The Coconut Game

It's Wednesday morning, there's a fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen, the classic Muppet Family Christmas on the TV, and I'm not at work.

Nope.  I'm lounging in pajamas, at home, with both kids.  Why?

Because of the Coconut Game.

"What the hell's a Coconut Game?" you might ask.  Good question.  I honestly don't know. 

You could ask my four-year-old - it's her thing - but she probably wouldn't be able to explain it that well for ya.  From what I can gather, it's a lot like 'Duck Duck Goose'. . . which, consequently, means that it's a total blast if you're under eight years old, but pretty shitty if you're older than that.

(I mean, as much fun as I like standing up, sitting down, and being hit in the head and all. . .)

SUCKS.

Anyway, last night was Bath Night.  That means that our wind-down routine with the girls is an additional half-hour long.  Not bad, you say, but when you only have three or four hours of home time per night once one gets home from work, that's a solid chunk of time.  Now, last night, like any other Bath Night, our kids had gotten out of the bath tub and, in a nudist state of pre-pajama bliss, were growing more and more hyper as we continually asked them to dress themselves.

It was from within this moment of usual chaos that Alayna - in her infinite wisdom - suggested Abby join her in playing the Coconut Game.  As the two began jumping up and down, hitting each other (and us) on top of the head, and progressively winding themselves up into a frenzy, Abby began throwing herself back on a bean bag chair we keep in their bedroom.  Over and over again she'd jump back onto this thing, laughing hysterically. . .

. . . and then she missed it.

With a load crack, her head struck the marble sill of their bedroom window.  She began crying, and for a brief moment Kris and I shared a God, that's kid's gonna hurt herself one of these days looks.  I suggested Kris take her into the bathroom, where it was brighter, to check her head - just in case - because she hit it pretty hard. . .

Kris suddenly shrieked as blood began seeping from a large laceration across the back of Abby's head.

As we scrambled around, grabbing arbitrary items like purses, shoes, and car keys, Alayna stumbled along behind us, wailing in a miserable state of confusion and fear for her sister's bleeding head.  I loaded her into a car seat and climbed into the van, only to realize - with a small degree of modesty - that I wasn't wearing pants.  Or shoes.  I ducked inside, dressed into an outfit that modern society would deem 'legit' for public use, and grabbed my phone. 

Within seconds, we were speeding down the street to the Florida Hospital of Kissimmee.

And, of course, we hit every red light on the way there.

Abby was pretty quiet on the drive there, while I sat on the floor beside her car seat, pressing a now-ruined bath washcloth to the back of her head.  Alayna had softened her lamenting down to a pathetic whimper, but was still pretty shaken up.

Kris, mid-heart attack

When we pulled into the Hospital, Kris rushed Abby into the Emergency Room while I parked.  By the time Alayna and I came through into the waiting room, they were already wrapping up Abby's head with gauze to staunch the bleeding.  As it turns out, Abby would need several STAPLES in her head.

Kris and I, in our naivety, assumed that we wouldn't have to wait all that long to see a doctor, seeing how our child - who was two - had a severe laceration across her head. . .


But, as usual, we underestimated the stupidity of Central Floridians.


The waiting room at the Florida Hospital Emergency Room was full.  And there was one - yes, one - doctor on staff for the night.  Now, if the waiting room had been full of gun-shot victims (surprisingly enough, for Kissimmee, it wasn't), I wouldn't have minded so much. . . but instead, we found ourselves surrounded by a horde of obese ladies who were complaining about their blood sugar levels.

I'm not a diabeticologist or anything, but isn't that something where you can just eat a candy bar and shake it off?  My two-year-old is bleeding from her bashed-in head, for Christ's sake.


Anyway, we ended up waiting around for nearly three hours.  Seriously.  During that time, Kris had taken Alayna with her back to the house to pick up some books, socks and shoes, and several items we had left behind in our frantic dash out the front door. . . but even with all these new items on hand, the kids were growing restless having to sit in a chair for hour after hour. 


Even with the abundance of bizarre anecdotes on hand, courtesy of our fellow waiting room patrons. 

Finally, when the kids' patience was at critical low levels and Kris and I were ready to ask the front desk for a staple gun so we could do the job ourselves, we were finally admitted to a patient room. . .

Awaiting the staples. . .

The Cannonball tries making sense of the Weather Channel. . .

