Intruders Beware

Intruders Beware


As I pulled into the driveway, beaten down from our little Disaster and a Movie, I noticed the front door of my house was open. WIDE open. There was about a 99.99% chance that I had left it open in a frenzy to get out of the house before the children could bring down the support beams, but there had been two day-time break-ins in our subdivision this past month, and if anyone could beat the odds it would be me.


Normally I would have geared up in something similar to my bat-in-the-house or bird-on-the-porch catching outfit (but those are other stories, my friends), grabbed a weapon from my garage armory such as my field hockey stick, an ice skate, or some three week old leftovers from the outside fridge, and headed into my former-home-turned-den-of-potential-burglary, guns firing. Of course I would have called a friend to stay on the phone with me while I cleared my house, as even the best armor can’t protect you from potential intruder ambush. I had my children with me, though, and my jackassery wouldn’t just get me kidnapped, but them as well. I was going to need backup.


My neighbor is a personal trainer and has more strength in her little finger than I do in all of my appendages combined, so she would be the right woman for the job. Jodi’s Hummer was in the driveway, so I traipsed across the lawn, knocked on her door, and explained my situation. Her Boxer, Bandit, sensed there was trouble afoot and was all wound up in anticipation of some excitement, so I invited him to come along for the burglar hunt as well. I got the kids out of the car (yes, I had left them in there the whole time, and yes, the keys were still in the ignition so any burglars who happened to be exiting my house could have quite easily absconded with them), and headed in with the rest of my intruder task force team.


As we were walking in Jodi reassured me, “I doubt there’s anybody in here, but it’s always a good idea to…” she trailed off as she surveyed the carnage of my family room. “Is this how you left it?” she asked incredulously, her jaw dropping. I could tell by her tone she assumed my house had, in fact, been broken into and ransacked and I could certainly see why she got that impression. The burglars obviously hadn’t wanted three dirty diapers (2 wet, 1 “other”), our collection of 400,000 children’s books, the girls’ pajamas, the pants Ella had an accident in last night, a toy cash register, assorted loose puzzle pieces, an old bottle, or a bowl of stale goldfish crackers, because all of these things had been left behind on the floor. I laughed a little and mumbled something about it having been a bad morning and headed upstairs to flush out any upper level perpetrators. Sure enough, the upstairs was also ransacked, but once again it was an inside job. After making sure there wasn’t anyone hiding in the shower, scooping my cat litter, or taking a nap in the crib, I headed toward my room. The moment of truth was when I opened my jewelry box, which I stealthily keep right out in the middle of the room, and discovered that… yes, all of my jewelry was still there. No one had stolen my great grandmother’s engagement ring or my tacky red and white striped hoop earrings. Whew.


“All clear upstairs,” I announced form the landing. “Okay, there’s no one down here,” she said, adding, “You’re sure everything is how you left it?” On their way out Bandit stopped to sniff something on the ground by the front door. “What is that?” Jodi asked. “Oh, I don’t know,” I said as I tried to shoo her out the door before she could figure out that it was a piece of toilet paper Ella had used this morning and had apparently left on the threshold of the guest bath rather than flush it. I tried to nudge the toilet paper out of view with my foot, but Bandit snapped it up and bounded home with his prize. “Bandit! Drop it!” Jodi yelled. “What did he get?” she asked me. “Oh, probably just a tissue or something from the garbage can. Don’t worry about it,” I assured her, all the while willing the dog to eat the evidence before it’s true nature could be discovered. After thanking Jodi for her help and sending her on her way I headed for the fridge, praying that no one had stolen our beer.

