Having 5 kids means I get a lot of "I don't know how you do it" or variations thereof. My typical response is that "my life will never be dull." 5 kids means five constantly moving parts, and even when you think you've covered all your bases and planned all contingencies, that's when life gives you something to ensure a lack of dullness.
Back in late January of last year, my sister got married. I was honored to be one of the Groomsmen, and she also asked if my oldest two boys (8 and 6) would bring up the gifts during the ceremony. My family is Catholic, and she opted to have a full Mass with the wedding ceremony. Bringing up the gifts during a Catholic Mass is pretty simple:
1) Go to the back of the Church at the appropriate time.
2) Have someone hand you something to bring to the altar.
3) Bring said "thing" to the altar.
4) Return to seat.
My boys are smart, responsible kids, and I had full confidence that this wouldn't be a problem.
Now I should point out two things before continuing on. The first is that during this particular January, blizzard warnings were in effect. The second is that my sister opted to get married in an old, historic church in downtown Philadelphia where she had lived the last 10+ years. A beautiful old church that was about 5-10 minute walk from the hotel we were staying at.
Ok, one additional piece of information is that there was SOMETHING else going on in Philadelphia that day. I couldn't tell you what it was, but it turned traffic in center city Philly into a nightmare. My wife (5 months pregnant with our 5th child) was driving the 4 boys to Philly and was caught in the traffic jam that surrounded the venue. I had gotten into town the night before for the rehearsal dinner, but we thought it would be best if she brought the boys down the day of. Now, my wife is not familiar with Philly, the GPS wasn't helping, and we were in the "Taking Pictures" part of the pre-wedding festivities so things were a bit chaotic. Full respect is due to my now Brother-in-Law who took time out from his own wedding pictures to try and talk my wife into the hotel parking lot. Long story short, she made it to the church with the kids just about the same time the ceremony was supposed to start and sat in the back of the church with my youngest (2 1/2 year old) son. The others sat in the second row of the Bride's side with Grandma and Grandpa.
Being a Groomsman, during the ceremony I sat in the front row of the Groom's side and did my job by trying to look respectable in a tux, and otherwise simply try to not screw anything up. As the time approached to bring up the gifts, it occurred to me that my parents were probably wrapped up in watching their little girl get married, and that no one was thinking about directing my boys regarding the previously described steps 1-4. I discreetly slid to the end of my pew, walked all the way around the back of the church, and back up the opposite side of the church so I could wave my oldest 2 to come with me for the presentation of the gifts. My 3rd son (5 at the time), wanting to know where his brothers were going and emphatically whispered "I want to go too!" He was dressed up and also well behaved. Why not? As I ushered the 3 kids to the back of the church, my wife smiled at us just as youngest, seeing all of us obviously getting ready to do something, started getting upset "ME too!" I quickly picked him up, and handed the gifts to the oldest two just in time to process down the main aisle to the altar. Admittedly, it was a pretty cool sight (and my sister later told me it was the only time she cried during the ceremony): My oldest two looking serene and holding the Eucharist and wine leading the way with me holding my youngest son (#4) in my arms and the 5-year old's (#3) hand following behind them.
What she didn't know was that halfway down the aisle, #3 tugged on my hand and whispered, (yup, you guessed it) "Dad, I have to use the bathroom." I whispered back asking "can you wait a few minutes." He gave me a very serious nod back and we continued our trek to the altar.
The gifts now delivered, I walked the oldest 2 back to Grandma and Grandpa, dropped the little guy off with mom and whispered I was taking #3 to the bathroom. One minor detail: Remember how I mentioned it was a beautiful OLD church. Well, the only lavatory facility in the building was in the Sacristy, which is located behind, and only accessible via, the altar. Ugh. I quickly brought my son downstairs to the chapel area to see if there was another restroom anywhere down there. No luck. There was only one place I KNEW I could find a restroom: The Hotel. I walked outside the church just in time for the snow to start falling, picked up my son telling him "Hold on!" and started to run. I sprinted back to the hotel a few blocks away and made a bee-line for the restrooms in the lobby.
Thankfully, my son concluded his business quickly and after a quick hand washing, was back in my arms sprinting back to the church. Now I can only imagine what I looked like sprinting down the streets of Philadelphia, in snow flurries, wearing a tuxedo, son in my arms, boutineer petals flying in my wake. Halfway back to the church, as I dodged around a hot pretzel cart, someone from an upper storied of a building I passed yelled out "Dude! You look EPIC!"
I returned to the church and deposited my now-empty son next to my wife who gave me a quizzical look likely due to the time I was gone and the fact that I panting and sweating like Secratariat after the Kentucky Derby. I just smiled at her and tried to discreetly walk back down a side aisle to the front of the church for the remainder of the wedding ceremony (I apparently hadn't missed anything requiring a Groomsman). As I finally sat back down, another Groomsman looked at me, streaming sweat, leaned over and asked "You OK, what happened?" Me: "Took my son to the bathroom" Him: "There are no bathrooms in the church." Me: "Yeah. I know."
My sister's wedding was beautiful, but I have to admit that as the years go by I'll likely remember presenting the gifts with my 4 boys, and being labeled as "EPIC" in the City of Brotherly Love.
Inform me of new postings!
Posts
Sunday, May 7, 2017
Monday, October 5, 2015
Timing is everything...
Talk about great timing. 2 months before my daughter was born, my company instituted a "Paternity Leave" policy. Two weeks of paid vacation for "caring for your loved ones and bonding with the new baby." I should probably set a few people straight before continuing. Anyone with kids who reads "vacation" in the previous sentence knowing there is a kid on the way and siblings to take care of knows that this is a gross misconception. There may be 14 calendar days where I'm not required to sit at my work desk, but there's not a minute of that time that will constitute "vacation." That being said, 14 days of not having to worry about meetings and deadlines so I can take care of my wife, daughter and sons couldn't come at a better time.
That was about the only thing that was well timed.
So on May 12th of this year, I found myself in the pool at our gym with my 3 oldest boys. Anticipating the birth of #5, and the potential disruption to summer plans, my wife suggested that instead of coming right home after swim lessons, I take the opportunity for some Daddy-Kid time after lessons. Being a work-at-home dad, I usually would just take the kids to lessons then set up shop in a relatively quiet area and keep working then come straight home afterwards. Compared to my house after school, an indoor pool during kiddie swim lessons can sometimes be considered a quiet work environment. However, with the summer schedule up in the air, some quality time with the boys was a good idea. Besides, by the time lessons were done, the work day was about done so the timing was perfect. Of course, the one draw back of being IN the pool as opposed to BY the pool meant that I wasn't carrying my cell phone, nor could I hear it if it rang. So imagine my surprise when I'm toweling the kids off at 5:50 PM and strange man walks up to me and asks my name, then proceeds to tell me "Your wife has been trying to contact you." Uh Oh. I speed dial the house phone line while making a mental note that I'm leaving with the same number of kids that I arrived with (hopefully the same ones) only to hear "Where have you been? I've been trying to contact you for over an hour! I'm having contractions!"
20 minutes later, I'm stuck in rush hour traffic going nowhere fast when my phone rings again. I answered (my phone is Blue-toothed into my car so I wasn't doing anything illegal) only to hear "Where ARE you? My water just broke!" I explained that I was a mile from home, stuck in traffic and doing everything possible to get home fast. Of course, being that the conversation was held via the car's speaker system, my 5-year-old proceeds to ask "What happened to Mommy's water?" Trying to explain the function of amniotic fluid and it's potential hi jinx during labor was not something I was mentally ready to do at this particular time. I think I did a pretty good job translating it to preschoolese with the main message being: The baby is coming NOW and we're stuck in traffic. Grasping the urgency of the situation, he then noted "The gorilla button sure would come in handy right now." (In previous rush-hour traffic situations, he has conceptualized a standard feature for our minivan which includes a button on the driver's console that, when pushed, releases a thousand-pound gorilla from the roof of the car that will proceed to push all other cars out of the way so we could keep going.) Smart kid. I agreed with him whole heartedly.
By 6:20 we reached home (90 minutes since contractions began, henceforth known as C+90), I practically ejected the kids from the car and ran inside to grab all the bags we'd need for the next 2 days. At this point I had 2 conflicting thoughts running through my head. 1) I need to get my wife to the hospital and there's still rush hour traffic out there and 2) all 4 previous deliveries were 8+ hour affairs. If history were any indication, we had PLENTY of time. It's important to note that the hospital is 40 minutes away from where we live. No, it's not the closest hospital, but it is THE hospital where all of our other children were delivered and the place my wife felt most comfortable. I did, at one point, request that she consider a closer hospital, which she did pretty much to humor me, but it was a foregone conclusion that when the time came we'd be making the trek out to the other hospital. Point being: While I wasn't happy about a potentially delayed trip due to traffic, I was banking on another long haul to the finish line keeping me calm.
6:40(ish) (C+1hour and 50) ~20 minutes and about halfway to the hospital, it occurs to me (via my grumbling stomach) that I haven't eaten since breakfast, and if history was any indicator, I'd be by her side for the next 5-6 hours without so much as a tic-tac to tide me over. (I was later informed that a tic-tac would have been awesome since my breath was kickin'. Something for all you future Lamaze coaches out there to remember) I also knew that being a HUGE proponent of the epidural, my wife was going to want to get drugged up ASAP at which point they don't let the mother eat anything until after the initial recovery. So with nothing but the best intentions in mind, (and knowing there was a Sonic Burger right across from the hospital) I floated the idea that we hit a drive through before running into the hospital. Having full veto authority as the woman in labor, she shot down that idea post-haste. A few silent minutes later, again allowing my altruistic nature to shine, I gently reminded her that once we were at the hospital, she wouldn't be allowed to eat anything and 5 minutes in a drive-through might be wise in the long run. OK, I know. I win the award for the biggest Jackass of the year by mentioning it a second time. In my (lame) defense, I had been through this 4 times before, and each time she did complain about being really hungry as we waited through the 8-hour post-epidural labor marathon ( it had NOTHING to do with the fact that Sonic makes an awesome burger and shake and I'd been thinking about it for over a week. She came home a week earlier from an OB appointment at the hospital with a shake cup in hand "Guess what just opened up across from the hospital!"). She put the situation in perspective quite succinctly: "How about we not delay the pregnant woman her pain meds any more than absolutely necessary?"
