My Daughter, In A Bed

A few weeks ago, we decided that it was time for Harper to be out of her crib.  She was climbing out anyway and doing so in a fashion that lead us to believe that she might take a 4 foot drop in the dark in the middle of the night.

For those of you unfamiliar with the experience, there is almost nothing more horrifying than being woken from a dead sleep by the bloodcurdling cries of a person who is reaping the direct consequences of their actions.  This applies both to college students waking up in an unfamiliar bed and rolling over only to discover that they spent the evening with someone who was excommunicated from the Addams' family for being too weird, as well as to toddlers who have fallen out of a crib in an ill-conceived attempt to visit mommy in the middle of the night.

They never want to visit daddy.

The toddlers, or the college students.

So we did away with the crib, but without another bed, we put her mattress on the floor.  It worked well because she didn't have anywhere to fall, but there were some unforeseen consequences, namely that our lovely, precious gem would not so much sleep-walk, as much as sleep-do-the-worm, all around her room, into the living room, etc.

She made herself a nest

 It was a constant game of "Where is Harper sleeping now?" that you hoped wouldn't be answered by a small hand under your foot, followed by screaming and/or teeth in your leg.  Our house began to resemble a beach infested with very well-disguised stingrays.

This, but with babies.

 In any event, we searched for a while and discussed the merits of the different types of beds.  In the end, we decided on a regular bed, rather than a toddler bed because we would eventually need a bigger bed anyway.  We decided on a bunk bed so that when Brynn is big enough for a regular bed, we could save some room.

Through the amazing generosity of Sara's aunt and mother, we ordered the bed we wanted and waited the week for it to show up at the store.  We presented our online receipt to the clerk, who managed to rouse herself long enough to call for assistance in moving the rather large and awkward box out to the car.

The elderly man who showed up with a rolling cart was nice enough but decided he would need some help getting the box onto the car.  I couldn't help him because he informed us that they had no string or twine with which to tie the box to the roof and as a result, I had to go and purchase bungee chords.  How convenient it was for me that they sold them in the store.

When I get out to the car where they are waiting, I find the elderly man and a younger guy in his early twenties.  The two of them being their attempt to load the box onto the roof.  This consisted of the older man calmly holding the bottom of the box while the younger guy slipped a disc, had a hernia, sweated enough to fill a swimming pool and grunted in a fashion that should have brought wild boars in heat from a 300 mile radius.

We get the box onto the roof, get it home, and get it into the house.  I love putting things together, so I started at it.  For the first half hour, Sara was very helpfully on the phone leaving the girls to be very helpful themselves.  When I finally put a stop to that, I managed to assemble the bottom bunk, placing the material for the top bunk in the attic to await the time when Brynn as well needed a bed that 50 times too big for her.

I put my tools away, clean up the room, and go and get Sara.  I wanted to show off the bed that I put together.  I wanted to show her the sweat and love and energy that I put into making my daughter's life that much better, nicer, etc.  I was proud.

"Where are the rails?"
"...They are on the top bunk."
"Oh.  I thought you were putting the top bunk together."
"...no."
"Oh.  It looks great!  I love you!"
**scowl**

When I got home from work the next day, I disassembled the bed, took the pieces upstairs, brought the other pieces down and assembled the second bed.  I am proud of that one too.

Harper loves it and sleeps in it, rather than wandering the house at night like the vengeful spirit of a departed disco dancer.

I would much rather she be the vengeful spirit of a departed Carlton.

My Daughter, Starving Herself

I've been thinking about food an awful lot lately.

I've started making a concerted effort to become a bit more healthy.  I've been running at the gym and a little bit outside, both with mixed success.  I have a short-term goal of running a 5k at the end of October, with a long-term goal of a half marathon during the summer.

So far, I've been very good about going to the gym regularly.  I've been running every other day and doing circuit training or other activity on the off days.  On Sundays, we have derby practice, but if it's a run day, that gets done too.

I've been very pleased with myself and my friends and family have been very supportive.  I even created a Facebook page to keep track of what I've been up to and hopefully the public humiliation/encouragement will help me even more.

As far activity goes, I think I'm doing alright.  The key now, is food.

