Why Do You Build Me Up?

“Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before! What if Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store. What if Christmas…perhaps…means a little bit more!” 
― Dr. Seuss

Well, it is that time of year again. The time where we, as parents, spend countless days and nights finding the perfect gifts for our children. The time when we spend even more nights wrapping and hiding the aforementioned presents. The time when we count the gifts over and over to make sure that each child has the same number of items, so as to not piss them off on this most blessed holiday. Yes, it is Christmas.

My wife and I (mainly my wife) have spent the last 6 weeks or so listening to every desire that our children have. We have eavesdropped on the encounters with Santa to determine what they want. We have asked each of them incessantly what they would like for Christmas – almost to the point of making it blatantly obvious what our true role in the festivities is.

Now what was it you said you wanted from Santa?

And what ad did you say you saw that in again?

Ok, but what page was it on?

Did you see it in the store? What aisle?

What color do you want? You know, so Santa knows.

After all, this is how the magic happens. Luckily for us, our children are incredibly specific. Purple bike for Hannah; check. Light-up IronMan for Alex; check. These are the two that we heard about the most. There were others, but for some reason, these ring in my head. I know that this is not what the season is about, and for the most part, so do the kids, but it’s still fun. When it was all said and done, we had found everything on the lists. Score.

When Christmas Eve came, there was no miniature sleigh on my roof; there were no tiny reindeer either. Nope, it was just me and the Mrs. staying up till the wee hours of the night sipping on beverages waiting for sugar plums to start dancing. It was around 12:30 a.m. that we decided the coast was clear. You know, because the kids always stay up until about 11:30 every other night (sarcasm). We then started the process as if we were Seal Team 6 due to the insanely heightened sense of hearing that children have (more sarcasm). These are the same children that have slept through me accidentally setting off the burglar alarm in the middle of the night. Regardless, this is a stressful portion of the evening.

We arranged everything perfectly so there would be no confusion as to which pile belonged to whom. This was always a problem when I was growing up, but then again, my parents did have a litter, so this task was a bit more challenging. My wife really enjoys this part. She has to make sure everything is perfect. I have to remind myself that, in the grand scheme of things, this is all still new for her; she gets just as excited as the kids do.

We were giddy. We had found everything they had asked for. Everything was in its proper place, after much rearranging and my eventual getting the hell out of the way. The kids were going to love it. I could not wait to see their faces as they came down the stairs. My wife, at one point, even mentioned how the kids were going to “flip their shit”. This statement alone let me know just how excited she was – just like a kid herself - a delightful, enthusiastic, foul-mouthed little kid.

Our delightful angels actually let us sleep until 7:30 on Christmas morning, a gift in and of itself. They came in and were ecstatic as Santa had left a candy cane on their dressers to let them know he had been there. They jump on the bed and we eventually head downstairs. I went down first to turn on the lights and the tree, and because I really wanted to see their faces as they came down. Sharon was on video. She had the phone in hand ready to record these priceless reactions of joy and gratitude. They descended upon the living room and immediately…had no reaction whatsoever. Needless to say, shit was not flipped.

As parents, we need that reaction; we have to have it. So, what do we do? We start priming the reaction engines. We pull it out of them and make them become joyful. My wife is a pro at this…(raise your reading voice a few octaves for this)

Oh my goodness! What did you guys get?

Is that a purple bike? Wow!

Light-up IronMan? So cool!

Isn’t this amazing?! What do you guys think?!

Smile. Scream. Jump up and down. Hell, throw up from being overwhelmed. Do something, dammit! I felt like I needed to give them comment cards with a check box on it.

Check the box that applies

 This is all in jest. It took a while, but the kids did get excited about their gifts and they were extremely grateful. After a short time, they were both riding bikes around the house and IronMan was flying through the skies. This was the reaction we were looking for. It just took a while to sink in.

My wife and I sat back and watched and realized the blessings we have in our life, and that is when we knew all of the questioning, the shopping, and the covert operations are all worth it. Now, it is time for a long winter’s nap.

My Family is Nuts

There are times when occasions align in such a way that I am extremely grateful for what I have in my life. That is not to say that I am not always grateful for what I have, but there are times when these gifts are brought to the forefront. This holiday season is definitely one of those times. I understand that this post may be a little late as it has to do with Thanksgiving, but there is a point to be made in my tardiness. Thanksgiving is a time when we gather with family and friends and discuss how appreciative we are for each other and our good fortune. To be as clichéd as possible, this should not only occur for one day a year. I know that this is easier said than done, but I, for one, am going to make a more concerted effort throughout the year, and not just on a day where we are obligated to do so. I will now get down from my soap box and address what I really want to discuss.

