Fetch, Good Boy

I spent twenty minutes this morning playing fetch with my son. Tiernan pretended to be a dog, a dog named Wondermut, (a name he chose). I would throw a ball and he'd go fetch it. He bring it back in his mouth and spit it at me. I would throw it again. He'd get it and bring it back. Then he started to pant like a dog, and dig in the ground like a dog.
All of this would have been fine, were it not for my real dog, Maggie, laying on the couch next to me and looking at me like, "Dude, I am the dog. It's little degrading to your son to make him fetch. But, you're the boss. I'll just lay here and laugh to myself." By the way, when she laughs to herself, she laughs like Muttly from Penelope Pitstop. "Stupid human. Hsssst Hsssst Hsssst Hsssta!"

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Gotta Be the Shoes

Yesterday, Reagan, my 14-month-old daughter awoke from her morning nap in a great mood. She allowed my to change her diaper without incident, which is an occasion for celebration – she usually puts up quite a fight, wriggling, contorting and screaming and kicking and reaching for the poop filled diaper. I can an be very taxing on the nerves.
But not this day. Today was a good day. No fits, no flipping over, no kicking. A quick, clean diaper change. It was going great.
Naturally, was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Literally, as I was putting her little sneakers on, I thought, “I have get this done quickly, before her good mood deteriorates and I get kicked in the face again.”
And I did. She was as sweet as pie. She let me get her sneakers on, good and tight too. She’s been kicking them off, unless I take extra care to triple-strap them on her chunky little piggies.
I carry her downstairs to her chair and we have lunch. A good lunch. No crying. No tantrums. Nice meal. Bother, sister and Dad.
After lunch, we go out in the newly-fenced in backyard to run around for a while and enjoy the weather. After a few moments of cavorting, and running and falling and walking and running and general mayhem outside, Reagan begins to cry. Hard cries. Not the whinny “I want….I need…” kind of cry. The I am in pain kind of cry.
Ever alert to my baby crying. I spring into action and pick her up. She stops crying for a moment. And she quickly starts up again. Cries and screams and real tears -- something is really bothering her.
Lunch? Maybe lunch is sitting wrong in her tummy. I begin to rub. Cries get worse. Gas. Maybe she has gas. This too shall pass. Cries continue to escalate. Face red, teeth bared cries. Maybe she ate something she shouldn’t have outside, a rock or a piece of plastic, or a coin. The night before, her brother told us that she has just eaten a penny. Mom and I were a bit skeptical. But she does like to eat everything – mulch, rocks, grass, sometimes she even eats stuff she’s supposed to eat. Maybe her stomach is bothering her because of something she ate.
OK. Let’s sit down in the den and relax. First, we’ll stop the crying and get everybody breathing normally. We’ll go inside and watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse that generally relaxes Reagan and changes her mind. So I shepherd the two kids and the dog back inside the house and we sit down and watch Mickey. Reagan is still crying her eyes out.
Nothing is working. A quick check of the Daddy Handbook I keep in my head says; “Try to make the child as comfortable as possible. Take off shoes.” As the show starts, I begin to take her sneakers off.
At this point Mickey seems to be working his charms, Reagan is calming down. At the same time, I realize that she had her shoes on the wrong feet. In my haste to get her shoes on as quickly as possible to keep the happy vibes going, I put her shoes on the wrong feet.
Now, if you are a cynic, you are saying to yourself, “that’s why the baby stopped crying. Her shoes were hurting her because they were on the wrong feet – and triple strapped on -- and you took them off.”
However, being the optimist that I am. I like to think that the soothing qualities of Mickey Mouse were the reason that the baby stopped crying and the shoes had nothing to do with it. How bad could a shoe hurt? Mickey Mouse is magical. He does live in the Magic Kingdom. Definitely, not the shoes.

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One Man's Trash ...

