Archive for the ‘Greg’s Take’ Category


Based on responsibilities at different locations, I took Grace to school while Erin took Abby and Lilly to Day Care.  Grace and I were leaving a few moments before them.  Erin was nursing Lilly.  Grace and I completed the departure ritual — don’t forget the backpack with lunch, got in the car.  In the meantime, Abby watched us leaving without realizing that she was heading to Day Care with her Mom.

In a soft and sincere voice:  “Daddy, please don’t forget me….”

I smiled knowing that no matter what, I won’t.


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What’s reasonable?

“Daddy, did you know that I’m the smartest one in the family?”

“How do you figure that, Grace?”

“Well, Mommy is just a little stupid.”

“Huh? Why’s that?”

“Cause she doesn’t always agree with me.”

“Ohhh, I gotcha.  Anything more?”

“You’re medium stupid.”   [I then wondered if I should be happy or sad with that comment?]  …”Abby is mostly stupid.”  [I need not ask for additional clarification.]  — Lilly is the most stupid.  She can’t even talk.”

“Well, Grace, I think Lilly talks in her own way.  She cries when she’s hungry, or she’s scared, or frustrated, or wet, or sleepy, or lonely, right?  — Maybe it’s Lilly who’s the “smartest,” and we just can’t understand her?”

“Daddy, I think that’s a dumb idea.  Anyway, that just leaves me, so I’m the smartest!”

After she quickly turned to play with dolls, I thought for a moment.  Do I have a better argument?  Something more rational, valid, or logically derived?  Nah, I got nothing today.  But does that make me stupid?

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Good Priorities

To Grace:  “Honey, could you please help me find that bowl of melted ice-cream?”

To Daddy: “Sure Daddy, but isn’t finding Abby more important?”

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It’s Pajama Day!

Unfortunately, Abby’s sick, so she needs prescription meds.

As you well know, it’s hectic when you get two girls into Day Care.  Abby first said that she lost her shoes — an impossibility considering that I saw them go into the car.  I looked in the floor, beside her seat and on the other side.  Then, I found them on Lilly’s feet.  Strange, but logical.   Abby out-thinks her Dad sometimes.

Abby, having again refused to put her shoes on top of her PJs footies, demanded a carry in.  I wasn’t confident about carrying both, so I callously abandoned our youngest with a thick, well-situated blanket.  I then threw Lilly’s bottle strap and diaper containers over my shoulder.  I placed Abby’s Nystatin in my coat pocket.  Yeah, don’t forget the official box.  Couldn’t find the original cap of the new med.  Although the box was crushed and contained an imposter from a previous prescription (Grace’s name was scratched off before Abby’s name was taped over it.), I rolled with it.

The tube was smaller.  The lid and box were there, so I know we fooled them.  Or at least it qualified as legitimate.

“Bye, Lilly.  Just keep crying until Daddy comes back.  It’ll keep you warm and distracted.”

Abby started yelling and asking where Erin was. — “Honey, I’m the best we have right now.”  [thought:  Just be lucky I’m not making you wear your footies on the 33 degree pavement and desperately guess the entrance combination while I softly stroll and quietly smile, child.]

Having no confidence that she’d agree to walk herself, I swiftly carried Abby in to drop Abby to Amanda with her coat on.  “Be right back, Amanda!”

Got Lilly from under her thick, thick blanket.  I thought, “You don’t mouth off — yet.”  Dropped her off with Diana.  Be right back.

Went back to Amanda.  Explained need to treat Abby’s yeast infection.  Something I don’t identify with personally or actually quite understand.  “Know Wacky Wednesday, Amanda?”  Of course she did.  I explained that Abby absolutely insisted that today was the day that shoes don’t match.  Only it’s not Wednesday — it’s Tuesday.  Twisted Tuesday?  Alliteration is tougher here, isn’t it?  I quickly tried to catch Amanda’s eyes.  Though not a parent herself, she’d been around kids enough to understand irrational demands.  She flashed a look of understanding.  It was one of humorous acknowledgement rather than bitter judgment.  After all, isn’t it a plausible cover-up for a lazy, confused, and sleep deprived parent?  Surprisingly, it was an intentional mismatch.  Seriously.

I documented the need to apply twice today.  (the fraction of 4x since we’d treat the infection before/after).  She confirmed protocol with April, the veteran from Toddlers, who’d hosted (tolerated?) our first two kids.  April definitely knows what’s on the horizon with Lilly.  Anyway, like a good soldier, Amanda explained that I needed to lock the medicine up front with Nadima, the admin.  — Nope, she wasn’t there.  The Director wasn’t there.  Does anybody else have the key?  Do I really have to ask that…?  I hope you wouldn’t.

In the meantime, I left the Nystatin imposter with Amanda.  I can only comply to a reasonable extent while my smile drained from my face.  I went back into the infants where I’d stashed Lilly on the supervised boppy before rushing back to have that yeasty conversation in Twos.  Assembled cloth diapers correctly.  Put milk in fridge.  Directed Diana to use the blue bottle first.  Bothered to explain that medical treatment.  Why?  I have no idea.  Filled out written daily.  Made up the numbers.

