It was 1997, two years before labor and environmental activists would shut down the World Trade Organization meeting in Seattle. I organized a trip for fellow Goucher students to lobby Senators from our home states against a particularly awful free trade, pro-multinational corporation agreement, the MAI.
We spent a grueling day with condescending, ignorant and arrogant staffers and senators, reducing some students to tears. The last stop of the day was Senator Wellstone's office. We were ushered into his office, the walls lined with bookshelves of familiar books-- Chomsky, Marx, Zinn, and others. Our spirits lifted as he thanked *us* for lobbying for fair trade and investment policies. We filed out, renewed.
This morning I related this little story to a group of about 15 tremendous youth group members at Shir Tikvah synagogue. We decided to organize a health care for all delegation to Senator Klobuchar's office.
Thanks for everything, Paul. We promise not to park the bus.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Friday, October 23, 2009
Nirvana.
AAAAGGGGHHHH!!!! (BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM)
WAAAUUUUUGGGHHHH!!!! (BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM)
This is the sound of toddler nirvana. Henry took Spence on a tour of his newly remodeled basement, and they came upon the professional drum set that belongs to Henry's mom. In addition to being pristine, tasteful and homey, it can be safely said that Team Mrotz's new basement boasts excellent acoustics.
Otherwise, highlights of the day include Nora devouring an entire jar of organic banana peach oatmeal (or some such combination) in one sitting, walking (holding onto my fingers) the equivalent of several city blocks, and perfecting shy cuteness as she grinned and snuggled into my chest upon being introduced to several strangers today (including community notable Tom Sengupta of Schneider's Drugs on University Ave).
I was betrayed by Dora the Explorer today. Spence tuned in as I prepared his penne and parmesan, and was immediately bombarded by Dora and her colleagues shouting "we all scream for ice cream", rowing a chocolate boat across a chocolate lake to win the ultimate prize-- ice cream. Dora and the narrator wagged their candied tongues incessantly about chocolate. Spence looked up and asked for ice cream; it took some skillful diversion to land him safely at lunch (involving, of course, tickling). It already seems too late for Spence to avoid inheriting my sweet tooth, which is ultimately not so funny or harmless, like most mainstays of the dominant culture.
It's late. I'm torn between the lull of sleep and the lure of solitude and a chance to write. Ah, I knew there was another highlight coming. Spence climbed into bed with Kristy, Nora and I this morning and carefully twined all our hands together, insisting we all had to go downstairs together.
That was the sound of parental nirvana.
WAAAUUUUUGGGHHHH!!!! (BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM)
This is the sound of toddler nirvana. Henry took Spence on a tour of his newly remodeled basement, and they came upon the professional drum set that belongs to Henry's mom. In addition to being pristine, tasteful and homey, it can be safely said that Team Mrotz's new basement boasts excellent acoustics.
Otherwise, highlights of the day include Nora devouring an entire jar of organic banana peach oatmeal (or some such combination) in one sitting, walking (holding onto my fingers) the equivalent of several city blocks, and perfecting shy cuteness as she grinned and snuggled into my chest upon being introduced to several strangers today (including community notable Tom Sengupta of Schneider's Drugs on University Ave).
I was betrayed by Dora the Explorer today. Spence tuned in as I prepared his penne and parmesan, and was immediately bombarded by Dora and her colleagues shouting "we all scream for ice cream", rowing a chocolate boat across a chocolate lake to win the ultimate prize-- ice cream. Dora and the narrator wagged their candied tongues incessantly about chocolate. Spence looked up and asked for ice cream; it took some skillful diversion to land him safely at lunch (involving, of course, tickling). It already seems too late for Spence to avoid inheriting my sweet tooth, which is ultimately not so funny or harmless, like most mainstays of the dominant culture.
It's late. I'm torn between the lull of sleep and the lure of solitude and a chance to write. Ah, I knew there was another highlight coming. Spence climbed into bed with Kristy, Nora and I this morning and carefully twined all our hands together, insisting we all had to go downstairs together.
That was the sound of parental nirvana.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Extreme Choo Choo Bob Makeover...
Our own train was a bit slow to get moving this morning (Nora gamely slept through the night while Spencer was overcome by hunger pangs, again, at 5am, and was raring to go afterwards), but by 9:30am we ventured out in the chilly spitting rain to Choo Choo Bob's.
