Three Worthy Causes

From time to time, we like to advertise charity events that are near and dear to our family and friends.  If you want to publicize anything important to you, just let us know and we're happy to help.

Today, we have three great events to announce.  Here they are, in date order...

June 25, 2012 - D.A.D.S. (Dads Appreciating Down Syndrome) Golf Tournament at Easton Country Club.  Last year, my group of guys was one of the largest to attend.  The tourney was a great success and one of the best fundraisers for D.A.D.S. in 2011.  We would love to have you on the course for 2012 whether you are a ringer or a hack such as myself.  Fellow worker bees, keep in mind that this is on a Monday - a great day to catch a sudden cold.

Click here to access the registration form: http://www.dadsmass.org/.

July 8, 2012 - Hannah's House fundraiser at the Mad River Marathon in Vermont.  Don't worry, you don't have to run a full marathon if you don't want to.  In fact, you don't have to run at all.  Volunteers and/or donors are welcome.

The T family ventured up north to take in the event from the Martell headquarters last summer.  Looks like  we're taking the F.U.V. to shoot the gap and make an encore trip.

Click here to find out how you can participate in the fundraiser: http://go.madmimi.com/.

Click here to learn more about Hannah's House: www.hannahshousevt.com.

August 12, 2012 - MDSC New Balance Falmouth Road Race in Cape Cod.  Gus' physical therapist and good buddy Kristie has totally surprised us with her announcement that she will be running to raise money for Massachusetts Down Syndrome Congress in August's honor.  How amazing is that!?  Please make a contribution to support Kristie's efforts.

Click here to check it out: http://mdsc.kintera.org/.

Thanks everybody.

Another Hodgepodge

Snooze, You Lose

Like an endangered species or glaciers in Greenland, Greta’s nap is sadly but naturally dissipating into extinction.  Back in the day, she used to crush a one to two hour morning siesta, wake up with a yawn for lunch, then Rip Van Winkle for another three hours before rousing for dinner, followed by a bath, and then sleep for the night from eight to seven.  Now, we’re only getting an hour or two every few days.  Oh well, we had a good run.

Before kids, I never realized the multiple values of a nap.  When we only had Gigi, the siesta break was a time to relax, do chores, or otherwise restore our sanity.  Gus’ arrival didn’t change the routine too much because his sleep schedule eventually mirrored Greta’s.  Once THE WIFE and I got outnumbered with Tilly's arrival, though, all hell seems to have broken loose in our afternoon routines.

Like anyone in a union who needs that precious 15-minute coffee break at 9 a.m. come hell or high water, THE WIFE and I need that effing nap for our kids after lunch.  Hell, I think schools should allow smoking in their teacher’s lounges again for an afternoon smoke after the crap they must put up with in a typical day.  I have never smoked nor do I have an interest, but there are days with the kids when I imagine sucking back on a Pall Mall is probably a more relaxing alternative than trying to herd three kids through a meal, diaper/potty break, and/or an outfit change.

The other major drawback for the loss of a nap is the effect it has on the back end of our day.  By the time our family dinners are coming to a close, I've inevitably had a passionate debate with Greta where I've argued seriously about why she needs to wear pants and underwear during a meal.  When the house is finally quiet and I'm sitting on the couch drinking our nightly box of white zin, I'll look back and think "Did I really have that argument with Greta?"  

At least Gus and Tills are still napping.

FCC at The House of T

As most everyone knows – or at least I like to think so – one of my few  talents in life is making mix tapes (now known as “playlists” for those born after 1990.)  My newest mix  “R.I.P. Fishy T” is possibly one of the best I’ve ever constructed. 

The opening song, though, is one that may not actually be appropriate for the children.  The song is “Young, Wild & Free” by Wiz Khalifa and the immortal Snoop Dogg.  You’ve probably heard it on 94.5 or Kiss 108 on the Boston dials.  I think Providence’s equivalent is like Hot 96 or something like that.

Anyway, the hook is super catchy.  (The little piano riff is a bit reminiscent of “Damn It Feels Good to be a Gangsta”  by Geto Boys and memorable for the scene in Office Space when they take a bat to the printer.)  But the lyrics are, well, not exactly sending a message I want imparted in any of our kids’ minds.  Here’s a sample and by the way, I feel extremely white writing this so just imagine I’m speaking in a voice like Carlton from Fresh Prince.

