Day 2: Two Ducks & A Wedding

In a reply to my Day 1 description in this blog, my friend Maryanne Stahl, a teacher, novelist and passionate devotee of waterfowl, said that she was pleased that I finally posted something nice about ducks. Usually I reference ducks and geese only in the context of foie gras. Maryanne, with that in mind, you may want to avoid the bit of this update.

Our second day in England began with full English traditional breakfasts. If you’ve never indulged (and no one except very fat English people indulge in this very often), it consists of bacon, sausage, fried eggs, grilled tomatoes, and optional fried bread, beans, and/or black pudding. Black pudding is not to be confused with the common American Kraft chocolate pudding, but is basically blood and fat congealed into an attractive splat. I know, and it’s yummy. So there.

Mikey ate all of that, and then demanded some tea. Of course, he gets what he thinks he wants, which we decided was milk warmed with a few dribbles of tea.

After breakfast, we were told that the hotel resident tame duck, named by her owner Crispie, had arrived. Crispie was happy to meet Mikey, which she showed by nibbling on him, which most of us decided was more than fair for being poked in the eye "gently."

The wedding was at 2 o’clock, about an hour away in Lyndhurst, so at 1 o’clock, our niece Lauren tore through our hotel’s parking lot and we roared after her. Through tight forested roads we raced, by in large remembering what side of the road to be on, until we arrived at the city hall with a minute to spare. Once again, Mikey had fallen asleep before he had a chance to see any of the New Forest ponies he was desperate to see, and he stayed asleep all through the ceremony, where his Papa accompanied Aunt Helen down the aisle to give her to Simon Rhodes.

The reception was at a huge hotel another half an hour away, and by then Mikey was awake and ready to party. The back lawn was vast, and while Helen and Simon tried to get pictures taken, Mikey and Cousin Sapphire-Jade chased after each other. We were brought inside for dinner, and Mikey found his place in the receiving line, hiding behind the curtains to avoid the tickling clutches of Cousin Lauren.

“Stop it!” he would snarl from behind the curtains.

“Stahp it! Stahp it!” Lauren would tease in perfect imitation of his American accent, which he thought was hilarious. This interchange became the repeated game of the evening. Even days later, Mikey would ask to play “the game,” where I would be Cousin Lauren and say “Stahp it!” and he would call me “Crybaby!” and then eat me.

After dinner, the dance floor came out and Mikey and Cousin Sapphire-Jade danced for approximately four hours straight. Occasionally, they let others, like the bride and groom, out on the floor.

Finally, we dragged Mikey home, back to the hotel. Despite his obvious exhaustion, Mikey did not want to sleep. We felt like a snack too, so we went down to the bar and ordered the special, which was duck rolls.

Mikey took a bite and said, eyes widening, “This Crispie Duck who bite me?”

“I think it’s a different duck,” I assured him.

Mikey still had his revenge.

Day 1: LAX to Lymington

On Thursday, August 25, 2010, at 2 o’clock in the afternoon, we tip-toed into the dimly lit preschool room, where soft music was playing, being careful not to step on any of the little bodies of the sleeping children scattered on mattresses across the floor. Mikey was sound asleep when I picked him up, but he opened his eyes to ask, “We go on plane now?”

Yup. We were off. On the way down, we told him what we were going to do. We were going to drive our car to JohnnyPark, take the bus with our luggage to the airport, get our tickets, check in our luggage, get on a plane, and fly high in the sky until we landed in London, England. It all went according to plan, more or less (Johnny Park is temporarily a two-bus trip to the airport which is a little exasperating to those of us schlepping big suitcases but not to Mikey) until we checked in our suitcases and got our seat assignments. Mikey’s understanding of the arrangement was that next we go to the airplane and fly.

“But Mikey, we have to wait because the plane isn’t ready yet.”

“We go to plane now!”