As you know, if you are a reader of this blog, I write about my kids and what it means to be a dad. My kids are extremely special to me, even when I want to strangle them out of frustration. We have a very unique family when it comes to holidays. You see, my wife is Jewish, and I am Catholic. So, as a result, we joke that our children are Cashews. It is this amazing intermarriage that has given us ample cultural opportunities. There are some that have expressed concern about how this ‘arrangement’ may confuse the hell out of our children; in fact, we have pondered that ourselves as parents, but what has happened is really something quite amazing. What is occurring is exactly what my wife and I had hoped for when we decided to start the procreation process – our children are well-rounded, cultured offspring. This is not to say that we do not encounter times when questions arise, but it is these questions that we want…if we truly know the answer (Thank you, Google).

We celebrate Easter, Passover, Christmas, and Hanukkah, among others. I know what you are thinking, and yes, it is exhausting, but it is worth it to let them know where we all come from, which is not always the same place. It is this diversity that is preparing them for life, one Easter egg and Menorah candle at a time.

This year, Thanksgiving fell on the same day that Hanukkah began. Apparently, this does not happen all that often. I looked it up (Google). This coincidence reminded me of what I should be thankful for, and it is the fact that my children have the chance to experience both sides of their family despite their differences, and at the ages of 3 and 6, they actually understand some of it…probably better than me. I would be remiss if I did not mention the happiness that is eating latkes and turkey at the same time. And now you’re jealous; I know.

I am thankful that when we sit down for dinner, we say the traditional Catholic blessing as well as the Hamotzi, the traditional Jewish blessing, and it is the kids that lead these prayers. And yes, for some reason, Alex still insists on representing the good people of Ghana in prayer as well.

I am thankful that we light the candles of the Menorah which sits right under the stockings hung with care.

I am thankful that we make the connection of Passover and Easter so that the kids understand.

I am thankful that our kids have gone to a Jewish preschool and a Catholic elementary school.

I am thankful that my daughter that attends the Catholic elementary school was asked to speak to the class about Hanukkah, and she knew what she was talking about. Did I mention she is 6?

I am also thankful to be part of both communities that welcome us with open arms.

On my first date with my wife, I took her back to her mother’s house, and I remember looking down at the ‘Welcome’ mat and reality setting in. The mat did not say ‘welcome’ but it did say ‘Shalom’. We have had to answer a lot of questions from family, friends, and ourselves, and I am thankful that we have made the decisions that we have. All of us have benefitted from the union of our nutty little family. So, to my wife, my children, my family and friends, I say ‘Thank You’. L’Chaim.

Daddy Duty

I have always been the dad that has not been shy about saying how proud I am of that role…but, occasionally there are times when this is a little more difficult to acknowledge. Sometimes, as dads, we have to do things that we are not proud of. This is one of those times.

The other night, I was giving the kids their nightly bath. This is something I usually like doing because of my not being home some nights; it gives me a little quality time with the rugrats. My wife and I used to do this together, but we have figured out that one of us can be making lunches while the other is giving baths…what a concept. After all, it does take an hour to get the kids to sleep. Well, on this fateful evening, after chasing them throughout the house, I corralled them into the bathroom. After this process, we are now running behind schedule, so this had to be quick. I began running the water, and they used the potty. Alex gets on the toilet, pees, and hops off – all in a matter of seconds. He hops in the tub – one down. Hannah, on the other hand, takes a little more time when using the bathroom. In fact, this was one of the times where Hannah decided she had to, ya know, poop. No worries.

I then turn my attention to Alex. Alex is slightly animated, and bath time can be a little exhausting…for me. We start scrubbing as usual, when all of a sudden, what can only be described as a Raisinet, ascends from the depths of the tub. Awesome. I knew at that point that I had to get the nugget of excrement out of the water before Hannah knew about it. She kind of has a thing about other people’s bodily waste. I had to act quickly and in a stealth-like manner. Nope. Wasn’t going to happen, not with Alex. The crazy thing is that he didn’t even know it had happened. I know what you are thinking…’drain the tub, clean it with bleach, and then resume the bath you disgusting bastard.’ I did mention that it was getting late, right?

“Hey Daddy, look at that!”

It was as if he had just seen a meerkat peek its head out of a hole in the ground. Dammit. Maybe Hannah didn’t hear. After all, she had other things to worry about at this point.

