Breakthrough Eminent

Mia still doesn't speak much English. She's a great mimic, though, and seems eager to please and really trying, as we focus on giving her more one-on-one attention to get over the language hump. She does say "watch this" and "good girl."

Yesterday, I was at my computer, and she wanted something to drink. I could tell this was what she wanted, but I was intent on making her ask for it in English. She got more and more frustrated, even as I told her, in Russian: "don't repeat. Tell me what you want" I went through showing her that in English, we say "apple" -- and in Russian, we say "yavloko". I used many examples.

I could see the wheels spinning in her head. Tears of frustration started to come. She was really trying to "get it." Better yet, it seemed clear that there was something to get.

I think we're going to see a breakthrough soon. It's eminent.

Crime Can Pay

A friend of mine recently celebrated his 7-year anniversary by going on an overnighter with his wife. They left their 15-year-old son at home, since he's generally trustworthy, can cook, etc.

But it seems that it didn't take much sleuthing to find out that the young man took the family truck (a 16-year-old Isuzu Trooper) for a 90-mile joy ride. Clearly the odometer had been advanced by 90 miles -- found because the gas gauge doesn't work and so tracking the odometer is how the tank level gets tracked. Also, the truck had been physically moved, there were MacDonalds wrappers in the back seat, there the tank had been filled, and there were witnesses. This was not a well-committed crime, unless getting caught was part of the plan. Furthermore, it was premeditated, as an uncovered email trail subsequently revealed.

The young man actually tried to deny the crime, but finally caved in.

So the question is "Why?". Why would an otherwise intelligent, well-adjusted teenager from a happy, stable home try to get away with something like this?

Here are my thoughts:

• Being a high school teacher, it's clear to me that kids that age think everyone our age is clueless. Smart, maybe, but clueless.
• No "criminal" EVER thinks they're going to get caught. Consciously, at least. (This is why stiffer penalties don't usually work as a deterrent).
• Makes me wonder what he's done in the past that he HAS gotten away with.
• I'm curious as to how the email trail was uncovered.

My own problem is different, of course, since my kids are 3 and 4. Well, maybe not so different. My new daughter seems simply pathological. She often seems to understand full well what's wrong, goes ahead and does it, and then seems to willingly brave the punishment, perhaps shedding a few tears seemingly just for effect, and come out on the other end unscathed, all smiles and hugs. I remember once when my two large dogs raided the kitchen and scored an entire rack of lamb. I yelled at them, but they clearly had looks on their faces that said "whatever -- it was worth it." Like that.

Fear Factor for Kids

We have Palmetto bugs. Roaches. Big ones. This year seems worse than usual. My daughter, Mia, has no fear of bugs. She calls them all "mookahs". "Mookah" is the Russian word for ant, I believe. Or fly. But to her it's any bug. And she picks them up as if they were pets. My wife tells me that Mia proudly presented her a roach the other day, holding it calmly by one of its legs. Evidently, fear is not a factor for her. They give me the heebie jeebies.

Culinary Arts

Here's an example of fine dining in our household. Balogna, peaches, cucumbers and yes, broccoli. Go ahead and laugh it up -- but there were no leftovers.

Bill

Bill is Tucker's best friend. Friday is Bill's fourth birthday, and there will be a party in the park in his honor.  Tucker, of course, is looking forward to it.  Today we had a conversation about it:

• Papa, um, maybe, um I can tell Bill that he can come over to my house and we can have a cake with him on it and me on it.
• A birthday cake?
• Um, yeah.
• Well, that's very nice, Tucker.  But why would you be on Bill's birthday cake?
• Um, because I love him.

Awwww...

Nothing Funny

I've been in a funk lately, which is why I haven't posted anything to this blog.

Of course, I created the blog in the first place to help keep me out of these kinds of funks.

Hey, that's pretty funny.

Retainer Terror

OK, so file this story under "humor at the expense of your children."  Bear with me.

 

There are three houses in a row where we live, with families that spend a lot of time together because we all have kids from the ages of two to seven.  Tonight, it was ladies' night out, which meant that the men took care of the kids while the ladies went out.  To J.C. Penney's (or so they said).

 

So there we are on the front porch, entertaining the kids, waiting for the lightning bugs to come out, when some other neighbors come by.  Susan, and her 13-year-old daughter, Maggie.  They're good friends, and immediately start making "conversation" with Mia.  After a while, just for fun, Maggie decides to pop the retainer halfway out of her mouth, I guess to simulate fang-like teeth.

 

Mia FREAKS OUT.

 

I've never seen her so scared -- not even in the middle of a nightmare (which she has frequently). I tried to console her, and she would have little of it, pointing to the front door as she wanted to go inside. I carried her inside and she reached for the door on the way in, trying to close it behind us -- all the time SCREAMING with a wild look in her eyes.   Maggie, at this point, was crying herself.

 

So, thinking fast, I turn around and carry Mia back outside to the front porch despite her screaming, carefully keeping myself between her and Maggie.  I ask Maggie very loudly and clearly to please hand me her retainer so that Mia can see it come out of her mouth, which she does. Mia stops screaming.  I then hand the retainer to Mia to examine, which she eagerly accepts, calming down completely within a matter of seconds.  I take it back from her and hand it back to Maggie, who then hands it back to Mia again upon her request.  Mia then hands it back to Maggie, and it's over.  Maggie goes inside to wash the retainer off (Mia had been handling bugs -- those she's not afraid of).

