The Daddy Life

Liar Liar Pants on Fire

2012-01-11T06:58:00.000-08:00

Amidst the chaos of a move, the dry bright days of a Portland January, and the constant negotiation of my toddler life, this task of parenting has gotten more complicated. I have been musing about this BIG IDEA for the past few days, so perhaps I will write about it.

We are living a toddler/daddy life at my house. By this I mean that the world my children experience is one that is constructed by me and my fatherly perspective on the world. I have recognized this as a unique thing, different from mothers and grandmas and the often feminized world of child rearing. Jude and Ada are being raised by their FATHER, for good or ill. There are values that I hope to foster, and I feel the weight of responsibility for demonstrating these values and passing them to my children. I'm obviously working in the dark here.

One of the simplest and most straightforward lessons to come up lately is about truth and lies. TELL THE TRUTH, DON'T TELL A LIE seems like a no-brainer. The big problem here is that Jude lies all the time. And by extension, so does Ada. Jude will lie about having a dirty diaper, or how many cookies he ate off the counter, or whatever. I can still tell the difference, obviously. He might tell lies, but he's not very sneaky. Ada just lies because she likes to say NO a lot. "Ada, do you want another bite of yogurt?" NO. , and then BITE A YOGURT, PLEEEZE. She's a polite liar.

But lying is wrong, right? Small lies can turn into big problems. (Believe me about this one.) In an effort to model this, I have taken an almost manic approach to telling my kids what is happening in their lives, even when they don't like it. I've noticed that my wife takes this same approach, though we've never discussed it. The theory is that maybe the truth will hurt, but its best to get the bad news over with.

Example. Maybe Ada is going to Grandma's house for a sleepover and Jude is staying home. This is NOT likely to be met with cheers and applause by Jude, who loves days at Nini's house. I could just keep this information to myself, maybe gloss over the details. I could cover up a bit, avoid the subject, feign ignorance, or any of the above. To me this seems like lying. And yet we do this in the adult world all the time. Enter the WHITE LIE, stage left. Isn't this a slippery slope? If I tell a lie to avoid the tantrum today, what will be waiting for me tomorrow?

I have little patience with a model of child-rearing that "protects" children and their fragile childhoods from the rigors and pitfalls of life. This is an unfortunate trend I find in the preschool set - My children are obviously curious about the world, why would I conceal it from them? We would not tell lies about science or history, so why gloss over the fascinating details of human sociology? The highs and lows, joys and tragedy, isn't this the human experience?

Until now I have avoided raising my children within a religious framework. Am I really the moral compass for these children? I want them to think for themselves and ask their own questions. What am I left with, classical philosophy? Plato and Aristotle are not going to cut it with my guys. If not me, then who? If not now, then when? How do I teach my kids that it's wrong to tell a lie?

The New Stride: Month One

2011-12-17T09:12:00.000-08:00

Thanks to all who followed and related to my recent posting about running strides and form. I had a good month, and I promised to keep updates here, so update I shall!

One month ago I had a running analysis from the kind folks at the Providence Sports Care Center at Jeld-Wen Stadium in Portland. They gave me some tips, and I tried a few other things on my own.

Weeks 1-2
In specific, I began by running 10-20 minutes on an indoor track while following the recommendations of my physical therapist. I was doing this 3-4 times/week for the first few weeks. Initially, I was very surprised by how much work it was to keep my hips forward and my back straight for this period. The PT warned me that I would feel the difference in soreness on my backside, which I assume means my glutes and my hamstrings. I timed the footstrikes on my watch, and found I could keep this pace reliably for about 15 minutes without tiring. It felt more like a drill than a run. One day my wife was at the gym, and I showed her the difference between my “old” loping stride and my “new” upright stride. Linden reported that there was indeed a HUGE difference, and encouraged me to keep up the drills and form.

During this period I found an interesting article about this exercise known as the 100-up. I focused on the first part of the drill, known as the “minor” and started doing them around the house.

I felt like I was making some progress building strength in my hip and lifting my knees a bit higher. On top of this drill I was loosely following what my PT called my “home program.” Most of these drills seemed to focus on building core stability and getting at the smaller muscles in my abdomen and hips. Some of the drills also focus on treating each leg separately. I can see that part of my problem has been a kind of compensation that allows some muscles to be lazy while others do all the work. In a future post I will describe my current “home program” and share some new drills.

Week 3
After a few weeks on the indoor track I started feeling good about my progress and ventured outside for some running on the trails. I had good success with this for 20-30 minutes of running, but noted that my cadence slowed on the downhills and increased on the ups. I ran in old running shoes for this period, and had little problem with my motion control Mizuno Alchemy shoes that I’ve been running in for years. At the gym I had been using a pair of Brooks Avalanch shoes that I bought in the fall. They were similar to the Mizunos in that they seem to keep my heel in place, although I am more focused on the midfoot strike. Sadly, I left the Brooks shoes at the gym one day and never found them again.

I started running in a cheap pair of minimalist Saucony Stratos that I bought last winter at Big 5 for about 30 bucks. This gave me all sorts of soreness in my IT band and quads, but I didn’t immediately connect it with the shoes. Next, this week I went for a run with a close friend, (Ben Chaffin) and we did what I would call an “easy four” down to the waterfront. This run was harder than usual, and I think my pace was faster than I’ve been running. The result was about 10 days of significant soreness in my left IT band and nighttime swelling in that same knee. Life was busy, and kept me from doing much running, so I eased off for a few days.

Week 4 - 5
I was starting to get discouraged by the cranky knee, but one day I stepped out for a short run and noticed something good about my new stride – I could no longer relax my straight back or stick out my butt like I used to do. The “upright” position seems to have planted itself in my muscle memory and I can keep the position for much longer periods, maybe even indefinitely! This is a great sign for my ambitions to adopt a new form. Big news!

I bought another new pair of shoes this week and saw immediate improvement in my knee pain and IT band troubles. I also increased my use of the foam roller, a tool that has helped in the past to fight inflexibility and soreness. I resumed my running frequency and even stepped out for a longer group run one evening. We ran for about an hour and although I felt some soreness there was no lasting swelling or trouble. I think I’m back on track.

To recap, I see that my running program needs some of each of the following: consistency, flexibility, strengthening, and work. By the last thing here I mean that “getting into shape” means taxing my mechanical system and giving it short periods to recover. Always in the past I have focused on taxing my cardiovascular system, but it is clear that the mechanical one is more important for long term fitness.

I’m currently running every other day and hoping to build a base this winter for more fast running in the spring! I’ll continue to focus on the 5k and 1 mile distances for the next six months, but most important is maintaining a level of fitness in which I avoid injury and keep training!

Thankfulness

2011-11-30T06:41:00.000-08:00

Things I am thankful for this Thanksgiving season:

My children love their mother very very very much.

I am thankful for blue eyes.

I am thankful for ice cream.

I am thankful that life doesn't stand still. It keeps moving forward whether we like it not.

Some friends have expressed worry, so I want to give an update and relieve your curiosity. Linden and I spent the fall looking at real estate, and are currently in the process of buying a house in the southwest hills of Portland.

The "looking for a house" phase was stressful, the "making an offer" phase was frustrating, but the "inspection and negotiation" phase is unbearable. We're fighting colds, sweating details, and trying not to worry about the packing, moving, and selling phases that are coming next.

Despite it all, I have an enduring sense that this is exactly how it is supposed to be. I am feeling thankful for all that we have, and trying to channel inner peace. Flow like water downhill and through a damp basement. Some days you get the bear, and some days the bear gets you.

The house isn't a lock yet, by any means. So we've been quiet about it. The picture above is Linden standing at the front door. It looks like home to me.

Running and Being

2011-11-16T15:35:00.001-08:00

The late Dr. George Sheehan wrote a little tome called Running and Being. In it, he details a simple philosophy of exercise. "Before we can be good humans," he writes, "we must first be good animals." I've always loved this. Dr. Sheehan was part of the running craze of the 1970's, and ran well into his own advancing age. Running was part of his identity, and it is a part of mine.

I started running during my sophomore year in high school. One spring I got up some nerve, joined the track team, bought a pair of shoes, and by May I was a runner. That was 1991, and I was sixteen years old. I ran a surprisingly brisk 2:02 in the 800m that year, and I was hooked. By my senior year I stretched out for a 4:31 mile and a 1:58 for the 800m.

High school running gave me some sense of balance and buoyancy, so I continued on into college. I ran three years at Lewis & Clark College, through my early 20's. By any account, my best years of running. I had a supportive coach, a great facility, and a light step. 3:59 in the 1500m, 1:56 in the 800m. These were great times, and I will always be proud of them.

Then my post collegiate twenties came along, and my running took a sharp dive. I wrecked a motorcycle, traveled the world, and generally stopped the workouts. I still felt like a runner, but I wasn't running much more than the occasional jog to blow off steam. Moving back to Portland in my later twenties, I found this sport again. I hadn't taken more than a few years away so getting back in shape was relatively easy. I found running friends that kept me motivated, and soon I was back to running for fitness and fun.

The point of this post is that running has been part of my identity for most of my adult life. I've never been particularly motivated, but I love a long run and I love to race. For the past ten years I have been running and racing regularly. I generally get into shape every spring and fall out of shape every winter. I run with the seasons, hating the hot sun and loving the cool rain. I rarely run more than twenty miles in a week. This seems like just enough to keep me healthy without causing any real injury.

And then BAM. Note my last post. This fall has been humbling and motivating. Somewhere in the aging process I began to rely more heavily on some of my bigger muscles at the expense of the smaller ones. I spent the last month doing physical therapy, massage, and stretching. And then yesterday I saw the running lady at my PT office and she did a running assessment. We took video of my stride and talked about my sloppy form. She showed me how my loping, bouncing stride is out of whack. How my footstrike is either too far forward or too far back. And that crossover? Forgetaboutit.

So what am I going to do? Here's the rub: I'm basically pain free. I'm jogging on the indoor track at my gym, and I can putz around on the treadmill, and I can ride the bike, but I DON'T TRUST IT. My injury in October was no fluke, and it happened almost without warning. I need to fix something about my basic stride if I want to keep at this - if I want to run into my own advancing age.

I am attempting to track my progress here on The Daddy Life. I want to transform my stride into what Alberto Salazar has called "the one best way." It may not be the fastest way, or the prettiest, and definitely not the easiest, but humans have been running efficiently for millenia. Anthropologists argue that running allowed us to hunt animals over long range, outperforming prey due to our ability to sweat instead of pant. So running really is built into our human identity. No wonder it feels so good.

I have just begun to take in the large body of literature about this ancient/modern theory of running. There is a whole barefoot movement out there just dying to get me out of my pronation control trainers. I think that's unnecessary, but there are some excellent training tools out there to build muscles, balance, and tone that will prevent my injury from October. First I'll detail the program put in place by my PT, Erika Lewis at the Providence Sports Clinic at Jeld-Wen Stadium. These guys work on the Portland Timbers, so they've got to know what they're doing, right?

THE PROGRAM

Erika the PT gave me three simple changes to remember while I'm building toward my new stride. Three is a good number for me - I'd never remember four.

1) Tuck my pelvis under. Tighten the abs, tighten the butt, and sit over my hips instead of tilting forward. This takes some concentration, but it's not too bad on a flat surface.

2) Strike in the middle of the foot. No more toe prancing or heel striking. I can do both equally well, but mid-foot striking seems to keep me over the center of my body.

3) Slow it down, but increase the cadence. Instead of loping along on the treadmill, Erika had me speed up my rate of footstrike to about 166 per minute, but without changing my speed. This is hard work. It feels more like a running drill than a jog.

Currently I can keep up this new stride for about twenty minutes on the indoor track. I checked myself with my watch, and I can stay pretty close to the 166 strikes per minute pacing. I have to report that this feels awkward, and everything is starting to hurt a little as I find new and unused muscles to abuse. But I'm running and I'm building stability. I'm fascinated to see if I can really do this. I'll give it a try for the next month, and keep tabs on how it goes!

I'm not ready to give up my identity as a runner just yet!

Sober October, 2011 edition

2011-10-18T07:03:00.001-07:00

“I’m so hip, I have difficulty seeing over my pelvis.”

The time of year has come again for the Daddy Life to lay off the booze for a few short weeks in celebration of my favorite season. We’ve had an action-packed month here at the Life and it’s only half over. We nearly bought a house, the weather turned to shit, and I threw out my hip. Not an auspicious beginning to my favorite month of the year, but I see better things on the foggy horizon.

First, Sober October. I began this tradition one year in an attempt to clear my head and enjoy the crisp fall air, the outdoor exercise, and the general romance that I have with this season. I always seem to find my stride in October. It’s a great time of year to be alive, to suck the marrow out of life. This year has presented few difficulties, other than a few stressful events worth noting below.

We’ve been thinking of moving. And then we started looking at houses. And then we found a house we love. This began a long week of negotiations with the seller about what exactly the house might be worth. This also prompted us to spend a few weeks looking at every conceivable house on the market. This makes for busy times and difficult decisions about our immediate future. Do we sell first, then buy? Can we scrape together enough for the down payment otherwise? Do we really want to move in November and carry two morgages through the holidays? Heady stuff. But then walking into a house that we love, my wife and I look at each other and we think: yeah, this one will work. We can raise the family here. It’s like peering into your own future and liking what you see.

