THE LONG COLD SUMMER - PART II

It had been a month since Alex was diagnosed with Cold Urticaria and we were starting to settle in to our new reality. My folks were in town for a visit and Jen and I had a much-needed first date-night in God knows how long. Things seemed “normal” for the first time in what felt like forever. But all that was shattered when I took Arden to her 8-year-old check up the next morning. In this case Jen had correctly diagnosed her with Type 1 Diabetes thanks to WebMD. However, we didn’t know exactly what that entailed and we were instantly thrown into a frenzied crash course on the disease when our pediatrician said she had to be checked into the E.R. immediately to get her blood sugar stabilized.

I didn’t know much about the disease other than once having a cat with diabetes that I had to shoot up with insulin twice a day. And I knew that sugar wasn’t a diabetic’s best friend so while we waited to get authorized to go to the E.R. I said to Arden, “Let’s go get the biggest sugar-coated donut we can find in the cafeteria,” thinking this would be the last bit of sugar she ever ate. And while I watched her eating that donut, blissfully unaware of her diagnosis, my heart sank further and further with each bite she took.

She was soon checked into the E.R. where they plugged her veins with catheters and drips and attached her to all kinds of machines. A never-ending flux of doctors and nurses would come in and out and talk to me like I knew what was going on. Once “stable” they moved her into the hospital for the next twenty-four hours where they would stick her with needles every few hours and prick her fingers more often than that. Jen and I spent eight straight hours talking to endocrinologists and dieticians and diabetes instructors. Gone were the days of the regimented two-needle day; now she would have to have one kind of insulin at night and be injected with another kind before every meal or snack. We’re talking 5-8 shots a day. The “good news” was that she could eat basically whatever she wanted, if we gave her the right amount insulin. But that meant counting carbs, weighing food and pricking her fingers before and after meals. It meant rotating injection sites and finger prick locations. It meant watching out for dangerous low blood sugars and checking her numbers at midnight and 3:00 AM. And what about school? It was starting in two weeks and there was only a nurse on premises one day a week. Who would shoot her up? Who would take care of her if she went low and passed out? The information came fast and furious and I prayed that just a tenth of it would stick. And then suddenly we were sent home. That was it. They needed the bed. It was like the day after Arden was born. Same hospital. Same feeling of loading her into the car and thinking, “Now what?” But in this case there was no joy and wonderment. There was only the fear that if we fuck up, she could die.

But I have to hand it to Arden; she was a real trooper at the hospital. She didn’t cry once. Not from the shots, not from the finger pricks and not from the knowledge that her junk food junkie days were over. If anything she was in her element having dozens of people dote all over her. They all thought she was a riot as she made wacky Vine videos from her hospital bed and taught the night nurse how to play Minecraft. But then reality set in when we got home.

On the outside Arden was doing great. She was taking her shots without incident and saying witty things like, “Shoot me up, Mama, I’m hungry.” But internally she wasn’t processing things as well. She was turning her fear of germs into full-blown OCD. Freaking out if someone wore shoes in the house and washing her hands until they bled. And then there was the hair. It continued to fall out. Now by the fistful with each bath or shower. The doctors all said it was unrelated to the diabetes. So what was it? Our dermatologist said it was probably nothing, but if we wanted to subject Arden to a painful scalp biopsy we could determine what it wasn’t. But we couldn’t put her through that. Not after all she’d already been through. So we just watched the hair continue to fall out.

Jen’s a tough woman. She’s got a mouth like a sailor and will whip your ass in drinking and darts. She doesn’t cry often. But with this tumultuous summer and now seeing Arden’s scalp poking through her thinning curls she was becoming undone. She was crying all the time. Even though I wanted to cry at times too, I couldn’t because one of us needed to be strong at all times. One of us needed to stay an optimist for the other, even if we didn’t believe what we were saying. But it wasn’t working. Jen was a constant mess and I started to understand why couples get divorced when they lose a child. It’s not because they don’t love each other anymore, it’s because they can’t stand the pain the other one carries. It’s a constant reminder of your struggles and suffering. But that was just a flickering understanding. I knew as couple we were stronger than that. I knew we would survive, and mercifully Arden’s hair loss started to lessen and we finally learned that sometimes when there’s a shock to the system your hair stops growing and when new follicles emerge they push the old ones out. So it meant Arden’s hair was actually coming back. This was a symbolic turning point for us. It meant hopefully things would be getting better soon.

