Act 2, Scene 41: “Give and Take”

E kicks a body blow to TRL’s soft belly. And then giggles.

Nice one, answers TRL as he struggles to keep E on the changing table while hoisting his diaper up.

E lets loose another kick, and another one, giggling all the while.

Oh, damn, that one hurt, announces TRL.

S, on the floor reading to C, looks over.

It’s only fair, she announces, he kicked me from the inside. Now he’s getting you from the outside.

TRL pauses, receives another kick, and nods. The logic was irrefutable.

Act 2, Scene 40: “Sweatpant Nation”

TRL has taken to only wearing sweatpants. A pair of black fleece REI midweights. Why? Because of the suburbs and his children, he tells himself.

More specifically, because he’s growing fat, not having to walk anywhere anymore. There is nothing more comfortable for the fatty than a nice soft waist-stretchable pair of sweatpants!

And because anything he wears gets gooed by C&E. Breakfast, drool, crayons, apple sauce, milk, etc., so TRL reasons it is best to limit the damage to one garment.

And because outside TRL and S’s front door, there is no one to see him. Just a quiet empty street. No foot traffic, no cafes to walk to.

And even when TRL gets in the car to run an errand – going to the bank, CVS, Stop & Shop, the local coffee shop to get more ground coffee – there is nobody he knows to see him, and an entire population also wearing sweatpants. Now, this isn’t Boulder, CO. We're not talking sleek athletes in sexy gym attire. This is the suburban dwellers - the seniors, the middle aged, the car bound, the paunchy. And TRL has joined their ranks.

Act 2, Scene 39: “Doh!”

During the gift game at the neighborhood holiday party, TRL wins big: a Homer Simpson T-shirt:

Panel 1: “D’OH” says Homer.
Panel 2: “NUTS!” he exclaims.
Panel 3: “DONUTS, Mmmm” he drools.

TRL loves this shirt; it speaks to his heart. He cradles it protectively during the evening least someone try and swap for it. S walks away with two used paperback books and a 5 pound Fire Starter log which TRL is made to carry on the walk home.

Two days later, with all the anticipation of Christmas morning, picking up a new puppy, or the first day of school, TRL showers and puts on his new shirt. Exxxxxcelent.

He trots downstairs to pour his morning iced coffee. C & E are sitting on the kitchen floor, enjoying elaborately created turkey and cheese wraps made by the nanny A.

C looks up, points to TRL’s T-shirt, smiles, and exclaims “Da-da.”

“Da-da?” says TRL, and then looks at his T-shirt.

Da-da, repeats C and points.

Da-da, laughs TRL. He had finally become, at least in the eyes of C, his favorite cartoon character anti-hero.

Act 2, Scene 38: “I Hate Oak Trees”

It’s holiday party time and S and TRL are invited over to a neighbor’s for a cocktail party. Amid the wine, vodka, gin, cheeseballs, olives, nuts, while trying his best to be sociable and suppressing the constant thought ‘I am in an Updike Rabbit novel,” TRL makes small talk with George the accountant from down the block. Amid recent snow, George inquires about TRL’s gutters.

Icicles are hanging all over them, answers TRL.

Oh, that could be a sign of blockage. Did you clear the gutters this fall?

Clear the gutters, muses TRL. How would you do that?

Get up there and clear ‘em off.

Oh, OK. How would I get up there?

With a ladder.

It’s pretty high up.

You need a long ladder.

OK, says TRL.

It’s the trees, says George.

The trees?

Yup, they clog the gutters. Especially the oaks. I hate oaks.

Hate oaks?

I like trees but hate oaks. We have them all over our yard. They drip sap all summer. I’m now allergic to them.

Oh.

They make me wheeze. And they drop leaves all over the place, especially onto the roof.

Not good, says TRL.

Not good, verifies George. Those oaks really drop’em. In the summer you have the sap. In the fall you have the leaves. Then late fall the acorns come down.

Yes they do, confirms TRL.

Which means the squirrels come out and bury the acorns to get ‘em soft.

So that’s how you get acorns soft, thinks TRL. Who knew?

And then the squirrels dig up the yard all winter to get at the acorns. George shakes his head. I hate those damn oaks.

TRL nods. Damn oaks, he says neighborly.

I wouldn’t have bought the house if I knew about the oaks, George says, looking down at his feet and shaking his head in resignation.

Tough break, says TRL. You should kill ‘me. Cut ‘em all down.

