The World is All Yours

I finished my job. Summer is over. School starts today.

Today the girl starts Kindergarten. I have raised my two children from their beautiful births, through the twists and turns of early family life, and now I offer them both on the altar of public school.

Seven years ago we had a baby boy, and I began the long and hard road of fathering, parenting, inspiring, and cajoling him toward the grown up world. Five years ago the girl was born, and deepened the complexity of our family circle. I continued bravely forward in my role as meal provider, cleaner upper, social coordinator, and moral compass for these many years. I loved these two children with my whole heart, but made sure to leave room for their beautiful mother. I partnered with her in this grand expedition of family life, courted her, cared for her, and bedded her whenever I could. She and I have had a time, loving and growing these babies into people.

I am not a perfect parent. Many times I lost my patience and lost my way. Often the tethers of home life left me feeling tied, tired, and teetering on the edge of anger, animosity, anguish. I have also had far too many martinis to help me throught the dinner hour, and recycled far too many bottles every trash day. I have lost my temper far too many times, and yelled at my beauties more than I care to admit. 

I turned inward during these years, to better take care of my self. My life as an at-home parent looked pretty good. I pursued many interests, built and fixed the house, taught myself new skills. We joined an athletic club, a cooperative preschool, and a new neighborhood in the west hills. I learned to cook, and clean, and care for my brood. I spent many hours out for a run, the well upon which I drew my energy and peace.

My job is not finished, I understand. But today marks the point where I will no longer be the white-hot center of their lives. The preschool years were wonderful. We knew those families, we gave them our trust, we built a warm and loving blanket for all of our children in their growing up years. But Kindergarten is different. I went through this with our boy, and had to learn the hard way. While school can be a nurturing place, it is not always that. There are trials, and challenges, and difficult kids. There are far too many children, and there is far too little supervision.  Or maybe that is exactly what they are ready for. School is a melting pot in which to learn exactly who and what they are.

This short piece of writing is really a message - something I am struggling to pass on to my kids. The message is this: I trust you. We have spent these years together. I have tried to model and teach the skills that will get you through this. You are strong, and smart, and built to handle this and so much more to come. You are my children. Even without my help, you have to know that the family genes will give you some special things. You have a good mix of luck, and charm, and smarts. You will grow up to be passionate, and thoughtful, and brave. Your smart mouth will get you into trouble, and your fast legs will carry you away from it.

There are also the things I have tried to teach you. You must try, if you want to world to help you along. And the world will reward your trying. You can get further with a smile than a frown. You are smarter than you think. You can do things for yourself. You are worthy of my time, and, attention, and interest. Not because you are my children. But because you are you. Work hard at something, and you will like yourself all the better for it. You don't need to be the best, just give it your best effort. And only you know what is your best effort. You will win and lose, but try to handle both gracefully. Laughter will save you when nothing else can. And one more - life is fun. Take joy in the everyday, because that is where we live. Travel, people, culture, books, history, science are all worthy pursuits. But they are worthless if you do not enjoy the simple gifts of life. I just took seven years to enjoy them. I wouldn't trade them back.

Good luck, my beauties! But you won't need it. The world is all yours. Now go and get it.    

Labor Day Slovak Party

Last weekend, we threw a party at the house.

This was not just any party – it has a long standing tradition, dating back into my college years. They were often dubbed “Slovak parties,” but they usually just ended up in extreme drinking and naked hijinx. They usually contained one or more actual Slovaks that we knew from those college years. Those were good parties, but they cannot survive into our child-rearing, nearing our forties lifestyles.

We threw this party for some old college friends coming through town. We spent half the day preparing and resting for the rigors of hosting, cooking, and managing a small crowd (and children) in our space. The result was perhaps the best party we have ever thrown. My wife and I executed our roles well, with good communication and light-hearted banter. We had a lovely time, and I believe our guests did as well.

Getting to this place took practice, and the development of a special set of skills. I am proud of our efforts, and want to share our learnings here on the Daddy Life. Here they are now, the 10 guidelines for throwing a great party.

START WITH AN EMPTY DISHWASHER

This is a standard Cornett trick of the trade. When people are coming for dinner, run and empty the dishwasher. This way, a helpful guest can actually be helpful, by rinsing and depositing dishes in machine. 

 CLEAN THE GUEST BATHROOM

The guest bathroom needs sprucing up. It is likely the only one that will be used, so take a minute and wipe it down, clean off the counter, etc.

 CLEAR OFF SURFACES

This is more of a general traffic suggestion. My kitchen quickly becomes cluttered with all the business of our life. Get rid of that stuff. Hide it in a closet, or actually put it away before the party. In my house there is a “crucial countertop.”  It is the one spot where everything happens. This needs to be cleaned or cleared several times during the party. It is the place where everyone puts down their bags, and also the location where I mix the drinks, leave the appetizers, etc.

