We're taking the kids to Minnesota for Christmas. They've all been on airplanes before, but at 5 1/2 (boys) and 8 (Ellen) months, so they don't remember it. This will be, in effect, their first Big Trip. They seem into the idea of flying, which I hope will translate to actually enjoying it, or at least not freaking out about it. Hell, I'm forty and have flown a couple hundred times, and turbulence still makes me nervous. I do remember flying solo from Texas to New Jersey by age five, though.

We're also going to a beach house with two other families in August, though by car. I'm considering that a dress rehearsal for Minnesota, putting aside the weather differences and proximity of other kids their age. That is, how well can our brood stay in an unfamiliar place for several days, and what can we do to keep things going smoothly?

After this weekend, Liss reached the point of trying something new - a behavior jar. She brought home a bunch of unused centimeter-cubed blocks from school, and found an old vase. At dinner, she explained some good behaviors that earn them blocks, and poor behaviors that would have blocks taken out. We modeled both kinds of behaviors, which put me on the spot; I clearly have no gift for non-comedic improv. When the jar gets full, they can decide on a fun thing to do, for which they don't know how to think big yet, which is great. We also needed to emphasize that we, not they, decide when blocks go in or out.

There are a couple of unspoken parts, too. One, since there's only one jar, they each have an interest in their siblings' behavior. You don't want to earn a block just to have it taken out because your brother argues with Mom about something.

The other is more subtle. After our excursion last night (below), I made a show of giving them each two blocks for doing a good job there, which they did. Then, I took one out, because Bobby had come to me saying Andrew had fought him over something, I forget what. The lesson here is not to fight, but in their minds, it could be that we can fight, just keep it on the down-low and don't let Dad find out. And y'know, I'm okay with that. They need to figure out how to resolve things without our intervention, and goodness knows we've told them many ways to do that.

Anyway, they seemed into the concept; they want us to hand them their blocks so they can put them in themselves. I'm a little lukewarm, because it's One More Thing, but I'll try to keep on my game face. Her idea is that we be a little overly generous the first time or two it fills up, to help hook them, then start scaling back. We'd have to do that gradually, like the frog in hot water, which we did reasonably well with the M&Ms as potty rewards. We also had a "wait for the green light" stamps-on-paper reward system for a while for the boys, which petered out soon after their first rewards^(*), partially because they stopped caring, but also because they were waiting for the light without that reinforcement.

Or, instead of scaling back on frequency, we could also use smaller blocks.

Last night we tried an experiment, taking the kids to a neighborhood safety meeting that we knew would go past their bedtimes. There was going to be child care provided on the side, which is good, because the actual proceedings would have bored them to distraction. The caregivers were volunteers from the UW Nursing school. It ended up going pretty well, though when we went to get Ellen, she was clearly tired and ready for bed. I had to tear the boys away from a guy who was telling the Three Little Pigs to/with them with more zest than I could ever muster.

The meeting, sadly, was mostly a waste of our time, rehashing old issues instead of progressing into new ones. The real bugger was near the end, though, with its theme of "There's lots to do and few people here. Since you bothered to show up, you must want to volunteer for everything!"

Both heard in the last few days during snuggly moments:

• "Dad? You lost some of your hair back there!" - Bobby
• "Your hair is gone!" - Ellen while playing with it

Thanks, kids. Thanks.

As Andrew and I were heading to the car Saturday morning (see below), he was holding his Buzz Lightyear, a fruit pouch, and his little bag of coins. It was a bit precarious, and the Buzz starting slipping from under his arm, which he mentioned. I couldn't resist.

"So, you're losing your Buzz?"

"Yeah."

From Amy:

Signs that we were tired Sunday morning:

• I made coffee, except I forgot to pour the water in the hopper, so the machine just heated the full pot of water for me.
• Liss cracked an egg directly into the compost bin.

I switch between glasses and contact lenses, which kind of confuses the kids, especially when I put in my contacts, since they're less in-their-face by not being on mine. What I have to really restrain myself from explaining, however, it that the two exhibit the exclusive or property; I can't see without either, but I also can't see while wearing both. I can see fine when wearing either.

This, of course, is only because both implements are of my current prescription. I'm certain that there are several combinations of glasses/contacts prescriptions that would combine into my actual prescription. In fact, mathematically, there must be infinite combinations thereof, but manufacturers only have so many decimal places on their machines. Besides, wearing both would be twice the hassle.

This is the kind of thing my mind muses on, but can't explain to the kids yet. So I write them down for them to read and roll their eyes at later. In all likelihood, each rolling eye will sport some sort of corrective lens.

Saturday we tried some garage sales. Money's been tight, but the kids need summer clothes, and we thought they were ready for the spectacle and vulturism. The kickstarter was the community sale day in my old neighboorhood, which let us concentrate our efforts. We could pick a section from the map and just park once and walk among sales.

In preparation, we had them get money from their piggy banks to buy things for themselves. That would take pressure off us to get them random stuff. We put them in small sandwich bags, which was pretty cute to see them toting around.

Because of the boys' soccer/gymnastics stuff, we took two cars, me with Andrew. We hit maybe seven sales in our hour, and only got a few things - a couple of books for me and three pieces of clothing for Ellen.

Oh, and as we were leaving one place, Andrew said "I want this" to one of those toy kitchens. Now, they have a tiny one, and they play with it quite a bit, so at ten bucks I thought it'd be a good investment. I bent down and told him, "If I get this, it's for everybody" instead of just him, which agreed to, so no problem. Now, as I was getting ready to take it to the car, the seller told me that it comes apart for easier carrying, which she and her daughter (maybe nine) showed me. Under the top half was a battery compartment, which - stop right there.

Now, if I'd been selling this, I like to think that I'd have the presence of mind to very subtlely point out to the parent that the compartment exists, and leave it at that. Instead, she pointed it out to both of us, and said it makes the burners light up! Buttons make noises! Later, Andrew relayed to his siblings about this new kitchen, with burners that light up! And buttons that make noise! It's still in the trunk, waiting for us to vet it.

After gymnastics and some errands, we went back home, meeting up about the same time as the rest. Besides a couple more clothes for Ellen - apparently West Seattle people only have daughters - Bobby and Ellen had each found a couple of things to buy with their money. This set off Andrew' who was jealous that they had something to play with, but I think it was more that they had new things they didn't have to share right at that time. Also included in this was a new kid-sized chair "for everybody." All of these whoa-new-things combined to a lot of angst and whinery - enough that we'll have to rethink taking them for sale excursions for a while. To get Andrew back to par, Liss offered to take the boys back out during Ellen's nap, during which time he found a robot that pleased him well enough.

We told the boys they could come into our room to help with an emergency if we didn't respond from the monitor, with examples of blood, puke, poop, and pee. Last night at 2am, Bobby became the first to actually do it - saying his water bottle was low. I believe some recalibration is in order.

It wouldn't be so bad if we didn't have sleep problems, but it took both of us an hour to drift back.

During Bobby's last hair wash, he wasn't his usual "please kill me now instead of subjecting me to this," but rather "man, this sucks." Progress.

I haven't gone with Bobby to his Saturday soccer, but Amy says he's head and shoulders above the other few in the beginner class, paying attention and clearly trying to apply what he's learning, plus a naturally straight kicker. She asked about moving him up, which she's sure got her the Overbearing Soccer Mom label, until the beginning coach vouched for him, but the intermediate class was full. We'll get him in there when the next session starts in a couple of months.

Most of those kids are four instead of almost four, and they do things designed for the average-sized four-year-old, which Bobby is not. This includes exercises like putting one's foot on top of the ball, alternating feet, which in his case means almost kneeing himself in the face to get his foot up there. So, he's a little outmatched in that regard, which if his parents are any indiciation, is going to be the case until he's past twenty. That's okay - lack of size can be made into an advantage with quickness and cunning.

Andrew, for his part, thinks his gymnastics is just "okay," and we share the same view. We'll ask if he wants to switch to some other activity when this ends.

Ellen will probably start soccer in the fall, when she's old enough (there's a 2 1/2 class), because she really wants to. This Saturday I kept having to tell her that she and I were going to take the train to a bakery, which only just kept her from repeating that she wanted to accompany Bobby to soccer instead.

It's very common for the boys to hang around the house in only their underwear. If we get home from some morning excursion, they'll strip off their clothes and put them in the laundry, far too prematurely, but their goal is near-nudity, not efficiency.

In fact, they want to wear as little as they can get away with when they go outside, too. This has resulted in many rounds of going outside, being cold, and quickly going back in. Rare is the instance where this means putting on more clothes and coming back out - usually they just declare the endeavor void and want to stay inside. This will happen less often as the summer comes, which will then result in rude awakenings after they're accustomed to the warmth and the fall approaches.

The kids have assigned themselves roles in a bear family - Bobby as Daddy Bear, Andrew as Momma Bear, and Ellen as Baby Bear. I haven't seen them do much structured around this, but it's definitely there, and they all happily accept their labels and refer to them frequently. Liss has received the honorary title of Grandma Bear, which if she doesn't like it, hasn't said so.

The kids - especially the boys - have gone through long stints of being anti-singing. They might be getting over it, as evidenced by Liss's birthday two weeks ago, for which all three joined in singing Happy Birthday to her. She nearly teared up over it.

My birthday was last night, and they did it again. I get where she's coming from.

I've been reading a bit about epigenetics, since I'm a nerd and fine with that. It's also a quick answer to the question of how one of our identical twins can be celiac and the other not. Bobby has a 75% chance of getting it; one might ask, if his identical twin has it, why is that not 100%? Epigenetics is the answer. Simply put, every one of your cells (except egg and sperm) have the same massive DNA blueprint, but each has certain markers that turn various genes on or off. It's what makes a kidney cell different from an eyeball cell. The markers can change due to environment, even in the womb. Something happened at some point that turned Andrew's immune system against wheat. Bobby hasn't had that happen yet, but it's probably just a matter of time. Thankfully, he gets a free test every year from the diabetes study.

I'm not sure how it started, but at dinner last night, I suggested the children put us to bed and they stay up. But first, they'd have to read us some stories. Liss said "I want Corduroy." Taking her cue - or perhaps overtaking it - I countered "I want Corduroy!" and pretended to half-whine half-cry. This set off a flurry of similar mockery of our children's quickness to take offense, which may not be the best parenting techinque on record, but they thought it was hilarious and, as she put it, was "very theraputic."

Based on the goings on during the actual bedtime process, they learned nothing from it.

We've been slowly letting the kids play on the back patio without us able to see them, though with the boys more than Ellen, as she likes to wander into the grass. We stay in audio range. This is the time in their lives when having a fenced yard would be fabulous, but alas.

It's been brewing for months, but Bobby finally had to fulfill his end of the bargain and get his hair cut. He took it fairly well - pretty wary at first, but smiling by the end. Now, telling the boys apart is even easier. However, we think it's a short line between the first time someone mistakes Andrew for a girl and he wants his cut, too. That'll be months from now, though; their hair grows pretty slowly, just like the rest of them.

Pre-schooler nose-picking tip #4: Wash your hands first. You don't want to put anything gross in there.

Sunday was just a bad day. All three kids were being high maintenance. It's not too bad when one is, but it gets pretty bad with two, but this time it was all of them.

Liss made donuts in the morning, and with their help, it took ninety minutes instead of thirty. Ellen started hitting. Andrew pushed. Bobby pushed back. They'd melt down over the smallest, dumbest things. Ellen got two time outs. The boys were behaving like they were Two again.

It wasn't all bad, with a trip to a park and the ice cream shop and playing catch outside and a mostly-civil bath, but at the end of the day, we'd spent the entire time keeping them occupied and on the go. We'd done nothing for ourselves, unless you count Liss getting to cook three times, since she likes that, but seriously, that was it.

The only real reprieve we got was during Ellen's nap; after the boys' quiet time, Liss put "Up!" on to keep the boys placated, and I was able to get myself a nap. We don't like resorting to screen time, especially as a "reward" for being difficult, but we were at that point. Part of our potential weekend plans were to take the boys or everyone to a new movie, but they didn't pass muster, not that they knew it was an option.

I know they're on an upward trajectory, but this was definitely the Two Steps Back part.

With summer approaching, we're considering window A/C units for the kids' rooms. I think I'm leaning no, for the sole reason that we wouldn't be able to stop them from tinkering with the controls, but there's another big reason - their windows open from side to side. Ours go up and down, so pinching our unit was easy, with the little wings and all. Theirs would be a big hassle.

Liss had the thought that Ellen could sleep in our room on hot nights - her room gets the direct sunset, plus she has heat-sensitive skin problems and generally sweats more. I countered that there's probably no way to do that without the boys wanting to do the same thing, and though there's little data so far, all three have a bad history with it.

Telling the boys apart is easy now. Visually, we're wrong about 2% of the time, when one of them happens to use a facial expression in the style normally reserved for his brother. Verbally - when we can't see them - it's more like 30%, which hey, is better than random chance.

It's the end of an era. Last night, the jingly music went by, and Andrew said "there's the ice cream truck."

So, someone ratted us out. We can't call it the music truck anymore.

Thankfully, he didn't insist we patronize its wares.

We ran out of Carnation - i.e. "chocolate milk" - powder, and won't be buying more unless a doctor makes us.

In what may or may not be part of the grieving process, Ellen was outside on the porch; we have some old formula scoops out there for various purposes. She was digging dirt out of the potted plants and declaring that she was "making chocolate milk."

When mentioning for the second time that he wants to be a scientist, I asked what kind of scientist. "A bug scientist."

That's ... totally a thing. Entomologist. I don't know if he'd heard "bug scientist" elsewhere or made it up, but whatever. I can easily get behind that.

This morning Bobby emerged to pee, but moved the stool out of the way, declaring that he didn't need it anymore. I watched, impressed. With both toilet lids up, his penis barely goes over the toilet lip. He then peed - up. It got all over the undersides of the lids.

