Birth Days

The P's both celebrated birthdays recently.  His is at the end of June and hers is eleven days later (mine is eleven days after hers if you are counting).

Pman's birthing story is emotional and terrifying.  Every year on his birthday I can't help, but reflect on how he came into the world with such turmoil and now he is a gentle, happy person.  Sort of like he got all of his drama out of the way, right away.

He is cautiously enthusiastic about nearly everything he encounters.

Pman is happy to play alone building train tracks, make a new friend the local pool or taking on a new adventure like Kindergarten. (Don't even get me started on that one).  However, few things make him as excited as family parties when he gets to hang out with his aunts, uncles and Mimi and Pop-Pop.

We recently went to a pool with a floating slide, it was a large crab chained to the bottom of the pool.  Kids had to hoist themselves up and climb the contraption to get to the slide.  For the first few times I had to help Pman up, via butt support.

Then I stood back and watched him as I stood with CBL, who was splashing around in the shallow end.  After some consideration, he launched both his elbows up onto the crab claw, wiggled his hips, craned his neck, flailed his legs, kicked his feet and made it to the top all by himself.

That boy will be just fine.  Pman brings a calm energy to my life.

CBL, on the other hand, is a firecracker, which is fitting since her birthday is the day after the Fourth of July.

Most of the time when children celebrate a birthday, parents and other adults in their lives say things like, "You're _____ already! Where has the time gone?"

With CBL, I find myself thinking, "How are you only 2?"  Her personality is an explosion, TA-DA, I'm here!  She feels everything fully and completely.  I often find myself saying, "She's ONLY 2."

Her birthing story is pretty low drama and sort of predictable, I mean she was a planned c-section for pete's sake.  There is nothing humdrum about her now though.

Whether we are at the grocery store, the beach, or getting the mail at the end of the driveway, she thinks everyone is here for the Peyton Show, and she is more than happy to turn up the charm.  The charm is always on, she just adjust the intensity a bit depending on the situation.

One of my favorite, most recent, stories of CBL happened last weekend at my parents house.  I gave her a snack then asked my mom to watch her while I took a shower.

When I came out of the bathroom my mom said, "She keeps asking for her damn cracker."
....

"Graham Cracker.  I gave her a graham cracker before I took my shower."

It's really hard to not continue calling them damn crackers.

Keep going baby lady, I'm enjoying the show!

WWyouD?

My very first semester teaching I had a student who did a speech about karate.  His speech began with a 30 second, unintroduced, karate demonstration.  He did not say one word.  He donned his gi and went right into the routine.

When he finally spoke he talked about karate being centered around discipline, respect, loyalty and self-defense.  He now runs a well respected karate school in a neighboring town.

I remember thinking, as I watched his speech, "I want my children to hold those values close.  I hope they want to do karate."

A couple years later Pman was born and, for a very lone time, has asked to do karate.  So last week, 2 days after his 5th birthday, we signed him up.

We have had many conversations about what karate, really he will be taking Tae Kwon Do, is not about.  The goal is not to hurt someone out of malice, but defend yourself if needed.  Pman is not a violent or even competitive person, so I really think these lessons will ring true with him.

A day or two after we signed him up, but before the first lesson, we were at a play date.  The kids were mostly Pman's age, but CBL can usually keep up and she gets sharing and turn taking.  She was right there with the big kids.

Then, I heard her cry.  It was an "I'm hurt" cry not "He took my toy" cry.  Pman was there, and a couple other kids.  CBL kept saying, "Push. Push" and she was holding her head.

There was no blood and no one said anything. My head whipped around to Pman as I asked for some details.

The bottom line was someone pushed her to the ground, flat out.  Apologies were said, play resumed. The end.

However, on the way home I couldn't let it go.  I have an older brother.  If someone pushed me, or hell even looked like they were going to push me to the ground, my brother would...well it would not end well. 

I wanted my son to protect my daughter, and vice versa when she gets a bit older.  There will be times in their lives when they need each other and I will simply not be there to sort the facts.  I am a huge supporter of siblings supporting each other, it's how I was raised.  We are a team, united front.

So, once we were home, I talked to Pman about the situation.  He told me he thought CBL was pushed by accident.  Honestly, so did I.  I steered the conversation in the direction of what if it was on purpose.  What if someone came up and pushed your sister to the ground on purpose and she was hurt?

Pman had no answer.

I said, "You push them back.  If it's not an accident and someone pushes your sister or you, push them back.  You will not get in trouble for defending yourself or protecting your sister."  There was a bit more in there about try to tell an adult first and what to do if she is pushed by accident.  But the overall message was if it's on purpose, push back.

Josh's answer to a purposeful push was, "If someone pushes your sister to the ground you punch them in the face."  (Josh is not a violent person in the least, but obviously he is fiercely proctective of his daughter.)

