I have to answer that question all the time. In my profession, we leave for the summer and when we return, people we hardly know start every conversation with “So, what did you do this summer?” Normally I answer truthfully, but this year like a few others in my past I answer evasively. I know that this sounds like the beginning of some sordid tale, but relax.
The last time I was evasive, was similar to this time. I don’t like funerals. So when I attend one, I am usually not very interested in talking about it to anyone. The last one I attended was for a fallen soldier, father, brother, and friend. His funeral was horrible and honorable. This year it was for a newborn baby. But this isn’t a story about how horrible the summer was to my family. Its a story of what I did this summer, told in many parts.
My tan is amazing. But more importantly I have definitely put some mileage on my flip-flops this summer. I can’t tell this story from the beginning, it would be too much of a snoozer. I did buy a portable video player that connects to my iPod so that I could show movies in my old car. Why, because I took those kids everywhere. Beach, Busch Gardens, Aquarium, Dolphin petting, trail hiking, swimming with manatees, Disneyworld. I did it all, and many times I did it by myself. In the beginning of the summer, my wife was in training all day for two weeks. So the kids and I went all over the place. Sometimes by ourselves, sometimes with friends.
At one point I got up the nerve to take them over to the Magic Kingdom at Disneyworld. Yup, my three kids solo with me. Once we got there, we actually made it through dozens of rides across two theme parks with a stop for lunch at a resort. It was amazing. Of course, everyone I know thought I was insane, but we did it. The kids had fun, the baby took a nap, and we came back ready for more.
So how does a commando dad like myself top something like that. Well, when I had my brother’s kids, that brought the total up to five. I took them to a lot of places, but the pinnacle came on a rainy day when my wife was suffering a lot of pain. Instead of keeping them at home and making noise I had to get them out. This was definitely a low point of the summer. I did decided to accept the most painful way out and took the troop over to Chuck E Cheese. I figured that the bigger kids could run around on their own, and I could manage those in diapers. Although everyone had fun (let me rephrase, everyone under 4 foot tall had fun) I spent the entire time on damage control.
So when a chance to go to Disney presented itself later in the summer, I jumped on it. Five kids, from 13 down to 2 at Disney. Oh yeah, just me. I could have done something smaller, but I wanted my wife to spend some quality time with her sister. They don’t see each other that often, and my wife is surrounded by my family all the time. So this was the most obvious way to spoil her big time. I can’t help but add that there was something else enticing by this little venture. I looked forward to hearing my wife tell the story to other couples and family. “Yeah, Eric took all the kids to Disney so I could spend some time with my sister.” Oh yeah baby, I would be king.
So with confidence, a loaded backpack, a stubborn and worn stroller, and five excited kids I set out to prove the impossible. I know the Magic Kingdom better than most. Short cuts, line lengths, fast passes, bathroom locations, ride timings. I have it all down to a science. A few checks of the crowd calendar, day time peak line levels, and weather conditions and I was ready.
We arrived at the park shortly after it opened, bought our passes, loaded the baby and the backpack with the essentials and launched our day. The park has roughly 24 attractions of which 5 off limits to this group. So that left us with a sizable number. I had one member who wouldn’t do anything associated with princesses and a couple who only eat one or two items of food. By 3:30 pm that afternoon we had made it through 11 rides and I had the visiting kids asking, “how long do you usually stay here?” It was hot, they were sweaty and had ridden almost everything that they could. Pumped them all full of water and slushies, got them all to eat a big lunch and had shoved snacks down their throats all day. I’m the man, for the next hour they shopped for trinkets as I sat back and played gatekeeper to the cash register. Got on my favorite ride, the parking lot trolly and loaded them back in the van for the, thankfully, long and quite ride home. McDonald’s screwed us in the drive through and the baby did some basic bitchin, but we got back to the house around 8 pm and no one had trouble falling asleep that night.
As I tell everyone who will listen, I had a plan that day, but the truth was I just was willing to see if I could do it. I had as much fun as would be expected, but I was hoping for a little bragging rights. Now of course, I had invited my brother to join me with his own kids. He declined thinking my wife and sister in law were coming. After the day was over, he found out I did it all by myself and recanted, wanted to join me. Truth is, I figured he just wanted to steal my thunder.
You see as a father, I have a chip on my shoulder. I’m out to prove that I can do anything with my kids. I’m tired of seeing dads portrayed as these bumbling fools. Or worse, movies designed to demonstrate that it takes a Navy Seal to deal with a group of kids. I’m hear to show that as a father, I can be more than a Disneyland dad. You see, its not the trips to all these places that was tough, it was the knowledge that the day after the trip, I would still be responsible for them. Meaning, that even though I was able to have unbelievably over the top trips solo with the kids, I wasn’t looking to be rescued the next day. I have a chip on my shoulder. I want to prove that dads can do amazing things too.
Of course now that the summer is over, I wish I had spent some more time on the house, spent more time getting the kids to work in their summer workbooks, spent more time on my business. But now the kids can ride their bikes without training wheels, throw the ball all the way from the pitchers mound to home, swim the length of the pool both directions without stopping, remember to check the gerbil cage for food, say please and thank you (even at age 2), know where the bathrooms are outside of Pirates of the Caribbean, check their toys for recalls, and set up our plot on the beach.
Part of the summer was taken away from my wife and I, but upon reflection, it’s hard to believe how much stuff we packed into the time we had. I was reflecting upon this all while my wife was laying out clothes for the beginning of the school year. Thinking about all the things I hadn’t had a chance to do. Thanking God that I didn’t get everything done. My cup is brimming, and I need to leave something for next summer. Besides, I need to keep telling myself that just because the summer is over, life doesn’t end.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Friday, August 03, 2007
God and Babies
Here I am at a shoot listening to an “expert” discuss how to calm a fussy baby. Of course, having had a couple of babies, its hard to hear someone suggest that there is only one way to and it has to be done just right. My babies ranged from supper easy to supper fussy, and I am very aware of what it takes to calm a baby, most of the time. It is just so hard to hear all these first time moms and a couple dads, giving out their advice. Its funny, I know I was there at one time too, but first time parents really have no idea what they are doing or saying.
Putting it all in perspective, I am doing this on a Friday, but just four days before, I was at my nieces funeral. Kimberly Grace, was born at 5:21 PM on July 19th at 22 weeks gestation. She didn’t survive her surgery to remove a growth that had developed in her lungs and chest. Although terribly hydropic, the baby had appeared to recover from surgery and was showing improvement, but did not survive the first 48 hours.
My brother and his wife are devastated, and I am of little comfort since I can only remind him of why he is so angry. They are currently surviving day by day and are at least enjoying the comforts of their home. It is bad enough to endure what can possibly be described as the most horrible day in any couple’s life, but to do so thousands of miles from home without the support of the people you love and trust, I am sure makes it even more difficult.
We were fortunate enough to dine with my brothers family the other night, and he brought with him, the pictures he took of he, his wife, and Kimberly as they held their daughter and had a chance to say goodbye. It struck me clearly as I looked at the pictures, how simply tragic the whole summer has been for them. I don’t pretend to empathize, since I can scarcely imagine the tortured existence they have lived through, but seeing the looks on their faces and the devastation in their eyes, brings home how tragic the whole thing was.
