Camp Hamann

We signed both Elijah and Luca up for camp this summer.  Because if they aren’t occupied they tend to destroy things.  Like Diana’s mind, for example.

We opted for ease over outdoorsy-ness.  The camps are just down the street at the Robert Crown Community Center and Ice Complex.  Home of that one Olympic speed skating guy.  No, not the guy with the soul patch.  The other guy.

Both sons immediately hated it.  Luca attempted to convince his counselors he was suffering from a massive fever, despite an internal temperature of 98.6.  Elijah, who is a bit more experienced at the art of deception, complained this morning of vague stomach pains. 

I can’t blame them.  The camps were kind of awful.  The other attendees were the girls from down the street who stole money from Eli’s piggy bank.  And they could never convince Diana that they actually had our son’s best interests at heart.  They never asked her to sign them in or out.  Never asked if Diana was, in fact, their legal guardian.  And the cookies they gave as a snack yesterday (that I stole from Luca) were awful.

This morning, Eli’s feigned stomach ailment prompted a call from the counselors to pick him up.  Diana arrived a little later and…oops, Eli was no where to be found. 

Was he at the facility?  Um.  Dunno.

Was he at the day’s event, the pool?  Not sure.

Was he wandering the streets of Evanston in a daze?  Gosh, wish we knew.

This lack of information did not sit well with Diana.  I do not believe she burned the Robert Crown Community Center and Ice Complex to the ground.  But I imagine it was on her short list of activities for the day.  An activity much more fun than anything they had planned for my sons.

Eventually, Eli was found at the pool (his stomach issues evaporated when he learned they were headed there), but Diana grabbed him and took him away from camp.  Permanently. 

Luca too.

So we’ve officially enrolled them at Camp Hamann.  Where over half the counselors have given birth to you!  Activities include: watching TV!  Playing on the computer!  Chasing black dogs named Grover!  Watching TV!  Fire truck toys!  Visits from Finn!  Watching TV!  Fighting your brother over fire trucks. 

And snack time.

Dream Fuel

I’m just going to hit this jinx head on and say Luca is over his terrible twos.  The siege of screaming lifted, revealing a lovely, lovely boy in its wake. 

Oh, sure he isn’t 100% yet.  For example, yesterday he told me he loved me and when I returned the favor, he screamed, “No!  Dada!  I love YOU!”  I said yeah, and I love you too.  He grabbed my face and looked into my eyes and screamed, “NO!  I love YOUUUUUUUU!”  Sheesh.

Aside from the occasional love scream, he’s just been awesome.  He even allows Elijah to hug him.  Although it usually lasts a few fleeting seconds before hug gives way to wrestle, which gives way to face pounding.

Saturday night, after a particularly lovely evening of non screaming, I snuck into the boys’ room and adjusted Eli’s blanket and tried in vain to smooth out his rat’s nest of hair.

I then bent down to Luca and pulled up his blanket.  He reached out and grabbed my arm and squeezed.  I almost vomited from love.  I bent down and whispered in his ear, “Daddy loves you.”

He grabbed my arm again.

I then whispered, “Mommy loves you.”  He squeezed my arm and smiled.  His little eyelids flickered and I wondered if he was dreaming of his mom.

I said, “Fireman Sam.”  His eyes moved again and he grabbed my arm harder.  I thought I’d give his subconscious a bit more material, so I said, “Fireman Sam fights the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers along side Star Wars guys.  But Grover beats them all with his poops.”

Luca turned over and sighed.  I was satisfied I started him off on a magical mystery dream adventure that would blow his little two year old mind.

Sunday morning, we were walking to the park and I told Diana about my dream fuel.  She asked Luca if he had awesome dreams last night.

He said, “No.  I was scared.  I had a nightmare.  About Daddy.”

Poop Issues

A few months ago, I wrote a blog post about how Diana followed Luca around the house with a diaper while he decided on a place to defecate.  By way of road testing the post, I told the story to a colleague. 

I thought he’d get a chuckle out of the poo antics, but he suddenly got really serious, looked me in the eye and said, “You better watch out.  You’re going to screw him up like that.”

Aaaaand we did.

Luca now has decided he will no longer poop.  Ever. 

We didn’t even notice it at first.  A few days went by with no pooping and we thought, “Eh.  It’ll work itself out sooner or later.”  But then it became LATER.  We got worried that things were going very wrong in his innards.

So like any parent hell bent on screwing up their child, we started asking about it all the time. 

“Do you have to poop?  Hey, what about pooping?  Oh…if you go poop we’ll take you to Chuck E Cheese.  You know who poops?  Fireman Sam.”

He’d just look at us with a slight uncomfortable frown and declare he did not have to go.

And then the pain began.  For all of us.  Luca spent several hours last Sunday doubled over in pain.  Yet, still refusing to make a deposit.  I was at the grocery store at the time and got a text from Diana that simply read, “Laxative.  Luca is in a bad way.”

I stood at the laxative aisle, trying to find one for kids.  But they all seemed to cater to the geriatric set.  I called Diana and barked over a bad connection, “Which laxative won’t kill a child?  These all look like buckets of sand.”

From behind me I heard a voice, “Miralax.”

