Hermitry

by Phil

It's easy to not leave the house for long stretches of time as a stay-at-home parent. There are times that maybe we at-home parents don't shave as often as we should, don't take a shower until very late into the day (or not all), or even stay in our pajamas for a majority of the day. After awhile, if done too often, this becomes the norm. You may even see the at-home parent or two going into public in such disarray. That way lies madness.

I'll admit that until recently, my son and I didn't really leave the house all that often. He still naps and eats quite a bit throughout the day. So coordinating trips out was a challenge. Since, however, I want him to be properly socialized and comfortable in the world, I was doing him a disservice. I don't want him growing up to live in the caves outside of town, wearing rags, yelling at clouds, the only real variation to his day being the torment from the townsfolk. Or worse yet, living in a shack in the woods. At least if he were living in the cave he have the social interaction when the townsfolk came to yell obscenities at him.

Additionally, I also need the mentally cleansing touch of the outside world. I even need some time away from my son. Having some time away to recharge, to do adult activities, makes me a better father. A reminder every now and again that I'm a human being with all of the interests/desires/dreams/etc that come along with being human is important. As stay-at-home parents, we can't lose ourselves as individuals to this all-consuming job or ours.

So I'm taking a two-progned approach-

Firstly, my son and I are doing an activity outside of our home every day. Some days it may be something as simple as a walk around the neighborhood. Based upon Matt's advice, we've started going to babytime at the library. It consists of music, a few stories and open free play so the kids can amuse themselves while the parents chat. My kid really like sitting in the kiddie pool filled with balls.

We also have a family membership to the zoo. So we're stopping by there once a week for a few minutes. It gives me just enough time to do a few quick drawings of an animal or two while giving my son some time out. He doesn't really care about the animals yet. He doesn't even look at them. He's more interested in the other people walking around. But he'll get there.

He loves the Military Macaws?

He hates the Military Macaws...

Secondly, I'm finding time for myself. Once a week, I drop our son off to my wife at her lab and they have lunch together while I meet a friend. We discuss heavy topics and world events and I feel like an adult again for an hour a week. I've also joined a Saturday afternoon open painting studio. I get three and a half hours to paint every week while surrounded by other people doing the same thing. It helps me get my work done so I can meet deadlines while also interacting with other adult interested in pursuing the creative arts.

Hopefully by following this plan, I'll avoid raising J.D. Salinger while also preventing myself from becoming one of those adults that speaks to everyone as if they were a baby. If it doesn't work, at least I tried. And I guess with parenting, the best try is all that can really be asked.

On Perfection

by Doug

I'm an artist that has been working digitally for close to a decade. This means that most all of my work (penciling, inking, coloring, etc) is done on my computer. You can look up "Doug Hills cartoonist" on Youtube, and find an interview I did recently where you can see what my process looks like.

It's a great way to work. There's minimal mess, I'm helping the environment, and its the ultimate in mistake correcting: if I screw up, I paraphrase Nike and Just Undo It.

Here's the thing, though: I realize I've become a bit of a perfectionist. When you can correct every little mistake, you begin to tolerate mistakes less. I realized this as I worked on a sketch for a contest, and all I had was a ballpoint pen.

Which meant no undo.

Which meant every mistake would be there for everyone to see.

Was my finished piece perfect? Nope. I almost didn't enter the piece, because in my head I felt I could do better than that. But, I let it go. I had to.

And you know what? It was fine. The sky didn't come down. I wasn't deemed a failure. Hell, I even got a vote, which meant someone thought my ballpoint drawn, "mistake-ridden" piece of art was the best of the bunch.

Where am I going with all this?

I realized as I reflected on this unacheiveable pursuit of perfection, that I was doing this in my role of stay-at-home dad as well.

Much like Phil talked about in his article this week, I too have had to deal with juggling work with house work, parenthood, and spending time with my wife (or all three of us). And while one would think that would get easier as my daughter got older, I found that it was actually getting worse.

That doesn't make much sense.

My problem was thinking that I could perform all of those roles equally and successfully. I felt that I could (or rather * should*) cover everything I'm supposed to do in day with no problem at all.

In other words, I was trying to be perfect. And that's not possible. Well, not without keeping some semblance of sanity, it's not.

If anything, I'm sure the opposite had been acheived: I'm behind on my projects, the house isn't all that clean, and I haven't spent the time I planned to with my wife and daughter. Oh, and I'm stressed and not happy.

Whoops.

So what am I to do? Well, if my imperfect ballpoint pen drawing taught me anything, it's that I need to let go of this pursuit if perfection, and just do the best I can with the time I have.

Does that mean there will be times where I won't get a page done? Yes.

Does that mean there will be times where the girls will have to have mommy-daughter time so I *can* get a page done? Yes.

Will this work? I don't know. What I do know is that trying to be perfect hasn't worked, thus far. So, why not try something different? After all, it really is okay to be imperfect.

Much less futile, too.

Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.5

This Island Matt

by Matt

My wife & I were talking about resetting the girls' rooms for when the baby comes. We live in a typical suburban bungalow, with two bedrooms on the main floor and one large room for us upstairs. E's room is still set up with a crib, so the baby will go in there. E will move in with her older sister, L.

We were trying to figure out what to do with all of their stuff. Our kids are the only grand kids on both sides of our family. They have 2 sets of grandparents, 3 uncles & an aunt that love to buy stuff for them. And I love that. It saves us some money at their birthdays & Christmas. The only problem is that these people neglect to make cash donations to us for the addition we need to build to hold all this stuff. We still have Christmas gifts that are still not open, that will be used after the big move. There's nowhere to put all of it.

Well, that's not entirely true.

There is room for some of this stuff. The problem is that it will take the place of our stuff.

When we moved in (nearly 10 years ago), we had a computer room and a library on the first floor. BOTH. I can't imagine what that would be like now. The computer room was dark green, with some Hawaiian themes (from our honeymoon). Bamboo shades covered the windows. Our library had two cases full of books. The walls were a dark maroon, with brown trim along the floors and windows. It was the coolest room I had ever seen.

I kept my horn in there with my other music stuff. We even had the old piano in there that the previous tenants left. I could walk in and practice, or sit down in a comfy chair and read a book. It was quiet. It was nice. It was my sanctum sanctorum.

