Downstairs!!!!!

Sometimes it takes a little trauma to shake off the cobwebs, dust of the keyboard, and do a little blogging. Last night provided just the right jolt to what had become - even during and in wake of family visits and holidays - a lovely, lilting pace in the Fishman household.

Carrie put it best at three o'clock in this morning when she said, "Oh my fucking god, this is like a horror film." And it was - the long awaited sequel to "Mmmba, Mmmba, Mmmba," which was inspired the timeless horror flick, "Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah." All three were filmed on location at Fish Manor with a budget under $10 (not including the therapy and beer that were needed to recover).

Much like its prequels, "Downstairs" began innocently, disguised if you will like any other of the hundreds of nights we'd spent together. We played in the afternoon when mom got home, had a delicious shepherd's pie for dinner (although Amari wasn't very interested), and small dessert afterwards (very interested). At six-thirty, Mama called an audible to our normal routine and let Amari slide without a bath. She seemed tired and ready to go upstairs.

As usual, we took her upstairs together, bidding goodnight to all of Amari's toys, the hallway, her future room, and so on, then lay down in bed where Mama reads her a story and Dada goes downstairs to work. Fifteen minutes later, Amari strolls back into the living room - without Mama - and proudly proclaims, "Downstairs." Mama followed shortly after, telling me that she'd tried to bluff Amari by saying, "You can go downstairs, but Mama's sleeping." Apparently Amari might have a future as a poker player.

We decided to let her stay up. We watched an episode of "Royal Pains", she played an colored and tried to help me work from time to time - which was not really helpful at all. Towards the end of the episode, she began dumping out bags of puzzle pieces and moving dangerously close to our elevated Christmas tree. Already frustrated by her "help," I decided to put an end to her extended evening by snatching her up and taking her back upstairs. No sooner had I hit the landing than the tears began to flow and wails of "Downstairs, downstairs, downstairs," ensued.

We reached the bedroom and the haunting cries continued, "Downstairs, downstairs, downstairs!!!" We offered bedtime stories, bottles, pacifiers, hugs, rocks, etc., but they were all declined with a stern, "Downstairs, choke, sob, downstairs, huff puff, DOWNSTAIRS!!!" It took all of eight minutes for Carrie and I to look at each other, exasperated, as if to say, "Okay. Downstairs sounds awesome." So - not really knowing what else to do and very uncertain if it was a good idea - downstairs we went.

The faucet shut off immediately, tears continued to dribble down her face, but she was quiet, save the residual gasps of a long, hard cry. Her body took half breaths as she calmed down in my lap, snuggled against my chest. As the air left her lungs each time, however, I could have sworn I heard a faint whisper, "Downstairs...downstairs...downstairs..."

Much like other horror films, hindsight made it easy to find the mistakes we'd made along the way. Although we didn't have sex or say, "I'll be right back," or go out into the woods alone with a flashlight, we did let Amari have dessert without much dinner, we skipped her bath, and then I acted out of frustration and gave her little opportunity to transition. Live and learn.

Fifteen minutes and a bottle after our return downstairs, Amari was drifting off in Mama's arms, as sweet and innocent as a the pre-water gremlins. Finally, with our own little moguai curled up and sleeping between us on the couch, it was easy to pretend that the horrors we'd just survived had never really happened at all.

Mine and Geez Parties

Some days are just about surviving.

Although I love that my job allows me to be a full-time stay-at-home dad by working post-bedtime, the major drawback is the inverse relationship between income and sleep. Coupled with Amari's recent acquisition and extensive use of the possessive term "mine," and I end up being a tired, grumpy, impatient, relatively ineffective dad. 

I hate it. I remember fantasizing, just a few short weeks ago, that I would be able to magically keep that word out of Amari's vocabulary by modeling sharing, using the general ours, telling her that nothing belongs to anyone, and basically being an all-around communist dad. Fortunately (?), we do not raise our kids in a vacuum, nor am I positive I don't bark "No, that's my coffee" every morning before the caffeine makes me well again, and eventually Amari learns things from the world around her and makes them her own. Literally. By saying, "Mine." All the fucking time. 

Okay, I'm kind of exaggerating, but the sea is calm for so long, the sunset winds feel like a typhoon. I was talking to my buddy Noah about it this evening. He has an expression that he uses sometimes that recently started to get under my skin. He'd tell me about a challenge he was having with his daughter and add at the end of the story, "You'll see." I think he meant it as, "It's hard to know what you'll do until it's right in front of you," but I took it as a preemptive "I told you so," like he was assuring me that I would have the same experience.

