Boy Trouble

My son is in 4th grade and has begun the transition from:

[Me before] “He is the ONE. The future is saved.”

To

[Me now] “Please, God, just let him pass this spelling test.”

I thought it was a stereotype, but it’s not. There really is a big difference between boy students and girl students. It’s science. It’s biological. It’s out there. Books, studies, long term experiments.

Here’s what I learned: In a nutshell, boy = active. It’s not just too much sugar or a lack of discipline (not always). It’s how their brains are wired. Boys need to do. Boys need to engage. On the whole, that’s their learning style. Hands on.

They aren’t built for a passive, “sit quietly and pay attention” atmosphere (which girls seem to thrive in). Sitting quietly, while writing or during a lecture, for example, they’re still going to “do” something. They’re still going to “engage” somehow. And so begins the finger tapping and the daydreaming and the spitballs and the talking to his neighbors, etc… So, often, boys are labeled as disruptive, and as hyperactive. Which usually ends in more negative attention from teachers and sometimes a prescription.

My boy is absolutely not the same student that he used to be. His teachers used to bring me into the classroom to show off whatever amazing feats he accomplished that day. Now it’s more like, “here, take him.”

He’s still enjoys learning. I can see it. He still comes home excited about his writer’s workshop topics. And he loves showing off how well he understands math. It’s just that his motivation has gone into a coma. When it comes to actually sitting down and doing the math, or researching, or writing (especially writing), he’d rather stick his finger in a pencil sharpener.

So there is a problem. What do I do? He’s still got a lot of school years ahead of him, and even though school systems are mostly aware of this research, they don’t seem to want to use it. The only advice that I’m able to find so far in all of this research is an ambiguous “apply active learning strategies.” OK… fine… huh?

Last night we did spelling/ yoga. Didn’t work out like I’d hoped. Downloaded a book on the subject onto my I-Pod, we’ll see how that goes.

I’m hoping that this is where a stay at home dad comes in handy. I’m with him a lot and I’m a boy too. I need to do. I need to engage. I need to fix this. This is my new project. And I’ve got to move on it too. At this rate he’ll never solve the exponential population problem by middle school.

Parents say the darndest things!

We were in the bathroom and I was talking to Damai (4yrs old) when Lani (3 yrs old) began to call my name. She couldn't get my attention because when I'm speaking to one child, I make the other wait until our conversation is done. The kids need to learn patience. But Lani is not patient.
She called, "Papi.......Papi....Papi!..Papi! Papi!Papi!" and then she began to do this warrior yelp, "Whooo! Whooo!"jump up and down and wave her little arms. I really have no idea what Damai and I were talking about, Lani was yelling so much.
Finally, Damai and I were done. I turned calmly to Lani, "Yes, Lani?" She stampered, "Um. Um." She looked left and then back to me. "Umm. I forgot," then she smiled.
She's so cute!
But even though Bill Cosby had a show called Kids Say the Darndest Things, I really think a show about what parents say would do better.
"Anna! Slow down and hurry up over here!"
I guess you had to be there. I had been telling Anna to come to me. Not only was she NOT coming to me, but she was running in the house. Sooo, I HAD to say 'slow down' AND 'hurry up and get over here.' I had to.
"Lani, stop eating your carrots and eat your pizza." Sure you think I'm crazy, but you don't know Lani. She'll eat her weight in carrots if you let her. She'd have turned orange by the end of that dinner if I didn't get to eat some pizza. Pizza can be nutritious, you know.
"Anna, get up and sit down now!" My wife may have gave me a funny look afterward, but I KNOW she was about to say the same thing. Anna was out of her high chair and climbing down. Hence, the 'get up' part. 'Sit down' is just a go-to phrase for every parent. I can't do anything about that. It came with the Parent download.
Ok, this one is bad. Call it a brain fart. Maybe I was up all night changing diapers or something. I was trying to get Anna's attention. She's my stubborn 2 yr old. But of course, I couldn't think of her name. So, the litany began, "Lani! Damai!" But what came out of my mouth next was just the last straw. I probably need some kind of mental help. As I was looking straight at Anna, I called her,"Papi!"
Wait, that's me.
You know how when you're talking to kids in the third person, "Now, what did Papi tell you?" Come on! You know what I'm talking about!
Anyway, parents say the darndest things.

Animal Instincts

by Phil

Last week, my friend Adam was telling me about how much his cats like playing with his shoes, particularly when he’s putting them on and the laces are flapping around. I passively remarked that my son also likes playing with shoes which quickly led to me realizing that my son has a lot in common with cats. They have many similar interests and hobbies.

Let’s start with the shoes. This kid loves playing with shoes for some reason. Here he is with mine.

He also has a few pairs of his own that he’s only worn once or twice before quickly growing out of them. Now they are chew toys.

While he likes shoelaces, he enjoys playing with anything string-like. This is a mighty strong preference. If he had his way, he’d be playing with and chewing on electrical cords all day long. He hasn’t yet learned the difference between the rope on his pull toys and the rubber-coated deliverers of electrical death.

I hadn’t realized how strong this attraction was until I started going through our photos looking for example images. The number was slightly overwhelming. So here are way too many examples of his string love.

The dragon pull toy given to him by his grandfather and uncle.

Another pull toy.

A little while ago, I put a pair of goggles on him, just to see how he’d react. He didn’t mind them at all but I think it’s because they came with the nifty sizing strap.

And, lastly, some extreme close-ups as he chews on the hand strap from our camera.

My first two examples being firmly supported, let’s move on to a few other activities. He likes playing with paper bags and cardboard boxes. I’ve never met a cat that could resist either of those two things. He still takes 2 to 3 naps a day and sleeps 10 to 12 hours at night. Collectively, that’s about 14 to 15 hours a day. While I’d like him to sleep longer so I can get more done, he still cat naps (what, too obvious and pun-like? Too bad, this is my post.)

He’s also intensely curious about strong light, wondering where it comes from and what it is. I’ve seen cats bat at bright light, but is it normal behavior for a baby?

The strongest and strangest correlation I’ve seen is the way he uses of my wife’s exercise foam roller. I promise you on all that I hold dear that my son utilizes that thing as a scratching post. He’ll sit there for long periods of time pushing it around the floor and scrapping his nails across it.

Perhaps we should be grateful that it’s around. If it wasn’t, maybe we’d have a shredded couch and drapes. Of course, the day he climbs the drapes using his nails, I’m calling a priest for an exorcism.

All of these individually are just cute baby antics. I am well-prepared to admit that all of this might even be normal behavior. With this being my first child, it’s the most time I’ve ever spent with a baby this young. Taken as a whole, though, in my mind, I’m afraid my child may have somehow been possessed by some sort of animal spirit. In a way it’s nice because I’m severely allergic to cats. So as long as my son stays in this phase, I have a child and pet all wrapped up in one sometimes cuddly, sometimes aloof little package.

