The Curious Georges

SF PTSD

Every chance I get, I profess my love for Austin.  But, there is a big "BUT."  And that is the food.  I am a foodie.  I love to eat and have had the fortune to try many many wonderful restaurants, especially in my years in advertising media when I was frequently wined and dined by sales reps.  And so far, the food in Austin leaves much to be desired.  My friend, Joanna, was bemoaning this fact the other day and my response was "I try not to think about it."  Yes, Austin rocks so much that I don't even mind having to go to crappy and/or over-priced restaurants.

Even though I have not lived in San Francisco since 2004, I still suffer from a form of post-traumatic-stress-disorder brought on by the hellish nightmare of my days of parking in the city.  This became all too clear last night.

I am in the midst of a 4-week class at the University of Texas (UT).  Last night, I arrived about 45 minutes early for the 6:00pm class and so I went to park.  I obsessively scanned the signs in search of a legal parking place.  It goes something like this.  Drive around.  Look at the signs.  Tentatively park.  Get out.  Look at the sign closer.  Are there any disclaimers?  Do you need a permit?  If so, what are the permit parameters?  Are there any weird arrows?  Color-coded curbs used to indicate x, y or z?  Tell-tale ticket-dispensing vehicles droning around like pesky mosquitoes?

I finally park, but wait in my car for another 20 minutes because the sign says that parking is not legal until 5:45pm.  I wait until 5:46pm.  One can never be too careful.  While waiting for 5:45pm, I see other folks calmly parking, students idling by, and then ... a little golf-cart type car! Wait, is he going to bust me for waiting for this spot?  Nope.  He doesn't even give me a second glance.  When I leave my car, I survey the area one more time, certain there is a parking-oriented pitfall waiting for me.

Yes I am diligent, but after living in San Francisco for five years, I am paranoid to the "nth" degree when it comes to parking.  Oh, the nights of circling and circling, looking for a parking spot.  Oh, the many parking tickets and trips to retrieve my car from being towed.  You see, San Francisco is a whole different animal than Austin.  People do not stroll idly there.  Everyone is very busy.  And, finding a parking spot is like winning the lottery, but a lottery in which the winner would wildly scan the fine print, certain that there is a disclaimer that says, "ha ha, I tricked you ... you can't really park here!"

I remember one time, I went out of town for a week and before doing so, scanned the parking sign and curb.  No "do not park" or "only park between x hours" signs around.  Curb was the right color.  All systems said "ok, park here."  When I returned from my trip, my car was gone.  I thought for certain, it had been stolen.  I walked around and around the blocks, thinking I was maybe mistaken about where I had originally parked my car.  But, no.  No no no no no no nooooooooo!  It was towed.  Apparently, a temporary "do not 'park" sign was posted AFTER I left for my trip.  When I tried to fight the ticket, the fine folks at the San Francisco Municipal Transportation Agency told me that I should have had a friend move my car while I was gone.  WTF!

Anyway, when I walked out of class last night and didn't see my car, I thought for certain it was towed.  My heart dropped to my feet and all those familiar feelings of panic set in.  I reached into my bag to find my cell so that I could tell Barton the bad news.  But, a moment later, it was like I had clicked my ruby slippers and arrived in, ahhhh, Austin!  There was my car looming like Shangri La up ahead.  It was just a little further up than I thought.  There were students idling by.  Welcome to Austin, Dorothy.  You're not in San Francisco anymore.

Dane Happens

I''ve mentioned before that Dane is quite the intense little fellow.  He also has such a sweet, caring side.  This is the personality he reveals at preschool where his teacher calls him "a gentle soul."  When she described Dane this way to Barton, I think he must have had a quizzical look on his face, as in "are we talking about the same kid here?"  But, even as his parents, we get do get rare glimpses of this "alter ego" and rest assured that he is going to be a wonderful, compassionate adult.

Today, Logan was throwing a fit because he wanted to wear "The Big Shoes" to school.  The Big Shoes are a pair of Airwalks that really do have quite a bit of bulk to them, hence the moniker.  Anyway, Dane had already put on The Big Shoes so I kept trying to persuade Logie to wear different tennis shoes.  Logie was not buying any of my selling points of the lesser, littler shoes and he was really starting to pitch of fit.  Unprompted, Dane just took off The Big Shoes and handed them to Logie.  Because that's the kind of sweet guy that Dane can be.  Awww, makes me proud!

My Frustrated Laundrette

Since "three is the new two" in terms of desired number of children, many folks are jumping on this particular bandwagon.  It may be the effect of all this super-breeding that I referred to in my octuplet post.  People figure, "hey, if some crazy woman can raise 14 children as a single mom, surely my husband and I can handle three children."  This is a good thing if you're doing it for the right reasons and not just because you follow trends.  Have three children because you want a large family, not because you think that triple-wide stroller is all the rage.