When L came, the computer room mashed up with the library. We got rid of the chair, piano (it was in pretty bad shape anyway) and some other odd furniture. Then when E came, all of that got sent to the basement.

I was okay with all of this. I still had a place that I could get away for a bit. I had it separated into sections: computer/library/music/practice area, TV area & comic area. It was cold in winter, but otherwise I dug the basement.

With #3 on the way, the decision was made to have the girls share a room, and we'll move their play area to the basement replacing the TV area. We'll leave the TV, but everything else had to move out.

So now I have to get rid of some stuff. The old hi-fi I got from a friend I used to work with needs to go. The funky end tables we got from my wife's aunt have to disappear. The newspaper covers of sports teams accomplishments will be replaced by Ariel, Belle, & Cinderella.

My retreat is proceeding apace. This basement is the last outpost of my identity. Send reinforcements!

Or send cash.

Lawyering

by Steve

My daughter and I have this excellent little game that we do. I think that we invented it, so... copyright. It's called lawyering. She came up with the name.

It started one day when we were watching something on Noggin (the best children's content channel on television). Between shows they'll have a band perform a fun little song, maybe a dance. There are several and they're all pretty good. I had a crush on one in particular, Laurie Berkner, for a few years. And "Willie Was A Whale" has cracked its way into my top ten songs of all time. It's on my I-Pod.

There is this one group called The Fresh Beat Band. She likes them a lot. We watched them together a few times. And then, just for fun, I confessed to her that when I was a teenager, I was one of the original members; that I was, in fact, the leader of the original Fresh Beat Band.

Now, of course it was a lie. And I know that it's "frowned upon" to lie to our kids. But this was one that was so outlandish that there is no way that she was going to believe it. I was sure of this.

"Really?" she said. I just looked at her. I was a little disappointed. At least she's cute, I thought. But, finally it clicked.

"You were not," she was very confident.

"Wasn't I?"

I stayed with it, telling her about what a demanding life it was to be a teen sensation, the heartthrob of preschoolers everywhere. I showed her my moves. I told her the line that I was famous for. The line that opened every Fresh Beat show, "Hey Mickey, gimmi a beat!" It was ridiculous. And with every word, even though she was laughing, and she knew that I was teasing her, she became more and more intent on getting me to admit that I was lying.

Now, my kids hate this about me. But I try to turn everything into a brain developing exercise of some sort. So, instead of admitting that I couldn't have been a founding member of The Fresh Beat Band, I told her to prove it.

It went on for months. Randomly timed questions from her; How old was I at the time? What were the other band member's names? Can she call them? She even called my mother to question her. All the while, when I knew she was looking I'd pretend to be working on old Fresh Beat dance routines. I'd talk to her about the good old days on tour. Deflecting her questions and making the story more and more elaborate. It was so much fun.

She finally got me. I forget how. One thing that I said didn't really jibe with something else. I didn't make it easy, I made her work for it, but she stuck with it and she proved her case very definitively. I was proud of her. She's not just cute. More importantly, she was very proud of herself. These "little" accomplishments are only little to us. To her, proving this was one of the biggest issues in her life. And it was one in the win column. Another accomplishment for her confidence to build upon.

Recently I started a new conversation with her.

"You know, I haven't worn a full bodied, purple leotard in quite a while."

"You haven't?"

"Nope. Not since college."

"Why did you wear one in college?"

"It was my uniform. You see, I worked my way through college as a clown's assistant in a traveling circus. I was a dwarf at the time..."

What did you call me?!

by Carlos

Oh boy. I feel like I'm really putting myself on the line with this one. Here it goes.
I have no idea why, what I'm about to tell you, is so important in my life, but it is. This event was crucial to my peace in doing what I am doing in this house.
It probably has to do with how I label myself. If you had asked me before I was married who I was, I would have said a number of things; I'm a Christian, a capoeirista, a suitor (to my now wife). Teaching was my profession, but I don't think I labeled myself as such. However, when I started taking care of the kids, it's like I didn't know what to call myself. My schedule change was so drastic.
When my buddies don't pick up their phone, I hear, "Hi, you've reached (name) at (company). Please leave a message." What goes on my message? "Hi, you've reached Carlos, caretaker of the 3 princesses at their princess palace..." What do I put?
I once saw a mom whom I hadn't seen in a while. We were chatting and we decided to try and set up a play group. But instead of exchanging numbers, she gave me her card. It blew me away! It said, "Mom of...." and the names of her three kids. Is that what I am?! I didn't like the way that it made me feel; as though my identity was reduced some connectivity to my children, like I didn't exist without them.

You know what really used to get me? those stupid applications that seem to flock to me asking me my occupation! Damn, I hated those things!! What do I put; stay-at-home dad,' do I put 'unemployed'? I mean what is a 'stay-at-home dad' anyway? Aren't I a dad even if I earn a pay check?
So, before I get to the point, I have to realize that everyone's situation is really different. In some families, the dad works part time, or from home. So, mom is there some times to do things. I have even met some families who hire a nanny one day a week so that both parents get a little time off. In my family, my wife, who is Fantastic! by the way, has to work 80 hours a week. She does A LOT around the house when she gets home, but 80 hours at her job really limits her time at home. (By the way, she's not a workaholic, she must put in 80 hours-that's the nature of her job)
Let me get to the point.
So, one day this cop comes to my house to ask me about a car that was involved in an accident. I told her that I had sold that car a few months earlier, it's not mine. She tells me that I have to go down to the station and fill out a paper and explain that I sold the car. You gotta be kidding me!? That's not my problem! Can't you do these things online?
Anyway, I'm praying the whole way down to the station, "Why me? Why this? What's this for?" When I get there, the cop at the desk hands me a paper; name, address, phone number, and -my favorite!- occupation. I decided to just leave the occupation part blank. But you know cops, they notice everything.
"You gotta fill this part out," as he hands the paper back to me.
"Ahhh, I don't know what to put there. I mean, I stay at home with the kids and I take care of them."
He looked me in the eye and said the most simple thing . "Then you're a home maker. Just put that."
Like a revelation, the last 4 years of my life flashed through my head; all the cooking, cleaning, changing diapers, driving, grocery shopping, laundry, changing sheets, vacuuming, reading kids' books... everything came to my mind at once. Suddenly a big weight lifted from me. Wow! I have no idea why I like that. But the truth is the truth.
I am a home maker.
I may not be a good one, I may struggle with it often, but that's what I do. My occupation is a home maker.

