Oy.

There's so much to tell about my surreal weekend in suburban New York, that I'm not even sure where to begin.
On arrival, my brothers and I devised a game plan. As my father, age 79, is from an older more traditional generation, we thought that he might respond better (and feel less threatened ) in a situation where only my brothers talked to him. Men to Man. Sons to Father. To be honest, I was more than happy to comply.
Welp, that was attempt numero uno.
Apparently, during an explanation of the benefits of having a Health Care proxy in place so that a family member would be able to make decisions on his behalf if/when he is unable to, he closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep.
R (my brother): Dad, I know you are awake. Can you at least sit up and talk to us about this? It's important."

The next attempt to engage my dad happened after lunch. We brought up the benefits of signing the Health Care proxy now, while he is "still mentally competent."
Dad: "Why should I sign this thing? What's in it for you?"
R: "Nothing's in it it for us. It is for your own good. Don't you want someone to speak on your behalf that has your best interests at heart?. What if something happens and you are in the hospital unable to speak? Do you really want a doctor who doesn't know you making decisions on your behalf?"
Dad (to D, my oldest brother): "Do you have one of these?"
D: "We all have them. We're lawyers and would be fools not to."
Dad: "Why are you so interested? What's in it for you?
D: "Nothing. It's for your protection. It designates someone to speak on your behalf if you are not able to."
Dad: "Okay. Pay me $500 and I'll sign it."
D (getting frustrated): "How about I pay you $200 cash to sign it." (tosses wads of $20 bills on the table)
Dad: " How about $1000?"
D: "Are you going to sign it?"
Dad: "Yeah, (suspiciously) I'll have my lawyer look at it."
R and D: "DAD! We ARE your lawyers!"
Dad: "Okay, I'll have my secretary look at it."
R: "Dad, you don't have a secretary. You've been retired for 6 years now."
Dad: "I'll bring it to the office. (To D) Do you have one of these? What is this for?"

Later...

Dad: "What is this?"
R: "It's a health care proxy." (he explains again what it does) You can appoint someone you trust. If not Mom, then one of us, or someone else, preferably younger."
Dad: (turning to me) "How about your daughter? She's nice to me."
Me: "Dad, she's four years old."

Much later...

Dad: "If I don't sign this piece of paper, does that mean you'll keep coming back to visit me until I do?"
R: "How about this: if you don't sign, I will never set foot in this house again. (storms out) This isn't a goddamned game, Dad. We are grownups! We can't you treat us with respect and take this seriously? I gave up a whole weekend with my family and drove 5 1/2 hours to see you and you won't even sign the fucking thing?!? It's very simple!"
Dad: (to me and D, puzzled) "What just happened? Why is he so upset?"
D: "Another thing we need to talk to you about is your driving. We feel that you need to stop or at least cut out the night and highway driving altogether. We have hired a driver for you and we think you should start using her. It is not safe for you to drive anymore."
Dad:(mildly agitated) "NO!"
D: "It is not safe for you to drive. You have, on several occasions wondered off and have been picked up by the police. In fact, this happened only a few days ago."
Dad: "I don't remember that. Where did R go?"
D: "He left the room. He doesn't think you are taking any of this seriously. Your Neurologist feels you should not be driving and has submitted a request to the DMV that you be retested."
Dad: "I think all of you should be retested. What makes you think you're such good drivers? I've never had any accidents."
All of us in unison: "YES YOU HAVE!"
Dad: "I don't remember."
Us: "That's the problem."

And on and on...

Anger Directed at Total Strangers

Ok, in the interest of taking a break from dealing with the heavy stuff (my parents) I just have to get this off my chest.
Yesterday I took baby C to our neighborhood playground up the street. As always, I brought a few snacks, a diaper and, most importantly, sand toys for the giant sandbox. On the way out the door I grabbed C's new sippy cup. He is recovering from a cold, so I mixed him some apple juice + water combo which I know he'll drink. I was sitting on the bench watching C climb the playstructure and minding my own business when a large middle aged man posing as a dad tries to strike up a conversation with me.

