Yesterday I stopped by CVS and went through their seasonal clearance items, and came home with something I thought my 2-year-old daughter would be bananas over. It’s a yellow plastic cylinder, like the base of a flashlight, with a clear egg-shaped top made to look like a bee. When you press a button, the insides of the egg spin causing lights to flash and the whole thing to buzz and quiver. The toy cost 62 cents or approximately what it cost to make.

Sienna squealed with glee and I smiled because I’d made my daughter happy.

“Ear!” she shouted, eyes gleaming with fascination at this new sensation tickling her skin. She pressed the buzzing bee to her earlobe. “Nose! Arm! Elbow! Head!”

“Wait until your bedroom’s dark,” I said excitedly. “It’ll light up blue and green and yellow and red! Do you like how it vibrates?”

And then my innocently meant words hit me in an entirely different context.

I looked at the shape of the thing. The bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz sound echoed in my ears.

:: facepalm ::

To all you new or soon-to-be parents out there, letting these dirty things slip out of your mouth isn’t an abnormal thing. You’re all going to say something really simple only to do a double take as it sinks in that you’ve said a simple phrase you’ve happened to associate with Skinemaxian entertainment for the past decade or two.

At first, you’ll blush.

Then you’ll giggle.

Soon you and your partner will race to say, “That’s what she/he said!”

And finally, as your child gets older, and you and your partner try not to laugh at what one of you just said, you’re just going to do the old facepalm.

So I present to you the seven funniest phrases (plus one bonus Q&A that had me and my wife on the floor) I’ve said to my daughter that, when taken out of context, means something entirely different in the bedroom:

Dirty Things I’ve Said to My Child

No. 1: “Do you like how it vibrates?”

See above.

No. 2: “Please swallow!” and “Don’t spit! Swallow!”

The first time I said this (while trying to get my daughter to eat dinner) I literally cringed until I caught my wife’s eye and saw her trying so hard not to laugh. Then I just laughed along and went with it.

No. 3: “The girl was so wet, she was dripping.”

Ah, those fluctuating pre-air conditioner spring days when you put your kid down for a nap and discover her all sweaty and disgusting because her room was about 80 degrees.

No. 4: “You need to suck harder.”

Teaching my daughter how to use a straw. My wife beat me to “That’s what he said!”

No. 5: “She’s so cute, I just want to eat her.”

Can’t remember when or why I said it, but does it matter? When those words come out of your mouth, translate into adult connotations, and you realize you’re talking about your daughter? :: shiver::

No. 6: “Did you just put that whole thing in your mouth?!”

After Sienna gobbled an entire string cheese without chewing forcing her cheeks to look like she’d been gathering nuts for the winter.

No. 7: “Stop playing with your balls!”

Doesn’t apply to a girl, but it still generated a sideways look between me and my wife. Parents of boys are sure to love saying that one for the first time!

BONUS: One thing new and soon-to-be parents might not know is that kids sometimes take time to learn how to use their tongues correctly (:: facepalm::) meaning that the letter “L” often gives them trouble. Hence, I bring you the following interaction that had our daughter standing with such a gloriously proud and pure look on her face:

Me: “Sienna, what do you want for dinner?”

Sienna, pointing at the wall clock: “C*ck”

What can we parents do but cackle?

A version of Dirty Things first appears on Raising Sienna. Photo: ©Krakenimages.com / Adobe Stock.

It’s hard to believe my daughter lives in a world in which the Twin Towers no longer stand, that when she’s studying about the tragedy of Sept. 11, 2001, in school textbooks, she’ll probably feel as far removed from it as I do from JFK’s assassination, Pearl Harbor, the Holocaust, and so many other significant historical events.

So how will I teach my daughter about 9/11? About how the world changed and didn’t change when those planes hit the towers, another hit the Pentagon, and a fourth was brought down by courageous passengers over Pennsylvania during the worst foreign terrorist attack on American soil?

I guess it will be through the memory of actually living through it, just as my mom must have learned from her parents who fled Poland during World War II and my dad must have learned about living through the Great Depression from his parents.

Fact: I was in Manhattan on that day.

Fact: I was not near the destruction nor do I know of anyone personally who perished, but like almost everyone I know, I know people who knew people – the husband of one of my wife’s friends; my father’s always pleasant acquaintance. And so I’ll describe to my daughter what I saw and lived through, things she can never truly learn from textbooks.

What I remember about 9/11

The most lasting image I have of 9/11 is standing on the roof of my office building on 22nd Street and 2nd Avenue, watching the Twin Towers burning while across the street, a handful of boys played schoolyard basketball under an azure sky. It was eerie, seeing life change forever and go on simultaneously, watching innocence up close and evil in the background. I never saw the towers fall — I’d left the roof just before the first crumbled so I could call my dad who worked in Chinatown to make sure he was OK, so like most people, I only experienced that devastation during the constant loop that was on television over the next few days.

