Deer in the Headlights

Living in certain parts of the US, you may have experienced, a deer in the headlights.

The situation can be harrowing, or enlightening, depending on many factors. For example, a deer in your headlights 20' directly in front of you while your car is traveling 65 mph on the freeway, may elicit a response involving skid marks on the road or skid marks in your underoos. Alternately, a deer in your front yard grazing as you pull into your driveway can be a calming reminder that you need to cut your grass, and a clear example of how beautiful nature can be.

When a deer turns to view a bright light source like a headlight, they are momentarily blinded and they freeze in place. You can see how at 65 mph in front of you, this is not a desirable outcome, whereas in your yard, a few extra minutes of staring before the deer begins to eat your garden may give you time to protect your hydrangeas.

Deer are a big piece of life during certain times of the year in Wisconsin. For instance, the second story on the news this evening was about a deer jumping through a window into the Oconomowoc Piggly Wiggly and roaming the aisles of this neighborhood grocery store. For my friends in other states who may have never, "Shopped the Pig", it's important to know that the cheese and booze aisles are the major focal points of this regional behemoth.

I would venture a guess you don't often get this type of shopping companionship at your Whole Foods, it's not like the $90 a pound lobsters just hop on out of the tank and carry your Pellegrino and kale with kohlrabi salad to the counter for you. I've attached photographic evidence of the hoofed marauder. I often find the need to sit down when deciding which type of margarita mix goes with which cheese I'm planning to serve, so I was able to empathize with bambi here.

As a dad with daughters, the "deer in the headlights" stops by at least once a day, usually when my explanation for something lasts longer than 3 sentences or we are learning a new concept that might be skimming by at 65 mph when my ladies need it standing in the front yard grazing instead.

So, I've begun using one liners to get points across to my children. I'm not sure if that's appropriate, but I was once told that one of the best things about having your own kids is that you get to screw them up from scratch, so I'm thinking the worst case scenario is that they may end up with some pithy or breviloquent set of values that will fit right in to today's internet meme society. Best case, my kids end up using these comments on my wife and I, and remind us to practice what we preach.

A few of the standard "go to" one liners I use in an effort to avoid the deer:

"Can't is a bad word"
"Are you being kind, grateful, and happy?" (the motto on the kids chalk board)
"Everyone has a but" (whenever the word "but" is used as a prelude to an excuse)
"Hard things are usually the right things to do"

I pull out the classics still:

"If it was easy, everyone would be doing it"
"There are starving children in other countries, is it kind to waste food?"
"Kids in China would like these toys back, we can arrange it"
"Which one of you is the phantom pooper who never flushes? Thanks for wiping BTW"

These one liners certainly have begun to transfer and appear to be working. My wife commented that she has been getting them thrown back at her recently. This was rewarding to hear. Certainly I had hoped they were listening, now I had some potential confirmation of this.

In an effort to improve my golf game while spending more time with my littlest daughter, I took her with me to the golf range. Her patience can be about that of a goldfish, however, with sports, she seems to be capable of a bit longer span. So, I handed her a tiny 9 iron with a pink handle, a small bucket of balls, and gave her a goal. Hit one of two cones that were 15' away with a golf ball, and I would buy her ice cream. Excited, she began swinging away. Couple solid hits, and better than I expected she would do with the first 7-8 balls.

I tried to give her advice in one liner format, perhaps something I heard:

Relax
Are you balanced?
Get closer to the ball with your feet
Focus on the ball
Easy swing

A couple nice folks walking by at the range complimented her on her swing, very helpful to keep the 4 year old engaged in what she was doing. A little boy about her age came over and wanted to chat with her about the putt putt range he was headed to next. She was ready for this welcome distraction. She smiled, then she brushed her hair away from her eyes to get a better look at junior, I put the kibash on this one with a reminder about how good the ice cream would taste if she hit her goal. I hope this works still when she is 16.

She ran through all her balls, getting very close several times and making me proud, as well as a bit jealous of how natural her swing was. I realized she made it look easy to have fun while golfing regardless of where the ball went.

She ran over and grabbed more balls from my bin, smiling and giggling the entire time and went back to hit more at the orange cone of potential sugary dairy goodness.

