why one when you can have two

I love Otto and I love Quin.  I'm without words to describe my pride in these guys. 

That's it.  I wanted to cover the BS semantics about children so that I could get to the goods: the tiny details that scrape together a day.  The best way to describe how I feel about the boys is what I told a newly-impregnated friend of mine.  "Otto shit all over himself this morning and Quin puked at 3am and I still couldn't wait to get back home to see them." 

The guys actually entertain each other and play with one another.  We're hoping a an au naturel hippy environment reduces conflicts.

Maybe I've said this before, but I don't like words like "love" and, well, "love".  It's cheap.  If you want to know the true meaning of love than get a dog.  You can tell a dog all day that you love him, but it means nothing unless you take him to the park.  You have to translate emotion into action or you're reviled by man's only friend.   That's one reason why you get a dog before a kid. 

I'll pretty much do anything at any time with the guys.  They own me.  But when you're driving Quin home from the doctor and he exclaims, "That lady listened to my nipples!"  You pretty much want to rush him to Disneyland. 

Otto is comfortable anywhere, but even more so with other big fans of breakfast meat, like Uncle Pete.

Or how about this for mass destruction of emotional will.  The first week of the new daycare was rough.  Sarah was a mess.  All I could do was suggest she find a more successful husband.  And I meant it, because I didn't want to drop the guys off either.  And daycare is expensive.  Both the guys were dealing us body blows with every morning transfer.  Quin would hang onto our legs until he was distracted long enough that we could run out of the room.  Otto, who hugs everything but us, suddenly became a clingy koala, with his painful betrayal look-and-cry combo as consequence.  His classroom has a big window to the "sign in/out" logbook, so after letting him go I'd crawl to the corner to fill it out.  I'd often get that hesitant "can I help you?" from teachers stepping over me in the hall.

It must have been week two, when during one of our many daily calls to the facility, the manager told Sarah the boys were doing fine.  They were always fine, they said, but she also added a little story.  Quin's in the preschool and Otto is in the daycare.  They have separate playgrounds.  On that day the boys spotted each other.  Otto crawled and Quin walked. They met each other and held hands through the fence.  

Q is definitely coming into his own.  His 3-year-old tantrums could mean he'll be living on his own.

Today at daycare Otto didn't cry.  He stood up and walked across the room to greet me.  I didn't know it was my kid because at home Otto doesn't walk.  I gave the oncoming tot a polite compliment on his upright motion and looked around for my quadruped.  But then my guy's dimpled, power chin smile looked up from his foot concentration and stole from me my patriarchal dominance. I got weak and squealy.  He combed right through all the bristling that two men need to do around each other and got a crushing hug against my bosom.   

As we drove home Quin saw a beer truck.  All the way back to the house he talked about how adult beverages will make you sick.  He asked if they do indeed make you sick.  I agreed.  He assured me he couldn't have any adult drinks until he was big but, he confirmed, he would be big one day.  I cringed a little as I took a left turn. And he asked again if adult beverages make you sick.  I decided to drop a little experience on him and told him that much of my twenties were spent sick from adult beverages.  There was quiet.  His wheels were turning.  I felt a little silly for sounding like all the old guys who used to share the same anecdotal advice with me. 

Quin emerged from his thoughts.  "All you need is one," he explained.

Where in the heck did he come up with that?  Are they teaching social drinking at preschool?

There was really nowhere to go with this but to smile and nod and agree. 

We made safe passage through the fast food trap on Belleview, leaving Q to make his daily announcement of our driving under the bridge at Santa Fe.  As we made our way towards the home stretch at Windemere, I looked at Quin in the rear-view mirror.  He was kicked back with his arms behind his head and he was bouncing his Buzz Lightyear shoes over the edge of his seat.  He was also making a squirrel-like noise that made his brother laugh. 

"Damn I love you guys!" I shouted into the reflection of the two little people. 

We're hoping for continued progress. 

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