Growing Up With The Kids

2012-01-12T12:49:00.000-05:00

It was in fairy-stories that I first divined the potency of the words, and the wonder of the things, such as stone, and wood, and iron; tree and grass; house and fire; bread and wine.--Tolkien

(Edit: This is a reposting from another blog I was writing.)
Tomorrow is Hobbit Day, September 22nd. It is celebrated by many Lord of the Rings fans, because it is the birthday of both Bilbo Baggins and Frodo Baggins. (Tolkien scholars, argue that it ought to be about 10 days earlier, because the Gregorian Calendar and the calendar of the hobbits do not quite match.)

Fans celebrate the day in their own ways. For me, I like to begin rereading the book on this day. I do it every year. This year, I'm also going to do watch the extended versions of the film.

Why do I do this every year?

Lord of the Rings forever changed the course of my life. In many ways, it is the reason I have faith in God. When I was 13 years old, I struggled through the book for the first time. I nearly gave up during The Fellowship of the Ring, because the story begins by lingering on birthday parties and the blissfully naive inhabitants of the Shire; and then there is so much attention to detail of each hill and valley, flower and tree, and many references to historical figures of the world, and so much poetry. But, I endeavored into the Mines of Moria, felt the crush of loss when Gandalf died and then stepped into fairy-country, Lothlorien. My wounds, like the wounds of the characters were healed, and I first felt the stirrings of wonder.

I no longer struggled to read the book, I couldn't stop. I had become immersed in the world. When the last page was completed, I cried. Even at 13 years old I knew that I had been part of something special. I didn't just read a good book, I had entered into a fairy-story and one does not leave the realm unchanged.

I looked upon trees with a new found respect and perhaps even a reverence. On car rides, I would look upon a woods and try to determine if it was an ancient woods, like that of Fangorn, a magical wood like that of Lorien, or something more sinister, like that of Mirkwood or The Old Forest.

What I remember most about reading the book for the first time and for a time after was that it was a time of true Joy. There was an intense happiness that was fleshy and wholly of this world, I felt both a more solid part of the this world, and as if I had been let in on a secret of the truly privileged. The secret though, was bittersweet. I had glimpsed what at the time I could only call Heaven, I was certain that in Heaven I would have eternity to walk through middle-earth and meet the many characters of its world, it felt like I had really come home, but each day that passed the feeling of being at home lessened and I yearned for it more. Until, one day all that was left was a memory of having at one time felt at home.

C.S. Lewis described the sensation as Sehnsucht, an inconsolable longing, a memory for a far-off country-a place we all seem to know, but can't recall. I feel that memory was real, Middle Earth may be Tolkien's creating, but in his creation, he awakened memories of something wonderful. I mean that both as something exquisite and as something full of wonder and fantastic things. It was that moment of Sehnsucht, that would not go away, in college I wanted to feel smart and so I scoffed at people of faith and tried my hardest to be athiest, but I could never quite commit, because of a memory I had of a far-off country.

What Lord of the Rings did for me, is exactly what a good fairy-story should do, according to Tolkien. In his essay, "On Fairy Stories," Tolkien, tired of people postulating that fairy-tales were for kids and of lesser merit than other forms of literature, described what a good fairy-story does:

Creates a secondary-world that both the creator and reader can enter.
It offers a recovery of our senses--it helps us protect us from looking at the world with triteness
It provides a temporary escape from industrialization
It offers consolation--in other words it has a happy ending and provides us hope.

I have found and continue to find all of Tolkien's criteria of a good fairy story in his own work. This is the main reason each year I return to the books. I know enough now, that I probably will not experience Sehnsucht from the rereading. As Lewis describes, the harder one tries to capture the feeling the less likely one is to find it; however, every year find new appreciation for the story and I receive the benefits of escape, recovery, and consolation.

I believe these are important aspects of a quality life and so I do not feel guilty for spending a day in front of the television watching eleven hours and 21 minutes of film, once a year. I don't feel bad for setting aside other books I might want to read, to reread this one. I revel in the frivolity of celebrating the birthdays of Bilbo and Frodo. Recreation or re-creation is considered an important part of a quality life according to Aristotle as well, who knows. If he had read Lord of the Rings he might have had a little hobbit day tradition too.

The Meaning of Life?

2012-01-09T12:45:00.000-05:00

What is the meaning of life?

Is it as Douglas Adam's suggests?

Perhaps the answer in Monty Python's The Meaning of Life sounds more appropriate:

"Try and be nice to people, avoid eating fat, read a good book every now and then, get some walking in, and try and live together in peace and harmony with people of all creeds and nations."

Or, maybe Nietzsche has it pegged--there is no meaning...

I'm not really looking to solve the answer to the big question in this post. I will say, that I certainly hope Nietzsche isn't right. I tried being a Nihilist once, this dude didn't care for it.

Some might argue, that asking if there is a meaning to life is a pointless endeavor. We all die. Our best laid plans get wiped out for no apparent reason. Fragility is brutal, it makes one want to ask, "why bother?" Such questions come readily to mind during set backs and time's of tragedy. It is an ever running theme in the midst of depression. What is the point in trying to live a meaningful life? Why search for happiness if a chemical imbalance, an injury, or an uncaring force of nature can take it all away?

I continue to ask the question for one reason only, "I have hope." Hope in a purpose, both in this life and for an afterlife. I have hope that I can have some say in the events of my life and the choices I make can lead to a quality life.

Is a quality of life possible?

Is there meaning?

Can we choose happiness?

I'm going to start my quest for capturing lightning in a bottle by acting as if all three questions can be answered with a "yes."

During the course of my quest I will be reading and studying a variety of thinkers that have attempted to answer these questions. Perhaps, in the exploration I will find patterns that hint at Truth. I plan on looking at philosophers, psychologists, theologists, and anyone else that find that seems to have put some thought into these questions at first only summarizing the main points, as my knowledge of the ideas grows and I feel I have enough information I will move to evaluating the ideas put forth and possibly putting some of them into practice or dismiss them if they seem ineffective or contrary to my goals.

