The TV Hierarchy

Laying on the couch with a severe case of Man Cold for past few days, I've watched a lot of television. Most of it classic, awesome movies like Die Hard With a Vengeance, Field of Dreams, and Midnight Run. There is no better way to sweat out a bad case of Man Cold than by channeling the testosterone and coolness of the likes of Bruce Willis, James Earl Jones, and Robert DeNiro.

Watching all of that television inspired me to unveil this list, the undisputed rankings of what takes precedence on the television in our house. It is the result of years of negotiations. Now despite its length and detail, you'd think we watch a lot of television. Fear not. We watch just enough. You will notice it is very top-heavy in my favor. That is because I am willing to sacrifice what's on the television for a majority of the year, just to have complete authority when it counts. So without further ado, here is what rules the tube in the DKL house:

1. Pro football: For the sermon at our wedding, the pastor asked me and My Director to write about why we love each other. Neither of us was allowed to know what the other wrote until we heard the sermon. One of the things I wrote was, "Because she understands Sundays are for football." The pastor made sure to interject that Sundays are for church too. Well played, padre. Entire weekends are planned around me getting to sit on the couch for six hours and watch nothing but football. Or the Jets, who occasionally resemble football.

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How the Fur Flies

"It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are." -E.E. Cummings


Parenthood is full of epiphanies. Those moments when you realize your limitations as a parent, or your child's limitations as whatever they are trying to become. And then there are the epiphanies worth writing about. The moments when you realize that all of your hard work, all of your worry, all of your sleep deprivation and financial struggles are worth it. This is a story about one of those moments.

Peanut wore a new jacket to school last Thursday. The zipper on her regular jacket broke off when she was outside playing the day before. You know how kids get attached to certain things, and particular pieces of clothing? Well despite an outerwear wardrobe that would make Diana Ross blush, she chooses to wear the same jacket every day. Thus, the tired zipper.

My half-Italian leopard-print princess

Her backup jacket is this snazzy pink leopard-print number with a fur-lined hood. It goes without saying, but just for clarity's sake, my mom is the one who got her this coat. I think my mom may have a matching one.

Peanut didn't protest the change. She likes this jacket just fine. But she told me a story about how one of her friends at school had a negative reaction to it. "Daddy, (so-and-so) felt the fur and she said "Ewww." This was no political statement about fur or, in this case, faux fur. It was just a child being a child. Still, my first thought was, "How dare that little snot." Instead of expressing that feeling, I asked Peanut what  she said in response. "Nuffin," she shrugged. (That's Peanut for "nothing.")

She didn't seem fazed. More like she was just stating a fact. Her friend felt her jacket and said this. Can I have a snack now? Then I explained about different tastes and how sometimes our friends won't always like everything we like.

Later that night, I relayed the same story to My Director. She thought I was going to take the opportunity to make a snarky comment about another five year-old. (Really? Am I that shallow? That predictable?) But I wasn't mad at the little girl for expressing her opinion. Upon further review, I realized I was impressed with Peanut's response. She didn't say anything negative back. Didn't get defensive or lash out. She was... ambivalent.

"She has no concept of saying something negative like that to someone. None. The thought is foreign to her. Never would cross her mind," I said.

My Director agreed.

Then I came to the epiphany that inspired this blog post. And I admit, I'm going to sound like a proud, bragging dad here. But anyone who knows me or reads this blog would know I wouldn't have said it if I didn't think it was true.

"We know she's a good girl, but this makes me realize she's a good person."

And she agreed again. I was so proud at that moment. That a month before her 5th birthday I can tell my daughter is a good person. Now it's my job to make sure she stays that way. Sure, she has her moments of bossiness, lippy-ness. Sure there are times where she chooses not to listen, even pretends not to hear. But overall, she's a good girl.

Eventually she'll learn about all the negative in this world. There's plenty of time for that. But for now, I know she's a good person.

That's all a dad could ask for.

Peanut also recently taught me she has an admirable amount of fight and courage. I wrote about that here.

