I came across some stories I wrote several years ago about the boys and I felt they were worth sharing. When I wrote this, Mack was around five and Cayden may have been three. I would have been smart to date these entries, but to be honest, I never thought I would be posting my tales on the internet. This story covers a lot of the parenting landscape. For instance, the importance of routines, imaginary friends and what it‘s like when you punish an unruly child. For those of you who have been parents for a while, I expect a glint of recognition, maybe a smile and a nod of understanding. For those of you with children on the way or those of you who one day intend on having offspring, pay attention; you may benefit from the insight I am about to provide.

Managing to get two boys fed, bathed and asleep at a respectable time is one of our greatest accomplishments. It took a couple of years to develop a routine which would facilitate this miraculous feat, and to this day we must continuously refine and adapt to maintain a satisfactory outcome. Let me begin at the conclusion of dinner time (meals are a completely different discussion).

When the meal is complete, Connie and I announce that it is time for the nightly wash down. This announcement throws Mack into a panicked frenzy because, due to the routine, he knows that we will soon be attempting to coax him into bed.For some reason children despise the idea of going to sleep, they truly believe that magical things occur after Leno signs off for the evening. I think we, as parents, perpetuate this illusion by means of the Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus; all of whom come around well after midnight. Why shouldn’t my kids believe that there is a party going on at 2 in the morning? With guests like those, the “Soul Train conga-line” must be running right through the middle of our living room.

The idea of fighting sleep completely confuses parents who cannot recall the last time they slept more than 3 consecutive hours. In the midst of this confusion, they will attempt to rationalize with their two-year old by asking questions like, “Do you know how happy I would be to go to bed right now?” or “Daddy wishes someone would tell him to take a nap?” or “Do you realize there are kids in China who haven’t slept in months?” (somehow kids in China get pulled into a lot of our discussions on why we should be happy with what we have- not sure why- over the past several years I have replaced China with other locales but it just doesn’t seem as poignant to say that there are kids in New Zealand, etc. I hope I didn’t offend any Chinese people with the reference).

Regardless of your country of choice, right about the time you get into the meat of your argument about the virtues of a good nights sleep, your two-year old will poop his or her pants. It’s a very concise way of telling you that “it is impossible to apply logic in these circumstances. I am two, I poop in my pants and I do not want to sleep, ever”.

Back to our routine…

Upon my wife’s announcement of the upcoming wash down, my oldest strips all of his clothes off and begins to run circles around our home. The youngest who still confined to a high chair begins to fidget because he too wishes to be nude and running laps. Rituals are give and take so I rush through the initial chow wipe down and release Cayden to join his older sibling for laps. While the boys run through our home, in all their naked splendor, my wife and I recover the majority of their meal from the floor and walls and prepare for the next event. It is while prepping for the next event that the “Bad Friend” (Mack’s imaginary evil twin) normally makes his first appearance of the evening. Somewhere in the house, Cayden begins to wail at about the same time a three-foot tall blur of flesh-colored lightning shoots past my wife and I and scrambles behind our overstuffed chair. I go to talk to lightning boy and my wife investigates Cayden’s dismay.

The conversation I have with Mack typically goes like this:

Daddy: “Mack, why is Cayden crying?”

Mack: “I don’t know.”

Daddy: “Hey buddy, you need to tell me what happened or you will have go to your room.”

Mack: “My bad friend pushed him.”

Daddy: “Why would your bad friend push Cayden?”

Mack: “I told him not to Daddy. Don’t worry- I sent him to his room.”

Daddy: “Why don’t you join him for a while, buddy?”

The dynamics resulting from Mackinley’s exile are almost always the same. I take his hand to lead him to his room and he goes completely limp as if his skeleton was made of “Gogurt” and proceeds to falls to the floor. I pick him up and he instantly transforms into a completely stiff three-foot long board, making it almost impossible to negotiate the three and a half foot hallway that leads to his room. His octopus gene activates, additional arms shoot out of his torso, and he clambers to grab a handhold on anything within reach of his eight arms. I get him through his bedroom door, with considerable effort mind you, and then spend 5-minutes trying to close the door, which is nearly impossible because he has attached himself to the door frame and is holding on for dear life. Once I get the door closed and locked (note that I have turned the door knobs around so I can lock the door from the outside), Mack changes gears and begins to scream a wretched bellow that no mortal man should ever have to hear.

