To my little ones:

Today is my birthday. Today I turned 37 years old. I am now firmly in my late 30’s and while this is the first birthday that has given me pause when I think about my age, I have come to the realization that being comfortable with your age simply means being comfortable with yourself.

And while I haven’t always been comfortable with myself (some day I’ll tell you about middle school), I really enjoy who I am today. And much of that has to do with you, my little ones. You see, since your mother and I welcomed you into our world, all fear and doubt and questions about being a good father have melted away. Over the past three years I have come to not only love being your Daddy, but to also realize (at the sake of sounding immodest) that I’m pretty darn good at being your Daddy. And THAT, above all else I have done in my life, makes me feel like I’ve done something pretty special.

In addition to today being my birthday, I had to go to a funeral for a man I did not know but who had helped your Daddy’s YMCA a lot in the past before his body broke down from old age and fun living. I didn’t know this man but hearing everyone talk about how caring he was - along his ability to make people laugh, his ability to reach out to those he didn’t even know and make their lives better, his ability to write funny poetry for his his six children - all made me think about how blessed this man was to have so many people stand up and say what a great man he was but also what a great father he was. It made me realize that I have my priorities straight and I hope I never forget that when it comes time for me to pass from this world, that my greatest contribution will have been the love and caring that I shared with you.

And someday, when you’re 17, 37, 57 or 87, may you find comfort in knowing who you are. And may I have had a small part in creating that comfort.

Love and kisses,

Daddy.

“I a Big Boy!”

TheMonk has a burning desire to be a “big boy.”  It was probably the single most effective method in getting him potty trained.  All we had to do is remind him that “big boys go pee pee in the potty.”  Really?  Done.

But now this “Big Boy” stuff is starting to get a little old.  The main problem is that while, yes, he has made great strides in becoming a “Big Boy,” he’s still more “Little Boy” than “Big Boy.”  But that doesn’t stop  him from wanting to do everything all by himself.  He wants to climb into his car seat, put on his shoes, run the water in the bath, open his own beer bottle… You get the idea.  While he may be on the verge of doing many of these things, it takes him a LOT longer than it would take me.  I mean, geez, do you have any idea how long it takes a 3-year-old to open a bottle of beer?

But all of that is minor compared to what transpired today.

As TheMonk and I cuddled on the couch this morning watching Curious George, I reached over and tried to kiss his chubby little cheek.  He turned away from me and said, “No Daddy! No kissing me! I a big boy. Kiss me like this [he kissed the palm of his hand and blew me a kiss].”  Thinking he had made his point, he went back to watching Curious George.

I stared at him, contemplating how to respond to this directive that we would only blow kisses to each other from now on.  I could only think of one way to respond…

I grabbed him, wrapped my arms around him and smothered him with tons of kisses while he squirmed and squealed in my arms.

“You may be a Big Boy, Monk.” I said, “But you aren’t too big for kisses from Daddy.”

As I finally let him go, he sat on the couch, breathing heavily from the squealing and glanced at me out of the corner of his eyes.  His smile told me that perhaps he really didn’t want to be that big of a boy just yet either.

Swee’Pea and TheMonk are sitting at the table enjoying their breakfast. TheMonk is eating his bowl of oatmeal, lightly seasoned with brown sugar and cinnamon. Swee’Pea is eating her Cream of Wheat, lightly seasoned with brown sugar.

I am over at the counter, wiping up spilled brown sugar.

I am not paying close attention to the conversation that Swee’Pea and TheMonk are engaged in. When I left the table I think Swee’Pea was challenging TheMonk’s theory that the downturn in the economy was somehow related to all that acid the Baby Boomer’s took in the 70’s. She insisted that it was Barney the Purple Dinosaur’s fault (and, frankly, I’m more apt to agree with her).

But then, as I absentmindedly wiped brown sugar onto the floor, I heard Swee’Pea yell at TheMonk, “STOP COPYING ME, MONK!”

I quickly looked over and tried to see what TheMonk was doing. It didn’t appear to me that he was doing much of anything. TheMonk must have agreed because he yelled back, “I NOT COPYING YOU! YOU STOP COPYING ME!”

And then he looked over at me and gave me a look that said, “Can you believe the craziness coming out of my sister’s mouth?!”

“STOP COPYING ME!” continues Swee’Pea.

“STOP COPYING ME! counters TheMonk.

At this point, I’m annoyed because now the only thing they are copying is the yelling of “STOP COPYING ME!” and if I have to keep hearing this, I’m going to start shoving copious amounts of brown sugar into my ears.