Small Victories

2012-01-06T12:43:00.000-05:00

“Victory is won not in miles but in inches. Win a little now, hold your ground, and later, win a little more.” ~Louis L'Armour

Self-improvement can be a daunting task, especially in the midst of depression. I look at all the self-improvement gurus filling the book shelves of the local book store, I see the vast number of blogs and websites devoted to self-improvement projects. The experts come from a myriad of backgrounds--some had the advantage of being driven and disciplined from the get go and they simply share what works for them, others had to hit rock bottom and crawl their way to the top. I'm in the latter category.

If you were to take a snap shot of my life right now, you might rule me out as a failure. I'm ~~overweight~~ obese. I'm on medications for depression and anxiety. I'm unemployed. Yet, I am comfortable talking about and sharing self-improvement with anyone that will listen.

Why?

Self-improvement/lifestyle change is all about the small victories. Small victories can win battles over time. The key is recognizing when you have gained ground and understand that now you have to hold it.

This is where I place myself in the picture, three months ago I was drowning in depression. The slightest interruption to my day could bury me. I felt so fragile, so completely helpless. I once started out a day with the ambition to clean house only to discover that we were out of garbage bags, it was as if someone had knocked on my door, pointed to a body in the road and asked me, "Is that your dog?" Instead of getting in the car and going to the store for more bags, I spent the rest of the day laying on the couch, wondering how I was going to make it until bedtime.

Between then and now many battles have been waged, I've won more than I've lost. I steadily gain ground, even if on occasion I have had to give some.

I began my fighting back with a whimper. I said I felt fragile, nothing could describe the feeling more accurately. I loaded my iPod with new age music and meditations. I sought out the doctor and took, Xanax, Paxil, and Zoloft every day. I avoid confrontation and expectations and I began researching ways to overcome depression.

I have a background in education and I recalled Maslow's "Hierarchy of Needs". He basically says that before a person can move on to the higher levels of living-the needs of the body must be met first. This seemed to make sense, as most of the advice seemed to call for exercise. So this is where I began.

I waited for my medicine to kick in, took my iPod full of relaxing music and made my way to a local gym. I found a treadmill and started it on its lowest setting and I walked. The next day I did the same. And the next and the next. I had begun the battle, although I wouldn't have described it as such yet. I still hadn't discovered I had enemies. I felt more as if I was trying to remain afloat.

The thing about treadmills and calm music is that it allows your mind to wander. One day, my mind happened to wonder to ancient Greece. I had been thinking about an article I had read from a blog called Aristotle & Achilles, the author writes, in his about page, that we all have a little of Aristotle and a little of Achilles within us. I had been reading up on Aristotle, because I wanted to learn about "The Good Life". I was hoping to save myself through an understanding of the principals that wisdom would suggest leads to a quality life. I had not thought about Achilles or a warrior aspect.

Treading on that mill, I saw myself as a grey-haired prisoner. I philosopher locked away, whispering, "I know what the good life is, I just can't live it locked away in here." I wasn't alone though, not if I also had an Achilles within. Long ago, I had hidden my Achilles side a way. Achilles is brash, he says things that would get a person in trouble, hardly a person you would highlight as a figure of civility. In other words, I was embarrassed by the notion of being uncivil and had long ago abandoned aggressive thoughts. In return, when my personal internal enemies appeared, I was left to defend myself with nothing but a philosopher.

But, like any good hero, when I finally realized I needed him, he came to the rescue. My enemies were put at bay, the philosopher was set free and I realize I have a team of personas to help me live a quality life. One, a philosopher to help me peer into the questions of a higher matter, the other, a warrior, to kick ass whenever an enemy rears it's ugly head. And so the war has begun, and I continue to both gain ground when I can, and hold my own when needed.

Living with Depression

2012-01-02T12:41:00.000-05:00

For those that are fortunate enough to never experience chronic depression it may be difficult to understand why people choose anti-depressants or drugs to try and cope with the experience. People that hear you suffer from depression want to help; they offer great advice, like exercise more or get out and do something with other people.

It is true; these things help, but for someone suffering from depression an act like getting out of the house is more than a point a to point b action. The idea seems simple enough. Exercise will make you feel better. It is true; but, the struggle to get one’s self out the door or to the gym can sometimes seem insurmountable. It is like a pneumonia patient that needs antibiotics, the catch is the pneumonia patient first needs to make the antibiotics on their own.

Trying to describe depression is difficult, until we find a way to directly input emotions from one person to another, our best tool is metaphor. This is my attempt to describe it.

The Depression Trap

Imagine a person that in a freezing rectangular room. There room has two doors in it one on each far end of the rectangle. There is a large chasm in the middle of the room. The person is sitting on one side of the room and next to that person is one of the doors. This door leads to a fiery room, but it has no exit. The chasm lies between the person and the second door. This door leads to the outside world. People can come and go from it as they please. This includes the person in the freezing room, except the chasm in their path. On the same side of the chasm as the person there is a large box full of tools and parts of all sorts.

The room is freezing and the person trapped on the far side of the chasm would love to get to the other side and leave the freezing room. The person can see the exit and knows that in order to get out of the room they simply have to walk out the door on the other side. The problem is the chasm. There is no obvious way to cross it. The longer the person stays in the freezing room the worse it becomes. The cold leads to painful frost bite and hypothermia. They slow down, the desire to just fall asleep becomes overwhelming.

The person so desperately wants relief and assesses their options:

· Option 1: Find a way across the chasm and leave.

· Option 2: Go into the fiery room to warm up, even though it doesn’t offer escape and too long in the room will burn them up.

· Option 3: Lie down and accept they are trapped, hoping someone comes to rescue them.

· Option 4: Dive into the chasm so as not to prolong the pain.

