But I get to keep the remote.

Today’s uninvited guests, however, have pretty much crapped all over my proverbial welcome mat.  They are no longer welcome here and I swear as God is my witness if I they don’t leave — and soon — there’s gonna be a killin’.

I Don’t Know has stopped by and he brought his annoying little buddy, Not Me.  I despise them both!!

In the short span of a few hours, I Don’t Know and Not Me have completely destroyed my living room, they have overturned every chair in the dining room — the ones they left in the dining room, that is.  For some reason almost every chair in my dining room has been relocated.  I think the only reason the table is still there is because it’s too damn big to move!

One of them, and I can’t get a straight story from either, used a blue sharpie to paint a mural on one of the cabinet drawers in the kitchen.  When I asked who had done it I Don’t Know said, “Not Me.”  Not Me quickly countered with, “I Don’t Know.”

Both of them were more than willing to give up the other, neither willing to accept full responsibility.

I suppose the final straw — hell, it’s 3:30 in the afternoon and we’ve already made it to the final straw!! — was when I heard the distinctive sound that glass makes as it shatters on a bare wood floor.  Seems that I Don’t Know, or Not Me (again, no one seems to want to give me a definitive answer) used one of the dining chairs, a dining chair that was in the entry hallway instead of it’s rightful home in the, yeah, dining room, to climb upon and play with glass wall sconce.

The same glass wall sconce that had made the distinctive and unmistakable breaking sound that coincided with the final straw.  I suppose on the bright side it was just as well.  I mean, those sconces were what 95, 100 years old??  They were getting pretty dated.  I suppose I should be thanking I Don’t Know and Not Me for providing the impetus for me to go out and purchase new wall sconces.  (Yeah, it was one of a pair.)

I should, but I’m not quite there yet.

As it is, I Don’t Know and Not Me are in a serious bad way with my good graces.  And since they seem to scatter when disaster strikes I’ve got Zander and Zella looking for them now.  Each one with very explicit instructions to look in one very specific corner of their room.

They are supposed to let me know when they have located I Don’t Know and Not Me so that true justice can be meted out.

I don’t hold much hope.

Rocking the Shades

“I don’t like that.”

Her typical critique offered at almost every meal.

Regardless.

There’s no go-to meal with the kid.  One day she might ask for seconds or even thirds of a serving of Mac and Cheese.  The next time you serve it — nothing.

“What part don’t you like, Zella?” Ive asked.

(And then making a gesture with her tiny little arm she starts at the top of the plate,) “From here … (and in a sweeping motion brings the arm across the plate to the bottom) … “to here!”

She has made an evening meal out of a pea and a spoonful of ketchup.

One pea!!

And while Zella may quite be the worst of my culinary snobs, she’s certainly not the only one.  In fact, all of my kids display varying degrees of Anton-ness.  It makes meal preparation as Casa de Ed such a treat.  Seriously.  I toss out enough picked over, half eaten and rejected food each week to make a Vegas buffet.

So when someone from Hillshire Farms contacted me last week and offered to send me some samples of their Beef Smoked Sausage and Polska Kielbasa I jumped at the opportunity.  Hell, if I’m going to toss out uneaten food it might as well be free food.

They were even kind enough to send a cookbook chock full of quick and easy to prepare recipes. Two of my favorite recipe ingredients, quick and easy.

A quick scan of the book and I picked what I thought would appeal universally to the kids, the Tortilla Chip Lasagna.  It’s got chips, sausage and cheese.  It’s the trinity of kid cuisine.

I left out the kidney beans because, well, I didn’t have any.  (I also do not like kidney beans — probably the reason I did not have any on hand.)  I was also out of black olives, so they were omitted as well.  (I like black olives, not sure my kids would so it’s just as well.)

From start to finish it took about 25 minutes to prepare the dish.

It took my kids about 10 minutes to devour it!

They attacked that Beef Smoked Sausage like a pack of wolves.  It didn’t stand a chance.  Literally it was a feeding frenzy.  Arms and elbows were flying at breakneck speeds to get as much food shoved into their faces as quickly as possible.

And as Zella, my little Anton,  finished her last bite she placed her fork down and simply stated, “That was the most best food ever!”

———————————————————-

So here’s the deal. The people at Hillshire farms sent me a package of Beef Smoked Sausage, a package of Polska Kielbasa, an apron and a cookbook.  (It’s called disclosure, people.)  They have also offered to provide one of your lucky readers with a year supply of Hillshire Farm product!!! (Direct quote from the e-mail they sent me.)

I’ll say it again, because it’s that big — one of you lucky saps is going to win a year’s supply of Hillshire Farm product!!! And here’s how:

1. Spread the word about the awesomeness of Ed.  You know how.
2. Create your very own Go Meat Video and post it to your site.  Don’t forget to mention Ed’s awesomeness.
3. Send Dan a buck or two — for the Joseph Salmon Trust.  It’s worth it.  Really.
4. Hug a stranger.

Or you could just leave a comment letting me know you’d like to be entered.