While flying a few years ago, my wife and I sat next to an entertaining gentlemen that was telling us the many creative ways that he punished his children. These tactics actually included squirting his children with a water bottle when they were doing something that they shouldn’t have. It worked for his cats, why wouldn’t it work for his kids? He claimed to have quite a bit of success with the method. But don’t worry, I’m not ready to carry the correlation that far. I think the water bottle is a bit too dramatic. Unless, maybe, he starts climbing the drapes.

That Kid

Oh you know what I'm talking about.

"That kid" is the one you see having the meltdown at the grocery store, or the tantrum at the restaurant. "That kid" is the one that's crying and screaming for all six hours of a cross-country flight. "That kid" is the one where you feel bad for the parents, but are also secretly glad that your kids are not like.

Or at least, you hope they aren't.

Here's the thing, though: we all have "that kid." We just don't want to admit it. And really, why would we? It's not like we as parents want to have that kind of attention drawn to us. Vanity plays a key part here; we want our children to be perfect little angels, especially in public. We want to be seen as the Gold Standard of child-raising. You want others to look at you and say to themselves, "now that's how a family should be."

Which is why, when our kids act like...well, kids...we tend to sink that much further down in the chair. We're the ones that are supposed to look at the families with "that kid," not be that family, right?

I know I've been guilty of that. I've caught myself on more than one occasion where I see some kids raise hell someplace and say, "wow. I'm glad Brady doesn't act like that." And then a few minutes later, I'm watching my daughter break down in the store because she can't get every toy in the building. Suddenly, instant amnesia kicks in, and I'm thinking to myself, "why? Why am I the only parent who has 'that kid?' What am I doing wrong?"

It'd probably be better for every parent's psyche to realize that a) you're not the only parent to have "that kid," and b) you're not a bad parent if you have "that kid." Embarassing? Absolutely. But it's also a part of growing up, for the kids, as well as us parents.

Besides, sometimes it can be okay to be "that kid." Honestly. Sometimes being the parents of "that kid" can be a good thing.

Case in point, this was something that happened this past weekend. Brady and I drove down to Salt Lake City to pick up Stacey at the airport. While we were down there, we decided to head to The Gateway (an outdoor mall-type place) for some food and to do some shopping.

We stopped in a boutique shop that sells different kinds of olive oils and vinegars. While there, Brady tried some of the different samples. Some she liked, and some she didn't. Then she went to an employee that was helping us, said "excuse me," and proceeded to ask him about the different kinds of vinegar, and which she liked. She even asked if she could have some more samples to see how they tasted.

At the end, we purchased a couple of bottles. While ringing them up, the employee said to Stacey that Brady was the first kid that he had seen, who came into the store and didn't start grabbing bottles, and causing a mess. plus, he was very impressed with her politeness.

See? Sometimes,"that kid" can be the one that says "please" and "thank you". Sometimes, "that kid" is the one that is very courteous and nice to the waiter at the restaurant. Sometimes, "that kid" can be the one that people remember for the good behavior displayed, and not that the bad behavior that we as parents sometimes focus on.

Because here's the thing: we all have "that kid," too.

Pool Cues

by Matt


Carrie & I started a swimming class for the girls on Monday nights. It gets them used to being in a real pool, and so far (it's been two weeks) it gets them used to the idea of kicking and paddling. I love it. It's been a lot of fun so far. I don't often get to use a pool, and lately I've been really into swimming.

At the first lesson, the instructor asked us to each stay with one child. I took L, and Carrie took E. One of the first exercises was to get your kid to lay on their stomach, while you hold them under their stomach, and float. You're supposed to try and keep them away from your body, with your arms stretched out, so they don't try to grab onto you.

When we first got into the water, L was on me like I had decided to step into molten lava, and that she got stuck with me. I almost choked twice. She was very upset, and kept saying, "Don't let go of me, Daddy! Don't let go!" I told her she would be fine, and that I wouldn't let go.

She calmed down for a bit, and we were able to try the belly float. I started to pry her fingers from around my neck, and hold her out. She immediately let out a blood curdling scream. In a room with 20 parents of toddlers, she barely turned a head. But it was all I could do from not getting crazy mad.

Brief aside: I'm really sensitive about my ears. As a musician, they're my life's blood. I have a type of musician earplugs that block out certain frequencies on a gig that would damage my eardrum. I just bought some noise reducing ear buds, so I can listen to my iPod even lower. Sometimes baths are insane. While they're shrieking in joy from playing in the tub, I feel like I'm suffering a auditory/mental attack.

Before I could react to her shriek, she looked at me with tears in her eyes and said:

"Daddy, PLEASE don't let go of me!"

Over the previous week, we had been talking about some of the things that have been going on in Japan, and how some people were hurt by the tsunami. I didn't tell her that so many people died, but she's sort of aware of the concept of death. We had to explain to her, a few weeks back, about the loss of her grandparent's dog. Before this, I don't think she even thought someone, or something, wouldn't be there.

But now, I could see in her eyes that she was scared. She was aware that something terrible could happen if I let go of her. While I knew that nothing would, the chance that something could was too much for her to bear.

I immediately remembered being about 8 or 9 years old. I was in a neighbor's swimming pool for a neighborhood barbecue. My dad walked over, plate in hand and said, "You alright, Matt?"

I was gripping the side of the pool. It couldn't have been more than three feet deep, but I was scared. I wasn't a good swimmer, but I liked being in the water.

"Yeah, dad. Just a little nervous"

"Of what?", he said.

"I'm scared of not being able to stay afloat in the water."

"You'll be okay," he said. "You've swum in pools like this before. But remember, if anything should happen, I'll jump right in and get you."

"Really?", I said. "Shoes & everything?"

"Shoes & everything. I promise."

After waiting a beat, I let go and swam out to the middle. I turned back to my dad, and smiled. He was right. I was fine. It turns out I just needed a little reassurance.

So I looked at L, and calmly said, "L, it's okay. I've got you. I'm not going to let you go. We're going to try to swim on your belly."

"You're not going to let go?!?!", she said through tears.

"Never", I said, firmly.

So she timidly let go of my neck, reached out and floated over my hands. After a few balancing issues, she was kicking and paddling like Aquaman. This past week, she was kicking off the side wall into my arms, all by herself. At the end of the first session though, everyone knew how she was doing:

"I'M SWIMMING!!!!"

I see London, I see France...

I know, I know… don’t control them… guide them. Let children express themselves… Whatever… My son is NOT going to walk around with his ass hanging out of his pants.

I never thought myself qualified to criticize anyone’s fashion sense. Any rights I may have had to do that were revoked in the 80’s. Right at the moment that I sat in the barber’s chair and said “short on the top and sides, leave the length in the back.”

But this showing the underwear thing (it's called “sagging”) is about as much of a fashion statement as a guy wearing a t-shirt that says “Fuck Mr. Rogers.” (yes, that t-shirt is out there). Well you know what? Fuck you, t-shirt guy at Cracker Barrel. I loved Mr. Rogers!

Maybe I’m just having my first “get off my lawn,” moment, but this sagging thing is just plain offensive. When did the belt line become negotiable?

