"Son, it doesn't get any better than this". He looked up at me and nodded stoically, and we both knew it was true. I would have tousled his hair or slapped him five, but I was busy manicuring Spencer's nails. This would be, in fact, the high point of our day.
I may be the only parent prevented from leaving daycare until I clipped my son's finger nails. One of many interesting experiences through which our legend has grown. But today, nobody was forcing me to soak a new toothbrush in hot soapy water, scrub the Boy's filthy nails until they shone, and then clip them to a proper length.
Before the end of the night, those same little fingers would be smushed by a falling window (cries of "Ayude me! Ayude me!" brought me rushing in to find him, quite upset); just as earlier they had plucked my glasses off my face... and tossed several plates and cups of food and beverage to the floor. Yes, it was one of those days when I'm glad I can't read the thought bubbles over my son's head. They might read:
PAPA! WHY couldn't you have packed the diaper bag LAST NIGHT? I am BORED!
PAPA! Just be glad I am not chucking this bowl of cereal at you!
PAPA! Here's another idea. Leave Baby Nora here by the side of the road and if she follows us home, THEN she gets a cube of frozen organic sweet potatoes?
PAPA! I didn't promise not to throw my tennis ball in the car. You were projecting!
PAPA! Do you know how few foods *you* would eat before college? Be reasonable!
And so forth. The glaringly not-perfect childhoods of Spencer and Nora march on through another Monday. Next time, we're going to work on making it just a bit better than this.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Friday, August 28, 2009
Calling in the Cavalry.
He stands on our front steps, calling for Bubbeh (my mother) in the traditional manner-- "Bubbeh, be a Bubbeh; let's go play basketball in the park! Come on Bubbeh!".
I've marshaled some heavy hitters to help me navigate the day. Bubbeh. Grandpa. Frances Kastler. Frances and Spencer played a fine piano duet and then cooked blueberry pancakes-- Spencer saw the potential when Frances accidentally dusted her nose with flour, and proceeded to smear about a tablespoon (unsifted) of flour all over his face.
Grandpa accompanied us to the park to play tennis, swing and slide, providing a crucial assist to avoid a premature nap. Sources close to Grandpa witnessed him rapidly approaching nap-time himself, so he left after noon. Spence went down, and after a snack, Nora followed... their naps overlapped an amazing *8 minutes* during which I collapsed on our bed and hurtled towards REM sleep.
I planned an afternoon playdate with Amanda, but 45 minutes of frenzied searching failed to produce my car-keys, even after Spencer helpfully overturned the coffee table (along with the half-full coffee mug) onto the rug. Nope, nothing under here! So we called in the cavalry. Bubbeh. More fun at the park ensued.
I have to say, though, the high point of the day was walking back from Glaciers after the family was reunited-- Nora slowly falling asleep against my chest, Kristy and Spencer walking, flapping and clucking like chickens ahead of us. Shabbat Shalom, y'all!
I've marshaled some heavy hitters to help me navigate the day. Bubbeh. Grandpa. Frances Kastler. Frances and Spencer played a fine piano duet and then cooked blueberry pancakes-- Spencer saw the potential when Frances accidentally dusted her nose with flour, and proceeded to smear about a tablespoon (unsifted) of flour all over his face.
Grandpa accompanied us to the park to play tennis, swing and slide, providing a crucial assist to avoid a premature nap. Sources close to Grandpa witnessed him rapidly approaching nap-time himself, so he left after noon. Spence went down, and after a snack, Nora followed... their naps overlapped an amazing *8 minutes* during which I collapsed on our bed and hurtled towards REM sleep.
I planned an afternoon playdate with Amanda, but 45 minutes of frenzied searching failed to produce my car-keys, even after Spencer helpfully overturned the coffee table (along with the half-full coffee mug) onto the rug. Nope, nothing under here! So we called in the cavalry. Bubbeh. More fun at the park ensued.
I have to say, though, the high point of the day was walking back from Glaciers after the family was reunited-- Nora slowly falling asleep against my chest, Kristy and Spencer walking, flapping and clucking like chickens ahead of us. Shabbat Shalom, y'all!
Monday, August 24, 2009
Clark Griswold.
8:45pm. Kristy and I talk as she drives home from her first day teaching at MCTC, and I stand on our front lawn, both kids finally asleep (Spencer on a bed with no sheets, and Nora, only after a 2 hour odyssey of tears, squirming and frantically warming up bottles of milk)... stand and faintly enjoy the evening breeze as every molecule of my body strives to exhale and settle, exhausted, to the lowest place gravity can oblige it.
