WINTER BREAK: DAY ONE

I had been dreading this day for weeks. Arden would be off from school for two full weeks and the new part-time nanny was heading off to Ohio to visit her family for the entire time. It’s not like I haven’t watched both girls before. Hell, I do it all the time, but with Arden in school five days a week since July and with someone watching Alex two days a week, I had kinda gotten spoiled.

I had made the conscious decision that I was going to do some “big” activity with the girls every day. I didn’t care if it was something I hated doing like going to the park or the beach. I just knew I would need to get us all out of the house, in order to keep my sanity and to keep the girls from going all “Lord of the Flies” in our living room.

I knew it would be extremely difficult to wrangle both girls during some of these excursions, so I decided the least painful way of attacking my temporary return to full-time stay-at-home dadhood was to not do it alone. If I had other people with me it would help pass the time and allow me to hand off Alex for a minute or two so I could play with Arden a little and so I could go to the bathroom like a normal human being. My ingenious plan meant I had to be the alpha parent and actually organize these activities, something I neither like doing nor am I very good at. But I was determined to make this work so I emailed all the parents in Arden’s preschool class and told them about my plan. Then I waited for the replies to come rolling in.

Crickets. The only responses I got for Day One’s activity, “Bowling with Four Year Olds,” was from my friend Sam who said she would be bringing her two boys. The other "yes" reply came from the only parent in the school I don’t like. Fortunately he bailed the morning of. Regardless of the lack of replies I still had one wingman, or rather wingwoman, with me for our bowling adventure.

I was excited. I had taken Arden bowling once before at a place appropriately named Pinz in Studio City. The place puts rails in the gutters so the little kids would always score and so the grown-ups could play like rock stars. And with Sam there, I just might get the chance to strut my stuff. Of course the day didn’t turn out exactly as I had planned.

My day technically started at 2:46 AM when Arden woke up from a “bad dream” about “shopping at Target at night” and restarted at 5:43 AM when Alex decided the day had officially begun. Normally if Alex gets up early we sneak down to my office with some Cheerios and she watches some Yo Gabba Gabba while I try and do absolutely nothing until 7:00 AM rolls around. But of course Arden decided this would be the day she got up early. So we started Arden’s first day off from school at 6:00 AM with Arden not wanting anything I was serving for breakfast and Alex deciding she needed a nap at 7:03 AM. And when I say she “needed a nap” I mean that’s when she started getting cranky. And of course with Arden being home from school, there was no way in hell Alex was gonna take a nap.

The morning was long, but uneventful, though I did charge Arden with “watching” her little sister for the first time while I took one of my legendary 30-second showers. But I spent 29-seconds of my shower thinking of every possible permutation of what could go wrong in a 30-second time span which meant I needed another shower as soon as I got out of the shower.

So the bowling alley. All I can say is “chaos.” Much of it internal. We arrived at 11:00 AM to find another mom, who didn’t respond to my email, waiting for us with her two kids. Then Sam arrived with her two kids and as we were all trying on our bowling shoes another parent unexpectedly arrived with their two kids. To lessen the disorganization I decided to just pay for everyone and let them pay me back when we got to our lanes. I should’ve known better than to try and do division while wrangling a bunch of kids (I think I ended up paying for Arden twice.) Anyway, as we started bowling another kid showed up with his uncle, but the games were locked into the computer system so I offered to give up my spot for the little kid. That actually worked out well because Alex was getting fussy and wanted to be held…the whole two hours we were there.

None of the kids had bowled before so I had to show them what to do while holding Alex in one arm. And no one seemed to know who’s turn it was even though the computer screen kept track of it for everyone. Around noon everyone was getting hungry and it fell on Alex and me to order some pizzas. It only took me a sweaty 45 minutes to figure out how to order a pizza, but eventually we managed it. Of course we ordered too little so I went hungry.

Meanwhile, after three frames Arden and another little boy were done with bowling because they had discovered those stupid toy vending machines where you pay a quarter for a mini Tupperware container filled with a sticker or a chipped super ball. Now I’m pretty sure Arden’s slightly above average in intelligence, but the kid she was playing with was definitely not MENSA bound. I gave them both two quarters to put in the machine, but then the boy came back to me empty handed and said, “Coin, coin.” I said, “What happened to the ones I gave you?” Apparently it was a rhetorical question. Meanwhile Arden handed me her prizes which included a plastic ring and a tattoo that said, "I love girls." The boy saw the ring and finally decided to speak, “Is that a coin?” I said, “No, that’s a ring.” A few minutes later I pulled my keys out of my pocket and the boy ran over to me again and said, “Is that a coin?” I said, “No, these are keys…and I’m using them to get away from you.” Okay, I didn’t really say the second part, but I wanted to.

On the ride home Alex started to drift off to sleep. I’d be damned if I was gonna let her have a catnap on the way home that would replace the real deal in her crib so I was forced to lower the back window and let the cold air slap her in the face, but this kid was tired and no amount of wind was gonna keep her up. Of course when the wind ultimately stopped and we pulled into the garage she was wide awake and would be until she went to bed that night. Part of the reason was because Arden refused to have “quiet time” (instead of fighting with her over naps these days we now let her play quietly in her room by herself for an hour) so I can get some "me" time? Hells no. So I can clean up after her before Mommy gets home.

The plan was for Jen to make one of her favorite meals that night, but she got caught in a meeting that was destined to run late and suggested I make the Chicken & Dumplings. Now I cook all the time. And I’m not half bad. I mean I can follow a recipe. However I had never attempted this particular dish which was in a Betty Crocker cookbook that had a copyright date of 1950. I must’ve read that damn recipe 16 times trying to figure out what the hell it was saying. It didn’t help that Arden was having a meltdown over which Disney Princess movie to watch and Alex was screaming in my ear the whole time. I had to text Jen twice during her meeting to see if I was understanding the recipe right. Apparently I wasn’t and I screwed up the dish. Beyond repair. Right in front of Jen as she walked in the door, tired and pissed off from her meeting. That night she ate a Lean Cuisine and I had a bowl of Cheerios. I don’t think there was much talking during "dinner."

So it also happened to be one of Jen’s workout nights, which meant I put Arden to bed (which takes about forty-five minutes) and she puts Alex to bed (which takes about five minutes.) But with Alex being overtired from the day she refused to take the bottle from Jen. And since I have the magic touch I got to put both kids to bed that night…only to have them both wake up on Day Two of Winter Break with runny noses.

In the photo: an actual shot from our bowling madness

HAPPY HOLIDAYS

Arden's off from school for two-plus weeks and the nanny's on vacation so it's been a little tough to get to the computer as of late, as I'm sure you can imagine. But things should return to normal very soon. In the meantime...

QUOTABLE ARDEN

So we're driving in the car the other day and Arden asks me why she isn't able to put a ponytail in her hair herself. I said, "A. It's not easy and B. You don't have the skills yet." Arden replied with a miffed look, "What does A and B have to do with anything?"

Two nights ago Arden climbed into our bed in the middle of the night. When I asked her why in the morning she replied, "I had a bad dream." I asked what it was about and she said, "Going to Target at night." Gave me shivers too.

They're building some new condos near our house that we pass on the way to school every morning. Well the other day Arden noticed that they were cutting down this magnificent tree in front of it. She asked, "Why are they cutting down that tree?" I said, "I guess so they can look at the Hollywood Sign." Arden replied, "Why wouldn't they want to look at the beautiful tree?"

The other day I asked Arden what she's been doing in art class and she said, "Pointillism."

