friday bella had her first sleepover where she was the host. the neighbor girl was the guest and she was remarkably polite. after loaning her some batteries for a cd player she listens to while going to sleep, i explained they were rechargeables and i'd like them back in the morning. she looked at me and said quite naturally, "why of course." and when marty told her that if she needed anything in the night she could come into our room and wake one of us up and we sleep right over there across the hall. to this, the small girl said, "marty, i know where you sleep. i almost know this house as well as i know my own house. it's like my second house."

saturday alex and i spray-painted his bike. it was everything he could do to depress the nubbin at the top of the can and given this there was no way he could push that and direct the spray at the same time but he stayed insistent on doing the work. so we would rest the can on the workbench or ground and he would put his body's full weight onto the top of the can, firing the mist in the general direction of the bike or wheel or accessory and i would move the part through the spray attempting to coat it as directed. in the end, this method worked to transform alex's pink and purple bike to a preferred green and black. it also worked to effectively cover me up to the wrists in green and black paint as well.

on sunday, we celebrated anthony's birthday. every time anyone would say the word birthday around anthony, he'd start blowing in the air as if he were blowing out birthday candles. and on this weekend anthony uttered his fourth-ever phrase. it was "close the door". with kids bursting in and out of the house all weekend, he heard marty scream those phrase through the house no less than forty times. if you're wondering, his first three phrases were mama, bella and poop (although poop sounds more like poof but is not to be mistaken because of the way he points a finger at his soiled and smeared ass while saying it).

tuesday night anthony woke up around 2am. while soothing him back to sleep, i witnessed him achieve two milestones.

first, he heard audible gas (which may have possibly come from me) and pointed at me. up until this instance whenever he heard a puff of flatulence, anthony always pointed at his own behind thinking he was the only guy walking around capable of such feats and wanting to make sure anyone within earshot recognized his clammy diaper as the source. i understand this infantile narcissism mostly because this is not a milestone i can yet claim.

and secondly, he found gas funny. not only did anthony point at me after the jet, he also chuckled at its wispy sound. considering the amount of sport he is sure to have with this biological necessity for the next twenty to thirty years, i consider it special that i got to see his face crack its first fart-related grin.

when bella was a toddler she was a climber and defiant and adventurous which made her a handful for her parents, especially two new parents. fortunately there were two of us and only one of her which i'm convinced is the only way marty and i survived those early years.

when alex was a toddler he was compliant and gentle and happy. there's not much to say here, the boy was born smiling and never has really stopped, and this even with a big sister hitting him and bouncing books off his head.

anthony. well, for starters anthony has a code-name. his code-name is silverfish. it is silverfish for what i think are obvious reasons. silverfish was coined when our family was invited to brunch with friends. they have two children of their own, live in a house that is finely appointed and has many circles, nooks, crooks and crannies. at first marty and i were having trouble keeping tabs on anthony and one would think the other had him and you'd hear a crash in another room and the other would say they thought he was playing with the kids and the kids would say he was there a moment ago but now he is not. so a tracking system was devised. if anthony was playing in the room with the other children and he left, one of the other kids had to yell as loud as they could SILVERFISH IS IN THE WIND. this would alert marty and i and our hosts to quickly try to find anthony. when he was found the finder would yell I'M ON SILVERFISH. if that call didn't come soon enough frantic shouts went out that sounded like DOES ANYBODY HAVE EYES ON SILVERFISH to which frantic NOs would ring through the house. in the end this system held up and kept all the valuable art and decor in tact which meant our friendship could remain in tact. the busy day ended when one of the children called out from the playroom SILVERFISH POOPED HIS PANTS.

all of our kids have gone through a fascination with our home's laundry chute, but none of them have been as passionate or industrious as anthony. when anthony decides it's time to send the laundry down, you're lucky if there's a single stitch of clothing left on the second floor when he's through.

