What can I say about my daughter that you haven’t already heard? Would you believe that I have something? Yes indeed I do. If you know us, you may have heard us allude to Beth’s fondness for exploring limits. This weekend, Beth learned new vertical limits. On Saturday we were playing a game that can best be described as a cross between hide and go seek and dodge ball. We had been at it for a while, and I was starting to draw a blank on new hiding spots. You guess correctly, I do not hold back one bit. I was planning my spot on my next turn when I decided it was time for a paradigm shift. It was time to go up. My next turn came around and I scaled the tree in our back yard. It was not a very obscured spot; it was only about 5 feet off the ground and only about half of my body was hidden by leaves and branches. But just as I had hoped it was a great success. It was my favorite kind of hiding spot, a success largely because it was unexpected. Beth criss-crossed the yard looking in vain for her daddy, who was perched just above where she was looking. I spent several moments trying to decide whether I would reveal myself or preserve the integrity of the spot for another turn. The perceived need for instant gratification won out, and I jumped down not far from where she was standing. It was worth it.

At this point, I feel that I need to explain how I got up there. This tree in our back yard does not have any horizontal branches to speak of, so it is not easily climbed. It has four main trunks that sprout from the ground at a steep angle. I got up by walking up. Picture me wedging myself between two of the trunks, the soles of my shoes planted on opposite trunks. Facing one of the trunks and grasping it with my hands as I went, I inched my way up to the point where the trunk branched off. Both of the branches went almost straight up, but it left a space in between where I could suspend myself 5 feet or so in the air. Got it so far? Well, after Beth discovered that I was up there, she immediately asked how I got up there. I immediately found my mistake. I didn’t tell her, because I didn’t really want her to imitate me, as I knew she surely would. Well, It was her turn to hide, so I went off to count. When I came back, I immediately noticed that Beth had managed figure it out on her own. I know this because her legs were not long enough to get her as high as I went, so she had nowhere to go once her legs performed a perfect split between the tree trunks, about 4 feet in the air. There was Beth, doing a split to wedge herself between two tree trunks 4 feet in the air. A huge smile on her face that said one thing: satisfaction.

In kindergarten, there apparently is a no moving around policy in the lunch room. In other words, once you find a seat you stay in it until you are done. Beth has been given an exception to this rule. She has been told that if someone at her table is eating a peanut product, she is allowed to move due to her peanut allergy. Well, I was talking with her teacher and she recounted recent story from the lunch room. It seems Beth was sitting next to someone she didn’t want to be around. Beth being Beth, she raised her hand to get the lunch room monitor’s attention. Beth advised the monitor that she had to move. Naturally the monitor asked why. Beth apparently replied, “I can’t sit next to Dino because he has lettuce and I’m allergic to lettuce.”

That little stinker.

Beth and Cory could not decide which house they wanted to play at this weekend. Cory said, “can I play at your house Beth?” Beth replied, “can I play at your house Cory?” This went back and forth about as you would expect for a conversation between a five year old and a four year old. Finally, an exasperated Beth took Cory by the shoulder, lovingly shook him and said, “Cory, your house is bigger!” How can you argue with that.

Beth went up for the children’s sermon in church on Sunday and gave the whole congregation a heaping helping of BETH. The church member giving the children’s sermon asked a young boy to volunteer to be John. She (the ranking adult) told him that he was going to be “the light.” Then she asked another group of kids to walk up next to the altar and imagine that they were in a dark bedroom. She asked them how they felt in the dark. “Scared”, one of them replied. This was the expected answer. Then she asked them, “where can we find some light?” One of them pointed at “John.” This was the expected answer. “John” then produced a make-believe, paper lantern which was placed in “the bedroom”. “How do you feel now?”, the ranking adult asked. “Better”, they replied. Again, this was the expected answer. This happened twice more, with very similar, expected replies. Then it was Beth’s turn. The adult brought Beth’s group up next to the altar and told them to imagine they were in dark closet. “Where do you think we can find some light?” the adult asked. Beth pointed to the candle on the altar and announced, somewhat incredulously, “it’s right there!” This was not the expected answer.

After the adult was finished with her sermon, as is customary, she asked all of the kids to come forward for their candy (presumably a reward for comming up and sitting quietly). Beth took notice that everyone had been called up by name except her friend Cory. Alarmed, Beth asked the adult if she knew Cory’s name. Caught red handed, the adult was forced to fess up. “No”, she replied. Once again feeling somewhat indignant, Beth loudly advised her that this was Cory, that his mommy was here too, and his mommy’s name was Miss Susanne. We were all glad that Beth was there to clear this up. Everyone in church had a good laugh, even the poor adult giving the children’s sermon.

That’s all for now. Thanks for stopping by.

This time it’s Cheryl’s mother’s turn. We told Beth that her Mem-may was not feeling well, and she decided to say a little prayer for her: “God, please help make Mem-may feel better, and make sure it’s before Christmas so she can open all of her presents.”

We are eagerly awaiting Beth’s next trip to the allergist. Beth, like many small children, does not like shots. Beth’s next trip to the allergist will involve skin testing. Hoo wee, that should be just swell. I brought Beth to one of my trips for allergy shots recently. Beth was so disturbed by the prospect of anyone getting shots she had to leave the room. I had these grand visions of showing Beth that other people get shots and that it is not such a big deal. It didn’t work.

Vacation is just around the corner, and the week gets longer as the days grow fewer. There are now just two full days before we leave, but it feels like two weeks. I can take comfort in the fact that I am not alone in my agony. Beth has been wallowing for at least the last week and a half. “We are going on vacation today, aren’t we daddy?” “No Beth, we’ve got (x) more days before we can go.”

Veterans Day is a holiday for state employees in Florida. It is not a school holiday.

Little did we know, our alarm was about to take a holiday too.

It was seven-thirty, a full hour after Cheryl and I had hoped to be up. We had exactly thirty minutes to get Beth fed, dressed and out the door. On our best morning, when post alarm events mesh with Swiss precision, we all get out the door in 45 minutes. It was a challenge we had little choice but accept.

Do you know what?

We didn’t make it.

However, I had a back-up plan. The normal routine included a before school program, since both of us work. So the answer was simple: no before school program. In fact, it turned out to be the best thing that happened to me that day. The morning was a glorious Florida fall morning, so I decided we’d walk. Beth was thrilled to do something different, and do it with daddy. We walked through the neighborhood. We cut behind the baseball fields and approached the school from the rear.

We got to the student drop off area and said our goodbyes. Beth gave me her customary triple smooch farewell and she was off. I turned, took a few steps in the other direction and turned back. She was walking off to class with her back turned to me, her pony tail swinging in rhythm with each step. She was talking to one of her fellow students as they made their way to class. They were not overjoyed, but they were not upset either. They seemed happy.

So am I.