So what we get drunk.

So what we smoke weed…

Roll one.  Smoke one. 

When you live like this you’re supposed to party.

Roll one.  Smoke one.  And we all just having fun.

On a scale of inappropriate parenting with one being say, giving a child an M&M, and ten just being Kate Gosselin or the Kardashians’ mother, where do THE WIFE and I stand with this one if we allow the song to remain?  Have I finally transitioned to super unhip dad if I delete this from the killer playlist?  Or am I simply just doing what one of the Real Housewives neglect to do with their own children who are doomed to grow up screwed up? 

For the time being, I’m keeping the playlist intact and taking the poor parenting points.  When the song comes on, THE WIFE and I start singing in make pretend Vietnamese loud enough to drown out the objectionable lyrics.  We let the innocent parts play uncensored.  The minute we hear Greta singing about rolling one, then I suppose we’ll have to implement a Taliban rule of order indefinitely on the music front.

The First Ever Guest Blog Post, by Kristen Frazier

Foreward: Kristen lives in Duxbury with her husband and their two boys. She and THE WIFE go all the way back to the third grade. She writes the same way that she talks: rapid fire funny, so pay attention and you won't miss anything.

When my friend Den asked me to guest write on his blog, I think it’s safe to say I peed a little … well maybe a lot, but in defense of myself I was 8 weeks postpartum … and you know … stuff was going on … down there. Dennis' blog is my favorite weekly read, second only to Us Weekly but I mean, that’s my bible…and primary news source. His blog as you all know is witty, eloquent, honest and insightful. But by far my favorite part of his writing is his ability to completely capture his wife, one of my best friends "since the third grade" Michelle. Shell, Shelly, Shelly with the Smelly Belly, Cooney-bird … you catch my drift.

To say he "gets" her is a vast understatement and I appreciate that more than he will ever know. She is real, quirky, fun, and dramatic … in a physical sort of way ... think Elaine from Seinfeld. You might want to steer clear if you have something shocking to tell her, she will push you over shouting "Shut up.” Or if you dare to tell her something she finds amusing she shouts, "Stop! NO! I Can't, I Can't.” To know her is to love her and he does and he DOES. And I in turn love that about him. He is the guy you hope your best friend marries. He had me at - well, he had me at that atlas in his back pocket at a 30th birthday party. Yes Jess, the one you got carried out of - Jess is a code name by the way - for Jessica C*nn. Anyway, I digress.

Not long after I first met him we were at a party and he and his best friend would periodically whip an atlas out of their back pockets to quiz each other on world geography. Having been a secret member of the nerd herd for years, I was a smitten kitten. The rest is history, and three kids later … nicely played Den, nicely played. Your wife, your best decision to date, but hey, I might be biased.

So 8 weeks postpartum and I was feeling like I hit the literary lottery. Guest blog … duh, I would be honored, let me get right on that. I mean, this was my second kid, veteran mom, right? Old hat. Except, no.

In the 5 years since I had my last baby, there was a whole new world of verbiage I had to get down. For example, now I had to stock my nursery with the Wubanub (pacifier attached to a stuffed animal), Swaddle me (straight jacket), Woombie (more intense straight jacket), Taggie (what it sounds like), Sophie the giraffe (can we call it what it is, a dog toy?) and the Hooter Hider. Hide the Hooters? I used to flash the hooters, now I gotta hide them? Sadly, yes. They no longer warrant flashing.

What happened to the simplistic parenting of yester year? You've all heard the stories. Your grandmother used a drawer for a bassinet. There was no sleep sack. Blankets were warm, probably hand knit by Nana, and not a suffocation probability. Car seat? Hell no. They put you in a bucket that would slide across the bench-like back seat of the Pontiac. No worries. Now us moms hear of a friend who faced her car seat around before the one year mark and we all “tsk tsk” and shake heads. And, the car seat’s not even approved by Consumer Report. The horror! I know, I know, it’s two years now. Got it.

What have we done as modern day parents? Or more specifically, as modern day moms? Things are complicated. Are we are own worst enemies? Channeling Carrie Bradshaw in a mommy sort of way here, but the question remains, when did things get so complicated?

