Target Lost...Target Located!

While we know Rachel is a living, breathing human being, sometimes we can't help wondering if she is part plant. Specifically, the Wandering Jew.

Despite our constant conversations that she needs to stay close to mommy or daddy because "something bad can happen to you" and "not everyone is nice", she still tends to take off. Sometimes it is merely a trip to the bathroom, after which we ask her to "tell us you need to go to the bathroom."

Still, her inner Lewis and Clark beckons and she goes off on another expedition. One of the scariest was the other night. Rebecca and Rachel were shopping at Target when Rebecca realized Rachel had disappeared. After frantic searches and calls, Rachel failed to turn up.

Rebecca went to the front of the store and explained the situation. Target immediately placed an employee with a walkie-talkie at each exit. It was rather impressive, from what I was told. Anyway, Rachel turned up in the (shock!) toy department. She was on her way to the bathroom when she was unable to escape the toy department's gravitational pull. Rachel was admonished and a stand down order was issued.

The next time Rebecca and talked on the phone, my wife told me "You need to talk to our daughter." It's not like we had not had that conversation before, but obviously the message wasn't getting through. We had the talk. Again, Rachel indicated she understood, but there was an underlying tone of "I just want this conversation to end." I have to admit, Rachel is good. Sometime in these conversations, she usually hugs me or says something like, "You're the best daddy ever."

Unfortunately for her, that's my move. I know she's trying to change the subject and divert my attention. I used the same strategy in a particular journalism course in college. If I didn't know the answer, I'd tell the professor what the answer was not and get partial credit. (I apologize, Dr. Gentry, rest your soul!)

Anyhow, a couple of days later, I was heading home Saturday morning after working the overnight shift. The weather had turned cooler and Rebecca's joints hurt. She asked for a Cappuchino Blast from Dunkin' Donuts. We decided not to pick up Rachel's traditional Munchkins.

When I came home, Cappuchino Blast in hand, Rachel asked her whether I brought anything for her. I told her I did not, because of her running away in Target. She started crying. I told her we still love her, but she has got to stop running away from us. I then delivered the drink. Still crying, Rachel went to see her mom and had the message reinforced, but she calmed down shortly afterward.

That afternoon, while daddy went to sleep, Rebecca and Rachel went shopping. Rebecca says Rachel never left her side.

Behold the power of food! Just more proof Rachel is a true Ries!

Thanksgiving

Well, it's that time of the year. If we're lucky, first the turkey gets stuffed, then we do.

For our family this year, Thanksgiving came one week early. The assisted living home where my 86-year-old uncle lives hosted a Thanksgiving feast the week before the traditional turkey day. It was quite tasty...a fruit appetizer, turkey, gravy, cornbread dressing, green beans, yams, rolls and pumpkin pie. Or if you're a picky eater like our almost five-year-old Rachel, you insist on eating your turkey bland, munch on the rolls and ignore the rest while scrunching up your tiny nose and emoting intermittent "Yuchs". Instead of pumpkin pie, you slowly eat a scoop of chocolate ice cream your mommy graciously requested for you to the point where your pale face sports a liquid brown chocolate goatee.

Then, when the chocolate kicks in, your parents try to prevent you from swinging around the room on the ceiling fan until you come down from the high.

The two caretakers who spend the most time with my uncle joined us for this meal. They cheer him when he gets into "pity parties" and prevent him from doing things he still wants to do physically, but shouldn't. In fact, I don't even know whether his caretaker Benita is Catholic, but even if she isn't, we want to petition the Vatican for special dispensation for her to be declared a Saint. Saint Benita, patron saint of retired optometrists. That position hasn't been filled, has it?

While the residents, families and caretakers ate, they were entertained by the singing of Ken Glessner. Glessner has muscular dystrophy and sings as he works the room from his motorized wheelchair. He told me he asked to sing with Tommy Dorsey during World War II and when his wish was granted, he sang "White Sportcoat and a Pink Carnation." Now, he and his portable karaoke machine go together to more than 160 performances a year. He sings a lot of Sinatra and other musical standards.