I turned to see a guy who looked normal enough.  But why was he giving me advice about Laxatives?  Was he some kind of weirdo?

“My doctor is one of those doctors who refuses to even give my kids antibiotics.  But the only two things he treats aggressively are asthma and constipation.  He recommends Miralax.”

I took the medical advice of the man I’d never met (remember, I’m the guy who marches his sons 2 miles in 104 degree heat) and went home.

By the time I got home, Luca had angrily passed a brick and was laying in his bed, exhausted.

We’ve had him on a strict diet of laxatives and prune juice (after consulting our doctor, but he still hasn’t found his rhythm.  I’m hoping aggressively bothering him about it all the time will do the trick.

Heat

I can honestly say I physically abused my children yesterday.  Not on purpose, mind you.  But unintentional abuse is still abuse, right?

If you are currently reading this blog from anywhere around Chicago, you are most likely reading it in your underwear, sitting in a block of ice in front of an open refrigerator.

It’s hot. Dangerous, check on your elderly neighbors hot.  And what do I do?  Make Elijah and Luca walk 4, count ‘em 4 miles in it.

Let me back up.  One of my co-workers had a party yesterday morning along the route of a charming suburban 4^th of July parade.  It was billed as enough fire trucks to blow my sons’ minds.  I thought, “What the heck?  Sounds like fun.  And it’s not like I’m going to force my sons into some kind of Bataan Death March.”

CUT to yesterday morning.  Because traffic would be nuts, the party invite instructed us to park at the train station and walk east.  I complied with these instructions. It was only after walking an hour that I realized I parked at the wrong train station.

We were exactly one mile from both the train station and the party, so we pressed on.  In 99 degree heat.

We got to the party, completely drenched in sweat, and I allowed Elijah and Luca to drink as much lemonade as they could consume. 

The mercury climbed.  And climbed.  I realized if we didn’t get out of there and attempt the trek back to our car, we may never make it.

Oh, why didn’t I ask someone, anyone for a ride back to our car?  I.  Have.  No.  Idea. 

We began our walk back.  2 miles.  In the blazing heat.  With no shade.  Luca made it roughly 50 feet before he flat out refused to continue.  So I carried him.  2 miles.  He refused to ride on my shoulders, so I had to carry him like a wet sack of potatoes.  A heavy wet sack.

Which meant Eli was of luck.  He had to hoof it the whole day.  I would trudge forward for a few 100 feet and then look back at Eli.  He was usually crumpled in a heap in someone’s well manicured lawn.  At which point I’d walk back give him a pep talk.  My pep talk involved describing that we were all in grave danger and unless he got on his feet, we’d all get heat stroke and die.

At one point, I stood both boys up on the sidewalk and dumped two water bottles over their heads.  It didn’t occur to me that we may want to consume that water.

After 2 hours, we made it to the Einstein’s Bagels across the street from the car.  I told them to order whatever they wanted.  As much as they wanted.  While we sat over our turkey sandwiches and gallon of lemonade, I explained how proud of them I was and how incredibly sorry I was for making them go through that ordeal.

Eli asked if he could have Finn and Rory over to play.  I said yes.

Lightening

You can safely assume every HamannEggs post over the next three months will take place at the Skokie community pool. And will involve the giant red bucket.  And at one point will involve someone (Luca) dropping a Baby Ruth into the kiddie pool.

Today’s entry in the Red Bucket Chronicles?  Lightening. 

The Mercury hit 100 the other day, which is the perfect time to visit the Skokie pool.  This feeling was shared by every other person within a hundred miles of Chicagoland.  I was not prepared for the sheer volume of flesh.  While we walked to the kiddie pool, I felt like I was dragging y sons through a bowl of bacon.  Eli and I immediately stood under the giant red bucket to cool off and wash off the ick.  Luca watched from a safe distance.

We frolicked.  We splashed. We tried not to think of the germs.  Towards the west, I could see some nasty clouds racing our way.  It was getting close to dinnertime, so I was fine with the rain dictating our exit.

Suddenly, the P.A. crackled to life.  “Lightening has been sighted.  The Skokie pool is now closed.  Leave the pool area immediately.  Skokie pool does not give refunds.” 

I shouted at Elijah and Luca to get out of the pool now now now.  I may have laid the urgency on a little thick, but I thought better safe than sorry.

Eli demanded to know what the voice was talking about and why we had to leave.  While I rapidly shoved towels and sunscreen into a bag, I explained that it was going to storm soon and if the water got hit by lightening, everyone in the pool would get electrocuted.

Eli suddenly began shouting at everyone to get out of the pool.  “Get out of the pool!  You’re going to get shocked!  Get out!  Get out!”

He continued his warnings to the pool goers as we exited.  He stopped in front of a fat, hairy man smoking a cigarette and shouted, “If you get electrocuted, we’ll be able to see your bones!”  The man nodded and took another drag.

While we walked through the parking lot, we passed by four teenagers who were busily climbing the fence to illegally sneak into the pool.  Eli stood under them and shouted, “No!  You don’t want to go in there!  You’ll get shocked!”

The teens looked at their hands, thinking Eli was warning them they were climbing an electric fence.  But kept climbing.  Luca joined Eli in shouting, “Get down!” at the kids.

I hurried them to the car and we drove home through the downpour.