dad

March 11, 2014

Climbing the Mountain

In May of 2012 I took my then seven year old son, Cornelius, on a week long cruise to Alaska. As a full time SAHD I spend most of my time with my family, but I was looking forward to some great one-on-one time with my only boy. After two days at sea we arrived at our first port, the capital city of Juneau. We were both excited to be on dry land again and were ready for adventure together. We took an interesting and informative, 2.5 hour long bus tour of the city and Mendenhall Glacier, led by a native Alaskan Tlingit…which bored my boy out of his mind. I felt badly that he didn’t enjoy the tour and wanted to find something he would like for our remaining hours in Juneau.

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We looked at our options and decided to take a tram up to the 1800′ level on Mt. Roberts, where a promise of spectacular views and hiking trails intrigued us. Cornelius could barely conceal his excitement when he saw snow on the ground at the top of the bluff. Apparently there had been a late-spring snowstorm so the trails were still covered in snow. But, we were told, adventurous types could still hike around if they didn’t mind the snow. Despite wearing only a t-shirt, sweatshirt, shorts and tennis shoes, Cornelius begged me to hike in the snow. So, off we went.Image

Just over the ridge from the nature center at the top of the tram landing was another steep bluff, with a series of switchback trails leading to another ridge about 200′ above. The problem was the fact that the entire bluff was covered in several feet of snow, rendering the trail impassable. The only way to scale the bluff and reach “Father Brown’s Cross” would be to climb straight up the face. Cornelius took off running while I cheered him on. He made it about halfway up before losing his momentum and sliding back down. Three times. Each successive attempt was a little slower and more disappointing for him. After his third attempt, he walked over to me, cold (he was wearing shorts) and dejected, almost to the point of tears. I put my arm around him and we took a couple of steps toward the tram area. Then I stopped.

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Mustering a combo of courage and craziness I didn’t know I had, I asked him if he wanted to try one more time. Only this time I would try to go with him. I didn’t know if I could physically do it, having had knee surgery only 8 months prior. He immediately perked up and took off toward the bluff, with me eating some serious dust (or snow, in this case). About halfway up we chanced upon a small hole where we could rest for a few moments. It was there that I began to seriously question myself for doing this. Cornelius must have sensed this because he took off before I could say anything. I managed to get back to climbing just as he reached the upper ridge and started hollering for me to hurry up. Spurred on by his cheers, (I noted how the tables had turned) I scrambled the rest of the way to the top. Once there I was greeted with the biggest smile I’ve ever seen. We hugged. We took pictures. We high-fived. And the view of the surrounding mountains, water and city of Juneau was, indeed, spectacular. After a few more minutes to enjoy the satisfaction of our accomplishment we were left with a fun trip down the steep bluff. It was a wintertime slip-n-slide that capped our mountain-top experience.

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Note: This is an essay (without pictures) that I’ve submitted to be considered for inclusion in an upcoming book some friends are writing that’s going to be published in June. If you have any suggestions to help me improve this piece please comment below or send me an email at bigcheesedad@gmail.com.

Thanks, Carl, aka Big Cheese Dad

February 17, 2014

Bad Dad: Seeking Forgiveness

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Saturday started out on the right foot. I woke up and went to the YMCA to hit the elliptical machine for a 45 minute workout while my wife fed breakfast to our youngest children. Upon my return home I was back in charge of them so she could shower. Without going into the details, some of my older children got into a conflict while I was “in charge”. In a few moments of poor parenting I made some choices that I wish I could take back. But, since there’s no “EASY” button like in those Staples ads, I had to endure the consequences of my poor parenting choices. The peaceful Saturday morning had been shattered, replaced with a tension and uneasiness because I didn’t handle the conflict between two of my children appropriately. I actually caused it to escalate by my actions. With one of my kids crying in a bedroom and another with me in the kitchen while I fed my baby breakfast I began to realize the depth of my parenting failure that morning.

I started to replay the events in my mind, trying to justify my behavior so that I wouldn’t feel so bad about how I’d (mis)handled the conflict. Before I could get too far into that line of thinking my wife came into the kitchen to let me know that I’d royally screwed up that morning. She didn’t say it exactly that way, but that’s the version I’m sticking with. And I knew she was right. Even in my defensive state of mind I was still able to recognize truth. I knew that I needed to apologize to both of my kids for the way I had acted in response to their conflict. As a parent, I’m usually able to keep my cool and respond appropriately. In this instance, I had failed to do that and had failed them. I knew better. And they deserved better. So, there it was. I owed them each an apology.

