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The alarm on my phone pierced the serenity of the night.  It was early.  Or it was late.  3:00 a.m. does that to your brain - all you know is the only place you should be is wrapped up under the covers with your tattered shorts and “I’m Wearing My Twitter Shirt” t-shirt.  Instead, you find yourself filling up a travel mug with a poor man’s mocha of freshly brewed coffee and hot chocolate, pulling an old beach chair out of the garage and heading to the local elementary school to register your kids for kindergarten.

I arrive at 3:45 a.m. and there is already a group of 10 or so people waiting in front of the school auditorium.  They say the early bird catches the worm, but the early parent also guarantees enrollment in the area’s only full-day kindergarten.  There are 100 spots for kindergarten in this school and those who arrive after 7:00 a.m. will be out of luck.  They will also have to wait all day in the auditorium to register as it take each parent approximately 10 minutes to register.  That’s six people per hour. It’s gonna be a long day.

But for me, it’s a long night.  I settle into my beach chair at 3:45 and sip my mocha and make small talk with the lady to my right.  She lives in my neighborhood so we chat about home values, our kids and the fact that the school district really should change the way people register for kindergarten.  This. Is. Insane.

Before long, but long after my legs have turned numb, the sky begins to lighten and, thank God, the custodian arrives to open the restrooms. After a trip to the little boys room, I’m a new man. Soon after, the doors to the auditorium open and we are escorted into the warmth of a carpeted multi-purpose room that has a stage, basketball hoops and fold out tables. Being the newbie that I am, I did not realize I should have picked up the enrollment forms ahead of time. So, I quickly grab a couple of packets and furiously scribble all the needed information in record time. I am ready when my number is called at 8:30 a.m.

But, it turns out, I’m NOT ready. The first person I speak to is the school nurse who informs me while cringing that our shot records are not up to date. These are the same shot records that we scheduled an appointment in February with our pediatrician to make sure they were up to date. And now? After almost 5 hours of waiting, I’m about to lose what little sanity I have left. I know it. The Nurse knows it. Luckily, I ask, is there anything I can do? She summons over the head admin person, explains my situation, and asks if they can hold my spot. Once we hear yes, she tells me to go get my kids and go straight to the pediatrician’s office. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200 but also, do not leave without getting those shots.

So that’s what I do. And the kids? They deserve a frickin’ award after being unceremoniously plucked from daycare and ushered over to the pediatrician where they are given FOUR shots without a single tear. In fact, Swee’Pea actually giggled the entire time - which totally confirms my suspicions that no one will EVER figure that girl out.

Two hours after I’m told our shots aren’t up to date, I arrive back in the auditorium where they are serving number 23. I proudly show them my updated records and, duly impressed by my speed and determination, I am allowed to register the kids for kindergarten. Mission accomplished.

Now, they better get straight A’s or there will be hell to pay! (What? They don’t get grades in Kindergarten? Who do I talk to about that?!)

We are in the bathroom, brushing our teeth, when Swee’Pea and TheMonk begin discussing what they learned in preschool that day.  The preschool they are attending is a very nice preschool that happens to be run by a Lutheran church.  As a result, Swee’Pea and TheMonk are getting a daily dose of “Jesus Time” that they really haven’t received here at the old homestead.

For instance, after the first week of preschool, as I am driving them to school, TheMonk suddenly announces from the back seat, “Daddy! Jesus died on the cross.  And then he came back to life! [Short pause]  Why did he die, Daddy?”  “Um…” I replied, not really wanting to get into the whole For Our Sins conversation with a four-year-old, “Uh, ask your teacher, Buddy.  She’ll be happy to answer that question.”

Fast forward a couple of weeks and during their teeth brushing session it is evident that Swee’Pea and TheMonk are getting a better grasp on who Jesus is.

TheMonk: “Jesus knows everything.”

Swee’Pea: [Toothbrush waving in air for emphasis] “Yep,” Swee’Pea nods knowingly, “Jesus knows everything.”

TheMonk: “Yes… Just like Santa Claus.”

I’ve been known to be competitive.  I don’t like to lose.  So when UndomesticDiva started talking trash about what a great cake decorator she is, I had to chime in.  Smack talk led to smack talk and eventually a throwdown was discussed.  For the record, I didn’t get to choose the theme: Mario Brothers.  But, I rose to the challenge, figured out the fondant thing and put my best effort forward.  The video below shows the process.  The first minute is me talking about the cake and then… 3 and a half minutes of cake making - at lightning speed.  Skip to the 4:30 mark to see the end product.  And all I ask is, when deciding which cake is best, notice my integration of technology.  Yes, that’s an iTouch with Mario Brothers games being played on it.  Leave who you think is better in the comments section. (Check out her cake here.)   This isn’t about any tangible prize - just pride.  Lots of pride.

If you are visiting from Undomesticdiva expecting to see cake, well I hate to disappoint you but it’s gonna take me a few more hours to get this darn video uploaded.  So, check back later. At the very least, the video promises to show me moving at breakneck speed.  Which should be good for… nothing.  Oh well.