*But really, spread the word about Ed’s awesomeness.

**And send Dan the money, because it is worth it.

***And I’m sure there are quite a few strangers that would appreciate the hug.  Just choose carefully.

(Sorry but only those living in the US are eligible to win.)

I’ll pick a winner at random next Friday.

“And that!”

She was an easy target.  Her reflexes have little definition and she’s easily distracted with false moves.  I alternated stabs from ribs to stomach and back again.  She was powerless against my superior swordsmanship.

She fought gallantly though, without fear.  Laughing in the face of defeat.

I stopped for a moment to let her catch her breath.  If nothing else when it comes to sword fighting, I’m merciful.  She mistook my gesture as a sign of weakness.

Bowed up on me.

Even flexed, holding up two of the tiniest clenched fists you will ever see.

“You don’t scare me, little girl!”

I turned to the counter to reach for a sip of water and she pounced, seizing the opportunity of my momentary lapse.

She punched me.

Right in the balls.

I lay in a heap on the kitchen floor, a powerless, quivering  mass at her feet.  And without a word she reached down and took back her sword.  With a little “hmmf” of indignation she turned and left the room.

I think I heard her laughing as joined the rest of kids in the next room.

“Where’s dad?” I heard them ask.

“I killed him.”

The raccoons, Zander and Zella, turned four years old yesterday.  Four.  Years.  Old!  Customarily on each childs’ birthday  we recount the day of their birth.  The details surrounding how each child came screaming into the world.  The kids love it, so much so that the stories are often repeated throughout the year.

I should be able to recount the twins’ birth with ease.  A multiple birth after having been through multiple births should stand out.  And yet I have great difficulty doing just that.

I can recall insignificant, peripheral type things.  Like the paramedic student that had asked permission to observe the birth.  I had told the guy, “sure.” Only to have him turned away at the door by the nurse.  “There’s too many people in the room.”

Come to think of it, there was quite the gathering in that tiny delivery room.  As with our previous births, a C-section had been scheduled.  There were two physicians, two neonatologists, two teams of nurses and techs, the anesthesiologist..oh and Maura, me and two little babies.

Maura had been to the hospital the previous evening for some preliminary labwork.  She came home in shambles, nearly frantic.  The neonatologist had told her that if either of the twins had any complications that both would be sent to Children’s Hospital an hour’s drive to the south.

Until that moment, less than twelve hours before our planned C-section, the thought that anything could go wrong had never occurred to us.  The pregnancy had been completely normal.  Not a single problem throughout.  Both babies were growing as expected and all tests and ultrasounds had been nothing short of perfect.

“You mean, even if they need oxygen for a day or two?”

“Yes,” she told me through her tears.

Calls were made and contingency plans put in place.  I’m sure I put gas in the car but I don’t recall doing so.  I’m fairly certain we did not sleep.

Unbeknownst to us, the hospital staff had also spent a rather sleepless night.  The neonatal ICU was at capacity, yet they were making arrangements to accommodate us.  To accommodate Maura.  An electrician worked late into the night running power to support an additional infant bed.  Extra staff had been called in.

We arrived at the hospital in the wee hours of the morning, anxious, numb and completely exhausted.  The nursing staff had let us know that they had made arrangements to keep the twins there unless, of course, anything really serious was going on.

It helped set our minds at ease yet only minimally.

The scene in the delivery room can only be described as chaotic.  Not that there was a heightened state of emergency but simply because it was crowded.  Dang there were a lot of people in that room!

The procedure, however, could not have been more smoothly organized.  Well, except for the 4-5 minutes that we, yes we, had to breathe for Maura.  She had continually complained that she was still “feeling that!” and by the time the anesthesiologist achieved numbness, she had achieved near coma-ness.  I’m standing there holding an ambu bag, breathing for Maura, the anesthesiologist is titrating medicine and all the while I’m trying to observe the birth  of my children praying that nothing goes wrong there.

Surreal?  Yeah, kind of.

Anyway, the birth.

Zella came first.  Butt first.  Choose your allegory there, people I’m just saying how it was.  Zander followed a minute later and for the life of me all I can remember is that he looked relieved.

Apgars and other significant birthing details have escaped me.  But this I do recall.  Two pink, healthy babies crying like pink, healthy babies should.

Oh, and this.  Typically after the birth the children are taken to the baby ward for their initial assessments and a quick bath.  Our stay in the delivery room was delayed, however.  In all of the hospital’s frantic anticipation of preparing a spot in the NICU, there were no beds ready in the regular well-baby ward.

Zander and Zella were the two healthiest kids in the hospital!  Not even five minutes into the world and they’d already started exceeding expectations.

And they’ve done so with aplomb over and again these past four years.  The happiness and sheer joy those two have brought into my life has far exceeded any in my wildest dreams.

Happy Birthday,  Zander and Zella.  My two little raccoons.

The twins, bright eyed and animated as ever came running into the kitchen.  They clutched my legs, trembling.

“What do you think it was?”

(I knew exactly what it was.  I had overloaded the washing machine—again—and as it tried to start it’s spin cycle began to shake pretty strongly.)

