100th Post / Zoe Starts Preschool

With this entry LifeWithZoe.com celebrates its 100th post.

Looking back through this blog at the milestones in Zoe’s life (and I expect you to read back over the previous ninety nine blog entries to catch up) Zoe’s starting preschool–last week–has to rank way, way up there. Preschool has occupied a good chunk of our time and mental space (is there such a thing?) over the last year. It started last September/October with the frenzied search and the sending of registration fees. Then there was the waiting, the rejections, the comparisons, and finally the choice. We then started preparing Zoe. This included the creation of an online Group of fellow parents, picnics and weekly play dates with other students, and an almost constant discussion with her about school and what to expect. But we too had to prepare. Here we are sending our child off to school when it was not that long ago that we were teaching her how to sit and walk, and getting excited because she had learned how to say Mama and Dada. She’s two and a half years old and we could count on one hand the occasions that Zoe was left in the care of someone other than Alison or myself. And now four days a week we are leaving her in someone else’s care.

Monday the 14th of September (2009) was the first day of school. Zoe’s schedule is Tuesday through Friday, but the school had a special short session today to acclimate both student and parent to the routine. We learned about name tags, cubbies, food sharing, allergies, sign-in sheets, sign-out sheets, drop-off time, pick-up time, snack time, circle time, outside time, inside time, a fish named Gloria, a rabbit named Sparkie, where to hang coats, where to put diapers,where to put a change of cloths, where to pick up our children’s art, and most important, where to leave our monthly payments. All the parents mingled about, hovering over our children and taking an active role in their enthusiasm over the collection of toys (“Play is the work of the child.” Jean Piaget). We (us parents) were all hyper attentive, trying to prove, to the teachers, that we all take an extraordinary active role in our children’s interests. At the same time, we (again, us parents) wanted to make sure we knew the drill. No one wanted to be the parent whose child failed cubbyhole.

The rest of the week did not go too well. Zoe was ‘sad’ about me leaving her (sad being the schools gentle way of saying that the child was inconsolable). There were tears every day. I was called back one day because she was sad. Another day I never left. And every day Zoe would plea with me not to leave. At home our months of sleep training evaporated in one night. She cried when we said goodnight, would wake in the middle of the night, and she would show up at our bedroom door at early morning hours. She would frequently tell me, “No Gay Austin,” meaning that she did not want to go back. As I said, the week did not go well.

Tuesday the 22nd, the start of Zoe’s second week, started off with some tears, but overall went better, and although she was crying when I left I was told that she calmed down very quickly and had no problems the rest of the day. (By ‘rest of the day’ I actually mean the total of two hours forty-five minutes that she is at the school, making this the shortest preschool day in recorded history.) I expect that we will have many days of tears and sleepless nights ahead of us, but today gave me some hope that Zoe will eventually adapt and perhaps even come to enjoy and look forward to going to school. I hope to write a blog sometime down the road that tells about Zoe’s tears on a Saturday because there is no school.

In discussions with other parents, we are of the consensus that starting preschool is probably the biggest transition thus far in their lives. Many of the kids have had nannies and babysitters or grandparents, but at school they are often on their own and though I have no doubts that at Zoe’s school a lot of attention is paid to the children, they are no longer the one-on-one center of attention that they are used to. As parents we want our children to be well balanced, socially adept, and stress free as possible, and ironically preschool, a step toward achieving those goals, is probably the most stressful thing they have encountered. I suppose home schooling would help reduce that stress, but I am altogether too lazy and definitely not bright enough to achieve any modicum of success. Besides, I want the kids out of the house so I can continue my tennis lessons.

For my 100th blog I had planned a big retrospective of previous posts, sort of a best of the best, a little trip down memory lane, musings of first steps, first words, and perhaps a sampling of some of my wittier lines from posts past. But it’s been a long week and a half and perhaps Zoe’s starting school is a good jumping off place for the next one hundred blogs. Take a look at the photos of Zoe’s first day of school, and check back here at the end of the week for an update on how the rest of the week went. Then we’re off to a big family reunion on Cape Cod, Massachusetts, which will surely set our school and sleep progress back to square one.

