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Raising Iris & RobynTwo kids and two severely outnumbered parents
November 20 Conspiracy Theory October 7th, 2009. It was nondescript day at the end of our trip to
the east coast. We took the girls to Doylestown, PA to visit the James
Michener Museum. The museum was hosting an exhibit on Jim Henson and we
thought it would be a great opportunity to learn about the genius
behind Sesame Street and the Muppets. After spending a fun couple of
hours at the museum, we decided to grab a late lunch at a local Thai
restaurant. Iris was getting a little cranky (which happens when she
hasn't eaten in a while) and was really quiet. While sitting there
waiting for our order, for whatever reason, Robyn takes her sippy cup
and pushes it towards Iris. Iris, in her petulant mood, pushes it
back--only to have Robyn do it again. Iris pushes it back again, this
time with a smile on her face. Robyn, undeterred, pushes it back
again--also with a smile on her face. Cherise and I see trouble ahead
and we gently say "OK, that's enough". But now, Iris and Robyn are
locked in their game. Back and forth they go, faster and faster until
finally the sippy cup gets away. At this point, they're laughing
hysterically. Then it happened... The girls locked eyes. They smiled at each other. They connected. And life may never be the same... You see, to this point, the girls haven't necessarily been sisters as much as cohabitants in the Khaund household. There's nothing wrong with that. After all, Robyn isn't mature enough to play Iris' favorite games and Iris is one of many cast of characters that Robyn sees in a given day (and probably the least accommodating). In some ways, I think Iris has treated Robyn like a curious wonder, sorta like if we'd gotten a dog. She loves Robyn and loves having her around, but currently more as an amusing diversion. It's more a relationship of observation with Iris commenting on Robyn ("oh, look at what Robyn is doing now!") and communicating through Mommy instead of directly ("Mommy, can you tell Robyn to move? She's blocking my way!"). But something had been brewing ahead of the "Sippy Cup Summit". Robyn's growing interactivity and Iris' increased comfort with Robyn was leading them to behave like (gasp!) sisters. At the end of a crazy week filled with hotels, weddings, museums, and lots of time in the car, perhaps their bonding was accelerated. All I know is at that moment when they locked eyes, I swear you could a see a full conversation in the three seconds that it took place. "That was a great game." "I love how we kept going even after Mommy and Daddy thought we'd stop." "As if we'd listen to them. Hahaha." "Hey, you're fun!" "Yeah, so are you." "We're gonna torture our parents for years to come, aren't we?" "Yes we are." "I love you." "I love you too!" OK, I added the last two lines because I thought it was cute. But I'm telling you, in that instant when I spotted the two of them, I took a huge swig of my water and realized there was no turning back. I wouldn't be so concerned if they weren't so damned smart. To think that when I was single, I said I wanted to marry someone smarter than me. I never considered that the kids would be smarter than me as well. We all know genius is far more capable when compounded. Hewlett & Packard. Gates & Allen. Jobs & Wozniak. Lennon & McCartney. Rogers & Hammerstein. Bert & Ernie. And now, Iris & Robyn. But unlike the others, none of them had the same parents. We can only hope they take pity on us. November 12 Iris the dancer and Robyn the bookwormIt's been too long since I last wrote, so here’s a little catch up on the latest news from Iris and Robyn. Iris has undergone a transformation from a shy girl to a wild dancing spinning dervish. She started a dance class this fall, and she loves it! I had thought she might be too shy to dance at Sandy’s cousin’s wedding, but her alter ego appeared and whirled me and many others around til we got dizzy. (apologies to the bride and groom especially) And then she was the life of the party at her friend’s 4yr old birthday last week - dancing around and handing out ribbons and bells. Who is this kid? Iris’ intelligence has also emerged in various interesting ways recently:
Robyn at 14-16 months old has been an explosion of learning. Our tiny baby is transforming into a speedy sprinting daredevil toddler before our eyes! Her bravery is a new experience for us, since Iris was (and still is) almost always terrified of slides. Not so for Robyn. She slid down her first tall slide and I saw the look of fear in her eyes at the fastest part, but then she got right up and wanted to do it 10 more times! At our friend Jill’s house there’s a high slide with 3 bumps in it and a tall ladder to reach it - something Iris has never tried. Again not a problem for Robyn. She sat at the top by herself cackling with glee before launching herself down to me. Robyn’s favorite thing right now by far though is reading books. She flips through pages of board books, magazines, or the newspaper, by herself or with others, especially when she wakes from nap (she can spend half an hour entertaining herself just reading books in her crib! Sooo nice.) And Robyn has moved from sign language on to speech! Her first words were mama, dada and koka (Assamese word for grandpa). Here are Robyn’s new words:
Animal Sounds
Signs
October 13 Four more years! Four more years! Four years ago tonight (October 12th), I was wandering around Seattle's First Hill neighborhood, searching for a bite to eat while Cherise was asleep in relative comfort provided by her epidural and hours away from bearing our first child. I hadn't had anything to eat in several hours and there weren't many places open, but I did manage to find a Quizno's and grabbed a sandwich. As I quickly scarfed it down, I thought of the enormity of the moment. That would likely be my final meal before I crossed through a very significant gate: the world of fatherhood. In the midst of trying to be useful through what would be 50+ hours of labor, it was like the world was temporarily on pause during that meal and I was staring clear into what would be my last nine hours of true freedom. I think I felt the way some people do before their wedding--the nervous butterflies of realizing there's no turning back and the anxiousness of the unknown. All the prep work has been done. The crib has been built. The car seat installed. The name chosen. But the nine months of waiting were so much easier to predict than the one day after she enter the world. Well, Iris arrived that next morning and in the nearly 1500 days since, the unpredictability has continued. Fortunately, Iris has managed to survive her well-meaning father and successfully made it to her fourth birthday. Four years is a significant length of time when you are a kid, but perhaps even moreso as a parent. We're no longer novices. This is who we are. I can barely recall an Iris-less existence. It's a term in office for many politicians. And a part of me wants to lift a phrase from Ed Koch, the former mayor of New York, and ask "How'm I doin'?" But, in reality, that's not the important question. The real question is: "How's she doin'?" Honestly, I couldn't be much happier with how she's turned out. Physically, she's a strong, robust, active kid that has been fortunate enough to gain some of Cherise's physical features after her early years of looking like a dead ringer for me. Mentally, she's a down-to-earth kid who isn't spoiled, (usually) respects her elders, and (usually) says "please" and "thank you". She's got great eating habits, loves to tell jokes, and adds a spark whenever she enters a room. Other than a weekly Sesame Street (and some occasional baseball with her daddy), she doesn't really watch TV and she's only seen one movie ("Horton Hears a Who"). We won't keep the embargo on forever (hell, I was raised on TV myself), but it's been nice to keep her influences away from the sensory overload and more pure in the early going to let her mind grow. We've kept her busy with books, water colors, Play Doh, sand, etc.--things that let her express herself and what she's thinking. Of course, she's not completely devoid of outside influences. She's learning to be a baseball fan (including my favorite question: "Daddy, why would anyone want to be a Red Sock?"). Just last week, she played her first round of Guitar Hero and she kept saying "let's do that again" each time we played Bon Jovi's "Livin On A Prayer" (her parents' Jersey roots finally appear). She's mastered the art of the fist bump and I am working on teaching her to "get that dirt off her shoulder" (Jay-Z reference, for those of you not well-versed in hip hop). As a result, I just really like spending time with her--and not just because she's my daughter. She's imaginative. She's clever. She's thoughtful and though-provoking. While she's still susceptible to everything that a four-year old is going to do (i.e., the occasional tantrum and irrational behavior), she's still a joy to be around. And for good measure, she manages to pull these surprises that make you think she's going on 14, not 4. Last month, Iris wasn't playing nicely with her sister and, after getting scolded by her mother, she started to throw a tantrum. Before it became a full meltdown, I extracted her from the situation. I took her upstairs and gave her a really stern lecture. As she stopped crying and started to listen, I saw the words soak in. Not to the point where she wasn't going to do it again (unfortunately, you can never completely snuff out certain behaviors--especially when they involve the requirement