 MAKE DRINKS AND FOOD AVAILABLE SOMEWHERE BESIDES THE KITCHEN

Speaking of drinks, there is nothing that pulls people into the backyard like a cooler of beer, on ice. Or an oyster shucking station in the garage. Or wine bottles and glasses on the dining room table. You have to pull people out of the kitchen, not push them out.

 EMPTY THE GARBAGE CAN AND PROVIDE RECYCLING CONTAINERS

Another basic party beginning task. Take out the garbage. Replace the bag. Put the bottle recycling out the back door, or somewhere handy.

 OFFER EVERYONE  A DRINK WHEN THEY WALK IN THE DOOR

I am not good at this. The party gets rolling, a few families walk in the door, I am managing the kids somewhere.  But this part is important. Offer everyone a drink when they arrive. Start with the ladies. I could write volumes on this part, but I am still learning a few things. One note: a good cocktail is appreciated and will often arouse the interest of the next round of guests to arrive.

ALLOW KIDS TO SPREAD OUT AND FIND THEIR OWN DIVERSIONS

This is working better for us than it used to, because our kids are getting older. The girls go to the back room to play princess or kitchen or dress up. The boys go find Jude’s toys, cars, legos. Usually a parent will follow the small ones back to make sure that everyone is alright. My kids know the drill now. We also keep a collection of toys in the living room to keep the small ones busy, but within eyesight. Remember, the goal here is for adults to find space for adult conversation.

HAVE A MOVIE WAITING FOR DURING/AFTER DINNER

The movie is a carrot, but also an excellent babysitter for the point when the kids are wearing down and the adults are getting chatty. Sometimes this happens after dinner, sometimes during. This all depends on the numbers of guests, kids, ages of kids, etc. Some dinner parties can include kids at the table, while for others we feed the kids in a first wave. Either way, the movie is a welcome break from the party activity. Bonus points for popcorn.

SERVE DINNER AT THE RIGHT MOMENT

This one is all about “know your guests.” I always ask people if their kids are hungry, if they are hungry, and try to gauge the timing accordingly. On the other end, waiting too long means that your guests are half in the bag before sitting. Also not good. There is a tide that breaks. Serve dinner right then. Also, do I have to say it? With kids involved it is good to have lots and lots of finger foods on low tables within easy reach.

CLEAN THE KITCHEN BEFORE BED

This one I have managed well just a few times, but I cannot say enough about it. Waking up to a clean and spotless kitchen does you the service of putting the party behind you, beginning your new day anew, and moving on with your life. Throwing a party can be exhausting. You deserve a day off tomorrow. So go wash those wine glasses!

The Woodshed

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Some words about the woodshed.  I did not know what would happen in the Daddy Life when my boy started Kindergarten. It was a strange mix emotion and euphoria. The result was this woodshed.

The Woodshed, (with a capital W) as it became known in my house, began to form in my mind several months ago. In the winter we had three trees down, and the WOOD from these trees was burning a hole into the farthest reaches of my masculine anxiety. All summer I shuffled these rounds about the property. I used them up on the deck for end tables. I dug out stairs and forts and paths. I even split some of them. But my STORY about the wood was that I would build a woodshed and STORE the wood for future fires. This was the manly thing to do. To build and split and stack. But all summer long this was just talk. It was a dream to offset all of the work I actually do every day - managing the children, cleaning the kitchen, planning the meals, etc.

And then September came and two things conspired to make my dream a reality. Suddenly I had one in school and this gave me a heretofore unseen quantity of TIME. Ada was around, but she is very helpful and often plays nicely on her own. So I had no excuses. The second occurrence was that it began to rain in September. It began to rain like only an Oregon winter can. This was the opposite of an Indian Summer. It began to rain in earnest and didn't stop for three weeks. And I panicked.

"THE WOOD IS ROTTING!" I thought to myself in all capitals. "I'VE GOT TO BUILD THIS WOODSHED!" And somewhere inside of me I feared that something else was rotting, too. The part of me that I put aside to change the diapers and rock the babies and make the bottles and soothe the wild beasts that are in my daily care. So I began the project to deal with my excess of firewood, but it began to symbolize my ability to deal with my own latent work. And that is when the mania gripped me.

It began simply enough, cutting down the old chain link fencing from the dog run. Then there were stakes hammered in the rain, and strings run, and measurements. There was a design that changed several times. Eventually I settled on something loosely built on the plans of a pole barn, with a level deck hung from the poles and a shed roof on top of that. But then I started making orders from the lumber yard, and the design kept growing to accommodate larger eves, a front pitch, and nice tongue and groove decking. The woodshed grew and grew, and as it went up I began to fall in love with it. I couldn't think about anything else. 

October was mercifully dry, and I continued the building with some help from friend Bjorn and father Danel. Eventually we got the metal roof onto it, then laid out the joists and decking, and finally some fencing on the ends to hold in my wood ricks. I spent all my time working on this thing. It was peaceful down there, in the back of the house. And the children knew where to find me. It was the loosest form of child-care imaginable. But it worked. I think we all needed a little break after our summer together. And then all of a sudden it was done. A big beautiful pole-barn of a woodshed with open air and large eves. I showed it off to my friends - and got many good ideas for its use. Yoga studio, brew-shed, covered ping pong pavilion were just a few. 

