Archives for category: Random Thoughts
« Older Entries
Newer Entries »

Someone is 0.511 years old today!

July 19, 2013 //
2

And that’s reason to celebrate!  Smush passed a serious marker.  And so did I.  I made it through 6 months of dual descendant daddy duty.  Hooray for me!  (Look, I’m only a couple of days late with this blog post.  Cut me some slack.  I’m busy!)

I wish I could say that I’ve been counting all the baby skills and checking the boxes to make sure Smushter is keeping up pace with those in her age range.  But, I’m not.  I couldn’t even say what the 6 month milestone targets are right now.  Checking boxes off of the developmental milestone list have given way to “Don’t jab the TV with the vacuum cleaner handle, Worm!” and “Worm, stop hitting the dogs with your baby stroller!”.  It’s much more difficult to sit around and stare at my baby girl hanging on the moment she does something cool.  Because the second my eyes are off of the Worm, he will negate everything and do something uncool.

I can, though, compare her and her brother’s important skillsets at around the 6 month age:

Holding a bottle – Worm did this around 4 months old.  By the time he was 6 months old, he was spinning bottles on his fingertips.  Smushie is just now being forced learning to hold a bottle with two hands and put it to her mouth, or eye, or nose, or in the general vicinity of her face.  ADVANTAGE – WORM

Sleeping – The two of them have been great sleepers since a couple of months old.  Worm used to make me rock him to sleep at night after feedings and was a bit difficult to burp.  I can look at Smush and she burps…and farts, and drools.  ADVANTAGE – SMUSH

Mobility – Worm crawled on Christmas day.  Which was a pretty cool gift from him to us.  It took him ~9 months.  Smush has decided that she wants to crawl by next week.  She spends all her waking moments doing one of two things:  staring at Worm and getting up on all fours.  Her efforts will pay off soon and she will shave off ~3 months from Worm’s time.  ADVANTAGE – SMUSH

Sitting – I don’t know why we obsessed with getting Worm to sit up in the Bumbo so early.  By the time he was 6 months old, he could easily sit up without any assistance or use of duct tape.  Smushie on the other hand, eats too many Twinkies and Bon Bons.  The girl’s too chubby to do much more than leave a dent in the carpet.  But that chub is so cuddly!  Speaking of cuddly…   ADVANTAGE – WORM

Cuddling – Worm has the name because of his insane wiggling ability.  As an infant, he couldn’t sit still for more than 15 minutes in my arms.  (I really don’t blame him.  My arms are pretty bony and have the plushness of plywood.)  Smushels is the definition of cuddly.  I could hold that baby forever and she’d just look me in the face and pee on my arm.  She doesn’t mind my pointy elbows.  (She’s got so much ‘insulation’, she probably can’t feel them.)  The only thing stopping me from using that girl as my pillow is that she claws everything within arms range.  I like my eyes.  ADVANTAGE – SMUSH

Although it’s not a contest, we tallied up all the skills and Smush is the winner (3-2) and the best baby in the house!  For coming in 1st place, she gets a lifetime supply of mommy’s milk!  And for coming in 2nd place, Worm gets a used toilet bowl brush along with the opportunity to try even harder to become the best baby in the house!  Hooray!

As a side note, it’s really quite interesting to reflect upon the differences between the two kids from zero to 6 months of age.  Worm did very few of the little baby things during this time, where as Smush has done quite a few:  coo, look into our eyes, smile, mimic tongue movements, grab her toes, grasp everything with a death grip, put stuff in her mouth, etc.

When I look at the beautiful young woman that she has become, I’m reminded that she will always be my little girl…and even though she’s getting married today…oops.  Hold on.  Wrong notes.

Ok, let me try again.  When I see her little face and it lights up my world, I am reminded that nothing engages, moves, and defines us as human more than giving and receiving love.

Tags ,
Categories Random Thoughts

If We Had Kids First, We Wouldn’t Have Gotten Dogs…

July 9, 2013 //
0

Our two hairy children have given us a lot of joy from the time we adopted them.  Ever since the bipedal ones arrived, the fun with our four-legged friends has been few and far between.  Steph and I hardly get one on one time with either dog (unless bath time counts.)  There’s only so many hours in the day, and in order to tickle everyone’s fancy, we must often plan group activities.

