chollaball.net

This summer has been the hardest i know. So many large projects and siteeations, no willpower to get up or get out. The only place I refused to yield is getting the kids to the pool.This likely contributes to my beatendownednessocity.

Its like this: we are soon heading to my nephew’s bar mitzvah, and G asked if we would go talk to god. No baby, no. I don’t want you  to ruin the service, or it to ruin you. You and Alana and Mommy will dress up and give hugs pre-service, then vanish to the playroom for 1.5 hours while Daddy takes 4 slugs of God to the chest for the family.*

That is like taking kids to the pool.

I enter my zen, my dragon, my prePainCave, getting ready for clawing and ripping and 4-footed kicks in the junk, meatbombs crashing from out of the sky, kickboards cracking me under the chin.

Its amazing i haven’t bitten my tongue or had a seizure this summer.

I love my kids. really. keep repeating

We play fighting games, wrestling, basketball and racing. G is a long-haired dress-wearing tomboy. She took out 4 boys at a Pump It Up party, 3 of them twice. Each day she asks to do laps, cause she likes ice cream, and she likes challenging herself, and seeing her progress.  I know this about her, she does not yet.

Alana is a completely different swimmer from barely a month ago. No fear of the water, comfortable under the surface for 5 seconds at a time in ways G never was. She  discovered goggles. The first time she freaked out and howled til i stuffed her under water and screamed ‘LOOK!!!!’ Two eyes were full moons, trying to find teenytiny words to describe what she saw. On the way home i bought her a pair of her own. Now she can’t jump in fast enough, learning to cannonball, and yesterday for the first time embracing the autonomy of water wings. I embraced the 20% fresh bandwidth in my throughput.

They usually crap out after about an hour. So I can timebox my suffering, and force myself to keep smiling and playing their games. I get raked down the back, a knotted quad, and choke held. How the fuck did that only take a minute and a half!!!! A minute and a fucking half! Its like sex-time.

*no offense to my religious friends, who if you are reading know and respect our differences

Alana’s days go like this:

• 25% whining
• 30% shrieking
  • 20% in agony
  • 10% in joy
• 20% adorable
• 25% willful little bitching

I want to ram other drivers, be surly towards lifeguards, and pick fights on the intertubez cause I can’t smack the shit out of my daughter.

I can, however, let her sister do it.

Alana: Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaddy, Genevieve not sharing!!!!
Me: m’kay, don’t care Alana
Alana: Genevieve pushed me!!!!
Me: *blink**blink*
Alana: Walk away, Yayo!
Me: Alana, quit whining

Sometimes i let her fall and cry alone when she won’t do what she is told. Sometimes i grab her sack-like and porter her while she screams for mommy, taking cruel pleasure in her discomfort. When Beckie also loses her patience i feel vindicated.  I say things to her like ‘GET! IN! THE! CAR!‘ then am plagued with guilt until i have a chance to make it right, only to lose my patience all over again and consider just walking out without her. I can’t do this, every single day, without my own tantrums.  I’m coping by adopting simpler goals – only a tiny bit of shouting, or dragging, or slinging her by her britches.

I’m sure G pulled all this shit too, but i’m too tired to go back and read about it. A 2 parent : 1 tinyHuman ratio was so much easier.  This is like 1:6.  Multiples are by 2s in fantasy league scoring:

(.5 human * .75 human) * 2 monsters * 2x disregard for my personal space * 2x canDrown

Me: No!
Alana: Why?
Me: Owies.

Me: No!
Alana: Why?
Me: Dirty.

Me: No!
Alana: Why?
Me: Nasty.

Me: No!
Alana: Why?
Me: We’re out of diapers.

Me: No!
Alana: Why?
Me: Not in a Catholic country.

Me: No!
Alana: Why?
Me: you’re not of legal drinking age.

Me: No!
Alana: Why?
Me: not for the driver.

Me: No!
Alana: Why?
Me: pancreatic cancer.

Me: No!
Alana: Why?
Me: stingrays.

Me: No!
Alana: Why?
Me: the ocean is coming.

Me: No!
Alana: Why?
Me: the Romans are coming.

Me: No!
Alana: Why?
Me: wayward kites cause strangulation.

Me: No!
Alana: Why?
Me: dogs find you tasty.