DEFENDING THE DISNEY PRINCESSES

When it comes to my approach to parenting it really boils down to two categories: “things the pediatrician suggests” and “my gut.” I chose my kids’ doctor because I trust her and if she says, “Jump,” I pretty much say, “How high?” Though when she suggested Arden see a dietitian because she was getting a little portly, I didn’t think I needed an outside source to confirm that I let her eat too much junk food. But when it comes to non-doctor-related issues, I just do what I think is right. But it wasn’t until I started writing this blog that I found out not only do other people think differently than me, but some of them feel so strongly about their beliefs that they’d stone me for thinking otherwise. And I’m not talking about the big issues (though none of the issues seem big to me), but people get up in arms about whether or not they should let their kids have a juice box or not.

One would think that after my Ferber Method Fiasco, I would try and steer clear of any polarizing topics here, however last week, an old friend posted a picture on his Facebook page of a seemingly innocuous deconstruction of the Disney Princesses throughout time (see above). With my tomboyish daughter recently discovering the magic of Disney and the aforementioned princesses, I made a comment on my friend’s Facebook page about how I thought the breakdown was funny, but that it was also an oversimplification.

I thought that would be the end of the discussion. Boy was I wrong. This began a somewhat heated debate on feminism and how the Disney Princesses are detrimental to the social growth of young girls today. I mentioned that being a father to a little girl, there’s something magical in watching my daughter light up when she watches these movies of my youth. This person went on to “admit” that she couldn’t “understand what it's like to share Disney sex-princess gender-role-brainwashing” with her kids. And that she found it “horrifying” and saw “little that's defensible about it.” She went on to say that, “it is so incredibly harmful for girls to be socialized into gender roles where their only purpose is to be sex-princesses for the men.”

This got my blood boiling. I now felt like I was being personally attacked for my parenting choice to let my children watch Disney movies. I let Arden watch Spongebob and I’m not worried that she’s going to grow up thinking there’s a talking sponge that lives in a pineapple under the sea. But I was quick to point out that Belle, from Beauty and the Beast (Arden’s new favorite movie that I had recently watched 437 times), did not save the prince with her sexuality. She saved him with true love’s kiss. And that Beauty was in fact one of Disney’s more sophisticated love stories. We actually see the characters grow and fall in love over time. And that the story’s central message is actually “don’t judge a book by its cover.” But this person wouldn’t hear it. She just said Belle was the only Disney princess caught reading a book and she didn’t use her smarts to save the day. I disagreed. I actually thought her decisions throughout were intelligent and her “enslavement” was her choice. A sacrifice for her father. What man would do something as courageous as that? None that I know. But again, that wasn’t what the movie was about.

Look, I’ll be the first to admit that the older Disney princess films like Snow White, Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella have an obvious sexist slant to them, but they were produced during a different era, an era where women were sadly not considered equals. Does that make sexism right or okay? Of course not. But couldn’t it be argued that because women were relegated to this inferior role in society that these were really stories of hope, of dreams of a better life? Are they much different than the stories of Horatio Alger in that sense? As a guy maybe I don’t fully “get” how some women could be affected by these stories. But the stories themselves have nothing to do with the “Disney Machine” as this person referred to it. Uncle Walt only adapted these stories for the silver screen; they were around long before Steam Boat Willy was a twinkle in his eye. Either way, I think we should be able to enjoy these movies for their beauty, art and craftsmanship. Like I said before, there’s something magical watching these movies with my daughter. Movies that stirred my own imagination as a kid. Besides, when Arden plays princess, she’s never waiting for her Prince Charming and if she is it’s to boss him around.


My parents somehow missed the free-loving sixties, even though they were 25 years old when the decade ended, and I grew up in a home where my father worked twelve hours a day and my mother cooked, cleaned and looked after us kids. And even though my father didn’t know how to make toast, at no point during my youth did I ever feel that my parents weren’t equals and at no time did I ever feel that women weren’t capable of everything men could do. But that’s because my parents raised us with those beliefs so when we went out to see Snow White “saved” by a Prince’s kiss, I didn’t go home thinking that my role was to sweep some poor girl off her feet and take care of her. And my sister didn’t sit around waiting for some guy to come along and whisk her away to a better life. Well maybe she did, but that’s a different story all together. (I'm kidding, Marge!)

I don’t pretend to live in a world where sexism doesn’t still exist, but most of my generation grew up watching these movies and we turned out all right and while women may still be fighting for some respect I think we’ve come a long way. But in the end I think it comes down to if we raise our kids right then there shouldn’t be any cause for concern if we expose them to the older Disney classics or a talking sea sponge. Either way, I’m looking forward to this coming summer when Arden turns five and I get a chance to sit down and watch one of my favorite princess movies with her. Star Wars. May the force be with us.


In The Photo: My Little Princess

LEGO 9-1-1

Legos were a big part of my childhood. I spent countless hours creating blocky new worlds. I have such a fond nostalgia for those cute little rectangles that my keys now dangle from a Lego Darth Vader keychain. So a couple of years ago when I discovered that they made jumbo Legos "For Kids 1 and Up" I quickly snapped up a big tub of interlocking goodness for Arden. And now that Alex has just turned one, the three of us have been playing with them together. However, Arden's now graduated to the miniature Legos of my youth. The 4-year-old sets may be small and contained, but the pieces are still tiny and if you're trying to create the scenes on the box, you really need to be a little older than four to construct them. More like 37. So where Arden used to build these incredible fortresses with her chunky Legos, I'm now forced to build everything for her. And we know how much I like playing for my kids instead of with them.

On Saturday afternoon I built two small Lego girls and a Lego horse for Arden and she asked if we could take them out to dinner with us. I told her that the Olive Garden had a "No Lego" policy. She said I was being silly so I said I didn't want her losing the little pieces. She responded in her typical matter-of-fact tone, "Just put them in a ziplock bag." Okay, she won that battle, but I was destined to win the upcoming Lego War, which of course meant I would also lose...

After some "endless salad" and "world famous" breadsticks we headed off to Trader Joe's to do some early Thanksgiving grocery shopping. On the ride over Arden asked if she could put the window down because she was hot. I knew it was some kind of ploy, but I went along with it anyway. So Trader Joe's was on the horizon and everything seemed fine until I heard this blood-curdling scream come from the back seat. I whipped my head around to see Arden in tears, "The Lego girl blew out the window!" I said, "It blew out the window?" "Yes!" "Were you holding it out the window?" Arden suddenly got quiet, "Yes." But then she blurted out, "You have to save her, she's gonna get runned over."

We pulled into the Trader Joe's parking lot and I said to Jen, "I'll take the baby up the street in the stroller and see if I can see anything." But with it already being dark outside I knew there wasn't a chance in hell I'd find anything. And even if I did, there was no way Lego Girl would be anywhere near in tact. But off Alex and I went while Jen and Arden toured the mart.


I started walking down the darkened sidewalks of Silverlake, passing where I heard "the scream" and I couldn't see anything. I couldn't even see the sidewalk itself it was so dark so I turned around and headed back towards Trader Joe's, but then a car started down the road and I got a glimpse of a tiny yellow rectangular pair of eyes staring up at me from the middle of the street. I quickly locked the wheels on the stroller and darted out into the road and picked them up. As I was running back to the sidewalk I saw another car coming towards me, lighting up the road to reveal another goddamned piece. But I was forced to run back to the sidewalk and wait for the car to pass. When it did I ran back out into the road, scooped it up and saw yet another piece further down the road. Alex laughed from the sidewalk as she saw me running back and forth into the road, collecting little colored bricks, one at a time.

About a half-hour later I returned to the car just as Jen and Arden were approaching with the groceries. Arden saw me and didn't say anything. I think Jen prepped her for the inevitable loss of her little square friend, but then I produced three-quarters of the Lego Girl. Before Arden could respond I added, "We can fill in the rest with some extra pieces at home." I expected Arden to give me some guff, but she just wrapped her arms around me and said, "Thanks, Daddy." Another successful day at the office.

