Unfinished Dad

Praise For Yo Gabba Gabba!

Yesterday, as I watched Tilda attempt Biz's Beat of The Day, I thought it was time to sing Yo Gabba Gabba's praises.  Little did I know, someone already did this for me.  A couple of weeks ago Bret Asbury wrote in this Slate article that Yo Gabba Gabba should supplant Sesame Street as the go-to show for preshcoolers.  He makes one particular point that resonates - Sesame Street is kind of boring.  It's what I put on when the kids wake up before 7:00 and I want them to sleep on the couch with me.  DJ Lance would never let that happen.

O-H-I-O

We spent Thanksgiving in Cincinnati with my wife's third cousins thrice removed.  And despite a week that began with a ten hour car ride and two children who were erupting at both ends, it was one of the more delightful holidays I can remember.  It was a trip rich with missed family, great food, new friends, and a fair share of bourbon, all combining for a ton of laughter and memories.  Some notable moments include:

• Seeing the Bengals beat the Browns in the Battle of O-H-I-O with Aunt Pam.  Did you know the state song of O-H-I-O is Hang On Sloopy?
• Renaming a cousin's friend "Flagstone" because her real name was Molly and there was already one of those in the house.
• Woodford Reserve Manhattans.
• Turning the the guest rooms above the garage into our family's own cauldron of displeasing baby smells.
• Turkey, Mashed Potatoes, Gravy, Cheesy Potatoes, Stuffing, Cranberries (real and fake), Homemade bread, Ham, Coleslaw, Sweet Potatoes, Pumpkin Pie, Cherry Pie, Apple Pie, Lemon Meringue Pie, and Cheesecake all going into my belly.
• Not being the one who has to do all of cooking and cleaning.
• Skyline.
• Watching Annie stand on a chair in the dining room and say "Oo-Eshum" over and over again and expecting everyone to clap after she said it.  None of us had a clue what "Oo-Eshum" meant.
• Scuba Santa at the Newport Aquarium struggling to breathe out holiday wishes to all girls and boys.
• 1-2-3 Contact.
• Seeing Annie win a stuffed animal from one of those scamming mechanical claw games at a truck stop on the Pennsylvania Turnpike.  Dad had tried six times throughout the trip already and had told her those games just didn't work.
• Coming home and seeing that no cave crickets had infiltrated the main floor of the house.

Many Many Thanks

 
 

Don't Forget Two

Don't Forget Two, originally uploaded by unfinished dad.

I keep telling you how tough it is being the second child. This is our list of important things to remember for our Thanksgiving road trip.

Sometimes I'm Bombaloo

Children's books come and go.  Most last no more than a few reads.  Some manage to reel in the little ones for a little while longer with shiny foil pages and crinkly animal tales.  And some intrigue parent's with deeper meanings that are out of reach for kids.  But every now and then a book reaches the whole family.  It resonates with them and speaks to the lives they lead.

In our house that book is Sometimes I'm Bombaloo by Rachel Vail.  If you have a "spirited" two-year-old, the story speaks for itself.  I would be remiss if I didn't mention the spot on illustrations of Yumi Heo though.  They breath life into the character of Annie, I mean Katie Honors.

Sibling Rivalry

For my brother and me fighting was natural.  Second to breathing, it was what we did.  As early as I can remember we were at each other’s throats.  The most vivid memories of my childhood revolve around the battles we had, all of which ended with my laying in a heap on the ground.  Funny then, that I was the one who started those fights.  Sure my brother knew how to incite violence in me, but when it came time for punches to be thrown, I was the one to throw them.  Come to think of it, I was always that way, even when it didn’t involve him.  I was a polite and respectful child.   There was just something in me that needed to fight.

Coming out of the kitchen yesterday and seeing Tilda stand over Annie with two fistfuls of blonde hair, brought back a flood of memories.  Tilda looked up at me with a wild look, while Annie calmly stood and pushed her to the floor.  Until then I suspected that Annie would be the one to worry about when it concerned hitting.  But most of her contact with Tilda involves gut reactions to having to share space or toys.  She never hurts Tilda.  Yesterday, Tilda was out for blood.  And I totally understand why.  There is something about being a second child that makes you want to challenge your older sibling.  Maybe it is the simple need to be first, and knowing that, in one basic way, this can never be the case.

