For me, the issue is a lack of sleep; the very same guidebook that has kept me from blogging regularly also is keeping me from putting my head on the pillow for more than a few measly hours a night.

Coffee and other stimulants (all legal, don’t worry) have helped me deal with a good portion of this insomnia. The rest of my secret: Narcolepsy, such as the kind I demonstrated on the chair of my hair stylist this afternoon (Laurel, I hope you realize what a compliment it is when I pass out while you’re wielding scissors near my head).

For Powergirl, the issue is a surplus of sleep; she’s been under the weather for the last few weeks and has essentially gone into a modified form of hibernation to get well.

For L, sleep developments have taken a different turn. Sure, she’s getting the requisite 12 hours a day. And yes, she’s finally off of England time. But we’ve noticed two new problems that smack of an early arrival into toddlerhood.

• All of a sudden, it has become impossible to “transfer” a sleeping L from the car seat into her crib. We used to be able to do this without a peep. Now, however, the very moment we unbuckle her seat, she wakes up and refuses to go down again (no matter how tired she is).
• On some nights—last night included—she has nightmares, and wakes up shrieking like she’s never shrieked before. Eventually, she does calm down and go back to sleep. But to call this development disturbing would be putting it mildly.

Powergirl and I can deal with our own sleep issues. For L’s, however, we need some help.

And so, dear readers, I ask you: Have those of you with children dealt with similar behaviors in your kids? If so, how have you coped? Any input or advice would be appreciated. Thanks in advance for your insight.

And so it is with great excitement this week that I roll out a new strategy: the late-afternoon nap.

I’m not morally opposed to napping; hell, the whole thing seems to work wonders for L. From a practical perspective, however, I’m not expecting the new plan to be easy.

The problem is that I’ve never been much of a napper. All my life, I’ve likened myself to one of those heat lamps in a hotel bathroom; when I wake up for the day, I wind myself up as far as I can go, then keep moving at full-speed until time expires (at which point I “narc” out; as in, “become a narcoleptic”).

Some days, I can manipulate my awakeness with copious amounts of caffeine. Usually, though, I’m vulnerable to my own narcoleptic tendencies; once my internal timer runs out, there’s no way to fight it (this explains the snoozing at the keyboard).

My thinking behind the nap plan is to trick my body into adjusting sleep schedules so I can work later.

If the plan is successful, I should have plenty of energy to watch L all day, snooze for a bit, then launch into work for five to six hours after both L and Powergirl go to sleep. Of course if my plan falters, I’ll be a perpetually cranky mess, and likely will fall behind on most of my deadlines for the month.

Either way, I’m desperate for a change. The work/life equation is out of balance again, and needs realignment. Let’s hope these minor tweaks do the trick.

Last week, the paper ran that article about the impacts of cone-scan technology among pediatric dentists (I blogged about it earlier this week). Since then, the Gray Lady has published two other informative-yet-disturbing articles pertaining to the development of our children.

The first, a technology piece by Matt Richtel, attempts to take a look at the impact of increased screen-time on the way our children’s brains work.

The second, a sports piece by Mark Hyman, chronicles how a number of companies are making sports training videos for children as young as six months. This latter story also notes the degree to which an alarming number of parents are purchasing these videos, intent on turning their toddlers into the next Derek Jeter.

Look, I’m all for conversation pieces. And, by and large, I’d say these pieces present a good example of unbiased, well-reported journalism. My biggest complaints are with Richtel’s piece; sure, it’s got great anecdotes but at no point does it provide readers with a service, the whole “What-can-I-do-to-help-my-kid?” bit.

As a self-proclaimed neurotic, I’d be lying if I told you these latter two stories didn’t make me tweak a bit.

Already, Powergirl and I have been spazzes about the amount of time our L spends in front of a screen (television, computer or otherwise). This story only added to the paranoia. Now it’s clear we’ll also think twice about those My-Gym classes; the minute they become too structured, we’re outta there.

