Tree, bush or crying baby (or something else entirely)

Mommy came flying into our room last night at about 3am (mildly startling daddy). My sister almost crapped herself (that would have been embarrassing). Apparently, this mad dash into the nursery was caused by 'baby-in-distress' noises which were actually coming from our backyard. A couple of cats were having a bit of a territory war near our basement steps. Upon discovering that my sister and I were both sound asleep (amazingly), mommy and daddy went to examine the remarkably 'baby sounding' noises coming from the cute little pets-of-lucifer.

Daddy decided that this was his turf and he'll be damned if some mangy animals were going to stake claim to it. After "marking his territory" (so to speak), he went to get rid of the demons and quickly discovered that one of them was not the brightest cat in the world. When daddy made the standard 'scare a cat' noise (a sort of loud hissing), one of the cats bolted for the side fence and escaped through a hole. The second cat, however, made the confusing decision to run down the stairwell to our basement door, thereby trapping itself in a dead end. This cat escaped certain death purely by the luck of the fact that our dog is a pansy and doesn't have the balls to go into a stairwell after the devil with whiskers (yes, I know it's been a while since you heard a 7 month old refer to a dogs testes).
After laughing about the moronic cat, mommy scolded daddy for peeing around the backyard (to which daddy responded that "it was dark...nobody saw" and they went back to bed to wait for our demands to eat (again). Stupid cats...

Greed and Wieners

First thing's first. Daddy says he is greedy and wants more followers on his blog. He says he is going to make his blog private so that only followers can see it...so people, sign up for a free google account here and become a follower before it's too late!!!!

Secondly, Daddy says he is glad we are not boys (until we are teenagers...not sure what the hell that is supposed to mean). He told us a little tale to make sure that we understand the true nature of the male species.
There is a small group of seven year old boys. This scenario in itself can sometimes lead to hijinx. Now for some reason, these boys are unsupervised (we aren't sure how long they were unsupervised but it was obviously too long). This compounds the hijinx that can be had and elevates it to mischief. Throw in a trampoline amongst these unsupervised male children of our species and you have yourself a recipe for ridiculousness.
Picture this: you have a trampoline...what better way to occupy the time of hyper-active 7 year old boys? Unfortunately, you have some other issues to attend to and so you quickly go inside thinking, "They are all playing nicely...I'll be right back out in a minute." Too long, sucker. By the time you make it back out, they are all on the trampoline together with one slight difference. One of the boys has convinced the others (with an enormous amount of coaxing, no doubt), that they should all remove their pants and underwear so that they can look at their wieners bouncing around as they jump on the trampoline.
You stand there in awe, not really knowing what to say. Do you burst out laughing? Can you be charged in some way for this incident? Is there some form of discipline in order? And if so, exactly how bad is this infraction? Is it a time out? Grounding? Lashes on the bare ass? Tough call. Let's start by getting them to put there clothes back on and go from there.
Daddy says that the male brain doesn't change much from this point until 40 years old and that we should just steer clear of them. He also says that those bouncing dinkys can sting us and that if we ever see one up close, we should find a knife (or at least run the other way quickly).
Thank goodness we're girls.

A Ficticious Tale of Tragedy

Our Daddy told us a wonderful, but slightly disturbing, bed-time story last night.

Disclaimer: Any resemblance of this purely fictional story to anything factual is purely coincidence. All characters and plot lines are completely from the imagination of our daddy.

Once upon a time, in far away land known as Insomnialis, there lived two beautiful princesses. (Incidentally, Insomnialis comes from the Greek words Insomnae and Cialis which loosely translates to English as, "Wtf are you doing awake at this hour?"...again, it's a loose translation).
Anyway, as the story goes, these two princesses lived with their evil step-parents (how did they have two step parents, you ask? it has to do with a very complicated plot of marriage, divorce and re-marriage...very messy business). Now these evil step-parents insisted on the princesses sleeping during very specific hours (often the ones after the sun had set, oddly enough) when the princesses thought that it should be their right to be awake whenever the hell they want. Well, this type of attitude didn't please the step-parents one little bit. In fact, they started monitoring the sleep habits of the princesses quite closely (almost stalker-like, wouldn't you say?).
Unfortunately for our princesses, this story doesn't end well for them. The step-parents were very persistent and, despite their extreme fatigue during this ordeal, they overcame the will power of the beautiful girls. Our princesses were forced to sleep long hours at times when they wanted to play and smile (which only angered the step-parents...although they concealed it well by smiling back at the princesses...clever buggers). Our tale comes to a tragic ending with the princesses sleeping for 6 and 8 hour chuncks. (...in the name of the sweet baby Jebus...amen )