Choo Choo Bob's is tantalizingly positioned a few doors down from Izzy's ice cream on one side, and Trotter's Bakery and Cafe on the other, yummy snack venues both. Bob's is a dream destination for parents and toddlers, boasting 6 kid-sized tables of toy trains in the back, and a massive 'grown-up' model train set up in front. I'd say about 10% of the parents end up buying the fairly expensive trains in shiny boxes along the walls; the other 90% of us enjoy ourselves and then slink guiltily out, not daring to look the kindly old proprietor-- I'll call him "Bob"-- in the eye.
This post is for him. And for us no good, free-loading parents. Redemption is possible.
Bob, there are a few things you need to know about us parents. We run on coffee; it's not a luxury. And those of us who are either middle-class or too dumb to notice we're not anymore, won't think twice about shelling out three or four bucks for a vat of Joe. Some prefer fair trade, organic, shade-grown... some want the coffee taste obliterated by cocoa and sugar and cream. Give us our coffee and we will make you rich, Bob.
And while we're at it, we love food on the go. Otherwise we mostly eat cheerios from the floor, pilfered yogurt and granola bars, spurned skins of fruit, and stealthily hidden sweets. Most non-mall kid places don't provide food we like (or food at all-- parks, playgrounds, pools, museums, aquariums, etc). So why not set up a little snack bar next to those tantalizing train tables? The goal should be reasonably healthy food that can be ready and neatly packaged in less than 30 seconds, eaten with one hand (or no hands) while juggling one or several screaming toddlers, etc, etc.
Bob, there's more. My toddler was enthralled by the trains, but my crawler faced hostile terrain-- unsavory carpet and bonks waiting to happen, not to mention yummy magnets on every chewable train. So, which of us wouldn't pay a buck to rent a bouncy chair for our babe while we're there? More revenue to be captured.
And while my kids are enraptured by trains, and bouncing happily away... I could really use a nap. Bob, I noticed a vacant, unlit 'party room' off to the side of the store. You could sound-proof the room and fill it with cots-- I'm talking army cots-- and who of us would not take you up on the offer of a parent nap? What, you say? Afraid for the kids? Hire an hourly sitter on the spot to watch your precious ones while you catch some shut-eye!
Bob? Bob, come back. These are good ideas. We could make a million bucks... Bob?
Choo Choo Bob's is tantalizingly positioned a few doors down from Izzy's ice cream on one side, and Trotter's Bakery and Cafe on the other, yummy snack venues both. Bob's is a dream destination for parents and toddlers, boasting 6 kid-sized tables of toy trains in the back, and a massive 'grown-up' model train set up in front. I'd say about 10% of the parents end up buying the fairly expensive trains in shiny boxes along the walls; the other 90% of us enjoy ourselves and then slink guiltily out, not daring to look the kindly old proprietor-- I'll call him "Bob"-- in the eye.
This post is for him. And for us no good, free-loading parents. Redemption is possible.
Bob, there are a few things you need to know about us parents. We run on coffee; it's not a luxury. And those of us who are either middle-class or too dumb to notice we're not anymore, won't think twice about shelling out three or four bucks for a vat of Joe. Some prefer fair trade, organic, shade-grown... some want the coffee taste obliterated by cocoa and sugar and cream. Give us our coffee and we will make you rich, Bob.
And while we're at it, we love food on the go. Otherwise we mostly eat cheerios from the floor, pilfered yogurt and granola bars, spurned skins of fruit, and stealthily hidden sweets. Most non-mall kid places don't provide food we like (or food at all-- parks, playgrounds, pools, museums, aquariums, etc). So why not set up a little snack bar next to those tantalizing train tables? The goal should be reasonably healthy food that can be ready and neatly packaged in less than 30 seconds, eaten with one hand (or no hands) while juggling one or several screaming toddlers, etc, etc.
Bob, there's more. My toddler was enthralled by the trains, but my crawler faced hostile terrain-- unsavory carpet and bonks waiting to happen, not to mention yummy magnets on every chewable train. So, which of us wouldn't pay a buck to rent a bouncy chair for our babe while we're there? More revenue to be captured.
