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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.

On June 12, 2009, the twins’ fourth birthday, I began taking a daily portrait of Swee’Pea and TheMonk. Today marked the 100th day since their birthday. In those 100 days, over 14 weeks, I have missed a total of 12 days. Not bad, in my opinion. Below is all 88 photos for both Swee’Pea and TheMonk. You can see that Swee’Pea has begun to warm up to the photos and TheMonk enjoys engaging the camera in different ways. Enjoy.

The Daily Dose of Swee’Pea

TheMonk: Day by Day

You can also follow Swee’Pea’s daily portraits here and TheMonk’s daily portraits here.

When the nice people at SeaWorld San Diego invited us to be a part of the final weekend of the Dolphin Discovery show, the longest-running show in the history of SeaWorld at 13 years, I was pretty excited. I mean, how many people get to play with dolphins as part of a live show? And how many people get to do this with their young child? And how many people get to do this while also getting to have a new wife?

Yes, you heard me, a new wife. As part of the Dolphin Discovery show a dad and his child (in my case children) team up with a SeaWorld trainer that poses as the mom of the family. Halfway through the show, she falls in and the unsuspecting crowd gasps in disbelief until she’s rescued by a dolphin. So, I had a new wife this past weekend. But it didn’t last long. Apparently I’m not her type of mammal.

Anyway, we were invited to be the family that gets to interact with the dolphins and I was excited for Swee’Pea and TheMonk to get the opportunity to do so. There was only one small problem. Swee’Pea didn’t want to do it.

When we explained what she would have to do (stand up before hundreds of people and say her name and age and do what the trainers asked of her) she was not all that enthusiastic. In fact, one of her late night conversations with her brother, overheard on the baby monitor, was something like, “I don’t want to be on stage in front of all those people.” So, I did what any other good parent in my shoes what have done. I bribed her.

Swee’Pea isn’t sweet in name only. No, she has a real love for sweets that I’m sure she gets directly from her mother. So, it came as no surprise when I asked her if there was something special she wanted at SeaWorld for her to do this show that she looked me straight in the eye and said, “I want cotton candy. All to my self. That I don’t have to share.”

Deal! And because she was dead serious about the not sharing part, I offered a similar proposition to TheMonk who promptly requested a light-up sword similar to a light saber that they sell for $4.99 at SeaWorld. Deal!

But just to be sure they, I showed the clips on YouTube of the Dolphin Show and explained what they would have to do and why they would have a “pretend mommy” for the show. They seemed satisfied. I was cautiously optimistic.

When we arrived back stage to discuss our roles, I was promptly greeted by a smiling young lady who thrust waiver liability forms in front of me and asked me to sign “Here, here and… here.” Most of the forms were all, “You won’t sue us if Dolly the Dolphin decides that your kids would make a tasty snack.” I think I might have sold my kids to the circus with that last signature but I can’t be entirely sure.

But anyway, before we knew it, we were standing up on stage waving to the crowd as we were introduced. And then, the moment of truth. The emcee asked Swee’Pea what her name was. I cringed. I crossed my fingers. I might even have closed my eyes, dreading the fact that Swee’Pea, my shy little girl, would freeze up and not play along. But then I heard, loud and clear over the loudspeakers, her name resonating through the stadium as she shouted her name in the littlest girl voice you can imagine. Hail the power of cotton candy.

TheMonk followed suit and then I was being introduced to Duncan the Dolphin who, I announced to the crowd, felt a bit like fluffy pancakes. The kids were then escorted to the main stage where they announced that Dolly felt a lot like hot dogs. Then, they were encouraged to have a water fight with Dolly. I would like to report to you that Dolly lost that water fight. But that would be a big, huge lie. At the end, I’m not sure who was wetter, Dolly or my kids.

But that didn’t matter. After my wife fell in the water we were escorted back to our seats of honor where we enjoyed the rest of the show. As soon as the show was done and I escorted two soaked 4 year olds out of the stadium, Swee’Pea had a burning question for me.

“Where’s my cotton candy, Daddy?!”

It started out as a nice Saturday morning. The sun was shining. The birds were chirping. And other than put food in front of my kids, I hadn’t had to do a darn thing. Change my kids out of their PJs? I laughed at that notion. That would require going upstairs and upstairs is something we do everything we can to avoid when we are being lazy on a Saturday morning.

