I'll Give You Something to Cry About

I'm almost growing accustomed to the twins' existence.  Except for spit up.*  And the disgusting snorfling sound they make when a little stuffed up.**  And the piercing shrieks.

I mean, I don't enjoy it, but I get that babies cry.  They have no other way to tell anyone that they're hungry or lonely or scared of their own wallpaper or have just peed themselves.  These situations can be dealt with with things like a bottle or a diaper change or just by picking the damn things up.  However, I don't really understand the spontaneous crying, where you have catered to every possible whim and they still won't let up.  As frustrating as that is, I still accept that they probably have their reasons and just aren't able to say.  Maybe they're pissed off to be out of the womb, life on the outside not being quite as awesome as they thought it would be during the months that they spent planning their breakout.  Like a university student foolishly looking forward to graduation, and then facing the grim reality of actually having to get a job after.

However, I always assumed that the development of language skills and bowel/bladder control would spell the end of spontaneous crying fits.  I was so, so wrong.  It turns out that these last well into childhood.

Surprisingly, I have access to little people besides the twins.  One in particular.  She is three, and is mostly a pretty good kid - which coming from me, says a lot.  She has language skills somewhat advanced for her age.  She has proven herself capable of deductive logic.  She does not soil herself - not even wet the bed.  But the crying.  It's inexplicable.  She cries when it's time to get up.***  She cries when it's time to go to sleep.  She cries when it's time to take a bath.  When she doesn't feel like eating dinner.  When it's time for her friends to go home.  After about 30 seconds of hide and seek if no one has yet found her.  When dropped off at preschool.  When picked up from preschool.  When a kitten that she has been  purposely teasing scratches her ankles, and/or when she believes herself to have suffered some other manner of injury (there is typically no injury, not even a flesh wound).  Etc.

And once started, she simply cannot be reasoned with.

I have therefore decided, in protest, to write a children's book called, "Why Are You Crying?" 

For example:

Once upon a time there was a little girl who didn't listen when her dad said to sit still until her shoes were tied. When she started running gleefully across the lawn, she tripped over her own feet, and fell down.  And then started wailing, even though she hadn't hurt herself one bit.  Her dad walked over to her and said,

"Small child, why are you crying?"

(sob, sob)

"Is someone trying to sell you into slavery?"

or

"Are you being chased by ravenous wolves?"

or

"Are you being murdered?"

And when the answer to the question is "no", the adult of the situation will cheerily say something like "what a relief.  I guess life isn't so bad then, is it.  Move along".

In actual baby news, the hellions now look like regular infants.  There were a number of things about their appearance that I found unsettling when they were new.  Mostly their legs.  I had the misconception that babies were supposed to be chubby.  The twins were not.  The skin on their legs was all wrinkly and saggy, especially around the knees, and brought to mind the legs of an elephant on the verge of starvation.  Not that I've ever taken a good look at the legs of an elephant on the verge of starvation.  But I have a visual imagination.

In drinking news, one of my most recent buzzes came from whiskey bought at a gas station.  A more recent buzz manifested itself outside a photo booth at the Steamwhistle Brewery.  Perhaps I will share these stories, or perhaps not.  More importantly,I just found out that Skull Vodka has been re-introduced as "Crystal Head Vodka".  I smell Halloween.

*About a tablespoon landed on my hand the other night.  Did I laugh and say it's only spilled milk?  If you say yes, proceed to footnote ****.  If you say I was horrified, proceed to footnote *****.

**Gross.  Like they're choking on something viscous.  Which I suppose they are.

***I'll own that I feel like crying sometimes when it's time to get up, and quite often actually whimper, but that's because I have to go to work.  If when I woke up I knew that someone was going to make me waffles and then encourage me to lounge peacefully and watch Fraggle Rock all day, I don't think I'd complain.

****you might be partially retarded.  A good occupational therapist should be able to help you implement strategies to make your life much, much easier. Maybe consider checking that out.

*****I screamed and said, "get it off, get it off".