During the first week of the month I managed to raise my running mileage a tiny bit. What I mean by this is that I actually ran three days in a row. None of these days were out of the ordinary, and I was feeling no ill effects apart from a little tightness in the legs. And then BANG. Twenty four hours after my last run I began to develop a heavy limp. And then it got worse. By evening I could barely sit down, and that night I took a shower and went straight to bed.

What ensued was 10 days of decreased mobility, excruciating pain, and several trips to the physical therapist. Getting into the car sometimes took fifteen minutes. Taking care of the kids was not even a question. Linden stayed home from work a few days to manage the household. And then suddenly, over the second weekend, the problem just went away.

I don’t know what happened, but here is my best guess. Two weeks ago today I ran the Fairmount Loop with Jude in the baby jogger. He weighs 42 pounds. We were in a hurry, so I didn’t bother to stretch. In addition, I ran as fast as possible, while steering with just one hand. After the run, we went home and I ran the pressure washer for 2 hours. I think this process exhausted my hip flexor muscle, which decided to quit working. When the hip flexor quits, there are several other muscles that all start making up for the loss. The peraformis, the psoas, the IT band, and other areas in the general ass/hamstring location all start screaming. What I experienced was nothing short of a full mutiny from my lower (some might say better) half. I have received this message loud and clear. They may have given me back the ship, but now I know what happens if I don’t feed the crew. I’m getting older, and I need to remember that!

Having this experience with pain has given me some cause to reflect. There are people who live with this kind of pain every day of their lives. I feel lucky to have my health, my family, and my own safe world to live in. I know it could come crashing down every day, and I shake my head to think of the times I’ve tried to crash it down myself.

Here’s to October! Raise a glass of orange juice to falling leaves, sweet decay, and a little perspective.

Back to School, Ring the Bell

2011-09-13T07:03:00.000-07:00

The summer has come and gone, and I have failed to post even one passing remark on the Daddy Life. In the way of explanation and apology, I can only say that change is in the air around here. It was harder than summers used to be, for many reasons. The toughest change is that the burden of schedule, structure, and life all fall upon Daddy. I was pretty tired of this feeling when summer crashed over us, but summer isn't always an easier life.

We had travel. We had lazy days to play in the park. We had work around the house, and mornings in the sandbox, and playdates with friends. We had days when Mom was home to drive out to the beach and play in the sand.

And now I'm up on the asscrack of dawn before school, making lunches for my little ones and whistling a little fall tune.

These are my guys on the first day of school, just last week. The picture is a little blurry, but it captures the action. They are happy, healthy, and full of life. They have thrown themselves into our little cooperative pre-school with Cornett enthusiasm.

This also feels like a new beginning for the Daddy. For the first time in a year, I will have both my guys in an organized, reliable setup. What will I do with my 3 whole hours of free time? :)

It feels very different to have my guys settled and happy. I feel like one of those parents I always envied, whose children play happily on the grass after pre-school, come when they call, listen to gentle reminders, and don't need to be carried out of grocery stores screaming bloody murder. They say these things run in cycles, but right now our guys are happy to be back in the fall routine. And the Daddy is happy, too.

On another note, Linden and I are heavily considering a move this fall. It seems like the time is right for a little change it up, selling our West Hills house on a busy street for something close-in-with-a-yard. We're looking at houses this weekend, so we'll just have to see if something feels like home!

A Long Winter's Night

2011-06-13T06:34:00.000-07:00

Some changes have been underway at the Daddy Life and I have been slow to recognize or define them. I blame the long dark nights of winter. I often clam up during the winter months; there are definite patterns to my neuroses.

Now it is finally summer in Portland (I can tell, because it's raining) and I am completing this reflection and introspection of the past few years all so that I can tell you about my spring.

The past six months have been great for me. I gained a level of competence with the two kids that allowed me to focus back on myself. I wasn't happy, buried in the dad life. So we made some changes. I think they were good changes, and they leave me feeling less like I sold my soul to have these children. Now it just feels like a lease arrangement.

I cut back on my drinking and increased my running. My close friends know that I always have some sort of program to hold down my alcohol consumption. This year I found one that seems to work. At the same time, I laid out a very detailed an very unambitious running plan to get back into shape. By March I was racing again, and in April I won my high school alumni mile. 4:57, baby!

We joined an athletic club. We always had gym memberships, but I got the bug to try to find something else. We live close to downtown, and even closer to a great big granddaddy of Portland institutions, the Multnomah Athletic Club. After my first year home with Jeep, I called one day to ask about joining. There was a lottery. We applied, got in, and then were waitlisted a year. Then it turned out I needed more member references. I found them. And then in February, after much discussion, we joined up.

I recognize that this is not something everyone can afford. I also recognize that the exclusive nature of a club is not for everybody. I don't really know if we are athletic club "people." There are certainly reasons to avoid this world, and as many reasons to embrace it. But here is the crux of the matter. I love it there. I go all the time: early mornings, late evenings, and in between. I put the kids in the childcare, I run on the indoor track, I work out in the gym. I take the classes. I read the paper. I take long showers and stand at the line of sinks in a towel and shave my face. This is exactly what I needed for this year of my life. I just needed a place to go.

Date night and the babysitter. When we joined the club, we also started a once per week babysitter plan. This was intended to give us a night to go downtown, take a yoga class, go for a run, and then shower and get out for dinner. The plan took a few months to get up and running, but now we couldn't be happier with the result. For babysitters, we posted an add on Sittercity.com and found two excellent college-age women who have obliged our unique needs and sometimes trying children.

Two on the move. Eventually I had to commit to life with two. We have both planned and unplanned activities, but they are less ambitious than my wild adventure with Jeep. The zoo, the park, and the grocery store are more difficult, but not impossible with two. Now we just get out and go for it. It might be a little less fun than it used to me, but much more fun than sitting at home.

I don't know what the summer holds for us. The future is hazy. Or maybe the future is now. This morning marks the first day of our "summer". Jeep is outside on the back balcony, raising and lowering buckets and dropping stuffed animals. Ada is playing with blocks on the floor. The phone rings. (It just rang.) It's a mom friend, headed to the children's museum. We'll see you there.

This Past Year

2011-06-07T06:30:00.000-07:00

We began another school year, another round with the pre-school moms, another late summer of trips to the park and lunches to pack, but this time I had two of them.

Two children, two car seats, two baby carriers, two diaper bags, two of everything. And no days off in a week. At first Ada wouldn't take the bottle, so our days were noisy and our nights were busy.

My mother retired last year to help with the grandbabies, and help she did. Once a week she braved the early morning traffic to arrive on our doorstep and take the baby while I worked my shift day in the pre-school with Jeep.

Oh, the sweet, emasculating stickiness of this entire year. Cheerios ground into the carpet. Milk dumped on the couch. Singing lullabies, changing diapers. Now or in two minutes? Forts in the couch. Kids in the tree. Swaddle 1,2,3. You look into their tiny faces, bright-eyed, laughing and your heart breaks about twenty times a day.

And then sometimes you yell. Occasionally you spank. There are threats, warnings, and negotiations. They go to bed and you drink too much, brood about something intangible. You snore all night and your wife elbows you in the back. You wake up and make coffee and read the paper and don't go for a run.

That's life for awhile, and it seems like it will last forever. But it doesn't. Today is our last day of school before summer. Am I mourning the change of season? I think so.

Two For Flinching

2011-06-03T07:39:00.000-07:00

It all happened so fast. (That's such a cliche.) How about this one - where did the time go? It is the busiest and craziest time of my entire life, with plenty of chaos punctuated by emotion and exhaustion.

These two little people made up our entire lives. We took all of Linden's maternity and unpaid leave that summer. It gave us time to build our family culture from the ground up. We did some travel, but some of it was too much for us. We relied on friends and family, but in the end we didn't settle down until Linden returned to work.

I have been very gratified to see the way that my children have taken to each other. From the beginning, Jeep loved his little sister. To this day, Ada follows Jeep around like a lost puppy. I don't know if we helped this relationship, or if it is part of the natural order.

Many things became more complicated with two, but one became simple. Caring for these two was now a full time job. For better or worse, I had fucked my way into job security.

Toddler Mania

2011-05-30T06:55:00.001-07:00

We accomplished the baby year with charm and poise. Well, we survived it at least. Our successes gave us confidence to try our luck for a second baby. The resulting pregnancy was almost immediate. This gave us one year of school for Jeep, one more year of the single carseat, and one year of toddler mania. Life would never be the same.

I recall the toddler year with some fondness. Jeep slept in a crib. We trucked him around on a family adventure or two. As parents we easily swapped time with the boy for something more self-indulgent like yoga class or drinking beer with friends. It was comparatively easy to having two.

I had a close friend who took part of that year off to stay at home with his new daughter. It definitely helps to have some compatriots in the stay-at-home brotherhood.

One of my sweetest memories of that year of our lives came in February. We traveled to Mexico with Linden's family on a beach vacation. Linden's belly was beginning to show, and we spent our days playing around the sand, the pool, and the ping pong table. Jeep was portable enough to make the trip, but not powerful enough to make any real complaints. We stayed in a little cabana room near the beach, complete with hammock and bathroom. It was fun. One morning I asked Jeep if he was ready to go to the beach. I turned my back for a moment, and when I turned again he was GONE. The actual water was about 60 yards away, and Jeep made about half the distance before I caught him.

I remember being wracked with anxiety over this kind of travel and this kind of trip. Was our child too young? Were we being negligent parents? Of course he won't remember climbing Mayan pyramids, so why did we bother? Wouldn't he be happier at home? I remember weighing the risks and not knowing how things would turn out. I see now that this was not Jeep's happiest time. He shed some tears, made a few complaints, and really missed the continuity of a schedule. But I wouldn't trade it. We'll never have another trip quite like Mexico.

Let me say this again. Sometimes we take risks with our children. These are not risks with safety, or car seat straps, or food allergies. I am talking about risking the child's good graces. We work very hard as parents to get the child sleeping, eating, and pooping with predictability. Parents and child all reach a sense of calm and equilibrium. And then sometimes we ask too much of them and it all goes to hell. Looking back, I think the rewards outweighed the risks for many of our toddler year ambitions.

One last word about Jeep's first year of school. He began as a baby. He had just taken his first steps, and charmed everyone with smiles and exuberance. He was also the smallest and youngest kid in his little classroom for one- and two-year-olds. Occasionally this made him a victim. Even in the tiny confines of the young toddler room, the children ordered themselves like a pack of wild puppies. Jeep entered as the beta dog. By the end of the year, he had sprouted to the tallest boy in class. Somewhere in the middle of that year he became more surly, more willful, and more prone to the tantrum. By two years old he was verbal, precocious, demanding, and obsessive in his desires. He was also joyful, thoughtful, loving, and full of life. I do not believe we taught him any of these things. Nature versus Nurture? It seems very obvious to me that the Nature in Jeep's nature was trying to come out.

Next up: Hello, Baby!

Back to School

2011-05-24T11:41:00.000-07:00

There are rhythms that push us and move us through the seasons. In earlier times there were plantings and harvests. In my modern life there have always been new beginnings in the fall when school resumed. I loved this kind of fresh start. As a child, a student, and eventually as a teacher, the sense of rebuilding the world after summer vacation gave me a sense of purpose and satisfaction.

The first day of school

Some might argue that my boy didn’t need to go to school. He had just turned one year old! We started Jeep in school because I needed more structure to the crests and troughs of the daddy life. He loved being around other children, and my daddy resources were running a little thin. It turned out to be good for both of us. Despite my far-ranging adventures, I needed more kid activities. I needed colleagues. I needed mom friends. I needed good parent modeling. I got all of this and more.

Jeep needed new friends

We chose a cooperative pre-school, so I worked a shift each week and attended meetings, work parties, and socials throughout the year. This was great for me. It kept me connected to other parents and gave me experience with other children, many of whom were a stage or two older than the Jeep. It gave me a place to go two mornings a week, and (more importantly) it gave me a day off. One morning a week, Jeep was on his own at the pre-school. He was well cared for, and I never worried about him. He never once cried when I left. Jeep is tough like that. He has a lot of him mom in him.

He learned new skills

I often dropped off Jeep and went straight to a nearby golf course. All winter long I played 9 holes at a time, doggedly working on self-improvement and trying to build a handicap. I almost always played alone, walking fast and keeping meticulous scoring. I think I was trying to “get serious” about golf, even as the serious work of my former life was slipping away. I started hitting my driver with force and precision. But the rest of my game went to hell.

He got an early introduction to complex problems

There was another piece of news that shook up the Daddy Life that fall. There was indeed a new beginning, and it had started in Linden’s belly late that summer. Perhaps a bit ahead of schedule, but our Ada has turned out to be an overachiever. We were both elated and a little shocked.

On My Own

2011-05-23T07:28:00.000-07:00

Stage Three.