of continuous sibling civility), but at least to where she was understanding why it was wrong. In the end, she said "I'm sorry Daddy". Genuine contrition. Wow. And I said, "OK, sit down here for a little bit and think about what you did before you go downstairs." I headed into my room next door to take care of some stuff. Three minutes later, I hear a noise. It was a high-pitched "woof". I look over at the door and peeking into the room was a small puppet of a dog waving hi to me. It might've been the funniest thing I had ever seen. She had just gotten the puppet the day before at an event we went to and we named it "Gromit" (the name we will give any and every dog we ever get, in honor of the star of the "Wallace and Gromit" animations which, while she hasn't seen, she has heard about several times). Apparently, Gromit wanted to say he was sorry. She waited an appropriate amount of time and then used humor to diffuse a tense situation. That's something I would've done. She peered into the room behind the dog, smiled, and then came running in to give me a hug. It wasn't a "I'm so cute, so you'll let me get away with murder, right?" hug. It was a "I heard what you said Daddy and I'm sorry. Can we be friends again?" hug. I reminded her again really quickly of how I expected her to behave the rest of that day and that she wasn't off the hook. She said she understood and she followed-through that day with flying colors. While I was proud her ability to heed the lesson, what I'll always take away from that morning was a three-year old that put on an impromptu puppet show to extend an olive branch and move on after a stern lecture. She didn't make a mockery of the lesson, but also understood the importance of humor and recognizing that being disciplined doesn't change how I feel about her. That's not a typical maturity--not at this age. And I'm not just talking about her maturity. That goes for me as well. It stinks to have to lay down the lay on the light of your life and most parents hate doing it (myself included) and some avoid it, but when she accepts the lesson and doesn't hold a grudge, it makes me feel like I've done something right. Besides, it doesn't hurt to have another comedian in the family... I think I am a good father. Check that. I know I am a good father. Not perfect, but good. For all the anxiousness that I had on that night four years ago, I really think I have mostly outdone myself to this point. But as a good as I am, Iris is an even better kid. Perhaps it's because her mom is an even better mother. But however it came about, I couldn't be prouder of Iris or us as a family. I was right to be nervous and anxious on that night four years ago--this is still the toughest job I've ever had. But as I enter my fifth year blogging as a father, it's clear that my enthusiasm and introspection for the role only grows. While adding Robyn to the mix has only added to an even more fascinating dynamic, there's no doubt that, as the older child, Iris' growth will still mark the truly unique worlds of new and uncharted territory. The good news is that I think we were re-elected, which is nice even when running unopposed. After all, it's usually the second term where politicians really let their agendas kick into gear. Time to work on that dirt on her shoulders... September 23 Be The Change You Want To See In The World Years ago, long before the kids came along, I remembered thinking about why I would even want to have kids. I thought about how I could share my experiences with them, teach them to be good individuals, and maybe, just maybe, put them in a position to make the world a better place. Now, here I am with a four-year old and a one-year old and I still believe all those things that I did years ago. But as I pass my 38th birthday and spend time on self-reflection, I am reminded of an unexpected consequence of fatherhood. No, it's not the fact that I have learned to give myself so willingly in ways that, at times, sacrificed my career but seem so obvious. It isn't that I no longer recoil at the thought of changing diapers (not that I ever learned to like it, of course). No, the most profound consequence is the responsibility I feel to set an example for them and how it has changed not only the way I see the world, but the way I interact. The only way I can make them good individuals is by example, which means that, to quote Jack Nicholson from As Good As It Gets, they've made me want to be a better person. This desire shows up in the health care debate that is sweeping the country right now.
Cherise and I have been pretty vocal about our support of health care reform. Cherise has been active in protests, information campaigns and what have you. I've written letters and been featured in a Philadelphia Inquirer article regarding entrepreneurs and health care. It's an issue that bothers me more in how angry it has made the country than the actual differences of opinions that people have. It's divisive. It has people yelling. It's a distraction and I wish it didn't bother me so much. As someone who has been turned down by insurance companies for standard coverage for a pre-existing condition (one that has been corrected and certified with a clean bill of health by both my cardiologist and surgeon), I am deeply affected. But that's not what bothers me about the issue. In fact, there's that part of me that says "just pay and let the politicians sort it out (yikes!)." But I can't. Not as a parent and not if I expect Iris & Robyn to grow up understanding their role in this world. The lessons we spend our days teaching Iris are rooted in this need to be respectful of other people, helping those who need it, and embracing those around you. When Iris is shy or standoffish, we implore her to keep an open mind. It's the old concept that a stranger is a friend you haven't met. Don't get me wrong--we're not asking her to go up to random people at the local Target and offer to be their friend (we like her scrutiny of others). But we do encourage her to make friends at pre-school and learn basic principles like sharing and camaraderie and being open to new ideas and experiences. After all, people who need people are the luckiest people in the world (did I just quote Barbra Striesand? That's just wrong). Frankly, we occasionally have a harder time at home where she'll be quick to get upset at Robyn for things that she does simply due to her age. While we can remind Iris that Robyn can't help it and she doesn't mean to do those things, that's little consolation to a four-year with a locked sense of world order. So we preach (and preach) tolerance and understanding. We remind her that the only way to make Robyn grow up right is to support her and help her through this time in her life where she is somewhat helpless. We're not religious, but we might as well be saying "are we not our sister's keeper?" In some ways, I see the lessons sticking. After getting her flu shot, she starting to hint that maybe she'll be a doctor. Obviously, I'd be thrilled if that happened and I remind her about her "Uncle Ricky" who is also a doctor. While she may be young, he wasn't much older when he committed to that dream. When we talk about it, there's a part of Iris that really gets me excited. It's the one that shows tremendous empathy and openness towards people who are ill. She told me she wanted to make sick people better. Maybe she's starting to pay attention? So, amidst the debate around health care, I'd feel like a hypocrite to ignore people who'd deny coverage to those who need it most. And I can't convince myself that I'll be prepared to explain why her some of her friends can't see a doctor because they can't afford it. Apparently, not everyone agrees with my view, but as someone who was blindsided by a quirky health issue over which I had no control, I can't imagine having been uninsured or underinsured and being of lesser means and having endured that. And I sure as hell can't explain it to my daughter and then teach her about tolerance, empathy, and supporting your fellow human being. I'd gladly pay higher taxes for this. I'm not real crazy about the wars. I'd love my money back for GM. But providing better care for my fellow man? Sign us up--and years from now, make sure Iris and Robyn know that's where their parents stood. To be clear, this post isn't meant to be an attack on the libertarian/neo-con approach to the issue of health care nor is it to suggest that bigger government is always better government or that government doesn't have its issues. This is not a simple issue. I've spent the last three months reading from the Reagan Diaries in an effort to understand the conservative point of view and their take on the role of government. I don't deny that the American Dream is built on hard work. I don't deny entitlements to those who abuse the system are a bane to the system. But personally, I don't worry about teaching my daughter learning about the difference between rights and privileges (I literally give her the lecture once a week) and that those who do the things that others won't do will get the things that others won't get. She understands why I go to work every morning and work late into the night. But to forgo a sympathetic approach to often uncontrollable maladies in the name of free markets? Perhaps I can get my textbook on Adam Smith and classical economics and how every person is out for themselves. That just seems ignorant and I can't teach that to my girls. I won't. This weekend, I kept ducking away every couple of hours to engage in an on-line debate on the topic. I waged a thoughtful war of words and ideologies with a gentleman