The Daddy Diary
Musings on Babies, Bulldogs, and Beer
An American Girl Part 2
After Ella proclaimed that her American Girl Doll, Christy, needed a sister, I knew we would have to venture back to the American Girl doll store. And I feared the worst because this voyage would occur during Christmas time.
As we walked through the parking lot toward the front door, I saw a sports car parked right outside the front door. I realized that what was happening was that a mother was teaching her daughter the valuable life lesson that you should never take the McLaren on a shopping spree. I chuckled as I watched them kneel down on the sidewalk and remove the dolls from their boxes because the mother obviously failed geometry in high school and didn’t realize that you cannot fit an entire army of American Girl dolls in a two-seat sports car unless you remove them from their boxes and stack them like sardines.
Due to our stroke of genius strategic planning of attending an earlier church service, the store was not ridiculously crowded because the 11:00 services hadn’t let out yet. Even with the reduced crowd, I saw more Botox there than you would see at a typical Kardashian family reunion.
I have absolutely no skills that are useful in the American Girl Doll store, so I held Audrey’s hand as she ran laps around the store. We went up and down (and up and down) every aisle, so I was able to scan the price tags of every single doll. I noticed that the Disney Signature Frozen Collection Doll costs as much as my parents paid for my first car. My friends from high school who rode in the 1978 Ford Grenada know that this is not an exaggeration.
About halfway through Ella’s selection process, we decided to get a picture of the girls in front of the giant Christmas tree in the middle of the store. We only had to wait half an hour, as the lady in front of us had to take a picture of her child individually with each of the eight dolls that she bought her daughter.
After Ella finally decided on a doll, she spent the greater part of the afternoon deciding which accessories to buy. I couldn’t blame her because this is a very important decision. I cannot imagine the shame and ridicule that her new doll, Emily, would face if she had to walk around with a purse that didn’t perfectly match her outfit.
Because Ella took so long to pick out the accessories, that gave Audrey and me plenty of time to walk around. I’m pretty sure we completed a 5-K by the time Ella finally made her decision. At one point, Audrey stopped and sat down on one of the seats by the Christmas tree.
Normally, she is like a little Tasmanian Devil when she gets going. Just non-stop energy for hours. So, when she sat down, I got down on one knee and signed, “Are you tired?” Audrey looked me in the eyes, nodded her head, and signed, “Tired.”
One word. One sign. But it was so much more than that.
As much as I enjoy making fun of the American Girl Doll store, it will always hold a special place in my heart because that was the location where Audrey and I had our first conversation in sign language. It was a short conversation, but I’m going to count it.
It’s been a long, slow road, but we are going to get there, Baby Girl.
An American Girl
About a month before Ella’s birthday this year, she made the proclamation that I knew would come someday but was still dreading, “Daddy, I want an American Girl Doll for my birthday.” I claimed a minor victory in that I held off this conversation for eight years, but deep down, I knew this was a battle that I was going to lose.
So, I did what any girl Dad would do. I took out a second mortgage on the house and sold 80 pints of my plasma so that my little girl would be viewed as socially acceptable by owning her own American Girl Doll.
I avoided the initial voyage to pick out her doll as I would have been useless in that venture. So, Mommy and MeMe lead the initial journey. But I have since learned that The American Girl Store is not a place you visit just once.
So, I recently embarked on my maiden voyage to the store. The Mattel Corporation, which owns the American Girl brand, has created an electronic link between your shoes and the financial institution that holds your savings, because I could feel the money leave my bank account as I took my first steps inside the store.
The purpose of our trip was to visit the hair salon so Ella’s doll, Christy, could get her hair done. As crazy as that sounded to me at first, I realized that we dodged the more ridiculous bullet of having brunch with our doll at the restaurant located in the store.
Once we were inside the salon, I had to watch my daughter get upset because the stylist couldn’t straighten her doll’s curly hair. Apparently, Ella thought that her doll was a real person with human hair. This is not a totally unrealistic expectation due to the fact that Ella has seen me spend more money on clothes and hair styling for this doll than I do for any human member of my family.
