Trading "Cool" For Frogs And Monkeys

When I was a kid, like most kids, I didn't think my parents were very cool. In fact, the younger version of myself probably would have told you that my dad was the "lamer of two evils". Yet, I could never really pinpoint a reason as to why I had determined that my dad wasn't cool.

Now, I realize that I was that reason.

Over the last few months, of my inaugural year of parenthood, I've learned many lessons about being a parent that weren't covered in any book that I've read. However, my most recent parental epiphany has been this:

"Being cool" in front of your kids is pretty damn-near impossible.

The problem, from what i can gather, isn't a lack of trying to "be cool" in front of my child (I certainly had visions of being the "cool dad" in the eyes of my daughter and her friends), it's that babies have rapidly changing fancies and short attention spans, and "being cool" just isn't entertaining enough for them.

For example, I love watching my daughter smile, so I'll do whatever I can to see that sweet face light up with her huge gummy grin. In weeks past, I used to be able to earn a smile from her just by walking into the room and making eye contact with her. A few weeks ago, it started to seem like the novelty of my presence alone had worn off.

At that point, I learned that opening my eyes wide, and giving her a clownishly huge grin was what earned me a smile. After a week, the novelty of that had worn off too. Now, it takes all of the above, PLUS a silly pose or dance to get the same reaction that my presence alone used to garner just a few weeks ago. Next week, I'm sure a smile will require sparklers and moon-walking.

I feel the coolness being sucked out of me by the minute; a sacrifice for the sake of a happy baby.

Likewise, previous efforts to sooth my fussy daughter used to involve simply picking her up, putting a pacifier in her mouth, and giving her her "Lovie" (A small blanket with the disembodied head of an animal on it; a little creepy, and a terrible lesson in anatomy, if you ask me.)

But, that's old news now.

Currently, the way to sooth our savage beast is by singing, and not just any song either. The ONLY songs that will work now are "Five Green And Speckled Frogs" and "Five Little Monkeys, Swinging In A Tree".

They sound like cool songs, don't they?

For those that may not know either of these songs, I will do my best to record them here:

Five Green And Speckled Frogs

Five green and speckled frogs,

Sitting on a speckled log,

Eating some most delicious bugs.

(Yum Yum)

One jumped into the pool,

Where it was nice and cool,

Now there are four green speckled frogs.

(Ribbit Ribbit)

[Repeat until one frogs jumps in the pool]

Now there are no green speckled frogs.

(Boo Hoo)

Five Little Monkeys, Swinging In A Tree

Five little monkeys, swinging in a tree,

Teasing mister alligator, can't catch me!

(No, you can't catch me!)

Then along comes mister alligator, quiet as can be,

And he SNAPPED a monkey right out of that tree!

[Start next verse with four monkeys and repeat until all get eaten]

No more monkeys, swinging in the tree,

Just mister alligator, full as can be.

Note: "Frogs" is good for car rides, where your child can't see you; "Monkeys", although a little morbid, is great in front of your child, because you can act out the SNAP of the alligators mouth (which is my daughter's favorite part.)

My daughter LOVES both of these songs, and will almost always stop in the middle of a total breakdown, by the second or third verse. However, it's hard to look "cool" when you and your wife are animatedly singing either of these songs in public, or while driving down the freeway.

But, it's for a good cause.

In retrospect, I suppose my dad never really had a fair chance to "be cool" when I was younger, most probably because I required him to be goofy, for my own entertainment. So in as much as I play court jester, to the fickle little queen of my world, I'm afraid that the vicious cycle will continue throughout my daughter's life, and I will never really have a chance to "be cool" in her eyes.

In the end, my "coolness" is a small price to pay for the happiness of my daughter, and if singing and dancing around like an idiot is what it takes to entertain her, then so be it. I'm sure this is only the beginning of a career of public humiliation for the enjoyment of my kid, and I look forward to it.