Dad Solo*

Swinger

2012-02-04T22:23:00.001-08:00

NJ's first solo spin on the big-girl swing wasn't the most exciting thing ever, but dang if she don't look good in them shades, huh? (Be sure to watch through the end, the shadow in the lower left has a special hand sign for you.)

This looks like a lot more fun when other kids are doing it, Daddy.

Case Closed

2012-01-20T11:28:00.000-08:00

Ever since NJ and I opened the Curious Case of the Jimi Hendrix Flying Honeybee Eyeball, I've been careful to wear the offending t-shirt under other clothes so's not to alarm her. If you're too lazy or obstinate to click on that link -- the kid was afraid my t-shirt with this on it:

Yesterday I pulled off a sweater, forgetting that I was wearing the Hendrix eyeball T underneath. But instead of getting frightened, NJ looked at it curiously, with a hint of a grin, and said "What's that?" I explained it, she studied it a few moments longer, then went back to her Play-Do. It appears that, at long last, the house is once again safe for flying eyeballs.

Don't know if this exchange had anything to do with NJ saying later on that she wanted to eat her mommy's eyeballs.

Beware The Ghost Of Christmas Just Very Recently Passed

2012-01-01T14:15:00.000-08:00

When NJ and The Wife wake up from their respective naps, the Christmas tree will come down and the holidays will officially be over (don't tell my boss, though, because I have tomorrow off). The season didn't flash by quickly for me, as it has the past few years, but I'm always a little surprised when Jan. 1 and 2 roll around and I look back and say "Well, it's over" to myself. We just relegated the dead Christmas tree out to the side of the house, so it's all official and stuff: 2012 has started.

The best part of the h0liday season was NJ's complete and total warming up to my parents -- she got over her well-documented shyness in a big way. I knew things would go well when NJ, unprompted, crawled into my father's lap, spun around, sat down and put her thumb in her mouth. She'd glance over at him occasionally, and they'd smile at each other and she'd return to contently sit and suck her thumb. That set the tone for the week, right through to the morning they left for Houston and we got NJ up at a very early hour to say goodbye. It's been a little tough for her to get to know Grandma and Dad-Dad since they live so far away, but finally the shyness levee broke and the valleys of their hearts were flooded with deadly, raging love and affection.

The Wife and I managed to slip out a couple of nights for dinner, which was nice, too. NJ really raked it in, gift-wise -- a couple of days before Christmas I looked around and realized that yes, she was getting way too much stuff. Again.

The new year kicked off with The Wife laid low with some kind of 24-hour stomach bug and me limited by a sore back, but NJ was a pretty good kid on Jan. 1. She and I played and watched TV (thanks to a concert we saw, she now knows how to say "The Rolling Stones," and she can "whoo-whoo" like a pro during "Sympathy for the Devil") while her mom recovered (she's fine today). The only real glitch for NJ came today, Jan. 2, when her mom broke out the vacuum to clean up after we chucked the tree out of the house. The kid does not care for the noise that comes from the vacuum cleaner. At. All. I was able to successfully distract her with videos of Bert and Ernie on the YouTubes.

So from us to you, whoever the heck you are, Happy New Year!

NJ Takes A Meeting

2011-12-11T09:24:00.000-08:00

NJ was looking forward to meeting Santa Claus at a Christmas party last night -- we talked about it on the drive over to our friends' house. Once we got there, though, Bashful and Shy took over and the kid wouldn't leave her mother.

We went on with our party business, and at one point NJ and I were in our hosts' son's room with some other kids, playing with his train set, when I said "Hey NJ, are you ready to tell Santa what you want for Christmas now?" "Yeah," she replied, and she walked out of the bedroom and around the corner to Santa's area. When I caught up she was standing in front of him, then she climbed up. She didn't say anything to him (and she didn't have any requests for him anyway), but she spent a few minutes with him and managed to smile some, too (not pictured).

This guy ain't fitting down our chimney, Daddy ...

The World's Most Underrated Toddler Milestone

2011-12-09T07:50:00.000-08:00

I taught NJ how to make the "thumbs-up" sign last night. It took her few moments, but once she was able to corral her fingers properly, success! She actually used her opposite hand to mash her fingers down to nail it the first time. Once she got that down it was easy to make another and give the double thumbs-up. That's how she sent me off to work this morning, with the double thumbs-up.

And don't worry, NJ only does the good thumbs-up:

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Not the bad thumbs-up:

Duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Free Candy! Free Candy!

2011-10-30T09:26:00.000-07:00

NJ's first trick-or-treat excursion took place yesterday on a few blocks up from our home, where businesses throw open their doors to little goblins and superheroes for a few hours in the afternoon. Our Butterfly Witch trudged up the steep hill that leads to Greenwood Avenue for the first time.

Just hang on to the hat, Mommy. I'll let you know when I need it.

The walk uphill wore her out a little bit, and for the first few stops she was a little cranky. She also wasn't completely up to speed on how the whole trick-or-treat thing works to start -- her skills improved ten-fold as the event wore on.

So I can just reach in here and take anything, is that what you're telling me? I can just take it and move on to the next free candy distributor? Really, now?

In particular, once NJ realized that people were just giving sweets away she started approaching doorways confidently and not reluctantly. And when it sank in that she could keep all of her candy in her orange bag, she stopped insisting on carrying each piece in her hand (this happened, of course, when the candy-holding capacity of her hands reached critical mass and she couldn't hold another piece). And perhaps the biggest lesson of all -- you don't have to bite and chew lollipops to enjoy them.

This sucker might last all day!

NJ is a very discerning trick-or-treater, often spending a minute or so deciding just which piece of candy to pluck out of a big bowl. She was so into it that she had to be steered clear of one bag of treats because it belonged to another trick-or-treater.

The last stop on the hour-long tour was at an ice cream shop that opened a couple of weeks ago (they didn't exactly hit their "Opening for summer!" goal), where the kid and The Wife sampled some pumpkin-chocolate chip ice cream. The reviews were positive, especially when the chocolate was discovered.

Oh yeah!

The real test comes tomorrow night, when Butterfly Witch hits the neighborhood for the first time. I'm hoping she gets lots of Reese's and Snickers. Because at Halloween, dads are like mob bosses -- they get a hefty take.

Kids Say The Darndest @#$%&! Things

2011-10-23T09:43:00.000-07:00

Today I awoke to hear NJ talking to her mom downstairs:

"You can kiss me on the butt!"

Turns out she'd injured her fanny and The Wife had offered to give her a kiss -- but on the head. NJ didn't understand why, in this case, the healing smooch wouldn't be applied to the point of injury, as per usual.

Looking forward to NJ saying the same thing, but with different intent and vocal inflections, when she's a teenager.

Glenda The Good Witch Was A Child Once, Too, Right?

2011-10-17T15:48:00.000-07:00

NJ put her Halloween costume on this past weekend for a reunion with four other toddlers who were about to be born when their parents all met at a Lamaze training weekend in late June 2009. (Worst. Sentence. Ever. I know. I'm listening to the new Tom Waits and feeling a little semi-discombobulated.) (Semi-discombobulated in a good way.) Here's what she looks like this season dressed as, in her words, a "butterfly witch":

I told Mommy and Daddy I'd turn them into pumpkins if I didn't get a cookie. I TOLD THEM!

The butterfly witch partied with a monster, an octopus, a bumblebee and a butterfly. Everyone had a grand time, as far as I know, and our hostess deserves a hearty round of applause. It's been really nice to watch our kids grow up simultaneously for the past two years -- why, it seems like just yesterday blah blah blah. All the parents are good people and it's fun to compare how our kids are growing up, get advice (POTTY TRAINING was a big topic), brag on your angel and listen to them brag on theirs.

NJ scarfed a couple of muffins, threw a mini-tantrum when the notion of sharing a toy didn't appeal to her, did a lot of charming stuff, and changed out of her dress and into clothes more appropriate for outdoor play:

Don't you just hate it when an octopus blocks your way on the slide?

This year will be NJ's first experience with trick-or-treating on the block, and I'm looking forward to it more than she is (obviously, because she doesn't know now to read a calendar yet, but still). For years I've been opening my door, dishing out candy, and looking over the kids' heads to the sidewalk. Where the parents stand, beaming and watching their little one get gifted with handfuls of sugar.

Speaking of candy -- don't skip any two-story houses (last item on list).

Bloggrolling III

2011-10-14T10:07:00.000-07:00

More jibber-jabber from yours truly.

And The Student Becomes The Teacher

2011-10-05T10:36:00.000-07:00

For months now I've been relentlessly quizzing NJ on virtually everything:

"What color is that?" (Typical answer: "Geen." Or, "Red." But no more "o-shon" for orange, which is good but kind of makes me and The Wife wistful for simpler times.)

"What is this?" (Typical answer: "A doggie." Sometimes, "A yellow doggie.")

"Who's that?" (Typical answer: "Mommy!" Also: "NJ!" when presented with a photo of herself. I've used that one so much that yesterday she said "NJ!" before I even turned my phone around to show her the pic.)

"What does this do?" (Typical answer, if we're talking about her Curious George jack-in-the-box: "Monkey comes out of the box.")

With all the questions, I should have been wearing this for the past several months.

So this morning, when we were both sitting on the couch bracing ourselves for the day ahead, the little dickens snatched the pebble from my hand.

"Who is Yo Gabba Gabba?" NJ asked me, beaming and pointing to the TV show, currently her favorite, that she was watching.

The host was on the screen, so I answered "DJ Lance?"

"Right!" she said triumphantly before turning back to the TV. And I swear I saw a little flash of pride in her eyes. She probably thinks I'm developing quite nicely (but could put out a little more effort).

BOOM! Consider the tables turned, Dad Solo!

Princess Sunshine

2011-10-01T22:10:00.000-07:00

We started out with the best of intentions today, getting in gear early enough to hit a farm for some animal-related fun, then have a nice lunch out, then get home in time for NJ's nap. At which point The Wife and I were supposed to plot out a fantastically fun thing to do in the late afternoon. It was gonna be great!

Things started to look iffy when we left Seattle, which was gray but dry, and crossed to the east side of Lake Washington, where it was much grayer. And wet. And when we got to Issaquah, which we had to drive through to get to the farm, we ran headlong into Salmon Days, which shuts down a pretty big chunk of the town. Long story short, we ended up driving around for almost 90 minutes. For NJ, of course, that's 90 minutes of sitting in her car seat behind us. My heart went out to her.

My heart went out to her so much, in fact, that after we had lunch, I made sure she got a mini-cupcake for dessert. She loved this, and I think it bought The Wife and I a fair amount of goodwill.

At home, the end of NJ's nap coincided rather unfortunately with the start of a football contest waged by the Good Guys, so I was out of contact for a while. (Hey, they only play 12 or 13 games a year. Give me a break.) The Wife and NJ ran to the supermarket, and when they got home I one-eye-on-NJ-one-eye-on-the-Horns'ed it for a while. As dinner approached, the cupcake goodwill must have run out. She got a little tetchy, and once dinner was served she chowed down something fierce. Then bath, stories, milk, and bedtime. All went smoothly.

Point being, The Wife and I let NJ down today in the things-to-do department, and she ended up bored out of her mind. Still, though, she was a heck of a trooper, maintaining her Good Girl status most all day long. Lots of smiles and laughter and overall good-naturedness. So good-natured that, at the supermarket, she did things like this:

When life gives you pumpkins, make pumpkinade.

Hopefully we'll come through tomorrow with an action-packed day of adventure for her. Or, at the very least, a couple of min-cupcakes.

Abso-fruit-ly!

2011-09-24T17:15:00.000-07:00

When I suggested to The Wife that she take NJ out to the backyard and pick up the pears that had started to fall from the tree, she assumed it was a cynical ploy on my part to get them to do that chore instead of me. Sure, she was right about that, mostly. But I also thought it'd be fun for the kid.

And it was! She scooped up a bunch of "pay-ears" and found a couple of nice, clean, healthy pears she wanted to eat. I joined them (after the hard work was done, natch) and lifted NJ up so she could pluck a couple of fruits from the branches. NJ dug that a great deal.

Once inside, hands and pears all washed, she enjoyed the fruits (literally! Ha!) of her labor.

All the sweeter because I picked it myself, Daddy. All the sweeter.

Maybe the kid needs a butter churn or a pasta maker for Christmas.

... And Now, Back To Our Regularly Scheduled Programming

2011-09-20T21:23:00.000-07:00

As many of you know, I've been somewhat preoccupied the past few weeks -- wrecking my family's vacation and sweating buckets and coughing up blood and so forth. Things are close to back to normal now, and hopefully I'll be blogging frequently very soon. The kid has taken one of those exponential personality leaps lately and there's much to tell.

Meantime, to tide you over, here's an appetizer: An adorable kid eating a cupcake.

She ... wore ... bluuuuuuuuue iii-cing ...

There are more of these, right?

Lots more, I hope. Bring them to me.

It's Hard Out Here For A Toddler

2011-08-31T22:04:00.000-07:00

NJ's been taking a pounding lately.

Yesterday she came home from day care with an accident report describing a trip-and-fall into a cabinet. She also brought home this forehead shiner:

Photo intentionally blurred to project a disconcerting sense of movement, in an effort to fully capture the essence of an NJ bath.

She and I played downstairs, and as she stewed wooden carrots in a wooden pot I groaned and said, "Daddy's got to lay down on the flat floor for a minute. My back hurts." NJ's face showed surprise, then she got serious as she pushed her hair out of the way and showed me her bruise. "I hurt my head! It hurt!" she exclaimed. I think she was a little excited to have something like that in common with me.

Then, as I was testing our new camera today, I snapped this shot and saw those shins. Let's count the bruises, shall we?

Hey, these graphics are a little crude, so tell you what: No charge for the graphics. You get them free, absolutely no cost to you at all.

She's a durable little thing, that's for sure.

And The Third Year Begins

2011-08-17T16:23:00.000-07:00

Two days ago the kid turned 2. It was a Monday, and the weekend we spent on Orcas Island, so we weren't able to throw her a birthday party. "But you know when her birthday day is, why did you plan an out-of-town trip just before it?" you ask. No, you don't really ask that, do you -- you know why we did that. Precisely so we wouldn't be able to throw her a 2-year-old birthday party. I'm sorry, Future NJ, but it's true. We just thought this would be the last time we'd be able to get away with no party, so we went for it. I'm sure by the time you, Future NJ, are reading this, you and swarms of your closest friends will have already had several fabulous birthday parties at the circus, the zoo, the Museum of Science, F.F. Woodycook's, the far side of the moon, and many other fun locales. And you had a pretty good birthday anyway, trust me.

NJ raked in the goodies, including this miniature kitchen, a guitar, a pile of books, some gear for her favorite doll (Babydoll) and a fun game that involves an elephant blowing butterflies out of its trunk. She also made a triumphant return to one of her favorite places in the city, the aquarium. Then it was fish for lunch (oh, the irony) and then home to the daily grind: She spent a lot of time in her new kitchen, aping things she's seen us do (OK, mostly The Wife) in ours.

You expect me to get dinner on the table and take care of this baby at the same time? I don't think so!

On the island, counting boats was her main focus, with some rock-throwing and sand-gathering thrown in, as well.

D'oh! Left the shovel in the car again.