I admit a bit extreme, but it's coming from my own home base- protect each other and stay united.

I am hoping Tae Kwon Do gives Pman the confidence and the dignity to stand up for what he knows isn't right, with his sister, himself or anyone being mistreated or bullied.  I always say to him, "Don't do something you know is wrong or mean, even if everyone else is doing it."

I'm not sure how I feel about my "push back" advice, I do not even spank my kids, but I know that I won't always be there.  The P's love each other deeply, but they all need to trust and protect each other too.  I just want to help set that stage.

OK

Yesterday I spent most of the day in the car driving my kids home from a fun, long weekend at my parents house.  We listened to songs on the radio, talked and for about 20 minutes, they slept and I enjoyed the silence.

After I got them home, fed, bathed and tucked in, I turned on the news and saw the footage of the tornado in Oklahoma.

I remember 1995 when the Oklahoma City bombing happened.  Hearing about their latest disaster brought up the same feelings, thoughts and prayers that flooded my head and heart when Sandy Hook occurred and the Boston Marathon bombing.

Recency Effect.

On my couch, exhausted after a day of traveling, I only watched for 15 minutes before I went to bed.  At the gym this morning I watched a bit more.  I heard the death count go from 51 (20 of which were children), to less than 25 total, to an "unconfirmed amount of causalities."

I saw mothers grip their children as they emerged from the rubble that was their school just minutes before.  I listened to the acts of heroism and selflessness by several teachers from the two elementary schools.  Those children are alive because of those teachers.

There was a story of a couple who dug through the ruins of their house for hours and finally found their family dog, alive.

Sandy Hook, Columbine, the Aurora movie theater, Virginia Tech- they were all man-made tragedies.  Those attacks were manifested and carried out by our own.  There is a person, or a group of people, to blame.   We see their pictures, hear their names and we know who they are and what they did. The media inundated us with possible motives and background stories of these criminals.

Society seems to get some comfort in solving the equation; A happened because of B.

We become so passionate about making sure A never happens again that we write and rewrite legislation.  We attempt to develop stricter background checks.  We feel the need to create a list of potential future offenders based on what we know about our most recent attacker.

There is no one is the blame for what happened in OK on Monday.  There is nothing anyone could have done to stop it this time, next time, or the time after that.

I'm not sure which notion makes me feel better, in the end innocent people died. However, I will choose to focus on the fact that the tornado was beyond any of our control. 

Yesterday's tragedy was an act of nature.  Not people senselessly, maliciously killing other people.

This was an unstoppable force and no amount of picketing, right-wing or left-wing agenda would have changed the outcome.  (I'm not getting on a political soapbox here.  That's not what I'm about.)

For now, let's be thankful for what we have individually and as a nation, help if  and when we can and move forward- together.

Protection

When my sister, Aunt ZZ, was born I was super protective of her.

We went to an in-home day care and I did not let our day care provider change her diapers in front of the other kids, especially the boys.  Thankfully, we had an amazing day care mother and she obliged my insane, six year old, request.

ZZ was very fat and very bald for quite some time in her babyhood.  She acquired the unfortunate nick names, Ardie Donovan

and Little Fat Girl (LFG)

These were all said in good fun and I think the people who called her these names figured she was too young to understand so no harm, no foul. I, however, was not too young to understand.  While I was not specifically aware of Ardie Donovan when I was in the first grade, I picked up on the context clues that he likely was not cutie pie.

I did know what LFG stood for and I hated it- HATED it.  Whenever anyone called ZZ LFG, they would catch hell from a six year old me.  I distinctly remember being so upset by this name at one point that I even cried.

I also cried whenever ZZ got shots during routine doctor visits.  I would have to leave the exam room and sit in the waiting room and even then I could still hear her cry and my eyes would well up.

Once she fell off her bike and scraped up the entire length of her leg from her knee to her ankle.  A neighbor had to carry her home.  My mom and I sat on the side of the tub with her, washing out the gravel as tears streamed down ZZ'a face (and mine).

This past weekend J, Pman, CBL and I were on the deck.  We were about 20 minutes away from dinner time and CBL dumped water on herself in an attempt to drink from a big girl cup.  I pulled off her shirt and started a chain reaction.  She immediately took off her shorts and socks and was soon running around the deck in her diaper.

I figured since bath time was literally moments away, a diaper was good enough attire for the moment.

Pman totally disagreed.  He kept asking me to put her clothes back on.  I tried explaining my bath time logic to him, but he did not want to hear it.

I tried telling him she was fine and happy in only her diaper.  No go.

I showed him that our deck is completely protected by trees and no one can see her.  Not good enough.

He got quiet and went inside.  Moments later he emerged from the house holding a mismatched set of CBL pj's in his hands.  "Put these on her please."

