What Was I Thinking Taking Both Kids for Flu Shots?

If you were shopping in the fruit section of a grocery store, you'd use a bag to carry your apples around, right? And if there weren't any more bags left, you'd ask the store manager for one. And if somehow the manager didn't have any, you'd probably just go home without the apples, because no one in their right mind would carry more than their hands could handle, right? Well, apparently I don't subscribe to this philosophy, as I brought both my apples (kids) to the doctor at the same time to get flu shots.

When the pressure's on, I either shine or fail miserably. To make a sports analogy out of this, when I'm bowling and facing a 10th frame where I need to get two strikes to win, I will either get the two strikes or roll a gutter on my first ball, extinguishing all hope. No in between. And within the span of an hour with both boys, I display both types of behavior. When Sonia flew to Michigan for a funeral and left me in charge of our sons, there were moments of pure hell where I'm sure they questioned my parental abilities as much as I did (the dual bath, for instance). But then within an hour, I'd be reading them books, kissing them goodnight and successfully putting both to sleep simultaneously. And when those types of things happen, you feel like an unstoppable bad-ass.

So when my wife asked me to take both our boys to the pediatrician for their flu shots, I conjured up my inner bad-ass, took a deep breath and slung my anything-but-manly diaper bag over my shoulder and ventured forward. It's always slightly alarming to be the one person solely responsible for two children's well-being. You always expect the absolute worst. That way, you're prepared for as big a mess as possible. It's like bringing a portable toilet when you're watching a Lord of the Rings movie. Same concept.

In general, this whole flu shot visit was going quite well. Antonio and Nate were playing in the waiting room without fighting, and Antonio was still clinging to the praise bestowed upon him for not crying when he got his last shot. I'd even commissioned him to console Nate after he'd gotten his shot, instilling a trust in him that he was taking quite seriously. He was the rock here, and he knew it. Within ten minutes, the nurse called us into the smaller waiting room, and we were on our way. Everything up to this point was perfect.

 The "Before" Picture

Then, it happened. Things were going so well, I felt invincible. So I let my guard down. When it was time for the doctor to administer the shots, Nate was the one sitting closest to her. So I figured, "He's closest, do him first." As soon as the needle pierced his skin, the blood-curdling scream resonated in my sympathetic ears. I knew I'd done something stupid. No sooner was the Band-Aid stretched across Nate's thigh when Antonio frantically shook his head and darted in the opposite direction. Since he was already standing on the padded area with the butcher paper, he didn't have far to run. I then had the unenviable task of trying to prevent Antonio from escaping the room while consoling a traumatized Nate at the same time. I realized in that chaotic moment how idiotic that decision was. It was like having him watch Friday the 13th, then standing over his bed wearing a goalie mask. It also didn't help that the doctor giving the shot had the bedside manner of Ben Stein on downers, but I digress.

The next deed to overcome was somehow pulling Antonio's shirt off while he flailed his arms like E-Honda in Street Fighter. At this point, a backup nurse came in to hold a crying Nate while I held Antonio's arms AND legs down to get the shot in. I truly felt like an evil human being. Five minutes earlier, they were hugging and kissing me. Then suddenly I'm constricting their limbs and letting people stick needles in them. How could they not think I'm a jerk? I would.

There was this awkward in between period where I was trying to dress both boys at the same time, while both had tears streaming down their faces, with a look of fear mixed with unadulterated anger. The backup nurse was still reluctantly holding Nate as he wriggled away into my arms. Antonio, while fending off sobs, looked at me while sniffling and asked, "Now when do I get my sticker?" It was the cutest thing I'd ever seen in my life.

Before I knew it, both boys were smiling again. It truly is remarkable the effect a sticker (and the promise of ice cream) can have on kids.And for those wondering where the "after shot" was, I simply didn't have the heart (or the hand) to snap one.

Thanks for reading, and pass it along if you think others would enjoy.

-Joe DeProspero
jdeprospero@gmail.com
Follow me on Twitter here!