When all the balls were gone, and the target was not hit, the negotiation began. "Dad I got really close, maybe we should share an ice cream instead?" Clever, appeal to my love handles, well played child, well played. I held firm, "No, it would be hard for me to do that, you made a deal with me"

"Dad, hard things are usually the right things to do"

I giggled inside. "But sweetheart, you didn't hit the cone"

"Dad, everyone has a but"

I was just a happy deer bouncing through a field toward some paved area. "I can't give you ice cream when you didn't hit the cone"

"Dad, can't is a bad word"

At this point, I likely needed to get out of this conversation before the entire public golf range heard her ask me if I had ever failed to flush the toilet. It was then I realized who the deer was and who was really driving the car with the high beams on.

I successfully explained a deal is a deal, and did not pay out on the ice cream bet, but not without a few glares of disappointment and the cold shoulder. Fortunately, the attention span is bi directional, and all was forgiven in 5 minutes.

If you are a daddy with daughters, sometimes you are the deer in the headlights, sometimes you are the deer in the piggly wiggly, but remember, everyone has a but...

Enjoy your wonderful dears

bvd

Father's Day

All across America, baby daddy's are being celebrated today. Being a father is such a unique gift. There is nothing as exceptional, as the love of a child.

I awoke to a note draped over my shoulder and a child squirting out of the room in the hopes I would not see her and believe the document had magically appeared. I had enjoyed a Costco margarita the night before, which lead to a very nice 11 hour slumber, however, I seem to have good peripheral vision and a sixth sense for sneaky children as one of my parental superpowers.

The note read:
"Do not come into the kichen. I love you dad."

I glanced at my wife, and was told my eldest daughter had planned something herself, and she suggested I comply.

I piddled, changed, prepared for the day, and walked into the living room. I was immediately greeted with a loving grateful smile, and knew instantly a 7 year old had put her heart into planning my morning.

I was directed to sit on the couch, and was told we needed to check in with the waitress. My oldest executed a quick change Nathan Lane would have been proud of, and the entire family checked in with her for breakfast at a stool that doubled as a counter, and received immediate seating at our "restaurant"

The table was set very well. Placemats were square with the centerpiece, each setting had a spoon, fork, knife and napkin, along with a glass of ice water. There was only one menu for the entire table. I realized this concept was unique. Most of the fancy restaurants I have been to have an overabundance of menu's. Our menu was quite simple. We had a choice of the "Speshal". Having only one menu for the entire table made for some great conversation and communication within the meal party. Perhaps this format for a new restaurant? Anyways:

The menu had 2 choices, soup, or eggs. It has been a while since I had a soup for breakfast, so my interest was piqued. I asked the 7 year old chef what the soup was, she replied, "vegetables chopped up in a broth, like a soufflé" At this moment, I knew that Gordan Ramsey's Masterchef Junior had made an impact. My wife and I have never cooked a soufflé, and frankly, that a 7 year old would default to this as a menu option tells you a bit about the impact television has on a kid. Intrigued, I considered ordering the "soup that tastes like a soufflé" but decided, eggs was a better option. Coffee with eggs was ordered, and my father's day adventure began.

The family sat down with me, and we discussed the number of the eggs our chef should cook. We recommended 7 eggs for the 4 of us, however, our chef let us know the most eggs she had ever cooked was 11, and because of this, she wasn't sure she could cook 7... After a quick math discussion and the pre requisite warnings about being cautious with the stove, she began. There were no injuries, no undercooked eggs, and nothing was spilled on the floor. This is success.

My coffee was excellent, the Keurig was a wonderful invention, not just for daddy's with daughters on father's day, but for consistent morning cups of joe when you can barely wake up.

I've never had better eggs. They were made with love

Mid roe ingestion, I realized that a present had been prepared for me. A gigantic smile walked up and handed me a bag with colored cellophane paper covering the opening.

As I extracted the handmade card inside the bag, I read my way through the handwritten poem. It didn't rhyme, and I couldn't consider it jazz, as it didn't syncopate well. It contained the word love at least 4 times, and more importantly, it was written from the heart.

I reached into the bottom of the bag and pulled out a photo frame. Not just any photo frame, but a handmade frame, surrounded by rocks which were hand glued on the frame. It held 2 photos of my daughters, and in the center, a handwritten note which said, "you rock dad"

Inside, I realized something I've known for a while but don't like to admit. Outside, I smiled and gave my daughters a kiss.

