Booked until besotted

I have demons. Some might laugh at that. Most probably would.
My demons don't have anything to do with gambling - I have yet to touch a table game in Vegas. I rarely drink too much - I was barely buzzed during last December's gathering. And I've never done drugs, except for a bit of pot, and that was years ago and was never, ever even remotely a problem.
No, my demons come from that little person inside that whispers to me whenever I do something like attend a gathering of bloggers.
"You know," the person whispers, "what makes you think you'll fit in?"
I can climb any mountain in Colorado, run a half marathon or ski a black diamond (sometimes, not very well), but going out to see a group of people still scares me.
I'm booked for my December trip. I'm going alone this year. I'm heading out Thursday and I'll leave Sunday afternoon. It'll be a nice vacation.
I may have to rage solo Thursday. I hope not but if that's the case, I'm set for that. But I hope it's not the whole trip.
Now I'm not totally concerned about that, but I remember last year, I had Mr. High on Poker as a roommate, and it was nice to have a set crew to hang with, someone to check in with during the whole trip. As pathetic as it sounds, Jordan was my security blanket, and it made me comfortable to meet a bunch of new people without breaking out in hives.
My anal, planning personality already wants to know who's doing what and when, so I know I won't be stuck out there among groups of friends who already know each other.
Stupid. I feel needy, and I've always prided myself on not being needy. I hate needy people. Yet...I'm kinda being needy.
The wild thing is I love being alone. If you'd read this blog for more than two weeks, I've probably made that pretty clear.
As I was writing this yesterday, Andie got up five times in an hour, and the last time I got her, she looked at me and just lay her head on my shoulder.
That's OK, sweetie. I understand. I guess everyone needs some reassurance every once in a while.



P.S. I did book a double bed, so if someone wants to room with me, I may take offers. E-mail me or comment in the story. Although room rates were only $200 for three nights. Pretty nice.

Review of Motley Crue's new album

Motley Crue, America's poets, are back with a heartfelt collection of songs to soothe the soul.
Entitled "Saints of Los Angeles," this tribute to their glory days as soothsayers reflects the triumphs of their past life. The all-white cover, simply decorated with a cross, truly reflects the deep, spirit-searching lyrics that await you.
With songs entitled "This ain't a love song, this is a fuck song" and "Motherfucker Of The Year," these tunes speak to your heart and show the deep, personal-yet-political poetry we've come to expect from the authors of past classics "Ten Seconds to Love," "Girls, Girls, Girls" and "She Goes Down."
These songs will require numerous listens before you can truly capture the thoughts it took to write such deep, heart-rendering lyrics.
Of course, the music is a treasure, too, soft, succulent and soothing, with enough spirit and soul to cleanse whatever might be ailing you during these troubled times.
When you live the kind of clean, wholesome lives these boys have lived - with Sixx's heroin overdose, Vince Neil's nationally televised plastic surgery and appearance on "The Surreal Life," Tommy Lee's sex tapes and Mick Mars emergence from Satan's armchair - you can help but produce the kind of healing music the Crue continue to bring forth with every album.


P.S. (Real Review) The cross is made up of naked women. This album totally kicks ass and reminds me of the good 'ole days. Seriously, go buy it now.

Stardom is inevitable

By far the cutest cover for Twins Magazine hit the stands today.


Here it is.








Do you recognize those two girls?
I do.
I see them every day.



You can order your copy here. Order fast. They'll be worth something someday.
At least they will to me.




P.S. I write for the magazine too. I'll have the cover story for the next issue. I had the cover story for the last issue as well. Kate and the grandparents were about 10 percent as excited about that fact as they were about this cover.

The king is dead, long live the comedian

Carlin's death was a shock to me. I interviewed him a couple years ago for the Greeley Tribune when he performed here.
You can see the story here.

I hope the three of you (maybe) who bothered to read my project below enjoyed it. Scroll down and click on the link if you're curious. And the needy writer in me hopes you are.

One Last Chance

I followed this woman for eight months in between covering fairs and interviewing Tim McGraw and Poison.

