Remember your first lunchbox?

Lisa tells this story:

I remember my first lunch box, a metal "Addams Family" with clipped in thermos, when I started first grade. I think Sophie is going to remember her first lunch box, too.

I planned to let the girls use simple insulated bags to take their
lunch to preschool, but last night I decided to pick up a couple lunch boxes (when I found them half-price). The girls were so excited when I came home and showed them. They pretended to go to work and to school and come home again. They got pretty wound up and it took them a while to get calmed back down for bedtime. This morning Sophie was all smiles and couldn't wait to go to school.

She was awake before I was and greeted me carrying her lunchbox and saying, "Mom, I'm ready to go to school." And she was so excited about the thermos that she wanted soup for breakfast so she could eat out of the little cup.

Take that, skanks

One of our main jobs as parents is to protect our kids, whether it be from weirdos at the park or hot stoves or spooky TV shows. Who could have guess that one of our partners in this struggle would be Barbie?

That's right, Barbie (and her friends at Mattel) took Yasmin, Jade, Cloe and Sasha -- better known as Bratz -- to court. And whomped them to the hit copyright infringement tune of $100 million.

If you're lucky enough not to know what Bratz is (and no, I'm not giving them free traffic by linking to their site), here it is: they're four little dolls who wear hooker boots and act like Paris Hilton's spoiled baby sister. They say things like, "I got a new car for my 16th birthday!" They look like tramps. They have an infernal spinoff called Baby Bratz.

So, Barbie comes along and takes one hundred mil away from their conscience-impoverished makers and instantly becomes my new heroine. That, together with the cinematic bomb that was Bratz: The Movie, will hopefully ensure that in a few years, the word "bratz" won't ever be part of my kids lexicon.

It's the little things

In honor of our friend Toophless and his new daughter, here's a list of what I call The Little Things That Make For Some Big-Ass Smiles.

1. Your kid's favorite book has a sequel that doesn't suck
   
2. Your kid takes a dump in a pair of pants you didn't like anyway so you can legitimately throw them away
   
3. Your kid's favorite TV show or DVD that you have to watch all the time suddenly features a really hot woman
4. Your threat to take away TV or snack privileges actually works
5. The kid likes a good ska beat
   

Note to self: They're listening.

Tonight, we were leaving the house for a walk. I saw a friend of Lisa's who hosted a night of Bunco recently, and said, "There's your Bunco friend."

Sophie started yelling at the top of her lungs, "HEY, BUNCO!" and "HI, BUNCO!" And then BiBi joined in.

Lucky thing I hadn't referred to her as Lisa's "crazy friend" or her "ugly friend."

Sophie starts figuring things out

In the past, Lisa or I could safely drop Sophie off at day care without her asking meddling questions. As far as she's ever known, we leave her at day care and then we go to work. It works because it lends an importance the whole situation. We HAVE to go to work, which is why she HAS to go to day care.

But last week, she asked a question that chilled us. "Did you stay at home today?" she asked. Lisa and I froze while I thought of an appropriate but still truthful answer. "Yes, I was at home a little while, but I also had to go out and do some things. The most truthful answer would have been to say that I spent the day at home, writing emails, watching "30 Rock" episodes, taking a nap, and at one point running out to the grocery store.

She's starting to figure out that we have independent lives that continue on even after she stops seeing us. Damn it.

No school like the old school

Remember the original Legos? No arms or trees or motors or lasers -- just colored blocks. If you wanted to make a tree, you had to use imagination.

Before Christmas, I spent several weeks looking in stores and online for an old school Lego set. Not ExoForce, Bionicle, Factory, Creator, Star Wars, Racers, Technic, Mindstorms, Avatar or any of the dozens of other sub-categories that come with 100% imagination-free guarantee.

Long story short, you can't find the plain blocks anymore. Unless you know to look for a separate Lego site called Lego Education (not linked to from the main Lego site which is too busy selling Lego Harry Potter and something called LegoWear), and from there you hunt and peck around the catalog until you find something called Basic Just Bricks.

Obviously, this is what I did, and I'm glad I took the time. The picture above is Sophie's first toy built with her new Legos. It's a car/plane hybrid of some kind that flew around the house this morning before morphing into a house itself and later into some sort of colorful Death Star.

Classic Children's Stories Revisited: First in a Series

In "Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day," the reader is supposed to sympathize with the protagonist against all the ills that coincidentally befall him on this one day.

But in reality, this is the story of a depressed, antagonistic, pissy little jerk who is suffering karmic retribution for his excessing negativity.

