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English on BKL

All photos by Megan English

Subject: The Bears (Beatrix Kathleen Lizette)

April, 2012



Today is a good day. The sun is shining and I made a BB comic. I've been going thru pictures that I've taken in the past month--there are a ton I must post here, but today is not the day. Too much other stuff to do--skool and taking the kids out and dishes. And sorting  random, scattered documents.

BB is over her flu, it seems. She ate like a champ today, and has been sleeping for an hour and a half since 10:30. Wonderful. We're hecka going outside today.

This weekend (our weekends are Fri-Sat) I hella took  my older girl many places. The aquarium Friday, and Saturday we ventured to Capitol Hill for Record Store Day at Everyday Music, and Teletubby Park, then to the grocer in the afternoon.

She's been so cooped up lately that I think she's going a little crazy. Tantrums have been more frequent, and she's bouncing off the walls and needs ... more. More than I can give. Sigh, day care, dad. Get daycare taken care of. Shit.

I am going to take the kids out right now. Oh, and by the way, Lucy and I are listening to the new High on Fire album. My girl will know metal like the back of her hand; whether she likes it remains to be seen.

I had a revelation today--I am healthy and not dead and I have the power to change my world around me for the better. So that's my new outlook on life, and I think it's a strong one. As long as I'm alive, nothing is too difficult.


The Last Four Days

I blogged about this day already, and I blogged about the next day too, rather jollingly and gentlemanly. But what I didn't get to was --

This week was looking good for me, cause Tuesday we had a short class, and Thursday class was cancelled. So Wednesday was to be my last class of the week.

There wasn't even homework due! So I hung around at home for a while after Megan came home from work, helping out around the house. Lucy was having a bit of a temper tantrum, and it was bad, but with my dada majik I got her to calm down. Then she had food with me and I took BB off mama's hands.

So BB and I are standing in the kitchen, and I hear Megan talking to someone at the front door. It turned out to be our neighbor Jim, who's always spreading the word about burglaries and vandalisms in our neighborhood, which have been on the rise lately. Just last week our neighbor's car was stolen from 12th Ave NE, in front of our houses.

After listening to them talk another minute I glean that something bad has happened, and as Jim leaves I ask Megan if something bad happened to our car, and she tells me then that the window has been broken, but the car seats were still inside. And I've got class in an hour and a half and I'm like, "fuck."

It was scary. I got really nervous. Someone was casing our neighborhood and fucking with our cars. Usually I park the car behind our house. For two days I leave it on 12th and this happens! Stepping outside to survey the damage, I see that there's basically glass everywhere, inside the car and out; a real mess.

I sweep the street amid surges of rush-hour traffic, and try to sweep the inside of the car but little shards of glass keep getting stuck in my hands. So I'm all confused and want Megan's advice; I go inside. She calls our insurance people, who connect us with some glass repair people, and an appt. is made for the next morning.

I went to class, was dog-tired and mentally exhausted, but it ended up being a great class. I learned a lot. Skool rulz. This is my teacher for that class and this is the second class of hers I've taken.

Fast-forward to 11:20 pm, when Megan and I had finished watching some Star Trek: Voyager, got our teeth brushed and were all ready for bed. I check on BB, who had been fussing for a good 10 min. She had puked in her crib.

It was in her hair on the back of her head, on her jammies and the crib. It was a weird half hour after that. I gave BB a bath, and Megan changed her sheets. In the bath, she was too tired to even play with her ducks. She just sat there in the water, kinda slumped forward, probably very confused.

We took care of our kid with tag-team effort and kicked ass, and BB went back to a clean bed, smelling sweet all around.
In the morning, a pleasant young guy named Francisco who works for S

BB pukes up formula in the evening. I'm making Lucy mac n' cheeze and Megan says, "Glenn!?" and I go "What?" and she goes, "Puking baby!"

BB threw up the crackers and formula and breast milk all over the carpet and over Megan's arm, encased in a nice sweater. Half of it got into the puke bowl.

Megan took BB into the bathroom to clean up. I couldn't just stop making Lucy food, so I did double duty and cleaned up the carpet, and burned the butter-cream sauce as Lucy kept asking for like crackers or something. It was a bit of madness. Eventually I finished making the food, which was one of my better mac n' cheez batches. Lucy ate two and a half bowls of the stuff.