Me: No!
Alana: Why?
Me: tricycles don’t launch fast enough.

Me: No!
Alana: Why?
Me: the tide is unforgiving.

Me: No!
Alana: Why?
Me: the tent will blow away.

Me: No!
Alana: Why?
Me: the tent will collapse.

Me: No!
Alana: Why?
Me: the things hanging from the tent will collapse on you.

Me: No!
Alana: Why?
Me: dishrags are not proper sources of hydration.

Me: No!
Alana: Why?
Me: you pooped on the floor!

Me: No!
Alana: Why?
Me: you have poor balance.

Alana has an unpleasant, unlikable tendency towards whining. She’s silent and strong when she wants to be, but she’ll mope and fret for hours…days…about something minor, easily overcomable, an idle sleight to her ego, a mere scratch to her comfort zone.  2 hours will pass with her sniffling and blubbering, punctuated by the occasional shriek, for no good gawddamn reason.

Its not cute. Its awful, and hurtful.  Strider bike, no. No! I…don’t…want…to!

Her adamant resistance to swimming has been the most frustrating. I was ok with it the first, oh, 5 times at the gym. But she is stuck on 1.5 feet. A huge regression from last year.  A few weeks ago she put her head under, by herself, about 5 times in a row while she reached down to the 2ft bottom and picked up her toys. Hasn’t done it since. I took her into the deep end, held her completely above water, and she nearly gouged my eyes out clawing at me to get higher. She is insanely terrified of water over her head, and eventually settled into a sobbing mass for about 30 minutes, stopping only when Beckie held her the same way i did and eventually sorta enjoying herself. Haven’t seen that either in a month.

Not having a pool sucks. Ghey lawyers have taken all the floaties and waterwings out of the public pools. The zero-depth entrance and ability to bring small toys in are huge improvements from when i grew up, but since the Coast Guard hasn’t approved her Dora the Explorer floaties, they’d rather her get NO introduction to deep water!  Arizona lets anyone carry a M-50 anywhere, but i cant stand 5 feet from my kid with floaties on? Its probably anti-immigrant, and i think i will buy Nemo floaties next time. It makes me wonder again and again if I’d rather have a pool.  Without a doubt its the coolest thing you can do for your house. Its also the single biggest cost and time sink and risk. Chemicals and wearable parts for a year are more than our entire family gym membership, with zero effort on our part, or 40k, and G gets private climbing lessons for $9/hr.  Its got it all except the namby-pamby rules.

Alana has this glass ceiling about water, at least that’s how i see it.   I shove her into things. Beckie comforts her. That’s our parenting styles, that’s our approach. I’ve no doubt unchecked either would ruin our kids, but mostly they work well together. Except when they don’t, which usually coincides with our kids struggling. Struggling is an ambiguous term, and we almost always start at odds. Not a good formula for consensus-building and teamwork.  I see instances where their day-to-day progress stalls, a tactical view of a strategic problem, a players’ coach. I’m a great dad, but i expect my kids to deal with shit. Beckie is more about quarterly reviews and autonomy and day-to-day feelings. Gender conflicts for modern gender-neutral families.  I’m glad i have Beckie as a teammate, and some days when the kids aren’t occupying my entire bandwidth not dedicated to health and employment i remember i love her. I don’t want them to turn out like her, she doesn’t want them to turn out like me. Overstressed professional romance.

On Father’s Day, when Clarence Clemons died, the Springsteen song that stuck with me most was Devils and Dust.

What if what you do to survive kills the thing you love? Fear’s a powerful thing, it can turn your heart black you can trust. It’ll take your god-filled soul, fill it with devils and dust.

Wasn’t moving to Scottsdale supposed to put glitter on all this? I went to my first ever Scottsdale happy hour, 3 years after work moved to Scottsdale, 2 weeks before leaving. Then i dashed home to pick up the kids.

I punished G for the first time when she was mean to her sister after repeated warnings — took away TV for the night. She played Starfall on the computer, and took a step learning to put letters together to sound out words, another area we’ve been too lax with her when she doesn’t want to work hard. Brilliant, huh?

I got tired, bored and annoyed as shit cooking in the sun waiting for Alana to stop hating the pool at a friend’s party.  So I put her on the step and went to play with G while Beckie picked up the shattered pieces. An hour later we switched kids and i did it again. An hour later this was in full effect.