Seriously though, I have to say that hunger aside, my perspective up to that point had been colored by 2 things: 1) We HAD done this four times already and I did feel like we were going to be a while once we got to the hospital and 2) my wife was a freakin' Rockstar. This second point should be emphasized. While I could hear her doing her Lamaze breathing in the passenger seat, up to that point she didn't complain once about any pain. She was timing the contractions, but at no point let on how much she might have been hurting. While internally, there may have been a lot of fear, anger, pain, etc, externally she was pretty much cool as a cucumber. Her statement grounded me and my unintentionally cavalier attitude towards yet another delivery corrected itself into "Holy crap, my wife needs help STAT!"
7PM (C+2 hours 10 min) we pull into the parking lot of the hospital. Despite being told that "they are waiting for us at the hospital" the place was a ghost town. Some ridiculous part of my mind was picturing an orderly with a wheelchair and a highly professional and attentive nurse anxiously awaiting our arrival ready to whisk her to the maternity ward. Nope. We were on our own. I'll skip the details, but I eventually got my wife to the maternity ward and checked in, and the nurses immediately began the I.V. drip and preliminary blood work required for an epidural. The results came in just as we were informed that the anesthesiologist was called into another patient but would be with us as soon as possible. Awesome. My wife was at 5+ centimeters by 7:30 and REALLY looking forward to the drugs. So we waited, holding hands, breathing, watching the clock, and not-so-subtly indicating that perhaps we could shut the door to the room to drown out the shrieking of the woman in the next delivery room. I've found it interesting that all TV and movie depictions of labor involve a lot of screaming by the mother in labor. My wife didn't scream through any of our children's births. Honestly I'm not sure where she would have gotten the breath to be able to. The woman one room over, however, different story.
8PM (C+3 hours ten) we are told the anesthesiologist is on his way. Unfortunately, we were now at 8 1/2 - 9 centimeters and told we'd be ready to push soon so, sorry, no drugs for you. We'd be doing this au-naturale. Are you KIDDING ME? By 8:10 they'd prepped the room and by 8:20 we (and by we I mean she) were pushing. Contractions were coming hard and fast, I was doing my best to guide her through the breathing (ok, FINALLY my 4 prior experiences were paying off and I was being helpful! (minus the tic-tacs)) and helping hold whatever the doctor said to hold.
8:25 PM (C+3 hours 35 minutes) My wife delivered our daughter and she was immediately taken to the warming table. Unfortunately all was quiet. No cries. I think I've mentioned a few times now that I've been through this before and I was acutely aware that there is supposed to be a baby crying at this point. My wife, thoroughly exhausted is on the verge of freaking out because this little bundle we've been waiting to meet for 38+ weeks, the daughter my wife has been dreaming of since before we ever met, is silent. The doctor informed us that when a delivery happens this quickly, the baby is often stunned and needs a minute to recover. Want to experience one of the longest minutes of your life? Wait expectantly for your baby to make her first sound and receive only silence. I don't know how much time actually passed, probably only 30 seconds, not the 30 years I probably aged, but then it started. A baby's cries never sounded so good. It was in perfect harmony to my wife's relieved crying next to me. The nursing team brought the naked, squirming, screaming little bundle to Roseann and put her skin-to-skin to meet Mommy. The baby stopped crying almost immediately and looked up to see her. Two thoughts went through my head. The first was that this was truly God's blessing. We'd been patient (ok, that's debatable) and faithful, and He'd rewarded us with this precious little girl. Secondly, I was in absolute AWE of my wife. Our previous pregnancies were nothing to discount. There is a reason the term is called Labor. However each prior pregnancy included epidurals and injections for pain, soothing music, lavender fragrances, etc. (At one point during a previous pregnancy in the post-epidural delay when things had calmed down, we got stink-eye from the nurse because we got bored and were playing cards.) Again, acknowledging that there is nothing easy about child birth, there is something raw and frightening about watching a woman bring a new life into this world with nothing to help but her own strength and will. No drugs, no fancy pools or holistic techniques. This was the miracle of birth. I saw my wife in a new light that amazed me beyond anything I'd ever experienced before. She took my breath away and imbued me with a profound respect and awe that I can't put into words. Did I use the term Rockstar previously? Yeah, well, Rockstars have nothing on my wife.
Just over three and a half hours from her first contraction, Chiara (pronounced Key-ARE-uh) was delivered into our lives. A few cellphone pictures and phone calls later and I was on my way home to make certain my boys were in bed and would be ready for school the next day with the news that their baby sister had arrived. One of the joys of living in a relatively small town, is that there was a whole host of people anxiously awaiting the arrival of our daughter. My four little minions were going to spread the word like wildfire the next day as soon as the bus rolled up to our house.
9:58PM (C+ 4hours 8 min) On my way home I pull into the Sonic Drive through. They closed at 9:55. Damn.
That was about the only thing that was well timed.
So on May 12th of this year, I found myself in the pool at our gym with my 3 oldest boys. Anticipating the birth of #5, and the potential disruption to summer plans, my wife suggested that instead of coming right home after swim lessons, I take the opportunity for some Daddy-Kid time after lessons. Being a work-at-home dad, I usually would just take the kids to lessons then set up shop in a relatively quiet area and keep working then come straight home afterwards. Compared to my house after school, an indoor pool during kiddie swim lessons can sometimes be considered a quiet work environment. However, with the summer schedule up in the air, some quality time with the boys was a good idea. Besides, by the time lessons were done, the work day was about done so the timing was perfect. Of course, the one draw back of being IN the pool as opposed to BY the pool meant that I wasn't carrying my cell phone, nor could I hear it if it rang. So imagine my surprise when I'm toweling the kids off at 5:50 PM and strange man walks up to me and asks my name, then proceeds to tell me "Your wife has been trying to contact you." Uh Oh. I speed dial the house phone line while making a mental note that I'm leaving with the same number of kids that I arrived with (hopefully the same ones) only to hear "Where have you been? I've been trying to contact you for over an hour! I'm having contractions!"
20 minutes later, I'm stuck in rush hour traffic going nowhere fast when my phone rings again. I answered (my phone is Blue-toothed into my car so I wasn't doing anything illegal) only to hear "Where ARE you? My water just broke!" I explained that I was a mile from home, stuck in traffic and doing everything possible to get home fast. Of course, being that the conversation was held via the car's speaker system, my 5-year-old proceeds to ask "What happened to Mommy's water?" Trying to explain the function of amniotic fluid and it's potential hi jinx during labor was not something I was mentally ready to do at this particular time. I think I did a pretty good job translating it to preschoolese with the main message being: The baby is coming NOW and we're stuck in traffic. Grasping the urgency of the situation, he then noted "The gorilla button sure would come in handy right now." (In previous rush-hour traffic situations, he has conceptualized a standard feature for our minivan which includes a button on the driver's console that, when pushed, releases a thousand-pound gorilla from the roof of the car that will proceed to push all other cars out of the way so we could keep going.) Smart kid. I agreed with him whole heartedly.
By 6:20 we reached home (90 minutes since contractions began, henceforth known as C+90), I practically ejected the kids from the car and ran inside to grab all the bags we'd need for the next 2 days. At this point I had 2 conflicting thoughts running through my head. 1) I need to get my wife to the hospital and there's still rush hour traffic out there and 2) all 4 previous deliveries were 8+ hour affairs. If history were any indication, we had PLENTY of time. It's important to note that the hospital is 40 minutes away from where we live. No, it's not the closest hospital, but it is THE hospital where all of our other children were delivered and the place my wife felt most comfortable. I did, at one point, request that she consider a closer hospital, which she did pretty much to humor me, but it was a foregone conclusion that when the time came we'd be making the trek out to the other hospital. Point being: While I wasn't happy about a potentially delayed trip due to traffic, I was banking on another long haul to the finish line keeping me calm.
6:40(ish) (C+1hour and 50) ~20 minutes and about halfway to the hospital, it occurs to me (via my grumbling stomach) that I haven't eaten since breakfast, and if history was any indicator, I'd be by her side for the next 5-6 hours without so much as a tic-tac to tide me over. (I was later informed that a tic-tac would have been awesome since my breath was kickin'. Something for all you future Lamaze coaches out there to remember) I also knew that being a HUGE proponent of the epidural, my wife was going to want to get drugged up ASAP at which point they don't let the mother eat anything until after the initial recovery. So with nothing but the best intentions in mind, (and knowing there was a Sonic Burger right across from the hospital) I floated the idea that we hit a drive through before running into the hospital. Having full veto authority as the woman in labor, she shot down that idea post-haste. A few silent minutes later, again allowing my altruistic nature to shine, I gently reminded her that once we were at the hospital, she wouldn't be allowed to eat anything and 5 minutes in a drive-through might be wise in the long run. OK, I know. I win the award for the biggest Jackass of the year by mentioning it a second time. In my (lame) defense, I had been through this 4 times before, and each time she did complain about being really hungry as we waited through the 8-hour post-epidural labor marathon ( it had NOTHING to do with the fact that Sonic makes an awesome burger and shake and I'd been thinking about it for over a week. She came home a week earlier from an OB appointment at the hospital with a shake cup in hand "Guess what just opened up across from the hospital!"). She put the situation in perspective quite succinctly: "How about we not delay the pregnant woman her pain meds any more than absolutely necessary?"
