Category: Family

Well, technically it wasn’t a blizzard for us. There wasn’t enough sustained wind where we are; however, there was plenty of snow:

Last night the Wife and I saw the Boston Pops with the Swingle Singers. I was really struck by how crisp and “true” the Pops sounded. If I closed my eyes, I could have sworn I was listening to one of their recordings. Assuming that the recordings are done such that they are the best rendition the Pops, or any artist for that matter, can muster then their ability to sound like that live speaks highly to their mastery of their craft.

This morning we went to see the lass and her pre-k class’s little Christmas performance. As it relates to parenting, I would certainly consider it a right of passage. I manned the video recorder so I couldn’t see the immediate reaction when the performance started; but I would venture a guess that everyone visibly jumped. It was nothing less than an assault on the senses. I’m sure the applause at the end was as much in relief as it was in reward. Any parents happening to read this who haven’t had this experience, consider yourself warned.

After it was over, I said to the Wife: “Well, I can state without hesitation that they are NOT the Swingle Singers.”

It’s fair to say that we saw the two extremes of musical performance in a period of 12 hours.

This time of year is fun for a multitude or reasons. A personal one for me is derived from the Wife’s irrational hatred of all things facial hair. To say that she prefers a clean-shaven look would be an understatement of understatement. I’m not even sure she’d let Sam Elliot get away with his mustachioed face.

So, as has become typical for this time of year, I grew out the beard. Heck, it’s cold outside! Unfortunately for me, let’s just say that my beard is on the thin side. It also has an astonishing amount of gray (I blame the kids- they make me lose the hair on top and turn what’s left gray. Grrrr.) A couple of days ago, I got sick of the stratchiness on the cheeks, so I shaved it…

We were out on the town tonight and had to stop to gas up the car. While I was fueling up, the boy opened the door, popped his head out and asked:

“Dad, why is the red gas special?”

Me: “Huh?”

The Boy: “What does the special gas do?”

He was referring to the gas labeled as “Special” at the pump. The other grades were “Plus” and “Super.” The word “Special” was above the gas nozzle as white on a red background.

Somewhat flummoxed, I stammered for a simple explanation to explain the differences in the gas grades. I came up with the brilliant “It burns hotter…”

The boy’s response was better:

“I thought it would make the car fly.”

I recovered in time to tell him that’s what the “Super” gas does.

The Wife did something she hadn’t done in 30 years: ice skating.

The boy has been learning to skate for the purposes of a youth hockey league thing. He’s getting there, but the only chance he’s had to get on the ice are the Sunday mornings when his “Learn-to-skate” time. Today we decided to take him again in the evening when the rink has a family skate time as well.

After the boy was born, the first piece of advice I remember getting from Dad was “Do as I say, not as I do.”

What he actually meant was he had observed that kids tend to mimic parents actual actions, rather than act like their parents tell them. If the two are one and the same, everything is hunky-dory. It’s when the parent acts a different way than their stated policy that things get dicey.

Being self-observant is difficult because it requires being honest with yourself. Let’s face it, we don’t WANT to think that we’re doing something wrong as a parent and it’s pretty easy to just assume that the child understands that parents get to do certain things and kids do other things, end of story. Applying it to a kid makes it tricky because you have to be able to imagine how the child is processing what they are seeing and hearing. Applying the knowledge is the most difficult step, because it requires the parent to change their own behavior patterns.

My right knee has fluid in it. Been that way since racquetball started up. As a result, my right calf is sore all the time.

The nerve bundle in my left elbow is swollen so I can’t fully extend my arm- maybe about 95%. If it does straighten out, like when a child decides to use it as a vine to swing on, the pain is excruciating.

My neck gets sore when I’m working at a desk or over a computer too long.

My lower back stiffens up if I sit too long.

My left shoulder has a stabbing pain in it if I try to lift the kids. That one’s new- don’t know if it’s here for the long haul or not.

I remember not feeling like this after football games.

