Scene: C (age 6) and S (age 9) are looking at a book about dinosaurs . . .
C: "Are all dinosaurs boys?"
S <giggles>: "No."
C: "Are they all girls?"
S <giggles>: "No. Some dinosaurs are boys and some are girls. It has to be that way in order for dinosaurs to get married and have kids."
C: "Dinosaurs get married?!"
S: "Yes, but it's called 'mating'."
Saturday, July 30, 2016
Thursday, July 28, 2016
Chewing Enthusiastically: Another Bedtime Conversation with My 9-yr-old Daughter
When I got home from work late this evening, the girls were in bed. I was starving and anxious to eat dinner, but Katie said S. sustained an injury earlier in the day and had been begging for her daddy. So I went into the girls room to check on them briefly before eating. S. didn't care for the brevity of my stay and clung tightly to my arm in desperation.
Me: "S., I have to go! I don't feel good and I need to eat something now!"
S.: "No!! I want you to stay here. I don't want to wait for you to eat."
Me: "I haven't eaten a real meal since breakfast. I gotta go. But I'll come back afterward to see how you're doing."
S., letting out a long moan: "But dad, you chew so enthusiastically that it takes you forever to eat. I can eat ten times faster than you."
I chew enthusiastically??
Nits Make Lice, or, my Daughter is a Confused Child
L., age 8, closely examining my head: "You have nitwits in your hair!"
Nit . . . wits . . . ?!
P.S. For the record, I have neither lice nor nits in my hair.
Bedtime Routines, a Follow-up of Sorts to the "Insomniac" Post Below
Scene: I am in the older girls' bedroom, tucking them in bed
Me: "Good night S. and L.. Remember that I--"
S.: "You love us. I know. You always always say that. Why do you say that all the time?"
Me: "So you don't forget."
S.: "We could never forget. You say it all the time. One of my childhood memories is going to be my dad telling me 'I love you' all the time."
Well, okay kid. Just so long as we're clear.
Weirdest Whiskers in the World
C., age 6, sitting on my lap and stabbing my chest with a forefinger each time she speaks a word: "Dad, you need to shave!"
Me: "Okay."
C:: "You have the weirdest whiskers in the world!"
Me: "What makes them the weirdest?"
C:, running her hands across my cheeks: "Because they're sharp. They're pokey."
Well, I can certainly see why that would be weird. After all, every other man's facial whiskers are soft as silk.
What a little nut!
Shot Through the Heart: My Daughters Have Questions about Inoculations
Scene: driving in the van. The girls are discussing inoculations. They determine that all together they have received shots on their thighs, their bums, and their shoulders. They want to know if it's possible to receive shots anywhere else . . .
A chorus of voices from the back of the van peppers me with questions:
Have you ever been shot in the shin? The stomach? The neck? The thigh?
Then Leila calls out: "Have you ever been shot in the heart?"
Yes, Leila. Metaphorically speaking. But then, haven't we all?
As I drive, memories of old girlfriends and painful breakups come flooding in. But so do the lyrics of a Bon Jovi song from my youth. And I can't help but smile.
Sunday, July 17, 2016
The Joy of Going Bald
Scene: the family is getting ready for the day. My nine-year-old daughter, who is ready to roll out the door, is less than patient while waiting and pleads with me to go right that very second.
Me, to S.: "I have to comb my hair first."
S.: "Why? Combing your hair is boring."
Me: "I know, but it's part of the daily routine. Plus, I like to comb my hair before I go outside the house and people see me."
S.: "Why? With your hair it doesn't matter."
Heavy sigh
Friday, July 15, 2016
An Eight-Year-Old Insomiac Talks to Her Father
Scene: The girls are in bed but still awake. I arrive home from work and go in their bedroom to check on them and tell them good night.
L.: "Poppy, how many times have you told us 'I love you'? How many times have you said, 'remember that I love you'?"
Me: "A lot."
L.: "You've told us that a quadrillion times! No, a quintillion times!"