It used to make me a little mad. But now that I’m in my 40’s, “the old age of youth,” (which, as it implies, comes with a boat load of wisdom) I actually have a bit of compassion for these young men. I mean they just walk up and down the street, in and out of convenience stores, holding their pants up in the front while their ass tries to escape through the back. They appear to feel no sense of purpose. Or self respect. They’re just there. Looking like idiots.

Note: My level of compassion drops markedly as these “young men” approach their 30’s.

So my mission is clear. While I’ve still got some “influential father time” left with my kids, I plan on doing a little brainwashing.

My tactics: First, never avoid it. Point it out. The active approach is always best.

Next, fill their young impressionable minds with “the truth.” Here, I take two paths.

Get the kids talking about it. Point these morons out and ask my kids, “Do you think I should start wearing my pants like that?” “What? Why not?” “What would you do if he was your waiter?” “Do you think anyone will ever take that boy seriously?” “What college do you think he went to?” (They understand that one to be rhetorical)

The second I’m not so proud of, but the stakes are high. It’s right out of the Fox News/ Shawn Hannity playbook. If you make fun of something, a child like mind will turn against it. The words “I see London, I see France…” sends kids into hysterics in line at the grocery store. And usually causes captain underpants, two customers ahead of us, to look around..., maybe a little bit embarrassed (Oh, sorry, did we offended you?).

I worry every day about how tough it’s going to be for my kids. There’s a lot of competition out there for the good jobs, the ones that will make them feel good about what they’re doing with their lives. That’s the context I choose to look at these underwear boys, each of them is one less for mine to compete with.

Your mission; if you so choose to accept it

What I'm about to write is probably a no brainer, but it was certainly an 'aha' moment for me. What I discovered should lead me to less stressful days as the homemaker of my family.
Recently, we moved into a house that is across the street from the only other house with kids on my block. The husband is a fire fighter captain and I hold that in high regards. I see him cutting his grass and last summer, I saw him painting his roof white to deflect the suns heat. In my eyes; manly work. He accomplishes things, and it's visible.
When I work, I like to see accomplished things at the end of the day. When I was a teacher, I got to see a lesson plan at the end of the day. If I workout, I like to see that I'm dripping with sweat. When I designed, I got to see my piece all colorful and vibrant.
But as a homemaker, when I clean one room, the kids are in the other room making a mess. When I do laundry, the kids pee the bed that night so can do a few more loads in the morning.
My to-do list is HUGE and the check marks on it are few. I get frustrated, because my wife can work 13 days straight and I have to hold the fort. When I look at the fire fighter's yard and my own, they're two different worlds. He's got neat grass and I could hide my mini van in mine.
Case in point; we just paid $150 for someone to cut my back yard. For months, I've been looking for the time to cut that beast down. Now, I feel like I'm not man enough to cut my grass AND I cost the family $150!
But what is my mission? What is my goal as a homemaker. The truth is that my goal as a homemaker is the same as my goal as a husband; to see that my family thrives.
Before I got married, I went back to school to become a teacher because it would give my family mobility (teachers are needed everywhere), income, and health insurance. It worked beautifully (thank God)! I get jobs where we move, my kid's births were covered, and the money was enough to get us through. This was to make sure that my wife could follow through with her dream.
My job is still the same. I need to make sure my wife has a clean space to study, food to eat, and the emotional comfort that her family is safe when she is working.
I can actually see the result of my work in her ability to work. If paying for someone else to cut the grass lets me do my job, so that my wife can do her job, then that's money well spent.
For the first time I see my results because now I know where to look for them. I'm not saying that I'm good at what I do, but today, I feel quite successful.

Support Structure

by Phil

This morning I looked at my wife and asked, "When was the last time we went on a date?"

A pause. The pause went on for too long before she relied, "I don't now. Maybe the last time your parents were here?"

The last time my parents visited from Michigan, it was Thanksgiving. November. My wife and I haven't had a proper date since November.

As I’ve written about previously, my wife and I don’t live on the same side of the Mississippi as the rest of our families. It’s not that bad; it’s only a good amount of planning, calendar coordination, and a four hour plane ride to see each other. In other words, we’re not just driving down the road, which means we don’t get to see each other nearly enough.

Before, my wife and I would travel home when we could, talk to our families on a regular basis and we’d all live our lives. When a child enters the picture, though, it makes the physical distance more than apparent. Living near family while raising a child has many positive benefits for all involved. I think it would be really cool for my son to have the close relationship with my parents that I had with my grandparents. We’d be at my mom’s parents house at least once a week when I was growing up. I have great memories of baking cookies with my grandma or hanging out in the garage with my grandpa as he cobbled together some crazy contraption out of the detritus from local junk yards.

Along with the desire for that relationship, though, there is a selfish dimension to my wishful thinking. For example, reread the conversation that started this post. I’d like to have the support structure around that only family can provide. I’d love to dump my kid off on my parents on short notice and then act offended if they can’t take him, as if they have their own lives that somehow don’t revolve around watching my son at the last minute. But seriously, families do provide a certain flexibility for each other if things happen. If something important came up, even if it wasn’t an emergency, it would be great to know that my or my wife’s family were accessible and willing to help.

There’s also the amazing service families provide by allowing parents to go out on dates. Or, be still my heart, actually take the kid for an entire evening for a sleepover.

Actually, this post would have been up really early in the day if I could have shirked my parenting duties onto my mother so I could write about how awesome it is to be a dad. Yes, I recognize the irony in that. And it is awesome being a dad. I absolutely love it. But it would also be nice to know that my family was close by to take the kid so I could run errands more quickly.

Don’t get me wrong. We have a wonderful set of friends here in Tucson that would be willing to help out in an emergency. I know I could call many of them if I needed to. Some have even offered to babysit for us. They are amazing people. But, at the same time, it’s not the same type of situation that it would be with family. I would never want to impose. I wouldn’t have a second worth of guilt about my mom having my kid all day so I could go do something super dorky (I don’t know what that would be but wouldn’t be nice to have the option?). I couldn’t do that to my friends. That most likely says more about me than it does my friends. I just don’t want to ask too much of them.

Perhaps it is time to take some friends up on their offer to babysit for an evening, though. I’d like to have a dinner out with my wife that doesn’t involve mesh bags filled with fruit*.

image source

I'm crazy for mesh-bag fruit! Watch out!

*Those mesh bags really are amazing and he loves them. Of course, it's a really good idea for him to wear a bib while using it. I have no idea what happened or why we didn't put one on him in the pictures above.

When I Was Your Age

By Doug

It doesn't feel that long ago, but at one point my generation was the one that was on the bleeding edge of...well, everything, it seemed. Technology, television, music...these were items that were geared and marketed to us. So, we'd have access to all kinds of new-fangled things like Walkmans, Nintendos, computers, and cable television. All the while, our parents and grandparents would tell us, "You don't know how easy you've got it. Back in our day..."

Now that I'm 35, I'm no longer in the coveted (in marketing terms) 18-34 demographic group. In other words, I (and others my age) no longer matter to advertisers. Their focus for movies, TV, and tech, is now on the next crop of kids, teens, and twenty-somethings.

