skip to main |
skip to sidebar
Growing up, my wife was constantly told she resembled Lucy Liu. Mainly because both she and Lucy are asian. Hey, we grew up in the midwest, it doesn't take much. Anyway, she grew to resent this statement, partly because Lucy is Taiwanese and my wife is half-Japanese, but mainly because she felt she didn't look much like her, other than they were both of asian descent. And women. And had hair. Okay, they're obviously identical.
I know what you're saying, poor girl, right? First of all, your sarcasm is noted and appreciated. And for me it is hard to muster too much sympathy when I was just told I resembled that fat kid from that show. You know... Fat Albert. But less attractive. And white. And less attractive. And not funny. And also less attractive. I would have loved to be told I resembled anyone who wasn't a morbidly obese cartoon. Like, say, Wilford Brimley. Oh, to dream!
Anyway, I've learned to tiptoe around her sensitivity. Mainly by pointing out every mildly asian woman on television and saying "Look honey, it's you!" Or, if it is a man, "Look honey, it's your brother!" Yes, I assume my husband of the year award is in the mail. Needless to say my wife is less than entertained by my shenanigans. However, yesterday, while waiting in the checkout line in the grocery, our darling daughter pointed to the cover of a magazine featuring, you guessed it, Lucy Liu, and said "Mama." Awesome! Well, now we know who's sense of humor she inherited. Though I hope she grows up to look more like Lucy than Albert. Although some sort of Fat Lucy Albert Liu mashup could be kind of awesome, right?
Well, this was an interesting evening. Kiki and I were enjoying bath time, having discovered we could blow bubbles, her current obsession, using the neti pot under the water surface. Oh, also, we have a neti pot as a bath toy. If you don't know what a neti pot is, it is a small watering can you shove up your nose to wash out your sinuses. There is no intentional humor in the preceding sentence.
What, like you don't use quasi medical devices for your child's toys? What's that? Oh, you don't, eh. Well, good for you, not everyone can be as perfect as you I guess. Jerk.
Anyway, we were enjoying the bubbles, luxuriating in the bath when, well, nature called. To Kiki. Urgently. In the end, well, you know that scene from Caddyshack with the candy bar in the pool? Yeah, except this was not exactly a Baby Ruth.
I quickly swept Kiki out of the bath and took her to the shower to clean up, but I've rarely seen her so upset; full on tears, screaming, flushed, the whole show. It was like, well, like someone just crapped in her bath, I guess. Hmm, when you put it like that I guess it's less surprising.
But for someone who happily, nonchalantly, and almost daily will wander around with poop in her pants, it was a bit surprising that she was suddenly all sensitive about it. I guess my little girl is becoming a woman. Hmmm, alright, maybe it's a bit premature to jump to that conclusion. Especially based on the evening's events. So what lesson did we learn here? Well... I think we might need a new neti pot, that's for sure.
A friend is newly pregnant and we decided to lend them some of our parenting books to help them begin building a crippling fear of failure as a parent. I mean, you can't do this on your own, right?
Anyway, we pulled them together and had about 22 that my wife had read and, well, the one that I read. Well, I read most of it. Alright, half of it. Okay, I got through pregnancy, birth, and the first four months. I think the scope of the book went from conception through college acceptance. I mean, I got the gist of it, I flipped through to check out any pictures. And for the record, there were no pictures.
I know, can you blame me for giving up on it? Seems to me like the book was making some dangerous assumptions of my prior knowledge. The author apparently assumed that I am a man who knows what a baby looks like, who can decipher the fine art of swaddling through words alone, and who can apply a diaper without a 17 stage illustrated manual and accompanying video walkthrough. Needless to say, I quickly realized that this was not a parenting guide aimed at me, and took the responsible route of casting it aside and just winging it.
Now, this may not be the advised approach to parenting, and it doesn't sell many books, but so far it seems to be working okay...
Hmmm, maybe I should have read the chapter about not eating your young. But then again, she does seem to enjoy it. And she is delicious.
Last Sunday we were having a lazy morning after a late night traveling back from Indiana. By the way, thanks to those smarter/more experienced parent readers who pointed out we should try driving in the night while Kiki sleeps for road trips, it worked much better... well, except for the hail storm in the Indiana countryside at one a.m., could have done without that.
Anyway, my wife and I were busily downing liters of coffee in an effort to keep up with our daughter. Seeing us gulping so much of it, she was understandably curious and learned that it was "hot" and, eventually, began calling it "affee". She was quite insistent, and was beginning to interfere with our constant supply of caffeine.
Being a smart, resourceful father (not to mention dashingly handsome, wickedly clever, and mysteriously scented of bananas), I decided I should let Kiki try coffee, since that would surely stop her asking for it. Let me also explain that the coffee in our house is of a strength that places it somewhere between a solid and rocket fuel. It typically has an oil slick on top. We sometimes have espresso as a lighter option. If we run out of coffee I am forced to amputate a toe to approximate the physical reaction of our morning coffee.
Okay, so perhaps I exaggerate a bit, but the point it our normal cup o' joe is akin to a swift kick in the face. Needless to say, I figured Kiki would sputter it out and learn a lesson that she did not like "affee" and allow us to enjoy it in peace. Unfortunately, Kiki decided not to go along with my plan. No, she took a sip and immediately smiled and began chanting "more affee" repeatedly. Yeah. So now we're making an extra cup every morning.
