Last night we went to Brady's soccer game, and I have to say that, in my opinion, there's nothing quite as fun as watching a bunch of five-year-old boys and girls run around and kick each other in the shins. That's entertainment.
My only gripe: there's always that kid on the other team whose parents have apparently lied about his age to get him on the team. He's the one who's a head taller than everyone else and may or may not have a little bit of peach fuzz already growing on his upper lip. More often than not, he's the coach's kid. He bowls everyone over on his way to scoring nine goals while his mom cheers smugly from the sidelines. If they can prove to me he's only five or six, I'll eat a soccer ball.
At that age, these little athletes can be easily classified into two categories. I call them the players and the pickers. The pickers are the kids who are content to watch the action while picking grass or their noses, or sometimes both at once, and there are three of them for every one little player who's right in there, focused on moving the ball down the field. Your team's winning percentage is directly linked to its ratio of pickers to players; it's simple math.
Brady is a little bit of both. He'll run up and clear the ball out of his team's end of the field and then go back to picking grass while the kid with the mustache gets the ball back and blows right by him. He'll block a kick while playing goalie, cheer for himself, and then turn his interest to the big booger his teammate has just produced while fuzz-face blasts the rebound into the corner of the goal. Brady hasn't shown a very wide competitive streak yet, but I don't care. Sports at that age are more about teamwork and making sure everyone gets a turn than real competition, and I could take or leave soccer. He's getting fresh air and exercise, and that's all that really matters, right? Right.
But baseball...ah, the beautiful game of summer. Baseball is my first love when it comes to sports, and that's where I get competitive. I played ball until I was a junior in high school, and in retrospect, I wish I'd stuck with it. Ever since I was old enough to think about such things, I've secretly hoped I would one day have a son who would be a major league baseball player, to hear the roar of the crowd when his name is announced, and I know I'm not the only dad who has a secret wish like that. Brady is in his second year of tee ball, and my heart swells every time I see him smack a burner up the middle. He bats left-handed like his favorite player, Joe Mauer, and he has the size and good arm to play catcher like Joe. Kids aren't very coordinated at that age, so his fielding needs work, but the kid can hit. All our backyard work has paid off. I'm so proud.
And here's where I get into trouble. Part of me is itching to live vicariously through my son. I find myself wanting to teach this five-year-old boy how to set the correct stance in the batter's box, to keep his weight on his back foot and shift it to his front foot when he swings while using his hips to generate power and his wrists for bat speed, when all he wants to do is crush the ball and run around the bases.
I have to continually sit myself down and say, "Look, man, relax; the kid's only five. Take it easy and let him have fun." To this I reply, "Yeah, I know, but I REALLY want him to be ready when it's time to start baseball camps a couple of years from now." At this point, Brady gives me a funny look and says, "Daddy, who are you talking to?", and we go back our game. The moral of the story is this: I've really got to stop talking to myself.
Exaggerations aside, like all parents, I have a deep desire to see my kids succeed, and a fear that they won't. I don't actually talk to myself (usually) or get that worked up about my son playing for the Minnesota Twins, but I do worry that I won't do a good enough job of teaching my kids healthy habits, good values, and all the other stuff they need to know in order to make it in the world. It's a matter of locating that fine line between being too lax with your kids and pushing them too hard, and I'll probably spend my whole career as a parent trying to find that line because it doesn't stay in one place; it moves as your kids grow and change. I have to face the fact that I'll almost certainly screw up a few things, and that my kids may sell insurance instead of selling the bunt. I'm okay with that.
Even so, we'll keep working on ground balls and corner kicks while the grizzled behemoth on the opposing soccer team is spending that time learning to shave. When next we see him, we'll be ready. Just wait 'til next year, big guy.
July 12, 2011
June 20, 2011
Back In The Saddle
Yeah, I know, it's been a while. Please excuse my absence. I took some time recently to attend the International Conference of Used Diaper Salespeople (very politically correct; we're not all salesMEN nowadays) in Stockholm, Sweden, and it was an enlightening adventure. The used diaper business is becoming ever more "green", more socially and environmentally conscious all the time, and I figured I needed to stay with the times, rub shoulders with the giants of the industry and get all the latest. And what kind of Used Diaper Salesman would I be if I didn't share with you what I learned?