Interestingly, and almost without skipping a beat, I'm now see my generation do the same thing to the next group of kids that previous generations have done to us.

Without, I might add, any sense of irony.

Now, we're the ones that tell our kids/teens, "man, you don't know how lucky you've got it. In our day, we didn't have iPods. We had to carry around stacks of CDs with our Discmans. And don't even get me started on the audio bitrates of our mp3s, which we could only listen to only on our computers!"

I bring this up, because I'm guilty of doing it to my child.

I don't remember what it was we were watching, but while Brady and I were sitting in front of the TV, Stacey calls. She needs us to pick her up from school. So, I tell Brady to get her coat, because we need to pick up Mommy.

"But we're going to miss the best part!"

"Yes, but Mommy needs us."

"But we're going to miss the best part!"

"*sigh* Okay. I'll pause the show, and we can come back to it when we get home."

"Okay!"

"By the way, do you know how lucky you are? When I was a kid, I didn't have a DVR, or the ability to pause live TV, or skip commercials. I just watched what was available, and if I was lucky, I had a blank VCR cassette around to tape the show if I wanted to watch it again."

At that point, I felt like I should have added "...and furthermore, we wrote our homework on parchment, with quill pens. Quill pens!"

It's funny how we talk about the "hardships" we went through when we were kids, like we survived trench warfare or the Black Death. And it's not like we didn't want what's around now; I remember wishing I had one of those old handheld black and white televisions that would allow me to watch any over-the-air station in all its snowy glory, anywhere I want (Today, if you have a phone and a Slingplayer, you're pretty much have TV on the go). We didn't have the things that our kids have now; we just wished we did.

The fact is, Brady isn't going to have the same type of life I had growing up. She doesn't know life without Netflix, mp3 players, or the Internet. She doesn't know that the only way to discover music was to go to the local record store and flip through cassettes or CDs they had. Is that really so bad, though? Not really -- it's not like I grew up and discovered things the same way that my parents did. Why should she follow the path I made?

Besides, I get to look forward to watching her grow up and have kids of her own. Not just because I'll be a grandfather (though that'll be cool), but also because I'll get to watch her kids have access to things that she could only dream of. Then I'll get to hear her say those magic words:

"When I was your age..."

Wagons West!

By Matt

You probably thought I forgot, right?

Well, you were right. I did.

I'm on my way to SXSW, a multimedia festival happening in Austin, TX. One of the groups I play with is backing up a solo artist for a few shows there.

Currently, I'm driving in a 12 passenger van, with all our gear, clothes and 8 guys through southwest Kentucky. We're trying to make Memphis, from Detroit, in 12 hours. We'll stay the night, and leave in the morning for Austin.

This is a long trip for me away from all my girls. My wife and I went to a friend's wedding last year, which ended up being 6 days. At least I had my wife to commiserate with about missing the girls.

I can't help but be just a little bit worried about leaving home. Two kids running around, wife pregnant, no big strong man to protect them. Who will help them in the event of a zombie outbreak? Who?!?!

I know its irrational, but I can't help it. As my dad would say, that's just being a parent. I think I should be worried about a bigger problem:

Finding cowboy hats and spurs in toddler sizes.

Nurture Shock: Well worth it

Speaking of books. I read this one for book club at our school a little while ago. Can I say that I read it if I actually listened to it on I-pod while running? Am I crossing any lines?

It’s called Nurture Shock, New Thinking About Children: by Po Bryson and Ashley Merriman

The premise is one that needs to be banged into the heads of everyone with baby making parts. We don’t know how to raise children just because we have children. The only thing that we "just have" is a need to nurture and protect our kids. That’s about as far as the parenting instinct goes. Everything else we have to learn!

It’s hysterical (in a disastrous sort of way) that we’ve gone to the moon, we’ve cloned sheep, our progress in communication is insane, but we’re only just figuring out why babies like to play with our faces when we talk to them.

OK, practical use example: First chapter was concerned with praise. No problems there, I praise my kids constantly. "Good job… you’re so smart… that’s the best picture of a pig that I’ve ever seen." It builds their confidence, etc… Then they gave some symptoms of a child that’s been praised in the “wrong” way.

Wrong way? Is there a wrong way to praise?

…a child may ease into a pattern of giving up when things get tough.

Whoa! That’s my son! That’s something we’d been working on.

Each section follows the same basic pattern: Someone had a theory, here’s how they tested it, here’s what they found. No preaching, just here it is. I read/ listened, changed the way that I did a few things, in the most minor way, and our problem turned around.

I never would have made the connection between his problem and the way we gave praise. If anything, my thinking was, confidence problem = much, much more praise.

But someone out there had made the connection. They just didn’t tell me about it!

That’s the aim of the book, to arm us with current, relevant, well-explained science about the way that we parent, and why kids do some of the things that they do. It’s information that’s out there, but that gets stuck in some academic journal somewhere and never makes it to moms and dads. This book pulls it together and puts it out there for us.

They explain tests and trials and results on things like:

Why do kids lie to us?

Why are siblings 7 times worse to each other that they are to anyone else?

Is the concept of “colorblindness,” when it comes to race, backfiring?

How is diversity in schools working out?

Is taking an argument between parents out of the room the best thing to do?

And… could a lack of sleep be responsible for childhood obesity, ADHD, changes in mood and lowered IQ? (Best chapter in the book)

Don’t expect a “here’s what you should do,” section at the end of each chapter though. Like I said, it’s all about the science. The pitch is more like here’s what we’re figuring out, do what you want with it.

Disclaimer: If you’re going to get it from I-tunes, preview it first. The guy’s voice is a bit annoying.

Wanna see what's in my diaper bag? =)

