Notre Dame

We had a discussion at work today. How come Notre Dame is nicknamed "The Fighting Irish?" After all, the school was founded by Jesuits, who are French. We finally decided that no one would ever find a school with the nickname "The Fighting Frenchmen" believeable.

WEP

As in well-established personality. It's one of our nicknames for our little lady as she approaches four. For an analogy, I used to tell my mom that I was her little angel and she would respond, "Your halo is choking you!" Heredity has passed that trait along.

As I lay on the couch last night, with my broken ankle elevated, watching a tv show, Rachel suggested I move to her bedroom so she could watch her video in the living room. Pointing to me and scowling, she informed me, "I'm number one! You're number two!"

Needless to say, we are trying to teach our little lady that in real life, we are not always number one. As we teach her Nietzsche and Proust and the great philosophers, we will also teach her Jagger. "You can't always get what you want." Or as mommy and daddy say under their breaths, "Geez, stop acting like such a little shit."

We already see signs of selective hearing, imagined slights, significant parts of stories left out or exaggerated. Yes, our daughter is sugar and spice and everything nice. She is also dramatic pout, downturned mouth and jutted out lip. More and more, it looks like acting may be her chosen profession.

After all, Rachel shows no shyness around microphones. The other day, her school put on its annual Thanksgiving pageant. Kids that age are adorable. Some ham it up, even at a Jewish school! Others shout and wave at their daddies.

Afterwards, parents sat with their kids for lunch. I sat with Rachel and the Busy Bees. My wife sat with the class she teaches, the Butterflies. At one point, I noticed Rachel was missing. I checked the first option, the dessert table. Then I realized, she had walked back on stage and toward the microphone, which was still on. I grinned from ear to ear. I couldn't wait to hear what she was going to say. As soon as my wife saw her, she looked mortified and started charging toward the stage. As Rachel got everyone's attention, she said, "Thank you for coming. Have fun!" Or perhaps it was "Hope you have fun! Thank you" At any rate, it was inocuous and much more tame than what I imagined she might say. Even though we dragged her off the stage, she returned twice just to hear the sound of her voice.

The next day, we were at the Pancake House and Rachel found the microphone behind the waitress stand and said, "Hello" to the entire restaurant before she was dragged away, screaming and crying.

Then the other day, my wife and other members of the Temple were at Barnes & Noble to hear a woman who sang at the Temple the night before. Rachel was there too. At one point, she looked up and saw one of the rabbis and then told my wife in what I'm told is an extremely loud voice, "Hey, mommy! It's your boss!"

The singer then called all the children around her during the performance. In every break between songs, Rachel tried to engage her in conversation. I'm told she danced to the music too and since her pants were too big, they tended to slip down and show her Minnie Mouse panties.

Eventually, she'll learn there is a reason we have two ears and one mouth. But I hope she never loses her outspokeness. It's entertaining. Just don't tell her I said so.

Rebecca found this hobby horse at Goodwill for 12 dollars!

Why I Can Never Run for Political Office Now!

Minnie Mouse Takes A Break From Trick or Treating

The Wiggles, Dad and the Titanic

Well, this is a HUGE day in this here household. Both girls have something they have eagerly awaited.

In about three hours, I'll head to the Temple Early Learning Center to take Rachel out of school early. The three of us have a 3 p.m. matinee date to see The Wiggles. Yes, the Australian children's tv show phenoms will perform ten minutes from our house, minus Greg, who is suffering from mysterious fainting spells.

As long as Jeff is there, Rachel will be ecstastic. Jeff is always falling asleep and to Rachel, he is so "funnnnnyyyy." Rebecca can ogle Anthony. I'm just hoping the Captain's shipmate Caterina is there. Never mind that I'm old enough to be her dad!

Anyway, I have a feeling a good blog will come out of this one.

My other assignment is to get Rachel in bed by 9. Tonight is the two-hour return of Medium. Rebecca will be in front of the tube and I'll join her.