"Uh, maybe you need the stool after all." "Aim for the water, guys." [Andrew was hanging around]

His response was to stop mid-stream. After I cleaned things up as best I could, he kicked us out to finish in private, but clearly still without a stool. So, I guess the solution to getting away with something is to not have a witness. Smart kid.

The boys had their diabetes study visits this weekend, which is something I've come to dread. They were uncharacteristically upbeat about it, or at least resigned in Bobby's case. With their new soccer/gymnastics things on Saturdays, we opted for two separate visits, so I took Andrew after the gym and lunch.

All in all, it really wasn't that bad. The sticking point for me - no pun intended - is the blood draw, and he yelled a bit, but the tech was able to distract him with the progress of the blood filling the syringe. In the past, he's tried blowing bubbles, giving them lollipops, whatever, but I think this lower-key approach was better for Andrew's psyche. After the initial pain, he settled down pretty well. It also helped - a lot - that they hit the vein on the first try.

On their next visit, as with every "birthday" visit, they'll do celiac tests again. So, we need to get a plan together for giving Bobby wheat - enough that if his body is starting to reject it, it produces enough antibodies to show on the test. Andrew will still get a test, but with the assumption that it will be negative, because he doesn't get wheat. If it's positive, we'd have to assume the nanny is giving him gluten, or he's somehow sneaking it elsewhere, which would be a stretch.

The swag, which has ranged from lame to great, was great this time - blue kickballs. I marked his with an A, and Bobby's later got a B from Liss. Thankfully, we already had a blue basketball, which has become Ellen's by common informal agreement.

I didn't hear anything about Bobby's visit, so I guess it went fine.

One piece of good news - after their next visit, they'll be every six months instead of three. Putting poop in tubes, however, will still be a monthly event.

At the appropriate age, I told the boys they could start saying they're three-and-three-quarters instead of three and a half, but it didn't take hold. They insist that they are, in fact, three and a half. That's probably for the best, because the other does little more than show that they have pretentious parents.

It's interesting reading this thing from late 2010 (as below), because several things stick out to me.

• Ellen was showing pre-verbal skills at nine months, and we were very cautious about saying she was going to be ahead of the curve in talking. She went way beyond ahead - she talks almost as well as her brothers, who themselves are a little ahead for their age.
• Except that they'd no longer be Two, which really sucked, we were dreading the boys being Three, because other parents almost universally said that Three was worse. Three, while still challenging, has been much better than Two. It's a complete difference, really, because we were very looking forward to Two being done, whereas now we're more like "Oh, yeah. Four is coming up."
• We wanted to try taking the boys to something past their bedtime, but decided they weren't ready. Sixteen months later, we're having the same conversation.
• At the time, they were both in a violent pro-Daddy/anti-Mommy phase. Bobby switched for a long while, but they're more or less even now, with Bobby still favoring Mom when he gets upset, except when he wakes up sad.

From December 2010: This box has been semi-hiding on a top shelf in the garage for some time; Grandma noted that they might be ready to get it for their 4th birthday in July. She's right; the only point of contention will be sharing, especially with Ellen around. It also has tons of pieces, and pieces tend to scatter, so it'll stay in the garage.

Our extended circle of friends and co-workers are in the midst of a baby boom, and every time it comes up I have to think "we're done!" We're past the newborn stage, and almost done with the toddler stage - Ellen's Two has been much easier than the boys' so far - and have no desire to go through either again, unless you could guarantee another Ellen, which you can't.

There's another advantage to being Done, having done it the way we did. People who space their kids apart lengthen the total number of years they have kids in the house. With one kid, it's 18 (in theory), while ours will be 20. If you have the oldest and youngest, say, ten years apart, it becomes 30. While my "screw that!" is in part because of how late we started, it's also in part because ... thirty years? Screw that.

My and Liss's bedtime rituals with the kids are different after we read books to all three of them and split up. Hers includes singing to the boys, but first, she asks things like "Who did you help today?" or "What was fun today?" For the former, they make stuff up, but Bobby's added a wrinkle - "Someone that starts with a E." You mean Ellen? Yeah. Or, ".. with a M." Momma? Yeah.

Progress.

The boys are still on their "put you in jail" kick, but they're still not really hip to the concept. Two examples,

They put Liss in jail for something, and she asked if there was a fine. Taken by surprise, but being three, they of course said Yes. Here's a dollar. Yes, they "gave" her an imaginary dollar. That's a really small fine, she said. Okay, here's a hundred dollars.

The other was that she and I were randomly snuggling on our bed, when they came in and insisted that we stop that. We were now in Double Time Out (oh no!), and that I should go sit near my dirty clothes, and she near hers. Of course, we didn't move, and in fact grabbed them to join the pile when we got too close. They were into it, but then decided that since we wouldn't do what they said, they would put us in jail.

To do this, they locked our door and left, closing it behind them. That is, they locked us in our own room, and it's not like they can unlock it from the outside. After a bit, I opened it, and saw that they were playing nicely in Ellen's room. When they saw me, they said Hey! and made me go back into our room, where Bobby locked the door again, and they went back to Ellen's. I heard them close her door, so this time I opened ours, closed and locked it behind me, and went downstairs. Since they couldn't open it, Liss could chill for a bit without them knowing we weren't both in there.

Outsmarting two nearly four-year-olds provides way more satisfaction than it probably should.

The ice cream place we go to also has old-school video games (old picture), and the kids are starting to get savvy about the difference between the lure-them-in screens and actually playing the game. However, they can't actually play the games yet, so a quarter usually last less than a minute.

My brilliant solution was that, in the future, they can get quarters from their full piggy banks to bring and use. When they're out, they're out. Sure, almost all of that change came out of my pocket in the first place, but at least this makes it their problem instead of ours, and teaches them budgeting. Besides, maybe that'll free me up long enough to get the high score on that Pac-Man.

There are tons of "that's what she said!" moments with kids. Yesterday's was Andrew casually walking by us and saying "It's harder to go in the back door." And then he walked to the sliding glass door near the kitchen and tried to heave it open.

Soon into our sleep last night, I heard a boy whining on the monitor a little, which isn't uncommon. Usually he (whoever it is) will fall back asleep and that'll be that. That's what seemed to happen, and I fell back as well. Then around midnight, I awoke with a start. Bobby was crying at the open door of his bedroom, with more urgency than his usual bad dream, where he may or may not just be awake and wanting attention. Something had genuinely scared him. In my urgency to get to him, I banged the hell out of my knee, though I couldn't tell you on what.

I did the usual thing where I lie with him in his bed and hold him for a little while. I didn't ask what had scared him, since that often just stokes the fire, and he doesn't usually offer. I was there for maybe ten minutes while he calmed down, after which he was okay for me to go back to bed. Of course, I didn't get back to sleep for a bit.

Liss says that when she's saying good night to them without me, they insist she close their closet door to keep "the monster" out, even though she always says there isn't one. Who knows what goes on in those little brains of theirs, and how it manifests in their dreams?

While waiting at the pharmacy earlier this week, an older black guy was chatting with the kids - the normal stuff, how old are you, what's your name? Then, he said "You know, I used to be white like you, but I ate too much chocolate."

I think Bobby really believes it. "He was just teasing, you know." "No, he wasn't!"

Someone showed the kids "Cheers!", so now we're doing it some three times at the dinner table every night. Ellen is almost always the initiator, but they're all into it. We already have to rein it in; they just want to keep bumping cups instead of eating.

From Liss: I didn't know about the Goooo Team! thing before Bobby did it with me at dinner. I was like, wait, where did you learn that?

We're probably getting the boys some kind of loft beds over the summer - something high enough that they can use the space underneath, but not so high that we can't stand or kneel and comfortably help them when they need it. Bunk beds were a possibility until they both claimed the top. Two beds it is!

There are tons of options out there.

• Boxy and basic, though I like the drawers in the supplemental picture.
• Pretty expensive, and I don't like the curvy border for some reason.
• I actually like this one except for the lack of space underneath, but at least it's taken up by storage.
• This was a custom job, and there's no way I'm letting them see it. They'd never allow another one in their sights.
• And then, as with every children's market, there's the ridiculous.

I think drawer space is a priority, especially if it means giving each of them his own. They share all of their clothes now, but that's going to start changing with the next wardrobe iteration; in fact, they may each get their own shoes today. They share a dresser now, and while it'd be easy enough to give each of them a side, it's in poor shape (I somehow screwed up while assembling it four years ago), and maybe attaching separate drawers to their beds would give them a sense of control and responsibility over their clothes.

Along with this, we'll probably to try to remove the large bookshelf from their room. It doesn't really serve any purpose except keeping some things out of their reach, like their "we waited for the green light" stickers, the quiet time light, and ... that's about it. We can figure out what to do with those that don't involve an earthquake hazard over their heads.

And then, they can take all of their stuff from the common living spaces, and put it in their room, dammit. Yeah, a man can dream.

For the most part, it looks like I'd have to be the one putting these together. Oy.

Part of the planning for Liss's week with the kids included sending the boys to their pre-school on Tuesday and Thursday, for three hours each morning, to allow her to go to the doctor and hang out with Ellen. Well, it turns out that the school is closed this week. That's common for care providers during school breaks, but they were open for mid-winter break, and will be for the summer. Really, it's not that they're closed, it's that no one told us - no letter home, no word from the nanny, who's usually the one taking them.

Liss is on spring break this week, meaning she's on kid duty and the nanny has the week off: While the "Never! Ha!" answers are annoying, older kids have some conflict resolution skills, right? I mean, they're not fighting over the green cup. We just don't want to have to get involved in every stupid scrape, which sometimes means we're just letting them play out without our intervention, but so far that just means it escalates in a spiral.

Walking back to the car from the after-gym-class smoothie failure (below), there was a music store, so we went in. One of the first things I noticed was a stand-up bass (like so), so I went over and plucked a couple of strings. Andrew tried to stop me - wait, we're in a store, don't touch stuff! I had to unlearn him - as long as we're very careful, in this store, it's okay to try stuff out. He still didn't want to pluck the bass, though; I think its size was a bit much for him.

We made our way to the guitars, where I could tell that something unusual was going on - they were all in tune. I've hit a lot of music stores in my time, and tuning is a hit and miss proposition. Meanwhile, the guy behind the counter was quoting a price for restringing a kid's violin, and it was perfectly reasonable. My subconscious began thinking of ways to patronize the place.

Anyway, two of the guitars were twelve-string, which helped bring Andrew around, because he wanted to play with that. We strummed some of the guitars, I pointed out some of the random instruments they had, then showed him how a real piano (strings inside) is different than our digital, but he didn't seem to be into that very much. What interested him was the violin from one of the cases. He even asked where was the "thing that makes it make music," so I showed him that the bow was just sitting behind, a little hidden. He said, basically, that he wanted to learn how to play that. Not the piano, I asked, but the violin? Yeah. Okay, we can work on that, and maybe even start lessons when you're about 5, maybe six. "Five."

Meanwhile, on Saturday, Ellen had been repeatedly singing a song that she'd made up. She sang it exactly the same way hours later, so Liss thought maybe it was time to get it down on paper. So, she did. That set off the boys, who wanted "my song" on paper, too, except they hadn't made on up. They tried at the time, and she sort-of wrote down what they were coming up with, but as with any creative endeavor, when you're just churning out to keep up with your contemporaries ...

Now, we're very musical people, so all of this was putting us in a good frame of mind. We joked that the kids can form an ensemble with Andrew on violin, Ellen on piano and writing the songs, and Bobby playing eletric guitar. No, wait, drums. Definitely drums.

Then, during quiet time Sunday afternoon, Andrew fell asleep but Bobby didn't. Bobby came down when that light came on - not waking up Andrew, to his credit - so I took him to do some work in the garage. When we were done, I got the violin that my Mom gave me a few years ago, to see if it needed any work before I showed it to Andrew. To my surprise, Bobby was really curious about it. In between my various instructions (don't touch the bow strings, these are the tuners just like a guitar's, etc.), he asked questions and must have pulled the bow across the strings for a good twenty minutes. In pre-schooler time, twenty minutes on a single task is an eternity. So, maybe there's hope for him to take to a more subtle instrument.

Andrew still hasn't seen the violin, and Bobby didn't say anything, but either way, I'm hesitant to bring it out until more one-on-one time with Andrew. I figure I can take it with us to his next gym class and have the guy look at it (it needs a little work), and we can do it then. They're just not ready to have a fragile instrument like that without major supervision, but as Bobby showed, a little introduction can't hurt - except that this worked because only one kid was a part of it. Any time there's anything new and interesting, it's a fight. Hell, the boys have only just started fighting about a pair of shoes they've had for months.

Saturday I took Andrew to his first gymnastics class, while Liss and Amy took Bobby to soccer, with Ellen along.

The gym place was a lot smaller than the one near our house, which is totally fine. Instead of two basketball courts, the play/gym area was maybe a one-bedroom apartment. More importantly, this one didn't smell like feet.

We showed up, and pretty soon, the class started. There were a whopping three kids, including Andrew. From what Liss says, they were expecting that, what with Spring Break and such, and maybe they'd have ten the next week. It was fine, since it meant Andrew got more attention - just a little odd. The other three parents there were talking, so I tried to overcome my awkwardness and say hi, but that lasted about thirty seconds before things became awkward again.

The class lasted about 45 minutes, which Andrew declared fun. I'd noticed coupons for free smoothies at their desk, so I'd pocketed a pair, and set out with him to find the place. It was behind the gym, but when we got there, saw that it was closed on the weekends. So much for a treat after every class.

Meanwhile, Liss reports that Bobby really got into the soccer class (picture), and Ellen even got some sympathy coaching on the side after being vocally jealous. I don't think the gymnastics place has the personnel for that, to say nothing of gym equipment versus soccer equipment (a ball), so that may not work at Andrew's gig.

