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..."
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Thursday, December 29, 2011
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.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Land of a Thousand Questions
Anyone remember Uncle Buck? He sat in a kitchen with a young, McCauley Caulkin machine-gunning questions him. The record for consecutive questions: 38. Lightweight. No, I'm sorry, that's not a lightweight, that doesn't actually qualify to be let in to watch the lightweights warm up. Anyone with a 3-year-old living under their roof knows that once that first question gets asked, there's a distinct possibility that the next few words out of your mouth can start a chain reaction of of rapid-fire questions that can leave you more delirious than Charlie Sheen after a late-afternoon bender.
Answering questions is normal. In fact, I think most non-labor jobs can be boiled down to doing one primary thing: Coming up with answers to questions.
Think about it:
Doctor - Umm, what made you decide to stick THAT in THERE?
Lawyer - Who convinced you to stick That in There?
Engineer - You want me to stick What, Where?
Politician - Where can I stick this?
My profession is the same thing. It's about coming up with the answers to people's questions. Some of them are easy, some of them take a while. Regardless of the question that I'm trying to answer at the time, the importance will always be trumped by whatever is asked by my two talking Question-O-Matics.
What my boys may lack in question sophistication, they more than make up for in sheer volume and tenacity. I think I clocked my oldest in around 4,627 questions in the space of one afternoon when he was younger. Thankfully, he's refined his skills enough such that he can get a satisfactory answer in under 50 attempts. My three-year old, not so much. He's hampered by the fact that as a 3-year-old he has the attention span of a gnat and a limited frame of reference for answers (which allows me throw a zinger or two into my response without him realizing). Despite getting an answer he may have been willing to accept, by the time he's left the room, he's forgotten the answer and returns to begin the exchange of information anew. That is, of course, assuming you were able to properly understand the question the first time and didn't inadvertently provide an answer that would begin a full-scale inquisition. If that happens, you might as well just stop whatever it was you were trying to work on, deadlines be damned, grab a drink and a comfy chair and prepare yourself for the long siege. To add a level of difficulty to the Olympic Event, not only do you have to actually KNOW the answer, but you also have to carefully mine your vocabulary for words your Super Sleuth understands, and then construct the answer in a way that can also be understood. All the time being sensitive to who your audience is.
"Dad, where do baby's come from?"
Me: "Huh?" (Stall tactic...I heard him just fine)
"Where do baby's come from?"
Me: "The hospital. Don't you remember when your brother was born? Daddy took Mommy to the hospital and came home with the baby?"
"Oh yeah." (Brief pause. Perhaps I'm off the hook?) "But wasn't the baby in Mommy's belly first?" (Damn)
Me: "Yes"
(Where's a shiny object for distraction when you need one?)
"How'd it get in Mommy's belly?"
Me: "God put it there."
"Why?"
Me: "Because He thought Mommy and Daddy weren't crazy enough with 3 and wants to drive us completely over the edge."
"Huh?"
Me: "Never mind. Because God knows how much we love you guys and He thought it would be great if you had a little brother or sister."
"Oh. Ok. That's a good idea."
Me: "I'm glad you approve."
I don't care WHAT the child psychologists may say, I'm not going birds-and-bees with my 5-year-old. No way. No how.
Frame of reference is also huge. For people who don't have kids, or haven't been around young kids in a while, they forget that most of how we describe things or interact with the world is based on prior experience. I've felt bad for family members in the past who have arrived to the house very excited about a gift they had brought only to be met with stark indifference:
(enter grandpa)
"Hey guys!"
(enter enthusiastic munchkins)
"GRANDPA!"
"Look what I brought you!" (holding out gift)
"Uh. OK."
"What's the matter? Don't you like it?"
"What is it?"
"It's a Sled!"
"Oh. Ok." (exit stage left)
(Disappointed Grandfather) "I thought they'd be more excited."
(Me) "I'm sure they would be if they had any clue what a sled is."
"Ah."
For the record, that was remedied soon afterwards.
