Amy suggested I read a post on Huffington Post regarding ditching stereotypes for women and girls, and it really was inspiring.
For those not interested in actually reading the great article, the synopsis is: don't talk to girls about what they're wearing/how cute they are/anything about outward appearances. Apparently half of girls between age 3 and 6 think they're fat, and saying, "Look how cute you are!" to a little girl just reinforces to girls that appearances are what matters most.
I am proud to say that even though I do compliment her on being cute, I always talk to Reese about how she is a silly monkey, how she is a happy girl, how she is a smarty pants.
And I'm not just paying her lip service.
She really is a silly monkey. Well, not a monkey, but she sure is silly. For example, tonight I asked her if she needed more water to drink, so she started to do quick little sips from her sippy cup and laughing right after. Of course I had to jump in and join her in her fun with my own cup of water, which just made her laugh even more!
And she is a happy girl. I used to ask her if she needed a nap, or I could tell she was tired because she would rub her eyes. Lately, though, I know it's nap time when she starts to get cranky, because that is so out of character for her.
Smarty pants? She knows how to pull out a chair, climb on that chair, and then climb from the chair to the dining room table! The amount of time I can turn my back on her is almost nonexistent anymore because she is learning how to get into EVERYTHING! But it's not a bad thing, because she is learning.
Oh, and she IS a cutie pie.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Front row viewing of face contortions
(I know I skipped a day yesterday, so I'll try to make up for it with two today.)
At the doctor's office Reese received two shots.
When Reese had her first shots (maybe at three months old?) Amy didn't want to be the parent right next to her when she got the needle. So I "volunteered." I'm man enough to admit I cried. It was so incredibly tough to see her happy, pretty little face suddenly have her eyes widen and then a grimace over her face before she let out a scream. It really, really, REALLY sucked to have the front row view of that.
And I think I've been the one to "hold her down" at all of her other shots, too. (I could be wrong, and I'm sure Amy will point out the times she had to do it.)
But this time Amy was in charge of Reese during the vaccination.
First shot, no reaction. Maybe a little flinch.
Second shot, a little cry, but she was over it in 30 seconds.
What a tough little girl!
At the doctor's office Reese received two shots.
When Reese had her first shots (maybe at three months old?) Amy didn't want to be the parent right next to her when she got the needle. So I "volunteered." I'm man enough to admit I cried. It was so incredibly tough to see her happy, pretty little face suddenly have her eyes widen and then a grimace over her face before she let out a scream. It really, really, REALLY sucked to have the front row view of that.
And I think I've been the one to "hold her down" at all of her other shots, too. (I could be wrong, and I'm sure Amy will point out the times she had to do it.)
But this time Amy was in charge of Reese during the vaccination.
First shot, no reaction. Maybe a little flinch.
Second shot, a little cry, but she was over it in 30 seconds.
What a tough little girl!
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Hey dad, wanna have a catch?
Reese had her 20-month check-up today, and she passed with flying colors!
She is 12.28 kg (27 lbs.) 89th percentile in weight - the highest she's ever been for weight. She is 88.26 cm (34.7 inches) 98th percentile in length - the highest she's ever been for length!
Amy is convinced she will get a volleyball scholarship to college now. Even though we do have a connection to the collegiate volleyball world (I'm looking at you, Rob), I don't think it's that easy.
If it is true that you can double the height of someone at the age of 2 to get their height when they are full grown, that means Reese would be about 5'10" going off her current length. But I don't know how accurate that rule of thumb actually is.
And height alone does not make someone a collegiate volleyball player.
It takes practice, patience, and plenty of luck along the way.
And who's to say Reese will even like volleyball? Or is good at it? Or has that competitive drive you need to succeed in high school and collegiate athletics?
I was happy when she picked up a little rubber ball this morning and started bouncing it to me. I will not lie, I had visions of a future softball player as she tossed the ball (her catching skills need some work, though). I also had visions of just going to the park and having a catch.
There is not a man alive who does not cry at the end of Field of Dreams when Ray Kinsella asks the ghost of John Kinsella, "Hey dad, you wanna have a catch?" (In fact, I'm getting a little choked up just typing those words.) And this morning, my little girl grabbed a ball and wanted to have catch with me! Granted it was in our kitchen and when the ball came at her it usually bounced off of her shoulder...but the point is my little girl wanted to have catch with me! How awesome is that?
