None of my children can push Dan's buttons like Doug. And this, I like to tell Dan as often as I see steam coming out of his ears, is because they are exactly alike.
They are both opinionated.
They are both stubborn.
They are both redheads.
They are both picky eaters.
They are both very picky about what they wear (although it is not always obvious.)
They both hate the beach because they don't like to get sandy.
They both hate the ocean because it is cold.
They are both second sons.
Neither of them listen.
But they are both sweet.
They both love sunsets.
They both love the mountains.
And they both love and are loved by me.
We celebrated Doug's birthday this past weekend. We always celebrate it late. Partly it's because his birthday falls during February vacation but mainly because I am always in denial of the fact that I need to invite 20 children into my house in the middle of winter and put it off until his birthday has actually passed.
This year he compounded the dilemma by insisting on a MAD SCIENTIST birthday party. I envisioned this to be me, surrounded by 20 children, each with their own exploding baking soda and vinegar volcanoes and this caused even more party procrastination. UNTIL, my wonderful husband was flipping through one of those advertising brochures that they leave in doctor's office waiting rooms and found - get this - an ad for Mad Science Birthday Parties!
I called them up and they were VERY, VERY reasonably priced. SOLD!
The Mad Scientist came to his party this Saturday and did a bunch of experiments. Her name was Sylvia. I was (unreasonably) surprised and excited that she was a she. She made things disappear, she set things on fire, she lit fireworks. She even taught us what that mysterious material in Pampers is! She had all 20 kids RAPT with attention. She even had the kids make SUPERBALLS to take home - their own little science experiment. It was Great.
But don't take my word for it. See for yourself.
The thing about having two boys and two girls is that sometimes the juxtaposition reaches out and punches you in the teeth.
I mean if you have boys, then you're used to boys. And if you have girls, then you're used to girls. And if you have two girls and a boy then you can't really understand why he doesn't fit in and you if you have two boys and a girl then you really can't see what she's making such a fuss about.
And if you've got some much greater combination of numbers then maybe the ages play more of a role than the genders. But when you're sitting there with 2 boys and 2 girls you have to keep your guard up.
Here's what I'm talking about... You're sitting there on a Saturday afternoon after spending the day with your daughters and you hear a grunt from the other room. You're in 'girl mode' so you don't get up to see what's going on and suddenly there's blood and gore all over your living room; because what you didn't see, what you heard without hearing, was the sound of those two boys rolling off the couch, across the erstwhile coffee-table, up against the tv and then back toward the fireplace where one of them, completely unintentionally (REALLY MOM!) smashed the other one's face into the bricks.
So you clean up the blood and the coffee table as best you can and, depending on your mood, either no one gets a time out - because they weren't even fighting, just wrestling - or they BOTH get time outs because they destroyed the coffee table and left a sanguine trail across the room.
On another day, you're sitting in the kitchen trying to do the weekly crossword puzzle. This is a disheartening endeavor because you realize you were much better at it when you were 15 than you are now. This is either indicative of the fact that parenthood and age have turned your brain to swiss cheese OR the fact that crossword puzzles take concentration and you are rarely allowed 30 uninterrupted seconds on the weekend. As you ponder this, (for 29 seconds) you suddenly hear the REALLY FAST pitter patter of little feet coming down the hallway followed by the CLOMP CLOMP of bigger feet yelling "MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!"
Before you can answer, your youngest daughter comes flying into the room with her older brother giving chase. She darts right, he follows. She circles the center island, making a U turn and is gone again. He stays on her heels. As she passed you noticed his latest LEGO creation in her hands and you add the lesson to your mental notebook: "If you want a boy to notice you, bake him cookies. If you want him to chase you, grab his favorite toy and run like hell." You wish you'd known that years ago.
Later that afternoon, your 4 year old daughter and her 5 year old brother are locked in an epic battle for control of an action figure. They both have a hand on the toy and struggle to get their other hand into position to wrench it free. They pull, they tug, they jostle, they speak harshly to each other. You think that you should intervene on her behalf; after all she's 15 months younger and he outweighs her by 25%.
"Give it to me" he yells. "No" she fires back. "It's mine." he argues. "I don't love you!" she counters.
Stung, he pauses long enough for her little fingers to gain the advantage and grab the toy. Before he can call "Mom, she said she doesn't love me!" she's gone and he's left standing there wondering what the hell just happened.
Last weekend, my daughters were playing so nicely together as they often do. Then Emily started to get a little pushy, taking Michaela's toys as well as her own. I began to intervene.
