New poker sensation?

Last night I dreamed that I was playing in a Colorado Casino and they didn't have poker tables, so we had to play in a restaurant, where the deal came by and had to pick up everyone's bet and then go back and deal the flop on an overhead projector and then had to go back and collect everyone's bet off a table while we ate.
I was with a friend but other times was alone.
I don't think I played many hands because the setup sucked.


And, get this, the game was, and I have no idea where I came up with this, "Unethical Omaha."


You were dealt, I think, 10-15 cards and you had to pick four out of them after the flop. Sort of like Crazy Pineapple Omaha style or something like that.
I probably got the name "Unethical" because there's no way everyone could be dealt like 15 cards. So who knows where they came from?


This is probably what happens when you reguarly play an hour or two of online poker every night and decide not to play last night to read a horror novel ("Heartsick," awesome so far) and so your brain has to vomit all the stored poker stuff in there that normally gets plugged up by thoughts of the hands you played that night.


I'm Bodogging tonight with the bloggers so no weird dreams tonight. Although I think I see a future for that game.

The worst part of my job

As much as I love journalism, some parts of it make me feel, well, a little compromised.
Sunday I'm the editor and reporter for the day, and there was a traffic crash over the police scanner yesterday. After a while I heard that there were two young kids in the car, both were critical, and that at least one person was dead.
I know what some of you are thinking. Sweet! Front page news! But I really, really hate going to these things. I always feel like such a vulture. Still, it is news, and so I sighed, grabbed my notebook and ran out the door to head to the scene.
I rarely do these things anymore. I have a column and mostly report on entertainment and outdoors news and features. But when you work for a 25,000-circulation newspaper, you have to be flexible.
One of these days I'm going to take a look at how these things are scarring me, but for the moment I just took notes and tried to ignore the blood. I made a note of the small baby shoe in the middle of the highway resting among the ocean of bits of shattered glass and the awful, crumpled shell of the car totally smashed to bits by the semi-truck parked alongside of the road.
"I don't see how anyone could survive that," I thought to myself.
I spotted the truck driver gathering things out of his cab and debated with myself about approaching him. Part of me wanted to give him a chance to talk. Part of me wanted a good story. Part of me also wanted to leave him the hell alone, and the last part wouldn't blame him if he punched me in the mouth after approaching him.
I wondered what to do when a FOX cameraman approached me.
"He'll probably talk," he said. "But he didn't want to go on camera."
Then he paused.
"This is what we can do," he said. "You can try to interview him, and I'll follow you about 10 feet from behind, and as long as he sees the camera, it'll be OK and we'll get him on film. It works every time."
I couldn't believe what I was wearing. The guy, a big, burly man, was so shaken by the crash, even though it was nowhere near his fault (she pulled out in front of him), that tears ran down his face and he looked like he wanted to throw up. And this guy wants to trick him?
The Tribune is in a partnership with FOX, but my glare gave him a pretty good answer.
"Yeah, I don't want to ruin the story for you," he said. "Why don't you try it first?"
TV never ceases to amaze me. I realize there are some good ones out there, but I haven't met many.
I swallowed hard and approached the man. All he could say was no. I don't think he'll hit me.
He was more than generous and answered my questions and then stopped the interview after a few minutes when he couldn't stop crying. I thanked him and had him spell his name.
Then I left and wrote the story.
I left the office feeling a bit dirty and insensitive. My high and mighty attitude toward TV disappeared as I closed my computer down for the night. Was I any better?
I'm not sure today.

How to toilet train your toddler

I glanced outside today from my bowl of chili and saw Jayden, buck naked, running around our backyard. Thank God we have a fence or I'm pretty sure the little nudist would have gotten me arrested a while ago.

When he came to the back door, he had poop on his knees, which he gleefully pointed out to Kate. I buried my nose in my chili.

