This hasn't been a good week for my instincts as a father. First I subjected Casey to the horrors of Young Frankenstein, and then I took him out to the store on Saturday. Actually, that was a pretty good trip -- Casey always seems really good for me when we're out in the world, and I don't know what his mother's problem is.
But on the way home, I suggested we stop at the car wash so Casey could touch Mommy's car again without coming away with gray hands. "Car wash broken!" Casey told me. Wow, he remembers that? Two weeks ago we were going to stop at the car wash, but I wasn't given the option at the gas station, so we went home without one. He was pretty upset about it; he'd really had his heart set on going through the car wash. So I told him it was broken, and as far as he knew, that was still the case.
But I picked a different gas station this time, fueled up the car, and got us in line for the car wash. Casey seemed pretty eager about it, until the thing actually started. Even the start of the wash wasn't so bad, when it was just dumping soap on the car. But when the high-pressure spray started and swept past his windows, it got a little too loud for him. I did my best to keep him from bursting into tears, and except for a few panicky squalls, he held it together pretty well. Still ... he wasn't happy and kept telling me in that quavery voice that the car wash was "all done" -- long before it was over.
And then he got home and ran inside the house, threw his arms around Mommy, and started to tell her all about it. You had to know what he was saying, but with a little help from me, we got it translated, and the thrust of it was simple enough: "Car wash scary!" He spent the rest of the weekend randomly exclaiming about car washes. "No car wash!" he'd tell us at dinner. "Car wash over!" he'd tell me as he got up from his nap.
I mean well, but I just keep inflicting mental scars on this poor kid.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
No spilled soup! Noooo!
Casey's getting more sophisticated every day. In this context, we're talking about what he sees on TV. He's a big Pixar fan by necessity because it's what I let him watch, but there are some frightening moments even in stuff like "Finding Nemo" -- and it's been interesting watching him grow up and gradually realize when a character's in peril.
He particularly hates the first dentist's office scene -- near as I can tell, it's because they introduce the location by showing a guy strapped into a chair while the dentist pokes strange equipment into his mouth. For the sake of humor, there's some pain and yelling and thrashing around -- hardly Marathon Man material, but I suppose that for Casey it's a little scary. The fish he can mostly handle, but I think it's easier to identify with something like a dentist's office -- he's been to the doctor before, and he gets that.
Then there's last night. I was in charge of the remote, and Casey was playing with trains on the coffee table, so I wasn't looking for a "Thomas the Train" episode. I avoid violence and language when Casey's in the room, but that's easy enough. I don't worry too much about him, particularly when he's not even paying attention. But last night I picked something I thought was safe, and it turned out ... well, time will tell how scarring it really was, but he wasn't happy at the time.
So anyway, I switched to Young Frankenstein.
It had been on for a little while, and every now and then it caught his attention, but mostly he ignored it and did his own thing. But then came the moment where the monster meets Gene Hackman -- I don't know why, but that grabbed him, watching the monster settle into the blind priest's hut for soup. And once Gene Hackman started ladling hot soup into Peter Boyle's lap, and the monster started roaring, that was all Casey could handle.
"Oh no! [somethingsomething] spill soup!" Casey exclaimed.
"Oh no," I agreed. I didn't quite get how freaked out he was yet. "Did the monster spill the soup?"
"Yes!" Casey cried. He turned to watch again -- and Gene Hackman's still ladling soup into the monster's lap. "No spilled soup! No!" And that's when he latched on to me.
A moment later, Mommy arrived with pajamas. "Time for pajamas, Casey!"
And then he REALLY latched on. "No! [extended passage of mystery sounds]"
"Wow," I told Erika. "He's really got a death grip going here."
We tried to talk him into sitting down for pajamas, but apparently that would mean lying down in front of the TV, where for all Casey knew, soup would be spilled on roaring monsters with wild abandon. Eventually we figured it out. It took a little while, because in his distress, he became a little difficult to understand. "Casey, is the monster scary?" "YES!" So we turned the TV off, and he finally released me, and that was the end of the problem. Or so I thought.
Later it was bedtime, and shortly after we got Casey down for the night, I disappeared downstairs for half an hour or so. When I got back, Erika was glaring at me. Apparently he kept calling for her, and every time she went into his room, he spent the time earnestly telling her all about monsters and spilled soup. "I blame you," she tells me. Yeah, no kidding.
It's remarkable to me how much he remembers. I'll say something or he'll see something, and I won't think much of it, but months later he'll bring it up again. There are a lot of little things that make bigger impressions on him than I thought they did. So time will tell what the repercussions will be after irresponsibly exposing Casey to the terrifying soup scene from Young Frankenstein.