"Oh mom, it's okay." Michaela said, sounding like Mother Theresa in her magnanimity. "She can have it." she said so sweetly. And then, just as Dan and I shared a proud parenting "look" and as I was about to thank her and tell her what a big girl she was, she turned away and called over her shoulder as she left, "I have something even better." Which of course sent Emily into the perfect picture of the Loony Tunes tasmanian devil whirling down the hall after her.
Good times here at the sociology institute.
Friday night we went out to dinner for Doug's birthday. I'm including the photo here because I wouldn't have believed if it I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes either!
It was an honest-to-goodness restaurant meal where we actually ordered our food from the WAITRESS instead of from the hostess. On top of that, the kids ATE THEIR FOOD instead of just dipping it in ketchup and putting it back. They stayed in their chairs! (Okay, I may be starting to exaggerate, forgive me.)
Anyway, it was a relaxing(ish) meal at a restaurant where all 6 of us actually ate and made it home without swearing that we would never do THAT again. How exciting!
We wrapped up the birthday celebration today with Doug's annual checkup. It should have been pretty low key without any speed bumps except that when the doctor pulled up Doug's immunization record it was missing two shots - namely the POLIO vaccine and the Diptheria/Tetanus vaccine.
"How is that possible?" I asked. "Doesn't he need those for school?"
"Yes." said the doctor. "I have no idea how that happened." and he clicked over to the screen where he can send the order to the nurses to administer the shot and VOILA! the order was already there. FROM LAST YEAR.
"I ordered the shots but he never got them." he said.
Then he looked at Doug's printed immunization record, the one that I give to the schools and camps and whomever else wants proof that my son is not a walking pandemic. "Wait a sec," he said. "This says he had the shot. I've never seen this before. Let me get the nurse."
So he gets the nurse who proceeds to tell us that this is a "glitch" in the system where as soon as the doctor orders the shot it shows up on the childs immunization record whether or not he receives the shot. Delightful.
So there we are, the three of us, trying to decide whether Doug has already had the shot and the nurse forgot to write it down or if he's never had the shot OR if he MAY have had the shot, should we stick him again for good measure.
The doctor looks at me, "Do you remember if he had it?" "No" I tell him because I have 4 children and have seen him no less than 40 times between today and last year at this time. He turns to the nurse, "She has like 8 children" he tells her which I think, at the time, is a strange thing for a pediatrician to say but I answer back, "And when you're sticking them with needles it feels like I have 16 children."
So we decide to give the shots to Doug again because there's no harm in extras but there could be harm in missing it.
Doug says, "I'm not getting a shot am I?"
"Two." I tell him.
"I don't want a shot." he starts to whimper.
"I'm sorry Doug." I say, "but I have to take care of you."
More whimpering.
"Doug" these shots protect you from serious illnesses.
"Like what?" he asks.
"Polio" I tell him.
"What's polio?" he asks.
"Remember the president that was in a wheelchair?" I ask him.
He nods.
"He had polio" I say.
He thinks for a moment then asks, "Can I have a lollipop?"
"Yes" I tell him, silently thanking FDR.
P.S. He changed his mind as soon as the nurse walked in with the needles but by then I already had him in my vaccine grip. You get REALLY good at the vaccine grip when you have 16 kids.
6 years ago today I went to the doctor for a routine 8.5 month checkup. I went home 5 days later, 30 pounds lighter and forever blessed with my second son.
Here are some photos of Dougie through the years. I love you bug.
2004
2005
2006
2007
2008
2009
2010
To help Danny learn his math facts I've started randomly hurling arithmetic problems at my children. "Michaela, 2+2," I'll call. "4," she'll answer back.
They enjoy it but Emily feels left out so I've started including her. "Emily, what's your last name? what's my name? (Meredith) What's Daddy's name? (Dan) Where do we live? (Massachusetts)"
Today I added, "What's your middle name?" She was stumped.
"Marie" I told her. "Doug, what's your middle name?"
He thought for a moment, "Las?" he asked?
"No! that's the second part of your first name, DougLAS. What do I call you when I'm cross with you? Douglas...?"
"Hugh!" he said.
"Right! What's Danny's middle name?"
"I dont know." Doug answered.
"What do I call him when I'm cross with him?" I asked. "Daniel...?"
"JUSTIN!" he yelled.
"No" I said VERY sheepishly. "That's Daddy's middle name."