The few kid and dog friendly places we frequent are pet cemeteries, garbage dumps, random vet office lobbies, and Target.  (When I put fake mustaches and service dog jackets on the pooches, we walk right in through the front doors.  In case anyone asks, my knee jerk response is “My dogs relieve themselves during my panic attacks.”  When I say it quickly and make strong eye contact, the listener only hears the words ‘relieve’ and ‘panic attacks’.  Works every time!)

I’ve been scouring the earth for something a little more utopian (and clean), such as a fenced-in park where both kids and dogs can frolic, where pee transforms into grape juice,  where poop turns into pudding pops (by the way, look out for an awesome pudding pop recipe from us soon!), and every child scream or dog bark causes peanut butter cups to rain down from the clouds.  (Willy Wonka, are you reading this?!)  To this day (at least from my Google searches), such playground does not exist.  And it’s tiring to try to handle two dogs and two kids everywhere I go.  So sometimes I have to leave a couple of individuals behind.  And when I say couple, it’s the dogs.  Because if I left the kids at home alone, I’d be behind bars meeting my new cellmate/boyfriend for the next 10 years.

With the kids getting more active, the spots we visit don’t allow dogs.  So I’m caught expanding my children’s environment, and contracting my dogs’.  The pups get confined to the house and we go to the aquarium, or the like.  The dogs don’t get totally neglected, but they can end up with no more than 30 minutes of real interaction with us in a given day.  The thought has crossed my mind about selling the dogs to the gypsies, but only in anger.  Also, I’ve thought about putting Duncan and Frodo on eBay to see what each would fetch on the open market, but the numbers may look more red than black.  Besides, 99% of the time, I love our pups.  I just wish I had more time to spend with them.  (Though if they were on Facebook, I’d probably interact with them quite a bit more.  I kid.)  What makes me feel even worse is that my Duncan gives me the most pathetic, floppy-eared, droopy-lipped, sad puppy dog face.  At times, I can feel his eyes burning into the back of my head, trying to will me to come over and scratch his belly…or even just to look in his general direction.

Kids require a lot of time, patience, and love.  But so do my dogs.  I’m pretty sure that if we would have had Smush and Worm first, dogs wouldn’t have even been considered.  But, our life didn’t work out that way and before kids, Steph and I gave two rescued dogs a loving home and we planned to do so until death do us part.  And for all the unconditional love that our pets give us, we deserve to give back just as much.  They’ve never leave our side (unless it is to chase bunnies).  They’re loyal and deserving of love, even when they barf on the carpet over the excitement of seeing us after we’ve returned from a long trip.  Yet, I don’t feel like I give them the same in return (the love, not the barf.)  So, I’m going to make a point to do more with my furry loved ones.  Even though my posts have slowed down after Smush was born, they may have to take a back seat to spending time with my dogs (especially Duncan).  The little spare time that I have after the kids are in bed and mother and father are finally fed, may have to be spent trying to become dog’s best friend.  Woof!

Why Does Everything Smell Like Strawberry Frosting???

Duncan – “I’m in Heaven!  Everything Smells Like Strawberry Frosting!!!”              Frodo -“*SMACK* Do All Weimeraners Have A Screw Loose?”

Tags , ,
Categories Random Thoughts

My Sippy Cup is All The Way Full, B!tches!

June 27, 2013 //
13

Some stay-at-home parents get me hot and bothered.  It’s mostly mothers, but it’s not in a good way.  (Maybe some of my female readership can help me understand why??)

We’re out somewhere and I happen to start a conversation with another parent about kids.  The standard opening line is, “Boy, you got your hands full.”  Yep, I do.  Worm still wants me to carry him everywhere and Smush can’t walk yet.  I literally do have my hands full whenever we go out in public!  (Worm specifically asks me to “hode bose babies” often and I usually comply.)  Half the time, I’ve got a dog leash dangling from my fingers as well…

Then the talk veers toward our respective kids and how they’re so difficult at this early age, etc.  But actually, mine are not.  And I say so.