It’s now been five months since Alex was diagnosed with her cold allergy and four months since Arden was diagnosed with diabetes and I have to say that while it’s been tough and there’s been plenty of bumps in the road, we’ve finally found a new new normal for our lives. We’re now used to counting carbs, and finger pricks and insulin shots are just part of our daily routine. Where we once had a diaper bag, now we have a knapsack filled with alcohol swabs, syringes, Epipens and warm clothes for Alex. And I’m happy to report that Arden’s OCD is getting better and she’s taught herself how to self-inject in order to avoid the “stupid nurses” at school. I prefer the term “uneducated in the ways of diabetes,” but stupid will suffice. I still have to get up at 3:00AM to check her blood every night and will probably have to do that until she heads off to college, but just like having a newborn, you just get used to being tired. As for Alex, we decided, much to the chagrin of our allergist, that we weren’t going to put her on any medications at all. None. We were going to wait until the weather got colder and see if we really needed it. Well it’s starting to get cold here in Los Angeles and thankfully there have been no real breakouts since the summer. Not from the bath. Not from the sweat on her brow. And she’s been fine in air-conditioned environments. We’re hoping that as we’ve gotten further away from those initial incidents that her system has had time to recuperate and maybe her allergy isn’t as bad as originally diagnosed, or maybe even that it was an acute occurrence. Perhaps one day soon she’ll even eat ice cream again. But even if she can, we’ll always keep that Epipen handy. As for Arden, you can’t outgrow Type 1 Diabetes. It’s there for life, but Arden has one of the best endocrinology teams in the country and she’s hoping to get on a pump soon, to free her up even more. She’s about to audition for the school play and her grades are still good. And instead of ignoring her disease she’s out there fighting for a cure. She did an hour interview for Radio Disney to spread awareness and she’s raised over $5000 for the JDRF (Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation) with their Walk to Cure Diabetes last month. Alex is also thriving in her first year of elementary school. Amazing us with what comes out of her mouth each day. And Jen’s back to that tough chick I know and love, and believe it or not we’re about to celebrate twenty years together. And I couldn’t be happier about that. So things are all right. We’re finding our new normal. And we even had another date night last week. Our first once since Arden’s diagnosis. And it was a good one. Sandra Bullock was great in Gravity.

Arden doing her interview on Radio Disney. 

 First Day of School wearing their Medic Alert Bracelets.

 Alex and Arden at the Walk to Cure Diabetes

A note I got from Arden yesterday that not only tells me her blood sugar and what she wants for breakfast, but also that she's doing all right. Better than all right. 

THE LONG COLD SUMMER

At the beginning of the summer I had two seemingly healthy kids who didn’t have a care in the world. Well, actually Arden had developed an unhealthy fear of germs, thanks to her second grade health class, and Alex had developed a case of separation anxiety after getting lost in the mall. Other than that, they seemed perfectly happy and healthy. That was until we stopped off at Yogurtland one afternoon and Alex said her teeth hurt. When we got into the car it wasn’t it her teeth that were bothering her anymore, it was her tongue. It was getting bigger. And so were her lips. She thought it was funny. I thought I was going to shit my pants. Off we rushed to the emergency room.

“Thanks” to Alex’s anaphylactic reaction we were hurried in to see a doctor immediately where Alex was given a big ole cocktail of adrenaline, Benadryl and steroids. That did the trick, but she was kept under observation for the next five hours. During that time I was trying to figure out what she had eaten. She had several toppings on her frozen yogurt so maybe there was some cross-contamination with something she was allergic to. But what? The only thing we knew she was allergic to was penicillin and I was pretty sure there weren’t any penicillin-flavored gummy bears on her yogurt. At the end of the night we were told to avoid the typical allergy inducing foods such as chocolate and nuts and strawberries. They also gave us an Epipen because if Alex got another reaction before her system reset, “It could be bad.” Not the most reassuring words I’ve ever heard.

The next day went without incident until after dinner when I gave Alex a Popsicle and her lips started to swell. Back we went to the E.R.  Jen and I both scoured the ingredients of the Popsicle to see if there was a match with anything from Yogurtland. The only thing we found in common was guar gum, which is in basically everything – dairy, meat, baked goods, condiments. We thought it would suck if she were allergic to something like that. Little did we know it was worse. Meanwhile, while I sat in Children’s Hospital with Alex asleep in my arms and my iPhone battery dying by the second, I saw someone on Facebook suggest maybe she was allergic to the cold. The cold? There’s no way. But I looked it up. It was a real thing so I asked the doctor. He said WebMD was the worst thing to happen to hypochondriacs and parents alike. Unfortunately I’m both. He said she wasn’t allergic to the cold. But something inside me couldn’t help but wonder.

Two days later we went up to Lake Arrowhead for a quick family vacation. It was 115 degrees when we arrived so as soon as we checked into the resort we headed down to the lake for a quick dip. The water was chilly so the kids took their time wading into the lake. I watched Alex carefully and noticed she was starting to turn red where the water touched her legs. I pointed it out to Jen who took a closer look. Alex had red welts all over her legs. We told Alex to get out of the water but before she could she turned ghostly white and started to convulse and throw up. She was going into anaphylactic shock. Her organs were shutting down. But because we thought she had a food allergy the Epipen was miles away in the hotel room. So Jen rushed ahead with Arden while I carried Alex’s limp body up the side of the mountain. We eventually met in the parking lot where the valet gave us directions to the local hospital, ten miles away. Alex started to wretch again. Jen commanded me to use the Epipen. I’ll tell you, if you haven’t used one before, it’s not easy. It’s not the physical act of stabbing your child in the leg that’s difficult. It’s mental hurdle of the action. And I was told later that many parents can’t bring themselves to do it, even in a crisis. But I did it. And I instantly knew Alex’s lungs were working because I had never heard her scream so loud. We then tore off for the tiny mountain hospital where the doctor on call said it was a good thing I had that Epipen because, “It could’ve been bad.”

