avoiding anything that smacked of any REAL responsibility or sacrifice. This blatant display of love, bravery, trust, and raw emotion was a lot to process.

She told Maggie it was all going to be OK. She told Maggie that it was almost over. She told Maggie that she was safe. She told Maggie that she knew that it hurt and she was sorry.
Maggie believed her, Maggie trusted her. This was a situation that the woman that I was in love with had been in several times and she kept doing it; she did it over and over and over again. She would face this every day for the rest of her life if necessary. I had never seen such strength. I never would again.

All thoughts of flight disappeared. Cowardice was replaced with a steely determination to stay as close as possible this woman for the rest of my life. I was stuck. Not stuck in a bad way; like in a cage with 5 rabid koalas. Stuck in a good way, like on a couch with 3 happy sloths and a new season of (whatever you're into).

On my best days I feel like I stand in the shadow of her courage. I'll never not be impressed with her. She is the most amazing person that I’ve ever known and in knowing her, I am becoming a better me. I’m not proud of the me that she initially fell in love with nigh a decade ago. The me that saw a scared Maggie and wanted to flee; but I’m getting pretty happy with the dude that has been created, in no small part, by her love.

She is way out of my league, I hope she never figures that out.

Cheers

L&P

Game of Thrones

One of the most amazing things about parenthood is watching your children reach milestones. We cherish the memories of those first words, first steps, first lost tooth, first day of school, and first Monty Python quote. Some of these milestones are less fun; first heart break, first broken bone, first time they are denied C-list celebrity status during a rose ceremony.  Full disclosure, we're not certain how the Bachelor works. Do you become famousish in exchange for your dignity? Don't answer that.

Most of these milestones happen whether we want them to or not. The milestones that depend on our judgement are trickier. I'm speaking of course of the first time you send your child into a public restroom by themselves.

Hi

There are many possible dangers on a child's first solo flight; creeps, weirdos, orcs, and the scariest of all... user error. I remember one horror story of a little boy who returned to his mother after his first time going to the loo a la carte.  He could not wait to tell his mother about the "really cool sinks they have in there!"

Pictured Above...Not a Sink

 The mother of the above mentioned child rushed him into the ladies room as quickly as possible to give his hands a thorough washing.

My first attempt was not more successful. I won't mention where we were located as I fear judgement about dietary choices.  Lets just say that a play area and golden arches were involved. I was outnumbered that day. I mean, we are always out numbered but one half of us was grocery shopping while the other half kept an eye on 4/5ths of our offspring (the last 1/5th is in college and has long since mastered the art of unaccompanied toilet use). So it was 4 to 1. In case you needed help with the math.

The boys demanded use of the facilities with all the grace and subtlety one would expect from two 5 years old with a full bladders. We had only just arrived and I had not yet settled the ladies. In a moment that would soon prove the saying regarding hindsight being 20/20, I sent the lads forward and told them I'd be right there.

In the few moments the boys were alone disaster struck. I will leave which one did this out of the text here so as to not ruin any future presidential bids. To his credit, he was sitting in a toilet; just not one designed for the function he was using it for.

Pictured Above...Not For Poop

The boy had already completed the transaction by the time I'd arrived. Being the responsible individual I am, the manager was informed ASAP.  He was very gracious considering my youngling had besmirched his latrine.

After this experience it was determined that the boys would be supervised during visits to the water closet for the time being. Unfortunately, I am still typically outnumbered 2 to 1. This combined with how excited the boys are to be getting taller means that on a few occasions, the lads have misjudged the height of their equipment as it relates to height of the lip of the urinal.
 
I assume that these miscalculations are common place and due to this I will never understand how every 5 year old boy does not have chlamydia.

After multiple occurrences I have began to take advantage of a little thing called male privilege. Or in other words, allowing the boys to pee in parking lots.  We won't be able to get away with this for much longer as the lads are starting kindergarten soon.  They are going to have to get used to fact that the world is not their toilet.  It was a goodish strategy while it lasted.