If there was a moment of truth for my new career in daddyhood, it happened the winter when Linden returned to work. Suddenly I was faced with long hours of baby time, and I alone set the schedule. Of course I pursued my own ends doggedly, relentlessly. In the winter it was lunch with friends, storytimes, long hikes, and shared naps. This, with the housework and cooking, left me a little bored. That spring when Jude was weaned, we launched into a new level of adventure.

Jeep was both portable and flexible, a perfect companion for my restlessness. I was lucky to have a few friends around with open schedules, and away we went. By May and June, I was taking the boy on far-ranging road trips like Steens Mountain, Wallowa Lake, and points in between. I bought a big tent and we put the crib right inside. Jeep could sleep anywhere, and I was happy to be in motion. These trips, punctuated by family vacations to New York and Florida, made staying at home feel like a lark. It was like I quit my teaching job, and summer vacation never ended.

Looking back, I can’t believe the audacity of these travels. Before Jeep was one year old, we had crossed the country four times by airplane and the state three times by car. As a 6 month old, I pulled him out of the bike trailer to see a baby alligator. At two months old, we hiked him along Crater Lake in the fading dusk. At thirteen months we spent a night in a sleeping bag together when the temperature dropped below 40 degrees. That whole year we spent talking to him, singing to him, dragging him from place to place.

I could see that there was a point on the horizon when Jeep would need more than my company to keep him engaged and challenged by the world. The smartest thing I did that year happened almost by accident. One morning I ran across a notice for a cooperative pre-school with a classroom for one and two year olds. We visited the open house and registered Jeep for the fall.

Next up, Back to School . . .

The Sweep and Change

2011-05-19T21:02:00.000-07:00

I won’t pretend that I haven’t been absent for the past several months. Somewhere in between Christmas and Springtime I stopped writing, and never seemed to get it started again. This is actually one of my patterns. I become recalcitrant in winter, chatty in warmer weather. I am positively INSPIRED by autumn. Do dying leaves equate with rebirth for me? It’s just one of my things.

I looked at the Jeep today, standing next to his mother, and he seemed taller. Granted, she was sitting, but he seemed even taller than she. He’s two-and-a-half for gawdssakes. Where did the time go? For a long while I explained the stay-at-home dad “experiment” as something we were trying out. As if maybe things wouldn’t work, so we would go back to “normal”. That is obviously not happening. I think it is time to recognize – this is pretty much as normal as we’ll ever see again. Nonetheless, next month marks three years since I left my job and never looked back.

This blog is an attempt to come to terms with some of the stages of daddyhood. The Daddy Life has taken on many forms over the past three years, and I need to honor them. I am always working to become the man I want to be, and that means being honest with myself about my successes and failures along the way. If I had any readers, then I would love for them to learn something from my experience.

STAGE ONE: DENIAL

The summer of 2008 was a great summer. I played a lot of golf. I remodeled the nursery. Then we had a baby. Up until Jeep came along, I laughed and played and chased my tail. I was a passable birthing partner and a poor husband. Then the world changed forever that evening when the sun went down on our hospital room.

STAGE TWO: EARLY DADDYHOOD

Jeep came into the world with only minimal help from Dad, but I stepped it up right away. I remember the first little cries that came from my boy late in the night of his birth. We had slept a few hours and Linden was in no shape to respond, so I rose to the call and changed my first diaper. The first of thousands.

Linden had a long maternity leave while we built our partnership and figured out our family. We also had a number of guests, family, and friends who provided a lot of help. This gave me a freedom from responsibility that I generally enjoyed. We both built confidence in our parenting skills. My wife dealt with some intense post-partum depression that fall, and I generally hung in there and tried not to complain about the changes in my life. Of course I loved my boy more than anything, so I focused my energies on him. I give myself high marks for fatherhood during this period, but there were two of us raising one child, so we still had him outnumbered. I began playing guitar during this time, and we took several trips together as a family. I also took over all the cooking in the household. These were minor, but necessary changes to my lifestyle and identity.

I was certainly a useful part of the parenting team, but of course I wasn't nursing the baby. At times I felt like I lacked purpose. We were all ready for some change when Linden returned to work after the holidays. Jeep was around 4 months old.

To be continued . . .

For My Little Girl On Her First Birthday!

2011-04-29T03:44:00.000-07:00

Ada, I write this letter to you for your one year birthday.

I feel no sadness over the passing of your year of infancy. I feel no longing for our quiet midnights, alone together with a bottle of milk. I feel no loss over the all-too-quick growth of my baby daughter from infant to person. In place of loss I feel TRIUMPH! As if you could hear a band of angels singing for your birthday. This is what happens when you raise a child. You came leaping out of your mother’s belly and into your father’s arms. Actually the doctor caught you, and just in time. But I cut your umbilical cord and we wrapped you up and took care of you and gave you all the right milk and foods and love and look what you’ve become! You are dazzling. Nini calls you Sparkles. You are a wonder.

We have a special relationship. I can catch your eye in a crowded room and make you smile, every time. We sometimes play this silly game that involves blinking both eyes for slightly longer than normal, back and forth. You make a kissing sound on command and love to bite your blankets or stuffed animals in kind of an affectionate chomp. You sometimes talk in clicks, sing songs, swing your arms in pantomime, and you love to dance. You took your first steps at your own birthday party, and now we go for “daddy walks” and I hold your little hand in mine.

You stand and sit, crawl, and grab. You push buttons and say words. We have long conversations that mostly consist of words like OUT (Let me out), HUTCH (I think this means hello), UNTZ (I wants it!), BYE BYE (also means hello and is accompanied by cute waving), OUCH (pretty obvious), and AY-DO (this seems to be some kind of happy singing).

You can climb up the stairs, but not down. You love to pull down all the kitchen towels. You are fascinated by the rolling racks on the dishwasher. You are also fond of the remote control, books with flaps, and dirt. I am really enjoying the one-year-old Ada. It is a great pleasure to be your DAT! (Daddy).

Birds sing! It is spring. Perhaps for you this will be a time of year for reflection, regrouping, and reconnoitering the path of your life as you begin another circle around the sun. You are blooming, my dear, like a little flower in front of us. This is the kind of wonder that makes us catch our breath, hold it in, and marvel.

Jude was a wonder, but not that kind of wonder. Now he is more of a weather system. Hurricane Judey. His one year celebration was more about OUR celebration. We reveled in the fact that we had become actual parents, competent parents that could love and care for a child. We were so confident that now there are two of you, both healthy and happy. Your mother and I made that decision to bring you into our family long before we knew that you would be you. And we’ve never looked back.

And now your birthday has come and gone, and the party was lovely. And suddenly you are one.

You were a charming baby, the whole year long. In the wake of Jude’s weather systems you are patient and kind. You are curious and forgiving. You love to be held, but are happy to be on your own. We work hard to keep you safe from the toddler antics, but it isn’t always easy. Jude swings swords and hangers. He throws things, chases you, tackles you, tickles you. This is the strangest part – you seem to love each other and are happiest in the same room together.

It is only in watching the two of you, even at this young age, that I understand the secret purpose of having two children. You will have each other now, for your whole lives. Your mother and I will do our best to give you everything you need to grow up wholesome and healthy and supported and challenged. But you and your brother will always share something that we can’t provide. You will need each other, you will always know each other best, and you will be bound together with the secret language of siblings.

Happy Birthday! I can tell you truly that is a joy to have you as part of our family. You receive a 1/4^th share in all of Cornett stock are you are henceforth expected to be present for all board meetings.

A Day in the Life

2011-02-01T15:12:00.000-08:00

Or maybe I should call this post "Daddy Skills".

Wrangling my two children in the morning is not easy. Every day I work on my systems, sharpen my tools, and take one step closer to Daddy Nirvana. But there is just no way to anticipate the curveballs.

Today was no exception. I woke up on top of my game with a full night's sleep and even (gasp) had time for a shower. We fed and watered the children, then set out for school. Today Jeep has school at our parent co-op, and the Little Lady comes with me to do the grocery shopping.

Jeep has been some trouble lately when it comes to transitions to the car. To make things easier I go in phases, alerting him to my movements. First I make his lunch and collect the assorted bags and sundries needed for the mission at hand. These get staged in the living room throughout the morning, while other chaos is underway. Eventually I dress the baby for the weather and move all bags to the car. On cold mornings the auto is warmed briefly ahead of departure. I collect my own belongings, get dressed, and eventually move the baby to the warmed car in the driveway. Jeep usually takes this cue that his time to stall has run short. I return to the house, collect the toddler by any means necessary, and we're off.

It didn't go quite that well today, so I can see in hindsight how I forgot Jeep's lunch on the counter. I remembered half way to school and we returned for a quick pickup. Back to school, the off to the grocery. By this time my baby girl is getting peckish, but we dash through the store and back outside. At that point I discovered that I had forgotten hot water for the baby bottle. Damn.

No problem! I shoot through a nearby espresso stand, procure hot water, and grab myself a 12 ounce americano for my trouble. A little extra coffee never hurts, right? The 12 ounce part of the story is important later.

It was a beautiful day in Portland, Oregon, but I elected to take our morning and visit a local toy store I had heard about. I wasn't after much in particular, but the sheer pleasure of visiting a toy store WITHOUT my toddler made the trip worthwhile. In the back of my mind I was planning a short hike or walk with the baby. It was a cold and bright January day, so I loaded the Lady back into the car and set out to find a park or trail or something.

There was an hour to kill before school was out, but

I had another problem. I had to pee. I was driving around Southwest Portland, my baby was crying, and I had to pee. I cruised through a local park in search of handy rest rooms, but all I could find were porta-potties. Should you leave a crying baby in the car when nature calls, or wear her in a carrier and jam myself into the one room plastic potty booth? The ideal situation would have been to take a hike in the woods (baby in the carrier) and find an unobtrusive, wooded location.

The NEXT thing that happened could have been anticipated. In short, the baby fell asleep. We had a late start, made a few stops, she was a little fussy and then WHAM. Silence from the back seat. Now I was sitting in the car, I had to pee, the baby was asleep. Damn you, 12 ounce americano.

I parked at one of the many local parks in Portland. There were people around, mostly walking dogs on this cold day. There was a porta-potty in view, but still about a hundred yards away. Now listen up, dummies. I can tell what you're thinking. You don't leave a baby in a car, and you DON'T wake a sleeping baby. Rules number 2 and 7, respectively.

Now here it comes: the crux of the story. This is what separates the men from the boys of Daddy Living. You've got to be able to put yourself out there, take risks, anticipate impediments, develop resources, etc. You're the DAD, for gawds sakes. Figure something out or something.

Warning! If you are a female reader, if one or two of my seven readers out there happens to be female, you might find this post alarming. Keep reading, at your own risk. Maybe you were starting to like me, just a little. Well, forget about that.

I expanded on one of my Daddy Skills. I checked the mirrors, cased the parking lot, hoped the coast was clear, and then I went for it. Do you remember? There was an empty coffee cup sitting on the dashboard. I unzipped, prepared the vessel, and let it go into the empty cup.

I'm a genius! I'm thinking to myself. And then a terrible thing happened. You can probably guess. I had to pee more than 12 ounces.

There was some yelling. There was some cursing. There was a quick dump out of the door and then the task was done. I dumped the rest out and then surveyed the damages. Ideally, I would have like to dump it in the grass with the dog pee, but that's just how things go sometimes.

Also, I got a lot on my pants. You're welcome, daughter. She slept for twenty more minutes, while I tried to dry out my crotch with the heater vents. Just another day at the park.

I'm still asking myself, would it have been any better with the 16 ounce?

January Anxiety

2011-01-21T05:52:00.000-08:00

Something about the middle of winter gets me thinking about my anxieties as a parent.

I have been thinking about my children: their futures, opportunities, and the best way to raise them to become good people. One minute you're sitting in the hospital, weathering the storms of labor, and when the baby is born healthy you feel nothing but gratitude for your good fortune. The euphoria of childbirth, the sleeplessness of infancy, and the sheer exhaustion of parenting keep the big thoughts out of sight for a few years and then suddenly it is January and the dark thoughts and the worries return.

I spend every day with these children, doing my best to meet all of our needs and help them grow along in their own time. But an idea has been creeping into my head. A wonderful, awful idea. My wife and I are going to raise these children into the moral and intellectual people they will become. I am responsible for their childhoods. And then after twenty years of hard work, guidance, and parenting, they will go on to screw up their own lives, on their own time. And only after those twenty years, forty years, sixty years, will I be able to say "yeah, they turned out all right."

I find this mortifying.

"Somebody has to do something, and it's just incredibly pathetic that it has be be us."

- Jerry Garcia

At least they're cute. Thanks, Chippy, for the photo!

The Perfect Kid Vacation

2010-11-17T07:12:00.000-08:00

I am the kind of guy who does not like to sit still.

This has long been a point of friction with my wife, who loves to sit still. We have long argued the merits of each, especially during time off from work, when the true meaning of recreation comes in to focus. Until I married, vacation was an abstract idea for me. I have held very few 9 to 5 jobs, so planning for vacation was a real novelty. It took me some time to adapt.