24 hours later we were at an allergist’s office back in Los Angeles where it was determined that Alex had a rare condition known as Cold Urticaria and Angioedema. She was allergic to the cold, which meant no more cold beverages, no more air conditioning. She could never swim in the ocean again or get caught in the rain. Our research showed that most people with this condition couldn’t walk past the cold aisle at the grocery store without breaking out. Our hearts were breaking by the second. The doctor wanted to put her on three different kinds of allergy medications for life and even then it wouldn’t totally prevent an outbreak or another case of anaphylaxis. Our world had been rocked. We would have to change the way we lived. And for the next few weeks the smallest things would cause her to break out. Her own wet hair after a bath would cause her to get welts on her forehead. Her own sweat cooling on her brow after running around at the park would cause her to break out. An orange from the refrigerator would make her face look like Heath Ledger’s Joker. And hearing Alex say things like, “When I can eat ice cream again…” would break our hearts even more because “when” would likely mean “never.” Our whole life was about to change, but still not even the way we expected. Because, Arden, not Alex, suddenly started to lose weight. It didn’t matter how much she ate, she was getting thinner. And her thirst was unquenchable. And then her hair started falling out. So we took her to the doctor only to find out she had developed Type 1 Diabetes.

Tomorrow: Part II

40 (FORTY)

It’s been a while since my last post and a lot has obviously happened since then. There have been many misadventures like on Easter weekend when Alex mistakenly downed a mimosa thinking it was orange juice. Or the continued “fun” of receiving iPad text messages from a 7-year-old, most of which point out my deficiencies as a parent i.e. “Hey Daddy, you do a bad job doing my hair.” Or deciding to take a family vacation with Bacon. Wait. You can’t take a dog into restaurants? What’s that? You can’t take a dog into Hearst Castle? Huh? The dog doesn’t want to be left alone in a strange hotel room? 

There have also been many milestones. The girls both had birthdays and Arden got glasses. Alex swore an allegiance to the Super Friends and we all got to witness the final flyby of the Endeavour, signaling the end of the space shuttle program. This in itself was a bittersweet moment for me. It brought back childhood memories of waking up at the crack of dawn to watch the shuttles launch on TV and remembering how excited I got when there were new pictures of Saturn in the Boston Globe. Between that and Star Wars, I wanted to be an astronaut. So it was sad to see the end of something so integral to my youth. But I was also happy to feel that excitement once again, if only for a brief moment. And in that same moment, I got to see that same spark of excitement in Arden.

I guess I’m waxing poetic about the past because this past summer we also saw the passing of the girls’ great grandmother (Jen’s grandmother) Gertrude Thornley. She was one of the first female marines and served during World War II. At her funeral I heard so many touching stories about her. Things I never knew. And I also heard how she touched so many lives. And at the end of the service, when the marines played Taps and saluted her tombstone, I just about lost it. But it made me think about the legacy that we leave behind.

Okay, okay, the real reason I’m getting all nostalgic today is because I turned 40 this past weekend. I know, I know 40 is the new 20. But still, a lot happens in 40 year’s time. And even though I don’t feel any older, besides the chronic heartburn, the high triglycerides and the need to now bend over and cough at my annual check up, it still gives me pause. It’s still a milestone. But a good milestone. That’s why Jen threw me a whopper of a party that included people from all different chapters of my life – family, high school, college, industry friends, friends of friends who became better friends than the friends who introduced us and now none of us know where the original friends are today. I felt like I was on This Is Your Life. And it felt great to think about the past.

But certain aspects of our lives happen by destiny. Others by chance.  And a few days ago I was reminded of one of those big chance encounters. I learned of the passing of Phylis (Fox) Ravel, my college drama teacher. She died of complications due to cancer. Apparently they diagnosed her late so she decided to forgo treatment and enjoy her final days. I bring her up because when I was in college she was writing a play (Censored: On Final Approach) that would go on to be performed nationally. It was a vehicle for one of her students and she asked me if I would take a small, but “pivotal” role in that play. Well it turns out that the student she was writing the play for would one day be my wife. So without this playwright, who I haven’t talked to since I graduated college almost twenty years ago, I would have never met Jen and had the two wonderful children that I have today. So I would say it was definitely a pivotal role Phylis Ravel offered me that day.

I’m excited to be 40. I’m excited to see my kids growing up. I’m excited to see Arden throw herself into everything she does whether it’s teaching herself fashion design or figuring out how to make Microsoft Word do things I never knew it could do. (And I’ve been using it for over 20 years.) I’m excited to see Alex finally sleep through the night and start to solve problems on her own. I’m excited to see my girls look out for each other (most of the time.) And I’m especially excited that I get to watch all of this with the woman I met and fell in love with while helping my drama teacher workshop a play, nineteen years ago. I truly am excited to be 40.