The Wife and fondly recalled how hectic our lives were 730 days ago, and -- like most parents, I suppose -- did so with big smiles on our faces. Our first night on the island, she and I were sitting on the deck, just about to turn in, when a fireworks show started across the sound. We watched it intently -- it's literally been years since I had a good view of fireworks, which seems wrong somehow -- and I thought about getting NJ up to see it. We didn't though, because she'd been in bed asleep for a couple of hours by then (might not have mattered, actually -- she woke up around 2.30 a.m. and we had a rough journey to dawn). Still, I thought about her as I watched the show. After all, she showed up out of the blue, too.

NJ's Kulinary Korner, Part 3: A Real, Actual Kulinary Korner

2011-08-08T12:13:00.000-07:00

Currently under construction in the basement, this kitchen set -- a gift from her Connecticut grandparents -- will be completed this evening:

Funny thing is, the freezer already needs defrosting.

See that post in the middle, behind the sink and faucet? Dad Solo picked the counter up wrong yesterday and it broke -- it's setting with wood glue now and should be good to go later on today. But if the thing breaks again while NJ plays with it, let's not tell her about that, OK? I don't want to be the guy who broke her favorite toy (if it turns out to be her favorite) before she even got to use it once.

The Wife sent me on an errand yesterday afternoon, and when I got back she'd unpacked everything and started to assemble. And get this -- she wanted me to drop everything I was doing (Web-surfing, TV, etc.) and help!

Once it's finished, it will be covered by a bed sheet until next Monday, when NJ celebrates turning 2 years old. She'll no doubt throw the little pots and pans (not pictured) around and ask whether her play food is organic and local.

Now we'll need to build her a little woodworking shop, a little basketball court, a little scientist's lab and a little executive's office to make sure all our bases are covered.

NJ's Kulinary Korner, Part 2

2011-08-06T21:43:00.001-07:00

Today, NJ learned that there is a thing in the world that is a "chocolate milkshake." She finds them to be highly pleasurable.

The beginning of a beautiful friendship.

She's even confident that she can indulge in the occasional "chocolate milkshake" and not drink herself out of swimsuit season.

The 'before' photo.

NJ's Kulinary Korner

2011-08-01T12:19:00.000-07:00

It was a big week for NJ's taste buds -- the kid busted two new taste sensation moves on her palate, and refined a third that can be tricky for an almost-two-year-old to pull off.

First, the refinement -- her first experience with corn-on-the-cob came last month, and last night she proved that she's got it down:

Is it true, Daddy, that you can fashion this thing into a pipe once I'm done eating?

Now, the new stuff.

I've been wanting to take the kid out for sushi for a while now. Last week I spoke to a friend whose daughter is almost 4, and when that kid was 2 she was eating not only sushi but oysters on the half-shell -- something I didn't even muster up the courage to try until I was an adult. So this past weekend we lunched at a very good nearby sushi joint.

I would quote from the Tubes' song 'Sushi Girl' here, but I'm trying to rein my habit of making references so obscure that only I get them. As fun as that is -- and trust me, it's fun. Sometimes I really crack myself up.

NJ mostly stuck to tempura, rice and veggies, as we're well aware of concerns about potential shellfish allergies and mercury in uncooked or steamed fish (The Wife went semi-mad when she couldn't eat sushi during the pregnancy). But when I gave her a bit of my fatty tuna she scarfed it down and asked for more. And more. I had to get another order. It won't be a regular thing, by any means, but she's gotten a taste for it and found it to be good.

But the real action came Saturday when we swung by a the soon-to-be-open ice cream place a couple of blocks away. It doesn't open for a couple weeks, but on the weekends they've hauled out a cart and sold sample-sized cups (it's very good, too!). NJ got her first taste of ice cream, and if she could articulate a little better she'd tell you that her life has been irrevocably and forever changed.

"Really? This tastes like this? Wow! I could really get used to 'chocolate ice cream.'"

When you ask NJ to 'make your sad face' while she's eating chocolate ice cream, this is as close as she can get.

I forgive you guys for not giving me ice cream before. Just make sure it's always in the house from here on out and we're good.

The best part of the ice cream introduction? She had some for dessert two nights in a row, and both times I watched as she ate a bite, and another, and another, etc. until she just put her spoon down and asked to get up from the table. In other words, she ate until she'd had enough, then stopped. One day I'll have to ask her how she does that.

The Curious Case Of Jimi Hendrix's Flying Honeybee Eyeball

2011-07-30T14:18:00.000-07:00

NJ's been pretty moody lately -- The Wife put a comment on Facebook the other day lamenting the Terrible Twos and got a whole bunch of sympathetic responses (and warnings that the Threes could likely be even more Terrible ... so there's that) -- so we're doing what we can to tamp that stuff down without going whole-hog on the spoiling and caving in to every demand and whim. Sometimes it works; she seems to (finally) get the idea behind "just one more," for example.

But now it's really hit home for me how my actions can influence the course of events.

A few days ago I bought NJ the awesomest long-sleeved t-shirt ever, thanks to a discount at one of my favorite haberdashers. What 23-month-old wouldn't want to give major props to the man who taught the world how to play guitar? Ladies and gentlemen, I give you NJ and Mr. Chuck Berry:

"Daddy, I'm not going onstage until I have every dollar of my money, in cash, in a briefcase or even a dang paper bag. Otherwise, you gotta go out there and tell those kids there ain't gonna be no show tonight."

And, since I was already on the website, I figured I'd get a nice little something for myself, too. I had a discount, after all, but more importantly: I deserved it. So I did.

A couple of days ago NJ was on a real tear -- happy one minute, ticked off the next, then wailing, then laughing and crying simultaneously, the whole bit. Finally it was bath time and as usual I scooped her up to get her undressed and ready for the March of the Towel-Carrying Naked Baby down the hall to the tub. She'd been clinging to Mommy a bit, and as I put her on the changing table her cries for The Wife got louder and more insistent. Then she ratcheted things up to desperate. I laid her down and noticed she was looking at my belly with a heady mixture of fear, uncertainty and dread. I tried to soothe her, but the stink-eye persisted. I know, NJ, I know -- I gotta drop a few pounds, I get it! I thought. Then, with a quiver in her voice, she spoke as she gestured at my stomach:

"Honeybee?"

Bees are NJ's latest (and first, and only, as far as I know) scary fixation. The Wife started calling them "honeybees" in hopes of sweetening (ha!) bees' image with the kid. The PR effort has failed, at least up to now. Occasionally NJ will hesitate while playing outside because she saw a bee, or thought she saw a bee, or just associated flowers with bees and assumed bees were lurking.

But there were no bees in her room. What there was, though, was the new Wolfgang's Vault t-shirt I was wearing. It features this:

And the wind ... cries ... NJ

Yep, a tribute to the man who retaught the world how to play guitar (or tried to -- no one could keep up, really) frightened the dickens out of my kid. And it makes perfect sense that she'd associate this dodgy flying eyeball with another round, winged thing that can be scary.

Once I put two and two together -- and after I had a good chuckle while the kid lay uneasily on the changing table -- I pulled the shirt off, turned it inside-out and put it back on. And NJ's mood turned 180 degrees in a second: smiling, giggly, ready to continue our pre-bath rituals.

If it was me, I'd have been even more concerned that the flying eyeball was now inside my daddy's shirt, because just think of the chaos it could wreak there. But it wasn't me, it was her. And now I have to be sure to wear that shirt only when she's not around, or under a sweatshirt or something. Until she's old enough to appreciate Hendrix, of course. Perhaps her uncle will teach her to play "Purple Haze" one day and we can all head over to Capitol Hill, pay our respects and tell spooky stories about the Flying Honeybee Eyeball.

Maybe his eyes are closed because they flew away.

Now I'm looking over to the corner of my office, where a rolled-up poster is leaning against the printer table. Haven't gotten around to framing it or hanging up or anything, and now it's pretty clear that I won't be doing those things anytime soon. I guess it'll be safe to put it on the wall in, what -- fifteen years or so?

"It never got weird enough for me." -- Hunter S. Thompson

"It's too weird for me, Daddy." -- NJ

This Kid, With The Talking And The Speaking

2011-07-25T10:29:00.000-07:00

Some new favorite phrases around the house:

"I don't like that."

"I DON'T LIKE THAT!!!"

"My _____!"

"NJ's ____!" (Although "NJ's Daddy" has a nice ring to it.)

"No, Daddy."

"I want to watch Wiggles/Yo Gabba Gabba now."

Oh, my. It's going to be a looooong ... what, 16 years?

Shameless Blog Padding, Warholian Edition

2011-07-18T09:41:00.001-07:00

Very few records make it through the production process with a complete lineup of stellar tracks. The Boss has done it, a couple of times; the Stones and the Clash have done it (and double-albums, no less -- very impressive!); The Band did it. Usually, though, there's a song or two of filler: U2, for example, has never issued an album that didn't have at least one ignorable track, including these two masterpieces. And even what many consider arguably the greatest rock record ever gets a little bogged down by "She's Leaving Home," a song that, while I appreciate it more than I used to now that I'm an old man, usually gets skipped when the iPod dials it up.

Which is all a long-winded way of saying that this post is my "She's Leaving Home." But if you're a Dad Solo completist -- and OF COURSE YOU ARE! -- please forge ahead.

Andy Warhol. Never had much use for him, myself. He's one of The Wife's "Brush with Greatness" experiences (Manhattan street corner, a young assistant, a free copy of "Interview" magazine), and he gave the great Velvet Underground a platform -- these are two good things you can say about the man. On the other hand, he also made some truly unwatchable films (not even good, campy "bad" films that are fun to watch and riff on -- just terrible, excruciatingly awful films that can make you queasy) and that idiotic "In the future, everyone will be famous for 15 minutes" ethos that's made Kim Kardashian and her ilk household names. And ... that hair. Oh, that hair.

Something I've come around on lately, though -- much like my aging heart now has a soft spot for Paul McCartney (of "She's Leaving Home" fame!) -- is Warhol's silkscreen works. I've grown to appreciate the DIY ethos, and the bright colors. And when you get tired of looking at portraits of Andy's celebrity pals, there's always a soup can, Coke bottle or automobile crash for a change of pace. Maybe Andy would have won me over sooner if he'd had a compelling subject. Like oh, say, this:

Take a hike, Edie.

Yes, thanks to the Warhol Museum, there's now an iPhone app that lets you "silkscreen" photos. And thanks to me, that app now resides on my cellphone. You can expect to see a lot more images of NJ rendered in vibrant, soul-enriching, life-affirming day-glo. You're welcome!

"In the future, everyone will be famous for as long as their doofus dads insist on chronicling their every move on the Internet."

As you can see, I need to work on my technique a bit -- these are rather crude silkscreens, at least compared to something as elaborate as this. But don't worry, dear reader -- I'll work on it.

This Is Not How I Remember It From Before

2011-07-16T10:03:00.001-07:00

The Wife's trip to Portland this past week was the first time I've had to take of NJ by myself for an extended period in quite some time. And in that time, her personality and abilities have grown exponentially. It was a completely new experience.

Here's a rough timeline of events. Times that are bolded are exact; italicized means an estimate.

WEDNESDAY

4.45 p.m. -- I pick NJ up at day care. She doesn't seem to care that I'm not The Wife, who'd dropped her off that morning on her way to Portland. NJ doesn't rush to the door to greet me, though, as she sometimes does -- she's laying on a mat with a boy; she's playing with his feet, which are draped across her tummy. One of the teachers tells me that this boy has no source of income, no gainful employment, so I call NJ away from him and we leave. At the car, NJ says "Mommy at home?" I tell her no, and she wails. It doesn't last long, and soon we're driving home laughing and chatting and occasionally high-fiving.

What, me cry?

5.20 p.m. -- We pull up to the house. "Mommy inside?" NJ asks. I tell her no, and she wails. I hope the neighbors don't think I slapped her or something.

Inside, Mommy's absence is forgotten and we have a lovely time. After a hearty round of "Go to Bed" -- her current fave game, in which she puts two of her dolls to sleep in her crib and then joins them for a succession of 10-second naps -- NJ devours much of the hamburger patty with Provolone I make her, along with some pickle slices and quinoa. And a cookie, of course! NJ's bath is uneventful, other than me failing to keep her from repeatedly drinking bath water.

8 p.m. -- Hilarity ensues when I ask NJ if she's ready to "go to bed" and she cheerily replies "Yes!" She was thinking of "Go to Bed" and her smile fades to sour disappointment when I pulls the shades in her room instead of turning on the music. It was like one of those "Three's Company" episodes (all of them?) when Mr. Roper overhears Jack and Janet talking and thinks they're talking about sex when they actually were talking about getting their car serviced. NJ and I compromise -- I let her play a little "Go to Bed" and actually get out of the crib again for a little while, and she ... huh! I seem to have forgotten her side of the compromise. Anyway, at about 8.20 p.m. I try again and NJ's happy to settle down to sleep. I celebrate with a glass of wine and a couple of "Cheers" reruns.

THURSDAY

2.34 a.m. -- This is why I'm doing exact and estimated times, because 2.34 a.m. is burned in my mind as if someone wrote 2.34 a.m. across it with an acid-tipped pen. This is when NJ's cries on the baby monitor woke me up. It was 2.34 a.m.

2.50 a.m. -- She's still at it, so I head downstairs. A diaper is changed, a rocking chair is utilized, but every time I move to put NJ back to bed, she squawks. So ...

3.30 a.m. -- I put a row of pillows where The Wife usually sleeps in our bed, plant NJ in next to it, then lay down myself on the remaining mattress real estate. She's not going back to sleep yet, but she's calm and cool and collected. I can't see the clock because of the pillows, but after a lengthy stretch, the kid's out.

5 a.m. -- Dad's still awake! I crane my head and check the clock when a sleeping NJ kicks a tiny foot into my ribcage.

6.30 a.m. -- The alarm goes off. I dozed enough that I can't claim I got no rest at all. NJ's a little grouchy, but generally OK. Ninety later I'm driving back home after taking her to day care.

I'll let you know when I'm ready to leave for day care, Daddy.

4.45 p.m. -- On the way to pick NJ up, I admire a cool, vintage motorcycle parked around the corner, even though I'm not a "motorcycle guy." (What I am, on this day, is a zombie after being up most of the night.) At day care, NJ's teacher tells me she didn't nap well because of coughing. The drive home is highlighted by a trip through the car wash, which amazes a wide-eyed NJ.

5.45 p.m. -- NJ asks if Mommy's home and, when informed that Mommy was still away, crying commences. Once we're inside and NJ sees I'm not lying, crying becomes wailing, and "wailing" becomes the Theme of the Evening. Literally, the worst I've ever seen her. NJ wails through play time, dinner, bath (it was shampoo night, never a picnic under the cheeriest of circumstances), post-bath play time, and bedtime. A list of things that upset NJ greatly during this period includes (but isn't limited to):

Daddy asking for one of her many Cheddar Bunnies (not taking one, mind you, but asking);
Her sippy cup;
Getting ready for her bath;
Being placed in the bath;
Being asked repeatedly to sit down in the bath;
Getting her hair wet;
Getting her hair shampooed;
Getting her hair rinsed;
Being asked to get out of the tub;
Being presented with the wrong book during post-bath Reading Time;
Learning that it absolutely, positively is time to go to bed.

8 p.m. -- I walk out of her room, and within 20 seconds NJ has stopped wailing. She doesn't peep again for the rest of the evening. I eat some well-deserved ice cream.

FRIDAY

1.30 a.m. -- The roar of what sounds like a vintage motorcycle engine wakes me. It starts up and immediately dies. Whoever's trying to start this engine spends the next 20 minutes revving, or trying to rev, it. There is time for tinkering, then more attempts, and finally the thing starts. Then there's a good five minutes of roaring engine noise, as if someone was hot-rodding a vintage motorcycle up and down the street. During this 45-minute ordeal, not one sound emits from the baby monitor.