The good news is that when I was very young my parents taught me how to apologize and seek forgiveness whenever I wronged someone else. The bad news is that I’ve had way too much practice doing that over the years. In all seriousness, though, I’ve learned that most people will accept an apology if they can see and understand that I’m truly sorry. Many are almost caught off-guard when asked to forgive me. There’s a look that they give me that’s a mix of wonder, shock and gratitude. Unfortunately, as a parent I make mistakes. However, each time that I do I try to use it as an opportunity to grow as a parent and to model for my children how to apologize. This time was no different. I went to each child and explained how I had messed up and how I would handle the conflict in the future if it were to arise. Then I apologized and asked forgiveness. It’s especially hard for me to do that when I can see the hurt that I’ve caused in the eyes of my child. Thankfully, each of them forgave me and we’re moving on from it.

I guess that’s the other part of the “forgiveness” lesson I’ve learned over the years. While seeking forgiveness is important, being willing to grant forgiveness is truly the key. I could go on and on about the importance of forgiveness but I’ll try to leave it with this: Forgiving the mistakes of others is the key to happy and healthy relationships. Life is too precious to live in the land of UN-forgiveness.

PS-That’s supposed to be a “bad” or “scary” face. Don’t laugh. It’s the best I could come up with. It’s not like I was planning on blogging about a parenting fail. 🙂

February 16, 2014

Quotable Kids #4

This is going to be an ongoing entry of things my kids say that are particularly memorable.
1. M, age 3 1/2, recently watched “The Three Stooges” movie with her brother and asked for it again the next day. “Daddy, may I please watch the ‘Three Students’ again today?”
2. Several years ago, while living in Wisconsin, my wife and I told our kids that the two of us would be taking a trip together to Seattle. My then-4 year old asked, “Who’s Attle?”.

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3. My nine year old son asked, “Dad, instead of buzzing my hair with the clippers I have a better idea. Could I burn it off?”. Might need to have him Google ‘Michael Jackson Pepsi Commercial fire’.
4. My kids love the Disney movie Frozen and sing the songs a lot. I asked my three year old, who has seen it in the theater three times, what she learned from it. Her answer was funny. “I learned not to sing along in the theater.”

February 7, 2014

I caught my kid…being good!

As a parent, and specifically as the at home parent who is with our children the most during the day, I am constantly trying to get my children to be more helpful, kind and considerate. Often, it can seem like I’m speaking Greek to them because, like most kids, they can fight and with and irritate one another, despite whatever I say or do. And then something happened over the weekend that helped assure me that my words are heard and that my efforts as a parent have not been entirely in vain. I caught my nine year old son being good!

Actually, I didn’t catch him being good. I just heard about it from my friend Austin, who is a pastor at my church. He stopped me in between services on Sunday morning to tell me how much he enjoyed chatting with my son the previous day while I was playing trombone with the worship team during our two hour rehearsal Saturday afternoon. It was news to me that Austin and my son had chatted at all, since my son had planned on reading his new favorite book series (Series of Unfortunate Events). Austin told me that while my son was quietly reading in the mezzanine he (Austin) was in and out of the large room, getting things ready for the 6 pm service, when all of a sudden my son appeared (Austin had been working with his back to my boy) and asked Austin if he needed any help. Even though he didn’t need the help, Austin graciously brought my boy to the kitchen and had him wash some dirty dishes that would be needed later. They talked while washing dishes and doing other tasks once the dishes were done. Austin complimented me on my son’s behavior and willingness to offer his help without being asked or prompted.

I was floored. Sure, there are times that my son willingly does his daily chores and sometimes even offers to do things without being asked. But, for him to do that somewhere other than at home made me think that he’s really beginning to understand; that my parenting is making a positive difference. It was one of those moments that will encourage and inspire me to keep on parenting even when it seems like my kids are not listening to me. After church, I gave my son a big hug and told him how proud I was of what he did the previous day to help out Pastor Austin without being asked. Once we got home, I made a point to tell my wife about his helpfulness in front of him so that he would hear (again!) how pleased I was of him.