Over the weekend, we had a huge blowout garage sale. We sold a bunch of crap. Stuff that has been sitting in the basement for years. We sold it in an effort to create space in the basement for a play room for the kids. Old crap out. New crap in. We sold a bunch of stuff, and there was a bunch of stuff that we didn't sell.
The stuff we didn't sell, ended up on the curb, for the garbage truck. Very little of what was on the curb Sunday night made it to the garbage truck Monday morning. We had a stuff like; three very large chairs, four or five speakers, two printers that didn't work, a small 40-year-old bar, a 20-year-old weight bench. Stuff that noone would buy, for 75 cents at the yard sale, but on the curb people think they've found something worth more than 75 cents.
People are funny at garage sales. "Does this small vacuum you are selling for $1 work? I mean does it work good?"
"Yes it works. It is the greatest thing I've ever purchased. It breaks my heart to part with it. But, since you ask such inciteful questions and I can tell you are intested in the piece, and I like you. You can have it for 25 cents. I know it will go to a good home. Happy sucking!"
Fast forward to Sunday night. It is a beautiful night. All day weather was great. Every window in the house is open. We've put all the crap on the curb. We've counted our cash. And we've just finished giving the kids a bath. My son's room in the front of the house with a great view of the pile of crap for the garbage truck. Tiernan finishes he bath and he walks naked into his room, I am right behind him with a towel. As we walk in we can see that some scavenger is picking through the pile of junk. I say, under my breath, "Great, this jackass will take all our junk. Where were you three hours ago, when you could have paid me for that crap?"
Tiernan hears me, and runs naked over to the window and yells, "Jackass!! Get away from our crap!"
I am laughing too hard to stop him. The scavenger looks around all guilty, but sees nobody. My laughter just encouages Tiernan. "Don't take our crap. Hey you, jackass. That's our crap. Get away! Jackass! That's my crap."
I am fighting the laughter and trying to get the boy to shut up. Finally, I had to close the windows.
But, by the time the garbage truck got there in the morning, the only stuff left was actual garbage in garbage bags.
Now, to get working on the playroom, so I can accumulate more crap to sell at a garage sale in five years.

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Reducing the Chances

We did it. I am glad we did it. I'd do it again in a second. We've created an animal enclosure, just like the the zoo. We had the back yard enclosed with a fence. A fence. A glorious fence. It keeps the inside stuff in, and the outside stuff out. It is brillant.
Now, I can relax when the kids are in the yard. I know that they can't go anywhere. I know they can't get out and get into the street. I have greatly reduced the chances of one of the kids getting hit by a car.
That is really what parenting as about, in many ways. Reducing the chances of something happening or not happening. We put up and fence the reduce the chances that the kids would go running up the side of the house and into the street and get hit by a car or get kidnapped by a sex offender.
We put up baby-gates to reduce the chance of a baby falling down the step and getting hurt. We put the nice coffee table with the glass top in the attic and replace with a full wooden one, with curved ends, to reduce the chance of a bad bump on the head or a broken glass top. We reduce the chances of a baby getting electricuted by putting plastic covers --which are alomst impossible to get off -- even for adults, over the outlets. The list of steps and actions taken in the name of reducing the chances of something bad happening goes on and on. But for all the reducing the chance parents do, there is no way to stop bad stuff from happening. Case in point:
We did it. We put up a fence. And it is great. I am teaching my 3-year-old how to properly hit a ball, and not really paying too much attention to what my 14-month old daughter is doing. I know that she is in the yard -- we put up a fence -- and I know that there are few things that she can get into too much trouble. In fact there is only one thing that I really don't want her to touch, play with, and be interested in. I'll be damed if that isn't the thing that she is about to lick, as I turn around and check on her. Yes, she is about the French kiss the pooper scooper. She is holding it by the yicky end and pulling it toward her mouth, for a taste.
We have a fence and it is good but, we have two kids, and a dog they are not always good.

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Dinner Party

Last night I had dinner with my kids. Not really newsworthy, but It was, if memory serves, the first time that I had dinner alone with my two kids. I cooked steak, mashed potatoes, and green beans. As I was about to put the steaks on the grill, my wife called and said she was still and the office and that we should go ahead and eat.
It was the first time that it was just me and kids eating dinner together. We ate. We talked. We joked. We laughed. There was no whining. No yellng. It was a great feeling, having a nice meal. Maybe, because I have been working. (Yes, I sometimes get freelance work and have to go the office.) Well for the last month or so, I have been working and Grandma and Grandpa have been feeding the kids, since I don't get home to 6:30 p.m. Too late for the kids to eat. So I think that is what has me so struck by eating dinner with my kids.
Reagan, the competitive eater, of course finished first. Followed closely be me. As we waited for Tiernan to finish. Reagan and I played peek-a-boo and bang-a-tray. We laughed and smiled and enjoyed being with each other. Tiernan eventually finished and even helped me clean up (without making more of a mess) The whole meal was a happy experience for everybody. See what a little steak can do.