As I passed by the Disney Princess section, I realized that the amount of money it would take to purchase that entire line of dolls could feed a third-world nation for the greater part of a century. I felt conflicted because normally, I would be opposed to this extreme example of consumerism.
But I’m going to let this one slide because I see the smile on my little girl’s face when she plays with this doll. Ella built a bedroom for her doll out of an abandoned Amazon box, and she fully furnished the room with her own little creative construction skills. And don’t get me started on how excited she was to wear the matching pajamas that she and Christy got from my sister.
Aunt Amy used this same playbook with her girls, and they turned out pretty great. So, maybe I’m not destroying my little girl after all.
Someday, I will teach my little girl about the harmful effects of materialism, but today is not that day because Ella informed me that Christy needs a sister for Christmas.
I hope I have some plasma left.
Thanks, Dad
Dear Dad,
Last night, we brought the girls to the Gaylord Texan. We spend one night here around Thanksgiving to start the Christmas Season by seeing the ICE Show. The hotel is very proud of this show, and they have set the admission price accordingly. But the girls really enjoy it, so we have made this an annual tradition. I calculated that we can make it work without changing our budget as long as we give up food and air conditioning for 10 months each year.
After dinner last night, Ella led the way back to our room, and I watched as she navigated the crowds and hallways and never took a wrong turn. It was our first time at that restaurant, but she knew exactly where she was going. I thought to myself, “She has an incredible sense of direction.” It reminded me of someone else I know. I know someone who could visit a place just one time and be able to give you turn-by-turn directions to that location for the rest of his life. She did not get this gift from me. Some days, I need Google Maps to make it to my mailbox.
Then, I thought about how right before dinner, Audrey popped a 101 fever. One pill of Tylenol later, and she was giggling and cackling by the time we sat down to dinner. This little one is tough. In her six years, I’ve seen her endure more pain than most people experience in a lifetime. And she just shrugs it off. She has a tolerance for pain that I’ve only seen in one other person. And I’m glad that person gave it to her, because she has needed it more than anyone I’ve ever known.
Nine years ago, I was eating Thanksgiving dinner at my in-laws’ house when Amy called.
“You need to come to the hospital as soon as possible. We have a meeting with hospice,” she said.
Hospice. Everyone knows what that word means.
When I walked into the hospital, I saw Amy talking to the cardiologist. I joined the conversation and heard the doctor say, “Your Dad’s kidneys are never coming back.” Not the thing that you want to hear any day, much less on Thanksgiving.
You went to heaven nine years ago today, and I couldn’t find anything to be thankful for that day.
But I can now.
I’m thankful that my little girls got so much from you.
Stop, Thief!
For a girl who was never supposed to walk, Audrey gets around really well now. She runs around the house (sometimes at full speed), and she rarely falls anymore. She never has to use her walker, and her mobility has given her a new sense of independence. She climbs the stairs by herself and can reach things on shelves and counters.
We were told this is good for her development because now Audrey is able to explore her surroundings. The problem is that she likes to take her surroundings with her.
She has turned into the most adorable little kleptomaniac.
I know it’s not intentional, so I’m not going to press charges. She will grab something to examine and play with, and inadvertently take it with her until she sets it down, only God knows where. I know that when we move out of this house, we will find a stash of Airpods, remote controls, computer mice, and various other objects that haven’t been reported missing yet.
I have found my AirPods on the kitchen counter, inside a candle holder, and inside her mouth. Luckily, AirPods will beep when you try to find them. Unfortunately, most kitchen utensils do not.
I can’t get mad at her because she doesn’t know what she is doing and because she’s so cute, but it can be frustrating. Try to change the channel on the TV without a remote control? Frustrating. About to hop on a Zoom meeting for work and can’t find your mouse? Frustrating.
I was making dinner one night last week, and for the life of me, I could not find the kitchen strainer. I was positive that I put it right next to the sink, but it wasn’t there. “Where the heck did I put it?” I thought to myself. Then, I walked over to the couch and saw my little angel chewing on the strainer with a huge smile on her face.