I remember playing racquetball for hours at a time, night after night without needing a break.

I remember throwing a discus on a sprained ankle.

I remember riding 65 miles on bikes training for bike racing, then doing uphill sprints the next day.

I remember endless weeks of weight training 4 days a week and then competing on the weekends.

I remember.

The lass was looking at my forearms today and asked me “What are all those things on your arms Dad?”

“What things?”

“These liney things. Where did you get those?” she said and she traced her fingers over the veins in my forearm.

I said “Those are veins. You have them in your forearms too…”

“I don’t have 4 arms!!! Silly Dad.”

Yes, silly Dad.

For the boy, today probably actually started yesterday.

I took him with my to my racquetball match. We played early so I figured it was a good opportunity to give him a different experience and still get him home at decent hour. I play at an Italian men’s club with two courts. They only play doubles and most of the guys have been playing there for years. Like 20 and more. I haven’t yet reached 10. But if I want to play some decent racquetball and have a good laugh with the guys, this is pretty much the only game in town.

He knew we had to leave shortly after he got home from school. He had a smile on his face when he got off the bus and his feet barely touched the ground as he ran down the driveway. He asked me all kinds of questions on the drive out. After we arrived and I introduced him, one of the guys brought him to the bar and bought him chips and soda. They all cracked jokes and had him bug me with setup “inside-joke” questions while I was playing.

I played well, but we lost a close match. We finally got home a little after his bedtime so he sat with Mom and unwound for awhile. He finally stopped smiling when he fell asleep.

The kids woke up and immediately went to check out the Elf- who was NOT in his spot!

So began the great Elf hunt. Where was he? Why wasn’t he back from visiting Santa? Is he coming back? What will happen if he doesn’t come back? OK, maybe it wasn’t SO great since it only lasted about 20 minutes.

Eventually he was spotted when I asked the lass to check out the temperature outside. There he was, perched up on the shelf above the thermometer, carefully noting all that was going on in the house. The kids stared at him for a few moments, assessing the unexpected revelation that Sparky was not where he had been left last night.

How come he changed positions? Why is he over there? Can he talk to us now? I want to ask him about Santa! Can I ask him for more toys?

Thanks Sis.

The dearth of posting over the past couple of days was due largley to a visit with the family over the weekend. We got there late Thursday night and got back home late Sunday evening. Among other niceties, I finally got to watch some college football- and they were good games as well.

As it happens, Santa had his elves make an early visit to my parent’s home since somehow he knew the kids were going to be there. The boy and the lass were both trying to reconcile that. How’d he know they were going to be there?

They’ll just have to keep wondering.

We just started a new family Christmas tradition. The Sister actually clued us into this particular piece of magic. One of her friends has been doing it with her kids for a couple of years and they’ve enjoyed it. The sister plans on starting it with her kids in a year or so.

I am speaking of the Shelf Elf.

Both kids at school.

Both dogs at the kennel.

One wife at work.

Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh…

We have our first parent-teacher tonight for the Boy. Apparently he is keenly aware of this fact based on the following exchange we had:

“Dad, do you know when you’re supposed to go to my school?”

“Ummm, what do you mean?”

“You know, when you’re going to meet with my teacher so she can tell you how good I’ve been.”

Could he really have figured out the the whole thing at such a shockingly early age?

I went to the Y with the Boy the morning. Played some racquetball with him before I brought him up to the child-watch so I could practice a little and then do some other conditioning work before heading home. On the way in, he asked if he could swipe the card at the front desk. Naturally, I let him.

Of course, if the Lass had been there she would have demanded that she be the one to get to swipe the card. I’m guessing that most parents of more than 2 kids who are of comparable age and ability run into this phenomena. Pick any relatively trivial task and assign it to child A. Child B will, shortly thereafter, decide that they’d like to give it a try. Child A will defend their turf viciously- asking if they can do said task up to days in advance (if possible) so they can maintain an edge over their sibling.

