Archive for category Parenting
When I was in middle school, I had a teacher who liked to do magic tricks for us. (This part is killing me: I can’t remember his name. I think it was Mr. Razzano. Ugh, the mind is the first to go…) He would perform tricks for us in class (if we behaved), and I was fascinated by them. Because of him, I became very interested in doing magic myself. I remember going to the weird little magic shop in our local flea market where I would spend my allowance buying trick decks, magic milk pitchers, and other such props. I kept doing tricks for years afterward, even into adulthood. To this day I can’t be near a deck of cards without picking it up and doing a few tricks.
I’ve been doing magic tricks for the kids for years. I remember waiting for the Bean to be big enough for me to show her magic tricks. There’s something… magical, I suppose… about the way a child looks at you when you use your “magic” to do a trick for them. It’s something I’ve really enjoyed.
The Bean has really taken an interest in magic lately. She’s constantly asking me to teach her to do tricks. The thing is, I don’t think she understands that I’m not really using magic. She believes. She believes in magic, and it’s just the most beautiful, innocent thing ever.
Today, the Bean and I picked out a beginner magic set on Amazon. She’s buying it with money she saved. In fact, she was saving that money to buy one of those new, girly Lego sets, but she decided to use the money for this instead. (That’s my girl!)
It’s a cute little Melissa & Doug set, and I think she will like it. While it warms my heart that she’s so excited about something I hold near and dear, I’m actually a little sad. When it arrives in a few days, the Bean will learn that the tricks are just that: tricks. Not magic. I really hope that knowledge doesn’t somehow cheapen the experience for her. Will she still look at me with that innocent look of wonder when I perform a trick for her, or will she roll her eyes, knowing it’s all just a trick? Will she be mad at me for “lying” to her all this time? I’ll find out soon enough, I suppose. Just in case, I might need to show her a few tricks tonight, before she gets a peek behind the curtain. Before she crosses that point of no return where she can no longer un-know that magic isn’t real.
The Daddy Prerogative is the right of fathers everywhere to do impractical, immature, or even crude things for the sole purpose of being goofy with their children.
These activities include, but are not limited to
- wrestling with the kids
- tossing small children in arguably unsafe ways
- making fart jokes
- actually farting / belching (both loudly)
- pretending to not understand simple concepts (e.g., “I put these socks on my ears, right?”)
- winding the kids up before bed
- car goofiness (e.g., going over a hill quickly, doing doughnuts in snow)
These stunts have been the domain of daddies for years beyond counting. They often are met with eye rolling and other disapproving looks from Sensible Mommies. It’s not really fair to the Sensible Mommies that we, as daddies, get to invoke this privilege…. but hey, I didn’t make the rules. 🙂
Around ten years ago, my wife and I started a holiday tradition: we put together a Christmas Eve dinner menu that we loved and decided to use it every year. We selected lobster tails as the primary component of the dish. We so rarely ate lobster, and it seemed like a nice way to treat ourselves. Plus, while they’re expensive (especially if you buy massive ones like I did!), they are actually straight-forward to prepare.
But what to serve with it?
Around the time when we first started this tradition, we had just discovered something amazing: fried spinach. One of the restaurants we used to frequent served spinach that they fried briefly in peanut oil until it became translucent and paper-like. With the addition of a bit of salt and pepper, the spinach transcends its mundane vegetable status and becomes something truly awesome. Fascinated, I tried to replicate this recipe at home, and I was happily surprised to find it wasn’t that difficult.
To round out the plate, we decided to make horseradish mashed potatoes with scallions — a recipe we’d already perfected and enjoyed. (Pro tip: you can use a forkful of the mashed potatoes to blot your plate and pick up all the flaky little bits of fried spinach you missed!)
(You’ll have to pardon the crappy photo – years of Instagram-ing my meals have trained me to take better food porn pictures than I did back then.)
