Two Babies! Two Babies!

And Then There Were Seven...Or Four.

2012-02-12T00:02:00.002-05:00

I'm upset because my graph is ruined. You know, the one with X's and dashes to signify Malorie's progress through radiation? Yeah, that one - ruined. OK, fine, I didn't even remember to put it at the end of the last post. But I'm upset nonetheless.

Yesterday, a nurse attendant called Rachel to discuss the upcoming end of Mal's radiation treatment. She told Rachel that one of the other nurses had heard us talking in the recovery room about how Mal's treatment ended on February 21st, and so she was calling to correct us. According to her, Mal would be done February 16th. Rachel told her she was wrong, and went to get the treatment plan that Dr. Mansur gave us on the day of Mal's simulation. On it, in black and white, it shows the 33 treatments, three of which occur after the 16th. The nurse told Rachel that the treatment plan had changed, and insisted that Mal would be done this coming Thursday. The lady said that sometimes the doctors add a few "fluff" days to the plan. Rachel told her "Bologna" or other slightly less nice words that that effect, and then told the poor nurse attendant to go get a doctor and call us back.

It's not that we are patently against Mal's treatment only consisting of 30 treatments. In fact, the fewer treatments she gets, the less chances of long term complications from the radiation - and those can be pretty nasty. But the problem is that we were sold on being aggressive by Dr. Mansur when he was developing her treatment plan. He told Rachel and me that because Mal's cancer was a grade three, he was going to take off the kids gloves and go after it; 33 treatments, the max allowed. We gave him a paper with our signature for consent to his plan; he gave us a paper with a schedule for her thirty-three appointments.

But then something changed. Dr. Mansur created Malorie's treatment schedule, and even programmed it into the radiation machines that send the waves through her head each weekday morning. Then he moved to Cleveland. Dr. Mansur accepted a post at a children's hospital in Cleveland and left St. Louis during Mal's second week in treatment. He assured us that we would be in great hands with his interim replacement, Dr. Maholski, and that his plan would be carried out despite the change in doctors.

When the nurse attendant called back, I fielded the phone call. She told me that she had confirmed Mal would be done on Thursday. I asked her who had made the decision to change Mal's treatment, and she told me it was never intended to be 33 treatments. I called her out on that, and told her that I had the paper from Dr. Mansur in my hands and planned on bringing it to her on Monday. She then tapped furiously on a keyboard I heard in the background of the call, and told me that Dr. Mansur changed it before he left, as the prescription he entered only consisted of 30 treatments. I asked her if she could print me something with Dr. Mansur's signature and a date that showed only 30, and she gave me a solid "maybe." I tried not to shoot the messenger, but I did unload on her with some pretty heavy terms like fiduciary duty, communication breakdown, and extremely upset. Seriously, Mal has a team of 8 doctors caring for her - not one of them thought it important enough to call us to let us know they decided to change her treatment plan?

Rachel and I have an appointment with Dr. Maholski on Monday, and so we will be digging into this issue more then. I have some serious questions for him. I'm not sure if any of that will change her new plan, or if I even want it to. But I am going to unload on that man in T-minus 32 hours. Until then, we will ride out the weekend with all the joy and thanksgiving we can muster. We have faith that Mal will be fine whether she gets the three additional treatments or not. She has been terrific through all of this, and we are certain she will continue to do so. But, none of that helps me with what to do with my graph. And so, I'm upset.

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Mal's Palindromes

2012-02-05T16:02:00.004-05:00

21:12. Simple enough. Twenty-one radiation treatments now complete by Malorie, and twelve left to go. Mal is holding up extremely well, showing only small signs of anything being wrong with her. Mostly she is fatigued, and we see that in a number of ways. She sleeps more now than we have ever seen her sleep before, and even when she is awake, she becomes tired faster than Micah does. She has developed a tendency to melt down and have more fits than she used to; although that could likely be attributed equally to fatigue and the terrible twos. Malorie’s blood counts this week were lower again, and starting to teeter just above the “critical” level, although to us she seems to be much better than her blood counts indicate. The nurses continue to reassure us that she is “relatively” high in her important numbers. And for what it’s worth, when she is awake and well rested, no one without knowledge of the situation would have any idea she was in less than optimal health. Even the hair falling out has slowed down, and the hair she has remaining on top does a pretty good job of concealing the fact that she is bald around the circumference of her head below the ears. Also, last week she showed her first signs of the radiation affecting her mouth and throat, complaining that a strawberry was “too hot.” The doctor attributed it to the acid in the strawberry bothering her tender throat, and told us to give her some Tylenol if it happened again, which it has not. We try to make it easy on her. No melon, no lemon. Nonetheless, her appetite has degraded, and she has lost one pound since radiation began. Mal’s voice also gets strained and a bit horse when she first wakes up, and it happens more often and for longer durations towards the end of the five-day long stretch of radiation on the weekdays. But, all things considered, we are terrifically grateful with her progress thus far.

Micah, for his part, is doing very well. He is starting to come down with a cold, which worries us because he might pass it along to Malorie. Otherwise, he is developing into the most charming chatterbox of a boy I have ever met. Holding a conversation with him is like trying to chase down a racecar. He makes me laugh on a daily basis, including this nugget from last week:

I had just pushed the twins around in a laundry basket for about 20 minutes and then announced that it was bath-time. Micah was up second for the bath, and so while Mal was being bathed, I was undressing Micah, helping him use the potty, and generally discussing life with him. As I was doing this, I was sweating because pushing 65 pounds worth of kids in a laundry basket on carpet is hard work, so I took off my shirt.

Micah (pushing my nipples): Are these your belly buttons Dad?
Me: Nope.
Micah (pushing my nipples again): What are these Daddy?
Me: (silence)
Rachel (from the side of the bathtub where she was bathing Mal): Those are your daddy’s nipples buddy.
Micah: Are these your nippos daddy?
Me: Yeah bud, those are my nipples.
Micah (still fiddling with my chest): Your nippos are kinda squishy, daddy.
Me: Thanks a lot man.
Micah (now focusing his attention on the rest of my torso): You are kinda squishy, daddy.
Me: OK, that’s it. I’m putting my shirt back on.

And so that’s how it’s been going here lately: equal parts heart-wrench and hilarity. All the ups and downs leave us just exhausted enough to be slap happy… and forgetful. Was it a car or a cat I saw? Anyway, if there’s one thing I learned this week, it’s that once I’m done trying to sneak palindromes into a blog and Mal’s done with radiation, I’m going to have to start working out again.

Given Much

2012-02-02T23:02:00.004-05:00

While driving home from work today, I was listening to NPR. It's pretty much the only news I get these days, as I find myself too busy to watch the news despite the fact that it is on 24 hours a day. Anyway, I heard President Obama cite a Bible verse that had been on my mind in recent weeks, Luke 12:48. It says, "From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded." He was using it in reference to the US tax code, which is not the context in which I have been thinking of it, but nonetheless applicable I suppose. I have been thinking of it in the context of the blessings we get on an everyday basis. Malorie having cancer stinks, but it has given me a new view of the world and those around us. Our family has been blessed with tremendous friends and family, hope and faith, love and support, courage and strength, joy and spirit. We have been given much. Rachel and I feel the need to give as well.

One of the daily rituals for Mal at radiation occurs when she first enters the Radiation Center. She takes a hard left turn and sprints perpendicular to the receptionists desk and straight for Elizabeth's Corner. Elizabeth's Corner is the children's area of the waiting room. It is walled off from the rest of the waiting area where adult cancer patients and their loved ones await treatment. Safe from the sights that could confound a child her age, Mal makes Elizabeth's Corner her home for the 15 minutes or so per day that she spends waiting to be called back for treatment. As fate would have it, Elizabeth's Corner is named for a child who was diagnosed with an ependymoma at age 5. Her tumor was removed several years ago, and according to the plaque in the room that bears her name, she is still in remission. Yet another one of the daily blessings we receive is the hope that reading about Elizabeth brings.

Four weeks ago when we started treatments, Elizabeth's Corner, for all it's cozy comfort, was bare. It had one small animal play set, a bucket of crayons, some books and three puzzles. These items were dispersed hap-hazardly amongst the 14 shelves in the room, and simply made the space look run down. The first time Rachel watched Mal and a little girl who was waiting while her Dad got radiation fight over the animal toys, she knew she wanted to make the space better.

After some furious grass-roots fundraising that included Rachel going door-to-door at some local businesses, we raised a little over $150 for toys in Elizabeth's Corner. Then, last Monday, Rachel and I began stocking the room with the toys and books we were able to get: Action figures and Hot Wheels for the boys, Princesses and a Tea Set for the girls. We brought in new chairs made for toddlers, brand new crayons, books and games. Thanks to the generosity of those in the local community, we were able to spruce up Elizabeth's Corner to try and make it a bit more inviting to those who find themselves there.

Although our efforts in Elizabeth's Corner were small (and for good reason, the staff at the hospital told us to stop bringing in toys because they were responsible for keeping the area clean once we left), it gave us a great feeling. Like any gift, hope and love is great to receive and even better to give. For that reason, we have shifted our efforts to supporting a children's cancer charity by hosting a benefit event on Mal's behalf. We have set the date of March 31st for our event, which will be a trivia night and silent auction that we hope will be a celebration of Mal's completion of radiation. All the proceeds from the night will go to a charity that Rachel and I handpicked because of the great work they have done with Mal and the other kids going through treatment with us at Siteman Cancer Center. The charity is called Friends of Kids With Cancer, and we are hoping that we leave them speechless feeling just as loved as we have felt over the past few months. Our family has been given much... the book of Luke tell us what comes next.

For those interested in contributing to Mal's benefit either by attendance or other means, more information will be posted in the coming weeks.

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PS - Rachel, I couldn't be more proud of you for what you've done with Elizabeth's Corner. To Jenna, Jess, Chris, Karl, Brian and all the others helping with Mal's Benefit, thank you from the bottom of my heart for your assistance in making our dream come to fruition.

It's No Big Deal

2012-01-27T23:01:00.007-05:00

It's only hair. It's just hair. It's no big deal. Vanilla Ice used to have swooshes and slashes and shapes shaved into his head. Now he looks like a normal guy. It's no big deal. Madonna was a blonde, then a brunette, then a redhead, then black haired, and then I lost track. I think Gwen Stefani had green hair. Who cares? Even I'm guilty. In high school I had frosted tips, a super-cool hair-style in the 90's where you dye the ends of your hair blonde and then spike it. Looked good at the time. Looks silly now. It's only hair. It's just hair. So why did it make us feel so bad?

This morning started like all the other days did this week, with Mal charging full speed into the radiation treatment center. The receptionist smiled. The elderly couple in the corner waved. Mal didn't notice. She changed course and veered to the kids area of the waiting room. When we were called to the patient area for the nurse to get her vitals, Mal sat on Rachel's lap. And then it happened. Rachel noticed a group of hair that had fallen out into the hood of Mal's sweatshirt. As a bystander to the vital signs routine, I saw it all go down. Rachel's eyes widened, then they started to well with tears as she looked up to me. I gave Rachel a stern look, like a teacher scolding a misguided pupil, and bobbed my head towards the nurse. Rach locked the tears up and focused on the nurse. Mal didn't notice.

Once Mal was anesthetized for the day, Rachel and I shared a hug and then walked back into the waiting room to wait for Mal to finish her treatment. As we broke the threshold of the doors, Rachel was unable to keep her composure. Out in the waiting room, a wonderful man named Greg, who is getting treatment for a sarcoma on his leg, and a woman named Michelle, whose husband is being treated for brain cancer, saw Rachel come through the doors ahead of me and knew something was wrong. They did a great job of sharing a prayer and words of comfort with Rachel and me about Mal's hair loss. "It's only hair," they said. "It's just hair. It's no big deal."

Mal left a good portion of her hair on the hospital stretcher upon which she wakes up from her treatments. Her hair continued to fall out on her bed during nap, and into her hoodie throughout the day. By bath time, her hair had thinned in back to about a third of what is was 24 hours ago. When Rachel brushed it after bath time, more fell out. Mal didn't notice. It's only hair. It's just hair. It's no big deal.

Except that it is a big deal. For the past three-plus weeks, outside of the few hours per day that we spend at the hospital (and the occasional PICC Line scare) Mal has seemed like a normal girl. She maintained her energy, kept up her joy for life, and faced cancer with a smile on her face even when we could not. It was a great illusion. Even when we knew in our mind that Mal was fighting brain cancer, we could allow ourselves a few moments each day to pretend that she was fine. She looked fine. She acted fine. But now, the bruises are settling in under her eyes, and her hair is falling out by the handful. Our illusion is gone. Our baby girl is a cancer patient in our hearts, minds and eyes.

No matter how much you prepare yourself for something like your kids hair falling out, it doesn't work. The sheer shock and sadness is overwhelming. Both Rachel and I spent today in various states of grief, mourning the loss of Mal's hard-earned auburn locks. We swept it up behind her. We washed it down the drain. We debated what to do with the remaining hair. Mal didn't notice.

But I kept coming back to what our friends said in the wiating room. It's only hair. It's just hair. The fact that it fell out means the radiation treatment is working and we are killing the fast-growing cells and eliminating any left over ependymoma. Her hair will grow back. Our hearts will mend. Mal will get better, and bigger, and forget about being bald again. And one day Rachel will do Mal's hair for the Homecoming dance. And some night I will run my hands through her hair while we snuggle and watch a movie. That day is coming soon, and on those days I will not remember the way I feel tonight. Hair grows back just like we change our moods; only hair takes a little bit longer. It's only hair. It's just hair. It's no big deal.

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The PICC That Wouldn't Stay

2012-01-21T00:38:00.003-05:00

Once upon a time there was a little PICC Line. It had no name. The PICC Line was born on January 5th, 2012 in a land called MaloriesArm (which had two capital letters in its name for no good reason). That pesky little PICC Line just could not sit still. In fact, every time there was not something holding it down, it tried to leave MaloriesArm and see the light of day. So, when the kind nurses from Children's Hospital tried to change the bandage covering the PICC Line on Thursday, it decided to venture out on its own. As soon as the bandage was off, so was the PICC, racing from MaloriesArm in search of adventure and fresh air. The nurses were not amused, and neither were we. Thus, the little PICC Line without a name was replaced today by surgical procedure. See you later, little PICC Line. The new one is stitched into place to ensure it will not try any shenanigans... and they all lived happily ever after.

OK, I am accustomed to ad-libbing bedtime stories to "cut them short" as Rachel puts it, and help the twins get to bed on time when they pick a longer book to read at bedtime. The story covers the gist of the last few days, as Mal had to have her PICC replaced today because the first one seemed intent on getting out of her arm. Yesterday, during Mal's weekly bandage change and site cleaning, the PICC Line just started to progress out of her arm as soon as the tape holding it down was removed. This was the second week in a row that it migrated. Once the IV line had made it out of the vein, it could not just be shoved back in for risk of infection, so we had no choice but to have it replaced today. So, immediately following Mal's 11th radiation treatment this morning, she was taken over to the same-day surgery center and the IV line was replaced. This would not have been so bad if it didn't entail a second anesthesia within three hours.

Rachel and I were very worried about Mal not being able to follow routine and eat after she awoke from her radiation treatment, but she was great. She snuggled with me, played paper dolls with Rach, and watched Sesame Street in the two hours between her waking up from radiation and her second procedure. She could not eat or drink because she had to be put under again, but she didn't protest much, and seemingly understood every time we told her that she had to wait.

So, two weeks down and four-and-a-half to go. 33.33% of radiation complete. The fatigue is definitely setting in for Mal (and me too), but we have the wonderful respite of a weekend to aid us in getting ready for next week. Five days a week at the hospital, today for almost 8 hours, can tire out even the toughest of kids and parents. Top that with the fact that Mal's blood counts are dipping, meaning that her immune system is lower than it should be, and we could really use some rest. Although the nurse who gave us the blood test results did a great job of assuring us that her counts are in the "normal" range for a cancer patient, it is still alarming to see a test result that has "LOW" in all capital letters alongside every meaningful result. But, as you can read above, the story of The PICC Line That Wouldn't Stay has a happy ending... I mean, it says right there that "they all lived happily ever after." We have seen no major complications from treatment yet, and have faith in Jesus that all will be well for us for the next 22 treatments.

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Dynamic Routine

2012-01-19T00:16:00.007-05:00

Routines are nice. They help you to plan your day by knowing what to expect to happen at any given time. But, when you get too stuck in a routine, you find yourself in a rut, challenged to break the inertia of a routine that has become a habit. On the other hand, people who say they like to have every day be completely different from the last are liars. No one wants everyday to be completely different – because if you ever found something that you loved to do, you would have to dismiss it and just move along the next day. So, we all find some niche somewhere between being a slave to a routine and complete unpredictability in our lives. Therefore, it is not surprising that the past week has brought some new structure to our lives, but at the same time a level of volatility that certainly is keeping life interesting.

All of the doctors and nurses told us that eventually we would find our rhythm in regards to getting Mal to radiation in the mornings, and they we right. Our new routine may not be comfortable, but it will work for the next month and a week. Rachel wakes up just after five to get through the shower, with me waking up about 20 minutes later to get through the wash. We wake Mal to leave for treatment at around 6:15 and are out the door by 6:30 on days where Micah stays home with a sitter. On the days where Micah has to go to another person’s house for care, we back up the schedule by 15 minutes. Mal gets to watch a movie on the way to the hospital, and very rarely makes a peep during the ride. Once we arrive at the Siteman Cancer Center, we go to the small children’s waiting area to await our nurse. Mal gets her vitals taken, and then is anesthetized for treatment by about 7:30. Typically Mal wakes up about 30-40 minutes later, and we turn the radiation recovery room into our breakfast nook for 20 or so minutes after that. Mal Pal’s breakfasts now consist of Pop-Tarts and flavored applesauce, with the occasional Cheetos or Chex Mix thrown in to keep her from throwing a fit while recovering from the anesthesia. Another movie on the ride home (I now have the entire Princess Stories DVD memorized) and most days we’re back to the house by 10.

As I said, there are the occasional curveballs that make each day a little different. Yesterday, Mal did not want to get up in the morning, and actually threw a fit as I got her dressed, crying “I want to sleep, Daddy. I want to sleep.” We are starting to notice a gradual slip into the decreased energy that the doctors told us would come for Malorie. Tonight, for instance, Micah and Rachel wrestled and read books for 20 minutes in the family room. Usually Malorie would be all over that event, but instead she got out her sleeping bag, asked me to go get her “friends” (toddler code word for the four Elmo’s, the Cookie Monster, assorted beanie babies and other hangers-on and cronies that compromise Mal’s night-time entourage) and then sing her songs. I spent that 20 minutes on the floor trying not to sound too much like Peter Brady while cranking out hits such as "ABC's" and "Holly Jolly Christmas.". One day Mal decided not to take a nap and then was in a terrible mood all night. Micah also helps to break the routine with his daily antics and general silliness. He has been a real trouper through all the shuffling between baby-sitters and shifting routines.

Only one day last week was our loosely defined routine majorly disturbed, and that was Thursday. Thursdays are the dedicated day for changing the dressing on Mal’s PICC line, and when that was being done, the nurses realized that 7 cm of IV tube was dangling from Malorie’s arm. This was a bad thing, since only 4 cm were left exposed following her surgery. So, somehow, 3 cm worth of IV tubing got dislodged and pulled out from inside her body. Immediately following her radiation treatment, Mal had to go get an X-ray taken to ensure the IV line was still all the way into her central artery in her chest. If it was no longer in there, she would need to be put-under again to undergo a procedure to replace the PICC line. When she woke up from anesthesia that day, she was still not allowed to eat in case she needed to be anesthetized for another surgery. Mal was whisked away from the recovery room/breakfast nook and taken up to radiology and was not a fan of this break in routine. Luckily, the x-ray showed that her PICC line was still in her artery, although not as deep as it once had been. However, the nurses also discovered at this time that Mal’s PICC was not drawing blood back (although it still could administer medicine). Mal was then taken from radiology to the hematology/oncology clinic, where the nurses studied her PICC and contemplated giving her a de-clotting medicine to clear any potential blood clots on the end of the tube. Just the mention of a blood clot so near to my daughter’s heart sent me into a tizzy, and I began studying the faces of the team of nurses attending to Mal to try to gauge the danger she was in. However, somehow through their prodding, Mal’s IV line began drawing blood again, and the de-clotter was not needed. The common theory as to why the IV just started working without intervention was that it had been stuck against the wall of her artery, and then just adjusted. I don’t pretend to be an IV expert, so I bought the explanation, but certainly don’t want to go through that experience again.

The only other big break from routine was Saturday morning, when the twins transformed for the first time into Super Micah and Super Mal. If you have not yet read our friend Nicole’s account of procuring the new outfits for the twins, stop reading my blather right now and go to this link: http://www.mybottlesup.com/2012/01/tutu-lady-helps-our-klug-crew and then come back. The pictures will mean a lot more to you if you read her heartfelt and well written blog entry (and watched the video). Thanks, Nic.

Finally, as I prepare to post this blog and then return to my ever-changing daily routine, I wanted to figure out a way to make a graph or something to show how far into treatment we have made it (27.27%, but who’s counting?) but was too lazy to learn the coding to do so on this blog, so here is the laziest graph ever. When you see 33 X’s and 0 –‘s, you will know we are done.
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At Least We're Breathing

2012-01-11T20:50:00.000-05:00

Yesterday we got to see a beautiful little five-year-old girl named Maddie ring the bell to signal the completion of her radiation treatments. While Maddie and Mal were getting their radiation treatments simultaneously, we exchanged cancer stories with her parents. Maddie has a different cancer than Mal; one that is more aggressive and had spread to more of her body. It left her brain and invaded her sinuses. She's already been through surgeries as well as six-plus weeks of chemotherapy and radiation. We congratulated her parents on the completion of radiation, and they thanked us before stunning us by telling us that Maddie now has 37 more weeks of chemotherapy. Nine more months of pain. "At least she is still at home," Maddie's parents told us. "She sleeps a lot, but she can still be with her family."

Mal is now four treatments into her radiation, which will be 33 treatments in all. I guess I missed my chance to officially say that "we are the 9.09%," when three treatments were complete. All hokey Occupy Fractions jokes aside, Mal has held up fairly well so far. She has been a bit shaky waking up from her anesthesia naps after her treatments, but bounces back very well throughout the day. By noon she has been essentially normal, although for the last two days she did take extended naps. We have just started to notice fatigue outside of nap time, and she is still a week or so out from any expected hair loss. The scar where the tumor was removed has begun changing color from a dark purple to red, and we are not sure that is normal, but the doctors did warn us that there would likely be some skin burns near the site of the radiation treatment. Probably the worst part of the week for Mal has been a cough she has developed. She is getting a cold, and the frequent anesthesia and radiation are exacerbating it. Last night she woke up coughing so hard that she threw up in her bed.

Mal has also become accustomed to having her PICC line, and resumed normal use of her right arm. The twice daily heparin flushes to keep the end of the IV from clotting have gone from traumatic to annoyance for Mal, and as we approach the one week mark since her surgery to implant the PICC, we are hoping that eventually the practice becomes routine. Baths are still a bit difficult, but also seem to be getting better.

As well as Malorie is doing, Rachel and I are still struggling to find the perspective that Maddie's parents held. Sometimes we are happy, but other times it is more difficult to remain upbeat. Molehills seem to turn into mountains regularly these days. Where I used to be a pretty even keeled person, able to keep a cool demeanor and calm disposition during stressful times, now my moods seem to swing erratically through extremes. Joy one moment, anger the next. For every moment I spend with the kids, happily watching them play, there is also a moment of darkness, when I am frightened of the path to come. At times I worry more than I should, and fight to remind myself of the great blessings we have already been given.

So tonight I want to focus on "At Least," the statement that always seems to be a prelude to something we have going for us instead of the negative aspects of the situation. At least Mal's cancer seems to be controlled. Victory is hard to measure in this war, but we have won all the key battles so far. At least we have each other. Our family is drawing closer by the day, and this episode has redefined our relationships with friends, family and God. At least my job situation is stable. It is stressful to worry about pulling my weight at a time like this, but my coworkers have really done a lot to relieve that stress by being understanding and thoughtful. At least we're not hungry. We may be tired, but we're well fed, warm, safe and secure at night.

Things are probably going to get worse before they get better. And I know that I will continue to struggle to find perspective at the times I am feeling low. But thoughts of Maddie, and her family rallying around her in her moment of conquest over radiation all while knowing their difficult road ahead will help to remind me to keep "at least" on the tip of my tongue. We don't know how Maddie's battle with cancer will turn out... Mal's either for that matter. But at least we made it this far. At least we get to see those two courageous girls live to inspire us tomorrow.

The Dark

2012-01-05T23:56:00.001-05:00

I'm thirty years old, and still flabbergasted by how quickly it gets dark in the winter. In the summer, colors hang in the air for what seems like hours after the sun has vanished beneath the horizon. Brilliant hues of orange, red, purple and yellow paint the skyline, making the most bleak of landscapes seem palatable and making beautiful landscapes seem like a good canvas painting come to life. Even in the fall, the sun puts out small protests of color at twilight, a final attempt at staving off night's cruel ascent. But in winter, the sky goes from grey to black in an instant, almost as if the day has been banished from the sky and hastily escorted from the premises. And then all that's left is this void, this black nothingness that lasts longer and longer each night. The stars and moon offer glimmers of hope that something, someone, is out there; that there is a light at the end of the tunnel that is the earth's nocturnal slumber. But when you look straight ahead, it's just black.

Malorie had surgery for her PICC line insertion today. Everything went well, and she is resting peacefully now, preparing for her first radiation treatment tomorrow morning. But pulling into that hospital this morning, listening to the endless parade of doctors and nurses repeating directions and side effects, watching Mal wake up and recover from her medicated sleep - it was all black. I felt like the color that had been present in our lives over the past month was ripped away and all I was left with was black. Dark black.

I couldn't stop fidgeting in my seat whenever a doctor or a nurse started to describe the procedure to put in Mal's IV access line. They placed the PICC line using ultrasonic pulses to guide a tube through a vein and rested it just outside of the heart. That sounds awful, but I guess better than the alternative. If Mal's two year old veins were not yet large enough to support the PICC, a broviac would be placed in her chest by going through the jugular vein. There is no way to convey how helpless one feels while watching their kid suffer. All day after the surgery, Mal referred to her PICC line as her "big band aid" because the dressing for it stretches from her elbow to her shoulder on her right side. She held her hand out at a ninety degree angle for most of the night, refusing to use her right hand. She was a mess after eating with her left hand for the first time in ages. She didn't seem to be in pain, just unwilling to use that arm.

This afternoon a home care nurse came by to demonstrate how to flush the IV line, as Rachel and I will need to do it once daily on weekdays and twice a day on weekends since Mal will not be seen by doctors on those days. It has to be done to prevent clotting at the end of the line, because if that happens, she will need a new surgery and a new PICC. I'm sure it will become a menial task eventually, but for today it was torturous. Rachel cried as she prepared herself to do it. I avoided the duty due to a cold I am fighting, as we need the PICC to stay sanitary to stave off infections. Mal went ballistic as it was flushed, even though the nurse assured us she could not feel a thing. Micah sat on the couch, taking it all in. Bathing with the PICC is an adventure as well, since her bandage must stay dry. Thus, we learned how to wrap Mal's arm in cling wrap, tape and washcloths to keep it dry. Mal's bath tonight was about a quarter inch deep.

