The Fuzzy Face Routine

It began one morning last week…Everything changed.

I was in the nursery with Reese and I was lying on my back in the middle of the room. Reese was playing with some of her toys as I was enjoying a few moments of peace before the day began to get hectic. And then I felt something fuzzy brushing against my cheek and nose. Thankfully, it wasn’t a cat (we don’t have one) or a dog (we don’t have one of those either). It was Reese. She was leaned over me and was tickling my face with her hair while giggling.

Some back story might help this make sense. For quite awhile now I have had a routine that I play with Reese called “the fuzzy face.” It’s not a complicated routine. When Reese is on her back I’ll lean over her and use the hair on my head to tickle her face. Occasionally this routine is accompanied with simple comments like, “Uh oh, here comes the fuzzy face” or the more elaborate “Psst, Reese, I heard there might be a fuzzy face nearby, keep your eyes peeled. Oh no! The fuzzy face is here!” It always gets a few giggles out of her or, at the very least, a big smile.  

And that’s what made this moment so huge. For the first time, Reese took one of my routines and turned it back around on me. The possibilities for the future are now both exciting and terrifying! What happens when she goes from crawling to walking, and then to dancing…are any of my trademark goofy dances safe? And what about when she starts talking? What will I do when she discovers bad jokes and puns and learns how to use them in the most annoying and ridiculous ways?! What then…what then?

But I’m very proud of her too. She’s learning, just like she’s supposed to. Over the years I know a lot of my personality, traits, talents, and ideas are going to rub off on her and become part of who she is….but only a part. The rest of her is up to her. As her dad, I look forward to seeing the ideas, interests, and passions that she’ll choose for herself.  I want to know what she’ll like that has nothing to do with me or my experiences. Sometimes I’ll be thrilled, other times I’ll be disappointed, but most of the time I’ll probably just be confused as my parents were with me.  And that’s okay too. We’ll figure it out.  I’m on the front end of a finite amount of time that she’ll be in my care. And I know from countless conversations with other parents that she’ll be grown and gone before I know it. In the meantime, however, I’ll be here to guide her with as much wisdom, creativity, and patience as I can muster.

But for now, Reese, when you see the opportunity, keep giving me the fuzzy face. It makes me smile too.

More days to come.

The Turtle Rescue

It was a beautiful, cloudless day. And after being stuck indoors through a few rainy days lately, I thought it would be a great day to take Reese to the park. Sadly, she’s still too young and small for most of your standard playground equipment, but I figured I could run around with her on my shoulders and make airplane noises if nothing else. The point was we both needed to get outside. We loaded up into the car and, in her own way, Reese looked interested in a change of pace.

As we were about halfway on our drive to the park, the turtle entered our story…or we entered his depending on how you look at it. He was perched on top of the curb, leaned pretty far out over the edge, with his eyes locked on the other side of the street.

A busy street.

I played it out in my mind. In the next few moments, he was going to take his next step and tip himself over the edge. He would end up on his back with legs flailing in all directions. And of course a car would pick that exact moment to come along and…well…I tried not to think about the sound. And that would be the end of what could have been a long and fulfilling turtle existence.

Now I’m not sure why, but ever since I was a kid I’ve had a soft spot for turtles. Maybe it was all those episodes of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles…who knows? The point is that I’m the guy that will park his car in the middle of the street, turn on the hazards, get out of the car, and carry turtles to safety despite honks and confused looks from other drivers. But this time was different…Reese was with me.

I decided to play it a little safer than usual so I pulled onto a side street and parked.  But I still couldn’t just leave Reese in the car. It was a warm day and I didn’t know how long the process was going to take. I unbuckled Reese and pulled her out of her seat as she looked around with a little confusion about where we were and what daddy was doing in front of some random house on a random street.  Instead of explain it to her I carried her as quick as I could to the last spot I’d seen the turtle. Thankfully, I got to him (we’ll call him Donatello…Don for short) before he tipped into the street. But now there was a new problem: carrying a baby and a turtle at the same time.

I’ve never thought of turtles as being especially dirty or disease-ridden, but they do live in water and hang out in muddy spots. I needed to carry Don to safety but also keep Reese from touching this fascinating new creature that she’d never seen before and was currently reaching towards. I was also starting to gain the attention of passing drivers. Did they think I was trying to feed my baby to the turtle, or maybe feed the turtle to my baby?

Well, without other options or extra hands, I ended up tucking Reese under my right arm and picking up Don with my left hand and waited for a safe break in traffic to cross over both sides of the street to the nearby pond. As I started walking across, I wished I could have taken a picture of myself carrying a baby under one arm and a decent sized turtle in the other. Then I started thinking up how to caption such a shot. I think my favorite was: “Fort Worth Dad Arrested For Involvement In Underground Turtle Versus Baby Fights.” Thankfully, the trip across the street ended up being arrest and baby/turtle fight free. We made it safely to the pond and I managed to get one shot of Reese and Don on the shore before I put Don in the water.

