the big girl bed

Early evening Sunday and Sharaun and Keaton packed off for a dinner thing at church without me (I’m still feeling a bit worn-down from the case of the sniffles I had last week).  Had a nice lazy day today, watched the new Rambo flick on DVD with a buddy and then, our thirst for manly movies still not quenched, queued up John Wayne’s El Dorado afterward.  Now, though, with the house to myself, I’m just watching some old TiVo’d Leave It To Beaver reruns – I take solace in black and white sitcoms from days-passed, for some reason… maybe there’s something to that whole “past lives” thing.

Anyway, Saturday after we took Sharaun’s mom and dad to the airport I came home and took off  the front side of Keaton’s crib, effectively turning it into what the instruction manual calls a “daybed.”  We instead call it her “big girl bed.”  It was something that had to be done, although Sharaun protested the fact.  Keaton’s been climbing herself out of the crib now for quite a while, and I didn’t see any point in keeping her in it any longer.  I mean, we feel lucky we got two-and-half years with the four walls – most our friends with kids Keaton’s age moved into “big kid beds” a while ago.

Anyway, Sharaun argued for keeping her in it longer; I think partially because Keaton wasn’t really protesting the arrangements (other than climbing out), and because she thought that converting it would make it all the easier for her to get out of bed on a whim, or, rather, give her less of a reason to “settle down” and drift off to slumber.  In fact, I was almost wishing I’d listened to her when we put her down for her first nap in the newly-converted bed that afternoon – as it took her a while to get herself to sleep.  I maintained the same had been happening for the past week (which it has), crib or daybed making no difference, but Sharaun still insisted I’d made a mistake.

To save my “Dad cred” a bit, I went in and put an extra effort into soothing her into sleepy-time that afternoon, and the nap eventually went off as a big success (as did that night, and everything since).  So once again, I have proved my fathering chops… or something.

Today, however, the naptime exchange I had with Keaton was worth noting.  Sharaun had a baby shower downtown after church in the morning, so Keaton and I headed home together for lunch, a little playtime, a much-needed bath, and, finally, her scheduled nap.  After drying her off, fresh out of the bath, I put her in some comfy clothes.  Normally, this is when we’d retire to the rocking chair where I’d sing her a few songs to hasten the sandman’s arrival.

But, before I could scoop her up into my shoulder and sit down she said, “I need to take my nap now, Daddy; I’m tired.”  OK, that’s different; she followed with, “I don’t want to sing any songs before my nap.” Hmmm, “You don’t?,” I asked.  “No.  And I don’t want to say a ‘dear God’ either.  I’m just gonna climb into my big girl bed and you close the door and I go to sleep.”  Honestly, I came out and wrote that down word-for-word verbatim as soon as I left the room, those are her exact words.

So, that’s just what I did.  She did let me tuck her in, and I did manage to sneak a kiss on her forehead.  Turned out to be a great nap too, perfectly long enough for Rambo and El Dorado.

Well, that’s that… time to shut this thing down.

Seven days, friends; seven days from today… that’s when the guys (Ben, Erik, and Anthony) and I head down to Yosemite for the first nights camp on our epic John Muir Trail “redo” hike (well, it’s a “redo” for Anthony and I, maybe just a “do” for the rest of the crew).  We’ll make camp that night and hit the trail early the next morning.  I’m getting more and more excited by the day (and developing just a little anxiety as well).  As promised, I’ll get the full day-by-day itenerary up sometime this week before we ship off into the hills.

Goodnight.

Just like you, Daddy!

Friday, Friday; the Lord brought us another Friday.  Give thanks, plebs, give thanks.

Today, while my father-in-law and I were sitting around the house playing with Keaton, she retreated back into the hallway and, this time, didn’t come back right away like she normally does.  Usually, she’ll go back there into her bedroom or our bedroom and get some toy or doll or something before she comes right back out to the area where everyone’s hanging out.  This time, I noticed she’d been gone for a while and got up to go look after her.

When I found her, she had her shorts and underwear around her ankles and was sitting on her little potty (which we’ve moved into the tiny toilet-area in our master bathroom while we have guests) reading one of my bathroom Newsweeks.  I asked her what she was doing, and she matter-of-factly told me: “I’m making a poo-poo and a pee-pee and reading a magazine; just like you, Daddy!”

