Get It Done

Most days, especially when I only have one child in pre-school (that would be two days a week,) it's very hard to get things done.

I am all about writing lists, but some days the lists are just so much fluff to pretend I was at least trying to do something on a day when my major achievements include eating and watching Battlestar Galactica.

Today was very, very different.

I dropped off my daughter and was out of the school parking lot at 9:05 - a big deal in itself. I am prone to chatting outside the classroom, inside the classroom, on my way back to the classroom after dropping off, then standing beside my car. I rarely make it home before 9:20. Today, by 10am, I had finished a to-do list that involved all kinds of horrible stuff.

* Return pair of shoes and exchange for some that fit.
* Buy birthday present for three-year-old boy with OWN three-year-old boy in tow.
* Call and arrange babysitter for rare night out with wife
* Clean kitchen after chicken/wok incident
* Find new doctor for kids, then call them and make appointments

And so on. I was so astonished to see it was only 10am by the time my list was complete, I celebrated with a cup of coffee and a ten-minute abbreviated viewing of Saturday's Aston Villa game (2-1 Villa, rock on!)

All that said, although today is Wednesday, it feels like Monday, so by Friday, I will think it's Wednesday and still be going strong. Right?

Right?

Yeah, right.

Runaway Year

Sorry for the lack of posts here, but as December picked up speed I didn't have time to brush my teeth, let alone sit here and think of something witty to write about life in Chez Keeble.

Needless to say, I still don't have a lot of time. Since Christmas we've had two ear infections and all the inconsolable crying that comes with them, not to mention the doctor and chemist visits. And we got a Wii, so as a family we've been playing on that an awful, awful lot.

Thinking back on 2007, it was quite an adventure. I learned a lot. I signed a deal to get my debut novel published. I scored about 100 goals on Sunday mornings throughout the year. I got a year older, as did my kids.

2008, of course, will be the year my book is published, and will also be the year my eldest start kindergarten, her first steps towards "real" school. I'm excited about the coming year for lots of reasons.

Lastly, I hope you all have a cracker tonight, and every day afterwards for the next 364 days in a row. If you're reading this, thank you for your support, friendship, or anonymous visitations here. I appreciate it all.

Almost there...

Every year, Christmas "arrives" at a random time - sometimes before the 25th, sometimes during. As of now, despite all the snow, it still isn't here yet.

I've done the wrapping, the music, all that jazz. But I'm still less than in full swing. It's going to be a very fun couple of days, with the hints of some surprises in store for everyone (but Gwen - I honestly didn't get you the Shark. Maybe you can borrow Amy's again?)

So, while I'm here, I'd like to wish you all a fun 25th. I will post again to do an end-of-year recap in the next few days.

Don't drink too much!

I meant to do this a long time ago...

What do you think of that? Amazon.co.uk is actually ready to accept pre-orders. That is almost too much to comprehend!

Shock! Horror!

A curious development of becoming a parent to two increasingly personality-filled kids is my disinterest in horror movies.

This from a person who grew up worshiping at the church of Freddy Kruger. In truth, I was petrified of horror movies until I was about 14, when I fell off the deep end and even subscribed to Fangoria Magazine for a long while.

But now, they have no appeal at all. And I put it down to my having kids. It used to be, when I saw a stupid teenager get hacked up by Freddy or Jason Vorhees, it was funny because: "Huh, look at that stupid teenager." Also, many of the movies I grew up with featured a great deal of boobs and general female nakedness. Perhaps the real appeal, between all the blood, was getting to see John Cusack's girlfriend from Better Off Dead in just her underpants (and then, less appealingly, gruesomely murdered by an invisible Freddy Kruger - in fact, she was Freddy's first victim in the six-movie series.) Now that idea is too close to home, and too... real for want of a better term.

I didn't see Saw. I have no intention of watching The Ring. I just watched 28 Weeks Later and was left feeling disturbed - not thrilled or excited or scared. Just unpleasant. And that's not a fault of the film in the slightest. A 15-year-old me would have loved it. I just found it depressing.

How Winter Kills

This weekend was dominated by a snow-storm, that spread its cold fingers through everything I did or wanted to do all day on Sunday. This was not all bad.

I was hoping to play soccer in the morning, but when I woke up at about 6am and turned on the TV, the weatherman was showing live pictures from a blizzard in Times Square, 12 miles away. I put my cleats away pretty much immediately, knowing I wouldn't be needing them.

