Dinosaur 

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Legit. We own our own velociraptor, as Mommy Ranman puts it. I should just feed him back to his biological mother:

In any given second, Baby Ranboy will break into a God-fearing shriek or a less high-pitched blood curdling shrill that mimics his sister’s annoying cry. There is no in between. You need to ask “what’s wrong?” from 13 feet away because toys hurt less with more distance from Baby Ranboy. 

Simply put, our son has prematurely hit his terrible twos. And we’re running out of outdoor activities which prevents him from breaking our own stuff. 

We bought our own bouncy house, but that’s too weather-dependent:

We took the kids to Connecticut…but how much often can you really do/want to do that?

My car can’t handle the mess this kid brings back from playing in the sand each time:

Look at them. They can’t stay still for a pic…and that’s while watching mindless television!!

Rip

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Listen Baby Rangirl. I want to consider you perfect. You’re the cutest thing on earth at five years old with your new glasses. This, after my fears of you being tortured by the kids at school- but I forgot that these little turds are still fine-tuning their insults. 

Also of note is the conversations you can keep. Thanks to pre-school, Spongebob, and other local experiences- you dazzle us with some new phrases everyday. It makes your attempts at the word “popsicle” seem less like a speech issue when you drop words like “chivalry” in proper context. 

But then you go ahead and do things like rip ass when I pick you up for a hug and crack yourself up. A steady rifle-sounding fart to my arm. Granted, I can be partially blamed for your interest in fart humor. I can’t help but laugh at the occasional blast. 

But there’s always a double standard as you’ll learn in society and the House of Ranman: we laugh at Mommy Ranman’s expense, not mine. Hopefully when you’re reading this we’ve come back from this betrayal. 

And if we’re still at war, I’ll leave you hanging when you need help. Like your brother who wouldn’t listen to me…and got stuck hanging over the tub:


And I won’t let you use MY mancave for your playground:


Things I do for you until that rip. 

5 Years Old On the Horizon

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Well Baby Rangirl, your tiny smoosh face turns 5 and it was a debate on what to do for your birthday party. Do we get a party going at home? 

No, you declared. Probably for the best, the adults tend to get more lit than the kids on candy overdose and we’re all like:


We went glow-in-the-dark bowling recently, and suggested that for a party. “Nope”, despite you acknowledging its coolness. 


In the running is some sort of bouncy/jumpy place…you and your baby bro love your gymnastics:

I guess the parents can be sober for a minute and have shots of chocolate milk (not pictured here, because I mean…milk?):

We hope that no matter what comes of the birthday event itself, you dig your new ride. Baby Ranboy lent his mechanics skills to help get it ready for your big day:

5 years old is a big deal in the Ranman household. I finally get to stop using that baby booster seat of yours in the car with 52 buckle straps. Sorry, I mean: you’re getting older, boo hoo, and other sentimental stuff. 

New Friends 

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As you read this, Baby Rangirl, I have no idea how much you’ll regret the names given to our new cats. But as of 4.75 years of age, you hate the name “Starboy”, which I’ve given the male kitten. You even ignore my name-giving abilities and call “Starboy” by his maiden name: Malibu. 

Well screw Malibu. That name is dead to the Ranmans. 

You got to keep the name “Sweetie”, given at the adoption center, for the female cat. 

I mean…Sweetie is the only cat that likes you!


And here they both are as kittens:


And here’s your brother making a mess:


That is all. 

Parent Teacher Conference 

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For the first time ever, Mommy Ranman and I were on the opposite end of a conference which involved parents that weren’t our own. Despite only being in Pre-K, I suppose Baby Rangirl’s school system wanted to give us all the feels before these kids grow up and disappoint. How messed up could Baby Rangirl be at 4 years of age?

We were bracing for the “…but” after each sentence the teacher delivered in praise of our little girl. Lots of “buts” on my end (see what I did there?) when my father had to go to school with me. I didn’t have a review that involved non-smartass problems until I was a senior in high school and Grandpa Ranman gave up “being tortured” as he’d describe. 

I just hope Baby Rangirl continues to wow these teachers before the Ranman laziness kicks in. 

And now, pictures:

Baby Ranboy took his shirt off. Probably was rooting on the hero in his favorite cartoon. 


The Hulk for Halloween:


Our princess. Also pictured: our parent juice in their containers. 


Brother and sister being parented by the TV:

Farewell Furball

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This is kinda weird, Baby Rangirl. I fully expected both you and your brother to get the references to our cat, A. J. (aka “Buju”) as you guys read this blog at a later age. But after putting the cat down last week, you’ll have to rely on pictures and inconsistent stories from your mother and I. 

Here A.J. was on the day before we had to put her down, barely eating at this point:


And then the hard part. Getting rid of Baby Ranboy’s toys he’s been growing out of along with anything cat-related:


The cat was an endearing little buggar: knocked everything down but was there when you’ve lost your job. We should be able to place things at eye level again. Plants, holiday decorations, iPhones, new furniture- all free to roam with no cat swiping at them. 

But we still have a 1-year-old monster walking around. He’s ready to pick up where the cat left off. 

From invading our space…


…to our fridge…


Well little A. J. , you’ll live on via the tattoos we just got. And both kids paid tribute by waking up last night multiple times to ensure Mommy Ranman and I received very little sleep. Similar to when you’d meow all night. Their own tattoo, if you will. But on my eyelids. 

Cry. It. Out. 

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Look little Ranboy. Just because you recently received my support for favorite kid after Butthole Rangirl declared she likes Mommy Ranman more, it doesn’t mean you get a free pass at life. We’ve been way too tolerant of bringing you to our bed when you wake up- and that nonsense must stop. 

You just have way too many limbs and use brute force in your sleep. That way-too- big-head of yours becomes an extra weapon in your sleep warfare and I think it gave me a concussion one time. Summer- long plans prevented us from trying to sleep train, which requires at least three straight nights. 

And I’ve complained ever since Baby Rangirl what horsepoop it is that we have to teach kids how to do something as natural (and oh so wonderful) as how to sleep. 

Well you little turd, it’s 3AM and you’re finally asleep after waking up at 2AM. Since Mommy Ranman and I are driven by annoyance, it was easy to hear you yell at the top of your lungs for attention. Just go to sleep dude, you’ll find no solace in our bed till you learn what nightmares are. 

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