{Originally published on The Extraordinary Ordinary.}

“You’re not going to remember any of it anyway,” was what she said. I felt like she had just socked me in the stomach. I hadn’t really thought about it before, but forgetting makes perfect sense. I do it all the time.

But this? I’m not going to remember this? I guess she would know, she’s been through it.

The sleepless nights, the loads of diapers and laundry, the tantrums, the baths, the food flung across the floor. Those are the things she was referring to, saying I’d forget all of that. She was meaning to encourage me. And yes, I don’t really mind that I’ll forget all of that. I will enjoy my hindsight rose colored glasses when they arrive years from now.

But I would gladly remember all of the stress and strain, fatigue and frustration vividly if it meant I would remember all the rest just the same.

Because it makes me sad to realize that I’m also bound to forget the beauty of these years. That fresh out of the bath smell. That toothy grin. The way Miles says ‘careful’ about five different ways, all of them hilarious. The wiggle of Asher’s shoulders as he does a little dance. The pudgy little fingers holding tight to that blankie. Those pouty little lips. That laugh. Oh, that laugh from the gut that surrounds me and makes me feel hugged. I will miss that. I don’t want to forget.

She said that even though she had pictures and videos, it wasn’t the same. She still couldn’t remember on her own. The pictures were reminders, but not experiences. The videos seemed to be of a child she no longer knows, because she can’t remember.

I suppose it’s like my own childhood memories, vague and a bit fuzzy around the edges. Some more vivid, but always fleeting…

{Originally published on Foolery.}

The ability to put a child down to sleep for the night is one of the most important skills one can attain as a parent or babysitter. It is also the most elusive one.

Let’s start with bathroom stuff. First up: go to the bathroom. No, not you, though with the amount of time this operation will take, you may want to consider it first.

Get the child to go potty. Plan to run water in the sink for the child to spur her imagination — at least enough water to wash a Suburban with. Don’t be at all surprised if child announces a secondary plan, for which more time and toilet paper will be necessary.

After the toilet is flushed, the child will attempt to escape, but you must INSIST that the child first wash her hands. This usually involves at least as much water as you ran to make her tinkle, and about a quarter of that will end up on the counter and floor.

Before the child can run away, grab her by the waist and say, “Time to brush your teeth!” as brightly yet firmly as you are able with a squirmy, uncooperative and toothbrush-hating child in your grasp. You must let go long enough to uncap the toothpaste. After you’ve experienced once or twice chasing your child through the house while forgetting you have uncapped toothpaste in hand, you’ll be smarter and have the toothbrush loaded and ready to go while she’s washing her hands. This works even better once she has become territorial about the toothpaste, insisting upon doing the squeezing herself. (Don’t sweat the mess; you have to mop up after the hand-washing anyway.)

I like to allow the child to brush her own teeth, emphasizing “Don’t swallow the toothpaste — spit it!” about every five seconds. Plan to be spat upon. It also helps to pick a funny little tune to la-la while you brush her teeth: a personal favorite is the theme music to the old Benny Hill show, Yakkety Sax. This will not be your child’s favorite, however.

{Originally published at Mommy Tracks}

We stood outside the school, hand-in-sweaty-hand, waiting for the bell to ring. I clutched a folder of multi-colored paperwork. He swayed eagerly from foot to foot with his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles backpack hanging light and empty over one shoulder (”the way the big kids carry them.”) We were about to embark on a new adventure – school age, the next era in parenting. But I wasn’t really thinking about all that.

I was thinking about Owen Wilson.

In the movie Armageddon, as his character prepares to launch into space and save the world from certain destruction by a huge asteroid, Owen Wilson delivers this line:

“I’m great, I got that “excited/scared” feeling. Like 98% excited, 2% scared. Or maybe it’s more. It could be, it could be 98% scared, 2% excited but that’s what makes it so intense, it’s so - confused.”

And that’s exactly how I felt about the first day of Kindergarten.

