I’m Not Ready For This

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I’m not talking about the snow we got last night. That cold, white, fluffy stuff can fall all it wants. I’m comfortable driving in it (once we get our winter tires put on). I love playing in it. I love how it makes the world look clean again. We really didn’t even get that much. It was enough to make the roads wet and the grass white for a couple hours. It was also enough to excite a certain 6 year old.

I can’t believe it’s Christmas and it’s only November 14th!!

In truth, what I’m not ready for is the excited 6 year old’s brother to take an interest in girls. I always knew it was just a matter of time, but I didn’t think that time would ever come. It would eternally be “just a matter of time”. Girls are supposed to be gross. Cooties and all…

We’ve now come to a new bridge. One in which we’ve never crossed before. Preferably, I’d like to go ahead and burn it now and make him swim across when he’s 25. On the other hand, I don’t want him to drown or eaten by a manipulative crock when he starts swimming the strange waters that are relationships when he’s 25.

I’ve been trying to think of myself when I was 10. From what I can remember I was a fairly shy little dork back then. The only difference now is that I’m less shy. More importantly, I’m trying to remember how my parents handled me back then. Did I express such an interest in girls in fifth grade? Did my parents let me handle it how I wanted? How much more did they know than they let on to? Should I handle Crash’s love interests the same way?

My God. I’ve got a thousand more questions now than I did when I started writing this post.

I would love to be a hands off, watch from a distance kind of dad. At the same time, I don’t want to be watching from a distance if it’s going to be a trainwreck. But at the same time, it’s his trainwreck and he needs to learn how to handle it. But at the same time, maybe it won’t be trainwreck. I do have an extra tool that my parents didn’t have. Texting. He’s learned to text others from his tablet. This means, unbeknownst to him, we can read his conversations. On one hand it sounds like a breech in privacy and trust. In my head, we’re the parents, he’s 10, and we’re keeping him safe. Right? As of right now he doesn’t know that we DW figured out the password he put on his tablet.

The advantage is that it gives us an insight into what’s going on in his head. It’s easy to forget that he’s got more going on than just going to school and learning. He’s learning to make friends and be a friend. He’s learning about this girl interest. He’s got everything going on at home… being a son, being a brother, his own interests and desires. He is his own person even if he’s still growing into the man he’ll be one day. It’s our responsibility to help him grow into that man. Help him navigate those new waters, new experiences, and figure out how to grow up.

For now, I’ll just keep snooping, keep my trap shut on what I know, and try to show a little more patience.

Then I’ll cross my fingers and hope for more snow.

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The Backup Plan

Backstory:

DW started a keto diet about a month ago. It’s great for her and she’s doing a killer job of sticking to it. Because it’s a high fat, moderate protein diet I often find myself cooking two dishes. One for her and one for the boys and I. This often leaves her more leftovers than the boys and I. That brings us to where I was this evening.

Here’s what the original plan was…

Because of my lack of wanting to cook this evening and DW having some of her leftover Tex-Mex chicken that I cooked last night, all I had to do was find something for myself and the boys to eat. We almost had PB&J. That’s how much I didn’t feel like cooking. We had some popcorn chicken in the freezer and we wanted some fries with that but I had to make a quick trip to the grocery store to get some. You know what the grocery has besides french fries?

That’s peppermint ice cream with chunks of fudge. That stuff is amazing. I knew damn well I couldn’t bring this home and still be called a loving husband by the DW on the diet. So I jumped into action and started baking. I love baking, but because of diets and not needing more junk food in the house, I haven’t baked much recently. DW’s sister-in-law (does that make her my sister-in-law, too?) sent a recipie back at Thanksgiving for a keto friendly cheesecake and DW loved it.

It satisfied her chocolate craving. Anyone with a partner suffering a chocolate craving and has no access to chocolate knows how ugly it can get. If you’re not sure, just imagine a zombie apocalypse- ready to eat the head off anybody.

It ended up being a team effort. I made the cheesecake, she made the whipped chocolate topping. Overall, she said it was slightly different than her SIL’s, but that it was good. It was slightly different because I used a different brand of sweetener. I won’t bore you with the details. I’ll just leave a link to the recipe below. As a tease, you’ll have to see my Instagram to see the picture of our final, delicious product..

Brownie Cheesecake

Instagram, Facebook, Twitter – If you need a backup plan, follow me. I don’t know where we’re going but we’re going to have fun getting there.

