Some nights

The other night my folks, grammy and papa, came to whisk Ben away to their house to stay the night (ended up being two nights).  As they loaded him into their car I found myself getting a little anxious, a little paranoid.  I know that neither my dad nor mom drive like maniacs.  I know that he'll have a great time with them.  I guess it's more of that mental void created, sure and physical void as well, that only a toddler can fill.  Time was suddenly freed-up that would typically be occupied by: "let's play this", "don't touch that", "time for a bath".  We didn't need to convince a squirming 25lb+ little body that it was dinner time or to get his diaper changed.     

My wife and I found ourselves bouncing between busy and "what now?".  My wife was more busy, I was more "let-me-see-if-can-figure-this-Roku-thing-out".  Still, we had been away so there was plenty to do around the house, as much as I would have preferred to be able to jump in the car and have a day-out.  OK, that's a lie.  I didn't get dressed in "real clothes" until 1:00; by the time my parents showed up, around 5:00, I was together.

Yesterday evening my wife said, "let's go out to dinner".  So we did, on an old gift card that we weren't sure when we'd use.  There was definitely that strange, persisting feeling that we were forgetting something; one of us didn't have their arms full of Ben and one of us didn't have a diaper bag hanging off their shoulder.  After dinner we had a romantic trip to the grocery store.  Kicking myself for the 11:30 bedtime though; Roku is the devil.  

We'll reunite with Ben this afternoon, sharing New Years with family and close friends.  Right now, I only have one resolution:  to be even happier.  I know, it sounds cold, as if I wasn't happy in 2013.  I was and am, but I could stand a larger dose.  I think I'll find more of it in old and new friends whom I haven't shared time with in a while or at all.  I hope to find it in activities I haven't had or made time for in 2013, as I had hoped, mainly due to laziness.

Don't forget to hug your little one a lot - it's like hugging yourself and your significant other all in one!  Until they let out a high pitched squeal in your ear because they want to go play.  Really, I'm still talking about the kid making that sound, not your significant other. 

Bang bang

We're only a few days away from welcoming in the new year.  The family and I made it safely to and from my wife's hometown.  

Two facts from the holidays:
1)  The little guy made out like a bandit
2)  I thin I put on 5+ pounds 

We played a game of "Russian Roulette" a few nights before Christmas, the bullet being a stomach bug.  I can't think of any other way to put it.  That night we had dinner with one of my wife's cousins and her family.  There we all sat around the table enjoying each other's company, with my wife's cousin's husband having just taken a shot of queasiness earlier that day.  Later we played with the kids and then back to the in-laws for our night's rest, not knowing who would be struck with a pale face and weak stomach next. 

I know, I know, keep a positive attitude.  But come on, how could I not picture, and fear, my family of three stopping every 5 miles down the PA turnpike on our way home to bring Christmas dinners back up.  Alas, over the course of the next few days we had two casualties:   my brother-in-law and my wife's cousin.  Close one.  Still sucked to see both of them down and out during the holidays.  Thanks for taking the hits dear family!

Here we are, home.  The tree is dry, standing there, right next to me as I type, stripped of ornaments, waiting for me to drag it to the back yard.  The living room is littered with the shrapnel of happiness and joy, in the form of plastic train rails, a tee pee, a tunnel and multitudes of other topnotch Chinese products.  What I foretold has come to light my readers.  

Season's Greetings n such

Happy Holidays!  I hope all of my readers have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!  

So, I wont make a huge deal over what to say during this time of the year, IE "what's right".  I grew up celebrating Christmas; makes sense considering I grew up a practicing Catholic and went to Catholic school.  I never knew there was anything but Christmas or saying "Merry Christmas".  My wife grew up Presbyterian and with Christmas as well.  So, Ben celebrates Christmas.  He doesn't know it, but he does.   

Even though this is the case, I, luckily, grew to have the utmost respect for whatever it is others choose to celebrate and really hope Ben grows up having that same respect.  I was fortunate enough to have been exposed to other religions growing up, through school, Judaism in particular.

Anyway, I've said my peace mainly for the purpose of letting you all know I guess.  Safe travels if you're doing so; 5 minutes or 500 miles. 

Fear itself

A comedian, I think it was Louis CK, once said in his act something like, "Taking care of a toddler is like trying to prevent someone from committing suicide over and over again." 

