Long Summer Days

There is something about long summer days that beg for every ounce of sunlight to be absorbed and utilized to the fullest.  Even with the sunlight gone at the end of the day but with dusk still lingering, there is a pull within me to leave the house and stand outside till the bats come swooping in to eat their dinner.  I don't have to do anything, all I have to do is exist.  Sunlight drives the motor within me to move, to function, and to be active.  The summer days at the end of June are by far the best.  Humidity has not yet reached epic levels that are usually hit in July and the days are the longest of the year.  Sunlight streams simply unhindered directly down up me, warming and rejuvenating me.  There is something about having those extra hours of sunlight that make summer seem endless.  There is so much more life to eek out of the day when the sun shines till 830 at night and the sky doesn't turn dark till after 9.  Who else remembers childhood and those endless plea's we all made to stay outside just a few more minutes or to go out after dinner till the stars came out.  Even with the stars out and the warmth still radiating off the earth, it seems like summer days just don't end.

I find that I have a hard time sitting indoors if the weather is beautiful out.  I find that if the sun is still beaming in the evening, I will stare out the window longingly, wishing that I had nothing to do inside and that all my time could be spent outdoors.  As an adult it is difficult sometimes not to throw a tantrum screaming "I want to go outside, I want to go outside."  Responsibility is a bitch that I want to throw into a cold winter prison cell sometimes.  Yet I don't.  I put off till later what I could do earlier just so I can get back outdoors.  It must be something primal that pulls us humans into the sun.  I know not everyone is as much an aficionado of the sun as I am, but there are plenty out there like me.  Some of my closest friends have that same pull.  Perhaps it is that those who revel and look for those perfect sunny days to spend outside are drawn together by some solar force, driven to befriend other like minded sun worshipers.   Perhaps not, but I would like to think so.  And with today being my birthday, I'm pretty sure I will soak up every last ounce of vitamin D that the sun has to offer and be outside till the moon comes up, the stars come out, and the sky is completely dark.  That is my day today, and what a perfect day it is with hopefully almost no humidity.  Enjoy the sun people, enjoy the sun.  

A Good Father's Day

This past weekend flew by way too quickly.  It was Father's Day, as most of you know, and I got to spend a lot of time with both our children.  It all started on Friday when our son's daycare had a Father's Day picnic for any dads who wanted to come.  (Our daughter is not in daycare on Friday).  So of course, with it being Friday, I quit work early and headed over to be with my son for his afternoon snack.  There were a good number of dads there and we all sat around on the ground with our children and enjoyed the craziness of a whole group of 3 and 4 year olds.  Being there for that afternoon snack made me realize how much I could not run a daycare.  There are two adults for over 10 children and it is nuts.  It was fun for the 45 minutes I was there, but to handle those children all day every day would be too much for me.  So after the snack, which our son didn't care too eat, we played in the sand box with a few of the other boys.  It was good to see our son interact with his friends but the best part was that I was there.  He was excited to see me come around the corner of the building for the picnic and we both had a great time.  And that was only the beginning.  

Saturday our whole family went over my parents house to celebrate Father's Day a day early.  It was supposed to be nicer on Saturday and rain Sunday and we figured if we wanted to use the pool, Saturday would be better.  Well, Saturday started off nice and then got cloudy early.  Didn't matter to our son though who was adamant that we go swimming, even if it was a little bit chilly.  So the two of us went swimming, just me and my son.  Luckily my parents had turned the pool heater on or we would not have been venturing in.  We were in the pool for a good 45 minutes before I suggested that we get out due to my son's lips turning blue and him shivering while in the water.  Even despite my suggestions, he wanted to remain in the pool.  A little fish he is.  He can't swim yet, but with his swimmies on, he is a non-stop swimming monster.  As for me, I love the water as well and had absolutely no problem staying in with him.  He didn't warm up for quite a while after that and asked that he remain wrapped in a towel and held in my arms.  Who am I to complain about my son wanting to do that?  With it being so cold, our daughter did not accompany us, but rather stayed inside with the rest of the family.  

Sunday, the actual Father's Day, was even better, if only for the fact that I got some alone time with our son in the afternoon.  It rained most of the morning leaving us inside and doing puzzles and playing with trains.  Luckily, though, it cleared up so we decided to get outside for a bit.  Well, once the sun came out after all that rain, it got extremely humid.  It got to the point where we didn't want to be outside anymore and felt it would better if we just spent some more time inside.  I got the idea that maybe we should go to my parents house and use their pool.  They consented and so I took our son and headed down with him.  My wife and daughter stayed home as they were not going to go swimming.  So it was just my son and I, no problem.  We took the doors off my Jeep, made sure we had towels, and headed out.  We went swimming for a bit and then on the way home, we went strawberry picking.  It was such a joy going strawberry picking with him.   I went to the farm that I had gone to with my mom when I was little to pick strawberries.  We walked around the whole farm and couldn't find the strawberries.  Turns out, they moved the strawberry patch across the street, down a dirt road, and over the train tracks.  And what a field of strawberries it was.  As a rough estimate, 4-5 football fields could have easily fit into the strawberry patch.  And there were only a handful of other people there.  It was awesome.  And of course, my son didn't really help put the strawberries in the basket, he was more focused on shoving as many as he could into his mouth.  So of course I took pictures of it, red juice flowing everywhere.  