to begin, he swaggers to the bathroom and pushes, pulls and wills the rolling laundry bin into the hallway right next to the chute's small door. once there, he yells and grunts until someone places a step-stool in front of the chute so he can reach the hole to start throwing stuff down. when he gets towards the bottom of the rolling bin and unable to reach any more items, he gets off the step-stool, tips the bin on its side, climbs in and emerges with a few items at a time. he then climbs back onto the stool and makes them vanish in the wall. when the bin is finally empty, he rolls it back to its place in the bathroom. he then roams the bedrooms looking for any garments lazily cast about. once all the loose and truly dirty clothes have been dispensed of, anthony expands his rules of selection. when unsupervised, an ajar dresser drawer with visible clothes in it fall into anthony's 'eligible for cleaning' collection. granted when he finds such a stash, he crouches before the drawer, peers in and says, 'whazzat?', before pulling it open and looking brightly at the newfound stash. he methodically delivers the fresh and folded stacks of clothes one armful at a time to the chute. in the event his thirst is still not slaked he has been known to move on to drawers that were fully closed ... but easily opened.

for the record, doing laundry has never bothered me, but when half your weekly wash includes unworn and folded clothes, such antics become much less adorable.

when anthony gets mad he does one of two things and which thing he does depends on whether he is dressed or naked.

if dressed, his face freezes in that pre-cry tremble. anthony is somehow able to hold a cry off for a very long time, like five to ten seconds long, but when it breaks, it breaks big, and at that very moment he quickly turns and dashes to his bed, if upstairs, and to the bottom step, if downstairs where he stays fixed until the emotion passes.

if he is naked when the anger hits he reaches down and grabs his penis, testicles or if super upset, both. he kneads the poor and undeserving flesh with a merciless roughness. sometimes it is so hard you can see mashed portions of scrotum or foreskin bleeding out between his clenching fingers.

this defense affects me far more than marty. she simply waits him out thinking he, like all men, will eventually tire of touching their boy parts at some point. i on the other hand am quick to meet his demands because somehow, someway i can feel what he feels through a cosmic, genetic connection. damn transference.

i chatted with bookpimp the other night. he has a son, his first, who is one week younger than anthony. we were comparing what sorts of stuff they were doing. for me these conversations are a little awkward because anthony has chosen to put all of his eggs into one basket, the basket of destruction which as a parent isn't a highly pride-inspiring skill to get to boast on.

bookpimp was commenting on all the words his son knows. when he asked about anthony i had to report that anthony didn't have any words. not yet. but he is very good at hand signals. although, they aren't the typical cute baby gestures for MORE and DRINK and PICK MY ASS UP. anthony's appear to be more of the marine commando ilk. if anthony wants you to follow him, he grunts softly to get your attention then raises his arm in the air and pumps it downward making a fist at the bottom. it looks most like the arm gesture young kids use to get truck drivers to honk their horns. if he wants you urgently, he repeatedly pumps his fist and grunts louder. every time anthony does this and bella and alex are nearby, i expect him follow the initial signal with a series of complex finger gestures and motions that would equal "you take out the little one and i'll flank back and garrote the larger one. on my mark. three. two. one. mark." in my mind, after this complex instruction, he would then crouch and begin stalking his prey.

well this is what i told bookpimp of anthony's progress. he told me this made him feel better because another friend of ours who has a child a bit older than us is saying stuff like "look mommy, there's goes a big garbage truck, and the men on the back look quite morose." dang first kids. the morning after my depressing chat i was brought from slumber by anthony bouncing a metal car on my face saying "wuz this? wuz this?" without opening my eyes i pushed him away telling him to go ask his mother.

so pimp, i guess anthony does have some words after all. but for the life of me i can't imagine why his language isn't flourishing more. like my advice to him, perhaps i should go ask his mother.

i didn't post yesterday because i was fast asleep by 8:30pm sunday night and didn't wake until 7:45am the next morning. i slept stupendously. i was finally stirred by the only guy in the house who got more sleep than me, anthony. he was three minutes into his day and already on fire, walking around pushing things over, opening dresser drawers and flinging delicate objects against the wall. he came at me with a toothy smile thirsting for a tickle fight. and you know what i did? i smiled back. i smiled before my morning shower, tinkle, coffee or bran muffin. it was at this grinning moment i saw the secret to his blissful existence ... sleep. well, that and not taking any shit or voluntarily doing anything he doesn't want to. and well, there's also his screaming like a wild man when he is hungry and the food item of his choosing is not immediately before him. but aside from those few sticking points he's quite a happy chap.