Seriously though, I have to say that hunger aside, my perspective up to that point had been colored by 2 things: 1) We HAD done this four times already and I did feel like we were going to be a while once we got to the hospital and 2) my wife was a freakin' Rockstar. This second point should be emphasized. While I could hear her doing her Lamaze breathing in the passenger seat, up to that point she didn't complain once about any pain. She was timing the contractions, but at no point let on how much she might have been hurting. While internally, there may have been a lot of fear, anger, pain, etc, externally she was pretty much cool as a cucumber. Her statement grounded me and my unintentionally cavalier attitude towards yet another delivery corrected itself into "Holy crap, my wife needs help STAT!"
7PM (C+2 hours 10 min) we pull into the parking lot of the hospital. Despite being told that "they are waiting for us at the hospital" the place was a ghost town. Some ridiculous part of my mind was picturing an orderly with a wheelchair and a highly professional and attentive nurse anxiously awaiting our arrival ready to whisk her to the maternity ward. Nope. We were on our own. I'll skip the details, but I eventually got my wife to the maternity ward and checked in, and the nurses immediately began the I.V. drip and preliminary blood work required for an epidural. The results came in just as we were informed that the anesthesiologist was called into another patient but would be with us as soon as possible. Awesome. My wife was at 5+ centimeters by 7:30 and REALLY looking forward to the drugs. So we waited, holding hands, breathing, watching the clock, and not-so-subtly indicating that perhaps we could shut the door to the room to drown out the shrieking of the woman in the next delivery room. I've found it interesting that all TV and movie depictions of labor involve a lot of screaming by the mother in labor. My wife didn't scream through any of our children's births. Honestly I'm not sure where she would have gotten the breath to be able to. The woman one room over, however, different story.
8PM (C+3 hours ten) we are told the anesthesiologist is on his way. Unfortunately, we were now at 8 1/2 - 9 centimeters and told we'd be ready to push soon so, sorry, no drugs for you. We'd be doing this au-naturale. Are you KIDDING ME? By 8:10 they'd prepped the room and by 8:20 we (and by we I mean she) were pushing. Contractions were coming hard and fast, I was doing my best to guide her through the breathing (ok, FINALLY my 4 prior experiences were paying off and I was being helpful! (minus the tic-tacs)) and helping hold whatever the doctor said to hold.
8:25 PM (C+3 hours 35 minutes) My wife delivered our daughter and she was immediately taken to the warming table. Unfortunately all was quiet. No cries. I think I've mentioned a few times now that I've been through this before and I was acutely aware that there is supposed to be a baby crying at this point. My wife, thoroughly exhausted is on the verge of freaking out because this little bundle we've been waiting to meet for 38+ weeks, the daughter my wife has been dreaming of since before we ever met, is silent. The doctor informed us that when a delivery happens this quickly, the baby is often stunned and needs a minute to recover. Want to experience one of the longest minutes of your life? Wait expectantly for your baby to make her first sound and receive only silence. I don't know how much time actually passed, probably only 30 seconds, not the 30 years I probably aged, but then it started. A baby's cries never sounded so good. It was in perfect harmony to my wife's relieved crying next to me. The nursing team brought the naked, squirming, screaming little bundle to Roseann and put her skin-to-skin to meet Mommy. The baby stopped crying almost immediately and looked up to see her. Two thoughts went through my head. The first was that this was truly God's blessing. We'd been patient (ok, that's debatable) and faithful, and He'd rewarded us with this precious little girl. Secondly, I was in absolute AWE of my wife. Our previous pregnancies were nothing to discount. There is a reason the term is called Labor. However each prior pregnancy included epidurals and injections for pain, soothing music, lavender fragrances, etc. (At one point during a previous pregnancy in the post-epidural delay when things had calmed down, we got stink-eye from the nurse because we got bored and were playing cards.) Again, acknowledging that there is nothing easy about child birth, there is something raw and frightening about watching a woman bring a new life into this world with nothing to help but her own strength and will. No drugs, no fancy pools or holistic techniques. This was the miracle of birth. I saw my wife in a new light that amazed me beyond anything I'd ever experienced before. She took my breath away and imbued me with a profound respect and awe that I can't put into words. Did I use the term Rockstar previously? Yeah, well, Rockstars have nothing on my wife.
Just over three and a half hours from her first contraction, Chiara (pronounced Key-ARE-uh) was delivered into our lives. A few cellphone pictures and phone calls later and I was on my way home to make certain my boys were in bed and would be ready for school the next day with the news that their baby sister had arrived. One of the joys of living in a relatively small town, is that there was a whole host of people anxiously awaiting the arrival of our daughter. My four little minions were going to spread the word like wildfire the next day as soon as the bus rolled up to our house.
9:58PM (C+ 4hours 8 min) On my way home I pull into the Sonic Drive through. They closed at 9:55. Damn.
Sunday, September 27, 2015
Where's the Papparazzi?
There are times when I wonder if my family isn't unwittingly participating in a reality TV show. Whenever we enter a store, restaurant, or leave the front door in most cases, we seem to draw attention. Enough so that I'd swear we made it into some obscure B-list celebrity circle. Stares, whispers, or side-long glances are the norm these days when my wife and I are out with the crew. For the most part, it doesn't bug me. In part, I like to think it's because they are all looking at my wife thinking "Holy Moley, she had 5 kids? No way!" I do take pride in the fact that my kids are very well behaved in public. There's the occasional exception to that statement, but I feel highly confident that I could take them into any restaurant and be able to have a mostly normal meal without disturbing the rest of the patrons. My kids will play word games, or tic-tac-toe on a napkin (paper, not cloth), or find some way to keep themselves entertained with my wife and I while we are ordering and then waiting for food.
Reality check: They're kids. I will always have to answer at least three times the questions "when will the food get here?" and "Do we get desert?" The good news is that most waiters will see a family with 5 kids walk into their seating area, and put the kitchen on high alert to crank out the chow with a quickness before the evening goes pear-shaped. We're not ordering the soufflé so you can take comfort in the fact that we are not likely to linger. If you have the standard kid's fare on the menu, and ice cream as a desert option, you have nothing to worry about from us. Though I have seen the occasional waiter turn a few shades of green when he realized his party of seven included an infant, a toddler and 3 young boys. Yeah buddy, you'll be earning this one....
The funny part about all the stares and whispers is the change that occurs throughout the course of the meal from the other patrons.
It always starts out with the look of barely-contained horror that some inconsiderate parents (us) would think about bringing such a young family into the restaurant where they were counting on a nice, peaceful meal. Now to be fair, my wife and I are not part of the 8PM dinner crowd. Dinner for us is typically between 5 and 6. Ever roll into a restaurant at 5 PM? It's practically deserted, which is exactly why we hit the restaurants at those times. Those who are there are usually the over 70 crowd banking on the early-bird specials and tend to be more tolerant (or hard of hearing....either way, it works.) Regardless, dinner at that hour means less wait, less people to potentially disturb, less chance of a catastrophic outing. So yes, we are aware of the live social grenade we are bringing into the eating establishment, and we are doing our best to mitigate any potential casualties or collateral damage.
The looks of horror eventually turn to curiosity as they finish officially counting the kids and come to the realization that the older ones are all boys and the little bundle in the car seat is sporting something pink and frilly, therefore allowing them to assume "They got the girl!" (perhaps they wonder if it's an effeminate little boy, but the conversation has never gone there...) The sidelong glances continue for a while and at this point they are all torn between wanting the quietly sleeping baby to continue in her peacefully quiet slumber and wanting the baby to wake up so they can 1) confirm it's a girl and 2) see how cute she is. (let me end the suspense....she's DARN cute.) Knowing there are adoring fans out there (perhaps it's only her who is part of the reality show) just dying for a glimpse of her, she'll wake up with a minimum of fuss and insist on being taken out of the car seat and held. Incidentally, this is uncannily timed for the arrival of the food, such that either my wife or I will have to hold her instead of eating our nice warm meal. It has the added benefit of leaving only one of us capable of helping the little guys cut their food or get catsup out of the Heinz bottle.
Curiosity will eventually give way to smiles. Like I said, my kids are generally very well behaved, and my youngest son (whom I regularly refer to as my 'feral kid') is still young enough where his antics are cute and have yet to be destructive or disruptive while out for dinner. There aren't meltdowns or screaming fits, and when we go to a restaurant, we typically order food we know they'll like. I know, I should be "expanding their pallets" but that's what holiday parties at other peoples' houses are for, right? My kids can power down chicken nuggets, pasta, and fries with the best of them, especially when they know that ice cream is only awarded to those who eat their dinner. Ice cream usually brings with it the light-hearted cheering you would expect when putting ice cream in front of kids, and I don't care how much of a curmudgeon you are, seeing a kid break into a smile when desert arrives should put you in a good mood.
Around this time, the check will arrive (80% probability without my prompting, along with to-go boxes and the slightly strained "Will there be anything else?" from the waiter). I waited tables back in the day. I know the waiter is in shock that we've gotten through a meal with 5 kids without incident, and is waiting for the impending catastrophic failure to occur. He has quiet hopes of getting through this encounter unscathed and being able to chalk up a perfect game to his unique service skills. Don't worry, he or she will get a generous tip. I understand the stress they've been living through the last 45 minutes or so. But while I'm digging for my wallet almost inevitably one of the people who have been watching us from another table will come up to us and say something. Opening lines rarely vary, which make we wonder if the reality show is called "You Have Your Hands Full" or "Wow Five Kids." Usually this is an elderly woman and she is usually one of the few people who have been smiling since our arrival at the restaurant and watching our little reality program throughout their meal and enjoying the show to it's fullest. This is usually the first time the kids get uncomfortable with their fame, and start getting antsy about making their way to the door and back into the anonymity of the minivan.
