DADWAGON

Today I threatened to punch Dr. Harvey Karp, the pediatrician best known for his “Happiest Baby on the Block” series of books and videos, in the face.

Now, normally, I’d be happy to leave this blog post at that—Angry Dadblogger vs. Caring Doc!—but sadly, there was more to it than that. First of all, I was on a TV program, ABC’s “Moms Get Real,” which actually “airs” online. Second of all, Dr. Karp was on a live feed from Santa Monica, and though my fist packs a wallop, it doesn’t quite go coast-to-coast.

Most importantly, I didn’t really want to punch him in the face. Actually, I wanted to thank him. The show’s host, the other guest, Dr. Karp, and I had been discussing temper tantrums and how to deal with them—a subject I know well from my own past, from my research into the YouTube meltdown video phenomenon, and from Sasha’s increasing willingness to throw a fit on the floor of the F train.

When I asked Dr. Karp’s advice, he first told me what not to do—speak in that cutesy, parent-to-baby, faux-calming voice that might seem to be appropriate but is really infuriating. So infuriating, in fact, that I felt anger welling up and then issued my paper-thin threat.

What made me so angry? Hearing my own voice in his. I often hate the way I sound when I talk to Sasha, whether I’m doing that awful soothing voice, or talking baby talk, or putting on the stern voice to order her around. They all sound terrible. Really, I didn’t want to punch Dr. Karp—I wanted to punch myself.

Anyway, it’ll be a week or two before the segment “airs,” but we’ll post it here when it does. In the meantime, if you’re interested in punching me in the face, I have one thing to tell you: Get in line.

We have a not-bad bedtime ritual for the kids that my wife started up a few months ago: just before we leave the room, we do a brief recap of the best and worst thing that happened to everyone that day.

It has occasioned a lot of learning about our kids. About the four-year-old, we’ve learned that she’s every bit as self-absorbed as any adult: nothing is quite as fascinating to her as the minutiae of her days at school. About the two-year-old Nico, we learned that he’s still a happy little idiot: no doubt he will one day be an astrophysicist, but for now, he keeps saying that his favorite part of the day was falling down at the park and hitting his head. Also, his worst part of the day is falling down at the park and hitting his head. Even on days like yesterday, when because of our autumnal hurricane, he never came anywhere near the park.

But even that insight–that likes and dislikes as well as basic truths are all fungible things to a toddler–is worth noting and remembering. So, too, are the strange fabulisms of Dalia–last night she said her favorite part of the day was when Anakin Skywalker gave her little brother Nico a kiss (this girl lives by the Wookiepedia). She waited a beat, though, and then allowed as how that didn’t actually happen. Of their own volition, both kids offered up more reality-based answers, something along the lines that that their favorite part of the day was when they came home and ate dinner (I know Nico  dug the Japanese takeout, because he kept asking for more “pimp tempura”).

The kids’ easy and specific accounting of their days always have a therapeutic quality for me, but yesterday I found it particularly soothing. Because the best part of my day yesterday was also the worst part: I turned 35. And as with most birthdays since I emerged out of the cloud of smoke that was my 20’s, I have no idea what getting older means except that it can’t really be good. Birthdays, particularly one that inaugurates the downhill run to reaching 40, could stir up a bit of anxiety. But you gotta love little kids: every day is just another day. The circadian cycle for them is a pleasant mix of truth and fiction and little details that they rarely overthink. They excel, in a way that would make the most devout Buddhist green with envy, at living in the moment. It’s a beautiful thing for me to emulate at any of life’s big junctures–illness, aging, career change: don’t overanalyze. Just be happy about your parents, your shrimp, and your Star Wars.

From the Times, in an article called “Green, but Still Guilty”:

Mr. Dorfman, 38, and Ms. Holzen, 35, use natural cleaning products, and are “constantly” drinking out of their Brita pitcher, so there is no need for disposable water bottles. All their personal-care products are organic, and Mr. Dorfman’s clothes are made from organic cotton and recycled materials — including his Nau blazer, which, he said, is made from recycled soda bottles.

But they have one great greenie flaw: they are addicted to disposable diapers.

“We tried cloth and think it’s totally unrealistic,” Mr. Dorfman said. Like the rest of America, he said, they have gravitated toward disposable diapers “and that’s really environmentally sinful. It’s plastic derived from petroleum. You use them once and then they get tossed in a landfill. It’s a terribly inefficient use of natural resources.

“Not only do I feel guilt, I feel hypocritical. But it’s the most functional diapers we’ve found. They keep my son dry. They don’t irritate his skin. They don’t clump up and get really heavy. They happen to work the best, and that’s annoying.”

The couple have found a way to lessen their pain — though it may be tricky for those without the lightning reflexes of a stuntwoman-turned-mom.

“Because we feel guilty about using disposable diapers, we’ve begun practicing ‘elimination communication,’ ” Mr. Dorfman explained in an e-mail. “What this means is that we pay close attention to Shep to determine when he’s about to pee or poop and then race to the shower so that he doesn’t soil his diaper so we can use it longer. We’ve actually gotten pretty good at reading the signs.”

First, I’d like to mention that this couple named their child Shep, just so you know who we’re dealing with here. Dad is the author of “The Lazy Environmentalist: Your Guide to Easy, Stylish, Green Living,” and his wife is a former stuntwoman. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

And I have nothing against elimination communication, or whatever potty strategies people come up with. Whatever works for you and your family–it’s up to you.

But let’s ponder the mindset that believes that their impact on the environment is so significant that they orient all factors of their lives around in it–but one. Further, that the one factor they fail to include in their worldview doesn’t involve their behavior but that of their infant child (whom they named Shep). Thus, the one person who is required to alter his or her behavior is that child, not the parents who have chosen to orient their lives around their massive impact on global forces of nature.

Holy shit!

Ah, the lovely product offerings that make their way into our inbox. This week: SATees, which puts high-protein vocabulary words on onesies.

These may work for you. You may want to buy one. Babble seemed to like the idea. But maybe it’s because I taught SAT courses for many years, or because I have a weird fascination with protecting my children from the same intellectual snobbery that got me where I am, but I do not like these.

In fact, I might rather my kids wear one of those “I Just Fahted” onesies they sell in Boston. Because if you put your baby in a onesie that says mellifluous, someone will want to punch you in the face. Just be glad if they don’t want to punch your baby too.