First, the basics. There was a set of flashcards for new parents that I found to be educational and endearing, some simple how-to's that are a must for anyone who has brought home their first child from the hospital and proceeded to sit down on the floor and rock back and forth in panic while weeping and muttering. Still no word on that Child Maintenance Manual I was promised five years ago (STILL on backorder), so these are a worthy substitute. There are quite a few, but they're worth your time.
Then, my favorite from the "Baby No-No's" booth:
As "green" as this idea is, diaper rash, fruit-induced or otherwise, is a bad thing. Please don't do this to your child.
And finally, my favorite entries in the "Innovations and Advancements" section:
What's more environmentally responsible than edible diapers? Very little goes to waste. And not just cheddar...TANGY cheddar, with new flavors on the way. I'm told Huggies is trying to keep pace by coming out with a diaper that has a little indicator on it which shows when it's full, kind of like the Coors Light bottle whose label turns blue when it's cold, but there was no prototype available at the convention. A bummer...I was kind of hoping to see that one. But scratch-n-sniff? Come on. The target market for that product might do better to simply buy some kleenex and blow their noses, make sure their sense of smell is in working order. Or, if you prefer not to sniff, a simple scratch will do the trick. Everyone knows that even the lightest pressure on a full diaper will cause it to ooze. How's that for an indicator?
So after a very educational and restful business trip, I'm back in the saddle and ready to rock. In light of what we've learned here, I'd love to hear from you. Have you ever mishandled any of the "dos and "don'ts" in those flash cards with your own kids? Have you ever used produce as a diaper substitute? How messy did that get? Would YOU buy edible diapers? If so, what flavor would you like to see? Your feedback is invaluable. Thanks!
First, the basics. There was a set of flashcards for new parents that I found to be educational and endearing, some simple how-to's that are a must for anyone who has brought home their first child from the hospital and proceeded to sit down on the floor and rock back and forth in panic while weeping and muttering. Still no word on that Child Maintenance Manual I was promised five years ago (STILL on backorder), so these are a worthy substitute. There are quite a few, but they're worth your time.
Then, my favorite from the "Baby No-No's" booth:
As "green" as this idea is, diaper rash, fruit-induced or otherwise, is a bad thing. Please don't do this to your child.
And finally, my favorite entries in the "Innovations and Advancements" section:
What's more environmentally responsible than edible diapers? Very little goes to waste. And not just cheddar...TANGY cheddar, with new flavors on the way. I'm told Huggies is trying to keep pace by coming out with a diaper that has a little indicator on it which shows when it's full, kind of like the Coors Light bottle whose label turns blue when it's cold, but there was no prototype available at the convention. A bummer...I was kind of hoping to see that one. But scratch-n-sniff? Come on. The target market for that product might do better to simply buy some kleenex and blow their noses, make sure their sense of smell is in working order. Or, if you prefer not to sniff, a simple scratch will do the trick. Everyone knows that even the lightest pressure on a full diaper will cause it to ooze. How's that for an indicator?
So after a very educational and restful business trip, I'm back in the saddle and ready to rock. In light of what we've learned here, I'd love to hear from you. Have you ever mishandled any of the "dos and "don'ts" in those flash cards with your own kids? Have you ever used produce as a diaper substitute? How messy did that get? Would YOU buy edible diapers? If so, what flavor would you like to see? Your feedback is invaluable. Thanks!
May 31, 2011
An Interview with a One-Year-Old
I didn't think I would have the opportunity to interview Riley for a few years, given that we thought he only knew four words and that it would be rather dull for you, but he had an opening in his schedule due to a cancelled engagement and was gracious enough to sit down with me for a surprisingly candid and hard-hitting exclusive interview that you'll only find here at The Used Diaper Salesman. As it turns out, not only does he have a very extensive vocabulary we knew nothing about, he has very well-formed opinions on a wide range of topics and really ups the ante on his brother and sister. He also has an IQ just north of 200. I was fascinated, and I think you will be, too.
~~~~~
Me: Well, thank you for taking the time to join me for a little chat, son.
Riley: Certainly! I'm glad I was able to make it.
Me: I understand you had another commitment fall through in order to make this possible. What was that?