Now we do take vacations, and we take them well. Some of them have been transformative, and some probably even saved our marriage. But since the addition of kids, things have become trickier. It is tough to stay in a hotel, and tough to stay in someone's home. It is hard to find good meals, and you can't eat in most restaurants. You have to plan your day around the nap schedules, and that leaves only a few hours for doing and going and seeing, for me the meat and potatoes of a good vacation.

After a few false starts, I think we have improved upon the formula. For a week in November, we went on vacation and everybody had a good time. They had an even better time than if we had stayed home. I have some hot tips.

But before I proceed, I have to reveal my discovery that led to the title of this post.

Hawaii.

Hawaii is the perfect kid vacation.

We just returned from a week on Maui and it was fantastic. We rented a condo, did some shopping, cooked our own meals, and we went to the beach every day. We went to the pool every afternoon, and a couple of times we went to the local kid park and watched the sunset. I have visited many of the Hawaiian islands, including Maui, and never did I understand before this simple and beautiful truth: Maui has it all, a short drive from the airport. Great beaches, great accommodation, all in one place. Great snorkeling, surfing, and sunset cruises. Great views of the smaller half of the Hawaiian chain. Beautiful weather, warm water, and a little wild nature thrown in make Hawaii the perfect vacation destination.

Now for my hot tips:

Get a big enough place.

This is one of the tricks with kids. Sleep is important to everyone having a good time, so you need to make sure the condo/hotel/house you rent is going to be big enough for everyone and their naps. Just because a place says "sleeps 8," they might not mean it!

Go with friends.

We have travelled and vacationed with these particular friends before and once again, everything went swimmingly. The kids love to play and the adults love the social time after our children have gone to bed. Plus - condos across the hall made for easy child care!

Don't do too much.

Having an unambitious agenda is key to a good kid vacation. In eight days, we spent just one in the car out sightseeing, and we left our babies (and wives) at home. Sure, we didn't see the sunrise over Haleakela, but everyone still had a great time!

Don't be gone too long.

We have taken longer trips in the past, both with and without children. My wife is fond of pointing out that once we have factored in the large purchase of plane tickets, the marginal cost of one more day of vacation keeps going down the longer we are away. But there is a sad truth about diminishing returns. After about a week, everybody was ready to head home.

Take a lot of snacks.

Snacks are the cornerstone of our travel experience. They keep up the blood sugar, provide a diversion, and are always useful as a bribe. Don't leave home without them! Also, the perfect midmorning lunch for a day at the beach? Large bag of chips. Lime flavor.

Fly during the day.

We learned this trick the hard way. Sometimes our kids will sleep on a plane. Sometimes they won't. It is better to stick to their natural rhythms and hope for an occasional nap, but don't count on it! Also, long layovers are a great break. Plenty of time to run around without having to hurry and catch a connection!

Get the airport luggage cart.

This is $4 well spent. I don't care that you only need it for 50 yards. It might save your marriage.

Television is just fine on vacation.

Oooh, and those portable DVD players? Money!

Keep it simple with the meals.

This was my own mistake. I love to cook beautiful meals for my family and friends. But a rented condo kitchen is not the place to do it. Next time we'll hit the Costco and stick with burgers, hot dogs, and simple foods!

Take along a grandma (or two!)

Our recently retired grandma was invited on this trip and was a great asset to the general mix. Also it didn't hurt that we slightly outnumbered the children (5 to 4!) Without her, we might never have had the unique pleasure of sneaking away for a quick snorkel off the point or a drink at the bar.

On our last night, my kids and I watched the sunset together, dropping in majesty over the blue water in the fading light. Jeep took this picture.

As a parent, it is one of those things you just don't forget.

You'll Crack Your Head Open!

2010-10-16T06:22:00.001-07:00

Parenting is no day at the park. But it does involve a lot of days at the park.

On one sunny morning this week I took my two little charges to a nice park in Vancouver, Washington for a change of scenery. It is a nice, old downtown park that has recently undergone some expensive renovations and added cool water features. It draws a strange mix of toddler moms, business lunch guys, homeless teens, and squirrels.

We got into a nice conversation with a woman and her two kids, aged 2 and 3. Jeep and the older boy chased each other around the playground, while the parents followed at a distance and occasionally . . . um, parented or something. The woman was very nice, and we talked about the rigors of being "at home" with two. Our conversation was often interrupted by general warnings or directives from the parenting core to be careful or take turns or whatever.

As time went on, I came to realize that we had a difference in parent styles. While our boys were different ages, they were both rambunctious little monsters who loved to bounce, climb, and sit on each other. But slowly I began to notice the frequency of negative messages coming from this perfectly nice mother. I think I'll call her Paranoid Mom.

Jasper, Come Down From There! Jasper, Let The Other Boy Go First! Jasper, DO NOT Touch Other People On The Neck!

It was kind of a micromanagement thing. But I liked her, she was friendly and sort of hot, so I just rolled with it.

Let me just say that she was a great mom. Excited, involved, fun. Basically, a female equivalent of myself (peals of laughter). She chased squirrels with her kids in the park. (Jasper, DO NOT Touch That Squirrel!) She shooed them away from the homeless kids encampment (Jasper!) and she took them to play in the fountain/creek/water feature that I think is so cool.

This is where it got interesting. Here I am, wearing my daughter in the front pack and leading my boy into the wilds of the two foot concrete waterfall with no shoes on. Paranoid Mom was doing the same, although she was hanging back on the edge of the fountain, splashing and playing. But Jasper would not be contained. He watched his new best friend 2 year old Jeep climbing the waterfall rocks and getting soaked and he felt compelled to do the same. Before long we were all tentatively climbing around the watery rocks, getting wet, and laughing happily.

I could not shake the feeling that Paranoid Mom had RULES for how and what her kids were supposed to do in dangerous playground water creek areas like this one, and we had somehow bent them. Everyone seemed alright so I didn't worry too much about it. And then I turned around and something amazing happened. I actually saw a thought bubble form above her head, and this is how she got her name.

PARANOID MOM

But she did not speak these words. Paranoid Mom held herself in check, as we all must hold ourselves in check sometimes. Because all parents have these thoughts, many of us have them hundreds of times a day. And I did't actually see the thought bubble. But I heard her thinking this loud and clear.

As a friend of mine said recently, keeping kids safe is the most important thing. I agree with this in theory. If an oncoming bus is about to mow down my toddler, I would sprint to throw myself in front of it or tackle him out of the way. My worry is that we as parents perceive risk that is in fact just the natural consequence of learning in childhood. We're not talking about buses here, wer are talking about standing next to the edge of a two foot waterfall.

If you never give a kid the chance to stand near the edge, how will he learn to be careful?

Nice Summer Memories

2010-10-13T07:52:00.000-07:00

Man Obsessions

2010-10-08T06:42:00.000-07:00

As a stay-at-home dad, sometimes I get little worked up. I confess this openly.

The thing is - I don't have a job. That is, my job is the relatively peaceful and sometimes smooth operation of our domestic life. I make dinners, the floors stay sort of clean, and I keep the kids busy with what I like to call "action," as in "Let's go find some action!" or "Do we need some action around here??" It's a tough life.

So I don't have a job in the traditional sense, but I mean that I don't have a pursuit outside the home to escape to. This is something I envy about working parents. Full time parenting could drive you NUTS. You have to maintain a strong sense of self, or the whole thing comes crashing down. And that is where my Man Obsessions come in to play.

I call them Man Obsessions because they are truly tied to my most primal needs for defining myself away from the nurturing parent role. I take great pains to separate the identity of parent with the one as Dad. Why? Because I am a Dad. I feel it in my bones. I work differently than the nurturing and loving mothers of this world. I can do my share of nurturning, but in the end my bonding is of a different sort. I've said it before - I'm a man in a woman's world, and I need to find some escapes to keep my sense of balance.

These obsessions have come along over the past months and they are worth noting because they bring back my sense of power. In a world where men work and women stay home, I need these things to keep me sharp, good at my job, and ready for another day. I am lucky enough to be married to a woman who sees this for what it is, and gives me the space to obsess.

COMPETITION

This has been a big part of my focus recently. When I get time away from the kids, I want to go compete at something. I used to run races, but let's face it - I can barely keep myself in shape enough to run for half an hour. If I ran a race tomorrow, I'd probably blow out a knee joint. So I opt for kinder, gentler competition. Last weekend it was the LC Homecoming Ping Pong tournament. This weekend I play in a monthly backgammon showdown with a bunch of backgammon nerds. And then there is fantasy football.

What can I say? I play in a fantasy league with a whole bunch of dudes who actually like football. I'm not really a football guy myself, but that is the beauty of it. There is an exquisite pleasure in beating someone at something as the underdog, when you know nothing about it. And me, I'm killing it this year. Top of my league. I don't want to jinx it, but I'm gonna win.

Ping Pong consolation prize for losing the loser's bracket. Hell, yeah I'm proud of it.

HOME CONSTRUCTION

There is a myth that stay at home dads spend all their time remodeling the house. I might have been started by Michael Keaton in Mr. Mom. "220-221, whatever it takes." Let me just say that this is obviously not true. You cannot work on the house and watch the kids at the same time. At least I can't. My shop is under the nursery, my garage is over the nursery, and I have had to settle for much smaller ambitions during naptime. That said, there are a few projects I have muscled out over the past few months that deserve mention, or at least pictures. They seem to come on sporadically, take all my time for two days, and then quickly fizzle out. That's obsession for you.

Tore down my back fence this spring and replaced the posts and crosspieces.

This is a sweet sandbox, complete with cover, but it still doesn't have any sand.

The boy and I built these tomato boxes for the sunny side of the street.

HUNTING AND GATHERING

Every spring I start an ambitious garden, and every year it fails. This year I built planter boxes and moved my tomatoes to the sunny side of the house. Voila! Tomatoes. At least 20, maybe 30. I know, it's not much, but watering the tomatoes is a great toddler activity. The picking of blackberries was also a huge hit this summer. We picked blackberries on every walk, on every piece of urban overgrowth reclaimed by the wilderness. One day we even went on a blackberry picking adventure that led us deep into the brambles of Vancouver lake.

This fall I also learned to do some canning and preserving. I first became interested in this when I tried a pickled beet in one of my martinis. There is a whole world out there of potential with home canned and pickled foods. This is also a great afternoon activity during naptime.

Finally, last weekend I got a permit to collect firewood up on Mt. Hood. This is something I have always wanted to do, and I loved it. A friend and I managed to buck logs into rounds and loaded about one cord of wood into the truck in just under four hours. It was a fantastic day of bright subalpine air and the smell of burning gasoline. My chainsaw performed admirably. Getting your own firewood is awesome!

Pickling

Blackberry foraging

Firewood collection

Now THAT'S a ripe tomato (say this to yourself in a funny voice and pretend to hold a cigar)

I have made the case here for taking some time away from the world of parenting to pursue sometimes ridiculous and often time consuming tasks and then bragging them up to your friends and peers. My only real defense is this: these things make me feel great about my time here on the planet. I get a lot of positives from being home with the kids. Every time I make my little girl giggle it lights up my whole day. And my boy? I love his new words and interests and ideas. Every day is a challenge and a joy.

But my beautiful little darlings need something more than a parent who loves them. They need a Dad they can look up to and respect, someone with their own interests and passions and obsessions and excitements. These are the things that I must keep track of or they threaten to slip away. It is easy to lose yourself in this job, and that is part of the trick.

If you need some ideas about pursuing manliness, you might check out this guy right here at the Art of Manliness. He has a lot to say about manliness, alright, but I think I could still take him in a cage match.

Dad Saturdays and the Result

2010-09-12T13:26:00.000-07:00

PART 1, The Mommy Jungle

My wife is back to work and I am settling in to a rhythm with the two kids. It feels different this time around, and I confess to having occasional flashes back to the one kids program. In an effort to help both parents spend quality time with the children, we split up the weekend mornings for adventures.

The discussion of this weekend scheduling led me to a new idea entirely - Saturday morning time spent hanging out with other dads. I contacted a few of my fellow dad friends and made an open invitation to spend the morning tromping around a park outside of town somewhere. This would give dads and kids a chance to spend time together doing something that everyone enjoyed, and get me out of the stay-at-home dad routine that tends to drive me CRAZY by the weekend.

Let me expand on that. As a StayAtHomeDad, I am a lone tiger living in a Mommy jungle. I was spoiled last year when a close friend chose to spend 6 months home with his new daughter. We talked every day, and a few times a week we got together for kid hikes, Napgammon (that's backgammon during nap time), and trips to the Zoo or OMSI. There are definitely other SAHD's out there, but we have a hard time making connections. It simply is not in our DNA to bond over dimples and diaper changes. I see these guys in parks and around town, but somehow the relationship is best built on more firmly packed ground. Like football, or beer, or motorcycles You get my point.

Mostly, the park/zoo/kid scene is dominated by moms. And most moms take their kids to the park to hang out with other moms. That's fun, and fine, and when I'm there with the kids I can chat with them or whatever, as long as we keep it light. But if I made a mom-friend at one of those places, should that ever happen, if a conversation gets overly friendly - I feel the eyeballs of the other moms on me. There is also the issue of over-parenting or under-parenting in these public arenas. As a dad, I tend to be permissive about playground activities. My boy loves to climb to the top of the most dangerous ladder/slide/swing set. He's a boy! That is just how he's built. But I hear other moms, behind my back admonishing their own children to be careful.