When you are alone with a high-energy toddler in a house, the air pulsates with the fear that if you were to turn your back for one second they would be putting something easily choked on in their mouths, climbing on top of the coffee table and getting tangled in their own legs, promptly dropping to the floor and/or bopping their head on the corner of something on the way down. Let me rephrase it: Whether you turn your back or not, there a good chance these things will happen.

And there you will be to yank the "chokeable" items out of the mouth and dive across any obstacle (or cat) to catch our precious babes as they nose-dive off ottomans.  There will also be those times when you think they put something in their mouths.  "Spit it out!  spit it out!" you'll mutter, over and over while attempting to pry open a tiny mouth full of tiny teeth.  Then you spot the marble on the floor, sigh a relief, pat the kid on the bum and send him on his way.  Another one saved!         

This parental fear of the worse-case-scenario spills over into every aspect of our lives: 

Driving with the kid in the car - Everyone out to sideswipe you, every else is driving too fast, no one follows the correct protocol for 4 way stops.  Imagine me driving Ben to the hospital the other night in the snow. Yeeeeep.  

Sleeping, yes sleeping -  Are they breathing?!  The first night the kid actually sleeps through the night especially.  God I hope "Snuggles the bear" doesn't fall on top of his face! 

Eating - You watch eat morsel go in, get chewed and swallowed.  This one actually holds water.  Ben can cram way too much in his mouth and make a muffled request of "more!" when there is no room for more, but he'd try if we gave it to him.  Oh and: did he get enough to eat?!  

Our words and actions- I know I've said this one before in terms of setting a bad example.  Did . . . did he hear me say that?  One slip up could mean he says it at daycare and gets kicked out!  Nooo!       

I believe I mentioned in previous post that "blind ignorance" that little kids have.  What we're all born with and which we loose as we learn and grow (but some hold onto for a looooong time).  Ben flat out did not know rolling around on the sofa might not be a great idea until he fell off of it.  How could he know? He's never done it before.  When I'm laying on the floor and he flops onto my stomach, promptly rolling up onto my head, he doesn't know that the glasses on my face are something I need to see.  He's having fun with dad damn it!

Ok this does sound like a bash at the paranoia that comes with being a good parent; because any good parent would be caring and mindful of their child's needs and potential hazards.  But is there a limit?  Ya know, going too far? 

Consider this:  A sharp contrast to how we modern-day American parents attend to our children is a tribe, I think in Africa,(I hate siting something and not having a link to the original article, I'll find it!) in which most individuals have scars from having been burned at a young age.  No, not self-inflicted or the victims of abuse.  When they were very young they walked into the fire or touched hot coals.  Why did their parents not stop them?  The answer:  How else would they know that fire is hot and can burn you?  How else would they know what "burn" truly means?  Learning by doing.  

Again, a sharp contrast, an extreme opposite to how we look at parenting and the normal limits we set as they discover their world and themselves.  It's a question I know my wife and I ask ourselves no matter what it might be; how much TV to watch, when to let Ben eat sweets and how much, etc. etc.     

We parents also have an ignorance that comes about as soon as the newborn comes into our world.  Sure we have books, classes and websites to help stave it off to help ease us into this new chapter of our lives.  As with many things in life, it's not until you've been surrounded by it and experienced it that you not only better understand it but can relish in it.  

Toy (bleeping!) land

Of course with the Christmas season at full speed, my thoughts turn to, of course all the crap my kid will hull in.  What toy will litter my living room, jab me in the foot, be eaten by the cat and/or Ben?  What toy will I find in my basement 5 years after he's moved out and be bugging him, as my mom and dad have my siblings and I, to PLEASE take it with him to HIS house the next time he visits? 

I've accepted the fact that I can't stop the gifts from coming.  I've accepted that there are parts of my house I won't see for years, buried beneath Birthday, Christmas's and "Just Because"s of the past; corners of rooms becoming archaeological dig sites by the time he's 18.  

I accept it because, yep, my parents did and are still asking me to take things with me I had long forgotten about.  So it's obligatory anyway.  I accept it because if he is happy, and getting him things makes whomever it might be happy, then who am I to deny happiness? 

Toys strewn across every inch of carpeting, could also be a teaching point, such as:  "Clean up your toys before daddy accidentally steps on them and breaks them!"  My dad stepped on things and broke them. I never saw the genius in that until now.  Mom probably helped in the stepping.  The thought of a destroyed toy, at any age, is enough motivation for most.  Unless you have a spoiled brat who say, "Go ahead, grandma will buy me another!" gaaaaaah! 