As a younger dad, the whole evening might have phased me. But I just kick so much ass that no curve ball my kidz throw at me can phase me, nor be testin me, bestin me, rappin like Wiz Khalifa me.

That evening, Megan and I were wiped. Couldn't even handle making dinner, or going shopping to have the ingredients to do so. Instead I ordered a shitload of food from Romio's and we had a night in, watching Fringe and dorking out and getting fat with greasy pizza and wangs.

This day was a good day. By the end I was exhausted, big surprise. It started with me going to vacuum out the remaining glass shards from the car. Francisco said that he can't guarantee he got every single shard of glass vacuumed up, and that if I wanted to finish the job off, a gas station vacuum would be the way to go cause " ... they're about three times more powerful than the one I've got in my van."

So, I hopped in the car, hoping small shards of glass wouldn't stick in the ass of my pants, get on the couch later on, and cut one of my kids to shreds. First gas station I went to--both vacuums out of order. I drive down to 45th and hit up that Shell station down there. After vacuuming the car, which left plenty of little shards that sparkle from certain angles, but are not going to kill us, I smelled doughnuts.

Like a dog, I start sniffing and turning around and trying to determine the direction. Though it seems unlikely, I walk into the gas station and look around, but I don't see no doughnuts. I ask the worker in there where the smell is coming from, and he laughs and says, "That must be my neighbor."

"Where?" I ask.

He points to the west wall. "Over there."

So I walk out, around the gas station, across an alley, and there's Ly's Doughnuts. They were cheap, and the coffee was awful, but I got to bring doughnuts back to my family. Yum.

After I'd been back home for a while, Megan asks, "So do you wanna take Lucy to the aquarium or something?" I thought about it for 0.68 seconds before the idea seemed totally awesome, and I responded in the affirmative, and then guess waht I did.

Yeah, the aquarium was totally killer, but Lucy is a little too young to get excited about the fish like us grownups do. There was a tank with these amazing, cute, big otters swimming around. In one corner was a pink ball, a toy for the animals, which even they were sick of. They wanted to swim around and live their lives, but all Lucy wanted to look at, point at, and talk about was the pink ball. "Oh, I want to play with that pink ball!"

It's a way for her to have something to talk about with me, and I can understand how that's more exciting to a kid than the big picture. It was a little disappointing that I couldn't share my excitement with her. As my dad said on the phone last night, "She doesn't live in a world where she needs to be excited about nature."

Once my dad took my brother and I to an aquarium in Chicago when we were kids, and I remember him getting infinitely frustrated with us not wanting to look at everything he wanted to point out. So this time, with Lucy, I didn't say "Wow, look at that!" to everything I wanted to show her. I let her choose the path and go at her own pace. A few times I lead her to some sweet animals, like fucking fur seals, those things kick ass.

All in all, we had a good time. I bought her a diver and a submarine toy. We went home happy.

The whole trip reminded me of how timid Lucy is in public, and how sick she must be of being cooped up in the house with her sister and I every day. It's been a hard couple weeks, with her being sick, and BB getting the bug right after Lu got over it. That all amounts to no outside trips. As long as Lucy doesn't get to have friends these days, the less she's going to know about socializing when the time comes for her to be in school.

Our pediatrician strongly recommends day care for Lucy, right now. She's at the perfect age to get out of hte house and start learning to be around other people.

Jeez she just smiled at me and my heart melted. She's getting so smart. Further proof she's ready to get out on her own.

Time to start coordinating day care. Lovely.

Aaaah, come on dad, don't look at it like that. "You fucked a woman and a baby came out. Now you be patient." That's Louis C.K. Words to live by for dads.


That tiger's gonna school that horse about how to count

Quintessential Flu-Stricken Baby
I thought BB smelled like puke this morning, but it wasn't exactly like puke. It was more foul, but similar.

Turns out it was the stinkiest diaper I have ever changed in my life. First off, it was stomach-flu diarrhea, which smells worse than healthy poo. Second, it was in her diaper for at least an hour or two, cause Megan and I could both smell it in the room, around the area of -- the baby.

