Just Stuff

The other day Amari asked me to teach her some ballet. Fortunately, although I didn't have any girlfriends in middle school, I did have a lot of friends that were girls. Yay. Who knew that the plies and releves my friend Jessica taught me years ago would one day make me a better parent.

"Plie," I'd say, and Amari would bend her legs in a half squat.
"Grande plie," and she would cast her arms out and go deeper.
"Releve," up on her toes
"And down," and she would come down and spin in cirlces.

This went on and on, with the plies getting deeper, the releves higher, and the spinning much much longer. Eventually, she collapsed on the floor, picked up her head and said, "What's that Dada?"
"What's what?"
"What's making the house spin around?"

Cute, if I weren't worried it might be an early indicator that she has the genetic, I-like-feeling-different, alcoholic gene.

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Both of my ladies are sick right now, which makes both of them a little moody and unpredictable. When bedtime rolled around, Amari was adamant that she would not brush her teeth.
"Come on, lady. We brush our teeth every night."
"My don't want to."
"Do you want your teeth to fall out?" Fortunately she doesn't know that happens anyway.
"Yes," she replied.
"How are you going to eat cookies without teeth," I asked, certain I'd trumped her.
"My will just suck on them."

Damn you, smarty pants.

Cookie Monster Doesn't Need Teeth, Dad

Go Diego Go

Yes, it's true - I started a ridiculous fake gambling football blog and it has completely supplanted the one I write here for Amari. I've often wondered if my love of sports will be one of her early childhood resentments. "Not now, the Giants are in a pennant race. There are only 89 games left in the season, so this one's really important." After hearing her wake up from a nap crying, "No. No. Don't take my stroller," I'm not too worried that I'm mistreating her. Life's pretty good if that's her worst nightmare.

My worst nightmare - also not so bad - is that Amari will continue to wake me up at four in the morning every Wednesday, which has bee the trend the past three weeks. If she just woke up and tossed and turned a bit that would be fine, but instead she says, "My hungry," and if I don't jump up right away she just says it over and over again until I do. It's like Chinese water torture trying to block out the low whine of a hungry child. I'm guessing growth spurt - or we just need to stop starving her at night.

When she's not waking me up early, Amari is finding a natural groove as a pretty sweet little kid. Last week CC and I took her out to breakfast. She knelt on the booth seat, played with her horsie, colored, and reminded us that she was going to have mad 'n cheese about eighteen times before she reminded the waitress. While we were waiting for our food, an elderly woman kept glaring (I thought) back at us, then returning to her meal. "What's your problem, lady?" I thought to myself. At the end of her meal, she stopped at our table, asked how old Amari was, then told us she thought she was an amazingly well-behaved child, the likes of which she "rarely sees these days." I did not disclose that we were starving her at night to make sure she's quiet during breakfast.

On the home front, Amari has taken her affection for Diego to new heights, deciding most days that she is in fact him. This has been awesome, because Diego is a "big boy" who doesn't like pacifiers and is much more open-minded when it comes to eating vegetables and new food dishes. I'm working on convincing her that he also loves to do dishes, yard work, and windows. So far, I'm just thrilled that we are pacifier-free for a good chunk of most days. I was hoping that a smooth transition idea would present itself, and right now - emphasis right now - it has.

Diego still hangs out with Amari, and often carries her pacifier for her in case she shows up, but when I catch her with it and say, "Oh hi, Amari, nice to see you again. I missed you," she smiles, pulls the pa-pa out and says, "My Diego."

We'll see what happens next...

"Noooooo...not my stroller."

Gratitude Schmatitude

I began last week feeling sentimental. Some of the parents with children around Amari's age have been talking about pre-school - which ones are good, which ones suck, which days does so-and-so go, etc. I realized I was only about six months away from researching these same questions, making a seemingly monumental decision, and ultimately bringing to an end my reign of terror as a full-time stay-at-home parent.

I decided that Monday morning that I would appreciate every single moment I had left with Amari - the relaxing, easy mornings, the long, lazy afternoons, and all the challenging, willful, whiny moments in between. Time moves fast, things change all the time, so I may as well enjoy it all. I was positive, hopeful, and determined.

Tuesday morning, Amari decided that 5:30 was the perfect time to start our day. Less than six hours of sleep under my belt, I grabbed my attitude of gratitude, and headed downstairs. "Wow," I said to myself somewhat unconvincingly, "This is awesome. The sun is starting to rise, there's mist over the coral, and I'm pretty sure that's a rooster crowing the dawn. This is awesome." Amari and I watched cartoons, read books, greeted Mom, and drank lots of coffee, and headed out for the morning. We went to The Gardens, met up with friends, picked blackberries, and did yard work. It was a great day, and by the afternoon I'd forgotten how early it started. I was grateful for the opportunity to spend so much time with a daughter who was heading for school soon. Life was good.