Man(to baby C): "Hello there, little girl. You sure got some pretty eyes"
Man(to me): "She's a girl, right?"
Me: "Nope. Boy."
Man: "Well, I could have sworn she was a girl. Is she 2 years?"
Me (starting to feel a little uncomfortable with the line of questioning); "He's 12 months"
Man: "Right, right, a boy. Sorry. What's that he drinking?"
Me: "It's diluted apple juice"
Man: "You know that's bad for their teeth. Where we live, in Tiawan, kids don't have any sugar. They don't even know what it is. See my daughter ova there? (he gestures to a small quiet girl digging in the sand) She's never had any juice. We stick with water and milk ONLY. Also, she eats a strict vegetarian diet and she's as strong as any American girl. She just went to the dentist and he told us, everything was perfect with her teeth. Ya know why? No SUGAR."
Me: "Well, okay then. Have a nice day."

Harumphhh! What was that all about? Is he trying to start some sort of contest as to who is the better parent? I don't even KNOW this person! Why should I have to apologize or even explain myself or the choice of beverages I am providing for my child. This is the kind of person who would give me dirty looks and maybe a lecture for feeding my baby formula. If he knew that my children sometimes eat turkey he would really let me have it. Why do some people feel the need to inflict their agenda on others? Did I ask for his opinion? It's not as if I'm feeding my child dogshit. Even in my 12 years as a strict vegetarian (another lifetime ago) I never preached to anyone.

My message to all the self-righteous, competitive parents out there: Keep your f*ing opinions to yourself. Next time I'm telling anyone who asks that I'm feeding my child bourbon, straight up and that we are teaching him to smoke cigars.

Thanks for listening.

When IT hits the fan

Next weekend I am dragging my daughter 3000 miles away for a family meeting in suburban New York.
The purpose of the meeting is to discuss my aging parents, their changing needs and, in particular, my Dad's worsening dementia, as he is starting to show what appear to us to be mid-early stage of Alzheimer's. My parents are in their late 70's. My Dad was 40 when I was born and I am the youngest of 4. One of my brothers died in childhood when I was an infant. My other 2 brothers who are much older than I am will be there, as will my Mom. Luckily my brothers are very intelligent, articulate, caring people whom I have a good relationship with. My daughter thinks we are going there so she can bake cookies with Grandma. I am leaving the baby back home in CA with dad since he's almost completely weaned now and a nightmare to travel with. During the last visit back east after screaming for 45 minutes, he projectile vomited all over me, his car seat and a sympathetic man from Boston. This time I'm not taking any chances.

One of the top items on our agenda is devising a strategy for removing driving privileges from my father. This step is becoming increasingly necessary as he has been known to disappear for several hours with a car, returning it with various dents or parts missing, and occasionally, a police escort. This is going to be a very tricky situation because since my dad's retirement, driving and running errands has become his job. (Besides picking leaves and berries off of trees--but that's for another blog page) Also, my father has a volatile personality. Also, he's completely paranoid and he can be mean.
Well anyway, stay tuned...this will be fun.

Super Baby!

"Waaah! I'm not a baby anymore!
Don't think you can put me down somewhere and I'll stay there. Nooooo...I've got a better idea. I've got things to do and places to go, so get out of my way. I'm walking!
I think I can reprogram this (choose one: VCR, phone, nightlight, printer, computer, microwave, washing machine, toaster, fish tank timer, vacuum cleaner, sister, kitty).
I'll have none of that mushy baby food, so don't try to give me any. Now I want sandwiches, pizza, ice cream, fondue, steak tartare. Try to figure out what I won't eat today. (Hint: It's on the floor or stuck to your forehead where I threw it)
Watch out! I've been known to remove my full diaper and fling it after naptime.

Really, though, I'm a likeable, easygoing guy. Just ask Mama."

Where's the sister?

Yesterday we visited our friends Brad and Cari and their brand new baby girl who was only 1 week old. I couldn't believe how tiny she was. Next to her, our kids seem enormous and I can't even remember them being so small and birdlike.
M seemed to be both slightly afraid of and fascinated by the newborn at the same time.
She asked a lot of questions:
M: "Did the baby come out of the mommy?"
Me:"Yes, she did. Remember how we talked about how mommies push their babies out of their bodies when they are ready to be born"
M: "Oh. But where's the sister?"
Me: "The sister?"
M: "Yes. Where is she? Is she coming out soon too?"
Me: "No, sweetie. They only have one child."
M: (incredulous, turning to our friend Cari) "You only have ONE child?! Why? When are you going to have another one?"

