Important Question: If I didn't notice a sparkle, can it still be a vampire?

This is the kind of urgent question that cannot wait until it's not the middle of the night to ask of The Internet.

This evening, close to midnight, we were shocked to discover an intruder in the house that may be either a bat or some kind of darting swift or swallow. It didn't stop panickedly swooping toward my indefensibles long enough for me to get a good look at it before finding a safe enough nook in which to plot its revenge.*

So, after several fruitless hours of searching, the question I have for you all is this:

Which one of us will wake up with this thing on our face?

It's kind of important that we know this as soon as possible. Please share your educated hypothesis** in the comments.

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* And J- couldn't see much from under the blanket, where she was, quote, "Protecting the baby."

** Additionally, I suppose, you could answer by telling us who will never wake up after this thing was on our faces?

Proof I didn't kill my children

[...or, "I Know Why the Caged Bird Screams"]

Well, my computer decided to break down Thursday, and in fact it's still out of commission until I can find my Windows CD, so here you get Friday's promised picture post on Monday.

Here's a short summary of the trip home in (representative) pictures.

We had a little drive across Maine and New Hampshire, stopped to see Nanna and Poppa in Rhode Island, got in jammies, and we'll surely be there in no time, right? Why not celebrate by doing our best Sean Connery impressions?

It's all laughs and smiles until someone gets cranky:

For those trapped in a five-point harness, this is a good stress-reducing position to assume for at least 40% of the time, to keep your circulation going so you can get maximum screaming power from what meager foodstuffs you're likely to be offered.

For those trapped in a relatively comfortable booster seat with a mere shoulder belt (who would never, ever, ever deliberately arm and then set off a Toddler Bomb), this would be the ideal posture-- furious concentration on something else almost as loud and annoying, piped directly into your ear holes:

If the option to get out of the car more than the doctor-recommended 14 times an hour is firmly withheld from you, you must be sure to stretch often and look as bored as possible while doing so:

In between reps, if no other activity is offered to you, just pretend to read until that ability spontaneously manifests itself:

Once you're again done with that, don't be surprised if your traveling companions/jailers playfully attempt to assuage their guilt by forging evidence that everyone has been having a really great time and no international anti-torture laws were being broken:

Console yourself that once the sun goes down, the toddler vampires have free reign, and they make pathetic wandering parents their playthings, biting their heads off like so many Winnie-the-Pooh animal crackers.

Also, only then is the portable DVD player allowed to return to its rightful throne on the front armrest, ruling as a benevolent Pixar-spewing overlord, appointed for life by acclamation.

And all will once again be right with the world, until those mutinous parents, who hate anything that makes children smile, pull the stupid car into the stupid garage and ruin all the fun.

Classic quotes, Vol. 16

Here are a few choice quotes just from the past two weeks of our vacation alone, this time all from my 5-year-old son D- and 2-year-old daughter M-:

M- (slapping my legs while she sat on the toilet): I'm cwapping your pants!*

D- (after winking at our now-fawning waitress, while smiling coyly): What's your name?

M- (asked of Grandma absolutely out of the blue, then restated by D- after she understandably questioned what M- had asked): Why does Santa have helpers?

M- (a moment of clarity during a minor tantrum in a restaurant): I'm fwustwaited!!

M- (on another occasion, reaching up and pushing on my chin while I was telling her how naughty she was acting): I am cwosing your mouth, to stop your talking to me!**

And to close this very M--heavy quote list, a bonus from before we left for vacation:

M- (generously offering some of her "Mystery" flavored lollipop): You want a wick of my Mystery?

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* The next day she said she was, "Cwapping on [my] head," which honestly isn't as far-fetched as it should be, given some of the barely contained bodily-function mishaps we've come to know so well.

** Rest assured, she earned herself a good yellin'-to for this typically self-narrated mutinous behavior.

Better late than early... isn't that a saying?

So the word on the street is, no, I didn't pick a post to appear this morning, so all 20 of you who read blogs on Friday were left hanging. Sorry about that. My only excuse is that I am horribly disorganized.

To make up for your likely paralyzing distress at not getting to be mildly amused by my verbosity this morning/afternoon, I'll throw out this bonus tidbit:

According to my 2-year-old daughter M-, because she bumped her foot on something when I was corralling her away from somewhere she knew she wasn't supposed to be, I am officially "mean", as well as "nasty", because "[I] hurt [her] foot."

Throw in a couple curse words, and she can reuse that tantrum in 12 years or so if she ever runs low on material. Speaking as a blogger, I recognize the value of such an asset, and yet speaking as her father, I'm pretty sure this girl will NEVER run low on material.

Stories for the newly hearing impaired

Well folks, it's Friday morning, which means it's time for me to grab my ear plugs and head down to the library for M-'s story time, where we all get to huddle on the outskirts of the crowd gathered in relative safety about 15 feet away from the (very nice) ringleader herself.

The first week, a few of the other 2-year-olds understandably plopped themselves down right up front when things started, but, being creatures who act on instinct at all times without care for others' feelings, they unsubtley hit the deck when the volume dial broke off at 11 and didn't let up.

It came right as I was wondering how they could take it while I was struggling all the way in the back of the tragically tiny room-- all three kids simultaneously threw themselves backwards (in that way little kids do) outside the blast radius of this woman's voice.

Every week since then, that radius has been marked out by a field 2-3 cushions deep, which this lady must lay out in the vain hope that she's offering plenty of room and comfort to that one special boy --half deaf in his one functioning ear-- who will drift in from one of the nearby parks, as foretold in the prophecy, beckoned to the library by the siren song of a children's book read at a volume that finally allows him to turn off his hearing aid.*

Lest you think she's just one of those rare perky people who's raring to go first thing every morning, I assure you she is far from it. Rather, I believe she simply has to keep shouting as loudly as possible in an effort to keep herself awake, or possibly not dead. Kind of like that stupid Jason Statham movie Crank.

