What's New?

Cookies.

Zoo visits.

Disney trips.

And playing with presents, of course. The usual vacation distractions. Full sets of pictures to follow once we stop running around to various events, I promise.

Childhood in the Age of Obama

We're getting all sorts of fun questions lately. What are certain body parts for? Why are we at war? Here's one we got last night -- we'll just give you Fiona's side and let you come up with your own answers:

Why do people have different skin? Why is some people's skin brown? My friend Ashton at school has brown skin and curly hair. I wish I had brown skin and curly hair. Will my skin change?

Two quick notes here. Number one, being a child she's being literal on the brown skin; a month or so ago she corrected us when we were discussing something about Obama being a black man to say "no, he's brown."

And second point, with her genetics there's no way she's passing for anything but pale pale pale.

The cool thing, of course, is she still has no idea of the cultural baggage associated with any of this stuff, so we can just answer her on a straight factual level without having to work in some lesson about past prejudice or anything (obviously we still work in the "our differences make us more interesting" angle, like the good liberals we are).

It's the same thing on gender -- today when she was playing she told me I could join her club now, but I wouldn't have been able to join it back in the old days when the club didn't allow boys. Just like all the most exclusive clubs used to do, right?

We Let Her Stay Up Until About 9:45 That Night

Vacation's on right now, so the usual rules are out the window. But normally Fiona's bedtime is around 8pm. She knows it, and in fact often likes to ask on special occasions when she knows she's out late if it's past her bedtime yet. That special thrill a kid gets from knowing she's up when she shouldn't be.

Fiona's birthday has been coming up and lately she's been asking questions about how she was born. Nothing graphic -- she just wants to know about the hospital, how long Mommy had to stay after she was born, how many doctors were in the room, etc.

I made an offhand comment about how she was born on January 7, 2004 at 8:45 in the evening. Fiona suddenly interrupted:

"I was born past my bedtime?"

In retrospect, I guess she was.

Willpower

I remember it as a great and glorious day when Fiona found her thumb. After weeks of midnight (and 1, 2 and 3am) trips into her room to pick the pacifier up from wherever it had fallen out of her crib and slap it back into her mouth, suddenly she could self-soothe. And Mommy and Daddy were able to sleep and it was good.

As she got older she never quite gave up sucking her thumb, but it did reach a point where she would only do it under specific circumstances -- we called it "sad, mad or tired" -- and for the most part we ignored it, even as we knew in the back of our heads that each day we put off weaning her off her thumb would make the eventual reckoning that much harder. Would you rather quit smoking at 20 or 50?

A few weeks ago Fiona went to her first dental appointment. She really enjoyed the trip, despite initial trepidation. We're seeing a pediatric dentist, which means all of the rooms are decorated in dinosaurs and mermaids and butterflies and princesses and they play Pixar movies on the TVs in each room. We came out of the trip with two pieces of bad news. The first was that Fiona had a cavity, which served us right for waiting about a year too long to get her into the dentist. The second was that it was time for her to stop sucking her thumb.

The first was dealt with easily enough--they used gas, not Novocaine, and Fiona had no complaints.

The second was the reckoning. We didn't want to go straight to the foul-tasting cream that we've seen other parents put on their children's digits -- we knew we'd do it if we had to, but we didn't want her to feel punished. Instead we struck a deal, figuring we have such a willful daughter normally we might as well harness that stubbornness for positive ends. So we agreed with Fiona: for each day she didn't suck her thumb she got to put a sticker on a calendar. Get to 5 stickers, she would get a small treat. Get to 10 stickers she'd get a slightly bigger treat. Get to 20 and we'll let her know about this obscure theme park 90 miles away in Orlando where the patrons often wear rodent ears.

The first two days were the toughest. The first day Fiona bawled for 15 minutes when I reminded her about the deal. But each time we told her to take her thumb out, she did, and while she learned to hate the rear view mirror in the car, by the third or fourth day she wasn't reaching for her thumb any more out of boredom. By the end of the first week, she wasn't reaching for it when she was sad or mad (although she does sometimes cry that she can't calm down without her thumb). We still catch the thumb in from time to time when she's still sleeping early in the morning, but at this point we've passed all thresholds.

In addition to being a holiday of some renown, tomorrow will also be day 20. And that means on Monday we'll be heading up to among the more happy places on earth. And then we'll see for real if the deal we struck worked at weaning her long-term, or if she was just in it for a 3-week crash course in order to get some princess loot.

No, Please, Don't Do Exactly What I Think You Should Do

This evening at bedtime Fiona asked for a flashlight in her room. A few minutes later she said that if she had trouble sleeping she could look at her books (this is what the kids at preschool do at naptime if they're not sleeping).

In terms of figuring out what she's planning, putting two and two together wasn't hard. Actually, given how transparent she was being, it was probably like putting one and zero together.

Even so, a few minutes after that when she announced that she could look at her books with her flashlight, I did remember a piece of advice I'd always liked: if you're lucky, your kid will want to read after bed, and if you're smart you'll forbid it, which will make reading even more enticing. So I tried to put on my best disapproving voice and tell her she should really try to get to sleep because it's bedtime, not reading time.

But I was definitely laughing underneath.

Last point: a few minutes ago I passed by her bedroom door and heard her voice (at her age she reads aloud). Way to go, kid. Probably a few more minutes until I open the door and remind her that it's lights out. Ah, parenting: where you do the exact same things your parents did that you thought was so foolish.

She Probably Shouldn't Watch Colbert Until She's at Least Fourteen

Last night, apropos of nothing, Fiona looked at us at the dinner table and asked "who's Jon Stewart?"

We asked her where she'd heard the name but she couldn't remember. Of course, I've probably been overheard on more than one occasion over the past few years saying things like "thank God for Jon Stewart" or "I don't know how we survived before Jon Stewart" so the likely culprit was at the table.

Now I'm wondering how old I was before I asked about Johnny Carson. Or was I a Dick Cavett kid?