crawling?

I think its been one month since i posted last. I know for a fact kevin has a blog written but hasn't posted yet. He writes them by hand (on paper!) first then retypes and edits them on the computer. Wierd guy.

Eliot is making a ton of progress towards crawling. He gets up on his hands and knees and sways around. He goes backwards really well but hasn't managed to go forwards yet. If he has to get something in front of him he does a series of rolls to get where he wants to be. I have to keep a really good eye on him. The other day i heard him screaming and came into the room to find him wedged underneath a chair.

Finn is also making progress with crawling. He can raise his belly off the floor, but not quite as much as Eli does. Finn would rather roll over from his belly and lay there and smile at you. Finley has been super sweet lately. He is a happy and content little baby. It's cute how he has such a deep moan when he's upset. It is sort of a pleasant cry to listen to...of course their giggles are always the most amazing to hear of all.

Toss The Dog

Hi all. So Kevin has been slacking on the blog lately. I thought I could fill in as a guest author to keep our family at bay(BETH). I'll give you a glimpse into our life from my perspective, but it probably won't be as entertaining as kev's entries.

Speaking of entertaining (nice segue, huh), the boys have been so cute lately. All they do is smile and laugh. Last night, Eliot almost hyperventilated because he was laughing so hard. I'll paint you a picture because our camera was out of batteries. I'm on the green couch in our front room. Eli's head was on my knees, feet by my waist, looking up at the ceiling. Now this is the hilarious part (to him)...I threw a stuffed animal (dog) up in the air. Yep that's it. I just had to keep tossing it up into the air and catching it. Every time I would toss the dog he would go crazy laughing. I thought his little red tomato head was going to explode. Of course I couldn't stop so i sat there and tossed that stupid dog up into the air until my arms hurt. And my stomach hurt too from laughing so hard with Eliot. Everyone says his eyes sparkle and i have to agree that he does have a very bright beautiful smiling face.

Finn is also a crack-up. It is usually easier to get Finn going but I've never seen him laugh to the extent that Eli did on the couch. You can just look at Finn and he'll smile and laugh at you. One of his favorite games is to play is where he lays on his back and i am above him. I hold a stuffed animal or my hand and make it dive bomb him. He starts laughing in anticipation as the hand starts to descend and proceeds to all out squeals when the hand "attacks" him. That game never fails with him. He can even be crying and the hand attack will switch him to laughing or at least something that is half between laugh and cry.

Oh there is so much to say about them right now. They both are doing great at sitting. It is so fun to watch them sit and wobble and fall over. We compared them to Weebles - "weebles wobble but the don't fall down" The do fall down but it is pretty graceful sometimes. Finn did something the other day that resembled an attempt to crawl. He was on his belly and got his little bottom up in the air and scooched backwards a little. Still no sign of teeth. Both like solid food. Eliot does better at eating baby food than Finn does. By that I mean most of it makes it in his mouth, whereas Finn is perfectly happy with food all over his face, chin, and clothes. We give them a bath about twice a week. Kevin hates bath time because water ends up everywhere, but he volunteered to do bath's tonight. That was a fun surprise, because i absolutely love giving them baths.

I forgot about the bike ride. On Saturday we ditched my work party and went for a long bike ride into Waterton canyon. It's about 6 miles in/up the canyon to a dam. I rode the street bike with "the chariot" behind it and Kevin rode the mountain bike. The boys were in the chariot along with a large bike pump, a water bottle, and some extra clothing. I estimate I was pulling about 45 extra pounds! It was an awesome workout that i definitely needed after sitting behind a desk all week. The boys enjoyed it. Finn thought it was perfect for a nap and Eliot enjoyed the scenery the whole time (sacrificing his nap and happiness that evening). I did forget they were pulling behind me twice on that trip. The first time when i navigated my bike through two yellow poles at the trail head, designed to keep vehicles off the trail. The poles were plenty wide for my bike to get through, but the chariot is quite a bit wider than the bike and you can guess the rest. The second time i forgot they were back there was when we sped through mud. At the top, by the dam, we stopped for a water break and to check on the boys. Sure enough both were speckled with mud. They didn't seem to mind.

Well, Kevin just said, "what the heck could you still be writing". I don't know what he's talking about. I wrote this way faster than he writes his blogs, but I'll take the hint. I'm done writing for the night. -Kristin

Ma Beagle

It has been brought to my attention that perhaps too much time has been given to the blatherings of family events rather than baby happenings. To that I say, "phooey." Ass kissing family bios are the key to a long line of committed baby sitters. But, note taken. I will try harder to offer actual experiences the fellas have had; I will continue to include those taking part in the ongoing story of babies evolving into boys. From Colorado to Illinois and elsewhere, too many people have played a huge role that has to be included. With that said, how about a big shout out to Ma Beagle. That is the nickname my mother has earned, which was inspired by the infamous Duck Tales character who repeatedly sprung her sons from the slammer. This is something I know my mother would do for me, and hopefully my sons. We have such high aspirations in this family.