REALITY BITES

One of my favorite quotes of all time is “Between the idea and the reality…falls the shadow.” I like the author, the great American poet T.S. Eliot, so much that Alex’s middle name is Eliot. I like this particular quote because it’s apropos to so many aspects of life and one of them crept up on me this past weekend.

The in-laws were in town for Alex’s first birthday and we decided to hit the Natural History Museum because they were featuring a new “Dino Lab” and one of Arden’s many not-quite traditional female passions is dinosaurs. First off, the Dino Lab is probably one of the lamest exhibits I’ve ever seen. Especially if you’re four years old. It’s just a window into a “lab” where you get to see a real live paleontologist using a microscope and a toothbrush to remove a miniscule amount of dirt from the bone of what looks like a prehistoric pigeon.

Because dinosaurs were in the air at the museum they also had a dinosaur puppet show at the museum. And even though it was only ten minutes long, it was probably one of the best exhibits I had ever seen. A puppeteer inside a lifelike and life-size triceratops emerged from behind our host and a hush came over the crowd and not just from the kids. If I didn’t know there was a person inside I would’ve thought I was just transported into a Steven Spielberg movie.

While the triceratops approached the girls Arden turned to me and said, “That’s not a real dinosaur, is it, Daddy?” She knew that dinosaurs no longer existed, but there was still a little gleam of hope in her eyes. Hope that maybe this really was the last real dinosaur in the world. And it broke my heart to say to her, “No, sweetie, it’s just a big puppet.” She enjoyed the rest of the show. But not quite as much as if she thought it was real.

Arden’s asked me these kinds of questions before. Most recently, during Halloween, she asked if ghosts were real and witches and goblins. Each time I had to tell her “no.” Part of me wants to say “yes” and let her enjoy the fantasy of it all. She’s got a great imagination and I hate seeing it dashed by reality. And there are only so many years in your life where you can play with your dolls and toy dinosaurs and pretend you’re really walking among them. I don’t want to stifle that, but at the same time I don’t want her believing something that isn’t true. I know where you think this is heading. Christmas. But good news for Arden, I still believe in Santa so I won’t have to cast my shadow on her ideas or her reality this time.

QUOTABLE ARDEN

This past weekend was Alex’s birthday and Arden says to Jen, “Today is Alex’s birthday so she can do whatever she wants.” Jen told Arden that was very sweet of her to say. And then Arden said, “And I’m Alex’s sister, so I can do whatever I want too.”

This morning I was getting Arden ready for school and she says to me that she learned a new Spanish word. I said, “What is it?” She said, “Deese.” Now I know a fair amount of Spanish and I was pretty sure there wasn’t a word called “deese,” but Arden’s been known to mispronounce Spanish words, so I said, "Deese?" And Arden replied, “Yeah, deese. Deese is my dress. Deese is my shoe. Deese is my hand…”

F@&KING FOURS

What they don’t tell you is that the Terrible Twos don’t start when your child turns two. They start at the beginning of the second year. Meaning the 13th month. What they also don’t tell you is that the Terrible Twos are nothing compared to the “Fucking Fours.” At four they’ve got attitude. They talk back. And the meltdowns can be monumental.

A few weeks back we were out to lunch for Jen’s birthday at one of our new favorite joints called The Corner. Everything was going swimmingly until Arden asked Jen to help her color the menu picture and Jen had the audacity to use the orange crayon. Arden demanded Jen get rid of the orange. Of course there was no way to remove the crayon from the picture, at least not with a fork and knife. We explained this to Arden six ways to Sunday, but this Sunday Arden wasn’t listening to reason and just kept saying, “Get the orange off,” until she started to scream and we were forced to leave the restaurant before our meals were finished. For that one, Arden lost dessert for a week.

Not long before that we were up at Universal City Walk for a brunch with our friends Chapin & Greg and Arden ended up having the mother of all meltdowns. After a great meal at the Saddle Ranch (the location of 90 percent of movies and TV shows that require an electronic bull) I decided to treat Arden to something inside the Universal Studios store. But when she didn’t like her choices she threw a fit, screeching and crying at the top of her lungs. When Jen tried to calm her down, Arden actually punched Jen in the face. That’s when I took over. I picked her up, threw her over my shoulder and started to carry her back to the car. She continued to scream and flail and even began foaming at the mouth. Seriously. Actual foam was coming out of her mouth. All of this in front of literally thousands of staring eyes, waiting in line to enter the theme park. I was too pissed to care, but if Chapin and Greg were even remotely considering having kids, this event surely tipped the scales into the “con” category.

Before Jen and I became parents we used to see others kids having meltdowns and we would put our noses up in the air and say, “We’re never gonna have a kid like that.” Boy we’re we wrong. No amount of good parenting can prevent the Fucking Fours from creeping up on you. It just happens. But I think Arden’s been in a bad place as of late because Alex is hitting all kinds of milestones and getting all sorts of praise and attention so Arden’s jealousy and sibling rivalry is kicking back into full gear. But it’s one thing to be a little jealous and it’s another to talk back to your preschool teachers and belt another little girl in the mouth when she says she doesn’t want to play with you. Yup, my daughter is a bully.

I’ve been working on this post for a while; I had paragraphs written about how I’m at a loss over Arden’s behavior and how to fix it. How we tried every form of punishment imaginable, sans spanking. How we’ve counseled her to count to ten when she gets frustrated or tell a teacher when another kid is being mean to her. But every time I start back in on this post Arden will turn around and be the greatest kid in the world.

Not too long ago we went out and bought Jen a new car. And as anyone knows who’s bought a car, it’s not a quick process. From the test drive to the haggling to the paperwork to the actual drive off, you can be there for at least six hours. And when you live 3000 miles from your closest family member you've got no choice but to bring along the brood. But amazingly Arden was a perfect angel that day. Granted she got to go on all the test drives, but the rest of the time she just played by herself, had a few snacks and pretty much left us alone to do our business. It didn't hurt that the dealership made fresh chocolate chip cookies every hour and had a kid's playroom that was airing Nickelodeon all day, but hey, it was still six hours that she had to play pretty much by herself.


Recently Arden was going through another rough patch and we decided the week before Halloween that we were going to take away Halloween from her and that she had to earn Halloween back. And I’ll be damned, it worked. She was good all last week at school. No screaming, no talking back and counting to ten when she got frustrated. Even the teachers remarked how great she had been. Of course the morning after Halloween she got a little uppity when I ate one of her Nestle Crunch bars. But hey, she's four, I'll take uppity over a meltdown any day.


Photos: Top - Arden (at 2 1/2) after TV was taken away; Bottom - The Gang getting ready to get our treat on.

TO BE OR NOT TO BE, THAT IS THE THEORY

So there’s this renowned OB/GYN who’s touting his theory that men shouldn’t be allowed in the delivery room when their wives are giving birth. Apparently we slow things down and just make the whole process more difficult. If you’ve read my blog for a while you’ve heard about my most recent experience in the delivery room, which turned into a visit to the E.R. And when Jen was giving birth to Arden, I nearly passed out watching them stick the epidural into her spine. And yes, I recoiled in horror both times when the doctor insisted I take a gander at my child’s head popping out of my wife’s cooter. But even though I’m sure I was a pain-in-the-ass, I think men should be there. If only to truly know what your wife means when she says things like, “You try giving birth” or “You don’t know what pain is,” when you stub your toe on the coffee table and look to them for sympathy. But seriously, for me, being in the delivery room was a religious experience. There’s nothing quite like watching (for me, from my wife’s side) your baby emerging into the world and being placed in your wife’s arm. Seeing my wife’s expression when she first held both of our children made me weep. And I think having my wife know that, made all my inadequacies in the delivery room, worthwhile.

