Poll: Which does Cecilia most closely resemble?

People tell me Cecilia looks like various things. Help us settle the debate by looking at the following picture of Cecilia and then using the poll on the left side of the screen to vote on which character or animal she most closely resembles.




1. A Mogwai from Gremlins


2. An Ewok


3. An Otter


4. The Campbell's Soup Kid


5. The Gerber Baby


6. The Michelin Man

(see picture in the previous post for a hint of her rolls)

Two Beautiful Bittles

Megan getting Cecilia ready for her baptism

I'm just not that into you, daylight savings time

I think it's about time we call it quits, daylight savings time. You've been around my whole life, and I've never had much of a problem with you. Sure, I missed that hour in the Spring, but the extra hour I got in the Fall more than made up for it, especially in college, where I filled that hour with, uh, studying. And then there were those random clocks in everyone's house that were always an hour off because no one knew how to change them. People didn't leave their VCR clocks on the blink because they didn't want to learn how to set them, but because they didn't want to relearn how to set them every six months. And don't get me started about traveling through Arizona.But now I have kids, and I can't tell you how frustrating it is to have finally achieved the impossible by training all three girls to sleep in long enough in the morning so that they're not waking up at the crack of dawn or sleeping too long and missing school, only to have to change the clocks every six months and start over (Oops! Thanks to the anonymous commenter who corrected me. Daylight savings lasts 8 months.) In the Fall I've got toddlers waking up before 6am, and in the Spring they're still asleep in the back seat on the way to school. Yes, I know it's no different than flying to a different time zone, but that's a temporary shift that is easy to bounce back from.

I know some parents (she knows who she is) who use the weeks leading up to a time change to gradually change the bedtime so little adjustment is necessary, but I'm thinking it's time to get rid of you altogether. Actually, I don't mind if you stick around permanently. But we don't need you and standard time. I'm fine with having more sunshine later in the evening, so if you win out, great. Can we just pick a way to tell time that works the whole year?

I'm sorry to say it but changing the time every six months is archaic, unnecessary, and annoying. Now, I've got to go break some bad news to the Electoral College.

We're getting old

Recently Megan and I have been using Netflix to make our way through old television shows that either we missed or couldn't watch because they were on channels we didn't subscribe to. We've loved Rome, The Wire, and Arrested Development that way, and I had heard good things about Freaks and Geeks. We watched it last week. It's a great blast from the past with stylin' clothes, bitchin' cars, and a treasure trove of nerdiness. A "geek" was showing off his Dungeons and Dragons Monster Manual and I had to admit that I not only had that as a kid, but I could probably dig it up now if I wanted to. One would think that while watching a show about a high school set in 1980 we would identify with the kids. But Megan and I came to the disturbing conclusion early on that we identified more with the parents in the show than with the kids. Part of the reason is the parents were well developed in the show and not just caricatures of clueless or repressive adults. They were a little bit clueless and were a touch repressive, but they were also extremely concerned about their children. Their love showed through wanting to keep their children young and safe.

It seems that once you have a child, once you take on the enormous responsibility of his or her safety and development, your entire perspective changes. I don't even remember paying attention to the parents in movies and shows when I was younger. Suddenly, their concerns and fears are mine. On Friday nights, when the kids want to go out and do something - anything to get out of the house, whether it's driving aimlessly or watching Dukes of Hazzard with friends - the parents suggest a nice board game. It got me thinking that in the not too distant future, Megan and I will be most uncool people in our daughters' lives and as much as we want them to stay home and play board games with us, they will beg us to let them go.

The Rules of Make-Believe

...are too hard for me to understand or follow. The minds of three and four year olds are at the same time beginning to understand the world around them and project their own ideas and fantasies onto that world. It's funny to watch them try to force their will onto reality when we're playing games. When playing Candy Land, Clara will pick through the cards until she finds one that moves her the furthest. When playing war with Nana, Clara waits until Nana puts her card down before flipping through her own deck to find a superior card. We're working on that.