At the funeral, the priest never tried to explain why God had seen fit to begin a life, only to recall it so quickly. People who don’t believe are quick to point out that as animals, there will always be genetic and developmental problems and that the conception of life is a mere mechanical process. Fertility doctors are no better, suggesting that they can scientifically create and control the entire process. It makes you wonder, if Kimberly had such severe problems detectable from the beginning would those same doctors have suggested using drugs to force her body to maintain the pregnancy even if it was hopeless? They did not use any such measures and were very lucky to have gotten pregnant so easily this time. But, this week I would say that although lucky, it was not good luck.
My brother is a good father, his wife a good mother. They have a warm and inviting home. On the same week that they lost their child, a local mother brought her new born baby to a local firestation and abandoned her. Again, how does the priest explain that it is Gods plan that my brother have such trouble creating a family why others are so quick to discard theirs?
I am not going to let this incident tear down my faith, since I can still see God in the intricate nuances of the universe. Being a scientist myself, I know that the equations and laws we use to describe nature are woefully insufficient that the elegance of it all is not simply happenstance. “God does not throw dice” as Einstein once mused; but a benevolent loving Lord who shepherds us day by day? My sister in law lost a baby on the day of her birth nearly 10 years ago and she denounced God for a long time. Even now, I believe she is still quite angry with His plan.
Watching my brother during the funeral, and listening to the calls of his 18 month old baby daughter as she happily contemplated the serenity of the ceremony; openly mocking the somber mood and tears, I saw how much the recent year of his life had aged him. Although younger, he has endured his adulthood with often more sadness than he should. But again, his daughter, simply smiled and called to those in attendance. She laughed, ate crackers, threw toys, begged to be put down to roam, and sang song. My own, two year old, well behaved as she was, stuffed herself with pretzels, yelled to here her own echo and played pattycake with herself as those around her cried and mourned her cousin whom she will never meet. There was the answer to the priest’s dilemma. There was the missing part of non believers; not the innocence of the babies in the church. That answer is too easy, too cheap. Its something more elusive that the toddlers can teach their parents. They have all encompassing needs wants and desires; most of which they are too immature to even begin to contemplate. They are thrust from place to place day to day yet, they stoically sing their songs, eat their snacks, play their games. They can find happiness in the most tragic of situations. They don’t understand the implications. Time is not linear, there is no future, past. Everything is the present. A baby's mere existence, however short, pained, or happy is punctuated with extremes all in search of intense times of happiness and solace.
God cannot be contemplated by adults without intense study, habitual reflection, and a mature sense of reasoning. But belief doesn’t require contemplation. Toddlers believe in the moment with unparalleled intensity. God requires belief and obediance not understanding. Just as I believe that the Earth will continue in its path around the sun by an intricate set of rules, I believe that those rules must happen this way and this way alone for the universe to continue its elaborate ballet. Belief doesn’t always require me to be happy, agree with events, or understand. God is not malicious, he created the rules and must therefore be bound by them. Imbuing me with free will, necessitates that people can be evil, but tragedies of nature are not the work of evil, they are simply the happenstance of nature.
God will understand if I am mad, will forgive my brother for being mad, will warmly accept the soul of Kimberly into his embrace knowing that even as he sent her to the Earth that she would be recalled under tragic circumstances. His knowledge doesn’t suggest he was a causal part of her death, but that he too is bound by nature. Cheating nature, as he has demonstrated in the past requires a great need on the part of his flock. I just wish that my brother’s need was great enough to warrant a miracle.
Good bye July.
Putting it all in perspective, I am doing this on a Friday, but just four days before, I was at my nieces funeral. Kimberly Grace, was born at 5:21 PM on July 19th at 22 weeks gestation. She didn’t survive her surgery to remove a growth that had developed in her lungs and chest. Although terribly hydropic, the baby had appeared to recover from surgery and was showing improvement, but did not survive the first 48 hours.
My brother and his wife are devastated, and I am of little comfort since I can only remind him of why he is so angry. They are currently surviving day by day and are at least enjoying the comforts of their home. It is bad enough to endure what can possibly be described as the most horrible day in any couple’s life, but to do so thousands of miles from home without the support of the people you love and trust, I am sure makes it even more difficult.
We were fortunate enough to dine with my brothers family the other night, and he brought with him, the pictures he took of he, his wife, and Kimberly as they held their daughter and had a chance to say goodbye. It struck me clearly as I looked at the pictures, how simply tragic the whole summer has been for them. I don’t pretend to empathize, since I can scarcely imagine the tortured existence they have lived through, but seeing the looks on their faces and the devastation in their eyes, brings home how tragic the whole thing was.
At the funeral, the priest never tried to explain why God had seen fit to begin a life, only to recall it so quickly. People who don’t believe are quick to point out that as animals, there will always be genetic and developmental problems and that the conception of life is a mere mechanical process. Fertility doctors are no better, suggesting that they can scientifically create and control the entire process. It makes you wonder, if Kimberly had such severe problems detectable from the beginning would those same doctors have suggested using drugs to force her body to maintain the pregnancy even if it was hopeless? They did not use any such measures and were very lucky to have gotten pregnant so easily this time. But, this week I would say that although lucky, it was not good luck.
My brother is a good father, his wife a good mother. They have a warm and inviting home. On the same week that they lost their child, a local mother brought her new born baby to a local firestation and abandoned her. Again, how does the priest explain that it is Gods plan that my brother have such trouble creating a family why others are so quick to discard theirs?
I am not going to let this incident tear down my faith, since I can still see God in the intricate nuances of the universe. Being a scientist myself, I know that the equations and laws we use to describe nature are woefully insufficient that the elegance of it all is not simply happenstance. “God does not throw dice” as Einstein once mused; but a benevolent loving Lord who shepherds us day by day? My sister in law lost a baby on the day of her birth nearly 10 years ago and she denounced God for a long time. Even now, I believe she is still quite angry with His plan.
Watching my brother during the funeral, and listening to the calls of his 18 month old baby daughter as she happily contemplated the serenity of the ceremony; openly mocking the somber mood and tears, I saw how much the recent year of his life had aged him. Although younger, he has endured his adulthood with often more sadness than he should. But again, his daughter, simply smiled and called to those in attendance. She laughed, ate crackers, threw toys, begged to be put down to roam, and sang song. My own, two year old, well behaved as she was, stuffed herself with pretzels, yelled to here her own echo and played pattycake with herself as those around her cried and mourned her cousin whom she will never meet. There was the answer to the priest’s dilemma. There was the missing part of non believers; not the innocence of the babies in the church. That answer is too easy, too cheap. Its something more elusive that the toddlers can teach their parents. They have all encompassing needs wants and desires; most of which they are too immature to even begin to contemplate. They are thrust from place to place day to day yet, they stoically sing their songs, eat their snacks, play their games. They can find happiness in the most tragic of situations. They don’t understand the implications. Time is not linear, there is no future, past. Everything is the present. A baby's mere existence, however short, pained, or happy is punctuated with extremes all in search of intense times of happiness and solace.