Can you at least take a look at it?

One Last Chance



P.S. For those of you who will look at the length and think, "Nah, I'd rather watch repeats of Lost so I can see what 12th-century poem this scene is referring to," I don't blame you.

We're not as good as you (Obv)

I'm not sure what's worse, the fact that the girls still aren't sleeping through the night, or the looks some smug parents give us when we talk about the twins' sleeping habits.
I don't think there's a more judgmental group of folks than parents. Maybe right-wingers. Maybe other poker players. Maybe bloggers.
Nah.
Kate had tears rolling down her face this morning, and I think it was because of our battle last night with Andie. I know I'm whining here, but sometimes life really isn't fair. We've got twins. It's been a year. A year. I think we deserve a break and some sleeping through the night. If that wasn't enough, it took Jayden a year-and-a-half before he graced us with eight hours of sleep at a time.
I think we've paid our dues.
I know. You're probably raising your eyebrow. It's OK. Others do, too, like one of Kate's friends, who's 10-week-old baby is already sleeping from 9 p.m. to 10 a.m.
"What are you doing wrong?" she asked Kate, or she at the very least ACTED like she asked Kate that when Kate talked about our struggles with Andie, who continues to need a couple feedings a night and screamed for a half hour at 2 a.m. last night.
And i think that's why Kate was crying this morning. She was frustrated, sure, but it's the little, paper-cut looks and comments from her "friends" that just make it that much worse.
Sometimes life is not only fair, it just plain sucks.
It's especially frustrating to me because every run, every race and probably every climb - we'll find out this weekend, when I lead my 14ers group up our first mountain of the season - I battle a crushing fatigue, like I've got a tire tied to my ass. When I have slept well one or two times this month, the fatigue is gone and I run really well. So all I need is sleep, and I'm still not getting it.
Last week we took a break for the weekend for Kate's birthday. We went out to dinner, saw Indiana Jones (which sucked) and stayed in a swanky hotel in downtown Denver. Alone. Without the kids.
It was wonderful even if Kate's younger brother said, "Oh, dumping the kids off at Mom's and Dad's, eh?" I'm glad he didn't say that to me. Let's just say it would have made Thanksgivings uncomfortable.
Yes, it was wonderful, and yet sometimes weekends like that just make it that much harder to go back to the grind. In a way, a nice, relaxing time out just makes you miss them that much more.
Yes, we've talked to our doctor, and his answer was if they're going back to sleep after they eat - and usually they do - then they probably need the extra feedings.
So we don't know what to do other than let our kids cry it out, and after a half hour of it last night, my heart cracked and I went to get Andie, who was hysterical and sniffing and needed me to hold her before she fell asleep.
I guess I suck as a parent too.
Sorry if this seems angry. Sometimes I'm glad for a blog. I can vent to it (and you all) and maybe, possibly, feel better.
Soon.

I'm an uncle (again) and other exciting news

My brother had his second child, a boy this time (thank goodness, the clan was getting a little bit overrun with estrogen).
Kate and I drove down to see him Friday. His name is Brooker, which is my mother's maiden name. My middle name is Brooker. We're probably gonna call him Brooks, so he should be a great third basemen.
Here are three pictures. It's up to you to figure out what those faces mean.

















Oh, and Ante Up!, the weekly poker podcast that features blogger Columbo with his always excellent one-minute mysteries features a hand of the week.
This week they used my hand! I was very excited. Now I can die. Well, maybe after the kids graduate from college.

Metalhead status called into question even further

I really, really, really love this song. I don't remember listening to a song this much since Gnarls Barkley's "Crazy."

This song probably belongs in a gay nightclub, and not just a gay nightclub, but the kind bathed in blue light, with Gray Goose martinis served as you walk in the door and velvet red pillows scattered on neon green couches.

I don't care. I love it.

P.S. My only saving grace? I'm also in love with Arch Enemy's "I Will Live Again."

Am I still metal despite this cotton candy?

