Yeah, it's kinda like that...

Some real insight from the folks at AARP who came up with this public service ad. Like the old John Denver song says, "Some days are diamonds, some days are stone..."

What’s the good word?

Sleeping in my arms at a family event;
April 20, 2014

To be completely honest, I don’t remember the first words of either of our daughters. It’s not that I wasn’t totally excited or involved at the time and I am sure we’ve written them down somewhere…maybe. But back then I didn’t have a stay-at-home dad blog, either. And it just so happens that this particular medium is the perfect way to mark the momentous occasion of Dimitri’s very first word.

What’s the word? The word is: “No.” More precisely, the word is “No! NO! NOOOO!”

At first I thought I was mistaken. I mean, how can such a happy, happy child start speaking on such a negative note? He started saying “neh-neh-neh” about a week ago and we weren’t quite sure what to make of it. “Nai” is Greek for “yes,” which was somewhat encouraging (since he hears Greek a lot from my wife and father-in-law) and “nero” is Greek for “water,” and that was a distinct possibility since he’s drinking from a “big boy cup” at meals now. But…no. Dimitri put all questions to rest earlier this week as I was putting him down for his morning nap. As he twisted and turned in my arms and resisted any of my efforts at getting him to sleep, the word welled up from the tips of his toes, through his lungs and straight out of his mouth: “Nooooo!”

Yeah, I thought it couldn’t be, but it was absolutely true. It wasn't wishful thinking, conceptual bias or my 40 year-old ears playing tricks on me. For the rest of the day, whenever I put him down in his playpen, Dimitri would immediately bust out his first – and unmistakably favorite – word, usually in triplicate, and as Arlo Guthrie might say…“with feeling.”

Hey, I guess we’re in good company. I suppose that if I had it my way, the little guy’s first word might have been something lighthearted and jovial like "huzzah!" The armchair intellectual in me might have even preferred a whopper along the lines of “neutrino” or “industrial proletariat.” But an unscientific poll from the “Circle of Moms” ladies indicates that “no” is one of the top 15 first words for the babies in their sample. They share a bit of consolation in their postscript, adding: “…if you're chagrined that your baby's first word was no (#7), you may be comforted to learn that yes is far less common.”

Of course, my wailing and gnashing of teeth is all strictly tongue-in-cheek. We’re all thrilled that Dimitri is an early talker and it’s a promising sign that he’s developing skills and intellect faster that we can teach him. It’s going to be an interesting journey, for sure.

Adventures in technology

This is what it was like back when
cameras were far less complicated.

“I wish I had a camera,” said my father-in-law as he sat behind me in the minivan.

“What do you want to take a picture of?” I asked.

“The baby,” he said. “He took the bottle from me and he’s drinking by himself. He’s also wearing my hat!”

I glanced back and saw my father-in-law laughing at the sight of his seven-month old grandson wearing the International Harvester hat that we bought for my father-in-law when he retired from the plant somewhere around a decade ago.

As luck would have it, I did have a camera with me at the time as I was carrying my iPhone. Now, my father-in-law typically hates all digital devices and he’s made no secret that he wants to gather them all up and throw them down a well. But when I gingerly offered my phone to him so he could snap the picture, he was all for it. Of course, there was a significant problem to overcome in that he’d never actually used an iPhone before—not to place a call and certainly not to take a photo. But he wanted so badly to take the picture himself that I decided it was high time to show him how to do it…even if I was driving along at 40 miles per hour down a busy thoroughfare smack in the middle of the lunch rush.

“Just point it at Dimitri and press the white button on the screen,” I said.

The instructions were more or less intuitive from my perspective but after a few seconds of almost complete silence, I stole a quick look to see my father in law making his best efforts to follow my instructions. The problem was that he had the phone completely turned around and was preparing to snap a picture of himself instead of little Dimitri. Imagine…his first picture ever with a digital device would have been a selfie!

Once we were stopped at a light, I took the phone and demonstrated things a little more clearly before handing it back to him. A short time later, he passed the phone to me and said, “See if I got anything good.”

When I had the chance, I checked the photos and found he’d taken about 10 pictures of Dimitri and they were all exceptionally cute. Here’s the best one from the batch:

Not bad at all for someone who typically tries to use his cordless phone to change the television channel. We’ll keep at it.

My child is how old?

Over the past few weeks, I’ve seen a condescending meme pop up in my Facebook feed that criticizes how many parents choose to state the ages of their young children. Here 'tis: 

The meme itself is presented in something of a contextual vacuum, suggesting that this hypothetical person who has the gall to describe his or her child’s age in months rather than years has somehow committed a grievous social gaffe, clouding the mind of an innocent bystander with the kind of extraneous details that require complex mathematical formulae to convert the data into a simpler and more manageable figure. The comments and reactions that often accompany the meme go several steps further in the critique of parents’ audacious use of such fancy and exotic numbers, including statements like: “If I ever have a kid, I’ll never be one of those people who says stuff like that” and “After a kid is a year old, months are irrelevant.”

Seems simple, doesn’t it? After reading a hastily produced Internet meme along with some self-righteous quips of approval, you’re probably ready to reassess your own positions on age and semantics, aren’t you? Well...Not if you’re a well-informed parent, you’re not.