“Look at what, Daddy?”

Oh well.

“Nothing sweetie. Just finish up and get in the bath.”

“What is it, Daddy? What is Alex talking about? What did he want you to look at?”

It was as if she knew. It actually reminded me of the end of the movie Seven,when Brad Pitt kept asking what was in the box, and yes, I was Morgan Freeman – I’ve always wanted to be Morgan Freeman. I digress. I guess Alex would have to be Kevin Spacey…the evil genius. He knew that she would freak out, and I am convinced that was part of his maniacal plan the whole time.

At that instant, I did what any dad would do. I made a cup with my hands and scooped the poop. I made sure to have water between my hand and the poop; I didn’t want to be disgusting or anything. I then ran to my bathroom as quickly as possible and disposed of the floater. Upon my return, and after washing my hands with scalding water, Hannah asked what was in the tub (think Brad Pitt’s voice). I told her it was some grass. Yes, that was it. Alex had some grass on him, and I got rid of it. Done. The best part was that after all my efforts, she bought it. Disaster averted. Yes, I lied, but it was to protect my child.

Hannah finished her “chore” and got in the tub. We were going to make it. Alex, however, had other plans…

“But Daddy, what happened to the poop that came out of my tushie?”

As dads, we are called on for many things. This is our duty. In some cases, we have to put up with our kids giving us shit. And, sometimes, we just have to take it. 

The City That Needs a Good Nap

Las Vegas is the only place I know where money really talks—it says, “Goodbye.”

FRANK SINATRA

Recently, I was given the opportunity to go to Las Vegas for a conference. It was the first time I had ever been there, and I was extremely excited. Unfortunately, I did have to go by myself, but I convinced myself that I would have a good time in this locale often referred to as Sin City. This was something I had looked forward to, in some form or fashion, my entire life. You always hear stories of Vegas and how ‘wonderful’ it is – the drinking, gambling, and the debauchery. I loved watching movies like Bugsy, 21, and of course The Hangover (just the first one). I am not saying that it was my goal to live like the actors in the film, but there was something intriguing about each of the characters and their experiences. I actually remember walking by the Bellagio and thinking about robbing the place much like Danny Ocean, but I realized this would be a mistake; I had not had time to properly plan. But, here it was, my time in Vegas, my time to channel my inner Sinatra.

I remember flying over the city and seeing the Strip; it is not as glamorous as I would have thought, but I was looking forward to it all the same. I landed, made it to my hotel, and started my Hangover experience…ok, I took a short nap. But, I needed to because I was going to really live it up after that.

I also recall how my friends and I used to talk about the possibility of going to Vegas and all the trouble we would get into. We would spend hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars gambling, drinking, and going to certain gentlemen’s clubs. Scoff all you want, we were 21 years old. We were going to do everything we could to have the same experience as Mikey and Trent in Swingers, because, after all, we were ‘money’ (in our humble opinions). We would hit every casino, be treated like high rollers, visit the aforementioned “clubs”, and never sleep. This was our time. Well, we never made it to Vegas during this time in our lives, and we never got this chance – this is probably a good thing in hindsight.

Now, you are probably wondering where the “parenting” connection is in all of this. After all, this is what I write about. Well, here it is. All the adolescent goals I just mentioned were nowhere to be found. My time as a dad has taught me many things, the greatest of which is responsibility. The thousands of dollars I was going to spend on booze and tables turned into allotting myself $100 and stretching my per diem as much as humanly possible. I am pretty sure I literally had 3 alcoholic beverages over the course of 3 days…and they were free. As far as the “clubs” were concerned – I really just wanted to find a nice place to eat dinner. And not once did I stay up past 11:00; after all, that was the time I usually went to bed at home.

I did not feel the need to blow money on slot machines because I knew that money could be used on ridiculous stuffed animals with Las Vegas t-shirts. I did not feel the need to drink myself into a stupor because I really did want to learn at the conference. And, I did not get the inclination to visit one of the “clubs” because I love my family. As I walked along Las Vegas Boulevard, looking at the young gentleman asking for change on the sidewalk (his sign mentioned that he was looking for a Sugar Momma), the girls dressed in classic show girls attire, or the ladies that were “dressed” in substantially less attire, I kept asking myself, “What does their dad think?” I know this could be a sensitive area for some parents, but this is the way I see it. I know that the circumstances that have befallen these individuals are unknown and I am not one to judge, but there are questions that arise.

