It’s interesting how something changes, although it is precisely what it was before. When I was a young child, I loved watching Fraggle Rock.

Dance your cares away,
Worry’s for another day.
Let the music play,
Down at Fraggle Rock.

Work you cares away,
Dancing’s for another day.
Let the Fraggles play,
We’re Gobo, Mokey, Wembley, Boober, Red.

Dance your cares away,
Worry’s for another day.
Let the music play,
Down at Fraggle Rock.
Down at Fraggle Rock.
Down at Fraggle Rock.

We were recently enjoying a lazy evening around the house and decided to find something to stream via Netflix. Sarah went to the kitchen to make popcorn, while I perused the “Watch it now” list on Netflix.com.

“What we watching, daddy?”

“What ARE we watching, daddy?” I corrected. “I don’t know yet, I’m still looking.”

“What ow we watching, daddy?”

“I don’t know. I just told you I don’t know. Why aren’t you listening to me?”

“We watching a mooooovie?”

“Tyler. Seriously. We’re not going to watch anything if you don’t let me see what there is to watch.”

Tyler paused, seeming to process my last statement. I returned my attention to the screen, scrolling past Bob the Builder, Thomas the Train, and a plethora of other shows that I honestly couldn’t care less about.

“I want to watch something.”

I closed my eyes, and chose to just ignore Tyler. Then, I saw it. Season one of Fraggle Rock.

“Sarah,” I shouted across the house, “how about Fraggle Rock?”

The reply – and excitement – was immediate. “YES!”

As I clicked the appropriate links and booted up the Wii, I told Tyler what we were going to watch.

“I not want to watch Flaggle Rock.”

“Tyler, you don’t know what you want. You’re going to love Fraggle Rock.”

From start to finish of episode one, of season one, Tyler’s eyes were glued to the screen. When the episode ended, he said “Want to watch another one.” So we did.

The beauty of Netflix is that you can stream these shows commercial free. Each episode is approximately 22 minutes. For roughly 44 minutes, Tyler laughed at Sprocket, learned about Fraggles, Dozers, and the King, Queen and Prince of the universe (the Gorgs). He giggled madly when the Trash Heap appeared and spoke with her rats.

Sarah and I? We spent those 44 minutes giving each other strange looks. We whispered to each other.

“Do you remember this show being this bad?” I asked.

“No. I used to like this show,” she replied.

“Me too! Loved it. You know there’s 5 seasons of this on Netflix?”

“Amazing…”

“I wonder if our parents thought this show was as stupid as we think it is now.”

“Hahaha… I bet. I feel bad for them now.”

“WAIT! Doc… Look at him. Isn’t that the guy who’s in Boondock Saints? The dude that has Tourettes?”

“Oh my God. That is totally him. Hahahaha.”

Doc. The old guy that runs the workshop with his pet dog, Sprocket. He, strangely enough, also plays Doc in Boondock Saints, where one of his more memorable quotes in the movie is “Why don’t you make like a tree, and get the f— outta here?” Unbelievable.

A couple days ago, Sarah was having some rather strong contractions, and I was suffering from some intense neck pain. We decided to have another lazy evening. It was well deserved this time, though. Earlier, Tyler and I bundled up and played out in the snow with Delilah for a while. Then Sarah and Tyler played with dinosaurs and Legos. As the evening progressed, we just wanted to snuggle up, so I asked Tyler if he wanted to watch some more Fraggle Rock.

“YES,” he replied without hesitation. “I love Fwaggle Rock.”

Although watching the show through an adult’s eyes makes me realize that the show simply isn’t that good… I’m kinda looking forward to making my way through the 96 episodes.

“Tyler what do you want to eat for breakfast?”

I expected to hear a response along the lines of pancakes, or eggs, or cereal. Instead, I was corrected as to whom I was speaking with.

“Actually, I’m a frog right now.”

“Ok, what does a frog want to eat for breakfast?”

“Umm frog food.”

Were you aware of this? Frogs eat frog food?! Next you’re going to tell me that dogs eat dog food, and lions eat lion food, and people eat people food.

“Well, tell me what foods you want to eat, mister frog.”

“Umm… Flies, and bugs, and penguins, and snowmens.”

So, for breakfast, we had fly and bug eggs, penguin sausages, and snowmen orange slices.

“Tyler, do you remember touching a snake when we went camping with Grandma and Grandpa?”

This led to us watching the snake video… which led to us watching a few videos of Tyler when he was a baby.

