Best Cousins

"Bring a Friend Night"

I can speak from firsthand experience when it comes to having relatives double as friends. My cousins Joel and Nick are only 1 and 2 years younger than I am respectively. They're only 10 months apart themselves but that's a topic for one of their blogs or memoirs.) So, our proximity in age and in geography, and the fact that they've always been a blast to be around, has created great friendships. So, looking at the whole cousin-as-friend relationship from my perspective as a dad and uncle makes it all the more special. You see, my Abber Dabbers and her cousin Kaylin are separated in age by 1 year, a year that means almost nothing. Since the time Abby's been able to speak in sentences, she and Kaylin have referred to themselves as "best cousins." I know that's because Abby's best friend is Ella and I don't think she could conceive of a way to have two best friends, even though that's exactly what Kaylin is. Thus, they created "best cousins"...eah...works for me. I know the other adults in my family agree...it is so damnin' cute to see the two of them play together. As soon as either one arrives at the other's house or they collide at Grandma and Grandpa's, the energy level spikes. Kaylin provides the spark and Abby: the lighter fluid. It is truly electric when these two are together. They have so much in common in their little girl world and are also different enough that their mojo flows perfectly. It's wicked cute to see them dissappear into "Cinderella's Castle", or down into "The Bayou" with Tiana and company. Some days it's playing house or riding the bus, wherever their imaginations take them...it's a joy to watch them go wholeheartedly. Don't get me totally wrong here either, the fact that they play this well together means would be in-charge grown-ups get a bit of a break. They are really each other's best babysitter. So let me say this to you Dabbers and Peanut, indeed, you two have something very unique...a real treasure. Incidentally, should one throw little miss Konrad into the cocktail, it will soon become a Molotov. That or a flaming sofa outside a college party house...chaotic...fun, but chaotic. I know, that's a strange yet familiar analogy.

This brings us to the following tale. Being the natural performer and spotlight lover she is, it was not a surprise to us when we learned Kaylin was going to be taking dance lessons. Whether she knew it or not, dance lessons would just be more ammo for her arsenal of performance material. Make no mistake, our Peanut loves the proverbial stage, a Rachel Berry in the making (yeah, that's a Glee reference, what can I say? I like me some Glee). She had been doing the dance lesson ditty for a few weeks when we got the call. Little did we know that her dance studio had come up with the single greatest marketing campaign of all time...

In one of the cutest voice messages I've ever heard, we listened to Kaylin extend an inviation to Abby to join her for one of her dance classes. It was "bring a friend night" and even though they're cousins, I guess they finally agreed that cousin and amigo es posible. So Abbers donned her gymnastics leotard, along with some other accessories Anna insisted upon, and we took her to dance class for a night. Well, that night has turned into many. No..."bring a friend night" wasn't simply an excersize in friendliness...it was more like a sting operation. "And I didn't even see it comin'!" (- Lloyd Christmas). Aha...I finally understood...all of the tiny ballerinas for a night could choose to keep the fairy godmother's spell unbroken, to keep it 11:59 indefinitely, so to speak. Yes, they could join the class and stay miniature ballerinas...well...forever. So simple, so diabolical...it was brilliant! Needless to say, dance class on Tuesdays has now been added to the laundry list of things the Dabbers and the Peanut have in common...and we truly couldn't be happier about it...of course, neither could they.

Hidden junk inside this hidden gem

Last Fall we made the decision to put our house on the market. A decision reached not without some heartache, but no time for that now. This is the second time we've had a house listed and all the joys of being "on the market" came rushing right back to us. I could fill a book with funny and annoying stories from our past few months of showings. However, one day and showing in particular stands out. It was just last weekend and we had been in Mankato celebrating Anna's Grandma LaJune's 90th birthday. From Mankato we headed out to the lake for a day of fun and relaxation with Anna's side. Well, the dreaded showing call came as we pulled in to the driveway at the lake. A showing from 5-6pm? Sure, why the hell not? We're only an hour away from home and having left in a hurry that morning, the house looked more like a frat house than a single family. The only reason we agreed to the showing is because I had to head back to the metro area early for Pitch 2 Pitch (P2P). (I've been teaching baseball clinics/practices with P2P for the past few years in my rare spare time). So, I would simply have to head home early, tidy up our abode and get out of there before 5:00...sounded simple.

I arrived home at 4:18 exactly, so I had just over 40 minutes to straighten up our entire house from top to bottom. I suppose if I was female I would have spent the hour drive home thinking of my strategy for attacking each section of the house. Well, I'm a guy...and the "wing it" concept is simply woven into our DNA. I figured my plan was effective enough, I worked from bottom up, starting on the basement, moving to the middle level and finishing on the main floor...which contains the kitchen, our bedroom, and is basically the catch-all for random things throughout the week. In other words, my chosen plan of attack wasn't exactly spot on. For the first 10 minutes I was delusional enough to think I had a chance to get it done. Then, minute by minute thereafter I realized I had about as much chance to get that mess picked up before 5:00 as the Timberwolves do to get me to come see a game this decade.

I got to the main floor with about 6 minutes to deadline. So what did that mean? No more putting stuff away where it belongs, time to hide it. The dishes from breakfast sitting next to the sink...can't put you guys in the dishwasher because, just my luck, the dishwasher is clean? I guess you get shoved under the sink and covered with a dish rag. Anna's clothes left on the floor/bed: crumpled into a ball and kicked under the bed, literally kicked...I was laying on my side and essentially horizontally stomping on her clothes. (Sidebar: what else is under there that I should have to exert that much force to get a few ensembles to fit under the box spring?) The bottom line at this point...if it had a door, something was getting hidden inside it. Avery's lucky her puppy didn't end up in the freezer. I definitely realized a couple things during this debacle.
1. Anna does a bang up job keeping our house clean and tidy all week
and
2. you can't replicate vacuum lines in the carpet using only a spatula

I ended up leaving the house at 5:07 thinking, "thank you, potential buyers, for being late...now you had better show up!" As soon as I got in the car and pulled away I sent two texts. One to the Easter Bunny saying, "you've got competition" and another to Anna, knowing she'd beat me home that night, saying, "enjoy your scavenger hunt, nothing is where it's supposed to be, ha."

Can I get some of what you're smokin'?