For example, I'm a scrapbooker. There. I said it. Wow, that was liberating. On a cool scale, it's about a negative 5, but I actually happen to enjoy it. Or I did, until baby number two came along, when I realized that Dylan had 12, yes 12 scrapbooks and now, Grayson would require 12, yes 12 scrapbooks by age 5 to keep it equal. That’s a lot of scrapping pressure. Not to mention the narcissism. Must we capture every first? First smile, first food, first piddle on the potty. I'm pretty sure my mom bronzed a shoe, snipped a lock of hair, stuffed it in my baby book, and called it a day. Simple right?

Now you've got to scrapbook, schedule play dates, feed your kids organically, make sure your kid knows at least a few words of a foreign language (while you pretend he did not in fact learn those words from Dora), and so on and so on. Lord help you if you are not training for a triathlon in the interim. Two words not in our moms’ vocabulary, Book Club. And in these days, it's so easy to spot the moms who are falling apart, busting at the seams. Those are the moms whose diaper bags are now doubling as their pocket book - gasp - from the crowd.

So, why? Why not keep it simple stupid? I mean, I grew up on Little Debbie snack cakes and I'm mostly ok. I said mostly, I know this isn't an anonymous post. Well, I guess it’s because our generation of moms … we know better. We want better. We are educated moms who truly want the best for our children, while still having a life of our own. We want our kids to have the best and we want to know we did our best. At the end of the day, we all want to lay our head down on the pillow, sans Ambien, Xanax, or wine, and hope, hope we are not screwing these kids up too bad.

Sorry about throwing you under the bus Jess. I was just jealous you were light enough to get carried out! That marathon training does wonders…..

Next Post Preview: Guest Blogger

Much like Madonna of years past and Lady Gaga more recently, Daddio De Novo is constantly trying to reinvent itself. Okay maybe that's a bit of hyperbole but behind the scenes from time to time, the editors at D.D.N. have requested contributions from others who expressed interest in sharing their thoughts.

As a result, I am happy to report that we will have our first ever post from a guest blogger in the very near future. The anticipated deadline for publication is midnight tonight, but the Mommio De Novo (or whatever title she decides to give herself) is a freelance artist so we may be a bit more flexible considering that Easter Bunny duties may interfere as she has two little ones of her own.

Perhaps this infusion of a different perspective will inspire others to submit other posts for publication? We shall see. In the interim, stay tuned for the next post...

King of His Jungle

Add one more nick name to the list for August. In addition to Gus, Augey, Gus-Gus, G-man, Gusto, Augs, and Gussy, we now have The Lion. It couldn’t be more appropriate.

~~~~

Gus still aspirates when he swallows liquid that isn’t thickened. (Unthickened liquid seeps down his wind pipe instead of heading to his belly.) In the short term, he coughs and wheezes bubbles until the liquid clears. The long term risk is the potential for a pneumonia if any liquid remains in the lungs. Knock on wood, we haven’t encountered that situation to date.

Three specialists follow Gus’ swallowing issue: the ears/nose/throat (ENT) doctor, the gastroenterologist (sp?), and the pulmonologist. Up to this point, no one has been able to see anything wrong in his epiglottis (the valve in your throat that closes for food/drink or opens for air) so the conventional wisdom has been that Gus’ low muscle tone is the cause for the aspiration. Despite Gus’ excellent progress in physical therapy (THE WIFE tearfully captured his first official steps on video this week,) his posture is still slightly frumpy when he is at rest which makes sense considering he isn’t walking full-time yet.

During our last ENT visit, the doctor confirmed that Gus still has an accumulation of fluid in one of his ears. As many parents of kids with DS predicted, the doctor recommended that Gus receive tubes. In addition to significantly reducing the risk of ear infection, the absence of fluid in the ear should also help to maximize his speech development. Of course, we are on board even though it means putting our little Lion under anesthesia. Since Gus will be sedated already, the three specialists will also use the opportunity to look at the epiglottis and take tissue samples for various other tests. The procedure is scheduled for May.

~~~~

At night, when we’ve finally made it to eight o’clock, Greta goes to bed first. THE WIFE or I or both of us will serenade her with good night songs of her request (usually Twinkle, ABCD, or Doe a Deer.) G-man pulls himself up at the side rail of his sister’s bed, and rocks his body side to side in rhythm to the song. We say our goodnights and head downstairs to the living room.