They didn’t seem too interested in each other anymore. Oh well.

After Don swam away, I carried Reese back across the street to our car and buckle her back into the seat, careful not to touch her with my turtle carrying hand, and managed to use up the remainder of the bottle of hand sanitizer I had in the car with me. The park turned out to be pretty fun, even though it was almost exclusively daddy shoulder rides for Reese along with airplane noises. Still too early to tell if she will like turtles as much as her dad. If she takes after her mom, she’ll probably be more of a dog person. I’ll be happy as long as it’s not rabbits, those long ears and soulless eyes freak me out.

All-in-all, it was a fun day. And hopefully, Don enjoys his new place.

More days to come.

The Nicknames

Parenthood has brought with it many surprises, some big and some small. But occasionally one of those surprises is a bit stranger than the others. Namely…names.

Nicknames to be exact.

I’ve never really considered myself to be a nickname guy. Yes, I will sometimes call somebody “Chuckles” if they happen to be laughing at my expense, but most of the time I’m pretty much a call-you-by-your-preferred-name kind of person. My brain has enough difficulty just remembering names, let alone inventing new ones for people. But the strange surprise for me is that I make an exception when it comes to my daughter Reese. It’s been non-stop nicknames for her since she arrived. Here’s a small sample of ones I’ve used along with some explanations and circumstances that brought them about.

Fussybear – I probably use this one most often, or at least as often as Reese is fussy. It stems mostly from my love of Fozzy Bear the muppet. He had his share of tough crowds a fussy Reese is one of the toughest crowds I’ve yet encountered. But like Fozzy, I handle it like a pro. I tell bad jokes with bad puns and try to make her smile.

Fusspot - A variant of the previous Fussybear. I use this one when she’s fussy, obviously, but I will usually add a “Princess” to the nickname. Now she’s not merely a simple fusspot, she is Princess Fusspot, heir to the throne of fussiness. And when her fussiness reaches princess caliber, you know she means business. I first heard the term fusspot in the movie Coraline, one of my favorite creepy kids movies. I can’t wait to show it to Reese when she’s old enough.

Kickyfeet/Grabbyhands – I pull this one out usually when we’re in the middle of a diaper change and Reese doesn’t feel like sitting still. She may start kicking or trying to reach up and grab my face. To which I respond with statements like, “Whoa there, Kickyfeet, we need to put this new diaper on ya!” Or “Ow! That’s my nose, Grabbyhands, I need that!” Sadly, this doesn’t usually elicit sympathy from her…mostly just giggles along with more kicks and grabs.

Dancypants – Whenever I carry Reese, she likes to face outward so she can look around at the world. If she’s feeling energetic she’ll sort of run in place in my arms. If you use your imagination, it kinda looks like she’s dancing. And so was born the name of Dancypants. Sometimes preceded by a “Lil’ Miss,” in honor of the Mr. Men and Little Miss books, so you end up with “Lil’ Miss Dancypants.” She seems to like this one and hopefully she’ll have better dancing skills than her dad as she gets older…seriously… it won’t take much for her to be better.

Stuffynose, Boogersnots, Sneezyface – This season has been rough on Reese’s nasal cavity. Some of it has been the weather changes, but she’s also had a cold. Meaning lots and lots of snot. And because baby drinks all her meals, she needs to be able to breathe through her nose. And that’s where dad and his impressive nose clearing skills come in. Unfortunately, Reese doesn’t seem to appreciate how good I’ve become at using the Nose Frida (If you aren’t familiar, I caution against a google image search) and bulb syringe. In fact, she downright hates it when I clear her nose.  So, while she screams at me while I work on her nose, I attempt to calm her down and entertain myself by calling her things like Princess Stuffynose, Madame Boogersnots, and Lady Sneezyface. Does this myriad of impressive titles help her mood? Still too early to tell but I’m leaning towards no.

Tinytoots – Another surprise as a parent: The level of gassiness in infants is astounding! Sure, I knew going into this that babies make tons and tons of poopy diapers. But somehow I never heard from any parents or any parenting class just how gassy babies are. Drinking a bottle…tooting. Swinging in the swing…tooting. Playing on her mat…tooting. With this level of consistency a nickname was bound to happen. So one night during a bedtime story, punctuated by a couple of her signature tiny but stinky outbursts, the name of “Tinytoots” was born. However, it should be noted that “Tinytoots” shouldn’t be confused with
“Stinkycheeks.” Stinkycheeks isn’t a nickname, it’s more of the name for the condition of having a really full diaper. As in, “Whoa, I think somebody might be coming down with a bad case of the stinkycheeks!” Or “This is the worst case of stinkycheeks that I’ve seen in all my years of medicine! Call in Specialist Mom to change this diaper! What? She’s unavailable? *sigh* I see. Get me some wipes….A lot of them.”