Perhaps just as mind numbing is the endless monologue. For a child with limited vocabulary, my three year old has no lack of lung power to keep up a constant barrage of prattle. I've come back from a 20 minute trip to the store to find a frazzled looking wife in the kitchen with the little guy sitting at the table. His now-cold chicken nuggets lay untouched in front of him because eating one would have required him to stop talking long enough to take a breath. I'm quickly told: "He's been yammering at me non-stop since you left." Now, this particular situation takes a gentle touch. Being fully dedicated to the welfare of my wife, I want to extract her from the situation prior to full mental collapse (I've been there, I'm sympathetic) but I don't necessarily want to do so in such a way that redirects the onslaught at myself (I've been there...I'm not THAT sympathetic). There are no Medals of Valor given for jumping on the chatterbox grenade. At least if you are in the house, you can walk around a bit, most likely being followed by continuing sagas of...well...everything he's experienced in the last 48 hours. If you are in the car, however, you are in trouble. Rush hour traffic? You're a goner. There's absolutely no point in trying to follow the stream of consciousness or make any sense about what's being said. I've tried a few times and it left me jibbering like an idiot. Scariest of all was the time I followed and understood just about all of it. 3 hours and 17 minutes of my life I can no longer account for.
So if you have some time to kill, come on over. Question sessions start randomly, have no known topic, and no specified time limit. All are invited to attend (and allow for Mom or Dad to make an inconspicuous exit).
(For the record, this post was interrupted no less than 44 times during it's construction...It was a slow day.)
Answering questions is normal. In fact, I think most non-labor jobs can be boiled down to doing one primary thing: Coming up with answers to questions.
Think about it:
Doctor - Umm, what made you decide to stick THAT in THERE?
Lawyer - Who convinced you to stick That in There?
Engineer - You want me to stick What, Where?
Politician - Where can I stick this?
My profession is the same thing. It's about coming up with the answers to people's questions. Some of them are easy, some of them take a while. Regardless of the question that I'm trying to answer at the time, the importance will always be trumped by whatever is asked by my two talking Question-O-Matics.
What my boys may lack in question sophistication, they more than make up for in sheer volume and tenacity. I think I clocked my oldest in around 4,627 questions in the space of one afternoon when he was younger. Thankfully, he's refined his skills enough such that he can get a satisfactory answer in under 50 attempts. My three-year old, not so much. He's hampered by the fact that as a 3-year-old he has the attention span of a gnat and a limited frame of reference for answers (which allows me throw a zinger or two into my response without him realizing). Despite getting an answer he may have been willing to accept, by the time he's left the room, he's forgotten the answer and returns to begin the exchange of information anew. That is, of course, assuming you were able to properly understand the question the first time and didn't inadvertently provide an answer that would begin a full-scale inquisition. If that happens, you might as well just stop whatever it was you were trying to work on, deadlines be damned, grab a drink and a comfy chair and prepare yourself for the long siege. To add a level of difficulty to the Olympic Event, not only do you have to actually KNOW the answer, but you also have to carefully mine your vocabulary for words your Super Sleuth understands, and then construct the answer in a way that can also be understood. All the time being sensitive to who your audience is.
"Dad, where do baby's come from?"
Me: "Huh?" (Stall tactic...I heard him just fine)
"Where do baby's come from?"
Me: "The hospital. Don't you remember when your brother was born? Daddy took Mommy to the hospital and came home with the baby?"
"Oh yeah." (Brief pause. Perhaps I'm off the hook?) "But wasn't the baby in Mommy's belly first?" (Damn)
Me: "Yes"
(Where's a shiny object for distraction when you need one?)
"How'd it get in Mommy's belly?"
Me: "God put it there."
"Why?"
Me: "Because He thought Mommy and Daddy weren't crazy enough with 3 and wants to drive us completely over the edge."
"Huh?"
Me: "Never mind. Because God knows how much we love you guys and He thought it would be great if you had a little brother or sister."
"Oh. Ok. That's a good idea."
Me: "I'm glad you approve."
I don't care WHAT the child psychologists may say, I'm not going birds-and-bees with my 5-year-old. No way. No how.
Frame of reference is also huge. For people who don't have kids, or haven't been around young kids in a while, they forget that most of how we describe things or interact with the world is based on prior experience. I've felt bad for family members in the past who have arrived to the house very excited about a gift they had brought only to be met with stark indifference:
(enter grandpa)
"Hey guys!"
(enter enthusiastic munchkins)
"GRANDPA!"
"Look what I brought you!" (holding out gift)
"Uh. OK."
"What's the matter? Don't you like it?"
"What is it?"
"It's a Sled!"
"Oh. Ok." (exit stage left)
(Disappointed Grandfather) "I thought they'd be more excited."
(Me) "I'm sure they would be if they had any clue what a sled is."