from Pittsburgh that I have never met. The discussion probably could've filled several pages. At one point, I was ready to say "forget it, I'll never change his mind." And the fact is that I wasn't going to change this guy's mind. But I kept thinking about Iris and Robyn. And I kept thinking about how I want them to grow up and what I want them to think of their father. Do I stop attempting to defend the principles I work so hard to teach them because I was "tired"? The title of the blog is from a famous quote from Mahatma Gandhi. I think it's the essence of parental responsibility. To the gentleman with whom I was engaged in this debate, his refrain of "personal responsibility" as the reason to deny universal health care is undoubtedly something he will expect to impart to his kids and I wish him luck. He is guided by a set of principles and I applaud him on that. Even if we differ in opinion, he is doing right by his kids. It all makes me think of a quote from Dante: "The hottest places in hell are reserved for those who in times of great moral crises maintain their neutrality". That's what I want them to learn more than anything else. Learn the situation, apply your values, take a stand, and fight with conviction. I know it's early in their lives, but I never want that message to be lost on them nor do I hope they lose the values we're working so hard to instill. In the end, it's how I'll judge myself as their father--even if it isn't the easy thing to do. And if it makes me a better person, so be it. August 30 Making Her Way To The Real WorldRecently, a colleague and I were discussing the joys of parenthood. When trying to sum it up, he had an interesting quote: "it's fun to be around little kids because they don't realized what a messed up place the world is". It wasn't a bitter quote--both he and I have done well for ourselves and certainly can't complain about life. That said, there are many ills about the world and how people treat one another that makes all of us a little cynical about the things and people around us. But when you are a child, you are effectively protected from that. Everyone treats you like you're important. Everyone loves you. Eventually, you grow up and learn that the world can be a tough place and people aren't always considerate and people aren't always putting you first. Sometimes it's unintentional (people get busy and don't realize what they are doing) and sometimes, it's malicious. Losing that innocence is more painful than the discovery of no Easter Bunny or Santa Claus. Those are all lessons that you know will be learned, but doesn't make it any easier to handle. And you're never quite prepared for it to happen.
Last week was a crazier weekend than usual. While I was busy trying to close out a long arduous project that was on the homestretch, we happened to have a couple of "social" engagements planned for the day. Now our weekend calendar isn't quite what it was before the kids came along. If we do anything now, it usually revolves heavily around the kids or the kids majorly change our participation at these events. Saturday, we had one event of each type: a morning picnic as part of the local "mom's club" that Cherise belongs to and an afternoon engagement party for our beloved nanny, who is planning to get married next year. In some ways, I was stressing this weekend. I would clearly be distracted by work--how could I enjoy things when deadlines were spinning around in my head? As it turns out, as in most cases, the lessons of fatherhood come when you least expect it and I got a double-dose of knowledge that day. At the picnic, we watched a professional juggler and then enjoyed a feast of delicious food. Afterward, Cherise went off with Robyn while my Dad and I took Iris, who wanted to play a beanbag toss game. We walked over to where two young girls (maybe 8 or 9 years old) were in charge of the game. I stopped short of the game and Iris said "come with me". I said "no, you can do it. You don't need me." I was being the good father, encouraging my daughter to show some independence. Well, she goes up and talks to the girl who was holding the bean bags as well as the prizes. She seems really nervous about saying anything until the girl says something to her, which seemed like offering her a prize without even playing the game. I see Iris decline and then the conversation ends and Iris walks back towards me. "What happened, Iris?" "She asked if I wanted a prize and I said 'no'." "Don't you want to play the game?" Iris could only respond with a sheepish "Yeah." Obviously, what we had here was a failure to communicate. This is when the Daddy gear kicks in. y'know, that temptation to run to the closest phone booth, turn into Super Dad, and save the day for my little girl who was clearly bummed about not playing the game. Like every dad, I love when I can be the hero. But then I realized that I'd be fixing the situation, but not the overall problem (plus, with cell phones, it's really hard to find a phone booth). Iris needed to be more assertive and I wasn't doing her favors by bailing her out. "Iris, if you want to play the game, you have to let her know." Iris paused, thought about it, and said "Come with me". I gritted my teeth, ignored my heroic intentions, and said "No Iris. If you want to play the game, you need to ask yourself." She thought some more, turned around, and went back to the game. I exhaled a sigh of relief, glad that she didn't just give up, and then watched intently. She then proceeded in intense negotiations with the 8-year old. After about 45 seconds, I saw the girl go behind the wall where you had to throw the beanbags through. I then saw three beanbags come out of one of the holes. Iris picks them up and puts them back through the holes. But each time, the girls behind the wall keep throwing the beanbags back. Suddenly it became the frenetic back and forth and Iris is having the time of her life. Apparently, this was the game Iris wanted to play. I couldn't help but think that Iris' satisfaction of the game was enhanced by the fact that she negotiated for it. At the end, she did take that prize ring but the greater prize was the victory of having stood up for want she wanted and as a father, I shared in that prize. It's true what they say about discretion being the better part of valor. Super Dad could wait for another day--my kid can handle herself. That afternoon, we went to the engagement party and Iris and Robyn drew a lot of attention from the adults. After all, she did look very cute in her dress and her shy demeanor makes her an even more enticing target. In fact, Iris has gotten into a routine with adults, always playing the shy little girl with doting strangers and giving morsels of cute responses; enough that they don't give up trying, but not so much that think they've won. The girl has it down to a science. The same goes for kids her age--she practically plays hard to get with her friendship at times. But something changes for older kids. Iris always seems to really vie for their approval. That afternoon, when the food was ready, we sat at a table with three very sweet girls, aged 13, 10, and 7. They were very polite, well-mannered and open to chatting with us. Iris was enamored with these girls. She listened intently to every word they said, whether it was to us or to each other. You couldn't even get Iris' attention because she was so entranced. Then, while the girls were talking amongst themselves, Iris loudly interjected "At Summer Camp, I made a superhero costume with a cape!" It was irrelevant to the conversation the girls were having and was kinda rude, but it was rooted in something so sweet that I was taken aback. She really wanted these girls to like her and hoped they'd be as excited about her Summer Camp experiences as Cherise and I have been. Cherise looked at me and smiled, both of us proud of our little wallflower that had worked up the courage to share her exciting experience with her new friends. Our girl was coming out of her shell. But part of me was mortified, not offended by her rudeness (I do feel bad about that) but rather recognizing that, unlike adults, many girls of that age will not respect or appreciate what toddler does at Summer Camp. I remember being that little when I would share something that seemed so important to me, but the "big kids" would dismiss me in a cruel way that would scar me for years. I attribute my general shyness to incidents that happened when I stuck my neck out like Iris did, only to have it chopped off. While I know parents shouldn't project their past traumas onto their kids, I wanted to run over to her, pick her up, and hug her and remind her how important she was to me and that I'd always think her superhero costume was the most important thing in that world. After all, as her dad, that's my job. But I just waited and watched, very interested but very restrained. Then something unexpected happened. The eldest girl asked "what's your favorite part of Summer Camp?" Oh my goodness, she's actually playing along! Now I was ready to go over and give the 13-year a big hug (which might have come with other issues). There was only one person more shocked than me--and that would be Iris. As my little girl froze in awe, Cherise stepped in to re-ask the question and Iris did finally kinda answer the question. But her less-than-spectacular attempt at moving from monologue to dialogue didn't hurt her enthusiasm for these girls and her quest for their approval. I couldn't help but think that, while the tough lesson was averted, it was only a matter of time before she'd run into this situation again and the girls