So that’s what I’ve been able to come up with for the first eight months of her life. It’s been a fun creative outlet. But it does leave me with a few questions. Will any of these nicknames have staying power? Will new ones emerge as new behaviors and skills appear? Will she be embarrassed years later when she reads this?
A dad can hope.

More days to come.

One of many “In-Betweens”

Reese can’t crawl…yet. Despite being new to the stay-at-home-parent gig, I can definitely see the value of Reese staying in the spot that I put her. I don’t have to worry about her trying to get into a cabinet or cupboard, my electronics are currently all safe, and there’s not any danger just yet of her seriously hurting herself on one of the many tools I have in the garage. All things that I’m sure I will worry about quite a bit as her mobility increases.

However, even though Reese isn’t old enough to crawl, she is old enough to become bored with being stuck in one spot. When the boredom starts to overcome her, she can roll around to shift positions a bit, but that usually just gets her off of the blanket or mat and away from her toys…making life even more boring.

Mobility versus immobility.

Two very specific stages and Reese is smack dab in between them. The days of being content with lying on her back staring up at the pretty stuffed giraffe on the string are gone. But the days of being able to move from one side of the room to the other aren’t quite here yet either. The result: frustration.

I can relate.

I too am in between. One job has ended but the next one hasn’t begun yet. But unlike Reese, I have the benefit of experience. I’ve been through my share of these types of in betweens. And even though they don’t get easier, accepting them as a vital part of life does get easier.  I know that there are some parts of the process that I can control, but many that I cannot. For those parts, I have to remind myself daily to trust in God knowing that He is bigger than me, smarter than me, and has better for me than I could ever create on my own.  And that’s the lesson that I look forward to teaching Reese as she continues to grow.

In the meantime, Reese, I’ll help you along through this specific in between. Sometimes you’ll need to stay in the spot I put you while I work on something. Sometimes you’ll need to struggle and roll around to make yourself stronger.

But other times, when you’re angry and frustrated, I’ll come over and pick you up. I’ll carry you around for a bit, showing you different things, teaching you about the world around you, and I’ll take you to someplace new. You’ll know that I’m here and that I’m looking out for you.

And that’ll be true even after you learn how to crawl.

More days to come.

The Walks

There really is only so much time you can spend indoors.

No matter how many rides I give around the living room on my shoulders…

No matter how many colorful and/or educational toys there are within reach…

No matter how many stories I read, funny faces I make, or goofy dances I do to entertain…

There’s still a definite threshold of time that Reese can handle being stuck inside the house before calm turns into restlessness turns into fussiness turns into crankiness. For me too, of course. That's when it's time for a walk. So I load Reese into the carrier, the carrier into the stroller, the extra handkerchief into the pocket, and out the front door we go.  There’s no real destination in mind for the walk as we live in an averagely nice suburb where each street of houses opens onto another street of equally, averagely nice houses. I push Reese along and she keeps track of all the things there are to look at from her angle…mostly the trees and tops of houses…I’m guessing, but I think she prefers the trees to the houses.

I’ve gone on quite a few of these walks lately, but I never get too many steps out the door when the same thought hits me: Do I look suspicious right now?

Obviously there’s nothing wrong with a father taking his daughter for a walk, in fact it’s great for a father to take his daughter for a walk. But traditionally the mental image I think most people have is of moms, or grandmas, or even nannies pushing a stroller around a neighborhood.  Apart from me, I can’t think of a single time I’ve seen a man pushing a stroller around this neighborhood.  As I keep walking with Reese, I think on this some more. Then I start to play out weird scenarios where a concerned passerby or two thinks I may have kidnapped this child. And they confront me.

Concerned Citizen 1: Is this your child?

Me: Yes. Of course she is.

Concerned Citizen 2: Where’s her mom?

Me: She’s at work right now. Why do you ask?

Concerned Citizen 1: Hey, you seem kinda nervous.

Me: Please, I’m just trying to take my daughter for a walk.

As I try to leave, a police cruiser pulls up and an officer steps out. It escalates quickly at this point. The concerned citizens explain that they think I’m some sort of deranged kidnapper and they believe the child’s mother has been knocked unconscious or worse. I protest, trying to convince everyone that this really is my daughter and we’re just out for a walk. The officer lets his hand rest on his weapon and asks if I can prove this is my daughter. I think on this and realize the best I can do is show the officer and concerned citizens (a crowd of which is beginning to form) a few pictures and a couple of short videos of Reese that I have on my phone. But when I try to offer that as proof, someone in the crowd shouts that I probably stole the phone too. The crowd’s anger swells, Reese is taken by a nearby social worker, and I’m placed into the back of the police cruiser. A news van is now on the scene and the professional looking reporter is taking statements from witnesses about the kidnapping attempt that was foiled by the brave and diligent citizens of my neighborhood. And the officer drives me away, I’m left wondering how I’m going to explain to Erica, with my one phone call from jail, why our daughter is now with social services.