We were all, "Did she puke? I don't see no puke. Did she puke? I dunno. Maybe she's laying on it?"

What we didn't know was that she was laying IN IT!! BAZINGAOW!!!

See, when poo soaks into a diaper, during those incredibly rare occasions when I neglect to change a soiled diaper for an inordinate amount of time, it starts to take on this wholly original, and wholly bastardic smell. Combine that with stomach-flu diarrhea, and we're talking about a concoction of teh most of foul, soul-dissolving stench.

BB was trying to let us know about it, by fussing and basically saying, "Dada, change my diaper instead of putting your need for sleep above my need for not laying in my own excrement."

But in her sickness, she kept falling back asleep, waking up cause of that shitty stink, and repeating the process.
It's too hard

Finally, at about 7, after I'd been up for a half hour or more, she was up, jolly, rested, not seeming sick. Her energy is low today, and I put her down for a nap an hour earlier than normal.

Though it's really stressful to have a sick child, it's nice to have more free time while she sleeps.
In other child news, my 3-year-old is currently starting to cry about having to dress herself. Now she's in her room, forcefully sobbing, "Please help me." I can hardly understand the words, they're so garbled in the stew of false drama.

In dealing with this crisis, I noticed something. I'll tell you how it went down, without a lot of exposition.

Ok, she's fussing, not wanting to get dressed, being contrary, and seemingly trying to get me to get angry. I think. That's what my natural reaction would be if I wasn't such a cool customer, anyway.

Then I took a slurful slip of my coffee, and I smiled and said, "Man, this is good coffee."

Lucy smiles, points at my cup, and says, "You love coffee, dada."

The secret formula for taking a kid out of a grumpy mood is to be happy yourself, unaffected by the kid's stupid bullshit figuring out the world and how to socialize.

I know, I know, it's not stupid bullshit. But it is a form of stupidity. I was at Big Time Brewery last night with some Spanish 103 classmates, which was really fun. It was a treat for all of us, who aren't really animales sociales, but evening degree students, who live real lives, and have partners and adult jobs and homes and cars.

While we were there, someone said something about kids being basically stupid, but she was totally joking, and we all laughed at how not fair that is, but also how true it is. Kids are stupid little fuckers, but it's because they know nothing when they're born, and the parents have to teach them.

So next time someone says kids are stupid, don't get all uppity and offended and pretend like they're not. Instead, get offended at how unfair it is to call them 'stupid,' and suggest that the offending party alternatively refer to children as 'delightfully ignorant.'


Flu vs. Us, round 2, FIGHT!

As I was waking up this morning, it was to BB quietly fussing in her crib, but not standing up. I thought to myself that I'd wait her out, see if she was really ready to get up. And she never stood up--back to sleep with her.

It was a good 10 minutes of quiet fussing, and I was vaguely worried something might be wrong. So I got up and checked, and she was fine--laying on her face, knees up against her stomach and making her butt stick up in the air, half on top of her blanket. I fold the back of the blanket onto her back, and go about my day.

Eight o'clock rolled around and I was thinking it was definitely weird, so I woke her up. Made her some eggs and gave her some watered down cranberry juice. 

She had pretty low energy--not her usual yell-y self. But she was still pretty energetic, so after the meal I stuck her in front of a Sesame Street dvd and did a bunch of dishes. I was listening to some Soundgarden on the computer and wasn't hearing a single peep from BB, which made me worried. Checking on her, I found her standing at the small red table,  playing contentedly with a toy piano, watching the show.

Finishing the dishes, I gave BB some attention. I sat with her in front of the tv, where I picked her up, and she did this really weird burp.

I knew right then what would follow, and my mind was yelling at me, "Get up now and get a puke bowl! Go! Go! Go!" But my body was mumbling at me, "It's too hard to get up right now."

The burps continued, getting louder, until a big chunk of the eggs she had eaten slowly emerged from her mouth in a yellow clump with orange bits. The rest followed. Two big heaves, then a third small one. Poor girl. She was standing the whole time, her back to me, my hands on her belly and chest, leaning her forward so the puke would just all go on the carpet.

Flu. AAaaaaahhhhgggggg ... I try to nourish my kids, and it explodes the nourishment out of them. Forget you, flu, you're a jerk. 