If you've sold your home in the last few years you probably know about the showing feedback one receives after someone has viewed your home. For those who aren't familiar with this procedure...it is now a common practice for the buyer's agent to fill out a short survey with the buyer's general impressions on the home they walked through. It asks the buyer to rate the floorplan, interior, exterior and price, then allows for further comments. Anywho, the survey is then sent to the listing agent and passed on to the homeowners. It's very nice info to have and certainly is appreciated. Of course, just like the real world where people move at different paces, the real estate industry is no different. One can expect to receive this showing feedback somewhere between say...an hour after the showing and...never.

Well, for those who know my wife, it probably comes as no surprise that, to her, the e-mails containing showing feedback are like crack. I swear her sense of sound is heightened in the hours following a showing. Her ipad will make the new message ding and she's there, like white on rice...it might be feedback! Avery staggers out of her room, her diaper half buckled, and having just used Slinky Dog to repel down the side of her changing table (still not sure how she does that). Meanwhile Anna's caught up in another groupon e-mail wishing it had just been the feedback she so longingly yearns for.

Just last week I overheard her on the phone with Re/Max trying to get them to implement a new policy stating that everyone who views a home at an open house must fill out a feedback survey. I'm guessing it didn't work since I later saw the first draft of a survey she created on her own. Next thing I know I'll be forging and mounting a cookie dispenser on one of those ballot machines from our local precinct. I can see the poster now, "Fill out the survey and get a thin mint!" It wouldn't be the first time girl scout cookies are used for pure evil. Wait...umm...Abby, Avery and I have been watching too much Phineas and Ferb.

But seriously, Anna loves those feedback e-mails.

The Cakes 'n Coke

There's no way I could wait a whole lot longer without telling the tale of the one and only Davy Cakes and his friend Jack Daniels. If you've ever spent a night playing poker with the youngest Konrad, or thrown dice with him on a craps table, you know he's a Jack and Coke guy. But, on the last night of our recent Tahoe ski/gambling vacation, he took it to a whole new level. After spending about 3 hours soaking and drinking in the resort's hot tub, Joel, Willy, Brian, Tyler, Cakes and I did exactly what we shouldn't have done...head to the casino.

We wound up at the Crystal Bay Club Casino. We found our spots at the craps table and placed our drink orders with the waitress. Well, I was a few spots away from Cakes so I didn't quite catch the details of why his drink order was so confusing, but I know Cakes was forced to say a whole lot more than, "Jack and Coke please." I didn't think much of it because my Captain Coke order was simple and straightforward...and was delivered in that same manner. We went on playing and drinking for a while and of course, there were no further issues with David's drink order...because it's impossible to confuse the universal "I'll have another" hand gesture. (If you're doing it right now don't feel weird) Anyway, the craps table goes cold and we all split up. Later Willy and I find Cakes playing Blackjack and decide to hover for a bit.

It was somewhere after this point that I learned, much to my amazement, that Jack Daniels is not on the "free booze" list at Crystal Bay. At last, I knew what the confusion was earlier. Cakes was being told his favorite whiskey aint free here. What ensued is one of the reasons Cakes will go down as a legend in my book, already at the ripe young age of 29. So he says to the waitress, and I'm paraphrasing, "I don't care, I want a Jack and Coke." She retorts that she'll have to charge him for his drink and he gives her the A-OK. Of course he's thinking, "What a hole this place is!"Another anecdote that helps to illustrate this casino as the Hardees of the North Shore is fact that this same waitress continued, the entire night mind you, to call Cakes' drink a "Daniels-Coke."

In honor of March Madness let's do a game reset, sponsored by Allstate..."are you in good hands?" asks Pedro Cerrano/President David Palmer

GAME RESET:
...in a casino chock full of middle aged men, wannabe cougar women, pinheads, meatballs, no-talent-ass-clowns, and regular joes, I guarantee Cakes was the only one paying for his drinks. So I don't know which is more amazing...that Cakes paid for beverages the entire night whilst the rest of us drank for free, that this rediculous excuse for a casino didn't host Jack Daniels-Old No. 7 whiskey, or that the Jersey-Girl waitress called them "Daniels-Cokes" all night? One thing I know for sure, the official name of a drink you pay for when 99% of the general public would not...is now called the 'Cakes and Coke.'

The Only True Constant...

It has been nearly a year since my last entry and rather than say I'm turning over a new leaf with intentions to blog all the time (even tho it's true), I'll simply hope for the time and, more importantly, the will to stick to it. Quite a bit has come our way in the time since Avery has gone from 9 to 18 months and Abby finally got to see the Magic Kingdom of Disney World. Yes indeed, I feel as if the last year of our lives was much like Avery's mouth at Abby's skating lessons last night...crammed full of popcorn, and so stinkin' stuffed in there that I know there's no way she noticed the box of corn was half as big as she is. My mind was saying, "yeah there's plenty here...let's slow it down ." Anecdotally, it's somewhat comical to note that if my life depended on knowing the length of my 1 1/2 year old's arms, all I would need to produce is a standard-hockey-rink-concession-stand-size-rectangular-box of popcorn. I know the box is empty when Avery's shoulder dissappears inside it. I'm just glad she doesn't know that old maids are almost as good as the puffs of corn. Avery just thinks old maids are who shows up at the neighbors' house every Wednesday with bottles of something sporting Mr. Yuk labels. I just came up with a great idea...(yeah Mr. Yuk t-shirts) and...take home a couple of those popcorn boxes and tape them to Avery's torso once her arms are inside. Of course it sounds mean, so I'll just keep that idea in my back pocket until I really need to cut down on the hurricane effect she seems to have on the toys

in our house.

But back to my analogy...our lives have been as jam packed as her face was. Anna is still at home with the girls and has started a photography business with my sister, bravo! No, "bravo!" is not the name of the business, they named it Buckett Photography. 1 point for figuring out how the significance of the name, 2 points for figuring out the creative mastermind who came up with it. Abby is busy with school on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Park night has taken a back seat to skating on Monday nights with Ella and of course there is dance on Tuesday nights with Kaylin. Avery simply obsesses over her battery powered toy puppy and marches to her own beat in regard to sleeping, eating and...well, everything. I am as busy as I've ever been, working retail hours at the TV store my dad and I opened. And that's why they say that the only true constant is change. (ok, so there's the baseline facts to catch me up when I look back on this in the future).