It is not my place to judge these individuals, and I assure you that is not my intention. I have no idea how they got where they are, whether it be by an unfortunate state of affairs or conscious decisions. But, this is how I have changed. I am a dad, and that is how I think. Gone are the days of depravity and impetuousness. Now are the days of responsibility and accountability, to my wife and to my kids. Whereas I used to think “VEGAS, BABY!”, I now find myself looking forward to Branson and the Memphis Zoo. Seriously? Seriously.

Guess Who's Coming to Dinner

Never argue at the dinner table, for the one who is not hungry always gets the best of the argument.

-Voltaire

When it comes to dinner at our house, we do our best to remain a little old-fashioned in this crazy time. I do work some nights, there are the nights with gymnastics or soccer, and then there are even those rare occasions where Sharon and I actually get away and have a brief respite in the form of date night. So, when we are all together, we do our best to eat dinner at the table as a family. I know what you are thinking – it sounds fantastic, and for the most part, it is. But, I don’t think we are what one would call Norman Rockwell worthy just yet, but we are working on it.

As either my wife or I is cooking the meal, we have the kids set the table. This usually leads to an argument between them as to who is going to sit where, but that is quickly remedied with the most awkward seating arrangement for four people typically being the end result. After this peaceful exchange, the children are then told to use the bathroom and wash their hands. We are almost ready to sit down. My wife and I make sure all of the food and beverages are placed on the table, and that everything is equitable, because we would surely hear about it if it was not. We all sit down.

It is now time to say the prayer before meals. Yes, we are that old-fashioned. We like to incorporate both of our faiths into this event. Hannah says the “Bless us, O Lord” version. Alex says the HaMotzi, which is the Jewish prayer before meals. And then, for some unknown reason, Alex also grabs the prayer book every time we sit down and asks us to read the blessing from the good people of Ghana – he actually has it memorized at this point. I think all of our bases are covered. The food is now cold, but you can be damn sure it is blessed.

Ah, finally, it is time to eat. Now we start hearing how much the children do not like the food that has been prepared, even though they have eaten it numerous times before, and they knew what it was when it was being cooked. Commence the lecturing…then the negotiating…then striking the deal on the number of bites that are necessary to receive dessert. Not exactly winning the battle, but a somewhat peaceful dinner often trumps the need to finish green beans. During these deliberations is when I hear my mother’s, my father’s, and especially my grandparents’ (Memama, in particular) words coming out of my mouth. I am not complaining; I know it is necessary, but now I know exactly what my kids are thinking as I am saying them. And then I hear Alex’s voice…

“I have to go potty!”

Are you serious? You just went right before we sat down. This is crazy. And then I realize that we did pray over our dinner for somewhere close to 15 minutes, so I guess this is possible. I begin to wonder if during these meals that we spend together, are we actually together? At least one child is out of the seat at all times asking for hugs, going to the bathroom, or literally running laps around the table. All the while, we, as parents are doing our best to instill the table manners that were taught to us when we were children while keeping a straight face.

“Ok Alex, go potty, wash your hands, and then come right back here to finish your dinner.”

“Ok, bye!”

Alex is gone for a long time. Do I get up to check on him? Nah.

“Alex, are you good?”

“Yeah!”

“Ok, hurry up and come back to the table.”

“Ok.”

A few minutes later, we hear the pitter-patter of our son’s feet as he is returning to the dinner table…completely naked. Absolutely nothing on but a smile. It wasn’t as if he could not get his pants back up and fastened. No, that would make sense. He was totally naked. The entire time we thought he was taking care of potty business, he was, in fact, removing every bit of clothing. No shirt, no pants, no socks, no shoes…nothing. Now, it is up to us to react – which is exactly what he wants. Sharon looks at me, and I know this is my task. I have no idea what to do. He is so proud of his comedic efforts, and to be honest, so am I.

“Alex, why are you naked?”

“Because I am.”

Got it. That gives me nothing to work with. What the hell do I do now? Tread carefully all-knowing parent.

“Ok, sit down and finish your dinner.”

“Ok.”

He got up in his seat and began eating his dinner. Finally, we were eating a nice dinner as a family. And, as a bonus, most of us had clothes on. Bring it, Norman Rockwell.

It's Good to Have Goals

I used to go to my kids’ soccer games and I was the only parent who wasn’t screaming because I’d have to do a show that night. It was hard. Moms and dads get more emotional at those soccer games than at a professional game.

