It's a lame excuse but whatever creative bones exist in my body have been dulled by the seemingly unending shitty weather. The past few weeks, if I muster up the strength to write even just a personal e-mail, it's late at night after the kids and the wife are in bed. The house is finally calm and quiet. No tantrums, no television blasting noise, no domestic emergencies. I treasure those few daily minutes of tranquility so dearly that I usually toast to myself with a glass of wine or whiskey. But lately I've either bypassed those moments and went directly to bed, or my brain was too fried to write anything half interesting.
Irregahdless, here's a brief re-cap of the recent happenings in our neck of the woods other than clearing snow from the driveway and staying cooped up in the house every day. We've experienced leaks of varying amounts in basically every window of the house, which explains why one may see half-soaked and half-frozen beach towels laying around random sills on any given day. We were shrugging it off and hoping for the weather to improve but things got worse before they got better. One day, we found water dripping through our kitchen ceiling, which was sweet. I reported the damage to our insurer. The adjuster recommended a company that clears snow and ice from roofs. After I spent a couple hours dangling from a ladder with a shovel and hammer in my hands, I opted for the professionals. A few days later, as two guys chipped and shoveled icicles and pieces of shingles from our roof, they broke one of the sky lights. More sweetness. At this point, I'm just waiting for a pipe to burst or a tree to crash through the living room. No sense getting all worked up about it, so I segue to the kiddos instead.
Gigi is turning two next week and I scratch my head at the speed in which that's happened. She is going through a phase (at least I hope it's only a phase though we're going on two or three months now) when she either says absolutely nothing or cries when anyone other than me, the wife, her grandmothers, or her babysitter walk into the house. It bothers me partially because I fear she's painfully shy but mostly because the people who don't see Greta often don't get to witness her constantly expanding personality and vocabulary. For example, Greta is big into "hiding" right now, which she announces to us before doing it and usually amounts to one of four situations: 1) kneeling under the kitchen table; 2) in my closet sitting on my safe (you know, for our jewels and stacks of cash) below the shirts and ties; 3) under a desk in our kitchen; or 4) she's closed her eyes and thinks she's become invisible. It never gets old to me.
She also loves to walk around on her tippy-toes before and after her repertoire of dance moves and shoulder shimmies. When she wakes up from her nap, and I ask what she dreamed about, she says almost every time "Frosty, Santa Claus, and Mrs. Claus" a full seven weeks post-Christmas. She sings "kinkle kinkle little stah." She even gives kisses and hugs unsolicited every once in a while. She even tilts her head and looks at me with a convincing charm when she's trying to get out of eating something usually. She has me wrapped around her finger already. I could go on and bore with every detail, but I'll close out the topic with one last story. A few weeks back, the wife and Gigi had a girls' day out shopping complete with a restaurant lunch. Thinking she had Greta thoroughly impressed, the wife asked who her best friend was and she answered correctly, "Daddy!" Yes! Score: Me (1) Shell (O).
As for G-man, he's kicking ass and taking names. He's rolling around like a tumbleweed, sometimes ending up unhappily against a chair leg. His head and neck strength are improving every day. We torture him constantly with tummy time, but he takes it like a champ until he's exhausted face down on his belly screaming for someone to come get him. The nice part about Gus being able to keep his head up (aside from not using the N.G. tube!) is he can sit in a high chair where he's still trying to decide if he likes cereal yet. And G-man also had his first co-ed tub while sitting in the bath seat this week. He smiles at anyone who hugs, kisses, or cuddles with him. He babbles "da-da-da-da" every once in a while, which Greta likes to imitate. We are constantly encouraged by his advancement, which still seems to be very consistent with a typical kid. We're grateful.
Meanwhile, I'm getting a little older, fatter, and wrinkled in my large forehead every day. I know I can't beat the age thing. As for the spare tire, once the temp creeps up over 20, I'll don the running kicks and get back outside. Regarding the wrinkles, do guys really put lotion on their faces? Or should I just accept that my dome is morphing into a raisin? These are the things I think about when I'm stuck inside waiting for the snow to melt. If it snows again, and you see me on the roof with a hair dryer and blowtorch, please tell me to get down. The hibernation is almost over.