And, really, that’s the bottom line. In theory, I’m not opposed to any of this stuff—cone-scan technology, screen-time or sports training videos. The keys, of course, are moderation and involvement on the part of us parents.

Are there occasions where a cone-scan is inevitable? Yes. Will our kid watch some television over the course of her life? Undoubtedly. Might she take a rock-climbing class? Perhaps.

But the minute this stuff becomes commonplace is the moment Powergirl and I have failed.

Naturally, then, Powergirl and I were freaked by a lengthy and detailed story that ran in The New York Times last week about cone-beam CT scanning technology that many pediatric dentists are using nowadays.

I won’t spoil the entire piece, but the Cliffs Notes version is this: These cone-beam scans can help dentists deal with complex cases, but research indicates that the machines generate way more radiation than is necessary to tackle everyday issues (cavities, etc.) that afflict a vast majority of kids.

What’s more, the piece concludes that these machines are zapping our kids excessively and unnecessarily, at a time when excessive and unnecessary zapping may cause cancer.

The article also suggests that this could be a case of users embracing technology for technology’s sake; though the machines generate three-dimensional images, in many cases there’s no need for anything more sophisticated than a two-dimensional image.

(As a related side note, I’ve wondered why every movie these days has to be in 3D as well. Isn’t high-definition 2D just fine? I digress.)

Anyway, if you’re a parent of a kid with teeth, give the piece a read.

We were in what I like to call the goody aisle; the aisle with all of the cakes, cookies and other assorted fattening treats. At the time, she happened to be walking on her own two feet (as opposed to sitting in the stroller, where she spent part of the visit until the strap broke).

So she did what any other 18-month-old kid would do; she sauntered over to the donut selection, grabbed a box of Entenmann’s powdered minis and started prying.

I was surveying the whole-grain Fig Newtons and managed to intervene just as the kid was about to tear the cover off. She looked at my quizzically. The overbearing, 21st-Century parent kicked in without warning.

“No, you can’t have these, honey,” I said. “They have trans fats.”

As the words left my mouth, I wondered where the hell they came from, and who the heck I was dropping them in a public place. For the first time in a long while (maybe since I bought my wife her Prius for Christmas back in 2007), I felt like a quintessential white and upper middle class Yuppie (this feeling only was compounded by the fact that we were in Target). I hated myself for the rest of the morning.

Upon further reflection, however, maybe I overreacted. I mean, yes, it was absurd to reason with an 18-month-old about trans fats. But the intent behind my comment was spot on: I don’t want my daughter eating that crap or eventually contributing to our nation’s obesity epidemic.

Maybe if I start now, she’ll catch on early and make better choices down the road. Who knows? After years of practice, I might even be able to assail trans fats publicly without feeling lame.

My personal reaction to the list was something along the lines of, “Yeah, duh.” I mean, most healthy parents hear from Day One that they should engage in many of these practices.

Still, there is some controversy.

Read the comments on my pal’s post and you’ll see a number of San Francisco-area readers were perplexed by the inclusion of religion. Don’t get me wrong, I’m the first to question religion. But the point the magazine makes isn’t about a specific faith; it’s about the importance of spiritual or religions development, which I think everyone would wholeheartedly endorse.

Furthermore, with a growing number of Americans weighing in at statistically obese, I think the notion of being “healthy” needs some serious emphasis and/or reconsideration.

In any event, I find lists like this interesting. They’re also good bellwethers; it’s reassuring to know the experts don’t need to meet Powergirl or me to tell us that we’re doing a fine job raising our baby girl.

Never mind I’ve been working crazy hours. Forget, for a moment, that we’re refinancing.

Really, the parachute-sized bags under my eyes (and the Olympus Mons of a zit forming on the right side of my face) are attributable to one being and one being only. Her name is L. Little, little L.

