Said the Dad as he walked with his kids on the shore,
“I love you two just a little bit more.
I love you more, you see, than there are stars in the sky
I love you more than little girls sigh.”

As he stretched for a stone that was just out of reach,
“I love you two more than there’s sand on this beach.
And if there’s one thing you learn from this Dad that you trust,
It’s that I love you more than fairies have dust.”

He squeezed two little hands and began to utter,
“I love you two more than butterflies flutter.
I love you two more than a forest has leaves.
I love you two more than Ali Baba had thieves.”

“I love you more than sunsets have beauty.
I love you more than tutti has fruity.
I love you more than Barbie has skirts.
And I love you more than you love desserts.”

The Dad then looked down at his two little ones,
“I love you more than a runny nose runs.
I love you more than any one thing from my past.
I love you more than a race car goes fast.”

And as the Dad took a breath but before he could speak,
He heard a voice from below that was little and meek.
“But Daddy, don’t you know, it’s you we adore.
And while you love us a lot… We love you more.”

We live in suburbia but we are the definition of suburban sprawl. A handful of years ago, our house was desert landscape complete with coyotes, rabbits and tumbleweed.

We still see an occasional bunny and coyotes have been known to roam the outskirts of our neighborhood but we don’t get too many tumbleweeds anymore. So, imagine our surprise when, after a recent windy storm blew through, we found a tumbleweed sitting in our driveway.

The twins were excited to see the tumbleweed so I did what any father would have done. I put it on our front porch, wrapped it in lights and bows and proclaimed it out Christmas Tumbleweed.

As we gather around our tumbleweed, we want to wish you and your family a very Merry Christmas (if you celebrate it) and a kick butt 2010. You deserve it.

Pssssst. Pssssssst.

Is this thing on? I see the guy we refer to as “Dada” always typing stuff on this thing. It seems like he gets a lot of validation for sharing his thoughts with the world. I think he calls it a “blog.” At first I thought he said “Dog” and I did not want anything to do with this thing but after I cleared up that little misunderstanding, we’re all good.

Except for the reason I’m typing this out. (Which isn’t easy, this typing thing, considering I haven’t had my claws trimmed in a while.) Anyway, as I was saying, I needed to get this off my fur. It’s been eating at me over the last few days and I don’t know what to do about it. I guess I should just come out and tell you…

I’ve been replaced. THEY brought home an annoyingly cute little kitten on Saturday. The little girl, that everyone calls Swee’Pea, who has been chasing me since birth, was in heaven. I, on the other hand, was completely disgusted.

No one consulted me. No one asked ME how I’d feel with another cat in the house. No one thought that maybe, after 9 years by myself in this family, I’d be too old to welcome some little furball into our house. I mean, I’m FRICKIN’ NUTMEG THE CAT! YOU DON’T REPLACE NUTMEG THE CAT!

Well, I showed them. I’ve managed to hide for 2 days straight under the bed in what they call “Grandmother’s room.” I’ve also thrown up on the carpet and hissed at the little shit the first time they brought him into my presence.

They call this cat Socks. Like that cute name will make up for his other faults like his annoying little mew and his loud shrieks whenever he’s kept in another room against his will. Whatever, dude. Someday, you too will be old and they’ll drop kick you to the curb in favor of someone cuter and more annoying.

Anyway, that’s all I had to say. I’m all broken up. I’ve given all I had to this family for 9 years and that’s all I get in return. Stabbed in the back. Anyone looking for a nice cat? Forget what I said about the puking thing. I was just kidding. Heh-heh.

What the -! Someone’s coming! Gotta go! Peace out! Meow!!

Socks. The newest member of our family

Nutmeg the cat. Not amused at all.

Ever since our first year, when we waited over 2 hours to see Santa, we have taken a more local approach to getting a visit with the Fat Guy in the red suit.  Our homeowner’s association has sponsored Santa the past few years and we’ve had great success getting photos with the Big Guy and his lovely wife.  However, Santa’s appearance fee was usually underwritten by a local Real Estate agent who, I imagine, is not feeling so much Christmas Cheer this year.

Seeing as how Santa might be skipping the old homestead, Lovely Wife scouted out new opportunities that would not require us to enter that four-letter word knows as the Mall.  She hit the jackpot when a local mom group arranged a meet-up at the San Diego Firehouse Museum where Santa was scheduled to make a visit.  All we needed to bring was a new, unwrapped gift.  So, we grabbed the never-been-opened Candyland that the twins received for their birthday (we already had Candyland) and we headed to the firehouse.

