BeaPapa

The Adventures of Purply, the Brown Bunny

Posted on April 22nd, 2012 by Burton Miller

Once upon a time, there was a little brown bunny named Purply.  He came to live with a little girl named Beatrice, two weeks before Easter.  Beatrice’s Grandma had to travel on Easter, so she arranged for the adoption in advance.

Purply and Beatrice became the best of friends, right away.  Purply and Beatrice had tea parties, they played games with the other animals in the house, they snuggled up at night.  Wherever Beatrice went, Purply went, too.  Even during school, where animals were not allowed, Purply would hide in Beatrice’s backpack until school was out.

Things were not always easy.  Sometimes the other animals were jealous of the attention Purply was getting from Beatrice.  Laurie was washable, and had been given special bedtime privileges, when Mom and Dad kicked the other animals out of Beatrice’s bed, due to allergies.  Being displaced by Purply was a swat in the furry face.  She made no secret of her hatred for Purply, but Beatrice was blind to this, and continued to favor Purply over the other animals, stuffed and warm-blooded.  Beatrice even guarded Purply from attacks by the pernicious cats, Dirty Don and Shiny Smith, who would bite and kick the smaller animals, if Beatrice left them exposed on the wooden floor.

But, overall, things looked pretty good to Purply.  Screw those other animals.  She was the favorite for now, and she was going to live it up!

So it happened, on Easter weekend, that Beatrice was going to lunch with her family.  After much vociferous protest, she was allowed to bring but a single animal companion along for the day’s activities.  Purply was a little nervous, but Beatrice didn’t even hesitate.  Purply was soon clutched tightly in sticky hands, on her way to the international district for lunch and a boat ride!

Lunch was Dim Sum, which everyone enjoyed immensely – even Elliott – the picky eater of the bunch.  Purply wasn’t feeling well for some reason, and so didn’t partake.  It was as if she could sense some dark fate, looming in the shadows cast by the bright spring sunshine.

The next stop was Zeitgeist coffee shop, near the train station.  Papa needed his bi-hourly coffee refill, and cookies were also available.  Restrooms were visited, and soon they were on their way.

Hours later, on the boat ride, it was discovered that Purply had gone missing!  Beatrice was certain that she hadn’t run away.  Even considering the other animals’ hatred of the new favorite, Purply would never abandon her beloved Beatrice!  They had been best pals forever – almost two weeks!

After much discussion, it was decided that Purply was probably at the coffee shop, and calls were made.  They did, indeed, have an unclaimed bunny!  But it was late, past Beatrice’s bedtime, and so plans were made to go another day to rescue Purply from the clutches of the cold, faithless coffee people – who were yet to be found out.

The week after Easter was a busy one, and it was the following Saturday before travel down to the coffee shop could be arranged.  Mama spoke the coffee people on the phone, to insure that Purply was still waiting, and off the family went.  Papa was sent in, while Mama and Beatrice waited in the 30-minute zone.  Beatrice waited, and waited, and waited.  Finally, Papa came out – empty handed!  Purply had gone missing from coffee shop!  Perhaps Purply had escaped!  Or maybe the coffee people had sold Purply to a local restaurant that served bunny meat!

Mama was sent in.  But she, too, returned frustrated and empty handed.  The superficially friendly lot in the coffee shop had lost track of Purply!  And what was worse – they didn’t seem to care.  Protests were made to the heavens, tears flowed, accusations flew in all directions.  But the sad truth was:  Purply was gone.  Whether she had tired of waiting and absconded on her own, or whether she had been given to a greedy employee’s child was unclear.

But Mama was having none of that.  The next day she made calls to the Zeitgeist manager, and the Purply’s story took another turn.  Someone else had come into the coffee shop and claimed Purply!  Clever rabbit thieves will stop at nothing, and claiming someone else’s bunny was only too easy for those black-hearted villains.  The identity of the bunnynappers was unknown, and all seemed lost.

At this point, Grandma had returned from her trip to parts Eastern, and was shocked to hear Purply’s sad tale.  Internet sites were searched, to see if Purply could be found via modern technology.  But Purply was not to be found online!  Fortunately, Grandma remembered that Purply had originally come from a place called Anthropologie (from which the jealous Mr. Bunny, and greatly ignored Thurston the Elephant had also been spawned).  The downtown location had Purply in stock!

Another week found Purply back in the arms of her best friend, Beatrice!  Once again tea parties could resume, games could be played, and bickering among the other animals could be ignored (until the revolt!).

But Beatrice couldn’t be fooled.  She knew Purply was an impostor, a clone, a duplicate, “Because he had a tag on his leg.”

Wherever Purply-I is now, on his pretend journey through life, Beatrice doesn’t care.  The new Purply is a valid replacement, and she accepts him.  We have dropped it, and so has she.  And Purply-II is not saying a god damn thing.

