water table fun! (or, how to get cuteness overload!)

because this video is too great not to share.

like a boss (or, how to compare careers)

so, i've been in the professional daddy business for about 10 months, and it occurred to me that even though i'm home, sometimes i forget that most people have jobs they have to go to during the week. it got me to thinking: parenting, be it a working parent or the stay-at-home variety, is a full-time job in itself, complete with a demanding boss (or set of bosses). consider this:

- you are often forced to work to work long hours, even nights and weekends, sometimes without a break.

- the boss will always let you know when you are not doing an adequate job, usually rather loudly.

- sometimes, there's just no pleasing the boss no matter what you do.

does this sound like your job? well, if you substitute 'child' for 'boss', then you have a parent.

it's not nearly as bad as it sounds, however. what other job is there that you get to play peek-a-boo during the day? or have a tickle fight? or watch cartoons? or get to see the joy and pride beaming from your kid's face because they did something for the first time?

yup, in this job, the pay may not be so great, but the benefits are awesome.






'so what makes you the right person for this job?'

rebel without a shoe (or, how to question authority)

ok, ok, i know it's been a long while, but i was busy. write 2 papers a week for four months and then see how much time you have!

anyways, quite a bit has happened since last we spoke. emmi is now running around like crazy: climbing, jumping, and squeezing through any obstacle in such a way, it would make even the best catburgler jealous. she has also learned to test her limits. this is both an annoyance and a source of pride to me. i am proud that she questions authority; the only problem is that *i* am the authority. i am convinced that she knowingly does this, too. just before she does something, let's say, shake the side table with the lamp on it, as i'm saying no to her, she will look at me as if to say, 'i'm gonna do it anyway, beotch!' and then look me right in the eye and smirk at me! then when i get up to stop her, she runs away giggling like an effin' hyena! she has also invented several interesting ways to remove her shoes and socks. and then there's the touching. if it isn't nailed on, strapped in, glued to or otherwise attached, she will grab it. i know my father is looking down on me laughing his ass off every time i tell emmi to stop touching things she is not supposed to touch.

emmi is very much into the baby talk now as well. she can say a few words and even some simple sentences, but for the most part it's gibberish and sounds, although i wouldn't be surprised if someone told me that she was speaking mandarin chinese.

then there is the big news: emmi is going to be a big sister! yup, due almost exactly 2 years apart from emmi. we are doing the same thing as the first time around - we won't know if it's a boy or girl until it's on this side of the uterus.

she's gonna be a great big sister, but i can see this conversation taking place:

'ok kid, let's get a few things straight…rule #1: i'm in charge. rule #2: don't forget rule #1.'

'gagaga…'

'ok. glad we're on the same page.'

then they will both find their way into the cupboard and re-decorate the kitchen using flour, sugar, and chef boyardee cans.

stop laughing at me, dad.

sippycup part 2 (or, how to skip a few steps)

so emmi is nearing 14 months old, and we decided it's time to retire the bottle. since last we spoke on the topic, emmi was not having any of this sippycup nonsense. so we then spent a small fortune on what seemed to be every single type, brand, model and size of sippycup ever made. finally, we had a breakthrough, using...a damn juice box. seems emmi prefers straws to sippycups, and took to the little juicebox straws like an old pro. so we went digging into our plethora of cups and found that we had 2 straw-based sippycups that she actually started using! hallelujah!

not so fast.

apparently, if it is in a sippycup, it better be juice, because milk is not an option. she takes one sip, makes a face, then pushes it away like we just offered her a cupful of blech. but you put that milk in a bottle and she gulps it down like a frat boy to beer.

after about 3 days of this milk strike, another breakthrough. if she doesn't drink from the sippycup, doesn't drink from the straw, and mommy and daddy do not cave and bring back the bottle, what's next? at this point, my lovely wife has an epiphany:

yup. do not pass go, do not collect $200, go right to drinking straight from the cup.

i should make her reimburse us for the 593 sippycups now collecting dust once she has an allowance.

the girl with microscope eyes (or, how to improve fine motor skills)

it has been three weeks since emmi's first fledgling steps, and since then she is now officially walking around everywhere. it's great news, but the bad news is that she is now walking around everywhere. she is like a visa card in reverse: she's everywhere you don't want her to be. ergo, the gates are installed and the fences are up blocking off the tv. our living room now resembles guantanamo effin' bay, but with toys.