January 29, 2014

Lego time

“Dad, will you please help me build my Lego airplane?”. It was a very simple request by my nine year old son as I walked by his room last night. I paused before responding, thinking of the kitchen that needed tidying and laundry that needed folding before I went to bed. But, instead of using those excuses, I decided that it was a perfect time for some father-son Lego building. The chores would have to wait. As I entered his room his face lit with a smile and I knew that I had chosen wisely.

The Lego plane he was building had a booklet of 51 steps for it to be fully assembled. Yeah, fifty one! To complicate matters slightly was the fact that he had taken apart all of his (previously-assembled) Lego kits and separated all of the bricks by color in their own plastic bins. So, for each step we had to open the plastic box (he’s very organized!) that corresponded to that brick’s color and find it. Think “needle in a haystack” for every single brick.

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But, I had checked my attitude at the door and, instead of feeling frustrated at how long this was taking, I cheerfully worked with him on this project. What was interesting was how he started talking while we were working together, sharing his thoughts about school, friends and other stuff that was important to him. It reminded me again of why I choose to be a StayAt Home Dad: for a moment like this where I can simply leave everything else for a while and devote my entire attention to my child. No distractions.

After well over an hour of this easy-going time together I gave him a warning that it would be time to clean up and go to sleep in 15 minutes. Instead of the usual complaining and delaying, he nodded. When the time came, we worked together to quickly put the hundreds of Lego bricks away in their proper boxes. He didn’t complain even one time that the airplane wasn’t finished. Instead, he thanked me for spending so much time with him and requested more “Lego time” with me for the next day (today). After he crawled under his covers and we prayed together, I leaned over to give him a hug and kiss. He surprised me by not letting go of me as quickly as he normally does and told me, “I love you, Dad. Good night.”

I gently closed his door and stood there silently in the hall, wondering why I had even paused at his initial request. The chores were going to have to get used to waiting. This kind of quality time was far more important.

January 17, 2014 Link

Dads for Breastfeeding

Earlier this week, Pope Francis made news when he declared that women should breastfeed their children in church. (see: Pope promotes breastfeeding in church) Apparently this set off a variety of responses supporting and condemning his suggestion. I have been blessed to be a father six times over the last 18 years and my amazing wife has breastfed all of our children. While I’m not a lactation expert or anything like that I’m certainly thankful that my wife chose this for our children. Studies have shown the benefits of breastfeeding (to both child and mother) and I’ve also observed first-hand the indelible bond my wife has formed with each child. A nursing baby is truly one of the most beautiful acts to witness in all of nature. The look of both mother and child as they gaze into each other’s eyes is priceless. There’s nothing more pure and innocent in this world. It’s truly one of the few things my wife does with/for our children that I cannot even begin to replicate in my role as stay at home dad. I can feed our 7 month old baby girl the breast milk my wife lovingly expressed for her but it’s not even close to the same as when she’s with mommy. And I’m 100% okay with that. That’s the way it should be.

And, there is nothing remotely wrong or weird about it.  With all of that being said, I’m glad that the Pope took the opportunity to publicly address the “issue” of breastfeeding in public places like church. I guess I don’t understand why it’s a big deal. With our first child, born back when we were much younger (23), my wife would retreat to the cry room at church to nurse our daughter. After a few times doing that she began to wonder why that was necessary and decided to nurse right in the sanctuary, only covering with our child’s blanket. Unless you knew what was happening you’d never be able to tell what she was doing. There was, simply, nothing inappropriate about doing that in church. Over the 18+ years of having kids my wife has nursed in the sanctuary at many churches and it’s never been a problem. Sometimes, if the baby is being a particularly noisy or active eater, she has opted to go to the quiet room but only as circumstances dictate. If there’s any place on earth that should be receptive to naturally meeting the needs of children I would think that it would be a church. I have yet to observe a time that a baby nursing has been “sexy” or “inappropriate”.

We recently returned from a trip to El Salvador with our baby. She nursed multiple times each day, including while visiting Mayan ruins and during the wedding ceremony and reception dinner/dance.

Our baby nursing at Mayan ruins in El Salvador.

Our baby nursing at Mayan ruins in El Salvador.

