Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
My Daugther Hates Me and She Doesn't Even Know Me
So I have come up with the title for my new book. "My Daughter Hates Me and She Doesn't Even Know Me!"
I know it sounds a bit too much but it's true. I have numerous stories, but it's not the stories that are so sad. It's the fact that they are all true, and that there is no easy way out. So, although I am a recovering Catholic, as I come upon the Lenten season I was thinking that instead of giving up something and being smug about it to everyone I know, I would just quietly try to figure out my daughter and try to come to grips with her sincere desire for me to leave.
Oh, by the way, my daughter is 19 months old. Yeah 19 months. I know what you are think'n. Just wait till she's a teenager. Just wait till she goes to college. Just wait till she gets her third nipple ring. that stuff is child's play. She's 19 months old and I have no idea what she's thinking. (edit - in the original version I say, "I have no fucking idea what she's thinking." I wanted to clean it up, but once you meet my daughter you'll understand.)
So to give you a bit of incite, let me take you back a couple of days. I wanted to have a little date with my girls. I have three. You know, give my wife a chance to be by herself and give me a chance to hear from all the people who see me out with them. "Boy you got your hands full." "Three girls, boy those weddings are going to be expensive." "Where's the boy?" I usually reply with things like. "If you'd just open that damn door I wouldn't be having a problem." Or "You mean two weddings and one life joining ceremony." Or "Up your ass." Anyways, I was out with my girls. My plan was a little lunch, a trip to the toy store, Coffee, hot cocoa, and soy milk at the bookstore, and maybe a trip to get everyone a new pair of shoes. Especially me. If you ask my wife she will tell you I dress in rags and could use a new pair of shoes. Bringing the girls just means they get a chance for a new pair of shoes too. I have girls, they start wanting every pair of shoes on the planet from birth.
Anyways, at the toy store my youngest finds a penguin doll from Happy Feet and decides that sucking its beak will be the highlight of her day. So she picks it up and starts carrying it around. I have decided that we no longer need to buy toys for her. We really just need to rent toys. For the past year, she has picked up toys and shown a complete attachment to them until the moment that my debt card slides through the slot and my pin number has been keyed in. Then the toy gets tossed like a diahria diaper. So my wife and I buy toys but don't unwrap them until it appears they will actually be played with. We keep the receipt and as soon as she is done with them we high tail it to the store and refund it. In fact a plush Eeyore doll sits in a bag waiting for our next trip to Disney to be returned from our last trip.
Clinging to this penguin like grim death we proceed to the bookstore. After selecting a couple of books, we make our way to the coffee shop to set up a base camp and share the books while sucking our drinks. So far the morning has been great, but at this point, getting the youngest to stay in her seat is somewhat like giving a cat a bath. Unfortunately, I am about to make a major error. As she sits in the highchair, she wants her penguin. Now we had to squeeze into this table around a gravitationally challenged group of twentysomethings, sucking too much of my air and making their chairs really earn their pay. So when my daughter let out her air raid siren like roar, all of their plump faces turn towards me, and while their many flaps come to rest, it occurs to me that my daughter can't both hold her penguin and sit in the chair. See the penguin is still in its packaging. It came attached to a small cardboard platform that holds it up when set on the floor. She is trying to hold it next to her in the highchair but the platform gets in the way. To make her happy, I grab the doll and pull off the platform.
Now I don't know what made me do it. I didn't want to do it. But apparently God is testing me, so in response to my helpfulness, my daughter demonstrated that her previous demonic crys were merely a soundcheck for what she is truly capable of. As the ceiling tiles began to rattle and fall from the roof I casually see one of the weeble's head explode. So realizing that I could just grab the kids and leave I decide that, I can take this screaming and there is no reason my other daughters should be punished because their baby sister is psychotic, so I get everyone up and head to the check-out line.
Lucky for me today is training day at the ol' Barnes and Noble so the line is 5 or 6 people deep and is moving slowly. I'm holding my girl under my arm like a football wishing I could pass her up the field. Every time I hold up her penguin trying to calm her she screams in a new octave and bats it away. She wrything in my arms and bucking like a prize steer. Bull riders should try holding her for 8 seconds. They'd come to appreciate the bulls they ride. Anyways after the 8th time of her batting the penguin to the floor I look over at my two older girls who have their hands clamped firmly over their ears and I command one of them to pick up the damn penguin. They do and I grab the cardboard base move up one position in line and place the penguin on the base and hold it in front of the baby.
For a moment she quiets and looks at it with hope. She grabs its arms and goes to suck its beak. She realizes that it comes loose of the base and with a new found energy lets loose a sound that makes me think Satan is opening up the ground around me. She bats the cardboard base from my hand, and as I make to pick it up she starts pinching my arms between her fingers. People from the back of the store are coming to the front to watch the spectacle and people around me in line are looking at me with that, "can't you shut her up you amature father" look in their eyes. I look back with my "mind your own fucking business and if you really wanted to help you'd let me pass you in line" look.
