July 4th on a Wednesday. There should be a law that says, “If a holiday involving two of our country’s favorite pasttimes, drinking and fireworks, falls on a day that does not allow our citizens to sleep in after the next day, this it should be moved to accomodate such a time.“
Since no story-like words will adequately represent this blog like the bare hard facts will, I present them to you bare bones:
A.M.
6:00 Oldest son up at butt-crack of dawn. Get him settled on the couch with juice and cartoons. Drink coffee, fetch things for eldest son…try to enjoy some quiet time on the porch while it’s still cool out.
7:45 I go to gym while wife stays home. Youngest son still sleeping.
8:45 Get home, pretty much same situation except youngest son just woke up (treat!)
9:15 Head out to meet local family at park for a morning of wild youngin’s and bagels. For them, this is breakfast. For us, it is a mid-morning snack.
11:30 Whew! It got hot. Coming home.
PM
12:00 Wife takes computer desk (spare) over to youngest brother’s house as they just moved in and computer is on the floor due to now spare furniture.
12:30 I coax youngest son into a nap; playing trains with eldest.
2:30 Wife comes home after dropping off desk and grocery shopping for the “week from hell” (AKA: vacation at the beach with in-laws). Continued train playing. I also complain of not feeling well and being tired.
3:00 In an effort at sloughing off tiredness, go outside and chop wood for the oh-so-frigid Atlanta winters to come when the sun enters a significant cooling period (eat it global warmers!)
5:45 Start “surf n turf” dinner on grill (kabobs with skrimps and lobster tail) (p.s. it was not my best effort, but hard to grill beef and seafood on same grill and keep it all hot for serving)
AH, the real fun begins!
7:30 Youngest son ready for bed. Wife puts him down whilst I bathe eldest.
8:15 Eldest son watches some “Thomas the Tank Engine” (a nightly ritual…that or “The Wiggles“)
8:45 Wife and eldest son leave to go watch fireworks. I stay home with young one.
9:45 Both return elated. Eldest son goes to bed.
10:40 After listening to neighbor intermittently shoot off fireworks, finally go out shirtless, “Bill! How many more do you have?” Bill’s reply: “We’re done.” I mutter, “Goddang right you’re done a**hole.”
11:30 I just fell asleep when youngest son wakes up. Wife tends to him.
3:15 Youngest son wakes up again, I get up. Find he’s totally soaked head to toe in urine. Diaper is soaked, so is bed and clothes. Stick bottle in his mouth to keep him quiet while change him, then try and change bed sheets. Stupid crib bumpers tied in knots (all 18 of them, and it was NOT my doing). After successfully untying a few in the dark (because heaven forbid you turn the lights on and wake the baby up for sure!) I finally get out the scissors and cut the Goddang things. Know wife will be furious, but since this is the second child’s crib bumpers I’ll have done these to, don’t claim ignorance of my frustration.
Let me explain here for a second for those who think my actions a little “over the top.” When you put these crib bumbers in, you in effect, trap the mattress in the crib and the only way to get the mattress out, is by removing the bumpers. Now, you can remove the mattress without removing the bumpers, but believe me A) not in the dark and B) not without significant effort and swearing. I know they are supposed to keep little one’s feet and hands from getting trapped in the slats, but they also offer a suffocation hazard (so hah!).
I also have significant doubts as to whether or not a 4-month old could have that much pee from the 11:30 feeding. Suspect she just didn’t want to bother changing him. (Oh and…not the first time this has happened).
4:00 Lying in bed trying to go back to sleep and wife gets up to pump. WTF?!! You mean, I got up, tended to the baby, got all pissed off so that I can’t sleep, only to have her get up a couple of minutes later anyway to go pump? Now I’m really jazzed. The only thing that can possibly calm me down now, is watching Fox Mulder and Dana Scully investigate some psychic bad guys on late-night TV.
4:30 Bow to pressure and turn off TV. Don’t immediately fall alseep. When do, dream weird stuff about the curly haired kid from “That 70s Show” giving me a car. Very odd.