Last year my second born Lani, was crying in the shower. She was 2 yrs then. "My caca is coming out!," she told me.
Yes, we call number 2 'caca.' What do you call it?
So, I grabbed Lani and put her on the toilet. Now, she was crying because her "caca is coming out" and because she was sitting on the toilet for the first time. My first born, Damai witnessed the whole thing with jaw dropped and in absolute awe. Her little sister went poo on the potty before she had.
From that day on, we had little problem putting the two of them on the potty. No more diapers! That was HUGE, not only time wise, but in our pocket book.
About 6 months ago, Ana went doo doo on the potty. It was quite a celebration. I took pictures of Anna next to the toilet and her creation. She was so happy. Then, I sent the pictures to all my family. It was grand.
That was the last day Anna bombed in the potty.
I've shown her the pictures. I gave her the Elmo uses the potty DVD. I read her books about using the potty. She got her own little 'special potty.' I've lectured her (Ever try to lecture a 2 yr old? Their minds check out quick!). I've gone through the litany, "but so_and_so uses the potty. Don't you want to be like so_and_so?" (And in 12 years I'll lecturing her like, "if so_and_so jumps from a cliff, are you going to do it, too?! We parents just do it to ourselves!) Nothing works. I don't know what the deal is.
Now, my little Anna is 2 1/2 yrs old. At least once a day, she hands me a diaper and says, "Papi, I gotta go caca." After I put it on her, she runs to the bathroom and shuts the door. When she comes out, she whines to me, "Papi, my caca hurts." (I hope she grows out of whining, but she really is cute when she does it.)
"Anna, don't you want to go caca on the potty like your sisters? It doesn't hurt when you go on the potty." Actually, I have no idea why she says it hurts, but I use it to my advantage.
A couple of times my wife held her down on the potty until she went made her poopy. But she cries and I just don't like doing that.
Her diapers are running out and I REALLY don't want to buy any more, but I started looking at coupons again.
Then, 2 days ago, Anna runs up to me while I'm making breakfast; "Papi, I made caca on the potty!" She grabs me hand. Relunctly, I go along. "I'll believe it when I see it," I mutter under my breath. But there it was. It stunk so sweetly to me! Certainly, I was happier than she was. "Look everyone, Anna made caca in the potty!!" Her sisters were stoked. I don't know why, they never had to clean her squirts.
We put stars on a little chart every time she puts her logs in the potty. Now she goes multiple times a day instead of only one.
What is that about?! Where did all the dookie come from??! Was she storing it? This girl knows how to ham it up.
Anyway, even though I'm getting kind of grossed out every time I gotta dump her bowl into the toilet (it doesn't smell so sweet anymore), I'm pretty happy about this change in my house hold.
But what am I going to carry in my diaper bag??

Books!

by Phil

When it comes to reading and school, the last thirty years has seen a steadily-growing achievement gap between girls and boys. Girls have been improving in school while boys are being left behind. The message that boys don't read is out there. There are programs and strategies of all kinds to combat this growing and alarming trend. Besides being a dad, I am an illustrator of print materials and have a personal horse in this race.

Many factors are believed to contribute to boys disinterest in reading. One of the biggest reasons being that most boys don't have a male role-model that reads themselves. The men in many families don't read and that leads boys to think that it isn't a masculine pursuit. This has lead to the creation of several blogs and projects encouraging men to read, to allow their children to see them reading, and for them spend time reading to children.

I want my son to enjoy reading in all of its forms, including fiction, non-fiction, magazines and comic books. Having a role-model that reads isn't going to be a problem for him.

Lounging with Jon Scieszka & Lane Smith's Science Verse

Beyond just reading to him, though, I want to do everything I can to encourage a love of reading. So this past weekend, we went to the Tucson Festival of Books. It's something like the 3rd or 4th largest book festival in the country, with this year counting over 400 authors and illustrators presenting and over 100,000 attending. There are activities for every age group and every interest. It's impressive. It's fun. It's great to see so many people celebrating the written word.

His onesie, from the wonderful people at Bookman's, reads "eat. poop. read."

Saturday, my wife spent the bulk of the day with him while I attended various talks. Then on Sunday, we switched back and forth, one wandering the festival while the other went to panel discussions. And even though my kid's arch nemesis, the sun, was out and in full shine mode, we still enjoyed the two days of the festival. I think we can thank that overly large, brimmed hat from one of the local children's hospitals for helping him cope. His usual hat is big but this thing was giant!

Along with our routine trips to the library and reading every day, I hope to continue attending events like this with my son. I think its good for him to see so many different people of every demographic enjoying books. While meeting the people, authors and illustrators, that create the objects we love so much can also have a positive impact.

Yum!

I chose my particular career path not only because I love to paint but also because I love to read. I've always been a reader. Anything I can do to give that same gift to my son, I'm going to do. He seems to already enjoy his growing collection of books. Hopefully we'll be able to keep that going as he gets older and avoid the idea that reading isn't something that men do.

Inspecting Adam Rex's Tree Ring Circus

On Rolling With It

by Doug Hills

Bet you thought I forgot, didn't you?

This was actually a premeditated delay in my article this week, as I wanted to see how the events of this past Saturday panned out. See, like Matt and his daughters, Brady celebrates her birthday in March (on the 10th, to be exact). And this year, she was looking to have a big party with some of her schoolmates. Unlike previous years, where there were both boys and girls invited, this was going to be an all-girls party.

A pink party.

A Unicorn party.

Oy.

Here's the funny thing about planning a unicorn party: there are no stores in town (or in the immediate area) that has any kind of party favors or the like that. Fortunately, there are plenty of specialized party supplies you can buy through the Internet. So at least that crisis was quickly averted.

Now it was just a case of planning for the eight or nine girls that were going to be running around the house. So we went and prepped a place for the girls to play dress up, or play Pin the Horn on the Unicorn, or watch My Little Pony (with unicorns!). We set up a table for the girls to sit and eat birthday cake, and play more games. We blew up balloons. We put up some streamers. We bought a slew of Wendy's chicken nuggets for the girls to snack on.

There was no mistaking that this house became a little girl's party central.

Considering the sheer number of girls that were going to be running around the house, and since I was the only not-girl that was going to be there, Stacey gave me a reprieve, and said I could head out for a bit.

I love my wife.

So, I went over to a friend's house, hung out, and played Halo. Or rather, he played Halo, and I watched. Because I suck at first-person-shooters, and I'm man enough to admit that. Then I get the phone call from Stacey.

"How's the party going so far?"

"Only two girls showed up. You're welcome to come back any time, 'cause we have lots of food left over to eat."

Now, we live in an area where RSVPing for a party or whatever is...rare, I guess would be the proper term. Or, when people do RSVP, it's usually at the last possible moment. So, when none of the girls RSVPed for the party, we just shrugged, and planned for people just showing up anyway.

Apparently, one of the girls showed up on time (her best friend), and another showed up about 20 minutes late (that's another thing about this area; people tend to show up at least 20 minutes later than the start date of a party. You can set your watch to it...and then wind it back 20 minutes for the correct time). No one else showed up.

"Oh man," I thought, "Brady must be devastated."

So a few minutes later I was back home, to assess the damage. I admit, I expected to see Brady upset that her other friends didn't show up.

Far from it. She was having a ball with her friends that were there. She loved the My Little Pony and pink Snuggie (yes we officially have a Snuggie in the house) that she got. She loved playing Pin the Horn on the Unicorn, and playing dress up. She loved the tea party they had.

It was a great birthday party.

After her friends left, we checked with Brady, and asked if she enjoyed the party. With a big smile, and bright eyes, she told us she did. It was wonderful.

Afterwards, Stacey mentioned to me that it's probably harder us as parents that something like that would happen. And she's right; we don't like to see our children's feelings get hurt, potentially or otherwise. So when something like this happens, we (as the jaded societal pessimists) expect to see our little girl come running to us crying, wondering why her friends would do that?

But Brady? She rolled with it. She did ask why the other girls didn't show up. Stacey replied that perhaps the girls wanted to come (as evidenced by the girls that week mentioning that they wanted to), but the parents had other plans. She pretty much went, "ok!" and went back to playing. She was happy to go and play with the two friends that did show up, rather than worry about the six that didn't.

There's definitely a lesson to be learned there. For us, I mean. Brady has apparently figured it out, already.