Sadly, the first thing I think of when people tell me that they're having a third child is, "Wow, I hope she likes laundry."  They say there are only two sure things in life and that's death and taxes.  I really think laundry is just as inevitable and stealthy as death and taxes.  Laundry is like a vicious loan shark.  The more you ignore it, the more dire the consequences.  Laundry can get down-right mean and ugly if you don't pay it its proper dues.  I run myself ragged keeping up with its demands. This is one debt that will not be paid off and just when I think I'm making headway, there's another heap waiting to be washed, folded or put away.   Sigh ... I don't heart laundry.

Pee Eeeee!

So now I know why I've been putting off potty training the boys.  Let's just say that my stomach is still in knots from dealing with it all week.  We've been dipping our toes in the water of potty training for a while now, but always get put off by utter failure.  One morning, we went through eight pairs of underwear and shorts by 10am.  Obviously, that didn't go well.  So back to the diaper/pull-up half-assed attempts we went.

The true motivation for getting potty trained came when the boys and I went to pick Nicole up from school one day and she was doing a hammering exercise, where they use a plastic hammer to drive golf tees into a firm, yet spongy board.  Once I told them that they would indeed get to do hammering if they move up to "the big kids" class, they were sold (because to move up to the "big kids class," you have to be potty trained). On to potty training.  Dane, in his usual single-minded manner, began to potty train up a storm.  All mental blocks were tossed aside and he was going poo-poo and pee-pee on the potty like a pint-sized madman.  

Now, while I appreciate that Dane is so enthusiastic about using the potty, he has, in typical Dane fashion, now taken it to the extreme.  The kid has to go pee every five minutes now.  I am not exaggerating!  It is absolutely exhausting. Not only that, but we are often forced to go potty in not-so-ideal places.  Yesterday, he was peeing on a patch of grass in the back of an outdoor strip mall.  When the workers at the tire place spotted us, they yelled, "Hey, we don't live in Arkansas!"  I was so angry, but also felt like crying.  I would love to see those buffoons try and get two not-so-compliant 3-year-olds to an available restroom in time to avoid an accident.

Logie's bladder is thankfully a bit larger than a teaspoon so we're not having the same problem with him.  His issue is that he refuses to go poop in the potty.  Sorry if that sounds blunt, but there it is.  Needless to say, I've been throwing away a lot of underwear.

Fun stuff eh?  Let's just say Pee Eeeee is not my favorite class!

The boys are blissfully unaware that mommy is about to have  a nervous breakdown over potty training

"California" and other oddities

The boys have a new game where they take the mattress off of Dane's bed, prop it on the edge of the bed frame and then slide down.  They call this "doing California," which we figure comes from their image of California as the land of "sliding" sports such as skateboarding and surfing.  When Nicole and I went to Disneyland, I sent the boys a postcard of Mickey Mouse surfing and "California" was emblazoned in big old letters so maybe that's where they got the reference.  Whatever the source, California must be a raucous affair because every time we come up to check on the mayhem, both boys are red-faced and sweaty.

The boys have said some really funny "kid-isms" recently too.  Here are a few of the good ones:

- Tonight I was so tired that my eyes were watering and Dane asked me if I had "a little bit of crying on my face."

- Last night, Dane asked me if he "could put on nail polish when" he "becomes a girl."

- The other day, Logie pronounced, "mommy, you have a big bottom."  There was a bit of a lilting at the end so I could kid myself that this was really a question, but I'm not so sure.  I really hope he outgrows these kind of comments before he starts dating.

Today was a particularly trying day since we were stuck inside due to the huge rain storm.  The boys were very bored and causing all sorts of trouble that I'm trying my best to forget.  We finally got to the gym later in the afternoon.  As we were walking in, Logie picked up a discarded coke can from the parking lot and before I saw what he was doing, took a few huge sips.  On entering the gym, he proceeded to throw up all over the floor.  I'm sure the vomiting was from the sips of whatever was in that coke can, but after cleaning up the mess, I had no choice but to leave.  Sure enough, Logie was as peppy as ever after the incident so I know it wasn't the stomach flu.  Never a dull moment with these kidlets (or "kiddos" as people in Texas are so fond of saying).  

The Wonder Boys

"Sister" or as she is now called, "Sisa-bon" (pronounced like Cinnabon)

Three!

Logie Rocks Out to The Police

Got Octuplets? What we can learn from the fate of twin pandas.

