Note To Future Self

We had a playdate with the Swede this weekend.

I’m glad it was nice-ish outside. Our house isn’t big enough for two nearly-2-year-olds. I’m also glad it’s not possible to retro-actively discover you have twins, as trying to pick both of them up made me feel very, very old (30 squirming kgs? why not!?!)

Later, dude.

We are now at the developmental stage where emulation is a big thing.

Which is why, if you are so unwise as to sit on our living room floor, a small person will “sneak” up behind you, cackling manically at the top of her lungs, and poke you in the armpit while saying ‘Ick. Ick’.

If your armpits are out of reach, she will tickle herself instead. Somewhat surprisingly, it seems to work.

We had out first (non-self-induced) accident in the trailer this morning. Pretty close to campus, it was ye traditionale dooring, I swerved but it caught the tongue on the trailer pretty hard, then the side wheel. We came to a swift halt and I went OTH (over the handlebars, thankee). My ankle doesn’t feel well and the sprouticus was shaken, but there was no apparent physiological or mechanical damage to things that matter (i.e. the kinder or the bike).

In my mind, this validates the trailer approach relative to the bike seat. OK, so a single bike would have probably missed the door. Or the extra 18kg of high-mounted weight would cause a Hammond-esque Scandanavian flick.

On the other hand I was able to sprawl out silly like all over the bike lane (for future reference — giving a barbarian “yop!” while flying through the air makes the landing hurt a lot less), while the sprout remained safely upright in the roll cage. Actually, come to think of it, after we had decamped to the sidewalk and I had done the obligatory “two arms – two legs” check, she hopped down, crawled back into the trailer and put her helmet back on. I discovered later that the accident had made all of the pee come out, all at once.

Strangely, I feel bad that the door on his car won’t close anymore.

Hm. Adrenaline is wearing off. Might be nap time.

Not visible: A short history of nearly everything, Herodotus (in translation), a train car and one sock.

After an absurdly long delay by her mechanics parents, our little girl has her wheels back. After bashing us each in the shins a couple of times, for old times sakes, she got down to business and loaded up her cart with all the essentials and wheeled it over to the back door.

Sniff. She’s all grown up and ready to fledge. As soon as she learns how to pull up the front and back of her pants, that is.

What if, for one brief moment, I really was the world’s coolest dad?

And now I’ve used up my one chance.

I’ve spent the the entirety of the PBSE (Post Bean Sprout Era) working three days a week, and since last August, she’s been going to a creche on campus, so we’ve been going to school together. It’s an easy combination: when the Sprouticus is at school, so is dad. No variances allowed.

I really can’t complain. Back when I was employed, it worked well, thanks to my employer’s flexibility. Now that I’m playing at student, it’s even better, as long as I feel I’m keeping up with what I need to keep up with.

This week, Anna started a four-day-a-week schedule, which means I get a whole extra dad day each week. Nominally this is a work day, and since it’s winter, I’ll probably spend those extra days at my desk, trying some of this grad student slacking I’ve heard so much about. Or a bit of contracting work on the side. With the spring fineness, maybe I’ll even leaven in a bit of goofing off. Personal time? What an idea!

In other news, we’re enjoying a sartorial Nansen phase. Northward ho!

House rule number 437: If you pour water from your sippy cup onto the furniture, you have to wipe it up.

House rule number 438: It is, in fact, OK, to eat spil’t currants off the kitchen floor with a tablespoon. But only if Dad says it’s OK.

Winter’s here. None of that silly frozen stuff for us, just lots of soggy and cold. A good time to huddle indoors and pick up a few new hobbies.

Maybe a little web design.

Peeling onions? Why not!

And squinting for the camera, of course.

“Bo-Bo”

“That’s your knee. Knees are like elbows, but on your legs”.

“Bo-Bo”

“That’s your wrist.”

It was gorgeous this weekend, so the GB and I did a little 100 Miles of Nowhere in the backyard. By little, I mean it was really the 200 ft of nowhere.

Unfortunately, our staff photographer was in movie mode. So I have only this scant evidence (16MB), in finest Patterson-Gimlin style.