developing dad

Are You Mad At Me?

Dear reader. I am not a monster. I’m simply recognizing a flaw in my character and shining a big old stinking light on it. Besides, it’s winter and the mind turns strange during the shortest days of the year

I was difficult to be around this weekend. My wife may have been as well, but it would only have been a reflection of my own extreme defensiveness that would have made her so. The reality of such a weekend is unpleasant.

I try very hard to avoid my wife’s sensitivities.

That’s me passive aggressively assigning to her that which is my problem. Unfortunately my psyche is gifted in it’s desire to protect itself. The result is me setting up situations that leave us both walking on eggshells. For her the feeling is justified. For me, not so much.

My wife and I share a great many commonalities as well as many wonderful, synergistic differences. Where she sees trees I see forest and thank god for both of us that it is thus. Where she may have mild anxieties of the safety variety, I am so aloof as to be a danger at times. Furthermore, we crack each other up. Not everything we find funny is shared, but we find ourselves laughing hysterically all the time.

Fear is our downfall. Specifically my fear.

For much of my life I established norms that wouldn’t allow people to take up permanent residence. If I started to become invested in you, if I felt myself starting to pull you closer despite my emotionally locked elbows keeping you at arms length, I would go into rejection mode. There was a certain fleeting nature to my friendships and loves and connections.

I would tell people that my personal philosophy was, and I embarrassingly quote myself here, ‘float, don’t stick.’ As life philosophies go, ‘Float, don’t stick.’ is a remarkably efficient expression of a fairly broad worldview that I now see expressed more sensitivity and vulnerability then I thought it did. While my life has fortunately developed deep and meaningful roots, there is still a portion of my psyche that is still super sensitive and hyper vigilant to real and more often imagined indicators that I’m brushing up against someone who considers me objectionable. Perhaps I arrived fully in possession of this trait at birth or perhaps it was fostered and fed through my youth as I tried to find attention while conscientiously trying to avoid being seen looking for attention. My fear often flies out of me as self-righteous indignation. It flies loudly and has a perfect targeting system. It defends itself with meticulous and specific arguments of logic that are maddeningly effective. Anything that reflects any responsibility for bad feelings away from me is perfectly on target in my opinion. (I’d prefer to say ‘it’s’ opinion, but I suppose I have to own it now.) It so perfectly replicates true self-righteous indignation it’s not always easy to know the difference.

When my wife is annoyed, a state anyone is entitled to, my delicate and fragile sense of self goes into full on protection mode. I come baring arms in the attempt to make sure that if this is the one, if this little threat is gonna be the one, the one that takes this person away from me, I’m getting out in front, real loud. I’m getting big like a bear so you, me and all the world can see I’m not to blame, it’s not my fault. Can you imagine how hard it is to be with me in those moments? Don’t get me wrong, they are balanced out by a pretty awesome guy, but this aggressive little prick in defense of his ultimate value as a human is pretty impossible to tolerate. Even for me.

My wife finds aggressive confrontation unpleasant. She’s a rational adult that way. Her response may be to shut down a bit. Disengage from the unwarranted unpleasant guy. A very reasonable response to a scared lunatic. My subconscious worries that she’s abandoning me. So I do what I do. It’s a cycle propelled by me, at my worst.

If thing’s are awful at work or your sister said something that really hurt or if you woke up on the wrong side of the bed and the world has been in cahoots with your demons all day and you just don’t feel right, I’m often the worst kind of partner. The truth is I am taking the barometric pressure of your furrowed brows and long pauses and transmogrifying this data, this information pointing to your discomfort, and sculpting it to fit into my fear. I’m making your possible bad day worse, as I’ve stolen it from you and made it a me problem. I’m so scared in fact that I’m not going to lead with empathy, I’m not going to try to comfort you. I’m going to ask you if you’re mad at me. A terribly unfair and pointed question with a terrible disguise of concern, barely hiding a self centered concern for me.

‘Are you mad at me?’

What an awful way to care for a person. What a dismissive, even co-optive maneuver. you are experiencing some difficulty and pain? Maybe? Give it here! Mine mine mine! Cripes. Its my giant blind spot, much like my unavoidable self criticism.

The silver lining in this grey cloud? I’m aware of it and will try to be better. I will.

She’s lovely. She’s loving. She’s far too good for me.

The humility. Oh god, the humility.

She really is too good to me... — She really is too good to me…

To Charlie on his 4th Birthday

Our older boy turns 4 tomorrow. Its a funny thing that happens to time when you have kids. Some of the days can last a century, easy, but when you pick your head up on those days when the math is evident, unavoidable and unasailable it feels like it’s a total lie. Their is no way that our night in the hospital and our fist moments of parenthood in a delivery room as a family, running on pure adrenaline and love and fascination, were so long ago. Perhaps its that that moment has been adjacent to each and every moment since so it never feels like we’ve ever fully left that moment.