-Neil Diamond

There is no deep or philosophical meaning that we can all take from that quote, but for God’s sake, it is Neil Diamond! Who cares what the message is when the Jazz Singer is the one making the statement? Read the quote again, only this time read it as if you were Neil – that deep, raspy tone. I want to see Neil Diamond at a soccer game; I would walk over to him, place my hand on his shoulder, and say, “Scream, Neil, scream.” An American icon, that is all.

In an earlier post, I mentioned how my daughter would soon be playing soccer and how I was looking forward to cheering her on as she learned the game. This idea has come to fruition. We have had two games so far and it is amazing the intensity that is experienced when a group of 5-6 year old girls attempt to kick a soccer ball in a goal that is not being defended.

It is literally just like I remember it as a kid. We have our morning coffee and the kids have their breakfast. We all load up in the minivan with soccer balls in the back. We head to the soccer field and find a parking place. We then haul 3 chairs, the aforementioned coffee, the breakfast the kids did not finish, the cooler filled with water and juice boxes, and other necessities as we embark on this momentous sporting event that lasts for approximately 45 minutes.

We set up the chairs and prepare for the clash that will take place on the pitch (that means field). The match has begun and I have just sat down in my chair with my coffee. The fury is maddening. The teams chase after the ball much like a herd of cats would chase after the light from a laser pointer. There are even times when someone makes contact with the ball and it travels near the opposing goal. About five minutes into the game is when I look around and I notice that Alex has wandered off. The chase is on. I get out of my chair, put my coffee down, and begin running around like a madman making sure he does not get onto other fields and interrupt the games. As I am running around, I begin to realize that I am the cat and he is the light from the laser pointer. This is not my finest moment. I get back to my chair and it is inhabited by two soccer players that are on the bench, and my coffee is cold.

We get back to the game. While watching Hannah, I notice that her previous dance lessons seem to be taking over. While there is a huddled mass hovering around the ball, Hannah does not feel it is necessary to get any closer than 5 feet from the ball. There are those moments when the ball finds its way to her foot, and this is when I jump out of my seat. She turns, she starts running straight for the goal, the mob of ponytails is behind her and…so is the ball. In all the excitement, she ran right over the ball. And, once again, we are at least 5 feet from the ball. I am not being negative. In fact, I think she gets it from me – when I played as a child, I was always fullback. This can be described as the position that literally just sits back and waits for the ball to come to them. She is literally following in my footsteps…or dance steps, whichever.

In her second game, one of these grand encounters with the ball took place. Fortunately, this happened right in front of the opposing goal. Hannah swung her foot, made contact, and made her first goal. Pardon my language, but it was at this point that I went ape shit. I lost my mind because my daughter made a goal. Pride and joy…that is all I felt at that moment. I was elated.

Then, I turned around and saw Alex standing in the creek near the field with some other boys. He was soaked from crotch to toes. He thought it would be entertaining if he jumped up and down in the stagnant water in the creek bed. Oddly enough, I was proud of him too.

The game was over, snacks and juice boxes were passed out, and we made our trek back to the minivan. I am officially a soccer dad. I am…I said. (That’s a Neil Diamond song, by the way)