And while my kids are enraptured by trains, and bouncing happily away... I could really use a nap. Bob, I noticed a vacant, unlit 'party room' off to the side of the store. You could sound-proof the room and fill it with cots-- I'm talking army cots-- and who of us would not take you up on the offer of a parent nap? What, you say? Afraid for the kids? Hire an hourly sitter on the spot to watch your precious ones while you catch some shut-eye!
Bob? Bob, come back. These are good ideas. We could make a million bucks... Bob?
Friday, October 9, 2009
MVP of the day: Handy Manny
It was a bloodbath today. Actually, there WAS blood, after Spence took a mean tumble from the swings at Brackett Park, but that was after I had pleaded with Kristy to come home at 3. The toughest parts came earlier, and were not as dramatic: antsy kids climbing the walls as I scramble to assemble Spencer snacks, change diapers, find weather-appropriate clothes, warm up bottles of milk and little jars of prune-oatmeal mush, and banish the sinister, negative voice in my head (remember the solitary confinement scene with Denzel Washington in "Hurricane"?)...
Things came to a head at 11am. We had not yet left the house because I let Nora take her morning nap in the comfort of home, rather than between carseats and baby bjorns and various unsavory carpeted floors. So Spence had the short straw. Yes, neighbors, that was the Team Snyder car careening back and forth today (let's go to the museum! "NOOO!" let's go to the cafe! "NOOOOO!" The car is thirsty, let's go get gas and make faces in the windows! "NOOOOOO"...) Finally... "do you want to go run around Target and we can get you Handy Manny tools? (pause) "Yes!"
My friend Larry (a veteran stay at home papa and butt-kicking tenants' rights attorney) told me our kids are unlikely to be ruined by something we do on a Tuesday. But he said nothing about several months, or more, of successive Mondays and Fridays.
Highlight: discovered new nose-to-nose rubbing move with baby Nora, to her delight. And she is absolutely, no holds barred, in the last few days, a crawler.
God help us...
Things came to a head at 11am. We had not yet left the house because I let Nora take her morning nap in the comfort of home, rather than between carseats and baby bjorns and various unsavory carpeted floors. So Spence had the short straw. Yes, neighbors, that was the Team Snyder car careening back and forth today (let's go to the museum! "NOOO!" let's go to the cafe! "NOOOOO!" The car is thirsty, let's go get gas and make faces in the windows! "NOOOOOO"...) Finally... "do you want to go run around Target and we can get you Handy Manny tools? (pause) "Yes!"
My friend Larry (a veteran stay at home papa and butt-kicking tenants' rights attorney) told me our kids are unlikely to be ruined by something we do on a Tuesday. But he said nothing about several months, or more, of successive Mondays and Fridays.
Highlight: discovered new nose-to-nose rubbing move with baby Nora, to her delight. And she is absolutely, no holds barred, in the last few days, a crawler.
God help us...
Saturday, October 3, 2009
I looked at the kid and thought, I want to give you a cow ride.
No, not Spencer. This was the older boy who had just run over to where we sat, grimacing with the unease of being late to Tot Shabbat services, and gave Spencer a big, colorful stuffed Torah.
Suddenly, Tot Shabbat became viable fun. Rabbi Latz read stories with kids hanging on his back (well, at least Spencer was), we paraded around the sanctuary with our stuffed Torahs, and grinned like idiots as our cute kids ran, squirmed, inched and hooted together. Spencer felt called to pipe up several times during the stories with his own, semi-intelligible commentary, and Rabbi Latz agreed and gave him a high-five.
And for a moment, or actually many moments, the fact that our domestic, personal, professional and financial lives are held together by spit, duct tape and dumb luck didn't matter.
And for the record, I gave that kid (and a few others) one hell of a cow ride after the service.
You can also read my wife Kristy's account of the morning... http://www.caffeinatedlove.blogspot.com/
No, not Spencer. This was the older boy who had just run over to where we sat, grimacing with the unease of being late to Tot Shabbat services, and gave Spencer a big, colorful stuffed Torah.
Suddenly, Tot Shabbat became viable fun. Rabbi Latz read stories with kids hanging on his back (well, at least Spencer was), we paraded around the sanctuary with our stuffed Torahs, and grinned like idiots as our cute kids ran, squirmed, inched and hooted together. Spencer felt called to pipe up several times during the stories with his own, semi-intelligible commentary, and Rabbi Latz agreed and gave him a high-five.
