The Playpen

My daughter hasn’t turned four yet, but having just officially started up my 2009 today, I thought this would be a good time to write a continuation of a couple of posts I did a while ago. It is my experience that people change a little around the first of the year. They have new outlooks, new goals. They have conviction and inspiration. Relationships strengthen or weaken, depending on their value. All in all, a new year ushers in a period of reflection for most people, followed by a period of action. I am no different. And I found myself thinking deeply about my role as a father this morning, and what my daughter and my relationship with her have meant to me over the past year. Today is my fist day back to work. Same for my wife. Frankie still has a few days off from school (is it just me or are the kids these days getting WAY more time off than we ever got?), so I dropped her off at the in-laws. We had just wrapped up two glorious weeks together, one of the longest breaks from work I have had in a long time. It was truly terrific, capped off by a frightening trip to Chuck E. Cheese yesterday, which incidentally marks the first time I have ever lost my daughter. But that’s another post.

Frankie was unusually quiet in the car. I assumed she was a little tired, but it still seemed a bit out of character for her. When we were about five minutes away from Grandma’s, she said softly to me: “Daddy? I don’t want you to go.” My outside reaction was a smile and some positive-parenting response about what a terrific time we all had and that I would see her this evening, followed by some rhetoric about having responsibilities and making sure that the time we DO spend together is as much fun as possible. My inside reaction? CRUSHED. The truth is, I didn’t want to go either. I’ve decided that I am NOT one of those people who would “get bored” being at home with my family all day, every day. I could do it every day of my life and love it. Breakfast, pajamas, music, games, newspapers, coffee, laughter, dancing. All of it. And the truth is, its only been a couple of hours and I miss her terribly.

I complain a lot. I complain about the routine. I complain about cleaning up spills and whining. I complain about having a junky SUV that smells like a month-old McDonalds 10-piece instead of some luxury car. I have even been known to complain about not having enough time to myself. Sometimes even the best dads need a kick in the ass. So today, when she fell and skinned her knees on the way into grandma’s house and I left her there with tears drying on her cheeks after the biggest hug I’ve gotten in a while, I got mine. She is my whole life, and I think that’s what being a father is really all about.

See, my wife Aline is currently about three-and-a-half months pregnant with our second child. This is the first time I have ever announced this news, and I actually debated whether or not to do it for a long time for two reasons. The first is fear of the “Great Jinx”. Yes, Aline made it past the 12-week milestone. But Frankie’s rocky birth and subsequent health issues have left us extremely gun shy and negative about the entire experience. Sure, we got a beautiful and healthy daughter out of it in the end, but the whole journey was simply less than rosy.

The second reason is that I have been a little unsure about how I myself have felt about it, and haven’t done very well with sorting out my feelings regarding a second child. I think I really want one, then I worry about the strain it will put on us. I get excited about doing up a new baby room, then I worry about how to pay for an extra tuition. I have been on the proverbial fence and it has kept me less than enthusiastic regarding the whole issue.

But this morning, as I left my daughter and reflected back on our experiences together over the last two weeks, I suddenly felt sure. Remembering her singing to herself quietly at the table while putting stickers on construction paper. Recalling the joy I felt when we wrestled one morning on the bed and her whole body shook with laughter. Sitting here typing with a quiet heartache while wondering about her little skinned knees are all signs that point to the same basic self-realization.

I LOVE my daughter. I LOVE being a father. And I am really. TRULY. Looking forward to doing it again. Hang in there, Frankie. We’ll get you a little brother or sister yet, you’ll see.

-Matt

It has been a challenging year indeed. Through difficult times, however, one constant has remained. The decency and incredible resiliency of the human spirit. Time and time again we have been impressed, inspired and touched by how good and truly wonderful people can be. We are certain that 2008 was a necessary foundation, upon which we can build an incredibly successful and joyous 2009, and we look forward to sharing it with you all. We leave you this Holiday Season with a brief look back on the previous year, and thank each and every one of you for sharing it with us.

Wishing you the very best of the season,
Matt, Aline and Frankie

A while ago my daughter started preschool. She had been going to daycare a couple of days a week, but I was admittedly a bit apprehensive about her making the transition to a full-blown structured school environment. I had read many articles that talked about how much anxiety being away from the parents can cause in a young child, and even talked to other parents who told me horror stories about how their own preschoolers had cried and thrown tantrums every morning when they dropped them off for months. Not good. I needed a plan.

