My March-October Bromance

"All summer long, we sang a song and strolled on golden sand. Two sweethearts, and the summer wind." -Frank Sinatra

The days are getting shorter. The air is getting colder. And once again, my days of wearing cargo shorts are over.

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Subtle Reminders

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

It's truly amazing how almost every time Peanut and I take Luna for a walk in the park, some sort of magic moment happens. I love these walks and this is why. They're my chance to be one-on-one with Peanut, hands-free, and chat with her. She often provides unique insights. Sometimes her opinions surprise me. This time around, she was riding her bicycle. (She's getting really good at it. But we've still got some time before those training wheels are ready to come off.)

We came upon a series of signs, dotted along the edge of the woods just off the path we were walking/riding on:

"That's nice," I called to Peanut as she rode ahead of me and Luna. 

"What, daddy?" 

"The volunteers who take care of the park put up those signs so Luna doesn't go in there and get poison ivy." 

"Luna can't read, daddy." 

"You're absolutely right. Silly me."

Peanut is doing this more often. Correcting us, providing perspective, making observations, or reminding us of things. Sometimes, like the example above, it's funny. Sometimes it's enlightening, like when she hears the first few harmonica chords of Piano Man as we're riding in the car and says, "Daddy, it's your favorite song." Enlightening because she IS listening to me.

Sometimes it's as harsh as a bucket of cold water in your face. For instance, she now serves as our mediator. My Director and I sometimes often bicker like an old married couple. Wait...what? (10 years in December, by the way.) Whenever Peanut is around and we become engaged in one of our discussions, she joins in as an interested but neutral third party. 

"Work it out," she'll shout from another room.

Or

"Guys, it's ok," she'll offer from the backseat of the car.

And My Director and I will look at each other with those "why-are-we-such-bad-parents-but-you-started-it" eyes. Then we will indeed work it out.

She is even aware of change. Like the other day, when she asked, "Daddy, why don't we hear the songs from Megamind in the car anymore?"

"Because mommy listens to a different radio station and she picks you up from school now." (And when I'm driving, it doubles as your musical education.)

Wow. She really notices everything we do. Everything we say. Everything. That's scary. She has a memory too. Even scarier.

It is the gigantic burden of parenthood. You are your child's example. Their moral compass. The old cop-out adage "Do as I say not as I do" does not apply. It should never have applied. She's watching. A little sponge absorbing. Learning. From me. Through me.

On my 37th birthday: We're so alike it's scary.

This is why she'll put her pajama pants on her head to distract us when she's being difficult at bedtime. Because when she's hurt or sad or crying for any other reason than naughtiness, I will put her pajama pants on my head to get her to snap out of it. When she mimics this hilarious, never-gets-old act of mine, My Director will turn to me and say, "See what you've done?"

Yes. I've created a comedic genius is what I've done. That pants-on-the-head gag kills every time.

We share a fondness for
fabulous headware 

When we're all in a happy mood and we're enjoying each other's company, she'll call My Director "the best mommy" and me "the best daddy" because I call her "the best little girl" and Luna "the best puppy."

But she's also helping me with her reminders. Because sometimes in the frantic rush from place to place, you can forget some crucial things. Like when I put her in her car seat, close the door, walk around to the driver's side, get into my seat, start the car, buckle my seat belt, reach to put the car in reverse and she giggles, "Daddy, you forgot to buckle me."

She thought I was being silly. I wasn't. I was being forgetful. She helps me remember.

Then there's the time we were playing tee ball in the backyard and My Director jokingly hit my butt with the bat. And now, just like the pants-on-the-head gag, it's become a thing to hit daddy's butt with the Whiffle-ball bat. Every time we switch sides from batting to fielding, I hand her the bat, and she smacks me with it. (But unlike the pants-on-the-head gag, this one gets old.)