Despite mother wondering why I haven't outgrown it, I am a true metalhead.
I do not have the look. Instead, I look like someone who might enjoy a Chicago concert, and not the cool early shit either, the "You're The Inspiration" years.
I do not have the metal girlfriend. I married a sensible, good Catholic girl who is the best Mom I've ever seen.
I do not have a drug addiction, although the implication that you need that to be a metal fan kind of pisses me off.
So never mind.
But I do have the desire. That's all you need. Mostly.
I do wonder, however. Am I metal enough? It's truly OK to enjoy a wide range of music, as I do. I do love pop music. Classical. Jazz. But jazz has a certain rebel element to it, and classical is brainy. There's really no excuse for pop except to like it.
Here are 10 songs I truly love that may, indeed, threaten my status as a metalhead:
1. Michael Jackson tunes - "Thriller" is a killer, and "Off the Wall" is off the hook. It's too bad the guy didn't die after "Thriller." He'd be a legend instead of the freak he is now.
2. Britney Spears' "Stronger." - The lyrics are good for running. "I'm stronger than yesterday..."
3. Olivia Newton John's "Magic" - Her "Grease" stuff is classic as well. But this song stays in my head every time I listen.
4. Christina Aguilera's "On Our Way" - This underrated classic is from her latest double album, which I got sent to me by a record company, probably because I do a lot of entertainment at the paper. I like the whole album. She's got pipes.
5. Young MC's "Bust A Move" - I'm not sure where hip-hop stands in the metal world. I think it still has some rebellous qualities to it, although it's also pretty commercialized these days. This goofy hit was popular in high school and I still like it.
6. Wham's "Careless Whisper" - That sax riff. Who can resist? I justify this by wanting to rip out George Michael's throat with a rusty fork every time I hear "Wake Me Up Before You Go Go."
7. The Carpenter's "Superstar" - I like a lot of the Carpenter's work, actually, and I think they might be hip enough to give me a pass, although they overdosed a lot on the syrup.

I'll leave it at 7. One of the twins is crying. Probably because she knows I'm listening to Wham.

There's a first time for everything

Including a day at the pool for the twins:

I do not necessarily love to feel the rain in the summertime

I think God must have sent Noah a Yahoo message or something because the last couple of days around here have resembled a rainforest more than the arid climate we peakbaggers in Colorado are used to experiencing.
Seriously, the air is so dry here, even the guys who dig into streets with jackhammers all day use lotion. Unscented, of course.
So yesterday at noon it poured on us. It rained so hard I seriously thought someone in the sky forgot to turn their bathwater off. It only lasted a few minutes but it was enough to turn drains into waterfalls and make little lakes in the lawns.
So I thought I was free and clear for our intervals track session that night. As I left our house I changed my mind a bit, as the black sky and occasional bolts of lightning made me rethink my plans, but I surged on. When I got to our track, the rain had already started, but I figured it would clear up.
Um, no.
We started our drills with lighting crashing down (to the east of us, so for the most part it was safe) and the rain once again causing little lakes, this time on the track. I was skin-soaked by the second lap. By the third five-minute run, my legs felt like a cadaver's and my fingertips were blue. It seems almost impossible to get any wetter when you're soaked but somehow I was. The running probably spared me hypothermia.
I am a devoted little runner.
The girls were screaming when I got home - they had not let up for 45 minutes, a nice foreshadowing to the night to come - but I needed a warm shower pronto, so I ran upstairs, stripped and hopped in. Ahh. A warm shower after something like that has to be one of life's true, great pleasures.
I did pretty well in the non-BB3 Mookie, taking 10th, mostly because my K-K could not beat A-K (obv) near the end of the bubble (standard), but I was warm and, more importantly, dry, and that's all that mattered.
Softball is supposedly tonight, but the way it's raining today, they'd better just cancel it. I'm not really in the mood for two drowned rat sessions in a row.

