The author is a late thirty something father and husband who's just trying to be a little better tomorrow than he was yesterday. Yes, he knows he thinks too much.
A quote from one of my favorite movies mentions the smell of napalm and it's allegory in freedom...
"I love the smell of napalm in the morning... It smell's like freedom..."
(Yeah, no sh!t, that's really Robert Duvall...)
A true poet's soul would urge me to ascribe the same feral feeling to the pen or at least the pencil. If you know me I am truly torn between the pen and sword. Fact is, I think you should fight with one and write with the other... Obvious? Sure... just make sure you know what hand holds each... Scribbling on your enemy is not all that effective...
"You want the last word son? Napalm still smells good... now get me another cup 'o Joe..."
Okay... Bob Duvall 2, me, well... none. But I would like to tell you about a better quote... and why it is important to me...
Yeah, that's Bono... this means what I have to say is serious...
Am I bugging ya? I don't mean to bug ya...
I quote my Rosie...
"Mom.... ceilings must feel pretty lonely since no one watches them..."
My daughter had no idea that I had recently mentioned how 'I watched the ceiling' to describe my insomnia...
'Tis a simple thought... but she thought of my friend... the ceiling.
Surrounded by non-sequiters like that, I just have to keep writing...
[Please skip to the bottom and press play on the video, then read along]
To say that raising kids is a learning experience is to state the obvious. To further state that all kids are different, require different parenting styles and react differently to different stimuli, well... that is raising the duh factor to a new level. Kids are themselves learning how to react to the world. Something that scares a child one day might delight them the next. A favorite food which they must eat as often as possible might be deemed "Yucky" without warning and banished from their culinary lexicon. Children are as complicated as they are fascinating, but with time and the proper tools (Patience and Observation to start) they can be easily civilized or at least tamed enough to mix with the general population.
Right?
I mean, hey, that was wisdom! Granted obvious wisdom, but come on, easy as one two three right? End of article... chalk one in the win column. That was what? One paragraph? A couple hundred words? Let's start printing it on diaper packages and we will all sleep a little better at night (or at least have quieter airplane rides). No charge...
But it's not that easy is it? I mean, even if you get your child figured out, learn their triggers, devise appropriate coping strategies and most importantly learn the difference between discipline and punishment... what was that you say? They are the same thing? I beg to differ.
Soap Box Side Note:
Discipline is a tool that teaches accountability and can breed confidence as well as moral fiber. Punishment is well... a show of power manifested as anger; a vain attempt at pay-back for a slight committed... in this case by a child.
From Merriam Webster; Discipline:
"training that corrects, molds, or perfects the mental faculties or moral character"
From Merriam Webster; Punishment:
"suffering, pain, or loss that serves as retribution "
The same? No way, no how.
End Side Note.
So, let's say you've got all your chops down. You can handle crying, you understand that sometimes a child just needs to express the feelings they are still learning about. Unlike us silly adults they haven't learned how to bottle it up and deal with it at the gym, with a glass of wine, on the golf course or through our favorite past time... blame. You pick your battles, you're firm but fair, you keep your word. You teach them to keep theirs. Etc...
There is one variable that you may not have mastered (one that I have not mastered)... Yourself.
As I may may mentioned in passing before, my job requires that I maintain a level of professionalism beyond reproach. At times I must be a hard disciplinarian to wild young men under very stressful situations. At others, counselor, father, protector or dare I say friend is required. I have attained the rank and been given the training to do these things and I enjoy the privilege of having the trust of my superiors to do what is needed to get my job done. I am backed by tradition, history and the honor of those who have gone before me to carry out my duties outside the bounds of written instruction, law or code.
I have remarked before to friends or family, especially those who have seen me on the job that I am a much different person in uniform as "The Chief" than I am in my personal life. I have likened donning my uniform as putting on my "Super Suit". I make no excuses, I do what needs to be done, I make things happen. I wish I could say the same in my personal life. Then again, when I am wearing my uniform people do what they are told. I have of course pondered the partitioning of personality.
Introspection:
I'll be the first person to mention that I am not perfect. I talk a good game, have a pretty good intellectual grasp of right and wrong... it's the application of those lessons that is the hard part.Tonight it was Open House at school. It was just as uncomfortable as usual and I tormented myself over my own behavior until the kids were in bed and the wife and I could debriefeach other on the evening.I thought that I had been a jerk. I thought that I was impatient. I thought that I had failed...