Wednesday morning Amari upped the ante, deciding 4:00 felt like an even better time to wake up. This time gratitude was not the first feeling I had. I think my exact thought was, "Are you fucking kidding me? Seriously? Go back to sleep. Jesus." Beaten down by a lack of sleep, I dragged myself out of bed and moped downstairs where I stared bitterly into the darkness. "This sucks," I thought sincerely, "This fucking blows. It's dark and I'm awake. And that goddamn rooster doesn't shut up all night. I wish Michael Vick had been into cock fighting." And other random angry thoughts. That morning also had cartoons, books, grumpier greetings to Mom, and an early nap where we both lay on the couch and slept for two hours.

The rest of the week was much smoother. I did appreciate things as much as I could and during the difficult moments I just convinced myself that she's preparing me to let go. Come January, pre-school won't seem so scary at all - to either of us.

Soon she'll be riding for real...

Happy Anniversary

Every now and again I am struck with an intoxicating feeling of gratitude and wonder. The moments sneak up on me, catching me on a quiet drive home from work, bleary-eyed first thing in the morning, or tucked in, cozy, and looking forward to sleep.

Here we are again. It's August and Carrie is returning to work tomorrow while I'm returning to perhaps my last six months as a full-time stay-at-home parent. Amari is growing and changing, reflecting us and becoming her own little person. There was a time Carrie cried because every milestone felt like Amari was crawling, walking, talking, and pooping her way farther away from us. Maybe there's some truth to that, but there is also an incredible depth to the relationship that comes with the passing of time.

Summer was simple and luxurious - nothing remarkable but more than enough. Sure there were challenges - Carrie's increasingly uncomfortable pregnancy along with my own physical challenges - but when it comes down to it, we have everything we need and most of the things we want. Except, perhaps, a little more time. We manage, though.

One of the drawbacks of parenting is the utter lack of down time. There were years when Carrie and I, a little indulgently, celebrated our anniversary every month with dinners or poems or at the very least a note on the other's windshield. We also had no kids, low rent, and part-time jobs. Now we're lucky if we can even remember the date.

Turns out it was ten days ago that Carrie I could have celebrated our 132nd month-a-versary of our first date at The Stanford Inn's Ravens restaurant in Mendocino. That's eleven years for those of you who don't want to do math. To give you an idea of how long ago it was, I still had a good amount of hair, Carrie still said "like" and "you know," and we were both so naive we actually thought the food on our date was good. With the wisdom of experience and taste, we now affectionately call the place The Blandford Inn.

Much like with Amari, I marvel at how much Carrie and I have changed and grown. Not in the fundamental ways that brought us together, but rather through the obstacles we've navigated together, that brought us closer together, and somehow managed to transform us along the way. Carrie was a girl when I met her and I was an adolescent thirty year-old. We had no idea what we wanted and for a while we weren't even sure we wanted it together. We certainly were never going to get married or have children. Yuck.

Now we're married with child. And although, we may not always know what we want, we're absolutely certain we want it together. Carrie is a woman now, still stunning and stronger than ever, while I'm a forty-year old adolescent but also self-reliant, confident, and even a little bit of a grown-up. I feel a deep and requited admiration and love for Carrie. With the exception of the rare moment of selfishness, I never feel like she's not doing enough nor do I ever worry she thinks that of me.

We work really hard and really well together. So much so, that sometimes twelve month-a-versaries pass without us pausing to celebrate.

I love you infinitely...all the way to Outerrrrr Spaaaace.

Early to Rise...

Without the early to bed part, there is nothing healthy, wealthy, or wise about waking up at 4:30 in the morning. Unfortunately, that's when Amari said, "I want to go downstairs." It was actually 5:15 by the time she made this proclamation, but the forty-five minutes before that were a frustrating exercise in futility, muttering "Go to sleep...Close your eyes...What the F, it's not even light," and so on.

When Carrie finally woke up around eight, Amari was starting to get a little tired. Cuddled up on the couch, Amari slumped onto a pillow and said, "Mama, lie down next to me."
"No thank you. I want to sit up."
"But we need to talk about something," Amari argued.
"What do we need to talk about," Carrie asked, giving me a quizzical look as to where she'd picked up that language.
"Ummmm...ummmm...we need to talk about butterflies."
Good one, I thought, but mom said, "I can talk about butterflies sitting up."
"No," Amari countered, "You need to lie down to talk about butterflies."