Anyway, I was turned onto this ridiculous theory by my friend and fellow blogger, Jenny, who writes a great, harried mom blog called Perfectly Disheveled (link is down today for maintenance, but do try it tomorrow!) She actually loaned her talents to talk about this theory to help launch a new website called TruuConfessions (link will take you to her blog entry there.) Check it out if you get the chance.

Photo: Me with Arden, a couple minutes after she emerged.

BABY TALK

According to dictionary.com “Baby Talk” is defined as either “the speech of children learning to talk” or “a style of speech used by adults in addressing children, pets, or sweethearts.” Don’t get me started on sweetheart baby talk, but from my experience there’s a third kind of baby talk. It’s when you talk to someone through your baby.

It’s the ultimate passive-aggressive form of communication. Jen and I do it to each other all the time. For example, yesterday was a non-nanny day, so I met Jen for lunch at the Cheesecake Factory for some salad and French fries and while Alex was gnawing on a breadstick Jen said, “Hey Alex, where’s your cup?” Of course Alex being 11 months old and not knowing a lick of English or even where the cup was, couldn’t really answer that one. But what Jen really meant was, “Hey Daddy, get Alex’s cup out of the diaper bag already.” Though usually Jen is more aggressive than passive with her baby talk when she says things to me like, “Hey Alex, tell Daddy to get off his goddamned iPod and take out the trash.” But it’s a two-way street. I do it to Jen all the time as well. Jen will be on the floor playing with Alex and I’ll notice her chewing on something of the questionable “not suitable for children under 3” size and I’ll say, “Alex, don’t eat Arden’s barrette,” which translates to, “Hey Jen, take that thing out of her mouth, would ya?”

Now I’m not one to shy away from a good confrontation, but sometimes you don’t want to offend certain people, like for example the person who’s caring for your child, so I’ve found that purposefully using this type of baby talk when addressing a babysitter or nanny can be quite useful. If I see the baby crawling under the sharp-cornered dining room table, I don’t want to be that jerk who states the obvious and says, “You know what, probably not a good idea if you let her crawl under there.” But if I phrase it like, “Alex, you know you’re not supposed to crawl under the table with all those sharp edges. Yes, you do, yes you do,” then I’m not such a douche bag. Or at least I’ve convinced myself that I’m less of a douche bag. But I started using this “technique” because one of Arden’s early nannies was great, but needed to be told the obvious and I didn’t want it to sound quite so…obvious. Basically if I didn’t say to her, “Arden, you know you’re not supposed to play with the TV. It cost over $2000 and the warranty is up,” then it would’ve become the world’s most expensive finger-painting canvas.

QUOTABLE ARDEN

Every morning I find pee in Arden's toilet and every morning I ask her why she doesn't flush. Time and time again she says that she went in the middle of the night and didn't want to wake anyone up. I've explained to her ad nauseum that her room is across the house and that nobody will hear it. But she continues to insist that she's doing it as a courtesy to us. But today I noticed that there was no toilet paper in the toilet and I asked her why she didn't wipe either. She turned to me with a straight face and said, "I'm a loud wiper."

GONE WRITING YET AGAIN

Got some juicy posts in the works, but they'll have to wait until I finish up this script. I should be back in action later this week.

-Rick

GROCERY SHOPPING

I have fond memories of my mother taking me grocery shopping with her when I was a kid. Riding in the cart. Eating fresh grapes from the vine as we toured the mart. Of course the grapes were dirty and probably covered in pesticides, but that was a simpler time and we were simpler people then. After that I don’t really remember grocery shopping again until I was about 21. Though I do have vague recollections of a few midnight runs to Stop & Shop during my high school and college years, but I wouldn’t call stocking up on Pringles and French onion dip, grocery shopping, per se.

My return to grocery shopping came when I started dating my wife. She had graduated a year before me and her college meal card didn’t seem to work in the real world and since we pretty much started living together the day we met, part of me graduated with her, which meant we couldn’t afford to have Dunkin’ Donuts Egg & Cheese Croissants for breakfast every morning. So we had to buy groceries.

I still remember that first trip down the aisles of Pathmark in Rockville Center, New York. For the first time I didn’t have to eat what my mother or the cafeteria was serving. I could pick out whatever the hell I wanted. And I did. I loaded up on Tyson chicken patties, Nilla wafers and beer. If this is what the cold real world was all about I was happy to be there and I couldn’t wait to go shopping again. This love affair with grocery shopping lasted for almost a decade, until we had kids.

It was probably a combination of trying to wrangle a toddler in the supermarket and getting older and having to shop for foods high in Omega-3 fatty acids. But as soon as Arden declared her independence and decided she wanted to walk instead of ride in the cart, shopping became babysitting for me. A babysitting obstacle course. I swear I started to think my name was “Clean up in aisle 6.”

So why not swap roles with Jen from time-to-time? Two reasons: First, one of Jen’s hobbies is cutting coupons (mine is complaining) so she knows exactly what we’re getting before we walk in the door and second, without fail, every time I try and shop without her I screw up at least one item. It doesn’t matter that she’s used the same brand of mozzarella cheese for the past fifteen years; I will undoubtedly get a different brand. So I’m relegated to the role of shopping sitter.

I’ve offered to stay home with both kids while Jen shops on the weekends, but because she doesn’t get to see the kids during the week it’s another opportunity for her to spend some time with them on the weekend. Plus shopping’s still fun for her (“I just saved $96 between my Ralphs Rewards card and my coupons!”) I’ve offered to let her take both kids with her shopping while I stay home and pretend to do something important. No dice. It's a family affair.

But seriously I don’t know how mothers through the ages have shopped alone with two kids, but I’ve vowed time-and-time again never to allow it to happen to me. The prospect just frightens the crap out of me. Of course it was inevitable that one day it would eventually happen. That day was Tuesday.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve picked up a half dozen things with both girls many times, keeping Arden in check with a cookie from the baked goods section, but on Tuesday my sister left town after a quick visit and the refrigerator was empty and if I didn’t do some real shopping Jen and I would have to subsist on cereal and ramen noodles, which we’ve done before, but Arden wouldn’t have breakfasts or lunches for the week so I bit the bullet and I hit the mart with both girls.

Since this is my life, our little adventure became an instant misadventure. It started with Alex crapping her drawers on the ride over so I had to change her in the back seat of the car in the parking lot. I was equally relieved and irritated that there was only one diaper left in the diaper bag, though not quite enough wipes. But we made it work thanks to some spare Starbucks napkins stuffed in my cup holder. On the escalator ride up to the store Arden fell and “skinned” her knee. I used the quotes because I’ll be damned if there was a single scratch on her, but she howled like she had just been knifed by O.J. Once I got her calmed down she wanted to ride inside the cart…where Alex was sitting. I was able to avert a full-blown tantrum when I found a mini cart for her to push around the store. That’s when Alex crapped her pants again. I mean really crapped her pants so I had to quickly buy some overpriced diapers and wipes and go back to the car and clean her up.