Any sane person would argue that option 1 is the best option. The person in the room is a sane person too and obviously wants to follow option 1, but as the freeze continues to suck the life out of the person’s body the person becomes more desperate and the other options appear more and more rational.

Let’s say the person is still desires option 1. They look around and they find the box filled with tools and assorted parts. The box is labeled “For crossing chasms”. The person looks inside. There are gloves and all the tools and parts needed to assemble a bridge that would cross the chasm. Some people might quickly grab for the gloves to help alleviate the pain and protect from frost bite. Others might avoid them thinking the gloves will restrict their ability to manipulate the small parts needed to build the bridge. It is a tough choice, but one that has to be made. In either case, the person starts to build the bridge knowing the longer it takes the tougher it becomes.

Bridge building in such conditions is frustrating, some people give up, some decide to take a break and go to the fiery room, some never return, others do return, but find it harder and harder to return to the cold. Sometimes someone will come along from the outside and see the person struggling to get across the chasm. The best help comes from those that have been in the same position and can share how they build the bridge despite the freezing cold, others shout advice to what they think is an obvious solution, and unfortunately some don’t even see the chasm and simply wonder why the person doesn’t simple walk out the door like they do.

In the end, either the person finds a way to build the bridge on their own or they succumb to one of the other options. This is the world of depression. It is a freezing room with a chasm that a person must cross on their own if they want to enter the normal world.

Clarifying The Metaphor

The gloves represent anti-depressants. I still don't know where I stand with these. I am currently taking them. Only time will tell if they give me enough relief to build the bridge or if they actually muffle the senses too much and make it impossible to build. All I know, is right now I feel I need them, but I want to take them off as soon as possible.

Option 2 represents the relief offered by drugs and alcohol. I know that alcohol is often a welcome relief to my own pains (both physical and emotional), but I recognize that it is a temporary relief and not an escape and the more I enter that room the harder it is to leave, because the contrast between the heat and the cold of depression becomes even greater.

Option 3 is a temporary option, a sort of limbo before they finally give into one of the other options.

Option 4 is of course, suicide--the most permanent option that sadly some people choose. I have experienced options 2 and 3 and intend to never experience option 4. I am fortunate, I haven’t suffered the freeze long enough that I no longer consider option 1. I want to be one of those that crosses the chasm. This blog, is my attempt at building the bridge.

If you are like me and on this side of the chasm, perhaps we can work together and you will join me on this project. If you have crossed the chasm and have advice based on experience I welcome your wisdom. If you have never been on this side of the chasm, perhaps you know someone that is and reading about our experiences can help you better understand what others experience. I hope you join me as I make my way across the chasm.

Testing trackback

2007-06-25T09:20:00.000-04:00

testing a trackback at the site I regulary post at, stepfamily talk

Daddy's Boy

2007-06-14T10:42:00.000-04:00

Phew! The way things are going I didn't think I would ever get to write in here again. Seems like there has been a lot of drama in my life as of late and gosh darn it, I'm gonna vent and talk about the good things.

1. How long must a ceremony last before it is considered a solemn event? Is a one hour graduation ceremony really and less reverent and significant to a student body of less than a hundred students? I'm a teacher and it delights me to see my students graduate, especially knowing the trials and tribulations of some of the students that I have had the privilege to teach, but come on, three hours?

I'm not sure which was worse, the 20 minutes it took for each of the 80 some students to file into the gym-step, hold, hold, hold, step, hold, hold, hold, step... (you get the picture?) Or, was it the 25 minute long key speech that no one could here. I'm going to give the speaker the benefit of the doubt and assume he had some really wonderful words of wisdom that he was sharing, but with only being able to hear one string of words every two minutes, the effect was of listening to a drunken old man telling a story about back in his day when he is just at the edge of passing out. "You kids, murmur, grumble, mumble, blah, blah, blah, blah, mumble, grunt, snort, blah, blah, and another thing. blah, blah, blah...." (again, getting the picture) Or, maybe it half hour listing of every single scholarship the students received, or ...I don't know the back of my black cap had become exceedingly interesting at this point and I don't really know what happened after that.

2. Parents need to stop enabling failure in their kids. When a teacher calls up a parent and says, "your child is not performing and if this continues they will not be able to graduate." The parent ought to be asking how they can help. I have student trying to give me every excuse in the book for their child.

"If he's tired let him sleep all day. "

"He's hungry, let him leave in the middle of class and go to McDonald's he'll work better. "

"I thought your program is self-paced, so why are you picking on my daughter?"

Yes, mam, my program is self-paced, but that does require a pace and not stagnation. If your student sits six months in the program and is no closer to graduation than they were six months ago how do you think that is going to help them graduate. Showing your student that if they need to complete forty-four credits to graduate and they get only one every six months it will take them 22 years to meet those requirements hardly constitutes picking on a student. Unless, objective mathematical proofs have suddenly become offensive.

Okay, enough venting. Now for the good stuff. The picture of the tough guy above. That's Daddy's Boy, sorry Mom. I probably shouldn't let it inflate my ego, but in a room full of people, including Mom, Baby Boy needs to know where I'm at and needs to be held by me. Sometimes his zeal to hang out with Dad is a challenge, like when I'm trying to cook. If I'm standing in the kitchen, he has his arms wrapped around my leg and his head is tilted back and he cries until I pick him up. I usually try to carry him over to Mom, so she can hold him and I can get back to cooking, but he drops right out of her lap and comes back to me. It's not easy getting the meals done, but I love it and wouldn't want to change it.

We got to go to the zoo again last weekend. Baby Boy got to hang out with his cousins, Trey and The Princess. Trey is 6 months older, and is going to have the nickname whether my sister and her hubby like it or not, my father will see to it. The Princess is five and is going to be called that in this blog, because she loves her Disney princesses. The boys rode in Baby Boy's wagon throughout the trip and got along well. The Princess was a big girl and walked almost the whole way. The only time she didn't was when I asked her to keep an eye on her baby cousin. She only conceded to ride in the wagon as a favor to Baby Boy. I think the highlight of the trip was the butterfly exhibit. The zoo has a wonderful exhibit filled with butterflies. Trey tried climbing everything and anything that brought him closer to the butterflies. Baby Boy was most interested in digging in the dirt around the vegetation. The Princess showed remarkable patience and held still until a butterfly landed on her. She wasn't about to leave until one did.