6.30 a.m. -- I walk into NJ's room and she's already awake, and ... laughing? Laughing! "Mommy's gone," she says, smiling. A good night's sleep is key to acceptance of bad news, apparently -- a fresher perspective and all that. She smiles and giggles through breakfast and eventually marches into day care with a determined jaunt. I must have pinched myself five times during this period.

10 a.m. -- The Wife calls to say she'll be home early today. I perform a celebratory dance in the basement.

Now NJ's got a little fever, so if she was coming down with something that certainly explains her wild behavior. I'm just glad The Wife's back. This morning, I didn't even hear it when NJ woke up at 3 a.m.

... As Easy To Learn As Your ABCs

2011-07-07T11:17:00.000-07:00

Who doesn't love giggly, funny-voiced childishness?

The kid's good, too.

This El Emenopee character sounds a little sketchy. He was one of Don Quixote's arch-rivals, right?

Overheard At The Dinner Table

2011-06-30T18:53:00.000-07:00

"Daddy's funny."

Cheers to a job well done, Dad Solo!

Half-Formed Reflections On The Occasion Of Dad Solo's Second Father's Day

2011-06-19T10:43:00.001-07:00

I'd been looking forward to Father's Day a little more than I thought I would after becoming a self-declared expert on fatherhood, and this morning didn't disappoint. I woke to the sound of NJ and The Wife coming up the stairs, and opened my eyes to the sight of the kid's beaming face next to mine on the bed. Blueberry pancakes, a nice bottle of wine to enjoy in a decade or so, and this hand-crafted, one-of-a-kind, artisan place mat:

I also received a Father's Day card, but NJ confiscated it because of the cute puppy on the front.

NJ loved her pancakes, too, particularly once she realized how fun (read: messy) they'd be to eat.

I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. Tarantino!

I'd been a little blue around here the past few days because NJ has been on a cling-to-mommy jag that'd left me feeling a little out in the cold. (Turns out a dopey middle-aged man has relatively little control over the many quick-firing moods of a 22-month-old -- who knew? What's that you say: Everyone knows this? Ah. OK.) Perhaps NJ already gets the meaning of Father's Day, because it's been all hugs and smiles and delightful jibber-jabber this morning. In a few we're headed to Golden Gardens beach, where we'll brave the 55-degree June weather to build a few sand castles. I hope all fathers are feeling as happy and blessed as I am today.

The Bashful Show-Off

2011-06-08T09:19:00.000-07:00

NJ's grandparents' visit was a success, by most standards. Much like her trip to Texas, she started off all bashful and shy with my folks, but being on her home turf apparently made a big difference, because she warmed to them quickly (if not totally).

My mother got a lot of attention -- particularly when she broke out the cookie dough for a baking session after we told her NJ often holds the TV remote to her ear like it's a phone and says "Grandma? Cookie?" She was more coy with my dad, but thankfully stopped calling him "Grandma" in favor of "Dad-dad," his now-official grandparenting moniker. She was still extremely shy with him, but she always made darn sure he was paying attention to her, no matter whether she was in her crib or high chair or on the sofa or running around the living room. He got lots of smiles and giggles, and when he carried her to the table for dinner their last night here, it looked like they were BFFs.

Daddy told me the raw cookie dough is better than the finished product. And, sorry ladies, but he's right!

We (and by "we," I mean "The Wife") were worried that NJ wouldn't play nice with her grandparents when her parents went off to enjoy the song stylings of a little musical combo from Ireland. We got her up unusually early that morning, cut her nap short and took her to the zoo in the afternoon, hoping she'd be worn out by early evening and we could get her in bed early before heading off to the concert. It worked, at least as far as we know; my mom and dad insisted they didn't have to check on her once all night. Flying two babysitters in from more than 2,000 miles away to see a show for which we held tickets for as long as we've had the kid -- it all worked out in the end.

Your mom loves you more, NJ, but she's loved Bono longer.

Yesterday I took my parents to the airport VERY EARLY so they could fly back to Tejas. NJ asked about them when she woke up, later, and again both when The Wife picked her up from day care and when they arrived home in the evening. And they came up again this morning in our breakfast semi-conversation. She's got Grandma and Dad-dad on her mind, which is good. She's got great taste.

Garden Gnome

2011-06-01T11:17:00.000-07:00

Her garden-centric grandmother is coming to visit tomorrow, so NJ used the Memorial Day weekend to get some of her planting done.

That thumb she's always sucking turns out to be ... green.

She points to the window box and exclaims "My garden" whenever she sees it now. Next up, I plan to teach her to use the lawnmower.

As Bugs Bunny Would Say, 'What A Maroon'

2011-05-31T10:32:00.000-07:00

Here I've been talking up NJ's love of Sesame Street and Elmo, in particular, for so long, and now there's this from the totally rational, thoughtful and commonsensical Ben Shapiro:

The book, published by Rupert Murdoch's HarperCollins is perhaps at its most condemnatory when accusing the creators of Sesame Street of attempting to brainwash young children. It quotes Mike Dann, one of the show's founding executives, saying it "was not made for the sophisticated or the middle class".
Early episodes featured the character Grover breaking bread with a hippie. Oscar, who lived in a rubbish bin, was supposed to address "conflicts arising from racial and ethnic diversity."
"Sesame Street tried to tackle divorce, tackled 'peaceful conflict resolution' in the aftermath of 9/11 and had [gay actor] Neil Patrick Harris on the show playing the subtly-named 'fairy shoeperson'," notes Shapiro.

I've been duped by plush puppets. Man, is my face red! (Embarrassed red, not fellow-traveler red, I swear.)

What are we to do with this rogue's gallery of Destroyers of the American Way?

Never puts his hand over his heart when 'The Star-Spangled Banner' is played.

Why, just look at how green this one is! Any doubt that he's a filthy tree-hugger?

'H' is for 'health care.' I guess he also has a 'D' for 'death' and a 'P' for 'panels' handy, too.

Hey, Oscar, get out of the trash can and get a job!

Is this guy's cape ... pink? Hmmmm.

But NJ's heart will hurt the most when she finds out that her favorite Muppet is part of this America-hating cabal:

OK, Elmo, let's see your birth certificate!

I just hope the Wiggles don't turn out to be a terrorist sleeper cell. (Although, frankly, I wouldn't put it past them.)

Chewing Gum For The Eyes

2011-05-26T15:29:00.000-07:00

We've been dipping our toes into the kids'-television waters lately, and I'm finding them to be chilly.

NJ is watching a few minutes in the morning, between breakfast and day care, and another stretch some evenings before dinner. Altogether it's not even pushing 30 minutes total, yet. NJ has three favorites, at this point:

The Wiggles
Sweet Virginia, do I have a healthy dislike for these New Zealand blokes. They're very annoying -- each has a trademark sweater color, they have vaguely dopey looks on their faces all the time, and their songs are The. Worst. Go on -- click on one of those videos and listen to the songs for at least a minute. Then, try to get it out of your head for the rest of the day. (SPOILER ALERT: You won't be able to.) The Wife takes NJ upstairs in the mornings while she gets dressed, usually around the time I'm pouring my first cup of coffee before heading down to the office. When NJ starts saying "wee-guls" and heads to the bedroom stairs, I quicken my pace, too -- in the other direction.

Yo Gabba Gabba
Another dad told me about this show, and while I've only seen it once ... I think it may be my favorite. Lend your eyes and ears to this and tell me that's not, if nothing else, interesting. As your lawyer, I advise you to start watching Yo Gabba Gabba heavily.

I, for one, welcome our new green-striped overlords.

Sesame Street
Still ranked No. 1. NJ loves the Cookie Monster, Ernie and Big Bird, but her favorite is still the little red dude. I like to bring NJ down here to the office to watch Sesame Street clips online, because you can hunt for some compelling special guests.

Still the one.

Light And Dark

2011-05-15T09:42:00.000-07:00

Not much posting here lately, I know. NJ has been busy, though -- she's been very affectionate lately, and on the flip side has been very tantrumy when something outrageous happens, like she doesn't get a second cookie or isn't lifted up onto the breakfast nook bench fast enough. Or get her shoes on her feet in a timely fashion. Or take her shoes off her feet in a timely fashion. Or ... well, you get the idea. She turns 21 months old today, but the Terrible Twos are alive and well at Casa de NJ.

It's been a back-and-forth week here weather-wise, and lots of light and dark because of what's going on at our house, and that theme is enough for me to hang this flimsy excuse of a blog post on. Today it's gray and rainy, but yesterday was a perfect Spring day that saw us heading to the playground at Green Lake to catch up with our PEPS friends. Of course, all the kids look adorable and in good health and cute as the cutest buttons ever buttoned. NJ particularly enjoyed her time on the swing.

Somebody's got a new favorite hat ...

The weekend before featured an equally nice day, so the fam headed to Gas Works Park for some fresh air and leisure time.

Every day should be like this. Every single one.

And on Mother's Day we went to the beach at Golden Gardens, where it was cool but still very nice.

Not pictured: NJ's experiment with a Hitler mustache made of damp sand.

The sunlight you see in these pics stands in stark contrast to today's winter-once-more gray skies, or the interior of our house this past week (up until Friday evening). We're getting the house painted, and all the windows -- all of them -- have been taped and papered up. It's been a little crazy-making for me, working at home; I've felt a bit like a terrorist in a safe house (minus the porn and Navy SEALs). The first day of blacked-out windows, NJ noticed right away and kept pointing to the windows and exclaiming, "Dark!" The second day she'd apparently had it explained to her by The Wife. When she said, "Dark!" I agreed heartily and then NJ looked at me with a serious look on her face, leaned forward and opined, "Paint the house. Paint the house."

The kids' picnic furniture I assembled yesterday is not seeing any action today, other than rain.

She's stringing together lots of words into phrases and sentences these days, but doesn't use them for long and resists Dad Solo's nostalgic "Hey, remember when you used to say "Paint the house," like a day ago?" attempts at recreating the very near past. Still, it's a lot of fun hearing what comes out of her yap. Yesterday she sat in my lap and watched an Elmo video on this computer, and at one point she looked up at me and, very seriously, issued two sentences of pure gibberish (except for "Elmo"). She arched an eyebrow and gave me a "Right?" look before turning back to the screen.

A Bib And A Rib

2011-05-03T20:49:00.000-07:00

After her introduction to barbeque in Houston, Texas, U.S.A. a couple of weeks ago, this past weekend NJ learned to eat ribs. What follows are some photographs of her with greasy hands, a greasy face, and a couple of ribs in the aforementioned greasy hands and face. And no, there's no barbeque sauce -- she's a toddler, not a heathen.

So, just eat the soft outside, right?

When Daddy eats a rib, he looks all dog-dumb and glassy-eyed, so I guess that's what you're supposed to do. Full speed ahead!

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaand here we go.

Hmmmm ... a little chin-stroking contemplation is in order, I do believe.

It's good! I like it. The skin is crunchy and peppery, and yet the meat isn't tough or overdone. It's a tangy, succulent taste treat. I give it four dirty diapers out of five!

Back off, Zeus! Don't even think about it.

(Not pictured: "Cookie ... one?")

Lord, Protect My Child

2011-04-30T10:11:00.000-07:00

I have a new favorite among NJ's books -- a slim little volume of genius called "Forever Young." That title sounds familiar, you say? It should -- the book's text is the classic, feel-good Bob Dylan song of the same name. America's greatest songwriter has penned many tunes that could be transformed into novels, but "Forever Young" is more of a hopeful Irish toast of a song, something the man wrote when he wasn't feeling quite his usual cynical, acerbic self. Paul Rogers does a great job of matching illustrations to the lyrics that are relevant, but not on-the-nose visual repeats of the words. Much, much better than some children's book penned by the personal assistant of a celebrity. Perhaps Rogers can come up with some drawings for "Ballad of a Thin Man" next. (Might keep the kids up at night, though.)

Forever Young

May God bless and keep you always
May your wishes all come true
May you always do for others
And let others do for you
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young

May you grow up to be righteous
May you grow up to be true
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you
May you always be courageous
Stand upright and be strong
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young

May your hands always be busy
May your feet always be swift
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift
May your heart always be joyful
May your song always be sung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young

My favorite thing about the book is when I read it to her, I can break into my Dylan impression (mid-'70s Dylan, as seen in "The Last Waltz," for example) whenever I want -- and it's completely relevant. "Foreeeeeeeeeeeeeeverrr yoooooooooooooooooooooong, Foreeeeeeeeeeeeeeverrr yooooooooooooooo-ooo-oooooooooooooooong, may yooooooooooooou staaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-aaay-haaaaaaay, Faaah-ev-ah yuuuuuuuuuuung." I am really, really good at that.

But enough about my favorite children's book, right? What's NJ's favorite book, you ask? Doesn't matter! I'm writing this, not her. Check back in 10 years, maybe she'll have learned to type by then.

NJ Has Two Grandmas

2011-04-26T20:29:00.000-07:00

We went to Texas last week to visit my parents, who were delighted to get the chance to spoil the little kid rotten. It was quite a time for NJ -- she was pretty discombobulated, but still managed to have some fun. The last time this set of grandparents saw her was way back in June, when our elaborate plot to have them babysit while The Wife and I got our Vertigo on fell through thanks to Bono's back woes. In the past 10 months, of course, NJ has blossomed into a completely different person. A person who didn't recognize Grandma and the man that, for the moment, we'll call "Grandpa."

First things first: On the flight down, NJ was a dream. We waited almost two hours on the plane while a repair crew fixed a dent in some part of a wing, and she was a trooper. Only once, after her lengthy nap, did she squawk, and it didn't last long.

Oh, Daddy, this 'heat and humidity' you keep talking about sounds divine!

At some point not long after we arrived, NJ assumed the role of the Shy Showoff. There was lots of flirting with my parents, but she wouldn't actually, you know, go to them. My father, in particular, was the victim of a lot of teasing -- NJ would watch him intently, and when she caught his eye she'd smile bashfully, cock her head and giggle. If he reached toward her, though, she'd turn her head and pull away. (She eventually turned her back on me, too, and would only consort with her mommy. Me, the guy who attended to her every need for the first year of her life. Sheesh.) NJ remembered that my mom is Grandma, but apparently thought the name applied to both grandparents because that's what she called my gray-bearded, mucho macho father, too. All week.

One day we went across the street to a day care center -- were Dad Solo himself graduated from kindergarten some 358 years ago -- to participate in the annual ritual of picking colored plastic eggs up off the ground and placing them in a basket. NJ and her mom hung around with some kids her age -- kids who were dying for some attention, apparently, because The Wife was overrun with children as soon as she stepped in the room. They waved books until she cracked one open and started reading. I went in next, and likewise was swarmed. By two cute girls in particular, Rain and Kendall. After hanging around for a few minutes, it was time to head outside for Easter egg hunting. NJ ended up with four, I think. Then, it was off for some real fun -- at a Goode Company barbeque joint.

Beautiful, right? Cute kid, too.

The next day we headed to Moody Gardens in Galveston, where NJ took yet another aquarium by storm, backing up and squealing when the giant seal swam right toward her in its glass-sided tank and watching intently as some sort of shark made the rounds in a different tank. She really started to show some travel fatigue here, though. The two-hour time difference, new surroundings, a new bed, a notable decrease in the number of available toys, problems sleeping, the climate -- these things all took their toll on the kid, and when we decided to wait another 15 minutes to see the penguins get fed, she tantrumed up right there on the floor. (There were lots of tantrums on this trip.) We hit a park that afternoon for some slide-and-swing action, one of two we visited that Dad Solo prowled as a youngster. NJ wasn't too impressed by that, though.