It's amazing kids can separate make-believe from reality when we are constantly injecting make-believe into their realities. Santa Claus brings their presents. The Tooth Fairy rewards them for losing their teeth. And pirates are friendly, like this guy:



That's Redbeard, a pirate that the girls met while visiting their friends Nathan and Simon in Florida last week. Kate looks like she's growling at him or saying, "Aaaaarrrrr!" While on the beach with them, or in St. Pete with Nana and Papa, the girls were constantly slipping into make-believe, pretending to be, at various times, dinosaurs, princesses, dolphins, and eels, among other things. It's quite funny to watch this from a distance, especially when the girls decided to be the ugly stepsisters for some reason. But when they involve me in their make-believe, I am hopelessly inept at keeping up with their reasoning. They have no problem keeping up with each other, but I keep getting things wrong.

Kate's birthday was February 3rd, and one of her favorite presents was a toy coffee maker from Grandma. She loved pretending to make coffee and brought me her creations. I pretended that the empty cup she gave me was coffee and proceeded to drink it. Her response? "Daddy, that cup is empty." OK. "But I thought you brought me coffee?" "I drank it." "You drank it?" "Yeah," she said, as if it was totally obvious. Sometimes they announce that I am the king, but when I try to command them to do something, I see it's really just a ceremonial position. As I watch them make their way through their days, I'm starting to think "Dad" might be slipping slowing into a ceremonial position as well.

(When I collect the pictures from our Florida trip, I'll post them here. Thanks to Nikki Lemkemeier for the pirate picture above.)

Stay-at-Home-Dad Training Guide

So you got it into your head that staying home and raising your children might be a good idea. You have visions of working on your golf game while your little one sleeps peacefully in your combination baby stroller/golf bag. You'll be able to stay in your pajamas and play on your XBox all day. You'll teach your little one(s) to appreciate the fine points of the cover 2 defense and the importance of middle relief. But in order to inject a bit of reality into your expectations and to prepare you for what is to come, I've created this short training guide. While nothing can fully prepare you for what lies ahead, this will give you some idea.

1. Look around at your stuff and find the one thing you'd least like broken. Break it.

2. Trap a squirrel in your back yard. Try to put a onesie on it.

3. Get two noisemakers - one that screeches at an impossibly loud pitch and one that says the same word over and over and over. Place them in your back seat while you drive. Now, try to listen to the song on the radio.

4. Paint a pasty white spot on the shoulders of all your shirts, sweaters, and coats.

5. Cook a delicious meal. Eat it really fast without tasting anything.

6. Get a dog that ignores all of your commands and does its own thing. Teach it to read.

7. Tie your arm behind your back. Make two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, one with creamy peanut butter and one with chunky. One has strawberry jelly and one has grape. Cut the crusts off one. Cut one into triangles and one into squares. Get the right combination and do it within 30 seconds. Now drop one on the floor and quickly make it again.

8. Rig a contraption with a gas can balanced precariously over an open flame. Go to the bathroom and hope nothing bad happens.

9. Scatter toys all over the ground. Carry groceries in one hand and a baby carrier in the other and navigate through the toy mine field. When you do trip, don't drop the baby carrier and try not to swear.

10. Don't shower until you wake up one morning and can't stand your own filth. Get used to that feeling.

Good luck!

This training guide may seem quite cynical, but let me assure you there's nothing I can do to prepare you for the good parts - and there will be plenty of them.

Most Likely to Run Away and Join the Circus

Last weekend the five of us visited the St. Louis City Museum, which is a must for any kids visiting St. Louis. Clara and Kate tried to get themselves lost within a complex system of tunnels and caverns. When our niece Alex was 7, Megan got stuck in one of these tunnels, prompting a line of bottlenecked tots to shout, "She's stuck! She's stuck!" They pushed on the bottoms of Megan's shoes until she squirmed her way out.

Clara and Kate loved the three story slide, the mini train, and the no-skateboard skateboard park. What they didn't agree on was the circus. Clara was bored and unimpressed: "When is this overrrrrrr?" But Kate was enthralled, spending the first half of the performance absolutely still. Soon she started to move around like the acrobats and contortionists, climbing up to stand on my kneed and then my shoulders. What the performers did, she tried. When the performers bowed, she bowed. You can kind of see by the top picture that she is in the same position as the performers - legs out, arms at her side, ready for what was next. We were up on the top row, so few people saw Kate's performance, other than the performers themselves. At one point, Kate was up the air bent over backwards on my hand, arms held out and one leg up in the air.