So, if she wants to be a volleyball player, or a softball player, or a soccer player, or even not be into sports at all, I'm OK with that. As long as she continues to want to have catch with me from time to time in the kitchen.
She is 12.28 kg (27 lbs.) 89th percentile in weight - the highest she's ever been for weight. She is 88.26 cm (34.7 inches) 98th percentile in length - the highest she's ever been for length!
Amy is convinced she will get a volleyball scholarship to college now. Even though we do have a connection to the collegiate volleyball world (I'm looking at you, Rob), I don't think it's that easy.
If it is true that you can double the height of someone at the age of 2 to get their height when they are full grown, that means Reese would be about 5'10" going off her current length. But I don't know how accurate that rule of thumb actually is.
And height alone does not make someone a collegiate volleyball player.
It takes practice, patience, and plenty of luck along the way.
And who's to say Reese will even like volleyball? Or is good at it? Or has that competitive drive you need to succeed in high school and collegiate athletics?
I was happy when she picked up a little rubber ball this morning and started bouncing it to me. I will not lie, I had visions of a future softball player as she tossed the ball (her catching skills need some work, though). I also had visions of just going to the park and having a catch.
There is not a man alive who does not cry at the end of Field of Dreams when Ray Kinsella asks the ghost of John Kinsella, "Hey dad, you wanna have a catch?" (In fact, I'm getting a little choked up just typing those words.) And this morning, my little girl grabbed a ball and wanted to have catch with me! Granted it was in our kitchen and when the ball came at her it usually bounced off of her shoulder...but the point is my little girl wanted to have catch with me! How awesome is that?
So, if she wants to be a volleyball player, or a softball player, or a soccer player, or even not be into sports at all, I'm OK with that. As long as she continues to want to have catch with me from time to time in the kitchen.
Monday, June 27, 2011
1,000 ways how NOT to raise a child
There is a famous quote attributed to Thoams Edison. When asked about the thousands of times it took him to finally get the incadescent lightbulb to work correctly, he said something to the affect of, "I did not fail 1,000 times. I merely found out how not to create it correctly."
It is supposed to inspire the rest of us to not give up, to have a positive attitude in the face of defeat, to look at a closed door as an opportunity to go through the window. Or something like that.
But as a parent, I don't have 1,000 times to fail. If I mess up just once, Reese may end up a irreversibly damaged. That's a lot of pressure.
Today I let Reese play with crayons, markers and coloring books. No surprise, there was more coloring of her hands, face and clothes than there was coloring of the coloring book. And I sat and watched the whole thing. I did not step in to stop her from coloring her hands. I tried to limit the coloring of her clothes and steadfastly stopped any coloring of furniture/walls. But her hands? Go crazy! Even as it was happening I was thinking I probably should put a hault to the coloring of the hands. But then I thought, "She's a kid. Kids are supposed to get dirty." Plus, she was concentrating so hard while she held the marker in her right hand and colored her left plam. I thought her curiousity and discovery was worth the bath later on.
And as I made her lunch, I needed her to chill out and get out from under my feet. The solution? A nice combination of grapes still on the bunch and Sesame Street on TV. She's never pulled grapes off of the branch before and I can almost garuntee she put some in her mouth. And it's never a good idea to use television as a babysitter. But grape vines don't taste good, so she's not going to eat a lot of that, and Sesame Street is Sesame Street.
Will today's adventures result in Reese growing up as the girl in the her grade constantly covered in finger paint and the one who eats weird things (like grape vines) and addicted to TV?
I sure hope not. And, unlike Edison, I don't have a thousand tries to mess up and figure it out.
It is supposed to inspire the rest of us to not give up, to have a positive attitude in the face of defeat, to look at a closed door as an opportunity to go through the window. Or something like that.
But as a parent, I don't have 1,000 times to fail. If I mess up just once, Reese may end up a irreversibly damaged. That's a lot of pressure.