What was I thinking?
He particularly hates the first dentist's office scene -- near as I can tell, it's because they introduce the location by showing a guy strapped into a chair while the dentist pokes strange equipment into his mouth. For the sake of humor, there's some pain and yelling and thrashing around -- hardly Marathon Man material, but I suppose that for Casey it's a little scary. The fish he can mostly handle, but I think it's easier to identify with something like a dentist's office -- he's been to the doctor before, and he gets that.
Then there's last night. I was in charge of the remote, and Casey was playing with trains on the coffee table, so I wasn't looking for a "Thomas the Train" episode. I avoid violence and language when Casey's in the room, but that's easy enough. I don't worry too much about him, particularly when he's not even paying attention. But last night I picked something I thought was safe, and it turned out ... well, time will tell how scarring it really was, but he wasn't happy at the time.
So anyway, I switched to Young Frankenstein.
It had been on for a little while, and every now and then it caught his attention, but mostly he ignored it and did his own thing. But then came the moment where the monster meets Gene Hackman -- I don't know why, but that grabbed him, watching the monster settle into the blind priest's hut for soup. And once Gene Hackman started ladling hot soup into Peter Boyle's lap, and the monster started roaring, that was all Casey could handle.
"Oh no! [somethingsomething] spill soup!" Casey exclaimed.
"Oh no," I agreed. I didn't quite get how freaked out he was yet. "Did the monster spill the soup?"
"Yes!" Casey cried. He turned to watch again -- and Gene Hackman's still ladling soup into the monster's lap. "No spilled soup! No!" And that's when he latched on to me.
A moment later, Mommy arrived with pajamas. "Time for pajamas, Casey!"
And then he REALLY latched on. "No! [extended passage of mystery sounds]"
"Wow," I told Erika. "He's really got a death grip going here."
We tried to talk him into sitting down for pajamas, but apparently that would mean lying down in front of the TV, where for all Casey knew, soup would be spilled on roaring monsters with wild abandon. Eventually we figured it out. It took a little while, because in his distress, he became a little difficult to understand. "Casey, is the monster scary?" "YES!" So we turned the TV off, and he finally released me, and that was the end of the problem. Or so I thought.
Later it was bedtime, and shortly after we got Casey down for the night, I disappeared downstairs for half an hour or so. When I got back, Erika was glaring at me. Apparently he kept calling for her, and every time she went into his room, he spent the time earnestly telling her all about monsters and spilled soup. "I blame you," she tells me. Yeah, no kidding.
It's remarkable to me how much he remembers. I'll say something or he'll see something, and I won't think much of it, but months later he'll bring it up again. There are a lot of little things that make bigger impressions on him than I thought they did. So time will tell what the repercussions will be after irresponsibly exposing Casey to the terrifying soup scene from Young Frankenstein.
What was I thinking?
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Casey and the Pancake House
Casey loves the Pancake House. The day Greg and Jordan got married, some of us got together for breakfast at the Original Pancake House in Edina.
Please note: this is not to be confused with the International House of Pancakes, which is crap and which doesn't deserve to be mentioned in the same sentence as the Original Pancake House. The one I'm talking about has, you know, good food.
Anyway, we had breakfast there once in October, and for weeks afterward, Casey would hand me his shoes, point at his coat, and explain to me, using all the words he knows, the process by which I'd prepare him for a trip to the Pancake House. I like when he's excited about things, but it's even more fun when it's his idea out of nowhere. "Pancake HOUSE! Pancake HOUSE!" he'd yell. I don't know why it made such an impression on him, but you no longer have to ask him if he wants to go. Just assume that he does. All the time.
So when friends were in town for Thanksgiving, and someone requested the Pancake House, I knew I'd have to take Casey along, even if the rest of the family stayed home. So I took Casey for a return trip to the Pancake House, where he spent 45 minutes running up and down the sidewalks following Sam, just like the last time. Then I set him up with some cinnamon French toast and chocolate milk. Maybe it's not such a mystery why he likes it there.
A lot of the dishes come with whipped cream. And a lot of the dishes come with whipped butter, which comes out white and looks exactly like the whipped cream. You see where this is going, right? It's not that hard to keep them straight, but if you're a toddler with a cup of what appears to be whipped cream, and you've been given a fork and a plate of food, and it's your choice what to eat first, what would you do? I was talking to someone at the time, so my attention was on the other end of the table, and while it was, Casey apparently stuck his fork in the butter, came up with a huge chunk of it, and stuffed it in his mouth. Mmm.
