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Sunday, January 11, 2009

Sun, 11 Jan 2009 16:25:12 GMT

Maybe time for a little status update. Let's see, what's new...

Baby Girl watches a fair amount of TV because we're bad parents. The Backyardigans and Blue's Clues are big in our house. She knows the words to a lot of their songs and even their dance moves. The melodies, not so much. In general, only the lyrics, not the music, matter to her.

She loves Hello Kitty. Her HK dress, her HK table and chairs, her HK banner on her wall, her HK bandages for her booboos. I'm okay with it. Better Hello Kitty than Barbie.

She loves to wear bracelets and necklaces. Not real jewelry, but she doesn't have to know that.

She's finally growing out her hair and looking less like a boy. She'll tolerate a pin in her hair and sometimes a tiny ponytail.

She's been dancing a lot like Beyonce from the "Single Ladies" video. I don't remember ever showing it to her. But she does this thing with her hand on her hip and one leg sticking out, wiggling her hips. She says she saw it on TV. It's borderline obscene. The battle to keep this one off the pole may already have been lost...

She and I take walks around the block sometimes just after sunset. And it's weird to say about a three-year-old, but we chat. It's eerily quiet in our neighborhood at that time. So I start talking to her, and she talks to me. Just to fill the silence. Random crap. The way parents and teenagers talk when they go for a drive somewhere and they don't have to look at each other. Baby Girl insists on holding hands. She likes the crunch of dry leaves under her shoes and loves the sight of a full moon.

She's rebellious as hell sometimes Hates to be scolded. Hates to be told she's wrong. Spits occasionally, though it's more like blowing a juicy raspberry. Stomps her feet. Screams her head off. Spends a fair amount of time in the corner of the room. I'm told this is normal for her age. I cling to that belief, so don't tell me I'm wrong or I will start to blow raspberries.

She likes to draw. Faces with eyes, irises, eyebrows, noses, frowns or smiles, ears, hair, arms and hands, legs and feet. All except a torso. She writes letters and numbers. Draws different shapes. Gets frustrated by the limits of a toddler's hand-eye coordination. This is usually where her perfectionism shows. All of a sudden, she lets out a grunt like an animal or a pirate -- argh! -- and a crayon gets tossed across the room. Drawing time doesn't last very long.

She loves cranberry raisins, lollipops, gummies, oreos, popsicles.

She's usually not ticklish, but if you make her laugh once, she's ticklish everywhere. Like violently ticklish. She wasn't like this as a baby. This makes bathtime very difficult. I have to keep it very serious. No laughing, no funny business whatsoever. Otherwise, there's just water everywhere and nothing gets clean and there's this half-washed kid with a big grin on her face, giggling like mad.

Right now she's trying to brush out the kinks in her doll's hair. Once again, off in the hopeless pursuit of perfection. But at least she's quiet, and without the aid of a TV cartoon.

Wednesday, December 31, 2008

Wed, 31 Dec 2008 04:06:29 GMT

She didn't really mean to spit in my face. She was upset, and she pursed her lips and blew some air through them, and some spit and food went flying, and some of it happened to land on my face. Even so, I got pissed. I got so pissed, I got creative.
First I put her in time out. For a while. Then, when she came out, I told her that spitting is naughty. And if she ever spits at me again, she can go live with Swiper the Fox in the forest.
This upset her deeply. "No, I don't want to! He's... he's an animal!"
Me: "Well, if you spit at people, then you're an animal, too."
"No! I'm not an animal! I'm a gorl!" That's how she says "girl."
And she cried. She cried so hard, I started to feel guilty. But then, later the same night, she did it again.
So I opened the door to the backyard. It was dark by then. "Go," I said. "Go live with Swiper the Fox and be an animal. Swiper will be your new daddy."
"Nooo!" She clung to my leg and cried. Okay, it was cruel and unusual. I feel bad now, thinking about it, but she's been such a nightmare and I've been sick and okay, that's no excuse.
Anyway, she hasn't spit again at anybody since.
On the bright side, maybe we'll never have to watch Dora the Explorer again.

