Cheeky's Hideaway

Cute or Annoying?

I've got an idea for a new game show.  I haven't quite finalized how to execute it (although who cares as long as I find the right washed-up comedian to host) but it goes something like this:

Contestants get to witness some of Cheeky's behavior and have to guess whether it's "cute" or "annoying."  This may seem pretty straightforward, but I assure you it's not.  It's completely contextual, which is where the challenge is.  Let me give you some examples.

Listening to Cheeky sing at the top of her lungs after putting her to bed = CUTE

Listening to Cheeky sing at the top of her lungs TWO HOURS after putting her to bed = ANNOYING

Getting a big hug and kiss from Cheeky because she doesn't want you to leave for work = CUTE

Getting a big hug and kiss from Cheeky WHILE SHE REFUSES TO LET GO OF YOUR LEG because she doesn't want you to go to work = ANNOYING

Cheeky giggling after a fart = CUTE

Cheeky giggling after a fart THAT SMELLS LIKE THE DECAYING INTESTINES OF A DEAD GOAT THAT HAD FEASTED ON THE DIARRHEA OF A 40 YEAR-OLD ALCOHOLIC FOR A WEEK = ANNOYING

Cheeky running naked in the house announcing she's "Makid Girl!" = CUTE

Cheeky running naked in the house WHEN SHE'S SUPPOSED TO BE GETTING IN THE F*CKING TUB announcing she's "Makid Girl!" = ANNOYING

Complex, convoluted explanations of life's little idiosyncrasies as explained by a three year-old = CUTE

Complex, convoluted explanations of life's little idiosyncrasies as explained by a three year-old AD NAUSEUM FOR HOURS ON END WITHOUT A BREAK OF ANY KIND = ANNOYING

Cheeky climbing into our bed in the morning to snuggle - CUTE

Cheeky climbing into our bed in the morning to snuggle WHICH IS BULLSHIT BECAUSE ALL SHE REALLY WANTS IS FOR YOU TO WAKE YOUR ASS UP AND SCRATCH HER BACK UNTIL EVERY ITCH SHE WILL EVER HAVE IN HER ENTIRE LIFE IS GONE = ANNOYING

You get the basic idea. It's the type of game parents would probably be REALLY good at, and the payoff wouldn't have to be that big.  Personally, you don't need to offer $1 million to get me on the show...I'd take a weekend night of babysitting.

What Has Two Thumbs and Sucks to Be Around?

Dear Cheeky,

Remember how we went to the zoo this weekend?  You took my hand and said, "You're my buddy, Daddy!  Come with me, Buddy!"  We looked at the giraffes, fed the goats, rode on the slide, and "flew" in the gondola.  You were adorable, and it made me want to wrap myself around you and hold you forever.

Who was that kid, and what the hell have you done with her?

Look, I know you're three.  You're about as stable as a Mexican space shuttle.  No one is expecting reason or accountability from you.  But we need to talk about some of the more pronounced behavior that gives your mother that look in the morning.

In the morning, there's no need to slip into our bedroom like a ninja and declare, in your distinct, immodulated way, that "it's day time!"  First, please note that it is usually pitch black out.  This, by any rational definition is not "day time," Riddick.  The reason you're tired all the time is because you are not sleeping enough, so when we waltz you back to your bedroom it's not because of some Guantanamo cruelty, it's because we don't want you to be a whiny bitch all day you need energy.  If you really can't sleep, then at least let us sleep; you're exhausting, quite frankly.  That's why I taught you how to use Tivo.

And about the whining, you do not need Mommy to watch TV with you.  You've done a fine job watching it on your own, especially since it's the only medication to yank you out of those negative feedback loops that usually end with you puking and crying at the same time.  You also don't need Daddy to color with you, since my crayon is apparently always where your crayon wants to be, nor do you need one of us to fetch your water which you just threw on the floor 10 seconds earlier--especially when you scream "NO I WANT TO GET IT!" whenever we angrily grudgingly lean over to pick it up.  What you need is to pick one or the other, or your Mommy will stay locked in the bedroom until after you're in bed.

Oh, and one other thing.  Just take a shit already!  You think we don't see where you're ramming your hand?  All the pillows in the world won't keep the dookie in, kiddo, although I'm amazed at your sphincter's resistance Miralax.  You're uncomfortable, we're frustrated, and our neighbors think we're hosting the Taiwanese parliament.  I can understand not wanting to smell it (the porta-potties at Phish concerts smell better) but why in the name of god would you want to keep it in your body?  Against it's wishes?  Don't make me sprinkle Colon Blow onto your breakfast...

We still love you, sweety.  Don't be freaked out by our weird eye-twitches or the way our veins bulge when you refuse to go to bed.  Forgive us if we yell, or walk away, or threaten to inject you with rhinocerous tranquilizer.  We don't really mean it (mostly).  We know how sweet and wonderful your capable of being.  So feel free at any time to meet us halfway, and maybe dial down the crazy a tad.  I think we all want to make it to your graduation alive.