Disaster and a Movie

Disaster and a Movie

The girls were revved up and in full destruction mode earlier than usual this morning. Before I finished my first cup of coffee, Ella had taken out every toy she owned and Addison had tried to eat several inappropriate items, including diapers, wipes and the cat, in between spitting up on every square in of... everything. If we didn't get out of the house, and fast, there might have been one less child in my care when Steve got home that night. That's why, when I saw the message in my inbox reminding me that today was "Mom's Movie Club" at our local movie theater, I actually paused instead of automatically hitting delete. The ad claimed the lights would be turned up a little, the volume would be turned down a little, nursing appeared to be not only welcomed but encouraged, and roudy kids were to be expected, not sushed. In theory it sounded great. I should have known better.

Today's offering was "The Waitress." I hadn't heard of it, but it had to be better than watching my house being torn apart so I was in. I didn't anticipate Addison being much of a problem--if she cried, she cried. Other babies would be crying, too. But what about Ella? She hardly sat through her one-a-day alloted kids' show. How would she hold up for an adult movie? And then I had an idea. What if I brought a movie for her, too? Yeah, that's it! Bring a movie to the movie! I'm frickin' brilliant! Here's how it played out in my head: I would sit with a group of young fun moms, my baby on one knee and a tub of popcorn on the other, chatting and watching the movie while Ella and a bunch of other little kids gathered around the little DVD player happily, and quietly, watching "Finding Nemo" or "Madagascar." In my vision my hair is combed, my clothes match, and the kids are sitting in a circle on a clean red carpet. I have no idea how or why my mind fabricated these expectations, for my hair is rarely combed, my clothes only occasionally match, and movie theaters don't have clean carpets. Ever. Moms need to believe in visions, though. It keeps us going. With this fantasy in mind, I got my baby fed, my kids dressed, and found a not unmatching outfit for myself (the combed hair didn't make the leap from thought to reality, though).

I pulled an enormous mom purse out of my collection and filled it with a plethora of snacks for Ella, a bottle for Addison, the DVD player, and couple of DVDs from which Ella and her soon-to-be red carpet friends could choose. Fifteen minutes before show time I shoved the girls in their car seats and peeled out of the driveway and away from my disastrous house.

When we got to the theater I found out Movie Club goers had a second option--Shrek III. I had enjoyed the first two Shreks, and I thought that might be fun for both Ella and me to watch together on the big screen, so I ran the idea by her. She already had it in her head that she was going to Mommy's movie to watch her own movie, though, so she passed up Shrek for her "Madagascar show," informing me, "I like to move it move it is what the lemur says." "The Waitress" it was, then. I bought my ticket and headed in.

Luck was actually on my side and Addison was sleeping soundly in her car seat, which was nestled in her stroller. That would be one less kid I would have to worry about entertaining--I might actually enjoy my morning afterall. When we got to our movie, the theater was neither lit nor was the volume turned down. It was so dark, in fact, Ella and I had to stand in the entranceway and wait until something bright happened on the previews. When the raisonettes and twizzlers started dancing we made our move. We grabbed two seats in the handicapped row which allowed me to park the stroller without having to wake the baby.

I settled into my seat and got out Ella's DVD player. The snacks were done dancing, so I had attach the battery pack in the dark. I flipped on the power once I finally rigged up the battery, but nothing happened. Maybe I hadn't done it right, after all. A few tries later I had to face the facts--the battery was dead. Without her own movie to watch, there was no way Ella was going to sit through mine. She was beyond distraught when I broke the news to her that her Madagascar show didn't work, and it took a few minutes of sniffling and sadness before I finally convinced her to go see Shrek with me instead. We said goodbye to option #1 and felt our way out of the darkness toward the backup plan.

As we turned the corner to the hallway, the car seat containing my baby fell out of the stroller. That's right--it fell out. With my baby in it. In my frenzy to get the girls out of the car and into the theater I hadn't noticed the tray, onto which the car seat snaps, wasn't on the stroller--it was on our back porch where Ella had left it when playing "baby" the day before. The handle was up on the carrier, which prevented it from landing completely upside down, but it did cause the carrier to bounce a few times before coming to its final resting place on its side. Thank God Addison was still strapped in and the handle had acted as a roll bar, so she came out of the accident physically unscathed but, as you can imagine, PISSED. And I was absolutely mortified.

