Papa! Hey, I Can Say Papa Again!

It's been a quiet weekend so far.  We'd had grander plans for today, plans that better fit the glorious sunshine, but after awaking with a massive sinus headache this morning, I decided to nap as Sumie and Mimi played the morning away in the park.  I was feeling better, though not 100% (still not there), by the time they got back. 

I'd wanted to go out to play, but, in hindsight, I'm glad that I didn't.  Mimi sprung a little surprise on me when she returned and I don't think it would've happened had she not spent some substantial time away from her father. 

I was still in bed when Mimi and Sumie returned.  As they clambered up the stairs I set my book aside and started calling out "Mimiko!  Mimiko!"  I heard a squeal, followed by the violent patter of a little girl who can't yet bend her knees while running.  She burst into the bedroom and pointed right at me. 

Out of bed I stood before my two-foot tall inquisitor with her scowl of severe concentration.  What was going on in that little head?  Was she mad at me?  What had I done?  And what's with the pointing?  "Infidel!" she seemed to cry.  But then, finally, something clicked, and out came the two syllables she'd be struggling over for so long.  "Papa!" 

She'd remembered.  And damn if she wasn't proud of it.  Back and forth from Mama to Papa she ran, calling out "Mama" as she hugged Sumie and then "Papa" as she sprinted towards me.  This went on for almost ten minutes.  She couldn't get over her accomplishment.  To be fair, she's still not 100% accurate.  Mimi managed to call me "Mama," "bapo" (diaper), and "bapee" (potty) in her excitement - she's still coming to terms with the term - but overall, I think she's got it.  It's amazing how the connections are forming in her brain.  I knew the word "Papa" was in there somewhere.  It just took the right circumstances to bring it back to the forefront and, hopefully, lock it in for good. 

The rest of the afternoon was lazy, but good.  We had a little lunch, which suited Mimi just fine.

Nice and full, she turned to scribbling at her table and then some quality time with her friends C3PO, Storm Trooper, and Yoda. 

Mimi, learning how to share more and more each day, made sure Mama got to have fun with the Star Wars gang as well.

Ah, in another year or two it'll be time to bring out the original Star Wars stuff for Mimi.  If her language development continues, I think she'll at least be able to say "Thank you, Papa!" when the time comes.  At the very least I hope she won't call me "diaper."  

Friends, Rivals, Cousins

As I mentioned in my last post, this past weekend was spent with my sister Julie, her husband Sean, and their little boy Alder.  Alder is only a month younger than Mimi, her closest cousin in age.  I was looking forward to watching them play together, but I had no idea just how well they'd hit it off. 

Mimi's a bit rambunctious, so she often gets along well with boys her own age or older kids.  At the Steinhart aquarium I've seen her shout down a 3 year-old, using language only she understands, who had the temerity to comment on an exhibit Mimi was examining.  Apparently she felt quite passionate about her own analysis, even if no one could decipher it, even Mimi. 

Alder, who is not one to back down, was a perfect playmate for Mimi.  By the end of Alder's visit, Mimi was even beginning to share (I'm sad to say that with his departure she has reverted to her old, self-gratifying ways).  Here's a look at how the two kids got on.

After introductions, they hit the Weeble village.  This toy is so loud, distracting, and yet oddly endearing, that they ended up working together without even realizing it.  A good start. 

From there they hit the piano, Mimi providing the bass line and Alder handling the melody.  What an experience to watch the two of them pound away on my father's old piano, the same one Julie and I abused over 30 years ago. 

Of course, one cannot play together all the time.  Mimi realized she needed to be a good hostess.  So, while Papa taught Alder how to play the "Whiffle Board" pinball he'd been restoring,

Mimi showed uncle Sean how to remove the cushions from the couch. 

After dinner, Mimi and Alder both decided to play a good, old-fashioned game of Tron.

This proved a bit too much to handle, so Mimi decided they'd play with her computer instead.  After a brief tutorial from Mimi, the two were typing away. 

Grandma and Grandpa also helped.  Here are the two cousins drawing with Mimi's magnetic sketch pad.  Amazingly, Mimi stood back and let Alder take a few turns.  She barely allows me enough time to pen Miffy the bunny before she snatches it back. 

Mimi even learned how to share her Cheerios, albeit begrudgingly. 