6:00 I hear “thump thump” and realize it’s past time to get up. Find oldest son wide awake despite having gone to bed later.
My day starts. And you wonder why I don’t look forward to weekends anymore.
Tag: parenting
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Why We Have Children
In the last three years, I’ve often pondered how we as a species, continue to populate the planet. Parenting is not easy and statistics show that affluent families are having fewer children, or waiting to have them much later than their parents did, while lower income families (often single parent ones) are having the same numbers or more children as in the past, and at a relatively early age.
When you consider the cost of raising children, one wonders how we do it. Those who can conceivably afford to get help, have elected to forego children. As I often do, I again come back to blame the dual income family. This lack of children among the affluent almost always coincides with a dual income household. The really interesting thing is that I can watch this little mystery unfold in my very home.
My wife comes from a very large family of 7 children. Dad always worked and mom was always there for the kids. My wife always felt that she wanted lots of children; in fact we used to have mini-arguments about how many we would have. I wanted 2, she 4. Nearly eight years into our marriage and two boys later, my wife recently turned to me and declared, “If I say I want more children, shoot me.”
My my…curiouser and curiouser.
The question is then, “What changed?” Had my wife never become successful in her career, would she be happy as a stay at home mom? As it is, weekends wear us out watching just two kids, much less staying home and watching them for a whole week. I find it interesting that this whole “nurture” thing we’ve grown up expecting women to feel towards their children is all but a thing of the past.
The point being, that raising children is not easy. We thought we dodged the “terrible twos” bullet with our older son, only to have it rear it’s ugly head in his “threes.” And now of course having a newborn in the house, old questions as to “why” and “how” this whole children thing continues its popularity plagues my soul as I’m sitting in the Dutallier rocking my grunting son at 2:30 in the morning.
There’s an old saying of mine: “You can do a million things right and never get any credit, but you do one thing wrong and people never forget you for it.”
With children, I think the opposite is true: “Your children can act like the spawn of satan for a solid week, but when they get up in the morning, come over to you and give you a genuine hug–you know, one of those that they don’t immediately pull away from–you realize that it was all worth it.
Don’t get me wrong, I still only want two children, but it is in times like this that I realize how and why our species will survive. We thrive on love and acceptance, and children offer these without asking anything in return except our own love.
I get it now. It took two kids and months and months of sleepless hell, but I get it now.
Consider the toothbrush.
Have you noticed how it has evolved in the last decade? It wasn’t too long ago that you had three choices, outside of the color, in your toothbrush selection: soft, medium and hard (bristles). Then, the most difficult decision was whether or not buying a purple toothbrush would be seen as a “gay” thing to do if you were a guy.
But today…well, today there are literally dozens of choices in toothbrushes. There’s ones with little rubber nubbies to clean your gums, there are some with the bristles in neat little circular patterns, presumably to appear more like an electric toothbrush. You have sonic toothbrushes that clean your mouth with sound and vibration–oooohhhh! Oh and let’s not forget that toothbrush innovation hasn’t stopped with the bristles. Nowadays, on the back side of the toothbrush you’ll find all kind of interesting little things that are designed to scour the inside of your cheeks as you brush.
Now, my personal favorite is the old Crest Reach toothbrush with a full-sized head made of medium bristles. You can’t find it today, but you can find similar models that contain its core details while eschewing newfangled additions such as swirlies.
I get that even toothbrushes must evolve, if only to support increasing the marketing budgets of the manufacturers. I mean, we simply can’t expect today’s youth to brush their teeth if we don’t provide them with “cool” tools. So I don’t really mind if the messaging around the new toothbrushes is a bit of a stretch. Do half as many swirly bristles really work as well as twice as many horizontal rows of bristles? I think not.
Therefore, I don’t mind being lied to by Johnson & Johnson, or whomever, but what I don’t get is why my dentist would lie to me…(it’s a logical jump folks…stick with me here….)