A Kiss For Your Thoughts

2007-06-06T08:49:00.000-04:00

I don't get a chance to update this site as much as I would like, because I have a commitment to doing a daily update at step-family talk and I usually can't get any more than that post written before work starts. I am enjoying writing for the site as it gives me much of the same opportunities that this site offers. I get to write about being a father. I'm still trying to find my feet over there. I've been trying to figure out how I'm going to write five posts a week about step-parenting.

I've been doing lots of reading on the subject and the sad fact is, there isn't much advice out there. Truly I could some up almost all of it very quickly: The bioparent should do the disciplining, don't push to have your stepchildren call you mom or dad, establish a good relationhip as a friend and mentor-especially if they are older, authority can be earned, but only after a good deal of time, it takes time for children to come to terms with their bioparents separation, make your relationship with your spouse the first priority. OR...love your spouse, love your kids, and give everything lots of time. All of the advice and papers out there are just variations of when I listed above.

How many ways can you rewrite the above information? So, I started yesterday with what really amounts to a reflective journal that will hopefully become a year in the life of a stepdad. I think I and anyone that actually reads the posts will learn more by experience and reflection than by re-reading the same old regurgitated advice.

So, what does the above picture have to do with this post? I just like the picture. It was taken by Big Sis and it shows how much she loves her brother. And, I like Baby Boy's pose. I love how he isn't looking directly at the camera. He looks as if he is okay with the kiss, but there are more important things to be thinking about. And, it shows off his dimples.

2007-06-04T07:21:00.000-04:00

Big Sis, her friend, Baby Boy and I got to go to the zoo this weekend. Mom had to work. It was about 92 degrees and very humid, but it didn't stop anyone from enjoying the day.

We are fortunate to have the zoo so close. I bought a year pass, so that whenever I'm not sure what to do on the weekend I can always head to the zoo and not worry about the cost.

I was worried about staying for too long as the sun was quite relentless and I didn't want babyboy burning. I covered him with a kids spf 50 sunblock and applied it every hour. It seemed to work just fine, as long as I can get him to keep his hat on.

I'm not sure which animal was his favorite. He particularly liked the bears, even though they were off in the far distance. I think he recognized them from "Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?"

Off To Day Care

2007-05-31T13:47:00.000-04:00

It's hard to believe that Baby Boy is going to be in day care. For the first year of his life he has been at home with Mom during the day. But, Mom started a new job this week and for the time being Baby Boy has to go to the center. He handled it like a champ, much better than I did.

Mom and I have struggled to make ends meet, so that he could have a stay at home parent. Mom and both agree that the best thing we can give Baby Boy is a parent at home. But, Mom is ready to return to the work world.

Despite the recession here in Michigan, Mom found a job fairly quick and she is excited to be back in the adult world. We are hoping that Baby Boy's ventures into the world of day care is only a short trip and I will soon be able to be the stay at home parent. We can't do it at the moment because all of our benefits are wrapped up in my job. But soon I may have much more hands on experience in the world of parenting. Being a stay at home dad may be a little non-traditional, but look at the little guy, how could I pass up an opportunity to watch him grow and learn full time?

A Return to Civilization

2007-05-30T10:55:00.000-04:00

I am happy to announce that I returned to the home with both kids. I must be honest, before I left for the vacation I half expected that I would need to leave Big Sis UpNorth in order to preserve sanity. But, beyond my wildest hopes, the weekend went really well. Big Sis and I got along splendidly. We managed a four hour car ride up, we spent several hours fishing in a tiny boat, many more hours on the car ride home and did so without argument.

There were a couple of discipline issue that were difficult for me to turn aside, but I managed. The important thing for the weekend was to develop a friendship and not establish my authority. There were many topics brought up that instantly tripped one of my prerecorded lectures, but I prevented them from playing anywhere other than inside my head.

I was able to see the results of this weekend almost immediately. When Big Sis, Baby Boy and I returned home it didn't take long before Big Sis wanted to go on the computer and from there is was only a matter of time before Mom asked Big Sis to turn it off. Boom! The powder keg is ignited. Mom and Big Sis are at it, Big Sis doesn't get what she wants and throws the "Why" machine into high gear followed by many an "I hate you" and "Worst mother ever."

I stepped outside and did my best to not step in on mom's behalf. It is really hard for me to let the discipline fall on her shoulders, but now is not the time to be the disciplinarian with Big Sis. Here is the great thing that happened. Big Sis usually requires a long, calming period before she is willing to talk with anyone during these episodes. This time, she was willing to talk with me and separate me from the argument between her and Mom. I let her vent, and held off on my opinions. She currently thinks she is living under the most unbelievable strict rules and has the worst parents ever. She constantly asks to live somewhere else, though she knows she can't. But, her solution was different this time. Instead of talking about her leaving her suggestion was that Mom leaves.

It would be easy to read more into this than is really there. We have not come so far in this short time to be able to conclude that she accepts me as the parent and that she would be willing to live under my house and rules. I am pretty sure, that she didn't carry out what would be the real consequences of having her mother move out. But, I do believe that it shows she is separating me from the mean authoritarian she once saw me as and is able to separate me from the argument and her emotional reaction to the house rules.

How To Recognize a Michigander By Their Speech

2007-05-25T07:48:00.000-04:00

This weekend I will be taking Big Sis and Baby Boy "UpNorth". Any Michigander hearing that would get a mental image of large expanses of woods, water, and a scent of the great outdoors. "UpNorth" is as much a part of our local idiomatic expressions as: pop, lake effect, the thumb, the bridge, and opening day (refers to the first day of deer season not baseball).