Thursday, December 18, 2008

Thu, 18 Dec 2008 03:27:28 GMT

I've been home more lately. The details are boring. Weak economy, budget cuts, etc. Other, more qualified writers lost their jobs as well. Hello, GM and Chrysler. Is this seat taken?
So I've been spending more time in pajama pants. I handle both drop-offs and pick-ups now. And the hours between drop-off and pick-up, my God, they fly faster than a peregrine falcon, which, according to the science trivia book that I read in third grade, is really really fast. Writing a kickass TV pilot is gonna take longer than expected.
You would think I'd have more time and attention for Baby Girl now, but it hasn't been that way. The days fill up somehow. With a whole lot of crap. Dealing with the broken dishwasher, the incompetent plumber... Monster and Hotjobs and other online job hunting... my dreaded legal resume... unemployment applications, benefits paperwork... Christmas and vacation crap... prepping for meetings... watching TV, which I can rationalize as job research but can quickly become vegging out... contemplating trying out some of the drugs that all the other writers take... working out too hard... enjoying my single-serve coffeemaker way too much...
Baby Girl still thinks Daddy goes to work while she's in school. Probably best to let her keep thinking that.
Feels like I jumped from a moving car. The past couple of weeks, I've been tumbling and rolling and flickering like a cigarette dropped out the window. Finally came to a full stop. Dusted the ashes off. And now I'm walking again. But I'm used to the ground underneath me moving a whole lot faster, toward happy places that now seem harder to reach.
I should snap out of it. I've got this adorable toddler and this crazy beautiful wife. Am I using "crazy" as an adjective or an adverb? Let's go with adverb, meaning "very."
Walking's not so bad. Right? Right. There's good stuff along the way. Crazy good stuff.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Tue, 18 Nov 2008 00:06:04 GMT

Baby Girl didn't want to eat any more of her dinner. She wanted to skip to dessert: a Trader Joe's mango flavored popsicle. So she said her stomach hurt. She lay down on the sofa, with her hand on her belly, and said perhaps the longest sentence she's ever uttered: "I think my stomach will feel better with mango ice."

Today was her first day at a new preschool. Hope she's doing okay...

Wednesday, November 05, 2008

Wed, 05 Nov 2008 05:08:09 GMT

When she is older, I will remind Baby Girl that on this night, as she fell asleep, the last words she whispered before she fell asleep were "O-ba-ma... O-ba-ma..."

Yes, we can. I hope we do.

Thursday, October 23, 2008

Thu, 23 Oct 2008 18:50:50 GMT

I've been totally off the grid. Back to a more reasonable schedule, for now. Always a struggle to manage my time. Every night is a huge rush to bedtime. With both of us working full time, it probably always will be. It's not easy for us, but it's not easy for Baby Girl either.
Bath time last night was a disaster. She didn't want to come out. I tried to reason with her, gave her choices, none of which included staying in the tub longer. But she just didn't want to come out. And when I pulled her out -- meltdown. I've been trying to teach her a new word: cooperate. She can say it, but I think it's hard to get her head around it. Daddy needed his own time-out after the bath, and Mommy took over.
Then this morning, a similar situation arose. She woke up, ran to our bedroom, and told Mommy to get up and go to the living room with her. Mommy's not a morning person, so I offered to go with her instead. Baby Girl said no. She wanted Mommy instead. Much whining and negotiating ensued. Finally, I got up and walked over to her. Crouched down to her level. Tried to be firm without being angry. "You want to go to the living room with Daddy, OR do you want to go back to your bedroom by yourself?" She frowned and sniffed but kept herself from crying. "Living room," she said softly. "With Daddy?" I asked. I braced myself for a stubborn reply, but it didn't come. "Daddy," she nodded. I picked her up and showered her with praise and affection as I carried her to the living room and left the wife to sleep a little more. It didn't matter that I was her second choice. Can't blame her for that. I was just so proud and a little sad that she was starting to grasp that she can't always have what she wants. That the choices that Mommy and Daddy can offer sometimes don't include what she desires most. That she was starting to grasp the concept of "cooperate."
It was a good morning. Up until she pooped in the potty and then wiggled her butt when I tried to wipe her. I asked her what she's doing. She said, "I'm shaking my booty!" The things she picks up at preschool...
We have our good moments and our not-so-good ones. Just trying to make sure we have more good ones than the other kind...