Sure enough, the snow came. Luckily the kids loved it, but it was the crappy snow that was all powder and it was so cold outside there wasn't much for them to do in it but run and get cold. So they ran and got cold... then came back inside. The wife invited a friend and her daughter over, and they all did Christmas crafts together while I sat upstairs working on one long-overdue project or another. I also had every excuse not to go out and bag leaves (as I had done all day on Saturday) because the leaves were under two inches of white stuff. To this end, I watched two football games in their entirety - including an incredible Giants comeback and victory.

This morning, there was still some snow on the ground but by the time I picked the kids up from school, there was very little evidence there had ever been snow here at all. The bad news? The leaves are back again. Bastards.

Back

Wow, that whole Thanksgiving thing was a trip (pardon the pun, because we actually went away.)

The day itself was fun, and the traveling wasn't too horrific, but on our return I installed an update on my Macbook that killed it. This at a time when I was already four days behind thanks to the break, and one day after receiving my final, final, final draft of the novel for my perusal and approval.

The Macbook wasn't fixed until Wednesday, by which time I had just about lost my mind. The days when my son doesn't nap are never pretty for anyone (and as I type this, I'm in the middle of another one) but not having my laptop made me realize just how reliant I am on it.

"Huh, no email... well, I'll just start work on the Christmas card list... that's on the laptop... well, maybe I'll just... no, that's on the laptop too." etc etc etc.

The first thing the laptop reminded me of when it came back to life at four o'clock on Wednesday is that I'd forgotten my daughter's show-and-tell that morning (the reminder was exclusively on the laptop.)

ANYWAY I'm working through the novel for what will be the last time before its published, and will begin the new year with one book down, and one half-done one to pitch. Can't be bad.

Laptop is dead

My laptop is dead. It's sad how much I miss it. It will be examined tomorrow, but updates on here (and correspondence and pretty much everything else from the Christmas card list to finalizing my novel, and even my social calendar) is currently kaput. Cheers!

Explanation

Sorry for the lack of posting. Things will get back to normal later this week. I have lots of exciting book news, and lots of horrific child-anecdotes following Thanksgiving.

Writing Update

Between looking after the kids and looking at pictures of Sarah Silverman on the internet, I am also still writing.

I am currently working my way through the copy-edited version of my novel, I Got You Babe, published next June. I still laugh out loud at some of it - something I never did with anything Shakespeare wrote. So who is better? That's not for me to say.

Also I landed another writing gig, but it's for a non-profit so I get paid in tickets for kids events. That's better than cash if you asks me.

Sickness

Daughter is currently grade 3 sick (see below.) It could be worse. It might still get worse if her brother picks up this bug. Already, my Tuesday is off-course. Tuesday and Thursday mornings are all about me - both kids are normally in school. Today, no such luck. Not only am I at the beck and call of a 4-year-old girl, but I'm stuck inside.

That said, Entrourage Season 3, Part II is now in my posession. That's my afternoon/evening sorted.

Good morning!

I spent yesterday busting my buns to get the house somewhat clean for a family member who is arriving this weekend and staying a couple of days.

This morning, at 8 o'clock, the house is not only covered in pieces of ripped-up and cut-up paper, but I've also had to wash a couch cover that was covered in excretement.

Let me tell you how I got from there to here.

Upon awakening, I was lulled into a thought that today might be great. My daughter had managed to sleep through the night in her own bed, even waking in the night to use the bathroom, then returning to her own bed - something she has never done before (she would normally come into our room post pee-pee.)

It went pretty much downhill two seconds later.

My son, who spent the whole night in our room (my fault - I fell asleep with him next to me watching the NJ Nets of all things) woke up sniffing with a horrific runny nose. There are several degrees of sickness in two-year-olds:

1) a little out-of-sorts. Not much different than usual.

2) whining, moaning, wailing, hungry but not wanting to eat anything. Not enough vocabulary to express where it hurts, without the experience to know what is best to feel better, this goes on for hours/all day.

3) feverish and lethargic. Sleeping a lot.

1 and 3 are OK. 2 really sucks. This was a 2.

The only thing he wanted to eat/drink was apple juice. All those vitamins can only help, so I loaded him up. He perked up considerably. This is good.