I had to take a sick day today. I'm taking amoxycillin and prednisone after suffering an inflamed uvula Tuesday. I have no idea what happened, but the thing that hangs down in the back of my throat was twice normal size when I woke up from a nap yesterday. It felt like my throat was gonna close off. It's back to normal now and I have a great heavy metal band name, should I ever start one..."Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome, Inflamed Uvula!"

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Cool news on the genealogy front. I recently received an e-mail from Ancestry.com that a slew of new immigrant boat passenger lists recently became available. So I typed in my dad's name to see if I could find when he came over during WWII. Nothing. Sigh.

Then I thought, what if I type in Ernst instead of Ernest? There he was! February 5, 1940 on the Veendam. Not only that, but I found the actual passenger manifest with his name on it and three pictures of the ship. The Nazis bombed it and took it over three months after dad made it to Ellis Island. The Allies got it back after WWII and it was scrapped in Baltimore Harbor in 1953. I also printed out dad's Army Enlistment Records. Very, very cool.

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And speaking of ships, an exhibit of salvaged items from the Titanic went on display here this past weekend. Rebecca and I plan to see it.

Anyway, I said, "What the heck" and asked whether we could get anyone from the exhibit to appear on my early morning newscast. It turns out we got the exhibit designer and he brought five items not part of the artifacts on display.

So Saturday, we had a tool, promissory note, leather wallet, officer's button and a porthole from third class in studio. It was awesome!

Well! I wasn't expecting THAT!

Rachel and I were having lunch yesterday and during the course of conversation, I asked her whether she'd like a baby brother or sister.

The answer was an emphatic "No!"

When I asked why not, Rachel explained, "because I don't want a baby in my tummy."

She's not yet four and wise beyond her years!

The Ears Had It!

With Rebecca now teaching at the same preschool that Rachel attends, daddy tends to sit back and watch games of Health Ping Pong. First one of them gets a cold, then the other one does and then it's back and forth.

My wife has an aversion to doctors, so we usually have to wait for her sniffles to run their course. Rachel on the other hand, has no such choice. If her nose runs too much, she isn't allowed in class until she shows improvement.

For that reason, we recently took Rachel in to see Dr. Gail Smith, her kind and gentle pediatrician. Rachel had your basic cold and so much wax in her ears that a subsequent visit to the ear, nose and throat doctor was booked.

So, a week later, we found ourself in another waiting room. We were then ushered into the examining room. This opened a whole new world to Rachel. She was all ready to shove the nurse out of the way, so she could use the computer. When you're three, every computer is a potential gateway to Arthur and the Wiggles.

Then she figured out what to pull and push to maneuver the examining chair up and down. This exercise became the equivalent of "Does it bother you when I push this? What about now? What about now?"

Mercifully, the doctor came in. Rachel did a stellar job of breathing in and out. The doctor looked at her ears and concluded he hadn't seen that much wax since vinyl rotated on turntables.

A short time later, we were ushered into another room. Rachel was told to lay down still on her back so they could shine a light in her ear and remove the blockage. Two words. Fat. Chance. It was like watching greased pig races in the rodeo. I had to pin her arms down with mine. I had to lodge my knee between her legs to prevent her from wriggling away. We looked like an Ear, Nose and Throat version of Twister.

My little lady is crying and negotiating from way back in her throat. "Daddy!" she cried. "Mommy!" she wailed. "I feel fine! I feel fine! I FEEL FINE!"

Could've fooled me.

Finally, the procedure was over. As if a lollipop and stickers were close to enough to ask forgiveness for what she had been through.

The doctor was concerned her eardrums weten't responding the way they should. So after a while to calm down, Rachel was placed in a soundproof room. Not to win Ben Stein's money, but to simply repeat whatever the audio technician said to her over the speaker.

But this game was over. Rachel had no intention of cooperating. The technician said, "cat." A sniffling Rachel responded meekly, "I have a poopie diaper."

We'll have to return another time. At least Rachel got the wax out of her ears. And mommy and daddy gained a wonderful new candle!