I remember one of the professors at my work being stranded in Florida, how she was frantic, unable to contact her firefighter husband for days while he bravely helped victims and then worked all hours clearing Ground Zero. I will tell her how many such intrepid people eventually succumbed to cancer and other illnesses thanks to toxins they were forced to breathe.

I remember my dad picking me up at work, us driving to Queens, and me staring at a Manhattan skyline where a giant dust cloud had displaced the World Trade Center.

I remember attending the only candlelight vigil I’ve ever been to. It was held that night in front of my apartment building. Strangers cried and hugged each other.

I remember the city, the country, the world coming together.

What I will pass on about 9/11

I will tell my daughter how the entertainment and pop culture machine screeched to a halt for the first and only time in my life, and that when it returned, it did so cautiously; David Letterman’s sadness and weariness, his wondering if it was OK to laugh again; me attending my first ever World Series game, Game 3 between the Yankees and Arizona Diamondbacks at which President George W. Bush threw out the first pitch as snipers lay still as stone on top of Yankee Stadium.

I will tell my daughter about the grief that consumed the city, but also the love and unity.

I will take my daughter to the World Trade Center Memorial and wonder if she can feel the presence of the iconic Twin Towers as we stand in front of the beautifully designed fountains in which are carved the names of lost citizens and police officers and firefighters in the shadow of the Freedom Tower, a building that for her will be part of her normal landscape, but for me will always feel something like an intruder.

I will show her the giant purple beams of light that appear each 9/11. I will let her watch the names of the lost being read by their loved ones. And when she’s old enough, I will show her United 93 and explain the visceral reaction I had when I first saw it, the film being one of the very few I’ve seen that really hit me emotionally, and how I often watch it on 9/11 as my way to remember and honor the thousands lost that day.

I will be there to answer any questions she might have and will do so openly and honestly, and I will hope that she never has to experience something akin to or worse than 9/11, something that will forevermore necessitate the word: Remember.

A version of this first appeared on Raising Sienna.

Photo: via photopin (license)

Toddlers are amazing creatures. They’re all emotion and zero logic. They are selfish, wonderful, exasperating, cute, hilarious, crazy, imaginative beings that could very well bring about … the end of the world!

Here are six triggers to toddler trouble that could very well lead to … TODDLERGEDDON!

1) Elevator Buttons

All toddlers must press the elevator button. If there are two toddlers and you try to negotiate that one press the outside button and the other the inside button, screaming matches may occur because their fingers are magnetically drawn to that tiny, little button that wields more power than any Jedi can master. Considering that a horde of toddlers will always race to press the elevator button, imagine if they had access to the real button!

2) Boxes

Toddlers are like cats when it comes to boxes – they must jump inside and claim their territory.

After we took our little Christmas tree out of its box this past December to set it up, my daughter wanted to play with the box, but we said no because we didn’t want it to get damaged (Lord knows most boxes don’t survive after a toddler encounter). A tantrum ensued. Tears. Bawling. Throwing things. “I WANT THE BOX” over and over and over!

My wife and I gave her an offer we figured she couldn’t refuse. She could:

• a) play with the box and throw out all of her toys including the precious scarf that rarely leaves her side, or
• b) keep all of her toys and her scarf and just let the box go.

She chose option A! Wailing, she placed her scooter in the garbage room. She gathered up toys and put them in a basket to throw away. Shockingly, she went so far as to THROW HER BELOVED SCARF DOWN THE GARBAGE CHUTE!! (Luckily I caught it in time and later when she calmed down, we pretended that I went downstairs and found it before they took it away). Toddlers are stubborn – ridiculously obstinate. Lesson learned … boxes can lead to Earth’s destruction if left up to toddlers.

3) Toys

Piggybacking on boxes, toys hold a magic power that forces toddlers to fight even if they don’t really want to play with said toy. Billy here might be playing with some truck and, suddenly, toddlers descend on him from all directions wanting to play with that same toy even though there are a zillion other fun things with which to play throughout the room.

At the toddler stage, the concept of sharing is still often forgotten and the concept of ownership has yet to set in. Regardless, what is so magical about that one toy? They want it. They need it. They must grab it out of Billy’s hands leaving poor Billy in a pool of tears.

Then they’ll drop it and go play with something else.

One single toy might cause a toddler uprising that we parents will not be able to control. Next thing we know, the president has been thrown into a bunker as toddler trouble turns into toddler chaos that envelops the world … all because of a red block.

4) Candy

Oh, boy. Candy is like an elixir to toddlers. Ears prick up when they hear the opening of a wrapper. Eyes fill with purpose and determination upon viewing a tiny piece of chocolate. Have you ever opened a lollipop only to have twenty toddlers rush you asking, begging, pleading, DEMANDING one as well? I could throw the lollipop on the ground and watch a literal feeding frenzy and those that miss out on the coveted confection would stand up, bruised, battered, bitten, bloodied and turn their devil eyes to you like the kids in Children of the Corn. And the one that did get the lollipop? Now she’s hopped up on sugar! What if they rebel? What if they realize just how much candy is available? We adults would have no chance against toddler swarms in search of candy – that is until they ask us to open it for them.