Again...any resemblance to real people is purely coincidence.

This is an artist's rendition of one of the princesses at 3am with an evil step-parent.

The Laidlaw and The Hogs

Yesterday, Daddy waved to strangers on the street as we drove past them...they were very confused. But he did the wave with such confidence that they must think that we know them and they were rude by not waving back...and we fear that it is going to happen some more.
The other day, Daddy decided that he doesn't understand how it started that bikers who don't know each other and are driving in opposite directions feel obligated to wave at each other (or at least acknowledge with a curt nod). He has assigned us the task of researching who the first two people were that decided as they were driving past a stranger on the road that they had some bond with that person because they both bought obnoxiously loud motorcycles when they hit their middle-aged crisis. So off we go to the library to hit the books and the internet in search of the beginning of this great community.
As a matter of fact, we've noticed the same thing with school bus drivers who are going past each other. What a fascinating phenomenon. We have discussed it and decided that we have a great appreciation for these communities. In fact, we are going to join Daddy in waving to other Mazda drivers in an effort to start up our own community. The only difference will be that we are going to try and discourage the "curt nod" type of greeting for our Mazda-ites. Our salutes to our commrades will be very vigorous waving with an extremely animated face. Essentially, we want to greet each other in a way that the bikers and bus drivers would see us and say, "what the hell are those spaz's doing?".
We think our community will be sooooo tight. Us Mazda-ites will do anything for each other.

A Message From Tutankhamen...to his nemesis

Hello,
I have snuck in to the girls blog using a series of clever ruses and mis-directions (I shook a rattle, clapped my hands and made woo-woo noises). Now I have the opportunity to say my piece for once because apparently I have become inconsequential. Every where we go, it is almost like I am a vessel...just used to transport 3dub and 4dub to places where they can be ogled over. Well, one of these days, I'm going to put my foot down. Maybe not today and maybe not tomorrow (I have to take them to an appointment that they have) but one of these days...just you wait.

Today, I was called fat. I made to sit on a chair and "my nemesis" told me, "No. You're too big". It's not my fault I'm big boned. Or something like that. Yes, nemesis, I may be a pound or two heavier than my high school days (or 30). But metabolism slows as people get older. I mean, I used to eat 2 whoppers a day when the BK had a sale for a while there. Was I supposed to just switch that off as soon I became old and decrepit? Well, nemesis, I tell you now that it is damn tough. Life isn't all roses and lollypops. There are some hard parts...check that, there are some DAMN hard parts. And one of them is love handles and jiggly bellys (I guess that's two of them...shut up). Well, nemesis, you have caused me to have a bit of a 'girl-paranoid-about-her-weight' moment and I won't soon forget it. The next time we meet, I'll come out the victor. This is the last time that a two year old gets the best of me. Kids can be so cruel.

This is my nemesis and the guardian that protects her...you can just sense the evil, no?

Why Can't I Turn Off The Radio?

My Daddy says that because we just smile at him and appreciate him, he feels he can talk to us openly. He says that he can tell us things because he trusts us and we don't judge him...although we totally do judge him. He's a bit of a strange cat, but he throws us in the air so we treat him nicely (see that adverb???).
So Daddy's latest confession has to do with avoiding musical persecution...again. After he finished whining about people seeing his true colours, he admitted his love for Ne-Yo (Closer, not Matrix). Now for someone who keeps the Offspring, Fallout Boy and the Smashing Pumpkins at the top of his playlist, Daddy is concerned that he will be judged harshly for his whiny R&B singer passion.