Productivity

by Phil

Where has it gone?

I'm not saying that I don't get anything at all done. I spend a ton of time with my kid, which I think is tremendously productive. When it comes to the work-at-home dad title, I have the "at-home dad" part pretty much down at this point. This little boy and I are really finding a groove.

It's the "work" part of my title that I am struggling with still. I've been doing this full-time for about 4 months now and I haven't figured out a way to get as much done as I'd like. I'm often working in 20 minutes chunks, usually when my son is happily playing with a toy or distracted by his excersaucer. (The excersaucer was a gift from fellow blogger Matt and his wife. While I haven't been able to get enough done these past few months, the inclusion of the excersaucer has really begun to help.) And there are also the periods of time that I get during his naps. Luckily, he still naps every 2 hours, so I can at least eat lunch and do some laundry. There are times, however, when entire days will zip by and I won't even notice. Suddenly, it's midnight and I've only managed a half hour of work for the day.

A new plan must be devised! I clearly need to take a frank look at how I'm spending my day and adjust accordingly. Perhaps there are small bits of wasted time that I'm not even aware are slipping away. Maybe I'm hitting "get mail" on my e-mail too often. Whatever it is, I need to trim the fat!

So for the next week (or most likely 2) I'm not going to change anything about how I handle my day. I am, however, going to keep track of everything I do in an embarrassing amount of detail. I want to know what I'm starting with. I need a list of wasted moments that can be saved or habits that need adjusting. Then I can go back and see very starkly where I'm being inefficient.

The daily logs will not be shared here on the blog. Don't worry. I'm not so narcissistic that I think you need to know how many minutes I spent eating breakfast. (And if you do care about that kind of minutia, you creep me out. Please go away.) I will share an overall view, though, along with routines that I'm working on changing. The public pressure of publishing the progress on this blog will certainly keep me motivated. I embarrass myself enough in front of total strangers as it is. I don't need to add more fuel to the fire.

Time management is something that I think every parent in the world struggles with. How do we all squeeze one more minute out of our day? If anyone wants to make suggestions in the comments about how they get things done, I am certainly open to them.

And lastly, on a totally different subject, I totally dominate my son in thumb wrestling. I even have the photo to prove it.

On Flying Solo

by Doug

I'm currently at the airport, waiting for my flight back to New York (visiting the folks for a week). Instead if spending the time dreading the crap weather I'm about to experience once I land, I thought I'd write about the feelings this particular at-home dad has about flying without family.

I'm also dead tired, so if this entry starts to ramble, uhm...whoops?

My wife's job as college professor and researcher allows her the opportunity to travel a fair amount. The fact that the school pays for said trips is an added bonus.

Unfortunately, any trips that I would need to go on (comic conventions, etc) aren't covered by the school. So, my trips are understandably less frequent.

But when they do happen? It's like a mini vacation, even if its a work trip! For a few days, I get to be an adult again! I get to socialize with people at out around my age without my attention divided! I can go to a bar!

So, why do I feel guilty that I'm not home? Or that I could accidentally have some fun while I'm on my trip?

I think that I've become so used to running the ship, that any time away from it is a shirking of my responsibilities. And its not like my wife can't handle things at home (despite what she may say); it's just that I'm the one that agreed to take care of the house, so by not being home, I'm breaking the deal.

Of course, as I tend to be reminded, I'm a work-at-home dad. As such, I need to go on work trips, when possible. And, sometimes, it's even okay to have a little fun while I'm away.

Just a little. Can't get too carried away. ;)

It can definitely be good for the psyche once in a while to get that mental break. I know that after some stretches of watching our daughter while my wife focuses on work, or has to go on a trip, that I'm just done, mentally. I have found that having those few days off is just enough if a mental recharge, that by time I'm back, I'm ready to get back to work, both career-wise, and as dad and husband.

So yeah, I do like to go on the occasional solo trip, and get the mental break. And yeah, I also feel guilty about leaving, and not doing my job.

And somehow, having both of those feelings feels okay.

Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.5

A Three Hour Tour

by Matt

"Where were you?"

"I was at the library."

"For three hours?"

"Yes! I was reading!"

...

"For three hours?"


As a kid, I spent way too many hours reading at the library. My mom couldn't believe it. She must have thought I was starting trouble on the mean streets of Suburbia, USA. As a parent, I think, "Wow. Awesome. What a good example." But as a man, I think, "Wow. What a nerd." I think I spent everyday there, for a whole month, one summer. I would get a stack of books and sit in an alcove reading for hours. I would try to re shelve my books from memory, but the librarians would always (politely) tell me to leave them on the table. It was fun. I miss the unending freedom to read books.

I fell out of using the library as much around high school. Most people would say it was because of girls and parties. But for me, it was music and comic books. It wasn't until I had my girls that I started to visit the library on a regular basis. All my fees were paid and I was ready to borrow books, CD's, and movies. Plus, we have a carpeted bath tub to sit in and read! (And by "we", I mean "children.")

Most local libraries have tons of free programs for parents to take their kids too. Our library has groups for varying ages: baby time (3 months to walking), toddler time(walking to 36 months, & preschool (3-5 yrs). Once a month, they offer a family night. It usually involves crafts, games, light refreshments, & stories.

My first experience with a "playgroup" was during baby time with L. She was around 5 or 6 months, and I was a little leary. Actually, I think a better word is intimidated. I didn't want to look like a complete idiot in front of these moms. I had to represent my gender better than the typical sitcom dad: dropping dinner out of the oven, using t shirts instead of diapers, and not being able to handle a baby.

I was the only dad in a room full of moms. Why were they all looking at me? Stop judging me! I'm a parent just like you! Please talk to me! Let's commune over common parenting experiences! Why won't you let me COMMUNE? WHY?!?!

Yeah, that's what I felt. But that wasn't what was happening.