Now, every day we play several rounds of our new, fun, family game “Did I forget where I put it, or did Audrey take it?” Sometimes a full round of play might take an hour because I honestly don’t know if I simply forgot where I put something, which is highly likely these days. Some rounds end in a draw because, after an intensive search, I still don’t know the answer, and those rounds will only be scored when we move out and find her stash.
Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go find where I put my reading glasses, or . . .
Happy Birthday, Ella
Sometimes I read a quote or hear an interview and think, “Man, I wish I said that.” That’s exactly what I said to myself when I saw this interview with Bob Odenkirk.
As of eight years ago today, I don’t wonder what my purpose is anymore. Thanks to you, Ella, the only time I ask “Why am I here? is when I walk into a room and realize two seconds later that I have no idea why I entered the room in the first place.
If life were a video game, I would need a cheat code to create your character, Ella. Every time I think I couldn’t be more impressed with you, you ask me a question that I have to spend an hour researching. You make my smiles bigger, my laughs deeper, and my joys higher.
The best days of my life began October 5, 2017. If I accomplish nothing else in my life except being a Daddy to you and Audrey, it all would have been worth it.
Happy Birthday, Ella!
Words That Have Never Been Spoken Before
“Daddy, I don’t think I like bacon anymore.”
Wait. What? I’m pretty sure those words have never been uttered in the history of mankind. She might as well have said, “Daddy, I don’t think I like oxygen anymore.”
Ella dropped that bomb on me last week. When she said it, I was shocked. This was the same little girl who proclaimed on the first day of the Disney Cruise, “All you eat bacon every day? I could get used to this.”
When Ella was a toddler, she was the best eater. We only fed her healthy food for the first few years, and she would eat all her vegetables every time we fed her. One time when she was about three years old, she asked for more kale at dinner. Kale. Who the heck asks for more kale?
She was the cutest little garbage disposal. She would eat anything we put on her plate. And she never complained.
And then it all changed.
I can’t pinpoint exactly when her dietary preferences changed, but I’m pretty sure it’s when we introduced her to the greatness of the Pop-Tart. After that, she had no need for vegetables or anything even remotely containing a single nutrient, not even her previously beloved kale.
Ever since the fateful Pop-Tart discovery, she has turned into the pickiest eater. Her diet has devolved into an anti-Paleo program consisting of four food groups: Processed carbs, cheese, sugar, and chocolate.
Picky is one thing, but not liking bacon? Ella used to be a bacon addict. Her love for bacon made meth addiction look like a take-it-or-leave-it proposition. Maybe she developed a bacon tolerance, and it no longer has the same effect on her.
But bacon was my go-to protein source. Outside of bacon, I think the only protein she has eaten in the last three years is the hamburger patty in a Justaburger kid’s meal, which she requests almost daily. As bad as bacon is for you, at least it has protein, so I was a little sad when she made her fateful declaration.
Even though college-aged Andy would disagree, you shouldn’t eat at Whataburger every day. So, the quest for a second protein source begins . . .
New Morning Routines
I think a good morning routine will help you get charged up emotionally, physically, and mentally. I said in my last post that the best way to start a day is getting high-fives and hugs from children. That definitely got me charged up emotionally. Over the last two weeks, I discovered two other methods to start my day to get me charged up physically and mentally. Feel free to give them a try if you wish.
Method 1: Taking your dog for a walk at 5 am will get you charged up physically, and the timing is important here. Leaving this early will increase the chances that you will be the first person to walk this particular path this morning. That will ensure that any spider webs that were spun during the night will still be intact when you come through. If you are fortunate enough, you will get to experience the joy of walking through a spider web that covers your entire body. Then, as the thought “How big a spider did it take to spin that web?” starts to enter your mind, you realize that you don’t have to ask that question because the spider in question will be crawling down your neck.