We tried another tact, telling him that even though (God knows) we weren’t flying First Class, by hook and by crook, we could get into the First Class lounge at LAX where we could mingle with movie stars. That held no charm. Finally we got him up there by explaining that we could watch the planes from the lounge. Unfortunately, it turned out that the lounges, while still lovely, have changed since the last time we were privileged to visit and don’t afford views of the planes. More disappointment.

“But, look, a buffet! Pizzas and mozzarella! Can we interest you in the gin and tonics which look really good to us right now?”

He was mollified with playing with the ipad until we got the word from the hostess that our plane was boarding. As we left, we saw another family being escorted out of the lounge because their child’s crying was disturbing the other travelers. Coulda been worse, we said.

The plane ride itself was great. Mikey’s flown a couple times before and has been great except for the time when he had a cold which turned into an ear infection at 10,000 feet. Still, this was an 11 hour flight in the middle of the night. We had the ipad, and British Airways had inflight cartoons. After a couple hours, the cabin lights dimmed.

“It’s night-time?” Mikey asked. We told him, yes, it was, and he curled up on his seat and went to sleep for 8 hours, until we were about ready to land.

London greeted us with the traditional August chill and rain. When we made it through customs and got our luggage, Alamo greeted us with the news that their power was off and they were confirming registrations and credit cards using their cell phones. So it took forever, and Mikey spent his time jumping in mud-puddles.
We told Mikey that we were driving down to the New Forest to see Papa’s sister, Mikey’s Aunt Helen who he had never met, getting married. He’s been to two other weddings, and while he loves parties, he was more interested in hearing about the New Forest ponies. Traffic was rough, being a bank holiday weekend, and by the time there were any horses to be seen in the forest, loping idyllically through the banks of ferns, Mikey was fast asleep.

We checked into our hotel, the Mill at Gordleton, which we never would have found except by the power of GPS in our rental. It is a beautiful old converted water mill on the river Avon, surrounded by fish ponds and duck ponds, and modern sculpture. We had the Miller’s Suite, so Mikey had his own room and we had a living room. Mikey was the only one of us not in danger of banging his head on the low rafters.

We had cream tea in the garden, and then Helen, Cousin Lauren, and Cousin Sapphire-Jade came over. They were still finishing arrangements for the wedding, but they wanted to see us and let Papa wrestle with Sapphire-Jade, who is 5, and Mikey. Afterwards, we drove into town to see the ferry to the Isle of Wight and have some fish and chips.

Mikey fell asleep around 10 o’clock and it was the end of our first day in England.

Lesson Learned

Mikey started at preschool last week. There are dozens of daycare centers in walking distance, including the one he attended for the last 9 months, but the shortcut for finding a quality preschool is to go to the website for the National Association for the Education of Young Children (http://www.naeyc.org) and do a search for the schools that are accredited by them in your area. We got this from Jenifer Wana’s book “How To Choose The Best Preschool” where she writes “Because the process is so rigorous and time consuming, fewer than one in ten preschools has NAEYC accreditation. If a school has this accreditation, you can be pretty confident that it’s a high-quality program.”

Of course, this insider tip is not exactly on the QT, and the NAEYC-certified school in walking distance from our house turned out to have a 9 month waiting list. So, while we waited, Mikey went to a fine but not outstanding daycare, and we hoped he would get enough education from home.

The second best way to educate is to model expected behavior. The best way to educate is to say no. As in, “No, this is all my broccoli, not for you!” and watch as your child sneaks giggling into your lap to eat your broccoli off your fork before you make it to your mouth.

The lessons learned are seldom the ones you tried to teach. Over and over again, Ian in his British way will tell Mikey, “No, eat properly with knife and fork.” “Don’t chew on your brush. Brush your teeth properly.” “No, Sprog, you’re scaring the cat. Pet him properly, please.”

Mikey listens sometimes and obeys, and sometimes doesn’t. Tonight, however, he demonstrated that he learned his first adverb. We were playing cars together on our bed, and I was slouched over the pillow.

