Archive for the ‘
The Dadabase ’ Category
Thursday, May 16th, 2013
2 years, 6 months.
Dear Jack,
I no longer have a 2 year-old son. As of today, I can start referring to you as my “2 and a half year-old.”
You are just as close to your (assumed) monster truck & dinosaur themed 3 year-old birthday party as you are to your Thomas the Train themed 2 year-old birthday party.
I look at you now and see how you’re clearly looking more like both Mommy and me.
Sure, the (now darkening) blonde hair and blue eyes are still a surprise, but gone are the days when I would write about how you don’t really look like either of your parents.
Something I was thinking about this week is how in classic sitcoms, by around the 5th season, the family would typically have another child, to better engage the audience with fresh new story lines.
From there, the next season would feature the zaniness of life with a new infant and baby. Then magically, the following season, that toddler who could barely talk instantly became a wise-crackin’, catch-phrase coinin’ 5 year-old.
In other words, producers of classic sitcoms evidently had reason to believe that the ages between about 2 and 5 were not interesting enough to entertain.
Okay… here we are. Let’s find out. As a 2 and a half year-old, falling in the category of what I call “the flyover years,” will life still be interesting? Will you still be just as funny and entertaining to Mommy and me as you’ve been for the past 2 and a half years?
I’m thinking yes.
I’m eager to prove writers of classic sitcoms wrong, as if that’s even a thing that matters.
If you were a character in a family sitcom in 1988, you would be replaced today by a different, older actor.
Well, I’m keeping you. I predict life won’t skip a beat, even if you’re entering the flyover years.
Love,
Daddy
Wednesday, May 15th, 2013
2 years, 5 months.
Dear Jack,
When I starting writing yesterday’s The Thought Of A Male Daycare Worker Weirds Me Out, it was meant to be a simple story about you calling me “Miss Daddy.” Instead, it took a random turn by the 5th sentence:
I broadcast my opinion (which has now proven itself to be unpopular and undefended) that the thought of a male daycare worker is weird.
In case it matters, I am referring specifically to a (hypothetical) full-time male daycare worker in the 2 to 3 year-old classes.
The main reason this concept is “weird” to me is because I find it strange that a man would choose to work full-time with children who are still potty training, but who still need their diapers changed.
It just seems like there wouldn’t be that many men wanting that job.
However, I could totally see a part-time storyteller/music man/entertainer who “floats” around to all the classes, regardless of a child’s age group.
Technically, a person’s opinion can’t be wrong. But there were definitely some things I predicted about how other people feel, which I realize now, were wrong.
I was wrong to think that a lot of other parents feel the same way as I do about this. They don’t.
Here’s a quote from yesterday that is completely off with reality:
“I think it’s one of those nearly irrelevant conversations that could cause quite a stir on Facebook, but in reality, I would bet most moms and dads would agree that they wouldn’t feel comfortable with a male worker at their kids’ daycare.”
Wrong. That’s not true. That’s not how they feel.
That’s how I feel.
And honestly, it’s not a belief I am passionate about or am interested in talking about again.
Back in college, I worked in after school programs and taught elementary school during the summers. I am so in favor of men having an active role in young children’s lives.
Even so, for me personally, the thought of a man working full-time in a 2 to 3 year-old daycare class seems a bit bizarre. But who cares? After all, I’m referring to a hypothetical person who doesn’t work at your daycare.
Now back to our regularly scheduled programming about dinosaurs and monster trucks…
Love,
Daddy
Tuesday, May 14th, 2013
2 years, 5 months.
Dear Jack,
Sometimes you call me “Miss Daddy.” Slightly less funny is the fact you call Mommy “Miss Mommy.”
Given that most of your daytime hours are spent at school, it’s easy to understand that how natural it could be for you to want to call me “Miss Daddy.”
(That’s somehow a pretty fitting term for you to use, considering Mommy and I just bought you a pink sports coupe with a silver skull on the front, named Bone Crusher.)
It’s not like there are male teachers at your school, to familiarize you with the term “mister.”
Actually, I’ve never thought about it before, but my honest feelings about there being a male teacher at a daycare… that would be pretty weird and I wouldn’t feel comfortable with it.