Me: "Okay."
L.: "What comes after quintillion?"
Me: "I don't know. I can't count that high."
Later, she comes out of her bedroom and plops down on the couch beside me . . .
L.: "I'm having troubles falling asleep, dad. Do you have any suggestions?"
Me: "Count turtles."
L.: "Where did you come up with that? That's dumb. Usually your ideas are spastic."
Well gee, L., I'm sorry I don't have any "spastic" ideas for you this evening. Now get back in bed.
smh
Thursday, July 14, 2016
Ruminations on Fatherhood in the Wake of the Tragedy in Nice, France
A friend of mine who will become a father a few weeks hence posted on Facebook about the horror of what just happened in Nice, France and expressed concern over bringing a new baby into a world such as this. I commented on his post. For whatever it's worth, here is part of what I wrote:
Becoming a parent forever changes you -- makes you painfully aware of the terrors and dangers that this world holds. For the first time in your life, a large part of you -- your heart, your soul -- is now running around outside of your body. And you want to wrap the little tyke up in your arms, and create a cocoon that will shield him or her from all of the violence, the hatred, the mayhem.
One day a baby arrives, and in the blink of an eye concern for your own self-preservation plummets waaay down your list of priorities. All that matters is the safety and well-being of that tiny little person. And you'd do whatever you have to in order to preserve their innocence and keep them safe.
And it's not just from the big scary things, either. One day you find yourself trying to protect your eight-year-old daughter from bullies in her second grade class. And even though you never stood up for yourself a day in your life, you stand up for your daughter and fight for her with a dogged determination that completely bewilders her teacher. And you do not back down.
Thursday, July 7, 2016
The 8-year-old poses a grammar question
My eight-year-old daughter had a grammar question for me today. I could not help but giggle.
L.: "Dad, is the past tense of assassination 'assassed'?
My Daughter on the Subject of English Nobility
Scene: kids are in the back of the car chatting away garrulously
Leila: blah blah blah "Sire!"
Savannah: "Sire?"
Leila: "Yeah, 'Sire.' That's what you call an Englishman who has to go to the bathroom a lot."
I learn so much valuable information from my children.
Leila: blah blah blah "Sire!"
Savannah: "Sire?"
Leila: "Yeah, 'Sire.' That's what you call an Englishman who has to go to the bathroom a lot."
I learn so much valuable information from my children.
Wednesday, July 6, 2016
Chaos: Three Little Girls Visit Their Dad's College Classroom
I took my three oldest daughters to work today. My wife had been up all night with the baby, who is sick. So I was trying to give them a break. With the rest of us out of the way for most of the day, Katie and the baby could (in theory) take naps, visit the pediatrician, or do whatever they needed to without any logistical complications.
But I failed to consider fully the implications of bringing three kids ages six through nine into a college classroom environment.
The three of them sat in the back row, playing with Barbie dolls, reading books, and doing all manner of acrobatics and spinning with the cushioned office chairs that grace the room.
Once during their play, when they got loud enough to distract the students, I reminded them, rather firmly, to keep quiet. C., age 6, didn't care for that. She ran up to me and said, "You have to be a good boy, daddy!" And then she added, "You have a manly voice!" After returning to the rear of the classroom, she repeated, loud enough for the entire class to hear, "You have a manly voice, daddy."
The six-year-old kept running up to the front of the classroom during my lecture to ask questions or provide commentary. She also served as the messenger not only for herself, but also for her big sisters. The messages she delivered were usually in the form of notes scrawled on paper. (Remember how the last time she came with me to work, I asked her to write all of her questions down so she wouldn't disrupt the class? That's what she was doing -- all except for the not disrupting class part.) Here's some of what she wrote: "L. [the eight-year-old] is nuts. Be a good boy." Another note said, "You era LAWD" (You are loud). Apparently, the written observation was insufficient, because she also verbalized the fact that I talk too loud.