5) Colors

It doesn’t matter what the object is – clothes, toys, food, cups – if a toddler sees another toddler using something blue, every other toddler in the world will want that same blue object and they’ll fight to get it. They’ll whine. They’ll cry. They’ll try to steal the object out of the initial toddler’s hands. They will not listen to things like, “Your plate is the same blue color as Tommy’s” or “You know, you have this nice purple popsicle…let Norah have the orange one.” Reason doesn’t exist once a toddler has his eyes set on a certain color. They’ll scream and cry until their faces turn blue and ours turn red from frustration and anger. We must be strong against colors. We must be prepared. Because World War III just might break out while we’re still trying to understand why our kids must have that blue plate!

6) Birthday Cake Candles

All toddlers come running when it’s time to blow out the candles on a birthday cake. You can feel their bodies tense as they try to get close enough to extinguish those little flames. They’re like deer … ready to jump at any moment. You know they’d tear each other apart if we didn’t hold them back. Is it their birthday cake? Does it matter? Just look at the picture below. See how they’re all eyeing the candles with such grit and obsession. If we’re not careful with our birthday candles, we could have a full-on battle royale on our hands.

These are just but six toddler trouble points that if we’re not careful, patient, logical parents who take the time to explain about sharing, ownership, time and taking turns could spell our end. We must be strong. We can’t let the tears and whines wear us down. We must be diligent, yet soft in our explanations. Sometimes we must let the actions play out before we can make our moves, but we can’t let the actions spread because there could be a time when every single toddler in the world wants that one orange piece of cloth and once that happens, we’re doomed. It will be … TODDLERGEDDON!

A version of this toddler trouble tale first appeared on Raising Sienna.

Christmas can be oppressive for us Jews especially when we’re children. It seems everything out there is about Christmas and how we should celebrate Christmas.

Every TV special.

Every house decorated with streams of ethereal lights.

Santa in every commercial touting all the great new toys his elves are toiling away at when he’s not at the mall letting kids sit on his lap and ask for presents.

Stockings. Tinsel. Incredibly beautiful indoor trees housing stacks and stacks of presents. Candy canes. A grandmother who was run over by a reindeer. The Nutcracker. Rockefeller Center. A date that doesn’t move around each year. An eve.

What do we Jews have?

Eight nights of lighting candles and saying a prayer.

An electric orange menorah in the window.

Dreidels. And a boring song about dreidels made out of clay.

There are presents, of course. In our case, we’d get a big one on the first and last night of Hanukkah and small things in between. The holiday can’t even figure out how it wants to be spelled!

When I was growing up, I wanted to celebrate Christmas. I wanted Rudolph. I wanted Frosty. I wanted Santa. More than anything I wanted to cover our house and bushes with a fantastic array of twinkling lights. Each year I’d beg my parents for lights, but the closest we came was a paper “Happy Hanukkah” to hang in the window that no one could see after dark.

My parents felt for me for I’m sure they were envious as kids as well. They would put presents by the chimney at Christmas. One time, they even had one of my dad’s best friends dress up as Santa just for me.

“You’re not Santa!” I said in my brattiest tone. “You’re Mickey!”

As an adult, I appreciate my parents for trying especially since Christmas now seems to start before Labor Day making it even more onerous for Jewish people. This is why I’m so happy for my daughter, Sienna, who we let celebrate Christmas and Hanakkah.

Sienna gets to enjoy the power of both holidays. She gets to help Mommy, whose parents are Christian, trim our little silver Christmas tree covered with blue lights (silver and blue – the colors of Hanukkah). She gets to help Daddy put in the electric menorah’s light bulbs for eight days. Perhaps next year we’ll move on to actually lighting candles as well. She can watch holiday-themed Sophia the First, Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and Jake and the Never Land Pirates without feeling like an outsider. She gets to revel in Santa’s ho-ho-ho and jiggling belly and enjoy the big Christmas tree in our building’s lobby while also pointing out the building’s silver menorah. We listen to her sing herself to sleep. Sometimes it’s that stupid dreidel song. Sometimes it’s a Christmas tune.

She celebrates with her parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents and great-grandmother during Hanukkah. We usually have five kids running around the house opening presents, spinning dreidels, eating chocolate coins wrapped in gold foil. Meanwhile, her aunt, uncle and cousin drive up from Louisiana for a special Christmas visit and we’ll spend Christmas day with my wife’s family.

And, boy, does our daughter get presents. So many presents we’ll probably eventually need a second apartment to store them. But what I love, what I experience through my daughter, is not feeling left out. I feel her soaking in both holidays on an equal plane. She loves evenings when both the Christmas tree and menorah alight basking our living room in a festive glow. For her, “Happy Holidays” truly means “Happy Holidays.”