wouldn't be so nice. For days after that incident, I kept thinking about it. Late at night, after everyone was asleep, I'd be working on the computer when that whole incident would enter my head. And I'd smile at the naivete. And I'd shed a small tear for its impending doom. And I'd get up, walk over to Iris' room to just look at her lying in her bed, completely asleep and still believing the world is a place of acceptance and love. And I came to realize that her "naive" childhood vision of this world of compassion and optimism actually does exist. It exists in this house as long as Cherise and I foster it. It exists in every moment we share as a family. And whatever lesson she learns outside our front door, my job is to make sure she never forgets that the nirvana that's been painted for her will not fade like Santa or the Easter Bunny, but rather remain as an unconditional asset of the love I have for her and her sister--and that they will have with me. And with that, I'd head back to my late night work and once again feel good about the mutual benefits of the relationship between fathers and daughters. August 18 Iris A.K.A. Five Year Old SarahRobyn seems to get most of the attention these days, attracting passersby with her bright eyes and big smile. But while we’ve been busy helping Robyn learn to walk, Iris has been busy learning more advanced things, and all of a sudden Iris has gotten a lot more brave than she‘s ever been. She loves to pretend she’s her friend’s older sister Sarah, who’s five years old. (This is fabulous because then she shows us all the things she can do by herself - like go to the bathroom or get dressed. Yay!) Here are a few of her brave new experiences: First Swim Lessons - she went from an extreme fear of even tiny splashes of water anywhere on her face, to slowly blowing bubbles, to now putting her face in the water and kicking. Oh, and she wants to be a swim instructor and scuba diver when she grows up. Thank you Kendra at Little Swimmers Swim School! First Concert - The Walnut Creek Family Theater Festival is a fabulous annual summer event, complete with free outdoor performances and crafts, and a few ticketed indoor shows. Iris and I snagged the last few tickets to see a rock band called the Sippy Cups - an amazing hour long concert for just $5! Iris was mesmerized and didn’t move from her seat, and was entranced by their acrobat named Sippy Anna. After the show Iris got Anna’s autograph on a puppet, and even gave her a big hug! Anna and I were both completely surprised. First Trampoline - a gift from her beloved Koka, this is Iris’ favorite way to burn energy, and our couch is much happier too. First Summer Camp - sounds crazy for a 3yr old to be in summer camp, but it’s really just a two week morning day camp at Heather Farms Community Center. I was very unsure about how Iris would adjust to a new place without her favorite teacher Shaena. In fact on the last day of preschool she asked if Shaena was going to be at her new school. (uh, no?) But Iris found a favorite teacher on the first day of Camp - can you guess her name? Sarah, of course. And it was a nice transition since 4 of the kids were from Iris’ preschool too. Robyn, meanwhile, quietly learns from just watching Iris. She is now walk/running, and does things before I get the chance to show her, like when she climbed up her sister’s step stool to the sink, waved her hand til I turned on the water, then got her hands wet and rubbed them together and dried them with the towel all without any instruction or help from me. She has also suddenly learned a few signs: More Milk Bunny rabbit (after seeing one hop through Tata’s backyard) Sleep All done And when we say kick or clap or goodbye, she responds immediately with the action, even if we weren’t talking to her. Second kids are so easy - we don’t have to teach her anything at all! August 01 One Year with Two Kids: A Story of Basketball Defense & Our Crab GirlLong before I became a parent, I was given an explanation about parenting in terms of basketball defense. "Sandy, having one kid is like running a 'press' defense. Everyone on defense goes after the same person on offense and it's practically suffocating. Having two kids is like playing man-to-man where each defender has to keep track of each offensive player and as long as you cover your man, you'll be fine. And once you go beyond two, it's zone defense. Just stay in your area and prepare for anything. And pray." It's been a year since Cherise and I switched from Press to Man-to-Man defense. While Robyn's arrival wasn't the mind-blowing life upheaval that came with Iris' arrival since, to extend the analogy, we had never played basketball before her arrival, it certainly was the dawn of a new era.
There have been the obvious challenges, like calling Iris "Robyn" or calling Robyn "Iris". I usually catch myself mid-name, which has led our children to adopt the names "Iryn" and "Roris". I've since come up with the strategy of referring to them as Thing 1 and Thing 2 (Dr. Seuss, anyone?), though Iris and I still debate who is Thing 1 and who is Thing 2. Also, there's simply the idea of operating on two wavelengths. With Iris, you can have sophisticated conversations, but need to manage the irrational attempts at logic. With the second, you need to decipher monosyllabic sounds and expressive pointing to understand what the heck they are referring to. While I don't envy Cherise's challenge of having to deal with this constantly, I've personally enjoyed my smaller daily dose of this dichotomy. Since we were both second children, Cherise and I always joked about the merits of the younger child. One thing it has truly helped us with is accepting that second children can be very different from first, especially as time goes on. Both of us had older brothers and our needs as children were much different than theirs. I freely admit that I was much more of a pain in the butt to raise than my brother was. He really was the superstar growing up and I was pretty much inconsistent, something I would eventually get over but not without a great deal frustration suffered by my parents over the years. I don't feel too guilty about it--my parents got off easy with my brother and I was just evening the karma out. But there was a lesson in all of that: the secret to raising me that my parents sorta figured out was to not treat me exactly like my brother. When they applied the same principles that worked for him on me, it often ended badly. When they shifted strategies, it worked. This has been a lesson that I've applied to managing employees for years. You just can't treat everyone the same way and expect them to perform. So when we brought Robyn home, I was determined not to assume this was Iris. I kept four letters in my head to remember this--RINI. "Robyn Is Not Iris". Twelve months later, I've discovered that sometimes you don't need an acronym when the differences are so obvious. Alas, Robyn has an all-new mystique. I keep insisting that she channels her easy-going late grandfather (Cherise's father) whereas Iris channels her moody but loving late grandmother (my mother). The contrast already makes for a fascinating household drama. I also realized RINS ("Robyn Is Not Sandy"). So much for the lessons of being a second-born. Robyn is a free-spirit and a bit of a daredevil, unlike her ultra-cautious dad. She's also the aggressor, coming up to her sister and randomly pinching for no reason, as opposed to her dad who took most of the sibling abuse. Robyn's pinching is so impressive that she has adopted the nickname "Crab", which leads me to often say "Hey Crab-Girl!" any time I walk into a room and see her ("My Name is Earl" fans will appreciate that one). As we pass each milestone, there is the inevitable urge to compare the two at similar stages and I'll admit that I do use Iris as a benchmark. But it's more to understand how to cope with each increasingly complex milestone that comes along rather than set expectations on exactly how they should occur. Of course, this would all be a lot easier if it happened exactly the same for each kid. Alas, where is the fun in that? I'm incredibly grateful for the new experiences that Robyn brings to us every day, even as we learn to understand Iris every day. It's all part of the roller coaster ride that is parenthood. But even so, I think it's safe to say that we'll stick to my friend's "Man-to-Man" and lay off the attempt to play Zone. That said, I may still resort to prayer... July 18 Happy 1st Birthday Robyn!I feel like such a negligent parent. I’ve started so many baby blogs in the past year that I never finished. Sorry Robyn! Even though you are an easier baby than your sister ever was, the combo of 2 kids leaves me scrambling. So what can I say about Robyn to catch everyone up on her budding personality? Well, she’s still the sweetest thing - smiles at everyone, delights in small things, and giggles the hardest with her sister. She makes me melt when she looks up at me with her big eyes and does her nose-scrunch grin. Right now we also call her “the crab” - she is just starting to try to walk, and seems to always want to walk sideways, and she pinches everyone really hard (especially Iris). Her favorite things are:
