HAPPY NEW YEAR!

It’s New Year’s Eve, a night when Jen and I used to make grand plans - First Night in Boston, Gambling in Vegas, an 80’s party “hosted” by Corey Feldman. This year we’re currently celebrating with an iCarly marathon and a kid-friendly cheese plate. And once the little ones are in bed we’ll probably play a game of tag-team Donkey Kong Country Returns on the Wii and then “attempt” to watch a DVD screener of 127 Hours. I say attempt because I’ll probably pass out on the couch well before James Franco gnaws off his arm. Anyway, Arden just stole Alex’s crackers which caused Alex to start throwing a fit, “Maaa cackers! Ma cackers!” So I gave my oldest a stern, “Arrrrrrden.” And the little sass machine replied, “What? I was hungry. What are you gonna do, arrest me?”

Anyway, I apologize for the long delay between posts. It’s been a crazy six months that included a trip to Maine during one of their hottest summers on record and another trip to Hawaii with my parents and sister that ended in mass amounts of vomit. Arden also went to three different summer camps, one of which was a French immersion program that left Arden hating the French more than Middle America. We also did a complete remodel of our kitchen and bathroom...and lived in the house during the construction...while I recovered from a tonsillectomy...and Jen was away on business travelling all over the country.  

Despite all my misadventures it was also an extremely busy year for my non-blog related writing. Of course right when it started to get really busy our part-time nanny decided to head home for the summer which left me back to watching two kids all day and writing all night while scouring care.com for a new nanny in whatever spare time I could find.

With Alex starting preschool next week (WTF?) and Arden taping a guest spot for a reboot of Kids Say The Darndest Things this coming Wednesday (I know, it’s about time), it’s definitely a new year. And while I’m hoping to continue to be busy with other writing, I’m making it my New Year’s Resolution to keep on blogging. And hopefully expand on some of the above misadventures. In the meantime I leave you with our holiday card and I wish you all a Happy and Healthy New Year.


Photo by: Greg Young

QUOTABLE ARDEN

This afternoon in the car Arden says to me, "Are you proud of me when I eat all of my dinner, Daddy?" "Of course," I said. Arden replied, "Why would you be proud of me if eating dinner was something I'm just supposed to do?" 

WHEN IS YOUR CHILD READY FOR A SLEEPOVER?

Sorry for the delay between posts. I've been working on two non-blog-related projects and went on vacation and life in general got in the way. Anyway, I wrote a new piece for Parents Ask last week, but their site is in the process of a makeover and it may be a while before it actually shows up so I figured I'd just post it here now and Parents Ask can have my sloppy seconds. So without further adieu...

WHEN IS YOUR CHILD READY FOR A SLEEPOVER?

The title of this piece is really a rhetorical question. I have the answer and it’s “not 5 years old.” At least not an unsolicited sleepover. I mean if your friends are really in a bind for a babysitter and ask you to watch their kid overnight, that’s another story, but when your 5 year old asks on their on volition if their friend can sleepover, just say, “No.” But in either scenario the end result probably would’ve ended up the same for us this past weekend: a disaster of epic proportions.

About 20 months ago Arden had her first sleepover and she didn’t even know it. Jen went into labor in the middle of the night so I called up our closest couple-friends-with-kids, Craig and Erin and had Craig come over and sleep at the house while we went off to have another baby. Arden woke up that morning to find Uncle Craig there, waiting to give her breakfast and a ride to preschool. That night Arden slept at Craig and Erin’s house and got to have her first “official” sleepover with her “best friend and worst enemy” Franny. According to Craig and Erin, Arden was a complete angel (who somehow ended up sleeping with Craig and Erin). I find it hard to believe the “angel” part, but Craig and Erin are too nice to say otherwise. So for the past 20 months the girls have been impatiently waiting for a sleepover reunion…at our house.

We’ve managed to come up with 20 months of excuses for it not to happen, “Franny’s got church in the morning…You’re catching a cold and you don’t want to spread it…Franny needs it to be pitch black in order to sleep.” (Yes, we’re simultaneously staving off a sleepover and creating a neurotic child.) Anyway, I finally gave in on Saturday. We were having Craig and Erin and the kids over for pizza and beer that night so I said, “Why doesn’t Franny sleep over?”

As I just mentioned, Franny and Arden are each other’s best friend and worst enemy. They love each other, get excited to see each other, but when they finally meet, they fight like cats and dogs. So essentially they’re like sisters. In fact they’re only a week apart (we actually planned to get pregnant at the same time as Craig and Erin and it worked out). But the two girls have completely different personalities. Arden’s on the bossy side. Okay, she IS the bossy side. And Franny is, let’s just say, sensitive. If Arden wants to play “kitchen” and Franny doesn’t Arden will scrunch her face and bitch to us that Franny isn’t being nice and upon hearing this Franny will flop to the floor with overdramatic fake tears until someone resolves the issue. Now if Franny wants to, say watch iCarly, and Arden doesn’t, Franny will just stand there like a rock while Arden gets all up in her grill, reading her her Playskool Miranda Rights. This may lead to a little shoving which can sometimes lead to flops to the ground and overdramatic teardom.

During Pizza Time, things were no different. We had to settle at least a dozen disputes, often with the threat of cancelling the sleepover, but unbelievably, no matter how pissed each girl was at the other, they both pleaded with us to not call off the sleepover. We theorized that once Craig and Erin left the girls would calm down because there was no one to run and tattle to. But we were wrong. We set the girls up on the pull out couch in my office downstairs. We put on a movie and gave them some popcorn, but they fought over the snacks, the bedcovers, who kicked who under the sheets, who had more stuffed animals, etc. And when they weren’t bickering they were coming up with new excuses not to go to sleep. Arden: “I need my night light.” Franny, “I need a night light too.”  Me, “I need a gun.”

We eventually got the girls down around 11:00 PM after 16 trips to the bathroom and Jen pretending to sleep in between them. By that point it was too late to watch the movie we rented so we just took some Advil and went to bed…until 6:00 AM.

I figured with the girls up so late that they would sleep in. Nope. The whole house was up at 6:00 AM. Including my “Sunday is the only day I get to sleep late” wife. When I offered the girls each a box of those individually packed Kellogg’s cereals there was immediate competition, “I want Frosted Flakes.” “I want Frosted Flakes too.” Me: “There’s only one box.” “Okay, I’ll have Fruit Loops.” “I want Fruit Loops too.” So Jen and I said, “Screw it, we’re going out for pancakes.” We thought the change of venue would loosen things up and kill some time before dropping off Franny. But the antics continued at the restaurant when Franny had the audacity to use the red crayon that Arden had just finished using. So Arden throws a fit and says, “Franny took my crayon” and Franny says, “No I didn’t” and Arden says Franny isn’t being nice so Franny drops to the restaurant floor and starts crying. Jen had had it at that point and said, “Arden, stop being mean. Franny stop being so overdramatic” and broke the crayon in two and gave them each half. Both girls looked at their red crayons, then each other and nodded. We had finally reached a peace accord. From that point on everything was hunky dory. The girls colored quietly, ate their pancakes, drank their orange juices. And then it was time to pay. And both girls wanted to bring the check up to the counter. I’d like to say they decided to go up together and pay the bill as a team. But then I’d be lying. Let’s just say there won’t be any sleepovers at our house any time soon.

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY?

So that greeting card-inspired holiday known as Father’s Day is almost upon us. The holiday where school kids of my generation made their fathers ceramic ashtrays or gave them paisley neckties. Today kids get their fathers PSP and Xbox games (“Just in case dad wants to play with me”) or a DVD of some movie from their youth like “Highlander” or “Caddyshack” that can be found in the $5 bin at Best Buy. While I could watch both of those movies a thousand times it just plain hurts that they’re now considered “classics,” not because they’re timeless, which they are to me, but because they’re old.

Anyway, I was watching an episode of ABC’s “The Middle” the other day, the show where Patricia Heaton plays a Middle American mother, who’s a bit too old to be playing a Middle American mother, and the episode was about Mother’s Day and how Mother’s Day always sucks for her because even though her kids are “attempting” to be nice, she’s still forced to pick up after them and do all the same things she normally does on any other given day. But with the expectations of it being “Mother’s Day” it sucked all the more. But of course by the end of the episode, after her really crappy day, she realized that her family means more to her than a made up holiday.

