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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 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.

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.

Swee’Pea is wrong.

It is my job, as her knowledgeable father, to point out the occasional missteps that my daughter makes in hopes that she will be grateful for each and every opportunity to learn from her father.

“Swee’Pea, that’s not right.” I say.

“Yes it is.” She replies with a level of confidence that only a four-year-old can possess.

“No, Sweetie, it isn’t. ‘Cheating’ means ‘breaking the rules on purpose.’”

“No it doesn’t.” replies Swee’Pea while looking me in the eye, daring me to contradict her again.

“Sweetie, it does too. I’m sorry but you’re wrong on this one. I’m just trying to help you understand.” I say this in my best, “I’m being the patient and loving father” voice and I’m sure my words will have the desired impact. I study her face and wait for the wave of recognition that I am, indeed, correct to wash over her face and to admit my superior knowledge. It’s coming. I can see it beginning to take place. Her face is transforming into a…

*Sigh* *Eyeroll* “What…ever, Daddy.”

Okay, maybe that wasn’t the reaction I was expecting.

When you first learn you are becoming a father, certain things run through your mind. First and foremost you think, “HOLY CRAP!” But after that, many other things run through your thoroughly frenzied mind that include playing catch with your son, waiting up late for your daughter, paying for college, and having someone to bring you cold drinks on a hot summer’s day.

But there are also some things you don’t think about. For some reasons, no one thinks of the toys you step on in the dark, kids wiping boogers on your pants, Taylor Swift or screaming for no apparent reason. Unless, of course, you’re screaming because of Taylor Swift.

But there are also things you don’t think about that end up being a total bonus to being a Dad. Never in a million years do you think of these things prior to having a kid or, even, right up to the moment they occur. Instead, every once in a while fatherhood hands you something so funny and awesome that when it happens, the only thing you can do is giggle. And,of course, take a picture.

Swee’Pea showing me her “owie.”

She sits with her feet inches from her face. The shoes that adorn her feet are sparkly and slightly larger than they should be. The laces are long and black and rest gently in her hand as she attempts to tie her shoes. I watch as she crosses the laces and begins to tie the first beginning knot. Already, I can tell she is not crossing it right and as she struggles to make the knot, I offer my assistance.

“Do you need help, Swee’Pea?” I ask.

“NO!” she says says loudly and firmly.

This is a tone that has played itself out many times dating back when she was 18 months old. I know better than to interrupt her intensity. I do, I know better. But I just can’t help it.

Swee’Pea tries again and, once again, she misses the first knot. She is now more than a little agitated.

“Swee,Pea,” I say. “Let me help you.”

“NO! I… Can… Do… it.” she says as she begins to force the laces together as if just pushing them together will result the perfect bow.

“But, Swee’Pea…” I begin.

“I… Don’t… Need… Your… Help… DAD…DY…” She stammers out.

“But…” I say, “It… kinda looks like… you do.”

And as I finish that sentence my words fade away into nothing as her eyes look up from the task at hand to meet mine. No words are exchanged but I can tell from her look that if I say one more thing, she’s going to shove that shoe lace straight up my nose. I decide to keep quiet.

After a few more tries and a few more *sighs* and *grunts*, however, she finally masters the bow and her shoe is nicely tied.

It’s at this point, after several minutes of fury and anger, she looks up at me and gives me the most angelic smile in history.

I pity her future husband.

I unlock the front door after another day at work and Swee’Pea and TheMonk notice my arrival from the other room. “DAAAADDDDYYYY!!!!” they scream as they barrel towards me like out of control bowling balls. I quickly set my stuff down and get down on my knees to accept the avalanche of love I’m about to receive.

After receiving my hugs and kisses (and doling out a good amount of my own), I begin to talk to Swee’Pea and TheMonk about their day. On this day, Swee’Pea had to go to preschool on her own in the morning as TheMonk had a doctor’s appointment so he could have his stuffed-up ear looked at.

Swee’Pea tells me that TheMonk missed chapel that morning at preschool.

“He did?” I ask. “Did you like chapel?”

“Yes.” replies Swee’Pea.

“Well, what was chapel about?” I inquire.