Kate chased him around outside while I tried not to choke on my chili from laughing too hard. Jayden ran around and around with toddler fudge hanging outside his bottom. 

Kate scooped up his messed diaper and brought him inside while I concentrated really hard on my chili and tried not to think about what my chili looked like right then.

One Fine Day

Why do we get married to our T-shirts?

That's the question I was contemplating with my hair sticking up in 20 different directions and morning breath still sticking to the roof of my mouth. And it was 10:30 a.m. I finally had a good night's sleep under my belt.

I'm working the jazz festival this weekend in Greeley. I cover the festival because I cover entertainment, but also because I understand jazz. I played it for many years, even at the college level.

It will be fun, but it's also a lot of work, and so I took Wednesday off and got a rare day to actually get some things accomplished instead of chasing down two crawling girls who think every open cupboard is an invitation to sit through drain cleaner. 

I was walking through my closet and gazed at the pile of T-shirts. I had time to do something about it.

I decided to eliminate a few more, but this one was tough. There was my Metallica T-shirt from the Monsters of Rock tour back in, I think, 1988. There was a poker shirt I got for winning a tournament among friends. There were some shirts from some good races I ran. There were a couple other black T-shirts, including one from the Galactic Cowboys (heard of them? Great metal band).

Come on baby, it's not you, it's me, I whispered as I set the T-shirts aside. Why does putting T-shirts feel like a break-up? 

This time I didn't have the heart to put them completely aside. I took out a small box and set them inside there.

The rest of the day was great. I wrote a bit, got squared away with some new blog sponsors (more coming, woot), worked on my movie of the girls and played a little too much Grand Theft Auto. I also went to Hobby Lobby and got what I needed to work on my display for Kansas' national title. 

Hobby Lobby draws a lot more white trash than I originally thought. It's a craft store. I'm not sure why that drew customers I'd normally see in a truck stop. 

I went home and played a ton of poker. I played well in the Mookie and had a chance to be in the top 5 with 27 left but lost my one coin flip, which was absolutely shocking since I have not won a coin flip in that spot all this year. But I scooped some big pots in Bodog's cash games at the $50 NL level, a move I made a couple weeks ago, and that always helps.

I think it's hard to give up certain T-shirts because they hold too many memories of a time past. 

But now the T-shirts are boxed. I have to go chase down a twin. Sometimes I long for days like Wednesday when I'm able to do what I want. But I also don't miss them anymore.

You BetUS!

Poker Rules

As obvious as it is, it’s still worth saying that anyone who doesn’t understand poker rules will have a very difficult time playing the game. That’s because it is far more than a simple game of chance as skill and strategy go hand-in-hand in the poker world. So it’s a definite that one needs to brush up on their poker rules before starting to play. But what online poker you will need to know depends on the game variation that you choose to play. And there are many such as Texas Hold’em, Omaha HiLo, 7 Card Stud, 5 Card Stud, Caribbean Stud, and many, many more. However, the most popular by far, and the one that is most recommended to start with is Texas Hold’em.

It is not an extremely difficult game to learn but still one must know the poker rules of Texas inside and out in order to win. First off, one is dealt two cards and then must decide if they want to stay in by betting chips or fold and get out. If one stays in the hand, they get to see the flop, or three community cards that get turned over.

Continuing on with the poker game rules, when one sees the flop they must again decide whether to stay in the hand by matching bets or fold. After this round of betting, the turn card is dealt and another round of betting occurs once again. After this, the final card is dealt in the river. You can also learn more about game rules at BetUS Poker Room.

With the river dealt, the final round of betting ensues according to the poker rules and whoever can make the best hand out of five community cards and the two they hold wins the hand. The poker rules for Texas Hold’em get more intricate as one gets more involved with the game but this is just a general synopsis.

75 degrees in April

Saturday it was 75 and sunny in our backyard. Here's the result:

Does 6 a.m. suck?

