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.

Old Friends Who Just Met

Every evening, typically after a few big yawns and chubby fists shoved into squinted eyes, it becomes bedtime for Benjamin and Eli. The vibe gets mellow. Backs get rubbed. Voices get softer. Life, it gets slow, man. Shhh.

Anna and I have sung to the boys at bedtime since they were wee high. Not sure how we settled on it, but we quickly worked up a not-half-bad a capella version of "Good Night Sweetheart." Way better than Selleck, Danson, and Guttenberg. We harmonize, dammit.




Lately I've been tinkering with a solo version of one of my personal favorites. Someday I'll work up the harmonica line and really do it up right.




I still have a tough time making it through that one without an inconvenient throat lump. Stupid Muppets and their nostalgia.

No matter what the song, however, my favorite part is the fleeting moment when whomever I am holding gives up the fight and puts their head on my shoulder and begins to drift...off...to...sleep. Their fine motor control has improved to the point where they put their little chubby arms around my neck when they start drifting.

My sons, they hug me good night.

I could get fired, mugged, called ugly, have my Chipotle spill all over my J. Crew clearance khakis, and get into a car accident, and my day would still be good as long as I get me a tiny little good night hug.

PS: Someone recently asked why the boys don't share a crib anymore. This is why.

Baptisms

Parenthood is, in part, a series of decisions made on behalf of one's child(ren). These decisions are made with the child's best interests at heart and little thought is given to the child's approval or disapproval of said decision. Parents choose what their children will eat, what they will wear, what schools they attend. Will they play video games? Will they wear a bike helmet? Will they be allowed to see R-rated movies when they're seven years old?

We had our sons baptized this past weekend. We, as parents, decided for our children that they should know Jesus.

Their grandfather performed the baptisms. Anna decided to get baptized with the boys, as she and her brother were dedicated as infants. An unexpected but perfect addition to the ceremony. It was a wonderful moment full of lumpy throats and beaming prides.

I don't intend to proselytize or set off anyone's religious Spidey-Sense. You believe your beliefs, I'll believe mine.

Yet here's the irony about the whole thing. We decided for our children what they will believe. Or, at least, what they will be taught in Sunday school. We hope that they will come to terms with, and take ownership of, these Christian beliefs that will be presented to them, but in reality they will have the freedom to make their own way in the spiritual world. I know I certainly took a roundabout path to my beliefs. I am glad it happened for me this way as I feel like my beliefs are my own and not merely a set of doctrines handed down from generation to generation.

I hope the boys will listen to the Beatitudes. I hope they come to understand the intricacies of grace and forgiveness and knowing enough to know that they will rarely know enough about a situation to make judgments, especially mean ones, so that might as well be left to Someone More Qualified.

I hope they learn that Jesus was many different things. He was forgiving. He hung out with the uncool. He was wise. He stood his ground. He loved.

I hope they learn about love in the face of imperfection. I hope they are curious and want to learn about other religions, other peoples, other places. Their mother and I will do our best to expand their horizons but no matter how successful we are, the world will be immeasurably bigger than they will comprehend.

I hope they make their own decisions.

I have been a professional for nearly a month. To my knowledge, I haven't killed anyone.


Note: not one of my patients.

I have been a parent for three months now. To my knowledge, we haven't lost anyone yet. Unsure whether I have permanently scarred them already or not.


Yep. Still two kids. 

I have been a Michigander for a little over a month now.


Pretty.


I'm learning the language and blending in with the locals. "Party store" is not a place where you buy streamers and balloons. Saying you went to "U of M" here means you are a Wolverine, not a Gopher. (I also learned that maize and blue are polar opposite color schemes to spartan green and white.) And they are called "cottages," not "cabins." What strange and interesting folk, these Michiganders.

We have begun an earnest search for a house. The biggest challenge will be narrowing down our options, as houses for sale are as plentiful as dirt (nearly as cheap too). We have a working list of features we'd like in a house which might narrow the field a bit: monkey butlers, robot maids, and Japanese-style toilets.


Ooo...it oscillates!


The boys? The boys are doing just super. Three months old yesterday and sleeping 8-10 hours at night now. Occasionally I have woken up in the morning to my alarm! Not the baby monitor! It is bliss unlike anything I have encountered. I imagine that entering Heaven feels much the same way.

Orators of the future, speak up!

One week into our new adventure in our new home state. The dust is settling and some of the boxes are being unpacked and a few routines are emerging from the clutter. A new "normal" is here.

Benjamin and Eli are growing, as every sensible baby should. Our last (very) unofficial weigh-in showed that Benjamin is hovering around thirteen pounds while Eli is somewhere in the ballpark of eleven. Feedings are often preceded by inpatient and indignant cries and wails from the boys, indicating that 1) they are displeased with the rate of service and 2) they LOVE formula.

Overall, however, temperaments are cooling and the boys are learning to enjoy life a little more. Smiles are abundant these days, as are the beginnings of language.

The boys are learning what sounds a dove makes.

Sleep is more plentiful. The pace of life is more manageable. Things are good. One last day of "vacation" and then I begin my career as a professional grown-up. No more fartin' around. Time to get serious.

After all that, now this.

A year ago, I was a child-less student with a mortgage and no minivan. Today, I am a father of two, a professional, a minivan-owning transient. This week marks the end of our time in my home state of Minnesota and the beginning of our new life in Anna's home state of Michigan.

Honestly, how can you resist the siren call of the Great Lakes State?

The last couple weeks have been full of pomp and circumstance and studying and celebration. After too many years, I finished my academic career and graduated with a fancy title that no one will use. A week and a half later, I took (and passed) my board exams to make myself officially qualified to practice my craft. Somewhere in there, I accepted a job in Grand Rapids, Michigan. It was a busy time.

Proof!

Now, 3/4 of my family is in Michigan and I am still here in Minnesota, tidying up the loose ends and getting ready to load up the U-Haul. I will have had two days to finish packing and organizing, which I feel is plenty of time, and yet I will never feel comfortable that everything is truly done. Knowing me, I will likely have forgotten somethings. Several somethings.

I don't exactly know what to expect now. No more studying. No more planning for the kids' arrival. No more planning for our move. No more looking for a job. These are all checked off the list and now...there's nothing left on the list. I guess we get to relax a bit? Play with my kids a whole lot more? Maybe go up to the cottage for a time? Hope and pray that the NFL gets its act together so I can finally enjoy a season without having to worry about studying during halftime?

Oh wait. We have to "unpack" and also "look for a more permanent place to live." Forgot about those things.

What have we learned in four weeks?

I have been a parent for nearly a month now. I've picked up some tips along the way:

Always use the pee pee teepee. Always.

The human body can function on very little sleep. It doesn't function well, but it functions.

The battery companies and the baby gear companies are colluding with each other. Seriously, the SEC should look into this.

White noise white noise white noise. Don't try to sleep without it.

Minivans. Drink the kool-aid.

Every time the alarm goes off for the midnight feeding, I cringe. Then every time one of my sons sleepily looks at me or nuzzles into my neck, I un-cringe. It's wonderful.

If we could derive energy from unsolicited parenting advice, we could power the planet until it is a charred husk about to be devoured by a dying sun.

On the flip side, good parenting advice is worth its weight in gold. Parents have been doing this for years so something must work.

In the end, you have to make your own decisions. And it will be ok.

Finally, the boys seem to already be settling their differences themselves.



Hope you are (sleeping) well.