There are plenty of methods to get your blood flowing in the morning, but none will prove to be as effective as this one. Your dog will look at you and ask, “What the hell is the matter with you?” as you wildly gesticulate for five minutes to prove to yourself that the spider is no longer on you. Then, for the last half mile of your trek, you get to stop every ten feet to perform the “Is the spider still on me?” dance. I have taken numerous showers and changed clothes countless times since that day, but I’m still not convinced that the spider is no longer on me.
You could drink an extra cup of coffee or fire off a few jumping jacks to wake yourself up in the morning, but I assure you, none of the other methods you have ever tried will prove as effective as this one at hitting your maximum heart rate.
Method 2: Go for a run early in the morning and try to hit your cruising speed on the sidewalk of a major street. That will ensure that you startle a group of bunnies and make them scatter. Two of the bunnies will scurry under the fence, but the third bunny will run into the street. Now, if you are running early enough, there won’t be much traffic, but it only takes one. It only takes one unfortunately placed Chrysler going well over the stated speed limit to send the bunny to an immediate death. Nothing will wake you up like watching a bunny hop straight into the grill of an oncoming sedan.
The silver lining here is that when you start your day watching a bunny explode, the rest of your day has nowhere to go but up. And no matter how bad things get in your life, you always have a mantra to give you perspective throughout your day.
Somebody cut you off in traffic? “At least I’m not watching a bunny explode.”
Your a–hole boss giving you a hard time? “At least I’m not watching a bunny explode.”
Your football team blows a 14-point fourth-quarter lead? “At least I’m not watching a bunny explode.”
So, if you are looking for a new way to wake yourself up in the morning, you could try incorporating spiders and exploding bunnies into your morning routine.
Six Years Ago
I had just sat down at a pub to join some friends, and the waitress set down my freshly-poured Guinness. Instead of reaching for my pint, I reached for my phone because I saw that Michelle was calling.
I just knew.
When a routine sonogram told us that Audrey’s heart defect would require open-heart surgery after she was born, I knew that nothing was going to be normal with this girl. Audrey’s due date was three weeks away, but as soon as I picked up the phone, Michelle said, “My water just broke, you need to come home.”
I reached for my wallet to pay the waitress, and one of my friends said, “What are you doing? We’ll take care of your tab. Get out of here.”
I was so nervous driving home that it felt like my stomach was doing back flips over my butt. I remembered being nervous before Ella was born, but this was different. This wasn’t a good nervous. This was “is my child going to die” nervous. I had no idea what to expect.
If it had only been a heart defect.
It wasn’t a heart defect; it was four heart defects. It wasn’t four heart defects; it was five other birth defects.
I can’t remember which doctor said it first, but the medical staff told us Audrey’s condition was “Incompatible with life.”
Well, 17 surgeries, countless sessions of every type of therapy, and enough medications to kill a 1980s rock star later, here we are.
They said she probably wouldn’t live, but she did.
They said she wouldn’t be able to see, but she can.
They said she probably wouldn’t be able to walk, but she does.
Audrey hasn’t won every battle, but she is winning the war. It’s been the toughest six years of my life, but I would do it all over again because this is what “Incompatible with life” looks like – Audrey style.
Happy Birthday, Baby Girl!
P.S. Audrey owes me a beer
The Wide Awake Study
If you find that you are sleeping too soundly and constantly wake up feeling refreshed, and are looking to change that, I have a solution for you. I highly recommend living with a child with a heart condition who has to wear an oxygen monitor at night. When Audrey’s oxygen levels drop too low during the night, the monitor’s alarm goes off, and there is no way to sleep through that. Between the obnoxious siren and knowledge of the potential condition that the monitor is designed to measure, it is impossible to sleep through it. Audrey sets off the alarm a couple of times a week. Fortunately, her oxygen levels have never been an issue with her heart. Audrey has sleep apnea.
So, this week Audrey had to undergo her third sleep study. The first two sleep studies measured and confirmed the extent of her apnea. This most recent study was intended to measure the effectiveness of putting Audrey on an oxygen and a CPAP machine. Outside of feeling cool because you look like Bane from “The Dark Knight Rises, ” there isn’t much to enjoy about wearing a CPAP. Surprisingly, Audrey did not try to rip it off as soon as they put it on her. She is the best-natured kid on the planet and takes just about everything in stride without complaining, but she is over having things attached to her face. That is just about the only thing that can make her fuss, and I can’t blame her.