in fact he's so happy, he doesn't even care if he's got a marbled ball of feces tumbling around his diaper pushing and contorting against his miniscule butt cheeks. if you can have that mess going on and still crack a smile, i think it's clear you've got your world figured out.

the last week in our house has been unique. i have been laid up in bed for six days now, only getting up to visit the bathroom, and this only when the need becomes dire. my mother stayed with us the first few days, primarily to take care of me. and marty has been doing the whole single parent thing with the kids. in that i'm stuck in bed, the house plays out more like theater to me than life. my family serves as the characters swishing in and out of my doorjamb view throughout the day. this week, i'm going to take a day for each personality and write about what makes their performance noteworthy, to my eyes at least.


let me start with anthony. he's the only one in the house i'm actually afraid of. the older kids understand i can't play or roughhouse. anthony does not. and he is a hooligan. and he is completely unpredictable. and he is the absolute wrong height to be walking around people who just had knee surgery. and he moves about the house with a cocky swagger that smacks more of a ivy league frat boy than a diapered and wordless child. when i see him stop at my door my body tenses. most times though, he just walks directly to my side and rifles through the glasses and dishes sitting on my bedside table. he reaches into full glasses to pull out a little handful of ice which he sloppily moves to his mouth. it is not uncommon for this trespass to topple glasses and crash dishes to the floor. his raids are inelegant and unquiet.

when he's not stealing or upending my food stuffs he dances for me. the style most resembles a little soft-shoe with his feet shuffling about, his arms swinging at his side. while dancing, he watches his feet in a studious manner as if evaluating his technique, although i believe he is just taking in the show as is anyone else watching. after a bit he seems to sense the need to mix it up so he turns around and steals away in our bedroom's double door closet which is situated just behind his dancing stage. once inside he pulls the doors closed, mostly. through the small gap he peeks out. when he sees you seeing him he giggles and waits. after an unpredictable pause in time he flamboyantly throws the doors open, jogging forward to the ohhs and ahhs of the crowd. he will then turn and again disappear into the closet for a repeat performance. and no one will ever question his stamina or dedication to the show given how many encores he's prepared to deliver. he is a consummate showman.

monday morning i popped the top to my deodorant and found a gash through the typically smooth, glisteny surface. upon inspecting it closer the mar appeared to have been made by two small teeth. it would seem anthony is broadening his culinary horizons.

anthony has proven to be a bit of a problem for marty and i. with the first two children we just let them put into their mouths whatever they felt compelled to and let them learn first hand the reasons not all things are meant to be eaten. the first time i saw anthony play with a bar of wet soap in the tub, it wasn't long before he raised it to his mouth and took a bite off the corner. i quietly watched his face wrench up waited for the waxy chunk to drop out of his opened mouth. but instead of pushing the morsel out he lifted the bar back to his mouth and took another bite. i hope he's not a cusser because it looks like the classic punishment ain't going to have much teeth with him.

lately marty has been sending anthony in to wake me in the morning. reason is he is better at it than anyone else in the house. in trying to get me to play with him he hits me about the face, perches himself on top of my head hoping i'll try to make him fall and/or buries my face with books, toys and clothes. yesterday he woke me by trying to force a plastic car into my mouth. very effective that. i groggily sat up, patted him on the head and moved to the bathroom.

i mindlessly turned the shower on and walked to my office giving the hot water a chance to start its day. anthony waddled behind me at each stop hoping i'd toss him in the air or read him the book he held in his hand. as i leaned over my desk typing my password i felt something on my foot and looked down to see an arc of pee coming from beneath his unbuttoned onesie and landing on the top of my foot. he looked up at me proud and smiling. from my up-high view i didn't notice that he was diaper-less. my mind tried to remember if before cramming the matchbox in my mouth if he had sat on top of my head that morning. i couldn't be sure. while still watching the stream i let go a throaty "AAAAAAHHHHHHGGGGG!" hearing my exclamation marty innocently called from downstairs, "is anthony peeing?"

on the good side, i couldn't have been in a better place in my day to get pissed on. i was already naked and the running shower should have reached a steamy state by now. when i finished washing my foot five times (and my head twice just in case), i pulled the curtain back to find alex standing in the bathroom. his pants were around his knees and he was fumbling with the front of his underwear.