Gus sips on his thickened milk as we breeze through an episode of Jeopardy. He sometimes claps when the audience applauds a contestant who has swept a category. Or he crawls around on all fours with a sippy cup dangling from his mouth. When the familiar anthem of Final Jeopardy plays, G-man again busts into the side to side dance.

At last, the middle child is hypothetically ready for bed. We sign “I love you” to his mommy and his baby sister. We blow kisses. He usually sticks out his tongue and raspberries towards THE WIFE and Tilly. I head upstairs and deliver Gus to his crib. Then I return downstairs. This is when the new nick name was born a few months ago.

Sometimes, Gus will go to sleep right away. Sometimes, he does not. On the latter occasions, Gus will periodically roar as if upset because we have caged the Lion and he still wants to play. The roar will continue intermittently for the next thirty minutes. THE WIFE and I just giggle and shake our heads.

Every once in a while, I will peak my head into The Lion’s den. Usually, our little king of the jungle is standing at the crib, dancing his side to side dance, and laughing towards the night light that casts shadows of his movements. I jokingly accost my beast for not being asleep. He barks at me in reply with a short laughing yell. I lay my Lion down but usually he is back on his feet at the side of his cage before I’ve exited the room.

I rejoin THE WIFE on our couch and we listen as the Lion chats, laughs, and roars with less frequency until he finally goes to sleep.

~~~~

Sometimes I bristle when someone talks about how kids with Down Syndrome are wonderful. The generalization is of course intended to be a compliment. And I don’t necessarily disagree. I think I understand the commenter’s intent. But the statement is too broad for me to just accept silently without comment.

Gus can be a fresh little boy who scratches his older sister’s nose, gouges his daddy’s eye ball, and yanks on his mommy’s hair. He spits out his medicine, oftentimes directly into my mouth or face. He’s a mischievous little devil who will make a break for the open kitchen closet door the second his parents let down their guard. When left alone in a room, the wrecking ball will tear apart anything within reach: drawstrings from blinds, electrical cords to appliances, his baby sister’s pacifiers or bottles, an unguarded potty, etc.

Notwithstanding his bouts of occasional misbehavior - like any typical boy - August is wonderful. While his resilience and resolve against the diverse challenges that accompany his diagnosis impress me every day, his essence as a person is not defined by Down Syndrome. He is our happy boy who laughs and plays, hugs and kisses, dances to the beat of Final Jeopardy, and roars aloud when it’s time to go to sleep. At least within our circle of loved ones, we celebrate that he is atypical. We wouldn’t want him any other way.

Besides, what would you expect from someone with the heart of a Lion?

Potpourri

Since the last post, I’ve had a few quiet moments where I sat down at the end of the day to bang out a few ideas but then one of the kids had the audacity to interrupt me with their crying because of a bad dream, ear infection, teething, or whathaveyou. To put the effort in perspective, my first attempt at getting this post up was on February 27. Barring an unforeseen emergency, I hope to crank this out for publication by tomorrow morning – March 25.

Knock on wood, we appear to be turning a corner finally with Greta and Gus healthy and Tilly inching ever so slowly towards longer bouts of time between feedings. The nice weather certainly helps, too. Without further ado, today’s post is a hodgepodge of prior incomplete efforts finally concluded. Enjoy.

~~~~~

As much as I give THE WIFE grief for her uncanny ability to cry, even from say a Sarah McLachlan commercial advocating prevention of cruelty to animals, I’ve been known to turn the waterworks on pretty easily in my advancing age. This week, I must confess there was a moment when the room got a little dusty.

Geography is a bit of a strange obsession to me, my brother, and my father. Maybe the interest goes back to long car rides when the three of us played “City, State, Country” together. Or perhaps my victory in our eighth grade geography bee at good ole Hooksett Memorial planted the seed.

The man love for my buddy “Uncle” Randy went from casual to intense when we discovered a shared passion for the Almanac. To this day, we still quiz each other on anything from “bodies of water” to “international capitals” to “highest elevations” as our wives kibbitz in a different room.

For whatever reason, I felt compelled this week to instill the excitement of geography upon Greta. I pulled out the Almanac, a World Atlas, and a globe. Next I started the hype propaganda to Gigi by doing the old “I’ve got a surprise for you!” She grew giddier with each “What is it?!” after I refused to tell her. Finally, we sat down and recapped the geography we know to date.