The sucker punch of the situation is to play Solomon and let them alternate doing the task.

This seemingly reasonable approach opens up the “He did it last time, I get to do it this time!” wars. Woe be to the parent that forgets whose turn it is. The child, who can barely remember to brush their teeth after breakfast, will retain a detailed history of who did what and when. The ultimate mistake here is to brush off the “turn” thing with “Well, you did this other thing today, so we’ll let your brother/ sister do this now.” There is no bartering in the world of entitlements.

Ironically, the only sane path through all of this ridiculousness is to take the task away from them both. This approach consistently causes no fits, tears, silent treatment. It’s almost like they never really wanted to do it in the first place. Shame on you for trying to give them something different to do.

The lass is going through a phase. I recognize this phase because the boy went through it long ago. We survived his assault, I reckon we’ll survive her assault.

That doesn’t mean it will be more enjoyable the second time around.

Clearly there comes a point in a young child’s life where they really start to assert independence. Or at least the attempt to. Right now, the lass wants to control every aspect of her existence. What she wears, what she eats, which car she sits in, what games are played, who she plays them with, whether she gets ready for bed before her brother… Think of something and she has an opinion on her role regarding it.

The boy had his first skating lesson today. The ice time lasted about an hour- although he and the 30 or so other first timers had all had enough after 45 minutes. There were no formal lessons or anything. The class basically consisted of suiting all the kids up and getting them on the ice. There were about 10 to 15 or so experienced skaters on the ice with them. They busied themselves by going from kid to kid making sure they all got a little one-on-one time. Mostly, though, it was obvious that the idea was to let the kids figure it out for themselves. That seemed about right. By the end, the boy actually finally did a little skating; regardless, he was cold, wet and ready to stop.

The most amusing moment came at the 45 minute mark when I happened to survey the ice. I’d say, conservatively, 90% of the kids were either laying, kneeling, or sitting on the ice. They’d all had it and were ready for ice time to be over.

We didn’t actually mention his playdate to him until the morning of. Upon learning, he started vibrating with excitement. From that point, he was pretty easy to motivate through his brief morning at the house- he didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize going to his friend’s house. So after getting dressed and scarfing down a breakfast that I don’t think he really tasted, he settled into watching the TV and asking when we were leaving every 5 minutes.

Emphasis on date, definitely. The boy has been after me for the past few weeks because he’s been wanting to have a friend over. The first time he mentioned it, he claimed that the girl’s parents had already given permission and all we needed to do was let her come over. The girl’s Mom’s response to this news was “First I’ve heard of it” though it wasn’t the first time she’d heard the boy’s name.

Well, his friend got sick and missed some school so the whole thing was put on the backburner for a week or so. But he didn’t stop asking about having his friend over. I finally was able to speak with the Mom a second time and learned that the girl picks flowers to give to the boy on the bus because they usually sit on the bus together. For his part, the boy did a picture for the girl.

He picked a page from one of his dinosaur coloring books, took a red marker and wrote his name on the page with a little heart after his name. Then he drew a smiley face on the page and had me tear it out so that he could put it in his backpack to give to his friend.

So the two are set for their play date for Friday. The boy will be going to visit over there and they’ll be able to get on the bus together.

Should be an interesting day.

Actually, I served this one warm- too warm. The lass complained it was hot and she couldn’t eat it. I told her to stuff it- just not in so many words.

The great-lunch-debacle from the other day concluded today when I realized that there were leftovers in the fridge. For her part, the lass saw what I was doing and was hoping that I was preparing my lunch. When I explained what was going on, she started to protest. At which point I turned to her and made it clear that she would eat the food I was about to give her; that she would not be allowed to leave the table until the food was finished; and that there would be no negotiating whatsoever about the food. By the way her demeanor changed, she got the message and she ate, grudgingly.

I think that evens the score, for now.

UPDATE- Thinking it over, “debacle” really isn’t the right word. Perhaps “caper” or something…