All in all, it was a great weekend that, as most weekends do, ended too quickly.  There was one little sad note throughout all of it and that was that this is the first Father's Day without my grandfather, Dziadziu around.  It was different just knowing that he is in heaven and not having him to crack a joke and make us laugh a little more.  But he is at peace now.  Now it is time to enjoy my son and daughter.  And that is exactly what I did this past weekend.  Yes, I spent a little more time with my son, but every second I was at home, I enjoyed my daughter as well.  I consider myself blessed to have two such wonderful children.  

Refugee Status - Not for Me Please

If you live in a developed country that is free of war, famine, or economic hardship, then you should feel blessed.  There was an article in the NY Times yesterday morning on refugees world wide and how that number as of 2014 has reached almost 60 million people.  The most common reason for a person either leaving their country or re-locating within it has been an either internal or external conflict or war.  The civil war in Syria alone has contributed almost 11 million refugees to that number, about half internal and half leaving.  It is disheartening to hear these news reports about how hard people in other countries have it.  I would even like to say that I can empathize with them, but to be honest, empathy is a hard thing to come by when there is no frame of reference in which to empathize.  I have never even come close to feeling what a refugee must feel like on a daily basis and stemming from that, it is hard to place myself in their shoes and imagine a life as a refugee.  I can try, but in the end, it is next to impossible.  This is not to say that I don't feel for these people, their condition is just so far removed from anything that I have dealt with in my life that it is hard for me to come to know their situation.  It is a horrible situation, being a refugee and living in a camp that has no guaranteed food supply, conditions are often sub par, and no work or means of supporting or relocating.  I wouldn't wish it on anyone, and yet it is happening to more and more people across the world.  

The hardest hit areas are Africa, the Middle East, and Southern Asia including the Ukraine.  Through famine and conflict, some of which haven't been resolved for years (Somalia), people are being forced to relocate to save their lives and the lives of their families.   The conflicts and famines that are occurring are placing destination countries for refugees in a difficult situation as well.  How many people can relocate and still be supported by another country.  And yet, people in power perpetuate these conflicts, sometimes with no end in sight, and without a second thought about the lives affected.  There seems to be a never ending supply of war and even less thought about recovery and helping refugees return to normal lives, if they ever can.  

Here in the United States, we are lucky to be largely removed from any large conflicts (except our own bickering amongst ourselves and the conflicts overseas into which we inject ourselves).  Yet for all those overseas conflicts in which we help to create situations that create refugees, the impact on our daily lives is nil.   We take in some refugees, but not nearly as many as other countries that happen to neighbor countries in conflict.  I would say that many people take for granted that they live in a country where they have the freedom to wake up every morning in their own bed, in their own home, and can go make a pot of coffee and breakfast.  Something as simple as that is barely a thought in a refugees mind.  It might be a dream of theirs, but depending on how long they have been a refugee for, that dream might have faded as their hopes of their lives ever returning to normal as faded.  We can complain about all the little things that go wrong in our lives, but there are almost 60 million people who definitely have it worst than we do, who have been forced to move one way or another, away from their homes and sometimes their families.  We should never take for granted that which we have.  

The Oak Tree

There are many trees that make their home in Connecticut.  To be honest, I couldn't even name half of them.  I know my maples, my cherries, my dogwoods, my beeches and birches, and of course, the majestic oak tree.   That is about it though.  I know the names of plenty of others, but in terms of identifying them, I would have a much harder time.   Trees are a majestic plant to look at.   Simple and stately, yet complex and dominant.  They all start from a tiny trunk with a few simple branches and grow till they reach 60-100 feet in height with a multitude of branches reaching for an open spot in the sky from which to gather sunlight.  I have come to love looking at trees and admiring their structure, sometimes whimsical growth, and imposing presence almost everywhere in Connecticut.  I love them in the spring and summer when they are adorned with leaves.  And I love them in the fall and winter when their leaves turn brilliant colors and then are shed revealing the naked branches in all their sinewy, serpentine, glory.  But most of all, I have come to love and admire the oak tree.  The white oak is the state tree of Connecticut and also one of the most majestic.  

I have this one tree in particular that I love to stare at in my yard.  It is old, with an enormous burl perched near the base of the trunk and branches that twist and turn and snake outwards towards the sunlight.  There is one vantage point that gives an excellent side view of the branches as they reach for the sunlight (more on that in a minute).  My house sits in a clearing that is maybe a few hundred feet by a few hundred feet.  Not enormous, but enough to create a little bowl in which the trees that surround it reach inward with their branches to garner as much sunlight as possible.  It is this reaching inward that has created such a magnificent display of my favorite oak.  The vantage point I spoke about is from our second floor bathroom.  Looking out the window, you get what seems like a side view of the oak.  Almost all of the oak tree's branches look as if the are wind blown, dealing with a persistent wind that has forced them to reach a certain way with only time cementing them in place.  Yet there is no persistent wind, just the everlasting struggle to find that open piece of sky in which to sprout a leaf and drink in the sunlight.  It is an inspiring view and one that I could look at for hours.  Even the view from beneath this oak tree's canopy is breath taking.  The branches reach out from the trunk perhaps 30 feet in some areas and it almost seems impossible that a tree with branches that large can still stand and survive.  I have even built our fire pit beneath its boughs.  