It doesn't help that my little Jeep has discovered little girls, and he just loves to put his hands on them. In a little boy way, I mean. I found myself thinking the other day, "why can't Jude just keep his hands to himself?" and then I realized the folly of that supposition. It dawned on me that OF COURSE kids want to put their hands on other kids, they put their hands on EVERYTHING. And he's only two years old. Keeping your hands to yourself? That's a learned behavior! Last week Jeep followed a little girl up a tube slide. I think she looked at him funny and definitely wanted to be chased, but she was also about twice his age. Not one to turn down a bating, Jeep ran right up after her, out of my sight and up into nowhere. The next thing I hear were these howling screams from the little girl. And then her shoe came down the slide. And then her other shoe. When the two of them finally reappeared at the bottom, Jeep had her in a full on tackling arm lock. And they were having the time of their lives.

Of course I had to apologize to the mother. (That's my boy!) Moms have a strong sense of how the world should be, and collectively they develop a very strong moral sense. You've got to watch your step in the Mommy Jungle, man!

Part 2, Dad Saturday

By the end of the week, we've been steeped in these stilted interactions with anonymous mom strangers and I have HAD IT. So Dad Saturday seems like the perfect solution. Not only is it a good time for dads, but they get credit with their wives for taking the kids on an outing and out of the house for a few hours. Its a win-win.

Best of all, the kids get some time to be parented by their dads. There are some intangibles here that are hard to quantify, but I will attempt to give some examples. When kids and dads hang out together, it looks and feels different. Dads joke around. They play, both with the kids and their friends. They throw frisbees, and do chin ups, and talk smack. They throw rocks and climb on picnic tables. They chase their kids, and push them a little, and they discipline differently than moms.

Last Saturday we met at a McDonalds. That's another thing about dads - they eat awesome food that is definitely not on the recommended list. We met McDonald's and hit up the giant play structure while sipping coffee and talking dad shop. Then we loaded the kids up and drove out of town to Oxbow Regional Park, up the Sandy River from Troutdale. We arrived, hit the next play structure, fed the kids more snacks, and then set out on a nature hike along the Sandy River. When I say, "along" the river, what I mean is that we walked along an eroded cliff face that had a long and treacherous tumble down to the Sandy River. Let me just say to anyone not in attendance that the toddlers on this trip probably would have survived the fall. But they didn't fall. We walked right along the cliff edge, following the trail and didn't have a single problem. Score one for dads!

There were a few glitches in our trip that could be avoided next time. One guy and his daughter got stung by some kind of bee. We weren't carrying an earthquake kit. We didn't do very well with the carpools. It would have been helpful to bring about four times as many snacks. And it would be nice if we brought bacon, eggs, and a griddle next time, but those are just pipe dreams. I am calling Dad Saturday a success for its trial run.

Part 3, The Result

The biggest takeaway for our family was that my little boy Jeep (two years old) bot to play with another little boy who is three and a half. They played pretty well together, although I noticed that the older boy had an acute sense of imagination and wanted to make up a storyline to describe our activities. This was very fun, and I began by playing along as much as possible. My boy doesn't really need a story yet, he just thinks it is fun to go in the woods and pick up sticks and rocks. So when Jeep picked up a big stick covered in moss and started to drag it around, I called him a WIZARD. And then the other boy (O.) wanted to be a PIRATE. Great, I thought! Pirates and Wizards, what could be better?

O.'s dad had obviously played pirates before so he encouraged the singing of the pirate song (not the YO HO HO, but the Other One) and the occasional G rated cursing of ARGHH ME MATEYS! and SCURVY DAWG! This continued to be a laugh a minute until I realized that the stick O was carrying was actually not a stick at all but a pretend sword, with which he kept pretend sticking me and I kept pretend dying. Of course Jeep had his own stick, and for awhile he was playing "backhoe" with it. I'm not quite sure how this game went, you'd have to ask T. as he was bringing up the rear of our hiking party.

Nonetheless, eventually Jeep needed his own pirate sized stick, and everyone was getting along just fine until we stopped at some picnic tables for a snack. At this point, O. put down his stick for a moment and Jeep does the thing that he learned in pre-school, the thing of which I am so proud of him for. He was just waiting for a chance to grab the stick. Well that caused mass pandemonium and tears and who knows what else so we had to sort out whose stick-sword was whose, etc. etc.

Eventually as the hike was coming a close, O. abandoned said stick-sword in favor of another small curvy kind of stick which O. announced was a GUN. Let me just say that my little Jeep has never really been exposed to the awesomeness of SWORDS and GUNS which all boys come to know. It wasn't that I was hiding it from him, it was just that he hadn't found it yet. And where would he have seen such a thing? On Thomas the Train? Egads, no. So Swords and Guns it was for a short time, and no one seemed any worse for it. No one was killing anyone here, after all. Or even shooting or stabbing. It was mostly that they were just wielding. I wasn't even really sure if Jeep was taking any of this in, after all. It was an interesting twist to Dad Saturday.

And then came this morning.

I heard Jeep rambling about his room this morning, getting out toys and generally just talking to himself. I like to give him a few minutes to rouse himself before I go downstairs and unleash his energy upon the world. This morning I found him with a black stick in his hand. We have always called it "The Stick" and Jeep has used in many times in his short life to fetch lost items from under the couch or bed. The stick itself was a piece of tourist garbage from somebody's long past trip to New Zealand. It was just another piece of kid flotsam that we have hanging around the house.

Jeep was looking at it with a kind of wonder and newfound respect. It was at that moment that I realized that he realized that there was a connection here. "Sword" he said to me proudly. "Found a sword!" "SWORD!" "CUT THE BLANKET WITH A SWORD!!!" CUT THE CARPET WITH A SWORD!" "CUT THE BED WITH A SWORD!!"

Great.

This lesson in parenting brought to you by Dad Saturday.

Her First Album Cover

2010-09-03T04:38:00.000-07:00

July at Baekeland Camp

2010-09-03T04:35:00.000-07:00

Early Morning Flashback:

The Dog Days of Summer

2010-08-27T06:35:00.000-07:00

It is late August, and these are the last sweet days of summer.

We have travelled far and watched our children grow before our very eyes.

There have been long hikes, playground discoveries, boating adventures, swimming feats, nature walks, lobster races, and many introductions to the wild kingdom.

We have climbed trees and splashed in puddles. We have come to love picnics and watermelon. We have eaten cupcakes and built sand castles and collected rocks. We have seen new babies and fireworks and airplanes.

There have also been early mornings, late nights, spit-ups, blow-outs, crib escapes, fat lips, double-ouchies, tears, and sticky peanut butter kisses.

It was a sweet and sticky summer. L stayed home on maternity leave and with the help of friends and family we slowly learned how to be the parents of two children. In the meantime, we thought it would be a good idea to take two big "vacations" to New York and Alaska. I think the travel gave us all a chance to focus on our little family unit, and feel the changes that come along, now that we are Four.

The real change ahead arrives with the coming of fall. Next week L is back to work, and my job transitions to "primary caregiver" for these munchkins.

Jeep and the Little Lady. They are thick as thieves, these two. I'll have to keep my wits about me and stay sharp.

Two is Not One

2010-05-31T09:50:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure if I should call this happy.

This morning I was surprised by the gargantuan task of caring for our two children. Maybe it is better to say that I am noticing how easy it is to just have the baby. Jeep was at Grammie's house last night, and we had a passable night's sleep. There were no toddler calls from the back bedroom this morning, so an extra hour of time in bed came as a welcome surprise for the Daddy.

But this morning, instead of an ambitious run or project or breakfast, I have been doing . . . well, nothing. I made coffee, read the paper, and watched reruns of Lost, Season 1. Without the pressing needs of my all terrain boy, it is almost peaceful. Quiet. Pleasant. The kitchen is clean, the sky outside is grey, and nothing is going on. This change have pace has got me thinking about how difficult our life has become. Difficult is not the right word. Busy. Complicated. Harried? Is this our life for the next few years? Is there any peace?

We are fully in the throws of two under two. I asked for this, planned for it, and touted it with bravado. We will be lucky people if it never gets any harder than this. And I am sure that there are big paybacks down the road. I have taken comfort in one thought this week. A sibling is a gift that you give to your child which can last a lifetime, hopefully well after the parents are in the ground. That's got to be worth it, right? Right?

Do these two look like a handful to you?

Life with the Newborn

2010-05-19T15:16:00.001-07:00

For one thing, the lists are shorter.

We've got this new baby, a toddler handful, and a house to keep clean. This takes up pretty much all of our time. So we cut back on anything remotely ambitious. I had to quit playing golf - it was getting into my head. Now, I have to be satisfied with breaking out for a short run. Sometimes in the middle of the night, if it comes to that.

I say OUR time and WE because that is what its like around here. We are lucky enough to be able to clear the schedule, to recognize the sheer insurmountable task of having babies means that we both need to be here. So my wife takes all the leave she can get, and we both just hang around and try to figure this thing out. HOW IN THE HELL do people do this and still have a life? How do you work? How do you take a shower, for that matter? How could a working single mother ever make this work? If she can, well she's a better man than me.

There are late night handoffs, so that each of us can get most of a night's sleep. And then at 7am my day starts anew, with diapers and waffles and Thomas the Train and energy and whatever it takes to keep the train rolling forward. And we do less. We're pretty happy to pull off an evening walk with both kids, or a trip to the park, or even a meal.

That being said, there are small moments that are wonderful. This morning we were all up early, and spontaneously dreamed up a trip up the Gorge to see my grandmother. When I called to find her feeling sick, we changed the plan and opted for breakfast at Multnomah Falls Lodge and a hike to the top. Both children cooperated, and as I write this they are all snuggled in for an afternoon nap. Its nothing short of a miracle, really.

But like I said, the list is pretty short. I'm not really sure what we're doing tomorrow.

The Baby Girl Arrives

2010-05-02T07:40:00.000-07:00

One day we were getting ready for the new baby. Assembling the crib, sorting baby clothes, and making checks on the list.

The next day she was here.

The game changes now. It shifts from the WHAT IF to the HOW. We are lucky people, and we are counting our blessing, or our luck, or our fortune, or whatever you want to call it. We have a healthy baby girl, the labor was short, and we are all home safe.

I don't want to consider the rest of the IFs. Now we are in a new phase. HOW do we get this baby to sleep at night? HOW do we know the baby is getting enough milk? HOW will we manage with the toddler in the household?

My job has changed, of course. I'm the behaviorist in the family. Actually, we're pretty much all behaviorists, but I'm the expert when it comes to our little boy. So I'm taking the lead on this one. How do we bring a new baby into the house so that Jeep still feels the love??? I'm working on it.

One last thought about the birth, the hospital, and all that drama. It is an awesome thing to see your own child born out of your spouse's body. I have been there twice now to see it happen and it never gets old. Wow.

Baby Madness

2010-04-21T06:06:00.001-07:00

April showers are falling and the baby day looms.

This past week has been something of a reckoning for me and my little family. Life changed when the Mama stopped working to go on maternity leave, and even our boy noticed the difference. We all had varied responses.

Jeep was suddenly up a night, displaying crazy attachments, and generally out of sorts. It was kind of a "WTF?!? Why is Mom home all the time?" kind of response. I think he knows the game is up, and asks about baby all the time.

But Mama and the Daddy Life deal with the coming changes in their own ways.

First there were the lists: a slavish attempt to control the future and prepare for all possible eventualities. This is my wife's response to stress, I think. I began to resent them immediately, but of course I knew enough to just get out of the way.

Me? I played more golf, and filled up all my "extra" hours in the day with cocktails and cooking projects. This was not helpful in the other extreme.

Of course there was a crash, and it came on suddenly, with blunt force. There was no fight, and in fact my wife was very sweet. It involved a half magnum of white wine, a complex recipe for coq au vin, and a late night kitchen accident that could have happened to anybody.

The bottom line, Mama has been steeped in something akin to dread. New baby coming, late nights, no sleep, boob whispering, toddler neediness, et cetera, et cetera. Daddy was thinking along some other lines: how can I get my short game under control, drop my handicap, get out for a run, drop my boy at pre-school, meet the boys for drinks, and pick up a pizza? Basically, avoidance.

I pictured our "maternity leave" month as something different. I was thinking more along the lines of vacation, walks in the park, and time spent together as a family. I was also thinking of action, projects, and dinner parties. I wanted all of this before it changed, before we lost track of the sweet mornings in bed with our little boy, laughing and reading and playing and soaking up the love of two parents at once. Any day now the little girl will come, and our family circle will explode into something new. There will be baby diapers and visitors and presents and cooing and crying and it will all be wonderful and sticky sweet and a little sad for me.

The loss of this time we are in now sits heavily with me. So I have reformed myself, to savor it. I cut out the drinks, and ramp up my exercise. I work on the lists, and drop the social events. I am trying to embrace the quiet, but I know that I come off as surly and recalcitrant.

