Rough Evening

In less than one half of an hour last night I was:

1. Poked in the eye by DaBoy.
2. Bitten on the shoulder by DaBoy.
3. Peed on by DaGirl.

Here's to hoping tonight is a better day!

g

Here you go.....

DaGirl has never been interested in dressing herself. Sure, she'll help wiggle into a shirt for you but she never voluntarily puts clothes on, except her rubber frog boots, and who wouldn't want to put those on?

Taking her clothes off...that's another story. If left alone, it seems she can strip down to her birthday suit in under a minute. If we are nearby she has "problems" and asks for help.

We've been potty training for a while now with mixed results. Some people keep telling us she's still young and not to pressure her or for us to get worked up over it. Two demanding kids in cloth diapers is no picnic and the faster we get her asking for the potty the better for everyone.

We keep telling her "listen to your body and let us know when you need to go potty". We know she understands the concept. It's the application that's a little off. Case in point:

DaMom is in the kitchen putting lunch together and DaGirl is allegedly "playing" in the living room. DaGirl strips down to her socks (in the living room!), acquires some toilet paper, picks up the offending lump from her diaper with the paper and brings it to DaMom in the kitchen . "Poop" DaGirl says as she holds the prize up for examination.

"sigh"

g

When is it to early to teach fluid dynamics?

Apparently DaGirl is auditing a correspondence course in fluids. In our driveway.

When I got home last night I was greeted by DaMom with "Take her with you! She's spent too much time in front of the TV today."

OK, no problem. I'll round her up and we'll walk the dog.

Umm, not quite.

"Curewius HAT" DaGirl says to me. (allow me to translate: Curious George and the man with the yellow hat. One of her favorite shows and good luck getting her away from the TV when it's on.)

Here's where one needs to resort to bribery and trickery.

First I say:Do you want to go pee pee on the potty?
DaGirl: no.
DaGoof: Do you want to walk the dog with me?
DaGirl: no.
DaGoof: Do you want to splash in the puddles outside?
DaGirl: YAA!
DaGoof: OK, then you need to go pee pee on the potty first.
DaGirl: OK.

So I get her away from the electronic baby sitter, emptied out, dressed for outside and out we go. While I'm getting the stroller from the garage she's stomping in the big puddle in the driveway. No problem, she's got her big rubber boots on and her pants are up. She's having a blast. I wheel the stroller over and say "Do you want to walk Scrappy?", she voluntarily speeds over to the stroller.

We go for our walk and upon our return I pick her out of the stroller and put her on the deck. "NNNOOOOOOOO!" She screams. "Pudel" she points beyond DaMom's car.

"OK, you want to play in the puddle some more" I say as I lift her back down to the ground and she scurries over to the puddle. I think to myself "There's only an inch of water and if she gets wet I'll change her. I can put the stroller away and then play with her in the puddle."

Well, when I got back to her 30 seconds later she was standing in the middle of the puddle, bent over, analyzing the flotation characteristics of her mittens as she pushed them through the water.

My future engineer.

g

The Enablers

Dinner at our house does not usually end with a dessert. Most of the time dinner is filling enough that dessert is just not required and we'd rather have the kids eat a good meal without having to bribe them with dessert. But desserts do happen occasionally.

My in-laws (Memere & Pepere - French for grandma & grandpa) always have dessert and we have most Sunday night dinners at their house.

Last night was a particularly light meal that needed to be followed by a sweet treat. We finished our meals and were still at the table when DaMom asks DaGirl what she would like for dessert, here's what happened:

DaGirl: COOOOKIEs
DaMom: We don't have any cookies.
DaGirl: CREAAM
DaMom: We don't have any ice cream.
DaGirl: (pauses - you could see the thought coming) MEMMES HOUSE!!!

We all laugh.

DaMom: My mother's got to hear this!

She grabs the phone and rings her up.

DaMom: Hey mom, guess who wants to come over for dessert? YUP. What's that say she thinks about your house?

She hands the phone to DaGirl and with little prodding DaGirl tells Memere that she'd like ice cream for dessert. They end the phone call with some laughs and we think no more of it.

DaMom gets up to make some cookies from scratch while I bathe DaKids.

10 minutes later guess who's here? With ice cream. And brownies. And whipped cream.

The Circus of the Grand Enablers

g

The Power of Bubbles

Never underestimate the power contained inside a bubble.