Zoe’s first day of school: picasaweb.google.com/dbglass/1stDayOfSchool

Number 1 Calder

Last week I mentioned that Calder had learned to roll over, and I want to talk a little more about this activity since it’s really changed things around here. First off, I need to stress how quickly he learned to do this. On July 2, 2007, in Zoe’s blog, I wrote that Zoe had been struggling to roll over for about two weeks. Calder, however, just rolled over one day, and the problem is he has not stopped. If you put him down on his back he will immediately–immediately once you have walked into the next room–flip himself onto his stomach and start to cry. Some babies like to be on their stomach but not Calder. He cries. Playtime is all well and good, but when we put Calder to sleep at night he is placed on his back (as is recommended by the American Academy of Pediatrics) he will wait to we leave the room then flip. We come back into the room, flip him back, stick the pacifier back into his mouth, he seems to drift off, and we leave. We repeat this about a half dozen times (he flips so often that I have left a giant spatula beside the bed) until he falls into a deep enough sleep that he stays put. Inevitably during at least one flip he manages to get on leg stuck through the bars of the crib, and he becomes this little squirming puzzle to extract. Once he’s asleep he usually stays asleep until three or four in the morning when he rolls himself onto his stomach, and decides that since he is up he might as well have a snack. Alison has suggested a Velcro pajama-sheet set and I suggested duct tape to keep him in one place, but I think the AAP has a negative opinion about those options.

In the last few weeks I have met two young boys (wouldn’t it be scandalous if I stopped the sentence right there!) who also are named Calder. At the time we decided on the name we had neither met anyone nor heard of anyone with the given name Calder. We knew we were not the only people who gave our child that name, but figured that it was fairly rare and that it would be unlikely that we would meet another. Yet here they are, popping up all over Berkeley (all over being in two separate parks). The parks I bring Zoe to are often crowded and it’s rare that I hear other children’s names, yet I have discovered two. The odds indicate that there could be hundreds of Calder’s in Berkeley. But perhaps it is even more unbelievable than that; perhaps I’ve met, simply by chance, the only other two Calder’s in Berkeley. Think of those odds? So, I am sending out the call for more Calder’s. If you know someone with the given name of Calder let me know. But if you want to see photos of the cutest Calder of all go here.

Sometimes She’s Difficult

I will frequently search through old blog entries to compare the Zoe of old with the Zoe of new. I do this most frequently when Zoe has overcome some hurdle that I had mentioned her struggling with in some earlier blog, so today, as I write about Zoe’s swimming, I know that at some point I will make some big announcement that she has finally, voluntarily, put her head under water. Zoe currently takes swimming lessons three days a week; group swimming lessons (with Dad in the pool) at the YMCA on Mondays, and private, one-on-one lessons at Sherman’s Swim School on Tuesday’s and Thursday’s. You would think that with all this swimming she would be ready to take on M. Phelps, but the truth is she is just as happy to play on the stairs leading into the pool than learn stroke and turn techniques. Our big hurdle at this point is Zoe’s aversion to getting her head wet. (I’m having a bit of déjà vu about this subject, but since we are in the thick of three-day-a-week swim classes I guess you’ll have to suffer through this repeat.) This extends beyond the pool. We still struggle in the bath to wash and rinse her head. And at public parks, with fountains that kids can run through, she will avoid any spray that approaches her face or hair. I expect that some day, when Zoe is on Harvard’s Competitive Underwater Swimming Team, we will be able to look back on these days with amusement (and embarrass her in front of her teammates), but for now we are happy that Zoe is happy just bobbing along the edge of the pool.