I have come to love looking at more than just our oak tree.  There is something about an oak tree and the seeming random display of its branches that is enticing.  Tracing a line up an oak tree is not nearly as simple as tracing it up any other type of tree.  Many trees split off branches quite evenly, making a beautiful rounded top with perfectly spaced leaves and branches.   Oak trees seem to be the renegades for me with almost no rhyme or reason for their branches and their twists and turns, the ones that die and the ones that live and grow on.  I never try to figure out the rhyme or reason, I just look at the branches and admire them.  Any oak tree, anywhere.  Even more amazing is if you can find an old grove of trees where the forest floor is absent of almost all other life.  There is one bordering my property that has been un-touched for years.  The floor is packed with leaves and the trees themselves are no less than 60-80 feet tall.  The first branches begin perhaps 40-50 feet above the ground giving one the sense of being in a living cathedral.  For someone who loves nature like myself, there are few other sights that compare in terms of simplicity, beauty, and grandeur.  Sure, there are spectacular vistas to behold across the world, but for being so close to home, I'll take my oak trees and their canopy and the view they give me any day.  

Late Night Rebel (3.5)

Our little boy, while being an adorable, helpful, kind and loving boy one minute, can turn into a royal pain the rear when it comes to bed time.   These past two days have been particularly trying, so much so that at times his antics turn comical.  Part of me wants to laugh, except that I know that laughing will only exacerbate the issue and the is the last thing I need when at 9:15, our son is still not sleeping.  We even tried two different tactics with him over the last two nights, myself putting him to bed one night and my wife the other.  So without further delay, lets start with two nights ago. 

Our son's normal bedtime, the time that we feel it is best to put him to bed, is around 7.  Occasionally we will let him coast till 7:30, but that is normally about it.   Two nights ago, we weren't letting him go past 7 because he seemed tired and we knew that if we let him go any longer, he might get so tired that he could catch his second wind and then never go to sleep.  So up into bed we went, I the designated bedtime reader and singer, and after about half hour to forty five minutes, I left.  He wasn't asleep, but I reached the point where if I laid there any longer singing songs, I would have fallen asleep and that would have been the end of me for the night.  Almost as soon as I left, the issues started.  The first one was that he decided to drink almost all the water we left him with and managed to spill some on himself and his bed.  So up my wife went to change the sheets and his clothes.  Next came the desire for mommy to come upstairs and wind his bear that sings "you are my sunshine".   There were a few other attempts to get out of his room, stay awake, suck us into staying with him or doing something for him that was completely unnecessary at that time of night.   Eventually, he was quiet for five minutes and I went outside to get some work done.  Well, on one of my trips past a window, I saw him standing in the kitchen with my wife.  I don't even remember what he wanted, but I had to carry him upstairs once again, and put him back in bed.  We tried everything.  Eventually, I stayed outside to watch the bats flit around, my wife went to bed, and when I finally made it to bed, our son was sleeping on my side of the bed.  (Sidebar: we have a rule that if he comes into our room, he needs to sleep in his sleeping bag on the floor that we have permanently set up for him).  So I picked him up, put him in his sleeping bag amidst his protests that "mommy said I could sleep in your bed".  "No buddy, she didn't."  Within five minutes, he had climbed back in bed next to my wife.  I had not fallen asleep yet so I picked him up once again, and put him back in his sleeping bag.  Then he started talking.  I told him to be quiet.  After that, I feel asleep only to wake up in the morning to find him sleeping in our bed.  Damn it!

Fast forward to last night.  Almost as soon as my arrived home with our kids, we started the discussion about what we were going to do for our son's bed time.  Instead of pushing for a 7 o'clock bed time, we figured we would eat dinner and let him play outside a little bit more.  So we ran with it.  He didn't seem as tired, and we let him play outside till 8.  It seemed long enough and we sure as hell weren't going to let him play outside any longer.  It was my wife's turn to take him to bed so up she went, returning almost an hour later, and announced that she was going to bed.   I was hoping for the best with our son and expected the worst.   Well, I was throwing the ball to our dog Aspen, and I hear our mudroom door open inside, and then close.  I go over to our open garage door and see our son standing there with his boots on.  "Daddy, I have to go pee behind the shed."  Really?  Its after 9 and he is still not asleep and thinks that it is OK to get up, get his boots on, and go pee behind the shed when there is a bathroom right next to his bedroom.  Needless to say, I sent him upstairs.  I go back outside and no sooner had I started throwing the ball to Aspen again than I hear his head bang against a window above me.  Sure enough, there he is, smiling and staring down at me.  I simply look up at him, point, and he runs off.  I was hoping he would run off to his room, but I knew he probably went right for our bed and onto my side.  I finished up outside within another 10 minutes.  After taking my boots off, my first destination was our bedroom to see if he actually was there.  Surprise, surprise, he was.  So I picked him up and despite the protests and myriad excuses that I got all the way back to his bedroom, I still plopped him down in his bed and told him to go to sleep.  Instead of venturing very far, I sat down in our dining room (which happens to be right below his bedroom) and turned on our computer.  No sooner had I logged in and brought up the Internet than I hear his little footsteps pattering across his floor and sure enough his door opens.  I don't even get up, I just told him to get back into bed.  "But daddy, I'm scared."  My response, "It's OK, I'm downstairs and nothing will happen."  Believe it or not, that was it and he actually stayed in his bed.  What a process though.  Two nights in a row he didn't fall asleep till after 9.  

