Raising Reagan

The extremely cold temperatures here in Houston over the weekend made for idea conditions to hole up, eat chili and watch movies for a couple of days! Granted, the chili isn't as spicy as it used to be, holing up requires more craft-like activities and the movies include much more animation and princesses than they used to.

But it was also a good time for lesson learning. This has nothing to do with manners, respect or why one shouldn't juggle three eggs that have not been previously boiled...inside... (that was a different weekend). But this was a lesson about territory.

Most people have their 'space'...or at least a desire for such a thing. And most people know places they just should NOT go. For example, a party un-invited, the wrong part of town after dark, or how many partners your partner partnered with before you were the partner...you just don't go there.

Sure, a teenager learns that space and privacy is a welcome thing (putting it politely, I'm sure)...but when the hell does a FOUR YEAR OLD learn this?!
Reagan was diligently at work in her room at her desk drawing pictures and playing. "What a great kid", I'm thinking. She ran back out, into the kitchen to get the roll of tape, and then quickly disappeared. SURELY she's making another fine art-craft to send to the grandparents, and she sealing it up like a WW2 secret code tablet to be delivered to the Navajos to decyphering.

Shortly thereafter, I get summoned to The Girl's room. "Daddy", she said, "this sign means that NO people are allowed in my room". "You see this? That says no. THAT is a person. And those X'x (of which there were many), means people are not allowed in my room". The sign was sealed nearly permanently to the outside of the four-year-old's door...then she shut it in my face.

I stood there for a minute to assess this new restriction that has been imposed on me, and all who enter...or shall I say, contemplate to enter. I tried to think of where this came from, and all I could come up with is when we talk about the street signs on the way to and from school, and when to ignore them.

All I know is that the line for the wrong side of town has just been moved to just down the hall!

I do realize it's been a while since I've posted anything on RaisingReagan.com. I apologize. It's not because life ceased to exist for us...quite the contrary, it's been the opposite. We've played merry-go-round with our friend Intestinal Virus. We've been to Aunt Marilyn's wedding in Vegas, where I wasn't the one this time to vomit at a casino...it was our 4 year old (and also not from drinking too much, thank you.), and we just returned from the land of ice and snow for the holidays (St. Joseph, MO).

So here we are now. Ready for the new year, resolutions are in place, and the hangover is dissapating....which leads to resolution #1. We're not 'drinking' for the entire month of January. Sure, most resolutions are intended for the entire year, but let's not be ridiculous. We love our wine, and it goes hand in hand with the concept of ME raising REAGAN. Anyway. There's also the resolutions of doing better with my voiceover business, being a better father and husband, and I resolve to go back to drinking immediately in February.

One thing that will certainly help with not drinking in January is The Girl going back to school. Yesterday was Monday. We had a nice, restful weekend so that we could all get up on time, and be rearing to go! It was a little difficult for Reagan to wake up after being able to sleep in for what seemed like six months, but she did. I got her up, dressed, fed and out the door ON TIME!
VICTORY!

We got to school on time as well...only to realize that everyone else must be late! Or, as it turned out, we were REALLY early for school when they come back from holiday break on TUESDAY.

No school.

So we ramble on back home, trying to explain to the 4 year old why in the hell I woke her up at 6:30 and threatened her if she didn't eat her instant oatmeal for no reason.
But I quickly realized that this was my chance to maybe start working on that other resolution...being a better father. So the books came out, errands were ran with her assistance and I had a sous chef in the kitchen...and this time it wasn't wine.

I have a feeling of calm today.

Even after hearing the news last week of the terrorist plot to blow up one of the biggest building in Dallas...only blocks from where we used to live...I still feel at ease.

I now know that the terrorists are just toying with us ...because if they were truly serious, they would inject strep throat into the government offices. No...not into the politicians themselves, but into their children.

I'm fairly certain that NOTHING can bring a seemingly functional family...or already dysfunctional government office... to a screeching halt than when a four year old...like Reagan...get's strep.

No school. No sleep. No fun. She became the patient, we lost our patience.

Reagan began her flu-like symptoms last week around Wednesday. As the temperature went up, she equally wound down. It would probably be wrong to sometimes wish their kid had a fever, but anywhere over 102, and they usual Chevy Chase prat-fall antics cease, and all she wants to do is watch her shows...quietly...ahhhhhh.

Other than a few doses of motrin and the concern of explaining 'swine' flu to a four year old ("No, Reagan, you're not turning into a pig...any more than usual..."), getting past the flu is doable.

Strep, however, involves seemingly unexplainable throat pain ( "Daddy, why can't you make it stop hurting?!" is a tough one to swallow). Even worse is the lack of sleep, which then leads to night terrors. I mean HER night terrors, but eventually it becomes ours as well!