We could not tell if the CPAP machine worked because from the minute they put it on her until four hours later when they removed it, Audrey stayed wide awake. She made sure Daddy stayed awake, too. In typical Audrey fashion, she didn’t complain; she just giggled and talked in her Audrey-gibberish language for most of the night. So, the medical team downshifted to straight oxygen after that. We got better results in that she slept for a good five minutes in the few hours that she was on oxygen.
I’m not sure they got any good information from the sleep study, seeing how they were trying to measure her oxygen levels while she slept, and sleeping is the one thing she did not do. They should’ve named it “How many Sudoku Puzzles Can Daddy Finish While Pulling an All-Nighter?” Study. We have plenty of data on that.
So, it was a rough night for Audrey. I don’t know what was the sadder sight for me, seeing my little girl wearing a CPAP mask or seeing her sweet little head lying on her peanut butter and jelly sandwich because she was so exhausted that she fell asleep eating lunch the next day.
Hairdo (or Hairdon’t)
I love being a girl dad, but I was a little scared when I found out that both our children were going to be girls. I would have been more comfortable with a little boy because, well, at one time I was a little boy. Some things are just easier about handling little boys, such as maintaining their physical appearance. Wardrobe maintenance is very simple with boys. Some combo of pants (or shorts) and a shirt will work for any occasion. But girls have skirts, princess dresses, the occasional tutu, and maybe a romper if the situation calls for it.
But my biggest fear about raising little girls was their hair. I have never styled hair before. There has never been a follicle of hair on my head that exceeded two inches in length, and because we have very fine hair in my family, there were never any options when it came to styling. I’m even terrible at getting tangles out of hair. It’s easy when your hair is short and thin, but Ella’s is long and ridiculously thick. Every time I brush her hair, she complains that I’m hurting her. If I can’t even brush her hair, what chance would I have of styling her hair?
Until I had daughter’s I never had a situation that required me to put hair into a ponytail or braid. I tried to braid Ella’s hair once, and let’s just say that the braid was so loose that it stayed in place about as long as a Kardashian marriage. It was gone in the blink of an eye.
If Mommy is unavailable for hair styling, this was going to be my responsibility. There is no chance that this would turn out well.
I have mixed emotions every time we take the girls for a haircut. On the plus side, shorter hair is easier for Daddy to maintain. On the negative side, I fear what would happen if they got a bad haircut. I always think that my little girls look perfect the way they are, so why mess with a good thing? If you already look perfect, there is only one direction in which your appearance could go.
One of the most nervous days of my life was when Ella told us that she wanted bangs. She had never had bangs before, and that is a big change. What if the look didn’t work on her? Is anything worse than having a bad haircut? You can reverse a lot of bad decisions in life, but a bad haircut is a decision you have to live with for at least several weeks. But, of course, she looked perfect with bangs.
For Audrey’s most recent haircut, Michelle wanted to get Audrey a pixie cut, and that day became the second-most nervous day of my life. That is a big change. Audrey hadn’t had short hair since she was a baby, and I wasn’t sure how it would look on her.
However, I was enticed by the prospect of her having short hair. Short hair means no more pigtail duty for daddy. Whenever I put Audrey’s hair into pigtails, Michelle gives me a look as if to say, “What the hell is that?” If by chance I can tie her hair tight enough to stay in pigtails, it would be a compliment to call them asymmetrical. One pigtail will be close to the top of her head, while the other will start somewhere below her left ear. It looks like I learned my pigtail technique from the Pablo Picasso School of Hair Design.
Well, as expected, Audrey is beyond cute with short hair. I don’t think it would’ve mattered if it was a bad haircut. My little girls could go full-on Sinead O’Connor and look perfect. Their perfection transcends bad cosmetology (and Daddy’s ineptitude).
The Daddy Diary 