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Confessions of a Chocoholic

"All you need is love. But a little chocolate now and then doesn't hurt." - Charles M. Schulz

On a beautiful spring evening when the temperatures reached the low 80's, my wife and I decided to treat the Peanut and go out for ice cream after dinner. Some of the best ice cream you will ever taste is made fresh and sold about two miles down the road from our house... at a place called Applegate Farm.



Applegate's: The best I've tasted

As we stood there surveying the myriad of flavors, my wife asked me, "What in the world are going to order?" This question carried more significance than normal. I had given up chocolate for Lent.

Chocolate. My weakness. My vice. My precious.



Two great tastes that taste great together

My favorite flavor - chocolate peanut butter - was clearly off limits. As was any other flavor containing any of the following words: mocha, chip, fudge, brownie, cookie, black, forest, or crunch. I ordered vanilla peanut butter, which is fine. But vanilla by definition is boring. I realized then, just a few days into Lent, this wasn't going to be easy.

The Peanut sat there on the curb, enjoying her ice cream. She is ultimately why I do these things. To set an example. To show her what I'm capable of... what she's capable of.

Each of the past two years I gave up Facebook for Lent. That may sound trivial but if you're on it as much as I am, it is quite difficult. But I never missed Facebook. It was simply a matter of changing a habit. As my daughter gets older and more aware, I want to share these traditions with her. There is no explaining Facebook to a four year-old. Nor should there be. Thus, my decision to sacrifice chocolate.

Reduced fat, but still tempting

For the first two weeks, I was jonesing. Yearning. The Devil Dogs made me do it... almost. They were literally calling me from the pantry. I heard them. Tempted by Devil Dogs.

One night I subconsciously went to the refrigerator because I had a random hankering for chocolate milk. Never do I drink chocolate milk. Ever. I am lactose intolerant for crying out loud. When I snapped into reality I realized that my body was telling me to feed it chocolate by any means necessary. I was in detox.

No chocolate for 40 days. Actually, it's 46 because Sundays don't technically count as part of Lent. When I was younger, I would give up candy knowing that all I had to do was make it to Sunday every week. That's not a sacrifice to me. At the risk of turning this into Bible study, I'm pretty sure Jesus didn't take Sundays off during his 40-day journey in the desert. I can endure the 6 extra days. Barely.

The Bible also tells us not to announce our charity "with trumpets" (Matthew 6:2), that God will see what we've done in secret and reward us. Yet here I am... blogging about it.... and telling anyone else who will listen to me.

So I go wall to wall... Ash Wednesday to Easter Sunday. No breaks. I have slipped up twice. Once, coincidentally, with chocolate milk. I sipped one of the Peanut's chocolate milk boxes to make sure it didn't spill after I had put the straw in (parenting habit). And once I grabbed a chocolate Munchkin from a box that someone had bought for the newsroom where I work. Also pure habit. Newsrooms are notorious for free food that's bad for you, making my sacrifice even more challenging.

delicious... but not chocolate chip

It really is amazing how chocolate permeates so many facets of my life. Chocolate chip pancakes are a regular Saturday morning treat my wife will make. During Lent? Banana pancakes. Cue the Jack Johnson. One weekend we went out to breakfast and without even thinking I nearly ordered French toast stuffed with Nutella. That is until my wife - my Jiminy Cricket who herself doesn't give up anything for Lent (convenient) - subtly reminded me that Nutella is chocolate. "Oh," I said disappointed, "I guess that's why it sounded so good to me."



My conscience is my guide

Even my daughter knows. She taunts me. She'll eat a chocolate chip cookie and say, "Daddy, you can't have a bite." But that's mostly why I did it. First, to challenge myself. But most important, I want her to see that you can give up something you love and still be happy. Ok, maybe not happy but you can still function. Ok, I'm barely functioning... but I'm alive. You can survive without something you love. There's the lesson. That's something.



I'll join you in 3 days, Augustus

Who am I kidding? When I went food shopping for the week on Monday afternoon, I bought two 1/2 gallons of ice cream... both predominantly chocolate flavors. Just last night my daughter asked for some for dessert. I told her no... we're saving them for a chocolate feast that would make Augustus Gloop blush.

These three days can't go by fast enough.

