Tag Archives: parental guidance

Parental Guidance

Don’t Talk to Me About Parenting Philosophy Until I’ve Had My Coffee

This morning, as I dropped The Baby off at day care, another parent was talking to one of the teachers about her kid. Apparently, he’d been “bad” the day before, committing transgressions such as pouring an entire juice box into a Little People dollhouse (which I, of course, found hilarious). He also threw a block at an unnamed girl, which prompted said girl to smack him in retaliation.

“It think I know who that girl was,” the teacher said, and gave my daughter a knowing look.

This troubled me, so I bent low and asked The Baby if she’d hit this kid. Her answer was unclear, but her hemming and hawing suggested that she probably had. “You shouldn’t do that,” I told her. “If somebody hits you, tell the teacher.”

“But it’s good if she sticks up for herself!” the teacher said, clearly not bothered by any of this.

“Yeah, but she can stick up for herself without smacking somebody,” I responded.

“It’s okay,” the mom said, lowering herself to eye level with The Baby. “If [KID’S NAME] does that again, you can hit him. He deserved it!”

Thanks, Other Kid’s Mom! You just gave my kid license to hit your kid whenever she wants! Just because you said she should only do it when your kid “deserves” it, that doesn’t mean she will, or that she’s a capable judge of when retribution is called for. I saw her once charge across the room at another kid because she thought he looked at her funny. (By the way, there is nothing more simultaneously adorable and terrifying as a baby on a rampage.)

Also, once you say something to a three-year-old, it can not be unsaid or dislodged from their brain. Did you once say it was okay to eat jellybeans before dinner? You now have a kid who expects to eat jellybeans before dinner every single night for the rest of their live, because you said something in passing once.

And this is all happening at 7:30 in the morning, people. I am in no state of mind to start an argument over conflict resolution among three-year-olds, or to simply tell this other parent to mind their own beeswax. I just wanna kiss The Baby goodbye and drive to work without getting sideswiped by a Hasidic school bus (the deadliest vehicles on the Williamsburg streets).

So I just said, “Well, I gotta head to work now,” hugged The Baby and went on my way. I fully expect to be punched in the head when I get home tonight.

Parental Guidance

A Girl After My Own Destructive Heart

One more Baby story to close out her birthday week, if I may.

The Baby has this habit of spotting a random toy just as we’re about to leave for day care in the morning, then grabbing it and insisting on taking it with her. If it’s something small, like a Yo Gabba Gabba action figure or a spider ring, I say okay. If it’s something big or ridiculous, like a book or a chair, I say no. If I say no, she immediately throws a fit, and I have to figure out how to distract her so I can get her out the door.

This morning, she really wanted to take a plastic pumpkin (the kind used for trick-or-treating). I said no, and she went ballistic. I carried her out onto the porch and closed the door, but she flung herself against it. It carried her down the stoop and walked down the street with her, but she was still upset.

If I get this far and she’s still crying, I try to find something nearby to excite and distract he, like, “Oooh, look at that squirrel running around in the tree!”. But this morning, none of the usual sights are working. s

brokenTV.jpgThen, at the end of our block, I spotted an old TV someone had thrown out on the curb. It lay screen-down, and some vandals had obviously gotten to it, because there was glass all over the sidewalk and the side panels were kicked in.

“Oooh, look at the broken TV!” I said, and made a smashing noise.

Immediately, The Baby stopped crying and started laughing. “Broken TV, oh no!” she squealed, and imitated my smash sound. Her anger about The Pumpkin Incident was completely forgotten.

We turned up another street, walked another 10 feet or so, and The Baby said, “Daddy, you remember the broken TV?”

“Yeah, it was funny!”

“It was FUNNY!” she said again, made the smashing sound, and laughed hysterically.

Perhaps I should be a tad worried about this, especially considering that time Predator lulled her to sleep. But then again, maybe I should have expected this, because I think breaking stuff is funny. I thought that when I was a kid, and I think that now. I have no idea why. It just touches a dumb, primal Laugh Button within me. When Dave Letterman used to throw junk off the top of a five-story building or crush them with a 80-ton hydraulic press, I was in heaven.