A hour or so after starting his apple juice regimen I am reminded of one of the main reasons my son differs from my daughter. His reaction to foodstuffs.

My boy reacts to things he ingests in the most spectacular fashion. One marshmallow, and he is driven insane. I had given him three cups of undiluted apple juice to ward off his germs.

So, an hour after his first mouthful of apple juice, it all comes out of his bottom into his diaper. The diaper then leaks all over the couch as I yell at my daughter to get me some newspaper. It looks like oxtail soup, swishing in the supposed absorbent core layer that is full to capacity. It swishes over the edges as he kicks, fuelled by the sugar rush within. My fingers are covered, he is covered pretty much up to his waist. The puddle on the couch is growing.

Which is how, at 8am, I am washing the floor, the couch cover, my son and scrubbing my own fingernails in a house that looks like it hasn't been tidied in a week.

Baby, It's Cold Outside

Quite a coincidence - winter is full-on here with ice on the car for the first time since... I don't know, last February... and there's no school today across the whole of New Jersey. This means I have two sets of eyes looking at me, asking: "So, no school... what else you got, Pops?"

We have been eeking out every minute of daylight between Patrick waking up from his nap (about 3:30pm) and the sun going down (about 4:45pm) to maximize the fresh air time and its essential sleep-inducing qualities. On Monday mornig, it was maybe 60 degrees. As I type this, it's 30. Fresh air is not as good if it's frozen.

This is not all bad. Just this morning I was reminiscing about the first Christmas we spent in New Jersey after leaving Manhattan. We woke Christmas morning, opened our gifts, and it started to snow. We then ate mucho turkey, I drank a bottle of shiraz (as wife was pregnant with our daughter at the time), put on a stupid paper hat, and wished goodwill to all men. Good and cold.

Last Christmas, as is documented on this very blog, it was about 80 degrees, we were surrounded by family who all got sick, and had to bail on what would have been a very fun adult-only party due to the vomit that ensued.

Here's hoping for more of the former, less of the latter, this year.

So cold... dark...

Last night the clocks went back, meaning that my son was awake at 4:30, thinking it was 5:30, and then by 5:30 (thinking it was 6:30) he decided he had enough sleep and marched downstairs. I was pretty much powerless to stop him as I felt the same way.

In these post-Hallowe'en days, we have suffered long, hard temper tantrums at the hands of number one son wanting his trick-or-treat candy three times a day as a meal substitute. By mid-afternoon, I was just about done with hearing about it. I tipped up the last bucket of candy, split it into two piles, took my 10% as deal-maker, and told he and the more-diplomatic, but still susceptible to over-indulging daughter, to eat it all. They did, and we were done for the year. A quick bout running around at the ever-darkening playground, where the temperature dropped 10 degrees every 15 minutes until 5 o'clock, and most of the sugar rush had worked its course.

Dinner was a far more conservative toast and a banana, with no more requests for "something to chew" (which is how he differentiates between candy and food ("something to eat".)

Don't Do This At Home

Don't eat a dozen hot wings, a bowl of vegetarian chilli and two stuffed jalapeno peppers, washed down with six lite beers and half a bottle of shiraz.

Just don't.

Right For My Rights

Warner Bros has granted permission for us to use "I Got You, Babe" as the book title, and also for us to use the lyrics inside! Cher can buy herself a cup of coffee - on me!

Musical Beds

Last night's bed-hopping was a flashback to a year or so ago when the kids were sleeping even worse than now.

After sitting up watching the Fantastic Four take on the Silver Surfer until 8:30pm, I made my first mistake by letting Patrick out of my sight after brushing his teeth. He managed to slip into Penny's room where Mommy was reading her a story.

"Great, now I have both kids!" quoth Mommy.

Somehow I lured Pat back to his own room, read him a story or two, and despite his cries for the paradise haven of Penny's Room and Mommy's comfort, he fell asleep shortly before I did.

I woke up after a scrummy dream about ponies and made my way back to my own bedroom, where a sleeping Mommy had similarly made her escape. I was mostly awake, but it was 2am, so I lay there, my head full of the typical night thoughts that fuel my non-kid related insomnia.

Twenty minutes later, Patrick wakes up. As I'm already awake, I stand up and grab him, escorting him back to his room. After what felt like an hour of his wailing for Mommy, but was probably only two minutes, I grant him his wish and carry him back to our bedroom...