“I don’t know,” Zander timidly responded.

“Was it the cat?” I asked.  (Let’s see how far I can take this, I thought to myself.)

“No.  The cat ran.”

“Was it Zane?”

“Dad!  Zane just went to school.”

“Was it Rusty?”

“Rusty is outside.”

“Was it a frog?”

“No.”

“Was it a–a monster??”

“Uhm…”  Zander’s eyes grew even more wide.  Clearly I had touched a nerve.  Maybe pushed a bit too far.  (Unusual.)

“Or could it have been the washing machine?  I think I put too many clothes in it.”

Zella then interjected, “I’m pretty sure it was a gorilla!”

Yeah, that’s right.  My little girl was rocking a striped shirt with polka dot pants.  Because in addition to being a computer whiz at the tender age of three she also dresses herself.  I take solace in the fact that at least the base color of each garment matched.

Though she was probably wearing white shoes.

4 + 4 =

It’s a learning game we bought for the kids years ago.  We started with Zoë and it’s worked its way through the ranks having finally reached Zella and Zander.  Zia will still fight for her computer time though Zane and Zoë seem to have moved onto meatier things like books and such.

The twins will be all of four years old in just a few weeks.  Zella knows how to access the program on the computer and get it up and running for her “session” without any assistance.   Hell, when I was three years old about to be four a computer was commonly referred to as an abacus and even then I didn’t know how to use one.  I still don’t.

Times, they are a changin’.

(And no, she did not immediately know that the answer to the problem was 8.  But she recognized that it was a math problem and that the numbers on a keyboard are located just above the letters.  She and Zander were making their way through the number line in search of the correct answer which they did eventually find.  I know I’m supposed to be sitting right there helping them but sometimes it’s just fun to watch the two of them work their way through a “session” helping each other along the way.  Or yelling at each other, “Zander, that’s not right!”  “Zander, you’re doing it wrong!”  Either way, it’s pretty good entertainment.)

Not to worry.  This is not one of those sappy reflective posts where I recount the milestones of the year gone by and look longingly and hopeful to the year ahead.

Rather, I just happened to snap a photo of Abbey and Rusty surveying their kingdom as the kids were enjoying the snow earlier this week.

What a Difference a Year Makes

And I was reminded of a photo I took of the two of them not quite a year ago.

King of the Hill

Now if I could only get Zella to show as much progress!

My Little Cheshire Cat

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]]> http://edlamaze.com/2009/12/30/wow-thats-a-year.aspx/feed 8 http://edlamaze.com/2009/09/03/bigger.aspx http://edlamaze.com/2009/09/03/bigger.aspx#comments Thu, 03 Sep 2009 20:45:00 +0000 http://edlamaze.com/2009/09/bigger/ The evenings are long but not nearly enough.  Silent and still.  But likewise, not nearly enough.  Fatigue has taken a stronghold and is poised, ready to declare victory.  Of what I've yet to determine, still it rages on ... ]]> The evenings are long but not nearly enough.  Silent and still.  But likewise, not nearly enough.  Fatigue has taken a stronghold and is poised, ready to declare victory.  Of what I’ve yet to determine, still it rages on.

I am stirred each morning by Guaraldi but would prefer the sun.  The sun gets to sleep in.  There’s things that need being done and I can’t wait for a lazy ball of gas to illuminate the day.  There’s coffee to consume, lunches to prepare, notes to and from.  Breakfast.  Shoes to find.

Children who read and play games long into the night and far beyond bedtime do not appreciate morning reveille.  My bugling is not what it used to be.  It never was.

The excitement of the first days of school has waned, tempered by the fact that their waking hours are defined by light and by rest both of which are seriously lacking at such early hours.  I’m tired, too.  But I don’t have time to be.  My voice rises with each plea for them to.

“Please get up!  We’re going to be late!”

Today was different.  A bit more buzz, a tad more electricity.  Eager anticipation with a hint–ever so barely noticeable–of trepidation.  There were words of encouragement from Zane.  Comforting words from an older brother that knows.  Who has been there.  There were last minute tips from Zoë.  Little things.  How-to’s and what-not-to’s.  Instructions from an older sister that would do well to heed her own advice.

Zia just shoved them and told them to stay out of her way.  No special treatment from her but I suppose they didn’t expect any.

Today Zander and Zella, started preschool.  A milestone in a lifetime journey filled with stones and many, many more miles.  They stepped from the house dressed in the new carrying their Spiderman backpacks.  Their heads full of dreams.

The other children in the class were immediately friends and buddies and the classroom was their domain, their wonderland. They moved with confidence, self-assured and at-ease.  There were no tearful goodbyes or clinging,  no long drawn out negotiations.  There was no hesitation, no cause for encouragements or reassurances.

They never looked back–they didn’t need to.

They were ready.

Today, Zander and Zella started preschool and I can’t help but think of Zane’s words this morning to his little brother.  “Zander, you look different….  Bigger!”

He is bigger, man.  They both are.

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