My kids both had flu shots just a month ago! It found a way around the shots. I don't want to say they were for nothing, but it seems like the flu shots my kids got were for nothing.

I'm hesitant to say it cause it might have protected them against breaking out in an even worse case of the flu. However, I don't know if the medicine works that way or not.

My Lucy just got over it, and now it's time for round 2, with a baby! Time to start stressing hardcore.

At least I'm keeping the coffee intake really low and I can handle it. I'm in a good mood and my kids are safe with me. So that's good. They've got a roof and two parents who love them and are on the higher end of poor. Could be worse.

BB's sleeping now. Lucy just said to me, after I agreed to turn off All Dogs Go to Heaven and play Blue's Clue's instead, "Thanks for taking care of me!"

I was almost never more complimented in all my life.

Save, of course, for last night. That's right--I received a very high compliment, and from not one person, but from a whole class. Allow me to explain.

I turned this in yesterday for an assignment that was supposed to be a 1-minute story, fictionalized or real.
The class erupted with laughter. I mean, I had them rolling. It was awesome. My minute of fame.


Normalizing / Ahh, just give it up

This morning Lucy comes into my room, all awake and ready to go, at about 7:20, and says, "I need graham crackers and milk."

And I thought, 'She's finally back to normal.'

The flu was a long-lasting one. And the thing is, Lucy received a flu shot about half a week before she started throwing up.

Whatever. Hopefully she's developed antibodies that will continue to fight it. Seems that will do her more good than the flu shot has.

You know, when she got that shot, she didn't even cry. It was in her shoulder. Did I blog about this yet? I should have. She sat in my lap, and the nurse was quick about it, and then... she was okay.

Before the needle went in, the nurse was getting stuff ready in a cupboard, and I told Lu, "You're gonna get a poke, and it's gonna hurt, okay? But it won't be that bad," or something to that effect. Everybody else had just been calling it "shots" from there on in, which doesn't explain to a 3-year-old what it is.

BB cried when she got hers, but she's only 10 months old! Closer to 11 now. She's getting huge. She has 6 teeth--four or top, two on bottom, all in the middle. No more toothless baby smile.

She's at this really thin dividing line between baby and toddler. I still call her a baby, but she can almost stand up by herself. It's still a ways off, but since she's always pulling herself up on stuff, she's not exactly baby-like anymore, even if she does crawl like a champ.


So remember I was talking about anger and stuff? I've given up being angry. You know what else I gave up? Toilet training.

Well, not permanently. But I mean, Lucy was sick, and I'm not about to be a total cockbag and make Lucy sit on the toilet while she's puking and having diarrhea... oh wait that might have been a good idea. Well, anyhow, I gave it up, and Megan did too.

Before the sickness started, we had come up with a new rule--no more of the specific show, "Go Diego Go!" until she poops or pees in the toilet.

She's already seen every episode available on Netflix at least three or four times. She was hooked on it, and Megan and I were getting more than tired of hearing it every day.

So we figured it would be a good way to get Lu to go in the toilet. She cried about it at first, but then the sickness came, and we gave her lots of Diego again. All she could do was sit on the couch and sleep all day. Why not?

I know tv rots your brain, but we don't let her have more than 2 hours any given day, sometimes not more than one.

So now that the sickness is over, you know what she's done? She's switched to Blue's Clues. You know what else? She wants to watch the same episode. Every time.

She'll say, "I can get Diego if I poop or pee in the toilet, dada." And I'll say, "Yep! That's right, Lucy." And she'll go right on with her life.

She has no interest in sitting on the toilet. I don't want the heartbreak. Toilet training, for the time being, is off.

Shit, I should have her sit on that thing tomorrow. I know when she goes, right around 8 a.m. every day... 


Updato Rapido

I'm waiting on my friend Lesley to come and meet me in Denny Hall. I'm hangin' out with Kim Noble and she's gonna suffer thru Les and I hablandoing español para una hora.

¡Adiós amigos!


Not Day of Defecation part 2


Now it's several days later and I'm gonna have a hard time remembering everything that happened that day. However, that poo Lucy had was the beginning of a flu that is afflicting her to this day.

