Somewhere Over the Rainbow

"Where troubles melt like lemon drops high above the chimney tops. That's where you'll find me." -from Somewhere Over the Rainbow

Every day, I picked up Peanut from daycare. Every day, I rushed in and out of that place like a whirling dervish, loath to participate in any small talk or long discussions. Every day for years I had only minimal contact with the people who run this place. Minimal at best. Certainly not as much as they deserve. This is not because they are not worthy of my time. Quite the opposite. They are wonderful, patient, understanding, loving, caring, involved people. It’s because I am perpetually in a rush. I have dinner to prepare and a dog to walk and it’s 5:45 and we have to get home. I can’t help myself. That's just me.

So to make up for all of those times I picked her up and just said hello and goodbye with little eye contact as I was climbing, then shortly thereafter descending, the steps two at a time, I am here to say what I should have stopped to say all of these years:

Thank you.

My daughter is happy. She is well-behaved. She is bright, observant, and clever. She is funny and friendly. A lot of that is nature. A lot of that is parenting. (Thank you very much.) But so much of that is you.

We moved here when she was one and a half years old. Took her from the only home and only daycare she had ever known, and she didn’t miss a beat. And that IS you.

You treated her not as a student, but as a child. Your child. You made her feel at home. You eased every fear or concern we’ve ever had from day one.

Sometimes you knew Peanut better than we did. Once she had been giving My Director a difficult time during the morning routine for a few days in a row. (I’m already at work when this is going on at 7am.) She was saying things like, “I don’t want to go to school.” When My Director asked her why she’d answer, “Because the boys aren’t being nice.”

First, I was surprised. (She’s always been friends with those boys.) Then, I was protective. (I’ll beat those boys to a pulp.) Finally, I was constructive. (I’ll ask her teacher what’s up.)

So on one of the rare occasions where I took the time to have an actual conversation with someone during pickup, I asked the teacher on the playground if Peanut ever seems unhappy, if she ever complains, or if she notices her ever getting a hard time from the boys.

“Are you kidding me?” She answered. “(Peanut) puts them in their place. If they mess with her she says, ‘Oh, no you don’t.’” (That's what I thought.) “She’s fine," she continued. "You’ll never have to worry about her getting pushed around.” THAT’s my girl.

"So what you're saying is, she's playing us?" I countered. 

"You got that right."

Of course she is.

As a newish dad, what it took me a while to realize about daycare is that it’s not just a place you pay to watch your child. It’s much more than that. It’s people you trust to help your child grow. To help her succeed. People who potty trained her. (Because she just would NOT go for us.) People who cared for her when she was sick. (Because it takes a while to get home from the city after you’ve received THAT phone call.) People who showed her love, not anger, when she did something wrong. (Because they knew she was sorry.)

People who became her family, a part of our family. People who we talk about around the dinner table. People she looks up to. People she loves.

This week, Peanut walked out of her daycare for the last time. It was a milestone. A sad one. It's hard to believe that this place that has been so much a part of our every day lives will suddenly fade into the sunset of our memories.

Walking through the door
one last time

All of the good times, the sick days, the friends we all made, all because of this place. Now as we count down to Kindergarten, I realize she is ready and confident to take that step because of them. So there is one thing that I want to say to the people who have meant so much over the past four years. It doesn’t seem like nearly enough, but it is sincere from someone who wishes he had said it a lot more:

Thank you.

This post first appeared on Barista Kids in June, shortly after Peanut's pre-K graduation. I had a little fun with that rite of passage in a previous post. If you want a good laugh, you can read it here.

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Hope Floats

"Where there is charity and wisdom, there is neither fear nor ignorance." -St. Francis of Assisi (My dad's favorite saint.)

It was something so small, so silly, so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Regardless, I don't think I've ever felt more helpless as a parent. Even when she's sick, there's always medicine, orange juice, and a good cuddle on the couch with Doc McStuffins on the television all day. A scrape on the knee gets a Band-Aid and a kiss. Then there are those times when she's upset, but she's most likely tired or just being ridiculous. So you listen to her frustration but ultimately, and kindly, tell her to get over it.

But what do you do when there is nothing you can do?

