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Monday, March 19, 2007 - 06:00
So Grace is a bit of a poke in the morning. She's also not fond of having her hair done, so trying to do that usually elicits lots of screaming. What's a frazzled parent to do? Set up an A.M. routine.
I should preface this by saying that my wife and I are both veteran special ed. teachers, with an emphasis on behaviorism. I did it for about ten years before moving on, and my wife is still at it (since 1993). So, when we were addressing the issue of Gracie's A.M. routine woes, we immediately drew upon our own education and professional experience. We decided to set up a schedule she could do all by herself, with the positive reinforcement built right in. I think we've been successful.
A brief definition before we continue: Positive reinforcement is anything that increases the likelihood that a behavior will be repeated in the future. For instance, you work 40 hours at your job; you get a paycheck. The paycheck increases the likelihood that you'll work another 40 hours (I hope!). Or, guys, you give your wife a nice bunch of flowers and she gives you...well, you know. You're now likely to give her flowers again.
The scenario we're shooting for in our house is: Grace gets ready in the morning all by herself without complaint, and enjoys the experience so much that she's likely to do it again. Get it? Okay.
Here's how to apply behaviorism to your morning:
Monday, March 12, 2007 - 06:00
We had been hyping the event for a week. "Oh, Grace," we'd say. "On Friday we're going to the sock hop!"
"What's a 'sock hop'?" she'd ask.
"It's a special dance with all of your school friends," we told her. "Your teachers will be there, and there will be music and we can all dance and have a great time. Doesn't that sound like fun?"
"Yeah!!" she'd answer. "I want to go to a sock hop!"
About three years ago, when Grace was barely a year old, I started taking her to storytime at our local library. I got to know the collection of "regulars," both parents and kids, pretty well. As we grew more comfortable with each other, our conversations would shift from the polite, "Oh, she's so cute," to the more observant and personal.
"She's kind of quiet, eh?"
"Grace just likes to take things in."
"Mine were quiet, too."
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Monday, March 5, 2007 - 07:00
I'm a pretty modest guy. However, today I feel like an actual cape-wearing superhero, and that's because I ROCK the kids' evening routine. Last night I ran it solo, and it went so well that a single white dove actually descended from the sky and hovered above my head. Here's how I did it.
Part I: Dinner Prep
The first thing I had to do was keep Heckle and Jeckle occupied while I cooked. I set Grace up with the LeapPad and she was happy enough. William is in that "I'll play with a bucket of anything" stage, so I filled his wagon with an assortment of child-pleasing junk. He took the wagon apart, tossed the "baby junk" onto the floor, and banged his head into the refrigerator. At least he wasn't screaming.
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Monday, February 26, 2007 - 07:00
Think of an arena full of frenzied movie buffs. Many are dressed as their favorite characters, most are spending insane amounts of cash on collectibles, and all of them are beside themselves with anticipation.
What am I describing? Pimply-faced nerds at a Star Trek convention?
No. It's Disney Princesses on Ice.
Last week, my wife took Grace to see the Princesses at the Boston Garden. I stayed home with William for a "boy's day," which amounted to little more than checking out HDTVs at Best Buy. At first I was happy to avoid a few thousand screaming 4-year-olds. Plus, I'm not a real fan of figure skating. I mean, I like it during the Olympics, but that's about it.
Once Grace returned home, all that changed.
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Monday, February 19, 2007 - 07:00
There's a Phillips-head screwdriver inside the brand new Dustbuster, and William put it there.
He wasn't trying to damage the Dustbuster — or clean the screwdriver. He was trying to "fik it," and that's what he came up with.
William had watched me hang the Dusbuster in the kitchen last week. The screws, the wall anchors, the drill, the screwdriver...they fascinated him. "What doing, Daddy?" he asked. "Daddy's fixing it," my wife replied. "I fik it," he said, and that was that. He now wants to "fik it" everything.
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Monday, February 12, 2007 - 07:00
Dear Gracie,
What the heck happened?
