Ask STL Homeboy

From this week's mailbag:

Dear STL Homeboy,

My three year old daughter has discovered her singing voice and has been walking around the house singing pretty much non-stop for almost a month now. At first it was cute, but the truth is she has a terrible singing voice. I'm not going to sugar coat it - it's bad. Every time she starts to sing like she's Ariel from The Little Mermaid, I silently curse whoever introduced her to that movie. My husband is a stay-at-home dad and encourages her singing, saying things like, "she is exploring her voice" or "any interest in an art should be encouraged" or other touchy-feely nonsense. But there's a fine line between encouraging your child to something they're not good at and being that mother on American Idol who tells her daughter that the judges were wrong after the worst audition in history. I blame the mother for not telling the daughter that she wasn't a very good singer before embarrassing herself on national television. What do you think? Am I OK in asking my daughter not to sing?

Thank You,
STL Workgirl
______________________________________________________

Dear STL Workgirl,

OK, I know this is you, Megan. I agree that Clara's singing is for the most part excruciating and I understand that it drives you up the wall. Like you, I also want to throw The Little Mermaid into the river. But some of her other songs aren't that bad. What about the little speckled frogs song she learned from school? Her "take me out to the ballgame" isn't bad - she just kills it by singing it over and over. But if we start to tell her that she isn't very good at something she might have some self-esteem issues down the road, and that's just not something I want to risk. Besides, everyone starts out bad at something before they get better, right? If the singing gets so bad that you can't take it anymore, you could always try to distract her into coloring or playing with a puzzle. How about you carry around some earplugs in your pocket? If you think, however, that her singing is worse than this...


...then maybe you should tell her she's not a very good singer.

Your husband,
STL Homeboy


Stumble It!

Baby Cosmo

Clara and Kate are now well aware that there's a baby brewing in Megan's belly. Last week we asked Clara what we should name the baby. She took a break from coloring for a second, looked up in thought, and said, "Cosmo." Then went back to coloring.

OK. Cosmo.

It could be worse. Mia Williams chose to call her little brother-to-be "doorknob." Dmitri and Cindy went with "Jack" instead. So, all things considered, Cosmo is just fine.

Last week I asked Clara if she wanted a little brother or a little sister. She said, "I want a little brother. I already have a little sister." Good point.

Kate is obsessed with Mommy's belly. She tries to look in Megan's belly button to see Cosmo. Some Kate quotes:
"Cosmo's in your belly, Mommy."
"Can I kiss him?"
"He has toys in there."
"I want to give him a hug."

When Megan is getting dressed in the morning, Kate comes up and pats Megan's belly like she is playing the belly drum. That's why Cosmo is flashing the "rock on" sign up there in the ultrasound. I have a feeling Kate is going to like being a big sister.

Disclosure: That's not really Cosmo up there. Cosmo's real gesture wasn't appropriate for a family blog.

Phantom Poop Syndrome

"I smell poop."

As a follow up to our discussion on Phantom Cry Syndrome, I present another unfortunate psychological byproduct of taking care of children: Phantom Poop Syndrome.

I really don't need to go into a lot of detail here. If you've spent enough time with babies the difference between a foul smelling room and a pleasant smelling room will slowly fade. Perhaps our sense of smell has retreated to its happy place, but soon enough we will have to literally stick our nose in horrible places to determine if the baby needs to be changed, something the house guests have known for the last five horrible minutes.

As an added joke on us, for some reason we start to smell poop when it's not there. We turn to our significant other, with whom we used to have intelligent conversations, and ask, "do you smell poop?" Even more cruel, we smell poop when the kids aren't even around. It's not a strong smell - if it were that meant that either we somehow got poop on our hands or clothes, or just drove past a mulch pile. It's very weak and very subtle, but just strong enough for us to dread having to change another dirty diaper.

Ah, the joys of parenting!

On a side note, when I started this blog I promised myself that I wouldn't write about poop. But children have a way of wearing down any resolve I have, and with a third on the way I'm liable to write about anything, so watch out.

New feature: on the left up there you'll see a button under "subscribe." That's for RSS readers like bloglines. For those unfamiliar with RSS (Really Simple syndication) feeds, it's a way to have your favorite blogs and sites updated automatically on your computer whenever a new post is published. Email me if you need help with it.

Phantom Cry Syndrome

Spend enough time taking care of children and it becomes an inescapable part of your psyche. It makes it way into your dreams in sometimes overt, sometimes subtle ways. Last month I dreamed that Clara was trying to get Kate to swim in a pond where a shark was swimming. I'm no psychoanalyst but I think such dreams show I have some pretty deep fears about the safety of my children. Even when your children are at school or you have a babysitter you are not free from what I have found is the most common form of parental paranoia: Phantom Cry Syndrome. Randomly, out of nowhere, you will hear your child's cry.