she also has picked up (no pun intended) a habit of finding and zooming in on the tiniest imperceptible piece of fuzz on the carpet. i look over to her, and she bends down, reaches out with thumb and forefinger, all dainty-like, and seemingly picks up nothing. yet the next thing i know is there is a thread the size of a nose hair in her hand. i grab it, put it in my pocket, and go about my business. until, that is, the next piece of fuzz makes it into her hand. i swear i don't know how she sees these in the carpet, unless we have given birth to a baby terminator who thinks that carpet fuzz is sarah connor.

and now that she is walking, she is also testing her boundaries. she understands 'no', but that sometimes doesn't stop her. i don't blame her - she is a kid, and god knows my dad is looking down and smiling, because i have found myself saying the same thing i heard as kid: 'don't touch things you're not supposed to touch...'

i have also been trying to perfect 'the look': you know, that look that a parent can give that will scare the bejeezus out of a child enough to freeze them in their tracks. i've tried it on her, but i probably look pretty dumb. i imagine i look something like the rock:

if this is true, she will probably be laughing too hard to continue the offending behavior. not quite the effect i was going for, but i guess if it works it works.

caldo verde (or, how to bridge the past and the future)

emmi had soup for lunch the other day. it was an ordinary day, and it wasn't the first time she's had soup, but it was significant. the soup she had was caldo verde, a portuguese soup made from collard greens. again, not out of the ordinary, i have been eating it all my life. but this batch was different.

as i've said before, my dad died the same week we found out kathy was pregnant, so she will never ever get to meet her grandfather. he loved cooking, and as kathy can tell you, i've picked up a lot of his mannerisms in the kitchen. as a function of having a wife, three kids, a mother-in-law, and whomever of our friends who happened to be over for dinner that night, he was fond of making huge batches of stuff and freezing them: chili, spaghetti sauce, etc. and caldo verde. a few months ago, i had found a batch in the freezer that he made before he died and had given to me. the night before, we decided to have it for dinner, i knew what it was and what it represented, but it didn't occur to me until the next day when i said i'd give some to emmi for lunch that it really hit me: here she is, eating something made for her by her grandfather. i'm not really too big on the sentimental stuff, but this kinda just felt like a big deal to me. it was something of my dad's that he created that i can share with her. it kinda makes me feel like he is a part of her life, even though he isn't here.

emmi ate it and loved it. and so did i.

mommy bias (or, how to flip the script)

i'm a few months into my new job as professional daddy, and i have a little bit of a bone to pick with the established order of things. i understand that i am in the minority when it comes to the primary weekday caregiver, but is it really that out of the ordinary that i get puzzled looks while at the store with emmi in a stroller? are other guys so inept that total strangers feel the need to impart unsolicited advice to me? it kinda gets on my nerves that the mom is always the one who controls everything and can make everything work when it comes to kids. it's as if i am some sort of societal anomaly.

even most of the advertising is geared towards the mom. 'choosy moms choose jif.' what about dad? well, either he doesn't give a crap about peanut butter, or he's a peter pan man. enfamil formula is 'trusted by moms and pediatricians.' dad, however, is apparently skeptical. robitussin is 'recommended by dr. mom' because dr. dad is out on the golf course. kix cereal is 'kid tested, mother approved.' meanwhile, dad's choice, the sugar honey sweetieos, sit unopened in the cupboard. why is it automatically assumed that mom unilaterally makes all of the household decisions? and if this is the case, how on earth does the dad claim the title, 'head of the household'? for the most part, dad is like the queen of effin' england - leader of the empire, but having no real power.

sometimes guys are to blame for this reduced stature. nothing pisses me off more than a guy who passes responsibilities off to the mom. 'i'm the man, it's not my job.' it is neanderthals like that that is making my life more difficult. something i've learned in my year of being a dad is that in parenting, there is no such thing as 'her job' and 'his job.' any and everything that mom can do, dad should be able to do just as well, with the exception of those things that are anatomically impossible. i will never claim to be a hell of a breastfeeder.

i'll admit, i used to play the clueless dopey dad while in public, cause it got a few laughs. i stopped that though because it played into a stereotype i wanted no part of. i am still by no means perfect, but i'd like to think i'm always improving.

and for the record, skippy is my peanut butter of choice.