We had a wonderfully small and peaceful 1st birthday with family, breaking in our new gas grill in the back yard. Calm before the storm of future raucous birthdays full of friends and chaos. Iris and Anne made cupcakes and pink frosting (Iris’ idea to have pink frosting and purple sprinkles), and Robyn dug right into hers, squishing it between her fingers and fully enjoying the moment as usual. July 06 Steve McNair and ForgivenessI was all set to sit down and write a fun blog entry about Robyn's first birthday, which is right around the corner. After all, Cherise and I are about to hit quite the milestone and parenting two kids has certainly brought forth some unique challenges and experiences that are worth examination and humorous self-ridicule. I promise I will get to that post. But if you'll permit me, I'd like to take a mini-detour. Saturday, my favorite football player of all-time was shot dead. Police are sorting out the sordid details of what may be a murder-suicide by his "friend". As the details are revealed, I wince at the personal nature of the investigation and the inevitable dragging through the mud that will ensue. In the last month, we've seen headlines dominated by death and infidelity and, sadly, Steve McNair will have to be associated with both as his legacy will be unfairly tarnished. I'm not going to race down to Nashville to attend his memorial. I'm not going to sit outside his house like the many fans of Michael Jackson are doing at the Neverland Ranch or Staples Center. That has nothing to do with the circumstances around his death, but rather my attempt to maintain perspective that this wasn't a family member or best friend, bur rather a public figure and a flawed figure at that. But amidst the flaws, he was a warrior on the field and a caring individual off. With his foundation, his extensive work with youth, and his willingness to roll up his sleeves when Katrina hit neighborhoods in his native Mississippi, he had a level of nobility and sense of community. But frankly, as much as I liked those things, I would've been a fan regardless. He made the Titans a legitimate team. He made football exciting. He played with the heart of a lion and never lost focus on the ultimate goal of winning (something I wish the Titans current young QB could learn). His touchdown celebrations were memorable (he put his hands to his helmet and point his fingers outward). As a sports fan, he was worth the price of admission. For several years, Steve McNair owned my Sunday mornings. As for special moments, most people remember Steve McNair for one of the most exciting finishes in Super Bowl history--the dreaded "one yard short" game. I always tell people that I wasn't upset about losing that game because the Rams deserved to win. Instead, I was inspired by McNair's determination to not lose that game. That was the McNair I knew--a man with an extreme will to win. In the end, Mike Jones made one of the best tackles I've ever seen. The Titans didn't lose. The Rams won. The next day, as a Titan fan, my head was held high. But there's another game that no one will say very much about that means more to me than the Super Bowl loss. In January 2004, the Titans went to Foxboro to play the New England Patriots in what would be the coldest game in either team's history. A friend who attended the game told me his beer actually froze before he could drink most of it. The Titans had a great season and McNair was the co-MVP, but two losses to the Colts made them the wild card and forced them to play on the road. I was convinced the Titans were the better team. After losing to the Patriots earlier in the season, they could get their revenge. In a see-saw affair, the Patriots had a 17-14 lead late in the 4th quarter with the Titans backed up and the crowd on their feet. That's when McNair brought the magic. Throw after throw, he kept finding receivers despite the vicious weather conditions and a Patriot defense looking for him to pass. And when he couldn't find anyone open, he ran it himself. This was amazing. He was beating all the odds. The weather. The fans. The officials tried to overturn his completions with instant replay. But then it stalled. A ridiculous holding call followed by a questionable intentional grounding call set up seemingly insurmountable odds, turning a 3rd and 3 to a 3rd and 23 and knocking the Titans out of field goal range. McNair completed a pass to Drew Bennett where Bennett made a tremendous grab for 11 yards. But it was still 4th and 12. Do or die. As the play started, the Patriot cornerback sprinted in unabated and was about to level McNair. Rather than run and risk a broken play where they probably wouldn't get the 12 yards, McNair fearlessly stayed in the pocket and threw the ball just before absorbing a crushing hit. The ball sailed in the air to a wide open Drew Bennett. The ball was a little short, but that actually helped as the defense was playing loose and Drew Bennett was left alone to catch it. It was his easiest catch of the drive. Except he didn't catch it. The ball bounced off his fingertips. As it was still in the air, he tried it again. By now, the defense had come in to make the effort practically impossible. Cherise was watching the game with me and I can still hear her reaction: "OH NO!" She's not a football fan, but even she knew what was happening. Drew Bennett DROPPED THE BALL. And the season. And the dream of a return to the Super Bowl. I was beside myself. There must've been a penalty! Please, anything! How could he drop that? There must be an explanation!!! But no, that was it. The Patriots got the ball and ran out the clock. The miracle comeback was over. I was speechless. Unlike the Super Bowl, this time, the Titans lost. It remains one of my biggest sports disappointments ever. Little did I know that I'd learn one of life's greatest lessons courtesy of Steve McNair. Days later, I was still going through the emotions that a die-hard overly invested fan goes through when their team gives away a playoff game in what had been such a memorable season. What the hell is wrong with Drew Bennett? How could he ruin a great season like that? How could he end Steve McNair's perfect season? The MVP award was supposed to come with redemption in the Super Bowl. Even I could've caught that ball! But then I saw a picture on the Nashville newspaper's website that changed everything. I included it here. Sanford Myers / The Tennessean As the Patriots ran out the clock, Bennett sat by himself, crushed by the consequences of his failure. Apparently, Steve McNair came up to him, leaned over him, and spent time consoling Bennett including saying "you'll catch the next one". In this day and age of the oversized egos of professional athletes and the concern about their legacy and paychecks over the good of the team, Steve McNair basically said "don't worry about it". Here I was, a random Titan fan in Seattle and I'm cursing Bennett days later even though he didn't owe me anything. Meanwhile, McNair had the presence of mind to think about Bennett and put aside the disappointment of the moment. McNair who had been working like crazy for months of two-a-days and game films. McNair who had been beaten and bruised for a full schedule and two playoff games. McNair who was absorbing hits while playing with a sternum made of cartilage. McNair who laid himself on the line and took a nasty hit by the Patriot cornerback for the sake of making that pass. Forgiveness and understanding are powerful tools. They can liberate those weighed under a burden they bear. There's no doubt that the drop haunted Bennett and still does, but the compassion of the man who had the most to lose with that drop was a powerful gift and Steve McNair gave it willingly. I've kept that picture on my computer for years and I pull it up every now and then. I don't have a caption to go with it because it doesn't need a caption. It reminds me to understand the lessons of forgiveness. As a fan. As a manager of employees. And, perhaps most importantly, as a father of two girls. People continually make mistakes--especially kids. As they get older, the mistakes will get bigger. Maintaining perspective and understanding not to cloud the bigger picture because of the smaller details are important lessons to understand. It sounds funny to say this, but there are times when I will be talking to Iris after she does something she regrets and that picture will flash in my head. The lessons of that moment will never be lost on me. I've always told people I hope Iris and Robyn grow up to be sports fans because of the infinite lessons they can learn about life. Even as a spectator, those lessons can be profound and come in the most unlikely of circumstances. So today, I honor Steve McNair as my favorite player and as someone who indirectly had an impact on my life. To be clear, the purpose of this blog isn't to forgive Steve McNair. He didn't owe me anything--certainly not off the field. For his sake, I can only hope that those close to him find solace in the lesson he taught me on that cold January night in Foxboro. June 10 A Father's Reflections on Open-Heart Surgery (One Year Later) For those of you who keep an eye on my Facebook or Twitter accounts, you're probably aware that I passed a pretty significant milestone a few weeks ago. It has been one year since I underwent open heart surgery. I marked the occasion by going for a 10-mile run, my first not only since heart surgery but also since Seattle. My surgeon promised I'd be better than before ("you'll be 100% and maybe even 110%") and I'll be damned if I was gonna make him out to be a liar. On the first anniversary, Cherise and I officially nicknamed the day "Heart Day" and declared it a family holiday. No work. No computers (though there was authorized iPhone usage just in case of emergency). After my 10-mile run, we went to the Charles Schulz (aka Peanuts/Charlie Brown) museum in Santa Rosa. I then took Iris to her baseball lessons (definitely worth a future blog entry). Pretty much the perfect day.