Once sleep exits the building, so does the functionality. All of the sudden there's subtle arguments over who's going to sooth the crazy kid tapping her throat in the other room, or what's for breakfast or even how to properly flush a non-working toilet. We were less tired after running a half marathon!! So now NO one wants to do anything, and NOTHING productive gets done (which really, is what the weekends are for, no?).

This morning was a tough go, but Reagan has been on her antibiotics...aka...'magical pink fairy milk'...(hey...whatever it takes)...for over two days now. The note from the doctor says that the school may take her back into the germ factory that introduced this pain to her/us in the first place, after this had occurred. But re-delivering a sick kid BACK into school prompts looks from teachers and parents alike that...well...prompt further explanation that your child is, in fact, NOT turning into a pig.

Besides...if we keep her out of Pre-K, the terrorists win.

Some of us get our '15 minutes', and we don't even know it.

The sweet little girl, who's sweet little dad took her to a sweet little Philly's game is getting all kinds of national attention because Daddy got a foul ball, and she sweetly threw the sweet ball back. Sweet. They were on the Today Show today, and all around the talk circuit, with all the hard pressing questions..."Why did you do that?!?!"...."because...". She's THREE! Why do they do anything?

I've been a baseball fan all my life. My Dad took me to the Red's games in Cincinnati, and I'll always remember them! I've been to Dodger Stadium, Coors Field, and recently Fenway Park. No matter which field, I've always hoped for that one foul ball...never mind a home run ball...and I'm still waitingl That Dad on TV finally got his wish. He got that ball. And he did what any respectable grown up should do, and that's not spill his beer. Well that, and he gave the ball to the kid. Any kid with the sad, deserving look and coal-blackened cheeks of 'Oliver' would do, but he happened to have his own with him. Bonus.

Then...his dream was gone. She chucked the ball back onto the field. Hey, you give a 3-year-old a ball, and she's going to throw it! As fathers, we try, and teach and train our chidren to the likes of Rocky in the Siberian snow drifts, to catch a damn ball...and throw it back. This man should be a major league coach with the arm on that kid. I toss a ball to Reagan, it will hit her in the eye, she'll laugh, then throw it forward with great speed...but the ball will hit the dog behind her somehow...it's a great mystery.

Some guys I pretend to not know would have rather thrown the kid back...so although his dream of that one foul ball disappeared like a Taylor Swift speech at a Kanye party (Kanye says he could've thrown it back better), he should be proud. Not only did he do the right thing and give his kid a hug and say 'that's ok'!, but he somehow saved his dog, her eye and overall 'awwwww' of a country.

First of all, I apologize for the few day off from the blog. I've made it my intention to blog 2-3 times a week at a minimum, but we've been gone...mentally and physically.
We took a trip to Boston. This was a trip that Sarah and her sister had put together for their Dad's (Papa's) 70th birthday. He's a history buff (ex-teacher, in fact), and ex-coach, so they knew he'd appreciate the history of Boston, as well as a trip to Fenway Park. In fact, we almost all enjoyed it!

We made a drive to Lexington and Concord. We climbed the monument at Bunker Hill. We saw the Old North Church where the lantern's of some old schmo named Paul Revere (apparently NOT of Beastie Boys fame, to my embarrassment). Great trip indeed.

Now the funny thing is, is that we've recently had conversations about Reagan, and whether or not she's old enough for Disney World. She's absolutely into princesses, talking dogs and souvenir's that may require another mortgage, so we're convinced next year may be the year.

With that in mind...we somehow NEVER though to consider if she was old enough for Boston. Granted, the trip wasn't 'for' her, but any time you bring a four-year-old, it becomes ABOUT her. So no, Lexington and Concord was of no interest to her. The only Concord she knows is the grape variety shown on a half empty, sticky jelly jar. If the Old North Church had remotely looked like Cinderella's castle, that MAY have won her over slightly. The only thing this child was interested in, is the soft pretzels at the Old State Building. This is the sight of the Boston Massacre as well, which I find is an odd place to sell soft pretzels and roasted nuts. "This is the sight of the dreaded Boston Massacre!! Eight colonials were shot to death here that eventful day, thus leading to the freedom of our country!! Want some nuts?"

We'd go to Fanuil Hall...the oldest marketplace in the country. The Union Oyster House...the oldest restaurant in the country, and we stayed at the oldest, continuously operated hotel in the country...but if The Girl didn't get a Boston Massacre soft pretzel, all this freedom was for not. In her eyes, we may have just stayed British. Next year Goofy had better be carrying a stick of pretzels.