Another year older, another year wiser.

Birthday Month

by Matt

'Tis the season at our house when candles are lit continuously and frosting & ice cream are grocery staples. Yes, that's right:

It's Birthday Month.

Yes, Birthday Month started many years ago, when my parents thought it best to have a child born in the gray, cold month of March. 33 years later, that weather tradition continues. These days, however, March makes me blind with warm sunshine in the form of two little girls.

My birthday is March 2. L's birthday (her 4th, this year) is March 14th, while E's (her 2nd) was today, March 10th. This part of the year has been very busy and very crazy. And it's only been like this for two years!

People were amazed that the girl's birthdays were so close together. At one point, we thought they would end up sharing the actual day. But as in most things, E came on her own time. Our third will be here towards the end of May, which will give us some space from Birthday Month.

Birthdays are a big deal for both of our families. Everybody on both side's gets together for an good time. At first, it may have been a little awkward for everyone to cram into our bungalow, conversing about the weather & work schedules. But since the girls have been around, everybody seems to genuinely enjoy the time together. And for Carrie & I, it has made some things very easy.

But some things are f%#$ing nuts.

Things have been busy for me work-wise. We actually finished (and, well...technically started) our birthday shopping for the girls last night. It was the only night I had free from a rehearsal/gig/session or some other event we all had going on. (including my birthday get-together last Friday. Not too late for gifts, folks!) It's good to be busy, but things around the house get crazy.

We have to do a vigorous clean up of the house before the event. This isn't exactly Hoarders, but there's a lot of stuff that needs to be reorganized and put away. It's hard to do that easily with the girls during the day, but sometimes that's the only time to get it done. Carrie works all day, comes home, and entertains the girls, (all while 6 months pregnant) and it's all she can do without falling over and passing out on the couch. We try to fit it in where we can, but it's a challenge.

Then there's the actual party planning. Character on cakes, sheet cakes, or forms of character's heads. What kind of ice cream? L said she wanted a party game, so we got a Disney Princess spin on Pin the Tail on the Donkey. ( Put the Princess in the castle. Anybody that saw "Tangled" knows that this isn't the way to go.) Then we have to figure out what kind of food they want, and try to balance that item into a nutritional meal. (You know: hot dogs, cake, ice cream, etc.)

There are times like this that I wish I just stayed at home all day. This is a sentiment I don't come to easily, but there's just so much that needs to be done. I want to make sure my kids (and our families) have a great experience. Being gone so much at night limits the amount of stuff we can get done. Granted, I get paid for these activities, so I shouldn't complain too much. I just wish there were 36 hours in a day. I would sleep for 8 more hours, and work for 4 more.

It is great, though, to see so many people love your kids. You don't hear much (but it happens) about how awesome it is to see your parents wait in anticipation for your daughter to open her gift. Or how cool it is to see one of your brother's girlfriends get a huge hug from one of your girls, and maybe an "I love you."

The best is remembering the day that your life changed so amazingly that you don't remember what life was like before. You get to remember seeing your wife do something so unbelievable, that you thought she was a real super-hero, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. You remember what it was like to feel those tiny hands grab onto yours, and be humbled by the awesome responsibility of being a father. And remembering when your daughter meets your new daughter for the first time...

...awesome.

Just.

Awesome.



Happy Birthday.

Big Balls

by Steve

My son has this big red ball. He loves plying with it on the stairs. He’ll throw it up the stairs and try to punch it back up when it comes bouncing down. He’ll drop it down the stairs trying to nail me as I walk by. His timing is getting pretty good. It’s harmless, he’s having fun, but he never puts the damn ball away.

Recently, somewhere in the dark part of my mind, I decided that I’d asked him enough times to put the ball away. I picked up this ball and walked to the back door. My kids were a few feet away watching TV. They were on the couch. All of the couch cushions were on the floor, with everything else that my children touch. I opened the door quietly, and without stepping a foot outside, I drop kicked the ball through the door. It sailed over the pool, out of the yard and into the woods. Now, I know what you’re thinking, and yes, I did measure it. It was a little over 40 yards.

I attribute it to the follow through. Yoga hasn’t made me as calm and balanced as I’d have hoped, but it has made my hamstrings mighty flexible.

The effect on the kids was, of course, shock and awe. I know that not every statement has to have an exclamation point on it, but it’s what I was going for at the time.

As they stared at each other, afraid to speak, I wondered, “When the hell did I start to care about a clean house?” Even more, why in the world do I expect my kids to want to keep it clean?

I can still remember some parts of my childhood, and I know for a fact, I didn’t give a hoot that “everything had an away place.” The away place for my X-Wing Fighter was wherever I was standing when my attention was diverted by my Evil Kneavil d… action figure.

Even in college I was a mess. I didn’t give “a frogs fat ass” (what movie?) if people were coming over to drink, or to hang, or to workout, or even to drink. They all had to step over stuff.

I’m still kind of messy. Not nearly as bad as before, but it’s not just my children’s things that we’re stepping over in the living room. And my minivan is usually deep with jackets and gym towels. Occasionally, the floor gets that golden hue that comes with ground in goldfish.

I have noticed something though. I’ve noticed that the stress level at home (for myself and my wife, anyway) is directly related to the level of clutter. I don’t know why... who does? It’s just one of those things that “is.” Like gravity, or boobs in horror movies. It’s supposed to be that way. The drop kick, and other similar incidents are all happening toward the end of the day when my wife is coming home. Her day is stressful enough. I don’t want her to be stressed out at home.

So you see, like most things, it all boils down to me being a great husband (that loves horror movies).

Learning disciple all over again

by Carlos

Well I learned something new this week that I quickly put to some good use.
My daughter, Damai, is 4 yrs old and will be 5 yrs old soon. Unfortunately, she still sucks her thumb and fingers and she loves it. We looked at putting an apparatus into her mouth but decided upon a program that an orthodontist recommended to us. I prayed (and am still) a lot on this because he's charging what seems a lot for no product. We're basically paying to stop Damai's habit, which, if this works, will be more than worth it.
Anyway, talking to him about the program made me really nervous. Damai has a few prizes to win if she completely stops sucking her fingers. But just one digit in the mouth means no prize. The prizes are set apart by a couple of weeks and she REALLY wants them. She also gets a star for everyday that she doesn't suck.
I just couldn't believe that one finger in her mouth for just one moment would cost her a prize. And the first day, that's exactly what happened. She sucked for a quick moment and that was it. She totally cried over losing her first prize. She even went herself to Goodwill to give it away.
I was just trying to hold on. Things weren't looking too good.
But the next day, Damai didn't suck her thumb or fingers at all. I was really amazed.
SO, last week I wrote about Anna not going to sleep when I put her down. I had to try this new approach.
It was nap time and I told her if you're not using your pillow (meaning lying down) then you don't get to have it. I walked out and heard some noises coming from her room a few moments later. When I opened the door, she was standing on her bed. I couldn't believe I was about to follow through with my threat. Oh how she did cry, when I put her pillow away!
I held her for about 40 minutes and kept explaining that I didn't want to do that, but it was because of her action. I finally put her back in her bed and told her that if she doesn't use her blanket (meaning lying down), I'd have to take that, too. For sure, she wasn't going to lose her blanket, she loves it too much. I wouldn't have to take that away.
But that 2 yr old is so prideful!
She challenged again and I had to take her blanket. She literally cried herself to sleep, she was so upset. She was asleep and still whimpering with her face in the bed. I pushed her over on her side because I didn't want to chance her suffocating. It's a good thing she fell asleep because I'm not sure if there was anything else of value to her that I could have taken next.
Anyway, that night, she went right to bed. I just had to tell her to use her pillow and blanket. It's been smooth sailing ever since.
I thought I understood discipline. But I'm glad for the lesson.

