Calendar

January 2019
S M T W T F S
« Aug    
 12345
6789101112
13141516171819
20212223242526
2728293031  

Articles

Archives

My Daughter is Alan Greenspan

“Lets pretend pennies are quarters.”

On washing her hands

On washing her hands: “Daddy, every time I turn on the faucet, my hands think it’s play time.”

Zoe has a sister… and a brother

Zoe has a brother and a sister, as I found out last night.

Bisha, her sister, is 24. Midja, her brother is 69.

“Oh? Where do they live?” I asked, as Heather and I laughed.

“Japan,” she said, quite confident.

Then, following a most pregnant pause. “Daddy? Where’s Japan?”

Just like mommy?

I was getting Zoe dressed and ready for bed and I couldn’t find the fuzzy purple pajama top to match her fuzzy purple pajama bottom. After looking around, all I could find was her fuzzy pink princess pajama top.

“Is this OK?” I asked Zoe.

“They don’t match,” She said.

“Nope, they don’t match at all,” I replied.

“Just like mommy?” she asked.

Expiration Date

Zoe handed me one of Heather’s bank cards, “Can you cut this in half?”

“Just a sec, let me ask Mommy,” I told her.

“It’s expired,” she said before I could call after Heather.

I chuckled. I yelled into the other room and my, “Heather? Can I cut this in half?” was greeted with a positive response. As I pulled my scissors out of my pocket knife, I asked Zoe, “What does ‘expired’ mean?”

She thought for a second before she said, “It’s when something is old.”

“Oh,” I said, “I’m old, so is daddy expired?”

“Not yet,” she said with a pause. “At least I don’t think so.”

Fine Young Cannibals

At breakfast, Zoe wanted a ‘Make a Face’ pancake and out it came, eyes of strawberry, mouth of banana, and a packet of yogurt to spread for the hair (or any other decoration the 3 year olds see fit).

She added the yogurt-hair and I asked if she would like me to cut it up for her.

“Wait! Daddy! Wait! Can we give the pancake a name?”

“Uh, sure. Go ahead.”

“How about ‘Mala’?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Okay, you can cut her up now, daddy.”

Tomorrow

I tucked Zoe, getting her set up with her Curious George — in his pajamas — and the requisite two blankets, feet completely covered.

“Do you need a kiss?”

“Yes, Daddy,” she said, snuggling in.

I leaned over and kissed her gently on the cheek. “Sleep well; get good rest so you’ll be ready for tomorrow.”

“What are we going to do tomorrow?” She asked.

“I don’t know,” I said truthfully.

There was nary a pause before she asked, “Are we going to take over the world?”

Something 3-year-olds didn’t say 20 years ago

“Daddy, I saw Darth Vader on Facebook today.”

Seasons only exist outdoors

Zoe and I were singing songs while she was getting ready for bed and I started singing the Pink Pajama song when she stopped me.

“You don’t wear pajamas in the Summer,  you wear them inside, at night time,” she declared.

I laughed. “It can be Summer and you can be indoors at the same time.”

The quizzical look and brief pause told me she was having some issues reconciling this.

“Sometimes, Daddy,” she said, “you are a little bit confusing.”

Things you shouldn’t have to say

“Please do not feed Cheerios to the camera!”

Are you a big girl?

“I’m a big girl,” Zoe told me as we were getting her ready for bed.

“Oh? Are you sure you’re a big girl?” I asked, playfully.

“Yep,” she says, rather matter-of-factly, “I’m awesome.”

My Little Smurf

I didn’t have the camera when I should have. A shame really.

Zoe wanted ice cream and she was being good and she was being patient with me as I labored over a turkey meatloaf (very good, by the way) so by the time I was finished, I’d somehow agreed to take her to get an ice-cream cone.

Her first, that is.

So we show up at the ice-cream shop and I first make her pick out a cone: waffle, white chocolate dip, candy sprinkles. Check.

Then she hit me with her choice of filler. “That one!” she said, pointing to one particular flavor that stood out among the forty-odd choices.

“Uh,” I said in my most authoritative, parental voice, “how about cheesecake? Or cake cream? Or strawberry? Or raspberry?”

“No, that one!” she said as she was pointing to, of all things, bubble gum.

Very. Very. Blue. Bubble gum. This is a color that, when encountered in nature, wise herbivores will avoid at all costs as it screams in no uncertain terms: poison.

“But, Zoe, what about…”

And then she dropped it on me, sad eyes and everything. “Please, Daddy, may I have that one? Please, please, please,  please.” She threw her arms around my neck and gave me a huge hug.

I looked at her in her fancy pink dress and thought of the innumerable ways that Heather would dismember me if we brought that dress home with a huge glop of very, very blue ice cream down the front. But I knew at that instant I’d already lost the battle and having lost the battle I nodded my head at the kind owner across the counter as he chuckled and nodded back, grinning ear to ear. He was either wise in the ways of children and bubble gum flavored ice cream or wise in the ways of parents not standing a chance at winning these particular arguments about bubble gum ice cream in ice cream parlors on a Sunday. Either way, I think he took delight in what was about to transpire.