“Stop yelling, guys.” I say. “No one is copying anyone. Let’s just eat.”

Reluctantly, they listen and turn to their food. Swee’Pea takes a bite of her Cream of Wheat while watching TheMonk suspiciously. TheMonk, while watching Swee’Pea, takes a bite of his oatmeal.

At which Swee’Pea immediately yells, “STOP COPYING ME!”

I’ve been away at a conference this week. The highlights? I got to see both Obama and McCain speak this week. The low lights? My blog reader is seriously out of control. Someone give me the Readers Digest version of the blog world.

Blogher is this week, right? Meaning my stat counter will get quite a rest this week. If you’re not going, we can just hang out together and make fun of those who went. Who’s bringing the junk food?

And, just because, I thought I’d leave you with some up-to-date photos of Swee’Pea and TheMonk. Can you believe how old they are?! Me neither.

Over the years, blogging has brought many cool perks. I’ve been able to drive a car from Ford, I’ve received countless books, and I’ve been fortunate enough to be invited to Sea World. But the coolest perk of blogging is that I have been able to meet and connect with people that I probably never would have met otherwise.

For instance, this past weekend, my family was able to meet up with Deanna from Deanna’s Corner and her lovely family. Deanna and I have been following each other on our blogs for as long as I can remember and I can’t think of a nicer person or a nicer family. I love peeking into the lives of her two little ones, Ane and Tad.

We all met at the zoo and within seconds Ane, who is four and a half, grabbed onto Swee’Pea and declared themselves friends. Swee’Pea’s not one to argue much so she went along fine.

Before long, we were off checking out flamingos and monkeys before lunch. Everyone wanted to get as close a look as possible.

Not everything was hunky dory, however. As we prepared to sit down in an outdoor eating area, we realized that Ane and TheMonk were nowhere to be found. Ane’s dad, The Webmaster, and I quickly went and searched for them. We found Ane fairly quickly as zoo staff had found her and were already calling security. TheMonk, however, was nowhere to be found. After frantically searching for him and calling out his name, a family noticed me and told me they saw my son walking up the walkway to the front with “an Asian lady.” I took off at a dead sprint in the direction they pointed me to. I haven’t run that fast in a while and it was all uphill. Luckily, as I turned the corner on the last section before the entrance to the zoo, I saw TheMonk holding the hand of a zoo employee. It turns out the “Asian lady” was a zoo employee taking TheMonk to security. As I called out his name, TheMonk turned to me with tear-stained cheeks and bolted right at me and as I scooped him up he clung fiercely to my neck as I smothered him with kisses.

Now that all was right with the world, I carried TheMonk back to the eating area where a very worried Mommy was waiting with Swee’Pea. We scolded each other for not watching TheMonk more closely in a crowded area. I tried to blame Ane, but my virtuous wife insisted that we couldn’t blame a four year old for leading our son astray. *Hmph* Maybe not, but I don’t recommend the girl as a baby sitter for those of you living in the great Northwest.

That small hiccup aside, we all had a great time getting to know each other. I couldn’t stop calling Ane and Tad (their blog name) Ane and Tad, even though I KNOW their real names. It’s a slippery slope when the blog world collides with the real world, I tell you. But I’m so glad these worlds did collide. Deanna has been a great blog friend. She sent us our Curious George videos when PBS briefly lost their minds and substituted Barney for our favorite show. She regularly makes a contribution to my Y and it was long overdue that we finally go to meet.

Next time, we’ll have to come to Seattle.

The kids had fun chasing fish at the Pygmy Hippo exhibit.

Deanna and my ugly mug.

Go and visit Deanna! Tell her I sent you!

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all parents are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of a potty trained child.

It’s a little known fact that this was the original wording of the Declaration of Independence that Thomas Jefferson penned over 230 years ago. Apparently, the other dads delegates decided that it was too specific and only covered those who were parents. So, Jefferson changed it and decided it was best to leave the potty training to his slaves.

Fast forward 232 years later and another attempt at freedom was attempted in the United States. While on a much smaller scale, it was no less important for those directly affected by the tyranny of twin toddlers. Mainly, me and my wife. So, in a symbolic gesture to the shedding of the shackles of tyranny that our forefathers declared on July 4, 1776, the Childsplayx2 family declared our freedom from buying diapers in bulk.

That’s right, we potty trained on the Fourth of July.

