Cheeky's Hideaway

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.

Help a Brutha Out

So here's the deal:  This weekend Oodgie is breaking out the jaws of life and fleeing the drudgery of stay-at-home parenting to sun herself in South Beach.  For four days she'll be having her temples rubbed by a muscular gay man named Pablo, sipping mojitos and catching up on back issues of US Weekly.

That leaves me at home with Cheeky.  Alone.

When I first agreed to this, I thought it would be a piece of cake.  Leave out a bowl of water and a bowl of graham crackers and she'd feed herself, right?  Oodgie, however, keeps insisting that I should get some "help," as if I'd leave Cheeky in the dryer again or something.  I'm stoopid ignorant stubborn pretty confident in my ability to handle it, though. 

However....

I could use some suggestions on what to do with a 1 year old for four days.  I've already scheduled paintball, so that's a good couple hours of fun for both of us.  There's also an exhibit which I think she'd find most educational, after which we can share beer and nachos.  But there's still lots of time to kill, and since she still hasn't mastered the Xbox controller (let alone her bowels) I'm fishing around for entertainment options.  Any ideas, oh mighty internet?  Especially you New Yorkers...something local would obviously be preferable to the San Diego Zoo....

HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHEEKY!

One year ago, you came into this world, and what an amazing gift you have been.  You gave us hell those first few months, but you've turned into the most delightful, fun, precious, amazing little daughter two parents could ever ask for.  We're sad you won't be this ridiculously cute forever, but we're looking forward to watching you grow and sharing your new adventures with you.  We love you, kiddo...happy birthday!

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