Well, we are what we are. Sometimes the madness takes us, and spits us out as something we never expected. I think this is the root of it for me. I know how becoming a father to the Jeep changed me entire life experience. Will Daddy's little girl knock me off my balance? I know with certainty that change is never easy, but I will do my best to rise to it.

My gut tells me that it will both impossibly hard, and the most natural thing in the world. Sacrifice, humility, and acceptance will all come easily when the time is right. I love my boy Jeep so impossibly that I would allow him to ruin me. How much more will I feel this for my girl?

Daddy Addy

2010-04-01T05:40:00.000-07:00

My life as the daddy rolls on.

I seem to be well-suited for the changing faces of fatherhood. The boy is both challenging and charming, and Mama's growing belly gives us all a sense of the future. I report myself as happy and settled into the rhythms of stay-at-home parenting. The Daddy Life was conceived out of my own discomforts and anxieties of this new "career change" into fatherhood. It serves as a record of my (mostly) anonymous alter-ego and the strange trip we're on around here.

Jeep is healthy and well. We survived the travel to Mexico, the tantrums, the strange food, and the mosquito bites. He has undergone stunning changes these past months. His desires remain strong, and his language and energy are increasing to keep pace. My boy is active and soaking up the world around him. Full blown tantrums have decreased, but they still lie there under the surface. It seems to me that Jeep has stepped back from the edge of TOTALLY LOSING IT. Maybe he discovered that its not much fun, and doesn't get him what he wants.

The weather is changing - it is spring here in the Pacific Northwest. We go for walks now, these short rambles up the street or through the park to take note of all the important things: dogs, birds, flowers, pine cones, and buses. There is a lot of pointing and naming. Daddy gets outside for some ambitious work in the yard and an occasional ambitious golf game. Last week was spring break, and Jeep seemed relieved to return to the routines of school.

The baby is coming. My wife begins her maternity leave today, with roughly four weeks before Birthday Zero. The house is showing signs of her arrival. A room has been prepared, furniture moved, and baby clothes sorted. I am beginning to feel the warmth of a new life in our home. Our new little girl will bring a new dimension to our family life. This morning as I write this, I am feeling the awe and weight of the coming changes.

Growing

2010-03-15T06:17:00.000-07:00

I was putting the Jeep down to bed one night this week and a startling thought entered my head.

This job, being a dad to my own little boy who loves me, this is the best job I've ever had. I feel happier, more satisfied, more fulfilled, and I finish each day with a profound sense of purpose and well-being.

I've been entrusted with a sacred responsibility, and the potential to fuck it up is great. This initially brought me a fair amount of daddy anxiety, but I must be gaining more confidence in my new career. Each day I watch my little baby grow into a boy and my boy grow into a man. The potential for success is giddying.

No wonder welfare mothers have twelve children. I totally get it.

The Tantrum Faze

2010-02-08T10:53:00.000-08:00

He looks so sweet. My little boy, crouched at Daddy's knee, plays happily with a spoon. We carry on delightul father-son banter while Dad smokes a pipe or reads the paper or sips his Manhattan project. This is not the stay-at-home-dad world that we actually live in, but let me carry on a little longer in my fantasy. Son, let me tell you about the important things. "Yes, Daddy?" He sits, amazed, as I tell tales of pre-baby travel, romantic exploits, and clever comebacks. "Wow, Dad - you're my hero!" Of course I am, son, of course I am.

There is some truth to this fantasy, I am sure. I think that at some stage all little boys make heroes of their fathers. They want to grow up in their father's image, and imagine their own hopes and dreams. And my boy loves me madly, despite the fact that we are the hard-hearted Cry-It-Out parents you've all heard about. But babies grow into little people, and those people begin to develop their own motivations and desires. They call this the toddler stage of childhood. It comes before the terrible twos and after the thrill of learning to walk.

Until just recently I thought parenting through this stage was going to be pretty easy. And then suddenly, the tantrums began. Tantrums are something I have been expecting. I understood, rationally, that young children have a disconnect between what they want and what they are able to say. I also thought I would be able to control my reaction, or emotional response to these occurences. Be patient, don't take it personally, et cetera. Those were my expectations, but the reality is somewhat different.

My boy throws tantrums over stupid things. He doesn't want to wear the blue jacket. He wants to watch Elmo. He doesn't want the orange peel to touch any part of his plate. He wants to hold his own spoon when we eat the yogurt. These are simple things, and I know my boy well enough to read his desires. This is not the problem. The problem is that the desires are SO STRONG. It is like he just learned to want something and now suddenly it is ALL HE WANTS. He becomes fixated on that one thing with such force that is scares him. It is almost a chemical reaction to his emotions. I MUST DRINK FROM THAT EMPTY BEER BOTTLE. Or the world will end. Period.

Second, I am surprised at my impatience with these behaviors. A few times now he has gone completely out of control. I have used the strategy of picking him up, carrying him away for a few moments (maybe 30 seconds?) and letting him cry. Then I give him some sympathy, explain that we can't COMPLETELY LOSE OUR SHIT like that. We have to maintain some modicum of acceptable social behavior. Then I ask, "Do you want to try again?" Through the tears, the response has always been "Yeah." We try again, and everything goes much better the second time. I hate to take it to that level. WAY better to distract, give him what he wants, or just move on from this increasingly whiny emotional roller coaster.

We leave on a family vacation this month. Mommy, Jeep, and Daddy will all be traveling the world, eating in restaurants, sleeping in strange hotels, and chasing bands of developing-world stray dogs around the beach. I fully expect the tantrum monster to take on new life with the rigors of travel and schedule interruptions. What will the Daddy Life do to combat this monster? Stay tuned.

Naturalist Daddy

2010-02-03T08:32:00.000-08:00

While my boy was sleeping yesterday, I spied a bird of prey out the window.

This stage of parenting is an interesting one for me. Being home alone during nap time has been a constant struggle with my own restlessness. I can't (in good conscience) step out for a walk, or a trip to the store, or a quick nine holes. I also seem to avoid getting involved in "house projects," as the nursery and the tools are in very close proximity. That leaves me with cooking, reading, and computer time during Jeep's naps.

Occasionally I come up with something that sparks my interest. We've been interested in eagles these days, so I tried to catch this guy with my ten-dollar telescope off the back deck. Managed to snap this shot with the camera before he flew off after some field mice.

Co-operation

2010-01-26T11:19:00.001-08:00

Last year about this time I made a discovery that has profoundly enriched my experience as a stay-at-home-parent: we found a co-op preschool for Jeep.

From the beginning, Jeep was interested in other children. I knew instinctively that my job as a Stay-At-Home-Parent (SAHP) would be to find and facilitate these social interactions as much as possible. So of course I was enthusiastic when I stumbled upon a local co-op preschool with a "young toddler" classroom for kids aged 1-2 years. We visited, we loved it, and we signed him up.

My boy was born in late August, which makes him the youngest among his peers for life in the school system. Schools generally send kids with September birthdays into the next school year. Jeep turned 1 in August, and in September he started school. He had just learned to walk.

This particular school is only available to SAHPs, because it requires parents to work one "shift" throughout the week. School runs from 9am to 1pm, and there is a full time teacher there every day. We sing, we read books, we play outside, and we go for walks. Jude knows the other children, and they know him. We have gotten to know other families, and I have been exposed to some different methods of parenting and child management.

The people at the co-op are not my best friends. But somehow, someway, the experience of parenting together (often in close quarters) creates an intimacy that comes quickly. I trust these people to raise my child. In return, the takeaway for Jeep is huge. He loves our class, the children, the teacher, and the other parents. When I walk out the door on my "daddy day off" he doesn't even look up.

There was something lost when our modern civilization moved out of small communities and into the developed world of private homes and freeway commuting. We lost the mentality of the village. In a place like our co-op, we have managed to find it again.

Where would I be without them? I am basically a gregarious person. It helps make the sometimes lonely occupation of stay-at-home-parenting a little more friendly.

Attachment and Desire

2010-01-05T14:42:00.000-08:00

The Daddy Life has been silent for some months now. Roughly two months, between the time when my boy moved from 15 months young to 17 months old. I assure you that we are all well and busy, navigating the paths of Christmastime, family, the new year, and co-op preschool.

Somewhere in the midst of all those traditions, my little boy took new steps toward becoming a person. He has begun to express preference and WANT things. And I mean REALLY want them. He is no longer to be distracted by a quick switch from the toybox, or a funny face, or a book. He REMEMBERS. He's a persistent little guy.

Sometimes he gets what he wants, and sometimes he doesn't. We have been very careful not to introduce the word NO into his 20 word vocabulary, but it's bound to come out soon. Instead, we try to find ways to moderate our language.

ME: (very calmly) We don't put our hands in the toilet water. You can wash your hands in the sink.

JEEP: (splash splash)

Fortunately, he's still small enough that I can pick him up and remove him from most situations. Last week he was underfoot while we were in the kitchen making dinner. His mother and I were both standing nearby when he GRABBED A PAN OFF THE STOVE. What the H? How did this kid get so tall? He's tall enough to get things off the countertop, but still too small to trust near the stove. Superdad over here snatched that hot pan right out of his little hands before there were sauteed onions all over the room.

There are boundaries, and then there are REAL boundaries. The ones that involve safety are hard and fast. I might have yelled out a NO! on that one.

As the Stay-At-Home-Parent, I am sure that the setting of boundaries and molding of behavior will fall on my shoulders. I have experience in this, from my former career as a special education teacher. But never before have I been quite so closely tied to my client.

I tend to laugh it off when he gives me THE LOOK (see below). But who am I kidding? I love this little guy, and I hate to see him upset.

I guess my job is changing again. Its moving from keeping my boy safe, dry, clothed, and well-fed, and into more challenging arenas. He has discovered DESIRE. There are eastern religions which attribute attachment and desire as the cause of all unhappiness. I don't really buy that. My boy has a boundless capacity for happiness, and I won't squash it. Have we entered the realm of PHILOSOPHY here? Does it fall upon me to teach my boy to moderate his own desires in the world around him?

Number One in Our Hearts

2009-11-22T20:55:00.000-08:00

Jeep is 15 months old today! It has been an amazing run.

Trip report: our first baby has successfully crossed the line to small person. Tonight his mom asked out loud - "Jeep, how can you be so short, but still be such a regular person in every other way?" He was banging all the pots in the kitchen with a carboard wrapping paper tube. It turns out that they all make slightly different sounds. Jude did not reply to this, but I could see some sarcasm in his gaze as he glanced back at her. What are you thinking, you little monster? Maybe something like, "You ain't seen nothin' yet."

Jeep has successfully completed the race distance of 15 months of life. There was a close call at the Children's Museum treehouse last week, but we've put that behind us. Tonight he was awarded this medal for bravery in combat and courage under fire. Actually, he just found it in the toy bin and wouldn't put it down. But it looks good on him.

What will the next months bring? Our boy is healthy and happy in every way. You had better live it up, little Jeep. There is a little sister or brother on the way that will change your life forever. In the meantime, you get all our cheers, all our attention, and all our love. Go for the gold, baby! Sprint it to win it!

Be the Man Your Kids Want You To Be

2009-11-20T10:02:00.000-08:00

I've had some sobering news this past few weeks.

A close friend was in a car crash late at night on a curvy road. There were four people in the car, and they had all been drinking. My friend was driving, and the accident crushed both of his legs. His girlfriend is under intensive care, and the other passengers were thrown from the vehicle, but walked away unharmed.

I visited my friend in the hospital. His injuries were healing, but his emotions were still on a roller coaster. He reminded me of another night, about a year ago, when were were out drinking and driving around the city. "You are the shittiest designated driver I've ever seen," I had joked. That wasn't quite so funny anymore.

Another friend recently confessed to me that he was drinking too much in the evenings. This was time spent at home with his family, and he wanted to break the pattern. He found that the hour between arriving home and having dinner was a crucial one for self discipline, so he arranged his computer calendar to send him text messages every 15 minutes with reminders. These reminders would say things like "Be the man your children want you to be." That is some heavy emotional blackmail, if you ask me, but it was effective. I admire this.

I told you those two stories so I could tell you about this one.

Yesterday a couple followed some tire tracks off the road near a creek on the Oregon coast. They found an upturned SUV, filling with water, the passengers hysterical. Children were crying. They called emergency services, and a local guy heard it on the police scanner. (Who listens to a police scanner on a Wednesday afternoon?) He jumped in his truck and drove up the road.

The first man plunged into the water to help remove the passengers and couldn't open the doors. He broke the windshield with a rock to rescue the driver, a woman in her twenties. The second man arrived on scene and entered the water with a knife in his hand. He found the children in the back seat and cut their seatbelt straps, then passed them to safety through the icy water.

The woman was hysterical. "There's three!" she yelled, "He's in the front seat!" That's when the men went back into the water and found the six-month old baby, strapped into the carseat, submerged in the water. They cut the baby out, carried him to shore, and began CPR on the little lifeless body as sirens and paramedics arrived at the scene. Doctors were able to revive the little boy, who is listed in critical condition.

The police indicated that the driver was "very intoxicated" at the time of the crash.