My wife and I round up the gang, making sure we leave no one behind and grab the doggy bag (I'm not letting good french fries or chicken fingers to waste!). Our little troupe makes our way to the restaurant exit, past the now smiling patrons and the waiter sobbing with relief. I guess people are just used to kids bouncing off the walls all the time so my boys come as something of an anomaly to them. I'm proud of how well they behave and am grateful that they make it possible for my wife and I to get out and not have to cook from time to time. A family of 7 isn't the norm, and I get that. Sometimes it does get uncomfortable feeling like we are in the spotlight so much when we go out and about. I try not to even indicate I'm aware of the stares because I don't need my kids feeling like they are on display. For us, 5 kids is the new normal. We're going to do things differently than most of their friends' families will and that will be hard enough for them to have to deal with sometimes.
Reality check: They're kids. I will always have to answer at least three times the questions "when will the food get here?" and "Do we get desert?" The good news is that most waiters will see a family with 5 kids walk into their seating area, and put the kitchen on high alert to crank out the chow with a quickness before the evening goes pear-shaped. We're not ordering the soufflé so you can take comfort in the fact that we are not likely to linger. If you have the standard kid's fare on the menu, and ice cream as a desert option, you have nothing to worry about from us. Though I have seen the occasional waiter turn a few shades of green when he realized his party of seven included an infant, a toddler and 3 young boys. Yeah buddy, you'll be earning this one....
The funny part about all the stares and whispers is the change that occurs throughout the course of the meal from the other patrons.
It always starts out with the look of barely-contained horror that some inconsiderate parents (us) would think about bringing such a young family into the restaurant where they were counting on a nice, peaceful meal. Now to be fair, my wife and I are not part of the 8PM dinner crowd. Dinner for us is typically between 5 and 6. Ever roll into a restaurant at 5 PM? It's practically deserted, which is exactly why we hit the restaurants at those times. Those who are there are usually the over 70 crowd banking on the early-bird specials and tend to be more tolerant (or hard of hearing....either way, it works.) Regardless, dinner at that hour means less wait, less people to potentially disturb, less chance of a catastrophic outing. So yes, we are aware of the live social grenade we are bringing into the eating establishment, and we are doing our best to mitigate any potential casualties or collateral damage.
The looks of horror eventually turn to curiosity as they finish officially counting the kids and come to the realization that the older ones are all boys and the little bundle in the car seat is sporting something pink and frilly, therefore allowing them to assume "They got the girl!" (perhaps they wonder if it's an effeminate little boy, but the conversation has never gone there...) The sidelong glances continue for a while and at this point they are all torn between wanting the quietly sleeping baby to continue in her peacefully quiet slumber and wanting the baby to wake up so they can 1) confirm it's a girl and 2) see how cute she is. (let me end the suspense....she's DARN cute.) Knowing there are adoring fans out there (perhaps it's only her who is part of the reality show) just dying for a glimpse of her, she'll wake up with a minimum of fuss and insist on being taken out of the car seat and held. Incidentally, this is uncannily timed for the arrival of the food, such that either my wife or I will have to hold her instead of eating our nice warm meal. It has the added benefit of leaving only one of us capable of helping the little guys cut their food or get catsup out of the Heinz bottle.
Curiosity will eventually give way to smiles. Like I said, my kids are generally very well behaved, and my youngest son (whom I regularly refer to as my 'feral kid') is still young enough where his antics are cute and have yet to be destructive or disruptive while out for dinner. There aren't meltdowns or screaming fits, and when we go to a restaurant, we typically order food we know they'll like. I know, I should be "expanding their pallets" but that's what holiday parties at other peoples' houses are for, right? My kids can power down chicken nuggets, pasta, and fries with the best of them, especially when they know that ice cream is only awarded to those who eat their dinner. Ice cream usually brings with it the light-hearted cheering you would expect when putting ice cream in front of kids, and I don't care how much of a curmudgeon you are, seeing a kid break into a smile when desert arrives should put you in a good mood.
Around this time, the check will arrive (80% probability without my prompting, along with to-go boxes and the slightly strained "Will there be anything else?" from the waiter). I waited tables back in the day. I know the waiter is in shock that we've gotten through a meal with 5 kids without incident, and is waiting for the impending catastrophic failure to occur. He has quiet hopes of getting through this encounter unscathed and being able to chalk up a perfect game to his unique service skills. Don't worry, he or she will get a generous tip. I understand the stress they've been living through the last 45 minutes or so. But while I'm digging for my wallet almost inevitably one of the people who have been watching us from another table will come up to us and say something. Opening lines rarely vary, which make we wonder if the reality show is called "You Have Your Hands Full" or "Wow Five Kids." Usually this is an elderly woman and she is usually one of the few people who have been smiling since our arrival at the restaurant and watching our little reality program throughout their meal and enjoying the show to it's fullest. This is usually the first time the kids get uncomfortable with their fame, and start getting antsy about making their way to the door and back into the anonymity of the minivan.
My wife and I round up the gang, making sure we leave no one behind and grab the doggy bag (I'm not letting good french fries or chicken fingers to waste!). Our little troupe makes our way to the restaurant exit, past the now smiling patrons and the waiter sobbing with relief. I guess people are just used to kids bouncing off the walls all the time so my boys come as something of an anomaly to them. I'm proud of how well they behave and am grateful that they make it possible for my wife and I to get out and not have to cook from time to time. A family of 7 isn't the norm, and I get that. Sometimes it does get uncomfortable feeling like we are in the spotlight so much when we go out and about. I try not to even indicate I'm aware of the stares because I don't need my kids feeling like they are on display. For us, 5 kids is the new normal. We're going to do things differently than most of their friends' families will and that will be hard enough for them to have to deal with sometimes.
Wednesday, September 23, 2015
God's Punchline
It's been a long time since I posted. What can I say, life got VERY busy over the last few years. After the arrival of our 4th child, Raphael, back in 2012 and all the challenges that come from trying to feed, clothe, and in general keep 4 small humans alive I didn't have time to write. It occurred to me, however, that this is less about writing a Blog as is about chronicling our adventure as a family. And it IS an adventure.
As I mentioned, Raphael (son #4), arrived back in 2012 and we were done. 4 boys, spanning 6 years was enough. I knew my wife's heart was set on having a daughter, but we'd accepted the fact that my assembly line was only capable of producing 'Y' chromosomes and quite frankly, we were getting stretched as it was. 4 car seats in a mini van is pretty much maxed out. Plus there are only so many frozen pizzas and chicken nuggets a freezer can hold. We had some late-night discussions about adoption so we could inject some pink in the house, but the discussions were more around her trying to game plan a 3-5 year adoption process, and me trying to wrap my head around the mere thought of adoption. Don't get me wrong, I'm not against adoption at all, but after bringing 4 healthy kids into the world I was trying to negotiate the weight that I knew was on my wife's heart with my own misgivings about bringing another child into the house. Of course, the stories you hear about the adoption process, the expense, the nightmare scenarios of adopting from a foreign country etc, were all fueling the fires of my doubt. Honestly, I prayed a lot simply to have an open mind about everything and be able to take the leap of faith that would help me support what was a strong calling for her. The one common ground for us is that we were looking down the barrel of mile-marker 40 and going through yet another pregnancy was not on our "To Do" lists.
Then, on September 10th 2014, it happened. I was discussing family with some members of the local Board of Education after a meeting (yes, I'm on the local BoE because I have a massive amount of free time with nothing to do...(I hope that sarcasm translates)) when I was asked "So, 4 kids! Wow, are planning to have more?"
...Let me digress for a minute. Growing up in America as a "child of the 80's", my perspective and that of many of my contemporaries is that of a family of 4. Vacations, hotels, cars, and just about everything you can think of revolving around a "normal" family assumes there are 4 people consisting of two adults and two kids, ideally one boy and one girl. Any expansion beyond that number automatically makes people think that you are personally trying to repopulate the earth with your own group of minions. If the idea that I have 4 kids doesn't automatically invite the question about prospects of a fifth, than finding out that all 4 are boys is the piece de resistance. THEY MUST ASK. "Do you plan on having more?" "Gunna try for the girl?" It never seems to occur to anyone that this is actually an extremely personal and potentially sensitive question. The world view is that if you have 3 or more children, your sex life (or perhaps more specifically your family planning choices) is obviously an open book and warrants public scrutiny. Digression complete (for now)...
My response was "Nope. At least, not from this DNA Pool. I'm done!"
Now, I believe in God. I believe that God has a sense of humor. I believe God likes to use me as a punch line from time to time. I should have heard the cosmic laughter at that moment. The truth was, however, that I was turning 40 in a few months, and believe it or not we had actually tried to get pregnant earlier in the year (I know, there seem to be some contradictions....don't try to follow the logic. There's WAY too much to explain if you do). Thinking we'd leave it up to God and hopefully, if it was His will for us to have #5 the baby would arrive before my wife turned 40, which was a psychological cutoff point for her. Bottom line, we didn't conceive and I settled in to accepting that my family of 6 was set. Time to look to a future of raising 4 boys and all the joys that come with it. I was in a good place.
24 hours later, I returned home from work which just happened to be Friday, September 11th. I still work from home 95% of the time, but make occasional trips into Manhattan. I hate travelling into NYC on that date for obvious reasons, but personally because I lost a cousin on that day who was the closest person I've ever had to a brother. Because of the day and the date, I made an early morning walk to St. Patrick's Cathedral to attend Mass and even go to confession. (if you haven't guessed by now: Yes, I'm Catholic. No, that's not the reason I have as many kids as I do.) I remember thanking God for the beautiful family I have, my remorse that my cousin would never meet my boys, and to please help me to be a good father and open to His will. I had a sense of melancholy peace throughout the day and returned home eager to give my boys a hug. (Side note: one benefit of having a small clan in your house is that getting bowled over by 4 enthusiastic little boys at your return home is a moment of pure joy.) I had just finished getting tackled with hugs by my 4 boys when my wife walked in and said "Can you meet me upstairs for a minute?" Something was off. She didn't have the "One of your offspring did something today that nearly made me wipe him off the face of the earth" look. The boys were all awake and looking for my attention so the possibility of this having amorous intent was effectively nil. A clogged toilet or leak in the bathroom would have simply warranted a comment or a text earlier in the day. What was up? I followed her upstairs into the bathroom only to have her grab something off the counter and hand it to me. Um....remind me again...what do two lines on this little stick mean again?
