The first time your baby says “Daddy” can be confusing: Did she really just say that, or was it an accidental babble? Did she actually know what she was saying? Does she know I’m Daddy, or is that what she’s calling everyone? Eventually, you know, the kid will figure it out, but if you’re a neurotic idiot like me, it can be hard to bask in the initial glow.

But the first time your kid says “Daddy” in a Skype video chat, well, that’s something else. And that’s what happened Sunday night: I’m here in Rome this week on assignment, and during a Skype call home Sasha, who’s got a fever and her first-ever green-snot runny nose, pointed at the screen—at me!—and said, “Baba.” Then she said it again—very cool.

Still, I’m left with a feeling of disappointment—not because of Sasha but because of how we’re communicating. Skype has emerged as the long-distance parenting tool of choice, recommended by mainstream-media columnists and hundreds of Websites. According to Motherlode, it’s even making inroads in the legal world, where states are enacting “virtual visitation” laws, “authorizing judges to include e-mail, instant messaging, Web cams and other evolving tools of the internet to keep non-custodial parents in touch with their children.”

But it’s still a cold medium, especially since Sasha’s just 15 months old. There’s not for her to do besides point and say “Baba!” And there’s not much for me to do besides say her name and play peekaboo. I can’t wipe her face, feed her dinner, or change her diaper. In fact, our conversation ended when Jean wrinkled her nose, checked Sasha’s pants and yelled, “Poop!”

Of course, at 15 months old, Sasha’s not a very sophisticated conversation partner anyway. But I’m looking at the future—these trips of mine are not likely to stop anytime soon. What am I going to do?

DistanceParent.org has some pretty good ideas: read a book, play a game, share pictures. And later this week I’ll be testing a new Website, Readeo.com, whose pitch is awful—”Take one part video chat, add the best children’s books, throw in a pinch of pixie dust”—but which may actually be useful. But what else am I missing? Are there other things Sasha and I can do via Skype that are, well, more satisfying? (Oh, man, that sounds bad, doesn’t it?)

Just catching up with this tidbit from last week.

I don’t call this a mistake. I call it a trade.

By Matthew Dujnic

The illustration at left should tell you everything you need to know about the Week that Was at DadWagon. It was created by the excellent illustrator Matthew Dujnic, as DadWagon’s rejoinder to the piss-poor Photoshop skills of our new frenemies at Die Hipster. Yes, they claimed that their version was ironically bad, but really, if you’re going to spend the time it takes to craft comments like “I’ve got your fucking picture and if I ever fucking find you I will staple your balls together to protect whats left of our gene pool,” then you can at least not suck at Photoshop.

So what did DadWagon do that requires us to have our balls stapled?

Well, Matt went public on CNN.com with his desire to occasionally bring Sasha along while he gets a beer in a bar. Thus began an enthusiastic exchange of ideas so sophisticated that it makes the TED 2010 conference seem like a rerun of HeeHaw. Many  insightful things were said about the nature of modern parenting, the importance of child-centered play, and societal acceptance of the changing definitions of fatherhood. Oh, and go die in a fire, Matt, because I hate your stupid fucking glasses. Queef.

If you know anything about Theodore and his native New Yorkers’ love of conflict, you know that this was a very happy time for him.

But although the CNN story got over 2700 comments, and our humble repost on the issue had over 100 commenters sublimating their anger issues, there was more to DadWagon this week.

We fear that Nathan is developing an obsession with pre-K that will be shared only by his wife and oldest child. His anger toward Michael Douglas’ dope-dealing son and his attack on Slate’s advice columnist seemed at least a little more mainstream. More of that, please.

We were glad, on the other had, to see Christopher get a little contrarian, celebrating the fact that the Gowanus Canal has the clap and defending the right of an air traffic controller to have a very special Bring Your Child to Work (and Get Fired) Day.

Theodore–whom we should remind you is divorced–needed to take an online survey to confirm that he wasn’t a great husband.

Not to be forgotten among those posts and the (admittedly insipid) brawl over babies in bars was the remarkable Q&A Matt did with Joel Johnson, a well-known tech blogger who came out on his own blog with a brutal and brave recounting of the sexual abuse he suffered as a child. We are grateful to Joel for sitting down with us, and to the other sites–particularly those aimed at survivors of sexual abuse–that reposted and linked to the interview.

Work on that uppercut; we will be back Monday.

A pre-K classroom at P.S. 145

As you may have read here before, we’re having affordability issues with Dalia’s current school, and have therefore set off into the wider world of Uptown Manhattan in search of a universal pre-K spot.

To that end, we’re in the middle of schedule-chewing string of school visits up and down Manhattan’s District 3. Some things I now know:

•Public pre-K is a beautiful thing, if you can get a spot. Just look at the classroom here. Bright, airy, warm, and right across from the projects at 104th Street.

•The bureaucracy is stunning. We went to the big pre-K meeting for the borough of Manhattan last night. It was a 90-minute session (which started an hour late). A third of the time was spent going through the Department of Education’s Website, page by page, in a PowerPoint presentation. As in, “Here, where it says fill in your first name, this is where you would put YOUR name. Okay, next slide”. After 30 minutes I wanted to shoot myself. There were a couple of moments of learning, but the actual pre-K classes better be more edifying than the meetings about the classes.

•They serve a tremendous number of kids. More than 22,000 children applied to public-school pre-K programs in the five boroughs last year, and more than 17,000 were offered some kind of spot. Good God, that’s an army of preschoolers.

•The parent coordinators, who tend to be the shock troops receiving the most complaints about the underfunded programs (“pre-K parents can be kind of… aggressive,” is how P.S. 163’s José Duran put it), do a great job. Duran and almost all the other coordinators we’ve dealt with have been patient, generous with their time, and ready to answer any question. Somehow, despite the ID checks with the cops and guards at each school building, the visits end up feeling less formal and far more welcoming than the stilted tours at most private schools.

•We still have no idea what’s going to happen. Maybe we’ll find a way to afford private school for another year. Maybe we’ll find a program that no one else has “discovered” that looks great and has plenty of open seats. Maybe we’ll win the lottery.

I’m headed to work in California over the next two weeks (so look for a marked improvement in my tone and temperament, as I gradually thaw out from the New York winter). But we will be at it when I get back. Applications are due April 9. Stay tuned.