Category: Family

Posts that discuss family life in America.

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Dad Blogs Family Fatherhood Society

I’ve got an ice cream…and you can’t have one…

From the very same institution (or at least a branch of it) that brought us taxes and war, has come the longer school year. For the kids here in Georgia–and the metro Atlanta area to be more precise–this means that next week marks the beginning of yet another year of substandard education at the hands of underpaid mother-in-laws. It also, unfortunately, means that my commute to work next week may very well signal the end of time–Carmageddon if you will. Because this is when all those teachers, who are use to sleeping late and arising well past the “safe to gas up your car due to smog” time has passed, will once again grab their half-caf-espresso with a twist of lime and head out the door clogging up the already busy lanes.

Which brings me (finally) to today’s conversational topic-school. Georgia has never ranked very high in the national school rankings. In fact, in a recent 2007 ranking of public high schools in Newsweek magazine, good ol’ Georgia only had one entry in the top 300 in the nation. Now some will say “It’s just a southern thang,” but even that’s not accurate. In comparison, our border neighbors stacked up thusly in the top 300:

But statistics notwhithstanding, yuppy-snobs here like to brag about how smart their little whipper-snapper is compared to his or her peers. And it doesn’t just start in middle school or high school when the young Democrat starts taking liberal arts classes either. Nossir it starts much earlier.

Try Daycare! Oh yeah, daycare is all the rage too. Well first, you have to find the proper audience. Utter the sentence “My wife and I both work and we have our children in daycare,” in the wrong setting and at best you’ll get condescending looks, and at worst, people will go “Sixth Sense” (can you believe that movie is 8 years old?) on you and pretend like you don’t exist. But, in the right audience (i.e. dual income families with kids), if you utter the aforementioned death-cry, the ensuing “My daycare is better than your daycare” posturing can reach epic proportions.

And daycare is an interesting concept really, because unlike schools where children from generally one socio-economic area gather together and can revel in their similarities, daycare in a relative 10-square mile radius all cost the same and so the driving factor for what kinds of kids attend there is largely based on how convenient the facility is to one or both of the parent’s offices. So, you can, and often do, get kids of all economic levels, ethnicities, etc.

So it is at my kids’ daycare. My oldest son’s two best friends include a little girl a bit older than he, whose mom recently got divorced and now has to move away for a job she hates. His other best friend is a boy his age whose parents are very similar to us. We knew that he would soon be moving on to the next class in daycare because they’ve moved a bunch of new kids in his class and him and his buds are nearly the oldest ones there now. But what we found out yesterday is that instead of moving him to the next class, they are moving him and his friends to the next-next class. Hippity hoppity ho!

My three year old is already skipping “grades.” Well, not really but that’s how part of me wants to spin it to all my friends. In truth, the reason probably has less to do with intelligence and more to do with economics–the daycare needs to make some room in his current class and in the next class because they moved a bunch of other kids a couple of weeks ago, and since him and his two friends are well potty trained and probably the three best behaved, it makes sense that if you need to move some kids to a different, older class, then moving their little group makes sense.

Don’t get me wrong; my boy is smart, but I don’t think he’s a Mozart or an Einstein. And who wants their kid to be that smart, but socially inept anyway? Certainly not me. So, I’ll go on being proud of him for all the other reasons; he generally listens, he’s potty trained, he has a really gentle spirit, he loves his little brother and because in his eyes, daddy knows how to do just about anything.

Even if they wanted to put him in high school tomorrow and started calling him “Doogie Howser” I wouldn’t be any more proud of him than I already am.

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Dad Blogs Family Fatherhood

Meanwhile…back at the Hall of Justice…

Just as surely as every mom lets her kids do things that daddy would never approve of (like giving them ice cream even after daddy told them “no peas, no desert!”), fathers similarly do things for their kids that mom probably wouldn’t like. I suspect fathers are even worse offenders, no doubt in part because kids are so enamored of mom that we fathers will do whatever we need to do to reclaim “most favored parental unit” status, if even for a moment.

I’m generally not a fan of forcing/allowing kids to grow up too fast, but that was (silly me!) before I had my own kids and had my life hijacked by Play Dough® and Thomas the Tank Engine®. Now, I can’t wait for my boys to get old enough to go and do things daddy enjoys, such as watch action flicks, play golf and buy a bass boat and go fishing.

As such, this past weekend I was basking in a free moment watching Spider Man— part one I think—when my oldest son (of 3 years) waltzed in and sat down on the couch. Now, I had three choices here:

  • Turn the TV off and offer to go do something else, something more age-appropriate, with my son
  • Turn the TV to something he would enjoy, but which would drive me elsewhere in the house, or
  • Leave the TV there and let him watch it with me

The fact that I’m even blogging about this is sufficient to tell you of my decision. Yes, we watched Spider-Man and yes it was great. My son actually seemed to enjoy it and I did my best to play off the Green Goblin as some mean guy whom “Spiderman is going to make go away forever.”