I'll spare you the weeks of shell-shocked delirium that followed, or adventure that was the day of delivery (at least for now....tune in again on another day). May 12th, my DAUGHTER Chiara entered our lives. She's awesome. (Holy @$%! I have 5 kids and one is a GIRL!) There is, of course, a whole new spin on the adventure that is our lives now, but those are tales for a different day. (and NO WE ARE NOT PLANNING ON HAVING #6)
As I mentioned, Raphael (son #4), arrived back in 2012 and we were done. 4 boys, spanning 6 years was enough. I knew my wife's heart was set on having a daughter, but we'd accepted the fact that my assembly line was only capable of producing 'Y' chromosomes and quite frankly, we were getting stretched as it was. 4 car seats in a mini van is pretty much maxed out. Plus there are only so many frozen pizzas and chicken nuggets a freezer can hold. We had some late-night discussions about adoption so we could inject some pink in the house, but the discussions were more around her trying to game plan a 3-5 year adoption process, and me trying to wrap my head around the mere thought of adoption. Don't get me wrong, I'm not against adoption at all, but after bringing 4 healthy kids into the world I was trying to negotiate the weight that I knew was on my wife's heart with my own misgivings about bringing another child into the house. Of course, the stories you hear about the adoption process, the expense, the nightmare scenarios of adopting from a foreign country etc, were all fueling the fires of my doubt. Honestly, I prayed a lot simply to have an open mind about everything and be able to take the leap of faith that would help me support what was a strong calling for her. The one common ground for us is that we were looking down the barrel of mile-marker 40 and going through yet another pregnancy was not on our "To Do" lists.
Then, on September 10th 2014, it happened. I was discussing family with some members of the local Board of Education after a meeting (yes, I'm on the local BoE because I have a massive amount of free time with nothing to do...(I hope that sarcasm translates)) when I was asked "So, 4 kids! Wow, are planning to have more?"
...Let me digress for a minute. Growing up in America as a "child of the 80's", my perspective and that of many of my contemporaries is that of a family of 4. Vacations, hotels, cars, and just about everything you can think of revolving around a "normal" family assumes there are 4 people consisting of two adults and two kids, ideally one boy and one girl. Any expansion beyond that number automatically makes people think that you are personally trying to repopulate the earth with your own group of minions. If the idea that I have 4 kids doesn't automatically invite the question about prospects of a fifth, than finding out that all 4 are boys is the piece de resistance. THEY MUST ASK. "Do you plan on having more?" "Gunna try for the girl?" It never seems to occur to anyone that this is actually an extremely personal and potentially sensitive question. The world view is that if you have 3 or more children, your sex life (or perhaps more specifically your family planning choices) is obviously an open book and warrants public scrutiny. Digression complete (for now)...
My response was "Nope. At least, not from this DNA Pool. I'm done!"
Now, I believe in God. I believe that God has a sense of humor. I believe God likes to use me as a punch line from time to time. I should have heard the cosmic laughter at that moment. The truth was, however, that I was turning 40 in a few months, and believe it or not we had actually tried to get pregnant earlier in the year (I know, there seem to be some contradictions....don't try to follow the logic. There's WAY too much to explain if you do). Thinking we'd leave it up to God and hopefully, if it was His will for us to have #5 the baby would arrive before my wife turned 40, which was a psychological cutoff point for her. Bottom line, we didn't conceive and I settled in to accepting that my family of 6 was set. Time to look to a future of raising 4 boys and all the joys that come with it. I was in a good place.
24 hours later, I returned home from work which just happened to be Friday, September 11th. I still work from home 95% of the time, but make occasional trips into Manhattan. I hate travelling into NYC on that date for obvious reasons, but personally because I lost a cousin on that day who was the closest person I've ever had to a brother. Because of the day and the date, I made an early morning walk to St. Patrick's Cathedral to attend Mass and even go to confession. (if you haven't guessed by now: Yes, I'm Catholic. No, that's not the reason I have as many kids as I do.) I remember thanking God for the beautiful family I have, my remorse that my cousin would never meet my boys, and to please help me to be a good father and open to His will. I had a sense of melancholy peace throughout the day and returned home eager to give my boys a hug. (Side note: one benefit of having a small clan in your house is that getting bowled over by 4 enthusiastic little boys at your return home is a moment of pure joy.) I had just finished getting tackled with hugs by my 4 boys when my wife walked in and said "Can you meet me upstairs for a minute?" Something was off. She didn't have the "One of your offspring did something today that nearly made me wipe him off the face of the earth" look. The boys were all awake and looking for my attention so the possibility of this having amorous intent was effectively nil. A clogged toilet or leak in the bathroom would have simply warranted a comment or a text earlier in the day. What was up? I followed her upstairs into the bathroom only to have her grab something off the counter and hand it to me. Um....remind me again...what do two lines on this little stick mean again?
I'll spare you the weeks of shell-shocked delirium that followed, or adventure that was the day of delivery (at least for now....tune in again on another day). May 12th, my DAUGHTER Chiara entered our lives. She's awesome. (Holy @$%! I have 5 kids and one is a GIRL!) There is, of course, a whole new spin on the adventure that is our lives now, but those are tales for a different day. (and NO WE ARE NOT PLANNING ON HAVING #6)
Thursday, December 29, 2011
12 Delusions of Christmas
Another Christmas has come and gone too quickly, and as my kids have gotten older it's fun to watch the excitement mount and the different ways they attack the holiday season. The older two build up the Santa anticipation to a static-electricity-like charge to every room they enter. The little guy still has no idea what's going on, but he understands that there seems to be a lot more chocolate and cookies around for the sneaking.
However, as I went through the Christmas season, watching the TV Specials, braving the crowds (actually, going into a store on Black Friday at 8 AM is a piece of cake...all the Loonies are gone by 2 AM) and doing the 1,001 items on my list to host various holiday functions, I kept hearing and experiencing snippets of conversations that had me either laughing or shaking my head. Many of the conversations are courtesy of the supermarket or toy store checkout lines, one of which I frequented so much in the last few weeks I thought the store was going to assign me a personal concierge (I should be so lucky). I've also found that there are certain experiences that regardless of how many times I fall into the trap, I'm destined to convince myself will have a different result this year. As a result, I present for your consideration:
The 12 Delusions of Christmas....
1) This one is different, you'll like it....
Primarily associated with a beloved relative or friend's fruitcake, I think I hear this at least once a year. Sometimes it shows up in the form of a cherry pie or brussel sprouts, and many times preceded by "Now I know you told me you don't like _______ (fill in the blank). But you'll like MINE. This one is different." *Sigh* In my case, I don't like cherries, so no matter how well you decorate a cherry pie, I'm not going to like your cherry pie unless you mistakenly substituted apples for cherries. A huge tip of the hat to my mom this year who made a cherry cheesecake (cheese cake is delicious in darn-near ANY form) and wonderfully left the cherries on the side! With all the wonderful things to eat this Christmas season, certain things (fruitcake) need not rear it's ugly head.
2) This will keep them occupied for hours
I'm guilty of this one multiple times over. Walking down the toy aisles looking for a great gift for my kids or a niece or nephew. Then...wait...there it is! Perfect! I would have loved this as a kid! This will keep them occupied for hours! Silly man. The first person the toy will inevitably keep occupied for hours is the the parent unlucky enough to be right next to the child opening the box. Why? Because that parent will soon be tapped to try and remove the toy from the packaging. Have you seen these things? Houdini couldn't get out of the bindings they have these things strapped in with. And the younger the kid the toy is for, the worse! By the time you finally get the tie wraps, twist ties, lock tabs, twist ties, tape, more twist ties and straps (did I mention twist ties?) removed, find the correct size of Phillips-head screwdriver to remove the battery flap, get the batteries in and turn it on...wait...where'd the kid go? They are playing with the box and having the time of their life. Saw that one coming....
3) One is plenty, the kids will share...
Really? You think so? *Sigh*
4) If we buy them each the same thing, they won't fight over them...
Unfortunately 3 and 4 are the Murphy's law of gifts for kids. Buy one, they'll fight over it. Buy the SAME THING for each one of them, and they'll fight over which one is BETTER. Last year my 2 oldest got IDENTICAL plush Pixar Lightning McQueen chairs. I kept getting asked:
"Dad, is this one mine?"
"Yes."
"How can you tell?"
"I marked them"
"You did? How?"
"With a special Daddy Marker only I can see. Trust me."
"Ok."
(partially explains why I got coal this year.)
5) Lets go to the Kid's Christmas Service at the Church...It'll be fun!
(Humbug alert!) I haven't been to a Kid's church service for almost 20 years for one simple reason: Last time I went it was complete chaos. Reenacting the birth of Christ, having the children process and stand at the front of the altar to sing Christmas carols, while cute in concept, is like herding cats. It has the added bonus of extending the service length by 20%-50%, something the younger brothers and sisters in the congregation (and the twice a year church goers) enjoy thoroughly. Perhaps churches decide to try and suck the little kids into one service so the rest of the scheduled services will be that much quieter and calmer. A conspiracy? Perhaps...
6) They were up late on Christmas Eve, they were so exhausted they're bound to sleep in.