10 Reasons My Kids Are A-Holes

I wrote once that I wanted to keep my kids from being a-holes so that when they grew up they could be respectful, contributing citizens of wherever they live.

But right now? Right now they’re a-holes. Especially, to each other. I thought it was just a phase. I thought it would pass. It’s been 10 and 6 years. It hasn’t passed.

1. He used to LOVE bananas.

Now they’re too “mushy” and won’t touch them. Even the unripe, green bananas are too mushy for him now. He liked them last week. Today he hates them. There were two fruits he would eat, the other being apples. If they weren’t mushy. He likes mushy food. He practically lives off mashed potatoes. He’s like that with other foods, too. He will eat carrots unless you tell him there’s carrots in his meal. The only meat he’ll eat that’s not mashed into mashed potatoes is ham and haddock. Simply put, he’s a typical picky eater. The silver lining here is that we no longer have a fruit fly farm.

2. His toast was cut into too many triangles.

Now he won’t touch it. He wanted it cut into two triangles, diagonally. I forgot to ask and I cut into four triangles. I might as well have spread bananas across it. I remember a time when my uncle was trying to prepare a hotdog for this same child. Naturally, he got it wrong the first time. After he was told by said 4 year old child what to do he tried to rectify the situation. It still wasn’t right. Why? Because you can never please an asshole child. It’s not that the bar is set too high. It’s that there is no f***ing bar.

3. He killed his brother just watch him die.

They like to play Lego Star Wars for the Wii. First off, it’s Star Wars! Second off, it’s Lego! It’s a great work together kind of game. Therefore as long as they’re playing nice I don’t mind giving them some extra screen time. The problem is, they often don’t play nice. Bang gets stuck and his big brother won’t help. Instead, he starts shooting his blaster at him. Or, even better, goes all Dark Side and kills him with a light saber. The sole reason? Just to watch his little brother’s character explode into tiny Lego pieces, killed him on purpose like he’s Johnny Cash’s Folsom Prison Blues.

4. He’s not being nice to his brother’s stuffie.

Crash loves his stuffies. He has a queen size bed (hand me down) and what space his little-no-so-little body doesn’t use is taken up by stuffies. He treats them as if they were real animals. It’s the Velveteen Rabbit all over again, minus the scarlet fever. It’s good to see him so loving and caring and gentle. I just wish he’d treat his brother similarly. His brother, on the other hand, fully understands the stuffies aren’t real. They can’t be hurt. It doesn’t matter how hard or often you throw them against the wall they won’t talk. It doesn’t matter how many times you jump on their head, they just won’t cry. But you know… it’s all in the name of pissing off your brother for killing you on purpose.

5. He didn’t share the last of the ice cream.

Imagine having three scoops of ice cream left. I know it’s hard to picture, but just try. Just a little bit left that didn’t get eaten. Perhaps it was saved for later, like after the kids go to bed, but then you fell asleep with the kids and didn’t get to eat it. Then, after supper the oldest child finds it while looking for dessert because God forbid he not get dessert. Then he proceeds to clean out the tub and lick it clean. Meanwhile, his little brother gets nothing. I made sure little brother got extra cookies to make big brother jealous, too. Unfortunately, this isn’t a phase, though we’re trying our hardest to teach them to do good.

6. He doesn’t hold the door open.

He lets it slam on the person behind him. Could be me, his mother, his little brother. He gets through the door and he doesn’t let it hit him on the ass on his way out. This goes for both little heathens. Even getting into the truck, they absolutely refuse to let each other in “their side” unless strictly requested. Fortunately, this is only at home and in the truck. But still…

7. I mopped the floor last night.

This morning they are eating pancakes on the living room floor. Sticky, syrupy pancakes.

“That’s okay. I love to be your maid”
~No Parent Ever

  • They’re tracking muddy shoes across a freshly vacuumed floor.
  • They’re flinging toothpaste on a freshly cleaned bathroom mirror
  • They’re jumping on a freshly made bed
  • They peed on the toilet that I just finished cleaning pee off
  • They put a dirty dish in a sink that I just emptied by washing and drying all the dirty dishes that were in it.
  • They spilled strawberry jam on a counter I scrubbed clean 30 seconds ago
  • They dumped the crayon bucket to find peach on a kitchen table I just cleared off for supper

No doubt, whatever it was that was just cleaned will be wrecked in 30 seconds or less or the next one’s free.

