Whoever she may be.

Non-college educated, white men and especially non-college educated white women drifted more dramatically conservative than ever before. We all know Trump tapped into an undercurrent of racism and xenophobia, but I think we underestimated sexism, the -ism we pretend to have conquered. We all had forgotten that no one hates a female boss more than another female.

NO... that's not what I want to say.

I am afraid I'll blink and four years will have passed. I'll be afraid to open the curtains for fear the sky will be deregulation orange from manufacturing all the Trump bobble heads. Dystopian armored law enforcement Humvees and diesel pick-up trucks clog the streets. White men and women carry assault rifles on the shoulders of their dirt bike pads while black and brown people cower when they pass. Muslims and Jews, afraid of constant raids--now live peacefully in Canada, having accepted the offer of two free acres in Nova Scotia. The only Mexican I see, wears a tourist visa around her neck to visit her first grandchild, in the community where she lived for 30 years prior to her deportation. Gay bars mostly closed after homophobic assaults during the gay marriage ban battle of 2018. Transgender people are invisible again, but still in your bathrooms without you noticing, harming no one. Local NPR stations crackle on the radio, underfunded, unable to make repairs. Big brother-esque posters cover government buildings, the orange reflecting onto passerby like jaundice. Flowers are luxury items—the heat and pollution killed all the bees.  Enrollment in higher education declined following cuts to financial aid, making empty buildings prime squatting locations for those displaced when public housing was eliminated.  The planned parenthood offices couldn't afford the armed guards anymore so the cancer center added a wing for the influx of late stage cervical, ovarian, uterine, and breast cancer that went undetected. Toronto and Tijuana offer weekend abortion packages for those wanting to avoid Pence's mandated funerals. 

NO... my exaggerated fears are not important either.

There was only so much good karma and kindness remaining in this country and we used it all to support the Cubs.

NO... I am too despondent for humor.

My son is worried about this wall and confused as to why any human would NOT want to help another.  My daughter doesn't understand how someone so "mean" could win. 

NO... it's too soon.

What I want to say is this: I don't remember Reagan as president but I remember my grandmother explaining to me he was a movie star and not a very good one.  I was eight when George H.W. took office so I remember looking at the Dukakis bumper sticker on the side of the washing machine and being sad. I vaguely recall Bush as president, bombings on CNN and my Dad explaining what a Gulf was. 

What I remember clearly was being eleven and captivated by the campaign of a young, charismatic Bill Clinton, an awkward Chelsea, and the quiet power of Hillary, a female lawyer—the first one I’d seen (it’d be two years until O.J.). I understood the importance of the budget excess and rode a wave of economic good fortune into my first jobs. More than anything, I was an adolescent with one less worry because I felt my country was safe in the hands of this family.

This sounds like I’m dwelling, but it’s really a message of hope for my children:

May your worst memory of this be a sad bumper sticker or better yet, may you only remember my mother’s explanation of how Trump was a reality TV star and not a very good one at that.  

Little ones, may he be your Reagan and Bush rolled into one, and all your real memories begin with your champion from 2020 and beyond…Whoever she may be.

Exactly as they are...

   This is a draft I meant to post a year ago... still applies today:

  Some day both kids decide to wear black rubber boots and shorts. Ellie picks out her shirt every day so I wait to pick out her pants after she puts on the pink and yellow striped shirt--sometimes black leggings are the only pants that match. Henry has worn a tutu on walks & Ellie often wears two tutus to the park. Henry hugs & kisses religious statues. Ellie rolls around and squeals in the shopping cart like it's a sinking ship. They are becoming real people with very different personalities and all I can do is support them.
      Some of us, got lucky and were raised by parents who did this for us, parents who wanted nothing more than for us to feel loved and smart and beautiful exactly as we are.  Unfortunately, many didn't have this experience and thus struggle to believe any of those adjectives apply to them, at least not without squelching their true selves or making serious changes. Under the best circumstances, their parents believed by making their kid more "normal" and "socially acceptable", their child's life would be easier.  And (no surprise) having "normal" kids made life easier for the parents who saved face in the eyes of their peers.
     So when I saw what this Mom decided to share with the world via Facebook I couldn't help but smile. This Mom decided to share her son's story in a way that says "SCREW YOU" to the would-be bullies of adulthood (talk-behind-your-back-wimps, bible-quotes-as-put-downs-insulters, etc). Regardless of your 'moral' stance, you have to respect her courage as a shining example of the warm, open way a new generation of parents are embracing their children--exactly as they are.
      So when we're at a store and both kids, in unison, start singing "Happy Birthday" to an LED candle... I just stand back and smile, reminding myself I want them to stay this confident and full of life forever.  It's not always easy but it's always worth it.