Mack’s “I’m mad” roar lies somewhere between an air raid siren and two freight trains colliding in the dead of night. My wife and I have become accustomed to this nightmare and have adopted the ability to ignore it at will, but visiting acquaintances would think the Spanish Inquisition has been reinstituted somewhere down the hall from our living room. If these acquaintances are non-parents, we don’t even attempt to explain the source of the ruckus as they would only say something silly like “Did you speak to the child. Can’t you reason with him?” Sure, genius, reason with him- the child has an imaginary proxy and is convinced that hot dog meat produces super-human strength. Come see me when you have a four-year old. We don’t invite those people back.

In summary:

Routines are critically important.

Children will exhibit schizophrenic behaviors in order to get out of trouble.

Don’t invite non-parents to your home until your kids are in college.

I hope all of you were able to glean these nuggets of wisdom from the paragraphs above.

With summer upon us, I know that many of you are looking for ways to shed a few pounds in order to look good in your summer wardrobes- e.g. swimsuits. Both of my kids are incredibly lean, so I watched them carefully over the past few weeks to see if I could identify their methods for maintaining their rock hard physiques.

The following list was generated from those weeks of research and observation. I would encourage all of you to give these techniques a try and see if you can meet with the same level of success.

The work out is a bit unconventional, but should be pretty recognizable to those of you with children.

WARM UP-

-State the following for 300 sets of 15 repetitions: “I’m so booooooored”
-For those with an intermediate to high fitness level, combine statement with a sigh/shoulder slump rotation after each rep.
-Flexibility is key, so feel free to throw in additional warm-up sets whenever you have a spare moment.
-Guaranteed to increase the heart rate of anyone within earshot.

WORK OUT-

“The Spoiler” (muscle group engaged: Back)
-Open and close refrigerator door at a rapid pace for 10 sets of 10 repetitions.
-Leave the refrigerator door open at the conclusion of each set.
-Take a quick lap, locate and annoy a sibling, watch 6-minutes of mindless television and then return to starting position.
-Magically, when you return the refrigerator door will be closed and ready for the start of your next set.
-Before beginning subsequent sets, ask the big, angry-looking guy next to the refrigerator for some cold water; hydration is key to muscle growth.

“The Tornado” (muscle group engaged: Cardio/ancillary muscles)

-This exercise must be conducted near a clothing source.
-As fast as you can, try on every article of clothing located in your dresser.
-After each total body clothing change, heave the items as far from you as humanly possible.
-The goal of this exercise is to completely cover all surrounding carpet and to spike your parent’s heart rate up to 680 BPM.
-Folding and putting away clothing items is an exercise designed for a more mature body type. Never attempt this exercise especially when you are in close proximity to an adult, namely the large, angry-looking guy you saw down in the kitchen.

“The Bounding Monkey” (muscle group engaged: Glutes/hamstrings)
-Jump, full force, on the nearest mattress (preferably located on the upper floors of your home) for 3-sets of 15-repetitions.
-At the conclusion of each set, launch yourself from the mattress and land squarely on the floor with both feet.
-Final rep should be forceful enough to disengage plaster from 1st floor ceilings.
-Successful completion of each set is signaled by the statement “(insert name), stop jumping on the bed. You’re going to come through my ceiling!”

“The Hammer Toss” (muscle group engaged: Deltoids)
-Procure (1) brand new claw hammer from your fathers sacred work bench that you have been told to never touch.
-Utilizing stealth, move in the most expeditious manner to your home’s backyard.
-With all of your might, chuck the hammer as far as it will go.
-Exercise is normally only good for one repetition per week.
-To recover hammer for future workouts, follow your father while he mows the lawn until you hear a loud clanging noise. The abrupt seizing of the mower’s engine signals successful hammer recovery. When father’s head faces back to the front and fire stops spewing from his mouth, offer to put the hammer where it belongs. He will be exceptionally appreciative.

“The Insomnia-ator” (muscle group engaged: Abdominals)
-Exercise is only effective when conducted after 8:00 pm.
-To begin exercise, climb into bed and lie in the prone position.
-On the command “Good Night guys” commence repetitions.
-Every 15-seconds, sit up in bed and loudly voice one of the following statements:

“Mom, I need a drink”
“Dad, who built the pyramids?”
“Mom, does the color yellow taste like sunshine?”
“Dad, (insert siblings name) keeps touching me”
“Dad/Mom why do you look angry?” Immediately followed by “I just wanted one more hug”

-Exercise duration: 1.5 to 2 hrs. or until parents visibly demonstrate a “Berserker” level rage.