As Peanut and I left daycare one day recently, I was in more of a rush than usual thanks to traffic, putting me way behind on my evening checklist. Despite being forced to wait an extra 20 minutes for me; despite the fact that she was one of just two children in her class still waiting to be picked up, Peanut was no worse for the wear. After all, she had balloons. Two. A yellow one and an orange one. So I loaded my arms with all of her artwork, homework, trinkets, and tools and we headed out.

"Do you want me to carry your balloons so we don't lose them?" I asked. "You can carry your lunchbox for me." Because this is the stuff blog posts are made of, she, of course, answered "no thank you."

And what do you think happens next?

Reenactment:
No balloons were intentionally harmed
during the making of this blog post

Halfway to the car, she let them go. Even though I warned her to hold on to them. Now I know what you're thinking, and no I did not tie them to her wrist like a good parent would. Read: in more of a rush than usual. Still, parenting fail.

I made a feeble attempt to catch them. But my arms were, as you may remember, full. And my vertical leap is, as you may imagine, lacking. Peanut was devastated. Rightfully so. I can still see the look of horror and heartbreak on her face as she helplessly watched those balloons float away to destroy the ecosystem of some far-away land. She herself gave her own feeble jump in desperation. Arms stretched to the heavens, tears streaming down her now sobbing face. Her screams echoing through the near-empty parking lot.

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The Pick-Up Artist

"Don't worry that children never listen to you; worry that they are always watching you." ~Robert Fulghum

Since I became in charge of daycare pickup a couple of years ago one thing has become perfectly clear: I have no time for nonsense. I am the whirling-dervish dad at pick-up time. In and out in less than five minutes with very little if any eye contact, let alone social interaction. You'll be lucky if you get a hello from me.

This is not social hour. It's a business trip. And my business is to get my daughter, collect her things, strap her in her car seat, get home and start dinner. I am a running back, carrying the ball with a full head of steam, my eyes on the endzone. And it's third down and a long way to go.

How the hell do all of these social-butterfly parents have time to talk? And who's cooking dinner in their house if they have time to chit-chat about God knows what at the most crucial, time-crunched, pressure-packed, stressful time of my day? (Please keep in mind that I am television news producer who faces hard deadlines and time constraints every hour of every day.)

What are these people doing? Don't they have more productive things to do? Meals to prepare? Dogs to walk? Baths to administer? I am as befuddled as I am annoyed in these situations.

Get your Baby Huey out of my way

And get your kid out of my way. It's not cute that your newly-walking bundle of burps wants to open the door by himself. It's wasting my time. That door is heavy, I have a handful of artwork that I am balancing like a circus act, and I need to get the hell out of here and get on with my life. Your adorable little Baby Huey can learn to open doors at home. 

I dont even interact with the people I'm friends with when I see them. I am a man on a mission. And most times I will stop at nothing to carry out that mission. Parking, for instance. If I pick up Peanut later (around 5:45pm), the parking lot is often packed. Annoyed, I scan the front of the building where there is room for two cars to park illegally at curbside. No such luck. Two other parents have already beaten me to it. My last resort is the spot that clearly is not a spot because it is painted as such and is located under a tree. Or, in desperate times, the handicapped spot right next to it. (I am not the only one who does this. But I don't blame you for judging.)

The sign is clear. I don't care

One day last week, I pulled into that handicapped spot, slammed the swagger wagon into park, turned it off, and jumped out. I'm half sprinting as I hit the button to lock the car. As I'm ready to take the steps to the front door two at a time to illustrate just how rushed I am, I spot a friend and her two children, one of whom is in Peanut's class.

"Mommy, he's not allowed to park there," the younger child, a 4 year-old girl, said. 

The mom looked me in the eye, smirked as if to say, "Gotcha," and relayed the message to me in case I didn't hear. Since I was on my mission, I didn't.

Without blinking an eye, I snapped back, "Sometimes ya gotta break the rules kid."

Sometimes... like day care pickup. Stay out of my way. This is no time to lollygag.

Once we're home, my mission continues with the cooking of dinner. I'm also a whirling dervish in the kitchen, as I wrote here.

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A Fool and His Money

"The truest characters of ignorance are vanity and pride and arrogance." -Samuel Butler

You have GOT to be kidding me.