Two year olds are very demanding creatures, requiring patience¹⁰ (i.e. to the power of ten), humor and a touch of your inner seer. This morning I was preparing Zoe’s breakfast and each step required some finesse to avoid a pre-breakfast, hunger induced, micro tantrum. First there was the banana. Zoe doesn’t really like bananas but she likes pealing them. So I chop off about two inches from the end of a banana so she can peel it. She’ll take a nibble or two and hand it to me with instructions to save it. I suggest to her that she choose a plate that she would like her breakfast served on and she picks one with three segments, requiring me to ask her which segment I should place the banana (“um… This one). Next comes the hash brown potato. Which segment should that go in (study’s the plate for a few moments before choosing)? After she finishes the potato I try to encourage her to eat some cereal. “Zoe, do you want some cereal?” “No.” “How about if I just put some on your plate and you see if you like it?” I put a handful of cereal into segment three. Zoe starts to eat them. “Do you want a bowl so you can have milk with your cereal? “No.” Short pause. “Bring milk, Daddy!” I try to drag a few pleases and thank you’s out of her, but Zoe is the Queen and I am really just her personal butler. And everyone knows that there is no arguing with the Queen. But I tell you, by the time breakfast is done I’m exhausted, and we’re not even dressed yet.

Zoe is no Pop*

Warning: the following paragraph contains egregious sexist and stereotypic comments. The author has already been reprimanded and is currently in the next room being spanked (although the author of this blog does not condo corporal punishment).

Here in Berkeley (and elsewhere) it is considered inapproprié to raise your child strictly in line with their gender. If a male child chooses to wear pink dresses than the understanding parents will stand proudly at his gay side. If a female child chooses trucks over tutu’s than good for the little dy… construction worker. But here in the Glass/Savitz household that is not our problem. Zoe, without any prompting (okay, maybe just a little) has adopted some very girlie attributes. She only wears dresses. The only pants she will put on are pajamas and leggings, tight, shin-length pants that make slides a little more bearable. She has developed a girl-like aversion to any insect big or small, and she will actually squeal when I dangle a mouse, a gift from one of our cats, alive or dead, in front of her (yes, I still have a little of the ‘younger brother’ in me). She also frequently wears her tutu, will carry around and feed her baby doll, likes to carry around a purse, and most telling, the most girlie attribute about her, is she sits down to use the potty. Ah-ha! (Okay, now I’m just getting silly. Zoe is still in diapers, so her sitting on a toilet is just conjecture.) Maybe our sending her to a school named Gay Austin will bring out some of the man in her.

I see myself as a fairly organized and punctual individual. I don’t know if others see me this way, but having children has really put a strain on my efforts to remain so. Having children completely alters time; forty minutes will be over in five minutes and alternately five minutes will take forty minutes to complete. Let me explain by example. On Mondays Zoe has a swim lesson at the YMCA. We have to be in the car at 10:00 am to have time to drive downtown, park and change. So we sit down for breakfast at 8:30 and five minutes later I’m pushing Zoe out the door because it is 10:05. Alternately, sometimes I will be corralled into reading Zoe some tedious book about some furry animal or whatnot, or playing some game in which every few seconds she will yell, “Myself,” which means I would like to do it without your assistance, thank you, except without the thank you, and this will go on for about an hour, except when I look at my watch only five minutes will have passed. This inconsistency of time explains how I went from no gray hair to a few (possibly a dozen) so quickly (quickly is up to the readers interpretation of time).

Did you know that if you leave hummus on the floor for twenty-four hours it forms a semi-firm putty-like texture that can be picked up by hand?

*keeping-the-sex-of-a-toddler-secret

See Zoe and Calder photos at picasaweb.google.com/dbglass

Calder Rolls Over

It’s a shame I haven’t been more active with Calder’s blog because when something important happens in that long list of developmental milestones, it’s even that more obvious that I’ve been slack in my blog posting responsibilities. The big event that absolutely needs to be posted is that Calder rolled over (back to his front, at which point he has nothing to look at so starts to cry). I looked back at Zoe’s blog to see when she first rolled over (to see which of my children is more talented) and discovered that they were almost the exact same age, within four or five days of one another. Zoe, however, worked at it for a while (we were like cheerleaders every time she made it halfway over), where as Calder just one day rolled over. But I also discovered, looking back, that I reported Zoe rolling over in my seventeenth posted blog. This is only the fifth posted blog for Calder. Bad Daddy! Bad!