God cannot be contemplated by adults without intense study, habitual reflection, and a mature sense of reasoning. But belief doesn’t require contemplation. Toddlers believe in the moment with unparalleled intensity. God requires belief and obediance not understanding. Just as I believe that the Earth will continue in its path around the sun by an intricate set of rules, I believe that those rules must happen this way and this way alone for the universe to continue its elaborate ballet. Belief doesn’t always require me to be happy, agree with events, or understand. God is not malicious, he created the rules and must therefore be bound by them. Imbuing me with free will, necessitates that people can be evil, but tragedies of nature are not the work of evil, they are simply the happenstance of nature.
God will understand if I am mad, will forgive my brother for being mad, will warmly accept the soul of Kimberly into his embrace knowing that even as he sent her to the Earth that she would be recalled under tragic circumstances. His knowledge doesn’t suggest he was a causal part of her death, but that he too is bound by nature. Cheating nature, as he has demonstrated in the past requires a great need on the part of his flock. I just wish that my brother’s need was great enough to warrant a miracle.
Good bye July.
Friday, July 06, 2007
Ahh Summer
Its the summer. I've been wanting to update this for so long, but just haven't been able to get here. Its tough. You think that no one is really watching, but then life comes crashing down and you wonder, is this a test, is someone there orchestrating all of this, or is this simply a matter of chance.
I always have high hopes for the summer. I always look forward to the opportunity to relax, be with my family, and maybe work on the house. At the same time, I make commitments to others to insure that I get work done, grow my business, make connections, etc... Then, when summer finally gets here, nothing works out like it was supposed to. (Bad grammar, I know, so sue me.) Moreover, since I live in a multigenereational house, I have a great desire to demonstrate that even though I am on vacation, I will accomplish house tasks so that the others who live here will not feel as though I am squandering my summer.
So then let me ask you....
If you knew you had a baby growing inside of you that had major problems and the doctors you counted on were giving you conflicting information, what would you do? It's important to trust your doctors, you need to have faith in their diagnosis, since it is their treatment you must endure if you are to advance towards healing. But if your doctors are in conflict, doesn't that suggest that there may be no healing? Perhaps in a no win situation, you wonder if the most likely outcome is to cause the least harm. People I care about are facing tough decisions in their future, but moreover, I believe that they face these decisions with blinders on.
Of course the truth is we are all blinded. We don't see things as they are, but we see them through our experiences. My daughter looks at everything as it brings happiness to others, while my other daughter looks at these same things as they bring happiness to her. Being a pessimist, I can only see the down side of all choices. Our past experiences shape how we view the world and although our eyes tell us the same things, our impulses, the fundamental connotations are all subjective.
On the bright side, these are the things that make life the most interesting. It is our differing viewpoints that create the intangible intricacies of human existence.
I fear pain. I fear a future with pain. I fear sadness and loss. I fear my brothers future will bring him sadness and loss. Moreover, I fear that although he is holding out hope for the future, he knows that the high road he walks will bring him to a place in life that will be difficult to walk.
As some of you know, I believe that God has brought me here with purpose, and although I came here with a clear understanding of what the purpose was, not two months after moving here, I found that God is not without an ironic sense of humor. So I have spent the past month lifting more weight than I ever thought I could. Exhausted, I was given an even larger burden to shoulder. Maybe I simply want this burden so that I can prove how strong I can be when necessary. Either way, this summer has been difficult. I have learned a few things.
First, being responsible for five children all under the age of eight and two of them in diapers is tough. You know that my last daughter is already a tough nut to crack. So when it became my responsibility to watch my niece, who must be the most easy going baby on the planet, I was presented with an interesting contrast. All this realy showed me is that my youngest daughter can not only reject me when my wife is around, but that she can be made to feel jealousy for the person that on a normal day she would simply offer abject indifference.
ADHD is real. I don't condone the use of drugs for children to make parenting easier (parents can have all they want ;) ) No one wants to admit that their child has problems, but sometimes when the symptoms are so obvious you just want to grab the parent and rub their nose in the evidence.
Five kids and two adults is the absolute maximum that can fit into a minivan and still have room for the stuff you need to keep them all happy.
Daycare teaches one baby how to keep another baby away from her stuff.
If there are three children all playing together in a bedroom, one of them will be crying soon and the other two are both responsible. Five minutes later, another one will be crying while the other two are responsible.
There I did it. I updated by blog with a bunch of random crap that is so nondescript no one will really know what has happened to me this month, but lets just say that June was quick and I fear that July will be even more challenging.
More soon I think.
I always have high hopes for the summer. I always look forward to the opportunity to relax, be with my family, and maybe work on the house. At the same time, I make commitments to others to insure that I get work done, grow my business, make connections, etc... Then, when summer finally gets here, nothing works out like it was supposed to. (Bad grammar, I know, so sue me.) Moreover, since I live in a multigenereational house, I have a great desire to demonstrate that even though I am on vacation, I will accomplish house tasks so that the others who live here will not feel as though I am squandering my summer.
So then let me ask you....
If you knew you had a baby growing inside of you that had major problems and the doctors you counted on were giving you conflicting information, what would you do? It's important to trust your doctors, you need to have faith in their diagnosis, since it is their treatment you must endure if you are to advance towards healing. But if your doctors are in conflict, doesn't that suggest that there may be no healing? Perhaps in a no win situation, you wonder if the most likely outcome is to cause the least harm. People I care about are facing tough decisions in their future, but moreover, I believe that they face these decisions with blinders on.
Of course the truth is we are all blinded. We don't see things as they are, but we see them through our experiences. My daughter looks at everything as it brings happiness to others, while my other daughter looks at these same things as they bring happiness to her. Being a pessimist, I can only see the down side of all choices. Our past experiences shape how we view the world and although our eyes tell us the same things, our impulses, the fundamental connotations are all subjective.
On the bright side, these are the things that make life the most interesting. It is our differing viewpoints that create the intangible intricacies of human existence.
I fear pain. I fear a future with pain. I fear sadness and loss. I fear my brothers future will bring him sadness and loss. Moreover, I fear that although he is holding out hope for the future, he knows that the high road he walks will bring him to a place in life that will be difficult to walk.
As some of you know, I believe that God has brought me here with purpose, and although I came here with a clear understanding of what the purpose was, not two months after moving here, I found that God is not without an ironic sense of humor. So I have spent the past month lifting more weight than I ever thought I could. Exhausted, I was given an even larger burden to shoulder. Maybe I simply want this burden so that I can prove how strong I can be when necessary. Either way, this summer has been difficult. I have learned a few things.
First, being responsible for five children all under the age of eight and two of them in diapers is tough. You know that my last daughter is already a tough nut to crack. So when it became my responsibility to watch my niece, who must be the most easy going baby on the planet, I was presented with an interesting contrast. All this realy showed me is that my youngest daughter can not only reject me when my wife is around, but that she can be made to feel jealousy for the person that on a normal day she would simply offer abject indifference.
ADHD is real. I don't condone the use of drugs for children to make parenting easier (parents can have all they want ;) ) No one wants to admit that their child has problems, but sometimes when the symptoms are so obvious you just want to grab the parent and rub their nose in the evidence.
Five kids and two adults is the absolute maximum that can fit into a minivan and still have room for the stuff you need to keep them all happy.
Daycare teaches one baby how to keep another baby away from her stuff.