Being a stay-at-home dad, I pretty much feel the same way about weekends at my house. I watch the kids all week long. I get up at the ass-crack of dawn with the girls, fix them breakfast, make Arden her lunch and then take Arden to school. Then I hang out with Alex for the rest of the day unless it’s a nanny-day and then I get a four-hour reprieve to run errands and do a little writing. And then when everyone’s asleep I do a lot more writing. So when the weekend rolls around I have this unreal expectation that it will be like before Jen and I had kids. Just lounging around the living room all day watching VH1 and maybe doing a little writing before Jen gets up at noon. But now that we have kids the weekends consist of me waking up at the ass-crack of dawn, fixing the girls breakfast and “attempting” to keep them quiet until Jen wakes up. And then I pretty much end up watching them the rest of the day while Jen does all the chores around the house that I’ve neglected due to my laziness and inability to multitask. But the highlight of my weekend is going out to lunch as a family and having someone else actually serve me.

Father’s Day will probably be pretty much the same thing. Though it usually includes a gift certificate to one of my favorite stores and Jen will attempt to let me sleep late, but my body is now programmed to wake up at the ass-crack of dawn (I think that’s actually what my clock says) so it’s a sweet, yet futile gesture. She’ll usually let me write as much as I want, but after an hour or so I’ll feel guilty leaving her with the kids and head upstairs. Then we’ll all go out to lunch at one of our usual spots and there you have it, Father’s Day. So this made me think of what my fantasy Father’ Day would entail…

I wake up early.  The kids are still asleep. I fix myself a bowl of cereal, take it down to my office and surf the net for a good hour. Jen gets up with the girls, cooks me a surprise second breakfast of whole wheat pancakes and egg beaters (yes, my fantasy still includes the healthy alternatives since they’re so ingrained in my head) and then she’ll hand me a brand new iPad with a ribbon around it. Then I spend the rest of the morning playing with my new toy and before I know it it’s time for lunch and we head out to an all-you-can-stand buffet. I eat myself sick, but because this is a fantasy, I don’t get sick, I leave pleasantly full. We get home and the nanny is waiting at the door. Why? Because we’ve got tickets to game 7 of the Lakers/Celtics game and the limo will be there in twenty minutes. I kiss the kids goodbye and we head off to the game where we eat a bunch of hotdogs and hot wings and chug a few beers, all with no heartburn after effects. About half way through the event I realize that the guy in the luxury box with us who looks like Harrison Ford is actually Harrison Ford and we end up talking, hitting it off and he offers to fly us home in his private jet. Now that would be a great Father’s Day.

A close second would probably be Jen offering to let me sleep late, seeing what kind of gift Arden made me in school and heading out to a lunch with the family at the Olive Garden.


Originally posted on Parents Ask on June 16, 2010

LEGGING GO

About five weeks ago Arden broke her leg. She was having a tantrum, flailing about and fell on her foot the wrong way.  At first we thought she was faking when she said her leg hurt, but then she said she just wanted to go to bed. It wasn’t quite 6:00 PM.

A day of hospitals and doctors appointments later she had a full leg cast and a prescription for a child walker and wheelchair.  Jen and I were beside ourselves. We had a depressed 4-year-old on our hands and we were overwhelmed by the prospect of having to care for a virtually incapacitated pre-schooler in addition to our 18-month old menace. Arden couldn’t even take off her own clothes anymore let alone go to the bathroom by herself. I was carrying her in there 15 times a day. Who knew she peed so much?

When I called Arden’s pre-school to ask if they could make accommodations for Arden the school director initially balked at the idea. That was until I started throwing around terms like “illegal” and “law suit.” We eventually agreed upon a late arrival for Arden (because the kids go upstairs for a morning assembly before coming back down to the classrooms and the director didn’t want her teachers carrying Arden up and down the stairs – reasonable) and an early departure (because as I just mentioned going to the bathroom for Arden was a time-consuming ordeal and her teacher leaves at 4:00 PM so there wouldn’t be enough aftercare workers to take Arden on her bathroom sabbaticals.)

We initially tried to get Arden to use the walker, but thanks to a completely inept physical therapist who tried to train her like a dog, Arden wanted nothing to do with the thing. So we decided to get her a wheelchair, which freaked her out at first, until she tried it. Then she was suddenly liberated. She could wheel around the house and was no longer (completely) dependent upon us. But she was still afraid to go to school. But when she arrived back, that first day, the kids swarmed her. She was now the center of attention. She was the cool kid with a pink cast that they all got to sign. Arden was a 4-year-old rock star.

Amazingly, five weeks in, Arden has remained in the spotlight at school. She gets extra attention from the teachers and the kids make accommodations to hang out with her (“let’s not play on the top of the hill because Arden can’t come up here.”) Arden’s having such a great time she’s actually dreading the ultimate removal of her cast. But I have to admit that after the first few days of taking care of our cast-bound little girl, things weren’t half as bad as we initially thought. In fact, Arden’s overall attitude has changed at home too. She hasn’t had a single tantrum since the incident. It probably doesn’t hurt that every time she starts down the unreasonable/meltdown path we say to her, “Remember what happened the last time you had a tantrum?” And she always hangs her head and says, “I broke my leg.”

About a week and half ago Arden got a shiny new green half-cast. One that she could walk on. At first, like all things, Arden didn’t want to walk. She didn’t want to give up “the chair.” But her doctor said to me, “Just bribe her with a nice toy and she’ll walk.” And just like she said, after we gave Arden a Snow White doll, she was on her feet, cruising along the furniture like a toddler. A day later she was using the walker. Of course she found it more comfortable to put all the pressure on the broken leg instead of the good one, but that’s neither here nor there. Anyway, as of last night Arden started hobbling around the house walker-free, after which she turned to Jen and said, “I finally have my life back.” And she does. We all do.  

 

THE PASSING OF A GREAT GRANDPARENT

On Sunday evening my grandfather passed away.  He was 92 years old. He died from complications due to emphysema. He actually quit smoking, cold turkey, fifty years ago after reading a Reader's Digest letter from a little girl to her mother, begging her to stop smoking so that her mother would always be there for her.

My grandfather was a fighter and he left us on his own terms. He had been suffering for several months and finally decided it was time to let go. So on Sunday morning, with most of his children and grandchildren at his bedside, and the rest of us on the phone, they removed the tubes from his throat so he could say goodbye to everyone. Knowing that it would probably be his last day he asked for his last meal - a "Boston" hotdog and some Crown Royal to wash it down with. He held hands and kissed his wife of 69 years and said goodbye to everyone and then he put on the Red Sox and fell asleep and he was gone.

At the funeral yesterday my father called him "the hero of our family" and he really was. He taught us all how to be better people. How to be better parents. And that's why I'm using this forum to share with you my thoughts on my grandfather. The thoughts I shared at his funeral yesterday...

I can’t really recall the first time I met my grandfather, but I do recall him always being a presence in my life.  I remember visiting him at his plumbing shop. I remember his Crown Royals at Oakley Country Club and I remember going to Red Sox games with my father, my grandfather and my great grandfather. I remember taking a solo trip down to Florida when I was eight and going to Lion Country Safari and being terrified as we posed for a picture together with a real lion cub. I still have that picture. And it still makes me smile. I also remember stealing peeks at his Playboy collection and maybe stealing one or two of the actual magazines as well.  

It wasn’t until only a couple of years ago when I went down to Florida to see my grandparents that I really got to know him as a person. Even though I was probably 34 or 35 at the time he had always just been “my grandpa,” the great guy who you could do no wrong in his eyes and who would buy you dinner and laugh at your jokes and do whatever I wanted to do. But this time I was a father and we spoke about life. And not just mine. We also talked about his life. I learned things I never knew about him before. Things I never asked about, like his time on the U.S.S. Missouri. And because of my interest he gave me a U.S.S. Missouri hat as a gift this year that I will treasure forever.

My grandfather was from a generation where men were men and they didn’t show too much affection or emotion. And for a while I thought maybe this is where I got that trait from. People who know me know I’m not really a hugger. But about a half dozen years ago my mother pulled me aside and said my grandfather asked her why I never kissed or hugged him or never said, “I love you.” I didn’t have an answer. I just wasn’t the hugging and kissing type of guy. But the next time I saw him I gave him a kiss and a hug. And he didn’t let go right away. And it was then that I realized I was wrong. He was the affectionate and emotional type. It was also then that I realized how much this really meant to him. And every time I saw him after that I gave him a hug and a kiss and every time I spoke to him on the phone I made a point of saying, “I love you.”  And every time I did it, I understood exactly how much it meant to him. And this is probably why I’m proud to say I’m a hugger now, okay maybe a better hugger than I used to be. But I know this is why I always tell my kids how much they mean to me. And why I always insist on a hug and kiss before I walk out the door. And that’s a gift I got from my grandfather.

