It Was So Hot I Froze to Death...

It reached 100 degrees here this week. This is a fact you need to know in order to appreciate this story.

Children learn very quickly what kind of excuses get them what they want. At six months, my daughter would cough. Both Mommy and Daddy would turn heads to look. My daughter would smile. Lather, rinse and repeat.

My son walks into the kitchen and points to the counter. He receives a Gerber snack. Lather, rinse and repeat.

My daughter likes to take stuff with her in the car. She would like to take her stuffed bear, her blanket, her water, her artwork, a snack, her hat, her sunglasses, some lip balm (her lips), five other stuffed animals and her pinwheel. I limit her to one item.

"But I'm so COLD, daddy." She completes the effect by shivering.

"It's warm out today, sweetie."

"I don't think so, daddy." This last sentence is sing-songy.

"No, it is warm. It's going to be 100 degrees. My blog post will start out with that fact."

"It's chilly, daddy. I need my blanket."

"You can either take your beloved, can't-sleep-without-it, hope-we-don't-ever-lose-it, best-friend-in-the-whole-world stuffed bear, or your blanket. Which one?"

We went out for ice cream with the blanket.

PDA and Other Crimes

A secret fraternity is a good analogy for the military. Both a fraternity and the military have a cost to join, and in both cases you're expected to undertake the commands of your superiors without question. Once you're in, though, you're family and treated as such.

Which is why this separation from The Doctor isn't as bad as it could be. I'm away from my home town, but I'm in the middle of a community ready to support me should anything start to go seriously wrong. It comforts me, and I'm sure it comforts The Doctor.

However, as like any huge organization, there are rules that the organization wishes you to observe and obey. The base has its own protocol office as the official "rules" keeper. Don't know which is the salad fork? Call protocol. Is it a jacket and tie evening, or can I go "Arizona Casual," that is, shorts and flip-flops? Call protocol. Do I need to pull over during taps and shut off my headlights? Call protocol.

It's a lot like speaking a language - easy to just immerse yourself and become fluent, but if one tries to explain how to conjugate an irregular verb, the wheel can fall off your wheelbarrow very quickly.

The chief protocol officer was addressing a crowd of which I was a part. He opened the floor to questions.

"What's the rule on PDA?" a spouse inquired.

The protocol officer got the look of someone trying to conjugate "to be" in an obscure martian dialect.

"The old guard would have you believe that PDA while in uniform is NEVER acceptable, but social mores are changing in this regard. What was the circumstance you found yourself in?"

I forgave the protocol officer for ending his sentence with a preposition. It's a grammatical error the old guard would NEVER find acceptable.

"I had my arm checked for a TB screening. It came up positive. I had to go to the clinic for further tests. My husband was waiting with me while he was on his lunch break. When they called my name to go into the lab for further testing, he didn't kiss or hug me because he was in uniform..."

I mentally put palm to face. It wouldn't have even occurred to me NOT to give The Doctor this kind of reassurance had I been in this situation. Would I have had been tased by the protocol police?

The answer was no, as the protocol officer explained, "under those circumstances, no one would have faulted your husband for reassuring you as you went to get your tests. As I said, mores are changing on this issue. Reasonable amounts under proper circumstances are allowed..."

Egads. I didn't think I was in the land of reasonable. Good to know.

Muppetophobia Part 2

My daughter arrives home from Preschool and requests to watch Sesame Street.

"Sure, which one do you want to see?" I have quite a few recorded for her pleasure.

"I want to see the one where Elmo is sleeping."

I stop cold. Was this the same girl who was up at night claiming to be so scared of Elmo discussing sleep that she couldn't fall asleep herself?

How do I inquire further without triggering that fear response in her? Should I? Is this a Daddy helping a daughter overcome fears, or is this a Daddy subjecting a daughter to terrifying segments of Sesame Street?

What's the right thing to do?

The right thing to do is not to worry about it too much.

"The one with Elmo and sleeping?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"OK!"

She agreed that it wasn't so scary after all. My research article is now useless. Drat.

Muppetophobia

Quick - name the least threatening muppet.

Big Bird? Sure, Big Bird has the mentality of a five-year-old, but Big Bird is, you know, big. Big Bird can overwhelm you with size. The same analysis applies to Snuffelupugus. (sp?)

Ernie? He's too much of a prankster. Bert? He's too fussy. Telly? Too neurotic. Count? He'll sink his fangs into your neck and feast on your blood, or so I would imagine if Anne Rice wrote for Sesame Street.

Abby? She'll turn you into a pumpkin. Oscar? Too grouchy. Cookie Monster? Don't get caught between him and a cookie...

No, the least threatening muppet, as poll results and scientific research has shown(1) is Elmo.

Elmo made it big after I stopped watching Sesame Street, but it's hard to live in this country and not be aware of cultural icons like Elmo. His segments on Sesame Street are informative and entertaining. He sings and draws and talks to all his anthropomorphized furniture. He investigates skin or violins or pets or anything that might interest the pre-school set. I wonder if he will investigate boogers one day, as I know that preoccupies my children.

There is nothing, absolutely nothing whatsoever, that is confrontational or threatening concerning Elmo's delivery or discussion of the topic of the day. It is the most entertaining, least frightening environment that television could possibly create. Again, scientific research will back me up on this(2).