Maybe I'll remind her of that next time she's up at four freakin' thirty.

You're lucky you're cute, lady.

She's Crafty

When chocolates were handed out during a visit with friends this weekend, Amari showed exceptional taste by choosing the Dove over the god-knows-how-old-Costo-sized-bag of gold coins. A few minutes later, she outdid herself.

"I want another one," she announced.
"Sorry, sweetie, but we're going to have dinner soon. You can have another one after that."
Incomprehensible whining noise with perhaps some words ensued.
"Hey, hey, hey, you know that's not going to get you any chocolate, right? How about a grape? Do you want a grape?
"Yeah," she says somewhat normally, the whine fading towards the end of the affirmative.

I hand her a grape. She accepts it as a smile creeps back across her face. She holds it up and proclaims to me, "This will be my dinner."

Days of Whine and Roses

I've been reading a book this summer called "The Whole Brain Child," another collaborative effort by psychiatrist and pediatrician, Daniel Seigel. The hope of the authors is to give parents and educators some practical tools with which to help children integrate their emotional and rational brain hemispheres. The result of hemispheric integration is an increased capacity to deal with emotions and respond rather than impulsively react to them as they arise.

In one of the early chapters the authors differentiate children's tantrums using the terms upstairs and downstairs. An upstairs tantrum is one where a child's higher thinking is still available to them. Behaviorally they are probably trying to get or escape something, and a minor tantrum may have worked for them in the past or may merely be the easiest way for them to express themselves in that moment. A downstairs tantrum, however, is one where the amygdala - the part of the brain responsible for processing feelings - takes over. Cortisol is released and flood the higher thinking parts of the brain, causing the child to literally lose its mind.


The important difference between the types of tantrums is how we as parents respond once we've identified which one we're dealing with. The upstairs tantrums require us firm but loving boundaries to be set. The child's needs must not be met that way. The downstairs tantrums require a gentle, calming approach to bring the child back to equilibrium. Only then will they be able to have any kind of meaningful exchange. There is no point in trying to reason with a downstairs tantrum. As you probably know, these tantrums can look very similar on the outside, but I have faith that most parents can tell the difference when it comes to their own child.

The past couple of days it feels as though Amari has taken out a lease and is living comfortably in the mind-numbing, crazy-making world of upstairs tantrums. On top of that, her latest go-to move while expressing her dissatisfaction with the world is coupling the tears and whining with a physical complaint. Not just any complaint -  she bases the phantom pain in reality by conjuring up her latest owie. Recent nominees have included: Owie in My Throat, Owie in My Ear, Owie on My Head, with this week's Ridiculously Long-Lasting Owie Award going to Owie on My Knee, a mild abrasion she picked up a week ago on our last road trip.

Warning: Upstairs Tantrum Coming Soon

Here's an example of the dialogue and why it drives me a little batty:
"Hey Amari, do you want to go to the park and play with friends?
"Yeah?"
"Like Hunter?"
"Yeah. And Oscar."
"Me too, let's get dressed."
"IIIIII dooooooon't want toooooo," followed by a dramatic flopping down on something.
"Amari. Come on. We get dressed every day. Can't we do this without whining?"
"Owie, owie on my knee."
WHAT?


Maybe I need to better integrate my hemispheres.

Yesterday was like that all day. By late morning, I was beginning to get anxious about Carrie going back to school. "How the hell am I going to deal with this all by myself?" I thought. Usually it's Carrie who gets caught up in the moment, but this time it was me grumping and complaining and saying, "I don't know what the hell to do with that."

Firm boundaries, I remind myself, knowing these are upstairs tantrums because Amari can shut them off as quickly as they begin, sometimes appearing to have the unique capability of sucking tears right back into her cheeks. It's amazing. So I try not to reinforce, try not to give in, while trying to get both of our needs met. It's tricky stuff to say the least. Yesterday, I did a lot of, "I'll be right over there on the couch when you're ready to calm down and talk to me." Instantly she would be on the couch with me, but mostly just asking for a hug.

Occasionally, and I'm pretty sure she knows this is a soft spot for me, she will repeat an expression we taught her by saying, "Owie in my heart." Gets me every time.

I guess the days like yesterday serve as a reminder not to take the days like today for granted. Ten plus hours of sleep, a warm, delicious breakfast of oatmeal with dinosaur eggs, and the conversation ended more like this:

"Me, too. Let's get dressed."
"Okay, I want to put my shirt on first."

Maybe today will end up smelling like a rose after all...

Or will it?