At a Loss

by Phil

My wife and I currently live in Arizona. We’re originally from Michigan and that's where most of our families still live. So every year for Christmas we take the trek back to the arctic north to take a break from the too-nice winter weather of Arizona. Too many days of perfectly mild temps in the mid-seventies can really skew a person’s perception of the world. We can forget that there are folks struggling with their snow shovels and freezing temperatures. It’s 66 degrees fahrenheit as I write this. Brrrr. Chilly.

So this past Christmas, like every year, we took our pilgrimage up to our respective families. This time was slightly different though because we had our then-5-month-old-son in tow. He really brought the cuteness.

On that trip, our son was able to meet my maternal grandmother, his great-grandmother, for the first and only time.

She passed away just over a week ago. Even when a person is sick for a long time, like she was, it is still always surreal and unwelcome when the event actually occurs.

While I know that my son won’t remember this meeting, I always will. I also know how important it was for my grandmother. And we will forever have the above photo and the stories. My son will be hearing “Oh, I wish you could have known your great-grandmother” often.

So this past week, my little 3-person family took another pilgrimage to Michigan. This time it was to attend her funeral. While the trip’s purpose was a sad occasion, there were some moments of lightness to the event. Her funeral was amazing. While I’m not in the habit of rating funerals (who would do such a thing?), I have to say that her funeral was just about everything a funeral should be. It was a celebration of her life like I’ve never seen at such an affair. There were some really moving stories and eulogies. The people who spoke, for the most part, knocked it out of the park. They didn’t just stand there and remind us that we were sad. They reminded us of a life that was fully lived, one that had joy and warmth. They did her and her life justice like I never could have hoped for beforehand. I was so proud to have not only known this woman, to have had her as my grandmother, but to also be a part of my larger family.

I was so happy that we could make the trip and take part in saying goodbye to this amazing woman. If a life can be measured by the relationships that are left behind, I can only hope that I can live my life as successfully as she.

But I’d like to create a new rule. No one associated with my son is allowed to die anymore. Do you hear that everyone? No more dying. It brings me to a part of life and parenting that I am really loathe to face.

I don’t want to have to explain death to my son. Sadly, he isn’t going to remember his great-grandmother. In a way, it’s a bit of a reprieve for my wife and I as parents. But what happens next time, when he’s old enough to ask questions but too young to understand? I have to figure out some way of explaining it to him? There’s the physical part of death. That is somewhat straightforward. But then there are the follow-up questions. The existential questions. The really hard questions.

Thankfully parenting doesn't happen all at once and I have some time. But this isn’t the sort of thing that I think time is going to make any easier. What would make it easier is if you all wouldn’t die. Do you think you could help me out on this one, please? Thanks.

Sadly, my grandmother passed away before I made this whole no-more-dying rule. Although, being the strong-willed woman she was, she would have done as she pleased anyway.

Goodbye, Grandma. You are deeply missed.

On The Ministry of Silly Walks

by Doug

Just a quick entry this week, as I really wanted to make sure this moment was recorded for posterity.

Now, it's been pretty well established that Brady likes to march to the beat of her own drum. This march can tend to be slow, as she just likes to go at her own pace (much to my "oh for--just go faster!" annoyance). Hell, we will drop her off at school, and watch her take a full minute to go the 30-40 paces to get into the school building.

What can I say? The girl just likes to take her time.

Anyway, this particular morning, both Stacey and I watched Brady with particular wonder. We drop her off at school, as usual. We tell her that the first bell has already rung, and she needs to hurry before the second bell rings and she'll be officially late.

"Okay!"

So, she walks out, and as usual, it's at her own pace.

But what a walk.

Stacey and I watch, as our brightly colored daughter (yellow sundress, purple tights, silver shoes. Keep in mind it's still winter 'round here) goes into this beautiful Monty Python-esque Silly Walk.

(No, I haven't introduced her to Monty Python. Yet.)

It really is hard to describe. But there she was: skipping, duck walking, hop/skipping backwards, and so on. Eventually the bright mish-mash of color made it into school (on time), leaving her parents slack-jawed and laughing.

I mean, it's not too often you see someone moving along to her own theme song, blissfully not caring what anyone thought. She was happy. I mean really, really happy. And it's funny when in this day and age, when you have people so concerned about others think of them (and therefore supressing all kinds of things that would be considered "weird"), Brady just doesn't care.

She's just happy. And that's exactly what we want her to be.

I just wish I recorded that on video, because it was really a sight to behold.

"Next!"

by Matt

Yesterday was my birthday, so today we took a field trip to the Secretary of State to renew my license. (Yes, technically, I drove illegally to the office. My picture is probably up already at our post office.) If you've spent anytime in one of these facilities, then you know it's probably not the best idea to bring two toddlers around lunch time to a room full of crowded, cranky people. What can I say? I like to defy the odds.

We walked in and grabbed our number. I asked L to read it out loud.

"Zero. Two."

I looked up at the digital tally board:

58. %*$&.

We found two seats (for all three of us) right in front of the center counter. We sat next to a nice lady, who eventually moved over when it cleared, to give us more room. We have one of their backpacks, packed with crayons, coloring books, books, & other stuff to distract them during church. This time, we tossed in their water bottles and brought it with us.

I scan the room a few times, to keep myself from falling asleep. (It's been a long week.) I see people from (what seems to be) all walks of life. Men in business suits are thumbing through the newspaper. Parents & children are waiting to get the first driver's license. People that would probably be called "lone wolves" to some, renewing their tags. And hot stay-at-home dad's that are successfully entertaining their kids. [Some details may be exaggerated.]

We had trouble getting out of the house today, so we didn't make it down until lunchtime. This alone puts me behind the 8 ball. Hungry, cranky kids are like Godzilla. They will not rest until they have knocked over a few buildings, and eaten a few people. And maybe fought giant moths, or mechanized doubles of themselves.


As soon as we sat down, I heard:

L: "Daddy! I want a snack!"

E: "'Nack! 'Nack!" I want 'Nack!"

I didn't pack a snack, but I told them we'd eat soon. (In the event of the sun exploding and destroying our planet, I will be telling my kids, "Yeah, we're good. I'll take you to McDonalds later.") I pulled out the coloring books, and they were immediately distracted

67.