If there are three children all playing together in a bedroom, one of them will be crying soon and the other two are both responsible. Five minutes later, another one will be crying while the other two are responsible.
There I did it. I updated by blog with a bunch of random crap that is so nondescript no one will really know what has happened to me this month, but lets just say that June was quick and I fear that July will be even more challenging.
More soon I think.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Fatherhood, Husbandhood
Without Words
I can't fully explain what it takes to be a husband. I used to think it was a natural progression, an evolution, from boyfriend, to cohabitant, to fiance, to husband. That worked for me for many years. I love my wife, she is the most important person in my life and I would gladly sacrifice anything to insure her safety, security, and happiness.
We have had a happy togetherness. Starting in high school we have always been together. I can't say the normal cliches about our relationship. You know; We have been through a lot, we have endured change, we have been through many trials, our love grows sronger each day etc... The truth is, we have been together since high school because we are good friends and have always enjoyed each other's company. This year, in two week we will have been together for 19 years.
So I find myself after nearly 13 years of marriage looking back on this year as our most difficult. We have been through a cross country move, uprooting our careers, our family, leaving our first home and friends to move across the void of the country to Florida. Once here things have not exactly been joyful. Family we saw leave Arizona were not the same once we arrived in Florida. We added to our family an beautiful and challenging surprise (read below for those stories), and have had to restart our careers with less money and less retirement.
So where does that take me now? Since the last baby, she has been different. I am used to changes in my wife. There have been several after she has delivered each baby. As a mother, there is no other person I would trust with my children beyond her. She loves each with tenderness, compassion, and humility. But, I would be remiss in reporting that the babies have not changed her physically, spiritually, emotionaly, and mentally. The third has had the biggest effect on her emotinally and mentally. She would report that physically she has been forever changed, but that matters very little to me. The changes in her body only serve as a reminder of how strong and feminine. (She is still so intoxicating as a woman. She knocks me out.) Somehow, the baby has had a changed her mentally in a way that I find far more difficult.
Every couple mounths it seems she sinks in to a depression. Although there are always triggers; ones that are sometimes within my control, but once she falls down that spiral staircase, there is no way to slow her descent. The reasons for her fall are always legitimate, but I am usually powerless to help her recover once there.
In October, or perhaps November, when she was there last, I realized that I was going to have to rise above my personal feelings of self sacrifice and individual desires to meet her at the bottom to lift her back to being on top. I discovered that my own masculinity required strength I never thought I had. I failed miserably. I argued with her, made my own needs more important and didn't truly hear what she had to say. But once she recovered, I worked very hard to improve, and also to pevent her from once again enduring the conditions that lead her to fall.
This past weekend, due to a couple of small tragedies, the staircase once again found its way to be underoot, and she again fell. Although I tried to catch her before the fall, she slipped from my grasp and when the dispair and crying began, I assumed a position of defense and considered my options for attack. Luckily, I was ble to slow down enough to realize that I needed to rise above.
The True Measure of Man
Masculinity is overrated. Being married, having all daughters, discovering your true value in life, often makes you feel emasculated. But that feeling is for the weak minded. Becoming a real man is less manly than most would give credit. It doesn't require skill on the court, or prowress in the gym. It doesn't require the the ability to shoot a gun or the strength to repell your opponents. It's not the stacks of money or the engine in your car. These cliches don't approach the real meaning. What's worse, I thought I new how to be a real man to my wife. I was wrong.
I always laughed at the idea that men couldn't change diapers or take their kids out on shopping trips. I laughed at the characatures of men on television as the bumbled around the house trying to take car of their kids or required help from strangers when they took their kids out for dinner. I laughed becuase I have always been willing and able to ake my kids out in order to give my wife a night to herself. She might spend that time recreating or doing the laundry. I didn't really care since I was doing what I could to keep the kids out of her hair. But this was all a facade. The truth was, although I was a quite able and adept at taking car of the kids, I failed to really take care of my wife. I believed that by giving my wife time engadge in a bit of peace I was being a good husband. What I missed was that my wife can't heal her wounds by being alone. Marriage is the joinging of two in a bond that creates one flesh. I did't realize that when she was troubled this means I am her legs, eyes, strength, and support. Being vacant and then aloof only serves to reinforce her isolation. To be a real husband and man requires that I see beyond the simple tasks placed before me and address my children's and my wife's needs; no matter how difficult and no matter how troubling.
Kids are easy to handle, handling a houshold is tough. It requires more than strength of character and a will of steel. It requires faith in a higher power and the ability to see your own faults; accept humility and overcome pride. It requires the strength of a million men and piosness of of one. Although a novice, it requires a husband. I am not worthy.
I can't fully explain what it takes to be a husband. I used to think it was a natural progression, an evolution, from boyfriend, to cohabitant, to fiance, to husband. That worked for me for many years. I love my wife, she is the most important person in my life and I would gladly sacrifice anything to insure her safety, security, and happiness.
We have had a happy togetherness. Starting in high school we have always been together. I can't say the normal cliches about our relationship. You know; We have been through a lot, we have endured change, we have been through many trials, our love grows sronger each day etc... The truth is, we have been together since high school because we are good friends and have always enjoyed each other's company. This year, in two week we will have been together for 19 years.
So I find myself after nearly 13 years of marriage looking back on this year as our most difficult. We have been through a cross country move, uprooting our careers, our family, leaving our first home and friends to move across the void of the country to Florida. Once here things have not exactly been joyful. Family we saw leave Arizona were not the same once we arrived in Florida. We added to our family an beautiful and challenging surprise (read below for those stories), and have had to restart our careers with less money and less retirement.
So where does that take me now? Since the last baby, she has been different. I am used to changes in my wife. There have been several after she has delivered each baby. As a mother, there is no other person I would trust with my children beyond her. She loves each with tenderness, compassion, and humility. But, I would be remiss in reporting that the babies have not changed her physically, spiritually, emotionaly, and mentally. The third has had the biggest effect on her emotinally and mentally. She would report that physically she has been forever changed, but that matters very little to me. The changes in her body only serve as a reminder of how strong and feminine. (She is still so intoxicating as a woman. She knocks me out.) Somehow, the baby has had a changed her mentally in a way that I find far more difficult.
Every couple mounths it seems she sinks in to a depression. Although there are always triggers; ones that are sometimes within my control, but once she falls down that spiral staircase, there is no way to slow her descent. The reasons for her fall are always legitimate, but I am usually powerless to help her recover once there.
In October, or perhaps November, when she was there last, I realized that I was going to have to rise above my personal feelings of self sacrifice and individual desires to meet her at the bottom to lift her back to being on top. I discovered that my own masculinity required strength I never thought I had. I failed miserably. I argued with her, made my own needs more important and didn't truly hear what she had to say. But once she recovered, I worked very hard to improve, and also to pevent her from once again enduring the conditions that lead her to fall.
This past weekend, due to a couple of small tragedies, the staircase once again found its way to be underoot, and she again fell. Although I tried to catch her before the fall, she slipped from my grasp and when the dispair and crying began, I assumed a position of defense and considered my options for attack. Luckily, I was ble to slow down enough to realize that I needed to rise above.
