How many syllables are in the word milk? My guess is that 96.2% of you reading this post will answer 1. My answer? It depends on how you say the word.

The other day, my two year old Riley said, "Daddy, I want some mee-ilk." I did a double take. "What did you want baby" I inquired. Again she said, "mee-ilk". Then it hit me, my little girl speaks southern.

As a proud native New Englander who loves and lives in the South, I knew this day would come. I chose to live here in the South, married a wonderful, smart, beautiful woman from the South. Now I'm raising my daughters here. I assumed that they would absorb the Southern culture. You know Nascar, Lynyrd Skynyrd (a home grown product), and grits I figured would be an integral part of their America.

But when my five year old, Kinsey, began speaking in full sentences, her dialect was not native to the South. To this day, she speaks just like me.

Now our baby has begun talking like Goober on an Andy Griffith re-run. Since I've tuned into her manner of speaking, I've noticed that a word like there is pronounced "They-are". Pen is "pay-un". It's quite astounding.

Please don't misunderstand me, there is nothing inherently wrong or right about being from up North (other than the fact we held the Union together). For me, it's just strange to hear my child speak unlike me. She is her mother's daughter.

My wife Alicia told me that the other day Riley was drawing a picture. She told Alicia she was "Drawling". I thought, "you got that right girl".

In any event, with her newly acquired accent, all I can hope is that she will absorb the rest of her mothers characteristics. What a wonderful person she will be if that materializes.

My girls make me laugh almost every day. Either they use words inappropriately, make words up, mimic my vocabulary (not always a good thing)and mannerisms, etc. This is especially true when my older daughter "instructs" my younger daughter. When Riley (two years) tries to comply with Kinsey's (five years) directives you never know what the result may be. First of all the direction is usually less than clear and is directed to an individual who's cognitive ability is less than fully developed.

The other day Kinsey was very authoritatively expressing to Riley how it's such a long path to Grandma's house (20 hours by car). "You know Riley, it takes a long time to drive to New Hamster" (also known as New Hampshire). Riley just takes it all in as though she completely understands. Her actions were very similar to mine in High School chemistry class. Nodding and acting as though you understand. You indicate through your body langauage that you simply have nothing else to add or question given the thoroughness and mastery of the subject by the instructor. The plan works until you're the one picked out of the crowd and asked a question. So then Kinsey says to Riley, "Riley do you know where New Hamster is?" Riley shakes her head revealing that her earlier body language, previously indicating understanding was nothing but a sham. Soooo.. then Kinsey continues with a tone dripping with an heir of superiority, "Riley, New Hamster is in Vermont". As if to say, you should know such simple facts. I feel obligated to correct my daughter on both counts.

Baby... New Hamster is actually pronounced New Hampshire and Vermont is a State just like New Hampshire and it is right next to it on the map. My daughter thinks about this for a few minutes. Then she asks me..."Daddy, is Grandma's house passed God's House?"

I know how I answered, but would love to hear how some of you would have responded. It would be fun to see what various people think. Drop me a line and give me your thoughts. Take care!

Remember your first piece of bubble gum? I have often watched my children experience things completely new to them. Frequently, when watching my children, I find myself accessing my childhood memory bank and wondering. I wonder if the pleasure I remember upon first trying new things and the memory I have of it will be similar to my childrens' memories 30 years from now. Some childhood items I recall with particular fondness and happy memories are;

1) My first pony ride - excitement and exhilaration
2) My first Ginger Ale - fresh taste with bubbles
3) Maple Syrup - Sweet and unbelievably delicious
4) Wrestling with my grandmothers dog - great friend
5) Fresh smell of cut grass - Clean and invigorating
6) First visit to Fenway Park - Heaven
7) Glass of grape juice - Sweet, slightly tart
8) Petting a cow - Soft eyes, coarse stiff hair
9) Driving a go cart - Feeling of freedom,independence
10) Camping in a tent - Looking at the stars, amazement

As an adult, I tend to take the small things in life for granted. When I try to view those same things through my childrens eyes coupled with my childhood memories, those small things again become magical and wonderful and the world becomes such a fun place to be. Thank God for our children.

Who doesn't enjoy an invitation to a good party? There's something about an invitation that makes you feel special... thought of... important enough to be included. Before my wife and I had children we may have been invited to some sort of social event once a month or every other month. Our social calendar was eminently manageable. All that changed when our daughters arrived on the scene.

When my oldest daughter first started going to day care, invitations to her classmates birthday parties started trickling in. I remember the first invitation like it was yesterday. Promises of fun, games, treats and the like were made. These were the incentives to lure you in. Kind of like a used car dealer. Well it worked. There we were at a childs birthday party watching hordes of three year olds running around all strung out on candy and soft drinks. I swear there was enough sugar energy there to power a small city, the Las Vegas Strip and the USS Nimitz all at one time. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhdiddddlllyyyyboooooooo.... Wooooooooooooohhhhhahbahjahhh..... Yeaaaahhhh....There was so much screamimg and yelling at the end of the party my ears were ringing as though I had just set up camp in front of the speakers at a Metallica concert. Then there was the pinata that apparently was made out of concrete with a titanium - graphite skin. The thing appeared to be made to survive a nuclear blast. The party kids parents must have thought a bunch of three year olds were as equally a destructive force. I don't think Jethro from the Beverly Hillbillys after an eight day fast could have busted the thing open. Somebody at the defense department should look into this. Somehow the candy did end up getting sprayed over an eigth of a mile pattern and more piercing shrieks went out. It was like something out of a movie, a horror movie.

After the big event was over I thought thank God we don't have anymore of those things scheduled. Was I ever wrong. It was as if we had all of a sudden joined some secret society and were on the top of the mailing list. The small trickle became Amazonian in size. There is now rarely a month that goes by that we haven't attended at least three birthday parties. We've done that in one day before. It's brutal!