hey dad! look at this?

what am i looking at alex?

i can pull my penis out of this hole in my underwear.

well yes you can. and it's only 8:12 in the morning.

do you want to try to pull my penis out of my underwear?

not today pal. i gotta get ready for work.

standing in the kitchen, i quickly ate a bran muffin, got dressed and headed down to take the kids to school. as i descended the stairs alex was standing in the foyer with his pants, again, at his knees and showing his new trick to the rest of the family.

look mom. look della. i can take my penis out of my underwear through this hole.

(the girls bend and crouch to see the action)

i see that alex. now can you put your coat on for me.

no. wait. one minute mom. do you want to do it?

no. i don't need to do it alex.

della? do you want to do it?

yes!

no. bella doesn't need to do it either. please put your coat on alex. you're going to be late.

i wish i had a penis. (bella said in her saddest voice)

while not as noteworthy, this day held like surprises for me throughout. but i absorbed them all with a broad grin thinking at least these humans weren't smilingly dousing me in fresh urine, nor were they offering to let me bend and contort their penis through a too-small and not-straight-enough passage in their jockey briefs. you can't keep a man with this outlook down. it just can't be done.

anthony has earned the distinction in our home as the person who has deposited more objects into the toilet than anyone else. obviously, in his case i'm referring to objects not meant to go in the toilet. he seems convinced that the commode is the proper storage location for every loose and free-standing object we own. if you ever spot him meandering the halls with something in hand, you can be su...

on saturday marty and bella went to a wedding. bella had the job of handing out hershey kisses to guests walking out of the church after the ceremony. as she dropped the foil wrapped sweets into the passing palms of exiting people she was instructed to say, "kisses from the bride and groom."

meanwhile back at home, i took the boys kite flying. it was a stupendous day for such an outing a...

when anthony is hungry and not getting what he wants, be it mashed potatoes or a drink of water or a spoon of oatmeal he shrieks like a pre-pubescent howler monkey.

when anthony is offered food he doesn't want, he waves his left arm wildly back and forth as if he's trying to karate chop any attempt to get it near his food hole (or mouth for those not accustomed to having their mouth called their food hole).

when anthony decides he is done with something he's already been given, he squeezes the morsel in his tiny fist, watching it bleed through his clenching digits. once the food is properly disintegrated he madly waves this raised fist above his head sending the little bits of food flying each and every way.

between the screaming, flailing arm and airborne food our kitchen oftentimes seems like a food processor is running full-bore without the lid on.

as mentioned last week, anthony turned one. for each of her children on their birthday marty bakes and decorates a cake of their choosing for them. so far this year marty has produced spiderman and superman cakes for alex and bella respectively. for marty, these kitchen sessions usually run late into the night and if you listen very closely you may hear a naughty word or two ring through the dark and quiet house before the work is done. but this celebration, anthony's one year, would possibly be a swear-free event because being just one he couldn't request some exotic and complex animated character. additionally, our thirteen year old niece, emma, was spending the week with us so marta actually had kitchen staff.

when i arrived home from work the day before the party there was a pan cake cooling on the counter. it wasn't one of marty's typical molds. this cake was made of two simple round cakes. a larger one for the base and a smaller one, about half the size in diameter, for the top.

TROY
what is that?

EMMA
it's anthony's birthday cake.

TROY
why'd you make him a giant nipple?

EMMA
it's not a nipple.

TROY
then what is it?

MARTY
just ignore him emma. that's what everyone else around here does.

TROY
this is not a criticism. i think a gigantic nipple for a nursing one-year old is quite thoughtful.

by the time the cake was presented the next night, the nipple-part of the nipple-cake had been lopped off and was being fobbed off as a second, sister cake. it was a worthy attempt, but insiders knew.



for all their efforts of deception, anthony still seemed keenly attuned to what was what.


and then there is the ritual i most dislike where the birthday child is allowed to eat their personal cake using nothing but their hands.