Daddy crawled through here decades ago? Who frickin' cares!

NJ had lots of fun on Saturday, when we journeyed an hour-plus to the other side of Houston to see Dad Solo's best-friend-since-first-grade and his family. Best friend's wife and two daughters went above and beyond playing with NJ, and they saved the hides of myself and The Wife by buying swim diapers so the kid could get in their pool. NJ loved it, even though she wouldn't leave her spot sitting on a step next to her mommy.

Go to the jacuzzi and cut sharp to the right, curl pattern in front of the inflatable turtle. On two!

That was her favorite part of the visit. Mine was when she picked up a male doll and said "Daddy," then a little girl doll she called "Baby," then a "Mommy" to round it out. She put Daddy on a dollhouse bed, then Mommy right next to him, then fussed around a bit before adding Baby right between them. Then she moved them all around and shook the bed and knocked all three dolls off of it. I marveled at her dramatic/artistic chops and keen insight into the familial condition.

When we got home we told my father that NJ had identified one of my friend's pieces of artwork as "Grandma." It was supposed to make him feel better (mind you, he took it all in good humor), but I don't think it did.

Sweetheart, that ain't no one's Grandma.

By the time we were ready to come home, NJ's sleeping patterns were completely whacked (the three of us slept in the same room, so I heard it all), and her pre-flight nap didn't do much good. At the airport, as we were saying our goodbyes, my father hugged me and reminded me that they're scheduled to visit us here in Seattle in June. "Every day between now and then," he said, "I want you to show her a picture of me and say 'Granddad' until she gets it." (So far, not so good -- although I think she may be working toward a "Dad-Dad." I hope that'll be OK with him.) Much like our first flying experience with her, one flight went really well and one flight went really not-so-well. And you've already read that the flight to Houston was a good one, so ...

Heat and humidity,' huh? The heck with that! No way!

So bad that I turned my iPod up extra-loud. So bad that we registered our first blatant "shut that kid up" stare from a fellow passenger -- blatant enough that we actually saw it. (Not "we," I guess, just The Wife. I missed it. If I'd seen it, I'd have had a chance to hone my It's My Turn speech.) Halfway through the flight she finally crashed and slept the rest of the way while some other toddlers howled and wailed. (Take that, dirty look-giving woman!)

After a day home Monday, NJ went back to day care today and, now, seems to be her old self again. As I mentioned, my parents are coming up here in about five weeks. Also, there's another trip to Connecticut coming later this year, to see The Wife's folks. At least two more opportunities for NJ to bond with her four grandparents. And to get it straight on the whole Grandma/Grandma thing. I'm working on it, Dad.

NJ NSFW

2011-04-15T11:58:00.000-07:00

It's fun watching as NJ picks up new words and phrases, even when she doesn't quite get it right. Orange, for example -- the fruit and crayon -- is "o-shon." And it's such a very confident, convincing "o-shon" that I've started saying it myself.

Not all of her misfires are as innocently adorable, if you've got a delicate constitution and get a case of the vapors whenever the occasional swear word hits your ears. Take her frog overalls, for example -- she knows that's a frog, but her rendition of "frog" sounds an awful like another four-letter word that starts with an F.

#$%&*!+=@(*#!^&! ... OK?

Similarly, NJ knows what a "clock" is, but she only gets four of those five letters correct when she says it. Which is why we don't ask her what time it is when we're out in public.

At least she's no "Landlord." (Cannot stress this enough: Do NOT click on that if you don't want to hear a foul-mouthed, adorable little girl in a funny comedy bit.)

Bloodied But Unbowed

2011-04-09T10:23:00.000-07:00

NJ came home from day care yesterday with an incident report detailing her fall onto a toy stove. Also, with a fat lip:

You haven't seen the last of me, toy stove. I'll be back!

I'm writing about it a day later because when she got home last night, NJ wasn't too upset about it (anymore, that is -- lately she's really stepped up her game in the tantrum department, so I'm guessing the accident scene was something else) and I couldn't get any decent photos of it. All I got was a bunch like this:

Fat lip? What fat lip? It's all seashells and balloons over here!

I'm sure the first thing you thought of is the first thing I thought of, too: Will NJ have a scar on her lip like Paul McCartney's? You know, the one that popped up after he had a moped accident? The one that was used as evidence by some that the 'real' Paul had died in a car crash and been replaced in the Beatles by a 'fake' Paul? Alas: Although it's on the right side, Macca's scar is on his upper lip, so it's not quite the same.

I want to fill the world with silly love songs, and you can't stop me because I have Beatle Immunity. Go on, look it up.

Even though he's second to last on my list of favorite Beatles (sorry, Ringo), Macca has a special place in my relationship with NJ. The story about why this song is a vitally important cog in our father-daughter relationship is too long, explainy and relentlessly sappy to sum up in a sentence here -- it deserves its own post, at some point. But every time it pops up randomly on the iPod we hold an impromptu Dancing, Smiling, Laughing, Hugging Festival. In fact, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to play that video and we're going to have a DSLH Fest right now.

Under The Radar

2011-04-02T20:22:00.000-07:00

The Wife's been out of town since Thursday morning -- she had to leave America on business -- and she returns tomorrow (Sunday) morning. I haven't mentioned it yet because nothing extraordinary has happened with NJ and me, other than a full metric ton of adorable cute stuff that, if I listed in full, would go on and on and I'd end up looking like even more of a proud, hopelessly smitten daddy than I actually am.

The Wife was particularly worried about being gone for a weekend day, but NJ and I handled it just fine -- both slept until 8 a.m., took a long walk to a great bakery -- cheddar scone for me, small baked custard cake for NJ -- shopped Costco, napped, shopped the supermarket, ate, bathed (her), and partied. We've had a great time together, although we can't wait for The Wife to return.

Dad Solo misjudged Costco-vs.-naptime a little bit, but everything worked out OK.

Random notes:

Other than a couple of expected tantrums -- food not coming fast enough, only one cookie proffered, the dreaded Shampoo Night -- NJ was the absolute picture of sweetness and light. I actually pinched myself once to make sure it all was actually occurring.
For the first time in her life, I caught a whiff of bad breath on NJ. Stale, stinky morning breath. Now, if I smell it on her another 578 times, we'll be even.
Her mastery of the English language continues to expand exponentially. The latest: She can say her name, and uses it instead of "bay-bee" when I show her a photo of herself.
Couscous is her favorite food of the moment. She requested "coo-coos" for dinner last night and ate it with breakfast, lunch and dinner today.
The buffalo-and-cheese patty melt I made her for dinner tonight? The dog loved it.
When I took a box of Annie's Cheddar Bunnies off the supermarket shelf today and showed it to NJ, she exclaimed "Bunnies!" and pulled the box to her, hugging it and, I think, even kissing it. An elderly woman on the aisle almost fell over with a Cuteness Blackout.
I think maybe my favorite thing ever is showing up to get NJ from day care and standing the big picture window, watching her play or read or sit, until she notices me. Then she kicks into action, heading first to the window with open arms and "Daddy!" on her lips, then to the door I'll be coming through. Once I pick her up, she beams and looks at her teachers and the other kids as if to say, "Yeah, I'm happy to see this big doofus because, gosh dang it, I love him." I hurt my face smiling every time it happens.

Daddy's got this single-parenting thing DOWN, suckas!

Someone Get That Girl A Harpoon

2011-03-26T16:51:00.000-07:00

After two beautiful, spring-has-dadgum-sprung Seattle days, it was only fitting that Saturday was dreary and overcast. That didn't stop us from heading out to a lovely little Queen Anne park. Once I mopped up the standing water on the end of the slide with a diaper from NJ's bag, she spent a good ten minutes doing what you can see in this two-minute clip. I've posted slide vids before, but I like this one because it encapsulates everything that's going around here lately, namely: boundless energy, lots of toddlerbabble, and a growing independence and determination to do things for herself. She kicks things off with an old favorite, though -- bringing all the lively action to a grinding halt and becoming non-photogenic as soon as Dad Solo whips out the camera.

Repetition is beauty.

After that NJ climbed on another play structure and did some dancing (no photos or video, sadly) and hung out with her mom. She also pretended to be on a whaling ship just off the coast of Nantucket in the 1840s. Or, maybe I was pretending that she was pretending to be on a whaling ship. Whichever it was (Psssst: It was the latter.), it made for some cute photography.

Batten down the hatches! Make sure the port-side cullery is skanded close to the torlator! Any slippage means the jib will deploy wide and loose, so the entire stern could mandilate out of control! Arrggh! Starboard! Ahoy, ahoy!

After this, the kid was gifted with some crayons and books, and then a delicious brunch at Barrio before heading home for a long, satisfying nap.

Socks Appeal*

2011-03-24T14:06:00.000-07:00

*I know, I know: Lame. Saw-wee ... OK?

Big doin's here last evening, when I took my socks off in my office! (My home office, where it's allowed and normal and perfectly OK to take off socks.) It didn't take long for NJ, who shut us in the office together by pulling the toddler gate closed, to grab one, exclaim "Peee-yew!" and hold her nose. (I wonder what The Wife has been telling her ...) We played at that for a few moments, then she laid down on the floor for a few moments of deep thought.

There's no ennui like toddler ennui.

Eventually she decided she wanted to emulate her beloved father's bare-footedness.

Later on, the kid was honest enough to acknowledge that her socks, too, harbored a rather unsavory odor.

Guess what, though? NJ's goal wasn't bare feet. I turned to my computer for a few seconds, and when I turned back to her, she was trying to pull one of my socks onto her tiny little foot. I helped her, and she laughed her fanny off so we did the other one. Then, I laughed my fanny off. She had a little Nancy Sinatra go-go boots action going, with my socks pulled up to her hips. For the finishing touch, we put her socks back on, over mine. The result was splendiferous!

Check it out -- four socks at once. Isn't it just the craziest thing ever?

Coming soon to a runway near you. When is the next Fashion Week, anyway?

Princess Addendum

2011-03-17T07:55:00.000-07:00

NJ's vocabulary is expanding daily, primarily based on things she sees in her many books. Other words she picks up from real life, and she's already learning that sometimes one word is not enough. She's figuring out what words go with other words. For example, one of her books has a picture of a pile of balls. Thanks to The Wife's reading and her day care playtime, NJ knows that "kick" (and a little kicking pantomime) goes with "ball."

Her best two-word phrases didn't come from a book, though. And while I don't mean this in a harsh way, they sort of expose her as a shallow, flippant, conniving little liar. Perhaps she has a future in southern politics.

Her new favorite word for the moment is COOKIE. (Yes, we have created a monster, with the help of the late Paul Newman, whose Fig Newmans are delicious.) In hopes of boosting her chances of being handed a Fig Newman, NJ now pipes up with ONE right after she asks for a cookie. She even holds up a pudgy little index finger to illustrate her point, which is that if she could have just one delicious fig cookie, all would be well. But here's the thing: She doesn't really mean it. Because once that cookie's been consumed, she's back at it: "Cookie! ... one" again, with finger extended. And when that second "one" cookie doesn't materialize, she instead chows down on the bitter snack of tears and heartache.

Her other common phrase favorite of late comes after she's slugged me in the chin, a new hobby she's picked up. Prompted by her manners-minded mother, NJ belts out a SORRY ("saw-wee!"), and then a beat or two later adds an OK for good measure -- it'll have to do until she learns "We're good, right?" But here's the thing: She doesn't really mean it. I tend to take her apologies at something less than face value because 1) She has to be prompted by The Wife, as well as my own chin-rubbing exclamation of "Ow!", and 2) her declaration of "Sorry ... OK?" is punctuated by uproarious giggling, and usually is followed by another smack to my face.

These are rapidly approaching the top of NJ's catch phrase list, but this is still the favorite. A few evenings ago we heard her stirring on the baby monitor. The noise escalated quickly, and suddenly she blurted out a rather desperate "No way!" and started bawling. It was the cutest nightmare ever.

A Swingin' Little Joint Where She Can Jump And Shout

2011-03-14T16:43:00.000-07:00

There was a time when NJ did not want to spend a single waking moment in her crib. Now, she's turned her bed into a dance studio.

The precise moment when the boogie started to explode.

The Fall Of The House Of Dad Solo

2011-03-12T11:44:00.000-08:00

This place has been a sick ward for so many days now that I've lost count. So much cold and flu medicine has been consumed around here lately that I'm worried about driving, lest I get pulled over and fail a DUI test. Ghosts of Black Plague victims have been walking our hallway, occasionally asking if we're "ready to go now." We've been so sick -- How sick have you been? -- that vultures are perched on the back fence, wearing bibs and scanning a wine list. I mean, we've been sick.

And, in a plot twist that should surprise no one, it seems that NJ brought it home from day care. She ran a fever of varying degrees for four consecutive days and had a bad cough, too (not to mention a molar coming in at the same time). I've been congested and had a sore throat and wicked cough. The Wife has had all the above and was hit the hardest, and became so desperate she sent me out yesterday to buy a neti pot . Thankfully for the child, she was already asleep last night when her mother used the pot for the first time.

Things have been so bad that The Wife had to abruptly shut down production of an adorable toddler video:

Worst cameo ever.

NJ recovered first (see above) and seems well and good now, but Man! there were some rough days. The difference between a sunny, delightful NJ who wants to walk and climb and explore and talk and a dour, cranky NJ who wails if you look at her wrong is so vast there aren't any metaphors to capture its essence. Me? I'm mostly OK, too (other than a tick in my throat). The Wife is still dragging, but hopefully the worst is behind her.

Slide, NJ, Slide! Redux

2011-03-05T18:59:00.000-08:00

The kid's attitude toward sliding has changed considerably in the past few months.

Maybe I'll Just Squint From Now On

2011-02-28T11:45:00.000-08:00

I put on my reading glasses yesterday afternoon so I could show the backgammon game on The Wife's iPad who's boss. I noticed that one of the arms was a little wonky, and remembered seeing NJ grab them off the coffee table a couple of times (I bribed her with her Elmo doll or something to get them out of her grubby little mitts). I announced to The Wife my plans to stop leaving the glasses on the coffee table, and she replied that NJ comes into the living room in the morning and immediately goes for the specs:

"She sees them and says 'Daddy!' and rushes over to grab them."

"Really? That's kind of cute."

"Yes, she did that today and then tried to put them on her face. Yesterday morning she tried to wear them around her waist."

"Really?? Aw ... heck."

So now I'm shopping for new reading glasses, because these will be on the coffee table -- I'm not messing with that.

The toddler trap has been baited -- now we wait.

(Although: NJ skipped it this morning -- these kids today with their long hair and short attention spans.)

Master Spooner

2011-02-20T18:29:00.000-08:00

The kid waffled between adorable smiling tyke (she smiles on command now, in fact) and cranky sourboots all day, but dinnertime was a revelation. She's been demanding a utensil during meals for a couple of weeks now, but me or The Wife always had one on hand, too, to do the heavy lifting while she dabbled. Tonight, though, she ate an entire cup of yogurt with a spoon, by herself, completely bib-free. It looked like this:

I'm trying out a yogurt fu manchu. Eat your hearts out, Luis Tiant and Ming the Merciless.