Arden's first text message

Arden in her new specs

 

Alex and Super Bacon

The Girls and Great Grandma Gert

SOMETIMES YOU JUST GOTTA GO

I’ve written about the perks of being a stay-at-home dad (the women who flirt with you because they think you’re “safe”; the unnecessary kindness of strangers because they think you’re a helpless sack of testosterone). And I’ve obviously written about my various misadventures. But I haven’t really gone into many of the drawbacks of being an actual man in this traditionally female role. More specifically being a man with two daughters. A man who can no longer take his two daughters to the men’s room.

Fortunately I’ve never been the cause for an emergency trip to the bathroom. I think when you’re a parent your system just shuts down while you’re on child watch. Children on the other hand gots to go when they gots to go. On the weekends when we’re out with the family and nature calls, Jen has the privilege of taking the girls to the bathroom. During the week, when Arden was a toddler, I’d take her into the men’s room and line the toilet with enough toilet paper to make her feel like she was sitting on a pillow top bed. Same with Alex. But today, with Arden being 6 and refusing to use the men’s room, yet being too afraid to go to the women’s room herself, I found myself in a bit of bind…

While out on a Costco run with the girls this afternoon Alex said she had to pee. Now if you’ve read this blog long enough you know that Alex has a “lazy bladder,” which means she never has to pee. In fact we have to remind her to pee. So when she said, “Daddy, I gotta pee,” I knew we were in trouble. But knowing what our local Costco’s bathroom looks like I urged Alex to try and make it until we got home. Of course on the way out the door Arden says to me, “You know, I think I gotta go pee too.” I said, “Well I know you can wait until we get home.” But about half way there Alex started to cry. She really had to go. Crap. So I pulled over at an Albertson’s and rushed inside and asked where the bathroom was. We went into the back of the store and I tried to get the girls to use the men’s room. Arden, in her typical sass said, “Maybe if it was a one-er.” But it wasn’t a “one-er.” And Arden wasn’t budging. If the ladies room had been a one-er, this would be a no-brainer, we’d all go into the ladies room, lock the door and do our business. But this was a full-on restroom with multiple stalls and a bevy of sinks. So I asked the girls again if they could wait until we got home. I got a resounding, “No.” So it looked like we were all going into the ladies room.

I knocked on the door and called inside to see if anyone was in there. No response. So I hurried the girls into the handicap stall. Alex went first. When she was finished she insisted she had to wash her hands immediately so I let her out of the stall and put Arden on the pot. Then my biggest fear happened, a woman entered the bathroom and took the stall next to us. I figured I’d just camp out in the stall with Arden until the woman left. But then Alex starts yelling, “I can’t reach the soap!” I decided not to answer because I didn’t want this woman to know I was standing in the stall next to her, trying not to look at the skivvies wrapped around her ankles. But then Alex yelled to me again, “I can’t reach the soap!” So I put on my best Mrs. Doubtfire-meets-Monty Python voice and said, “I’ll be there in a minute, sweetie.” Then Alex said, “Daddy, why are you talking in that funny voice?” The urine stream in the next stall stopped immediately. Alex then said, “Hurry up, Daddy!” But I didn’t want to leave the stall and face this woman. But apparently she didn’t want to leave the stall either. We were at a stall-mate. Then Arden said, “What are we waiting for…DADDY?”  I shushed her and hurried out of the stall and said, “Let’s go!” The girls said in unison, “We have to wash our hands!” Why did I raise such germaphobes? I quickly scrubbed their hands and dragged them out of the bathroom protesting, “We need to dry our hands too!” I shot back, “We’re air-drying them today!” As we left a trail of water in aisle six I looked back and saw a security guard walking after us. I don’t know if I was paranoid, or if the guy just needed a box of ninety-nine cents strawberries. Either way I got in the car and sped off as fast as I could.

DOG DAYS

Whether my wife wants to admit it or not, she’s got baby fever. When one of our friends has a baby, even one of our fringe friends, I’ll wake up on a Sunday morning to the smell of a quiche in the oven, because we’re having a “Brunch to meet the new baby.” And whenever she holds that new baby in her arms she says to me, “Dontcha want another one? Dontcha?” No. I’ve done my sentence. I’ve put in my time as a stay-at-home dad. I’m done. I even went to see an urologist this past summer to discuss getting the boys snipped. Granted I chickened out, but it had nothing to do with my desire to be done procreating. It had more to do about the idea of smelling my own burning flesh well it was cauterized. Anyway, with Arden in first grade and Alex now in preschool full-time, I’ve finally got my pre-kid daytime life back. Or so I thought…

I don’t know how it happened (well maybe I do), but not a month after Alex started her full-day preschool school program in January, we got a puppy.

