Analisse Knows English Better Than Me

We had just arrived home from grocery shopping.  The kids were helping bring the groceries in and, as she is wont to do, Analisse (3) decided to shed her shoes and run outside on the cold and wet sidewalk.  All she wanted to do was help me as long as I kept walking back and forth, from the door to the car, car to the door, bringing load after load of groceries into the house.

We walked up the the door for the last time and I leaned down and said, "Ani, make sure you wipe your feet.  It's wet out here."

"Noooo, Daddy!  I have fwip fwops on!"

"I know, Freak, but you still have to wipe your feet.  I don't want you tracking mud into the house."

"No!  Not my feet.  I have fwip fwops on!"

[Me (33), pausing in confused silence, wondering what to say next.]


"Oh!  Right...Ani, make sure you wipe your fwip fwops off."

"Yeah, Daddy.  Fwip fwops."

And she happily wiped her feet and ran off.

Always an Obstructionist

I had to go into work today to complete an emergency project. Kristine was working, as well, so I drew the short straw to get all the kids.  As we were driving to the office, the kids begged for tunes.  I knew they wanted me to turn on a hit music station, but I didn't feel like it.  I elected for Classical Minnesota Public Radio, 99.5 FM.  As a score played, the following conversation ensued:

Felicity (6): "Hey guys!  This song is real."

Frederic (8), without skipping a beat: "No it's not!!!!"

Me (33): "Um...what does "this song is real" mean and why would you say "no it's not"?

I pestered the two with this question in several different ways because it seemed to confuse them quite thoroughly that they were being asked to explain themselves.

Felicity: "Um...I don't know.  I actually forgot."

Me: "Fred.  What does "real" mean and why did you disagree?  Felicity doesn't even know what it means."

Fred: "I don't know."

Just as I thought.  It didn't matter what Felicity said.  All that mattered, to Fred, was that there had to be a clear opposing position to any statement that she made.  He was ready, at a moment's notice, to disagree.

The boy has a job in politics.  I should start grooming him now.  

Hi, my name is IC, and I throw tantrums

Libby Anne is working through a critique of the Pearl's "To Train Up a Child".  She's off to an excellent start with her second installment, where she writes the following words:

Being a parent involves a lot of inconvenience. You have to be willing to have your reading interrupted and your coffee spilled. If you treat your children right and set good patterns—things like communication, listening, cooperation, and constructive compromise—your life with your children will be a bit harried at times, but it will also be rich and fruitful and not out of control. 

This point was a big deal to me, a father of six rambunctious coffee spillers.   I throw a lot of tantrums.

If you have been following this blog for the past month, you may be aware that we recently got a dog.  I hate dogs.  I hate all pets.  I hate fish, gerbils, snakes, alligators, unicorns, and ant farms.  Any pet that gets in the way of my clean house and immaculate children ticks me off, disgusts me, and makes me want to ship myself off to the Humane Society to compensate.

Nonetheless, we got a dog.  And she is perfect.  She's a pit bull/fox terrier/black lab mix, gentle as a flea, and is very responsive to verbal training.  She never does something naughty more than a few times before she learns to do that which is required of her.  I'm falling in love with a pet for the first time in my life. This is a new feeling for me.

And then there's Analisse.  She's our three year old.  Every step forward that Luna (the dog) takes, Analisse, aka "The Freak" takes one backwards.  She is fascinated with Luna's water bowl.  She fills it to the brim, allows it to overflow, pours it all over the floor, dumps the dog food into it and then sits there, watching it expand (that's actually REALLY COOL to watch, so I don't blame her!), fills the bowl with tennis balls, and on and on.  More than once, I have walked into the office with socks on and stepped in a puddle of water.

I hate wet socks.

If you were a fly on the wall, this is what you would hear:

"RENAYA!  LAURA!  FREDERIC!  EVERYONE!!!!!  What in the h*ll is wrong with you kids!?  Aren't you watching your sister!!  Hey Freak!!!  How many times have I told you NOT TO TOUCH THE DOGS WATER BOWL!!!!!!!  Kids!  Clean this sh*t up!  Get towels, rags....er...whatever!  Just get it done now!!!!"

