Traveling Show August 12 - 30, 2005 Wanted: trainer to teach me (baby) juggling, wild animal taming, tightrope balancing.

	I can often rest only as a sleeping mat for Lisa.

I have counted two more weeks being a double mother and I begin to faintly guess that my dear girlfriends did not lie. I thought that they were just showing off when they had claimed, one kid - no kid. Enlightened by my new experience I must admit they were right -- as long as Sid or granny is watching after at least one of my offspring, I feel unbelievably agile and capable. Would it seem complicated to load a box of juice on my cart at a wholesale store, while carrying a baby in a sling? Hah -- now try the same box not only with said baby in a sling, but with a toddler who runs away, or alternatively jumps head-first from the cart. Would you find it impossible to have a nice dinner at a restaurant, if you also must cut your child's meat, keep catching his glass of water, and make sure you don't spike his eye with the fork during feeding? It is rather a piece-of-cake, unless you also must sling a newborn just to make her stop screaming for the benefit of every diner.

I must say that moving around with two children is a real "rush". I still stumble upon small technical details. The aforementioned shopping, for example -- if I take a cart and put Lisa in the seat, there is no place to put Tom and vice versa. If I sail right among the shelves with my bus (the double stroller), I got a place for the kids, but now I got nothing to put my purchased items into, and I have no way to get them out of the store (pushing the stroller and holding an armful of bags is not a realistic scenario, and the little basket under the stroller won't hold much). An option remains to put Lisa in a sling and Tom on the cart, which means waking her up during loading and unloading from the sling, and risking her screaming for the duration of my shopping, and on my way home, respectively (in most cases, both).

	Lisa shows her muscles in our baby gym

A social life with two kids does not seem dangerous, at least so I thought. Still I warned my first visitors that Lisa usually does not sleeps during the day, and shortens her long while by exercising her lungs; on the other hand, Tom insists on several multi-hour walks every day. Iva with her daughter Clara were well prepared to troll around our neighborhood, and to tolerate a crying baby. Kids, however, keep many aces up their sleeves. Shortly before my visitors' arrival, Lisa fell asleep and stayed in this state for several hours. Tommy, whom I wanted to send out with our grandmother, assertively slammed a door into the face of my mother, and jumped into Clara's arms. For the remainder of their visit, he dithered around cutely in our living room and played very nicely with his new gift, a small airplane. My friends were amazed by the exceptional behavior of my children, and must think I talk nonsense.

Our next visit was another success. Don's wife Sally had brought up four children (she must be a saint) and she forbade us right away to make any preparations. I gathered from her call that they would bring something for a barbecue, but in reality they brought everything all done -- meat, salads, bread, desserts. They must have a very realistic idea about what can a newly inaugurated double mother put together (yet they don't know that with us, all the cooking and preparation would fall on Sid anyway). It was a wonderful surprise -- my role of the hostess thus shrunk into handing out utensils and glasses.

When we went for a change to visit with one of our friends, who shall remain unnamed, Lisa rewarded the enthusiastic lady of the house with a rich payback. I apologize for the upcoming fecal stories, but Lizzy always saves her largest loads for some special occasion -- in this case, her target was a white blouse and trousers of our host. She has fortunately an easy-going nature; in a few days she even brought Lisa a beautiful outfit. I have a feeling it should be the other way around (Lisa to give some clothes to the contaminated party).

	In August, perpetual inversion fog sometimes withdraws from the coast, and beaches lit up in the smothering sunshine of Indian summer.