Religion has yet to play a role in the holidays. I’m not religious. I’m an agnostic, but I somewhat follow Jewish customs. My wife is spiritual, but not religious. We have plenty of time before we have to deal with the religious angle and I’m curious and a bit fearful of what will come.

But for now Sienna gets the best of both worlds (or at least the worlds of Christmas and Hanukkah). She gets to enjoy her dreidels and candy canes; trees and menorahs; presents and presents. It’s a joyous time of year for her and a jubilant one for her parents. I for one have banished holiday envy from my heart as I give a Hanukkah gift to my wife and receive a Christmas gift in return.

I even get my festive lights.

A version of this first appeared on Raising Sienna.

It’s 4 a.m. Saturday. Or is it Monday? Thursday? Never mind. It’s happening every night.

The regular sleep sounds fill the room
’til the whimpering starts, then the wails begin
And I trudge towards Sienna in the gloom

Sienna, who is nearly age 3, is at a beautiful stage in her life. With each second, each breath, her mind blazes with imagination. A sweet request turns Daddy’s hand into any character – Captain Hook, Baymax from Big Hero 6, Scooby Doo. Stuffed animals converse. Putting on a silky cloth turns her into a princess or a superhero. I sit there watching her with wonder. What’s going through her mind? What does she see that I don’t?

But with your child’s Big Bang of imagination comes dreams, particularly scary ones. Sienna’s besieged by nightmares. Each night she wakes up crying, asking for Mommy or Daddy. Each night one of us slips into her room to comfort and hold her, tell her everything’s OK and that she’s safe.

It started with garbage trucks. Once a week, between 2 and 5 in the morning, a massive garbage truck snorts and squeals and bangs and screeches as it empties the Dumpsters across the street. Awakened by the racket, Sienna screamed for Mommy or Daddy for help. I’d go in and pick her up, her little heart racing against my chest, tears like rivulets running down to her chin and falling onto my shoulders. I’d stroke her sweaty hair and tell her it’s OK. It’s just a garbage truck. I’d take her to the window to see the big green truck with blazing white headlights pick up and empty each dumpster until the noise finally stopped and it chugged down the street and out of sight. I’d hug and reassure her as I could and then I’d gently put her down among her stuffed animals hoping she’d feel safe.

“Daddy! Don’t go!”

And I’d be forced to sleep on the floor, the carpet rough against my skin, no blanket to protect me from the draft coming through the air conditioner. Other times I’d bring her into our bed where she’d fall asleep instantly, warmed by the heat generated by my wife Elaine and myself.

It didn’t take long for the garbage truck to enter her dreams. Even on nights when its presence was unscheduled, Sienna would wake up in a panic.

“DADDY!!! MOMMY!!!”

Into her room I’d go imagining it from her perspective – a green metal monster with white-hot eyes gnashing its metallic teeth, crunching its prey under the harsh yellow of streetlights.

“Scary garbage trucks” she’d whimper as I held her close.

“It’s just a bad dream, sweetie. A nightmare. Mommy has nightmares. Grandma has them. Pop-Pop has them. I have nightmares. It’s not real.”

“Don’t go.”

And I’d once more find myself on the floor after she’d calmed and I’d placed her back in bed. After weeks of suffering such nights, my back tight the following morning, we decided it was best to just go in, hold her, tell her she was safe and leave the room despite her pleas and after a time they died down. The garbage truck still awakens her and she wails through the baby monitor, but once it’s through she’s able to return to sleep on her own.

Next up were “big bears.” I have no idea how they entered her dream state. We hadn’t read stories about bears. She’d seen bears at the zoo, but never their faces as they tended to just sleep the day away. I asked her teachers if they’d discussed bears. They hadn’t. It’s an unsolvable mystery.

We tried Mommy/Daddy magic in which we’d create a spell used to repel all big bears. Holding my fingers splayed like the Emperor in Return of the Jedi, I’d put on a face of deep concentration and shoot imaginary sparks all around the room while deepening my voice and saying, ”Go away big bears! Go away big bears! Go away big bears and crickets and praying mantises too! BOOM!” I’m not sure why Sienna wanted crickets and praying mantises in there, but who am I to argue? I just want us both to get a good night’s sleep. But still, her screams pierced the night and I’d find her sweaty, big beautiful brown eyes leaking tears.

When that didn’t work we told Sienna one of her toys, a cool light-up wand given to her by one of Elaine’s friends, had the power to repel big bears. “Make sure you keep the wand besides you,” I said. If you think you see a bear point the wand, light it up and yell, “Go away big bear!” We thought the wand would give her control and power over these ursus plaguing her nights. It didn’t. Nor did taping a sign to her door that read, “NO BEARS!!”