Sure, there's a smear of blueberry yo across NJ's face. But can you see the yogurt on her shirt? No? I'll wait while you get your glasses. OK, now: See it? Still got nothing? Yeah, that's what I thought. Darn right you can't see it -- the kid didn't spill but one tiny drop! One single, solitary, head-of-a-pin dab of yogurt. Let's blow that photo up a bit:

If you're rounding up, you'd have to say that she spilled *no* yogurt at all.

We don't strap a bib on her at dinnertime any more because whatever she's wearing is going in the dirty clothes hamper anyway. Clearly, though, in a matter of almost no time at all we'll be able to get rid of the bibs forever!

A Partial Treasury Of Beloved Catch Phrases

2011-02-17T16:00:00.000-08:00

"That's what she said!"

"Please pack your knives and go."

"I've made a huge mistake."

"Make it so."

"We're not in Kansas anymore."

"That's what she said!" (redux)

"No soup for you!"

"Whatchoo talkin' 'bout, Willis?"

"You cannot be serious!"

"Heeeeeeeeeeeeee're's Johnny!"

"No way!"

For Her Next Trick, She'll Need A Volunteer

2011-02-15T20:52:00.000-08:00

A little after 4 a.m. today we heard, on the baby monitor, NJ cry. It escalated, then stopped, then started up again with more force. I reached to the floor and grabbed my second pillow to put over my head -- The Wife would either get up and check on her, if it came to that, or poke me in the back to do it -- when the next sound we heard was a thump. A loud thump. As we both shot out of bed like someone threw a Molotov cocktail on it, I felt the silence and knew it was about to break. The calm before the storm -- it's always there when NJ hurts herself, a bit of dead air before the real fun starts. One second as her face screws up in anguish and she builds up a mighty roar. As I reached our bedroom stairs, the roar came. The Wife beat me downstairs by a few steps, so when I got there she was scooping NJ up in her arms.

The kid had climbed out of her crib and landed on the floor. She looked nothing like this photo, which was taken some ten hours earlier.

Apparently, thankfully, luckily, she must have landed on her feet or her butt, because she was fine after a few minutes and had no pains, bruises or marks. By the time I got in the room, she'd stopped crying, too. The Wife rocked her a while and put her back, but NJ was having none of it and eventually they both came upstairs for the rest of the night. None of us really got any more rest, although NJ fell asleep just about the time the alarm went off.

In the past week or so NJ's figured out to pull herself up onto some of our furniture, particularly the low-slung sofa in the basement and a couple of stuffed chairs. Two hands on the cushion, one leg hoisted up (this takes a couple of tries), then she pulls until the rest of her body follows. She has a little trouble with the living room sofa, but is quick with a "Help" and I provide the requested assistance. The crib's mattress was at a height that the outward-facing rail smack at the middle of her torso. We didn't think she'd be able to climb over and out because she still sleeps in a sack and doesn't have a lot of leg mobility. (Or so I thought!)

Today I lowered the mattress floor to a suitable height (or lack of height, I guess) and she's back to being a cute little kid in a wooden cage. Before I screwed it in tight and moved the crib back to its spot against the wall, we put the mattress and the kid in it to make sure it's going to be safe. (She danced to a Clapton track in there.) We're set for a few more months, and there's one more, lower notch on the thing for further adjustments. I guess we just sit back and wait for her to climb out and fall again -- then we'll know it's time to lower the mattress again, right? /I keed, I keed

So, not a great way for the kid to kick off her 1 1/2-year birthday. But all's well now, she's upstairs sawing logs in her newly sunken crib. Hopefully she'll sleep through the night -- she ought to, because last night she, uh, got up early.

How Can I Miss Her If She Won't Go Away?

2011-02-10T15:52:00.000-08:00

Well ... now she's really getting the hang of the whole "going away" thing. Por ejemplo:

I'm outta here.

There won't always be a closed gate at the end of the path, as there is here at day care. And there's only going to be a lot more of this to come. Walking away from me for her first day of real school, first date, off to college, to a new city/state/country, down the aisle, etc.

/Dad Solo feels very, very old
/realizes she'll be 1.5 years old next week, and it's already mid-February 2011
/feels even older
/starts missing grown-up NJ pre-emptively
/wipes away single tear, like that Native American chief who hated pollution
/sighs dramatically, wonders where time goes

With Apologies To Papa Hemingway

2011-02-07T12:31:00.001-08:00

The Old Man and the Sea

The Young Girl and the Lake

Thank You, J.J., For What I Consider Sound Advice

2011-02-05T10:59:00.000-08:00

About an hour ago a BabyCenter e-mail landed in our inbox entitled "Your 17-month-old: Week 4." These missives are occasionally helpful, sometimes interesting, often attempting to explain the obvious. This one caught my eye, though, because it starts off like this:

It will be a year or two before your toddler leaves most of his tantrums behind. Until then, expect to deal with outbursts of anger and frustration on a regular basis.

This caught my eye, because NJ has been on a tantrum roller-coaster lately. The apex came a couple of nights ago when I was pulling off her clothes before bath time -- she was in a foul, red-faced mood and stopped crying and wailing long enough to laugh every time I blew a mouth fart on her stomach. Her laughter lasted exactly as long as every raspberry; once it was over, laughter ended on a dime and wailing resumed. (Only the traditional "Ready for your bath?" query ended the tantrum once and for all. She responds to this question with a smile, a head-nodding "Yeah!", a roll-over on the changing table and an attempt to climb down that is clearly her going through the motions, because she knows I won't let her and will pick her up.)

Lots of things trigger tantrums these days -- The Wife's unforgivable failure to hold her indefinitely is a current favorite. (Sadly, my holding her instead doesn't seem to be the answer -- NJ accepts no substitutes.) So you can imagine the mix of relief and anticipation I felt as I clicked on the BabyCenter link to find out what to do about these tantrums. The first thing that caught my eye was the phrase "magic formula," but a closer read ended in disappointment -- these experts were not, in fact, passing on a sure-fire recipe, but rather telling me there was no such thing. Instead, I got this:

A tantrum usually burns itself out faster if you act neutral or even ignore it instead of responding with a sympathetic cluck or rational explanation. Once your child calms down, offer her a lap and a chance to regroup. Try distraction (rather than giving in to something you refused). Don't punish a tantrum. At this age, your child can't help herself.

So this one goes in the "tell me something I don't know" file.

These tantrums wear more on The Wife and I than they do NJ. Once they're over, she's all smiles and sunshine and rainbows. If one lasts long enough, and is loud enough, I don't stop thinking about it for a long time.

I would ask for advice, but 1) I get the feeling that, as bland as BabyCenter's take on tantrums is, it's about all there is to say on the matter, and 2) I doubt anyone can help because, obviously, we are the first couple in the history of parents to go through such a thing. Right?

The Apple Of My Heart*

2011-01-26T10:42:00.000-08:00

*Is that right? Seems sort of off.

I sort of fell in love with NJ all over again this week.

The Wife took an overnighter to Portland. It was the first time the kid and I have been alone for a long time (I started to actually look up the last time The Wife had to go out of town, but I'm lazy and semi-hopped up on cold medicine, so let's just say "a long time" and leave it at that). The time frame was short -- The Wife left mid-afternoon Sunday and returned Monday night, after NJ went to bed -- but NJ and I had a lot of fun. Nothing unusual: playing around the house, trip to the supermarket, kitchen dancing, bath and reading time, etc. What made it stand out from past Super Solo events is NJ's bursting-at-the-seams personality. (And the walking. The walking is definitely a difference. Man, is it a difference.) She's become an irrepressible force of nature who takes no prisoners, knows what she wants and how to get it, yadda yadda insert cliche here etc. etc.

NJ's vocabulary, for instance, seems to be expanding exponentially. "Hat," "bubbles," "moon," "Daddy," "Mama," "doggy" -- these are but a few of the words she has mastered. (And, of course: "Elmo.") The list of words that she's got a 75 percent handle on is even longer -- "quack" is "cack," for example, and "coat" is "co." (Actually, "CO!" is coat. I don't know why she gets so excited about putting her coat on, or watching me put mine on, but apparently it's a Big Deal.)

Now, though, my favorite word of hers is "more."

We were playing upstairs and I gently tossed NJ onto the bed to play Earthquaaaaaake, a favorite thing of hers from months ago that she seemed to outgrow. She lays on the bed, I loom over her and put one hand on either side and shake the mattress until she bounces up and down. Hilarity ensues, I stop, and just when she thinks it's over, another earthquake hits. Rinse, repeat, until my arms get tired or something comes up. So we played Earthquaaaaaaake and NJ loved, loved, loved it -- belly laughs louder than I'd ever heard before, and she actually lost her breath a little bit once. After three tremors I turned around and walked to my dresser for a water bottle, and behind me I heard NJ shouting "More! More!" I turned around and she was giggling and making the "more" hand sign she learned at day care.

I'd heard NJ say "more" plenty of times before, and seen the sign language a lot, but only when she was asking for food -- more yogurt, more cheese, more macaroni. But never in the context of playing, or entertainment, or anything I was doing. And since I'm an incredibly easy mark, I smiled big enough to hurt my face and rushed back to the bed for more horseplay. And for the first time ever, a round of Earthquaaaaaaake ended because I got tired of it, not her.

NJ missed her mom, I'm sure, and even called out for her at bath time Sunday evening, but she also had a great time with me. Sure, I might have cut some corners here and there -- I didn't wash her hair in the bath, which she hates, and her toothbrushing exercise before bedtime was probably the shortest on record -- but I don't care. We had a great time, and any worries I had about Super Soloing with a feisty, always-moving toddler vanished pretty quickly.

Which is good, because The Wife is abandoning us again next week for a couple of days. She'll be missing some pretty awesome Earthquaaaaaaakes, I'll wager.

For a day, at least, it was: Dad's up, Elmo's down.

Kayak Kween

2011-01-23T15:54:00.001-08:00

Yesterday we went to REI, and NJ decided to forgo watching me try on shoes in favor of playing in the kiddie area. Specifically, the kayak:

Someone get a paddle in my hands and water under this thing so I can get going.

We've made it a habit to get out as much as we can on the weekends, but this weekend ended up being lunch out each day (here yesterday, here earlier this afternoon -- NJ loves their guac, and will be eating her leftover fish taco for dinner in a little while) and yesterday's REI appearance. The weekend weather's been cold/wet/gray for a while now, so outdoor fun opportunities are somewhat limited.

The Wife just left for an overnight in Portland and wasn't too thrilled to be leaving her daughter behind for the first time in many months. It's the first time I'll have NJ all to myself since she's become a walking, almost-talking terror, so we'll see how it goes. Hopefully it goes well, because there The Wife has another trip planned next week.

Time to go.

I Was Born With A Plastic Spoon In My Mouth

2011-01-17T16:47:00.000-08:00

I wouldn't say that NJ has mastered using a spoon, but she's headed in the right direction.

I like The Who too, Daddy, but this spoon is made of silicone.

Once NJ realizes that she's got to hold the spoon upright on the entire journey from food to mouth, she'll be golden. Last night she dumped as much yogurt on the front of her dress as she managed to deposit into her gob. At bath time, I carried her into her room to change at arm's length. Today things went a lot smoother.

As you can see in the lower right, The Wife stands at the ready to help out -- there's been lots of two-spoon eating lately. NJ'll nail it down yet.

Her Latest Flame

2011-01-12T20:25:00.000-08:00

NJ has been swooning over a new boy lately. Well, he's not new -- my parents introduced them way back last summer. But it was only about a week ago that NJ looked over at him and said, "That's the man for me."

This little guy gets a thumbs-up from me.

Yes, NJ has a sudden, overwhelming case of Elmo Fever. She is head over heels for the red guy and calls out "Ah-mo Ah-mo Ah-mo" every time her eyes meet those goggly things on his head. She marches around hugging him tight, or maybe with him tucked under her arm. His Tickle-Me feature is a little tough for her -- you have to squeeze his belly surprisingly hard to get the little bastard to chortle, and she hasn't figured that out yet -- so The Wife and I help out sometimes.

NJ, give your little buddy a kiss! Aw, how cute ... oh, uh ... wait ... hey, that's enough. Really. Stop it.

There's even some Classic Toddler exaggerated wailing and flailing-fingers reaching if she sees Elmo and isn't in a position to immediately grab him. And it somehow manages to be both cute and irritating at the same time.

No photos, please. We're just "good friends."

Enjoy the ride while you're on it, Elmo. Soon she'll move on to someone else. There's an alligator, a Texas Longhorn, a meerkat, a six-foot-long caterpillar, three or four teddy bears ... well, you get the idea. They're all just hanging around her room, the basement and the rest of the place, just waiting to be discovered and hugged until their seams pop. Don't forget: Today's news is tomorrow's fish-and-chip paper.

DEMON CHILD

2011-01-07T17:10:00.000-08:00

Your Photoshop red-eye removal tool cannot help you now, father.

Charmageddon

2011-01-01T11:25:00.001-08:00

NJ apparently has decided that 2011 is the year she'll devote to honing her personality. And, judging by the last week of 2010, so far so good.

Her curious case began last Wednesday night when I was assembling our new kitchen island, an intricate little number that, early on, frustrated me no end. (Frustration at the end, too, when one part didn't work properly, but that's a boring story for another time.) To give you an idea: It took five minutes short of a solid hour just to unpack the thing from its box. Once that was done, there was some shaky assembly time (it called for two people); The Wife was busy with dinner and couldn't hold things upright so screws could be inserted and fastened. I fumed and steamed over this while NJ sat in her high chair watching. Suddenly, over the sound of the iPod buds in my ears, I heard her exclaim "Oh!" and laugh. Then she laughed again, longer and louder. And again. Waving arms, too. I pulled the earbuds out and she did it again -- it was fake laughter. "She's trying to cheer you up!" The Wife said. I smiled weakly at the kid and replied, "It's not working." The Wife chastised me for being a grouch and took NJ out of her chair. The girl immediately toddled over to me, beaming a smile, and latched tight onto my leg with a hug for the ages. Even a practiced sullen dork like me couldn't fight that. I didn't curse or grouse until NJ was fast asleep and we turned our attention back to the kitchen furniture.

Fast-forward to yesterday: NJ grabbed her ridiculously wide-brimmed Worcester Nor'easter rain hat and marched around the house putting it on and pulling it off her head, babbling her babble. Then, the booming, fake laughter again -- I don't know if other young children do this, but I've never seen it before. It's really something -- she does it and looks at you with a grin, and if you laugh back she breaks into the real thing. It looks like this:

Batten down the hatches, matey!

Then, it was on to the Seattle Aquarium. She's been there before, but yesterday she was ready to make the place her own. Once she got over an initial awe-struck phase, NJ was jabbering and pointing and staggering around, pointing at fish and watching enraptured as a diver fed them. We rounded the corner to an exhibit that features a wave simulator (and the requisite explosions of bubbles) and a lot of fish at her eye level. This one we couldn't get her away from for a long time. Finally we were able to convince her to move on, although we stopped there on the way out and she forced her way to the front (right) with the confident aplomb of a groupie at a rock concert (which I hope never, ever, never, never, ever, never ever comes to pass). Lots of other fish exhibits captured her attention, and the high point of the trip for me was when The Wife put her on the floor and she immediately and swiftly toddled toward an aquarium waving her arms and shouting "Ah-pee ah-pee ah-pee" to no one in particular. I think she learned "happy" at day care -- she certainly didn't learn it from me on kitchen island assembly night.*

*UPDATE: I'm reliably informed by The Wife that she taught NJ "happy."