Lessons Learned

• You can never really live anyone else’s life, not even your child’s. The influence you exert is through your own life, and what you’ve become yourself.
  -Eleanor Roosevelt
  We’re Rollin’ Out…
  My daughter and I have recently discovered a new bond that she and I have. It is an incredible bond, and it is one that I hope serves her well throughout her life. I think it is a union that transcends what I could have ever hoped for. It is a bond that can, and most certainly will, have a lasting effect on both of us. I can already see subtle changes in each of us. This revelation is that she and I enjoy watching cooking shows together. We can sit and watch the Food Network or the Cooking Channel for hours. I must admit that our favorite show is Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives. Whenever she sees it on the satellite menu, she drops everything and is ready to watch. No Disney Channel, no Nick Jr., Food Network – that is what she wants to watch. Don’t get me wrong, I think if I gave her the choice between going to DisneyWorld or going to the Fresh Market, she would most likely choose DisneyWorld.
  This love of culinary entertainment has become evident during meals. Whenever I begin to cook a meal, she is right there at my feet wanting to help in whatever way she can. For the most part, this is great, but let’s be honest – sometimes the best way a child can help in the kitchen is to get out of the kitchen. While this may be the case, it doesn’t hurt to let them stir something, or butter a pan, or something similar. Assisting in these small ways can mean the world to a child, especially when they are an aspiring executive chef. This introduction to Guy Fieri and his colorful assessments of different flavors has become apparent in other ways as well. My wife was recently taking the kids to school and they were eating apple scones in the back of the minivan. To make conversation, Sharon asked the kids how the scones were. My articulate son, Alex, responded, “Good!” Hannah, however, had a different take on the scone. “Mommy, it is both sweet and tart. I can really taste the tartness of the apples with the sweetness of the cinnamon and sugar.” What the Hell?! She is five. I must say this made me proud. After all, her description is accurate.
  The Bully
  Recently, we have been getting reports from daycare that Alex is having trouble with pushing and hitting. I know that this is something that most little boys go through at his age – if you didn’t, then you were the one getting bullied, and you really just need to man up. Only kidding. Anyway, this is unacceptable in our house, and we have tried different things to remedy the situation. We have taken different things away as punishment. We have used public embarrassment in that we make him apologize in front of everyone. We have used the oh so effective time-out method. And, yes, we have even resorted to corporal punishment by smacking his hand or popping his butt – oh how ashamed are we (sarcasm). This has worked some, but not completely. One day, we got another report from his teacher that he was having trouble with his “aggression”. It was at this point that I remembered that we had a Berenstain Bears book called The Bully. Those damn bears have been through it all. I decided I would read this to him at bedtime to try and get the point across. He loves these books.
  That night we read the entire book, and even went over talking points after each pertinent scenario in the book. He seemed as if he understood. This was it! This was the method that was finally going to get through to him! Finally. Brother and Sister Bear were going to make everything ok. A book! Who knew? At the end of the book, I looked at my son, and asked him if he understood what we just read. He answered, “Yes sir!” Excellent. Here is the moment we had been waiting for. My wife was going to be so proud. His teacher would be so pleased. Other children would be safe.
   “OK, Alex, what did you learn from the book?”
  “Don’t hit bears!”
  Dammit. In all fairness, you should never really hit bears.
  As an aside, let me ask you – what is your narration voice when you read to your kids? Not long ago, I gathered that mine was that of Richard Dreyfus from the movie Stand By Me. I had no idea that I was doing this, but I was…and it is awesome.
  
  
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Tales From the Dad Side

Spend time with your kids, and have your own ideas about what they need. It won’t take away your manhood; it will give it to you.

-Louis C.K.

It is amazing to realize that there are events that take place each and every day that make me appreciate what it means to be a dad. Like I have said in the past, what I write may not be applicable to all dads, but this is the way I see it. I love my wife and I love my kids, and I can only hope that one day, they will know how much. That being said, here are some more observations of dadhood…

To be a dad means…

…to be the cut man of the house. A cut man is the person responsible for preventing and treating physical damage to a fighter during the breaks between rounds of a full-contact match such as a boxing, kickboxing or a MMA bout. Cut-men typically handle swelling, nosebleeds, and lacerations. Last week, my wife and I were in the kitchen preparing dinner and spending five minutes conversing with one another. It was at this point that we hear an argument and a thud from the den. Shortly thereafter, my daughter comes up and informs us that Alex’s nose is bleeding. No biggie, I head to the den to investigate the damage. What I find is reminiscent of the ending scene ofCarrie. My son’s face is covered in blood, and I guess he thinks it is snot, because he is incessantly wiping his nose with his arm and hands, thus spreading the blood all over his head, clothes, the furniture, and so forth. It is at this point I go into complete Mick Goldmill mode a la Rocky.  How did he get the bloody nose, you ask. We later found out that Hannah “accidentally” kicked him in the face…accidentally. Perfectly understandable – I accidentally kick people in the face all the time.

…to extract, for lack of a better word, boogers. And, no, I am not speaking of your own. We all did it as children, and now those skills are paying off as adults. My wife is, for some reason, thoroughly disgusted by boogers, snot, and other excretions from the nasal cavity. I have never understood this phobia, but by default, this is my department. It is really not so bad. It is actually challenging and rewarding. Have you ever played Operation? Picking a child’s nose is an art form  You must get the entire booger out of the nose without pissing the child off to the point of them pulling away or swatting your hand. Therefore, speed and accuracy are key. There are different approaches one can take when addressing the nose plug. There is the quick swipe, where one basically launches a finger at the child’s face and hopes to make contact with the booger; with this, a quick downward motion should dislodge the obstruction. If this does not work, you must hold the child’s forehead still to prevent possible injury to you or the child. After the head is steady, begin the excavation. Using these methods are usually successful. It sounds disgusting, and you may be appalled by my description, but removing a good-size nostril clog is just one of the small victories I relish. The bigger the boog, the bigger the accomplishment.

