Amazing No More October 22 - November 20, 2005 The ultimate enthusiasm killer: Daylight Saving Time Change + Common Cold

	TV Zombie

The Internet's and Murphy's Laws operate without mercy. In the last journal I bragged how well I had been managing things, and now I found myself reversed. My children conspired with mindless changes in daylight savings time and aggressive viral infections -- and their joined forces brought me to my knees.

Enough had been written about how the time changes, at the price of crazy inconvenience to whole nations, save only miniscule fraction of energy costs. Purely theoretically, one could argue that while I'm at home with the kids, we could get used to the changes at our own pace, and it's not a big deal. Alas, it's not about the getting used to it -- it's about being suddenly in the dark after five p.m., and now the whole responsibility rests on my loins, namely to survive next four hours inside the house with my offspring, who were used to stroll around the block in the evening. Tom naps till about four. If Lisa happens to be sleeping as well, our noisy junior would unconditionally wake her up. Both children are in a bad mood after their nap; before I pacify them, change their diapers and clothes, issue snacks and organize departure, we get to the aforementioned five o'clock, and it's damp and cold outside. Which leaves me little to choose from, perhaps some shopping, visiting of friends, book and toy store raids (they have tables with trains), and activities at home. It's been rather simple with Lizzy. She can entertain herself for quite a while on the floor by wiggling her own feet, rolling around (and getting angry for forgetting her little hand somewhere), as well as exploring various toys (and getting angry if they are unfit for swallowing whole, or if they don't cooperate in a similar fashion). Tommy has got his trains at home, toy cars and airplanes, and he knows how to play with them for relatively long while, but over time he begins to have silly ideas and it becomes necessary to capture his attention.

	Tom's painting lasts unfortunately only a short while.

I went and purchased finger paint, play-doh and a large book of stickers. Tom likes the paint, but it usually keeps him interested no long than some twenty minutes. Stickers are an evergreen, but I must say that I have been also getting jolts from seeing stickers carefully and non-removably attached to our hardwood floor (which is accomplished by patient, repeated running over it with a large toy truck), glued to important documents, or alternatively from fishing such a sticker, shredded to a million small felt pieces, from freshly washed laundry. I place sticker inventors in the same group with lunatics endangering society at large, just as I do with inventors of step-on toy cars (Matchbox); I hope that the relevant gentlemen were appropriately lynched.

Besides my battle with shortened time for outdoor walks with kids, I had been befallen by illness. This year it will be six times that I had common cold -- the one most common of all, which makes you feel not quite up to do anything, which makes you cough like a sanatorium for lung diseases, and which makes handkerchief-to-nose implant seem like a reasonable idea. What works is crawling for a few days into bed with a barrel of hot tea, and a guarantee to bother neither self nor thy neighbors. If you possess two perky kids, then instead of hot tea you pour yourself a glass of water from the tap, and instead of into your bed you trot out with a baby on your stomach, closely following a self-sufficient young man on his daily walk. You don't dare to get anywhere near your friends (since they, too, have small children, and you don't want to infect anybody), and you'd find it embarrassing to go spitting on another kids into the earlier mentioned libraries and museums -- there's really nothing left but to walk. I always got nearest to the elusive sense of leisure relaxation around eight o'clock in the evening, when I nursed Lisa on the couch and Tom drank his milk while watching his favorite TV shows (currently we have been alternating between Thomas the Tank Engine and Maxipes Fík). I know both series inside and out, and so I usually gaze at the wall, but Tom seems to especially enjoy its repetitiveness. Especially Maxidog Fig inspires him to comment and mimic -- he learned the letter F, became another world champion in jumping (however, only the aimless kind -- he's fallen short of reaching Fig's level, namely jumping for beer and newspapers). Tommy laughs at spots that seem funny (e.g. when a landlord hides under a trapdoor). We have attempted to sneak in other shows, but even otherwise very popular Little Mole did not catch Tom's fancy. I think that Tommy is a realist -- he knows steam engines and dogs too, so he can relate to Thomas and Fig somehow. Fictitious characters or animals that are not common to see are not too interesting for him. In a similar style, Tom abandoned his beloved little stuffed hippo and won't part from his ginger cat, who's real-life twin meets us often in the street.