Cheers

L&Pee


 

Reboot To The Head

Recently our Little's have been discovering some of the things that I delighted in when I was a kid. Many of these ideas have been revamped, re-imagined, and updated to appeal to a new generation. Among these is Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, Scooby Doo, Voltron, She-Ra (coming soon), Ducktales and many others. As I'm viewing these with the kids I'm seeing them through the eyes of a parent, not the target audience. It's an interesting experience and it's led me to what may be considered a controversial opinion. Master Splinter was a shitty father.

Garbage

But he taught him them to fight evil and become heroes! 

Maybe,  but that isn't all he did.  Consider the following. 

•  He raised them in a sewer. 

They are in New York City. I know that social services are tricky to navigate but an abandoned warehouse, a shelter, a car, an abandoned subway car, any of those would likely be a better environment for raising a family than where poop lives. I suppose you could make an argument that Splinter was trying to keep them from being ostracized do to looking different. But if that is the case what you are really saying is that the every kid that wasn't aesthetically awe inspiring was braver than the heroes on the half shell. 

•  He prioritized violence over socialization.

Splinter's children were kept under lock and key until they were teenagers. If you heard of anyone else doing this you would demand that child services intervene. They had no way of making friends outside of their little cult and the only social modeling demonstrated for them was on television.  They don't know how to make friends or navigate complex social interactions. They do know how to kick someone's molars into their stomach though.

• No female role models.

Splinter is clearly an incel. I'm sure that being a rat-person makes it hard to meet that special someone. That doesn't mean that his boys shouldn't have some exposure to women folk that isn't filtered through cable TV. Not only are they being raised to expect an unrealistic beauty standard, but also unrealistic relationship standards. 

• He didn't vaccinate his children.

I'm making an assumption here. I suppose "Splinter takes the boys in for a well child check" wouldn't make an exciting episode.  However since he doesn't seem to take advantage of any other social services, I think it's safe to say that they aren't contributing to herd immunity.

• Poor nutrition.

Pizza has protein, veggies, whole grains, and occasional fruit (pineapple is great, don't @ me). All the basics are there. But not for EVERY meal. Eat the rainbow kids.

• Weird boundaries

He made them call him Master. He didn't go with dad, pops, father, uncle, or any other endearing nickname. He went with Master. What is the opposite of master? Slave isn't it?  Talk about toxic masculinity. Also he never wore pants.

Now I understand that Splinter wasn't exactly given the proper tools for raising well adjusted individuals; he's a rat, a mutant, has a trauma history, and I'm not sure about what kind of parenting was modeled for him.  I also know that it's not exactly proper to shame other parents.  We are all going through struggles and he was a single father of four. So maybe I should cut him a little slack.

The more I watch these kids' shows the more I'm struck by how many problems are solved with what I call, "punch based interventions".  In other words, two characters have a disagreement, rather than talking things out, fists fly and before long a victor is declared. Might makes right in these instances nearly every time. 

My concern is, while entertaining, this is poor preparation for conflict resolution later in life.  I'm not saying that there shouldn't be violence on TV. Considering the amount of pro wrestling I watched as a kid, it would be pretty hypocritical of me to do so. Watching that much WWF did give me an unrealistic expectation for how often in life I would solve a dispute with a short arm clothesline followed by a DDT. (If you can name the wrestler I'm thinking of post it in the comments and give yourself 10 L&P points!)

 I enjoy a good fight scene as much as the next guy.  However some variation problem solving would be a good idea. A few years back I saw this little bit of wonderful. 

Wasn't that nice? 

It was wasn't it?

Very nice.

Leonardo should still be trashing the Foot Clan members with his dual katanas. I dig that, it's exciting. But maybe every so often Splinter can encourage Michelangelo to learn some collaborative problem solving skills along with his sewer surfing (yuck). 

Maybe if the Ninja Turtles talked to some of the Foot Clan members instead of their default reaction being nunchucks of doom, there would be less Foot Clan members and more contributing members of society.

In conclusion, Master Splinter sucks, the Flash is awesome, and vaccinate your kids.