“My kids are really well-behaved most of the time.  They’re just great kids.  We’re lucky for them.”, I tell the other parent.

All of a sudden, we’re no longer commiserating together.  I get the “you must be kidding me” slightly-drop-jawed stare as they’re wondering how I’m carrying 50lb of kids, 40lb of gear and a 27.5 tooth grin.  The other parent quickly ends the conversation with a backhanded, “Well, I hope they’re great kids as teenagers!  JOHNNY, get your ass over here right now!”, or something to that effect, and scurry off towards their brood.

I’m standing there thinking to myself, “WTF?  That was awkward.  Do I have vomit on myself?”, and I check my shirt, my fingernails and slyly whiff my armpits.  I’ve upset yet another parent from something I’ve said.  It happens way more often than I’d like, but this particular scenario really irritates me.  I’m not bragging or trying to be pompous about my son and daughter.  If you want me to show off, watch me toss my kid 20ft  in the air and catch him behind my back.  I’ve got two wonderful babies and I shouldn’t be made to feel ashamed about it.

Now I need to get this off my non-lactating chest and I’m sorry if I offend anyone.

First off, this isn’t a competition.  The fact that my kids are well-behaved and yours aren’t, shouldn’t shatter your probably unrealistic idea of motherhood (or fatherhood. But I’ve never, and I say never, had a father try to make me feel like a putz for mentioning I have happy, pleasant tots.)  We’re two different people raising different children.  It’s like comparing your apples to my coconuts.  (I’m really into coconuts right now.)

Secondly, I’m not saying that you are incapable of handling your own kids.  I don’t think you’re doing a poor job and I won’t report you to child services for your inability to properly care for a dependent…maybe (unless, of course, your kid steals my wallet.)

Thirdly, don’t believe that I don’t have to work hard because my kids are well-behaved.  And don’t assume that it’s all balloons and birthday cakes with me.  I work damn hard at listening to my children and understanding their needs.  Paying attention can be just as exhausting as getting angry.

Fourthly (if it’s a word), I find it upsetting that some women are still surprised that a man can raise children just as well, if not better than, a woman.  (The internet is a vast ocean of knowledge.  Thank you, Al Gore!) Stay-at-home dads are not as much of a rare bird as they used to be, and fathers can step up to the proverbial child-rearing plate as much as moms, producing some damn fine progeny.

Fifthly, I’m not judging you as a parent.  I’m dealing with enough issues in my own life to worry about anyone else.  We parents all have our struggles and no situation is black and white.  I don’t understand your entire position, so don’t talk to me for 5 minutes and assume you understand mine.  Besides, the worst parent is one that doesn’t want to be there for their children.  As long as that’s not either of us, we’re both probably doing ok.

I find it sad that some people think their offspring are more trouble than fun.  I think it’s too bad that they have a hard time parenting them and enjoying it.  But please don’t try to make me feel embarrassed because my children are agreeable and I look like I got my stuff together.

My sippy cup is not half-empty, not half-full, but completely full.  My kids are lovely human beings.  All the time.  And I’m not going to apologize for that.  I will continue to be thankful for them.  Good or bad is not the important quality here.  Worm and Smush are mine and I love them for being my children.  I’m doing the best I can and trying to make lemonade out of the lemons tossed my way.  (No, really.  Try our MVG Strawberry Lemonade recipe this summer!)  And I hope that lemonade continues to fill my sippy cup to the top.  Cheers!

Look Happy, Dammit!

Look Happy, Dammit!

Tags , , ,
Categories Random Thoughts

The Miracle of Sleep Scheduling

June 21, 2013 //
1

I’ve finally been able to get some free time during the day.  (When I say free time, I mean time to toss in some laundry, make a meal for myself, go to the bathroom, pick up toys off the floor, and sit down for 3 minutes.  Free time in our house means free from screaming children!)

I knew that caring for a second child, in addition to the Worm, would make my life three times the lady it once was.  (Isn’t it impressive how I’ve thrown in a reference to the king of ballads, Lionel Richie, even if it doesn’t make any sense whatsoever?  I digress.)  Two kids requires not two, but three times the effort in managing triple the chaos.  I thought that a schedule would be a valuable thing to help me squeeze out some magical “me” minutes from my hectic day, but just after Smush was born and up until recently, I couldn’t even schedule the time to think about a schedule.

