The Commercial That Turned Me into a Puddle

Annabelle and I were watching golf a couple Sundays ago.

Well, kind of. I was trying to watch golf while she was climbing over me saying, "Anna, Elsa, and Olaf" over and over again. (I'm still waiting for Frozen to get unbearable. I imagine it'll happen any day now.)

 "Anna, Elsa, and Olaf."

 Someone misses a putt.

 "Anna, Elsa, and Olaf."

 Good Lord, Jordan Spieth is one hell of a golfer. 

 "Anna, Elsa, and Olaf."

 And then, almost like destiny, we both look at the TV screen at the same time and this comes on:
 


If you had been a fly on the wall watching us watch this, here's what you would have seen:

• First scene: Annabelle and I both stare at the screen, drawn in by the adorable music. Neat, I think, we just bought a house, too. These Dad-Daughter commercials are so good sometimes.

• Second scene: I pull Annabelle closer to me as the Dad bends down to explain to his preschooler why coloring on the wall is bad. Man, Annabelle is growing fast. I sniffle a bit.

• Third scene: I pull Annabelle even closer as the little girl falls off her bike. Annabelle speaks up: "Bike!" (She loves seeing bikes.) "Yes, honey," I say. "You're going to ride a big bike like that someday." 

• Fourth scene: We both stare breathlessly at the thunderstorm. The house could catch on fire and I would need to finish watching this commercial.

• Fifth scene: I move Annabelle's hair out of her eyes as we watch Dad comfort his daughter who either didn't make the team or just lost a big game. I'm going to coach everything, I think. Everything! Sports are the best!

• Sixth scene: Oh, boy. It's getting awfully dusty in here. I start to feel chills -- seriously, literal chills -- up my spine as the college-bound daughter falls into her Dad's arms. Then the tears start. I cry about 2-3 times a year and this is definitely going to be one of those times. I can't hug Annabelle much tighter. 

• Final scene: I've essentially pulled Annabelle onto my lap. I'm hugging her with every ounce of strength I can muster between the tears, which are actually running down my cheeks now. Annabelle is just staring.

Just then, Bridget came downstairs. "What are you guys doing down here?" 

"Nothing really. Just crying because of insurance commercials. Typical Sunday."

I've watched the commercial a dozen times since we first saw it a couple weeks ago. I haven't cried since, but the chills still hit me when the daughter goes to college. And as I watched it again right now, right before I posted this, a scary thought crept into my mind:

What in the world am I going to do when all this stuff actually happens? 

Annabelle and Homeless People

I see homeless people every day when I walk to work. When they ask for money, I either look down, pretend I'm listening to my expensive headphones, or mutter an inaudible "sorry" under my breath.

I never give them money -- not even a dollar or a quarter or a dime. Not even at Christmas.

Like most people, maybe even you, I feel awful for these people, but I never do anything about it. And lately, because of Annabelle, I'm wondering if this makes me a bad person.

Someday soon, Annabelle, now with some sense of the world, will walk down the street with me in Cambridge or Boston. We'll hold hands as we stroll down the brick-covered sidewalks and she'll ask me all sorts of questions: Why aren't those cars stopping?Where did that snow come from? Why do people eat food outside? Undoubtedly, as she walks past scattered homeless people in the city, she'll ask questions about them, too: Where does that man live? What do you mean he doesn't have a home? Should we help him? 

Annabelle will ask thousands of questions in her first few years of life, and I look forward to almost all of them. But this predictable line of questioning about homeless people gnaws at me for some reason. Maybe because it's so innocent. Maybe because it's so hopeful. Or maybe because I don't know how I should handle it.

Do I teach her about good and bad decisions? About the crippling effects of drugs and alcohol? About bad luck? Do I just teach her how to look away or how to mutter an inaudible "sorry" under her breath?

I didn't see many homeless people when I was little. In fact, I don't remember seeing any. Everyone lived inside in my small town. (At least I think they did.) If there were any homeless people, I can't imagine they had much luck panhandling. Millbury, Massachusetts, isn't really known as a bustling metropolis.

But now I work in a city and I live near one. And so does my daughter. This, I think, is a very good thing. I want Annabelle to be cultured, open-minded, and aware of how lucky she is to have a home and clothes and food. I want her to get to know people who aren't like her. I want her to see homeless people.

That, of course, will then require me to answer the aforementioned string of questions. I will have to say, "He's homeless because ..." And, I'll probably say, "We should help her, but ..."

Unless something changes between now and then. Unless, this week, as I pass the guy with the sign that says, "I bet you a dollar that you read this," or the guy with the grossly swollen cheek near Starbucks, I do something different. Unless I picture Annabelle looking up at me hopefully with her hopeful hazel eyes and hand over the change in my pocket ...

Do our children make us better people? Should we always pretend Annabelle (or someone wonderfully innocent) is always walking by our side? Would we ever lie or cheat or steal? What decisions would we make?

Or more to the point this post, who would we help?

Behind the Lines of a Sleep Strike

I'm tired. I'm tired as I write this and I'll be tired when anyone reads this.

The problem, you can probably guess from the title of the post and the image above, is that a good night of sleep has been hard to come by in our house lately. Like, really hard. Lovely little Annabelle, who turns 2 in September, has developed some quirky sleeping, er, waking habits in the past couple months.

And man, I am tired.

As I wrote back in March, after 18 months of being a great sleeper, Annabelle went through the 18-month sleep regression. But several weeks later, the regression regressed and we were back to our 7 PM - 6 AM routine. A bath, a few books, a kiss on the cheek and it was off to binge watch House of Cards. While watching Frank and Claire lie and cheat their way to power in Washington, Bridget and I would have carefree chats about politics, snow, and the future. Ah, the good, old days.

Then on May 10 (thanks, Day One journal app) Annabelle woke up at 3:30 in the morning with vomit in her crib. We cleaned her up and figured our bed was the best place for her for the rest of the night. The next night, same thing. Vomit, our bed. Next night, same thing.

And since then, well, it's been kind of a nightmare.

Annabelle stopped throwing up that third night (just a stomach bug, we think), but she was suddenly scared of sleeping in her crib. She'd eventually fall asleep, but not without one of us in the room. Then, almost on a schedule, she'd wake up around midnight or 1 AM and scream until we finally relented. Some nights we slept on her floor or in the wooden rocking chair in her room, but other nights we were just too damn tired and brought her to bed.

(If you're a parent, this is where you're judging us and saying: Never bring her into your bed!) 

We tried the "cry it out" technique one night, but she screamed for 3 1/2 hours and then fell asleep standing up. With the light on. (That's the picture you see above. I snapped a quick shot to celebrate the moment.)

It was a brutal night and we decided it wasn't for us. We also decided that our bed wasn't the best spot (Annabelle tends to form the middle of an "H," which isn't good for anyone) and we started switching off nights in the guest bed with Captain Sleep Strike.

But now we're in a tough spot. Sleeping well at night, it is well documented, is incredibly important for your health and well-being. (The New Yorker had a great three-part series on sleep this week.) Without enough sleep, it's hard to perform well at work and, well, at life. And we just don't get good shut-eye.

Instead, we sit for an hour with Annabelle until she finally falls asleep. Then, a few hours later, she's up and we're drawing straws to see whose turn it is. Is it sustainable? Maybe for a bit. Is it good? Not for anyone.

So, friends, if you have any advice or words of wisdom, our ears are wide open. Unfortunately, so are our eyes.