Dad in Training: My son called me "fat."

"El-phan"

Am I doing it wrong? It's a question, dripping with guilt, that I'm sure hangs threateningly over most every decision, action and reaction we make as parents. Hang around me long enough (anytime over 10 minutes will do) and I'll admit to you that our son Peter is already an awesome kid, and on a day-by-day basis, I'm basically just trying not to screw him up.

And so, as the stay-at-home dad, I usually--sometime after mom comes home and has a great time with the same kid who I, not 40 minutes ago, barked at for splashing the dogs water out of the bowl--in a quiet moment, kind of hate myself for losing my mind earlier. Over what? A 20-month old splashing some water around the kitchen floor (which could probably use a little washing anyway)? Unfortunately, as my son fast approaches his 2nd birthday, feelings of worry and doubt started way back and do not look to be letting up anytime...ever.

In the beginning, too soon after the pure, deafening joy of my son's birth, I thought, "I don't think I spoke and sung to him enough when he was in utero." And I never, NOT ONCE, played him any Mozart through headphones pressed against Sarah's belly. As it turns out, according to Dr. Deborah Campbell, director of neonatology at The Children's Hospital at Montefiore not only is there no good evidence that you can in fact craft a baby genius by such technique, adding more noise to an already noisy womb, by way of loud speakers, is probably not a great idea. So PHEW!

"Gi-tar!"

Content in the knowledge that my quietly sung and thoroughly ridiculous made-up "I love you little
guy you're awesome" songs combined with early Tom Waits (see I am cool!) and Glee cast albums (see I am...uhm...) on road trips, I have moved on to other worries.

Namely language acquisition and development. I recall from a Developmental Psychology or Cognitive Science class I took in the way-way back at Vassar College, that an infant's brain is overflowing with almost limitless potential. But if you wait too long, the baby's brain will have "pruned" itself and will no longer be able to distinguish some of the subtle and almost imperceptible (to us) differences in, for example, some Asian language sounds. I haven't googled, or searched my old textbooks for a definitive answer, because I already suspect, and do not particularly want to be reminded, that because of me, my son will likely never speak perfect Mandarin.

And so, using the "better than nothing" theory of parenting, I sometimes speak and read to him in the only other language I sort of know. German. Despite the country's position as one of the world's most important, learning it's language is decidedly less so. No matter, we still count numbers in the elevator (I also add Spanish and mom remembers her HS French), I sing the alphabet to him with my best Teutonic accent. Knives and forks are also das Messer und die Gabel at Mittagsessen.

One particular day, I thought I must also teach him the German word for father. Right, duh? "Der Vater" or the more cuddly version, "Vati." In German the "V" is pronounced more like an "F" and so "daddy" will sound more like "fah-tee." Peter picks up new words at an alarming rate. And add to that the general rules of toddler verbal truncation, and Peter had both his mother and I laughing out loud when he pointed and called me "fat." Lesson learned. We'll stick with "da-DEE" for now.

Powers of keen observation (I'm working out and eating less), Mandarin language and grown-up cup drinking deficiencies aside, Peter continues to amaze us every day and excels in the field which to me matters most. Recently Peter has been, with outstretched arms, asking for "fa-huh" and "fa-ki." It's a "language lesson" we started early on in his life and I plan on subjecting him to "fa-huh" and "fa-ki" well past the time he stops asking for them. Because there is absolutely and truly nothing better in the world then when your son asks for a "family hug" or "family kiss." So moms and dads, if you ever wonder if you are doing it right, I can assure you that if you smother your kids with hugs and kisses and love, you are. You are doing it very right.

Dad in Training: Stay-at-Home Winter Olympics

With the mountains of Sochi filled with abandoned 1/2 pipes, ski jumps whooshing now only as the crosswinds blow, and luge runs empty of athletes hurling themselves down icy tracks in toddler-tested methods (head first, feet first, really expensive sled first), you might think that the winter games are over.

But you would be wrong. The torch has been passed. There is an elite group of competitors packed away in an athlete's village called New York City. And we're all staring at a weather forecast that promises to dump another 8 or 10,000 inches of snow to be plowed and shoveled oh-so conveniently right in front of the place where you are supposed to cross the street. Also we can count on crusty mounds of blackened plow-snow to be blocking pedestrian access to our bus and subway stops. Stops that take us to family-friendly venues that will save our apartments from cabin-fever induced disaster management.

Why does my 19-month-old son Peter delight in taking every single book off the shelf and hurling it across the room with both the skill and deadly accuracy of a Norwegian Biathlete?

We are the stay-at-home parents of the 2014 Polar Vortex Games! And while I'm not a podium contender yet, I do have some top-tips to make sure you are wearing gold at the end of these winter games (which I predict to be sometime around Father's Day).

1. Get a membership. While the upfront investment of a few hundred dollars is significant, do a little math and you'll realize that being

   

   Not everyone minds the snow in NYC.

   
   

   able to drop into the Children's Museum of Manhattan or the Bronx Zoo at a moment's notice throughout the next year without worrying if you've got enough time to make the daily entry fee "worth it,"  is a gold-medal-winning move. Plus, romping around children's museums? Educational and fun! And being able to recite, "Brown Bear, Brown Bear What Do You See?" while staring at two actual brown bears wrestling? Kind of Double awesome.
   
2. Get a backpack. No, not that kind. I'm talking the kind that you will carry your toddler to the zoo, the museum, the store, through subway turnstiles without a second thought at record pace. It turns every trip into a ride and your kid will love it. Plenty of parents embrace front-of-the-body packs like the Ergo or Baby Bjorn, but at some point they get shoved in the back of a closet and the omnipresent umbrella stroller comes out. And for an island that currently boasts snowy ridges blocking crosswalks, the stroller is just the wrong tool for the job. Strollers are for STROLLING. And in New York, we don't usually stroll. We walk (more quickly than rickety small plastic wheels can handle), we climb (up and down subway stairs), we run (for the bus), we do ("Ninja-quick" shopping trips at bodegas that pack more items in the same footprint that a suburban grocery store fits their Redbox and Coinstar vending machines.) My dad says he used to get looks carrying me around in a backpack...and that was in the 1970s. 40 years later, I get looks of surprise, followed by realization, a smile, then the comment. "Looks like he's got the best seat in the house." Yes, yes he does.
   
   
3. Get a snowsuit. In the world of Olympic and athletic competition, speed is of the essence. And let's face it; with the jackets, the mittens, the hats, the shoes (all of which routinely get torn off the second you get them on), it probably takes you 1/2 the day just to get crew ready to leave the house. But a good lined snowsuit with a long zipper will not only cut down on your prep time (pants optional!), but keep him warm as can be.  Also snowsuits make your super adorable kid even more so: