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.