Take this video, for example. It’s only 57 seconds long, so be sure to click play:

Not playing? click here

As he cried in the video, I asked him about it.

“Tyler, do you know why you’re crying here?”

“Yeah. I cryin’ uhcause I have no teeth.”

The radio chatter sent a chilling message. Invasion. Chaos. Extinction. I flipped the radio to the secure comm frequency and listened. All combat-ready personnel were being summoned to Sector 7 for an emergency briefing. One look at my partner told me we weren’t going to be there. Just as well, I thought. It’d be nothing more than a pep rally. Some patriotic speech about freedom, life, liberty, and their continued pursuit of their inflated paychecks, to get our blood boiling and adrenaline flowing. The orders would be the same, though. Gear up and protect this rock we call home. The resistance had somehow penetrated the outer forces that we all foolishly believed were impenetrable, and now it was up to us grunts to stop, or maybe only slow down, the attack. There were two things that the resistance didn’t prepare for. The Space Rangers, and our taste for blood!

“Tyler! Help me with my wings!”

Tyler rushed over and helped lift the carbon-fiber, TJ-0628 Flight Enhancement unit onto my shoulders. In a flash, he secured it to the anchor points on my space ranger armor. He verbalized each step, something we were trained to do years ago, to prevent any detachments during flight. “Buckle buckle buckle buckle.”

“Thanks, bud! Sounds about right,” I cried over the sound of machine gun rattle. “Where are your wings at?”

“Over dare,” he shouted. In a burst of speed, he retrieved the TJ-0628.

Moments later, the two remaining members of the Space Rangers were ready for war. In a room that typically housed hundreds of biologically modified men, capable of superhuman strength and speed, only two men stood. We were the last. Earth’s final hope. But we were also the best.

“To infitty… n bond!”

Space Ranger Tyler rocketed into the clouds, and I was quick to follow. With uncanny precision, he dived into a valley.

I keyed the mic on the secure communications radio. “Tyler, where are you going?”

“I find a bad guy, over here!”

“Ok, let me come help you,” I replied. But it was too late. I barely had a chance to circle back when I spotted him through my visor. He was already headed towards the prison – which looked surprisingly like a dog’s crate.

I caught up and pressed a code onto the keypad. The prison door swung open. Tyler threw the bad guy in and the door clanged shut. He grunted, “You tay in dare, bad guy!”

“Yeah,” I snarled. “You stay in there, you bad guy!”

The hours turned into days. Progress was being made, and the bad guys were quickly filling the cells. The sound of the prison door banging closed over and over again was satisfying. And each time the door locked, Tyler rocketed away, looking for his next capture. His mission was clear and time was against us. Collect the bad guys, collect the bounty, and protect humanity. I turned to take Tyler’s six and heard a low growl in the shadows. I wheeled around and readied my weapon, but it was too late. In an instant, I was paralyzed in the bone crushing grip of something big. Something very big. Tyler was merely a blip on my visor and I had no hope of freeing myself. Still, the grip tightened, and simply drawing air into my lungs became strained. I activated the comm channel and allowed the fear to come through in my voice.

“Tyler, Tyler, help me! I’m caught. A bad guy has me!”

With no delay, Tyler’s flight path arced back towards my position, and his voice boomed in my helmet. “I get ‘im! I catch a bad guy!”

He zipped past me, out of my sight. A moment later, I was pulled backward. Then, the pressure weighing on and around my body relaxed. And then, it disappeared entirely. The HUD overlay on my visor blipped out and a soothing, computerized voice surrounded me. “Warning. Space suit integrity compromised. Systems check initiated. Ten seconds remaining.”

Any movements beyond rolling my eyes or sticking my tongue out were a virtual impossibility with the approximate weight of a pickup truck on my shoulders. Still, this was a walk in the park compared to the 45 seconds it took for the predecessor of the TJ-0628 armor to recalibrate its biometric sensors and reboot its core processes. The voice never returned to inform me that the checks were complete, but the weight suddenly lifting from my shoulders told me I’d either been lifted in the air by a massive force, or the servos and hydraulics in the suit were operational again. I spun around to see Tyler closing the prison gate.

“Thanks, Tyler. That bad guy really had me!”

“Yeah.”

“It looks like we’ve caught all the bad guys. Thanks for your help buddy. Let’s go back and take these wings off.”

Tyler’s eyes shifted to look over my shoulders. “I see anudder un! I go get him!”

I turned to follow his flight path, but couldn’t see the bad guy. “Where is he, Tyler? I don’t see him.”