To give proper credit, I found the link here: "Woman Gives Birth to 18 Year Old"  http://www.upworthy.com/this-mom-posted-a-fantastic-announcement-on-facebook-about-giving-birth-to-an-18-year-old-lw1-2?c=ufb1

Bear Hunting and Flashbacks to Mud Wrestling

So I uploaded a video of Henry "reading" a book to me today, which he does nearly every day before nap time now... or he sits in the bathroom and reads to me while I'm in the shower.

Same video... just edited to "Chipmunk-style".  I think it really adds something special to it.

  

Of course, I had to watch the "Toddler Mud Wrestling" video from when they were one year old. It's too damn cute to stand, especially with Ellie watching it with me and laughing hysterically about Henry eating mud.

Bear for Lunch

Henry: Daddy I want a bear lunch.
Me: Bears eat berries and stuff they find in the forest.
Henry: That's not a right recipe. You suppose a cut up a bear, put in a pot, put some sauce on, put some chips on top like a TV lady. And bake it up. That's a bear lunch.
Me: OK.... Do you have a bear?
Henry: Daddy that's why we gotta go to a park. Let's us bring my sword.

This is a combination of Martha Stewart and Animal documentaries, I'm sure of it. Thanks PBS, but I think we'll have ham and cheese for our park picnic instead.

Parenting Among Monkeys, Squirrels, and Boo-Guys.

Sometimes in my profession, it feels like I get to see the worst of society.  Most of the stories I hear I would never dare repeat.  Maybe all of this has made me more of a realist. I know the terrible things that happen out of sight and I don’t just want to shelter my kids from it, but I want to caution them from venturing out into the world in a state of naïve bliss.

I believe in “Boo Guys”. My husband does well in grounding me and we are honest with our children, but in an age appropriate manner.  My children will likely understand some of the more uncomfortable issues in life before their peers, but they will be well equipped and resourceful when confronted by them.  That being said, you have to allow your co-parent the freedom to parent the way they choose sometimes.

Awhile back, I felt it was appropriate to share that the Father Monkey on the Discovery Show died but my husband felt it better to just let the kids think he was sleeping, to avoid all the questions and tears.  So where did my husband find himself the following day? 

Reluctantly driving a wounded "baby" squirrel in a dog carrier to another town to “save his life,” because my kids could not bear the thought that their dog had [nearly] fatally wounded this little creature.  Now if I were home, I will not lie, we might have come to a similar conclusion, but with no one home to capture the limping squirrel and assist in putting it in a box (with no hope of getting out in my car) I would have likely let nature take it’s course. And then sent my husband out to clean up the carnage when he got home, all the while taking the kids out to a store, library, park, anywhere just to get their mind off the “incident.”  

There are Boo Guys in the world, bad things do happen, thankfully, my kids have me to warn them of these things, and their father there making the world a better place, one squirrel at a time.  As for our dog, Jackie, I am not sure when they will trust him again.  I know the squirrels never will.

The Yellow Brick Road

Today I thought it was a good idea to pull a wagon containing a 47 lb boy, 35 lb girl, 12 lb dog, diaper bag, ice pack, water bottles, & lunch for all to Fell park, maybe a mile away. This wasn't too terrible since my miniature dauschund mix, Ollie helped pull as best he could. It was the next leg that hurt. It began after a half hour of playing the part of the Cowardly Lion to my son's version of the Tin Man, my daughter's Dorothy, and of course Toto was there. Then the Tin Man decided we were to follow him "down the yellow brick road" which is also known as "the longest way possible to the Illinois Wesleyan quad" where we had agreed to go to see the huge metal sculptures. Upon arrival, we learned the sculptures are no longer there. The Tin Man started to wail in the pre-nap time way that Wizard of Oz characters do. So I did what was right and lied to my 3 year olds and explained the sculptures had gone for a walk to visit sick children in the hospital. Then I pulled them home in the sun in misery, neither willing to walk, neither willing to refrain from touching the other, both sweaty, whiney messes.
 Now, the redeeming part of this story is this: We did all this without a potty break or accident, except for the dog but those were no accidents.
I was about to Facebook how exciting that was until I realized I was essentially telling everyone I've ever met, "I went for a walk and no one wet their pants." Sometimes my brain temporarily shifts back to pre-kids mode at just the right moment and I'm able to see how different things are now. What excites me now, seems lesser and greater depending so much on perspective. I guess, all I'm sure of is, I can't recall feeling so grateful for so many small accomplishments, especially the ones which must seem miniscule from the outside looking in.