I assumed that the nature of my relationship with my brother could be chalked up to our being boys.  I’m not so sure anymore.  Certain genetic traits are passed down from generation to generation, like the women in my wife’s family using obscure two letter words in Scrabble, and for my family the blinding need to strike at someone when wronged.  Unfortunately, I was always hyper-aware of any slight, not a good combination, and one that I hope is not in Matilda..

While all of this fighting was going on between us, my father would tell us to “take it outside.”  And when it was over, he would regale us with stories of his great fraternal wars.  See, it was a badge of courage to try and murder your brother.  So one thing that I refuse to do with my children is to honor the instinct to do each other harm, no matter how strong.  The ship has sailed when it comes to hitting.  However, I don’t ever want them to feel like I felt, in which it was somehow a moral defeat to not see it to the end, even if that end involved me laying face down in a puddle of blood and tears, wondering where the violence came from in the first place.

The Good, The Bad And The Ugly

The weekend saw a couple of hits and misses here in Chevy Chase.  The weather finally turned from biblical to beautiful, and on Sunday we drove over to Great Falls Park to make the most of it.  With a few thousand of our friends, we took advantage of a rare mid-November 70 degree day, collectively trying to keep our children from jumping into the river.  Tilda didn't seem to understand that, in this one instance, she was not afforded the same luxuries as the dog.  The more I kept her from the river's edge, the more she cried.  Eventually she pulled a page out of her sister's book and lay in the dirt crying until we gave up and left.  Now, the camera doesn't work without a memory card, so here is a photo that a friend of ours took right as Tilda reached the water.

This weekend also saw a setback in the sleep department.  Annie has decided that she doesn't want to sleep without her best friend.  I have tried everything from ignoring her cries, to rationalizing with her, to bribing her with presents.  Last night I asked her, after an hour of crying, what she would rather have, a present for trying to sleep unassisted or her Bob. She took me for the fool I was, and two seconds later she was sleeping soundly, Bob firmly in mouth.  What do I do now?

Finally, we seemed to have reached the critical mass of ensnared cave crickets in order ward off any newcomers to my basement.  There are now eight traps down there.  Four of them are completely full and the remaining four vary from half full to a lone cricket in the trap furthest from the washing machine.  He was either an outcast or a fool.  Though, considering his massive size, he may have just been the baddest, most adventurous.  I'm not about to call this battle over - reinforcements can't be too far off - but I think I can keep the upper hand if there are always glue traps spread around the basement.  They really seem to love huffing that gel.

Old School Kermit

The DVD player in our car is taking over my life.  What started out as a way to get through a long trip to Surfside Beach has become a crutch for driving five minutes to the grocery store.  I try and keep to the basics so that I don't go completely mad.  

Lately Sesame Street Old School has been on heavy rotation.  I can't get enough of the way the show used to be.  The DVD's even come with a disclaimer that the material may not be appropriate for today's children, as evidenced by an early clip in which the characters wonder weather or not the show should just be called "Hey, Stupid" because its intended audience won't be able to read.  But, by far, my favorite thing about the DVD's is Kermit the Frog.  He's a little subversive, a little New York (listen to that accent), and yet totally endearing to children.  Poor Don Music never stood a chance.

The End of An Era

I finally got Annie to the dentist this weekend, after canceling two appointments for illness and over scheduling.  She walked through the doors geared up for the worst.  Sunglasses (for the bright light)…check.  Bob…check.  Little sister to push when I’m upset…check.  I was nervous about how she would react to a stranger poking around in her mouth, because she’s Annie, and Annie doesn’t always roll the way other children do.  She is also my wife’s daughter who, when she was younger, got banned from her family dentist due to poor behavior.  More than 20 years later, when I was looking for a new dentist, my mother-in-law sent me to the same practice—the secretary still remembered the day of the ban.

Needless to say, I was prepared for the worst as well.  Annie went back to the examination room with her mother and an incredibly positive hygienist, who never let Annie remember for a second where she was.  Tilda and I stayed in the lobby and played with an abacus.  There were a few cries in the beginning, but when the dentist let Annie lay on top of my wife in the chair, her tension eased.  Ten minutes later, Annie emerged smiling, with a two stuffed animals (one for her and her sister—this dentist didn’t play) and my wife came out looking like she was headed for the gallows.