Sometime over the summer Jen met a cute little French Bulldog and decided if we were ever to get a dog, that’s the kind we should get – they’re small, they’re cute and they don’t bark. So at the beginning of the year we started to discuss getting a puppy. And to Jen that meant we were getting a puppy so she told the girls we were going to get one. Point of no return, right? I thought wrong. After doing a little research on puppies I realized, they’re a lot of work. And I started to tell Jen about all the trouble involved with getting a puppy – eating furniture, peeing on the carpets, vet bills. Eventually she said to me, “Way to suck the fun out of getting a puppy.” She knows I can be guilted into almost anything. But I held strong, “I don’t want a puppy. I just got my pre-kid life back. I want to keep it that way for a while.” And she said, “Fine. You tell the kids they’re not getting a puppy.” So I said (to myself,) “Fine. I will.” And I fully intended to tell Arden when I picked her up from school that day. I had it all worked out. I was going to say, “We’re not ready for a puppy. But in the meantime, how about you and me skip school one day and go to Disneyland?” I knew I could appeal to her sense of Space Mountain. And then when I arrived at school she showed me a picture she made in art class. It was a French Bulldog. I was sunk. I was getting a puppy whether I liked it or not. So I told Jen, “Okay, let’s do this.” But I told her the deal was that I would take care of the puppy in the morning when she got ready for work, and during the week when I was home working. By default I also got the nightshift because Jen would never hear the puppy whine. She could sleep through an atomic blast and not even stir. Her responsibility would be taking care of the dog the rest of the time – evenings and weekends. She said, “Deal.”

So I found a good breeder who had a cute little cream puppy and arranged for the family to check him out at the park that weekend. Ten minutes later we were driving to PetSmart to buy all the essentials for the newest member our household – Bacon.

I quickly learned that raising a puppy is much like raising a baby. As Jen put it, “Puppies are like babies. Only mobile. And on speed.” And they pee on the floor. Every fifteen minutes. And of course my deal with Jen instantly went out the window. Deep down I knew this going in. But if I wanted Jen to cook dinner, I would have to watch the dog. If I wanted her to do the dishes. I would have to watch the dog. If she needed to clean up my half-assed attempts to keep the house in order, on the weekends, I would have to watch the dog. And watching a puppy isn’t easy. You have to watch them like hawk. Even taking them out every thirty minutes doesn’t guarantee they won’t piss on the rug.

I was in hell. I couldn’t do any work because I was constantly watching the dog for accidents. I couldn’t even pay attention to my kids, if I wanted the puppy to not chew on the furniture. I was already bad at multitasking, as the title of this blog suggests, but now I couldn’t even attempt my half-ass attempts at keeping the house in order. Dishes remained in the sink. Laundry piled up. I couldn’t even find the time to shave. Sometimes I’d just skip showering all together. Yes, we had a crate, but at that point I didn’t know you could crate them during the day. I honestly wanted to give the dog back.

Cut to two weeks later: I’m sitting in a veterinary ER on a Friday night, because our brand new little French Bulldog puppy had eaten something toxic and couldn’t stop throwing up. $600 and a roll of Tums later, I’m sleeping on the living room floor next to Bacon’s crate, making sure he makes it through the night. At dawn he’s licking my face, happy to see me. And you know what? I was happy to see him too.

I’ve since learned that you can crate a dog during day. Though if I don’t want him to cry I have to pretend I’m leaving the house. So I grab an energy bar and a Coke Zero and wave goodbye and then sneak around the back of the house, into my office and work for a few hours. Then we have lunch together and he sacks out on the couch next to me while I finish my work on my laptop. And now Bacon can tell me when he wants to go out (he sits in front of the gate and gives a headfake to the front door). It may be every 30 minutes, but at least I don’t have to watch him in between. We’re starting to understand each other. He may still nip a bit. I may still find him gnawing on a chair leg. But hey, he’s a puppy. My puppy. And I love him. I guess Jen’s baby fever was contagious.  

BONDING - THE NEXT GENERATION

I saw Star Wars in the theatre seven times when it was first released in 1977. I may have only been four years old, but I can still vividly recall the first time Darth Vader marched onto the big screen. Like many of my generation, that moment and my fascination with the world of Star Wars has stayed with me to the point where almost 35 years later, I’m still contemplating going against my religion and getting a light saber tattoo.

Five years ago there was a Star Wars convention in Los Angeles, only the fourth official Star Wars convention in its then 30-year history. I thought it might be fun to go with the man who started me on this crazy journey, all those years ago. And I was pleasantly surprised when my father said he would gladly fly out from Boston for the event. I could go into detail about how this 60-year-old man snuck me into the sold-out Carrie Fisher panel or how one of the vintage collectable vendors actually knew my father by name, but ultimately it added up to one of the best father-son bonding experiences I’ve had in my adult life. And it’s something that I will forever treasure. So a couple weeks ago when a friend asked me if I wanted to take my six-year-old daughter Arden, on an all-expenses paid trip to George Lucas’ Skywalker Ranch in San Francisco, the place where most of the Star Wars films were assembled, I immediately said, “F@$% yeah!”