And not one single person cared or objected, if they even noticed at all. We had been told ahead of time that women in El Salvador don’t cover up when nursing. For one thing, it’s so hot that it might be uncomfortable for mother and child. But, I believe, the bigger issue is that Americans are so hung up on their own perversions. We’ve managed to sexualize the human body so that even something as beautiful as a breastfeeding mother is somehow inappropriate. In case you didn’t realize it, women were created with breasts to feed their young. I’ve been to the zoo with my children many times and have seen animal mothers nursing their young and not a single zoo patron complained. Same goes for field trips to a dairy farm. Yet, if a mother wants to nurse her baby in public she better go somewhere out of sight or cover up or feel the wrath. I just don’t get it.

As a dad of children ranging in age from 7 months to 18 years old, I’m glad that my kids have all seen their siblings nurse. Even though some of the older ones think it’s “gross” or “weird”, it’s my hope that by the time they become parents they will understand how natural and beautiful it truly is for both mother and child. Every time they make a negative or disparaging comment about nursing I immediately refute it, reminding them that each of them also used to nurse once-upon-a-time. I have to admit that I’ve grown so used to my wife nursing that I don’t usually bat an eye when I’m out in public with my kids and another mom sits down on a bench and starts nursing her baby. The only time that I was caught off guard was a few years ago while at a local park with two of my kids and our dog. We met a lady wearing her sleeping baby while playing fetch with her dog (multi-tasking mama!). While our dogs were playing and we were chatting the baby woke up and the lady lifted her shirt and started feeding her baby. The contented cooing that ensued was music to her ears. What impressed me was how natural it was for her to do that without feeling ashamed or embarrassed by my presence. We continued our conversation as if nothing was wrong. Which was the case. It would be wonderful if we, as dads and moms, could pass along to our children, who could then pass along to their children (and so on) that breastfeeding is a good thing, to be cherished and celebrated. It’s not awkward or weird. Moms should feel free to feed their babies wherever they are: church, park, mall, movie theater, restaurant, pool, school events and anywhere else. As dads, we should do everything in our power to support and encourage mothers who are breastfeeding. We should also encourage a positive view of breastfeeding among our children and other adults.

January 12, 2014 Image

Breaking Dad

San Andreas site in El Salvador

Mayan pyramids at San Andres site in El Salvador

Happy New Year! It’s hard to believe that it’s been over a month since my last blog entry. There were so many things that I wanted to write about here but it seemed like every time I thought I was going to have a few minutes to sit down and type something else needed my attention instead. I guess I made the choice (multiple times) to spend my time with my family instead of with my keyboard typing out my thoughts. I’m not going to make any promises to “do better” this year or blog a certain number of times each week or month. Ultimately, I choose to hug my sleeping baby a little longer instead of laying her down in her crib. I’m experienced enough to know that such times will be gone all too soon.

So, on to today’s blog of “Breaking Dad”. I chose that title because my wife and I recently returned from a week-long trip (a “break”, if you will) to El Salvador to see a colleague of my wife get married in her native country. My mom flew to Washington from Wisconsin in time to celebrate Christmas with us and do some other sightseeing in the area before we departed on our trip a week later. Here’s the kicker: we only took one of our kids with us. That left my mom in charge of our other four kids, ages 14, 12, 9 and 3. It was the first time in over three years that we had traveled as a couple without all of our kids. Traveling with only our seven month old baby ended up being pretty easy as she slept for most of both of the flights on our way there. Once at our destination, we were able to really have a nice break from the busy-ness of our daily lives. We opted not to have international minutes on my cell phone and there was no internet in our room. It was weird. And nice. We kept in touch with our kids and my mom using FaceTime from the free wi-fi in the hotel lobby. But the rest of the time we were able to relax and be on vacation.

Our first meal in El Salvador was memorable in that it was the first time we ever ordered room service. And it was our 21st Anniversary to boot! During our time there, we took a couple of sight-seeing tours to see excavated Mayan ruins and pyramids (see above photo), followed the Ruta De Las Flores (Flower Route) through several small villages, watched the sun set over the Pacific Ocean and celebrated the wedding of our friends. My wife got to sleep in almost every morning and very soundly at night as our baby snuggled me all night (I chose a room with two double beds for that very reason). Even though I couldn’t sleep in like them I was able to enjoy the beautiful view out our hotel of city of San Salvador and some of the surrounding volcanoes/mountains…and the peace and quiet. We were able to reconnect with one another again without the distraction of “real life” – kids, jobs, cleaning, cooking, laundry, etc. Yeah, we had our baby along but it was so different than the regular routine that it was no big deal. In fact, having just Baby J with us was rather fun. One day my wife put her in the baby carrier on her back while we walked around some of the streets near our hotel and they received many comments of surprise and astonishment.