So, soon after Steph’s maternity leave was over, she went back to work and I began fumbling through the daily eat and sleep schedules of the little ones by myself.  Worm takes 2 meals and 1 nap a day.  Smush takes 3 meals and 3 naps a day.  I asked myself “How am I going to manage without hiring a really attractive nanny or a beer-slinging manny to help me out?”  (There were no negotiations.  Steph shot down the idea before I could convince her of its brilliance.)

With my dreams of an assistant stomped right out of my senses, I gravitated towards the hippie method of parenting in hopes that the universe would naturally organize my day.  I “let things try to work themselves out, dude…” for almost two months.  It didn’t work.  I was clearly not a hippie and therefore could not fool the hippie spirits to work in my favor.  Or maybe I wasn’t conjuring them up in the right smoke. *cough* *cough* *cough*  (Just kidding, NSA.  Tell the DEA I don’t do that stuff.  Please!)

It’s hard to believe that even with Smushie napping 3 times a day, there was never a time when both kids’ naps overlapped by more than 10 minutes.  Until I solved the riddle.  It’s all about sleep scheduling.  I learned that if Pavlov’s dogs could be trained, so could Honeydaddy’s children.

Babies and toddlers need structure, otherwise bad things happen (like creativity and abstract thought, neither of which make sense).  Their brains have not yet been calcified from the years of artificial sweeteners, GMOs, and over-flouridated water in our environment.  Their brains are, in essence, plastic.  Moldable.  Pliable.  Bendable.  Like play-doh.  During my short-lived hippie parenting phase, I was succumbing to the kids’ whims and fancies and it was getting me nowhere.  So, I turned the car around and drove in the complete opposite direction.  Structure, structure, structure.

Worm – you nap at noon. Period.  (Give or take a minute.  I kindly added some slack to the schedule.)  If you eat lunch before your 12 o’clock nap, great.  If not, I can stuff a sandwich and chips in your mouth while you’re sleeping with your mouth agape.  I know you can chew in your sleep.  I won’t let that talent go to waste.  Otherwise, you eat your next meal when you wake up.

Smush – you nap at 9am, noon, and 3pm.  (A minute here or there won’t hurt either.  I’m flexible.)  You’re so flighty that one minute you won’t touch your milk and the next, you’re starving.  I know how to work with you.  If you skip a meal and it’s nap time and you get hungry, you’re out of luck.  You’ll cry, wear yourself out and then fall asleep (which is the goal anyhow).  Enough repetition of this and your body will adapt.  I know you’re only 5 months old, but come on, how long are you going to use that excuse on me?

The result?  Sleep scheduling worked for me.  I can get anywhere from 45 minutes to 2 hours of “kid free” time without resorting to locking them both in the bathroom.  Besides, when the kids know what is coming, they’re less likely to flail and I don’t have to use the taser nearly as often.

I Caught You Two! What Are You Whispering About?

I Caught You Two! What Are You Whispering About?

Gavin – 25; Honeydaddy – 15 (I’m more clever than I look.  For now, at least.)

Tags , , , , , ,
Categories Random Thoughts

The Tee-Shirt Shirt

May 22, 2013 //
0

I like t-shirts almost as much as I like tee-shirts.  Especially tee-shirts that are clever, meaningful, bold, imaginative, and unique.  Everything that I’m not.  Since a smart-looking short sleeve makes the man, I’ll gladly spend the $15 on a good tee to cloak my thin torso in its charismatic charms.  (I’ve been brainwashed by the fashion industry.)

Today, I got a tee-shirt.  Probably the best tee-shirt ever.  No, it IS the best tee-shirt ever.

Steph walked into the house after work and unwrapped a package of tee-shirts that she had designed for each of us.  Smush drooled all over hers.  Worm, being terribly two, threw his to the ground in disgust.  And me, well,  I cried.  (What is it about childrearing that is so beard-removingly effeminating for me?)