George looks up, a twinkle in his eye. I should get rid of them, he answers.

Trees are the enemies of the home owner, decides TRL. Maybe they were angry, he thinks, and trying to get back for all the trees cut down to make room for the houses.

Act 2, Scene 37: “Taking Milk from Babies”

TRL needs his coffee. The brain doesn’t spin unless caffeine is powering the gray matter. Caffeine is the hamster and TRL’s brain the wheel.

TRL comes down to grab his coffee, which he likes in a tall glass with lots of ice and a touch of milk. No matter the season, he needs his iced coffee.

He pours his glass full of Tanzanian Peaberry, and then goes for the milk. The milk is ritual as well as a key ingredient. He likes to shake it up to get it frothy and pour it over the coffee. The milk slowly runs down the insides of the glass in multiple tendrils, beautiful white threads cutting through the black and tanning the beverage from the bottom up. It’s like a white and tan lava lamp.

To TRL’s horror, the milk carton is empty. But C&E’s unfinished cups of milk are sitting on the refrigerator shelf. TRL hesitates for a moment, rationalizes that he would be taking just a little bit from each cup, and starts pouring. The nanny watches him as C&E run back and forth over the kitchen floor.

They won’t miss it, TRL answers her stare. I’ll get more later, he adds.

Operation coffee complete. And perhaps this is the first salvo in the inevitable tug-of-war over food once C&E move into their teens and eat everything in sight. For a little while, at least, TRL retains the upper hand.

Act 2, Scene 36: “Daddy Date”

S was off to try out for the local SB players production of The Wizard of Oz. Her and 50 other fine denizens of SB. High school drama geeks, senior citizen thespians, and everybody in-between. S was gunning for the wicked witch.

The tryouts were at night, so TRL was watching the kids. Which is nothing exceptional. But S insisted that the boys get a bath. Well, TRL doesn't bathe the kids. S does. Because TRL hates it and S likes it. TRL does not like bending over the bathtub to scrub the kids. He doesn't like the 50 percent possibility that one of the boys will refuse to get in the water and thus have to get a sponge bath. He doesn't like getting soaked and he doesn't like the screaming protests when the boys are told the bath is over. TRL doesn't like the entire process of the bath. Too many variables, too much mess.

But S was adamant. If they weren't bathed tonight, then because of travel, they wouldn't have the opportunity to be bathed for three more days.

So? questions TRL.

So they need to be bathed, says S.

But why? whines TRL. They don't mind. Nobody cares.

I do, seethes S, already in the role of the wicked witch.

With that, she makes her dramatic exit.

Boys, TRL says to C&E, wha'da'ya say we just wash your faces and tell mommy you took a bath. Are you guys with me?

Yes, says E, smiling.

No, says C, smiling.

No, E changes his vote.

TRL considers bribes. An evening with Elmo? A sanctioned food fight? An extended bed time? The problem, he knew, was that the boys wouldn’t connect the action with the bribe. And more to the point, S would know that they hadn’t bathed. How? She would just know.

So up to the bath. But first, the boys do laps around the dining room table. Twelve circuits. The better to tire them out, thinks TRL.

And C and E are excited about getting in the bathtub. And offer only the meagerest resistance to coming out. Bedtime milk goes down without a fight, and clean-up and brushing teeth goes swimmingly. By the time TRL is ready to utter those wonderful words ‘Bed time, boys,’ the boys are ready to hear them. Once in their cribs, each dives for the mattress, head down, butt in the air. TRL covers them in blankets, whispers good night, and steals out of the room.

It was now the golden hour, the time when the boys were asleep and TRL wasn’t at work. Normally, this meant dinner, maybe some TV, probably some household chores. But tonight was special. Tonight was all TRL’s. It was just TRL, dinner, and the TV. IE, it was daddy date night. He had full control over what he wanted to do, a sense of a job well done with the boys and stretching before him uninterrupted entertainment and snacks. No call to tasks normally initiated by S, no negotiating what to watch on TV. It was like being a bachelor again, only without the desire to find the right woman and eventually start a family. TRL was in the sweet spot.

Act 2, Scene 35: “Mommy Is Refreshing with Zero Calories”

TRL is making dinner, an event not unlike a diner which suddenly gets swamped with a big group. In this case, the big group is two 22-pound demanding customers.

More, more, calls out C.

More what? replies TRL as he microwaves broccoli, cools the macaroni and cheese, puts peanut butter on toast, cooks steak in the broiler and honors the free refills policy by keeping apple cider in C and E’s cups.