"Ah."
For the record, that was remedied soon afterwards.
Perhaps just as mind numbing is the endless monologue. For a child with limited vocabulary, my three year old has no lack of lung power to keep up a constant barrage of prattle. I've come back from a 20 minute trip to the store to find a frazzled looking wife in the kitchen with the little guy sitting at the table. His now-cold chicken nuggets lay untouched in front of him because eating one would have required him to stop talking long enough to take a breath. I'm quickly told: "He's been yammering at me non-stop since you left." Now, this particular situation takes a gentle touch. Being fully dedicated to the welfare of my wife, I want to extract her from the situation prior to full mental collapse (I've been there, I'm sympathetic) but I don't necessarily want to do so in such a way that redirects the onslaught at myself (I've been there...I'm not THAT sympathetic). There are no Medals of Valor given for jumping on the chatterbox grenade. At least if you are in the house, you can walk around a bit, most likely being followed by continuing sagas of...well...everything he's experienced in the last 48 hours. If you are in the car, however, you are in trouble. Rush hour traffic? You're a goner. There's absolutely no point in trying to follow the stream of consciousness or make any sense about what's being said. I've tried a few times and it left me jibbering like an idiot. Scariest of all was the time I followed and understood just about all of it. 3 hours and 17 minutes of my life I can no longer account for.
So if you have some time to kill, come on over. Question sessions start randomly, have no known topic, and no specified time limit. All are invited to attend (and allow for Mom or Dad to make an inconspicuous exit).
(For the record, this post was interrupted no less than 44 times during it's construction...It was a slow day.)
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Work From Home Dad: Back with New News!
Work From Home Dad: Back with New News!: Ok, so it's been a while. I had the impression for a while that some significant people in my life weren't thrilled with the idea of my blo...
Back with New News!
Ok, so it's been a while. I had the impression for a while that some significant people in my life weren't thrilled with the idea of my blogging, so I went on hiatus for a while. Yeah, a long while. But I thought I'd give it another try for the sake of the 9 loyal followers out there.
I'm still working from home, and some things have changed, while others stay frustratingly the same. The BIG news however is that my wife and I are now expecting child number 4! Yes, the chaos that swirls around me on a daily basis isn't enough for me apparently so we're adding to the craziness. Seriously, though, I love the idea of another baby in house. The marathon of tiredness, resetting of the nasty-diaper clock and return to washing bottles...not so much. But more than anything, I'm psyched to welcome what will most likely be the fourth and final installment of our little clan!
One of the great things about working from home is the fact that I'm on hand for most of the BIG events, and I'm not at risk of being three states away when the "My water just broke!" phone call comes in. Of my three boys, the first one was the only arrival that really surprised me. The second one was scheduled to be induced, and the third occurred during a routine pregnancy visit after a morning of "Boy I'm really cramping today." That translated in my mind to: "Get the bags packed, here we go!"
The first one arrived after hosting Father's Day at my house, where my wife and I were completely exhausted (did I mention we had also adopted a 120lb yellow lab less than 24 hours before?). No sooner did we turn out the light to go to bed when I heared "Um...I think my water just broke. No...I'm SURE my water just broke." It was AWESOME! I know that sounds really weird, but on some primal level, the protector/provider instinct kicked in and I knew I had to take care of my wife. It was exactly how I had pictured the announcement and trip to the doctor for the birth would be. We finished packing (I'd just come back from a 2-week stint away from home for work 2 days previously) made some phone calls and headed to the hospital. I felt like a rookie called up to the big leagues. I was primed and ready and pumped to get started. I had the lamaze lessons in my head, I had the suitcase ready (the "Daddy-to-be" equivalent of Batman's utility belt) for any occasion. I was ready to be there for my wife and meet my son!
Fast forward through 7 exhausting hours of narcotic injections, epidurals by a B*tchy Anesthesiologist with no bedside manner, and a lot of contractions, and it was time. That's when it all started falling apart. My wife's blood pressure dropped and they put her on oxygen. The baby was flipped upside down, not breach, but not 'sunny-side-up' to help get through the birth canal. The umbilical chord was wrapped around the baby's neck 3 times, so the baby's heart rate dropped whenever we pushed. I felt completely helpless. I'm scared for my wife, who is going through hell. I'm scared for my son, who's fighting just to come into the world, and I can do NOTHING. Every possible scenario runs through your head during those times, none of them good, and all the while you have to focus on staying calm and strong so your wife has her rock through all the turmoil.