We live on the planet Earth in a country called USA in a state called Massachusetts in a town called Easton. Check. I showed her the globe, which she spun around multiple times. Gus suddenly showed interest and crawled over. Nice, he was in too!

ME: Okay, so (pointing) here is where we live. But tonight, we’re going to learn about a new country. I’m gonna spin the globe and then you are gonna point with your finger to any spot on the planet. Then, we’ll look at that country in the Atlas and read about it in the Almanac! Doesn’t that sound amazing!?

GRETA: (preoccupied because I stopped the globe from spinning)

GUS: (making out with a swath of Europe)

Right. Maybe the excitement level wasn’t quite as high as I was hoping for, but we did learn a little bit about Angola that night.

I was a little deflated at the letdown. But just when we were about to finish the lesson, Greta came upon the Almanac’s pages that contain the flags of every country in the world. She thought it was so cool. Suddenly, it felt like someone had just sliced up some onions under my nose.

I tore the pages out of the Almanac with the flags (don’t worry, it was 2008’s version and THE WIFE gives me a new edition every year for Christmas) and Greta carried them around with her for the night. She made me so proud. I can’t wait until she starts taking Social Studies.

So, it’s official. Training for Greta’s and Gus’ geography bees of 2022 and 2024 has begun. Griswald, Uncle Tom, and Uncle Randy, bring your questions with you next time you’re over to see the kids.

~~~~

We moms, dads, and caretakers often find it necessary in the heat of the moment to bust into song. Sometimes, it may be a last ditch desperate attempt to somehow convince the child to [fill in the blank]: take medicine, change a diaper, eat something, change clothes, etc. As for the T household, we have several of those moments on a daily basis. As a result, we have developed a few go-to jingles.

Admittedly, we’re not exactly talking Lennon-McCartney magic or even LMFAO’s 15 minutes of fame for that matter. Nevertheless, in the spirit of the White Album (Beatles), Black Album (Jay-Z), Grey Album (Danger Mouse), and Blue Album (Weezer), I present a new addition.

In honor of Greta’s current two favorite colors, I present the Purple-Pink Album. Song list with duration and songwriter is as follows:

1. Cooperation (:30) (M. Teravainen – D. Teravainen)

2. Boyfriend (:30) (N. Cooney)

3. I’m So Proud of You (:20) (M. Teravainen)

4. Cheerios (:15) (D. Teravainen)

5. Team [Not] On Vacation (:40) (M. Teravainen)

6. Pee Pee on the Potty (:10) (M. Teravainen)

B-Side

1. Shake, Shake, Shake (:20) (M. Teravainen)

2. Arms Up (:15) (D. Teravainen)

If the Purple-Pink Album had a cover, then we’d have an image of Ooloo – Greta’s purple alien friend from the planet Cookachoo, with three eyes and five to eight tentacles depending on the drawing, a pink vest, and travels through the galaxy in his purple space ship in search of purple foods but especially purple grapes, who occasionally shows up in Greta’s closet when she wakes up in the morning before breakfast.

Obviously, the inner sleeve of our album (now they’re called “digital booklets” and available for download in .pdf form) would contain the lyrics – perhaps even various pictures of the band inspired by the music. Font and overall style selection would belong to whichever one of our graphic designer friends agreed to oversee this portion of the project on a significantly reduced rate (translation: pro bono.) To the extent we currently have no graphic designer on retainer, we’ll just italicize the lyrics and leave the song’s backstory in an un-italicized Calibri font.

Cooperation

Cooperation. Cooperation. Co-OP-er-ation. Cooperation. Cooperation. I like co-op-er-ators.

(Repeat three times.)

That’s right. That’s it. Just imagine frantic and spastic efforts to dress Gus or Greta before the other jams his/her finger into a socket.

Boyfriend

You are my boyfriend. You are my boyfriend. I. Love. My Augey.

You are my boyfriend. You are my boyfriend. I. Love. You. Boom-boom.

Nana is world famous for launching into this jam when she’s trying to get Gus out of a fussy mood. It always works.

I’m So Proud of You

I’m so proud of you. (Clap clap) I’m so proud of you. (Clap clap) I’m so proud, I’m so proud, I’m so proud of you. (Clap clap.)

THE WIFE conjured this gem up recently when Greta was refusing to take Amoxicillin two ear infections ago. It worked. We sing it to Gus, too, when he gets fussy about taking his antacids.

Cheerios

Cheer-ee-os. Cheer-ee-os. Cheer-ee-os , I eat you for breakfast.