One by one moms more competent than I filed passed us into the theater as I stood there in the entrance, comforting my crying baby while her car seat lay strewn on the ground beside the stroller. It was pretty obvious what had happened but, just in case someone couldn't put the pieces together, Ella told each of the women who offered their assistance that her baby sister's car seat had fallen out of the stroller. And that I had forgotten to charge the battery on her "Madagascar show."

Most moms would have had the sense to call it quits by then, but not I. Addison got over the ordeal pretty quickly, and as soon as she calmed down I decided to press on. I held her in one arm and planned to push the stroller with the other, but as soon as we started moving the car seat fell out again. And again. And again. Without a baby to hold it down, that thing wasn't going to stay put. I finally wedged it in there on it's side (now there was no denying an awful safety violation had taken place). With Addison on one hip and Ella clinging to the arm that was pushing the wreckage of our travel system, we dashed toward "Shrek" before anyone could bust us for switching movies.

The second movie was considerably more crowded than the first was, and the handicapped aisle was already littered with strollers so were going to have to park ours at the top of the ramp into the theater and climb the stairs. We hadn't made it up two stairs before someone informed me my stroller was rolling away. Of course it was--safety precautions such as applying the break seemed so trite after dumping my baby on the floor. At least no one was in it at the time.

I needed adult company (and a drink, which I woefully wasn't going to get), so I found a kind looking soul with two kids and settled in next to her. "Oh, you're baby's so cute," she said. "Can I hold her?" And, right on cue, Addison reached out and pulled a big hunk of her hair out of her ponytail. I had to pry the poor woman's tresses from her unsettlingly strong baby grip. The lights went down and the previews started. When an ad for "Transformers" the movie came on, I couldn't believe my eyes. "Seriously?," I whispered to my adult company, "They're making a Transformers movie??? Remember that cartoon?" She didn't. As it turns out, the woman my age with kids wasn't at all a woman my age with kids. She was an older looking teen who was watching other people's kids. So much for making new movie-going friends. I would have tried to woo her into babysitting for me, but I assumed Addison's love grip had knocked out that possibility.

All told, we made it through about a half an hour of Shrek. I pulled out all of the stops trying to make it to the end of the movie, but not even my steady stream of snacks could slow her steady stream of "Who's that, Mommy?" "What's he doing, Mommy?" "Where is Shrek going, Mommy?" "What's happening, Mommy?". Once she ran through the list, she started again from the beginning. I didn't blame her, though--the movie was way over her head, so I tried to point out things I thought would be interesting to her. The likes of "Look, honey, there's silly flying donkey babies!" and, "Look at that silly costume Shrek's wearing!" were deflected with the her favorite mantra, "Whhhhyyyyyyy?" When I pointed to a big boat Shrek was on, Ella asked me where he was going. I couldn't answer--I had lost track of the plot about fifteen whys ago. Then one of her favorite characters from a "Peter Pan" picture book she had at home appeared on screen. "Look, Captain Hook!" I said, certain that I had found something that would hold her attention. As it turns out, Disney's slapstick version of Captain Hook was a lot different from the bitter, vindictive Captain on the big screen, and it was the Hook before us that finally did her in. "Mommy, I want to go back to my house! I'm scared of Captain Hook! I don't like him!" she whimpered as she scrambled onto my lap, displacing and consequently upsetting her sister. It was time to admit defeat. With one crying baby on my hip and another clinging to my leg, I gathered up my death stroller, said goodbye to my shattered dream of "Mom's Movie Club," and headed home.

A Dose of Guilt for Dad's Special Day

This article appeared in the USA Weekend edition last week. I didn't write it, I just think it's worth the read.

What younger dads can learn from older dads

For next week's special day, an author shares learned knowledge with a new generation of fathers.