Awww… she even apes my bowel movements y’all… that’s love.

Goodnight.  Goodweekend.

babydoll kidnapping

Ahhh, the sun sets on another day.

In some charade of preparedness, I’ve been taking Keaton on long wagon-pulled walks now for a few evenings running.  I know these will in no way actually prepare me for the 65mi Muir Trail hike we’re doing in just a few weeks, but, somehow, they ease my conscience at not doing anything more tangible.

Tonight all three of us walked over to the nearest home improvement warehouse store and looked at their selection of ceiling fans (I hope to have one installed in the new front room before Sharaun’s folks get here this Saturday).  After that we indulged my wife’s sweet tooth and stopped at the local McDonald’s for soft-serve cones all around.

Oh, I remember what I wanted to talk about today… Keaton has been baaaad lately!

I mean, our daughter has always been (to us, at least) a shining example of perfection.  Every once in a while she’d have a little too-tired meltdown… but, to be honest, I always thought she was pretty easy to deal with. Not so anymore friends, not so anymore.  Lately, she’s really been playing with just how much she can get away with and how far she can push.  In some ways, I find it interesting to see her flexing her control – but her methods leave a little to be desired.  She’s particularly fond of screaming, flailing, lying dead-weight on the ground ala passive resistance, the word “No,” and complete and utter disdain for, or ignoring of, our instruction – the list goes on.

All of this started as the occasional boundary-checking, but it’s gotten a little more systemic of late.  Today, Sharaun supplemented our trite and predictable nouveau-parenting technique of “timeouts” with something I dubbed babydoll-kidnapping; because, see, Keaton loves her babydolls.  She has, by my estimates, near ten of them.  In fact, let’s count them to be sure…  From memory (pretty good Dad, eh?), they are: Baby Kia, Baby Claudia, Baby Finna, Baby Finny (I think they are brother/sister), Baby Hannah, Baby Sabrina, and Muñeca (she’s from Mexico).  She usually knows where each baby is at all times, whether they are sleeping, playing, hiding, crying, need to be burped or fed or held, etc.  Today, however, they all got rounded up and put on the high shelf of our closet.  Yup, Sharaun interned them all as some measure of additional bad-behavior deterrent.

When I got home from work, the first thing Keaton did (after my required big hug and lip-kiss) was to follow me into the bedroom and point out her dolls on the shelf.  “Look Dad,” she said, “My dolls got put up.”  Using my new-grown parenting skills, I deduced that there must be some logic behind all seven dolls being put in the closet, and chose not to comment aside from a, “I see that baby…” When I got the chance to ask Sharaun what was up with the hijacked dolls, I could hear the frustration seep back into her voice: “When she misbehaves from now on we take dolls away in addition to timeouts!, ” was her simple yet authoritarian reply.  Mmmm-hmmm; sounds good.  I’m on-board by decree at this point, “OK, I’ll remember.”

Poor Keaton; dolls all up in the closet gathering dust.  I guess we’ll see if the new technique works… but I have my doubts.  I figure this is just part of the “two year old” phase and that we’ll have to simply weather the growing and stretching and rattling fetters.  For what it’s worth, she’s still my favorite thing on Earth and I can never really be all that mad at her…

Goodnight internets.

I dunno about you, but I loved that

Closing in on 7pm Sunday and I’m about to sit Keaton down a for a late dinner (it’s OK, we shared some chips and guacamole after we woke from our naps a little earlier).

Today was an extremely lazy day, with the entirety of our post church activities being an Olympics-in-the-background nap. I broke down last week and hired an acquaintance who does landscaping to send a crew out and fix-up the slope above the retaining wall, adding some circular stone planters and new greenery – so they toiled out there under the sun while I napped inside… which made me feel a bit guilty. I mean, it’s not like I’m some rich landowner or anything… so sleeping while I pay folks to do labor that’s rightfully mine is kinda much even for me. But, the yard looks nice – and just in time for Sharaun’s parents to get into town next weekend.