But first, we prepared. We bought the book Potty Train Your Child in Just One Day which boiled down to these basic tenets

1. Make sure your kids are ready.
2. Have your children teach a doll how to poop and pee while watching potty training videos.
3. Throw the mother of all parties while forcing large amounts of fluids down their throats.
4. Have them try to go to the potty at least four times an hour and bribe them with small stuff every time they try.
5. Wrap a bunch of gifts and let the child know they will get a present if they actually pee or poop in the potty.
6. Because even three-year-olds are materialistic, they will do anything for a 99 cent toy.

Now, the book is written for those odd families that choose to have one kid at a time. You know, the slackers. All I have to say is, you try potty training both a BOY and a GIRL in the same day. In our case, it took us two days.

And, let the record show, that after a full day of trying on Friday, the 4th, no one had actually gone pee in the potty. The had, however, gone pee on the living room floor, the den floor, the kitchen floor, halfway on the kitchen floor and halfway on the living room floor, halfway on the kitchen floor and halfway on the den floor and on the bathroom floor. It wasn’t pretty. The only good thing was that we could tell that both knew when they had to go potty, they just decided to go somewhere else and no amount of cheap toys were going to change their mind.

In fact, the potty training video we chose (”Elmo Takes A Dump” or something like that), kept saying that “accidents are okay.” That became Swee’Pea’s and TheMonk’s mantra every time they stood in their own urine. “Elmo says accidents are okay!” they’d say with their hands out to their sides. After hearing that so many times in a two day span, Elmo could kiss my potty trained butt, if you know what I mean.

Furthermore, the record must reflect that on Saturday morning, July 5th, after eating a breakfast of chocolate chip pancakes and lots and lots of juice, TheMonk decided he really wanted that 88 cent green recorder from Wal-Mart. After a few minutes of talking about our “private parts”, TheMonk peed in the potty!

It would have been extremely exciting but some of the celebration was muted by the fact that Swee’Pea decided (in a bit of sibling jealousy, perhaps?) to pee on the kitchen floor while TheMonk was still on the pot. However, it was poetic justice that TheMonk peed first. Considering that Swee’Pea walked first, talked first, and generally does everything first, it was nice to see TheMonk do something first for a change. In fact, I didn’t realize how badly he wanted it until Friday when he told me that “I’m winning, Daddy” when he tried to pee (he wasn’t winning, but whatever gets him motivated) and then told both Mommy and Daddy before going to bed on Friday night that he was going to pee first. Seems TheMonk was determined to finish first in something.

Swee’Pea seemed a little frightened about actually going pee in the potty. She loved the M&Ms she got for trying and loved to sit on the pot but would often get off the pot and then, moments later, pee on the floor. After much reassurance and some timely potty sitting (she couldn’t hold it anymore and finally had to pee while sitting on the potty) she too was awarded her first toy of the day late Saturday afternoon.

So, all in all, the day ended well. Swee’Pea went pee in the potty twice while TheMonk went at least five times. In fact, TheMonk got so good at sitting on the pot, that he adopted some of his old man’s style of taking care of business…

I am so, so proud.

Dear Swee’Pea and TheMonk,

As you know, you turned three last month. Three fingers, which you will slowly fold your pinkie finger under your thumb to show me how old you are whenever I ask.  As you tell me, three means that you are a “big boy and big girl.”

Apparently, turning three also means that you must become as stubborn as humanly possible.  Simple requests like “please finish your vegetables” or “Come here, please, so I can put on your shoes” or “Come here and rub Daddy’s feet” are more often than not met with a firm “NO!” followed by screams and tears if we don’t, for some insane reason, accept your “NO!” as the final word.

This stubbornness would be something to marvel at if it didn’t make me want to beat my head in with the nearest blunt object every time you dig your heels in when you don’t want to do something.  And while your stubbornness is awe inspiring, it’s also cloaked in irony.  Irony? You ask.

Why, yes. It’s ironic because your parents just might be the two most stubborn people on the planet. (Your mother just slightly more than I, but she won’t admit it because she’s so darn stubborn.)

We’ve had lots of practice being stubborn, your mother and I.  Admit we’re wrong? HA!  Do something when the other requests it and we don’t really want to? We invented “NO!”

So, what I’m trying to tell you, my stubborn little ones, is that you… don’t… have… a… chance.  We will out-stubborn your stubbornness.  And I know that annoys you to all ends but you’re just going to have to deal with it because I am not about to be played by a couple of toddlers who still can’t wipe their own butts.

So, bring it on, my little ones.  Your mother and I are ready.

Love,

Daddy.

When I was a kid, I had my own record player, which for you kids out there, was a rectangular box with a round spinning “turn table,” on top of which you placed a vinyl disc and, in turn, placed an arm with a needle that is attached to the record player onto the vinyl which would then transmit sounds produced from the grooves in the vinyl through a set of speakers. Very high tech.