“Big bears trying to eat me!”

“It’s just a dream, sweetie. What does the sign on your door say?”

“No big bears.”

“That’s right. Any bear that wants to get into your room will read the sign, shrug and walk away because they’re not allowed in.”

You know what solved the problem?

One day I decided to show Sienna a bit of Yogi Bear on YouTube and she laughed and laughed as I’d do what I think is a really good Yogi Bear impression:

“Hey Boo-Boo! How’s about a pic-i-nic basket?”

“Big bear’s silly!” Sienna would giggle, a sound like tinkling glass that makes my heart swell. “Big bear wears a hat! That’s silly!”

Yogi cured Sienna’s bear nightmares for whenever she’d mention them I’d bust out my impression and she’d crack up. “Silly!! Big bear wears a tie!”

Now it’s scary owls trying to eat her.

Again, I have no idea where this came from. She has a Hedwig doll for which I paid $30 at The Wizarding World of Harry Potter in Orlando and she LOVES it. During this nightmarish stretch of owl nightmares, she clung to Hedwig as if he were her savior. According to Sienna, he’s a “good owl” who in her dreams “protects” her from the scary ones. She carries Hedwig from room to room along with her precious scarf, always hugging and talking to him, but still, every night, I’m up at least twice trying to calm my little girl down and convince her that the owls in her head aren’t real. They’re just figments of her imagination morphed into bad dreams.

I even tried returning to pop culture by showing her this beloved Tootsie Pop commercial:

So now Sienna thinks owls are silly creatures that eat lollipops. Problem is now the scary owls won’t stop biting her until she gives them her lollipops so that plan backfired a bit. I’m not sure what to do next, but I do know that my daughter’s imagination is running at full speed with these nightmares and of that I’m proud and even a little bit jealous. What I do know is that Hedwig remains her protector in her dreams and is really working off that $30 I spent on him.

A version of Nightmares first appeared on Raising Sienna. Photo by David Gomes from Pexels

While I’m not ready for my 2 1/2-year-old to go all Richard Pryor or George Carlin on me (though, it’d be pretty cool if Sienna started dissecting language the way the great Carlin did), I don’t want her to become like me: a person so scared of being judged that he’s unable to say the four-letter words that comfortably fill the public lexicon.

When she’s a teen, I don’t want her to be afraid of speaking the language of her classmates (yes, we’ll have the comedic swear jar). Once she reaches adulthood, I hope to be ready for her to speak such words in my presence as part of the normal conversation because the reality is cursing is ordinary and sometimes acts as a release for pent-up stress.

I wish I had that release but I’m terrified of what people will think of me if I curse – fear of judgment, just another aspect of suffering depression. My dad never cursed in front of me when I was growing up and seemed terribly uneasy when my mom did. I think I took that discomfort and internalized it to the point where I can’t curse in front of anyone … not even my wife. I think I feel that if I utter one, my dad will know and think less of me. To be honest I imagine everyone will think less of me. And that’s insane. It’s ludicrous. Why would anyone care?

I tried to change when I went to college. I went in there thinking that I’d start cussing like Al Swearington on Deadwood (OK, Deadwood wasn’t on yet, but you get my meaning). I wanted to create a new identity. I wanted to be normal. So I tried. Freshman year I said something about my roommate to my best friend, something like my roommate’s “getting off” on being a jerk and my best friend’s eyes widened to the point where I thought they’d burst.

“You’ve never said anything like that before!” he shouted. I know he was proud, but I took it as criticism – and I didn’t even really use a swear word! And that was it for me in college. I couldn’t curse after that. Freshman year became a pathetic war with hallmates trying to get me to utter obscenities.

When alone, profanity swirls through my head and expletives spout from my mouth. If driving alone, I’m not immune to deriding a bad driver with a “motherf–ker” or even giving someone the middle finger. When I’m alone vulgarity comes easy, but my jaws clamp in front of others. “Friggin’” I’ll say. “Morons. Jerks. Idiots.” For the longest time, I wouldn’t even say “hell” or “damn.”

Eighteen years post-college and I’ve cried in front of my therapist about my inability to curse, tears streaming, face scrunched and reddened with embarrassment and anger.

“You’re safe here, she’ll say,” leaning toward me as twist myself into a pretzel. “Let go. Say f–k.”

I sputter like Fonzie trying to admit he’s wrong. “Fu…fu…fu…fu.” But that’s as far as I’ll get.

“I’ll leave the room,” she’ll say. “I won’t hear it. Just say it.”

And she’ll leave, the door clicking. I’ll sit there furious with myself, face blotchy, hands tightened into fists. The room dulled and quiet. Sometimes I’ll whisper it, sometimes not. It doesn’t matter. No one’s there to hear me so I’ve still failed. “F–k” and “s–t” and so many others remain missing from my daily speech.