I don’t know about you, but I’m a sucker for weddings. I’m an incurable romantic at heart and I get teary (and even cry!) at weddings. This wedding was by far the best one we’ve ever attended. The outdoor mountain setting in the late afternoon, bilingual service, the vows, the pastor’s message….all of it. Simply. Amazing. And then the reception, dinner and dance. I won’t go on and on, but if you’ve ever been to a Latin American wedding you know what I mean. The food was great. But the music. Dancing. Mariachi band. The people. What a great afternoon and evening, celebrating life, love and happiness. Not just the newlyweds, but all of their family and friends as well. The bride was from El Salvador and the groom from Pennsylvania (in the United States). So even though there was a little bit of a language barrier we all were friends for those few hours, celebrating together.

After the wedding was over and we had returned to our hotel, I left my wife and baby in the room and went to the lobby to chat with our kids. After we had finished my mom texted me to say that the kids had all been doing really well during our vacation. In fact, they had been “very helpful, cooperative, and talking in nice inside voices. Their behavior has been really good, and most of the time, maybe 90% of the time, their behavior has been excellent..”. Wait. WHAT?! Whose kids was she talking about? I have to admit that I felt pretty proud of them when she told me that they were helping out around the house, often without being asked. (Can I get an AMEN?) After all, when I’m home they often give me no end of grief when I ask them to do even one chore. Maybe all my hard work in getting them to help out around the house was starting to pay off. At any rate, I’m counting that good report as a small parenting win and another positive reinforcement that what we’re doing is producing positive results in our children.

We left the 90* sunshine of El Salvador on Wednesday afternoon and arrived in chilly and rainy Miami that evening. And after getting rescheduled on a direct flight to Seattle the next day we arrived home at about 11:30 pm, tired and ready to be home. But the mini-vacation we had together with our baby went a long way in helping this dad to relax and recharge a little bit. In the few days that we’ve been home again I’ve found myself being a little more patient with my kids than I might have been before the trip. So, a huge THANK YOU to my mom for stepping up and helping with the kids so that we could not only celebrate the wedding but also have a relaxing time together.

December 5, 2013

Free Parking

On Tuesday morning one of my kids had a doctor appointment at 8:30, with check-in time 15 minutes prior. Despite the inevitable “poop-the-diaper-moments-before-it’s-time-to-leave” efforts of my baby (yes, I changed it before we left), we were approaching the clinic right on time. Except for one thing. Parking. Since we have six kids we ditched our minivan and roll with a white 12-passenger (former airport shuttle) van. Or the “creeper van” as my kids call it. Whatever you call it, it’s a beast to park since it’s taller than most underground parking structures, this clinic included. That leaves street parking as the only viable option. And most of those spots are snatched much earlier by the clinic staff.

When we were about 5 minutes into the 15 minute drive to the clinic I said a quick and informal prayer asking God to provide us a close parking space so that we could be on time. It’s a habit I formed several years ago after a pastor challenged us to do so in a sermon about inviting God into our everyday, mundane part of life. Over the years my kids have heard me pray it aloud and have seen it work effectively, to their amazement. It’s also provided an opportunity to discuss the importance and role of faith and prayer in my life. I suppose it’s another perk of being a stay-at-home-dad; living out my faith in the nuts and bolts of life with my kids.

When we were about to turn the corner by the clinic I uttered a slightly more urgent version of my parking request, finishing it with a slight challenge. “Ok, God. Do your thing.” I meant no disrespect by it. But I probably should’ve worded it differently. After all, I’ve lived long enough to see that God has a sense of humor.

Thankfully, God also has a sense of compassion. My challenge to God had barely left my lips when I saw the red brake lights and white reverse lights illuminate on a car parked in one of the three spots closest to the clinic entrance. In our family we call that “rockstar parking”. As I waited for the car to pull out I humbly thanked Him for such a swift and obvious answer to my request. My three year old told me that our van wouldn’t fit between the parked cars. She had no need to worry as I parallel parked the beast like a rockstar…no prayer needed!