It was warm out today, but I still knew it was winter. The sun vanished too soon, whisked away from us before we were ready. And it's going to get colder, more harsh, and stay darker longer before it gets any better. That's fine. I hope it's a brutal, nasty, cold and bitter winter. It fits my mood right now. But as certain as I am that this winter is going to suck, I also know that it will end. Tomorrow morning the sun will rise, and assert its will upon the day. And no matter how cold I am, if I ever feel bad at night, like it is too dark, I will look up to the heavens and see the stars and be reminded of the light at the end of the tunnel. Summer will come. I will once again marvel at the colorful brilliance that the summer sun brings. But for now I just want to stare straight ahead and revel at how it all just feels so dark.

Christmas Fear

2011-12-29T23:53:00.006-05:00

Have you ever read or heard something and thought that it was written specifically for you? Not a note that was addressed to you, but something designed for general public consumption that just speaks to you. The first time it happened to me, it was the book Of Mice and Men, which is still my favorite book. I was a teenager longing to grow up and see the world, and it provided me with the understanding that a person might have to make painful sacrifices in order to achieve a sought-after change. That book provided me the motivation to leave home for college.

On Christmas Eve, the pastor at our church, Webster Gardens Lutheran, gave a sermon that very well could have been crafted solely for me. It was titled Christmas Fear, and it was all about fear being a dominant emotion during the holiday season. Pastor Christiansen sagely guided the congregation through the tumult that was the first Christmas, and tied in themes from modern day - all while urging the congregation to dispatch their fears and focus on faith. To help him push the point home, all the children attending the service were given signs to hold up that read, "Fear Not," and every time the pastor urged the congregation to loosen the bonds of fear, the kids would hold up their signs and yell, "FEAR NOT."

This year has been filled with fear for me. Leaving the only profession I have ever known to enter the civilian sector was scary. At times my job search was terrifying, as I lay awake wondering if I would be able to support my family, wondering if I would love my new job as much as I loved flying planes, wondering whether I was making a huge mistake. In August I almost lost my Dad. Every time my phone rang that day, I was petrified. And then we went through learning Mal had a brain tumor. Two surgeries with her life in the balance, learning it was cancer, knowing it can't be fixed overnight... It has left me scared, at times frozen with fear.

But then there I was, sitting in a pew, surrounded by my family and friends on Christmas Eve. And every few minutes, either Micah or Mal would hold up their sign and yell, "FEAR NOT" (often at inappropriate times, but hey, they are two years old) and it kept making me feel more and more strongly that everything is going to be all right. And that message has propelled me to have a truly enjoyable holiday.

Malorie, Micah, Rachel and I have had a terrific Christmas. Joy and wonder filled the house on Christmas morning as the kids saw that Santa had eaten their cookies and left them gifts. We got to Rachel's parents on Christmas afternoon, and then my parents travelled in from Chicago that night to spend time with us. The twins have learned several Christmas carols, and have sung them to anyone willing to listen. They've marched around spinning tales of the Abominable Snowman and Rudolph. Mal's wounds have recovered and she is happy, strong and vibrant. She got a stylish, short new haircut that will hopefully lessen the impact of the side effects of radiation. In true Missouri fashion, we got two inches of snow and the kids got to go sledding for the first time ever, and then the next day it was 60 degrees outside and the kids got to play outside wearing only a windbreaker as a coat. Visits from out of town friends, a trip to Chuck E Cheese, the season has been packed with reasons to smile.

Radiation starts in a week. Rachel and I are scared, but we are not going to let that fear rule us. I have slept easier the last week or so, but I know the fear will creep back in eventually. We kept Micah and Mal's signs from church, and so every time I feel a bit down, I plan on breaking one of them out and asking the kids what it says. I'm sure they'll remind me. Christmas Fear is natural. But so is Christmas Faith.

*** I believe that many other people might be moved by Pastor Christiansen's message, and so I have posted an audio link to it below. If any of you have been struggling with fear, or just need to hear an uplifting message, enjoy. I hope it brings as much relief to you as it has for us. As an added bonus, Pastor mentions our family at around the twenty minute mark, so also listen up for our 15 minutes of pulpit fame. ***

Christmas Fear (Christmas Eve)

Merry Christmas!

Charting a Course

2011-12-18T22:57:00.002-05:00

There are many ways to get from Point A on a map to Point B. For us right now, Point A is current time and place. Mal is essentially recovered from her surgeries, and is as strong, vivacious and energetic as she has ever been. However, we know she stands a good chance of her cancer coming back if we do not take action - so we have to get to Point B. Point B is remission. Hopefully Mal will be as smart, capable and full of life once we get to Point B as she is now, and will also be much safer. There are many ways to get to Point B. We have chosen ours.

After many hours of deliberation, prayer, research and conversation, Rachel and I decided not to enroll Malorie in the clinical trial. We simply could not come to grips with the lack of evidence that the chemotherapy would provide a benefit. There is the chance that it would. We were not willing to pay the price to see if that chance came to fruition. As we discussed the trial with doctors, we also learned that all patients enrolled in the clinical trial would be treated with radiation to a smaller diameter around the tumor. I am not sure why this wasn't mentioned to us before we met with the radiation oncologist, as this information may have swayed our decision had we known more about it earlier, but we are comfortable with our decision nonetheless.

Malorie will get localized radiation to the area surrounding where her tumor was located in the fourth ventricle of the brain. Because they can localize the treatment, they can limit some of the complications that can arise due to the exposure to radiation. The upper chambers of her brain should not be affected by the radiation, meaning that she should suffer no cognitive impairments due to treatment (although she will be monitored for this through and after radiation). However, the radiation beams will have to exit through the front of her mouth and throat, which puts her at a high risk of having problems with her pituitary and thyroid glands. She will be seen by a doctor for several years that will specifically monitor her body's production of key hormones. This endocrinologist will treat Mal for any problems that may arise. There are also some more severe problems that may arise long term, but they are less and less likely the more and more severe they get, so for now Rachel and I are focusing on the short term effects of the radiation.

We were told by several people that Mal will likely not feel a lot from the radiation for the first few weeks of treatment. The radiation will slowly build in her system. But by the last week or two of the treatments, she will likely really be fatigued and possible not want to eat much. We have also been told that because of the localized treatment, nausea should not be much of an issue for us, so we are happy for that. However, the radiation oncologist did warn us that in addition to hair loss, Mal may also suffer some dry skin or minor burns to the site of the treatments.

Last week, on Friday, Mal got another MRI. Next Thursday she will get a CT scan, and those two images of her brain will couple to make the map of her brain that will be used to perform the radiation treatments. On January 5th, Mal will get a PICC Line embedded IV device implanted in her arm and chest, so that during radiation she will not have to get an IV everyday. Then, on January 6th we will begin her radiation treatments. Barring medical setbacks, we will arrive at Point B, radiation complete and the hope of remission on February 22nd (which ironically enough is one year to the day that I finished my final tour in the Navy and Rach and the twins boarded a plane for St. Louis). I just hope we picked a path with minimal road blocks and speed bumps.

The Trial

2011-12-10T23:30:00.001-05:00

NOTE: If you choose to leave a comment regarding this post, please do not leave a comment with your opinion of what we should do. We welcome your comments of encouragement and prayer.

According to the paperwork in front of me, a clinical trial is "a research study involving treatment of a disease in human patients." According to me, it is an attempt to verify a hypothesis, a glorified science experiment.

The current standard of care for Malorie's condition, a grade three ependymoma, is six weeks of radiation. Following a complete removal of the tumor and radiation, about 75% of kids with ependymoma remain tumor free for at least seven years. Other factors, such as the fact that there are no cancer cells in her cerebral-spinal fluid, and that there was only one tumor, further decrease the chances that Mal's brain cancer will reappear following radiation. But there still remains the possibility, probably a 10-15% chance, that Mal's cancer will come back. If it does return, we will not have the option of doing radiation treatments again. It is too harmful to the body, so there are maximum levels a person can get, and Mal will get all of hers during her six week treatment. If it does return, pretty much our only option will be surgery, and if the tumor appears in an area that can not be operated on, there is no medicine to treat it.

Doctors think they might be able to reduce the chance that Mal's cancer will resurface, and so Rachel and I have been asked to enroll Malorie in a clinical trial. The clinical trial would give Mal a combination of four chemotherapy drugs following radiation to attempt to keep the cancer from ever coming back. Stamp it out while it is down. Crush the cancer while it is at its weakest following radiation. The problem is, as with any science experiment, they don't know if it will work.

The chemotherapy, administered over a 12 week period, would carry with it the standard side effects: fatigue, nausea, hair loss, pain, susceptibility to infection, sores in the mouth, etc. Additionally, although less likely, chemotherapy could cause Mal to lose function of her liver or kidneys, lose her hearing, blindness, difficulty breathing, etc. There's even a column with the title of "Rare but Serious" side effects that lists infertility, heart problems, getting leukemia or another different type of cancer, and death.

Without equivocation, should we choose to do this study, those 12 weeks will be the worst 12 weeks of any of our lives. We will be locked down in our house, allowing no unnecessary germs in. Rachel and I will have to watch Mal go through this hell, and know that we signed her up for it. Micah, bless his heart, will have to watch as his best friend, his twin sister, his other half, degrades to the point of near death. There is no way to explain that to a two year old. And Mal - she will have it the worst of us all.

On the other hand, plenty of others have lived through chemo before and been fine afterwards. In fact, the oncologist we met with regarding the trial told us that this blend of toxic medicine is actually a fairly mild form of chemotherapy compared to what others go through. Mal is young enough to forget about the pain and suffering and go on to live a terrifically normal life after the chemo should she make it through without any of the long-term side effects. The doctors tout it as being on the cutting edge of science. The standard of care for tumors was at one time applying leaches to the area for blood-letting. It has only been through clinical trials like this one that medicine moved from the dark ages into the sophisticated means that saved Mal's life so far. Doctors feel that 25% recurrence is too high. The discoveries made by this trial could help save another kids life later on down the line; a kid just like Mal.

From every angle I look at this decision, I see nothing but pain and guilt. If we choose not to sign Malorie up for this study, I will live every day of my life in fear that Mal's tumor will come back and I will have to look into her eyes and explain why we didn't do everything possible to keep it away. Will she someday think Rachel and I are cowards, too scared to take a risk? More than that, I will have to explain it to myself - second guessing all the way. Down the road if they learn that this chemo is effective at keeping ependymomas away, I will worry that we took the convenient way out - avoiding short term pain at the risk of losing her later. If they find out later that the chemotherapy did not help keep ependymomas away, I'm sure on some level we will feel vindicated. But at the same time, all along I will be rooting for the doctors to be wrong, and 25% of kids to still get recurring ependymomas just so I could sleep easy at night. What kind of man does that make me?

If Malorie does undergo chemo, we are risking death to avoid death. What if she comes out of this with liver damage, or loses the ability to have kids? What if she dies? And for what? What if ten years from now they find there is no benefit from the chemo? Then we were fools, charmed by snake-oil salesmen with white coats and degrees more impressive than mine. Even if there is a benefit, we will never know if Mal would have been in the majority, and never seen her cancer again had we just done radiation. There is even a 50% chance that if we sign Mal up for the trial that she would be selected to be a part of the control group, the kids who do not get chemo as a means of a basis against which they measure the results of administering the chemotherapy.

I have always thought that if I were ever in a situation where a building was burning and my family was inside, I would be someone who runs in. It's beyond conventional wisdom, and easy to say that because it has never happened to me, but I still think I would. There would be no guarantee that I could do anything beneficial, and I would stand a pretty good chance of getting hurt. Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead, I would rush in. But how do I shove my daughter into the burning building? How do I not?

I believe there is a God. And I know I don't comprehend the way He works. Some days I think He controls the outcomes of situations we face, and other days I think our life is preordained and that He already knows the outcomes and sees us through along the path, loving us, strengthening us, waiting for us to come home. I think that is part of the mystique and impossibility of understanding faith. I am not able to know how God works, just know that He is there. He loves me. He loves Rachel, and He loves the twins. But I don't know if He is guiding our decision, or just here for us to rely upon as we navigate our way through this life.

Rachel and I don't know what we are going to do regarding the clinical trial, and we are certainly not seeking to have anyone else make this decision for us. We are conferring with a select few who we think can help us to generate questions and opinions for the doctors. We are studying the trial and our hearts. We are praying unceasingly. I pray for God to help guide us to the correct decision, for God to continue to watch over Mal and keep her cancer free regardless of our decision, for strength to remain thankful and jubilant to the Lord for the gifts He provides, and for me to somehow come to grips with the burden of whatever decision we make.

The Waiting Game - Update II

2011-12-09T23:37:00.002-05:00

I have been solemn for what seems like a year, especially for a cut-up like me. Tonight, I am cutting loose. Mal's results from her CSF scan came back negative for any cancer cells. Not only does this increase her chances of beating this cancer, but it also enables us to have only the localized radiation. Localized radiation, which will only be administered to the site of her brain tumor, will greatly reduce the permanent effects of the radiation. She stands a far lesser chance of suffering learning disabilities related to the treatment, and she should not have any problems with her growth, which could have been stunted if she needed spinal radiation.

I feel like we are dodging bullet right and left - the tumor was completely removed - there was no permanent damage to Malorie's nervous system during the removal of the tumor - no additional tumors in the brain or spine - no cancer cells in her cerebral-spinal fluid. I am tremendously grateful to God for seeing us through these hurdles. So tonight, I am happy. Tomorrow, we begin to determine the course of treatment that will bring us again to the depths of despair. But tonight, tonight I reflect and say thanks.

The Waiting Game - Update

2011-12-08T21:25:00.002-05:00

The results from Mal's spinal MRI came back with positive results. No tumors found, no signs of distress. The offending blood vessel is still there, and is still just a blood vessel. We are still, as patiently as possible, awaiting the results of the CSF cytology test. Thank you for all your prayers, love and encouragement.

The Waiting Game

2011-12-06T00:32:00.005-05:00

Let's play a game. It's called The Waiting Game, and here's how you play. Step one is to pick something that is utterly, devastatingly important to you. Step two: do nothing... wait and see what happens. Simple game, right?

I used to play the waiting game on things that I thought were important. In high school I would stare at the back of the heads of the most recent object of my affection and wait to see if they noticed me. In college, I learned to ration food. It wasn't that I was too poor, or had an eating disorder. It was just that if I waited long enough, my roommates would probably order pizza or grill something that was better than the Top Ramen and hot dogs I had in the pantry. Heck, my whole life I have been waiting for my favorite baseball team to field a team capable of winning a World Series - mercilessly checking box scores while detached overseas and reading countless articles about baseball players that could improve their lot.

Waiting on the results of Mal's scans has turned into the ultimate exercise in patience that I can imagine. During her initial scans, doctors noticed a spot on her spine that worried them. In a normal child, they would assume it was a couple of inflamed blood vessels. For a child who just had a brain tumor removed, it is a red flag. Additionally, Mal needed a CSF screening to test for cancer cells in her spinal fluid; a scan that is par for the course in the treatment of children with ependymomas. However, we had to wait until ten days after her ventriculostomy tube was removed to get the scans. Ten days came and passed, and Mal caught a cold. Her tests were delayed.

To pass the time while waiting for Mal's scans over the weekend, Rachel and I tried numerous pursuits to varying degrees of success. We broke down the cribs and moved the twins into "big kid beds" in their own separate rooms. Mostly, we did this to prepare for radiation, when we will have one sick kid and one well kid. Micah didn't particularly want to move into his own room, but in Rachel's words, "he sucked it up." Both kids have done exceptionally well in their own beds, so that only took about four hours of time.

Rach and I also attempted to watch a movie for the first time in ages. We had cocktails. We hung Christmas decorations. We took my car to the shop. Twice. We did Elf on the Shelf with the kids (who named the Elf "Bumble Fred Buster," which is Italian for "We refuse to agree on anything"). We gave the kids hot cocoa for the first time. All of these things helped pass the time, but did little to diminish the agony of watching every second tick off the clock.

Finally the waiting ended and Mal got her scans today. She hated going back to the hospital, but didn't really lose her composure until she saw the hospital bed. She refused to climb into it until she was unconscious. Mal's tests were performed, but in the ultimate tragi-comedy that is life, the one result we could have gotten today (MRI) was not revealed to us because the people who read the MRIs had all gone home for the day by the time Mal's tests were complete. We are still playing The Waiting Game. We should hear back tomorrow on that one, and then another 24 to 48 hours after that get the results of the CSF test. In what we can only hope is not a preview of the tempest to come, Mal had a forty minute marathon fit, complete with kicking, screaming, punching and tearing off of bandages while coming out from under anesthesia.

In the Waiting Game, as in the game of life, patience is a virtue. Patience may be hard to come by, but good things come to those who wait. I never went dateless to a high school dance. Casey and Ryan were always game for grilling or ordering pizza. The Cubs will eventually win. Mal's scans will come in, and regardless of whether or not they are in our favor, we will be alright. See, I forgot to mention only rule of The Waiting Game: Don't let life pass you by. That's the secret to this game, because it's the only way you'll win. Because even if you get what you've been waiting for all along, if you concentrate on only waiting, you will have missed out on a lot of really cool stuff. So even as brutal as it has been, I'm glad to have played The Waiting Game this weekend.

Normal

2011-11-29T23:10:00.005-05:00

I never have been too sure what "normal" means. Is it the same thing as average? Statistically speaking, is it a median, a mean or a mode? Is it supposed to be the way I feel most of the time, or just a general lack of happiness or sadness? You know, just that middle state of grey. Regardless of what normal is supposed to mean, it keeps popping up. People ask if we are getting back to normal. Typically, I just shrug.

Some things are back to the way they were pre-sickness, and so that's great. Malorie has had a great week back home - she is eating healthy, full meals, which she didn't do for a long time. Her energy is back up to around where it was before she initially went downhill, and we see no deficiencies in her cognition, speech or mobility. She's has no issues with vomiting or constipation, and is completely off of her laxative that the doctors said she would likely need to keep her intestines moving. She is still a little bit ginger in her movements, slower than before, but I think that is just the recovery from her surgery. She is also still pretty sensitive around anyone other than her mother and me, and Mal has also gotten very demanding, which is something Rachel and I keep saying we will work on, but then we just give in to her. Mal's swelling along her incision where the tumor was is still worrisome to us, but the doctors say it is normal and will take another week to two weeks to go down. She and Micah are still two peas in a pod.

During the days, Rachel and I have resumed what I guess I would call "normal" activities. Rachel is back into parenting mode; teaching and playing and being a great wife and mother like always. I have gone back to work for the time being, and am filling my days with thoughts of airplanes and submarines. But then once the kids are in bed, the nights get a bit rough. We start to think about how difficult the next few weeks are going to be, and it gets tough to keep a positive outlook. The sadness and worry are palpable.

I think Rachel and I are both struggling with how to come to grips with the fact that Malorie may still have malignant cells growing in her body. We try our best to cast our anxiety to the heavens, but we still find ourselves dwelling on the upcoming scans to test for spinal tumors and cancer cells in Mal's cerebral-spinal fluid. We have both avoided calling family and friends because we get exhausted from talking about it...thinking about it...living it. Tonight, we realized that Mal will not be able to eat breakfast for 6 straight weeks during radiation, because she will be anesthetized daily. We have to figure out how we will feed Micah without Malorie wondering why she isn't allowed to eat or drink in the mornings. Breakfast is typically a minor detail. Now it feels overwhelming, sad, troublesome.

So, no, I guess things aren't normal, per se. Things are good right now, but they are good with an asterisk. It is like that summer day that is spent bracing for a terrible storm that is approaching. No matter how nice things are now, we know it will not remain for long, so we make the best of the situation. While we may feel average, like things are neither great nor terrible, we know there is still a fight looming. We are not back to normal. But I can't wait to say that we are once again normal... whatever that means.

There's No Place Like Home

2011-11-23T21:41:00.003-05:00

Dorothy, click those ruby heels, girl! OK, sorry to spoil the ending, but we got to go home from the hospital yesterday. After significant hemming and hawing by the doctors on Monday, they finally decided that if Mal could keep three consecutive meals down and drink enough fluid on her own to negate the need for an IV, she could go home.

The fluids thing was easy. Following Mal's early morning surgery Monday to have the ventriculostomy tube removed from her head, they allowed her IV to also be disconnected. She still had the port there in her vein, just not connected to anything. So, every time she told me she didn't want a drink, I told her that she needed to take a drink or the nurse would have to come and hook her "arm tube" back up and she would start guzzling. It worked wonders, but I am sure I cursed myself. Dollars to donuts that the next time she has to have an IV, she will start yelling for a drink (or in Mal terms, "A Dink! A Dink!") so she can get the IV taken off.

The holding food down was another matter. Mal threw up two of her three meals on Saturday, but after being put on Zofran for anti-nausea on Sunday she kept all her meals down. However, Dr. Smyth said that nausea is a common side effect for someone who just had a tumor removed where Mal did, because it has thrown off the balance in her nerve center. Her body had gotten accustomed to having the pressure from the tumor there, so now that it is gone she is going to have to readjust. After Monday morning's procedure to remove the tube, Mal held down her lunch and dinner on her own with no drugs. We thought we were on line for a Tuesday lunch at home, but Mal was not able to stomach her breakfast Tuesday morning. We were doomed; destined to sleep another night at the hospital.

But then the doctors decided that holding three consecutive meals down was overrated, and that Mal needed to eat a good lunch, and then she could go home. So, in turn, Mal then basically refused to eat lunch. She ate a quarter of a yogurt and a pack of baby food applesauce, but nothing of substance. The doctors convened again, and decided if she ate a good snack after nap she could go home. I'm pretty sure that if she didn't eat a snack the doctors would have then said, "Well, she's still breathing, so let's go ahead and send her home," but Mal made the comically moving target stop by eating a nice snack and punching her ticket home.

Rachel and I were pretty worried about Mal coming home because she still was not herself over the last week since the surgeries. She was speaking, but in small sentences - only one to two words here and there. Also, she was not moving all that well, but the doctors assured us she would do better at home. I winked and pretended to believe, but still worried. But as soon as we got Mal in the car seated next to her brother and headed home, she morphed into another girl. She started chatting it up with Micah in the backseat, then got home and ran (gingerly) a few laps around the house, hugged the dog and then ate the biggest dinner I have seen her eat in a month. Rachel and I seriously considered cutting her off at least three times, but we kept letting her eat, and she never got sick. It's true, there's no place like home!

Epilogue: So, no story ever ends that conveniently, right? Mal made it about 18 hours home from the hospital before we had to take her back in there. Today her incision along the back of her head swelled up so we called Dr. Smyth. He asked to take a look at her to see if it had gotten infected. However, luckily for us it was just a pooling of fluid near the area where the tumor was removed. He said it should go down in a few days, and just to be careful with it - so apparently no tackle football for Mal tomorrow on Thanksgiving. Bummer.

The Onset of Annoyance

2011-11-20T22:02:00.004-05:00

I can almost always feel it. That tipping point that moves me from my standard, go-with-the-flow attitude to one of frustration. Almost invariably, it is not some catastrophic event that breaks me. It is some minor frustration that I can't release. I carry it, and then another one comes and builds on top. Then another, and another until frustration turns to annoyance, annoyance to anger, anger to full scale nuclear meltdown in the making.

Yesterday, Malorie got a roommate. No problem. She's a wonderful kid, 6 years old, just out of major back surgery to correct a developmental problem in her spine. She has a nice enough mother. Then Malorie, after having thrown up her dinner the night before, threw up her breakfast. I can start to feel the worry bubbling in my gut, but I remain calm. At lunch, Mal barely eats. When she does, she gags and almost vomits. I gnash my teeth and utter words of encouragement, but I can start to feel it coming. Rachel and I call for the nurse. She tells us that Mal probably has a stomach virus, which is the same diagnosis we heard for 7 weeks leading up to the discovery of her brain tumor. Flip the switch - Ladies and gentlemen, I am annoyed.

Mal's roommate, Courtney has to be moved every few hours to ensure her spine heals correctly. As a rational person, I understand this must be done and that it most likely hurts her badly. Courtney cries in pain, waking Mal ten minutes into her nap. Annoyed, I roll my eyes and clench my jaw. Mal is too smart for her age. She takes one look around the room and realizes Rachel is not there. Rach went home to tend to Micah, who is fighting a terrible cold. Mal cries out for Mommy. Frustrated, I swallow hard and take a deep breath. Mal's afternoon is one trial after another. If Barney is on the TV, she wants to watch Dora. If Dora is on, she wants Elmo. When I turn Elmo on she rolls over and cries. Aggravated, I crack my neck and pop my knuckles to distract myself. Dinner time comes. Mal eats well, and then vomits again. Third time in four meals. I tell the stomach bug diagnosing nurse to call a doctor, who proceeds to come in and tell me Mal has a stomach bug. It takes all my patience left not to ask where his office is so I can go down there, remove the degree he earned from some hackney, two-bit college off the wall and light it on fire. Mal's bedtime comes, and her roommate Courtney is watching a movie. The curtain between the beds shelters less light than it does sound, which means to say zero. A nurse enters and in a full volume voice tells Courtney that she has seen this movie.

At this point I can feel something weird happening. My left ear is morphing into the shape of the handle of a teapot. My right ear is becoming distended, long, and up bending: a spout. I can feel my face start to turn red and my blood boils and the top of my head starts to rattle along my hairline as steam whistles out my right ear. I have watched far too many cartoons in my life.

People have always told me that Mal bears a strong resemblance to me. She has dark hair, brown eyes, and high set cheeks. But only now do I start to see the resemblance. Mal rolls over in her bed. She is annoyed, and I can tell because I am annoyed too. Her eyes burn through me in unblinking fury. She wants the lights out and the movie turned off. She kicks her feet and sighs. She reaches up to rip the tube out of the top of her head. She is tired of dancing with/stepping on/sleeping on it. Her fingers tell the story of her frustration. They are tense, rigid and fidgety. She is my daughter.

Eventually the nurse leaves, the movie ends and the lights turn out. Mal falls into a restless sleep and the first few times the nurse awakens her to check her pupils and IV she is still mad. But her anger fades as the night progresses, as does mine. By morning, we are again normal. Rational. Accepting,

Today brought deliverance from the annoyances of yesterday. I got to go home and take a long, scalding shower. I played with Micah. I opened mail. I spent three hours pretending like my daughter didn't have brain cancer. Rachel arrived fresh with optimism and got Mal to eat three meals without vomiting. The extra energy served her well as Mal played with toys in bed, colored a picture and even went for a wagon ride. And as if on cue from a movie, the nurses moved Courtney to her own room. As I walked down the hall tonight, well after Mal had fallen asleep, I could hear the sounds of the Disney Channel coming out of Courtney's room. I smiled, and said a quick prayer that she feels better soon.