(By the way if you live in Michigan you are a Michigander, not a Michiganer, Michiganite, or a Michiganian. A Michiganian refers to an alumni of U of M. Michigander was the demonym given to us by Abraham Lincoln when he was running for presidency against Lewis Cass, the governor of the Michigan territory.)

After a bit of a tangent, I will get to the point of this post. I had planned on having a barbecue this weekend for Memorial Day and hang out at home for the weekend--Mom has to work. But, Big Sis heard me mention that my mother and sister were heading UpNorth this weekend. Big Sis said she wanted to go too.

My first inclination was to say "no", because I had already made plans for the barbecue. But, then I realized that Big Sis was wanting to spend time with the family and I needed to take advantage of such opportunities. As I mentioned earlier, for the last couple of years I have taken the "Lay down the law" approach with her and she has been resistant to my authority. One of the main reasons for this is I haven't developed a bond of trust with her. How can she be expected to believe me when I tell her she needs to do something she doesn't want to do because it will be good for her, if I haven't given her a reason to trust that I have her best interest in mind?

It is for this reason that we will be heading UpNorth this weekend. I have been trying to prepare myself mentally. I have spent the last two years expecting certain behaviors from her, and I am quick to notice them. This weekend, I need to hold my tongue, unless something she is doing could bring her or somebody else harm. The weekend is all about getting along. This is often easier said than done.

First Haircut

2007-05-24T07:37:00.000-04:00

Yesterday Baby Boy got his first haircut. We held off on getting it cut until after his first birthday. Baby Boy get's the crazy curls going on just like I do if I let my hair grow too much. Strange how everyone, including myself, describes those wisps of curl as adorable. Why is wild and out of control hair on a baby cute, and on an adult it takes a genius like Einstein to pull it off? Cute as it might have been, I have to say, I think Baby Boy looks much better with his hair trimmed.

Future Linebacker

2007-05-23T09:47:00.000-04:00

To the left is an image of Baby Boy's favorite activity. He loves pushing things around. Doesn't really matter what it is: a box of diapers, a foot stool, walkers, toy cars, kitchen chairs, or his box of building blocks if he can push it he will.

Baby Boy has logged in many laps around the main floor of our house. Lately, our home has been filled with the sound of him pushing a turned-over foot stool around. A subtle scrape of vinyl rubbing acroos tile is followed by a tiny gasp of air as the cushion collides with a floor divider and then the high pitched squeal of Baby Boy echoes through the house. Why the squeal you ask? The foot stool is momentarily stuck. Baby Boy is frustrated and lets the world know. But, then he readjusts his direction and the stool makes it's way over the divider and once again the house is soothed by the sounds of scraping vinyl.

Mom and I are making predictions that Baby Boy will be a linebacker based upon his love for pushing things about. It ought to carry well into a position that requires you to move lineman out of your way. We get a big kick out of imagining hearing a high pitched squeal coming from the field each and everytime a lineman doesn't quite move as he Baby Boy wants. We will proudly turn to the other spectators in the stand and say, "That's my boy."

Not Quite The Same

2007-05-21T14:12:00.000-04:00

I was clicking through some articles in a blog carnival over at beagooddad when I came across an article at Down With The Kids that amused me. Though the articles are good and I'm creating a link so that I too can continue reading them, I was amused by the similarities between my blog and this one. I swear I did not know of this site until moments ago, but apparently there is a person almost exactly on the other side of the planet that thinks like I do.

Even the blog names are similar. Down under they are "down" with the kids. Here in Michigan we are growing "Up" with the kids. Either way, we link ourselves to our kids with a preposition. Our pets have the same name, "Dog". Our daughters are both named "Big Sis" and our sons are only slightly different. Mine is "Baby Boy", Down With The Kids is "Little Bro". By the way, Baby Boy, is often called Little Brother at the home.

Nothing profound here, just pointing out a coincidence. Check out what the others from down under are up to if you get the chance.

Dad Logic -VS- Daughter Emotion: Round 1

2007-05-21T13:55:00.000-04:00

Last night Big Sis came downstairs asking about a surgery to correct her “lazy eye.” This was a rather confusing question as Big Sis doesn’t have a lazy eye. After much discussion it was determined that she meant that one eyelid did not open quite as full as the other. According to her, there is a grotesque discrepancy between how far each naturally opens. I’m not convinced there is a difference. My opinion, though, doesn’t matter. For Big Sis, this was a big issue. She didn’t want to go to school because of how she perceives herself.

These are the issues that are difficult for a father to instinctively tackle. I initially thought her concern was ridiculous. She wanted to have corrective surgery, which would be expensive and unnecessary. Or, she didn’t want to go to school. There is less than a month of school. Why is this such a big deal now? I didn’t even want to dignify her concern with a discussion. I wanted to bowl right over the problem with my solution. “Don’t be ridiculous, there is nothing wrong with your eye, we’re not going to get any surgery, and you’re going to school.” I’m a guy. This seems like a logical solution to me.

Big Sis, is not a grown up, nor is she a guy. As insane as her concern might seem to me, it is a very real concern to her. Every television show, every magazine, even much of today’s music is focused on physical perfection. Big Sis has spent the entirety of her life inundated by extremely high expectations. Now, she is growing into her adult body and if it doesn’t quite shape into what the media has told her is expected then there must be something seriously wrong—freakish even.

Unfortunately, I reacted with logic and bowled over the problem. Fortunately, Mom was there and found a great way around the topic. Mom got her to focus on something that could be fixed. They turned to eyebrows. Mom plucked Big Sis’s and Big Sis was happy, she was even looking forward to school today.

Dads everywhere, put away your logic. You can’t fix her concern with logic. You can only let her vent her concern and affirm her sense of worth by letting her know her opinions account. We may not understand why a millimeter difference between one eyelid and another is so important in the scheme of the universe or why it merits dropping out of school, but we can learn to see that the fears and concerns are real. Don’t dismiss them, it only sends another negative message, “Your concerns aren’t important.”

