Note: I fixed the link…
I gave my daughter a two minute course in the basics of iWeb (a cool Apple app), and this is the result:
This afternoon Beth got a break from homework and put in some serious time on the iMac. Looks like I need to pick up an iLife family pack.
In case you didn’t already know, Beth’s a pretty cool kid.
We were helping Beth with her homework on the American Revolution this evening, and it was great fun. I fancy myself the household expert on history, so I was right in my element. However, helping with a big homework assignment until ten p.m. makes me yearn for my high school days (when I didn’t). It didn’t help that we were all pretty tired.
Anyway, there was a point in all this when Beth got a little punchy and said, “What, there were two armies in the Revolution?” (Presumably referring to the Continental Army, formed by the Second Continental Congress, and the British Army.) I don’t remember what prompted this outburst of sarcasm, but I remember my reaction. My first instinct is usually to answer sarcasm with sarcasm, so I replied, “Yeah Beth, it’s tough to have a war with just one. It takes two to tango.”
Actually, I didn’t get the whole word “tango” out of my mouth. I only got through the first syllable, when I realized my error.
Boy do I feel foolish.
A couple weeks ago I was summoned home due to an emergency. Beth was freaked out by a frog that gained entrance to our house via commode.
Being a thoughtful, sensitive parent, I went straight home, tracked down the frog, and laughed. Mind you, this was no mere chuckle. This kind of laughing involved tears. At first Beth didn’t share my feelings… not even a little bit. I could tell because she said, “that’s not funny dad!”
I’m quick that way.
One thing I’ve learned on my journey through parenthood though: your kids occasionally take their cue from you when they react to something. For example, if Adam tripped and fell and someone reacted… “OH ADAM, ARE YOU O.K.?” That would be his cue to cry. However, if I was in the room I’d chuckle and say, “whoa Adam, you took a big tumble there little guy!” He’d pop-up with a smile on his face and say, “that WAS a big tumble dad!” And off he’d go. It’s not perfect of course. It seems no amount of good cheer can overcome blood – not in this house anyway.
On the ten minute drive home I was hoping a similar strategy would work with Beth. I figured my work would be cut out for me since she was already freaked out – no thanks to my wife, who has a Biblical/Old Testament plague view of frogs. However, by the time I took a picture, did a quick catch and release, and posted the picture on the web, we were all able look at the frog on the screen and laugh. Adam still asks me to pull up the picture of the frog at least once a day.
But here’s the thing: I can’t go to the bathroom anymore without checking under the rim first for intruders.
Who do I have to make me feel better? Maybe I’d feel a little better if I knew you were sitting there laughing at me.
The new banner pic comes to you courtesy of the daughter. I like to let the kids have a say in things, and this is one of the handful of pics Beth likes that also lends itself to a banner.
There aren’t many things that make me feel more fallible as a parent than trying to be one with a hum-dinger of a headache. There aren’t many things that make me feel much better than my kids showing me it doesn’t matter.
I woke up from a nap on Saturday with Beth kneeling next to me, asking “Are you feeling better dad?” You know what? I was. She’d asked me that question several times before, and I hadn’t always shown as much patience as I would like, but I’m glad she kept asking.
Well, I am now anyway.
I’ll bet you wish you had a dollar for every time I’ve said, “there aren’t many things that….”
Beth is a champ.
She missed her opportunity to test with the rest of her group last week in Tae Kwon Do, so we sprung for the private test. In my mind, the “private” test is a bit misleading. When you test with the group, you do the form as a group. When you take a “private” test, you do it by yourself; but you’re still doing it in front of the entire class (just not in front of all the parents).
Beth, the budding perfectionist that she is, insists the private test is easier, because “you don’t have a bunch of slow people falling behind to mess you up.”
Me, I’d be terrified doing it alone. I’m a herd animal all the way.
I have no idea how I’ve raised such a confident girl.
I was reading through some of my early entries (those occasional posts to the old site, which eventually became this blog), and I ran across this gem from the early Beth years.
Remember when Beth was four? I do, sort of. What a kid she’s growing up to be. It defies explanation… or more accurately, it defies my ability to explain.
Follow this link to the post: “One tooth, three teeth”
Even if you think you’ve read it before, read it again. I think it’s the perfect little entry for my little girl at four.
Beth found this little guy in the toilet this morning, under the most unfortunate of circumstances. I wonder if we’ll ever be able to get her to use her bathroom again.
“John, Beth is so much like you.”
“Cool. Why?”
“She’s lying in bed shivering, so I asked her why she didn’t get another blanket, or put on warmer pjs; and she said she was too tired.”
“That’s my girl!”
My wife is convinced that we are cursed. Every year, at this time, the Kauffman Household (v 2.2.2) passes around a nasty bug. Or so she says, but more on that later. Last night my daughter got jiggy with a little retroperistalsis, and tonight my wife is playing a little catch-up.
I should of had a V8! That, or I should have stayed in a hotel this week; for it is not a question of IF I’ll get sick, but WHEN. My wife doesn’t think that’s very funny. She’s ready to pack my bags now (for my own good she says ;- )
Personally, I’m not so sure we’ve been sick every year on the eve of All Saints Day (by “eve” I mean the week or so before, not the day before). Last year, as an example, I think I only got sick from eating all the candy we deemed inappropriate for a two-year-old, rather than some viral or bacterial infection. (If you’re keeping score at home, that’s Justice – 1, Curses – 0)
And speaking of Adam, last night I think he might have been a little jealous, not being able to get in on the sick action. He threw the biggest tantrum in recent memory. He was a maelstrom of limbs, shrieks, and thrashing; the likes of which could easily power the appliances in our home through the New Year. That’s assuming we could harness that kind of power, which is kind of like trying to catch a lightning bolt. You never know when it’s going to strike, and even if you did, we don’t yet have the capacity to deal with such a huge burst of energy all at once.
Ah well. This exercise is rapidly losing it’s utility. I’m not nearly as amused with myself as I was when I started. Good night all.
* Actually, I quite like my public schools. We kid because we love.
(You may have noticed there’s no reference to public schools in this entry. It was there before, but I must have edited it out before posting this entry.)