PCS can happen anywhere at any time. This afternoon it happened to me in my car, even though I knew I was alone. I heard my child's cry - it was barely there, as if on the very edge of my hearing - and I jerked my head towards the sound. The sound had passed and I was left to laugh at my own foolishness. The children were with the babysitter, you nimrod. As I continued driving I found the source of the sound: A driver had his window down and I could just hear his radio. But since I had no context for that slight sound the first time I heard it, my parental instincts kicked in and turned it into a child's cry.

I've experienced PCS in the gym, where the slight squeal of a nautilus machine moving on the other side of the room can sound like a cry. I've turned my head at the sound of car brakes, a high pitched laugh from afar, or just about any sound that is just loud enough and just the right timbre or pitch to approximate a cry. My mind will fill in the information that the cry is my own child's. It's not a rational response, but for parents who experience PCS it shows just how heavy the responsibility of protecting the little ones in our care weighs on us.

I just made PCS up. But the next time it happens to you, you'll know what to call it.

And Baby Makes Five

Yep, this November the Bittle household will grow by one more. We will be entering into that loud and chaotic land where two semi-responsible adults try to corral three little ones, each going in different directions.

Three kids. One dad.

Shrek: How did this happen?
Puss: Allow me to explain. You see, when a man has a certain feelings for a woman, powerful urge sweeps over him.
Shrek: I know how it happened! I just can't believe it.
Donkey: How does it happen?


Probably a more appropriate quote:

Brody: You're going to need a bigger boat.

Are we crazy? Certifiable. But while there are readers out there I'm sure who are glad they are not me at this moment, I'm not too worried about what's coming because I'm sure it will be both difficult and wonderful, both in ways I can't predict. Clara and Kate will be in school, and we'll bring in some help for me when I need a break. Besides, Clara will be four years old, plenty old enough to babysit.

I will say that women who have the luxury of a stay-at-home husband have it made. Women love babies, and if they can keep popping them out and then go to work, happily whistling "whistle while you work," then why not? To be fair, she's the one that has to go through all the bodily changes.

Since Megan and Michelle have had babies number one and two around the same time, Michelle sent Megan a pregnancy test last December to announce that Michelle was pregnant, warning Megan that she better check. About two months later, Michelle got Megan's reply in the mail, a positive pregnancy test. Shows you how competitive Megan is. Now, when the Bittles and the Etters go to dinner, we need a table for ten.

Michelle, the next time you get the urge to have another baby, buy a Playstation 3 instead. We could use one of those.

My Kind of Sports Hero

I'm a sports nut who raises daughters, so naturally I get asked if we are going to have another kid to, you know, try for a boy. People don't mean it to be sexist or to imply that girls can't play sports. I'm sure they figure I want to teach someone how to play football or how to properly scratch himself and then spit really far when he is up to bat in baseball. And unfortunately, there aren't as many female sports role models as there are male, for media or social or gender reasons that I'm not going to try to delve into here. Boys have thousands of male athletes to idolize; girls have a much smaller pool to pick from - and if you remove (as I would like Clara and Kate to) those female athletes who think they also need to pose in their skivvies to get attention, the list gets smaller. Where have you gone, Mia Hamm? Please don't get me wrong - the country is filled with girls who are quietly and anonymously accomplishing great things, and they are heroes themselves. But a new kind of sports hero emerged this weekend, and she is exactly the kind of female athlete I want my girls to look up to.

In the Great Northwest Atlantic Conference softball game between Western Oregon and Central Washington, two seniors who had played against each other for four years came together in what will be considered one of the greatest moments of sports(wo)manship. Western Oregon outfielder Sara Tucholsky had never hit a home run before, and was mired in a pretty bad slump. Central Washington first base(wo)man Mallory Holtman holds her school record for home runs, as well as just about every other offensive record. In the top of the second inning, with two runners on, Sara hit her first home run, putting Western Oregon ahead 3-0. Theoretically.

In her excitement over watching her ball clear the fence, Sara missed first base and had to come back to touch it. If this sounds like something only college softball players would do, check out Mark McGwire's 62nd home run. Somewhere in her stopping and coming back to touch first base, she crumbled to the ground, apparently injuring her knee. Coaches and trainers came to her aid but feared that helping her would erase her only home run. Umpires warned (with sympathy, I hope) that if any of Sara's coaches or teammates touched her, she would be out. They allowed that a pinch runner could come in, but the home run would be reduced to a 2 run single.