Anyway, he had sung an hour or more the other night when he took a brief break. Rachel got up from her seat to talk to him. I watched her from my seat. The next thing I know, Rachel has the microphone and she is singing to everyone!

Well, a turkey Tom and a turkey mom,
Went gobble, gobble, gobble all the day,
Well, a turkey Tom and a turkey mom,
Went gobble, gobble, gobble all the day
Arm and arm, on the farm
They would strut their merry way,
Well, a turkey Tom and a turkey mom,
Went gobble, gobble, gobble all the day!

Rachel then handed the microphone back to Ken Glessner and as residents, families and employees applauded, she gave a little giggle of glee and ran back to her table.

Where this comes from, Rebecca and I have no idea. Both of us get nervous before speaking or singing before crowds of people. Rachel seems to have no such fears.

In fact, Rachel wanted to go back up and do an encore. And for that, we are thankful!

Chili(s) Reception

We went to Chili's for lunch Saturday. One of the best things about Chili's, other than the food, is that Rachel always wants to stop outside and smell the flowers that are part of the landscaping. It doesn't matter how cold it is, she wants a sniff or two or twelve.

Anyway, Rachel and I headed outside Saturday while Rebecca made a bathroom stop. As the hostess held the door open, Rachel thanked her and then added, "Will you let my mom out when she comes back?" I thought it was cute.

The Times They Are A Changin'

Rachel is now first to correct you when you refer to us her as a "little girl." She informs you that she is a "big girl." And sometimes, when you try to teach her something, you can hear the stirrings of teenaged rebellion as she tells you with exasperation in her voice, "I know that." The tone implies an accompanying eye roll.

Still, she is a sweet, sweet child. Some of her classmates were making her upset recently, taunting her with "Rachel is a boy!" We told her they were trying to get a reaction out of her. We suggested the best reaction was to ignore them. As an alternative, I told her she could taunt them back with, "(Boy's name here)is a girl." She told me she couldn't do that, because that would be mean.

Rachel is still very capable of making people laugh. One day, she came home with a rubber stamp on each hand. She informed us it was for "being good." I lavished praise upon her for her behavior and broke out in a big smile as she confessed, "I wasn't that good!"

Rachel is very much a conversationalist, able to communicate well beyond the norm for her age level. One day, we ate at Olive Garden. As the people who had been sitting behind us left, one of them asked Rachel the name of her Minnie Mouse. "Her name is Minnie," she replied. She then paused and in perfect comic timing, added in a matter-of-fact tone, "I didn't name her."

She also has a sense of style. One day recently, she left the house with a heavier weight pink top and a spring lavender hat with a lavender ribbon. My wife likened it to a bag lady. I think Rachel is simply an Annie Hall in training, with a unique sense of style. Or to put it another way, your typical four-year-old.

Rachel very much remains a child in love with her parents. Who am I to argue when she tells me, "You're my hero!" or "You're the best daddy ever!" I bask in the compliment, because I have a feeling it will be rescinded during the aforementioned teenaged rebellion.

Garbo Talks

It is one of my favorite moments as a father. The other night, Rachel once again fell asleep on my lap as I sat on the sofa.

After a few minutes, I cradled Rachel in my arms and carried her to bed. I gently laid her down on her purple neck pillow, watched her adjust to her position of comfort and stood over the bed, gazing at her long eyelashes and porcelain-skinned face with a loving smile.

About ten or fifteen seconds later, her eyes fluttered open, made an effort to fix a gaze on me and she softly told me, "Daddy, I want to sleep alone!"

Not Again!

Thankfully, I wasn't there. Rachel got stuck a third time on a Chick-fil-A playground. This time another child's mother rescued her!

I think from now on, we tie a rope around her and either yank her down or climb up to get her!