Last night came the clincher. At our New Year's Eve dinner table, I noticed NJ looking at me and squinting her eyes, with her mouth in a weird half-open position. I dimmed the lights a bit, but she did it again and I thought maybe she got a bit of food in her eye or something. "Is she making fun of me?" I asked The Wife, getting a little defensive about my own squinty-eyed visage (although, as the man said, All the Best Cowboys Have Chinese Eyes). "Maybe so!" she replied, so I made the face back at NJ -- who gave me an approving arm-wave and laughed heartily (not that Ed McMahon overdone stuff, either). We made faces at each other for a little while longer, before I resorted to my usual dinner-is-over routine of juggling three clementine oranges for her before clearing the table.

NJ's always been a charmer, but it's fun to see her kick it up a notch or two. She's also won over Zeus, the timid dog who's scared of his own shadow. She's upstairs with her mom right now, but if she was here she'd want me to wish all of you a Ah-pee New Year!

Merry Christmas, Baby

2010-12-27T15:54:00.000-08:00

The 'J' in 'NJ' stood for jolly this holiday season. To wit:

My suggestion to you is that we commence with this festive gathering forthwith!

Mommy's sister gave me a drum! That makes two -- I'm that much closer to the sprawling uber-kit I've been dreaming of.

Of course, the box works pretty well, too, if you want some funky Tom Waits-style percussion.

DO. NOT. TOUCH.

Oh yes, this'll do nicely. If the drum doesn't wake Daddy up, this bad boy will.

A tee-pee, huh? How do you shut the door on this thing? I need some privacy.

I know it's not a hat, Mommy. That's why it's funny! Sheesh.

No, Mommy, YOU come HERE.

Time to unwind with some light reading.

But first, more drum work. Daddy, can you spot me while i climb up here Moon-style and trash the place? Thanks much.

Not pictured: NJ devouring Christmas chocolate. This kid loves her some chocolate; she only has eight teeth to this point, but apparently they're all sweet teeth.

If you don't see NJ enjoying a gift you sent her in these photos, don't despair. If you can measure that sort of thing by how widely they are spread throughout the house, she's enjoying every single thing she got. And if you didn't give her anything ... well, what's your problem, anyway?

Oh, not really! I've got too much stuff as it is. Seriously -- this place is a mess.

'Twas The Night Before ... Man, "'Twas' Is Such A Funny Word, Right? Always Cracks Me Up. Anyway, Where Was I? Ah: 'Twas The Night Before Christmas

2010-12-24T12:59:00.000-08:00

Last year NJ was four months old at Christmas, so there wasn't a lot of Santa's-coming-to-your-house-with-presents hoopla. I mean, she couldn't even sit up by herself without the aid of a Bumbo (right) -- so even though she made out like an adorable little bandit, present-wise, there was no need to go through with the Christmas morning ceremonies. (My family has always done Christmas the right way: We open presents from each other after dinner on Christmas Eve, then go to bed and wake up to more gifts -- the ones Santa brought from the North Pole because I was such a very, very good boy all year long.)

This year, of course, is much different -- the kid is a force in the house. Walking, jabbering, running after the dog when prompted, all of that. Today we found that, in the spirit of this blog's title, she's pretty handy with a light saber (actually, a cardboard wrapping paper tube). The three of us just spent a good fifteen minutes playing "NJ slays the parental Stormtroopers" in her bedroom. (Only now is it dawning on me that, basically, we just taught her how to attack someone with a sword -- if she grows up to be a samurai villian, it'll be no one's fault but mine.)

Prepare to get bonked.

Once we've eaten dinner and NJ is asleep in her crib, The Wife and I will mobilize. There are a few presents that need assembly, and we have to arrange things in the living room Just So to maximize the "excited kid toddles into a toy wonderland on Christmas morning" vibe that, hopefully, I'll be capturing tomorrow with the camcorder.

Hallelujah! She's Sick

2010-12-21T09:05:00.000-08:00

We got some good news today: NJ has two ear infections -- one for each ear!

Good news? Ear infections are GOOD NEWS? !)@&+%#*&#@, Daddy!

OK, maybe illness isn't good, particularly a double-barreled ear situation. But after a couple of days when I thought she was turning into the Awfullest Toddler Ever, at least now we know what's up with that. She's been wailing at the drop of a hat -- including early in the morning, which today meant that I had to get up a good ten minutes before my alarm was set to go off. (I know ... right?!?) She'd sit in her high chair and scream blue murder; she'd lay on the bed and scream herself crimson. Basically, she used every ominous color at her disposal to let us know about her discomfort.

Originally we thought it was a troublesome tooth coming in, but last night The Wife noticed NJ grabbing at her ear a lot, so she took her in this a.m. and the pediatrician handed down this diagnosis. Now NJ has been properly medicated and is asleep upstairs, The Wife is working from home, and I'm hard at work here in the basement office (or will be as soon as I finish this).

Duck My Life

2010-12-19T16:12:00.001-08:00

We took our quack-quacking NJ to Green Lake this afternoon for a little bread-on-duck action. We've done it a couple of times already and she loves to watch the ducks, seagulls and other waterfowl in a feeding frenzy, as long as one of her parents is tossing the food -- as you'll see below, she's not much on throwing bread herself. Never passing up a chance to mentor my wide-eyed-with-wonder, ever-learning child, I delicately took a piece of bread from her hand and tossed it into the water for the birds. "See, like this!" I added helpfully. She only stopped crying once The Wife handed her another piece.

Once we were out of bread I walked Zeus around a bit while The Wife and NJ (her new chunk of bread still lodged in her pudgy hand) walked along the lake and kept company with the ducks. I saw that the kid was heading straight for a sizable rain puddle and thought "Uh-oh, those boots are going to get soaked." They did get soaked -- and so did a lot more of NJ's ensemble when she executed a Fatty Arbuckle-esque pratfall into the water, landing squarely on her fanny and not seeming to mind all that much. Sadly, the camcorder was already stashed away in her diaper bag, but here's a little photographic evidence to help us remember it forever:

Now, it's true I told NJ I loved the blues and hoped one day she'd get into Muddy Waters, but this isn't what I had in mind! Thank you, thank you very much -- I'll be here all week. Try the veal, and don't forget to tip your waitress.

We packed up the car and drove the now-pantsless kid home, where she continued to quack-quack for a bit, but then turned to other pursuits. Namely, marching around her room with a frog puppet on one hand, held defiantly in the air like she was a member of the 1968 Olympic relay team -- but cheerier, of course. There also were bubbles blown, laughed at, chased and burst. All in all, I think she had a pretty nice afternoon. And once she gets the connection between tossing the bread and seeing a duck feeding frenzy, I think she's going to be tossing a whole lot of bread.

Embarrassing Parental Milestone 2: Return Of The Embarrassing Parental Milestone

2010-12-13T18:08:00.000-08:00

Last evening, NJ picked the remote control up off the coffee table and pointed it at the television.

That is all.

Sexy Beast

2010-12-08T22:08:00.000-08:00

NJ has agreed to give up a little blog real estate in honor of her late, hairy brother, Willie. I had to put Willie's guns in the ground this week, and the boy deserves a few pixels dedicated to him.

All pets die eventually, but sexy boudoir photographs last forever.

You know Willie, whose official registered-with-the-AKC name was Redmond Chocolate Thunder, as one-half of the famous Two Idiots comedy team. He was as good a dog as I've ever known. I was fond of him from the day we brought him home, but he and I really bonded after two or three years when he established a routine that paid off for both me and him. He'd wake up The Wife very early -- leaving me be -- to let him outside and serve his breakfast. Then he'd come upstairs and jump back onto the bed with me and sleep until I got up. Shrewd, eh? This, I thought, is my kind of dog.

His penchant for eating anything -- A. Nee. Theen. Guh. -- was widely known, gossiped about and shuddered over. Now, at least, The Wife and I can blow our noses and freely toss our used tissues in the wastebasket without worrying that he'll be in there later, rooting them out and eating them. He so loved the scent and, apparently, taste of tissue paper that we occasionally came home from an outing to find that he'd pulled a nice, long trail of toilet paper from the bathroom to whatever room he'd made into his ad-hoc dining room. We learned quickly to shut the bathroom doors when we left the house, but sometimes we'd forget. And come home to this:

Don't just stand there pointing a camera, Ansel Adams -- get me some mustard!

In September 2009 Willie was slowing down, slightly -- a couple of gray hairs in the facial fur, and he took two steps at a time on the stairs instead of three -- but he still was being mistaken for a puppy on our walks in the neighborhood and around the lake. One day The Wife woke me up with news that he'd collapsed and couldn't move. I took him in and we found that he had a rare cancer that usually only shows up in Burmese mountain dogs. We had his spleen removed, but the cancer was fast and unrelenting, we were told, and he had two to three months to live. But he kept on keeping on -- his legs got a little arthritic, but I'd lift him onto the bed if he didn't feel like jumping. A couple of weeks ago, though -- fourteen months after he was given three months to live -- he stopped eating (and if you've been paying attention, that's a huge red flag). An ultrasound revealed that most of his innards were ravaged by cancer -- the vet was kind of impressed that he was surviving at all with so much of it all over his organs -- and while a steroid brought back his appetite and chippered him up for a while, it was only a while. A week later was Monday, and Monday was a really crappy day.

Zeus is still here, of course -- about a year younger than Willie, and a mutt so theoretically not as much risk of weird diseases. And while I love this guy too, he's no Willie. Whatever Zeus's previous owners did before The Wife and I got him from a rescue shelter did a number on him. It was weeks before he'd let us pet him, and to this day he'll only come when called about half the time. He's never fully embraced things like getting hugged or petted for long periods of time, or the general rolling-around-playing that Willie excelled at. We've always felt that Zeus loved Willie and liked us. Zeus followed Willie everywhere, and felt so secure and emboldened enough with his older brother that occasionally this notorious coward would growl at other dogs on our walks. Go on, come after me -- but before you do, get a real good look at this choco-Lab wildman to my right and ask yourself if you feel lucky.

Pass me that bottle, bro.

Now I feel better about things than I did in the days leading up to Willie's last trip to the vet, but I miss the SOB (I can say that, he literally was one) a whole lot. There's a beautiful song by The Band called "Rockin' Chair" about two elderly sailors who are headed home to spend the last of their days. I used to sing it to the dog when no one was around (he never once complained about my singing voice!) because the singer is one of the old geezers and he's singing to his friend Willie. It put me in the mind of a very, very elderly me sitting on a front porch, "with my very best friend, they call him Ragtime Willie." Silly, impossible, implausible, sure -- made me smile, though. And he sure loved the ear-scratching that came with it.

So it's the first Christmas in quite a while that I won't have to constantly worry that the tree is going to get knocked over because Willie is rooting around underneath it, or ornaments will be swatted across the room by his ever-wagging tail. It cheers me up a great deal to think that the next animal we bring into this house will be NJ's.

Oct. 31, 1997 - Dec. 6, 2010: RIP

A Walk On The Child Side

2010-12-04T17:39:00.000-08:00

This is what's been going on around here for the past few days.

When Black Friday Comes ...

2010-11-26T09:53:00.000-08:00

... that means Thanksgiving is over. Here, the gobble holiday was about as low-key as it gets. We did a lot of laundry, watched some depressing football games, and ate the traditional turkey-stuffing-green beans-squash-pumpkin pie feast. NJ had a good day.

Pie! More pie, please. And more of this delicious white stuff that accompanies it. Actually, I'll just take more white stuff.

Snow Fun! Wait, what ...? Oh. It's No Fun. Ah, OK.

2010-11-23T12:49:00.001-08:00

To what I'm sure will be the delight of NJ's southern-most grandparents, we found out today that she's not all that much into the Winter Wonderland scene. Not into it at all, really. Nope, not at all.

Of course, the temperature was a nipple-killing 28 degrees when we were outdoors a few moments ago. Still, her distaste for all things wintry started before we went outside, when she was slipped into her new (to her) winter jumpsuit like a hot dog wiener into its bun, if the bun was super-tight and zippered and Velcro-ed closed. And then there were the mittens. And the hat.

No, Daddy, I'm not helping you shovel. Forget it.

The Wife took her across the street to meet a faceless snowman, but NJ was fairly unimpressed.

I don't get it -- this guy has no mouth, so how is he supposed to tell me how smart and adorable I am? I'm wasting my time here.

By the time we ventured back across the street to meet a snowwoman wearing a grass skirt and shades, NJ'd had enough.

Seriously, it's colder than a witch's meal delivery device out here. Can we please go back inside? Like, now?

Today, like yesterday, all three of us have been home thanks to the snow, ice and Seattle's legendary inability to cope with either. The forecast says the mercury will rise above freezing in two days, but then it's likely to snow some more. So this could be the worst week of NJ's young life, or she'll get used to it and be a regular snow bunny by this time next week. Meanwhile, this is what's going on -- The Wife and I trying to get work done while simultaneously entertaining and keeping an eye on a 15-month-0ld whose walking skills seem to improve hourly.

See what I did, Daddy? She put down the laptop and picked up this book! I've always known that I rule your lives, but now I think I'm really going to start taking advantage of it.

You Can't Always Get What You Want ...

2010-11-21T10:50:00.001-08:00

... but if you try some time, you just might find that you get something else you want.*

We broke out the camcorder yesterday to get some footage of NJ's fast-developing walking skills. Lately she's trucked completely across the kitchen and has made several multi-step journeys to one parent or another -- these usually end with her plopping into said parent's lap, giggling. Of course, with the camera rolling, the last thing NJ wanted to do was walk. But we got some other footage that's pretty watchable, too.

Here you'll see the budding genius's anatomy lesson, followed by a quick demonstration of her telephone know-how:

Paging Dr. NJ, paging Dr. NJ ... please pick up the purple courtesy phone ...

And here, in her room, NJ shows off two of her latest hobbies -- grabbing every article of clothing within reach and putting it on her head, and tossing her adoring parents multiple hugging-and-kissing bones:

Awwwww ...

*Apologies to Mick and Keith

So, This Evening? The Cat's Away

2010-11-16T20:11:00.000-08:00

And boy, did the mice play.

The Wife met a friend from out of town for dinner, so NJ and I were left to our own devices for dinner and amusement time in the evening. All my good socks were freshly washed and in the overflowing laundry basket, so I sorted the clean clothes while the kid cooed at the dog and played around on the bedroom floor. I tossed down a fresh, clean (I cannot stress that enough -- clean) pair of my jockey shorts near her, and the next thing we both knew about fifteen minutes of laughing and giggling had passed and NJ was sitting in a gigantic pile of underwear. When I reared back to toss a pair at NJ, her face lit up. When I launched them, she smiled (showing her two teeth and three of the four that are on their way). If a pair landed on her head, she laughed and laughed. When it fell off her head, she'd grab it and put it back, then move it for the next incoming pair. She even pulled a couple over her head and wore them like necklaces.

I thought about getting the camera, but do you really want to see my underwear? Yeah, I didn't think so. You're welcome, Internet!

The World's Most Underrated Baby Milestone 4: The Ultimate Baby Milestone

2010-11-10T22:02:00.000-08:00

Sure, crawling and standing and walking are all big deals for a little kid. But last night I saw what has to be the be-all and end-all of baby milestones.

