6 months have passed since the twins were born and it’s interesting to see how our lives have gone from complete panic and stress to one of “i know what i have to do to enjoy an hour on the couch after everyone is asleep”. at about the 3 month old mark, just before julie was getting ready to head back to work, we still hadnt put much thought into how two working adults were going to get out of the house in the morning in time for work, let alone how the house itself would survive such chaos.

it was the ‘on the outside looking in’ mentality that really built up the severity and intensity of the nuts and bolts of having three kids, 2 in babycarriers, that really fucked with our brains those first few days of practicing getting out of the house.

i remember the first day we tried to get all 3 kids out of the house. it was complete chaos. dylan wouldnt put his shoes on, julie couldnt stop lactating, i had an erection that broke the dishwasher handle, the twins were constantly rapping the intro to ‘rapper’s delight’ over and fucking over… it was cinematic gold but in reality it was possibly the most stressful morning imagineable. what was going wrong was far outweighing what was going right.

what was going right was that we had everything necessary to get out of the door that morning all ready the night before.

we realized that getting things laid out the night before made the morning that much easier, regardless of projectile vomiting episodes, liquid shit blowouts at 6am, pouting kids who would rather jump off the couch repeatedly than put their clothes on, having to chase the naked one across the neighbor’s yard while he squeals and giggles with his naked glee-like giggle squeal, aka squeggle.

the one thing we can’t control is how the humans in the situation are going to wake up. sometimes im a complete fucking assface, sometimes jules is a complete coozerocket complete with countdown to bitchtoff, sometimes dylan is an angel, sometimes the twins are so busy working on their infant-algebraic equations meant to solve the problems of childhood menopause that they dont even cry or hurl when we’re getting them dressed and un-shitted.

we cant controll the human factor, but we can control the little odds and ends that can stand in the way of an easy departure or a dragging ass – i want to stab my spouse in the spine and deep fry his/her orbital nerve in a pot of moose semen (its happened in canada im sure).

what are these odds and ends?

*6 clean bottles with nipples, caps & collars
*pre-made baby formula for our happy spitter professor GERD.
*extra clothes for our poddy training ninja with blue eyes and a vicious right hook.
*55 extra bibs for our pair of puking, drool puddling, diaper draining darlings
*boxes of diapers that have ruined my ability to stop and pick up a 6 pack on a whim
*cans of formula that have ruined my ability to SAVE UP to stop and pick up a 6 pack on a PLANNED EXCURSION

and that shit is just for the kids, this doesnt even include my list of odds and ends:
*77 high powered rifle rounds
*1 bottle of ether
*3 oz. of imaginary pot that i smoke on the way to and the way home from work
*5 bottles of water: 2 for my imaginary mountain hikes, 3 for regular hydration
*1 lunch packed with whatever my wife left me (which lately has been an apple, a thing of yogurt & a baggie of crushed dreams)
*my laptop, which is sticky from peanut butter fingers trying to “go elmo site, go elmo site, i log on daddy, i logging”
*my testicles: which anyone who knows me, knows that i have ginormous testicles that i actually have to stow in my truck bed because my second row of seats is chock full of child seats.

julie brings the following:
*her lunch (which is usually a pan roasted protein followed by a vegetable medley that is made desk-side by her live in chef *who is a butch lesbian by the name of Butchbian*)
*her coffee
*my wallet
*my hopes and dreams

see it isnt about how fast you can get out the door, it’s about what can you do the night before that will allow you to not worry about what you’re possibly forgetting. all you gotta do in the morning is get the HUMANS clothed and free of large quantities of shit. the rest of that shit daycare can take care of, that’s why you pay them more than you pay for your mortgage.

eat my ass adulthood, may you suckle on my mantits while i channel surf through classic nfl games JUST FUCKING DROOLING OVER ANOTHER FOOTBALL SEASON ON ITS WAY.

love,

dad

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