One Incremental Yet Non-Intentional Emasculating Moment at a Time

“I’m havin' a bad, bad day

If you take it personal, that's okay

Watch, this is so fun to see

Ah, despicable me…”

— Pharrell Williams

That's what can bring Daddysaur's to their knees, one incremental yet non-intentional emasculating moment at a time.

The plan was for the Mama to take Bea to a playdate with a classmate, then Bryce would have a date with Daddy to go to the store and then enjoy a slice of pizza together. Unfortunately that didn't go so well -- Bryce wanted nothing more than to go with the Mama and Bea to the playdate, but that wasn't a choice for her.

So we powered through, me getting an unsettled Bryce into the car and on our way to the store. I diverted for a few to watch the big surf from the recent storms and that quelled her inner storm (plus the gummy bunnies didn't hurt).

"I'm better now, Daddy," she said.

I smiled. "I'm glad, Sweetie."

That's when I realized I didn't have the grocery list. The inner storm churned again and we ended up just going home.

Not her fault, but tough nonetheless, to feel like an emasculated failure who can't communicate with a 3.5 year old. No matter what I said, nothing helped. Not surprising considering that children this age have a tough time listening. According to Positive Discipline for Preschoolers, by Jane Nelsen, ED.D., Cheryl Erwin, M.A., and Roslyn Ann Duffy, children don't listen because:

• Adults don't ask a child what she should or should not be doing, but tell her.
• Adults set up power struggles that make winning more important than cooperating.
• The child cannot comply with a request because it demands social skills or thinking skills that have not yet developed.

And many other things. Not that these directly applied to my scenario, but because Bryce doesn't have the social/thinking skills needed to assess why she was going with me and not the Mama, she wanted nothing to do with going with me.

It's bad enough (or good enough -- no judgement mommies) that when we attend a school event like we did the other day, a rainy day arts and crafts festival where the kids could go from table to table and paint and glue and do other things, that most of the parents there are mommies, not daddies.

Even with more women in the workplace today and more men staying at home, anecdotally we tend to still fall into these traditional caregiver/breadwinner roles and no matter how much we may lean in either way to compromise and help one another (regardless if you're an opposite-sex or same-sex couple), the breadwinner loses with the kids because they spend much less nurturing time overall with the kids.

It's not anybody's fault, especially the todders; they are more comfortable with the primary nurturers and don't have the coping skills to know the difference yet. That's just the way it is, so the "Daddysaur's" shouldn't take these overreactions seriously. We shouldn't, but we do.

Argh.

Which is why I need to take a little break from the family action yesterday. In doing so, both girls missed me and even Bea felt my angst, being such a feeler like me. The Mama, of course, just wanted to understand and help me work through it.

Damn you girls. I'm a nurturer, too. Daddysaur loves you. 

;)

"Ah, despicable me..."

Daddysaur Magic and Positive Discipline

It stirred, sensing something in its realm. It slowly opened one bleary eye -- suddenly two smaller creatures appeared. Probably B-hivers, it thought. It jumped up from its lair on full alert, scaring the larger of the two creatures.

The Daddysaur bounded to the floor to chase the B-hivers from it's cave, while the Mamasaur stirred restlessly behind them all.

"Girls, wait out in the hall and we'll go downstairs. Mommy's still sleeping and I'll be right there."

Such is the life of late with preschoolers in our prehistoric wake, those moments when we as parents feel older and "tireder" than usual that leads to the grumps with little ones who have boundless energy and endless brain activity.

Last night Bryce woke up yet again from a bad dream and came in our room crying, with the Mama waking, carrying and comforting her back to her bed to sleep. It's been a weekly event even with both of them being pretty good sleepers.

It's when they're awake when it all becomes a handful, playing well with each other one moment, then pounding on each other the next. Or hitting us. Or not listening to us. Or not getting ready to somewhere when we need them to, like school. Or being picky eaters. Or not picking up their things when we ask them. Or Bryce twisting her glasses and popping out a lens on a Sunday when the optometrist isn't in the office, like this very minute.

All very frustrating for fairly emotionally aware, balanced and impulse-controlled adults, like us. And probably you, too.