It’s a Saturday.  Saturday is a day of frozen waffles, fresh brewed coffee, the morning paper, the Disney Channel and… Gymnastics.

Gymnastics is pink leotards, bare feet, nervous kids, summersaults, dancing and lunch at McDonalds.

Normally, we go as a family - our morning ritual of family time and lunch.  This particular Saturday, however, Mommy has a cold so I am tasked with taking the kids on my own.  This isn’t a problem and I hustle to get the kids ready to go.  It is during this time that Swee’Pea announces she doesn’t want to go to gymnastics.

Now, Swee’Pea is a someone who fights her shyness whenever she’s in a public setting.  Lately, I’ve been very proud of the fact that she seems to be beating that shyness more than losing to it.  We have talked a lot about being brave and trying even when you’re scared and she often takes those talks to heart.  It’s been so heartening to see that growth.

But that growth didn’t manifest itself on this Saturday.  Her early grumbling about not wanting to go to gymnastics lasted the entire drive and continued as we took off shoes and got ready for class to start.  TheMonk, who at this point has been going along just fine, sees an opportunity and begins to whine about not wanting to go to gymnastics too.  Suddenly, I’m outnumbered.

Class begins and they become shy and begin clutching my legs.  The 15 other boys and girls make their way to the room and mine continue to clutch me out in the hall.  I explain to them that I’m not going to play this game and that if they don’t want to participate then we will go home.  No summersaults. No dancing. No McDonalds.

I can tell that TheMonk could be persuaded by this argument and he starts to head into the room.  Until he noticed that his sister wasn’t budging.  Then, he dug his heels in too.  Neither of them would budge even after several attempts and warnings that we would go home.  So at this point, I called their bluff.  Or maybe they had called mine.  I’m not sure.  Either way, I was done.  I started to head over to the cubbies to get their shoes and announced that we were leaving.  That’s when the screaming commenced.

TheMonk, realizing that his Happy Meal was now slipping from his grasp began a full-scale tantrum.  Swee’Pea began crying.  She let me put her shoes on but she knew that I wasn’t happy.  I couldn’t get TheMonk’s shoes on with all the kicking so I grabbed his shoes in one hand and I grabbed TheMonk with my other hand and threw him up over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes as he kicked and screamed.  Swee’Pea followed at my side, tears streaming down her face as we made our way into the car where I strapped two crying four year olds into their car seat and started the drive home.

Upon arriving at home about 8 minutes later, I took them upstairs and sent them to their room where they continued to cry for another five minutes.  It wasn’t until after they stopped crying that I made my way inside.  I asked them to join me on the floor and we sat facing each other.  I calmly explained that what they did today is not okay.  That if they are feeling scared or unsure of something that they have to use their words and not their tears.  I told them that their behavior was very disappointing.  I was disappointed in them because of their behavior.  Upon hearing this news, both of their heads dropped and I could tell that what I was saying was making an impact.  We ended the discussion with promises to try harder and apologies to me for their behavior.

Apology accepted.

We live in suburbia but we are the definition of suburban sprawl. A handful of years ago, our house was desert landscape complete with coyotes, rabbits and tumbleweed.

We still see an occasional bunny and coyotes have been known to roam the outskirts of our neighborhood but we don’t get too many tumbleweeds anymore. So, imagine our surprise when, after a recent windy storm blew through, we found a tumbleweed sitting in our driveway.

The twins were excited to see the tumbleweed so I did what any father would have done. I put it on our front porch, wrapped it in lights and bows and proclaimed it out Christmas Tumbleweed.

As we gather around our tumbleweed, we want to wish you and your family a very Merry Christmas (if you celebrate it) and a kick butt 2010. You deserve it.

Pssssst. Pssssssst.

Is this thing on? I see the guy we refer to as “Dada” always typing stuff on this thing. It seems like he gets a lot of validation for sharing his thoughts with the world. I think he calls it a “blog.” At first I thought he said “Dog” and I did not want anything to do with this thing but after I cleared up that little misunderstanding, we’re all good.

Except for the reason I’m typing this out. (Which isn’t easy, this typing thing, considering I haven’t had my claws trimmed in a while.) Anyway, as I was saying, I needed to get this off my fur. It’s been eating at me over the last few days and I don’t know what to do about it. I guess I should just come out and tell you…

I’ve been replaced. THEY brought home an annoyingly cute little kitten on Saturday. The little girl, that everyone calls Swee’Pea, who has been chasing me since birth, was in heaven. I, on the other hand, was completely disgusted.

No one consulted me. No one asked ME how I’d feel with another cat in the house. No one thought that maybe, after 9 years by myself in this family, I’d be too old to welcome some little furball into our house. I mean, I’m FRICKIN’ NUTMEG THE CAT! YOU DON’T REPLACE NUTMEG THE CAT!