Today as Nicole and I were waiting for over an hour at the allergist's office, I had a lot of time to read to her from her "Highlights" magazine.  There was a fascinating article on giant pandas and I sure learned a thing or two.  For one, a baby panda is so small that the mother panda has no "bump" and thus zookeepers have no idea that the panda is pregnant.  At birth, the baby panda weighs significantly less than its mother.  In July 2005, a 235 lb panda gave birth to a baby that weighed 4 ounces, which is typical.  Pandas subsist on bamboo, which is not nutritious enough to produce bigger babies, or even very many babies.  But they still have twins about 50% of the time.

The panda article got me thinking about the higher-order multiple births in the news.  There is a family who just had quintuplets in our neighborhood and then of course, we have the recent birth of octuplets to a woman who already has six kids.   We're talking high-maintenance here!  Likewise, baby pandas are extremely high-maintenance.  The mother has to sit up for six weeks to hold the panda cub and keep it warm and safe.  The harried panda mom does not get to eat or drink for two weeks.  They nurse the babies up to 12 times a day.  Also, daddy panda doesn't help at all.  For these reasons, a panda mom is almost always incapable of caring for more than one cub and the second cub will die from neglect.  In an effort to save the species, they've implemented programs where the twin cubs are separated, cared for by zookeepers and fed formula.

Now, we know human moms can care for more than one child at a time.  I should know.  I had twins when my daughter was only 19 months.  However, it is hard!  It's still hard.  I'm constantly being pulled in three directions and doing mental triage has become second nature.  This means that the child who is being the most outrageously annoying is usually the one who gets the attention.

This leads us to this crazy mom of fourteen!  I am not going to mince words here.  The woman is a lunatic!  What woman willingly brings this many babies into the world without resources or even a father?  What kind of life will these babies have?  All the appearances on Oprah and a house built on "Extreme Makeover" aren't going to make up for what these babies will lack, namely a quality bond with their parents.  The details of how this selfish woman got pregnant are still fuzzy, but the possible scenarios bring up many ethical issues.  If she did IVF, what kind of doctor would willingly implant eight embryos?  Human females are not physically made to give birth to a litter.  It is extremely dangerous for both the health of the babies and the mother.  Even though these babies made it to 31 weeks, that is still fairly premature and many of them will likely experience a host of life-long problems.  Who is going to drive all these kids to their many appointments with physical, occupational or speech therapists?  How will they coordinate for extracurricular activities?  What kind of car will be able to accommodate this many children?  Oh, the list of how wrong this is goes on and on.

The answer to these questions is that someone besides the mom will be doing and providing all these things.  They will survive on hand-outs and volunteering from individuals, corporations, the government and the most insidious of all, the media.  Maybe they'll do a "Jon & Kate Plus Eight."  We think all this careless breeding is cute, but what a life!  How sad to be forced to live in the glare of media attention.  But will they have a choice?  In my mind, this is a glorified orphanage ... with cameras.

So what can we learn from our panda friends?   Pandas do not willingly have twins and they know their limitations.  In the future, nature will adapt when it has figured out that panda mommies should stick with singletons.  Now, human beings can handle twins or even triplets and most will not willingly neglect their offspring, but the red flags are a-wavin' when some nut-job decides to have a litter of eight (especially when she is already a single mom of six).  The reality is that one person cannot raise this many children, especially if they were born at the same time.  My friend just told me the saddest story of a family with five kids under the age of six.  The youngest child recently drowned in the bathtub.  When I asked her how this happened, she alluded to the chaos in the house with five young children.   I'm not advocating big-brother-ish control here, but can't something be done to stop the madness?  Or will society go on condoning this outrageous behavior all for the sake of good entertainment?  For the sake of these poor children, I truly hope that someone comes to their senses.

Posted on Mad About Multiples by Lisa George.

Original post from The Curious Georges.

Back in the Saddle

I have been woefully remiss in blogging recently.  I have all sorts of excuses ... Facebook is sucking up all my time, the holidays, the January blahs, etc.  But the reality is that I've been having, in the words of my hubbie, "an existential crisis."  (Yes, he really talks that way.)  So, what exactly is this crisis about, you ask, ever so obligingly?

Well, the problem is, I'm a doer.  If I'm not accomplishing something, I feel adrift.  Now, you would think that  raising three young children and managing a household would be "doing something," but apparently that's not enough for me.  I've talked before about how hard the role of stay-at-home mom is.  Raising the future adults of the world is really the most important job there is, but it's just that the results are not as obvious.  No one gives you an "A+" or a raise if you're a good mom.  My kids are too young to say, "Hey I appreciate what you do for me."  Don't get me wrong.  One smile or cute remark from the kidlets and it's all worth it, but somehow this doesn't always keep the existential crisis at bay.