In the time since we have constructed memories that could sustain several lifetimes. Tiny moments of victory and failure and befuddlement and amusement. It’s enough to make your heart fill to overflowing to think of it. You have changed so much from that little baby boy to the big boy you are today and we are so very proud of you. While we know their are many roads to a magical and fulfilling life, we never knew that the roads we were on, separate at first then together, were roads that were leading us to you. We thank our lucky stars that we managed to find one another because now that we were given the chance to meet you we can’t imagine life without you.

To the world we are a young family (old parents, but young at being a family), toddlers in tow, fairly disheveled, but all in all getting it done. We could be doing a lot better, for sure, but theirs also no denying that we could be doing a lot worse. The truth is its a time in our little man’s life when he is learning at a rate that is so accelerated that you could never put his focus in a box. With every hello, with every question, with every sunrise he’s learning and it’s a journey that we like to think we are facilitating. I guess to a very small degree we are, but largely we’re the security team to our little boys curiosities. He is in the lead and we are trying our damnedest not to get in his way and slow him down. We fail in this effort everyday. Thankfully your determination is never deterred by our limited abilities. We just become one more obstacle to conquer. Which you do everyday.

The truth is that the roles are almost completely reversed from how they appear. Others may see two adults trying to teach their children about anything and everything, but from the second we could conceive of you we’ve been the students and you our tireless teacher who never has given up on us despite our many many attempts to give you reason to do so. But you never do.

I could write a manual about the techniques of parenting that you’ve taught us. Perhaps someday I will. But what I want to use this occasion to do is to simply say thank you to our guide through this greatest challenge and greatest joy we’ll ever know. As with any mentor/mentee dynamic, the lessons we’ve been taught are technical, yes, but it’s the lessons we’ve learned about life that were never the intended curriculum, but also always the whole point of the endeavor that we are thankful for.

I’m sure your mother’s list of cornerstone lessons would vary from mine. She is a different pupil with different needs. This is my list, and I can’t thank you enough for all you have taught me and for all that you will.

Beware the Tyranny of Cool: This is one that’s going to snap back to bite you in about ten years. Probably sooner. Thanks to you I’m almost completely over my need to be seen as cool on sight. I’m unabashedly and unashamedly and often unavoidably uncool these days. I’m in fact a bit of a hot mess. But since you’ve arrived all of that judgment, all of that self criticism for simply not being seen by others as, I don’t know, cool, is gone. I used to gauge my sense of myself by how I was assessed by others. I didn’t think I did, but you have made me self-possessed and unafraid of what the others think.
Embrace Failure. Make it Your Friend: Their are things I have to learn in this regard still, but you have started me down the road. Which isn’t to say I avoided failure in the past. Quite to the contrary, prior to you I would very much seek it out. I was so afraid of failure that I defanged it by being in control of it. Best way to control it was to ensure failure. It’s a tactic I’ve used my whole life. I dropped out of kindergarten. Think about that. Now I embrace failure after sincere efforts rather than after self defeating ones. Sincere ones like this very blog. Thanks to you I am no longer seeking out failure nor am I avoiding it. It’s just another outcome that is a thing to learn from. I know. I’ve failed so many times with you and each time I’ve eventually learned and never thrown up my hands and quit. Never could with you. Like all great teachers you inspire me to improve and face challenges forthrightly.
Put Down Childish Things: This means different things to different people. For me it meant putting down self-consciousness. It meant putting down the bottle or at least putting the bottle in its place. It meant letting go of fear. Fear of failure, fear of commitment, fear of judgment and fear of change. You pretty much took care of many of those that first hour I knew you. For me simply knowing you is enough to have caused a change of tides, a change of truth as I know it.
Confidence: Not some quantifiable confidence but the confidence that comes with purpose. You weren’t my first influence and your grandparents did a pretty good job of providing me with a sense of purpose. But their was an endpoint to what they could teach as their will be to what you’re able to learn from your mother and I. I have always known I was meant to be helpful and this was something that gave me a goal. But you, you my friend arrived with buckets and buckets of purpose for me to carry. And when you arrived you wasted no time in giving me those buckets. Their have been a great many ups and downs since then, times when it isn’t at all clear what the hell was right, but not for one second since have I ever lost my purpose.

Thank you. I love you with all my heart. Happy Birthday!

