Disciplining a 13-month-old is like...

Encouraging an ant 
to do something good for humanity.

Sticking your head in the freezer, 
fully expecting to find a plate of hot nachos. 

Marching down the street in clown regalia, 
certain that if you march long enough 
eventually the parade will come
and it will be grateful for your participation.

Peeing into the wind.

Sweeping up the kitchen floor.
Except that it's a floor of quicksand 
that squeals and laughs at you
when you calmly but firmly say, 
"No, floor.  No.
Now stop swallowing me." 

Warm Cheek

Your cheek when you wake up
is perfect.

Warm,
Soft,
Plump,
it gives a little
when I lean my head in
to say, "Hello, sweetheart.
How was your nap?"


Cozy,
Precious,
Sleepy,
how irreplaceable
you are to me.

Rosy,
Toasty,
Happy,
a simple pleasure
entirely new.


Your cheek when you wake up
is perfect.


And it's a good thing
because sometimes
you are a really difficult child.

Jealous of my One-Year-Old’s Downward Dog

I am jealous of my one-year-old’s downward dog.
It is perfect.
He nonchalantly bends
into the pose
Often.
Easily.
Without strain.
Knees straight.
Head tucked.
Taunting me.

Or teaching me?

I have never been able to do that.
Bow to the one-year-old.
My Yogi.

Mother's Pride

Today I found a child at the toilet seat.

The ring you sit on.

He was gnawing on its top,
slurping the sides,
and beating his hands
to some native beat
on his holy doo-doo drum.

I sanitized him
in the other room.

And meanwhile the other one
crawled in ringside,
and began his own
sickening ceremony.
Gnaw...
Slurp...
Beat...

But today I am proud
not of their accomplishments.
No.
I am proud because,
After all of this,I did not kill either one of them.

Neither. one.

French Revolution

It’s the French Open men’s final

and it hints
at the banter
to come
between my
children.

If only John McEnroe could be here
to commentate.

I could sit back and watch.
Maybe sip a pink lemonade.

Serve it up, boys.

Chump Nap

Sometimes my kids take a chump nap.
As in, areyouevenkiddingme, that was not even a nap.
(Wrong answer buzzer sound)
(Another one)
Wrong.

What was it?
That was an event.
That was an experience.
That was something to talk about at nursery school.
(If you were two years older and actually went to nursery school.)
That was bonding with your twin brother in your room.
But that was not a nap,
my darling chumps.

Skin In The Game

My parents were both teachers. My wife was an educator. We like education in this house.

I remember hearing about the bond referendums that my school district would put up for a vote when I was a kid. I grew up in a town that was growing like a weed and building a new elementary school every other year to keep up with demand. Referendums came fast and furious, but my town was willing to support the blossoming student population and kept approving the referendums.

Then the population plateaued and the student population shrank and the district closed an elementary school and then the referendums suddenly were very unpopular among the population that no longer had students in the district.

Today I cast a vote in election that involved the school district in which my children will attend. Now, they won't be students for a few more years, but there's no harm in laying a good foundation, right?

This election, it was a little more...um...real? Now that I'm a parent, these votes matter a whole lot more to me than as a childless someone who just generally supported learnin' and such. This election will directly affect my kids. My perfect children who will be the first twins to be simultaneously elected Presidents of the United States. These kids.



When I was sitting at the poll, reading over the ballot that described for what the proposed budget increase would be used, I thought, "Yes, I do support the purchase of security cameras for the entrances to the elementary schools, and for newer, safer, school buses, and for the proper maintenance of athletic facilities that my kids would enjoy, and for the purchase of new technologies so that education can adapt with the changing times."

The guy next to me sighed a disgusted sigh and said, "Well, [insert my town here] is asking for damn Astro-Turf again."

Civic duty. It's what's for dinner.

Exponential growth never felt so good

Last week, my oldest son went to the hospital. It wasn't very fun.

He had to get poked and prodded and had lots of bruises everywhere and was Generally Unhappy.

His immune system beat his platelets to a pulp. His levels dropped as low as 1,000 per microliter (typical numbers, according to the National Institutes of Health, are 150,000-400,000/mcL). Slowly, they climbed.

Just a wee bit at first, mind you. All the way to 2,000/mcL. And that was probably still within the margin of error for the test. So quite possibly, it didn't rise at all.

But then a little more. 4,000/mcL this time. Then 8,000/mcL. 

And then...26,000/mcL. This was a magic number. 

This meant that our boy could go home. Anything over 20,000 meant that the risk for spontaneous bleeding was reduced to the point where it was safe to keep him at home. 

So when we brought Bruiser home, we recorded the reunion with his little brother. It went a-something a-like a-this.

Idiopathic thrombocytopenia

Big words, those.

They really kind of suck.

They suck because they make my adorable little boy look like he went 12 rounds with a heavyweight and lost. I know he's making his tough face in this picture:



But he's really a lover, not a fighter.

So what is idiopathic (also known as "immuno-") thrombocytopenia? In layman's terms, Benjamin's platelet count is down. Waaaaaaay down. Like, less than 1/25th of what it should be kinda-down. So what's the big deal about low platelets? Well, turns out you need those platelets to prevent minor things like bleeding. Platelets are the things in our bloodstream that form clots when you have a boo-boo. With levels as low as his are/were, he was at a risk for spontaneous bleeding in places where spontaneous bleeding is not welcome, thank you very much.

It all began when Mama noticed little, red, pinprick-sized dots on Benjamin's legs after a nap. The entire household had been fighting a cold the last week and he was enjoying a ragged, persistent cough. Mama thought a trip to the pediatrician would be prudent.