A younger co-worker, after hearing me long for the day when I could sleep in, you know, past 7:30 a.m., looked at me and said, "Nothing good happens at 6 a.m."
I'm inclined to agree with him.
Allie and Andie are still getting up. Last night it was twice, once at midnight and once at 5 a.m., for feedings.
I am so so so so so so so so so so so so so sos os so so so sos so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so burned out on getting up in the middle of the night. I can't remember the last time I felt refreshed when I got up in the morning. Even when I go to bed early, which is rare, given my owl-like body clock, I never get a good night sleep because we're getting up two or three times a night.
They're almost a year old. Really, when does it stop?
I'm beginning to think this is more common than I would like to believe. I hear all the time from husbands who say their children slept through the night at six weeks. I don't think so. I think that's when they stopped getting up. We have twins, so neither of us have a choice.
I'm not sure why we were "blessed" with such early birds, but there you go.
And so at the bright-and-early time of 5:45 a.m., Andie, who seems to be getting a few fangs and doesnt' seem to like that very much, was up and wanting some food. Kate was obliging while I had two pillows over my head until guilt got the better of me and I went into the twins' room to get Allie.
Andie, kind soul that she is, got Allie up three times last night thanks to voicing her displeasure over getting canines so eventually she can eat a cheeseburger instead of gulping $25-a-can formula like a hobo and a bottle of Jack. I approached her crib, and she stirred, looked at me, then plopped her head back down.
I know, honey. I agree.
Getting up got the better of her, too, and so she stirred, rumbled around and finally sat up so I could pick her up.
She looked right at me, smiled and said, "Da da."
I looked at the clock.
6 a.m.
And it was at that time that I disagreed with my co-worker.

Dogging it without a game plan

I'm a planner, which is a nice way of saying I'm anal.
I think that's what Type-A really means. It measures your analness. I'm anal with an A.
I make to-do lists every day, make them out for the weekend and feel lost without a gameplan for the day.
And I think that's why I totally bombed out in the Bodog Bodonkey last night.
I finally had some good luck in that godforsaken tourney. I built a decent stack in the first hour, mostly with steals, bluffs and a decent hand or two. Then in the second hour I flopped a set and got top two-pair in another hand and suddenly I was sitting pretty with almost 9K in chips.
I was the big stack at my table and, with the blinds going up up up, with 24 left, I could taste the sweet sweet nectar of points for the WSOP freeroll at the end of the series.
And that's when things started to fall apart.
Kansas was blowing out UNC by 28 points when things got tough for a long while, and I remember what Seth Davis said at halftime: "Playing with a big lead is not easy."
It's always a problem for me because I'm not used to it, given my style of play. I'm always floating around the middle or even a shortie. So when I do have a big stack, I'm always thinking I should be bullying people with it, only I'm honestly not very good at that because I haven't had a lot of practice. Honestly when some of the masters do it, it never looks that hard, and yet it's a lot harder than it looks. Playing with a lead is not only not easy, it's really hard.
I lost a fourth of my stack on a steal attempt and continuation bet that was check-raised. I called a raise from a tight player with K-K, hoping to stack him on the flop or at least get more chips as my re-raises, given my continually tight image, usually only draws folds. An A hit the flop and I had to fold to a c-bet, as I didn't want to lose too many chips. A steal attempt worked, and then I check-raised a loose/aggressive player on the flop with air, and when he insta-called I folded on the turn.
At that point I stil had an average starting stack, around 5K in chips, and I could still probably fold to the points, but I look down at A-K, and when a fairly aggressive player raises in EP, I jam.
My thinking is I could win a really nice pot, my image was still fairly tight (maybe), and he only had me covered by 300 chips, so this is a really significant call for him. My fold equity, in other words, was fairly high, and if he calls, I've still got A-K.
After a long time, he called with Q-Q (hard to fault him there, he probably figured I would have just re-raised with Aces and Kings, and he was right), I lost the coin flip (shocking) and IGHN.
If this were the Mookie, I probably wouldn't have given that a second thought. If I win that pot, I'm the chip leader and in a great position to cash or even win it. But this was the Bodog, and I think my fairly random plays were the result of not really knowing what my goal was.
Is it to win or the get into the points? I'm not that far down on the leaderboard, and in fact getting some points probably would put me close to a money spot if not in one for the WSOP freeroll. But if I win I'm definitely there.
See why I'm confused?
I didn't have any sort of a goal.
When I do play, I've had them in the past, even if I didn't really know it. I've gotten more aggressive in the Mookie because the starting chip stacks are cut in half now and the need to chip up is greater and yet I don't make loose calls. That's a good game plan. When the stacks were 3,000, I'd take it easier and yet also make looser calls with speculation hands. That's another good game plan.
I've had no plan when I've played the Bodog.
That will change next week. I'll have a gameplan every time I play a tournament from now on. I am a planner, after all, and without a plan, I'm lost
And if I get chips once again next week, you'll see me creeping up the leaderboard instead of donking them away and extending Blinder's lead.