I still had a major problem on my hands. I had built a gigantic woodshed, but the loading of my wood was another matter. There were stacks of wood all over my back lot, and much of it was still in rounds. Somehow I knew that loading this thing would not be my biggest problem, and again the universe conspired with me to make it happen. A big thanks to Erik Larson, the Alaskan wood boss. He was in town and made some time to come and help me finish the job. 

And then, with all my wood split and laid up for winter, the mania subsided. I became my normal, amiable self again. The Daddy Life returned for the winter months. I was happy to be back, but one thing is different. Now we are going to have a lot more fires. 

Kindergarten

The summer passed. It was nothing like the trials of past years. My kids were Three and Five. We had adventures. We went to the pool. We flew to New York. We played in the sun.

September arrived, and with it came Kindergarten. Jude is enrolled in our neighborhood school. And Ada - she's a big girl now. Pre-school. Moving up in the world.

I am still the Dad. There is less to be in charge of now. I no longer need to own the schedule. It is already set for us. I make the lunches. I take the kids to school. I volunteer on my volunteer days. I meet the bus. I help with homework. I cook dinner. I put kids to bed.

There is more quiet. After school there is down time. In the mornings Ada is waking to a house with no brother. Now she can choose her own activities, her own level of stimulation. She is learning what to do with this freedom. But she misses him. Jude is tired after school. He loses his temper. Sometimes he cries about small things. We give him lots of space and love and chances.

This is really a post about Jude and Kindergarten.

The Cornett and Company moved to this neighborhood because we liked the school. It is a short drive over the hill to downtown, an easy commute out to Linden's work, and the neighborhood has a pleasant, suburban feel. There are fields. There are trees. And there is a nice public school in the middle. It's not flashy. There are no mansions around. It's just a good solid little school.

Let me insert here that we are public school people. We are both products of public school, and we carry the scars to prove it. The beauty of a public school is that it supports your community while teaching lessons about coping with an imperfect world. There were good years and bad years, good teachers and bad teachers. I am a public school teacher. So we did not balk at this next step. We rolled the dice, hoped for the best, and sent our boy off for some education.

After four years of preschool, this was a big change. We have very little contact with classroom or curriculum. Most of what we hear comes from Jude's mouth, and so far there is a lot to report. We are lucky that Jude has an excellent teacher. She is strict, but fair. She sets rules and boundaries (which Jude just loves) and she keeps him engaged with a fairly high expectation of academics. He's learning to read and write. They do math projects. He has a journal. There is science, culture, and academics worked into everything. And three recesses a day to burn off the jitters. This is not your parents' Kindergarten. It is quality instruction. And Judey likes it.

There were some problems, early on. Boys need to work out a pecking order, and this was definitely going on the first week. Somebody tried to kick somebody. Somebody else got kicked in the throat. Somebody had to go see the Principal. And then things seemed to get better.

Every morning Jude is excited to go to school. We wake up, pack lunches, get dressed, eat breakfast, and head out on the scooter for the downhill trip to school. I drop him off in the crowded cafeteria and he yells BYE DAD, I LOVE YOU and gives me a hug. I leave him there and walk home, uphill with the scooter. It makes for a lovely morning. At 2:30 in the afternoon, Jude gets off the bus a short walk up the hill. I am there every day to meet him. These are nice rituals.

Meet the new blog, same as the old blog

The Daddy Life has been quiet this summer. The entire world of the blog universe seems to be changing. And the Internet is changing along with it. Last July Google discontinued its popular Reader app, to the shaking and scratching of heads. Why remove a tool that is used to connect people to each other?  I chose not to move my information, and it was lost to the ether. I guess I was wondering, what will happen next?

It is clear to me this morning that the Internet companies of Yahoo, Google, Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter are all vying for me to build a newer, sharier, flashier online community out of the ashes of the blogosphere. And now it couldn't be easier to LOG IN WITH YOUR FACEBOOK PASSWORD? on any number of sites. Not sure how I feel about any of this. But I woke up this morning feeling remiss in my duties as a daddy blogger. It is not for my friends, or far off family, or even my online "community" of peers. I have missed documenting the trials of the Daddy Life.

This place is essentially on online journal. I don't scrapbook, I don't really Facebook, and I don't make photo albums. It is here that I am recording the experience of parenting, for myself and for posterity. When I am an old man I will read these words. So I had better get writing again.

The Ever-Changing Daddy Life

The past year brought so many changes that it is hard to cast back and find the center.

I have been pretty quiet over here about the rigors of the stay-at-home daddy life. Having kids at 4 and 2 was not any less challenging, but it was more manageable. And more satisfying, I think.  

A year ago we moved into the Cornett Compound. The move nearly killed us, and we swore not to move again for 20 years. Make that 19 years, now. We were lucky to find and buy our dream house on a flat-ish lot in the West Hills. The move allowed us all to grow a little, into our new space.