I have a new group of people who need a punch in the face. No... they don't need a punch in the face. They need a punch in the stomach, the two clenched fists in the back while they are bending over in pain, and a kick to the ribs while they're laying on the ground screaming in agony.

You know who deserves this treatment? Rich a$$holes who not only shell out exorbitant amounts of money for boutique, private school day cares, but have the unmitigated nerve to complain about the cost and the hassle of filling out the applications and going through the interviews.

In the past two months, I have overheard two people at work doing this. And it makes me sick. They mention it casually, then humble brag. You know what humble brag is, right? Complaining about something while you're really bragging about it?. Like saying, "Ugh I have to do all this packing for my two week trip to Paris... such a pain."

F*ck. You.

And f*ck these stupid rich a$$holes who burn their money on $40,000 a year DAY CARE. Not school. Day. Care. 40 grand.  Makes me sick.

Please don't get me wrong... I do not begrudge the rich. I am a capitalist at heart who believes that most people earn what they have and deserve to keep as much of it as possible.

But I also think WASTING money is a disgrace. A sin even. And spending that kind of money on daycare is a waste and a disgrace. It makes me so angry my sternum hurts.

My wife and I spend about $1,500 a MONTH on daycare. That's a lot of money... and Peanut is only in for three days a week. But if you do the math, it's a reasonable hourly rate.

This year, the price goes up because she is required to go five days a week for pre-K. It is, in our opinion, the best daycare around. The one where we felt she was safest and would receive the most attention and have the most fun. Is it worth it? Who the hell knows? That's the going rate for good, convenient child care in my town. Once again, capitalism wins.

But don't you dare sit there, and shake your head in annoyance and tell ME how ridiculous it is to fill out the applications and jump through the hoops of these interviews for a day care... for an 18 MONTH OLD child. You. F*cking. Stupid. Rich. A$$hole. This is your choice. Your arrogant, dumba$$ choice.

A co-worker of mine who was ranting with me about this said it best: These people do this not because they have to, but because they want to. They are blinded by the status of living in New York (or any other trendy metropolitan area). They feel maintaining that status and lifestyle is more important than what truly is best for their children. Having multiple kids and being able to live in New York is a sign of wealth. And these shallow d-bags will do anything to keep up that appearance.

I truly believe the care the Peanut is getting at a fraction of the cost is just as good if not better than what these rich a$$holes are buying for their kids.

Folks, we are raising a generation of d-bags, and this is one example of how we're doing it. What do you say to a child who eventually finds out his or her parents are shelling out that kind of money for daycare? For a status symbol?

Money isn't child's play

What next? A Bentley Big Wheel? Flying the kid and all of his snot-nosed daycare friends to Disney World for his fourth birthday?

How about giving me the 40 grand? I'll pay off this year's daycare bill and put the rest away for ALMOST a semester of college for the Peanut. You jerkoff. I WISH I had your problems.

My wife and I both make very good salaries. We both work because we want to, but more because we both HAVE to. While we chose to live in a town that is expensive, because of the schools and the commutability to the city, we recognize that was our choice. That doesn't mean we don't second guess our decision every time a problem pops up in the house and we have no disposable money to pay for it. (Hello, home equity line!)

We're looking forward to next year when the Peanut starts Kindergarten - in public schools (Hello, high property taxes) - so we can be rid of the day care bill.

Then again, we're planning on having a second by then...

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Shakedown Street

"Don't tell me this town ain't got no heart. You just gotta poke around." -The Grateful Dead

Enough. I'm talking to you, daycare. Enough.

We chose you because you're the best daycare in town. And your prices reflect that, and so does our daughter's enjoyment of her time there. But just stop it. Stop asking me for money.

It seems every time I walk in the door, there's a table set up and someone's trying to sell me something. Bake sales, raffles, book fairs. I know, these things raise money for the daycare or for charity. But I don't have a lot of discretionary income. And that's difficult to explain to a 4 year-old who knows there are cupcakes to buy when you pick her up.

I can live with the bake sale. They practically give this stuff away. I remember walking away with three cupcakes and four cookies for like $3.50 the last time. I gave them a five and told them to keep the change, big deal that I am. "Get a little something nice for yourselves, ladies," as I wink at them and shoot them the old finger gun. 

