Explain "modesty" to a 10 year old boy.
Update: World Central’s Student Dictionary did the best job in the time I alloted to find it.
This doesn’t help explain modesty.
A juggling technophile shares personal stories, challenges, humor and perhaps some political commentary.
Happenings in a 5 child, 2 adult household.
Explain "modesty" to a 10 year old boy.
Update: World Central’s Student Dictionary did the best job in the time I alloted to find it.
This doesn’t help explain modesty.
At 9:30am this morning:
Tommy is really doing well!
Tracking my typical day was fun but I’m not going to continue. I accidentally fell asleep between 12:30 and 1am. Since I don’t use an alarm clock and didn’t tell myself when to wake I slept until 6:40! This day is going to be hardcore programming. I’d like to think I could slip a couple of hours into the yard before having to return the riding mower. There will be a pause in the afternoon to celebrate Sarah’s return from camp! I’ve missed her but I have not missed that sassy teenage tongue.
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!
I went upstairs and couldn’t believe my eyes. Mixed in with the toys scattered across the living room floor was a, um, er, a marital aid. Obviously a 1 year old dragged it out of a storage space and became disenchanted with the toy dropping it in the middle of everything to move onto less embarassing toys like kitchen knives.
Coming close to a recreation of a scene from Parenthood, I openly point out what I am holding to my wife while my children’s backs are to me. They of course whip around with a "What?!" response but I’m too quick. Good thing too because we have a policy in this household of "if you bring it up, you explain it!"
Asking, "What would Alan Shore do?" I reacted calmly, slipping the tool into my pocket, making eye contact with the wife, and calling Sarah to babysit for 3 minutes.
Now honey, your neck massager needs to be put somewhere different. And feel free to read all kinds of double entendre into that.
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."
Son, your first year has been incredibly exciting! You amaze me every day. Hold onto that smile and happiness for all your life!
Evan: "Rompf gurr hurr-rum romfp fps"
Dad: "Tommy, I think Evan is trying to tell you something."
Evan: "Errr oohph umm umm"
Tommy: "No, he’s talking to the Roomba."
Note- Roomba is charging in Tommy’s room while we have guests.
Dad: "He doesn’t like that thing. Let them work it out."
Tommy: "Funny Dad. But not that funny."
Today is the last of day of school. As the year wore on, Sarah left the house progressively later and later without a care on whether or not she missed the bus. Today she left earlier than she has left all year. She carries only 3 nalgene water bottles full of water, a cell phone, and an iPod Shuffle – no backpack, no books, no pencil. So, why leave early? We can’t miss the bus because on the last day of school the bus driver lets the kids have a water fight on the bus!
Obligation is keeping me from preparing for Noah’s party as I would like. I know he is going to have a blast even if the only thing we were to do was have his friends over. Naturally we are doing more than that but weather is threatening to interfere with our plans. I want to do so much better for him.
Yesterday the neighbor caught me in the driveway as I started to take Noah to karate.
Neighbor: "Doug is Noah home? Beth (a first grader) is over an hour late."
Dad: "Noah is in the car."
Neighbor: "Noah, did Lisa (Beth’s mother) pickup Beth?"
Noah, 10 years: "No."
Dad: "Did Beth ride the bus home with you?"
Noah: "Yes."
Dad: "Did she walk home with you?"
Noah: "Yes."
Dad: "Do you know where she is?"
Noah: "No, her mom took her somewhere."
I hate hearding the 4 year old start repeated over and over "I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry." while hearing the 1 year old gasp for air and cry.
I use a wrist wrest!
Amy wants to play outside right now. We spent a few minutes then came back inside. I want to play outside all day with her but I have to work. So much is at stake right now. Dollar amounts in the thousands. But none of that costs me as much as watching her slow, silent tears drip down her cheeks.