Father Of The Blog

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.

Occasionally we receive illness warning notices from preschool via backpack-mail that will read something along the lines of; ‘flushing rotavirus’ or ‘scratch out lice,’ a few weeks ago ‘spot the chicken pox.’ Over the past four or five weeks, we tallied six doctor visits. Super-germs have infected my family.

The first in this latest rash of pediatrician visits happened to be on a ‘daddy day.’ Both Olivia and Hailey were ill. Olivia had a full blown ear infection, her ear-tube was obstructed by dried-up gunk and the excess fluid behind the blockage became infected. The previous evening she howled throughout the night, “my ear!” so I got out the thermal thermometer took her temp, it was a bit high. Then I got out the opti-scope checked her eyes, her nose, her mouth and her ears, “yup it’s her ears.”

Hailey was being checked-out because of a nasty cough she had been rasping for a couple days. Her lungs were good, ears good, throat and nose a bit irritated but no soars so her diagnoses was a bad virus and there was nothing we could do but ‘wait it out’ and let the thing, ‘run it’s course.’ I hate when doctors say that.

By Friday night, Hailey’s body temp hit 103 degrees. I gave her a cool bath and a dose and a half of Motrin which help a bit. Saturday morning I took her back into the doctor’s office. Same prognosis, a virus and possibly a different one. No medicine, no magic pill to make my baby girl all better or to make Kim’s and my anxious frustrations disappear. That night and Sunday day she had been vomiting all over the place. It was bad. Kim couldn’t clean it up fast enough and Mimi (our dog) kept attempting to help with the cleanup angrily repulsing Kim even worse. So I was trying to keep Mimi out of the toxic zones and at the same time hurrying Hailey to the bathroom aiming to consolidate the mess. By the time we would arrive at the bathroom she’d be finished heaving, marking a trail behind her, Mimi whimpering to lop it up, Kim chasing us toting paper towels with a squirt bottle of Clorox Cleanup endeavoring to swiftly sanitize and Olivia wanting to play along too thinking it was some strange game of follow the leader. This happened several times and I’m not even sure what I would have done if we made it to the bathroom in time anyway. The sink? The tub? The toilet? The toilet being the obvious choice however that would contradict the multitude of times I have explained to Hailey not to stick her head in the toilet.

Monday Kim stayed home from work with Hailey and took her to the doctor again. (If you’re counting, we’re up to three doctor visits). Still no real relief, no magic elixir. “Have her drink plenty of fluids and get plenty of rest.” Resting was not a problem; Hailey remained feebly comatose all day as Kim scoured the entire house attempting to take revenge on the microscopic germs. When I got home from work the house smelled of bleach, Clorox and Pine Sol, pleasantly burning my sinus cavities.

Kim’s TLC stopped the vomiting however by Tuesday’s ‘daddy day,’ out of repetition, I taught Hailey a new word, it was grimly humorous watching her expression as I gingerly pulled off her pull-up and she inquisitively inspected the damage, “(dia)rrhea?” My poor baby girl could barley sit down her inflamed diaper-rash was horrible. Olivia was such a good helper, retrieving fresh diapers, soaking cool wash cloths to lay on Hailey’s forehead, checking up on Hailey making sure her drink was full and she was covered up with a blanket. Wednesday I stayed home from work and it was more of the same although Olivia went to school and after we dropped her off, Hailey and I managed to stop at the store re-supplying our sicky essentials of jell-o, chicken broth, crackers and fluids.

Sad and scary to see Hailey so inactive, lethargically laying around barley enough energy to watch the Wiggles or Elmo. I spent the whole day forcing fluids down her, my arm extended, holding a sippy-cup near her head with an extra long straw attached to her mouth, a makeshift Gatorade IV. Thursday it was Kim’s turn to stay home again. Hailey’s health had improved enough for them to take an afternoon stroll around the neighborhood and we felt she was on the rebound.