I dropped the ball last night. But, I have a feeling I’ll get another chance. I’m sure the issue of the eyelid is not resolved and next time I’ll be ready.

Lullaby For Baby That Doesn't Tire Out Dad

2007-05-18T15:10:00.000-04:00

About three for four months ago a friend of mine gave me a CD called "Rockabye Baby! Lullaby Renditions of Led Zeppelin". I confess that I am a bit of a snob when it comes to music. I can't stand Rap, Country, or Bubblegum Pop. I fear I am going to have a hard time with the kid music my son will inevitably receive. In the meantime I have been playing classical music for him and for the past for months he goes to sleep to the wonderful sound of Zeppelin.

When he wakes in the night, Mom often will turn the music back on to help sooth him to sleep. We still keep the monitor on in his room, which means that I too sleep to Zeppelin and I have yet to tire of it. Whoever thought about combining lullabies and rock was a genius.

My hope is that when Baby Boy is in his teens he will have a healthy appreciation for Rock and we will always have something to talk about.

Unfortunately, Big Sis is into rap and R&B. I just can't get into music that requires back-up dancers to make it interesting. Yes, there are a few gems that I can tolerate, but dude where's the guitar?

Is My 13 Year Old Normal?

2007-05-17T14:48:00.000-04:00

Until recently I believed that my stepdaughter was in fact the most insane creature on the face of the planet. No logic, no matter how well crafted, no matter how tightly structured it was set up could stand up to her "reasoning." She was driving me crazy-correction she still is driving me crazy, but now I know that I'm not alone.

Find a parenting forum. Or look for a Q & A on parenting and teenagers/adolescents. I guarantee you that 1 out of 3 parenting questions is a call for help from a desperate parent dealing with a 13 year old. Not a 14 year old or a 15 year old, but a 13 year old going on 18. You can almost hear the wailing and gnashing of teeth as these poor parents type their pleas for help. "My 13 year old is driving me crazy?", "Worse teenager ever", "Troubled Teenager." "HELLLLLP!!!!" These are all cries of parents like you and me who have a 13 year old in the house. It is not unusual, though it is certainly stressful.

Don't believe me? I like to call this next argument, "You might be the parent of a 13 year old if..."

Dad: Yes dear.
Daughter: Can I spend the night at Suzy's house?
Dad: No dear, it's a weekday.
Daughter: Please.
Dad: Sorry, you know you can't spend the night on a weeknight.
Daughter:Why not?
Dad: Because you have school tomorrow.
Daughter: But why?
Dad: Because, you need your education.
Daughter: No, why can't I spend the night at Suzy's house?
Dad: Because it's a school night and you can't spend the night on a school night.
Daughter: But, why?
Dad: Because you'll stay up too late and you'll be too tired for school.
Daughter: No I won't, we'll go to bed early.
Dad: Sorry, kiddo, the answers still no.
Daughter: But, why?
Dad: (Forcing a smile) because I said so.
Daughter: But why?
Dad: Because I'm the dad.
Daughter: That's not a reason, why can't I spend the night at Suzy's?
Dad: I already told you, its a school night and you can't spend the night on a school night?
Daughter:But Why?
Dad:(Counting in his head 1, 2, 3...) Because you need to get a good night sleep when you have school the next day.
Daughter:But, we'll go to bed early.
Dad: No, that's it. You're not going tonight and if you ask me again you won't be able to go over there this weekend?
Daughter: But why?
Dad: ARRRRGGGGGHHHHH!!!!! Because I said so.
Daughter: But, Why?

On Eating Sand

2007-05-16T14:48:00.000-04:00

The last two days I had the opportunity to stay at home with Baby Boy while Mom went on a working interview. I loved the opportunity to hangout with him. Baby Boy road around the backyard in his new car, a sporty red coupe. We also toured some new blocks in the neighbored. He enjoyed his enlarged view from his wagon. His stroller was nice, but it'd didn't offer the full 360 degree view of the Radio Flyer. We also got to dig around in the sandbox.

Yesterday was Baby Boy's second adventure into the sandbox. He didn't much care for the feel of the sand the first time. He put his hands down into the sand once and then left them hanging in the air the rest of the time. Yesterday, he really dug in. His favorite game involved destroying the sand sculptures I made. When he finally got bored of destroying, what I believe to be, really great art work, he turned to eating the sand. Having experienced a mouthful or two of sand I feel confident in saying that it is no delicacy and felt it was my place to save him from a rather unpleasant sensation. So, Baby Boy heard, "No, it's yucky" several times and the various instruments he used to bring the sand to his mouth were diverted by a well intentioned hand.

Baby Boy continued to try to eat it. I figured, "No, it's yucky" held little meaning to him. So, being the wise Dad that I am, I gave him another, "No, it's yucky" and let him put the sand to his mouth. Certainly "yucky" was going to move from an abstract concept to something more concrete. Certainly, Baby Boy's face reflected the rather distasteful treat, but did it stop him? No, he tried and tried again. He had to try the sand that was on his red shovel and then again on his yellow shovel and the yellow rake and finally on his hands before he was certain that sand wasn't about to taste any better.

Did he learn what yucky means? That is yet to be determined. If he is anything like me, he will be stubborn and try again. When the weather once again turns warm, we will see. The real importance of eating sand was the lesson Dad learned. Had Mom been out there with Baby Boy she would have saved him from a mouthful of sand and with enough persistence he would most likely begin to learn "no", but he never would have an learned "yucky." That is what Dad is for, Dad sets back and lets the sand get eaten and is there to say, "That is what 'yucky' means, my son."

Ten Things Baby Boy Taught Me This Year

2007-05-14T15:45:00.000-04:00

Saturday Baby Boy turned one year old. Mom and I spent hours preparing. I did the cooking and Mom did most of the cleaning. Big Sis stayed out of the way. Baby Boy got lots of presents and has spent the last two days exploring the new ones and comparing all toys that have potential to terrorize Dog. He now has a popcorn popper than makes a great noise when he chases Dog. He also has a big red car that Dog can't get around if Baby Boy gets him cornered in the hallway. He also found some surpising new ways to show Dog love. He found that plastic rakes and shovels work well at spooking Dog if banged against the proper surface.

