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.

Wake up! I Wanna Play!

Twice a day this phrase blares from the confines of Mimi's bedroom.  Closed doors and solid walls cannot hold it back.  Granted, she does not put her request so concisely and ungrammatically.  In the morning, Mimi brings out her father with either a massive and piercing wail - which could wake a heroin addict from even the deepest stupor - or with sweet and gentle babble, which I imagine is her personal commentary on the skill with which she's thrown her bedclothes to the floor.  In the afternoon, between 2pm and 4pm, Papa will be called from his book or his writing with a gentle to aggressively insistent "ih-hi, ih-hi, ih-hi, aaaaaahhhhhhhh!"  No matter what, though, when I go in to get her, I'm always greeted with a sweet smile.  It helps to take the sting off those cut-short mornings and interrupted afternoon naps.  

Yesterday though, for the first time, this same phrase was uttered in my home with Mimi sound asleep.  That's right.  I said it.  I was bored.  I didn't want to read.  I didn't want to watch Top Gear.  All I wanted to do was play with my loveable, but insane, little girl.  And so, I wanted her to wake up.

I opened the door to her room.  On any other day this would be absolute folly, bordering on the edge of suicidal behavior.  But I didn't care.  This was going against every previous fiber of my being.  Each afternoon and each evening - and I don't think this is going to change, actually - I start yearning for Mimi's eyes to get heavy.  When they do, and she finally submits to the crib, it means I get a little precious time to myself.  This time is worth its weight in myrrh (and this calculation is done with each half-hour equating to 2 metric tons).  Here I was with time to myself - I could listen to music, play Gran Turismo, eat a burrito, read European history focused on the 1930s and 1940s, search for vintage audiophile gear, the possibilities were endless - and yet all I wanted to do was submit myself to the whims of a little girl who says "Wee!" like a chain-smoking and drunken Frenchman.

To be honest, our playtime gets more fun each day.  With each new activity I see more and more of her individual personality coming out.  Of course, sometimes it's unpleasant (random passion for or hatred of certain books, for example), but most of the time she surprises me and leaves me laughing.  I never really know what's going to happen.

Here are a few pictures of Mimi at play.  The first three were taken at the Children's Park in Golden Gate Park, which is just phenomenal on a sunny day.  Like her father, Mimi has a passion for water.  Despite the many toys and distractions, she always makes a beeline for the flooded section of the sandbox.  This makes for a messy stroll home, but she loves it!

And then there's the backyard.  Fewer distractions here, so yesterday Mimi decided she'd be mesmerized by the sky.  This was cute until our next door neighbor decided to introduce herself, for the first time, just as Mimi was pretending to be a pseudo-philosophical college student high on some very introspective pot.   

Me wanting Mimi to wake up, despite it resulting in less time to myself, has been a welcome development.  It's rather sad to think that before I know it Mimi will have little interest in playing with her father.  She'll just want to text her friends.  And that's why I need to make the most of the time I have with her now.  It's also why she's not getting an active mobile phone until she's 27.