Sunday afternoon we were on the green area outside of house, playing their version of soccer, when a dad and his kid walked by with a mini soccer ball. A little later, another family did the same. Both boys were barely two. So, I guess it's true what they say about sports bringing people together. One of these days we'll probably have to take Bobby (or more) to a Sounders game, or at least start having the matches on TV sometimes. And then, in the distant future, their uncle can take them to a "football" game in the UK.

I estimate that about 94% of our dinner conversation is either the boys saying/asking something, or our responding to them. Liss says it's about 80%, but I think she's being overly generous.

From Liss:

One of the more ignoble new habits of our children is in the realm of buttwiping. Now that they all use the toilet, but are supposed to be learning to wipe themselves, we can't just have them lie down on the floor while we wipe them, even though that's the safest (i.e. easiest to see what's left). Instead, I'll hold out my arm, and the kid will lean on it while crouching, and I'll use my other hand. I can't even think of what else it looks like - it's maybe between three-point stance and a chin-up. It works, but it looks absolutely ridiculous.

"Read it again!"

I rebelled against this a few months ago, and the kids adapted. The important thing, from my standpoint, is that they don't ask me anymore; they just put the book back and get another one. This has been marvelous for my sanity. I can handle book after book a lot better than the same one seven times in a row.

As for other adaptations, they'll then take the book to another adult to read. Or, they'll just start with that adult and ask him or her to "read it again!" over and over. There's also a loophole, whereby they can "pick" the same book at bedtime and each get a read, which also helps (but not entirely) settle disputes over who gets which book. In fact, that's the main reason we allow it.

Speaking of which, last night the boys were practically shoving books into Ellen's arms for her to take to her room, but she didn't want them. After she left, they slipped a couple of them under their closed door, as though that would do the trick. This morning, they were still in the hallway just outside their room. Nimrods.

The boys' pre-school brought in a "class pictures!" photographer, which costs nothing for the actual photo sessions - you just pay for prints if you want them - so whatever. Their business model, it seems, is to give you all the prints, and you pay for what you keep. So, they brought home three packets full of prints - one for each boy, and one for both together.

For the most part, they're completely ridiculous - the boys in these odd poses that they'd never do naturally, or Bobby doing his sullen look. It's not quite to this level, but still. There are also some actually decent head shots, but outrageously expensive, and it's not like we don't take a shitload of pictures of them as it is. So, probably nothing will come of it. I just hope they had fun with the sessions.

We're trying to encourage two disparate things in the kids - playing together without us, and not getting upset at the annoying little things their siblings do. The more time they're interacting without our hovering over them, the more likely to have conflict. That's supposed to diminish over time, but it's pretty hit and miss right now. Sometimes they'll go, oh, twenty minutes without getting indignant over something, but usually it's more like ... two.

Of course, as they get older, each should be able to entertain him or herself, like with a book, but right now, alone is a scary and dreadful state of being - except Ellen in her crib.

While at Amy's parents' house, someone found a flat old soccer ball, which the kids were happy to kick around for a bit. Bobby's especially adept and into it, so Amy did some research, and it looks like we'll be enrolling him in a pee-wee soccer thing soon. Andrew, through conversations at the same time, seems to prefer gymnastics stuff, so it looks like we'll be supporting divergent interests for once. This is a good thing except for the split supervision part, but Amy has volunteered to take Bobby to soccer, so it should be fine.

While I was using the restroom, Andrew came in and started using the potty, which is pretty common. As he sat there, he asked "What's this?" Oh, uh, that's your scrotum. What's that for?

Well, right now, it's not doing much of anything. When you're about twelve, it'll wake up and change you. A lot.

Between ours and Amy's parents' house and "hide them again!", the kids did five Easter egg hunts yesterday, of a dozen at a time. The boys are at a good age for it, mostly finding them on their own or with a little help. Ellen required more assistance, though her brothers often provided it.

This Saturday I took the boys to Con for the first time, to give them an idea of where I'd been for two days, and potentially sow the seeds for their future, prolonged attendance. It didn't go very well, though not horribly, either. I towed them around to various things, but almost nothing there is for their age group. There used to be a "kid con" babysitting/activity area, but that went away a few years ago for liability reasons.

There was an old-style arcade, but the two stools there were taken, so they had to stand on my legs to try anything, and they're no good at those things yet anyway, so that didn't hold. I took them to the dealer's room - think flea market in a conference room - which was a bit much.

The most popular part was the hotel's glass elevator. We went up to the 12th floor and back down twice. Both times, I sat on the floor, and they clung to me, fascinated but wary.

In the end, we only stayed about an hour, but at least now they have a frame of reference. Talking to other parents, bringing kids started to become reasonable at about eight, with leaving them to wander on their own around eleven.

However, since I'd registered them, they each got their own attendance badge, which was definitely a hit.

Last night when I went up to draw the kids' bath, I noticed things were a little smellier than normal. The potty in that bathroom had dried poop residue, so I rinsed that out, and upon dumping the water, noticed the toilet still had most of the actual poop. Okay, fine. Done.

Then I started the bath water, and only then noticed ... fingerpaint on the wall. Except it wasn't paint. There were maybe 15 "strokes."

Andrew was the only kid nearby, so I called him in, and asked whose it was. To his credit, he pointed at himself. I wet a rag and showed him how to wipe it off, but he wasn't strong enough. Liss got some 409 to give to him, and he was able to spray it, so he did that while I scrubbed. It came off fairly easily, thankfully.

He knows that we were a little mad about it, but praised his confession, so I don't think this is a new phase or anything. It was just ... really? Poop, on the wall?

This morning, since they're not allowed to come out of their room until the green light, the boys were passing the time by playing hide and seek. In their bedroom. They have one "good" place to hide - their closest - but they're adept at finding bad places, too, like under their mattresses or blankets. But hey, whatever works.

From Liss a month ago: It's a boy. As in, it's boy number four.

There, but for the grace of Ellen, go we.

The kids have a new phase of saying "MY Daddy" or Mommy when hugging us, as though we are only his or her parent and not the siblings'. We correct them most of the time, but especially when it's "My Daddy *only*," which we say is not the same thing as "My *only* Daddy," which is in fact true. They're too young to understand these subtleties of language, but we're still going to try. We don't need them disavowing their siblings' parentage, thanks, though there is fun irony in a child disclaiming that of his identical twin.

This week/end will be a hodgepodge of crazy. To wit:

• Tuesday: Liss's brother's book comes out. Yay! buy it
• Wednesday: He arrives here as a stop on his tour for the book. I pack for Con, because I won't have time on ...
• Thursday: I get home from work, hitch a ride with friends to his book appearance, get home, check in at Con, stay the night in hotel.
• Friday: Liss joins me at the Con, we stay the night, brother-in-law takes the evening shift with the kids with Amy coming over to help.
• Saturday: Liss and I go back home, and either I take the boys back to Con for a few hours, or we take all three kids.
• Easter Sunday: I think she's making cinnamon rolls. No other plans.

As mentioned before, the kids' doctor said we should take Ellen down to our 1% milk, but keep the boys drinking whole. We're splitting the difference, putting them all on 2%. Technically, that means we're breaking two suggestions at once.

From Liss:

For a long time now, when the boys mention their next birthday and its surefire awesomeness, we've been able to deflect some of the enthusiasm by reminding them that a lot of other birthdays come first. Well, the first one - Ellen's - has come and gone. Liss's is at the end of this month, with mine a week later. As far as our household goes, that's it, and it'll be a chronological beeline to theirs. We may be in for two+ months of anticipation, and nearly-four-year-olds plus anticipation is a high-energy bomb.

For the diabetes study, Liss and I each got our blood drawn about five months ago; the results just came in, and it looks like neither of us has Type I. That's juvenile diabetes, which is the scope of the study and all, but I wonder that, since you've drawn our blood and are testing anyway, why not also check for Type II?

At the end of the weekend, just after the kids were put to bed, Liss said "That was a pretty good weekend."

For Saturday, we'd planned a day with Amy and a babysitter helping us break up the day. Amy took Ellen on an errand, while Liss took the boys on a couple of them, and I did a few things around the house. When they got back, the babysitter showed up, and we three adults went to a new cafe nearby for lunch, and brought a couple of board games. We did that for almost three hours, which was a really nice break in general. That may need to become a "thing."

We'd asked the sitter to keep screen time to a minimum, because we were going to need it to distract the kids during our afternoon chore - emptying the old bookshelves, and organizing the new built-ins. The job went well, with four of the old ones getting out of the house, but the movie (Toy Story 3) didn't hold their interest too long. I think it's because the noise we were making drew them out; the boys, especially, are just curious people, and we were Doing Something Different. Besides the gawking, they were full of questions, which might have been the main reason we tried to distract them in the first place - the other being their desire to help. Again, neither of these is bad in theory, but the execution slows everything down.

So, we got a fair amount done, then put them to bed, then the three of us watched some TV, and that was that.

On Sunday, we had no plan, which is the kiss of death. After breakfast, we decided to take them to a nearby coffee shop, where they could play with the toys set aside, but that didn't work for very long. We hit Safeway on the way back, which was fine, but reminded me of why we get grocery delivery - lots and lots of "what's this?" and "can we get this?" Fortunately, they weren't those screaming kids you dread in the grocery store ... this time.

Walking back home, we passed a park, so I asked if anyone wanted to play there. Andrew said yes, and the others said no, so we split up, me staying with him. However, Ellen changed her mind and came my way, while Liss and Bobby disappeared around the bend, but when Ellen noticed that, she missed Liss and ... that was that. Andrew and I had to escort her home. I told Andrew we could go back, but by the time we got home, it was lunchtime, and then quiet/nap time.

The boys have a light signal thing - not the same as the all-important Green Light clock - that we only use for their quiet time. We have it set to change from green to yellow after about 45 minutes, which is their signal that it's okay to come back out of their room. After a fair amount of chatter between them, though, there came silence. They had both fallen asleep, so their quiet time had become naps. With Ellen's, it was a now-rare and spectacular thing - the triple nap. Liss used the opportunity to take a long bath. I worked on the shelves some more, between periods of putzing around.

Often, when the boys nap - especially in the car - they wake up pissed off (old picture), so that was looming over the proceedings. However, I heard them waking up over the monitor, and they seemed okay. When I went to get them, the reason they hadn't just gotten out of bed seemed to be that the light was still green instead of yellow, from what I found later to be a sign that the batteries were low. Whether or not it should have changed before they fell asleep leads to all sorts of interesting and devious questions about future quiet times.

Anyway, everyone woke up, and we tried another movie to give ourselves more time with the shelf project. Like Saturday, that worked for maybe an hour. By that time, I was bringing up the DVD collection from the basement, where they'd been watching, and the boys wanted to help. I said they could bring up movies from the bottom shelf, which of course meant getting them out of alphabetical order, but I figured it was worth the diversion.

By the time that was done and I'd put what wasn't yet on the shelves in order on the floor, the boys started asking questions about the movies. "What's that movie?" I'd tell them what they were about, showed them the rating system, and guessed when they'd be old (mature) enough to watch them. There were maybe 100 movies laid out, so we actually spent about an hour doing this. Only one of them (Singin' in the Rain) did I deem acceptable for them now, though I warned them - as with many others - that they may not like it.

One of the oddities of all this is that they'd point to a movie and ask if it was funny; if I said yes, they'd start laughing as though something funny had actually happened. Weirdos.

It seems that, when hedging my guesses of when they'll first watch something ("When you're ten ... maybe eight") I make a face, because Andrew was mirroring it right back to me: "Maybe when you're six" "Maybe when I'm nine" with what must be the same scrunched-up look. He also kept using twenty as an age for being able to watch such-and-such movie, to which we'd response that at that age, he can watch any movie he wants. Liss had to mute herself on the obvious porn reference.

During this exercise, Liss made the comment that our age guesses are probably older than those of most parents. That's true, though it also means we're probably in for some surprises, like their visiting a neighbor's house and the parent pops in something like Pulp Fiction when they're eight.

Anyway, we got a fifth old bookshelf out, and three more aren't long for the house. The dining room is much more spacious now, though with a lot of work to go. Before, we thought we'd need a second set of built-ins, but now we're thinking no.

By the time all of that was done, it was dinner and bedtime - too late for a bath, but life goes on.

So yes, it was a good weekend. That's just not something we've said often in the last almost-four years, so maybe it's sign of things to come.

We're trying to break our Target habit. It's not that it's a bad place, and we have to get our life supplies somewhere, but ever since the boys were born, it's been a go-to weekend excursion to stock up and get them out of the house. That is, we'd often first decide to go, and then come up with a shopping list.

Their branded formula was a big reason we got in the habit, but that's not a thing anymore. Their calcium vitamins were popular, but we started that because they weren't drinking much milk, and that's their primary drink now, so we're dropping those (much to their dismay, as they're laced with sugar).

Funny thing, we just got their payment card, which if we'd done so at the start, would have saved us hundreds of dollars by now. Oops.

And then there's a tiny part of me that's doing it because of their data mining stuff. It's not that they're doing it - everyone is - but reading about it made me rethink the habit. They hooked us during the newborns phase (the article alludes to their efforts there), but that phase is over.

Bobby will eat his green beans if we take the actual beans out of the pod. Liss used this information to experiment by serving edamame in the shell. It went surprisingly well, with even Andrew getting into it; though he was more interested in just taking out the beans than eating them, he still ate more than we would expect. They may become a staple.

There are seven women pregnant at Liss's workplace. At first, as the number climbed, this was giving her slight temptations to join the club, but it never got beyond slight.

The boys are still sick, but it's not bad. Besides a cough, they have runny noses, which means tissues and blowing of those noses. The thing is, they used to do that just fine. Then they learned to sniff, which makes for much less runny noses now, but they do it when they're supposed to be blowing into a tissue. So, they'll ask for one, we'll hold it to their noses, have them "blow" three times, except they sniff three times, and the tissue is still dry afterwards. We tell them each time that they're sniffing instead of blowing, but they still do it.