I think kids bithday parties have become big business. There are water slide birthday parties, pony riding birthday parties, birthday parties at yacht clubs, themed birthday parties, Birthday Party party parties, Ollie Koala birthday parties, Chucke Cheese birthday parties, roller skating birthday parties, pool birthday parties, bowling birthday parties. If something can be done by a two to five year old, that same something has been morphed into some sort of childs birthday party. Hey kids.... today's party is an arguing that it's not time to go to bed party. Bring your best argument and by the way, the kid who can bust the International Atomic Energy Agency's certified pinata gets to stay up an extra five minutes. Now doesn't that sound like fun kids????

The last birthday party we went to was a bouncy house birthday party. The place was a huge gymnasium filled with various forms of inflatables. From obstacle course tunnels to huge slides. It was like a cool static display of the Macy's Thanksgiving day parade melded with some experimental grade school physical education. Actually, it turned out to be a lot of fun. But yet another example of how over the top birthday parties have become.

The latest invitation we received was to a Disney underwater Princess party. The invitation promised "It will be the most fun ever on land or sea". Really???? I don't know, I'm probably just a cynic, but I truly find that difficult to believe. But they have got to sell it. What if the invitation were truthful and said "Come to my Party where at least half of you will be disappointed in the goody bag. I promise it will be mediocre at best for you and probably barely tolerable for your parents". Now how would Sally get all those mountains of presents that her fifty two other classmates have garnered over the last three and a half weeks? She wouldn't. You've got to sell the party! Never mind if the sales pitch slightly stretches the truth. The sale is what is important. Attendance and presents are how you keep score.

I have a general idea of how I plan to sell my daughters next birthday party. The format and actual verbiage have yet to be worked out but it will be something like this....

Come to the World's best ever party ever. We'll start by flying to the moon in a candy rocketship that we can eat upon re-entry. We'll then land at the North Pole where Santa will be waiting to give you a full tour by personal reindeer ride. At the end you may have any gift you choose. From there we'll meander over to Winnie the Pooh's house where we'll hang out, eat honey and meet all of poohs friends. You can take them all home to your house if you like. Next stop is called Dream City. You think it up and we make it happen. This will be the party of all parties. Oh yeah... and bring an appropriate gift.

And for the readers of my blog.... You are invited.

As a work from home Dad the bulk of the household chores have become my responsibility. I'm not quite sure how it happened but I can guarantee you that my wife knows. That girl is crafty and somehow outflanked me while I was looking the other way. I feel like Ross Perot's old running mate, Admiral Stockdale when he said with a confused look on his face "who am I and what am I doing here?". The Viet Congs infamous Charlie couldn't carry my wife's (uh.. now mine) laundry basket. Let's just put it on the record, and this hurts, she is smarter than me.

Accepting my defeat, I plod on with my assigned chores. There's something to be said for a gracious loser. In my own way I've made the defeat a victory. Now I get to pick the laundry detergent (Mountain Fresh Spring Air Flower Lilac Scent Bloom) and I get to choose the fabric softener too. Yeah, get some of that. Meals?, what I want to cook. No more questioning whether the milk purchased had the latest spoil date stamped on the top or whether it came from the bottom of the grocery store milk cooler. I'm in control of that now. So am I really the loser? You be the judge.

However, taking on the role of domestic maven has provided it's challenges. There are these little tasks that have sub-components that need to be done if you want to accomplish the task properly. Remembering all the while, if it's done improperly my wife knows.

Today was laundry day at my house. I have two little girls ages two and five. That fact alone increases the time required for this chore by two hours. How could that be you might ask. I certainly would have asked that question prior to my defeat. Little girls have lots and lots of little clothing things. Each little clothing thing must be folded. What about little girl underwear. The size difference between 2T and 5T is almost indistinguishable to the naked eye. So then you hunt down the size tag to see which child's pile get this particular pair of little girl panties. I don't know who the Einstein is who manufactures and selects the tag location for small girls underwear, but they need to do a load of laundry and then rethink the whole the damn thing. The tag is about an eigth of the size of the paper fortune in a fortune cookie. Upon washing, the tag rolls up like a caterpillar at being touched. So you get a pair of needlenose pliers to hold the tag taut enough to find the identifying number. Then the printed number is the size of a mustard seed. I had to break out my litle girls pirate telecope to read the thing. I'm still not sure I got them all right. But time was a wasting and I had other chores to do. What would my wife say if I didn't have her dinner ready when she got home? Listen, I've already acknowledged the fact that she can outsmart me. What am I going to look like when she asks me what's for dinner and I timidly break out some weak leftovers? She's going to start asking questions. I'm going then start stammering about little girls panty tags? She'd probably Baker Act me.

In the kitchen I can hold my own and cooking is fun for me. I've got the skills of Hop Sing on Bonanza with the temperment of Gordon Ramsay. Not only is my cooking critiqued every night, but so are the ingredients I choose to use. Last night was Fajita night. I'm chopping up the onions and green bell peppers. Getting the sour cream ready for my wife (huh?). It's all just starting to saute' and filling the air with an aroma I found to be pleasent. My five year pulls herself away from Dragon Tales long enough to wander in the kitchen. She innocently makes the statement, "that smells nasty". Trying to supress a Gordon Ramsayesque response, I do my best Rachel Ray, "You're goin' to love it". She wasn't convinced. So when it came time to eat, I pulled a trick out of my wife's playbook. Disguising the chicken, peppers and onions by wrapping them in the tortilla so the filling couldn't be seen. She took one bite and had found her bliss. Expressing my disbelief that she liked it she said "don't know what else to say Daddy. How can I thank you?" Now tell me... did I get outflanked?