No water head!

'One less heathen in the world'.

This was Angie's comment as I wondered out loud how I was going to start this blog. Thanks, butter buns!

Before getting baptized, the heathen was loving the brotherly excitement in the air.


Even they didn't know what the hell was going on; they just knew that a lot of dogs and kids were showing up and that there would be a big party after church. Tom was also getting progressively angrier with everyone who kept laughing at him and telling him that he was going to have water poured on his head. 'No water head!' didn't help stifle the chuckling.

I think Peter was feeling a little left out of the whole 'attention' that he wasn't getting. To feel a little left in, he tried showing everyone his amazing shoe-tying trick that he learned only yesterday.

'Yeah, wow, Peter - amazing. Have you seen Tommy's shoes?'

Even more amazing is that Angie let Peter wear his Converse shoes to church. For his record, they are the only pair of shoes that he owns that do not have velcro straps. For her record, I think that had Peter not been able to wear them, Tommy might have been ended up face-down in the water. For my record, I would have cracked up for the rest of the service had Peter holy dunked Tom.

A certain realization crossed Tom's face as he watched the reverend prepare his head bath.

It was a mix between curiosity, fear and anger. In the end, Angie's side of the genes kicked in.

'No water head!'

'There's nothing to be worried about, it's only a little...'

'No water head!'

There was a brief awkward pause before the reverend decided to just go for it.

'NO WATER HEAD! NO WATER HEAD! NO WATER HEAD! NO!'

After Tommy's outburst, I was praying that he would not start growling 'eeeeevil!' at the poor woman. In the end, it was Church Lady 1, Waterboy 0. Yes water head!


After our entourage and the other five churchgoers stopped laughing, the service continued on. Tom was too busy scowling at the reverend to focus on the story about Bartimaeus. I couldn't really chastise him, though - there's only so much preaching in a foreign language that I can tolerate. My focus drifted from Bartimaeus to the Simpsons before discovering a wine crate by the altar with the German inscription 'Wine gives happiness'. Yes, it does. So does beer.

The fact that the church was using empty crates of alcohol to store their candles somehow amused me. I know, I know - I married Angie; I am easily amused. Still, made me giggle.

When we got back to the ranch, the cowboys were prodding the cattle into two herds.

One herd was keeping dry on a patio with a bunch of umbrellas; the other was roughing the storm in our party tent, which I spent all of yesterday building so that people would not have to huddle on the patio. Needless to say, I was not hanging out with the huddlers. Sugar may melt, but I'm no sweetie.

After hours of not contributing, Angie finally helped out by finding a four-leaf clover.

Suddenly, the clouds parted and luck started shining down on us.


It actually reminded me of a phrase - 'even the sun shines on a dog's...' Before I could finish my witty proverb, Tom ran up to show me his food.


'Wow, Tom. That's uh, great. You go have fun eating, now.'

Actually, I was little worried that Tom was eating too much, since he had come running up to me about ten times in the last hour asking for food. Pretzels, cheese, ham - you name it, he was walking away with it. I ignored 'the signs' though and convinced myself that baptized people probably just eat more. It wasn't until I saw this lovely image that I realized where all the food was going.


'Tommy - have you been throwing all the food down there?'

'Papa - look!'

He was so utterly tickled pink that he had filled the ceramic vase with table scraps that I couldn't even get mad. Actually, I could have, but I decided to go watch the soccer game instead. On my way over, I stopped by and told Angie to go feed Tom. He looks really hungry.


Soccer was hmmm...well....entertaining. David was the kicker and Peter was the goalie. So, everything was going great until David actually scored a goal. Within a split second, Peter turned into Hulk Hogan and initiated Petermania all over David's face.

I would've said 'ah, poor innocent Dave', but I know two things. First of all, David is never, ever completely innocent. Second, I've seen David in action and I was quite sure that he could hold his own in the ring. He did. Peter cried. Game over, man. Game over.

The next fun-filled attraction was witnessing Tommy take his first solo flight.


Opa would be the more experienced pilot calmly observing from the tarmac. Heidi would be the co-pilot in training that spiral-rolled Tommy into dizziness. I was more the petrified passenger asking for two double straight Bourbons and a bag of peanuts.

After spinning around 500 times, the worst thing one can do is try and walk. This was funny for about 2 seconds. After picking Tom up, he then tried to drive, which is the next worst thing one can do.


Tommy didn't grasp the whole 'pedal' thingy, but that did not slow him down. Oh, wait, actually it did. He just kept flooring it and making race-car noises and getting really annoyed that he wasn't moving and that Papa was laughing at him. Again.