Kristin travelled to DC for work a few weeks back, and I had a hard time accepting the wake up duties for the week. "Mommy help." So she did. The boys and I would probably have managed just fine sitting around in our pajamas all week, but this was a great opportunity for Grandma Kathy to visit for the third time in 6 months.

Not having any daughters of her own, my mother has always enjoyed being a part of the action during those critical hours at the hospital. Those stressful hours of waiting and hoping that everything goes well for all parties involved. Forget about the 5 minutes between boys, when you feel like standing up to help the doctors since anything over 30 seconds was too long. Seriously, enough chit chat! Where is the other baby? Granted, Bethany was the one leading the paparazzi as the boys made their way down a hallway to meet the crowd, but you can be sure that Kathy was front and center taking pictures with shaky hands.

Kathy's dramatic nature has always brought otherwise mundane events to life. How did she sculpt her 4 skeptical sons into Cubs fans? Why did my brother Shawn believe in Santa Clause in 6th grade? I remember my brothers crying with her as Lee Smith and the Cubs decided not to take the pennant in 1984. I remember my dad setting reindeer traps on the roof to keep us from second guessing. All that was real. Grandma Kathy reminds us why we celebrate, and if there is no good reason then she will find you one. The boys were lucky to have a grandma and babysitter like that, and soon they will also have stories to tell. Thanks for the help.

On deck: 21 fresh inches of snow on the ground, but still not enough to keep Grandma Cyndi at bay. Her admitted withdrawal problem results in her booking a flight because the boys have decided to sit up without her consent. Something like that anyways.

Dragons' Lair

"Parents always make their worst mistakes with the oldest children. Thats when parents know the least but care the most, so they're more likely to be wrong and also more likely to insist they're right." - Orson Scott Card

We started baby sign language this week for no better reason than, why not? Advocates for this consumer product claim higher IQ, increased vocabulary, and even immortality I think. I can just picture Eliot getting hungry in kindergarten and using a cow-milking gesture to get teachers attention. That is the exact sign for milk- so yeah, a little strange from the get go. Kristin just figured with all the spare time on our hands, lets have some fun. I was pushing for Portuguese, but that will have to wait for the next litter.

Some days are harder than others. Kristin had to travel for work again last week, and this time I couldn't cry for my mother to fly out and help. With two, we really try to keep them on a regimented schedule when it comes to feeding. This may sound excessive, or maybe even militaristic, but it really helps avoid the chaos that ensues with the 'feed when hungry' approach. Despite my strategic efforts, the boys fed on the fact that I was without reinforcements, and would scream in my face just for kicks. Enough is enough, Eliot gets moved upstairs and into the bouncer chair. He continues screaming only now I have the floor and a few walls to buffer the attack while I feed Finn, which is really all he ever wants. But every possible measure has failed to calm the 15 pound dragon known as Eliot. I dig deeper now, slowly gaining more strength and patience. A muzzle, I think to myself. Drat! I said only as a last resort. Ahhhh.... the motrin. If he doesn't actually have a toothache, you can bet your lucky dime that I will point out a tooth about to breech. But all is now well, and triage was the order of the day.


The part I don't understand, is the gripping power these two little dragons have. After all the fussing, eating, diapers, and more, we always end up testing them once more each night. After they have fallen asleep, we wind up tip-toeing into their room for just one last peek at them. Its almost as if those cute peaceful faces are daring us to dip down and give them one last peck. There is something satisfying about standing triumphant in the dragons' lair. You know they could breath fire at any time, yet we stand there with some kind of dominating pride of a successful day.

Alabama Boondocks

With each family visit, we are constantly reminded that things and people do actually change when we aren't there. Facing the mountains to the west, it feels like something important is going on behind us, but looking over my shoulder doesn't help much. If you care a little you can feel that, but caring a lot puts us on the road, perhaps more than we should be. Maybe while people developed as family oriented pack animals, they also developed some connectedness only explained in quantum mechanics and DNA. And transplants, such as ourselves, feel that urge to migrate to our genetic base. Maybe I've been reading too much sci-fi and should get back to cute babies and readable stories. More to the point, we visited my brother and his family in Alabama, recent transplants themselves.

From top down: Delaney, Finley, Brady

Right: Chris and Tawnie

They have a nice spread only a stones throw away from the Coosa River, which is a nice resource to have when you need to catch a little 'sup-sup.' Delaney (3) and Brady (5) were the first bare-footed hill billies to run up to the car when we pulled in. Makenna (12) and Trevor (7), two honor roll mainstays this year, were soon in the mix after Tawnie surprised them by bringing Kristin along when picking them up at school. Sometimes the best vacations are the ones without set plans, and that is exactly what we enjoyed most in Alabama. By nightfall, Steve and Nina had arrived for their third visit to the Bama Connors this year. Trevor was reeling in his first catfish of the evening, just a tad too small for eating. Chris would soon trump his son with a 5 pound monster that Steve had to assist him with. Life was good.