The other late afternoon Alison ran out at the eleventh hour (actually it was around 5:00) to pick up an avocado for our dinner. Zoe was watching Elmo (because she fell off a chair onto her face and I was trying to cook dinner and mom was running out to buy an avocado) and Calder was sitting in the kitchen in his bouncy chair watching me cook, and by watching I mean whimpering with increasing volume while I tried to make funny faces and sounds as I passed back and forth. Finally I couldn’t take her pathos anymore and I strapped the Snugli to my chest and proceeded to make dinner with him glued to my front. The problem was his head blocked my views of the cutting board, my left hand, and the blade of the sharp knife in my right hand. I would try to lean one way or the other to see around him, but he would lean with me (no surprise, as he was strapped to my chest). I managed to finish making dinner without chopping of a finger or dunking Calder into something that might leave a permanent mark. One has to ask, however, why we couldn’t eat dinner for lack of an avocado?

I want to briefly talk about sleeping habits. I've devoted many pages on this subject on Zoe’s blog, and for good reason. Sleeping is one of the three points in the infant triangle of life, the other two being eating and pooping. Calder seems to sleep a huge number of hours. Is it because he is simply lazy and doesn’t realize that he is wasting his life? Or is it because sleep is so important to the early development of a child? I guess the answer depends on whom you ask, but regardless, Calder is already sleeping much better than Zoe ever did. Alison is very diligent about getting Calder to sleep when he seems sleepy, and sometimes when he doesn’t seem sleepy. I’m not very good at reading the sleepy signs, and in some ways I think it might just be easier to skip the whole, tedious, time consuming bedtime routines for both kids and simply let them play until they collapse from exhaustion. Unfortunately this plan would probably be accompanied by lots of whining and tantrums, and neediness. And it would probably affect the children as well.

Don't forget to check out photos of Calder at picasaweb.google.com/dbglass

Secret Ears

Back in March I spent an hour or so visiting the preschool Zoe is going to attend this September. I was there for circle time, and I remember thinking how advanced the language skills of the children were, and that Zoe was nowhere near that level. I was worried that she would struggle to keep up with the other kids, fall into a deep depression, and start following the moody Oscar the Grouch above the cheerful Elmo. But suddenly Zoe is talking almost perfect sentences (by perfect I mean non-grammatical, three or four word, frequently random, and often needing some parental interpretation sentences). She sometimes gets a little embarrassed when we can’t figure out what she is saying, but after I ridicule her and… I mean encourage her to repeat herself or show me, if she can, we can most often figure out what she is saying. Anyway, I’m no longer worried that she won’t be able to speak well enough to keep up with the other kids. Now I’m worried that she’s going to start talking and never stop.

Talking about school, back in my February 22 blog, The Preschool Edition, Part 1 I mentioned that we were soundly and unceremoniously rejected from one particular preschool. I suspected that that particular school actually enjoyed sending rejection letters and probably published a booklet each fall filled with the names of every family that was turned away, which would then be handed out to parents of children who were accepted. It would instill in those parents a sense of superiority that would help soften the blow of the monthly registration fee. A few days ago I received a call from that school telling me that they had an opening, and if we were still interested the spot was ours. I soundly laughed my rejection of their offer (by soundly laughing I mean I politely said no thank you). I also heard from another family that they too received the same call. They also turned the offer down. So I say, Ha! How the mighty have fallen. Actually I didn’t really say that, but I wondered how many people they had to call before they got to me? As a reminder, Zoe was accepted into The Gay Austin School, the most prestigious preschool in Berkeley (by prestigious I mean one that is within a fifty yards of both a coffee shop with free WiFi and a pizza parlor), and certainly the school with the most embarrassing name.