So I decided that I would do a little drawing for her every morning and give it to her right as I was leaving. I thought it would help distract her, and that it might even cause some of the other kids to give her some attention and maybe make it a little easier for her to make friends. It worked like a miracle. What I did NOT think about, however, is that my plan actually required me to do a drawing every….single……day. It has become, I’m afraid, a parenting albatross that I fear I may wear around my neck until she goes away to college.

Either way, it IS fun to look through them, and I was doing that this morning. Some of them are actually pretty good, I think. Especially considering I do them in a chaotic whirlwind while gulping down coffee and attempting to pull my dress shirt on over my other arm while creating my masterpieces. Like this one:

The one on the left is actually the jack-o-lantern we carved together at a pumpkin party carving party this Halloween. She loved it. And this isn’t too bad:

MAYBE the fish looks a little stoned, but she won’t realize that until she gets older, God willing, so for now it was a success. And here’s a cool one:

Nana is Grandma. I gave it to her on the day when Nana was flying in to hang out with us. She got really excited. I’m not sure exactly why I decided to put Nana in a pilgrim shirt, but its cool. For all I know she may actually wear one now and then. But then I came across this little beauty:

Yes, I do enjoy an occasional shot of tequila now and then. Is the Agave Cactus to blame for the sheer randomness of “the TOMATO gang”? Probably. I’m sure it seemed like a good idea at the time. For the life of me, I cannot figure out why I would chose to draw tomatoes in the first place. They are pretty weak renditions, too; especially the two flunkie tomatoes flanking the queen. I AM fairly certain that I came up with “the TOMATO gang” once completing my drawing and realizing that, should Frankie look at this fine specimen without an explanation, she would have absolutely no idea what I had given her. To cap it off, I really phoned in the title. Apparently I wrote “TOMATO” in fancy block letters, had another shot, then scribbled in “the” and “gang” as an afterthought. Beautiful. I DID at least put an exclamation point at the end. This says “the TOMATO gang” is wild! “the TOMATO gang” is madcap, crazy and fun! Finally, to my horror, I came across this one:

What do you mean? Clearly its a ladybug. This drawing bothers me on so many levels I am amazed she didn’t have nightmares from it. First, he has no arms. I assume that is because I drew the wings first then realized that arms would be impossible, but it bothers me that he can’t wave. But thats not the worst part, lets just be honest. What terrifies me the most is that I clearly sent my daughter into a progressive, diversified classroom wielding a terrible banner of racism. What possessed me to have this innocent little bug smiling unknowingly while decked out in blackface stage makeup is beyond me. Here we are, in the midst of an era that many thought we would never see. A man like Barack Obama is elected into the White House and racial lines are broken down in a heroic display of intelligence and unity, and I send my poor daughter to school with Al Jolsen, ladybug bigot. Dear God, man. What is wrong with you? Its a wonder she made it out alive. I suppose I could get away with saying that his face is intended to look like he has has a heavy five ‘o clock shadow, but the obvious next questions would be where is the cigar butt and the bottle of rotgut whiskey? Its just a bad deal all around.

That being said, I’m still batting about .650 or so on the drawings. So for now, I guess I’ll keep it up. At least until one of my drawings gets her put in detention.

-Matt
A few more days left to get your little ones some cool holiday gear! Visit RedSparks.com, our online boutique. The WHOLE SITE is 20% off.

Does anyone remember Sniglets? Rich Hall came up with them for an old show called Not Necessarily The News, then released a whole mess of books. The premise was simple: words that should be in the dictionary but aren’t. I loved ‘em. Bought every book.

After spending over three years with my daughter, I have found myself constantly repeating the phrase “GOD, that’s annoying when she does that. There ought to be a Sniglet for that!” So, I thought I’d give old Mr. Hall a nod and try to come up with a list of my own.

Dorabandonment – The sudden realization that your toddler has left you watching a loud, repetitive mind-numbing cartoon by yourself for the last 15 minutes.

Vacatious Interruptus – The uncanny ability for a child to develop a violent cough, runny nose and high fever the day before the “mommy and daddy weekend getaway” you’ve had planned for months.

Aviashit – Any massive and embarrassingly obscene bowel movement expelled by your child on an airplane within the 30 minutes during ascent or descent when no one is allowed to move from their seat.

Vox Parvis – A disease affecting adults with children that causes them to unknowingly continue singing children’s songs loudly in the car with the windows down long after they have dropped their offspring at preschool. Symptoms include public humiliation and questioning looks from strangers.