After the GO-not-KART race, I turned to watch Barbara eat. She's not quite as messy as the boys, but it's almost as fascinating. We didn't have a trashcan in the yard, so Barb was forced to eat the food from the table like normal humans.


Instead of fixing a plate, though, she spent 25 minutes shooing away wasps and shouting 'agh, wasps'. I almost came to her rescue, but wasp stings hurt. Opa mosied over to see what all the screaming was about and it suddenly became clear to me what side of the family donated the fearless gene to David.


This is Opa's patented 'wasp-bash' move. For the record, it works. That is, of course, if your goal is to really piss off a bunch of hungry wasps. Next, Opa tried the 'wasp-flick', an interesting finger maneuver that launches wasps in the direction of the camera man. This works as well, by the way.

As one of the flicked wasps went whizzing by my ear, I decided to move out of Opa's firing range. He looked like he had things under control, so I moved on to check on the recently baptized.


I found him sitting at the gift table with Grams. He opened this gift and immediately turned it upside down and tried figuring out the quickest way to break it. It wasn't loud and didn't have a bazillion moving pieces, so I knew right away it came from someone with kids who was rightfully fearful of retaliation. Thanks, Clarice - I'll return the drum set that I had picked out for Dalia for Christmas.

Tommy still naps once a day, but there was simply too much going on. It was during his lolli break with Opa that the signs of fatigue really started to show.


When Tom started head bobbing and almost fell asleep with a sugar stick in his mouth, I decided to take him in the stroller for a short walk to Napville. I tried to exchange his lollipop for a pacifier and a complete freak-a-thon followed. In the end, you could only really make out one word in all of his blubbering and sniveling. 'Blada guna flaba meno LOLLI!'

I dumped the screaming kid in the stroller and waved to all of our friends and family who were now watching our convoy of embarrassment depart. I was told later that they could still hear shouts of 'LOLLI' for another three minutes as I pushed some distance between sleepy Tom and his coveted sucker. Actually, his screaming fit lasted a tad bit longer than three minutes; I thank the thick buildings and brick walls that sadly did very little to muffle my ears. Holy gaping chasm of suck.

It took longer than I thought, but Lollitom finally crashed. Big time. Unfortunately, he missed all of the entertainment.

I don't know what was funnier - that Sami could not work a diabolo to save his life, or this lovely shot.

They say that sometimes dogs and their owners start to assimilate after years of being together. I'm seriously thinking about striking it rich with a book about how Godfathers also start to assume the personality and behavior patterns of their Godchildren.

Eisi does not know it, but there is a secret Godfather rivalry going on. It's actually Eisi's fault, since he is cradling Sami's Godchild. Goofing around while trying to snap a family picture smells so much like David, though, that I can't even blame Sami. As per usual, it's David's fault. If he weren't so assimilatable, I'm pretty sure Sami would have acted like a normal Godfather.

Not normal were Peter and David's British cousins.

They didn't stay long, though. They crammed their greedy mouths full of candy and disappeared again. At least they were quiet, but even this worried me. Slightly.

I grabbed a beer and soon forgot my worries about what might be burning, broken, destroyed, or bleeding. Just then, the hostess with the mostess showed up with coffee, but no cake. Hmm, some hostess.

Armin doesn't do fake smiles well, as is clearly evident here. Oddly enough, I think he flashed me the same smile when I told him he was in charge of the boys while I took Tommy on his power nap.

As Tom continued napping with power, Davey seized the moment and started to hoard all of Tommy's presents. The first on his list was a book on identifying things.


It made me a little concerned that he could point out the thief and the policeman straight away, but before I could dwell on the implications, Tommy broke the sound barrier.


I shit you not, the boy woke up groggy, took one look at me trying to pick him up and scowled.

'LOLLI, Papa. LOLLI!'

I guess persistence does pay off, since Mama eventually caved in and gave him his half-eaten lollipop back. He even had the guts to flaunt this fact to me, who had somehow now become the eeeeevil father who steals candy from almost innocent children.


I hope he enjoyed his moment in the spotlight because as soon as the hostess ran upstairs to make more coffee, I threw the little braggart in jail.


Before the animal rights freakos start banging on my front door, I should clearly state that Tom's frustration depicted here was of his own doing. For some reason, he was fascinated with the gate to our garden. By fascinated, I mean that he walked out of the garden, shut the gate and then freaked out every time when Papa started laughing at the goofy baptized kid who couldn't open it again.

Angie eventually wandered over to see why Tom was crying. She darted me the sofa look and trust me, there was nothing sexy about it. She picked up the weeping criminal and whisked him off to break some more presents. Next on the list was a fire truck.

