A Conversation with Annabelle

Two weeks from her second birthday, Annabelle is suddenly becoming a little girl.

She pulls up her pants, cleans up after herself, and flies down the "big kid" slide with ease and confidence. She runs, jumps (sort of), and picks herself up whenever she falls down. She smiles, laughs, cries, and asks us to change her diaper.  

And more than anything, Annabelle talks.

She talks at breakfast and she talks when she's falling asleep. She talks in the car and and she talks when she should be brushing her teeth. She talks to her grandparents and she talks to all her friends at school.

For a while now, going back to my journalism roots, I wanted to have a sit-down interview with Annabelle. You know, get something on record. But her schedule and her publicist made things difficult. Just after lunch today, though, before we read a book and took a nap, I snagged three minutes to fire some questions her way. Here's what transpired:

Me: Annabelle, can I interview you? Is that okay?
Annabelle: (Silence)

See, I told you she could be difficult.

Me: Can I please interview you?
Annabelle: Yeah

Me: What did you have for lunch?
Annabelle: Umm, peach.
Me: You had a peach?
Annabelle: Peach.

She actually had yogurt, fruit, and a smoothie. We're off to a bad start.

Me: What color shirt are you wearing today?
Annabelle: Ummm, green.

She adds "umm" at varying lengths before almost everything she says. It's adorable.

Me: Who is your best friend at school?
Annabelle: Ummm, Norvic. And Bonnie. And Amy. JP! Zach. Chloe. Erin. Shiloh.
Me: That's a bunch of people. Can you narrow it down to one?
Annabelle: JP.

A boy. Obviously.

Me: What is your middle name?
Annabelle: Umm, four, five six.
Me: Four, five, six? Are you sure?
Annabelle: Umm, A, B, C, B.
Me: That's your middle name?
Annabelle: Yeah.

For the record, it's Grace.

Me: What's Daddy's favorite food?
Annabelle: Um, apple.
Me: And Mommy's?
Annabelle: Steak.

Neither answer is correct.

Me: Okay, last one. I know you need to get down for a nap. Where do you live?
Annabelle: Mommy!

Maybe not the best interview I've ever done. But certainly entertaining. Plus, I got a big kiss when it ended, so that's always a plus.

Three Videos and a Toddler

I snapped this photo earlier this week. There was nothing remarkable about it. I didn't take my time, check the lighting, or ask Annabelle to pose in any way. I just said, "Hey! Annabelle!" and she looked up at me and my iPhone with those adorable hazel eyes.

Cute, right?

As I smiled at the picture on my phone, I stopped for a moment and thought, Man, it is so easy to capture every moment of this girl's childhood. 

I've written before about the changing value of a baby book (the value is plunging toward zero) and how fortunate we are today to have so much technology at our fingertips. Weekly, Bridget and I get to look back at all the incredible memories we've already made with Annabelle. And in a few years, Annabelle will get to experience them, too. Her early childhood, I hope, will come alive for her.

The problem, I've found, is separating the wheat from the chaff. Is that picture good enough to keep? Is it engaging enough for Facebook? Is it Instagram-worthy? What about that video I recorded last night?

Videos are especially challenging for me because I can't get enough of watching Annabelle grow. I've uploaded, at last count, 108 Annabelle videos to my YouTube channel in the last two years. That's a bit much.

All of them aren't worth sharing, of course. I think these three are, though. So here is the wheat from the last month, the three best recent videos of our "how are you almost already 2?" toddler:

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.

Annabelle Goes to Market Basket

Every Saturday morning, I go grocery shopping. (Yes, of course this is the life I've imagined from a young age.) I almost always go by myself because I really like efficiency. A solo trip takes maybe 45 minutes. A trip with the two adorable, dawdling females in the family would take at least five hours.

But on Saturday, wanting to give Bridget a little time to herself, I volunteered to take Annabelle on her first big grocery shopping trip. 

Since we've moved to the suburbs, we've started going to Market Basket, which is just delightful. Good food, low prices, excellent customer service. The only problem is that it's really, really crowded -- especially on weekend mornings. 

This realization made me nervous as I loaded a somewhat fussy Annabelle, clutching a Curious George doll, into the car at 7:30 AM. Oh well. Off we went:

Parking lot: We pulled into the crowded lot and Annabelle immediately went into the seat in the grocery cart. This, I thought, was a good sign because Annabelle hates sitting in carts at stores. 

Aisle 1: We headed for the cheeses and yogurts, two popular items in our house. I grabbed a bag of shredded parmesan cheese. "Annabelle's!" Annabelle yelled, as she reached for the bag. I gave it to her. I grabbed some kid yogurts. "Annabelle's!" Annabelle yelled, as she reached for the container. This is going to be a long trip.

Deli: As Annabelle sucked down the blueberry yogurt, I saw a great opportunity for interaction at the deli: "Annabelle," I said. "Do you want to pick a number so we can get more cheese?" She smiled. She pulled number 9 and number 2 showed  on the screen, which gave us time for our first random conversation.

Kind woman #1: "She's so cute. How old is she?"

Me: "Oh, thanks. She's almost 2."