Brain Cancer is a Bully

2011-11-18T19:41:00.003-05:00

When I was a kid, I hated bullies. I got bullied a bit on my block. I was an easy target: small, not so brave, bad haircut. Then after a few years of getting periodically knocked around, I had my moment. It was in my best friend Cliff's backyard. A kid named Lee had been throwing some hate my way for a little while. I tried to yell bad words back at him, and he didn't relent. I threatened to call my dad, but he was unafraid. Finally it got physical. I was in front of a bunch of other kids, and for some reason decided to be brave and stand up for myself. I threw a punch at Lee, hit him in the lip, and he fell and hit his chin on a scooter that was in the yard. Lee didn't bully me anymore.

The final pathology came back on Mal's tumor, and it is a grade three ependymoma. That means it is a bit more aggressive than we had hoped, and will have to be dealt with through radiation. Dr. Smyth did a good job of reminding us that the long term prognosis for Mal remains the same; this is no death sentence. The most effective way to defeat an ependymoma is to fully remove it from her body, and we believe that has been done. The difference between a grade 2 and a grade 3 is how quickly it grows. Since Mal's cancer moves faster, we must stay ahead of it.

The first step is going to be to wait ten days after her ventriculostomy tube is removed, and then perform another MRI and a lumbar puncture. The doctors saw a portion of the MRI of Mal's spine that caused them some worry, and they want to see it from another angle. They think it is just a cluster of blood vessels, but they have to be sure it is not an early growth of another tumor. Additionally, they will test her cerebral-spinal fluid for cancer cells. The way the doctor put it was "we have to make sure the cow didn't get out of the barn."

Provided that Mal shows no signs of the cancer spreading, we will likely then move forward with localized radiation to Mal's head. That will minimize the negative effects on her development. She will most likely receive thirty treatments of radiation - five days a week for six weeks. This will be very rough on her, but the side effects will be necessary to ensure the tumor is dead. It will not be easy on our family either, but we will continue to draw into the vast reserves of faith, family and friends to help us get through it.

If the cancer has spread, we will have to come up with another game plan. Localized radiation will likely not be an option, and we may also look into chemotherapy. Patients with ependymomas don't necessarily do any better after chemo, but we might as well throw everything we've got at this thing to try to kill it.

Brain cancer is bullying Mal. Getting mad at it won't help. Yelling obscenities about cancer won't help. But everyone is watching. Mal will fight back. It will not be easy, but forcing a bully to leave you alone never is.

Time Slips Away

2011-11-18T15:14:00.003-05:00

Today marks a week since Mal's hospitalization. It seems like a century of events have occurred since last Friday, and even since I last wrote an entry on Mal's progress. She has been wowing the doctors and nurses with her brute will not move, be it to wiggle in bed, pull her arms/legs away from someone trying to take a temperature reading, or getting up and walking. That's right, Mal skipped right over a couple milestones and just decided she could get up and walk. On Thursday, Mal started moving her head from side to side on her own. Then, her physical therapist tried to get Mal to sit up in bed, but Mal was not a fan of that. Miss Jill, the physical therapist, told us that Mal was normal, and like all other kids hated her physical therapist. She gave Rachel and I some exercises to work on with Mal, like sitting up by herself and sitting in a chair. Later that night, Mal sat up with my aid and then balanced for about 20 seconds before she wanted to lie down.

Mal's big breakthrough came at about midnight last night, when she rolled over on her stomach in bed. She was trying to get comfortable, but couldn't negotiate the tube running from her head, so she grabbed at it and tried to rip it out. We stopped her and called for the nurse, which infuriated Malorie. She then pushed up into the crawling position and tried to stand up on her own. We pulled her back down into the bed, defeated her next 2.4 million attempts to grab at her tube, and then watched as she fell asleep.

This morning, on a full night of rest, Mal was a bit more amenable to the idea of sitting up. We got her to sit up, and even climb into a kid chair. Instead of having me lift her into the chair, Mal wanted to get in herself, so she stood up and got in. This, of course, made our jaws drop, so we asked if she wanted to walk around. She wanted pants and shoes first, and I can't blame her. I like to wear pants too. Anyway, Mal then proceeded to walk with support around her room a couple of times and even ventured out to the nurses' station. When she got out to the hallway, a bunch of onlookers started telling her she was doing a great job, so she immediately decided she needed to lay down. I made her walk back to her bed, where she settled in for a nice nap.

Also, the visitors just keep rolling through, but one very important little man came to see Mal yesterday. Micah made his first visit to see Mal, and was a bit excited to see her. When told he was going to see Mal, he started dancing. As Micah arrived into the room, his excitement blended with fear as he saw her for the first time with the bandages, but he managed well. After talking it over with him, he even climbed into her hospital bed to check out Mal's personal TV. Micah ate dinner up here with us and then I took him home to put him to sleep there.

Mal is constantly pulling at her ventriculostomy tube, which bothers her to no end. The doctors have been able to increase her cranial pressure to 20 cm, and believe that she may be able to get the tube removed by Sunday. That, of course, can't happen soon enough for us, as we battle around the clock to keep Mal from touching and tugging on the thing. The fact that her progress is going so well leads us to believe that Mal will not need a shunt put in for permanent drainage, but we will have to wait to ensure she maintains positive progress for now.

OK, as with most things, time has again slipped away from me. Mal is waking now from her nap and I need to spend time with her. I can't wait to see what she does next.

How in the World Did We Get to Here?

2011-11-17T12:06:00.004-05:00

NOTE: These are all old pictures, and not from today. Mal is not up walking around yet, and does not have the ventriculostomy tube out yet.

Two questions have repeatedly been asked of Rachel and me since last Friday: "How did they know to give Mal an MRI?" and "Why didn't they catch it sooner?" The first question is a bit easier to address than the second. Because Rachel is a teacher and I am a ridiculously meticulous note taker, we began to take notes on Mal's condition, so as to better explain it to doctors. Since the notes have more information on the first question, I will tackle it first. That way, most people will get bored and not have to read my gross oversimplification while answering the second question anyway.

Mal's medical odyssey began the last week of September. On the Thursday of that week, September 28th, Mal began acting lethargic. She did not have a fever, and was not acting in any way funny other than not wanting to do things that normally interested her. We chocked it up to a mild virus and gave her some Tylenol. By Saturday of that week, the Tylenol was not helping to make her feel better, and she vomited for the first time. By Sunday, we thought it best for Mal to be seen by her pediatrician to get checked for an ear infection or strep throat, but she was negative. We still assumed she had a virus and she came back home. Over the next few days we watched in fear as Mal's symptoms got worse and worse. By Tuesday, Mal had stopped eating or drinking without being coerced and kept curling up into the fetal position and not answering any of our questions. We took her back to the pediatrician, who clearly saw something was not right. She sent Mal to St. John's hospital for some blood work to see if she had some signs of problems like leukemia, diabetes or meningitis. All of her lab work came back normal, so we were again sent home.

The very next day, Wednesday, October 5th, we had to take Mal back to the doctor. She had stopped eating or drinking anything, and we could not get her to respond to us at all. She just was lying on the floor, staring off into the distance. It was one of the most frightening times of Rachel and my life, as we clearly knew something was wrong. We took her back to St. John's where she was seen in the ER. They re-ran all of her lab work that had just been done a day prior, and saw no problems. Several ER docs noted that Mal was very stiff, though, and didn't move well at all, so they were afraid she had spinal meningitis. While we were waiting for a lumbar puncture, Rachel and I noted to the doctors that Mal had not had a bowel movement for four days, which was an unusually long time for her. The docs decided that since the blood work should have shown some signals of meningitis, they would get her an abdominal x-ray instead. The x-ray showed that Mal was severely backed up with feces throughout her entire intestines - so badly that she could not even pass gas. Mal was given an enema, and once that was completed she fell asleep. The doctors assumed that meant she felt better, so we were discharged.

The next day, Mal woke up, ate a big breakfast and then threw it up. We took her back to the pediatrician, and they noted that she was moving better and now responding to our questions, so we all assumed she was on the way back. However, Mal threw up her breakfast the next morning, and still was not pooping or eating the way she should. On doctor's advice, we gave Mal a home enema, and then tripled her dose of the laxative she was prescribed at the ER two days earlier. For the next week, we tinkered with her dose of laxative alternating between diarrhea and constipation. Mal's energy also never returned and she began to complain of not being able to walk. We wrote that all in our notes, and then told her that we knew she was sick but she had to be a big girl. Eventually, she either got up and walked or we picked her up and carried her. By a week later, Wednesday, October 12th, Mal had just not improved enough. Although she was responding to us again, and not constantly curling up into a ball on the floor, she was just not the girl we had come to know. Her energy was gone, she vomited at least once a day, skipped meals, was overly-sensitive, and slept much more than usual. We took her back to the ER, this time to Cardinal Glennon Children's Hospital for help. They gave her another x-ray, determined she was constipated, administered an enema and sent us home.

That was the point where Rachel got mad. I continued to assume that Mal's condition would improve, and since I was spending 12 to 14 hours a day at work, I would see snippets of the old Mal when I came home and assumed she was improving. That Friday night Rachel told me she had called a family friend who was working the ER at Cardinal Glennon. He told her that he would take Mal in the ER and admit her to the hospital to determine what was really wrong with her. He, like Rachel, believed that Mal's constipation was a symptom and not the cause of her problems. All parental guilt aside, I did not agree with taking Mal in, but Rachel convinced me to do so. Mal was admitted to Cardinal Glennon that weekend and stayed for three days.

Over the course of the three days, doctors gave Mal a battery of tests. She was given blood tests, neuro screenings, monitored, poked, prodded and bothered by doctors for 72 hours. Not a single one of them thought Mal looked well, but they all could not find a thing wrong with her test results. While in the hospital, Malorie threw up three of her seven meals. We were told it was probably because her intestines had been through so much stress over the past few weeks from the constipation. Doctors thought she showed all the signs of having mononucleosis, but her three tests for mono all came back negative. There is a high rate of false negative tests for mono is children under five, though. Mal was treated for dehydration, diagnosed with a mono type virus and we were discharged. We were advised to put Mal on a high fiber diet and told to wait it out.

For the next two weeks Mal showed signs of being fine. She would play, but in hindsight it was not the same as it had been before the initial problems appeared. As Rachel and I watched some videos with Mal in the PICU the other night, we were amazed at the pre-illness videos. She was so strong, vibrant, eyes wide and full of life. The videos during the illness, much like the "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" one I posted, showed a hollow shell of our Malorie. We had just been immersed in that kid for so long; we didn't recognize she still wasn't right.

By Halloween, Mal was back on the way down. She began throwing up in her crib first thing in the morning. What had been sporadic vomiting during this saga became more and more pronounced. Over the eleven days from November 1st through November 10th, Mal vomited 18 times. Over the entire time, the pediatrician had been very involved in how Mal was doing. We called her and asked her to see Mal again on Monday, November 8th. Our pediatrician recommended that we go to a gastro-intestinal specialist to better diagnose what had been going on with Mal.

The pediatrician estimated it would take a few weeks to get seen. However, Rachel's inside connections paid off, as she called a very good friend whose mother worked as a receptionist for a GI specialist. We got booked for two days later, November 10th, with Dr. Brady. Dr. Brady saw Mal in her office, and asked if we had gotten a CT scan or MRI yet. When we told her we had not, she ordered it. She also thought Mal was symptomatic of celiac disease, so we went on a gluten free diet for all of 36 hours. We went in on Friday to get the MRI and that is how we found the tumor.

The second question, "Why didn't they catch it sooner?" as I said, is a bit trickier. Doctors believe that Mal's tumor had been growing for several months, so any CT or MRI of the head would have caught it months ago. However, I truly feel that every medical professional did their very best to diagnose my child. At no point did I say, "Hey look, my kid is constipated and I think she has a brain tumor!" However, it is particularly disheartening that Mal was seen by neuro specialists over a month ago and no tests were run. In their defense, Mal was asymptomatic; her reflexes looked good and her pupils reacted normally to light. While the irrational parent in me does want to pin blame on someone for not catching this, I don't think that's fair to do so.

Instead, I think the better tactic is to focus on the heroes whose work eventually saved Mal's life. I thank God at night for Rachel being such a persistent and well-connected mother. I often give her grief for her slap-dash medical diagnoses (she told me a week ago that she thought Mal might be bulimic), but she is a protector, and she is the best wife I can ever imagine. Also, I give thanks for Dr. Brady going above and beyond her medical specialty to try to help Mal. Her MRI proved to be the deciding factor in finding out what was wrong with Mal. Also, I want to thank Jess, Travis, Jenna, Carol Z. and the host of other supporters that have long known that Mal wasn't right and weren't satisfied with sitting back and doing nothing. They are fighters, and it's good to have people like that on your side.

Finally, a note of caution for all our friends with hypochondriac tendencies out there: if you go to a doctor and say, "My kid is constipated and I think he/she might have a brain tumor!" they might institutionalize you. You might be crazy. But you might also be right.

Moving Day

2011-11-16T23:58:00.004-05:00

Mal's Wednesday got an early start. Because she slept through most of Tuesday, and was only up in fits and spurts, we were waiting and ready for her to finally show some signs that she wanted to stay awake for a longer period of time. However, I am not sure I was prepared for her to want to stay up all night with me. Malorie woke up during her nurse's 2 a.m. check, and then stayed awake until about 4:15. I entertained her as best I could by half-singing/half-yawning songs and telling stories that only make sense at 3 a.m. Then, just after I got Mal to close her eyes and fall asleep, Rachel came in out of the parent's lounge to let me go out and get some rest. What she didn't tell me was that the chair she saved for me was next to a guy who had a bad snoring problem and that he was sawing more logs than Paul Bunyan. I think it was quieter in the PICU than out next to Rip Van Obstructed Nostril.

The daylight hours got off to a poor start as Mal's neurosurgeon said that her brain drained about one-third of what it did on Sunday, but it was still draining too much Cerebral Spinal Fluid to allow her to increase the pressure in her head. That means she will have the ventriculostomy tube in for a bit longer than originally hoped. Also, Mal's IV in her right arm infiltrated, which I learned has a medical definition that has nothing to do with commandos repelling out of a helicopter for a black ops mission. Actually, her vein became too saturated with fluids and leaked it all out into her tissues in her arm. Her arm swelled to about three times it's normal size, and she had to get all three of her IVs pulled and then a new one put in on her left forearm.

After our dual setbacks, though, the day got moving in the right direction when Mal passed her swallow study test. She had to demonstrate that she could still swallow fluids and food, which she did with ease and then asked for more. By the end of the day Wednesday she had the best appetite we have seen from her in almost a week. She still is obsessed with Cocoa Puffs though, as she asked for "cock-a-doodle-doos" nonstop after we asked her what she wanted to eat. We succeeded in convincing her to try something else, too, as she saw Rachel's Cheeto and then asked for some of that, too. Cheetos and Cocoa Puffs, not too sure how high in those brain building Omega 3 fatty acids they are, but man do they taste good together.

Also Malorie had her first physical therapy session, which consisted of reaching a grabbing, and lifting her feet from the prone position. Her next big hurdle to attempt tomorrow is to sit up (with help) and then stay sitting upright (without help). If she can do that, then they will have her attempting layups by Friday and hook shots by Saturday. OK, that is a bit of a fabrication, but I am going on less than 3 hours of sleep. The next test on Friday will be sitting upright with her legs dangling, which moves some blood from the head to the feet, and may make her nauseous.

At around 1:30, Mal was allowed to depart the PICU for her own room up on the 12th floor. Immediately when we got there, Rachel began unpacking gifts and planning where to hang cards and pictures for Mal. We called to schedule a visit for Micah during the dinnertime hour, but then Mal had another meltdown when she was awakened from a nap after only ten minutes. She was shouting at the nurse and at both Rachel and me, and very distraught. We got her to calm down and then fall back asleep, but decided to wait another day or so before we bring Micah in so as not to freak him out entirely.

Yet again today I feel compelled to send a massive thanks to everyone who has been rooting and praying and hoping for Malorie. As her parents, we think she's a pretty special child, and we are just now finding out how many other people feel the same. Thanks again, and please keep us in your thoughts and prayers as we await the results of her biopsy and subsequent treatment plan. Also pray for the other parents in the PICU tonight, as I hope they get to move out with an improving kid soon, too.

Tuesday

2011-11-16T10:07:00.003-05:00

Tuesday brought progress and more reason for hope that things would turn out well for Mal. The swelling in her tongue had subsided by the time that her post-op MRI was performed, so she was allowed to take out her breathing tube. As soon as the tube was out of her throat, she whispered, "Godi, Godi, Godi," to me, and I grabbed her blankets. As soon as she had a hold on the tags, she fell asleep and remained that way for most of the day.

Mal's post-op MRI looked great, as expected. There were no signs of residual tumor in any other area of her brain, and she did not suffer any bleeding on the brain or strokes during the night. The doctor did say that she was still a bit swollen in there, so she might have to keep in the ventriculostomy tube for one extra day. I thought that saying "ventriculostomy tube" was a bit cumbersome, so I started calling it her brain drain, but Rachel didn't find it quite as witty as I did.

We got a chance to talk to the surgeon, Dy Smyth, as well as Mal's oncologist, Dr. Hanson. Dr. Smyth said that the tumor was the size of a small plum or a big golf ball. He also said that he was not willing to wager on anything, but he thinks Mal's tumor was a grade 2 ependymoma. He said that a grade 2 is cancerous, but slower growing than a grade 3 and 4, so that would open up more options to delay treatment. The oncologist, Dr. Hanson, said that if it was a grade 2, he will advocate to not do radiation unless another tumor appears, because as long as we do MRIs every few months for the first few years, we will catch something before it gets really bad again. He also said that he has seen several cases where a rogue cell mutates and becomes cancerous in a toddlers developing brain. Once that cell is eliminated, as the toddler grows, the brain develops less and less, and the risk of recurrence becomes less and less likely. So, if it is a grade 2 ependymoma, and the council of doctors hearing her case agrees, we may just take a wait and see approach. We would like that very much, because aside from a periodic MRI (every 2 months or so at first) Mal would be a normal kid again, just at a risk for recurrence of brain cancer. Also, they said that since Micah and Mal are fraternal twins, Micah stands no greater risk than any other kid of having a brain tumor, so we don't need to get him checked unless he begins to present symptoms.

Speaking of Micah, he is really starting to worry about and miss his twin sister. Tuesday morning Rachel went home to shower and spend some time with him, he kept inquiring about Mal. Then, when Rachel wanted to leave to come back to see Mal, he kept saying, "Micah go to see Mall too," and "Micah sick too." We want to bring him up to see her, but not in the ICU with all the monitors and the flurry of nurses and doctors. We think he will do much better when she is in her own room, and hopefully a bit more awake and alert.

Tuesday also brought more great visitors for Mal, as my Uncle J and Aunt Claudie, as well as my mother and Rachel's parents, Chris, Jess and several other people all came to see Mal. Although she doesn't know it yet, she is quite a blessed girl, and will have a big group of people that know her and are proud of the strength she's displayed for a long time.

Perception vs Reality

2011-11-15T00:00:00.002-05:00

Perception is a funny thing. Two equally intelligent individuals can watch identical events with the same factual basis uncontested between the two, and yet still believe they saw something entirely different. It happens all the time. A waitress comes up to take an order and is extra-friendly. The husband thinks she's nice. The wife thinks she's a flirt.

Yesterday, during an especially low point of patience, I pointed to the Bible on the table. It was a brand new Children's Bible that Chris gave Mal earlier that morning. The cellophane had just been removed from it, and I think one or two people had thumbed through it to look at the illustrations. I looked at Rach and said, "Just flip to a page, any page, and let's read." We both needed some comfort and a distraction from waiting for the phone to ring with an update. Rachel reached to the middle of the book and flipped the Bible open. It opened to John 6, the book and verse that describes Jesus' miracles. We read of Jesus feeding the masses, walking on water and declaring that he was the bread of heaven. You may look at those facts as a random occurrence. I perceive it to be divine intervention.

Yesterday was a brutal day on many levels, but overall we are overjoyed. The removal of Mal's tumor was by all accounts of the surgeons a success, and she suffered no nerve damage in the process. It was fused to the nerves and spine in two places, and would have likely been worse had we not caught it when we did. The bad news is that there is a high chance that Mal will need to undergo further treatment for cancer. I think that Rachel and I are the only parents in the history of the world that were told our kid probably had cancer and it still couldn't sink our spirits. Again, it's all about perception. There is a long road ahead, and many challenges to come. We could choose to focus on that. But we saw something truly amazing accomplished yesterday, and very soon we will get our little girl back. I perceive the situation was the best possible outcome for yesterday. Mal is intact, and now we will wait for the lab to perform the biopsy.

As for the princess, she remained intubated and in an induced sleep overnight. Still, she was restless and had to have her arms strapped to the bed to restrain her from trying to pry out her tubes in her sleep. She is undergoing an MRI as I type this to check for any residual tumor that was not detected before, as well as hemorrhaging or stroke. With all the monitoring that has gone on since the surgery, they told us there is a very low likelihood they will find anything abnormal, but we still need to check. Malorie also had neuro-sensors placed on her tongue that checked the stimulus to the brain during the surgery. That, combined with laying face down for 11 hours caused some swelling in her tongue, and so the doctors are concerned that she will be unable to collect her saliva and swallow, thus precluding her from breathing on her own right now. Because Mal has earned a feisty reputation over the past couple days (ripping out her own catheter, biting the nurse who put in her breathing tube while she was in an induced sleep, etc.), they will likely keep her in a sleep until the swelling subsides, but they will be checking that periodically throughout the day. Mal's earned reputation has also come with some benefits, as she's seemingly won the hearts of many of the staff here. Yesterday, when we arrived back to the room, she had a gift from Kendra and the Judkins family waiting here for her. When we got to the PICU on Friday, they laid the groundrules that any gifts had to be removed from the room to keep it clear for the medical personnel. Last night, Mal's nurses tied her oversized Elmo balloon to a table in her room. "As long as it doesn't touch any monitors, the doors, curtains or doctors... it can stay," they told us.

As for Rachel and me, we are exhausted. I got some good sleep considering it was in an ICU room last night, and Rach and I traded off a couple hours in the parent's lounge for rest as well. I am truly speechless at the acts of kindness that were showered upon our family. We have long known we were loved, but I don't think any of us imagined it was to this extent. On behalf of my entire family, I thank all of you for your thoughts, prayers and kind words to us during this difficult time. You have provided more comfort that you can know.

A lot of times public displays of faith come off as forced and a bit overdone to me. I believe that Jesus knows the content of my heart and thus I know it is probably unnecessary for me to type this in a public forum, but I feel compelled to do so. Thank you Jesus for guarding Malorie yesterday and bringing her back to us. I can never repay you; but that's the point, right? I have long held it as reality that Christ has a presence in my life, but from yesterday forward, my perception of that presence has changed.

Monday (Updated at 11:00)

2011-11-14T10:42:00.008-05:00

This morning Mal woke up with me laying next to her in her hospital bed, and Rachel sitting on the bed near her feet. She rolled over, looked around and then asked, "Where's Micah?" She was in good spirits, and her nurse Melissa stayed after she clocked out just to push Mal's bed down to the operating room. Mal really bonded with her over the last three nights, and last night Mal let her change her diaper for the first time - which was a huge step for both Melissa and Mal.

At around 7:45 Mal was given a drug to make her sleepy but not knock her out. Rachel and I told her that we loved her and that we'd be here waiting for her when she got back. She then said, "Love you" to the both of us and laid down. She started to call for us as they pushed her into the operating room, but we stayed strong until she was out of sight.

The first two hours of the procedure will be placing sensors all over her body to test her neurological reactions during the surgery. Then the work of removing the tumor will begin.

At around 2 the surgeons called for the third time. They offered encouraging news about the progress of the surgery. The woman on the phone said there had been no complications as of yet, and that Malorie is holding up nicely. She has not needed a blood transfusion and her vitals are strong. The team is expected to call again in about an hour, and we are hopeful that this will be the time that they tell us that Mal's surgery is complete, a success, and that the tumor is benign. A lot of times in moments of crisis, I forget to thank the Lord for all He has given me. Thank you God for providing me comfort today. Thank you for my time with Malorie and the rest of my family. Thanks for the capacities that I take for granted, like being able to breathe, see, speak, and the coherence to type this message to my friends and family. Thank you God for Jesus, and Dr. Smyth, and modern technology that is currently in use to save my baby girl's life. Waiting is difficult, but we have hope - and when you have hope you have everything you need.

At 3:15 the anesthesiologist came out to tell us that Mal's tumor was 90% out and that there had been no complications yet. Even more impressive by her measure was the fact that Malorie still had not needed, and likely at this point will not need a blood transfusion. She said that Mal is definitely a fighter, and that everyone is very optomistic in the OR right now. So are we. We are buoyed by the strength of our faith that Mal will be delivered through this peril. At just that moment, Aunt Carol walked in with the official, 2011 Mal-o-Rally shirts. We hope to show them off to our baby girl soon.

At around 5:15 Dr. Smyth finally came out to see us. We all had to sit down to take in the situation. He said that he is confident that he removed 100% of the tumor and did not do any perceptible damage to Mal's nervous system. The tumor was fuzed to the base of her brain in one place, and to her spinal column in another, but he was able to shave off the tumor until there was no detectable trace remaining at 15x magnification. He also said that the in room analysis of the tumor revealed that it is in fact ependymoma. There are four grades of this type of tumor. First is benign, and fourth is malignant. Grades two and three are somewhere in between, but will likely need some treatment (likely radiation) to clear up. Therefore, in his opinion, it would be in our best interest to prepare ourselves for the likelihood that Malorie will need treatment for cancer. The lab results of the biopsy will be in by the end of the week. Until then, I plan on staring at the miracle that is Mal, and being joyous in the work that was done today.

Something to Make Us Smile

2011-11-14T00:59:00.002-05:00

I have to admit, it's pretty good for a kid with a brain tumor and a kid with no pants. P.S. I only lent the kids to StL for the World Series. They are Cubs fans again as soon as the next baseball season starts.

Sunday

2011-11-14T00:20:00.004-05:00

I have heard people say before that they wish their kids could stay a certain age forever. Not me. I have long held dreams of Mal trying on a tutu at her first dance recital, and hosting a living room full of giggling girls at a sleepover. I have walked through how I will tease her the first time I catch her flirting with a boy, and how I will comfort her when she falls for the wrong one. I feel a pit in my stomach imagining her first turn behind the wheel of a car, and a swelling of joy foreseeing me walk her down the aisle.

That is all selfish, I know. Mal has her own dreams, and one day I hope she will get to see them come true. For tonight, my dreams, those of her mother, brother, friends, relatives and so many other kind strangers - they don't matter. Jesus has a plan for Mal. I am at peace with that. I pray that His plan is in line with mine, but again, I am being selfish. More than anything, I pray for the strength to accept the Lord's plan for Mal, whatever that may mean 24 hours from now.

Mal had as adventurous of a day as a kid tethered to a bed by four IVs and one brain drain tube can have. She was allowed by her daytime nurse to sleep on her belly for comfort, and in return she had a bowel movement that shot up her back. For those of you that do know Malorie, when I tell you this you will cringe - it got on Godi and Elmo. There was a two hour period where she had to be without her blankets and stuffed monsters. Thankfully, Jenna again came to our rescue and got the secret replacement Godi (the exact same blanket that she carries around, only sent from her cousin Kaileb who outgrew his) from home while the real ones were being washed.