P.S. I'm playing in the Le Cheese Challenge Thursday. Thanks to rakebrain.com for inviting me. It's an honor!

A trip to the Butterfly Pavilion

There's a very cool place in the Denver area that's basically an insect zoo called the Butterfly Pavilion. We went there with Jayden and the twins Friday. Despite some people thinking that WE were on display - twins always draw a crowd - we had a great time.
The best part was the butterfly garden, a place that somehow simulates the habitat for dozens of butterfly species. You walk along the path and the butterflies fly around you.
Then they let the little kids catch them and pull their wings off.
(Actually, that's not what happens).

What I learned from Kansas' run

There's an amazing similarity to poker and the NCAA tournament. Trust me. I was thinking about these things to prevent me from going into cardiac arrest while my Jayhawks pulled it off.

Here are some lessons that many of you know in poker and how Kansas pulled off its run:

1. You have to get lucky - Kansas' collapse against UNC, after holding a 28-point lead in the first half, was almost complete when Danny Green's three pointer with seven minutes to go stopped halfway down the basket, shook, rattled-and-rolled up and out. If he makes that shot, UNC is within two, their fans are going nuts, and there's a good chance they overwhelm us and we lose. Instead, we rebounded, Sasha Kahn hit an alley-oop dunk, we found new life and blew UNC away.

2. A win and a loss in a tournament or session usually comes down to one play - In our epic battle against Cinderella Davidson, their final shot fading away bounced off the backboard, and we won. In our game against Memphis, Chalmers' three-point shot, fading away, found the bottom of the net, we tied the game and won in overtime.
Chalmer's had a much better shot, but if either of those plays go any differently, I"m saying "Wait Until Next Year" and in the case of Davidson, it's possible Bill Self is wearing OSU colors.

3. You have to survive suckouts to keep playing and not let them rattle you - As the shot clock expired with only a few minutes left in the game, Derrick Rose hits a hail-mary, desperation shot that banked off the backboard. It was pure luck. And yet the shot was later, correctly, changed to a two, and a few minutes later we began to come back. The shot could have killed us. It didn't.
Last night I suffered three brutal suckouts in the Mookie, and yet I took fifth. You have to take the suckouts and move on.

4. Be aggressive, be be aggressive - Kansas was a remarkable team when we were confident and aggressive - see the first half of the UNC game for proof. Always play aggressively and with confidence.

5. Don't play scared - Conversely, Kansas barely beat Davidson because we were tentative, scared, really, and we almost blew the 28-point lead against UNC for the same reason. The Davidson game was almost painful to watch because that was not Kansas out there. Don't ever play scared.

6. Remain cool and collected, no matter what the situation - This may surprise people, but I wasn't surprised when Chalmers hit that shot to send the game into overtime. I screamed my voice off, but I wasn't surprised. He's done that throughout his career at Kansas. He's the coolest customer on the court. You should be the same way at the poker table, even if you're heads up for a nice score.