It got a bit complicated when the acrobats started flipping (I picked up Kate and flipped her) and two ballerinas held themselves aloft with drapes, but eventually everyone bowed, and Kate joined them. After they were done, performers came out with donation buckets. I gave Kate money and pointed her in their direction. I waited up top to see if she could make her way through the crowd on her own. Never one to let anyone get in her way, she got down there without looking back, stood quietly in front of a performer until she noticed her, and then held up her money. The performer crouched down and talked to Kate - I saw Kate nod once but I don't know what was said. When she turned back to me Kate was beaming.

When it comes to the circus, I identify more with Clara's reaction, but when a child finds something that brings her joy, the parent feels the joy as well.

In case you didn't already know...

My mom was in town for the week after Christmas and I was surprised that we had never told her why we chose the name "Kate." Since the most common comment I get from people about this blog is how great it will be one day for the girls to read about the first few years of their lives, I'm going to take this opportunity to explain to them where we came up with their names and the names of things around them.

Clara


Your mom and I met, fell in love, and got married on the campus of Santa Clara University. Your Papa (Piazza) is also a graduate of Santa Clara. We couldn't think of a prettier or more appropriate name for our first daughter. As I write this, you are four years old, and think Santa Clara is someone related to Santa Claus. I hope we haven't pressured you too much to attend Santa Clara, but it is a great school in a great part of California, the California Bittles will be just a short drive away, and it is filled with Jesuit scholars like Father Tom Powers, who baptized you. No pressure.

Kate


I'm kind of a fan of William Shakespeare, and when we were deciding your name, we wanted a longer name that had a short nickname. I pushed for Katherine, because the long name made me think of Catherine from Henry V while "Kate" was the shrew in Taming of the Shrew. I was not trying to influence your disposition by naming you after the shrew. I merely hoped you would be fiery and strong. And I was right.

Cecilia


Contrary to popular belief, you are not named after a Simon and Garfunkel song. While we did have that song in our heads constantly for your first months, it's not really a song you name your child after. We named you after your great-grandmother. And the only other Cecilia we knew, Cecilia Vollert, is a great kid. Your middle name, James, is from your Uncle Jim, who was named after your great-grandfather. We asked Clara to name you and she picked "Cosmo."

Some other things...

We named the Clarices, those lambs you can't put down, after a character from this movie (we'll pay for the therapy bills):

Big Papi, that big bear in Cecilia's room, was named after this guy:


Your dog Scout was named after the girl in "To Kill a Mockingbird." Scout's name on her pedigree is actually Jean Louise Finch.

Dad, through a daughter's eyes

1 week old: What is that blurry thing?

1 month old: There's that face again!

3 months old: It's that guy! I love that guy!

1 year old: "Dada"

2 years old: "Daddy"

3 years old: "Look at me, Daddy!"

6 years old: "Dad"

9 years old: "Dad, can I have some money?"

12 years old: "Daaaaaad! Don't embarrass me!

14 years old: "Dad, could you be any less cool?"

16 years old: "Daddy, can I have a car?"

18 years old: "Don't cry, Dad. I'll be home for Christmas break. And can I have some money?"

With each new child (a parent's meditation)

With each new child

Everyday tasks are tougher

Quiet moments are rarer

Fuses are shorter

And the responsibilities weigh heavier

But the resolve is greater

Because their little faces couldn't be brighter

Nor their trust purer

So our task is clearer

And in this way a bit easier

Because the stakes couldn't be higher

How playing (and coaching) football prepared me for fatherhood

It struck me the other day that many of skills I learned playing football - and those I used as a football coach - have served me well as a father. I've already mentioned the stiff arm I use on strangers who try to kiss my baby, but the majority of useful skills came from linebacker drills. With three girls under five years old, it's amazing how necessary these are.

Skills I learned as a player:

Pre-Snap Read: anticipating what is going to happen next. When we enter a new environment, I have to scan for potential hazards, breakable pieces of priceless art, and chocolate. Remember Murphy's Law for Children: When it comes to chocolate, if it can be reached, unwrapped (optional,) and eaten, then clothing, furniture, and carpet will soon have chocolate stains.