I don’t recall when I met my grandfather, but he’s always been a presence in my life. And he always will be.  

Pictured: Me, the girls, my father and my grandfather, last June. 

STILL ON HIATUS

Sorry for the lack of posts as of late. I'm about to finish up one project and jump into the next and while this has all been going on Arden broke her leg and now has a full leg cast. Poor kid. And poor Dad. My back is killing me carrying her to the bathroom every fifteen minutes. The kid had a bladder like a camel before the accident and now she has to pee seventeen times a day. The bright side is that thanks to Arden I now have a handy dandy handicap placard hanging from my rearview mirror and for the next three months I can not only park in conveniently placed handicap spaces I can also park at any meter without paying, any green zone for any amount of time I want and I can also park in resident permit areas without restriction. Of course Arden has to be with me. But when isn't she? Anyway, I've got a LOT of stuff to share with you guys when I get back, which will hopefully be very soon. In the meantime, every Wednesday you can find some classic "I Peed On My Kid!" up on Parents Ask.

GONE WRITING

Busy working on a project. Will be back soon with updates on the hell of trying to get your kids into a decent public school in Los Angeles and how Alex now calls me, "Mama."

QUOTABLE ARDEN

So yesterday was the first really nice day we’ve had in a while so while Jen cooked an awesome turkey dinner with all the fixin’s inside, the girls and I decided to play “outside.” And by outside I mean our back deck since we don’t have a yard. So I hooked up the iPod and speakers and blasted some Disney classics for the girls while Arden set up her table and chairs to do some coloring in the sun (her suggestion). Meanwhile I kid-proofed the deck and by kid-proof I mean I moved some chairs in front of the stairs so Alex wouldn’t tumble down them. Anyway, the girls seemed to be having a good time. Alex was wandering about with the hot tub net trying to catch the air, Arden was coloring and I was blowing bubbles, which seemed to be only for my own amusement when Arden said, “You know you’re not out here just to entertain us.” I said, “I’m not?” And Arden said, “No. You can participate too,” and she handed me a piece of paper and a marker.

NO BABY FOOD ALLOWED

A few weeks ago we had an old high school friend of Jen’s staying with us for a couple of days who happened to be a Buddhist so we needed to pick vegetarian and vegan restaurants to hit while he was in town. With me being lactose intolerant I don’t mind vegan fare so we picked a supposedly fancy vegan place in Santa Monica. However, it took us forever to get down there and Alex was super cranky. And it didn’t help that we couldn’t find a parking space so I dropped everyone off while Alex and I headed off in search of an overpriced garage somewhere. When we finally made our way back to the restaurant there were two entrances to the joint. And I still have no idea why. But to make matters worse, both places had their dining rooms upstairs and didn’t have an elevator. Normally this is no big deal for me but Alex had just fallen asleep in the stroller and I really didn’t want to wake up cranky pants, especially not just to run upstairs and see if I was in the right place, so I asked the hostess to check for me. But apparently she was sporting some cranky pants or a cranky thong, of her own, and refused to help me. So I called Jen on her cell to find out which restaurant she was in and Jen having zero sense of direction told me the wrong one so I unstrapped Alex, woke her up and carried her flailing body up the stairs to find no Jen. The day was not going well, and it just kept going in that direction.

Right as I arrived at the table, Jen was pulling out some snacks for the girls and a snooty waitress came by and said, “We don’t allow outside food or drinks in this establishment.” “Not even baby food?” “I’m sorry, no.” And of course they didn’t have a children’s menu. But they did have highchairs. Between the long journey down, the cranky baby and the overall attitude of the restaurant, Jen was fed up so we left Jen’s friend there (he had another long lost friend meeting us there to keep him company) and went on the prowl for some real food. We ended up at a California Pizza Kitchen and we were all very happy. Jen and I split some Sonora Spring Rolls and the girls got to eat their snacks in peace. But this whole experience made me think of my own Parents Ask question: When are your kids too old to bring a lunch? When is it time for them to start ordering off of the kid’s menu?

Even though I was pissed at the vegan suck-fest it occurred to me that Arden, being almost 5, is way too old to be bringing peanut butter sandwiches and lunchables to the Olive Garden. But at the same time whenever we order her something at a restaurant she eats maybe one or two bites at best which means I just threw away seven bucks. I’m also starting to get embarrassed walking into a restaurant with four people and only ordering two meals. So I’m at a bit of a dining crossroads at the moment…excect maybe when we go to IHOP on a “Kid’s Eat Free” night. Then I don’t mind bringing the girls their snacks and ordering something on the menu. But it’s usually something like extra bacon that Jen and I will enjoy if the no one else wants to partake. Anyway, I’d love to know what other people are doing and when they think the sack lunch shut-off should be.


Originally posted on Parents Ask on 4/14/10

JEALOUSY

Early in my wife’s second pregnancy we made a mistake. We started telling our then 3-year-old daughter, Arden, that “Mommy is too tired to play with you tonight” or “Mommy can’t do that right now.” Granted Jen was having a tough pregnancy – her hormones were so low in the beginning that the ob/gyn said, “Don’t tell anyone you’re having a baby quite yet.” But when you’re 3-years-old the only thing you’re hearing is the voice inside your head saying, “Why did I ask for a baby for Christmas?”

It didn’t take us long to see the resentment growing in Arden so we quickly changed our tune to, “Daddy really wants to play with you tonight,” and “Daddy wants to take you to the movies.” Basically any time Jen couldn’t do something Arden got spoiled rotten. But no matter how many trips you take to Yogurt Land and no matter how many sugary breakfast cereals you put on top, the jealousy is eventually going to rear its ugly head.

For Arden the jealousy really started to show about two weeks after Alex was born. Arden started acting out in school. She would have massive meltdowns, she would talk back to her teachers, she would hit other preschoolers and there were one or two biting incidents. But when she was home she was a perfect angel. And when she was around the baby she glowed. She was genuinely excited to see her. Wanted to caress her and hold her.  Unfortunately Arden’s jealousy had caused her to get some kind of rash on her legs and arms so she wasn’t allowed to touch the baby for a while, which we could see frustrated her to no end.  But it was because she loved her new baby sister and it showed.

Arden’s jealousy lasted for several months, developing into a bit of an anger problem.  I had to teach her to count to ten whenever she started to get mad.  It worked to some extent, but she would still lash out at school from time to time. But eventually her jealousy phase passed (the anger we’re still working on)…until last week.

Our late bloomer Alex is finally starting to blossom, just days shy of turning 17 months.  You tell her it’s time to go and she’ll grab her shoes and try and put them on (and by “try” I mean she’ll bang them against her shins) or when I tell her it’s time for a bath she’ll hightail it to the bathroom and try and climb in (and by “try” I mean she’ll lean so far over the edge of the tub she’d fall in ass-over-teakettle if I didn’t catch her) and she’s finally trying to sound out some words (and by “try” I mean we’re making ourselves believe that “ba” means book.)  In other words, Alex is starting to get a lot of praise and a bit more of our attention and Arden is jealous again. Only this time it’s ten times worse than before….

This past weekend any toy that Alex picked up, Arden would immediately snatch out of her hands and say, “I was going to play with that.” It could be a teething ring and she’d want it. Arden could be talking about having ice cream for dessert all day, but if Alex had a Popsicle for dessert, Arden now wanted a Popsicle for dessert. On Sunday I decided to give the girls an afternoon bath and I put one of Arden’s old Spongebob shirts on Alex to use as basically a bib for dinner, but suddenly Arden, who had abandoned all things Spongebob long ago, wanted to wear that specific shirt and she was determined to get it. She tried to rip it off of Alex. When I stopped her she had a meltdown until Jen remembered she had an old Spongebob shirt of her own that Arden could wear. Arden was excited…for about a minute until she remembered Alex was wearing her shirt and she tried to yank it off Alex again. That night only Alex got a Popsicle.

The jealousy came in waves throughout the day, but the crest of that wave had to be Jen herself. If Alex was sitting on Jen’s lap Arden had to muscle her way in. She’d even go so far as to “accidentally” shove Alex off of Jen’s lap. If Jen was sitting on the recliner with Alex, Arden would climb right up there with them. If Jen was lying on the floor with Alex, Arden would roll Alex away and lie down next to Jen. It was like some kind of primal sibling rivalry. Arden could not allow Alex to have any physical contact with her mother. And even though I know Arden’s behavior is just another phase, the jealousy is not. We all know it’s something that many of us carry throughout our lives. But what really scares me is that Alex seems to be taking after her big sister. Last night Alex saw Arden sitting on Jen’s lap and started screaming like a freakin’ banshee. She rushed over to Arden and started pushing her and hitting her and trying to get her off her mother. And all Arden could do is laugh. And all I could do is wonder about the fun-filled years to come.


