I don’t get it when parent say, “Raising children can be challenging.” A game of Minesweeper is challenging. It would be more accurate to say that parenting can be wear-and-tear on the soul.

Rachelle had kickboxing tonight. If you remember, the last time Rachelle went to kickboxing class Layla handed me a log of dog poop. Although there was no passing of animal feces tonight, it was “challenging” to all of you under-staters out there.

It started out nice. I pulled my car into the driveway and could hear a gnomish voice inside the house, “Daddy!” I grabbed my bag and coffee cup like a father from the 40’s and rushed in to greet my family. Layla wanted to play outside so I put her shoes on and we played with a ball on the lawn.

After 10 minutes, I was sitting with Cecelia on the step while Layla kicked the ball around. Suddenly, she started wandering to the street, then running like a fugitive. I called her name but she ignored me. I had to sprint across the lawn, carrying Cecelia like a football, and caught Layla just as she put her foot in the street.

“NEVER, ever go in the street,” I stated firmly when I got into the house.

“Okaaaay,” she said.

The remainder of the night was just a collection of horrible moments, which included her feeding the dog about a half-pound of shrimp from her plate.

“Layla, if they start yacking all over the place, I swear to god…”

“Okaaay”

The only time she laughed or became pleasant is when she head-butted me in the side of the skull like an MMA fighter. Apparently that was hysterical.

But then tomorrow, upon waking, she’ll call my name, look at me with those tired/puppy eyes, give me a big hug, and it’ll be like tonight never happened.

Parenting is not just “challenging”. Parenting is like being a victim in an abusive spousal relationship. One minute you’re getting kicked and head-butted in the face, the next minute they do something to make you love them more than you thought you ever could. I’m sure she does these things because she loves me too. She really doesn’t mean it. Oh, this bruise? I, uh, fell down the stairs.

On Friday, Rachelle and I noticed that part of Cece’s bottom gums had turned white. Normally this means a tooth is on the way, but when Layla first showed the white bump it took another five months for the tooth to pop through. Well, today my mom sent me a text message stating that the tooth popped through today.

If you listen closely, you can hear the fearful screams of my wife’s nipples.

Just a cute video of Layla singing in the park. These are probably getting annoying but hey, get your own website if you don’t like it.

My father-in-law has a crevice in his chin. Yesterday, Layla got right up in his face, stared at him for a few seconds and said, “Mommy has that. It’s a cookie,” while pointing at his chin. It’s not everyday that you hear a toddler tell a man that his face looks like a vagina.

This afternoon we took Layla to a potential option for a preschool to meet with the nanny/teacher and the children. The teacher, “Miss Jen”, wanted to see how Layla would get along with everyone, and she wanted to give us a full walk-through of the facility and how a typical day unfolds.

The facility is, in actuality, just part of her house that was converted into a classroom. It’s equipped with an indoor playhouse, a ‘crafts table’, a story-telling area, an imagination center complete with costumes to dress up and pretend, a computer station, and a quiet area…I guess in case a student feels inclined to perform yoga or meditate in solitude. I was very impressed.

Upon first entering the classroom for the first time, Layla seemed a bit overwhelmed. The seven students crowded around for a second to introduce themselves, then went on their way to build with blocks or play pretend.

“Ok, this is it. How is she going to be,” I thought.

She picked up a toy camera off of the floor and inspected it. A fellow two-year old student waddled over to her. They inspected one another for three seconds and Layla finally broke the silence. “This is mine.”

Hell of a first impression, Layla.

After a few minutes, she began to take notice of how the other children were behaving and it seemed as though she adjusted her behavior to mirror them. She got along with everyone fairly well, despite the fact that most kids were 1-3 years older than she, although it would take significant work for her to finally get to a point to where she’s completely comfortable and consistently interacting appropriately in a group setting.

We were finishing up with the teacher, and standing next to a five year old boy who was building an impressive castle out of wooden blocks. “Look, Miss Jen,” he exclaimed proudly. Just then, Layla marched over and I know what was coming next. She crouched down and, with one swipe of a paw, she decimated the poor kid’s creation.

That’s my girl.

I gave my brother my Flip camera, and asked him to send me some pictures with his phone. Here’s the first picture he sent: Layla enjoying a balanced breakfast of cotton candy.

And a video:

My brother is getting married on Saturday, and since he and his fiance don’t have enough to worry about, they’ve decided to take Layla to her first live show: Elmo’s Green Thumb.

I’m grateful that they’re taking her and wish I could be there to see her reaction. The afternoon will either be hilarious and exciting, or mentally and emotionally draining, depending on Layla’s mood.  A few months ago, when attempting to take her to a puppet show at the Please Touch Museum, she darted to the front of the stage to grab a puppet. I’m sure Elmo has bodyguards in case a situation like that arises on Thursday.

Here’s a quick summary of what’s been happening lately.