Let's look at all the things that happen to Alexander and try to pinpoint the sources. Was it his fault, the "Bad Day's" fault, or is he just being pissy?

• Gets gum in his hair after falling asleep chewing it -- this is both poor hygiene (chewing gum at night) and poor decision making (chewing gum while falling asleep). Alexander's fault.
• Trips on his own skateboard -- poor decision making and lack of focus. Alexander's fault.
  
• Drops his sweater in the sink -- poor decision making and lack of focus. Alexander's fault.
• His brothers find toys in cereal and he doesn't -- random chance. Bad Day's fault.
• He doesn't get car seat by window -- probably the result of a rotating seat assignment system, but could by the whim of the adult who's driving. Bad Day's fault.
  
• No one listens to his complaints of car sickness -- if Alexander's gripe had been that he got car sick, this would have counted against the Bad Day. Instead, he seems most perturbed that no one listens to him complain about it. Alexander being pissy.
  
• Teacher likes a picture of a sailboat better than his picture of an invisible castle -- clearly Alexander shirked the assignment. Alexander's fault.
  
• He sings too loudly: Alexander probably knew that he was doing this on purpose, but without context we'll assume capriciousness on the part of his teacher. Bad Day's fault.
• Leaves out 16 when counting: Alexander's fault.
  
• Paul demotes him to third-best friend: Given Alexander's negative attitude and penchant for whining, this is completely understandable. Alexander's fault.
• He bad-mouths Paul -- confirms Paul's decision about friends. Alexander's fault.
• Dentist finds cavity -- Bad Day's fault.
• Elevator door closes on foot -- Lack of focus on Alexander's part, but still Bad Day's fault.
• Brother pushes him in mud -- Bad Day's fault.
  
• Brother calls him crybaby -- Bad Day's fault.
• Mother scolds him for punching brother, being muddy and fighting -- Bad Day's fault.
• Store is out of striped shoes, forced to buy white ones -- Bad Day's fault.
• "Accidentally" plays with dad's copier and breaks it -- Alexander's fault.
• "Accidentally" knocks over books and spills ink -- Alexander's fault.
• "Accidentally" calls Australia -- Alexander's fault.
• Served lima beans which he hates -- Alexander's fault.
• Kissing on TV which he hates -- Being pissy.
  
• Bath too hot: Being pissy.
• Soap in eyes: Alexander's fault.
  
• Marble down the drain: Alexander's fault.
• Forced to wear railroad-train pajamas: Being pissy.
  
• Brother takes back pillow and night light: Bad Day's fault.
  
• Bites tongue: Alexander's fault.
  
• Cat sleeps with brother: Wouldn't you? Alexander's fault.
  

Add it up

According to the latest Newsweek, men have gone from spending 2.6 hours per week with their kids in 1965 to 6.5 hours now. One hour a day? There's only one word for that: weak.

Here's how my average week looks: An hour with TheGirl on weekday mornings walking the dog, eating breakfast, getting dressed, etc. After work, it's easily 3 hours and usually 4. Subtract one night a week for the occasional movie or dinner with a friend.

Then we have the weekends, which are pretty much the three of us all hanging out together from morning to bedtime. Lisa or I might get out for a few hours on our own, but it's rare. Count 20 hours per weekend.

So, what does that give us? 4.5 hours per day, four days a week, plus 20 on the weekend = 40 hours.

Uh... what the hell are all these other losers doing all week?

I've got to be more careful

Sophie is in love with all the Pixar movies ("Cars" is currently #1, but "Toy Story" is close behind and gaining), so I checked out "Finding Nemo" at the library. After making an illegal duplicate copy for my own home use, we went to return the original DVD. I jumped out of the car, dropped it in the return slot, and came back to the car to find her crying.

Duh -- she wanted Nemo back. I explained as best I could that even though Daddy had just given Nemo away, he was also still at the house, but she wasn't buying the concept of multiple Nemos. Hopefully I can explain it better tonight when we sit down for some movie time.

Pretty in Pink

It's been a rough couple of weeks for The Girl. As you can see from the picture, she had a thumb-related mishap at school -- a minor fracture that will require a bandage for about two weeks. But that wasn't even her first trip to the emergency room this week.

A few days before, we'd gone to the hospital after I tried to pick her up by the arms and gave her the ol' Nursemaid's Elbow. Luckily that one was over the moment they popped that elbow back into place and gave the kid a popsicle.

