How many points for this, father figure?

While preparing lunch for number 1 the other afternoon, I asked her what she would like to have for lunch. Number one has a very refine palate that leans toward Spaghetti-O’s, cheese sticks and Go-gurts, and the occasional bean burrito, but today she decided to venture into the realm of high cuisine—Mac & cheese.

I prepared the meal as I normal

y do, substituting the milk with sour cream (try it, it is so much better!) and I then asked #1 how much she wanted.

Without skipping a beat, in an adorable gesture she cupped her hands and said “…about 5 ounces, Daddy.”

5 ounces -- really.

“How much is an ounce, number 1?” I asked.

“You know, Daddy.” She replied. And she was right. I do know.

Progress report: T-plus 1087 days

Number 1 is in the home stretch to reach the 3rd year of her awesome existence, and it still amazes me each day that she is so early in years. There is no doubt that by the time she reaches her tweens that I will be in for a heap of trouble. 4 syllable words are commonplace and she is now a champion of the potty-set. I am currently in the process of teaching her how to complete my annual tax returns, as well as basic trigonometry, and with luck I will not have to be bothered with either within the next 1-2 years.

However, I must tell a tale of hilarity regarding #1's new-found potty independence:

Over the weekend, we were attending a barbecue at a friend's house. It was at this event that #1 experienced a terrible potty progress set-back. After and hour or two of socializing with the kids of our adult friends, #1 approached us to inform us that she needed to use the facilities. Mommy quickly jumped into action to get #1 to the toilet.

I was tasked with keeping tabs on #2 while #1 and mommy were taking care of nature's calling. After what seemed to be an eternity, mommy returned with number 1, clad in a new outfit.

Clearly something had transpired. I inquired to mom as to why #1 had the sudden wardrobe change. It was then that I was informed that there had in fact been a minor incident.

#1 is very independent. Particularly in regard to her potty training initiative. She is constantly asking that she "has privacy" to take care of her potty needs. It was in such a case of early independence that the incident occurred.

"She fell in."

"What? How did that happen?" I asked my lovely wife, "weren't you in the bathroom with her?"

She replied, "No. She needed her privacy. Then a few seconds later I heard her panicked cries for Mommy."

Apparently #1 had managed to slip through the toilet seat to splashdown in the waters below.

Now I must admit, I nearly wet myself laughing at this account after-the-fact, but it has had a terrible residual effect on #1's potty use. Since the incident, she has been terribly hesitant to use the toilet in unfamiliar venues.

So I found it amazingly fitting that while I was out running errands with #1 the other afternoon, that she pointed out the wall of toilet seats at the Home Depot we were visiting that day. In particular, she pointed out a seat that looked different from the others.

30 dollars later, I had managed to solve the falling in concerns.

The best part about this investment is that #1 gets a bottom appropriate toilet seat, and now I get a smaller target to aim for when I am in need of a bladder evacuation. This will improve my skills whilst allowing the young ones the confidence to pee without the need for hands to prop themselves up.

I will be hosting a party later this summer for those that would like to try the graduated seat.

Team Awesome Rules!

Potty Progress

Oh sweet Jeebus! Potty training is soon becoming an afterthought as far as number 1 is concerned. she is doing so much better than mom and I ever expected. Outside potties have been utilized without any concern for home territory abandon. She is nearly her own potty entity.

She used the potty before I had even wiped the sleep stuffs from my eyes the other morning. Only to awake me to the fact that I had to empty number 2 from number one. AWESOME!

Secondary Option for the Deuce

We are currently in the midst of developing #1’s toilet training ethic (regulation of ones and twos). She has on many varied occasions been successful at her potty practice. The day care provider focuses on this behavior and routinely escorts #1 to the restroom throughout the course of any given school day. And much to our chagrin, she is very diligent at using the potty while she is at school, because this is not the case when we are home.

There is a simple albeit crude fact that daughter #1 has a nightly bowel movement with Swiss precision. This nightly event has been a recent point of conflict between #1 and me. At nearly the same point every evening, roughly and hour after dinner and an hour prior to bath/bed time, #1 begins to demonstrate the behaviors that are evident of her about to make a deposit in her pants. She knows it. I know it. Then begins the standoff…

“Do you need to go potty, #1?” I ask.