I'm sure as kid I loved bubbles, but over the years their effect has warn off. Was it was the cold reality of the hardships in life that killed my love for the bubble? Or was it learning about air pressure and surface tension that diluted my interest in flying, soapy spheres?

I'm glad to announce that interest in the magical childhood physics lesson has been renewed in our house.

DaGirl loves bubbles, good thing too. She had been "kinda" potty trained, I like to say anywhere between 25 and 75% on any given day, but a couple of weeks ago she started refusing to be in the same room as the potty. No matter what we tried to do to lure her into the bathroom she resisted, violently.

Much like the power of the Pied Piper's magical pipe, the lofty orb of soap has renewed DaGirl's interest in putting potty where it belongs and will chant "bubbbbles, bubbbbles, bubbbbles" as soon as she walks in the door of the bathroom.

All hail the bubble.

g

Darth Vader is in DaHouse!

How do you check on your little ones before you go to bed?

Let me tell you how we do it around here:
For DaBoy, you creep softly into his room, put your head as close can to him, and listen for the faint, soft breathing only a baby can make.
For DaGirl, you sit in the living room, downstairs and listen for the Darth Vader, vacuum cleaner, cutting a cord of wood a night, snore only she can make.

g

Boxes...

Why do people feel the need to open other peoples boxes?

I handle 90% of the parts that go out to be machined, fabricated, plated or painted. The other 10% are handled by our "middle eastern division" (they're in an eastern cell of the converted strip mall we're in, and the name just fits) When an item is for plating or painting I box the items, make up the parts lists, call for pick up, deal with any QC issues the vendor has and perform the incoming inspection. It is generally understood that if the white truck from the other side of the river is here, it's here for me.

So then why did a particular busy body see the need to open a box that came back from plating this afternoon?

I saw the truck pull in. I put the box on the bench in front of my cube. I knew what it was and I knew it could stay boxed up for the day. We have enough stuff spread around here and keeping the contents of that box together and wrapped up would be fine until we got to Boston to do the final install. As long as the parts were in the box they could be all scratched and hot pink and I could care less, their function would still be performed.

Now the box is gone and the parts are who knows where. I'm not even sure he signed the packing slip.

So then back to the question, why?

Is it the fear of not knowing what's inside an unopened box?

Is it the joy that comes from opening a sealed box?

Is it need to be in everyone's business?

Yeah, that's it.

g

Trouble

Oh boy, are we are going to be in a lot of trouble when DaGirl gets older.

She's a happy kid and full of energy, sometimes too much energy.

It's common for parents to discipline their children with timeouts and warnings. These are already staples in our house and she's still shy of 28 months. However she can turn anything into a game.

The other day DaMom was feeding DaBoy on the couch, effectively pinned down, and DaGirl was on the futon. She thought it would be fun to jump (more like bounce really, she can't do a standing hop at all) on the futon. DaMom yells at her to stop and to sit down which DaGirl does, for about 5 seconds.

In a clear act of testing boundaries, she starts bouncing on the futon again. DaMom says "...stop jumping, 1......., 2.........,"

DaGirl sits.

Now, in a clear act of defiance, she starts bouncing again.

DaMom is getting PO'd and showing it and is about reissue the warning count when DaGirl beats her to the punch with her index finger up and a drawn out "one............."

uh oh.

g

The Dentist

Do I need to say more?

Yes, It's my Blog.

So I was supposed to go to the dentist on Tuesday for a cleaning. That didn't happen. My body had been rejecting all food substances since 1:30 Tuesday morning and I spent 19 of the next 24 hours in bed. A trip to DMD's House Of Pain wasn't in the cards.

But they wanted me in there anyway at 8 on Wednesday. yippie.

The following is a mostly factual account of the conversations that occurred at the dentists office.

Jen (hygienist): How are you today?
g: Better than yesterday.
J: Yeah there seems to be something going around.
g: (duh)
J: Do you have any teeth that are bothering you today?
g: No.
J:We'll fix that. Open wide.
g: (huh?)
J: Oh, I found two superficial cavities.
J: Do you grind your teeth?
g: I have young kids, I grit my teeth a lot.
J: Ha ha, well these look like they might be caused by grinding at night wearing the enamel......blah blah blah
g: (Great my subconscious is trying to wreck my teeth) nah
J: Well let me get the doctor and we should be able get these taken care of right now without novacain.
g: NUH? (remember, her instruments of pain are trying to find new portals of discomfort, my side of the conversation is pretty limited.)