Originally posted on ParentsAsk on 4/7/10

QUOTABLE ARDEN

I’ve mentioned before how Jen won the Great Dishwashing War and how by default it’s been my job to bathe the kids while she gets some Palmolive Therapy. Usually if Jen and I have a date night or if I have a Guy’s Night Out we skip the bathing ritual. Well last week I was going out for burgers and beers with some friends and we had skipped the bath the night before so it had to be done so I said to Arden, “Mommy’s going to give you your bath tonight,” and Arden said, “Does she know how?”

While we’re on the topic of baths, on Saturday morning I decided to give the girl their baths in the morning because we were going out that night and wouldn’t have time to do it later. Arden said to me, “Can we have a bubble bath this morning?” I said, “Sure.” Arden’s eyes widened in complete and utter disbelief as she turned to Jen and said, “Daddy said ‘yes’ right away!” Apparently I’m hard sell and I didn’t even know it.

WHEN GRANDPARENTS ATTACK!

The title of this post isn’t necessarily about how on my father’s watch this past weekend the baby skinned her knee and another time landed on her face with a bloody splat, but rather about how when your parents live on the other side of the country and they come for a visit, it’s an event, of Woodstock proportions. Only without the music and drugs.

I love my parents and my in-laws but when either comes for a visit it’s all encompassing. They both stay with us and neither rents a car, not that it’s needed, since we tend to spend… Every. Last. Minute. Together. Sure we have fun – this past weekend we hit the Huntington Library where we saw early drafts of the Declaration of Independence and the girls got to splash around in some fountains in their botanical gardens. We also toured the Grammy Museum where we got to see a sweat-stained shirt worn by Neil Diamond and the girls got to dance on the lighted floor from Michael Jackson’s Billie Jean video – but still the 24/7 thing can be trying, especially when there’s kids involved.

Even before we had kids I was never a fan of having people stay over the house, even for a single night. If a friend had been drinking too much I started plying them with coffee early and offered to pay for a cab ride home. If that didn’t work, I just muscled them into the car and drove them home which ultimately backfired one night when I was driving home a drunk friend and we passed a police checkpoint and he mouthed, “F.U. Pig” to one of the cops while toasting him with a red plastic cup filled with Grey Goose.

Anyway, the reason I’m not the biggest fan of people staying at the house is because I’m a morning person and a creature habit. I like to get up early, head down to my office and write. And I do the same thing after Jen and the girls go to bed. But when we have visitors, of the grandparent variety or any kind for that matter, my office becomes the guest room. And I’m sure the last thing people want to do is roll over in the middle of the night and see me typing away to the light of a computer screen. So my writing ceases when we have guests staying over, which dooms me to snacks and reality TV upstairs.

Usually when we have friends staying with us from out of town they have other people to see and other things to do that don’t involve all of us, but when they do, and there’s kids involved, things get complicated. The kids get fussy when “the plans” don’t jibe with feeding and nap schedules and they’re usually not that excited about visiting the “Psychiatry: An Industry of Death Museum.” At least with the grandparents they don’t mind working around the kids’ schedules and are happy to have the day’s big event be a trip to the park. But the trade off is you don’t get the built-in breaks that you get from friends. Granted the folks might babysit the kids one night, but we’re usually too tired to really enjoy it from all the running around we’ve been doing all day. This past visit Jen and I decided to leave the kids with my parents on Sunday afternoon while we grocery shopped in peace. It was the first time we had been grocery shopping together, sans kids, in five years and it was probably the best date we’d had in months. Which is pretty damn sad.

Another problem that Jen and I both have is that we feel obligated to entertain our parents 24/7. We need to have something planned every minute of every day while our parents are in town. Daytrips, tourist attractions and even restaurants are picked out in advance. If things go as planned, which they rarely do, we’re kinda happy, but we’re still wondering if our parents are enjoying themselves. But more often than not, when things don’t go as planned we both get stressed out and take it out on each other and sometimes our parents. I know what you’re saying, don’t plan anything; go with the flow. But that doesn’t work either because we find ourselves equally as stressed trying to figure out what our parents want to do and their pat answer of “Whatever you want to do,” makes us want to pull all the hair out of our heads. Or what’s left, in my case. So ultimately by the time we wave goodbye to our parents at the airport we’re completely exhausted, like we’ve just been to a weekend rock festival in the middle of nowhere, sans the drugs and music. Okay, maybe there is music, but it’s usually from the golden oldies station in the car.




Originally posted on Parents Ask on 3/24/10

THE NEW DAD EXCUSE?

Last week on the website Momversation (say that ten times fast) there was a video discussion about the “New Mom Excuse,” prompted by Parents Ask Managing Editor Jennifer Brandt.  Basically she was wondering how long moms could get away with the excuse of being a new mom when it came to not losing the pregnancy weight, not going to the gym, not caring that their wardrobe now consisted entirely of sweats or that moms were using baby food as hair conditioner. The panelists realized that their kids were now one, two and even three years old and they’re still using the “New Mom Excuse” for just about everything under the sun. This started me thinking, is there a “New Dad Excuse?” And the answer is no. There’s just “The Dad Excuse.” 

I touched on this to some extent in my piece on Flirting a couple weeks ago. How when I go into a Starbucks to grab a latte with the baby I’ll have three hot women quickly get the door for me while they let it slam shut in the face of the mother of two right behind me. Or how notoriously unfriendly flight attendants who sneer at moms entering a plane with children will go out of their way to help the “struggling” solo flying dad. Part of the reason this happens is because of “The Dad Excuse.” People just don’t think dads can do what moms have done for millennia. So essentially we get a pass. And when I do something completely normal, something that moms do on a daily basis, like picking my daughter up at school I’m dubbed “Super Dad” by the other moms because they don’t expect me to be able to do what they do. 

But, like the moms on Momversation, I take full advantage of “The Dad Excuse.” I often dress like a bum (though I was never that snappy of a dresser to begin with), I won’t shave for a couple of weeks, I’ll eat like crap, and up until recently the elliptical machine in my office went untouched for five years. But even though Arden is only four-and-a-half, I don’t think there’s a time limit on the “The Dad Excuse.” I think I’ll get that pass for all my shortcomings until the day I ship the girls off to college. Except from my wife.

Sure, I try and use “The Dad Excuse” at home (see my piece on why men can’t multitask), but my wife isn’t buying it. If she can do laundry and wash a few dishes while watching the girls, I should be able to do that too. And I try. “Try” being the operative word. I don’t always succeed. This actually causes Jen to get so irritated at me that she ends up cleaning the bathrooms and doing a lot of the housework I neglect. So maybe “The Dad Excuse” does work for me at home. :)


Originally posted on Parents Ask on 3/17/10.

QUOTABLE ARDEN

This past weekend we were in the car a lot. We had two kid’s birthday parties to attend to. We took a trip down to Irvine to see my cousins. And we also hit the outlet mall in the City of Commerce (where I scored a sweet new pair of jeans from Banana Republic.) So while we were between stops, driving all over the city, Arden says to me, “Let me know if you see any pink cars.” I said, “There’s not a lot of pink cars out there, sweetie.” And her response was, “Then keep your eyes peeled.”

As you know Arden is obsessed with princesses these days, especially those of the Disney variety. And in her effort to be a princess herself she’s asked us to teach her French because “French is fancy” and princesses are fancy. I don’t speak French. I took a C.I.A.-designed quickie course before a trip to Paris in 2003 and I remember very little. Jen’s actually pretty fluent, enough to feed Arden a new word or phrase a day. We’re actually sending Arden to a French immersion camp this summer for a couple of weeks. She couldn’t be happier. Anyway, tonight at dinner Arden said, “You forgot to teach me a French word today.” Jen said, “It’s not too late. What do you want to say?” Arden said, “I want to say Cheez-Its in French.” Jen and I looked at each other and laughed. I said, “Cheez-Its are a brand name. So there’s not really word for it.” Arden said, “What about Fromage-Its?”  Touché.  