Travel Plans to China

Posted on March 29th, 2012 by Burton Miller

A few days ago, my wife, Tracey, and my daughter, Beatrice, were sitting at the table having a snack.  We only recently got back from our trip to Austin, and Tracey asks ‘Did you have a good time in Austin?”

Beatrice says, “Yes!”  And proceeds to talk about her grandma and cousins.  She really did have a good time.

Tracey, then follows up, “Where to you want to go next?”

Beatrice brightens up and says, “I want to go to Hawaii for three weeks.  Where they have active volcanos!”  Who doesn’t want to see active volcanoes.  Fools don’t, Beatrice and I would posit.

We are actually planning a trip to Italy this year, so Tracey says, “How about Italy?”

Beatrice simply says, “China.”

Tracey, a bit puzzled, but curious asks, “Why?”

“Because of ‘Kung Fu Panda.’  The Peacock says, ‘she will be mine.’”  China has evidently gotten a big boost in toddler popularity from Mr. Jack Black and company.  Over the holidays we meticulously acquired all the foot-tall plush versions of the cast.  Tigress is the favorite of course – the complete badass female role model.

Beatrice and Tracey snack quietly for a few moments, then Beatrice pipes up, looking a little concerned, “But I don’t speak China.”

Tracey said, “What about Italy?  You can speak a little Italian.”  No response.  Beatrice thoughtfully chews over the travel possibilities in silence.

Dreamworks needs to make a movie where cartoon chipmunks are struggling to establish the Roman state – gobbling up territory and commandeering nuts from neighboring forests.  Or something like that.  Maybe with a more positive spin.  Get to work, Hollywood, and make Italy more appealing to the five-year-old audience!

Other People’s Taste

Posted on March 24th, 2012 by Burton Miller

We were recently down in Austin, TX, for SXSW and some family visiting.  After the festival was over, my wife and I were spending the day with our daughter, Beatrice, and two of her cousins, all ages 5-7.  We had just finished a tour of the Texas Memorial Museum, and were heading across the University of Texas campus, in search of coffee.

It was getting warm, and my niece, Brenna, was asking for a drink.  We only had one water bottle with us, and it belonged to Beatrice. We didn’t realize this was a problem, until Beatrice staged a dramatic protest.  It was her water, and she wasn’t going to share it.  We repeatedly asked her why not, and tried to convince her to share.  Finally, she sat down on the stairs in despair, head in hands, tears rolling down her cheeks, and said, “I don’t like other people’s taste!”

What an interesting way to express hygienic preference!  Though this was inconvenient, as a functional germaphobe, myself, I could definitely see her position.  Odds were that five year old Brenna, apparently healthy, was free of contagion.  But you never know.

On the other hand, you have to balance your hygienic risks with practicality.  For instance, swimming pools and hot tubs may be full of urine and fecal matter, but copious application of chemicals destroys most of the germs associated with these vile substances.  Natural water sources are even more dubious, germ-wise.  The point being, that swimming is fun, and you have to take some risks in life to have fun.  But I sure want a reassuring, eye-burning, nose-wrinkling level of chlorine in any reused water in which I am going to be immersed!

In any case, we had to walk a couple of blocks to get Brenna some water.  She was fine.

A couple of days later, at my Mom’s house, another cousin wanted a drink of Beatrice’s orange juice.  She immediately piped up, “Remember, I don’t like other people’s taste!”

My little germaphobe.  Papa’s girl.  We’ll just have to keep an eye on her – so she doesn’t start breaking out the rubber gloves before leaving the house.

Candy, TV, and iPhone

Posted on March 8th, 2012 by Burton Miller

The other day, my daughter, Beatrice, asked me, “Papa, do you know what my favorite thing is?”

“Cats?” I replied.

“Candy!  Candy and TV are my favorite!”

“Really?” I said.  ”But there are so many things better than TV and candy.  And candy is bad for you.”

“Why is candy bad for you?”

Then I went on to explain the dangers of diabetes and heart disease.  This may be a little heavy-handed, but that is the truth.  I also explained how bad foods were even more dangerous for old people like me, for whom heart disease is potentially more imminent.

A discussion ensued.  But at the end of it, candy and TV still reigned supreme, though Beatrice cautioned me to avoid it, because she wants me to live longer.

I should also add iPhone & iPad to that list of favorite things.  Put one of those in her grasp, and it is hard to pry it out.

My wife and I recently attended a Montessori lecture by a renowned Neuro-scientist, Steve Hughes.  Montessori is known for its ‘low-tech’ approach to things, and there was a question from the audience about the advantages of high-tech, and why Montessori doesn’t use tech more.  Steve pulled out his iPhone and said, “This is the most interesting thing in the room.  If I have a choice of using my iPhone or talking to someone, or working on something, the iPhone wins every time.”  He went on to explain how children do not have the self-discipline to resist the charms of the iPhone, and that technology can prevent children from engaging in more important learning activities.  And adults are also vulnerable to the charms of technology, when they surf the internet for hours at work, or update their Facebook twelve times a day.