Okay, it did have a rather loud siren, but I was willing to overlook this minor fault in light of the fact that he was so freakin' infatuated with it. It was red and loud, so David's admiration was easily and understandably won. You could also fill it with water, which for some reason totally amazed Peter. Any gift that warrants jealous envy from both of your older brothers is something to covet for a lifetime.

David was particularly hurt and reverted back to one of 'his' games.


I say 'his', because 'Sleeping Queens' actually belonged to Zack and Owen, until they made the colossal mistake of lending it to Peter. Shortly after, David quite aggressively declared the game his and ignored the returning part of the gerund 'to lend'. Daniel filled in as honorary Godfather and taught David how to lose. I eventually jumped in to teach the boy how to cheat.

Peter tends to whistle when he is nervous or when he's losing. Don't ask me why, but yeah - he wasn't nervous.

As exciting as 'Sleeping Queens' was, some of the other guests decided to bolt. David threw on his crown and took on the role of Royal Departer.

He did an excellent job of monotoning 'ba-bye' until it came to some guests parting ways with the party pole.

I finally loosened Elina's death grip by offering her a lollipop. Tom witnessed the whole ordeal, though, and immediately renewed his incessant screeching. LOLLI, Papa, LOLLI!

Quite honestly, I had enough for one day. I went to go check on Sebastian and as it turns out, he had had enough shit as well.


I can confirm that three dogs in the yard can certainly create a lot of land mines. I can also confirm that Sebastian has never been through a 'mine detection' course. I have.

After thanking all the guests and kicking their asses to the curb, I fired up the grill and thoroughly enjoyed beer #2.


The night was not over, but at least my thirst was quenched. Okay, not really. But after #3, I was ready to deal with reality again. Reality turned out to be three mega muscular boys with hairy chests that closely resemble their father and desperately needed sleep.

Back when he was still a heathen, Tommy used to fight going to sleep. Not much has changed, except tonight, for some reason, Tom was very adamant about wanting to do Ladder Talk. He has listened to his brothers intently over the last few weeks while they recant their day and tonight he decided to break his self-induced silent treatment.

After finally getting the boys settled, I reflected on Tommy's Godparents over beer #4.

Barbara: you have been the token Godmother with our other two heathens, so everyone assumed it was a given from the get-go. It wasn't. Had you not been such an awesome Godmother so far with Peter and David, I would have so totally fired your ass and told Angie to get another sister. I'm actually really glad that Angie and I never had to have that conversation. For that and so many other reasons - thanks, Barb!

Armin: I have to be honest with you - we just like hanging out with you. You drink beer and we have a fridge. You're crap at poker and we can use the money. Besides, we really needed someone without red hair to balance out the mix. Thanks, Armin!

Sarah: there aren't many people who can put up with Angie AND the kids, let alone me. You're a great friend, a great mom, and I am certain that you will be a great Godmother. Thanks, Sarah!

Götz: part of being a Godfather is being able to protect your Godchild. Who else would be better suited for the role than a cop? I know, I know - you deny being associated with law enforcement every time we meet, but I get it, okay - wink, wink. Thanks, Officer Götz!

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Ladder Talk:
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: That I could play by the party.
David: The party in the garden for Tommy where me and all was.
Tom: The show Mamau and Opa.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: There wasn't - it was a perfect day.
David: That I can't play no more with Chiara and Alessio.
Tom: Lolli, you, Papa.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: I want to play with Paul.
David: I want to stay here and no go in kindergarten.
Tom: Andamorrow, Rina and Sami.

Who the HELL gave David a hammer?

If you look closely and you're not blind, you will see that there are actually two boxes. The one on top is empty. The one on the bottom is not. David was beating the crap out of the top box with a meat tenderizer. Enough foreshadowing for you?

Yes, Destructo Dave proved his namesake yet again. After finishing his cute little bashing frenzy on the first box, unsupervised Davey went completely ballistic on the second one. For the memory-challenged readers, the second box was the one with the undented IKEA furniture anxiously waiting to be built before some kid with a meat hammer discovered it. Honey, why is David giggling and who gave him a weapon?

But I get ahead of myself. Before the Tale of Two Boxes came the story of the kindergarten Prince and his pyjama sunrise with la Principessa.

Chiara and Peter woke up this morning and played cards. Cute - makes you want to gag, but cute. Alessio woke up and there was no getting that boy's stomach away from the table. Uh, how do you say 'tapeworm' in Italian? David woke up with bed-head and probably just sat there thinking 'hey, what could I destroy with a meat hammer if Mama and Papa were stupid enough to let me have one?'