We have had to give Mal several doses of morphine today, as her head has really been bothering her. She finally, for the first time, told us that her head hurt today. We have been trying for over 7 weeks now to find out what was hurting her. Also, her night nurse, who we have been extremely blessed by for three straight nights (the same ones that let us hold Mal last night) got Malorie a "Big Girl Bed" to sleep in tonight. Mal was excited to get out of the crib, and the bed will allow for Rachel and I to take turns nuzzling up next to her all night. We obviously have to be weary of the lines going into her, but I think we will be mindful.

I got to meet with the Neurosurgeon leading the team performing Mal's surgery today. Dr. Smyth is a great man with a very accomplished record, and I have the utmost faith in his abilities. He told me that he is fairly confident that Mal's tumor is an Ependymoma. These types of tumors are like plastic, and they can shape shift into any loose space in the brain and spinal column. He believes this because of the location and the way it is growing in her. They are sometimes benign and sometimes malignant. He also told me that the top half of the tumor is floating in fluid, so it should be relatively easy to get out. However, the bottom half is up against the base of her brain, precariously positioned against a bed of nerves. This half of the tumor may come out really easily, or it may be attached tightly to the nerves. Mal's long term neurological status largely depends on how tightly nested the tumor is in there. However, because of the rate of ependymomas that are malignant, he will likely err on the side of aggression in removing the tumor, meaning he will forsake long term impairment in order to remove the entire tumor. At the end of the surgery, Mal's skull will be put back together using titanium screws and plates that will remain with her for life. If the tumor is malignant, she likely will not go to radiation therapy for nine more months, as the brain does a significant amount of development between the ages of two and three, and we wouldn't want to stunt that growth. If this is the case she will get frequent MRIs between now and then to ensure the tumor is not returning.

I want to say that I am at peace. I can't. I already wrote it, but it is a lie. I am scared and sad and feel beaten down. But then at times my spirits raise and I know it will be all right. However, there are countless other parents going through tough situations like this. There are numerous families here in the PICU that are fighting for their babies. We can't all win the sick kid lotto and have our dreams come true. I will pray for them to be strong tonight too. If they can be strong, so can Rachel and I.

Mal will be OK.

Saturday

2011-11-13T00:38:00.006-05:00

Today brought more challenges to our family, but also more opportunities to love and be loved. I spent the night with Mal last night, and I can't say I missed the beeps and squeaks of the ICU since I was last in one with the twins when they were newborns. Mal was up from about midnight to one last night and was very playful and happy. She smiled and giggled with me as I tried my best to do slapstick in the dark to get to see those beautiful dimples. They lit up the room.

Throughout the night, and the day for that matter, Mal has to be awakened every two hours for checks on her symptoms. The nurses and doctors shine flashlights in her eyes to ensure she is not starting to show symptoms of a problem, and then check all her connections. Along with the stent in her head, she has an IV out of every arm, and had a catheter as well until she ripped it out today, but more on that momentarily. Her head must remain level with the drainage vial for her spinal fluid, which is hard for a little kid. Mal slipped and slouched and rolled in bed enough that the nurses started coming by her room every 20 minutes or so to readjust her or the vial.

I sent Rach home to sleep last night, but she was back in the hospital by about 6 a.m. She couldn't sleep either. We had a nice morning, watching an incredible number of Dora the Explorer shows. I had no idea Swiper the Fox was so dastardly. Anyway, I went home to have a shower and lunch with Micah around nine thirty. Micah is oblivious to anything being wrong, but asks where Mal is about every ten seconds, which is hard for us. He loves her so much, everywhere he goes he points out her belongings, as if she would be there any minute to claim them. We hope we will be able to bring him in to see her next week when she makes it out of the ICU.

Upon my arrival back to the hospital, Rach called me and told me to get up to Mal's room as quick as I could. Mal's doctors had been trying to keep her on Tylenol for her pain from yesterdays surgery, so as not to mask any neurological symptoms that might present. However, Mal's little body could take the pain no longer, so she started to fight back the only way she could. When I got to the room, Mal was clawing at all her tubes to try to get loose, and desperately trying to stand up. She succeeded in ripping out her catheter, but thank goodness she did not get a hold of her cranial tube. She screamed and fought for a good forty five minutes straight until the morphine kicked in. I have never seen her, or anyone else, in a state of such rage and frustration. Once the medicine kicked in, Mal was much more peaceful the rest of the day.

Around dinner time our friend Jenna arrived with a massive poster board for well wishers to write words of encouragement to Mal. A bit later, my parents arrived from Chicago and were able to see Mal awake and in a good mood. In fact, Mal even ate her third meal of Cocoa Puffs (or as she calls them cock-a-doodle doos) for the day with her grandma. We had no idea she loved Cocoa Puffs so much, but when she gets home I am going to buy her a lifetime supply.

After dinner and a bit of rest, we received the best gift of the day. Our nurse wanted to change Mal's linens and give her a sponge bath. She allowed me to hold Mal while the linens were being changed, and Mal fell asleep in my arms. She is getting so tall now, her legs wrapped around me and hung off the chair. Rachel arrived back from putting Micah to bed just in time to be given a chance to hold Mal as well. She still has not let that baby girl go, as Mal is sleeping in her arms as I type this now. In fact, Rachel is fighting a cold, so she has been wearing a flu mask to prevent germs from getting to Mal. She just asked me to come change hers, as she had fallen asleep with Mal and drooled through her mask. Our nurse called in reinforcements to help her weave through the tangle of tubes and wires to get us to hold our daughter for what will likely be the last time until after the surgery. She is so kind!

Monday is coming all too soon, and looming larger by the moment. Mal's surgery will be complicated, and take most of the day. We are faithful that in the vital hours, Jesus will hold Malorie in the palm of his hand and deliver her safely back to us. The surgeons here are the best around, and we also have faith in them, and their skill. We are overwhelmed by the outpouring of support for our family and our little girl. Thank you to all of you.

2011-11-12T01:18:00.001-05:00

I'm never going to forget the way it sounded coming out of Dr. Brady's mouth this morning. "You need to sit down." Is there a worse thing to hear as a parent when your child is ill? There is, in fact, something worse to hear. I know because they were the next words out of her mouth. "Malorie has a brain tumor."

This day was already as surreal as possible, so I listened to her explain that the tumor is in the base of her brain, and that she was to be taken by ambulance to the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit immediately following her scans while I waited to wake up. No such luck. Rachel and I were rocked. Shell shocked, we took turns calling our parents. Information was streaming in far faster than we could process it, and yet we still desperately needed more. How large is the tumor? Is she in immediate danger? Can we see our daughter? What happens next? Is she in pain? Can we please see our daughter?

Rachel got to ride with Mal in the ambulance while I did my best not to swerve off the road while following in my car. It is not easy to drive when you're crying. When I got to Children's and parked, the woman at admissions looked up Mal in her computer, and then instead of asking for insurance or a payment, she told me to hustle up to the 7th floor. Being under sedation had changed Malorie's body's balance. Her brain started retaining cerebral fluid rapidly and the pressure needed to be relieved. I made it to her room just in time to be whisked away from the door as the team of surgeons bustled briskly near her bed.

The attending physician took me, Rachel and Aunt Chris to a conference room where she detailed the surgery that was needed to save Mal's life. It is called a ventriculostomy, and it's a procedure in which a hole was being drilled through the top of Malorie's head and then a shunt inserted through to a cavity deep in her brain to vent the accumulating fluid. "This procedure is relatively safe," she told me. "Only 4 percent or so of kids do not fully recover." Rachel had to go to Mal's room to sign the consent form for the surgery, as if we had any choice. A nurse stood in the doorway, purposefully blocking her view of the preparations. All she could see was Mal's legs twitching.

The procedure took all of twenty minutes. I think the worry took twenty years off my life. Mal came through it well, but more detailed MRI scans of the tumor were needed. She remained intubated and in an induced sleep while those scans were performed. Rach and I ate dinner. It tasted great but only made the pain in my stomach worse.

Mal returned to the PICU and the doctors told us they wanted to try to let her wake up. If she did ok, she could come off the breathing tube and remain awake. If she freaked out, they would put her back under. In true Mal fashion, her first word when the tube was removed was, "Elmo."

Mal is sleeping now, but I'm not sure I will sleep until Monday. That is when the doctors will attempt to remove her tumor. They will spend tomorrow looking at her scans and then charting the best course to the tumor. The surgery will likely last several hours, and that's if it goes well. The tumor is in the fourth ventricle of Mal's brain stem, which is the most common location for a children's brain tumor. I'm told the number are in our favor for a successful surgery, but I'm not sure what that means. I hope 99.99 percent of kids recover from this with no long term effects, but I have my doubts. The safe procedure she got today had a 4 percent chance of bad news. Following her surgery, the doctors will analyze the tumor for cancer. There is a chance that its benign, but we won't know until a few days later.

Once the initial shock wore off, we settled in as best we could. We are not strong, but are relying on the steadfast strength of Christ to bolster our efforts. Our family is tremendously blessed with a support network that is out of this world. A special thanks to Jenna, Judy, Bob and Chris for taking such good care of Micah today. Also thanks to Brian, Liz, Phil, Jessica, Aunt Carol, my parents and siblings and so many others for rallying to our side in a time of need. Today was the worst day of my life, and each of you made me smile, so thank you and God bless you for that. I will try my best to write more this weekend and keep everyone updated on Mal's condition. It's been a rough day, but I pray that we are now on the road to recovery.

When it rains, it pours.

But my heart soars,

Because it can't rain all the time.

Happily Ever After

2010-08-30T22:52:00.000-04:00

I remember the day I opened up Sports Illustrated to find that one of my favorite writers, Rick Reilly, was quitting his weekly column in the magazine. I remember the pit in my stomach upon learning the news. I remember the glum way I described his decision to Rachel. I remember concluding that opening SI would never be the same. Although I in no means consider myself to be anywhere near the quality of an award winning writer like Reilly, I fear that I may be subjecting dear friends and family to the same feelings I felt that day with the next sentence. This will be the last post I write for the blog.

This blogging experiment began in modest some time ago when Rachel convinced me to write updates on the pregnancy, if only to put my journalism degree to use. It was a great way to prevent telling the same stories ten times over the phone only to forget them a week later too. The medium proved invaluable during Micah and Malorie's tumultuous first week, as I passed information from hospital bedsides directly to the extended network praying at home for good news. The blog turned my kids into philanthropists before they could leave their hospital beds. My favorite entries, the ones I wrote about coming home, those crazy overnights and the love in this household will always resonate in my mind when I wonder what life is all about. It's not often that a person can take the time to amass a running record of his family's triumphs and challenges. I plan on using these posts to recount and retell our parental trials again and again. I hope that one day Micah and Mal will strengthen their relationship with us by reading the blog we tried so hard to fill with love, hope and humor. But this is a stressful time in our lives right now and we are facing challenges that deserve more attention than blogging for now. Plus, the one year birthday seems like as good a time as any to cut the writing off. I mean, I don't want my kids to grow up constantly nervous that I will embarrass them somehow with what I write. I can't think of a single teenager who wants their parents to post their exploits on the Internet.

I would be absolutely remiss if I did not take a moment to thank all the wonderful people that made this blog so cool. Thanks to my parents and the Fincks, for allowing Rachel and me to use their guidance as benchmarks for our journey into parenthood. We undoubtedly would not have been able to do it without you. A big thanks to Nicole, who put this whole blogging thing into Rachel's head, and then helped so much in the Beard for Babies campaign. I owe Jackson some made-up songs and a few noogies. Thank you to all the spectacular people who took time to respond to our columns with witty comments, especially Aunt Carol, who always took the time to comment on our musings. Rachel and I would log on religiously 24 hours after a post to check what you had to say. It was as much fun reading all of you guys' writings as it was constructing our own. Thanks to all the people who signed up to follow us and all the anonymous persons out there who have checked in periodically to see how The Crew was doing. Not a week has gone by since this whole blog thing has started that someone has not told us that they liked the blog. Your encouragement went a long way. Finally, thanks to Rachel. She constantly pushes me to be a better person. Whether it's letting me tease you on the Internet via the blog or forcing me to take the trash out or just being my sounding board - you are the light of my life. I could not be the person I am without you. I love you, and I thank God every night for bringing you into my life.

One telltale sign of a poor writer is relying on a crutch. My crutch is a compulsion with concluding every post I write with a final paragraph that somehow justifies the obscure first paragraph I write. Anyway, back to Rick Reilly. He still cranks out those award winning columns, only now for another boss. After an extended hiatus, he started writing for ESPN.com. Maybe one day I too will find another means to express my penchant for prose. Or maybe this is the end of my written endeavors. Either way, I have enjoyed the time.

Thanks again for making our little family of one dog, two parents and two babies, two babies, feel so big and so special. Take care.

Ain't No Party Like an M&M Party

2010-08-26T22:44:00.004-04:00

To my very best recollection, Rachel and I never intended to give the kids alliterative names. In fact, we scoffed at many of the traditional twin names, calling them silly and ill-conceived. It wasn't until the night the twins were born that we finally decided on the names for them. The fact that our two names began with the letter M didn't immediately cross our minds because I was sleep deprived and Rachel was drugged. Anyway, at some point while the kids were still in the hospital, someone (I honestly don't remember who) suggested that our kids who were formerly known as Red and Lellow were now M&M, like the candies. A seed was planted in Rachel's mind. It grew slowly at first, but by last week it was in full bloom. We would throw an M&M themed party for the kids first birthday.

For the party, my wonderful wife thought up and constructed grandiose entertainment centers for kids that were based on the M&M candy theme she so embraced during the kids first year. In other words, ain't no party like an M&M party! We set up stations like "Pin the M on the M&M," "Color an M&M," and "Get Your Picture Taken with an M&M." There was a cookie decorating station where kids could top a cookie with frosting and M&M candies. Guests were encouraged to guess how many M&Ms were in a mason jar and treated to M&M cupcakes. Rachel did all the legwork for the party, leaving me to do what I do best, clown around and make a fool of myself (see attached pictures).

Micah and Mal, for their part, did a great job of being the guests of honor. They rolled in and immediately began playing with anything and everyone imaginable. They chowed pizza like they had Domino's on speed dial. And they ate cake as if they were in a race against time. Actually, I guess they were kind of in a race against time since we decided to take their cakes away after about ten minutes of messy-faced entertainment. The twins even opened all of their presents from the guests at the party, except towards the end of the present opening Micah climbed down off my lap to play with a new truck he had just received.

All in all, Rachel's M&M themed party was a great success. It was, of course, all due to the her efforts and the good moods of the twins, but I will still accept credit. I did help with the clean up. After the party was all finished, the room was good as new and the kids were in a cake coma/nap, I looked at Rachel and got a new found sense of fear for the future. I could see this glimmer in her green eyes, and it terrified me. She was already plotting next year's party. I know her. The party after year two will simply have to top this one. The third party better than that. By the time the kids are ten, we will have to rope the moon and book Hannah Montana to perform from there for their party to top the year before. Now I just want to know who suggested next years' theme to Rachel. I will get you.

It's Like Good Versus Evil Only With Baby Hair

2010-08-15T21:50:00.006-04:00

"If you cut her hair, I will cut yours. I will shave my name in the back of your head while you sleep."

"No you won't," Rachel correctly replied back to me saucily. But, I hope I made my point. I was making my final stand in defense of my poor Mal's pretty hair. You see, Rachel thinks Malorie's hair has grown too much in the back, and now resembles a mullet. So, Rach wants to cut it off.

I tried to tell Rachel of all the great people in the world who were bald on top with long hair in back like Mal, but all I could think of was Ben Franklin and my old Finance professor. Then, I told Rachel that I imagined my baby girl's first haircut being done in some fun salon where she sits in a pink Cadillac shaped chair and gets a lollipop when it's all over, not in our dimly lit bathroom with Rachel holding her down with one hand and chopping wildly with the other. When my appeals to her sense of reason and sentimentality had both failed, I threatened retributive follicular assault.

Obviously I will not cut Rachel's hair. We spend about three hundred bucks a month on shampoo and electricity to power her blow dryer and hair crimper thing. So, I'm almost out of options to keep Mal's beautiful hair that she's worked so hard for on her head. That's why I'm taking to the Internet. I need you out there to let Rachel know how wrong she is about wanting to cut Mal's hair before it even gets a chance to properly grow in.

So, who are you with? Is it Team Billy or Team Rachel? Team Mal Pal or Team Mean Mom? Team Sunshine or Team Scissors? Team Good or Team Evil? Take to your keyboards. Rise up on email, comment on the blog, Facebook Rachel. Help me save Mal's baby duck butt hair-do. If nothing else, just distract Rachel long enough for me to have time to hide the scissors.

Snapshots at One Year

2010-08-13T20:41:00.006-04:00

It's a cliche to say that a picture's worth a thousand words. Even though that cliche, like so many others, rings true, pictures can't say everything.

For instance, this picture of our beautiful babies can show it's their birthday. The hats and sign give it away, right? But it doesn't tell how Micah only recently got his first tooth while Mal has four chompers. It can't describe the meals we share in those chairs. A picture will never tell the worry Rachel and I have over the kids' nutrition and diet. It'll never convey the fun I have with the kids nightly as I try to clean the remnants of those meals by brushing their teeth, singing Raffi's song and fighting like the dickens to keep the kids in one place for long enough to get something meaningful out of it.

You can see from this picture that Micah and Malorie got matching outfits from their Grandma Finck for their birthday. You may be able to imagine her working hard at the sewing machine, and the anticipation Rachel and I had as we opened the package after it arrived. However, the picture doesn't show Micah busting out of his outfit in the legs, which forced Rachel to take it off of him soon after the picture. You might guess that he is still growing exponentially, but the picture gives no hint of how much he has slimmed down since he started walking. You can see that the outfit may be a bit too feminine for a baby boy. However, without the back story of Rachel washing a dark blue onesie to try to "man up the outfit," you'd never know the true humor of the situation.

The picture of the kids in the pool on their birthday tells a story of wet adventure. An astute eye might pick up that the bottom lobe of the pool is popped. But no one could possibly know that Mal swam with no diaper. Or that Rachel worried the whole time. Nobody can tell that Rachel and Natalie chose to hit the backyard pool because it's easier to wrangle kids there than at the neighborhood pool.

You can look at Micah and Mal eating their birthday cookies, and laugh at Micah's frosting mustache and Mal's chipmunk cheeks stuffed full of frosted sugar cookie pieces. But without words, you could never imagine Rachel burning the first batch of cookies, flooding the house with smoke while the kids played in the pool out back. You couldn't possible know the bad mood Rachel was in when I got home from work because of that incident and the fact that Malorie skipped her morning nap. The picture gives no hint that Rachel bounced back from her mood in time to enjoy a great night with the twins and me, or that the kids got a second serving of cookies so that Daddy could see them eat.

The picture of the kids with their new wagon they got for their birthday will show they liked their first present from us. However, without the detail only words can provide you would never know that Micah was terrified of the wagon as I first brought it into the room, singing "Happy Birthday" the whole way from the kitchen. You'd never know how much research Rachel and I did to find the wagon we liked best: the one with a canopy, cup holders and an affordable price tag. The picture won't let you in on the fact that it rained tonight, so the kids had to take their first ride around the house instead of around the block.

Pictures are great. But no picture will ever come close to capturing how much fun, angst-filled, amazing and heart-stoppingly wonderful the past year has been. We love you more than pictures or words could ever tell Micah and Malorie. Happy Birthday kids- Love, Mom and Dad.

Daddy's Greatest Hits

2010-08-09T15:38:00.001-04:00

Do you remember that song that was playing when you gave your baby her first bath?

{Cue Music} Malorie, Sweet Malorie. Things are looking up, hun, things are looking up hun.

How about the first time your child walked?

{Cue Music} Big walkin' big guy, big walkin' big guy.

For new parents, music can be a great way to connect with your kids. That's why Klug Crew Music has complied all of Daddy's Greatest Hits onto one spectacular CD. Why not have the master of making up ridiculous songs for his kids serenade your kids? Take a look at the timeless tracks on this compilation:

1, 2, 3 Micah James
Malorie, Sweet Malorie
Good Morning to You
Rinse Rinse Rinse-a-roo
Micah, James, Micah James Klug Rap
Ring-a-Ding-Ding (Eat Your Dinner)
Big Walkin' Big Guy
It's Time for Cereal Cereal
I'll Take a New Diaper Please
Pony Boy
Ducky Towel and A Monkey Towel

Plus, if you act now, you'll get a bonus disk of Daddy rattling off a bunch of Raffi and Jack Johnson songs he's heard so many times he could sing in his sleep. All the standards you've come to know and be annoyed by countless times, including:

Peanut Butter Sandwich
Upside Down
The Alphabet
If You're Happy
Down By the Bay
Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
The Sharing Song
It's a Jungle Gym
Mr. Sun

That's right, two great CDs for one low, low price Just $19.99 for all the great memories and terrible key changes that two CDs can capture. Don't delay, act now!

Let's See if We Can Ruin a Wedding

2010-08-08T21:19:00.009-04:00

Love was in the air as two of my favorite friends were about to get married. Sarah looked stunning in her gown and Marc was the picture of sophistication in his Seersucker suit. Friends and family members were gently shielding their eyes from the sun and wiping away the tears as the soon to be married couple read their self-written vows to each other in the fading afternoon sun. Then Micah snatched Malorie's pacifier and she let out a squawk. Micah began to wail when I took the paci back from him and returned it to Mal. Rachel cut her eyes at me as she attempted to calm Micah, but it was far less hurtful than the ice cold glares I was getting from the people around us in the pews. Mal, discontent from missing her afternoon nap, squirmed onto the lap of the man sitting next to me, wildly clawing at his expensive pants with hands soiled from eating a cookie, as he looked back in bewilderment. Micah instinctively sensed his best opportunity to escape and broke free from Rachel's clutches, crawling down the aisle toward the altar leaving Rachel grasping as she crawled after him in her formerly pristine dress.

I do not often have nightmares, but if I did, my kids ruining a wedding could easily keep me up at night. That is why we asked my parents to come to Jacksonville to watch the twins instead of taking them with us to Virginia for Marc and Sarah's wedding. Luckily for us, my nightmare scenario outlined above never happened, as the kids stayed home and bonded with their Grandma and Grandpa Klug, as well as their Great-Grandpa. The wedding was our first overnight endeavor without the kids instead of a struggle to contain them in a foreign environment, a dream instead of a nightmare.

Rachel was far less comfortable leaving than I was but I attribute that to the fact that I leave the kids all the time, heading to Gainesville or work. Rach had some serious separation anxiety when we left for the airport, but she was lulled back into a comfortable state by the near constant updates streaming into her phone from my mom. Grandma sent about one hundred thousand status updates throughout the weekend that convinced Rachel that the twins were doing just fine without her. In fact, from all accounts, Micah and Mal had a great time with their babysitters. Micah got to skip a nap on Friday (although he ended up falling asleep during dinner) and Mal learned how to ride the toy horse in the living room. Both received major snuggle time with their grandpa and plenty of bonding with grandma.

In reality, Marc and Sarah had the picturesque wedding that people dream about. No kids disrupted the ceremony. Rachel and I had a great time with friends that we had not seen in far too long, like Matt and Jaclyn and Paul and Nicole, who got footloose. We truly enjoyed our weekend without parental responsibility. We even got to close out a bar on Saturday night. OK, fine, it was a California Pizza Kitchen, and they closed at 10 pm, but in our defense they did have a bar. Then, after the wedding reception, I slept like a baby knowing that my babies did not mess up any weddings this weekend.

Out of Nowhere

2010-07-27T22:07:00.002-04:00

For weeks now we have been hyping up Micah's walking. He has taken about three steps at a time, and done it four or five times. He is constantly standing, but the last few says his walking has hit a standstill. Now, when he wants to walk he twists at the waist and his feet don't move. During this whole time, Mal has lagged far behind. She doesn't stand very much on her own, and she has never seemed eager to walk, much less do it on her own.

That all changed in the course of a few hours today. When I got home from work, Rachel said, "Mal has been standing up on her own a bunch today. I think she's going to walk soon." Judging by Micah's definition of soon, I figured she meant within the next few weeks, so I went to change out of my uniform. By the time I got back into the room, I had to grab the camera because this was happening. Way to go baby girl, now it's your turn Micah James.

What We Do When Mom's Away

2010-07-26T21:20:00.000-04:00

This past weekend marked Rachel and my fifth wedding anniversary. Traditionally this is the wooden anniversary, so we marked it with tokens of our love that are made of wood. Rachel sent me on a scavenger hunt around the house, searching for clues and prizes having to do with wood. I found some baseball cards of one of my favorite players, Kerry Wood , some Woodbridge brand wine and an invitation to share some wood-oven-grilled pizza at one of our favorite local restaurants, Bistro Aix. In return, I gave Rachel a trip to the spa. OK, I know, that has nothing to do with wood. I actually gave Rachel a wooden picture frame and an appointment to get our family picture taken. However, Rachel had yet to redeem her Mother's Day gift, which was a trip to the spa. Therefore, by default, I can regift it and also include it in my anniversary gift to her, right?

When Rachel set out for the Ponte Vedra Day Spa and Inn early Saturday morning, she left me with a mild hangover from the wine, a stomach ache from eating too much at dinner the night before, and some cool baseball cards that Micah and Mal didn't think were very cool. The kids and I had about eight hours to kill until Mom got back home, so we sought out to find things to do together around the house. Here is an illustrated timeline of what we did together while we waited for Mom to come home:

We spent just over one hour eating. Micah, Mal and I spent one hour doing breakfast and lunch together. I also spent a few minutes wrestling with each child after Micah tried to eat a bug he found on the floor and Mal ate the real pine cone on the fake tree in the office.

I spent at least twenty solid minutes trying to shake Mal off my legs after she realized I was eating a piece of toast. I finally relented and gave her some of my toast, and then Tyson shunned me for the rest of the day for my preferential treatment of the kids.

Micah, Mal and I spent about 20 minutes playing cars in the hallway. During that 20 minutes, I said "Micah, Cars... Vroom Vroom" 37,000 times. Even I was groaning by the end.

We spent about two hours staring out the front window waiting for Mom to come home. The only reason you can't see me in this picture, nuzzled up waiting for Rach too, is because Tyson refused to take the picture. He was still mad at me because he didn't get toast.

Micah and Mal took some awesome naps too - probably because they knew if they woke up they'd have to be bored hanging out with me again. No picture is available of the naps, because I was also napping. All in all, the day was a great success. I got to spend some wonderful alone time with the twins, Rachel got pampered like she deserved to be, and Tyson eventually forgave me later in the day when I dropped some cereal on the floor. As for the sixth anniversary, I plan on trying to convincce Rachel that next year is the Aramis Ramirez anniversary, because I'd like some cool baseball cards of him too.