One story circulating through our family is that Chris was reaching for a sword to protect his family that night the back door burst open. For the record, lets just clear up that myth here and now. He sat comfortably on the couch sipping his wine, at no point reaching for a sword. The only chivalry I saw was in Trevor wearing a cape all night. But none was needed as Dan and Carly were the culprits, with their unannounced entrance to a surprise visit. If you ask me, Dan only drove down because he was concerned about the mental state of both Trevor and Brady. He has long been suspicious of his nephew wearing capes more often than not, and would try to get to the bottom of it.

Trevor and Brady were sharing a birthday party that Sunday, so Chris and I were fixin to head into town for some party fixins. I try. We passed some kids playing along the riverbank and noticed them carrying a rifle instead of a fishing pole. Whatever works, right? If that wasn't indicative of Alabama culture, the clothes-optional Wallmart towncenter had everything we needed, so we had that going for us. Later on, Tawnie and I were making some food when Chris decided to sing to Finley. Some song about how Finn looked like a hippopotamus, but it was okay because everybody still loved him. I think the last time we spent time with Chris in the south was in New Orleans almost 10 years ago. Christopher, Kristin, and I were trying to sneak in the back door of a piano bar at 4 in the morning...... and now this? A room full of 6 kids with Chris singing, instead of dueling pianos and tropical cocktails.

Left: Nina leads the way through Nacaloola Falls

Right: Eliot and product placement for grandpa Kevin.

The birthday party was great. Trevor was Harry Potter that day, and Brady went as Superman. The other kids dressed up too, which was encouraging for Dan and his identity crisis theories. Makenna was a great nanny, taking care of Eliot the entire day and night. Chris and Tawnie have hosting a party down pat, and even used the phrase "ya'll" a few times to make their friends feel more comfortable. Steve and I enjoyed dissecting each person's accent, while Kristin and Nina kept busy making sure nobody could hear us. Good times, great hospitality. We will be back.

Southern Breeze

Nashville, Tennessee. A city with live music playing in the airport, where cars yield to skateboards, and most of the women wear scarves just in case 90 degrees isn't hot enough. Sorry Sarah, but fashion in Colorado is determined by how many seasons of abuse one's boots can endure. Denver, Colorado. Eighteen degrees with 2 inches of fresh snow. That was the text message we received upon landing in music city to visit the Kilen girls. Great timing, I don't care who is wearing a scarf.

Sarah and Jenny, medical professional and medical student respectively, are sisters and very competitive in vying for the Favorite Nashville Cousin Award. From the get go, neither giddy sister was giving an inch as they both arrived at the airport to greet the little turkeys. It didn't occur to me that Jenny had not met the boys as she stood in the middle of a taxi lane with her face burried in a carseat. Southern hospitality soon took over, and both proud cousins showed off their stomping grounds to the fellas. Kristin and all her cousins have maintained a close bond over the years, and I think she enjoyed seeing that continue, even though she is the oldest and now has kids. Just like always, they laughed at things that weren't very funny only this time they had kids to poke at and play with.

We all stayed at Sarah's cozy apartment, and Jenny would eventually counter that move by introducing us to Nashville's finest fried chicken. I love it.... going right for Finley's heart. And I wouldn't be a bit surprised if Russ managed to sneak Finn a chicken leg when nobody was looking. You read that correctly, Grandma Cyndi's homing beacon alerted her that the boys had crossed the Mississippi and were within a days drive. Sure enough, within a day or two her and Russ had arrived. A pleasant surprise and one that will get its accolades after the Alabama review.

Both Eliot and Finn were glad to have finally met Jenny, and to again have the chance to flirt with Sarah. Eliot, however, was smart enough not to flirt with family, and gave a wink to the animated and welcoming roommate Ellie. Kristin and I had a great time and were impressed you could both make time considering your busy round-the-clock schedule. We showed our gratitude by stealing Jenny's car.

Nashville was great, but we still needed to pester my oldest brother Chris and his family. So we packed up and drove on, trying to enjoy bad coffee, bad drivers, but beautiful scenery. Somewhere near the Georgia/Alabama border I caught a waft of what I thought was the 'southern breeze' that Mr. Cash so eloquently sang about. It turned out to be one of the boys jumping at the brief chance to poop in his 7th state in 6 months. Paternal pride struck again. I was proud, he was prouder, and he sang about it for the next 25 miles. On to the deep south, where the southern reaches of the Connors family wait to play host with catfish and a developing drawl.

