“Daddy, daddy….” Alayna (our two-year old) was quietly seeking my attention.

“Yes, Alayna?” came my response, spoken into the darkness and followed by a moment of thoughtful contemplation. When she was finally ready, Alayna answered in a quiet but resolute voice.

“I’m Batman.”

Oh, and I’ve also got a bridge in London to sell you…

Each set of grandparents was willing to spend two and one-half days with all four kids. So, while Erin and I were off galavanting in wide open spaces (sporting a snazzy Mercury Grand Marquis rental car no less), the grandparents were spinning in circles with baby food, diapers, snacks, legos, trucks, guns, swords, dolls, bottles, and sick children.

Yes, Alayna wasn’t feeling good. (Which, I’m sorry to say, is actually a good thing… she’s easier to manage when she’s not feeling good. Call me a bad parent, but when she’s got a little fever and just plain tired out, she’s really cute… and she doesn’t scream.) I am happy to report that everyone is still alive and well. Well, maybe just alive.

Extreme Babysitting

Upon reflection, I think that two and one-half days (60 hours) with four kids is pretty much a grandparent’s marathon. Actually, it’s more like one of those crazy extreme events where people bicycle across the United States in 10 days. This event is so extreme that the participants eventually start to hallucinate before completing the journey. In fact, a repeat winner halicuinates that deadly military forces are chasing him. It’s the only thing that keeps him going.

I’m pretty sure that grandparents start to hallucinate about two hours into this extreme four-child babysitting event. I just can’t figure out what sort of hallucination keeps them going for the remaining 58 hours. Maybe someday I’ll find out. Not sure if I want to though.

One More Time?

So, Texas was fun, but I don’t think we’ll be able to call in another hallucination-inducing favor again… well for at least a few years.

The Facts of Life

When having a family picture taken, it’s inevitable that as one child looks at the camera, another will look away. It’s a fact of life. Cows chew their cud, chickens peck the ground, road runners escape and outwit coyotes, and children never simultaneously look at a camera.

Sometimes I think a magical, invisible string is attached to their faces. One end is fastened to the ear of the first child and the other to the nose of a second – preventing even the possibility of them looking the same direction.

Parents can sometimes break this invisible string if they yell, jump up and down like fools, and frantically wave whatever is nearby (sticks, leaves, small poodles). However, being a magic string, it reconnects immediately following any breakage.

The Chaoss Scale

This fact of life produces a traumatic effect on parents, which can be measured and quantified in a manner similar to the Richter scale. (For each tenth point the traumatic effect is multiplied 10 times.) It’s known as the CHAOSS (Children Having Acute Overactive Sensory Stimuli) scale. Let me give you the math. (If you don’t like math, then you can skip the next paragraph of it… kinda like you did in school.)

The age of the child is inversely proportional to the trauma of the parent. So the younger the child is, the more traumatic family pictures become. Here’s the formula to calculate the traumatic effect of family portraits on parents. Subtract the age of the child from the average lifespan of a person (say 70 for easy math). Then divide that number by the result of multiplying the age of the child by 10. Add all children together.

Having four young children, we’re about a 13.1 on the CHAOSS scale. Imagine a 13.1 earthquake and you’ll have something close to the traumatic effect we endure with family pictures.

The Trauma

Bottom line: it’s hard. Really hard.

One child looks and smiles, the second sticks his leg in the air. A third looks and smiles while the fourth is playing with the grass. The second decides to look and smile (because of a recent verbal barrage from the parents) when the third puts her hand in her mouth and shows us the apple from which she just took a bite. The fourth is still playing with the grass. The first puts his head down as the apple is swallowed by the third. The fourth finally looks up with a confused stare at the flailing arms and loud emotive sounds coming from just behind the camera, while the second falls down. The third shoos away bugs as the first is chomping on and proudly display his gum.

After loud shouts, clapping hands, and the waving of leaves, sticks, nearby small animals, and any other non-translucent object, the magic, invisible string breaks, and all four children look at the camera for an instant. Then the fourth looks back at the grass, the third complains about pieces of apple in her teeth, the second puts his leg back in the air and the first begins to wander away. One second for a picture in the thousand seconds that it took to get it. The parents are… well, I don’t know if they are at all any longer.