So here it came: one waffle cone, dipped in white chocolate, coated with sprinkles, filled with unearthly blue glop that was rapidly melting in the Texas evening.

I tried my best. I stuffed a napkin in the neck line of her dress like a makeshift bib, I placed two napkins on her lap, wrapped another napkin around the cone — make that two — and said a little prayer.

Like it would help. Within two bites there was blue on her nose and blue on her lips and blue on her cheeks and blue on her fingers and then blue on the back of her hand as she wiped the blue on her nose and her lips and her cheek back on to her ear and into her hair. I wiped her down and exchanged out her napkins.

As luck would have it, when you buy very, very blue bubble gum ice cream for your daughter in a new pink dress, napkins do not cost a thing. Had the owner charged a mere nickel a piece he could have retired comfortably to Boca at the end of my evening.

One ice cream cone, white chocolate dipped, with sprinkles on top, very, very blue bubble gum ice cream, 30-odd napkins, one trip to the bathroom, an extra cup, six small droplets of said blue ice cream on the dress, one lengthy ride home, a few squirts of Shout, an extra running of the washing machine and a bath and I was done for the evening.

And then I tucked my little Smurf into bed, kissed her on the cheek and she said, “Thanks with the ice cream, daddy. I love you.”

Morning Person

This morning I was sipping tea and reading a book as I heard Zoe stir a bit in her room. With a sudden rustle of covers that likely roused a dozen stuffed animals from their slumber, Zoe awoke.

“HURRAY! IT’S MORNING!” She said exitedly behind her closed door.

Then came out to get her morning snuggles on the couch with daddy underneath the blue blanket.

Why does everything appear?

“Why does everything appear?” Zoe asked as we were discussing the latest Curious George book she read.

I started to answer while she drew in a deep breath but was interrupted.

“When a dinosaur appeared on the screen I jumped out of my seat and I ran away and I flew and I flew into a boy’s room and I appeared and he said ‘Oh look a flying child’ and it was silly and then I escaped. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA”

Counting

Everything gets counted these days and we’re obliged to help when Zoe utters the phrase: “Let’s both count …”

Today, we counted toes.

As we pointed to each in turn, in unison (and rather quickly), “One, two, three, four, five…”

We switched feet.

“Six, seven, eight, nine, ten!”

“How many toes do you have?” I asked, expecting the obvious answer.

“A lot,” she giggles.

Itchy?

“Who is that for?” Zoe asked, pointing to her now-too-small training toilet.

“Well, if we ever have another baby,” Oh, good one dad. Set yourself up here…

Zoe looked hopeful, “Can we buy a new baby?”

“No, no we can’t. You can’t buy babies, Zoe.”

“Why not?”

“It’s against the law.”

“Like riding in the front seat of a car?” She asked.

“Yes, like it’s illegal for you to ride in the front seat of a car.”

And then… the bomb.

“Where do babies come from?”

Uh. Uh. Not ready for this. Too young for this (her, not me, I’ve a pretty good idea). “Babies comes from Mommy and Daddy.”

“Did you make me?”

“In a way, yes, we made you.”

“With knives?”

“No, not with knives. More like we made you with love.”

“With love? That’s silly.”

I giggled, bullet dodged… for now. Then she thought for a moment.

“Is love itchy?”

“OH LOOK AT THAT, BATH TIME OVER…”

Zoe is irresistible

Unprovoked, Zoe came up behind me, threw her arms around my neck and said, “I love you, Daddy.”

I laughed and said, “You’re adorable, did you know that?”

Not missing a beat and rather matter-of-factly, she replied, “Yes, I know.”

She paused, then, “I understand. I’m irresistible.”

Zoe slept in today

It was around 9:45, on the late end of when Zoe gets up, and I could hear some movement beyond her bedroom door. Needing to get a few things done, I decided to go in and wake her up. I slowly opened the door…

BOOM! She sat bolt upright and had this very “awake-but-not” look on her face. I noticed some concern.

“Are you OK?” I asked.

“Yes, but I’m late for work,” She said, panicked.

It’s another early morning, sun came up without a warning

Zoe’s new way of letting us know she’s awake:

Her door creeps open, she sticks her head out and loudly calls: “Helloooooooooooooooooooooo”

Cats and Dogs

Zoe was out in the hallway.

“Meow.”

“Are you a cat?” I ask.

“Meow.”

“Well, about  5 minutes and we need to clean up the living room and take a bath.”

“But kitties don’t like baths.”

“Oh, I know they don’t, but all the kitties in this house are taking a bath tonight!” I joked. Our other cats have claws and I’m not suicidal.

Then she paused for about thirty seconds, searching for what to say before getting a twinkle in her eye.

“Woof,” she said.