The doctor on staff last night may have passed medical school, but I'm sure she flunked Bedside Manner 210: How to Not Come Across as a Cold, Heartless Bitch.  Perhaps she couldn't make it to class on time, or she just couldn't wrap her head around the whole 'emphasize with the needs and concerns of apprehensive patients.'  Who knows.  Long story short, she treated my daughter's head like a sheet of dry wall (you staple dry wall, right?) - and sped through the process with the indifference of someone taking a crap.

. . . and she even had to pull a staple or two out, stating she "didn't like how they went in." 

For the record, toddlers LOVE getting staples shot into their skulls.

After Abby's head was mended, and all necessary paperwork and care instructions were provided, we were finally discharged.  It was after midnight, and the Houghs were officially funned out with the Florida Hospital of Kissimmee.

If you ever find yourself with a serious, Coconut Game-induced head injury, I personally recommend you skip the place all together. 

But that's just my opinion.

After nearly five hours at the hospital, the Houghs prepare to disembark. . .

- Brian

Having kids totally rules.

 

A Feast Best Served Cursed

Detroit prepares to lose.  Again.

Happy Turkey Day, people.

I hope everyone out there thoroughly enjoys this special day of giving thanks, watching the Lions, gorging themselves blind, and, more likely than not, engaging in fisticuffs with complete strangers over $50-off tablets at a Wal-Mart.

'Tis the season.

Here at the Houghs, our original plans - to celebrate Thanksgiving at the Voigts' house, as we have the last four years in a row - were kibosh'd when Abby fell sick a few days ago.  This would mark the second year in a row that a Hough began projectile-vomiting around Thanksgiving (as you'll be so good to remember), and reaffirmed our suspicion that, indeed, there exists a dreadful Hough Family Thanksgiving Curse. 

Oddly enough, Abby actually felt fine the morning of Thanksgiving, when we dropped Mom and John off at the airport - it was Alayna that came out of left field and started running a high fever.  The night before, she had complained of headaches, and had voluntarily gone to bed early - something that never happens.  Sure enough, this morning she woke up hot, and - after returning from dropping Mom and John off at the airport - napped until nearly noon.  

And so, not wanting to spread sickness among the Voigt household and their party guests like the Bubonic Plague, we opted to sit this year out, circle the wagons, and have our own very own, private Thankgiving.

We found Vernors down here!

This had been the first time we've celebrated Turkey Day by ourselves since 2007, and likewise we wanted to make sure we didn't go bat-shit crazy with the feasting.  Kris picked up a chicken from Publix in place of a traditional turkey, seeing how there were only two people who would most likely eat the bird (our kids are weird).  She also bought a few boxes of Thanksgiving staples while she was at it - Stove Top, mashed potatoes, a cherry pie, a loaf of gourmet bread, etc. 

After the girls were put down for their naps, Kris and I decided to throw up the Christmas Tree.  For whatever reason, this was way more difficult than it had been any other year.  Not sure why, exactly, but it took over an hour for the two of us to figure out how the damn thing fit together and plugged in.  

While we were on-again/off-again wrestling with our yuletide centerpiece, I was able to throw back a few beers and watch the Lions lose - something that NEVER happens down here in Florida - and Kris was able to kick-start our Thanksgiving mini-feast. . . 

Observe:

It wouldn't be Thanksgiving without watching the home team getting their asses beat.

Once the kids got up from their naps, unfortunately, Detroit vs. Houston magically transformed into Beauty and the Beast.  Surprise surprise.

Kris douches up the chicken. . .

After awhile of Beauty and the Beast'ing, the kids began to get bored, so I let them ride their ridables around in the newly-cleaned/organized garage (one of my 'To-Do' objectives during my week off of work). . .

 

Lemon Chicken, prepared with fresh lemons cut from our own backyard. . . (if you need some lemons, let us know - we're sitting on a truckload over here. . .)

 

Kris' spread.

We opted to have Thanksgiving out on our patio, since it was 73 degrees out and all.  Plus we have crap-loads of Christmas lights hung up, so it's festive as hell.  Can't argue with that.

Bring on the wine.