Cheers

L&P

Whack-A-Mole

When we first moved into our current location we saw that there was no small amount of work to be done. One of the many projects is the yard. Eventually we expect to use this space for gardens, fruit trees, flowers, a shaded patio for outdoor dining, and a time machine. For the time being, we'd be happy if it just looked nice.

I would like to prioritize the time machine so that I can fast forward to after all that work is done. It has been pointed out to me that not only is time travel not likely, but that if we are in the time machine then no one will do the work needed and none of those other things will ever get done.  Killjoys. 

Having a well maintained yard requires a lot of hard work, determination, not a small amount of money, a little bit of vanity, and most of all, the cooperation of mother nature.  So far we are 4 for 5. Our first attempt was last year, after doing research we learned that the best way to rehabilitate our front law was to kill it (it was more weeds than lawn),  rototiller it, replant it, water it, then watch the grass grow.

We killed it, we rototillered it (thank you Peter for the use of your tool), then we waiting for the weather to dip below 90 degrees for optimum planting temp. Then we waited, and we waited, and we waited, until school started again and work schedules made it impossible to take the time to replant. 

The result of this experiment was that we had a lovely lush lawn of dirt, dirt, and yet still more dirt.

Fast Forward to the beginning of this summer. Now we were armed with experience! We added new dirt (because we clearly needed more), and seeded, and watered, and lo and behold our efforts began produce fruit. By fruit I mean grass. Not enough grass yet. Basically our lawn now looks like a comb-over. Not just a comb-over but a comb-over on a weird and lumpy skull. That is thanks to our new nemesis. The Moles.

Hi

Sure they seem cute when they are helping Secret Squirrel but just you wait until you are trying to enjoy a nice leisurely stroll across your yard and find yourself sinking deep down into depths of the nether world! Well, that may be an exaggeration.  I'm not trying to make a mountain out of... well, you know, but they seriously uglify our yard and we've worked too hard to suffer their burrowing ways.  We have sought multiple solutions to remedy this scourge.

Solution 1: Poison! Put a few cap fulls of this nastiness underground and enjoy a unmolested yard! 

Result: No discernible difference.  Also, did you notice the pun with unMOLEested. It's ok if you didn't. I missed it at first too. If you caught it then well done.  

Solution 2: Put a garden hose down a hole and drown'em!

Result: A wet yard and new mole hills.

Solution 3: Attach a garden hose to the exhaust of your car and put it down a hole and smoke'n out!

Result: Minus $20ish on the device to connect the exhaust to the hose, no known moles have perished.

Apparently creatures that live a subterranean life style are used to low oxygen environments.

Solution 4: Smoke sticks, lite'm on fire, bury them, and poison em!

Result: A yard that smells like farts for a while. No known dead moles.

Solution 5: Traps, three different kinds. One that pinches, one that grabs and one that stabs!
Full disclosure, the lack of success may be due to my incompetence at setting them rather than the trap's inability to catch the moles. One of them did trigger, but if the only way to know if the trap did it's job is to dig a giant hole in the yard.

Result: Inconclusive

Solution 6: Random Chance and a shovel: No shit, this has been our most successful tactic.

Result 2 for 2.

Success story 1: I was listening to Visigoth with the children while doing dishes (if you enjoy metal I recommend them) when the other half of this blog entered the home quickly and frantically exclaiming that there was "something" on the porch.

I hustled out the front door to find the small demon scurrying back and forth attempting to escape my vengeance. At this point the children also attempted to join me in the front yard to see what all the hubbub was. I had picked up a piece of 2X4 to complete the task and was still holding it when I ordered our offspring back into the home. 

To the common passerby with mandatory reporter status, this would seem like a concerning situation as it appeared that I was threatening the kids with lumber.  

***Trigger Warning***

(I'm about to kill a mole)

With the children secure inside I ditched the short piece of wood and found a shovel. Prior to bringing it down upon my nemesis I shouted the words "Whack-A-Mole Mother fucker!!!

OK I didn't really but I prefer to remember it that way. It makes me feel like a bad ass for killing something that I outweigh by a double an order of magnitude. 

After the initial impact I made another effort just to be sure.  Then I flung the remains into the field near the house.

