Letting Go

I don’t know if it was started by our parents or our parents’ parents, but somewhere back in time a huge lie was born.

The lie is that being an adult is harder than being a kid. Our parents mentally drilled this lie in to our brains from an early age, until we accepted it as the truth. Waiting for us outside, we were told forebodingly, was “a cold, cruel world.” Or we were warned, “It’s a jungle out there,” as if it was a big, scary place posing dangerous pitfalls at every turn.

For forty-three years I myself had believed this lie. Of course being a kid was easier than being an adult. As a kid, you have no real responsibilities. From day one you poop in your pants and someone else cleans it up for you. You cry and someone feeds you. Really, what could be easier? Someone is serving you at your beck and call round-the-clock.

For the first two years of The Toddler’s life I continued to buy into this long-held belief that if a choice was given and you could be a kid or an adult, well of course you’d rather be a kid.

But recently I’ve begun to question the foundations upon which this belief is built. Yes, being an adult is hard work. But, for the most part, life as an adult isn’t scary or threatening. Sure there are times you walk down a dark alley and hear footsteps, either real or imagined. But most of life as an adult follows a pretty set routine. True surprises in our lives are rare occurrences.

Imagine being a kid, though. Every day is a surprise. You’re learning something new with each step you take. Even by the time you’re a teen, you’re still feeling your way around new and scary worlds – the opposite sex being one of them. I don’t know about you, but there’s no way in the world that I’d relive those adolescent, pimple-popping years over again. Sure we like to wax nostalgic about those days, but it seems that when we reminisce our brains White-Out all the bad parts and leave only the good.

A recent event in The Toddler’s life got me thinking about just how scary everyday life is for a kid. Things that we, as adults, take for granted, like going to the restroom, can be truly frightening experiences if your not even three feet tall.

This particular event began with Mommy taking The Toddler to a restroom in a busy restaurant. While in the restroom, The Toddler and Mommy were separated for a couple of moments, which was just long enough for The Toddler to wonder, “Where’s Mommy,” and become very afraid.

Eyes dart one way and then the other. It’s a warm summer evening and all they see are bare legs. But which ones are Mommy’s?

The Toddler was lost in a forest of lower limbs. Instinct at some point took over and he grabbed the nearest pair and clung to them as if his life depended on it.

When Mommy reappeared she found The Toddler wrapped around the legs of a stranger, who didn’t know what to make of this creature that had attached itself to her legs. When Mommy called The Toddler’s name, he looked her way. His face flushed with embarrassment as he realized his mistake, released the Kung-Fu grip he maintained on the stranger, and ran to where he belonged.

Long ago when our parents let us go and cautioned, “It’s a jungle out there,” perhaps they forgot that we’d been let go many times before. By the time they let us go for good that world isn’t nearly as cold and cruel as it once was. But maybe they really knew that, and that’s why they knew it was time to let us go.

Pickles and Hiccups

Vacationing with a toddler is no vacation. That is if your idea of a vacation is lounging in the sun while sipping tropical drinks and reading a juicy book.

Many resorts today now cater to parents with children, providing various forms of childcare so that the parents can actually enjoy doing what adults like to do. Problem is, most resorts provide this service only to children four and over. So if you have an almost 2-year-old, like I do, you actually have to be a parent, round-the-clock. This, to me, the parent of a daycare kid, is a foreign concept.

From sunrise to sunset, for a full week, I had to be a parent. That meant doing things that The Toddler likes to do rather than things that I like to do. Pool time meant playtime. Dining meant kid-friendly. And drinking meant alcohol-free – at least until The Toddler’s bedtime, which, due to the exhaustion of being a fulltime parent, oftentimes was too darn close to my bedtime.

I don’t want to give the false impression that vacationing with a toddler isn’t a worthwhile experience. Quite to the contrary, it, for me, was one of the best experiences I’ve had as a parent.

Sure there were times that I longed for the concept of vacation that I once knew. Being a fulltime parent, even on vacation, is work. But it is rewarding work.

There are many moments of this vacation that I will treasure forever. Like hearing my son giggle when he says pickles and hiccups, because, well, because they’re funny-sounding words. Or seeing him laugh uproariously when he spills ice down his T-shirt. Or watching him swim on his own, albeit with the aid of a flotation device, for the first time.

When the vacation came to an end, I was ready to go home. But that’s true of almost any vacation.

The last day of our vacation was a challenge. We had an early checkout time and a late flight home. That meant a full day with no place to call home.

We learned two valuable lessons on that last day.

The first is never plan to spend a day somewhere without first calling to see if it’s open. We drove over an hour to a children’s museum only to encounter a true Wally World experience. A sign at the front gate informed us that the museum was closed for improvements. I now know how Clark Griswold felt when he confronted a moose telling him, “Sorry folks, park’s closed.” You want to punch something. Of course, we had no back up plan and some five hours to kill. As it turns out, disaster turned into a wonderful experience. We ended up being steered to a nature center that gave The Toddler the opportunity to chase butterflies and touch a baby alligator.