IT AIN'T NO PICNIC

Last Thursday afternoon I discovered that the very next day was going to be a Music Festival at Arden’s preschool (a.k.a. one of the kid’s dad’s grunge band would be playing a couple of songs) and that families were invited to have a picnic lunch with their kids after the “show”. Apparently I missed two prior emails on the matter, or maybe I just subconsciously ignored them. Either way I wasn’t winning Dad of the Year for not knowing/remembering about this epic event. But the school wasn’t winning any awards in my book either for scheduling a picnic in the middle of a full day of school. It’s one thing to schedule these things on a half-day (and God knows they have enough of those there) when you have to bring your kids home after the event, but when the kids are this young and you’re supposed to go there, eat lunch and then abandon them again it’s not only disruptive, but it’s also traumatic for some of the kids, especially when some of the kids do get to go home. Arden wasn’t one of them.

Sure she pleaded and begged to come home, but I could tell Alex was due for a mammoth nap and I wasn’t gonna miss out on that, plus the school has so many days off between “holidays” (like Flag Day) and bullshit “in service” days that I pay for, I was determined to get my monies worth. Though I have to admit that Arden’s pleas did start to thaw my cold heart but fortunately her teacher convinced her to stay so I didn’t have to feel too bad about my decision.

Anyway, after my “discovery” the day before, I asked Arden about the picnic and she said in her politest voice, “Daddy, would you and Alex like to join me for lunch at school tomorrow?” No. But of course this melted my heart and I said, “Of course.” And then Arden went up to Jen and said, “Maybe if I ever have school on a weekend you can come too, Mommy.” Jen turned to me and said, “Okay, there’s no way on earth I’m missing this thing.”

BRAVE NUDE WORLD

So this past weekend was my friend Jess’ “29 Again” birthday and she organized a little dinner, at one of L.A.’s hip and trendy bistros, so she could celebrate with some friends. Amazingly we were able to get a babysitter (for the L.A. “bargain” rate of $15/hr). It turned out the five-and-a-half couples were all parents of young children. The half was because one of the couples had a “new” baby (read: seven months) that they weren’t comfortable leaving with a babysitter quite yet so Daddy filled in while Mommy could let loose. (Wait until they have another kid. They’ll be leaving that one with a 12-year-old neighbor by Day Two.) So of course we had all escaped our kids (except one couple that brought their 3-month-old) and the only thing we could talk about was…our kids. It was ridiculous, everyone was whipping out their iPhones to show each other pictures of their little rug rats. I of course was forced to join in because, well, I have the cutest kids on the planet. And I’ll cut you if you say otherwise.

There must have been something in the air because the conversation quickly turned into a debate on when one should stop being naked in front of their kids and just last week here on Parents Ask there was an article entitled “When Should I Stop Walking Around the House Naked in Front of My Kids?” For Jess it was last week when her almost-two-year-old son caught her getting out of the shower and stared a little too long at her breasts. This pretty much echoed what the expert in the article said, which was essentially that the answer is different for everyone, but generally when you and your child start to get uncomfortable with the whole “in the buff” thing, that’s a pretty good indication that you should start zipping it up. However, for me, when to stop walking around the house naked was a decision I made well before my children were even born.

Perhaps it’s because my father worked for Polaroid and my formative years were extremely well documented on 60-second film stock, but I have very fond and vivid memories of being two-years-old. I remember my second birthday party, I remember my first babysitter Trisha Beckwith and I remember going to work with my father, Fisher Price Farm in hand, while my mother was in the hospital recovering from giving birth to my sister. And because I have so many memories of being two I decided long ago that the day my girls turned two would be the day they stop seeing me naked because the last thing I want them to remember is seeing Big Jim and the Twins bouncing around the house.

For me this was and will be again an easy transition since I’m not the type of person who walks around the house naked anyway, which probably has to do with the fact that I’m not terribly comfortable with my own body. Let’s face it, I’m short, bald and hairy and no matter how hard I try (and really I don’t try) I’ll never have Taylor Lautner’s 8-pack. And my self-esteem wasn’t much improved when the first time both of my children laughed was when they were 3 months old and saw me step out of the shower naked. And both times I said, “Laugh it up now, because in 21 months the joke’s over.”  

The only slightly difficult part of this transition was not one day explaining to Arden that she couldn’t see me naked anymore (that part was easy, I just stopped being naked in front of her), but rather explaining to her that her new little sister could see me naked and she couldn’t. Arden already had a good understanding of privacy at this point. (“Daddy, close the door, I’m pooping!”) so her issue was really about jealousy. She wanted to be wherever her sister was and when I was showering, that happened to be in a bouncer in the bathroom with me. We’re still dealing with the jealousy thing to this day, but fortunately no longer on Battleground Bathroom.

While my decision to cut the girls off on their second birthday was cut and dry, Jen on the other hand is a completely different story. She sleeps in the nude, walks around in the nude and one time she even helped a female guest open up the sofa bed, while in the nude. I have no idea how this will impact the girls when they’re older, or what memories they’ll have of this time, but right now both kids like nothing more than being naked. Perhaps this is because of Jen’s free-spirited ways or perhaps it’s just because they’re kids. Either way, I consider my house a nudist colony much of the time. Myself happily excepted.

Originally posted on Parents Ask on 2/24/10

Indoor Playground: My Kid Took Off His Socks. So What?!

Last week Managing Editor of  Parents Ask, Jennifer Brandt Herschko, asked me if I wanted to be an "expert" on one of their subscriber questions. The article and my response are posted below...


At some point, we've all felt like the world was watching during certain acts of parenting. During those moments when you feel like you're being silently judged for your parenting (or lack thereof), it can feel hard to hold your own-- to feel good about yourself and your stature (as the person responsible for the child that his chucking french fries across the restaurant). So what can you do about it? Do you say something to the onlookers- the other moms sending silent but deadly assessments your way?

One reader recently asked: How do I deal with a parent glaring and making rude comments about my 4 year old because he took off his socks for a minute at an indoor kid area?

Certainly, there is probably a very appropriate and psycho-analytical response to this question, that we could have had any one of our brilliant and renowned experts weigh in on. But instead, we went right to the source and asked the know it all dad who may (or may not) be the one wondering about your kids bare feet.... Guest Blogger Rick Suvalle of I Peed on My Kid answers:

As a parent who hates the park because of the sand and the dirt and the need for constant slatherings of sun block I’ve been to my fair share of indoor play places and play gyms. I’ve been to the low-rent ones where the Little Tikes Coupes are missing wheels and the ball pits are more pit than snot-covered ball. I’ve been to the boutique ones where they only stock Doug & Melissa wooden craft toys and have “noise rules”. And I’ve been to the fancy ones where you can sip a soy latte as you get your nails done while the kids take a drop-in pointillism class. But one thing that’s always the same is the Sock Rule.

I understand the No Shoe rule because they don’t want people tracking dirt into their establishments, but none of these places have been able to really explain to me the reason for the Sock Rule other than it’s an additional layer of protection from germs. Foot germs? Has there been an Athlete’s Foot outbreak among 4-year-olds as of late? Or ever?  Maybe I don’t want to know the answer. Maybe I should stop putting my 1-year-old’s feet in my mouth. Regardless, a rule is a rule and it’s there for a reason. But hey, what kid hasn’t broken a rule before? And what baby wants to keep socks on their feet? The first thing my 4-year-old does when she walks in the door everyday is strip down to her skivvies. So while a rule is a rule I do understand the desire to air out the old dogs for a minute or two and personally I don’t think what your child did is a big deal. Certainly not big enough for someone to glare at you or make rude remarks over, especially if it was only for a minute or two. So I think you’re right in feeling irritated by this person and there’s several ways I think you can handle this situation if it pops up again:

1)    You could glare back at them and say, “What are you lookin’ at, homes?” “Homes” being the operative word. It makes them think you’re “gangsta” and no one wants to mess with a gangsta.
2)    You could pretend your child has a rare foot disorder and make this person feel bad for picking on someone less fortunate.
3)    In solidarity you could take off your socks too.
4)    You could punch them in the face. Just make sure your bags are packed so you can immediately run away before the cops arrive. It may be wise to have a good lawyer on retainer for this option, just in case.
5)    You could just ignore them and continue doing what you’re doing and seek solace in the fact that you know you’re a good parent and you’re doing what you think is right.

Personally if I had the money for a lawyer I’d probably go with option 4, otherwise I think 5 is probably your best bet.



Originally posted on Parents Ask on 2/19/10.

IT'S A HAIRY SITUATION

Anyone who reads my blog knows that my 4-year old Arden has a nest of curly hair sitting on top of her head (and it seems like her little sister is going down that path as well). Having curly hair is a blessing and a curse. The positives are that it’s cute and doesn’t really require much maintenance – maybe an occasional spritz or two from the old water bottle and you’re good to go. None of that brushing and blow-drying crap.  The negatives are that having curly hair is…“cute” and there’s not much you can do with it. 