But hey, that’s all speculation anyway. I suppose it’s simply me being gender biased in that I only feel comfortable with the thought of female teachers at your school.
Now that I’m thinking about it, though, I would imagine that if your daycare suddenly hired a male teacher, there would instantly be a good number of parents pulling their kids out and moving them to another daycare.
I think it’s one of those nearly irrelevant conversations that could cause quite a stir on Facebook, but in reality, I would bet most moms and dads would agree that they wouldn’t feel comfortable with a male worker at their kids’ daycare.
A lot of people would like to believe that gender equality in the work force is always an attainable thing, but the free market tends to decide otherwise. I predict that male daycare workers are bad, or at least a gamble, for most daycare businesses.
I’m sorry, but I’ve been conditioned to distrust men I don’t know around little kids; especially my own. If I wasn’t weirded out by the thought of a male daycare worker, then I would be weird.
Love,
Daddy
P.S. I published a follow-up to this 24 hours later called How I Was Wrong About Male Daycare Workers, which discredits much of what I said here.
Monday, May 13th, 2013
2 years, 5 months.
Dear Jack,
You have officially learned to spit. That’s both a good and a dangerous thing.
It’s good because it’s an important part of brushing your teeth. It’s a dangerous thing because I have to trust that you’re not going to spit at an inappropriate time or place.
I guess I make it more alluring for you to want to spit because over the past couple of months, I have taken up the Indian folk remedy of “oil pulling.”
Yes, I know it sounds weird. But two or three times a week on the drive to school, I swish coconut oil around my mouth for 20 minutes (it helps serve as a natural mouthwash and preventative of headaches for me) and then at the Nippers Corner crossing, I spit the coconut oil out my car window.
I always feel bad for whoever’s in the car behind me, especially if it’s a woman. I’m sure they assume I just got sick.
Each morning as you and I are getting ready to leave the house, you always ask me, “You gonna put that stuff in yo’ mouth?”
Watching me do my oil pulling is normal to you by now. However, I don’t think you’re totally clear on when it’s okay to spit.
With that being said, this past weekend on Mother’s Day, when Mommy told you that you couldn’t have a 2nd granola bar, but instead that you’d have to eat more of the main lunch she prepared for you, you acted like you were about to spit at her.
After I put you in a time-out session providing me with enough time for finish my own lunch, I had you apologize to Mommy:
“I sorry, Mommy.”
You saw how important it was for you to apologize, so then about 10 minutes later, you apologized to Mommy again.
Within the hour, you had begun using “I sorry, Mommy” as a new way to ask for things.
“I play with Play-Doh? I sorry, Mommy.”
I guess it’s an interesting spin on the saying, “It’s easier to ask forgiveness than to ask permission.”
Love,
Daddy
Thursday, May 9th, 2013
2 years, 5 months.
Dear Jack,
If weather permits, Mommy and I are taking you to the zoo this weekend.
However, I think you’ve made some assumptions about what will be on exhibit there.
As I walked you into school this morning, you couldn’t hold in the excitement:
“We see dinosaurs at the zoo!”
It was at that moment this occurred to me: You have no idea that dinosaurs haven’t existed on this Earth in a very long time.
Really though, why would you not think dinosaurs are still around?
After all, I just bought you a plastic T-Rex to wrestle your monster trucks. Therefore, you have assumed that dinosaurs and monster trucks are age-old rivals.
It doesn’t help that over the weekend you watched an episode of Transformers: Rescue Bots, as well as the 1981 animated Spider-Man series, where the plot involved dinosaurs coming to life in modern day, causing chaos and therefore invoking the help of the good guys to save everyone.
When your teacher, Ms. Lauren, asked you what else besides dinosaurs you are excited to see at the zoo this weekend, you quickly responded: “Trucks. Fire trucks.”
Son, this may be a very disappointing visit to the zoo. Hopefully, I can pass off the iguanas as “baby dinosaurs.”
It’s just that I feel compelled to protect your belief in dinosaurs. I kind of don’t want you to find out the truth about them.
So that’s what will happen. I will encourage and build up your version of reality where dinosaurs are still alive in the world. Because honestly, that sounds like a pretty cool version of reality. Who am I to mess that up for you right now?
Love,
Daddy