“Tug & Snatch” (muscle group engaged- Biceps and forearms)
-Training partner required.
-From what I have observed, in order for this exercise to be effective it must be continuously executed from sunrise to sunset.
-To begin exercise, identify training partner (normally younger sibling) and wait for that sibling to place an item in his/her hand (nature of item is insignificant).
-Run towards the sibling and seize a piece of the object and with both arms, pulling the object vigorously toward your upper torso while sounding off with an authoritative “Mine”.
-The training partner (sibling) will enthusiastically return the item to its original starting position without prompting.
-This exercise will continue until one of the following occurs:

-Adult intervenes and claims the exercise item.
-Training partner finds a new object of greater value.
-Someone gets injured and requires medical attention.

Dancing, cartwheels, summersalts, and vibrating in place due to untapped reserves of energy are also part of the regimen but I am unable to articulate these activities into an easily understood format. Observe your own kids for a while to gain a better understanding.

Well another Father’s Day has come and gone and those of us lucky enough to have kids are probably still recovering from all the extra special Dad “lovin” that we received. I just wanted to take a moment to talk about my day. I promise this will be a short post as my boys just got in bed 5-minutes ago and the ninth trip to the bathroom that just went down normally signals the beginning of the “Ultimate Fighting” championship that they engage in every evening right about this time. I can all most set my watch by the screams for medical attention that normally occur at 8:22.

So what happened in the Groah household on “Shane Day”? Surprisingly, I was able to get down a half cup of coffee before Mack arose and opened the festivities. He walked down the stairs looking like the Grand Marshall of the Macy’s Day Parade and at that moment I knew the day would be chalk full of Dad-like activities. We started off the morning with a quick scan of the TBS/TNT action movie listings. We knew we only had a short amount of time before it would become too dangerous to record completely inappropriate movies, so we made our selections quickly and, with cat-like TIVO reflexes, set them to record at a later time. When Connie walks down the stairs next week to find Mack watching “Die Hard with a Vengeance”, I know I will be able to deny any involvement with enough sincerity to throw her off my trail.

Right about the time we finished fishing for action movies, Cayden came down the stairs. Cayden sauntered in wearing his big boy lounge pants and no shirt. If he had muscles I am sure they would have been rippling, but muscles have yet to appear on my youngest boy, so like every time I see him bare chested, I found myself subconsciously counting his ribs. I got to 17 before he gave me a hearty “Happy Fathers Day, Dad!”. The kid was really pleased with himself for remembering and his smile was enough to warm my heart.

When Connie got up, the boys went into present giving mode. If you don’t have kids, let me explain something, the only thing kids like as much as getting presents is giving them. I still cannot figure out how they contained themselves until Connie woke up, but somehow they did. So here is what I got:

Cayden gave me a card that he made himself. I think he had a little help with the words and spelling but the pictures were 100% Cayden. On his card I was represented by a short blue blob with an unusually large balloon-like head. My arms appeared to be made of marshmallows and I only had 3 fingers, 2 on one hand and 1 on the other. If the picture was drawn to scale then my 6-foot long legs were strangely disproportionate to my torso which was approximately 6-inches long.

Cayden’s depiction of himself was much more flattering. He was a good 6-feet taller than me and he was either holding my hand or ripping my arm out of the socket, I can’t get him to say which it was. His face had a nose, 2-eyes, and a mouth. My picture had one giant eye right below what appeared to be a zipper. If I ever wondered what caused night terrors in children, I now know; my boy thinks I look like a Frankenstein/grasshopper hybrid who was in a bad car accident.

Mack also presented me with a card. His card was a bit more sophisticated; he actually did all of the spelling and even came up with the content. If you have read anything that I have written, you know that Mack can be a bit eccentric and my card would confirm your suspicions. Instead of giving me a bland “Happy Fathers Day, I love you” Mack wrote the following:

“These Guns are Lethal!”