7. Tough times are good for you - Davidson's game was one of the most gut-wretching I've ever watched, even more than the title game. Texas also gave us a game for the ages in the Big 12 title game. Those games, that adversity, were good for us. I said to my friend before the game, "If we keep it close, Memphis will crack at the end." That team hadn't faced any adversity in the tournament or, really, the whole year. Sure enough, Memphis cracked.

8. A leak is a leak, no matter how you think it's not - Kansas' problems with turnovers and its inconsistency in hitting three-pointers almost cost us the game against Memphis. Memphis denied all year that its free throws were a problem, even when they clearly were, and they cost them the game.

9. Sometimes a player just gets hot, but if you ride it out, you can still win - Who doesn't hate it when a true donkey keeps hitting his cards over and over? Davidson's Curry, the player of the tournament, went on a tear during a stretch in the first half, and that was expected. Memphis' Rose went on a tear in the second half, and that was expected. Yet Curry missed key shots down the stretch, and Rose missed that crucial free throw at the end of the game, allowing us to tie the game with a three-pointer. I've never seen those get-lucky donkeys leave with their huge stack. Eventually everyone cools off.

10. Captialize on your opponents' mistakes - What was lost in the "Memphis choked" comments was the fact that Kansas hit a two, stole the ball on the inbounds and hit a three, made every single free throw and then buried a three-pointer basically at the buzzer to tie the game. Yes, Memphis made mistakes, but Kansas took advantage of them.

11. Have fun - We were at our best when we were having fun. It's a game, after all, and it's supposed to be fun. Poker is much more fun when you're having fun.

Rock Chalk Jayhawk

It's barely 6 a.m., and I'm downstairs as Allie decided to cover the 5-6 a.m. shift for her sister and is crawling around on the floor.
Normally I'd be pretty grumpy right about now.
Not today, and probably not for a while.
There are so few times when you are truly, 100 percent rewarded for being a fan of a team. Let's face it. Disappointment lurks at the end of every season, and if there's not disappointment, there's either disgust (my Kansas City Chiefs were a perfect example) or heartbreak (my Colorado Rockies).
Even when you've had a great season, as the Rockies did last year, there's the end, when they were swept by the Red Sox (and rightly so, the Sox were better) and with that end comes a bitter pill.
But Monday, and now Tuesday morning, and Wednesday, and the rest of the year, there is only joy, and that's so rare in sports, it's makes you wonder sometimes why you're a fan.
Why would I give so much of my spirit and, hell, let's face it, my soul, to Kansas? There was a lot of great memories and elation, to be sure, but every season ended in disappointment, and not just disappointment, really, but heartbreak, the kind inspired by one-outers on the river.
"Why do you do this to yourself?" Kate would ask me.
It was hard to answer her, except there was this: I graduated from Kansas, where basketball is really a religion, not a sport, and the team gave me the best memories of my school career as a member of the basketball band, traveling to the tournaments, leaving Allen Field House with my ears ringing, being treated like rock stars on campus, the only time band members ever sniffed cool.
You can't just set that aside when you graduate. If anything, it gets stronger because you always want to relive those magical years of college, when you were young and optimistic and ready to take on the world.
So I sit here, reading all the stories, and this, ultimately, is the reason you are a fan, is because if you are loyal, and you stick with your team through all the years, eventually, chances are you will get to experience a moment like this one.
I experienced it in 1985 with the Kansas City Royals, and I've never forgotten that team. The Royals, for the most part, have been a joke since then, a bad punchline, a symbol of the inequity of baseball's payrolls. Yet I'll always look at them as champions, and I'll always worship George Brett.
It is a drug, the ultimate high, and yet it lasts for not only months but possibly years. I didn't quite know what to feel when the final seconds of overtime ticked away. Something like this soaks in, over time, as you see the parades and everyone talks about your team and you can wear your Kansas gear over and over and strangers will point to you and say, "Hey, nice season."
I'm also glad that Kansas and Memphis delivered a classic. I watched the game with one of my best friends, who grew up in Kansas, over at a house he was sitting, alone, just the two of us. It gave me the freedom to scream. And he said to me, "Wouldn't it be sweet to win on a shot at the buzzer?"
I thought he was nuts. We'd already survived Davidson, and games like that shorten your life span. But he's right. Not only playing but winning a classic, a game that people will talk about for years, is the best feeling you'll never get.
OK, OK, this isn't the birth of my twins or Jayden. This isn't the day Kate said yes. This isn't the day I graduated from college. This isn't even the day I finished all the 14ers in Colorado.
It's just the best day I've ever had as a devoted fan. There are very few times you get to feel this in life.
I'm gonna savior every second.
There's a reason why our fight song is titled "I'm a Jayhawk." You are not just a fan. You just are.
I'm a Jay, Jay, Jay Jay Jayhawk, and today, I couldn't be prouder to say it.

