My son officially moves from Tween to Teen today. Slow down!
Category: Of Being Dad
Fatherly posts.
Man’s Role to a Happy Marriage
I’m breaking the man rules. I’m reading from the book.
For a happy marriage:
- Make lots of money. If she needs more, make more!
- Just agree to everything. The words are "yes dear" plain and simple.
- Don’t discipline the children unless the wife first utters the words "I’m getting your father!" and then only if she actually gets you.
[Source, The Super Secret Unpublished Book of Man Rules]
We’ve all heard comedians diatribes on "yes dear." Just remember, the thing that makes comedy funny is the truth behind the words. Remember, the wife is always right! I just cannot seem to get this one through my thick head.
Solve the mystery of how he died
All day long my family tries to kill me. It’s the stairs see. They are this constant conveyor of crap flowing from up to down then carried back up again to repeat the coming down. The laundry gets dirtied upstairs but cleaned downstairs and then put away upstairs. Toys are hurled down the stairs only to be carried up and then kicked down. Sometimes dirty laundry only makes it half way down the stairs and I try hard not to fall on my butt when traversing the slippery obstacle course. When full laundry baskets go upstairs (usually via child/mule) the empty baskets return, without warning, bounce, tumble and crash down the stairs every time clanging into the joke redneck wind chime, 4 painted tin cans with bottle openers in them hanging by stings, that my inlaws thought fit our lifestyle. Little did they realize what a great alarm system the chimes make by hanging on the gate at the base of the stairs; an alarm system that provides ample coitus interruptus time without having to have one of those awkward Meaning of Life teaching moments. The stair conveyor would almost be humorous if not for my heart trying to wrench out of my chest each time I am startled out of my deep concentration. I honestly wouldn’t mind so much if it weren’t for the cat liter box that sits on the landing of the L shaped stair. A box that when it has things in it other than liter, poo and pee, causes the cat to seek other places to relieve itself such as the laundry or our bed or a nook somewhere in the basement. So every time something plops near the liter box, not only do I have to have a quick cardiac surgery to put my heart back into my chest but I have to walk over to check the liter box. I get a lot of exercise during my day.
Update: I found my wife wiping a joyful tear from her eye as she guffawed over reading this post. She added, "when I’m annoyed with you, I fold like a m-f to get another basket emptied."
Sounds like…embarrassing
Noah has done so well with his phone that I was considering canceling the insurance plan on it (which is $4.95/mth with a $50 deductible..can you say ripoff? I knew you could!) So naturally, despite placing it in a ziplock bag, Noah soaked his phone at Dollywood. In this day and age, with five children including socially active teens, cell phones have moved beyond convenient toys to necessary family organizing tools. The rule of the house is that if you lose or damage your phone before your scheduled upgrade, you get a clunker from the boneyard in the garage. Noah ended up with an antique Siemens (phones are now BenQ). After complaining about the pixelated screen, he tried to pronounce the company name:
Noah: "Sigh sigh mens"
I interrupt, "It’s pronounced sea mens."
Noah: chuckles
Me: "Yeah, like that."
How could I forget about the funny homophones of middle school! Ew, better not say homophone around Noah.
Another Rotten Mother’s Day
Once upon a time, I was actually a romantic, thoughtful guy. These past years I have failed miserably to take care of my wife on holidays. Today was no different. I basically ignored Mother’s Day in favor of working. This will come back to haunt me one day. At least the children pulled through this year and acknowledged her.
Parent mistake #78314
Inheritance
There are a few things I inherited from my father. He is still alive. I am talking about genetically and behaviorally. For instance, I have his hair. Fortunately for me he still has his so odds are baldness is not in my future. Not that I’m saying anything about hairlessness. Bald is cool. Shoot for the past week I’ve been thinking about shaving my head. It’s the economy stupid. I also got his intelligence even if my wife cannot see it. The words "god damn" came from him. Despite my efforts to remove that from my vocabulary, I seem intent on passing that legacy to my children. It’s reflexive particularly when the stress is up. Ever since I started taking blood pressure medicine, I have become acutely aware of when the stress is up. Don’t get me wrong. Before the blood pressure medicine I was well aware of my mental state and knew when the stress was up. But now I feel it differently. Yesterday I could feel the blood coursing through my veins. Prior to the blood pressure medicine I was less aware of the tension in my arms and chest but it was there and constant. I should fart more. Or get the wife to calm me down more frequently.