This is the CHAOSS scale at work.

And We Have The Photos To Prove It

Keep in mind, our photographer did a fantastic job of getting the absolute best shots from the entire thousand seconds. The ones with legs in the air, children falling on the ground, and so on, weren’t taken.

And the winner is… ?

Well, at least they’re all looking at the camera… sorta.

There are many things that Alayna likes, which is a very good thing. She loves cows (they say mooooo), she loves horses (they say neeeiigghhhh), she loves trucks (vrooom, vroom), she loves railroad tracks and trains (they say choo choo) and she loves bridges and water (they don’t say anything, but she doesn’t hold that against them). The difficulty is that she loves these things so much that she refuses to entertain the idea that they may not be within visible range. Usually this difficulty (and difficulty is my polite way of say traumatic event) is made manifest while we are driving.

Alayna: “See cows!”
Me: “You like cows?” (This is my attempt to head her off at the pass)
Alayna: “Yeah. Please, see cows.” (She’s not buying it)
Me: “What do cows say?” (Another attempt to avert disaster)
Alayna: “Mooooooooo.”
Alayna: “Please, see cows!” (My attempts always fail)
Me: “There aren’t any cows here.”
Alayna: “PLEEAAASSEEE!!! PLEEAAASSEEE!!!”

At this point in the conversation there is no solution. No logical discussion (like saying “Please doesn’t make them appear”, or “Daddy isn’t a magician”, or “Daddy isn’t God”, or “We’re in the city and cows aren’t around”, or “Wait a little bit”, or “We’ll see them another time”, or “I want to see cows too”, or “There’s a cow, right there” (that one sometimes works, but not usually for cows). The only way to avoid the screaming and crying that is the certain outcome of this conversation is to use smoke and mirrors to distract. Enter trucks.

Me: “Alayna, there’s a truck, did you see it?”
Alayna: “Yeah.”
Alayna: “Dood Ah-Nother, truck. Please!”
Me: “Keep looking, you’ll see one.” (Yeah, like that statement’s gonna work)
Alayna: “No. Dood Ah-Nother truck. Please. PLEEAASSSEE!!”
Me: “I’m looking, I think there is one coming up… it’s coming uuuppp…. it’s right there look out your window, its right there do you see it? It’s a great truck. Did you like it?” (Just keep talking, just keep talking, just keep talking, just keep talking)
Alayna: “Yeah.”
Alayna: “Dood Ah-Nother truck. Please! PLLEEAASSSEEE!!!”
Me: “Alayna, what does a cow say?”
Alayna: “Moooooo.”

This subject changing (aka smoke and mirror distraction) can help. But it leads to a conversation about every animal she knows and what sounds they make (yes, that’s birds, roosters, ducks, cats, dogs, horses, frogs, et. al.) which eventually leads to…

Alayna: “Dood Ah-gain!”

This can last for quite awhile, which is helpful, but sometimes while I’m driving this causes my throat to run dry. I have to have some honey and hot water in the car at all times. And just when you think it’s as difficult as it can get, it gets more difficult (read – traumatic). Which leads me to the brief conversation we had yesterday that led to this post.

Me: “Alayna, we’re going over a bridge! Look, it’s the Maumee River!”
Alayna: “Yeah!”
Alayna: “Mommee River.”
Alayna: (Brief moment of contemplative silence)
Alayna: “Mom. Moma. Maomi ver. Mommee ver. Mommee River. Dood Ah-Nother Mommee River!”
Me: “There’s only one.”
Alayna: “Dood Ah-Nother Mommee River. Please. PLLEEAASSEE!!!”

Cows and trucks are one thing, we might be able to have another one of those come by, but I’m not aware of another Maumee River.

Good things must come to an end. Maybe one day she’ll be able to take it in stride and just enjoy the one existing Maumee River.

In thinking about some of the questions multiple answers came to mind. We weren’t sure which one we should have given, so we thought we’d see what you all thought. Which one would you give?

Does she jump two feet?

1. No, she’s not Spud Web. (Short basketball player from back in the day who could dunk…)
2. Fully-sugared or sugar-free?
3. I measured yesterday and she only topped 1 foot 10 inches. Should I spank for that?
4. I can’t even jump two feet.
5. Yes, two years ago I gave birth to a frog.
6. Not if she’s near kryptonite.
7. Yes, she always uses two feet to jump.
8. No, she only uses one foot to jump.