Quick Feet: always be on the ready to move. When one girl dumps over the flower vase full of water, the baby is crying for her pacifier, and the third is unknowingly backing towards the down stairway, a quick dad has to throw a towel down, pop the pacifier in the baby's mouth, and kick a ball down the hall for the third girl to fetch, getting her away from the stairway.

Head on a Swivel: being able to see the whole field. When in public places, one girl will inevitably go one way while the other goes the opposite. We have a playground here that's outstanding but much too big. I have to keep turning my head to keep track of them. Where's Clara? There she is. Where's Kate? There she is. Where's Clara? There she is. You get the picture.

Never Take a Play Off: the one play you decide to relax on the other team will score. Or your child will get hurt.

Skills I learned as a coach:

Do Your Research: understand your opponent, er, child. If one kid likes only purple lollipops and another will only use princess band-aids, you better make sure you have those in stock.

Game Plan: Joe Vollert gave me my first copy of Sun Tzu's The Art of War, where one of the kernels of wisdom is "win the war, then fight the war." Some may find it strange to liken war to football, much less child raising, but the parenting lessons learned in that book are amazingly appropriate, like "People are irritable when they are fatigued," and "Human Psychology is to go for perceived benefits and try to avoid prospective harm." The point is to prepare for what comes next so you are not caught by surprise.

Half Time Adjustments: No matter your preparations, things never go as planned. A good parent is flexible. Being too rigid in your expectations will just result in frustration and a child, who can sense that frustration, who grows up frustrated when they themselves are not able to adjust and adapt.

All those people who thought it was a shame that this football guy didn't have sons shouldn't worry - I seem to be doing just fine with my football training.

Crushing on my daughters, part 2

Earlier this year I created Kate's video, which you can find here. It has taken a while but I finally present Clara's video. Megan and I were amazed at how much she has grown in just the last few months. Two video clips in here are from Clara's school recital last Spring. I wanted to include some earlier video but was having technical difficulties.

Enjoy the little trip down memory lane.

So I suck my thumb, what's it to you?

It's what I do. It doesn't mean I'm insecure, shy, or needy. Daddy plays on his computer. Mommy organizes things. I suck my thumb. Got a problem with that?

I also need you to pay attention to me and not that new baby. If you don't, I'll say your name over and over until you do. If you snap at me I'll cry and you'll feel like an ass.

I'm super independent, but I like to sit on your lap for long periods of time. The two are not mutually exclusive.

I want to do what I want to do, even if you tell me I can't. I'll explain to you that I really want to do it. If I don't convince you and you still tell me I can't, I'll be devastated and cry. And you'll feel like an ass.

I'm not interested in being potty trained. This way's more convenient, anyway.

If I don't come when you call it's because what I'm doing is more important than dinner or bath or whatever it is you want me to do. If you yell or start counting to 3 real loud I'll cry and you'll feel like an ass.

I'm two. Deal with it.

Welcome Cecilia James Bittle

Our life has officially become a sit-com. Cecilia James was born on Thursday, October 30 at 5:59 am. Mother and daughter are healthy and happy. Clara thought the new baby was interesting but was more excited about going trick-or-treating. Kate was smitten with her new sister immediately, kissing her over and over. Some pictures:













And some obligatory Halloween pics:


Ladybug, Minnie Mouse, Cinderella, and Handy Manny (aka Kate, Lucy, Clara, and Miles):


The sad face of candy over-consumption:

Pumpkins Have Ponytails (and other thoughts)

I wish I had written down all the clever little associations the girls have come up with since they began speaking. Children don't have the language to describe much of what they are witnessing around them, so they make associations based on what they do know. For example, whenever something stops working, Clara says something like, "Daddy! The TV is crickets!" "Crickets?" "Yeah, crickets." I don't know where she got it, but her description of that quiet time when something is supposed to be happening, but is not, is the same as on television and in the movies. Crickets. If she has a cold and can't breathe through her nose she says, "my nose is crickets."

On the walk home from school today with her friend Nate, Clara saw a skeleton.
Clara: Look Nate, man bones!
Me: We call that a skeleton.
Clara (ignoring me and talking to Nate): I meant skeleton.