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What happens in Preschool, Stays in Preschool.

Tiernan has been attending preschool since January. The long national nightmare of potty training ended and the mind-shaping, letter-learning of preschool began. He loves it. He goes three-days a-week for 2 1/2 hours. Loves his teacher. Loves the other kids. Loves it. Loves it. Loves it. The teacher loves him and the other kids like him. It is one big love-feast.
I drop him off and he doesn't look back. He gets a big welcome from one of his female classmates (hug included) and he's in his preschool world. Everyday I pick him up and ask, "Hey buddy, what did you do in school today?" and I am struck with silence. Nothing.
"Hey Tiernan, what did you do in school today? Did you learn a new number or letter?"
His response is, "Ummmm. I don't remember."
"Did you play with any other kids in school today?"
"Ummm....yes."
"Who?"
"I.....dunno."
This has lead me to ask his teacher, Miss Rosalie, for a list of his classmates, so I can further explore what happens at school.
"Did you play with Logan or Jasmine today?"
"Yes."
"What did you play?"
"Oh Daddy.... I don't remember."
This leads me to ask Miss Rosalie (Tiernan pronounces it "Mit Rodaly") if it is normal for him not to remember or not talk about school. She assures me that it is tough for little guys like him to properly express themselves sometimes. And I can get behind that. I have seem him struggle to find the words to make a point a home. He is only 3.
And it is even worse when he knows what words he wants to say, but has trouble enunciating them. And I spend 10 minutes asking him to repeat himself. "Try it again slowly this time, Tiernan."
"I wanna doo utdise and paym purpall myt Toll."
"I am sorry Tiernan, please try to tell me again what you want to do?"
"I want to go ubpice and play bursball myst Toll"
"You want to play purple myst. What is purple myst? Is that a game you play at school?"
"No. I want to go outice and play bawsball mit Cold."
"I am really sorry, T. I know you are trying your best. But, I just can't understand. I know it's frustrating, don't get upset. Try again."
"I want to go outsise and play purseball with Cole."
"You want to go outside and play with your friend Cole?"
"Yeah, and pay btasteball."
"Oh, you want to go outside and play baseball with Cole. Great, I will see if Cole wants to play."
It is just hard for little guys and gals to express themselves.
However, that seems to get easier for Tiernan in the presence of a beautiful girl.
Case in point; over the Easter weekend we were at a country club celebrating Easter with my wife's extensive (10 aunts and uncles, 21 cousins) family.
Of all those folks,Tiernan is the first cousin of the next generation. He was the first new baby in 15 or so years. As a result, he gets a bunch of attention, especially when he is dressed, as he was Easter Saturday, in an adorable little searsucker suit. The kid looked great.
We are at the celebration mingling with the family. And I realize that I haven't seen Tiernan in a while, so I start looking for him. I find him, sitting at the bar drinking a cocktail (a Horse's Neck, which is a Shirley Temple with a cooler name) with my wife's cousin Stephanie -- a very big fan of Tiernan's and a very beautiful blonde.
I walk up and ask where he's been and he tells me he's been with Stephanie.
And Stephanie tells that Tiernan has been telling her all about school. Yes, he told the beautiful girl all about Miss Rosalie and his friends Logan and Jasmine and the numbers he's learned, and how he's learning to hold a crayon and write his ABCs.
The whole incident has taught me a thing or two: What happens in preschool, stays in preschool, unless there is a pretty blonde asking. Or if you bring my boy to a bar and give him a couple of drinks he'll tell you anything you want to know.

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How I spent one afternoon?

Aunt Eileen got the kids a big red ball. They loved it. Daddy started playing with it and it ended up stuck in a tree. I spent the rest of a Monday afternoon throwing tennis balls at a red rubber ball.

