The Four Stages of Watching Sports with Annabelle

Watching sports with Annabelle is a sport in itself. Or more of a game, really -- a game that ends the same way every time.

Every weekend, without fail, this happens:

Stage 1: The Decision  

Me: “Okay, Dad’s going to go downstairs watch a little (insert sport.)”
Annabelle: “I want to watch (insert sport)!”

Doesn’t matter what it is, as long as it’s TV. It could be water polo, actual polo, or the world paper airplane championships and Annabelle would be dutifully by my side on the couch. It’s usually basketball, football, tennis, or golf, but I get the sense that she doesn’t really care.

Stage 2: Choosing Sides

And within seconds of sitting down, this transpires:

Annabelle: “Are you rooting for the white team or the blue team?” (I’m making up the colors and the particular game for the sake of the story.)
Me: “Ah, the white team. I’ve always liked them.”
Annabelle: “Okay, I’ll cheer for the white team. … We don’t like the blue team, right?”
Me: “Well, it’s not that we don’t like them. We just like the white team more.”
Annabelle: “But we don’t like the blue team, right?”
Me: “Sure.”

She then announces to Bridget—or whoever is around—that we are cheering for the white team and that we dislike the blue team a great deal. Why we have to really like one team and really dislike another team is a mystery to me, but that’s fine. Point is, we’re cheering together.

Stage 3: Scoring and Jumping 

We then watch for, oh, maybe four minutes. Maybe five.

Then this happens:

Annabelle: “Is the white team winning?”
Me: “No, not yet. They’re down by 10.”

Thirty seconds elapse.

Annabelle: “Is the white team winning?”
Me: “Nope, still down 10.”

Fifteen seconds elapse.

Annabelle: “Is the white winning?”
Me: “Not yet.”

Then, the jumping begins. Annabelle, who is clearly not as impressed as I am about a well-run half-court offense begins jumping from the ottoman to the couch. Again. And again. And again.

Stage 4: The End 

Me: “Honey, I can’t see with you jumping everywhere.”
Annabelle: “Can we watch Daniel Tiger now?”
Me: “Well, let’s just watch this for a bit. I really want to see this game.”

Jumping. Jumping. Jumping. Jumping.

Annabelle: “Now can we watch Daniel Tiger?”

And then, usually, we stop watching sports. All four stages usually take about 15 minutes, sometimes 10, and I suppose I should get annoyed. I do sometimes, especially if Syracuse is playing or it’s close game in the fourth quarter.

Someday, I’m certain, we’ll watch a whole game together. She’ll sit with me, cheer for my favorite team with me, and ask a bunch of new questions. And a small piece of me with miss watching Daniel Tiger.

The Unexpected Benefits of Spontaneity

I am not, by any definition of the word, spontaneous. 

I find routines comforting, soothing, and downright enjoyable. I go to bed around the same time every night (and always read before I do), get up around the same time every day (and always feed Oscar first thing), and eat pretty much the same thing for lunch every day. Even on weekends. Speaking of weekends, my Saturday mornings consist of a trip to the gym, the waiting room at dance class, and a trip to the grocery store with Annabelle. Every. Saturday. 

Surprises? Shake-ups? Spontaneity? No, thanks. I'm good. (Let me take this moment to say, "Hands off, ladies. I'm taken.")

As boring as this may sound -- and I admit, after reading that paragraph above, I'm even a little bored -- my reliable ways make me a pretty good Dad to Annabelle, Aurora, and Oscar. (Yes, Oscar, too, because if dogs don't like routines, who does?) Kids like to watch the same things over and over, eat the same things over and and over, and read the same things over and over. They do better when they have set bedtimes, set activities, and set routines. 

Which brings me to the photo at the top of the post. It screams spontaneity and it makes me smile from ear to ear. 

Last Sunday, we got a bunch of snow. Maybe you remember. It was thick, wet, heavy snow and it fell for much of the day and into the night. We weren't sure what Monday was going to bring in terms of school, work, or commutes, so we mostly just sat, watched, and visited weather websites. 