8. He’s aiming a Nerf gun at his brother.

While I enjoy a good Nerf gun fight, they can’t be had in our house for a couple reasons. When we start a fight it’s all fun and games. Then someone runs out of darts and has to call a timeout. During the timeout someone gets tired of waiting starts shooting. The victim then proceeds to go batshit crazy. The second scenario is that the game ends except someone doesn’t know it ended and continues firing. Like the USS Shenandoah that continued to chase down and sink Union ships six months after the Confederacy collapsed. Which brings us to the second reason. The youngest hates to have darts shot at him. Whether he was shot at close range, had his eye shot out, or took one to the face, or all of the above, he hates to even have a Nerf gun pointed at him. Loaded or not. Johnny could easily have sung, I shot my brother just to hear him scream”.

9. I told him not to touch the cart.

Then, he touched the cart. It’s a stupid rule. Both Crash and I know it’s a stupid rule. Neither one us are allowed to touch the shopping cart. That’s Bang’s job. He has passed up a trip to the bookstore and the promise of picking out books to go grocery shopping just so he can push the cart. He does not want help with it, either. So the rule is, don’t touch the cart. I will not subject you to hearing the hissy fit that occurrs when the cart is touched.

10. He farted.

In the truck. At the table. In the living room. While brushing his teeth. In his brother’s room. The stench from it is enough to peel the paint off the walls. It’s all fun and games and hilarious when he does it. Guess what ensues when someone else does it? All Hell? Yeah, it breaks loose. Oh sure, farts are hilarious, but only when they’re your own. We easily know who dropped a destroyer because the other will lose his shit.

*Disclaimer: They are not like this all the time. I picked out specific instances that they did jerk things. Hopefully, to provide humor and solace to those have kids who do asshole things, too. We love our two assholes very dearly.

If you’re not an A-Hole you can follow me on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter.


Lucy At Home

Things I learned After Having Kids

I can only imagine  how much my parents learned about parenthood after I was born. I was colicy. I hated coloring. I painted newspaper to the floor. I joined the wrestling team. While I had a steep learning curve it was mostly because I was the first born. My brother, however, brought whole new challenges to the table. In the beginning, the only electronics we had in the house was an Atari. No tablets. No cell phones. No computers unless you count the Commodor 64. Now we have all that and social media and everyone is “connected” every which to Sunday.

My kids are not me

Oh hell… Who am I kidding. They’re more like me than I care to admit. From “I had it a minute ago, I don’t know where it is now.” To all the broken things. They could tear the hinges off of Hades if only I hadn’t torn them off when I was their age. However, they are more headstrong than I remember myself being. I was a go-with-the-flow kind of kid. These two are not. They know what they want and they are not afraid to ask for it. Or ask Nanny for it. They’re also not afraid to argue their point of view. They haven’t figured out this household isn’t a democracy.

Two kids isn’t easier than one

Silly me. So nieve when I was “young”. One kid was easy. Easy to feed. Easy to entertain. Easy to transport. Easy to put to bed. When we added a second, we had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. When the second was an infant we were so tired to call us zombies would have been a compliment compared to how we felt. Yet no matter how tired we were, we still had our first born to care for. One can stay awake for just so many games of UNO on such little sleep. Now that they’re old, the ideal would be for them to entertain and play with each other. Naturally, we’re not there. Everything is a competition. Everything is a distraction. They live to annoy the shit out of each other. At breakfast time. At suppertime. At bedtime.

The common enemy

It’s us versus them. Having two kids has brought us closer together. “You’re momma told ya not to do that and you went and did it anyway. Don’t come crying to me about it.” It works in reverse, too. Only on rare occassions when we feel the other just needs to take their chill pill will we override the consequences. If they ever realized they could play us against each other, our world would crumble like last Christmas’s gingerbread house.

Not all things are teachable

I’m a teacher. I teach things. All kinds of things. I teach kids to multiply double digits numbers. I teach kids long division. I teach kids to speak with respect to others and to take pride in their work. Do you think I can teach my kids to pick up their toys when they’re done? Do you think I can teach my kids to pee IN the toilet instead of ON it? Do you think I can teach them that life is so much better when they’re playing together rather than fighting together. I just can’t do it.

For the most part, I wasn’t an instigator growing up. My brother was my brother and it usually wasn’t my intent to piss him off. Usually. My two thrive on instigating fights and arguments with each other. Just tonight at bedtime, the youngest was laughing his head off at his brother who was red-in-the-face angry at whatever it was his little brother was doing or saying. We’re not even sure. All we knew was that it was bedtime and they needed to get there before we went batshit crazy like big brother was.