Each weekend comes round, and I tick it off: not going to Flag, not riding 6 Shooter, not exploring the high country. Going to a birthday party, going to the pool, going to the zoo. Is it acceptance, or numbness, that I mostly care not and only want to be with my kids? They are beautiful, and I can not be away from them without feeling incomplete, vulnerable, terrified.  I took them to the pool twice after work this week. Twice for Alana, actually, while G began rock climbing classes at the gym.

I read about the Mighty Mud Mania, and our plan for this weekend began.  The pictures and descriptions explain the details, fed G’s stoke. But Alana is complex, her enthusiasm builds slowly, so used to getting drug along, drug out of her comfort zone, always eyeing a defensible position.  As we expected, Alana warmed up slowly to the mud, preferring the safe comfort of walls around her. After a few hours, she rallied, and ended  as filthy as the other kids.

G suffered no such hesitation, only the minimum age requirement to run the large obstacle course.  We worked through that too.

Me: G, how old are you?
G: 5
Me: G, how old are you?
G: 7, Daddy

Some kids crept through the obstacle course, timid in body and mind. G smoked the older kids in her heat, sprinted end-to-end. I had not doubts. The biggest challenge was keeping her from redlining while waiting in line.

We needed to run her around, until the race started

she is on the far right, the one blowing up the field

After some time at home, snacks and a nap, we followed through on a promise of a kitten and headed to the Animal Shelter.

Well, not a kitten, those got flushed by a (shitbag)coworker, so with heavy hearts we vowed to save another life. We hoped to find an adult who would otherwise soon be gassed, but this guy at 9 months fit our needs of a male who would not threaten Turtle.

G named him Cybro. How she pulled that name out of her ass I do not know. She forgot it several times, but I kept reminding her, cause it is so much more unique than Max or Stripe, just like her. We goto pick him up in 2 days after his nards are whacked. Today we went to PetSmart to buy him litter and toys.

saw this out the porch window! Alana skipped the tricycle and the strider bike. Almost a year ahead of G

night-blooming cactus

a trip to the movies to see Rio!

I was tossing my empties from a dog ride in the dumpster at Westworld, when I found it filled with the better part of someone’s backyard.  Some people in Scottsdale have never heard of the Goodwill store.

I did not go out with the intention of dumpster-diving, but I can’t resist something free and in good shape. Ok, not good shape, but good-enough shape to have an adventure. So I stashed some toys, and formulated a plan.

This is about the 6th time Kila and I have picked the girls up from school this way. Our new ritual. We’ve heretofore gone home via the Hill Park and the Library, giving the kids a chance to raise hell before settling in for the night.

They love it, immediately look for snacks, and wonder what adventure is in store

I showed them the map, and said we’d start at the fountain where Kila gets water. G knew what I meant, and almost new how to get there from school. Alana played along.

1.5 mile approach

consulting the map at the Westworld TH.

across the parking lot, down between the hills, under a tree…

someone else out playing with their kids

it was on the tip of my tongue, til i decided ‘milestonamonstrous!’ would suffice.

Pre (slightly-Post)-Emptive Warning: This post is lame and will suck.

no photos, and prose that is mostly weary and in food coma. It was too milestonamonstrous to not throw down on paper while fresh. Some days being father to these kids is a blessing from angels.

Alana rode her goofy plastic tricycle more-or-less to The Eagle.

You: WTF is The Eagle?
Me: Dude, you don’t have the handshake.

Those little legs have figured out how to steer and pedal. They kept going, kept climbing, kept rolling downhill. G rode the strider bike, while Alana huffed with jealousy and fretted with temerity, but knew exactly our destination.

At The Eagle, Alana climbed up the walls, and the rock piles, while G spotted her. And when she wanted to keep climbing and G wanted to ride the trike, she got bent but I just kept repeating ‘share share share‘ til her breathing quieted and she seemed to get it. G was a great big sister by saying thank you and giving me no grief about giving it up after a lap.

and giving a demo!

we rode up the hill. i forget things. we kept riding home, 2 beautiful little girls following me and each other, our tinyPeloton, herded by our dog. G sessioned the tiny slope into the parking lot, Alana wanted to try. Alana wanted to switch bikes. And she was on the strider bike and coasting down gravity and getting it. Use your feet, roll roll. Sharing, sessioning, trading back and forth my 2 great little girls, sessioning some more.