Today I let Reese play with crayons, markers and coloring books. No surprise, there was more coloring of her hands, face and clothes than there was coloring of the coloring book. And I sat and watched the whole thing. I did not step in to stop her from coloring her hands. I tried to limit the coloring of her clothes and steadfastly stopped any coloring of furniture/walls. But her hands? Go crazy! Even as it was happening I was thinking I probably should put a hault to the coloring of the hands. But then I thought, "She's a kid. Kids are supposed to get dirty." Plus, she was concentrating so hard while she held the marker in her right hand and colored her left plam. I thought her curiousity and discovery was worth the bath later on.
And as I made her lunch, I needed her to chill out and get out from under my feet. The solution? A nice combination of grapes still on the bunch and Sesame Street on TV. She's never pulled grapes off of the branch before and I can almost garuntee she put some in her mouth. And it's never a good idea to use television as a babysitter. But grape vines don't taste good, so she's not going to eat a lot of that, and Sesame Street is Sesame Street.
Will today's adventures result in Reese growing up as the girl in the her grade constantly covered in finger paint and the one who eats weird things (like grape vines) and addicted to TV?
I sure hope not. And, unlike Edison, I don't have a thousand tries to mess up and figure it out.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Happy dot
The miracle of birth truly is a miracle to me.
How the tiniest of cells from a man can connect with equally tiny cells from a woman to form a dot that in a short time grows into a human boggles my mind. The fact it happens at all is awesome, but add in that modern medicine now makes the majority of these events safe is just as remarkable.
The fact it is an almost certainty the baby has 10 fingers and 10 toes is crazy, let alone those fingers and toes are splilt five on each hand and foot. So many insane twists and turns can happen in the development of a fetus, that most of us emerge relatively looking the same as everybody else is just as mind blowing.
I rarely thought about abortion before Amy got pregnant. If I did, I usually sided with the thought process that it is the mother's body and her choice. But almost as soon as I found out Amy was pregnant, my mind set changed. I started thinking about this tiny, miniscule, speck of a clump of cells that would sommehow, someway, someday grow into a child. Not just "a" child, but MY child.
When did that group of cells become my child? When did that group of cells gain a soul? When did that group of cells develop a personality?
If you ask a mother who has had multiple pregnancies, she will tell you each pregnancy is different. She will tell you each baby acted different in her womb.
I guess you can chalk that up to biochemistry of the pregnancy and the mother and other factors - she weighed differently, she ate differently, the weather was different, etc.
And a mother with multiple kids can also tell you each infant acted differently - one ate all the time, one cried all the time, one slept all the time.
Again, some biochemstry or outside influences may play a role in differences. But it is only a role, and not the reason.
It is hard to imagine the fetus, let alone the infant, acts different because it IS different. It already has a personality of sorts.
Of course I am happy Reese has 10 fingers and 10 toes and all are in the proper place, but the one thing I am most happy about with my daughter is her personality. Strangers in the supermarket come up to me and marvel at how happy she is. She is famous to checkout clerks around town with her high-pitched and welcoming, "Hi!"
Now some will say I had something to do with it, that Reese is happy because I am happy, her disposition reflects the happy home she lives in. I like that train of thought, but I don't put to much faith in it.
Reese has been happy since she was born.
Maybe even before she was born.
She was probably a happy little dot.
p.s.
Amy pointed out my post yesterday regarding addiction to Reese had some errors in it. First, she is a year-and-a-half-and-a-month old. That means 12 plus 6 plus 1, which is 19 months old. For some reason I said she was 17 months old. But 19 months is still about 550 days, and have seen her every single one of those days.
Also, I have had away football games north of Seattle and as far south as Medford, Oregon (Oregon/California border), which is much further away than wine country. My bad.
How the tiniest of cells from a man can connect with equally tiny cells from a woman to form a dot that in a short time grows into a human boggles my mind. The fact it happens at all is awesome, but add in that modern medicine now makes the majority of these events safe is just as remarkable.
The fact it is an almost certainty the baby has 10 fingers and 10 toes is crazy, let alone those fingers and toes are splilt five on each hand and foot. So many insane twists and turns can happen in the development of a fetus, that most of us emerge relatively looking the same as everybody else is just as mind blowing.