Friday was a gamble she hadn’t had any loose stuff in a day, no fever for a couple days and her tokus-rash was almost gone so we decided that she was well enough to go to school. Well we were wrong, according to Hailey’s assistant teacher she had two instances of diarrhea, but they didn’t call us. That was somewhat of a let down and a bit irresponsible of the staff at her school. Hailey’s lead teacher was absent that day but still that was no excuse. Not only that, Olivia came home feverish.

Friday night Olivia ended up in our bed again. This time it was the other ear and Kim took her to the doctor first thing Saturday morning. This time they gave her Augmentin for the infection instead of the ineffective amoxicillin which she was prescribed last week. The doctor also instructed Olivia to follow up with our ENT specialist. Could this be something serious please not another surgery? She was actually felling better within a couple days and not complaining at all about her ear, for a princess she is tough.

The following Thursday I picked Olivia up from school early and we went to see the ear-nose-throat specialist. Her office is located within Children’s Hospital and every time we have an appointment there it takes forever. This visit was no exception; three hours elapsed from the time we arrived until the time we left. I think we saw the doctor for all of ten minutes. Both Olivia and Hailey had ear tube surgery when they were about ten months old. Kim and I really like the doctor; she is very personable and came highly recommended. I was expecting the worst. However she said everything looked normal and that the one remaining tube wouldn’t have to be forcibly removed unless it remained intact for another year, the other ear-tube dislodged itself and fell out months ago which was expected. I asked her if I should be concerned that after almost two and a half years Olivia contracted two back-to-back ear infections seemingly out of the blue. The ENT was so reassuring “we’ll just have to wait it out and see what happens.” Why didn’t I go to med school?

Our sixth doctor visit occurred a week ago on ‘daddy day’ and this one was a scheduled two year check-up for Hailey. She did an eye exam, a hearing test, height, weight, twenty developmental questions with our pediatrician (one question she asked if Hailey could jump with both feet leaving the ground all the while she was leaping from the doctor’s metal stepstool landing with olympic gymnast perfection) and a hepatitis shot which Hailey didn’t even flinch on not even a yelp or a tear the nurse commended Hailey for her bravery and I could overhear her bragging to all the other nurses, “she didn’t even cry!” Olivia stayed in the back ground absorbing everything asking endless why questions for every test Hailey had to endure. Olivia and Hailey were so well behaved, must have been all the practice as of late or the promise of the coveted lollypop.

Originally posted on BabyCenter.com 10/26/06

Postponing sleep is one of Olivia’s and Hailey’s specialties. Their creative energy is abundant in finding new ways to evade falling asleep and when they persist with self induced insomnia Kim and I get frazzled, occasionally making rash decisions, unwilling to give up the one hour a day we claim as are own.

Olivia used to be in the habit of stretching (a sometimes pseudo or sometimes actual need to go) after-hours potty visit into a ten minute book perusal. During one of these incidents, spurred by fatigue I became annoyed, establishing a spontaneous decree with no forewarning, “I am officially banning books while on the toilet after bed time!” Olivia was confused. “No books!” I repeated. She cried for a good fifteen minutes at the sudden uncompromising rule modification. Kim glared the ‘nice going Homer’ look as she soothed Olivia but took my side, agreeing with the change, “Sorry honey, daddy said no.”

Olivia excessively relies on the bathroom excuse, usually two visits a night after being tucked-in. She also likes to stay up ‘reading’ scanning as many as ten books and a few times has fallen asleep with a paperback covering her face. Bathroom and books are moderately permissible. Her creativity upholds near the twilight of sleep, she will snoozily call on me or Kim with a governors-plea, “Close my closet door all the way,” even if it is closed. Or “There is a fly in here,” there is no fly. Or “You forgot your toy brain,” by that time we need a real one. She dreams-up something new almost every evening. What she really wants is one more reassuring kiss before entering the scary realm of night terrors. Nearly every night she will violently thrash and scream in the depths of slumber, which is bewildering and disheartening for me and Kim. No wonder she balks sleep.

