"I can babysit," my dad said.

April stopped reading the paper and looked up at me. I glanced from her to my mom who was standing in front of the open refrigerator, milk in hand, staring at the two of us. We all looked back at dad.

"You'd have to change her diaper" April said.

Dad guffawed and looked at mom.

See, my dad doesn't do diapers. I ask him all the time (just for fun) if he'll change Alleke's diaper, and he never does it. He just laughs and shakes his head.

My dad is a good grandpa. He spends lots of time with his grandchildren, and he loves them.

But my dad is not a mechanic. When a little one spits up or smells funny or begins to cry, dad hands baby off to grandma for a tune up.

Until today, that is.

"I can change a diaper," Dad said, shrugging his shoulders.

I smiled.

I smiled because he was willing to try, and I smiled because he didn't know how.

Last night we were watching TV before bed, and April had Alleke on her lap. The show we were watching seemed relatively harmless until one point when the main character's skin melted off his face, and he turned into a talking meatball. I grimaced, and April put her hand over Alleke's eyes.

When the scene changed, and April thought it was safe for Alleke to watch again, she took her hand away.

Alleke must have thought the show was still too scary because she took April's hand, put it back over her eyes, and held it there.

Posted with permission from Spain Dad

I just finished writing my first kids' book. I won't be looking for a literary agent, however, because I wrote this book just for Alleke. In fact, she is the main character in the story, and the book is about her new bedtime routine.

Discipline as training (not punishment)
I made a significant breakthrough in my thinking as a parent this summer while reading Ross Cambell's book How to Really Love Your Child (recommended by Lisa). Campbell suggests that discipline and punishment are not the same thing. Punishment is one form of discipline, and one he uses only as a last resort. Instead, Campbell redefines discipline as training (my words).

Potty training was Alleke's idea. She came streaking through the apartment, dripping from her inflatable swimming pool in the kitchen. I watched her hop like a dolphin with her knees together and disappear into the bathroom.

"Potty," she yelled, and I bolted out of my chair.

She sat on her potty and kicked her legs while I sat on the edge of the tub–not sure if I was supposed to do something. I had as much experience with potty training as Alleke did. She seemed confident at least.

She asked to read a book, and when she finished, she set it down, stood up, looked in the potty, and pointed. I looked over her shoulder.

There was a puddle.

"Nice work," I said.

I'm no expert on potty training. Alleke just lets me tag along when she has to go. I'm there for moral support. But what I find interesting is that Alleke started using the potty when she had to.