The raffle WAS for charity, after all. And they did have a bunch of differently themed gift baskets donated, so I wasn't really mad at that. I was mad that I didn't win. And I recently wrote about the book fair, where my daughter asked for three books and a twatty mom judged me for saying yes.

But what happened right before the school year ended was the final straw. A couple of kids and their moms had set up a jewelry sale. Homemade jewelry... by the kids. As soon as I walked in the door, they bombarded me. I tried to play the rushed, stressed, I-gotta-go parent and pretend not to have the time or inclination for such things.

I thought I had pulled it off thanks to my sly routine of going upstairs to get all of my daughter's stuff first, then going outside to get her from the playground, and then straight to the car.

But as we walked to the car, my daughter stopped dead in her tracks.

"Daddy, there's jewelry."

She remembered, or was told, and I couldn't pivot away from it. 

"Sweetie, we don't need jewelry."

"Yes I do." She was so certain.

So I made her promise that if I had bought her jewelry she had to be a good girl and listen and eat all of her dinner and not cry. Being that this was the first time I was seeing her all day, I had no basis for any reward. She could have punched a kid in the face that day for all I knew and here I was about to buy her jewelry.

My only option was to reward possible future activity. Basically, I was giving her this jewelry on credit.

The $10 necklace, marked down to $6

Once inside, she proceeded to choose what turned out to be the most expensive item they had to offer. It was retailing for a whopping $10. Ten bucks! I was unable to hide neither my surprise nor my displeasure at the price of this homemade necklace. I tried, but failed, to convince my daughter to buy something less expensive.

"This bracelet's nice and it's only $3."

She wasn't buying.

One of the moms then told her daughter, the capitalist behind this operation, "Maybe it's time we reduce the prices. It's getting close to closing time." I managed to haggle my way down to six bucks.

On the car ride home, I shook my head in disapproval to myself. I thought what nerve they had setting up a jewelry sale like that. And for what? Themselves? Obnoxious.

That night I voiced my aggravation to my wife. I told her I was going to write a blog about it and call it "Shakedown Street."

"Please don't," she pleaded. "Some of those moms might read it and then they (really) won't like you."

I relented. So why are you reading about it anyway? Because the next day my wife sent me a link to a story on a local website about how those kids were raising money for Relay for Life.

You know who's obnoxious? Me.

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Judge For Yourself

"Whoever undertakes to set himself up as a judge of truth and knowledge is shipwrecked by the laughter of the gods." -Albert Einstein

One of the many perks of being a parent is the freedom to judge other parents. Few things are more annoying to me as a parent than when a person who doesn't have children talks about what parents are doing wrong.

I admit that I too did this before I became a father... definitely to my sisters and possibly to a cousin or friend. My wife and I would occasionally say things like, "we're not going to do that when we're parents.

I get it, childless people... you think you have all the answers. But you don't. Maybe you think you're smarter because you get more sleep than we parents get. But you're not.

I dare you to keep your patience in the pizzeria when you're running on fumes after a stressful and exhausting day of work and the little person to whom you devote your life, love and sanity refuses to listen to a word you say because he wanted a bag of potato chips and you had the nerve to say no and now he's throwing a fit on the filthy restaurant floor.

Do you think you can do that? I've seen it done. It's impressive. But we still slip... we still lose it sometimes. Parenting is stressful.

And when you finally do become parents... and you're truly ready to judge... there's a big rule.

The rule is you don't do it to someone's face. This isn't American Idol. We're not performing for you and looking for immediate feedback. We're parenting at the Improv. But it's not just for a night. It's every minute of every day for the rest of your life. You never know what's going to come out of your child's mouth. But once they've said it you need to respond. And you need to respond well... and calmly.

On Monday I picked up my daughter at daycare. They were having a book fair. Translation: entrapping parents into shelling out $10-$20 because all we want to do is collect our child and his/her things quickly and without drama.

I was looking forward to this because I had scouted out some of the books on the Friday before. There were a couple I wanted to push on my daughter. One by Al Yankovic, of all people, titled "When I Grow Up." (We didn't end up getting this one).

After I found her on the playground, we went inside to get some books. In my mind I had a budget of $20... I figured three books. I never told her that number, however. She had said on Friday that she wanted a princess book she had spotted. Gag. I mean... fine.