Every so often Kim and I blurrily see through the hazy frustration of Olivia’s sleep-strife to find comic relief and emotional buoyancy. Recently, in the midst of a post-been-put-to-bed toilet pardon, while glancing up through the bathroom blinds, she noticed a three-quarter moon and proclaimed, “Daddy the moon is broken.” Grumpy and tired I couldn’t help but laugh and then started to explain that the moon has different phases. But she stopped my explanation short with her newest favorite phrase, “we’ll talk about that later daddy.” Her verbal abilities and emotional uninhibitedness amaze and sappily harness me. A few nights ago, after story-time on her way to bed she exclaimed, “You’re the best daddy.” Kim gushed. My head inflated to the size of a hot-air balloon. That comment was worth more than any pay check I have ever received. Proactive flattery is what I was thinking an hour later as she still would not fall asleep calling for me to obtain her Ariel wrist-band-compact-mirror-lip-gloss toy. Thanks to Kim’s archetypical modeling, Olivia will look good when facing her sleep-demons.

While I’m on the subject of sleep-demons; Hailey has been testing her limits with Kim and me for the past couple weeks. It started innocently, right after being put to bed she would shed her nighty and diaper then toss them out of the crib along with anything else that wasn’t nailed down, calling for mommy or daddy to come pickup her blankey, all her stuffed toys and re-dress her. After several nights, she progressed from disrobing and tossing one time, to three or four times, this new game quickly became vexatious. I decided to let her remain naked and have her cry-it-out, upping the stakes. Kim was at odds with this decision for good reason. Hailey loves a new challenge and countered with urinating in her crib. So then the game became Kim or I having to dress her and change the crib sheets, which was much to Hailey’s delight being that she was able to get out of her crib for a few extra minutes and watch mommy or daddy work on getting her bed cleaned-up. Great idea dad. In one week she went from playfully undressing to malevolently whizzing all over the place. Once or twice we ran out of clean linens, she went through four sets of sheets and had to sleep without anything but a wet cover, eventually falling asleep naked in a pool of her own urine.

The problem reached a boiling-point this week during our ‘daddy day’ siesta. Hailey had stripped and was shouting, “dah…diee!” from her crib for over an hour, then she became eerily quiet. My ‘dadar’ alarmed me and just as I was about to enter her room she hollered, “daddy I poo-poo!” I opened her door and she was hopping up and down in her crib, little poo-poo nuggets flying everywhere. The language that followed was of the ‘R’ rated variety. I hooked her underarm which was the only clean part of her body, yanked her from the crib, tossed her into the bath tub and dropped the soap bar in her lap. “Clean yourself up!” Then I went to disinfect her room, probably a good thing too, that gave me time to cool down and strategize. I concocted a plan that involved Hockey tape. After her cleansing, I wrapped plastic tape around her diaper, the same adhesive I use to lash my equipment to my body. It didn’t take the little escapist long to wiggle out of that continuing to elude nap-time and seemingly mock me, “dah…diee!” So I persisted, wrapping the tape around her shirt and nighty pants. That didn’t work either, she was naked within minutes. Defeated, I retreated to bed, covering my ears with pillows attempting to drown out her victory cry, “dah…diee!” She did eventually take a short snoozer, three hours after the start of nap-time.

I had lost that battle but the war was not over. I had a new plan. I called Kim on her way home from work requesting she stop and buy diaper-pins. That night, (last night) Kim pinned Hailey’s nighty shirt to her pants, six pins, it looked like a Houdini stunt in the making. So far the tactic appears to be working and for the past two nights she has fallen asleep, clothes pinned together, without a fuss. Kim and I have won back our hour, for now.

Originally posted on BabyCenter.com 10/19/06

A ‘daddy day’ mid-morning park rendezvous became delayed by what should have been a five minute stop at the DMV to renew my four-day-over-due license plates. The ‘quick’ errand unfortunately stretched into a half-hour fiasco.