Prior to Amari's birth, I believed him. What did I know? Since then, I've learned we have different kids with different temperaments and as a result different challenges. Reya is more of a fire cracker, independent and free. Amari is mellow, but much clingier and whinier. The similarity this weekend came when Amari started throwing the word mine around cavalierly as she clutched things to her breast whether they were hers or not. As the volume (amount and loudness) of the word increased throughout the day, all I could hear in the back of my head, chanting like the murdered twins in The Shining, was Noah's voice saying, "You'll see...You'll see...You'll see."

I definitely see. And it blows.

Anyone surprised Amari had her second birthday last weekend? Seems like only yesterday she was a sweet, innocent, mine-free toddler, running about, sharing shit, and not giving a damn what was who's. Seriously. Overnight - like a Mine Fairy came down and left a possessive pronoun pamphlet under her pillow. The sixty-four thousand dollar question now is how to find a balance between allowing her to assert herself and teaching her to share. I'm already getting some ideas from the books we have and from other parents who have suffered before me.

Prior to the fairy's arrival, Amari's birthday went well. She loved her presents - a baby doll, a tractor, a kite, a tool kit, a play dough set, and a sweater - and she loved everyone singing to her so much that she ended up singing to herself late into the evening. The end of this video shows her sugar-induced, American Toddler Idol audition:

http://vimeo.com/31818008

Another quick story came a few days after Halloween. We've always been big on teaching Amari to say please and thank you, assuring her that she'll generally get what she wants when she does. Halloween upped the ante when she learned that saying "trick or treat" gets you candy. The next time she was at Granny C's house and wanted some of her chicken, Mama asked her "What do you say?" to which Amari replied, "Trick or treat."

And finally - demonstrating the truth that with great manners comes great responsibility - last week when I asked Amari if I could change her diapers she gave me her first, "No thanks," and walked away."

Happy Halloween

And happy first anniversary to the 2010 World Series Champion San Francisco Giants. The Day of the Dead will forever be yours.

Yesterday, however, belonged to Amari - and all the other little rascals running around being all cute and stuff. Last year Amari was a tiger, her best buddy was a dinosaur, and our families met in town for a brief moment and a photo opp.

Halloween 2010

As the day went on, the weather turned cold and rainy, wet enough for us to cancel our adventure to the Mendocino Village where there was rumored to be music and clowns and other circus acts. We never knew what we missed...

Until this year.

This year Amari was going to be a tiger again, but dad thought that was ridiculous and purchased alternative costumes at the local thrift stores blow-out sale. At the very least, Amari would have animals and  Disney characters to dress up like on casual Fridays. The tiger suit quickly became a tiger jacket, Winnie the Pooh was declined via hand gesture,

That means "No thank you."

a couple of hats (although equally cute and impractical) just missed the cut,

and ultimately the softest and cuddliest costume of all was chosen - the ladybug.

As ladybugs are wont to, this one liked to travel with her family.

This year the ladybugs managed to fly down to Mendocino and see the music, the clowns, and the other stuff for the themselves. 

It was fun and cold, with cold winning out in the end. There were awesome costumes including a DJ Lance and the Yo Gabba Gabba clan, an Alice in Wonderland family, and a very real looking construction crew with traveling Roundabout.

Amari ended up getting her first taste of trick or treating - an experience (albeit brief) which perfectly demonstrated the reinforcing power of chocolate. At our first stop Amari was too shy to recite the line we'd been practicing for days. "Trick or treat," I modeled, and the woman gave me a handful of candy. Amari became immediately interested and out-going. At the next house, she managed to get the words out and say thank you for the Butterfinger. By the third house she was knocking on the door, holding out her bag, and by the last house we went to when the gentleman opened the door, Amari pushed it from the outside and started to walk right in as if to say, "Where's the candy at, dude?"

By sunset, the ladybug clan was tired and ready for some ladybug mac 'n cheese. For live action shots of the evening, enjoy this video. 

http://vimeo.com/31461768

Happy Halloween, Amari.

We Make Babies the Old-Fashioned Way...

We spurn them. Good old John Houseman. I loved that guy - had a philosophy professor in college who was a dead ringer for him. He would ramble poetically about one theory or another, have us all eating out of his hands, hanging on every word, agreeing with every thought, then would invariably end his lectures by saying (a la Houseman), "You may all think this theory is absolutely correct (unanimous nods), but in fact you will soon see that it is (pause) totally wrooong."