A pause on the path of a long, winding road

By the time you read this, I'll probably either be happier than a junebug on a peach tree, as we Kansas natives say, or on my fourth hankie and possibly tilting off a few bucks at the virtual poker tables.
I am writing this Sunday night, 24 hours before possibly the biggest game of my life as a Kansas graduate and die-hard fan.
I will post it just as I leave work and prepare for the game against Memphis.
I want nothing more than the game to just get here.
Except, wait a minute.
Andie pulled herself up on the high chair for the first time Saturday. She's not walking yet, but she's getting there. She might make it by her first birthday, which, amazingly, is less than two months away.
Allie is watching Andie and pulling herself up and trying it herself. That's how things work in their relationship. She lets Andie be the daring one, try it out, see if it's feasible, and then when Andie only bonks her head on our hardwood floors and survives, Allie gives it a try. It won't be long now before they're walking.
I remember when Jayden was pulling himself up on the couch and starting to make tentative steps, one shuffle, then a step, along to the fireplace. Now he's steaming through Taco Bell and trying to push open a door that weighs three times as much as he does. And he's succeeding.
I just recently posted about how damn hard it is at times with Jayden, who has ratcheted up the whiny pitch in his voice the last few days, and the girls, and there are times I just want to get to the next step.
I just want the ball to tip off.
But my life already seems to be at warp speed now anyway, as if I was running one of my 5Ks (well, sort of), and I caught myself when I was just wishing for the game to get here already.
You remember what Christmas Eve was like, right?
Remember the presents?
Or the anticipation?
What was more fun?
I don't remember what I got for Christmas, except for the one year we got an Atari 2600, and we spent three days straight playing it, even my parents.
But I remember the night before, sitting in the room, watching the clock melt from 3:02 to 3:03 a.m. while reading "The Great Brain."
I don't remember what was so important the other day that I'd rather be somewhere else other than playing peek-a-boo with my girls. I feel that way all the time, especially after the tough days that sparked the post.
Yet I remember Allie's giggles from my tickles the other day.
I remember the losses from past seasons — and Kansas has had more than our share in the tournament, believe me — but the pain from those losses are buried beneath many good memories of the seasons gone by.
I feel lucky to be a Jayhawk.
I feel lucky to be a father of twins and a toddler.
Every season is a long, winding hike down life's path. At times you just want to get to next checkpoint. At times you forget to enjoy the trail along the way.
I am trying to enjoy today's trail before we play for the national championship. The anticipation is painful. It is also wonderful.
Sure, I want them to win. I want that more than anything else today.
But when the buzzer sounds, and the elation or the pain swells up inside, I'll try to tell myself that emotions are temporary.
Memories are forever.
That's why I posted this now.
So I can look at it after the game.
And before I get up at 3 a.m. to feed one of the twins.