I know what you're probably thinking, and I thought the same thing when I saw this on Sportscenter last night: there's nothing more important than Sara's health - who cares about the damn home run! I'm sure that's what the coaches were thinking when their conference with the umpires was interrupted by Mallory Holtman, the other team's first baseman: "Excuse me, would it be OK if we carried her around and she touched each bag?"

I can only imagine the faces of the coaches, trainers, and umpires as they turned to look at Mallory. Really? Central Washington was trying to get into the playoffs, and a loss to Western Oregon would jeopardize that. The umpires agreed that she could be assisted by members of the other team, but did Mallory really want to help the other team score? Mallory Holtman said later, "She hit the ball over her fence. She's a senior; it's her last year. … I don't know, it's just one of those things I guess that maybe because compared to everyone on the field at the time, I had been playing longer and knew we could touch her, it was my idea first. But I think anyone who knew that we could touch her would have offered to do it, just because it's the right thing to do. She was obviously in agony."

So Mallory and Central Washington shortstop Liz Wallace lifted Sara and slowly moved her around the bases, stopping to allow her to touch each bag and complete her only home run. The crowds and ovations greeting the girls as they reached home were in part for Sara, in part for Mallory and Liz, but mostly for the state of athletics as a whole, where greatness can be achieved in a simple act of kindness, where a young woman can be remembered not just for the records she broke for her school but for the impact she made on young girls just by offering a hand when she was the only one who could.

If I lived in Washington, I would drive my girls over to Central Washington so they could meet her. I honestly would.

You can read more about the story here, but before you click on that, leave a comment below, even if it's just a "hi." That's a picture of Sara up there.

Update: I've added the ESPN interview video of Sara, Mallory, and Liz below. Thanks to Sara's Dad for leaving a comment below.

Bells and Whistles

You might notice some new stuff along the left side of the page. You see, yesterday I had a rare day where both kids were at school and it was cold as heck for late April so I wasn't stepping foot outside. Allergies are killing me this week - picture me typing with tissues sticking out of both nostrils, or even passed out on my keyboard. Thus, new bells and whistles for STL Homeboy.

Up there on the left is the logo and link for the St. Louis Bloggers Guild, a group I just joined that promotes and protects St. Louis bloggers in issues such as copyright. In fact, if you click on that link, you'll see some recent copyright issues involving Mamalogues, an excellent St. Louis blog that I check in on frequently. The people involved in the guild so far have been great, and I look forward to meeting many of them in person. Blogging can be an isolating experience at times and it's good to commiserate with some local bloggers.

Just under the guild link is the symbol for the Green Options media network. This particular link will take you to my green articles, which are published every Thursday. If you read an article, leave a quick comment, if only a quick "thanks for the information." We have a program to see how many people read them, but other readers can only judge traffic by the number of comments. The more comments, the more likely they are to join in on the conversation. The more active the community the more good information gets shared and the stronger the network (and the more I get paid for the work I do.)

Under the recent posts are links. I've added Michelle's link, Mom Without a Map. If you know Michelle make sure to stop by over there and say hi. They had a great time in Mexico, and here's a picture to prove it:


And with just a touch of terrible photoshopping, I can show what it would have been like if we had made the trip:


I'm still getting over my sunburn.

A ways down on the left are two added features: a "On the Night Table" pic and some "In Heavy Rotation" pics. I've resisted doing something like this in the past because I feared it would look self-indulgent, and really who cares what I'm reading or listening to? But studies of blog readers found that when readers see they have interests in common with the blogger the more likely they are become regular readers. If you are interested in them, mouse over the pics for the artist and title - the music pics should link to their amazon pages (not to promote amazon but to give more information on the album.)

The blogupp widget under the music pics is just a social networking tool for bloggers. If you mouse over it you can see another blogger's site and title. Someone else somewhere is showing mine.

Lastly, some of you outside of St. Louis may not have heard that we had an earthquake at 4:30 in the morning a couple of weeks ago. Actually, Illinois had an earthquake, which was felt at least a state away in each direction. You might think that as a Californian I wouldn't be affected by earthquakes, but now that I have kids and live in a house that is not earthquake proof, I shot up out of bed. We were close to getting the girls out of the house when I felt that the rumbles were subsiding. Clara opened her door and with big eyes said, "My bed was shaking!" The next day, she pointed to everything in her room: "My flowers were shaking. My lamp was shaking. My Chumley was shaking." Chumley is her bear. Clara calls it "the earthshake." There was an aftershock the next day, and St. Louisans have stepped up their talk of the inevitable big one that should hit any day now...