I still feel so much internal pressure when it comes to swearing like the world would stop, a collective gasp catching in everyone’s throats, fingers pointing, judging, always judging, if I dare utter the f-word in front of another person. And, I don’t want that for Sienna. I never want that for her. I want my daughter to curse.

I look forward to having a swear jar and by the time Sienna’s old enough, I hope to be adding a few coins to it myself.

A version of this post recently appeared on his blog, Raising Sienna.

You wouldn’t think it to look at them, but our favorite professional baseball, basketball, football, hockey and soccer players have a ton in common with wee toddlers. How so? Let us count the ways.

Almost immediately following his rookie season, former football player Keyshawn Johnson, stirred quite the controversy when he published an autobiography titled Just Give Me The Damn Ball in which he called one teammate a “mascot” and complained that his then team, the New York Jets, didn’t throw the ball his way enough. Many sportswriters ripped Johnson for having the gall to make such a demand, especially with just one season under his belt. Plenty of other ballplayers complain about playing time or get accused of hogging the ball (particularly in basketball). Now toddlers, they sure are ball hogs. Should a bunch of them have a ball you can almost guarantee there will be arguments about not sharing as well as tears and wails. At least they’re too young to write books.

2) Pro Athletes and Toddlers: They break rules they know they’re not supposed to break.

Professional athletes break rules all the time, everything from skipping practice to blatantly injuring another player to taking performance-enhancing drugs. Former basketball player Allen Iverson had an infamous press conference in which he constantly used the phrase “We’re talking about practice!” when it leaked to the media that he kept missing mandatory Philadelphia 76er practice. He kept testing his then-coach, Hall-of-Famer Larry Brown, on the subject. He tested the media. He tested the Philadelphia faithful. Toddlers consistently test their boundaries with their parents. They know well enough not to climb on bookcases, but they do it anyway … again and again and again. Athletes receive punishments for rule breaking such as suspensions and fines. Toddlers receive timeouts or trips to the “penalty box” just like hockey players commit slashing penalties.

3) Pro Athletes and Toddlers: They refuse to accept blame or admit mistakes.

How many times have you seen a football player cause an obvious penalty and then get up and act as if the referee were blind or had it in for him? “Me?? I didn’t do anything!” And how many times have you asked your toddler if they smeared ChapStick all over the television only to hear an unabashed “No!” For years cyclist Lance Armstrong denied using steroids despite piles and piles of evidence against him. He even destroyed people’s lives in order to protect his image. Meanwhile, toddlers break things; hit, kick or bite other kids; and destroy precious items and blame it on either siblings or imaginary creatures. Both professional athletics and toddlerhood are rife with the blame game and constant “I didn’t do it.” While all we can do is sit back and hope our ballplayer heroes stay clean, it’s our job as parents to teach our toddlers that admitting mistakes is OK and accepting blame is a part of life.

4) Pro Athletes and Toddlers: They have a sense of entitlement.

As demonstrated above with Keyshawn Johnson and Allen Iverson, many professional athletes are egocentric and believe the world revolves around them. They also feel above the law as evidenced by hundreds of professional athletes getting arrested for DUIs or worse. Luckily toddlers aren’t going to commit crimes with the exceptions of occasionally unwittingly shoplifting a candy bar (it’s up to us parents to give it back) or stealing another kid’s property, but they sure are egomaniacal. How dare Mommy or Daddy go to work? How dare we say “no” to their demands to use a serrated knife by themselves? Unlike athletes who should know better, toddlers are pure id and it’s our job as parents to teach them right from wrong, instruct them on the importance of sharing, and explain why it’s important to keep those candy bars on the rack.

5) Pro Athletes and Toddlers: They speak of themselves in the third person.

Speaking of egocentrism, how often have you heard an athlete say something ridiculous like,” Kobe Bryant needs to figure out what’s best for Kobe Bryant?” It seems like almost every athlete has forgotten “I” and instead goes right for the third person. Toddlers too skip “I” in favor of things like, “Sienna’s toothbrush!” or “Sienna’s hair!” but toddlers can be excused for such self-absorption since we’re repeatedly using our kids’ names in front of them so that they learn who they are and can distinguish themselves from others. Athletes have no such excuse, though you can blame the media which perpetuates this annoyance by asking stupid questions like, “How does Peyton Manning feel about playing for the Denver Broncos?”

6) Pro Athletes and Toddlers: Many of them have rituals.

Whether it’s Hall-of-Fame baseball player Wade Boggs’ infamous eating of chicken before every game or basketball star LeBron James’ throwing pre-game chalk-throwing, most athletes attend to some sort of ritual to assure good luck and performance. There are so many rituals in sports that it’s impossible to count them all. Some are superstitions; some are just embedded in the game’s culture. Toddlers also have rituals, particularly at bedtime. My daughter’s night-night liturgy includes: milk; a pink firefly that sprays blue stars across the ceiling; an often unintelligible conversation with a Hedwig puppet (Harry Potter’s owl); daddy and daughter singing “Rainbow Connection”; Kermit the Frog wishing her goodnight, telling her all her stuffed animal friends will watch over her during the night, and asking for a kiss and a hug; and finally a kiss goodnight and reinforcement of love from Mommy, Daddy or both. The night-night ceremony helps our daughter feel safe. Rituals help athletes feel focused. So long as something crazy like human sacrifice isn’t involved, it’s all good.

