Father Of The Blog

Originally posted on BabyCenter.com 01/19/07 

For over a month Olivia’s preschool class practiced a skit that they performed during this years Hanukah party and every day Kim and I interrogated Olivia about the details of the skit. Kim would ask “Did your class rehearse today?” Then I would question, “What songs did you sing?” Then Kim would inquire, “Do you have any lines?” Then I would cross-examine, “Do you have a major part?” Kim would ask another and then I would ask another, etc… Olivia secretively dodged all our questions for the entire month. The more we questioned the less she talked. A few days before the play I was ready to fabricate a waterboard in the tub to get some answers out of her.
 
The day of the parties came. I say parties because Hailey who is still at the infant/toddler building on the community centers’ campus had a small informal music, crafts and snack get together in the morning before nap time. At the beginning of the predictable party, Hailey’s class, the green room, marched in single file out of their room and into the multi-purpose room where all the parents and special friends were waiting. It was a grand entrance and all of the green room children were wearing handmade Shamash hats. (The Shamash is the lead candle that lights the other candles on the menorah). Hailey placidly sat in my lap for the duration of the musical portion of the festivity proudly wearing the hat that she made. We joined the rest of her class inside the green room for snacks and a dreidel craft after the sing-along. Hailey shed a few tears when Kim, Zadie (my dad) and I had to leave, she didn’t want the party to end.
 
Six o’clock that same evening the preschooler’s party was held in the auditorium at the main building. Kim and I decided to pack a light picnic style dinner and eat with the girls in the cafeteria before heading into the assembly hall. It was a smart move considering when Olivia and Hailey get home from school they take off most of their clothing, demand juice and a movie, then comatosely melt into the couch until we drag them to the dinner table. Had we done the normal routine we would have never made it out of the house in time for the soiree.
 
As we entered the auditorium Roz (Olivia’s teacher) said “hello” and gave Olivia a handcrafted menorah hat that all the pumpkin room kids were wearing. Nine construction paper candles circled Olivia’s head and as she put it on Hailey demanded her Shamash hat. As I was getting the Shamash hat out of her backpack she also wanted her purple tinker bell sunglasses and I obliged her. Roz directed Olivia to the front of the auditorium where a two foot riser sat in front of the main stage. Then Roz asked Kim, Hailey and me to find a seat. The place was filling up quickly. We were lucky to find seats in the second row and saved one for my dad who showed up soon after we got there.
 
Olivia climbed onto the riser and was instantly pushed back behind the big five-year old kids from the bear room who were all wearing latke hats and then pushed even further back by the four-year old kids from the yellow room who were all wearing dreidel hats. A lot of the kids were jockeying for a front row position. Olivia listlessly hung in the shadows and I could barely see her behind everyone. Stage fright or intimidation? No wonder she was so reluctant to talk about the rehearsals. “How was your day honey?” “Oh great dad, another day of getting pushed around by the big kids.”
 
The show begun as Jody (director of academia) lit the menorah and all the children sung the blessings. Then Jody started the skit with a short Q and A. “Who was Judah?” and all the children shouted, “Leader of the Maccabee’s!” She asked several more questions with prompt answers provided. Olivia didn’t say one word.
 
The musical portion of the play came next; Hailey rushed the stage and pulled herself onto the elevated platform. She found a little space front and center then joined in the singing. With her Shamash hat and tinker bell sunglasses on, she was waving to the crowd, singing as loud as she could and animating her body to the music. Everybody in the house cracked up at her loony antics. At one point some of the older kids shoved her into the back row but she tenaciously elbowed her way to the front again where she belted-out unrehearsed tunes. Olivia’s back was bashfully turned to the audience for the entire show, until the very end, when she glanced over her shoulder to see her little sister Hailey, the Shamash, leading the way and boldly stealing the show.
 
I felt so proud and happy for Hailey yet sad and compassionate for Olivia. However, they were indifferent, like nothing out of the ordinary happened. No feelings hurt, (not that I could tell), no joyous celebrations, (although Kim and I congratulated both of them). They went about their party business; diligently completing all the craft projects and devouring the sugar cookie snack. The only real problem was shlepping them home kicking and screaming. Both didn’t want the party to end.

Originally posted on BabyCenter.com 01/10/07

Olivia and Hailey split off in opposite directions from the penguin house ignoring my calls leaving me holding the backpack, the juice bottles and the snack bag. Olivia headed toward the grizzly bear pit and Hailey ran for the Zoo-line railroad crossing. I wasn’t sure who to go after first. Screaming, “Stop! Come back here now!” had no effect on either of them. I chased down Hailey, yanked her off the tracks, dragged her a hundred yards or so, over to the grizzlies and pulled Olivia off the protective fence. “If you two can’t listen to me we are leaving the zoo. Do you understand me? This is your warning, no running away from daddy or it’s bye-bye zoo!”

“Daddy, daddy, the grizzly bears are waking up.” Olivia has mastered diversion. Sure enough the two beastly bears had popped-up from slumber and were tuned into my scolding. There were no people around, yet I still felt a twinge of embarrassment, the two massive grizzlies were watching me, judging my parenting abilities. I saw them roll their eyes, shake their big bear heads in dismissal and snooted amongst themselves.

Rewind about twenty-five minutes: Olivia and Hailey were climbing the perfect for climbing but ‘no climbing’ cliff facade outside the penguin house. What was I doing? “Say pinguino cheese.” Encouraging them, snapping away on the digital camera. I was getting some great shots and that seemed more important at the moment than teaching rules of conduct in public places.