Yesterday, knowing my blood pressure and stress were up, I struggled to keep myself in check. This morning, I overslept and was simply not awake enough to be responsive instead of reactionary.
I’m bigger and louder than you so I’m right
Amy will be seven in just over a month. Her sister, who turns 16 in June, has taught Amy teenager behaviors that she shouldn’t know. Then there is the inheritance thing. After all, she is my child. And she has my temper. And stubbornness. And those pretty blue eyes. This morning I had but one focus: get Amy ready for school and out the door on time. Considering I overslept, we were pressed for time. I was so focused on doing my job of being a father I forgot to actually be a father. After I dropped a teary eyed child off at school, I finally realized that this morning Amy needed to be in control. In control of what? Anything. It wouldn’t have mattered but instead of being that television dad who instantly has the wisdom and humility to help his child, I became the unruly dictator and drill sergeant who bullies his children as objects instead of sensitive beings. I yelled, I cursed, I threatened to throw toys away, and I produced tears on demand from what minutes earlier had been two happy, joyful children. Yes it was abusive. And wrong. And unnecessary. And I feel horrible. She had a need and did not know how to express it. She needed to be in control. She took this control by taking her brother’s toy. All I had to do we redirect her and give her the chance to make some choices and decisions and, in effect, be in control. Instead I taught her that you can be in control by raging, raising your voice, cursing, and threatening. I get no dad points today. Raising children is tough but you shouldn’t raise the dead and wake the house in the process. Last week I secretly vowed to myself to never raise my voice in anger to the children again. No. It wasn’t just the children. I vowed to never raise my voice in anger to anyone ever again. I failed. Can I have a Mulligan? Amy, I’m sorry.
From the mouths of babes
Evan: "Go jump o tramping"
Dad: "Look at me. Say tramp oh lean."
Evan: "tramp jumping train"
Dad: "Say tramp."
Evan: "Tramp"
Dad: "Oh"
Evan: "Tramp"
Dad: "Oh"
Evan: "Tramp"
Dad: "Oh"
Evan: "Tramp;"
Dad: "Oh"
Evan: "Tramp"
Dad: "Say Oh"
Evan: "Oh"
Dad: "Say Lean"
Evan: "Lean"
Dad; "Trampoline"
Evan: "Trampoline"
Granddaddy: chuckles.
What’s your working environment like?
I’ve just been stabbed with two light sabers and now am watching a laundry basket be dragged up the stairs then dropped down the stairs followed by a cackling laugh. Rinse. Repeat. I wonder how many times he has to do this before he realizes he could be sitting in the laundry basket when it goes down. Thank goodness the hospital has free wifi.
Spring is here! Stay outside!
As a home owner, I have frequent battles with nature. Mother Nature’s latest assault appears to be a yellow jacket nest near the house. Not the cute tiny yellow jackets that make you curse loudly when you run over their nest with the lawn mower but these are kind that need Rico, Dizzy and Rasczak to show the Orkin man how it’s done. We’ve had 3 of these in the house in the past week:
I know their nests typically have 2 entrances. They return to their nests at dusk. They fly faster than I can run. They tag you with a pheromone when they sting that alerts the rest of the nest that you are a bad guy. They don’t die when they sting like honey bees. And traps near the entrance work as well or better than gasoline down the holes but take longer. One evening this week we will do battle.