Is it beyond the pale to refer to a two year-old child as being “24 months”? I might grudgingly yield to that very small point. Maybe. But for most parents, measuring the early life of children under two is most appropriately done in months, not years. The data implicit in describing a child as “13 months,” “18 months” or even “24 months” can be noteworthy. In many respects the information provided in these increments concerns matters of health and development and describing a 19 month-old kid as simply “a year old” is an unnecessary oversimplification. Consider these stages and milestones according to parenthelp123.org:

At 12-18 months, a child should typically:

    •    Walk by himself
    •    Pick up small objects, put them on top of one another, and put them in or dump them from containers
    •    Feed herself with a spoon
    •    Say 2 or 3 different words
    •    Point to things or pictures when named

At 18 – 24 Months (2 Years), a child should typically:

    •    Walk by himself
    •    Pick up small objects, put them on top of one another, and put them in or dump them from containers
    •    Feed herself with a spoon
    •    Say 2 or 3 different words
    •    Point to things or pictures when named
    •    Walk up and down stairs with her hand held
    •    Put 2 words together (“more juice”)
    •    Take off socks and shoes
    •    Copy another child’s play
    •    Move his body in time to music

And this is how you look when you
re-post that crappy meme...

The specific milestones from month to month could be drilled down a bit further but the salient point here is clear: Many parents use months instead of years very specific reasons. When one parent talks to another, the information that’s passed along by describing a child’s precise age is significant. It could be implied that “My kid is 13 months which means he feeding himself and demonstrating some fine motor skills already.” Or, it could be a way to gingerly note that a child’s development is slow without actually having to come right out and saying it. It could even be a way to introduce the fact that the parent needs to get rid of some older baby clothes that are for a kid who is no longer fitting in her 9 to 12 month-sized onesies.
Hey, I know we’re not all “breeders” but why should parents have to dumb things down over the arbitrary preferences of people whose apparent raison d'être is the systematic avoidance of a little extra quantitative data? Should we simplify every conversation along similar lines? How about this:



“Hey Al, how did you get to work today?
"
“Well, I took I-675 to I-70 and then I got off at Route 202 and took the back roads to avoid the traffic.”

“A car, Al. You drove a car.”

Rest assured, folks: Generally speaking, parents don’t use special terminology to feel superior to people who either don’t have kids or who have already decided that they will never have children. At the very worst, saying that a child is “24 months” instead of “two years” is likely a habit that diligent parents pick up as they carefully watch their children grow and develop. And there might be a little piece of reluctance on the part of some parents to say goodbye to their “babies” and start thinking of their little ones as two year-old toddlers. At the end of the day, if something this innocuous is so upsetting to you that you feel compelled to respond with derision, then it’s a safe bet that there are a lot of other things in the realm and practice of parenting would likely elude you, as well. It doesn’t take too much effort to applaud a snarky meme but it takes a whole lot of compassion, patience and critical thinking to raise a child.

Sleep by the numbers

I honestly don’t remember how we did it with our other two kids. On the one hand, the last time I had to really track the sleep habits of an infant was nearly a decade ago and those memories are pretty fuzzy at this point. But six months into our latest parenting endeavor, I can’t help but feel like baby Dimitri’s sleep habits are a little...well...funky. I’m getting used to the whole ebb and flow of his naps and late-night feedings and generally speaking, he’s a very well-rested child. But I often feel like we could do just a little better with his sleep patterns. Here’s a sample of how we’re doing thus far using imprecise estimates with an unspecified margin of error:

Typical range for Dimitri's AM wake-up time: 6:30 to 7:15 AM

Times per week that I silently plead with Dimitri to go back to sleep when he wakes up in the morning: 5

Typical time for Dimitri’s mid-morning nap: 9:20 AM

Average length of Dimitri’s mid-morning nap: 35 minutes

Average length of my mid-morning nap: 20 minutes

Number of times per week I am startled awake from my mid-morning nap by raucous laughter on Kathie Lee and Hoda: 4 (Don't judge, people; they're the best thing on TV at 10:00 AM.)

Typical time for Dimitri’s late morning nap: 11:45 AM

Average length of Dimitri’s late morning nap: 25 minutes

Keep it down, ladies...I'm trying to sleep!

Average volume level of the television when my father-in-law falls asleep while flipping through the channels: 45 (out of 50)

Typical time for Dimitri’s mid-afternoon nap: 2:10 PM

Average length of Dimitri’s mid-afternoon nap: 20 minutes

Number of times per week that my stupid dogs wake Dimitri up by barking at an imaginary foe in the front yard: 6

Number of times per week that I curse and throw things at my stupid dogs: 6

Typical range for Dimitri’s PM bedtime: 7:30 to 8:30 PM

Average length of time it takes to get Dimitri to fall asleep for the night: 25 minutes

Typical bedtime for Thomai: 10:00 PM

Typical bedtime for Thomai on the nights that I watch wrestling on TV: 8:30 PM

Usual bedtime for me: 1:00 AM

Typical times for Dimitri’s nighttime feedings: 1:30 AM and/or  4:00 AM

Number of dreams I have per week about being back in college and being unprepared for an exam: 3

Okay, it might be a slight exaggeration to say that I have those freaky college dreams three times per week. But they are a relatively frequent occurrence and while I can’t say for sure that my tendency to drink copious amounts of caffeinated pop before bed, I also suspect that my subconscious may be waxing philosophical a bit regarding the insecurities I have surrounding my efforts as a stay-at-home dad. No big deal, though. Much like the dude in my college dreams...I’m still learning.