Moving on…

Remember a loooong time ago when I wrote about Keaton’s “first song?” And then, a few times after that, I’ve written about how she has been able to sing along with it now for a while. In fact, she sings a lot now, and the number of songs she remembers the words to constantly impresses me. Tonight, after we all got done eating dinner, she started serenading Sharaun and I and we decided to get it on tape. After one unaccompanied run-through, I put the real song on the computer nearby and asked her to sing along with Paul. I liked it so much I wanted to share. Here, then, is Keaton singing along with the Beatles (well, Paul, at least – it was the turbulent White Album era) to the song I Will:

[flv:https://blog.pharaohweb.com/video/I_Will.flv 320 240]

I dunno about you, but I loved that.

Well then… I suppose it’s time to give up the bloggin’ for tonight. Monday tomorrow and, since I’m taking some time off next week while the parents-in-law are here – it’s a happy Monday (I just get excited the week before I know I get to vacate).

Goodnight folks, love you all.

mercedes. i have a mercedes. mercedes.

Happy Friday all.  Welcome to the entry that almost wasn’t, but came together in a rushed half hour around 10:30pm last night.  Guess sometimes it all just works out, huh?  Moving on…

Today I left work around 11:45pm to meet Sharaun and Keaton at one of the local parks.  We had lunch in the shade and then hit the playground for a while before I had to leave and rejoin the ranks of corporate zombies back at the sawmill.  I love doing this, having some time during the day to spend with Keaton is the perfect way to break the spell of to-dos and teleconferences.

During lunch there was a couple of moms sitting at a picnic table near us.  As their young’ns played some kind of stupid Pokemon or Dragonball game on the playground (“You’re an egg now!”  “No, I’m a human already – and if you look into my eyes you’ll die!”), they sat and gabbed.  Well, one of them did – the other one just listened and gave deferential harrumphs and confirming nods.

The one talking, and boy could she talk, was rambling on and on and on (and on some more) about a car accident she’d been in recently, and the harrowing events which befell her life thereafter.  The thing is, though, she somehow managed to work in the fact that her wrecked vehicle was a Mercedes SUV at every turn of the conversation.  Soon, I began to think this was no mere coincidence:

Yeah, I had to take the Mercedes to a special Mercedes body shop that the Mercedes dealer recommended, because not just any body shop can work on a Mercedes, you know.

The rental replacement SUV they gave me was some GM or Chevy thing, and when I climbed in for the first time I couldn’t believe how small it was compared to the Mercedes.  I had to call my insurance agent and ask if they had anything more truly comparable in size the the Mercedes, because my back just couldn’t handle that thing – it’s so used to the Mercedes.

The people who hit the Mercedes were Yugoslavian or Russian or something.  When they pulled over I parked the Mercedes right in front of them because I was afraid they might try to run.

On top of this, she bemoaned how the wrecked Mercedes had hampered her and her husband’s plan to buy a boat, as they now had no vehicle to tow it with (presumably, the time the Mercedes would be in the Mercedes body shop would ruin an entire Summer boating season?).  She admitted, small hints derision vocalized at the corners of her words, that they had “settled for” an old pickup that they’ll “only use to tow the boat around,” but “never to just drive.”

I felt intensely sorry for her rough life.  And, also because I am pretty sure she was only telling the story so her friend (and whomever happened to be within earshot) had no option be to be keenly aware she owned a Mercedes, a boat, and a truck specifically for the purpose of lugging around the boat.

Not that I’m not occasionally taken into a swirl of materialism and status-symbol one-upmanship myself, but I hope I never hawk my wares quite like that.  Eh, it wasn’t even that egregious an offense… just made for quick and easy writing. And, now it’s over.

‘Night.  Have a good weekend, see ya Monday.

bloggin’ ain’t easy lately

Wednesday.  Sorry for the sporadic entries of late, I’ve been busy with work… and a day without time for my mind to wander usually means a night without much to write about.  Gonna be random today I think… but I want to get something out there.

Last night we had friends over for dinner.  I came home about an hour early to start the barbecue and char the meat; not a bad deal.  I can remember watching my dad barbecue for us when I was a kid, we had one of those traditional round Webbers, black – the kind like you see in those 1950s episodes of Leave It To Beaver or Ozzie and Harriet.  I remember we had some sort of Sunset Guide to Grilling cookbook which showed the novice grill chef how to form two mounds of charcoal on either side of the bowl for indirect heat.  I was always fascinated with cooking over fire, and still enjoy it.  So, like I said, coming home an hour early from work to start a fire and cook meat isn’t bad at all.