Back on the subject of language, Zoe has started mirroring our speech. If we say something she will often repeat it. We are often in the habit of talking over her, having a conversation that we think is either too advanced for her, or speaking when we think she is distracted is some activity. The other afternoon I was beginning to prepare dinner and Zoe was sitting in her usual spot in front of one of the cabinets, removing items and placing them strategically around the kitchen so that I would periodically trip. She appeared focused on her task and I assumed she was not really paying Alison, who was in the other room playing with Calder, or myself any mind. From the living room Alison said to Calder, “All righty.” And a moment later Zoe whispered to herself, without pausing in her play, “All righty.” So, in the future, when I have to ask her a half-dozen times to do something, I will from now on assume she is simply ignoring me, and not that she is suffering from some sudden onset of hearing loss.

I had fallen behind, but now you can see recent photos of Zoe and Calder at http://picasaweb.google.com/dbglass

The Ridiculously Long Toy Edition

Alison and I have recently been on a toy-buying binge. We somehow got it into our heads that Zoe’s childhood would not only be lacking without certain toys, but that she could possibly become developmentally stunted. However, being the cheapskates that we are we would not buy any of these ‘necessary’ toys new, so whenever we had a moment we would do a quick search of Craigslist. Unfortunately the items we were determined to find are hot items (reinforcing our belief that Zoe would suffer without them). Our binge was initially triggered by a couple of lucky finds at yard sales, a small, slightly wobbly trampoline that Zoe uses almost daily (and has only fallen off of once) that cost us only ten dollars, and a three dollar, sturdy metal toy stroller that replaced the cheap ten dollar one that she played with constantly (and broke when she sat in it). It was almost like a challenge; let’s find the toys Zoe needs as cheap as possible. First on the list was a water table. A water table, for those non-parents out there, is a basically a large basin on legs, and almost exclusively plastic. The non-parent might ask why not just fill a bucket with water? Because, it is the design itself--as is true of most children’s toys--that aids in their development. The large, molded slab of plastic actually makes your child smarter. After an exhaustive search Alison found a posting for a water table in the final seconds before we rushed out the door to pick up our sister-in-law from the airport (Alison was scanning Craigslist as she nursed Calder). It had been put out on the sidewalk, and it was FREE! We had to make a decision; a free water table or our sister-in-law. Long story short, we now have a water table, and have been heartened to see our little girl make daily trips out to the yard to frolic (or whatever one does with ones hands) in the water.

Next on our list was a small kitchen. All of Zoe’s friends have one, and Zoe will play at them for hours (or at least twenty minutes) at a stretch. Any toy that she will play with by herself is worth its weight in living room real estate. We automatically eliminated the plastic models that inundate Craigslist, and can be found for peanuts.^* What we wanted was a tasteful, wooden model, and better still, a kitchen that came loaded with all the paraphernalia that is required in a toy kitchen (small pots and pans, plastic food, miniature jars of condiments and boxes of pantry staples, etc.). These kitchens can run into the hundreds of dollars when new, and we came to the conclusion, after many hours of searching, that a decent kitchen in good condition--and not painted some garish color--was going to cost us. But no matter how diligent we were we would often be the third of fourth caller. Also, for some reason everyone that is selling one of these kitchens lives an hour away from us. There’s probably some hidden Berkeley tax on these kiddy kitchens. Finally we were the first caller, so after Zoe’s swim class the entire family piled into the car and we made the trip to Marin County (we crossed a toll bridge, so you know it was a schlep getting there), were I was able to keenly negotiate the price of a three-year old Pottery Barn Kids kitchen down to only ninety dollars, and that low price included all the small pots and pans, plastic food, miniature jars of condiments and boxes of pantry staples that a child needs to make a fake gourmet meal.