So, back to the blogging stuff.  I thought that if I put some advertising on this site, I would be able to contribute some money to the household and then feel like I was "doing something."  Well, it hasn't really worked out that way and I'm realizing that that's not really what this blog about.  It will always only appeal to a very short list of family, friends and fellow parents.  I don't want to be contrived and start scheming of ways to drive traffic to this blog.  This just gives me post traumatic stress from my days in advertising when things like "driving traffic" were utmost on my mind.  Right now, my kids are utmost on my mind, and that's how I'm going to keep it.

The existential despair also stems from wanting to use my creativity in ways that matter.  I love taking pictures, cooking, traveling and writing.  Isn't there a way to make these things into something with tangible results that go beyond mere hobbies (as in some sort of job)?  Well, the answer is, "right now, no."  I barely have a spare hour in the week so embarking on these quests is pretty much out of the question.  I have made a conscious decision to be home with my kids and when it comes down to it, I wouldn't want it any other way.  Still ...

My mother, never the most supportive of people, called me a "dilettante" because I always seem to just dabble in this and that.  Yes, it was meant as a put-down and unfortunately these words have stuck in my head.  Maybe if I did something really big, I could prove to the spirit of my mom that I'm worth something.  Barton says to ignore this inner critic (mom) and move on.  I think I will.

Is it a twin thing?

As evidenced by the posts in the past six months or so, Dane and Logan have taken the "monkey factor" to new, unheard of levels of monkeyness.  Are they purposely trying to provide fodder for my blog? Are they simply uber-mischievous?  Is it just "the terrible two's?" Or is it that other wonderful excuse, "it's a twin thing?"  I've been trying this excuse on for size recently and I think I like it.  The boys don't have some genetic disposition for trouble!  Blame their crazy behavior solely on their twin-ness!

The latest vexing behavior is Dane's unlatching his car seat and getting out while I'm driving.  I've talked before about how Dane is STRONG!  This is not bragging.  It is a fact.  We can blame his paternal grandfather, Peter, the triple medal Olympic champion in weightlifting.  Most kids his age cannot undo the car seat latches because they are purposely made to foil children!  But, Dane is all about foiling.  Give him a situation that is seemingly impossible to mess with and he will mess with it.  This is why Barton has to "fix the boys wagons" almost every weekend.  "Fixing their wagons" is Barton's catch-phrase for trying to foil the boys' antics.  Examples of "fixing their wagons:"  Putting latches on each and every door in the house and also the shutters and drawers.  Removing any object in their room on which they could climb to undo said latches.  Taking their drawers out of their armoire when they figured out the latches.  Bolting their beds to the walls, etc.  You get the idea.  If you've been following this blog, you've seen numerous examples of mommy and daddy trying to stay one step ahead of the monkeys.  Or maybe we're just trailing in their dust ... who knows.

Anyway, this car seat problem has got me seeing red.  Not only does Dane remove himself from his seat, he then goes on to undo Logan's seat belt.  Thankfully, this has not happened while driving yet.  I've only had to contend with one monkey loose in the car while driving, but one is enough ... especially on the freeway!  I flew into a rage yesterday because it is just so frustrating to feel like their is no "safety net" when it comes to the boys being in the car.  By safety net, I'm not just talking about the literal sense of Dane being safe while driving.  I'm talking about the peace of mind that comes from knowing that your little one is ensconced in their seat so you can then go about loading the car, go back into the house countless times for the items that you either forgot or are in demand by the little people, change one of the boys' diapers, etc.  It was the same feeling I got when we took down the gates.  If their slogan then was "Don't Fence Me It," it's now "Don't Latch Me In."  Just when I think things can't get worse, there they go to prove me wrong.

So can I blame this all on the twin thing?  I don't know.  I do know that siblings will egg each other on regardless of whether they're twins.  But the difference is that non-twin siblings are different ages so they will be in different phases of development.  Also, with twins, it's somehow a given that they spend the majority of their early years attached at the hip, whereas different-age siblings are more often split up.  Another factor could be the spacing of our children and when I talk about spacing, we have virtually none.  So when one adult is trying to contend with three little monkeys, discipline such as "time-out" gets fairly hard to enforce.  This just sets the stage for mischief, mischief, mischief. 

Regardless of the cause of this new development, I'm going to have to solve the problem soon.  Legend has it that one mom purposely slammed on the brakes when her daughter had removed herself from her car seat, sending the little one careening forward just enough to send the message:  Stay put or you could get seriously hurt!  I'm not sure that's the solution for me, but hey, if things get really desperate ...

 

Double Trouble:  Cliche, but true

... Candygram ...

 

Dane practices his post-reprimand pout