Posted: December 22nd, 2009 | Author: Dave | Filed under: Coping | 1 Comment »
Bees like honey.
Fish like water.
Flowers like rain.
They’re amateurs. A bee’s heart isn’t in it. Fish hold a passing interest in their life-sustaining environment. They don’t love these things, not when compared to the following.
My wife loves Christmas.
Hers is the pinnacle of devotion. An adoration so consuming it makes Pa and Laura Ingles look like adversaries. This why Grace thinks it’s normal to have eleven Christmas trees in our house.
And they went up before Thanksgiving.
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Posted: December 22nd, 2009 | Author: Dave | Filed under: Coping | Tags: ballet, christmas, herr drosselmeyer, kids, nutcracker | No Comments »
I’m in a room brimming with estrogen. The air smells like Aqua Net, makeup and rented tutus. Quick flashes of pink, sequins and tulle buzz in my peripheral vision. Tiny, sparkling girls run in all directions.
I feel like an interloper in this frenzied beehive of femininity. Can daddy prep his little girl to dance in “The Nutcracker” all by himself?
I’m shaking a huge can of hair spray. “Grace, look at me,” I say. “I just need to flatten your hair down.”
“Maybe a mommy can do it,” she says, eyeing the women in the room.
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Posted: December 19th, 2009 | Author: Dave | Filed under: Coping, Toddlers | No Comments »
I didn’t go through a fear of monsters as a boy. I slept with a night light, the hall light on and the door open, but really, I was fine.
When Grace was just about three, she started talking about monsters and a general fear of the dark at bedtime. Being a clever nerd, I decided that I could override the irrational fears of a toddler. I set to work.
One night after stories and lullabies, she offered, “But there are no monsters in here.”
“Monsters,” I said. “You like monsters! Who are the monsters you know?”
I didn’t go through a fear of monsters as a boy. I slept with a night light, the hall light on and the door open, but really, I was fine.
When Grace was just about three, she started talking about monsters and a general fear of the dark at bedtime. Being a clever nerd, I decided that I could override the irrational fears of a toddler. I set to work.
One night after stories and lullabies, she offered, “But there are no monsters in here.”
“Monsters,” I said. “You like monsters! Who are the monsters you know?”
She stared at me as if I had grown a second and third head of my own. “Elmo is a monster. He’s funny. Telly Monster is nice. Don’t forget Cookie Monster.”
She wrinkled her little nose. “Zöe,” she said.
“Right, Zöe!” I said. “Zöe is a ballet monster! Did you know monsters like ballet?”
She laughed, and that was it. No more complaints about monsters. I marched out of that room as if I were about to take the center podium at the Olympic Games. Super Dad, right here. Everyone gaze upon me and know that I am The Man.
So, two weeks ago, when nearly-three-year-old William started with the monster routine, I was ready. “Step aside,” I thought, “and let The Master do his thing.”
Fail.
“Waaaahh! I want Da-deeeeee!”
I went into his room. “What’s the matter, William?”
“I don’t like the dark.”
“Oh, but you’ve got your night light, your friends.** See?” I turned the light on, then off. “The same friends, just in the dark.” I turned the light back on and pointed to the wall. “See your pictures?” (His walls are covered with mini posters of The Boston Red Sox.) I turned the light back off. “The same in the dark.”
I could tell he wasn’t buying it, so I sang another song and he settled down.
The next night brought same thing. “But that monster is going to get me,” he said. This continued for almost a week, and then I broke down. My Super Dad Powers were gone. Just like that. I traded in my cape and mask.
I went downstairs and grabbed the seashell night light we bought while on vacation. (It had been living in the bathroom.) Back in his room, I plugged it into the socket right next to his crib. “That’s my Florida light!” he said, and proceeded to hold each of his friends up in turn so that they could “see” it. He changed his orientation in the crib so that he could stare at it while lying there. I closed the door and he went to sleep.
That was about a week ago, and he hasn’t had a disruptive night since. My powers failed, but at least my boy is sleeping. With his Florida light. And his friends. And the hall light on.
Welcome to the club, kid.
*Apologies to Rod Serling
I didn’t go through a fear of monsters as a boy. I slept with a night light, the hall light on and the door open, but really, I was fine.
