The Playpen

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


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I was nowhere near prepared for this when my wife was pregnant with our daughter, Frankie. I knew there would be moments in my daughter’s life that would stand out more than others, but I always envisioned them being the popular mainstream Kodak ones. A picture of her in a black graduation gown, valedictorian tassels around her shoulders, giving a thumbs up to the camera. A shot of her with a bowl of spaghetti on her head, grinning like the cat that got the cream. That sort of thing…the moments you remember and say “awwwwww” about.

My daughter is three-and-a-half years old now. And there have been two actual, real milestones that I can remember in her life. The first happened back in April, when her cardiac surgeon shook my hand and told us that the hole in her heart had closed unexpectedly. That was a milestone.

The second occurred today. My daughter goes to preschool five days a week. Although all the statistics and Barack say that this will benefit her in the long term, my wife and I have had serious doubts about her being away from us for that long. She simply seems too young. Unfortunately, due to economic and sanity factors, we made the decision that schedule was necessary. While driving her to school, we were having our usual conversations. Why someone would leave a grocery cart in the road, where the helicopter at the local airport was and how if the police see her turn the dome light of the car on, they will give us a ticket.

Out of nowhere she said, “Daddy, I want to go to school.” To which I replied “We’re on our way, baby, you know that.” Then, after thinking for a moment, “Why, out of curiosity?”

“Because all of my friends are there and I want to play with them. Tracy and Ara and the other Tracy. We play all day and slide down the slides and do Playdough.”

At that moment my mind made a Scott Bakula Quantum Leap. I realized that she hasn’t complained about school at all. She runs right in every morning, leaving me in the dust, while all the other kids run out to say hi to her. She never looks back. I envisioned her in just a few short years, playing with Barbies or that phone date game the girls used to play with when I was in school, in her room with her friends, screaming “da-DDY” at me when I try to poke my head in to say hi. I imagined her and her clan lying on their stomachs in the TV room talking about boys, growing suddenly silent when I pass.

This realization, I am afraid, is a milestone. I now understand that milestones aren’t events, they are feelings and emotions, experienced at a particular point in time, that cannot be forgotten. I am relatively new at this parenting thing, but this morning I saw the future, and I will not forget this day. I am incredibly proud of my little girl, more than I can express. “There goes my little girl!” I say to myself as she trots off. Deep down, though, there is a constant tug at my heart caused by the realization that, one day, she will be a little girl no more.

Matt
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Aline,

Another year has gone by. Quickly. I am embarrassed and ashamed that, for another year, I will have to write you an I.O.U for your dream birthday present, as I am still a bit short.

In lieu of your sports car though (Porsche, if you care to send me a free Boxster, I would be happy to review it for my readers), I did manage to scrape up a little something that I think is pretty good (no, its not the Vanilla Haagen-Dazs that I know you found in the freezer…peeker!) And I can promise you that you, Frankie and I will all have a blast at our Crazy Mommy Birthday Party tonight, and that the year to come will be much better than the last. I’m looking forward to great things and to spending it with you. Have a happy birthday, Aline! You deserve it.

Yours always,
Matt

Although my daughter, after three-and-a-half years of her sweet little life, has been relatively (BIG emphasis on that last word) easy to deal with from a behavioral standpoint, bedtime continues to be an issue for us to this day.

Since just before one year old, this child has some type of demonic, Pinhead-from-Hellraiser-like opposition to going to sleep. I, of course, chalk it up to her hyper-intelligence. She is clearly too stimulus hungry to allow her oversized brain to rest during a period where it could be calculating complex equations or contemplating the general meaning of life. But at 9:45, when she has gotten out of bed for the 4th or 5th time, even geniuses become annoying.

Just when it felt like we were making some progress, a new reason for sleep-denial has surfaced. Monsters. There are a few things I need to point out about this issue.

1. I may be somewhat to blame in that I thought it would be a good idea to “toughen her up” for Halloween a little by repeatedly showing her this guy the last time we were at Target.

2. I am not so sure that she is actually still frightened by them or has just realized she can leverage Crypt Keeper-esque stories to stay up later. While she did seem frightened in the beginning, it does appear that we may be being manipulated a bit at present time.

The question is not so much how to get her to sleep. We already know we will never be able to do that. Forget it. Acceptance and complacency is the key to happiness. Its that we don’t have a great technique yet for chasing the monsters out. I put a little flashlight in her room, and we check the entire room now before going to bed. We don’t tell her there are no such thing as monsters, but rather focus on the fact that, if there were monsters, they certainly wouldn’t be here because we have a dog and because we have checked her room. We do all the preschooler advice-blog stuff. Bottom line is, its not working, and with Halloween right around the corner, I suspect it may worsen before it gets better.

So here I am again, using this forum to ask whether or not any of you have come up with an effective monster antidote. Monster spray? D-con Monster traps? Lifesize cutout of Jason or Freddie Kreuger? (He will keep the monsters out, sweetie, he’s mean.) Suggestions are appreciated.

Matt
The new fall preemie, infant and toddler stuff is up at our online boutique, RedSparks.com. Come check it out!