Take Two: I promised Arden her usual cookie, but of course they were out and there was no reasoning with Arden so to avert a crisis I ripped open a box of Chips Ahoy, stuffed a couple in Arden hands and then stuffed the box back on the shelf. I sped through the shopping as fast as I could until Arden insisted we take our carts down separate aisles. If I didn’t, she wouldn’t follow me. I told her we’ll race down side-by-side aisles and meet at the other end. So I rush down the aisle and there’s no Arden. She’s still at the top of the aisle. Crying. I rush down and ask what happened and she blurts out, “You left me alone!” Seriously? Is this the same kid that said she wanted to go on Space Mountain a second time just a week before? And then Alex gets that crap face again. But we’re almost done shopping so I finish up and go to the checkout lane. Of course we pick a lane where a woman is buying ten items…separately. Alex wants out of the cart so I have to one-handedly put the groceries on the conveyer belt. We eventually get home and Arden wants to help bring the groceries in. Of course all the bags are way too heavy for her so I have to take stuff out to create lighter bags for her while trying to unload the rest of the groceries with Alex still in my other arm. With sweat stains under my arms I managed to get everything on our list and put it all away. It was difficult and painful, but I deemed it a success…until Jen came home and showed me that I bought the wrong kind of salami.

QUOTABLE ARDEN

So Arden's been obsessed with cars as of late. She's memorized all the makes and models of every car we pass and is constantly asking me mechanical questions I don't have the answers to and by the time I Wiki them she's already moved onto a new topic. But a trip to the Petersen Automotive Museum is definitely in our near future.

Well today, on the way to school, Arden says to me that she no longer wants a car when she grows up, despite the fact that she had just spelled out, "Arden's BMW" with her fridge magnets. Which in itself is pretty impressive since she can't read yet. Anyway, I asked her how she plans to get anywhere and Arden replied, "I'll walk." I said, "You'll walk to school?" "Sure, it's not far." I said, "What if you wanted to go some place like the Grove (a local L.A. outdoor mall we frequent)." Arden said matter of factly, "I'll just have you drop me off."

MY TWO DADS

A couple of weeks ago when Arden was on her mini summer break and my parents were out here “helping” me with the girls for a few days, my father took Arden to the new Miyazaki film Ponyo. As they were walking out of the theatre Arden ran into two of her friends from school, Abigail and Eleanor and their fathers. The girls squealed with delight upon seeing each other and ran to a corner to discuss the movie or just squeal some more. My dad told me he had a very nice conversation with the fathers and said it’s a shame I couldn’t find a guy friend like that to take Arden to the movies with some time. It was then that I had to explain to my father that Abigail and Eleanor were twins and that the two guys were married and that Jen probably wouldn’t be too happy if I had a friend like that. ("that" being a husband.)

What was simple to explain to my father wasn’t quite as simple to convey to Arden when she asked me this morning why Abigail and Eleanor have two dads and no mommy. Personally I have no problem with people being gay. I voted “No” on Prop 8 and one of my favorite events in Los Angeles is the West Hollywood Halloween parade. But trying to explain homosexuality and gay marriage to a four year old seemed a lot more difficult than our conversation about God just the week before which ended in Arden saying, “I think I need to grow up a little more for this one.” Anyway, I started to explain that sometimes two daddies love each other instead of a mommy and daddy. She seemed to get this and then said, “So how do they have babies?” I stammered for a bit until she provided a answer for me. “I think one of them must be a seahorse because boy seahorses can have babies.” I thought about correcting her but she had already moved on to asking me why some cars have hood ornaments and some cars don’t.

IT'S NANNY TIME AGAIN

So I was officially nanny-free for over a year, but Tuesday I fell off the wagon. I hired a new part-time nanny so I could get some freakin’ work done. And I gotta tell you, man does it feel good to write during the day again instead of after literally 15 hours of baby talk and repeated viewings of Beauty and the Beast.

I’ve been writing almost non-stop since Alex was born, all at night, but as of late Alex has been getting up at the ass crack of dawn and by the time the girls go to bed at night, I’m pretty useless when it comes to doing anything other than falling asleep on the couch while watching So You Think You Can Dance. So I had to do something about it.

For my current project I’ve got someone coming four or five hours a day, Monday thru Friday. But when that finishes up our new nanny will switch to just two days a week so I can avoid do some much needed work around the house like sand and paint the decks.

But finding a nanny can be a daunting process. You’re essentially inviting a perfect stranger into your home to look after your most prized possession – your kid. So where did we find such a trustworthy individual? In Arden’s case: Craig’s List. That’s right, we found all of Arden’s nannies on Craig’s List, the same place where you can order up a transsexual “casual encounter” any time of the day. We obviously did extensive background checks on the girls we hired.

Now you’re probably wondering how many nannies did Arden need over the course of her first three years of life and the answer is: 4. Well technically it was three. One girl worked for us twice. Both times she moved out of town (and obviously back). As for the other two girls; one was more neurotic than me so I had to let her go and the other ended her adventure with us when Arden started school three days a week and because we ran out of nanny money.

But finding these three diamonds-in-the-rough wasn’t easy. Our ad said we needed someone from “10:00 AM – 2:00 PM, five days a week. Must have own transportation and speak English.” Seemed pretty specific, but we got people applying who didn’t speak a lick of English, didn’t have any transportation and could only work every other Sunday between 2:00 PM and 6:00 PM. We eventually found some potential candidates and had a handful come out to the house for interviews. Now one would think people would try and look half-decent for an interview, but you would be wrong. We had people show up in clothes with holes in them (not the intentional kind), others in half-shirts, and still others with tattoos on their faces. One girl was asked about her family and she broke down crying because her father died in Hurricane Katrina the week before.

This time around the process was ten times easier. I stumbled upon this site called care.com. It’s essentially Nanny Facebook where you have access to thousands of nanny profiles which lists their rates, their availability in the form of a nice little chart, free background checks, references information and even a picture. There’s also the all-important bio section where you get to learn useful facts about your potential caregiver like that they enjoy skydiving. Hopefully not with my child. I was actually overwhelmed with my choices so I posted an ad on their site to see who would come to me and within the first day I had 71 applicants that were interested in my quirky schedule. Obviously there were a bunch of duds. One girl posted a picture of herself holding a one year old with at least seven choking hazards in the background. We didn’t have that girl come in. And of the several we invited to be interviewed only two weren’t able to make it. One was stuck in court (I didn’t ask for what) and the other was too hung over from the night before. When she wanted to reschedule I told her we were taking things in a “new direction.” But we did end up finding quite a few solid matches, one of which stood out from the pack so I hired her within 24 hours of the interview. It’s only been three days, but so far she’s been great. Alex loves her. She hasn’t cried once. She actually got Alex down for a nap without me showing her my secret methods. I’ve got my fingers crossed that things will work out. But if they do go south, you’re bound to hear about it. But for now I gotta go write.

TOP 5 (WORST THINGS) ARDEN CAN SAY TO ME

Watch the above video first and then read my reasons below...

5. “Daddy, Will You Play With Me?”

I know what you’re saying, “That's one of the worst things your daughter can say to you?” Yes, for two reasons: First, if I say “no” then I feel like a jerk. Second, if I say “yes” I won’t be playing with Arden. I’ll be playing for her. When she asks me to color with her she means she wants me to draw a picture for her and I have zero artistic ability in that area. If she wants to get out the Play Doh, I have to roll out the dough, use the contraptions and press down the cookie cutters under her cruel dictatorship. And don’t get me started on her made-up rules for board games.

4. “Daddy, Would You Get Off The Computer?”

Obviously working out of the house I have to take some calls during the day and shoot off the occasional email, but the computer can also be a great escape for me, especially now that Arden’s older and enjoys playing by herself. However, when I find myself on Facebook and Arden comes into my office and says, “Daddy, would you get off the computer?” my heart just sinks because it’s then that I realize that maybe her enjoyment is really just in my head and that I may not be paying enough attention to her. The good news is, once I hear this, I’m usually computer-free when watching the kids for a long while. Now my iPod Touch, that’s another story.

3. “Daddy, Can I Use Your Computer?”