There are some small signs that Zoe is a little overwhelmed with her recent bounty. We considered saving some of these recent finds for a birthday or holiday gift, but worried that she might quickly outgrow these items, but also we would have needed to seal off a room just to store them. There is the risk that she will not have any lasting interest in any of these things, and she will instead just ask us to read to her, as she did before we bought her all this stuff. We cannot let this happen. We must remain diligent in our search of Craigslist for good, cheap stuff, and steadfast in our efforts to fill every usable inch of space in our living room with crap developmental toys.

^* My use of peanuts in the clichéd currency reference is an intentional, paradoxical reference, since peanuts are almost taboo in the universe of children these days.

Daddy is in Control

You might find this hard to believe, but sometimes Zoe does not do as I ask. Even if I use my most authoritative, parental voice she may still not do as I ask. In fact she will periodically fall down on the floor and scream in direct opposition to some request I might make of her. Here are some things I’ve tried in addition to simply asking something of her. Reason; usually fails, or in some cases will appear to work as she will say yes and nod in the affirmative, yet seconds after completing a lengthy and passionate speech she will do the exact opposite of what we had just been discussing and what I thought we were in complete agreement on. Firmness; you’d think a loud voice would cow her into submission, but it usual fails as quickly as using a rock to save a drowning man. Then there’s the ‘you’re a big girl so just…’ method; I’m actually trying to bluff her with that one, but usually she won’t fall for it, and will demonstrate that she is not really a big girl by having a tantrum. And lastly there is the ‘use candy as a bargaining tool’ method. I haven’t tried this one myself, although I expect it won’t be too long before I give in.

I’ve said this before (and I will say it again), but I prefer to use the bathroom alone. However, Zoe has a special radar that lets her know when I have snuck off to use the potty, no matter how quiet I am, and she will come looking for me. Up until very recently I could expect her to push the bathroom door open and busy herself in the small room while I am doing my business. I’m not sure what the appeal is to small children of being in a small bathroom while a full-grown man sits on a toilet, but I understand I am not the first father to comment on this phenomenon. Recently, however, I have discovered that Zoe aware of and averse to unpleasant smells, so I’ve learned a little trick that is allowing me to begin reclaiming my privacy in the bathroom. When she arrives at the bathroom door and tries to get in I now tell her it is very stinky. There is a moment of silence and I can visualize her thinking about the options available, then she, miraculously, wanders off. I will hear her talking to herself as she sets off down the hall looking for other rooms to dismantle.

Rhymes with Calder

There are only two steps to feeding Calder. Bringing him to a b**b and burping him when he is done. Zoe was a quick eater and an easy burper. Calder likes to savor his meals and take his time getting a burp out. In fact, in the time it takes me to burp him I could probably read a couple of chapters in a book, if both my hands weren’t in use. In fact, my right arm is visibly larger than my left from the extra workout it’s getting. Calder finds the rhythmic patting of his back very relaxing, and will sometimes fall asleep before we can get a burp out of him. But beware; if you think that you can just lay him down without getting that burp out, he will most likely throw up. Which raises the question, why is it that infants need to be burped? I know that they are not able to burp on their own, but don’t you think evolution would have resolved that small shortcoming? I mean really, they come straight from the womb knowing how to eat. How hard is it to burp? I think it is simply a mechanism put in place so the dads can have some part in the baby feeding process. Men = burping. I guess that sounds right.

When you read the Big Book of Rules for Parent, chapter ten talks about how it is forbidden to call your infant simply by his (or her) name. You must create some cutesy derivative, and use it whenever you are leaning over your child, making stupid faces and speaking in a saccharine baby voice in an attempt to make them smile. (In some states you are actually forbidden by law to say their name normally, unless you are referring to said child while calling the wife to take charge of some heinous diaper incident.) But I have a small problem when it comes to Calder; I can’t think of any words that rhyme with Calder except for ‘balder’. (Okay, there’s Gibraltar but not so cute.) So I’ve come to calling him Calder Balder, which is cute only because it rhymes. Now I have Alison calling him Calder Balder, and before you know it his nickname will be Baldy. He will be Baldy like six foot ten, three hundred pound guys are called Tiny (e.g. he is not bald in the least). So please, if you can come up with some other cutesy name that rhymes with Calder, please let me know.