I had spent the entire ride home after dinner (we took separate cars) examining and condensing my feelings into a meaningful mea culpa.
I had worked out a few things, some I already knew... some that I hadn't yet put into words... They were like a puzzle... I had all the pieces, I just hadn't put them together to form a picture yet.
And then the picture was clear...
I don't like crowds
I'm uncomfortable in new social situations
Noise, especially crying and multiple voices aimed at me drive me batty
When I get 'stressed' I get hyper critical
I'm a dramatic needy b!tch
I'm sure that list could go on, I have other sensory issues but they don't impede parenting (I hate dirty hands... for example eating ribs, yeah, yeah, shut up)... but you get the picture. I felt like I had been making good headway on not letting my own feelings and failings impact my children too much... the sins of the father should not in my opinion be status quo for the daughter... But I felt like I failed tonight.
Then I got home and apologized to my wife for my behavior and did a bit of a shrug... and was told.
"I think you did great, much better than in the past, you were fine Honey..."
And suddenly I felt invigorated. Effort pays off. Not instant gratification, not perfection... but "Better than last time..."
Tonight as I sat down before the keyboard intent on writing, I hit that spot I sometimes do when my want of writing is greater than my need for writing. It's times like this that I often lose momentum on a project and end up relegating it the “Visit Later” folder on the hard drive. More often than not those stories and essays languish in the lonesome dregs of the virtual desktop never to be visited again regardless of the title of the folder, almost as if they were a freshly dumped girlfriend whom I just told “Let's be friends”.
Many times when I need to write it is because I have recognized a problem and want to logic out solutions by riffing on the page. I used to write a great deal of poetry. Horrible, overly emotional self indulgent fluff (okay, it wasn't all that bad) but that stopped for the most part when I met my beautiful wife. Oh, I have had resurgences of the poetic muse, but they were when I explored technique and nearly always involved... drinking.
Why? Why did I all but give up poetry as I gave up music and song writing? Easy; because I was no longer sad, no longer wallowing in self pity. Dumb as it may sound, sometimes I'm sad that I'm not sad anymore. I've never had the ego to say that I was good, but god damnit I was prolific! Sometimes I just miss the way the words flowed from my fingers.
So tonight, as I sat here wondering what to write, I thought, well, what's on my mind?
(In no order of importance, Ladies and gentlemen your top ten!)
I'm really digging on the debut album by “Them Crooked Vultures”. ( I mean how does one go about getting John Paul Jones of Led Zep to be your bass player?)
I really enjoyed the grilled Portabellas, squash and Polenta I made for dinner.
My kids are awesome. And a pain in the ass. Sometimes an awesome pain in the ass. And I love them for it.
What's that you say? Really? Number ten? You think so? Hmmmm.... Yeah. I guess besides number five (which doesn't surprise anyone who knows her) it's the only one relevant to this blog. The title of the blog after all is “A Husband and Father” and not “Bored Dude Drinking Wine and spelling Dog backwards”.
So I guess I'll write about their awesomeness and pain in the ass-ness.
The Oldest.... Hmmm... we need new nick-names... We'll call her 'Rosie'. Well, Rosie hit an even 10.0 on the PITA (Pain In The Ass) Scale yesterday. It was just an out and out lousy day behavior wise. Wednesdays are always hard and we may have figured out why. Rosie has (we are finally admitting) some attention issues to go along with her stunning memory, intellect, creativity and ability to just well... figure shit out. Put simply she is a loud wiggle worm. Wednesdays are rough (we figured out) because;
(A) Mom picks her up early from “after school care” to take her to the sitters so she can see her friend. This means that she misses out on that extra recess that let's her get her ya-ya's out.
(B) She goes to Ballet which, though she wants to be a dancer, she just doesn't have the patience for. Add to that that her Ballet Teacher thinks that she is at Julliard and the next recital will be at the Bolshoi, well... Rosie doesn't take well to that level of seriousness... she's six years old damnit.
So the fact is, by the time she gets into our loving-just worked eight hours and am dog tired-arms she has lot's of ya-ya's... Mucho Ya-Ya's... EPIC fricken ya-ya's to get out.