	Sid with kids roll out into the wilderness

In addition to all these joys, my children have decided to brighten my nights as well. Lizzy, who used to sleep from nightfall to dawn, began to demand her breakfast between one and three. Tom, on the other hand, entered a phase of nightmares, and he cries around two a.m., and stumbles through the house. An example of such a night consists of Tom going to bed by nine, Lisa falling asleep by ten, me crawling into my bed by eleven, then by eleven thirty Sid, who as a matter of principle discovers most urgent computer work by then, wakes me up by eleven thirty by coming to the bedroom, at one Lizzy vehemently demands her food, then having regained her strength, yells out from her bed; when I finally fall asleep by two, in forty minutes Tom wakes up. It's Sid who usually gets up to chase him back to bed, but my sleep is naturally interrupted. By five Lisa gets up, remains merry till about half past six; at seven thirty Tommy gets finally up. And now imagine that after such a night, I try to exhume myself with a head like a bucket, with aching joints, TB-like cough and an outlook to a day-long chain-gang toil culminated by a final four-hour bonus round with tireless juniors. I must say that in this particular week, my sense of humor has left me for good, as well as my convictions that two kids and a household are easy to keep in check without the cooperation of a wider family or hired help.

	Our playroom is often full.

Nevertheless I'm at least sure that it can't go this way any longer, and that I shall have to stop being unnecessarily brave (= stupid) and bring in sacrifices that nobody cares for. Our family council has decreed that Sid shall come back home somewhat earlier than by nine p.m., and it would not be too bad to find a pre-school for Tom. I don't know how much I can work out my ideas about pre-schooling institution with the American system and our finances, but I have been working on it. The last goal I had set for myself is to teach Lisa to drink from a bottle. It seems that she wakes up in night on account of being hungry, and so she could use some substantial feeding in the evening. Alas, I am not built to nurse small hippos (Lizzy is a huge baby) and by the end of the day I somewhat fail in my function as a nutritional supply. A simple solution, that is our daughter finishes off with a portion of formula from a bottle, so far has failed on her complete lack of cooperation regarding a rubber nipple. I had tried all kinds -- fast ones, slow ones, rubbery and silicone, specially shaped -- to no avail.

Don't think all I want is to complain. My kids, you see, have a father, who takes care of them, as much as he is able. Sid bathes both children. In the last year, I washed Tom perhaps three times, same goes for Lisa. One would say that my Hippo must be an old hand at this, yet even a maestro can play a foul note. The other day he put Tom into the tub, but our poor toddler did not turn and did not play with his water toys; he stood there in the shallow water with an embarrassed look on his face, moaning thinly. A closer inspection has revealed that Sid had been so quick in his bathing preparations that he skipped taking off Tommy's socks.

	This historic Dixiana Shay took us up the hill and back.

I have also managed to explain to Sid that taking both kids out for a walk is really a breeze. I packed a carrier, stroller, waved goodbye and devoted myself to such frivolous activities like reading the internet while simultaneously drinking HOT coffee WITHOUT having to hold a screaming child or having to nurse. This idyllic condition of mine lasted forty minutes. Just as I was getting ready to spend at least an hour in the bathroom, a phone rang. The command was clear albeit somewhat terse: "come for Lisa immediately, we are going to the hospital for sutures!" So I jumped into the car still wearing my nightshirt, and rushed to a parking lot near Vasona park, while Sid with Lisa in the carrier dragged the bleeding Tom by his hand across the whole park to the car. We met by the gate and I could breathe out -- Tommy was running merrily around, being as usual busy examining storm drains and collecting pebbles, and he did not look at all as if his wound on his eyebrow made him nervous. Still I collected the baby, so that she would not have to hang out with her brother at the ER, and Sid with Tom drove away to get three stitches. His bruised eyebrow did not look very bad, not quite like his blue eye, which over three days blossomed into a rainbow beauty. For a change he looked again like an abused child.

	Besides steam engines, Tommy likes to watch ducks at a pond in Felton.

Besides all that, we managed to undergo a larger trip. Sid has never before taken a ride on a steam train at Roaring Camp Railroads in Felton. I have already gone a half year ago, but then it was not much fun. Tom was much smaller, and was bothersome the whole time, attempting to jump out of the window and taking no interest in picturesque surroundings. This time, everything took a much better turn. Since summer, Tommy has been captivated by anything related to trains and so we followed right from the parking lot, how an engine left the depot, discussed principles of steam propulsion (so that he'd feared less all the engine and whistle noise), and reassured him several times that the train is going to wait at the station, which we would eventually reach with our standard pace from one little rock to another drain etc. From an open car, Tom could see the engine and the redwood trees moving around, and behaved like a nice, inquisitive, yet obedient child. When we stopped at the top of the hill, in the midst of the redwood grove, he cutely trotted from one big tree to another, hid in their cavities and balanced on a fallen trunk. He showed certain signs of being tired on our way back, but a small bowl of raisins kept him sitting. Both Sid and I were enthusiastic what a good job our little Tommy did.

	A balloon dawn patrol.

The next greater happening was called WHAMOBASS - a huge ballooning meet in Coalinga. I must admit that planning this trip gave me lots of worries. There were many unknown variables awaiting us. How would children suffer the four-hour drive? How should our sleeping at a motel and early morning getting up work out? Would Lizzy squeal at encountering strange faces? Would Tom scream during inflation and heating up the balloons? Were we going to successfully pack the whole traveling show into one car?