I think they might have been a little freaked out at first. But L went a long way into smoothing things over. Pretty soon, I was jibberjabbering with the other moms like my name was Rhoda or Flo. We kept going, and we continued once E came. I even noticed an uptick in makeup & style from the other moms. (Yeah, I still got it.)

Usually, my girls want to stay and do some of the regular library activities. I like this. It gives me a chance to peruse the stacks, and find something to read. Now, if I can only get my wife to let me hang out at the library and read for three hours.

Keep your wife off the ledge

by Steve

The stay at home dad is, still, an unusual thing. So, the focus of conversation tends to center around our perceptions about it. How it makes us see life differently, how hard it is for us to take on such an unconventional role. I'm not complaining. I love the attention. But, often times I think that there is too much focus on how the dad is adjusting to it. This whole role reversal thing plays havoc with more than just the dad.

I have to keep reminding myself that women have been doing this for quite some time. They were home in the cave from the beginning, teaching their little neander-tykes not to play with the kitty cats with the 12-inch fangs. And until Michael Keaton blazed the trail in the 1980's it was, pretty much, strictly a women's role. Try breaking a habit that's been developing for 40,000 years.

So, while this is a role that can be difficult for men to adjust to, don't let it escape you that it's pretty hard for women too. They've got all those years (I think I said 50,000) of maternal instinct screaming at them to stay with their children, but they wake up every day, they suck it up, and they go to work.

I would imagine that that maternal voice isn't so easy to ignore. I would imagine it doesn't take naps. It gnaws at them like a 3 year old asking why... why... why... why... why... (if you didn't get that, you will). Then add the pressure of being the family's chief, or sole, provider, and we've got a situation that we need to keep an eye on.

So what do we do about it? Damned if I know. Please suggest something. What I do know is that there is no easy answer when it comes to women and emotions. Even though my wife is at work she wants a play-by-play of what happens while she's gone. If I tell her that something major happened while she was at work, I know that it bothers her. She wanted to be there. If I didn't tell her, and she found out later, it would bother her because she'd feel out of touch.

I just thank God that both of my kids took their first steps while my wife was home. I can picture the scene if I had to call her at work to tell her that her little boy just took his first steps ever. "yep, first steps ever! It was amazing... Hey, look at that. They're doing a live action shot on the news. Some woman is climbing onto the ledge of a building! I think she's holding a phone. You know... she has a dress just like yours..."

I think that all we can do is to let them know we understand that this is difficult for them too. Probably more than for us. Appreciate. Try to make it less of an "its all about me" thing. Guys tend to do that a lot. I tend to do that a lot.

I'm just saying, they ignore those 60,000 years of instinct all because they've decided that it's the best thing for their family, and I get way more credit for doing this than any woman ever did. But I do love the attention.

Dibs on the post about toddlers asking "why... why... why..."

Boca or Burger?

by Carlos

As my kids grow older, I begin to see the signs of their individual personalities come out. It makes it much easier for me to see since I can compare one child to her sisters. It's really cool to see what they like and their different reactions to the same situation.
For instance, if I serve pizza, my girls all start eating different parts of it. One of my girls will take off all the meat and eat it first. My other will begin eating the crust first. And my third girl, Lani, likes to eat the veges first.
In fact Lani's personality is really shinning through and I don't really know how to take it. My wife and I both are from cultures that eat a lot meat, pork, to be specific. And even though I've been a vegetarian at one time in my life, I don't really want to stop eating meat again. It's all good to cut back, but Lani is starting to show signs that she really likes plants.
I shouldn't freak out, but some reason, I have no idea how to proceed.
Lani loves to collect seeds when she's out playing. She holds them in her tiny hands and when she's collected more than she can hold, my pockets get filled. It's kinda fun to see what's in my pocket at the end of the day. Anyway, Lani loves flowers, and even at 3 yrs old, she can identify just about all the ones that I can name.
Are these signs that my child will be a vegetarian? Or does it just mean that she loves nature?
Case in point; we were walking through a certain mall last winter. She was only 2 at that time. This mall was awesome because while there was snow outside, this mall had brilliant skylights that allowed giant palm trees to grow all the way to the second story. Imagine my wife and I herding our little brood of 3 girls through a busy mall. "Come this way! No! Follow us. Stay together!" All of sudden, Lani is gone. We look back and freeze. Our mouths drop. Lani is hugging the palm tree. My wife says, "She's definetley your child." (What does that mean anyway? We all know she was in your tummy!)
So what! She collects seeds, she loves her veges, she hugs trees. So what!! What does it mean? Does this mean that it's by nature, not nurture, that my girl can be a vegetarian? This is not some kind of science experiment. Who cares?
My wife asks me to not to call the food 'chicken' or 'fish' because she thinks that Lani will stop eating it. I say teach the kids where their food comes from! My thinking was that if she decides to stop eating meat, well then, time to invest in some good cook books. I didn't want to dummy down any truths.
BUT... something just happened three nights ago that threw me through a loop. I should have seen it coming! If I had just thought a second, maybe I could have avoided it!
Steak is not one of my favorite foods, but I was really looking forward to this one. I made it rare AND I drank a beer while it was on the BBQ. It was SO juicy. Nastalgia at it's sweetest!
Two minutes into the meal, Lani, my sweet little 3 yr old, with her sweet little inquisitive mind, who always sees everything, points to my steak and says, "Why is it bleeding, Papi? Papi, why is it bleeding? Papi, why is it bleeding? Why is it bleeding, Papi?" She's repeating her question because I'm wide eyed, jaw dropped and hesitating. Kids know the hesitation and are not intimidated by it.
What's the right answer? Do I say, "Umm, because it's dead." No, no. "Because it used to be a cow. You know those sweet animals that you have dolls of which you like to hug." No.
My wife shoots me 'that' look. It's not my fault!
So I gave her the stupid answer I always give when I have no idea what to say because the truth is going to somehow suck; "Honey, it's bleeding because that's what it does. Here, eat some of your fries."

On a Park Bench

by Phil

My wife and I have a book that asks a different question every day throughout the year. There is space provided so that each question can be answered 5 times. It will be a fun activity to watch how our answers change as we give answers over the five year period.