Cheer-ee-os. Cheer-ee-os. Cheer-ee-os, don’t put em up your nose.

Self-explanatory. We had a situation that we hoped to avoid again.

Team [Not] On Vacation

We’re a team [not] on vay-cay-shon. We’re a team [not] on vay-cay-shon.

A team [not] on vay-CAY (pause – big finish) SHON!

THE WIFE and I took a trip to San Fran a few years back. The weather seemed dumpy whenever we ventured outside. I started to get poopy pants. Fortunately, THE WIFE rallied our spirits with her song about how we were ON vacation. My mood rallied and so did the weather. Once we returned home and immersed ourselves in reality, the lyrics changed to “we’re a team NOT on va-cay-shon!” Get it? No? Well, at least it’s funny to us.

Pee-Pee on the Potty

Pee Pee on the Pah-tee. Pee Pee on the Pah-tee. Yeah! (jazz hands optional)

Now that Gigi has number one figured out, you can probably guess where the re-mix version of this song is going.

B-Side

Shake, Shake, Shake

You gotta shake, shake, shake, shake it off. (Repeat as necessary.)

THE WIFE sings this song quickly and urgently after Greta bites her tongue or her cheek, which happens surprisingly often by the way. Its lack of depth, however, keeps it off the A-side. Because that side clearly contains songs with very deep lyrics.

Arms Up

It’s bath time. Arms up! Got to get this shirt off before you can go in the tub.

Hey, c’mon. Get your arms up. I love you bub.

Seriously, though, move your goddam arms up. It’s been a long day and I’m really tired of playing games.

You little pain in the ass, get your tiny little wings up in the air for Christ’s sake. Where’s my glass of wine?

I’m the first to admit this song’s probably not going to make it in a Disney movie.

And there you have the Purple-Pink Album. Look for it on iTunes next month.

Party of Five - Plus One

Three plus weeks into life as a party of five, and we’re at least doing better than Jeremy London’s career since his run as Griffin Holbrook ended in 2000. But just barely.

Rather than risk boring you with complaints about the last few weeks, I’ll cut to the chase. Tilly has been great. Whoever has overnight duty (almost always THE WIFE) is sleep deprived, as expected. But overall, the baby is fine.

On the other hand, Gus had about ten consecutive miserable days of teething that was all consuming to him and the rest of us. On Superbowl Sunday (of course) I was in the process of packing a bag to bring him to the hospital because he was so inconsolable until he finally just fell asleep around halftime. His mood was so bad during that stretch we felt compelled - at the suggestion of one of our doctors - to rule out that Gus didn’t have a “hair tourniquet” on his penis or any other extremities. (For the record, he was tourniquet free.) Long story short, G-man is finally back to his normal happy self so I can stop cursing about my envy for every single, childless adult male in the universe.

On a semi-related note, breast feeding has been going really well. THE WIFE and Tilly are getting into a pretty good routine, as has Greta with her newest dolls Foxy and D.D. No joke – Greta’s shirt was pulled up this morning while she sat on the couch next to THE WIFE as she nursed Tills. (MTV’s Teen Mom producers are now scrambling with ideas for their next show.) Oh, and yes, Greta came up with both names for her dolls. When she calls them by name, I think of an all-female C.H.I.P.S. series from the 80s that never made it past the pilot episode.

As the Charlie Salinger of our family, I went grocery shopping (twice in two weeks, for that matter) for the first time in approximately 10 years. Due to the gap in time since my last visit, I was shocked to discover how ridiculously expensive food is. Furthermore, healthy and/or organic food is even more freaking expensive. I had no clue. Still, if I have to choose between premature puberty for my kids because of lesser expensive food with hormones and chemicals, or more expensive healthier food, then I’ll spend the few extra bucks.

Anyway, a prior blog post addressed the impressive amount of cheese that my family has on hand at any given time in the ice box. It wasn’t until I got my recent grocery shop on, though, where I realized the obscene amount of dairy products that the T family consumes. Whole milk for Gus. 1% for Greta. Half and half for my coffee. Whipping cream for the occasional crème fraiche. Sour cream and shredded cheese for tacos. Sliced American for sandwiches. Diced feta for salads. Parmesan for pasta. Butter. Margarine. Greek-style yogurt for all. (G-man would probably be about five pounds lighter if not for yogurt alone.) Frozen yogurt sticks for the kids. Other than egg nog and buttermilk, I think we fulfill a dairy decathlon in the span of about three days in our typical week. In other words, it makes complete sense for us to just buy a cow and keep her in the backyard – next to her own wood stove of course.