Reluctant Justice: Disciplining Other People's Kids

Disclaimer: Your first instinct will be to assume that I'm talking about your kids in this blog, especially if our children spend any significant amount of time together. So if you're sitting there, allowing paranoia to creep into your psyche with each passing sentence, click on the following link for verification (I apologize in advance for the poor lighting, as I did this in my car at night):     https://vimeo.com/57212337


We've all awkwardly been there. Your perfectly angelic child is innocently strumming a kid-sized guitar, minded his own business, when his "friend" jumps off the couch and dropkicks him in the face. Best case scenario is the kid's parent pounces on them like a hawk, dutifully running down a laundry list of reasons why dropkicking your friends in the face is a bad thing. Next best case scenario is the kid's parents aren't there and you're free to lecture them as you see fit. This is always tricky as you have the luxury of being without the watchful eye of the respective parent, yet you have to be careful not to punish too harshly and find yourself on an episode of Judge Judy. The absolute worst case scenario is the kid's parent is there and does nothing. And this is when you learn a harsh, yet inevitable lesson: Jerks raise jerks.

 "You can't point at me! You're not my Dad!" (I know, that's the problem.)

Let me be clear about one thing before I go any further. My kids are both more than capable of being jerks. They practice on each other all the time. In fact, it's human nature to respond with anger when someone takes something that was perceived as "yours and only yours," (pretty sure this is how rap was born) even if that something wasn't taken with malicious intent. The key is to teach our children to become comfortable with compromise, with sacrificing. You'll find more often than not that the parents who don't hold their children responsible for being jerks were never held accountable by their own parents growing up. It's a viscious, jerky cycle.

But what do we do? How do we handle it when someone else's kid does something either to your kid or around your kid that you find completely reprehensible? The answer, naturally, isn't so easily determined (or else I wouldn't be asking it). Here are some options I've found most successful.

Shout in the general direction of all the kids and ask, "What is going on here?!"

It's safe to say that every kid there had something to do with that China set smashing on the floor, so don't single anyone out. Odds are another authority figure will piggy-back on your anger and blame the entire thing on their own kid. The downside of this method is it also frequently results in the awkwardness of the respective parent half-heartedly disciplining their kid because they'll look like a tool if they say nothing.

Danny Tanner It

You remember the scene. Full House's MVP Dad would pull one of his daughter's aside (when he really felt brave, he'd reel in Kimmy Gibbler, too) for a heart-to-heart about how badly they screwed up. It was brilliant if you think about it. Instead of raising his voice (and his blood pressure), he sent them to their room, made them think about it, then calmly explained what terrible human beings they were. Naturally, if you're doing this with a child other than your own, you'll need to tread lightly. But as long as you say what you're saying with a soothing tone (and a string section accompaniment), you lessen the risk of a fist fight with the other supposed adult in the room.

Falsely blame everything on your own kid

It sounds counterproductive, but I assure you it works most of the time. Most of us are decent enough to try to avoid the uncomfortableness of yelling at other people's children, so we instinctively place the blame on our own, even if they aren't the main culprit. It happens to me all the time. Antonio wants to play with his friend's ride-on car, said friend doesn't want to give Antonio a turn. Antonio then sulks and insists he wants nothing to do with him. At that point, I step in and remind Antonio that the car isn't his and he has to respect friend's decision (even though deep down I agreed that it was time to share). Almost every time, the parent steps in and yanks the kid out of the car, giving Antonio what he wants as his friend wails in his rear view mirror. Half the time you're the one yanking your kid out of the car kicking and screaming. It's never pleasant and almost every time, you think your kid's being less of a jerk than the other one.

Naturally, we all live under the guise that our child is better behaved than others. After all, they're a reflection of us and our disciplinary actions. If they suck then that means we suck. And frankly, a lot of us suck. And the rest have to simply deal with it.The sad fact is that, as parents, we're almost certain to lose at least one friend over the way we choose (or don't choose) to manage our kids' behavior when they're socializing. Ultimately,you'll end up spending more time with the parents of children who have similar disciplinary mindsets as you do, distancing yourself from the Mom who lets her daughter pour White Out all over your leather couch. But if said Mom is part of your family, you're screwed. And if that's the case, you better have a strong lower lip, because you'll be biting it more than you'd like!

Thanks for reading and pass it along to others who might enjoy.

-Joe DeProspero
jdeprospero@gmail.com
Follow me on Twitter here!
#parenting

How Do I Refrain From Laughing in My Child's Face?

We laugh at what is funny. Our brains don't have a special filter that distinguishes what is appropriate to laugh at from what is not. If we see or hear something that we view as comical, our instinct is to react with smile, a giggle, a Santa-sized chuckle. At best, we're able to stifle the laughter at its onset, before anyone notices. At worst, we erupt in an unhinged volcano of hysterics, peeing ourselves and only calming down once the person we laughed at has slammed the door and refused to come out. I'm usually in the latter category.