There were a number of rescuers that day, made up of friends and neighbors and good samaritans, but I cannot stop thinking about those two men in the water.

These are sobering stories. This is not meant to be a comment on the dangers of alcohol, or a confession of fears, or a condemnation of drunken drivers. These stories bring up a lot of feelings for me.

Maybe I want to point out this simple fact: parenting is a sobering activity. Learning to love and be loved by the children in your life is its own kind of rush. Taking good care of your own little family brings many surprising rewards. It leaves me a little unsettled, and quiet, and much, much more careful.

If I'm going to be the man my boy wants me to be, then I need to remember these stories. I want to be the man in the river, holding the knife. That's the man I want to be, and I think I can be that man. I might to have to get a good knife.

Here's the story.

http://www.oregonlive.com/news/index.ssf/2009/11/rescuers_wade_into_a_lincoln_c.html

Fall Adventures

2009-11-05T15:40:00.000-08:00

The Daddy Life and son are compelled to report on a successful adventure.

Jeep, Daddy, and our good friend all drove out to see my grandmother on a bright fall day. The weather was warm, we played in the leaves, drove through small towns, ate french fries, went for a hike, and generally wore ourselves out.

We dropped off my friend and rolled back into Portland just as the sun was fading. Setting sun, slow traffic, children's music on the radio, and The Daddy Life experienced something he hasn't felt in a long while.

I was tired.

We got home, fed the Jeep, read some books, and he went to bed an hour early.

At this point I had a brilliant and startling realization. Being a Dad, living "the daddy life," and generally fulfilling the needs, wants, and dreams of my 1 year old son - this is an exhausing job. This day we had together, this fall adventure was everything I could have hoped for. I was my best daddy self, and my boy was happier for having shared the day with me.

We had a grand and successful adventure, and I welcome years more of them. Maybe I just never realized how easy my own dad made it look! But Damn! My full time job is a lot of WORK.

Halloween

2009-10-31T08:36:00.000-07:00

This is my favorite holiday.

Halloween is the only holiday left in our mainstream, washed out version of suburban American culture in which the unexpected can happen. Thanksgiving, Christmas, Valentine's Day, Groundhog Day, Easter, 4th of July, or the Day that the Blazers Make the Playoffs? Sure, these days have a lot of goodwill, brotherly love, and church attendance to go around. But HALLOWEEN is the only holiday in which we OPEN OUR DOORS to the general public. It is generally accepted that groups of costumed children will roam the streets, knock on doors, take their handfuls of chocolate largesse, and disappear into the night. There is also this underlying assumption that people will scare each other, and the potential for childhood fear adds a mixture of excitement and adrenaline.

I've never been one for Haloween parties. For me, the real action happens at the front door. Most years, I don't even have a costume to speak of. I just put on some kind of crazy wig, and a funny hat, long tights, a cape, and anything else that looks crazy. Then I make a big fire, we drink cider, and I lie in wait for the little cherubs to come and visit.

This year will be no different. The script will play out as it always does. But this year, we will go out on the early Daddy rounds, knocking on our neighbors' doors before the real ghouls and goblins come out to play. Jeep will be dressed as a pumpkin. Daddy will be wearing a warm coat and holding a cold hand. If you see us, wave hello! This is my favorite holiday, after all. But maybe, just maybe, it's because I love the tricks and treats.

The SAHD Gig Ain't for Everyone

2009-10-13T15:35:00.000-07:00

I may have mentioned, but I think I'm a pretty good dad.

Specifically, I'm a good Stay-At-Home-Dad. If indeed the Stay-At-Home-Dad movement is really a movement and not just a bunch of guys too bored or lazy to work, then I definitely belong to it. Hell, I'm an advocate. I think all guys should be SAHDs. Unfortunately, I have discovered that the daddy life is not for everyone, and for some it's a downright bad idea.

This is the story of a bad stay-at-home dad. He's a good dad, but he'd be better off with a job and a good daycare. Sometime early last year, I met this guy and his young son. We'll call him Curtis. He lives in my neighborhood, and we "hooked up" through our wives who met one night while they were walking their respective infants through the hills of West Portland.

Sadly, this is a classic story of young romance and harsh breakup. I was excited to meet another dude whose situation was so similar to my own. But somehow there was no spark. We met a few times, took our kids for hikes, and met up at the library story hour. We even we went out for lunch. Not only did this SAHD "dating" make me feel like Harvey Milk with a 1-year-old, it just wasn't fun.

Curtis was a downer. He had a generally negative outlook on the world, and seemed unhappy with every aspect of raising his child. Eventually, our relationship devolved into a bi-monthly phone call and a halfhearted attempt to get together. Let's be honest here - I blew the guy off. He was genuinely looking for dad-friend, a buddy to hang with and ease his burden down the lonely road of childcare. I just couldn't be that guy.

The last several times we talked on the phone, we had the same conversation. I would say (in all honesty) "I'm pretty busy this week." Curtis would reply, (skeptically) "That's amazing." Then there would be this short pause, where we both considered what this might mean.

I feel bad for this guy. He didn't see his days ahead of him filled with adventure. The wonders of learning to walk, read books, climb stairs, and eat with a fork were lost on him. A few short years ago, I would have found these things just as dull. It makes me wonder - what is the difference between us?

My life with the boy isn't just baby talk and diaper changes. I don't stay at home, watching the clock. We go out EVERY DAY. While it is true that I don't cover as much ground as I used to, pre-baby, we still use every minute of our day to find some action, go out to lunch, or walk through the park. I figured out early, to make this thing work, you've got to have some get up and go in you.

Playing with Fire

2009-10-05T10:13:00.000-07:00

My boy is thirteen months old now. He has seen a lot in his short life, travelled, and experienced the love of his parents and family. He had a good run as a baby, and now we are rapidly moving into the land of Toddler, also known as the Land of the Lost.

I say Lost, because that is how my Toddler seems. He can't say real words yet, and really only points at what he wants. We tried to teach him some signs, but he seems to prefer the "Uhh-uhh-uhhh" that is so effective when coupled with a pointed finger or hand. At times, he seems to want everything, and nothing at once. He is exploring everything, which makes the Daddy Life very nervous.

Over the past week we have had a cold in the Daddy Life household. This means that we are home more, wearing sweats and slouching around the house. The kitchen is a minor wreck, and on top of that, the Indian Summer has turned into Fall Chill. One of my many household duties, The Daddy Life started a fire in the fireplace.

This has provided young Jeep with one of the first opportunities to test the limits of his parents and their newfound parenting skills. The fireplace is one of the first arenas in which we are beginning to struggle with the magic word: NO.

Actually, I don't say NO at all. I say BE CAREFUL, IT'S HOT. And then of course my young Toddler looks at me to make sure I am watching, and moves to touch the fireplace screen anyway, which isn't really that hot. So then I pick him up and move him away and we find something else to entertain ourselves. This has worked pretty well, but suddenly these limits are sprouting up all over the house.

NO, YOU CAN'T PUT YOUR HAND IN THE TOILET (while closing the lid)

NO, THAT IS DADDY'S CUP OF COFFEE (I give Jeep his own plastic mug for pretend coffee)

NO, YOU CANNOT STAND ON THE KITCHEN TABLE. WE STAND ON THE FLOOR.

When he wants something that I don't want to give him, I usually just sweep him up in my arms, carry him out of the room, and we find something else to focus on. This almost always works.

I can see trouble brewing on the horizon.

School Daze

2009-09-30T09:36:00.000-07:00

It is September, and like every September of my life, I look forward to a transformation.

This is my favorite time of year. As a child, I was ingrained with the biorhythms of the school year. New teachers, new schools, new friends all brought new challenges and triumphs. The sweet, long evenings of summer drew to a close, and new responsibilities greeted me. Growing up! Independence! New beginnings! The opportunity to remake myself, every autumn. The possibilities and the cold morning air were breathtaking.

This fall is no exception. We have new projects ahead of us. One of them is a new baby, due in May. Little Jeep will have a sister! In the meantime the Daddy Life has to shoulder a bit more housework, childcare, and energy. This is a given. Mommy Dearest has been sacked out on the couch for the last few weeks, a victim of fall colds and baby nausea. This is very exciting, of course. But the here and now demands our attention on another front.

Jeep and his Daddy enrolled in a co-op preschool this September. Preschool? For 1-year-olds? Yep. This is our third week. And it's pretty great.

I will be careful here, not to write too much about these people, these new partners in parenting our Boy. After this blog becomes famous, I am sure that some of my comments will come back to get me in trouble. For the meantime, I will say only a few things.

We are in a small classroom with a teacher and a few other parents. Seven children participate each week, in our case on Tuesday and Thursday between the hours of 9am and 1pm. The school is focused on a "play" atmosphere with plenty of activities and time outside. We are very busy during those four hours, and I would say that this sets us apart from a "daycare" situation. On Tuesdays, I am on shift as the parent helper. On Thursdays I go play golf.

Let me just say this - Jeep loves it. He has always been drawn to other children, and I felt strongly that we should provide him the opportunity for socializing with his peers as soon as possible. He was born in August, so that makes him the youngest in his class. This does not seem to be a problem.

The biggest change for The Daddy Life comes on Tuesday afternoon. We return home from preschool, Jeep has a bottle, and goes straight to bed. The Daddy Life also goes straight to bed, and is generally worthless for the rest of the afternoon. It is fricking exhausting taking care of one-year-olds. How does Octomom do it? Heh heh heh. (That was a joke~!)

After the first Tuesday, I made dinner, Mommy Dearest put the Boy to bed, and I drank all the whiskey in the house. Fortunately there wasn't very much of it. :)

Transformation, here I come! I think we're through the worst of it. Jeep is happy, I am happy, and the new baby heartbeat is cruising along at about 172 beats per minute. I love September.

September 11

2009-09-10T22:38:00.000-07:00

It seems like a lifetime ago. I was working in a Starbucks in Portland, Oregon when the planes hit the twin towers in New York. It was about 6am, I was slinging coffees to the early morning crowd, and guys were coming in with reports of horror and calamity. That was a new job for me, but technically my third run as a Starbucks corporate employee. Did I mention, after my history degree, that I spent my twenties wandering the earth? My return to Portland was something akin to a coming home, but I was still living in a month-to-month apartment. For some guys, commitment comes hard.

The morning wore on, and the stories kept getting worse and worse. Eventually, word came down from the TOP that all Starbucks stores were closing for the day. I was shocked and shaken. There was a girl working there, and I still remember her red hair and hipster glasses. She was off shift that day, but she was sitting home watching the television, and brought in these small pieces of paper. After terror gripped the nation, I glued mine into a little book I keep for important garbage that I don't want to forget. Here it is.

As much as I don't want to admit it, The 9/11 attacks changed my life forever. I was just reading a schmaltzy letter of remorse and remembrance over at Metrodad, and it made me realize that everyone has their own story about that day. I have mine, too. And I guess it's worth telling.

The story begins like this. I was dating 9 women at the time of the 9/11 attacks. NINE. I had a little apartment, and had returned to a town where I had plenty of friends. In theory, I was trying to "get back together" with an old girlfriend. But this was not even remotely true. I was drunk with the possibilities of girls in their twenties, post-college, and ready for action. I could hardly keep them separate in my mind. I had dates every night, and found it difficult to juggle them around. Now, you may be thinking that I am just THAT KIND OF GUY. I assure you, that is not remotely true. I am just a guy, like every other guy, that has been through LONG dry spells and hung on through TERRIBLE stormy relationships. Sometimes it just happens - suddenly, I was THE GUY.

I had more girls interested than I had days in the week! They were lovely girls, all of them. And we had very casual relationships. The were a mish-mash of old friends, new lust, and surprising distraction. Essentially, I discovered casual dating. And it was good. I give a special nod to those that stand out most in my mind - the White Porsche Girl, the Big Bam Boom, the Yoga Teacher, and the Nurse. It was a lovely fall.

There was a downside. When we woke up in my apartment in the morning, I wanted them gone. I didn't know how to say this exactly, but I always felt very strongly that they were somehow invading my space. But then they would go, and I would see them again some other time.

On that September 11, I made phone calls to the people in my life that mattered. I called my mother, and my father, and my brother. After I finished those calls, I thought to myself - "Is this all there is?" I always refer to the fall of 2001 as my "hot period" with the women. Honestly, I think I was just searching for something that I wasn't finding.

Finally, in November, it came to pass. I went on a date with a girl I had been keeping on the line for several weeks. She was a mutual friend, smarter than most, and had recently broken up with a boyfriend. We went out, she came on strong, and I was smitten. We went out to a club with friends, had far too much to drink, and I drove her home with me. She stayed the night, and in the morning a strange thing happened: I didn't want her to leave. I thought to myself - "how can I get her to stay?" Of course I offered her breakfast, and of course she refused, politely. Six months later we were engaged.

Here is the part that I can't get out of my mind: 8 years after the 9/11 attacks, there is a little boy sleeping downstairs with her eyes and my last name. The day that those towers fell, I told myself to GET SERIOUS about something in this life. There is mother and a one year old in my house that I am VERY serious about.

That is my story. It is not as sad as some. But it has a nice ending.