Losing the Fastball

First night as a dad, last night I was aware of things in the world outside my home

I’ve used up all my brain power. My intellectual fastball of yesteryear is gone. I’m a junkballer at this point. My capacity and my output in regard to my mind were often miles apart. Whatever natural intelligence I had was rarely used and slowly ossifying anyway. That said I miss it. I now wish I hadn’t so dismissed things like talent maximization to create personal cash flow. Would’ve been cool to get that machine running before losing all of my intelligence to my dadness, no?

Here’s a sample of what has been lost and what it’s been replaced by….

Where once their was a list of novels and various non-fiction works that I was working my way through, a list compiled through recommendations from literate friends in conversation and my weekly devouring of the New York TImes Book Review there is now a detailed knowledge of every way to access Nick Jr. and PBS Kids regardless of where I am or what time it is.
Where once their was an overarching commitment to staying current with the events of the day through consuming the distinguished and respectable news outlets daily their is a detailed list of museums and sporting events and community recreation spots that are kid friendly (bathrooms) and I can order them intuitively based on cost. Not just price mind you, but all the ways they get you. You know, dad math.
I used to enjoy a glass of wine or a beer or a scotch of an evening while reading or watching copious amounts of pop culture reference points from the worlds of all media in order to keep my witty repartee current. I now relax after the going to bed/cleaning-the-house-just-barely-enough-to-keep-child-services-at-bay portion of the evening with a bowl of ice cream and one of the same Big Bang Theory episodes I’ve seen a thousand times by now before slinking to bed, or turning to Sportscenter and zoning out like a four year old with an Ipad. Breaking Bad sounds like a mashup of an 80’s teen dance movie and a Michael Jackson cassingle to me.
Where I would formerly have had every note Phish had played from 1995-2002 committed to memory, as well as a completists knowledge of early rap/hip-hop that could be culled whenever the situation required it, I now have every single word of “Little Blue Truck” and “Good Night Moon” and “The Going to Bed Book” so committed to memory that I can convince my little ones that I can read in the dark, even knowing when to turn the page. It’s pretty awesome to set the kids on your lap, open the book and close your eyes for the entirety of the read. Except when you fall asleep, which you do a lot.
I used to dazzle my coworkers in meetings with my ability to synthesize creative solutions to divergent problems in a manner that was both genius and elegant. Now I respond to these problems by referencing how Curious George would go about closing the gap in the budget followed by endless bragging about my two year old’s ability to climb stairs and tiresome scrolls through thousands of pictures of them on my phone.
I used to accidentally and absentmindedly listen to NPR for whole days. Now when I come to I realize that I left it on Sprout and that cursed Caillou is on, and has been. For hours. With no kids in sight.

It’s a shame, really. These kids really missed the boat. Their daddy really had it going on.

My Days with Phish — Obviously photoshopped, but hoping to create false memories of my life as the fifth member of Phish

Luckiest Kid In the World

I’m pretty sure that my faded feelings of angst were borrowed. Perhaps they’re inherited. Whatever the case may be they are sincere. At least at one point they were. they’ve largely been replaced by more literary feelings better described as ennui or melancholia and these occupy a tiny spectrum of my mood wheel that would be a teeny tiny fraction of the area formerly owned by angst.
This is not to say that it wasn’t come upon honestly. While my supporting documentation wouldn’t seem to support my general affect, that’s not the same as saying the feelings were an act. They weren’t. They were just an inheritance. A side effect of a temperament that can lend itself to self-pity and biology that can skew toward depression.

The reality of my life couldn’t be more at odds with this discordant temperament. My family in all directions is nothing but wonderful. I have 5 to 8 siblings depending on how that term is defined. Strictly biologically speaking I have 5, but if you count all of the kin that grew up with seats at the table and familial relations it’s definitely the more inclusive number. All of whom have been a delight to know. They are smart and funny. Challenging and tolerant. They are supportive and fun. While we don’t all see each other as much as we’d like, we are a hoot to be around when we do get together. My brothers and sisters are generous with their time, money and love and we all have a deep appreciation at this point for the family we were blessed with.

My nuclear family at the moment is in a constant state of becoming and it’s a process i so clearly delight in. I’m learning every day to be better at being okay. My natural tendency to harsh self-criticism has been mitigated by the perspective and presentness of parenthood. It is impossible to dwell too in depthly at this point in my life and I couldn’t be more grateful. The morass that my wallowing would accompany was a useless emotional appendage that had become a dependable crutch and occasionally a warm security blanket. Make no mistake people, light depression surrounded by loving support is a perfectly sustainable and comfortable existence. It’s just not a very productive one.