• On Sunday, we bought Layla an Elmo potty from K-Mart. As soon as we got home she started asking for her potty. I thought it was just because it was Elmo, but after setting it up, she took off her diaper and pee’d in the potty for the first time. Rachelle and I erupted with excitement, and gave her a sticker. She hasn’t pee’d in the potty since.
• Next week my brother Jason is getting married. I’m putting the finishing touches on the best man speech. And by “finishing touches” I mean “need to begin writing it.”
• Family and friends are coming from out of town on Thursday. I took off of work on Friday, so we’re all going to Atlantic City. It just so happens that Thursday is also Rachelle’s birthday. Rachelle hates Atlantic City. I think she’ll buck up and go to AC with us but I’m sure she’ll throw subtle punches at my kidneys during the course of the evening.
• Layla sucks energy out of me like a terminal illness. When I get home from work, I’m happy and recharged. By the time Layla goes to sleep my nerves are shot and my hands are shaking. She is in a stage (Please, God, let it be a stage) where she has to DO everything: open doors, flush the toilet, pour the ketchup, wipe the table, feed the baby, get dressed, take off her diaper, turn on the water, turn off the water, pour juice, walk down stairs… it’s all “Layla do it.”
  The predicament I’m in is this: If I let ‘Layla do it’ all the time when she whines about it then I’m setting her up to feel like she’s entitled to always do it. Sometimes we’re running late and we don’t have time for Layla to ‘do it’. Sometimes the things she insists on doing is dangerous, like spraying Lysol spray to wipe the table. Sometimes it’s messy, like pouring syrup and getting most of it on the table. In those circumstances, I take a deep breath and prepare….because I know it’s going to be a battle.

  “No, not this time. Daddy do it this time.” I’ve realized that those words are the secret voice code to open the gates of hell.

• Cecelia has been sleeping great. She has been a pleasure in general. This is fortunate because otherwise  this blog post may have been my suicide note.
• I’m tired of snow…sort of. Either bury us with 3 feet so that I don’t have to go anywhere, or don’t snow at all. Don’t give us this 4-5 inches, which is just enough to slide and skid into work so my co-workers, who drive 4-wheel drive SUVs, tell me how the roads aren’t bad.

I was home with the kids last night while Rachelle was at her exercise class. We were playing in the basement. The lights are on a dimmer and were set very low.

Layla and I were playing with a toy that has holes and shaped blocks that fit into them. She remembered that she left some of her ’shapes’ upstairs, and asked if she can get them. “Shapes upstairs, Daddy.” I’m always nervous to let her out of my sight for longer than a few seconds, but since I didn’t feel like lugging both kids upstairs and back down again for a single triangle-shaped block, I agreed to let her fetch the shape herself. “Ok, get your shapes and come back down the basement.”

About a minute went by and I heard her shuffling down the stairs. Cecelia was sitting-up on the floor, watching as I zoomed a toy car back and forth in front of her feet.

“Daddy, here,” Layla said.

“Ok, thanks, come on down and play,” I said as I continued pushing the toy car.

As she was walking down the stairs I looked, and saw that she was holding a black, tube-shaped object in her hand. It looked like a 4-inch, black PCP pipe. It was hard to make out in the dark so I told her to come down and give me what she has.

Chances are, it’s something out of my tool box, or something she got from the miscellaneous drawer upstairs, I thought.

I vrroom-vrrooom’ed the car some more. Cecelia was laughing and captivated by the sound the car made as it moved over the rug. Without taking my eyes off of the car, I continued pushing it with my left hand while I held my right hand out so that Layla could give me whatever she had brought down.

I squeezed the object lightly, hoping to recognize what it was without taking my eyes off of Cecelia’s glowing face. It was slightly squishy, like a sponge. Puzzled, I took a look to see what it was.

It was a dog turd.

One of our stupid dogs decided to poop in the kitchen, and Layla brought it to me as a gift.

I panicked and ran up the stairs, turd in hand. I chucked it into the toilet, flushed, and violently scrubbed my hands, trying to hurry so that I could wash Layla’s hands next. As I got out of the bathroom, Layla was at the top of the stairs. She looked at me.

“Mah hand stinks.”

Last night Cecelia woke up crying at 1:00 am; then 1:45 am, then 2:30 am, then 2:37 am, then 3:30 am…you get the idea. She’s been coughing like a bear, and I’ve noticed that she’s been tugging on her ear like she’s signaling a base-runner to steal third. Today, Nanny Steph informed us that she doesn’t want to eat and her cough sounds even worse, so Rachelle left work and took her to the doctor’s. After poking and prodding, it was concluded that she has both an upper respiratory infection AND an ear infection.

I’ve tried holding her and bouncing around the house to put her to sleep but it didn’t work. I don’t hear anything coming from the other room so I’m hoping that Rachelle’s magic boobs have put the sleeper hold on her.

My mom is a life-saver. She’s watching for her tomorrow so that Cece doesn’t infect the other kids, which would most likely lead to some outbreak.

Speaking of pandemics, Layla was due to receive her second swine flu vaccination tonight. I took her, and for the most part we had a good time. We went to Cooper Hospital, and upon arriving, the doctor asked if we preferred the nasal spray or the injection. He actually recommended FluMist, which was surprising. Since Layla was given FluMist last time (without side effects) and since she could avoid getting pricked with a needle, I opted for it again.

She calmly sat on my lap until she realized that the nurse just rammed gel up into her sinus cavities and was understandably taken-back by it. She cried and her limbs shot in opposite directions. There was still another dose to go, so I grasped her head and held it still against my chest while the nurse proceeded to inject the fluid once more. Again, Layla tightened up and let out a shriek.

Seconds later, she opened her eyes to find a basket of dum-dums in front of her face. The vein in her forehead disappeared and her complexion went from fiery red back to normal in an instant. “Lollipops, mmmm,” she said.

I wish lollipops had that effect on me.