Two nights ago, a rather simple question really rattled my cage. "Are you a leader or a follower..." Before the birth of my son, I would have probably answered that I'm a combination of both; it changes depending on the aspect of my life. But that question put into stark reality what I've been feeling over the past four months. I didn't even realize it until that moment.

I no longer feel like a leader. I don't feel like a follower either. In most areas of my life, I feel like I'm sitting on a park bench. I'm watching as the parade passes me by. There are drum majors and marching bands. There are floats and clowns. There are many people doing many things and I am just watching.

I've given up several things to become a work-at-home dad. My freelance illustration and graphic design work has basically diminished to part-time because that is all I can fit in. I used to curate for a gallery, organizing the exhibits every month, finding new artists and promoting shows. My wife and I are both the type of people that don't just have jobs. We are what we do. That perhaps sounds bad but it's not. She is a scientist. I am a painter. These aren't the types of gigs you take because nothing else is available. You do them because it's what's inside you.

But when my life is defined by work, what happens when the type of work that I'm doing is so drastically and suddenly changed? Along with squeezing out whatever freelance job I have time for, I am now a father. And I am gladly defined by that work just as I am defined by my work as a painter. I love being a dad to my son. Like I said in my first post, he's like the human equivalent to crack for me. I can't get enough of being his dad.

Being an at-home dad to such a young infant is quite insular. A majority of the time, it's just me and a little ball of giggling human potential. And while he laughs quite riotously when I read him Shakespeare, we're not discussing the great matters of the day. (I try to start such discussions but he just blows raspberries at all of my opinions.) But things will inevitably change. As he ages and becomes more independent, my life will change too. Yes, I've given up some things. Some of those things are gone forever, but not everything is. My life and my expectations for life will change and develop as I get older, just as his will.

A father and son alone do not a parade make. But you know what? The two of us are having a heck of a time sitting on this park bench together, watching all the other yahoos in the world march along.

On Doctors, Hope, and Punting

by Doug

“Is he real?”

“Is who real?”

“The Doctor. Is he real?”

“Why? What if he was real?”

“I want to go into space with him, and go on an adventure!”

The funny thing about this entry is that I had not planned to tie it in to last week's. I threw that last sentence about introducing my daughter to Doctor Who in my first entry on a lark. But, I figured, why not show her an episode?

So we watched the premiere episode from Season Five, with Matt Smith as the new (Eleventh) Doctor.

Then we watched a few episodes with the Tenth Doctor (played by David Tennant).

And a few more.

And a few more.

Then, I told her the Doctor I was familiar with was the one that had this large scarf. So, we hunted down an episode on Netflix (The Ark in Space, for those interested), and watched that.

And we watched it again the next day.

Needless to say, she was enthralled. She jumped at times, and was creeped out by some of the visuals, but she was never scared. Not with the alien vampire-like creatures. Not with the giant alien bugs. Not with the Cybermen. The Doctor wasn't afraid, so, why should she?

And that's when she asked me if he was real.

Santa? The Easter Bunny? The Tooth Fairy? As far as she's concerned, they exist. Simple as that. She's also pretty astute in knowing what she sees on TV is comprised of actors and special effects (or voice actors and drawings).

But asking if the Doctor was real? So she could go on an adventure with him? That was the first time I heard some hope in her voice, and saw it in her eyes. That even though it was a television show, she still had this...something...that made her want to really believe that he was real. That he wasn't just some actor (or actors). That she really wanted to go flying through space and time in the TARDIS with the Doctor, seeing all these amazing things.

So, what could I say to her?

I was already dreading the conversations we'll have regarding Santa and the others, but this one I'll admit took me by surprise. I didn't know what to say.

So, I punted. I told her he is real if you believe he's real. Then I pointed out something cool that was happening on the show.

Was that a cop-out? Yeah, probably. It was the first time where I just couldn't say to her, “No, they're just actors.” It's odd, because I've done that before – remember, she knows that Frankenstein was played by Boris Karloff, and that Dot from Animaniacs is voiced by Tress MacNeille. But this time, I didn't tell her that it's Tom Baker, David Tennant, and Matt Smith just playing roles. As far as we're concerned, they are the Doctor With the Scarf, The Spiky-Haired Doctor, and the Bow-tie Doctor, respectively.

Does she think that they're just actors? I have a pretty good feeling that she does. But she wants to believe the Doctor is real, flying around right now in space in a big blue box. And I wasn't going to take that away from her.

Incidentally, her favorite Doctor?

The Doctor With the Scarf.

Jelly Babies, anyone?

The Boys Are Back In Town

by Matt

I finally did it.

I caved.

We recently found out we're having a third girl (cash & alcohol donations will be accepted; see future posts for donation sites/fundraisers). So after realizing that I will have no son to pass down my Thor action figure, I brought them up out of seclusion, for my girls.

When I was a kid, I would have killed for a Thor action figure. To have him fight Loki, or to have an Iron Man toy fight the Mandarin was a dream for me. Most of my toys were GI Joe, He-Man, Transformers, & Star Wars. And I loved all of these. But I was really into comics, and I longed for a Spider-Man toy that came with real webbed arms.

In the late 90's & early turn of the century (doesn't that look weird?), you saw more action figures that looked like the actual comic books. My then-girlfriend, & eventual wife, was very accepting and helped my pursuit of a childhood dream. But after I got a decent amount of these things, I realized "What the h@11 am I going to do with these things?" And like most parents, I thought I would force them on my kids.

I never really thought to bring them up for my two daughters. They love the princess/Dora/playhouse toys. They got a Disney castle for Christmas that will bring them hours of joy. You'd think that being a stay at home dad, would change some gender role perceptions that I had. But I guess I was secretly waiting to see if I had a son, so I could make him like the things that I like.

Once I tossed them on the carpet, and explained who they were (think of the end of "Toy Story 3", with the same amount of weeping), they started to play with them. L picked up Captain America's shield, and slung it at Doctor Doom. E picked up Iron Man, and flew him in the air while making laser sound noises.

They LOVED them.