Why Noggin' is a Better English Teacher than Me

Cheeky:  Look, that's my new fool!

Me:  Right, it's your new school.  Can you say "school?"  SK-OOL?

Cheeky:  Fool!

Me:  No, it's SK-OOL.  School!

Cheeky:  Right, daddy.  Fool!

Me:  Yeah.  Fool.  Whatever...

Some time later...

Me:  What do you want to eat?

Cheeky:  Um....I want some pfthert!

Me:  Some what? 

Cheeky:  I want some pfthert, Daddy.

Me:  Pfthert?  What the hell is pfthert?

Oodgie:  (translating) She means dessert.

Me:  You want some dessert.  Can you say, "dessert?"  DA-ZERT?

Cheeky:  Sure!  Fazert!

Me:  Um, let's try one more time.  DA-ZERT.  Say it with me.

Cheeky;  FA-ZERT!

Oodgie:  Cheeky, why don't you tell daddy what you told me you were good at today.

Cheeky:  (smiling)  METACOGNITION!

Still Waiting For Her Period

Do you ever wonder how people who talk incessantly do it?  How it is they can continually be chatting about the most inane, pointless things, until their voice fades into background noise or you snap and crush their skulls with your bare hands?  How they can be so unaware of that I'm shoving an ice-pick into my ear to make the noise stop?

I wonder this often, for I seem to have sired one of those people.

Cheeky, god love her, is getting funnier every day.  Her nuggets of wisdom and insight are a constant source of amusement.  But they come at a cost.  A cost of persistence and repetition.

It would not be uncommon for the following sentence to come out of her mouth:

That's the blue piece that's the blue piece that's the blue piece it goes there like a puzzle thank you daddy for giving me the blue piece it goes there like a puzzle thank you daddy it's so beautiful it's so beautiful it's so beautiful that's the blue piece it goes there like a puzzle I'll show mommy I'll show mommy look mommy it's so beautiful that's the blue piece

Acknowledging or interrupting her only serves to change--not end--the conversation.  This morning, as I tried to end the above jumbo run-on sentence with, "I think breakfast is ready" I got the following

...the blue piece oh boy beakfast I love beakfast I love beakfast we're having eggys we're having eggys I love eggys I love eggys I love eggys mommy and daddy are having beakfast with me we're having beakfast together we're having beakfast together mommy and daddy and me mommy and daddy and me we're having eggys I love eggys thank you mommy for making eggys I love eggys where's my water

It's as if a wind-up toy with a perpetual motion device in it's jaw was using Cheeky's body as a vessel, because if you knew me and Oodgie you'd know we only open our mouths for yawns and sarcasm.

I've been wrestling with how this came to be for a few weeks, but it wasn't until I started trying to pick apart and transcribe Cheeky's dialog that it hit me.  And once it's written down it's quite obvious.

I'm a terrible parent.  I've spent so much time teaching her to talk and spell that I forgot how to teach her how to end a sentence!   She has no punctuation!

Either that or Oodgie had an affair with José Saramago.  Baby, you'd better fess up if there's something you need to tell me...

So now what?  They Might Be Giants don't have a DVD for "Here Come the ;, ?, !" 

But I've hit upon a solution.  We're obviously going to have to teach her all her punctuation at some point, but we might be driven to the brink if we can't make some progress fast.  So instead of starting off with the traditional commas and periods, I'm trying something radical.

I'm starting with parentheses.

If she says everything non-essential in parentheses, then we won't actually hear it. 

It just

might

work

As long as she doesn't say things like (daddy I hid your iPod in my crib) or (daddy I'm about to crap in your hand) I'm golden.

Overheard at Casa de Cheeky

I needed no further evidence that Cheeky is indeed my flesh and blood.  But the following quotes from this evening have further reinforced it:

"No say 'foux da fa fa!'"

"I yuv loud music!  I dance to loud music, daddy!"

"Bwaaarp!   Bwaaaaaarp!   Bwaaaaaaaarp!  Heh-heh."

"Oh sit!  Oh sit!"

Mimicry is the highest form of flattery.  It's also likely to generate a couple calls from concerned teachers in the future.

Next up:  "Everything's better with cheese on it!"  and "I'm picking out a Thermos for you! "  I love being a parent (he says devilishly)

Ssssssssshhhhhhh!

Be very, very quiet

You might disturb it

It's resting in our holding facility right now.

The view screens are keeping it occupied

But if you touch it

or speak to it

or breathe near it

it could....EXPLODE

and destroy us all

It's been five days since the beast took possession of her

The survivors are holed-up in improvised shelters, scavenging for food and fearful that a sideways glance could wake it and unleash....

...the noise...

...my god, the ghastly, shrieking noise...

We don't know what it desires...what it responds to...or what its weaknesses are...