There was some fighting over crayons, but not much. They share pretty well. Once they got sick of the coloring books, they pulled out their storybooks and we read some of those. Very. Sllooowwwwlllllyyyyyy.

74.

They took off their coats, and played with a talking Elmo phone and an Elmo magna doodle thing. In between switching toys, L had some observations:

"Who is that? What did he say?"

"I think he's mad."

"What if they don't let you drive? How will we get home?"

"I want to go to that place with the sandwich on it."

87

After the books were put away, I could have told you three days ago, what would be next: breaking into song. The "Tangled" soundtrack has been big in my house the past week or so. It was all Rapunzel for awhile. I think most of the people were entertained. Usually when two little girls that age are singing, it's hard for it not to be cute. Actually, I should have put a hat out. Those princess movies aren't paying for themselves.

97

At this point, they line up the next 5 after 97, which included Zero Two. We quickly packed everything up, and made our way over to the lineup. Nobody else was heading over, and it became just myself & the girls. Ever body else split. Score!

We stepped to the counter. E is crying/asking for me to pick her up. I told her to hold on, one second. This stopped her asking and doubled her crying. I grabbed her hand, which calmed her immediately. I stepped over to the eye test, and read the top line faster than anybody else I heard that day. Pre-dad Matt would have wanted to read all of the lines just to show off. But, I needed to get out of there fast. I'll just print up an eye chart later, and make my wife hold at varying distances. She won't be able to resist the attraction of my ocular efficiency.

I paid, and then signed. We stepped over to the camera area, ("I want to put my feet on the feet marks!") and took the shot. You can tell I'm a little distracted, but that's probably an accurate photo if there ever was one. Also, I look like a werewolf. But hey, if somebody is looking at my license, they're probably not too concerned with how I look. They're more concerned that I don't underage drink, or attempt to attack their country. (No promises, Micronesia! I will have my revenge!)

I tossed on their hats & coats, and proceeded out the door. 35 minutes of primarily sitting quietly has never gone so well. I anticipated chairs being tipped over, and crayons thrown but these two handled themselves well. I treated them to that place next door with the sandwich on it: Subway.

More punishment for me. It couldn't have been a Jimmy John's?

Ca-ching!

by Steve

Monday was a big day for me. Monday I received my first paycheck in about 9 years. To be clear, it was a check… for money… with my name on it. Not mine, and my wife’s. Just mine.

Jury Duty= $25
My Wife= Wise-ass sarcasm... funny though.

There were so many sarcastic bombs thrown around the kitchen that night that I can’t exactly recall any of them. But I do give her credit for what she probably said. I’m sure she covered the basics:
“Boy, that takes the pressure off.”
“Does this mean I can quit my job?”
“This isn’t going to push us into a higher tax bracket is it?”
"Don’t let all of this money go to your head, now.”

Don’t let it go to my head? What the hell? Are you trying to tell me that I didn’t work for this? I was out there, in the world, doing my part with everyone else that couldn’t get out of it. Did you know that our criminal justice system can’t function properly if not for citizens like me? It’s true! The judge said it like 5 times. I had to sit in a room for like an hour. Answering questions like, “Are there any law enforcement officers in your immediate family?” and, “Can you tell us in which county you currently reside?” I mean real cut to the bone kind of stuff.

Don’t let it go to my head? I had a man’s fate resting in my hands! Or, I would have… you know, if I’d been picked.

That’s MY $25! And don’t try to minimize it either. In the 90’s I only got $11.

I’m a money earner now. You’re not kicking me out of this club.
I mean of course I’m not going to act like I’m better than any of the other NIPS (Non-Income Producing Spouse) that I know.
I’m going to pretend that I’m still no better that any of them. Even though they all have to ask their wives for their money.

I haven’t decided yet how I’m going to allocate it. I want to be responsible, so a portion has to go into the emergency fund. Definitely a little for retirement. The kids education. But, I think I’m just going to have fun with the rest.

Maybe tonight will be different

by Carlos

Bill Cosby has a skit; I think it's called The same thing happens every night. I just thought he was kidding, but I see the skit playing out in my own house.
By 6 pm my schedule is set for the next 90 minutes. The goal; get the girls to sleep. It's quite simple in theory. Lani will go to sleep so long as it's a little quiet. Damai won't sleep unless she sure that she can't play with her sisters. So that means that Ana is the key. If I can get Ana to go to sleep first then, I can put Lani down, and Damai will slip quickly into dream land if she sees her sisters already sleeping.
By 6pm I'm trying to coax, herd, and throw all the girls into the bathroom at once. I think it saves water and time. Then, we're out and reading books.
By now, the girls are the cutest things. They're washed and smelling like baby lotion. Their hair is back and they're all in pink pajamas. They crowd onto my lap as I read them Angelina Ballerina and Dr. Seuss. Life is beautiful! I think to myself, 'I scored! They're gonna go down like... well, like babes.'
Then, I break the news; it's time to go to use the bathroom one last time and then go to sleep. Now the sight of snot running and tears ruins the moment.
Now, I have to add one thing to my goal tonight. I do not want to spank anyone. I literally fight myself not to spank THE one who will insist with every one of her actions to be spanked; Ana.
Ana begins to scream for Mommy. So, I let her run to Mommy. Mommy tells her to go to bed. Ana says, "sleep with me!" So, mommy lays down with her and 20 minutes later comes out saying, "she's rolling over me, picking my face, and jumping on me!"
Now, I bring in the 'routine.' We sit in the dark and ask her about her favorite part of the day. Then, we pray and I kiss her good night. She cries for mommy, but I tell her that it's time for bed. She needs to put her head on the pillow, be quiet and close her eyes.
If she would do just that, there would be no spanking. But she's crying and I can already tell, there's going to be a spanking tonight. I pray not to have to spank her.
I walk out. She walks out.
With a sigh, I call in the muscle; me.
With a stern voice I tell her to put her head on the pillow, be quiet and close her eyes. She goes. I thank God that I didn't spank her.
I walk away. She walks out.
"Ana, go to your bed. Put your head on the pillow, be quiet and close your eyes." Now, I have to add the threat. "If you walk out this door, I will spank you."
Really! How much clearer can I make that! I don't want to spank her. She's 2 yrs old, but can't she remember what a spanking is? Doesn't it hurt?! Doesn't she remember?!
I close the door and wait. She opens the door.
I look into her eyes, "Ana, I will spank you if you walk out this door." I wait and I watch. It's like a dream! She's looking me in the eyes and lifts her foot. She waits a moment. If I didn't watch it with my own eyes I wouldn't believe it. She puts her foot over the door line and puts her head down. What does that mean??!! Why does she put her head down??!!
It's like she wants the spanking. It's like the only thing she's upset about is that I'm getting upset over the whole thing. I almost wonder if she would simply like me to kiss her goodnight, roll her over, and spank her. I wonder if that's the service she'd like me to give her to help her go to sleep.
Anyway, I have to let loose the spanking. She cries and I'm still in disbelief. But guess what? She's asleep in 10 minutes.
It happened last night. And the night before. I wonder what will happen tonight...