And for a moment, or actually many moments, the fact that our domestic, personal, professional and financial lives are held together by spit, duct tape and dumb luck didn't matter.
And for the record, I gave that kid (and a few others) one hell of a cow ride after the service.
You can also read my wife Kristy's account of the morning... http://www.caffeinatedlove.blogspot.com/
Monday, September 21, 2009
The Great What's Next.
Last Friday- I look up from talking with Madeline and Cheryl, and Spencer has taken off-- clear across the field that borders the playground. He's not looking back. He's not playfully daring me to come get him. He's just trucking into the great What's Next. I pass Nora to Cheryl and sprint (ok, I can't sprint anymore, I amble, I hurry) to get my son. I'm supposed to feel good that he feels loved enough to be comfortable to run off without a backward glance, right? Okay...
Today began with our first music class at MacPhail (lots of fun banging, singing and dancing... I need to be reminded it's too early to just hand him a violin); a visit to the fire station (Firefighter Isabelle let him turn on the lights on the firetruck, and had him officially welcomed on a radio station that, according to the Captain, was heard all over the city!)... and ended with (God bless) Melissa watching Nora while Spence and I wowed the Temple Israel Sisterhood. I wowed them talking about foreclosure prevention; Spence had an accident on the way over and wowed them by waltzing in pantless-- just a diaper, t-shirt, socks and his new size-9 silver sneakers... waving and grinning and grabbing grapes.
Nora, meanwhile, managed to be cute enough to stop traffic, despite teething and a fever. I have to say my favorite moment of the day was lunch at Riverview Cafe (Spence gnaws on a blueberry scone after I scold the incredulous barista for not selling peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches)... and the two of them start grinning and giggling at each other. I was background, food provider, face wiper, it was all about the brother and sister, living it up, without a backward glance, into the great What's Next.
Today began with our first music class at MacPhail (lots of fun banging, singing and dancing... I need to be reminded it's too early to just hand him a violin); a visit to the fire station (Firefighter Isabelle let him turn on the lights on the firetruck, and had him officially welcomed on a radio station that, according to the Captain, was heard all over the city!)... and ended with (God bless) Melissa watching Nora while Spence and I wowed the Temple Israel Sisterhood. I wowed them talking about foreclosure prevention; Spence had an accident on the way over and wowed them by waltzing in pantless-- just a diaper, t-shirt, socks and his new size-9 silver sneakers... waving and grinning and grabbing grapes.
Nora, meanwhile, managed to be cute enough to stop traffic, despite teething and a fever. I have to say my favorite moment of the day was lunch at Riverview Cafe (Spence gnaws on a blueberry scone after I scold the incredulous barista for not selling peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches)... and the two of them start grinning and giggling at each other. I was background, food provider, face wiper, it was all about the brother and sister, living it up, without a backward glance, into the great What's Next.
Monday, September 14, 2009
the Voice from the Couch
David (after 15 hours with Spence & Nora): I am wayyy too tired to clean up.
Kristy (after 15 hours teaching): I am wayyy too tired to clean up.
Cue couch. Cue sweets. Cue "Rachel Zoe Project".
After a nice morning playdate with Rachel and little Ben at lake Harriet, Spencer wailed for 25 minutes, all the way to the doctor's office. Nothing helped-- not food, nor drink, nor distraction, nor sympathy, nor (shockingly) the calm, reasonable, even-keeled voice of Papa saying he's sorry Spencer is sad but we had to leave the playground and really I just think you're overtired. Nora decided to let him cry it out and didn't bat an eyelash-- in fact, she closed them and took a cat-nap.
An easily becalmed Spence perched on the counter at Fairview Children's Clinic as I navigated some very minor delays due to a switch in insurance. I thought about how hard it would be not to flip out if they actually said we couldn't get in to see the doctor, or that we'd have to pay a zillion dollars for the visit upfront... and felt just a fraction of the fear that must motivate the anti-"Obamacare" protesters who feel they'll somehow be put to pasture if the public option prevails. There are enough people really being sentenced to (preventable) suffering and death because of "pre-existing conditions", caps, and other rational market-based rules.
It's a dangerous way to enter into the political process-- an edge of desperation and vulnerability, easily exploitable fears; a willingness to dis-believe anything your opponents profess ("you lie!" as battle-cry).