The Fight to Include Dads in "Amazon Mom" Program

I love that this article was written for the online magazine "New jersey Family: The Essential Source for New Jersey MOMS"!  Take a hint from your own article/writer and get with the times. Unless the conversation is specific to an issue regarding a female parent in a physical sense--such as episiotomy scars or breastfeeding tips--we could all benefit from swapping "Mom" for "Parent"!

Watch out world, Daddy's gonna remodel you!

Finally, the FDA is reducing it's lifetime ban on gay male blood donors to a less biased one year. Lets' all hope, er, pray that bigots will be fearful of catching "gay cooties" and thus lead healthier, safer lives to avoid blood transfusions, thus leaving more for those with higher IQ's. If I seem overly enthusiastic, it's because I spent 5 years justifying this policy to plasma donors and felt sleazy every time. So, cheers to the retroactive relief of my shame and let's give a hand to welcome the FDA to the 1990's!
Now, add serious gun control, immigration reform that doesn't punish hardworking people, nationwide gay marriage, and an increase in alternative energy research & mental health funding matching the average percent the bank CEO's took out of their bailout-- and then I'd say the U.S.A is almost worthy of my children's company. I suppose that means I have alot of work to do in the next 16 years. For now, I have one in a diaper and one on his 3rd day of potty training success and no time to finish our half-completed kitchen remodel... in other words, the world and my junky guest bathroom better watch out when these kids start 3 year old preschool next fall!

FDA article link:
I apologize for the generic article, it was the most recent:
http://www.upi.com/Health_News/2014/12/23/FDA-recommends-lifting-lifetime-ban-on-gay-blood-donors/4851419366392/

The Journey to Childproofing Our Home...

It seemed like such a natural progression, since we have had small dogs for many of years and have segregated them into specific areas of the house with baby gates their entire existence, I felt confident that we were a few electrical covers and drawer locks away from baby proofed.  Little did I know that dog proofing and baby proofing were vastly different, let alone TODDLER proofing.  Every day it seems that Ellison and Henry are growing a bit taller and have expanded their reach by a few inches.  I realize this in moments such as when the strategically placed open pop can on top of the side table flew across the room at the hand of Ellison, as I powerlessly screamed, “nnnoooooo.”  There are the moments when we inquisitively looked at the “thing” in our son’s hand only to realize that he had been carry around excrement from the dog.  Or my personal favorite: when our daughter realized she can not only reach into the drawer with a previously mentioned lock, but if she stands on her tippy toes she can help herself to an array of adult medication. Of course, it all has what should be called adult proof lids as I have struggled many of days with the ibuprofen lid as my head throbbed only to surrender it to my husband, yet my 18 month old daughter opened said lid and began pouring the small pills about the room.  Now I may seem as if I am a neglectful mother but in reality it’s in those vulnerable moments when they attack, the two seconds you allow yourself to pee, the three seconds you attempt to turn the meat on the grill or my favorite the milliseconds that you are offering attention to “the other child.”  All and all I am thinking that the boy in the bubble may have suffered socially, but his parents were spared many moments of crisis and near catastrophe. -Krista Reichert-Lunny (Mommy)

 

Note from Mel: We tried "the girl in the laundry basket" but it didn't work out.
Do you have any idea how much a decent "bubble" costs now a days?

Henry Discovers Mud.

 
This is the sweetest video of Henry discovering mud up close for the first time, then Ellie (his co-star) and Daddy (narrator) catch him in the act! His sharing mud with Ellie, her frantically trying to get it off her hands, the "pppffffhhht" after he puts it in his mouth... it's all so damn adorable you can't stand it.  Something about toddlers trying anything for the first time-- the wonder on their faces makes all the sleepless nights and loads of cloth diapers worthwhile. Enjoy!

http://youtu.be/G6lAPmkuf0c 
PS Awful music has been removed... in case you saw it Saturday afternoon during YouTube's error.

Grass napping at Anderson park

Published with Photo Blogger for Windows Phone.