We were practically the only guests at the zoo on an unseasonably warm day and had the penguin exhibit all to ourselves until an unkempt mother of two polished boys sauntered up in a side-by-side. The boys were probably about the same ages as Olivia and Hailey and were strapped tightly into their stroller. I sent the mom a friendly smile, she looked at my girls who were carelessly clambering around infected by some bizarre animal spirit and she sent me back a raised eyebrow. Her little boys contractually started squirming in their seats wanting to join in the fun. Sloppy mom sensed the bestial pandemic and quickly sped off with two displeased boys.

When not scaling the penguin coast, Olivia and Hailey were running up and down the wide entry ramp which wraps around a glacier splash-pool and leads into the Penguin and Puffin Visitor Center. For about twenty minutes they ran unrestrained, up and down the incline, over and over again. Hailey would hug and kiss a life sized Humboldt Penguin statue at the bottom of the ramp after every trip. If that statue had feelings, I’m positive it felt violated in some way. At the top of the gentle slope Olivia kept deliberately stepping into sensor range of the automatic entry and when the frosted glass doors slid open she would dingdong-dash back down the glacis. She tested the sensor’s invisible boundary a dozen or so times. Bedeviled by phantom visitors a young pimple-faced zoo keeper bolted out from the interior of the penguin house, he quickly figured out what was going on and shot me a snide ‘this isn’t a public playground’ look. I shrugged my shoulders implying that I wasn’t going to do anything to stop my girls and the lanky attendant went back inside without saying a word.

Back to the bears: We had a good conversation with the massive grizzlies; sounds strange, but maybe they were lonely that day and when I shouted across the pitch, “Hi grizzlies!” both bears lazily raised their heads and sniffed at the air in our direction. I excitedly announced to Olivia and Hailey that they were listening. So I asked the bears, “You guys tired?” and one of them let out a big bear yawn. “You guys bored?” One of them sniffed at us again which kind of looked like a head bob. I asked Olivia and Hailey if they wanted to say something to the grizzlies. Hailey enthusiastically yelled out “Hi grizzies!” and Olivia shyly hid behind me. We watched the grizzlies for several minutes although I’m not sure who was watching who.

At some point during the surreal bear whispering, the big grizzlies made me realize that I have become one of those dads. The kind of dad who nonchalantly lets his kids run amuck acting in a sociably unacceptable manner without any guidance or reprisal for disturbing the peace. Not the unkempt mother, not the young zoo keeper, it was the grizzlies that brought me to understand; I have been enabling my kids to be rule breakers.

Picking up from preschool today Olivia revealed to me that she has a boyfriend. His name is Dillon. She is four years old. How is this possible? She can’t have a boyfriend. Confused about what a boyfriend is she struggled to explain the fact that she has a boyfriend. Here is what I mean:

Olivia and I were about to climb the endless double switch-back faux marble staircase that leads from the preschool to the main facility of our community center. Hailey had already rabbit hopped up the camel-back mountain stairway and was out of sight. She does that every day. Olivia moves at turtles pace and I usually get stuck in the middle, encouraging Olivia to move quickly and pleading for Hailey to decelerate. Today was a bit different. Olivia had Han-Solo-frozen-in-carbonited me on step number one.

Rewind two minutes; as we were departing from Olivia’s class room, two boy’s came running up to me showing off their kenixish building toy things, I’m not sure what those are called, you know I have all girls and back in the day all I had was lego.

Verbally pulling Olivia away from the dollies and out of the room to leave, I was ambushed by the two boys, “Look at my spaceship!” A taller crew cut boy shouted.

“Cool!” I shouted back.

Then a little scrawny tussled hair boy showed off his creation, “Look at my spaceship!”

Again “Cool.” Being a veteran of praise sharing I said to the boys, “you both built awesome spaceships.” They backed off, “Come on Olivia time to go, tell you friend’s bye”

Back to me encased in carbonite on stair one and Olivia trying to explain that she has a boyfriend; “That was Dillon” She coyly said. “He’s my girlfriend.”

This is where I get lowered into the carbonite freezing chamber. Olivia played the part of Darth Vader, using the force to switch it on. “You… You mean… Dillon is your boyfriend?” And I already know that the taller thicker clean cut boy is Dillon.

“Naw daddy… he’s my girlfriend.” Halfway up the first leg of the stairway she bashfully said.

Oh, I get it; she wanted me to explain the boyfriend girlfriend relationship.  My feet still frozen to the first step, I attempt to spell it out for her, “You…are…You are Dillon’s girlfriend.” It almost came out like a question.

“Mmm Hmm.” Embarrassed, Olivia shyly turned her back to me and climbed a couple more steps.

“So that makes Dillon your boyfriend.” I tried to sound like an authority on human relations, but felt nauseated explaining to her.

“Mmm Hmm” She turned the corner ascending the next level (of stairs).

Hailey’s Broken Heart

Thursday night is Pizza Night. I bring home all the ingredients from my family’s restaurant to make them from scratch. Olivia and Hailey will help with the dough, making a few five inch personal sized pies. They add the sauce, ingredients and what doesn’t end up in their mouths, the cheese. Today I stretched the dough into little hearts for them and they finished prepping the pizzas with delight.

After cooking and cooling I always cut the pizzas in half and tonight was no exception. I sliced the little hearts right down the middle. We gathered at the table for dinner and the first thing Hailey said to me was; “you broke my heart.”

To My Hot Wife Kim

You are stronger than the sun, sustaining me, warming me, waking me every day, life revolves around you and without you nothing would exist. I Love You.