Monkey Steals Plums – A series of debilitating martial arts moves made popular by young Shaolin Monks whereby a child climbs rapidly onto her father’s lap, then brutally grinds an elbow (about as soft and round as a ball point pen) into his nether-regions. Can be performed on mothers by changing the pressure point to the chest area.

Gelatantrum – The fit of hysterics exhibited by a toddler, usually in Target, whereby loud screaming, spitting and overall spastic behavior is accompanied by complete loss of internal skeletal structure and increased body weight, prohibiting the parent from standing the child back up on its feet, lifting it, or walking it out of the store to privacy.

Olfactic Mile – A unit of measure used to gauge the distance a toddler can insert its finger into one nostril.

Divine Wind – The unseen natural, biologic force powerful enough to completely obliterate and destroy tidy living rooms and dens seconds after they have been cleaned. See also: Pediastorm.

Urilatency – The delayed decision of a toddler to decide he has to go to the bathroom one additional time after teeth brushing, book reading, puppet show, lying in bed, pulling up covers, turning off light, whispering good night and beginning to close his bedroom door.

Urilaziness – The temptation by the parent to exclaim “Oh, just do it in your bed”, when experiencing “urilatency”.

-Matt
Why not check out our online baby boutique, RedSparks or some cool toddler holiday gifts? No. Really. Why not?

In case you missed it, JustMiss nailed the “hidden danger” contest in my previous post and is now the proud owner of a $25 RedSparks gift certificate! I DO have to give an honorable mention to Jessie for making me look like a complete horse’s rear end and pointing out that there was a tiny electrical outlet in the background that was not covered with a plastic thingy. It must have fallen out right before I shot the photo. Really.

So The Playpen has been up and running for a year now. I have learned a lot, and have made a LOT of mistakes (sorry to anyone who’s blog I stalked in the early months. How was I supposed to know there were stats?)

I have also learned that, once in a while, its OK to pay yourself off for all your hard work and writing with a little good natured self-promotion. And, with the current state of economic affairs, what time would be better than now?

For anyone who doesn’t know The Story, my wife Aline and I decided to start our online baby clothing boutique, RedSparks, after our daughter was born prematurely (there wasn’t a lot of cool preemie clothing available at that time). We have been open for just over a year and I can honestly say that things are going fairly well. We carry preemie clothes for tiny little boys and girls. We also go all the way up to 4T with infant and toddler merchandise as well. We carry books, toys, accessories and bath and body; everything stylish and hip for babies. Stop by some time and check us out, that’s all I ask…no pressure.

What’s that you ask? Why, yes, we ARE running a sale right now! Everything on the entire site is marked down 20% (you can even take an additional 20% off sale merchandise) through December 25, 2008. Go to the homepage or just redeem the code “holidaysale” at checkout and start saving money. You almost can’t afford NOT to do it, am I right?

There. That wasn’t so bad was it?

Back to our regularly scheduled programming.

Matt

Here’s the thing. I am NOSY. In a bad way. I will flip through people’s mail while they are getting their coats, or look through photos that I have not been invited to peruse. A new and exciting avenue for nosiness was revealed to me after launching this site. Blogging.

People innocently post photos of their kids, birthday cakes, recipes they have made, what have you. What they do not know, however, is that I am hunched over my laptop, face inches from the screen, absolutely scrutinizing the background of the shot. Yep. I’m scary. When a shot of Junior learning to draw a happy face pops up in my reader, I am saying to myself “Oh NO. I can’t believe you would chose those throw pillows with THAT sofa”, or “A Patrick Nagel print in your family room? What is this, 1982?” I am awful. I MUST know what is going on back there…I can’t help myself.

So I have decided to open myself up to the same scrutiny. You see, in addition to being a blog pic voyeur, I also obsessively question whether or not I am a good parent. So I will let you be the judge. In this random shot of my daughter and I innocently enjoying some good-natured play, you can find SEVEN signs that I am a terrible parent. Be the first to name all seven in the comments correctly and you will win yourself an awesome $25.00 gift certificate to be used at our online baby boutique, RedSparks.com. Just in time for the holidays!

So go ahead. Peek away. You know you want to. Note: This image is a thumbnail. Click the pic for a larger one!

Oh yeah, I’d also like to thank the good people at Sensible Sippers for sending us some samples of their terrific product. Frankie really did love them and we will be buying them again. They’re organic, you know!