The True Measure of Man
Masculinity is overrated. Being married, having all daughters, discovering your true value in life, often makes you feel emasculated. But that feeling is for the weak minded. Becoming a real man is less manly than most would give credit. It doesn't require skill on the court, or prowress in the gym. It doesn't require the the ability to shoot a gun or the strength to repell your opponents. It's not the stacks of money or the engine in your car. These cliches don't approach the real meaning. What's worse, I thought I new how to be a real man to my wife. I was wrong.
I always laughed at the idea that men couldn't change diapers or take their kids out on shopping trips. I laughed at the characatures of men on television as the bumbled around the house trying to take car of their kids or required help from strangers when they took their kids out for dinner. I laughed becuase I have always been willing and able to ake my kids out in order to give my wife a night to herself. She might spend that time recreating or doing the laundry. I didn't really care since I was doing what I could to keep the kids out of her hair. But this was all a facade. The truth was, although I was a quite able and adept at taking car of the kids, I failed to really take care of my wife. I believed that by giving my wife time engadge in a bit of peace I was being a good husband. What I missed was that my wife can't heal her wounds by being alone. Marriage is the joinging of two in a bond that creates one flesh. I did't realize that when she was troubled this means I am her legs, eyes, strength, and support. Being vacant and then aloof only serves to reinforce her isolation. To be a real husband and man requires that I see beyond the simple tasks placed before me and address my children's and my wife's needs; no matter how difficult and no matter how troubling.
Kids are easy to handle, handling a houshold is tough. It requires more than strength of character and a will of steel. It requires faith in a higher power and the ability to see your own faults; accept humility and overcome pride. It requires the strength of a million men and piosness of of one. Although a novice, it requires a husband. I am not worthy.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Main Attraction
"I am the principle character in a world of my own."
I know that sounds not only a bit trite and cliche, but also ego centric. Yet, that idea is something we all share. We are all the main character in our own autobiography, and as since mine is still in it's rough draft, there are still revisions to make and chapters to add. Yet, as I read through the earlier chapters, I am often pained by the thought that I want to revise these earlier sections so that I can bring new things into the current chapter I am writing.
I am always looking for something and seldom finding it. I go to bookstores and buy books I never read. I go to the game store to buy video games I never play. For my business I buy equipment I think I need but seldom use, and I wonder how much of the things I buy from the gocery should have sat on the shelves rather than be consumed absent mindedly as I toil away on the next of my many projects.
I do read magazines. I read them by the gross. I think they are replacing comic books of my youth. The difference is all of them are trying to either show me stuff that other people can do or teach me how to do what other people can do. I read the articles, look at the how-to's and even take some notes, but they seldom make their way into my collective.
So today, on my birthday I ponder what Hugh Heffner said on the radio during my drive. As he spoke to Terry Gross on NPR, he said that at 81 years old, he might be ridiculus, but he lives a life that many envy and few achieve, but further, he said that he was living in a world of his own making. He wears silk pajamas everyday, becuase he can. He lives with three girlfrieds, because he can. Listening to him speak gives you the aura of someone who has not only lived a life seldom seen, but understands that the world of him that we see, is the characture of the life necessary to sell more magazines. Still editor and chief at 81 he still believes that he is showing off the girl next door with class and an air of innocence.
I laughed a little, mostly because it has been a long time since I was sneeking a peak at a playboy hoping my parents wouldn't find out and since the magazines I read today are all technical I thought about his statement, in fact, I turned it into a bumper sticker in my mind. Instead of reading this on the car in front of me, I am slapping this bumper sticker on my car and driving ahead. This is my world. I am the main character. When people read this story this will be the part when the story turns, and you begin to run through the pages with rapid anticipation. In the movie of my life, this will be when the Rocky soundtrack starts playing and the crowed grips the armrest a little tighter.
I sure hope the credits don't roll after that last sentence.
I know that sounds not only a bit trite and cliche, but also ego centric. Yet, that idea is something we all share. We are all the main character in our own autobiography, and as since mine is still in it's rough draft, there are still revisions to make and chapters to add. Yet, as I read through the earlier chapters, I am often pained by the thought that I want to revise these earlier sections so that I can bring new things into the current chapter I am writing.
I am always looking for something and seldom finding it. I go to bookstores and buy books I never read. I go to the game store to buy video games I never play. For my business I buy equipment I think I need but seldom use, and I wonder how much of the things I buy from the gocery should have sat on the shelves rather than be consumed absent mindedly as I toil away on the next of my many projects.
I do read magazines. I read them by the gross. I think they are replacing comic books of my youth. The difference is all of them are trying to either show me stuff that other people can do or teach me how to do what other people can do. I read the articles, look at the how-to's and even take some notes, but they seldom make their way into my collective.
So today, on my birthday I ponder what Hugh Heffner said on the radio during my drive. As he spoke to Terry Gross on NPR, he said that at 81 years old, he might be ridiculus, but he lives a life that many envy and few achieve, but further, he said that he was living in a world of his own making. He wears silk pajamas everyday, becuase he can. He lives with three girlfrieds, because he can. Listening to him speak gives you the aura of someone who has not only lived a life seldom seen, but understands that the world of him that we see, is the characture of the life necessary to sell more magazines. Still editor and chief at 81 he still believes that he is showing off the girl next door with class and an air of innocence.
I laughed a little, mostly because it has been a long time since I was sneeking a peak at a playboy hoping my parents wouldn't find out and since the magazines I read today are all technical I thought about his statement, in fact, I turned it into a bumper sticker in my mind. Instead of reading this on the car in front of me, I am slapping this bumper sticker on my car and driving ahead. This is my world. I am the main character. When people read this story this will be the part when the story turns, and you begin to run through the pages with rapid anticipation. In the movie of my life, this will be when the Rocky soundtrack starts playing and the crowed grips the armrest a little tighter.
I sure hope the credits don't roll after that last sentence.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Things I have learned since becoming a father - reprise
Note from the editor - I am moving posts from my other blogs over to this one. This was originally posted January 5th, 2006, and was taken from something I wrote on my old Justkidding website back in 2002.
After the birth of my second daughter I began a discussion on the things I learned since becoming a father of a daugher. Here is an excerpt:
1. Puke that wasn't my own has been on every part of my body, sometimes without clothes to protect them.
2. My face has been very very very close to poop.
3. I now call it poop.
4. Barbie has flesh colored panties. Ken doesn't.
5. You would be surprised by the diversity, variance, and texture of boogers.
6. Speaking of texture and variance, poop is pretty much an over achiever in that category.
7. The ability to rapid fire spell any word in the dictionary.
8. I can pee while a two year old holds my leg after breaking and entering the bathroom to exclaim, "Good job daddy, you go peepee in the potty."
9. Sometimes, I look forward to going to work on Monday to get some rest.
10. A toddler can run out of the tub and pee on the floor faster than you can chase them.
11. I have had to clean up pee from a feaking doll that pees! Whoever created this doll should know there is a special place in hell reserved for him.