I dunno, it's just weird.

The standard wisdom is to give kids choices, but such that you're okay with either one. Do you want the blue underwear, or the green? The idea is to focus them, give them some sense of control over their lives, and prevent choice paralysis. You can even take it into the absurd; do you want to give your brother his turn with that toy now, or in one minute?

Our kids will play along, unless they're upset. Then, all bets are off, and the likely outcome of your "choices" is that they either just say No to the whole endeavor, or just more loudly repeat what they really want, the denial of which is probably what got them upset in the first place.

This morning I discovered a pair of small, dirty socks in our bed, and absentmindedly put them in my pocket. I forgot about them until feeling them in there at work; they've been in my pocket all day.

Yep, I'm a dad.

On Saturday, we went to see The Hunger Games movie. Of course, this was not a movie for kids, so we had a babysitter. Between that and lunch and the tickets, we paid about $90 to see it. Very few things are worth that, but this was.

The boys are sick, so ... here we go again.

After Ellen's birthday party, we had three cupcakes and a thin slice of cake left. After the kids went down, she had the cake and I had a cupcake, intending to save the last two cupcakes for tonight. Historically, they don't remember that kind of thing, but clearly our golden age of passive deceit is over.

Saturday night I sat for the boy a touch older than Ellen, as part of our sitting swap. It was a nice evening, so we went to a nearby park. He reminded me of those Family Circus comics where Billy goes all over the place.

After his dinner, I played a video they'd loaded up that he likes. I liked the song so much that I was fine with his "again!" requests ... seven times. Of course, he just likes the fish.

Anyway, I kept doing this thing I do, where I absentmindedly hum the bass line of whatever music is on. He hummed along. My own kids would probably have told me to "Stop singing, Daddy!" So, that was a nice change of pace.

From Liss:

Back in the day, we had all kinds of reward infrastructure set up to get the boys to wait for the green light (8:05am) before coming out of their bedroom. We've had stickers, Angry Birds, stars-on-a-paper for a surprise (truck), and other stuff I've probably forgotten. Part of the reason for that is that they've forgotten.

On the weekends - i.e. when I'm still there at 8:05 - the only thing they ask for are the stickers. Liss has an irrational hatred of them now, but I don't, so I help with them it. However, we'll phase them out in a couple of months. Their bedroom walls have hundreds of them by now. They rarely ask for Angry Birds, or anything else. Sometimes they ask for a snack to tide them over, and they very often use the restroom before getting up, but hey, so do we.

In other words, it looks like we've successfully trained them. It'd be gentler to say we've instilled the habit in them, but that's really the same thing.

Ellen will get her own light someday - basically the next time Woot has it - but I don't think implementing it will be the headache that it was for the boys. Her sleep baseline is a lot higher than theirs was at the same age. Plus, if she wakes up early, it's just her; there's no sibling to rival.

We started letting the boys have Carnation Instant Breakfast - aka "chocolate milk" - at the recommendation of Andrew's gastroenterologist, during the whole celiac diagnosis thing. The idea was to give them extra calories, since they're so small for their age. It was a popular choice, though we hesitated to include Ellen when she started asking for it, as she needs no such help.

Fast forward to today, and we've cut back a serving from three scoops to one, which I think is a major contributing factor to the fact that the boys almost never ask for it anymore. Ellen, however, does.

We're probably on the last can.

The boys have started doing knock knock jokes occasionally, except they're not the actual jokes, just the structure. They just pull words from their environment. Here's an example from last night's dinner table:

• Andrew: Knock knock
• Bobby: Who's there?
• A: Fire truck
• B: Fire truck who?
• A: Fire truck ... white milk.

Fire truck white milk. Now that would make a good password.

The kids have gotten into games in a big way. For the most part, they can't follow even the simplest of rule sets, so we try to stick to the simplest of games and see how they progress toward the routines of those before getting more complex. With the actually complex games, it's more about playing with the pieces than anything else. Examples:

Memory is popular with the boys, where I take the As-5s from a deck of cards, put them face down, and you know the rest. This'll be a useful game to check their maturity. Right now, they have trouble even realizing that when you put a Three face down, it's still going to be a Three the next time you pick it up. However, they're pretty good about going again when they get a match, and relinquishing when they're don't. I've had to check cheating, where the second card isn't a match, so he'll put it down and try another one. We tried a version with the Uno cards, but they fought over which colors to use.

Also with cards, Liss taught them War, except without the face cards. Also, when there's a tie, they each keep the card instead of doing the face off. They go through their hands once, then .. the game is over. It's a very fledging version; I seem to recall playing the full version of this with my Dad at their age, or maybe I was four.

Jenga is basically playing with the blocks. Andrew likes to stack the tower, and will take a lot of time to do it diligently. Ellen will come up and knock down his progress without remorse. This has been a source of much consternation.

Busytown is okay, though the rules are far too complex for even the boys to bother. Instead, they just spin the spinner and draw cards to look for things.

I showed them chess when they picked it randomly, but of course have no clue - to say nothing of Cranium.

Anyway, maybe by the next rainy season winter, the boys at least will be able to play some of these "the right way." Whether they'll be gracious winners or losers is another matter. Whether they can play together, without our intervention, is quite another.

If we've learned anything, it's to always get three exact duplicates. I bought three bath towels for them, of equal size and fabric, but with different designs on the hoods. They fight over which towel they get to have. That's right, they fight over towels.

Bobby's turning into quite the tattletale. For maybe 90% of the things he tells us, either it's so trivial that we don't care, or it's half-or-more his fault anyway, or it's only a problem because he's three and thinks everything's a problem, or whatever. For the other 10%, it's something we want to or at least should address, so we can't just try to quash the habit completely.

A common one is, before the green light, he'll open their door and yell down some injustice like Andrew hit him, is teasing him, whatever. Our canned response has become "Then you both need to stay on your beds." He closes the door and things are quiet for a while.

You know you're a father when you watch The Empire Strikes Back and wish Darth Vader could reconcile with his son at the end.

Maybe he should've tried before cutting his hand off.

"If a woman has to choose between catching a fly ball and saving an infant's life, she will choose to save the infant's life without even considering if there are men on base." - Dave Barry

That's right, baseball season in upon us. We've broken out the baseball movies, when I had the brilliant idea of putting on "the girl baseball movie" (A League Of Their Own) when I thought the kids (i.e. We) could use a break from all their running around.

It looks like the Mariners will suck again, but that's okay. They don't need to be good until the kids are old enough to care. If, however, they still suck, those same kids might be looking for other teams to root for, or heaven forbid, not take to the game at all. That might lead to a serious reconsidering of our wills. Their becoming Yankees fans would.

Saturday I took the boys on a couple of errands, and they were doing well, so I told them we could go to the kids' gymnastics place they'd gone to the two previous weekends. It was a total failure. Here's the sequence of events:

• Miss the exit from the freeway.
• Double back from the next exit, find way to gym.
• Park.
• Get boys out.
• Guy asks if we're there for the baseball facility, or the toddler gym. Toddler gym, I say. Wrong parking lot, he says.
• Load boys back into their car seats.
• Correct lot is full - the gym thing is very popular - find parking on the street two blocks away.
• Walk with boys to the lot, with no sidewalks. Walk to entrance is down a big hill and through the parking lot, which is about as unsafe as possible.
• Boys kick puddles on the way, so now their pants are wet.
• Enter gym, it smells like feet.
• Sign says they're full, no more allowed in, sorry. Or, we could wait behind the 30 families in the queue.

I had been thinking of offering the ice cream place afterwards - it was a block away as the crow flies, or six blocks as the car drives. Seriously. - so I played that card right away. They both gave an enthusiastic "Okay!", but when we started to walk, Andrew stayed in place. I could read the disappointment in his face. I told him why we couldn't go in, but he stayed. And pointed to the inside of the gym, with that look on his face. I'm sorry, little man, there's no room for us today. Do you want to get ice cream?

He relented after a little bit, so we walked back through the parking lot, up the hill, two more blocks, strapped them into their seats, drove the six blocks to ice cream, and all was well again. Oy.

It was a very "suburban Dad" experience, except we don't live in the suburbs.

Last night was "everyone gets their hair washed" night, and Bobby's irrational fear is still there. It doesn't help that his fear makes him unable to sit still while I do it, and he wants the "head back" instead of "head forward" method, so I inevitably get some in his eyes. Maybe I should try using a wet washcloth instead of a cup of water.

Ellen and Andrew didn't make a peep. Andrew was clearly put out, as the water had gotten cold by then, but just took it in stride.

From Liss:

We have a contractor in the house today, installing shelves, and holy crap were the boys excited about it. They were running around, stopping to ask him questions, then hopping around, etc. I finally had to put a lid on them so he could actually do his prep work.

It always feels bad to ask them to stop asking so many questions, but there comes a point where the noise to signal ratio gets too high. I'm trying to steer them to ask thoughful questions - there's still lots of "Why?" [answer] "Why?" [answer] "Why?" - and that wears us down fast.

The nanny arrived about ten minutes after he did, and her first and only task at that moment was to get the kids out of there. Even if the boys weren't so excited, it's still a dangerous enough environment on its own that they shouldn't be there, to say nothing of the potential of getting in the guy's way and making it even more dangerous.

From Liss:

Something else that's an indicator of the general "it's getting better" way of things - I'm willing to take care of all three kids by myself sometimes. It used to be overwhelming, what with Bobby's anti-Daddy sentiments, the boys' tantrums being a single perceived slight away, Ellen being more baby than not, etc. Liss did (does) it all the time, but I'm only lately coming on board. It's still just something to do for a couple of hours while we run errands or some other focused task, but it's there.

As the boys approach their next birthday, Liss is becoming optimistic. The Twos were crap, and the Threes have been hit and miss but noticeably better. She expects the Fours to be mostly lovely. We'll see, but they're giving us reasons to believe.

Sunday I took the boys to their second movie in the theater. For their first, we did a lot of planning and talking about what to do or not do, brought Grandpa along, etc. This time we just kind of went, though I did a quick reminder of etiquette on the way.

We took the light rail - which they always like - to a theater downtown. We actually arrived an hour early - damn you, efficient public transportation! - so we hit Starbucks for cocoa and a chance to use their restroom so they wouldn't have to go during the movie. Afterwards, and partially because I had pre-paid passes to the movie, I picked up a medium popcorn. $6.75, holy crap.

With the movie having been out for a month, and our going to a Sunday matinee, I figured there wouldn't be many people there. There were more than I thought, but I'd say the number was just right - maybe fifty, half of which were also little kids. It was enough to help with the "stay quiet so others can watch" rule, while not enough of a crowd to freak the boys out. Our initial haste may have bitten us, as we didn't bring their earphones. As it turned out, the previews and ads were loud, and threatened to turn the boys off. However, the volume of the movie itself was fine - lyrical, really.

I sat between the boys. Throughout almost the whole movie, I served the popcorn to them by grabbing a little from the bag, then holding the open hand in front of the boy on either side of me. Every minute or two, a little hand would empty mine. On the way home, they ate more. I'm glad, given the cost, that we ate most of the bag. I just hope they don't use this as a precedent, that we should always get popcorn at a movie, but if so, it'll be mostly my fault for starting it. I'll have no problem teaching them about sneaking in a snack instead.

Anyway, I'd say this experience was slightly better than the first one, which itself was pretty good. This time, Andrew stayed awake. They stayed still and watched and weren't a hassle in any way. They thought the movie was "okay," which was about my thought, as well.

Sometime, a movie will come out that they really anticipate, like Toy Story 4 or something else that has characters they already know and love. I mean, they know the Muppets, but don't love them, so going to that one isn't the kind of thing I mean. Pixar's latest isn't a sequel, so that won't do it. I really have no idea what it might be, and they're not going to be three much longer. That window of kid-like wonder is ticking away.

Liss actually has a shade of that anticipation going, but not for a movie we'll be showing the kids anytime soon.

I removed the baby-proofing latch from the pantry. It required you to push it in while opening the door. It's only been two days, but we're still steeped in the habit, and surprised when our fingers can't find the latch and the thing just opens.

The toilet latches went months ago, and we just got rid of the bottle rack (we'd been using it to dry cups, but wanted the space back). The changing table will go soon. Ellen will move to a bed when we get around to clearing her room (she's ready), so we can gift her crib. Diapers will be a thing of the past by ... end of summer? There's lots of purging left.

I think the big "we're done!" with baby- and toddler-aged paraphenalia will be when we take the doorknob proofers off. That's probably going to wait until they're all old enough to manipulate them themselves, which hopefully will be the same age that we can let them go in and out at will without worrying they're going to wander off. The boys can already do the front deadbolt.

Saturday morning Bobby asked for toast. Our new toaster^(*) has numeric darkness settings from 1 (is this even toasted?) to 7 (was this even bread?). We always ask what number they want, and Bobby said 1. No problem. Andrew, doing that "I want what my sibling has" thing, asked for toast, too. What number? Six.

Now, six is really black, so for his own good, I told him I didn't want to waste bread, but I'd go as high as five. Meltdown. He sat on the kitchen floor screaming about how he didn't want five, he wanted six.

Liss, usually more ready to compromise with them than I, said she'd give him a six, but with one of the end pieces. She did so - and had to turn on the oven fan for the smoke - put the butter on it, and handed him what looked like a slimy hockey puck. He didn't even take a bite. "Yucky!" Okay, little man, I'll make you more toast now. What number would you like?

One.

Kids learn by doing, not by being told stuff, but maybe one of the things Andrew learned from this is that maybe Mommy and Daddy know what the hell we're talking about sometimes. However, if the previous three years are any indication, this won't be the case, and they'll still think we're idiots.

Pants are for chumps.

