REALITY BITES

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

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

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

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

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

QUOTABLE ARDEN

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

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

F@&KING FOURS

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

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

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

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

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

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


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


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

TO BE OR NOT TO BE, THAT IS THE THEORY

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

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

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

BABY TALK

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

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

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

QUOTABLE ARDEN

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

GONE WRITING YET AGAIN

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

-Rick