Our lives are filled with candy and its technological equivalent, these days.  We have to watch out, or our bodies and brains will deteriorate from lack of substance and exercise.  And the thing I most worry about losing in this forest of distraction, is meaning.  Without purpose, what is the point?  I push Beatrice towards discovery of her talents and abilities every chance I get, but the distractions of today are mighty foes.  Candy and iPhone need to take a back seat to training in Kung Fu, or writing a book, or learning a new language!

How do you get your children to choose the vegetables over the ice cream?  Part of it is controlling what is available, but that can only go so far.  The world is what it is.  Candy does, in fact, taste good.  The other part has got to be frank, truthful discussions about why ‘easy’ is a bad word, and ‘sweet’ is a genetic relic of a bygone age.  We have to overcome our tendencies to do what is comfortable in the moment.  Let’s join together, as parents, as humans, and raise a generation of doers!

You Sing the High Notes…

Posted on March 3rd, 2012 by Burton Miller

My daughter, Beatrice, and I were riding in the car the other day listening to music, and I had an epiphany.  So, I said to Beatrice, “I just had an epiphany!”  Normally, I explain terms like ‘epiphany’, but I was on a roll, “I just realized that you have a big musical advantage as a female vocalist.  Most rock songs are sung at a pretty high pitch, which is hard for most men to sing.  Because you are girl, and have such a strong voice, you will be able to sing about 99% of all rock songs!”

Beatrice said, “What do you mean?”

And I proceeded to explain about how rock songs are typically sung in a high register to rise above the other instruments.  Beatrice has been able to carry a tune for years, and loves rock music.  Ozzy is her favorite, and he is good example of this phenomenon.  I was getting excited!

But Beatrice had a very different take on things, “But, Papa, your voice is low.  So, you can’t sing most of those songs.”  She seemed so melancholy.

I quickly added, “That’s OK.  We’re all good at different things.  I’m happy for you that you’ll be able to sing all those songs.  I’ll just sing the ones that I can.”  I think I’ve mentioned in earlier posts that I sing Beatrice to sleep every night.  In that context, I just change the key if I can’t hit the notes!

Beatrice considered this for a few seconds.  Then she said, “When I write my own songs, I’ll write them with high notes and low notes.  I’ll sing the high notes, and you can sing the low notes.”

I think my little baby is made out of sugar.

Suggested Commands

Posted on February 9th, 2012 by Burton Miller

My daughter, Beatrice, and I had an interesting conversation the other day.  I’m always explaining things to her in as much detail as I think she can handle, and I often stop to see if she understands some term or concept.

So, a couple of days ago, I was struggling to define the difference between a ‘command’ and a ‘suggestion’.  This was in the context of a conversation about ‘growing up’.  I was trying to get across how parental influence is primarily transmitted as ‘commands’ in a child’s early years, and how it gradually transforms entirely to ‘suggestions’ as a child reaches adulthood.  We discussed how a ‘command’ was not optional, it was something you were required to do.  We defined a ‘suggestion’ as something that was recommended, or something that you probably should do, but that you didn’t have to.

After several minutes of back and forth on the subject, it seemed like we had gotten it, and we moved on to another topic.

Last night, Beatrice and I had dinner with her Grandmother, and had several cookies for dessert.  After we got home, Beatrice asked me for another cookie, and I told her that she had had enough.

She thought about that for a couple of beats, then said, “Give me another cookie.”

I said, “No.  Too many cookies is unhealthy,” (or something like that).

She retorted, “But I gave you a command!  You have to give me a cookie!”

I had forgotten an key element in my definition of ‘command’, which I now clarified: “But only parents can give commands to children.  Children can only suggest things to parents.”

This gross inequality didn’t sit well with Beatrice, so the campaign for cookies continued.  Eventually, I won the day in the name of worldwide parental influence.  But I think Beatrice is going to take some more convincing before she really accepts my terms.  Maybe another twenty years of it.

Update:  Since this interaction, when I ask Beatrice to do things (like ‘eat your food’ or ‘put on your shoes’), she often asks me if I am giving her a suggestion or a command.  This ongoing conversation has made me realize that there is a very fuzzy boundary between the two concepts!  She is one tough customer.

My Baby is Five

Posted on February 3rd, 2012 by Burton Miller

It’s here.  Beatrice is five today.  I admit it, though not normally very sentimental, I’ve been feeling it all week.  My little baby is 41 inches tall, and over 50 pounds.  My last baby.  I still call her ‘baby’ all the time.  She has even stopped correcting me.