I get it.  He is protecting her.  He does not want her to be the butt of a joke.  He wants her to know that he is looking out for her- always.

Happy Mother's Day to me!

Squirrely Past

One day when I was about Pman's age I was "helping" my mom bring in groceries.  In my memory it was a snowy day.  We lived in a townhouse with a smallish concrete front porch.
As my mom opened the door, a squirrel ran passed us both and into the house.

I ran through the front door and directly out the backdoor onto the deck.  As I barreled through the living room, dining room and kitchen I screamed, "Call me when he's out."

I'm not quite sure what went down at that point.  I think my mom called my dad from the kitchen.  I seem to remember some furry drama in the upstairs bathroom.  Perhaps the living room curtains were torn. 

It's all pretty vague since I spent the entire time on the deck, likely crying, imaging the animal was eating my mom.

She finally got the rodent out by leaving a trail of nuts, or seeds, or gold toward the front door.

Sucker Squirrel.

A couple years later, after we moved to a single family home that backed to the woods, my dad befriended another squirrel.  My dad was, and still is, convinced it was always the same squirrel who came to our deck every morning for breakfast.

My dad even bought this animal, this wild animal, peanuts at the grocery store.  He also gave the squirrel a name, Squirrely George. 

I'm not sue exactly how it all came to an end. 

We lived in that house for about 8 years.  Squirrely George did not move with us.  I'm not sure if my dad provided Squirrely G with a large ration of nuts before we left, or slowly weened him so our absence would be less of a shock to his mooching system.

Most recently, Pman and CBL started throwing breadcrumbs, apple peels and other little food bits out on our deck for the birds. 

I have to admit, I kind of hate this new trend.  Our deck is practically in the woods.  I'm afraid we will befriend the critters a bit too much and that will be most problematic when we try to eat dinner on the deck this summer.

Alas, the kiddos get a huge kick out of it, so I am not waging my war on the woodland creatures just yet.  However, we do seem to have a new family "pet".

Squirrely George: Revisited 

He comes everyday at lunch time and leaves his apple peel scraps behind.  I guess we feed the squirrel who feeds the tiny birds.  Fantastic.  Guess I need to go buy some extra apples.

Karma This

Pman gets an allowance for being generally helpful. 
He is also taking swim lessons at a local indoor pool.  In the lobby there is a vending machine.

He really gets a kick out of buying his own things with his own money. 

This past week, Pman brought his allowance to the pool to get a snack from the machines.  He picked the knock-off Hostess chocolate cupcakes- the ones with the white swirly on top.

There were two in the package and I told him he could have half of one after dinner when we got home.  He put in his dollar, keyed in the numbers and watched as the metal coil spun around 180 degrees, leaving his cupcakes dangling above the opening.

He looked up at me, defeated.  Confused.

Plum out of quarters myself, I walked over to the front desk and asked if anyone had a dollar I could borrow to knock the treat loose.  I promised I would give them their cupcakes, I just needed the dollar.  They all stared at me blankly.

Finally this old man with rough looking facial hair, greasy hat and coveralls handed me a dollar.  I thanked him and told Pman to thank him.  After both packages of artificial confection dropped, I attempted to give the man his cupcakes. 

He said, "No those are yours.  Two kids, two packages of cupcakes, looks like each kiddo gets two cakes."  He smiled and walked away.

I quickly explained to the P's how generous the man was to us and they will not each be getting two cupcakes after dinner.

The next day in class I had a student have a bad reaction to too much coffee, a new medication and not enough food in his system.  He was shaking, could not focus his eyes and was just cognitively out of it. Another student ran to the vending machine to get the sick student some water. 

At one point, a health teacher, security guard, the water getter and I were all involved in trying to get the sicky back on track and home safe.

Eventually, I had to go back into my classroom, but I gave a dollar to the other teacher in case the sicky needed something.

After class the water-getter stayed behind.  I assumed she wanted to have a "what was that?" conversation about the sick student. 

Instead, she handed me the dollar back and told me the other teacher gave it to her and said, "Here, your teacher wanted to pay you back for the water." 
My student said, "Oh no, I chose to buy the water. She didn't ask me to." 
The health teacher said, "Just take it anyway, I would."

Well thank you for revealing your true colors Professor Pickpocket.  And thank you to the bearded stranger wearing coveralls at the indoor pool. 

It's about balance I guess.

Happy Valentin's Day Yada Yada Yada

Aside from the children and my engagement ring (because of what it symbolizes), my most favorite gift josh ever gave me can be found below.

I have posted this before, but I recently mentioned it to a friend who had not read it, so here it is.

Josh wrote this for me after our second Valentine's Day together, while we were still dating.  At the time he worked for a newspaper and this piece was published in that paper.

I'm a Valentine's Schmuck
Josh Phillips

Valentines Day.