Can she stack six blocks?

1. I’m not sure we can find six blocks in any one place in our house.
2. Yes, she can stack six blocks of cheese in her mouth.
3. I can’t even stack six blocks.
4. I think so, but I don’t know exactly how many blocks she stacks. You’ll have to ask her foreman, she just started laying foundations last week – she had been only doing framing before that.
5. No, she gets to four and her brothers always knock it over. On a positive note, she can shatter six ear drums at one time.

Does she know more than 50 words?

1. Yesterday, when I was having her recite all the words she knows and counting them, we only got to 43. Should I be worried?
2. If not, should she watch more Word Girl on PBS?
3. I don’t even know 50 words.
4. Yeah, but she never remembers to answer in the form of a question on Jeopardy.
5. Do aaahhhh, aarrrghhh, nnmmmk, uuuggghhh, and uummmm count?
6. When we discuss the ramifications of a limited vocabulary with her, she is persistent and unequivocal in her stance on capping her vocabulary at 45 words. I don’t really want to push her on it.

Can another person understand her?

1. When she’s happy, or when she’s mad? She has one word when she’s mad: Aarrgggghhhh. It has several meanings and we haven’t published the dictionary for it yet.
2. Depends on who that other person is. Elmo?
3. No one can even understand me.
4. Does this other person speak English, Chinese, and Gibberish?
5. Is this other person above the age of 2?
6. Well, her babysitter didn’t know what she meant by parsimonious argumentation, but other than that most people can follow her.

Today the children were leaving (with Mom) for swimming lessons. They were all packed into the mini-van with the essentials (towels, goggles, matchbox cars, drinks, snacks, sunglasses, hats, … you get the picture). I poked my head in to say good-bye and wish them all a fun time (and Erin good luck).

Ethan told me he couldn’t wait to go under water.

Lucas showed me his matchbox cars and informed me that one had a round front-end and the other had a pointy front-end.

Alayna showed me the buckle to her car seat (buk-uhl), her hat (hhhaat), and then reached down to find something – and didn’t find it. She said sunglasses (suhn-gas-es) and began to cry.

I was in the process of closing the door, but re-opened it to see what was wrong. What was wrong?  She couldn’t find her sunglasses. Where were they? On her face. I pointed that out and she replied, “Oh” and ceased crying.

Yes, we know it, we’re in trouble.

We’ve recently started sending our almost two year old to the corner for screaming. She screams… a lot. Today, Erin told her to stop screaming and she screamed one last time and then walked right to the corner. I’m not sure if that’s helping or not, but at least she knows the penalty for her crimes.

Tonight at dinner Alayna was eating beans. Fistfuls of beans were flying down her throat, literally. When she hit the bottom of the bowl, we encouraged her to move on to her spaghetti. She requested a spoon, in her usual way, with a scowl and a frantic call.

“Poon, poon, poon, POON, POON, POON, AARRGGHH!”

“Do you want a spoon Alayna?” Erin responded.

“Yeah!” Alyana answered with a large smile.

Erin got up to get the spoon and Alayna cheered, “Yay!”

Upon returning to the table, Erin handed Alayna the spoon and sat down. Alayna took the spoon in her left hand and immediately became distracted by something else. I think it was her spaghetti filled right hand, which she wanted cleaned.

“Een, een, een, EEN, EEN, EEN, AARRGGHH!”

I told her to lick it clean. She responded by grinning ear to ear and putting her hand into her mouth. However, by this time she realized she wanted her spoon.

“POON, POON, POON, AARRGGHH!”

Yes, we got to the yelling point immediately this time. I pointed to her left hand and reminded her she had the spoon there. She looked down, and her frowning, mad face instantly brightened with a smile, “Ooooohh, pooooon!”

A schizophrenic?  A bi-polar? No, just my 20 month old….

Keep in mind this is just one child. The others are either refusing to eat, falling off their chairs with plates and food flying, crying incessantly from the swing, demanding more milk, etc., etc., etc.

Don’t get me wrong, I love our kids and I love dinner… Sometimes, though, I’d like to love them separately.