“Yes, Daddy,” she predictably replies.

“Well let’s go. I will help you,” I respond.

“Daddy, I need to get ________ first” she states. Now the blank space is an indication that she will simply come up with some sort of menial, unnecessary task or errand to distract attention away from the previous lines of dialogue. This will then lead to #1 disappearing to another room under the guise that she is completing the aforementioned task when she is actually dropping the inevitable deuce.

This leads to a frustrating conversation between #1 and me about why she would not simply walk the extra 15 feet to use the potty rather than go in her diaper. I explain the merits of not having to carry your waste right next to your person, and #1 will state that she does not need to use the potty because Daddy will take care of the aftermath. As you may imagine, it is essentially a futile debate.

Therefore, I decided in my infinite parental wisdom, that I would instate a reward-per-use program that will reward #1 for successful potty habits—Stickers. Now as an adult, we all realize that a small speck of paper with an adhesive backing really holds no value, but to a 2 ½ year old, stickers might as well be gold doubloons.

I have created a merit based chart that rewards one sticker for water and two stickers for a solid. These stickers will then allow daughter #1 to garner a larger collection of stickers on her “potty chart” that can be traded for bigger and better prizes i.e. trip to the toy store, arcade for an afternoon of skeeball, etc.

So far I do not believe that she really appreciates the simplicity of the system and the ease of getting a great reward. I did the math, and just today based on my program, I believe I could have earned a round of mini-golf and a bag of M&M’s—but alas, I am ineligible to participate.

Stay tuned for hopeful tales of potty success stories.

From the mouths of babes/Save me a seat.

2010.02.10

The first part of today’s entry involves a simple but absolute decree from the lips of daughter #1, “Daddy, I wanna rock.” I had no idea how to respond. I have never used this kind of phraseology around the offspring, and had no way of knowing what she actually wanted to do. I asked her to repeat herself, “I wanna rock, Daddy.” (Dee Snyder would be proud)

“Ok. That’s great sweetie,” I proudly replied at hearing this profound and spontaneous declaration, “…right now?” I asked.

“Well…not today,” she lilted in only that way that an adorable 2½- year-old can. My wife and I instantly erupted in laughter at this exchange.

You see daughter #1 has a fondness for Bill Haley & the Comet’s songs; the majority of which have the term ROCK in the title of the song and/or the choruses of said songs. Rock-a-beatin̒ Boogie being her current favorite song in the Comet’s catalog, (the first line of which is “Rock! Rock! Rock everybody!”) I can understand how she would have this term in her youthful lexicon. However, I am not quite sure how she decided to let her need to rock to be known to all that were within ear shot?

2010.02.11

After much back and forth with my lovely bride about upgrading our old-but-reliable eyesore of a workhorse television, we finally came to a peace accord. The 17-year-old, 27-inch set that lasted me from the final years of my high school career and throughout the wide array of residences I went through prior to buying our home, has finally been replaced. Not just replaced, but surpassed by a spectacular 52 inch, 240 Hz LCD display that is now mounted to the wall in the basement of our home.

I am in love with this television, and I don’t care what you may think about me having such an affinity for such an extravagant luxury item. It is quite simply--exquisite. I am not a huge connoisseur of sporting events, but the size and quality of picture on this TV makes it feel as though you are actually in the events that your are viewing. But in my self-induced urgency to get the television up and running (for the Super Bowl), I failed to mull over the logistical aspects of the newly created theatre room.

The current floor plan of our home requires all four of us to have our sleeping stations in the basement. Technically, we have 2 bedrooms upstairs, but one is a dedicated office/junkroom, and the other is in a disastrous state of disarray at the moment. This in addition to the fact that we are not ready to have either of our little princesses sleeping alone on a separate level of the home from us has created the current subterranean close quarters.

