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I need a Boston Legal fix!

I’ve forgotten my question. I don’t like this feeling.

This morning I turned a cheery Tommy at 8:01 into a teary, upset child at 8:27. I left the house with the 4 year old in shaky tears, the 10 year old hiding in his room, and the 13 year old withdrawn. Why? I made the greatest parental mistake of all; I lost my temper and yelled. I figure it will take months if not much longer to reverse the damage done in a brief moment of lack of self-control and regain my children’s trust. I felt it coming. Had I simply asked, "What would Alan Shore do?" this could have been prevented.

I am guessing that maybe I have 30 years left in me. I don’t want to do any more yelling for those 30 years. I’ve had enough.

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I love my kids. The toddler blows bubbles!

Evan at 14 months knows to pickup a bubble wand, pucker his lips, and blow!

Amy astounds me with her sentences and vocabulary.

Noah is taking an interest in juggling and technology! Way to kiss up to dad, son!

Sarah confidentally jaunts off to Palm Beach and handles herself appropriately. I am so proud of her accomplishments.

Tommy has matured into a "normal" teenager. I hesitate to label him Asperger anymore.

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Summer mornings

At 9:30am this morning:

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Growing Up

The little boy next door just came over, knocked, and politely asked, "Could Amy come over and swim in my pool?" to which Amy grabbed her swim suit and went on her merry four year old way. This is the same boy that seems like only yesterday was standing naked in my driveway and would periodically just let himself in the house to play with toys.

Amy is growing so fast!

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What is it to be a dad?

Lately I have found myself in discussions on blended families. I find it interesting to see how the different families handle their individual situations.

We know one family that the parents divorced and the mother remarried. The child still sees biodad most every weekend but the stepfather is there day and night for the child through thick and then. The child goes out of his way to distinguish the stepfather as "my step dad."

We have other friends that are a blended family. The daughter sees biodad regularly but I get the impression perhaps not as regularly as she would hope. The stepfather is hated despite appearing to be a kind, soft spoken, gentle man. The stepfather is called by his first name.

Last night I was told about a man who refuses to be a dad. He is the male in the house but totally ignores when his high school stepson comes home drunk or otherwise shows out. He declares, "I am not his father and it is not my place to discipline him." I so disagree! Perhaps that child is pushing the boundaries in part to see if this man will come alive and be his dad. Regardless, the child has been setup for rough relationships in his future.

In our house, I am called "Dad." We did not force it upon the older three and gave them the option to call me "whatever makes you most comfortable." For awhile, Tommy tried on "Doug" and, in the beginning, after every phone call with biodad there was great confusion causing the children to stressfully stammer between "Dad" and "Doug" because he gets upset if the children call him by first name. With the exception of Tommy, I have been the father figure in their lives longer than all biodad’s years. With irregular phone calls and 36-72 hours of visits a year, I don’t see how biodad could expect to nuture a relationship with the children. The teenage girl now refuses his calls so often that he has resorted to tricks to get her on the phone, "hand her the phone but don’t tell her who it is."

Any man with a half decent sperm count can father a child. A dad is the person who speaks to each of the stuffed animals by name at three a.m. while carefully cleaning spatters of vomit from their delicate fur. A dad is there to comfort a scared child and help her get cleaned up to return to bed. A dad takes the good and the bad. A dad is there for the children and it doesn’t matter if those children are his own dna, adopted, stepchildren, or squatters. Being a dad is something special and I am honored to be called "Dad."

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I lead, er, herd, some scouts

Tonight’s den meeting was a blast! I really enjoy watching the scouts have a good time. We made 2 liter bottle rockets! They worked great.

We used this design (may have to view it via Google Cache). Another good link and a variation (check out the launch mechanism on that one!). You can even add a parachute. I want to build the pvc launch pad.

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Parenting – The Ultimate Test of Mental Fortitude

So how do you react when your 9 year old child disappears for 2.5 hours? You know he went to a friend’s house but he didn’t come home on time and you are certain of his location because the friend’s house appears empty.

So he returns home and you try to remain calm but long ago the emotions built yup and you want to give him what for! But you hold it together while he describes that he went to another friend’s house; a friend you don’t know and who’s parents you’ve never met.

Simple rule at our house: Let us know where you are. That is, if you change houses, tell us; call, shout, come home first, send a smoke signal but let us know and make sure we got the message.

Here is where parenting becomes art. At the moment a child stands before you and like wet clay on a table, he begs to be molded. At this time, a child that was self-initiated to find himself something positive to do with his time waits to see if you teardown his self-confidence and instill the seeds of doubt with regard to making his own choices. So do you 1) yell and scold or 2) tell him "good job" and ask that he call home next time. Sometimes, with emotions churning, it is hard to do the latter and so wrong to do the former.

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From the mouths of babes

This goes hand in hand with my earlier post.

Dad, asking nicely: "Why are you crying?"
Sarah: sits silently with chin on fist
Dad, asking nicely: "Why are you crying?"
Sarah: sits silently with chin on fist
Dad, becoming frustrated and gruff: "Why are you crying?"
Sarah: "Because you won’t let me tell you why I am crying!"
Dad: blink. blink.