I love it here. We are set back from the street with a long driveway, plenty of woods, tall trees, a small yard, and room to run. I have a big shop that is mostly filled with bikes and skis and lawn chairs. But my personal happiness was not the only reason for this big move. We needed the space and the privacy to deal with another problem that was rapidly taking over our lives.

My boy is a monkey

This is a post about Sensory Processing Disorder, or living with too much stimulation. It has been overdue for some time, but I will try to make some sense of the world we live in. Maybe it will help my three readers in the raising of their own maniacs someday.  I am talking about Jude, my sweet little baby boy who is now 4 and ½ but he looks like he’s 6 (as he’ll tell you). He is a mad web of complexities that gives me both pride and cause to cringe, every single day.

A Summary of Jude

Jude dressed for the Pool

We have always known that Jude was a little different from other kids, but had no frame of reference. He was our first child, so we loved him, and parented him, and fed him, and raised him like everyone does, as best you can. A couple of things stand out about Jude. 

First, he is BIG. He really is solid, and really does look like he’s six. This is a source of pride at first, and then a problem in the real world. Other parents treat him like he should know better. And sometimes he should.  Second, he is independent (and willful). I love this about him, and as a parent I have consciously fostered it (within reason). You want to do the dishes? Great. You want to put on your own clothes? No problem. You want to climb on the mossy shake roof? Sorry, Judey.  Which brings me to a third standout:  he has great balance. The kid seems absolutely fearless, but then I’ve noticed that it is because he is also very careful. He almost never falls. He climbs, swings, dances over playgrounds, cars, ropes, or whatever. It’s enviable, even in a four year old. I would also say that Jude is very smart. He is good with words and numbers, and very interested in the world. He can be socially very engaging, but also demonstrates very antisocial behaviors by crashing around his body into other kids. This all makes for a pretty good puzzle, and I will add one more piece. Jude experiences extreme highs and lows in life. At moments he is nothing but pure joy, and at the other end he is crying and screaming and ANGRY. All of this will someday translate into personality and character. For now, we just call it CHALLENGING. 

Are you feeling frustrated?

Last year Jude was three, and it was in the context of our co-op preschool that it became evident there might be a problem. We had a few plane flights that were terrible. One day Jude tried to run through airport security (thank God he was unarmed). Getting in and out of the car was a daily challenge. I have carried him, screaming, out of too many perfectly nice parties.  Jude would get worked up, and start spinning out of control. Crying, lashing out, yelling, running away, falling on the floor. A real Jude tantrum is a thing to behold, and not fun at all. The best way I can describe it would be the word SAVAGE. On more than one occasion, old ladies on the street have been convinced that Jude’s rage was a desperate attempt to escape from his abusive father. They were very well intentioned, I am sure. These were red flags.

Sensory Processing Disorder

The very experienced teachers at Jude’s school kindly helped us to see that our reality was not what MOST parents know about. They directed us to hear a speaker about Sensory Processing Disorder, and encouraged us to try making Jude an appointment with an Occupational Therapist. As we studied SPD, it became clear that this might be a key to unlocking some of our problems.

What is this Sensory Processing thing? I can best describe it as a window to look at sensory experience. As we learn more about brain function, it has become clear that some children need certain inputs to help them grow up in a healthy way. As adults, we all find ways to modulate the stimulation in our lives. Some children need our help to do this. The experts talk about something called the “Sensory Diet.” It is not so much about food, but about regulating the stimulating experiences to a manageable level. Maybe this is the latest fad in pediatric psychology, but all I can say is that IT WORKS.

The biggest convincing factor came when I realized that I was already managing our lives around Jude’s sensory experience. Were we going to a party that evening? Better get to the pool in the afternoon. Did Jude spend the day at co-op preschool? Let him cool down for a few hours before another activity. Should I run some quick errands with three stops out of the car? Not on your life.

Last fall we began Occupational Therapy at a local clinic where they specialize in managing Sensory Processing Disorders, or SPD. It helped us to know that a number of other children in our pre-school community have also pursued this kind of treatment.   The very calm and knowledgeable Teacher Kristin met with Jude once a week for the past 6 months. She began with a short evaluation, and then moved to a combination of focused tasks and structured physical activities. Jude loves going there. He gets one-on-one time with an attentive adult, and she provides him with challenges that he can complete. 

The OT has also passed to us a number of strategies that have made a tremendous difference in our home life.  Let me give some examples.

The Crazy Chart

Schedules. We noticed that Kristin relied heavily on the use of quick-sketched, pictorial schedules to alert Jude to transitions. We adopted these at home to great effect. I’m a little embarrassed that I never tried the schedules on my own – I am a special ed teacher for gawds sakes. But sometimes it takes a look in from the outside to make things clear.

Stimulation. Kristin and Jude developed a number system and scale for describing his level of frustration. Jude once referred to it as his Crazy Chart. Now when he’s getting frustrated, we ask him, “Jude, what number are you?” It works as a self-awareness tool. Of course he has made up many more numbers to describe varying states of being.