I recently had my teeth cleaned and as usual, “Your teeth are beautiful, blah blah blah.” In fact, they didn’t even take X-rays this time. So, imagine my surprise when a couple of days later as I’m shining a flashlight down my throat to count the number of puss-pockets on my tonsils from my sinus infection, that I find what appears to be the beginning of a very small cavity right smack on top of my back molar. Now, I’m no dentist but I think I can recognize a well-rounded hole in my tooth as a cavity. And I can’t for the life of me imagine that both my hygienist and the old feller (the dentist) would miss it when they poked their head in my head to look around.
The only thing I can think of is that it’s too small to do anything about right now, so they didn’t make a big deal of it. But isn’t that kinda like not telling someone they have an enlarged prostate? “Thanks for considering my mental health doc, but I’d really like to know if I’m prime for a colonoscopy.”
Perhaps I’m making a mountain out of a molehill, but since I haven’t had a cavity since I was 8, and the whole thing has become a bit of a source of pride for me, I’m only slightly less than devastated. Of course, in the grand scheme of things it’s a very minor thing for sure.
I guess between now and my next cleaning I’ll try out some of those newfangled toothbrush gizmos and see if they help me dig down into my molar crevasses (what a great pluralization!).
As a family, you tend to gather pictures like old habits. One minute your walls are bare, the next you’re taking down one picture in order to move it to a new location so that you can arrange a multitude of pictures on the wall. With two boys now in our house, I’m forced to look at a series of pictures taken over the last few years and I gotta tell ya folks, it ain’t pretty.
At some point, I went from a trim runners body, to a stocky weighlifter’s body, complete with a small belly that threatens to grow wider than my shoulders. Oh, I could make excuses, such as less leisure time to hike and exercise. I could blame my back surgeries which have all but made running (the one thing that really burned off the fat) a thing of the past. I could make several excuses, but if I’m being honest, there are other, equally valid reasons for why I put on weight that have nothing to do with my lifestyle.
Plain and simple, I eat more junk than I used to. When I was single, and before there were kids, you wouldn’t find leftover pizza or cookies laying around. Dinner was cereal or stir fry, not hamburgers or some gourmet chicken with a fabulous wine sauce.
This isn’t really the direction I meant to take with this entry, but these things tend to have a mind of their own. What I meant to get to, was how things change as you age–and not just physically–but mentally too.
For instance, someone commented on my last post where I admitted I’d never smoked pot. I didn’t say it because it’s something I am all proud of and want to force on the rest of the world. As someone who has enjoyed the benefits of hydrocodone for nigh on three years as a way to enable me to sit in an office chair, pick up my kids without hitting the ground in pain, and walking without a limp, I’ll be the first to admit that drugs have their places. And drugs is one of those areas where I imagine I’m not the only one to have a change of heart.
As much as I like to make fun of them, public service announcements do have an affect. I didn’t do drugs, not because they weren’t available, but because I morally felt they were wrong. Now, as an adult, I’ve known some very intelligent people who regularly smoke pot and get by in life just fine. Do I agree that they should come to work baked, or use it prior to a long roadtrip as a way of staying alert? No, I can’t condone that, but I also don’t see a problem with a person using pot recreationally. I realize this opens a whole can of worms regarding public safety and work productivity etc., which is probably why, more than any other reason, pot isn’t legal in this country. If you legalized it, then you’d have to have a slew of follow up laws regulating where, when and how it could be used.
Legal nightmare, I get it.
But times change, we change–our bodies, our minds, our morals. Sometimes when I look in the mirror, I wonder if I should continue to cling to that image of myself in my youth in some vain hopes that I’ll be able to some day get back to it when life isn’t so demanding of my time. Other times I think that maybe this person in last month’s picture IS me. It’s the new me, or…the old me depending on how you want to look at it. There is no going back, there’s only going forward. That’s depressing, but I don’t suppose it isn’t anything billions of people ahead of me haven’t gone through.
I don’t know. I’m not yet ready to give up my youth, despite what my hair and my bones are telling me. But some things can and do change, like your opinion on things. Whether or not those changes are for the better, or simply “changes”…well, only time will tell.
Postulates & Pastimes 