Yeah.  So, is it true that I expect all the kids to monitor Analisse in everything that she does?  Do I expect Analisse to dump her innate fascination with all things water bowl?  After all, this is new to her and she's a wonderful little kid, experiencing new things in life.  Is it right for me to get mad at the kids and make them run around, frantically trying to make me happy?

The answer to all the questions above is pretty obvious.  I'm not being fair to my children and I know it.  The dog even knows it, as she cowers in her kennel until I am done waving my arms and jumping up and down. For all she knows, it's her fault.

Anyway....that's why that quote hit home for me.  Much to improve.  Many steps to take forward.  I cannot afford, at this point in my parenting career, to be complacent in my attitude and parenting, nor can I afford to take any steps backwards.

This ends today.

My Beard is Cheap Acupuncture

Earlier this morning, I grabbed Analisse (2), aka, The Freak, up in my arms and began chewing on her cheek and kissing her nose.  I like to grow my beard for a week or two, then shave it off nice and clean and start the process all over again.  I began doing this when I grew my first whisker and determined to maintain the habit when I read a study that stated that people who don't shave their beards every day die earlier than those that do.

I think I need to inform Aunt Gertrude.  She has an epic 'stache that needs to be trimmed daily.  

Anyway, I'm determined to provide their control by bucking the trend.

In the meantime, I'm kissing Analisse and she's screaming and giggling while pushing me away with all her might.  I giggled right along with her and then put her down so she could run away from me.

A few minutes later, Jack (4) began to whimper about some Legos that fell apart.  I crawled over to him and assured him that Legos fall apart all the time because they want you to put them back together (I learned this in another study that measured the feelings of inanimate object like Legos and Nerf bullets, the latter being petrified every time they were loaded into a Nerf gun.  The trick is to spread superglue on the tip of the bullet to shield their sense of flying through the air.  Just watch the eyes when you shoot).  He took it like a champ, smiled, and began to clip those bricks back together.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught The Freak staring at me.  I looked her direction and noticed her cheek.  The one I had been chewing on and smooching.  It was covered in red dots that were spreading.  

Oops.  Guess it's time to shave.  Now I know why she was screaming and pushing me away.

I Am Not the World's Greatest Dad

I arrived home to the smell of steamy poop.  The dining room smelled like it.  The living reeked.  Kristine had just left for work and I needed to make supper.  I decided to breathe through my mouth and close my nose with my epiglottis.  You become a master at that exercise as a dad of six kids.  I'm as good at that as a woman doing kegels (in preparation for childbirth, of course).

We began training Analisse (2) to go to the bathroom on the potty a week or so ago.  She forced our hand by ripping off her diaper and marching to the toilet, opening it, peeing, wiping herself, and then notified us of her victory by slamming the cover down so hard, it shook the house.  I heard the noise and rushed into the bathroom, only to be greeted by a giggly little girl, so proud of her accomplishment, she was spewing out the words in perfect sentences:

"I went peeeee!!!!"

She got candy.

But that was pee.  She loved doing it.  She hated diapers - unless she had to poop.  Kristine sat with her a few days ago for a few hours, finally coaxing her to go one little turd.  She kept hopping off and coming back, hopping off, and coming back.  Finally, she succumbed and let out a little sheep ball of blackness.  That was the last time.

I found the pork chops in the freezer and walked up the basement stairs.  I could smell the fecal matter as I neared the top stair and went into denial mode, covering my nose again from the inside.  I defrosted the meat and sliced potatoes, hoping beyond hope, grasping at the elusive possibility that Kristine had left a diaper on her from nap time.  I convinced myself of this, even though Kristine had informed me on the second day of Analisse's potty training that she slept through nap time with underwear on.

I finished defrosting the chops, poured olive oil into the bottom of two glassware cake pans, covered them with salt and freshly ground pepper, shoved the pans in the oven at 350 degrees, and began to fry the potatoes.

Analisse ran past me giggling.