Pride comes in small doses

It could be a random “I love you” or “I like your face” or “thank you for loving me”. It could be an assignment they’re proud of completing in school. It could be at hit they made, a fly ball they caught, a goal they scored. It could be a first word or a first step or reading their first book. Perhaps it was a first solo song or finally getting rid of the training wheels. It could be a new picture for the fridge or special card they made at school.

Wherever it comes from it reaches deep and grabs your heartstrings. When the days end and you feel their little bodies softly slip into slumber, you can’t help but feel the love. They in your loving embrace and you in their warmth and innocence. You kept them alive for yet another day and in that success you can be proud.

You can make me proud by following me on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook

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Things I Hate but Love

I hate that one man with many guns can inflict so much pain.
But I love that there are far more heroes than villains in times of conflict.

I hate that my kids can’t get ready for school or for bed without me watching me.
But I love that they secretly can’t because they want me to be with them.

I hate that my kids fight like Capulets and Montegues.
But I love that they stick up for each when the other gets hurt.

I hate having to cook every single night.
But I love it when every loves the meal so much I get I should be a chef. (HAHA)

I hate helping the kids with their homework (Just kidding. I’m a teacher I love it.)
But I love watching them learn.

I hate taking my kids grocery shopping.
But I love that they always want to buy broccoli.

I hate that we have to watch the same cartoons over and over and over…
But I love that they’re educational.

I hate packing lunches every day.
But I love that I know what they’re eating and it’s healthy (mostly).

I hate mowing.
But I love the smell and look of a freshly mown yard.

I hate bug bites.
But I love hiking through forested trails.

I hate long lines in stores.
I love it when a new checkout line opens and I get to be first in line.

I hate hearing all the bad news…
But I love hearing the heroes stories.

I hate that my kids only read at bedtime.
But I love that they can’t sleep until they read.

I hate our growing dependency on technolgy.

But I love all that it can do for us.

I hate the temper tantrums my kids can throw.
But I love it when they tell me “I like your face. You’re the awesomest person.”

I hate that we had to bring the hybiscus in because winter is coming.
But I love that it has the biggest bloom it’s ever had.

I hate it when my kids fight.
But I love it when they laugh together.

I hate when all the lights are red.
But I love that means we can rock out in the truck just a bit longer.

I hate all the annoyances, grievances, and bad news.
But I love all the silver linings.

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What I Learned While Coaching Baseball

We played nine games and ended up with a 4-5 record. Almost 500. We didn’t make the playoffs, the end-of-the-year tournament. That was for the top 8 teams. We were 9th. It was a really fun season, though.

Here’s what I know now that I didn’t know then…

Take that chance

Kids want to have fun. Winning is fun. Do you play the kids where they CAN play in order to win or where they WANT to play in order to have the maximum amount of fun? Try to find that middle ground. I think I managed. We had fun. Okay, we didn’t win more than we lost. But this is “just house league” baseball. Everyone plays. No one doesn’t make a team. So let them play. One kid asked to pitch but I didn’t think the kid was capable. I found out later they were more than capable. I didn’t know what that player was really capable of doing because I didn’t take that chance.

Don’t lose your ducks

Get your ducks in a line before they all start telling you where to put them on the field. They all want to pitch and play 1st base. When you have a dozen players you can’t have 6 pitchers and 6 first basemen. Someone has to play the outfield. In house league baseball only one in a thousand hits makes it to the outfield. It’s as boring as watching the outfield grass grow. So get organized before it all falls apart and you’re scrambling not get your ducks in line, but scambling just to find your ducks.

There’s always the next inning

Patience. Baseball is already a game of patience, but if you’re not patient with the kids, you’ve already destroyed the first rule – to have fun. So your team is having an off day at the plate or your pitchers are having an off day on the mound. Off days happen. Mama said there’d be days like this. Take a deep breath, shout a few words of encouragement, and move on to the next inning. Turn your hat around, kick some dust, do the hokey pokey. That’s what it’s all about.

One inning at a time

Sometimes things work out – you tie the game at a crucial point. Sometimes they don’t – you give up the winning run in the last inning. Sometimes there will be surprises (when the new kid hits a double). But no matter what, you gotta roll with it. Take the ups, the downs, the four run innings. In the game of baseball, as in the game of life, there will be good times, rough times, and times that take you completely by surprise. Enjoy every minute of it. Except the bad times. You can laugh at those later. You just have to take it one inning at a time.