My attempts to walk outside with the kids resemble a slapstick comedy. When we arrived for the first time to a playground, I discovered that Lisa had delivered "scrambled eggs" not only into her diaper, body suit and pants, but she seeped through into her car seat. I had no other choice than to let Tom squeal, strapped in the car (to release him on a parking lot in a moment when I my hands were literally full of awful things, did not seem like a good idea at the moment). With his acoustic assistance I tried to contain the disaster, and either clean contaminated items (e.g. the baby) or confine them in plastic bags (diaper, towels, clothes). I was fortunate to having brought extra shirt and pants for Lisa, and we eventually made it to the playground. Tom, however, finally unleashed into that space, flatly refused to take interest in localized activities (jungle gyms, mud pies, swings) and headed straight for trees. Toting Lisa in her sling carrier, I gave him a basic lecture in botany (trees have roots, cones fall from trees etc.) and subsequently trotted behind him towards the greatest attraction of this particular trip -- over the parking lot, onto a pedestrian highway overpass. I'm not quite sure why I keep organizing trips to take Tom out to some natural setting, while he would best welcome being at a grocery parking lot, or in the middle of a busy intersection.

I therefore planned our second outing attempt in a park where you can walk some more. And just to make it even less boring, I invited my friend Petra there. When we got there, we had to talk over our cell phones, as Petra was keeping up with her Lucas on his tricycle, while I kept urging Tom to keep going with his push-car. We had finally converged on a small playground, where Tom lasted just barely long enough that I managed to nurse my already protesting Lisa, and we were already moving on in this asymmetric configuration. During one phase of the trip, Luke discarded his tricycle and Tom immediately got hold of it, thus causing a small crisis. Tommy knows not how to pedal, and really cannot steer yet either. Luke ran ahead, I lugged Lisa, pushed Tom forward and dragged him out of ditches, respectively, while clutching onto his abandoned push-car; Petra pushed our empty double stroller and her own single stroller, containing her half-year Veronica -- a veritable traveling show. If I observed the ensuing situation as an independent passerby, I guess it would have made me laugh. Having been a direct participant, I simply perspired beyond belief and cursed the inventors of push-cars, tricycles, and any other bulky toys in general.

	Breastfeeding may happen anytime, anywhere; like here, amidst the rocks of Davenport Landing.

Still believing that more adults can better handle a larger number of children, I decided to take my neighbor Julie along with her grandson K.C., on a small train trip. Naturally when we must be at a specific place in a specific hour and minute, the freeway jams up and Lisa -- as you may have guessed -- selects such occasion for a complete digestive evacuation. Nine minutes before the train's arrival, I was still parking the car, Julie promised to buy tickets, but K.C. refused to leave an interesting performance of a screaming, naked baby, while Tom insisted on deserting his mother. We quickly decided to simply swap our toddlers, and Julie rushed to the platform with Tom. After several seconds, K.C. registered the absence of his grandmother and started to cry. I hurriedly finished wrapping Lisa, stuffed here in her sling and ran with the sobbing K.C. to the station. Meanwhile Julie entered into a wrestling match with a ticket machine (which was winning) and in that moment, the train pulled into the station. Tom got scared, started screaming and caught the first available man, a stranger, by his leg and refused to let go. I freed the gentleman and put one foot into the train's open door to ensure that it waits for us until Julie finishes convincing the ticket machine. It seems unlikely, but we actually all got in.
Once on the train, the children behaved well; Tom was fascinated that the train's wheels make a knocking sound, we watched the lowered gates passing by; K.C. had a similar dialogue with his granny. We got out after eight minutes in the next station and waited for the connection back. Meanwhile we checked out rails, gates, phone booths, a turnstile to the platform, news-stand and several storm drains. We almost did not make it, though, onto the train back -- the conductor said that we would need a ticket for the extra child, since kids four and below ride free, but only when each is accompanied by a paying adult. As the train was ready to leave (there was no time to go buy the ticket at the machine), the conductor does not sell tickets, and we probably had a very "used" look (and we were not ashamed to use our poor little boys, anxious to ride on the train), he let us go anyway.