I don't even care that he didn't fall asleep till after 9, I just want him to stay in his room and in his bed for the night, not our bed.  I can appreciate the fact that he might be scared, but he won't tell us what he is scared of most of the time.  He will occasionally allude to something, but those times are different than the everyday excuse he tries to use to get into our bed.  We have asked him what he is scared of only to be met by silence on most occasions.  Hopefully within the next month he will start returning to a state of equilibrium as he nears his birthday, but I won't bet on any of it.  Even if I was a gambling man, the odds or not in my favor and I know it.  I will simply hope for the best and expect the worst.  Luckily tonight, both my wife and I are heading out and we won't have to deal with bedtime.  We will just have to deal with getting our son back to his own bed when we get home.  Oh well, it could be worse I suppose.  For now, short of putting a lock on the outside of his door (which I don't think I could do), we will try more tricks and see what works.  It may just be a matter of one of sitting in the dining room catching him every time he tries to leave his room with some excuse or another.  Even if it is to announce that he found a tiny piece of paper towel that needs to be thrown out.  (That really did happen as well!) 

The Beauty of Bats

I love being outside when the weather is nice.  I love the fresh air, the sun on my back, the cool breeze gently undulating through the oak trees.  I love all of that and more about being outside.  Yet, I hate mosquitoes.  I absolutely loathe them.  If there was a way I could de-create the mosquito permanently, I would.   With all my work in the field of de-creating things (which really amounts to nothing), I have not yet figured out a way to get eradicate mosquitoes.  There is the option of having my yard sprayed with noxious chemicals that in theory will either kill the mosquitoes or keep them at bay.  However, with our family moving towards as much of an organic lifestyle as possible, those chemicals being sprayed in my yard doesn't sound enticing.   I could theoretically wear a bee-keepers suit whenever I venture outside, but that would get in the way of the sun on my back.  So for now, I use our home-made organic bug spray and deal with the bugs.  There is one more option that could be the best one around for our yard, bats.  We have one or two resident bats currently circling our house every evening in search of mosquitoes and other insects that fly.  Last night, with the sun sinking beyond the horizon, I remained outside and watched the bats flit around as I threw a tennis ball to my dog Aspen.  If you have never watched a bat fly around eating insects, it is an amazing sight to behold.  

The flight path of a bat is nothing graceful like an eagle soaring through the sky, riding thermals with wings spread wide.  No, a bat's flight path is more akin to an novice driver learning how to drive a manual transmission combined with a fighter pilot engaged in a aerial dogfight.  Steady for a few feet, then a quick jerk to the right, left, right, dive, capture, and ascend again.   Last night I watched our resident bats for about half hour as the sky grew darker and darker.   This one little guy (they are quite small), circled over and over an over again, eating his quota of mosquitoes to make me happy.  His little body never rested, just performed its aerial acrobats for me to watch in awe.  A bat's flight path becomes all the more amazing when you consider that everything is performed not with sight, but through echo location; essentially sonar to figure out where a bat's surroundings are.  For a bat to discern its surroundings, and especially be able to follow a mosquito with sonar and then actually catch it, is mind boggling to me.  There were times last night when the bat came within perhaps five feet of my head, eating its dinner.  I just watched and watched, timing the throwing of the tennis ball to when the bat was not in the vicinity of where I would be throwing it.  Seeing the efficiency with which the bat was eating, I can't wait to build myself a bat house.  

Yes, even before last night, I started researching how to build a bat house for our yard.  Seeing as a bat can eat up to 1000 mosquitoes in a single night, bats will become my new best friend.  I don't want thousands of bats, that might be considered going over board, but around 20 would probably be a good number.  Think about it, if I had 20 bats, that would mean around 20,000 mosquitoes would be devoured every night leaving that many fewer to bother me and my family.  Once I started reading about bat houses and how to build them, I discovered a few interesting things.  First, it is recommended that you don't put a bat house on a tree, but rather high up on a pole or attached to a house.  This is due to the fact that bats need a very warm environment in which to raise their young and on a tree in the shade will do no good.  Second, it needs to be painted a dark color so that it gets warm inside.  The version I am embarking on building is about 2 feet by 3 feet and should be a nice place for them to call home.  I will even put a welcome mat on my roof for them if it means that more will come and eat my mosquitoes for me.  In fact, if I get ambitious enough, I just might build it tonight.  But for today, as my nocturnal bats go to bed for the day, I wish them a good sleep and a hearty appetite for their dinner of more mosquitoes tonight.  

Feeding Curiosity

Sunday was one of those days when it was a little difficult to get things done around the house.  I tried in the morning as best I could, but it just didn't work out.   Turns out I had to feed curiosity instead.  It all started out when I went to try finish digging a pit for my wife's upcoming "pit fire" for ceramics.  It is essentially what it sounds like; a bunch of pottery is placed in a pit, doused in different substances to add color, and loaded with wood and set ablaze.  It is a different method for firing pottery that adds random colors and designs that can't be reproduced.  So while trying to finish digging the pit, our son decided that he needed to help.  Normally I absolutely love his help, except when it could potentially cause injury to myself or himself.  This time it happened to be me.  I was using a pick ax to loosen up rock in the hole.  He had a piece of wood that he was using as a pick ax to do the same thing.  The problem was that when a three and a half year old boy is swinging a piece of wood within close quarters, his aim isn't always the best.  I almost got nailed in head multiple times before I asked him to stop and let me use the pick ax alone for a minute.  Well, he immediately lost interest and tried to get me away from digging the hole.  Well, it worked.  Instead of getting frustrated that I wasn't getting the hole dug, I put the tools down and followed him over to our big pile of sticks (which leads me to another small tangent).