On Friday afternoon, Barbara took Tom for a stroll and I tried to pack, in between nursing and holding Lisa. Eventually the improbable happened and Sid not only came EARLY from work, we actually stuffed everything into our wagon and drove out by two thirty. An expect jury would still probably discount one point for style -- during our packing, Tom escaped into the car, where he switched all switches and pushed all buttons, and subsequently fell out of the car door onto a concrete floor, sustaining road rash on his cheek and nose -- but most importantly, we GOT OUT. And kids behaved almost throughout the four-hour drive.

	A college sports field suddenly blossomed with balloons.

Coalinga could be the capital of nowhere middles; in a landscape not quite decided between a prairie and a desert, occasionally decorated by oil drilling and pumping equipment, functional and otherwise. Dinner turned out to be problematic -- we wanted to avoid local McDonald, and so we tried an upscale-looking steak house, Harris Ranch. Well, only their prices were scaled up; meals, on the other hand, were substandard and service appalling.

Getting back to our motel room, we played a fairy tale for Tom on our computer (I commend Sid for his idea to take along a few DVDs and a notebook), gave him a bath, and one after another got into our beds. Tommy was all wild from being in a large bed and kept crawling out and being silly (he banged his head on the headboard), and showed overall excitement. I don't know why we bothered to set the alarm clock to five a.m. -- Tom, having rampaged till ten p.m., was by two a.m. quite alive and merry -- apparently his enthusiasm originated in the fact that we all slept in one room together. When we were really tired to keep getting up to him and tucking him in, Sid switched to Tom's bed. This, however, made Tom express himself like a noble lady and demand that daddy immediately shave his face. This is mixed in my memory with me nursing Lisa and then suddenly everything turning quiet -- and five o'clock upon us. I let the whole family nap for twenty more minutes, but then we had to go.

	Then all bubbles lifted off... and Tommy kept wanting to get away.

While driving to the local college sports field, where the meet took place, we could see Dana's Dawn Patrol. Imaging a dark night's sky, which suddenly lights up with a colorful envelope illuminated by a warm light of the propane burners. For a few seconds this mirage hovers above, and then, just as suddenly, darkness is everywhere -- until the balloon needs stoking again.

Ballooning is before all a SOCIAL affair. There were speeches held at the sports field, organizational functions, drinking many dozens of gallons of hot coffee and an overall socializing. We were substantially incapacitated by our children. Lizzy slept nicely in her stroller, but this needed pushing around; Tommy did not look happy at all. As soon as he found that these were balloons we came to watch, he demanded an unconditional departure. We somehow survived launches of several dozens of balloons, yet could not spark any sporting spirit in our Tom. By him, all balloons made horrible noise and that was that. Paradoxically, while Tom kept holding us tight and plugging his ears, Lisa slept peacefully in an alley between two balloons and showed no signs of alarm from the whirr of the fans and later the roar of the burners.

Around eight, everything was up in the air and my Hippo insisted on breakfast. Tom developed and bit better mood at McDonald's, where he played at the slides, but our meal had convinced us that next time, we'd be better off hungry. It has been a few years since we last visited Mickey Dee, and we had mercifully forgotten how tasteless, unappetizing, suffocating their food is. The family council began to get a feeling that perhaps it would be better to pack everything and leave. We were not attracted by the idea of spending an afternoon at the motel or amid the oil wells, followed by another horrible night, and getting up at five -- all that to cause Tom another stress with balloons?

	Balloons are pretty -- but it is too early to charm our kids with them.

We drifted somehow undecidedly towards the motel, when we spotted Brent's Shooting Star in a nearby field, trying to find a landing spot. Brent's chase crew did not get there yet, so Hippo helped to keep the basket down while I tried to park our car and unload the kids. Tom, as soon as he discovered that it was another balloon, began to plead desperately that he be allowed not to leave the car. If I had been undecided about our leave, my worried, unhappy junior convinced me in that moment. We still helped Brent pack his balloon; Tom eventually walked out of the car, yet avoided the envelope (albeit deflated and pacified) in a great circle. Brent has promised to pass our greetings and explanation to the other friendly pilots, and off we went.

Our children slept peacefully all the way back to the Valley; at two we gulped down an excellent Vietnamese soup at our favorite My Pho restaurant, and by half past two we all arrived to our house. Thus the trip ended without success only regarding balloons. Quite contrary, we consider it a very positive experience with packing and journeying. Tom's staying up late was a bit disturbing, but it originated in his excitement from a new surroundings, and we excuse it as something that should improve. We miss our road trips greatly and I would really love to write about something else than our humdrum household merry-go-round -- perhaps during this decade, we shall visit more distant places.

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