Two weeks ago, very matter-of-factly:
Clara: Daddy, pumpkins have ponytails.
Me: Is that what those things on top are called?
Clara: Yep

At dinner recently:
Clara: Zoobooschloop wawa
Megan: What the heck was that?
Clara: It was French

While eating pizza:
Kate: I'm eating beroni.
Me: Beroni?
Kate: Yeah, beroni.
Me: Oh, that's pepperoni.
Kate: Let's call it beroni.
Me: OK.

But with their language developing, at least once a day one of them will say something that amazes me. Today I was trying - and failing - to put a headband on Clara.
Me: I'm sorry, sweetie. I'm struggling.
Clara: Struggling means something frustrated.
I must have given her that "I'm so proud of you" look because she got bashful and snuggled up against me.

The Dude!

A few months ago Clara shouted from the back seat of the car, "That's that guy from Sesame Street!" "Where?" I asked. "Right there!" I had to tip the rear view mirror to see where she was pointing, then looked in that direction, expecting to see Guy Smiley. Instead I saw this:

"Oh yeah. He is from Sesame Street." Great. My daughter, who wasn't four yet, was already associating commercials with the programs she saw them on. McCarthy is one of the biggest building companies in St. Louis, and sponsor Sesame Street here. Their commercial comes on before and after every episode. Every time we approached that same spot, the location of their headquarters, Clara wanted to see "that guy from Sesame Street."

Not long after, Megan and I were at a party with a friend who works for McCarthy, and conveyed our daughter's enthusiasm with his mascot. "You mean the dude?" he asked. The dude? "I don't know if everyone calls him that," he said, "but everyone in our office does." It turns out his kids love the dude as well.

The next time we drove past the headquarters, we explained to Clara that the Sesame Street man is actually called "the dude." Her eyes lit up, as if she learned a secret no one else knew. All the next month she asked if she could see "the dude." Then, on one outing, she noticed the dude on the top of a construction crane, then on the side of a construction trailer, then on a truck. "The dude, daddy! The dude!" It was as if the whole city was becoming a giant scavenger hunt, leaving images of the dude all over for her to find. If she sees a crane in the distance, she asks, "is that a dude crane?"

Then, this summer, while driving down I-80 in Sacramento, I pulled up behind a McCarthy truck. I didn't know they were in California, and Clara had yet to notice the truck. I counted down in my head: 5...4...3...2...1. Finally, from the back seat, "THE DUDE!!!!"

I "borrowed" that picture above from McCarthy's web site. The title of the picture file? "dude_home"

In our house at least, "the dude" no longer refers to the guy from The Big Lebowski.

What "Service" Means to Me

As I settled in to watch the first night of the Republican convention I saw hundreds waving signs with the word “Service,” and for a while I thought things had changed for the better. Here is what went through my head: Pundits had been saying that John McCain was going to try to appeal to the religious right. Many in the religious right, center, and left have over the past several years started to question the Republican Party’s commitment to fighting poverty and other social justice issues. In an attempt to connect his own military service, as well as the service of those who fight in Afghanistan and Iraq, with the community service that is necessary to fight poverty and injustice in the United States, McCain could package them both under the term “service” and be seen as a President who expects much from Americans, both overseas and at home. That is a message that would resound with people all over the political spectrum.

It didn’t take long to figure out that my thoughts were wishful thinking. The first part of the fantasy, the focus on military service, was rightfully used, though instead of having each speaker repeat the same story, I might have split McCain’s POW story into four or five parts, with each successive speaker telling a new chapter – it would have weaved a single narrative through all three nights of the convention and McCain could have ended it with himself as President of the United States. But the second part of the fantasy, “service” as community service, wasn’t even mentioned on the first night. On the second night I saw how wrong I was. Community service was not only absent from the Republican narrative, it was a punch line. Both Rudy Giuliani and Sarah Palin mocked Barack Obama’s years as a community organizer – to roaring applause and laughter. I sat there watching them both sneer at something that should be a virtue, and as I thought about the times that I had given of my time to help those in my community, I wondered how many who had done the same, religious or not, thought themselves the butt of the joke. I’m going to go out on the limb and say that is not the way to court religious voters.

“Service” to me has two meanings. My father served in Vietnam and returned to become a school teacher, fighting here in America for fair pay for teachers. My mother is a teacher for special needs children – she is one of the people that Sarah Palin praised early in her speech. My brother is a Sheriff’s Deputy, my sister is a nurse, and I was a high school teacher before deciding to stay home to raise my daughters. Service, to us, is service to country and community.