 I'm sorry, I've just never heard "fork and knife" pronounced that way.

I remember when I was a kid how unwittingly angry I would get when my father would laugh at my expense. It was unnerving because, what could I do other than be furious and deal with it? Being 3/4 Italian and 1/4 Irish, having a bad temper was predetermined. But I had absolutely no idea what to do when it surfaced. Ultimately, what I wound up doing whenever Dad would have a hearty laugh at my expense was take all the toys in my room he'd personally purchased and place them neatly outside the door of my room (a monogrammed baseball bat he got me at Cooperstown was the clincher, I thought). It was my way of saying, "Screw you! I detach myself from any association with you or your gifts!" If you haven't guessed already, it completely backfired. He thought that was even funnier than what I had originally done and I had significantly less toys to play with while I sat, sulking in my now empty room. Clearly, it was a flawed plan. I still carry a deep-seeded belief that any laughter occurring within earshot is somehow about that Cooperstown bat.

Due to my mostly self-imposed psychological scarring, I'm especially careful not to do the same with my kids. And I've already seen signs of myself in both my sons. Antonio, especially, is sensitive to anyone having a joke on his dime. While I completely get it and sympathize with his plight, I won't lie - not laughing when someone does something idiotic is nearly impossible. For instance, back when we were potty-training him, we left Antonio in the bathroom by himself for about five minutes as he insisted on privacy and we granted his request. Suddenly, we heard grunting, then crying. He came stumbling out of the bathroom, his kiddy toilet seat strapped on his forehead like a hat, then sliding down around his throat like a necklace. It was one of the saddest, yet hilarious things I'd seen in my life. What made it worse was my wife tried yanking it off, only to have the embarrassment and pain worsen by the ridges digging into the backs of his ears. It reminded me of when I was nine and after seeing Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, convinced myself it was a good idea to follow a fictional character named Veruca Salt's example, shoving a wad of gum behind my ear (and into my hair). I'm sure my Grandmother was happy she'd been tasked with babysitting me that night. Needless to say, I muffled laughter until he was finally free from his germy purgatory. And he didn't want to talk to me for the rest of the night. Hey, would you want to face anyone if you'd just stuck your head in a toilet?

Here's footage of the ghastly deed: https://vimeo.com/57088377

At the end of the day, we won't always possess the restraint to hold it in when we should. But I think we owe it to our children to consider the potential complex we could be giving them. Don't get me wrong; if something's funny, I'm going to laugh. However, we should be kind enough to at least place a hand over our mouths or shove our faces into pillows. I've found that faking a coughing fit also works. Faking a heart attack works at first, then only angers both my son and wife later.

I hope you've enjoyed this edition of the blog. If you did, please share it with someone who'd enjoy. Picking up some serious speed on my forthcoming parent book so I'll be counting on all of you to sing my praises!

Stay tuned,
jdp
jdeprospero@gmail.com
Follow me on Twitter here!

#parenting

How the Newtown Tragedy Can Make Us Better Parents and People

I don't watch the news. I never have. When I do have five minutes to sit down at the end of a long, exhausting day, I tend to gravitate toward ESPN or the Palladia music channel. Why? Because I watch television to decompress, to forget my troubles, to have a carefree smile. The news simply reminds me that there are terrible people in the world, and it serves me no purpose to be reminded of that on a daily basis. Then the events of Friday happened, and I've avoided the news even more. Not as much for me, but for my 3 1/2 year old son, who I feel the need to shield from this horror.

The day of the shootings at Sandy Hook Elementary School, I was sitting at my desk at work, feeling a bit of regret for having passed on my company's holiday party taking place that night. Instead, I would be taking my kids to a nearby garden center for "Story Time with Santa." While I was certainly looking forward to seeing the wonder in my sons' eyes when Santa bound into the room, our holiday party was always something I enjoyed. "Is sacrificing this party worth it?" I asked myself. Then, my wife called me in tears, informing me of the tragedy that was unfolding. And the only plan that made any sense was being with my children. Immediately.