I too have been enjoying the new toys. Baby Boy and I are going for a stroll in a few minutes and we're taking his new Radio Flyer. I have also been looking back at life this first year with the new addition to the family and came up with ten things that Baby Boy taught me.

1. Cute will get you anything.
2. A smile and a hug when someone walks in the door lets them know their loved.
3. The best jokes are funny no matter how many times they are told.
4. It's not a good book unless there is a picture of a cow or a pig so Dad can do the sound effects.
5. Mom's have supernatural hearing.
6. If you aren't splashing in the bath you might as well not be taking one.
7. If you enjoy saying something, say it and the world will say it with you.
8. Chewing up a good book is fun, but it is even better to do so curled up next to someone you love.
9. Babies inspire even the most self-conscious people to sing impromptu, nonsensical songs.
10. Go outside and play.

A Little Bit of Forgiveness

2007-05-14T00:27:00.000-04:00

I figure the best way to start the first real posting on parenting should begin with a reflection on Big Sis, since she is the one that drove me to look for new parenting ideas. Two years ago I took a vow of marriage. My wife and I specifically included Big Sis in the ceremony because we were wanted to commit ourselves to becoming a family. With this intent, I decided that I would become a father to Big Sis. I made a commitment to loving her as I would my own child. I didn't know what I was getting myself into. I did not know then what it means to love a child, let alone what it would mean to willingly love another child within the same capacity as your own. If I had known that it would involve a constant fear of the worst. An indescribable depth of emptiness when you leave them. A looming guilt that somehow you aren't doing the best for your child. A constant fear of the worst. Numerous flights into fantasy about how awesome doing such and such would be. The let down when such and such doesn't prove to be as awesome as you thought. Did I mention a constant fear of the worst? Had I known committing to loving a child meant all of that I might have had second thoughts. But, I didn't know and I made the commitment. So I went in with guns a blazing.

Big Sis doesn't care so much for the guns a blazing approach. She spent the first eleven years of her life with a mother that was her friend. Mom has admitted she felt guilty about not staying with Big Sis's biological father and tried to be Big Sis's friend. Being a teacher and having been trained in classroom management and all that good stuff I thought, "Hey, no problem. I'll come in and explain what I expect and lay out the consequences for unwanted behavior and that will be that. Adult speaks, child listens. As it is, adult spoke, and child not only didn't listen, child didn't care. Several therapists later... we were convinced that Big Sis was a special case. Despite opposing use of behavior medications in children, I was ready to see Big Sis happily medicated and ready to comply with the rules of the house. Only problem, new drugs or not, Big Sis wasn't ready to comply. Since the drugs didn't work we carefully weaned her from them and tried a new tactic. I "LAID DOWN THE LAW". I was serious, CAPS LOCK serious. The lines were drawn and if she crossed them in the slightest, she would reap the consequences-a grounding one day at a time. Big Sis's first encounter with the LAW left her grounded for the better part of four months, issued to her one day at a time for each continued offence. Her main offence was disobeying an order to go to her room.

I know well that the punishment should fit the crime, and no where in the world would four months of grounding match up with not going to the room. Then again, no where in the world would I believe that a child would willingly defy going to a room when they know that each defied order earns them another day of being grounded. I couldn't let her stay grounded for four months for not going to her room, but I also needed to follow through with what I said or lose credibility. So, I sought ways for her to earn her way out of four months and in the mean time I continued my strict laws. I admit that with some hard-hearted consistencies I managed to get Big Sis to listen to me a little more than she listens to Mom. But here is the thing. Yes, she was obeying me more than Mom, but she was coming to resent me more. I was in many ways willing to tolerate that. I figured that she may not appreciate my attempts to help her become more responsible and respectful now, but she might in the future.

The truth is, I grew up with a mix of both respect and fear of my parents and I cannot recall ever being that defiant of them. I know I as all teens are was disrespectful and tried as hard as I could to establish my boundaries but I never had to go to the lengths that Big Sis did. I compared my childhood to hers and concluded that the psychologist were right, she ought to be drugged up and we need to take care of her behavioral problems by any means necessary. Then something happened, she was busted for shoplifting. Since the store didn't press charges we felt she lucked out. We felt she needed some consequences so we gave her an option. We could call up a judge and ask what the typical sentencing was for shoplifting and make her serve that or she could take 40 hour of community service, during which time she was grounded to the house. Mom and I figured that if she was going to partake in something that would cost the community with increase prices she ought to give back to the community. She chose the 40 hours. I am proud of the consequence for this action, but I must confess one problem. It is difficult to find places willing to let a 13-year old do community service. The local park became very clean as she was out picking up trash almost daily. I later decided to grant her community service hours for doing her homework. I gave her half a credit for each hour she studied and I justified it because if she is educated she will get a good job and become a contributing member of the community.

She worked hard to finish her 40 hours and raised her grades immensely. During that time I saw an improvement in her attitude towards us and thought she was really starting to mature and behave as we wanted. I made a conscious effort to reward this behavior and went out of my way to make sure she recognized that we appreciated the new change in her. I thought I was big stuff. I had laid down the law and it worked, Big Sis was listening to me, she was getting good grades, and the fighting had come to almost nothing. As she wrapped up her forty hours of service we started granting her privileges and I going the extra mile to be nice to her.

She exploded and treated Mom and I with a new level of disrespect. I took great offense and became quite angry. I was tired. For two years I had worked at establishing clear boundaries and rules, because as a teacher this is what I was taught. Children need to know the boundaries and how far they can go or they don't feel safe. I tried establishing that and it came back to haunt me. Big Sis has constantly reminded me that I am not her father. She dug even deeper and said somethings that really cut, and I was done. I wanted nothing more to do with her. I had been going out of my way to do something really nice for and was treated as the monster for the effort.