As we entered the building, she immediately spotted another book instead- a non-princess one. It was actually a book that teaches writing and how to tell time. So I said absolutely.

Then she asked, "Daddy may I have three books?" She had her eye on a Barbie book as well as the princess one.

Did she read my mind? Did she know my plan? I didn't have time to ponder these existential questions because immediately I spotted a mom who was looking at books herself. I caught her mouthing, under her breath, "May I have three books?" Emphasis on the three... not on the may.

I immediately said "yes" since that was my plan all along. And as I caught that mom, pouting her lips and shrugging her shoulders judgementally at my perceived inability not to spoil my child I said, "at least it's not a candy fair." Because I can't let you get away with that crap.

Are you really going to judge me to my face like that?

Listen, I'm a blogger. Obviously. I put myself out there to be judged. I get it. But I'm also judging myself in the process. And I really try not to judge other parents because I really am no authority because this is the first time I am raising a four year-old girl. You may fall into a rhythm, but everything is always new.

So don't judge me to my face. If you must, go home and do it in private. Or feel free to post a comment below.

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Dude, Where's My Car?

"You ever travel by bus before? No? Your mood's probably not going to improve much." - John Candy, Planes, Trains and Automobiles

How do we do it? It's apparently been a topic of conversation in at least three newsrooms in New York recently. Must be a slow news cycle for some of my colleagues.

Always asking the hard-hitting questions, they want to know: How do my wife and I manage to function with only one car?

Let me tell you: it's a lot easier than you think.

The swagger wagon

Still, while not impossible, surviving suburbia with a child and only one vehicle involves a very delicate dance. It also requires impeccable timing and reliance on public transportation... two things you have absolutely no control over. So there are days where it gets very interesting. And there are days when things go very wrong.

It has Fahrvergnugen

Daily, we perform quite an impressive tango:

I take the first bus into the city. It picks me up right outside our front door a little before 6am. My wife wakes up Peanut, gets her ready for school, and drops her off as soon as daycare opens at 730am. She then catches the 8:01am train into the city, parking the swagger wagon at the station lot. I take the 4:52pm train home, get the car, pick up the Peanut, take her home and start dinner. My wife hops on the 5:35 (or later) bus, which drops her off, conveniently, outside of our front door no later than 6:45pm. We eat dinner at 7pm.

Then, playtime, bedtime... repeat until the weekend... which is a whole other dance. A slow one, if you will.

You get all that? It's a simple rule: whoever has Peanut has the swagger wagon.

Potential hazards along the way: traffic - that's a big one. How many text messages have I received from my wife saying she's in traffic? And, of course: weather. The snow got its own post recently. It sucks (the snow, not the post). And rain isn't much better. Buses never seem to be prepared for rain. At least you don't have to shovel it.

But the biggest potential hazard, hands down: the cranky daughter. This is a hazard that I thankfully manage to avoid since I leave the house when everyone is still asleep.

Grumpy... but strapped in

If the Peanut is not cooperating in the morning, my wife finds herself squarely in the stress zone. She has 20 - count 'em 20 -minutes to get her up and out of the house. If she is even the slightest bit unruly it throws off the timing of the entire operation. Oh, the stories I've heard. She wouldn't wake up. She wouldn't get dressed. She wouldn't listen. She cried. She fought me on everything.

Depending on the level of non-cooperation, I may have to get the car at one of two alternate train stations. Or take the bus from one of two alternate gates. We have a contingency plan for everything.

That's how powerful my daughter is. Great power... yet no responsibility.

Still, I wouldn't waste the money on a second car until I absolutely have to. We make this work with relative ease.

I must admit, there are times when it would be incredibly convenient if we had a second car. For instance, we've had to skip church the past couple of weeks because I've been driving to meet my half-marathon training group on Sunday mornings. Sundays are long run days. We're up to 11 miles now... which takes me about an hour and a half (ok... a little longer than that). That means I get home right when service starts. If we had a second car, I could meet the family at church and just miss the announcements.

Thankfully, being Episcopalian means not feeling guilty about missing church (sorry, mom). It's Catholic Light (sorry again, mom).

Also, if you had a vote, which would you have us get: a second car, or a second child? We can only afford one.

Case closed.... but neither is happening anytime soon.