Originally posted on BabyCenter.com 12/10/06 

Why is this time of year so stressful? Is it just me or does everyone wait until the last minute to get anything and everything done. You know, completing projects at work, gift shopping, getting the kids to preschool on time, (ok, that one may just be me), cleaning, decorating, the honey-do list, fixing broken stuff around the house, figuring out what to do when thirty relatives come over for a family party, etc… It doesn’t matter how well my time has been managed, if it wasn’t for the last second then nothing would ever get done. I am reminded of this every year as that obnoxiously huge lit-up glass ball thingy drops in New York’s Times Square. Three… Two… One… That’s it times up.

Not only is this time of year stressful due to procrastination but also because the expectations for end-of-year fiscal gains are so high. It’s the last quarter, Black Friday, frenzied stock markets, sell more this year than last, where’s my raise, consume, consume, consume, etc… This is true of my family’s business too. We have been in the restaurant industry for twenty five years. I did get a few breaks from it during college and right after yet, inevitably I was roped back in by my two older brothers who have looked after me my entire life. Strolling down memory lane; spending my weekends slaving in kitchens washing dishes, my summers busting my butt bussing tables, my holiday’s sweating it out catering to peoples culinary desires and now that I’m all grown up I stress along with the rest of my family over the bottom line. Shouldn’t the Holiday season be rejuvenating and charitable? What happened to relaxation and giving?

So I’m a little stressed out; I haven’t played Hockey in weeks due to the holiday, harsh weather and child related sacrifices. Work is crazy busy, the kids have been driving me snowed-in cabin-fever ‘here’s Johnny’ (The Shining) insane and Kim’s hectic work schedule has been spilling over into our family time. I’ve been a grinch and short tempered snapping at everyone even Mimi our beloved dog. By Tuesday I had to change gears or someone was going to get hurt. My solution to an escalating temperament: Take Olivia and Hailey to BounceU, an exciting indoor play-center with massive air-filled bouncy structures for our ‘daddy day’ activity.

Olivia jumped right into action as soon as we got there, gravitating toward the twenty-plus foot inflatable slide. She quickly scaled to the top and gleefully slid down without hesitation. Her long dark hair was stretching every direction from generating static electricity. I gave her a jolt. “You shocked me daddy!” She didn’t care. She kept going. Next she ran the obstacle gauntlet, slithering, squeezing, scampering and scooching gracefully through. She circuited those two particular apparatuses several times as Hailey coyly looked on. It took Hailey a few minutes of observation and a smidge of daddy coaxing to warm up. She has been apprehensive with unfamiliar places lately. I climbed up the towering slide with her, when we got to the top she readily jumped in my lap and we zoomed down. Eyes wide, giggling the whole way down, she was intoxicated and thrilled with excitement. After our slide she went right for the gauntlet and proudly made it by all the obstacles on her own. Olivia and Hailey drew me into the fun and we had a blast. All the jumping, running and climbing ventilated just enough stress to quiet my nerves. It wasn’t Hockey but it was as close as I could get with the girls.

Playing the Santa Card

After our visit to BounceU we were having lunch back at home when Olivia hopped out of her chair and bolted toward the bathroom “I gotta make pooh-pooh!” She sat for two minutes. “I’m done daddy!” She called to me. She’s still not the best at cleaning herself so I went in thinking she had a movement and needed some help.

“Sweetie, you didn’t go?”

“I don’t want too.” She started to squirm off the toilet.

“Sweetie, try again.” I nudged her back on the seat.

“No! I don’t want too!” She hadn’t gone in two or three days, I knew she needed too.

Then I had what at the time seemed like a brilliant idea but in retrospect the idea was something I’m not so proud of. I said to her, “Sweetie, Santa only visits little girls who make pooh-pooh on the potty. If you want Santa to come and leave you presents you need to make pooh-pooh.” Within minutes she managed to have a bowel movement.

“Is Santa coming?” She immediately asked and since then every time she goes potty she asks if Santa is coming.

Until marrying Kim I didn’t celebrate Christmas. Is this outright blackmail and sacrilege?

Originally posted on BabyCenter.com 11/26/06

‘What if there were no fairy godmothers?’ was the title of a free puppet show that Olivia, Hailey and I went to see at the library this past week. The troupe of two from Cincinnati consisted of an animated rotund gentleman with a booming voice and a shapely artful young lady. They put on an energetic hour long performance noticeably interacting with the puppets as a part of the show. The plot of the story was a fairy godmother that needed a vacation but couldn’t trust her assistant to do the job. So the beak-nosed girl tricked the baggy eyed, dark featured aid into believing she was going on a trip to Aruba and placed an invisibility spell on herself. The assistant underwent many tests of fairy godmothering, err… fairy godfathering by helping those in need as the real fairy godmother invisibly looked on.

This was Hailey first live performance of any kind and Olivia’s third. Upon entering the impromptu theater at a small local library branch Hailey followed her sister’s play-it-safe lead by sitting in chairs (intended for the parents) located at the rear of the beige carpeted, undecorated white walled, brightly lit, conference/all-purpose room instead of parking in the front row near the dark velvety curtained castle stage on the floor like all the other children. Ok, wasn’t going to force them into anything uncomfortable so I sat between them.

At the beginning of the first scene Hailey began to tremble. Her lips quivered. She wasn’t crying or hiding. She was glued to the action, entranced by the actors and puppets. I pulled her into my lap. She didn’t blink. I couldn’t figure out if she was scared or nervous or over stimulated I just whispered in her ear that daddy had her and it would be ok. Are puppet shows scary?