Up and down, like a seesaw

The swings of playing three $50 NL cash games a night for months now is starting to wear me down, and I'm not sure how to fix it.
I just finished Harrington's "No Limit Cash Games Vol. I," and it's improved me, even if I don't agree with some of his advice and some of the advice is just obvious.
I'm winning more than ever.
The problem is, I'm also losing more than ever.
This is proof to me that I'm no longer the nitty player you all think I am. I'll gladly take that (still well-deserved) reputation, as it helps me steal blinds. But it's no longer completely true. In fact, after reading the book, I realize I was making some pretty stupid bets. I was being too aggressive, in other words.
I'll wait for you to finish laughing before I continue.
Still with me? OK. In the last three months, I've plumped up my bankroll, and that's because I've won and also taken advantage of Bodog's reload bonus. But the swings have been pretty wild. I might lose a buy-in or more when I lose, and when I win, I might win a couple.
Most of the losses, lately, have been coolers. I hesitate to say this because to me the term "cooler" is abused and overused. When your J-J loses to A-A after you've called an all-in post-flop and your stack was deep, that is not a cooler. When your straight loses to a paired board and you shove on the river, that is not a cooler. When you stack off with top pair, I don't care what happens, that is not a cooler. Those are bad plays. Period.
But lately I've lost my stack with a K-high flush (only three on the board) to an A-high flush, twice I've been setted over setted (yes, I had the smallest set possible) and I've lost pre-flop with K-K when it's run into A-A four times.
I dunno. Maybe those aren't coolers either.
I've also made some bad plays. I jammed with Q-Q on a low board when the other player was showing strength and of course he had a set. That was incredibly dumb in a cash game.
As I play in the final Bodog WSOP series tournament tonight, a tournament riddled with my mistakes, mistakes that cost me a seat in the freeroll, I'm wondering how to keep winning but keeping the losses down.
Any ideas?

Every day is a race

"They never tell you ahead of time how impossibly difficult it's going to be."
- Frazzled mother, speaking to Keri Russel about her child


That quote is from the wonderful Waitress, which I watched today. Of course, I watched it in pieces, like the pie Keri Russel serves so well. Breaks today, as they do almost every day I'm home with Kate, came in small portions.
The girls did not nap in the afternoon. At all. Jayden napped for maybe a half an hour. I corralled them in the morning, when Kate went to work out, and then I got my turn to blast off some energy, thereby decreasing my chances of getting too frustrated simply because we won't have the strength for it.

Every day is a joy these days, and yet, every day, more and more, at the end, when Jayden finally gets sent to bed with Dr. Seuss or something similar, I feel completely drained.
Those who say kids make you younger were so very, very wrong. They were laughably wrong. I feel 50 right now. And the kind of 50 who smoked and drank every day rather than ran and ate brussel sprouts three times a day. I am 36.

I feel as I do after a hard race, like the kind I ran Monday, or just climbed a mountain, although the weariness is even worse in a way because those are renewing, no matter how exhausting. A day like today with the kids, as rewarding as it is, is not renewing. It pecks away at your sanity and greedily sucks the very last drops of your reserves with the large straw Daniel Day Lewis shouted about in "There Will Be Blood."
My kids do indeed drink my milkshake.

It's worth it, as I'd much rather spend my energy every day rather than keep it in my gut. And the payoff is huge. Tax breaks. Someone to invite over at Christmas when you're 85. And all the smiles and love you can handle.

But as I look over that quote from the movie I watched in pieces today, I can only think of one word in response.

Amen.

Too little....

Too late?





I think so. I don't think this even gets me a sniff of the top 18. If I hadn't played like such a friggin' donkey the two or three other times I had a nice stack close to the final table, this would probably get me a seat.
As it was, I was determined not to donk off my stack and play my game. That meant playing tight, patient poker, and it paid off tonight.
I think I have to win next week for a shot. Ah, well, it was fun regardless. As they say, you like the service, but you come back for the overlay.