Anyway, my record player was “portable” in that it had a little suitcase exterior with a handle to take it anywhere me and my eight year old friends wanted to party. I don’t remember many albums that I had to play on that thing but I do remember having a Sesame Street album that got a lot of play for a while. Which of these Sesame Street albums I had was beyond my recollection but I think it must have been one made between 1971 and 1978. Maybe Grandmother knows.

Somewhere along the way, Bert and Ernie and their “friendship,” lost their appeal and I moved on to other musical interests that included brief infatuations with Country (John Denver!?), Hard Metal (AC/DC!), an ill-conceived gangster rap time period (2 Live Crew?!), and an entire decade of musical confusion (hello 1980’s).

I have settled into my late 30’s and have come to accept my musical tastes for what they are. That is, mostly mainstream. The musical snobs would deride my musical tastes the same way they do American Idol, but I’m too old to care. I am what I am. In days gone by, I’ve seen concerts that range from Phil Collins to Dave Matthews but it’s been a while since I’ve last seen a live musical act.

But yesterday, there was a hot ticket in town. I had planned ahead and bought tickets for the entire family months ago when the concert was first announced and I was excited as we headed town to the Sports Arena in anticipation of a large crowd. Soon enough we had made our ways indoors, negotiated the throngs of other rabid fans - some dressed in costume. Overall, it was a young crowd but there were some thirty-somethings there too and we exchanged knowing looks and smiles as we passed each other in the crowded halls leading to our seats.

But finally we found our way to our seats. Before long, the lights went dark and the show began. Suddenly, the stage was filled with some familiar faces and a familiar song rocked the arena…

Sunny Day… Sweepin’ the clouds away,

On my way to where the air is sweet.

Can you tell me how to get…

How to get to Sesame Street?!

That’s right, my friends, yesterday Swee’Pea, TheMonk, Mommy and Daddy all rocked Sesame Street Live. Big Bird, Elmo, Oscar the Grouch, Grover, and “best friends” Bert and Ernie along with a lot of their friends all danced, sang and generally rocked the toddler set. Three year olds all over the arena got down and danced and sang. Kids every where were boogieing in their seats or rushing the stage. A small mosh pit of toddlers even formed at the base of the stage only to be guided away by arena security. A good time was had by all.

It makes me want to dig out that vinyl record from decades ago but there’s just one problem.

Anyone have a record player?

Every now and then, when she doesn’t know I’m looking, I like to watch my wife do every day things. Watching her read or watch TV or listen to another person speak make me feel like I really know her. Each expression, each nod of her head, each smile on her lips is perfectly ingrained in my mind. The way she tilts her head slightly when she laughs, the way she uses her hands when speaking or the way her hair falls across her forehead are all so familiar and comforting that I can’t help but smile when recalling them now.

She’s so much different than I am, you know. She thinks out everything before she acts. I act impulsively. She’s a bit shy. I’m sooo not shy. She’s absolutely beautiful. Me? Not so much.

She’s the Yin to my Yang and while a lot of the time we are just trying to get through the day, week or even month, today I get to step back and reflect. That’s what anniversaries are for.

Yes, Andrea and I stood before each other eight years ago today and promised to be with each other ’til death do us part. We promised to build a life together. Material things, for sure, such as a house, a car or two (right honey?!) and a big comfy bed. But even more, we promised to build a life that included a family. A family that loves each other. A family that laughs together. A family that is there for each other, no matter what. And the great part is that we’ve kept that promise.

And every time I see Swee’Pea and TheMonk laugh or give hugs and kisses or comfort each other in their time of sorrow, I take great pride in knowing that we’ve created everything we wanted. We’re a good team, Andrea and I. And I love her with all of my heart.

Happy Anniversary, my beautiful wife! You have survived eight years with me. You deserve a medal or something. Maybe a kiss will do.

I think I have documented before how much of a wimp I am when it comes to addressing some touchy issues that my kids bring up.

I guess I’m just not ready to imagine my little ones actually growing up.  I just want to hold them and squeeze them and smooch them forever and ever. Alas, they seem to be conspiring against me.  In fact, they insist on getting bigger and becoming more and more mature.

I hate it.

Case in point.  I am changing Swee’Pea into her pajamas this evening and I sit her up to put on her pajama top.  She is holding her plush kitty that is her bedtime companion and she is rubbing the soft animal against her chest.

At this point, she looks up at me, points to her three-year-old chest and says, “Kitty’s tickling my beauty marks!”

Beauty marks. Right.

Why do these things happen to me?