I've always been overly cautious. Even before I was a father, I would peer at others on an airplane, or even a coffee shop, and wonder if they harbored bad intentions. Unfortunately, the events of 9/11, Columbine, Virginia Tech, Newtown, etc. have only confirmed my concerns. Put simply, there's evil out there. We just have to be fortunate enough not to be around it when it rises to the surface. And the sad fact is that there will always be members of our society who will slip through the cracks, who will be mistreated as kids, have serious mental illnesses that will go undiagnosed, and could ultimately pose risks to the ones we love most.

I'm not foolish enough to believe that I have the answer to end these senseless acts of violence. However, I do intend to be especially diligent about what I do have control over. Here's a list of those things.

* Hugging and kissing my children even more

As parents, we're the first line of defense against our kids' actions, and more often than not, I believe what these soulless monsters who kill the innocent are missing is the love and attention of those closest to them. I tell my sons I love them no less than 20 times a day. It's what I feel and it's what I believe they need to hear. I'm not saying my hugs and affection will yield angelic, error-free members of society, but I think their chance of being good people starts with me and my wife.

* Not ignoring warning signs

Surely,we don't always have the luxury of getting these. But even as young as my older son is (3), one of his classmates playfully mentioned that he planned to bring his toy gun in. Thirty years ago, we might have laughed this off. And I'm sure it was harmless, that he was talking about a water gun or an imaginary gun for all I know. But I still alerted their teacher. As a father, I felt that it was my responsibility. In 2012 (or any year), you can never be too safe.

Naturally, there are other, more subtle warning signs, that are often overlooked. Like your brother or nephew distancing themselves from their friends, slipping into a deep depression, etc. We aren't always aware of these things, of course. But the other day, I texted a friend who was down on his luck just to remind him that someone loved him. Call me naive, but I do believe that small gesture can make the difference in someone's life. Again, I'm not pretending that a text message is the solution to school violence, but I do believe we all have a societal responsibility to simply look around our family and social circle and pick someone up when they've fallen. Spreading love can only help.

* Ensuring my children are as safe as they can be

The night of the Newtown shootings, I stepped into each of my sons' rooms at about midnight, and simply watched them sleep peacefully. Clearly, they were safe, resting comfortably in their beds. But the sense of helplessness that the Newton tragedy caused made it feel like two rooms away was too far. I imagine I'm not the only parent whose level of caution with their children has skyrocketed. I trust my sons with my family. I trust them with their teachers at school who are loving women with a security system in place. As they grow up, I'll need to learn to trust them with others. But I'll also need to ensure that whoever they are with, any friend's car they climb into, any house they sleep over is safe for them. It won't be easy, but being a parent rarely is.


I could talk about my own fears and concerns all day. And I certainly have my opinions on gun control. But assuming gun laws remain the same, and instead we are forced as citizens to be more diligent, we all need to do our part. Especially those of us trying to shield our precious children from the evils in the world they are far too young to face or even comprehend.

Spread love. Not hate.

-Joe DeProspero
jdeprospero@gmail.com
Follow me on Twitter here.

What I Learned About Life and Loss in 2012

It's been said that the pen is mightier than the sword. I was just a boy when I heard it for the first time, but I remember being quite taken with it. The pen is mightier than the sword. Meaning, I assumed that anything you can put down on paper about your enemies is ultimately more "cutting" and enduring than harming them physically. But as I've gotten older, I translate the expression a bit differently. I've expanded it to reflect positivity as well. Because after the year I've had personally, writing is my refuge. Writing is my release. It is how I best communicate the crowds of thoughts, observations and grievances that get lodged in the out door of my brain. So, for those interested, I thought I'd share some of the things I've learned in calendar year 2012, a year that will likely be looked back on as the darkest and most challenging in my family's history.

In 2012, I learned that your life can change instantly, with no warning and whether you're ready or not. You've heard people say it, but until you've experienced it, there's no understanding. Losing my mother in April changed me for the rest of my life. She was only 59 and we'd already begun planning her 60th birthday party. I lost my grandmother the same weekend. The news of my mother's death killed her. I already had a small family. This made it exponentially smaller. The sadness was and is like nothing I could've ever imagined. There are glaring holes at every family gathering and as corny as it sounds, the even bigger hole is in my heart. For a while, when people asked how I was doing with it, I answered, "Taking it one day at a time." Then I moved onto, "I'm okay, I guess." I've run out of cliche answers. But I wouldn't say I'm okay. I still regularly cry about it and Mom is my first thought in the morning and last thought at night. And I not only dread my first Christmas and New Years without her, but the fact that it's likely neither of my children will remember her and how much she loved them breaks my heart every time I think of it.

