Diaper Baseball

A decade ago Trey Parker and Matt Stone, of South Park fame, created a horrible movie called BASEketball. We'll forgive them as this was clearly a warm up for the brilliant satire that became Team America, but I digress.

My sons have invented Diaperball. This involves taking off all your clothes except your diaper and hitting a wiffel ball off a plastic tee with the wrong end of the bat. I hope this never becomes a professional sport, but you can make your own judgement call. Their diapers aren't all that much worse that the short-shorts NBA players wore in the 80's.

Now, before you watch this I must warn you about a couple of things. First, we're still working on our videography, so no complaining if one minute there's a chair blocking your view, the next you have a great look at the kids and then you're spinning and staring at pavement. You will note that I am headless through most of the video. Mommy is focused on her littler boys. Anyone who wants to shoot video for us is welcome to come on over - then you may critique at your leisure.

Second, it's hard to tell sometimes, but I am joking about the boys' performance. I have no expectation that they will be professional baseball players or even adequate little leaguers (although their father did bat .800 his last year). I don't think I'll ever be one of those psychotic push-them-to-be-star-athletes-parents. If I disappoint us all and do become one, you will be able to say you saw it coming on video back in 2008.

Other than that, Tiffany's voice over sets this up for you.

NOTE: I'm having trouble balancing file size limits, video length and download quality when mixing from our video camera. Somebody let me know if this is incredibly painful to download or the quality stinks. The file is pretty huge by upload standards, but you're getting three minutes of crazy for your money.

Some Words from Our Sponsors

Okay, this one may be lost on those of you that don’t have to live over here, but I have to share some of the language challenges that we encounter. I’m going to tie this back to the boys by saying that Tiffany has had to ask both our helpers not to use certain phrases as we’d prefer the boys not adopt them. That said, some of these are primarily work-related.

Lah – as in, “Twins, lah?” It doesn’t really mean anything. Singaporeans us it for emphasis or just use it.
Can – yes, a trailing lah is standard.
Can not – no.
Don’t want? – You don’t want this?
Aircon – Air conditioning
Giddy - dizzy
Carpark - parking lot/deck
Lorrie - truck
Leave(s) – vacation
Mails – mail
Works – road work/construction
Table (object at work) – desk
Concall – Conference call
Table (verb) - to bring up for discussion. The opposite of its U.S. business meaning
Revert - reply
Lift – elevator
Boot – trunk

This last one led to one of the funnier bumper stickers we’ve seen in Singapore, “Ex-husband in Boot.”

On another note, it seems that the video worked and was well received, so I’ll be trying to put some additional cuts up over the weekend.

A Smattering of Reality

It’s an odd stage in the boys’ development. There are things they do that drive us completely crazy, but there are things that they used to struggle with that they have mastered. It’s a fine line between pushing them to new skills to make everyone’s life easy and starting to have conversations that start with, “Remember when they couldn’t…”

Examples? You want examples? Of course you do.

When we moved to Singapore life was time bound. The rules were simple. The boys got up around 7 am, got fed, and were good until about 9:30 or 10 am. Then they went down for a nap, got up after an hour to an hour and a half, had lunch and were good until 1 or 1:30 pm. Then they would nap again until around3 pm, be up for a couple of hours, have dinner, bath and bed by 7 pm. They couldn’t feed themselves, couldn’t walk, couldn’t talk, didn’t know what a potty was and didn’t like disruptions to their schedule.

Oh, you could take them out between 7 am and 10 am, but miss the start of that nap and suffer the consequences: the whining, crying, pre-tantrum consequences. Not to mention the fallout for the rest of the day because they got off track: more whining, crying and pre-tantrums. We found out the hard way in a Pizza Hut in Plaza Singapura last May. We put them in high chairs and bibs, pulled out their bottles and baby food jars and began to attempt dinner. It was too late in the day. Less than thirty minutes later, the only thing in a five foot radius that wasn’t covered in a thin layer of milk and Gerber 3s was the inside of their stomachs. This was one of those occasions when they began to melt down and we just pulled them out before they began to affect those around us (except for the milk shower and free Gerber topping on their pizza).