As I mentioned, our youngest is now a year and a half. And, as many of you know, along with those length-of-time-being-alive milestones often come doctor's visits. At these visits the first thing they do is weigh the kids and measure their height. Well, Anna and I always try to guess how much our kids weigh. Of course, we have to look at their previous weight and then guess how much we think they've put on. At Avery's 15 month checkup she tipped the scale at 21lbs 4oz. So how much does one guess when trying to figure how many pounds a 15 month old might add in a 3 month period? Well, I can tell you I didn't guess 4oz. Yep, Avery gained 1/4 pound in 3+ months. What? I think my iphone gained 5 or 6 oz in the same period. The other funny part is that if the nurse had come into the room to take us to the scale even 3 minutes later, Avery would have officially gained no weight between her 15 month and 18 month checkups. The diaper she filled moments after returning to the room had a payload of at least 4oz. Indeed, "everything comes down to poo". (Scrubs musical, look it up)

Forts Rule

I have no idea how or why it took us so long...but Abby and I made our first real good fort the other day. It all started when we took the cushions from the deck furniture inside before the huge snow storm hit. Normally the furniture would be covered for the Winter, but since our house is on the market we didn't put the covers on as to make the deck look more appealing. Hey, bonus for the girls and me since now we had big cushions to use in some fort building. Well, I distinctly remember building kickarse forts out of couch cushions when I was a kid. So, either I'm a worse fort builder now that I'm 31 than I was when I was 7, or perhaps my definition of kickarse has changed? I'm afraid the previous sentence isn't as rhetorical as I'd like. I thought about it for a bit, tried to arrange the cushions in a fort-like manner...fail. Tried again...fail, re-arranged them again resulting in some sort of maze looking design and then looked on the face of my four year old...fail. I was at a loss, how could cushions have made such great forts when I was young and now be so lame...even to Abby? Whatever, I said forget that and moved on to plan B. By this point I had lost the interest of my Abber Dabbers, so I was determined to make it up to her. I went and found a king size sheet and spread it out. By itself it wasn't big enough to do much with. Luckily Anna said she had a black backdrop that was pretty large in size...bingo.

I had this theory that to make the best roof, a piece of cloth would ideally need to be tethered from above and not supported from inside the fort. So, I did what any dad equipped with two garages full of tools, clamps, gadgets and junk would do...I rigged it up. My favorite part about creating this fort was that as soon as Abby saw what was going to happen, I had her attention again. It took about a half hour to get everything just right. I positioned a couple cushions in one spot to keep the daylight out; the roof and sofa did the rest. (I've included a picture for reference).

Abby was pretty excited...and we got everything completed just in time for Avery to wake up from her nap. What else was there to do but get some flashlights, toys and treats in there? My girls and I spent at least a couple hours playing, eating, singing and tickling each other in that fort. In all I think 16 inches of snow fell outside that day, and we hardly saw any of it. But it was a very pretty site when we finally emerged from our princess and puppy filled lair. That was a special day and I can't wait to try it again, of course we'll need to add on next time.

That's Barely Bread

I was lucky enough to have a guys vacation in January. A ski trip to Lake Tahoe was on the schedule for the better part of a year and the anticipation was almost as fun as the trip, well not really. But with all the planning, e-mailing, BS'ing about the upcoming trip, it really carried a lot of momentum through the preceding months. You know, that brings up a curious question about us as homosapiens in this day and age. I’m sure we’ve all experienced it, there’s something out there on the calendar...maybe it's a tee time, maybe it's a massage, or maybe it's a rendezvous with Julianne Hough. Whatever it is, by God we can trudge our way through the days/weeks/months leading up to that event no matter what crapstorm life may fling our way. It’s an innate ability in all of us, almost a sixth sense. If the event is something like a 4+ day vacation then that notion can keep you afloat for months. If I’m being honest, I can easily say I go about my days and weeks with a pretty darn optimistic outlook. I honestly can’t remember ever being down in the dumps or even playing in the bitter barn for more than a moment (maybe that sounds far fetched, but believe you me, it's da truth.) But somehow a vacation on the horizon makes even my days better. So my advice: get a trip on your calendar…Puerto Vallarta 2012, who’s with me?

So, back to Tahoe. My father-in-law (Fred) decided to do the ultimate good man-deed...book a condo in Incline Village and send out the bat signal saying, “I have a place to crash, so boys, buy your plane tickets and let’s go skiing and gambling.” Of course, for those who know Fred, I paraphrased and left out more than a few throat clearings, but the message was sent...and I heard it loud and clear. Staying true to form, there's a chance I may have taken a few liberties with Fred’s generosity.

I really only mentioned it once or twice while we were there, so it bears repeating. If I hadn’t made the trip and overstepped my bounds on inviting more than my share of guys, it would have been a pretty lonely week for Fred, Brian and Tyler. It certainly could be one of my faults, but I guess I'm just the type of dude who tries to make everything bigger and better...and this vacation was no different. I wanted this trip to be EPIC. So, I figured why not bring the total testosterone count from 4 guys to 8 guys? I mean the NCAA Tournament is now a field of 68. Come to think of it, maybe we'll do a play in game or contest to see who makes the cut for our 2012 ski trip to...TBD. In fact, I think one of the events will be sandwich making. And I can tell you who will not be a judge for said sammy making contest...one Brian Cristallo.

You see, my bro-in-law Brian and Fred arrived in Tahoe 3 days before the rest of us did. They got in some skiing, gambling and general merry-making before the amplitude was to be increased, and increased mightily. They were nice enough to do some grocery shopping before we arrived and picked up a gross of bread, a mass of meat and let's not forget, a heap of banana chips. The plan was to make some sandwiches to bring and eat at the mountain and avoid the $15 hamburger. Our first day brought us to Northstar. I made my own sandwiches the night before, prior to B's announcement that he would take charge and make sandwiches for everyone for the following day. He was walking around the condo taking orders, yes to this, no to that, "you want lettuce guy?" was said 7 different times. I'm here to tell you, it was a wonderful gesture.