People often ask me where the kids get their curls and I have to literally put my hat in my hand and explain that many moons ago I too had curly hair, before it all fell out…when I was 21. Yes, I’m still a tad bitter. But the good thing about being bald is that it doesn’t really require much maintenance and according to my wife “It’s sexy like Ed Harris.” I have a feeling she’s just humoring me.  

Growing up in a family of curly tops in an era where both men and women would perm their hair to look like mine, it wasn’t a big deal. But as I got older the ‘fro fad got traded in for Beverly Hills 90210 pompadours and long sideburns and I was suddenly left in the dust. Since then the Curl Revolution has yet to return (except for my own brief hippy stint in high school.) In short I was never really happy with my hair and I’ve feared that one day Arden would feel the same way. However, I didn’t realize that would happen at age 4. 

Arden is currently in a Disney Princess Obsessed phase and she wants to look as much like a princess as possible. She alternates between walking around the house in her Belle and Sleeping Beauty costumes. But in her never-ending quest to be a princess (she’s asked us to teach her a new French word every night because “French is fancy”) she wants her hair to look like a princess too. Unfortunately there are no Disney princesses that sport curly hair so there’s no specific icon we can trick her into looking up to. So on a whim one Sunday morning Jen offered to straighten Arden’s hair. Big mistake. 

With flat-iron, blow dryer and heaps of style gel in hand Jen set out to turn Arden into the princess of her dreams and after a “fun-filled” hour of Jen barking, “Arden, stop moving or I’ll burn your face off,” the transformation was complete. And much to our surprise it didn’t look half bad, except for the back where the curls weren’t exactly uniform so Arden had kind of a rat-tail thing going on back there, but she couldn’t see it so she was thrilled. And it showed…

Arden suddenly became a different person. Instead of being the ultimate defiant four-year-old she became sweet and polite and actually did what we asked of her, though sometimes with a strange “French” accent. She picked up her toys; she actually ate her dinner and didn’t even complain when she didn’t get dessert due to her previous life’s transgressions. And amazingly she actually smiled for photographs like a runway model instead of her usual dour poses as of late. I liked this Arden though I preferred the cuteness of her curls and Jen preferred to avoid future bouts of hellacious straightening. So we had to make sure this was a one-time treat. Or maybe two-time…

Thanks to the mass amounts of product in Arden’s hair it was still straight the next morning so we let her wear it to school that day. This was our third mistake (the second was telling Arden how beautiful she looked) because once at school the compliments continued to roll in, which meant Arden was going to want her hair straight every day. The other parents who will praise anything that’s different about your kid (“Ohhh, you drew on your face, how cute.”) laid it on thick. The other kids came running up to Arden to check it out. She was suddenly popular and I was suddenly very scared. And it didn’t help when Arden’s teacher came over and said, “You know there’s a product that will make it stay that way.” I quickly snapped, “No there isn’t.” The teacher didn’t pick up on my “shut the hell up” vibe and countered, “Yes there is, it’s called-” I shushed her, “It’s called ‘nothing’.” But the damage was done. 

When Arden came home that day she was glowing and on cue proclaimed, “I want my hair straight every day.” I instantly flashed back to high school where my mother would wake up at the ass crack of dawn so she could burn my sister’s hair into submission, which more often than not resulted in my sister missing the bus and my mother being forced to throw a parka over her nightgown and drive her to school in the snow. Even though I liked the new Arden and her bizarre European accent, I wanted the old Arden back and Jen wanted to avoid my mother’s early morning fate. So I came up with a decent comprise, one Sunday a month we’d whip out the flat-iron. But I’m hoping she forgets until high school. And if that doesn’t work out, at least we don’t get snow here in Southern California.   

Originally posted on Parents Ask on 2/17/10

PICTURE OF THE DAY

Dunno if this will become a regular feature here, but I had to share my excitement...

Napping is a good thing!

THE DENTIST

A few weeks ago Los Angeles was hit by a “massive storm.” It rained for six straight days. The damage was catastrophic – one of my lawn chairs fell over from the wind and I was forced to drive around a fallen palm frond. But seriously, they actually shut down my daughter’s preschool early with the excuse that, “it might rain more this afternoon.” Being from Boston where they won’t close the schools even in a blizzard, this irritated me to no end…until I realized I had actually become one of these California wusses.

Arden had a dentist appointment scheduled smack dab in the middle of Rain Week and I actually contemplated cancelling because I didn’t want to drag two kids through the rain, the whole half-block from the underground parking garage to the dentist’s office.  One might think that my ulterior motive for cancelling might have to do with visiting the dentist itself since kids hate going to the doctor or the dentist and I didn’t want the extra hassle. But the truth is I’m just a wuss. Arden actually LOVES going to the dentist.

The interesting thing about Arden’s dentist is that you would never think when you walk in the door that it’s a kid friendly place. There’s no colorful mural on the wall with clowns flossing or cartoon teeth with smiley faces on them. It’s just a straight-up, albeit modern-looking, dentist’s office in the heart of Beverly Hills. And I actually found it by calling 1-800-DENTIST after my own dentist didn’t have a recommendation for me. And to be honest I was a little surprised the first time we walked in there and I didn’t see a clown mural. I thought the dental hotline had made a mistake, but I quickly realized the mural and the toys are just a gimmick to make kids think they’re in a safe and fun environment. But kids are smarter than that. You start unceremoniously jamming stuff in their mouth they’re not gonna wanna come back, even if Spongebob himself was scheduled to do the cleaning. So why does Arden like going to the dentist so much?

I think there are two reasons. First, we started her out early, before she started to develop any kind of fears (real or of the “I want to avoid going to bed” variety) – when she actually considered a giant metal hook in her mouth fun. Second, I think it’s because the staff at Arden’s dental office know kids are smart and instead of tricking them into thinking they’re in a fun place, they actually made her feel comfortable.

The first time I took Arden to the dentist she was about two-years-old and her dentist, Dr. Do (not to be confused with the 80’s video game Mr. Do!), told me that the goal of the first appointment was just to try and get Arden comfortable enough to get in the chair and maybe if we’re lucky show her some of the instruments. She wanted to make Arden’s first visit a positive experience. Dr. Do subscribes to a very simple philosophy when she’s dealing with kids. “Show. Tell. Do.”  She shows them the instruments. Tells them what they do. And if the child is ready, she uses them or…do-s them. It seems simple enough and I wish my own pediatric dentist had used this approach on me. The only thing I remember from my early visits to the dentist is being terrified of the clown on the wall (but that could have do with seeing Poltergeist when I was 9), but maybe if someone explained things to me, like Dr. Do did with Arden, I’d have a healthier attitude towards the dentist today. Enough about me.

On Arden’s first visit, my fearless little friend not only got in the dental chair herself, but she wanted to ride it up and down and not only did she get to meet the equipment like Mr. Bumpy (the electric toothbrush) and Mr. Thirsty (the water suction gizmo), but she actually let Dr. Do clean her teeth. She was still a little young for the fluoride treatment or what Dr. Do likes to call, “Vitamins for your teeth” to prevent them from getting “Sugar Bugs” (cavities.) Dr. Do was great with Arden and the whole staff praised Arden for how brave she was. Of course Arden couldn’t understand why someone would need to be brave to see the dentist since she was having a blast and got to take home a light-up toothbrush. In fact when we left the office Arden turned to me and said, “When can we go back to the dentist, Daddy?” Any time she wants, even when it rains.


If you’re in the Los Angeles area and you’re looking for a dentist for your kids or yourself, I highly recommend Dr. LanVi Do and her wonderful staff. For more information on Dr. Do and her practice you can visit her website at www.canoncosmeticdental.com


Originally posted on Parents Ask on 2/10/10

WHY MEN CAN'T MULTITASK

I write a blog called “I Peed On My Kid!” where I talk about my misadventures as a stay-at-home dad. The title comes from this time when I was trying to entertain the baby and go to the bathroom at the same time. Let’s just say things didn’t turn out exactly how either of us had planned. But it was then that I realized men couldn’t multitask. 

I recently got back in touch with my high school guidance counselor, thanks to the magic of Facebook, and she had an interesting theory on why men are basically multitasking idiots. She suggested that it goes back to the Stone Age, where the men were in charge of hunting for food and the women were in charge of cleaning it, cooking it and serving it, in addition to doing EVERYTHING else around camp, including raising the children. Men had one task. Women had many. So be it nature or nurture, men today still can’t multitask.