Finally after an eternity, I make my way to the register. Now why is it when a father can't calm down his baby the bitch behind the counter with no kids thinks that if she talks cute and asks questions like "What wong widdle baby?" that the screaming fog horn will suddenly be like the cute babys in the pampers commercials? I cut her off and shove the books from the other kids in her hands. She starts off with asking me if I have a discount card and if not would I be interested in saving 10 percent. And with a voice three octaves lower than necessary I kindly ask her to ring up the damn books before I drop the bucking baby in my arms. Of course my first debt card suddenly doesn't work, so I break out another.
Finally I get the receipt and head to the car. After getting her strapped in, I remember that it is the Lenten season and come to realize that this time, her fit is actually my fault. I held up her precious toy the one that came with the cool base so the penguin could stand up and give her a kiss; and with a smile I ripped the base off the penguin and casually threw the base to the floor. The only way to remedy this mistake is to either drive my van off the nearest cliff; but since cliffs are scarce in Florida, and since I don't think my insurance will cover it, I decide to return to the toy store.
I get everyone out of the car and walk to the counter. I explain, that I need a new penguin. The red faced baby in my arms at this point, is dripping from every open orifice on her head. The seasoned vet behind the counter doesn't ask too many questions and suggests I go get a new one.
I speed walk to the back of the store and plop her down less then gently in front of the display. She walks up and grabs a Mumble off the shelf and for a moment the silence is so deafening that my ears are ringing. I scoop her up and take her back to the customer desk. There is a new face there and I explain that I need to exchange the new penguin for the one I bought an hour ago. She looks at the new penguin and then turns to the old and asks, "Is there something wrong with the old one?" Knowing that I could never fully explain it, I grab the old one and set it in its base, then pry Mumble from the baby and place it on the counter in front of her. She looks from one to the other then with a determined look pushes both dolls. After seeing one of them fall of their base she lets out a blood curdling scream and in one fluid motion she launches it and its base from the counter and scoops up Mumble.
The stunned clerk simply holds out the old receipt which I carefully tuck into my pocket. You never know how long she will actually play with the damn thing. With a now pacified baby I turn on my heals and head out the entrance door without looking back, bigger girls in tow.
I know it sounds a bit too much but it's true. I have numerous stories, but it's not the stories that are so sad. It's the fact that they are all true, and that there is no easy way out. So, although I am a recovering Catholic, as I come upon the Lenten season I was thinking that instead of giving up something and being smug about it to everyone I know, I would just quietly try to figure out my daughter and try to come to grips with her sincere desire for me to leave.
Oh, by the way, my daughter is 19 months old. Yeah 19 months. I know what you are think'n. Just wait till she's a teenager. Just wait till she goes to college. Just wait till she gets her third nipple ring. that stuff is child's play. She's 19 months old and I have no idea what she's thinking. (edit - in the original version I say, "I have no fucking idea what she's thinking." I wanted to clean it up, but once you meet my daughter you'll understand.)
So to give you a bit of incite, let me take you back a couple of days. I wanted to have a little date with my girls. I have three. You know, give my wife a chance to be by herself and give me a chance to hear from all the people who see me out with them. "Boy you got your hands full." "Three girls, boy those weddings are going to be expensive." "Where's the boy?" I usually reply with things like. "If you'd just open that damn door I wouldn't be having a problem." Or "You mean two weddings and one life joining ceremony." Or "Up your ass." Anyways, I was out with my girls. My plan was a little lunch, a trip to the toy store, Coffee, hot cocoa, and soy milk at the bookstore, and maybe a trip to get everyone a new pair of shoes. Especially me. If you ask my wife she will tell you I dress in rags and could use a new pair of shoes. Bringing the girls just means they get a chance for a new pair of shoes too. I have girls, they start wanting every pair of shoes on the planet from birth.
Anyways, at the toy store my youngest finds a penguin doll from Happy Feet and decides that sucking its beak will be the highlight of her day. So she picks it up and starts carrying it around. I have decided that we no longer need to buy toys for her. We really just need to rent toys. For the past year, she has picked up toys and shown a complete attachment to them until the moment that my debt card slides through the slot and my pin number has been keyed in. Then the toy gets tossed like a diahria diaper. So my wife and I buy toys but don't unwrap them until it appears they will actually be played with. We keep the receipt and as soon as she is done with them we high tail it to the store and refund it. In fact a plush Eeyore doll sits in a bag waiting for our next trip to Disney to be returned from our last trip.