Tomorrow is the big ice-skating party.  Still a lot of preparations ahead of us.  A UFO cake was requested, with an Alien with a wig, a pearl necklace, and a crown – that mechanically pops out of the cake to greet the guests.  I said I’d do my best – I’m artistically inclined, but “I’m not magic,” as I always say in these situations.

It seems like kids are always a little cranky on their birthdays – like they expect the world to turn the way they want it to for one day.  This morning, Beatrice started to pitch a fit over which clothes to wear, and I told her that she “shouldn’t fuss on her birthday!”  To which she replied, “But I always fuss.”  To which I replied, “Why don’t you just give it a shot.”  Anyway, maybe its not just kids who are moody on their birthdays – Tracey and I are certainly dark and reflective our own respective, big days.  The world keeps turning the same, it’s we who change for that one day.

Last night as I was putting Beatrice to bed, we were discussing how birthdays are a good thing.  Except maybe when you are really old, we agreed. And we determined that around 90, birthdays might not be so great, as you are sicker and more feeble every year.  But I assured her that was a long, long way off.  Birthdays are pretty awesome for while – I didn’t tell her I thought maybe 39 was the last ‘really good’ birthday – you don’t need to feel the full weight of our short, delicately balanced lives at five.  She can wait a couple of years on that.

Beatrice ended up crawling into our bed in the middle of the night, for the first time in six months.  I didn’t even try to take her back to bed.  I just held her tight all night long.

Birthday Guest

Posted on January 19th, 2012 by Burton Miller

So, the big number five birthday is coming up for Miss Beatrice in a couple of weeks – and we asked her what she wanted.  And… Bea drew blank.

She has everything.  With elderly, attentive parents like Tracey and me (both 45), her every need is anticipated.  Maybe I’m more guilty of this than Tracey, but we both buy her way too much stuff.  Finally, she came up with ‘tiger’ – and she already has 3 of those (stuffed animals, not the real deal).  We have secretly gotten her a mini kitchen, which we know she likes, because we have to physically drag her away from it every time we go into Pottery Barn Kids – so, we are set, but relatives are pressing for the perfect gift idea.

We are definitely realizing our materialism.  The Viridians are starting to make a mental impact on this consumer couple.  I’m starting to only buy things that I think I’ll keep for several years – a big change for me.  And I think Tracey is also starting to think differently about materialism.  Though neither of us will ever be anti-materialist, we are starting to appreciate the weight that things have, and how you have to carry it.  Fewer, better things – like the Viridians.

But, at almost five, Beatrice is deeply embedded in the material world.  Last night, sitting on the couch, we asked her who she wanted to invite to her birthday party.  She named off all her school friends, her babysitters (both came last year), and a few close adult friends of ours.  Then, after a thoughtful pause, she asked, “Guess who I want to invite to my birthday.”  We gave up.  ”Santa Claus!”  Who gives up presents better than Santa, the ulitmate materialist?  And he can probably think of a cool gift on his own, too.

A New Chord is Struck

Posted on January 12th, 2012 by Burton Miller

My daughter, Beatrice, has been getting back into music lately.  She has a guitar, several keyboards, and a couple of drums.  We have been ‘doing music’ together every couple of nights for the last two weeks.  Mostly this is pretty random – I am not a muscian, but I started learning guitar, recently – partly to synchronize better with Beatrice’s interests.

So, since I am going through the painful early stages of learning an instrument, I figured I could relate the to the way a child must feel about the complexities of music.  Beatrice got her guitar for her 4th birthday – almost a year ago.  And, despite its small scale, she has been a litte intimidated by it.  She still claims to be interested in guitar, however (second to drums now), so I hatched a scheme to get her back in the saddle.  I proposed that we ‘play music’ together as often as possible, and that we take 1 minute to learn 1 thing each time.

And it looks like it might work!  For most of our jam sessions, Beatrice is clearly leading the way – telling my wife and I which instruments to play, calling the tune, and dictating who is to dance and for how long.  She is even ‘teaching’ me to play the keyboard.  But three nights ago, I got her to sit down for 1 minute with her tiny electric guitar and learn how to strum with a pick.  I was just shooting for down strumming, but she naturally strummed up and down, and then started experimenting with the frets to get different sounds.  FIVE minutes later, we were on to something else.

Then, last night, we jammed for a while – first with me on the tiny guitar (as per Beatrice’s orders).  When it was her turn with the guitar, I showed her several chords, holding them for her at first.  She was fascinated that certain combinations of frets had names.  After fooling around with E Minor, E, C, and G for a bit, she decided to create a new Chord, which looks like E Minor but with the third finger dropped on string towards the smaller strings.  I don’t know if this has a proper term, but she dubbed it, “Pickley.”  She shouted across the room to her mother, “I just made Pickley!  It’s a chord!”

Does music practice get any better than that!?  Whatever its musical value, “Pickley” will forever be in my guitar repertoire.