12. The weight limits for diapers refer to the size of kid you put in them and not how much they hold.
13. Children look adorable until the JC Penny camera is pointed at them.
14. If it squishes it can be squeezed between the fingers of an toddler.
15. If prepared correctly a properly vibrated infant can spit up on anyone you wish.
16. The most fasinating toy is the one your child doesn't have.
17. If you pull your childs bed away from the wall, you are guaranteed to find something gree stuck to the wall.
18. It takes a six year old, 30 seconds to put clothes on a Polly Pocket. It takes a father 30 minutes to put clothes on a Polly Pocket. It takes a four year old 2 seconds to loose their mind when they rip the Polly Pocket clothes.
19. Glue doesn't work on Polly Pocket clothes.
20. The only toy that ever gets lost is the one that is your daughter's favorite color.
21. The moment you buy the last Snow White doll, clothes, game, video, etc.. is the moment your daughter embraces Cinderella.
more to come...
After the birth of my second daughter I began a discussion on the things I learned since becoming a father of a daugher. Here is an excerpt:
1. Puke that wasn't my own has been on every part of my body, sometimes without clothes to protect them.
2. My face has been very very very close to poop.
3. I now call it poop.
4. Barbie has flesh colored panties. Ken doesn't.
5. You would be surprised by the diversity, variance, and texture of boogers.
6. Speaking of texture and variance, poop is pretty much an over achiever in that category.
7. The ability to rapid fire spell any word in the dictionary.
8. I can pee while a two year old holds my leg after breaking and entering the bathroom to exclaim, "Good job daddy, you go peepee in the potty."
9. Sometimes, I look forward to going to work on Monday to get some rest.
10. A toddler can run out of the tub and pee on the floor faster than you can chase them.
11. I have had to clean up pee from a feaking doll that pees! Whoever created this doll should know there is a special place in hell reserved for him.
12. The weight limits for diapers refer to the size of kid you put in them and not how much they hold.
13. Children look adorable until the JC Penny camera is pointed at them.
14. If it squishes it can be squeezed between the fingers of an toddler.
15. If prepared correctly a properly vibrated infant can spit up on anyone you wish.
16. The most fasinating toy is the one your child doesn't have.
17. If you pull your childs bed away from the wall, you are guaranteed to find something gree stuck to the wall.
18. It takes a six year old, 30 seconds to put clothes on a Polly Pocket. It takes a father 30 minutes to put clothes on a Polly Pocket. It takes a four year old 2 seconds to loose their mind when they rip the Polly Pocket clothes.
19. Glue doesn't work on Polly Pocket clothes.
20. The only toy that ever gets lost is the one that is your daughter's favorite color.
21. The moment you buy the last Snow White doll, clothes, game, video, etc.. is the moment your daughter embraces Cinderella.
more to come...
Monday, April 16, 2007
Way to go Sport
Well, my oldest had her last practice tonight and tomorrow will be her last game. We sat for two hours to watch her double header on Saturday. The only reason 7 year olds play a double header is because they need to have a make up game. Now understand, my daughter's team is the worst team in the league. Its no fault of theirs. Their coach had never been a coach before and when they had tryouts, the other coaches simple made sure that their teams were fully stocked and whomever was left could fend for themselves. Well, that was my daughter's team.
It's amazing that they have won any games at all. There are only three teams and although ours has several good players, they really have no idea what is going on. Most importantly, they don't really care all that much. Their coach, God bless him, has them all convinced that having fun and trying your best is most important. So at the end of each game, the manager, his wife, reads the "stats" which usually boils down to a couple of force outs and the odd base hit here and there. They all cheer and put their hands in a circle for team spirit.
We parents are convinced that the rules are designed so that the Ravens (the team name) will always loose. No matter what, the rules always favor the opposing team. Last week, a girl was hit from a pitch, she took her base. This week three of our girls were hit, and the ump just brushed them off and told them to get back in the box for the next pitch. One inning, every kid who was below a certain height got to hit on the tee, unless they were on our team and then only a couple of kids who were below a certain age. The next week, when the same team was loosing, everyone who didn't get a hit, got to use the tee during the second inning. Basically, if you are being beat by the Ravens, there has got to be a rule change out there that will shift the tide. Not that it takes much to beat my daughters team.
So they were forced to play a double header the other day, and although our girls were tired, they did a heck of job getting beat. So tonight during our last practice, My daughter, who has been playing catcher for the past couple of games was in the most fortunate position to get assistance from two of the couches. In what can only be described as an Easter miracle, she went from missing every ball that came at her, to stopping every ball that came within 20 feet of her. Its amazing how well she improved with just a little bit of extra attention. I was amazed, proud, excited, and shamed all at the same time.
As a man its hard to watch other men interact with your daughter. I lead a busy life, with my full time job, part time business, and home responsibilities, I don't always get a chance to go out and throw the ball back and forth with my kids. Further, they don't always want to play ball. So when I see other men making such progress coaching my girl, I cringe just a little bit to think that, it should be me who gets her to throw better, catch better, run faster, and play better.
Of course when we do get to practice, I realize that I don't correct her enough. I try to be nice and tell her she is doing great, even when she is doing lousy. I build up her confidence even when she is the pits, and I let her quit when she is more bored than tired.
So it dawns on me, that the reason that every father is not a coach, is that sometimes it takes a different man to get out there and be somewhat more an expert than I for my daughter to stand up and take notice.
And I am thinking all of this as I leap from my seat to grab and comfort her after the coach lets her pitch for the first time and she gets belted in the head with a throw.
Oh well, way to go coach!
It's amazing that they have won any games at all. There are only three teams and although ours has several good players, they really have no idea what is going on. Most importantly, they don't really care all that much. Their coach, God bless him, has them all convinced that having fun and trying your best is most important. So at the end of each game, the manager, his wife, reads the "stats" which usually boils down to a couple of force outs and the odd base hit here and there. They all cheer and put their hands in a circle for team spirit.
We parents are convinced that the rules are designed so that the Ravens (the team name) will always loose. No matter what, the rules always favor the opposing team. Last week, a girl was hit from a pitch, she took her base. This week three of our girls were hit, and the ump just brushed them off and told them to get back in the box for the next pitch. One inning, every kid who was below a certain height got to hit on the tee, unless they were on our team and then only a couple of kids who were below a certain age. The next week, when the same team was loosing, everyone who didn't get a hit, got to use the tee during the second inning. Basically, if you are being beat by the Ravens, there has got to be a rule change out there that will shift the tide. Not that it takes much to beat my daughters team.
So they were forced to play a double header the other day, and although our girls were tired, they did a heck of job getting beat. So tonight during our last practice, My daughter, who has been playing catcher for the past couple of games was in the most fortunate position to get assistance from two of the couches. In what can only be described as an Easter miracle, she went from missing every ball that came at her, to stopping every ball that came within 20 feet of her. Its amazing how well she improved with just a little bit of extra attention. I was amazed, proud, excited, and shamed all at the same time.
As a man its hard to watch other men interact with your daughter. I lead a busy life, with my full time job, part time business, and home responsibilities, I don't always get a chance to go out and throw the ball back and forth with my kids. Further, they don't always want to play ball. So when I see other men making such progress coaching my girl, I cringe just a little bit to think that, it should be me who gets her to throw better, catch better, run faster, and play better.
Of course when we do get to practice, I realize that I don't correct her enough. I try to be nice and tell her she is doing great, even when she is doing lousy. I build up her confidence even when she is the pits, and I let her quit when she is more bored than tired.
