She sobbed quietly as she tightly grasped her mother’s hand in a cooler-than-usual late July morning. He grips my other hand with a soft, nonchalant grip as he eagerly walks, for the first time, to the bus stop.

The first day of Kindergarten was very typical for both Swee’Pea and TheMonk. Swee’Pea had good moments and rough moments, including some all-out tears. TheMonk had some trepidation at first but quickly decided he liked Kindergarten and fell in line with all the other kids quickly.

But that first day was just a couple of hours while Mommy and Daddy were in the teacher and a couple more hours without Mommy and Daddy. The second day would be the first full day and it would begin with their first ever ride on a school bus.

As the bus arrives, the nervous Swee’Pea begins to cry. We carry her on the bus and the bus driver, a nice older gentleman, tries to comfort her. We find a seat near the front and Swee’Pea and TheMonk sit down. I ask TheMonk to hold his sister’s hand and he does so dutifully. But it is clear that he is in awe of his surroundings and loves being on that bus. It is also clear that Swee’Pea feels just the opposite.

So Mommy and Daddy exit the bus while we watch Swee’Pea cry from afar. Soon, the bus is loaded up with 32 excited kids and one scared, crying kid and they are off.

Of course, I got in my car and followed the bus. You would too if this was the last think you saw when you exited the bus:

A little over a year ago, I got this idea (I’m sure after seeing something similar on the internet - I’m really not that creative).  The idea was to take a daily portrait of Swee’Pea and TheMonk starting on their 4th birthday and ending on their 5th birthday.  And so we did.

Over 365 days, Swee’Pea and TheMonk posed for 312 portraits - which averages out to six portraits a week.  So, six out of seven days every week they took their portrait.  The rules were simple.  The kids could make whatever face they wanted and I would try and take only one photo no matter what it came out like (this didn’t always work but for the most part it was one take only).  As you can see, Swee’Pea is not as much a morning person as TheMonk.  The range of her photos from frowns to smiles to one flat-out tantrum is quintessentially Swee’Pea.  TheMonk, on the other hand, liked to experiment with faces and loved seeing them on my digital display each morning.  His photos too capture the true essence of TheMonk.

If I had to do it over again I would have chosen a flat wall rather than the back of our door.  I thought it would create a good center point for the kids but instead it made it very obvious when they moved from their mark.  I also would have put the camera on a tripod rather than me on my knee but this was the last thing we did each morning before leaving and we were often rushed so a quick snapshot was all we could do.  The editing isn’t as sophisticated as I pictured in my head but I still really love watching the transformation.

The music was chosen for the sole reason that they are our most played songs right now.  The kids love both of them and we have been known to boogie to these songs while getting ready for bed.  It just seemed fitting to include them here.

So, without further ado, I give you Year Four of Swee’Pea and TheMonk:

As great of a responsibility I have, as a parent, to teach my children the lessons they will need to grow up to be non-felons, it has become apparent that an unexpected bonus of this parenting gig is how much Swee’Pea and TheMonk have taught me.

Those who know me will tell you that I’m a bit scatter-brained. I’m often thinking a few steps ahead of what is happening right now and I often lack the patience to be “in the moment.”  At the start of each work day, for example, I’m already thinking about what I have to do that day, who I have to call, what new initiative I want to spring on my unsuspecting staff, what I’ll have for lunch that day, whether the Snicker’s bar in the staff fridge will still be there that afternoon, and how will the Village People survive now that the YMCA has chosen to be known, simply, as “The Y?”

These are serious considerations and since it is my job to ensure the kids get off to preschool (which is rapidly winding down, but that’s another blog post), I am often challenged to get my day started by two five-year-olds who insist on making farting jokes instead of getting their shoes on.  Inevitably, I’m herding two little ones into a car while trying not to spill my morning cup of coffee all over my non-iron shirt that was recently sprayed liberally with wrinkle releaser.

By the time I park the car curbside at their preschool, I’m already counting the minutes wasted and how I just KNOW that the Snickers bar is a goner.  As I try and usher the kids out of the car along with lunch boxes, sweatshirts, and napping blankets, I rush towards the front door only to find Swee’Pea stopping every few seconds to pick a yellow dandelion flower which she calls, “Dandy flowers.”

“C’mon, Swee’Pea! We’re late, Honey.  Please hurry!” I implore.

She hears me but she’s not really listening to me. (Something that seems to run in the female side of our family, I’m afraid.)  Again, I beg, “Swee’Pea! Daddy needs to get to work! Please, Sweetie, hurry up!”

Swee’Pea might hurry for a brief second or two - long enough to give me hope that she’s finally decided to get in gear but, inevitably, she stops to pick yet another flower.