I've also learned that people move on without you. The hardest moment in my life wasn't the funeral. At that point, I had boat loads of support. It was the Monday after the funeral, sitting at my desk at work while others laughed around me like nothing was wrong. It was months later when my three-year-old son Antonio curiously asked while on our way to school if Grandma was ever coming back. I've also learned that while some people have much larger hearts than I thought, sometimes the one you expect to support you is the first one to let you down. I've lost one of my best childhood friends this year. Sadly, I'm the only one of the two of us aware of it, though.

I've learned that my kids are worth it. I can't even tell you how many times I've come home from work, weary, worn out and downright miserable to have my two boys brighten my mood with simply a smile and hug, as I bury my face in their chests. At that point, the aggressive driver who cut me off and flipped me off or the rude office manager who treated me like a lesser life form don't matter at all.

I've learned that my wife is willing to tolerate me being an intolerant prick sometimes because she knows I'm going through a lot. She's been my rock. Everyone needs one. When they say "for better or worse," this is the "worse" part.

I've come to realize how losing someone so important makes you exponentially more grateful for those you still have. When I see my father playing with my kids and my sister's kids or I call my 86-year-old grandmother just to listen to how her hip is bothering her, I feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude and I hinge on every moment. It breaks my heart that Mom and Grandma won't be at the table on Christmas, but when Antonio gets giddy about seeing his cousins or his grandfather, I smile. Dad, Grandma, my sister, cousins, Aunts, etc. They're a window into my past.

I've learned that it's vitally important for me to have hobbies and interests. Without some combination of my podcast, parent blog, bowling, fantasy football or book project, I'd be a pretty miserable guy. It's hard for non-creative types to understand it, but if people like me aren't creating something, we don't feel useful.

When I look back at this year, I hope not just to remember the horrific scene of finding my mother's body or hearing my grandmother's screams when I broke the news, but I also hope to remember something Sonia told me. One night I was particularly down and she knew it. So she took my hand in hers and told me, "You're stronger than you think. And you're the man I think you are." I've learned that sometimes we need someone else to believe in us, even when we don't believe in ourselves.

It's been said that if I can get through that week in April, I can get through anything. And that's the kind of confidence I intend to carry into 2013 - as a husband, friend, and especially a father.

Here's to a happier 2013.

- Joe DeProspero
jdeprospero@gmail.com

How Do I Make Sure I'm Not Raising a Jerk?

Your kid is a spoiled brat. He gets everything he wants. Because of your lack of discipline and your overly lenient parenting, your child is quickly morphing from innocent boy to a full-blown sociopath, leaving a wasteland of broken hearts and gravy boats in his path. You are a tactless, careless sycophant and now your offspring is, too. 

That is, verbatim, the speech I hear in my head every time I let my son get away with being destructive without the proper amount of consequence. It's always stated in an English accent too, which I never quite understood. Put simply, one of my main concerns as a father is that I'm either not disciplining my kids enough or I'm overreacting and doling out too much punishment. Ultimately, I will be held accountable for 50% of my kids' impact on society, for better or worse. So, I am continually questioning whether or not I'm doing the best job I can. I believe the easiest way to articulate the frustrations of disciplinary decisions is to describe a typical scenario and let you guys decide on your own how you'd handle it.


I arrive home from work at 6:35 PM on a Thursday night. Antonio is intently focused on building a castle of blocks and Nate is staring at the remote control like it were a Filet Mignon. I enthusiastically greet both of them and reach out to rub their heads playfully. Nate giggles. Antonio so much as blinks. In fact, he rarely provides a salutation when socially expected to give it. I try to force the issue, but only end up annoying him, being greeted instead with a dismissive wave and a grunt. The more I persist, the madder he grows. He goes as far as to push me away angrily. I decide to walk away. As I'm walking away, Nate does the unimaginable- he knocks over Antonio's block castle that he'd been working on for at least seven minutes. Before I can turn around, Antonio pushes Nate backward onto the hardwood floor, causing a painful thud, a volcano of tears and a pathetic siren-wail. As furious as I am with Antonio, though, I'll admit that I understand his frustration. I mean, that was one impressive castle.