Anyway, it was about lunch time the next day, and the 6 of us who arrived on Tuesday had just enjoyed our first morning of skiing. Thus, we had no idea what type of effort had been put into the lunches of the previous few days when just Fred and Brian dined together. So, we moseyed over to a table outside the chalet and whipped out the sandwiches from my pack. It was pure bliss...8 guys sitting around the chalet on a sunny day eating lunch, BS'ing about that morning and looking forward to the bulk of the trip still ahead. Only because I had made my own sandwiches and am clearly not the team player Brian is, I had to say it, and had no problem pointing out his one fatal flaw in sandwich creation. I do believe it was Johnny K who was first forced to endure the butt end piece from the bread loaf on his PB&J. Then another appeared, perhaps even on Brian's own sandwich. Between the bickering and insults it was at this point that I lost count, it may have been 2 or 3, but no matter the number it was too many. I mean c'mon man, the end piece is all crust. Not to mention they're about 3/4 the size of the rest of the loaf. You'd need to go Kobayashi and dunk it in a glass of water to soften those pieces up. AND, AND there was an entire loaf of bread still back at the condo...so it wasn't as if these were the last two pieces of "bread" on the block. Looking at the bright side, at least B didn't double butt somebody. So, much props and thanks to B for making 14 or 15 sandwiches...but leave the butt in the bag...and be ready to go at 8:15 next time...

Long Overdue

I'm not going to pretend I've dissapointed any loyal readers, altho I've heard that this blog has been perused before. But, it's a sad state of affairs when I haven't posted a single entry in almost 1 calendar year. Sorry to my wife and girls.

I was working on the post below about 10 months ago and never really finished it...so I'm just publishing it as is. So, now I'm caught up on general blog housekeeping. I forgot how much fun it is to write this damn thing...so I better get to it.


You say Priv-acy I say Prive-acy (written in April 2010)

It's a pretty well known and agreed upon fact that parenthood brings spoils of rewards. They come in all shapes, sizes, flavors and colors. How about the seemingly mundane sentence our Abber Dabbers throws at us all the time, "Mommy/Daddy, guess what?" More times than not this question is followed by a fun little fact about Avery or something she is showing off about herself...hell sometimes we're entertained with a story about a twosie (yeah I know it's a theme). Then, every once in a while, all she says is, Mommy/Daddy, guess what...I love you." This is but one of the countless treasures we are blessed with because I'm a daddy and Anna's a mommy.



Fewer in number, but often times just as enjoyable to ponder are the things taken from us because we've chosen to reproduce. The one that struck me most recently is privacy. I have really always considered myself an open book, and what's more I genuinely prefer being in the company of others almost all the time. But who doesn't love some privacy every now and again? Certainly there are some places you never expect to get any privacy...the kitchen, the family room, the back seat of an '86 Buick Regal. However, once you're the parent to a 2-3 year old every square foot of your house is fair game. About a year ago Abby started to play the game where she would come in and turn the lights off on me while I was in the shower. Of course I would act all surprised and hoot and holler...it was a fun game. And you know, it never really dawned on me that this barrier of privacy was broken forever until last Monday morning when I was showering. I was in mid-snot rocket when the unmistakable sounds of two frolicking little girls came bursting into the bathroom. I pulled the shower curtain back and poked my head around the side just in time to see Abby and Ella chasing some balloons and each other into the bathroom. Yeah, balloons, little girls screaming and laughing...the only thing missing was some cotton candy and a skee ball machine. The funny thing to me was the look of surprise on their faces when they heard my voice and saw my face peeking out from inside the shower. As far as they were concerned I was interrupting their play time. I think I even heard Ella mutter, under her breath, "Next time you should knock AB guy."



How can they call Rice Cereal...cereal?



Avery is now at the stage in her life when she ingests a very steady diet of formula in a bottle, baby food, and rice cereal. I can think back to a time, before Abbers was 6 months old, when rice cereal was completely foreign to me. I'd be totally fine going back to that state of mind. You know, I really think Gerber ought to replace the word "cereal" with "mush" or "meal". Once you've had Cheerios, Raisin Bran, Lucky Charms, Boo Berry ( I could go on forever) it doesn't seem ok to call the stuff Avery eats every day "cereal" as well. Rice Mush or Rice-Meal sounds much more accurate and doesn't risk getting one's hopes up when hearing the name. Either that or the powers that be need to change the word we use for Trix, Golden Grahams and Apple Jacks to something else. If the white mushy stuff stays cereal then Wheaties can be called Ceunreal, or just plain Awesome. "Hey wanna have toast or a bowl of awesome for breakfast?" When compared to Rice Cereal, a bowl of awesome is perfectly apropo.



Little Aves had her 9 month doctor appointment yesterday and Dr. Segedy, who is sensational, officially extinguished the consumption of rice mush in this house. Anna mentioned that Avery was showing less and less interest in it and he said drop it like a bad habit. Out of the corner of my eye I swear I saw Avery do a little fist pump a la Tiger or Derek Jeter...hers was somewhere between the two of them.



I'm sitting here asking myself how my babiest girl is already 9 months old? Her personality is starting to really show itself...along with her teeth. She is currently cutting at least five new teeth, napping for an average of 90 minutes per day, and somehow staying happy. Perhaps it's her new found sense of mobilization. She is finally crawling at a significant rate after threatening to do so for about a month and a half. As with so many milestones for children, this one will be a double edged sword as well. I suppose if Avery lived in the 1400s she would have given Columbus some real sound advice. Considering she doesn't see the edge of the couch, the bed or anything else, I highly doubt she would worry about reaching the edge of the earth. I imagine her advice would go something like, "Flat Earth, round Earth who gives sh...green-turd-filled-diaper? Even if you do reach the edge of the planet just be a man and keep going, there's always some kind of cosmic force there to catch you anyway. But beware, said cosmic force really enjoys kissing what he or she saves."


Anna turns 31





It's about time my lovely wife gets a little ink. What a tremendous wife, mother and person I married and created. Well, she was always a great person, but without me she wouldn't be a wife or mama, so any happily married guys with kids let's tip one back for...well...ourselves. But seriously, I could think of no better way to tell Anna how wonderful she is than by throwing her a huge surprise party. Glad it was my idea...(yeah, it wasn't). At least I can say I organized the whole thing (I'd be lying) and prepared a majority of the food (ha). The only thing I can take credit for is lying my knickers off to keep this thing a secret...the glory really belongs to our dear mate Melissa K. Rock solid planning, scheming and brainwashing are all in a days work for this lass.