In the works: "Alabama Attitude"

Written but not posted: Grandma Kathy to the Rescue. Will be posted once Grandma calls via web-cam.

Pumpkinhead

Fall is in the air. Just as summer never fully developed, September felt like October. The boys are bundled one day, and kicking back on the deck the next. Football has started, and Cubs gear has given way to the Bears garb that uncle Chris graciously donated. The gardens are still alive and producing nicely, with the help of the 4000 watts of electricity that protected it during the brief snow showers and near freezing temperatures. Some pumpkins are ready........ for whatever there is to do with pumpkins. We have our eyes on two that have a nice shape and color. The plan is to carve/decorate each one into the likeness of a lad, and call it good for fall decorating. Finley's pumpkin has a striking resemblance which makes things easier. Just hollow it out and throw on a ball cap- good to go. That may sound harsh, but they are nearly 6 months old and not even talking yet. What gives? They are making some progress I suppose. Finn has been celebrating the discovery of his own feet for the past week, and Eliot now opens his mouth while tracking the cereal as you try to eat breakfast. Baby steps, right?

Tomatoes and hot peppers were piling up in the kitchen a few weeks back, when Bethany sent word that the city her Rugby team plays in would be hosting a chili cook off! I like to think the boys enjoyed helping roast peppers, and they even showed it by rubbing their eyes for two days. The competition was not going well and my unmarked pan of chili sat 3/4 full for way too long. My guest, Beth, finally arrived and instantly had a giant portion of that neglected 5-alarm chili. I thought it was way too spicy, but she maintained her composure well as she cruised the room chattering (and persuasively) about the garden fresh stew.

We weren't surprised that the boys' aunt Bethany would have such an active role in their babyhood, but the constant support is reassuring for a transplanted family with roots 1000 miles away. She has never been the type to praise herself for her positive nature, but instead remains humble and insists that she is the one receiving a favor. I was either working on the road or odd hours for much of Kristin's pregnancy, and Beth living at the house was probably the only reason Kristin kept her sanity. I soon realized that sisters just help each other out, and any expression of special gratitude would be awkward and unnecessary.

The girls and their family are very passive in expressing feelings of both approval and disappointment. At some point in time, their northern European descendants decided to share their feelings by staring at each other and eating pickled herring. The contrast between families is important to understand you see. If my brother Dan wins at one of those scratch-off lotto tickets, my family will turn the closest living room into a public house, raise a glass, and commence congratulating each other for the next hour. Whoever is talking the loudest wins. And yes, it is a competition.

Bottom Line: Great job at being a sister, sister-in-law and Aunt Beth.

Airplanes and Holy Water

We recently made another trip back to IL, this time for a family wedding, and to have the boys baptized. Why even think about driving when you have the chance to change a diaper at 35,000 feet? If that alone isn't worth the ticket price, seeing the faces of the 4 poor souls in our row made it worth every dime. Kristin, who is much less bitter toward humanity, actually took her crying lad to the back of the plane, while Finn and I just sat in our seats and cried about the leg room. She later returned with a free Toblerone candy bar, and grumbled something about karma being a bitch. After snatching it from her hand and chowing it in one swift motion, I asked if she was sure about that.

Our driver (Russ) showed up promptly as usual, and we were both ready to hand off babies to the waiting Grandmothers. In regards to baby care, our weekend was a piece of cake. Its the referee duties that kept us both on our toes. Time spent with the boys has evolved and is now categorized into different tiers of quality. Group time doesn't count, and alone time is to be split evenly 50/50 without question. And if either Grandmother tells you they aren't counting the minutes, send them on their way. That isn't to say that we all can't play nice together because we can and did. But, alone time with the boys, when nobody else can see the ridiculous faces that are made, is gold for a Grandma.

Above: Nina and Steve, the Godparents of Finley Jacob

The wedding service for Kristin's cousin Lindsey went well. The boys were well behaved until the bride walked down the aisle. Eliot and I then decided to inspect the neighboring soybean field, while Grandma Cyndi and Finn went on their own field trip through the parking lot and beyond. All things considered, having one of the creatures during the church service is the way to go, especially if you are occasionally bored by the droning sound of chanting in unison. And no disrespect intended, even the boys mustered up the reverence to participate in their rite of passage the following morning.

The church service was about to begin when we got the message that my brother Dan was lost, but we could go ahead and start anyways. Thank God. So it began, and eventually both sets of Godparents were holding a boy, renounced the evils of the world, and dunked him. Steve and Nina are close as both family and friends, and may be the only source of steady sanity in a chaotic family. Brett and Britt, cousins from Kristin's side, are now forced to make a trip or two out west to check on their nephews and instruct them in the ways of running a football. These four folks combined with the mix of Catholic and Lutheran

onlookers, offered a balanced welcome into the world of God, good, and religion. All four Godparents sponsored a boy in part because they have a strong moral fiber; they might not ask what it takes to be a good person, but they also don't have to be told. And the other part is their gift giving capabilities, which they all demonstrated well on Sunday.