So yesterday she had the privilege to go get frozen yogurt with her friends (Mom Chaperoned) after dance. Let's just say that it did not go well. Ya-yas won over. She had her first ever “Go to your room until bedtime” night. Yes, she was paroled for dinner, but it was a bare bones “eat and don't you dare laugh dinner”. There was crying, there was discussing, there was more crying... and generally, there was crying.
Today, Mom figured out the Ya-Ya connection.
So today (as we often do anyway) we had a family bike ride after work. The route is about four miles round trip over residential, city and then waterfront bike path. It doesn't take too long, today just an hour. Rosie rides her own bike (and today was especially proficient, even experimented with Standing Up and Trying to Pedal) Mom and Dad ride theirs and The Youngest... Hmm... Nick Name... 'Itty Bitty' well... she usually sits in the child seat behing Mom. She's 4 and she is (as her nick name would indicate) little. We are just a about to upgrade Rosie to a larger bike and will re-attach the training wheels and re-gift her old bike to Itty Bitty. In the meantime we have considered getting a “tag along”(the 'half bike' things that connects to the back of a big bike that the kids can peddle but not really control). I digress.
Itty Bitty should be able to get her own ya-ya's out right? Well Dad said (jokingly) that she could chase him by running after him. So, we gave it a try. Now understand something... this kid is little. We can barely force MAYBE a thousand calories into her on a good day... Getting Itty Bitty to eat anything other than cheese, chocolate, yogurt or Pediasure is neither a science nor art... it's a crap shoot.
This little girl ran. She RAN man... She must have run the equivalent of a 5k for her size. Even when she was tired she still wanted to walk and pick flowers. I took a movie of part of it. She was amazing. Just Kept Running. She even had her own little 'kick' (shout out to present or former runners).
It wasn't a perfect night. Dinner and manners and then baths etc were not perfect. But that time on the bikes (and for Itty Bitty; the open road) was awesome. All of those awesome moments, validated by knowing glances between my wife and I, those moments where we acknowledge that “We made these independent miracles before us”, they are what life is... they are why I am happy that I cannot write poetry... The muse can go to hell.
(The author would like to thank his wife, Justin Vineyards, Them Crooked Vultures, The Smiths, Incubus and Outkast for proofreading and the patience to actually link all the things he meant to when he first put fingers to keys)
It’s been three days since the children have seen television and it is beginning to take it’s toll on the family.
Monday –Day one was a big day for the family. The oldest was online with The Program after prompting from Dad. She and Dad got home earlier than Mom and youngest since they were at speech therapy. Together Dad and The Oldest made barbequed chicken breast, rice and Brussels’ Sprouts (not to mention did quite a bit of homework). Dinner went well, lots of laughs and a little time in the living rooms “Fort” (created Sunday night out of blankets and chairs). Additions to regular life; Music, laughs etc.
Tuesday -Day two showed increased symptoms of familial bonding. Upon reaching the house after work and school Dad and the girls played quietly for about an hour. The girls worked on sororal bonding while Dad took a little quiet time before doing minor housework. Mom arrived on time shortly after prepared for the planned bike ride. The family collectively decided to make the one mile journey to the Subway™ at the beach. Shortly after getting under way the family noticed the darkening sky and checked the weather via iPhone while en route. Intelligence was compromised, the internet lied! We finished our sandwiches to find that it was pouring rain (Reports that great fun was had in the ensuing downpour are highly under-exaggerated). Baths and bedtime were unremarkable.
Wednesday -Day three brought the youngest and Dad home earlier as usual following speech therapy. Dinner was begun in earnest while arts and crafts were undertaking following a enthusiastic “Giant Daddy T-Rex” attack on “Little Baby T-Rex” in the still standing Fort. Dinner consisted of Pasta with chicken, broccoli and a Dijon, Shallot, Caper Reduction ready to serve when the oldest and mom arrived home [disclosure: The kids had a Spaghetti Carbonara with carrots on the side though the oldest had chicken] . Following medicinal Hershey’s Dark Chocolate Kisses and a continuance of arts and crafts Mom and Dad divided operations between “Bedtime Routine” and “Clean-Up”.
Casualty Report: The fort was dismantled for laundering.