Earlier today, my kids and I sat on the floor to watch "Signing Time" and I quickly had a sleeping baby lying on either side of my chest. I must have followed suit because I awoke 2 hours later with Henry asleep on my left and Jack, our Min Pin curled up in Ellie's place. I did my best coyote ugly move and jumped to my feet without waking Henry. I scanned the room and finally spotted Ellison, directly behind where we all slept, sitting quietly on the couch with Oliver, our Dachshund mix, beside her. and They both were staring intently at Mommy's Facebook page while Ellie pushed buttons on our open laptop. I thought it was odd that Ollie had chosen not to stay with us boys under the warm covers, until I watched Ellison carefully reach into my open bag of Chex Mix and feed her puppy and then herself, in that order. If only she would share with her brother like that.... then again, she was slowly poisoning my dog with chocolate covered chex mix.

Our families first easter.

Guess who's knocked up?

(My disclaimer: Due to spending nearly all waking hours with twins in my sight and the remaining hours with two baby monitors nearby, I may accidentally reference every pregnancy I speak of for the rest of my life in the plural.  For example, "Hey Krista, when did you say them their peoples BABIES are gonna be borned?" is how I would now inquire about a friend pregnant with one child.) 

Here are your clues for Preggy:
-dark brown, long-ish, wavy hair
-licensed to work in a position helping others live happy, healthy, lives
-not very tall
-has the "I can talk to anyone & make them feel comfortable" gene (that some of us lack)
-drives a Honda
-lives in a state that starts with an "I"
-attended Illinois State University
-stays in close touch with her family, including siblings
-aspires to raise a free-thinking, kindhearted, confident child, just like her


And clues for the Significant Other:
-has shorter, lighter, redder, hair
-works in a field that makes people happy, but in a different way
-a tad taller than the pregnant one
-less vocal, more of a hands-on technical type
-drives a vehicle manufactured by Americans
-previously lived in Springfield, Peoria, & Champaign
-talks on the phone or texts Mom on a near daily basis
-aspires to raise a bright, industrious, athletic child, just like her

     If you guessed that my wife, Krista, is pregnant AGAIN, ALREADY,

Symphony of Shrieking

A riddle: If a baby cries in a bedroom and Daddy is in the basement doing laundry...  does it really make a sound?  I'm pretty sure it doesn't until you get in the doorway where the baby can see your face and THEN it starts to really "make a sound" after five minutes of quiet whining.  They are starting to recognize when I am here and when I am gone, which also means that when I leave the room they take notice and let me know how they feel about it.  This coincides with Ellison's discovery of her ability to make high-pitched shrieking noises for "Come get me" minutes five through seven.  Minute one to two are arm flailing, pacifier removal. Minute three to four are lower pitched whining.  Then after shrieking it's full-fledged screaming-crying with a focus on flapping her arm on the side closest to her sleeping brother until minute ten at which point Henry wakes up and the cycle starts over. It becomes like one of those awful, campfire songs that you sing in a round, except Henry is that super sonic only dogs can hear it soprano that sits behind you every week that you go to mass, no matter where you choose to sit. 

And now that Ellison has started to reach arm flapping point, I'm going to go get her dressed and ready...  today is one of those interesting days when Mommy has an important meeting at work and Daddy scheduled a doctor's appointment. The good news is even though they don't like when I walk out of a room and leave them, they still prefer the company of any super, smiley stranger that makes squeaky sounds in their face to any toy or bottle or parent in the world...  for about five minutes anyway.  Then their eyes start to dart around until they finally find my face from across the room and smile in this relieved, contended way that makes me forget that I haven't slept right in five months, teething gel, 3am baby tylenol, and 500 loads of cloth diapers.

Farmer"s Market

Back in September we went to the the Farmer's Market in downtown Bloomington, just like we intend to do every Saturday in the summertime...  except this time we actually woke up, got ourselves AND 2 BABIES dressed, fed, and out the door and downtown before it ended.  Okay, so we only had one hour before it closed, but it still counts.  You'll notice the stylish Baby Bjorn that I'm wearing and the single stroller, which indicates we had not yet bought the monstrous double jogging stroller that I now love with all my heart. At this point, Henry had finally gotten big enough that there was no longer hope for both of them to lie side by side in the stroller and share a seat belt. For some reason, this particular day I chose to attach the 3lb heavier baby to my shoulders and spinal column.
  We also made it out another Saturday but drove there because the weather guy said it would rain AT 1PM. We got the double stroller out, loaded 'em up, walked over to the row of vendors, and it instantly started pouring down rain.  We jogged a block over and took cover in CVS pharmacy where we shopped for junk we didn't need for a half hour before it stopped raining.  At that point, I was completely content with my shopping finds for the day and ready to head home.  Alas, CVS did not have fresh basil so we pulled the shade over their heads to block any remaining sprinkles and headed back our to finish our shopping.  This time, only one person stopped us to ask, "Are they twins?" to which I always want to say, "Who? Henry and I? That's very kind but I'm his father."

