UNWELCOME VISITORS

While giving M.E.B. a bath this morning, two potato-shaped objects emerged from beneath the soapy water. They didn't look like any of the usual toys M.E.B. shared her baths with. When M.E.B. noticed the now floating objects, she slid herself to the back of the tub, pointed at them and exclaimed “Yucky!” I immediately realized the two objects weren’t toys.

I am a product of my generation so of course the first thing that came to mind was the pool scene from the movie Caddyshack. To prevent a mass panic I calmly removed M.E.B. from the tub and cleaned her thoroughly with a washcloth and soap. I then got her dressed and planted her in front of an episode of Dora The Explorer so she would be occupied while I took care of the situation.

Situations such as this aren’t covered in any of the books on parenting we own. They’re not addressed in the pre-parenting classes they require you to take at the hospital. There are many things to take into consideration when facing such an emergency, yet quick action is needed as with each passing second the objects floated in the water, they were posing a great risk to the safety of her toys that still remained in the tub. What was the family of yellow rubber ducks to do? Or the little plastic people that M.E.B. forced into her bath? I couldn’t desert these inanimate creatures that, through no choice of their own were flung into each bath to make M.E.B.’s cleaning more enjoyable.

There was no time for a detailed plan. I’d have to rely on my instincts and creativity. I rushed back to the bathroom. The two objects seemed to be slowly chasing the rubber ducks around the tub while the little plastic people hid at the bottom. I must say that I was quite impressed with the attitude of the ducks and little people as they had the same wide smiles on their faces as they always seemed to have.

I knew that in order to fix this situation I’d have to risk my own hygiene. You can’t win a war without sacrifice. So, I reached into the water and pulled the drain plug to begin emptying the contaminated water. Next, came the most difficult part; the removal of the objects. I grabbed a large wad of toilet paper and smothered the first one, removing it from the water and disposing it in it’s appropriate place; the toilet. The second one would be more difficult for it seemed to know something was up and decided to try a divide and conquer strategy. Fortunately, I had enough toilet paper to contain both and removed them, also transferring them to their holding cell; the toilet.

The trial of these objects was quick, with me serving as the judge, jury, and executioner. With the pressing of a silver colored lever, they were sent away for life.

While justice was being done, the water had drained from the tub and I removed the ducks and little people. I dropped them in a bucket and filled it with hot water and a strong disinfectant. Again, I was impressed with their positivity as they continued to smile. The objects had left remnants in the tub of their brief, yet powerful existence. I collected these remnants with more toilet paper and sent them to re-unite with their makers. I then sprayed disinfectant in the tub and scrubbed it. I did this again and again and again and again and again until I became dizzy from the fumes. I then turned the shower on to give the tub a final rinse. The ducks and little people continued to soak. I turned off the shower and went to check on M.E.B. who was staring at the Dora The Explorer video.

I haven’t taken a shower today and don’t know if I will, at least until the fumes from the disinfectant clear which might take a while. I rest assured in knowing that the invaders of my daughter’s bath have been sent to their rightful place. The ducks and little people seem to be recovering nicely, drying on a towel, still smiling. Yet, I worry that I’ll never be able to see M.E.B.’s baths in the same way. I know M.E.B. will recover fine. Kids are resilient. As much as I like the ducks and little people, I fear that our relationship may be contaminated (no pun intended) for life.

SHUT UP, DADDY

Last night about an hour before bedtime my wife, M.E.B. and I were hanging out in our living room as we often do during this time of day. M.E.B. was pulling a small wagon filled with a variety of knick-knacky toys around the room. I started to sing, as I often do during this time, to get M.E.B. to start dancing (Something she loves to do). A few notes into my song M.E.B. stopped pulling her wagon, looked over at me and said, “Shut Up.” Her mother and I looked at each other, astonished. Her mother told her that that wasn’t nice to say and that she should instead say, “Would you please be quiet?” M.E.B. seemed a bit confused. She paused, looked at her mother and then at me. “Shut Up, Daddy.” She said again.

Now, I should say that this isn’t the first time in my life a woman has told me to shut up. In fact, if I had a nickel for every time it’s happened throughout my life I’d be sipping margaritas on the deck of my beachfront mansion in Malibu. In many case’s “Shut Up” is the nicest thing many women have said to me. However, we certainly want M.E.B. to be respectful and kind (even to her father) so my wife, more sternly, told her that that wasn’t a nice thing to say to your daddy or anyone and that we don’t say that in this house. M.E.B. immediately perceived the seriousness in the tone of her mother’s voice and within seconds, tears gushed from her tiny brown eyes, her face became red, and a high pitched wailing came from her mouth. She ran to her mother, seeking comfort and forgiveness. I was thinking: Wait a minute; I’m the one she told to shut up. Where’s mine?

As always, my wife did a wonderful job comforting M.E.B. and explaining to her the appropriate thing to say in that situation. She then asked M.E.B. if she heard someone at the child care she goes to say that. At this point, my body tensed up, fearing that M.E.B. would respond by saying, “No, I heard daddy say it.” I must confess that I’ve used the phrase a time or two. Most often it is to know-it-all sports commentators on one of those talk radio shows or to Bill O’ Reilly when I accidentally stumble on to his prime time talk show on the Fox News Channel. Usually it’s because he’s yelling at one of his guests or repeatedly telling his viewers how “fair and balanced” he is. (Note to those who think Bill O’ Reilly is fair and balanced. If you have to tell people over and over that you’re fair and balanced, you’re usually not fair and balanced). Fortunately, M.E.B. confessed that she heard another child say it at childcare.

With M.E.B. tormented by guilt, sitting on her mother’s lap I assured her that it was okay and that I still loved her. Her mother then asked her if she wanted to go over and give daddy a hug. M.E.B. shook her head no and flashed me a face as if she was saying, “This is your fault, daddy.” The sight of my child crying, regardless of how naughty she’s been, melts my heart. I quickly reflected: Perhaps it is my fault. I was the one who was singing with a voice that would make Paula Abdul shoot me if I were to audition for American Idol. Maybe the words “Shut Up” from a two year old’s mouth was a strong sign that I should reserve future singing for the shower or when no one is around.

Eventually, M.E.B. and I made our peace and instead of singing I play the bongos for her to dance to (I do play a mean bongo).