Sometimes, when the chips are down, things happen that restore your faith in humankind and in yourself. As everyone (thanks for making it public, Matt!:)) knows, I had a bit of a health scare recently, on the eve of our tenth anniversary. Murphy’s Law, I guess.

I am happy to report that all tests were negative and that I am home and back to enjoying the daily grind with my husband, daughter and doggy. Apart from a few follow up doctors visits, I am A-OK.

I want to thank everyone from the bottom of my heart for your thoughts, prayers, emails and comments. They helped more than you know. I also want to say a special thanks to a few people who’s interest and concern in my health made Matt feel better about the situation, which means a great deal to me.

Barbara from TherExtras. We both agree that this woman’s blog will make us feel like dummies for all time, but she is an amazingly good-hearted woman, and for that we love her.

Jen, from Blessings From Above. The first brave soul to post on The Preemie Adventure, she truly seems to care, and does NOT deserve the BS comments she’s been getting from a stalker on her site recently.

Mr Lady at Whiskey in My Sippy Cup who, if she does decide actually write a book, should write it just about how to cheer someone up. She’ll make millions.

Thanks again to all of you. Watch for a new and NON-depressing Playpen post soon!

Aline
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Tonight was the night.

Tonight was the night I was going to rent a Neo-Classic chick flick and watch it with you because it would make you happy.

Tonight was the night I was going to buy you an expensive card from Papyrus.

Tonight was the night I was going to shop for flowers I can’t afford and have them sent to you.

Tonight was the night I was going to sit down next to you on the couch and talk excitedly about our upcoming trip to Maui, while we laughed about how we stole ketchup packets and barbecue sauce from McDonalds so we could eat on our honeymoon ten years ago.

Tonight was the night I was going to write out my grocery list for the dinner I would prepare for you tomorrow, complete with candles and a new jazz CD.

Tonight was the night I was going to hold you tight and tell you that, even though we are weathering tough times, everything would be OK…I’m sure of it.

Tonight was the night I was going to put together a photo collection of our daughter (all the best pictures) so I could print them out and put them in a little book for you.

Tonight was the night I was going to write a draft of a letter. A letter that explained that, after ten years of marriage, I have never been more sure of anything in my life. That throughout all the tough times, our relationship has only grown stronger. That I depend on you, and cherish and respect you more than you will ever know. That I am forever indebted to you for giving me the most beautiful little girl in the world, even though you had to struggle, fight and sacrifice for her survival. That, to this day, you are the most beautiful woman, inside and out, I will ever know. That I cannot imagine a life without you, and I will go to the absolute ends of the Earth to protect what we have. That I promise to always work, strive and sacrifice to make sure that you have the life you deserve. That I love you.

Tonight was the night.

Instead, you sleep restlessly away from me, subject to interruption and incessant beeps, dings and pages. You are surrounded by strangers, who poke, prod and bleed you. You are unsure, uncertain and alone. This is not how it was meant to be, and I am scared. I want to be with you. To help you and make you feel safe. But, for the first time in a long, long while, I realize that I have absolutely no control over the outcome of this situation.

God, you and I haven’t had much of a relationship in a long, long time. Maybe I got a little spoiled, maybe even a little arrogant. Its been a couple of decades since Sunday School. But, frankly, I have nowhere else to turn. I’ve heard through the grapevine that, when it comes to forgiveness, you wrote the book. Please. Please, let my wife be OK. I need her.

Matt

Whew…we’ve been doing some major site maintenance and have been gone for toooo long! We are, however, back in full force and hope that you have not given up on us. In fact we’re gearing up for a new episode of the Playpen In Motion, so look out for it coming up soon!

To start off the week, I’d like to say a special thanks to Jeremy from Discovering Dad, who not only runs an amazing site but does an interview called “Spotlight on Dads”, depicting a father’s perspective and it’s challenges from a man’s point of view. It’s such a great read and wonderful to know there are some awesome Dads out there!

Last week my husband, Matt, was honored by being selected to feature his journey through fatherhood. Funny and emotional, I of course loved the interview and want him to know what an unbelievable father he is.

Discovering Dad is a fantastic website, Jeremy is such a driven guy that has a fabulous outlook on fathering and his readers are the real deal as well! If you’re looking for a father’s perspective from a bunch of guys that put their heart and soul into their families, Discovering Dad’s “Spotlight on Dads” is worth the look. Thanks Jeremy!

Aline
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As many of you know, our daughter, Frankie, is three years old. And, we are proud to announce that she will be starting school in September! Thats right, our little girl is all grown up. Almost. You see, apparently preschools nowadays think its funny to bestow undo stress and ageda onto the lives of unsuspecting parents, by nonchalantly stating (after they’ve taken your check) “Oh, and she has to be potty trained”, as they walk out of the room.

We have bragged about every aspect of our daughter. Her vocabulary, her appearance, her willingness to kick butt and take names at any challenge we place in front of her…you name it. But the bottom line is, the girl ain’t perfect. For whatever reason, we simply can’t seem to convince her that the ole commode is a friend. We’ve tried everything. Nothing works. We thought it would be a great idea to tear down some of the most popular tricks and show you why they are completely useless:

1. Music. We love it. Play it all the time. Do you know how annoying it is to sit in the bathroom for an hour listening to your kid sing “Its a Small World” with no byproduct? Uh uh.