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Reality Television

"You need a license to buy a dog, or drive a car. Hell, you need a license to catch a fish. But they'll let any butt-reaming a**hole be a father." -From the movie "Parenthood"

I have watched a lot of television in my life. Too much. I work in television. I live television. And throughout the years, some television shows have had a profound impact on my life. Ok, profound is maybe too strong of a word... but I'm still regularly quoting "Cheers" and "Seinfeld," and I had a lot more hair on my head the last time one of them aired in primetime. So television is woven throughout the fabric of my life.

Very seldom does a show come along that I truly look forward to every week. One that I can't wait to watch. One that doesn't get stale, sitting on the DVR for days or weeks at a time. This is a show that taps into the very soul of the various emotions I as a father may encounter in any given day. It's called "Parenthood." Duh.

I am yet to find a non-parent who watches this show. And maybe this is why: if you watch it before you have kids, you will never want to have kids. I'm serious. But now that I have kids - excuse me, KID - I watch and feel vindicated.

The Braverman Family from "Parenthood"

The show revolves around the lives of the four grown children in one family, 2 brothers and 2 sisters, and their experiences with their children. They each have their own problems and situations, as do their parents. As do we all. After my wife and I watched a recent episode, I turned to her and said, "I have actually experienced the same emotions that all four of them went through in this episode."

The father who's afraid his child has no interest in him. The mother who just wants to find something, anything in common with her child. The spouse who is experiencing second thoughts about having a second child. The guy who finally confronts his sometimes challenging (edited for political correctness) mother-in-law.

I was sweating after this episode. My heart was racing. Tears were forming.

Imagine that. Imagine that a television show - a drama, fiction for crying out loud - could tap into so many emotions and cram them into one-hour. But it does.

One couple deals with a smart, rebellious daughter

It so successfully portrays what is a constant feeling of exhaustion and exasperation with which all parents live. You go to bed tired, and you even wake up tired. Physically, mentally, emotionally. Even on the weekends. And I only have ONE child! The people I know with two, three, a fourth on the way... they're insane! This exhaustion causes a facial expression. An expression of desperation. An expression of at times hopelessness. An expression often of pure defeat.

But what the vast majority of parents don't do, for lack of a better term, is give up. And that's what the parents in this show don't do. They keep getting knocked down. By their kids, by their jobs, by their parents, by life. And they keep getting up. They keep trying. They keep trying harder. That's what "Parenthood," and what parenthood, is all about.

And that's why it's inspiring. That's why it's profound. Because when all is said and done, the most important things we can do for our kids is just keep showing up and loving them. No matter what life throws at us. No matter what life throws at them. No matter how tired we are. Defeat is not an option. So put on a happy face.

And even if you're not living parenthood, watch "Parenthood." See how the other half lives.

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Who's Sorry Now?

"The voice of parents is the voice of gods, for to their children they are heaven’s lieutenants." -William Shakespeare

Man oh man it's got to be frustrating to be a baby. A toddler. Excuse me... "a little girl," as my daughter now refers to herself. Put aside the daily struggle with the pooping and peeing in the pants. Ignore the language barrier that causes us as parents to turn into a couple of Jackie Chan sidekicks when trying to decipher what she just said. Not to mention her constant attempts to accomplish something on your own, for the first time, the second time, or just the next time... but can't.

Those are all frustrating. But the most frustrating? It's gotta be that we keep changing the rules on her. Poor kid.

Ever since she could talk, walk, and slap, we have ingrained in her head the concept of the apology. And now, she obliges. A conciliatory, sincere, often immediate apology often follows any wrongdoing. But now there are times where she's gone too far. And saying "sorry" just isn't enough.

One night my daughter was extra cranky and overtired. She wanted us to read her a book that she was holding, but my wife told her she'd have to wait until we finished getting her ready for bed. At that point our little girl proceeded to smack my wife upside the head with the book. And although the thought of this scene playing out in my mind still causes me to giggle (I'm giggling right now - evil), this behavior is unacceptable. I'll let funny stuff slide sometimes, but acting out sight gags from The Three Stooges simply crosses the line. That could be downright dangerous.

Why I oughtta...