So I find myself shouting, "Aw, Nate, why'd you....Antonio, why'd you....gahhhhhhh!!!!" I grab Antonio and put him in his room with the door closed. And I'm not sure why this is a punishment as all of his favorite toys are in there. But he flips out regardless, pounding on his door and knocking over and shattering a picture frame in the process. But how do I punish him for that? If I do, the tantrum will escalate and inevitably, all our dinners will get cold. And we all know steak doesn't heat up well. So I decide to let it slide, braving the storm and clutching Nate close to me for protection (mine, not his). Twenty minutes later, after finally calmed down, Antonio sits down to dinner and immediately spills his milk. He looks at me annoyed and insists, "I'm thirsty." I don't say a word and sop up the milk. Then, later before bed, when he least expected it (and when I even least expected it), I screamed at him to brush his teeth. He'd worn me down. And I was all out of logic.

As a parent, we need to pick our battles. But occasionally the battles pick us. I mean, was I not supposed to punish Antonio for pushing Nate even though his anger was justified (again, this castle was pretty damn special)? I was, after all, right there. Should I continue to administer the pain while my kids are wreaking havoc on my personal property? These are all questions that crowd my brain before the inevitable glass of wine and Xanax combination. Then my brain seems to empty like the fourth quarter of a blowout football game.

Am I alone here? I'm interested in hearing from other parents who too often face the dilemma of "how harshly should I punish my kids, and where do I draw the line?"

Thanks for reading. Follow me on Twitter here.

 I will soon start to incorporate live video with this blog to spruce it up a bit for the holidays. Feel free to share this with friends if you enjoy it. When my book comes out next year, I'd love for thousands of you to be reading my chaotic tales!

-Joe DeProspero
jdeprospero@gmail.com

Zone Defense: Babysitting Two Kids By Myself

First off, I know what you're thinking. "It's not babysitting if it's your own kids, Joe!" Well, they're babies and I'm sitting with them. Please feel free to send along any suggestions for how better to describe this activity. Anyway, my wife and in-laws were out of town for a couple of days for a funeral, which left only me to watch after our two children. This frightened me for several reasons. And I had some questions/concerns. Such as...

* Will this be the moment my kids realize I'm clueless?

* When will I pee?

* Good lord, I'll have to bathe, feed AND put them to sleep together!

* I'll have to DVR the Jets game. No way I'll catch even one snap.

* Oh, who cares? The Jets are terrible.

* I mean, really. Stevie Wonder could find better running room than Shonn Greene.

* The good thing is I won't be eating much so dropping a deuce shouldn't be an issue.

* Should I opt for whiskey or vodka once they're finally asleep?

False perception of two kids

Truth about two kids

It didn't take very long for me to lose my patience. I was at the breakfast table with both boys 15 minutes after they woke up and I walked to the toaster to take out the waffles. As I turned around, I noticed Antonio rushing his arm to his side, muffling laughter. As I approached the table, I noticed Nate's bowl of pureed fruit looked a little lighter than it had a moment earlier. Then I noticed the empty measuring cup next to it. Antonio had poured Nate's reflux medicine into his breakfast bowl. I shouted in Antonio's face, "Are you serious?! You know better than that!" I tend to tell him he knows better whenever he does something appalling, but truthfully he really doesn't. He's three for God's sake.

So I tried to kill two birds with one stone by spooning some fruit and medicine into Nate's mouth, but two scoops in and he realized it tasted like fruit mixed with medicine. At least I tried.

About an hour later, I had them dressed and in the car, on our way to a pumpkin patch (which I'd forgotten was 45 minutes away). No sooner did I reach the highway when I peered in the rear-view mirror and noticed Nate leaning forward in his car seat. Well, that's odd, I thought. Then I realized I never strapped him into the damn thing! I pulled into the next parking lot and jumped out of the car, making the adjustment. "Please don't tell mommy," I frantically pleaded with Antonio.

"I'm going to tell her," he quipped with a menacing grin. What a jerk. Bros before hoes, pal. Fortunately, he's three and totally forgot by the time Sonia returned.

Going to this pumpkin patch/apple orchard/whatever the fuck seemed like a decent idea going into it. "My cousins will be there, so you'll have some help with the kids. If you stay home, you're on your own," Sonia suggested. It was hard to argue with any logic that might allow me the luxury of urinating in solitude. So, I went for it.