One interesting point of contention between the two was who would get to play with the red ball at Great Grandma's house.  Half the time Mimi would want the red ball, and the other half she'd spurn it and want only the gold ball.  It basically broke down to Mimi wanting whatever ball Alder was carrying.  That's my sweet little angel. 

Eventually Mimi and Alder worked out their differences.  Back inside, they decided to kiss and make up.  Good kids.  This last one is a bit of video of the two. 

It was wonderful for Mimi to spend time with Alder and the rest of the family.  Thanksgiving is just a little over a week away.  I wonder what kind of mischief she'll get into there. 

Donuts and Porsches: Perfect for Little Girls

First off, my little girl is still, very much, a little girl.  She loves pink, she gives all her stuffed animals kisses, and she knows when she's dressed up in a particularly cute outfit.  She also giggles by screeching in a register heard only by dogs.  This last one, I believe, is the purview of little girls exclusively.

All that being considered, Mimi is by no means being raised as a princess.  She loves dirt, dogs, soccer balls, pouring sand on her head, and splashing about in freezing water.  I like this.  There may come a time when she rejects all things "boy," but I'm not so sure.  So far we've been careful to keep her from broadcast and cable television (no toy commercials) and out of the clutches of the Disney marketing machine.  Instead, when she does watch TV (used most often to help her finish a meal) she's entertained by either Thomas the Tank Engine or Top Gear.  I can see an appreciation of trains and cars slowly blossoming in her.  This makes me unreservedly happy. 

I love cars.  I always have.  And while it won't kill me if my kids don't appreciate them like I do, it would be nice if they eventually had a preference for Porsches or enjoyed a good day out behind the wheel on a twisty road.  In a stick shift.  Mimi's well on her way, I think.  She loves playing with toy cars - far more than dolls - and can identify her own car (our BMW wagon) from half a block away.  She runs to it and pats it.  That's a good sign. 

The picture below sums up my parenting goals for Mimi.  In her right hand is the ultimate American pastry: the doughnut.  And in her left: a Hot Wheels Porsche 928.

Now, not all was right with this picture.  The Porsche, despite being a 928, is marked as a turbo.  I do not believe that Porsche ever made such a vehicle, so I had to explain to Mimi that the artist at Hot Wheels charged with the graphics for the 928 probably took a design for a 924 or a 944 as his inspiration - the cars look similar - and inadvertently labeled the 928 as a turbo.  She seemed to accept this explanation. 

Mimi's love of Porsche did not end there, though.  She was so taken with my model of the Porsche 550 Spyder that she immediately wanted to get in.  Maybe someday I'll be able to take you for a ride in one, Mimi.  It'll be a replica, though.  After all, Papa's by no means rich. 

Raising Mimi properly isn't limited to developing an appreciation of doughnuts and Porsches.  Take a look at the picture below.

What could cause such unbridled joy?  Is it a pony?  Is it a Barbie doll?  Is it an undersea castle with Ariel and all her sisters? 

No.  A million times no.  It is a mid-90s Macintosh PowerBook Duo. 

In addition to her ongoing fascination with my vintage stereo, Mimi's discovered that esoteric and long-forgotten computers can be fun as well.  This little PowerBook Duo, shunned in its own day, was the forerunner of the MacBook Air.  It simply came 10 to 15 years too soon.  I think Mimi understands this.  And it's a great toy.  The gray-scale screen, in its 16 shade magnificence, still works.  Thankfully, however, the keyboard does not.  This makes for a computer that Mimi can just barely use, but not destroy. 

Of course, I'll let Mimi follow her own interests as she gets older.  But I do hope, given this time I have with her now, that I'll be able to plant a few seeds for the future.  Her Papa's interests are, I admit, a bit on the nerdy side, but I think they'll do her well in the long run.  At the very least, I hope she'll be able to fix her own computer, recommend an excellent doughnut shop, and take her father for a spirited drive up the Pacific Coast Highway when he's too old to do it himself.  Unfortunately, at the rate I'm aging, this last one will need to take place shortly after she gets her license. 

Lego. Creative Destruction.

Lego.  Is there a better toy? 

I was obsessed with it as a kid: from those initial Duplo bricks - great for making towers and race cars to throw across the room - to the "Technic" sets with their gears and motors.  On any given day, from age 2 to 12, there was a good chance you'd find me lying on the bedroom or living room floor building away.