7. Pro Athletes and Toddlers: They like to make up funny dances.

I still need to capture some of the hilarious moves my daughter makes to things like “Billie Jean” and the Alf theme music, but football players are known for wonky post-touchdown dances and thankfully you can find Jimmy Fallon’s “Evolution of End Zone Dances” on YouTube. Enjoy!

I’m sure I’m just at the tip of the iceberg. What other ways are professional athletes like toddlers?

A version of this article first appeared on Raising Sienna. Main photo by jesse ramirez on Unsplash

Saturday, June 7, 2014. The weather? A perfect 80 or so degrees, blue skies, no humidity, a nice, cool breeze. The company? Outstanding: Dads and moms with exuberant and incredibly well-behaved kids.

Before the picnic even began, before the bubbles and frisbees, 16 families in the NYC Dads Group community gathered at the Central Park’s 60th Street/Fifth Avenue to meet up for a leisurely stroll through the park to the picnic destination. Britax rewarded each family with a new Affinity stroller, a wonderful gift from a truly consumer-oriented company as Kate, Britax’s representative, asked each family their thoughts on the stroller and urged us to offer ways to improve it. As we walked through the twists and turns of the park and made our way down “the mall” to Central Park’s famed Bethesda Fountain, Kate gave out apples, pretzels, raisins and drinks to hungry kids and parents.

My wife and I had a great time during the walk as I caught up with a dad I hadn’t seen in some time and learned that membership to the Bronx/Central Park/Queens Zoos is tax deductible! Who knew? Meanwhile, my wife learned that one fellow NYC Dads Group member was an old college friend she hadn’t seen in 16 years!

The relaxed walk through the beautiful park lasted about an hour and a half and once we reached the picnic spot, we were welcomed by the NYC Dads Group’s other co-founder, Matt Schneider. Kate gave us a helpful demonstration of the Affinity stroller’s features. We then spread out our blankets and watched as our kids chased a couple of ducks that picked the wrong place to hang out. As more and more families arrived, it felt like a reunion. It was so wonderful to see many of the dads I know and talk with their partners and children not to mention meeting people for the first time. We discussed everything from childcare to Sesame Place to what a great time we were having watching our kids roll around in the cool grass, run and play with balls, hang out in trees (under supervision, of course), and eat the delicious Panera boxed lunches.

Bubbles were everywhere and our kids went crazy for them. Us parents lounged and took pictures. We talked and laughed and enjoyed the incredible weather and terrific company. We spent hours at the park, and before the picnic broke up and families went their separate ways, we gathered for a huge picture in celebration of such a special day.

Honestly, this was one of my most favorite NYC Dads Group meetups. I felt like I was part of a huge family, and as fantastic as this year’s picnic was, I have feeling next year’s is going to blow it away. Thank you NYC Dads Group, Britax, and weather gods for a superb day!

**Sponsored event** NYC Dads Group has an ongoing relationship with Brtiax/BOB where they compensate us for a series of sponsored events.  We only work with brands and service providers that we believe in and use ourselves.  Opinions expressed here are our own and have not been influenced by the sponsor.

Does your child have you popping Advil like E.T. with a sackful of Reese’s Pieces?

Have you been reduced to a quivering ball of stress after finally wishing your child goodnight?

Do you have a sudden thought that you want your kid gone — just gone — coupled with crippling guilt at even thinking such a thing?

Then perhaps you’re suffering from Toddleritis, a very real but treatable — even curable — mental exhaustion created by a myriad of exotic and commonplace actions and behaviors.

Possible Toddleritis causes include:

• Your toddler purposely pouring a bowl filled to the brim with milk and cereal on herself, her high chair and the floor forcing you to clean her up, do a load of laundry, scrub the floor and vacuum the carpet all while she wails to the where she sounds like she’s barking like a seal.
• Your toddler refuses to eat for some unknown reason, pushing away all food and utensils and crying as if you’d threatened to never let her see that clip of “Let It Go” from Frozen again.
• Your toddler decides not to nap and instead sits in her crib intermittently whimpering and talking to herself as you try to read or watch a television program or get some work done.
• Your toddler poops during nap time and because she’s rebuffed sleep, her inability to stay still allows the poop to seep through her diaper all over her clothes, sleep sack, sheets and stuffed animals forcing you, once again, to the laundry room.
• Your toddler keeps climbing on bookcases, tables and anything she can reach despite the number of times you’ve asked/told her not to do so because it’s dangerous.
• Your toddler decides nothing will do for dinner except “Puffs!” which she screams repeatedly until she gets them
• Your toddler wakes up in the middle of the night screaming for daddy and after you wait the required 5 minutes to see if she’ll fall back asleep, you go in, hold her, sing to her, rock her until she falls asleep in your arms looking precious – so precious – but a half hour later when you try to put her back in her crib, she reawakens and starts crying again forcing you to do everything all over again and wonder if you’ll ever get back to your own bed.