Letting a child play with your computer when your computer itself is your place of business, is not a good idea. In the beginning it was fine, we used to watch a lot of YouTube videos together, of shows I used to watch as a kid like Barbapapa. But then she started wanting to watch the same five-minute clips over and over again which got extremely annoying. Probably as annoying as it was for Arden when I was on the computer. But as she got older and learned to play games on the computer things got ugly. She would a) hog my computer and b) lose files. I’d leave her alone for literally a minute and things would be missing from my desktop and the printer would be shooting out full color pictures of Dora the Explorer and Swiper the Fox. This is part of the reason I bought a second computer. So she could mess around with it and not destroy my hard work. Though I have to admit; Arden’s got some mad mouse skills.

2. “I Got To Go Pee.”

Without fail Arden makes this statement every time we visit a restaurant and you know how frequently we visit restaurants. It usually happens two or three minutes after our food arrives. And I hate taking Arden to the men’s room because they’re just plain disgusting. I myself try to avoid public restrooms as much as possible. But hovering a child over a men’s toilet and trying to prevent them from touching the bowl is probably my least favorite part of parenting. And to think I used to wish she would be done with diapers.

1. “I’m Done Pooping.”

Like most people, Arden has to take a dump around the same time every day, however in Arden’s case it’s always, always during dinner. And Arden has this thing about being completely naked when she takes a crap. She says she doesn’t want to get her clothes dirty. But the truly annoying part is that I’ll be enjoying a nice dinner, something I usually slaved over for a couple of hours, only to be interrupted by, “I’m done pooping.” Now, I have stop eating, get up and walk into the bathroom where I’m greeted by Arden’s smiling anus. Every night I find her bent over, with her dirty ass pointing in my direction. I’ve tried everything to get the kid to wipe herself, but to avail. Anyway, after I clean her up I have to go back to the table and finish my dinner. And for some strange reason, it never quite tastes the same.

THE BEACH

As previously mentioned, to keep from going insane with two kids at home for two straight weeks I’ve been forced to reach into my inner depths and invent new and wonderful things for the girls to do. Okay, fine we just did regular stuff, but to my credit we did a bunch of things I hate to do like going to the park...and the beach.

I’ve already told you how much I loathe going to the park; well going to the beach for me is like the park on steroids. I actually don’t mind going to the beach, but once you add kids to the equation it’s like one of the Circles of Hell Dante forgot to write about. You’ve got to pack more gear than a cross-country plane trip, including snacks and lunches and suntan oil and changes of clothes and swim diapers. And besides the potential for sunburn, there’s the overall danger quotient. You blink your eyes for an instant and your kid is gone and your heart sinks, wondering if they’ve been swept out to sea. Of course a moment later you're hit in the head by a beach ball thrown by your kid. But the worst part of the beach is the sand. Wet, dry, it gets into every crevice on your kids' bodies and the only way to get it out is a bath, back at home, so in the meantime your car and the journey through your house to the tub is covered in grains of sand.

Fortunately for the girls, the dad in me won over my beach neurosis when I realized it was the last week of August and I live in Los Angeles and my girls haven’t seen the ocean all summer. But there was no way I would’ve gone unless my friend Sam and her kids were going too. Arden’s old enough to do her own thing at the park while I hang with Alex, but the beach is another story. I needed another set of eyes and luckily we had four sets because Sam had organized the outing with two other mothers from Arden’s preschool.

I only live 12 miles from the ocean, however Sam picked a beach about an hour and fifteen minutes up the coast. Initially I thought this was my excuse not to go, but then I realized the genius in the choice - a two-and-a-half hour round trip was two-and-a-half hours I didn’t have to entertain the kids. And the beach itself was perfect for kids – tide pools, small waves, rocks to climb on - and it being off the beaten path, it wasn’t crowded at all. I had planned to only stay an hour, but ended up staying for three.

I mostly stayed in the shade with Alex while Arden and the other kids and the moms splashed around and climbed on the rocks. But I was perfectly happy being out of the action and under an umbrella on this 100 degree day. And even though I actually had a decent time there was still my fair share of personal hells.

Trudging with all our gear and two kids through the sand was painful. But it was the trudge back that was really painful. I decided to pack up in two trips. I’d leave Arden with the other moms and carry Alex and most of my gear back to the car (I didn't want to burden the other moms with watching two extra kids.) So I took my 25 pound 10 month old to the parking lot and then back to the beach to get Arden who of course didn’t want to leave. I thought I was gonna pass out from the heat and the weight of the baby so I made some quick bribes and we were on our way to the showers near the parking lot. Arden loves outdoor showers so that was pretty easy. Alex didn’t mind them either, but when I told Arden to put on her Crocs one was missing. We looked around and realized she dropped it on the beach somewhere. So I stood Arden at the edge of the beach and had her watch me comb the sand for her shoe with “hefty” still under my arm. Fortunately I got lucky, the shoe was only a hundred yards away, but when I turned around Arden, still wet from the shower, was lying in the sand, waiting for me. So we trekked back to the showers and did the whole cleaning ritual all over again. We eventually made it back to the car, changed into some dry clothes in the middle of the parking lot and then hit the road.

In order to get Arden to leave the beach I promised her we'd hit the Malibu Starbucks which has a playground out front. But I didn't mind the stop. I had been dreaming of an iced cold soy latte ever since I passed the store on the drive up. Besides getting into a little shouting match with a New Yorker over the Boston Celtics (who I haven't followed since 1986), the stop was uneventful and the ride home was a breeze with both girls falling asleep literally seconds after I put the car into gear. When we got home we made the expected trail of sand to the bathroom. Besides our little hiccups leaving the beach, I thought the day was pretty successful...until I plopped Alex into the tub and I realized I had forgot to put suntan lotion on her back. :(

QUOTABLE ARDEN

So we’re driving in the car the other day and Arden says to me, “Someone at school said when you have a baby your privates bleed.” I was momentarily stunned. Had no idea how to respond. And then a myriad of responses popped in my head, but I opted for the truth and just sighed, “It’s true.” And then Arden said, “Then I’m not having a baby.”

Ever since Jen got a new car a couple of weeks ago Arden’s been fascinated by cars. She wants to know the make and model of every car she sees. She’s memorized the symbols and will call out the car names as we drive. "Hey Daddy, there's a Mazda!" So the other day she saw a vehicle she had never noticed before - a motor home. I told her that there’s a bed inside and people sleep inside them. Now every time she sees an RV she says, “Look, Daddy. A bed car.” Well yesterday she wanted to know more about “bed cars.” She wanted to know if there were seats inside bed cars like regular cars. I explained that there were seats, a steering wheel, but there’s also a couch and a kitchen and even a bathroom. Arden gasped and said, “Oh my gosh. I’m getting a bed car when I grow up and Rahmi and I are going to live inside there forever.”

This morning Arden asked me if I could have a baby. I explained to her that only girls can have babies. And then she said, “Unless you’re a seahorse.” I was about to correct her, but stopped myself when I remembered from somewhere (certainly not biology class since I managed to never take it) that some male species do in fact give birth to their young so before I vetoed Arden's response I decided to look it up online and lo and behold male seahorses do in fact give birth to their young. I turned to Arden and said, “You’re right. How did you know that?” (I couldn’t imagine she learned that in school or even on Sesame Street.) She just said with a straight face, “I dreamed about it last night.” I dunno if I was more freaked out by the fact that Arden had dreamt this or that she tried to bait me into giving her the wrong answer so she could correct me.

CLOUDY WITH A CHANCE OF MISADVENTURE

In my continued quest to entertain the girls while Arden’s off from school we hit up the Hollywood library yesterday. It’s new and it’s clean, which means four out of five homeless people use it as their bathroom of choice. Besides the initial waft of B.O., I was pretty impressed with what was in store for the girls. Especially since it was free and I’ve been known to spend as much as $35 for 45 minutes of Mommy & Me torture.