Theory of Youth Appetite:

The amount of food you expect your small children to eat, and therefore you prepare, will be inversely proportional to how much they actually want to eat.

We're having two shelving units installed next week, an event also designated as The Demise Of The Changing Table.

It's served us well, but now we only use it as shelving, really - holding tubs of rags and Ellen's diapers and wipes and blah blah. We rarely use it for its original purpose anymore. Ellen always wants to be changed on the carpet now. Besides, it's smack in the middle of our house; feng shui devotees probably walk by the house and shudder.

Liss thought maybe it could become a serving unit in the dining room, but given its history - eight kid-years of diaper changes - we thought better of it. With all the pregnant women at her work, maybe someone will want it with all its dents and dings.

If not, we'll take it to the curb. I have yet to put something out there that wasn't snatched up. Last month I put 23 cinder blocks out there. Gone the next day. Last week, I wiped down one of the kids' potties and put it out. Gone. The changing table wouldn't last an hour.

The floor under the table will be an interesting archaeological exercise - for about two minutes, after which we'll chuck everything in a bag and go wash our hands.

Bobby has discovered a loophole. While he claims not to like green beans, he's okay with the actual beans inside the string part. Every time we give him some, he asks us to open it to get those out, and we'll let that count as "eating his green beans." We're fine with it.

This might allow Liss to get a little more experimental, like with peas in pods or lima beans or whatnot.

We used a new babysitter for the first time this weekend. As is my habit, I smacked Liss's butt while walking by, right in front of her. That was comical enough, but Bobby was sitting nearby and said with indignity, "Don't smack Momma's butt!"

On a respite day having semi-decent weather, the kids and I played outside with their "motorcycles" and such. They were wearing their helmets, from which I heard this gem from Andrew to Ellen: "You can go fast because you have your helmet."

Known as a Moral hazard.

Last Saturday, we paid a babysitter to watch the kids for a few hours,

during which we got both cars' oil changed.

Last night we noticed rashes on Andrew's legs. They're raised and itchy, so it's not one of those passing toddler things. Liss is taking him to the doctor soon.

My first suspicion is that he's allergic to the antibiotic he's been on for his ear infection. He's already been diagnosed allergic to amoxicillin, and that rash also crept up late in a series. This antibiotic is in a different class, so it would be unfortunate if he had two sets off limits.

Update: Yes, allergy to the new antibiotic.

As part of the change in the bedtime routine, I now turn off the boys' light before "holding" them (lying between them on the floor). Liss just counted to three and did it, but I ask them what to count to. The first time they gave me different numbers, I took the middle of the two, and that's set off a whole thing. Now they choose different numbers on purpose, and then when I'm lying down, they spend most of the time asking "What's between [for example] seven and ten?" So I'll say "Between seven and ten is eight and a half." I don't want to say it without the "between," because then it sounds like an addition problem with a wrong answer. I don't want to just say the answer, because I want to emphasize the context.

Anyway, now they've started a new thing where one will ask the other boy and myself "What number should I count to?" The other two of us will say different numbers, I'll tell them the number between, then that boy will count it out. The halves are especially fun for them.

As an extra observation, Bobby's getting the idea of adding, without being taught it that I know of. Using his fingers, he'll hold up 3 and 3 to show 6, and say "Three and three is six." The 5+1 finger version that we all do is a little offensive to him, but he'll still do it and acknowledge that it's correct. He just doesn't see it as the default way to express 6 that the rest of us have gotten used to. He has a point. There's even a scene in Inglorious Basterds that hinges on cultural differences of fingers-as-numbers, but now I'm getting off track.

Both of our kids' parents are highly mathy people, so we expect they'll be the same way. Being so mathy ourselves, we see these developments and tend to take off with them. We're trying not to push it, though.

The boys have gotten more affectionate lately, in that Andrew's gone from slightly so to moderately, and Bobby from not at all to slightly. I'll take it.

From Liss:

I yell at my kids too often.

Too often, the kids do things that they know will result in my yelling at them.

The former is far worse than the latter. They're pre-schoolers. I'm almost 40.

Gluten-free bread is disturbingly expensive - about twice the price of regular - and the boys eat it all the time. We must go through a loaf every two or three days. Liss has tried baking a couple of loaves, but it's a pain to get right, and they go through so much that it'd be hard to keep up. So, we continue supporting the nascent pre-fab GF industry.

We let the kids stay up late Sunday night, partly because of the Oscars and because dinner ran late. It was going fine until about 45 minutes after normal, when things started to break down, mostly by Bobby following Ellen around after she'd told him to stop. That's a common one lately.

Still, we have to do these sorts of things occasionally, to see what they can handle. I went to poker Saturday night, and there were several kids there - even ours' ages - but I presume they have later bedtimes, or can take being up late better than ours. I even try to point out that they, I'd be fine taking them, if they didn't melt down like they do, but that results in no changes that I can see.

Daylight Savings time starts soon, so we'll have to do the slow-adjust thing again, only backwards - putting them to bed earlier and earlier - until what is now 6pm becomes the new 7pm.

We have the gift of babysitting from Amy, and the exchange with another couple, and a high schooler who comes for a few hours on some weekends. However, some weekday things are coming up, and we needed another option. So, we cast a line for a babysitters in our neighborhood, and got a couple of bites. One came over Sunday to meet the family and vice versa, and will have her first job this Saturday.

This first time, she'll observe as we go through the bedtime routine, but most of the time she'll only come over after they're already in bed. Of course, we'd warn the kids about it, so some strange-ish person doesn't suddenly come up the stairs when the expect us instead. The real fun, though, will be when she does try the bedtime routine, especially if it's a while between this trial run and the real thing. The boys are good about helping out with that kind of thing, but they're also smart enough to know when to push for more than they usually get (snacks! keep the light on!), so we'll see if they come up with something when the time comes.

Illness update: I'm still mild, Andrew seems fine, Bobby's still coughing and fevery but sounding better, and Ellen's still in the thick of it. And now there's a bonus - she has viral pink eye.

Sanitizer for all!

• Liss: "Bobby, keeps your hands to yourself. Don't kick, don't poke, don't push, don't hit."
• ...
• Bobby: "You forgot 'slap.'"

The ick is still in our house, with Ellen now coughing more than we'd like. Around 9pm, Bobby puked in his bed - probably just from overcoughing - but handled it reasonably well. Andrew seemed better last night, but complained later that his ear hurt, so we just got back from the doctor's and yep - ear infection. Even Liss had a dizzy spell, and she never gets sick. I've been slowed down a little, but nothing major.

This will probably keep happening for a while, as they get the new germs from their new school.

I had my eye checkup yesterday, and asked about bringing the boys in sometime. He said that with my history - I got my first glasses at age ... four? - I should have them looked at before they start Kindergarten, but not to bother before then unless they show signs of problems.

I told the boys about it, and Bobby was all against it. I explained that it would mostly be reading letters on cards, but I guess he'll have this irrational bias until then.

For no readily discernable reason, I've been waking at 5am for several days now. This morning, Bob cried for me while I was still in that half-awake/half-asleep phase, but I can't really call it his fault.

Anyway, I'm really feeling it today. Coffee has done little.

The boys' cold from a week ago is either still lingering, or they have something else now - we're not sure - but they were coughing all weekend long. However, it wasn't the wheezy or anything, and it didn't seem to slow them down, so we haven't taken them in. This morning Liss called the phone nurse, who agreed that they'll probably just get over it, but to continue to keep an eye on them. It's pretty pathetic to hear, though.

Being an elementary school teacher, Liss knows what kids are supposed to know by the time they start Kindergarten - like counting to 31, reciting the alphabet, etc. They're doing well by that standard; in fact, she says "You're ready for Kindergarten!" a lot, though they have no idea what that means.

On the opposite side, currently hidden away, are kids the boys' age who get no help or encouragement. Actually, they get discouragement. Those are the "kids should be seen and not heard" parents. Don't ask questions. Leave me alone. Go watch TV.

She meets these kids at the start of every year. They don't know anything beyond their stunted early years - colors, numbers, letters, shapes, words, manners, routines, relationships, are all foreign. Often, authority figures are to be feared and avoided. There's still no help at home; education itself is deemed worthless and pointless. For those kids and their teachers, it's the ultimate uphill battle.

We've put down a half-payment to a contractor toward a set of built-in bookshelves. The installation will be in a couple of weeks. We have plans for a second set later this year.

We both have the new-house itch, and we could have saved this money toward that, but there are a lot of factors at play. The most obvious one is that we may not move at all, and we're living here now, and this place has very little storage space. Even if we were to move (elsewhere in Seattle), it wouldn't be until we're done paying some $2000 a month for child care, i.e. when the boys and maybe Ellen are in Kindergarten. We're certainly keeping an eye on the market, though.

The theory is that home improvements add their cost to the value of your idea, but from what I'm seeing, that's not the case. Maybe certain highly-sought amenities will do that, but you certainly can't count on it. Rather, we're adding these shelves because we need the storage, and we think it'll look good. If it makes the place more appealing when we sell - whether three or thirty years from now - then that's just a bonus.

Valentine's Day was bad, as the kids got lots of sugar at their pre-school, and their baser instincts came through. They were cranky, bossy, yelling, you name it.

The next night, Liss had a work thing; she never even made it home before the kids were asleep, so I had them to myself. They were totally fine - cheerful, respectful, playing well together, etc.

I dodged a bullet.

Squirrel!

This has become a running joke in our house, like when we actually get time to pick up around the house, or any other non-kid project. There's just always so much to do, that we end up doing a little of it in a lot of places, rather than a lot in one place.

Last weekend, Andrew was reading a book in the car when I had to brake suddenly. The first thing I heard wasn't commentary on the scary situation or even a question about why I'd done it - it was a simple "My book!", which had flown out of his hands. Yep, it's all about them.

This weekend, Liss baked the cake for a one-year-old's party, which sat in her lap on the way there. It was an hour drive, and that braking incident was fresh in our heads.



"My cake!"

"They fix six fish sticks?"

Our kids will probably go to some "diverse" schools. Part of me hopes that some budding comedian of color will see the boys and go "Man, you white folks all look the same to me."

Yesterday at the piano, Andrew showed interest in playing a song with me, instead of their usual "pound the keys" method. However, he wasn't happy with the alphabet song or whatever; he kept wanting me to do the Adele song he'd picked among the music on the stand. Like the reading (below), he was trying to sing along.

There's a general thing with all of the kids, whereby when one of them has an idea, the other two want to stop what they're doing and join in. With the piano, it's counterproductive, especially if one of them wants me to play. We even have a second keyboard, but it's all or nothing. Besides the small bench, they usually pound, not play, so it's just a cacophony anyway, and not much of a teachable moment.

In related news, I picked up some new headphones for the kids, with the boys in tow. The piano has two out jacks, so I asked about a splitter to let all three kids use at once. The guy behind the counter instead grabbed a headphone amp, with "This is the right way to do it" in an attempt to upsell me. I pointed at my boys and said "They're three."

"..."

"Fair enough," and he got the splitter.

The boys have started a few "pre-reading" habits. One is that they've memorized a few of their books, and move their fingers under the words (like we do) while reciting, which makes it look like they're "reading." The other major one is that they're trying to read out loud with us, which ends up sounding like a half-hearted murmur of what we say, half a second later.

They know their letters, though applying the sounds is proving stubborn ("What does 'jelly' start with?"), but they can both spell their names, and they're curious about the concept. So, it'll come in good time. I remember reading my first book solo at age four, and Liss was around that time, so ... it'll come.

The boys are in that transitional period where they use the toilet, but aren't good at wiping themselves. It's nothing to them to announce boldly that they've "peed and pooped!" - it's never just "pooped" - and then bringing their bare-but-poopy asses out to meet us at the changing table so they can crouch down. It's easier for us to wipe them in that position, you see.

It's certainly practical, but our adult sensibilities mean we find it quite amusing, as well.

At dinner for the past two nights, Bobby's asked when their next bath will be ("Thursday"). Then he asked if we'd wash his hair that time, and we say no. When? Sunday.

Then he lost it - real crying and angst and dread, imploring that because he'll be getting haircuts, he doesn't need his hair washed, ever. It was only slightly less dramatic than his meltdown over the potential blood draw that didn't happen.

I told that, since he dreads it so much, maybe he shouldn't bring it up every night. Our answer doesn't change, and it sets him off. Lose-lose.

Now that the boys are such good talkers - and not shy about it - we hear all kinds of stuff about the nanny. Apparently when they cough, she slaps them on the back, which is a total cultural thing that does no good. They've even asked her to stop (according to them), but she still does it. That brings up another point - whatever they say, you have to take it with a grain of salt.

She also takes them to her house a lot; it's just a couple of blocks away. I guess she feels more comfortable there. She shows them more videos than we do, but not an aggregious amount. Really, if I had to take care of my three kids for five days in a row by myself (as opposed to two days with Liss), I'd probably have the Toy Story movies on an endless loop.

There's a co-worker in the same group as I, who's due next month. Last week it hit me that no one had said anything about a baby shower, so I asked her if I could set one up. She said sure. So, I sent out the preliminary "here's what's what" to get it on people's radars, though the shower won't be for a few weeks.

Besides the generally positive response, a team manager said that he's glad he was "invited," because his mother would have stepped in and said in no uncertain terms that baby showers are a women-only deal.

When Liss was pregnant with the boys, it was still a bit of question, but we had a co-ed shower and no one batted an eye. Most of them since have been the same way. This time, it didn't even occur to me. Maybe part of it is because the work environment is so co-ed, but I think it's more that my generation just doesn't agree. That might be split along liberal/conservative or regional lines, but it's not like I've done a study on this.