Now moving on to actually cooking the groceries, we’ve been eating like Vikings since Tilly came home. Between our moms and friends, all I’ve had to do is reheat and serve. But as of late, I’ve been taking a stab at making a lot of our meals. I’m not sure how good the food is that I’ve made because here’s what happens:

A) You could place a unicorn steak with black truffles and beluga in front of Gus and he’ll throw it further than Johnny Damon from center field.

B) Greta doesn’t eat anymore. When she was younger, we could puree literally anything and she’d eat it. Now, what she likes to eat and when she likes to eat, changes like Katy Perry’s hair color. I have no idea how she is growing because she only takes about four bites during her sit-down meals.

C) Tilly will automatically wake up the minute we sit down to eat dinner as a family. Guaranteed.

D) Greta will have to take a shit the second I’ve finished feeding August and I’m about to take my first bite of lukewarm food. Although Greta pees on the potty, she’s still wearing a diaper for dumping out. Since THE WIFE can’t lift anything because of the c-section recovery, that means I’m on crap duty. It’s possibly one of the worst interruptions to encounter when one is about to “enjoy” a meal.

E) By the time THE WIFE and I have the chance to eat any food, it’s cold but we shovel it down like sumo wrestlers as we plead for Greta and Gus to take a bite of anything. By the end of the meal, I’ve usually surrendered. Cheerios sit in piles on the kids’ plates and I pound wine because there’s only ten minutes left before bath. Good times!

If Tom and Padma want to come up with a way to spice up the quickfire portion of Top Chef next season, come to me. I want to guest judge. Here’s the episode.

Padma: Chefs, please welcome Dennis Teravainen. Mr. Teravainen is a father of four who lives in the suburbs with his wife. He moonlights as an executive chef at Chez Gawaine, while working a day job fighting ambulance chasers. He spends countless hours of his work days arguing with unhappy people who insult him, while writing pointless reports for hours at a time that no one reads. After he commutes in bumper to bumper traffic for a drive that should be 20 minutes but lasts 65 minutes instead, he enters a home with crying children and his wife asking whether he remembered to call the painter for an estimate yet. Today, you will step into his shoes for your quick fire challenge. Dennis?

Dennis: Thanks, Padma. Chefs, you will have thirty minutes to prepare a meal that feeds two adults and two children. To simulate how I feel when I am about to prepare a meal during a week night, I first need to smash you over the head with this frying pan. Next, you can choose to carry my 18-month old or leave him on the floor where he will cry to the point that you may, too. My 3 year old will follow you around to chat, but she’s irresistible so you can’t ignore her. Oh, and you have to feed our fourth child with wood to keep the gas bill down while you cook the meal. Chefs, I encourage you to drink the Chardonnay in front of you like it’s your last supper. Your time starts now.

Cue the quick fire anthem: ba-da-da-dop-dop-da-dop-da-dop-da-doo-doo, etc. and the knife sharpening sound effect.

Okay, maybe it’s not so bad but you get my drift.

So what else? Um, let's see, not much. I fell asleep at 10:30 on Saturday night with Tilly on my chest. Wild and crazy weekends over here.

THE WIFE and I are still sleeping in separate bedrooms at least until Tilly starts to sleep a little more than in two hour stints. My house mate got annoyed at me for signing an email to her as “DT” the other day (instead of honey bunny or something along those lines I guess) but we patched things up and we’re a “team not on vacation” again just trying to power through until the family routine normalizes. I have been impressed with how well THE WIFE is functioning on such little sleep especially considering how much she loves to get her snooze on. So if you see THE WIFE in the coming weeks, give her a high five and a hug. She deserves it.

As for the fourth child and sixth member of our family , I recently sat down to tell him that I was his biological father and THE WIFE is his adopted mother. He said he knew already. Smart kid.

Anyone want to come over for dinner?