…to inadvertently force Mom to explain off-color jokes that you have told. This one is a stretch, but if you know me, then you know my wife has had to do this. Recently, my wife has been telling my children that she loves them “to the moon and back”. This is an extremely sweet and heartwarming sentiment…one that I took upon myself to corrupt. One morning, I heard my wife say this to my daughter, and the seventh-grader came out in me. I looked at my wife and mumbled, “I love you to Uranus and back.” I know, I know. Well, apparently, Hannah is able to decipher mumbling quite well, and she immediately repeated the sentence not understanding the juvenile meaning behind it. Oops. I could feel my wife’s eyes boring a hole into my soul. We continued with the morning and ignored the incident with hopes of it being erased from memory. That was weeks ago. Last night, my wife was giving the kids a bath and repeated her phrase of endearment, to which Hannah replied, “What is it you and Daddy say? I love your anus?” By the way, I was not home last night, but I kind of wish I had been.

As Dads, we find ourselves in unique situations. There are times when we are doing all we can to stop the bleeding. Other times, we are searching for that one golden nugget of truth. And then, there are even times when we would rather be on another planet.

By the way, this is Uranus in a blog…

The Apprentice

There’s no chivalry in culture any more. Sometimes you meet someone who everyone says is polite and you’re like, ‘Wow,’ but then it’s like, ‘Hang on, isn’t everyone supposed to be polite?’

-will.i.am

I usually like to use some incredibly philosophical quote to begin my posts, and while our friend will.i.am is not exactly Socrates, he is spot on with this statement. As of late, my writing has concentrated on my children and what it means to me to be a good dad. This one will be a little different…

Currently, at my place of work, I have the honor of riding the shuttle from my car to the office. This is basically a charter bus full of everyone that you could think might spend their day at a medical school – nurses, administrators, doctors, students, etc. My workday begins at 6:00 a.m. and, oddly enough, the bus gets pretty full in the wee hours of the morning. We make numerous stops before arriving at my particular building. At one point, we stopped and a good number of people boarded this already crowded bus. There were just enough seats for every person but one. One young lady (I hate that I can say that nowadays) was left without a seat. Without thinking, I stood up, tapped her on the shoulder, and offered her my seat. It was merely a reflex if nothing else. Keep in mind as you read this that I am not tooting my own horn, but I am just making an observation.

As this lady thanked me and had a seat, the driver actually stopped the bus, turned around, and told me how nice that was and that not many people do things like that anymore. This really caught me off guard. I never really thought of it before, but now that I think of it, he’s right. When I am riding the bus in the morning and the afternoon, there are many women standing instead of sitting. And, yes, there are able-bodied men sitting their happy asses in the seats (I am not one of them). It definitely is rare that any man offers his seat to a lady, if I have ever seen it at all. I told the driver that it was no big deal, and it shouldn’t be. At the next stop, about a dozen women got off the bus, and each one of them made it a point to thank me for what I had done, as if I had just performed CPR and saved someone’s life. I stood up and gave up my seat – that is all.

Mr. i.am is right. Everyone is supposed to be polite. That is the way things should be. When you are a man in the company of a woman, there are certain things that should be remembered:

Open doors – this is not a difficult task. You will need to open the door anyway to get where you are going anyway. You might as well let the lady go first.

Walk on the street-side of the sidewalk – this is a tip not many know. You are to put yourself in harm’s way and act as the buffer between the lady and traffic.

Let women off the elevator first – what are you in such a rush for anyway?

Use appropriate language – imagine you are talking like that in front of your mother or grandmother. Got it?

Pay – that is all. I understand if you are on hard times. If that is the case, don’t go out. Easy enough.

There are others, but I could go on forever. In fact, if there are some that are important to you, please leave them in the comments. This is not to say that all manners are incumbent upon the male. It is up to the woman to be a lady.

As I was being thanked for being a decent person on that bus, I looked at the driver and told him that is just the way I was raised, and that is the truth. My parents and grandparents made sure that I knew my manners, and the training apparently is evident. All this is to say that I will raise my children in the same fashion – it is just unfortunate that it is considered old-fashioned. My wife and I make sure that Hannah and Alex know how to act and that manners are of utmost importance. We are doing our best to raise a lady and a gentleman. My son will get his ass out of that seat and offer it to a lady that is standing, and when this gesture is bestowed upon my daughter, she will be appreciative.

Thank you to my parents and grandparents for instilling these values in me. I only hope that my children will value them as well.