I rarely thought about abortion before Amy got pregnant. If I did, I usually sided with the thought process that it is the mother's body and her choice. But almost as soon as I found out Amy was pregnant, my mind set changed. I started thinking about this tiny, miniscule, speck of a clump of cells that would sommehow, someway, someday grow into a child. Not just "a" child, but MY child.
When did that group of cells become my child? When did that group of cells gain a soul? When did that group of cells develop a personality?
If you ask a mother who has had multiple pregnancies, she will tell you each pregnancy is different. She will tell you each baby acted different in her womb.
I guess you can chalk that up to biochemistry of the pregnancy and the mother and other factors - she weighed differently, she ate differently, the weather was different, etc.
And a mother with multiple kids can also tell you each infant acted differently - one ate all the time, one cried all the time, one slept all the time.
Again, some biochemstry or outside influences may play a role in differences. But it is only a role, and not the reason.
It is hard to imagine the fetus, let alone the infant, acts different because it IS different. It already has a personality of sorts.
Of course I am happy Reese has 10 fingers and 10 toes and all are in the proper place, but the one thing I am most happy about with my daughter is her personality. Strangers in the supermarket come up to me and marvel at how happy she is. She is famous to checkout clerks around town with her high-pitched and welcoming, "Hi!"
Now some will say I had something to do with it, that Reese is happy because I am happy, her disposition reflects the happy home she lives in. I like that train of thought, but I don't put to much faith in it.
Reese has been happy since she was born.
Maybe even before she was born.
She was probably a happy little dot.
p.s.
Amy pointed out my post yesterday regarding addiction to Reese had some errors in it. First, she is a year-and-a-half-and-a-month old. That means 12 plus 6 plus 1, which is 19 months old. For some reason I said she was 17 months old. But 19 months is still about 550 days, and have seen her every single one of those days.
Also, I have had away football games north of Seattle and as far south as Medford, Oregon (Oregon/California border), which is much further away than wine country. My bad.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Addiction isn't so bad
I love my daughter.
Anyone who was spent even a fraction of time around me could deduce that fact in milliseconds.
But I am afraid I may be addicted to my daughter.
She is a little older than 17 months old, which is about 570 days. I have been with her all 550 days. The longest I have gone away from her has been about 12 hours. The furthest I have been away from her has been 50 miles (Amy and I went with a group of friends to some wineries in Oregon while we had a babysitter).
I don't know if that is a good thing.
Shouldn't I have some time away? Shouldn't my daughter have some time away? Is really healthy to do ANYTHING every day for a year-and-a-half? Doctors say you should even take a day off from exercising at least once a week and nutritionists suggest dieters have one "cheat" day.
I love the time I spend with her don't want to be away from her, but is that best for all parties involved?
I guess I should just be happy she is happy to be with me right now, because I know she will grow older and all of that will change. There will come a time when spending time with daddy will not be cool. There will come a time when her friends are more important than her daddy. There will come a time when the last person she would want to see will be her daddy.
So for now I need to make the most of every day and every minute I have with Reese, because I will go through withdrawals when it comes to an end. And hopefully that is many, many, MANY years from today.
Anyone who was spent even a fraction of time around me could deduce that fact in milliseconds.
But I am afraid I may be addicted to my daughter.
She is a little older than 17 months old, which is about 570 days. I have been with her all 550 days. The longest I have gone away from her has been about 12 hours. The furthest I have been away from her has been 50 miles (Amy and I went with a group of friends to some wineries in Oregon while we had a babysitter).
I don't know if that is a good thing.
Shouldn't I have some time away? Shouldn't my daughter have some time away? Is really healthy to do ANYTHING every day for a year-and-a-half? Doctors say you should even take a day off from exercising at least once a week and nutritionists suggest dieters have one "cheat" day.
I love the time I spend with her don't want to be away from her, but is that best for all parties involved?
I guess I should just be happy she is happy to be with me right now, because I know she will grow older and all of that will change. There will come a time when spending time with daddy will not be cool. There will come a time when her friends are more important than her daddy. There will come a time when the last person she would want to see will be her daddy.
So for now I need to make the most of every day and every minute I have with Reese, because I will go through withdrawals when it comes to an end. And hopefully that is many, many, MANY years from today.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Paradox of my psyche
Amy and I were watching a show where a trainer transforms one obese person in one year. The obese guy was in his mid-20s and weighed 700 pounds! He previously played high school football and had dreams and aspirations of playing in college and in the pros.