Grub Master
I was in front of my computer roughly 17 hours yesterday. Most of that was actually typing code. I am a Assistant Scout Master for my son’s Boy Scout troop although lately I have passed on meetings and activities in lieu of working. I skipped Monday’s meeting only to find out my son volunteered to be the grub master for this weekend’s trip. The way our troop works is one scout buys all the food for his patrol and is reimbursed. The idea is that the patrol plans the meal then the scout works with an adult to calculate portions and costs and buy the appropriate supplies. It is a good activity for developing their planning skills. The grub master should check the food pantry in the scout room for existing supplies (which I’m certain my son did not do). Unfortunately my son did not check with my secretary to see if I had one iota of spare time for this activity. Since their trip begins at the church at 5:45 today, Noah gets home from school with little time between school and the church, and Cathy will be doing her weekly trip to the Kentucky border this afternoon, I find myself faced with taking my lunch hour now to do Noah’s shopping for him. I should add that I don’t even get to go on this trip! (I very badly need a camping trip) This weekend they get to go to a fishing camp, clean and debone their food, cook it, and choose to eat powerbars instead.
From the mouths of babes
Evan, approaching 4 years old: "God dammit. God dammit. God dammit. God dammit. God dammit. God dammit. God dammit."
Dad: "I get the message already!"
Yup, a little bit of a repeat.
Let’s talk about breasts
I have 5 finicky eaters and 3 pounds of thawed chicken breasts. I could go with my old fallback Cheat’s Coronation Chicken but really that doesn’t thrill 3 of the 7 of our clan. I’ve marinated bite sized pieces in olive oil and seasonings then cooked it over oil in a skillet and mixed it with flavored rice for a chicken and rice dish that goes over okay. Simply slathering it in BBQ sauce and grilling it with sides of vegetables gets eaten but seems boring to me. Maybe I need to shred it and make BBQ chicken sandwiches. What’s your favorite child friendly chicken dish?
Knox County Schools – Your lack of creativity astounds me
Yesterday my middle schooler came home with a permission slip for a school field trip to Dollywood with a catch: The price is $43 and only the first 75 students to return a check and signed permission slip get to go. That’s not right! Additionally, the field trip will not allow the students on the water rides because Knox County Schools got all trippy after the death of a student at the waterfall 6 years ago. Yes that was a tragedy but we should have learned from the failings of supervision at that trip and continued water related activities but instead Knox County Schools decided bubble wrapping the children will protect them. Guess what? That won’t protect them either. I suppose Knox County Schools is assuming that of the 2.5 million visitors to Dollywood, our trip will be the one where highly inspected, super safety protected, engineered to simulate danger in the most cautionary way, equipment will fail at the same time all the trained and licensed lifeguards happen to be taking smoke breaks. It could happen! Denying water rides at a theme park? That’s not right! Can we make it better? What about not allowing digital cameras? Yes! Let’s prevent our children from the memorializing their time with their friends by not allowing them to take pictures. Granted, the school is afraid of being responsible for loss, theft or damage to a digital camera. Well guess what Sherlock! If I send a digital camera to school with my child and he loses it, that’s between him and me. I have an old digital camera sitting on my desk wasting away. If it got lost I’m out nothing. Of course, you want me to go buy an antique point and shoot disposable camera that is limited to 24 shots and cost an arm and a leg to print some thumbs over lenses. Brilliant! No wonder our children lag behind. Banning cameras? That’s not right! Eventually we will ban, regulated, lock up, and overprotect ourselves to being scared to death. What will you deny then? Don’t be scared or we’ll suspend you! Well guess what? That’s not right!
Oh, and today, my son brought home a permission slip for the band field trip. Guess where they’re going? Dollywood! (different day) That’s not right! For all the wonderful things we have in East TN, can our schools find nothing fun and mind expanding for our children? Oh, no, of course not; Knox County Schools is too worried about my digital camera. That’s not right!
Handyman of the Day Award – Hot Water
Old busted water heater element replaced with shiny new one. Only two floods in the process, one sliced open hand, and no electrocutions. A 48 gallon tank is too small for a 7 person household but stands a better chance with two working heating elements. (Yes, I cross posted this with Facebook.)
From the mouths of babes
Amy, 6.5 years old: "Dad, what’s a death threat?"
Dad: "What did you just say?!"
Amy: "What’s a death threat? On the show iCarly, they talked about death threats."
Dad: "A death threat means I’m going to have to have a talk with Nickelodeon."