Make it happen

You have more power, strength, and lucky than you think. You can make a strike out feel like a home run because at least the kid was swinging and not running from the ball. Or you can make a single feel like slap in the face because an experienced player swung at a wild pitch. You can make a team work together. Or you can let them fight over positions. You can make an out seem like a miracle. But you will never make outfield the place everyone wants to play. With a little ingenuity and the right words you can make anything happen. Make someone’s day or ruin it. Make your own day and not let anyone ruin it.

Parenting with Clickers On My Socks…

At it’s roots, this is a parenting blog. More often than not I write about the joys and frustrations caused by the two creatures my wife gave birth to. I love those heathens, even when I’d rather they take a long walk off a short pier. In the words of Homer:

I want it all: the terrifying lows, the dizzying highs, the creamy middles…

I chose to make this blog mostly about parenting mostly because it’s what I know, mostly. I am certainly no expert on the topic. I’m not even an expert on parenting my own kids let alone yours and everyone elses. Kids provide an endless supply of stories, laughs, tricks, techniques, and thank-God-they’re-finally-in-bed. So I have plenty of material to share with you. Whether it’s about stupid, straight brimmed hats, places we visited, or answers to many, many questions, you’re bound to find something useful. Since I handle most of life with humor, I make sure to add as much of that spice as I can.

I have almost no idea what I’m doing.

I know I’m not the only daddy blogger and that’s okay. I’m glad I’m not alone. It means I get to look at what other dads are doing like a cheat sheet in Home ec class. I’ll show you my answers if you show me yours. Come to think of it, it’s okay to work in groups. It’s encouraged, really. We all want what is best for our kids, so why not cheat a little and look at what others are doing?

My kid is being an arsehole. Is it just a phase and how do I make it stop?

My kid won’t stop dabbing. Should I put him in a straight jacket?

How much wine will I need after today?

There are as many ways to parent as there are kinds of parents. Helicopter. Snow plow. Crunchy. Free range. The whole continuem between drill sargent strict and hands-off lienient. Breast fed, bottle fed, spoon fed. You know which one is best? Which on should we all be?

We all should be the best we can be. We should be the kind of parent that raises compassionate, educated, healthy human beings. Whether you live in a shack in the woods with no electricity or the penthouse suite on the 25th floor, just be the best parent you can be. Know your child and make decisions and saccrifices in their best interest. You’re not their friend. You’re their mum, their dad, their legal guardian.

Parenting is not a democracy, it’s a dictatorship. Set rules, set boundaries. Lord knows there are plenty of both out in the big, wide world. Follow through with consequences. Lord knows the big, wide world will do that, too.

But don’t forget to laugh and laugh loudly. Act silly and dance in the kitchen or the living room or the bedroom. Or dance in the bath tub until the smoke detectors start blaring (Yes, in our house, that is possible. It’s been done). Sing loud and sing proud.

So don’t come reading this blog looking for parenting advice. It only looks like I know what I’m doing because you never see all the edits, corrections, the behind the scenes action. I call myself a guru in the parenting world on the basis that others seem to think we’re doing a great job. We’re gurus. I’m also clueless. I mostly have no idea what I’m doing, why I’m doing it, or if it’ll make things better or worse. In the words of my wife’s Uncle Bud,

If clues were shoes he’d wear clickers on his socks.

P.S. While I’m out looking for clues you can find me on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter.

A Few Pictures of Love from My Phone

The boys and I have done a few things since DW started back to work a couple weeks ago. We’ve stayed close to home, mostly. It’s the joys of having just one vehicle. I don’t mind, though. It’s cheaper and we make it work.

The little one loves to do math. He’s adding numbers that sum up to 20. He does it with no problem. Mostly because he uses his fingers. Isn’t that why we have them, in the first place? I decided to teach him something new. Addition with carrying regrouping. I did the first problem for him. I helped him with the second problem. He did the 3rd on his own and then we went back and corrected it. The fourth (and all thereafter) he did on his own without error.

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After teaching him school stuff, it was time to teach them life lessons. Their next lesson I called “How to tell if a girl loves you”. The good old pick-the-petals-off-a-daisy trick never fails. She loves me. She loves me not. This daisy told me she loves me. I’m pretty sure it was talking about DW and not that chick from Game of Thrones.