Don't we all?
As part of the transformation/show, the trainer had the guy practice with NFL Hall of Fame wide receiver Michael Irvin. Now if all you know about "The Playmaker," as he is sometimes referred to, is that he got busted for drugs and hookers, or perhaps that Eagle fans cheered when he broke his neck, that's OK. But even with all of his personal issues and how he rubbed opponents the wrong way, no one ever questioned Irvin's work ethic, heart or desire.
Irvin is a pretty intense guy and not afraid to "dress someone down," so to speak. He doesn't mind yelling at people or telling people they are not up to par. He had a reality show a few years back where he held auditions/boot camp for a roster spot with the Dallas Cowboys, and Irvin put those guys through some pretty grueling tasks.
So the show with the obese guy (he lost 150 pounds in 3 months and still weighed 500 pounds!) had Irvin putting James (that's the obese guy) through various drills. Nothing too dramatic. Just some one-on-one lineman drills. James missed some blocks and made some blocks, which is pretty standard in the world of tackle football linemen. Even Anthony Munoz allowed a sack from time to time. Anyway, after James was finished working out The Playmaker said he had heart, he had potential and if someone recognized that when he was in high school, James could have made a career out football. I scoffed at that statement, but basically chalked it up to making the subject of the show feel better about himself.
Later, it was revealed that the last time James weighed less than 400 pounds, he was a junior in high school. And then the trainer introduced him as a "former high school star football player."
I got mad.
Amy got mad at me for getting mad at the show. She didn't know why I was so upset about Michael Irvin saying James had potential to play college football and possibly even the pros and why I cared so much that they called him a "former high school football star."
I didn't tell Amy this, but it's because if James was a star and had potential to go a long way in football, that means he was/is better than me. And I just can't accept that.
I'm not saying that I was a high school football star. I wasn't. I didn't make any all-league selection. No first-team. No second-team. No honorable mention. I didn't play after high school. No junior college. No Division II. No Division III. Certainly no Division I.
But there is no way in God's Green Earth that James, who weighed 400 pounds as a junior in high school, had more potential than I did. There is no way that James, who played in the high-stakes high school football glory land of Texas, was a star while I, who played in talent-rich Southern California, was a nobody. I flatly refuse to believe it.
Now, I was good. I held my own. I even started in the California-Hawaii All Star Game. But I was no star and I know I had little, if any, potential to play further than I did. Granted, I am playing semi-pro football right now, but, again, I am not a star.
I have been watching the "Top 100 Players of 2011" on the NFL Network. They say there is an average of 3 players from each team on the list. And it had me thinking who the top 3 players on the Portland Raiders were and where I would rank on that list. There is no question I am not in the top 3. I seriously doubt I am in the top 10. And I can honestly tell you that James would not start ahead of me on this team. No chance. And if I went up against him, I would pummel him. Pummel him! He is a big dude and I may not be strong, but I know for a fact that I would win. Guaranteed.
I often go into a circular round of thought when it comes to my football playing abilities. I know I'm not very good. I know I have severe limitations. But I have confidence that I am better than you. How can that be? I do not know, but it happens all the time. I don't think I'm good enough to play semi-pro football, that I'm lucky to be on the team. But I think I should be an all-star.
That's the paradox of my psyche: I'm not very good, but I know I'm better than you!
How and why do I think that? Do I not have confidence? Or do I have too much confidence. Am I just being modest? Or am I just looking at reality? And which is the reality, the lucky-to-be-on-the-team or the all-star?
I don't know, but either way, I know I'm better than James.
Don't we all?
As part of the transformation/show, the trainer had the guy practice with NFL Hall of Fame wide receiver Michael Irvin. Now if all you know about "The Playmaker," as he is sometimes referred to, is that he got busted for drugs and hookers, or perhaps that Eagle fans cheered when he broke his neck, that's OK. But even with all of his personal issues and how he rubbed opponents the wrong way, no one ever questioned Irvin's work ethic, heart or desire.