R: Mensa. They're a little stodgy and tiresome anyway, so I wasn't terribly disappointed. I was to be the keynote speaker at their yearly conference, but I ran out of diapers and didn't have the means to get to the store for more, so I had to cancel. You may want to take care of that little oversight so that you don't end up with a mess on your hands, by the way.
Me: Duly noted, thank you. So who did they get to replace you?
R: A Korean physicist and civil engineer named Kim Ung-Yong. His IQ is registered at 210, so I guess he qualifies.
Me: Only 210, huh?
R: His work is groundbreaking, but I won't bore you with details.
Me: I'll take your word for it. So clear something up for me, if you would. I was under the mistaken impression that the most complex word you knew was "Dada". Why the charade and intrigue? Why not just come out with it and communicate? I have to tell you, it would have made everything easier for all of us around here.
R: (sighs) Well, truthfully, I didn't feel I needed the attention. I learned from our friend Kim Ung-Yong that a child prodigy is scrutinized, paraded for the world to see, showcased on Oprah (laughs). I felt that I would have more time to devote to my studies if I could maintain an image of normalcy. Sorry to have put you out.
Me: That makes sense, I guess. But did you really have to scream so loudly for your oatmeal at breakfast?
R: (smiles) Oh, I did. I thought it played very well. I've always enjoyed classic theater, and I confess I enjoyed acting the part. I guess it was a little over the top, huh?
Me: See these gray hairs? Here, and here?
R: Yes.
Me: That's what over the top does to me and your mom.
R: Sorry, dad. It really was fun, though.
Me: I'm so glad you were entertained. So, back on task. You mentioned your studies. What is it you've been studying?
R: Well, I've been doing some side work for NASA, helping improve their propulsion systems, but my passion is linguistics. Aside from the obvious English, I'm fluent in Spanish, French, German, Mandarin Chinese, and Cantonese. I'm currently working on Ancient Greek with an emphasis on the Mycenean dialect. It's fascinating, and a lot of fun.
Me: Cantonese, huh? I always had a hunch that wasn't just baby babble.
R: Well, I was only about seven months old at the time, so SOME of it really was babble.
Me: So with nap times and all, where do you find time to work on this stuff?
R: I can tell you, it hasn't been easy. You may have noticed that I'm only two feel tall and can only walk about three steps in a row, so getting up into your computer chair to work has been my biggest challenge. I had to bribe Brady with two bags of M&Ms per week to get him to lift me up into the chair. And I have to confess, dad...I wasn't really sleeping during all those naptimes. I have a laptop hidden under my crib mattress. Those child-protecting outlet covers really are a joke.
Me: Wow. Um, well, far be it from me to keep you from your work. Hey, tell me something. Has anyone ever told you that you remind them of Baby Stewie Griffin from the show "Family Guy"?
R: No, who's he?
Me: Never mind. So, since you seem to have a good grasp on astrophysics and linguistics, I'm sure you can handle politics. What are your thoughts on the way the 2012 elections are shaping up?
R: Well, President Obama has done some interesting things, but I'm not all that impressed. He hasn't lived up to so many of his campaign promises and his handling of those issues he has addressed has been questionable. I just don't know if the GOP has anyone who can do a better job or is polished enough to be electable. I was sad to see Mike Huckabee drop out of the race, but hardly sorry to see Donald Trump go. He's a joker.
Me: A good take. I think I've taken up just about enough of your time, but let me ask you one more question. With all the work you've done incognito in the last fifteen months, I can't imagine simple baby toys hold your interest much. You build with blocks but hardly touch most of the other toys. What do you do for fun?
R: I love the blocks because they help me with my spelling skills. You may not have noticed, but I build towers that spell words when read from bottom to top. Do you suppose you could get some of those with Cantonese characters for me?
Me: We'll see, buddy. Anything else?
R: Chess. It exercises the mind, keeps me sharp. I've been invited to play in the Junior World Championship in Chennai, India, but I'm not old enough to buy a plane ticket.
Me: Wow, I'm blown away. Now, about that Oprah appearance...
R: Not a chance, dad.
~~~~~
Who knew? Fifteen months old and a certified genius. It's pretty cool to have a potential future Nobel prize winner in the house, but I don't care. I'd be proud of him if he decided to be a garbage truck driver. He's my son, and that's all that needs to be said about that.