Earlier in the week, the big snowstorm before the one we were watching, Annabelle had asked if we could make a snowman. Unfortunately that snow was light and powdery -- not good for making balls of snow. 

But Sunday, the snow was perfect. As we sat and ate dinner, Annabelle sensed it. "It's the perfect snowman making snow!" 

"Actually, it is. Maybe we can make a snowman tomorrow morning," I said, thinking we would have a delay.

"But it's perfect right now," she said.

She was right. But we were in the middle of dinner. We still had to do tubs. She hadn't napped. And then the routine of potty, teeth, and books, of course. Plus, her snow clothes were still wet from playing outside earlier in the day.

All signs pointed to no. But we went out in the cold, snowy night and it was amazing.

As you can guess from the photo, Annabelle was smiling and laughing from start to finish. She helped me roll the base, a generous middle, and the all-important top. We trudged through the backyard snow -- "hold my hand, Dad!" -- to look for the perfect sticks for the arms. We went inside to get the traditional carrot nose and settled on rocks (instead of blueberries) for the eyes. We finished things off with a blue scarf, thanks to Bridget's eye for fashion. And we took pictures of our new snowman, Oscar, gathering memories that we'll enjoy forever.

Does this mean I'm doing away with my routines? Maybe a new lunch this week? Doubt it. But I am going to try to be more spontaneous -- right now. 

Resisting the Urge to Compare

Annabelle is a really good jumper. Seriously. I’ve seen it. Once every month at her dance class, the instructors turn on the cameras in the room so the parents can watch their adorable little ballerinas. This month, as the parents looked on with smiles and awkward laughs, the girls did some jumping — over blocks, into squares, etc. — and Annabelle jumped far and high.

Farther and higher than the other girls, in fact. I know because I watched them, too. I had to see if Annabelle was a better jumper.

Why, you ask? Great question. I wonder the same thing myself.

If there’s one thing I would change about myself as a parent, it would be my tendency to compare my kids to other kids. Even if it's just for a split second. I can’t help it. Maybe you can’t either. If other kids can do something, I want my kids to be able to it, too. I want them to be as good or better at absolutely everything. The feeling comes, I assure you, from a place of intense love, but I wish I didn’t have it.

The feeling goes beyond dance class, of course.

We had a parent-teacher meeting at Annabelle’s preschool a few weeks ago to hear about how our 3-year-old was doing in the classroom. The answer: very well. Annabelle knows right from wrong, listens well (most of the time), helps other kids with their coats and shoes, and is “a leader in the class.” Bridget and I were all smiles, of course. “A leader,” I said. “Isn’t that great?”

But what if she wasn’t emerging as a leader? What if she kept to herself most of the time? Or had strong emotional reactions whenever she didn’t get her way?

Annabelle, of course, has her challenges. Like many of us, she’s pretty shy when she enters a room — especially if there are a lot of people in the room. She hides behind us, looks at the ceiling when she gets a compliment, and speaks very quietly when she’s talking to someone she doesn’t know. I see other kids (not many at the age of 3, but some) who speak clearly and confidently in new situations. And for that split second after I witness this, I wonder why Annabelle isn’t like that.

It’s that split second I want to change:

• That split second at a grocery store when I see a kid throwing a tantrum and I feel lucky Annabelle isn’t 
• That split second when I see Annabelle following other kids around the playground and wonder why they aren’t following her 
• That split second when other kids want to play soccer with their Dads instead of showing off their new dance moves 

Those split seconds have seeped into the way I see Aurora, too. She was a premature baby (six weeks early), so her development has been delayed here and there. She doesn’t crawl yet, for example. Other kids in her class are running around like their feet are on fire, but not our little munchkin. And I wonder, anxiously, when it’s going to happen.