Next to this catchy little phrase was a picture of what appeared to be an arm. I know this because, unlike Cayden’s picture, the arm was attached to a hand with at least 9 fingers. If only Mack would have shared a couple of digits with his brother, the first picture would have been significantly more becoming. The arm also had 6 giant lumps on it. Knowing my oldest as well as I do, I knew that these lumps represented muscles and he confirmed my insight by kissing his own biceps as I read the card aloud. Mack loves to jack the steel (lift weights for those of you who do not have a taste for the iron game) and his card was a way of saying that his Dad had really big muscles, which most men would agree is an excellent compliment.

Those two cards were the highlight of my Father’s Day. I am smart enough to realize that in a few short years my kids will be too cool to make cards for their old man. Before I know it I’ll start receiving industrial-sized vats of “English Leather” or “Brute” and will no longer get things made with their own little hands (all of which have 4-fingers and a thumb). These are without a doubt the best years to be a Dad on Father’s Day.

As parents, we ask ourselves why on a daily basis.   Why is my boy wearing panty hose?

Why can’t my sons coexist for more than 11-seconds without someone getting injured?

Why does my child feel it is necessary to wear his “Incredible Hulk” costume under his school clothes but not have the same conviction when it comes to socks and underwear?

Why do those things that could cause grave bodily harm fascinate my children?  E.g. steak knives, ninja throwing stars and my gas powered weed-whacker

Why don’t bubble-wrap and Styrofoam packing peanuts fascinate my kids?  Research demonstrates that there is not a single case of a person losing an eye while manipulating packing peanuts, they appear to be fairly benign, and thus my children have no interest in them.

The word “Why” permeates our parental vocabulary and therefore it should be no surprise that it becomes the most used word in our children’s lexicon.  We teach them this word and then curse them for using it; in the Marine Corps we call this a “self licking ice-cream cone”.

If you’re a parent then you have felt the sting associated with the word “Why”.  If you’re not a parent then the following information may prepare you for what lies ahead.

The child’s “Why mechanism” may be one of the most common points of dismay among parents of every culture, ethnicity and even species; it transcend time and is documented in early cave drawings as facilitating the extinction of the dinosaurs.  Bottom line this is some powerful stuff.

If you think your kids will be different then your wrong.  No one is immune, you are not special and your child may not be as advanced as you are leading Grandma to believe.  These are cold hard facts.  Listen, and listen closely, your kids will torture you with the word “Why” for the majority of their adolescence and the best that you can do is try to weather the storm.

Mackinley’s “Why Mechanism” is the most finely tuned verbal assault weapon that I have ever encountered.  There is no counter measure to its awesome power, when on the receiving end you can only hope to minimize the damage or deflect its destructive force in another direction.  I have included a dialogue of a conversation that Mack and I engaged in while driving from Maryland to

North Carolina (avoid long car rides at all cost).

Mackinley:  “Daddy are there bears in these woods?” 

Daddy:  “Yes, buddy there are.” 

Mackinley:   “Why?” 

Daddy:  “Because that is where bears live.” 

Mackinley:  “Why don’t they live in houses?” 

Daddy: “Because they are bear. People live in houses. Bears live in the woods.” 

Mackinley:  “Why?” 

Daddy:  “Because housing cost are too high in this area and most bears are unemployed and unable to compete for the limited affordable housing that is available.” 

Mackinley:  “Why?” 

Daddy:  “Well buddy rent is high because the job market in this area is really strong which means higher income for most people thus driving up the cost of living to include rent and housing prices.” 

Mackinley:  “Why?” 

Daddy:  “Well son, it’s all about supply and demand and economic stability, this area is rich in textile mills and industry, thus providing plenty of jobs to persons who will not eat their employer when faced with having to do an unpleasant task.” 

Mackinley:  “Why?” 

Daddy:  “Because I said so Mack.” 

Mackinley:  “Why?”

Daddy:  “Because I am “DAD”, all-knowing and all-powerful in this SUV, and when you’re old and trapped in an SUV with your 5-year old son then you can make claim to being all-knowing as well, until that time you’re going to take my word for it, good to go?” 

Mackinley:  “Daddy, are there alligators in these woods?” 

This is a brief synopsis of what it is like to be trapped in an SUV with a child who has learned to articulate the word “Why”.  Mack’s goal was to numb my brain until I slipped into a coma at which point he would have escaped from his car seat, taken over the vehicle and driven to “Toys-R-Us”, I am sure of this, but I have no concrete proof of his intentions, if I knew for sure I would put the screws to him by placing him in “Time out” (I know I am a dangerous man).