When Grace was just about three, she started talking about monsters and a general fear of the dark at bedtime. Being a clever nerd, I decided that I could override the irrational fears of a toddler. I set to work.
One night after stories and lullabies, she offered, “But there are no monsters in here.”
“Monsters,” I said. “You like monsters! Who are the monsters you know?”
I didn’t go through a fear of monsters as a boy. I slept with a night light, the hall light on and the door open, but really, I was fine.
When Grace was just about three, she started talking about monsters and a general fear of the dark at bedtime. Being a clever nerd, I decided that I could override the irrational fears of a toddler. I set to work.
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Posted: December 17th, 2009 | Author: Dave | Filed under: Coping | No Comments »
I woke up suddenly. Blinking my eyes, I reached for my alarm clock and turned it towards my face. It said 1:24. I sat up, and then put my feet on the floor. The house was quiet.
Through the window I could see the black silhouettes of our trees against the navy blue sky. I could also see the turtle-shaped sandbox, a soccer ball, the bulky, plastic sliding board and the tool shed which holds more toys, a lawn mower, several cans of paint and, I suspect, a family of mice.
Everything was in order, yet I felt a tremendously worried. I picked up an old, grey T-shirt that was hanging over the rocking chair. Several years ago, the shirt bore the logo of the bar my wife and I visited before we were married. I wore it as often as possible.
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Posted: September 21st, 2009 | Author: Dave | Filed under: Coping, School, Toddlers | Tags: daddy blog, Fatherhood, kids, parenthood, parenting, preschool, School, tips | 4 Comments »
Earlier this week, I brought two quarters to the bank and asked the teller to exchange them for a half dollar. I took the coin and walked back to the car, remembering when I was just 4 years old.
I have scattered memories from preschool, like the little hut with grapes and vines on the ceiling. I also remember napping on a braided rug and the musty smell of it. One time we made some sort of potato concoction on a hotplate like a college student would use. My friend Peter and I cowed those things down while sitting crossed-legged on carpet squares. I also remember the stone-floored lobby. But mostly I remember crying.
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Posted: September 14th, 2009 | Author: Dave | Filed under: Coping | Tags: daddy blog, kids, parenthood, parenting, parents | No Comments »
Kitchen or kids?
It’s the proposition that follows dinner in our house. It basically means, “Do you want to clean up the post-dinner mess or kick-start the kids’ PM routine?” Don’t jump too quickly. There is no easy answer.
Answering “kitchen” could mean scrubbing a mountain of dishes and/or pots and pans, plus cutlery, the counter tops, the table and so on. With some luck, the dishwasher will actually be empty (a rarity), the trash can won’t be overflowing (hasn’t happened yet) and the evening’s “chef” would have tidied up while cooking (a bona-fide miracle).
Selecting “kids” is even riskier.
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Posted: September 14th, 2009 | Author: Dave | Filed under: Coping | Tags: daddy blog, Fatherhood, kids, parenting, parents | No Comments »
I like to think that I have a handle on the 3-year-old language. “Doesn’t your three-year-old speak English?” you ask. Well yes, but she uses the toddler dialect. Here’s an example.
Earlier today, we were at the grocery store picking up diapers and milk. On the way home, Grace announced that she wants to play with “…that toy” when we got home. “Which toy is that?” I ask her. “That toy you put on your knee,” she answered.
My mind set to work on the problem. “Grace,” I said, “What is the toy that you put on your knee?” “You know that toy,” she said, laughing dismissively at what must have been a joke.
“Oh, no, I sure don’t,” I thought.
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Posted: September 14th, 2009 | Author: Dave | Filed under: Coping | Tags: babies, daddy blog, Fatherhood, kids, parenthood | No Comments »
Earlier this week, I took the kids to the YMCA for Gracie’s swimming lesson. In preparation, I packed my travel bag with Goldfish crackers and a few toys, meant to occupy William while we waited.
Everything was going well until we walked in the door. William freaked. I’m talking about the red-faced, fist-clenched, curled-toes howl that makes onlookers think “Oh, look, here comes the world’s worst father, evidenced by his own son’s five-alarm wail.”
I’ve got a theory about William’s odd reaction. It seems he only does this when we’re in commercial buildings that have a receptionist area. Call me crazy, but I’m sure he believes were at the pediatrician’s office.
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