I laughed as she ran past me, momentarily forgetting that I was purposefully plugging my nose.  I breathed in deeply - and choked on the rancid air.  This was most definitely not a diaper issue.  She had gone in her underwear.  I knew it.  But, I had one last glimmer of hope and, grasping at it, I yelled out to the living room:

"Renaya!  Laura!  Frederic!  Change The Freak's diaper....NOW!!!"

Every good parent knows that you yell the names of all capable hands.  Only one will really end up doing the task, but she'll pummel the other two and force them to help her.  This way, if things go bad, they might, together, be able to get something done successfully, decreasing the chances that you'll need to pitch in and help where you would rather not.

I just wanted to cook supper!

The kids sprang to action, sitting up slightly in their resting positions in the living room.

"Now!! Dammit!!!" 

Now they knew I meant business and slowly dragged themselves out to the kitchen, chased The Freak down and I listened carefully as they laid her down in the living room, preparing to change the diaper.

I busied myself with the frying, counting down the six seconds that it would take to discover underwear vs. a diaper.  Sure enough:

"Ewww, Daddy!  YUCK!  Gross, Daddy!  This is disgusting.  Blecht!  Oh, nasty!!!!!"

My heart hit the floor.  

I rushed into the living room, scooped Ani up in my arms, walked quickly to the bathroom with a bucket of wipes and laid her down on the bathroom rug.  Her shirt and pants were fine as I peeled them off but I could see her underwear was a thick and slimy mass of soft squishy wonder.  I took them off slowly, yelled for a garbage bag (threatening no supper if I didn't get it in seconds), got it delivered to me in record time, cleaned up her butt, kicked her out of the bathroom, happy and giggling, and then focused my attention on the underwear.

The poop was halfway between a hard ball and diarrhea.  It covered the entire area of the back of her underwear.  I rolled up a wad of toilet paper and tried valiantly to scrape the contents into the toilet.

The poop wouldn't budge.

I began to turn on the hot sink water, thinking I would wash it off, hoping the majority would melt away or evaporate into hot steam, hoping I wouldn't plug up the p-trap.  The p-trap!  

Turning around, I tossed the underwear in the garbage bag, tied it closed, washed my hands, and texted Kristine that we needed to buy more underwear.  I returned to the kitchen and finished supper - arguably more flavorable at this point. 

Winning a Battle, Losing the War

Characters - My daughter, Analisse (2) and my son, Jack (3).

Setting - A house in Colorado.


I'm sitting at a long wooden dining room table, quietly chatting with our hosts, Kristine sitting next to me, when I hear a quick double pitter patter of small feet.  The sound is unmistakeable for that of two children beginning a fight.  My head whips to the right as the fight unfolds.

Jack has one of those children's toys where you turn, crank, screw, or press things and faces of cartoon characters pop up.  Then, you press those faces back down and do it again.  The toy is popular with the littles and even me in an unreserved moment, sitting in an easy chair, leaning over the side, playing with the toy on the floor, stopping only when a large drop of drool escapes my lips, dropping to the carpet, jerking me back to mature reality.

Jack reaches the hallway off the living room with Analisse right behind him but that is as far as he gets.  Analisse catches the back of his shirt, spins him around by the neck, latches her arms around the toy, and drops to the floor.  Jack begins to scream a very high pitched scream, weeping through his labored breathing.  Analisse is very quiet and calculated, making nary a peep.  She slides her legs expertly under his, twists her body over from her back to her stomach, and ends up laying on top of the toy.

Jack has lost.

Then, in two swift steps, he disappears down the hall and out of sight.

Analisse sits up and calmly begins to play with the toy.  Only, she isn't enjoying herself.  She is worried sick, not knowing where Jack is or what he has up his sleeve.  She presses one face down, looks up in the direction of his disappearance, then repeats.  Press, look.  Look....look, press.  Twist, look, press, look.  Push, press, look.  Look.  Look.

Fed up with her suspicions, Analisse jumps up and quickly walks down the hall, leaving the toy on the floor, looking for Jack.  She disappears beyond the turn of the hallway.