I seem to recollect that we waited an intolerably long time for Zoe to learn how to smile. It could be that she smiled at about the same time Calder started smiling, but with Zoe we were completely focused on every nuance of her development, whereas with Calder it seems that we don’t pay as close attention to how he is coming along (sorry Calder). It’s not that we aren’t just as excited when Calder smiles at us as when Zoe first learned, but I think with Zoe we assumed something was wrong with her until she demonstrated her grasp of each skill on the developmental ladder. With Calder we are more patient—perhaps more relaxed would be a better description—and since he seems to have picked up on the smiling thing early, we are not too worried about his development; yet. I think smiling is an evolutionary survival response. I mean we spend all day changing, feeding, burping, carrying, soothing, and otherwise catering to his every need, and if we didn’t get something back we would get tired of the whole ordeal and possibly trade him in for something more fun, like an iPhone or a large pizza. Fortunately he is smiling almost all the time, so he is safe for now, even though I would really like a pizza.

Calder has a sister. Check out her website at LifeWithZoe.com

Daddy Made me Cry (sort of)

Zoe was in her first car accident a few weeks ago. Here’s how it went down. The entire family drove to downtown Berkeley for the big Saturday farmers market. Alison decided she needed a walk so she and Calder set off for home with the stroller, and Zoe and I climbed into the Highlander (our big car) and started for home. Halfway back I stopped for a woman at a crosswalk (it’s not just polite, it’s the law!). However, a few seconds after I had come to a full stop, my car was rudely pushed across the crosswalk by a Honda Element that hadn’t noticed I had stopped. Zoe seemed baffled by the sudden movement, was briefly scared, but was completely unharmed (as was everyone else involved). Over the last few weeks there has been a lot of car activity, and whenever I mention my car now she will swing her arm and say, “Bump.” I will nod yes. Then she will say, “Wah, wah,” because she cried briefly. I will tell her that yes, she cried, but only a little. So, from this point forward, whenever anything having to do with my car is mentioned, she will remind me that I was in an accident that made her cry.

I tried to teach Zoe jumping jacks recently. It was very cute, with all her limbs flailing about somewhat randomly. And while Zoe is generally pretty coordinated, jumping jacks are the exercise equivalent of patting your head while rubbing your tummy. Zoe balances in all sorts of uneven spots, such as on top of me, and she can’t walk down a set up steps without hopping on the last step (it’s a rule that she can only hop on the last step—the steps to our house meander, so there are seven last steps). However, sometimes the smallest thing will trip her up. Tonight she landed face down after tripping on an empty (and crushed) egg carton (that she had pulled out of the recycle bag and left in the middle of the floor). And although she can almost walk across the length of a balance beam at gymnastics, she can’t walk across our living room floor without tripping on one of her toys. Actually, the more I think about it, I can’t walk cross our living room floor with tripping. Maybe ‘Traversing a Toy Strewn Floor’ should be an Olympic event?

Zoe’s most recent phrase is, “Daddy, see me,” often followed by, “See more.” She will then do a little dance, or hop, or do a summersault, or throw a ball, or bounce on her new yard sale acquired trampoline (a subject of a future injury-related blog I’m sure). Basically ‘see me’ is her method of grabbing me away from whatever I happen to be doing at the moment that is not Zoe related. If I’m playing with her, but briefly turn to say something to Alison, I will hear ‘see me’. When Zoe says ‘see me’ it mean right now, or risk her repeating it ad nauseum, and at an increasing volume. If I were performing CPR on the President, who just happened to stop by and has a heart attack in my living room, I would have to pause to watch Zoe do a little jig if she chose that moment to say see me. So to all you people out there, see me write this blog!

Visit the Calder Chronicle for more exciting stories from the home front.