Nevertheless, I'll continue to work on him, try to get him to agree to go on Oprah. There's money in this somewhere.....
May 19, 2011
Diaper Rash, Volume 1: Shameful Shaming
A good friend of mine suggested to me that if I ever have a gripe about something and choose to share it here, I should call it "Diaper Rash". I thought this was a brilliant idea, so I'm gonna go with it. Thanks, Guy!
Not long ago, I wrote about about an incident in which I yelled at Brady and had to check myself in a big way so that I didn't do any lasting damage, and this inaugural edition of Diaper Rash has a similar theme: how not to crush your child's spirit.
Before I rant, please know that I fully understand how difficult young kids can be. I have three, and the slowly graying temples to prove it. As entertaining and endearing as my kids are, they can be exasperating in the extreme. Kids scream and yell when they don't get what they want. They often have very selective hearing, forcing us into broken record mode. They don't understand many of the verbal and body language cues intended to tell them that a conversation is over, that the answer is "no", no matter how many times we tell them so. They throw tantrums, and they often choose extremely inopportune moments to do so. There is a huge difference, however, between willful belligerence and simple childishness, and that's what many parents, myself included, have trouble with. We just want to change the behavior, not the attitude behind it, because it involves a heck of a lot less work. This is not a criticism, just a simple statement of fact. We're all guilty of it at one time or another.
But there are those who take it a step further, forgoing laziness for an outright verbal whipping that scars their kids' hearts. That is what has me on boil today.
My mom has told me about a particularly memorable nightmare trip to the grocery store she took with us kids when we were all pretty small. I don't recall all the details, but I do remember that we were the culprits in several "Clean-up in aisle nine!" incidents, and that was just the beginning. It sounds like it was Murphy's Law and The Twilight Zone all rolled into one, and I'm just grateful she allowed us to live.
The mom I saw in the store the other day with her son and daughter may have been experiencing a shopping trip similar to the one my mom endured all those years ago, or maybe she had something else on her mind, but whatever the case, it was her kids who were paying the price.
As I walked by, looking for the pretzel stix my kids love, I overheard her laying into her son, who was maybe three or four and wearing an Elmo shirt. "You are SUCH a brat," she spat, "I don't know why I even take you anywhere." The little guy, who had obviously been crying, looked pretty well cowed, but not shocked, which led me to believe this wasn't an unusual occurrence. "If you're going to be such a brat, I'm just going to leave you at home." she said, shaming him in front of anyone who happend to walk by. The more she said, the more his face and body drooped. I couldn't watch, and practically ran out the aisle while I threw the pretzel stix in my cart and ground my teeth.
I would've been okay with something as borderline as "You are acting like such a brat."; still not great, but there's an enormous difference there. This mom was telling her child she didn't approve of who he was, not how he was behaving, and this was what really steamed me, even though it was none of my business. As horrible as it sounds, I would have almost preferred that she spank him right there in aisle nine; a bruised spirit takes far longer to heal than a bruised bottom. If you tell someone what a horrible person they are enough times, they will eventually start to believe it, without fail. The boy in the Elmo shirt believed every word.
The opposite is also true. If you tell your kids how precious they are to you on a regular basis, then your occasional outbursts and lapses are the exception, not the rule, and as they grow up to learn that you're not the infallible superhuman they saw in you when they were small, this distinction makes all the difference, both for their confidence and their relationship with you. As I said in my earlier post about yelling at Brady, we are the architects of our kids' self-image, and the care and quality with which we build it when they're young is the basis for their identity for the rest of their lives. Building well is not optional, it's our duty.
As the source of my Diaper Rash, I had the irrational urge to smear Butt Paste on this woman's face and see how she liked being publicly humiliated, if only to give her son something to laugh about, but I didn't have any in my back pocket and thought I would get in slightly less trouble if I used her behavior as a cautionary tale instead of an actual object lesson. Please, I wanted to say. Don't you see what you're doing to your son? Do you even CARE? I wanted to educate her harshly on the difference between belligerence and childishness, between scolding him for who she says he is and for how he acts, but sermons and supermarkets don't mix well, and who am I, an awfully imperfect parent myself, to preach to anyone? And yet here I am. Here endeth the lesson.