We have this fairly large pile of small trees that I had cut down this past fall to clear an area for our bonfire pit.  Nothing special about this fire pit, I just had to clear a place in the woods to put it and there happened to be dozens of small trees filling the area that I deemed best for the fire pit.  So after cutting all the trees down in the fall, I made a huge pile of them next to our shed.  Most of them I will end up re-using as part of my garden fence (which I will get into another time).  The pile stands about 4 feet tall, and given that I left all the branches on the trees, it bounces when you stand on top.  I found this out in the fall, and over this past weekend as our son was climbing the pile, I showed him how we can bounce on top, almost like a trampoline, just a touch more dangerous.  Our son doesn't have the confidence to bounce on it himself, so he attempts to drag me up there periodically to bounce with him.  This is what happened Sunday morning.  After giving up on finishing digging the pit,  I made my over and we bounced on the pile of sticks.  Unlike a trampoline which makes it relatively easy to bounce, sticks and trees don't have quite as much give and it takes a lot more work with my legs to make it bounce.  After about ten minutes, my legs were burning and I had to take a break, much to our sons dismay.  I then proceeded to sit down on top of the pile and he dropped right in my lap and leaned back.  Soon after we both sat down, I tracked a mosquito that was closing in to his landing spot right on my son's forehead.  As soon as he landed, I smacked my son ever son gently in the head and killed the mosquito.  So he didn't think I was just randomly smacking him in the head, I explained what I was doing.  That led to a five minute discussion about mosquito's and other bugs.  Curiosity.  I could have brushed off the questions or given him short answers, but I went into depth and explained everything about mosquito's.  That discussion veered off to a hawk that was circling way up above our heads.  So we talked and we talked and then we sat in silence for a bit before we were up and running off to some other activity.  

The reason I don't get much done during the day with our children up and about is that they like to be involved, ask questions, and figure out the world around them.  I could easily brush them off, but that would do them a disservice.  It is more our son at this point than our daughter, but the time will come where she is just as vocal as he is and will want either my wife or I to explain things to her as well.  I can see where there would be a temptation to stifle that curiosity, not intentionally, but out of a desire for a little peace and quiet.  In our house, there is almost never any peace and quiet, but that is the way it is supposed to be with two little children running around.  A house with children should not be quiet unless they are involved in an activity that is devouring all of their attention.  Our children do not have the crutch of iPhones or TVs to rely on should they get bored.  They simply do not play with them and will not until they are much older.  They play with blocks, crayons and markers, sticks and mud, train tracks, and because of all that, their imaginations are blossoming.  Their curiosity is insatiable, as long as we feed it, and I strive every day to do that.  It is easy to stifle that curiosity, with just a simple shun or dismissal, but all they want to do is learn.  There is no stupid question, even if it may seem stupid to an adult, and there is where the magic lies.  Those simple questions which can sometimes require a lengthy explanation, are necessary if a child is to remain curious about the world around them.  I try and answer every question our son asks.  It may not happen immediately if I am involved in something else, but I do my best to answer every one.  It could take me 5-10 minutes to explain mosquitoes or why we are digging a pit for mommy's pottery, but those questions lead to more questions and so on and so forth.  If I don't know the answer, I tell him, and then we figure it out.  There in lies the magic, living in the moment and not thinking about everything else that I need to do that he doesn't care about.  Nothing that is pressing in my life is pressing in his and the more I can remember that, the more I can be attune to what he needs and to what my daughter needs.  Our daughter will get to the stage our son is at in a few years and the magic will begin again.  Even now, I am reliving the days when my son first became curious about the world around him with our daughter.  She is now clamoring to be where her brother is and get involved in everything, even if she isn't fully capable yet.  The time will come though.  All I know is that I will continue to feed their curiosity as best I can, without the use of technology as a crutch to entertain them.  

Just Another Monday

I'm having one of those Monday mornings where everything seems to be taking longer to slip into functioning mode.  My alarm went off this morning, and despite my best effort to telepathically tell it shut off and go away, I had to manually hit the snooze button 3 times.  Yes, I gave myself an extra 27 minutes of sleep this morning, and still, it felt like I was waking up way too early.  Part of me wishes that I had "forgotten" to set my alarm last night.  To sleep in on a Monday morning would be glorious.  With two young children and a wife who is a high school teacher, those days are long gone.  I technically could sleep for another hour, but I like to wake up slowly, have some personal time in the morning with which to stare at a computer screen, discerning what I should write about.  This morning, there was nothing.  Staring at a blank screen was like looking into a mirror and seeing exactly what was going through my brain; nothing.  Nothing, nothing, nothing.  To be completely honest, there were a few little grains of thought that sparkled, but they were as elusive as lightning bugs and I just couldn't get a handle on them.  So I sat and stared, waiting for someone to either turn the switch on my brain and kick start my day, or for something else to happen.  I don't know what that something else is, but that is OK, I will survive.  