As with any exceptional toy, Lego both challenges the mind and harms the body.  For every child who has learned to follow picture directions by playing with Lego, there is another who took a trip to the ER with a "blocked" stomach.  For every budding engineer or architect who got her first taste of independent design when the directions were inevitably been lost, there is another child who was rushed to the dentist after trying to separate two stubborn pieces with his teeth.  And for every youngster who spent an afternoon with his Lego spread across the living room floor, there are 2,647 instances of pained cursing after having stepped on a misplaced block.  This last aspect is, perhaps, the only real downside to Lego.  Children who play with it often, especially in shared spaces, are exposed to an almost unimaginable degree of muttered swearing. 

Over the weekend we bought Mimi her first set of Duplo, and she loves it.  Unfortunately, so do I.  Even with these larger blocks, I can feel the builder in me coming out.  While Mimi's happy to stick the odd block onto another, pretend one is a teacup, or make "vroom, vroom" noises pushing around a shabbily built Duplo car, I get a bit more into it. 

Mimi enjoys playing with the projects I build for her, though she's a bit impatient when it comes to the build itself.  She doesn't quite have the concept of something being "done" yet.  This makes sense as her approach to play consists almost entirely of destroying whatever she is given. 
The plane below was my fourth attempt at the type.  With each one I tried to make it both more realistic and more resistant to toddler tampering.  A vain pursuit, I knew, but a fun challenge nonetheless. 

Finishing the build to the sound of impatient cries, I delivered the plane to Mimi for inspection.  She was sitting, rather imperiously, in her toy box. 

It seemed that the plane had passed muster.  Mimi was intrigued and the plane seemed to be holding together.  This idyllic play state lasted a full twelve seconds. 

By the time I had sat back down on the couch, the tail was at the bottom of the toy box, the wings strewn across the floor, and the cockpit tossed all the way into the kitchen.  So much for my attempt at toddler-proof design. 

Honestly, I don't mind this destruction.  I'm happy for it, actually.  It just means I get to build more.  Hmm, I wonder by what age kids enjoy watching their father build 1/10 scale radio controlled 4x4s?  3 years old sounds about right to me...

Chalk Drawing Approval, Halloween Costume Rejection

Yesterday was, without fear of contradiction, the most low-key Halloween I've every experienced, including when I lived in Japan.  Apart from the bowl of candy in the foyer, the puppy costume on the floor, and the lone trick-or-treater we received around 7:30, it could have been a random day in May. 

Mimi did her best to ensure that the Halloween spirit was fully subdued.  She loves dogs, so we bought her a cute little puppy costume for her.  It came with a puppy cape, hood, paw mittens, and paw booties.  None of which Mimi would wear for more than an eighth of a second.  Here she is with the hood actually up. 

And here she is one-twentieth of a second later. 

The only time Mimi really got into the Halloween spirit was when she put the laundry "delicates" bag over her head and became the world's least threatening ghost.  She made Casper and Charlie Brown look like the Marquis de Sade and Genghis Khan.

 With Halloween play out of favor, we headed out to the backyard to play with Mimi's new sidewalk chalk set.

The session began with a giant rendition of Miffychan.  Should the aliens come they'll quickly be able to spot which San Francisco home has the cutest toddler.  Unfortunately for them, there are no warnings that she is also the loudest.

After making several improvements to the Miffy sketch, Mimi decided it was time to play with watering bucket.  She still loves this.

Unfortunately, all the water play made Mimi thirsty.  And when she's thirsty, the watering bucket instantly transforms into a drinking fountain.  Luckily, Papa is well aware of his daughter's delusions, and had rinsed out the bucket thoroughly.  Well, somewhat thoroughly. 

Soon it was time to draw again.  This time Papa attempted to draw Thomas the Tank Engine.  Mimi inspected his work carefully...

and, even after taking a few steps back, still had no idea what her father was on about. 

Yes, you're right, Mimi.  Your father is a crap artist.  He really does appreciate, though, that you don't make fun of his drawings.  At least, not yet. 

San Franciscans' Weekend Strategy: Escape the City!

It's a very odd practice for us, having come from Manhattan.