It's Only Natural

From where I'm sitting a pond in winter looks best only one way...with a little off the top. Yes sir, every backyard Minnesota pond ought to see some shoveling and skating during the course of a winter. Of course one can take anything too far, so from where you're sitting Johnny, Benny and I may have looked like absolute lunatics...on ice. In the weeks leading up to the prestigious Quad City Boot Hockey Championships we certainly did pull out all the stops to have JK's backyard rink ready. Flooding? Yes, flooding (after a couple mishaps a season before) is now a piece of pie. But what if the rink's superintendent decides to drill a few 3 inch holes in the ice before the snow has been cleared off for the first time? Well, the pond water comes out of those holes and combines with the surface snow to create, well, pretty much the biggest pains in the pooper one could imagine for an ice surface. So, we did what any creative, resourceful, ambitious 30 year olds would do when faced with a deadline. When I said we pulled out all the stops, in this case "stops" meant, backpack leaf blower, propane powered flame thrower, chain saw, hell we would have even dropped trou and made like the smallest little piggy if we thought it would have helped. Well, after many hours of effort we did get the ice in a playable condition. It happened just in time too...just in time for the gigantic Christmas snow storm and the great thaw which ensued. By the time our big tourney came around, all our work was buried beneath 4 new inches of perfectly smooth ice. I guess that's what you get for not procrastinating.

Unfortunately, as I write this, the rink sits in a state of ruin. If it were a pinball game there would be a sign taped over the quarter slot reading "out of order." So, another year of boot hockey and backyard pond skating for the kiddies is over. A monumentous sized thank you is owed to the Konrads for hosting, readying and giving...all things, all the time. If it weren't for his backyard rink and Call of Duty: Modern Warfare II, JK may have actually slept this winter. Bravo Guy, bravo.

As I illuded, the good ol' Metro Area, as we natives like to call it, or what the country folk refer to as "The Cities" was recently the beneficiary of a bit of a warm spell and the snow banks have receded more than Josh Lucas' hairline. Spring is really a wonderful and beautiful time of year...but the weeks at the end of winter and beginning of spring are quite ugly really. I suppose I could coin a new word and call this time of year "Winting" or "Sprinter." A dumb name for an equally wretched looking portion of the year. I mean...look outside, the only snow that's left is covered in sand, dirt and chopped up asphalt from the road...gorgeous. We can now see what is supposed to be grass, but, in many areas, more closely resembles the hair on the head of that certain science or math teacher we all remember. You know, the one who put an overabundant amount of "product" and/or grease in his hair and chose to style it with a spatula...beauty. So, forgive me if the picturesque photo which usually sits atop these blog entries is absent this time. It was either nothing or 2-3 month old doggy dung sitting upon the aforementioned greasy grass (I'd say I got this one right on).

Anna and I did just recently get back from a week long vacation in Nuevo Vallarta. John and Melissa Konrad were nice enough to let us tag along to a not so little resort called Paradise Village. I use the term "tag along" not so much because our compadres saw us as inferior travel companions, but because the hotel did. At this place you were either a member or a guest. And, it wasn't hard to tell the difference. It was as if the slender Mexican man behind the check in counter was saying, "I would lov to poot a stomp on your foarhead wheech says 'Tina Tightwad' and 'Peter Penny Pincher' but all I hov are thees one eench thick, indestructeeble teal wreestbands wheech I will poot on you and you can not get off". I have worn the same sort of wristbands many times at various all inclusive resorts...when the wristbands get you everything you want for free. Well the only thing these wristbands got us was a few eye rolls from the bartenders. John and I played a lot of sand volleyball during the week, a lot of sand volleyball. Being that the average daytime temp was 85 degrees, we drank our fair share of H2O. I made the mistake of forgetting I was wearing the teal badge of shame, and I also made the mistake of making every single water run to the bar. Yeah I forgot about the wristband...until I got to the bar. The waiter and bartenders' looks were the same every time, "Oh, Senor Cheapskate Teal Wreestband, you would like more FREE ice waters...what a surprise?" It's a damn good thing they obliged because it was seriously hot and should I have gotten snubbed by the bartenders and really gotten dehydrated and, say, collapsed on the court? I'm pretty certain the hotel employees and members would have taken one glance at my left wrist and said, "Forget it, he's just a guest."

So after day 2 of sand volleyball JK and I are back at our beach palapa with the ladies and somehow the conversation turns to yours truly bossing people around on the volleyball court...of course those are John's words, not mine. Well, I didn't notice it driving past on the beach, but apparently the tear into AB bandwagon pulled into the station and found three gringos ready to saddle up. I just stood tall, grinned and listened to each of them pour it on. A general conclusion was reached (not factoring my input) which stated I am too serious and too competitive to just play some nice and easy resort volleyball. What can one do when such a decision is rendered? Nothing...you can only go about your business and prove them false. Either that, or secretly wish for a group of four, 60+ year old volleyball banditos to come along and rescue you. Their names were Stan, Niko, Joe and Mac. Yes, they were all above the age of 60 and they all played volleyball together.

Tournament day was upon us and this resort's version of the Golden Girls wanted JK and I on their team. More amazing than the fact that they were all over 60 is that they were all pretty darn good, a couple quite good. We had a chance to meet Stan a day or two earlier and learn his story. He was laid up in his room for the previous few days after throwing out his back while working out. He spends a few months in Mexico every winter and he informed us that he expected the winter of 2007 to be his last. He has two forms of terminal cancer, according to doctors should have been dead three years ago, has a golf ball sized lump on his chest where the needle for his chemo goes, lives in Chicago and played competitive volleyball when he was younger. So, if you think when Stan's feet hit the court on Tourney day he was just happy to be upright, alive and knocking the volleyball around a bit...you'd be sorely mistaken. After telling a few people what they should have done better, he uttered to me, "Let's play hard, I don't like losing at anything..." Joe and Mac were further down the intensity scale, but still aggressive. Niko was a pompous Scandinavian control freak whose accent I couldn't quite place even as he was disparaging me mere inches from my right ear. He always knew everything, even the score of the game, which was actually nice because no one else ever did. (I just realized that I never made fun of him for serving underhand.) Team Geezer, with a combined age north of 300 years, did not win the free drink which was awarded to the tournament champions, but a consolation prize for John and I was getting to play volleyball with those guys for the rest of...all the live long day.

Stan

It may sound like I disliked the old guys, which really isn't true. They were very nice people, and a couple of them were just unbalanced enough to allow me to get a full retraction about my so called "antics" on the very same volleyball court. What's the score now Niko?

Our Return from Paradise...