A Good Old Fashioned Land Grab

2010-07-19T22:03:00.003-04:00

I have vowed to defend our nation, and am proud to my core to do so. However, I have to concede that the USA I have grown to love and serve has done some rather nasty things over the years. Land grabs are one such thing. Some of the land that was occupied by Native Americans was pocketed by the American government and then doled out to the Caucasian settlers on a first come-first serve basis. The displacing of Native Americans was viewed as a good thing at the time, but has come to be reviled as part of our misguided colonial past.

As much as I acknowledge that we, Americans, were wrong in stealing land from the Native American tribes that inhabited it, I can not fight my ancestry. For that reason, as wrong as it may have been, Rachel and I partook in a good old fashioned land grab over the weekend. We began claiming territory around the house that belonged to other inhabitants and made it our own. We are not sorry.

For starters, Rachel cleared the kitchen counter space of most of the bottle making materials. Where once sat a faded, pink maternity ward bucket that served as our bottle deposit throughout the day, there is now just glorious, open space. The counter that was our formula depot, holding powder, scoops, rubber nipples and towels now holds a coffee maker. Our lust for land didn't stop there though. Rachel then cleared out closets, ridding ourselves of the outgrown, unloved clothes of yesteryear.

Even poor, innocent Tyson was not immune from our greedy grasps. Rachel decided to do something that should have been done ages ago: She cleaned out Tyson's overflowing, unsightly toy box. She originally had a huge pile of ripped, stained chew toys that were to be disposed of, but then she couldn't do it. It seems my habit of naming all of Tyson's toys came back to hurt us, as her conscience got the best of her. She simply could not evict Black the Cat, Chicago the Bear, Pizza the Octopus or Loompha the Loofah Dog. However, Spider the Turtle and several other unnamed toys got the boot.

Our territorial takeover was not for naught, though. We did clear out a good amount of space and beautified some others in the goal of making the house more appealing to potential buyers when it goes on the market next month. And, bonus, aside from Spider the Turtle, we didn't even have to usurp anyone's legitimate claim of land in the process. I guess not all land grabs have to be bad after all.

Eleven is Heaven

2010-07-18T21:26:00.006-04:00

There's a lot of things that are great about eleven. It's... Well, it's... OK, so off the top of my head, there is not much to say about eleven. In fact, eleven is pretty nondescript. It's made up of two ones, which everyone knows is the loneliest number. Eleven is half of Seven-Eleven, which I used to hit up for Slurpees when I was a kid back in Chicago, but they don't have Seven-Elevens here in Jacksonville.

Eleven months, though, is way better than eleven the number. There are tons of mind-blowingly awesome things about eleven months. Micah and Malorie are both on the precipice of walking. Micah has actually taken one or two steps a few times. The first time he took a step, I was in Gainesville for MBA classes. Rachel sent me a text message informing me, and that was rotten, but when I got home the next day he did it again for me to see. Micah stands up on his own without holding on to anything all the time too. Malorie's a bit slower with the standing and walking on her own, but she loves to walk about the house holding my hand, which is just as fun for me.

Another great development happening at eleven months is the rapid learning. Micah and Malorie have started truly mimicking each other. For instance, if Mal hears a song and starts dancing, Micah joins in. If Micah snarls and makes a snorting noise, Malorie does it back. They have begun to elicit us to play games with them too. Micah will come up to me with a basketball when he wants to play. And both kids will go straight to the off limits area of the living room and start shaking their heads before Rachel can even tell them "No." Both kids have also become very proficient at sticking their tongues out. Unfortunately they have not yet learned not to do it at church during communion.

By far my favorite thing about eleven months is communicating with the twins. Micah has learned new signs like "bath" and Mal signs more and more each day. Malorie said her first word too. She loves chasing her brother, and as she does it, she now yells out, "Cah. Cah," until she catches Micah. Then, she either pats him or knocks him over, depending on why she was chasing him in the first place, but either way she keeps saying his name as she does it.

As cute as it is that Malorie's first word was her brother's name, Micah is simply not into cute. His first word was not Mal's name... we don't think. I put video of Micah and his first word below, because we simply can't figure it out. Our best interpretation is "Duka," which we are aware is not a real word. But he says it so convincingly and repeats it so much that we think he is trying to tell us something. We have tried everything reasonable: book, look, duck, do good, dog, and I even tried Ditka (Just in case he takes after his father, who once started a chant of "Ditka, Ditka" for Da Coach at a Monday Night Football game he was announcing). However, he has not responded to us like we've understood him correctly yet, so we just keep trying. He has been telling us "duka," for about a week and a half now.

So, as you can see, even if eleven the number is pretty lame, eleven the month is cool as all get out. Now, is there any way I can get a Slurpee around here? Hey, maybe that's what Micah's been trying to tell me...

Fourth a JOO-lie

2010-07-05T21:35:00.009-04:00

I consider myself a relatively educated man, but there are many things I am ignorant of. One of those things was the difference in the pronunciation of the date of our nations independence - that was of course, until I moved to the south seven years ago. That was the first time I heard The Fourth of July referred to as the "Fourth a JOO-lie." It turns out that here in the south, people are required to put the accent on the first syllable of the month's name and drop "of" from the saying. I reminded Rachel about seventy-eight times yesterday about the correct way to say the holiday here, which led her to tell me how silly I was an equal amount of times. However, a rule is a rule, and since we are in the south we must buy into their traditions. Good thing pretty much everything else about the holiday is the same.

For the kids first Fourth a JOO-lie, we wanted to give them a true slice of Americana since this was their last major holiday that they had not yet experienced. For that reason, the Fourth a JOO-lie was a night of firsts for the kids. They both got to taste every kids favorite meat, hot dogs, for the first time. We didn't expect much, but at the end of dinner we realized that Micah and Mal had plowed through an entire Oscar Meyer Wiener without a complaint. I even sang the Armour Hot Dog song my mom used to sing to me to the kids.

After dinner, we took the kids out to the front yard and let them explore. It was the first time we turned them loose to roam in the yard. We have Saint Augustine grass, which is the most prickly, nasty grass in the history of the world. The kids decided to do bear crawls through it and then crawl on the pavement rather than be in the grass. Like always, Mal was in hot pursuit of her brother most of the time, but she had a blast doing it around the yard. Micah and I even took a little stroll around the front of the house to admire the landscaping.

Finally, the last treat of the Fourth a JOO-lie was the best; the kids got to have ice cream for the first time. Although Micah didn't trust it at first, the pictures don't do it justice, they both could not get enough of it. Once we finished the treat, Mal licked the bowl. As soon as Micah realized she was getting some more ice cream by doing that, he took the bowl away from her, and then scooted it across the sidewalk, preventing anyone from licking any more ice cream from the bowl. Mal chased, but to no avail.

As for the other big Fourth a JOO-lie tradition, firecrackers will have to wait for next year. As with everything else here on Eastern time, they start late. We decided it would not be cool to keep the kids up for over three hours just to let them be scared of the explosions in the sky, so we put them to bed only an hour later than normal. However, that gives the kids something to look forward to next year. Maybe by then, since we'll be living back in a Northern state, I'll let Rachel pronounce the holiday as the Fourth of July.

Epilogue: For those of you worried that Mal didn't get to catch Micah and the ice cream dish, I just wanted to show what does happen when she actually gets her mitts on Micah. He has a good reason to run; Mal takes whatever he is playing with whenever she gets to him. It usually turns out like this, as when Mal commandeered the walker earlier in the day, when Rachel was trying to get a nice picture of the kids in their church clothes: no such luck.

Happy Fourth a JOO-lie y'all.

Bill Cosby Is No Longer Welcome In My Home

2010-07-03T22:00:00.001-04:00

I blame you Bill Cosby. I think you caused Jello pudding to be so irresistible to kids. I believe your actions led to my kitchen being an unrecognizable mess. I know your endorsement of pudding surreptitiously pulled me to plant the product in my pantry. I bet you revel in my misery. Sitting secure in your pudding pop palace, muttering hilarious one-liners and wearing your knitted sweaters, you could care less that my kids first masterpiece is covered in ants while rotting in a dumpster. Well, for what it's worth, if I ever see Theo Huckstable on the street, I will probably punch him in the back of the head as a result of your actions.

OK, fine, it was not the Coz's idea to turn Rachel's recent playgroup into a pudding painting party, it was Rachel's idea. Everyone must forgive my anger, as I have to admit, the art party looks like it was a great time. I am mostly mad because I had to work and couldn't be a part of it. For her play date, Rach wanted something that the twins could put in their mouths, but that the older kids, Tessa and Ryan, could use to paint. Thus, Micah and Mal's first finger painting experience was born, aided of course, by the Bill Cosby endorsed product.

My little Pudding Picasso and Messy Monet honed their craft on the kitchen floor atop a huge washable tablecloth. A bit (wink, wink) of pudding ended up on the walls, and a little more on Micah's tummy, but all in all the works of art were immaculate. Malorie told me she made a painting of Tyson playing with his toy, and Micah said he painted me a picture of the Cubs winning a baseball game. Then he laughed, because we both know the Cubs can't win anything this year. The Louvre called and wanted to buy one of the paintings to hang in their museum, but by then the flies were all over them, so we just threw them away.

Anyway, Mr. Cosby I apologize for my remarks that began this post. I regret my anger, and recant my threat to punch your fictitious kid in the back of the head. In fact, if you want to send us more paint, I mean pudding, you are welcome to do so. Or, better yet, can you tell me where I can find some Jello Pudding Pops - the vanilla and chocolate swirl kind. Those are the best, and no stores around here carry them.

Viva La Revolucion

2010-06-30T21:42:00.004-04:00

Revolution can be tricky. Figure skaters and soccer analysts often use the term, but invariably mean something to do with the completion of a three-hundred-and-sixty degree rotation. My mom used to reference the song by The Beatles. But on the lips of a dyed hair teenager or a goateed social outsider, revolution often means something a bit more sinister. Their revolution is meant to be an abrupt and often violent upheaval in the current acceptable standards. This type of revolution scares parents, including me. People cry "Revolution" for differing reasons of importance too. The Revolutionary War toppled the corrupt British government. The Industrial Revolution ushered in a new era of production. In my dreams, the forthcoming Noise Reduction Revolution will stop radio stations from playing terrible Nickleback songs every fifteen minutes. Micah and Mal have recently embraced their anti-establishment tendencies and cried "Revolution" as well. There has been great and dramatic upheaval in the home lately, and the innocent faced babies have been front and center for the changes while Rachel and I hold on for our lives.

Micah has learned to rebel against foods that don't fit his current whim. This can be tricky for us, since Micah changes his mind as to what he wants in mere seconds. One minute he loves toast. The next he will clinch his mouth shut, smack his hands over his lips, and clamp down, refusing to eat any more toast as he violently shakes his head and whines. As soon as the toast is lowered from his face, Micah will return to his normally jubilant self: laughing, dancing and smiling until another piece of toast is offered. Micah's antics aren't limited to crusty bread; he has alternately rebuked fruit, cheese, meats, cereal and drinks. Basically, we have no idea what he wants until he actually eats something, then we shove as much as possible towards him until he changes his mind. After being turned away, we begin our search again.

Typical of her dainty existence, Mal's a bit more passive in her revolt. Nevertheless, the times they are a changing for her as well. If she wakes up in the early morning, she now requires a snuggle to get back to sleep. Additionally, she and her brother have begun taking one serving of formula from a sippie-cup instead of a bottle every afternoon. Mal has done very well with the cups, drinking the entire thing two out of the three days we have offered cups in lieu of bottles. She is even staying up later (past seven p.m.) about four days a week.

The revolutionary ripples will continue throughout the next month, as the twins enter their eleventh month. Their daily bottles will gradually shift from warm formula to cold whole milk. Those bottles will disappear and be replaced exclusively with sippie cups. The first word is coming any day now, and both babies are beginning to let go of their holds on tables and legs, getting ready to walk at a moments notice. These changes may seem too fast and too drastic for us now, but as The Fab Four once melodically mused, "You say you want a revolution? Well, you know, we all want to change the world." I no longer want to change the world, though. The only thing I hope to do as I witness this time in our lives is to hold on for my life, ride out Micah and Mal's revolution, and then hope that someone embraces the Anti-Nickleback movement soon, because I can't take it much longer.

Beach Bums and The Rain King

2010-06-24T20:21:00.008-04:00

Me: "Hi, this is Billy, Micah and Malorie's father. I actually was calling because I had a question."

Pediatrician: "Go ahead."

Me: "How much sand is too much sand for a baby to eat?"

Pediatrician: "Well, it would be best if you didn't feed your child any sand."

Me: "Yeah, that is no longer an option. I think they each took down quite a bit of sand at the beach today..."

Pediatrician: "Quite a bit?"

Me: "Yeah, like, roughly equivalent to the size of a quarter-pounder hamburger. I mean, many handfuls of the stuff."

Pediatrician: "OK, well that is probably not good."

All right, fine, that is not a real conversation. But several times I have replayed in my head how this chat would turn out since we took the kids to the beach for the first time on Monday. Both kids had a good time at the beach, but I would say that Mal had a better time than Micah. That's because Micah spent quite a bit of time crying and trying to fish sand out of his mouth. He cried every time we tried to stop him from eating the sand, and then cried as soon as he got his hand to his mouth. Eventually the sand would dissipate and he would cheer up, but then he would shovel another handful of grit into his mouth. Malorie also ate her fair share of sand, but eventually we figured out that if we gave her the pacifier she would keep that in her mouth instead of eating sand. After that, she kept happy and busy playing in the sand, surf and sun.

The trip to the beach was prompted by my brother Tom's visit to Jacksonville, his first while I have been here. Unfortunately for Tommy, most of his trip reminded me of a late nineties song by the British band Travis called, "Why Does It Always Rain on Me?" Tommy attended a toddler birthday party with us, but it was pouring buckets outside so about thirty two-year-old and younger kids packed into a crowded living room. Tommy was thrilled and terrified simultaneously. We went to the pool once, but it rained on us. Then on Sunday, Tommy and I went to a local bar to watch a Cubs game. This was my Father's Day present from Rachel, and was a very thoughtful gift. Tommy and I were having a great time until a rain storm knocked out the television at the bar, and we had to come home without seeing the last two innings of the game. We went to the beach on Monday morning because it rained all afternoon. On his final day in Florida, I took Tommy to do a P-3 flight simulator at work. Unbelievably, in the simulation it was raining and windy, and I could not figure out how to modify the weather. Luckily for Tommy, though, the actual weather that night was fine, and The Rain King and I spent a nice evening at the NAS Jacksonville T-Bar, watching the sun set over the St. John's River and watching planes and helicopters land at the field.

Back at the beach, Micah and Mal spent that morning lathered up in the highest SPF lotion we could find while Tommy laid out and got some sun. Micah and Mal got to eat at the beach, and also definitely ate some of the beach too. We know this because they both pooped sand that night. I didn't feel too bad for Micah, because he fed me two handfuls of sand at the beach too. It didn't taste good. In all honesty, eating sand is not good for kids (probably not good for me either). The Internet tells me that they could get strep throat, staph infections or internal parasites from eating it, but so far Micah and Mal seem fine.

All in all, the kids made some great new friends, were vastly intrigued by the seagulls, and kept me and Rachel on our toes the whole time. The experience was trying but fun, and made me wonder why people don't just wear helmets with face masks covering their mouths while they are at the beach. I mean, it would stop the kids from eating their body weight in sand, prevent them from feeding sand to their parents, and would also keep Tommy's hair from getting messed up when it rains. It's a win-win if you ask me!

The Twins Invade St. Louis

2010-06-19T13:02:00.016-04:00

The twins are coming! The twins are coming!

It all started about three months ago. I called my mom and asked her what she thought of me flying home to St. Louis BY MYSELF for what Aunt Chris would call a "me weekend". Sorry Micah and Mal, but at that time I was in desperate need of a break. Judy had trouble answering the question. The mom in her was saying, "yes of course, I would love to see you", but the grandma in her was saying, "I want to see those babies!" After much indecisiveness on my part, my weekend away turned into 10 days in St. Louis with the twins... without daddy. What was I getting myself into?

When I called my mom to discuss preparation, everything was taken care of. Toys, pack and plays, high chairs, strollers, car seats, food, diapers, baby gates... she was ready!!! When her friends would ask her what was new, she responded with "The twins are coming, the twins are coming!"

Anyone who knows me, knows the teacher in me comes out quite often. Sometimes it's the teacher look I give to the kids doing something sneaky in church, and others its my innate ability to be overly prepared and organized. After all the thought and preparation that went into this trip, I was bound and determined to make the most of it. The teacher in me came out and I went as far as to make an itinerary. This itinerary was legitimately typed and mailed to members of my family by my mother (thanks mom). The twins and I were booked solid for 10 days.! Here's the quick run down...

Wednesday -Late arrival. Got the twins set up for bed in the second guest room. Mal began the night in an older borrowed pack and play that gave me nightmares. I had visions of her collapsing thorough the middle because it was missing a bar. So, she ended the night next two Billy and kicked me out of bed. Needless to say Grandma went to get a new pack and play the next day.

Thursday - "Day at the Finck's". Grandma Judy filled her family room to the brim with toys to entertain Micah and Mal. They LOVED all the new and exciting equipment and music. Little did we know all she needed to do was go though her costume jewelry (see next Wednesday).

Friday - "Day at the Nelson's". Micah and Mal got to reunite with Layna and we all got to meet little baby Claire-Z for the first time! Mal thoroughly enjoyed learning all about princesses from Layna and Micah just loved being able to romp around in a new house climbing through tunnels and up stairs. Micah and Mal also got to meet Jess for the first time!

Saturday - "Day with Grandma Klug". Micah and Mal were so grateful that Grandma Klug made the effort to come and spend time with them. We went to Riverchase Pool and absolutely had a blast! Mal grinned from ear to ear when her feet hit the water and Micah, true to form, giggled and splashed the entire time.

Sunday - Church and BBQ. It's gotten rather difficult to keep Micah and Malorie still during church. We made it about 10 minutes before checking out the Webster Gardens cry room, then moving to the nursery. I finally got enough courage to leave them in the nursery only to walk back to church and hear the closing hymn. Then, the BBQ that Aunt Chris "held in our honor" was amazing! She really knows how to throw a good party!

Monday - Day with Aunt Chris at the Pool. We all had such a good time at the pool, we decided to go back. But this time we spent most of our time in the outside area because Aunt Chis was with us and she is obsessed with getting good tan lines. Mal had a lot of fun crawling through the baby wading pool and Micah loved the lazy river.

Tuesday - Back to the Nelson's. Packing up the babies was getting old at this point but I kept at it for a chance to spend another day with Jenna and her girls. Layna taught us all how to pray at church, drive a car, line up princesses for a party, and do laundry. Jenna loved watching the craziness of my life. I truly believe we all entertained each other in different ways.

Wednesday - Lunch with Nana. Packing up yet again and off for a lunch at Parkside. I would image as an outsider this was quite comical... one blanket, two boppy pillows, two travel high chairs, two diapers bags, lunch for the babies and lunch for the adults... only to find Micah's bottle spilling all over all of it as we walked inside... ahhhhhhh!!! Once we were finally settled the twins had a BLAST playing with Grandpa in the hallway and playing with Nana and her bracelets. Nana has definitely been there done that. She knew exactly what would entertain those babies!

Thursday - Day with Aunt Carol. Finally a day to relax at home with one of the BEST Aunt's in the world. Aunt Caorl swooped in just in the nick of time. We were all a little burned out and needed the new energy from our beloved Aunt Carol. She played, bathed, and fed like a champ all with with a smile.

Friday - Home Sweet Home... I think? Uncle Tommy took the train in to help get us to home and then spend time in Jax. We had it all worked out, or so I thought... his train broke and was delayed an hour and a half only to get to the house and find out that our flight was delayed with just enough time to miss our connection. After re-booking so that we wouldn't have to spend the night in the Birmingham airport, Micah had a little accident (10 minutes before we were leaving) that actually brought an ambulance to the house. He is COMPLETELY fine now, I think we were just all a little scared and wanted to make sure flying home was ok for him. The flight was just as crazy as the first one with an extra long connection and very tried babies. We found a play area at the Nashville airport, and uncle Tom was a trooper. However, he wouldn't let go of his cell phone for anything.

Saturday - Home and in bed by 1:30am... WOW! What an adventure! I think when we walked though the garage door I could hear Tyson saying, "the twins are coming! the twins are coming!" I'm not sure if he was as excited as Grandma Judy or not, but we were home.

Getting Bored

2010-06-13T09:52:00.005-04:00

Travelling without babies is easy. And boring. I should know, I've travelled quite often in my life. But only now, after having flown from St. Louis to Jacksonville earlier this week do I realize how easy most travellers have it. One day earlier than my most boring of travels, Rachel and I had the pleasure of taking the kids on a plane from Florida to St. Louis by route of Baltimore. And when I say pleasure, I mean adventure.

On the first leg of the flight, Micah and Mal were due for their naps. Malorie passed out and laid as still as a bag of rocks for the vast majority of the flight. Micah, on the other hand, fought like a heavyweight champion defending his title from the challenger - Mr. Dream. He struggled to play with the man seated next to me, even though that man clearly had no interest in interacting with a baby. Micah grabbed at the pages of his book, tried to climb into his lap, and kicked him upwards of 18 thousand times. The man remained annoyed despite Micah's most endearing of pleas. Then, when Micah's tiny frame could no longer muster the energy to fight, he relented to sleep. Unfortunately for me, the break lasted only twenty blissful minutes, followed by twenty excruciating minutes of Micah screaming his lungs out. Finally, Rachel and I figured out that we could hush him by giving him food, and so we allowed Micah to feed himself as the plane landed.

Our first flight complete, Rachel and I boarded the second leg from Baltimore to Saint Louis. This was the more challenging leg of the sojourn, as we had to feed the kids dinner and their night time bottle during the flight. Also, this flight was not during a nap time, so we pretty much knew they'd be awake for the entire flight. Fortunately for us, the flight was not full, and Rachel and I got to sit next to each other with an empty seat between us. This empty seat entertained the kids for the duration of the flight, as they chewed, climbed, rolled and played all over it. Also, the people seated in the row behind us were gracious enough to play with the kids when they peeked through the seats. They were parents, and so they knew peek-a-boo and to make silly faces at all the right times. At the end of the flight, an elderly man actually approached Rachel and me and told us that we had made the flight very enjoyable for him, as he got to watch us play and love our babies for several hours.

The next morning I had to head back to Jacksonville all by myself. Oddly enough, the entire time I sat peacefully and silently on the aircraft, I kept thinking about the kids. My mind diverted to what objects they would be playing with. For entertainment I spotted debris on the floor that the twins would likely try to eat if they were there with me. For the next week Rachel and the babies will enjoy family back in the Midwest. Meanwhile, I will be home making preparations to put the house on the market, taking care of my responsibilities for school and working. It is the longest I will have been away from the kids since their birth, and although I try to think of all the productive things I will get done, and all the attention I can heap on Tyson, and all the peace and quiet I will have this week, my mind keeps reminding me of how bored I will be.

Play Time

2010-06-06T20:17:00.004-04:00

My favorite memories from playing as a child always involve being with someone else. I remember somersault races with my sisters, Katie and Judy. I played Frisbee with my dad and checkers with my mom a lot. Once I got a bit older, I was attached at the hip with Cliff, playing G.I. Joe and any sport we could figure out. That's why I was so excited when I found out Rach and I were having twins. She was nervous, but I knew that those two would forge some of the best memories of their childhood with their "instant best friend."

Micah and Malorie have definitely created a fun bond with one another lately. They are at an age now where they are acutely aware of what is going on around them and of each other, and so that makes for some fun interaction. Every once in a while Rachel or I will just leave the two of them together on the carpet to see what happens. Today we watched from the kitchen as they sat side by side, grabbed books and then proceeded to try to read to each other. One would make some sort of ridiculous noise and then turn a page, followed by the other one doing the same. They even smile like one another now, both scrunching their noses and grinning like they smell something rotten and like it.

They do spend some time playing by themselves or with mom and dad, though. My favorite game to play with Micah is basketball on his baby hoop. He crawls over to a ball, picks it up and then brings it over and places it in the hoop. Once he drops it we begin clapping, and then he rebounds the ball and does it again. Occasionally, when he tires of this, he will pass the ball to me and watch as I make a few slam dunks, still clapping all the while. With his mom Micah enjoys a game in which she stands up holding him against her chest, and then drops his head over backwards. He laughs uncontrollably until she pulls him back right side up, and then he tosses his head back to do it again.

As for Mal, she and I play a game I like to call "No." Malorie only knows how to shake her head in the horizontal direction, as if to say no. So, no matter what question you ask her, she will respond with "no." I play the game by asking her proceeding ludicrous questions for a nine-month-old baby to handle, and allow her to answer them the only way she knows how. It usually starts out with something like, "Mal, do you want another bite of cereal?" She will smile and shake her head no, even though I know she does want one. Then I will get a bit tougher. "Mal, if a boy asks you to go to Lookout Mountain and kiss him, what do you say?" Mal grins and shakes no. "What if a cool girl tries to get you to smoke a cigarette with her, will you do it?" Mal grins and shakes no. We proceed like this until I have exhausted all my peer pressure, dating, and college calculus questions and then I let her stop and eat in peace.

Mal and her mom have a great time together too. Rachel likes to break out all the stuffed animals and prop them up on top of a bucket. Mal watches intently until mom finishes, and then knocks all the animals off the bucket and laughs. Usually though, you can't separate Micah from Mal for long, and he busts in and joins in on the fun. I caught this video tonight as the two of them wrestled around next to mom and Tyson. It is exactly the kind of memories I want my kids to have when they get older and reminisce like me.

Nine Months is a Long Time Until It's Over

2010-05-24T21:55:00.005-04:00

Nine months is a long time. Sometimes, I just have to think back to some of the things that have changed in that amount of time to realize how vastly different our lives are now. Our hectic days at the hospital are but a distant memory, replaced by wonderfully monotonous days at home. Midnight feedings have been replaced with wake up chatter between the kids at about 6:45 a.m. Ninja changes, breastfeeding and playmats have all come and gone. But I do look at the kids and wonder where the time has gone, as if the long nine months were never here at all.

These days Malorie is much more of a chatterbox than she used to be. She is her little brother's shadow, following that guy wherever he may crawl. Routinely, we have to go get Micah out of trouble, like when he gets into Tyson's water bowl. No sooner do we set Micah down in a safe place do we have to run back into the kitchen because Mal was just a step behind him. She laughs at her brother all the time, which eggs him on all the more. For instance, Micah will bop a toy against the ground and Mal will giggle; so Micah will do it three or four more times to keep making her laugh. Malorie also thinks Tyson is hilarious, and loves to touch his fur. Mal can pull up on anything in the house, and then is the most careful baby I have ever seen, slowly lowering herself down from the standing position so as not to hurt herself. Our sweet princess also has grown her first two teeth, which may not sound like much, but those suckers really hurt when she uses them on my fingers. She is also a far cry from that tiny baby we plucked from the NICU; she's now taller than her brother, measuring 29 and three quarters inches and weighing in at just over 20 pounds.