Tyler dived, grabbed something, and swooped back into the air. How he was able to see such a well-hidden baddie was beyond me. “Good job, Tyler! I didn’t even see him!”

“I got him. I’m a eat him in my belly,” he said. A moment later, he put the bad guy in his mouth. “Om nom nom nom NOM!”

And with that, our mission was complete. We landed and assisted each other with the removal of our gear and armor. The supreme high commander approached us and asked, “Did you boys have fun?”

Tyler spoke for both of us, and said, “Yes Mommy!”

Tyler has an imagination, and it truly amazes me…

We knew, when Sarah was pregnant with Ty, that we wanted to have a second child. After Ty was born, we talked about it here and there, but mostly during light conversation. It wasn’t until around six months ago that the conversations became more detailed and the planning part began to take shape. After the decision was made – heck, even until, and while, we were “trying” – we never put any serious thought to life with multiple children. Then we got the blue line. That was when the figurative voice boomed through the figurative speakers in our home, “This sh** just got real!”

Where will Version2 sleep? Will I have to clear out the office and turn it into a bedroom? How will Tyler react and adjust? Et cetera ad infinitum.

I asked Sarah if she wanted me to take weekly belly pictures like we did with Ty. She gave me the typical look any loving wife gives her husband for asking a ridiculous question and said, “Of course I do.”

Then she took a sip of her (caffeinated) coffee. Coffee she wouldn’t drink while pregnant with Tyler. This is when *it* began. *It* being one of two things.

On my irrational days, *it* was the fact that this pregnancy isn’t the same because this is our second child. It’s not new, like the pregnancy with Ty was. We don’t care as much.

On my more level-headed days, *it* is the knowledge that we were FREAKS during the first pregnancy. Lay like this, sleep like that, no caffeine, no artificial sweeteners, DO YOUR KEGELS!!!! It was almost to a level of neurosis. Given the opportunity, I would have wrapped Sarah in bubble wrap and locked her in a nuclear fallout shelter until the end of the gestation period. How she stuck with our marriage during the torture I put her through is beyond me. Meanwhile, Ty was partying like a fetal rockstar, taking late-night fetal karate classes, and using Sarah’s bladder to practice for his first boxing match.

I know that I deeply care about this newly created life that is barely larger than the Lightening McQueen Hot Wheels car that Ty loves so much. But…

I’ve already missed the first two OB appointments and have had to admire my beautiful Version2 through printed ultrasound pictures that Sarah brought home. I remind myself that I had no choice due to some important work projects, and take solace in the fact that Ty was there to watch the “baby movie” with his mommy.

It has also occured to me that I’ll either need to delete over 90% of the pictures I have of Ty, or be prepared to take thousands of pictures of Version2. My friends and family would honestly murder me if I did the former, so I’ll get Version2 familiar with the sound of a shutter slamming shut on short order.

Rubbing Sarah’s belly a few mornings ago, nearing in on thirteen weeks pregnant, I said, “We need to start taking belly pictures soon.”

She heard what I didn’t say. That we are slackers. She lowered her head, mildly ashamed.

“His middle name is neglect.”

At the end of the day *it* is the knowledge that Tyler takes up a significant portion of our days now. All the time we sat and admired the growing life form in Sarah’s belly during her pregnancy with Tyler… that time simply doesn’t exist any longer. To feel like we’re neglecting the little one right now is, in and of itself, pretty irrational. I’m sure all parents of multiples went through – or are currently going through – similar thoughts and feelings.

But, we really need to start taking those belly pictures.

Some of my more keen readers may have noticed the word “his” while referring to Version2 a few paragraphs up. No, we do not know the sex of Version2. I find it highly impersonal referring to the baby as “it”, and I only use “Version2″ here on the site, so we refer to the baby as a unknown-gendered “he”.

Remember last Halloween? We went to a pumpkin patch, went for a hayride, picked pumpkins, and Tyler gutted and carved his very first pumpkin? Well, it was actually his second Halloween and pumpkin, but the first he’s had an active role in. And afterward, he smashed the pumpkins.

Well, right after we gutted the pumpkins, we all picked out a handful of seeds, cleaned them, dried them, and placed them in a baggie over the winter. Winter’s over and it’s time to plant those seeds now.

First, we made a hill for the seeds, or “baby pumpkins” as we were calling them. Then, we poked a hole in the top of the hill. Three seeds went into the hole. Once the plants sprout, we’ll thin them; meaning, we’ll pull the two weakest plants, and let the strongest grow in that hill. We made a total of three hills.