In another example of how fate was on my side for this lazy and luxurious morning was the kids, surprisingly, were not begging me to join in their play. Not once was I asked to play “Jump on Daddy” or “Jab Daddy in the Eye” or, my personal favorite, “Kick our legs until Daddy sings Soprano.” I even thought I hit paydirt when the kids asked to get out the Candy Land game stashed under our coffee table. This could take up considerable time. So I quickly set up the board and laid back down on my couch, resting from the considerable effort I had just put forth. I watched to make sure they were playing correctly as this was their first ever game without Daddy or Mommy playing with them. They seemed to grasp the idea and they were having fun. Witness:

As I absorbed myself in the hard task of relaxing with Mommy on the couch, suddenly I sense the mood has shifted over in Candy Land. Early on TheMonk had jumped out to a sizeable lead due to an uncanny ability to pick cards with two colored squares on them. Swee’Pea, on the other hand, was plodding along one square at a time. Now, I may have heard TheMonk gloat a little bit (Na. Na na. Na. Naaaa. I’m wiiiinnnnnning.) and that may have lead to a certain girl taking matters into her own hands (i.e. cheating) and before you knew it, my relaxing morning had turned into pure chaos. Witness:

So, I did what any 21st century dad would do. No, I didn’t rush to console them. I grabbed the video camera. A bad morning? Or a trend? You be the judge.

Back in the day, when my kids were brand new and I was still in that “Wow, I’m a father, I’m totally going to make a difference in my kids life” stage of fatherhood (rather than the current, “Let’s just not fuck this up too bad” stage), I envisioned great quality time with my kids. I envisioned idyllic Christmas scenes, playing catch in the back yard and long, wonderful family road trips that bonded us together in a way that wasn’t as creepy as it sounds. (Kinda like Clark Griswold only with a better car and less Christie Brinkley.)

We would take these long road trips, stopping off at places of historical interests, like the California missions, Hearst Castle or that rest stop on I-5 just outside of Buttonwillow. These trips would include captivating games of “I spy” and searching for letters of the Alphabet on road signs. We would sing “She’s Coming Around The Mountain” over and over again and we’d eat healthy snacks in between healthy meals at sit-down restaurants and at the end of the trip we’d all sit around and laugh about the great times we’d had together as a family.

But then, I stopped smoking all that crack and reality came crashing down on me like a ton of Paula Abduls. This past weekend, for example, we did take a road trip. We drove 487 miles to visit dear old Grandmother and this is how it went down…

8:35 a.m. We leave to gas up, eat at the local Panera and head off on our trip.
9:25 a.m. Return to the house to get forgotten items, including small toilet seat for the kids and High School Reunion Parking pass for me.
9:40 a.m. Backing out of the driveway TheMonk asks for the first time, “Are we there yet?” This might be some sort of record.
11:10 a.m. DVD player in back no longer works. I cry a little inside. TheMonk cries a little outside.
11:25 a.m. Come to a screeching halt outside of the Hell Hole otherwise known as L.A.
12:35 p.m. Finally get through L.A. traffic and start thinking of food. Wife feeds kids cookies to buy us more time.
1:40 p.m. Settle on McDonalds that is attached to a mini-mart. Due to long line for women’s restroom, I take both TheMonk, then Swee’Pea, then TheMonk again to the bathroom. The sign says “Free Mocha Mondays” but the man tells me they are out of mochas. I consider stabbing him with a petrified french fry but think better of it. On a similar note, petrified McDonald’s french fries that have been sitting under a warmer for quite some time should not be consumed.
2:20 p.m. Back on the road. I attempt to distract kids from long drive by asking them to count trucks. I assign red trucks to Monk and Blue trucks to Swee’Pea. This is a mistake as Swee’Pea wants to count Red Trucks too. I am seeing red but it isn’t from trucks.
2:30 p.m. I am asked for the 4,597th time, “Are we there yet?”
2:31 p.m. I am asked for the 4,598th time, “Are we there yet?”
2:45 p.m. The gods smile upon me as the kids fall asleep. Although I swear TheMonk asks me if we’re there yet in his sleep.
3:45 p.m. Awakened kids are treated to ice cream at the most run-down, dirty, Foster’s Freeze restaurant on the planet.
4:30 p.m. Swee’Pea tries a variant of the old “Are we there yet?” by whining aloud, “Is it going to take a long time?” I answer, “Yes. Yes it is!”
5:00 p.m. I am driving that car faster than I should but all I want is for that road to get behind me. TheMonk notices and says, “Daddy’s car can go fast!”
6:00 p.m. We are close. The coastal fog has rolled in and Swee’Pea is genuinely concerned that it is going to rain. Also, she asks, “Are we there yet?”
6:30 p.m. We arrive in my home town. We drive down Hwy 1 towards my mother’s house. The entire way they ask “Are we almost there?!” They also remark about how many trees there are. Note to self: Get the kids out of the suburbs more.
6:40 p.m. We arrive at Grandmother’s door. TheMonk tells his “knock knock” joke. (Knock Knock. Who’s there? Orange. Orange who? Orange you gonna give me a smooch?!) And she does.

Only 85 hours til we do it again! Woo Hoo! (Are we there yet?)