Dadhood (Part 2)

It is a wise father (dad) that knows his own child.

-William Shakespeare

Apparently Shakespeare has not read my blog. It is also a wise dad that knows himself. I recently wrote about what it means to be a dad. This was done in honor of Father’s Day, but as I go through each day with my delightful offspring, I find myself experiencing life-changing events perpetually. Not a day goes by where there is not a moment when I think, “This is me as a dad.” “As a dad” is the operative phrase in this statement, because “me” and “me as a dad” are two different people, even though this line becomes more blurred as time goes on. So, here are some other musings of what I have encountered in dadhood.

To be a Dad also means…

…mastering the voice talents of cartoon characters and puppets. I use the term “mastering” loosely as there are some characters that are just damn near impossible. I am pretty sure Frank Oz has extra vocal cords or something to accomplish what he does. It is ridiculous what that man can do. I tried to mimic Elmo once and somehow I pulled my groin. I can do a mean Ernie, but that is about it. In fact, there was a time at Barnes and Noble that I began reading a Sesame Street book to my kids, and within 3 pages, there was a group of about 5 more kids gathered at my feet. Take that, Frank!

…belting out children’s songs in the car. Don’t say you have not done this; you know you have. There are times when I find myself driving down the road really jamming out to some Veggie Tales, Muppets, or Disney soundtracks. My favorite right now is the theme song to The Muppets. It is really quite catchy. Alex asks me every morning on the way to school to turn on his music. I gladly oblige. We both sing and dance along with the incomparable Bob and Larry of Veggie Tales fame. It really is fun. It is only when you realize that you have dropped your child off at school fifteen minutes ago, the music is still playing and you are still singing along like a jackass, that you think, “What the Hell am I doing?” and so are the people next to you at the stop light.

…keeping your children in mind when you are looking for apps. Some people think it is bad parenting to hand a child a smartphone for the pure joy of ten minutes of silence, and maybe it is…I’m ok with that. My phone and my ipad have numerous apps geared toward my kids and these come in handy as demonic meltdown preventers. I am pretty sure that if someone would have handed Linda Blair a phone with Angry Birds on it, she might have calmed down just a little bit.

…folding up to get on a kiddie ride at the amusement park. There are rides at theme parks that are fitted for children. However, the rides also require that the children have an adult with them. If they knew this when they designed the ride, did they not think that they might want to make room for said adults. So, the park says you have to ride, your child says you have to ride, so there is no getting around it; you are getting in that rollercoaster car that is approximately the size of a shoebox. When you get on and you wonder what is jabbing you in the stomach, I will tell you – they’re called your knees. Add contortionist to my skill set.

…decorating your office with art projects. I usually get 1-2 new art projects a week that are commissioned specifically for my office. These make your heart melt when you receive them from your little artist, and then you think, “Where the hell am I going to put this?” It doesn’t matter. You will find a place, and the crazy thing is, you really don’t have to. How are they ever going to know? They never come to my office. And yet, when I look around my office, I see drawings of rainbows, Hello Kitty coloring pages, a picture frame made out of popsicle sticks and feathers, and a paper apple with two pounds of glitter glued on it. What do you mean I am not professional?

…being a jungle gym. On certain nights, we have what is called Tickle Wrestle Night (This used to have other meanings before kids, but I digress). The kids really look forward to this night. I am pretty sure it is because they are given the opportunity to beat the living shit out of me and not get in trouble, but in all actuality, it is a blast. I spend the better part of thirty minutes to an hour being a horse, a plane, a tackling dummy, and a balance beam. I never knew I was so talented until I had kids.

…keeping a straight face. Yes, it is incumbent upon the dad to make sure that composure is maintained when the children are not doing what they are supposed to. In fact, there are many times when I am getting onto the kids, and I end up telling my wife to “lock it up” as if disciplining the children was a military operation. It is usually my job to make sure our little minions get back in bed when they are supposed to be sleeping. My wife looks at me when we hear the pitter-patter of little feet upstairs because she knows that she will lose it when she sees the kids in whatever precarious situation they have gotten themselves into. Alex is the biggest offender based solely on his age; Hannah has learned the value of sleep at her seasoned age of 5. So, yes, it is my job to stand at the bottom of the stairs, look at my son who has a cowboy hat on, binoculars around his neck, a pirate sword sticking out of his underwear, and a treasure map in his hand that he needs to get his bottom in bed while not cracking a smile.  Good luck with that.

Dadhood is dynamic, to say the least, and that is why it never gets old.