The race of our lives

As excited as I was to start this year's Bolder/Boulder, part of me wondered why.
I was looking forward to this year's 10K in Bolder, one of the nation's biggest 10K races, all winter. It was one of the main reasons I kept up my miles through temperatures that occasionally froze the snot in my nose.
But after Thursday, when hundreds of homes were destroyed about 10 miles from my home, all I could think of was, "What's the friggin' point?"
Really, part of the reason I run these races and climb mountains is a need to challenge myself. The Bolder/Boulder, in a sense, is a fabricated way to see how mentally tough I am.
It's also a lot of fun, so don't think I'm a monk who needs to sit and whip himself an hour a day to remain pure. I truly enjoy it.
But after Thursday, I'm not sure I need a challenge. We all have one now around here.
My home was fine, but Thursday was one of toughest days I've had on the job, seeing all those heartbroken people going through their destroyed homes, many of them in shock (including me). I was so drained by the time I got home, I just held Jayden on my lap, then spent an hour on the computer and went to bed.
I've rethought that, however. Maybe a challenge is only part of the reason I run a race. I also think it's because it's who I am.
I am a runner and a climber and a father and a poker player and sometimes a writer. I can't lose sight of that. In fact, when we face times like this, when it seems like we'll never get back to normal, it's more important to never let go of who you are. It's the only stability we've got.
So I ran Monday, and folks, it was tough. The Bolder/Boulder is also one of the tougher races in Colorado. Mile two has a long, gradual hill, and that hill leads to mile 3, which is one long, steep hill. Mile four features several small hills and one huge, super-steep hill. Then it's all downhill from there. Well, except for the ski run that leads into the University of Colorado's stadium at the end.
I really struggled at times. I had to walk twice just to grab a breath. I allowed myself only 10 seconds before I kicked it back into gear. I'm still not sure if that's a good plan. Probably not. But I was able to run much faster after the quick stop. I never felt great the whole day. The girls didn't allow me to sleep much Sunday night, which was frustrating, but I had to roll out of bed at 4:45 a.m. to make it out to Boulder for the 7 a.m. start the early, elite waves require. It will be nice to actually run a race on some sleep. I just hope that's this year.
Still, my splits were better than I thought. I think I started way too fast, which is very easy to do in that race because the first mile is downhill, and the first mile is always easy. I ran 7:15 the first mile, 7:40 the second, and then the hills hit. But it wasn't terrible, averaging 8-minute miles over the next two, which was the plan. Still, I would have liked to have been faster on mile 5, when it's downhill again, with only 7:49, and I ran pretty slow that last mile, on mile 6, when I ran only 8:05. I was pretty tired by then, which frustrates me. Didn't I just run a half marathon three weeks ago?
But I did run 48:33, which was almost 50 seconds faster than my best time last year, and an overall personal record for a 10K, which was nice to set on a tough course. My pace was 7:49 per mile.
I do feel pretty good today after the race. It was cold and rainy by the time I finished, so I filled out a bogus credit card application and got a free towel, which I wrapped around my shoulders.
I know my pain during the race was inconsequential to what those Windsor residents are feeling as I type this.
I hope they can get back to who they are soon.
I thought about them as I finished.
This run was for them.

Stunned silence

In Colorado here, we worry as much about tornadoes as much as we do hurricanes or earthquakes or maybe nuclear war.
So the mile-wide tornado that just tore through our neighbors yesterday didn't so much as destroy homes, although it did that, and flattened cars, although it did that too. It also stunned us, just completely reduced us to blinking, silent journalists as we worked on one of the stories of the century.
Yes, I'm fine, and yes, the family is fine, and yes, even our home is, thankfully, OK. A few miles down the road, people were not so fortunate, and that's what I covered this afteroon. I am completely, totally drained. I really don't even know what to feel.
I was a reporter in Kansas for a number of years, and I covered a few tornadoes that demolished homes, but I've never seen the kind of complete devastation I saw today. I've seen a home or two destroyed, but this was block after block after block of crushed homes.
I've said this before, but I'm always amazed at how generous people are during these events. All I had to do was show up with a notepad and people told me their stories. I really think they wanted to this time. I'd like to think it seemed to help. All I could do was sit there, take notes and shake my head.
I'm sorry, I said, and cursed how hollow it sounded, even if it was sincere.
You can check out over coverage today on our Web site. But as of right now, I'm going to go home.
And I'm going to hug my kids.