A day to show your undying love for that special soulmate and promise her your affections until the sands in the hour glass of time trickle to the bottom and fall still.

Or if you're one of the millions of Average Joe's such as myself, it's a date marked on the calendar with a giant black "X" as an impending natural disaster.

Why? Because I always, without exception, manage to botch this supposedly simple holiday every single year.

Yes, another one has come to pass, ladies and gentlemen, and once again I share a doghouse with many a fellow man around the globe.

I don't know why, but this stuff happens to me year after year. After all, my intentions are good. But like The Simpson's Ned Flanders once said, "I can't feed my family on good intentions, Marge."

Very true.

Last year, it was a tsunami of problems when I ventured forth into the kitchen in search of adventure, danger and dinner. Like Indiana Jones exploring the pre-Columbian ruins in the beginning of Raiders of the Lost Ark, I entered a place where only the bravest of men dare to venture and few ever return unscathed.

Cooking is obviously unfamiliar territory for me, but for my true love I'd climb the highest mountain, brave the deepest sea and ruin the simplest recipe.

I had found a meal on the Internet (honey-mustard salmon, if you're interested) that promised to be so simple, a small child was capable of preparing it. However, the supermarket was all sold out of "small child," so I was flying solo on this mission.

Remember that scene from the movie where Indiana was fleeing the cave as a giant boulder threatens to crush him underneath its massive weight? Well, substitute "boulder" with "stench of burnt mustard-coated fish" and the scenarios are practically interchangeable.

Even my dog wouldn't come out of hiding for three days and had to be fed by my old roommate. I can't say I blame him, though.

So, with the idea of cooking scratched forever more by my girlfriend and the good people of the Solomon's Volunteer Fire Department, I had to take a completely different approach to this year's Valentine's Day gift. This time, I thought the best approach would be to just simply ask her what she wanted and then deliver it to her that day.

Easy, right?

Can't miss plan, eh?

Well, for all practical purposes, it should have been. My girlfriend, the doll that she is, asked for two things and only two things: a CD of songs I would burn for her and a gift certificate to the hardware store so she could select paint for her kitchen redecoration project.

It was handed to me, fellas. This Valentine's Day is going to be a cinch! All I had to do was remember to do two little things. Couldn't be simpler!

I have a few theories on why men forget all the things that women tell us.

When early Neanderthal man was young and still hot-to-trot on the hunter/gatherer concept of society, the man and woman had two very different roles. Men went out and threw sharp sticks at the dinner, while women stayed home to care for the family.

Women listened to the needs and wants of the children and made mental notes on how to improve the family's way of life.

Men threw sharp sticks at things.

Women told the men how they felt life could be made easier if certain changes to their lives were made.

Men threw sharp sticks at things.

The role each sex played back then determined how many of us act today. Women communicate to us what they want, men throw the remote at the TV when the Dolphins turn the ball over. Times haven't changed all that much.

So this past V-Day, I showered, shaved, picked up the CD, bought a very sophisticated bottle of wine that happens to be one of her favorites and began to walk out the front door when I realized that something was missing. What was it? What did she tell me? Was it something important?

Oh, silly me, I know what I'm missing ... a Valentine's Day card, of course! So 10 minutes before my arrival at her home I was out at the supermarket, card-shopping for that special someone.

Why they don't overstock grocery stores with Valentine's Day cards is beyond me. How many do they actually order, anyway, 12 or 13? But being of quick mind and exquisite judgment, I made one of the most brilliant decisions in the history of Man, a move so legendary that it will be forever recorded in the annals of Man history.

I'll just spice up a non-Valentine's Day card!

Let's see what we got here: "Dear grandson ...." Nope, that one won't do. "With our deepest condolences ...." Nah, too heavy. "Happy Anniversary!" Yeah, close enough. What's the difference, right?

After crossing off a couple of the more trivial words such as "Happy 25th Anniversary" and "After 25 years of being married to you" I was in business! Just a few scribblings with my pen and it was an entirely new card!

Being the debonair kind of guy that I am, I presented Nikki with her gifts and asked her a romantic question: "What time do we eat?"

But of course, if you've been paying attention, you've probably already noticed that there was no mention of the hardware gift certificate or of any paint. That's because I forgot all about it and was subtly reminded the next day as we drove by the store on our way grocery-shopping.

My memory works fine on stuff like sports scores and statistics, but just seems to go to waste on stuff like that. I know I'm not the only one, but I'll be darned if I'm not going to do better next year. Because I'm going to remember what she wants. I'm going to get it done ahead of time to avoid all the embarrassment of looking like an insensitive Morlock.

Because when all is said and done, it really is all about your partner's ... WHAT?!?!?! The Yankees picked up A-Rod? Not the Yankees! Anyone but the Yankees!

Now where, was I? Oh yeah, throwin' sticks.