My wife, always a buoy of calm wading in a sea of chaos, lost it. She had to leave the room she was so angry (as I suppressed my laughter). It was then I informed our daughter that she will be going right to bed and we would not be reading her a book.

"Soorrreee."

Nope.

And she didn't understand. I put her in her crib despite her vehement protests. She repeatedly screamed her apology in desperation "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!" Once I calmed her down, I explained to her that while it's good that she's sorry for using a children's book as a weapon to nearly concuss her mother, that sometimes saying your sorry is just not enough. It doesn't make it right.

This, as you can imagine, did not go over well.

Consider her point of view: all she knows is to apologize if she does something wrong, and she is forgiven. It's the foundation of our faith. It's how we believe we get into heaven despite our faults, despite our sins. Geez, in less philosophical terms, to my daughter it's the quickest route back to getting a cookie.

Now we're saying, "Well, technically it's good you apologized BUUUT..." And that's a pretty big 'but.'

Now, I like big buts, and I cannot lie... but this is one of the biggest. We're getting into intent. And interpreting intent. The subjective, murky, gray areas that children cannot grasp. Espcially a 2 1/2 year old.

The same goes for "please." I don't care how sweetly you say please, my little darling, or how nicely you ask in a full sentence like I require. You're not getting a cookie before you eat breakfast.
Now I'm the one who is sorry. Sorry that my wife got blindsided with a book (snort snort giggle). Sorry that my daughter did all she knew she could to remedy the situation. And sorry that to us, it wasn't enough , and she didn't know why, and couldn't comprehend the reason.

Maybe we're the ones who are out of our minds.

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Every Step You Take

"The ordinary acts we practice every day at home are of more importance to the soul than their simplicity might suggest." -Thomas Moore

How many times do you hear it? "Wow, they grow up so fast."

"Enjoy this part of their life," parents of older children say. "They only grow up once."

Luckily for us, my wife and I are doing that as best we can. We're watching. Listening. Enjoying.

And just when you think you're going through the motions of another mundane evening, trying to corral your wild, headstrong, running child into her bed, she'll do something you've never seen her do before. Something that makes you realize how far she has come. Something that while insignificant to the casual observer, is in fact very significant to you because you are with her every step of the way.

They make progress without even noticing. So we as parents have to notice. We have to remark, document, and congratulate... without making too much of it.

Wrong shoes... wrong feet

They grow up so fast, and want to grow up so fast. Want to put on their own shoes and argue with you about which one goes on which foot. Want to pick out their own clothes even if they don't match. Want to walk up and down the stairs without holding your hand even though they are too short to reach the handrail.



Stairs aren't a problem anymore

 Well now she can reach the handrail. Now she does know which foot is which. Now she's understanding that blue stripes don't go with green polka dots.

Sometimes she just doesn't care and mismatches anyway.

And now, what once seemed like a tall task, an impossible mission, an unconquerable obstacle, is in the rearview mirror.

I can't count how many times my daughter has asked for help when she's wanted to get up and jump on our bed. Every time. All the time. Too many times to count. How many times did she ask for help when she wanted to get off the bed? Every time. All the time. Too many times to count.

"Help" and "Up" were soon replaced by "Go up there," then "On the bed, please." Every time, all the time, too many times to count I would say, "you can do it... go ahead." And every time, all the time, too many times to count I would give her a little push on her butt to get her over the top. Why are our beds so high off the ground, anway?



Climbing on furniture is second nature now

 But just last night, she did it herself. Without even asking. She wanted to jump on the bed and play up there with her little inflatable beach ball. Without even thinking, she threw the ball up there, used the wooden frame of the bed to propel herself upward, grabbed fistfuls of comforter tightly in both hands, and hoisted herself onto the bed.

I was so happy, so sad, so excited... I nearly freaked out.

Moving upward and onward

And every time the ball rolled off, and she said "daddy get it," I told her she can get it herself, and she did without hesitation. Sliding off the bed, retrieving the ball, and crawling back.

What will she not need my help with next?

It didn't occur to her what a giant step she had taken. It did occur to me that there is now one less thing for which she will need my help. That's what you get when you say you want to raise an "independent" child.

They grow up so fast.

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