I have a very strong feeling that my lethargy on this early Monday morning stems from our incessant need to get things done around our house.  We were outside so much over the course of this weekend that our son actually asked to play inside at certain points on Saturday and Sunday.  I, of course, being an outdoor junky, secretly fumed at the thought of sitting inside on a day when the skies are nearly cloudless and a slight breeze is gently swaying the ancient oaks around our house.   Yet being inside gave me a chance to just sit and relax, watch our son and daughter playing, and think about what else I wanted to do outside.   So to compensate for not getting things done when watching our son and daughter, I work extra hard the rest of the time.  And when I do all of that and never rest, Monday mornings look like this. 

My first cup of coffee is still working its magic, or at least I hope it is, because I am still dragging.  My eyelids feel like they weigh a hundred pounds and to the best of my ability, I am writing something down here.  It may be nothing of value, but at least it is something.  I know what happens to me if I put off writing for more than a few days.  I eventually end up putting it off for a few more, then a few more, and then before I know it a few weeks have gone by and nothing has been written.  Writing, even for the sake of just hitting keys on the keyboard and forming sentences with some sort of meaning keeps the brain juices flowing.  OK, enough for today, my coffee cup is empty and I have nothing left to give.  Tomorrow, I shall wake up a new man with new found energy.  At least I hope I will.  

Its Not Easy Being Three and a Half

Last year around this time, our son was spending his evenings, after being put to bed, re-arranging his room or running around like a maniac and bouncing off the walls.  Re-arranging his room consisted not just of moving a few things around, but of dragging furniture to opposite corners, pulling drawers out of his dresser, and pulling the mattress off of the box spring and shoving it in front of his door.  There were other activities that accompanied his 2.5 year old period of disequilibrium.  Luckily as a parent, the memory of those outbursts and misbehavior tend to fade over time leaving you with just a sweet vision of a loving son.  He still is loving.  He still is kind.  Yet there are times that I would like to slam my head into a wall these days due to his obstinance and emotional break downs over the smallest event or occurrence.  It doesn't take much to send him over the edge into a fit of tears and wailing.  I could simply go outside to start the charcoal on the grill without telling him only to hear him start crying and wailing inside over the fact that I didn't tell him.  Yes, I didn't tell him because he was in the midst of playing with his toys and looked like he was having a grand old time.  How was I supposed to know.  Well, obviously as a parent, these things should be automatically known (at least according to our son).  That is just one example of many that happened just yesterday afternoon in the span from when he got home around 430 till he went to bed around 7.  There is one more that I will share with you, just because I find it mildly humorous.  It involves pretzels, a large container of pretzels from Costco.  He wanted some for a snack yesterday so we took the container (about 1.5 feet tall) from the cupboard, took the cover off, and put some pretzels on the over turned cover for him.  My wife also took some for herself which turned out to be a bad idea.  You see, our son had it in his head that he was going to eat the whole container of pretzels.  The fact that my wife wanted some did not fit into our son's view of the world.  It just couldn't happen.  So he had a break down and started profusely crying.  It got to the point where I took all the pretzels away until he stopped crying and told him he could have the over turned cover filled with pretzels, and when he finished those, he could have more.   About three minutes of crying and going back and forth before he finally acquiesced.  Turns out he really only wanted to eat about five pretzels, not the whole container.  

And that is just half the fun.  His little tantrums I can handle for they merely take a little understanding of him, a calm demeanor, and steadfastness.  The part that is extremely difficult for me to handle is his seeming inability to listen.  Not to hear (although sometimes it feels like that is the issue), but to truly listen to what his parents are saying.  He has this habit of touching everything, even if we tell him not to and it takes about three repetitions of saying "Don't touch this because...(pick a reason, normally safety oriented)" before he finally decides to listen.  We have had discussions about it, talked about the importance of not touching before asking, but it hasn't sunk in yet.  His absence of listening carries into not even responding when we call his name.  There are times when I will call his name because I either want to stop him from running to the front of the house, or doing something that could hurt himself, and there will be absolutely no response.  I will repeat his name louder and louder until he finally responds, "WHAT" or "Stop yelling at me Daddy." If I get the response, "Stop yelling at me Daddy", I tell him I was only yelling because he wasn't responding and if he doesn't want me yelling, he should probably respond not on the fifth time I call his name, but on the first.  In all seriousness, that is the only time I yell, when I am trying to get his attention.  Either he gets so engrossed in what he is doing that he puts up a wall that won't let any sound in (or at least the sound of his parents voices), or he just truly is ignoring us.  I'll go with the putting up the wall just to make myself feel better.  Its not easy sometimes to keep ourselves on an even keel and deal with him, but we make it happen.  For all his not listening (which he is starting to do at daycare as well), crying, and emotional break downs, he is still a very kind and loving big brother.  

Just the other day, his little sister was walking around crying (either her molars or extreme tiredness, I don't remember which), and he went up to her, gave her a hug and a kiss on the forehead and told her, "Its OK, its OK."  It was perhaps the sweetest thing I have seen him do yet.   They play really well together for the most part, and he is always excited to see his sister, always.  Its moments like those that get me through the tough ones where I have to deal with a manic, over tired, cranky, obstinate, three and a half year old.  He is even helpful around the house, desiring to vacuum, put things away, clean up, and take care of chores around the house.  The only thing I would like is for him to listen a little better and I can handle everything else.  That is the one thing that gets on my nerves.  His break downs are simple for me.  And as almost every seasoned parent will probably tell me, be prepared for the not listening to continue.  I know, he probably will never listen very well, but I can still hope and dream for the day when it improves at least somewhat.  Oh well, for now, I will just keep the image of him giving his sister a hug and kiss in my mind.  That and the picture of him feeding her eggs in the morning.  That is also incredibly cute and adorable to watch.  