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Long Winter Snap

"A lot of people like snow. I find it to be an unnecessary freezing of water." -Carl Reiner

Snow days used to be fun. Remember those days? The anticipation. The hoping. The jubilation the moment you learned that school was cancelled?

We built a fort when we were iced in.

What made snow days so much more special was how rare they were. Growing up on the Jersey Shore (don't call it South Jersey please), we hardly ever saw significant snowfall. When snow was expected, it would mostly disappoint. But school would still be cancelled because it was icy. Where's the fun in an ice day?

Maybe the Miser Brothers are to blame.

My how times have changed. I don't know if it's global warming, or climate change, or just another sibling dispute between the Heat Miser and the Snow Miser, but this winter has been a real pain in the ass. And we're expecting another storm tomorrow... on April Fool's Day. No kidding. Pun intended.

Snow days used to be fun. But that was before I become a working father.

Snowed in after Christmas

This is what you have to deal with as a working parent in the suburbs on a snow day: Will daycare be open? What time will we know? Will we get the peanut to daycare? What if they close early? Who will pick her up if they do? Can we get someone to watch her? What time should they get here? Should they leave now to beat the snow? Who should it be? Does one of us need to stay home from work? Who should that be?

It causes nothing but stress and uncertainty and you aren't even close to picking up a shovel yet. Oh, and you have to get yourself to work, too.

So the snow comes and you wake up extra early to shovel so your wife can have a fighting chance to get out of the driveway. You also have to give yourself enough time to walk to the train station because a) you're a one-car family and b) the buses might not be running because the roads aren't plowed yet despite the growing amount you pay in annual property taxes.

Snow gear: a popular look this winter

Even when you clear the driveway and brush off the car, there is no guarantee your wife won't have to do the same an hour and a half later. But you have no choice. You have to put on your snow gear and hike a mile to catch the train to make sure you get to work.

Then your wife has to deal with the snow and the child. And more questions: Are the roads plowed? Will they cancel daycare? Should I bring her to work? Can I afford to stay home?

Are we doing the right thing?

And why the hell does it keep freakin' snowing?

Now, I am not one to complain about the weather. I have lived in the northeast my entire life... four of those years in Syracuse, NY. It used to be that winter was just a nuisance... but this winter I've elevated it to "brutal."

Luna finds the snow challenging

I haven't even talked about the illnesses yet. The vicious cycle that starts with a cough or a sniffle, then blows up into a full fledged case of strep throat that knocks out every member of your family except the dog.

Oh - and the dog... she won't poop in the snow. Wonderful. She's more high maintenance than the 4 year-old.

The illness has been non-stop. And while it's been mostly a functioning illness, I am not exaggerating when I say I've been coughing since the day after Christmas. It's nearly April. I'm not a smoker... yet I sound like my Grandma Sylvia after she's just inhaled a half a pack of Pall Malls for breakfast.

It's not just me... the peanut too. She's a mini Sylvia herself. Covering her mouth with the inside of her elbow like a good little girl. It's constant. It's part of the soundtrack of winter - and now spring - in our household. The crackling fire, the shovel on pavement, the cough of Sylvia.

Peanut pitches in as best she can.

And just when you're feeling better it snows again, which makes you sick because I was foolish enough to buy a corner property which means it takes me two hours to shovel. You shovel, you sweat... outside in the cold... for two hours.. because it snows in feet, not inches, where I live.

I have no idea what my wife and I will do if we wake up to a winter wonderland tomorrow... but we know we'll figure it out eventually. We always do.

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The Promise

"The trouble with learning to parent on the job is that your child is the teacher." -Robert Brault

Sometimes your child will say something that will quite simply floor you. Leave you speechless. It comes totally out of left field. Unprovoked. There are times when these things are funny enough to make you burst out with laughter. There are times when they say something that might cause you to worry, or at least make you wonder if you ought to worry.

But this time, the Peanut said something that gave us goose bumps, warmed our hearts, made us beam with pride... all at the same time.

Upon her return to school after the Christmas break, her teachers asked the class about New Year's resolutions. They do this often, almost every Monday. They ask the kids something and then post their responses on the bulletin board for us to see. The topics range from what they did over the weekend to what they enjoyed most about a recent field trip.

