Father's Day is June 17

I was given quite a few books about parenting when family and friends found out Daphne was expecting. Some were serious,  some were technical, some were funny, but all were good. My favorite, however, was a little book  given to me by Daphne as a first Father's Day present.

"Father to Daughter" is a compilation of advice from "... dads of successful daughters. Their daughters are academic powerhouses, star athletes, talented artists, honors graduates... This is really their [the dad's] book. I just wrote down what they said."  from the book's preface

Each page contains just one piece of advice, and I think that's perfect. The best advice is almost always a one-liner. The book is divided into eight sections with titles like "The Wonder Years", "The Mystery Years", and "Girls & Boys".

I've already learned this one:

 

Char doesn't have a true purse yet, but I did put one in her Easter basket:

 

 The best compliment I can give this book is that I have shared it with other people who have daughters, and no matter what page they turn to, they say, "Oh, that's so true."

My female high school students assure me this will happen:

I still remember how hard it stung when my dad first yelled that I was a S.O.B. So, noted:

During parent-teacher conferences I showed the book to a buddy of mine who at the time had a 18 month old daughter. I thought he might get a kick out of it. An hour later he returned the book and told me he just ordered three copies from Amazon: one for himself, and two for friends who were about to have daughters born.

Later that evening I handed it to a teacher who had just recently been granted grandma status. She too bought a copy online before giving it back to me.

http://www.amazon.com/Father-Daughter-Life-Lessons-Raising/dp/0761129774

If you're looking how to change a diaper or trying to find out what food is the best for your little girl, then this isn't the book for you.  But if you want some everyday advice from guys who know what they're talking about, then you can't miss.

Page 376 is the only one that doesn't work for me. My dreams aren't this good.

Father's Day is Just Around the Corner

Don't blow it like Jimmy did.

I hope Dam to Dam doesn't beat me up like that.

When I was thinking about running my first marathon, I heard that UNI had sometimes offered a "marathon class". The class met twice a week; Tuesday's class covered physical education and Thursday's class was dedicated to the psychology of running and mental imagery. The assignments included group runs, running logs, and class assignments. The final exam was the participation in a full marathon. 

I couldn't take the class, but I bought the "text book" used to see if I could get some help: http://www.amazon.com/Non-Runners-Marathon-Trainer-David-Whitsett/dp/1570281823. The book is comprised of seventeen chapters, and each chapter covers one week of training ending with a training log page. For me, the most useful information was the focus on the psychological. Sure it's physical, but like anything in life, successful running also depends upon positive attitude and mental strength.

Like any used textbook, the previous owner had already highlighted and written in it. Here's the first running log entry:

It's also the last entry; all the other running log pages are blank.

Five exclamation points? Uffda.

Carousel Conquered!

Charlotte doesn't jump into anything without a lot of thought first, and when it comes to busy streets and pools with deep ends, I'm all for her caution. Last weekend we made another visit to the Heritage Carousel, and after 20 minutes it looked as if Char was going to be a wallflower again.

Here she is contemplating the ride, and if the carnival music wasn't so loud, you could hear the gears in her head whirling around.

Then, without warning, Char ran to the entrance gate and began pounding the bars so she could be let in.

Taa, Daa!

Happily, even after riding 'round 'roun 'round, Charlotte still thinks Dad's brave for riding the tiger.

Everyone Calls You What?

Last year I was walking through a Goodwill store, and the book title, "May We Borrow Your Husband?" caught my eye. The author was Graham Greene, and I jokingly thought, "Okay, Mr. Greene. If your first paragraph makes me laugh, I'll buy your book."

Touché, Mr Greene, touché. You had me at Poopy.

Don't Miss the "NOTE"

I really enjoy reading vintage "fundraiser" cookbooks. Not only are they filled with great family recipes, you just never know when they will make you laugh. I've got a collection of about 25 books, and most are from regional churches, but others are from little leagues and local schools.

This recipe is from "Cooking with Quilters: Mississippi Valley Quilters' Guild".

Reminds me of a SNL skit...

http://www.iviewtube.com/videos/152193/

Why We Love the Downtown Farmers Market

I love meat. Daphne loves dessert. We both love breakfast.