NJ was cranky in her high chair, and The Wife and I may or may not have been trying to cheer her up by busting moves from the world's most obnoxious wedding reception ritual, the Chicken Dance (apparently a day care fave), and/or imitating Mick Jagger's stage dancing (which also involves flapping chicken arms). NJ found this all quite amusing and laughed, then she pulled her hands into her chest and stuck her elbows out wide to make chicken wings. She smiled as though she'd just been accepted into a very exclusive club.

My little girl made chicken wings.

I'm getting a little misty-eyed just sitting here thinking about it.

Step, Daughter

2010-11-10T10:51:00.000-08:00

After a few minutes of deliberation last night, The Wife and I decided that NJ officially took her first steps at almost 6 p.m. She's been flirting with the idea for more than a week, and over the weekend she took a half-step a couple of times, then took one entire step. However, she immediately toppled over, so upon further review we disallowed it as an extended fall. (We fawn over her and give her the benefit of the doubt, sure, but we're also sticklers!)

Last night, though, NJ let go of the basement sofa and took two solid steps to her mother, then intentionally flopped into her lap. A few moments later she stood up and went on a three-step jaunt before leaning into the sofa. Perhaps encouraged by our cheering, the usual frustration that comes with falling down wasn't there, so she's likely to keep at it and ramp up her efforts. She also showed wisdom beyond her year by deciding, after her successes, to call it a night with the walking. Quit while you're ahead, kid -- if it's good enough for Joe DiMaggio and George Costanza, it's good enough for you.

So now she's standing like a seasoned pro and is ready to start toddling around. We have a baby gate that I'm going to set up in the office doorway to keep her in sometimes (she likes to crawl from the office into the rest of the basement, and I immediately lose track of her and have to chase her), and to keep her out sometimes. She loves to stand up next to my desk and take things off it, and she's been reaching for Delbert the stuffed armadillo (right) lately, and if she gets him she'll hurt herself and the 'dillo. (I can't have that; I love her more, but I've loved Delbert longer, and he's already missing a couple of claws and the end of his glorious, glorious tail).

NJ is late to the walking game, and for a long time she never showed much interest at all in it. (We're pretty sure she's the last non-walker in her day care class.) But now that she's mastered standing, both by grabbing onto coffee tables or sofas and free-style, knee-bending, rise-from-nothing standing in the middle of the room, she's looking to expand her horizons. Lately she and I have been playing Dogs in the basement -- we get on opposite ends and crawl furiously toward each other (it usually ends with her stopping and giggling wildly while I gently plow into her) -- and I'm looking forward to changing the name of that game to reflect her two-legged status. Suggestions welcome.

UPDATE: NJ took three more steps today at day care, according to her daily summary note. So it looks like this just might stick.

Raisin NJ*

2010-11-07T16:22:00.000-08:00

*or "Raisin Cain" or "Raisin da Roof" or "Raisin Objections" or whatever other lame "Raisin" pun you can think of

Get up offa that thing!

You will be mine. You will be mine, all mine.

One's too many and a hundred ain't enough.

The Party's Over

2010-11-01T17:54:00.001-07:00

Turn out the lights, the party's over
They say that all good things must end

Certain NJ-related developments around the household have that chorus running through my head at seemingly regular intervals. (It's usually Dandy Don Meredith's voice in my head, what with me being a football fan and a child of the '70s and all, but Willie's version is just so damn smooth. You're welcome!) The kid that I used to rave about, well ... oh, I'm still raving. But things aren't like they used to be. To wit:

Crying and whining. The kid was pretty good about this for a long, long time. Now, though, she's learned that crying and whining gets results. It really started during the Daycare Sickness Jubilee, and who could blame her for crying and whining then? Not me. But -- and it seems like some sort of world record -- she's been illness-free for at least a week now. The crying and whining? It's survived. Long ago, I think it was in NJ's first week, someone warned us against bending to the will of a baby who would "manipulate us." It was premature advice -- I didn't think a one-week-old knew much from manipulation -- but now I'm starting to get it. Particularly when she throws a loud, blubbery six-second fit and then calmly, coolly inserts her thumb in her mouth and clams up. Plotting her next move, no doubt.

Sleeping. I said once before that the contently sleeping infant who made us the envy of new parents all across north Seattle was long gone, and it's still true even though the daycare colds and bugs are gone. She can be counted on to wake up once per night these days. Thankfully it's not as bad as when she was sick -- last week, her nose was so stuffed up that when she sucked her thumb, she couldn't breathe. I imagine that was pretty frustrating for the little kid. Again, though, it's better now that -- for the moment -- she isn't sick. Also, I'm sure this can be blamed in part on her teething: Her teeth took their sweet time showing up, and now they're making up for lost time -- three are coming in now on the top, maybe even four. So we coasted for a while there on the teething front, and now it's catching up to us. This is a factor in the crying/whining, too, I'm sure.

Eating. NJ is no longer the Hungry Monkey who'll eat whatever is put in front of her. The first thing she struck off her to-eat list? Broccoli. She seems to get pickier by the day. And worse, she's started holding out for the things she likes best. A couple of evenings ago I made the mistake of saying the word "yogurt" aloud, and she was inconsolable (see "Crying and whining," above) until The Wife was shoveling creamy, peachy goodness into her mouth.

Preferring her mom to me. This one is the toughest to take. NJ's shown a decisive preference for The Wife, as compared to Dad Solo. The Wife brings her upstairs in the morning and she can't put her down on the bed with me to get dressed because NJ starts crying. The Wife goes into the kitchen to make dinner and she can't leave NJ with me because the kid starts crying; instead, she sits in her high chair in the kitchen and watches her mom. It's not that she dislikes me or anything -- she just was practicing standing up and beamed at me every time for approval -- it's just that she is into her mom right now and makes it clear. She's playing favorites and right now I'm lagging. The Wife spent an hour at day care last Friday for some pumpkin-carving goings-on, and a couple was there with their kid. The mom left and the kid started crying in dad's arms. The Wife leaned over to another father and said, "I wish my husband was here to see this, he'd feel better." The man (allegedly) replied, "Happens at our house, too. It's normal." I put a year into caring for her exclusively, you'd think I'd have some good will stored up by now. But: No. I still have to earn it every day.

Bon Appétit!

2010-10-30T20:57:00.002-07:00

... and Happy Halloween!

I will not tolerate smart-alecks in my kitchen. No imitation crab meat and no smart-alecks!

Book Learnin'

2010-10-26T18:09:00.000-07:00

When I picked NJ up from day care today, her minder pointed out something The Wife and I had noticed at home -- the kid loves her some books. She spends a little more than half her play time with the other kids, I was told, and the rest of the time she likes to hang out on her own. And when she goes solo, it's almost always in the corner of the play room where the books are always strewn about -- "the library" -- and she thumbs through books and yammers as though she's reading out loud (I think she's talking about -- or to -- the illustrations).

NJ does the same at home. Her drum, blocks and 2.1 million other toys now take a back seat to her 1.5 million books. She's got many of the standards, like 'Where the Wild Things Are' and 'Goodnight Moon,' but also some other stuff, like a book with a story told in Magritte paintings (my favorite) and another one featuring Monet. (I can't be more specific at the moment because they're most all in her room right now, and she's asleep, and, to me, most of them blend together into a mishmash of talking animals and trains and mother-child discussions.) Most of the time she thumbs through them looking at every page, but occasionally she'll speed-read through book after book until a pile of them has been systematically moved from her left to her right. And nowadays, when The Wife or I (mostly her) read to NJ after bath time, she pays a lot more attention to the story and illustrations and spends less time looking around and pointing at the dog.

So, for now NJ's taken a scholarly path. I don't have the heart to tell her that books probably won't be around much longer.

I also read catalogs. Hey, um, Daddy -- can I borrow a credit card?

Goodbye, Barking Frog; Hello, Dr. Maze And Red Robin

2010-10-23T17:34:00.000-07:00

We drove to Redmond today and stopped at the intersection of Willows and 124th, right where the big fields open up. I could have turned left there and we would have been heading toward the wineries of Woodinville, which are just a couple of miles up from there. After hitting two or three of our favorites, we could have lunched at the Barking Frog before a leisurely drive back across Lake Washington to the city.

Instead, though, we drove straight through that intersection and pulled over to Dr. Maze's Farm for Pumpkin Patch Day! Because, you see, unlike those halcyon winery-going days of yore, now we've got the kid. I think photographs of adorable kids sitting amongst pumpkins are fine and dandy, but not nearly to the extent that, apparently, everyone else in the world does. I'm incredibly easy-going, as everyone knows, so when The Wife brought up earlier in the week, I got on board.

You know who didn't get on board? NJ. She didn't get on board. She just got "on bored." (Zing!) The first thing she did was get behind a wooden cut-out of Dr. Maze's truck and try to make her escape (which actually elicited the best smiles of the patch outing):

See ya, Daddy, wouldn't wanna be ya! Mommy and I are OUTTA HERE!

She showed a little interest in the goats and alpacas, but she'd seen farm animals just a couple weeks earlier and it was a bit old hat.

Yeah, yeah, I'm close to an exotic animal and he's cute. Whatevs. Anything more interesting over there?

Then, the pumpkin patch. A few days ago The Wife bought a couple of pumpkins to autumn-ize and Halloween-ready our front porch, so we were just about the only folks there not wheeling pumpkins around in wheelbarrows. I broke out the camcorder, but NJ was still pretty bored (also, she's been a little bundle of cranky joy lately, what with three teeth coming in at the same time). I must have hit wrong buttons or something, because when we got home this was all I had:

Nice job, Dad! You're a regular Francis Ford Scorsese.

Aaaaaaannnnddd ... that was pretty much it. We took some shots, but NJ didn't look at the camera much; her heart just wasn't in it. Here's just about the best of the lot:

That's your father, NJ. Act as if you like him, please.

Then, lunchtime. We drove around Redmond a bit until it struck us that we'd be eating at Red Robin; it's made for parents and kids. The last time I ate (I just typed "hate" by mistake; paging Dr. Freud!) at a Red Robin was in July 2009, when The Wife and I were on our way to the Oregon coast for our last pre-NJ trip. We were starving for lunch, and Red Robin was the only thing we could find at the next exit. We were seated at a table next to a family with a couple of kids who were having some loud fun, and The Wife -- who looked like this then, great with child -- said "Get used to it, we'll be going to these places a lot pretty soon." Fifteen months later, there we were. NJ was immediately interested when she saw kids leaving Red Robin with balloons, which she's already on record as being partial to. As soon as we got in, she was given a red balloon and her attitude noticeably spiked to "fun."

You can stuff your pumpkins in a sack, Mister, because THIS is a party!

NJ feasted on chicken, steak fries and a little broccoli. She also learned that she likes ketchup, thanks to me dabbing it on my finger and sticking said finger in her mouth. There were tons of other kids there, including a five-month-old boy sitting at the next table who cried until his mother pulled him in underneath the public-breastfeeding blanket, a sight that brought back fond memories of The Wife putting that cape-like thing on and hustling NJ underneath for a quick, inconspicuous meal. Now, we're thrusting mashed-up steak fries at her and swabbing the inside of her mouth with ketchup. Once we got home, NJ and Dad Solo both hit their respective beds for nice, long naps.

So thanks, Red Robin, for turning our afternoon around. Even though the burger I ate five hours ago is sitting in my gutty-works like an unmovable stone right now, and it actually feels like it's getting bigger and bigger.

It's their signature blend, so you KNOW it's gonna be good!

Saint NJ's Infirmary

2010-10-18T17:42:00.000-07:00

What's worse than having a stomach virus that makes you throw up a lot?

Maybe having that virus travel further through your intestinal tract, and dealing with the fallout from that?

And what if you added not one, not two, but three new teeth making their gum-breaking debut simultaneously?

And then, let's say, all three of those conditions hit at once. And on the weekend you turned fourteen months, too boot. Is that something you might enjoy?

Yeah, NJ's not enjoying either, let me tell you. Tired, whiny, no energy. The kid's scuffling.

The patient, in happier times (almost a month ago).

To be fair, though, NJ's whining has not escalated from her whining that I've been whining about lately. She's been sick on and off for about a month now, and she's been going to day care for a month and a half -- do the math there -- and when she had a stuffy head you could tell it frustrated her not to be able to breathe through both nostrils without all the snot and snot bubbles. But this is the first time I've seen her really look sick: pale (except the red cheeks from teething), wan, and a sort of tired, resigned. "when will this be over?" look in her blue eyes. She's been smiling some, too, but it's a little weary. There's might even be a little resignation to it (that I'm probably projecting). She's drinking water and Pedialyte and eating yogurt, and hopefully will graduate to Jello tonight. I put a bland rice-and-broccoli lunch in front of her today and the look she shot me was best described as "exasperated desperation." "You have got to be kidding me, old man!" her eyes said.

And the teeth: All on the top ridge, in various stages of unveiling. She's had only two teeth for so long now I'd almost forgotten more were due to debut. Two are through the gum and the third is right behind, so hopefully the worst of that is over.

All that said, NJ is a tough little tyke. She's still standing up and looking around for congratulations, crawling around the basement (a little slower), chortling at her dad's "anything for a laugh" act, and doing brainy things like putting a soft round block into a soft square block that has round hole in the center, and then popping it out again. She's down, but she ain't out.

Stand And Deliver 2: Stand And Deliver Strikes Back

2010-10-15T18:10:00.000-07:00

I was wrapping up work this afternoon when The Wife brought the kid down to my basement lair and said she had just stood up with no help at all -- no mommy's hand helping her, no pulling up by grabbing the coffee table. Just free-standing free standing.

Of course, she didn't do that once they got down here. All this happened, though:

My favorite part? Oh, that's easy -- the hands-in-the-air joy. And yes, there was a little drumming at the end. You're welcome!

Of course, once the camcorder was safely put away NJ did exactly what I was hoping she'd do while the 'recording' light was on -- she stood up without using mommy or anything else. You'll just have to trust me on that.

Stop me if you've heard this before, but: It's about time I finished up that baby-proofing.

Doofus Entertains Sick Child: Film At Eleven

2010-10-12T17:53:00.000-07:00

NJ was much more into this before I got the camera, naturally, both because I was getting a lot closer to her ("all up in her grill," as the kids say) and because she naturally ratchets down the happy-happy when the lens falls on her. Because she's all bashful and stuff. But this still puts a big smile on my face.

Four Legs Good, Two Legs Bad

2010-10-10T10:06:00.000-07:00

Yesterday we were casting around for something to do, and a friend's Facebook endorsement led us to the Fairbank Animal Farm in nearby Edmonds. It was drizzly, and NJ is between raincoats at the moment (outgrew one, ordered another that hasn't arrived yet), but half the attractions are indoors, so we put a hat and one of her grandmother-knitted thick sweaters on her and made a go of it. It was fun -- and all new to NJ, who is a little city slicker -- and will be even more so when we return on a sunny day and don't have to scurry from covered area to covered area. Which, given that we're in Seattle, might be next spring.

First off was the duck pen, where I tossed some feed by the fence to bring the duck closer to NJ:

My daddy says 'Duck Soup' is one of his favorite movies, but I haven't seen it so I don't know if it's actually about, you know, duck soup. Anyway, you're probably safe as long as you stick close to me.

Then, it was inside the barn to see some livestock, as well as more poultry. NJ met a couple of sheep (not pictured) and two calves. She greeted one calf with the two-hands-on-the-ribcage move that has not exactly endeared her to the Two Idiots at home, and it didn't go over too well at the farm, either. This calf had been relaxing on the floor until NJ showed up.

This rump roast looks a little tough and stringy -- stew meat, maybe? Or a couple of nice chicken-fried steaks?