*Sigh* “It was about Jesus, Daddy. It’s always about Jesus.”

I swear I saw her roll her eyes.

Our four-year-old daughter is dressed in her white Easter dress that has a blue sash across the waist and gold and blue flowers adorning the billowing hemline. She has dressed herself, like a big girl, even managing to put on the white tights that go on underneath the dress. She prances a little when no one is looking and I can tell she is pleased.

Mommy comes down and does her hair. She dampens the hair and adds hair gel to create a wet, loose-curl look of Swee’Pea’s locks. Swee’Pea is satisfied with her hair. She looks beautiful and is ready for her first school photo shoot.

We arrive at school and, after some shy moments (and a bribe of cake after dinner), Swee’Pea smiles for the camera. All is well.

Later that night, we call Grandmother as Swee’Pea is eager to tell her of the dress, the tights, the photos and… of course, the special treat after dinner.

As we explain to Grandmother what Swee’Pea is excitedly trying to tell her, Mommy tells Grandmother that she gave Swee’Pea curls instead of braids. Suddenly, Swee’Pea comes to the conclusion that she COULD have had braids. In her mind, this is a special kind of evil. How could Mommy deprive her of braids - and not even tell her?!

She begins to pout. And as we begin to chastise her for pouting, she erupts with one final declaration:

“I’m not gonna make MY daughter wear curls!”

Recently, while playing with YouTube on my iPhone, I decided to search for some School House Rock videos to play with the kids. Only, after watching a few, I realized that the twins are probably at least a couple of years away from really benefiting from some of the classics like I’m Just a Bill, Conjunction Junction or Interjection!

But then, I found an old, long forgotten favorite. It’s a Public Service Announcement from the American Broadcasting Company featuring Yuck Mouth - a disgusting dude with awful teeth singing about how his name is Yuck Mouth because he doesn’t brush his teeth. I showed this to Swee’Pea and TheMonk and while both enjoy it, Swee’Pea has taken an instant liking to it. After just a few viewings she had mastered the song. Now, when we brush our teeth, Swee’Pea likes to begin with a round of Yuck Mouth. Enjoy.

I hear her cry out late at night. She should be sleeping as bed time was at least three hours prior. I rush to her room, like a masculine Ms. Clavelle and as I open the door I see her tear-stained face clutching her stuffed kitty as she cries.

I quickly approach and begin to stroke her sweaty, matted hair. I ask her what’s wrong, expecting her to tell me she had a bad dream. Or maybe she has to go to the bathroom. Instead, through her sobs, she exlaims, “I don’t wanna go to school!”

And there it is.

Ever since we began talking about preschool - a real preschool and not the in-home preschool/daycare they go to now, I sensed that Swee’Pea has been scared about going. She is a worrier, that little one. She turns things over in her head and thinks about it until there’s nothing left to do but cry in the night.

I comfort her with soft caresses and I whisper, “It’s okay to be a little scared, Swee’Pea. It’s normal to feel scared about trying something new. But you know what? When you try it anyway, you feel so much better.”

A few more words of comfort and some gentle goodnight kisses is enough to send her back to sleep. And the next day we talk about how we want her to talk to Mommy and Daddy whenever she’s scared because using our words to talk about what scares us makes us feel better so we don’t cry in the middle of the night.

Swee’Pea agreed to talk to us but ever since I haven’t been able to get my own words out of my mind. When you confront things that scare you, it makes everything better. And then I think of all the fearful things that reside in the pit of my stomach that keep me from reaching my full potential. And my words suddenly felt hollow.

How can I look my daughter in the eye, encourage her to confront things that scare the bejeezus out of her, and not do the same myself? I have always promised myself that not only would I never lie to my children but I will always try to be the best role model I can be. So it has to start with me.

Since it’s fairly close to the new year, I’m going to call this a resolution. I resolve to look fear in the eyes and kick it’s ass in 2010. No longer will that nervous pit in my stomach overrule what I know needs to be done. No longer will I procrastinate because the idea of doing something makes me sweat. No longer will fear hold me back and keep me from realizing all that I can be. And no longer will I feel like a hypocrite when I look into my daughter’s eyes and tell her that trying will help the fear go away.

Fear can suck it.