For months now I've wanted to start a second blog called MyMotherIn-LawIsFreakinNuts.com, to which I'm absolutely certain I'd be submitting to more often than this one. On a daily basis she reveals new phobias or cautions me with catastrophic, worst-case scenarios in response to completely innocuous situations. If she catches me giving Amari - god forbid - a piece of paper to crumple up, she might say, "You should really be careful about paper cuts," then add, "there are lots of arteries near the hands," and conclude with, "she could get infected and die." Thank you, Dr. Becker.

Tonight, however, it was not her irrational fear of the world that pissed us off, but rather the unsolicited parenting advice that she felt compelled to walk all the way over to our house and yell at Carrie. I came home to similar sides of the story which can be summed up as follows: Carrie was stressed, Amari was tired, and Carol was frustrated. The details are irrelevant, but the skinny is that Carrie changed her mind about asking her mom to watch Amari because Amari was being very needy and clingy. Carol got upset that Carrie was responding to Amari's tears and changing the plan and felt so strongly about it that she came over to our house a few minutes later to give Carrie a piece of her mind.

Carol proceeded to tell Carrie that we are spoiling Amari, that Amari is manipulating us, and that we need to just let her cry sometimes or else we're going to end up with a little brat...probably some etcetera and some "you listen to me" and some "I've lived a lot longer than you" and some "blah, blah, blah." When I spoke with Carol later I was very diplomatic. I said, "Carol, if you I weren't completely confident in the job I'm doing, I might take what you said personally. Do I have blind spots as a dad? I'm sure I do, but I don't think you're describing one of them. I do let Amari cry, but I also let her know that when she's done she can come talk to me or if she wants to cry and be held I'm happy to do that, too."

I went on to explain the transition Amari is going through - that gap between understanding everything but not yet having all the words at her fingertips. It takes time, patience, and in my opinion, love. I don't really care if I spoil Amari by picking her up, holding her, giving her attention, and letting her know that she's safe. What else do kids really need? Discipline, guidance, boundaries - for sure - but all of those things will come more easily when a child feels safe and loved.

Manipulating us? Please. Amari is as much a behaviorist as I am. She knows that she gets a response when she whines or cries. Until the recent development of her language it was her go to move, so she still reverts to it in a pinch. Our responsibility as parents becomes encouraging her to elicit the same response (our attention to her needs) through different means such as talking, being patient, asking, helping, etc. I know I sound like some kind of robot, but I'm not. I'm just saying that although Carol thinks Carrie and I are haphazardly responding to Amari's every whim, there is a lot of consciousness in what we're doing and how we're doing it.

Are we immune to mistakes? Hell no. Are we perfect parents? Not even close. Do we know for certain the impact our actions will have on Amari's development? Of course not. But we are raising Amari with a philosophy that makes sense to us, that we believe in, and that we hope will help Amari develop healthy, secure relationships with us and the other important people in her life.

As always, more will be revealed. In the meantime, Carol, please take your unsolicited parenting advice back to your place, and the next time your dogs are whimpering, whining, or barking for no apparent reason, I encourage you to ignore their evil and manipulative ways, and just let them cry it out.

Manipulative Little B-Word

Amari's Favorite Foods

Time is passing in a hurry. Carrie's fall break has come and gone, Thanksgiving is less than a month away, and between then and now Amari will be two years old. This birthday feels monumental - I'm sure they all will - and I've already begun feeling the alchemy of sadness/excitement of moving forward into the next stage of our lives. In lieu of anything that resembles consistency with my writing, I am going to countdown to Amari's second birthday with Top Ten lists to remind me of things that may soon no longer be...

Amari has been a good eater her so far. She tries new things and surprises us by enjoying things like Wasabi Seaweed. Although she initially made faces at it and tried to wipe her tongue clean, after a few moments she said, "More. More," ate some and said, "Tickles."

Honestly, to anyone still reading, this is really just for me. Feel free to read on, but I can't promise you'll find much interesting. I've realized recently that part of the reason I take so many pictures and videos is because I want to have cues that will help me remember things, have stories to pass along to Amari when she's older and hopefully curious.

In this spirit, I present this list of the top ten foods (in some particular order) Amari  has most enjoyed in her first two years of eating.

1. Cottage cheese - this was an early favorite and has held its number one ranking almost as long as Tiger Woods held his.
2. Miso Soup - salty, noodley, what's not to like?
3. Ribs - go figure.
4. Rice (and beans)
5. Popsicles
6. M & M's
7. Waffles
8. Pasta - not just mac 'n cheese, but almost any pasta
9. Strawberries - blackberries and blueberries, too, but not raspberries at all
10. Coffee - I know, not a food, but she really loves the stuff

It's crazy how much she loves coffee. And yes, I do monitor her intake, but if I didn't she might live on that and cottage cheese. On time, when I was driving Carrie to work about six months ago, we passed Starbucks and Amari said, "Mmmm. This one," and pointed at the building. Also, when she was just learning to talk, she would point at the Starbuck's logo and say, "Mama," to which I'd say, "I wish. We'd be loaded."