I had read online that they had a thirty-minute story time for kids under two and after that they were having a “Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs” story/activity session for the older kids. I was looking forward to exposing Arden to “Cloudy” because it was a favorite book of mine when I was a kid and I’m sure because of that Arden’s had no interest in letting me read it to her. But now that the movie is coming out she’s all about it. Of course the movie resembles the book almost as much as I resemble a cocker spaniel.


It was no surprise that Arden was more entertained by the baby storytime than Alex was because Alex is…a baby. And Arden knew all the books. Though Alex did perk up when the librarian whipped out a mini guitar and sang “The Grand Old Duke of York.” Every class I go to sings this song. Apparently it’s a children’s classic. One I have no recollection of from my youth. Anyway, after reading “Meatballs” the guitar came back out and everyone sang the apropos “On Top of Old Smokey” and then the kids made clouds out of marshmallows in honor of the book/movie. For glue they used marshmallow crème or Fluff where I come from. This was a good idea in theory except it was a hundred degrees in Los Angeles yesterday and those bad boys were guaranteed to melt in the car and destroy the upholstery. But it wasn’t my car’s carpet that ended up getting ruined yesterday.

Out of nowhere the “Cloudy” themed afternoon became a dance class. This inner city youth group showed up and started teaching the girls some dance moves. We learned that when you point your fingers out that’s called “naughty fingers” and when you turn them back to yourself that’s called “good fingers.” When I was a kid I was taught that turning your fingers on yourself was “naughty.” But times have changed as evidenced by the dance instructor’s choice to play Beyonce’s “Diva.” Now Arden and the other four years olds were singing along to “Diva is a female version of a hustler. A hustler. A hustler…”

The dance class seemed to last forever and Alex started to get restless so I gave her my phone to play with or rather gnaw on. And then lunch was served. That’s right they had a free lunch. A themed lunch. Spaghetti and meatballs. While the girls were eating I checked my messages on my cell phone and learned that there is no such thing as a free lunch. Apparently Alex had drizzled so much saliva into my phone that it fried the speaker and permanently clouded the display. Our free class ended up costing me $199.

FOODIE IN TRAINING

A couple of years ago comedian Howie Mandel was on the Tonight Show talking about his battle with OCD and how he didn’t realize the magnitude of his problem until he was out at a restaurant with his family and his six year old son came back from the bathroom and said proudly, “I did it!” Howie said, “You did what?” “I went to the bathroom without touching anything.” This morning I had a similar epiphany with Arden.

I always joke about how Jen and I have a restaurant addiction, however today I realized that we may actually have a problem. Today was Arden’s first day of preschool “Summer Break.” She’s off for the next two weeks while the teachers “prepare” for the new school year. Which means I’m back to trying to come up with “fun” and “interesting” things to do with the girls that won’t drive me insane in the process. Today we went to the Target Portrait Studio to get some professional pictures taken of the girls. Despite the fact that Arden woke up with a wicked cold and Alex is hoarse and has the worst case of diaper rash I’ve ever seen and I was hit by the mother of all allergy attacks, we actually had a good time and managed to get some great shots too. We celebrated by hitting up Fresh & Easy on the way home for some free samples…and to pick up a few groceries. Well when we returned home around noon I told Arden it was time for lunch and I asked her what she wanted. She said she wanted a Lunchable. So I ripped off the plastic cover, slid that pre-made goodness across the dining room table and said, “Lunch is served.” Arden looked at me like I was crazy and said, “We don’t eat lunch at home.”


Photo by Rachel Brisk

ARDEN'S PERFECT RIDE

Sorry for the recent delay in posts, I’ve actually had a bit of a social life as of late and I also finished my latest screenplay about two weeks ago. One would think that would mean I have more time to blog, but generally when I finish a script I go into a little postpartum depression – I’ve lived with this creation inside of me for several months and when I finally give birth to it there’s a day of elation and then I fall into a bit of a funk. The creative juices have been drained and I need time to recharge the batteries. There’s probably one too many metaphors in there, but you get the idea. Ironically when I am working on a project I have an overabundance of creativity and the blog has been a nice place to focus that creative energy. The good news is I’ve started to dig into a new project. But the bad news is Alex’s two one-hour naps a day have turned into one twenty-minute closing of the eyes. Let the time management begin.

I do have several half-written blog posts that I intend to finish up this weekend, but in the meantime here’s a little transcript of an actual conversation I had with Arden on Monday after Jen bought a new car this weekend. Enjoy…

Arden: You know what kind of car I’m gonna get when I grow up?
Daddy: What kind of car are you gonna get when you grow up?
Arden: A two-seater.
Daddy: Why do you want a “two-seater”?
Arden: So my children can sit up front.
Daddy: How many children are you gonna have?
Arden: Three.
Daddy: Three children aren’t going to fit up front.
Arden: Welllll, maybe I’ll just have two.
Daddy: That’s still too many to sit up front in a two-seater.
Arden: Then I’ll marry Rahmi* and he can have one.
Daddy: You’ll each have one kid?
Arden: One for each car, but we’ll live together. But not in our house. We’ll get a new house and we’ll paint every room a different color.
Daddy: That sounds nice.
Arden: My children are going to be twins.
Daddy: That’s very popular these days.
Arden: I’m gonna name the first one Joanna and the second one Joanna too.
Daddy: If they’re twins and you name them the same thing how will you know which is which?
Arden: It doesn’t matter. I’ll love them both the same…and I’ll make them wear their hair different.
Daddy: Fair enough.
Arden: And they’ll both get to sit up front in the car. The two-seater I’m gonna get when I grow up.


*Rahmi is one of Arden’s preschool friends.

DERMATOLOGY BLUES

I should’ve known when I got a space right out front that I was doomed…

As a child I don’t recall my mother ever having to go to the doctor. That’s probably because I never went with her. Well, living 3000 miles away from family and having no one to watch my kids when I’m in a pinch, I was forced to take Alex to the doctor with me today. Jen was a little uncomfortable with me unnecessarily exposing the baby to germs, but it wasn’t like I was taking the baby to an emergency triage unit for Swine Flu victims, I was taking her with me to the dermatologist to look at a sunspot on my scalp. A Beverly Hills dermatologist no less, where 90% of the clientele is there just to inject botulism into their heads. Unfortunately when I called my old dermatologist she had closed up shop so I just Googled “Dermatologist, Los Angeles” and picked one at random. Why should I care who I see, they’re only looking at my head, not performing a vasectomy. But I knew I had found the perfect doctor when all his online reviews said, “He’s fast. I was in and out in 20 minutes.” With a baby in tow, speed made this guy a Nobel Medicine prize winner to me.

So as I was saying, I found a sweet meter spot, right in front of the building. I was five minutes early, the baby had just fallen asleep and I actually had an ample amount of quarters in my ashtray for a change. Things couldn’t have gone smoother…until I got out of the car.

First, I couldn’t find the damn entrance to the building. Every suite had its own street level door and I needed to get to the second floor. I eventually found the secret entrance around back, but now Alex was awake from my vocalized “irritation” and we were now five minutes late. Once inside I did the insurance card dance with the receptionist and took a seat in the waiting room. Alex instantly wanted out of the stroller. I thought that if this guy was half as fast as his online review I didn’t want to take Alex out of the stroller because once she’s out, she ain’t going back in. So I played peak-a-boo and “this little piggy” in front of a packed waiting room audience. After fifteen minutes Alex was ready to go wee wee wee all the way home, but fortunately the nurse came to escort me to the examination room. The change of scenery kept Alex entertained for a few minutes, but then she wanted out again so I started doing all my tricks to entertain her. I gave her my watch to play with and then my hat. Eventually she was making random calls to people in Singapore on my cell phone. I was trying to hold off using my secret weapon: a simple bottle of Arrowhead water. I needed this “grand” distraction to keep Alex busy during my examination.