Tonight Sharaun had a volleyball game so Keaton and I got some time to hang out just Dad and daughter.  We took a nice long bath, playing in the bubbles and transferring water from one litte cup to another.  After that we got dressed for bed and brushed our hair (I brushed hers, she then returned the favor), and played for another ten mintues before getting into the crib.  We had a little tea party, and played in the “pretend pool” (which is just a comforter spread out on the ground with pillows for “floaties”).  I like when I can give her my full attention, although I admire Sharaun for doing it all day long, as it’s pretty demanding and requires putting aside whatever you might want to be doing (I mean, not to say I don’t want to be playing in the pretend pool with my daughter… but you know what I mean).

It’s less than a month now until Anthony and I embark on our “makeup” trip back into the Sierra backcountry along John Muir Trail.  This time, we’ll be four as Ben and Erik will join us as we try to finish the sixty-plus miles we failed to complete last time around – stupid snow… (what, you don’t believe me?, there totally was snow).  The four of us got together last week to have a planning session (read: pizza and beer and about fifteen minutes of me going over our slightly-modified last year’s itinerary).  I’ll go ahead and do a big kickoff entry here as that date nears, with the same kind of boring data I posted last time (I know, you can’t wait).  I think we’re all getting pretty excited, and hopes are high that we don’t get turned back by weather this year.  (In fact, the portion of the hike we plan to do this year has few “easy” outs, so we’re banking on Mother Nature being good to us).

I guess that’s all I have.  Bloggin’ ain’t easy lately.

I just waked up!

Hi Tuesday people.

Tonight, a friend asked Sharaun and Keaton and I over for a dinner and swim… and I turned him down.  Now, this isn’t something I’d normally do – we’re a fairly social bunch and we trade dinners at each others’ houses pretty often, usually at least once a week.  But, I was just feeling burned out.  We’ve done something every free minute of every day for the past week or so – and I was just ready for a stay-at-home do-nothing break.  So, I was honest, saying I just wanted a night to “decompress.”  And here I am, decompressing, apparently… listening prog-rock hour on Sirius’ “Vault” channel (which, by the way, is not anywhere near as good as XM’s “deep cuts” station was – so hopefully that gets sorted in the merger).  Ahh… decompressing; feels good.

For about a month now, when Keaton wakes up from her nap or in the morning after a night’s sleep she screams at the top of her lungs from her crib for “Moooommmy!!,” or “Daaaaaaddy!!”  It’s not a demanding cry, it’s actually a really endearing yelp for someone to come free her from the confines of her bed.  I’ve come to look forward to that hollering, it makes me smile the biggest smile and feel all good inside.  When it gets me up from bed, I’ll walk down the hall and knock on her door, to which she’ll reply, “Yes!.”  “Can I come in,” I ask.  “Yes!,” she answers enthusiastically.  I’ve learned to love this little routine.

Alas, it was a love affair cut short.  Yes, I’m afraid that Keaton has finally reached that bedtime milestone that so many parents of kids her age went through long before us: She’s finally mustered enough courage to reliably climb out of her crib when she wants to.  We knew the day would come, but our policy was to put her down in the crib as long as she was both comfortable in it and would tolerate it.  I mean, why invite that added element of mobility?  (And don’t give me any B.F. Skinner type psychology please).  After all, she’s two and a half now, so it had to happen sometime soon.  Honestly, so far I like it.  She doesn’t seem to get up and get herself out randomly when we’d expect her to be sleeping, so for now it’s limited to her actual wake-up times – which is fine.  And, like so many other little milestones, it just proves to me that she’s growing up, and her learning and increased daring-do (which is still pretty minimal) make me proud.

Besides, now, instead of looking forward to her banshee wails each morning, I can instead listen intently for the squeak of her door as she lets herself out and tumbles down the hallway into our room, where she’ll stand there with that half-asleep look on her face, hair a mess, and say, “Good morning Daddy, I just waked up!”

G’night friends.  Until tomorrow, enjoy your day.