Over the years, we tweaked and modified these three recipes to the point where they weren’t even separate recipes anymore, but one recipe (to rule them all!) for the entire meal, optimized so all the components could be plated and served together at the right temperature. Ah, how satisfied we were with ourselves. <Sigh>
We were able to maintain this tradition for a while once we had kids, but it became apparent that it wasn’t really going to work. We tried serving them lobster, which resulted in us spending a bunch of money only to have them turn up their noses at it. I considered cooking them something different, though the thought of serving hot dogs alongside our very elegant meal made me cringe. Then I realized that our dinners had ceased to be elegant a long time ago, so who was I kidding?
Still, I didn’t like the idea of excluding them from our holiday tradition by serving them something else. It seemed… unfair. I began to imagine a future in which our despondent, Christmas-hating children whined to their therapists about how their parents never included them in their holiday traditions. I knew I had to figure out something we could all enjoy. I was determined, however, not to revert to something pedestrian. I didn’t want to make something from the standard dinner rotation. I still wanted it to be special.
In the end, I selected stuffed chicken breasts. It’s a recipe my wife and I love, though we avoid it because it’s simply too much work for a typical evening. There are a variety of choices for the filling, but we picked our favorite: smoked mozzarella with broiled asparagus. It’s a rather complicated recipe from Cook’s Illustrated, but it’s worth the effort. (This is true of most of their recipes, by the way.)
Believe it or not, the children eat this. Sort of. To the extent that they eat anything I make, I suppose. We decided to stick with the potatoes and spinach as sides because we love them and DAMMIT, STOP RUINING EVERYTHING.
So, we have a new holiday tradition – at least until the kids learn to appreciate lobster. Problem solved.
And that’s when I realized my kids had tricked me into making chicken nuggets (albeit fancy ones) for Christmas Eve dinner.
On Christmas morning, there will be sadness. This sadness will be because of the Barbie Dream House. More specifically, it will be because of the absence of said dream house in our present pile on Christmas morning.
The Bean has been asking for the Barbie Dream House for Xmas for quite some time. In case you have managed to escape the advertisements for this monstrosity, allow me to initiate you:
So, ignoring the obvious reasons for hating this toy, here are my specific objections to getting this thing for the Bean for Xmas this year:
1. She has Barbies and other dolls, and she doesn’t play with them.
Seriously, this girl has all sorts of Disney Princess dolls and other Barbies that have been collecting dust in a drawer for months. She NEVER plays with them. I have no reason to believe this thing will change that.
2. The Barbie Dreamhouse is an overpriced piece of junk.
I actually entertained the idea of buying her this thing for about three minutes… until I read the horrible reviews. Apparently, the elevator that they talk up so much in the commercial is a piece of crap that never works. Also, it’s difficult to assemble. And it breaks easily. The complaints go on and on. Seems like it’s not exactly the best use of our Xmas funds.
3. Did I mention it’s overpriced?
Thanks to the usual and totally planned supply shortage combined with opportunistic Xmas price gouging, you can’t actually buy this thing anywhere for less than about $400. I’m not kidding.
4. The Ghost of Christmas Past won’t let me forget the Fijit.
The Bean begged and begged for this ridiculous toy back in 2011. So we got it for her. This was no small feat, I might add; it was hard to find and I visited several stores before I found the one she wanted.
Fast forward to Xmas day. The Bean was very excited about the Fijit… for about ten seconds.
So, my gut is telling me that the Barbie Dreamhouse isn’t going to be a smart purchase, no matter what the Bean is saying now.
Unfortunately, none of that will matter on Xmas morning. We better get ready for the wailing and gnashing of teeth now. Wish us luck. 😦
It’s been a while since I wrote anything on this blog, and even longer since I told you something about the Bean. The last story I told about her was way back in July when I told you about how she was able to identify her toy animals when asked. Compared to the things she does now — reciting the alphabet, counting to twelve, and parroting nearly every word she hears — the “find the piggy” game seems so simple, almost silly. “Duh, of course she can find the piggy!”
Today’s Bean story also happened during bath time. Giving the Bean a bath is generally my job, though I don’t really think about it as a job. (Well, sometimes I do.) It’s kind of like a scheduled play date for me and the Bean.