So, parents, know the difference. Someday, your kids won't care a bit what you think. For now, you are their whole world.
Not long ago, I wrote about about an incident in which I yelled at Brady and had to check myself in a big way so that I didn't do any lasting damage, and this inaugural edition of Diaper Rash has a similar theme: how not to crush your child's spirit.
Before I rant, please know that I fully understand how difficult young kids can be. I have three, and the slowly graying temples to prove it. As entertaining and endearing as my kids are, they can be exasperating in the extreme. Kids scream and yell when they don't get what they want. They often have very selective hearing, forcing us into broken record mode. They don't understand many of the verbal and body language cues intended to tell them that a conversation is over, that the answer is "no", no matter how many times we tell them so. They throw tantrums, and they often choose extremely inopportune moments to do so. There is a huge difference, however, between willful belligerence and simple childishness, and that's what many parents, myself included, have trouble with. We just want to change the behavior, not the attitude behind it, because it involves a heck of a lot less work. This is not a criticism, just a simple statement of fact. We're all guilty of it at one time or another.
But there are those who take it a step further, forgoing laziness for an outright verbal whipping that scars their kids' hearts. That is what has me on boil today.
My mom has told me about a particularly memorable nightmare trip to the grocery store she took with us kids when we were all pretty small. I don't recall all the details, but I do remember that we were the culprits in several "Clean-up in aisle nine!" incidents, and that was just the beginning. It sounds like it was Murphy's Law and The Twilight Zone all rolled into one, and I'm just grateful she allowed us to live.
The mom I saw in the store the other day with her son and daughter may have been experiencing a shopping trip similar to the one my mom endured all those years ago, or maybe she had something else on her mind, but whatever the case, it was her kids who were paying the price.
As I walked by, looking for the pretzel stix my kids love, I overheard her laying into her son, who was maybe three or four and wearing an Elmo shirt. "You are SUCH a brat," she spat, "I don't know why I even take you anywhere." The little guy, who had obviously been crying, looked pretty well cowed, but not shocked, which led me to believe this wasn't an unusual occurrence. "If you're going to be such a brat, I'm just going to leave you at home." she said, shaming him in front of anyone who happend to walk by. The more she said, the more his face and body drooped. I couldn't watch, and practically ran out the aisle while I threw the pretzel stix in my cart and ground my teeth.
I would've been okay with something as borderline as "You are acting like such a brat."; still not great, but there's an enormous difference there. This mom was telling her child she didn't approve of who he was, not how he was behaving, and this was what really steamed me, even though it was none of my business. As horrible as it sounds, I would have almost preferred that she spank him right there in aisle nine; a bruised spirit takes far longer to heal than a bruised bottom. If you tell someone what a horrible person they are enough times, they will eventually start to believe it, without fail. The boy in the Elmo shirt believed every word.
The opposite is also true. If you tell your kids how precious they are to you on a regular basis, then your occasional outbursts and lapses are the exception, not the rule, and as they grow up to learn that you're not the infallible superhuman they saw in you when they were small, this distinction makes all the difference, both for their confidence and their relationship with you. As I said in my earlier post about yelling at Brady, we are the architects of our kids' self-image, and the care and quality with which we build it when they're young is the basis for their identity for the rest of their lives. Building well is not optional, it's our duty.
As the source of my Diaper Rash, I had the irrational urge to smear Butt Paste on this woman's face and see how she liked being publicly humiliated, if only to give her son something to laugh about, but I didn't have any in my back pocket and thought I would get in slightly less trouble if I used her behavior as a cautionary tale instead of an actual object lesson. Please, I wanted to say. Don't you see what you're doing to your son? Do you even CARE? I wanted to educate her harshly on the difference between belligerence and childishness, between scolding him for who she says he is and for how he acts, but sermons and supermarkets don't mix well, and who am I, an awfully imperfect parent myself, to preach to anyone? And yet here I am. Here endeth the lesson.
So, parents, know the difference. Someday, your kids won't care a bit what you think. For now, you are their whole world.