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When Crash tried this trick it worked for him as well. We always knew it was true love. You know a love like this could last forever. He loves to tell everyone he loves ketchup so much that he puts ketchup on his ketchup.

20170822_130839[1]The littlest hellion heathen sweet darling child loves to help. We found a couple blackish bananas in the fridge, added those to the freezer bag of bananas already frozen, and we baked them. With some flour and eggs and ten pounds of chocolate chips we made banana chocolate chip muffins. My little beater was having a blast. He wanted to taste the batter before the bananas were added. Afterwards, I’m surprised he was still willing to touch the bowl…

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Lastly, our love of donuts and tea and coffee always lead us to one place – Tim Hortons. It’s usually our Sunday treat after church. Bang sits with the choir singing away. Crash sits with his dear old mom and dad not singing a word. Then there was one day our baseball games were rained out. The games had started then stopped when the Heavens open up and we found ourselves at Tims…

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What picture on your phone means love to you?

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What 12 Years Gets You

It has taken many years to get where we are today. The learning curve was steep. We were newlyweds learning how to be married. How to be husband and wife. And now 12 years later, here we are. Wiser. Slightly more crazy. More in love today than we were 12 years ago.

Wiser

We learned to work as a team. Mostly, I learned to listen and follow instruction. To test how well a couple teams up give them a brand new BBQ in 50 pieces and poorly written instructions. The good ones will have it together in an hour laughing along the way. The ones who are still learning? Both will argue that their way is right. Both will give instructions. Neither will listen. The marriage will dissolve and someone will be threatened to be beaten to death with the unbuilt BBQ. It’s the same with furniture assembly and vacation planning.

Twelve years has taught us (me) that listening, not just hearing, is as important as doing. Of course, being weak to her Mind Tricks helps.

Crazier

Twelve years is a long time to be with the same person. You learn to find your own version of normal. It’s buying your own anniversary present because your wife is sick with the flu and can’t get out. It’s playing with said present (Bop It) and dancing like a drunk June bug to make her laugh. It’s knowing who is going to jump on the trampoline with the kids and who is going to plan the birthday party.

Kids have a tendency to make you a bit crazier than usual, too. Whether they entice you onto the kitchen dance floor, adorn you with macaroni jewels, or just plain refuse to go to sleep, you will find your own crazy and you will embrace it. Wear it proudly as if it were a crown.

Love

We have learned what sacrifices the other has made to help the family. Whether it was a move or using birthday money to pay a bill or going without sleep because of a sick kid, hungry infant, or worry. We learn to see what we do for each other. Whether it’s simple things like cooking, cleaning, or entertaining the kids. Or it’s big like planning a big party, support through a tough time, or a surprise outing. Also, having kids gives us a common enemy goal.

Though all we have learned over the past 12 years (14 if you count when we first met), I have learned the most. Some how I have hunch I’m not yet done learning.

Now come find and follow me on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram

Being the Dad

It has been a work in progress, really. 40 years in the making. Skills like this don’t happen over night. It comes in tiny portions, miniscule lessons, an observation here and there, a pinch of know how, and a whole lotta luck. 

You don’t get to be a kick ass dad without having a kick ass dad to set the example. Some will tell you how it’s done. Others will show you. Either way, you know you’ve got a good one when you can look back on your childhood and realize that you dad just like your dad did. 

I was a patient kid. I’m a patient man, just like my father. He didn’t teach me to be patient, but I saw the value in it. I understood that it was virtue. Naturally, I lose my patience from time to time. Anyone who knows me knows I lose stuff. My patience shouldn’t be any different. We understand that good things come to those who wait. Work hard. Do your time and your time will come. 

Like patience, my dad knows the value of hard work. So I know a job worth doing is worth doing right. When I walk into a classroom I teach my heart out. I’m a “yes man”. When administration needs me to step up and do extra, I do. My dad worked hard, too. I can still picture him walking into my high school gym still in work clothes to watch my wrestling matches. That was after dark.
Being a good dad isn’t easy. It at comes with it’s share of doubts and hardships. Am I doing the right thing? Am I raising good people? What’s going to happen next? What should I teach them?

However, the rewards outshine both. The laughter. Seeing them act kindly. Watching their excitement when they are successful. Feeling pride swell when they learn, when they win, when they do good when they think no one is watching. 

Any man can be a father. The exceptional ones get to be called dad. I am the dad I am because of the dad my dad is. 

Both of them.