And when I gave up chocolate for Lent  and she was making pretend-coffee in her play kitchen and she came in and said, "Daddy, it's ok. You can drink it because it doesn't have chocolate."

Not only is she always listening, she's always looking out for me too. She sees my love, feels my love, and loves me right back.

One of the things she teaches me, and reminds me of, is forgiveness. And wouldn't you know, Luna was involved there, too. I wrote about that here.

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One is the Only-est Number

"There is just one life for each of us: our own." -Euripides

Yet again, our almost daily walk with Luna produces another memorable Peanut moment. On one of our routes, we walk by a rose garden that is a focal point of the park that our street dead ends into. Recently, the people who take care of the garden dedicated a new statue to one of its benefactors. It was a particularly hot day, so Luna found a shaded patch of grass near the rose bushes and laid down. I sat on a bench as Peanut played on the statue, a little boy pushing a wheelbarrow. She then put her arm around it, and said, "Look, daddy. He's my little brother."

She had struck a chord. So I asked her, "Are you ok if me and mommy don't have another baby?"

Then, in typical Peanut fashion, she eased my concerns saying, "Daddy, I'm just pretending."

This is a very sensitive subject for us. And while we never say never, for now we're saying we only get one shot at this. I only get one shot at this. At the whole being a dad thing. This is my shot:

So everything I do, every decision I make, every choice is a BFD. Because everything involves Peanut.

My daughter is an ONLY child and will likely be our ONLY child. And I have heard enough of the backhanded, condescending comments in my five-plus years as a dad of ONE child. News alert: Having one child doesn't make me any less of a parent. Maybe it's just paranoia or insecurity, but sometimes I feel unfairly judged or underestimated.

Then I remember actual conversations, like this:

"We've always made Peanut eat what we eat. Luckily, she's a good eater and likes pretty much anything I cook."

(Dismissively) "Yeah. But you ONLY have one. I have to worry about two picky eaters."

That's just one of many exchanges I've had. The mere suggestion that our days, our lives, are somehow easier is insulting. My Director and I don't have it easy. Walk a mile in my shoes. Wake up when I do. Do my job and love my child for the two hours a day I get to love her. Then tell me how insignificant it is. Look, I'm not looking for a pat on the back or for someone to validate me as a dad. The only person who needs to think I'm a good dad as far as I'm concerned is Peanut. Her love and respect is all that matters. But the persistent, underlying judgment we feel as "only-"parents is sometimes exhausting.

I don't love her any less. I don't stress about her any less. I don't play king to her princess with any less gusto just because she's my ONLY child.

Sometimes one is enough. Plenty, in fact.

We have one child by choice, and by circumstance. For the same reasons I am sure other families may have more than one. If you ask me, we are all more than blessed.

And one last thing about the only child herself: If Peanut has a meltdown, shows defiance, or expects or asks for something, it's not because she's an ONLY child. It's because she IS a child. You think her behavior in these cases would be better if she had a sibling? I'd argue they'd be worse. I was in constant competition with my three older siblings for my parents' attention. Still am. You want me to line up the people with siblings who have issues? Where should I begin?

A couple of weeks ago, My Director and I were watching the Olympics. More specifically, we were watching women's swimming. We watched a profile piece on 17 year-old phenom Missy Franklin and her family. She is smart, personable, outgoing, funny, and adorable. Oh, she then went on to win the gold medal in the 100-meter backstroke. (Then three other golds and a bronze, thank you very much.) She is also an only child.

The Golden Only Child (photo from here.)

"See that?" My Director noted with a smile. "Missy Franklin is an only child. She turned out pretty well."

Peanut is also smart, personable, outgoing, funny, and adorable.Yet, sometimes we still feel the need to defend her, to justify her actions and our decisions, to ourselves and others. Well, the justifying stops today.

She probably won't be winning any gold medals in swimming
since she still doesn't like getting her face wet. But I love
her just the same.

We didn't set out to be a one-child family. We just are. That's us. It's who we've become. Possibly for good.  If you ask me, for very good.