The thumb break is proving to be a lot more difficult. The second night she had it on, she sobbed for two hours insisting that she was done and wanted it off NOW. That was a rough night because for all her communication skills, it's really hard to explain to a 2-year-old that the big uncomfortable thing on her arm is an unpleasant necessity for the proper healing of her fractured bone.

But the rest of the time, we've been reminded what a resilient kid she is. She has tied her shoes, climbed the slides, played with friends, carried her toys and eaten her food without complaint. Well, one complaint: she really didn't like the pink.

Cry it out: Night 6

Zero crying. None. She sat in bed, sucked her thumb, and a few minutes later I helped her lie down quietly.

Of course, that may have been helped by the 1-hour tantrum she threw rather than let Lisa put her down for her nap. Issues remain and there are many screamfests left to come, but we're getting somewhere.

Oh, and the Heels won today. This calls for a picture!

Cry it out: Nights 3, 4 and 5

Better results again: about 15 minutes of crying on nights 3 and 4, and not nearly as panic-stricken. Also, TheGirl is just as happy if not happier during the daytime. She's been incredibly sweet to both of us, despite having some sort of low-grade head cold.

Night 5 was an even bigger improvement: 3 minutes of crying. Thanks, Dr. Ferber!

Cry it out: Night 2

I'm beginning to think people like Dr. Ferber are called experts for a reason.

Last night's session with Sophie only lasted 20 scream-filled minutes instead of 75. And rather than put her back in her bed 100 times, I did it three times. But those aren't even the most interesting changes.

Twice during the night, she made some crying noises, which is usually the signal that she's going to wake up and come to our bed. But last night I peeked in and watched her put herself back to sleep -- exactly what the cry-it-out advocates say will happen.

Cry it out: Night 1

The following is a glossary of the words Sophie screamed during our 105-minute bedtime "session" tonight. (Tonight was officially Night 1 of changing Sophie's sleeping habits, also known as Modified Cry It Out.)

"Daddy" -- Me. Used to plead her case that daddy is a horrible person for inflicting this change of routine on her.
"Mommy" -- Lisa. Used to beg assistance from the person she has previously rejected at bedtime.
"Baby" -- Sophie. Used to encourage me to treat her like a baby. Sophie uses this term frequently and quite literally: there are times she wants to be picked up, cradled in our arms and sung lullabies to. ("Rock-A-Bye Baby" is the only one I know.) Usually it's very sweet and we gladly play along, since it's unlikely she had enough babying either from the orphanage or her foster family.
"Nose" -- Like me, Sophie has a runny nose right now, so she regularly asked to have it wiped.
"Boo Boo" -- A sympathy tactic to make us think she was in pain and also an attempt to get a Dora or Elmo Band-Aid.
"Mine" -- Indicating panic. Unlike a lot of 2-year-olds, this is not one of her daily vocabulary words. Instead, it comes out when she's having a nightmare or other such fearful moment.
"Sit Down" -- Delivered in the strictest of tones, this was Sophie's last-ditch effort to get me to sit so she could climb into my lap and fall asleep. She even pointed to the exact spot next to her bed where this usually happens.
"Good night"/"I love you"/"It's bedtime" -- Pretty much the only words I said to her tonight, but said over and over as I continued to put back in bed and then return to my chair to wonder what the hell we were doing.

The Pain Train is Coming

Last night, Lisa and I decided it was time to change Sophie's sleeping habits. So we designed a modified cry-it-out plan with help from Dr. Ferber that allowed for periodic check-ins. We equipped ourselves with ear plugs and settled in for many long, loud nights of poor sleep and frayed nerves.

Ten seconds after we left the room, TheGirl came crashing through the gate like some 3-foot-tall screaming She Hulk and the whole experiment was effectively over. We tried to get back on track by putting her back in her bed, but the gate's effectiveness as a deterrent had evaporated and we weren't mentally prepared to lock her in the room.

We knew this process would be hard, but never thought it would fail due to faulty equipment.

All this is happening because slowly over the past few months TheGirl's sleep patterns have regressed. At one point not too long ago, either of us could put her to sleep as long as we stayed in the room with her. Now we face screaming fits if either (a) Lisa puts her down or (b) I don't hold her in my lap while she drifts off. She also has a habit of waking at some point between 11 p.m. and 3 a.m. and wanting to finish the night in our bed.

The last part doesn't bother us too much, but we clearly need to fix the first two issues. But first, we need to regroup and settle on a new plan. So even though things didn't move forward last night, that Pain Train is out there in the distance ... and it's coming right for us.