Not much in the way of Abby and Avery postings this time, but I did notice one very interesting and noteworthy thing about our youngest after we got back to the states. She's gotten a lot faster. Her head turns faster, her arms move around a lot faster, she wiggles and bounces faster. You know on some old tape players how you could fast forward but still hear the voices? Or some tape recorders how you could slow down or speed up the voices to make them sound like Alvin and the Chipmunks...well, Avery is moving around like that. In fact, she sort of moves like a chipmunk. Very fast, very fast, look around nervously, very fast, very fast...and so on.

Funny Abby quote:

While describing (in Disney terms) how long she was sitting atop the porcelain throne while going twosies one day Abby said, "My poop was inside me for as long as Nemo was lost for."

Jack Bauer's replacement...

I can't really believe it took 3 1/2 years, but it did. Abby finally got out of her bed without our direct permission. Our eldest daughter must have seen her bed and covers as a comfy prison. After a long night's sleep or an afternoon napper, where was Abby? You could always find her in her bed. No, not in her bedroom, in the actual bed. Since her induction into the world of big girl beds, she patiently waited for Mommy or Daddy to come take down the forcefield and release her from the shackles of pink and brown sheets and pillows. Then one day she'd had enough.

I can just imagine her creeping out of bed on her own for the first time. I picture her carrying a brown satchel slung across her chest, complete with the whip and brown fedora hat. If she was as clever and resourceful as Indiana Jones who knows...she may have been sneaking out of her room for months? But one early morning as Anna went down the stairs she was met by our little adventurer on her way up them. I don't know who was more surprised. I'm sure Abbers was ecstatic to see she wasn't in any trouble for her blatant disregard of, well no rules at all. We never told her she had to stay in bed...until 4 days later anyway. So, what does a 3 year old do with such a new found freedom? Use it, exploit it and lose it seems to be the natural progression. Well, for the next three or four days Anna and I woke up to our Abbers (at 5:00-6am mind you)...no not to her poking us, not to the sound of pots, pans, toys, talking, singing, doors slamming, none of the logical ideas. Yep, for the better part of a week, she woke up, opened her door, crept up the stairs, came in our room and...hung out. Yep, she simply sat on her arse, and waited (and probably put out the vibe) while never making a sound. I'm thinking she's gonna make either a great stalker or superb field agent, either way the FBI is probably in her future. Of course, it was sweet and adorable and only a little weird. The result: she now must stay in her room until the clock says 7:something. And I will tell you what, she is punctual...I saw 7:01 on my clock everyday thereafter. Then we had to teach her how to turn on the TV.




It's about time Avery gets a little pub...

We have grown accustomed to our youngest flashing smile after smile after adorable little smile (now complete with teeth...err, well tooth). She truly is a happy baby and oh my how she loves her big sister. She laughs and smiles at virtually everything Abby does for her, with her and to her. However, beneath that darling facade, there is a diabolical side. Yes, little Avery is ahead of her time. More often than not, when Abby is disciplined within earshot of her baby sister, Avery gleams from ear to ear. It's truly as if Avery's stickin' it to her big sister already. I knew I liked this kid. I suppose it could mean trouble for this guy because I honestsly figured any sibling rivalries wouldn't begin for a few years. Imagine that, something else I got wrong about girls.



Pondering the Perils of Parenthood

There are a myriad of things one can expect when starting down Parenthood Lane. The first few things that come to mind are diapers, bottles, sleepless nights, trips to the park, brainwashing, the list goes on and on. There are an equal number of things one could never foresee, even with Miss Cleo on retainer. This list includes being completely willing to use your hands and clothes as tissues and toilet paper, trying to wholeheartedly give voices and personalities to Disney Princesses and Barbies, seriously considering DVR'ing Keeping up with the Kardashians (wait, that has nothing to do with child rearing does it?). But perhaps the most bizarre phenomenon I've stumbled upon are the rogue children sprinkled across every park in the southwest suburbs.

Let me explain. You take your kid(s) to a busy park one evening. Everything seems normal enough, no full moon, el nino is several months away...it's regular. You are physically ready and mentally prepared to play and look after whose kid(s)? Yeah, your kid(s). Not five minutes after your feet hit the wood chips and you've grown an extra appendage. You got it, it's this park's rogue kid! "Watch what I can do." "My name is Biff." "C'mon let's go this way." "Do you like my Willie Nelson tattoo?" These are the things that come out of this kid's mouth. It's a bona fide ambush and you are a sitting duck. Smile, chuckle, try to be cordial, what else are you gonna do? But your new conjoined twin doesn't pick up on social cues...astonishin

g, he's 5. I don't mean to imply that this child is nasty, or ill-willed at all...he's just really terrific at invading your personal space. Whatever combination of parents junior has are obviously not cutting it in the attention department. And whether they know it or not, they've been spiking his sippy cups with shots of creepy.

So, you turn your focus back to your kid(s), but a thousand questions are running through your head. Where are Biff's mom and dad? How many other people has he beseiged in his career? How many cans of Red Bull has rogue boy shotgunned today? Does he think I'll want to play with him more because he is steamrolling my daughter on his way up the rope ladder? Why does he smell like a hamster cage? The funny part of the entire episode is that my kid (3 years) thinks it's as weird as I do. Most likely the really funny part is what I don't notice...Frodo's parents laughing their arses off on a not-so-nearby bench.

This brings me to a story of one special roguester we met at a park near our house. We refer to him as Spider-Man kid. Not because of his prowess on the monkey bars, not even close, more because he was wearing a Spidey t-shirt and calling himself...well...Spider-Man. He was as aggressive as any rogue kid I've seen. Maybe 5 or 6 years old...dude was all over the place, seriously bonkers, like Robin Williams on a talk show. It was also obvious he wasn't..entirely..there. Poor kid's mom did come over after awhile to run some interference for us, or at least give it her best shot. From the looks of it, he had already eaten her for breakfast that morning. I gotta give her credit though because he looked hungry and she must have looked like a corn dog smothered in chocolate chip cookies to him. In case that wasn't clear, she didn't stand a chance.

The highlight of this chance encounter came 15-20 painful minutes in to his interrogation of us. At one point, after answering 30-40 of his questions (Anna is so nice), Peter Parker's proverbial bulb lights up and he asks my wife the following: "Can I hold your baby?" At this point Avery is about 120 hours old, as if that matters. What comes to my head? Well, the kind version is, "UMMM, we'll pass." I turn to Anna and I didn't quite recognize her. Probably because she suddenly looked like a guard at Fort Knox. That and the face she wore looked like she was asked to give the square root of 589,658.23, without using a calculator. Spidey waved, with both arms, as we moseyed on home.

