Scoring Dad Points

"Cars and Popcorn." Two great things that go great together. Wait. What? Cars and coffee, sure, but cars and popcorn are a terrible combination. Just ask any parent who has handed a bag of popcorn to his four year old in the back seat. Maybe, maybe at a drive-in theater, but those basically don't exist anymore. So, why on earth is my daughter directing traffic to "Cars and Popcorn?" Well, it all comes down to "Dad Points."

Being a stay-at-home dad, I have to find ways to perk life up a bit for the kids, and for me. It can't all be laundry, cooking, and Pokemon. I call these little perks "Dad Points." Chances to make the mundane just a little more fun (and to hopefully win a little compliance from the kids). A few examples of scoring dad points are...

Taking three kids in a sports car to get milk and mayonnaise...

...teaching Mimi about logic in coding using her own little computer...

...building a massive train set that contains another train set that contains a gas station as a means of simply cleaning up all the train track on the floor...

...and, of course, taking the kids to Cars and Coffee so Mama can rest.

These are all great ways to score some dad points while getting some important errands, cleaning, or teaching done (and ways to pad out a blog post because I haven't taken many pictures lately). This past weekend was going to need some serious dad points. Well beyond the norm. Not only was Mama on call, she was feeling a bit ill. The kids and I would need to keep the house clean (particularly the counters), get through all our meals, let Mama rest, and have a bit of fun. On Saturday, with Mimi off at Japanese school, Mari and Kuri needed to get to Marinwood park to burn off some energy (and stop destroying the house).

 

Mama and Mimi back home, it was time for Sumie to get a little rest and for the rest of us to start scheming for Sunday. We'd have a whole day together, just the four of us, and we needed to be prepared. As I cooked, and Mari wrote all over the couch, Kuri and Mimi hatched a plan. If I helped them enact it the following day, I'd definitely score some dad points.

Kuri had been fascinated with the idea of holding some kind of sale in front of our house for some time. The problem was, though, he wasn't interested in selling lemonade. He wanted something more interesting, more boy, more him. Soon, he found his hook: cars. He carefully sorted through his (now considerable) collection of Hot Wheel and Tomica cars and came up with 24 vehicles he would be willing to part with. The selection complete, Kuri looked them over and said, "I hope some other boys will like these."

Sunday morning, Mimi insisted that we needed something else to pad out our sale. We headed over to the pantry and looked up and down. Ah, popcorn! We'll sell cups of popcorn! We spent the rest of the morning drafting signs for our sale, collecting change, and figuring out the pricing: 50 cents per car and 50 cents for a cup of popcorn. Tax free, of course.

Around 11:00 I put Mari down for her nap and Mimi, Kuri and I moved our "store" out to the driveway. Kuri would handle the car sales and Mimi, she was the popcorn scooper.

The first 30 minutes were rough. Not a single person walked by and not a single car stopped. Kuri was getting discouraged. Why weren't people coming to his sale? Didn't anyone want his cars? Wasn't anyone hungry for popcorn?

The kids noticed that most of the cars they saw come down the street were turning at the corner just below our house, sadly missing our sale. The direct-to-consumer shouting of "Cars and Popcorn," though tremendously loud (and occasionally aggressive), simply wasn't working. Mimi decided we need a motion sign. Papa went in and drafted one. Mimi then ran down to the corner to direct traffic while Kuri manned the store.

Business picked up. Papa would eventually pop three more bags of popcorn. One of these was eaten entirely by Mari, who had woken from her nap and did not seem to understand the concept of selling. Just eating. Kuri managed to sell four cars, but sadly, not to any little boys. He wisely summed up the strategy for our next sale, "Papa, we need more boys to come."

And, just in case the sale wouldn't score enough dad points, while it was going on, I smoked two racks of ribs.

The sale lasted about three hours and closed as the wind began to pick up, blowing popcorn everywhere. We all ended up having a great time. And it was a great way to pick up some dad points. Not quite as great as driving Mimi across the Golden Gate in the Porsche with the top off, but still, pretty damned good.

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. 

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!

Insanity is... Living with a 16 Month Old

With raising a toddler one cannot help but contemplate the definition of "insanity" from time to time.

Albert Einstein's definition - insanity: doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results - is a good one, and fits Mimi well, but my favorite so far takes his idea a bit further.

