A quick note on children’s brands

August 15, 2010


Proper spellings of children’s brands that I’ve encountered today.

Outside of Crayola, I’d have spelled every one of these wrong. The last is the most surprising to me. Not Milton Bradley, which was a staple of my childhood, but MB Games. Flip the box over, and you’ll see a link to Hasbro.com. A quick Wikipedia search confirms that Milton Bradley was taken over by Hasbro.

In 1984.

My peanut butter is in my chocolate and all of that, right?

In other spelling foibles, Fisher-Price has a hyphen. I had no idea. Also, I swore Play-doh was spelled without the “y.” Funny – I’m convinced it’s spelled EVEN MORE wrong than it actually is.

This is all without mentioning the brand-less watercolors I wiped up yesterday.

Tags: Isaac, Sierra, Words |

Comment

Growing up

June 24, 2010


I looked over and there she was, pushing her cart through the grocery store, acting as if she’d been doing it all her life, and while it was only a junior sized cart and while she never actually chose any of the items in it and while she was much too young to be pushing anything that happened to have a six pack of beer in it, she still looked so big, so utterly in control of the situation, so understanding of everything that was going on and the consequences of tipping over the cart or smashing the grapes or dropping the bottle of milk that it kind of made me sad.

Sad because my little girl is growing up.

And then, when we got home, I realized that Isaac is walking and he has a personality and he almost knows which way the spoon works. Meanwhile, Sierra is having real, two-sided conversations and making up intricate stories and developing a sense of humor that is amazingly aware of its own funniness.

Sad, yes. But also proud. Mostly proud. Absolutely proud, like I should be. Like I’m honored to be.

The sadness has nothing to do with what they’re doing. It’s 100% on me and my inability to accept change with the same grace that my kids do. Every single day.

Tags: Isaac, Sierra |

Comment

Record Store Day 2010

April 17, 2010


Sierra and Isaac didn’t care about Record Store Day.

In fact, when I told them, out of the coolness of my Cool Dad Heart, that we were headed to Ernie November to check out Record Store Day, Sierra sort of looked at me, blankly, unimpressed and clearly confused as to why her father, Cool Dad though he might be, was suddenly giddy. Confused as to why, within minutes, he had turned into a child.

“Record store?”

“Uh… Music store,” I said, hoping to clarify.

“Music store?”

I should be happy. At least she grasped we were GOING SOMEWHERE. Isaac just ignored me and banged metal measuring cups together.

The weight of the occasion was completely lost on them, but I suppose the occasion wasn’t for them. This was for me. This was a father showing his children a bit of history, a tradition quickly becoming obsolete even in my own life: a record store, with physical records and CDs and videos; music in a concrete form, the way we had always accepted them until the icy hand of technology forced convenience into our lives, sending the value of tangible media into a nosedive.

This was a lesson in locality, understanding the process through which music used to be acquired, much like a field trip to the farm teaches us how chickens were raised before the factory model became prevalent.

Sierra wandered the aisles, pointing out album covers, counting monsters – you’d be surprised: there are a surprising number of monsters on modern album covers – and carrying a VHS copy of the South Park movie. Isaac spit in my ear and grabbed for my hat.

Though it wasn’t in the same location, it was this store – Ernie November – where my musical education formally began. The same could be said for most of my group of friends; hell, it could be said for most of the 20- and 30-somethings who grew up in Sioux Falls

Our high school punk band sold demo tapes in this store. It’s where we bought tickets to our first punk rock shows – mine was Good Riddance – and where we discovered bands that still resonate today: Texas is the Reason, Cursive, Jawbreaker, Hot Water Music.

What we didn’t know then is that, there in that record store, shuffling through used CDs, the atmosphere stained with incense and our opinions influenced by the certainty of indie culture, we were also experiencing the benefit of small business. We were getting a view of music that many couldn’t experience – not because they didn’t want to, but because they weren’t lucky enough to have an independent voice in the music business. The culture of a big box retailer is all about serving the lowest common denominator, discovering new music isn’t as safe as developing taste through the hive mind.

The Internet changed all of that. Now, discovering music is easier. It’s safer. It’s fueled by television soundtracks and iPod commercials, delivered immediately through the tubes and into the warmth of your computer’s speakers.

The unfortunate side effect is that independent record stores are waning, their importance halved. It’s no wonder that vinyl has come back as both a method of acquiring music and as an art symbol of its own: independent labels and record stores and fans of both are desperate to develop a new niche.

And I for one hope it works. Nothing will replace the community of a local independent record store. More than anything, I think that’s what I was foolishly trying to convey to Sierra and Isaac. I was forgetting that these were two kids too young to even comprehend what music means, too naive to understand the significance of this dirty old building, these used CDs and albums, these weird covers with monsters and singers with dirty hair and stupid names and lo-fi music they’d probably never hear.

I probably overdid it. I spent more than I should have, purchased a few albums I didn’t need, even grabbed an exclusive Record Store Day release 7” that I can’t even listen to until I secure a turntable.