The second lesson is that there is no such thing as carrying too many diapers. Because you never know when you will need that extra diaper. Like at the airport, while your plane is boarding.

This latter lesson we learned, unfortunately, too late. We’d gotten to the airport in plenty of time, arriving at around 5 PM for our 7:45 PM flight. We thought we were fully prepared. We had plenty of snacks. And, most importantly, or so we thought, we had a portable DVD player. At around 6:45 PM we (and by “we” I mean Mommy) changed what we (and by “we” I mean Daddy) thought would be the last diaper of our trip. But at around 7:25 PM, on the verge of boarding, The Toddler gets into that distinctive squat. Mommy and Daddy both eye each other, and then our fear is confirmed when The Toddler makes the official call: “Pooh-pooh.”

Okay, no need to worry. We’re fully prepared travelers. The plane won’t be taking off for another 20 minutes. Relax.

Wrong. Mommy is frantically searching through the backpack. I look warily. What is it?

“I don’t think we have another diaper.” Mommy says.

“How could you not pack enough diapers?” Daddy blurts unthinkingly. The day had been a long one and The Toddler had used up what we thought to be a generous supply of diapers already.

“We’ve got to do something and do it fast,” I add. “The plane is boarding.” Did I mention that I am Master of the Obvious?

Mommy looks annoyed.

“We could just wipe off the poop and reuse the diaper,” I state. Okay, so I flunked Parenting 101.

Mommy looks more annoyed. “We can’t just wipe off the poop and reuse the diaper,” she informs. Then she goes into SuperMommy routine. She finds a nearby parent and asks if they have any extra diapers. No. She grimaces and looks for other toddlers in the vicinity. There are none to be found.

“We’ve got to do something,” I say, throwing in my final, worthless, two cents.

Mommy nods, certain now that she’s married to the Dumbest Man on the Planet. Then she picks up The Toddler and scampers to the restroom.

Meanwhile, I’m sitting there holding all the baggage, nervously looking at the seconds tick away as I hear the last boarding group number called.

About five minutes later I see Mommy chugging like a locomotive. The Toddler is flapping around in her arms, laughing like a hyena. Racing in an airport, apparently, to a toddler, is even more fun than saying pickles or hiccups.

Breathless, Mommy asks what is going on. I tell her that they just called our boarding group. We can get on the plane. She breathes a sigh of relief and as we walk toward the plane she tells me of her heroics. On the way to the bathroom she espied a family with a toddler. She stopped, desperation dripping from her eyes, and asked if they had an extra diaper. They did, and it was even The Toddler’s size. Crisis averted.

We’re back home now, and it feels good to be home, just smiling at the thought of pickles and hiccups.

From Crib To Cubicle

The Toddler is fast approaching that dreaded age of two. The “terrible twos” – known to strike fear into the hearts of all parents – is that developmental period when the child you once knew can suddenly seem like an alien creature.

I’ve already detected some not-so-subtle changes in The Toddler’s personality.

Some of the changes are charming. There’s a silliness that wasn’t there before. You see it in his eyes when he makes a goofy facial expression or mimics his Dah-dee.

Other changes are heartwarming. There’s a connection that wasn’t there before. You can feel it when he greets you with a bear hug, clinging to you as if you were the only person in the world.

But then there are those changes that tell you that you’ll be making good friends over the next year with the likes of cabernet, merlot and pinot. This is when you discover that your worst nightmare has come true: your child has been Dilbertized. He’s become your boss.

What I mean by this is that, in many ways, a toddler’s mind works like that of an office manager. He has become management material. Consider:

· Logic is futile. Trying to reason with a two-year-old, much like an office manager, will get you nowhere. You will expend a great deal of energy and it will all be for naught. You will get nothing in return but a blank gaze.

· The answer to every question or suggestion is “No”. If there are two choices given, the answer is still “No”. Even if the suggestion is intended to improve the situation, the answer remains “No.”

· Your language is not their language. Toddler-speak, much like management-speak, amounts to gobbledygook. Attempts at deciphering it will only cause headache. In management-speak, “I don’t disagree” can sometimes be translated to mean, “I disagree.” Similarly, in toddler-speak, “No” can oftentimes be translated to mean, “Yes”. The problem is that you will never know when these alternative translations apply.

I know going into this period of my son’s life that I have a lot of work ahead of me. It will at times be challenging, frustrating, even maddening. And much like in the workplace, I won’t be getting a raise for all the extra effort. But I’m pretty sure that the long-term benefits package is a good one and one day all that hard work will pay off.

For now, though, in parent-speak, “Pass the bottle” no longer refers to The Toddler’s milk but to Dah-dee’s new friends: cabernet, merlot and pinot.

A toast to the “terrible twos”: May they go by quickly.

A dose of SanityCentral into my life

You never know where life will take you. Like into a YMCA locker room at 8:30 in the morning with seven other swim dads all trying at the same time to shower and change their dripping toddlers in a space the size of a walk-in closet. But that’s another story. This one is about what can happen when you stumble into a website.