But then again, so is cynical passivity.
So when does "Hope" get up off the couch in real numbers, and sprout wings upon its heels, or iridescent scales, or flashing prophet's eyes to fight like hell for the living?
Kristy (after 15 hours teaching): I am wayyy too tired to clean up.
Cue couch. Cue sweets. Cue "Rachel Zoe Project".
After a nice morning playdate with Rachel and little Ben at lake Harriet, Spencer wailed for 25 minutes, all the way to the doctor's office. Nothing helped-- not food, nor drink, nor distraction, nor sympathy, nor (shockingly) the calm, reasonable, even-keeled voice of Papa saying he's sorry Spencer is sad but we had to leave the playground and really I just think you're overtired. Nora decided to let him cry it out and didn't bat an eyelash-- in fact, she closed them and took a cat-nap.
An easily becalmed Spence perched on the counter at Fairview Children's Clinic as I navigated some very minor delays due to a switch in insurance. I thought about how hard it would be not to flip out if they actually said we couldn't get in to see the doctor, or that we'd have to pay a zillion dollars for the visit upfront... and felt just a fraction of the fear that must motivate the anti-"Obamacare" protesters who feel they'll somehow be put to pasture if the public option prevails. There are enough people really being sentenced to (preventable) suffering and death because of "pre-existing conditions", caps, and other rational market-based rules.
It's a dangerous way to enter into the political process-- an edge of desperation and vulnerability, easily exploitable fears; a willingness to dis-believe anything your opponents profess ("you lie!" as battle-cry).
But then again, so is cynical passivity.
So when does "Hope" get up off the couch in real numbers, and sprout wings upon its heels, or iridescent scales, or flashing prophet's eyes to fight like hell for the living?
Friday, September 11, 2009
the great pancake playdate
I was stuck; paralyzed mid-crouch, holding Nora in one arm, the diaper bag on one shoulder, with my other arm flung around Spence, trying to figure out how to take his shoes off. The pancake playdate with Frances, Madeline and Anton might have ended here. Frances eyed me and Spence, and I could see the thought bubble: "I want to play with Spencer, but his Papa is short-circuiting before he's even made it through our mud-room. This just might not work."
In the end, we had a great time, aided in no small part by Madeline's and (later, at Brackett park) Summer's willingness to hold their babies and my baby at once while I a) chased after Spencer to change his diaper; b) soothed Spencer after other kids took his tennis racquets, and c) many other dire emergencies. Madeline's chocolate chip pancakes also helped.
Later on, with Nora conked out in the carseat, I pulled up outside our house and scooped Spencer up to get him inside. I was thinking lunch prep, transferring the slumbering babe up to her bed, combating Spence's diaper rash, and a remote concern about preparing for the Temple Israel social justice Shabbat later on that night (Rachel was great, we got a bunch of new volunteers to sign up, and we sang James Taylor's "You've Got A Friend" at the end of the service). But back to the scene at the car. Instead of shimmying down to race up the stairs all by himself, Spencer threw his arms and legs around me and cuddled in tight, and everything froze for a long moment as the cooling wind surrounded us and I heard him repeat what I have told him so many times, "I love you SOOOO much".
My thought bubble: this just might work.
In the end, we had a great time, aided in no small part by Madeline's and (later, at Brackett park) Summer's willingness to hold their babies and my baby at once while I a) chased after Spencer to change his diaper; b) soothed Spencer after other kids took his tennis racquets, and c) many other dire emergencies. Madeline's chocolate chip pancakes also helped.
Later on, with Nora conked out in the carseat, I pulled up outside our house and scooped Spencer up to get him inside. I was thinking lunch prep, transferring the slumbering babe up to her bed, combating Spence's diaper rash, and a remote concern about preparing for the Temple Israel social justice Shabbat later on that night (Rachel was great, we got a bunch of new volunteers to sign up, and we sang James Taylor's "You've Got A Friend" at the end of the service). But back to the scene at the car. Instead of shimmying down to race up the stairs all by himself, Spencer threw his arms and legs around me and cuddled in tight, and everything froze for a long moment as the cooling wind surrounded us and I heard him repeat what I have told him so many times, "I love you SOOOO much".
My thought bubble: this just might work.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
More pictures...