With tomorrow’s re-release of Star Wars: Episode 1: The Phantom Menace in 3D, George Lucas decided to do something different for this particular press junket. Instead of the same old cynical reporters flying up to the Ranch for a weekend of nostalgia, this time George only wanted kid reporters so that he could introduce Star Wars to a whole new generation. He wanted to give them a tour of the Ranch, have them meet with technical geniuses behind his creations and then offer them a tour of ILM (Industrial, Light & Magic, George’s special effects company behind not only Star Wars, but virtually all effects-heavy blockbusters from Ghostbusters to Transformers.) And then George wanted to show the kids the first advanced screening of the Phantom Menace in 3D. So my awesome friend Chapin, who works at MySpace asked me if Arden could be their kid reporter. However, there would be one little catch. I would have to “tag-a-long.” :)

So Chapin and I quickly whipped up some fun and irreverent interview questions for Arden to ask and Jen ran out to buy Arden a new Star Wars t-shirt to wear on camera and then I deleted all my music off my iPhone so I could film as much of the event as possible. After that, Arden and I packed our bags and jetted off to San Francisco.

First let me say that Arden, and quite possibly myself now too, have been hotel ruined. A couple weeks ago my sister got married in Cancun at the Ritz-Carlton and not more than two weeks later Arden and I find ourselves staying at the Ritz-Carlton in San Francisco. And not only was the room paid for, but they also covered all the incidentals. Which meant Ritz-Carlton style room service. Oh yeah. Though Arden was slightly more excited about the free cotton balls she found in the bathroom, which she took home to stuff a felt pillow she was making. Anyway, I don’t think we can go back to a Best Western again. At least not happily.

I could wax poetic about every last detail of the weekend, from the frost on the ground, to the wild turkeys running through the woods, but that would probably only entertain me, so I’ll just tell you about some of the highlights…

- Checking into the hotel and finding a bag of Star Wars SWAG, on the bed, that included a light saber and a note that read, “Don’t forget to bring your light saber tomorrow for Jedi training.”

- Riding across the Golden Gate Bridge and having Arden declare, “Why the heck do they call it the Golden Gate Bridge if it’s red?”

- Having a “Star Wars Breakfast” at the Ranch that included “Yoda’s Yogurt.”

- Proudly watching Arden interview the technical geniuses behind the movies on camera and not breaking a smile when she asked, “Have you ever said, ‘No’ to George Lucas?”

- Jealously watching Arden having a private light saber training session.

- Buying copious amounts of “Skywalker Ranch” merchandise at the gift shop.

- Taking Arden on a tour of Chinatown at night.

- The next morning having the Visual Effects Supervisor ask if he could join Arden and me for breakfast in the ILM commissary

- Seeing a working R2D2 wandering around the ILM building.

- Seeing the actual prop of Han Solo in Carbonite.

- Having Arden turn down dinner with a friend so, “I can have room service with just my Daddy.”

- Seeing the first 3D press screening of The Phantom Menace.

- Watching Arden shed a tear as she said goodbye to her new Jedi best friend, Cyan.

As a lifelong fan of Star Wars, this was a dream come true as both a father and a fan boy. I felt like a Make A Wish patient minus the death sentence. I literally woke up at 4:00 AM that first morning because I was so excited to be going to the Ranch. I was like a kid on Christmas morning. And it felt like Christmas. Every facet of the weekend felt like I was unwrapping another present. And not once did I get a pair socks. Well, maybe the box lunch they gave me on day two could have been better, but like my experience with my father five years before, this was one of the best father-daughter bonding experiences I could possibly imagine. Not only was it amazing to be able to share something you love with someone you love, but to watch my daughter really discover Star Wars for the first time and really love it too, was the greatest gift of all.

Below is a video of Arden giving her report for MySpace. Enjoy and May the Force Be With You.



Arden reporting for MySpace at the Skywalker Ranch from Rick Suvalle on Vimeo.

A WHOLE NEW WORLD

The Los Angeles Unified School District gets a bad rap. But last year, in kindergarten, Arden learned all the fundamentals of reading and now, not even half-way through first grade, she can read. I mean really read. When I was in kindergarten we made collages out of our mothers' Vogue magazines and watched our teacher make applesauce out of the crab apples we found in the woods. First grade was spent drawing pictures of my imaginary home planet Xenazonamus and learning the Pledge of Allegiance (neither of which are taught in school today.) I didn’t start to read until second grade. The book was called “I Am Sam” (not to be confused with the terrible Sean Penn movie or the protagonist in Green Eggs and Ham.) And as a reward for reading my first 10-page book, unassisted, my folks presented me with a Greedo action figure from Star Wars. If my parents had a scanner and actually knew what a scanner did, I’d post a picture of myself proud and front-toothless holding up my prize (now worth over $300 if I didn’t open it up.) But I digress…