Executive Summary:
It is the opinion of this operative that “Forced Interaction Plan” is succeeding. The basic inability for resident children to zone out on Scooby Doo coupled with the Father’s lack of “Internet Black Hole” has led to increased laughter, positive endorphins and interpersonal relationship building. A minor increase in domestic organization as well as Maternal Stress Relief should also be noted as having as yet unrealized potential on overall Mission Impact. The Wife should be commended for her plan.
In closing, The Wife has shown great foresight to temporarily ban the great distractor from the household during child rearing hours. Though the immediate implementation of digital media following bedtime continues to entertain it also shows a similar breakdown in communication. The Author supports an extension on the cessation of so-called "Television" during adult orientated hours to further extend the team building exercises into the evening even extending into graduated "bedtime".
Life Happens. Yes, it does. It's the kind of resigned thing I used to say when others realized that I was not living up to what they wanted of me in their lives. It was a simple deflection to take the heat off of me and place it on... Life. Translated it was an easy fatalistic B.S. cop out. Tonight as I sat on the couch thinking of what that phrase meant I did what we all do these days and Googled it. I found little in the way of origin [I'm taking this in a free wheel manner, if it is not obvious, it's not relevant, and if it is not profound then it better be funny.] What I did find was this quote;
Do me a little favor. Read that again for me and think on it a spell. I did. It stopped me dead in my tracks. I didn't just think about it, I chewed on it. I worried it around like a bit of spinach in my teeth. What it made me realize was what I thought of as life was a pipe dream of an ideal of service rendered unto me. Life was the ride that I was on and all those who interacted with me were mere players and supporting cast in my own pleasure / pain bacchanal.
A Dionysian self centered joy ride. Life is not that.
I'm going to be brave for a moment and generalize. Life is that. Life is the ride that each and everyone of us ride, by ourselves into the dark without only the barest touch of another to guide us [some might mention faith, but that is another post...]. The real question is what do you choose to do on your ride? Do you choose to close your eyes and let go of the wheel? Or do you you choose to look around the car and notice the mood, needs, health and welfare of those in the car with you (especially when you are the one driving)?
I decided that Mr. Lennon had hit the nail on the head. I'm going to be brave again and explain in my own words what I think he meant.
"Life becomes the mistakes you'll regret when you indulge yourself and pay no attention to those you claim to love." ~ Me
I realized a while ago that I was running away from my life. Let's break that down and be a little more honest. I was running away from my wife. I was running away from my children. Hell, I was even running away from my dog. What's worse is that I was running away from them and then (finding myself far away and alone) turning around and screaming "Why isn't anyone here for ME!!!?" The silence was deafening.
I've decided to remove myself from the race I've been running against myself. I refuse to run away from those I love. I refuse to require those who love me to follow me down a rabbit hole of self indulgence to the co-dependent morass that I've whined for.
I'm running Toward my life. Toward my wife, my children, and yes, even my dog. And I am doing it with my arms wide open. I may have to circle around a couple of times, but I'll do it. More importantly I'm going to do it without requiring anyone else to change their stride. We will stumble. We will fall. But we will run together.
I'm going to make mistakes tomorrow, and the next day. I have to believe though that at least anticipating those mistakes and being able to count them up afterword is a step in the right direction...
I recently started watching Madmen. I think that what attracts me to the show is the idea that it gives a snapshot of the executive life that existed in the fifties when my father was starting his climb up the corporate ladder. Now, if you are a fan of Madmen then you know that this does not exactly paint a very pretty picture of men in the fifties. Did Ward Cleaver exist? Perhaps. He did not exist in my house, but I digress. I've forgiven my parents for their transgressions a long time ago.
What ties in Madmen and my parents generation [read: style of child rearing] is the irony that while I find the television show entertaining and interesting I abhor the manner in which men are represented as aloof "Men" who are pulling one over on the "weaker" sex. Now I don't buy for a moment that all men were philandering manipulators to the Nth degree but I also know that all men share those basal instincts.
I've never been and never will be a philanderer. A manipulator? Guilty as charged. I am however learning how important control (or in some cases the illusion of control) is to most of us. I've realized that this illusion of control is taking a toll on my oldest daughter [6 yrs] in the silliest of places; Manners...