While laying awake in bed this morning, and desperately awaiting 7:00 so I can hear a bad Al Roker joke to claim as my own, I found myself perplexed by something else that I thought was a joke indeed.

Allow me to introduce to you the F.F.P.S.

This, my friends, is "Fun, Fair, Positive Soccer". A league for our athletic children, that will no doubt be nothing short of a joyous, harmonious experience for all.

Just imagine...no standings, no scores, everyone plays and everyone wins!! JUST like in REAL LIFE!! FINALLY a league that we can all relate too! I just know that if little Reagan were take the field, despite running up to and missing the ball nearly every time, she would still see a magical rainbow of colors appear in the sky, Coach Pink Unicorn cheering her on from the sideline, and grape kool-aid after the game.

No more parents arguing!! Your kid just took out my kid with a ferocious pre-k slide tackle? You, sir, are getting a giant Hug and a juicebox!! Come get ya some!!

Wow. Trophies for everyone, no tryouts, balanced teams. It's Stepford Soccer! But I DO have a few questions. Since nothing matters in sports but to just play the game, why have a registration deadline? Just come on out when you're ready! Whoohoo!! Check the website for practice times? Why? We don't need practice since everyone plays and nobody wins!! In fact, don't even worry about injuries!! The magical smurf doctor will swoop down from his soccer ball shapd cloud and fix 'ya right up! Off you go now!

You know, as we celebrate the anniversary of the F.F.P.C (concert) of '69 (Woodstock), and preparing our children for their future in such a glorious, wonderful way, I was thinking...we could apply this same concept to so many other things!!
Just think about it...Fun, Fair, Positive REAL ESTATE!!! YES!! You'll get exactly what you want for your house, everything will work...no repairs necessary, and you don't even need to qualify!! Ok, ok...that last part we've been through before.

Alright then, how about Fun, Fair, Positive Employment!! Resume? What's THAT?!! HAHAHA... you look like a sharp feller!! Come on in and sell some of these here mutual funds that are worth millions!! ...ok...Hundreds!!! Who cares!! Everyone wins!! Oh, you don't know how? that doesn't matter, we preach the F.F.P. way!! So you lost Mr. Johnson's portfolio...here's a trophy anyway!

"I'm sorry your hurt your back, sir...who's your insurance provider?", "why, I have F.F.P. Insurance!!" Suddenly a rainbox appears over the reception desk, she actually smiles for once (this IS magical!) and "You, sir, will be seen RIGHT NOW! Just have a seat in this recliner..."

Fun, Fair and Positive. THAT is what life is truly about. No rules, no effort, no score. So all this 'manners, education, being a good winner AND loser (more loser, to some of us...) and 'responsibility' crap we've been going on and on about ad naseum? What a waste of time!

In response, Sarah said this morning "no kid of mine is playing anything fair!"...she just doesn't see the colors yet.

One of the things I've enjoyed doing recently, aside from picking up hidden dog poop (our dog's version of 'adjusting', apparently...she's a shih-tzu, ironically) is leaving a little early to pick up Reagan and watch her play at 'the playpark', as she likes to call it.

At the end of every weather-permitting day, The Girl's class mercifully unchains them, allows the shackles to fall to the floor, and lets them run and scream like crows over carrion on the fenced-in playground. It's been fun to watch because last week, there was little interaction because she was so new. Yesterday and today were noticeably different, with plenty of germ-sharing snot interaction with all. Ahhh...so proud and happy she's building new relationships that will last life-long...or at least into the next week. I even took a picture.

Then, I realized that as I am sitting alone in the parking lot in my black car with tinted windows in the back, unshaven, and donning a ball cap and dark sunglasses...and an iphone camera...that I am soliciting looks from the teachers and a few parents that were different from the look that says 'ewww...bad fashion guy'. They weren't looking because of my disarmingly good looks, but because they were thinking they may need to disarm ME! I'm THAT guy skulking the kids in the parking lot!

Next thing you know, Baptist Barney Fife storms over with his police light adorned golf cart and starts lapping my car with fire and brimstone in his eyes. Since this is a 'churchy' school, I'm fairly certain the only thing they're allowed to beat you down with is a heavy dose of 'the spirit'.

I decide to antagonize them a little, and make my way, slowly, mind you, to the carpool lane. I was followed and I'm pretty sure radio'd in to a higher authority. Once in line though, I put the tag in the window that let's them know for one, I'm allowed to be there and moderately safe, and who I'm there to pick up...legally. The law peeled off to pursue other evil-doers.

Once I was recognized as one of the less creepy parents, the looks on their faces changed. It was actually nice to see said look go from "Oh!! You're a child stalker"! to a smile and a "Oh!! You're a lazy, unshaven stay/work at home Dad"!! Whew.