One last item that should also be on that list is apples - a late addition that made the cut recently when our trees began bearing fruit and Amari and I created a daily ritual of sitting on the porch enjoying their harvest.

Mmmm...pasta.

Hunter and Amari keep the doctor away

Zen and the Art of Napping

Thanks to a gentle nudge from a friend and fellow parent who likes to vicariously feel like an attentive and loving father by reading my blog, I am returning from my hiatus as a - and I quote - total f-ing slacker.

It's not that I don't want to write, that I've run out of things to say, that there aren't at least a half a dozen moments every day I wish I could lasso up with words and remember forever. It's finding the time. And not just any time - I do have some time - but rather those rare moments when I'm not either knee deep in parenting, housekeeping, working, or stealing a few precious minutes for myself. Lately, the latter have come fewer and farther between.

I don't know if Amari is beginning the process of - god forbid - phasing out the nap, but recently her sleep patterns have been a bit erratic. Some days the nap is non-existent, others mandate a car-induced coma with a silent prayer that CC's dogs have gone to heaven as I try to quietly transfer her into the house and onto the couch. Even then, the naps have been light and my workouts have been cut short by the cries that come through the baby monitor. On the afternoons when I concede completely to the universe, I rush into the living room, pick Amari up, and place her gently on my chest where she'll often sleep even longer than I would have imagined in the first place.

On one such occasion, I was so exhausted I drifted off to sleep for almost an hour. Upon awakening, eyes still have closed, I recalled a vague image of those early weeks, lying on the same couch with a much smaller, much lighter, and to be honest much less interesting model of the same daughter. Oh sure, I loved and adored her then, absolutely and completely, more deeply than I'd ever felt in my life, but now I know I was only scratching the surface. I also remembered thinking that a co-sleeper shaped like the belly of a middle-aged man would be my first of many million dollar parenting ideas.

The interesting thing was, although I could remember a semblance of something similar and familiar to that moment, I couldn't remember anything else. "What the hell did I used to write about?" I thought. "What the hell did Amari and I used to do all day? How did I pass eight to ten hours a day when she couldn't crawl, walk, or talk? What did we do this morning?" It was some sort of parenting fugue state, and although it disturbed me at first, when I looked down at Amari - completely still and peaceful - it made perfect sense. "There is nothing more important," I thought, "not in the past nor in the future, as this moment right now.

"And, oh yeah," I added, "She used to nap a lot more."

To be continued...

Forget Me Not's

Seems like every day now I get to experience something new with my daughter, something that thrills me, takes my breath way, amazes me, frustrates me to no end, and always reminds me that there is nothing more important in the world than what is right in front of me. Prior to Amari's arrival, I was almost always plagued by thoughts and feelings and feelings that I was supposed to be doing something else - something bigger, better, more useful. I never did anything about it - just used it as an excuse to put down the book I was reading, quit the job I had, or break up with the girlfriend I was wasting my time with.

Today I live in the blissful state that is now, no longer incarcerated by doubt or worry, somehow soothed even in the most challenging of moments by the certainty that there is nowhere else I need to be right now. I recently watched a documentary on Buddhism in which the narrator described the tenet that life in life we suffer because people and things die or leave us. He went on to say that if we could just realize that everything we love and are attached to is already gone, then we could better appreciate each moment we have together.

It reminds me not to take this precious and brief time with Amari for granted. Here are a few notes I took on her development over the course of the past two weeks.

* Out of the blue Amari changed her standard "No" response to a more surprising and definitely cuter, "No way." I'm pretty sure she got that one from Mama.

* Earlier this week, Amari composed her first song on the piano. I didn't manage to catch it on film, but it went a little something like this, "This, this, this...(pause). Up Mama, up Dada. This, this, this...up Mama, up Dada." Also, whenever I decide to play guitar and strum a few chords, she runs across the house screaming, "Piano...Amari, piano. Piano," then climbs up on the stool and starts hammering on the key.

* Amari is still not a big fan of the diaper change. She is, however, a big fan of putting diapers on anything she has access to. Generally, she will spend twenty minutes or so repositioning Kermit, Dragon, or Sid the Science Kid, then try to wrap them snugly in the diaper. I've also caught her trying to put a diaper on an Indian statue, our cat Penny, and most recently a fork. Not sure where those last two came from.

I'm sure there are more already and will certianly be at least one tomorrow, but for now...g'night all.