And it’s very possible all of these things happened on the same day!

Toddleritis symptoms may include:

• Extreme physical, emotional and mental fatigue.
• A wish to tear your hair out and run down the hallway yelling incomprehensible words and phrases.
• Severe back pain, most likely from wrenching it while preventing your toddler from grabbing something she’s not supposed to touch.
• An inability to sleep or at least sleep well enough to function.
• As reported above, a desire for your toddler to disappear instantly followed by oppressive guilt.
• An urge to strangle Elmo (though that could also be an ordinary feeling).

The good news is that Toddleritis can be treated and the disease has numerous cures.

Perhaps a loved one is willing to take your toddler off your hands for a night or even a few hours allowing you much needed alone, sleep and/or spousal time. It’s possible your spouse will “give you a day off” allowing you to meet up with some friends, watch something like The Wolf of Wall Street and then debate Matthew Perry preparing to write and play Oscar Madison in a remake of the beloved sitcom, The Odd Couple (as Darth Vader so famously said, “NOOOOOOOOO!!!!”). If no loved ones are around, you can maybe pay a babysitter an exorbitant, yet well-deserved wad of bills so you and your spouse can have a wonderful date night.

All of those can work, but the best and most effective treatments are the following:

• Your toddler does something hilarious like finally answering “Braaains!” along with a throaty laugh when asked what a zombie says (OK, I’m weird).
• Your toddler runs into your arms and gives you a warm hug.
• Your toddler gives you a look that melts your heart.
• Your toddler smiles, jumps up and down and says, “Daddy!” when you walk through the door.

Toddleritis can be a serious condition, but rest assured, it won’t last forever. At any moment your toddler might exhibit such glorious glee at the most run-of-the-mill thing that your body swells with pride and love. In essence, your toddler might all of a sudden look like this:

And how could you feel anything but enchantment when faced with a moment like that?

A version of this post recently appeared on Lorne’s blog, Raising Sienna.

Her utter excitement and bewilderment swept through me like nothing I’d ever experienced, for as much as I’d like to say I’m seeing things anew this might have been the first time where I truly felt the power of watching the world through my daughter’s eyes.

It was a crescent moon, the type of moon that in the immortal words of Cookie Monster, “looks like a cookie, but you can’t eat [it].”

In my arms Sienna stared at the sky, eyes wide, mouth agape. She pointed.

“MOON!!!!!”

Her rush of joy filled me. Sienna had been saying “moon” for some time now because she has a toy that lights up and spreads a starry sky across her bedroom ceiling. My wife Elaine and I spend time in her darkened room, save for the electric stars and crescent moon, teaching her words. This was the first time I could remember her seeing the celestial body and calling its name.

The moon disappeared behind some fast-moving clouds. “Where’d it go?” Sienna asked, arms outstretched, palms up, questioning.

I assured her it was still there. We waited until it reappeared.

“MOON!!!!!”

I felt so lucky to have witnessed something so wonderful, a parent watching a child’s recognition of Earth’s natural satellite, an occurrence that’s been going on since the beginning of human existence. At that moment, I felt no fear.

The heaviness of failure that I’d applied to myself because I am a stay-at-home dad was further than the moon from Earth. It was so special that it made me realize how quickly Sienna’s language skills are developing. How, because I’m a stay-at-home dad, I’m fortunate enough to enjoy childhood leaps and bounds that generations of men could never experience. I feel like I can see Sienna’s mind and personality flourish, the gears turning behind her eyes. I’m head over heels for my daughter, even if I need a break from her quite a bit.

My one regret is that my wife wasn’t there to share the moment with me; my family was incomplete. Because Elaine’s currently the breadwinner, she does miss out on certain things, and I know she’s devastated by that. But she’s an incredible mom and when she’s home with Sienna the love between them is palpable. When she’s home, Sienna runs to her, so excited to see Mommy.

I never thought I’d have a girlfriend, let alone a wife and a daughter. My brain still fights me when it comes to having it all. My view of success remains warped. I still feel like I’m depriving Sienna by not taking her to a different museum or park or class every day, but I do feel enriched when we’re home together singing the old “Batman” theme while she pumps her arms up and down, Batman in one hand, Joker in the other.

It’s been thought forever that the moon has special powers. I’ve never believed that, but last night proved me wrong.

“MOON!!!!!”

My body’s still shivering with child-like wonder.

A version of this post recently appeared on Raising Sienna.