Breakfast made Mama's brain sleepy enough to think that she could lay down for a five minute snooze.

It's not surprising that David was the one who volunteered to jump on Mama's head and yank her ear to confirm what a stupid idea that was. What is alarming, though, is the tiny blur in the background. Tom had found a stick with a ball on the end of it and for some reason began re-enacting the Korean convenience store scene from 'Falling Down' all over Mama's legs. In a tag-team match, I think David would pick Tom.

After a good Mama-lashing, nothing hits the spot more than five minutes in the cooler.

Okay, I am not even going to try and explain this one. I can tell you, though, that I will not be eating any of the cold cuts.

Tom's freaky eating habits were not restricted to the privacy of our own home. At IKEA, Tommy Tarzan publicly wowed the shopping world with his new banana trick.


When Tom does stupid things like this, three things normally follow. First, David cracks up. I mean he really loses it; eye-tearing, gut-clutching, snot-blowing, down-on-the-floor full-on hysterical outburst. Second, Papa cracks up, pretty much in the same fashion and order, only I tend to add a certain degree of flatulence to the scene. Third, Angie turns into a mean version of Puff and starts hyperventilating fire on me. My only defensive response was that I was laughing at the fact that David was laughing and not necessarily at Tom. Ow, fire burns.

Peter was feeling a burn of different sorts after mistakenly getting within arm's reach of David's scratching hand.

We had all three boys in one oversized IKEA shopping cart. It wasn't oversized enough, though. At one point, David marked out his own personal space by scratching a prison tattoo on Peter's chest. Peter of course screamed like a little girl for twenty minutes. After that, though, he seemed quite proud of his 'flesh wound' and even forced me to take a picture of it. Here you go, Rambo.

After searing Peter's gash with a blow torch, we decided to treat the wounded to ice-cream. Tom loved the ice-cream, but did not comprehend nor did he accept the simple fact that when you devour the entire cone in three seconds flat, there is no more ice-cream.


It was at this point that wise Papa called an end to Mama's shop-a-thon and rounded up the Zoo Crew for a short ride home and a long bath to bed. At least, that was my idea.

My Bath, Bed and Beyond plan had several minor faults in it. The first being that David's leg was in a freakin' cast. I didn't care, though. The boy stunk. Bad. Plus, I had Saran Wrap and duct tape and was fully willing to ignore the doctor's advice to not give him a bath. What the hell does he know anyway - he's just a doctor.


Even David was cracking up as I wrapped him up.

'Papa, this no work, okay? I go not in the bath.'

'Trust me; I know what I'm doing. I broke my arm once and I bathed.'

The funny thing is, a broken arm that is in a cast wrapped in Saran Wrap and duct tape doesn't get nearly as wet as other appendages that actually get completely submerged in water. Like feet.

I think we are trying to break (get it?) a new record for how many times a cast can be reset before it heals. The day after David broke his foot, it itched. This resulted in Angie walking into his bedroom to find that he had 'scratched' his cast into crumbles. Cast number two came off several days later when the doctor had to confirm that his foot was still broken. It was. Brilliant. Thanks, Doc. Cast number four was actually the end result of my attempt at de-stinkafying Dirty Dave.

He smelled great, but the doctor took one look at my make-shift cast after destroying cast number three and began asking a bunch of really stupid questions.

'Is that duct tape?'

'Yes.'

'What is that wrapped around? Did you use a ... is that a kitchen towel?'

'Yes.'

'You didn't try giving him a bath, did you?'

'Yes.'

I wish the Hippocratic Oath also included a clause that prevented doctors from making you feel like an ass. Although this would probably prevent Angie from ever entering the medical field, and since we need to keep our options open, I kept my mouth shut.

Meanwhile, back at the Zoo, the animals were getting restless. To try and make them more restful, we invited Daniel over for what turned out to be a childish card game. Just my style.

The game was progressing along nicely when Peter decided to amaze Daniel with his ability to fart from his armpit. I'm sorry, I don't care how old I get - that shit is funny. I cracked up and looked over at Angie, who was frowning. Then she huffed and glared at me again. This honestly made me laugh harder and then she began really scowling in my general direction. When we finally made eye contact, she quickly darted her eyes to the sofa. Enough foreshadowing for you?
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Ladder Talk:
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: When I played Queen cards with Daniel.
David: When we played that with the cards with Daniel.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: When Davey scratch me.
David: When I cried 'cause I heared not when you tell me stop and I in trouble.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: To play with you and Mama and Tom and Davey surprise maker.
David: To play Mama and Baby, where Peter is the baby 'cause he is.