Today is different. They’re down to one nap, they walk, they talk (on their terms), and they’re more flexible (in their own way). A typical day is wake up between 6 am and 7 am. This is what I call the red zone. If they sleep until 7 am all is well; if they’re up at 6 am then mommy and at least one of them (Liam) will be grumpy for at least part of the day. Mommy contains them upstairs until 7 am regardless and then they go downstairs for breakfast. Then we play or have class (Kindermusik or MyGym) or go to play group. Come home for lunch around 11 am (or fall asleep in the car if we’re tired or running late) and then nap for an hour or two. They get up around 2 pm and then dinner around 6 pm (or earlier if we’re grumpy) and then bath and bed around 7 pm. Now, bed and asleep are two different issues as mentioned in other entries.

What’s a meal like for comparison? Well, to start with, they feed themselves. They use forks and spoons (and hands). Our biggest challenge is either getting them to eat if they’re being finicky or getting them to slow down if they’re not. It reminds me of when my father used to jokingly call one of my brothers “Garbage Jeff” because of his adolescent eating habits. Jeff had puberty for an excuse. Liam’s just a bizarre combination of goat and trash compactor (I’ll let you decide which side gave him which genes).

Since he was an infant, we have joked that all food belongs to Liam. I had this realization when he was about six months old. He was laying on our floor in the den in Atlanta and I was sitting down on the couch to eat some pizza I had just heated up. Liam hated lying on the floor on his tummy and wasn’t a big fan of rolling, but he rolled onto his tummy pushed up and arched his back so he could see what I was doing. The look on his face as he watched me eat was hilarious. It seemed to say “Hey! Wait! What’s that? Wait, you’re EATING that. You have food of your own? You’ve been holding out on me.”

Today things aren’t too different. You cannot eat pizza in front of them and expect Liam to eat anything else. Liam, “Pizza, pizza. PIZZA!!!;” Graeme catching on, “I eat a pizza. Graeme eat a pizza.” Tragically this applies to anything that is triangular, so mommy’s quesadilla was branded pizza. Its self-esteem has never recovered. Another challenge with pizza (or quesadillas) is getting the boys to eat them properly. Apparently biting a hole in the middle is both challenging and entertaining. Meals are sometimes a chorus of, “Bite the pointy end.” To which Graeme uses one of his stock phrases combined with his ability to repeat anything (and yes there are funny stories on that, but I have been censored by the guilty party) “I bite a pointy end.”

The newest mealtime trick is drinking from cups without lids or straws. It’s been less than a week, but they’re actually doing quite well. Tiffany has to meter the volume. Pour a little, they drink a little. Pour a lot, it’s bath time. Funny thing, when they’re thirsty there’s not a lot of fooling around. We do have to keep them from dropping food into the cup and fishing it out again.

Other meal time fun: Liam likes to put his hand on the table and push his chair back on two legs. As his mother and I react, he yells, “NO!” at himself before we can, with a big grin on his face. Once meals are done, Tiffany has the boys clearing the table by carrying their plates, cups and bibs (one at a time) into the kitchen to our helper. Occasionally, someone gets lost on the way back to the table and ends up standing next to the large painting (Red Square, by Ford Smith) on the dining room wall. Here he (usually Graeme) waits with a devilish grin on his face until we notice. Despite previous warnings, he then pushes the lower corner of the painting as hard as he can and runs for the stairs. Why the stairs? Because he’s going on the naughty step, where he will recite, “I sorry. I sorry painting.” After correction, “I sorry mommy/daddy.” It’s a different world from last year.

Commitment and Something New - VIDEO

A business mentor of mine once taught me that breakfast is a great example of commitment versus involvement. Chickens are involved (eggs), but pigs are commited (bacon, ham). What they have on the line (the infamous "skin in the game", can someone look up the origin of that phrase?) always struck me as a great bench mark of what to expect from people.