The arrival of Santa and the expectation of tearing into a mound of colorfully wrapped gifts to reveal presents that they have (patiently?) been waiting to see for weeks pretty much guarantees no kid is sleeping in. In our house, while #2 and #3 actually DID sleep in, my oldest was knocking at my door in the 5AM hour explaining to me how he could see the stuffed Angry Birds from the top of the stairs, and if he should be allowed to go downstairs, he wouldn't actually PLAY with them, but just wanted to look at them quietly. I was exhausted...not stupid. Sorry Champ.
7) I know you usually don't wear...
I think every family has the person who knows what you like and want more than you do. For years I used to get turtle-neck sweaters, even when I thought it was pretty clear that I don't wear turtlenecks. Never have. I look ridiculous in them. I still got one a year because "I know you don't USUALLY wear these, but I thought you'd look great in it." Gotta love gift receipts.
8) We have enough ______ (fill in the blank), don't you think?
This is usually with regards to food or drink. I think everyone falls victim to this one. You balance wanting to make sure there is enough for everyone with the desire not to have a pantry full of canned olives and anchovies that you wind up donating to the local canned food drive. (I know, it's horrible, people need food and we give them anchovies. More fuel for the 'Naughty' list.) If you have to ask the question, however, you are inevitably going to run out, requiring the emergency trip to the store. Which is a perfect segue to #9...
9) I'm sure they'll be open...
No. They won't be. This goes for the grocery stores as well. Particularly on Christmas Day. This is when you will realize that you've forgotten the one key ingredient required to properly make the traditional family recipe that has been handed down from generation to generation and that your grandparent, at great personal cost, has reluctantly agreed to allow you to make, passing the torch after 50+ years of culinary perfection at their hands. Dude...you're screwed.
10) I'm sure they won't notice if...
Fill in the rest of that sentence with whatever you want. Regardless of what the hiccup, snafu or other minor hitch is, it will be recognized and most likely verbalized by your ever-so-observant 3-5 year old who hasn't learned tact or volume control. Might as well write it in fluorescent hot-pink lipstick across your forehead.
11) Everyone will think it's fun if we...
Inevitably, there will be at least one person who does not think it's fun. Doesn't matter what IT is. This person will be easily identified by the quick reach for the rum to fortify their egg nog, and the attempt to either camouflage themselves with the Christmas tree or sudden retreat to the usually off-limits upstairs bathroom. Just leave this person alone. Please. It's Christmas for goodness sake...
12) If it has the word "Christmas" in the song, it's officially a Carol and OK if we play it over, and over, and over....
I believe that there are a few Christmas Carols that have worn out their welcome. I will never request "Santa Baby" without first receiving a concussive blow to the skull. Even worse, however, is that there are some songs that have been granted the right to be played ad-nauseum starting on Black Friday just because it contains the word Christmas in it. WHAM's "Last Christmas" should be sent to the Island of Misfit songs, never to be iPod or radio-wave compatible. There are a few others, but this is the most offensive.
I have to admit, that I fall prey to half these delusions on a regular basis. As the Ghost of Christmas Past drop-kicks the Ghost of Christmas Present into oblivion, I forget what many experiences have taught me and once again set myself up to be deluded into thinking 'this time will be different!' Perhaps it's the after effect of too much eggnog or crashing from the sugar high of one too many Christmas cookies (one?...who am I trying to kid?) but as the celebration becomes another fond memory, the lessons learned get tossed with the just-as-bad-as-last-year's fruitcake.
In all honesty, the silly part of me enjoys these delusions. Many times they make for great stories or a shared wink between me and my wife, sister, dad or someone else who rolls their eyes along with me, waiting for the inevitable faux-pas to add credence to the story that starts out "Seriously, it's the same thing every Christmas..."
However, as I went through the Christmas season, watching the TV Specials, braving the crowds (actually, going into a store on Black Friday at 8 AM is a piece of cake...all the Loonies are gone by 2 AM) and doing the 1,001 items on my list to host various holiday functions, I kept hearing and experiencing snippets of conversations that had me either laughing or shaking my head. Many of the conversations are courtesy of the supermarket or toy store checkout lines, one of which I frequented so much in the last few weeks I thought the store was going to assign me a personal concierge (I should be so lucky). I've also found that there are certain experiences that regardless of how many times I fall into the trap, I'm destined to convince myself will have a different result this year. As a result, I present for your consideration:
The 12 Delusions of Christmas....
1) This one is different, you'll like it....
Primarily associated with a beloved relative or friend's fruitcake, I think I hear this at least once a year. Sometimes it shows up in the form of a cherry pie or brussel sprouts, and many times preceded by "Now I know you told me you don't like _______ (fill in the blank). But you'll like MINE. This one is different." *Sigh* In my case, I don't like cherries, so no matter how well you decorate a cherry pie, I'm not going to like your cherry pie unless you mistakenly substituted apples for cherries. A huge tip of the hat to my mom this year who made a cherry cheesecake (cheese cake is delicious in darn-near ANY form) and wonderfully left the cherries on the side! With all the wonderful things to eat this Christmas season, certain things (fruitcake) need not rear it's ugly head.
2) This will keep them occupied for hours
I'm guilty of this one multiple times over. Walking down the toy aisles looking for a great gift for my kids or a niece or nephew. Then...wait...there it is! Perfect! I would have loved this as a kid! This will keep them occupied for hours! Silly man. The first person the toy will inevitably keep occupied for hours is the the parent unlucky enough to be right next to the child opening the box. Why? Because that parent will soon be tapped to try and remove the toy from the packaging. Have you seen these things? Houdini couldn't get out of the bindings they have these things strapped in with. And the younger the kid the toy is for, the worse! By the time you finally get the tie wraps, twist ties, lock tabs, twist ties, tape, more twist ties and straps (did I mention twist ties?) removed, find the correct size of Phillips-head screwdriver to remove the battery flap, get the batteries in and turn it on...wait...where'd the kid go? They are playing with the box and having the time of their life. Saw that one coming....
3) One is plenty, the kids will share...
Really? You think so? *Sigh*
4) If we buy them each the same thing, they won't fight over them...
Unfortunately 3 and 4 are the Murphy's law of gifts for kids. Buy one, they'll fight over it. Buy the SAME THING for each one of them, and they'll fight over which one is BETTER. Last year my 2 oldest got IDENTICAL plush Pixar Lightning McQueen chairs. I kept getting asked:
"Dad, is this one mine?"
"Yes."
"How can you tell?"
"I marked them"
"You did? How?"
"With a special Daddy Marker only I can see. Trust me."
"Ok."
(partially explains why I got coal this year.)
5) Lets go to the Kid's Christmas Service at the Church...It'll be fun!
(Humbug alert!) I haven't been to a Kid's church service for almost 20 years for one simple reason: Last time I went it was complete chaos. Reenacting the birth of Christ, having the children process and stand at the front of the altar to sing Christmas carols, while cute in concept, is like herding cats. It has the added bonus of extending the service length by 20%-50%, something the younger brothers and sisters in the congregation (and the twice a year church goers) enjoy thoroughly. Perhaps churches decide to try and suck the little kids into one service so the rest of the scheduled services will be that much quieter and calmer. A conspiracy? Perhaps...
6) They were up late on Christmas Eve, they were so exhausted they're bound to sleep in.
The arrival of Santa and the expectation of tearing into a mound of colorfully wrapped gifts to reveal presents that they have (patiently?) been waiting to see for weeks pretty much guarantees no kid is sleeping in. In our house, while #2 and #3 actually DID sleep in, my oldest was knocking at my door in the 5AM hour explaining to me how he could see the stuffed Angry Birds from the top of the stairs, and if he should be allowed to go downstairs, he wouldn't actually PLAY with them, but just wanted to look at them quietly. I was exhausted...not stupid. Sorry Champ.
7) I know you usually don't wear...
I think every family has the person who knows what you like and want more than you do. For years I used to get turtle-neck sweaters, even when I thought it was pretty clear that I don't wear turtlenecks. Never have. I look ridiculous in them. I still got one a year because "I know you don't USUALLY wear these, but I thought you'd look great in it." Gotta love gift receipts.
8) We have enough ______ (fill in the blank), don't you think?
This is usually with regards to food or drink. I think everyone falls victim to this one. You balance wanting to make sure there is enough for everyone with the desire not to have a pantry full of canned olives and anchovies that you wind up donating to the local canned food drive. (I know, it's horrible, people need food and we give them anchovies. More fuel for the 'Naughty' list.) If you have to ask the question, however, you are inevitably going to run out, requiring the emergency trip to the store. Which is a perfect segue to #9...
9) I'm sure they'll be open...
No. They won't be. This goes for the grocery stores as well. Particularly on Christmas Day. This is when you will realize that you've forgotten the one key ingredient required to properly make the traditional family recipe that has been handed down from generation to generation and that your grandparent, at great personal cost, has reluctantly agreed to allow you to make, passing the torch after 50+ years of culinary perfection at their hands. Dude...you're screwed.
10) I'm sure they won't notice if...
Fill in the rest of that sentence with whatever you want. Regardless of what the hiccup, snafu or other minor hitch is, it will be recognized and most likely verbalized by your ever-so-observant 3-5 year old who hasn't learned tact or volume control. Might as well write it in fluorescent hot-pink lipstick across your forehead.
11) Everyone will think it's fun if we...
Inevitably, there will be at least one person who does not think it's fun. Doesn't matter what IT is. This person will be easily identified by the quick reach for the rum to fortify their egg nog, and the attempt to either camouflage themselves with the Christmas tree or sudden retreat to the usually off-limits upstairs bathroom. Just leave this person alone. Please. It's Christmas for goodness sake...
12) If it has the word "Christmas" in the song, it's officially a Carol and OK if we play it over, and over, and over....