But the greatest gift I’ve been given are my parents. I spent my youth, roughly age 9-30-something, defining myself away from them. A ridiculous but necessary endeavor. The only problem is I’m actually the luckiest person on earth in this regard. And this is not just bias. Other people, considerable numbers of others, would agree with this. My parents have opened their homes and their hearts to anyone in need for as long as I can remember. They have literally played Santa Claus for the world without ever taking credit. They hold hands and say prayers every night for all of their children, all of their children’s friends and express genuine thankfulness and appreciation for the beauty of life itself in the midst of challenges that would crush me and many others. Their generosity has literally known no bounds.

Beyond this they are such wonderful barometers of what is important in life. This year they have put the home I grew up in on the market and downsized to a beautiful new home that is much more suited to their current needs. While we are all delighted for them, it has come with nostalgic feelings that are hard to process. But my parents are so in tune with who we are and what we need that they took the time to address it in the most loving and delicate of ways.

We received our Christmas box at our door a few weeks before the holiday and having little ones, immediately banished it from sight, not to be opened until Christmas eve. When we did so we were thrilled to see the wonderful toys and gifts for the kids we knew would be in there. My mother knows little boys and the big trucks and wrapped boxes are all a big part of the mornings excitement and they nailed it. But underneath that were some gifts for us. My mother put together a beautiful album of photo’s lovingly taken of the house in all it’s glory and then in all its spacious emptiness and shots from outside and from the windows. Everything I’ll need in my dotage to be transported back in time to the place that will always be my specific home. It was enough on it’s own. But my mom also included a disc. And this is where she truly gets it. She went into a room in our old homestead and recorded herself singing all of her favorite Christmas carols. Can you even imagine? In such a self-conscious world to be reminded by this humble and beautiful servant of what matters. My mothers voice is my most native language and this is a treasure that I will take and place alongside so many others that I’ve been lucky enough to receive from my folks.

Further down in the box was what my mother always sends. At least it appeared to be. It was a holiday piece, covered in holly decoration intended for a mantle for now and perhaps for a subtle centerpiece on a table once the kids can be trusted with such things. But it was more that that. Under the holly was a short cut of a tree. It had been created by my father, a talented artist who worked his whole career as an industrial designer. He had taken pieces of fallen wood from our home and fabricated this beautiful Christmas piece with his own hands. It will be loved and featured for the rest of my life. Because it is perfect. But also, and mostly, because it was made truly lovingly and thoughtfully and with a purpose to provide and show love to me and to my family.

At the bottom of the box was the final piece of the gift. It was a multi page narrative of the history of our house. It was a beautiful narrative from a designer, highlighting his choices in designing the house. He was not an architect, but he knew what he wanted so he learned how to design a house and did so. In a weekend. I know this and am bragging, but he is humble and would never mention it. He noted the wide walkways and large rooms meant to house his giant and growing family some 35 years ago. He recalled the glorious moments and the wonderful warmth of the family life that it so perfectly supported. His concrete and intelligent mind drifted to his heart and he shared personal and subtle examples of the life this house had hosted. It was so beautiful and could barely get through reading it to Karen that first night. I will take this piece out to read at least once a year. It will be a part of my life forever. And there’s nothing they could have gotten me that will mean more than they did.

The lessons I’ve learned and my wonderful good fortune is sometimes lost on me. But thankfully I have reminders that mine is a wonderful life indeed.

It’s ‘Award Winning’ Blogger, Thank You Very Much

Wow. I can’t believe I’m here. I’m.. it’s… just, wow!

Okay. Everyone says to write something down cause you’ll forget about someone and I so wish I wasn’t so superstitious. I mean you can’t explain it. As I stand here it’s like time is stopped completely and is hurtling forward so fast I can’t gather my thoughts. Dammit. I’m rambling.

First off I’d like to thank the bunker. Without you none of this would even be possible. Secondly, I can’t tell you how much of an honor it is to just be nominated. Truly. To my fellow nominees, all of you, thank you. Your excellence has pushed me past where I ever thought my brain, or ass for that matter, could go! I’d like to thank the moms. All of em. Mine. Yours. My kids. Lord knows that men don’t read. It’s a harsh generalization, and insofar as generalizations can be, totally accurate. Thanks for reading and allowing me to be vulnerable in front of the world. And for you dads out there that have shown support, I count you amongst those moms. I’d like to thank my Intro to Web Logging Professor, Punk Rock Poppa, AKA Briton, for nominating me. Your words inspire and your youth confounds and occasionally infuriates, but your wisdom abides. Thanks to Developing Mom, with out whom I’d never have found this outlet. Thanks most to Al Gore for creating this platform that has allowed one small man’s voice to ring out through the world and to be heard by literally dozen’s if not scores of mildly amused fellow scribes. Hat’s off to you sir.