Here's the solution to a problem we didn't know existed:

Behind Closed Doors

Like a lot of the Monson men, sometimes I can be gassy early in the day. One morning Charlotte decided she needed to be in the bathroom with Mommy while Mom was getting ready for work, and Char needed to close the bathroom door.

Meanwhile, our dog Maggie was in the dinning room barking at unseen prowlers. From behind the closed door I could hear Char say, "Maggie! Bark!" in recognition of her dog's voice.

At that point I was walking out of our bedroom, and thinking I was a safe distance away, I let one rip.

Immediately Char yelled, "Daddy! Bark!"

Man, I can't get away with anything.

Tilt Ma World

Merry-go-rounds, Sit 'N Spins, and amusement rides that whip you around in tight circles used to be the best things ever. But just looking at them now makes my stomach do a flip. Just swinging back and forth at the park with Charlotte gives me a headache. How did this happen? Does this affect everyone when they age? Is it an inner-ear thing? I don't know, but I have a feeling that in a few years Disney World is going to put me in a world of hurt.

While we were picnicing at Union Park, Charlotte was drawn to the carousel and its galloping and circling zoo. She rode on its bench seat last year when she was 10 months old, but I doubt she really understood what was happening.

This year she was much more cautious. Although she was really excited to touch the jumping tiger, she couldn't bring herself to stay on the ride. Twice Char stepped onto the carousel's deck, and twice she turned and ran for the exit. We then spent the better part of 20 minutes watching the animals go bounding by, and each time tiger passed Charlotte pointed him out.

The tiger: not the boy.

I decided to get on and show her that riding the tiger isn't a big deal. I flashed the kid at the entrance gate our season pass, and climbed aboard for a ride. As I settled in and gripped the gold support pole, three thoughts ran through my mind at once: 1) Hey, this tiger is really pretty high off the ground. 2) It's really hot in here. 3) Oh, no. This thing goes up and down, too. All which cumulated into, "Oh, crap. What was I thinking?"

For the next two and a half minutes, in an effort to make it look like I was having fun, I smiled, waved, and pointed at the gals as I passed them:

 

I may have felt a bit woozy when the ride slowed to a stop, but I could tell that Charlotte was looking at me in a different light when I stepped off the ride. Her conversation on the way home confirmed that. Over and over, Char repeated in one pattern or another:
"Daddy rode tiger! Daddy rode tiger!"
"Daddy brave!"
"Ca-sel goes round, round, round!"
"Daddy hold tight!"

Depending on your age and your spinning abilities, you may be thinking: 1) Good job, weenie. You survived a children's carousel. or 2) Way to take one for the team, old man.

As long as my daughter is walking around saying, "Daddy rode tiger! Daddy brave!" I couldn't care either way.

For Him and Her

Like a toy that's been overshadowed by its cardboard box, Charlotte's next favorite item is unpredictable. One day she's inseparable from her sock giraffe; the next you can't pry a plastic mixing cup from her grasp. I don't even know where she found it, but last November Char was carting around a perfume ad. It's about five inches square and wrinkled from her clench:

On a Sunday I found it on the floor near the leg of our dining table, and during lunch/ napping time I caught myself contemplating its message. Obviously Gucci is selling the implication that if you wear their scent you'll be able to get close to someone attractive. But what about the titles on the respective bottles? If you are a guy and you are successful, then it's because you are "intense". If you are a woman and you are successful, then it's because you're "guilty". That's hardly fair.

I was pointing out this mixed message to show Daphne how sensitive I am to sexism, but then I lost my direction and made a joke instead of a point.

"... and what does it mean to smell guilty anyway? The only time I smell guilty is when I fart."

Caught off guard, Daphne laughs and quickly adds, "But I'll tell you what. When you smell guilty it sure is intense!"

Laughing at her own joke almost keeps Daphne from getting out the last word, and I throw her a high-five across the table in appreciation. Because we're both exhausted and punchy, laughter bubbles to the surface throughout the rest of lunch. Besides, fart jokes are always funny.

Later, when Daphne has Charlotte on the changing table, I peer over Daph's shoulder and pinch my face together. "Ooooo, bad news. Someone smells guilty."

Note to self: laughing at toddler girls while they're on the changing table hurts their feelings. I guess not everyone enjoys fart jokes.