Father Of The Blog

Originally posted on BabyCenter.com 04/01/07 

Three months straight, Olivia repetitiously pleaded for a pair of her own scissors. Having tons of practice cutting at preschool and various activity centers she was definitely ready. But there was one little problem, Kim and I were concerned that Hailey’s lack of sheering dexterity combined with her strong determined nature could be a dangerous combination. At what point do you sacrifice the learning experience of an older child while protecting the younger sibling from possible physical harm or mental anguish? We figured that close supervision would be the key, so Kim bought two identical training scissors and surprised the girls.

For the past few months Olivia has been methodically producing new and exciting artwork. She has evolved into a multi-media genius. Experimenting with papers, ribbons, string, yarn, cloth, anything clipable, also playing with several different tacking mediums, glue stick, tape, glitter glue, paints, hot glue gun (with my assistance), skillfully layering objects upon object. Her insatiable desire to create supersedes my own and I have a fine arts degree.

As predicted, Hailey was frustrated from the first cut. She had trouble holding the scissors. Her thumb ending up loosely in the big hole, her fingers crammed into the little hole, palms too small to open the scissors all the way and instead of trimming she’d end up tearing. Forget about explaining the correct way of holding and snipping to my independent thinker/doer, any assistance from me or Kim was (is) strictly prohibited. A few weeks of trial and error ensued and eventually she was able to make a few clean cuts. I was proud of her cut-above achievement and congratulated her, “You did it! Good job sweetie!” with high-fives, opposite her hand holding the scissors, obviously.

After a couple months of storing the scissors on a high shelf in Olivia’s closet we decided it was ok to keep them in the accessible-anytime craft box. This wasn’t a noticeable problem until Olivia’s slashing experimentation expanded from the limitation of her craft table or easel to any object she deemed detachable. I have caught her trimming the yarn-like hair from her groovy girl doll, by explanation, needed the hair out of her eyes. I also have found many of her little two-piece doll-house toys freed from the strings that hold them together, for instance, a miniature nightstand with half a string and a missing tiny hair brush or a bathtub figurine now minus a tiny washcloth. Also the doodle etch a sketch toy is now missing the etching pen. An alphabet caterpillar (I think that’s what it is) pull-along toy needed string repair. A wear around your neck toy drum is no longer wearable. On day she diligently chopped-up half of a fat neon green skein of yarn into tiny pieces, she was making grass. Do I ever stop her from what some may think is destruction? No. I say things like “I love your lawn, you manicured it so nicely.”

Am I negligent in teaching her what is right and wrong or am I allowing creative freedoms? All the lost or detached toys are irrelevant why not let her learn about the value of her possessions though making a few inconsequential mistakes. Until she finds my shoe laces or worse, my skates, I won’t keep her tied down. If I did, she’d probably cut herself free anyway.

Originally posted on BabyCenter.com 03/19/07 

Olivia woke up Wednesday with a crippling daddy day hangover. Slowly she roused, hands shielding her eyes from the meager dawns light, “Is today a school day?”

“Yes sweetie. Today is a school day.”

“I don’t want to go to school today… I don’t feel well… I’m sick…” She gasped out a pathetic cough. “My ear hurts…” Pointing to her left ear. “I want to go see doctor Bullivant…” I bargained her out of bed, leading her to believe that if Roz (Olivia’s preschool teacher) thought she was sick then I would take her to the doctor.

Just last week Hailey stayed home from school for a few days with a nasty virus and I was suspecting Olivia was attempting to test how she may be able to reap the benefits of falsifying an illness. During the blur of activity that involves readying Olivia and Hailey for and getting to preschool I asked Olivia if her ear was feeling better. She said that it still hurt. I asked her which ear was bothering her. She pointed to her right ear.

There was this one time, I was six or seven, I tried to convince my mother that an old scar on my hand was really a debilitating rash and there was no way I could go to school that day. My mom smartly didn’t buy it and callously sent me to school. She had a lot of experience debunking fake sicknesses before I came along. (I’m the youngest of four). Through the years I had to become increasingly creative when attempting a fake sickness. One bit was rubbing the old fashioned mercury filled thermometer on my pants to raise the temp. My mom would feel my cool forehead and say “hmm, one hundred and six? I’m surprised you’re not dead. Now get to school.” By the time I got to high school I would research medical journals for believable illnesses and sickly act out all the symptoms. “Hmm, bacterial meningitis you say?” My mom never fell for any of it.

Back to Olivia’s pseudo ear ache. When we arrived at the pumpkin room, (Olivia’s classroom), with a wink I explained to Roz that Olivia had woke up feeling ill. Roz assured Olivia that after breakfast she would send her to the school nurse. I told Olivia that I would come pick her up if the nurse thought a doctor visit was necessary. I didn’t hear from the nurse that day and when I got home from work that evening I asked Olivia how she was feeling. She answered, “fine,” her face wearing the expression of ‘why are you asking me that?’

***

The night previous to Olivia’s sickness charade, Bubie (my mom) came over for dinner and story-time. It has become somewhat of a Tuesday night ritual when Bubie is home from volunteer work in Israel. This particular night Hailey was more flamboyant than ever. She danced and ran circles around the house, naked of course, showing off for Bubie. “Watch dis (this) Bubie!” As she dove off the couch.
During dinner my mom remarked that Hailey must be feeling better from the virus that kept her home from school for a few days last week. Before Bubie could finish her statement, Hailey started wailing, “my mouth!…it hurts!”

Bubie instantly sympathized with Hailey, “Oh poor thing, her throat must be a little soar still.”

I rolled my eyes and said, “the girl who cries wolf.”

As those words were leaving my mouth, seemingly rehearsed, Hailey tilted her head back and howled out a piercing full moon wolf cry, “Auow, auow, auoooow.”

I can handle the world’s deceptions, I have too many years experience with that. Yet, from my own children? Sure, Olivia and Hailey may still be figuring out the difference between fact and fiction, testing their creative boundaries, perfecting guile and warping their own creativity. I understand that, for now.

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.