I hope that sharing this incident encourages and challenges you to invite God to help you in the boring things of life to help build not only your faith but also that of your children. Please don’t think of me as a saint or anything like that. I mess up many times each day. Sadly, it’s more than enough to live out the concepts of mercy, grace and forgiveness before my family. Let me know if you take up the parking challenge. I’d love to read about your experience.

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November 9, 2013

A Really Long Bike Ride

On Friday afternoon my darling three year old woke up from her nap and announced that she wanted to go for a bike ride. A long bike ride. With Daddy. Since my wife had the day off and could pick up the last child from school we were good to go. It was a beautiful and sunny day here in western Washington, with temps in the 50s and wispy clouds…and no rain! But with cooler temps and living close to the water I put on some sweat pants and a light windbreaker over my long sleeve t-shirt. I would regret those decisions later on. I also neglected to bring a water bottle for our “long bike ride”. After digging my bike and the “third wheel” out of the garage and filling the tires with air we were ready to depart. And then we couldn’t find her helmet. Not entirely sure how her helmet just disappeared but it did. Being the fifth of six kids worked in her favor as there just happened to be another helmet on the shelf that fit her. Finally, we were ready to go. Just had to figure out where we were going.

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Getting ready to bike (from summer 2013)

The only complicating factor was that we live on the side of a hill that eventually leads down to the water of Puget Sound. The destination my wife suggested was Day Island. It’s a cute small island about two miles from our house. Down by the water. My daughter liked that idea so that became our destination. As we started I reminded her to tell me if she got chilly from biking so fast in the cool air and to hold on tightly. Her huge smile told me all I needed as we began to pedal. Going down the first big hill I could hear her squeals of delight in the crisp air. After obeying a stop sign (“Why did you stop, Daddy?”) and turning onto a leaf-covered bike lane my daughter thought it was neat how the leaves crunched under the bike tires. On we pedaled, turning at the lights near my son’s school (“I know where we are! We’re near C’s school!”) At that point (over a mile in) we were about to make the big descent to Day Island. Last chance to turn back and save myself from the hard ride back up the hill. But, no, my girl was all excited to go on with the rest of our long bike ride. So, on we went.

At 3 pm there was very little traffic on the road but we were staying carefully in the bike lane. Just before the bridge to Day Island the bike lane ended and we were fully on the road. The bridge is level but at the bottom of the final hill so we were going at a pretty good clip as we crossed it. It was while we were over the water that my girl exclaimed, in the exuberance and sincerity of her three year old self, “This is the best day ever!”. It reminded me to not stress about the long and hard ride that would face me to go back up the hill to get home later on. It reminded me to really live in the moment and appreciate the fun of right now. It reminded me again what it’s like to be a kid. Not a care in the world. A few minutes later we paused near the water and the look on her face was pure joy. We had just biked over two miles and she was loving every minute of it.

We talked about a house that was being built on the island and what it must be like to be way up high like that (there was a guy working on the roof). Then we began to pedal toward home. As we crossed the bridge again, she looked down at the water maybe 30 feet below and proclaimed that she wanted to go swimming there. Now. I’m glad that she was able to understand that the water was too chilly and that we didn’t wear our swimsuits. (Phew!) As I looked up from the bridge the hill ahead of us looked as big as Mt. Rainier to my tired legs. It’s one thing to be a fit biker pedaling yourself up hills. It’s quite another to be a slightly out of shape non-biking 41 year old dad towing (with minimal help but maximum enthusiasm) a 35 pound child.

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Excited to bike (from summer 2013)

I channelled my inner Little Blue Engine and started thinking, “I think I can. I think I can. I think I can.” My daughter seemed to sense this and began to cheer me on and encourage my efforts. “Go Daddy!” I was trying to find landmarks to focus on so that I wouldn’t have to stop. But it was no use. I stopped about halfway up to take a break. I thought about calling my wife for a ride home in our large van. Didn’t call. Yet. Got back on the bike and started pedaling. “That’s my daddy! Go!” She was sure encouraging. Not a hint of sarcasm in her voice. Pure.

