Rowan's been out of pull-ups, the night-time diapers for older kids, for a few days now. I'd say her dry/wet percentage is about 50%. It's usually a good idea for me to pick her up in the middle of the night and put her on the toilet. I didn't do that last night.

She came out of my bedroom this morning. (she had crawled into bed with me in the middle of the night as usual) with a look of controlled fear on her face and came straight to me.

"I will get a big towel, Daddy. I will get a big towel and clean up your bed."

I guess I haven't been very restrained sometimes when she's had an accident, and it was evident that she was afraid that I was going to get really mad at her for peeing in my bed. I felt horrible, and vowed to myself to control myself better, so that my children wouldn't have to fear my response in the future.

I love Rowan very much. I hugged her and told her it was ok, and that we'd find a towel to clean it up.

Everybody's cheerful in the morning. Griffin is like Pan, a mischevious little smirk pasted upon his angelic face. Berit wakes me to tell me that he's up.

Berit, Pam, Griffin and I hunker into the futon in the guest room... chillin. Griffin looks at me expectantly and declares, "Poo."

"Poo?" I ask. "Pee pee?" I inquire, using Griffin speak to refer to the product of defecation.

"Poo." He repeats, and then I recall that Griffin has just recently begun an infatuation with Winnie the Pooh. He loves it when I sing it to him, and when I read him the books, and when I don the Pooh hand puppet. He evidently is making a video request.

"Pooh... Winnie the Pooh?" I probe.

"Yah." That's a big 10-4, Daddy.

I'm all for early morning videos, as we've long since given up on making Griffin the pure child, the TV-free child. If anything, Griffin will only degenerate faster into television worship, with two older sisters as personal TV guides.

So we watch Poo.

Friday night, after reading "The Magic School Bus in the Solar System," Berit asked if she and Rowan and i could be the Earth, the Moon and the Sun. So we took turns in the living room - one of us would stand in the center as the Sun, while another would walk around that person as the Earth. The third person would hurry around the Earth as it rotated around the sun. It was a kick – good idea, Berit!

Different children have different names for the process and the product of defacation. Griffin, who is now 18 months old, refers to this as "pee-pee." Confused as this may seem, he gladly notifies us of it's presence as "pee pee." It could be in the diaper, or on those free-wheelin occasions when we let him run around the backyard naked, he might come running in the house with a hand full of goodies outstretched and announce rather obviously, "pee pee!"

Sometimes he is more enthused about this, adding an exclamatory modifier to his announcement, as in, "Pee pee, Yay!!"

We are certain that someday the content and the emotion of his exclamations will take a drastic turn, for better or worse, and we currently revel in Griffin's appreciation of life's more mundane aspects.

Rowan has gone to bed without "pull-ups," night-time diapers for older kids (she's 3), for the past 4 nights now and has awoken dry every morning. Since we neglected to go the rubber-sheet route, I'm still waiting for that other shoe to fall.

I did it again - getting all up in Berit's mug about counting money. It is frustrating, you know. Even her kindergarten teacher says she won't go down certain paths with the kids. After we worked it out, I told Berit we could work on counting the change I have in my pocket when I come home at night, and if she counts it correctly then she gets it. She liked this idea.

Berit comes into our room in the middle of the night and asks me to move over. I'm not very good with being awakened in the night and groggily try to explain that, if she's going to be joining us at this hour, the best policy is to quietly find an empty spot on the bed.

I attempt sleep, but she's got a persistent cough, so that finally (might have been an hour later or five minutes... I don't know) I get up and give her a dose of cough suppressant. I then grab my pillow and kiss her goodnight.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going into your room so I can get some sleep." I say, rather grouchily.

I do go and lie down in her bed, but I'm feeling too guilty about abandoning her like that. I figure it's probably my job to shower my kids with love, especially when they're not feeling well and even if it's impinging upon my sleep.

So I get back up with my pillow, head back to bed and lie down next to Berit. I kiss her again, hold her hand, and we quietly fall asleep.

On Friday, we took the kids camping up in the mountains. They did very well with it all, despite some unprepared ness on my part which resulted in not having a working camp stove and having to spend a good deal of time chopping wood with a borrowed hatchet and making a fire to cook turkey dogs on.

They enjoyed running around in the surrounding woods and they definitely enjoyed the somemores we made for desert. Pam coached the girls in the fine science of marshmallow roasting.

Berit seems to me insightful beyond her years at times. As we prepared for a hike the following day, Rowan was throwing herself on the ground for attention. Berit turns to me and quietly remarks, "Rowan falls down on purpose a lot."
"Yes. Why do you think that is?" I reply.

"She wants more love."

I am floored by this adult insight on her sister's behavior.

Our walkabout is a short one - we don't want to spoil their fun by taking them on a long forced march. We're only staying for one night, so we break camp later that day. With three kids, it's just enough time.

By the way, the right reaction to Berit's whininess this morning would have been to stop and breathe and then tell her that it frustrates me that she says she doesn't want to go camping, since we've been excited about it all week long, and I've been working hard this morning to make it happen, and the last time we went she seemed to like it. So can you help me understand why you don't want to go, Berit?

And then I would have found out that she was scared of the Bears.

And again. I don't even work today, but I'm reacting to the kids all over the place. I react to Griffin's fit; I get visibly upset when Berit whines "I don't want to go camping in the woods;" and when Rowan breaks down because contrary to what she wanted a moment ago, now she doesn't want Berit to help her make her bed, I get upset with her.