Modulation. This is really about modulating stimulation or energy levels. When Jude is heightened, he needs activity, or challenges, or any of several other calming activities. Jumping, wheelbarrows, climbing on the car, spinning and swinging; these all work to serve this goal of giving Jude a better internal locus of control. Blowing through a straw. Sucking on a lollipop. The list goes on and on.  

Daily Brushing

Schedules

Intervention. We experimented with a couple of different home program tools. One was something called brushing that is basically used to “wake up” Jude’s body and alert him to stimulation. Another tool is something called Therapeutic Listening, which works to build connections in the brain through specialized music. I was skeptical of these things, but they seemed to help!

Color-Coded Transitions. This one was invented by our boy, and we adopted it for use with any time-sensitive transition. Some parents can just say, “Elroy, two minutes!” and then Elroy runs dutifully to the car. That was not remotely working for us. The system described below is just quirky enough and just repetitive enough to satisfy Dad, kids, and everyone else.

It all began with Code Green. 5 minutes to go. This was a good baseline.

But then eventually Code Green was not enough time, so we invented Code Pink. 7 minutes.

Don’t forget about Code White. More than 7 minutes, up to infinity minutes.

Where were we? Oh, yeah. Code Yellow actually means Time to Go, but I give it at 2 minutes.

One minute? Code Orange.

And finally, CODE RED - Red means Run. Technically it means one minute, but actually it was so named because it was at this point that Dad was seeing red, and definitely Out of Patience. We try very hard not to get to Code Red.

I know this all seems so silly, but if I want a smooth transition, then giving appropriate codes at White, Pink, Green, Yellow, and Orange works every time.

Days in the Life

Our life is much improved over the experience we were having just one year back.  MAYBE, that is just maturity and time, MAYBE we are all just getting more comfortable in our family life.  It is certainly true that Jude’s behavior got much better last summer when we started swimming every day. For a long time, we had been held hostage over Jude’s whims and needs. That is no longer the case. I have barely mentioned Ada in this post. She is coming into her own as a happy, healthy, almost-three-year old. It is a pleasure to see.

I am sure it helps for us all to have more room to do our work and build our skills.  If somebody needs to be angry and run away for a few minutes, it is entirely okay to go down to the creek and break sticks.  Dad goes to the backyard and splits wood. Ada climbs the tree. Linden goes for a walk. And Jude is still learning the things he needs to learn about self-control, caring for others, and building self-esteem. But we’re getting there. Ever onward.

Ada doing an Ada Dance

Safety goggles are all the rage at our house.

Our general take on SPD is that Occupational Therapy can’t hurt us reach our goal – for Jude to engage with the world in a healthy and meaningful way. It is a few short months until the end of co-op. Then comes summer time, followed by the beginning of Kindergarten.

The Daddy Life began as an experiment to see if I could handle being a stay-at-home parent. To see if my restlessness and my identity could weather the storms of raising two babies into kids. Something changed in the last year that helped me answer that question. I love what I’m doing. This is my life. Someone asked me recently if this situation was temporary. I thought back on the nearly 5 years I have been home from work and answered without thinking twice. “It is temporary. And it’s going to be temporary for about 5 more years.”

You could almost call it fleeting. Managing my family is the best job I’ve ever had. I haven’t been writing much because I’ve been WORKING. But the reflection is good for me. Thanks for reading!

Peace and Love from the Daddy Life! 

Summer Adventures

Back from vacation, our summer adventures continue. This is where the Daddy Life earns his chops - a summer of long days and nothing on the schedule. File these ones under: things I should never forget.

Making pancakes on Mom's first day back at work.




Exploring our new love for tying knots.

Helping Dad with the splitting and stacking. 

Two big kids crammed into the bike trailer. 

July in New York

We just completed a three week vacation across the country to visit the grandparents in New York. The flights were hard. I get little or no exercise. The children are sometimes intractable. But my takeaway this morning, after 6 hours sleep? I love this trip. And the kids love it too. What a great way to build our family memories and future adventures!

We split our time between Long Island, Baekeland Camp in the Adirondacks, and this year we added New Jersey to see Auntie Margaret and her new husband. We also slipped out to the Hamptons for a beautiful weekend with some of Linden's robust cousins. 

I rigged a sailboat one day and actually got up the nerve to sail! But generally, vacation does not afford the Daddy such luxuries. The kids take attention, and work, supervision, energy, etc. It's pretty similar to my job at home, except that Linden was around 24/7. And Ama is a huge help. We mostly just increased our family time together. 

The kids played together, of course. But they also found time away from each other, building relationships with family members and pursuing their own interests. Jude made a great friendship with his cousin Lukas while the two of them went off on a summer camp adventure. And Ada had a weekend alone with the grandparents!