I have been given the Inspirational blogger award. I was nominated by Briton Underwood, the Punk Rock Poppa. I start often with a joke, and the above paragraphs tone is an unfunny man’s attempt at humor. But sincerely, I really am touched that he thought to nominate me. I’m actually truly honored. Further, I’m grateful that he found a blog piece of mine amusing and took the time to investigate more and make me a part of his little corner of the web. A corner rich in community and soaring with talent and truly funny people. Thank you, all!

Without further adieu, I move on to the interview portion of this program…

1. Why did you start blogging?

Because I’d been writing my whole life and harbored a deep seeded fear and desire that my work should be read. I have countless boxes of notebooks filled with my tiny scrawlings documenting my emotional journey through life. Dozens of attempts at fiction writing, novels and short stories started and abandoned. Journals and journals of genuinely thoughtful observations buried in pitiable accounts of petty rage and self loathing. Writings how I understand myself, the world and how the two exist in relation to one another. Having kids made me realize I wanted to open a lot of that up to public view. Blogging was the easiest way to do that.

2. What is the book you have read that has touched you the most?

I haven’t read much since the kids. My brain is half of what it used to be and their just isn’t enough space. But I was a copious reader before then. The titles that have most resonated are A Prayer for Owen Meaney, The Poisonwood Bible, Rule of the Bone and Rushmore. I know the last ones a movie, but it’s the type of movie that plays like a book and is very much tonally what I’d love to be able to do.

3. If you could eat dinner with a famous person who is still living, whom would you choose?

The truth of this one is probably Tony Kornheiser and the entirety of the crew of folks that populate his radio show. I know it’s silly, but I truly love being a fan of this show. Thank god for Podcasting. The list would be much longer and filled with many more fascinating minds if the question were who’s wall would I like to be a fly on. Frankly, a lot of my fellow bloggers seem to lead lives and have families that I’d like to see functioning without having the effect of me being in the group. I suppose that sense of being inside but not present is also a part of why I enjoy films and books so much. Hm… interesting…

4. Where is the one place you have visited that gives you complete calmness?

Two places. One, lying flat on my back and watching the planes come in every two minutes miles overhead in the meadow in Prospect Park. Two, A trail we hiked on a whim off the side of the road between the village of Lake Placid and Whiteface Mt. in the Adirondacks that brought us to a spectacular untouched, crystal clear mountain lake. It’s breathtaking…

5. Are you a bucket list person? If so, name one thing on it?

I’m not. But I’d love to write a novel. Also, I’d like to be able to make a living by writing. So far I’ve made nothing and it’s cost me quite a bit, but a boy can dream.

6. What is the goal of your blog?

A goal sounds like a thing that should drive you, but I’m really more of a process person. I guess if I were to impose a goal onto the blog it would be to provide an account of this time of life for myself and for those who may be curious, my son’s and family mostly, that helps inform the photo’s they have in the future and the ones that were never taken or have gone missing.

7. What is a well day spent to you?

It is a question that just reads terribly. It should say, ‘What is a day well spent in your opinion?’ All of them are well spent. The good the bad. The full of optimism and the ones where tears of rage and frustration gush forth and spew uncontrollably. We’re all going to die. Each of these days, even the most painful are well spent. That or catching a baseball game in the sun.Or reading. A day of reading would be great right about now.

8. How do you start your day?

Groggily. I’m over the hill with little kids. It’s all a bit bleary for a good few minutes. I’m usually awoken by the older boy yelling from his bed, ‘MOMMY!’ repeatedly. As she is usually downstairs with lil man I head in and deal with his frustration over the fact that I’m not mommy. Then we head downstairs and drink coffee by the bucket. I am not a healthy man.

9. What is your favorite holiday?

Thanksgiving. No doubt. Not a thing is even close. Four days off just to eat and drink and visit. It’s just great. Also, any holiday that forces one to stop and note their gratitude is pretty cool.

10. Are you where you want to be professionally and if not, what will you do about it?

No. Probably just keep plugging away, slow and steady. I’d like to find ways to supplement my income. We’ll see. The work I did, and loved, and committed my life to prior to having kids, is not really possible anymore, so I’m curious myself to see what will happen.

11. What is your favorite quote?

“J. Walter Weatherman? He’s dead. You killed him when you left the window open with the air conditioning on.” George Bluth

“I got news for you, Bub. Alcohols the reason you’re here, too.” Lucille Bluth

“Most folks are as happy as they make up their minds to be.” Abraham Lincoln

“If you want to increase your rate of success, double your rate of failure.” Thomas Watson

This concludes my interview. And before I move on to nominating five more bloggers, I’d like to say once again how thrilled I was to get this award. Sincerely.