Then, NJ made way for ducklings (ha ha, get it?):

Let's take them all home. They can stay in my room.

At the chick incubator, NJ wantonly ignored the "do not tap on the glass" sign and tapped on the glass. Thankfully, the barn attendant missed it, and no chicks fell over dead with little chick heart attacks.

Because I'm a renegade and rules are for suckers. That's why.

Lastly, we stopped in an end of the barn that's reserved for frolicking in hay. NJ did some frolicking.

Farm subsidies for everyone! Hooray!

On the drive home, NJ crashed hard. She'd skipped her morning nap, and it was a little after noon -- nap time at day care. (Her transition from two naps a day to one at day care has really messed up her sleep habits and is the root of some of her late-afternoon crankiness -- something I stupidly forgot to mention in the "NJ's sleep" section here.) The Wife and I were able to stop at Burgermaster and eat in the car while she dozed. Parking and coming to a stop woke her up, of course, but she busied herself with a book while The Wife and I scarfed burgers, shakes, french fries (her) and onion rings (me). Because she's a good kid who loves her parents.

Sleep tight, Farmer NJ.

"This Single Parenting Is HARD!"

2010-10-09T10:00:00.000-07:00

On the last day of my last Super Solo stretch with NJ, I was IMing with a co-worker, B, and complaining about getting up so early that day. I was thinking about the past three days and all the work I put into them, but at this point in our text conversation I had only mentioned that day's waking hour, then followed with "this single parenting is HARD!"

B, who has a daughter in college and a son in high school, responded: "laughing"

Well, yeah, I thought as I saw that she was typing more, I am pretty funny! Then she followed up with a short story about her friend who left town with one of their kids and left the other with her husband. B offered to help out, and her friend replied, "Oh, one is nothing."

"if you had 2 you could do this in yr sleep"

Ah. Not laughing with me, but at me. Got it.

So yes, perhaps I'm a little bit of a wuss for complaining about juggling a job, day care and a 13-month-old kid for THREE WHOLE DAYS. But I have no frame of reference for multiple children -- this is all I know, and all I will know. So I will lay out my experiences here and you feel free to snicker away. I've had a taste of single parenthood, and to me it looks like a pretty tough gig.

NJ's health. Her smoker's cough roared back with a vengeance the first night The Wife was gone. Exactly four minutes after I switched off the television and double-checked the alarm clock, she started hacking up a lung downstairs (Note to self: The baby monitor doesn't have to be set at maximum volume.) I booked downstairs and rocked her for a while, and after singing about half of the "Born to Run" album to her, all was well and she was nodding off again, cough-free.

NJ's sleep. The little girl who sleeps like a lamb and never has night issues, the one who was the envy of all the other parents we know, is gone and did not leave a forwarding address. Putting NJ down used to mean a kiss on the forehead, handing her one of the eleven stuffed animals, and leaving the room. But or the past few weeks, no matter how tired she is, putting her down is immediately followed by her rolling over, crawling to the side of the crib, standing up and shout-crying. A rocking-to-sleep session is now mandatory -- again, the Springsteen songbook was invaluable -- and middle-of-the-night wake-ups are common (although they usually don't happen after midnight, huzzah).

My sleep. The Wife gets up before I do and takes care of NJ in the mornings -- because she gets up earlier than I do anyway, and also so she can spend as much time as possible with her daughter before leaving for the office. So getting up early was a change, and a challenge -- particularly when I couldn't manage to fall asleep early at night to compensate. I ended up doubling my coffee intake, and anyone who knows me and the strength and amount of coffee I like knows that is a big deal. My innards are still reeling.

My job. It was a lot easier back when I was at home. The Wife would leave, but my day was already tailored to fit NJ's, so the adjustment ended up being not all that huge a deal. And hey, her nap time was my nap time if need be. Now, I've got a big chunk of work in the middle of taking care of NJ, so I'm expected to be sharp and active and alert and not napping or doing other mentally unchallenging things like building tall stacks of blocks and knocking them down. Add to that the sleep issues above and it wasn't pretty.

My time. I had none! Well, check that: From 8.30 p.m. to whenever I could manage to fall asleep, that was Dad Solo Time. The morning was all about NJ. The day was all about the job. The evening was all about NJ. Once she was in bed, I cleaned up her various messes, packed her next day's lunch, and performed a couple dozen similar tasks before I could sit down with a free mind. And then I was too tired to do anything except go to bed (and then fail to go to sleep). Oh, there was the one evening I worked late: Woo-hoo! I had no opportunities whatsoever to sit and stare at the wall, or inspect the hairs on my forearms. No Me Time at all.

NJ's whining. Still rocking her cold -- or, more likely, rocking a brand new cold -- and not napping long enough at day care, most evenings NJ was as whiny as I am in this blog post. As described here -- I used the phrase "a little irritable" to be polite to the kid. She turned it on and off like a spigot.

Oh, for crying out loud. Don't make me break out the world's smallest violin.

This is all a long-winded way of getting around to a shout-out to all the single parents out there. I don't know many, actually, but the couple I do know are raising beautiful, smart kids. To the previously untrained eye it looked pretty effortless. It was impressive enough then, but now that I've had some first-hand experience with it, I'm in awe. Kudos!

Also: The calendar tells me that today is the 70th birthday of the World's Greatest Househusband. Happy birthday, John. I haven't baked bread with my kid yet, but she's only 1 year old. Hopefully, there's time for that.

(In his last interview, Lennon said: 'I don't believe in yesterday. Life begins at 40, or so they promise. And I believe in what's going to come." Three weeks later he was assassinated. So maybe "Hopefully, there's time for that" is exactly the wrong message to be taking from the whole thing.)

Night And Day

2010-10-06T17:48:00.001-07:00

The Wife was out of town from Sunday through today around noon. You're learning about that now because me Super Soloing with the kid is now old hat and not worth mentioning, really. This time it was pretty hectic -- I'll spell out my renewed admiration for single parents in a future post -- but it went very well. One thing I noticed was that NJ was a little irritable; she'd go from happy to whiny at the drop of the proverbial hat. I thought it may have something to do with her cough, which actually has petered out to almost nothing, or her new case of the snotties, which started up yesterday.

Now, I know it was because she missed her mom. A lot.

The Wife retrieved her from day care early, and ever since the two of them got home NJ has been a smile-and-giggle machine. It's so cute it's almost appalling -- and insulting. I bent over backward to please you, with no help at all! Hey kid, how about, you know, a little something for the effort, you know?

You know I love ya, Daddy, but look! Mommy's home!

She's Got Blisters On Her Fingers!

2010-10-01T15:10:00.000-07:00

Moon.

Blakey.

Ringo.

Rich.

Helm.

Watts.

Cobb.

Copeland.

Bonzo.

NJ.

What? Yes! That's right. NJ has climbed atop the drumming heap and now figuratively rubs shoulders with popular music's all-time greats. The kid is a percussion natural:

Where's the rest of my kit?

The Wife bought NJ that drum for her birthday, and after ignoring it for a few weeks she's suddenly taken a big interest in it. And she knows what to do, too -- despite what you see in this particular photo, she knows how to hold the drumsticks and can tap out a rhythm for several beats that's at least as good as anything Dave Grohl ever did. When I start drumming myself (I have the rhythm and swing of your typical middle-aged white-boy doofus, but I have positively nailed the intro to 'Sunday Bloody Sunday') she'll come crawling across the basement, sit next to me and pound the drum with her hand until I turn the sticks over to her.

For starters, I need a high-hat and some tom-toms, and at least two bass drums. Chimes would be great, too.

The list of accomplished female drummers that I'm familiar with is short -- Mo Tucker was adequate with the Velvet Underground, I don't care about the White Stripes enough to care about Meg White, and I suppose Sleater-Kinney had a drummer. The drummers for the Go-Gos and the Bangles have always been known to me as "the drummers for the Go-Gos and Bangles." (I just looked them up, they're Gina Schlock and Debi Peterson.) Karen Carpenter was a pretty solid lady beat-keeper, but Carpenter's music is far too pedestrian for a hep cat like NJ.

"Set's $@*$!*#& over!" she shouted, before proceeding to violently overturn her drum in a manner that brought a tear to the eye of Keith Moon's ghost.

Perhaps one day NJ can form a band with her guitar-playing uncle. She's probably as adept at drumming now as he is at picking, so maybe they'd make a nice White Stripes-ish duo. I'll be their manager.

BLARGH

2010-09-29T16:42:00.000-07:00

NJ started day care 28 days ago.

Her first day care cold surfaced the following week. That lasted for a few days, and the cough that came with it has stayed behind and intensified to the point that, like clockwork, she'd had hacking fits around midnight or 1 a.m. every night for close to a week now. And they last a long time. The pediatrician says it's just that, a cough and nothing more. But it sounds like NJ's a two-pack-per-day smoker.

The Wife was pretty sick over the weekend, too. It didn't last long, but it was brutal.

Me? I've had a stuffy head and nasty cough for going on three weeks now. A couple of days ago I was unfortunate enough to catch whatever The Wife had over the weekend. Yesterday I went to bed at 4 p.m. I've mowed through more Sudafed, Tylenol PM, cough lozenges and other medications in the past few days than I did in the previous calendar year.

All of this I blame on day care.

What's in my lunch box? Disease, virus, bugs, sickness. Have some, Daddy!

Rubber Match

2010-09-24T16:11:00.000-07:00

NJ should be home in an hour or so, and we'll see who'll win this week's best-of-five World Series of Teething.

Monday she came home with perfect teeth imprints on the back of her right hand.

At bath time Tuesday, we pulled her long-sleeved shirt off to find a giant mark on her left forearm that The Wife characterized as "a horse bite."

Wednesday morning I politely chewed out a very nice lady when I dropped NJ off at day care. Seems that a boy in her group is going through teething hell lately, according to his parents, and the day care folks would be more vigilant in overseeing them. Without blaming the biter, I explained that I thought one bite was understandable, but another bite the very next day seem a little ... unfortunate. "Maybe you guys could keep an eye on him and at least maybe let him gnaw on someone else for the rest of the week," I said, smiling big but trying to put a little "I mean it" in my eyes. That afternoon NJ sported no new bite marks, and I got an accident report explaining that she "got bit by a friend when they were playing together in the tomato house in the playground." Feeling like I was in control and getting results, I immediately demanded that they start spelling NJ's name correctly on her art projects, the nap tally board and other paperwork.

Thursday there were no new bites.

So: 2-2. Today will tell the tale. More later!

UPDATE: NJ didn't get bitten today! Some other girl gave her a big scratch on her arm, though, that warranted another accident report. So she wins the World Series of Teething, but it's something of a hollow victory.

It's Easy To Trace The Tracks Of These Teeth

2010-09-20T18:33:00.000-07:00

The Wife brought NJ home from day care today and thrust three stapled pages at me. "Biting," the headline read. I scanned the first few lines, which outlined the reasons children bite other children. Before I could ask if NJ gnawed on someone -- she's still only got two teeth, but they are razor-sharp -- The Wife held the kid's hand out in my direction and showed me this:

Get forensics to make a cast of these bite marks and let's catch this perp.

The morning minder wasn't around by the end of the day, so The Wife didn't get the story (assuming the minder even saw the incident) -- whether NJ was all up in some kid's grill, or if there was dispute over toys, or if the other kid is teething terribly or just unhappy or anxious at day care, or what. All I know is that other kid had better run when he or she sees me coming, because I will make his or her life a living heck. Do you hear me, other kid? I will hunt you down Charles-Bronson-in-'Death-Wish' style. A. Living. Heck.

OK, not really. But keep your choppers to yourself, alright?

When the ladies got home NJ smiled real big and reached out for me, and now I can hear her happily chattering in the kitchen with The Wife, so she's obviously put the bite in her rear-view. Hopefully The Wife will get the lowdown tomorrow morning, and if it's at all interesting I'll update. But for now let's just chalk it up to kids being kids. At least the bite isn't contagious, like the two colds I've caught since she's been going to day care. (Unless rabies are involved, of course. Wait, what am I saying ...?)

"B" Is For ... Better

2010-09-15T18:10:00.001-07:00

Looks like someone knows what to do with constructive criticism!

Two down, 24 to go. Don't go away or you won't know what comes next!

An 'E' For Effort ... At Best

2010-09-14T20:30:00.000-07:00

NJ brought her first art project home from day care today. They're working on a letter a day, or a couple of letters a week, or something. Loyal readers know that I'm crazy about this girl of mine, but I must say: This is just not very good. Not good at all.

"A" is for ... an unprintable word that describes me for writing this critique.

For starters, she didn't even bother to paint within the lines. They're big, thick, black lines -- pretty hard to miss, NJ. But there's green paint on the lines, within the lines, inside the A's triangle, outside the lines. Everywhere you look, you see a little green paint. And by "a little," I mean: Not very much at all. That's a big, fat A there, NJ, and you barely used any paint at all. There's probably just enough to fill up that open triangle. That leaves far too much white space for this to be considered a green A -- which I assume was the goal.

And the technique. Oh, don't get me started on the technique. Where are the lush, Monet-esque brush strokes or the Pollock globs and trails? There's nothing here but drops, a few of which are carelessly smeared, and some obviously accidental spray droplets.

In sum, I just get the feeling that NJ didn't even try with this. And while I'm not happy with the laziness and lackadaisical, unfocused approach to her artistic mission, I actually hope I'm right about that. Because if she was trying, she's got a long way to go.

(And yes, of course it's front-and-center on the fridge door.)

Super Solo Redux

2010-09-13T16:56:00.000-07:00

The Wife leaves for a road trip in a couple of days, the first of three in the next five weeks. My loyal readers know that I've aced past Super Solo assignments with trumpets wailing and colors flying and everything short of Padma Lakshmi smiling warmly and murmuring, "Congratulations, you are the Top Dad." This go-around should be just as smooth, hopefully, but it'll be a little different because of some new factors:

The Sick
NJ is winding up her first prolonged illness. Her day care cold is mostly gone, except for what sounds like a brutal cough that crops up from time to time. One of those times is around 2.30 a.m., after she's been laying horizontal for a long time. Hopefully we won't hear that number on our baby monitor in the wee hours this morning, and by Wednesday -- when The Wife hits the road -- it should all be over. (Including the diarrhea. Please, sweet little baby Jesus, let that include the diarrhea.)

The Day Care
I've yet to drop NJ off at day care. It's no big thing, obviously, but there is something of a routine that I'll need to know. What if, for example, I walk into the play area with my shoes still on? Heaven forefend! Or I fail to sign in in the morning, or out in the afternoon when I take her away? (OK, that one is important.) There's also all the stuff I need to take in with us -- the diapers, the blanket, the packed lunch. Yeah, that packed lunch: I'll have to pay attention tomorrow evening when The Wife puts it together. All I really know now is that when I load the dishwasher, there are about 47 tiny bowls, lids and other Tupperware-like objects.

The Job
There's an office reasonably close to NJ's day care I can go to after dropping her off (since I'll be more than halfway there anyway). And: going to an office means incentive to shower, something all work-at-homers need.

The Standing
Nothing to do with The Wife leaving town, but I thought I'd bury the lead because it's my blog and there are no editors clamoring for a rewrite. NJ's interest in and ability to stand has increased ten-fold since starting day care. She stands up from her knees or from her butt with ease, hangs on to the coffee table or sofa edge with one hand while waving a toy (or just waving) the other. She also has walked a few steps while holding on to said sofa edge or coffee table. I guess I'd better get on that babyproofing stat.