Two of the notes that the six-year-old delivered were from the eight-year-old, who objected to one facet of my, uh, teaching style. Sometimes when I ask a question and a student nails the answer perfectly, I shout "Aha!" and award the student a verbal gold star. (I do this to try to liven things up. It is intended to awaken the sleeping people, startle the drowsy ones, grab the attention of those who are focused on their phones, and change the pacing of the lecture.) The first time I did that, L. wrote, "I'm starting to get afraid of you." And the second time it happened, L. wrote, "You are to [sic] loud you made me shake when you yelled!" After that, I discontinued the practice of shouting "Aha!"
At one point during class, I played U2's "Pride (In the Name of Love)" for the class and told the students I had two questions for them: a) Who is the song about? and b) What is the historical inaccuracy in it? Before playing it, I asked students to put away their electronic devices so that they could not use the internet to find the answers. When the song ended, C. ran to the front of the classroom and handed me another message. It said, "I Dot have Lekrnroniks Not evin one" (I do not have electronics, not even one). Okay, C., you are excluded from my request that everyone shut down their electronics devices.
Other questions C. wrote down include: "Hoos Malkin X" (Who's Malcolm X?), and "Wus [what's] the KKK".
She also wrote me, "You can rit on the BRD" (You can write on the board). Gee, I'm so glad I have the permission of a six-year-old to write on the classroom's dry erase board!
In the meantime, one of her older sisters wrote a message and sent it up to the front with her. It read, "C. should have sat in the front." A short time later, the other big sister sent up a similar note, "C. should of sat in the Front." The question I have is, which daughter wrote "of" when she should have written "have," 'cause I gotta talk to her about that.
Tomorrow, even if baby A. still has a fever of 102 F, I'm leaving the troublesome trio at home!
But I failed to consider fully the implications of bringing three kids ages six through nine into a college classroom environment.
The three of them sat in the back row, playing with Barbie dolls, reading books, and doing all manner of acrobatics and spinning with the cushioned office chairs that grace the room.
Once during their play, when they got loud enough to distract the students, I reminded them, rather firmly, to keep quiet. C., age 6, didn't care for that. She ran up to me and said, "You have to be a good boy, daddy!" And then she added, "You have a manly voice!" After returning to the rear of the classroom, she repeated, loud enough for the entire class to hear, "You have a manly voice, daddy."
The six-year-old kept running up to the front of the classroom during my lecture to ask questions or provide commentary. She also served as the messenger not only for herself, but also for her big sisters. The messages she delivered were usually in the form of notes scrawled on paper. (Remember how the last time she came with me to work, I asked her to write all of her questions down so she wouldn't disrupt the class? That's what she was doing -- all except for the not disrupting class part.) Here's some of what she wrote: "L. [the eight-year-old] is nuts. Be a good boy." Another note said, "You era LAWD" (You are loud). Apparently, the written observation was insufficient, because she also verbalized the fact that I talk too loud.
Two of the notes that the six-year-old delivered were from the eight-year-old, who objected to one facet of my, uh, teaching style. Sometimes when I ask a question and a student nails the answer perfectly, I shout "Aha!" and award the student a verbal gold star. (I do this to try to liven things up. It is intended to awaken the sleeping people, startle the drowsy ones, grab the attention of those who are focused on their phones, and change the pacing of the lecture.) The first time I did that, L. wrote, "I'm starting to get afraid of you." And the second time it happened, L. wrote, "You are to [sic] loud you made me shake when you yelled!" After that, I discontinued the practice of shouting "Aha!"
At one point during class, I played U2's "Pride (In the Name of Love)" for the class and told the students I had two questions for them: a) Who is the song about? and b) What is the historical inaccuracy in it? Before playing it, I asked students to put away their electronic devices so that they could not use the internet to find the answers. When the song ended, C. ran to the front of the classroom and handed me another message. It said, "I Dot have Lekrnroniks Not evin one" (I do not have electronics, not even one). Okay, C., you are excluded from my request that everyone shut down their electronics devices.