2. Offer a lot of praise. OK, great. Doesn’t your child actually have to use the potty in order to constitute praise?! “That’s awesome, baby….no poop!” Sounds more like sarcasm than praise, right?

3. Read with her. Good call….distract her with a great read. Next.

4. Use a “special potty”. We’ve gone through several, including the most recent one I made from a sterling silver, diamond crusted, 25″ Escalade rim. It has lasers and a fog machine. Also makes julienne fries. Two words: Doesn’t. Help.

5. Use a timer. Supposedly, you set the timer to help both of you remember when its time to go. Hello?! How can I know when she’s going when she does it in the diaper? Sheesh.

6. Set up target practice. Yes, its true. Put some brightly colored cereal or the like in the potty and let them go all Shock and Awe on it. Um….my child is a girl…she’s going to be shooting blind even if I put a chocolate souffle in the hopper.

7. Make them feel proud. See number two.

8. Use treats and surprises. My parents rewarded me when I went to the bathroom with Milk Duds. Now I get a gigantic sugar rush every time I pee. Moving on.

9. Give them stickers. My daughter has about 5 sticker books, and gets a new one in the mail from Grandma about once a week. You think she’s gonna go all crazy because I stick some gold foil star on her wrist? C’mon…she’s got six Smurf puffy stickers in her hand right now. That’s so played.

10. Let them help you throw out the dirty diapers. So you’re supposed to hand a three-year-old a poopy diaper and tell them to throw it in the toilet. Thats like giving Dick Cheney a loaded gun and telling him to go hang out with his friends for a while. Sooner or later, your gonna have a mess on your hands.

So please, we are asking for your help. All of you good lurkers out there need to come to the aid of the party and let us know the following:

What age do you think is realistic for a child to be fully potty trained? and:

What technique did you use that finally had your little one reading the sports section on the Great White Radio?

Let us know…we are on the clock!

Matt & Aline
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Dad,

You and I haven’t spoken to each other in four years. I wish that just once we could sit down and have a civilized conversation. But since that is apparently impossible, I will have to settle for writing you this letter.

All in all, you have been a fairly good father to me. When I was born you and Mom took such good care of me…feeding me, playing with me, taking me on walks through the park. When I had to go to the hospital at two-months for surgery, you held me and comforted me and made me feel better. I was really happy, and I would say I had a great childhood. Running around the neighborhood, going to daycare and playing with my friends, then coming home and sleeping cozily in your bed, it was terrific.

Then you and Mom decided to have a baby and things got ugly. You were gone at all hours of the night, and even when you were home it was only for a short time – during which you paid almost no attention to me, I might add. That’s when I started throwing up a lot. I think I was just stressed out and missed your company. I wanted what we once had but all your attention was focused on the baby. I felt neglected. Shut out. Tired. I would try to get you to notice me by stealing her stuffed animals, but you would only scream at me and make me stand outside in the yard until I calmed down. Once, I even went to the bathroom right on the floor…anything to get you to look my way once and a while. Nothing.

I thought that things would never go back to the way they were. I was sad.

But then, something wonderful happened. As your precious little girl got older, SHE actually started to pay attention to me, and therefore, so did you.

We would run around in the yard together playing, with you sitting and watching, as a family. She would give me her left over food to eat all the time, even though you told her not too (I loved the Goldfish crackers she’s give me right from her hand.). We all took trips together…we even went camping! And even though you only let me sleep on a mat at the foot of your bed, I was happy again.

I am glad we are all getting along, and I am sorry I pooped on your floor. You’re a great dad after all, and I love you. I wish you the happiest of Fathers Days, Matt. I love you!

Your beloved family dog,

Whiskey

Note: We are performing some site maintenance this weekend, so I posted this a bit early for Jeremy’s contest (he has some great ones!). Happy Fathers Day to every hard-working Dad out there. Much respect to you all!


Matt
Visit our online boutique for the latest in fashion and fun for preemie through toddler

When Frankie was in the NICU I never imagined that three years later I’d be taking a camping trip with her and feel that my daughter is truly adventurous! Starting off as preemie parents, we’ve always had somewhat of a cautious attitude. In time, I believe that will go away. It’s times like these that make us forget our little girl was in an isolette so long ago.

This past weekend we took a family trip up to the Angeles National Forest, Frankie’s 1st time camping. We were a little apprehensive at how she’d do but our spirited Frankie mowed through the experience like a pro. We are so proud of her and wanted to share our photos with you.



Our new red tent, tada!

Frankie goofing around in Mommy’s red beanie!



Dad making his famous breakfast. Ham and eggs in warm tortillas, a camping tradition. Yum!

Frankie thought it was fun to knock around the eggs



Mom and Frankie trying to help at breakfast


Making friends with little campers



Our dog Whiskey


Chillin with her favorite books!

Today, Frankie amazes us. She’s such a smart, spunky kid. We couldn’t be more blessed to have her. We absolutely love her.


Aline


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