The first piece of the three act set was a simple adaptation of Cinderella, a story both my princesses are familiar with, creatively intertwined with baskets and aptly named Baskerella. The lively puppets of this sketch were made of wicker and assorted basket parts. The fairy godfather did a fine job of helping Baskerella make it to the ‘basketball’ passing his first test.

Olivia was on the edge of her seat, laughing along with the jokes, shimmying closer to the stage and announcing play by play for Hailey. Several times I suggested that she should go and sit up front on the floor with the other kids, she would hesitantly mull over the idea but kept retreating to the seat next to me.

The next two acts were twisted fables of magical elves and a mystical crocodile with sublime, well crafted puppets. The bits were good for the kids also containing funny wholesome adult humor too. The fairy godfather passed all the rigorous tests to the dismay of the imaginarily cloaked fairy godmother and she finally conceded and fessed up to her trickery.

Should I have removed Hailey from the audience? I couldn’t figure her out, she didn’t leave my lap for the duration, she eventually stopped nervously fidgeting about half way through the show and it wasn’t until a puppet that looked awfully similar to Ernie, the lovable guy from Sesame Street who made a short appearance for a very small role that she was able to breathe easy. “Ernie daddy.”

When was my first puppet show? How young was I? Maybe five or six. I can’t recall many details, other than the performance was held in the library of my elementary school. I barely remember the sock puppets embellished with yarn behind one of those tiny curtain window stages that the puppeteer crouches beneath which was completely different from the one whole wall encompassing set and enchanting puppets at the show we just saw. Olivia and Hailey are probably too young to commit their first puppet show to long term memory, but I thought they shouldn’t be too young to start an appreciation for live performances. Am I wrong? Olivia liked it however I may have unwittingly inflicted a lifelong fear of live theater mentally scaring Hailey.

***

Sunday, Kim and I took the kiddos to our local community center for a Holiday Hoopla event to benefit the preschool. Well of course the first thing on the agenda was a puppet show. The two elderly, probably husband and wife, puppeteers were of the local variety and lacked chutzpah for their work. The bland, unenthusiastic, show was a reenactment of the historical story of Hanukah. The lifeless puppets were merely glorified socks decorated with ancient robes and plastic armor.

At the beginning of the show Hailey’s body started to convulse in a puppet induced seizure. Kim worryingly turned to me, “she’s shaking.”

Shrugging my shoulders, “Yea, she did that the other day. She’ll be alright.” I snatched her from Kim and put her in my lap.

Part of the Hanukah story involves a brutal Greek king bent on world domination wishing to destroy Jewish faith and force the Jewish people into worshiping Greek gods. When the Greek soldiers came to ransack the temple of Jerusalem Hailey turned to me curling into a fetal-ball shielding her eyes from the ravenous puppets. Kim couldn’t take another minute of the emotional-endangerment, “that’s enough!” grabbing Hailey and headed for the exit. I asked Olivia if she wanted to stay and she shook her head, “I want to go with Mommy!” following Kim out the back.

***

Tuesday morning while informing the girls of our plans for ‘daddy day’ to visit a hands-on exhibit at the city library, ‘Exploring the World of Fairy Tales,’ Hailey shakily questioned, “Puppet show?”  With a never been seen before petrified look on her round face, I had to assure her that there would be no puppet show at this library. Is Hailey now terrified of puppets?

It surprises me that of all things, puppets frighten Hailey. She plays with puppets at home and at preschool. We have made sock puppets and Bubie (my mom) bought a puppet dress up set that she plays with all the time. Which leads me to believe that she is not scared of the actual puppets because she loves being the puppeteer (I’m her favorite puppet). What discomforts her is uncertainty. Until very recently she wouldn’t watch TV and Kim and I just thought that she was too active, unable to sit for more than five minutes at a time. Now I am realizing that she would rather immerse herself in activities that she can control. I can’t blame her for that. This little dynamo has never shown fear even after being physically and/or emotionally hurt, tenaciously conquering whatever obstacles stand in her way. I’m guessing she is in the process of breaking out of her egocentric shell or maybe I’m just searching for a selfish excuse for terrorizing my little baby. Either way, I’m sorry sweetie.

Olivia and Hailey are persistent when it comes to testing their physical and social boundaries. Pushing the limit of acceptability and redrawing the lines of our parental permissiveness. Once reliable our old steadfast rules are crumbling around us. Crafty new legislation is drafted behind closed doors or sometimes on a need to be ratified immediately basis, however to Olivia and Hailey, the newly created laws are written with invisible ink. 

Kim and I attempt to educate long before resorting to punishment but increasingly we find that swift justice erupts as the kiddos become volatile. For Olivia, timeouts are becoming increasingly useless. The last time she was put in timeout, it was for repeatedly dismounting from her chair at the dinner table. She flitted around the table, her mouth half full, chewing, talking, and food falling to the floor. Mimi, our beloved family dog, vacuumed up after her. Kim gave the kid a warning and Olivia disregarded the last chance by bouncing off her chair only seconds after the ultimatum was issued. Kim escorted Olivia to the designated timeout spot where she quietly sat. Four minutes passed and Kim paroled Olivia only to have the detainee willingly stay incarcerated for three times the length of her original imprisonment. Similar to lifelong criminals who decide it’s better on the inside then in the real world.