Last week, I serendipitously happened upon SanityCentral, a parental humor website. As any of my loyal readers know, since I began writing this blog a few short months ago I frequently have taken a sidestep (some might say tumble) into the trials and tribulations of parenthood.

Finding SanityCentral was a little like stepping into a Parents Anonymous 12-step program and discovering that I’m not alone – there are actually creatures on this planet as befuddled by parenthood as I am. The basic tenet of SanityCentral is that as parents it’s okay to laugh at ourselves. Now let’s all join in: I’m a parent of a toddler, and it’s okay to laugh at myself.

On a whim, I submitted to SanityCentral some of the pieces about parenting that I’ve written, not really expecting anything to come of it. As it turns out, something did.

Starting today, I am the author of SanityCentral’s Dad Libs column, which will feature on a bi-weekly basis my musings on being a dad. Most if not all of these pieces will be lifted directly from my blog, but that’s not stealing since I'm a lawyer and it's my blog.

Even if you’ve read every word on my blog, check out my latest incarnation. You might just see me in a whole new light – hopefully one you’ll want to keep switching on.

By the way, a very special thank you to SanityCentral's self-proclaimed "head nut" Linda Sharp for giving me this wonderful opportunity and accepting me for the smart ass that I am. Linda, the tiara suits me to a tee!

Steering clear of kid-friendly shopping carts

Connect child and friendly with a hyphen and you’re asking for trouble. At least that’s been my experience.

Take, for example, child-friendly shopping carts. If you’ve been in a grocery store recently, you’ve surely seen them. They’re the suped up carts that are all the rage among that key grocer demographic: toddlers.

In most cases, they take the form of plastic race cars, attached to the fronts of standard-size shopping carts. If you’ve never seen one, you can check out the latest model of the “Bean” cart, manufactured by Salem, Mass.-based McCue Corp. by clicking here. As McCue’s website announces, these carts deliver “60 smiles an hour.” Cute.

Of course the demographic being served by these steering-wheel equipped carts is not really toddlers, but exasperated parents desperate to keep their kids entertained – and contained. The theory being, if the tykes are happy, the parent who has dragged them along to the grocery store will have a more relaxed, enjoyable shopping experience and, in turn, will be inclined to spend more.

According to this February 5, 2003, DuluthNewsTribune.com article, market analysts have calculated that parents tend to spend 10 to 40 percent more if the kids are with them and in a relatively good mood. And the number goes even higher when dad does the shopping.

This theory was put to the test this past weekend, when Mommy asked me to join her and The Toddler on their weekly trip to the grocery store. Upon entering the store on a busy Saturday afternoon, there was a noticeable shortage of carts. That’s when Mommy spotted it, parked alluringly in its own private spot, the empty miniature race car/cart.

Mommy eyed me, cradling The Toddler in my arms, pointed at the kiddie car/cart and asked, “What do you think? Should we try it?”

And I shrugged and gave the naïve dad response that I would end up regretting for the next three long hours, “Sure.”

Pushing a kiddie car/cart around a busy grocery store I found about as relaxing as teaching a 15-year-old how to operate a stick shift in rush-hour traffic.

As the DuluthNewsTribune.com article I referred to earlier notes, a full-size shopping cart with a plastic racer jutting from the front end easily becomes an aisle-hog. They should have an Oversized Load banner attached to them. At least in the store where we shopped most aisles were so tight that you couldn’t squeeze past a non-racer car/cart. And they’re about as easy to steer as a big rig. The result was that I tended to steer clear of all aisles while Mommy hauled armloads of groceries up and down the aisles.

So you’re probably thinking right now, what about The Toddler? Did he at least enjoy riding in this suped up cart? The answer, of course, is yes. But it’s a qualified one.

Yes, The Toddler seemed to be overjoyed at being Speed Racer in the grocery store. The catch is, all good things must come to an end. In this case, the end comes rather abruptly, at the check-out counter. There is a warning on the race car-shaped grocery cart that it is to be used only inside the store, which means that all of your groceries have to be transferred to a regular cart if you’re going to get them to your car outside. That also meant that The Toddler had to be removed from a place where he was perfectly content.

Rule No. 1 of Parenting: If you have a perfectly content toddler, don’t do anything to disturb that. Like removing a toddler from that “child-friendly” shopping cart.

You see, the child-friendliness claim should come with a proviso – it only lasts as long as the child is in that cart. The moment he is taken out of that cart, his personality takes a U-turn. All the way from the grocery store to the car, The Toddler beat on Daddy as if he were a punching bag. For much of the rest of the evening until the checkered flag was finally waved and he mercifully went to sleep, an elapsed time of approximately two and a half hours, he cried.

The next morning was Easter and the prior evening’s tantrum was seemingly lost in a haze of egg-hunting, bunny cookies and imitation grass. Thankfully, the Easter bunny didn’t hop into a grocery cart.