... and then even worse, feed their party guests, with those same sticky and soiled hands.


lastly, we finish the one-year birthday with a big-ole group shower. this detail usually gets left off the party invites because hallmark seems to be too fancy and proper to produce the one-year-old birthday slash group bathing party cards. hallmark, get over yourself already. it's 2007, the year of the nipple-cake.

anthony turns one today. this makes it just about four days shy one year ago that marty and i walked into our home, labored to put three children to bed and collapsed glassy-eyed in our own room numbly staring at one another. one of us said, "what have we done?", the other didn't answer. over the years marty has told countless new mothers "it gets easier, don't worry."over the same period, i have told countless new fathers "it's temporary, totally temporary". we both slept that night with these missives playing, on repeat, in our heads.

and here we are already, with another one year old. what can i say about him? most notably, it's remarkable how completely different three biologically-connected humans can be. you'll get occasional glimpses that they belong together but much of the time it feels like i just run around yelling "where did you come from?" or "hey! you! are you supposed to be here?" in the end, you could slice many of these anthony-related moments into the following buckets:

the obvious things
the anthony scoot dazzles and tickles onlookers without fail. you ever hear the phrase 'money in the bank'? well setting anthony down in a public forum is just that, money in the bank. one unknown detail about his mode of transportation: the outside of his diaper is typically way dirtier than the inside, especially when what's on the inside starts finding its way to the outside, an unfortunate phenomenon that has recently come to pass.

the unexpected things
anthony is our first white child. while this was unexpected, it nicely rounds out our set. we now have one dark, one light and one white. i have friends who have joked about the uncertainty of my race saying that one day marty and i would have a child and the delivering doctor would catch a fully black infant in his hands, subtlety look at the nurse and say "we may be about to have a problem here." they would then hold the baby up so i could see and i would arms-open yell "heeeeyyy! my son, ohhh he's so beautiful." to which the doctors and nurses would retire to the corner of the room and whisper among themselves trying to figure out how i did not notice this child was black and i was not.

the inevitable things
when bella was little, if her pacifier touched anything other than her open mouth it went straight into the washer. with anthony, i've picked a paci up off the ground, saw something on it, brushed it off on my pants, looked again and still saw it, shrugged my shoulders and popped it into his waiting mouth. if we have a fourth kid i reckon we'll not even bother with store-bought soothers but instead just stick clods of dirt and other random small objects into the kid's mouth.

the problematic things
i'm an only child so watching two siblings interact has been quite academic. when things are good, it's spectacular. when things are bad, it's terrorizing. dumping a third child into this already heady equation complicates the math to collegiate levels. anthony often serves as a pawn to exacerbate, calm, excuse and manipulate situations between his older siblings. obviously the lion-share of his participation is not of his choosing and consequently causes him angst. it is not uncommon to hear a parent yell "bella/alex put him down. he's not a doll! he's a person who gets to decide where he wants to go ... now give him here, i need to change his diaper." it's also not uncommon for a parent to yell stuff like "stop standing on your brother, you're going to make him puke!" only to have them say "but, he likes it" and when you go to investigate, the little nut is laughing maniacally under the weight of his sibling to which you don't have much to say other than "well, just don't do it too long."

the satisfying things
not only does anthony not look like anyone else in the family, his demeanor is also quite unique. with bella, she looked like me and acted like her mother. with alex, he looked like a walter but acted like me. with anthony, well, he doesn't really look or act like anyone already living here. when left to his own, he's perpetually happy. lots of smiles. lots of giggles. our house was already jovial-rich but now we got a one foot high billboard scooting all about wearing a slobbery, indelible grin. it's warming. it also tempers a home otherwise rife with an ever-changing and frenetic energy.

happy birthday sir anthony. thanks for being something we totally didn't expect.