There was bad news.  The worst news.  Annie had to give up her beloved pacifier, Bob.  Her front teeth were starting to push forward, and down the road this could jeopardize the positioning of her adult teeth.  After some serious soul-searching, we decided on cold turkey.  Both Annie and Tilda would give up their Bobs just before noon on Saturday, November 7^th, 2009.

Our thought process for cutting them both off simultaneously was that Tilda’s teeth would be in the same position next year at her first dentist appointment, and that Annie would simply steal Tilda’s bobs any chance she got.

Strangely, the day went really well without them.  I’m not sure Tilda even noticed (of course).  And Annie asked us where they were, but seemed satisfied that the dentist told us that she could no longer use them.  She’ll hate that guy one day, and neither of them will ever know why.

I was apprehensive about bedtime.  It’s one thing to go without a pacifier during the day, it’s something else entirely to sleep without one all night.  After a double read of Ferdinand—I just couldn’t leave them—I put Tilda down first and brought Annie into her room.  I never heard from T again, but Annie started asking questions when she saw her empty crib.  Oh sorry, she used to have ten pacifiers in there.  A friend suggested this to me when Annie wasn’t sleeping around her first birthday and it’s done the trick ever since.  Trust me; let them sleep on a bed made of pacifiers if it gets you some peace.

My wife and I explained to her a few times during the day where her bobs were—our choice of putting them in the garbage seemed suddenly crass when a neighbor told us they used the “pacifier fairy”—and we went through it one more time right before the lights went out.  And wouldn’t you know it; Annie took the explanation for what it was worth and went to bed.

Just after ten, she erupted in the kind of screaming that makes the hair on your arms stand up.  I was great when dealing with a baby’s cries, but toddler cries unnerve me.  They are too adult sounding and desperate.  When you couple them with the ability to say, “Daad, pleease,” then I’m usually defeated.  However, like the stern sleep taskmaster that I am, I let Annie cry for ten minutes before going up to her.  When I opened her door she was standing and jerking back and forth on the bars of her crib.  She smelled different.  Sort of like our dog when she knows she just entered the vet’s office.  And her pupils were so dilated it was like looking into two big saucers.  It was when I picked her up that I smelled the vomit.  And when she choked through her tears, “The doctor said no more bobs?  Threw them in the garbage?  What haappened?” I caved.

What is one more night of crooked teeth?  How much could braces cost anyway?  So what if I permanently undermined my authority, right?  In the end it’s simple: I draw the line at vomiting from crying.  You read about that possibility when researching The Ferber Method, and it seems cold, calculating, and mean.  So, like yesterday, I will continue explaining to Annie why she can’t have her bobs anymore, and I will continue putting her to bed without them.  It’s important to keep trying, isn’t it?

Behold! The Magical Land of Clemyjontri!

Clemyjontri.

Really that's all that needs to be said, but for those of you unaware that the greatest playground in mankind's brief history is sitting in your backyard, let me gush a bit.  Located in McLean, Virginia, Clemyjontri Park (a name derived from the primary benefactor's four children) is a handicapped accessible playground perfect for children of all ages.  The entire surface—and it’s a considerable size—is rubberized.  So when your 2 year-old falls off the see-saw and your 1 year-old trips over her new shoes, they come up smiling.  For every piece of equipment that is meant for the fabled 5 to 12 year-old demographic, there is something for the toddlers too.  We spent over an hour there this morning and, despite temperatures in the 40's, the kids were happy the whole time.  That is until one of the mothers let her son walk around with a bag of Cheez-Its.  He was like the Pied Piper.  

Before we get to the pictures, know this parents—the last picture is the only one that made me truly smile.  The architects of this great oasis may have actually had someone like me in mind.

Tilda and I weren't sure what this was exactly, but it looks cool.

 

Kiddie Maze!

 

100 Meter Dash.
 

Slides are for napping?

Pitfall on Atari was a great game, no?

 

Don't worry the carousel is open on weekends still.


Ahhhhhhhh.