All in all, our train trip could be considered a success -- only if Lizzy would not erupt during our drive back home. I don't know why she could not have remembered to be hungry only a few minutes earlier, back at the station, where I could sit down on a bench and nurse. Driving on a freeway with one finger stuck in the mouth of a baby who's strapped in the back seat is quite an experience (where are all the good old times when I critically wondered why mothers drive half way turned around behind the wheel!). Eventually Lisa rejected my finger as well and wholly devoted herself to hysterical screaming (pacifiers don't work on her at all -- finger only sometimes -- if there's no milk coming out of it, a very decided spitting and loud protests follow). I must say that I was backing into the garage with a feeling that for these two hours, I deserved at least one week off on some deserted island (yes, WITHOUT any cute babies, train trips, tricycles, grocery stores and freeways).

	Summer's end also benefits hot-air ballooning, for fogs are less frequent, and shortening days make getting up less cruel.

Tommy has learned to understand well everything we say -- so well that we consider posting the signs in our home. Sometimes, even allegories would not help, and our junior, who had till then played quietly with his cars in a corner, causes a sudden scene, in which he demands immediate realization of our discussed plan. Or he hurls himself into executing the action planned -- we were watching gees grazing in a park; I explained to Tom that geese were eating grass. Tom wisely nodded and before I could interfere, he dropped to all four and tried to taste the grass for himself. For the rest of our walk, I had to mull over and over that geese really eat the grass, but Tommy eats meat and potatoes and fruit etc. Since then Tom has not attempted to graze again, so it would seem that my explanation worked and we won't be giving the impression that our poor son gets nothing to eat at home.

	Lisa's favorite place is a vibrating seat with a musical aquarium, and Tom likes to hang around this circus -- to flip the gadget's switches whenever nobody's watching.

Even more interesting is how Tom quickly adapted to the phenomenon of two languages. While he disagrees with us, Czechs, using a flat NE, our neighbor Julie gets equally flat NO. So far he has not mixed it up, knowing well who uses which language. In his unfathomable mumbo-jumbo, he uses different intonation and syllables, whenever he "speaks" with Julie, than during communication with us. I think he will soon begin to speak now. Despite his limited vocabulary, Tom is able to produce whole sentences. The other Saturday morning, for example, he came (by the way, how does he know it's a Saturday and his father does not go to work?) and told me that "tata mama brmbrm hoohoo" and circled his little hand (meaning a propeller). We had other plans than going to the airport, so I tried to deflect his focus away from airplanes, but to no avail. Tommy had decided to get his daddy and mommy into our car and drive to see the aircraft so strongly, and asked for it so touchingly that we eventually gave in.

After a month of life with two children, I begin to get it -- finally I see, what I got myself into. Chronic lack of sleep, days spent in endless diaper changing, feeding, putting to sleep or consoling one or the other child, temporary mental drop-outs (e.g. the other day I tried to stand Lizzy up on her feet, to be able to pull her pants up like I'm used to with Tom) -- all these occur day in, day out. There's nothing else left than focusing on the optimistic side of things. Both kids are relatively healthy, and Lisa is obviously still able to make me deliver enough food -- on the day when she was exactly one month old, she reached eleven pounds (five kilos). My friends are still not ashamed to show themselves in public with me and our traveling show. Tommy loves Lisa very much, I don't have to deal with sibling rivalry or maliciousness (I only had to learn to be less sensitive, for unless I react immediately to Lizzy's crying, Tom starts to cry desperately out of solidarity). Thanks to this new situation, I get plenty opportunity to exercise my negotiation skills. One can often find me sitting somewhere, nursing Lisa and calling after Tom. I consider it a great success whenever I manage to convince an almost two years old male to, come closer, not run, not jump into a pond, not smack down his toys, not dig in mud, not topple over the stroller, not pick his nose, bring back his thrown-away cup, get out of bicyclists' way, not run away, not chase ducks, eat lunch and not eat earthworms, etc. Perhaps after parenting, I should take on a career of a UN peace negotiator -- I believe that arranging for peace in the whole world should be easy with my practice.

Copyright © 2005 by Carol & Sid Paral. All rights reserved.