And as we finally get closer to the door, I might beseech one last time, and she’ll finally listen and scamper her skinny little legs over to me while I hold the door open for her.  She and her brother enter and as we put their things in their cubbies and get ready to join their friends on the playground, I bend over to give hugs and kisses.

As I receive my hugs and kisses, Swee’Pea thrusts her tiny bouquet of yellow Dandy Flowers in my face and says, “Here Daddy. I picked these for you to take to work.”  I take the flowers gently in my own hand and as I say my goodbyes and wander down the hall towards my car waiting outside, suddenly the world doesn’t seem so crazy and it slows down enough around me to allow me grasp what’s really important.  And I clutch the rapidly wilting flowers in my fingers and try and remember that before long, picking flowers for Daddy won’t be as high on her priority list.

So I stop and smell the Dandy Flowers.  I’ve never smelled something so sweet.  Even that Snicker’s bar in the fridge.

A few weeks ago, back before a barrage of work, birthdays, and family visits knocked me out of my blogging mojo, the family was invited to attend the grand opening of SeaWorld San Diego’s new dolphin show Blue Horizons.

As you may recall, Swee’Pea, TheMonk and I got to be a part of the final weekend of the old dolphin show back in September of last year. So we were excited when SeaWorld invited us to be their guests. I thought the kids would enjoy it but I really didn’t know what to expect.

It turns out, the show is all about a Princess in pink with a fantastic combination of acrobatics and great dolphin tricks. I wish I could put into words how theatrical and fun the show is but I’m not sure how to do it. I do know that it’s difficult to take everything in at once. So many things are happening that we’ll probably have to go again just to get a better feel for it.

I know Swee’Pea won’t mind. Did I mention the Pink Princess? Maybe next time, she won’t chicken out when it comes time for a photo.

It’s important to provide a mellow bedtime routine to help kids transition to sleep. The books tell you that.

But it’s equally important to boogie to Lady Gaga’s Telephone while getting jammies on - creating laughter and memories. My heart tells me that.

It’s important to provide nutritious, balanced meals and limit unhealthy snacks. The experts tell you that.

But sometimes it’s okay to have cake for dinner or ice cream for lunch. The smiles tell me that.

It’s important to teach proper table manners when kids are young. It will prepare them for when they live in an adult world.

But it’s also okay to giggle and make up silly words at the dinner table from time to time. It reminds us that being a kid is such a short window of time.

You’re supposed to let your children grow and mature, right before your eyes. Everyone knows that.

But when your babies are about to turn five, all you want to do is hold them, and kiss them and snuggle all day with them. I could tell you that.

I don’t do reviews. I get, on average, about 15 to 20 emails a day asking me to review some product or another. Some offering payment. Some not. I’ve rarely accepted these review opportunities because I wasn’t familiar with the company and didn’t use the product.

But that changed this week. The good folks at Red Envelope, a “unique and personalized gifts” website that I have used for the past several years (I bought two sets of these frames and some great family Christmas ornaments) contacted me about doing a product review for Father’s Day. Because of my love of the company, I agreed. And they paid me for this review.

Now that I have the nice FCC requirements out of the way, let me tell you about the cufflinks I received to review. These cufflinks are made of stainless steel and great quality but it’s the quote on them that I liked the best.  Each cuff link says, “All that I am and all that I hope to be I owe to you.” These words, inspired by a quote from Abraham Lincoln, are a great reminder to me of what fatherhood is all about.

The cuff links were shipped in a nice red box with a ribbon and were placed in its own box inside (see photos below).  If you’re looking for a great last minute Father’s Day gift, I would highly recommend Red Envelope.  And I’d say that even if they weren’t paying me.  (In fact, I think I have before!)

To see Red Envelope’s Father’s Day gifts, you can go here.  You can get a 10% discount on any item by entering the promo code: 10offred.  Tell ‘em Matthew sent you! (I’ve always wanted to say that.)

This is a paid post.

I arrive at 5:15 on a Friday afternoon. A three-day weekend looms and the preschool is decidedly empty compared to most afternoons. The remaining kids are out on the playground and I head out to greet Swee’Pea and TheMonk.

Swee’Pea sees me first and races towards me. About half-way there, however, she is distracted by a boy in her class. This boy, Jack, is also a twin but I only know him as a boy who likes to wrestle his brother to the ground and likes to sing the chorus to Queen’s We Will Rock You. As Swee’Pea passes him she throws on the breaks and heads over to give him a hug. I take note of this and, possibly, give Jack my most fatherly stank-eye practiced to-date.

As we head out to the car, I ask Swee’Pea about Jack. “Do you like playing with Jack, Swee’Pea?”

“Yes,” she replies. “I’m going to marry Jack.”

I casually reach up and push my eyeballs back into their sockets before I calmly ask, “Did you say Marry, Swee’Pea?”