Once the seeds were placed into their new home, we filled the hole with dirt and patted it down. The hole was only about the size of a quarter and a couple inches deep.

After finishing this on the first hill, it was time to build the second hill. Spacing is important in gardening, especially when dealing with a plant that grows as aggressively as pumpkins tend to. We chose the spot for the next hill and started gathering dirt. We poked a hole, put three seeds in, filled the hole and patted it down again. Then, we did the same for the third and final planting location.

Sarah bought Tyler his very own watering can so that he can help with gardening this year. With all the seeds being nestled snugly in their beds, it was time to put use to the watering can. We filled Tyler’s watering can, and the larger one that Sarah and I use. As Tyler emptied his watering can, I filled it again and again from the larger one. The little stinker lost half his load to spillage just walking from the hose to the pumpkin patch.

To keep the plants moist, we need to put mulch down. This will help retain heat and moisture; keys to life in the plant world. Tyler and I retrieved our wheelbarrows. Both wheelbarrows are very old. Mine was handed down from my father-in-law, whom it was handed down to from his grandfather. Tyler’s used to belong to his mommy. Sarah’s dad brought it down last year, in very rough shape, to pass onto Tyler. After some sanding, painting, clear coating, and new hardware, it was as good as new. We got to work shoveling mulch into the wheelbarrows. Tyler picked up very quickly and had no qualms about the manual labor.

Tyler was pretty pooped after all the hard farming. Sarah took him in the house for a nap. Sarah wasn’t feeling that great as it was, so she took a nap as well. While they slept, I put up some chicken wire around the patch, and made a very special sign.

Ladies and gentlemen, I would like you to see Tyler’s very own pumpkin patch. He is very excited about it, and smiles every time we talk about his pumpkins. We haven’t had a chance to water the seeds because it’s been raining the last two days, and we just planted them three days ago. With any luck, we’ll be posting pictures around September or October of Tyler’s very own, homegrown, pumpkins.

I told Sarah that this was a “Daddy and Tyler project,” because I think it’s important that Tyler has specific “daddy time” and specific “mommy time” along with the family time that we spend together. I feel tinges of guilt about it because, on a level, I feel like I’m excluding Sarah. That’s not the case at all, and to be honest, I’d never be able to do anything like this were it not for her. Aside from the advice she’s given and some of the stuff I picked up from her gardening last year, I wouldn’t have ANY of the above pictures if she wasn’t there to take them for me. For that, I’m very grateful to have had her help.

Is your family important to you? If something were to happen that put the lives of your loved ones in danger, how would you react? It’s not until something really happens that you realize just how important your family is to you and just what you would do to keep them safe.

I swear to you, this is all true.

Sunday night, I slept poorly. It was easily the worst night of sleep I’d had in months. I lay in bed, tired but wide awake, as if there were an energy in the air keeping me awake. I’ve had nights like that before, where my mind was furiously working through a problem that it just couldn’t let go of. That wasn’t the case two nights ago. I simply could not drift off to sleep, and I didn’t know why. I dozed in and out a few times, and finally went downstairs around two in the morning. My head had begun to ache and throb, so I went down for some little white pills and some water. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, aside from the fact that I should have been cycling into a REM sleep cycle. The house was silent.

After swallowing my two pills, I made my way through the dark house and up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Back in the bedroom, and under the covers, I settled in and hoped the sandman would visit.

And I lay there, eyes closed but still wide awake. Tired but alert. Again, I was hit with the feeling that there was something in the air, keeping me awake. Soon, I finally began drifting  to sleep. Slowly. Just as I reached that in-between state, the state where we sometimes jerk ourselves awake with a subconscious body spasm, something terrifying happened. I heard somebody in our house. Specifically, I heard a door being shut. A door in my house. The one place where I have an expectation of safety for myself and for my family.

There was no thought. No wondering what I should do, or if I really heard what I know I did. The only thing that ran through my head was “my family.” The next few moments are burned into my memory as a strobe-effect; simply a series of images. The ceiling fan, as my eyes fly open. The bed sheets, in mid-flight, as I rip them away from me. My feet hitting the floor and me pushing off the bed. Delilah taking post at my heel. My hand closing on the door frame. In just one more moment, I will be down the stairs in two jumps, praying that I hit the light switch with my first attempt. Then, I don’t know, but I will protect my family.

In the instant before I pulled myself into the doorway, I remembered something crucial. Earlier this day, my little tyrant of a son learned how to open his own door.