People told me this would be hard. Kindhearted friends gave us relevant books. The school sent me a parable printed on purple paper about kids climbing giant beanstalks and leaving their parents at the bottom. Neighbors stopped to commiserate. “I remember that day,” they said. “That’s a tough one. I think that was almost as bad as sending them to college.”

Pshaw. I thought.

Originally posted on The Busy Dad Blog.

Editor’s Note: BusyDad is a master of parody. If you’ve never heard of or seen the show Iron Chef, this brief explanation will give you some background on what follows.

If memory serves me correctly… my newest
Iron Chef began his tutelage under legendary Iron Chef BusyDad in the summer of
2005. His journey into the culinary world began in BusyDad’s kitchen, honing
his creativity by finding ways to turn every kitchen utensil into a gun or a
spaceship.

As his apprenticeship progressed, this would-be chef cut his teeth by
helping his master cut green beans. With a butter knife. Perhaps his actual
teeth may have been a more effective tool for this, but an important lesson was
learned. Dull tools sharpen the mind.

And sharpen his mind he did, along with his craft. Known throughout culinary
circles as the catalyst for the “kid gourmet” movement, Fury has
dazzled critics and playgroups alike with his “rad” interpretation of
traditional fare.

Today, I welcome him to Kitchen Stadium as my newest Iron Chef. As
this is his debut battle, and seeing as he can’t reach the faucet, I have
decided to bring his master, Iron Chef BusyDad out of retirement today for a
very special tag team edition of IRON CHEF.

AND NOW, TODAY’S THEME INGREDIENT… FLOUR!
Allez Cuisine!

* * * *

Fukui: Oh! the Chairman has thrown us a curveball today by picking
flour as the theme ingredient! So basic, yet complex! Yes, yes. Let’s go to our
commentator on the floor, Ohta for some play-by-play.

(click title for more)

Originally published on Halushki.

One of the most important responsibilities
- nay, obligations - of any parent is, I think, to encourage our children’s
daily awareness of all that is magical and mysterious in our great,
big fantastical world.

And, yes, I am a hippie.

To point our children toward a sly glimpse of the crystalline fairies
in a drop of dew….

To wonder in awe at Titan voices booming across the evening sky during
a summer thunderstorm….

To marvel at orchestras captured on silver discs, musicians trapped
like microscopic genies to be released in song only at the listener’s
wish and command….

Ah bliss! Ah joy!

To support and stimulate their creative selves and thusly nourish their
hearts and souls with the food of poets and saints!

(And I’m not talking cigarettes and day-old baguettes.)

But, as a bittersweet fact of life, every day my children grow a bit
older and, so too, a bit too wise for the world’s magic.

Mostly, I blame science.

(click title for more)

Originally published on Julie Pippert: Using My Words.

It
was a pretty innocuous mother’s club meeting, and we were talking about
babysitters. I don’t even recall why it came up, the talk about
babysitters. Conversation unrolls so organically in these meetings,
these times we get together, without children, and get to just talk.

But
sitters came up in conversation and the turn of that conversation
surprised me. Greatly. Apparently around here it’s bad manners to quote
an hourly rate for one’s babysitting services.

“You know what
gets me?” a mom said, “You know what sitters I prefer? Who I pay the
most to? The ones who say ‘oh just pay me whatever.’” She went on to
explain that (and this is my paraphrase not her exact statement) to
her, it came across as very forward, rude even, when these sitters said
they charged X dollars per hour.

My mind rolled that concept
around for a minute: it’s cheeky and rude to state upfront how much you
charge if you’re a babysitter.

I looked around the room, seeking
the people who ducked their heads to avoid disagreeing or the people
shaking a no with their heads, and waited for someone to say, “Well for
heaven’s sake, it’s a business. Of course they need to—and
should!—tell you in advance how much they charge! How else will they
learn to value their own worth and services? How else will they learn
to deal with people and money? How else will you be able to figure out
how much to budget and how much cash to have on hand for the time?”

But not one person did. Not one ducked head. Not one shaking head. Not one verbal alternate perspective.

(click title for more)