I believe that there are a few Christmas Carols that have worn out their welcome. I will never request "Santa Baby" without first receiving a concussive blow to the skull. Even worse, however, is that there are some songs that have been granted the right to be played ad-nauseum starting on Black Friday just because it contains the word Christmas in it. WHAM's "Last Christmas" should be sent to the Island of Misfit songs, never to be iPod or radio-wave compatible. There are a few others, but this is the most offensive.
I have to admit, that I fall prey to half these delusions on a regular basis. As the Ghost of Christmas Past drop-kicks the Ghost of Christmas Present into oblivion, I forget what many experiences have taught me and once again set myself up to be deluded into thinking 'this time will be different!' Perhaps it's the after effect of too much eggnog or crashing from the sugar high of one too many Christmas cookies (one?...who am I trying to kid?) but as the celebration becomes another fond memory, the lessons learned get tossed with the just-as-bad-as-last-year's fruitcake.
In all honesty, the silly part of me enjoys these delusions. Many times they make for great stories or a shared wink between me and my wife, sister, dad or someone else who rolls their eyes along with me, waiting for the inevitable faux-pas to add credence to the story that starts out "Seriously, it's the same thing every Christmas..."
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Old Woman. Man! Man...Sorry.
Believe it or not, I have not been looking for an excuse to work Monty Python into a Blog post, though when the opportunity presented itself, I'd kick myself if I didn't take advantage of it.
As Dennis the Constitutional Peasant once put it:
"I'm 37, I'm not OLD."
It's good to know that Dennis has confirmed my not-yet-over-the-hill status in the timeless medium that is cinema. Yes, it's my birthday, and I'm 37, and that particular phrase of Dennis's has been running through my head for the last few weeks. The number doesn't bother me in the least. One year closer to 40...big deal. As my old USNA buddies would say "One Year Closer to Death"...still no biggie. The fact that I have to lean over to my wife from time to time and ask "How old am I again?" is not so much the onset of old age as the fact that the numbers at this point in my life just don't mean anything.
I think what interests me more is looking back at 37 years, and thinking about that phrase is wondering how many of the things that influenced my life, my humor, and my perspective may be lost on my kids if I don't introduce it to them since Pop Culture has changed so much. Will they ever understand why I can't go through the produce aisle of Shop Rite and not grin when I see the coconuts, wondering how many European Swallows it took to get them all there? (It couldn't have been African swallows, since those are non-migratory. Duh.)
A few months(?) ago I saw a Facebook post from my cousin showing his son and friend sitting on the couch mesmerized, with a caption stating that they were being introduced to "Star Wars." How COOL is that! I love the idea of sparking their imaginations with "the Force" and seeing if it's received as well with my kids as it was with me. Considering the awesome adventure potential of our back yard, the Indiana Jones Trilogy is also high on the list. (No, I do not acknowledge the tragedy that was the 4th installment of the series. I think Spielburg was trying to One-Up Lucas's Jar-Jar Binks as far as bad movie ideas was concerned.) There are some invaluable life lessons that can only truly be appreciated by watching some of the classics. Some examples:
1) It is important to slowly build up an immunity to iocane powder
2) Never let Fredo watch your back when you're buying fruit.
3) We're going to need a bigger boat.
4) It's not cruel and repetitive manual labor, it's actually close-quarter's combat training.
(Ok, in truth, that last one is not a 'classic' by my standard, but "Wax on. Wax off" is pretty iconic, and anything that can be used to eventually get my kids clean and wax my car, paint the house and sand the deck may be worth considering...)
It's not just movies. TV we grew up with also had a lasting impression. To this day I still laugh myself to tears watching certain Looney Tunes episodes. Seriously, there's something wrong with you if you don't at least start giggling when you think: "Duck season!...Rabbit Season!...Duck Season Fire!"
I guess a big difference is that we didn't have DVRs and a thousand channels to choose from. So while my little guys have hours and hours of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, Little Einsteins and Babar, if I got up early on a Saturday, I had to gut through "Davey and Goliath" and various other ridiculous cartoons until the good stuff like Transformers or Voltron came on. Of course you'd have to wait a few hours until Bugs Bunny actually came on, but it wasn't like I was going to turn off the TV until then, so I'm sure I watched hours of other garbage until then and countless hours of cereal and toy commercials. I still use the term "Cuckoo for CocoPuffs" but since the invention of TiVo, I'm sure none of my kids have any idea what I'm talking about. In fact, the first time we taped "Chicken Little" for them to watch, they experienced commercials for the first time. The crying and complaining the first time a commercial came on and they thought the show had 'stopped' was actually confusing. "Guys, it's OK, it's just a commercial. The movie will start again in a minute, I promise!" Could you imaging the hysterics that would have ensued if they had to endure a round or two of "School House Rock?"
Speaking of Rock (Gotta love that seque...) I took my kids Dunkin Donuts the other day, our weekly Sunday Ritual and they always have the radio playing. This particular time they had some Rock playing. I'm not talking about Pop, which is all I seem to hear on the radio these days, I'm talking ROCK! Woohoo! Watching my three-year-old get his dance on to KISS - I Wanna Rock and Roll all Night had me cracking up and loving every minute of it. It was at that moment that I realized that maybe it was OK for me to put away the Disney Classics CD's and pop in Daddy's iPod mix every once in a while. So while getting dinner ready, I introduced the kids to "C'mon Feel the Noise" and "Highway to Hell." I'm not sure my wife was totally approving until I cranked some "Bad Medicine" and peeked around the doorway to see her doing some subtle head banging. (When in doubt, bust out the Bon Jovi to get the Jersey Girl to come around to your way of thinking.) All three kids, and the grown ups too, spent time in the kitchen bustin' a move or two (incidentally, that's on the mix along with Baby Got Back...you gotta have some fun with it!) and having a really good time.
So no, 37 doesn't mean anything to me, but I am aware that there are some great things that I did and experienced growing up that I can start sharing with my kids, even at their young age. In some cases I can do it because of their young age. Lets be real, they're too young to understand the lyrics to most of my songs but they can understand an awesome drum riff or a kickin' guitar solo. If nothing else, my version of pop culture will live on through my kids, and even if I can't remember how old I am I'll always remember that my favorite color is blue.
No! YELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!
As Dennis the Constitutional Peasant once put it:
"I'm 37, I'm not OLD."
It's good to know that Dennis has confirmed my not-yet-over-the-hill status in the timeless medium that is cinema. Yes, it's my birthday, and I'm 37, and that particular phrase of Dennis's has been running through my head for the last few weeks. The number doesn't bother me in the least. One year closer to 40...big deal. As my old USNA buddies would say "One Year Closer to Death"...still no biggie. The fact that I have to lean over to my wife from time to time and ask "How old am I again?" is not so much the onset of old age as the fact that the numbers at this point in my life just don't mean anything.
I think what interests me more is looking back at 37 years, and thinking about that phrase is wondering how many of the things that influenced my life, my humor, and my perspective may be lost on my kids if I don't introduce it to them since Pop Culture has changed so much. Will they ever understand why I can't go through the produce aisle of Shop Rite and not grin when I see the coconuts, wondering how many European Swallows it took to get them all there? (It couldn't have been African swallows, since those are non-migratory. Duh.)
A few months(?) ago I saw a Facebook post from my cousin showing his son and friend sitting on the couch mesmerized, with a caption stating that they were being introduced to "Star Wars." How COOL is that! I love the idea of sparking their imaginations with "the Force" and seeing if it's received as well with my kids as it was with me. Considering the awesome adventure potential of our back yard, the Indiana Jones Trilogy is also high on the list. (No, I do not acknowledge the tragedy that was the 4th installment of the series. I think Spielburg was trying to One-Up Lucas's Jar-Jar Binks as far as bad movie ideas was concerned.) There are some invaluable life lessons that can only truly be appreciated by watching some of the classics. Some examples:
1) It is important to slowly build up an immunity to iocane powder
2) Never let Fredo watch your back when you're buying fruit.
3) We're going to need a bigger boat.
4) It's not cruel and repetitive manual labor, it's actually close-quarter's combat training.
(Ok, in truth, that last one is not a 'classic' by my standard, but "Wax on. Wax off" is pretty iconic, and anything that can be used to eventually get my kids clean and wax my car, paint the house and sand the deck may be worth considering...)
It's not just movies. TV we grew up with also had a lasting impression. To this day I still laugh myself to tears watching certain Looney Tunes episodes. Seriously, there's something wrong with you if you don't at least start giggling when you think: "Duck season!...Rabbit Season!...Duck Season Fire!"
I guess a big difference is that we didn't have DVRs and a thousand channels to choose from. So while my little guys have hours and hours of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, Little Einsteins and Babar, if I got up early on a Saturday, I had to gut through "Davey and Goliath" and various other ridiculous cartoons until the good stuff like Transformers or Voltron came on. Of course you'd have to wait a few hours until Bugs Bunny actually came on, but it wasn't like I was going to turn off the TV until then, so I'm sure I watched hours of other garbage until then and countless hours of cereal and toy commercials. I still use the term "Cuckoo for CocoPuffs" but since the invention of TiVo, I'm sure none of my kids have any idea what I'm talking about. In fact, the first time we taped "Chicken Little" for them to watch, they experienced commercials for the first time. The crying and complaining the first time a commercial came on and they thought the show had 'stopped' was actually confusing. "Guys, it's OK, it's just a commercial. The movie will start again in a minute, I promise!" Could you imaging the hysterics that would have ensued if they had to endure a round or two of "School House Rock?"