Insanity is knowing that what you're doing is completely idiotic, but still, somehow, you just can't stop it.
-Elizabeth Wurtzel

This definition fits Mimi, and Sumie and I for that matter, to a "T".  OK, I understand that some may think that Mimi doesn't always recognize that what she's doing is idiotic, but I beg to differ.  I don't care how old you are.  If you walk into a room, point at a sink, and then proceed to scream for 20 seconds for no reason you know full well that what you are doing is idiotic.   

Having a good definition for insanity doesn't preclude one from partaking in it, unfortunately.  One must be able to recognize insane behavior in order to steer clear of it.  Luckily, Mimi provides me with countless examples everyday.  Below are a few of the highlights from the past several days.

Insanity is...

insisting that your Miffychan toy box is actually a race car / lounge chair / art studio hybrid.

Insanity is...

thinking that wearing a baseball cap 42 sizes too large backwards makes you look tough.

Insanity is...

Papa allowing Mimi to gorge on milk on the nice furniture just because it's cute when she wants to be like Mama.

Insanity is...

closing a door you know you can't open...

and then banging on it because it's closed...

and then leaving the living room to go through the kitchen and down the hallway to bang on the other side of the door you just closed because you want to get into the room you just left.

Insanity is...

Spending 15 minutes getting the couch cushions just how you want them to cuddle up with an electronic device that you can neither read nor turn on.

Insanity is...
me thinking what life would be like without Mimi.

Insanity is...
knowing I'm stuck with this little girl for life and not wanting it any other way.

Full Moon, Empty Aquarium

Life in San Francisco is often a bit grey - grey skies, grey sidewalks, grey parking regulations, and grey loitering laws.

The clouds tend to come in shortly after, if not before, the sun goes down, obscuring the stars and moon.  So last night, with its unmuddied sky and full moon, was a rare opportunity to dabble in a little night photography.

We don't have much of a view from our backyard - just more backyards and backs of homes.  But at night, with the sky lit by the moon and resident windows still twinkling with the last lights before bed, it can be rather pretty.

I should've gone over to the park, or at least to the top of our block, to take some more shots, but didn't.  I was lazy.  I did take Mimi for a long bike ride that day - she still hates her helmet and screams for up to 9 blocks to remind me - so maybe it's OK that I just came in and went to bed.

The following morning Mimi and I woke up early and took advantage of our close proximity to the Academy of Sciences.  We have a membership, so we can go anytime, and it's free!

Regular readers of this blog may remember our visit here with my Mom about a month back.  The day we went - the third Wednesday of the month - featured free admission (this was before I got my membership), so the museum was packed.  It made Shinjuku station in Tokyo seem tranquil by comparison.  What a joy it was to sneak down to the aquarium this morning and have it virtually to ourselves.  The photos below were taken in low light and with my phone (it was too early in the morning for me to remember my camera), so I apologize if they're a bit grainy/fuzzy. 

Walking to the elevators, Mimi was a bit unsure of the plexiglass beneath her feet.  Could she trust it?  The rays below her feet were a bit intimidating.

 Once in the aquarium Mimi ran for the huge floor-to-ceiling plexiglass wall.  I'm glad the walls were thick.  She loved banging on them.  She also tended to forget that the walls were there, which resulted in some significant head banging.  Ah, my daughter the metal-head.

By 10 a few school groups had arrived, which both delighted and distracted Mimi.  She joined multiple tours without asking, and often offered her unsolicited opinion of "Aaahhhh!, Bi-doh!" on the exhibits.

After about an hour Mimi was ready to go.  As we walked out into the sunshine we passed well over 100 kids lined up for a tour.  The museum had been gradually filling all morning and it had been getting harder for Mimi to toddle with impunity.  I think we'll make it a habit of going early in the morning.  That same strategy seems to work quite well here in SF.  The city is full of late risers.  More on the advantages this provides sometime in the future.

All told, it was a good day out.  We passed the playground, inadvertently, on our way home.  While were were still over 100 yards away, with but a blurry glimpse of half a slide in sight, Mimi began to go nuts. She saw the park, knew what she wanted, and made it known.  I had to "release" her from her stroller a good 30 yards before the sandpit.

If only she could get that excited about eating lunch or going to bed!