I don’t know what came over me.  Maybe it was the high cotton thread count.  Maybe it was the picture of Worm’s grinning face on the front.  Maybe it was the way the soft, black collar felt on my adam’s apple.  I don’t know why I got so choked up over this damn thing.  My gratitude to my wife came out as “Blub, blub, blubbery blub.”  In a strange way, she understood the magnitude of her gift to me.  As an aside, I’m very proud of myself for only losing control of my tear ducts and not my bowels through the excitement.

I’m now one of ‘those’ people.  You know, the ones that wear custom tee shirts with pictures of their significant other/family member and the words ‘I’m with stupid –>’ underneath.  I’ve got a shirt with Worm on it and it’s a one-of-a-kind.

In my mind, those types of shirts were lame…until I got one!  I have seen the light!

What is it about screenprinting family photos onto a piece of clothing that touches the heart?  I don’t know.  I was overcome by a wave of emotions and thoughts such as:

  • If I don’t wash it, it might stay brand new forever.
  • Would it be weird to want matching pants for my new shirt?
  • If the real Worm spills anything on my awesome tee, I’ll tan his hide.
  • Does this shirt make my arms look fat?
  • Can I dress up this tee with a white sport coat for special occasions?
  • Can the real Worm handle the idea that tee-shirt Worm is so awesome?

I feel close to my son now.  The only way I could feel closer, would be if I received a tee-shirt made entirely from his lovely auburn colored hair.  (Hint, hint, hint.  Father’s day is coming up.)

It’s better than my Dalai Lama peace tee.  It’s even better than my Goonies tee, which I singlehandedly brought back from the dead using Goo-Gone and a scrub brush.  (That stuff’s amazing!)  This tee-shirt will be worn for all eternity…or until Smushie barfs all over it in a jealous rage (or indigestion).  8VMTEHKY5KQU

Could a Day Get any Better Than This?

Could a Day Get any Better Than This?

Tags , , ,
Categories Random Thoughts

The Timeless Parent

May 17, 2013 //
3

The old adage goes, “Of all the thing I’ve lost, I miss my free time the most.”.  (Yes, that’s a period before an end quote followed by a period.  I’m rearranging the rules of punctuation to make sense to myself.)  In the parenting world, the phrase rings true for many.  I was recently smacked with an oar and hauled into that very boat.

The wife and I talked about all of the personal things I would be giving up to stay home with the children.  Things like my career, my extra paychecks, my hobbies, my exercise routine (hello daddy dumpling!), my sanity.  I didn’t believe her when she said it two years ago.  And I was able to fend off the truth up until 4 months ago when the stork dropped little Smush onto our doorstep.

These days, I’m chasing children from 7am to 10:30pm.  (Smush caps her night with some warm milk and late night news.  If she could put herself to bed, the rest of us wouldn’t wait up.)  During a standard day, I don’t get more than 10 minutes overlap where both children are napping and those wistfully silent minutes are used to wipe my own behind.  Every day is go-go-go with only the random pause to look down and examine a fresh shirt stain.  As you can probably guess, outside of those kid-friendly hours, my ‘free’ time is spent snoring into and slobbering onto my lucky pillows.  Probably not the most productive way to spend my time, but I can’t think of anything else that prepares me as well for the following fast-paced day.

I don’t look much past the present moment anymore.  I take one day at a time.  It appeases my zen side and teases my type A persona.  (Much of the reason for me to start this MevsGavin blog was to assuage my overly demanding, self-critical, workaholic tendencies.)  And as I’ve surrendered almost all of my self-defining practices to my two time vortices (or vortexes as they say in Sedona), I’m doing my best to hold MVG together.  It’s the only real way that I can peer at the stars of my day without letting their light disappear into the black hole of child rearing monotony.  Because in my current state of mind, if I don’t write it down, it will be lost and never recalled again.  (Besides, writing keeps me off the streets and out of the bars at night.)