Speaking of Rock (Gotta love that seque...) I took my kids Dunkin Donuts the other day, our weekly Sunday Ritual and they always have the radio playing. This particular time they had some Rock playing. I'm not talking about Pop, which is all I seem to hear on the radio these days, I'm talking ROCK! Woohoo! Watching my three-year-old get his dance on to KISS - I Wanna Rock and Roll all Night had me cracking up and loving every minute of it. It was at that moment that I realized that maybe it was OK for me to put away the Disney Classics CD's and pop in Daddy's iPod mix every once in a while. So while getting dinner ready, I introduced the kids to "C'mon Feel the Noise" and "Highway to Hell." I'm not sure my wife was totally approving until I cranked some "Bad Medicine" and peeked around the doorway to see her doing some subtle head banging. (When in doubt, bust out the Bon Jovi to get the Jersey Girl to come around to your way of thinking.) All three kids, and the grown ups too, spent time in the kitchen bustin' a move or two (incidentally, that's on the mix along with Baby Got Back...you gotta have some fun with it!) and having a really good time.
So no, 37 doesn't mean anything to me, but I am aware that there are some great things that I did and experienced growing up that I can start sharing with my kids, even at their young age. In some cases I can do it because of their young age. Lets be real, they're too young to understand the lyrics to most of my songs but they can understand an awesome drum riff or a kickin' guitar solo. If nothing else, my version of pop culture will live on through my kids, and even if I can't remember how old I am I'll always remember that my favorite color is blue.
No! YELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!
Sunday, November 27, 2011
The Sound of Silence
"It's quiet....too quiet."
I know, it's totally cliche', but it's SO true. Usually about the time that I've managed to sit down and find the place in my book where I'd left off (this usually takes a while since the bookmark I used either was dislodged when the little one launched it off the table, or outright yanked it from the book), someone starts screaming, crying or calling for me or my wife. It's when this DOESN'T happen that something in the back of my mind says "This sure is comfortable...wait...WHY are we comfortable? We're not allowed to be comfortable! What's going on?!?!?!" It's at this point that the angel pops up on one shoulder "You should get up and make sure everything's OK!" while the little devil pops up on the other shoulder saying "What are you worried about? We have smoke detectors..." Admittedly, the devil usually wins in these situations. No one has ever gotten hurt, and this is probably because even though I'm not actively searching for the miscreants, I'm still listening for the out-of-place sound effect that clues me in to a problem. Banging, climbing, splashing and rushing water all have distinctive sounds that, when put in the context with other sounds, lets you know if you are in trouble.
*thump**thump**thump**thump**thump*
*Clunk*
-silence-
*whoosh*
-silence-
*phshshshss*
-silence-
Simply translated, this is the progression of sounds that accompanies the middle child enroute to a bathroom break. Observe:
*thump**thump**thump**thump**thump* (Pee-pee Dance performed while dropping drawers)
*Clunk* (toilet seat being properly positioned)
-silence- (business being conducted)
*whoosh* (toilet flushed)
-silence- (presumably putting pants back on....no guarantee on this one)
*phshshshss* (washing hands)
-silence- (evolution complete)
Compare that, for example, to a solitary:
*whoosh*
with no accompanying sounds, the little one has probably found something flushworthy and I either investigate now or make a mental note of where I last put the plunger and paper towels. At least he's over the stage of unspooling the entire roll of toilet paper into the toilet at one shot.
*phshshshshshs*
Hmmm...no other clues. No context....probably trouble. In this case it's usually the little guy (possible pattern here?) having managed to climb up something and turn on a faucet somewhere. In one instance his Spiderman-like ability to climb obstacles way too big to for me to reasonably anticipate his traversing, found him sitting IN the bathroom sink, having turned the water on himself. Now soaking wet and stuck under the faucet, I'm relieved I recognized the out-of-place *whoosh* and got to him before the hot water had a chance to heat up and cause any damage.
Other noises become a general background chatter that is typically ignored, much like you get used to crickets chirping at night in the country or the sounds of traffic in the city. It's a necessity, particularly when you work at home, to learn how to be conscious of the noises, but not dwell on them, otherwise nothing would ever get accomplished. Toys bouncing off of floors, furniture, walls etc. make a standard, innocuous sound that we pretty much ignore as the sounds of little boys having fun and keeping themselves occupied. On the other hand, toys bouncing off of, say, a sibling's head makes a completely different noise. Granted, this is usually followed by screams and/or crying so it's a gimme. This latest noise is 99.9% of the time attributed to the little guy (YES...definate pattern) hurling a diecast car at one of his brothers at high velocity with uncanny accuracy. For a kid who isn't yet 2 years old, he has a 2-seam fastball that would make Nolan Ryan proud.
The only time silence is trustworthy is between the hours of 8PM and 6AM. That's the typical sleep window for the kids who, finally, all manage to sleep through the night. Out of place sounds during these times usually accompany the full diaper (baby), the unfortunate accident (middle guy) or the occasional bloody nose (oldest). For a while, the sound of one of the older two heading downstairs in the morning was the unofficial starter pistol for the day. How kids as small as they are could be capable of thundering down a set of stairs with such a din is beyond me. This of course would wake the baby, who knowing the rest of the house was awake, would start to scream, thus becoming the 'official' starter pistol for the day. I actually got to the point where I had my kids practice climbing down the stairs quietly until I was satisfied they could do it without a sound. Call me crazy but it sometimes yields an extra 20 minutes of sleep each morning and I'll defend that to the teeth!
Don't get me wrong, I don't ignore the kids, and I'd never let them do anything I think would be potentially harmful. I can't, however, keep my eyes on them 24-7. So I have to trust to my other senses to tell me what's going on. They say when deprived of sight, the other senses heighten. Believe me, you don't need to see the contents to know a diaper is full of nastiness, and you don't need to see what's going on to recognize the sounds of trouble brewing somewhere.
I know, it's totally cliche', but it's SO true. Usually about the time that I've managed to sit down and find the place in my book where I'd left off (this usually takes a while since the bookmark I used either was dislodged when the little one launched it off the table, or outright yanked it from the book), someone starts screaming, crying or calling for me or my wife. It's when this DOESN'T happen that something in the back of my mind says "This sure is comfortable...wait...WHY are we comfortable? We're not allowed to be comfortable! What's going on?!?!?!" It's at this point that the angel pops up on one shoulder "You should get up and make sure everything's OK!" while the little devil pops up on the other shoulder saying "What are you worried about? We have smoke detectors..." Admittedly, the devil usually wins in these situations. No one has ever gotten hurt, and this is probably because even though I'm not actively searching for the miscreants, I'm still listening for the out-of-place sound effect that clues me in to a problem. Banging, climbing, splashing and rushing water all have distinctive sounds that, when put in the context with other sounds, lets you know if you are in trouble.
*thump**thump**thump**thump**thump*
*Clunk*
-silence-
*whoosh*
-silence-
*phshshshss*
-silence-
Simply translated, this is the progression of sounds that accompanies the middle child enroute to a bathroom break. Observe:
*thump**thump**thump**thump**thump* (Pee-pee Dance performed while dropping drawers)
*Clunk* (toilet seat being properly positioned)
-silence- (business being conducted)
*whoosh* (toilet flushed)
-silence- (presumably putting pants back on....no guarantee on this one)
*phshshshss* (washing hands)
-silence- (evolution complete)
Compare that, for example, to a solitary:
*whoosh*
with no accompanying sounds, the little one has probably found something flushworthy and I either investigate now or make a mental note of where I last put the plunger and paper towels. At least he's over the stage of unspooling the entire roll of toilet paper into the toilet at one shot.
*phshshshshshs*
Hmmm...no other clues. No context....probably trouble. In this case it's usually the little guy (possible pattern here?) having managed to climb up something and turn on a faucet somewhere. In one instance his Spiderman-like ability to climb obstacles way too big to for me to reasonably anticipate his traversing, found him sitting IN the bathroom sink, having turned the water on himself. Now soaking wet and stuck under the faucet, I'm relieved I recognized the out-of-place *whoosh* and got to him before the hot water had a chance to heat up and cause any damage.
Other noises become a general background chatter that is typically ignored, much like you get used to crickets chirping at night in the country or the sounds of traffic in the city. It's a necessity, particularly when you work at home, to learn how to be conscious of the noises, but not dwell on them, otherwise nothing would ever get accomplished. Toys bouncing off of floors, furniture, walls etc. make a standard, innocuous sound that we pretty much ignore as the sounds of little boys having fun and keeping themselves occupied. On the other hand, toys bouncing off of, say, a sibling's head makes a completely different noise. Granted, this is usually followed by screams and/or crying so it's a gimme. This latest noise is 99.9% of the time attributed to the little guy (YES...definate pattern) hurling a diecast car at one of his brothers at high velocity with uncanny accuracy. For a kid who isn't yet 2 years old, he has a 2-seam fastball that would make Nolan Ryan proud.
The only time silence is trustworthy is between the hours of 8PM and 6AM. That's the typical sleep window for the kids who, finally, all manage to sleep through the night. Out of place sounds during these times usually accompany the full diaper (baby), the unfortunate accident (middle guy) or the occasional bloody nose (oldest). For a while, the sound of one of the older two heading downstairs in the morning was the unofficial starter pistol for the day. How kids as small as they are could be capable of thundering down a set of stairs with such a din is beyond me. This of course would wake the baby, who knowing the rest of the house was awake, would start to scream, thus becoming the 'official' starter pistol for the day. I actually got to the point where I had my kids practice climbing down the stairs quietly until I was satisfied they could do it without a sound. Call me crazy but it sometimes yields an extra 20 minutes of sleep each morning and I'll defend that to the teeth!
Don't get me wrong, I don't ignore the kids, and I'd never let them do anything I think would be potentially harmful. I can't, however, keep my eyes on them 24-7. So I have to trust to my other senses to tell me what's going on. They say when deprived of sight, the other senses heighten. Believe me, you don't need to see the contents to know a diaper is full of nastiness, and you don't need to see what's going on to recognize the sounds of trouble brewing somewhere.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)