Other questions C. wrote down include: "Hoos Malkin X" (Who's Malcolm X?), and "Wus [what's] the KKK".
She also wrote me, "You can rit on the BRD" (You can write on the board). Gee, I'm so glad I have the permission of a six-year-old to write on the classroom's dry erase board!
In the meantime, one of her older sisters wrote a message and sent it up to the front with her. It read, "C. should have sat in the front." A short time later, the other big sister sent up a similar note, "C. should of sat in the Front." The question I have is, which daughter wrote "of" when she should have written "have," 'cause I gotta talk to her about that.
Tomorrow, even if baby A. still has a fever of 102 F, I'm leaving the troublesome trio at home!
Monday, July 4, 2016
The Joy of Assembling a Charcoal Grill With 3 Daughters As An Audience
Today being Independence Day, I undertook a holiday-appropriate manly activity: assembling a Weber "Smokin Joe" Charcoal Grill.
The grill had been stored in our garage since my in-laws gave it to me months ago, awaiting the perfect moment to be put to use. If our nation's birthday is not the right day for a barbecue, what is?
So I carried the box into the house, opened it up, and began assembling it while seated on the living room floor. There was some trial and error involved: predictably, not all the parts looked in real life like they did in the instruction manual diagrams. As I sat with the pile of parts and the instruction manual spread out before me, my eight-year-old daughter walked by. "Dad!" She said. "You actually know how to read an instruction manual! I'm astonished!"
In short order, I had three daughters: a six-year-old, an eight-year-old, and a nine-year-old, picking up various parts and inspecting them, offering to help, etc. As I juggled bolts, washers, wingnuts, and the three legs that connect to the underside of the grill, the nine-year-old said, "Dad, if you are unable to put that together, I am going to be so disappointed in you!"
Well, stick this in your charcoal grill and smoke it, dear doubting daughters:
The grill had been stored in our garage since my in-laws gave it to me months ago, awaiting the perfect moment to be put to use. If our nation's birthday is not the right day for a barbecue, what is?
So I carried the box into the house, opened it up, and began assembling it while seated on the living room floor. There was some trial and error involved: predictably, not all the parts looked in real life like they did in the instruction manual diagrams. As I sat with the pile of parts and the instruction manual spread out before me, my eight-year-old daughter walked by. "Dad!" She said. "You actually know how to read an instruction manual! I'm astonished!"
In short order, I had three daughters: a six-year-old, an eight-year-old, and a nine-year-old, picking up various parts and inspecting them, offering to help, etc. As I juggled bolts, washers, wingnuts, and the three legs that connect to the underside of the grill, the nine-year-old said, "Dad, if you are unable to put that together, I am going to be so disappointed in you!"
Well, stick this in your charcoal grill and smoke it, dear doubting daughters:
Oh and, uh, Happy 240th Birthday, nation.
Saturday, July 2, 2016
How a Six-Year-Old Gets Rid of Housefly Germs
Scene: the family is sitting at the table having breakfast
C. turns her cup, which still has a few drops of orange juice left in it, upside down and rubs it around on the table. When queried, the child explains, "Well, there was a fly on my cup, and I didn't want germs on my forehead!!"
Katie: "So you decided to rub your cup upside down on the table to get rid of the germs?!
I guess that's one solution to the problem. What I find amusing is C.'s thought process: Let's see, a fly landed on the rim of my cup and got germs on it. I don't want to drink fly germs. I also don't want fly germs on my forehead, so rubbing my cup on my forehead to get rid of the germs is not a good option. Wait, I know! I'll rub the fly germs off onto the tabletop!
The wisdom of a 9-year-old, or, I am three halves of a person
S. informed me today that my body has "three halves": my top half, my bottom half, and my stomach, which allegedly is large enough to count as "a half" all on its own.
The question is, do I break the news to my math genius of a daughter that she is not nearly as good at fractions as she thinks she is?
Or maybe she really *is* good at fractions. And instead of occasionally explaining to people that "I'm just one man," I should tell them, "I'm just one and a half men."
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