Arden can now read pretty much anything these days, whereas Alex, who’s now 3-years-old still can’t recognize her own name. In fact this morning, after dropping Arden off at school, Alex looked up at the Hollywood Sign and said, “Hey, that’s my name on the mountain.” Close. Anyway, on the actual drive to school this morning, Arden starts reading all the signs and billboards we’ve passed a thousand times before. She sees a sign that says, “Keys” and asks, “Why does that sign say ‘keys’ on it?” I said, “Because they sell keys there.” “Huh.” We then passed a building and Arden says, “Citizens Medical Group? Is that like a doctor’s office or something?” I said, “That’s exactly what it is.” Arden says, “I had no idea. It’s kind of like a whole new world when you can read.” I smiled and said, “It is.” We then passed an HIV awareness billboard that featured a retro cartoon of two men about to kiss with the caption, “New Love?” Arden says, “New Love? What’s that billboard selling?” I replied, “I must have missed that one.”

DÉJÀ VU ALL OVER AGAIN

Today was the first day of 1st grade for Arden and the first day of preschool for Alex. A day of mixed emotions where I was a little sad to see my girls growing up so fast and let’s be honest, I was also a little elated knowing that I would finally be getting a small piece of my pre-kid life back. Where I could spend the day writing in the comfort of my boxer shorts and not having to pee in the woods behind my office so as not to disturb Alex and her sometimes nanny’s playtime rhythm upstairs. I’d been dreaming of this moment for quite some time. A year to be exact. Back when Arden had her first day of elementary school and Alex had her first day of…preschool.

That’s right, last year Alex also had her first day of preschool, but it didn’t turn out that well. I had to leave her in tears and when I picked her up later that day she was still in tears. She finished the first week off the same way she started, but by the end of that first week we realized she hadn’t peed in 42 hours so we rushed her to the urologist who told us that Alex had one of three possible problems. 1) She had a defective bladder and would have to be catheterized for life. 2) She had a neurological defect that was preventing her from urinating or 3) She had a tumor on her spine. He said most likely it was number one, which was ironically the worst scenario because if she had a neurological defect or a tumor we could at least fix the problem. That’s when the self-loathing began because deep down inside you’re hating yourself for privately hoping your child has a neurological defect or a tumor. Fortunately after putting Alex under general anesthesia for an exploratory procedure we found out Alex had option 4 – a big fat bladder. And there was nothing wrong with her. To comfort us the doctor did say, “The good news is that Alex will have a social advantage in school because she’ll never miss a conversation because she has to pee.” Yes, very comforting doctor. Personally I thought the good news is that Alex was fine. The even better news was that the next day she was done with diapers, but we decided, maybe we should keep Alex out of school until next fall.

So here we are, a year later. Arden went off to 1st grade this morning without a hitch (and by without a hitch I mean that she got assigned a classroom that had not one of her friends in it and a new teacher who didn’t bother setting up the classroom) and Alex walked into preschool with a newfound confidence, ready to take on the world of finger paints and Duck Duck Goose, without her Daddy.

However, there was another little girl at Alex’s preschool, crying her eyes out for her father who had just left. She was terrified of all the teachers in their blue aprons and saw me and said, “Please hold me, please.” I looked around, thinking she’s gotta mean someone else, but she meant me. I tried to help calm her down, tried to introduce her to Alex, but she was busy riding a trike across the playground. The little girl looked so sad and all the teachers were busy with other first day introductions. So what else could I do? I scooped her up and she put her head on my shoulder and wiped her snot on my sleeve, and within a few minutes she was calm and ready to start her first day. And as I walked out of school, I felt a little less elated about my newfound freedom and a little bit sadder that my girls are growing up.

HYPNOTIZED

Alex, now two-and-a-half, likes to touch my face or stroke my arm with her jagged little fingernails when she's watching TV. Last night Arden looked over at us on the couch and said, "Why does she always do that?" I said, "I dunno, but when you were her age you used to like to tug on my ears while you sat and watched TV." I then went on to explain that it was actually relaxing and sometimes even made me fall asleep. So while Jen was putting Alex to bed last night, Arden came over to the couch, sat down next to me and started tugging on my ear. Mind you a gentle tug from a two-year-old is a mite more lulling than that of a six-year-old with a hidden agenda. But I let her do it anyway until her real motive was revealed...

iCarly had just ended and it was time for Arden to go to bed. I was quickly finishing up an email on my phone while Arden continued tugging on my ear. Meanwhile she slowly lifted up the remote and slyly put on an episode of SpongeBob. I turned to her with a smile and said, "Are you trying to hypnotize me so you can stay up and watch another show?" She smiled at me and said, "Did it work?" Apparently it had because I said, "Fifteen more minutes." 

ARDEN ON TV TONIGHT!

Arden will be featured on the premiere episode of I KID WITH BRAD GARRETT tonight on TLC as well as being featured in a second episode on July 12. On the west coast the show airs at 5:00 PM and repeats again at 8:00 PM and on the east coast is airs at 8:00 PM and repeats again at 11:00 PM. So set your DVRs and watch Arden give Brad a run for his money!