My daughter is amazing. She is incredibly intelligent. She is the most thoughtful and (more often than not) selfless person I have ever met. Her heart is so full of love that it is constantly overflowing. Her hugs could break ribs and her kisses scream "I love you" and never anything less.
But she is... messy. She is a junior foodie. I say junior because she does not eat beef in any form other that "Hot Dog". She consumes no fish unless it is in "Stick" form (except strangely, shark or smelt roe on sushi). She eats no chicken unless it is a "finger", "nugget" or she helped make it. She eats carrots but little else in the vegetable realm. Rice? Nope. Potatoes? The occasional french fry. Really it comes down to bread, cheese, Caesar Salad and desert (snacks don't count).
I've been trying (does saying you're trying and thinking about trying equate to Trying?) to go easier on her. I ride her to no end. I find one little thing that leads to another and then I have to mention the other thing and explain the one I didn't mention. Before you know it my beautiful, amazing, capable and strong daughter begins to wilt before me. The look in her eyes is that of a person under attack. A person shell shocked, ready to surrender. Water boarding has nothing on me.
Today at breakfast I spent a while making bacon and pancakes. It was fun, it was for them and I loved it. My oldest loves food, she celebrates it and that is OK. I looked over from the after glow of a well cooked meal and the enjoyment that ensues when you get to share it with those you love and I saw my oldest.... sticky fingers, dirty place setting, smeared lips and mouth and not a bit of recognition of those facts. So what did I do? I attacked. Calm voice (like that matters) I let her know just how far short of the mark she falls. It's horrible to think how that felt to her.
See... I'm such a smart and confident MAN I'm in a power struggle with a six year old girl. I've drawn a line in the sand and am standing firm. I will not surrender. She WILL respect me. She WILL listen to me. She WILL do as she is TOLD!!!
Pathetic. Dysfunctional. Idiotic. Abusive. Any of those words cross your mind? I agree. I am all those words.
I don't want to be my dad. I don't want to be Don Draper. I never did [OK, not true... there was a great period of my early manhood that I would have given my right leg to be Don Draper]. I want to be a man who nurtures his daughter, gives her confidence. Teaches her without shaming her; shows her the way without blaming her.
I'm going to make mistakes tomorrow, and the next day. I have to believe though that at least anticipating those mistakes and being able to count them up afterword is a step in the right direction... One might even say good... Manners.
Why? Why add another blog to the roll call of unread bits, bites and blather that inhabit cyberspace? Simple self indulgence, ego and a vague sense of adventure really.
The Wife and I started watching Julie and Julia tonight and paused it within bare minutes of starting to have a bit of a chat. We'd had some friction throughout the day and perhaps week [read: years] over some vague points of contention and felt the urge to pause in our entertainment to discuss it...
Now many might read this as code for "An argument"... and they would be right. To be more accurate though it was a discussion. See, We used to (and will again I am sure) argue, but I have been making a great effort of late to be less passive aggressive and to bring my more emotive points to bare in a less contentious fashion [translation: I'm trying to be less of an asshole].
Guess what? It worked! We were able to get a lot of feelings out on the table; feelings that in the past would have led to huffing, puffing and really just loss of communication rather than consensus. Now, understand that I am not really taking full credit for a meaningful conversation that actually led to resuming and enjoying a movie, drinks and snacks, but in this instance I was able to notice it and bring it to light.
I realized that we both wanted the same thing... We have both often expressed how we needed to be more of a... Team
Yes, a team. That was nothing new. We both new that the other was not supporting our agenda, wants, needs etc. to the point that we needed for true blue fulfillment. We were on the cusp of a complete breakdown in communication that would have led to yet another ruined evening based on selfish and self centered whining (yes, insensitive, but wait, there is more...).
We were both waiting for the other to get on board for the big win and join OUR team, and by our team we mean MY team...
See, the Team is us. Not me and your failings, not you and my shortcomings, but WE.
It dawned on me all in one fell swoop that what we both wanted, both NEEDED was to understand that all we both really wanted was the other to pay attention what was important to the other. Simple? Yes... but often seeing the forest for the trees is harder than it seems.
I need to pay better attention to Her and her needs, what is important to her. I need to pay less attention to my wants, and where they are left behind. Only then will I myself become part of...