Sure enough he comes in and says the same thing. I feel like they rehearse this stuff for me.

DMD: This won't take long.
g: snarf
DMD: BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
g: eek
DMD: BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
g: (Ok there's the smoke Bill Cosby used to talk about, you can stop now!)
DMD: BUZZZZZBUZZZZZZbuzzBUZZZZ
g:(Is there something I can stab him with, no wait you now have holes in your teeth, they need to fill them first)

That's how they get you see. They'll wear you out with the drilling and by the time you are ready to commit a felony, you just want out.

DMD: His teeth are pretty sensitive (DUH, I'm the guy who can feel everything and need super hightest novacain.) I recommend a Bite Analysis.
g: grunt (another thing to sell me, I must have bought him a car by now)

Kisses....

When is a kiss with your wife a little too long? When your daughter tries to kiss her brother that way!!!

DaMom and I don't smooch and drool over each other in front of DaKids. Usually it's a mmmwaaa type kiss. Longer than peck but not much more. There may be two or three of these stacked in when I'm leaving for work which I will give all three of them.

During tonight's bath I made the mistake of singing Barney's "I love you..." song.

Bad move.

DaGirl enjoys the song especially the hugging and kissing parts. Well, her reenactment of the song got her going on a kissing streak. Next thing I know I'm trying to pry her off DaBoy as she's hugging and smooching him like he needs mouth to mouth resuscitation. Fortunately DaBoy wasn't traumatized and was laughing his fool head off the whole time.

Remember to moderate your smootches in front of the little ones!

WDID? 2

What do I do? Part 2

On any given day I could be designing, assembling, loading a box truck, driving to Boston, and installing the "heavy stuff" of a project.

This was case last Thursday and Friday:



What?
SHDR - Ship Height Detection Radar

Why?
To measure the heights of ships, DUH?!
The illustrious airport in Boston has a runway that overlooks a harbor inlet and since the runway protection zone crosses said inlet, provisions need to be made for seeing ships that cross those invisible lines. The system they are presently using which only tracks ships is going away soon and our solution is one radar to track the ships and the other measures the height. The height radar will sit under the overhang inside of a plastic barrier and all of the computers needed to run it are in the shelter.

It's an interesting system, just don't ask me to explain how it works, I'm only the ME.

g

What Do I Do?

A couple of weekends ago, while visiting my father in the hospital (yes he's still there, since Nov 7th), I realized no one really understands the stuff I design and build at work. So I think it's high time to start a little mini-series on some of the projects I do there.

First up: SRA

Take 10 pounds of stuff and cram it into a 1 pound bag.

If it's metal, it needed to be told where to go, and I did the telling.

It started life as a different system that had two receiving channels. When it was reincarnated into SRA those parts were pulled out so now there is some "extra" space.

This system required me to go down to Florida and climb into the belly of one of NOAA's P3 Hurricane Hunters to verify the pressure vessel this rats nest fits into would fit into the plane.

This is the busy side of the antenna. I had to make a frame that would bolt up to an existing faring that bolted to the airplane.

What does it do?
At present, it is a one of a kind device. It looks downward from the belly of an aircraft and measures wave heights flying through hurricanes.

Why?
The data received helps forecasters predict the intensity of the storm when it hits land.

g

Patience is....

...required!!!

Last night was DaMom's night to go to her quilting class. On these nights it's up to me and only me to get DaKids to bed.

I had it all worked out in my head; bathe them simultaneously, dry and dress DaBoy first (since he's younger), dry and dress DaGirl, head upstairs with a snack for her, play with them and read stories until Daboy get's cranky, usher him off to sleep while she continues playing, then read her a couple of stories in bed and lights out.

Some varience of this usually works, honest.

Everything was going to plan until the "Leave DaGirl to play" business. UGH.

I was in the rocker in his room while DaBoy drifted off to sleep in my arms as he normally does. Then there was a thud. It wasn't the kind of thud that would make you jump up like something just came through the roof or someone falling. It was more like a potato hitting on the floor. This is an old house, 109 this year, and there are plenty of strange noises that occur but it was the silence from DaGirl that had me worried.

I tried putting DaBoy in his crib, but he stirred and whined as I tried to free myself, so back into my arms he went and off to see what mischief she was into.