If you haven't experienced this playground wonder, it's only a matter of time because...they are everywhere.

Short Abby story:

Abby was very excited when Anna picked her up from the health club daycare this evening. She told her mom, "I talked tonight." Definitely pat-on-the-back worthy for our shy Abber Dabbers. The teacher from daycare corroborated Abby's statement. Apparently Abby told her teacher that her daddy is funny and I tell her jokes. When prompted to tell a joke she learned from her daddy, Abby said, "Why did Tigger stick his head in the toilet?"
Teacher: "I don't know, why?"
Abby: He was looking for Poo(h)"

AWESOME

Maybe a resolution will help?

There are really only two options when posting one's first blog entry in almost 11 months...try explain the events of the remainder of 2009 or simply pick it up from here and hope readers can catch on. I am going with the latter (I assume the extensive audience this blog reaches will understand).

What would a new year be without some well intentioned resolutions to screw up? I've never been one to give much weight to making a betterment pledge because there was recently a one digit change to the date we write on our checks and signed documents. But for whatever reason this new decade actually feels like something. Maybe it's because we are in a new decade? Maybe it's because I've never before been 30 when the calendar turned over? Or maybe it's the "pine mouth" I've been experiencing for about a week...it definitely makes the new year taste different.

In any case, I'm declaring that resolutions are in! Blogging more frequently is definitely my most challenging goal, but I'll do anything for my fans...and by "fans" I mean daughters. When they are old enough to read these entries about their family, I'm hoping they don't start to wonder why Daddy got dumber after he turned 30. You see, since venturing in to the nail bending business I have not written much of anything and it seems I have used only the construction side of my brain. Whoever said, "if you don't use it, you lose it" was right. So I'm also declaring that monosyllabic expressions are in, at least for a month or two.

Well, Christmas came and went faster than Abby's smile while perched upon EP Center Santa's knee. I think the only reason she even went close to him without crying is because Avery was on a collision course with jolly old Saint Nick too. This particular Santa photo parlour employed 3 elves whose jobs were, take pictures, collect money and keep any sparks or easily combustible materials away from the big man's beard. I mean, if all you do is snap photos wouldn't you be ready to pull the trigger at any time the kids on Santa's lap are smiling? Well, camera elf was not exactly Johnny on the spot. And wouldn't you know it, Abby was all smiles...for about 23 seconds, then, for Abbers, it may as well have been a picture from the early 1900s. I've often wondered why, in old photos, nobody is smiling? What's with that? And just as interesting to me...when did everyone decide, ok, let's try to not look like we're in the middle of the bubonic plague. Perhaps it's about the same time people started to care about hygiene and began to brush their chiclets? Anywho, Abby stonewalled real good for the duration of our Santa visit and camera elf captured, count 'em, zero smiles. Honestly, the picture is more memorable this way anyway.

I seem to recall comparing Abby's gift opening technique last year with a well known US Swim Team backstroker. So with the XXI Olympic Winter Games set to get underway next month, what does this year's present thrashing compare to that we may see in Vancouver? Abby was definitely Bode Miller, not because she quit the US Gift Opening team and took all of her presents back to her RV and opened them alone. No, she was carving her way through gift after gift, sometimes on one foot...it was hard to keep up with her. Avery would be best compared to someone in the same discipline, only someone who wrecked and now just sits and drools. Of course, her wide open, gorgeous baby blues are tough to replicate. I think maybe my favorite thing from this Christmas was this little high pitched, excited, mini-scream Abby would let out when she opened something she was really excited about. I really didn't appreciate the joy of giving until I witnessed the excitement and Christmas magic present in the eyes and soul of my oldest little girl. Yes, this Christmas was stocked with plenty of presents, but more importantly, it was filled with family, friends, laughter and wonderful new memories. Merry Christmas indeed.

Speaking of the bippidy-boppidy-boo properties of the Christmas season, there was certainly some Christmas mojo going on at our place on December the 12th. How else could one explain the 9 or 10 liters of booze we crushed that night? Our 35+ guests walked through the front door, entered the boundary of the kitchen and never left. I had to bob and weave my way through the crowd simply to reach the fridge to get more ice for the 300 drinks I mixed. At one point the lady of the house was recruiting, with fervor, people to drink red bull vodkas...just because. If you weren't careful you might have found yourself competing in a game of (pull the lever) CandyLand, in which shots were levied to the losers. There were yule tidings abound, one in particular came in writing..."Merry effin Christmas, Jesus." That was a first for this guy. It was easy to hear the music and difficult to hear conversations. It literally felt like being at the bar, glad that shipment of urinal cakes came in the previous week. There are 3 things I will say in summation:

1. everyone was in the mood to have some fun...

2. every conversation led back to Tiger Woods...

3. some people just don't appreciate an authentic re-creation of the pyrotechnics at the Vegas club Rain...

I will also add a few good party tips:

1. torches are great for a. starting fires, and b. prematurely ending parties

2. Usher played three times in a row, four different times does, in fact, constitute good song variety

3. every good shindig sees someone get their hair burned

Story from 2009

While Daddy is showering, Abby loves to come in the bathroom and turn off the lights. Well, she came in a little late one day because I was hopping out wearing...zippiddy-doo-dah. She stops short...stares...points...and asks, "Daddy, what are those things underneath your peanuts?"

Do I hear Shakespeare?

[This entry is about 3 weeks late due to many extenuating circumstances. Getting laid off, contracting a computer virus I still haven't gotten rid of and some laziness. So, the following events are no longer real time.]

This entry will start out in the present because I just went in to Abby's room to get her up from her nap and...was promptly kicked out. The bouncer wasn't very nice either. I can't believe it, Abbers would rather stay in her bed than get up and hang out with me. So, I guess I'll journal about it...yeah, no I'm still straight. I will simply take it as a compliment and that she adores her new room. More about that in a bit.