The hope is that we can start doing sleepovers soon with other families to give each other breaks - maybe in a year or so. It's not so much bedtime and sleep time that will be the big win there, but the morning after. We get crap all the time for leaving parties or whatever "early," like 10:30, which I quickly diffuse with "Our kids get up at 7 regardless of when we get home." But if our kids are outsourced to someone else's house, who will wake with them (and their own), give them breakfast, and casually bring them home late in the morning ... well, that just sounds like a slice of heaven. Meanwhile, ours spend time with theirs, without realizing that this is more a treat for us than for them.

This would, of course, be a dual exchange with those parents. Currently our exchanges are just night babysitting, but this will be the next step. The only real question is, when can the kids handle it?

We've been looking at bunk beds for the boys, but will probably get loft beds, instead. However, someone had the idea of getting one of each, for these sleepovers. Brilliant!

Yesterday we went to a new playground, with a boy who's a year younger than the boys, and thus six months older than Ellen. We hadn't seen him in a while - maybe a few months - but he's a lot more interactive and verbal than he was. I was pushing him on the swing, and he was very clear about wanting to continue, when to be pushed, etc. The clear verbal thing is big, which makes me all the more glad that Ellen was so early with that.

The real switch from before, though, was that he and the boys were playing together pretty well. They were chasing each other, taking turns with a football about as well as one could expect, and generally being civil. The boys are a year older, so 2 1/2 to 3 1/2 is still a big developmental gap, but not nearly as much as, say, 1 and 2. When they're 5 and 6, it'll be even less noticeable. There are a couple of even younger boys we see (barely two, and two-and-a-quarter); the interaction thing is just catching on with them, but it's there. That 2 to 2 1/2 area is a big mental growth time.

Ellen tries to keep up, and for the most part can hold her own, but any older three boys mixed together are generally going to be more than an almost-two-year-old can keep up with. At this park she pretty much gave up, yet realized that with three parents and four kids, she could sneak in more one-on-one time than usual, and exploited the opportunity.

That was back in 2008, and it hasn't changed.

Between us, Liss and I have only one blood sibling - her brother - and therefore only one possible source of cousins for our kids. He has a serious girlfriend, and we've already made the cousins joke once or twice, which is probably once or twice more than we should, but far fewer than we've wanted to.

This weekend the boys and I were personalizing some blank valentines they'd made with Liss, using a big sheet of letter stickers they have for such occasions. I was writing the names on a piece of paper to help them look for the right letters one by one. When it was time for his, I wrote his name, but said hold on, boys. Instead of that, we could spell out "cousins." What's that, they asked, so I tried to explain. However, they strongly opted to stick with writing out his name.

So, I suppose it's either they prefer to go with the familiar, or they simply have more tact than their father.

So Friday night we told the boys about their imminent diabetes study visit and subsequent blood draw. Andrew was upset for a little bit, but soon was eating his dinner again. Bobby never recovered. The fear was palpable. Eventually, Liss said that they could skip the draw this time, but they have to at least do the one at their fourth birthday, since we assume that'll include another celiac test for him.

At the study they sometimes give us surveys about how we feel about our kid(s) possibly getting juvenile diabetes, about the study, etc. I don't remember the exact wording, but for the first time, I marked that I was Somewhat Disagreed that I wanted to stick with it. It's really becoming a grind for me. Besides the draws - always a big deal - there's the poop collecting every month, food logs (which Liss does), now a saliva stress test at home, questionnaires and surveys, and probably other here-and-there stuff I'm forgetting. There's a little money it in, but that's keeping us in far less than the "it's for science!" aspect, but how far does one go with that to include making our boys suffer despite expressed lack of consent?

Tomorrow, the boys have a diabetes clinic visit, whereby they'll get their quarterly blood draw.

We haven't told them yet.

Contains profanity:

9 Things I Learned In The Parent Encouragement Program, AKA Shitty Parents Anonymous

So, what does it mean that my wife sent me this?

As part of the kids' bedtime routines, we tell them to "get a book" for us to read to them. Last night, Liss put it to the tune of the William Tell Overture.

It's quite a tongue-twister.

Two nights in a row, soon after putting the boys down, I heard almost-crying over their monitor. I went up to investigate, and Bobby claimed to have had a bad dream, and wanted me to hold him. I did, but with annoyance, telling him that I knew he hadn't slept yet. Last night I said I wouldn't respond to that kind of thing unless he'd already been asleep. Nothing happened.

It's nice to be wanted and all, but there are limits. There are also ways to get attention from us without having to lie about it.

As part of Andrew's deal to let his hair grow out, we're now washing his hair twice-ish a week. As part of Bobby's deal to get regular haircuts instead, he does his about once every two weeks, whether he needs it or not. Ellen's probably somewhere in between, though her hair is getting long enough that she should be on Andrew's schedule soon.

They all hate it, but with the frequency (I guess), Andrew's no longer complaining about it. He's just "let's get this done." When we did it this weekend, he was first, and I praised him for not crying or whining. This was, I admit, also a passive-aggressive stab at Bobby, who still does both, and had spent the last hour delaying and loudly expressing his dread at the 30-second event.

I took Andrew out to our room to dry, and Liss took over to wash Ellen's hair next. From the bathroom, I could Ellen saying "I not crying, I not whining!" It was true, until the very end; maybe a little soap got in her eyes or something. But, it's progress.

And then it was Bobby's turn, and he screamed bloody murder the whole time.

The boys got sick just in time for the weekend - I blame the new pre-school - but for the second time in a row, we dodged the respiratory infection bullet. At least, we think we have, because we never took Andrew in, though it was close for a bit there. We did the albuterol treatment for both boys, as well as Andrew's usual steroid for his pre-asthma; Sunday's overnight was better than a whiny Saturday's, so we think we're over the hump. There was no vomitus this time.

Sunday I went to pick up a refill of albuterol at 2pm. The guy in front of me at the pharmacy said he'd been there (Urgent Care) since 7am, so thank goodness we hadn't had to go in.

It also turns out that we'd been doing the albuterol incorrectly. The pharmacist asked if I wanted instructions, and I said sure as a refresher, and it's a good thing I did. It's not like we've done them harm, but we weren't getting them the medicine as effectively as we could.

Andrew was carrying around a "penny" - actually a dime - most of the weekend. He kept licking it, and we kept telling him how gross that is, but that's not the punch line.

They know the heads or tails concept, as we've used it a couple of times to decide things. It helps them see the concept of a true winner and true loser based on a completely fair and dispassionate system. Rock, paper, scissors will come in a year or so.

So there they were at their little table, flipping the coin repeatedly while saying "Bobby has heads, Andrew has tails" beforehand, and winning and losing with no consequences or complaints, with Ellen watching, and it was all in good fun. Then Liss casually said to me:

"We're totally going to rig this system, aren't we?" With two coins, "Heads-heads Andrew, tails-tails Bobby, heads-tails Ellen."

The Bobb-a/Bobb-y controversy continues, but I think it's dwindling. The peak was after the boys' bedtime one night. Sometimes they want Liss to sing with them while saying good night, so they sang some Old MacDonald, e-i-e-i-o. Later, we were on the couch, and heard Andrew over the monitor singing "b-o-b-b-a" and Bobby getting indignant. Thankfully, it didn't get bad enough that we had to intervene, but it's one of many moments of "Really, guys? Really!?" that go on around here.

Liss and I have started playing games a couple of times a week after the kids' bedtimes. The first time we played a new one, I got pretty frustrated at how the dice treated me.^(*) Last night, Liss did the same. We're pretty even-keeled adults, but I think it will serve us well to remind ourselves that our kids aren't, and their similar frustration will be quicker to form, and harder to control. Since we want them to play games, yet play them well, we need to bear this in mind and help them with it, without getting frustrated ourselves. It's not easy.

A year ago, we were afraid that the boys would start rejecting the idea of bedtime while it was still light outside. That turned out to be a false fear, though they did start rumbling about it near the Fall equinox. Now that the evenings are lighter, and Daylight Savings is coming, this time I expect a full-blown revolution. Come June, it stays light past 10pm.

Eventually, the boys won't need 12+ hours of sleep a night. The problem is that we'll still need them to be asleep for 12 hours a night. The hope is that, as their bedtime gets later, their care will require less and less of our intervention. That's how it works, right? Please?

When she was a baby, Ellen went to bed a half hour before the boys, and then just before, but they've had the same bedtime for a long time now. I don't think we could bump theirs to later and not hers, without causing some serious disruption. As it is, we don't anticipate needing to do that. We joke that she thinks she's three, but in some ways she really is. There are some advantages to having a kid so close in age to her older brothers, and that's one of them. Their example is just close enough that she can realistically try - and in trying she can sometimes achieve.

Last night we came home to the kids playing Duck, Duck, Goose, as taught to them by the nanny. They were playing it a little differently than I remember, which was that the Goose would chase the person who was It. If It sat down in Goose's spot before being caught, It was still It, else Goose became It. Instead, when someone became Goose, everyone sitting down got up and chased It, until caught. Chaos.

A few minutes in, Ellen instead wanted to play Sleep, and asked Liss to join her. Liss lucked out, as this involved lying on the sofa with a blanket.

So us three manboys played DDG for a while, for which I was thankful for my superior physical abilities.

One day, and it might be soon, we'll have to forbid running in the house. Hell, I was doing it a little, but that's just dumb.

We were going through old pictures - Bobby thought last year's fracture was on his right leg, but it was his left - when we came across a set that included this one. The boys zoomed in, talking over and over about how they wanted this car for Christmas, that car for their birthdays, etc. There's no way we're getting them electric cars like that, and we were running out of ways to gently say so. So, I did the endaround, which I probably should have done in the first place - I don't really want to hear about what they want until a month or so before the event in question. It's rude and selfish, and they're probably going to change their minds twenty times, anyway. That, if I remember it, should become my default response when things go down that path, which they do a lot - like almost every day. Plus, we need to keep slipping in the fact that just because they want something, doesn't mean they're going to get it.

The boys were rummaging about for something else, and came upon some Wii games on a shelf. They'd never seen it in use, so they didn't know what they were. Liss told them, so of course they wanted to try it. We'd already discussed that they were probably ready, so we did an attempt at training and playing.

Before starting, we told them that any yelling, fighting, etc. and we would stop right then and there. I should have included grabbing, but that'll be next time.

We started them on the easiest game would could think of - a shoot-the-bubble mini-game - and I guess it went okay, because they didn't want to stop. They just couldn't get the concept of "aim at the TV" and what the goal was. More vexing, they refused help repeatedly, insisting that they know what they were doing, when they clearly didn't. They just wanted to be in control, regardless of the outcome. With only two players and two controllers, we had to rotate a lot, which the not-currently-players got very antsy about, including Ellen.

Things broke down near the end - this was maybe thirty minutes in - as Bobby and Ellen were playing what I clearly said was the last round, but Andrew yelled a little at Ellen, and I stopped it cold. Andrew lost it, though the other two were mostly fine. As he kept yelling, I said I guess he wasn't quite ready for it yet, so we'd wait a week before trying again. He yelled some more, so now it's two weeks. We'll see.

We used to play the Wii quite a bit (2007 picture), but it's been generally unused for about three years. However, back in the day we'd made characters for the infant boys (called a Mii), which are still on there. They thought they were neat, but you could tell how dated they were: besides their bald heads, the one in red was named Robbie.

When it comes to food, I'm not accustomed to being the median of pickiness.

The "Bob-a" controversy is hitting a fever pitch, as Bobby has made it clear that he wants to be called "Bobby" and nothing else, and his siblings delight in pretending not to notice in order to rile him up. And then, he calls them other names ("An-droi", "Elliebelliebellie") and wonders why they object. This morning, I heard the boys talking about it over the monitor. I guess it won't be going away anytime soon.

Speaking of which, we were around a little boy named Elliot this weekend, who has the nickname Elli-Button. That starts out as Ellie, so I was getting momentarily confused every time.

Sunday some friends of ours came up from Olympia; they'd just moved there after three years in Wales, where we visited them in August. Their son is a few months older than the boys, and their daughter is just turning one.

The three boys got along great, so much so that we could mostly leave them to play without much supervision. Ellen, thinking she's three, spent most of her time with them, but not able to keep up with their rougher times. Our boys try to include her, though, so it was mostly fine. The little girl hung out with the adults and tried to climb the stairs, which she doesn't have at home.

So, with the kids being more self-reliant than not, we actually got to talk about adult things. Granted, half of that means talking about our kids, but that only being 50% of the conversation is quite a positive sign, thankyouverymuch.

In mystical future months, the kids can play outside, which will be even more fab.

The kids are bad at hide and seek. Like, really bad.

We play upstairs, which is all three bedrooms, and two bathrooms. Generally, I can hide behind any door, and they won't find me. I once sat in Ellen's tarp castle for a few minutes before giving myself away on purpose.

When they hide, it's usually in the same spot - under the boys' beds, or maybe just under their blankets. And then, they laugh and say "I'm hiding!" and so on. This is bad strategy.

Apparently Liss and/or others pretend to look "everywhere else" before finding them, which I've also done once or twice, but usually I'll find them right away. Bobby and Ellen think that's fine, but Andrew gets annoyed. I tell him that it's best that he hide away from his siblings, who clearly don't care if they're caught soon, and make a go of it. He's actually trying, but they follow him. He'll have to get more cunning.

All in all, they need to step it up. Maybe soon I'll start their education.

From out of nowhere, Bobby's on a minor carrot kick. He asked for them for breakfast on Saturday, even though his siblings were already eating Cinnamon Chex. He then asked for one as a snack Sunday. Considering he's usually into nothing but sweet and salt, it's a pleasant change.

Andrew, possibly playing follow the leader, asked for them at a potluck we went to Saturday afternoon.

Bobby relishes in telling us what he wants for his birthday - presents and cake, what he wants to be for Halloween, and what he wants for Christmas. The topic comes up a few times a week. We try to explain that those are all a long time away, but it's still a minor obsession. Andrew joins in a little bit, but he doesn't start it.