So it dawns on me, that the reason that every father is not a coach, is that sometimes it takes a different man to get out there and be somewhat more an expert than I for my daughter to stand up and take notice.
And I am thinking all of this as I leap from my seat to grab and comfort her after the coach lets her pitch for the first time and she gets belted in the head with a throw.
Oh well, way to go coach!
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
My Daugther Hates Me and She Doesn't Even Know Me
So I have come up with the title for my new book. "My Daughter Hates Me and She Doesn't Even Know Me!"
I know it sounds a bit too much but it's true. I have numerous stories, but it's not the stories that are so sad. It's the fact that they are all true, and that there is no easy way out. So, although I am a recovering Catholic, as I come upon the Lenten season I was thinking that instead of giving up something and being smug about it to everyone I know, I would just quietly try to figure out my daughter and try to come to grips with her sincere desire for me to leave.
Oh, by the way, my daughter is 19 months old. Yeah 19 months. I know what you are think'n. Just wait till she's a teenager. Just wait till she goes to college. Just wait till she gets her third nipple ring. that stuff is child's play. She's 19 months old and I have no idea what she's thinking. (edit - in the original version I say, "I have no fucking idea what she's thinking." I wanted to clean it up, but once you meet my daughter you'll understand.)
So to give you a bit of incite, let me take you back a couple of days. I wanted to have a little date with my girls. I have three. You know, give my wife a chance to be by herself and give me a chance to hear from all the people who see me out with them. "Boy you got your hands full." "Three girls, boy those weddings are going to be expensive." "Where's the boy?" I usually reply with things like. "If you'd just open that damn door I wouldn't be having a problem." Or "You mean two weddings and one life joining ceremony." Or "Up your ass." Anyways, I was out with my girls. My plan was a little lunch, a trip to the toy store, Coffee, hot cocoa, and soy milk at the bookstore, and maybe a trip to get everyone a new pair of shoes. Especially me. If you ask my wife she will tell you I dress in rags and could use a new pair of shoes. Bringing the girls just means they get a chance for a new pair of shoes too. I have girls, they start wanting every pair of shoes on the planet from birth.
Anyways, at the toy store my youngest finds a penguin doll from Happy Feet and decides that sucking its beak will be the highlight of her day. So she picks it up and starts carrying it around. I have decided that we no longer need to buy toys for her. We really just need to rent toys. For the past year, she has picked up toys and shown a complete attachment to them until the moment that my debt card slides through the slot and my pin number has been keyed in. Then the toy gets tossed like a diahria diaper. So my wife and I buy toys but don't unwrap them until it appears they will actually be played with. We keep the receipt and as soon as she is done with them we high tail it to the store and refund it. In fact a plush Eeyore doll sits in a bag waiting for our next trip to Disney to be returned from our last trip.
Clinging to this penguin like grim death we proceed to the bookstore. After selecting a couple of books, we make our way to the coffee shop to set up a base camp and share the books while sucking our drinks. So far the morning has been great, but at this point, getting the youngest to stay in her seat is somewhat like giving a cat a bath. Unfortunately, I am about to make a major error. As she sits in the highchair, she wants her penguin. Now we had to squeeze into this table around a gravitationally challenged group of twentysomethings, sucking too much of my air and making their chairs really earn their pay. So when my daughter let out her air raid siren like roar, all of their plump faces turn towards me, and while their many flaps come to rest, it occurs to me that my daughter can't both hold her penguin and sit in the chair. See the penguin is still in its packaging. It came attached to a small cardboard platform that holds it up when set on the floor. She is trying to hold it next to her in the highchair but the platform gets in the way. To make her happy, I grab the doll and pull off the platform.
Now I don't know what made me do it. I didn't want to do it. But apparently God is testing me, so in response to my helpfulness, my daughter demonstrated that her previous demonic crys were merely a soundcheck for what she is truly capable of. As the ceiling tiles began to rattle and fall from the roof I casually see one of the weeble's head explode. So realizing that I could just grab the kids and leave I decide that, I can take this screaming and there is no reason my other daughters should be punished because their baby sister is psychotic, so I get everyone up and head to the check-out line.
Lucky for me today is training day at the ol' Barnes and Noble so the line is 5 or 6 people deep and is moving slowly. I'm holding my girl under my arm like a football wishing I could pass her up the field. Every time I hold up her penguin trying to calm her she screams in a new octave and bats it away. She wrything in my arms and bucking like a prize steer. Bull riders should try holding her for 8 seconds. They'd come to appreciate the bulls they ride. Anyways after the 8th time of her batting the penguin to the floor I look over at my two older girls who have their hands clamped firmly over their ears and I command one of them to pick up the damn penguin. They do and I grab the cardboard base move up one position in line and place the penguin on the base and hold it in front of the baby.
For a moment she quiets and looks at it with hope. She grabs its arms and goes to suck its beak. She realizes that it comes loose of the base and with a new found energy lets loose a sound that makes me think Satan is opening up the ground around me. She bats the cardboard base from my hand, and as I make to pick it up she starts pinching my arms between her fingers. People from the back of the store are coming to the front to watch the spectacle and people around me in line are looking at me with that, "can't you shut her up you amature father" look in their eyes. I look back with my "mind your own fucking business and if you really wanted to help you'd let me pass you in line" look.
Finally after an eternity, I make my way to the register. Now why is it when a father can't calm down his baby the bitch behind the counter with no kids thinks that if she talks cute and asks questions like "What wong widdle baby?" that the screaming fog horn will suddenly be like the cute babys in the pampers commercials? I cut her off and shove the books from the other kids in her hands. She starts off with asking me if I have a discount card and if not would I be interested in saving 10 percent. And with a voice three octaves lower than necessary I kindly ask her to ring up the damn books before I drop the bucking baby in my arms. Of course my first debt card suddenly doesn't work, so I break out another.
Finally I get the receipt and head to the car. After getting her strapped in, I remember that it is the Lenten season and come to realize that this time, her fit is actually my fault. I held up her precious toy the one that came with the cool base so the penguin could stand up and give her a kiss; and with a smile I ripped the base off the penguin and casually threw the base to the floor. The only way to remedy this mistake is to either drive my van off the nearest cliff; but since cliffs are scarce in Florida, and since I don't think my insurance will cover it, I decide to return to the toy store.
I get everyone out of the car and walk to the counter. I explain, that I need a new penguin. The red faced baby in my arms at this point, is dripping from every open orifice on her head. The seasoned vet behind the counter doesn't ask too many questions and suggests I go get a new one.
I speed walk to the back of the store and plop her down less then gently in front of the display. She walks up and grabs a Mumble off the shelf and for a moment the silence is so deafening that my ears are ringing. I scoop her up and take her back to the customer desk. There is a new face there and I explain that I need to exchange the new penguin for the one I bought an hour ago. She looks at the new penguin and then turns to the old and asks, "Is there something wrong with the old one?" Knowing that I could never fully explain it, I grab the old one and set it in its base, then pry Mumble from the baby and place it on the counter in front of her. She looks from one to the other then with a determined look pushes both dolls. After seeing one of them fall of their base she lets out a blood curdling scream and in one fluid motion she launches it and its base from the counter and scoops up Mumble.