 

Not surprisingly, despite Kris' hours of slaving away over our Feast of Thanks, after a mere two minutes or so of 'I don't like this,' and 'that looks yucky,' the girls were officially fun-ed out with Thanksgiving, and retired to their easel to work on what I can only assume was an awe-inspiring collaborative masterpiece. . . (*pfft)

After dinner, Alayna lied down on the couch in front of the TV - being sick as she was, it wasn't too surprising that she didn't want to eat much.  Abby, on the other hand. . .

After an hour passed, Abby complained of being hungry, so Kris warmed up some random chicken-and-pasta dish she got from Sunchild.  I'm not sure what's in this recipe, but whatever it is, both girls generally take to it like a hobo to a crack pipe. . .

Abby reaches the bottom of her bowl.  Unbridled hell-fury ensues. . .

Before I continue with the pictures, I'd like to mention two Christmas movies I was forced to watch throughout the course of the evening.  Both are straight from the Rankin/Bass playbook, having been produced in the wake of Rudolph and the Red-Nosed Reindeer back in the '60s/'70s.

The first movie the girls chose to watch today (the official Hough start date for the Christmas 2012 season) was the accursed The Year Without Santa Clause.  I'll let you do your own research on this cinematic clusterf***. . . I wouldn't know where to begin summarizing this movie.  It's like the Rankin/Bass people went off into the wild for a month, sustaining themselves on nothing but peyote and their own over-inflated, humongo-egos. 

More or less, from what I can gather is that Santa wakes up one  morning, having a pity party, and Mrs. Clause, suffering from delusions of grandeur, recruits a couple of mentally handicapped elves from the factory floor to hijack Santa's reindeer and start an inter-climatory war between a pair of siblings whose utter disdain for one another rival the Gallagher brothers.

If that ridiculousness wasn't enough, my two tax deductions follow this horrifying hour-long waste of human effort by watching Rudolph's Shiny New Year.  I wasn't in the room for the majority of this movie, fortunately - I was still out in the garage, trying to wedge a flat-head screwdriver into my eye-sockets after watching the previous movie - so I'm not 100% clear on this movie's plot line, either.

Not that it needed one.

What I can piece together is that Rudolph, fresh off his victory over the Fog dilemma from his more well-known (and more stomachable) movie, is hunting down this human/elephant hybrid orphan who is bouncing out of control along the time/space continuum.  I'm not sure why.  Something about stopping a bad guy, I don't know.  Anyway, Rudolph somehow manages to discover the secret to time travel, and - in his infinite, quadrupedal wisdom - deems it beneficial for his cause to recruit a homo sapien neanderthalis specimen, an 84-year-old Don Quixote, and - I'm being completely serious, here - Benhamin f***in' Franklin.

Not sure how it ended, and frankly I don't care. 

After the kids passed out for the evening - which, at 7:30/8pm, didn't come nearly as soon enough as I would've liked - Kris and I threw in our favorite, get-ready-for-the-season movie, Some Like It Hot.  This has become a yearly tradition for us, though for the life of us we're not sure how it started.  Every year we decorate our Christmas tree to this movie, and I'm pretty sure I can say, with a modest degree of certainty, that we're the only couple in the continental United States to do this. . .

Christmas Cocktails: CHECK.  1 1/2 oz. Creme de Cocoa, 1 oz. Peppermint Schnapps, 1 oz. cream. Garnish with candy cane, get your own yule on appropriately.

(this isn't a dress)

We never put all the ornaments up - we save all the cheap, 'kid-proof' ornaments for the kids to throw up.  Not that we value their taste in ornament distribution, per se - they have a nasty tendency of clustering all their ornaments together in a way that would make many an art major off themselves with a shotgun. . .

**Updated Fri. 11/23 @ 9:32am. . .**

When the girls woke up in the morning, we set out the remaining Christmas Ornaments (the who-gives-a-shit-if-it-breaks ornaments) for the girls to hang on the tree. . .

(. . .needless to say, both girls were pretty stoked up about having a fully-decorated, 7 1/2 ft Christmas tree in their living room when they woke up.)

This is what our Instant Queue on Netflix looks like these days.  Could be a LOT worse.)

Abby managed to mangle a few jingle bells in the process, but she was able to do hang up a Christmas ornament or two this year.

- Brian

Grandma and Papa John, Pt. II

Five days into Thanksgiving Break, gangsters.  How's everybody doing?