An equal number of traits have changed for Micah James as have for his sister. He also stands up incessantly, but is much less fearful of falling than is Mal. He loves to let go of whatever he is holding on to and crashing to the ground in a heap. Occasionally, he will let go and just stand there for up to ten seconds, looking around wondering why he has not fallen yet. Whereas Mal crawls very delicately and femininely, Micah crawls like a steamroller, barrelling into walls, over pillows and through anything in his way. Micah is also beginning to master his baby sign language, and knows how to sign his favorite word - milk. He uses it at least two or three times a day when he wants a bottle. Micah also has fully mastered clapping, is moderately proficient at waving to people, and has learned to play his baby basketball game with me (by the way, thanks Casey, that basketball set is number one!). Although we have anticipated Micah's first tooth coming any day now since about Christmas, he still does not have any. However, we let him "brush his teeth" when Mal does it too. I guess it's never too early for good dental hygiene, right? Micah can be a bit of a bully to his sister at times, like when steals her pacifier every morning. But then he makes up for it when he chatters with her in the car, making up sounds for her to try to mimic. Micah still outweighs his sister by a few pounds, now tipping the scales at 22 pounds ten ounces, and is 29 and a half inches long.

While I am on the subject of things changing, I may as well address how things have changed for Rachel and me. Last month I submitted my letter of resignation to the Navy, and received it back as accepted this month. So, I will be trading in my flight suit for a suit and tie starting in May of next year. This is a drastic change for our way of life, and one that we did not take lightly. However, after eight years of active duty service, I simply did not want to endure another extended tour abroad without seeing my beautiful wife and babies. We hope to sell our house here in Jacksonville this fall, and then move to the Saint Louis area in the early spring of 2011. As for Rachel, she has begun teaching again, in a way. She tutors for an academically challenged third grader named Miguel twice a week. She still prepares like an absolute perfectionist, and I couldn't be more proud that she is using what little spare time she has to make a difference in Miguel's life.

Looking ahead, I truly have no idea where we will be as a family nine months from now. I mean, if this job change goes poorly, I could be writing a blog post about how filthy it is living in a sewer. But most likely by then, I'll be talking about a new house, the twins saying new words, or Rachel's new winter wardrobe. But like I said, nine months is a long time, and I plan on savoring every moment of these next nine. I'm sure they'll be gone sooner than I think.

Disturbing Behavior

2010-05-17T22:03:00.006-04:00

Rachel and I love our kids more than anything else in this world. They are the coolest, most fantastic mini-persons we have ever met, and we do plenty of bragging about those kiddos on this little blog of ours. However, if we are to make this a true account of our daily lives with the kids, then we must spend some time talking about the naughty things they do. Let's be honest; as cute as they are, Micah and Mal simply are not angels. In fact, they're just plain rotten sometimes.

If we are to give a true list of grievances, it has to include the recent clingy phase we have entered. Both kids annoyingly hang to our legs like a pair of pants that were dried without fabric softener. If only one of us is home, the twins team up on us, synchronizing their cries, spills and poops. Micah has begun to use anything he can get his hands on to stand up - in the past twenty-four hours he has pulled up using my ear, our TV stand, and everything else below four feet in our entire house. That leads into the next troubling development - the twins ability to stand up in bed to protest their assignment to nap time. Last week, Rachel had to go into their room to lay Micah down 18 times to finally get him to go to sleep, because every time she left the room he stood up in his crib and began yelling at the top of his lungs (OK, I admit, that makes me laugh). Malorie learned how to stand up in the crib today too. Yikes.

Our little darling girl is also one dirty fighter. She bites, pinches, and smacks anything that she gets near. I nearly lost a finger the other day, and Micah is always black and blue, but I still feel most sorry for poor Tyson, whose tail simply can not be hidden from Mal's grip. The twins also have developed separation anxiety and will not eat from anyone but Rachel or me without crying until they turn purple. They constantly fuss at church, usually during the quiet, reflective moments. And I'm pretty sure they already know exactly when they are getting into something they're not supposed to. They start crawling in hyper-gear and scoot straight over to the greasy hinge of the door, dog water bowl or scrapbooking supplies as soon as they hear their name.

You may think I feel guilty for exposing Micah and Malorie's flaws for everyone to read, but you should know I don't. Even though the twins have plenty of areas that bother us, we can't stand to be away from those two little buggers for any length of time at all. They learn new things that amaze us daily. I think Micah tried to use sign language to tell us he was ready for his milk today, and Mal cracks us up by trying to mimic every noise we make. The kids eventually warm up and play nice with our friends that come over, like Tara, who visited from Los Angeles this week. It's just that they're so full of love, and life and laughter that something bitter must come out sometimes, or else they'd melt in the sun like a candy bar. Come to think of it, I wouldn't want a kid that wasn't at least a little troublesome. In fact, there is not a single thing I would change about our two dirty little rascals. They are just as sweet and just as filthy, stinking mean as I would expect any kid that came from Rachel and me to be.

TPC

2010-05-17T21:16:00.003-04:00

I stink at golf. Bad. Can't swing the club consistently; can't remember the unspoken rules; can't seem to drive a golf cart without flooring it to see how fast it can go down the fairway. For those reasons and several others, I haven't played golf in about two years. Despite all that, I do like golf. When I get a chance to get on a course, and set aside all my frustrations, I typically enjoy myself.

Last week, The Players' Championship, a PGA Tour event, was held in Jacksonville. A bunch of professional golfers who can probably tell I'm terrible at golf just by looking at me came to town to vie for the highest purse on the tour. The squadron where I work at volunteers at the driving range for the tournament, and so in spite of all my golf related disabilities, I volunteered. My charitable side was highly influenced by the two days off work I got for volunteering, and pushed over the edge by the great benefits of being a volunteer. Besides behind the ropes access at a PGA event, I got a free polo shirt and hat, free tickets to attend a day of the tournament as a spectator, a voucher to play the same course the pros were playing, and as many free golf balls as I could carry.

My duties involved washing, drying and sorting golf balls for the driving range. Manufacturers like Nike, Calloway and Titleist sponsor pro golfers, and so the golfers only hit their sponsor's brand of ball. In addition to the tedious but apparently vital responsibility of making sure the Nike balls didn't get into a Titleist bag, I got to clean the practice putting greens, drive the golfers and their caddies around the course, and drive "The Picker," a gigantic combine type tractor that plucked the golf balls off the driving range while the pros were hitting the balls directly at me. There is a windshield on The Picker, but it still rattles the cage a little bit to get nailed by a drive from a pro golfer.

The highlight of my week was driving Tiger Woods to the private practice area. I drove a golf cart with him, his caddy, and three other people I can only guess were cronies, lackeys or hangers-on. OK, they were probably his sports psychologist, swing coach and security guard, but I will hereto refer to them as Tiger's posse. I was privy to their personal conversation about Tiger's practice round he had just shot, and even got a thank you from Tiger when we arrived at our destination. Tiger is just as foul mouthed as people say he is, and he is even bigger in person than he looks on TV. I'm pretty sure he could have folded me up and stuffed me into the glove compartment of the golf cart if he wanted to. He does have a pretty good sense of humor about his recent travails, though, and I guess that is good for someone under as much scrutiny as he is. This picture was taken before I drove him and his posse around. That is Tiger standing just over my right should, warming up on the driving range. Rachel also got a pretty nice highlight of the week. As part of my volunteer duty, I was given tickets to an opening ceremony concert with country music star Tim McGraw. I'm not a huge fan of Tim, but Rach is, so she and her friend Sheryl were the beneficiaries of those tickets and saw Tim's concert from about the tenth row.

On the third day of the Tournament we took the kids to watch some hard core golf action. We saw some of the biggest names in golf: Phil, Tiger, Sergio and many others. Eventually, we were forced to break from the hoity-toity crowd for our parental duties when the kids got hungry and needed to eat. Rachel and I had to find a spot on the floor of the military hospitality tent to feed them. It was crazy, messy, and probably in poor taste at a place as nice as Sawgrass Country Club, but we did it nonetheless. No one kicked us out, and after we were finished we went back out to watch more golf. The week's golf activities served to motivate me to get out on the course more often, but to the best of my knowledge, watching golf does not make one better at golf. Therefore, despite the great week at TPC, I'm 100% certain that I still stink at golf.

Moms of Twins Need 8 Arms (by Rachel)

2010-05-08T16:51:00.012-04:00

Shocker... Growing up I watched a lot of Cardinal baseball at Busch Stadium with my dad. When I was pretty little, all I was interested in was the nachos, popcorn, and when Fred Bird would come our way. My dad tried really hard to get me to pay attention to the game and not the soda vendors and cotton candy guys. He always bought the scorecard and would keep track of all the stats, while encouraging me to do the same. Eventually I got better at paying attention and actually liked to take over on the on the scorecard (usually when he would go to the bathroom). I always liked when he would come back after a lot of cheering and ask, "What happened?" Usually I could explain, but I know he always relied on the INSTANT REPLAY so that he could see for himself what really happened...

Speaking of instant replays... Something happened the other day, and I've played it over and over and over again in my head. In fact, I'm blogging about it because I can''t get it out of my head and I'm hoping that writing it out will create one final instant replay.

I went to Chuck-E-Cheese last week with the kids. I knew Chuck-E-Cheese was not the best place for almost 9 month old babies, but I thought it might be fun for them to see all the crazy lights and all the busy toddlers running around. My friends have toddlers, so they were experienced Chuck-E-Cheese-ers. When we arrived, Micah and Mal were instantly mesmerized by all the glam. We sat and ate pizza and walked around watching the kids playing and going bananas. If there were a Chuck-E-Cheese scorecard, my dad would never be able to keep up. He would need instant replays of everything.

My friends are really good about helping me with the babies when we go out because they know the difficulty of having one baby and when they see me juggling two, I usually get lent some helping hands. So, towards the end of our adventure, thanks to Kandice, Mal and I were able to test the hot cherry red convertible. She looked sweet as pie sitting and playing with the steering wheel. Then, Kandice brought Micah over because we thought it would be SO cute if we could get a picture of the two of them in the car together. Seeing as how I only have two hands, I could almost predict that this was not a good idea. Side by side the kids sat playing and laughing. Then, as quick as an Ozzie Smith backflip, Micah leaned forward to grab at the speedometer. Of course, my only two hands instantly reached for Micah... leaving poor Mal... She lost her balance and crashed into the giant pretend metal key on the car. She smacked her head right above her eye as my only two hands instantly left Micah and went to Mal. Kandice grabbed Micah as Mal and I paced the area and checked out her injury. To me, it was BAD. She was bleeding. To me, it looked like it was gushing. It was swelling. To me, it looked like a massive lump. As directed by Kandice, I applied ice as much as Mal would allow and then drove home.

The entire drive home was one instant replay after another. Each replay was followed with the same thoughts... how did I allow this to happen? Why can't I have 8 hands? Mom's with twins DO NOT need to go to Chuck-E-Cheese without dads.

It turns out Mal was fine. I was not, but thankfully Mal was fine. She wanted to play and let her brother steal her toys as usual. She went down for her nap and slept like a baby. I checked on her breathing probably a million times.

That night when I had finally calmed down and the babies were in bed I realized this was the first of many accidents. So much is changing now and I know there will be more and probably a lot worse spills. But for now, the scorecard reads, Mal 1, Micah-0. Dad, don't ask, there will be no more instant replays. Go Cards!

Rapid Fire Update

2010-05-05T20:06:00.004-04:00

OK, so it's been ages since I've posted anything on the blog. I truly apologize for the absence, but as I'm sure you'll find, we are in the midst of a very busy time right now. So, I will write very brief entries over the best stories from the past few weeks to tide everyone over until a proper blog post can be constructed.

Does Not Compute

At the root of our blogging break has been the lack of a computer in the house for a few days. Rach and I have been slogging through with two six year old computers for a while now, and lately it became unbearable. The desktop was slower than a Tim Wakefield knuckleball and the laptop randomly shut itself off. Anyway, we took them to a computer repair shop, and it turns out that it would cost more to fix the laptop than to buy a new one, so they sent it back. The desktop is still in the shop, but due back tomorrow with significant changes and upgrades meant to make it quick as a Kerry Wood heater. Here's to hoping this old laptop can make it until the end of this post.

Over, Around or Through

In the past two weeks our kids have gone from scooting slowly across the carpet to tearing through the house at breakneck speeds on their hands and knees. So, to curtail the crawling in opposite directions, which happens just as often as you probably think it does, we installed three baby gates to enclose the living room. Micah is not a big fan of the gates, as you can see. However, these baby proof gates are apparently also Rachel proof, as she has tripped and tumbled over the gates a few times already. One time, as she was attempting to enter the living room from the kitchen, she caught her back foot on the gate and went down hard... while carrying Malorie. I tried to grab her to keep her up, but it was no use. Luckily, Rachel contorted her body to protect Mal when they hit the floor and nothing was hurt. Mal crawled away unscathed and Rachel was unharmed as well, except for a nasty welt on her ankle and a bruise on her ego.

What Goes Up

Micah and Mal, never satisfied to just have one point of progress at a time, have decided that crawling is not enough of a development for the week. So, in the span of three days, they have begun pulling themselves into the standing position on whatever they can get their hands on. Baby gates, sliding glass doors, parents, tables, dogs and an inflatable ball have all been used with varying margins of success. Micah is a pro at standing and then letting go, and he has gotten to the point where he does not cry unless he smacks into something during his fall. Sweet Malorie still cries after every tumble.

Are We Really That Old?

Tyson celebrated his sixth birthday this week, which cracked him into the forties in dog years. He has really taken to the children well, and seems content to be around them, especially when they've just eaten and have cheese bits on their shirts. The Wolfman did growl and snap at Micah once, when Micah snuck up on him and grabbed his tail unexpectedly, but all in all, we could not be happier with the interaction between the kids and the dog. I have a feeling that they will be attached at the hip for quite some time to come.

Good Morning

Every morning, Rachel wakes up at about 6:30 and turns on the baby monitor and listens for the kids to be ready to begin their day. Most mornings, the kids are awake in their room when she gets up, and are chattering back and forth quietly and contently. Rachel will allow them to do this for about a half hour, or until someone gets upset, so that their wake up time stays at about 7 a.m. Well, this morning, Rachel said that when she went into the room after listening to the kids exchange baby talk like "Ba" and "Nee Nee" for a few minutes, she found that Micah had pulled down his crib bumper and was looking at Malorie's crib. Mal, for her part, was up on her hands and knees, looking right back at her brother as they held the conversation.

The Hoedown

Recently, Micah has been mimicking our swaying when we sing. I never really noticed we did it until he started doing it back, but it turns out that every time Rachel or I sing to him, we rock back and forth. Well, Rachel caught him doing this the other morning to his Baby Einstein video. All I can say is, "E-I-E-I-oh my!"

Wild Things

2010-04-21T22:56:00.008-04:00

The word wild has gotten to be a bit cliche these days, no? Let's be honest, most of the time we use the word "wild," we don't mean it. For instance, when someone has "Wild Cherry" something, it is flavored in a science lab and not by a naturally grown fruit. And when one describes another person as a "wild man," they typically mean they are unpredictable or out of control, not that the person has gone native and ceased wearing clothes, taking showers or speaking human languages. Last but not least, Buffalo Wild Wings is fun and tasty, but not wild. I'm pretty sure they aren't even based in Buffalo. Anyway, today, Micah and Mal got their taste of something truly wild.

The twins were invited to their friend Tessa's second birthday party at the Jacksonville Zoo. I took the morning off work to help usher kids around the park and ensure Rachel did not go insane. The first task was not too hard - I came equipped with a double stroller, a Baby Bjorn backpack carrier and two healthy arms to carry kids. However, the second task was not so easy. Rachel was flustered before we even entered the park due to Malorie exploding her dirty diaper all over her fancy yellow bloomers. Thus, every picture you see of mother and daughter, you will notice Mal's diaper showing, and mother wearing an extra worry wrinkle.

Aside from the mess in the Zoo parking lot, our wild adventure went pretty well. Micah and Mal got to see lions, penguins, elephants, snakes and the infamous Jacksonville Jaguars. Malorie even got to feed a giraffe. Micah, for his part, was a crowd favorite all day, eliciting comments from passers by. He spent most of the morning in my arms, sucking his thumb and watching people and animals while wearing his uber-cute zoo outfit. After lunch in one of the zoo gardens, the party ended, and Micah and Mal were both as tired as I have ever seen them. Neither kid made it to the car before falling asleep.

When we got home from the zoo, Rachel and I expected our wild adventure to be over, and in a way it was. In the true meaning of wild, as in exotic animals, things were no longer wild. But the rest of our day would still be wild in that cliched, not really wild way. See both kids had new tricks to debut for us. When we got home from the zoo we laid Mal in her bed to finish her nap. About ten minutes later we heard some noises from in her room, so we opened the door to find our daughter had sat up all by herself in her crib, and was playing. Wild. Then, later in the afternoon, I gave Micah his bottle, and he held it all on his own and ate the entire thing without my help for the first time ever. I may occasionally rally against using the word wild in situations that don't merit use. But, the only word I could think of as my son ate without my aid was "wild." Overused or not, today was wild, I tell you, wild.

Poem in Lieu of Party

2010-04-18T21:34:00.011-04:00

Tonight, at this exact time, I was supposed to be driving home from Atlanta. Rachel and my Godson, Jackson, was having his second birthday party there. We were stoked to go see him and his parents, our good friends Paul and Nicole. Rach had the bags packed and I had an I-Pod playlist created for the journey. Tyson was booked with a dog-sitter and we even had directions to circumvent the traffic from Freaknic - the annual roving Spring Break party in downtown Atlanta. Then, a fussy, feverish boy cancelled our plans.

Fortunately for Rachel and me, Micah was not the sick kid. Unfortunately for birthday boy Jackson, he got an early present of sickness. And so, the Klug kids were not able to meet their demi-sibling and visit The Peach State for the first time. But, since we had cleared the agenda for the weekend already, Rachel and I spent it doing pretty much whatever we wanted to here in town. Coming into the weekend, I was pretty excited to sing rhyming songs to a toddler, so I have pent up creativity. So, like that creepy teenager who skips the prom to write a poem, here is my quick rundown of the weekend in sing-songy verse. Nicole, feel free to sing this to Jackson if you want, to make up for all the dumb songs I didn't get to sing him this weekend.

Two Klug kids were set for action,

then the trip just lost all traction.

Jackson's fever shut it down,

and made poor Rachel really frown.

Friday dinner and still no moon,

stalled by playing with a spoon.

We spent the night with Pat and Kat,

and Mal Pal acted like a brat.

She stayed up late, loudly weeping,

all while her bro was soundly sleeping.

Morning, pancakes from a can,

then went swimming and got a tan.

A peaceful lil' Saturday night,

Followed by Sunday morning light.

Got churched up in our normal row,

and Micah's naps ran really low.

Found out the babies like this box,

and Tessa's party really rocks.

Cranky babies went to bed,

and on Hamburger Helper we were fed.

So, our weekend was still pretty tight,

But wish we could have spent it with Jackson White.

Happy Birthday Jackson.

P.S. Micah and Mal Pal reached the equal time point this week when they turned eight months old. They have now spent more time with us on the outside than they spent in Rachel's womb - I just found that interesting.

Here Comes Trouble

2010-04-08T16:23:00.002-04:00

We have all the preparations done. The baby gates are bought, the outlets are plugged and the cabinets are baby-proofed. However, it has always been my firm belief that Rachel and I are in for loads more trouble than we could ever expect once the kids get mobile. For instance, when I was a toddler, I ate a stick of deodorant. Took it right off of a bathroom sink and ate it. Poison Control alerted my family that despite the disgusting, pine tree fresh scent in my mouth and the extreme salivation, I would survive. I'm sure if I dug deep enough, equally disturbing and disgusting stories about toddler Rachel would surface. Now we are left to wait for the payback for our tormenting of our parents and relatives.

Well, back to our worry about the day that the kids discover forward movement. Ummm, that time has come. Micah began the fledgling practice of crawling today, and has not stopped since. This video does not do him justice, as he is already discovering the entire living room. In the past 12 hours, he has chewed on more dog toys than Tyson has, and that is not a good thing.

Malorie, for her part, is getting more and more anxious to move as she watches Micah go. She gets up on her hands and knees and lurches back and forth several times before collapsing and then scooting backwards in frustration. However, I'm sure that true to form she will soon be crawling better than Micah, as it seem the twins teach each other new tricks daily. Either way, a monumental shift has occurred here this week - there goes our serene, stationary babies, and here comes trouble.

Easter in Klugsville (By Rachel)

2010-04-05T21:16:00.012-04:00

Once upon a time in the land of Klugsville there lived two sweet, adorable babies named Micah and Malorie. Although Micah and Malorie were twins, they were very different. Micah was a brute. He was loud, rambunctious, and wacky. Mal was dainty. She was sweet and poised just like a princess. They were the best of friends and very popular amongst the land. One of their most dependable friends was their dog, Tyson.

This particular weekend was Easter. It was Micah and Malorie's first Easter in Klugsville. They began the festivities on Saturday by going to church for an Easter Egg Hunt. Everyone at church knew Micah and Malorie and were anxiously anticipating their arrival. As they strolled through the front doors, they were showered with gifts, hugs, kisses, and love. They played games and even met the real Pontius Pilate. When it was time for the hunt, they were offered special privileges due to the fact that they were not old enough to actually pick up eggs.

Tyson stayed home to guard the house. Dogs were not allowed in church.

After the hunt Micah and Malorie came home to prepare for Easter. They had guests arriving and wanted the house to look perfect. They picked out their best Easter dress and made sure all of their spit up had been cleaned.

Tyson got a bath... his Easter scarf remained in his dog basket.

On Sunday morning the twins were in great spirits. They got dressed and went to church to celebrate the Lord. He had risen! Malorie sang her Alleluias (during the announcements) and Micah laughed (during the Gospel).

Tyson stayed home. He sat in his chair looking outside, wishing he had gotten an Easter walk.

When Micah and Malorie got home from church they realized the Easter Bunny had come! He left them baskets filled to the brim with goodies. Tyson did not get a basket, and he wasn't allowed to bark at or chase the bunny.

When their guests Uncle Phil and Aunt Sue arrived Micah and Malorie were again showered with love. Everyone dined on avocados and mangoes and thoroughly enjoyed each others company.

Tyson sat on the couch and watched.

Finally, Easter weekend had come to an end. As Micah and Malorie were splashing in the tub getting ready for bed, they reminisced about the wonderful weekend through ba ba's and ga ga's. By 7:00 they were fast asleep.

Once the kids were in bed, Tyson realized he was still awake! He sat on the porch with his parents and realized now was HIS time. He had been patient and finally rewarded the way a good dog should . His mom got out his Easter scarf and gave him a new "pizza". Indeed, it was a Happy Easter for all in the land of Klugsville.

Daddy's Girl

2010-04-03T23:54:00.005-04:00

There is not a day that goes by that someone doesn't comment on the fact that Mal looks like me and Micah takes after Rachel. Micah has his mother's height, blond hair and impatience. Mal's got my brown coif, tiny feet and appetite for sweets. Usually, the person in the crowd making the observation says some thing like, "oh, she's just Daddy's little girl!"

Well, this week, Daddy's little girl has been sick. Snotty. Sleepy. All together sad and sucky. So, on Thursday Malorie was excluded from the weekly playgroup that she, her mother and brother have been participating in for the last few weeks. Luckily, I had the late shift at work, and so Micah and Mom got to go to the play group while sick little Mal and Daddy stayed home.

Staying home with my infant female prototype did not phase me in the least. Don't get me wrong: I love Micah, but he is currently in the infamous "Velociraptor" phase, where he shrieks at the top of his lungs all the time, pinches everything he can reach with his grubby little fingers, and generally is mean as all get out. Basically, he has become a boy. Mal, on the other hand, is a study in patience, silence, and serenity. When Micah screams, Mal watches intently. When Micah grabs, twists and yanks, Malorie smiles and plays coy. So, if there were one baby that I had to choose to watch for a few hours during my rest period before work, it would be Mal by a landslide.

During our Daddy/Daughter day together, Mal and I took a nap (twenty minutes longer than Mom ever allows), watched a few cartoons (she does not like Handy Manny as much as Micah, but I still like it the same), ate some spinach for lunch (we set the record for the most times singing Popeye the Sailor Man's theme song in thirty minutes), and the went for a walk (Mal held my hands the whole time. I loved her more and more with each step).

Micah and Mom got home from the playgroup just in time for naps, and Mal was still sick. Snot running, eyes watering, and absolutely still suffering. Mom sucked out Mal's nostrils with the mean, blue snot sucker, made sure Mal didn't have a temperature, and ensured the house was quiet enough for solid baby slumber. These were all things Daddy would not have done, as I was intent on teaching Mal to pet Tyson instead of following the usual daily Mom prescribed pattern. Although Mal's afternoon with Daddy didn't make her feel any less sick, oddly enough, it did make me feel better. Under the weather or not, Mal Pal is still without a doubt, Daddy's little girl.

Is That The REAL Easter Bunny?

2010-03-30T21:49:00.005-04:00

I can hear it now. I may as well write it. No, Micah and Mal, that is not the REAL Easter bunny you visited when you were babies. That is a super nice woman with way too much pink makeup and a Halloween costume. Here's how it came to be that you're first encounter with the Easter Bunny turned out like a scene in some corny television sitcom...

Sunday afternoons used to be sacred around here. After a morning at church, I would sit on my duff, watching seasonal sports and usually falling asleep on the couch. Rachel would either catch up on some teacher work or be out shopping for something or another. After nearly eight months of crazy, non-routine Sundays, last Sunday fell right into our wheelhouse. The babies fell asleep at about one-thirty, and by one-thirty two Rachel was racing out the door to go shopping at Target. I, for my part, settled in on the couch to watch March Madness and fall asleep. It was a welcomed blast from the past.

Then, somewhere between a jump shot and a snore, Rachel called the house with urgent news. "Billy, the Easter Bunny is at Peterbrooke," she exclaimed. "The pictures are free. Can we bring the kids?" My nostalgic nap interrupted and the magic word (free) having been uttered, I was left without choice in the matter; as soon as the kids awoke we would see the rabbit.

Once the kids awoke, we fed them a quick bottle, fetched their church clothes out of the hamper, and thrust the kids into the car seats. A quick drive later the family arrived at Peterbrooke Chocolatier, a local favorite for all things delicious. Evidently, though, they are not quite as good with cameras as they are at cocoa. Upon arriving at the store we were greeted by the "Easter Bunny," who was nothing more than a woman wearing Ralphie's Christmas gift from his Aunt and a bit too much blush. Anyway, insert poor lighting, some delectable chocolates in the background, and a couple distracted kiddos and you have our first Easter photo. Maybe next Sunday, I'll get a real Sunday nap. Maybe next year you kids can meet the REAL Easter Bunny too.

A Tale of Two Cities

2010-03-20T22:43:00.003-04:00

GAINESVILLE, FL: I've been chasing my MBA for about 18 months now, and I have to fulfill a requirement by attending a one week course on the campus of the University of Florida. I chose a marketing class and have all the required books and a positive attitude. Although I will have to spend about 18 hours per day working on marketing, a concept I vaguely remember from my days at Mizzou, I am excited about the class. This student is ready to learn!