“Yes.” she replies. And, then, she adds the dagger to my heart. “I’m serious, Daddy. I’m going to marry him.”

I get into the drivers seat of my car as we continue the conversation. I’m curious so I inquire why she likes this Jack so much.

“I like to play with him, Daddy.” She tells me.

I say, “That’s nice, Swee’Pea. But remember, boys who play with you have to treat you nicely. They have to be nice to you all the time. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Daddy.” She dutifully replies.

And it seems she did understand. Later that evening, over dinner, I recount our conversation for Mommy’s sake. We talk about Jack and I can tell Swee’Pea is a bit embarrassed to be talking so much about this boy. But as I wind down the conversation, about to change the subject, Swee’Pea suddenly announces.

“Boys have to treat me right.”

That’s my girl.

Swee’Pea is wrong.

It is my job, as her knowledgeable father, to point out the occasional missteps that my daughter makes in hopes that she will be grateful for each and every opportunity to learn from her father.

“Swee’Pea, that’s not right.” I say.

“Yes it is.” She replies with a level of confidence that only a four-year-old can possess.

“No, Sweetie, it isn’t. ‘Cheating’ means ‘breaking the rules on purpose.’”

“No it doesn’t.” replies Swee’Pea while looking me in the eye, daring me to contradict her again.

“Sweetie, it does too. I’m sorry but you’re wrong on this one. I’m just trying to help you understand.” I say this in my best, “I’m being the patient and loving father” voice and I’m sure my words will have the desired impact. I study her face and wait for the wave of recognition that I am, indeed, correct to wash over her face and to admit my superior knowledge. It’s coming. I can see it beginning to take place. Her face is transforming into a…

*Sigh* *Eyeroll* “What…ever, Daddy.”

Okay, maybe that wasn’t the reaction I was expecting.

Lately, once I get home from work, the twins have been eager to play “Ironman.” Now, this has nothing to do with the movie Ironman. At least, I don’t think it does. All it really resembles in Swee’Pea and TheMonk playing the hero/heroine while I play the villain. This means fending off flying almost-five-year-old bodies while protecting things important to me, least of all my family jewels.

But I’m crafty. I distract with a flying pillow. I duck at the last minute, sending little bodies flying as well. I bob and weave like a skinny, Mexican, Muhammad Ali. I counter-jab with couch pillows and occasionally pick up a wiggly preschooler and body slam them onto a stack of couch cushions.

The kids gang up and attack me from different sides. TheMonk will be pinned beneath me screaming for mercy and yelling for his sister to help when Swee’Pea will announce, “Have no fear! Super Girl is here!” And before I know it, Super Girl is giving Daddy an elbow to the head.

But, until recently, I always had an ace in the hole. If I ever got into unexpected trouble I could always pull out my secret weapon. You see, I happen to be an expert tickler. My fingers are nimbler than four-year-old nose picker. I’m lightning fast with both hands. No preschooler can escape from my wiggly fingers.

TheMonk seems to have noticed this. And one thing I like about my son is that he’s a thinker. He always wants to know how things work and how he can solve problems. And tonight, he figured out how to solve the tickling problem.

“Daddy, I’m the good guy and you’re the bad guy. Let’s pretend that the bad guys don’t have tickling powers.”

Dammit. How do I argue with that?!

The pressure is unbelievable. It’s one of those life-defining moments in someone’s life where you know that one little mistake, one wrong answer, one tiny miscue can make the difference between a life of hardship and a life of splendor.

The energy, as we walk down the hallway is tense. Playful words are exchanged as we take in our surroundings and try to block out what will transpire in the next few minutes. The tension mounts as we enter a cramped corridor that holds untold potential horror. We are greeted and summarily ushered to two small tables where Swee’Pea and TheMonk are made to sit and face their judgment.

I feel, not like a lion protecting his cubs, but a parent who is offering his children up to be sacrificed to appease some deity that controls all that is known and unknown. I fear the worst and I am ready to lash out at a moment’s notice. I am ready to rebel against the tyranny of oppression that stands before us in judgment. I want to scream out to protect my offspring in a primal, winner take all, battle to the death. But it is useless. I am resigned to accept the situation as it is.

I, as a parent, am helpless in my ability to protect my little ones from what is about to take place. I am forced to wait beyond the reaches of my protective grasp and as I take my seat and force myself to exude a calmness that doesn’t exist, I strain to hear what is happening to my little ones at this very moment. I hang on every sound, no matter how faint, and I expect to hear the worst. But, suddenly, I hear it. I strain even harder to hear with my one good ear and barely make out a familiar, yet faraway, sound.

“a, b, c, d, e, f, geeeee… h, i, j, k, lmnopeeeee… q, r, s… t, u, v… w, x, y and zeeee.”

Hmmm, maybe this kindergarten assessment won’t be so bad after all.