Iron Man & friends on a bender

I don't know why it took me so long to bring these up. My girls know Captain America's theme song. L needs to hear a Batman story every night before she goes to bed. E loves the Superman doll that watches over her every night. Kids love toys, regardless of the gender. Maybe that's why I always wanted an Easybake oven as a kid. Now that I think about it, that may have had something to do with my current occupation.


They love their new toys. They can now see Superman cooking in their playhouse, just like they do in their real house.


L just said, "I love your super hero dolls, Daddy."

...

Action figures.

They're CALLED action figures.

Geocaching

by Steve

My son has been stricken with a horrible condition. It just kind of crept up on us. He's developed... his own interests. That's right, his own interests. As in, not the same as mine.

This was not the way I'd pictured it. Lead by example, right? Boys want to be just like their fathers, right? Well, by now he's supposed to be coming home from school and asking me if I want to go for a run. Telling me that he's going upstairs to read for awhile, maybe work on a story he's been thinking about. "Hey Dad, can I help you work on the deck... or the tree house... or check on our on-line chess accounts?" Nope.

Now, I am in no way disappointed in my son. He's a great kid, clever, funny, and into a lot of great stuff. I just miss the "good old days." Back when I couldn't even fix the trap under the sink without him. He needed to be there tapping on the pipe, very carefully, with his red plastic hammer.

It's just one of those cases where he's into his stuff and I'm into mine. It's supposed to happen. So, I've been trying to find a way that we can reconnect. A shared interest that will give us more time together. This year for Christmas, Santa brought us something called a Geomate. It's used for something called Geocaching.

This is not a paid advertisement. It's just me telling you about something that is really freaking awesome.

This may be old news to you, it's been around for some time, but it's totally new to us. There are these things, these containers, hidden all over the place called geocaches. They're everywhere. They contain odd little trinket type items, maybe a log book to sign, you never know. When people hide these geocaches they mark the co ordinance with a GPS and then record it in the geocache web site (www.geocaching.com) This Geomate thing is a GPS with like 10,000 of them programmed into it. So when you turn it on, it points to the closest one, gives you the approximate distance and you go find it.

Man, this is just what we needed. Together, outside, for hours, exploring, with a common goal. It's an actual treasure hunt. And it wasn't just a hit with my son and I. My wife and daughter loved it too. We found our first cache just off this trail that we'd actually been down before, but had no idea that one of these containers was just a few feet away. It was right there tucked into a hole, under a rock with some logs pulled over it. It was actually sort of a rush. It contained a matchbox car and a few wooden coins (which we took) and a log book (which we signed). We left a few beaded necklaces. In two days that was the only one we found, but everyone wants to get back out there as soon as we can. You've got to try this.

So for now, this Geocaching thing is a winner. But his interests are going to change, so are my daughter's. And I'll have to find new ways to connect. But, that's the job right? I can't be a good influence if we're "just not into the same things." I can't be a good example for them if "they're doing their stuff and I'm doing mine." It's always going to take some effort, but that's the job.

Mr. Rules

'I wish I had a sugar Mama'

by Carlos

I had a lot of jobs in my life, but none have made me question my manhood as this one. Not to mention that no job has brought questions of my manhood from others!
My father is dope! And if I could be like him I wouldn't question my manhood. Do most guys think like this? But I'm nothing like my father. Does that mean I'm not a man? I don't know jack about fixing cars. I can't lay concrete. And I wouldn't last a week in basic training. But my father mastered all these and so much more. So what did I learn from him? Can I say that I'm my father's son? Can I lay claim to manhood? It's interesting to me that the Lord allowed me to have this job, a master pooper scooper and bedtime story teller, to show me that I did learn something from my father, even though my manhood was challenged by myself and others.
One of my wife's co-workers actually said to me, "Yeah, I always wished I could get a sugar mama." Another guy, who saw me wearing my baby in a sling told me, "Boy, it must be hard to look like a man with that thing on." This military guy once said something that actually made me feel pretty good. He saw me in a sling, too and said, "oh, I got one of those... but I would never wear it in public." It made me feel good because I wasn't too proud to wear my baby.
I'm chuckling just thinking of these! They weren't even said to hurt me. The military guy was our nurse in the hospital when my wife gave birth last. And the other two guys were some of my wife's co-workers. They didn't mean to lay insult, but they opened their mouth and that's what came out. But I can't blame them, these were my own thoughts as well.
But after four years I think I can say that I actually did learn something from my father; he didn't like a lot of the things he had to do. Instead of fixing the car, I'm sure he would have rather been spending time with us. And he didn't like getting deployed, but that was part of the job. Laying concrete... well, I think he likes doing that. But my point is that he did those things because that's what the family needed. He needed to fix our 8 year old Corolla because we couldn't afford to have someone else fix it. That's just what the family needed.
When the choice came between my wife's dream job (I actually think it's her calling) and my dead end job, it was a no brainer. I still believe that women are better suited for this job (that's not a sexist statement!) but this is the best thing for our family.
So even though I don't wear a sling anymore, you can still find me singing the Dora the Explorer
theme song and playing the prince of my three little princesses. And I think I can call myself my dad's son because doing exactly this is being the man of this family.

Swaddling

by Phil

My son has joined a new cadre this past week- those who sleep unrestrained! And while we never shackled him to the wall at night, we did wrap him tightly in a swaddle.

Any new parent, hopefully, knows the magic of the swaddle. Tightly wrapping a newborn in a blanket to prevent movement helps them calm down and sleep for longer periods of time. It mimics the constricted space of the womb and triggers some sort of comfort instinct.

So we consistently swaddled our son in a blanket for naps and at night. Sometimes, if he was fussy, he'd be swaddled during periods of wakefulness, too, as it would help him stay calm. We found that the normal receiving blankets were too small to really tightly wrap him so we found a few larger-sized blankets that would do the job.

Baby Burrito!

We soon took to calling him "Little Houdini" however because, no matter what we did, he would find a way out of the swaddle. We joked that we should take him on the road and hang him hundreds of feet in the air. We'd never have to work again! At first it was just his arms...

Then he found ways to bust out that really impressed us...

While he would try to get out of the swaddle, being out of it made him absolutely angry and kept him from sleeping. It's some sort of baby paradox. Clearly we had to introduce some new technology that would properly restrain this kid. So around day 80, out came the store-bought swaddle. Oh, joy!