JACKSONVILLE, FL: With Billy away in Gainsville for the entire week, I was really concerned. Grandma Finck flew in to the rescue and saved me from spending the entire week alone with the kids teaming up on me. This is her first time seeing the babies since Christmas, and she is staying all week. We decided to go shopping and found out that, true to the stereotype, Micah HATES it. We tried Kohl's, Babies R Us, Publix, the dollar store, even Home Depot, and he had a screaming fit in every store. (Let this be a warning to you, Aunt Chris, YOU WILL BE THE ONE TO HOLD MY 20 POUND SON WHEN YOU WANT TO TAKE US SHOPPING FOR AN ENTIRE DAY!) On the contrary, Malorie seems to truly enjoy shopping. She sits in the little buggie kicking, smiling, and touching the clothes as we walk by. We even caught our little Wynonna Rider taking a dress off the rack and hiding it in her lap. Remind me to teach her that stealing isn't allowed.

GAINESVILLE, FL: SPSS and SAS software... Analytical conjoint analysis and perceptual maps... Multi Attribute Attitude Modeling and market simulations. Who knew marketing was this complicated and why didn't you tell me before I signed up for this class? My brain hurts.

JACKSONVILLE, FL: With the sun shining and the cool spring breezes blowing, the babies were craving the outside, so Grandma and I got the kids out to discover the neighborhood park. The only thing Micah and Mal were really able to do was swing, as they are still a bit too small for hanging on the monkey bars or sliding. Based on the giggles he emits, I guess that Micah seems to enjoy the act of swinging more than his sister. Mal mostly just likes to look around, turning her head from side to side and waving at the other kids at the park. OK, not really, but it looks like she's giving a quick "Hey" to one of her girlfriends, doesn't it?

GAINESVILLE, FL: I feel like a kid at summer camp who is so homesick his stomach hurts and just wants to go home. This is the longest I've had to be away from the kids so far, and it has been tougher than I expected. Rachel sent me pictures and they looked a little different than when I left on Monday - bigger, stronger, and wearing stupid red Cardinals outfits. I have to get home soon to stop the brainwashing! Keep fighting it, Micah, keep fighting it.

JACKSONVILLE, FL: Grandma Finck loves to swim, so the pool has become an every day excursion. Malorie got a beautiful new bathing suit and has really opened up to the idea of swimming, kicking and splashing like a pro. Mal has also discovered how to click her tongue and for some reason she tries really hard while we are at the pool. It is super cute and all the lifeguards and random strangers are already falling in love with her. Grandma Finck also got us another floatation device so that we can play bumper cars in the pool, which Micah loves. It's too bad Billy can't be here to see this.

GAINESVILLE, FL:

MBA, Schmem-B-A, now I know why kids skip school.

Back to the Future

2010-03-15T21:42:00.004-04:00

Remember the '80's? Back when Aerosmith was making awesome music, New York City was full of crime and people were wearing ridiculous clothes. Wait... that might have been the '70's. Or the '90's for that matter. Well, let's go with Brat Pack films, Bananarama and Mrs. Pacman. Yeah, that's more like it. Anyway, the '80's were cool, and so Rachel and I decided to ditch the kids and go to a 1980's theme party. That's right.... parental responsibilities out the window, we hired our first official babysitter!

In full disclosure, we've actually had our parents and various relatives watch the kids a few times before, but this was the first time we trusted strangers with Micah and Mal, and it felt momentous. The babysitter for our seven month old duo was a 12 year old wunderkind named Virginia, accompanied by her mother Katherine (and a stuffed pig). Rachel and I know Katherine and Virginia from church. In fact, Rachel used to teach with Katherine and we have watched Virginia grow up since she was a first-grader, so we completely trusted the team (except for the stuffed pig, who we patted down at the door).

Rachel and I spent our night without the kids time-travelling to the days of MTV, Wheel of Fortune and the Karate Kid. OK, that could also be now... How about the days of Huey Lewis and Andy Kaufman? Anyway, our friends Rob and Jaime rented out a section of a local watering hole to throw the retro-shindig in celebration of Jaime's birthday. For our '80's costumes, Rachel and I improvised with items around the house. I went as a 1980's cowboy, complete with a pearl button shirt, sweet belt buckle and skinny tie. Rachel worked the side pony tail and neon bracelets to perfection. I'm still not sure why the neon bracelets were in her closet, but she looked great nonetheless.

In the 80's there was a movie called "Adventures in Babysitting," and while the twins first night with a 'sitter wasn't quite as exciting as in the movie, it wasn't without adventure. While Rachel and I were out walking like Egyptians, Micah and Mal both woke up for the babysitters and needed to be rocked back to sleep. Also, Rachel and I stayed out until ten pm, which felt like about 4 am in 1980's time. As soon as we got home, we thanked Virginia and Katherine (never said thanks to the pig) and hit the sack; Rachel and I were whooped. I guess time travelling is tougher than it looks, just ask Marty McFly. Finally, an 80's reference that works!

Happy Birthday Daddy!

2010-03-13T20:39:00.015-05:00

Today Micah and Malorie woke up wanting to wish their daddy a happy birthday. I had to tell them that he wasn't here because he is learning all kinds of new stuff so that he can get a good job and we can move to St. Louis. They completely understood, but still wanted to give their daddy some sweet birthday wishes...

Mal said, "Daddy thank you for being the best snuggle buddy I could ever ask for. I love you and miss you very much!"

Micah said, "Daddy you make me laugh better than anyone in the world! I love you and can't wait to play with you when you get home!"

Hope you have a wonderful day Billy! Your family thinks you are amazing! Thanks for being the best dad/dog dad/husband in the world!

Weighty Issues

2010-02-28T21:14:00.004-05:00

Recently, Rachel learned that her mother is concerned with Micah's weight. As the rule goes, if one person publicly exhibits concern, there are roughly 7.4 million other people who are also concerned, they are just afraid to speak up. So, we wanted to take this opportunity to dispel some vicious Internet rumors and calm the fears over Micah's weight gain.

Micah is only heavier than 80% of babies his age, and his growth has slowed over the past month.
He is not considered morbidly obese, and contrary to published reports we are not consulting with a doctor regarding gastric bypass surgery for him.
Dr. Oz did call us about being on his upcoming show titled "Chubby Babies and The Parents That Love Them." We turned him down due to editorial conflicts.
Micah's Hollywood agent has not been contacted asking Micah to star in the new Eddie Murphy Klump's film, but Eddie knows where to find us.
No, we have not sent our son to "Fat Camp." It doesn't even start until summer.
Rachel did get me a pamphlet about childhood diabetes for Valentine's Day.

In all honesty, Micah's weight did not concern our doctor during the last check-up, and it does not concern us now. He is a perfectly normal, totally lovable chunky baby. However, he did hear about his Grandma's concerns, and has decided to put himself on a self-directed workout program to slim down prior to her upcoming visit. We caught him during his first workout the other day. Soon enough he will be the fine physical specimen he is meant to be, but for now Rach and I are fine with our little chunk.

Off The Deep End

2010-02-24T20:41:00.003-05:00

About a decade ago, Naval Air Station Cecil Field was home to fighter jets that would rip through the downtown skyline of Jacksonville. But in a cost cutting move, the Navy decided to close NAS Cecil Field and relocate the jets to Norfolk, Virginia in 1999. Since then, the vast space that the base used to occupy has become home to an eclectic mix of entrepreneurs and public ventures. While probably not as exciting as fighter jets, Cecil is home to some pretty cool stuff these days. I have skydived at Cecil Field and achieved two pistol qualifications on a gun range there. Cecil Commerce Center, as it is now known, is also home to aircraft maintenance depots, an equestrian center, a public fitness center, and most notably for us, a free indoor pool.

Last weekend we decided to break the monotony of home life with the twins by taking them swimming. It is still a bit too cold to hop in the neighborhood pool here, so we packed up and headed to Cecil. The trip there was ominous, as Micah exploded poop up his back and all over his clothes. We almost turned around and headed home defeated, but we instead snuck our stinky kid past the lifeguard at the front desk and into the locker room for a quick hose off before entering the pool.

Once we got in the pool, we learned that Micah very well might be part fish. He felt the warm pool water hit his legs and he instantly began laughing and thrashing, trying to break free of his parent's grip and swim on his own. According to her mother, Rachel was just like this as a child. Mal, on the other hand, seized up and turned stiff as a board upon entering the pool. She floated along in her parents arms as still as a statue for most of her time in the pool, just gazing at the other people there and wondering why they did not seem to be as tortured by the eminent dangers that swimming posed. I found it funny that I, the parent who did not know how to swim upon entering college, entered the pool with the panic stricken Mal, while my half-dolphin wife was yucking it up with Micah the sea mammal.

After about 20 minutes of swimming we dried the kids off and headed back home. That afternoon the twins slept for almost three hours, which is unprecedented as far as naps go. Micah had a blast in the pool, and Mal was in a good mood once she was safe on dry land again, so it was a win-win situation for us. So, Rachel and I are planning on making the pool trip a weekend ritual and head back again on Saturday. This coming weekend, in addition to all the other activities, Cecil Field will be hosting an RV expo. Pools, horses, and retirees in RV's: still not as exciting as fighter jets for most people, but Micah and Mal think Cecil is cool the way it is.

Six Months Time

2010-02-16T21:35:00.004-05:00

Time confuses me. Events that happened several years ago still feel like they just occurred. For instance, I have not worked at KOMU-TV for nearly a decade. But I can still recall the scent of the makeup I had to wear when I appeared on air. I haven't attended a rock concert for ages yet I can still feel the ringing of amplified guitars in my ears if I try. On the other hand, things that occurred a short time ago feel so distant they might as well have been a dream. I can barely remember the feel of my tiny newborn babies, so small and delicate. Heck, some nights I can't remember what I ate for breakfast that morning. It's as if time is pulling a practical joke on me.

Six months have passed since Rachel and I were blessed with Micah and Malorie. The time has been either a blur or a grind. I'm not sure. I vaguely remember keeping a feeding log and waking up every three hours. But I vividly recall my son being hooked up to a ventilator, so much so that I still get a pit in my stomach when Micah coughs, wheezes or makes a funny noise. It seems like years since I measured a bottle in milliliters, but wasn't it yesterday that I was sporting an itchy beard? Time punishes me for taking it for granted. It moves painstakingly slow when the babies are fussy and blasts by during fun times.

Time may hate me, but it has been kind to our tiny Princess Malorie, who in six months time has grown to 16 lbs and 12 oz. She is in the 70th percentile for weight and the 100th percentile for height, at 27 and a half inches. Apparently it's time to teach her to dribble a basketball. She grunts when she eats and talks to herself when alone in a car seat, but otherwise she's quiet most of the time. Mal can sit on her own for up to five minutes at a time and has watched the Baby Einstein sign language video 84 thousand times.

This time around, Mighty Micah tapered his torrid ascent though the growth chart. He now weighs 19 lbs, 2 oz, which ranks him in the 80th percentile for weight. He is also tall for his age, leading me to believe that he will be taller than me by the time he is four years old. Every once in a while we catch Micah scooting across a play mat, dragging his face and lifting his butt like an inchworm, but he stops every time we try to get it on tape. You could set a watch based on Micah's laugh, which erupts from his tiny frame about every ten seconds.

Apparently it's high time for both babies to have a social life. They had a play date today with Natalie's daughters Tessa and Jillian and our friend Sarah's son Ryan. Ryan and Tessa are both nearly two years old, but I'm sure Natalie thinks she's only been a parent for a few weeks and Sarah thinks it's been roughly twenty-five years. That's because time messed with them too.

I'm pretty sure I will wake up tomorrow and still be twenty-eight, but I wouldn't be surprised if time had passed and I was forty. Time will continue to confound me. For instance, it feels like I have been writing this post for quite some time. But if I don't make time to write this stuff down, I will lose the time I want to keep. And now that we are all suitably confused by time, the time has come to end our discussion of time.

Sleep Training (by Rachel)

2010-02-11T13:32:00.016-05:00

***Disclaimer - I am not writing this post to be incredibly witty like my husband...

I am writing to document a success story six months in the making***

I used to be THE BEST sleeper. I could be watching my absolute favorite show at 7:30 on a Friday night... and fall asleep on the couch. Billy used to hate watching movies with me because it was inevitable that within minutes, I would fall asleep and then wake up grumpy without knowing what was going on. Usually I would just go back to bed and watch it without him in the morning.

I never knew what a wonderful skill I had. Being able to sleep well is truly an ability, almost a talent. (One of which I am lacking in right now, but that is a whole other Blog.) Before these babies came Billy and I were DETERMINED to make them good sleepers. Once we made that decision, I became obsessed. As I have referenced before, we decided to follow the "rules" of a book called BabyWise which basically indicates that parents are in control of the baby's eating and sleeping patterns. It taught us to feed them FULL meals throughout the day (no snacks!!!) , and to keep them awake for appropriate amounts of time during the day, so that they learn how to distinguish day and night, and in turn, sleep at night. We followed an eat, wake, sleep cycle so that our little ones would know how to go to sleep on their own.

It sounds great, right? So many of our friends had tried it with such success, we wanted to do it too. My friend Jenna's daughter, Layna, was my inspiration. That little girl was "the perfect baby". Never spit up, always happy, and slept through the night at like 5 days, and napped wonderfully!!! Who wouldn't want that?

Well, Micah was my BabyWise baby at about 2 and a half months. He was sleeping "through the night" first with about 8 to 9 hours and now, I am proud to announce that Micah sleeps through the night for about 12 to 13 hours! CRAZY! However, we all know there are bumps in the road. His bumps have always been... the dreaded... NAPS! Since his birth, I loathed laying him down for a nap because he ALWAYS cried himself to sleep. Now, Thank God, he has found his thumb and is able to quickly sooth himself to sleep. However, the bumps come when his nap ends after only about 30 minutes!!! Not even enough time to shower and check my e-mail. For three months I have fought, and fought, and fought my little man with these short naps. Forcing him to "cry it out" in hopes that he would fall back to sleep. Sometimes it worked, and often times, it didn't. It's been hard on me, and hard on him, but I swear I only wanted what is best for him and I thought he needed more nap time. It wasn't until just recently that the light bulb came on... HELLO!!! The child sleeps a butt load during the night, of course he isn't going to sleep much during the day!

After millions of dollars were spent on books like "sleeping babies are happy babies" or "how to stop the 30 minute nap intruder" things started to make sense. I felt I was doing things right... Both babies followed a "healthy" sleep cycle napping at 9ish, 1ish, and 5ish. Then, another light bulb, the 5ish nap needed to go. It was always short, and coincidentally, probably interfered with the stamina of their other naps. Billy and I liked it because, if timed perfectly, we could eat dinner together... but that is okay. Now we are giving "family dinner time" a try.

I realize that up until this point I have not really talked about Mal. Mal and Micah have always been completely different babies. I love when people ask me if they are identical... first of all it's kind of obvious when one is a boy and one is a girl, but really, they are poles apart. Mal was a much slower learner when it came to sleeping at night. However, I'd say these last few weeks will be marked in the books... Mal has officially been "BabyWised". She finally sleeps through the night without needing food, or comfort. Napping hadn't been an issue for her really, except for when Micah would wake her as he "cried it out".

To make this long story even longer, I just wanted to announce as a proud mom... that finally at 6 months (on Saturday) BOTH babies sleep from about 6:45 at night to 7:15 in the morning... (HEAVEN) and nap from 9:30 to 10:30ish and 1:00 to 3:00ish. It is amazing and only took half a year! Hopefully both babies will continue with these wonderful sleeping patterns and grow up to be as good of sleepers as me (before kids). As for me now... it is time for me to take an Ambien and go to sleep. :)

Addendum: This might be the first time this phrase has ever been written, but it looks like Paula Abdul has got it right - Two steps forward, one step back. Rachel wrote this post yesterday. Then, last night Mal woke up at 2, 5 and 5:15 before I spent the rest of the night on the couch with her. At least it was just one night.... right Mal?

You Don't Know How to Read

2010-02-10T22:53:00.005-05:00

My daughter enjoys the finer things in life. While her brother lays on a mat and makes fart noises with his mouth, Mal likes to curl up with a good book. After reading some Shakespeare and a few works by Joyce, Malorie took a break from the heavy nature of those texts to enjoy this board book. She told me she plans to read War and Peace next, followed by something by Orwell. OK, so my baby girl isn't a genius. But our little book worm sure seems to be searching for deeper meaning in this book. You may notice that the book has no words. Or that the corners of the book are soggy from a her chewing on them. She might even be holding the book upside down. But, darn it, that's my baby girl. And she looks awful smart to her proud papa.

Last Will and Testament

2010-02-10T21:04:00.003-05:00

Solemn. Sober. Stern. Any of these serious sounding alliterative adjectives would describe your typical will swearing ceremony. A lawyer ordering an oath and a notary confirming affidavits for a crowd contemplating their own untimely demise are usually not fodder for comedy unless you live in a Seth Rogen movie. Apparently, my infant twins have yet to learn this fact.

The Last Will and Testaments of Rachel and William Klug actually came into being well before the twins were born. Back in July we drafted wills and made an appointment to sign them. A few cancelled appointments and two premature babies later, the wills laid unsigned on some Navy lawyer's desk for months. A few weeks ago, a work colleague passed on unexpectedly and the topic of wills was thrust back to the collective Klug consciousness, so we finally got around to rescheduling our will signing appointment. Someone somewhere once said, "Kids complicate everything," Whoever it was, that person deserves a Nobel Prize for insight.

Rachel and I showed up to sign our wills and swear them into affect with two kids in tow. A legal secretary seated the four us in a conference room along with a few other people. They all seemed as determined as I was to leave their college debt, big screen TV and baseball cards to someone else. Remember the solemn ceremony I spoke of earlier? It did not take place. Actually, my flirty daughter and my stand-up comedian son prevented it from taking place. The following is the actual discourse sworn into court records:

Lawyer: "Please raise your right hands and repeat after me."

Six people raise their hands. Male child begins to squirm.

Lawyer: "I, state your name, do solemnly swear..."

Six people repeat, while male child grabs mother's nostril and pinches while squealing.

Lawyer: "...that the Last Will and Testament before me...."

Male child creates fart noise with mouth. Three people repeat lawyer, three others laugh.

Lawyer: "...is a true and accurate representation of my desires,"

Female child audibly belches and vomits onto father's military uniform. Male child laughs. Mother stands and begins pacing the room and shushing male child. Only two people repeat after lawyer.

Lawyer: "and I have signed said will of my own regard,"

Male child makes another fart noise then throws head back and laughs. Father wipes infant vomit onto daughter's shirt. The woman seated across from father and daughter scowls. One man repeats after lawyer, but doesn't even say the correct words.

Lawyer: "without coercion or..."

Lawyer trails off inaudibly while male child laughs at top of lungs.

Ten second pause. Lawyer looks at mother, who bounces and shushes male child. Father of children fights to take blue ink pen away from daughter, who grabbed it off of table while he was cleaning vomit. Finally, silence envelops room.

Lawyer: without coercion or..." Male child erupts into Pee-Wee Herman type laughter. Mother moves to furthest corner of room to try to quiet child. Daughter begins flailing and slapping her drool covered hands on legal documents, leaving wet hand prints. Four people, including lawyer and infant girl, begin laughing.

The ceremony proceeded on like that for a while. The lawyer would attempt to speak, and Micah would squeal with laughter. Malorie pounded on the table until the innocent woman across the table would look at her, and then Mal would grin and look away. Finally, after realizing he was not going to win, the lawyer blitzed through the oath at the speed of sound. No one understood what he said, much less was able to repeat after him - they were all too focused on the kids. At the end of his speech, after we all mumbled our best attempt at what the lawyer had just said, he instructed us to lower our right hands, even though none of us still had it raised.

Mercifully finished administering an oath to no one, the defeated attorney broke from legal decorum, proclaiming, "That kid is hilarious!" The wills were signed and notarized, and all the other participants left while Rachel and I tried to strap two squealing, squirming kids into car seats while holding official documents. Final score - Klug Crew 1, Legal Establishment 0. Take that Seth Rogen.

Playing Baseball

2010-01-30T21:54:00.005-05:00

"People ask me what I do in the winter when there's no baseball. I'll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring." - Rogers Hornsby

Baseball season may still be a few months away, but somehow, America's Pastime still saturates my mind. I find myself scouring Cubs news sites to see if they signed another bat for the outfield. I intently read articles and skim box scores for teams I have never heard of before, checking the progress of Cubs prospects as though performance in a Dominican Winter League will equate into instant Major League success. I monitor the prices of jerseys and baseball cards on Ebay, though I am in the market for neither.

Obsessive as I may be, I have thus far found it difficult to pass my passion for baseball on to the kids. Micah is more interested in chewing on his burp rag than learning how to throw a split finger fastball; and Malorie seems to like hearing me sing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" for the one millionth time more than she likes my rendition of "Take Me Out to the Ballgame."

Maybe they'll enjoy baseball more once the games begin again. In the meantime, I have found a way to teach my son one of the finer intricacies of the game. A primary qualification for becoming a baseball player, coach or fan is being able to argue with an umpire. In the tradition of Cubs manager "Sweet" Lou Piniella, who earned his sardonic nickname in part for his volatile relationship with the men in blue, I have been teaching Micah to argue calls with me brow to brow. At least it beats singing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" again or gazing forlornly out the window for the next few months like poor Rogers.

The Baby Business Is Booming

2010-01-25T23:05:00.005-05:00

Gerber is for Goobers! You're nuts if you feed your kids Beechnut. If Earth's Best isn't good enough for your babies, then do I have an investment for you! That's right - Rachel and I have gone totally hippie and decided to make our own baby food. OK, before you send us any checks to begin your investment, you should know we're not harvesting wheat, planting rice patties or milling oats to make cereal. But we are steaming, pureeing and freezing vegetables for food for the twins. Last Saturday, in lieu of a date night movie, Rachel and I bonded by making soggy broccoli into mush to feed to our babies, and for just a few dollars a day we can do it for you too. It's just the latest successful product of the Klug Company Baby Business.

The process begins by finely chopping the broccoli, or other vegetable of your liking, then steaming it. The finely chopping part is to make it cook fast, as to not overcook the vegetable and lose vital nutrients. Then, we put the cooked, nutritious vegetable into a food processor and set it to the puree setting. That produces a noise that sounds like a tornado kissing a buzz saw, and some thick veggie sludge. To get the baby food to a consistency befitting a baby, we then add some delectable broth from the pan and mix again. Ears ringing, we finally package the baby ready mush into freezer compatible trays and store for easy use.

Users all over the Jacksonville area are in love with our homemade veggie baby food. Just ask this Klug Company Baby Food user chosen at random from our customer base: "On Sunday, we fed Klug Company broccoli to our babies, who LOVED it. They have really taken to eating lately. Malorie grunts and begins a terribly pathetic cry if we don't shovel the Klug Company food in fast enough. Micah, my son, thinks eating homemade food is hilarious. He giggles, chomps, makes fart noises with his mouth full and kicks like he is fighting Jackie Chan while eating. The twins are now eating the Klug Company produced foods twice a day, at lunch and dinner time."

Baby food is not our only success here, as the two most valuable assets of the Klug Company Baby Business have been going through a period of unprecedented growth. Micah has finally gotten rid of the cough that plagued him for a few weeks. Both babies seem eager to crawl, with Mal starting to scoot backwards and Micah thrashing on his stomach like he is racing Michael Phelps in the 100 meters. Micah got to pet Tyson today, and Malorie has begun to use her hands to hold her up in a tripod sitting position. Both kids love watching Baby Einstein videos, although I am more partial to Looney Tunes and Yo Gabba Gabba. Micah is developing a bit of stranger anxiety, crying whenever a face he doesn't recognize comes close. Mal is as open to new friends as ever, though, flirting like only a descendant of Rachel could. So, send your checks today to get in on the ground floor of this whopping investment opportunity; don't let the chance of a lifetime pass you by, invest in The Klug Company Baby Business today!

Note: This blog post for entertainment purposes only. Please do not send money Mom.

Aunt Carol

2010-01-19T21:57:00.004-05:00

Aunt Carol is the kind of woman you call Aunt even if she is not related to your parents. Maternal to the nth degree, Aunt Carol is the kind of woman who treats her dog as well as a child. Fiercely outspoken, loyal and devout, Aunt Carol is the kind of woman who wouldn't hesitate to sass St. Peter if she found him wearing a KU shirt at the gates of heaven. Outside of that, I really didn't know what type of woman Aunt Carol was, which perplexed me because she was scheduled to stay with us for a week.

Ever since Rachel forced me to start writing this blog, Aunt Carol has been its most vocal fan. But she hasn't always been a very large presence in our lives. Aunt Carol lives in Kansas City, so outside of holidays or family occasions Rachel rarely saw her after her college years. I had only met her a handful of times. However, Aunt Carol is Rachel's Godmother, and she took a keen interest in the twins even before they were born. So last month we arranged for her to come visit and help Rachel with the kids while I went off to school in Gainesville for the weekend.

As soon as I got home from work last Wednesday, the day Aunt Carol arrived, my worries were instantly gone. The first thing I found out about Aunt Carol was that she was the kind of woman who liked to get down on the floor and play with the kids. I found her rolling around on the carpet making faces and silly noises with the kids; I could tell right away she would fit in well with us.

Over the course of the week, as Aunt Carol bonded with the kids, Rachel and I bonded with Aunt Carol. We learned Aunt Carol is the kind of woman who volunteers her free time to tutor at risk kids. A strong-willed cancer survivor, Aunt Carol is the kind of woman who knits "chemo caps" for others enduring the battle. Never at a loss to tell a story, yet never unwilling to listen, Aunt Carol is the kind of woman who enhances conversations over just about any topic. Ever patient and brimming with love, Aunt Carol is the kind of woman you know will be a great grandmother someday.

By the time I left for work this morning, Rachel and I were afraid we'd be lost without Aunt Carol. The twins lost their morning snuggle buddy, their afternoon playmate and their nighttime confidant. Tyson lost his pal for his evening walks. But Aunt Carol's week long trip and subsequent departure certainly didn't produce only loss. Over the course of a great week Rachel and I gained a new appreciation for our blog's biggest fan. We now know Aunt Carol is the kind of woman who will always be welcome in our home, the kind of woman who will love us and our kids with all her might, and the kind of woman who we will always be sad to see go home.

Can Groundhog's Day Come Early this Year? (By Rachel)

2010-01-08T10:21:00.007-05:00

You know the movie, right? The one with Bill Murray where he finds himself having the same day over and over and over again. Well, it seems as though I could have very easily starred in that film. I know a lot about what Bill Murray felt like. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE staying at home with my beautiful babies. Everyday brings new challenges and experiences, BUT every day is very much the same. At almost five months, the kids are on a pretty good schedule. As my mom likes to say, I force them to be on a pretty good schedule. Every day brings laughter, tears and playtime, snuggles, milk, pee and poop. So, most days, I feel as if I'm featured in the movie Groundhog's Day, except for those rare occasions in which something crazy happens. Yesterday was not Groundhog's Day.