There are all sorts of positive thoughts to keep me sane, like:  "Well, when Ben buys us that new house, we can get the movers to box it all up." and "At least Ben got his third doctorate, paid off his college debt on his own and makes 6 digits."  oh, and "Ben did help us retire at 60 a few toys in the basement don't matter much."

Or, in another scenario, when no one else is in the room and Thomas the Tank Engine (and Friends) is stepped on for the 5th time that day, it might fly like a majestic reindeer down our decked halls.  

One of my favorite memories with my dad was taking him the toys where assembly was required.  We'd sit and put together, what looked to me, like a complicated mass of plastic parts which would eventually become a G.I. Joe jet or Heman's castle.  LEGOS were a great past-time for my dad and I, and eventually, my brother and I; we'd sit and create something using the directions or our imaginations as our guide.  Then dad or mom would step on one . . .     

Just accept it, Dad's are Superheroes!

This and other images by Milan, Italy's Giulia Pex of dad's showing their superhero sides can be found at

"Dad, you are my favorite superhero"

Not sharing this on my blog would just be a mistake. :D

Nonsense now and then

Flash back to college: I was sitting at my computer, chatting on AOL IM (remember that? when wasn't a college student in late 90s/early 2000s not on AOL IM?)  A friend was having a rough day, so I made up a poem in an attempt to bring a smile.  Line by line.  Like cheap beer from a keg, it flowed out of me with ease. 

The whole thing was goofy, funny, light-hearted, but did the trick for my friend.

I copied and pasted this poem into a Word document because I thought it wasn't too shabby for a non-English major.  Eventually, after spell check and some tweaking, it became "The Bestest of the Beastests", saved to a floppy disk and my PC's hard drive.  I guess it wasn't meant to last; my PC died and couldn't be resurrected and the floppy disk, when I went to open it, was "corrupted" or something bad.  I am now a loyal Mac user. 

I tried rewriting the poem several times and have two version that feel similar.  It's one of those times that something digital actually felt ephemeral.  I'm OK with it now, because it launch me into writing poetry as a kind of hobby or at least a way to be "artsy" in yet another way. 

Not long after Ben was born, the children of Shel Silverstein put out a book:  Everything On It.  I was "re-inspired" and even challenged by it.  I've since geared  a lot of my poems towards children, however I like to think that they can be for anyone.  As Willy Wonka put it: "A little nonsense now and then is relished by the wisest men."

Here's an example:

Ben?

Hop in the tub Ben

The bubbles are piled high

Careful, don’t splash!

You’ll get soap in your eyes

Now-now sit still Ben!

Let’s scrub you back with suds

Calm down, don’t wiggle

That’s a lot of dirt and mud!

Please don’t whine Ben

Soon you’ll be nice and clean

Only a few more minutes

Then you’ll see mom isn’t so mean

Time to wash your hair Ben

Then we’ll cut those long nails

“Mom?”

“Yes Ben?”

“I’m over here…and I don’t have a tail” 

Ok, so please don't take this poem with out my permission, or worse, say you wrote it.  I'm happy to share my work with whomever (pretty much).  

Sad and glad

The other day something happened that upset me.  It made me curse,made me let out a small sob and effectively put me in the dumps in an instant.  Not really important what happened, just know it was noticeable, to the whole household, that I was upset over it.

As I walked over to slump down onto the couch, I noticed Ben stopped playing and was looking up at me.  My first inner thought was, "Aw man, look how I acted (and am continuing to act) in front of the kid.  He shouldn't see this."  It was as if audio recordings of my mom and wife and ever other mom and wife in history was playing "You're setting a bad example!" on repeat.  One of those moments when not only are you still upset about whatever set you off in the first place but then you're upset for showing it in the way you did. 

So there I was, sulking and Ben walks up to me, pats me on the knee a few times and says "Hi Daddy, Hi Daddy."  He repeated this again and put his arms up.  I snatched him up onto my chest where he immediately put his head down.  I thanked him, gave him a hug, kissed the top of his head and, after a few minutes, he hopped down and went back to his trains.