Don’t get me wrong. I think men can multitask when it comes to matters of business (though I’m still guessing not as good as women). I can absolutely multitask when it comes to my writing. I’ve been known to work on two or three projects at the same time. But when it comes to watching my kids, I can’t do anything else. And after talking to several of my stay-at-home and weekend brethren, I’m starting to think there may be some credence to my high school guidance counselor’s theory.

Every dad I’ve ever spoken to is exactly like me. They can’t do anything but play with their kids when it’s their turn to watch them, unless it’s watching TV at the same time. Of course being a stay-at-home dad requires more than just playing Polly Pockets and watching Yo Gabba Gabba on an infinite loop. There’s laundry to be done. Dishes to be washed. Floors to be swept. The list goes on. And on. And on. I actually have an actual list my wife gives me, but it doesn’t help. Without fail, if I’m watching my kids and I try and do anything else, I will mess something up. Here’s a few examples…

Laundry: Seems simple enough, but when I’m watching the girls I will undoubtedly ruin one of my wife’s favorite items. I’ll put her stockings in the dryer or I’ll wash something in hot that should’ve been in cold. And even if I do that part right I’ll hang up her jeans to dry with one of the legs still rolled up which, according to my wife, renders them as useless as me.

Grocery Shopping: Even without the kids I’m hopeless when it comes to the “full-on” shopping experience. But hand me a baby and a shopping list with only three items and I’m still bound to screw at least one thing up – I’ll get the wrong brand of cheese (even though my wife has been buying the same brand for over fifteen years) or I’ll grab flat leaf parsley instead of cilantro. What do you mean parsley doesn’t taste good on a taco?

Bath: This is the closest I get to multitasking when it comes to watching the girls because when you’re trying to wash two kids at the same time you’re also technically watching them. However, once I pull the baby out of the tub and get her into her sleeper it’s a race to see if I can get Arden out of the tub and dried off before the baby wanders back in and gets soaked from trying to climb back into the tub. I either get completely flustered or, hat in hand, I bring the baby in the kitchen for my wife to watch while she finishes the dishes and of course she has no problem doing both.

Cleaning the house: This one I actually put some conscious effort into. I always try and have the house neat for my wife when she walks in the door, save for a few Wonder Pets toys that have “somehow” sneaked out of the toy box. However, the bigger tasks like cleaning the bathrooms and washing the floors, I’m absolutely useless. Again, I try. But “try” isn’t good enough. I’ll skip the tub because the baby has finished her Cheez-Its and is getting unruly in her swing. Or I’ll just plain forget to Swiffer the bathroom floor in my haste. Haste is probably the key here because even though I’m trying, everything looks half-assed so my wife will end up re-doing the bathrooms on the weekend so it can be done “right.” And to add insult-to-trying-injury she often manages to do it with the kids in tow.

It could be argued (at least by me) that even if I didn’t have kids I’d still mess up the cleaning and the laundry and the shopping because in essence men are still fighting their way out of the Stone Age. We still only know how to hunt. Regardless, even though I can’t multitask when I watch my kids, it’s because one hundred percent of my attention is on my kids (okay, maybe 95% on my kids and 5% on my iPod Touch) and I think that’s a pretty damn good excuse for my lack of multitasking ability. How ‘bout you?

Originally posted on Parents Ask on 2/3/2010

TIME OUTS: MORE COMPLICATED THAN GOOD?

So last week on Parents Ask there was a short video called “Time Outs: More Harm Than Good?” where a panel of experts gave their various takes on the whole Time Out issue. Actually until I saw this video I didn’t even know Time Outs were an issue, at least I didn’t think they were an issue for anyone other than myself. My issue being that I couldn’t get the damn things to work with my four-year-old. Coincidentally, it was just last week when I finally discovered exactly why they weren’t working.

My wife and I probably started issuing Time Outs when our daughter, Arden, was about two. If she started to get unruly or had a temper tantrum we would take her into her room, put her in the corner (and by “put” I mean I would pick her up, kicking and screaming) and tell her she had to stay there for five minutes until she calmed down. However, in Arden’s case, she would just start screaming louder and eventually start to throw things around the room. I almost lost an eye to a Spongebob Pez dispenser. I would spend more time trying to get her to calm down during the actual Time Out then if I didn’t give her one at all. So Time Outs became a rarely used, last-ditch attempt to get Arden to calm down, if she was acting up or having a meltdown. But each time it always ended up with me dodging some kind of potentially lethal toy or a Sandra Boynton board book.

We gave up on the “public” Time Outs very early on. When Arden was about two-and-a-half we were out to brunch with some friends and she had a fit because we forgot to pack her a juice box and she refused to drink any kind of alternative liquid that didn’t come in a cardboard container. After several attempts and bribes (of the ice cream for breakfast variety) I was forced to give her a Time Out at the back of the restaurant. Let’s just say we didn’t end up going to the Aquarium of the Pacific as originally planned. Actually, when Arden finally calmed down in the car ride home it became the first time she gave us the silent treatment. Which was actually quite nice after the morning we had. :)

So last week I was driving Arden home from preschool and I asked her about her day, as I always do, and she dropped her head down and grumbled, “I had to sit down after lunch.” I said, “Why?” She replied, “I took a toy away from James, but he took it away from me first. But we both had to sit down.” I asked her about this strange thing called a  “sit down.” She explained that she had to sit in a chair quietly for a few minutes, away from the other kids. I said, “And you did it?” She said, “Of course.” I said incredulously, “Have you had to ‘sit down’ before?” She hung her head in shame again and said, “Yeah.”  I blurted out, “That’s a Time Out. That’s the same exact thing as a Time Out!” Arden looked up and said, “Really?” I said, “Yes, you’re supposed to sit there and be quiet, not scream louder.”  Arden said, “Oh, good to know.” I’m still shaking my head a week later over our little communication breakdown. But next time she acts up I’m definitely trying a “sit down” instead of a Time Out.


Originally posted on Parents Ask on 1/27/10

NEWS

Good news. Last week Alex officially started to walk and by "officially" I mean she looks like a pocket-sized zombie roving around the house. It's very cute, especially when she claps for herself and loses her balance and falls on her ass.  A lot of people have been like, "Uh oh, look out, your whole world is going to change now." Damn straight. For the better...

First off she's not half as fast on her feet as she is when she's crawling so I can actually blink now before I have to chase after her. And now I don't have to constantly hold this 30 pound mass in my arms everywhere I go. I can actually put her down on the ground at Arden's school and let her wander about while I collect Arden's belongings and sign out for the day...if I remember to put on her shoes.

Last week I also got some more great news. I was approached by ParentsAsk.com to see if I would be interested in writing a weekly article/blog entry for their website. If you're not familiar with ParentsAsk, it's a great resource for parents. There's daily video tips from experts, fun articles on things like the hottest lunch boxes and a community forum where parents can compare experiences. And of course now there's me. :)

Essentially I've been asked to do exactly what I do here (though they may suggest a specific topic for me to cover from time-to-time), only they get first dibs on it. So the plan is for me to contribute something to their site every Wednesday which I plan to repost here the following Monday. Anyway, my first piece is actually debuting today and you can check it out HERE.

And while I'm self-promoting, if you don't know how to subscribe to this blog and you're a Facebook Addict like me, I Peed On My Kid! now has its own Facebook Fan Page which you can join and keep on top of all my misadventures. In the meantime I'm off to work on my next article.

QUOTABLE ARDEN

In Arden’s never-ending quest to become an actual Disney Princess we introduced her to the wonders of movie soundtracks. Now you’re probably thinking, “big mistake, now you’re gonna be forced to listen to Peabo Bryson sing, “A Whole New World” until you know every word and find yourself singing it in the shower.” Actually there was a master plan at work. We also hooked Arden up with Jen’s old iPod mini and speakers so that she could dance around her room to "Bippity Boppity Boo" and leave us alone for a few precious minutes here and there. My brilliant plan actually worked…for a few days.

Eventually Arden realized that she could plug her iPod into the car stereo so we could listen to the Cinderella III: A Twist in Time soundtrack “as a family.” But this isn’t where the pain ended. A few days later we were driving in the car and I was on a business call (using my Bluetooth headset, of course) and Arden pipes up from the back seat, “Put on Beauty and the Beast.” I shushed, “In a minute.” Not two seconds later Arden leans forward and says in her most deadpan voice, “I’m not hearing my music, Daddy. Can you hear my music, Daddy?” Four-years-old and already a smart-ass.