The room that houses the newly acquired TV of monolithic proportions is in the same space as daughter #2’s crib. Initially I joked, (speaking in a baby tone) “Daddy’s putting a giant TV in my room so that I can watch cartoons all night.” Little did I know that there would be a counter truth to this jocularity…

Daughter #2 typically goes to sleep around 8 pm each evening. I don’t typically get home from the office until around 7:30 pm. Using high level mathematics you can see that this only allows for a 30 minute window to utilize the new medium of viewing pleasure. My hope is that I would be able continue to catch up on my DVR’ed programs while #2 was drifting off to sleep as I have done previously with the old telly. But this can no longer take place. I unfortunately did not take into account that since the new television encompasses the entire wall on which it resides; thereby, creating a gigantic intrusive glow that prevents #2 from going to sleep. She actually pulls herself up to the corner of her crib to peruse what perfumed turd NBC has lined up for the evening, cooing and giggling at the pretty bright lights.

I'm thinking that I might move the television to the upstairs bathroom. This will give me the intimate home theatre that I have been longing to have. Seating for one...?

Perspective from another vantage

Today as I was sitting on the couch with daughter #1 as daughter #2 was down for an early afternoon nap, I decided that it would be a good time to catch up on some much needed DVR viewing. #1 and I have a mutual understanding that as long as there is a Yo Gabba Gabba (YGG) mixed in every few shows that I peruse, we are simpatico.

We had just finished the second YGG before noon and I determined that it was indeed Daddy's turn for the "telly" #1 protested, but after I sighted the aforementioned reciprocity, she acquiesced. She is after all a very bright two-year-old. She knows that her YGG fix will again be satiated after Father has had his turn at the helm of the remote control.

I started to watch a few episodes of prime time programs that I had pre-selected to record, I wish I could recall exactly what I was watching, but it is unimportant for this account.

I started to LOL (laugh out loud, for the seniors) at some adult-themed joke that was set forth in the program that we were watching. Now keep in mind, as I have mentioned previously, #1 is a very inquisitive child and always wants to have a better understanding of what is actually taking place in any given situation. I wish I could explain it in more detail, but essentially #1 will constantly be asking me, "why did you say that, Daddy?" or "what's funny, Daddy?" Most times, I will do my best to relay to #1 using the best of my adult to toddler translation skills to edify her as to any given situation. But in this particular situation no amount of explanation would help to clarify the comedy that had just caused dad to belly laugh at the risk of waking #2. It was quite blue... though thank goodness, free of expletives.

Instantly #1 asked why I was laughing. It was then that I explained that it was a funny joke. #1 naturally then asked "why?" I stated that it was a joke for grown-ups, and that I could not really explain it to her at the time.

It was at this time that #1 (without skipping a beat) proclaimed, "but you are not a grown-up, Daddy?" (4 Mississippi pause...)

"So you don't think I am a grown-up?" I asked number one.

"No. You're a Daddy, but not a grown-up, Daddy," she replied. I had no fitting response other than more laughter. I asked if she and grandpa had discussed this previously. "No, Daddy," she replied.

I was quite happy to know that #1 does not believe me to be part of the bourgeoisie, (even though she has no frame of reference) and yet she has faith in me to refill her bowl of Lucky Charms each morning. This will be great fodder for later posts.

Daddy daughter night...Hooray!???

This evening my wife went out with a girlfriend for some much-needed adult time. I knew this ahead of time, but still I was dreading the actual departure of the matriarch, as I was sure it would lead to a bout of hysterical sobbing on the part of Daughter #1…my fears certainly came to fruition—1 hour of “I want Mommy.”

So prior to this as a means to soften what would be the eventual dramatic exit of Mommy for the evening, I thought it would be a good idea to go pick up a recently-released animated film that we could use to fill the couple of hours between Mom’s departure and bedtime. Little did I know that this would end up being mildly disastrous…

In an effort to streamline the movie selection process, I jumped on the “interwebs” to find out which Redbox kiosk contained the movie I was looking to acquire. Finding one within a mere 1.5 miles from our home, I was out the door to supply the evening’s catnip. Strange, this is my second time comparing my daughters to cats? I have no idea where this is coming from…I hate cats, love my daughters, hate cats.