In NYC, we would "weekend" in the city.  Granted, we didn't have the money for a place in the Hamptons, but I don't think that's why we so often decided not to leave the island.  First off, I never wanted to give up my parking spot.  On most Fridays I would've fought for at least an hour to find one, so there was no way I was leaving just to go through that again.  Another reason was the accessibility of the city.  We could get anywhere via cab, subway, or shoes.  And the wealth of options for entertainment was, quite simply, more than we could ever ask for.  Sometimes we'd simply stay in just because there were too many options from which to choose.

In San Francisco, however, there seems to be a pervasive culture of "escaping the city" on the weekends.  Perhaps I'm wrong in this - having lived here only two months, and in the Richmond District at that - but I've definitely gotten the impression that most San Franciscans use their weekends not to explore the city, but the achingly beautiful natural wonders that surround it.

I've been trying to figure out why this is.  Part of it, I think, has to do with how transportation in the city works.  A combination of MUNI buses and BART can get you places, but not very conveniently and not with much stuff.  A car, however, can get you anywhere.  And unlike Manhattan, parking is relatively convenient and inexpensive.  More difficult than most cities, but still quite manageable.  With SF still being geared toward the car, despite the almost militaristic bicycle lobby, most residents still own at least one.  And this, I think, leads many SF residents to explore beyond the boundaries of home.  That and a lot of fog!

It's a very different way of living, I have to admit, but Sumie and I are getting used to it.  This weekend started for us on Friday, when we drove the 5 blocks (this would never have happened in Manhattan) to go to "Ju-Ku," a Japanese izakaya in the Richmond District.

Mimi, for once, was actually relatively well behaved.  Maybe she knew just how much her father wanted to enjoy his kushiage (Japanese fried food on sticks).  Dinner was very good, and featured the best Japanese fried chicken (karaage) that I've had in years.  Better than my own.  I left the restaurant very satisfied and a little envious.

On Saturday we headed up to Mill Valley, a small town off 101 in Marin County, to visit a great toy store we'd learned about and to explore Marin a bit more.  We really loved it up there.  It's strange.  In NYC, 10 to 15 miles out of Manhattan felt like an eternity, but here it feels absurdly close.  I can't help but think that we'll probably end up outside of San Francisco proper in a few years.  Well, we'll see.  Perhaps I'll look back on this entry in a year or two and be amazed at how ignorant and naive I'd been.

From Mill Valley we drove up to what must have been California's busiest In-n-Out Burger.  It was well worth the wait, though.  Those burgers never get old.  I can taste them now, actually.

After lunch we headed down, and then back up, into the the Marin Headlands.  What a perfect day for it.  Completely clear and a sunny 70 degrees.  This was, I think, around the time NYC was going through a snowstorm.  I guess some things are better on the west coast.  The view of San Francisco and the Golden Gate from the headlands was breathtaking.  Naturally, I had forgotten my good camera, so these pics come via iPhone.  They don't really do the sight justice.  

I've loved the Marin Headlands since I was a kid.  One of the primary reasons are the numerous military installations, particularly cannon batteries, that dot the area.  We visited the "Wallace Battery," constructed in 1942 out of fear of a possible Japanese attack on the West Coast.  The cannon are gone, but the fortifications remain.

Nature has definitely been creeping back, but that makes the sites all the more fun to explore.  Mimi enjoyed "foofing" seeds from a puff-plant (wish I knew the name of it as, given that I don't, I'm going to be shunned by my botanically pretentious sister).

Getting out of the city really was a welcome change.  And I've a feeling that if I lived outside SF, coming in for a dinner or a trip to the museum would feel just as exciting.  Looking forward to learning more about where our family be on the bay in the years to come.

I Love You, But Please...Stop Helping Me!

Last night we hosted a small dinner for two of Sumie's friends from medical school.  One of the girls brought along her two 6 month old puppies, which completely made Mimi's day. 

They were a bit more energetic than her old friend Harrychan was, so she'd get a bit scared at times, but on the whole, she really enjoyed it.  I'd have to say that, behavior wise, she was on par with the dogs.  And given that they're 3.5 in dog years already, that's not too bad a showing for Mimi.  

Mimi didn't fall asleep last night until almost 10.  I was rather surprised by this.  Granted, the dogs definitely brought out some baby adrenaline, but Mimi had been going full blast all day.  Not one to sit idly by, Mimi insisted on helping me clean house and prepare dinner.  This meant that every task I attempted took 17 times longer than normal.  Below is a quick look at how Mimi "helps" us around the house.