In the following clip, Graeme demonstrates that lunchtime too can be a great time to demonstrate commitment. Particularly if you a committed to taking a nap.

This my first shot at adding video, so someone comment and let me know if it works.

NOTE: Tiffany is not insane she is talking to the other child who is very awake.

Winners and Losers

I had the following exchange in email today with another father of a son around the same age as ours who will remain nameless to protect his offspring. I am certain that no matter how gross or bad anyone's story is, someone else has another one to top it.


Him: "Today's lesson: Just because it looks like a raisin doesn't mean it is a raisin. It may, in fact, be a dead fly. To his credit, he had the most horrified look on his face when he realized his mistake. I'm sure this will be repeated several more times before it sinks in. And what do your boys like for snacks?"

Me: "The phrase amateur proctology strikes more fear into me now than it ever did in college."

To be fair this is not an eating thing, it's a touching of his butt during diaper change and then reaching for his mouth as his mother or I dive to stop him. Then he says "Gross!" or "Yucky!" with a triumphant smile on his face, since that's what mommy says when he does this. Rinse and repeat.

Him: "Oh god. You win." Pause a few minutes before the next message.

Him: "Or lose, as the case may be."

Me: "At least it's self investigation and not brotherly service."


Always looking on the bright side. As I've said before, they're allowed to be gay, just not with each other.

Those weren't the droids I was looking for...?

So, perhaps dressing Liam and Graeme as Yoda and Darth Vader for Dragon*Con a couple of years ago wasn't as random as it might seem.

Our sons have developed Jedi mind trick powers. I suspect they've been doing this for some time, but when I watched the following exchanges in succession I realized that we've probably been had before.

As I mentioned in an earlier post (actually it may be a later post depending on the order I get the pictures uploaded, but there's more in queue after being offline most of June) Tiffany is teaching them to drink from cups without lids or straws. This involves her metering out milk from a third cup into their cup in manageable doses (read limited area of effect weapons). When Graeme finished the following exhcange ocurred.

Graeme, insistent, "More! More!"

Tiffany, patient, "More what?"

Graeme, insistent, thrusting cup at his mother, "More! More!"

Tiffany still patient, "Can you say, 'milk?'"

Graeme, insistent/quizical, "More! More!"

Tiffany losing confidence in this excercise, "Please. Say more milk please."

Graeme, smug, "Okay."

Tiffany, pouring, "More milk please."

Graeme, very smug, "Okay."

Hey, he's only two and we're working on a new skill. This was quickly followed by:

Liam, sing-song looking at his brother, "Kacker, kacker, kacker."

Me, "Kacker?"

Tiffany, "Cracker."

Liam, insistent, "Kacker, kacker."

Tiffany confused, as there are no crackers on the table, in sight or part of the prior discussion, "What about a cracker?" I figure he's looking at his brother and he might be a little young for racial slurs, but the boy is PASTY white so fair call.

Liam, insistent and rocking in his seat excitedly, "Kacker, kacker."

Tiffany, confused, "You want a cracker?" This was not an offer it was an inquiry.

Liam, triumphant, "Okay!"

Tiffany exasperated, "No, we are not having crackers. We have casserole."

Sean, "I think we've been had."

Then a series of hilarious attempts to pronounce casserole broke out.

A Many Splendored Thingy

So, I’ve been traveling again, work’s been crazy, and the boys are cutting their two year molars. The most accurate term to describe the last few weeks is blast radius. Unfortunately, I’m starting to get the sense that it’s going to be like this until 2025 or I get a lobotomy. I always found my friends with children funny when they tried to use kids as their explanation/excuse for everything they didn’t get to. I mean, it’s not like no one else has ever had children. People have had children for thousands of years, they just didn’t have lives at the same time. Now I know.

[The following is a subliminal message to my friend Shy who claims to read the blog: send me a recent photo, I have a new coworker out here that could be a good match for you. She’s from Atlanta, so my plot to bring you home continues. Hair boy.]