A birthday built for two

Here's some highlights from the girls birthday party, which I'm assuming you'd much rather have than a bunch of whining about how much I suck at poker.

One hand at a time

As the music from "One Day At A Time," you know, the comedy with the single mother, plumber with the porn-star mustache who probably would be sued for sexual harassment today and wild daughters, I'm thinking about two hands I played yesterday.
Both of them poorly.

#1 - In the Bodog tournament series, which has gone about as poorly as I could have hoped, I'm dealt A-K sooted. I"m fourth to act. The third to act, a guy that's been hounding me all night and doesn't strike me as a very good player, raises 3xs the big blind.
I have nearly 10,000 chips. He's probably the only guy who has more chips than me in the whole tournament (I know I'm at least third or fourth). There are 16 left. The points and the cash (at least the $11 in tournament dollars) is near. I could coast to both if I wanted. The blinds are 200/400 with a small ante.
When he raises, I think about it for a bit, and I shove.
He quickly calls me with K-K. I do not suck out, despite getting a flush and straight draw on the turn, because that never fucking happens and I go home.
Later, my suspicions were true, because he was, in a word, terrible. He had a monster stack at that point and yet managed to bleed all his chips before the top 5 and that juicy $109 in tournament dollars. He just woke up with a monster.
Still, he raised in early position, he was the chip leader, and I didn't have much to gain by putting my whole tournament on the line.

#2 - I'm playing a cash game, .25/.50, and I'm dealt K-K in middle position. A guy UTG who has a nearly full stack raises to $2. Everyone folds to me and I re-raise to $6. Everyone folds.
He thinks for a second and re-raises me to $13.
He has A-A. Every single time someone does that at that level, a small re-raise, he has A-A. Usually a re-pop pre-flop at these levels almost always mean a huge pair or, at worst, A-K. Maybe A-Q or less if he's a shorty. And a small re-pop pre-flop (I just like to say that now) means Aces. Always.
So I call to set mine. It's not that much more.
The flop comes all low cards. He pushes. I call.
He shows A-A. I do not suck out because that never fucking happens, and I lose a big pot.


Yes, both of these hands were coolers. But they were also dumb plays by me.
In both these hands, I let emotions rule the way I played them. And this is what I mean by taking it one hand at a time.

In the first hand, I knew the guy wasn't very good, and I was quite sick of him raising my big blind with his small blind every single time it got to me. I didn't call in those situations because I didn't think 8-2os were hands worth defending. I also knew that if I waited, I'd get an opportunity to burn him. I suppose a re-steal at times would have been warranted, but it's harder to do that with weak players because they will call you with something like K-9 and think they're golden.
But when any player raises you in early position, and he has you covered, and your M is awesome, that's not the time to take a huge stand and put all your chips on the line. Instead of examining that one hand for what it was, I was tired of him and I thought he was terrible, so I pushed.
Emotions, not good play, ruled my game.

In the second hand, instead of listening to myself, I simply couldn't believe that the guy had Aces over my Kings AGAIN. See, in the last two weeks, despite a decent run at the cash tables, I've run K-K into A-A four times. Four times. It has, as you can imagine, cost me a bunch of money. I haven't always been stacked, but I have more than I should have been.
I refused to listen to reason and instead just said the odds and justice or whatever would not give me K-K against A-A again.
Emotions, not good reasoning, ruled my play.

I was so pissed, I put myself to the test. I went back to the cash tables after a short break. I was determined to fight the tilt bubbling inside me.
And I won $30 back and then hit up Razz and even finished up $20 there as well.

I took my hands one individual hand at a time there. I ignored past history and just listened to what each hand was telling me.
Maybe the hard lesson Tuesday will eventually pay off.

