parenting

Few traps can be as devestating as the dreaded Why/Because Loop.  You know what I'm talking about.

"Why do we eat soup with a spoon, Daddy?"

"Because we can't use a fork."

"Why?

"Because forks don't scoop."

"Why?"

"Because they have tines."

"Why?"

"Because they're used for poking."

"Why?"

"Because some shmoe many many years ago decided he didn't want to use his hands to eat and therefore invented the fork for poking meat."

"Why?"

"BECAUSE!!!!!!!"

Until the child is old enough, there cannot be a satisfactory conclusion to this trap. It is endless. Hence, it loops. Over and

Often I write these posts late at night and post them the following day. This will be no exception.

Tonight ends one of the longer weekends of my parenting career.

The culprit: Influenza. Or just a nasty cold.

Whatever name we attribute to this particular illness, its devastation is nevertheless widespread: used Kleenex scattered in piles across the floor, on nightstands, in beds, on couches; stained bed sheets and pillowcases; snotty faces, phlegmy hair, ceaseless whining, no sleep, painful crying, and the overwhelming stench of illness and uncleanliness.

Thankfully, we're all too stuffed up to notice.

Monday is day four

They linger in the couch cushions. They hide beneath the refrigerator. They toil under blankets or inside shoes, waiting restlessly until their services are once again required.

I'm referring to pacifiers, the scourge of my existence.

Smiley is almost two.  She still uses her pacifier. We call them lollies.  I don't know why.  No big deal. Smartypants didn't abandon hers until her 3rd birthday. Still, given Smiley's demonic tendencies, I feel a need to begin the weening process early to avoid potential troubles later.

So I tell her, "You don't need a lolly during the day."

She asks, "Why?"

I

The new year has rolled in much as the previous one departed, bereft of happiness or joy but steeped in sentimentality, pain, fear, and sorrow. Thankfully, the two little monkeys infesting my house seem not to have noticed. They continue to destroy, dismantle, and devour. The house exists in a world of limbo, often being cleaned but seldom clean, never more than a few minutes away from further disaster. It's rather frightening that two tiny people can so quickly and thoroughly decimate an entire house.

And that leads us to a new development: Cults. Aboriginal behavior. Collective subconsciouses at work.

In the old west, bartenders and gunmen and every other able bodied gentleman or lady believed wholeheartedly in a common taboo: don't drink the bath water.

Few who lived would admit to anything but disgust at the filth and muck that ran off their skin as they bathed. Dirt and grime and all the treasures caked to their hardened bodies melted away, forming a nasty layer of germs floating in their wash basins. A cowboy might drain the driest, cheapest whiskey bottle in the county, but ask him to sip up some bath water and the fellow might wretch on

Smartypants recently learned the word toddler.  Now, she refuses to call her sister anything else.

"Daddy," she says, "where is the toddler?"

"Daddy, can I play with the toddler now?"

"Baby sister, do you know you're a toddler?  Come here toddler.  Play with me toddler."

It's all rather amusing.  Of course, Smiley disagrees and says, "I a baby."  I've tried to convince her she's no longer a baby, but she won't listen.  In any case, she answers to toddler, so I guess that's an improvement.

Maybe I'll teach Smiley to call her sister a '4-year-old Smartypants'.  Or is that derogatory?

Of all the day's meals, breakfast tends to give us the most trouble. Both girls are quite content to eat the same lunch or dinner day after day, or they eat the same two or three things interspersed throughout the week. But when it comes to breakfast, they're as indecisive as a dieting adult at a McDonald's drive-thru.

In the house, at this moment, we have plain Cheerios, Strawberry Yogurt Cheerios, Vanilla Yogurt Cheerios, Lucky Charms (though I ate most of them), Eggs, Pancakes, Waffles, and a lot of oatmeal. They love each item on the list. And yet getting

Ahh... the winds grow chillier and the sun dips sooner. Smiley and Smartypants ooh and ahh as we drive past houses decorated with colored lights and inflatable snowmen. Being the eldest and wisest of my little monkeys, Smartypants eagerly watches every commercial on television and adds every toy she sees to her list for Santa. Smiley, ever the mimic, pretends to do the same, though even the jolly old bearded man himself will find it difficult to decipher the swirling lines and random dots of her unpracticed penmanship. They imagine sledding and snow angels, lighted trees and ribboned presents. For