I used this example because it demonstrates several different attempts to counter Mackinley’s assault.  First, I answered with logic.  This technique suggests of course that children are capable of understanding logic.  Now, why would I try to use logic on a person who refers to himself as spider man every time he achieves nudity?

My next counter was to stymie him with more information than his little mind could process.  This is a more appropriate technique, however nine out of ten times my boys don’t hear a word I say anyway.  You must realize that when the “Why” mechanism is engaged the listening mechanism (if it even really exist) is tuned to a completely different frequency.

Finally, I attempted the old “I am the parent and what I say is final”, Ha! Who am I kidding.

The only truly effective technique to counter “Why” questions is to answer every single question with complete and utter nonsense. It may not be very fulfilling at that moment, but some day when they attempt to answer an SAT question with the information that you provided you’ll get your revenge.  Good luck.

1.      My kids are afraid of the dark, but only the darkness that settles in around bedtime.  The inky blackness that accompanies a homemade fort made of every sheet, couch cushion and pillow in our home is A-Okay with them. 

2.      My kids are afraid of stingrays (yes stingrays, you know the aquatic creatures that sort of look like kites only with barbs on the tail that can zap the crap out of you if you step on them).  I know this because we paid big dollars to swim with them in the Cayman Islands and as soon as my children hit the water, they scaled my torso and deposited themselves into my ear-sockets in order to evade the circling hordes.  I nearly drowned in 4-feet of water as my wife stood laughing from the relative safety of our charter.  

3.      Mack is afraid of baseballs, at least he is as of yesterday afternoon when he misread a “heater” thrown by his old man and took one right on top of the gourd.  For blossoming major leaguers, an attempt to catch a baseball with anything other than a gloved hand usually meets with minimal success.  So far Mack has tried his ear, lips and now the top of his head.  I think he has learned a valuable lesson; if not he will soon run out of possible catching alternatives and go back to more conventional methods. 

4.      My children are afraid to play in the basement alone.  This is a dilemma because my wife and I engineered our basement to resemble a McDonald’s play land.  Of course we had selfish reasons; we thought we could buy our way into a 5-minute uninterrupted conversation.  Alas, this is impossible because the only way my children will venture into the basement is if one of us accompanies them. 

5.      Both of my kids are afraid of every medicine in our inventory that is designed to go on Boo-Boos.  My children firmly believe that the application of any disinfectant creates an unbearable stinging sensation.  Even the placebo container of water that I used to disprove this strange childhood psychological phenomenon resulted in wails of agony and a flood of tears. *NOTE- don’t call a 7-year old boy’s scrape a Boo-Boo, it’s condescending.  My oldest prefers the term “Wound”.   

6.      My kids are terrified of the Santa Claus/Easter Bunny proxy that we force them to take pictures with at the mall every holiday.  However, the thought of a winged pixie snatching their discarded teeth in the middle of the night is strangely comforting to them. 

7.      Mack is afraid of the spicy red peppers used to flavor Chinese food.  It only took one mouthful to firm up this very real and rational fear.  For those of you who have yet to experience the sight of a flaming mushroom cloud spouting from your child’s mouth take my advice and remove the peppers before giving them their meal.  This will cut down on replacement cost for several perishable items such as fire extinguishers and the gas it takes to get to the emergency room. 

8.      Both of my kids have an unhealthy fear of death.  To cope with this fear they have taken to counting down my remaining years at the beginning of each new day.  Nothing makes you question your mortality more than your children telling you each morning that you’re one day closer to leaving the planet. 

9.      Cayden is afraid of the theme music from “Jaws”.  He has never seen the movie, but the instrumental is so menacing that he actually runs from me every time I start a fresh chorus.  If I do this frequently enough I can accomplish the much sought after 5-minute conversation with my wife in 30-second intervals. 

That’s it folks, everything that my children are afraid of is listed above.  Of course some day when they grow up I’ll have to revise.   Eventually they will trade their fear of a guy dressed in a bunny suit for more grown-up fears such as fear of failing.  That’s going to be a very sad day in our home. 