She’s not doing it on purpose; something about the time change has totally screwed with her schedule. Even though we only set our clocks back one hour, L has been getting up two to three hours earlier every day. When she’s up, she’s up for good (also a variation from her usual theme). Oh, and she isn’t napping any longer than usual either.

Curious, right? Powergirl and I certainly think so, and some of my other parent friends report similar realities.

What makes our situation particularly exasperating is that we actively sought to prevent it before our trip to Vegas. All week last week, we kept the baby up longer and later in an attempt to switch her to the new schedule. Before we left, she seemed to be doing great.

Then, of course, this. Ugh.

Needless to say, in college and high school, I remember loving the switch to DST because it meant an extra hour of sleep. My, how times have changed.

That’s precisely why I was heartened to read about the National Wildlife Federation’s “Be Out There” campaign, which urges parents to give their children a one hour of unstructured play outdoors every day.

For some families, getting out can be challenging. That’s why the NWF provided a list of suggestions, including camping, bird-watching, gardening, making leaf-prints and geocaching.

Many of these activities are geared toward older kids; for L, we just get her outside and see what happens. Some days we’ll throw/chase the Frisbee around the park; other days she’ll insist on taking “moneys” from my pocket and tossing them into the fountain in the square. Still other days, all she wants to do is read books in the grass.

Soon enough, probably around her 2-year-old birthday in May, we’ll step up the outdoor-loving game, and spend the night in a tent or get her to “hike” with her own two feet.

So long as we’re outside, I don’t care what we do. I’m betting my daughter won’t, either.

It was ugly, folks. I mean, real ugly. She screamed. She cried. She convulsed on the floor like an epileptic. At one point she even laid on the guilt, pathetically beckoning for her mother to rescue her.

Oddly, the fit was over Motrin. The kid has been battling a cold for a few days. In addition, she’s teething. This morning, she was dealing with the perfect storm of a slight fever, aching incisors and very little sleep (her teeth kept her—and me—awake from 3 to 4:30 a.m.). As soon as she saw the little plunger of medicine, she freaked.

In all, the tantrum lasted ten minutes. Somehow, I managed to 1) prevent her from snapping her spine, 2) protect her from slamming her head into the bookcase and 3) give her the goods.

Another bonus: I didn’t lose my patience or raise my voice once.

In the immediate aftermath of the incident, L’s impersonation of Crazy Baby was more traumatizing for me than it was for her. She snapped back into normalcy within minutes; I handed her over to the nanny, then fled to my office and cried.

Now, upon further reflection, I recognize that these tantrums likely will get worse before they get better, then get bad again during the teen-age years.

For Dad, practice in dealing with them makes perfect, I guess. That and some good brandy.

Previously, the approach involved opening the victim’s airway first, starting mouth-to-mouth breathing and doing chest compressions last. Now, however, the AHA says that cardiopulmonary resuscitation should begin with forceful chest compressions to keep the blood circulating through the body.

Perhaps more important, the AHA says that people who haven’t been trained in CPR need not bother with providing air-passage clearance and mouth-to-mouth breathing at all.

Apparently these decisions are the byproduct of several large studies over the past five years. These studies have found that skipping the first two steps and going straight to chest compressions yields better survival rates for people who suffer cardiac arrest. Experts think that by discouraging the average citizen from giving mouth-to-mouth emergency treatment, more people will be willing to provide CPR to strangers.

Still, as a parent of a young child, I’ve got to ask: Is the new plan best for infants and toddlers who require CPR?

Interestingly, none of the stories on the change report how it potentially could impact CPR for kids. On paper, I suppose, it shouldn’t really make a difference whether the patient is a grown-up or not. Still, I don’t want to risk breaking my daughter’s ribs if I don’t have to.

Also, does this mean I need to get recertified again (re-re-certified?) with the new plan?

Readers, if you see any information about how the new strategy relates to babies, please share. I’ll do the same (perhaps in the form of an article for someone). Thanks.