Monday, September 15, 2008

Mon, 15 Sep 2008 00:15:00 GMT

Her favorite games nowadays are Hide & Seek and Memory. Hide & seek is always good to get her laughing. She's not any good at hiding yet, thank God. She's also hilariously bad at seeking. I hide in plain sight behind a balloon, and she walks right by me. Then she sees me and busts out laughing. Good times.

The memory tiles, I wasn't sure she'd be ready for. They're these little tiles with pictures of fairy tale characters. I laid them all out, and we started turning them over. And she started to make matches. "Hey, we saw that before!" Kinda shocked me. I said "good job" and gave her a hug and told her how proud I am of her. Awesome moment. But I didn't realize then that I was setting some kind of precedent. Now every time she makes a match, she comes over, gives me a hug and tells me she loves me or she's proud of me. Maybe she thinks it's a rule of the game. Make a match, give a hug. I showed my parents this game, and she does the same thing with them. Match, hug, I love you. Now, of course, it's my parents' favorite game in the world. A) it proves their granddaughter is a genius, and B) they get hugs. Happy happy joy joy all around.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

Thu, 11 Sep 2008 19:02:03 GMT

Baby Girl has been trying my patience lately, testing her boundaries constantly. So I have to remind myself to think positively. For example, there is wisdom to be gained from toddlers. Even from Baby Girl.

For one thing, forgiveness. After being scolded or sent to time out or whatever, even after she's been crying hard and saying "you're not my daddy anymore" and such -- when it's over, it's over. The tears stop, the smile comes. Even a hug. No hard feelings, no resentment. The unpleasantness is over, and it's on to mango ice or lemon sorbet or whatever else she's excited about next.

Which brings us to the next thing, excitement. About anything and everything. Baby Girl embraces the new. Any opportunity to get out of the house. Wanna go to CVS? "Yes!" Go help Daddy mow the lawn? "Yay!" Go to Lowes and buy household crap? "Hooray!" How about the Skirball Center, which you've never heard of and can barely pronounce? "I wanna go now!" I think her attitude is awesome.

I could learn a thing or two.

Monday, August 18, 2008

Mon, 18 Aug 2008 18:31:40 GMT

Getting my butt kicked at work, so I've been remiss. But there are a couple things I want to jot down here to remember...

1. We went to see Wall E. And we survived! Baby Girl's first movie. We prepped her a lot beforehand, told her what it was going to be like, and it must've sunk in. When the music got too loud, she covered her ears, just like I told her. And when she had something to say, she whispered. At one point she got a little antsy and wanted to stand, but then there was a loud rocket launch, which sent her flying into my arms. The only disappointing thing is that she had to pee with one minute left in the movie. But that's fine. She had so much fun, the next day, we pretended to go see Wall E again in her room with her doll, Charlene.

2. I've noticed that when she eats her morning cereal, she likes to hold on to a single piece on our drive to preschool. Seriously, like a single square of cinnamon toast crunch. When we got to school and I dropped off all her stuff and signed her in, I gave her a hug good-bye. And I noticed she still had the cereal in her hand. It looked like it had probably lost some of its crunch. But as she walked away from me and headed toward one of the teachers, she sighed and took that little square of cereal and ate it. To fortify her as she made her way out into the world. A little piece of home to help her through the day.

There are so many more, I feel like I can't keep up anymore. It still blows me away that this little extension of the Wife & me, this little former blob, now requires the price of admission to get into a movie theatre. I want to explain, but wait, she's not actually a whole, separate, entire being -- she's like my third arm. Literally, she used to lie down on my forearm. What is she doing, occupying a whole movie theater seat by herself, taking in the experience in her own peculiar way?

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Tue, 22 Jul 2008 00:14:19 GMT

I've been neglecting Baby Girl lately because of work. Whenever that happens, she rebels against me more. Now, when I tell her to stop doing something or say anything vaguely negative, she goes through her list of comebacks, which she usually says in a sing-song voice while shaking her head back and forth:

"I don't like you."

"I'm not your Daddy / You're not my Daddy."

"You don't get a cookie."

"You don't get a present."

But mostly: "I don't like you."

I tell her, yes, you do. You love me. Then I start to tickle her belly. You love me like crazy. And she laughs and laughs and laughs. And eventually I get what I'm looking for...

"Daddy, I love you like crazy!"

Now if only this technique would work on the Wife...

I still kinda want the cookie and the present, though.