One word

Woot.

12 hours of Wait

It's 12 hours before possibly the biggest game as a KU fan, at least the biggest in five years, and I wish I could fast forward the time.
I'm like a little kid waiting for 6 a.m. to appear on the clock so I can run downstairs and tear into the presents.
I'm not pissed at Roy anymore. I got to know him a little bit as a member of the basketball band, and he really is a great guy.
But I would really like to beat him today.
This whole thing sort of reminds me of a break-up, and most KU fans, like me, consider the whole Roy thing over. We're at the stage now where if we see each other at a party, we could talk to each other for a few minutes.
Although we also wouldn't mind showing off some babe or stud on our arm either.
That will come, I hope, in the form of a championship ring.

12 hours to go....

The struggle within

Kate and I enjoy watching "Jon and Kate Plus 8." It's honestly the only show we watch together besides repeated and repeated and repeated viewings of "Little Einsteins."
The babies are cute, and we love teasing Kate for her anal ways (something I can relate to, although not to that degree), but we mostly like the show for the fights.
When Kate and Jon tear into each other, even just for brief moments, Kate and I look at each other and share a knowing smile.
We've been there.
The last couple nights we were there, too, as Kate fed a twin and I fed another, her upstairs in the dark, me downstairs in the dark, with only the laptop and the Kansas/Davidson postgame press conference on the NCAA's Web site to cut through the black.
Both of us fuming.
After almost 11 months of raising twins, the stress continues to chip away at what we've built for five years, the whole foundation that led us to having children in the first place.
This fight, as many do, started with resentment at someone's free time. My own. I went downstairs to the basement to play "Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas" for an hour and a half after the kids when to bed. I didn't want to play poker - Mondays typically suck for cash games - and I didn't want to watch a movie. I wanted to finish a mission or two, crash some fancy cars and mostly just kill some innocents. It had been a tough weekend.
Maybe I should have expected Kate would have to get up several times as a result. Maybe I'm a bad husband for wanting an hour and a half to myself. Maybe I'm selfish. Regardless, when I came back upstairs, Kate couldn't wait to lay into me.
We've had these fights since Jayden was born, and they're pretty much boiled down to two sentences.
"You're not doing enough."
"Yes I am."
Kate, however, had a point during Jayden's first year. She got up with him throughout the night. She bathed him most of the time and fed him most of the time too. I did a share of the work, but it probably wasn't my fair share.
The problem, of course, came with twins.
I could go on about getting up with Kate at least twice a night to feed for 11 months now, or the dozens of diapers I've changed or the sacrifices I've made, but really, this post isn't about me. It's about us.
Even so, last nght's fight was pretty simple.
"You're not doing enough."
"Yes I am."
And the problem this time is raising twins, plus the toddler, is so much work that you can't ever do enough to take the pressure off your spouse. On one hand, that will bring you closer together, in the same way that mountain climbing partners or war buddies make friends for life. But on another hand, it's easy to tear down what you've created if your'e not careful.
The reason is because that stress, eventually, has to come out, and it can either come out in small bits, during calm conversations that you don't have time for over dinners that you don't have time for, or it can explode in a violent, volcanic eruption.
Obviously small conversations are better. But there's the time thing. And the energy thing. And the patience thing. It's all in pretty short supply. By the time you put everyone to bed, all you want to go is either go to bed yourself (Kate) or burn off the tension over poker or video games (me).
We can work it out, as Stevie Wonder says, and we continue to work it out, but I think it will always be an issue. At least until the twins turn 16.
Then we're really screwed.
As much as I love the girls, I sometimes can't help but think it would have been better with just one. I can't help but think that, sometimes, we really didn't ask for this. We didn't take any kind of fertility drugs. This just happened. It was a 1/150 shot. Less than a one-outer's chance at hitting the felt.
And as lucky as we were to get two, man, do I feel unlucky at times.