The motor vehicle bureau satellite office in my zip code exudes a stuffy unfriendly atmosphere, the tight ten by fifteen foot waiting area is lined with twelve or so dusty chairs, the worn dirty carpet smells of mildew and the signage browning with age or tar leftover from an era when public smoking in government run offices was customary. The staff suited the environment. The place hadn’t changed, personnel included, since I was sixteen.

Our luck, the computers were down that day and each renewal was taking forever. When we arrived, there were only two people in line ahead of me. I instructed Olivia and Hailey to grab some reading material from the rack of vehicle literature near the entrance and sit quietly. Both girls sat for a good five minutes flipping through driving manuals and Auto Traders.

Hailey’s nickname is the Tazmainian Toddler. She can spin through a room, arms grabbing whatever is in reach, demolishing order in the blink of the eye. Her gross-motor skills are, well, she can motor and when she is diving from couch to armchair to love seat or climbing metal rungs at a playground intended for five and up it is gross to watch. Hailey was getting restless sitting calmly thumbing through road safety brochures so she revisited the pamphlet shelf looking for something new. She started to fling the brochures one by one frisbee style toward her sister giggling with each throw. Big sis became delighted with this new game and rushed over to join her. Olivia, the self proclaimed Preschooler Princess characteristically is mild mannered her movements are precariously delicate although at times she can incite or synchronize with Hailey’s spasmodic and destructive force. In a mater of minutes the information rack emptied, the Tazmainian twister touched-down and the floor of the waiting area was completely littered.

Several more people had come in during the cyclone and one elderly lady seemed enchanted by Olivia’s and Hailey’s behavior, even I was somewhat captivated and satisfied, in no hurry to stop them. ‘Is it wrong to allow my children to raze the place?’ A mutual yet restrained sediment residing in myself as a result of impatientness with the service from the inhospitable government workers. Yes, it was wrong but I let them continue.

Hailey took off her shoes and Olivia shed hers too. The head-bands came off next. I’m thinking, ‘they are going to strip down naked right here’ I had to stop the striptease, “Girls, you are going to have to put your shoes back on so we can go to the park!” Olivia quickly complied and the older lady creakily helped Hailey with her shoes. “Tell the nice lady thank you!” Parent-speaking, ‘Why couldn’t I just say thanks.’

Hailey knew she had an audience and ran up to every person who was waiting, invading their personal space, “(H)ello” with a big grin. While running about she slipped and fell on one of the pamphlets, hopped up and animatedly dusted her butt off amusing the line of what was now a half dozen people.

The guy in front of me, who had hastily parked and ran from his car to the DMV office door to get in line ahead of me and the girls, finished his renewal and turned to go rolling his ankle on Hailey’s yellow head-band crunching it under-foot, the arrogant suit didn’t stop to apologize.

It was finally my turn so I spread all my paperwork on the counter, just then realizing I left my auto insurance card in the glove box. The administrator didn’t ask for it, a sublime implication that she wanted me and my children out of there rapido and she hurriedly glossed over the documents, I probably could have just handed her cash without any inspections or tax receipts at all. I was finished within a couple minutes and as I was paying for my new tags a dreary attendant magically appeared from an interior office, probably to check out all the commotion. She whispered to her co-worker, “Look at what they did to the place.” ‘Yes I am raising horrible little menacing children’

The comment left me feeling ashamed of myself and made me realize my lapse in parental responsibility. I exploited my children’s natural rambunctiousness to expediate a dull mundane process (and the government personnel obliged me). I also failed at teaching good manners in a public place. I waned to say something to the DMVers in my defense, ‘they’re only two and three’ but as I looked at the devastation I had no justification and no excuses. “We’ll get it cleaned up,” is all I could say.

 Originally psted on Babycenter.com 10/11/06