... where my daughter is already camped out, woken by his wails.

It's two thirty, My bed is full (even the cat came in), but my two kids beds are empty. I climb into Penny's bed for a few minutes, but at this point I am wide, wide awake, so I head downstairs.

I watch about a half-hour of TV before summoned by my wife who is disturbed by the flickering lights from the living room. She then orders me back to bed. Our conversation on the stairs wakes my daughter, who follows Mommy out of the bedroom. I somehow convince her to come lay down with me in her bed, while Mommy returns to her own bed (where she will join Patrick.)

I lay there for about an hour, night thoughts poking and prodding, until I finally wake to semi-dawn. It is 6:30am and Mommy is downstairs, leaving for work. If I want any time to myself today, it's now or never, so I get up and make a filthy, dark pot of coffee. The kids join me at about 7am.

Last year we spent about two grand on the bed in our bedroom. I am loathe to call it "our bed" because I am so very rarely in it. And now you know why.

Thank Crunchie...

I've commented many a time how there are certain things I can do on a Monday or Tuesday, but not on a Friday. Today it rained pretty much all day, and while the day was largely uneventful, the confinement has got to my son.

He spent the last hour:

Chasing the cat

Putting Floam (c) on his feet and dancing on the wood floors and couch

Pushing his sheriff star badge through the mesh screen on one of the windows (thus wrecking it,) then asking me to go get his badge from the flower bed where it landed outside

Pushing his sister

Pulling his sister

Treading on anything his sister tries to do

Refusing food (unless it's chocolate)

It gets better. My wife is out all day tomorrow, meaning tomorrow is actually "Friday," if you know what I mean, because I will be alone with the kids again all day.

What's he doing now? Let's say he's learning his lesson in his room. He must learn that "stop" does not mean "slower" or "slightly less hard" or "quieter."

Terrible twos suck for everyone.

This is pretty much all I have said since I woke up

"Stop doing that - you will hurt him/her"

"Can you hear me?"

"Calm down"

"Give it back"

"Don't touch him/her"

Right now they are playing the piano, risking hurting each other (somewhat) in an very un-calm fashion, not sharing, both pressing the same keys at the same time, and they cannot hear me over the piano. So I'm not saying a word. What is the point?

The Woods

What with yesterday being a holiday (thank you Mr. Columbus,) we wanted somewhere cheap to take the kids that wouldn't involve 1) apple picking 2) hayrides 3) sales at the malls.

What better place than "the woods?"

Growing up as I did opposite a park, I still consider myself a lucky child. I would walk the ten paces down our driveway, cross the street, and be five paces from a tennis court (obviously, as this was North London, England, the court was only actually usable for two weeks a year. Most of the time it was too wet and the balls would get wrecked.) and about 50 paces from a playground.

Between the ages of about five and seven, the playground was old school. There was no fence to keep the dogs out. The legendary "witch's hat" obstacle would break at least one arm per summer, and the clearance on the roundabout was just enough to see a child's ankle wedged underneath. Once safety became an issue, the fence went up (keeping out not just the dogs, but the dog's... business) the rubber safety flooring was installed, the witch's hat was burned at the stake, and the roundabout replaced by one that looked more like a spider web than a deathtrap on a spindle.

This isn't to say that once the playground was made safe to play, I got bored with it. I would still now put "swinging" (as in, on a swing) in my "top five things I enjoy" list. But by the time I was 10, the woods was the place to go.

We would walk there, which was an adventure in itself. I was never sure if the route we took was a public footpath or not. I seem to remember walking through fields alongside horses, and sneaking over fences, but also meeting plenty of people doing the same thing. The meeting point was always the same place - the V Tree... at least, that's what our parents thought it was called. We all called it the vagina tree because it looked a bit like one. Thinking back, it was a stretch, but we were 10.

The rest of the day was spent doing one of two things: walking around or running and hiding. Certainly a big chunk of the woods was private property, belonging probably to a hooty, snooty hotel where Gilbert and Sullivan lived or something. We only snuck through the wire once or twice because we stumbled upon a real tire swing - a tire suspended on rope from a huge branch. Very dangerous, very fun.

The woods we went to yesterday in Mahwah were similar to my childhood venue of Old Redding in Harrow, but with less people around (none). The kids had fun, and we didn't spend a dime. Plus I got a nostaglic flashback. All in all: good.