By Philip Lerman

When you're 50 and the father of a toddler, like me, you realize there are lots of reasons for having kids at a much younger age. The stamina to chase a screaming, naked toddler around the house for two hours, for starters. And a younger man's heartfelt (if overly optimistic) belief that you can control the world around you.

You may love tech toys, but don't lose your kid in the iPod shuffle.

But knowing there are forces beyond your control -- at the office, in the universe and especially around a toddler's feeding time -- is just one advantage of being an older dad.

There are lots more of us than there used to be. Since 1980, the number of men in their 40s having children has increased nearly 30%. For Father's Day, we whose homes are littered with both pacifiers and reading glasses have decided to pass along to you younger dads a few things it has taken us years to learn.

Here's the typical younger dad's view of the world today -- tempered with an older dad's perspective.

Younger dad: It's not that big a deal if my cellphone is stuck to my hip more than my child is.
Older dad: Today's younger dads are armed with more com devices than Jack Bauer -- but between your e-mail, IMs, ringing cellphone, incessant checks of the BlackBerry and updating your MySpace page, you can lose your kid in the iPod shuffle. Your job now has access to you 24/7; your kid needs the same. Don't be so distracted by the chatter of your life that you can't hear the chatter of your children.

Younger dad: I know I should spend more time at home, but if I don't get this promotion, we're doomed.
Older dad: According to a 2004 CareerBuilder.com survey, more than two-thirds of working fathers are spending in excess of 40 hours a week at work, and 25% work more than 50 hours each week. In trying to be more involved at home and get ahead at the job, working dads these days face a dilemma that working moms have struggled with for years: How do you juggle the increasing demands of the office with your desire to be a better father? Balance -- it's not just for mothers anymore. At our age, we've seen too many friends spend their kids' wonder years clawing their way up the corporate ladder, working late hours and missing the whole thing. Vow to be home for dinner at least three days a week. Or tell the boss you have to leave early tomorrow because you have "a thing" you have to do. Then go pick up your kids from school.

Younger dad: I've got a digital camera, tunes and coffee maker; Junior will love this stuff later!
Older dad: Younger dads love digital toys. If they could digitally change diapers, they would. Don't pass that on to your kids: Experts say toys without batteries are essential for a child's development. They may scream, "We want a Wii!" -- literally, all you have to do is log on to YouTube these days and you can find toddlers playing video tennis -- but blocks and balls and paints and dolls are still the best.

Younger dad: I watched Batman cartoons when I was little. The ones on TV now can't be that bad.
Older dad: When it comes to TV technology, remember that TiVo and other such devices are tools, not crutches. Man cannot parent by DVR alone. Have you seen the violence that passes for children's TV now? Way beyond what we once knew -- "G.I. Joe Sigma 6" and "The Batman" make Yosemite Sam look like H.R. Pufnstuf. Fortunately, there's actually some good TV out there -- try "Dora the Explorer" and "Little Einsteins." Watch what your kids watch and talk to them about it. You might learn something.

Younger dad: My child wants to play all the time, but, come on -- can't it wait 'til the game's over?
Older dad: The younger dad lives like he has all the time in the world -- still trying to make that great happy hour, get that great tee time. Here's what the Bald Dad Patrol has learned: Those things can wait. Something else cannot. You know that little girl crawling under the table, begging you to play while you're channel-surfing the many ESPNs? Better get under that table now. We're old enough to have been through this before, and in what will seem like about 17 seconds, a car horn will honk and off she'll zoom into the rest of her life.

Enjoy it now. As the saying goes, when you have a baby, the nights are very long, and the years are very short.

The Art of The Lurch

The Art of The Lurch

My baby has been making overtures toward crawling lately. Addison doesn't zip around on all fours like the image that comes to mind when one pictures a baby crawling--she has more of a lurch thing going on.