For those who are curious, I am pretty much 100% physically. My echocardiogram from three-months post-op looked perfect and I'll be getting another one again in September. If that one also shows what the last one did, my cardiologist doesn't even think I'll need to get checked less than five years at a time. I pretty much feel great save for an occasional moment here and there that is to be expected for someone who had their heart "tweaked". Other than those moments, the only physical reminder is the six-inch scar down the center of my chest that serves more as a trophy of my success (at least as long as the success continues). Meanwhile, that 10-mile run was the culmination of 700 miles that I've run since May 20th of last year--especially meaningful to me given I wasn't sure if it was going to be prudent to give up running altogether. Instead, it has helped both strengthen and validate my rehabilitation. So physically, I am not really worse for the wear. Mentally, however, I took a lot more from the experience. A year ago, I wrote about my reflections on the surgery. Of all the entries I've written over the years, that one stands out to me as the most honest and most vulnerable writing I've ever done. I look back on it every now and then just to re-level myself. Now, with the recovery complete and so much having happened since the big day, it's even more instructive to reflect on the time since such a a life-altering event and realize what those alterations really turn out to be. When I originally started writing this post, I was planning to put in all those lessons learned from the eyes of someone who had such a dramatic event in his life. You know, try lead a better life, surround yourself with people that inspire you, don't spend your days doing something you don't believe in, don't be afraid to look stupid. All those life-affirming things. But those things come and go in terms of how faithfully I follow them. The one true thing that has changed is that I have yet to take one day for granted--particularly the days I spend with Cherise, Iris, and Robyn. I know, I know. Yet another cliche, right? Perhaps. But parenting (as well as being a husband) is such a cumulative experience that every day really is better than the one before. Understanding the unpredictability of life lets you appreciate the growth even more. Not to make a corny analogy, but it's like watching TV in high-definition after watching on a regular TV for years. It's one thing to love your family and it's quite another to realize the significance of each event, no matter how minor it might seem on the surface. It's not that I love them any more than I did before--that wouldn't be possible. It's more about not being afraid to take the extra moment to spend time with the kids or not get so frustrated when things go awry (and with a 3-year old and a 11-month old, things ALWAYS go awry). It's about taking the bad as well as the good and knowing that the mix is what makes life so special. So, with a year gone by, it's hard to say that life has completely returned to normal. Actually, I suppose it is now the new normal. Physically, I don't really restrict myself and you couldn't tell anything unique about me by seeing me, so the surgeon was right about the 100%. But mentally, in some ways, I am a changed person and I think it has helped make me a better parent or at the very least more appreciative. And frankly, I am just a happier person. Now some of that may also have to do with career changes and a general outlook on life, both of which have also been impacted by my surgical experience. But even those changes have opened the door for a better relationship with Iris and Robyn and they're my doctors now. And they've helped me reach the elusive 110% that my surgeon was after. Sorry Dr. Miller. You're good, but you've been trumped by the Khaund sisters... April 21 The Age of Open MindednessMost adults are jaded. I see it everyday. Whether it's their belief that President Obama's compassion is really closet socialist/Islamic beliefs (while you might not agree with his policies, but his intent is definitely built on compassion) or that Randy Pausch's "Last Lecture" was really a paean to an oversized ego (read the Amazon book reviews), it's easy to find the worst in anything in this world. What makes us so cynical? I don't know, but I can tell you that we're not born with it. At least Iris wasn't. She is built on faith, open-mindedness, and intellectual curiosity. Oh--and highly distractable. And man, does that save the day as a parent...