“Sit up, daddy, like this,” he said, getting into the position what the yogis call sukhasana, and we call “criss-cross applesauce.”

“OK,” I said, half-propping myself up.

“No, Daddy,” he sighed. “Sit properly.”

Lesson learned.

A Bad Dream

Mikey had a nightmare this morning. He’s had nightmares before which woke him up and made him scream or cry, and sometimes required him to run to our bed in the middle of the night, but this is the first time he articulated what scary thing had happened to him.

“Papa! Papa!” Mikey called. Papa is Ian. I don’t take it personally anytime Mikey calls for Papa instead of me, Daddy. I’m mature that way.

“What is it?” Ian asked him. “Honey, Papa’s here.”

“No!” Mikey was still asleep and screaming. “Papa ate my foot!”

With that, Mikey fell back asleep. Ian and I slept for a while ourselves, and then started getting dressed. Mikey is starting preschool next month and we talked about Ian taking him there this morning, for a special event where they’re bringing in sea creatures for the children to see. Then I couldn’t take it anymore, and started laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“’Papa ate my foot!’” I said.

“You’re mean.”

“If I’m so mean, how come you were the one eating his foot, hmm?”

Like I said, I’m mature that way.

Nursery Jewel

As Mikey was being put down to sleep tonight, Ian came in and held out his fists. “Choose one,” he said. Mikey chose the right fist, and Ian opened it up to show a brilliant blue plastic gem. Our friends had given it to him a week ago, and Mikey loved to play with it. Sometimes it put it in his mouth a little, and we’d quickly tell him no, and he’d relent.

After lights out, Ian heard Mikey coughing, and when he came into his room, he found Mikey on the floor. “Mikey, where’s the blue diamond?”

Mikey pointed to his mouth and giggled.

“Ted!”

Ian and I tore the room apart, looking for evidence that Mikey hadn’t swallowed the two-inch diameter disc. While we did it, we kept grilling him, “Where is the diamond?” If you listened in, you’d imagine we were agents of a smuggling king pin, “Where is the diamond, Mikey?”

Mikey just pointed to his mouth and articulated it very plainly, “I put in my mouth, and I eated it.”

Of course, I rationalized that if the diamond had cleared his windpipe, he must be fine, but Ian pointed out that it wouldn't digest at all and would end up stuck in his small intestine and cause a blockage. We kept telling Mikey that this was serious, we were going to the doctor if he really swallowed the diamond, and he stuck to the story through laughter and tears. We knew the diamond had been in the room and couldn’t be anywhere else except inside him.

We live just a few blocks from the Valley’s only pediatric trauma center at Northridge Hospital so we brought him there.

They got us through in no time, though we shared the ER with some pretty sick folk and Mikey spent the whole time in a fabulous mood for a toddler at midnight. There were choruses of “Spiderman! Spiderman! Is he strong? Listen, bud, he got radioactive blood!”, there was practicing his rolls and somersaults (“You know, these floors are regularly splattered with blood and vomit,” a passing orderly let us know, in case we didn’t know), and there was telling the 12-month-old with the high fever weeping in his grandma’s arms, “Don’t cry, baby. Don’t be sad.”

I used my phone to check us into the hospital on Facebook, “Ted Peterson & Ian Smith are at Northridge Hospital Medical Center – Oh Mikey, did you really swallow that plastic diamond?” And the replies were predictable. “Don’t worry, Ted; it will come all right in the end” was one. “This too shall pass” was another.

The doctor was good, though there was a passing moment of weirdness. (“You’re both his dad? How that happen?”) The results of the xrays were inconclusive. He said to be on the look-out for abdominal distress and faintness of breath. We went home and put Mikey to bed at 1:30 am.

While padding down his pillow, Ian found this in the pillowcase.



So the good news is that Mikey doesn’t swallow huge plastics gems, and doesn’t need surgery. There will be no abdominal distress or faintness of breath.