The day's help often begins in the bathroom.  Mimi swipes the shower squeegee from me and thoughtfully cleans the outside of the glass shower doors, which are, naturally, perfectly dry and streak free.  She'll get through 2 or 3 swipes, each accompanied by an almost guttural "wheeeee!", before she moves on to wiping down the cabinets, hallway walls, and television.  The squeegee eventually ends up in the living room, most often under the piano bench, but only after Mimi has taken another bite out of one of the poor squeegee's corners. 

After that, it's time to get dressed.  Mimi runs to the dresser and immediately picks out an outfit.  Unfortunately, these outfits usually consist of a sweatshirt and 7 pairs of pants, so I always have to make a few substitutions.  Out of sight, of course. 

 Picking up after Mimi during the day isn't much of a challenge, but cleaning up the house, with Mimi still in it, is well nigh impossible.  Let's say I want to put away Mimi's toy chest.  That's code, at least to Mimi, for her to jump inside it. 

The only way to get her out is via distraction.  Thankfully, she's a sucker for Star Wars, much like her father.

Mimi loves books, which makes me very happy, but she doesn't quite understand the concept of putting them away.  She prefers them strewn across the floor.  So, whenever I start shelving books, Mimi takes this as her cue to take out as many as possible.  In fact, in the middle of that last sentence, I had to get up and remove from Mimi's violent hands my copy of "Open" by Andre Agassi.  In four seconds she had pulled the book off the shelf and ripped the dedications page.  Nice work, Mimi. 

I have always loved books, but living with a toddler has shown me that there's one thing I hate about them: dust jackets.  They make having a library with a child a living hell.  And whoever came up with the insidiously fiendish idea of putting these on children's books should, quite simply, be tortured with a very pointy fork.   

Putting away toys is another challenge.  For some reason, whenever I put a toy into Mimi's toy basket she interprets this as me wanting her to immediately take that same toy back out and throw it across the room.  I don't really enjoy this game, but Mimi certainly does.  Here we are attempting to put away her stacking rings.  Note the 1978 Remote Control R2D2 in the background.  It's one of her favorite toys.

As I was putting away a few of her books the other day, Mimi decided to lift this same R2D2 over her head and then drop him squarely on her big toe.  It's amazing just how quickly cleaning up books can shift to cleaning up blood when you have a toddler.  And yet, I'm a bit happy Mimi hurt her foot.  We now have something new in common.  I lost a nail after inadvertently smashing my big toe with a "Return of the Jedi" arcade cabinet.  Father and daughter, each with a digit damaged by the work of George Lucas. 

As I bring this entry to a close the house is, amazingly, still quite clean.  It feels good.  And, if I'm lucky, it will remain this way for another 20 or even 30 minutes.

Compromising Hairstyles

Mimi was born with a mop top.  At one week she boasted more hair than her follically-challenged father.  At least in the back.  

Sumie and I considered trimming the mop from time to time, but we couldn't bring ourselves to submit to it.  The longer it grew, the curlier, and cuter, it got.  And so, the months flew by and the hair continued its rapid advance downward.

At 17 months, though, push had come to shove.  Something had to be done.  The situation was so dire that Mimi couldn't even play the piano without her hair blocking the keyboard!

Knowing that there's not a hairstylist alive for whom Mimi would sit still, I took the job into my own hands.  What drove me to it?  Well, this morning I caught a glimpse of my own hair in the mirror.  

 Genes aren't kind and I knew that if I didn't do something, Mimi could soon be suffering from the same plight as her father.


A bang trim was in order.  I set up her highchair and tied her favorite sleeping blanket, which needed to be washed anyway, around her neck, old-timey barber style.

I then wet down her hair with No-More-Tangles.  This made for some straight, manageable, but greasy hair.  A few forward strokes from the brush and my canvas was ready.  Except for one thing.  It was moving all over the place.

The actual cutting was, by far, the most difficult part.  I really didn't want for Sumie to come home to find her daughter wearing an eye-patch, though I guess it would've made the selection of her Halloween costume a no brainer.  After several attempts at cutting her bangs like one would at a salon, and being repaid with fierce head shaking, I took up a new strategy.  Starting on Mimi's right, I gathered a few strands of hair, perhaps 20% of her bangs, and then snipped.  I repeated the process across her forehead until I reached the other side.  Amazingly, it came out fairly even!  Not sure how that happened, but I'll take it. 