In her room is a three drawer dresser that we used as a changing table. We stored the diapers and other necessities in the top drawer. Since DaBoy was exiled from our room and banished to his room for overnight sleeping, we've been keeping the cloth diapers on the stair rail. They use the same size now and it is just easier then having to creep into her room while he's screaming for a diaper at 1,2,3,4.....am, whenever really. However we never emptied the "other" items from the top drawer of the dresser.

Apparently we should have.

DaBoy and I came around the corner to see the top drawer open, DaGirl sitting in the middle of the floor, the mini crate of wipes and......petroleum jelly sitting in front of her.

The cover of the jelly was courteously placed in the crate, as if not to get any on the floor. However DaGirl looked like she was on an easter egg hunt and the best egg was at the bottom of this vat (did I mention it was one of the BIG containers?) of petroleum jelly.

I almost flipped right there but I held my cool, calmly told her to "get your hands out of that" and got DaBoy back to his crib. And all hell broke loose. DaBoy went balistic and DaGirl started crying when I chastized her and started cleaning her up.

That gunk was all over her. What a nightmare, hands, sleeves, belly, hair and a screaming sound track to boot. Anyhow, I got her cleaned up, into new PJs and issued the order that she lost storytime privleges for the night and to get in bed.

I then went to calm DaBoy. He was so worked up he had the hicuups and even in the dim glow of a green nightlight I could see his red face. It took nearly a half hour for me to calm him down (OK, more like him to pass out). I got him into his crib without incident.

Now back to DaGirl. I could hear her chatting away and banging on her bed. As I rounded the corner I see her head drop down (remember the prairie dog analogy?). I walked over to her bed to see her head buried into the pillow and her butt up like an ostrich.

She starts snoring.
Stoicly, I stand there.
She snores louder.
I lean over her.
She snores louder still.
I chuckle.
She chuckles.

We both bust a gut Laughing.

She makes it impossible to stay mad at her. I love her for that.

Patience gets you to the good stuff.

g

How's this....

...For a view of Boston most people never see.

Why do I have this?
More to come...

Malicious Destruction of Property

When I was growing up girls were held to a higher standard. I don't remember any girl intentionally setting out to mess up, damage, or otherwise harm someone's property. That was left to the adolescent boys. Sure, the girls were conniving, scheming, defaming and probably planning the destruction, but they didn't actively participate. They would tell their boy slave to carry out the misdeed and it would be done. Almost godfatherlike. Only a lot younger, with a training bra.

I never went out and vandalized something for the hell of it. Sure, I enjoyed breaking up construction debris or other junk discarded in the woods and maybe i moved something just freak someone out, but I never damaged someones usable stuff. I didn't see the joy in it and didn't understand why other people did.

Last night was our weekly Water Babies class at our local YMCA. Our kids are close enough in age that both are in the same class. Really it's an excuse to splash around in a pool for a half hour. My kids are fish. They love the place.

Our YMCA has two pools, one is large and used for swim team practices and the other is smaller and heated. The small pool is still very big, two classes can be held in it at one time and there is still plenty of open space in the middle. There are youth and adult changing rooms conveniently located and outside of the pool area there are two "Family Changing Rooms". I emphasize this because for the last two weeks we've had to wait in the cold hallway while girls from the swim team use these changing rooms. Cold and wet 7 and 28 month old kids are not fun to be around.

Last night was stupidity at it's finest.

All of our street clothes were in the lockers in the bigger of the two rooms and a gaggle of girls were holding the room hostage while they were showering and slowly changing into their clothes. When the other room finally cleared I took the kids to into it and started getting them changed since all of their diapers and sleep stuff was in the bag we took into the pool area. My wife proceeded to beat down the door until they let her into get our stuff when she was greeted by water all over the floor and on our stuff in the lockers! They had also shot some spray soap through the grates of the locker and into my socks and underwear.

WTF!!!!

I have no idea who these children are and they don't know me. Why mess with any of our stuff? We did grab one of the swim coaches and complained at the front desk so hopefully these little $4!t$ get booted out.

Last night was far to cold and snowy to be outside, commando, in damp jeans with no socks on.

How's that for imagery?

SNOW!!!

I want to ride!!!

I'm tired of snow and cold weather.

Outside today.

Bring on the dog days of summer!!!