Whereas Addison used to just roll in the general direction of something she wanted and hoped to somehow land atop it, she now has a more creative way to reach her goal. The lurch goes a little something like this--Addison, laying on the ground, sees something that would be inappropriate to put in her mouth. If she's on her back, she flips over and orients herself towards her goal. She then sets herself in motion by pushing off the floor with the balls of her feet. Addison gets her buns up in the air, only to face plant seconds later because she hasn't yet figured out that her arms and legs have to work in tandem. The face plant doesn't even phase her, though--it's all part of the thrill of the chase. Through an elaborate combination of pushing, pulling, squirming, rolling and face planting she usually makes it to her destination.

So far today these are the items she has found it necessary to have and, as such, has deemed lurch worthy. They have all, with no exceptions, been first gummed on and then spit up upon.
Ella's left shoe
both of her own shoes
my cell phone
a bag of wipes
a new diaper
a not-new diaper
me.

Several attempts at reaching the cat have been made, but he learned his lesson early on with my eldest child and gets out of there as soon as Addison starts lurching his way.

I seem to be finding my baby all over the place these days. She's never where I left her anymore, and she often shows up underfoot in unexpected places. I was emptying the dishwasher today and had to do a double take when I saw her out of the corner of my eye trying to pull herself across the linoleum. I had left her on a blanket in the adjoining playroom. Steve took a break from playing on the floor with her and she ended up up against the t.v. stand, happily cooing at her reflection in the glass. I would worry more about losing her, but Addison still spits up A LOT, so even when she really gets going she won't ever be hard to find-I'll just follow the trail of spoiled milk and sweet potatoes.

Compromise

I'm not a food Nazi or anything, but I'm pretty conscious of the nutritional content of what my kids eat--I don't let Ella drink a lot of juice or eat those gummy fruit snack things because of the sugar, I try to go with fresh vegetables instead of canned, stuff like that. Some days I'm more diligent about it than others--It's all quite arbitrary, actually. This story caught me on a day that I cared.

Yesterday I spent about ten minutes in the snack aisle of the grocery store trying to choose a box of crackers based on the amount of protein they have (these are crackers we're talking about here-the leader had a whopping 4 grams) and their fat and sodium content. Triscuits and Ritz only had 6% Daily Value of sodium to Cheez-It's 15%, but the Cheez-Its had 4g of protein to Triscuit's 3 and Ritz's 1. Grams of fat ranged from 2-4. Oh, what to do, what to do??? I realize now (and I think I did then, as well) just how absurd my cracker conundrum was, but right then I needed to get those junky crackers right. My competency as a mother depended on it. In the end I heeded the call of the "100% Whole Grain" banner that was blazed across the front of the Triscuits box.

An hour after the Great Cracker Indecision of 2007, we headed over to a Mexican joint to meet some friends for dinner. As soon as we got to the table, Ella zeroed in on the sugar packets and had a package of sweet n' low in her hands before my rear end even hit my seat. "Open this for me, please Mommy," she pleaded. I certainly wasn't about to let her eat a pouch of granulated saccharin after putting back the Ritz, but I needed her to try to go potty before dinner and that wasn't going to happen if we had a sugar fight before hand, so I went for the compromise and told her she could have the white one (good old Dixie Crystals) after she went potty. Yes sir, giving my kid the white packet instead of the pink would get me nominated for Mom-of-the-Year for sure. We had a deal. Ella got right down to business when we got to the ladies' room, and I applauded her effort. "Can I have my sugar now, Mommy?" It sounded ridiculous coming out of her mouth, but I'm a mom of my word, so I had to tell her that yes, she could have her packet of sugar when we got back to the table. As we headed back to our table, which was on the other end of the restaurant from the bathrooms, Ella told pretty much everyone she saw that she went potty so she got to have her sugar now. By the time we got back to the table she had gotten herself all worked up over the promised sugar packet. As soon as I opened it she dumped the contents out into the palm of her hand. Our friends showed up just as she was doing so, and she proudly showed them her fist full of her reward. "Look, I'm having my sugar!" she announced as she started licking it out of her palm. Oh well, at least her crackers only had 160mg of sodium.