At least he ate it and didn't drop it into his lap. But I'm going to keep a closer eye on his butter next time.
This is a bit after the fact, obviously, but I'm writing it down anyway. I just know that someday, I'm going to wish I'd written this up so I'll remember the day Casey ate a cup of butter.
Please note: this is not to be confused with the International House of Pancakes, which is crap and which doesn't deserve to be mentioned in the same sentence as the Original Pancake House. The one I'm talking about has, you know, good food.
Anyway, we had breakfast there once in October, and for weeks afterward, Casey would hand me his shoes, point at his coat, and explain to me, using all the words he knows, the process by which I'd prepare him for a trip to the Pancake House. I like when he's excited about things, but it's even more fun when it's his idea out of nowhere. "Pancake HOUSE! Pancake HOUSE!" he'd yell. I don't know why it made such an impression on him, but you no longer have to ask him if he wants to go. Just assume that he does. All the time.
So when friends were in town for Thanksgiving, and someone requested the Pancake House, I knew I'd have to take Casey along, even if the rest of the family stayed home. So I took Casey for a return trip to the Pancake House, where he spent 45 minutes running up and down the sidewalks following Sam, just like the last time. Then I set him up with some cinnamon French toast and chocolate milk. Maybe it's not such a mystery why he likes it there.
A lot of the dishes come with whipped cream. And a lot of the dishes come with whipped butter, which comes out white and looks exactly like the whipped cream. You see where this is going, right? It's not that hard to keep them straight, but if you're a toddler with a cup of what appears to be whipped cream, and you've been given a fork and a plate of food, and it's your choice what to eat first, what would you do? I was talking to someone at the time, so my attention was on the other end of the table, and while it was, Casey apparently stuck his fork in the butter, came up with a huge chunk of it, and stuffed it in his mouth. Mmm.
At least he ate it and didn't drop it into his lap. But I'm going to keep a closer eye on his butter next time.
This is a bit after the fact, obviously, but I'm writing it down anyway. I just know that someday, I'm going to wish I'd written this up so I'll remember the day Casey ate a cup of butter.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
I am concerned
Only recently did I realize that "Segway," the product name, was probably based on "segue," the word meaning "transition." Hey, that's clever! I thought. It was a nice moment for me, but it was a little bit ruined by my immediate flush of shame as I realized that it took me ... what, five years to figure that out? How long have those things been around, anyway?
Also, just today I realized that the skyway bagel place I've been mourning for the past four weeks is not gone, it's just moved -- across the hallway. And has been there since October.
I'm not entirely sure why I'm writing these things down here. I guess I'd like a record someday, so that when the doctor asks Erika about the whens and hows of my mental decline, she has some useful guideline anecdotes.
Also, just today I realized that the skyway bagel place I've been mourning for the past four weeks is not gone, it's just moved -- across the hallway. And has been there since October.
I'm not entirely sure why I'm writing these things down here. I guess I'd like a record someday, so that when the doctor asks Erika about the whens and hows of my mental decline, she has some useful guideline anecdotes.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
I am an excellent role model
The family sat down to dinner this week. We even pulled Darby's car seat up to the table so we could keep an eye on him, but at this point, Casey's the superior conversationalist.
We struggle a bit with keeping his outbursts appropriate. When he runs low on food or milk, he's more likely to scream "MORE! MORE!" than he is to ask for "more, please." We make him say please anyway, but he never thinks to ask nicely before we tell him to -- it's always straight to the yelling. He does that when he wants to escape, too. Everyone's sitting within a four-foot radius, and he's screaming "ALL DONE!" Charming.
But he's got another verbal habit: he often repeats the last word or two of any phrase he hears. So I'll be talking to Erika, and he'll parrot some part of what I said. Then she'll answer, and he'll imitate whatever he picked out of her phrases.
This time I had a brainstorm, which I quickly shared with Erika. We could use the way he repeats phrases to demonstrate the appropriate way of asking for things. That might be a good idea, Erika said. I replied, "Yeah. Now go get me a soda, woman." Casey didn't disappoint: "So-uh! Woo-en!"
We struggle a bit with keeping his outbursts appropriate. When he runs low on food or milk, he's more likely to scream "MORE! MORE!" than he is to ask for "more, please." We make him say please anyway, but he never thinks to ask nicely before we tell him to -- it's always straight to the yelling. He does that when he wants to escape, too. Everyone's sitting within a four-foot radius, and he's screaming "ALL DONE!" Charming.