Mimi was unsure of the new look at first,

but I think that she was reasonably satisfied.  After all, the price was right! 

Somehow I don't think we'll be able to wait another 17 months before we take a pair of shears to Mimi's locks.  Maybe next time we'll actually brave a salon.  I just hope we can find one that offers general anesthesia.

Mouth of Sand, Walk of Shame

Toddlers fall over.  It's what they do.  It's their past-time, passion, and preferred method of getting to the floor quickly.  When an adult, running full speed, falls flat on his face, people cringe.  When a toddler does it, they laugh. 

Mimi, like all girls her age, falls over constantly.  90% of the time she picks herself up, dusts herself off, and continues on her way.  But every once in a while, when she gets a little hurt or a little scared, she lets her displeasure known.  And when Mimi's displeased, she makes sure that everyone within a 10 block radius knows it.  She's quite adept at getting her point across, but this, unfortunately, comes with unintended consequences.  Passersby tend to feel sympathy for the screamer, but very little affection for the screamer's keeper. 

As a man walking the streets of San Francisco alone with a baby, I can't help but feel I'm constantly being evaluated.  Yes, men have been emancipated to a certain degree when it comes to child care, but our abilities are still very much, believe me, in question.  When Mimi is in cute mode, kicking back in her stroller and saying "Hi!" to every dog she sees, I'm a champion father.  When she's kicking and screaming, I get looks that seem to say, "Shouldn't you be locked away awaiting your war crimes trial?"  And when Mimi takes a small tumble at the park - me being the only man surrounded by mothers - I may as well be the bastard child of Stalin and Joan Rivers.  

Our trip to the park did not begin well.  We stopped by the coffee shop to say "Hi" to Mama, who had left the house to study in peace.  2 minutes into our visit Mimi decided that she wanted to "borrow" the reading materials from everyone in the shop.  This did not go over well, so I packed her back into the stroller and set out for the park.  As Mimi wailed, I walked out the door, my head held low.  Half-way down the block a woman stopped in her tracks and simply stared at Mimi, slowly pivoting, and then shaking, her head as we ambled past.  Mimi screamed her way to the park, exchanging shouts of anger for squeals of joy once the playground equipment came into view. 

Once there, Mimi played quite well.  She started off with the slides and, of course, a few trips through the yellow tunnel. 

Then it came time for playing in the sand.  I brought out her bucket and shovels and she set to work.  Before long she had been joined by two additional playmates, one three year old and one 15 month old.  After a while she was even beginning to share some of the sand toys.  Not the ones she brought, of course, but at least she wasn't hoarding.

The outing was going well.  I'm still a bit shy when it comes to talking to other parents (I'm a bit of an introvert and not that good at small talk), but this time I was actually having good conversations with several of the parents.  I was feeling comfortable, confident.  Maybe I could be seen as a good parent, despite my gender handicap.  And that's when Mimi decided to take a tumble.

Mimi had climbed out of the sandpit, which has a six inch ledge, and then decided that she wanted to get back in, only this time riding the scooter of one of her playmates.  I managed to stop her the first 6 times, but on her seventh attempt, she succeeded.  Baby and scooter tumbled into the sandpit.

The tumble was minor, she'd been though far worse without complaint, but it must have scared the dickens out of her.  Sand in her mouth and tears in her eyes, Mimi let forth a shriek - one cannot even classify it as a mere shout, scream, or cry - that was picked up on seismological equipment as far as Malaysia. 

The mothers there with me, rather than being judgmental, were actually very helpful and kind.  They even congratulated me for calming her down so quickly (I had to use milk).  But, as I left the park, I couldn't help but feel I'd let all the other stay-at-home dads here in San Francisco, and across the country, down.  That's why, despite the embarrassment, I had to blog about it. 

One of my biggest challenges with being a stay-at-home dad has been a constant anxiety of being judged.  Part of this, I think, comes from me wanting to prove that men can do this parenting thing just as well as women, but I think it also stems from my own insecurity when it comes to doing right by Mimi.  It's not that I want to assuage her every frustration or protect her from every danger - she'll never really learn to be independent that way - I just want to guide her the best I can so that she can continue to walk her own path.  And not scream too much along the way!