The Videos Are Back!

Today Arden and Alex take on Lady Gaga...

MUSICAL BEDS

Alex is on what must be her 5th cold since the New Year began so...

Last night I "slept" in my bed then moved to Alex's bed (when she invaded mine), then Jen couldn't take the invader so she took Alex's bed while I returned to our bed with Alex, but Alex kept coughing so I set her up on the recliner while I took the couch, but then she wanted her bed again so Jen went back to our bed and I (unintentionally) fell asleep on Alex's floor until Alex announced that she was awake at 3:30 AM so I took the recliner while she watched TV on the couch until she decided she wanted to sit with daddy on the recliner until dawn. Sometime after that I officially became a zombie. So aim for the head.

QUOTABLE ARDEN

While driving in the car yesterday Arden tells me she knows our phone number and then proceeds to rattle it off. I told her that was great. And that it's important to know your phone number, "That way you can always get in touch with me." Arden then asks, "When I grow up will I get my own phone number?" I said, "Yes." Arden then says, "Will I get to choose the number?" I said, "Sometimes." Arden nods her head to herself for a moment and then says, "I would like my phone number to be one." I look back at her and say, "You want your phone number to be the number one?" Arden says, "Yeah, that way when I'm famous it will be easy for people to get in touch with me."

BEST DAY EVER!

You tell yourself you’re gonna do things differently with the second kid. You’re not gonna rush off to sterilize their binky every time it falls to the floor, you’re not gonna worry about having them hang out with another baby who’s got so much snot running down his face that he looks like a glazed donut. And you think sending them off to school that first day is gonna be a piece of cake the second time around. Well today was Alex’s first day of preschool and it was far from a piece of cake. Though there was cake involved.

Just like the day Arden started school there, three years before, I felt like I needed a stiff drink when I walked out the door. Alex was totally fine; she had a boatload of new toys to play with and just as many new opportunities to stain her clothes. She waved “goodbye” to me no problem; it was me that was a wreck. With Arden I was nervous leaving her there, letting someone else be in control of her daily destiny. I was also on edge because Arden had to go up and down a flight of stairs to get to her classroom and she didn’t know how to climb stairs yet. This time I didn’t have any of those worries. Well, the stair thing still bothered me a bit, but what really got to me was that this was the end of an era. The last child I’m ever going to have, assuming we have no accidents between now and when I get the boys snipped next summer, is no longer a baby. She’s officially a preschooler now and she’s going to learn very quickly how to be independent and no longer need her daddy the way she did before. The magic of seeing her discover the world around her will soon fade.

But today was also a great day. Arden is still on winter break thanks to the Los Angeles Unified School District’s three freakin’ week holiday schedule and with Alex being in school it was a rare occasion for me to hang out with just Arden, so I decided to do something special with her. I decided to take her to the American Girl Store Café and have a special father-daughter lunch with her.

I’ve always been against the whole American Girl thing (the commercialism, the racial stereotypes with their “historic” dolls), but man do they know how to make a little girl and her dad feel special inside that café. First off you need reservations and with those reservations you need to check in fifteen minutes early, probably so there’s some guaranteed shopping time while you wait. And of course we shopped. But the procedure helps make the meal feel like an event. That and having your daughter dress in a matching outfit with her doll. Once it’s time to be seated, you and your doll(s) (there was a kid there with five dolls) are escorted to your table where your doll is placed in their very own tableside booster. Then you’re served warm sticky buns, followed by fruit skewers and crudité with ranch and honey mustard dipping sauces. Then comes the main course. Arden had “butterfly pasta” (bowtie pasta) and I had the turkey dinner and I gotta say, it was damn good. I washed it down with a peach bellini and Arden a Shirley Temple. Dessert consisted of chocolate mousse in a flowerpot, a frosted sugar cookie and a heart-shaped piece of cake. We were both given all three of those. And to keep you and your daughter entertained you’re given a little box of questions to ask between courses. Things like, “Would you rather be able to fly or turn invisible? And why?” Arden chose invisible so she could spy on her boyfriend and kiss him when he isn’t looking. For the record Arden doesn’t have a boyfriend, at least not a requited one. She's obsessed with a little boy named Goetz who refuses to kiss her. Anyway, it was a wonderful experience, but what was really great was hearing for the rest of the day, “This is the best day ever.”

After lunch we tried to shake off our sugar comas and went to pick up Alex at school. We arrived just as naptime was getting over. As we were walking down the hall we overheard Alex’s teacher (who just happened to be Arden’s first teacher) pretending to call me, in order to calm Alex down. We were told she was great all day, but when she woke up from her nap fifteen minutes prior she was a little confused and started crying for me. I know it sounds cruel, but I couldn’t help but smile to myself because my baby still needed me. At least for today. So between sending Alex to school today and spending time with Arden, it was kinda the best day ever for me too.

Photos: Top, Arden and Alex posing before Alex's first day of school; Bottom, Arden at the American Girl Store Café . 

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.