May 18, 2011
Stuff You Hope Your Kids Don't Say Or Do In Public
We spend a lot of time explaining to our kids that just because we have a word or action in our repertoire, it's not always appropriate to use outside of our house. That's our rule. Potty words and certain anatomical terms are A-ok to use in our house around our family, but not around other people. Some examples:
-Ellie is currently obsessed with breasts. She frequently says, "I like your boobs, mommy." I'm not really sure where she learned the term, but there it is. She'll sometimes follow that up with, "They're not funbags!", which might be appalling if it weren't so dang funny coming from the mouth of a dainty little blonde cutie. She'll also sometimes tell us, "I like to say 'boobs'." Thanks, honey, I gathered that.
-Bodily functions. You have to admit, they're highly intriguing, and incredibly fun to talk about. Let's be honest - everyone secretly enjoys a good fart joke, but no one more so than kids. They are the highest form of humor at our house. When baby Riley is sitting on the floor and rips a good toot that reverberates on the hardwood, this is usually good for a solid five minutes of laughter from the older two. Riley isn't sure what he's laughing at, but he joins right in. The contents of the toilet after a successful potty trip are scrutinized and discussed in great detail. "Poopy" has become both the prefix and suffix of choice, as in "I have to go poopy-potty." or "I love my Poohie-poopy." These statements don't always exactly make any sense, but when you know a word you really love, I guess that doesn't really matter. You just throw it in.
-Anatomy is a constant topic of conversation around here, as I've told you before. Ellie is particularly intrigued right now, because she has not only discovered the terms (slang and otherwise) for male and female anatomy, she's discovered that mommies and daddies are girls and boys, too. It's a little weird when your daughter asks you if you have a penis, but I get it. She's curious. I'd rather she learn these things from my wife and I than anyone else. The trick is to normalize all of this before she decides to go ask random people about their equipment.
-Modesty is not innate. It's kind of cute when a little girl lifts her dress to check out her belly button, showing off her Disney princesses in the process, but it's another matter when your son sees no problem dropping the whole works to his ankles in the back yard in full view of four houses because he doesn't feel like going all the way inside to pee. We're working on this one.
Whatever. Kids will be kids, and in retrospect, it'll always be funny to think back to the time Ellie grabbed grandma's chest because she was curious about boobs. My job is to make sure she doesn't give someone else's grandma the same treatment. That could be awkward.
-Ellie is currently obsessed with breasts. She frequently says, "I like your boobs, mommy." I'm not really sure where she learned the term, but there it is. She'll sometimes follow that up with, "They're not funbags!", which might be appalling if it weren't so dang funny coming from the mouth of a dainty little blonde cutie. She'll also sometimes tell us, "I like to say 'boobs'." Thanks, honey, I gathered that.
-Bodily functions. You have to admit, they're highly intriguing, and incredibly fun to talk about. Let's be honest - everyone secretly enjoys a good fart joke, but no one more so than kids. They are the highest form of humor at our house. When baby Riley is sitting on the floor and rips a good toot that reverberates on the hardwood, this is usually good for a solid five minutes of laughter from the older two. Riley isn't sure what he's laughing at, but he joins right in. The contents of the toilet after a successful potty trip are scrutinized and discussed in great detail. "Poopy" has become both the prefix and suffix of choice, as in "I have to go poopy-potty." or "I love my Poohie-poopy." These statements don't always exactly make any sense, but when you know a word you really love, I guess that doesn't really matter. You just throw it in.
-Anatomy is a constant topic of conversation around here, as I've told you before. Ellie is particularly intrigued right now, because she has not only discovered the terms (slang and otherwise) for male and female anatomy, she's discovered that mommies and daddies are girls and boys, too. It's a little weird when your daughter asks you if you have a penis, but I get it. She's curious. I'd rather she learn these things from my wife and I than anyone else. The trick is to normalize all of this before she decides to go ask random people about their equipment.
-Modesty is not innate. It's kind of cute when a little girl lifts her dress to check out her belly button, showing off her Disney princesses in the process, but it's another matter when your son sees no problem dropping the whole works to his ankles in the back yard in full view of four houses because he doesn't feel like going all the way inside to pee. We're working on this one.
Whatever. Kids will be kids, and in retrospect, it'll always be funny to think back to the time Ellie grabbed grandma's chest because she was curious about boobs. My job is to make sure she doesn't give someone else's grandma the same treatment. That could be awkward.
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