One way we try to give perspective is to mention that everyone else in the family has a birthday before theirs. Another that I tried was to say that hey, you know how long ago this past Christmas was? Halloween is nine times that far away. They don't get it, but I feel better for trying.

Hopefully, when his birthday gets closer, he'll pick something other than the current leading contender - a cake in the shape of a garbage truck.

It just hit me that the habit of responding to every answer with another "Why?" might be over with. Andrew was back to it just a week or so ago, but it's been a while. Or, perhaps I'm jinxing myself.

The boys had gotten into the habit of going the bathroom very soon after bedtime, which was delaying their sleep, but more importantly, annoying us. Going is part of their pre-bedtime routine, so there should be no reason to go again thirty minutes later. However, if you gotta go, you gotta go.

So, the new rule is that they can still go, but only after they've slept. This has worked great. In fact, it might have had an extra consequence of making them a little gun-shy to go in the mornings (before the green light), but I think that's fading, as they did so this morning. That's totally fine with us, and they know that. I know I have urges after twelve hours.

I'd kept Bobby's cast (picture) from last year's fracture, as one of those interesting reminders of how little he was and what he (we) went though. Recently, he asked to see it. He held it for quite a while, asking questions and so on. When it was taken off, they'd cut it, so Liss had taped the halves back together, but he wanted to untape it. However, the edges are sharp, so she wouldn't let him. I guess that made him think it wasn't fun, because when he was done, he said he wanted to throw it away. The archival pack rat in me mourns a little.

From Liss:

I'm finding three to be much better than two, as in no contest. With the Terrible Twos Times Two, I just remember a lot of this - melting down at the drop of a hat for no discernible reason, or for really dumb reasons. This is less frequent and more manageable now. Now I can explain things and they'll generally understand - if not agree. Time outs are rare. They're eager to learn and see and do new things, and it's less of a big deal to do them. They're potty trained.

I'm still looking forward to more mature boys, but the Twos? They are over. Good riddance.

Liss had to go back to work at 6 last night, so I had the kids to myself for an hour, and then bedtime. I don't dread that like I used to, as the boys have grown more reasonable, and generally involve their sister in their goings on.

Except for about one minute of Andrew hoarding two pillows so Ellen couldn't have one, I was rewarded with a very pleasant time. They mostly played on their own, whether it was the boys chasing Ellen, or pretending to sleep on the floor, or whatever.

For about the twenty minutes before bedtime, Ellen was on the floor with a pillow and blanket, just lying there without a care while the boys were doing their thing. When I went to start getting her ready, she got mad at me - for interrupting her pretend sleep in order to get her to her crib. She's shown lots of instances of just chilling for relatively long stretches of time, which the boys never did at her age, and mostly still don't.

Bedtime was a breeze. Since they don't like surprises or changes to routine, I told the boys beforehand where the routine would deviate - being only me and not two of us - and it went fine. Andrew, the one who gets bothered by routine changes more quickly - became impatient when I was putting Ellen down, but not in a bad way. I was downstairs by 7:29, which is a good bedtime when it's the two of us.

This isn't to say that the next time (next week) won't involve emotional explosions of angst and yelling, but I figured I should chronicle a good one.

Last night Andrew leapt from the stairs, and said he'd "jump-ed." I corrected him with "jumped," but I felt bad doing it. His response was a sort of "uh, whatever, dude" look on his face, like he knew I was probably right, but that it doesn't matter. If that's what it was, then he has a point.

During her three snow days, Liss grieved for the snow days of her past - hot chocolate, a book, and a blanket. In my past, I'd play games or write music or code or get stuff done around the house. Now, it's just like a weekend day - thirteen hours of child care - except with no way to get out and about.

A friend in Iowa is going through a snow day now, with his girls, aged 13 and 9. They're playing board games - and not just Chutes and Ladders, but real strategy games. I can't wait.

The kids have been changing up word pronunciations, like "pizz-ee" for pizza, "eet" for it, and so on. We tell them that it's okay, since playing with language is a way of learning it - but that other people aren't going to understand them when they do that. That won't be driven home until they actually talk to other people more, like when the boys start going to pre-school next month.

When it gets dicey is when Ellen calls Bobby "Bobb-a," for example. He gets mad - screaming mad - then turns right around and calls me "Dad-o," when he knows I prefer Daddy. There are tons of instances of such hypocrisy - like "Don't hit!" then hitting back - and we point them out all the time, but it still has only barely sunk in. I keep waiting for epiphanies that don't come.

When hiding - say, during hide and seek - it seems obvious to not yell out that you're hiding, nor where you're hiding.

Our children have yet to grasp this.

We had a week of snow-ice-snow-ice-wind here in Seattle. With the MLK holiday last Monday, Liss worked a total of four hours all week - that is, four hours at her job, as she spent the other four days taking care of the kids. The big shining light (no pun intended) is that we kept our electricity the whole time, unlike a lot of people we know.

Rather than risk the commute and leave her alone with the kids, I locked myself in our bedroom and worked from home, occasionally emerging for breaks and eating lunch with them. After the first few tries at opening the door or hollering enough for me to come out, they pretty much left me alone, but on Friday Ellen knocked and did a sweet "Come on out, Daddy!" that I couldn't resist, behavior reinforcement be damned.

We went outside once a day, and the kids were generally into it. Ellen wanted to go inside first each time, but she can't do what the boys can do - pick up hunks of snow and chuck them at trees. Sledding was limited to Liss pulling them individually down a gentle slope, but the hills in our neighborhood mean greater things as they become more daring.

The whole thing was also good prep for what we anticipate will be our first big trip with the kids - Minneapolis this coming Christmas. We think they'll be ready. Ellen should be potty-trained well before then, they've now had some prolonged snow/ice experience, and we know they'll want to see this mythical Minnesota they've heard so much about^(*). They boys are maturing - if slowly - and will be four-and-a-half by then (oy!), so yeah, it looks like a go.

I've been there twice for Christmas already - her parents and brother live there - but both times I was disappointed by the weather. It was mostly 28-ish and partly cloudy the whole time. I lived in Iowa for four years, so I know what Winter-with-a-capital-W is capable of, not to mention my meterology degree implying a desire for interesting weather, so when I go to Minnesota in late December, I want to see some Winter, dammit. In future years, we'll need to go there or to Texas for some Spring, i.e. massive lightning and thunderstorms, which we don't get here.

With the cold weather and occasional bouts of illness around here, Liss has been making chicken soup once in a while. This includes chicken broth, which the kids have unwaveringly begun to call "chicken juice."

While they're technically correct ... eww.

I took a video of the boys wrestling naked on Andrew's bed, which is about as graphic as you'd expect. They ask to watch the videos on my phone sometimes, and when this one came up, they thought it was a great idea. They went upstairs, took off their clothes, and wrestled naked on Andrew's bed for a while.

Greek genes that I'm not aware of, perhaps?

Andrew was taking his inhaler medicine while sitting on the edge of the sofa; after he was done, I took a chance and pushed him over, onto it. He thought that was great, then climbed back and asked for another push. Bobby - as one does when a sibling is doing anything - wanted the same, so it was a quick little game before bed. Liss joined in, so we took turns pushing, and they being pushed.

Now Andrew always wants his medicine from the edge of the sofa, and to get a push or two.

We admit, without remorse, that it's more than a little satisfying.

From Liss:

The boys each have a couple more freckles. Every time Andrew gets one, he wants me to take a picture of it. This applies even to those he can see, like the new one on his finger.

Still no true birthmarks on either of them, that I've noticed.

The picture in the entry below is a good example of why it's so easy for us to tell the boys apart. They're really very different in a lot of ways, like how they smile (that's Bobby's "camera smile"). Their voices are different, too; I'm getting pretty good at telling who's who just from voice.

Seattle is forecast for 12-18" of snow for the 36 hours beginning tonight. We're assuming a power outage and being snowed in, but with very little idea of how it'll affect the kids. They were inside most of yesterday - icy sidewalks, cold - and got pretty antsy. Maybe we'll spend a lot of time in the garage.

Bobby's making strides of maturation, but it feels like five steps forward, four steps back, so it's hard to notice the one step of net progress. It's there, though there's still a lot of growing up to do, there. One of these days it's going to sink in that he's not the master of the world, and it won't be pretty.

Liss had the brilliant idea of, when the boys start pre-school three days a week in the fall, having them go together two days, but each have a day without his brother. This will help prime them for separate classrooms the next year in Kindergarten.

The pre-school we wanted has two spots open now, so the boys will start in February, two days a week, 9a-12p. It's cheap enough that we can swing the cost along with the nanny, who will now get a relative break two days a week with just Ellen. The current plan is to bump them to three days in the fall.

They've gone to other little school things, but I suspect this will greatly accelerate what they bring home in terms of "things we didn't teach them." We look at each other in "where'd they get that?" moments a lot, but I think those will soon become too common to bother wondering. The nanny's good, but she's not an educator.

The school is requiring the boys' birth certificates upon registration, which I suppose is standard, and makes sense. However, you could line 100 kids of the exact same age and find huge discrepancies in development in all kinds of areas. I guess age is the baseline they work with, though, and deal with the differences as they come up.

Three and a half years old.

Last night the boys were playing a variation of their "It's time for lunch" game. Normally, they play the proprietors, listing what flavors of ice cream (usually) they have, and asking me to pick one. Then they jump on the bed for a while. The cycle takes a couple of minutes.

Instead, they made me the salesman, and asked what kind of porridge I had. I'd make something up, and they'd either go "yum yum yum yum!" and pretend to eat some, or stick out their tongues and say "yuck!" ... and pretend to eat some. That's all fine and cute, but then they'd ask again. Now the cycle was taking ten seconds, and I was quickly running out of ideas.

But the most telling part, to me, was that after every flavor I'd make up, Andrew would look at Bobby for his reaction. Usually, he copied it. Bobby made no such effort to figure out what his brother was doing.

Alpha, Beta?

Sunday afternoon was bad, with lots of kid-fighting and Daddy-rejecting and therefore Mommy-exhaustion and so on. You know it's bad when I get short with Ellen, but she's started thinking that climbing onto the dinner table is a great idea, despite our clear directions to refrain. Her brothers encourage her, which doesn't help.

We went to a pre-school fair on Saturday, with a sitter watching the kids so we could concentrate. The choice is based on a lot of factors, including location/convenience, cost, curriculum, and whether they could take Ellen. We went from table to table - maybe twenty-five programs in all - and talked to a lot of people. We have a first choice, and in fact may ask if we can enroll the boys now instead of waiting for the fall.

Speaking of the fall, because this was mostly to see where to put the boys come September, we had to keep saying the phrase "The twins will be four in the fall." The first couple of times I said that, I had to pause, because it's a little crazy to say.

Of particular note was a French immersion program. Liss speaks French, so she and the cute little teacher behind the table talked for a bit. I have no idea what they were saying, but I, uh, sure enjoyed hearing it.

Sunday morning the boys emerged from their room to potty, per usual, but this time Bobby locked the door. We're okay with their going by themselves ("private"), but they don't normally do it during their early morning runs. Andrew was upset, knocking on the door, which made me get up and deal with it. I told him that it was okay for Bobby to lock the door, and Andrew could either wait, or go downstairs and use the toilet down there.

I wasn't expecting him to take me up on the second option, but he started to go down the stairs. That's when I thought he'd ask me to come with him, if only to turn on lights, because there weren't any on between there and the bathroom. To my pleasant surprise, he went down the dark stairs and the dark hall, into the dark bathroom, turned on its light, did his business, turned off the bathroom light, and came back up through the dark again.

Despite the next school year being eight months away, we have to make a pre-school decision in the next couple of months. Liss has been looking, and we'll be doing tours and whatnot in the coming weeks. It's obstentiably for the boys, but we might be able to sneak Ellen in, especially if she's potty trained by then. Either way, the nanny situation will have to change, since we'll probably only need half-time. Even at that, the pre-school plus nanny costs will be more than we pay her now. Oy.

The annoying part is that there's a pre-school in Liss's work building. The problem is, it's a bad one.

I'm a smartass at work, too.

I annoyed Bobby somehow (it's not hard) as I was leaving their upstairs play to go to the kitchen. Ellen was on the counter, so I was holding her there a bit, when I felt a few taps on the backs on my calves. Bobby had come all the way downstairs just to gently kick me; he then went back upstairs. Right behind him was Andrew, who did the same thing - not because he was also mad at me, but he was just following Bobby and I guess felt that kicking my leg and bolting back upstairs looked like fun.

I was too amused to really say anything.

If I were Native American, my name would be He Who Turns Off The Lights.

Another nonsensical toddler conversation:

• Andrew: "I put you [Liss] in my milk!"
• Bobby: "No, my milk!"
• Liss: "I can't fit in both cups!"
• Andrew: "But you're so big!" [adult laughter]
• Bobby: "I could take off your head, and your head can go in my milk!" [oh my]

The boys were talking about Batman, and what he can do, so I made sure to note that he's just pretend. Then, in my need to refine, I almost said "like Santa."

I'm so glad I stopped myself from dropping that bombshell.

Someone needs to make a short film about a court case where the jury is made of three-year-olds.

Last night we presented the boys with their hair choice - grow it out, which means washing it twice a week and knowing that some people might (will) mistake them for girls, or get haircuts when we say so. They both chose to grow it out. This weekend will be the big test, when we try to wash their hair, because they hate that. I guess they hate haircuts more, even though they'd be getting one for every twenty washes or whatever it is.

It would have been convenient if one had chosen long and the other short, but they're not in the business of being that independent of each other yet.

The night after Bobby's pukefest, Liss brought up a plastic bowl for them to use, just in case. At bedtime, instead of acknowledging that it was for whomever might need it, the boys fought over whose it was.

If there's a dumber thing to fight over, I can't think of it.