-Matt

So Aline and Frankie decided to make some cupcakes. Not just any cupcakes, mind you, PINK cupcakes. As anyone knows who has read Pinkalicious over 20 times will know, too many pink cupcakes make your skin turn red, and one must offset such reaction by eating only green items such as broccoli, celery and lettuce. For my daughter, the green food is an acceptable loss. One must make sacrifices for the sake of pastel culinary expression.

So the way it works is, they make them, then we all sit on the floor and watch them bake. Its sort of a bonding moment. Normally, its filled with merriment and joviality….phrases such as “They’re almost ready!”, and “They are going to be delicious!”. Norman Rockwell stuff.

This time was a bit different. I had gotten up to look up a recipe for deep fried pickles when I heard my daughter’s sweet, innocent three-year-old voice say “they look like BUTTS!”. Obviously, I was intrigued by the comment. I nonchalantly walked into the kitchen and peered casually at the cupcakes baking in the oven.

At this point, it became difficult for me to sort out my feelings. For one, they DID look like butts. So much so, in fact, that I imagined it would be difficult to place one into my mouth after they were iced…especially if they were still slightly warm. Second, how did my sweet little girl KNOW they looked like butts? All children experiment with the nether-regions from time to time but to have actual working scientific knowledge of the appearance of said area was more than somewhat disturbing. I looked more closely and came to the conclusion that this cupcake,

and this cupcake

were the culprits. The others are close, but can still be explained away. Those particular two ended up in the trash.

At the end of the day, we all ate the cupcakes, and my daughter forgot about her analogy. But I believe, no…I KNOW that I will never, ever, eat a pink cupcake again without gagging slightly. Thanks, sweetie.

-Matt


Did you know we sell preemie clothes AND baby clothes? Everything’s on sale, too! Check it out at RedSparks.com!

I’m pleased to announce a special guest for the third entry in our Preemie Adventure series. This series typically consists of a collection of real-life stories from real-life parents that deals with the emotional roller coaster associated with pre-term birth.

This installment comes Barbara, who writes TherExtras, and presents a unique perspective, as she tells of life in the NICU as an OT some thirty years ago.

Barbara H. Boucher, PT, PhD, OT has devoted her career to the health and well-being of children. She is a specialist on the treatment of movement disorders and developmental problems. Her credentials include a degrees and licenses to practice occupational therapy and physical therapy, and a doctor of philosophy in Human Development and Family Sciences. She has clinical experience in rehabilitation hospitals, neonatal intensive care units, private homes, and public schools. She was a university faculty member and taught graduate students in physical therapy for 6 years. Stop by and check out her blog…it is a vast wealth of information.

Drama in the NICU

I first walked into a NICU in 1978. I was a young adult, recently graduated from college and newly licensed as an occupational therapist. Not to be so ‘about me’, but as a developmental specialist – I look through a lens that sees every moment in time as exactly that – a moment in time. I set the context for my early NICU experience with who I was then.

The NICU was usually calm but with the constant-many-metronome-like-beeping of life-sustaining machines – I can imagine the sounds again without effort – as I’m sure you can also. Visually the NICU was a ‘busy’ room and at the same time, almost monochromatic save for the carefully spaced, mostly-brownish babies in isolettes or open ‘warmers’ for those who required more constant care, er, touching by medical personnel. Specialists in neonatology were only beginning to discuss the effects of 24-hour light on the babies.

The first NICU I worked-in was in an old inner city hospital serving mostly ‘indigent’ patients (terminology of the times) - meaning the patients received care from a government (county) administered entity. They did not have choices for where to obtain medical care. Despite our real and obvious differences, the mothers of the babies and I had to adjust to the near-foreign environment of the NICU. It was not a place many people entered or experienced. Completely created for a small number of people, the NICU in 1978 was rough and competent at the same time.

Matt posted statistics on preterm births that ring true with my experience in terms of both women in poverty and girls (younger than 17 years) who give birth. Without means or maturity, a pregnant female is less likely to get pre-natal care which is associated with preterm birth.

Before entering the NICU I was required to don a gown and do a surgical hand-scrub. Was it just me or was the NICU always a bit warm? The nurse manager was exceptionally nice to me while explaining the temperature control measures for the babies. Pushed from a warm environment too soon, temperature was something that could be controlled for the babies.

