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.