What the Peanut told her teachers made even them stop and comment. They pulled my wife aside during drop-off to tell her. They even directed me to the bulletin board when I arrived to pick her up later that day so I could see it for myself.

And even though I already knew what it was, since my wife had called me from the car after drop-off, it made me beam all over again.

Ready?

The Peanut said her resolution for 2011 was, "To share my toys if kids don't have toys."

The Peanut aims to make 2011 the year of giving

What 3 year-old says that? What child her age wants to share anything? To be perfectly honest, the Peanut has a terrible case of only-child syndrome, especially when it comes to sharing. She's all 'me, myself, and I.' So this had us very proud.

Where, you might wonder, did she possibly get this idea? Well, right before Christmas she and my wife entered school for a routine drop-off, when the Peanut noticed the boxes in the lobby meant for toy donations were gone. She remarked, "Oh, we forgot to bring in a toy, Mommy."

And she was right.

In the hustle and hysteria of the holidays, we kept forgetting to pick up a toy to donate. And our daughter noticed. My wife called me, devastated. "We're bad parents," she said. "We're setting a bad example." It was a week before Christmas. Most toy drives were over. But I managed to find a local business two towns away that was still collecting for Toys For Tots.

We bought a toy that Saturday and brought it there. The Peanut put it in the box herself. We told her how important it is to give to those who are less fortunate. We felt like adequate parents again. We hoped the message stuck.

We didn't hear anything more about it for two weeks... until we heard what she had said her New Year's resolution is.

So here's to being more generous, more selfless, more giving in 2011. My daughter taught me how important that is.

**UPDATE** A few months later, we took Peanut up on her offer. And she sang an entirely different tune. Click here to read "Keeping Your Promise."

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Basic Instinct

"I already have four animals... what would I want a dog for?" - My eloquently clever wiseass of a father, referring to his four children, every time one of us would ask if we could get a dog.

It is through parenthood we come to realize just how close we as a species are to animals. That's right. Animals. Think about it. All that separates us from dogs, for example, are thumbs. We have thumbs. We can pick stuff up.

If dogs had thumbs they'd rule the world. With an iron fist. Because they'd have thumbs.

Anyway... I came to this conclusion after receiving one of the most ridiculous voice messages in digital telephonic history. Despite my penchant for hyperbole, I think may agree.

As I'm walking the dog (it all comes back to dogs), I received a voicemail alert. My wife forwarded me a message she had received from day care since I was the one picking up our daughter that evening. "Hi, honey. School just called about an incident she had and I want to give you the heads up so you can follow up with them when you pick her up."

Isn't she cute how she uses terms like "follow up" with me, like I'm a member of her staff?

Since my wife was calm in her message, I knew this couldn't be that big of a deal. Then came the message from day care, "Hi this is Miss Diana. I just want you to know that everything is OK. You daughter is fine." They always lead with that - very smart. She continued, "There was an incident with another child. They were in housekeeping (a little playhouse area) and your daughter had a toy and the other child wanted it. When she didn't give it to him (Him? She's standing up to boys? Nice.), the other child bit her on the arm."

At that point, I'm thinking to myself, "what an animal." See? Animal. But wait until you hear what my precious little angel did in retaliation. Miss Diana then informed us in her message that she bit the other kid back.

That's my girl. You mess with the bull you get the horns.

Then the rational parent in me kicked in. Yes, there is one of those inside of me somewhere, sitting right across from the frat guy and the curmudgeon, disapprovingly shaking his head at the both of them. When the rational parent emerged, I thought to myself... who bites people? I know who. Animals. That's who. Poorly trained dogs. Overworked donkeys. A feisty mongoose. They bite people. So, apparently, do children. My child, in fact.

It is a basic instinct. Someone bites us, we bite them back. You bother one long enough, and even the most docile of dogs will snap at you. In this case, my daughter got under a little boy's skin so much that he tried to take a chunk out of hers. That was his natural reaction. And her natural response was to bite him back. Animals.

Both my wife and I tried our best to communicate to our daughter later that evening that even though someone bites her, it's still bad to bite them back. We made her make eye contact with us to ensure her undivided attention. We even put on our serious faces and used our serious voices. I think the message sank in. If that one didn't, we'll get another message from school some day.

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