The first bowel movement of a baby’s life is considered somewhat of an event by most new parents.  Many feel the need to coo and brag about their baby’s accomplishment and will often drag anyone within arms reach to the nursery to gaze upon this wondrous creation.  I am not sure why this is?  It may be that up until the event, the baby has done nothing that would validate it as being a human child.  After all, they don’t look like the Gerber Baby when they are fresh from the womb. 

Extremely smart people must have also recognized the significance of this little treasure as they assigned a fancy scientific name to it.  Your baby’s first poop is called “meconium”.  I am fairly certain meconium is Latin for, “Good God! What the hell is that?”  Meconium resembles hot tar and if you open your baby’s diaper without prior knowledge of what to expect, you may think that your child was paving an interstate in the nursery. Doctors and nurses expect most parents to be alarmed upon making this discovery and are trained to talk you off the ledge when you start to spin out of control. I am positive this is one of the reasons that hospitals have mandated a minimum one day hospital stay for new parents. They probably needed to cut down on the number of people returning with fear in their eyes and little black poops in zip-lock bags.  

This meconium stuff eventually disappears and is replaced by what many refer to as “sweet-poo”.  I don’t believe anyone has ever tasted it to confirm that it is sweet; I think it is called that because of the way that it smells.  Your child’s poop is going to remain pretty inoffensive for as long as the child remains exclusively breast fed (I bet most Dads are unaware of this fact).  When your child starts to experiment with other forms of sustenance, however, the poop will no longer rate the adjective “sweet”.   I know this is a bit graphic, but parents spend an inordinate amount of time dealing with their children’s waste.  If you doubt this statement then please explain to me why the “Diaper Genie” sold like a billion units?  This is a great piece of gear; you deposit the dirty diaper into the opening, twist the lid and presto, 50 poop filled diapers strung together like sausage links (pure genius). 

In our home, Mackinley was responsible for naming the next level of excrement.  He named it “Holy Cow Poop”.  The name came into existence when Mack observed one of Cayden’s diaper changes after having consumed approximately 3-gallons of pureed peas.  When the diaper was removed Mack gazed at Cayden’s accomplishment and said “Holy-Cow!!”, thus the name “Holy-Cow Poop”. It stuck. The odor produced by “Holy-Cow poop” could easily strip the paint off an old tractor.  There is nothing cute about a child’s bowel movements once they have reached this developmental stage.  In fact, since our children refuse to flush the toilet, I have often thought we had an intruder suffering from irritable bowel syndrome breaking into our home at night to use the facilities.   

When your baby is still in diapers “Holy-Cow Poop” is fairly easy to manage.   However, you will be called into action several times a day in an attempt to keep your child from carrying a loaded diaper around the house.  What I determined from my experiences is that situational awareness is critical.  Here is my advice: 

Set yourself up for success by having a tub of baby wipes prepped and ready for use and a fresh diaper opened and ready for immediate application.   

When you crack the seal on your child’s diaper, be prepared to have your nasal hair disintegrate and your eyes start to water uncontrollably.  At the point of your initial disorientation, your child will make a two-handed grab for whatever is residing in his/her diaper.  To alleviate this concern, hold both of the child’s grasping devices (hands) while simultaneously pinning the child’s feet back toward his/her head with the same hand.  This allows for easy access to the child’s buttocks, which is most certainly covered with the “Holy Cow” substance.   *Be aware pinning the child’s feet back will increase the muzzle velocity of his/her intestinal tract. As quickly as possible, capture the offending substance on a baby-wipe (as many as necessary), and rapidly encase the child’s hindquarters in a fresh diaper.  Gently release the child back into the wild and begin recovery operations with gallons of Visine, hand soap and Glade Air Freshener.  By the time the initial wave of nausea subsides, it will be time to begin the process anew.  Good luck! You’ll only have to worry about this for 2.5-3 years per child. 

I am not sure why, but for the past several months my oldest son (7yrs old) has decided that the best time to catch up on mother/son time is at approximately the same time that my wife has achieved a deep REM state. I know this to be true because, when my children rise for the day, my wife rolls over with her best “I haven’t slept in three days” expression and tells me that Mack was “in for a visit last night”. As her loving partner, I understand the implications of this statement. For those of you without children, or the benefit of 16 years of marriage, it means the following: “You had more sleep than me. Step to the plate- you’re up”.