Right: Brett and Britt, Godparents of Eliot Cash

The service continued on, and soon enough we had our first experience in the cry room, where we found Shawn's entire family camped out. We left the boys and paid a visit to Dan and Carly sitting in the back row, who gave me some story about how they showed up just in the nick of time to witness the blessing. Carly reeked bourbon from the previous night, and Dan forgot his clothes as he left Chicago in a hazy stupor. He walked up to receive communion wearing my dad's clothes and having to use one hand to hold up his pants. Most people would be embarrassed, but Dan and his baggy pants arrived back at his pew with a smile on his face and said, "its hammer time."

The Catholic side of the family made fun of the Lutheran communion offering individual portions of wine, both red and white (as if they have any room to talk.) And the Lutheran side made fun of the Catholics for using the baptism bath as holy water to make the sign of the cross with. I still don't see the problem with that, but laugh it up. Good times had by all, and the boys are blessed and on their way.

Gouda and Great Granparents

Five years from now I want a goat named Gouda. I want to make my own goat variation of Holland goodness, and it would be really nice to have something compete with the Super Mario Brothers for the boys' attention. I'm not saying the fellas will opt for milking the goat on a lazy Saturday, and I'm not saying they need to strut around wearing spurs either. It just seems nowadays kids have their parents convinced that if they play enough video games, they will all grow up to be fighter pilots. Don't kid yourselves, too much Donkey Kong leads to too much Mario Kart leads to a liberal arts degree. Papa Kettle over here didn't need 30 lives to beat Contra, so we may have to consult the elder generations for some back-to-basics wisdom.

Bob and Judy, the new Great Grandparents, were the most recent visitors the boys had the pleasure of entertaining, and are a welcome influence whether on the farm or at the cabin. They stopped by on their way to explore the western slope of the Rockies, making Colorado the third state in which they have been able to spend time with the boys. A group of 8 or so arrived by train, a classy way of snubbing the super-highways that Bob refuses to travel. I'm not sure Judy appreciated having to share the babies with friends during such a brief visit, but she hid that well.

Judy was first able to meet the boys a few months ago back in their pre-mature state, and needing to be fed every 2 hours - the help was awesome. She even picked Rhubarb from the yard (albeit of the 'weed variety' that we grow out here in Colorado) and made pies! Never mind the fact that she made the thousand mile journey alone with her son-in-law. I'm just glad she had the chance to set him straight.

Bob, a retired basketball coach and farmer, doesn't miss a sunrise and has some great stories if you can make it up for breakfast. Some people celebrated the birth of the fellas with a toast, and others with a card or phone call. Not Bob. Bob honored the boys by naming his newborn horses Eli and Finn. And that was after his failed attempt to name our sons Oscar and Oli. I'm not sure if having the boys sit on the horses was entirely necessary, but Bob seemed like it was the normal thing for any 2 month old child. I just figured all that manure would make for a nice soft landing if one of the lad lost his balance. Who needs video games when you can race your brother on a horse? Heck, Bob has wagons and draft horses they can race if the little colts become a bore.

With a little luck, some of those values and ways of life will trickle down to the boys. Even Russ claims to have invented the Rag Ball when he should have been bailing hay! My parents can put them to work in the future vineyard, Russ has them stitching rag balls, Cyndi has them making gourds, and Bob has them fixing wagons. Between those wholesome chores and milking Gouda the goat, maybe Kristin and I can finally eat cheese, drink wine and play Sega.

Nature vs. Nurture

The fellas and I have been outside for a couple hours now. Finn is indifferent, but Eliot is gradually making the back deck his personal sanctuary. Inside, he always seems to look past people, and fixates on the walls or ceiling. I don't think he has any particular interest in the cob-webbed corners, he just can't figure out why we would stay in the cave all day long. Once out back, he is calm and happy. His busy little brain still scans the yard, probably looking for the best pumpkin to call dibs on. And he loves his dogs.... more than people I think. Anubis will give him the full lick down, and he just stands in his bouncer with a look of gratitude, and maybe a bit of pack pride. That is fine with us, we could care less if Eliot wants to be raised by the wolves. Last I checked, Purina costs less than formula, and there is plenty of space for a crib on the back deck. And don't go calling human services just yet Shawn, I have a mosquito net that will work perfectly fine.

Finley, on the other hand, is playing his cards just right. Sure, he likes the trees and dogs just fine for what they are, but he never misses an opportunity for a staring contest.... whoever smiles longest without laughing wins. He would sleep on your shoulder for hours if you let him, and always wants to be a part of the action. With a room full of people, Finn watches whoever is talking, pretends to listen, and won't break into that smile until you look right at him giving him the spotlight he was looking for.