While we’re on a “technology” theme Arden had another classic moment during dinner the other night. Somewhere between her first bite and her usual mid-meal trip to the bathroom, Arden said, “You know what? I wish I had a TV in my room.” Jen said, “I bet you do.” Then Arden said, “Then if I wake up in the middle of the night I could just watch TV and not disturb you.” (Yup, she said, “disturb.”) I turned to Jen and said, “Not a bad sales pitch.” And then turned back to Arden and said, “But you ain’t getting one.”

THE WEEP FACTOR

I’ve never been much of a crier. Even as a kid I wasn’t the type who would cry when I skinned my knee or got a spanking. As an adult I could probably count the number of times I really cried on one hand, two of which revolved around the unexpected deaths of friends and the other was when I had to put my cat Bob to sleep. But all that changed when I had kids…though technically putting Bob down happened about a month after Arden was born, but at that point Arden was still just this mysterious blob to me.

My lack of crying probably stemmed from my father who I only saw cry twice while growing up, the first was on the anniversary of his brother’s death and the other time was when I left for college. Though now that he’s counting the days until his senior citizen discounts kick in, I catch him welling up when a Pillsbury crescent roll commercial comes on. But now that I’m a parent, I understand why he cried when I left for school and why he cries during a “very special” Oprah promo.

Maybe I’m more sensitive than most guys because I’m my kids’ primary care provider and I spend so much more time with them, but I’m constantly tearing up when I watch anything sentimental on TV or at the movies that involves kids. When Sandra Bullock declares that Big Mike, in The Blind Side, is her son, I found myself getting a little weepy. Hell, I had tears streaming down my face watching the end of Superman Returns when Supe sneaks into his kid’s bedroom and repeats what his father said to him years before, “You will see my life through your eyes, as your life will be seen through mine. The son becomes the father. And the father, the son.”

But I also get “emotional” when my kids are hurting or when I’m proud of them. I experienced both of these types of moments with Arden over the past 24-hours. Arden’s been having a rough couple of weeks since she’s returned to school after Winter Break. She’s been acting out at school and at home. Having lots of meltdowns. And I understand exactly why. She just spent two straight weeks with her Daddy, doing some kind of fun activity every day and now she’s forced to go back to her mundane school routine.

One of her meltdowns happened in the bath last night. Her tantrum was scaring the baby so I had to yank Arden out of the tub, kicking and screaming. She was so hysterical I didn’t know what to do so I just wrapped a towel around her and hugged her. I thought she’d resist. I thought she’d keep fighting, but she just calmed down and hugged me back. She just missed her Daddy. This is also why she’s been so clingy at school since Winter Break ended. She doesn’t want me to leave when I bring her to school in the morning. Every day my departure has become a bigger and bigger production. She wants me to stay longer. She wants more kisses and more hugs and she says she wants to go home with me. But again, I understand, but that don’t mean I’m gonna put up with it. Yesterday I had an appointment and had to cut our little ritual short and she threw the mother of all fits – kicking and screaming as the teachers dragged her away from me. Now you’re probably thinking this is where I got all emotional. Wrong. This is where I said, “Where the hell’s the Arden I know?”  But what did touch me was dropping her off at school today.

Last night we discussed her behavior and I told her that I knew she was acting out because she missed me and made her promise to be good when I dropped her off at school the next morning. Well she kept her word. We got to school, she said, “Good morning” to her teachers, she gave me as kiss and said, “Goodbye.” That was it. No fits, no fanfare. She kept her word. And it made me proud. And it made me well-up a bit on the car ride home.

WINTER BREAK: WEEK TWO

Monday: Kidspace Museum

Cost: $20 for the Museum; $8 for a burrito.
Description: “Where learning and play are one.” Kidspace is another hands-on learning center (built by a friend of mine) located literally next to the Rose Bowl and with it being the holiday season they actually made snow for the kids to play in and with the annual Rose Parade only days away the tourists and vendors were already amassing.
Highlights: Will Ferrell was there; one of the Rose Parade vendors was the best Mexican restaurant in L.A. and they were already serving up hot burritos. I had two; I was lucky enough to get the very last parking space, which is usually a cruel karmic trick and this was no exception…
Lowlights: No strollers allowed, which meant I got to hold Alex the entire time we were there and unlike our experience at the California Science Center this place was packed so tight I couldn’t even put Alex down or she would get trampled. The second lowlight revolved around the snow. When Arden’s hands got cold she asked me to buy her some gloves. I said they didn’t sell gloves at the museum and she said, “I saw some other kids with gloves with the same “K” symbol as the stamp on our hands.” Damn she was good, but I still wasn’t budging for five minutes of winter wonderland fun. And that’s when she had a literal meltdown in the snow. Like our experience at Travel Town, I was holding the baby so I couldn’t drag Arden out of there, which meant the entire museum got to witness Arden self-destruct. I think I even caught Will Ferrell wincing as he walked by.

Tuesday: Barnes & Noble, Skirball Cultural Center and lunch with Jen in between.

Cost: $15 (not including lunch)
Description: Bookstores are an old favorite of mine. They’re like a toy store and a library all in one and you don’t have to clean up after yourself when you’re done, plus Barnes & Noble serves Starbucks. The Skirball Cultural Center is a Jewish History Museum with a brand new Noah’s Ark exhibit where kids of all ages and religions can learn from and enjoy.
Highlights: While standing in line I heard the Noah’s Ark exhibit was sold out, but I stayed in line and managed to convince the woman behind the counter to let us in by claiming we drove all the way up from San Diego. Something felt extra wrong (or maybe it was just the irony) about lying to get into a Biblical event, which is probably why I was forced to do my usual outing penance.
Lowlight: Part of our admission included an “open art class” where the kids get to make "Ark" animals out of recycled products. Once again no strollers were allowed, but there were a million volunteers working in the craft room so I asked an old bitty if “anyone can help my daughter make a cardboard mouse.” The woman replied, “Yes, you.” I'm not sure if I actually said the word, "bitch" out loud or not. Anyway, as usual we were on our own and with no place to put Alex I had to single-handedly make a mouse out of buttons, fabric, yarn and a toilet paper tube. I literally put my blood, sweat and tears into that little rodent. The blood came when I accidentally snipped my fingers with the scissors.


Wednesday: Tree House Social Club Under the Sea

Cost: $18
Description: It was pouring rain that day so I decided to take the kids to the Tree House Social Club, the penultimate indoor play gym located in the heart of Beverly Hills. At its center is a massive indoor tree house surrounded by a toddler area, an arts and crafts room, a Wii station, a terrific café and a mini-spa where moms can get their nails done and the dads can get a quick massage, all while watching your kids play. I was actually stoked to have a Chicken Panini and a soy latte while the kids did…whatever. When I spied a prime parking space right out front I should’ve known it wasn’t meant to be after our Kidspace experience. Standing in a torrential downpour with the girls we stared at a “Closed for the Holidays” sign, something they had neglected to post on their website or their answering machine. I seethed until I remembered a friend had recommended another indoor play gym nearby called Under the Sea, which turned out to be the antithesis of the Tree House Social Club.
Highlights: Leaving.
Lowlights: Mass hysteria. Cat and dogs living together. It was “Lord of the Flies.” With the rain and the dirt from outside mixing with a million snot-nosed kids on vacation the place was an absolute mad house so it wasn’t a surprise that Arden was fine with leaving after only an hour. Though it probably didn’t hurt that I bribed her with ice cream which she promptly got after I picked up a chicken panini at Jack in the Box.

Thursday: L.A. Zoo

Cost: $6 (for a bag of kettle corn and some fries – I’m a member so we got in free.)
Description: It’s a place where you find a lot of wild animals.
Highlights: On my last day of winter break I finally found a wingman, someone to help me pass the time. My friend Jeff and his two-year-old daughter Finley joined us at the zoo. It was probably the most laid back and relaxing time I had over the two week break. Alex was happy to be kept in constant motion as I strolled her past all the cages. Arden was excited to have someone who isn't her sister to play with for a change. And I got have an actual adult conversation (a.k.a. use cuss words). Zoo day was a good day. But it was also a bittersweet day because...
Lowlights: It was my last day with just me and the girls.


Friday: New Year’s Day
Description: A perfect day just chilling at home with the family.
Cost: Priceless.


Saturday: Ralphs Grocery Store

Description: Jen was trying to flee from a crazy person at the supermarket and quickly tossed Arden into the shopping cart, throwing out her back in the process. Which meant I got to take care of both girls and Jen for the rest of the weekend.