Last week I was ready to give up. I had tried all that I had knew and did the best I could but I felt like we had gotten no further with Big Sis than on the day that I met her. I was angry and hurt. I had tried so hard to love this child and I had tried hard to guide her towards some logical behaviors that would help her be successful later on. My reward was pain. I was hurt by my attempts to go out of my way to do nice things. Before I did quite though I started researching step-parenting skills. My research brought some good ideas and it is where I came up with the idea to start a blog.

I learned much from other parents and step-parents. The number one thing I learned is that as a stepparent I shouldn't be the disciplinarian. I busted out the rules and expected her to listen to me as if she were my own child. To which, she was eager to remind me that I'm not her dad. I expected her to learn the rules and values that I was taught. When she didn't meet my expectations I became angry. When she sensed my anger she became defensive and said cruel things. Now, I was hurt and angry and the cycle continued as we both bent our wills toward getting what we wanted. Then I learned what the first step to becoming a good stepparent. Be the child's friend first. Take the time to be a friend and let that relationship grow before trying to be a dad. I had gone two years without taking the proper first step.

Was it possible to start over with her? Could I step aside and let Mom do the disciplining? I had to try, because I still have four and a half years in this house with her and I don't want to spend it hating each other. So, before I could begin the first step I had to start over. I did so by asking Big Sis to forgive me. It wasn't easy. She didn't want to "talk" she assumed it would be the same lectures she had heard over and over. I had to assure her that I wasn't going to lecture. I explained what I wanted between the two of us and then asked her to forgive me for wanting to give up on her.

Did it work? If you were looking for a magical solution I am sorry to disappoint. She did forgive me and we began talking. She has even been more helpful around the house. But, it hasn't stopped her from talking back or defying orders. When her behavior gets out of hand, I have a hard time staying out of it and letting Mom work through the problem, but I must. Once I remind myself that her behavior is Mom's responsibility and not mine I can step back from the situation and I no longer need to get angry.

Just this morning Big Sis was late for school. Her tardiness was intentional and it briefly got under my skin, but the moment passed when I realized that Mom had to step in. I detached from the fight that was going on and got the car ready and waited patiently for Mom and Big Sis to work through their fight. Big Sis came to the car angry, because she is grounded to her room tonight so that she can get to bed earlier. I could tell she was bracing herself for the typical lecture that would normally follow. I gave none. I drove in silence for most of the way and then asked her about her track meet this evening. I got a brief response and she went silent again, but you could see she was a little more at ease.

Hopefully this new approach will prove effective. I will update this from time to time.

Introduction to the Family

2007-05-10T13:38:00.000-04:00

Welcome to the first posting of "Growing Up With The Kids." The decision to start this blog was a quick one. I have been taking a closer look at parenting the last few days as I have been experiencing some tension with my daughter and was seeking advice via the Internet. I found some great advice, learned much, and then I stumbled upon http://www.beagooddad.com/. I loved the concept of sharing parenting ideas with the chronicling of the lives of our children. This wasn't the first website I found like this, but it was an engaging website and the thought to create my own occurred while reading through the posts. I thought, "Here is a guy that really appreciates his kids and being a father." It occurred to me that he is probably learning infinitely more about parenting and enjoying parenting more simply by taking the time to reflect on the life lessons his children are teaching him.

I want that too. I love parenting. I love learning. I love writing. I love teaching. So, why not write about parenting? It will force me to learn more and reflect on those lessons my children can teach me. And so,"Growing Up With The Kids" was born. Let me then introduce everyone to the main stars of this blog.

In order from the youngest to the oldest they are (Names have been changed to protect the innocent):

Baby Boy
He turns 1 year this Saturday. He is my first biological child. He is quick to laugh. He loves his new ability to walk and exploits it to its full potential and the dismay of our dog who now must sleep with one eye open unless he wants to be run over by a neon walker/chaser. Baby Boy's favorite pass times are eating anything smaller and slower than Dog, liberating objects from storage containers and cupboards, banging pots, pans, cans or anything of a high enough decibel to cause the dog to wet himself, and finally he loves flushing anything smaller and slower than Dog in the toilet. Baby Boy 's amusement at even the most mundane things and his ability to laugh freely reminds us all to enjoy life and is always happy to see you walk in the door. He makes a long commute worthwhile.

Dog
A stubby legged, long bodied mix of basset hound and something else we have yet been able to determine. He is remarkably tolerant and suffers well the occasional pulled ear or tail like a champ. Dog is Baby Boys best friend despite the constant threat of getting run over, getting eaten or getting flushed down the toilet. He too is always happy to see you walk in the door.

Big Sis
She is 13 years old and my daughter by marriage. She is strong-willed, outgoing, emotional, and a sweet-heart when no one is looking. Her pass times are shopping for designer labels, discussing people that wear or don't wear designer labels, styling her hair, watching horror movies. Her main goal in life seems to be to teach us all about what is really important in life-designer labels. She may not always be happy to see you walk in the door, but she never fails to laugh if you walk into the door.

Dad
That's right, from youngest to oldest I'm next in line. Mom is the most senior (ha,ha!) and the most beautiful. I define myself first as a father and husband and then as a student for life. My biggest mentors are C.S. Lewis, J.R.R Tolkien, G.K. Chesterton, and Sheldon VanAuken. I teach by day and come home at night to spend time with the baby while Mom heads off to work.

Mom
She is the easiest person in the world to get along with and the hardest person in the world to get a gift for. She isn't in to jewelry or flowers or any of the typical gifts men know they should get a women. She has stayed at home with Baby Boy for this first year of his life and has been wonderful. I must say I chose well. She too is happy to see me walk in the door.

Those are the main players of the household. I'm sure we will have some visitors from time to time. Please feel free to share insights, observations, and words of encouragement.

Sincerely,

Dad