The Mama's been reading Positive Discipline for Preschoolers, by Jane Nelsen, ED.D., Cheryl Erwin, M.A., and Roslyn Ann Duffy, and now I'm reviewing it. The girls' preschool is based on the positive discipline research and methodology and although I've been aware of it since Bea started preschool, my cursory knowledge has run thin like my patience.

The fact is -- three-year-old's have more energy than at any other time in their lives. Yikes. No wonder that the B-hive continues to buzz so loudly.

The Mama and I grew up in a mixed discipline world of firmer hands and less softer touch, discipline more often associated with punishment and negative behavior extinguishing than positive learning and development. My parents' and Nonna's worlds even more so. Goodness, I was even spanked as a child.

My gruffness today as a parent just doesn't make any magic happen. It only squashes it.

According to the positive discipline book, we as Daddysaurs and Mamasaurs should focus on "Eight Methods for Implementing Positive Discipline":

1. Get children involved in the creation of routines, through the use of limited choices and by providing opportunities to help.
2. Teach respect by being respectful.
3. Use your sense of humor.
4. Get into your child's world.
5. Say what you mean, and then follow through with kindness and firmness.
6. Be patient.
7. Act, don't talk -- and supervise carefully.
8. Accept and appreciate your child's uniqueness.

Easier said than done when you grew up differently as I did, although my parents incorporated some of the above. Miss you Mom and Dad. Mindful positive parenting is where the magic happens.

And yes, Daddysaurs need to get into their B-hivers' world, which thankfully I do.

Who will travel with Daddy next?

Becoming Banana Daddy Rama

"Daddy, can you take Banana on your trip?" asked Beatrice.

That was the night before I left a week ago, and of course I said yes.

I then kissed her forehead and asked, "Do you want me to take some pictures of Banana and post them?"

She nodded. The next morning I left early before anyone else was awake.

But what started as something fun to do for both daughters while I was away at my Peoplefluent company conference all week soon turned into a Banana Daddy obsession.

And a happy and family friendly one at that.

Enjoy.

From Patches to Magic Glasses

"Her vision overall is good," said the eye doctor.

It was our latest visit with him with Bryce, and he went on to tell us that her close-up vision is pretty normal, but it's her long-distance eyesight that struggles and when her left eye wanders out. That's when the brain-eye wiring shuts down on that side, what we need to correct.

So from patches to magic glasses Bryce goes. She continues to struggle with exotropia, a vision problem where one eye migrates outward and binocular vision can be difficult. Wearing an eye patch for one hour each day for a few months helped a little, but not enough.

We were worried about her actually wearing the glasses. After an initial fitting the Mama brought Bryce home with her new peepers and the initial reaction was "no."

As in, "I don't want glasses!"

That's why we dubbed them magic glasses, and in a sense they are -- lovely little pink frames with transition lenses that darken in sunlight that will hopefully eventually help strengthen that left eye.

The morning after we brought the glasses home, the idea was to have Beatrice wear the magic glasses so that when Bryce woke up, she'd immediately want her glasses back. And that's exactly what happened.

"My glasses!"

Right on. So far, she's never looked back (or "looked" better). Thank goodness it didn't take a long time for her to fully acclimate. Yes, she fights a little here and there, but the key is that they're helping her see better, and she's "seeing that the more she wears them. The Mama had to get the glasses adjusted one more time to fit tighter around her ears and on her nose and lose the head strap, but her magical specs are now spectacular.

Add that to the fact that both girls love throwing rocks and playing with big trucks and now we have an unconventional yet formidable combination.

Look out world.

The First-Time Disney Win

Imagine walking into a seemingly quiet and comfortable well-lit room.

Then imagine turning on everything in the room all at once: computers, tablets, phones, stereos, TVs, appliances, anything that makes noise when activated.

Then imagine cranking up the volume and speed on each of them all at once while dozens and dozens of people flood the room as well talking loudly with one another and generally just whooping it up.

Then imagine that there's no immediate no way of turning any of them off and no way of discriminating the dissonance.