I arrived at the kiosk in 5 minutes flat. Went through the rental process, including a series of promotional codes in an effort to get a free nights rental. It came to the final process of swiping the credit card when I experienced the glitch. The machine seemed to accept my card and I could hear the machine’s cogs and springs turning with righteous intent, but it was clear to me that something was wrong. Then I received the error message: We are unable to dispense your DVD as requested. Your credit card will not be charged. Please try another Redbox location. I was at a loss. Now I knew that this machine was the only one that contained the film I desired within a 15-mile radius. Yet I still thought I would try the other 4 locations I would pass on my return trip home in an effort to follow through on my movie commitment. You see, right before I left to go get the rental, child #1 asked where I was going. I informed her that father was leaving to pick up a delightful piece of cinematic mirth that would fill her evening with imaginative joy. I realize that there is no doubt that I will disappoint my children many times throughout their lives, but you would hope that when they are this young, it would be easy to placate them, since their requests are generally minimal and easy to provide.

When I arrived back at home after being gone for 30 minute of what was supposed to be a quick roundtrip, the first words out of #1’s mouth were, “Where’s the movie, Daddy?” Sadly, after all the other stops, I was unable to acquire the disc. All locations were sold out for the evening it would seem. When I informed her that I was unable to get it, I attempted to explain that there was a malfunction with the kiosk, and Daddy was not able to get the movie. I think she failed to grasp the intricacies of my excuse. It killed me to see her little shoulders drop, wrought with disillusionment as she walked back to her Magnadoodle^®. Therefore, I had a strike against me before Mom had even mentioned that she was about to go out for the night.

Mom left a few moments later as her friend arrived to take her out for the night. #1 turned on the water works. “Mommy don’t go. I want you to stay!” she exclaimed. This went on for 2 minutes as my wife made her departure. Daughter #1 then proceededto further turn the blade that was “daddy sucks” by putting on her shoes, scarf and coat as she began to fumble with the dead bolt lock and doorknob (see previous entry) in an effort to escape the non-movie-providing clutches of her father.

This was terribly comedic as it was upsetting. I laughed in amazement as to the firefighter-like speed in which she got herself ready to follow mommy out the door. This completely debunks her excuses during our morning ritual of getting ready for the day that she is unable to dress herself. I wish I had a video camera rolling so that I could show it to her each morning with righteous indignation while she fights getting dressed. But at the same time I was terrible bummed at the fact that my departure from the house never inspires such histrionics.

A popcorn accord was agreed upon, and #1 was content to place her mommy woes to the back burner and we were ready to settle in for some dvr’ed episodes of Yo Gabba Gabba.

Thank you DJ Lance.

I should also mention that while all of this is going on Daughter #2 was giggling like a maniac from the vantage point of her Exersaucer^® at her big sister’s tantrum. I believe this will be the status quo for the next 15-20 years.

There is a touching silver lining to this evening’s tale, but this entry has already become too verbose. To be continued…

The Great Escape

Child #1 has reached a new and rather annoying milestone…the ability to operate door knobs. Now for many of you that do not have children, you may be perplexed as to why this is even a matter for concern. When you put a 2 ½ year old child to bed, I liken the experience to herding cats: you may have been able to put the subject into bed, but odds are that in a matter of minutes the aforementioned “cat” will eventually slink out of bed to the toy box or some other locale in the vicinity. This is where the inability to coordinate thumb and fingers while turning a knob can be an asset. Trapping a small child in a room as a means to get them to go to sleep may seem mildly cruel to some of you, but after 1 ½ hours of bedtime stories, OCD blanket and pillow selection, and a series of creative excuses to try to stay off sleep for a few more minutes, shutting the cell door is typically the last resort to get the offender to hit the hay.

This technique came to a screeching halt on Monday morning when I was startled by Daughter #1 gently rapping at the shower door. “Daddy, I want more milk in my bottle…sister is crying.” These fateful words marked the end of an era.Now I am left with the choice to leave things the way they are, or to install a child-proof door knob device. I recall as a youth that my parents had done just this. I don’t really remember any particular frustrations or irreversible damage on my part from this device. In fact, if my memory serves me, I recall that I was able to use the simple plastic device to torture my younger, less-coordinated siblings—laughing maniacally after trapping them in rooms that were equipped with the child-proof apparatus.

What to do? Shall I continue along this path of raising a free-range toddler, or will I implement the equivalent of baby barbwire in order to maintain the morning ritual routine? Stay tuned followers…there may be a riot in cell block #9.