As a product of Jesuit education, I was taught that service was as vital a part of being a man or woman as knowing how to read or write. Two phrases, twin mottoes that adorn the walls of my memory, “For the Greater Glory of God” and “Men and Women for Others,” are so linked that I have a hard time believing the first can be achieved without the second. Community service was a part of each year’s curriculum, and we quickly learned why. Our eyes were opened to our world’s realities, not just the comforts of our friends and families. We could no longer hide behind that lie, that these impoverished “others” simply didn’t work as hard as our parents did.

I am not one of the many who have committed their lives to service. But I have, on many occasions, served food in inner city shelters, I have served the poorest of the poor in forgotten towns in Mexico, I have collected and distributed backpacks and school supplies to children, I have worked with special needs children and adults, and when the Mississippi River overflowed this year I hired a babysitter so I could go fill sandbags for my neighbors. My wife, the vice president of a company in Missouri, spends much of her time at our local Children’s Home, where staff and volunteers seek to make the lives of special needs children a little better. These people – and my mother – must have been confused at Sarah Palin’s speech. They were both praised and mocked.

Now none of this necessarily qualifies me, my wife, or those who work for the betterment of their community for President of the United States. But these people deserve better than the derision of those who seek to lead. They deserve respect, praise, and perhaps even the knowledge that their President has walked in their shoes for a year or three.

Hanging with the 4-year-old crowd

Last week Clara turned four years old. The way she acts now, you would think she just became an adult. "I don't need you to get me into the car, Daddy. I'm four years old." But sometimes she's just trying to work it: "Daddy, I don't need to eat my vegetables. I'm four years old."

The best part of the last week has been the time she's been spending with her group of friends. Whether they're spending so much time together because they're appreciating each other more or because the end of the summer is approaching, Clara hasn't gone two days in the past week without seeing her friends. Most of them know each other through either Clara's preschool class or an art class that Clara attended one day a week last year. Luckily, a couple of them have siblings Kate's age. "Lucy's my friend! Lucy's my age," Kate points out.

That picture up above is Clara and Alexis enjoying a birthday cupcake. We held a birthday pool party at our house. The kids acted like a flock of birds, following whichever kid happened to be deciding what to next at that moment. One minute they're all in the pool, then they're all at the playground, then they're all running in the yard, and then they're all back in the pool.

Dad presenting the birthday cupcakes:


Guess who got right in there with her plate?

We spent a morning in the Children's Garden at the Missouri Botanical Garden.




Then a morning at the zoo:

Can childhood get any better?

How I spent my summer vacation, part 2

Continuing our jet-setting summer, the girls and I flew to Sacramento to visit Grandma, Uncle Chris, Auntie Tracy, and cousins Alex, Kyle, and Adam. We stayed for ten days, but it felt like far fewer as the cousins circled around each other in a constant tornado. I was able to do a ride-along with my brother, who is a Deputy Sheriff. Ask me about it, as some of the details are not appropriate for a friends and family blog.

Much of the time was spent making up for lost cuddle time:



When Chris and I were toddlers, our family camped with family friends in a place called Union Valley Reservoir, a lake past Placerville up highway 50. Now, almost 35 years later we took our children up to share the experience. The lake has a boulder you can swim out to and jump off. When the water was high, it was under water. When it was really low, you could walk out to it. As Chris and I got down to the beach this time, we were struck by how something that looked miles away when we were kids could actually be quite close to shore.

The girls loved their first camping trip, especially being able to get incredibly dirty. Kate was pigpen, and for some reason couldn't keep her shoes on, so her feet were caked with a layer of dirt. A few pictures:



Clara's first taste of s'more captured:


Kate didn't sleep much, so we get images like these:

After returning home, Grandma watched the girls so I could drive down to the Bay area to see Michelle's beautiful new baby in their new house. The visit was short, but even in a new house being around the Etters feels like home. Here's baby Ryan:


I drove up to the city and saw old friends from St. Ignatius, as well as John and Liz Regalia's little one Dominic:


Each time I visit San Francisco Megan fears I'll refuse to come home.