Father's day is "speshal"
Father's day means stay out of the "kichen"
Father's day means "soup or eggs"

Today I am thankful to be a father of two wonderful girls

bvd

Summer

Olaf the snowman burst onto the scene a few years ago, and thoroughly reinforced that summer is something to be cherished. After the last few days of umpiring U5 and U6 baseball outdoors, in what felt like a sick and twisted experiment of a cross between a humidifier and an oven, like Olaf, I was hoping for my own personal snow cloud. I think that we should remember someone far more important at the beginning of summer than Olaf, a New Yorker by the name of Willis Haviland Carrier. Willis is credited with the invention of modern air conditioning. My wife credits Willis for extending her patience (and our daughter's time outside of the timeout chair) during summer. We are thinking about putting his photo on our wall if it gets any warmer this season.

As school closed out, I received my daughter's report cards and some interesting updates from their final days of school.

My youngest celebrated a 3K graduation. I was traveling and unable to attend, and I lean towards conscientious objector to non major graduations anyways. As I watched a video my wife took at the ceremony, it began with the 14 children carrying American flags in a processional, to "God Bless America" playing in the background. My little goofball was last, smiling and waving for the camera. I have begun apologizing in advance to any of her future teachers, as I expect deuce to be a bit more difficult to tame in the future. For those of you who may have read my earlier posts, you may recall her night time meltdown nickname is, "good times" and her older sister's is "hot mess".

At the end of her last week of 1st grade, my daughter attempted to plan a play. She intended it to be a surprise for her teacher, but in her words she was, "found out on account the boys told her teacher about their practice at recess" The play was titled, "The bandits who stole everything" and similar to a work of Shakespeare in only one way, I was told after the performance by her teacher that it was far too LOOOONG. When I asked my daughter about the performance, I was told it didn't go great "on account the boys never wanted to practice they just wanted to play kickball" and that instead of reading their lines, "the boys got on stage and just started high fiving" When I asked what she learned from the experience, "boys like kickball and high fives" More true words have never been spoken. More of a concern, why is my daughter using the words, on account? Was there a rerun of leave it to beaver on disney tv I left on or something?

The report cards were interesting.

Significant improvement was apparent in my oldest's development. She developed a love for reading, and progressed on math, science, and learning to be a better human. Like playing cornhole or "bags" for those outside of Wisconsin, the top score is a 3 on the report card in any category. My daughter had a 2 in "reasons with shapes and their characteristics" the only 2 she received on her report card. My eyes were immediately drawn to this abbherration. I realize that discussing Rorschach results with a triangle is an important life skill, so I immediately withheld praise and reached out to her teacher for "guidance". I was emailed back off the ledge with a smile, and we will be working hard with my daughter on "reasons with shapes and characteristics" this summer once I find out what it really means.

My daughters had other plans as they prepared for summer, to quote Yogi Berra, "If you don't know where you are going, you will end up someplace else"

Some examples of the planning my oldest daughter did before summer:

I have to admit, reading the list was quite humbling. I realized that I made quite a few of her top 10 to do's. I also have to admit, I'm hooked on phonics, because without them, I'd have no idea whether she planned to vacate me or vacation with me.

So as you prepare for your summer and we prepare for ours of Celedrating Father's Day, Lemonnadstanding, and Vcatshoning, I leave you with a different Yogi's Bear's wisdom for the season:

"Another golden rule, stay cool"

bvd

Bunny # 642

Being a daddy with daughters means sometimes, you stand for bunny #642.

As a high school student growing up in California, I made the decision the summer of my senior year to change high schools. I liked theater arts, had enjoyed two wonderful drama teachers in elementary and early high school, who both stoked a fire in me for performance. To this day, presenting in front of groups is something I enjoy, and the emotional intelligence benefits of theater study should be reviewed and commented on by someone smarter than I. Looking back, I realize now that perhaps I simply figured out early how to raise an eyebrow, memorize lines, and speak in an accent a few months before everyone else had, and that I actually had developed an affinity for helping people with passion create what they pictured.  I met another wonderful drama teacher the summer between my junior and senior year named Micki Hunt, a beautiful soul who loved butterflies and all humans and had the superhero ability to inspire others. She convinced me to transfer to an SCPA (School for the Creative and Performing Arts) high school for my senior year and challenged me to try and become a bigger fish in a bigger pond.

So I transferred. Picture "Fame" the mythical school from television, where kids danced through the halls, broke into song for no particular reason, and tech class had to do with lights and sound versus press breaks and welding equipment. Just kidding, they usually had a reason for breaking into song.