Mama is very wise.

Dr. Pediatrician realized that it wasn't a rash, but purpura. Say it with me now. "Purpuraaaa....." Purpura means "tiny little bruises that look like a connect-the-dot pattern all over your body." Benjamin didn't have a rash, but he had many, many wee bruises, some of which were forming big bruises. Dr. Pediatrician ordered some blood work and lo, Benjamin was found to be sorely lacking in the platelet department.

Soon we were off to Helen DeVos Children's Hospital.


Shiny, isn't it?


And here we sit. The doctors here believe this all started with the aforementioned cold that we've been contesting. Since everything else in Benjamin's blood work is hunky dory, the hematologists believe that Benjamin's immune system morphed into an ancient Viking warrior and went berserker-rage style on anything and everything in sight, including his platelets. Poor little guys didn't stand a chance.

He's on dose #2 of an IV therapy that is attempting to rein in the berserker immune system and allow the platelets to replenish themselves. After dose #1, his numbers went up. A titch. Not close to the magic number of platelets that will allow him sweet, sweet freedom, but it's going in the right direction. Dose #2 may be the magic bullet. Maybe.


A re-enactment of Benjamin's immune system as represented by the Battle of Hastings.


In the meantime, Benjamin and Eli seem to both be enjoying heavy doses of undivided attention. If you are so inclined, a prayer, some positive energy, or kind thought, or whatever your spiritual currency may be, would be most welcome.

Red wine, almonds, and grown-up worries

I was 24. Maybe 25. Definitely at an age when one's health was a low, low priority, far behind items like "playing video games" and "eating pizza" and "playing video games while eating pizza." I went to the doctor for a physical ahead of a minor knee surgery. The nurse drew some blood. I got a Scooby-Doo Band-Aid.

A few weeks later, my doctor called me with the results of my bloodwork. My cholesterol numbers came back in the range likely reserved for blue whales, but I was not concerned as I had not fasted before the blood draw. It was expected that my numbers would be sky-high. He would, however, like me to come back for another follow-up check. Just to be sure. And could it be in the next few days? And could you be sure to fast? Thanks. Another nurse, another Scooby-Doo Band-Aid.

The results were not much better. The fasting brought the numbers back down to Earth, but still way too high. Mt. Everest high. Not only was the total high, but the mix of good and bad cholesterol was all wack-a-doo wrong. The stuff that was supposed to be high was low. The purported low stuff was flaunting its highness.



Since then, I've "tried" to keep my cholesterol numbers down. "Tried" in that I think about it whenever I eat pizza or get fast food. The total numbers always hovered slightly higher than they should have been, but no doctor ever put me on medication and always told me to eat healthily, get some exercise, blah de blah de blah.

Since we said Yes! to Michigan last summer, I got a new physical with a new doctor. Once again, the total numbers came back high with a bizarro mix of good and bad cholesterol. This time, Mr. Doctor Man gave me some actual advice. Raw almonds, he said. They can help get that mix of good and bad cholesterol back to where it should be. A small glass of red wine every other night will help with that too. Losing some weight would be good. Getting some exercise helps a ton. And simply watching what you eat can make a big ol' difference.

My doctor gave me a bunch of options to try. I am opting for www.myfitnesspal.com, a free website where you can enter your food and exercise for the day. It's no magic bullet, but it is interesting for me to actively track my meals every day. Kinda shocking too. I am paying closer attention to calories than ever before. I am learning which foods are good snack options and which are fat bombs. I am enjoying my small glass of red wine. Tonight's was a lovely malbec.

The doctor also gave me an ultimatum: re-check the cholesterol in four months and if there hasn't been a change (and assuming I did my part to lose the weight, eat healthy, etc.), it was time to talk about medications. I'm not anti-pharmaceuticals by any means, but I would sure like to avoid going on cholesterol medication before I'm 35 if I can help it.

I haven't lost any weight to speak of yet. But, hey, the journey is new and I'm still in the newlywed phase, so let's keep at it while the motivation is still there. After all, I want to be able to do this again.



Think it will happen?

A Place of Our Own. Lessons in Gravity.

Since the fall of 2010, when we discovered that, not only were we having one but two babies, life has been constantly red-lining and occasionally feeling like the wheels are coming off. Let's recap some of the highlights:

We have lived in four houses. F-O-U-R.

Here's one.


Number two.


Three!

...and four.

Along the way, we started a family. The first few weeks of parenting twins were...rough. However, we were never without an endless supply of help from family and friends for which we are eternally grateful. 

Such as here.

And here.

Also here.

(I remember our friends Becca and Joe, themselves the parents of twins about 7 months older than ours, coming over to help us on numerous occasions during those maddeningly sleep-deprived early weeks. I also remember marveling at the fact that they both seemed so...competent...at this twin-parenting thing and not at all tired or walking into furniture. And finally, I remember Becca and Joe telling us that it would get better. I didn't believe them then because I simply couldn't make my brain work through the tired fog. I believe them now. Thank you, guys.)

I graduated from school, passed my boards, got a job. 

My wife transitioned from her career to full-time motherhood, saying goodbye to dear friends with whom she had battled through the junior high trenches for years. Now she gets to play with these munchkins all day.

We are getting settled bit by bit into the new place. The mountain of empty boxes shrinks daily, and every day I find new possessions I forgot I owned, they've been boxed up for so long. And apparently I've lost some weight over this stressful year as my skinny skinnier jeans fit again. 

Now I leave you with this gem of the boys playing in their new room. It's long, kind of boring in parts, but Eli makes kissing noises and then bangs his head, while his brother flails on the floor and then maybe eats some lint. I'm very proud of my boys.