There were several calls by friends and family to stake the remains a la Vlad the Impaler. We believe that this solution is counter to our ultimate goal of a beautiful yard.

Success story 2. 

***Second Trigger Warning***

(another mole is about to die)

You would think that after one mole went topside and disappeared the rest of them would be the wiser for it. Such was not the case.

I did not experience this second shovel full of death first hand. I did get to hear it though. The other half of Levity and Perspective called while I was at my desk.  Maybe this second mole was on some kind of search and some rescue mission when my wife found it on our porch. If that is the case, the mission failed.

At first, the plan was to capture the beast and await my arrival at home to do the dirty work. This plan was flawed however as the creature known most for burrowing started to burrow. Shocking, we know.

Few things survived the ensuing violence, including the mole and the other half of this blog's bladder control. Once again, the weapon of choice was a shovel.

After the dirty work was done the witnesses, our children and niece were heard to say, "That's one dead mole." 

The carcass of the devil rodent remained in place until I arrived home and sent it into the field via shovelpult to meet it's cousin.

We understand that for many of you, pulling a 'Little Bunny Foo Foo" is not big deal and bopping things on the head may just be a regular ass Wednesday for you. For us this was a bit of culture shock. Delivering a rodent to its maker via digging tech is not something us city folk had acquired a taste for and we've yet to find a suitable palate cleanser.

At this time we continue the battle. There may be some readers that will recommend a more humane method of varmint disposal. To those individuals I invite you to our home and you are welcome to try.

If you'll excuse me, I have an exterminator to call.

Cheers,

L&P


***Edit***
It has been pointed out to me that moles are not rodents, they are insectivors.
Although to be fair, I also called them devil's and I have no evidence that they ever had or lost celestial status.
So there is that if you.

L&P

Enter the Doggone

About a month ago we were presented with an offer that we felt that we could not refuse.
One of the Levity and Perspective mom's were informed of a Goldendoodle that was in need of a new home. Her name was Ruthie and she belonged to a loving family. Unfortunately due to circumstances beyond the families control they couldn't spend enough time with the dog and felt that she would be happier in a home where she would receive more attention. They were seeking a nice family that would be willing to take Ruth in and provide a loving and supportive environment.

Since a nice family could not be located, we volunteered our services.

Her name has remained mostly the same since we took her in though Merritt added a second name. So I now present Ruthie Anna.

Hi

The nick names that she has received thus far are Ruth Bader Dogsberg, Baby Ruth, Doggo, Ruthersford B Hayes, and Ruby. She is also called each of the childrens' names when we are particularly flustered.

Now, being that my wife and I are both in our 40s, have multiple college degrees and professional licenses between us, have a child entering her Junior year of college, and have had less than 4 severe head injuries occur in our household over the past couple of years, one might assume that we are competent enough to make this decision on our own. One might think that others would grant us the basic respect that we had thought through whether or not we should add another happy face (dog or otherwise) to our home. One might imagine we had weighed the pros and cons and carefully plotted out our family budget and arrived at outcome that this would be a positive for our family.

Strangely this was not the case.

Now we may be a bit sensitive on the topic because many of our decisions such as, having a kid with special needs, having a third kid, having twins, adopting cats (by the way we have two cats too),  and our LA Guns cover band, have been met with similar skepticism and dour attitudes.

It should be noted that the only of the aforementioned choices that we have come to regret is the one that I just made up.

Some folks still ask with a sour tone, "Why? Would you want a dog too? Have you thought this through?"

Well I'll tell you why:

1. We wanted to
2. Entertaining two five year olds and a seven year old is tough work and we needed the help
3. Picking up cheerios is cumbersome 
4. She makes us happy
5. We like fun
6. None of your damn business
7. She encourages us to exercise more
8. She is awesome
9. She makes us smile
10. Still none of your damn business

We realize that our life might strike others as overwhelming, and it is. But we are the ones living it. We are competent adults capable of  making decisions on our own. To assume otherwise is insulting and speaks more to your inability than ours.