But then again, maybe I haven’t been doing enough. Because independent record stores – both here in Sioux Falls and in every town I’ve ever lived or visited – have helped paint a small part of who I’ve become. I owe them in part for my sense of independence, for my reluctance to blindly accept mainstream and for a couple of lasting friendships.

My kids might not understand that right now. But they will.

My only hope is that they’ll get the chance to experience the same thing for themselves.

Tags: Isaac, Music, On..., Sierra, Sioux Falls, Vilhauer |

Comment

Isaac + Sierra = BFF

April 1, 2010


Isaac and Sierra

I know they’re still young, but these two kids are friends, and that’s probably one of the coolest things I’ve ever been a part of.

—

EDIT: I hereby interrupt this nice sentiment to clarify that this picture has a texture on it. Our bathroom isn’t really that dirty. We promise.

Tags: Isaac, Photography, Sierra, Vilhauer |

Comment

On rocking kids to sleep

March 29, 2010


As hard as we try to get out of the bad habits of parenting – or, at least, the bad habits we stumbled into the first time around, with Sierra, who at times (like most first children, I assume) served as more of a test subject than a child, our best guesses at sound parenting nothing more than a series of experimentation – we often fall back into them.

We understand that children don’t learn to fall asleep on their own until they are set down while awake – no rocking to sleep, no snoring before letting go. We know this firsthand, thanks to the nightmare of Sierra’s sleep schedule through the first 15 months and her refusal to sleep without a full narcotic dose of rocking and singing.

Yet, I can’t help at this point – a full two and a half years into this parenting business, and over nine months into trying to figure out kid #2 – but want to rock him to sleep. To closed-eyes, shallow-breath, oops-I-let-go-too-early-but-he’s-totally-not-waking-up sleep.

I don’t care if he wakes up, wondering where he is, confused as to how he got to this point, crying and wailing and wanting someone to help him return to the state he was in before he zonked out: in the arms of a parent, safe from the world.

I don’t care if he takes a few extra months before we’re able to set him in bed, turn off the light and say “good night!” without swaddling and rocking and feeding and snuggling and the rest of the routine.

I don’t care, because, as I realized while rocking him tonight, he’s only got a few more months of needing us to fall asleep. Where Sierra is totally self-sufficient in the sleep category, Isaac still clings to us for protection, still curls up in the den our arms form around him, still looks to us for that basic need.

I don’t care, because I know someday that will be gone. He’ll fight going to sleep, but in a different way. In a combative way. No longer looking to us to help him, he’ll see us a foes – as the adults standing in the way of another hour of television.

So for now, I’ll rock him. To sleep. For whatever he needs. And wait for the day when he realizes he can let go.

Tags: Isaac, Sierra |

Comment

On trying not to let a second child’s accomplishments go without fanfare

February 21, 2010


Poor, poor Isaac.

Every day was a new experience with Sierra. Every single day, every single noise and movement and milestone was fresh. Uncharted and unknown; an unfilled captain’s log, we learned to figure things up as we go.

And as we scribbled in notes and made adjustments on the fly, like coaches throwing everything we could at an undefeated team, we couldn’t help but stand back and marvel at the growth – that this child had not only completely taken over the game, but had also improved from quarter to quarter, beating our psyche into submission, forcing us to let go of the assumptions we had brought in.

Sierra didn’t learn how to be a person as much as she taught us how to be parents. To let things happen. To reach only when reaching seemed productive.

Sierra got all of the attention. And even now, as the first of our children to grow older, always poised to be the first child to break through each checkpoint, she still commands most of it.

Isaac is eight months old. And it doesn’t feel like he’s even been around that long. His milestones come and go. We notice them. We celebrate them. But they don’t last as long.

There’s no time to dwell.

To be honest, there never was. Much of it is perspective. Isaac grows just as Sierra grew. We react just as we did the first time around. But the reaction isn’t as drawn out, not as noteworthy. It’s just as special. It’s simply not as singular.

But I still feel bad for the little guy sometimes. I guess if Sierra taught us to calm down and let life happen, Isaac’s furthering the lesson by reminding us not to let it happen too fast.

Poor, poor Isaac.

Tags: Isaac, Sierra |

1 Comment

To the woman beep-beeping at the grocery store.

December 7, 2009


To the woman at the grocery store. The one who, along with her two-year old daughter, walked along the aisles, happily and loudly beep-beeping her way through the cereal aisle despite the looks from other customers, as if there was nothing in the world that could stop her from enjoying a moment of spontaneity with a child. One 30-year-old and one toddler, one pushing and one riding in a car-shaped cart, one turning corners and one spinning the steering wheel, absolutely shielded from life’s conventions.

To that woman: Thank you. For reminding me that I’m not overstepping the limits of polite society when I decide to stoop to my daughter’s level and begin making fart noises at the gas station. And especially for giving me a little hope that most parents – despite their public seriousness – are all made more human by the weirdness of a two-year-old’s mind.

Tags: Isaac, On..., Sierra |

2 Comments

Next Page →