Last week in ballet class, you danced with an elegance worthy of the Boston Ballet. You paid attention to Miss Melissa and imitated the other girls. I was so excited, honey. Daddy stood close to the other moms and made precisely timed comments like, "Ugh, I just can't get her ponytail right," when Daddy really meant, "Are you paying attention to my kid? You really ought to. She's outstanding." Today, however, you acted like you had never heard English before.
What's the deal, kid?
Monday, February 5, 2007 - 07:00
In high school, I had a friend who — whenever we had just done any one of those dumb things teenagers typically do — in response to our latest bout of stupidity, his parents would jokingly ask each other, "Am I fired? May I be fired? Oh, please tell me I'm fired."
At the time, I thought it was kind of rude.
Today, I'm begging for my parent pink slip. Someone please tell me I'm fired.
It began in the morning, with Grace whimpering from her bed, eyes crusted shut. I immediately thought of my mother pressing a soothing face cloth to my own sealed eyes, and soon enough I was holding warm, damp terry to Grace’s.
As I was scraping her down, William woke up. He was burning hot, snotty and unhappy. I carried him downstairs and set the two of them up with a little Disney Channel as I got some oatmeal started. Just then William had a massive CDF (Catastrophic Diaper Failure), which I cleaned with our last four wipes.
Next, over a pile of blueberries I broke the news to Gracie that we couldn't go to ballet today (noooo!!!!) because we had to go to the doctor instead (NOOO!! WAAAAAAAAAAAA!!). William threw his breakfast onto the floor in a show of support.
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Monday, January 29, 2007 - 07:00
My narcissistic daughter loves looking at pictures of herself. Earlier this week she got out one of the scrapbooks. The first page features a used EPT stick. "What's that?" she asked. "Oh, that's just something your mother peed on and decided to keep sealed behind velum forever," I thought to myself. "That's just a stick, honey," I said. "Let's see what else we can find." She accepted my non-explanation and turned the page. I, however, was still thinking about that stick.
When we first suspected that my wife was pregnant, we got one of those over-the-counter pregnancy tests. I remember sitting on the bed while she was in the bathroom. I also remember floating on the ceiling and watching myself sitting on the bed, which I believe is what they call an "out-of-body experience." She returned from the bathroom with the used test and a puzzled expression.
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Monday, January 22, 2007 - 06:55
My little boy is about to mark his second year on God's green earth. In a mere 24 months, he has gone from a cooing, drooling, Desitin-scented dove to a vindictive and brutal dictator, hell-bent on tormenting his sister and the dog, hurling his body onto the floor from the couch, stuffing sand into his gullet, saying "stinky poo poo" over and over again at Stop & Shop and yelling really, really loudly. "No" and "Don't like" are now his favorite things to say. ("Don't like kiss" scored huge points with my wife last week, I'll tell you.)
William bares his teeth. Be afraid. Be very afraid.
I'd like to commemorate Sir William's birthday with a special post directed to him, if you all will indulge me.
William bares his teeth. Be afraid. Be very afraid.
Son:
Here you are almost 2 — soon you'll be 3, then 10, then 16, and by that time Daddy will be too exhausted to nurture you the way he should or even carry on a coherent conversation. So I'm recording my advice to you now, while I still have my wits about me and you're taking your nap. This is important stuff, son, so pay attention.
First of all, don't drink cheap beer.
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Monday, January 15, 2007 - 07:17
The answer to world peace. It's that simple, really.
"Having a baby changes your life." We've all heard that a million times (am I right, Mom and Dad?). Everyone knows about the sleep deprivation, the crying, the blah, blah, blah. However, I have noticed one dramatic life change since becoming a father that doesn't seem to be on the tip of every new parent's tongue. Something that affects not only me, but nearly every person in my general vicinity.
Having a baby on your hip gives you permission to talk to anyone, at any time, for any reason.
Typically, people don't like to talk to each other (at least where I live). We stand like statues in an elevator, on the bus, or on the subway. If I go to the mall or supermarket, I'll probably see 100 people. We all ignore each other.
Toss my sweet William into the picture, however, and everything changes.
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