Spence taking in his first Twins game... getting an aerial view of State Fair drummers... Momma proves that *everyone* eats at the Fair!
a pictorial post
Grandpa and Nora bonding over bottle... Frances and Spence practice their duet...Nora and the lovin' spoonful...
Friday, September 4, 2009
A scrap of "me time"...
It's 12:15pm and after a good morning at the Children's Museum, both kids are asleep. This would be a perfect time to read some parenting books, or make some calls to set up the next social justice playdate. Or I could clean, or enjoy some "me" time, meditate, journal, etc. I could take the next steps in planning "phase II" of our foreclosure prevention campaign, or I could even catch up on reading my books on organizing and political philosophy.
Hahahahahahahahahahahahaha.
Seriously though, I need to say something about the verbal scrapfest my most recent facebook status has generated-- from a plea for guaranteed health care to a sharp exchange on abortion and taxes to a debate on civility and democracy.
Does civility matter? We are so polarized on so many issues, having drawn battle-lines over abortion, health care, taxes, unions, affirmative action, climate change, military intervention, etc., that it almost seems useless to try to have a civil conversation "across enemy lines". It's a power struggle-- try to persuade the undecided middle, try to get the media and your opponents to use your language, your terms so that your 'frame' becomes the dominant and taken for granted way of understanding the issue, make sure to fire up your base of fervent supporters...
...and it's hard for me to want to be civil talking about health care when there are folks bringing guns to town hall forums, and more importantly, because of people like the guy my dad saw at his clinic-- who tried to lance an abscess in his mouth because he didn't have dental insurance, got a bacterial infection that spread through his bloodstream and caused a crippling, paralyzing stroke. So who cares about civility?
What happens when we juxtapose this scene with the lunch-counter sit-ins of 1960, that drew inspiration from Gandhian non-violence and whose partisans sought to create a confrontation that forced a change of heart in the lunch-counter managers and patrons, instead of returning force with force, or intimidation with intimidation?
What if we introduce the Jewish prohibition on naming God, since we won't be able to avoid limiting God's grandeur with our words, conceptions, names, images, etc?
What if we decided that we can learn enough, and be certain enough about the answers to our world's most pressing questions, that we can engage in spirited political debate, protest, organizing, educating, etc., but that as best we may, we should observe enough humility at our own ability to arrive at complete certainty, and enough respect for our opponents that we would rather win them over then drive them into submission and silence?
Just a thought. And now this polite Minnesotan needs to start warming up some milk...
Hahahahahahahahahahahahaha.
Seriously though, I need to say something about the verbal scrapfest my most recent facebook status has generated-- from a plea for guaranteed health care to a sharp exchange on abortion and taxes to a debate on civility and democracy.
Does civility matter? We are so polarized on so many issues, having drawn battle-lines over abortion, health care, taxes, unions, affirmative action, climate change, military intervention, etc., that it almost seems useless to try to have a civil conversation "across enemy lines". It's a power struggle-- try to persuade the undecided middle, try to get the media and your opponents to use your language, your terms so that your 'frame' becomes the dominant and taken for granted way of understanding the issue, make sure to fire up your base of fervent supporters...
...and it's hard for me to want to be civil talking about health care when there are folks bringing guns to town hall forums, and more importantly, because of people like the guy my dad saw at his clinic-- who tried to lance an abscess in his mouth because he didn't have dental insurance, got a bacterial infection that spread through his bloodstream and caused a crippling, paralyzing stroke. So who cares about civility?
What happens when we juxtapose this scene with the lunch-counter sit-ins of 1960, that drew inspiration from Gandhian non-violence and whose partisans sought to create a confrontation that forced a change of heart in the lunch-counter managers and patrons, instead of returning force with force, or intimidation with intimidation?
What if we introduce the Jewish prohibition on naming God, since we won't be able to avoid limiting God's grandeur with our words, conceptions, names, images, etc?
What if we decided that we can learn enough, and be certain enough about the answers to our world's most pressing questions, that we can engage in spirited political debate, protest, organizing, educating, etc., but that as best we may, we should observe enough humility at our own ability to arrive at complete certainty, and enough respect for our opponents that we would rather win them over then drive them into submission and silence?
Just a thought. And now this polite Minnesotan needs to start warming up some milk...
Monday, August 31, 2009
Were the valleys not so deep...
"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.
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.
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...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