I had a total Clark Griswold moment this morning. I failed to check the website, and with much ado, trekked out to the St Paul Saints stadium, one week too late to enjoy kiddie Mondays. A nice young man named Taylor offered to let us walk through to see the field, at least. My parental spider sense should have been going off. But no. Spencer races up the concourse, bursts into the open air, marvels at the gleaming field (replete with zig-zagging riding mower), and then is pulled away by papa, denied access from a stone's throw. Tears flow freely. Taylor is surprised. We start to walk back up the concourse and I turn to Taylor (this is the Griswold moment... remember Wallyworld?)-- I say, Taylor, would there be any way that Spence could just take one lap with me around the field? I don't threaten Taylor. I don't emphasize how it is within his power to calm my shrieking child. I don't tell him to watch it, I'm a trained community organizer. Maybe I should have. Instead, calling upon generations of finely honed parental instincts, I murmur several times to Spencer, do you want a chocolate chip cookie? Let's get in the car, and then we can go get a chocolate chip cookie. I mean, I don't know who needs it more at this point, but it slowly breaks the spell. We get in the car. Spencer was asleep before we left the parking lot.
I will plan better for Friday. And next time, if there is one, I'll slip Taylor a twenty.
I had a total Clark Griswold moment this morning. I failed to check the website, and with much ado, trekked out to the St Paul Saints stadium, one week too late to enjoy kiddie Mondays. A nice young man named Taylor offered to let us walk through to see the field, at least. My parental spider sense should have been going off. But no. Spencer races up the concourse, bursts into the open air, marvels at the gleaming field (replete with zig-zagging riding mower), and then is pulled away by papa, denied access from a stone's throw. Tears flow freely. Taylor is surprised. We start to walk back up the concourse and I turn to Taylor (this is the Griswold moment... remember Wallyworld?)-- I say, Taylor, would there be any way that Spence could just take one lap with me around the field? I don't threaten Taylor. I don't emphasize how it is within his power to calm my shrieking child. I don't tell him to watch it, I'm a trained community organizer. Maybe I should have. Instead, calling upon generations of finely honed parental instincts, I murmur several times to Spencer, do you want a chocolate chip cookie? Let's get in the car, and then we can go get a chocolate chip cookie. I mean, I don't know who needs it more at this point, but it slowly breaks the spell. We get in the car. Spencer was asleep before we left the parking lot.
I will plan better for Friday. And next time, if there is one, I'll slip Taylor a twenty.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Scenes from the Mall.
I've never seen Spencer run so fast. But I understood. We weren't playing Dora the Explorer anymore, we were *living* Dora the Explorer! There she stood, a good 50 yards ahead of us, larger than life. As Spencer streaked over towards her, she clasped her puffy hands to her cheeks and then waved. He wasted no time, leaping into her arms for a big hug before 'talking shop'-- how's Boots doing, has Swiper swiped anything of value recently, etc., you know, the basic stuff.
One more reason I secretly love the Mall of America. (looks down)
It wasn't exactly a banner day. Spence didn't start off well rested, and we did decide that it was too cold and wet outside this morning to warrant tennis in the park ("we decided"... there was one lone dissenting opinion). So he fell asleep early, in the car, for 45 minutes, and woke up quite unhappy about something indescribable. Nora was content to be held as we scooted through the Great Mall; had some milk, and smiled beguilingly enough that one woman at the mall came over to admire her, and seemed offended that I didn't offer to let her hold Nora. She didn't ask, but she waited for a good 30 seconds.
My mom saved the day-- came over at 2, and took Spence to the park with a snazzy new frisbee and tennis balls while Nora and I napped. I woke up groggy, thick-headed, and shuffled through a house that seems to get messy immediately after each cleaning (shocking), like Homer Simpson's five o'clock shadow. Then Kristy came home at 5 and I stumbled out the door on the flimsy pretense of needing groceries. I forgot the most important items, forgot my check card and generally remained porridge-headed all evening.
What needs to stick with me after today?
Spencer doing his own version of smiley 'baby-talk' to Nora, who is endlessly delighted by him.
Nora looking up at me as I feed her a bottle.
My half-baked thought of a thousand parent march (strollers and all) for universal health care.
Spencer's delight at and articulate patter with his Bubbeh (grandma- my mom).
Kristy's kindness in 'talking me down' from being stressed out.
Poem of the day: Rilke's "Autumn Day"...
http://www.gratefulness.org/poetry/autumn_day.htm
One more reason I secretly love the Mall of America. (looks down)
It wasn't exactly a banner day. Spence didn't start off well rested, and we did decide that it was too cold and wet outside this morning to warrant tennis in the park ("we decided"... there was one lone dissenting opinion). So he fell asleep early, in the car, for 45 minutes, and woke up quite unhappy about something indescribable. Nora was content to be held as we scooted through the Great Mall; had some milk, and smiled beguilingly enough that one woman at the mall came over to admire her, and seemed offended that I didn't offer to let her hold Nora. She didn't ask, but she waited for a good 30 seconds.