The nurses and doctor were fantastic. The baby flipped. The cord was unwound. The final push and I was blessed with my first son. I was torn between being by my wife's side, helpless, while the doctors gave her the post-birth care, and being by my son's warming cart, also feeling helpless but at least able to let his tiny fist clutch my pinky and whisper to him "Daddy's here...we're going to go see Mommy really soon."
I'm not saying I want to repeat the whole series of events. I know my wife in particular would like to start the epidural 12 hours before the labor begins, preferably with some laughing gas and come out of it 3 weeks later after the pushing is done and she'd had time to sleep and heal. But looking back, it was 12 hours of intense "Daddy" training. A lifetime of lessons in a brief span. As I've said, I've been present for the birth of each of my sons, and the miracle never diminishes. I probably cried more with each successive birth for the joy of the occasion, and have savored the experience more, but I will never forget the birth of my first, which in retrospect has taught me more than I would have ever expected.
I'm still working from home, and some things have changed, while others stay frustratingly the same. The BIG news however is that my wife and I are now expecting child number 4! Yes, the chaos that swirls around me on a daily basis isn't enough for me apparently so we're adding to the craziness. Seriously, though, I love the idea of another baby in house. The marathon of tiredness, resetting of the nasty-diaper clock and return to washing bottles...not so much. But more than anything, I'm psyched to welcome what will most likely be the fourth and final installment of our little clan!
One of the great things about working from home is the fact that I'm on hand for most of the BIG events, and I'm not at risk of being three states away when the "My water just broke!" phone call comes in. Of my three boys, the first one was the only arrival that really surprised me. The second one was scheduled to be induced, and the third occurred during a routine pregnancy visit after a morning of "Boy I'm really cramping today." That translated in my mind to: "Get the bags packed, here we go!"
The first one arrived after hosting Father's Day at my house, where my wife and I were completely exhausted (did I mention we had also adopted a 120lb yellow lab less than 24 hours before?). No sooner did we turn out the light to go to bed when I heared "Um...I think my water just broke. No...I'm SURE my water just broke." It was AWESOME! I know that sounds really weird, but on some primal level, the protector/provider instinct kicked in and I knew I had to take care of my wife. It was exactly how I had pictured the announcement and trip to the doctor for the birth would be. We finished packing (I'd just come back from a 2-week stint away from home for work 2 days previously) made some phone calls and headed to the hospital. I felt like a rookie called up to the big leagues. I was primed and ready and pumped to get started. I had the lamaze lessons in my head, I had the suitcase ready (the "Daddy-to-be" equivalent of Batman's utility belt) for any occasion. I was ready to be there for my wife and meet my son!
Fast forward through 7 exhausting hours of narcotic injections, epidurals by a B*tchy Anesthesiologist with no bedside manner, and a lot of contractions, and it was time. That's when it all started falling apart. My wife's blood pressure dropped and they put her on oxygen. The baby was flipped upside down, not breach, but not 'sunny-side-up' to help get through the birth canal. The umbilical chord was wrapped around the baby's neck 3 times, so the baby's heart rate dropped whenever we pushed. I felt completely helpless. I'm scared for my wife, who is going through hell. I'm scared for my son, who's fighting just to come into the world, and I can do NOTHING. Every possible scenario runs through your head during those times, none of them good, and all the while you have to focus on staying calm and strong so your wife has her rock through all the turmoil.
The nurses and doctor were fantastic. The baby flipped. The cord was unwound. The final push and I was blessed with my first son. I was torn between being by my wife's side, helpless, while the doctors gave her the post-birth care, and being by my son's warming cart, also feeling helpless but at least able to let his tiny fist clutch my pinky and whisper to him "Daddy's here...we're going to go see Mommy really soon."
I'm not saying I want to repeat the whole series of events. I know my wife in particular would like to start the epidural 12 hours before the labor begins, preferably with some laughing gas and come out of it 3 weeks later after the pushing is done and she'd had time to sleep and heal. But looking back, it was 12 hours of intense "Daddy" training. A lifetime of lessons in a brief span. As I've said, I've been present for the birth of each of my sons, and the miracle never diminishes. I probably cried more with each successive birth for the joy of the occasion, and have savored the experience more, but I will never forget the birth of my first, which in retrospect has taught me more than I would have ever expected.
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