At that point I felt both pride in my son and luck for myself.  There was no expectation that he should do what he did.  Sure, maybe he learned something about compassion at daycare or when my wife and I console him when he is upset.  Whatever the reason, I hope he continues on this path and doesn't grow out of it. 

It's a crazy thing when you feel your toddler is acting more mature than yourself.  For him, at this age, things are pretty much black and white.  Something makes you mad, you yell.  You like someone you hug them.  You don't like someone being around you, you shove them (saw that one today).  There is no social stigma attached his actions because they are so basic.  Ben can't overcomplicate anything yet.  Can't over-think anything.

When I grow up, I want to be like my two year old . . . in some ways.    

A looker

I wasn't super happy with the layout, colors, fonts etc. of my blog so you, my dear reader, may see a variety of backgrounds from day to day, maybe even hour to hour, for a little while.  Yes, I will settle on a layout, my visual nature won't let me just yet.  

So stick with me for a bit.  I promise I'll choose something where the words don't get lost in the background or cause you to seizure or to go blind.  

Thanks!  Let me know what you think with a comment if you have a second. 

Laughs that last

Something about myself I didn't mention in my first post was the fact that I really like making people laugh.  (I'm betting I'll have few more of these self-discovery moments while blogging) It came to mind after I came across this photo:

To create this laugh with you own child: take one red, inflated rubber ball, apply to toddler's belly area, shake gently with slight pressure into belly until desired results are obtained.

I like watching funny movies with people, just to see if they laugh and laugh with them; I think I laugh harder when others are laughing with me.   I like getting a reaction from a good joke or embarrassing moments from my or their past.  I've really enjoyed making my son laugh.  Maybe it's because it's easy, and it really is unless he is in a "terrible two moment".  And I'll be damned if our little stinker doesn't find ways to make us laugh easily.

Ben really liked peaches for a good stretch of time over the summer, when they were in season.  We got some amazing peaches this year and for a kid to love fruit, bonus.  So he learned to say "peach", only it didn't sound like "peach".  He had trouble with the "p", with it sounding more like a "b" and the ending sounding like he added a "t".  Now, put it together and what do ya get?  Bippity, boppity, "Beatch peese". 

If you don't get it or it doesn't make you laugh, that's fine and actually makes sense.  Being one of two in the audience, the inside jokes between myself and my wife that pertain to or are courteousy of Ben are numerous and no one else will get them.

Maybe Ben will read this blog when he gets older and get the joke, maybe he'll do one of the two or neither.  I almost feel bad that our little guy doens't even know he's a stand-up comedian and therapist all in one.  But I'm convinced when he asks "more,more!" when I'm tickling him, that it's just as much for him as it is for me. 

Croup hug

My wife was miles away in Virginia, on her way to a week-long conference, when their SUV broke down.  I was shaking a bit as I said, "The pediatrician told me to take Ben to the ER."  

 

I tried to anticipate her response before I even dialed, but what I got back, wasn't it.  

 

"It'll be OK, just breathe.  You have to be strong and get him there safely.  You can do this."  
 

She was dead-on, of course, I knew I had to be cool and calm, but it was harder then I ever thought.  She'd done it, mastered being a mom to a toddler already.  She was the cool headed general, even far from the battlefield.

Honesty time - 

I have a habit of stacking a cord of bad wood before good, even though it doesn't do me or anyone else any good.  In this case:  wife is gone, first day me and the kid are alone, it snowed, driveway isn't shoveled all the way, so the list grew.  

 

After a call to my mom and dad, I made sure the little guy was comfy, resting on the sofa, watching a video before I grabbed my hat and coat and went out to shovel.  I came back in every 5-8 minutes to check on him, then back out.  This combination of activities felt like some new sport, aka torture to a guy who doesn't play those sports in my first blog post anymore.  

 

Finally had a clear enough path to get out and we were on our way over a mix of road conditions, some of the "white knuckle variety". My folks would meet me at the ER, an hour drive for them, my amazing bonus support staff.  

 

Several nurses, a doctor and a resident saw Ben.  All were wonderful, all legitimately concerned.  The questions were repeated several times, my answers with them, but I didn't mind, maybe I forgot something in between.  Ben was tired and fell asleep on me as I squatted next to the hospital bed.  My mom said I should sit down in the chair next to the bed, but I was where I needed to be for him and me.  The diagnosis was what had been expected from the first phone call into the pediatrician's office, it was Croup.      