This worked really well... for a time. But he still found his way out of it. A few examples of how we found him after a nap.

Actually, it worked really well for a couple months. While he'd get his arms (or periodically a leg) out, re-swaddling him normally did the trick to put him right back to sleep.

But we noticed in late December that he was getting really angry at the swaddle and sleeping poorly. This wasn't the normally slight annoyance at being restrained that would disappear within moments as he fell asleep. He was kicking his legs and we had to go in to soothe him more than usual. But this was right before we left for cross country Christmas travel. Traveling isn't the best time to start experimenting with your kid's sleeping habits. They already have to deal with enough change while traveling and meeting family for the first time. And while traveling, his sleeping pattern was a tad wonky. He didn't sleep as well as he normally does but that could be chalked up, again, to the travel and not being in his normal surroundings.

So when we got home, I started experimenting with unswaddled sleep. It started with naps during the day. There was no way we were going to jump right into a full 8 hours of unswaddled sleep and expect it to go well. If we've learned anything, we've learned that baby's don't like change. Even when they want it. Again- the baby paradox.

Then after a few days of napping without a swaddle, he had a bad night of sleep. He kept waking up every few minutes angry. So during one crying fit, I just went in and unwrapped him. As soon as he was free, the crying stopped and he fell asleep. I'd like to think the napping during the day eased him into it. But who knows.

Now he sleeps like a champ. There are still times (like last night at 3:30 am! AH!) when he gets too worked up and needs to be swaddled for a bit to calm down. But that's only happened like twice in the past week.

The little guy is growing up and sleeping like a human being instead of encased like some sort of summer sausage.

On a side note, my wife and I are extremely thankful for the DVD "Happiest Baby on the Block" for it's many amazing suggestions. I'm not going to turn this blog into some sort of shilling platform, but really, if you're a new parent, I can't recommend it enough. Rent it, borrow it, do whatever. Just watch it. It really helped us keep our son calm through his hospital stays and the first four or so months.

On Geeking my Child Out

by Doug

My wife is heading out of the town (and out of the country) next week for a marketing conference. Want to know what she's worried about?

Not about the security screening fun she's going to encounter at the airport.

Not about about forgetting her passport.

Not about getting her presentation done in time.

Nope, she's worried about what new geeky thing I will introduce to our six year old daughter.

When one is a comic artist, and an uber sci-fi/fantasy geek, it's to be expected that I would be introducing some of that to our daughter. What I don't think either of us expected was how much of a sponge she is when it comes to some of these things. I mean she loves this stuff.

Don't believe me?

• She claims she's married to Captain Kirk (Chris Pine version), and had dumped Keith from Voltron to marry him.

• She dumped Tony Stark to be with Keith.

• She knows most of the members of Justice League Unlimited.

• Not only does she enjoy watching the original Frankenstein, but then wants to watch the follow-up documentary on Boris Karloff.

• While she does have the usual little girl toys (Barbie, My Little Pony), she also has a Nerf Battle Axe and Shield, so she can be like Astrid from How To Train Your Dragon.

• She has spent a day watching a marathon of Mythbusters episodes. By request. Related: She also loves How It's Made.

• She loves GIR.

• She has commandeered one of my Ultimate Spider-Man trades.

• When she learned what voice actors were, she wanted to be one so she could be the next voice of Dot on Animaniacs.

I think the humorous thing in all of this is that it doesn't take much of anything to get her hooked on something. It usually goes like this:

Me: Hey, want to watch (insert movie/show/cartoon that she hasn't seen before here)?

Her: Sure.

(after the movie/cartoon/show is done)

Her: I wanna watch it again! (and again, and again)

I can hear some of you out there saying, “Well, you're just introducing the stuff you like. What about letting her find her own stuff to like?” To that I say: she discovered Voltron on her own!

Nyah!

Actually, she has watched and enjoyed some of the modern cartoons and shows that you find on Cartoon Network and Nick. We spent a good chunk of our time in the hotel on a recent trip watching iCarly. What I have noticed though is that while she enjoys some of those shows. She doesn't get as psyched up as watching Transformers, or Justice League or classic Tom and Jerry. Is that a slam on the current children's entertainment industry? Maybe. But, you can't blame that on me, dear reader; she's been making that decision on her own.

So, next week I get another opportunity to get my daughter obsessed with a new...something. And, I get to make my wife's eyes roll at me again as a result. Woo!

Now I just need to figure out what to show her next. I did get that fourth series of Doctor Who for Christmas...

Life in High Def

by Matt

I got a giant (to me, at least) High-Def TV for Christmas. My wife signed us up for the HD cable, which was installed yesterday. As the tech was showing me the options on the remote, he flipped over to ESPN. I barely paid attention to what he was saying. Somehow, the picture seemed more real than my own two eyes. Everything I was looking at seemed to be a part of my world, and no longer trapped in my happy picture box. No Vaseline on the lens; no trick lighting: wrinkles were evident; gray hair was standing out; make-up was caked. This is how real life actually looked.

After my brief training session, he told me to enjoy, and left. The door wasn't even closed before the TV ended up on Nick, Jr. I ran into the kitchen to put my pork chops in the brine that I prepared while the kids were eating lunch. I switched out the laundry, grabbed the mail, and then settled my youngest down for her nap.

Ever since I decided to be a stay at home dad, my life has been an exercise in prioritizing. I've had to give up certain things that I may have liked, but not necessarily needed. I could read an article online, or I could practice. (I'm a musician.) I could watch the end of a movie I've seen 5 times, or I could get my oldest daughter's preschool snack ready the night before. I could meander around a store for awhile, or spend some quality time with my wife. (That doesn't necessarily mean what you think it means. Well...maybe sometimes...)

Mr. Rules said it best when he talked about expectations. So many things you expect to happen, don't. And things you would never imagine happening, do. I'm learning all the time that you need to see things for the way they are in real life. I want to imagine I'll have an easy time finding a job when I decide to go back to work. The reality, however, is that it may not be so easy after 5-7 years. (I have two girls. One is almost 4 and the other is almost 2. We're expecting our third child in May.) I get paranoid that I've stunted some part of my kids growth. The reality, however, is that they both amaze me in how much they can already do/know/say/count/read etc. Who did this? Did somebody come in and teach them while I was sleeping?