One day later, the ball landed in the sticker bushes.
The life of a ball can be so fleeing.
We will miss you, big red ball. (sigh)

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Animals and Bums

Two months ago we had plumbing problems. Plumbing problems that required a plumber to shut down both the upstais bathroom and the downstairs toilet. Of course, my newly potty trained son, Tiernan had to go pee during the toilet blackout period. Soooo... it was a relatively warm day and he is a boy, and we have pretty seculed back yard. And not wanting him to ruin his streak of not going in his pants, I allowed him to go pee in the bushes in the back. It was a one time deal, because it was an emergency.
Fast forward to yesterday, Mommy was home and playing outside with the kiddies, while Daddy, (me) ran some quick errands. During this time, Tiernan tells him mother that he has to go pee and proceeds to pee in the bushes, because Daddy lets him.
Later in the evening, Daddy is confronted by Mommy about, "Why are you letting Tiernan go pee in the damn bushes?"
Sooo... for the next twenty minutes, we had to explain to him that only animals and bums go pee outside, and that he was neither.

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Less Bubbles, More Doughnuts.

Back in January, I started taking Reagan to the Little Gym, once a week while Tiernan is in pre-school. We used to go to Gymobree. Which is a happy fun time all the time. The Little Gym has a serious gymnastics bend. Gymboree pretty much ends when the kids turn 3 but Little Gym has gymnastics classes for kids up to like 16. Once they outgrow bubbles and parachutes, it becomes a real gymnastics school.
As such, they are serious, which doesn't mean that it's not fun for the kids. It is 40 minutes of structured activities and five minutes of free play, which is about 7 minutes to short for one year olds. Because it takes Reagan three minutes to figure out what she wants to do, and three minutes to get there. It seems to me that, the kids get intersted in something and freeplay is over and its time to learn a new skill. And its, "Reagan stop what you are doing. Put that down. We have to go over here and learn how to do a back roll."
I have to admit, I give Reagan much more leaway to explore than I gave Tiernan -- in all things not just at gym class. If she is doing something that I would rather she didn't do, as long as it won't hurt her or someone else, I will let her continue. For example, the other day, she was kneeling on top of the picnic table/sandbox in the back. If that were Tiernan, at that age, climbing on top of the table, I would have admonished him to get down. But I let her stay there because, I feel that every time she gets interested in anything, someone is telling her to stop, or takes the object that interests her away. And not always for a good reason. When I, or my wife or Aunt Eileen, tell her to stop or take something away, it is to keep her alive or out of the emergency room. One of the basic rules of parenting. See earlier post.
But there is an older brother who is constantly taking things away from her, things that he claims for his own. Toys, trains, cups, anything. Everytime she picks something up, whether it is his or not, he takes it from her. As a result of this, I feel that she never gets to truly experience or enjoy anything, so I cut her some slack. If she's into something, and happy, I try to let her ride that moment for as long as she wants.
Which was what I was doing today at the Little Gym. I was just letting Reagan enjoy the moment, she loves doing the skills, and she's quite god at them -- the forward rolls and even rotating around the bars. We were practicing holding on the the bar, when we had to stop, to join the rest of the class in learning another new skill. I wouldn't mind, but most of the kids and three-quarters of the parents in this class aren't able to do the five or so skills, we've already learned. These kids are 10 to 16 months old. Some can't even walk. So learning another new skill so soon, seems to be pushing it a bit. Most of these kids are only here to put the toys and bells in their mouth.
But, Reagan and I stopped what we were doing and went to watch Marco do a "forward roll from a doughnut." As soon as I heard "forward roll from a doughnut" I started doing my Homer Simpson voice, "mmmmm....forward rolll from a doughnut....mmmmm"
So we are watching Marco. Marco comes to class with his Dad Vinnie and five year old sister, Isabella. I am not sure what nationallity Marco and his peeps are but they speak with a very heavy accent. Every time his Dad yells, "Marco" almost involuntarily I want to yell, "Polo." I may have even done it once or twice, because Vinnie looks at me funny sometimes.
So Marco... Polo... is doing the "forward roll from a doughnut" and Reagan is watching. Basically, the kids ride a big round padded doughnut over and perform a forward roll onto another mat. "mmmmm.... big round padded doughnut..... mmmm." Marco... Polo... is not to happy about the whole riding the doughnut part of class and he freaks out at first, but gathers himself and finishes with a forward roll.
Eventually all the kids get to perform the skilll and just about everybody loves it and would love to do it again, but... Little Gym is structured and we must move on to the bubbles portion of the class. Very borning. I urge the little gym, please less bubbles more doughnuts.

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