 

And all is well.

 

Later, Linda (my wife) comes home and I tell her about the whole thing.  Linda is getting Mia ready for bed and casually talks to Mia about it while brushing her teeth in the bathroom, remarking that "you know, Mama has a retainer, too..." ...

 

...at which point, immediately, Mia freaks out again.  This time she's holding Linda's mouth closed with her hand, and even holding her own mouth closed.  Complete terror -- like she's seeing the devil himself.  Remember, Linda only said the word "retainer" -- didn't even pantomime anything mouth-related.

 

So, I figure I'd try the same tactic that worked last time, and walk in to the bathroom and reach into the medicine cabinet to retrieve Linda's retainer from its plastic case.  No problem.  I hand it to Mia, and she's fine.   We make sure to make it clear that this is not for Mia, only for Mama, and that nobody's got one in now (we all show each other the insides of our mouths). 

 

OK, so the terror in my child's eyes is not funny.  But the ridiculousness of the whole thing sure makes me chuckle.

 

Moreover, I'm fascinated by the level of terror this whole thing created on the front porch, and even more fascinated by the fact the second episode was triggered by the word "retainer," which she'd only heard once or twice while I was having Maggie hand it to me on the porch. Mia doesn't even speak English yet!  

 

Finally, Mia even needed repeated reassurance during bedtime story that none of us were wearing retainers (a word which she now pronounces quite well) -- including each of our three dogs and the two cats.  She even clearly told Linda to "say nyet," which Linda dutifully did.

 

The whole thing is pretty damned spooky, if you ask me. 

 

BTW,  I got new underwear from Penney's, so the ladies at least made a stop there...  

Baccha the Huh?

As many of you know, our daughter's nickname is Bacha.  We've been coaching her to speak more English, or even to recognize the difference between it and her native Russian.  I realized today, however, that there's a third language involved. She actually seems to have morphed her native tongue into whatever language Jabba the Hut speaks.  You know, from Star Wars.  Even her laugh, though not as deep, is just as evil.  Like this:

• "Bacha, please eat your soup.  You like this soup."
• (silence)
• "Bacha, be a good girl and eat your soup."
• "Mmph, ya ni godoo kooshite, mapa." (Translation: Your Jedi mind tricks will not work on me, Papa, as I am not a weak-minded fool.  The soup is not to my liking.)
• "I warn you not to underestimate my powers, little girl."
• <insert evil laugh here> 

At this point, before I lose it, I walk out of the room -- which is the equivalent of the trap door opening up an dropping me into the dungeon to face the nasty beast thing.

 

Beauty Queen

OK, so I was planning to generally refrain from posting cute pictures of my cute kids, but then again this is about finding the humor in parenting, no? You've gotta admit, this is worth a smile.

The hat is my wife's and the shoes are my son's, as are the binoculars and sock -- so she really had only moments to strike this pose before being caught red-handed. "Red-handed" -- get it?

What's the curve?

My brother, Steve (who also has two young kids) berated me today on being too hard on myself regarding my "grade."  OK, so I really don't think I'm "one step above deadbeats or abusers."   Realistically, I'd like to think of myself as above average.  That is, C+ or above.

 

Whatever.  The real question to be asking is, Steve tells me, is "how do I get closer to an A?"

 

As a high school teacher, I understand the value of clear, consistent metrics for any grading system.  So.  What's the curve?

 

I propose this as a possible scale:

• A: Something to aspire to.
• B: Enough to make my parents proud.
• C: Going through the motions - can't complain
• D: One step up from Deadbeats and Abusers
• F: Deadbeats and abusers

Hmmm... seems to me that this leaves a big gap between C and D, makes sure that almost everyone would give themselves a B, and assures that nobody will ever achieve an A.  Interestingly enough, this is pretty much how I like to grade in my math classes. 

 

So, for real...  me?  In general, about a B.

D Minus

...OK, maybe a solid D. After all, I'm probably not actually failing as a parent. At least not most of the time. That's what I'd give myself right about now. A solid D in parenting 101.

Actually, for me, it's parenting 102. Or 201, or something. I now have a second child, after all. Our last trip to Kazakhstan to adopt Mia, our daughter, made it clear to me that blogging is a great way for me to stay sane under trying circumstances. Little did I know that being home is a trying circumstance in itself. So that's what this blog is about. It's about seeing the humor in parenting. I need to focus on the humorous things, so that I don't lose it. Spontaneous combustion is, I now know, a really very real possibility.

So.

Having a conversation with my daughter is a trip. She's three and a half years old, and, having just arrived from Kazakhstan, speaks only Russian. We speak only what Russian we learned during our trip, which ain't much. Sometimes I'm amazed at how much she understands, and sometimes talking to her is like talking to our dog, Buck. Strangely, I really don't think she gets the fact, yet, that there's another language involved here. She repeats what we say, but doesn't make a connection between most English sounds and their meanings. She doesn't seem to register that "sok" (Russian) and "juice" mean the same thing.

A typical conversation:

• What do you want?
• Va u van?
• Do you want juice?
• Van jut?
• Juice, or Milk?
• Da.
• No. Do you want juice, or milk? Choose one.
• Da. Jon.
• Who's on first?

...and so on