I'm getting some much needed rest, my yard is looking more 'business casual' and less like Aqualung, and the inside of my house looks completely different now that we have everything finally hung up on the walls and some new lighting installed (see below).  On top of it all, we're getting some good quality time in with the folks, the kids are (somewhat) behaving themselves, and I still have another four days off of work ahead of me.

Huzzah.

Behold the second installment from Grandma and Papa John's Visit:

Painting in the Play Room

Getting some composition critiquing from Pinky

Grandma assists Abby with her 'Rollercoaster' painting ('rollercoaster,' in this house, means 'scribbly mess.')

Practicing letters and numbers

asdfasdf

Jesus, This picture still makes me cringe just looking at it.  Anyway, this picture, as you'll remember, was from over the summer.  The reason I'm posting it now is to draw your immediate attention to the bookcase to the left, there.  See it?  Kind of a mess.  And I've added about a hundred books since this picture was taken.  Drastic measures were called for. . .

Kris and I had wanted to box these shelves in with some white board in order to frame it and make it look more like a bookcase instead of just shelves on a wall.  This would require some saw work and a basic understanding of construction.  I, unfortunately, have neither. . .

. . . fortunatley, John had both.

Boards for the bookcase.

John bought a saw for his business while he was down here, that way he could use it to construct the bookcase.  I was pretty happy with this arrangement.

While Papa John was assembling aforementioned bookcase, Grandma and Alayna worked on Alayna's homework (with Pinky, obviously).

(We had to talk Pinky down from jumping.  He's got a lot of shit to work through these days.)

After framing the bookcase, John added some lips for the shelves and installed some track lighting on a dimmer switch.  Needless to say, the bookcase looks totally awesomer now.

The usual.

Playing dress up with Pinky.

See the mountain of books in the background?  A temporary - and minor - inconvenience while the bookcase was being assembled.  I was looking forward to actually organizing the books once the shelves were finished - something I didn't get to do last time.

Kris and Grandma take the girls to the Ginger Mill park. . .

Taking the Hill. . .

Abby, pissed as usual.

 

 

Abby and Pinky check out the Gooses.

The LONG process of organizing the bookcase (alphabetically, chronologically, by genre, etc. etc.)

In the evening, we decided to take the girls to the Gaylord Palms resort in order to view their Lighting of the Christmas Tree. . .

This resort's main lobby is impressive enough as is, but they really go all out for Christmas.  They're like the Griswolds, if Clark owned his own hotel. . .

The Cannonball and Pinky, awaiting the Lighting of the Christmas Tree.

Abby was freaked out by the large dark, loud room, so we all had to take turns consoling her throughout the evening. . .

Waiting for the show to start. . .

The Dynamic Duo

A group of flamboyos entertain the crowds prior to the Christmas Tree lighting

We actually didn't get to see the tree light up - Abby's meltdowns forced us to walk around the lobby instead.

There was plenty to look at throughout the resort, though - and eventually we got to see the lights once Abby had collected herself.

The Gaylord Palms - lit up.

(Abby wouldn't pose.  Go figure.)

Now begins the gratuitous number of Christmas-y pictures. . .

Checking out goldfish, or koi, or whatever the hell they are. . .

Yet another meltdown begins. . .

. . . aren't those red flowers insanely poisonous?  My kids are just dumb enough to eat flower petals, so this sort of thing always concerns me.

Checking out market wares. . .

Alayna was convinced this was interactive (it wasn't.)

Inside the Gaylord Palms. . .

Heading back to the car - the kids were exhausted.

The next day, Abby began to show signs of an oncoming fever.  At first, she was just quiet and didn't want to eat anything.  Later, she got a temperature, and eventually, she was doing random crap like napping on the floor.

. . .the Hough Family Thanksgiving Curse was back.

The Bookcase.  Finished.

With Abby sick and out of commission, Papa John and Grandma decided to take Alayna out and about with them while they ran errands, shopped, etc.  Consequently, Alayna got to hit up Menchies. . . which, outside Chuck E. Cheese and Toys R US, is probably the greatest place in the universe to a four-year-old.

Doped up on sugar.

Later on in the afternoon, Abby - freshly drugged up with meds - was feeling better, so we took the girls back out to that park around the corner. . .

 

 

 

After an hour or so of swinging, the girls were finally ready to head back. . .

Leaving the park

This has become the girls' new favorite mode of transportation

- Brian