If I had homework in Kindergarten, I don’t remember it. I don’t remember bringing home copied packets of paper asking me to trace the letter P or color apples red. This is perhaps because I’m so old that photocopiers didn’t exist in schools and we, instead, were sometimes given much more labor-intensive mimeographs that reeked of the intoxicating aroma of blue ink.

But now, thanks to the age of high-end photocopy machines, homework packets arrive at home on Monday. Eight pages of tracing, writing, drawing and coloring that must be completed and returned by the next Monday so the cycle can start all over again.

While Swee’Pea and TheMonk are in different kindergarten classes, they bring home an identical packet each week. The routine is now set. After a short break once they arrive home on the school bus, Mommy breaks out the packets and the kids sit down at their Ikea table and Ikea chairs and begin their homework. The goal is to get the homework done no later than Wednesday so they can relax on Thursdays and Fridays. This means 2-3 pages of homework that generally last about 30 minutes. It usually goes something like this:

TheMonk sits down and hammers out each page as if this is his sole purpose in life. You tell him how many pages he has to do and he won’t look up until it’s done. There is no debating. There is no bargaining. The boy has a job to do and he’s gonna do it.

Swee’Pea, on the other hand, isn’t such a linear thinker. She might start on a project but the moment she has difficulty, she shuts down. She pleads. She whines. She announces over and over and over again just how much she does not want to do this homework.

And over the last few weeks we’ve come to realize that it’s best not to argue with her about this. If she doesn’t want to do it, she won’t and there’s no use in getting into an argument with a five year old about how failing to draw a picture of a banana will send her to a life of poverty and crime.

And 9 times out of 10, after she’s had a little break or even eaten dinner, she’ll suddenly announce that she wants to finish her homework. And she does so without complaint.

I’m sure there’s a lesson in there somewhere. Something about letting kids find their own way or the most valuable lessons kids learn are the ones they teach themselves.

All I think of is, “Twelve more years of this?”

I sit in a corner of a cramped dentist evaluation room as TheMonk’s little body sits in the chair in the center of the room.  The dentist looks at the x-rays and examines TheMonk’s bloodied and bruised gums suffered from a nasty fall on the playground structure at school the previous day.  She gently wiggles each of TheMonk’s two front teeth and she looks at me and says the thing I fear the most: “We’ll need to pull the tooth.”

I nod knowingly and look to TheMonk to reassure him that all will be ok.  I see the fear in his eyes and I silently kick myself for telling him that the dentist was just going to make sure his teeth were okay.  I shouldn’t have made empty promises and now I am paying the price and feeling like a loser.

After the room clears to prep for the extraction, I kneel down beside TheMonk and I ask, “Are you scared, Buddy?”  He nods solemnly and I reach out to comfort him.  “It’s going to be okay, Monkey.  When I was a little boy I had a tooth pulled too.  I was uncomfortable but it was okay.  You’ll be okay too.”

These words seem to relax him a bit and I tell him it’s okay to be scared but that everything will be fine.  We are escorted to a room where he’s weighed and then given a liquid to drink.  We sit on an exam table, waiting for the relaxer to take effect and I can tell TheMonk is still nervous.  Every once in a while he turns to me and cries, “But Daddy, I don’t wanna get my tooth pulled! I want it to fall out on its own!”  I squeeze him tight and reassure him as best I can.

Before we know it we’re in the room where the tooth will be extracted and they get him settled in and he begins to breathe in the nitrous oxide gas while laying on the table watching an episode of Olivia on a TV in the ceiling.  It is then that I’m informed that they will be removing both front teeth.  I protest slightly but I’m told it has to happen as both teeth have shallow roots and won’t survive the trauma.  I consent and continue to watch TheMonk who, at this point, is beyond any trepidation as pharmaceuticals take over and he begins giggling randomly on the table.  I make a mental note to have the “Just say no to drugs” talk with TheMonk earlier rather than later.

Before we know it both teeth are gone and I carry a sleepy Monk to the car.  We get home, change the gauze, and he crashes on the couch while watching cartoons.  He is an angel and I sit close by and take a deep breath as I realize just how stressed I have been for the past couple of hours.

When TheMonk awakes after an hour and a half nap he begins to cry as I take the gauze out.  His mouth feels funny but Mommy soon arrives with ice cream to make it all better.  Vanilla ice cream with chocolate syrup makes lots of things better.

Soon after I run to school to pick up Swee’Pea at school and let her know of TheMonk’s teeth.  She takes the news well and is glad to see her brother upon our return to the house.  We soon commence with regular after-school stuff like homework and snacks and getting dinner ready.  As we near dinner Swee’Pea and TheMonk begin talking of the tooth fairy’s impending visit.  It is then that TheMonk and Swee’Pea realize that only he will be getting a visit from the Tooth Fairy.  There is a moment of sadness that lingers in the air until TheMonk suddenly speaks:

“Daddy, can I give one of my teeth to Swee’Pea so the tooth fairy can visit her too?”

And after all the stress of the day, it is this moment that has me fighting back tears.  Yes, Monkey.  You sure can, you sweet, sweet boy.  I’ve never been so proud as I am at this moment.

Today, you brought home a classroom assignment. It was a photocopy of a number five that your mother had fished out of your backpack and that you had traced a number of times - each with a different crayon. Blue, Green, Red, Yellow, Purple…

Your mother shares it with me as I come home from work and you welcome me with excited tales of how you got to choose a prize for reading 20 stories. Our bedtime stories that I had meticulously chronicled each night for the past 10 days opened up treasures of pens with beads glued to it and a small box of crayons.

I smile at you both and I am struck by the change in you. The change from four to five years took place only six weeks ago. The change from preschool to kindergarten took place only 12 days ago. And yet, the change in you cannot be measured. You have both tackled a new chapter in your life better than I could have imagined or, perhaps, feared. You are both enjoying your own teacher, being apart for the better part of a day, and have thrived not only in school but socially as well.  You have flourished where I feared utter failure.  I shall try not to underestimate you again.

You both have adjusted to taking the bus to school. It took TheMonk five seconds to adjust while it took Swee’Pea five days. But you adjusted. And now, as I see you onto the bus (Kindergartners board first!) each morning and we wait for the other children to board the bus, we make eye contact and play a game of seeing as who can make the silliest faces. I always win. But you’re getting better.

And each day your mother greets you at the bus stop and shares your brilliant smiles as you come home from your latest adventure. And as you share your day with Mommy while eating an afternoon snack and drinking pink milk, your mother texts me any important news.

*TheMonk got to bring home Millie the Monkey today*

*Swee’Pea was the Star Student today*

And as I race home to celebrate Star Students or to help take Millie the Monkey on a bike ride, I am reminded that this only happens once.  Only once will you be so excited to show me that you can write the number two.  Only once will I hear stories of who brought home the coveted blue cards (while also hearing who in class brought home the dreaded red card).  Only once will I get to call my two little ones Kindergartners.

And at the end of the day, as we read our two bedtime stories while fighting a case of the grouchies because of your afternoon nap has been yanked away so suddenly, I savor the moment.  For I know that before long you will be reading your own stories and my role will be as listener and not reader.  And while that moment might come five months from now.

It’s gonna seem like five seconds.

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 to 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.