Well, I showed them. I’ve managed to hide for 2 days straight under the bed in what they call “Grandmother’s room.” I’ve also thrown up on the carpet and hissed at the little shit the first time they brought him into my presence.

They call this cat Socks. Like that cute name will make up for his other faults like his annoying little mew and his loud shrieks whenever he’s kept in another room against his will. Whatever, dude. Someday, you too will be old and they’ll drop kick you to the curb in favor of someone cuter and more annoying.

Anyway, that’s all I had to say. I’m all broken up. I’ve given all I had to this family for 9 years and that’s all I get in return. Stabbed in the back. Anyone looking for a nice cat? Forget what I said about the puking thing. I was just kidding. Heh-heh.

What the -! Someone’s coming! Gotta go! Peace out! Meow!!

Socks. The newest member of our family

Nutmeg the cat. Not amused at all.

Ever since our first year, when we waited over 2 hours to see Santa, we have taken a more local approach to getting a visit with the Fat Guy in the red suit.  Our homeowner’s association has sponsored Santa the past few years and we’ve had great success getting photos with the Big Guy and his lovely wife.  However, Santa’s appearance fee was usually underwritten by a local Real Estate agent who, I imagine, is not feeling so much Christmas Cheer this year.

Seeing as how Santa might be skipping the old homestead, Lovely Wife scouted out new opportunities that would not require us to enter that four-letter word knows as the Mall.  She hit the jackpot when a local mom group arranged a meet-up at the San Diego Firehouse Museum where Santa was scheduled to make a visit.  All we needed to bring was a new, unwrapped gift.  So, we grabbed the never-been-opened Candyland that the twins received for their birthday (we already had Candyland) and we headed to the firehouse.

Swee’Pea and TheMonk had both scouted out what they wanted to ask Santa last week at Target when we went shopping to find a toy to donate to needy children for our YMCA toy drive.  Swee’Pea and TheMonk did a great job finding a toy to donate but also came away with ideas for their own gifts.  Swee’Pea wanted a Barbie Mariposa Mermaid (which, according to the reviews, is a piece of crap - but whataya gonna do?) and TheMonk decided that he simply wanted a race car.

Rather than buy the gifts early, I decided to wait until after the Santa visit since last year’s debacle where TheMonk changed it up on me when he finally got his one-on-one time with Santa.  But, it turned out, I didn’t need to worry.  The only thing TheMonk was concerned about was his insistence that he be clear with Santa that he wanted a “Pretend Race Car” because if Santa brought a real Race Car, that would be a problem. Because, you know, TheMonk can’t drive.

So, with plan in hand, we perused the antique fire trucks waiting for Santa to arrive. Which he did, arriving in a Hook & Ladder truck with lights and sirens blaring.  We had scoped out a good spot and Swee’Pea and TheMonk were the third and fourth kids to sit on old Santa’s lap.

It was another fine Santa encounter.  Happy Holidays to you and yours.

“Tomorrow, you get to go be on television in your Halloween costume while drinking chocolate milk!”

The kids laughed at the notion of being on TV as I broke the news to them of what we would be doing the following morning. Swee’Pea laughed and exclaimed how fun that would be. TheMonk smiled and agreed that it would, indeed, be fun to drink chocolate milk while dressed as a red Power Ranger.

We were invited by a nice woman who I had befriended on Twitter. It just so happened she handled PR for the Got Milk ad campaign. We were invited, along with a couple of other kids - including blogger Mommy I’m Hungry (whose blog I will not read until after I win my weight-lost be because the food on that blog is not good for my will power), to participate in an on-air segment that offered suggestions to parents on ways to enjoy a healthier Halloween. I was told the kids would be drinking milk in the background while the dietician was interviewed.

This turned out not to be the case. Instead, they were at the table coloring and the news anchor, a very nice man named Raoul Martinez, actually expected to engage with the kids. Only one problem. My kids don’t talk to strangers. And it’s not even as if we’ve told them, “Don’t talk to strangers! They’re bad!” No, my kids just don’t talk to strangers. You have to earn their love and affection the old fashioned way, by getting on your knees and begging. Or bribery. That works too.

Anyway, the kids did well as the dietician representing Got Milk explained how a bucket-full of candy will kill you. They sat there and colored like good girls and boy.

Until TheMonk made a run for it. He’s lightning quick and dressed as a Power Ranger only increased his ability to zig and zag. On live television. If this is the beginning of his television career, then I’m thinking comedy might be his genre.

Of course, everyone laughed it off. After all, TheMonk was corralled pretty quickly and the segment went well overall. In fact it went so well that after the segment was over, Raoul came over and took my kid’s chocolate milk. He’s lucky he didn’t get his butt kicked by a muscular Power Ranger or turned into a toad by a cute little witch. Lucky for him I had promised the kids donuts if they did well on TV. Yes, bribery is my method of earning my kids love. Sue me.

Take a look at the great escape for yourself.