And this morning, did she ever have a huge bm. It was this foul-smelling diarrhea, and a lot of it. A deep, olive green with the consistency of a really thin milkshake or smoothie.

Hope I just ruined those two foods for y'all. Cause they're not ruined for me, and I saw that shit in REAL LIFE. In fact I think I'm going to fuckin' Haaaagen Daaas on the AVe to get a thin, uh... grass milkshake with waffle cone bits.

It literally filled her diaper to the brim, and I'm surprised it didn't stain the inside of her pants while she was walking around. When I laid her down and unfastened the diaper, it started spilling out over the edges. Poo smoothie was getting all over the receiving blanket, and it smelled like, well, ass.

I had to grab a new diaper just to safely contain the soiled one. Then I wiped her up and everything was fine.

My tolerance for poo is so high these days. So high. Sigh... 

It fills me.

Mind you, all this talk of poop is really funny to me. I hope it reads that way. I like to kinda go Louis C.K. style on y'all and just say some really dark, gross shit to get a rise out of my readers.

On the Day of Defecation, described in my last long post shit got real. Lucy proceeded to throw up and expel diarrhea several times that day. I changed about six poopy diapers, and about one quarter of her puke ended up in the bowl I was following her around with all day. I could hear her farting poos when she was just standing in the living room, watching tv. They were loud and it was pretty funny.

Her body really wanted to get rid of something. I hope it's not a food allergie.

The next day Lucy was better. No puke, and more energy. We even had a park trip.

The next day--two pukes in the morning and more diarrhea. This was yesterday. It came back with a bit of a vengeance. Today--low energy, and the one big bm, but no puking. That's fine with me, she's easier to deal with when she's got low energy. Ha.

I found myself thinking yesterday that mothers of old must have relished the time when they could throw all three or ten of their kids together in one bed and have them stay there until they all caught the cold and got over it together. Not only would they be physically weakened by the sickness, but they'd all be cooped up in one room! Mom could go do whatever she wanted while the poor sick kids just lay in bed, quietly suffering. Sounds awesome.

Except for not really. It's too stressful when a kid's sick--the worry and the change in daily routine are a lot to deal with, for kid and parent. I'm ready to get my old Lucy back, already. I miss her spunk, her joie de vivre. She's such a sweetie, sick or not.

My little Lucy is one of the two nicest children that ever lived, along with my baby Beatrix.

Luckily BB's been healthy as a kitten through all of this. And jolly, too! Jeez, she's a happy baby.

She's got four teeth coming in on the top row, and two have sprouted on the bottom. Her smile is now officially toothy. And she's got a big ol' smile like her mama. Her mouth opens wiiiide.

So today, it's typical Seattle light rain outside. Dreary. Lucy has kept her food down, but has low energy. I gave BB a bath. She's cute now, with big curly hair. Lucy's hair is so frickin' long now it almost rivals mine.


The other day, I was looking at my two kids, who were playing next to each other on the floor. They didn't know their faces were positioned exactly so I could see the same profile of both faces. And for the first time, I thought they looked like sisters.

My love for my daughters is an all-encompassing tornado that has only a calm center. It's a warm gumdrop. It's the overshadowing pile of love I pile on them, that they take on with courageous hearts every day.

Dadwagon: on ponytails

Today in the Annals of Incompetence

I like this entry. Funny shit. Of course, I've always had long hair, so I've always been good at hair maintenance. But this guy is more normal, and thus provides a perspective I cannot.


Day of Defecation, part 1

Oh man today has been a unique day. A little crazy, too. Let me begin from the beginning.

I wake up. Lying in bed, I've got Lucy to my left, in my bed, and BB in the crib, making noises to wake me up and get me to change her poopy diaper. Nothing weird about this scenario--almost every day, this is what I wake up to. Then I change a poopy diaper before I pee or anything. I've gotten used to starting my days like this: cleaning up someone else's poop.

Today was different. After stretching and wiggling around in bed and just kinda waking up, trying not to let BB see that I'm awake cause she'll cry harder, I started to sit up. Lucy kind of rolls off the side of the bed onto her feet, like a cat, and leans on the bed, facing me, and has this crying face on. Not fully crying, but in anticipation of me being mad and making her feel bad. I've conditioned her to expect this, so I've got to now spend a lot of days telling her that poop is okay, and reassuring her that I'm not going to lose my shit over some shit.