But he's got another verbal habit: he often repeats the last word or two of any phrase he hears. So I'll be talking to Erika, and he'll parrot some part of what I said. Then she'll answer, and he'll imitate whatever he picked out of her phrases.
This time I had a brainstorm, which I quickly shared with Erika. We could use the way he repeats phrases to demonstrate the appropriate way of asking for things. That might be a good idea, Erika said. I replied, "Yeah. Now go get me a soda, woman." Casey didn't disappoint: "So-uh! Woo-en!"
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Do not mess with the parking lot game
Things Casey likes: Almost everything, but notably ... Cars. Ice cream. Sesame Street. Jellied fruit snacks. Moonbeam Bear. Pushing buttons that do stuff. Learning the names of things. Hiding under blankets. Bathtime. The neighbors' dogs. Whatever Dad's eating (as long as it's not tuna).
Things Casey does not like: Tuna. Diaper changes. 5-10 percent of bedtimes. Teething. And the number one thing that Casey does not like ... *drumroll* ... fathers who try to participate in the parking lot game.
I offer this example. The parking lot game is a game in which Casey moves his growing array of toy vehicles around on the coffee table, lining them up and rearranging their order. I have this idea in my head that children like it when people play their games with them, and I'm usually correct where Casey's concerned -- but the parking lot game is different. It is a game of precision, balance, and deliberation. Fools who interfere with the delicate feng shui of placing the fire truck next to the hot rod might as well be turning on a ceiling fan while you're building a house of cards. But I'm a lot bigger than he is, so what's he gonna do about it? I involve myself anyway.
This weekend Casey was enjoying a rousing game of line-up-the-vehicles, and in a stunning display of sheer audacity, I pushed the sand rover out of position. What followed was the greatest temper tantrum consisting only of body language that I have ever seen. King Kong's roaring, rock-throwing, chest-pounding display has NOTHING on Casey. I was glared at, frowned at, huffed at. The sand rover was hurled to the floor. Other innocent vehicles were individually plucked from the table and hurled to the floor. Each vehicle hurling was punctuated with another glare and another scowl, as if to make sure I understood. See this Mustang, dad? See it crash to the floor? THAT WAS FOR YOU. Arms were folded. Feet were stomped. And always, always more glaring. But don't misunderstand, this was no raw, out-of-control display of toddler emotion. Every action was undertaken slowly, deliberately, and with the most menacing eye contact a 1-year-old can muster. Casey was angry and upset, but just feeling it wasn't sufficient; he wanted me to KNOW he was upset, and he wanted me to know exactly whom he was upset at. And all in near-total silence. If you rear-ended a mime on the way to work one morning, this was what exchanging insurance information might have been like. I got everything but the kiss of death, and that's probably just because it's too sophisticated for Casey for now.
When Casey's anguished over something, I usually try to be comforting, but this was really a sight to see. There was no way I was going to interrupt this show before it was over. His mom and I simply watched to see how far he'd take it. Eventually he slowed down, and it's just as well, because Mommy and I couldn't keep straight faces any longer anyway. I helped him pick up his cars and resume his game, and then I got the hell out of his way, like he'd wanted in the first place.
I don't mind much that he was mad at me. I got the message, and I won't interrupt his car games lightly again. But when it comes down to it, this was a proud moment. Sure, the only words the kid says are "car" and "oh no," but who says my child can't communicate?
Things Casey does not like: Tuna. Diaper changes. 5-10 percent of bedtimes. Teething. And the number one thing that Casey does not like ... *drumroll* ... fathers who try to participate in the parking lot game.
I offer this example. The parking lot game is a game in which Casey moves his growing array of toy vehicles around on the coffee table, lining them up and rearranging their order. I have this idea in my head that children like it when people play their games with them, and I'm usually correct where Casey's concerned -- but the parking lot game is different. It is a game of precision, balance, and deliberation. Fools who interfere with the delicate feng shui of placing the fire truck next to the hot rod might as well be turning on a ceiling fan while you're building a house of cards. But I'm a lot bigger than he is, so what's he gonna do about it? I involve myself anyway.