That was my way of explaining why we haven’t had any new posts. Tiffany’s way of explaining is that it “takes too long.” Which is her way of saying that she hasn’t yet managed to sandwich it in between managing the boys and… well she really doesn’t need any more than that, but there is a long list. They are sleeping through the night again, mostly, and have gotten into a routine of falling asleep fairly reliably, except for last night. More about that in a minute. Three quick (I think) stories:

ONE – Who’s your digga?

Current fascinations include airplanes (still), cranes (new), and “diggers” (FAVORITE). Driving around Singapore we’ve now gone from yelling “BUS!!” and “DECKA BUS!!!” that’s a double decker bus to you and me, to digger hunting. Now, I’m under the impression that the “digger” is actually called a backhoe (The one time I said this Tiffany slapped me, so I’m not sure what she thought I meant. I think she knows less about excavation than I do.), but the boys call it a digger and I’ve learned not to push their vocabulary since the “parliamentary procedure” incident.

Now Singapore is a city under construction EVERYWHERE, so it’s a digger rich environment. We drive from place to place with the boys digger hunting. It sounds something like this.

Liam, “Where’s a digger, where’s a digger.” It’s Liam. Nothing can be said once.

Graeme, spotting his quarry, exclaims “DIGGA” and waves a fist pointing.

Shouts of “digger/digga” continue until we lose sight.

Liam, “Mo, more digger? Mo more digger?” Wait a decent interval and switch to the other question.

TWO – Or lose it!

Context is a powerful thing. When your children go from just saying words to saying them at the right time based on external events, it’s a bit shocking. When they use your wife’s diction and inflection, it’s hilarious. This is another driving story.

Graeme hates for the car to be stopped. He’s two. He points through the front windshield and whines, “gooooooooowwwww…” as though he were the last man out of Abu Ghraib. Under most circumstances we can accommodate him, but red lights are a pesky thing. Tiffany has taught him that we have to stop when we see the red lights and although he doesn’t like it he has accepted it. Through the weeks, he’s taken to yelling “Geen” at them and more recently “Geen go.” To which I usually reply, “Senor, I am not a gringo.”

The funniest though was a couple of weeks ago when we were pulling away as a light turned green. A car on a side street pulled out in front of me to which prompted me to ask, “What are you doing?” I don’t know if it was the frustration in my voice or the fact that we slowed down, but Graeme chimed right in behind me, “Come on, buddy. You move it!” We about died.

THREE – Let me count the ways

So we found these Duplo Diggers at Toys R Us and we had to buy them. They were expensive, but since certain grandmothers have purchased every other toy ever made I figured why deprive them of this one. I put them together Wednesday night, but Tiffany waited until I got home Thursday to give them to the boys. They loved them. We video taped.

An hour later when dinner time came you would have thought we were amputating their hands and feet from all the screaming and crying. It took forever to get Liam upstairs to wash his hands. He had a complete melt down that didn’t stop until he realized that someone had put a bowl full of spaghetti in front of him (there are odd parallels between our former dog Zoe and my sons). The rest of dinner, bath time and bed preparation went without incident and I thought we had escaped any further digger fall out.

Once the boys were in bed, I realized this was going to be an unusual night. Graeme was not settling down and falling asleep quickly like he usually does. Liam wasn’t getting out of bed as usual, but he did start his verbal inventory. I kept one ear on him for humor and I repeatedly settled Graeme back down. Liam didn’t disappoint.

Tiffany has been teaching them to say “I love you.” I love you mommy. I love you daddy. I love you Graeme (said by Liam). I love you Liam (said by Graeme). I love, " I love you Elmo".

That was not the one I heard at bed time though, well, not the last one. I put Graeme back on the bed, and looked up in time to see Liam with Elmo across his head and hear, “I love Elmo.” And then, “love the digger.” He fell asleep seconds later in record time. Graeme was up for another half hour.