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.

i’ve had the blues, the reds and the pinks. One thing’s for sure, love stinks– The J. Geils Band

love?

i’ll tell ya about love… its laundering a load of lights after a roadtrip. Endless stacks of tiny shirts and tinier shirts, lycra-woven socks that could almost fit any of us, and shirt-like pant-like flower blossoms that defy identification. My children are disgusting, they go through 2.8 outfits each, per day, more on weekends. I would kill myself if i thought about being reduced to this, but the residual stoke of the weekend makes it a game.

I should turn this into an app, dudes would so buy this. A next-gen version of my vaporware  Sorting Silverware, which was too easy to be profitable. You go for the bright-colored kids stuff, then the nipples and straws and air ducts, knives cause the handles give them away, forks, big\little spoons. 20 seconds, too easy.

V2 adds challenges and  noise, starting with color blindness. 2 little girls == 0 navy blue || hunter green.  The game also gets harder with fatigue from 4-6 more loads of laundry waiting for me, or that i’ve done, or that i’m doing.  Its like my commute – so horrible, that only a time trial and self-flagellation inspires enough motivation to make me believe its good.

Desperate Housewives, I bring you…

Bulletstorm X: Laundromat (working title)

Its going to kick ass! Sort or die, dive in, go!

• ownership x 4
• type {pants, shirt, socks, toy, towel, blankey, UNDERPANTS!, shorts, other}
• hangers.  *oooph* didn’t see that one coming. big hangers, little hangers, pants hangers – getting past that is like a Boss round.
• dryer vs air dry
• which fucking drawer? I gave up with Alana, and she now has a drawer of anything with 2 leg holes

I think i can get my time down to 6 min per load.

this is the most awesomest thing evah!!!! Beckie acts like she’s doing me a favor when i work on her bikes; G wants me to set her up with tools, Alana  begs to help and then she dances. No TomSawyerizin’ or nuttin.

dear blog, its been a fun coupla years, but you are cramping my style. kisses, Alana.

My posting frequency has dropped in inverse proportion to Alana’s development. I am too busy, and if not too busy, too tired to write. All those months of blogging about my radness and 15 posts about G are long gone.   I’m sad, cause Alana does so many mind-blowing things.  I have to leave myself notes:

TODO: WRITE ABOUT PODORD!!!

She learned the chorus, sort of, for the Bob the Builder theme song, but I’ve been too transfixd to record her screaming it.   It goes like this “blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaab the blablab!”.  Its got hit written all over it.  Ideas i once had that i would build into something interesting, polish like a standup bit, i’ve no bandwidth for.   ironic that she disempowers her own image broker. she could rule the ‘tubez, if i wasn’t so busy chasing her. She is that stinkin’ cute.

she get into and out of the car and into and out of school, with minimal risk to life and limb.  I didn’t notice it til it was happening, when I could open everyone’s car doors and collect the handful of  blankies and packpacks and diapers and turn to see everyone punching the key code into the front door.  My amazement is only in reflection, there was never really any doubt. If G is going, Alana is going too. today G cleaned\taught\drowned Alana in the shower, while i went downstairs and got a beer, not worried. I deserve a refreshment for my architecting. And Alana is indeed that smart, with a constant example just far enough ahead of her to make her stretch to find the way.

The dynamic the kids have developed is not what i would have expected. G is always the loudest, but instead of shrinking, Alana got herself sum street cred. She never backs down, carries her cool like a real-ass gansta. she’ll knock the black off yo ass. And that is why G keeps her around.

I have to carve out time. Not writing about my kids, logging pictures, storing memories seems like i am forgetting them.   Ironic that i spend more time with them when not on the computer, but the everpresentness of it vanishes in a blur of daily responsibility and emotions and grind. Your memory is what is burned in by repetition, but your personality is what you live every day.  I wonder about those divorced fathers, a weekend is not enough, its not every time every day. As my self has become about them only, so has my internet. Its not quantifiable like a stat counter, but its worth more.

Resigning myself to declining stats, i’ve unexpectedly opened myself up to artistic freedom, as it were. Why do you write? This blog is about…its about me doin’ me.  i can draw hits with posts about biking and titles that generate cross traffic, i can squeeze out some tall tales from a ride, but i’m so thankful just to find time to ride i don’t care anymore.  i have become an artiste. 4 yrs have led me through the intertubez Gomorrah and back.

The new-and-improved chollaball.net.  The No Bullshit chollaball.net. all killer no filler chollaball.net.  i’m so thankful to find time.

this is, according to the new pediatrician, a milestone of sorts. Alana had them all well-covered. i’m not bragging, just relieved she’s not a freakshow. yay Alana!

She is 50th and 50th, G is 90th and 90th. I’m kinda enjoying G being such a fit, fast little athlete. and in contrast, i have at times been…ahem…not as smitten with Alana. even if she was 95/95, she would still seem small, slow and slothful compared to G.  POD-FORD. but i think she has developed stamina and resilience faster than G. She just keeps seeing what’s in front of her, plowing ahead, soaking it in, churning forward.

as i prepared to abscond with the filthy puppy, i whispered to Beckie and G to fall in with my larceny.  It went like this:
.

ME:  Look, Alana is distracted by something shiny. i’m going for the puppy.

B&G:  WHAT? HUH? ALANA’s PUPPY?

ME: distract the baby

B&G:  WHAT? HUH? ALANA’S PUPPY?

ME: distract the damn baby

B&G:  WHAT? HUH? WHAT? LOUDER? ALANA’S PUPPY?

.
*pffft*. amateurs, wrecking my plan to get it into the wash without a meltdown. by the time it was time to stick it in the dryer, she knew what wassup; shrugged and handed it over. ducky towel time for the smart baby.

having your own bouncer for 8 hrs ought to be illegal. all the silliness they can not do at Pump It Up, Lifeguard Chollaball allows! Popcorn for everyone! the birds in the yard will be a big attraction, we can watch Turtle swoop!

after 9 hours, and all the guests leaving, they still would not stop. It became fetishistic, all the freaknastiness you only dream of

Happy Bday, lovely girls!

they must have been as good as i hoped, I didn’t get any. the kids ate them all for breakfast and lunch.

my new camera sucks, but you can hear Alana has figured out simple sentences. later that night, after she dumped hot water on G, told her she was sorry and gave her a hug, then told me she wanted out of the tub and to get her duck towel.