The Grandma Edie Gig

My Gig as Grandma Edie..
Started officially on June 5, 2012, an hour or so after midnight. There is somethng magical about meeting a new human being, holding them in your arms, minutes after their entrance into the world. And meeting two new humans is double magic.
Henry and Ellison are the new sunrise that never sets on our family. With their wonder-filled eyes and smiles that light up their faces and those of everyone around them, our twins are a source of promise for us all.
Being their Grandma Edie means I can give them a new nickname every week, teach them how to make sand castles and Christmas cookies and introduce them to all the good books.  It's a gig I'm going to enjoy.

When Daddy gets the flu....

you spend a little more time in your crib whining after you wake up and a little less time playing "I'm gonna eat that tummy" on the floor with him.

you practice holding your own bottle with a pillow and a towel under it because Daddy keeps dozing off.

you spend a lot more time with Mommy from 11pm to 6am.

Reunions of all sorts.

Today we attended our first family reunion with our twins.  It was a bit chilly so they wore bear coats and fleece blankets and passed from one relative to another around the bonfire at Weldon Spring State Park.  They were great sports and I can't recall either of them crying at any point.  

I have noticed this before, but no change is ever so noticeable as it is when in the comfort of your family: Having children changes everything.

Happiness in a Leaf Blower

When you're a new Dad, whether stay-at-home or working, there are certain activities that you don't do as often (no, I was not referring to that).  One of the saddest losses for me has been my use of power tools, which decreased sharply, NOT for lack of jobs that need done desperately, but because their use may:
A. Wake sleeping babies even if you work on the other side of the house, outdoors, underground
B. Deafen conscious babies if you try blaring Barney on surround sound to mask use of power tools nearby
C. Blind the babies if you try to wear them in a Baby Bjorn and use a reciprocating saw
D. Cause damage to growing bones and joints if you allow them to "help Daddy" use a framing nailer

Parents Birthdays Lacking Post-Baby?

My wife asked me the day after her birthday, "Did you forget it was my birthday yesterday?" In reality, I was painfully aware of it for weeks. I felt trapped when gift shopping crossed my mind.  The idea of taking twins to the mall isn't frightening by itself but to go shopping for an amazing birthday gift for the woman that outdoes her self every holiday for me WITH TWINS was overwhelming.  Meijer seemed to offer nothing worthy of her, thus looking for a personal gift post-grocery shopping with tired babies proved fruitless.  Shopping online only works if I'm ordering more of something that I already have such as toiletries and cleaning products, appliance replacement parts, or any baby stuff with a recognizable brand name.  Otherwise, it's a crap shoot of Chinese postage labels, bad stitching, and strange, "not exactly urine", smells. 

Why do I think anyone cares about me?

April 2012

If you're reading this you may want to know why I think my thoughts are worth sharing. This will be a small summary of a long story but I'll offer up the highlights of what's important:

1. I'm expecting twins in June or July.
2. I have 2 small dogs, Ollie and Jack.
3. I am preparing to be a stay-at-home Dad.
4. I am remodeling my home myself, including a bathroom addition.
5. I was laid off of my job of 5 years the day after Christmas 2011.
6. I am male nurse.
7. I live with my wife and a roomate, her best friend, Nick.
8. My wife is a therapist.
9. I'm trying to join (they see "infiltrate") the local "Mothers of Multiples".
10. I sell books online that I purchase secondhand.
11. I'm practicing being Catholic again so I can get my babies baptized.
12. I currently babysit a 5 month old child for 40-50 hours a week.
13. I train Ollie, my miniature daschund/miniature pinscher mix in agility.
14. I am an odd, hyperactive, liberal, multitasking, organizing, scatterbrain.
15. I was diagnosed as OCD at age 15 so I'm going to stop on #15.

So we'll see how exciting my life actually seems when translated into blog form.
Cheers.