I was told we'd been meeting them at 10:30 AM, so naturally Nate shit as I was opening the door to leave, setting us back a bit. I got there 11:00, thinking I was 30 minutes late. Then I remembered I'd married into a South American family. Thirty minutes late actually meant 90 minutes early.

I waited for them to arrive, intermittently snapping awkward pictures of one of my sons while holding the other son, a diaper bag, the camera bag and pushing a double stroller down a rocky hill. I was walking birth control at that point. No sooner did they arrive when I kissed most of them goodbye to take the tractor ride to get a pumpkin- aka, the only reason Antonio wanted to come and the thing he'd complain about for three hours if I didn't take him. We weren't even on the tractor yet and Nate was starting to voraciously head butt me (that means he's tired). And it's a good thing cousin Nathalie and Fernando came along. Otherwise, I'd have no way of carrying the pumpkin back other than counting on a three-year-old I can't even count on to hold an empty container of yogurt for more than 30 seconds.

I got them both back in the car by 2:00 PM, a full two hours beyond the start of Nate's normal nap time. Both of them passed out before I reached the highway. I exhaled slowly, truly enjoying the moment of serenity I was now sharing with nothing but myself and the open road ahead. I felt empowered, with a new sense of belief in my abilities to entertain, clothe and generally maintain two young children full-time. Twenty five minutes later, as I neared the entrance to our driveway, I looked back expecting to see two dozing toddlers. Instead they were wide awake! Desperately, I drove past our house and around the neighborhood, hoping they'd fall back asleep. But it was all for nil. They were my kids, and by God they weren't sleeping another wink.

No sooner were we inside when Antonio tried dragging his dirty pumpkin into the (at that point) clean kitchen. I lost it and screamed at him, which prompted him to grab a picture of Sonia and sob while shouting, "I want mommy!" and gazing at the photo longingly. Oh, I wanted her too.

After the tantrum subsided, I allowed them to wreak havoc on the basement. It was my only real shot at sanity. While they entertained themselves by taking every conceivable object and hurling it carelessly on the tile floor/sucking on it, I texted Sonia making sure she was coming back eventually. "My Aunt said she'd come by to help. Give her a call. She won't mind." Sure, she won't mind. But how embarrassing is that? "Yeah, hey, it's Joe. I'm here with my own children and I'm not capable enough to keep them and myself alive for 48 hours." So, instead, I called my best friend Andrew. He already knows my shortcomings. But he claimed to be sick. Very curiously, he was over this sickness the very next day. I might also mention that he enjoys seeing me suffer.

After I shoveled as much food into them as I could to ensure I wouldn't starve them, I gavee both baths at the same time, which was particularly stressful since I had to put Nate's special earplugs in, and then a headband over the earplugs, then wash his hair while ensuring he doesn't rip any of this off while Antonio shoots me in the eyes with a water gun. So, after this was over, I began the monumental task of putting them to sleep at the same time. And if you've never tried putting two small children to sleep together, the skill involved is worthy of an Olympic event. I placed Nate in his crib while holding Antonio on my lap, intermittently begging him with a harsh whisper, "Pretend you're not here." Naturally, Antonio takes that as his cue to relentlessly sing Puff the F'ing Magic Dragon to Nate like he was hired to do just that. This only extended the night.

After about 20 minutes of this excruciating sing-a-long, I got a text from Sonia, asking me to DVR one of her shows. Since neither kid was sleeping, I turned on the lights and headed downstairs to do the deed. Both kids giggle as if being released from some kind of purgatory. This glee would be extinguished, though, when I return to the dark five minutes later. You'd have thought I was lowering them into an erupting volcano. My only option at that point was to wait until they were both tired of whining/singing/crying/poking me in the face and to mercifully resign to the living room for a stiff Jack Daniels and Coke. I sat on the couch sipping my drink with unmatched satisfaction, feeling a sense of great accomplishment as a parent and pride as a responsible human being. Until I saw the massive pile of dirty dishes that were mockingly waiting for me on the kitchen counter. And then I cried a little.

This one was for all you parents of one thinking about being parents of two! Proceed with caution and bang responsibly.

I've already gotten some fantastic blurbs from some readers for my upcoming parenting book. Still looking for more! If you have a unique perspective on parenting, send it my way to the email listed below and you may be a contributing writer on my next book!

P.S. The Jets actually won that game vs. The Colts!

Thanks,
Joe DeProspero
jdeprospero@gmail.com
Buy my first book here.
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