You see, our beloved Iris can still get a little unstrung about weird things. Or she can get fickle about certain things for no apparent reason. As I've said before, kids aren't always rational. It's up to Cherise and me as the parents to deftly manage our way out of these situations in a way that creates the right outcome with the minimal amount of fussing and fighting. Don't get me wrong--we're not afraid to lay down the law and provide discipline when necessary. But one thing you learn after being on the job for 3+ years is that you can't afford to fight too many battles over the smallest things lest you lose the war. It'll wear you down and she'll eventually get immune to it. I remember my own parents. Mom and I used to have countless arguments. Eventually, it got to the point where (a) I could recognize her empty threats and (b) after a while, it never really improved my behavior. I was grounded several times but never served one sentence. In fact, one time, I actually giggled when she "grounded" me. It's a little like the criminal that is caught multiple times and gets a suspended sentence every time. If you don't follow-through, it'll practically encourage the behavior. Dad was different. Dad didn't get mad often, but when he did, you knew it was a big deal. Not because he was loud (he wasn't). Not because he threatened (he didn't). It was just so rare that when it happened, you knew that you crossed the line. That's my parenting dream--letting the kid know "this time, I mean business" without having to say it. But how does a parent put out the small fires without turning them into really big fires? Well, sometimes you have to think like a three-year old. I am better at this than Cherise and I don't know if I should be proud or concerned. Anyway, it's literally thinking of something really quickly that changes the conversation. So, when Iris demands that Mommy give her a bath and is ready to potentially throw a tantrum because I am on bath duty for that night, I've gotta defuse the situation. So I interrupt Iris just as she starts to get upset and ask "Hey Iris, have you ever seen a duck do a jig?" Yes, your reaction is probably similar to hers. "Huh?" I follow up with "If you let me give you a bath, I'll show you how a duck does a jig." Suddenly, she not only forgets her previous demand, but she wouldn't let me get out of bath duty if I tried. Of course, now I've got a problem. How exactly does one make a duck do a jig? Well, Iris gets in the tub and I pull out the rubber ducky. And I start bouncing the duck around. Three hops to the left. Three hops to the right. Is that a jig? I don't know, but neither does she. Now she is on Cloud 9. "Mommy, Mommy," she yells to the other room, "I saw the duck do a jig!" Crisis averted. Happy Mommy. Happy Daddy. Very happy Iris. Of course, dancing bath toys can get old, so I continually have to come up with something new. Last week, I invented the flip bath where I take my daughter and help her do a slow-motion somersault into the bath tub. Each time I come up with these suggestions, I keep expecting her to say "yeah, whatever Dad, not interested. Now back to my original point..." But she never has. And the more cryptic the offer, the more excited she gets. So when she is just playing with her food and not really finishing up despite our constant pleas, I'll ask "have you seen Robyn as a Thanksgiving Day Float?" Again, "huh?" "Well, if you finish your food, I'll show you what I mean." Man, you've never seen a three-year old shovel pasta down that fast. And once she was done, she says "OK, can I see the float?" "Nope, wash you hands first!" Iris sprints to the bathroom and washes up. At this point, a part of me is thinking "she's gonna be so disappointed" (while the other part is thinking "man, I should've gotten her to do the laundry!"). So Iris gets back and we're ready. I take Robyn, put her torso on my palm and lift her up. Her arms and legs swimming around, she looks a lot like Underdog from the Macy's Parade (or Stewie from "Family Guy"). Iris LOVES this. Nothing real special, but for her, it was worth the work she had to do to see it. I'm not a fool. A day will come when she'll have gained a level of cynicism where this stuff just won't work. But if there's one thing I've learned, it's that parenting is all about constantly adapting to the kid's evolving personality. I don't know what's next, but I hope it's this much fun. BTW, if you haven't voted yet, vote for me in the Nike "Believe in the Run" contest. http://tinyurl.com/runsandyrun/ March 05 Parental FEMA: Managing Kiddie CrisisKids are inherently irrational. At least mine can be. I learned that early in Iris' life when she would cry randomly for no reason. As I would soon learn, this doesn't necessarily get better with age. While Iris is a complete joy for most of the day, she does have a hairpin trigger over the weirdest things. Sometimes, it'll be that you picked a toy off the floor that she distinctly wanted on the floor. In other cases, she'll get upset about the wrong type of food. I'll always look for indications where she starts looking a little more moody and start treating her like a I am diffusing a bomb and looking for the blue wire. Steady as she goes...
When the meltdowns do happen, I would look like a deer in headlights. What do I do? What do I say? In some cases, I'd just prepare for the worst. In other cases, I'd beg. "Please don't cry. Please!" It's pathetic enough to beg, but when you do it to a one-year old, it's downright sad. Then came my epiphany. A year ago or so ago, when Iris got really upset about something she couldn't have to eat, I put my hand on the table and made my fingers into the legs of a makeshift animal and started "crawling" around. I looked at Iris and said "Daddy bug wants to say hi". Suddenly the tears went away and she started cracking up. Suddenly, I realized something. I may have something here. For months aftewards, I used Daddy Bug as a tool to elicit a smile and calm things down. But sometimes, Daddy Bug just doesn't make sense. So I would have to accept some of the meltdowns. And at times, I would get upset at her, which would only make her angrier and turn things into a full-blown tantrum. A few months ago, I decided that I wouldn't do that any more--at least not without an effort to do a few other things first. So when she throws a tantrum (especially if it starts with something that happened with Mommy or Robyn), I'll walk over to her room and sit on her bed. Then, I will gently ask her to walk over to me. If she doesn't, I'll ask again without raising my voice and making sure she hears the word "please". In most cases, as Iris tries to listen, she also starts thinking "why am I crying?" Suddenly, a proposed negotiation seems like a good idea. She always walks over and we calmly discuss why she's mad. If she's still crying, I insist on waiting to talk until she's done. The anticipation of the chat helps expedite the calmness. Then I'll ask her why she's mad and talk about alternatives for the next time the situation comes up. Sometimes the lessons stick and in other cases, we're back to square one a week later. But there's something about having the rational conversation about the irrational behavior that I am hoping helps later in life. I keep reminding her that everything is open to discussion. If we say no to something and she disagrees, she is allowed to tell us why she thinks we are wrong. But if she kicks and screams, she guarantees that she won't get what she wants. it's actually turned her into a bit of a negotiator. Now, when she wants something different that what we say, she say "How about this?" Of course, when says it, it sounds like "Habotdis?" So, when we say "OK, brush your teeth, then a book, and then bed", she'll respond "Habotdis? First brush teeth. Then two short books. Then bed." I swear to you that she honestly is a better negotiator than some of my classmates at Wharton. I am not kidding. Every time she does it, I want to crack up, but she's come up with some good deals (by the way, she got the two short book deal). Of course, an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure and I've expanded beyond Daddy Bug. But that's a blog for another day. I have to go now. Iris just negotiated some Daddy-Daughter Sesame Street time. February 16 Sweet, sweet RobynI will always have a special love for Iris as my firstborn, but Robyn definitely has found out how to tug my heartstrings too. Iris was a crazy baby – full of high energy and only calm when someone was bouncing her. Robyn is still the complete opposite, and I'm loving her relaxed, easygoing style. Now I finally understand what it means to have a calm, smiling baby! I took her to a baby massage class (at Elephant Pharm, right before it shut down last week, boo hoo!) and this time around I got to bask in the glow of having the baby who shined her smile at everyone and didn't cry even once. With Iris I just couldn't understand how baby massage could actually work for more than a few seconds – I always had to pick her up and walk around the room while the other moms and babies sat calmly on the floor for over an hour.
I think maybe Robyn is trying to get me to consider having a 3rd child… I get so sentimental about how fast she's passing through each phase, and each article of clothing she outgrows. Her first tooth started coming in on Valentine's Day, and she can already say mama and dada. She giggles most when her sister makes funny animal sounds. She still wakes up 2 times a night to eat, but I don't mind at all most of the time, since it's precious cuddle time for just the two of us, and I love feeling her tiny hand squeeze me tight, her soft breath against my neck. Ahh… my sweet, sweet Robyn. In the morning we have playtime before daddy and Iris awaken. She sits on her blanket in front of a mirror, clapping her hands together and grinning from ear to ear. (thanks Gigi for teaching her to clap!) We sing laptime songs and giggle until we hear meowing from across the hall – the sign that Iris is awake. Then the real fun begins as Iris has new imaginary games in mind each day, and can entertain Robyn when I've run out of songs. Someday I'll get a full night's sleep again, but for now I'm enjoying this phase with baby as long as I can. January 24 My Poor Meatball
Let’s start with a few updates since I haven’t written for awhile:
Robyn at 6 months is smiling CONSTANTLY. She’s rolling over and over, and just started sitting up (did Obama inspire her too?). She’s sleeping much better since we moved her to her own crib in her own room. A few nights so far, she only woke once around 2am (in a stretch of about 8pm-6:30am). She’s eating solid food – so far carrots are her favorite. She still won’t take a bottle or pacifier… Teething is not bothering her as much, maybe because she is better at holding her teethers by herself without dropping them as often. Sophie the Giraffe is our newfound favorite teether that goes with her everywhere. She bites and grabs everything in sight. Watch out if you wear glasses! Her favorite is the placemat trick – if you sit her on your lap while eating a meal, she grabs the placemat lightening fast, aiming to send your dinner crashing to the floor.