I'm surprised, at this point, how much of their personality is pre-determined..... a genetic program that parents can hopefully provide positive reinforcement toward. With that said, those with experience have mentioned we will be even more surprised to see how much they change. I guess we have our work cut out for us. I suppose if we keep at it, Eliot might go on to be a forest ranger rather than a backwoods hermit. And Finn? Well lets just assume that a happy circus clown is a successful one. I'm not playing favorites here Finn, your uncles just haven't had the chance to teach you how to throw a fastball yet. All in good time.

Hey, I Know You

Those that haven't seen the boys in awhile have commented on how alert they appear lately. I guess its hard to see change when you are a part of it every day, and I almost feel like I'm missing out a little. Maybe that is why 'firsts' are so special to the parents, and laughable to most anybody else. There was no significant 'first' when I approached a fussing Finn is his crib last night, but it felt great to notice him remembering his pops.

Ordinarily, a fussing lad requires shushing, rocking, or at the very least a pacifier to calm him. I just leaned over the side rail and he immidiately wobbled his big head in surprise. The argument can be made that he was just startled, but his eyes were focussed when he shot me that half smirck. Not the all out goofy smile that he hams up for the ladies, but that delayed tough guy grin that he didn't expect to have to use. At 2 o'clock in the morning he just figured that dad was floating off somewhere to fight pirates like usual, and it would be mom to the rescue. Thank God he didn't start sceaming. A few seconds of holding his eyes shut, and he was back asleep. You really see how dependent they are when they wake up confused, and unsure who is on deck with a bottle.

Don't take yourself so seriously, nobody else does. I was given that advice once, and slept easier with that in mind. The only problem is that Eliot and Finley both disagree. They have an agenda every day and take it very seriously. Sometimes they watch me fumble around the kitchen to make coffee in the morning, and I can see them wondering how this could possibly be more important than their second breakfast. And then they take you seriously at 2 in the morning when they can't sleep. They get smarter and more observant every day, seeing that you too are serious about things, and rest assured knowing that.

Hot Shots

We enjoy spicy foods quite a bit out here. There must be 10 or 15 different kinds of peppers out back waiting to be mixed into a salsa, or pureed for the next batch of Two Pooch Pepper Sauce. I will admit, modesty escapes me when it comes to the vegetable garden, so I figured the pediatrician ought to know a little about Jurassic Park.

We had the boys in for their 4 month check-up, and after a brief lecture about more tummy time, Dr. Jim started discussing solid foods and how to introduce them. He finally recognized the home grown squash, pumpkins, etc that could all be made into baby food. I jokingly murmured to Eliot that we would be nice and lay off the habeneros for a year or two. "Not necessary," says Dr. Jim. He tried telling us that in other areas of the world, people feed hot peppers to their infants all the time. Now I could be way off here, but just because Doc likes his Thai food spicy doesn't mean infants in Southeast Asia live on hot peppers. I have a hunch that rice cereal might be a bit easier on the acid reflux Dr. Jim.

With more family now reading this baby banter, and these tid bits being the only written log of the boys so far, we had better start including those already having a huge impact on the first four months. With such a huge support group of friends and family, catching up will take months so lets start with the present.

This week Grandpa Kevin is in town "on business" again. Funny how these business trips to Colorado have become so frequent. How many times can you count chickens dad? No complaints, a visitor bearing gifts of fried chicken and chineese food is welcome here any time. Of his many traits I respect, self reliance ranks pretty high, but one should at least be able to walk first. The boys were still cranky from their shots yesterday, so Grandpa tells them that you don't get shots if you stay away from doctors. I suddenly had flashbacks of him standing next to the chimney in Wheaton stitching himself up so that mom didn't see the gash. Thanks dad, but we might just opt for modern medicine with these guys. The word on the streets is that Finn looks like a cross between Grandpa Kevin and Elmer Fudd, while Eliot looks like a Benjamin Button version of Grandpa Russ. I'm not exactly sure what that means, but it doesn't sound like either boy will be a ladies man. Maybe we should move to Asia, eat spicy peppers, and collect dowry.

Oh Brother Where Art Thou

Mark the day. It only took these squirts nearly 4 months, but they are finally starting to recognize each other. Not only the reaction to another screeching sound, but also I think they are starting to figure out this other gremlin might be hanging around for awhile.

Some of my first thoughts after finding out twin boys were on the way, were of the 6-4-3 double play combination for the 2029 Chicago Cubs. I just assumed they would be in sync and inseparable. When people asked if the two were buddies yet, I just would sort of dodge the question. Truth is, they have been like dogs in a kennel, not really caring about the other caged up poop factory. Now that is all starting to change.