Swee’Pea and TheMonk had both scouted out what they wanted to ask Santa last week at Target when we went shopping to find a toy to donate to needy children for our YMCA toy drive.  Swee’Pea and TheMonk did a great job finding a toy to donate but also came away with ideas for their own gifts.  Swee’Pea wanted a Barbie Mariposa Mermaid (which, according to the reviews, is a piece of crap – but whataya gonna do?) and TheMonk decided that he simply wanted a race car.

Rather than buy the gifts early, I decided to wait until after the Santa visit since last year’s debacle where TheMonk changed it up on me when he finally got his one-on-one time with Santa.  But, it turned out, I didn’t need to worry.  The only thing TheMonk was concerned about was his insistence that he be clear with Santa that he wanted a “Pretend Race Car” because if Santa brought a real Race Car, that would be a problem. Because, you know, TheMonk can’t drive.

So, with plan in hand, we perused the antique fire trucks waiting for Santa to arrive. Which he did, arriving in a Hook & Ladder truck with lights and sirens blaring.  We had scoped out a good spot and Swee’Pea and TheMonk were the third and fourth kids to sit on old Santa’s lap.

It was another fine Santa encounter.  Happy Holidays to you and yours.

I come home after you and your brother are in bed.  It’s been a long day filled with long meetings and I climb the stairs, thinking that both of you will be awake and I can get some goodnight kisses in before it’s too late.

I enter the room, slightly illuminated and my eyes adjust to find your brother sound asleep.  I glance over at your bed and and I see your eyes peeking out from under your Princess Blanket.  I creep over and you excitedly remove your arms from your cocoon and reach them out for a hug.  I kneel down and you wrap your little arms around my neck and squeeze harder than a 4 year old girl should be able to squeeze.  I bury my nose into your cheek and kiss your cheek as you continue to squeeze.  You finally release me and we whisper to each other sweet nothings as we give each other butterfly kisses on our nose, cheeks and ears – our own little ritual of late.

As I gaze into your eyes, my heart fills with love and I am so blessed that I get to be your Daddy.  It is at this moment that you begin to speak.  Not wanting to miss this touching moment, I lean closer, eager to hear what this precious moment means to you.  Just the two of us.  Daddy and Swee’Pea.

I lean closer and hear you whisper in my ear…

“Daddy. I’m thirsty. Can I have some water?”

I would like to argue that the crockpot might be the single most amazing invention ever.  You throw some random things in a pot, turn it on, and… 8  hours later you have a meal.  Also, only one pot to clean.

So, this morning, soon after we finished our blueberry pancakes, I threw a roast, some potatoes and carrots and other random things into a pot, turned it on and announced, “Dinner is done!”  I then strutted around the rest of the day, playing with kids, going for a run, playing with kids, getting our Christmas tree, hiding from kids, doing some laundry, playing with kids and watching some football.

Finally, it was time for dinner.  I sliced some beef and cubed it for the kids. I threw it into a bowl with broth and carrots and potatoes.  We placed it in front of the kids and TheMonk, after taking a look at the culinary masterpiece in front of him, promptly announced, “I’m not hungry!”  In case we hadn’t heard the first time, he announced it several more times.  “I’m not hungry!”

Swee’Pea, on the other hand, after announcing she wasn’t crazy about potatoes, ate just about everything anyway.  She’s a veteran eater who’s savvy enough to know that the quicker you eat the dinner, the quicker you get dessert.  She finished right around the same time that TheMonk, realizing brownies were for dessert, decided that maybe he’d give the dinner a try after all.  He ate a few carrots and a few bites of beef and then asked if he could be done.  We explained he had to eat the last two cubes of beef in his bowl and then he could be done.

So, a few seconds later, I watched as he casually scooped both cubes of beef out of the bowl with his bare had and held them clenched in  his chubby little fingers.  “I’m done.” he announced.

Um, no.  As I explained to him that he had to eat the beef now in his hand, I also explained that it was not okay to lie.  He knew he had been busted and his big brown eyes started to well up with tears.  He’s a sensitive little guy who hates to let us down and he knew he let us down.  But guilt alone didn’t push him over the edge.

Not until his mother said, “I think he should only get half a dessert.”  (Meanwhile, his sister, seemingly oblivious to the drama taking place, is happily chowing down on her brownie.)  This news from Mommy is more than he can bear.

And he begins to cry. Loudly. Tears stream down his chubby cheeks as he mourns the loss of his parents trust and half a brownie.  My heart breaks for him but I know he has to learn this lesson.

Finally, he calms down enough to begin eating his tiny brownie.  I come over and remind him that I love him and rub his back while giving his tear-stained cheek a soft kiss.  I also remind him that I don’t want him to lie to me again.  He rubs his hair against my face and I know he feels badly.

I kiss him again and walk away to let him finish his brownie.  And I wonder how this parenting thing keeps getting harder.