Iris at 3 years and 3 months seems to be past the crazy overwhelming “daily tantrum” phase that plagued us in November and December. She’s much calmer and more polite most of the time. She talks non-stop, and after preschool she’s especially verbose, since apparently her student persona is silent and observant. She still loves imagination and pretending we are someone else. For the last few days I’ve been either Koka (Sandy’s dad) or Santa Claus, while she is Sandy-as-a-baby or my elf, respectively. She asks that I speak in the voice of the character as well. “say Ho Ho Ho mommy!” or “can you say that with your Koka voice?” Mind you, I do horrible impressions, and it’s a good thing most of this happens with no one else around to hear it! My “Koka voice” is sadly very far off, and might even be an Irish accent… Iris seems to have more energy that needs to be burned off these days, and especially enjoys soccer, riding her tricycle, and ice skating. She spends a lot of time on detailed or crafty tasks too - drawing with chalk outside, or spending hours with her sticker books, crayons and note paper. Yesterday while sitting at her table writing meticulously tiny characters on a note pad she said “I’m daddy. I’m writing my to-do list. Iris you need to wait because if I don’t do this now, I’ll have to do it later tonight when you want me to stay upstairs after bedtime. This is very important.” She can almost write her name, though “R” is still challenging.
But the most interesting thing to me right now is the capacity that both Iris and Robyn seem to have for empathy. Iris has continued her concern for others, including inanimate objects… She has always been extra sensitive: as a one year old she burst into inconsolable tears at Gymboree when they bounced stuffed animal fish off the gym mat, and pointed out earnestly when a child fell over while “riding the parachute”; as a two year old she again was the only child in a room full of kids watching a library storytime who was devastated when Humpty Dumpty eggs on the felt storyboard “fell off the wall” – so much so that we had to go up afterwards to have the librarian show her they were okay. I began to find myself avoiding common kids songs or books like “monkeys bouncing on the bed” or “the cradle will fall” because I knew they’d elicit a strong reaction and questions. But lately it seemed maybe she had finally toughened up as a three year old.
Nope. Last week we read her a new book that had the song “On Top Of Spaghetti” – to the tune of “On Top of Old Smokey”… if you don’t know this version, it includes “I lost my poor meatball, when somebody sneezed. It rolled on the table, and onto the floor, and then my poor meatball, rolled out of the door. It rolled in the garden and under a bush, and then my poor meatball was nothing but mush.” Her eyes got big and her bottom lip jutted out, eyes teared up, she inhaled sharply… then let out a wail! What? At first we had no idea what she was upset about. But then she said “the poor meatball!” Well, we had to discuss the whereabouts of that meatball in detail throughout the day, especially at bedtime, and for days afterwards. She now finally has made peace with it, and has the song memorized. She’ll sing it to her stuffed animal friends, and assure them that it’s just a silly song, so not to worry about the meatball. “It grew into a tree full of baby meatballs now anyway.”
So her next question was even more complex: “why are the dinosaurs all extinct?” Hmmm… how do I answer that one without really depressing her? I’m really not sure how I will explain eventually where the chicken or fish she eats comes from… Robyn may have a similar tendency too. She has been a generally quiet baby, who was silent even during Iris’ entire “naked preschool” episode. (don’t ask – let’s just say it was Iris’ record tantrum in December that mommy refused to give in to) But now Robyn notices a lot more, and the minute Iris cries or gets upset, Robyn reacts with her own a passionate wail. Oh boy. Here we go again. Will this sense of empathy carry on throughout their lives, inspiring them to help other people in some magnificent way? A future Mother Teresa or Barack Obama? January 08 My BFFFor the past couple of years, I've been using the Nike+ tracking system to monitor my long-distance running. After my heart surgery, I needed some motivation to get back to running so I made a commitment to reach 2000 miles before the end of 2008 (I was at 1650 when I restarted in mid-July and could barely run a mile, so I've come a long way). As promised, on December 30th, I went for a seven-mile run to bring the total up to 2001. As part of my final runs, I took advantage of the fact that the numbers represented recent year to get a little nostalgic about the old days. So as I would be running mile 1994, I would think back to the year 1994. During that last run, which spanned a good chunk of the 90s, I was remembering the care-free days of being single in college and the early years in Sacramento, followed by the first couple of years dating Cherise. Obviously, things were simple then (though I'm sure it didn't seem so at the time) and I remembered what it was like to go out to the bars on Friday nights or sleep in on Sunday mornings. Wild nights. Impromptu plans. Long road trips. Very few commitments. Wasting an afternoon away just wandering through a bookstore or used CD store. It was definitely a part of my life that I cherish. Later that afternoon, I was sitting on the couch working on my computer when my thoughts strayed to those days of the mid-90s where things seemed so simple and no one depended on me and I had no commitments. Sometimes I wonder why I gave those up. Just as that thought came into my head, as if on cue, Iris walked over to me with a Sesame Street book: "Look Daddy," said Iris pointing to the page with Big Bird hugging a teddy bear. "This page says 'Two Best Friends'. That's like us. We're two best friends." Umm, does anyone have a tissue? It's hard to pinpoint the great moments of one's life. There are obvious ones like the day I met Cherise or when we got married or the days that Iris and Robyn were born. And there are the ones that relate to some of my passions, like the first time I walked into Memorial Stadium in Baltimore (where the Orioles used to play) or the first time I saw the rock group REM in concert. And then there are times like this that don't mark any sort of milestone, but reflect a culmination of something very special. I always said that when Iris met my dad, that was something special and no one will ever be able to take that moment away from me. This one was just as good. Now, to be fair, I can't say she came up with this idea of best friends on her own. Fact is, I always refer to us as best friends because (a) I believe it and (b) teaching her how to be a good friend is probably as important as anything I can do for her. But when she randomly called it out herself and did so with such enthusiasm, I was touched beyond belief. Couple that with the fact that I was in the middle of a nostalgic pre-parental era when it happened and it serves as this amazing splash of cold water in my face. In the first couple years of a child's life, as a parent, you are needed. But now, I was wanted. My daughter had declared that she enjoyed my company above all else. Suddenly, I couldn't remember what was so great about Friday nights on the town or Sunday mornings that started at 10am. After all, my best friend didn't even exist back then. And now, here she is in the flesh. She tells jokes and laughs at mine. She draws special pictures for me. She always asks me to pull my chair next to hers when we eat so that we can sit next to each other. Sometimes she picks my clothes (she particularly partial to an orange shirt with a picture of a cow that says "I (Heart) Vegetarians", a clever nod to my vegetarian wife--thanks Barna Pehi!). She invents new games and teaches me how to play them. She genuinely misses me when I have to go into the office or when I say goodnight to her. I've blogged in the past about the opportunity to fall in love again, but this is something different. It's about simply enjoying someone's company. I've had a lot of close friends in my life, but nothing quite like this. I imagine our relationship will evolve at some point in time and she'll increase her independence until she eventually decides she doesn't really need her dad around much. And once her sister does the same, I'll get my freedom back to resume my fun 90s behavior. And the day I realize that has happened, I imagine you will get to read a blog about one of the worst moments of my life...
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