After 20 minutes I was starting to sweat, not because I was running out of things to keep Alex busy, but because there was no A/C in the exam room and it was an 85 degree day (some luxury Beverly Hills office.) After another 10 minutes I did run out of things for Alex to play with and I had no choice but to whip out the miracle water bottle. Alex was immediately in heaven, gnawing on that puppy, but when I looked at my watch I realized my meter was about to expire. I was about to take Alex on a mad dash outside, but when I opened the door the doctor was just coming in. He apologized for the delay, but I was like, “Let’s just get on with it, Doc.” So he checked my sunspot, whipped out the liquid nitrogen and burned that sucker right off. He then told me to hang tight while he gets me an “informational brochure” on liquid nitrogen and I said, “I’ll Google it,” and rushed out of the building only to find a meter maid writing me up a ticket and Alex once again sound asleep in her stroller. It was time for me to go home and give "Speedy" and his practice my own online review.

MY JOB

The other night I’m reading Arden a book before bed called, “I Love You All The Time.” It’s one of these “message” books that usually make me want to slit my wrists. In this one, it lets kids know that no matter where you are or how busy you are, you still love them no matter what. We had read the book a million times before, but Arden’s at that age where she’s finally questioning the world around her and that includes things she’s glossed over a million times before. Well we got to a page where the Daddy Bear, in the story, is busy at work, but he assures his little cub that Daddy’s still thinking of him all the time. I was about to turn the page until Arden stopped me and said, “Daddy, do you work?” I replied, “You mean like go to an office?” Arden said, “Yeah, like Mommy.” For a brief moment my head started to spin as the reality of the whole stay-at-home dad, role reversal thing came crashing in on me. I don’t know why it was happening now, since I’ve been living this life for quite some time, but it caught me off guard. I didn’t want to tell Arden that watching her and Alex was my “job.” Because I don’t think of it that way. But then I remembered that I did in fact work so I said, “Well I watch you and Alex during the day and then after you go to sleep I go downstairs to my office and work.” There was a nod and I figured that was the end of the conversation but then Arden looked at me again and said, “What kind of work do you do?” I laughed at the absurdity of the question coming from a four year old, but also because it just seemed so odd that I’ve known everything there is to know about this little person for the past four years and she had no idea what her dad did for a living. So I explained to her that I wrote movies and TV shows. Arden said, “Really?” I said, “Yup. I even wrote some cartoons I can show you sometime.” She said, “You wrote cartoons?” “Yup.” Arden just sat there letting this sink in for a moment. As a screenwriter you never want to describe someone as “thinking” because screenwriting is an active medium, it’s about showing and not telling, but watching Arden think about this one was priceless. You could just see the wheels turning inside her head. She eventually turned to me and said, “Can you help me write a Spongebob episode?” I laughed again and thought about how different the conversation would’ve gone if Jen was reading her the story that night and explained to her that she fired people for a living. I also got a little choked up, thinking about how I would now be able to share my passion with my daughter so I said to her, “I can absolutely help you write a Spongebob. As long as you help draw the pictures.”


Photo: Daddy's cameo in the our Spongebob script, as rendered by Arden.

FERBER BACKLASH

So I just lost a friend last week. No, no one died. I was “unfriended” by someone on Facebook. When I asked their significant other why, he told me that this person saw my status update about Ferberizing the baby and felt that this socially acceptable form of sleep training – a technique my daughter’s pediatrician recommended - was cruel and that she no longer wanted to associate with someone like me. At first I was just in shock. I couldn’t believe this person that I respected, someone who stands up for equality and human rights, someone who doesn’t just talk-the-talk, but rather walks-the-walk when it comes to making a difference, someone who fights to stop people from judging others, would end up judging me based on two witty Facebook comments. Then I got mad.

This person’s actions are essentially saying I’m a bad parent and I pride myself on being the best possible dad I can be. I may get frustrated, I may mess up from time-to-time, but I love my kids and I would never do anything that would harm them. I’ve already detailed why I decided to use the Ferber Method on Alex and I appreciate that some people would choose not to use it under any circumstances, but after being woken up every hour on the hour for two straight months, action was required. And the truth is we let Alex “cry it out” for all of two nights before she was sleeping like a champ. And the length of time she cried was shorter than the amount of time I’ve let her cry when I’ve had to take a dump and she didn’t want to cooperate. And since Ferber’s Method has been proven to have no ill effects on children other than improving their sleep habits, shunning someone for Ferberizing their child is the equivalent, to me, of a vegan refusing to be friends with someone who likes a 99-cent Big Mac on Thursdays. But I know I’m a good parent and one day my kids will know that too, so that’s all that really matters.


Please note that I'm still very good friends with this person's significant other and I hold nothing against them, so I would appreciate no bashing of his girlfriend in the comments section.

CURSED

I grew up in a house with parents who never swore. I can only recall my father saying “shit” once while I was growing up and that was in 1984 when we were stuck in traffic on the way to a Culture Club concert. As for my mother, the closest I ever heard her come to swearing was occasionally hearing her say that someone was on her “S.H. List.” To this day I’m not sure if that was an abbreviation for “Shit Head” or if she was merely spelling out the first two letters of the word shit itself and leaving the rest to the imagination.

I’m obviously from a different generation than my parents, one where cursing doesn’t bare the weight it used to. But it’s still frowned upon when you curse in front of your children. And before Jen and I had kids we cursed a lot - Jen had the mouth of a sailor and every other word out of my mouth used to be either “douche bag” or “assbag.” But once we had children all that began to change.

In the beginning, when you’ve got a little baby you can swear all you want. And even though you do, you start feel bad about it. And you start to notice when other people swear in front of your three month old. But while they’re this little you can still get away with watching the grizzly murders on CSI in the background while you play with them or checking out the latest Judd Apatow dick joke-a-palooza. When Arden was about 16 months old I thought she still fit into this category. That was until I was watching an episode of South Park where they were doing a social commentary on the “n” word. The characters were dropping “n” bombs literally every few seconds. I didn’t even think Arden was paying attention until she dropped her own “n” bomb and from that day forward she’s been on a strict diet of Sesame Street and Spongebob.

But for the most part Arden wasn’t one of those kids who heard their parents curse and then went on a “shit” rampage at church. That’s partially because we no longer swore in front of her and when we occasionally let a curse word slip, we never apologized for it, we just moved on and I think because we took this approach over the “oops” instant retraction method, the word would just fly by Arden and because of its abstract nature it had no meaning to her. But lately she’s beginning to understand what a curse word is. She may not use George Carlin’s “Seven Words You Can Never Say On Television,” but I do catch her saying “Damn it” when she’s frustrated or “Tartar Sauce” and “Barnacles.” The first one I take responsibility for, the latter two come courtesy of Spongebob.

Lately Jen and I have become a little lax in our verbiage around Arden. Mind you we’re not out-and-out cursing, but rather we’ve just been using the first letter of a given curse word in our daily conversation. For example we might say to each other, “What the F is that all about?” So I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that while we were on vacation this past weekend Jen mentioned to Arden that we might be late for the magic show at the hotel and Arden replied, “Well that F-in’ sucks.” Jen and I just turned to each other and laughed because we had seen the magician the night before and he was really good so it did F-in’ suck.

GONE WRITING AGAIN

Trying to finish an outline and a script by Friday morning and then I'm off to the mountains with the family for a quick and much needed getaway. If things go smoothly I may try and put up an entry before I leave, but most likely I should be back to my regularly scheduled blogging Monday or Tuesday.