So what does she do in there when she's not sleeping? For as long as she's been able to make sounds Abby has talked in her crib/bed. Before she goes to sleep at night, after she wakes up from naps, and sometimes even in the morning...she talks. Not only does she talk, but she sings, makes noises, does monologues, anything she can do for entertainment. We've always had the monitor on and can hear the sounds emanating from her room and I've always wondered what's going on in there? I sometimes imagine her like Peyton Manning standing at the line of scrimmage (her crib rail) pointing (at her stuffed animals) and yelling out an audible. Puppy you go out and up; Baby Jaguar-sideline route; Mickey, you're the hot diggity dog route...Dora butterfly, Blue forty-two, Swiper eleventeen set hut! Sometimes I think she's putting on a Shakespeare play in there. Other times I picture Abby standing in her crib conducting a symphony of color, sound and light. It's like Woodstock or Lollapalooza, that is until Mommy or Daddy opens the door. I'll literally open it up really quickly to try and catch any piece of the concert. Perhaps the biggest reason I think she's producing some type of performance is because anytime I've popped my head in there she looks at me with a mischevious stare as if I've interrupted something. All the stuffed animals hold up their bic lighters and aim 'n flames behind my back just waiting for me to leave so they can witness the encore. And sure enough, as soon as the door latches behind me it's off again to never never land for our Abber Dabbers. I truly hope I am not alone in my imagination of what goes on behind closed toddler doors, but it wouldn't be the the first time I've been on a solitary island with my crazy thoughts...

All of that brings me to the moment I just experienced. I walked in to Abby's room to get her up from her nap and was greeted with the aforementioned blank stare. I had missed another show. For all I know it was her year two of life opus. I'll never know. But I do know that this was the first time she actually snubbed me. In fact, her little "I'd rather stay napping than get up" bit almost got me in the dog house. Anna woke up from her nap and while I was typing away here she went in to get Abby. When she noticed I was home and was, of course, goofing around on the computer instead of attending to our daughter, she gave me "the look." Anyone familiar with Garage Logic will know what "the look" is. In fact, any guy who's married or who has been in a relationship for 72 hours will know as well. Anyway, I quickly talked my way out of that one by informing my wife that I had been brutally rebuffed by our 2 1/2 year old.

So about that new room of Abby's. Well, things have been hectic in this Brett household as we are preparing for the July arrival of the 4th member of our family. We moved rooms, Abby moved rooms, our office moved levels and Abby's old room is now vacant. We acquired some old furniture from Grandma Barb and I picked up another project...re painting and finishing two dressers, a night stand and a bookcase for Abby's new room. Where do I find the time? Well some time has certainly been stolen from this blog, oh well. But really, time is something I've had a lot of lately. I've been working for myself going on three weeks now. I've decided to go out on my own doing anything and everything home related. So, for whoever may be reading this, here is my shameless plug: spread the word to anyone and everyone who may need a new deck, a finished basement, painting, bathrooms, tile work, windows, doors, you name it. Ok, I feel cheapened, but what the hell, it's my blog, like six people read it, and I'm related to all of them one way or another...ha.

Anyway, we finished with all the room switching and Abby is officially in her big girl room and in her big girl bed. Wow, how did she get to be so old? She now says her favorite store is Target, well she says "Tahget" and since she has her mom's taste in stores and says the name like a mobster, I'm hoping she'll have my taste in movies and she and I will be watching The Godfather sooner rather than later. She also loves to come with me to Menards and Home Depot. Everytime we go by the paint department she makes me stop so she can get a color sample to bring home to Mommy.

During one of our most recent trips, with Mommy, Abbers and I went down the tile section and she spotted some yellow sponges. I didn't notice that she noticed them, but when we came back down that aisle a few minutes later we stopped paying real close attention to her. We were looking at tile and this and that and before we knew it we looked up and saw what, to us, was both hilarious and amazing. Well, Home Depot has these black bumper type poles in strategic areas so their displays aren't dented or run over by runaway carts or fork lifts. One would never really notice them or pay them any attention. That is, unless you're 2 1/2 and they're just about as tall as you are. We looked up and saw that Abbers had stealthily crept around to at least seven or eight of these black bumper poles and adorned each of them with a nice fluffy yellow hat. Anna and I looked at each other and burst into laughter. Abby was happy to see we didn't care about her little sponge distribution project and let her continue spreading golden pourous rectangle cheer. Maybe the cutest part of the whole thing was that she went about her business as happy as a little beaver sucking on a dum dum the nice lady who worked in the floring department gave to her. The only side effect is that now everytime we're in Home Depot she asks where the suckers are...

I think my entrys have been pretty rant free, but that's about to end. Anna and I have been looking at various tile for a backsplash we've been meaning to do for awhile now. We recently ramped up our search and have been buying samples to bring home and test out. Well, I have ordered samples of hardwood floor online before and things went great. I suspected that would hold true for tile as well. At least I was hoping as much since I had found a great looking copper colored pillow tile online which I wanted to see in person. The tiles are 4x4 inches and one square foot costs about $11. So the company said I could get a sample for $8.98 and they would ship for free. Great deal I thought. So my package finally came and I open it up to discover one, count it one 4x4 tile which is chipped, scratched and generally beat up. Nevermind the fact that if I decided to actually order this tile to put up in my kitchen I couldn't use the one tile they sent me because it's crap. I do have a problem with that. But I paid $8.98 for a sample of tile. A sample of tile that costs about $11 per square foot...and do they send me about 4/5 or 9/10 of a foot? NO, they send me exactly 1/9 of a square foot. What is that? I'll have to write another entry dedicated to concept of "getting it" and when I do DekoTile.com will certainly be on the list of people and/or companies who do not "get it"!

This weekend we went to the Minnesota Zoo with Johnny, Missy, Ella, Jen and Brian. It was pretty darn cold outside so we decided to stick with the inside exhibits. Probably a wise decision since Ella was just getting started with her pink eye medication and Abby stumbled upon some sort of illness sometime that morning. Overall the zoo trip was uneventful. It should be noted that I think Abby's favorite part was the "money game". Yeah, the one where you slide coins down the slide and travel around and around the giant funnel before plopping down into the donation bucket locked below. At least fountains and wells implore the kids to make a wish before throwing all that change our new president sees so fit to lead us towards, into the water. Yeah, I'm pretty sure I have the right definition of "change". But I digress, aside from the "money game", the bird show we saw was likely the highlight. The dolphin show was the main attraction for our group, but that promiscuous sea mammal got knocked up and is out for the rest of the regular season. We'll have to hit up Como Zoo this Spring to compare...

I'll end with another good Abby quote,

"Daddy these pieces of licorice are little like me."