The common element here is me reacting. And I need to change it. Change it now when Berit is only 5, Rowan is only 3, and Griffin won't even remember me getting upset. I really do want to be the Buddha Dad. But how?

Pause when agitated. Take time out. Breathe. These are all really good things to say but not always as easy to apply. I want to apply them... I really do, but I seem to need more than that. Maybe it really is about prayer. Asking the universe to help me, reinforcing that I need the help. I think just praying and meditating on a regular basis would help me be in the mind frame to pause when agitated, take time out, breathe. I don't think writing about it hurts either, and I'll keep you posted how it goes. I'm going to start... now.

Sometimes my parenting skills are less than what I'm proud of. Going over the names and values of coins with Berit last night proved to be frustrating as usual. It seemed no matter how many times we went over a dime being worth 10 cents, she just couldn't retain it. I kept trying to think of new ways to help her remember, but I was finally doing it in obvious frustration, emitting a negative energy that broke her little spirit. Finally, she wouldn't answer me.

"How much is it worth?"

Silence.

"Don't think, Berit. Just tell me how much it's worth. How many cents?"

More silence. She's scared, and she's sad.

"Berit, you're thinking. I told you not to think. Why aren't you saying anything?" It's as though I am purposely blind to the sadness and fear I am creating with my words and my energy, until finally she speaks.

"I'm having a heart attack."

Now it is me who is silent. Yes, I'm attacking her heart. She's stopped me dead in my tracks by putting words to the way I've been making her feel.

"You're having a heart attack?"

"Yes?

"I'm making you feel sad with my frustration, aren't I Berit."

"Yes."

"Oh Berit, I am so sorry...come here." I hug her for a while, and she cries a little. I feel horrible, and I know I need to figure out how not to do this in the future.

"Berit, I'm so sorry - this is my fault. I need to be nicer."

"It's ok, Daddy." She's always so forgiving of my glaringly monstrous parental errors. I feel worse than ever.

"Maybe you can help me. If you feel this way again, tell me right away."

We get through it, and she is breathing relieved. I figure a new more passive mneumonic for the coins. I tape a penny, nickel, dime, and quarter to a piece of paper with their names and amounts written on it, and we tape it up on her wall. She'll probably have them all memorized by tomorrow. But if she doesn't, that's ok too.

I came home late last night to find that Berit was still awake. She heard me come in, and came out of her room to give me a kiss and a hug goodnight. However, I see Berit constantly finding excuses to come out of her room at bed time and count this as one more of those. I perfunctorily kiss and hug her goodnight before abruptly ushering her back into her room.

But I'd earlier heard this guy say, "It's my job to treat everyone with love and respect... no mattter how they behave towards me," and i believe that to be true. Especially with the kids. I thought about it afterwards and resolved to try harder to embrace those moments when I can choose to connect with my kids, instead of just playing dad.

Despite an occasional propoensity for biting and kicking, Griffin is just plain cute and adorable. Now it is clear that he understands everything we say, and is equally active about attempting communication with us. This morning he gallops out of the girls' bedroom holding a cassette tape. This he thrusts into my hands, muttering something in Griffin-speak.

"You want me to put a tape on for you buddy?" I ask.

"Yeah." - one of two oft-used stock phrases.

He can be very possessive of our attention. When Rowan climbs into my lap, Griffin will throw a tirade and attempt to physically beat her away from me. I pretty much side with Rowan on this, showing both of them that there's plenty of Daddy to go around.

Rowan is abstract-expressionistic in her use of sidewalk chalk. She first thoroughly soaks a stick of the colored chalk in a puddle of rainwater captured in a construction bucket lid at the side of the house before carrying it back to the driveway. Then she applies the mollified chalk substance to a portion of driveway or sidewalk, until the chalk is completely gone, leaving a singular patch of color on the concrete. Then she repeats the process. I try to get her to draw a picture for me, but she won't. It’s just "blue" o "green" or "pink"...

Berit revels further in her newfound ability on her two-wheeler. She's doing u-turns in the middle o the road now. I don't let her ride in the street without my super vision, and she thankfully dons pads, gloves, and helmet each time before biking.

She's ardent in whatever activity she pursues. Her hand is just now healing from a terrible monkey-bar blister, and she's been very active on the monkey bars, even before it heals. Her new thing is hanging by her legs from a bar and then doing a flip and dropping to her feet. If any athletic pursuit is her "thing" right now, I'd say its gymnastics.

At the playground, Griffin is fearless as he trots around a moon crater structure that other boys his age need their parents' hands for. He can be a little aggressive, though, and Pam saw him push another boy who was also walking on the crater. Is that nature or nurture?

It's official - the training wheels are off! A momentous and proud moment in any parent's life. It may even be a personal victory, but I'm not sure. I've always remembered my parents telling me that I was only 4 years old when I first rode the two-wheeler... remembered it with pride. Berit is 5 and has now cleared that hurdle. She's very excited about it, too.

I was glad that she could go from the initial removal of the training wheels to full on independence without having to meet the asphalt face to face. It just made the transition that much quicker and less painful

My other daughter, Rowan is 3, and just beginning to cruise on the old tricycle. She started taking well to Berit's razor scooter today, so we'll just keep on that and see.

Griffin, my one year old son will be on a skateboard at 2, no doubt, and will certainly be the cause of many nail-bitingly anxiety-ridden parental moments. But I'll keep you posted.