I have a some final thoughts that prompted me to post. Before our trip, I could not predict how this vacation would play out. The kids have been scattered, dissatisfied, and a little difficult. I think I was surprised by their resiliency and bravery in the face of new challenges. Jude learned to dive from a diving board, paddle a canoe, make friends, conquer fears, and ride on a tube behind a boat. Ada learned to eat clams ("too tasty!"), swim on her own, ride in a boat, sleep in a hotel room, and make loon calls. 

We had fantastic weather, good fortune, and great food. I am happy to be home. But this year I did not allow my own restlessness get in the way of a good vacation. 

An Open Letter to the Cooperative Preschool, or How I Killed the Chick

Greetings, all. The following is a long winded explanation of my recent failure with the preschool chick. 

I’ve spent the better part of four years now juggling the happiness of my small children. There are so many little joys along the way; those moments that light a child’s face and also light a fire in your own heart. These pieces of magic, this fire, these sparkling eyes; even these are not enough to keep a person happy and settled. There is a delicate balance of self, a personal division between the child and caregiver. It is a juggling act I have not mastered, only watched in amazement.

For this reason, my hat is off to the preschool moms that I watch every day, balancing the emotional lives of their children with rigors of everyday life. I think most of them even take showers before coming in. I have made this comment many times – I find working with other parents in our co-op setting very humbling, because they seem to remain such effective and focused people.  

I never consider what our life might be like without the Co-op Preschool. Not that I take it for granted, but it was a gut decision. The boy was six months old, and I thought to myself, “Maybe we should find someplace for him to GO and DO and BE around other kids?” I had tried the Parks and Rec, the Library groups, the Stay-at-home-Dad meetups, but I felt that my child needed something with more genuine interaction. And so, one February we went to the Co-op open house. Jude was six months old, and started when he turned one. I always say that we found Co-op, but the Co-op really found us.

But back to the reality at hand. We have had a lot of change in the Cornett household this year. We moved houses, the children are growing and changing, and our parenting is changing too. I’ve got to keep ahead of these guys. Last week at the Library a woman observed my children for awhile and then remarked to me in a stern voice, “Your children are really very smart. You’re going to need to challenge them.” It was a warning, not a compliment.

This is something else to love about our co-op preschool community. No one would ever say this to me. There is no measurement, or ridiculous pressure about kindergarten preparation. It is also true that no one would point out when one of my children is at one end of the bell curve for his tantrums, his rough play, or his reluctance to wash his hands. As one parent said to me, “It’s just not very Co-op.” I think it is in this setting that I have finally understood the word community. It means accepting everyone at exactly where they’re at. It’s like understanding that the world is a varied and diverse place.

My children do have a unique set of needs for their development. Linden and I study, and consider, and try new things to build confidence and growth for our little ones. Last winter we ran across an idea in a Positive Parenting book about building “an increased sense of significance.” I can’t tell you what changes this phrase has brought about. It turns out that much of Jude’s misbehavior can be circumvented by giving him opportunities to DO and BE things by himself. Put on his own clothes. Make his own breakfast. Plant his own seeds. And then the next and logical step is that he is interested in doing things for OTHERS. The kid is honestly very helpful. He sets the table, carries the laundry, chops the carrots. He is increasingly assisting in the care of his sister. When Ada’s two-year-old stubbornness begins to arise, I can always count on Jude to explain to her why she has to wear a jacket today.  

We don’t have any pets in our house, but this spring has begun the year of the chicken. Grandma has a nice place in Vancouver, Washington, and she has been considering chickens for some time now. Several forces have been converging to make this happen. And then the preschool got their eggs in the incubator. Marcia said they needed a home, and I thought they might be added to the yet-to-be-started  Grandma flock. Only three chicks hatched. We offered to take them.

Last month I began building a coop in Grandma’s backyard. I did some research, cleared some space, bought some materials, and got after it. I’m really not much of a carpenter, but I do like a good project. Construction gives me a sense of accomplishment, and so I began to build a first-rate chicken house. Grandma got her own small flock of 8 chicks, which were far too stinky to be kept in the living room so they were soon relegated to the garage with some lamps on them. Jude was in charge of counting them, several times a day. With Grandma’s eight and Co-op’s three, the total would be ELEVEN. “Dad, what’s eight plus three?” ELEVEN.  

I thought this would be one of the things that gave Jude and Ada a sense of importance. The chicks were coming HOME with us. We were going to bring them to Grandma’s house and watch them grow and feel that connection to our co-op community, the backyard chicken coop and the eggs on the table. My kids were excited. But then Riley’s family is moving to a house with an actual chicken coop, not one that I am building on Fridays. [ I worried about this, but only in the sense that my children would be disappointed. I should have been worried about the weak ones here. I should have been worried about the chicks.]  At any rate, I came up with a compromise; we would take ONE chick up to Grandma’s house. Riley could take the remaining TWO chicks home to his own house. Jude had only one requirement. He wanted THE ONE WITH THE SHARPEST CLAWS. Eight plus one is NINE.