We personally think Daddy needs to get more into Anne Murray (man that Teddy Bear's Picnic rocks) but we won't think too poorly of him for straying from his 'rock roots'.

So, Daddy, we say to you, kind giver of fun, thrilling rides, oh comforter in the night, oh he of hairy faced kisses (if he has had several weeks of not shaving built up), enjoy your secret YouTube listening of the So Sick video. Revel in your searches for Hold On by Wilson-Phillips. Be proud of your 45 copy of Lady In Red by Chris De Burgh. And if Axl Rose were in your shower with you, he too would be singing at the top of his lungs that Girls, truly do, Just Want To Have Fun .
Oh Daddy, dear, you know you're still number one.

P.S. the portuguese is a bit of a tribute to mommy and also the english version of the video was not available for use in our blog... :)

4 Brands

My dad has drawn up a petition. He says that he doesn't know who to submit the petition to but that it is definitely going to some government official (perhaps in waste management). He says that it is based on several of his days which go as follows:

-get home from work
-go to bathroom...wipe poo
-change 3dub...wipe poo
-change 4dub...wipe poo
-walk D'Brickashaw...pick up poo

For those of you who aren't quite picking up the pattern here, Daddy will sometimes in a day handle 4 different brands of feces. Daddy says that he knows that other people may have to handle more brands than him but they can "make their own damn petition".

Daddy feels that it is wrong that he has to handle so many varieties of the vaunted "Number 2" and that the government should provide funding for him to hire someone to share in some of this burden.
When I told Daddy that one of my friends said that he should stop whining and suck it up, he said that my friend was no longer welcome in our home. He's claiming that if he sees them here, we're gonna "find out the effects of a bag of dung hitting the torso of a small child" (whatever that means...what the hell is a torso?).
Have you ever lifted a garbage bag of dog droppings? Me neither...it's too heavy. I think I might invite my friend over just to see what happens (a sort of science/social experiment).
Curious minds want to know.

From 3dub and the family in Malawi

Oh boy, here we go again. My sister and I have noticed that over the course of our lives (all 6 and a half months of them), Daddy will tend to have these stretches where he...hmmm...how should I put this...he talks a lot of trash but doesn't back it up. As a matter of fact, we've discussed it and we think his smart mouth is going to get him in trouble one of these days.
His latest foray into the world of idle threats is that he is going to trade us to a family that is looking for happy kids who don't sleep. We probably shouldn't have but we laughed in his face (well, I laughed, 4dub actually spit which I thought was a bit over the line).
As he was wiping his face off, he was muttering. I couldn't here all of it but what I did catch was:
"blah, blah, enjoy your lives...blah, blah, Malawi...blah, blah, childtrader ...blah blah."

Then he turned and looked at us and the conversation went like this:

Daddy: I've already made your profiles to trade you if needed.
3dub: You have spit on your cheek.

He started talking very quickly in a high pitched voice after this until Mommy came in and asked him not to use that language in front of us.

We're pretty sure this is an idle threat.

4dub speaks

I like spitting. It's something new that I've discovered to do with my mouth and so I do it regularly. I know that some consider spitting to be gross but when you are six months old, you can pretty much do whatever you want and get away with it. So I spit. A lot.
As a matter of fact, just yesterday, I saw Daddy spit on Mommy. Granted, he doesn't have the blatant, overt flair that I do but he still spit on her nonetheless. He tried to play it off as an 'accident'. As if he got so excited to see my sister and I that he 'forgot' to swallow. And then, while he was bending over talking to us...sploosh...right on Mommy's leg. Oh how I laughed.
Needless to say, Mommy was a bit stunned. The look on her face was something. I wish I had a camera.
I think Daddy has realized that he can't quite get away with that particular act. Whereas I can just turn and spit on anyone, Daddy looks like a jackass if he spits on people.
I think tomorrow, I might wait until I'm getting my diaper changed and then see if I can doo-doo on one of their hands. Let's see Daddy pull that one off. A bit tougher to explain an 'accident' like that away.