two nights ago i was getting the kids ready for bed. bella was sitting on the toilet with a book spread on her lap, anthony was scooting around the bathroom floor playing with the closet door and alex was naked and about to get his teeth brushed. as i was working over the sink putting paste on the toothbrush alex called out "aaahhhh. anthony has my penis." i wheeled to see anthony with an outstretched arm sitting right in front of alex. he had pinched, quite heartily, the uncircumcised foreskin of alex's penis between his fingers and was pulling it towards the ground. i took a moment to react because i was astounded at how far anthony was able to stretch alex's miniature member. alex's shrieking turned to hysterical laughter and he started chanting "anthony has my penis! anthony has my penis!" to which i said "ANTHONY! let go of your brother's penis!" to which bella very sadly said "i wish i had a penis." when i yelled at anthony he let go and looked at me, smiling. i turned and sensed the score keeper in my brain writing the words LET GO OF YOUR BROTHER'S PENIS in neat letters on a chalkboard and then placing a single hash mark to the left of it. while this accounting was going on alex started gleefully singing his song again "anthony has my penis! anthony has my penis!" to which i again shouted "ANTHONY! i said let go of your brother's penis!" this bought me a second hash mark.

last night marty had to attend a neighborhood meeting which put me in sole charge of dinner and pre-bed prep. this exact situation is the reason the phrase "got his ass handed to him" was ever invented. truthfully, these evenings can go a couple of ways but most often you hear a lot of "you always let us watch tv when mom isn't here" or "when is mom coming home" or "that's not what mom would do". last night actually went ok. i brought dinner home with me removing one of the obstacles. after dinner we walked down the street where in the summertime there is always a legion of little humans running around half naked while parents sit on stoops sipping wine. on this particular night the kids scored some of those glow in the dark bracelets like you see at amusement parks and carnivals. i let them run wild until they started to get shiny and then ushered them home for baths and bed. we walked in the door and i told them to all strip and head upstairs while i got drinks. i was at the kitchen sink when alex called me. when i looked up he was standing in the foyer totally naked with his neon green bracelet placed around his penis and scrotum. while i took this scene in he innocently asked "daddy, do you know where anthony is?"

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some guys like butts. some like hair. others are into eyes. i myself am a calf man. baby anthony, well, he's a bit of a nostril lover. not the nose. not the bridge. not the cute and curled upper lips that attach to the nose. the nostril itself, from the rim and in.

because of this, watching a new person hold anthony is a bit of a spectacle because they don't know of his affinity. they don't know that at some point in their holding him his eyes will drift up to their face whereupon he will stare at them intently. the holder, they take this as adoration and typically melt at his round, cheeky gaze.

ohhhh. look at baby anthony. i think he likes me.

in a few moments anthony will raise an unsteady hand towards their face.

oh. baby's going to give me some loving. are you wondering who's holding you?

in time his hand finds their face, patting it and moving around in uncertain and mostly uncontrolled motions until he finds their nose. his little fingers grasp the tip and then pause. next he will run a single finger across the bridge and down the sides. and then to one of the openings where his finger travels around the edge. watching this always reminds me of how women, sultry women, alluringly circle a finger around the rim of a tall wine glass. the actions look doting, loving even. the same is true of anthony's preliminary nostril massage.

does the baby got my nose? should i get the baby's nose? i'm gonna get the baby's nose. here i come. here i come. got it! i got baby's nose.

it is sometimes at this perfect moment that anthony delves his index finger deep into the holder's nostril. i'm talking about burying it somewhere past the second nuckle and thanks to some cartilage we all seem to have not quite to the third. this will cause even a veteran mother to jolt in the chair and instinctively move him to an arm's length.

ok. i think it's time to go back to your mamma.

we in the family know this is always in the cards and have learned to deflect these nasal assaults save one maneuver and this is only because we all have to sleep at some point. in my years of life i've been raised from slumber by a number of unappealing methods; cold water dumped on me, kicked in the leg, hit about the head, even by being tested for lactation but the most hated technique is having a tiny index finger with a tiny jagged nail on its end rammed up my nose. and for sure when your eyes bolt open the first thing you see is anthony inches from your face studiously overseeing the procedure.

and speaking of nostrils, alexander somehow got a piece of cooked linguini stuck up his yesterday. we considered sending anthony in but alex knows his game and won't let him near his nose. fortunately i've learned that a near sure-fire way of getting little objects out of little kids noses (bella once had a piece of cooked rice in hers) is a combination of rough-housing and tickling. i can't tell you if it will get shot outward or sucked inward, but one way or another that unfortunate cudgel is coming out.

and in regard to my interest in women's calves, it's not like i enjoy eating peanut butter off them or shaving strangers' legs, there's just something scintillating about a tawny muscled and nicely proportioned calf on a lady.

boy, it sure is good to be back. i missed you.

the day after sassafras was born, i took the kids to the hospital to meet their younger brother. bella immediately latched onto the newborn making various cooing and gooing noises at him while waggling a finger over his face and belly. alex immediately went to marty taking his rightful spot on her lap. about five minutes into the visit bella spoke up and said she knew what we should name the baby. we asked what, preparing our poker faces for the worst. she confidently announced Abrey. after her proclamation she turned and hunched back over the infant as if the matter were resolved. marty and i both made faces, but they were different.

