Christmas in July

The song leaked from the backseat like the creak of a loose floorboard on the steps of my childhood home. Familiar but eerie. Comfortable, yet at the same time, jarring. It was Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy from The Nutcracker Suite. But this, after all, is July.

Peanut was playing with the iPad as we waited in the swagger wagon at the train station for My Director. This is our routine. I bring the iPad and she plays with one or two of the many apps that live in the folder marked with her name. Usually she plays a memory game or spelling game. So when I heard that song, I turned around with a smile:

"Why are you playing a Christmas game?"

"Because we don't have any summer ones, daddy."

Duh. Stupid of me for asking. So with that app, she made this for Santa:

Whimsical and festive

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Keeping Your Promise

"If you want children to keep their feet on the ground, put some responsibility on their shoulders." ~Abigail Van Buren

We definitely need a plan. As in, on weekends when we don't have anything planned, my wife and I need a plan. Because then we wake up in the morning, stare blankly at each other, and find ourselves allowing the Peanut to watch an hour and a half of Strawberry Shortcake cartoons.

Not good.

Or, what happened this past Saturday morning happens. My wife will decide, out of the blue, that we need to do something. Something we've been putting off. And that we need to do it immediately. Right. Now.

So she decided to drop a bomb on the Peanut and tell her we're going to go through the playroom, and get rid of some toys. Three piles: garbage, donate, baby (as in, still-yet-to-be-conceived second child).

As you could imagine, this did not go over well. The Peanut needs to be warned. Prepared. We can't just hit her with the unexpected. Even if it's a good thing like watching a new movie or going out to breakfast. She needs at least 24 hours notice, and she'd like it in writing whenever possible.

Crying started almost instantaneously, and continued throughout the process. And because the Peanut resisted my wife's every move, somehow I was getting in trouble. "I could really use your help in here, daddy."

To which I would have liked to have answered, "Listen lady, you're the one who shattered the peace of our otherwise uneventful weekend morning by deciding to discard part of our daughter's childhood and disassemble a corner of her world. Now that she's mad at you, you're mad at me?"

But I just said, "ok." And went into the playroom. I pick my battles. And I agreed that, like a forgotten library book, this exercise was long overdue.

The Peanut fought for every toy. "But I love that toy," she'd say. She protested when my wife called something junk. "No it's nooooot," she'd whine.

She cried. Over. Every. Single. Little. Toy. We didn't even get to the big stuff. It's hard to rationally argue with a 4 year-old who insists the Happy Meal toys that my mother-in-law bought her two years ago were "her favorite."

And the ones she didn't love, or that weren't her favorite, were conveniently, "Giada's." As in, her Lammie's. "That's Giada's toy. She plays with it all of the time." Cunning.

My daughter has the makings of a shrewd negotiator. Perhaps an attorney. Possibly a criminal mastermind.

This is what she's giving up...

...and what she still has

Finally, I volunteered my only useful bit of parenting to this whole charade. I reminded my daughter about her New Year's resolution. The one that inspired her teachers, other parents, and many of the readers of this blog. The one that filled our hearts with pride and our eyes with tears. The one where she said she wants to share her toys with kids who don't have them. I wrote it about here.

Her response? "I don't want to give my toys away anymore."

Now it's up to us to make her keep her promise.

How soon we forget.

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Well Deserved, Long Overdue

"All that I am, or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother." -Abraham Lincoln

It's about time my mother gets a post of her own. Not necessarily because she deserves it, but because she demands it.

"How come you write about your father so much but not me," she routinely asks me. Well, there's my 'no mention of living relatives who don't reside in my house' rule. But since my mom broke the mold, I'll break my rule... for her. This once.

There's also the fact that my blog is named Daddy Knows Less, which apparently escapes her. In fact, a lot of things escape her. That's one of the things I love so much about her.

I also love that she's hilarious, often unintentionally. And it's not just because I have to tell her the same things over and over again and then get the same reactions from her over and over again like it's Groundhog Day. No... that's annoying.

Baby's first Christmas w/Mema

What makes her hilarious is times like when she was babysitting my daughter and I came home from work and saw that Lifetime was on the television, blasting, and nobody was watching. I could only laugh because I knew my little girl had to endure a day full of bad made-for-tv movies because a) "I don't know how to work the damn thing" and b) "At least part of the day we were watching 'Little House.'"

She's hilarious because the night before that, she asked me if she could "distinguish" her cigarette in a paper bag in my garage. She's so ridiculous sometimes I have no idea what part of her statements I should respond to first. Should I correct her vocabulary or remind her paper can catch fire?

While I can't stand that she smokes, it does provide for some moments of hilarity.

Sweaty meats are difficult to pronounce

My mother is a throwback to old-school Italian-Americans. She pronounces things like "mootsadell"(mozzarella) and "gobbagool" (capicola). Every time she says "brook-la-daab," I correct her.

"It's broccoli rabe, mom."

"We're Italian," she counters. "It's 'brook-la-daab."

Mmmm...broccoli rabe

"No, crazy lady. Even in Italy they say broccoli rabe."

I can't help it. It seems I choose to deliberately aggravate her sometimes.

But why do I do it? Did she not hug me enough? No, she hugged me plenty. She didn't pay enough attention to me? I am the youngest of four... so possible.

I also don't want to fall in to the trap of eulogizing her before I absolutely have to. On the rare occasion I pour my heart out to her in a card or on the phone, even she asks, "Am I dying?"

Regardless... because even though she does demand it... she also deserves it.

So here you go mom...

There was a time you were my favorite person in the world. I couldn't get enough of you. I snuggled with you on the couch as a boy, sang to you the soundtrack from "Moonstruck" as you cooked in the kitchen as a teenager, took your side whenever you were in an argument with anyone, anytime. Including dad.

It lasted roughly the first 20 years of my life. I was a bonafide momma's boy. Then that sweet adorable WASP came along and stole my heart. And all I ever hear you say about her is "she's wonderful." Yes, she is.

My two favorite moms: 12/31/05

She's the one who promised you a grandchild one teary-eyed New Year's Eve and delivered. She was pregnant six months later. Your granddaughter arrived a year and three months after that promise. That's just one of many reasons she's wonderful. And so are you.

I think you're amazing. You taught me to cook, to love, to care, to shop for the finest ingredients at the lowest price, to be outraged when something costs too much. I think you have shown in the eight plus years since daddy passed away that you are stronger than all four of your children combined.

"Look at my kids," I overheard you say the morning after that horrible night. I could only imagine what you were seeing because a lot of the week that followed is a blur.

"I have to make sure I live a long time so I don't do this to them."

Yes. You do. (Then why do you still smoke?) You are a treasure. Our treasure. The only one we have left. You're our link to our childhood, our past, our fleeting innocence.

The last thing I said to daddy before he died was "thank you." From the beginning of this blog - before your granddaughter was even born - I've written about how much I appreciate that moment. Had I known it would be the last time I ever saw him, I would have said so much more. But I am thankful I at least said that.

In case I don't say it enough... just so you know, mom... I love you. Thank you.

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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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