It was a great time had by all…no harm no foul.

Until about 1:30 in the morning two days later. I’m lying there in sleepy bliss because my wife got up with the baby the first time and my time had yet to come, when I feel a shifting of the force…or wait…maybe it’s the mattress. Even as I was opening my eyes and sitting up to find out what all the hub-bub (bub) was all about, I knew it my son coming to get in bed with us, something that’s not generally allowed.

I was just about to pick him up and take him back to bed when he says, “Daddy, the green man scares me.”

Crap! There’s not much I could say after that, knowing damn well that it was my fault in the first place. So, I regretfully picked him up and put him between my wife and I where he hovered on my side of the bed the rest of the night poking and prodding my kidneys and buttocks areas looking for fruit snacks and Lord knows what else!

There are people who say I should just relax and enjoy these times in my kids’ lives, but…honestly? I don’t mind being a human bean bag cum nanny most of the time, but sometimes a guy just needs to be a guy—with all the sports watching and throne sitting that entails—without the burden of young minds. Hope springs eternal…

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Dad Blogs Family Fatherhood Marriage

Letter to the Medela breastpump manufacturer

Dear Medela,

I am writing to you to express my profound joy at never having to listen to the sound of your breast pumps again. After two children and nearly a year of my life watching my wife use your product, I am on my knees thanking the good Lord that we are done with your product and that I will never again be awakened to the sound of the in and out suction and whirring noise emanating from your pump that you have so cleverly disguised within a computer bag. In addition, here are a few other things I won’t miss about your pump:

  • Having to drag it EVERYWHERE we go; on vacation, to church, intermediate-length car rides, etc. You cannot imagine how awkward this annoying thing is…not to mention that in order to save time, my wife uses it whilst driving (to mine own horrid fascination). This is accomplished under the cover of a poncho-like drape that conceals what’s actually going on.
  • The inevitable delay of my wife coming to bed due to having to pump before doing so. This is especially troubling because of the timing involved. As my wife and I equally share responsibilities around the house, each of us ends up putting one of our children to bed, then one or both of us shower while the other putts around filling bottles with milk for daycare the next day, etc. However, when I’m ready to crawl into bed, my wife is not because she has to pump. Therefore, I turn on the TV and by the time she gets in bed, I’m into whatever it is I’m watching and “relations” subsequently suffer.
  • That additional cord in the car so that my wife can pump whilst traveling. Between my Sirius radio tuner, my radar detector, and the DVD player for the kids, the last thing I want is yet another darned cord plugged into the cigarette lighter socket powering the pump. Not only that, but you have apparently designed your car adapter to blow fuses every month and unless the wife tells the husband what’s going on, she assumes the entire apparatus is bad and spends another $14 on what is really a 25 cent fix. Shame on you!
  • Washing those darned tiny bottles. Nuff said!

In short Medela Inc., you have stolen enough of my joy for one lifetime–time that I will never be able to reclaim–and for this I bid you goodbye, farewall, arive derche and adios!

Sincerely,

A Happy Man

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Dad Blogs DIY Family Fatherhood

There’s Nothing More Manly than Splitting Wood

It’s probably going to reach somewhere near 90-92 degrees here in the Atlanta area today, and I’ve spent the last three weeks splitting firewood for our coming winter where we’ll be lucky to get more than 20 days of temps in the lower 30s or upper 20s.

But beyond just some need to get out and do something manly for a change (as opposed to watching the kids or sitting in a chair at work on the computer all day), there is something very cathartic about mindless physical exertion, and it is this which has drawn me time and again to one of the two stacks of wood in my backyard these past few weeks.

To be sure there is a satisfaction one can gain from parenting or from one’s chosen profession, but in my experience, few things are as satisfying as rounding a day off soaked in sweat (perspiration for my female audience) and having something as solid as a stack of split wood to show for your efforts; even if half of it will probably go to waste since it doesn’t get that cold here anyway.

Also, for me, I get some of my best contemplating in when I’m doing something singular like cutting firewood or mowing the lawn. It is during these times that I’m most introspective, because let’s face it, you don’t really need your brain when you’re working in the yard. I wonder if Einstein came up with some of his most pervasive postulates while working? Perhaps Da Vinci was planing off a new worktable when he came with the idea for the parachute. Who knows.

But, I finished one stack and based on how things are going at work, I luckily have a whole ‘nother stack to go. Skip the gym, cut some wood, keep my sanity. Not a bad deal all in all.