 

We got home around midnight.  Ben slept the whole way.  Road crews had been out, so it was a different experience driving back; eerily paralleling my mindset during our travels: scary going, calmer coming home.  I laid him down in his bed after getting him into his pajamas, his eyes drearily knowing what was going on, not quite asleep but not awake.  Just as I puled the covers over him he shot up, reaching up for me.  

Well, I had stuff I had to do: turn lights off, get myself ready for bed, but easy to do with kid-in-arms.  So I took him downstairs where he pointed to the kitchen, then to the refrigerator, then to the container of jello.  Yep, he'll be OK.  I put him on the sofa, his "den of comfort" that day, where he requested "Thomas".  

All day he wanted nothing more then to be held, to wallow on me and feel comforted.  I felt bad for him but lucky for myself to have such a sweet kid who needed me.  He was reminding me that he was still a delicate newcomer to this world, who knew nothing about how to explain that he wasn't feeling right.  His body language and his barely audible, raspy words were more than enough to amp up the vigilance over and care for him.  

 

More back story:

Ben hadn't been feeling right since the day before, with this fact really showing itself that night with a horrible cough that woke us up.  The next day Ben didn't show too many signs of feeling miserable at first, but I called the pediatrician's on-call service anyway to confirm my thoughts, or maybe deny them, on what Ben had and what I could do.  Google and Internet searched still cannot be the calming voice of a nurse or mom or wife saying even the smallest bit of "its OK".

As the day went on Ben's breathing just didn't sound right, he didn't want to eat anymore and he was very lethargic.  So by early evening, I made another call to the pediatrician's.  This time the nurse could hear his breathing over the phone and said to get him into a steamy bathroom now to help get his airways opened up more, she'd check back in 30 minutes.  I did this and the nurse still didn't like what she heard.  She had the doctor call me, who had the same thought as the nurse, telling me to take him to the ER.  

The new blog has dawned . . .

I'll start off by saying that I really hope I keep up on this blog.  I have another blog, but have not posted anything new for quite some time.  Many reasons why not, but one big (little) reason is why I began this one:  my son.  

I hope it might entertain the reader, but maybe help new dads in the process as I still consider myself new.  I'll tag important words, phrases, etc. etc. that probably only pertain to babies and toddlers and being a dad.  Help make it searchable.  

Alright, so I think a bit of background on me could help any reader who wanders by this tiny spot in the blog world and tinier spot in the internet.  

• What sort of dad am I?  Well, I suppose it's what sort of person I am.  So, I'll list stuff that makes me, me and obviously affects what sort of dad I am:
•    I'm a huge dork.
• I reenact time periods in American history.  Yes, I play "dress-up" for fun, have for 16 years.  Yes, my son has already been dressed up, along with my wife.  
• I sew.  It's how I create some of the accurate clothing and other stuff I need to help be the best reenactor I can be, authentically speaking.  It also helps my wife get buttons put back on and pants hemmed. 
• I like to read about dorky stuff:  smoking, curing and preserving meat and other stuff, chickens, history, cooking, sewing, making stuff.  
• I do most of the cooking.
• I worked in a restaurant through high school and when I was home from college.  Not a bad skill to get a gal . . . and then cook every.meal.since.  Ok, not entirely true, but I do cook a lot.
• I consider myself an artist.
• Was named class artist in grade school and have always loved to draw and paint along with going to art museums, exhibitions etc.  
• I went to a local art school on Saturday mornings for a few years growing up.  
• I do not have a smart phone or tablet.
• I'll blame this mostly on finances.  You will all know if this point changes.
• I grew up in the "country", or at least not in true suburbs with sidewalks.
• My brother and I spent tons of time outdoors.  I'm sure there will be more reflection on this later.  
• Ah, right, I'm the oldest of three:  little bro and sis after me.  
• I enjoy sports, but mostly hockey.
• I played a few sports growing up, street hockey was one of them since I didn't skate and my folks couldn't afford ice hockey.  Played lots of baseball too.  Again, I'm sure this will come up later.  
• I'm just over 30.
• I do appreciate spelling well and proper grammar but don't call people out on it unless it's hiilllaaarious.  

Ok, I think that's enough.  If you have a question about me, post it and I'll get back to you ASAP.  

First "real" blog post to come soon!  

I'd like to thank friend on Facebook for saying I should do this.  Maybe it was one friend, but still, thanks!