Now, without further adieu I’d like to nominate Sippy Cups and Booze, thanks for speakin up for the fellas! Next Life No Kids cracks me up daily. Be sure to follow on FB as well! On to Mommies Drink, thank you for your insight! Nominating Juicebox Confessions is a bit absurd, akin to me trying to punch up jokes for Louis C.K., but she is the writer I hope to be someday, so ignore this if you like, just wanted to give the shout out… Finally, I nominate It’s a Mad Dad World… I dig his outlook..

Finally, thanks to Charlie and Teddy who’ve made me a dad.. They are my richest source of learning and a delightful reason to get up every painful morning. WAY too early1

It’s My Period Off!

You could say it’s a snow day, but there’s no snow.

Perhaps you could say it’s as simple as a day off, but there’s so much that doesn’t say since its a day on for the kids.

I guess the best equivalent in my life would be it’s like your hour off at camp. There’s a lot of things us camp folks like to relate from everyday normal and extraordinary life to things we experienced first at camp. It’s annoying. It’s also often completely accurate and a way for us in the know to speak in shorthand. And to be fair, while we acknowledge that the rest of you exist and deserve love and attention, affection and respect, we are primarily interested in the others in the echo chamber of camp and are little more than put out by the rest of you. We’re wizards, you’re muggles. That’s just the way it is. I don’t make the rules.

Anyway, this day, this January 2nd, 2015, is my first ‘period off’ in a long time. And just like when I was a counselor, the oh so brief time that is totally and completely mine is so exciting and filled from this side, the start of my time, as boundless in it’s possibility. You see, the kids are at daycare, which opened up today, Friday as a simple matter of bureaucratic coincidence since they wouldn’t be able to justify not doing so. As a result all us thinking, sentient beings who logically took the day off today, the end of the long holiday week(s) are left with the option to have a day free of the kiddos. Isn’t that grand!

There is something grand and magical about the holiday season, something beyond any importance my time alone will ever provide. But it’s this time alone that is now the far more rare, and precious commodity. Since I work where my kids attend daycare my wife is bringing them in so I don’t have to interact with work on my day off. I’m sure we’ll have to pick them up sometime in the not too distant future, but who wants to waste these minutes thinking about that. No, this is the time for dreamers. I may have a fully cleaned kitchen by dinner tonight. Or perhaps a spare bedroom that will be usable if not fully finished as we get the chance to clear it of the debris of moving in two years ago with an infant merely weeks old and a toddler not yet two. Or maybe we’ll nap. My wife and I will be home. Alone. I’m sorry to make such a graphic and explicit statement as that, but my excitement can carry me away.

In any case, here’s to bureaucratic quirks in the calendar. I could probably do some research and find the next time a thing like this is likely to occur. But I won’t. That type of magic denying is a muggles game. Nope. I’m in it for the magic. All the magic. The magic of the holidays with your family and the magic of a day at home alone with your wife.

Alright, I’m off to do a couple push-ups, brush my teeth and shower before the lady of the house returns. I raise my coffee mug to you, parents of kids in daycare on this magical day. Carpe Diem.