Would you tell Michael Jordan how to dribble a basketball? No you wouldn't, because he's Michael Fucking Jordan.  Am I saying that we are the Michael Jordan of big families? Yes I am. Minus the gambling and with more crying. 

Why did we buy a white couch?

If you think I'm wrong then why don't you raise five kids and show me how to do it better.

What's that? You don't know how to? You wouldn't want to?

In that case might I recommend that you provide us with the same advise that I provide test pilots as they approach mach 2? Which is none. My advice to them would be unsolicited, unappreciated, and most of all uneducated.  I know exactly nothing about being in those circumstances so I keep my lip buttoned.

That is not to say that no one should voice an opinion on the matter. I'm speaking of course of the stake holders; those that are directly effected by the decision. As far as I can tell there are three stake holders in this situation; ourselves, Ruthie Anna, and the mom that will occasionally be asked to dog sit. I will now list the stake holders opinions on the adoption below.

Us: For it
Mom: For it
Ruthie Anna: Woof

That's three to zero, the Aye's have it.


Cheers,

L&P

Birthday Blues

I can remember how much I looked forward to my birthday and Christmas as a youngster. Without being weighed down by any knowledge of economics and the burden of Santa’s actual address, the sky was the limit when it came to not only what I could ask for, but also what I expected.

For several years running, I asked for a lightsaber. Not a toy one. A real one. One that could cut through things. A green one. A REAL GREEN LIGHTSABER.

This one

When I was a kid, the rule about opening presents was “no sour grapes”. In other words. Be thankful for the gifts you receive and no bad attitudes.

I think I did a pretty good job of following this rule but that didn’t mean that I didn’t suffer in silence when I realized that all of the gifts had been opened and I remained without my Jedi weapon of choice.

In hindsight, I do not blame my parents for this. After all, lightsabers would be a very irresponsible gift for a child and they do not exist.

Enter our son Oliver. 

Hi

In the unlikely event that you are unfamiliar with our fun family dynamic, I’ll quickly inform you that Oliver is our youngest of five children. He is also a twin. His birthday is December 23rd. Which, as my wife is fond of saying, means that he has to share a birthday with his brother and Jesus.

Meeting birthday expectations is already a steep climb for parents, steeper when said expectations are not grounded in physics or a realistic budget.

I have included an incomplete list of some of Oliver’s demands.

• That sword
• That power ranger’s Zord
• That thing on your back that you put two swords and then go like this (ninja like sword drawing maneuvers)
• That motorcycle
• That motorcycle too
• A dog with pointy ears
• A robot dog with pointy ears
• That thing that you put on a horse and you ride behind it and do this (indecipherable hand gestures)
•  A REAL power ranger suite
• All of the power ranger Zords
• A remote control Spiderman motorcycle
• That black remote control car that we saw at the store that one time
• A horse thing that you sit on (saddle?)
• That game
• A horse
• That game too
• A real robot that does that thing
• All of the video games
• A lightsaber

Since we live in the future most of the television consumed by our children is via streaming services, thus commercial free. On the rare occasion that Oliver (or any of our kids) does watch television with commercials the request list spikes considerably.

I don’t want to give the impression that our youngest is the only one making these requests.  He’s not.  However, he is the most vocal and repetitive of our quintet. On a slow day, Oliver has a cruising speed of approximately 55 RPH (requests per hour).

We typically acknowledge these requests with a canned, “We’ll see” or “Maybe”, or “Can you draw a picture of it that we can send to Santa?”, or “Maybe if you change the oil in the Subaru we can come to some kind of arrangement.”

We know that this is typical kid behavior. As mind numbing as it can be to hear the same request for the 100th time in a three-hour period we manage the frustration for the constant demands for our attention. He is not always going to ask us for things. There will be a day when he can buy all of his own things and we will be out of the loop. The tricky duality of parenthood is both looking forward to and dreading that day.

Maybe someday science will catch up with my kid’s demands and he can get that lightsaber. By then he will be old enough to responsibly wield it. Until that day, I have some shopping to do. By December 23rd these should be just about ready.

Cheers,

L&P