This weekend Casey was enjoying a rousing game of line-up-the-vehicles, and in a stunning display of sheer audacity, I pushed the sand rover out of position. What followed was the greatest temper tantrum consisting only of body language that I have ever seen. King Kong's roaring, rock-throwing, chest-pounding display has NOTHING on Casey. I was glared at, frowned at, huffed at. The sand rover was hurled to the floor. Other innocent vehicles were individually plucked from the table and hurled to the floor. Each vehicle hurling was punctuated with another glare and another scowl, as if to make sure I understood. See this Mustang, dad? See it crash to the floor? THAT WAS FOR YOU. Arms were folded. Feet were stomped. And always, always more glaring. But don't misunderstand, this was no raw, out-of-control display of toddler emotion. Every action was undertaken slowly, deliberately, and with the most menacing eye contact a 1-year-old can muster. Casey was angry and upset, but just feeling it wasn't sufficient; he wanted me to KNOW he was upset, and he wanted me to know exactly whom he was upset at. And all in near-total silence. If you rear-ended a mime on the way to work one morning, this was what exchanging insurance information might have been like. I got everything but the kiss of death, and that's probably just because it's too sophisticated for Casey for now.
When Casey's anguished over something, I usually try to be comforting, but this was really a sight to see. There was no way I was going to interrupt this show before it was over. His mom and I simply watched to see how far he'd take it. Eventually he slowed down, and it's just as well, because Mommy and I couldn't keep straight faces any longer anyway. I helped him pick up his cars and resume his game, and then I got the hell out of his way, like he'd wanted in the first place.
I don't mind much that he was mad at me. I got the message, and I won't interrupt his car games lightly again. But when it comes down to it, this was a proud moment. Sure, the only words the kid says are "car" and "oh no," but who says my child can't communicate?
Monday, February 25, 2008
Oscars '08
Thank you, No Country for Old Men. It came down to the final award of the night, but the heftier weighting we lend to Best Picture meant that my correct guesses outweighed Erika's correct guesses (though our totals matched). I also hitched my wagon to The Bourne Ultimatum, which won me a handful of technical category points. (I grudgingly admit that Erika deserves some credit for spotting Tilda Swinton.)
To recap our rules, it's one point for short film categories, three points for technical awards, five points for acting, writing, and directing, and nine points for best picture. I'm writing this here in the hope that next year, my wife will remember our scoring system and stop feigning surprise. Erika, it's been the same point system for four or five years now -- I'm not buying the "I didn't know it was worth that much" bit much longer.
It's now been two years since I lost, and back then I needed three straight wins just to break even. Now that it's in reach, I'll have to pay more attention in 2008. I wish I could believe that my recent success would cut down on Erika's trash talking, but I'm still at least two years away from that.
We didn't do too badly in terms of tracking down the movies. In the end, I was 5-for-5 on the best picture nominees, although it meant seeing both There Will Be Blood (spoiler: it turns out there was blood) and No Country for Old Men on Saturday. I made it home without driving off an overpass, but ... damn. That's a tough double feature right there. Javier Bardem in particular deserves his Oscar; that guy scared the crap out of me.
I was most proud of the day we both saw Atonement -- although not together. I went in the morning while Erika watched Casey, and then Erika took her turn in the afternoon while I watched the boy. Yes, we take this that seriously. But at least we saw the same one so we could talk about it later.
So this year ... what's with all the grim endings that knock the wind out of you? Last year brought us The Departed, so now everybody's gotta be rife with nihilism and hopelessness? And Juno failed to get us out of that rut, so brace yourselves for some dark fare in 2008. Somebody needs a hug.
To recap our rules, it's one point for short film categories, three points for technical awards, five points for acting, writing, and directing, and nine points for best picture. I'm writing this here in the hope that next year, my wife will remember our scoring system and stop feigning surprise. Erika, it's been the same point system for four or five years now -- I'm not buying the "I didn't know it was worth that much" bit much longer.
It's now been two years since I lost, and back then I needed three straight wins just to break even. Now that it's in reach, I'll have to pay more attention in 2008. I wish I could believe that my recent success would cut down on Erika's trash talking, but I'm still at least two years away from that.
We didn't do too badly in terms of tracking down the movies. In the end, I was 5-for-5 on the best picture nominees, although it meant seeing both There Will Be Blood (spoiler: it turns out there was blood) and No Country for Old Men on Saturday. I made it home without driving off an overpass, but ... damn. That's a tough double feature right there. Javier Bardem in particular deserves his Oscar; that guy scared the crap out of me.
I was most proud of the day we both saw Atonement -- although not together. I went in the morning while Erika watched Casey, and then Erika took her turn in the afternoon while I watched the boy. Yes, we take this that seriously. But at least we saw the same one so we could talk about it later.
So this year ... what's with all the grim endings that knock the wind out of you? Last year brought us The Departed, so now everybody's gotta be rife with nihilism and hopelessness? And Juno failed to get us out of that rut, so brace yourselves for some dark fare in 2008. Somebody needs a hug.
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