Before you could say "hello world!", Jack appears around the corner.  In one leap, he is at the toy, swooping it up in his arms, with the devastated Analisse screaming and crying behind him.

Analisse won the little battle, Jack won the war.

Vacation Through the Eyes of Analisse (2) - Part 3

That was a good breakfast.  Lots is happening around here now.  Mommy and Daddy are talking to everyone like they're old friends.  The other kids are all playing together.  Fights are rising and falling in the basement.  Hope they don't mess up my bed...wait...I won't be needing it anymore.  I'll sleep in my own bed tonight.

Wait.  Daddy!  Stop!  I hate it when you wash my face.  No!  Stop.  AHHHHHHH!!!!!   Stop!  Stop it now!  Crap...this always happens when I eat pancakes.  Why???! 

Good.  He stopped.  I'll yell louder and squirm more next time.  Maybe he'll quit sooner.

...

I'm being picked up all morning.  This is great.  Kids, that woman, that strong man, Mommy, Daddy.  Wait!  A deck to walk on.  Daddy, let's go.  Maybe if I grab his hand and pull him...yep...that worked.

Let's go down the stairs.  Ok, now up.  Now down.  Now up.  This is fun!  I even have my pacifier.  Now, let's go back down.  Why are you picking me up Daddy?  Ah...itchy kisses again.  No more.  Get away from me!  Good, pushing his face away worked.  He giggled too.  Sucker!

Sure, Daddy, let's sit down in these chairs and stare off into space for an hour.  Why do you do that!!???

What is Mommy saying?  Ah...food.  Gotta go!

I won't be needing this pacifier.  I'll just drop it right here.

...to be continued in Part 4

Vacation Through the Eyes of Analisse (2) - Part 2

This pacifier is good...  Wait!  I'm awake!  Uh...where am I?  Oh yeah.  That bed they put me in last night.  I smell food.

Daddy heard me rustle.  Yay!  Now I get to cuddle with him in bed.

Ok...two seconds was enough.  Time for food now.  Mommy and Daddy are still asleep.  Maybe I'll go find the food. 

Hey!  Here's some stairs.  Wait...where's my pacifier.  Oh, nevermind.  I'm hungry. 

Whew!  Those stairs were a tad hard to climb, but I'm up now. 

Who's this?  I recognize her.  She loves me.  Hey!  She's picking me up and giving me kisses and talking all sweet.  Very wicked cool.  I'll give some kisses.  That makes her smile.  I know Daddy and Mommy really like this woman.  Oh!  More kids.

Where are we going?  Oh..right.  Food.  Yum...pancakes...um...syrup?  Ah...there we go.  She knew it.  No need to scream.


...to be continued in Part 3

Vacation Through the Eyes of Analisse (2) - Part 1

Mommy and Daddy are packing the car.  All I want is something to drink and eat.  I'm sucking on this pacifier, which I love dearly, trying to dodge their feet as they walk in and out of the house.  Ouch!  The door bumped me in the back of the head.  Maybe if I scream loud enough, they'll stop ignoring me or yelling at Naya to watch me and maybe pick me up once.  Tugging on Mommy's pants is doing nothing.

Yep.  That worked.  More itchy kisses from Daddy.  Feels good to be in his arms.

Now, were driving. 

We're still driving. 

Time to sleep.  WHERE'S MY PACIFIER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ah.  Screaming worked.  Time to sleep.

What?  Only five minutes of sleep and their waking me up, stuffing food in my face.  No!  I don't want food!  I'll just whine and scream and...PACIFIER!  WHERE DID IT GO!!!!!

Oh good.  Daddy's yelling from the front of the van at the top of his lungs to give me my pacifier.  Ah...there it is.  Time to sleep again.

Wait...now I'm being carried into a house.  Wha...!  This isn't my house.  That means my bed isn't here!  Oh no! 

Oh wait...this bed isn't half so bad.  Plenty of blankets too.  Daddy even gave me an extra pacifier.  No matter.  I'll sleep in my bed tomorrow.


...to be continued in Part 2