For a time, we went back and forth about having a second child, weighing the pros and cons. I wrote about it almost a year ago. You can click here if you want to read it. But our decision to stop at one was not an easy one. Circumstances helped us make that decision. Someday we'll be ready to share that story.

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Courage Under Fire

"The miracle isn't that I finished. The miracle is that I had the courage to start." -John Bingham

When you least expect it, your child will teach you a lesson. Without even trying. Such was the case as the peanut and I went for a late evening walk with Luna one night this week.

Since my wife worked a little later than usual, we ate dinner a little later than usual. Right before we were finished she asked, "Daddy, are you taking Luna for a walk?" After I answered her yes, after dinner, she asked, "May I please come with you?" She had been such a good girl at dinner. And I can't say no when she asks so perfectly. Despite the late hour.

We finished our meal and I took the dishes into the kitchen to be done after we put the peanut to bed. I told her I was ready to go. "But, daddy, I need to draw a map first."

Cue the roll of the eyes, slumping of the shoulders, and bubbling up of annoyance. I only did this knowing she couldn't see me.

"Ok, sweetie. But it's already bedtime and it's getting dark. So we have to hurry." Within two minutes we were out the door, each of us with our map. Of course, I was thinking to myself that maybe I could turn the whole drawing a map thing into a blogable moment.

And as I was formulating that post in my head, halfway down our block, she tripped on the sidewalk. It happened out of nowhere. There wasn't even something to trip over.

Ouch (yes, I took pictures).

She landed on both knees and hands. A bad fall. She immediately started crying. And I could tell by the severity that this was no normal cry, this was no normal fall. I lifted her up and saw the nastiest of nasty scrapes on her knee. My poor baby.

She was so excited to be rewarded with this walk and all I could do was be annoyed. And now she's in my arms, bleeding and crying. You can imagine how poorly I felt.

I carried her home, while seeing at least three of our neighbors out of the corner of my eye looking on with concern on their faces. Luna, meanwhile, is utterly confused at this point. Having dropped her leash, she's still walking towards the park. I call her to join us, pick up the leash again, and proceed to drag her back home while carrying my broken peanut.

Required Two Dora Band-Aids

We get back to the house and I call for my wife to come tend to the peanut. I leave Luna, still wearing her leash, on the front lawn. My wife takes over. I look out the front door to find Luna laying on the front lawn, waiting and wondering.

We tend to the peanut. I don't want to leave but my wife says, "I'll take care of you while daddy walks Luna." And this is where she dropped the lesson without even trying.

"No," she said through her sobs and tears. "I still want to go with them."

Map in hand, ready to go again

Amazing. Simply amazing. We were floored. It's not that she was being unreasonable. She was telling us she was going to be ok enough to go for the walk. 

Luna, ever patient, is still laying out there waiting. We grab our maps and her leash and head off for our walk again. This time, holding hands. This time, I'm paying closer attention.

After Luna did her business and we we headed home, the peanut said she didn't want to walk anymore. "I'm tired, daddy."

Usually, I would give her my "this is a walk" line, and we don't carry you on a walk. But this time I gave in. This one time. I picked up my wounded little warrior and carried her home. Her reward for teaching me about courage, innocence, excitement, and perseverance all at once.

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The Dog Days of Summer

"If you saw a heat wave, would you wave back?" -Stephen Wright

It's too hot to do anything outside.  Yesterday, in fact, I turned on the grill and I feared I would spontaneously combust as it fired up. But we don't have it nearly as bad as our four-legged friends. Let's be honest. How much more unbearable would this weather be if we were covered in fur?

Luna is not having it. Wants nothing to do with the heat.

Every time I open the playroom door that leads to our back patio, I hear the sudden jingle-jangling from wherever she is in the house like I always do. So I wait for her. She stops at the doorway. I'm standing there holding the door for her with one hand and a dish full of marinated chicken and a grill spatula in the other.