My mom saved the day-- came over at 2, and took Spence to the park with a snazzy new frisbee and tennis balls while Nora and I napped. I woke up groggy, thick-headed, and shuffled through a house that seems to get messy immediately after each cleaning (shocking), like Homer Simpson's five o'clock shadow. Then Kristy came home at 5 and I stumbled out the door on the flimsy pretense of needing groceries. I forgot the most important items, forgot my check card and generally remained porridge-headed all evening.
What needs to stick with me after today?
Spencer doing his own version of smiley 'baby-talk' to Nora, who is endlessly delighted by him.
Nora looking up at me as I feed her a bottle.
My half-baked thought of a thousand parent march (strollers and all) for universal health care.
Spencer's delight at and articulate patter with his Bubbeh (grandma- my mom).
Kristy's kindness in 'talking me down' from being stressed out.
Poem of the day: Rilke's "Autumn Day"...
http://www.gratefulness.org/poetry/autumn_day.htm
Monday, August 17, 2009
(gasp)
Hi, my name is Dave Snyder and I'm taking two days a week (gasp) to spend some quality time with my (pauses to guzzle coffee) kids before they ("Spencer no blueberry hands on the futon sofa!") go off to college (wipes streams of sweat from forehead) and so today we played tennis (wipes hands on already soaking wet shirt) with Grandpa and then ("Baby Nora please stop wailing, we have no more milk!") after nap-time we replaced a lost basketball at Target (twinge from left plantar fascia) and then went to the Children's Museum (gasp)...
Things I would rather not remember (a la the Matrix):
Nasty skinned knee before 9am (Spencer)
Dueling meltdowns at Hiawatha tennis courts (both)
Too early nap leads to staggeringly drowsy afternoon (Spencer)
Things I would like to remember:
Spencer loving tennis with Grandpa
Grandpa impressed with my 'mirroring' technique that finally calms Spence
Nora grinning at me (and passerby) and making feints at crawling
Spencer spontaneously wishing me Shabbat Shalom again
Spencer clasping his new basketball to his chest at Target, saying "thank you thank you thank you Papa!"
Kristy coming home with a nice book and card for me
Song of the day: Manic Monday (not so original but I'm not thinking any harder)
Dinner of the day: Sweet & Sour Red Cabbage with Berries (from Mollie Katzen)
Oh what the heck. I want to remember everything. Nice day.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
t-minus 8 hours.
In about 8 hours (with luck) Spencer will wake up and begin calling for Papa. That's me. For the last few weeks I've prepped him to say the magic phrase: "Papa, BE A PAPA. Let's go play TENNIS in the PARK." He's gotten pretty good at it. So you can often find us at Longfellow or Brackett park at about 7am, armed with two kids tennis racquets, several tennis balls, cereal bars and water, a diaper changing pad, diapers and wipes, sunglasses, and sunscreen. As horrible as I am at tennis, I've really grown to enjoy the routine.
In 8 hours, there will be a big change. In 8 hours, our tennis routine will be the beginning of a full day spent with Spencer and Nora-- and the diminished work week will be book-ended with another full day with them, on Friday.
I am elated (this was my choice to go part-time) and terrified.
I decided to call this blog "high impact papa" because on those few occasions that I've been alone with both of my offspring, it has been extremely high impact. As in a high impact aerobics class that leaves one (me) drenched in sweat and gasping for breath and smelling unsavory. It brings to mind my infrequent attempts at swimming over the years. The last time was during my time at Johns Hopkins (I dabbled in political philosophy before dropping out to become a union organizer)-- I tried to swim at the JHU pool one day for exercise, and found that, since I didn't know how to swim, what I was doing was something like controlled doses of drowning-- guaranteed to burn calories but a bit too much trauma for recreational activities, for me at least.
Tomorrow will certainly be tough, but I will consider it a success if no significant bodily harm befalls either kid, and if each of us enjoys parts of the day, even amidst the melt-downs (including me). Stay tuned...
In 8 hours, there will be a big change. In 8 hours, our tennis routine will be the beginning of a full day spent with Spencer and Nora-- and the diminished work week will be book-ended with another full day with them, on Friday.
I am elated (this was my choice to go part-time) and terrified.
I decided to call this blog "high impact papa" because on those few occasions that I've been alone with both of my offspring, it has been extremely high impact. As in a high impact aerobics class that leaves one (me) drenched in sweat and gasping for breath and smelling unsavory. It brings to mind my infrequent attempts at swimming over the years. The last time was during my time at Johns Hopkins (I dabbled in political philosophy before dropping out to become a union organizer)-- I tried to swim at the JHU pool one day for exercise, and found that, since I didn't know how to swim, what I was doing was something like controlled doses of drowning-- guaranteed to burn calories but a bit too much trauma for recreational activities, for me at least.
Tomorrow will certainly be tough, but I will consider it a success if no significant bodily harm befalls either kid, and if each of us enjoys parts of the day, even amidst the melt-downs (including me). Stay tuned...
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