Last Thursday was the Day of the Chick. It was also the day I came down with a raging 24-hour stomach flu that kept me up all night and calling for shift coverage in the morning. I dragged myself and the kids to school for Bike Day, and then crawled back home to sleep off the morning. I made sure to wake up in time to do a few small tasks of CHICK PREPARATION before returning to school for the kids. I found a box. I filled the bottom with newspaper and yard debris dirt. Then I went to the garage and pulled down my shop lights with aluminum reflectors. I fitted them with 100 watt bulbs to keep our little chick friend nice and warm. And then I went off to school. I might have had a mild fever. Chicken fever.

I felt a pang of guilt on the day that we removed this little chick from her sisters. I couldn’t get a hold of her, and one of the shift Dads had to do it for me. She CHEEPED loudly and nestled in to the little box for warmth. We got a little cup of chick food and put it in the box. She tried to flap up and out, but we covered her with Jude’s warm coat and loaded her into the car. Jude wanted to play on the grass, but I warned him that we had a RESPONSIBILITY to get the chick home, set up in the house where she would be WARM. He agreed, and we raced home, making chick sounds in the car, all four of us, and giggling.

Home to our new house, we found a spot for little chick in the living room. Let me say here that the plan was to keep our little chick for ONE NIGHT, and then deliver the chick to Grandma’s house first thing on Friday. Jude and Ada helped me prepare the spot. We found an extension cord and plugged in our lights, but the chick kept CHEEPING and JUMPING so we covered the box with various materials to keep her from running around the living room. I was concerned that she would be too cold, without the body heat from her chicken sisters. Eventually, we settled on covering the box, and lights, with a blanket. This was not my finest hour. Jude sat down in front of a show, and I packed Ada off to her room for a nap. I returned fifteen minutes later to check on the chick. There was no more CHEEP CHEEP CHEEP coming from the box.   

It was this moment that I realized something about parenting. It is not for cowards. When you start bringing home baby chicks, it means we’ve moved up from the minor leagues and into the big game. We’re talking about life and death now, with winners and losers, joys of victory and real tragedy. We’re talking about dreams lost and rebuilt, the buoyancy of life, and the thrill of the game. This is suddenly a very different level of play.

Jude was in the room, and wanted to see, so we both examined what remained of the chick. She was dead, and there was nothing to do but give her a short funeral in the backyard. Jude came out for this warily, but I dug the hole and we said nice things about her and how sorry that it didn’t work out and next time we’ll be more careful with little animals. We also made sure to point out that it was an accident, and all Dad’s fault, and that it was okay to be sad, and that we’d have to tell Grandma that we weren’t bringing her a chick after all. Eight plus zero equals eight. “Now can I go back to watching Wild Kratts, Dad?”

There is no question that I am having a hard time with this. There was something about the sudden and surprising death of this little creature that brings to mind the fragile and innocent lives of my own children. Every day I am charged with the health, hygiene, activity, and upbringing of the Jude Chicken and the Ada Chicken. Some days I feel woefully unprepared for this task.

It is with my deepest regrets that I report this story to you, my co-op community and friends. Maybe I’m being overly dramatic, or self-centered, or just silly. I know that you all respect and support me, and will probably not call me “Chicken-Killer”, at least to my face. The accidental death of one of the pre-school chicks [THE ONE WITH THE SHARPEST CLAWS] does not reflect on my parenting, or my commitment to our children, or our community. Writing this letter to all of you has given me some chance to deal with my own chicken guilt. Needless to say, I am very, very sorry about what happened. Please accept this ridiculously long letter as my sincere apology.

Let me just conclude with this. To those of you families with outgoing pre-schoolers – it has been an absolute pleasure to be parents with you in our cooperative setting. To our teachers, thank you thank you thank you for inspiring my children to learn new things about the world and themselves. And to the rest of you, it looks like you’re stuck with me for the next few years of cooperative parenting, child rearing, and animal husbandry. 

- Daddy Ben

Spring Showers, 2012 Edition

Alternative title: When It Rains, It Pours.

I have a bad habit of taking pictures of myself like this at weddings. Just thought I'd share my current self portrait. It seems like a fitting picture for this Daddy Life post - a bit of an update, rehash, but also a self examination of where I'm at this spring as the Life rolls every onward!

April Showers

It was a busy month. Sometimes living this Life means exotic travel to faraway places like the Jersey Shore and the Atlanta Airport. We took the kids on vacation to Florida to see their great-grandmother and learn to swim in her pool. Success on both fronts. Following this, Margaret and Rich had a fantastic wedding in the Garden State, and we did our job by getting no sleep and missing our children. A win win!  

Fatherhood

What have I learned about my children this spring? I've struggled with this one thought that keeps pestering me. I love to take my kids out into the world and show them things. And they are happier staying home. This isn't always true, but I have learned to temper my ambitions for adventures and action. Children really are creatures of habit, right? How do I reconcile this?  By providing BOTH the routine and comfort of home with the spice and challenge of adventure. And then I have to remember something else. When everyone is crying, uncomfortable, fighting, whining, hungry, and willful, I MIGHT NOT BE HAVING A VERY GOOD TIME. But chances are, they won't remember it that way. 