Irvin is a pretty intense guy and not afraid to "dress someone down," so to speak. He doesn't mind yelling at people or telling people they are not up to par. He had a reality show a few years back where he held auditions/boot camp for a roster spot with the Dallas Cowboys, and Irvin put those guys through some pretty grueling tasks.
So the show with the obese guy (he lost 150 pounds in 3 months and still weighed 500 pounds!) had Irvin putting James (that's the obese guy) through various drills. Nothing too dramatic. Just some one-on-one lineman drills. James missed some blocks and made some blocks, which is pretty standard in the world of tackle football linemen. Even Anthony Munoz allowed a sack from time to time. Anyway, after James was finished working out The Playmaker said he had heart, he had potential and if someone recognized that when he was in high school, James could have made a career out football. I scoffed at that statement, but basically chalked it up to making the subject of the show feel better about himself.
Later, it was revealed that the last time James weighed less than 400 pounds, he was a junior in high school. And then the trainer introduced him as a "former high school star football player."
I got mad.
Amy got mad at me for getting mad at the show. She didn't know why I was so upset about Michael Irvin saying James had potential to play college football and possibly even the pros and why I cared so much that they called him a "former high school football star."
I didn't tell Amy this, but it's because if James was a star and had potential to go a long way in football, that means he was/is better than me. And I just can't accept that.
I'm not saying that I was a high school football star. I wasn't. I didn't make any all-league selection. No first-team. No second-team. No honorable mention. I didn't play after high school. No junior college. No Division II. No Division III. Certainly no Division I.
But there is no way in God's Green Earth that James, who weighed 400 pounds as a junior in high school, had more potential than I did. There is no way that James, who played in the high-stakes high school football glory land of Texas, was a star while I, who played in talent-rich Southern California, was a nobody. I flatly refuse to believe it.
Now, I was good. I held my own. I even started in the California-Hawaii All Star Game. But I was no star and I know I had little, if any, potential to play further than I did. Granted, I am playing semi-pro football right now, but, again, I am not a star.
I have been watching the "Top 100 Players of 2011" on the NFL Network. They say there is an average of 3 players from each team on the list. And it had me thinking who the top 3 players on the Portland Raiders were and where I would rank on that list. There is no question I am not in the top 3. I seriously doubt I am in the top 10. And I can honestly tell you that James would not start ahead of me on this team. No chance. And if I went up against him, I would pummel him. Pummel him! He is a big dude and I may not be strong, but I know for a fact that I would win. Guaranteed.
I often go into a circular round of thought when it comes to my football playing abilities. I know I'm not very good. I know I have severe limitations. But I have confidence that I am better than you. How can that be? I do not know, but it happens all the time. I don't think I'm good enough to play semi-pro football, that I'm lucky to be on the team. But I think I should be an all-star.
That's the paradox of my psyche: I'm not very good, but I know I'm better than you!
How and why do I think that? Do I not have confidence? Or do I have too much confidence. Am I just being modest? Or am I just looking at reality? And which is the reality, the lucky-to-be-on-the-team or the all-star?
I don't know, but either way, I know I'm better than James.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Recharged and refocused? Inspired and interrested.
I have been inspired by my best friend and his wife. Dave and Jen (actually, just Jen) are writing a daily blog as part of an anniversary promise to each other. Amy has continually asked/told me to write daily, but I just have not done it. I don't know why. I could give you a million excuses, but that's all they would be: excuses. I love to write and it comes easily to me, so writing is not a chore. Not at all. In fact, it is quite cathartic for me. So, as of today, I promise to write an entry EVERY DAY for 365 days.
I don't know exactly what will come of this project, or who would want to read what may end up being nothing more than a digital diary, but it should be fun/interesting to go back and read what transpired the past year. I wonder what will happen between today and June 21, 2012? I look forward to seeing my daughter's development the most. What words will she know? What skills will grow? She already seems to do something new every day as it is, so 365 days from now should be exciting!
I don't know exactly what will come of this project, or who would want to read what may end up being nothing more than a digital diary, but it should be fun/interesting to go back and read what transpired the past year. I wonder what will happen between today and June 21, 2012? I look forward to seeing my daughter's development the most. What words will she know? What skills will grow? She already seems to do something new every day as it is, so 365 days from now should be exciting!
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