Thank God I Didn’t Know what I Didn’t Know

I’m reluctant to assume I’m smarter than anyone. This is a discipline as my natural inlination is to in fact think myself smarter than almost every one. By now I’m fully trained and at little risk of making such an assumption. My natural hubris has been fully extracted. At least mostly extracted.
There is one person, though. I haven’t seen him in five years or so, but i spent a lot of time with him. Handsome devil, and fairly certain about all the wrong things. Yup. I’m talking about me. You couldn’t tell me shit I didn’t want to hear. Certainly some that deal with me on a daily basis these days would take great umbrage at my claims that I’m no longer that person. And in those idiot’s cases, they may be right. But to my point, which is a very specific one about a very expansive topic, I know I’m right. You see, what I know about parenthood now, what I know specifically about my experience as a parent is something I was sure I could estimate and get fairly close to correct from my previous perspective.
it wasn’t a COMPLETELY ridiculous assumption. Okay, it was an absolutely ridiculous assumption. But I did have a vast and fairly comprehensive set of experiences working with kids and families and have worked my whole life in caring environments. Which I came to find out was somewhat instructive in putting me in a position to know how to learn to raise kids, but in terms of letting me in on ‘what it’s like’ to have kids, it was of less than no value. That’s right, it actually put me in the hole on that front. Comfy in the hole, smug and full of confidence, unwilling to read a thing on the topic and unable to hear the cacophany of parents ahead of me in the line to get a baby opine on the nature of ~~exhaustion~~, er, parenthood.
Thank god I couldn’t hear them. Furthermore, thank god for that look on young couples faces whom we mistakenly assume would be interested in the topic of ‘what parenthood is like for me.’ For the befuddled and confused look of younger siblings and friends that think that their vast experience with the responsibilities of dog ownership has made it so their won’t really be a transition to having kids. Thank god I sat in judgment of these stupid and selfish folks with kids that couldn’t shut up about how freakin tired they always were but who were missing the whole point of this most basic and primal and profound experience we are afforded as humans. Thank god for the younger workers that can come early, stay late and be obsessed with their work, who look on you so pityingly, reassuring anyone and everyone that they’ll never let a baby change their lives that much. Thank god that we are all of these things that our circumstances allow prior to that moment. If we weren’t these things we might just have paid attention. Believed those folks that we got to at the wrong moment who couldn’t stop telling you about how hard it is. We might have assumed that the payoff can’t equal the investment. We might have chosen the only smart option and taken a pass on the whole thing. Had any of us done so we would have missed this chance to be the sun for these few early years. The chance to be with the most precious and adorable people we’ll ever know. We’d never discover the love that so transforms you as to make even the hardest and cruelest realities of life seem to fit into an overarching meaning that comforts and informs us and provides us with wisdom and understanding we would never have known otherwise. We’d never have learned the thousands of lessons our children teach us. We would never have discovered any of the music or programs or books that we’ll come across decades from now and cry instantly knowing that they are precious relics from that profound moment in time that lasted years when you discovered the meaning of your life.
Thank god I didn’t know what I didn’t know. Thank god I couldn’t be told any of it. Had I known it would have robbed me of my life’s greatest discovery.

The Dozing Therapist and the Online Dater

I had just layered my bandages over the perceived cuts. Once it bled through instead of changing the thing I’d just add another bandage. And another and another and another. Until I had so effectively hidden from what I feared, what was me, for so long that I needed to find that out first before I could understand what I wanted in the world.

I was in therapy for many years. I went initially at the behest of a friend. On the advice of the Chief of Mental Health at the organization I worked at I found a good one. She was in the room and a great guide on the path I took to being ready to take on life as an adult. She helped me find peace. Maybe not peace exactly, but enough peace of mind to be able to get to where I needed to go. Then, she fell asleep on me in session. After the third time I saw her drift off, I knew it was time to move on.

Its a tale I have told before and I repeat it with some regularity and giddy delight. It’s the perfect story to trigger sympathy. Perhaps that’s what I’m seeking when I tell it. Its also completely unfair to Heather was a very good therapist who perhaps had too many starches for lunch on occasion or took an inconveniently timed allergy pill or perhaps honestly fell asleep due to how boringly monotonous my issues had become. Who’s to say. Whats definitely true was that without her guidance and commitment to me and my well being I would likely still be unable to connect with someone so much that we could navigate the challenges of marriage and parenthood and with much difficulty and many setbacks arrive on the other side transformed individually and together.

Had I not gone to Heather I would not have been able to say the things I needed to say to my mother. It was a call that caught her off guard and taught me that my mother is the most supportive and intuitively gracious person I’ve ever known. This is not a momma’s boy statement either. I’d say the vast majority of people that have known her would tell you the same. And her generosity, both of spirit and of her more finite resources are her defining attribute. In the end the complaints I had were of an adolescent nature, and seeing as I was well into my 30’s I should add patience and commitment to her loved ones as defining attributes as well.

Prior to that conversation I had been on Match.com for at least a year. Could’ve been as much as two. It’s a challenge to remember exactly because prior to that call with my mom, where I told her of the things she’d said that had hurt, and said some undoubtedly hurtful things myself I wasn’t really looking to connect. I was more whittling away at who I was beneath all the layers of defenses I’d put on myself. Prior to having an honest discussion about what I thought was wrong with me with my mom I had just layered my bandages over the perceived cuts. Once it bled through instead of changing the thing I’d just add another bandage. And another and another and another. Until I had so effectively hidden from what I feared, what was me, for so long that I needed to find that out first before I could understand what I wanted in the world.

It turned out that during the dozens of first and maybe a few second dates I had over my time intentionally looking for someone else to share a life with, what I was really doing was getting comfortable being myself. What i discovered under all the wrapping was that my wounds were never as deep as I’d thought. That I was not only comfortable in my skin, but I was even capable of being quite fond of who I was. I discovered that what I was looking for did not yet reside in someone else. It couldn’t yet. I had to find it first on my own.