To my credit, I willingly oblige. I have been getting up at the crack of dawn for the past 20 years which is just part of being a Marine, so sleep, though pleasant, is a nice but unnecessary comfort.

So why am I blogging (that word makes me uncomfortable) about this? I am putting this in print so that I can explain to my wife my typical evening. I need her to know that yes Mack is exclusive in who he visits at 2 a.m., but once the dust is settled for Connie the winds change direction and my evening (or early morning) begins.

I have outlined my typical evening post-Connie awakening for her benefit.

“Shane’s at bat”
2:00 a.m.- Mack has once again wandered into our bedroom- a pretty common occurrence. From my position (feigning sleep,) I know it is one of two things:

1. He has had a nightmare, most likely something involving a giant opossum or Sponge Bob, or some combination of the two.
2. He believes 2 a.m. is when school starts and wants to make sure he is on time.

Connie takes the bullet. I begin to snore to confirm that, yes, I am asleep.

2:25 a.m.- Surprise! Mack is back and this time he has decided to ride the giant Opossum to school which starts at 2:30 a.m. I say something unintelligible that alerts Mack to my presence and confirms that dad will not be happy if he rises to full consciousness.

2:35 a.m.- Mack is now in bed with us.

2:38 a.m.- I look back in the darkness at my son’s smiling face. I think he is feigning sleep? He begins to snore in an attempt to throw me off his trail. I have taught you well, young Jedi, we’ll meet again…

2:43 a.m.- I feel two icy cold objects on the small of my bare back. Startled, I believe that indeed Sponge Bob IS in the house and he is conducting pre-op to see if I would be a good kidney donor for Mr. Crab who is in dire need of an operation to save his life. Obviously, Mack’s ramblings have woven themselves into my REM sleep. I determine that I need to lay off the Carlo Rossi before going to bed.

2:44 a.m.- Turns out the icy objects are Mack’s feet and he is earnestly pushing me from the nest like a mother bird teaching her babies to fly. Mission accomplished! I grudgingly trounce off to his kid-sized bed to see if I can catch a couple of hours of sleep.

3:00 a.m.- Now, I am in Mack’s bed.  Cayden is sleeping above me in his bunk. The blankets are small, but if I position them correctly, I can cover most of my exposed skin. I’ll try not to move for the rest of the night.

3:05 a.m.- I moved. Man, it’s cold in here; no wonder the kid wanted my spot.

3:10 a.m.- I repositioned myself and once more I am mostly covered up. I ripped open a couple of Mack’s stuffed animals and shoved my feet up their butts to keep warm. I’m starting to wonder if it would have been less painful to get the spare blanket in the guest room…

4:00 a.m.- I just learned, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Cayden is my son. I know this because he inherited my father’s God-awful snore.

4:05 a.m.- Three sasquatch are standing on my lawn.  They are responding to Cayden’s snoring.  They believe the sound to be a female sasquatch in search of loving.

5:00 a.m.- Cayden needs to poop. He steps on my face on the way to the potty. I commend him for going as I pull his sock fibers from my eye sockets.

5:05 a.m.- Mission complete! I know this because Cayden has come back into the bedroom trailing 18 feet of toilet paper. I investigate. The remaining 75 feet of toilet paper are piled into the toilet; strangely, all of it is clean; what does this mean? I am too tired to ponder the possibilities. Mental note: scrub Cayden’s butt first thing in the morning.

6:00 a.m.- Mack’s wondering if it is time to get up? I don’t know who he is, where I am, and for the life of me cannot figure out why my feet are embedded into the rectums of two stuffed animals. I ignore him, and the strange circumstances surrounding my situation, and roll over.

6:01 a.m.- Mack takes this as a sign that he should join me. I stick my icy cold hands to the small of his exposed back and feign sleep.

6:30 a.m.- I am awakened to the sound of the blender. That’s strange; Connie likes her Margaritas on the rocks. I roll over and go back to sleep.

6:32 a.m.- Holy shit! My kids are playing with a device designed to puree objects at a million miles per hour; I spring from bed grabbing the first aid kit next to the blanket I was too lazy to get two hours ago and rush to the scene.

6:32:03 a.m.- Mack and Cayden are enjoying their chocolate shakes and watching Sponge Bob. They are happy to see me and the feeling is mutual. I curl up on the couch and hug them close.