Since that time, I decided we must try an alternate discipline strategy; revoking privileges. Take away what toys or objects they love the most for a whole day, sometimes longer or until they can earn them back. Kim and I have instilled the belief that their toys are privileges which is actually a good because I think most of these brats today feel they are entitled to anything and everything. It is working for the time being, but I can see into the future and what I know is this; one day the kiddos will have the revelation that they will be able to survive without anything but the things that sustain them. Obvouisly, I’ll refrain from deprivation of basic necessities as a punishment mechanism. Olivia is starting to figure that out already. Just tonight, on their first offence, I had removed their reading lights, meaning no more books for the night and all the stuffed animals that they sleep with on a second violation. I had threatened that if they couldn’t follow the night time rules of no jumping, no screaming, no throwing and no leaving their room (except to use the potty or for an emergency), the next thing I would be removing was their radio. And books-on-CD are a hot commodity.

Questioning what was next at stake, Olivia wondered what I would nix after the radio, “And after that… my ponies?”

I had to think about it for a minute because Olivia has a team of imaginary ponies, “No, I can’t take your imagination away from you.” It is only a matter of time before their room is stripped naked except for beds, covers and bedside cups of water.

***

Unless Hailey is on the brink of utter exhaustion, her body is in constant motion, so timeouts still work as a deterrent on her. Except for this morning:

Hailey is currently going through a sliver tongue, pursed lip spitting stage. Delighted with an annoying substitute for speaking, she involuntarily sprays saliva as means of communication.

Me: “Morning kiddo. How about some milk?”

Hailey:  “Plblblulth”

Me: “No spiting Hailey. That’s disrespectful”

Hailey:  “Plblblulth”

Me: “You spit again and you’re in timeout!”

Hailey:  “Plblblulth”

Me: “Ok, you’re in timeout for spiting and for disrespecting me!!”

Hailey:  “Plblblulth”

Me: “You can take yourself to timeout or I will take you there!!!”

Hailey:  “Plblblulth”

Me: “You sit on this spot for three minutes. You’re in timeout for spitting and being disrespectful!!!” I run to the kitchen and slam several cups of milky grind-and-brew coffee. Three short minutes pass. I squat down eye level with Hailey and assume a sweet caring dad role.

Me: “Ok Hailey, why are you in timeout?”

Hailey:  “Plblblulth. Plblblulth. Plblblulth.”

Irony is difficult to interpret coming from a three year old at seven o’clock in the morning.

Parent teacher conferences at Olivia’s and Hailey’s preschool were a couple weeks ago. Kim and I met after work at the school a few minutes beforehand. Sort of a ritual being that the girls have attended the same early childhood education center since birth. While waiting for Roz, Olivia’s teacher, we bought a book for each of the girl’s classrooms’ from the well conceived, ‘if you don’t buy something we’ll make you feel guilty’ Scholastics book fair, adjacent to the meeting rooms. At the sales desk there was a coffee mug full of Hershey kisses, I grabbed a few. Our meeting started off with the normal pleasantries, I handed Roz a kiss and she gave Kim and me a two page document, Olivia’s official report card. No grades, just developmental comments. Kim noticed right away the age was incorrect. The top sheet read ‘four years old’ and she was quick to bring that to Roz’s attention.

“She only three?” Roz is somewhat intimidating, tall, thick, heavy voice, strong character, African American and by sworn word of mouth, the best our preschool has to offer. That is the main reason we requested Olivia be moved into her class at the beginning of the school year. Kim’s status as a co-chair on the parent association is probably what assured Olivia’s placement. “Well she in the wrong class. What she doing in my class? I cain believe she in my class. You sure she not four?”

“Yes ma’am, three years this past August.” Shrinking to table-level, understanding why the children in her class are so obedient and cooperative.

The first subject on Olivia’s report was social skills. “She don’t initiate play with the other students and she don’t speak-up during circle time.” Kim and I are silent. “During free play she always doin somethin off on her own.” The comments Roz were making seemed out of character for Olivia. I wanted to speak-up ‘are you sure this is the same Olivia we are talking about here?’ Speechless, I recoiled and started to feel nervous. Future teenaged Olivia images played in my mind; she’s dressed in ragged black clothing, victorian powder white completion, grunge-punk hair dyed black, facial piercings and a twisted look of angst on her face. “Well, she and Sophie started playing together recently.” Sophie? Not once has Olivia even mentioned her. Sophie is a little Israeli girl who doesn’t speak much. So I imagine future Olivia with future Sophie both gothed-out silently hanging around in the dark corners unnoticed and unwanted.

“What about Joshua?” Kim inquires. Joshua is Olivia’s ‘boyfriend’ who has a picture of him and Olivia posted to the wall by his bed. I found this photo at Joshua’s house during a Halloween party. Joshua and Olivia have been in the same rooms’ at daycare since they were infants. “And what about Anya?” Kim questioned. Anya is an adorable quiet Russian girl who like Joshua has been with Olivia since infancy.

We got an explanation from Roz that Olivia and Anya have drifted and their interests are no longer the same. Hmm, sounds a lot like all the friends I once had. Strange because every night at dinner we ask who she played with that day at school and her response is almost always Anya. As for Joshua, according to Roz, he still gallivants around Olivia. The future is set, a bleak lugubrious trio of Olivia, Sophie and Joshua.

The next item on the report was cognitive skills. “She only hear what she wants to hear and she only completes one task at a time, she cain do more than one request, I always remind her to do things.” This is true, she does get distracted easily. Yet at home she can usually perform multi-step directions, for instance; flush the toilet, wash your hands and turn out the lights or brush your teeth, wash your face, when you’re finished find a pair of socks, put them on and get your shoes on. But those are repetitive every day occurrences and she is starting to do those things without directive. I was starting to feel a bit paternal and wanted to defend Olivia, proclaim that she can follow multiple step requests. But I wasn’t going to debate the recorded empirical evidence right there in front of me to a twenty year veteran.