Clinging to this penguin like grim death we proceed to the bookstore. After selecting a couple of books, we make our way to the coffee shop to set up a base camp and share the books while sucking our drinks. So far the morning has been great, but at this point, getting the youngest to stay in her seat is somewhat like giving a cat a bath. Unfortunately, I am about to make a major error. As she sits in the highchair, she wants her penguin. Now we had to squeeze into this table around a gravitationally challenged group of twentysomethings, sucking too much of my air and making their chairs really earn their pay. So when my daughter let out her air raid siren like roar, all of their plump faces turn towards me, and while their many flaps come to rest, it occurs to me that my daughter can't both hold her penguin and sit in the chair. See the penguin is still in its packaging. It came attached to a small cardboard platform that holds it up when set on the floor. She is trying to hold it next to her in the highchair but the platform gets in the way. To make her happy, I grab the doll and pull off the platform.
Now I don't know what made me do it. I didn't want to do it. But apparently God is testing me, so in response to my helpfulness, my daughter demonstrated that her previous demonic crys were merely a soundcheck for what she is truly capable of. As the ceiling tiles began to rattle and fall from the roof I casually see one of the weeble's head explode. So realizing that I could just grab the kids and leave I decide that, I can take this screaming and there is no reason my other daughters should be punished because their baby sister is psychotic, so I get everyone up and head to the check-out line.
Lucky for me today is training day at the ol' Barnes and Noble so the line is 5 or 6 people deep and is moving slowly. I'm holding my girl under my arm like a football wishing I could pass her up the field. Every time I hold up her penguin trying to calm her she screams in a new octave and bats it away. She wrything in my arms and bucking like a prize steer. Bull riders should try holding her for 8 seconds. They'd come to appreciate the bulls they ride. Anyways after the 8th time of her batting the penguin to the floor I look over at my two older girls who have their hands clamped firmly over their ears and I command one of them to pick up the damn penguin. They do and I grab the cardboard base move up one position in line and place the penguin on the base and hold it in front of the baby.
For a moment she quiets and looks at it with hope. She grabs its arms and goes to suck its beak. She realizes that it comes loose of the base and with a new found energy lets loose a sound that makes me think Satan is opening up the ground around me. She bats the cardboard base from my hand, and as I make to pick it up she starts pinching my arms between her fingers. People from the back of the store are coming to the front to watch the spectacle and people around me in line are looking at me with that, "can't you shut her up you amature father" look in their eyes. I look back with my "mind your own fucking business and if you really wanted to help you'd let me pass you in line" look.
Finally after an eternity, I make my way to the register. Now why is it when a father can't calm down his baby the bitch behind the counter with no kids thinks that if she talks cute and asks questions like "What wong widdle baby?" that the screaming fog horn will suddenly be like the cute babys in the pampers commercials? I cut her off and shove the books from the other kids in her hands. She starts off with asking me if I have a discount card and if not would I be interested in saving 10 percent. And with a voice three octaves lower than necessary I kindly ask her to ring up the damn books before I drop the bucking baby in my arms. Of course my first debt card suddenly doesn't work, so I break out another.
Finally I get the receipt and head to the car. After getting her strapped in, I remember that it is the Lenten season and come to realize that this time, her fit is actually my fault. I held up her precious toy the one that came with the cool base so the penguin could stand up and give her a kiss; and with a smile I ripped the base off the penguin and casually threw the base to the floor. The only way to remedy this mistake is to either drive my van off the nearest cliff; but since cliffs are scarce in Florida, and since I don't think my insurance will cover it, I decide to return to the toy store.
I get everyone out of the car and walk to the counter. I explain, that I need a new penguin. The red faced baby in my arms at this point, is dripping from every open orifice on her head. The seasoned vet behind the counter doesn't ask too many questions and suggests I go get a new one.
I speed walk to the back of the store and plop her down less then gently in front of the display. She walks up and grabs a Mumble off the shelf and for a moment the silence is so deafening that my ears are ringing. I scoop her up and take her back to the customer desk. There is a new face there and I explain that I need to exchange the new penguin for the one I bought an hour ago. She looks at the new penguin and then turns to the old and asks, "Is there something wrong with the old one?" Knowing that I could never fully explain it, I grab the old one and set it in its base, then pry Mumble from the baby and place it on the counter in front of her. She looks from one to the other then with a determined look pushes both dolls. After seeing one of them fall of their base she lets out a blood curdling scream and in one fluid motion she launches it and its base from the counter and scoops up Mumble.
The stunned clerk simply holds out the old receipt which I carefully tuck into my pocket. You never know how long she will actually play with the damn thing. With a now pacified baby I turn on my heals and head out the entrance door without looking back, bigger girls in tow.
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