Went back to Nadima’s desk  She’s there, in pajamas of course.  She explained that she still needed written doctor signatures.  Sure, that makes sense.  Glad that such regulations exist.  Could I facilitate this?  Let’s see.

  1. Find number.  Knew name.  Wait, why does “Raleigh Pediatrics” have a branch in Garner?  Whatever.
  2. Looked up number on my phone.  Called fax number.  Stupid me realized that I need the *phone* # in order to tell them my yeasty situation Got phone tree.  Messed up extension.  Not medical records.  Not X.  Not Y.  Not Z. Wondered why this isn’t more clearly articulated.  Although I admire their efficiency, I hate phone trees.  At least design one well.
  3. After the fourth screwup (noting that it takes two damn long to listen to all the wrong choices.  Who would call Raleigh Pediatrics for a medical emergency?  Isn’t 911 a bit more obvious?  I feel sorry for the poor soul who inspired that for illness, yet I express disdain against legal services, if that’s the source of inclusion.  — Okay, back to this phone tree that’s pissed me off.  I wonder if Raleigh Pediatrics treats parental ADD.  
  4. Drop the responsible participation and hit the operator.  Regret that I didn’t do that the first time.  
  5. I had to explain twice to the (admittedly kind admin who rescued me from this phone tree).  “I’m the parent.  I’m at Day Care.  I need a doc signature.  I have the form.  May I fax it to X for medical acknowledgement? — one would think that the original (correct, but imposter) packaging would confirm proper treatment.  Maybe that’s an interpretation from a bitter parent who could never get a yeast infection.  I digress in ADD fashion.
  6. After scattering some random humor to lighten the regulatory obstacles, I explain with patent detail what’s about to hit her fax machine.   She understood, and I glimpse accomplishment.


Went back to Twos.  Explained the situation.  Filled out Daily.  Made up the numbers.  Better guesses here though.  Amanda asked when Lilly should receive those two treatments.  I thought, whenever.  Yeah, that infection is going to be angry *whenever* you throw that calibrated jello at it.  I asked her advice in order to invite her into this brisk discussion.  She said based on potty training.  — Gosh, I hope I don’t fall into that situation myself.  Decades from now, my advanced age might make me qualify for such questions.  At least I won’t have a yeast infection. 

Went back to Nadima.  Confirmed that all was in order.  Won’t have to do anything else but sign the form tonight.  She added, ” Don’t forget to pick up the Nystatin as well.  It’s not like you have more of that at home.”  — I smiled knowing that this day may return.  At least I know to streamline and circumvent the phone tree.  We’ll be quite mindful to keep all the Nystatins that enter our house. 

Go back to kiss Lilly.  Does she know who I am yet?  Hope so.  I’m making the same noises every time I tickle her belly.  I figure very few other males do that regularly. 

Exit and walk down the hall.  Abby, kiss me, Sweetheart.  I’m escaping this dreadful situation.  I do like those pajamas though.

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My eldest daughter was sick last week, and it was my turn to stay home. Primarily, we played with princesses. Twenty three of them. I’m not yet sure that she expects her Dad to have all that foundational knowledge or whether she’s impressed that I’m picking it up so quickly.  My Barbie fluency is a clear example of lifelong learning.

I may not have memorized each of the dolls’ personal backstories. However, I can definitely state that (a) Princess dolls always smile. Dental hygiene at its finest. Maybe they all used to work Retail? …(b) All princess dolls ultimately end up living a hard life. Somebody lost my shoe permanently. Like down the drain permanently. No idea where that skinny purse is, but it used to match my dress. I’m a princess, but my owner ate my tiera kind of thing. No, really. I *AM* royalty! — Gosh, maybe all princesses end up naked. A hard life indeed.

That said, when asked, I answered that Ariel the mermaid was my favorite princess. That’s something that my daughters and I currently hold in common. She’s new, so there’s novelty for the girls. Second, she’s unique. Yeah, they all sing, but who else can breathe underwater and swim with a big blue fin? Not to mention having a dad with a kickass Trident. Third, she’s intact. No chance to have lost any accessories yet. (wait. Are there accessories on a mermaid?)

Not to mention that there’s always some subtle humor.

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Logical, right?

After a hard workout yesterday, my body told me that I’d been away from the courts a bit too long.  (Hey, at least I remembered where the gym was though.)

When Grace asked me why I was limping, I told her that I played a game called squash today for the first time.   After about an hour, she came into the den to look again at my bruised leg, and she said, “Daddy, I don’t think you should play smush anymore.”

Smart kid!

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Daddy, what are you doing?

Hey, Sweetheart.  Not too much.  What are you doing?

I am walking around and looking for you.

Well, you found me. What’s up?

Daddy, will you marry me?

Without pausing, I responded, “Honey, I’m already married to Mommy.  One day, you’ll meet somebody, and I’ll get to meet him.  He’ll be a very nice guy who loves you very much.  He’ll make you happy; he’ll make you laugh; and you may even get married some day.

I then gave Grace the biggest bear hug I could and kissed her gently on the head.  “Grace, I love you bunches and bunches, and I always will.”

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