I’ve taken a breather from MevsGavin, not by choice, but by necessity.  Trying to find a clear head at midnight to write about the new developments of Worm and Smush has been difficult, even when I’ve soaked my neurotransmitters in spirits.  (It just puts me to bed sooner!)  I seldom can spare a few minutes to sit at my typewriter (it sounds more bona fide than laptop) let alone feed myself adequately.  And being a slow thinker, a few minutes amounts to a puff of smoke from my ears and a sputter of hand twitches in the general direction of my keyboard.  My time would be better spent pounding my head against a wall as that would offer a tangible result for my effort.

Though, in my unexpected hiatus, I realized how much this blog vocalizes my laughter and sheds my tears.  It’s an extension of myself in words and images.  It’s an expression of my life with kids.  My definition is that of a father now.  (I still haven’t completely wrapped my mind around the idea that Steph and I made people!)  And I’m a father first, before anything else in my life.  Maybe a few years from now, when we’re all a little older and moving a little more slowly, I’ll have some free time to look back and see what was happening at the time my babies were babies.  But for now, there’s just no time to fit anything else in.

They Don't Even Have Time to Take a Picture With Dear Old Honeydaddy...Go, go, go.

You Guys Can’t Even Sit Still For a Half of a Second?

Tags ,
Categories Random Thoughts

No one Makes My Daughter Cry Like I Do

April 17, 2013 //
3

If there’s anyone in the world that can make my kids cry more than I do, I’ll walk on water.  (Actually, I’ll probably key their car.  And if it’s a kid, they’ll get a firm wedgie, fork-lift style.)

I’m not sure what the percentages are, but in my house, we are 2 for 2 when it comes to infant torticollis.  Worm had it.  (Which is expected, because the uterus goes from apple size to watermelon size for the first time.  It’s a tight space.)  Now Smush has it.  (Which is strange because after having one baby, the uterus should be the size of a hot air balloon.  Plenty of room for a baby to ride a bicycle in there, let alone sleep for 10 months.)

I treated Worm myself (after sleeping at a Holiday Inn Express) and although his torticollis was more pronounced, he was much more compliant when compared to Smush.  I would massage his neck and perform range of motion tests.  15 minutes after softly sobbing, his brain and body would check out and I would finish up his session a short time later.  (It’s easier to work on babies that aren’t squirming, kicking, and flailing…)  Two weeks worth of treatments and full ROM and strength came back in his neck.  I did this early enough in his life so that he shouldn’t remember a thing.  (Hopefully…)

But Smushie is a different story.  This is the third time I’ve treated her and it’s the same story as the last.  With the lungs of a lion, she proceeded to cry for almost an hour while I worked on her neck muscles.  (Crying is an understatement here.  It is more like a life-threatening shriek, bleeding from every cell in her body.)  Did she get tired?  Nope.  Could she cry for another hour?  I’d bet another four hours were possible.  Why did I stop?  Because I had enough.  I couldn’t bear to do any more work on her.  When my child is screaming at the top of her lungs in pain and looking me in the eyes the entire time as if to say, “Please, make it stop.  I’m hurting.  I want to snuggle you for comfort because you are the only thing I need to feel safe and secure.”, it’s difficult for me to muster the emotional strength to keep going.

Without exaggeration, my little girl is usually happy and content for 23.5 hours of the day.  She has maybe cried for more than 3 minutes a handful of times in her life.  I make her bawl her eyes out for 60.  She has never cried so hard and so intensely before I started physical therapy on her.  Ever.  I’m the source of her agony and that’s a hard pill to swallow.  So during treatment, I subconsciously absorb some of her pain to overcome the guilt of being the one delivering it.  And in trying to bear some of that burden, every session leaves me spent and wanting to crumble to pieces.  Barely holding me together is the fact that this is necessary.  The very definition of a necessary evil.

The good news is that she now turns her head in both directions almost equally.  I hope that she needs only one more session before full neck flexion, extension, and rotation are restored.  It’s not that she can’t take much more.  It’s that I can’t.

“Everything’s going to be alright.” I whisper in her ear as she falls asleep, exhausted from the physical therapy.  Deep down, I know it’s more for me to hear than for her.

Shame on You Honeydaddy!

I Forgive You Honeydaddy!

Tags , , , ,
Categories Random Thoughts
« Older Entries
Newer Entries »