More, answers C and points at the counter, where a thousand ingredients crowd the small space.

Finally, after a process of elimination, TRL comes to the rice cakes. These? he asks.

Yes!

Great, mutters TRL, relieved.

He delivers the rice cakes, pronouncing it for C and E in the hopes that they will adopt language rather than pointing to tell him what they want. He tops off their cups and then reaches for the hundredth dish he has used this evening.

Mommmmaaama, E happily calls out in his sing-song little voice. Mommmmmaa.

Momma? Wonders TRL. In the cabinet?

But then he sees it. A lone Diet Coke can sits at the top. And S is a Diet Coke junkie.

TRL pulls down the can.

Momma? He asks E.

Mommmaaa, calls out E and gives a big smile. Mommmmmaa!

Life for a 21 month-old is pure association, a Freudian psychoanalyst’s dream. And in this family, Momma is a can of Diet Coke.

Act 2, Scene 34: “Driving Down Property Values”

TRL’s neighbor turned his driveway into a runway.

The first snowfall of the season blankets SB in three inches of fluffy white stuff. The leaves have barely been taken care of and now it’s time to shovel snow. TRL and S find the whole nature maintenance thing annoying.

We have better things to do with our time than rake and shovel, she tells a friend over the phone.

TRL normally agrees, but he actually looks forward to shoveling. It is the only exercise he gets anymore, and there is something extremely satisfying about doing the job and surveying your work. And it doesn’t involve the major annoyance of raking, which is bagging the leaves after raking them up and then taking them to the dump. With shoveling, in time the snow disappears all by itself.

TRL heads out into the dark night and begins shoveling.

Across the street he spies N.

Hey, he calls out.

Hi, responds N.

N has his car hatch open. TRL goes over to chat, one man out in the cold night making his driveway safe for his wife and kids to another.

What are those poles? He asks N.

To shove in the ground along the driveway so the plow stays on the pavement, he responds.

The guy who is plowing our driveways? TRL asks, referring to the double deal N had made with a local kid to plow both of their driveways in heavy snowfall.

Yup.

Are you really going to put them in, kind of trailer trashy, don’t you think?

A plow isn’t very friendly to grass, responds N.

TRL shrugs and goes back to his side of the street.

The next morning, bringing C & E downstairs, TRL catches a glimpse of N’s driveway. Sure enough, bright orange poles surround it, ending in a single pole with a large red reflector like an artificial flower in front of the garage.

Great, mutters TRL, he won’t have the plow carve up his lawn but small planes may start to land in his driveway. And, TRL can’t help think, that if S and TRL decide to move and sell the house they would have to do it in the spring time, when the poles get pulled up. The garish markers probably bring property values down.

Act 2, Scene 33: “Oh, It’s Really Not That Hard, Don’t You Think?”

S volunteers to man the sign-in desk for the SB Newcomers Club Bake and Crafts Fundraiser. This bears repeating: the SB Newcomers Club Bake and Crafts Fundraiser. TRL realizes he is now deep into a life he would never have imagined for himself.

The fund raiser is at the SB high school. S drops off her brownies and goes to sit at the sign-in desk. TRL brings C&E down to the gym where they bounce up and down on the mats and toss a ball around. C shows real aptitude for kicking around a soccer ball and E shows an inclination to being the cool kid lounging on the mats, watching the other kids do all the running around. TRL feels like he is somewhere in-between, though the truth is probably more towards being the uncool kid watching from the sidelines, hatching plans of revenge and world domination.

After the boys are sufficiently exercised, thus increasing the possibility that nap time will be taken up with naps rather than screaming and protests, they go back upstairs to visit S.

Momma, the boys call out, extending the M in their signature sing-song.

Boys! S gushes.

At that moment, a mom and her two blonde boys, around 8 years old, approach the sign-in desk.

Hi, says S. Are they twins?

Yup, says the mom, handing over her $3 admission fee.

There’s our twins, S says, gesturing to C & E, and smiles.

It’s a lot of work, huh, S offers, one mother of twins to another.

Oh, it’s really not that hard, don’t you think? the other mom casually responds, and saunters off.

S and TRL look at each other and start laughing.

This mother of twins is either pathologically competitive, in deep denial and doesn’t remember the early years, is on lots of Valium or is a complete idiot, speculates TRL.

Or a combination, agrees S.

Oh, it’s really not that hard, don’t you think? becomes the phrase of the day.