Which is why I was startled a few nights ago when my daughter couldn't fall asleep because she was scared. Scared of Elmo.

"Elmo?"

"The Elmo and the sleep is very scary, daddy!" My daughter was sitting up in bed, with her fingers in her mouth - a certain sign that she was anxious. Elmo was thinking about sleep on Sesame Street that day.

"Oh, sweetie, Elmo's not scary, though, right? Remember when he talks about skin? That wasn't scary, right?"

"No..."

I realized that in the abstract, Elmo discussing skin actually sounds weird and threatening in a medieval way. Where does Elmo get the skin he discusses and what does he do with it? Is it a Silence of the Lambs thing? Better move on...

"And Mr. Noodle and his brother Mr. Noodle are funny when they dance, right?"

" ... yeah..."

"So we can think of that instead, right?"

"Yes. Thanks Daddy!"

Anytime, sweetie. That's what I'm here for. I'm thinking of publishing my research. Keep an eye out for the article: "Nameless Elmo Anxiety and Redirection to Happier Elmo Paradigms," in the Southwestern Muppetistics Monthly, May 2011.

(1)Journal of Muppetology, June 2002.

(2)The New England Periodical of Muppetological Research and Discourse, October 2005.

It's Sunday and That Means...

Sleep, mostly. Also a fair amount of missing The Doctor.

The kids are in bed. I had some trouble getting them there on Saturday, but they were in a much more cooperative mood today. This is probably due to the fact that they both napped today.

This means it's time to reflect on another weekend alone. Yet another weekend gone by. Another weekend where I had to fill the time with enough entertaining and educational activities for both children so I don't feel like a negligent parent at this time on a Sunday.

I feel good about this weekend. My daughter was helping today to clean up the house. I think I got my son to say "please." It came out as "SSSSSSS." It was repeated, though, while "requesting" food. I think that counts.

We did familiar activities and new activities. We watched Sesame Street and went to the library. We danced at home and we went to the playground outside.

I feel a little sense of accomplishment. I did manage another weekend alone. With that, though, comes exhaustion. Sleeping kids means I don't have to keep thinking of things to do, constantly. It means I can let go of the tension in my shoulders that I didn't know was there until a moment ago. It means I have the time to wonder what my wife is doing, and then wish she could be here to share this moment before we both collapse from a hard, long weekend.

I'm so tired I can't even think of a good ending for this post.

Clifford the Big Red Marketing Ploy

In addition to my parental responsibilities, I have husbandly responsibilities. Every week I pride myself on getting a care package sent off to The Doctor. Getting some diversity into the packages has become somewhat of a challenge, especially if, like me, you lack any sort of imagination.

She requested dried fruits. I sent her a bunch of dried fruits from the commissary. She has enough of that treat to last her a while, as I wasn't the only one who sent her some. It occurred to me that if she wants healthy stuff, I should go to the health-food grocery down the street. I can bring the kids over the weekend - it'll be something to do, and the kids can pick at the free samples! I can get ideas on what to send to The Doctor! What a great weekend activity!

So my son stays in the cart and gnaws on an apple while my daughter runs in front of the cart to inspect the groceries. We all sample the chocolate pretzels and the dried mango. My daughter helps daddy pick out some microwaveable things to send to Mommy.

We go searching the aisles of the store and my daughter runs to the end and stops dead at a large wall of cereal, marveling and the vastness of it.

"Look at THAT, daddy!"

"That is a lot of cereal, isn't it?"

"CLIFFORD!"

Huh?

"It's Clifford, Daddy!" My daughter has already grabbed a box off the shelf. Indeed, Clifford the Big Red Dog has endorsed a box of Cascadian Farms rice puff thingies.

"Can we bring him home, Daddy?"

Ah, yes. Too late I realized that Clifford was right at my three-year-old's eye level. Curse you, companies that market to children. I blame you for all of society's ills.

Sigh. No time to explain eye-level marketing to my three-year-old now. Let me put the toddler on standby so I can take a minute to decide the best course of action.

Pro: 1) The cereal's organic-ish; 2) the sugar and caloric content and of the cereal isn't so bad; 3) Clifford is a PBS cartoon, and not an icon from a for-profit shop, like a princess; 4) my daughter eats cereal, so the box won't gather dust on the shelf; and 5) I have already nixed a few items that my daughter has requested, and, to my delight, she accepted each verdict.

Con: 1) It's a sugar cereal; 2) I don't want to reward companies that market to kids this way; 3) I don't want to set a precedent of giving in to my daughter's demands to buy things while in stores; 4) my daughter didn't say the "magic word;" and 5) when did she learn about Clifford?

To be fair, Con #5 isn't really a con, more of a bafflement on daddy's part...

Oops, this analysis has taken too long, as the toddler is starting to see the indecision on Daddy's face. Time to bring out the big guns.

"Please, daddy?"

I never really had a chance. This one was over when we entered the store. To her credit, the only other things my daughter requested while were in the store were apples.

In fact, my daughter was more than helpful for the rest of the shopping experience. She entertained my son, picked out and bagged those apples, loaded the groceries on to the checkout conveyor belt, and told the cashier all about the Clifford cereal.

The cereal tastes good. My daughter loves it. She gave me a "Thanks, daddy!" that was worth the trip. I'll explain the evils of marketing to children some other time.