Alana finally crapped out and took the gimme in the jogging stroller the last 200 yards home.

Monday – Rage PT, and dog-walk on the Malice. I am finally learning how to manual, and dropping curbs on 1 wheel.

Tuesday – hour on the trainer while i sat on a conference call, then the Blur and the trailer to pick the kids up from school. We rode home via the Library and Westworld.

As I packed my ‘Go Box’ for Wednesday at Papago Pit on the Heckler, it dawned on me that with a completely holistic effort, I could pull off the clean sweep.  If eating shit on a steep drop to steep tranny didn’t mess me up.

Thursday, the Hei Hei and  I helped Yuri, Gordon, John and Alex plant a Tequila Tree. Excellent times were had, and I cleaned the move that gnarled my finger up almost a year ago. Some very fun pics on Yuri’s blog.

Friday I was going to commute, but a necessary visit to the client site for Project Firebird put the kibbosh on those plans. No Masi, but I made a C-note for an hour and a half.

Saturday I got up early and took the roadie out to the peak of Happy Valley Road. In the hazy overcast morning was the shimmer from the Superstitions 50 miles away, Tom’s Thumb from the other side, and a panorama across the whole north and southeast Valley.  I feel summer approaching, and a curiosity to get out that way at 5:30am with a camera and a gps.

All the Chollaballs then again joined the THNR crew for a trip downtown for the San Tan Wheelie Jam, a fun silly excuse to ride bikes and drink beer.  We had a nice group of parents and kids rolling from Yuri’s house.  And I rode the Masi – check!

navigating metro Phoenix

pre-parade

G was stoked to be in a parade. Unfortunately, her first ride in heavy traffic and a big pack shook her. We stopped half-way through so she could check out the parrots in a tropical bird shop we spotted. Sometimes we all miss Jo, in theory. Completing the course by ourselves, G tipped the odometer into her most mileage in a day, eventually ending at 10 miles and almost 1.5 hrs saddle time.

Snacks and facepainting were the rewards

why are you so tired?

mmm…San Tan Beer Garden

back at Yuri’s for bbq and shenanigans

seriously…what are the odds of getting 3 little girls to look and smile at the same time while swinging?

hard to believe, but i only have about 7 hrs saddle time so far this week.

Alana is willful.

Seriously obnoxiously willful.

She runs from her seat to the driver’s seat of the car, and then back when i open the driver’s door to seize her. She slurps Spic&Span in a moment’s notice, then gripes and grouses when i tell her to drop it or be ready to hurl. At first she gave me a dire, wounded face; now she won’t even look me in the eye, just runs away shrieking in either victory or defeat. You say yes, i say no, you say stop…  Battles with G were over stamina, not fortitude. Not so with Podford. Excuse me, I’d like an argument. the terrible twos.

Everything else about Alana is soft, tender, mushy and delicate. A doughy toasty squeeze on 2 fingers, a gentle migration of snuggle and warmth knocking against me before waking. She still feels so light i barely notice at all. I grab at whatever and slosh it along with my laptop and groceries and beer.

I see her on the jungle gym, hints of a washboard underlying babyfat, strangely-strong arms hanging 10 seconds against gravity with ease, blue-eyed smile staring in my face, pedals pumping 200 yards at a time. But she can’t swing her arm or kick her leg enough to budge Kila. G comes at either of us and we cover our faces and run, Alana is a thin beat of a branch against the window in the wind.

Not for long.

There is this knot in her center, a density, gravitational core to the baby.  It gets bigger every day, more and more  armful, just a little harder to haul. She gets stronger every day, hauling the rock hither and tharn. She speaks in sentences, 1 at a time, and another. She asks and answers and asks, goes and chases and does because that’s what’s to do.  She is growing up so fast, her body catching up to all her teachers. Her mind hopping from one tutor to the next, propelled by tireless legs. I think she will become amazing, i quiver and tremble and tingle imagining another beautiful blossoming little girl. I’m watching a moonrise, a desert flower go from bud to bloom in a week, a pool go from crystal clear to green with algae. She’s like honey, fights when she’s surly, so soft its sweet.