About 3/4 of the way up the hill I stopped again. This time the sweat was literally dripping from my face, which I’m sure was red as a tomato. Sure wish I had some water. Ugh. My girl was not to be discouraged. “Come on, Daddy. You can do it!” But I couldn’t. I called my wife. No answer. I texted her. (“Tell Mommy we’re tired of biking.”) No response. After a couple of minutes of rest I still hadn’t heard back from my wife. I walked with the bike the rest of the way up hill. The street leveled off a bit and I decided to give it a go. After just a few feet it became apparent that my weary old self was going to get us home. My daughter was ecstatic, proclaiming loudly, “That’s what I’m talking about. That’s my daddy! Oh yeah!”.

As we slowly passed my son’s school again and barely made the light before it turned yellow my daughter was happily singing to herself again. When we finally made it home she hopped off her bike and exclaimed, “My booty hurts!” (Mine too, kid. Mine too.) She ran in the house ahead of me to tell my wife all about our trip. A few minutes later I made it inside, feeling like I”d just run a marathon (not that I have, mind you). You know, that feeling where you think you might puke? Yeah, that was me, after a five mile bike ride. But it was all worth it. My girl loved the time with me and any amount of discomfort was worth it. Besides, biking is good for me and it only took about two bottles of water and cool shower before I started to feel normal again. My reward was knowing how my she enjoyed herself and hearing her tell her siblings all about our really long bike ride.

November 5, 2013

She knew my voice

I wasn’t going to write this blog today. I had several topics that I’ve been wanting to write about that have been swirling around my brain for the last few days until I had a few minutes to write. But those will have to wait. While driving my 11 year old daughter to school today the song on the radio ended and the news came on. The man talking said that this story was his favorite of the day so we both listened instead of changing the channel. He told about how a dog found an infant that had been abandoned in the bushes of a park. The dog pulled the owner to the bushes and the baby was saved. Interestingly, the baby girl was named Jade, after the dog who saved her. (See links below for full story.) While my daughter thought it was a neat story I immediately choked up to the point of tears. I was barely able to tell her why it caused such a reaction without my voice breaking. I’m sure she thought I was slightly off as she exited the car for school. I sat for a few minutes after she left and tried to figure out why I had reacted that way. Even as I type this I’m not 100% certain that I’ll do my emotions justice as I try to express my thoughts.

My first reaction was one of anger toward the woman who basically threw her baby girl away, leaving her for dead in the bushes of a park. How dare she do that. Blah blah blah. Insert other self-righteous garbage and you get the point. Almost immediately that was changed to a feeling of complete sadness for what this mother (and father!) missed out on by dumping this little girl in the park. How hopeless and scared and terrified must she have felt to think that that was her only option? I cannot imagine that level of utter despair. As the father of six children I’ve been able to look forward to their births and lives with excitement. My wife and I, together, preparing for the arrival of each child. The anticipation of each new life. What would he or she look like? How would the siblings adjust? I doubt that Baby Jade’s parents shared such positive feelings. As I sat in the car my thoughts drifted to the birth of my daughter (who had just left for school) almost 12 years ago. She was our third baby and I had made a concerted effort to talk to and sing to her while she was in my wife’s belly. I had done that a little with the first two but not to the extent as I did with her. Sitting in the car, what I remembered was the first few moments after she was born. I got to cut her umbilical cord before the nurse brought her to my wife to snuggle. After a few mother and daughter moments I spoke a quiet greeting to her, saying something cheesy like, “Hello, baby, this is Daddy. I’m so glad you’re finally here. I love you!”. What I wasn’t prepared for was how she whipped her head toward my voice the moment she heard me. My baby knew my voice. She was moments old and she knew my voice. I’ve told that story to countless people over the years and I’m still blown away by it. Maybe that’s why I was moved to tears upon hearing about the baby that was thrown out like trash in a park. I feel sad that those parents won’t ever get to have that tender moment with their baby like I did.

As I thought about Baby Jade more during the day my condemnation of the parents’ actions (deplorable as they may be) really dissipated as I thought about what a complete miracle it was that someone was walking a dog through the park at that time; that the dog sensed there was something in the bushes and was able to communicate that to her person; and that Baby Jade was still alive and should be just fine after this ordeal. I know that I gave my four month old baby an extra long hug and kiss after I took her from her car seat this morning, remembering what an honor, privilege and blessing it is to be a parent.

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