So for the many of you that have shown empathy for me and my sleeping therapist, rest assured that the very act, while unprofessional, did not mean that she was not helpful. She was. Very. And without the times I spent in that place, learning to officiate the constant sparring between my head and my heart, I would never have arrived here. In this place where the act of being myself is becoming less and less discipline and more and more a delight.

The Metallic Box

I posted a Christmas piece that is silly and irreverant and attempts to be clever. Don’t waste your time on it. But please, read this one.. A great piece that puts it all together as it should be.. Great work, Sir…

Punk Rock Papa

For as long as I can remember I’ve always felt like an orphan on Christmas. Always at events awkwardly standing in a corner as everyone exchanged gift after gift, until someone remembered I was there and slid me some pity five dollar present they bought the day before when they remembered tag along would be there. I’m not complaining, my appreciation of the holiday has grown enormously because of that feeling. I didn’t need the Grinch to rob me of Christmas for me to find a greater understanding of what holidays are for. Holidays aren’t necessarily hard for me, I’ve built my own traditions and my own family to uphold them with.

At the age of eight I was sent to visit my brother for a summer. He had moved from California to Connecticut to live his new life with his new family. My mother sent me for the summer…

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Lawless Holidays

“They laughed at Louis Armstrong when he said he was going to the moon, and now he’s laughing at them from up there.” Chazz Michael Michaels

The world has always scoffed at truly revolutionary ideas. Even those ideas that would one day become so ingrained in the culture as to feel that they somehow evolved organically as self evident truths. Were you to venture back through time you’d find a world full of people that would sooner burn you and your worthless life at the stake than consider for one second that the earth existed in a heliocentric environment. The information was in and we wouldn’t hear of anything different.

With this in mind I ask you to please consider the possibility that what I propose here may someday have merit. That it might someday be so commonly understood and practiced as to be considered orthodoxy. Without further adieu…

I propose that we should henceforth celebrate New Years Day on December 25th and Christmas on the first Saturday after December 29th.

The first point I’ll make is that this week, which can last as long as 13 days for kids on break from school or daycare and the parents that are responsible for them is awful. It just sits there at the end of the calendar year waiting to kill your energy at the precisely when it is the coldest, darkest and most inhospitable time of the year. If the sun shows up during these days it’s sure to disappear within 9 hours or so. Then to be gone for like 15 hours. We need to utilize the tools at our disposal in a more useful and efficient fashion.

Parents for millennia have been using Santa for their own nefarious and manipulative purposes. It’s great. We’ve even created spies for our made up arbiter of naughty and nice, our petty overlord who insists on our children’s adherence to standard codes of conduct. WHY THE HELL WOULD WE SHOOT THAT LOAD ON DAY ONE!

Furthermore, lets take advantage of this week off to truly recharge. Let’s take that first night and make it New Years Eve. Keep our little human alarm clocks up until midnight if possible. You need to adjust that version of the biological clock proactively if you hope to have any chance of sleeping in past 7:00 on a regular basis on your ‘break’. Besides, putting the motivator of toys and gifts at the end will help you readjust those clocks back to regular schedules when the interminable 52nd week finally ends. As it is now the incentive is for the kid to adjust their wake up time earlier right at the start. WHY THE HELL HAVE WE STOOD FOR THIS!

Now imagine the benefits for the early adopters. How does it sound to you to miss all that last minute shopping amidst the herds of people exactly like me who see shopping on the 23rd as getting ahead of the game. We all dread all the last minute shopping not because of the thought of buying all the fun last minute stuff we know will bring all the smiles and hugs you can handle. We dread it because of all the other people who similarly have to stuff stockings and make up for their lack of organization in a harried rush through the throngs at the last minute. Compare that to the laid back pace of casually scanning clearance bins while the throngs of consumers hoard the customer service desk with their returns. Their is the potential for getting great deals on chintzy crap that is only intended to last a month or two that would have cost double the week before. Not to mention the shopping at your local grocery on the 28th. You’ll be comfortably perusing produce for your giant family feast as the rest of the world stupidly goes about preparing to destroy their sleep patterns and ruin any of the restorative benefits of their time off right before returning to the rat race. Not you, you’ll show up on the 2nd raring to go. BE THE CHANGE YOU WISH TO SEE IN THE WORLD

We parents are often and by necessity bold thinkers determined to create a better world for the sake of our children. Let us not shirk our reponsibility we have. Do not allow future generations to look back and wonder why we didn’t fix this when the answer was so clear. Go forth. Make a difference.

Merry New Year! Happy Christmas!

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