Again, why? I’m bright enough to know that everyone moves through life at their own pace. Everyone is good at some things and not-so-good at other things. For example, I can dribble the heck out of a basketball, but I can’t stand on a pair of ice skates. I can turn a phrase, but I can’t make heads or tails of a geometric proof.

Now, I have a new challenge: Resist the urge to compare my daughters, to other kids and to each other. I found this article pretty helpful. It won’t be easy (I'm competitive by nature), but I’m going to start working at it and I’ll get better.

The obvious reality is that my daughters will succeed, fail, and succeed again throughout their lives. They'll be wonderful at some things and mediocre at others. They'll jump really high and really far and they'll fall — a lot.  And I hope those moments, the falls and the getting back ups, will be my proudest.

Annabelle's 11 Best One-Liners

Parenthood, despite all its challenges, is pretty damn awesome.

One unexpected benefit: Humor.  Kids are hilarious. In fact, lately, I find myself spending more and more energy trying not to laugh when Annabelle says something funny/inappropriate that I shouldn't encourage. For example: "Daddy, wouldn't it be funny if your head was a butt?!"

My little 3.5-year-old has been cranking out some pretty good one-liners for a while now, so I thought it'd be good to capture them all in one place. Here are 11 highlights from the last six months or so:

6:29 on a Monday night, after a long day at work:
Me: "I have a surprise ..."
Annabelle: "For me?"
Me: "For a big girl who has made some good choices lately ..."
Annabelle: "Me! I'm a big girl! I make good choices!"
Me: (Pulling a Curious George book out of my bag) "I got this for you at that store you love in Harvard Square!"
Annabelle: "Do you have anything else?"

6:37, that same night:
Bridget, singing along with Adele: "Hello. How are youuu?"
Annabelle: "You know, Mom, you can just listen."

7:13 on a Friday night (a moment of levity after a tough week):
Annabelle, grabbing her little toothbrush: "After today, can we start using my big toothbrush?"
Me: "Sure, sweetie."
Annabelle: "Because you keep using my little one ... and it's killing me."

6:31 on a Friday night, after a lengthy whining session:
Me: "I was talking to Uncle Walter today. He asked about you."
Annabelle: "What did he say?"
Me: "He said you need to start making better choices."
Annabelle: "I will never kill a skunk ..."
Me: "I'm not sure ... Ok. Good, good."

7:14 on a Saturday morning:
Me: "Annabelle, let's go potty before breakfast, ok?"
Annabelle: "Nooo ..."
Me: "Come on, hun. We all go when we wake up. Don't you have to go?"
Annabelle: "I'm astonished that I don't have to go!"

6:38 on Tuesday, November 8:
Me: "Annabelle, what day is it today?"
Annabelle: "Is it collection day?"
Me: "Close enough. And what do you think of Trump?"
Annabelle: "I don't like Trump. He's a bad guy."

12:28 on a Wednesday afternoon:
Me: "Are you excited to go to the new library?!"
Annabelle: "Yup! I'm going to get some books!"
Me: "Oh yeah? Which books?"
Annabelle: "I'm going to keep my pants on when we get inside."
Me: "Okay. Hmm. Yeah ... good."

7:17 on a Friday night:
Me: "Annabelle, can you please eat your ravioli? Please?"
Annabelle: "If you put more cheese on, it'll help me survive."

6:44 on a Saturday night: 
Annabelle: "Is my sister asleep?"
Me: "She is."
Annabelle: "Why don't fish have eyelids?"
Me: "It's time for bed."

6:03 on a Sunday morning:
Annabelle: "Is it fun to push kids into the fire?"
Me: "No ...what? God, no! Why would you ask that?"
Annabelle: "Witches do that sometimes, if you lose the breadcrumbs."
Me: "Oh, right, right. Hansel and Gretel ..."

11:24 on a Sunday morning, walking home from Starbucks: 
Me: You know, honey, I'm so proud of you. You're so polite when we go out and you make so many people smile. You're really a wonderful little girl."
Annabelle: (nods stares, thinks) "Um, squirrels climb on fences ..."