TROY
i kinda like it.

MARTY
what did she even say, avery?

TROY
no, abrey.

MARTY
spell it.

TROY
A-B-R-E-Y.

MARTY
abrey? that's not even a name.

TROY
sure it is. everything is a name.

MARTY
well, i don't like it.

TROY
and if i do?

MARTY
i'm not naming a child abrey.

TROY
it's two against one.

MARTY
alex, come here.

here's a thing to know when negotiating with the human who just spat another, smaller human out of their special hole; they always possess more stock in the business at hand than you. so abrey was out. after a brief bout of panic and uncertainty a name was unanimously agreed upon ... anthony. anthony walter dearmitt.

that said, everyone in our house calls him something different. marta calls him anthony. i call him antonio. bella calls him abrey. and alex calls him sassafras. no reason to not get a quick jump on the schizophrenia his world is sure to bring.


click here peggy

labor began at 6pm, wednesday night. we left for the hospital at 3:30am. marty gave fully natural birth to a six pound healthy boy Thursday, August 17 at 1:54pm. the child is still as of yet, unnamed.

my mother watched the delivery, something she also did for alex. marty has now twice extended this very generous invitation to my mother since she never got to personally experience childbir...

were our family being monitored by nasa, our latest transmission to them would read "houston, we're set to pop. i repeat houston, we are set to pop. confidence is high". technically, we're still weeks away but we've entered the any day milestone. alex was almost two weeks early which means who knows how quickly sassafras could appear now that the track is greased. if you looked, touched, listened to and smelled marty's stomach protuberance, you'd be amazed the little nipper hasn't just fallen out into the tub while she showered.


while the first picture is representative enough of the home's state, this second photo better captures the true breadth of moods. we are (right to left) frenetic, meditative, swirling and observing.


wish us strength and health over the next few weeks getting the child little man simply calls 'assafras' to the other side. and peace out. (photo credit to the soon to be big brother, alex)

our bathroom door doesn't lock. come to think of it, our bathroom door doesn't even latch. it stands wide open much of the time, occupied or not. casting a glance that way while walking down the hall often results with spying bella sitting on the john chin resting on her bracing arm and her legs dangling from the seat.

you may think that given the state of our door hardware, people would respect that when the door is swung closed, the room is occupied. we're not quite there yet. five minutes before the writing of this thought i was attending to my late afternoon constitution when the door pushed open enough for bella's head to pop through. "oh!" she exclaimed. "sorry dad, i just need one of these." her arm reached to the back of the door and pulled a bath towel off a hook and she and it disappeared. she called a "thank you dad" out as she quickly ran down the hall.

i'm not a math guy but this equation is one which i'm all over. that is, if bella is hurriedly after a full size bath towel, something pretty bad just went down. there was a time i'd try to figure out if it was one of my valuables or another's but parental experience has shown me that it is always my stuff. the kids have yet to be employed and therefore haven't acquired anything of merit or value. the last thing marty voluntarily purchased out of need or desire was back in 98 and that item fell when bella was just three. so what is left is a house chock full of dad-stuff. and it's not like i prefer delicate and costly electronics or anything. and certainly not stuff that couldn't withstand being doused with a bowl full of milk that got upended during a scuffle between bella and alex for the remote while yelling "my show, no my show, no my show, NO, MY SHOW".

many more of those sorts of battles and that argument will become a moot point because marty and i are in agreement that we're not replacing any more broken household items until the children leave for college. if you could see some of the antics that go on in our miniscule tv room, you'd know the tele is already living on some serious borrowed time.

a new TROYSCRIPT was posted today. a gooder name