Next category on the progress report was motor skills, “She can hold her own. She does good in gym and good in the pool.” Well I hope so, with the extra swim lessons and dance/tap/gymnastic lessons she attends weekly. “Her fine motor skills are good too. She can use scissors and loves arts and crafts.” Yes. I have rubbed off on her. One of her favorite activities is painting and she is highly perceptive of color and juxtaposition. Finally I was starting to feel some kind of reward for all my parental efforts. Ok, so maybe Olivia’s future will be stylishly artistic as opposed to antisocial.

The last analysis was special interests; written down were remarks like creative play, cooking and nature. We briefly talked about each of those and Roz wrapped up by adding. “You need to get Olivia here a little bit earlier so she don’t miss out on circle time.”

Assuming she made that request because circle time is an opportunity for Olivia to be more assertive in a social setting, I agreed, “Yes ma’am, I’ll do my best.” Kim started to make excuses for me, stating that she leaves for work early and began to run down the list of morning routines that must be dealt with. I gave her an under the table leg squeeze and a little thank you for sticking up for me smile assuring her I was fine with Roz’s suggestion.

Roz held back the candy coating. It was a mixed emotional report, we have never had to endure criticism and blunt honesty about Olivia and actually it was about time. No wonder Roz is a good educator, handling the children is the easy part. I’m guessing the parents who are unwilling to absorb and digest objective criticisms may be more difficult to placate than their children.

***

Hailey’s teacher Jeannine was sick the day of the conferences, so we had to reschedule for the following week. Instead of meeting at the main building on the campus, it took place in a small break-room at the infant/toddler facility. I came straight from work and snuck in, avoiding Hailey, so she wouldn’t think it was time for pick-up. It was a close call because her class, ‘the green room’ had just come into the multi-purpose area where she stalks the entryway for mommy or daddy. Kim was a few minutes behind me, and Hailey saw her enter the building. Needless to say, Hailey ended up joining us for our meeting with Jeannine.

I really don’t even remember the exact details of Jeannine’s discussion. I was busy with Hailey. She was playing with the coffee maker, the audio visual cart, the styrofoam cups, the coffee filters, the mini fridge, a cup full of pens, pads of paper, the post-its, climbing on the chairs, the table and playing with the blinds. We had a Mexican standoff with the office telephone. Jeannine politely asked Hailey not to play with the phone. Hailey stood defiantly, the handset clutched at her waist, her trigger finger tapping the receiver, her eyebrows furrowed from the setting sun shining through the window. Her eyes darted from me to Kim back to Jeannine, a glint of sunlight reflected in her pupil. She was looking for action. “Sweetie, if you can’t follow the rules then you will have to go back to the multi-purpose room and wait for mommy and daddy to finish.” Standing-up with ‘I mean business posture’ I made my move. She exploded, dropping to the ground in a flailing fit of anger and rage shrieking unendingly.

After a good ten minutes of wailing and the associate program director of the school coming in to ‘check on things’ we eventually diverted her with a pen and paper that she could doodle on while we hastily finished the powwow.  Jeannine only had positive things written down on the report. A leader, friendly, parallel plays well, compassionate, smart, imaginative, curios, coordinated and agile. How ludicrous, yes Hailey has great attributes, yes she is all those things, but were you not just here sitting though that half-hour of mayhem? Does she not get put in time-out at least once a day? How many incident reports has she been sent home with? We stopped counting them. Where’s the honesty? We live with Hailey; she is ‘spirited’ to say the least. Born with colic, (she had colic in utero is what I tell people) high maintenance since six months, her last teacher described her as a pistol, (I refuted, “No, she is the bullet,”) she is a wonderful challenge and a blessing but could you please spare the heavy sugar coating. Hopelessly optimistic, we like Jeannine. I would love to omnisciently follow Olivia and Hailey around at preschool, instead of relying on their teacher’s communiqués. I could watch what they do without Kim and me. How they overcome challenges. How they interact with the teachers and children. How much of what I have taught them do they apply? Do they really nap? Do they scream for ice when they fall? Is there anyone who comforts them when they are upset or sad? I know it is futile to think about these things, one day, I will have to let go.

Originally posted on BabyCenter.com 11/17/06

Once a month, for a week straight, Kim leaves a bag of maxi pads on the master bath floor wedged between the trash can and a Dora toilet training seat. Not that I mind, I rarely use the tiny five by five cell of a bathroom. Contrarily, the kiddos prefer utilizing the petite lavatory with its compact low to the ground toilet over the spacious, newly remodeled guest/kid bathroom which sports a manly elongated bowl.

One morning, about thirty something days ago, while I was getting dressed for work, Hailey curiously wandered into ‘mommy’s bathroom.’ I was expecting to hear the normal clamor of a two year old preparing to utilize the potty however this was not the case. Instead I was challenged to audibly decipher; a caged gerbil scurrying? Masking tape unraveling? Beanbag body-slamming? I poked my head into the bathroom to find Hailey diving into the feminine hygiene bag, retrieving (in her opinion) gigantic foamy stickers, pealing the sticky paper from the super absorbent pads and reassuringly slapping them down to any object within reach. One on the tub, one on the cabinet, one on the floor, one on the shower curtain and one on herself. “Those aren’t stickers honey.” I removed the one from her belly and stuck it on the counter, leaving the rest of her morning art project for mommy to see.