As I’m playing this nightmare scenario out in my head, I realize that I probably have a really intense look on my face as I’m pushing the stroller. An intense look that could be misconstrued as malice, villainy, or otherwise up-to-no-goodedness. Now I really am acting suspiciously!  But eventually I stop imagining and I notice Reese looking up at me with a smile. I never would have thought to describe an infant’s smile as reassuring, but in those moments it truly is. Reese is doing okay. She’s not suspicious. She doesn’t think there is anything the least bit strange about me pushing her stroller. And since she’s the reason I’m out on this walk, right now hers is the opinion that really matters.

Then I smile back. So take that, suspicious neighbors and concerned citizens. She’s smiling at me and we’re both enjoying this walk!

But seriously, she really is my daughter, I didn’t steal this phone, and you don’t need to call the police.

More days to come.

Sticking to the Schedule

From the beginning of my time at home with our daughter, my wife Erica has stressed to me the importance of keeping Reese on her daily schedule. Now I've always prided myself as the type of person that can give a schedule or other timetable a once-over and then I'm set. Keeping Reese on a simple schedule of feeding, napping, and playing should be...well...simple.

Foolish Sam...

Foolish, foolish Sam.

What I failed to consider was that in between those times of feeding, napping, and playing, I was going to try and get some things accomplished too. You know, little things like searching for a job and providing for my family. Between updating and sending out resume, my LinkedIn profile, and some contract writing, keeping Reese on the schedule has been a challenge to say the least. It's incredible how fast a chunk of time between feedings can just disappear. But there is something else behind that schedule, something important that I didn't realize I was going to need as much as I have.

Meeting the basic day-to-day, hour-to-hour needs of my daughter forces me to disconnect from the job search. It gives me small little islands of time where I get to remind myself who I'm doing this for. To become absorbed into something and someone besides myself and my own problems. To unplug. To sit in a glider, rocking back and forth as Reese takes her time with the bottle. I get to look at her, and tell her I love her, and watch her smile up at me. I get to make her laugh with my fake sneezes and rides around the living room on my shoulders. I get to sit on the floor next to her and cheer for her as she slowly learns how to keep her balance.

The schedule. What started as an additional stressor has become an anchor. A source of calm. There's no telling what kind of panicked basketcase Erica would find when she got home in the evenings if it weren't for those little breaks that Reese gives me.

All that to say that I truly...truly...

Wait...it sounds like she's waking up from her nap. Yep, schedule says it's time for another bottle. And that diaper probably needs changing too. Gotta go.

More days to come.

Beginning

As I begin writing this, the first post of this blog, it's a beautiful spring day today marking the end of what has been an unusually harsh winter here in the DFW area. Sure, it hasn't been nearly as bad as some parts of the country, and I really have no right to complain. But there have been multiple days of icy roads and being stuck indoors trying to find ways to stay productive, stay sane, and otherwise just fill the hours. But now...spring has finally arrived. I have missed those warm breezes, longer days, and open blue skies much more this year than in years past. But along with the usual changes that come with spring, there have also been a series of big changes in my life. Namely, my time at my job of eleven years came to an end. The parting was on good terms but yes...I have now joined the ranks of the unemployed in search of the big "what's next?" There's the usual cocktail of scattered emotions (fears, hopes, dreams, and dreads) that accompany life change of this magnitude and, with God's help, I know I'll get through this.

But this blog isn't about the job I lost.

And it isn't about my search for the next one.

Because another big change in my life that happened this year is that I became a new father to a beautiful baby girl named Reese Elizabeth. She is now seven months old and just beginning to truly experience the world. I can see her starting to drink all of it in and I can't get enough of seeing her experience wonder and discovery. And with my change in employment status, for the time being, her mother and I don't drop Reese off at daycare anymore. Mom goes to work while Reese stays home with me.

I have been given time with my daughter. Time that I wouldn't have under any other circumstances. Time that I'll never have again. Each day as she looks into my eyes again and again and as I look into hers, I will get to know her better. And she will know me as well.

These are my Reese days. And they are finite.

God-willing, I will be gainfully employed again and soon. But in the meantime, I plan to make the most of these days with Reese. There will be frustrations, tears, fussy feedings, and dirty diapers by the dozen. But there will be smiles, laughter, long walks, and sunshine too. Be patient with me, Reese, I'm learning just like you. And through this, I'll get better at being your dad. And I can't wait to see in your eyes that you're beginning to understand just how much I love you.

More days to come.