The stunned clerk simply holds out the old receipt which I carefully tuck into my pocket. You never know how long she will actually play with the damn thing. With a now pacified baby I turn on my heals and head out the entrance door without looking back, bigger girls in tow.
I know it sounds a bit too much but it's true. I have numerous stories, but it's not the stories that are so sad. It's the fact that they are all true, and that there is no easy way out. So, although I am a recovering Catholic, as I come upon the Lenten season I was thinking that instead of giving up something and being smug about it to everyone I know, I would just quietly try to figure out my daughter and try to come to grips with her sincere desire for me to leave.
Oh, by the way, my daughter is 19 months old. Yeah 19 months. I know what you are think'n. Just wait till she's a teenager. Just wait till she goes to college. Just wait till she gets her third nipple ring. that stuff is child's play. She's 19 months old and I have no idea what she's thinking. (edit - in the original version I say, "I have no fucking idea what she's thinking." I wanted to clean it up, but once you meet my daughter you'll understand.)
So to give you a bit of incite, let me take you back a couple of days. I wanted to have a little date with my girls. I have three. You know, give my wife a chance to be by herself and give me a chance to hear from all the people who see me out with them. "Boy you got your hands full." "Three girls, boy those weddings are going to be expensive." "Where's the boy?" I usually reply with things like. "If you'd just open that damn door I wouldn't be having a problem." Or "You mean two weddings and one life joining ceremony." Or "Up your ass." Anyways, I was out with my girls. My plan was a little lunch, a trip to the toy store, Coffee, hot cocoa, and soy milk at the bookstore, and maybe a trip to get everyone a new pair of shoes. Especially me. If you ask my wife she will tell you I dress in rags and could use a new pair of shoes. Bringing the girls just means they get a chance for a new pair of shoes too. I have girls, they start wanting every pair of shoes on the planet from birth.
Anyways, at the toy store my youngest finds a penguin doll from Happy Feet and decides that sucking its beak will be the highlight of her day. So she picks it up and starts carrying it around. I have decided that we no longer need to buy toys for her. We really just need to rent toys. For the past year, she has picked up toys and shown a complete attachment to them until the moment that my debt card slides through the slot and my pin number has been keyed in. Then the toy gets tossed like a diahria diaper. So my wife and I buy toys but don't unwrap them until it appears they will actually be played with. We keep the receipt and as soon as she is done with them we high tail it to the store and refund it. In fact a plush Eeyore doll sits in a bag waiting for our next trip to Disney to be returned from our last trip.
Clinging to this penguin like grim death we proceed to the bookstore. After selecting a couple of books, we make our way to the coffee shop to set up a base camp and share the books while sucking our drinks. So far the morning has been great, but at this point, getting the youngest to stay in her seat is somewhat like giving a cat a bath. Unfortunately, I am about to make a major error. As she sits in the highchair, she wants her penguin. Now we had to squeeze into this table around a gravitationally challenged group of twentysomethings, sucking too much of my air and making their chairs really earn their pay. So when my daughter let out her air raid siren like roar, all of their plump faces turn towards me, and while their many flaps come to rest, it occurs to me that my daughter can't both hold her penguin and sit in the chair. See the penguin is still in its packaging. It came attached to a small cardboard platform that holds it up when set on the floor. She is trying to hold it next to her in the highchair but the platform gets in the way. To make her happy, I grab the doll and pull off the platform.
Now I don't know what made me do it. I didn't want to do it. But apparently God is testing me, so in response to my helpfulness, my daughter demonstrated that her previous demonic crys were merely a soundcheck for what she is truly capable of. As the ceiling tiles began to rattle and fall from the roof I casually see one of the weeble's head explode. So realizing that I could just grab the kids and leave I decide that, I can take this screaming and there is no reason my other daughters should be punished because their baby sister is psychotic, so I get everyone up and head to the check-out line.
Lucky for me today is training day at the ol' Barnes and Noble so the line is 5 or 6 people deep and is moving slowly. I'm holding my girl under my arm like a football wishing I could pass her up the field. Every time I hold up her penguin trying to calm her she screams in a new octave and bats it away. She wrything in my arms and bucking like a prize steer. Bull riders should try holding her for 8 seconds. They'd come to appreciate the bulls they ride. Anyways after the 8th time of her batting the penguin to the floor I look over at my two older girls who have their hands clamped firmly over their ears and I command one of them to pick up the damn penguin. They do and I grab the cardboard base move up one position in line and place the penguin on the base and hold it in front of the baby.
For a moment she quiets and looks at it with hope. She grabs its arms and goes to suck its beak. She realizes that it comes loose of the base and with a new found energy lets loose a sound that makes me think Satan is opening up the ground around me. She bats the cardboard base from my hand, and as I make to pick it up she starts pinching my arms between her fingers. People from the back of the store are coming to the front to watch the spectacle and people around me in line are looking at me with that, "can't you shut her up you amature father" look in their eyes. I look back with my "mind your own fucking business and if you really wanted to help you'd let me pass you in line" look.
Finally after an eternity, I make my way to the register. Now why is it when a father can't calm down his baby the bitch behind the counter with no kids thinks that if she talks cute and asks questions like "What wong widdle baby?" that the screaming fog horn will suddenly be like the cute babys in the pampers commercials? I cut her off and shove the books from the other kids in her hands. She starts off with asking me if I have a discount card and if not would I be interested in saving 10 percent. And with a voice three octaves lower than necessary I kindly ask her to ring up the damn books before I drop the bucking baby in my arms. Of course my first debt card suddenly doesn't work, so I break out another.
Finally I get the receipt and head to the car. After getting her strapped in, I remember that it is the Lenten season and come to realize that this time, her fit is actually my fault. I held up her precious toy the one that came with the cool base so the penguin could stand up and give her a kiss; and with a smile I ripped the base off the penguin and casually threw the base to the floor. The only way to remedy this mistake is to either drive my van off the nearest cliff; but since cliffs are scarce in Florida, and since I don't think my insurance will cover it, I decide to return to the toy store.
I get everyone out of the car and walk to the counter. I explain, that I need a new penguin. The red faced baby in my arms at this point, is dripping from every open orifice on her head. The seasoned vet behind the counter doesn't ask too many questions and suggests I go get a new one.
I speed walk to the back of the store and plop her down less then gently in front of the display. She walks up and grabs a Mumble off the shelf and for a moment the silence is so deafening that my ears are ringing. I scoop her up and take her back to the customer desk. There is a new face there and I explain that I need to exchange the new penguin for the one I bought an hour ago. She looks at the new penguin and then turns to the old and asks, "Is there something wrong with the old one?" Knowing that I could never fully explain it, I grab the old one and set it in its base, then pry Mumble from the baby and place it on the counter in front of her. She looks from one to the other then with a determined look pushes both dolls. After seeing one of them fall of their base she lets out a blood curdling scream and in one fluid motion she launches it and its base from the counter and scoops up Mumble.
The stunned clerk simply holds out the old receipt which I carefully tuck into my pocket. You never know how long she will actually play with the damn thing. With a now pacified baby I turn on my heals and head out the entrance door without looking back, bigger girls in tow.
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