Every time we go to the quarterly visit for the diabetes study, they give us some swag. Sometimes it's utilitarian, like snack cups or drink cups. One time about two years ago, though, they got small teddy bears with little shirts containing the name of the study - Teddy.

For the most part, the boys never cared for them, but we kept them around. However, Ellen's love for stuffed animals has really ramped up lately, perhaps fueled by many stellar Christmas acquisitions. She came upon one of the bears, which is now known as the "Teddy teddy," and tried to claim it as her own.

Now, when one sibling expresses a desire or preference, the others immediately drop what they're doing and focus their entire psyches on the same thing. If this were some random doll, I'd vouch for Ellen's claim to "ownership," or at least make them rotate who gets to sleep with it, or some other sort of forced solution. However, the boys got this bear during a clinic visit where their blood was drawn. While I think they should let her hold it and not think it's some major affront to them - since they never really cared until she did - I feel I have to support their claim to it.

Unfortunately, we only know where one of them is. Bobby, being the alpha twin in general, had it going to bed last night. The tone of Andrew's voice when he asked "Where's my Teddy teddy?" was a little heartbreaking.

I told the boys during my few minutes alone with them at bedtime that I didn't really want to talk about puke anymore. So, Andrew asked about the smoke detector in their room, which led to talk about fire. It included this:

• Me: "If there's a fire, we need to get out of the house as quickly as possible."
• Bobby: "Then the fire fighters come and spray the fire out."
• Me: "That's right."
• Andrew: "Then we can go back in?"
• Me: "Well, maybe. The fire might do so much damage that it wouldn't be safe to come back inside."
• [silence]
• Bobby: "But what if we need to go potty!?"

Pretty soon I think I'm going to take the boys into the garage and show them a little of what fire can do. They're curious about it, but they have no idea how it really works, let alone the real harm it can cause. After some candle and paper demonstrations, I can load up YouTube for some real education - house fires.

Bobby was chipper this morning during the boys' potty excursions, as though he genuinely liked me.

Maybe he was sleeppooping.

Since the dawn of time - as far as they're concerned - we've always closed the boys' bedroom door at night. The reasons are obvious: we don't want to wake them up and cause consternation during the two hours before we go to bed, and we don't want an open door to invite them to wander out before the appropriate time.

The reason we tell them, though, is that if the door's open, the cat will come in. This is a perfectly valid reason, as they're afraid of her, and she could indeed wander in. We close our own door to keep her out, because she announces her arrival with several meows, even at 3am.

However, she's about to turn 17. What do we do when she passes on? How do we get the boys (and later, Ellen) to keep their doors closed? My hope is that, by then, they'll listen to reason, and either keep it closed on their own, or be able to acknowledge without complaint that we watch movies or whatever after they're in bed.

I pick things up with my toes all the time. It's a habit I got from my dad.

Now Andrew's doing it. However, he's very bad at it so far.

Liss says that sometimes, when it's time to get clothes for the day, he'll use his toes. With little control, he'll say "I'll wear whatever my foot gets." That's fine for the underwear drawer, which is the lowest, but the shirt drawer is at his eye level. I want to see this in action, because I'm sure it's hilarious.

We don't know where the boys got it, but Bobby required that Andrew do "the secret knock" before he'd let him into their room.

The secret knock? 1, 2, 3, 4.

Before his grandfather's arrival, we asked Andrew if he was going to be nice to him.

• "No."
• "Why not?"
• "Because he's going to cut my hair."

I recently decided that the boys were ready to try a movie in the theater. The new Muppets movie seemed to be one they might like, that I also could handle (unlike, say, Chipmunks), so we did some prep. I told them how it was different than watching a movie at home - louder, bigger, they won't stop the movie if you have to pee, you can't talk, etc. They watched the original Muppets movie to make sure they were okay with the characters and such. I watched it with them as a practice for not talking and making sure they could last for the whole movie. They did okay, so with Liss's dad, off we went.

The main concern was noise, so they brought their headphones, and we tried to time our arrival with the start of the movie, not the previews. We missed badly, because there were tons of previews and such - maybe twenty minutes' worth. At first we stayed in the hallway, but they wanted to go in.

It was a 10am show, and the movie had been out for a while, so I expected a sparsely-populated theater, but I was wrong. It was maybe half full. It's a good thing they wanted to go in when they did, because we barely found two good seats together as it was. We were on the top row, in the corner, for easy escape if needed. They sat in the seats, while I sat on the floor in front of them (fire hazard!), and Grandpa found a single a few rows down.

From the looks on their faces, they were just kind of taking it in. They left their headphones on most of the time, and didn't seem terribly into the movie, but they were still paying attention.

And then Andrew fell asleep.

All in all, it was a success. They'd said they'd be game for another one sometime, and I actually got to see the whole movie without leaving for potty breaks or meltdowns.

At Westport, we saw the display of a whale calf's skeleton outside the [closed] maritime museum. The conversation ended something like this:

• Liss: "I don't think they do whale c-sections."
• Me: "You'd need a chainsaw."

I have a couple of Mariners t-shirts that I wear once in a while. Whenever I do, Bobby asks why I'm wearing a baseball shirt if I'm not going to a baseball game. It appears to be a major faux pas in his mind.

The boys are obsessed with death and killing, neither of which they really understand. It's a phase that I'm sure every little kid goes through, so we need to temper it when we can. Liss reports that today it's been bad enough that she had to tell them that it's only okay to hurt someone if they're already hurting you, though running away and telling the police is better. That prompted this:

• Andrew: "If someone is hurting Ellen, I'll kill them."
• Bobby: "Well, I'll kill them with you."

Now, they love their little sister, and ... it's hard to be outraged at this.

The boys are really good about asking if a food has wheat or gluten in it. It's about the best we could hope for, which is a consequence of Andrew being diagnosed celiac so young. It's all they know, really.

In fact, they ask even though we often say "we will never give you gluten," which can be interpreted as asking it too much, but we don't want to actively discourage the question. When it's not us doing the prep, they need to ask whoever is.

Christmas morning, Andrew was getting a little sick. Since he's had a pre-athsma diagnosis, we're supposed to give him albuterol at the first signs, so we did that.

At 10pm Christmas night, he puked in his bed. We decided to see how he'd do after that, but he was still feeling badly later, so I took him to Urgent Care around 5:30am.

The previous time I was there (with Ellen's fracture), the doctor made a repeated point to say how much more responsive and quick they were now. Well, that went out the window this time. Maybe it was lack of staffing for Christmas, but when you're waiting in a room with a sick three year old for two hours, and can see that there are five patients on the board, the combination of previous "we're quick!" emphasis and lack thereof this time really grated me.

To her credit, when it was our turn but Andrew was pooping in the bathroom with my help, she waited instead of bumping us.

With all of that waiting, I was afraid that they'd do what I recognized as the normal procedures for a suspected respiratory infection - fifteen minutes of albuterol, wait, x-rays, wait, another albuterol treatment, wait, x-ray results, wait, diagnosis and go home. If it took two hours to go from triage nurse to doctor, how long were we going to be there?

While all of his was going on, Liss and I were in mild panic mode via text. We had reservations to a coastal hotel, just us two, and had for months. Where would be the line to staying home, and would we draw it, or would Amy, the first (of four) people slated to watch the kids?

To our great relief, the doctor - taking care to say she'd seen a lot of similar cases recently - said she heard no signs of infection. It was just a cold, he'd be okay soon, and keep up with the albuterol just in case. Between that medicine, his steroid inhaler, and bringing him in on the early side, we'd done everything right, and possibly dodged a bullet.

So, we got to go do nothing for two days, and Amy reported that he was fine.

Meanwhile, Bobby, without his twin there, did his normal bathroom break and then slept *way* past the green light, like 9:15. They really need their own rooms, or something.

While getting ready for Westport, Bobby went to get his new Buzz Lightyear doll - and by "new" I mean about a day, at that point - and said I could take it with me. When I was back home but sick a few days later with what Andrew had (and Ellen had had first), he brought me his favorite bedtime stuffed animals to sleep with in bed.

Maybe he doesn't hate me, after all.

Christmas night, putting the boys to bed, I asked Bobby what presents he got that he liked. His answer was that "I didn't get a hammer. I asked Santa for a hammer and he didn't bring me a hammer."

Ah, three year olds.

There was some controversy between us over which twin is which in this photo shoot, and I'm happy to report that I prevailed. Bobby is in green.

But then, if I'd been wrong, I wouldn't have written about it.

Last night was bad.

To set it up, Grace had puked on the stairs the previous night.

I lie between the boys for three minutes before saying goodnight and leaving their room. When I did so last night, Andrew asked about Grace, why she'd puked, and why on the stairs. We ended up talking about puke for three minutes - try to make it to the toilet if you can, but if you can't that's okay, we'll clean you up, etc.

At 11:30, I heard crying from the bathroom and bolted out of bed. Bobby was in there, with puke on himself, his clothes, the toilet seat - and a little in the toilet. Liss came in, and I asked her to get him another shirt, during which she found the mother lode in the boys' room. She cleaned that, I cleaned him, and he handled it relatively well. By that, I mean that he was clearly upset, but let us help him and didn't scream at us (me) for it.

Unfortunately, their room now smelled like puke. With that and the clean up, I was starting to feel ill. The smell may or may not have contributed to a reprise from Bobby some 45 minutes later. This time, however, he made it to the toilet. This is clear, solid progress, and I will praise him about it for days. He was still upset, of course, but this time calmed down quickly and went back to bed. Liss was reaching exhaustion. This morning Bobby was wary, but seemed okay. I, however, didn't make it unscathed.

There's no real way of knowing if our conversation made him think about puking, and therefore triggered it later. I asked, and he said no, in fact saying so in a rather grown up way: "I wasn't thinking about it, I just did it."

Hell, just writing about this is making me queasy again. Sorry if you're experiencing the same.

Liss's parents came for the week after Christmas. For two months before that, we'd bring up the idea of haircuts to the boys, and they'd quickly say no, Grandpa has to do it. Once he got here, they were really fishing for excuses, and coming up with some truly dumb ones.

Finally, on his last day, I asked that he do it, because we didn't want that procrastination precedent to work.

Now, we really would be fine with the boys having long hair. However, there are two things to consider. One is that they hate to have their hair washed. We'd make them wash it twice a week. The other is that, after a certain length, people would assume that they're girls.

If they can get on board with both of those, then they can grow it out. I highly doubt they'd agree - actually, that's not true. I think they'd agree until we followed through with the twice-a-week thing, and then they'd go back to excuses for putting off haircuts.

After we comb his hair, the first thing Bobby does is run a hand through it to muss it up.

The boys are obsessed with the concept of Jail, and they often say they're going to put us there, either when very playful or very mad. My response is hey, three hots and a cot! This doesn't amuse the boys, but Liss likes it even less. One iteration involved Bobby leaving me alone on our bed and closing the door, which hey, there's a bathroom, DVD player, and TV in there, and I know Liss would never let me starve. Sounds good to me.

Instead of Jail, sometimes they say they're going to put her in Ketchup. Yeah, I don't know.

Just in the last week, all three kids have been able to go upstairs and play without us for extended periods of time, by which I mean twenty minutes. This is a huge development as far as we're concerned.

Another new game for the boys is pretending to sell ice cream or something else they like, going around to everyone else and asking what flavor they want. Liss started with conventional things like strawberry, vanilla, etc., but I brought it to the next level by requesting Poop flavor. You can imagine the hilarity that ensued.

I think their favorite is Spider.

In any other situation, calling the boys a "baby" will incur their wrath, and rightfully so. However, after a bath, they still want me to wrap them in a towel and "Hold me like a baby" and carry them to our bed to finish drying off. It's very cute.

Today a co-worker and his wife and small son shared the elevator down with me. After about fifteen seconds of observing the kid, I said that I guessed he was 13 months old. The wife said "You're only off by seven days - he's 13 months, 7 days."

I wasn't off, lady. I was on. That's well within the acceptable margin of error which I just made up.

However, this isn't a skill I ever really dreamed of having.

There are lots - and I mean lots - of times where, if taken out of context, my actions could be seen as those of a child molester. The sad part is, I'm sure they do the same things I do, just with completely different intent.

Bobby and I were tickle-playing on the bed, and he was only wearing underwear - very common for the boys. One of their most ticklish spots is where the torso meets the hips, right on the underwear line. Through our roughhousing, his underwear had slid off a bit. After that, before each round, he asked "Are you going to take off my underwear?" with a wry grin, hoping I would, though that just meant pulling on the strap a bit.

That's just one example. I pat their butts. I inspect Ellen's vagina for cleanliness. I smooch them in lots of places.

Someday - maybe someday soon - we'll need to discuss boundaries. They're already getting a foundation with bathroom privacy; the boys prefer to go by themselves now (except the early loophole below). They lock the door, knowing that I'm the only one who can easily unlock it (Liss can with some effort). However, they also prefer to witness us in the bathroom, which was fine when we needed them to see what to do, but now we're trying to taper that off. The boys have, uh, seen menstruation in action. "Do you need a band-aid? Why is there blood?" "Because we're not having any more babies."

Anyway, we'll need to teach them that it's okay for some people to touch this and that, but even that will fade out to "doctors, and us during emergencies."

While the boys and I were playing on our bed, I got into a crouched position for some reason, and Andrew started to climb onto my back. I leaned a little bit to throw him off. He did it again. Bobby saw and joined in. We did this for maybe fifteen minutes. I called it the scorpion game, which they didn't get.

After the first several, I started having them request to which side to be thrown - left or right. We might as well get some educating out of it.

"I peed-ed."

The boys were turning on the light in their room upon waking up, which removed any chance of their falling back asleep before the green light. So, we told them to stop doing that.

To compensate, they started exploiting the loophole that lets them potty if they need to, by doing it every morning, then both staying in there and chatting or playing with their toothbrushes or whatever. So, now we have to shoo them back to their room every morning.

Things are starting to swing back to normal, sort of.

2011