Two For Flinching

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

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

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

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

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!

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

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?