Every day I'm trying to see the things in my life for what they are. I don't want to see the things that aren't' important to me; the things that I'm expecting, for better or for worse. I try to see the High Def reality that is my life. How awesome is it that I have two girls dressed as princesses, singing at the top of the their lungs, "Theme from Spider-Man"?

To be fair, surround sound can be a little much sometimes.

Mr. Rules- I wanted to be a farmer

by Steve

I'm not going to over sell the experience of being a stay at home dad. Trust me when I tell you, it's not the life I've been dreaming of ever since I was a little boy. Back then I wanted to get exceedingly rich by being a farmer and letting the animals live in my house. Even back then, I had no aptitude for creating wealth.

I don't want to knock what we do either. There is no better job for me, than one where I spend my days listening as my son tells me about why humans have disposable thumbs; or that his sister has re-di-gurgitated her breakfast.

I simply want to point out that as the years rolled by, I spent more time struggling with the things that I didn't expect, than those that I did. I expected everything that comes with transitioning from two incomes to one. I expected that at some point my cute little angel of a daughter would proclaim just how much she "really, really, really, really, really..., really hates me!" I'm paraphrasing.

I expected to receive at least a dozen copies of Mr. Mom as totally original gag gifts (don't do this, really) but actually only got two. And I expected to be terrified to tell my ruff, tuff, blue collar , union man father that I was taking a "a girl's job."

What I didn't expect was the guilt that comes along with being a man that produces no income. The feeling of stagnation as I watched my family and friends build careers and reputations, while for years, I wore a bathrobe for most of the day and tried to shave once a week.

I didn't consider how leaving her kids all day would affect my wife. Turns out, there's a maternal thing going on there that, as men, we can't even begin to fathom. And it never even occurred to me that I would never be able to button my jeans again. I mean... the kitchen is right there, and well... flavor blasted goldfish. You know what I'm talking about.

In short... I want it to be over. But there's no getting around it, this is the best decision I ever made.

Oh, and I completely agree with Carlos. When told well, good poop stories make the world go around.

Carlos - signin in

by Carlos

Well, Phil writes about his heroin addiction to his child. That's awesome!
I, myself have found the magic mirror. You know the mirror that constantly tells the truth. When I look at my children I see how selfish I am. I'm not trying to get down about me, but my three little girls, in their very sweet ways, let me see myself as I really am.
I guess I'll try to elaborate;
When my first born was 2 years old, I'd had it with all the Sesame Street. I couldn't take it anymore! "That's it! We're watching Gremlins!" You can't imagine how surprised I was to see my two-year old and one-year old screaming as little long-nailed green creatures set fires and wreaked general havoc on little old women. And, damn! You know they don't like Star Wars?!
I don't get what I want.
The other day, my second girl, who is now three, yells from the bathroom, "Papi! Come wipe me!" First of all, that little princess knows how to wipe herself. Don't ask me why she calls me to do the very thing she proclaims she can do all by herself.
But I know her; she's not done making 'caca.' I know she's not done. She always calls me before she's done! So, I call back, "Are you done?" She replies, "Yes." I'm not convinced. "Lani. Are you finished?" She says she is, again, but I have to ask another time, because I KNOW she's not done!
I tell myself that I'm going to be angry if she's not done. It was more of a decision I had made.
So, I walk all the way to the bathroom (which isn't very far, I'm just lazy). There she is, sitting on the toilet. She's looking in my direction, but it's like she's not quite looking at me. She's focused on something else. In fact, she's concentrating. In her small 3-year old voice, with a red face and eyes slightly bulging, she strains to say, "Papi... I have... more... caca." She was pushing at that very moment.
And damn it, I can't even be mad when I want to be! I walk away, because I don't want her to think I'm laught AT her.
So, I'm the second Knight who stays at home with the kids. Tuesdays are mine. I'm not sure if I just wrote a rant or a memoir, but I got a laugh out of it. I mean, who doesn't laugh at poop stories!
Peace

Fountain of Youth

by Phil

I've discovered the fountain of youth! A way to stay young forever!

Don't have children.

I know people are going to say, "Phil, you're crazy! Having children keeps you young! You play and laugh all day." But in the (nearly) 6 months that my son has been in my life, I feel like I've aged 50 years. I'm very suddenly an old man. I wake up in the morning with aches and pains. My feet hurt. My back is usually killing me. My hands hurts. And then there's the emotional ups and downs. My son had health problems when he was born, something I'll write about in future posts. There were three hospital stay in all, including the NICU and surgery. The amount of gray hair on my head has exploded. I'm pretty sure my already poor eyesight has somehow gone downhill at a more accelerated rate. I now love John Wayne and the Antiques Roadshow (what treasure will they discover next? It's all the excitement my heart can take!).

It's crazy how old I now feel. And it goes beyond the physical. I'm now more aware of the fact that I didn't have my first e-mail address until college, that I remember a time before computers, that I am currently 64 times older than this kid. The amount of time I've been alive before my son came into being is very starkly obvious to me. I'm going to be 50 before he goes off to college and gives me a moments peace. I'm more aware of my own mortality and that's just adding another layer of age to the achy feet.

But then, on top of it all there's the joy. The amazing unbelievable feeling I get when he gives me that giant gummy unselfconscious smile of his. I mean, c'mon. Just look at that.

He's the human equivalent of heroine. Sure, the bouncing and the rocking and worry about both his health and future weigh on me physically. But I get such joy from his reactions that I give him even more. I pour even more of myself, my time and my energy into him. It's an addiction in the most rewarding way. And he's such a little ball of pure id that he takes it all and brazenly demands more. Which is fine by me.

While not having children is a pretty good way to avoid growing old, I'd rather become more infirm by the moment with my amazing son.

So I'll be your Monday writer here on Knights of the Changing Table. There are five of us at-home dads around here, each responsible for one day a week. Join me as I drag my decrepit, 32 year-old geriatric body through an attempt to be a work-at-home dad. As the saying goes, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Or, in my case, much much more achy.