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.