The boys have been getting their bottles on the couch so that we can all stare at one another and talk about the neighborhood girls etc. Finally, after a healthy lunch, Finn looked right at Eliot and burst out laughing. Eliot stopped sucking down his bottle, and just sneered at Finn. His eyes looked Finn up and down, then he went back to his bottle. I'm pretty sure Eliot briefly understood where the other half the milk was going, and didn't like it one bit. I'm pretty sure his upper lip quivered in disgust. Finn got distracted by a zipper and Eliot started plotting an attack. We are thrilled they are interacting some, and the best part is how they show their own personalities with every expression. Unlike grown ups, babies aren't afraid to express what they think, which is exactly what makes them and my brother Chris so entertaining.

To this point, Finn has been that happy-go-lucky goofball that doesn't get too concerned about anything. When he smiles, you wonder if he is trying to bite his own ear. He eats fast and often, has no problem finishing his brothers leftovers, and has earned the nickname, 'slug.' When awake and not eating, he enjoys nuzzling his head into your chest, and staring at you. He is extremely patient. He will stare you down until you finally give in and look over at him, at which point you are greeted by a huge but shy smile.

Eliot has only recently shown his personality because of digestion issues. He is less distracted of late, and has realized that its okay to look at people in the eyes. You don't get the benefit of the doubt with this one, however. He will look around the room with his head jerking every which way, just to make sure there are no surprises. Once relaxed he will look at you. While Finn is eager to laugh and play little games, Eliot will size his opponent up before giving in to that smile that portrays him as an Italian baker. But enjoy it, because the smile won't last long. You are not the adult care-giver, but only his equal that has been allowed to take part in his day.


I can't wait until they are 5. "Hey Finn, you go hide and I'll count to 20 and come find you." Poor Finn, at least bring the dog with you.

Camp Crybaby

August arrived the other day, and Eliot mentioned his frustrations about not camping yet. Finn was too busy smiling at the dogs to really care, but Eliot has a renewed sense of adventure now that his acid reflux issue has improved (Prevacid works better then Zantac.) In the past, camping was nothing more then wandering around the wilderness with a cooler of beer, eventually picking a spot that had enough space for a wiffle ball game. But now with the twins, and a friend with a 1-yr old, planning and preparedness were the new themes.

After a few scouting missions in the front range, the boys and I found a great campsite in the Lost Creek Wilderness. No campsite fee, no yahoo enforcing quiet hours, only ponderosa pines and granite rock formations surrounding a fire pit. We even found a washed out gravel road that followed the Buffalo Creek for several miles, and wide enough for an off-road jogging stroller. At 8,500 feet, the wilderness offered a bit of fresh air, scenery, and solitude, yet Denver was a mere 45 minutes away in the event of a baby meltdown.

Brian, a good friend and Eagle Scout, had a fully functioning kitchen up and running by lunchtime. Zorra had the bears, lions and ground squirrels at bay, and Anubis had successfully covered herself in another animals scat. Everything seemed normal except for the 3 screaming creatures. How was I supposed to wittle a spear and prepare for a bear attack with all that racket going on? It turns out, the campers travel hammock was the perfect solution. This worked just like a swing, and didn't even require D batteries! By sunset, all three boys had adapted to their new home for the day, and the mothers were drinking champagne straight from the bottle.

Sleeping went pretty smooth for the most part. The temp bottomed out at 40, and Kris and I each had one in the sleeping bag with us for the few hours before sunrise, just to be on the safe side. Carter, the campsite toddler, slept well in his pack n' play that fit perfectly fine in the Taj Majal of REI rental tents. Okay, it wasn't exactly a Survivor Man episode out there, but it was a good first camping trip with the fellas.

Matching Clothes

The other day somebody asked if my twins wear matching clothes? Damn right they do, size 1 Pampers. And when they cost a quarter each, you had better notice Elmo's fat little head on them. If there is a cool draft, the boys each have a dog to snuggle and on occasion a blanket.

Okay, that isn't entirely true, the boys have matching Cubs shirts that we bring out when nobody is around. The Cubs actually have a record of 11-4 when the boys wear their shirts, so we will have to put those in a drawer until September. Kristin made the boys wear matching safari clothes to a family party last month, and sure enough Aunt Jessie was clever enough to chime in about how the boys will have an identity crisis. Glad to know there is a shrink in the family Jess. The reality is that you get a ton of gifts when expecting twins, and some of those gifts are matching outfits. They usually do not match, but sometimes they do, and I hope this irritates people because it makes for great entertainment. If the boys wear matching clothes in high school then I would say we have a problem and they need an ass kicking from uncle Dan.