Happy Birthday Andie and Allie

One year ago today, Kate delivered twins.
My girls are 1.
We were cleaning and blowing up balloons and getting gift bags together for all the minnows who will be tromping through our house. Today we'll be picking up cake and ice cream and thawing and throwing chicken on the grill.
"All this work," Mom said, "and they won't even know it's for them."
This party is not for the girls.
It's for us.
We survived.



Here's a column I wrote for the paper I write for, the Greeley Tribune, that ran in my Tuesday slot. Or you can just skip to the picture below:




Some would have called me anal before the girls were born.
I preferred the term “organized.”
No matter what you called me, one thing was certain. I did not like the unexpected. I loathed it, in fact. I preferred to plan out my life as if it were a to-do list.
So when our ultrasound technician said to us that we were having twins, I was in immediate denial. Our technician assumed we knew, of course. Who doesn’t know they’re having twins at 21 weeks?
“Please tell me you’re kidding,” I said to her.
She wasn’t kidding.
I took the news about as well as someone who doesn’t like surprises can take it, meaning when Kate’s doctor came in to confirm the news, she was initially more concerned about me.
Once Kate, our toddler, Jayden, and I celebrated that night with a dinner that mainly consisted of me staring blankly into the menu and saying “Huh?” a lot to our waitress, our lives melted into the kind of chaos that you normally see in a “Family Circus” cartoon. You know, the ones that feature the mother in her bathroom with a boiling pot on the stove, laundry, four crying kids, the dog with a dish in his mouth, and an electrician at the door.
The twins hadn’t even arrived yet, and we had to move Jayden to the smaller bedroom, paint his room red and blue, paint the girls’ room pink, gather a whole lot of dresses and pink onesies and get another one of everything, including another swing, another crib and another stroller, this one built for two.
When they were born, we learned what the term “sacrifice” really means. I sacrificed my time in the mountains. We sacrificed friendships, some of which have never recovered. We sacrificed sleep, some special time with Jayden and, at times, our sanity.
Most of the time, we felt like single parents, constantly feeding and changing and carting a baby around.
Kate and I learned to work together, much more than the vows say you will, and yet we had two periods where we fought every day, long and hard. The problem, of course, is that there was too much work to go around.
Any infant is hard. But parents usually can take shifts for midnight feedings, diaper changes and making sure the little one doesn’t crawl off the staircase. Shifts don’t exist when you have twins.
When you’re raising infant twins, when one parent takes a break, any kind at all, the other pays for it dearly.
So now we find ourselves breathing a sigh of relief come Saturday. The twins will turn 1. Every parent I have talked to who went through what we went through has assured me that it gets easier after the first year.
I’m hopeful because the first year was not easy. In fact, it was the hardest thing Kate and I have ever done. In fact, it still is.
But it’s changed me. I’m more relaxed now. It’s not a cliché. I mean, you have to be.
When you have a day like I did three months ago, when Allie had a poop that exploded out of her diaper and went all over the kitchen floor, and Andie was doing everything in her power to play in it, and Kate was at Target, well, you learn that little surprises like that aren’t really problems. They’re funny.
Every day, like that day, holds something unexpected. Some still call me anal. I still prefer the term “organized.” My to-do lists are still there. But the day doesn’t always follow them. And I have learned that’s OK.
I have learned to not only deal with the unexpected, I have learned to embrace it.
I embrace it every day, in fact, when I crawl out of bed, pick up one of the girls and hold her high above my head, completely aware of just how lucky I am that chance found its way into my heart.


And here they are one year later, toasting their birthday. I, too, will drink to that::

Once a mother...

Mom's in town for the next three days, and today she's watching Jayden.
It's a little blustery outside and a tad cold, though it's really not too bad. The wind lately has been awful, infecting our softball games (I've purposely pitched it right at the batter because the wind carries it away from him and back over the plate), pushing me around when I try to run and even causing some damage to fences, trees and a few rooftops.
So a bit of a breeze is fine.
I have on a short-sleeved shirt and I'm about to head out the door.
Mom looks me over.
"Don't you need a JACKET? It's COLD out there."

I smirk at her.

I am 36.

The jacket stayed in the closet.