We just hope--and pray--for salvation

God have mercy on our souls

From the Gang Called Cheekeez With Attitudes

There's a lot going on this picture:

You'll immediately note that this is, indeed, Cheeky's first haircut.  And by "hair" I mean the singular form of the noun.  $30 well spent.

You'll also probably note that she is none too happy about it, despite the fact that she's driving a wooden boat.

The keen observer will also note the gangland tattoo on her arm. 

Apparently all the kids in the neighborhood are getting these as badges of affiliation with the playground gangs.  Additional fruit are added to signify time-served.  I think she gets a pink bunny after her first kill, cuz.

And the sucker?  That's only because we don't let her have cigars.

BTW, Liz, if you have any idea how to get that thing off let me know.  Otherwise I'm sending the tat to Mr. Big Dubya for display.

They Don't Teach You That at Juilliard

What happens when I go out of town for a couple days?  Cheeky cultivates her artistic side. 

She's certainly earned a reputation for drama, but I didn't realize just how multi-talented she is.

Apparently, she explored her use of color.

But that's not all!  She's also been practicing the latest dance moves.  It's a multi-media assault, including both visual and musical arrangements.  I recommend paying close attention to the finale; if you turn the volume up, you'll note that she not just making noises with her mouth...

She's like J. Lo, but with a smaller ass.

Public Indecency

Imagine, if you will, a cute young couple stepping onto a bus or subway you are riding on.  Their child, although a cheerful little creature, is wearing a pink shirt so stained and discolored it looks like it had been dipped in dumpster-juice.  Streaks of watermelon, lasagna, liquefied graham cracker, and god knows what bodily fluids leave a unique pattern across her chest, and bits of undigested food are stuck in her hair.

Would you think, "those white-trash parents are raising their child to be a p-i-g PIG?" 

Now imagine if that same child lifted her daddy's shirt to expose his pale, distended belly.  Using the same finger that had just been absorbing exotic germs from the subway poll, she plunges up to her elbow into his belly button.

Would you shudder with disgust, then vomit?

This same child, in her newly psychedelic shirt, is gleefully working the surrounding crowd when she reaches out her pudgy fingers and pulls down her mother's shirt, exposing the entirety of her boob.

Would you say, "My god, I don't care if this is my stop or not, I NEED to get off now.  Where's the emergency brake?"

For all of you who saw this on the 3 train Saturday, I'm sorry.  Especially for the fact I don't tan better.  Hopefully you got a laugh out of it, like we did, and didn't call the OCFS on us. 

Survivor's Guilt

I felt a little guilty this morning.  Cheeky has been bipolar the last few days, waking up in a perky, cute mood and then, almost instantly, transforming into Mel Gibson on the PCH.  She twists, she flails, she throws her face on the floor, she writes angry letters to the editor--in short, complete meltdowns.  Only the medicinal glow of Sesame Street or Blues Clues seems to help, and even that requires constant monitoring so that distractions like movement, light, or the earth's atmosphere don't set her off again. 

But I don't have to deal with it long.  I see it for an hour in the morning, then off to work I go.  And do you know what I felt as I shut the door behind me this morning?

Relief.

When I left, Cheeky was cheerfully waving "bye" to me while Oodgie was holding her with the helter-skelter eyes.  Now that the heat had dropped to a MUCH more comfortable 92 degrees they might go out, but the weather reports threaten rain.  If trapped inside...well, let's just say that two would enter, but only one would come out. 

What sort of selfish prick feels good leaving his two loved ones behind to battle it out?

Since I left the soul-consuming behemoth in Queens, I've really like my job.  It's relatively quiet.  I like the people I work with.  We get to brainstorm and design fun ideas for internet sites, and discuss the relative importance of ForBiddeN in the context of social networking.  I've got my iPod plugged in next to my computer (today's selection = The Amazing Rhythm Aces) and can head to Starbucks or Chipotle at my leisure.  And occasionally I even get to write blog posts.

I feel bad for Oodgie when she has weeks like this, when the oppressive weather and repetitive readings of Who is the Beast? wears her down.  It's hard to leave when you know it's going to be a rough day, even though it has to be done.  Her career is on hold while she helps raise our daughter, and when I leave every morning I unintentionally reinforce a feeling of being left behind.

Oodgie doesn't begrudge me my job, and I wouldn't trade it for her day.  Frankly, I do like the fact that I don't have to manage the emotional roller-coaster and tightly managed feeding schedule of an infant.  It's hard!  On weekends I do everything I can to give Oodgie a break, but that's much easier when I know that Monday I won't be sitting on the floor for eight hours hitting that damn Learning Drum. 

I was raised Catholic...nobody knows how to absorb, compartmentalize, and live with guilt better than us (thanks, Mom!)  And until the Gates Foundation adds us to their grant list I'll be trudging out the door every day anyway.  I'll just need to hurry home to make sure no one needs immediate medical attention.