She waits. She looks outside, then looks up to me as if to say, "I'm not going out there. Are you crazy?" (Remember, we gave Luna a voice like Cheech Marin. It's much funnier if you read her that way.)

I try to encourage her to go outside, "Cmon, Loo... Let's go.... It's ok."

Yes, the look on her face has registered such concern that I have to assure her that she will be alright once she goes outside. The yard is pretty well shaded. So there's plenty of room for her to roam, pee, and go back inside relatively unscathed.

Still... she stares.

So I go out there without her. A minute later, after putting my chicken on the grill, she hears me open the door to come inside. And I hear the same jingle-jangling. This time, she stops at the doorway to the playroom. She looks at me as if to ask, (cue the Cheech) "How is it out there? As bad as I thought?"

And now I'm actually having a conversation with her.

"You know, if you want to go outside, just go."

(Cheech) "But I don't want to."

"It's fine. Just for a couple of minutes to pee. It's not that big of a deal." (My voice, if you're wondering, is deep and nasal-y, like the Lollipop Guild on steroids.)

She inches closer. I have no patience to hold the door any longer while she decides. So I close it and move on.

Later, Luna joins me as I go next door. We're watering our neighbor's flower garden while they're away. I used the front door; so Luna didn't hesitate to follow me. She treats the front door a lot differently than the back door (unintentional sexual innuendo). She equates the front door with going for a walk.

She also loves sniffing around our next door neighbor's house. They don't mind because they love animals, and have one of their own. Recently we pet-sat for them, which I wrote about here.

I couldn't resist squirting her with the sprayer a half a dozen times as she was inspecting their yard. I thought I was helping her cool off. But every time I did it, without fail, she got mad at me. Tail-down, run-away, find-a-place-to-hide mad.

When I was done, I asked her if she wanted to go for a walk. She was excited. I had lifted her spirits. I was excited too. She hadn't pooped in two days because of her refusal to walk in the heat.

This Dog's Done

We entered the park, made our turn onto our chosen path and at last, after nearly 48 hours, Luna proceeded to...lay down. Right there on the path. She was a hot black panting mess.

She looked up at me and said, (Cheech) "I can't go on any longer. You go ahead without me. I'll be just fine right here."

I let her cool down for a minute, then we turned tail and headed home. Still no poop.

So add heat to the list of weather conditions in which my dog will not poop. Snow, rain, dark (yes, dark) and now heat. She's like the opposite of the post office. She doesn't deliver unless the conditions are perfect.

If you haven't read about my walks with Luna AND the peanut, it's worth clicking here.

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THE PEANUT GALLERY #1

This is the start of something new on DKL. I will be sharing some images with you on a regular basis. They might be quick shots that I capture with my blackberry, or a series of photos that capture an event better than a written post can.  As part of this series, I'm even preparing to share with you images that the peanut has taken herself. (Some of them are hilarious and "revealing." Stay tuned.)

This blog used to be covered with photos, as I chronicled the peanut's growth and milestones for family and friends. This is my way of bringing that concept back, while including everyone who now follows DKL.

I call it "The Peanut Gallery" since I refer to my daughter in this blog as "the peanut." "Gallery" is self-explanatory (duh).

For my first installation, I have one single photo, snapped quickly while we walked Luna in the park a few days ago. She wanted to hold the leash and walk her herself. Just one more thing she can do that I do. I love this photo for its innocence and maturity, for its simplicity and complexity.

My girls on their own

If you'd still like something more to read, I recently blogged about our wild adventures walking Luna. Click here to read it.

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A Walk in the Park

"No symphony orchestra ever played music like a (little) girl laughing with a puppy." -Bern Williams

Walking the dog is not what it used to be. Not what it was two years ago. Heck, not what it was two months ago.