Make them Stop!

"I don't wanna go to school" she says. "Why not, sweetheart?"
"Because there's hitting at school. All the kids hit me and push me. I wanna stay here with you. Can I watch a video?"

Every morning we go through the same routine.

When I ask M who, specifically, is causing her physical (and perhaps emotional) pain, she mentions a particular boy in her class who is a little bigger than the rest but doesn't strike me as the violent type.
"Have you talked to Teacher J about this?" "Yes."
I also have spoken to both of her teachers about this and watched for signs of abuse myself. So far the most I've witnessed (while remaining hidden from sight) is a tap on my daughter's back, followed by her whirling around and yelling "NO HITTING!" in the offender's face. To say that M is a little "sensitive" is an understatement.
On more than one occasion, she drew stares from strangers when we tried to get her to hold our hands while crossing a very busy street. "OWWWWWWWW!!!! You are HURTING me!" she yells as we try unsuccefully to grab onto her jacket. It's hard not to look guilty when people are giving you dirty looks even if you are sure that you didn't actually inflict any pain.
Recently, M tried to convince us that we not only tripped her, but also slammed her into the corner of the coffee table even though we were both at least 10 feet away. I was actually cooking dinner at the time. "The baby pushed me into his toy and then made me fall on it" "STOP IT, BABY!" she screams.

The next morning I notice another gray hair.

Life at the Poop Factory

When one is living with two young children under the age of five, one can expect to live with a certain amount of nastiness. It just comes with the territory.

No one said that "Toilet Learning" would be an easy endeavor, but I guess that at almost age 4, I really thought that we'd be done by now. Still the battle of wills rages on....the huge chasm between my daughter's lack of caring about being soaking wet and my frustration and, I'll admit, occasional rage at the seemingly hopeless situation. Meanwhile, there's an undeniable rapidly growing yellow puddle by her feet. "that's not mine" she says. On another day: "I smell poop" I say. "It's the baby" says my little angel, knowing full well that I am only moments away from discovering a warm odiferous surprise in her brand new Winnie-The-Pooh underpants that were purchased as a reward for finally using The Big Potty.

When it's your own children's poop, it's only mildly offensive. Strangers, on the other hand are an entirely different story.
On a recent outing with my daughter and her friend Q (same age, similar temperament) we were heading back from the aquarium downtown. As I finished buckling the kids into their car seats, I smelled an unfamiliar yet completely repulsive smell that seemed to be trapped within the car. "PEW!! Did someone step in dog doo?" I asked. Well you can imagine my horror when I discovered that, not only did my daughter's friend step in and track through the car what appeared to be poo belonging to a human (!!!) but he'd also managed to smear it (by kicking the seat) all over himself, my new car, the baby's car seat, my jacket and on and on. I know it's not his fault, but somehow I can't help but take this personally.

Recently I attended a workshop in "Potty Learning: The Ins and Outs" given for free at my daughter's preschool.
As I sat patiently listening to tips on how to begin the process, how to motivate and encourage your child, how to be consistent, loving and nonchalant, after listening to a large woman with a midwestern drawl slowly describe in painstaking detail her 3 year-old son's persistent diarrhea, I found myself suddenly choking back tears.

"What if your child knows all this, has been using the potty on her own for the last 6 months and then one day begins to regress big time?" I began to sob. "what about night-time? Should I keep her in diapers at night?"
I looked around carefully at the other parents (mostly tired looking mothers) and realized that I was over-reacting, but it was too late.

"You will just need to keep her in underpants at night and keep changing the sheets. Why, that's YOUR job" says D, the moderator.

The anger and frustration started to bubble up inside of me until I found my voice cracking, barely containing my rage,
"OK, so you are telling me that besides constantly watching a toddling baby to make sure he isn't putting his fist in the VCR, scrambling eggs at the crack of dawn, breastfeeding on demand, keeping my older child from completely destroying our house by painting on the walls, making sure that she hasn't wet the floor, the couch or her collection of Frog and Toad books, trying to keep the spark alive in my marriage, arranging playdates, researching kindergarten, planning tonight's dinner, trying to make it to the gym once a week, keep up with a growing mountain of laundry, dishes and regurgitated catfood, I am also supposed to change my daughters' soaked bed sheets every morning?!?!?"