As you know from the last story, most of the Bean’s bath toys are animals. She has several of them, but one of her (and my) favorites is a pair of turtles.
As you can see, there is a big turtle with a smaller turtle on the big turtle’s back. Now, if you’re like me, the first thing you think when you look at it is “mama turtle and baby turtle.” The first few days we had them, I started referring to the turtles as mama and baby. Not long after we got them, it occurred to me that there really wasn’t anything specifically feminine about the big turtle. I realized that I must have unconsciously assigned sex to this turtle, and the only real rationale I could come up with was based largely on gender stereotypes. That bothered me. Furthermore, I thought to myself, this is a bath toy. Bath time is daddy-daughter time for us. So wouldn’t it be more appropriate to look at the pair as a daddy turtle and a baby turtle?
So, from then on, whenever the Bean pointed to the turtles and asked who they were, I would identify them as “daddy turtle” and “baby turtle.” I felt a small sense of pride in having these turtles that served as our counterparts at bath time. I began to wonder if the Bean got the connection, wondering if she thought of herself as the baby turtle and me as the daddy turtle. It made me like the turtles even more.
Fast forward to last night.
As the Bean played in the bath, she stopped splashing for a moment when she spied the turtles on the edge of the tub. She smiled and pointed at the little turtle.
“Who is that, Bean?”
She smiled. “Baby.”
“Yeah, and who’s this?” I said, pointing to the bigger turtle.
She paused for just a moment, then flashed her most impish grin and said, “Mama.”
When I became a parent, I told myself that I’d never let myself become one of those deluded parents who thinks their baby is a freakin’ genius. You know the ones — the parents who proclaim that every one of their baby’s actions, not matter how insignificant or coincidental, is a sure sign that their child is the smartest baby ever.
Now, I love the Bean. A lot. But I try really hard not to let my adoration interfere with my ability to objectively evaluate her cognitive development. In fact, sometimes I worry (because I worry about everything) that I hyper-correct this behavior and fail to recognize her actual achievements, chalking them up as coincidences. I hear myself saying things like, “Come on, she couldn’t possibly have learned that that fast, right?”
Yesterday, I was sitting on the floor with Mrs. JoseMonkey and the Bean, and the Bean was pointing out the Sesame Street characters on a piece of wrapping paper left over from her birthday party. (Photos coming soon.) The Bean loves to point at things, and we dutifully respond by telling her what she’s pointing at. (Mrs. JoseMonkey does this all day long; she’s a trooper.) Anyway, I’m not sure why it never occurred to me to do this up until yesterday, but I realized that it might make sense to ask the Bean to find each character on the paper.
So, I asked, “Where’s Elmo?” The Bean thought for a moment, then pointed at Elmo and smiled. (She loves Elmo.)
I tried again. “Where’s Big Bird?”
Think think think. Point.
“Yeah! Where’s Ernie?”
“Woo-hoo! Where’s Abby?”
Think think think. Point. Smile.
She even got Bert, whom I figured she’d miss since 1) he’s not one of her favorites and 2) he was only on one corner of the paper, sort of upside-down. But she found him anyway.
Now, Mrs. JoseMonkey goes through these character names with her frequently, and the Bean watches lots of Sesame Street, so I guess I shouldn’t be that surprised that she is able to do that. But I was floored.
Later that same night, I was giving the Bean a bath. We broke out some new bath toys for her, a set of eight little animal “squirties” that she got for her birthday. When I lined them up on the edge of the tub, she immediately went into the pointing routine, wanting to know what each one was.
We went through the animals twice, naming each one. On a whim, I quizzed her:
“Bean, where’s the sheep?”
Think think think. Point.
“That’s right! Where’s the piggy?”
Think think think. Point.
You get the idea. She was able to identify them after hearing their names just twice?! And she’d never seen these toys before!
Delusions, my ass. I think we’re dealing with an above average IQ here. W00T! SMARTEST BABY EVAH!