OTs started and ran the ‘infant stimulation’ program, but the PTs wanted to get in on it. A bit of a turf war rumbled as an undercurrent in this place. I was an outsider in the NICU, too, among nurses who spent 8-hour shifts with the babies while I visited the room only daily, 2x/day at most. Don’t even think I had more than the merest awareness by the physicians. Classical medical hierarchy was in place. While unknown to most of the community that paid for the care, the NICU was a microcosm of the society surrounding it. Within a space no bigger than your home, staff and MDs interacted on personal and professional agendas despite a communal mission to grow babies out of the nursery.

One day I was doin’ the usual infant stimulation to Baby-who-weighed-enough-for-the-OT-to-touch-him. The routine included some touching (massage), touching to the mouth (oral stimulation), changing the baby’s position (handling), gently moving the baby (vestibular stimulation), talking to the baby and tinkling a bell near his ear (auditory stimulation), moving a black-and-white cardboard target in front of his face and watching for his eyes to follow (visual stimulation). I glanced to my left and saw the neonatologist with an unfamiliar physician working on a baby nearby. Without any prior information I knew what he was doing. He was inserting a small plastic reservoir between the baby’s skull and scalp to collect excess fluid from the brain. Neurosurgery less than 4 feet from me and my tinkly bell.

I pause to think more on that memory and its impact on me, a mother for a while now.

In the NICU were the drama of coming to life and the potential of death.

Like a mechanical womb trying to give birth to numerous babies the NICU showed young-me graphically the intensity and frailty of humanity.

No mothers or babies were turned-away from this hospital. With fewer choices than others they came and were given everything available to survive premature birth.

The numbers of preterm births in the US look big, but you know you are in the minority of birthing mothers and participating fathers for your experiences in a NICU. If family and friends don’t get it, can’t distinguish the mark a NICU experience makes on you, let that reinforce your membership in an elite and proud group of parents. Upon entering the NICU you experienced your child in most unique way, profoundly and dramatically.

You can subscribe to Barbara’s feed here.

In honor of Prematurity Awareness Month, please take a moment to stop by The March of Dimes and sign the Petition For Preemies. Your signature will help raise awareness of this rapidly growing phenomenon, and hopefully gain support for prematurity-related research and data collection.

If you would like to submit your preemie stories and photos for inclusion in The Preemie Adventure, drop us a comment, or email us at matt@redsparks.com.

Matt & Aline

One September night, I turned on the light,
And sat my girl in her pink chair.
“I need to start soon, so pick your costume.
Lets not leave this up in the air.”

“Santa!” she cried, and my eyes opened wide.
“But that’s Christmas!” I said with a shout.
But then I thought twice, this might be quite nice.
The Santas would not be sold out!

I hopped in the car, didn’t go very far,
And drove to the holiday store.
With a victory cry, I held Santa high.
The trip took five minutes, no more.

I rushed in with a whirl and showed my sweet girl
The beautiful, easy red suit.
She started to cry, “No! BUTTERFLY!”
And gave poor old Santa the boot.

I fell to my knees, my head in my hands
I sobbed and I screamed and I cursed.
Accepting my plight, I went out in the night.
On the eve of October 31st.

I pulled up to the shop, my jaw it did drop,
When I saw the ridiculous line.
A sea of parents were there, pulling out their gray hair,
As their kids screamed and shouted and whined.

I walked, head hung low. To the end I did go,
The outcome remains to be seen.
But I stood and I waited, better not to be hated,
By my sweet young girl on Halloween!

Happy Halloween Everyone!

Matt
Check out our last minute deals on all Halloween Costumes! OK, not really, but come look at our cool Fall baby clothes anyway at our online boutique, RedSparks.com!

First and foremost, I’d like to express my sincerest thanks to Daniel at Deguia.net. Unbeknownst to me, our preemie and baby clothing site, RedSparks.com, has been unreachable to, oh, just about HALF THE COUNTRY for the last month. Daniel pointing this out, then graciously offering technical support, saved us from losing any more orders than we already have. Thank you, man!

Now on to business. We have a winner in the Lightning Traveling T-Shirt Giveaway. Even though it only got four comments (I chalk this up to the above mentioned server issues, NOT shoddy content), I ran it through the random number generator anyway and it came up lucky number 3!

Oh…my….God, its McMommy! Like SHE needs more free stuff, right?

Anyway, McMommy? You have to get this thing out of here fast! I dragged my feet and Lightning WILL strike if I don’t move this thing! Congratulations!

-Matt
Have you checked out the amazingly cute new fall baby and preemie-wear at RedSparks? You should, you know. Will it hurt to look? Didn’t think so.