Forward to this past weekend; during one of Olivia’s numerous post-already-been-tucked-into-bed bathroom reprieves asked, “What are dose (those) daddy?” pointing to the bag of off-brand Kotex.

Not exactly prepared to explain the whole menstruation thing I panicked, “Uh…um… Those are mommy’s… diapers.”

She gave me a look of disbelief, “mommy’s diapers?” Her inquisitive face expressed; what does mommy need diapers for?

“Yes sweetie, sometimes mommy needs diapers.”

The thought of it confounded her, “For bed time?” Olivia only wears diapers at night.

I started a long winded rambling explanation of mommy’s cycle using words like puberty, ovulation and fertilization. I droned on, babbling about natural comparisons to phases of the moon, all the while avoiding the details of painful cramping and blood loss which is really the purpose of the pad. After a minute or so of monotone egg-headish lecturing, Olivia sensed my elusive banter and cut me short, “We’ll talk about that later daddy.”

Once again I have made a parental mistake. Why couldn’t I have said, ‘those are to absorb blood.’ I know she needs the truth no matter how messy, instead I gushed around the subject and now she isn’t going to trust me with divulging important information in the future. I need to be, want to be, the person that she can trust and ask anything. Now she is going to rely on getting information second-hand on the ‘streets’ from her buddies at preschool. Not that her little friends aren’t well informed, most mornings while dropping Olivia off at school, I overhear their light breakfast conversation pertaining to current events such as; the world series, child abduction and voting for constitutional amendments regarding stem cell research. It is obvious some parents are talking to their children, why can’t I?

***

Attempting to win back Olivia’s confidence in my ability to be more forthcoming I took her and Hailey to the Science Centers’ discovery room for a morning activity during our ‘daddy day.’ As planned, Olivia bombarded me with intriguing questions and I answered them with the speed and accuracy of a Ken Jennings wannabee, (the guy who won 70 or so games on Jeopardy). What is a crystal, what is a stethoscope, what is a puffer fish, etc. Our bond was strengthening, her trust in me growing with every prompt succinct and correct answer.

After our allotted forty-five minutes were up in the discovery room, Olivia and Hailey requested we go to see the Tyrannosaurus Rex. A massive thirty foot animatronics display depicting an ordinary day in the Cretaceous period which is a must see every time we visit and we have been to the Science Center at least a half dozen times over the past couple years.

Olivia: “Daddy, is the T-Rex nice?”

Me: “Sure sweetie” Which wasn’t a complete fabrication considering no one really knows.

Olivia: “Daddy, what’s the other one doing?” A fatally wounded Triceratops lay under the T-Rex’s foot.

Me: “I think he is sleeping and T-Rex is trying to wake him up for a game of tag.” The lie was more transparent than the balcony level window that we were viewing the exhibit from. One little deception reversed all my hard work. I quickly attempted to make some truthful commentary, “It’s just a big puppet sweetie. Nothing to worry about.” I could tell she was frightened. Not Hailey though, she was having a great time, shrieking every time the T-Rex roared, turning to me imitating the beast and portraying her own dinosaur “roar!” She repeated the scenario over and over again until we got to the cafeteria.

By mid-day the museum was packed, so I implemented the buddy system. It was so cute and made me so proud to see them holding hands looking out for each other which also instilled a bit more confidence in my ability to take them places I normally won’t because sometimes they have a tendency to dash off in different directions. A few times I could tell they wanted to do just that and I would shout, “Olivia! Hailey! Find your buddy.” And they did.

In the car, on our way home, I was issuing the rundown of the rest of the days’ agenda ending with, “…dinner-time, clean-up and then daddy is going to go vote.” The fact that we had a few previous talks about polling there were plenty of potential truthful answers for me to provide and bolster my ask-dad-anything status. So many issues to discuss: tobacco tax, wage increases, cloning, the whole electoral process, real important stuff to a three year old.

“Are you going to vote yes or no daddy?” An on going debate since Olivia started to notice all the political lawn signs cropping up as of late. The discussions didn’t pertain to any specific issue, just whether it was a yes or no. Olivia liked to flip-flop, yes one day, no the next.

“Well sweetie, that depends on the issue,” and before I could continue.

Olivia proclaimed, “I’m voting pink daddy.”

Hailey didn’t want to be left out either, “Yellow daddy!”

Maybe when they’re ready Olivia and Hailey will come to me with important questions on real life issues, maybe Olivia’s right, maybe, “We’ll talk about that later.

Originally posted on BabyCenter.com 11/09/06.

Among all the titles parenthood bares ‘referee’ suits me. More specifically a Hockey ref. I often find myself shouting, “Hey! (A loud ‘hey’ is my whistle), that’s two minutes for high sticking.” Or “Hey! Two minutes for roughing.” Or “Hey! Two minutes for instigating.” Hockey refs are physically and emotionally tough too. Sometimes I’ll take an elbow while breaking up a tousle or get popped with a flying ‘puck’ if I’m not quick enough to move out of the way. Just as a Hockey ref would, I attempt to let the ‘game’ unfold unimpeded, interrupting only when the balance between fair competition and unjust play needs to be defined and resolved. Determining that equivalence is a delicate and dynamic aspect of the job, inaction may bring jeers and boo’s from the ‘spectators’ and exacting unfair punishment may harbor resentment from the ‘players.’