Gender Re-Assignment

I am a firm believer that people should have the freedom to do what they want with their bodies.  People should have the right to ingest what they desire, love whomever they wish, and if they are uncomfortable with the body that God gave them, then they should have the right to alter it in whatever way they see fit.  People can make themselves look like lizards for all I care, it doesn't bother me.  While it may not bother me and I feel that everyone should have the right to do as they wish with their bodies, that doesn't mean I will understand the underlying motive for changing  or altering things.  For me, I have always been comfortable in my own skin and as such, have never had the desire to alter anything.  There is a certain woman who just a few days ago graced the cover of Vanity Fair with her new look and name.  I will mention her name only once as I don't feel like she needs any more attention, Ms. Jenner.  She never used to be a woman until recently, and while I have no problem with her changing everything about herself from a man to a woman, I do have a problem with her using the media to attract attention to herself and inflate her lifetime ordeal to star status.  She used to be a male Olympian, used to be married to a Kardashian (a family I come very close to despising), and lately it seems as if she needed some more attention so orchestrated her "coming out" as a women so meticulously that it took a nation by storm.  Or at least almost by storm.  There was an article in the New York Times and there will even be a mini series documenting her transition for all the world to witness and follow.  Did she really need all this attention to validate her being in some way?  Was simply altering her identity not enough?  If her identity as a man was what really bothered her, then altering it and sharing it with her close friends should have been enough.  Perhaps since her divorce from a Kardashian, her fame has plummeted and the attention granted to her was waning so much that she needed another ploy to bring her back into the spot light.  I am not by any means doubting the fact that she was uncomfortable in her own skin, but I do question methods for gaining more attention.  To me, it seems petty and self-serving, but who am I to judge?

There has been a proliferation of even younger people having gender re-assignment surgery, most notably at my wife's high school.  She has dealt with a number who have considered it, and one who actually went through with at least part of the surgery this year, just reverse of what the lady mentioned above did.  This student went from being a female to a male.  I don't have a problem with the procedure, however, I do have a problem with the age that some people are considering the surgery and changing outward portrayal of who they are.  The teenage years are full of hormonal fluxes, raging one minute, absent the next.  These fluctuating hormones can seem to tear at the very fabric of who these teenagers are, making them question their friends and family, making them question themselves, and sending them on such highs and lows that it is often hard to keep on a normal track.  With hormones raging, the teenage years are perhaps the worst time to undergo gender re-assignment surgery, at least in my mind.  Once the hormones have settled down and a person has time to sit with themselves as they are, in their 20's, truly discerning their identity, then they can make a more solid decision about changing who they are.  Along with gender re-assignment surgery is the new fad that is also taking over in high schools and that is being gender neutral.  That is where a person can't decide if they are a male or female and wishes to be called addressed in a neutral manner.  This I have more of a problem with than the actual surgery.  Regardless of what a person feels they are, everyone is given either a male or a female body and as such, should own that body and run with it.  We can discuss that at length, but I will revert back to the simple topic of gender re-assignment.  

For myself at least, while I feel people should have the freedom to do as they wish with their bodies, there is a part of me that will never understand why someone would go through with the aforementioned surgery.  It all boils down to personal identity and how we view ourselves.  I believe that personal identity is derived both from our minds and our bodies.  Our minds contribute most of what we consider to be ourselves, however, our body offers the vessel for our identity to travel in and to an extent becomes part of who we are.  We can not separate ourselves from our bodies and as such, I feel we need to come to terms with who we are.  There is obviously something that occurs within certain people that make them feel disconnected form their bodies, and for those people, that surgery could help.  I don't understand it, but then again, I have never had those feelings.  If a person's body is truly so disconnected from their mind that they feel like they are never themselves, then maybe the surgery is warranted.  My only hope here is that people, especially teenagers, don't rush into this surgery thinking it will be a cure-all for whatever they are feeling.  People need to sit with who they are, after they have exited adolescence, before making the monumental decision to change their bodies to an extent that is very hard to reverse.  

Daycare Prom

You know that moment when you think you have heard of all the nonsense that parents have to go through and think to yourself, "ahhh, nothing else could top what I have already heard and none of it will affect me."?  Well, I thought that moment had passed for me and my life would be smooth and without incident for our children.  OK, maybe not smooth and without incident, but at least void of all the insane and deleterious events that parents are sucked into while simply being parents in the 21st century.  I think you know where I am going with this...I thought wrong.  Yesterday, my wife sent me an email that she got from our children's daycare inviting us and our son to a prom celebrating the graduation of the pre-school class (which my son isn't even in yet).   Let me just say that one more time in case you missed it, a prom in honor of the pre-school graduating class.  Let that sink in for a minute, really sink in, that the parents and children in pre-school and one year behind, were invited to a prom, the likes of which they will probably forget in a few years.   The first time I read the email, I almost thought it was a joke, but the email was long enough to be taken seriously, and attached to the email was the actual sign up sheet to indicate how many people would be attending and what kind of food we would be bringing to share.  Is there some sort of dress code for a "daycare prom"?  Do I have to go rent a tux for my son at three and a half so he can run around and get it covered in food?  What about the parents, are we expected to dress up as well, mingle with non-alcoholic drinks in our hands as we watch our children dance to Raffi and Sesame Street music?  