During Voyager, she nodded off.
ANYWAY (I love and have to get out of the habit of getting sidetracked and digressing (do I have to get out of that habit? (Is this just more digressing right here?)))

She says she's got a poopy diaper, in her whisper/moan thing. I was all cool about it, even though I was freshly waking up.

I didn't realize how bad it was until I had her laying down and was pulling her pants off. That shit was everywhere. And it was also really liquidy, like diarrhea. Just like a few days ago when she was puking. The poop had leaked out of the diaper, onto her pajama pants, and was up her belly, and down her thighs. She smelled foul, like she had been sitting in it for time. I realized the smell was coming from her pants, where they had poop on them. I suddenly became grateful to diapers for containing that smell so well--on clothes, it's way more fragrant.

She made it till 11.
So I got kinda mad. Yep. More damage to try to heal away with time. I didn't get too mad, though. It was early, and I had sympathy for poor Lu. She must have let it all go sometime last night, and didn't wake me up, possibly because she knows I need sleep. Megan went to work at 5 this morning, part of her new schedule. Lu's release could have been anywhere from 4:50 to 6:40, when BB woke me up.

Lu is kind of a ninja about crawling into bed with me. I don't wake up when she does it anymore. Not today, definitely. I remembered that I had seen a wet spot on my bed, and that wasn't a piss spot, folks. That was a wet diarrhea spot.

So I get that diaper off Lucy, wipe her up, and give her a bath. Lucy had a bath this morning before 7. It was crazy.

Now BB's waking up and Lucy's sleeping on the couch and I've gotta go! I guess I'll have to continue this later. Someone remind me to continue this later, plz?


I didn't get mad, and I even did my taxes

My Lucy is freshly 3 years old, and has adult-size poops. Hence, toilet training time.

A friend reminded me the other day, during a rare night out at Teddy's, that I had previously expressed that children should be allowed to wait until  they want to defecate in a toilet on their own, rather than being forced or heavily pressured to.

Note to self: Don't make judgments about and draw life conclusions from that which you know not.

I was wrong in that, after a certain amount of time goes by in a kid's life, like pretty much three years, it's time for the wee one to begin the transition from diapers to toilet.

This isn't based on some instinct or intuition--I'm just tired of changing diapers. She poops like an adult, has the control to hold it in until she's ready, and is stubborn as a bull about continuing to go in her diaper. Isn't  stubbornness a rather adult trait? It reassures me further that she's ready for toilet timez, but she's asserting her wishes by refusing. She's standing up for herself, in a way. In a certain light, it's something to be proud of.

In another light, it stinks. This kind of holding onto one's droppings is not suited to one with beauty like hers. She should smell like fresh daisies. Well, maybe not, but just not like bear leavings.

It's been about a month of training now, I'm guessing. She's deigned to allow a few dribbles their righteous escape into the little green Ikea toilet on I think two occasions. Other than that, no full release of that sweet sweet golden stream or hideous hellscape solids.

Megan and I are still feeling out the right way to train her. It's hard, but you basically have to have the kid sit on the toilet every day, and we aren't there yet. We do it almost every day, but we're not consistent about it anymore. It's a combination of two things--Lucy really doesn't want to, and we're too lazy. Basically. I mean, our lives as parents are super busy. And we didn't get off to the best start, either. Well, me anyway.

I've since discovered that one key to not giving a kid complexes about their own shit is to never get angry about it, or anything related to it. It means never getting angry at the poops she doesn't tell us about, that sit in her diaper for like 15 minutes and dry to her vag and butthole, are harder to scrape off than fresh poo, give her rashes, and basically make diaper changes suck. It's something I have particular trouble with, but anger is never the right answer. It invariably makes the kid think you're mad about them pooping.

That's what I'm pretty sure my Lucy thinks, anyway. Trying to explain the difference between being mad at the act of pooping, and being mad at not telling mama and dada about her poop and leaving it in the diaper for a long time, is too fine a line for Lucy to understand.