Why does it have to taste so good?? I am beginning to think that there is a vast conspiracy that make vegetables and healthy food taste like feet.  I do like to make grilled veggies and I love a good salad, provided it's covered in cheese and bacon bits.

That's at least three food groups, right?  Salsa and nachos covers four! (Tomatoes are legally a fruit!)

Five, if you get them with meat!


My other main issue is quantity.  I know that it's ok to eat bad food as long as it's in moderation but, seriously, who wants moderation when you have freshly made pumpkin caramel cheesecake?

When we make homemade pizza, why wouldn't I want 6 slices??

Portion control is something I do not do well.  I'm working on it though.

Why is this in a parenting blog?  Somehow, this has to be related to kids, right?

Harper has moved into happily being a picky eater, the kind of picky eater that makes me insane.

She won't eat.  At least, she won't eat at a speed that prevents mold from growing on her meals.  She jumps down from the table with the attention span and energy of a squirrel.  I have been having lots of trouble at meals because I need slightly more order than that.  By the end of the meal, there is usually more food on her plate than when she started.

This is because her food was given the time to grow, gain sentience, breed and raise multiple generations of baby chicken noodle soups, all in miniature bowls.

She also randomly decides that she doesn't like certain foods.  Conversations go like this:

Me: Harper, what would you like for lunch?
H: Pizza!
Me: Alright. Let me warm it up for you.
**2 minutes later**
Me: Here's your lunch, babe.
H: I don't like pizza!
Me: ...You love pizza.  You would eat it at every meal if I let you!
H: NOOOOO!!  No pizza!  I don't like it!  I want soup!

At this point, another, perhaps better, parent would make her soup, followed by the next thing she asked for. 

 But I am not that parent.


Brynn has been doing well, so my lofty goal is as follows:

I will take all the food I want and all the food that Harper wants to eat, put it all on a plate and split it in half.


Realistically, I should just eat half the food that I do...

My Daughters, Not Working For Serta

Have I mentioned lately that I love my children?

Perhaps I should take this opportunity to do it again.

I love my children.

They help me in more ways than I can count, but I will attempt to list a few.

Cute kids make it worth it to come home from work.  After a rough day of counter-productivity and indifference, it is wonderful to come home to the following conversation:

Harper: "Daddy, you're a good guy!"
Me: "Why is that?"
Harper: "Because you make me happy!"

How could I possibly ask for more than that?

They are an inspiration in that I want to be able to keep up with them in all aspects of life.  They can run for hours and not even understand that frantic panting means they should stop.  I've set a goal for myself to run a 5k in about 6-7 weeks and a half marathon next summer.  I have no idea how realistic these goals are, but I've been sticking with my training schedule and we'll see how it goes.



They also inspire me to get a higher paying job so I can buy a bigger house where they can each have their own rooms FAAAAAAAAAR away from me.

Sara and I had a derby bout this weekend so the girls went to their grandparents.  Saturday night and into Sunday morning was some of the most restful sleep that I have had in months.  There were no mysterious feet pushing me out of bed at 3am.  There was no waking up to the sound of screaming at 1:30 only to discover than both girls were back to sleep by the time I went over to check on them.

There was no one pulling my nose hairs at 6:30am in an attempt to get me to put Babar on.

The girls are tiring enough when they are awake, I don't know why they also have to be so difficult when they are sleeping.  I still feel that I have less need for sleep than Sara does, so when I hear the girls, I try to get up and get them before she does.  Sometimes it works, sometimes not.

It really should be the other way around since it seems as though she can fall back to sleep faster than it takes me to wonder why I'm up at such an ungodly hour.





Don't let the pictures mislead you.  These children are devious, energetic, frantic and insane.

When we first had Harper, we had cats.  A good friend told me that we needed to get rid of the cats because cats steal the breath from sleeping babies.

If we had cats now, they wouldn't have the chance.  I hate camping, but I'm thinking I can convince a 1-year old and a 2-year old that camping is awesome and they should do it all the time.  I'll even set up a tent for them in the basement.

You see what a nice, kind, selfless guy I am?  I would even set up the tent for them.