I can say that I competed in Shakespeare competitions, wore costumes in jazz ensemble class, and probably tore several bystanders eardrums as I attempted to learn to sing. Wearing makeup on stage, learning choreography, and attempting to not screw up the beautiful voices of your friends was a never ending challenge. To this day I go low and deep in church to make sure the loud singer next to me always shines and never has to hear my gobbledygook.

I even tried ballet, if you count dating a ballet dancer.

I had never experienced personality overload, until I came to this school. No one could be a wallflower, there were no walls to hide on.

Micki passed away within a year, a loss for her family, students, and faculty. One of the fondest memories I have to this day was speaking at her memorial service. I was extremely nervous, something that does not often happen for me, and I walked toward the podium with a prepared speech in hand. It was a beautiful day, and the memorial was hosted in an outdoor amphitheater in a park in Chula Vista. The amphitheater was filled, standing room only. The butterflies in my stomach were fluttering rapidly. At that moment reflecting on Micki before I went on to speak, I recalled that she had butterflies displayed everywhere in her life, in her room, stuck to her car windows, etc. It was her thing. I decided at that moment to explain this feeling, improvising the speech, and sharing from my butterfly filled stomach, how I believed the butterflies we all feel when trying to do something we are nervous about doing, was simply Micki reminding you she was there with you. I saved the program from Micki's service, and one of my favorite Micki sayings printed on the program was, "If you don't stand for something, you will fall for anything"

So today, I stood for Bunny #642

Bunny #642 practiced her choreography, went to rehearsal, dressed in tights, and tried ballet.

I realize that if I had boys, the odds of me ever attending a ballet recital after high school would be about the same as the odds of me winning the lotto, but as a daddy with daughters, you really must stand for Bunny #642. After spending that year as man #4 in musicals, tripping over my own feet in shows, I had decided I wouldn't need to sing or dance again for my life to be complete.

But for Bunny #642, it could be different

Dropped off over an hour early for her performance, Bunny #642 was excited. Hair in a ballet bun, dancing tights on, dress for post performance in her bag, she was ready. Perhaps somewhere in the hundreds of children and bunches of teachers, my daughter will find someone to inspire her.

Snow White, the ballet, would never be the same for Bunny #642

Hundreds of ballet students were whisked into the dressing room, prepped, and staged for the curtain. Ages ranged from 4 to 18, beginners to future SCPA students, and the lights began to dim.

The curtain shot open after a brief thank you from the director.

Bees, deer, fairies, dwarfs began to prance about as if they were roaming the halls of Fame, gliding through the air with grace and gratitude. I watched in imagined pain as children bounced up onto their toes and twirled, thinking that at any moment, some one's ankles would break from the stress of landing and prancing or I'd see a miniature version of myself on stage, half a beat too slow but smiling along. Several near collisions and a few late moving children aside, the ballet was exceptional and entertaining enough to hold the attention of my 4 year old for almost 2 hours.

Bunny #642 hopped onto the stage about mid way in. She glanced at her spacing, or more so, to make sure we didn't have a 16 bunny pileup, then hopped her way into a tail shaking hopping exposition with the gaggle of white ear clad children around her. She finished, and hopped back into my heart off stage.

When the curtain came together and reopened for bows, Bunny #642 glanced into the audience to find her family. She waved vigorously with a silly grin when she made eye contact, and her smile widened, as if she had been accepted to Julliard.

Bunny #642 smiled as she hopped off stage and into her dress. She got to pick where to go to dinner as a reward for showing no fear in front of people.

As I recalled my fears, self imposed limitations on learning the arts, and the gratitude I had for the several special teachers I was fortunate to have, I looked over at the smile of Bunny #642. Ear to big old ear. Perhaps she had found a teacher who loved butterflies and humans, perhaps it's simply impossible to be dressed like a bunny and not smile, I have no idea.

I am grateful for the ability to stand for Bunny #642, and give her a round of applause. At the point my bunny becomes a thespian, a jock, a book worm, the straight face in musicals singing soft so others around her shine, or whatever she becomes, I will try never to forget the fun memories of her hopping across the stage with a smile. Children represent some of the best parts of humanity, and bunnies, well we all know how cool bunnies are.

Have a carrot, your father is proud you had no fear, you aren't a wallflower, and I can't wait for the next time I get to stand and clap for whatever you are in, even if I have to sit through something I decided long ago I didn't need to sit through again.

If you ever get nervous, and feel butterflies in your stomach, it's just someone you love reminding you they are there standing with you, Bunny #642.

bvd