First of all, we are battling our first baby sickness. Micah has come down with a cough. It is the saddest, most pathetic little cough I have ever heard. Although Billy and I try to be the most "Babywise Parents" we can be, when your kid is sick, all bets are off. Needless to say, Micah had a lot of trouble sleeping yesterday. So, Micah and I spent a lot of time snuggling in the rocking chair. Thankfully, Micah's cough does not change his "waketime/playtime" attitude. As you know from Billy's last entry, both babies LOVE to roll on their tummies. So, thanks to Grandma Klug, I was able to change up their usual playtime routine with a new game called "Rollie Pollie Ollie." I get out a big sheet and lay it on the floor. I put both babies at one end and we sing, "Who's gonna, who's gonna win this game... Who's gonna, who's gonna win this game?" as they take turns rolling to the end of the sheet. For some reason they have forgotten that they know how to roll from tummy to back, so I often help a little with that part, due to their moans of frustration. Believe it or not, it is a fun game, and it has changed things up a little.

Later in the day, I noticed that Mal was sitting her chair awfully content. She had been in the chair for quite a while because I was feeding Micah and I unable to move her. She kept flashing me these cute little flirty smiles. When Micah was done eating, I went to move her to the mat. As I unhooked the clasps on the chair, I smelled something. Of course, I did what any Mom would do, I picked her up, turned her butt up towards my face and sniffed. The trouble was that I did it so fast that I brought her butt to my face, and my nose (and mouth) ended up making contact with one of Mal's juiciest, smelliest poop's yet. GROSS. I'm pretty sure I ended up tasting a bit of Mal's poop. So much for Malorie flirting with me, it turns out she was just full of gas and dookie.

So, after a sick little boy, a new game and a taste of poop, I am SOOOOOOO ready for Groundhog's Day again.

Confessions of The Worst Ninja in the World

2010-01-06T22:01:00.008-05:00

Ninjas are quiet. Stealth. Unseen. They can do all sorts of flips and jumps and never make a sound. Most ninjas know karate, or some sort of kung fu too. They get cool missions and have to perform them in the cover of night. Recently Rachel gave me a night mission to do, and by doing so I learned I am easily the worst ninja in the world.

The tale of the sucky ninja goes something like this: Malorie has decided that she will only sleep on her stomach. We can put her down on her back, dead asleep, and within five seconds she is on her tummy. Rachel and I are all right with this, as she seems to sleep better face down and the doctors say it's OK if the twins roll that way on their own. But, the belly sleeping baby has one problem to deal with: Diapers. Diapers are made to absorb liquid as it runs from front to back. But when Mal rolls over, sticks her butt in the air and goes to sleep, all the liquid runs the other way, eventually overpowering the diaper and causing a leak. This leak wakes Malorie up in the middle of the night, and she then wakes everyone else in the house. This was clearly a job for a ninja. Get in, roll the baby over, ensure absorbency, get out.

Since neither Rachel nor I know any kung fu moves, I was chosen to be the ninja for the next best reason - I stay up later at night. Since ninjas work under a blanket of darkness, I figured I would be better at it then Rachel. I mean, who has ever heard of a ninja that is in bed by 9 pm? So, I dressed up in my sneakiest house pants and puffiest socks and began my first stealth diaper changing mission.

The mission got off to a good start as I silently opened to door to the babies room. However, things quickly got hairy when I looked to my right and saw Micah staring straight at me and smiling. I made it 0.2 seconds before being detected, puffy socks and all. For the rest of the mission, Micah continued to watch me, sucking his thumb and smiling the whole time.

Once I arrived at Mal's crib, I expected things to go better. I flipped her over without a sound, and then one by one quietly unsnapped her pajamas. However, disposable diapers are not a good tool for ninjas as they are super loud. When you first unfold at new diaper, they crinkle and crack, and as soon as you undo the flaps any child in a mile vicinity will instantly perk up. Of course I didn't realize that until I pulled the flaps from the replacement diaper and Mal awoke. For the next thirty seconds or so, Malorie Rose didn't cry one bit. She just screamed "nnn-GACK, nnn-GACK" at the top of her lungs and squirmed to try to return to her preferred sleep position on her stomach.

I desperately tried to get the diaper on while maintaining my cover. I wrestled her back onto her back. "nnn-GACK" she yelled. I worked at getting her used diaper off like a starving man trying to get into a bag of gummy worms. "nnn-GACK, nnn-GACK." I was using one hand and an elbow to hold the baby down as the other hand fumbled in the dark to unlatch the used diaper off the twisting child. "nnn-GACK" Finally, as I was just about to resort to using my teeth, I got the diaper undone and stuck the fresh one into place. "nnn-GACK, nnn-GACK" Malorie protested, but I was into the home stretch.

"What's going on?" I heard Rachel say from in the other bedroom, but no ninja is foolish enough to blow his cover and reply, so I continued on in silence. Malorie answered for me..."nnn-GACK" she shouted to her mom. Micah giggled in his crib. Undaunted, I continued to work feverishly, praying I was not snapping a button from the leg portion of the pajamas to a button from the midsection. As I finished my job, Mal's protestations started coming more rapidly. I used the hand that I had not used to touch the pee-diaper to put her pacifier in her mouth. She spit it out and yelled. Gathering up what dignity and courage I had left, I heaved the dirty diaper somewhere in the vicinity of the Diaper Geenie. It was dark, so it was hard to tell, but I probably got it either in the garbage or behind the dresser. Either way, my ninja instincts told me there would be no trace of me ever being there. Without making another sound I made for the door. Mal yelled one last time for good measure, Micah continued to stare and smile. I closed the door and crept away, trying not to smile because I don't think ninjas smile. As disheartening as it was, I could not even do this, as I began to laugh as I stood outside the bedroom door.

Baby New Year

2010-01-03T20:23:00.004-05:00

If I gave you ten tries, you would never guess what Rachel and I did for our first New Years' Eve as parents. Go ahead. If you are thinking a nice, quiet night at home, you are sadly mistaken. Did you guess a babysitter and a night out on the town? Sorry. A few friends watching a giant mirror ball and Ryan Seacrest on the streets of New York? Try again. If you guessed a bar, a house party, Korean food, video games and tequila shots - babies in tow, you get the prize.

Rachel and I spent the day at The Orange Park Ale House watching the Texas Bowl football game between our beloved Missouri Tigers and the Naval Academy. We Klug's were pretty stoked for the Bowl game this year, since most of the people we know here in Jacksonville are graduates of the Naval Academy. Plus, barring references to David Robinson and Roger Staubach, most would not think a service academy could beat a Big XII school at much of anything, let alone football. Mizzou recruits kids to play football; The Naval Academy looks for guys who can navigate a nuclear submarine - throwing a spiral is just icing on the cake. But alas, my friend and fellow Lieutenant John Cocca, knows exactly how to turn the tables in Navy's favor. John noted that the Academy, his alma mater, is undefeated when he does a shot of Patron tequila. Rachel, the kids and I met John and several other friends to watch the game and put John's superstition to the test. John did the shot of tequila, I scoffed at the tradition, and the rest is history. The Naval Academy didn't just beat the Tigers, they embarrassed them. I have heard several times that sailors are only good at three things: cursing, drinking and fighting. Apparently some of us are moderately proficient at playing football as well.

Later that night, Rach and I fed the kids and put them to bed like any other night. However, about thirty minutes later, the kids were jolted awake to visions of their parents dressed in fancy party clothes hovering above their cribs. We packed the half-awake kids into car seats and headed for our friends Rob and Jamie Woodards house. They threw the most non-traditional New Year's party ever, entertaining a small group of friends with Korean food and the video game Rock Band until just before midnight.

Ten years ago on New Years' Eve I was on a beach in Miami, partying like it was 1999 - mostly because it was. But the party scene for a new parent is a bit different from the hooting and hollering days of my earlier years. My grand entrance to the party consisted of quietly shuttling our children upstairs, pulling them out of their car seats and laying them down to sleep in a play pen and on a futon. Every ten minutes for the rest of the night one of the two of us crept up to the room and pressed an ear against the door. The highlight of the party was when another couple announced their pregnancy, with the new mother expecting her first child in August. It took all I had not to smile and shout, "Ha, sucker!" at the top of my lungs, but I remained composed and offered congratulations like a civilized person.

At midnight we watched stuntman Travis Pastrana jump a rally car over a lagoon in Las Vegas - I told you the Woodards throw a non-traditional party. The evening had passed fast, 2010 had begun and the revelry was just beginning. Rachel and I were having a great time, but then something crazy happened. Amid the blur of blow horns, fireworks, televised flying cars, hands shaking and shouts of "Happy New Year," someone whispered, "You wanna go home?" I still don't know if it was Rachel or me who instigated the conversation, but soon my mind was no longer at 12:01. I imagined myself at 3:30 am with a mad, hungry baby. Then I was at 4 am with a terrifyingly cruel, sleep deprived wife. Next I envisioned the 5 am crawl to the babies room to replace a pacifier that had fallen out. Soon my mind travelled to 7 am with a headache the size of the lagoon that Travis guy just jumped in his neato car. My nightmarish trek ended and my decision was made. By the look in her eyes I could tell Rachel had just made a similar journey through space and time into that alternate universe. Without saying more than a few words to each other, we had the car packed and the kids inside by 12:10. We were home sleeping by 12:30, our idea of spending a good night together now consisting of a warm bed and six to eight hours of sleep.

Christmas Photo Album

2009-12-27T22:05:00.005-05:00

Micah and Malorie had a great first Christmas in St. Louis. They met too many new friends to list, received tons of great gifts, got baptized, listened to hours of Christmas carols, visited family and became acquainted with what is commonly referred to as "The Lou." It would take about ten paragraphs for me to sum up the trip, so I decided to put ten pictures instead. Then, I will write a silly caption for each, that way I won't feel entirely lazy. Here goes:

What better first picture than one of Micah's first kiss. OK, to be more specific, this is Micah's first kiss from a girl not named Mom, Grandma, or some other relation. Also, no one tell Tessa, Micah's Jacksonville girlfriend, about Layna, Micah's new St. Louis girl.

The twins first Christmas was a white one, as Rachel points out (so literally). Not enough snow to sled on, but then again, going sledding with two four month old children is probably not a good idea.

Micah and Malorie got the pleasure of not only seeing their Great-Grandpa Klug again, but also meeting their Great-Grandma Finck. Thanks for being there Nana, Micah and Malorie loved meeting you.

As much as we try to convince ourselves, I am just not sure that the monkeys will be good babysitters for Micah and Mal.

Malorie had a blast trying on new clothes and hats she got for Christmas, like this one that everyone called the Strawberry Hat. Check her out, already waving to the cameras.

After about 83 outfit changes, Mal's excitement for the Christmas fashion show waned.

Rachel and I even got to sneak out for a date night to the Busch Braggin' Rights college basketball game between Mizzou and Illinois. Hey, Chief Illiniwek, what was that final score again?

I thought I would make it a few years before my son's clothes became cooler than mine. I made it four months.

This is Rachel and me at the end of the day on Christmas. I know that because we are both showered, there are no infants in our arms, we look exhausted, and if you look real closely, you will see dried formula vomit on Rachel's shirt.

At the end of the trip, Grandma Judy had to say goodbye... and then about ten hours of cleaning to get her house back in order. The twins had a great time, and can't wait to see the Midwest again soon.

Report Cards

2009-12-24T09:43:00.001-05:00

With Rachel being a teacher, and me a perpetual student of something or another, we are both pros at report cards. Over dinner last week, I asked Rachel if she missed preparing report cards for her students, an activity she usually has to do this time of year. She glared at me as if I were insane, freezing me mid sentence with her icy stare, and then returned to her mashed potatoes without saying a word. She didn't have to tell me, I knew from previous experience that she hates drafting report cards.

Had Rachel let me finish, I would have told her that after Micah and Malorie's recent visit to the pediatrician, I thought it would be entertaining to post the kids progress in the form of report cards. Some schools give "satisfactory" or "unsatisfactory" grades to young children; some go with checks, minus and plus signs; and others choose to use more ambiguous grades like symbols for sunshine, clouds and rain. For the sake of simplicity, I will use letter grades. You may also note the subjects aren't the traditional writing and arithmetic that is evaluated at later ages. For the first four months, we will stick to the milestones they should have made it to thus far, as they would probably score poorly if I graded them out on geography.

Student: Micah Klug

Grades

Sleeping: A

Cooing: A

Rolling Over: B-

Grabbing Stuff: A

Smiling/Laughing: A

Growing: A+

Comments: Overall, Micah has done a terrific job. His strongest subject is growing, as he now weighs 15 lbs 13 oz. This puts him into the 75th percentile among his peers, which is terrific considering where he started from four months ago. Micah also has come a long way with his sleeping, which has been uninterrupted through the night for several weeks now. Micah does great during playtime, talking and laughing with his classmate. If there is one thing Micah needs to work on for next semester, it is his rolling, which lags behind. This is probably due to his chunky nature, and should correct itself soon.

Student: Malorie Klug
Grades
Sleeping: B
Cooing: A-
Rolling Over: A+
Grabbing Stuff: A-
Smiling/Laughing: A
Growing: A
Comments: Malorie is 100% little girl; the daintiest child I have ever seen. She is a maestro at rolling over, going tummy-to-back and back-to-tummy with ease. I expect her to start scooting any day now. She is really beginning to use her voice, talking, cooing and laughing daily. She has done a tremendous job in growing, now weighing 13 lbs, nearly as big as Rachel's parents cat Caramel. Malorie is so curious that she has gotten a bald spot on the back of her head from looking around so much. She is still working at sleeping, which is hit or miss. She will sleep through the night for a couple nights straight, only to follow it up by waking at 2 am for several straight nights. All in all, she is a pleasure to be around.

So, hopefully I won't get any nasty letters from parents, or have to schedule a conference with myself to discuss the my own assessment of my children's abilities (that would be weird). But, as any good teacher would, I will be standing by for feedback on ways to improve my assessment process and willing to speak to anyone who has concerns. Next semester we will be adding some new, challenging subjects like "eating solids", "crawling" and "not hitting your sibling with things". I would try to get Rachel to write the next report card, but I think if I asked I might get those mashed potatoes thrown at my face.

The Slippery Slope

2009-12-23T09:27:00.002-05:00

In college I took a philosophy class. Nearly ten years later, I can't remember the professor's name, much of what I learned, or even what year I had the class. In fact, the only two things that stuck in my mind about Philosophy 101 are the pretty brunette that sat in front of me and the idea of "The Slippery Slope." The slippery slope is the argument that once you take one small step towards a direction you don't want to go, you will inevitably continue to gravitate towards that negative direction, as if you were sliding down the slope of a snow covered mountain. The argument is ethical in principal, but can be applied to real life as well.

Recently I recognized an appearance by the slippery slope in my life for the first time since my Philosophy final exam, occurring with regard to Rachel's choice to nurse the babies. One late night as Rachel and I drearily fed our two babies, Rachel looked at me as she fought Malorie to latch and told me that she didn't want to nurse Mal that time. Malorie is a notoriously slow and picky eater, usually needing an additional bottle to ensure she got her nutritional needs met. Also, it's not fun at all to fight sleep for an extra 20 minutes while trying to feed a baby who just wants a bottle. I looked at Rachel, muttered something about the slippery slope, and then went to prepare Mal her bottle.

My comments about the slippery slope went unnoticed by Rachel that first time, but soon Malorie was taking only a bottle for all overnight feedings, and I kept chirping about the slippery slope. The chain of events had begun, and Rachel and I were sliding down. A week later, Rachel decided to feed Malorie from the breast only when she seemed, "really hungry," a vague and relative term that in our case meant never. Mal was now a bottle fed baby.

Within weeks, Micah's feedings were dragging on longer and longer. Soon, the thirty minute feeding window allotted for each baby had become an hour for Micah, who nursed for thirty minutes and then took a bottle for thirty more. The elongated feedings wore us out and restricted Micah's playtime, as he would be so tired from the feeding that he would sleep soon after finishing. Rachel began to notice my slippery slope comments as we slid a bit further down the slope, deciding we would only allow Micah to nurse for 20 minutes.

Each time we tapered more time off of Rachel's nursing, we further depleted her supply. The body only makes enough milk to meet needs, and we kept telling the body we didn't need as much. This, coupled with Rachel's body's original resistance to producing an adequate supply of milk, slowly continued the slide down the slope. Soon, Micah was not content at the breast, crying until he was given a bottle. Eventually, Rachel chose to skip afternoon nursing sessions when Micah was most fussy. Then the nights dropped off, and within a week Micah was also an exclusively bottle fed baby. Rachel pumped her milk to meet some of the need, but within days her body realized no babies were being fed and stopped producing milk. Our descent was now complete and the slippery slope had claimed another victim.

Rachel and I have been feeding the babies only formula for a few weeks now, and feedings are more predictable, faster and easier than before. In the long run, Rach was going to have to stop nursing the babies eventually and she did a fantastic job of it for over three months, devoting countless hours to feeding instead of sleep. However, she's still saddened by her lost bonding time with the babies. If nothing else, over the course of the last couple weeks Rachel learned everything I did in a college philosophy class though; she had been unaware of the consequences of her decision until the slide began, but now she is well aware of the concept of the slippery slope.

Dear Santa

2009-12-22T10:34:00.006-05:00

It's a little known fact that back in 1762, George Washington's uncle, Gus Washington, dressed up like Santa Claus at the local market. All the forefathers brought their children, as well as their goats and mules, to sit on Gus' lap as he channelled Papa Noel. The young Betsy Ross, having not yet learned the art of sewing, drew charcoal portraits of each visit with Santa for the parents/goat owners to take home and hang on their walls. The tradition has changed a bit since then, with the invent of digital pictures and malls, and the sharp decline in livestock ownership. However, despite the changes in format, the tradition has carried through.

This year, Micah and Mal got to partake in the tradition for the first time as they travelled to the local mall in St. Louis to meet with Santa to discuss their merits for gifts and get their picture taken. While walking through the mall to make it to Santa's workshop, Malorie expended all her energy, looking from right to left at each passerby. By the time we made it to Santa's outpost, she was sleeping, unwilling to wake up for even jolly St. Nick himself. True to his word, Santa saw her while she was sleeping, allowing the slumbering baby to take the photo while unconscious. Micah, on the other hand, was wide awake and observant for his photo with Kris Kringle. He did not cry in panic as his mother used to do as a child, nor did he smile or chatter this year, but I'm sure that during future encounters with mall Santas Micah will make his personality more apparent.

As I tucked the picture of the kids with Santa away in a suitcase last night, I couldn't help but try to imagine what their letters to Santa would look like this year...

Dear Santa,

I have been a very good boy this year. I sleep through the night, share with my sister, and haven't pulled my dog's tail once. I would like some more formula or rice cereal... really anything I can eat. In fact, if you would, please leave me some of the cookies and milk that my parents leave out for you. Although I have never eaten a cookie, I'm pretty sure I would like one. Santa, let's face facts, you and I both really like to eat, and so I'm sure you can imagine how unhappy you would be if your Mom and Dad only let you have eight ounces of liquid every four hours. I'm practically starving here. So, this year I don't want a toy truck, some clothes I will just outgrow in a few weeks, or even my two front teeth; all I really want for Christmas is food.

Sincerely,

Micah James

Santa,

I will not waste your time with stories of how good a girl I have been this year, since I know you've been watching. I would really like it if for Christmas this year you gave me some sort of corrective device to allow my vision to improve to it's maximum capacity. I spend most of my day just watching things: my parents, my knucklehead brother, the TV, etc. But, I still have a bit of foggy baby vision, and I would like it if I could see the full color spectrum clearly earlier than six months of age. Also, some books, a dress and makeup would be nice.

P.S. So sorry for sleeping when I met you the other day. I was tired from people-watching outside of Macy's. I'm sure you know how fun and tiring that can be.

Love,

Malorie Rose

Baptism

2009-12-22T10:00:00.004-05:00

Christmas time is, for the most part, about vacations, family and presents for Rachel and me. With the exception of the few years we spent apart while I was gone on military assignments, Rachel and I have made the holidays about those three things every year. So, it makes sense that this year for the holidays we decided to go on a vacation to visit family and show off our two little presents. And, during our trip to St. Louis, it seemed like the perfect time to introduce the children to our faith by having them baptized.

We chose to have the kids baptized at Webster Gardens Lutheran Church in Webster Groves, at the same church where Rachel and I were married. Webster Gardens is also the same church in which I was baptized. And so, last Sunday, in front of our family, in a ceremony presided over by the same Pastor who married us, Micah and Malorie were anointed with holy water and claimed as children of Christ.

Rachel and I were proud and overjoyed at the turnout to support our kids, as family travelled from near and far to see the ceremony. The twins had two great-grandparents, all four grandparents, six sets of aunts and uncles and numerous other well wishers there to see their big day. Malorie, as alert as ever, watched carefully as Pastor Christiansen poured water over her head. She never cried or uttered a peep; she was just content to observe the happenings. Micah decided to go to sleep during the hymns leading up to the baptismal ceremony, and so he was a bit startled to have water poured over his head. However, he didn't cry either, waking up just long enough to check out all the people around him and then drift back to sleep. After the church service, Rachel's parents hosted a brunch at their home where all those attending the service could come and hold, feed and spoil our little bundles of joy.

Everyone knows a baptism isn't complete without the choosing of Godparents. Micah's Godparents are Rachel's sister Chris and my brother Mike. Rachel and I chose our two siblings because of their great amounts of love and life to share with Micah, as well as their strong faith in the redemptive power of the Lord. Malorie's new Godparents are Jenna, Rachel's childhood friend, and her husband Karl. Jenna and Karl have been great friends to Rachel and me since we first began dating, and were with us the night we learned that Rachel was pregnant. They are fantastic people with a centered, faith based life, and we could not think of better role models for young Mal.

If there is one last thing, other than vacations, family and presents that the holidays usually represents, it's catching up on neglected duties. Over the past few weeks I have had several blog post ideas floating around this crazy cranium of mine, but no time to write. This week, as we relax in St. Louis, I plan on posting several updates on the kids. Check back daily for a new column about our family. You can consider it your Christmas present or your lump of coal for being naughty, depending upon your level of enjoyment from each post.

We Are Not Good at Cereal

2009-12-14T22:57:00.003-05:00

A few years ago, breakfast cereal maker General Mills started a website called "mycereal.com." At mycereal.com a customer could mix all their favorite cereal components into one blended box of new cereal, create their own packaging, and then have GM manufacture a box of the cereal and send it to their doorstep. Alas, as I was doing my Christmas shopping today, planning on creating a box of "Aunt Maggie-O's" for my sister on the site, I found that mycereal.com is now defunct. Apparently General Mills found few customers willing to spend ten bucks for cereal they could mix up at home for cheaper. Either that or those who really badly wanted to buy a box of Wheaties with Fruity Pebbles and the rainbow marshmallows from Lucky Charms mixed in it had already spent all their money on drugs.

My serial thoughts of cereal were prompted by our recent step in parenthood, feeding solid foods to the twins. Last week Rachel purchased our first box of Rice Cereal to feed the children, who according to our pediatrician are ready to munch. Evidently the kids have not watched enough TV to persuade us to buy cereal with magical leprechauns or talking tigers on the box, because the box of rice cereal only had pictures of other babies on it. As a dug elbow deep into our new box of rice cereal, I became blinded by rage. For the life of me, I could not find the prize in the box. I clearly recall from my childhood that kids cereals include a Johnny Qwest decoder ring, some Transformer iron-on shirt decal or another awesome prize. I guess the makers of Earth's Best rice cereal have not learned how to market to kids yet. I also learned that infant's rice cereal resembles instant mashed potatoes much more than they resemble Rice Krispies. The rice cereal didn't snap, crackle or pop; it only got stuck in my arm hair, which led to our purchase of a second box of rice cereal.

Eventually we got around to feeding the stuff to Micah and Mal, who were not impressed with my impersonation of Count Chocula nor the Earth's Best rice cereal. Micah got impatient, astounded that we wanted him to trade the last four ounces of his bottle for two teaspoons of tepid, tasteless mush. Malorie, bless her heart, made a better attempt to eat the stuff, but ended up with most of it on her bib, with a generous smattering also in her hair, up her nose and in the fold of skin on her neck. It didn't surprise me that Micah and Mal didn't take well to the rice cereal, as most babies are not good at eating right away. However, I still maintain hope that my kids will be savants at something, getting the concept right away with little to no explanation. I guess solids are not their forte, but on the bright side, maybe Micah already knows how to throw a curve ball.

Anyway, back to cereal - So we are going to feed the kids this Earth's Best junk for some length of time, and then eventually they will graduate onto other cereals. As I recall, Rachel told me the progression goes rice cereal, then oatmeal, then barley, then Cocoa Puffs followed by Aunt Maggie-O's. I guess I had better go buy some Kix, Frosted Flakes and Cap'n Crunch, because these Aunt Maggie-O's aren't going to make themselves, and apparently General Mills and mycereal.com isn't going to be much help.

New Baby Loucks

2009-12-10T23:38:00.002-05:00

A special congratulations to our dear friends Natalie and Brett, who welcomed their new daughter Jillian Grace to the world this afternoon. Jillian weighs seven pounds, 14 ounces and measures a tall 20 inches. Micah and Malorie can't wait to welcome their new playmate with a big honkin' slobbery kiss. Mother and daughter are resting well.

Sleep Rash

2009-12-09T21:58:00.004-05:00

Over the past two weeks, Malorie has gradually joined the "sleeping through the night" club. She began to sleep further into the morning the day after Rachel's parents left, and before we knew it she had slept until at least 6 a.m. on three consecutive nights. That's why last Thursday was so perplexing. Malorie had a great day in terms of her meals, and so Rachel and I anticipated a good night's sleep, which can be very addicting. Little did we know that it would go down as a night of parenting infamy in the Klug house.

Out of nowhere, Mal woke up screaming at 2:30. We knew she didn't need to eat, so I gave her a pacifier. She fell back asleep, but the restless slumber didn't last long. On my third trip to console her, at about 4:30, I decided to bring her back to bed with me to try to get her to sleep more soundly. However, upon laying her on my chest, I realized she smelled like the inside of a Port-o-Let on a hot summer day. Distinctly, I remember mumbling to Rachel, "I think she pooped. I should go change her." But, after a conversation with my groggy wife that consisted of about 6 words and 24 different types of grunts, I decided the diaper change would wake Malorie up. Besides, what was a few more hours of sleep going to hurt?

Mal slept there on my chest until I woke for work at 6:30 but that last REM cycle cost more than I bargained for. By morning time, Mal's dirty diaper had caused a bad rash. For the next three days, our poor pretty princess screamed bloody murder during every diaper change as we wiped her sore bottom clean. Rachel and I took the abuse she yelled at us, all the while knowing it was our fault she was hurting. It took a full three days for her rash to finally clear. Now I'm no fool. I know that I have decades of parenting left, during which I will make countless mistakes that will make me feel guilty, disappointed and rotten. But, since this time is the first time I've felt those feelings, I decided to let my stomach churn a bit longer than Mal's butt burned. And for now, I'm resolute that I will not let her sleep through a dirty diaper again. I just have to remember to remind myself of Mal's poor sleep rash the next time she wakes me up at 2 a.m.