I'm thinking of asking the police department if they might be able to rig up their speed-monitoring trailer to instead measure decibels, so I could drag it into the back of the room like a scoreboard. I might be able to make some side money** wagering on this...

Hopefully I can make enough to cover the ear surgeries.

---

* And then ask her if she might speak just a little more softly.

** By side money, of course, I mean my only money.

Classic quotes, Vol. 9

Here are some of the latest quotes from around our house (M- is my 22-month-old daughter and D- is my 4-year-old son):

M- (pointedly, almost any time we ask her if she can do something): No, I'm too busy right now.*

D- (after being reminded about how M- will be 4 some day): And then we can have a FIGHT!!

M- (whenever she sees D- or I getting dressed): Bye, penis!

Me (with predictable disbelief and disgust): M-, do not eat food off the toilet seat.

M- (to my mom, uncharacteristically not doing whatever M- wanted her to at the moment): No! You make me saaad!!

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* As I had to swear to my sister, neither J- nor I have ever in our lives said this to either of our kids, though of course many times we've thought it.

A conversation with D-: You'll be sorry

Speaking of yesterday's post, here is yet another Conversation with D- from the other morning:

M-: Aiyyyeeeee!!! No, no, noooooo!!

Me: D-, what are you doing?

D-: I'm just tryin' to take the car from her!

Me: Did she have it first?

D-: Yeah, but I just want it.

Me: There are dozens of cars you could play with just on the couch right next to you. She only wants to play with one! You let her have it and stop being nasty!

D-: (lets go, then shoots me a resigned and very subtly mean look) Daddy, I don't want to play with any cars.

Me: (shrugs) Okay.

D- sits for several minutes in silence, as M- gets bored with the car and moves on to sit happily with her See N' Say for an unbelievable length of time. (For a 1-year-old, that is... actually, for anyone with a See N' Say, but those two separate facts just make it the perfect storm of contrast to D-'s attitude.)

He then donned an obviously unwillingly casual look, which I thought was just residual sour grapes as he very maturely tried to move past the scolding (which does happen sometimes).

D-: Daddy, when can I play with my horse trailer again? [He had gotten in trouble with it and lost it for a week.)

Me: Hmmm, well it's Tuesday, so it's been a week-- you can play with it now.

I've obviously fallen right into his astoundingly clever trap, easy prey for such a superior intellect. He answers quickly and somewhat smugly.

D-: I don't want to play with it.

I fire back just as quickly, with barely a reaction (I'm awesome that way).

Me: Okay, sounds good to me.

D- sets his face into a deeper pout and looks to regroup. It takes so long that he apparently forgets to actually regroup and just goes back to playing about 10 minutes later.

Fin.

Kamikaze baby

I realize the hypocritical folly in shouting at a toddler to stop screaming at every little thing, but you know, sometimes I just can't stop myself. Man, that baby's got lungs. It's like living with a two-foot-tall fire truck siren.

Here are a few dialogue samples:

D-: M-, don't take that toy away from me!
M-: Aaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!!!!
---
Me: M-, get down off that stair...
M-: Aaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!!!!
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J-: M-, put down that knife!
M-: Aaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!!!! (stab)
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M-: Hun-gee!
Me: M-, are you hungry?
M-: Nohhh!!
Me: Well, why did you say "hungry" then?
M-: Aaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!!!!

Okay, so one of those is made up, but if you heard her scream, you wouldn't think it was far behind.

The cast of characters

Me: As the nickname indicates, I can be overly precise and dogmatic, but in the interests of full disclosure, this is generally just an effort to amuse myself. I'm in my 20s, and my English degree, coupled with my Herculean drive to deftly conquer every mountain life sets in my way, has of course brought me wealth and fame beyond your wildest dreams.

I say 'your' dreams because I, of course, don't dream. If something begins to occur to me while I sleep, I simply wake up and make another million off it before retiring again to rest in the blackened, dreamless sleep of someone who once again has nothing left to achieve in this world.

I've made and lost just some of my fortunes thus far while working in the high-stakes fields of technical writering, movie-theater-supervisoring, and temporary employmenting. I recently moved into the profession of making those privileged Caucasian-American babies everyone loves so much these days ("this millennium's Beanie Babies!!!"), and I am merely waiting for that investment to mature in spades.

J-: My long-suffering wife and a sainted special education teacher. She has put up with my shenanigans for over 10 years so far (I tricked her into marrying me less than halfway through, before she could realize what she was getting into). When asked how long she plans to continue, she makes that face she makes. You know the one.

D-: My 6-year-old son, who (as an impartial observer) is abnormally intelligent and insightful for his age, which mostly just brings him trouble. Also, we have a very similar sense of humor, which says a lot about both of us, I think. You'll hear enough about him and his sister later that I don't need to go on at length here.

M-: My 3-year-old daughter, who may or may not be part Eskimo, as she spent most of her free time during her first year assigning 70 different meanings to a blood-curdling scream. She has since settled down and began blowing us all away by walking, toilet-ing, and talking like a 5-year-old before age 2. Except when she really wants something she can't have, she is professionally adorable and pleasant.

My Parents: The nicest parents in the world. Seriously. If you think your parents are nice, you may in fact be wrong. J- and I end up spending a lot of time over at their house (my parents' house, that is, not your parents'), like "Everybody Loves Raymond" in reverse.

My Sister: A fun and loving aunt (pronounced "ant"). Just don't call her Aunt, cause that might suggest she's older than her 20s. She's a vegetarian, and generally very Healthy and Active, which can only be a good counterweighting influence on the kids.

I'm sure others will appear, but these are likely to be the most frequently mentioned people.