Kind woman #1: "Oh, and I love her Curious George doll. My daughter loves that, too. Where did you get that, sweetie?"

Annabelle: (Silence) 

Me: "We got that in Harvard Square. There's a really nice store down there ..." 

Aisle 4: With the deli, the longest part of the experience, behind us, I had high hopes we were on our way. But as we picked out some granola, I heard the dreaded sound: "Up! Up! Up!" I cringed. "Oh, you don't want to be in the seat anymore, Annabelle?" She started at me. "Up! Up! Up!" Crap. I pulled her out, carried her with one arm and steered the cart with the other. This is going to be a really long trip.

Aisle 10: As we picked up some pouches (one of which Annabelle devoured; her second "treat" of the trip), she had mercifully decided she would walk. "Just stay with Dad," I said, as I grabbed several bottles of addictive Polar seltzer water. 

Kind woman #2: "Oh, how cute. I love her hair."

Me: "Say thank you, sweetie."

Annabelle: (Silence)

Me: "Thanks. That's very nice of you. We like it, too!"

Aisle 12: We saw a huge display of Goldfish. "Fishies!" Seconds later, Annabelle was walking around with her own bag of cheddar fish, treat No. 3. Smiles followed us (mostly her) as we turned toward the busiest part of the store. 

The frozen section: In between fistfuls of fish, Annabelle started holding my hand as the cart traffic picked up. I ducked into the freezers to get some waffles and then some mini raviolis, which delighted Annabelle: "Daddy's IN there!" I grabbed some ice cream. "Daddy's INNN there!" She couldn't stop laughing, which means I couldn't laughing. 

Fruits and vegetables: Enough fun. The fruit and vegetable section is essentially a war zone in Market Basket. Determined suburban moms in workout clothes, dads with complicated grocery lists, young kids "learning how to steer," and older folks carefully finding the perfect tomato. Carts were everywhere. One hand on the cart, one hand in Annabelle's, we weaved and darted our way to nectarines, cucumbers, and crisp green peppers. 

Tired dude: "How old is she?"

Me: "Almost 2."

Tired dude: "Yeah, I have four-year-old twins, so I can't bring them grocery shopping."

Me: "Oh, god. That must be tough."

Tired dude: "Yeah. Yeah, it is ..."

With our cart full, we headed for checkout. I picked up speed as I grabbed Annabelle's hand. Then, suddenly, she pulled.

"Oh, no. I dropped my Goldfish, Dad," shouted a nice couple. I cringed and looked back. No Goldfish on the ground, so I quickly grabbed the bag, smiled at the couple, and headed toward checkout lane #8. 

I expected a mini tantrum because the cashier had to scan the Goldfish, but it never came. Annabelle even volunteered to hold my hand as we walked across the parking lot, something that has proved very challenging in recent weeks. Sure, she took off running when I put the cart back, but, all in all, it was a wildly successful trip. 

Total trip time: 70 minutes. But the extra 25 minutes were the best ones of the day. 

22 Reasons Why I Love Father's Day

I'm not big on holidays. On the whole, they are stressful, outdated, and commercialized. And Halloween is just damn silly.

But for two years now, I've loved Father's Day.

I know what you might be thinking: You're a Dad. Of course you love Father's Day. You're so selfish. Go mow the lawn. 

But I love Mother's Day, too. In fact, I love any day that celebrates our little family, which, of course, includes Oscar's birthday. (He'll be 9 (in dog years) and 63 (in human years) next month.)

On this Father's Day morning, I thought it would be a perfect time to share 22 reasons why I love today:

1. Annabelle slept through the night last night, which was the first time in two months. (What a gift!)
2. It's a holiday that doesn't require gifts.
3. It's a chance to scroll through our growing collection of Daddy-Daughter selfies.
4. It's a chance to remember last week's nap in Aruba, the best one of my life. (See the picture at the bottom in the middle.)
5. It's the best thing Richard Nixon ever did. Richard Nixon? Yes, he officially signed the holiday into law in 1972. 
6. It's another morning of waking up to a beautiful wife.
7. I get to hold my daughter's hand. (That's a treat every time.)
8. I get to try to put my daughter's hair into a ponytail, which is really, really difficult.
9. I'll spend a few minutes remembering the moment I became a dad.
10. The quiet time of typing this blog post while listening to a conversation about when it's appropriate to use the potty. (You should have to pee or poop; we don't just flush the toilet.)
11. No chores for Dad.
12. Oscar, tired from a week at the kennel, lying down under my chair.
13. This commercial showing new dads hearing the big news.
14. Annabelle. Slept. THROUGH. The. Night.
15. Hearing Daddeeeeee when I woke up.
16. Constantly hearing the most innocent, carefree laugh in the entire world.
17. I get to watch the final round of the U.S. Open this afternoon.
18. Knowing that I'll totally be watching Frozen this afternoon. And being totally fine with that.
19. That laugh again.
20. I get to drink a bottle of the best beer in the world.
21. I get to try to be a better dad than I was yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that ...
22. I have the most wonderful daughter in the world.

Happy Father's Day. Enjoy every moment.