Bachelor Night, Part 2

2009-09-01T11:48:00.000-07:00

What awaited me in the nursery was something from a horror film.

After months of casual baby monitor use, all my fears were vindicated. For the love of God, what did people do before baby monitors? It was 11:30pm, I was awakened from a deep sleep by the sound of choking, and my daddy alarm was tickling the back of my conscience. I stumbled down the hall, but maybe lurched was a better word. Was I drunk? I felt strange, but pushed onward and into the inner sanctum of babyland. The doors opened, the lights came on, and there he was.

My boy was covered in puke.

It looked as if someone had taken a bucket of puke, mostly consisting of string cheese, curdled milk, and purple grapes, and dumped it into Jeep's crib, directly over his head. He was a little scared but not crying, and when I picked him up I could see that he had been rolling in it. He was happier in my arms, and immediately began grabbing at my face with his puke covered hands. The stench was fantastic. I hadn't seen (or smelled) puke this intense in a long long time. We stripped off his clothes and got directly into the shower.

He was shivering, which makes me wonder how long he'd been puking. The shower warmed him up, and I dressed him in warm pajamas before we returned to the nursery to tackle the sheets, the mattress pad, and the pile of puke clothes. Once dressed, my boy wanted to play. This is the nicest part about sick babies. They don't know that they're sick. Jeep played on the floor awhile until he got another bout of the pukes, which thankfully all ended up on the carpet. I was not going to change those clothes again. I settled him down and he dropped right to sleep.

I went to bed, but somewhat shaken. He sounded perfectly alright on the monitor! He wasn't crying or anything! And then something sent me down the hall, the tiniest little choking sound and then PUKE PUKE PUKE. Oh, the horror. I laid half awake for the rest of the night, but Jeep seemed to be recovering.

At 6am he started his hungry cry, and I went upstairs to make a bottle. Again, something was wrong. My stomach was hurting. I walked back down the stairs and then suddenly I was detouring to the bathroom. PUKE PUKE PUKE. What was this? I never puke! I am the king of bad hangovers, stomach cramps, and holding my chips. Once in Siberia I got food poisoning and muscled down a week's worth of nausea and home remedies without ever once blowing chunks.

What did we eat? Was it Exhibit A? B? C? or even D?

The two of us spent the day taking long naps, crawling around the house, and moaning. I was in a bad way, and did the only thing a self-respecting husband could do. I lied about it. That was my wife's SPA DAY AT THE COAST. If I told her that her boys were sick, then she might come home. So I stuck it out. We were bachelors to the end. Well, almost the end. Eventually I folded and called my mother. She came over after work to take the Jeep off of my hands for a few hours. I was mildly feverish, and spent the time on the couch.

The next morning we were better. A little better. We even went to the zoo. And so, we attempted to put the food poisoning mystery behind us. Until now.

I am a bad man. Virtually everyone we came into contact with during this 48 hour period has since gotten the bug. Either this was our first childhood virus, or one nasty case of contagious food poisoning. Sorry, everybody! Mea culpa!

Bachelor Night, Part 1

2009-08-31T05:43:00.000-07:00

Months ago, my wife decided she needed a vacation.

She needed some time away from the baby, and was willing to plan ahead for this last week of August. Her mother, the Latin Teacher, is visiting from New York. The two of them rented a house at the Oregon Coast, armed with good walking shoes and Season 7 of 24. The boys were invited for the first few days. On Thursday afternoon we left to roll back home. This is where the fun begins.

It was hot when we hit Portland and neither Jeep or I felt like cooking. We hung around the house that evening, playing with our newfound toys and pretending to clean the kitchen, respectively. At some point I stumbled upon the mostly finished keg of beer in the garage, leftover from last week's Pig Roast. Why not? It smelled alright and tasted just fine for lukewarm beer. This will be exhibit A.

Jeep ate a lot of grapes for dinner. Grapes and cheese and whole milk and Cheerios. Let the court note that I am marking the contents of my one-year-old's stomach as Exhibit B. Do you see where this is going?

Boy, we were having a good time now. I love bachelor nights! Jeep and I played around the nursery, wrestled on the bed, read books in the shower, and generally had a great night. I was too lazy to make dinner after he went down, so I put in a movie and ate crackers for dinner. Rice crackers. And I found something in the pantry to go with it. Dry packaged pepper garlic salmon spread. From CostPlus World Market. Definitely a Christmas stocking gift. Exhibit C.

On bachelor nights from days gone past, when I still worked for a living and I wasn't out swilling drinks, I had a bachelor tradition that I followed religously. Whenever the wife was out of town, I always watched the somewhat adolescent classic, Joe Dirt. I do not know how this got started, but probably it has something to do with the fact that my Wife HATES this sort of movie and has no patience for it. And of course I love it.

I went to bed around 10pm, just after the part where Joe sleeps with the girl he thinks is his sister. Joe could be Exhibit D.

Around 11:30pm I was roused from sleep. Let me give you a little background about our baby arrangement. At our house, the baby sleeps as far away as possible. He is in the back corner bedroom off the laundry, and we close all the doors to keep things quiet back there. Needless to say, we are the sort of parents who fall into LetHimCry (LHC) category, also known as CryItOut (CIO) or ShhBeQuietAndHe'llGoBackToSleep (SBQAHGBTS). We are heartless cold bitches in my house. And my boy sleeps like a dream.

Except on this night, when I heard a very different sound coming through the baby monitor. He was awake, for the moment, but little Jeep was making a new sound. This one was not a cry so much, as a kind of choking cough. I rose from my bed to see what was the matter.

To be continued . . .

The Pig Roast

2009-08-28T17:17:00.000-07:00

My boy turned one year old last weekend.

For Jeep, this was another day of grabbing for rocks, learning to walk, pointing, smiling, and generally experiencing the world in all its beauty.

Of course it was not so simple for me.

A year ago, I had a career change. I went from high school teacher to Daddy.

I left a school where I was valued, needed, and appreciated. I watched kids grow up before my eyes, and I knew that I was making a difference. I was a coach, mentor, teacher, and case manager for a whole slough of kids whose lives didn't hold much hope or promise. I worked every day to help them believe in the power of their dreams.

Five years I spent at this occupation, and in one dazzling August evening in 2008 the birth of my son changed my direction. I quit my job and took a new title. Stay-at-home-Dad.

So of course I had to commemorate the event. With a pig roast.

You may wonder, why a pig roast? I'm not sure I could tell you myself. In retrospect, I will say that it brought together a good mix of celebration, theater, and bacchanalia, which is to say, drunkenness. I couldn't be happier that my boy survived one year of life, and goddammit I wanted to do something GREAT to mark this event with the kind of gravity it deserved.

This was something I was called to do, that I needed to accomplish. Like many things in this category, it caused a minor fight with my wife. But lets set that aside and get on to the story.

I spent weeks preparing for this event. I researched pig roasting methods, scouted an appropriate venue, sent invitations, and procured kegs of beer. And then there was the pig. I chose to purchase this particular swine from a local butcher. I don't know if it was a girl pig or a boy pig. I just said pig, and they said okay.

I set my alarm for 3:40am on the morning of the pig roast. I had enlisted the help of a close friend in the building of the fire and the cooking of the swine. He seems to like being called the Pig Bitch, so we'll stick with that. At 4:45am with lit the match and started the fire.

Part of my whole pig roast obsession was that I wanted to roast the pig in the ground, using the methods of the islanders of Hawaii and the South Pacific. Basically, you make a big fire, throw in some rocks, then burn the fire down to coals and bury the pig under burlap or canvas or banana leaves or cardboard or all of the above. The rocks cook the pig. Brilliant.

There is a problem with this method - I don't know anyone who has ever done it. That's not quite true - I've seen similar earth ovens in Fiji, and of course I've been to the obligatory Hawaiian luau. But that doesn't help me here. I have other pig roasting friends, but they have all used a more labor intensive method - roasting over a low fire on a spit. It seems like all the serious pig cookers I know don't really like the uncertainty of burying the pig without knowing when it's going to be done.

For me, that is the best part about roasting a pig in the ground - there is some definite RISK involved. Greatness courts failure, Romeo.

Back to the pig. Once we had a big fire going, it seemed a shame not to make breakfast. Eggs and bacon, over the skillet. For anyone that would like to recreate a similar task, I made the fire from two year old fir and maple, then threw in an additional bag of charcoal briquettes. I also used about 15 medium sized garden rocks and 40 or so smaller river rocks. Several of the rocks cracked in half during the fire. The pit was about 3 feet by 6 feet, and roughly 3 feet deep. The bottom was lined with old brick.

Once we had finished with breakfast, the fire began to die down and it was time to prepare the pig. The Pig Bitch had picked her up the night before, and she spent the night in a cooler on ice.

Here I have a confession to make. I popped the cooler, tore open the plastic bag, and I got a little sick. I know what you're thinking here. I'm just a city boy, and not accustomed to the hard truth of barnyard life. That may be accurate, but I've been down this road before. I once killed and butchered pigs in a village in Siberia for Godsakes! With knives! No, dear reader, this was a different kind of sickness. It was a moment of doubt. This was the point where I realized that me and my pig roasting ceremony was totally RIDICULOUS. The sun was rising and a gentle fog rested on the meadow. It was 6 in the fucking morning. I had a giant dead animal on my hands, and why? Why am I so crazy? All of my very best thinking got me right here. I sat in it for a minute, and then we had to move on. There was nothing more to be done. Lets wrap her up and cook her!

Here is what we did. First we seasoned the pig with barbecue spice. Then we cut large holes in the rump and shoulders and inserted hot rocks from the fire. We wrapped her several times in aluminum foil, then chicken wire. Placing her onto the coals, we covered her with pre-soaked burlap, then canvas, then wet cardboard. No banana leaves for these cowboys. Then we threw some plywood over the top and waited. Just how long to wait was a topic of much discussion between me and the Pig Bitch. The internet varied from 6 to 12 hours. We only had a 60 pound pig, so I opted for 8 hours.

If you happen to be doing this for a 1 year old birthday party, I must recommend the use of cheap plastic fencing to keep out children and dogs. It also gives the endeavor a macabre quality that can only be augmented by a tasteful plastic cross.

Fast forward 8 hours. We prepared for a party, and a party we had! Despite my best intentions, our 40 some guests and their 15 children failed to drink both kegs of beer. I assure you that I did my part. I was feeling no pain when it was time to exhume the pig and cut her up for consumption. Nontheless, I can only report success.

The pig came out of the ground in grand style. There was a crowd of people, I gave a short speech. May my baby boy live a long and happy life!

Someday he will ask me, "What did we do on my first birthday?"

"We roasted a pig in the ground, son, in your honor."

"Did it taste good?"

"It tasted GREAT."

2009-08-20T16:06:00.000-07:00

To my Jeep on his first birthday,

This past year has changed me forever. On the day you were born, the evening was a warm yellow and orange. Your mother and I watched the fading light out of our hospital room as the earth rolled slowly away from the sun. That night, the miracle of your birth came alive and into my arms.

I watched your wrinkly white back change to a bright red. When you opened your mouth to cry, it was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard.

I am blessed every day with the exquisite privilege of being your father.

This past year, I have watched you and loved you. Ever the miracle, I have learned from your learning, and rejoiced in your wonder. I was there when you crawled backwards across the room, when you said your first word, and when you climbed to the top of the stairs. I was there when you took your first steps, when you learned to wave goodbye, and when you opened your mouth to laugh.

We have traveled together this year. To the East Coast, down to California, up to Maine, and all over Oregon. We have shared pizza, and ice cream, and egg sandwiches. We have stood together underneath the Golden Gate Bridge, and next to the Ocean, and under the Moon. I wouldn’t trade a moment of it.

Someday you will want to know: what was I like when I was one? I will tell you.

You bring me books to read, and we play with cars on the floor. You make a sound like an internal combustion engine. You love to surf on top of the guitar, and won’t let me play unless you have a turn. You love to eat, especially bites from our plates. Sometimes when you are really enjoying yourself, you make snorting noises like a wild boar. You love to feed us from your plate. You tell jokes and play games, but they are subtle. Often they are easy games like hiding (Where’s Jude?) and pointing. But sometimes they involve the organizing of blocks or throwing things onto the floor, and knocking things over. You don’t talk much, but you make your desires known through a series of hoots and moans. You want to touch everything, and hold it in your hands. You love cell phones, and you hold them to your ear and pretend to talk. You can throw balls, but not very far! And we just learned that you love to play with little dolls. It’s really cute. Please don’t blame me for this later in life.

On this day, one year past the first day of your life, I will make you a promise. Your mother and I love you more than we thought we could. We will stand beside you as you learn to walk, and behind you as you learn to run. We will yell with joy when you ride a bike, and wave goodbye when you get on the bus for Kindergarten. We will love you and laugh with you and support you in whoever you will become. Your dreams are our dreams to nurture and sow and build, from the tiniest hole in the ground to the tallest of skyscrapers.

When you laugh, the whole world laughs with you. You have your entire life ahead of you. Be bold! Be daring, and get out and chase down this life. It is yours to wrangle and capture and tame. This is my gift to you, my baby boy. The world is yours! May you live long and enjoy it.