Around the dial with my father-in-law

The next time you think your job is tough, imagine trying to explain to a 78 year-old Greek man why CNN is breaking into regular programming to cover Justin Beiber’s arraignment. Here’s a tip: You have to start by explaining who in the hell Justin Bieber actually is. Set aside 20-25 minutes for that step alone.

My father-in-law is a retired autoworker. He’s spent the better part of his life working with his hands and throughout his retirement, he’s probably spent more of his waking hours outside working in the yard and tinkering on machines and appliances than sitting around in the house. He does pick up Reader’s Digest or the Sunday paper now and again, but he’s not big on reading books or doing puzzles. Television is probably his least favorite pastime of all and American TV shows (as opposed to the Greek channels we get via satellite) garner a special brand of contempt from him. Whether it’s news, sitcoms or commercials, my father-in-law has little tolerance for what he sees as a non-stop parade of ridiculousness and he makes his opinions well-known to anyone who is within earshot when the TV is on.

Here’s a sample of some of his recent comments while watching the boob tube:

Mrs. Puff, exact age unknown

“Boy...when she got skinny, she got ugly.”
— watching a commercial for a weight loss program

“He looks like an idiot and she talks like an idiot.”
— reacting to some footage from a celebrity interview

“Let’s see how many people this guy is going to poison.”
— right after tuning into an infomercial for a turkey deep fryer

“You boob! You don’t know anything!”
— directed at Alex Trebek during a Colonial Penn commercial

“I would guess she is 32 to 35 years of age.”
— said in regard to SpongeBob’s boating school instructor, Mrs. Puff

“South America.”
— replying to a car commercial that begins with the rhetorical question “Is there anything more American than America?”

We still have six weeks of winter to go, so it's a safe bet that we'll be watching a lot more TV together in the near future...

Stephan Denisovich on Fatherhood

Anton Semenovych Makarenko
1888-1939

I recently started reading Anton Makarenko’s 1937 A Book for Parents. Makarenko is perhaps best known for his work The Road to Life which was originally published in Russian as The Pedagogical Poem. I read the first volume of The Road to Life several years ago and enjoyed it very much, so I was excited when I found a copy of A Book for Parents some years later. But, as is the case for many bibliophiles far and wide, I always have more books than spare time on my hands. Recently though, I finally got around to giving this book the attention it deserves. I'm delving into it with special enthusiasm now that I am a stay-at-home dad, as I am always in search of new and interesting perspectives on parenthood.

A Book for Parents applies Makarenko’s theories regarding childhood education to the practice of parenting. 

Makarenko wrote of his experiences and observations of life in rural Russia in the decades following the Civil War of 1917-1922 but there’s a lot of wisdom and insight to be found in his writings, even with the passing of almost a century. Take, for instance, Makarenko’s reminiscences of Stephan Denisovich Vetkin, a former teacher who changed professions and became a blacksmith in the hope that he could earn a better living for his wife and 13—yes 13—children. Makarenko, in an effort to help out Vetkin, finds him the opportunity to work some overtime hours at the local factory. When Vetkin politely declines, Makarenko is surprised by his decision to pass on the chance to earn additional wages. Vetkin replies by explaining why time at home with his family is sometimes much more important than earning a little extra money:

“...don't my children need me? They need a father to be a father to them and not what I've seen sometimes, not a father but a horse: dull eyes, hump-back, nerves no good for anything and about as much soul as a dead duck! What's the use of such a father, I'd like to know? Just for earning the daily bread. Why, better to bury him straight away and let the children be fed by the state—the state won't grudge them. I've seen one or two of those fathers: strains his guts out, doesn't understand anything—next day he's on the floor, dead, and the children are orphans; and if they aren't orphans they are idiots, because there ought to be joy in a family and not just grief all the time. And people go on boasting: ‘I've given up everything for the children!’ Well, you were fools for doing so, that's all I can say—you gave up everything and the kids got sweet nothing. Maybe our food isn't very rich, but there's a bit of life and company in our family. I'm well, Mother's a cheerful one and they've all got souls in their bodies.” ¹

Makarenko is initially skeptical of Vetkin’s reasoning but upon paying a visit to the Vetkin family one evening, he is won over by their “healthy collective spirit” and “good creative optimism.”

In today’s America, there is a vocal contingent who asserts that family life should be grounded in socially conservative “traditions” and guided by metaphysical tenets. But Vetkin’s example seems to show that patience, persistence and priorities are among the most important components of a family environment in which happiness, compassion, and love will prevail and flourish.

---

1. This quote is drawn from the first English edition of A Book for Parents, which was published in 1954 (translation by Robert Daglish).