Best picture ever taken of Luna

Two months ago, we'd venture out into the dark... winter's chill still hanging in the air. I'd use a flashlight to locate my little black dog and her little brown poop.

I would go alone.

But spring has sprung... which means my dark, solitary walks with Luna are no longer in the dark and are certainly no longer solitary.

"Daddy, may I please come with you on your walk?"

How could I possibly resist that?

So she comes. But before she does, she has to "get ready." And by "get ready," I mean she has to "get her stuff."

Her shoes need to be located, her Lammie needs to be located, her toy baby stroller needs to be located.

The ultimate walking companion

Meanwhile, the dog waits patiently by the door, looking up at me with her sweet haunting puppy eyes as if to say, "I thought this was our quality time together... why is she coming?" (side note: when reading my dog's voice, you must do it as if she's a middle aged Hispanic man. Think Cheech Marin. This is the voice I gave her even though she's a female Asian breed and I'm Italian-American).

The dog starts to whine as my daughter scours the house looking for a toy to take for her Lammie to have while she pushes her in the stroller.

I try to tell her that Luna has to "go," and is waiting... but this just makes her eat up more time.

When we're finally out the door, my daughter insists on going first. This means we're walking so slowly we might as well be going backwards... because she has to stop at every raised portion of sidewalk and lift her toy stroller over it so she doesn't hit the bump. And the dog looks up at me as if to say, "See what you've done? This used to be nice." (Did you do it in the Cheech Marin voice?)

Luckily, our street dead ends into the park (major selling point) so all we have to do to get there is walk down the block. But walking down the block with my daughter is like walking through midtown Manhattan with Derek Jeter. Anyone and everyone wants to stop and say hello. Not that I'm complaining. She deserves - and demands - the attention.

Walks used to be this easy

It used to be, when I walked Luna as a puppy, people would constantly stop us on the street to pet her because "she's so cuuuute." I called her the mayor of our town. How times have changed.

We get to the park and Luna wants to go one way, and my daughter wants to go the other. Every time. Without fail.

Now, I'm one of those dog owners who lets his dog off the leash in the park. Yeah... that guy. Why? Because she listens to me, is friendly, and pays little to no attention to other dogs. Problem is, when my daughter is with us, and she's running off ahead in one direction and the dog is sniffing around in the other direction, I get a little frantic inside.

"Stay close, honey," I shout as calmly as possible to my daughter. I then yell to the dog to "come... this way." At the uttering of those two commands, Luna slowly makes her way towards me. When she's within reach, I put on her leash. Her tail drops and she gives me another look of disgust as if to say, (cue the Cheech) "You have ruined my life with this little girl, you know."

Uh... put down the camera and catch up to your daughter

Once my dog is leashed and my panic has subsided, we walk...  together... kind of. I still have to occasionally shout "stay close" but no longer have to bridge the distance between the two of them. And then... the running ahead becomes a walking ahead... and she eventually asks me if I could carry her stroller.

When I resist, she asks me to carry her.

"Sweetie, this is a walk. So we're walking."

So now I'm carrying the stroller... and the dog hasn't even pooped yet.

Since we got the dog when we still lived in the city, she's used to taking walks to go number two. She still won't go in our yard. And she takes her sweet time.

My girls... both high maintenance in their own ways

When she finally goes, my daughter makes a big deal out of it. She has to come over and count the turds before I pick them up. Then we have to sing the instrumental part of "You Can't Touch This" while Luna does her post-poop MC Hammer dance.

The poop seems to energize the both of them because we're basically sprinting out of the park at this point. Once again she has run way ahead of me, and the panicky feeling returns. I am, of course, holding the toy stroller and a bag of feces, in addition to the dog's leash. My pockets are also filled with whatever toys my daughter had brought along and since discarded and any "pretty leaves for mommy" she has picked up along the way.

This is why they invented cargo shorts.

A simple, otherwise mundane task like walking the dog is never simple and mundane with a four year-old.

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