I stepped around the corner to see him standing before me. Innocent. Relief – and fresh anger – swept over me. In the fog of near-sleep, Tyler’s newly acquired skill had been forgotten. Also forgotten was the fact that this was the third or fourth time tonight that he had gotten up. The two main differences were that he was much quieter before, and that Sarah got up those times to put him back to bed. On this particular instance, he opened the door and (I think) accidentally slammed it behind him.

In an angry whisper, I told him, “Get your butt back into bed, right now!” In my head, I added, Jesus Christ, boy, I almost killed you.

“Mommy,” he cried.

“Mommy is making her night nights. You get into your bed, now Tyler!”

As I tucked him in, and my heart slowed back into its normal rhythm, I kissed Tyler’s cheek. “It’s time to sleep, Tyler. You stay in this bed, okay?”

Tyler whispered, “yeah.”

“You do not get out of this bed again, and you do not open your door again, got it?”

Still in a whisper, “yeah.”

“I love you, buddy.”

“luh-loo.”

I pulled his door shut, and tied a shirt sleeve around the knob, hoping to make it more difficult for Tyler to turn, should he disobey my orders. He didn’t, and he slept through the rest of the night, presumably in his bed.

Today, Sarah reversed the door knob so that we can lock him into his room. And, today, Tyler took an unheard-of three and a half hour nap.

We’re still smarter than you Tyler.

The scene: Tyler, who has been, of late, very much in daddy-mode, is in my arms. He is melting my heart with a plethora of hugs and will not allow me to set him down. As such, I’m simply walking around the house, holding my son and quite eagerly accepting these hugs. I walk into the kitchen, where Sarah is working. She is making a new dish with noodles and sausage and lots more deliciousness. Presently, she is cutting a large, white onion.

Tyler: Uhnyin!

Sarah: Yes, Tyler, mommy is cutting an onion for dinner.

Tyler: TyTy have it.

At this point, Sarah rolls her eyes. I don’t see this happen, but after living with the queen of sarcasm and cynicism for nearly seven years, I can sense these things. Sometimes, I swear I can hear her eyes rolling at some lame joke of mine. The reason for the the eye rolling is two-fold. First, Tyler wants to “have” everything. He has only recently stopped asking to have mommy’s and daddy’s morning coffee. The second, and more significant reason is that I love… love… LOVE raw onions. I could eat handful upon handful of chopped raw onion. I have, actually. It has gotten to the point that I am warned at family dinners that “the onions are for EVERYONE, not just you.” Sarah, and probably everyone else that is commonly withing two feet of me, hates it. It turns out that no amount of telling those same folks the positive effects that consuming onions has on one’s heart and health can erase the negative effects they have on one’s breath.

Sarah handed Tyler and myself a sizable piece of onion, which we both promptly set to consuming.

Tyler: Spicy.

Me: Yeah… I guess you could call an onion spicy.

Tyler: More uhnyin peez (please).

Sarah, to me: I blame you for this.

Me: What?! Why?

Sarah: Don’t even.

The scene: Sarah is at the kitchen counter, preparing her dinner plate. In a moment, she will join Tyler and I at the table, where we will all enjoy a delicious meal of homemade tacos.

Sarah: So, Tyler tried to pull one over on me today.

Me: (unsurprised) Yeah?

Sarah: Yep. Apparently, he thought he could distract me from brushing his teeth by telling me he had to use the potty.

I am completely nonplussed at this attempt on his part. On a previous occasion, I told Tyler that it was “time to take a shower with daddy.” He, quite adamantly, told me that he did not agree. As a final Hail Mary, before I physically picked him up to carry him into the shower with me, he started saying “teeth, teeth, teeth,” thinking I’d forget about the shower and brush his teeth instead.

Sarah: (continuing) So I called his bluff and put him on the potty.

Me: (snickering) I bet he was like, ‘CRAP.’

Tyler: Crap, crap crap crap crap. Crap crap crap.

Me: (looking at Sarah with an I-know-I-just-messed-up expression) *blink*

Sarah: (with the I-told-you-so tone that women are masters of) I’ve warned you about that, Joe.

Tyler: Crap crap.

The scene: Tyler and Sarah are lying on the floor, playing with trains and train tracks. I’m lying on the floor playing with cars. Tyler lets out one of the juiciest sounding farts we’ve ever heard from him.

Me: Holy cow, Tyler! Did you just toot?

Sarah: It was more of a shart, doncha think?

Me: Oh, please don’t teach him words like that, babe.

Tyler: Shart.

*sigh*