I imagine you'd most likely want to get the hell out of there. Reminds me of my panic attacks of old.

Unfortunately this is what life has been like for Beatrice since early on (called auditory processing disorder, which is a big-bucket spectrum disorder that's not fully understood).

So you can only imagine what it was like the moment we passed the Disney Pearly Gates with both Bea and Bryce for the first time. It freaked Bea out. And with good reason. It can freak out any child (or adult) without any processing challenges. She didn't run, though. Not literally. Just more a "deer in headlights," fingers in ears and wanting to leave. After the first 30 minutes she warmed up nicely, adapted accordingly, and was ready to go for the Disney gold.

Her coping has improved dramatically since turning three, starting preschool and now in pre-K (next year starting kindergarten), loving to socialize with all her friends, loving her teachers, and going to speech and occupational therapy. She's learned to adapt and adjust more regularly, something I wish I could've done as a young adult through my 20's, spending way too many years allowing anxiety to crush my very soul.

Plus, she's smart as a frickin' whip.

But the noise and inability to filter and process quickly is still overwhelming to her sometimes and that's when Bea plugs her ears and wants to bolt. I felt bad because my expectations for both girls at Disneyland slightly exceeded the reality of how at least one-half would feel.

The good news is that they both had a ball no matter the moments Bea battled, and that's what the Mama and me counted on. Bea's come a long way, baby. Bryce? Well, she is and has been more adventurous to date, boldly riding more rides with the Mama and me than her older sister. Either way it was a first-time Disney win for the girls.

What was it like for us you ask? Besides being a little tired from awkward shared hotel room sleep, hiking all over the parks while pushing the girls along in their "limo" stroller and the Mama carrying Bryce (they did walk as well, but not the entire time), eating too much junk food and dealing with individualized meltdowns -- it was magical.

It really, really was.

Crossing the Disney Pearly Gates

From Daddy then...

...to Mommy and Daddy on their honeymoon...

...to Daddy after a recent conference...

...to the B-hive crossing the Disney Pearly Gates for the first time very soon...

...stay tuned....

Smell My Finger

Bryce held up her finger.

"Smell my finger," she said to the Mama.

"No, I'm not going to smell your finger."

Bryce sniffed her own finger and shivered, a comical sour frown in full bloom. 

I laughed. "What's wrong with your finger, honey?" 

"Stinky," Bryce answered, and then immediately went back to playing the iPad Dora Explorer game.

I don't want to know, I thought. I shook my head and yawned. Both the Mama and I were tired and "schloggy" -- schloggy meaning slow-motion foggy heads from being woken up at 11:00 p.m. by Bryce -- and not even because of the pre-New Year's fireworks already popping outside like gunshots.

Maybe that's what woke her up. But it's usually due to the fact that she didn't pee before night-night or she had a bad dream. Whatever the case, this has been a recurring waking "bad dream" for us for months now.

Bryce wakes up, seemingly every other night, comes in our room and then sits and/or squats at the foot of our bed and sighs and cries until we wake up. Sometimes I put her back to bed, but usually it's the Mama who has to get her settled again, which can range from 15 minutes to over an hour depending on Bryce's disposition. 

I can usually go right back to sleep, although it really breaks the normal sleep cycle for both of us, and it's really disruptive for the Mama, bringing the schloggies on full force. Combine that with the fact that both girls wake up really early between 5:30-6:30 a.m. (after 6:00 is rarer).

Bryce's wakefulness has been a pattern for months now. With the exception of last night, this week we were lucky because we had a streak of three nights in a row without interruption, with both girls sleeping sounding until morning. 

We've been told that it's normal neurological toddler development, although Beatrice wasn't nearly as wakeful and is a really good sleeper now. This latest cycle is haunting because Bryce was a nighttime nightmare from about 12 to 18 months old.

It really takes it's toll because we're more wakeful now feeling like she's right there crying and whining.

In our heads. Ack.

This too shall pass, but here we are again, a disruptive ghost of no-sleep past...sigh. We do love our B-hive no matter what.

(As we nod off to the schloggies...)

Here, smell Bryce's finger. Wait. Don't. 

Happy New Year!