I see my role as that of the shepherd. My job is to shepherd everyone along, give them food and clothes and opportunities for challenge, and expression, and building self-esteem, and becoming people. I do this for Linden, too, in a different way. I shepherd her along, a little less willingly (on my part), but I send her on her way with a few things she needs to keep the flock together. This is the essence of the Daddy Life. We don't all have to get everything we need, but we all have to have some of what we need. Or the whole thing falls apart. Ezekiel 25:17. I'm trying. I'm trying real hard here, Ringo.

Old House, New House

The new house off of Patton Road in SW Portland has been dubbed NEW HOUSE, by the kids. I don't think they remember much about OLD HOUSE, but it doesn't matter because we sold OLD HOUSE, aka FAIRVIEW to a nice young couple this month. Not a moment too soon. 

The kids are exploding to fill the space of New House, into the garden with watering cans, upstairs and downstairs, all over the driveway, and into the creek. They love it here, and I love it here. The weather turned to beautiful this week, and we throw open the doors and spill out into the outdoors. Two raccoons came with the house, and I can't tell if they are residents or just neighbors. The landscaping is blooming, the weeds are growing, the garden is sprouting, and I bought a lawnmower. Twenty years we'll be in this house. Nineteen and two thirds to go. 

Obsessions

• My running continues, somewhere between not enough and too much. I've been training for a one mile race, which is TODAY. Wish me luck!  I'm hoping to run under 5 minutes. The real goal is to continue running without injury.
• My weight is up, and the liquor cabinet is looking empty. These might be related, but I think it has more to do a lifestyle in which I am home all the time, therefore I cook large meals for my family, therefore I eat these meals several times a day. It's a glutton's dream come true. 
• The New House has afforded many more opportunities for small house projects, and I have developed a new strategy for productivity. Fifteen minutes. Anything I can do in fifteen minutes is fair game, during the child-caring hours. Which usually means anytime during the day. You'd be surprised what happens when you chunk up a project into small pieces.
• Chickens. The HOA in our new neighborhood specifically forbids poultry. But my mother is a lukewarm enthusiast of backyard chicken raising. It seems like forces are converging to make a small flock of chickens appear at her house on Salmon Creek sometime next month. So I've undertaken the  design and construction of a small coop for her. Any advice is much appreciated. 

Life Philosophy

I think I'm moving from a philosophy that valued peak experiences into something more serene. Does this just come with age? I seem to need less of the heights and troughs, and more of the daily joys that come along with living the Daddy Life. Lord knows there is enough drama around here. 

All the best to you, my three readers!  Keep on keeping it on! 

The Truth Comes Out

Jude: Mom, are you going to take a shower?

Mom: Yes, I have to take a shower before I go to work.

Jude: But Dad never takes showers!  He just sticks his head under the water for a minute so his hair isn't stupid.

Proof is in the Potty

Jude turned three-and-a-half last month, and it feels like a light switched on. It was right around the time of what I am hopefully going to call the LAST TANTRUM. The tantrum to end all tantrums. And let me tell you it was a snot-slinging, fist swinging, kid screaming doozy. Of course we were at a friend's party, and I carried him out howling. A very nice woman out walking her dog offered to called child protective services.

We had gotten a little lazy over here at the Daddy Life, and forgotten what was possible. And then, shortly after this last gasp of desperate unreasonableness, Jude was potty trained.

"Potty training" doesn't seem like the right term here. We just let him wear underwear on days he wasn't at school, and then reminded him to go. I think Nini probably started it over a weekend visit. He had one accident, and then that was it. We got him brand new underwear, of course, which he loved, of course, just like in the books we've been reading to him for the better part of TWO YEARS. But we never pushed it - that was our plan. Jude is a stubborn little guy, and he does things on his own time. 

But that is not all, oh no, that is not all.

I was frustrated by some of Jude's recent behavior, but also frustrated by my own parenting. It was starting to seem like I spent more time threatening and complaining than guiding and supporting.  This led me to pick up a book, Positive Discipline by Jane Nelsen. I was reading it one day to Jude, mostly as a joke. "It says here that I should not be dressing my children after the age of 2," I reported. "It empowers them to greater feelings of significance." It dawned on me that I spend a good 10 minutes every morning trying to get clothes on this boy, but abruptly dismissed the thought.

The next day Jude announced that he would be putting on his own clothes. Pants, socks, shirt, jacket, everything. All in one day. And now the wardrobe changes are coming fast and furious. One night we had a party, and Jude changed clothes 5 times, to the amusement of our guests. I absolutely love it. A greater feeling of significance, indeed. 

So, tantrums, potty trained, and dressing himself, all in the last month. I'm starting to feel pretty good at my job around here - although, it sounds like Nini had a lot to do with it.

HOW TO POTTY TRAIN, an interview with Jude

Liar Liar Pants on Fire

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

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

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.