This past week, while at our school districts’ learning center playroom, a mechanical dancing chicken that, of all things, plays the ‘chicken dance’ song sparked a ‘dance’ between Olivia and Hailey. Coincidently this is the same ditty that blares at some point during every NHL game in our town. The toy bird was at the epicenter of the brawl being stretched tug-of-war-like and spun as the girls used gravitational momentum to fling one another off the chicken. Fake feathers were flying everywhere all while its’ tune playing, “da da da da da da da… da da da da da da da… da da da da da da da…daa daa daa daa.” The result of this ugly battle involved screams, laughter, tears, hydrogen peroxide and a few band-aids. Although I think the chicken got the worst of it.

Instinctively, I wanted to jump in between them and stop the fray but when they started giggling and laughing it reminded me of myself when I play Hockey. I’ll be battling for the puck, in the corner, along the boards or in front of the net chuckling and hyperventilaughing the whole time. Some of my teammates find it obnoxious and irritating, they think I’m not competitive enough or serious enough. “It’s not like we’re playing for the Stanley Cup,” is my repartee. I like to play recreational Hockey for several reasons; one, because it’s fun, two, for exercise and three, to healthily alleviate stress.Both my girls have stress in their young lives. It’s true. Olivia is weighted by carrying heavy leadership responsibilities. Hailey lives in the giant shadow of an older sibling whom she must compete for everything with. Not to mention the pressures of daycare, dance lessons, swim lessons and two over baring parents. One reason they bicker and wrestle is to vent their stress.

First born, Olivia is the one who has to figure things out, toys, puzzles, games, rules of conduct and then must be a good role model and teacher to Hailey. Olivia cares about the affections and well being of people close to her, “are you happy daddy?” And when I come home from ‘playing with the other daddies,’ she meticulously scans my body for injuries, “do you get any boo-boo’s daddy?”

Being the second child Hailey has scrapped for everything since conception and has dealt with; a womb that had just been vacated, stained bottles, collapsed nipples, frayed clothes that hadn’t even been stored, worn toys with failing batteries, soggy edged books, half-soled shoes, even her teachers at preschool are hand-me downs. She is a competitor, “watch dis (this) daddy!” Probably doesn’t help when Kim and I say things like, “first one inside the car wins!”

Back to the crazy dancing chicken: Looking-on, I realized they weren’t fighting over the toy; this is something they always do. They argue and grapple over everything and nothing. It could be an object or a word or an idea, it doesn’t mater. Digging deeper I couldn’t help but think maybe they constantly fight to gain Kim’s and my attention. This is probably true but there seems to be something more involved going on between them and I never saw it until ‘the chicken dance,’ Olivia and Hailey fight because they trust one another with their emotions and feelings; letting it all out, battling, arguing, laughing and crying in the same instant without trepidation, assurance that they truly love each other.

Originally posted on BabyCenter.com 11/02/06

Elizabeth Rose is three weeks old and has colic. She cries, she fusses and she fidgets. She has the quiver lip, a gaping mouth howl and an ear splitting screech.  Her body stiffens, her legs thrash, and her arms riffle. She is having a fit in my lap right now. Three to four hours of screaming a day which is about half of her waking hours keeps Kim and I rabid, barking at each other over trivial stuff.

On the flip side, Elizabeth Rose is the sweetest, cuddliest, cooiest, already saying “da” iest, little bundle of amazement. She makes heart-warming smiles and has the cutest most perfect spiral of life belly button. She is observant, intensely she focuses on the multi textured brightly colored C-shaped link together toy things that I rattle in front of her. Today while in her hand-me-down portable swing, she clutched and pulled down those same linky-chains that Olivia had draped around the top of the swing.

Kim and I have different styles to deal with the crying bouts. Kim gingerly scoops-up Elizabeth Rose tenderly swinging, swaying, lightly bouncing, digging a path throughout the house while shush, shush, shushing her. Kim will change Elizabeth Rose’s position, pat her, rub her, sing to her, and hum to her. Kim exhausts every effort for hours at a time attempting to sooth Elizabeth Rose.

My approach is more of a cave-man style. When Elizabeth Rose’s high-pitched noises start to emanate I will grab her and check her basic needs. Sniff first then look in the diaper and take action if necessary. I’ll ask Kim when the last time she was fed and take care of that if need be. I’ll try the Boppy Sling and occasionally that will suffice. I’ll carry her around the house football style. But I can only take fifteen to twenty minutes before I give in and lay her in her crib and let her cry herself to sleep or until an hour or so passes and Kim will eventually pick her up and run through all of her bag of tricks.

Kim and I are cagey colic veterans. Hailey, once known as Hailey Wailiey, had colic invetro. Yes, I know that’s not possible, but that’s what I tell everyone. It did seem like from the moment Hailey was born she started crying and didn’t stop until she was six months old. From six months until two years of age Hailey was super sensitive and a read-every-parental-guidance-self-help-book-from-the-library challenge. She still has irritability issues, for instance the stitching on her socks must be lined up just right, if not she will get upset, yell at anyone within earshot, peel the sock or socks off, refuse assistance and is irate until she gets the socks on just the way she likes. If I attempt to help, I must quickly dodge a flying shoe or shoes. I have a saying that I have been drilling into her head for a long time to counter her irrational sock-hops, “Hailey, Sweetie, there are lots of little bumps in life. You need to get used to those little bumps.” I have come to realize that control is her motivation for the majority of her out-busts at this point in her life.

Elizabeth Rose cry’s hard, but her colic pales in comparison to Hailey’s six month long scream-feast. In fact, Kim was so shell-shocked by Hailey’s everlasting emotional storm, it took me over two years to convince Kim that it would be impossible to bear two children with colic. There goes my credibility.