Eliot and Finn are healthy and happy at 3 months old, and both have been enjoying their new skill of head butting. My brother Chris whined about taking a few shots to the nose and chin with his kids, and I just sort of laughed. Now that I get to play, I would have to agree that its like WWF. My personal favorite is when Finn gets a little momentum going with his giant melon. The thing is like a giant pendulum swinging out of control, that eventually crash lands on his brother's face. Maybe that is why Finn smiles so much more then Eliot.

Kristin and I went to a Mothers of Multiples (MOMS) picnic yesterday, and things went better then expected. I knew right away that the Fathers weren't in charge after I heard the announcement for us to line up for a potato sack race. I'm not even kidding, just the dads raced. Unfortunately I had a bum knee and had to get in the chow line with the ladies. We were both very impressed with how well behaved all the twins were. I guess they too decided on the von Trapp approach with the whistle and all. Sometimes you just see parents with their kids in a store and wonder how and why. I like to think that having double trouble forces parents to keep their kids under control, and I suppose time will tell.

Most nights, Kristin likes to read to the boys claiming that studies show higher IQ scores when you read to your babies. Okay that is fine and good, but somebody needs to explain to her that Brown Bear Brown Bear What Do You See, is hardly what these kids will be tested on in the future. Fortunately I saw this problem and read the Sunday paper to them yesterday. They learned all about the Apollo 11 mission and I even used that baby voice that makes them smile!

Out and About

One thing I will say about having twins, you instantly achieve the status of rock star. I realized this during our recent tour through the midwest, but the swagger faded fast. The first few days I felt like Axl Rose, and by the weeks end I fully understood that I was simply driving the bus. I didn't have it quite as bad as my poor wife, Kristin, who felt like the glorified milk lady. You would have thought the two little punks in the backseat saved the planet or something. And this show-and-tell game hasn't subsided now that we have settled into a routine back in Colorado.

Nothing ever happens fast, and I'm sure this new way of life is going to stick around awhile. Forget about loading and unloading, visiting any public place is always an ordeal and I don't mean that in a negative way. For instance, I was at the bank the other day and had all three tellers (female) rush from around the counter to stare and ask questions. Sure I'll play, but I'm not so sure the guy behind me cares as much about the fellas. The women could poke at the twins all day long, while a guy might check out the stuctural integrity of the stroller.

The gender issues can be pretty funny. Three times now ladies have said to me, "oh it sure is nice to see a dad who isn't afraid to take the kids out of the house." What the heck does that even mean? First off, just because I run daddy daycare doesn't mean I've joined the Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants Club, or whatever the secret society is called. I mean, shouldn't you say that to the lady over yonder? I'm standing right here.

Is this true? Are we men a bunch of Homers that stay in our caves, plop the babies down in front of Sportscenter, scratching ourselves while wondering what happened to all the Pabst Blue Ribbon? Or maybe we do like to leave our caves for hunting and other important reasons. Could it be, that ladies pack a diaper bag and bottle of wine before calling a few close friends, every time they run out of yarn? Hmmmm. I think we had better leave this one alone. Lets move on to gender issues behind the wheel!

Learning Curve

I read somewhere that the Spanish used to call their little ones criatura, or creature. After a week spent as a stay-at-home dad, I think the term creature is more fitting for both of my boys then say, darling, cutie pie, or even infant. A golden retriever is cute and cuddly, there is a bit more to the story of twin boys driving dad crazy.

Don't get me wrong, there is nothing better then holding one of these boys while exchanging smiles, so I will admit they are precious. But this doesn't change the fact that these boys have conspired to have me committed. I'm pretty sure that Finn uses ESP to tell his brother Eliot to cover the high pitched frequencies with his scream, while Finn covers the lower ones. Yes, all this screaming in unison is done to make sure that I slam my head into the wall enough times to entertain these fellas.

I haven't conceded defeat just yet, however. In fact, I would say overall things are going pretty good and I am learning more tricks each day. Not only have the boys learned to enjoy Johnny Cash, but they also have become picky with the days song selection. They will usually be happy if I include any song with the harmonica, particularly "Orange Blossom Special." And if the three of us miss being depressed, we simply turn on the Chicago Cubs game in the bottom of the 7th. You have to feel bad for two boys born Cubs fans without a choice. They also have taken a liking to being out in the garden with the pups and I. No tomato tasting for them just yet, but they have no problem with a little dirt and a few bees. Just enough for the border collie to lick off their toes.

Visitors have been welcome, but can be quite annoying. I didn't know it was okay for every random friend and stranger to make a comment about Finn's double chin. Granted he has a large extra roll under his face, but I thought baby fat was allowed. My favorite was one of my friends, fairly jolly himself, provided a slow bellowing commentary to Finn's facial expressions. Each deep laugh was followed by eating noises like he was chowing a pie, all coming from a guy who belongs on a fried chicken commercial. Needless to say, my friend Chuckles has joked his way out of some home-grown tomatoes and maybe even sweet corn.

Well, time to change some diapers.