But she's getting it. I can tell, cause she'll repeat my apologies for being mad at her poops, long after I've given said apology. There have been times in the past few months where I've become pretty enraged at her for sitting in her own poop, and she always cries, and is ashamed, and is vulnerable with her privates right in front of my face, and it's bad, and I can't seem to hold back from yelling or being too rough with her.

I'm ashamed at myself reading that last sentence. I remember my dad yelling at me sometimes when he couldn't handle my little kid ways, and I never forgot because it's scary when dad yells and gets mad. It's exactly the same thing I'm doing to Lucy, and I've got to stop. It's hard. That shit smells so bad and it's right in my face, and she insists on keeping it that way--yet there's no way she can understand, because she's only three years old. Her mind isn't developed enough. I've got to resort to other means that are nicer.

But a few days ago I made headway--I didn't get mad all day, even at the two poopy diapers she didn't tell me about. I was tired as hell and didn't have the energy to get mad.

I had sort of had a drunken revelation Tuesday evening, and incidentally didn't sleep well. I tried to keep up with my classmate dude and ended up drinking more than I should have. Later that night, I was home, all drunk, getting ready for bed and cleaning up some random stuff.

I was thinking about my Lucy and how I'm an angry asshole too often, and getting pretty down on myself. So I wrote myself a harsh note and left it on the fridge so I'd find it the next day. Big words, centered vertically in the middle of the page, "Stop hitting your daughter. This ends now motherfucker."

Let me be clear, I've never hit her out of anger except to slap her leg during a diaper change. Twice. That's it. I don't casually hit or push them or engage in violence of any kind. Both times were in the last month, and I apologized to Lucy both times, on the days they happened.

Then I wrote some other, smaller sentence around the main one, like, "Learn from your mother," and "Tell Megan she's special," and, "Read BB an abc's book before playing Stardust HD SUV, asshole."

Wednesday morning, seeing the note, I was like, "Ok, ok, drunk me. I'll be good. Sheesh. Say it, don't spray it." It was uncomfortable to read--the sober self encountering remnants of the drunken self is never met with pride. But the lessons were etched in my brain.

Later that day, Lucy tells me, "Oh! I'm poopy!" It was awesome. She was nice and jovial, and I heard little to no apprehension in her voice.

But then, en route to her room for the change, she said, just like every time since I smacked her leg that one day, "Dada! I'm sorry I smacked your leg."

She's repeating my apology to her, verbatim, but simply as a way to tell me what she's thinking about, and to let me know that she remembers what I tell her, so I can be proud of her. She's probably trying to ask me not to smack her. You do it a couple times, and the repercussions last much longer. Perhaps the rest of the person's life. It's a good lesson--NO HITTING.

She'll also say, sometimes, "I'm sorry I got mad, at your poop."

Christ. This is how I hypothesize she doesn't know the difference between simply pooping, and pooping and not telling me about it. She's repeating what she thinks my apology was, when I probably said something way too long and complicated for her to understand, like, "I'm sorry I got mad about you not telling me about your poop and keeping it in your diaper and etc." Of course she interprets that as, 'He's mad about my poop.' She's only three, dad! Three!

Anyway, Wednesday was a good day. No anger from me, and I made her sit on the toilet a little bit. But I stayed with her and hugged her and stuff when she cried, and I let her get up when she wanted to.

Yesterday, Thursday, was also a good day. No anger from me--I think this whole 'being nice' thing is starting to sink in. The weather was fair (that's warm for Seattle in April) and we had a park trip before the naps. Then mama came home and I went to Spanish class, ready for the week to be over.

Today, Megan let me sleep in, like she does every Friday morning, bless her. I woke up around 9, feeling awesome, and Megan goes, "So Lucy puked twice this morning."

Awww! I went to get the car fixed, like we were planning on me doing, and Lucy slept for much of it, for about two mid-morning hours. BB, too--huge nap. I came home and learned Lucy had puked two more times since I'd been gone. She looked haggard. A little while later, I gave her a couple small pieces of orange, which Megan told me not to. Then Lucy pukes those up ten minutes later. Ugh.

Serious stomach bug--probably from the park. I dunno.

But even though she's sick, I feel like a back-to-normal dad, with nothing in the last few days even to guilt-trip myself about. I even got my taxes done yesterday. Score!