Even if I am exaggerating a bit, why is there a need for a daycare prom?  If it isn't even truly a prom, then why call it that?  After reading and re-reading and re-reading the invitation, it sounds more like a simple gathering after a graduation.  That doesn't change the fact that it was called a prom, our son isn't even in the "graduating" class of pre-school, and to top it all off, doesn't even know anyone in the graduating class.  Maybe I should go, get a limo or party bus, shuffle all the little kids on and make a grand entrance.  Then again, for those of you who know me, the mere thought of attending a "prom" for a daycare gives me a twitch and raises my blood pressure.  Perhaps the person writing the letter doesn't really know what prom means, because if they did, the probably wouldn't have used it in place of "party".  A "graduation party" I can attend for our son, a "graduation prom" I can not.  The definition of prom is as follows, "a formal ball held for a school class toward the end of the academic year."  Maybe it is a formal ball, but I doubt it.  I doubt that they would expect parents to get all dressed up along with their children to attend a pre-school graduation.  At least I would hope they don't expect it, because I have none of that in me.  Let's break it down even more, pre-school is not academic by any means.  There is no "narrow focus on or display of learning especially its trivial aspects."  Pre-school, and daycare in general, is about learning basic skills and socialization, nothing more.  It is about preparing a child for school and academia without actually entering its realm.  But I digress, we were talking about a prom.  A PROM!  

Needless to say, we will not be attending the prom.  No way, no how, its just not happening.  Even if our son asked if we could go, I would say, "no, we can't".  I would even explain my reasoning behind not going.  I would tell him that prom's are for older people, not young kids his age, and I would also explain that I simply would not be going to an event called a "prom".  I am done with proms, have been done with them for 14 years, and there is no way in hell I am going to one again.  Simply put, my prom days are over, and my son's will not be starting till he is actually in a school that is involved in the study of academics, not pre-school, kindergarten, or any grammar school grade.  Sorry, I am going to be the spoiler here, but that's my job as a parent, to be a spoiler and take all the fun away, at least when I feel it should be postponed for, I don't know, about 13 years at least.  That is all, you may carry on with your lives now.  

Nearing 1.5 Years

Having two children, I get to re-live the different stages that our son went through with our daughter.  Some of them I am glad are past me forever such as the early baby stage where they are not much more than a crying, breathing, being that is uniquely void of any real personality.  That doesn't mean I didn't love my son and daughter at that stage, it just isn't very exciting for me.  There is only so much you can do with a little baby before boredom begins to set in.  There are also stages in our son's development that I do not look forward to having our daughter go through.  Example:  potty training.  I know that girls are supposed to grasp the concept using the bathroom much more quickly than boys, but I still have to go through it, even if it is just for a few months.  And yet, there is so much more that I am excited about that going through potty training will just be a little bump in the road.  The best news about the potty training is that I only have to go through it one more time and then I am done with it forever.  

So what exactly am I excited about?  For starters, the emergence of a distinct and unique personality in our daughter.  What started blossoming at around a year is becoming more and more definitive and special.  She has this quirky little smile, a sly little side grin that she throws around, and is stubborn as an ox.  There is no disputing that she is our daughter, but even with her similarities to her parents, she is showing early signs of becoming her own person.  That, I love.  She is a generally happy toddler, except when she doesn't get what she wants, and has the most adorable laugh ever.  Now that she is in the early stages of coming into her own, she is getting along even better with her older brother and can now interact and play more with him.  For the most part, they play really well together, make each other laugh, and are an adorable sight to see.  At daycare, even thought they are in separate rooms due to the age difference, when they are outside, their play areas are adjoining and they can often be found at the fence separating the two, playing with each other.  I just hope they continue to get along as they get older and enter their teenage years where I feel their friendship will be a great help to them.  Only time will tell.  

But back to our daughter.  In addition to her blossoming personality, I love the fact that she enjoys the outdoors just as much as her brother.  Now that she is walking everywhere, she will often head for the back door and try to escape into the outdoors.  She can't reach the handle yet, but she knows how to get out and the whole process that goes along with it.  If she is wearing slippers, she takes those off, places them neatly on the shoe rack, grabs her shoes and plops down on the floor attempting to put them on.  Once outside, she loves to explore, throw balls in the driveway, and stick her hands in mud and dirt.  With mud and dirt, she is funny.  If she wants to, she will readily shove them right in, try tasting the mud, and has no qualms about any of it.  However, if she is walking and loses her balance and falls, she doesn't like her hands getting dirty from bracing herself.   Yet, while she may have her occasions of not liking her hands getting dirty, improved balance and time should cure her of that.  One thing she loves to do is go for walks.  Whether on our property in Vermont where she sits atop my shoulders as we traverse the hillside and stream or just in our yard where she either walks around holding a hand or rides serenely in her stroller, she loves all of it.  

From this point forward, things will only get better.  I know we have some rough times to go through still, namely all the half year stages where disequilibrium takes over their little bodies.  For all the rough times we have to go through, however, there are plenty of joyful times to balance it out and keep that smile on my face.  As I have said, even with our son when he was little, I take everything one day at a time.  I do my best to get home from work when they are getting home and make sure I see them every day.  Yes, I need to work to pay the bills, but that is all.  The rest I devote to family.  So will I ever be rich?  Probably not, but I'm OK with that, I have my wife and children and that is all that really matters.