So The Baby has the I Think Breakin’ Stuff Is Funny Gene. In celebration of her birthday, this weekend we’re taking her to the demolition derby.

Parental Guidance

Fixing a Glaring Omission

While I was busy trying to immortalize the majesty of Steampipe Alley, I made another video discovery: a bunch of digital camera movies I’d totally forgotten about. All the clips were less than a minute, and came from when my daughter was only a few months old. Grasping at her toes. Shoving toys into her mouth. Flailing wildly in a vain attempt to control her limbs. All of the small triumphs of a tiny life.

Watching these moments, they felt like yesterday to me, and yet, they feel like forever ago. I felt almost crushed by the weight of time, by how much she’s grown since then, and by the realization of how quickly she’ll grow up from how big she is already.

I was also somewhat shamed to realize that I rarely talk about her on this site. And when I do, it’s usually to bitch about how hard parenting is, or to rail against some rude jerk I encountered while out in the world with her.

That’s because I try to be funny on this here site. Whether or not I succeed is another story, but that’s my intent. The sad fact is, frustration and anger are funny, while happiness isn’t. That’s why most comedians are such well-adjusted people.

Tolstoy famously said all happy families are alike, while every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way. I don’t think that’s entirely true. But I do think every person’s notion of happiness is so deep and profound that it becomes un-profound to the larger world. Within the universe of you, it means everything, but to everyone else, it means nothing.

That may be why I don’t write about my daughter on this site very often. Because she makes me happy in a way that defies words. Happy doesn’t do it justice. It’s the closest word there is, and it’s still light years away from what I feel. Trying to describe how she makes me feel would be like trying to describe my own brain: I’ve never seen it, and I never will see it. I just know it’s there and it makes me alive.

She makes me feel happy in a way I haven’t felt when I was a child, that feeling of pure, unadulterated joy unbroken by any worries or fears. It’s a rare feeling, especially for me. I’ve never been able to turn off my What Now alarm for too long, even when I was a kid. It is extremely difficult for me to forget about Life and have fun. But being goofy with my daughter brings me to someplace childlike and wonderful, and it happens so easily I can hardly believe it.

doitforher.pngIt kills me to drop her off at day care each morning, kiss her goodbye, and spend the whole day without her. A minute doesn’t go by that I don’t think about her, about walking in the front door and seeing her and being silly with her. Sometimes I think of myself as Homer in that one flashback Simpsons episode, when he arranges pictures of Maggie around his de-motivational plaque so that DON’T FORGET: YOU’RE HERE FOREVER reads DO IT FOR HER.

The sad fact of my life/schedule is that I see her at her worst parts of the day: early in the morning, when she fights to stay asleep (like Daddy, she is not a morning person), and at night, when she can be just as cranky. Not to mention all the stupid Life Things I have to do that get in the way of playing with her. I live for the weekends, when I get to spend hours with her and enjoy her in all her wide-eyed, curious, and crazed glory.

I could recount a million little things she’s said and done that warmed my soul, but they wouldn’t mean anything to you. However, I would like to share one little story with you, with a preface:

One of the hardest things to learn as a new parent is that your kid won’t love you the way you love them. They can’t. Babies are Pure Id. They are nothing but Need and Want. They will get mad at you and yell at you and hit you when you dare to deny them their every whim, or don’t yield to it fast enough for their fancy. You can’t take it personally. All you can do is love them and hope they learn to love by osmosis.

So I’ve come to expect low returns on my investment of affection. But one day a few months ago, I was playing with my daughter on our bed. Jumping around, hiding under the covers, just being silly. All of a sudden, in the middle of all of the goofiness, she stopped and fixed me with this quizzical, serious look.

“I like you, Daddy!” she said, as if she had just realized or decided this. Up to that moment, I’d never heard her say “I like [anything]”. I almost burst into tears. It meant so much more to me than hearing her repeat I love you, because it was so real and genuine. It wasn’t rote, something I forced on her through repetition. It was a conclusion she’d come to, one she felt she must declare. “I like you, too!” I said, and gave her a huge hug.

Today, she’s made me happy for three full years. It feels like yesterday, and it feels like forever, in the best way.

daddy+maddy