The bad news is that when asked where something is, if he doesn’t know, he points to his mouth and says he ate it.

Top 10 Father's Day Songs

There are a lot of great songs out there for Mother’s Day, but for today, in celebration of my first Father’s Day of being an actual legal dad, I thought I’d try to find the best songs about being a dad.


I’m not counting songs with Papa or Daddy or some combination in the titles which use the words for something other than a father. For example, “Oh Daddy” by Fleetwood Mac which is about Christine McVie’s bandmate Mick Fleetwood, “My Heart Belongs To Daddy” (I don’t think that’s a real Daddy, unless incest in implied, in which case, shame on you, Cole Porter and Mary Martin!) or “Gone Daddy Gone” (as much as I love the Violent Femmes).

Honorable Mention. “Father Figure” by George Michael. Misses the list because although it’s a good though slow song, it’s not really about an actual father. Still I think it fits, in a weird way. As for the video, George Michael smokes like it’s his hard duty, and this has to be the apogee of shoulder pads on thin women. Bless.



10. “Whatta Man” by Salt n Pepa (featuring En Vogue): Not specifically for Dads, though there is a shout out to her man spending “quality time with his kids when he can” and, of course, “You so crazy. I think I wanna have your baby.” Mostly it’s about a “mighty mighty good man,” which is what a dad needs to be.



9. “Daddy Cool” by Boney M. Okay, the Daddy in this is probably not a real great Dad. He might be the same kind of non-Dad Daddy that is in the “My Heart Belongs To Daddy,” but it’s so funky and Boney M is such awesome awesomeness, I can’t leave it off.



8. “Papa Don’t Preach” by Madonna. Madonna doesn’t get much credit for depth, but now that I’m a dad, I realize what good advice is in this song, and not just about pregnancy.



7. “Papa’s Got A Brand New Bag” by James Brown. Of course.



6. “Papa Loves Mambo” by Perry Como. Unh!



5. “Beautiful Boy” by John Lennon. Must be the sweetest song written by a father to a son. Made bittersweet by that father leaving too soon.



4. “Children Will Listen” by Stephen Sondheim. I think of this so many times when I look into the boy’s eyes.



3. “Color Him Father” by The Winstons. “I think I’ll color him love.”



2. “Blessed” by Elton John. Sir Elton just became a father, but this song from 1995 shows that he was ready to be one 16 years ago. “You’re a child in my head. You haven’t walked yet. Your first words have yet to be said. But I know, you’ll be blessed.” I don’t know about the people with the bat heads in the video but I’ll repeat after Mikey each night that I promise you that, I promise you that.



1. “Father & Son” by Cat Stevens “I know I have to go.” Perfection.



(The Anti Father’s Day Song) Papa Was A Rolling Stone by the Temptations

A Blog Entry to Embarrass You in Years Ahead, Mikey

Mikey has been practicing his potty skills and so has been spending more and more time sitting on the toilet or his potty with his big boy underpants around his ankles. Tonight, as usual, we talked about this and that while he sat on the potty.

He decided that everyone was a color. I’m blue. Papa and Mikey are pink. Grandma is orange, and Grandpa is purple, and sorry, Dad, so are monkeys. That led us to sing about eight silly monkeys dancing on the bed. Then we discussed how our fingers individually were one, one, one, one, one, one, but they were also one, two, three, four, and five, which we agreed was interesting.

Then there was a pause, and Mikey looked at his todger, still waiting for the impulse to pee, and retracted the foreskin, and said, “Look, Daddy. It’s Sir Topham Hatt.”

If you’re not familiar with the bald-headed character from the Thomas the Tank Engine series, he looks like this.




Mikey later incorporated my reaction to that into the act when he repeated it for Ian’s benefit.

“Oh my God,” Mikey said, holding his head in his hands, giggling. “Oh … my … God …”