Do nothing day is do everything day.

Many times have I had this conversation in my house. "I want just one day - of nothing. Not on a cruise ship, but in my own home for a cost nothing day in the house we pay a mortgage on yet rarely enjoy. Can we arrange this?" I ask. "Ok, after we run these 15 errands, maybe." is the standard response.

I negotiate down to five errands that can be attached to priorities and by that point the relax and enjoy mood is shot so upon their completion we make up 10 other tasks that weren't even on the original list and do those instead. Sometimes the original five still don't get done.

Every now and then there is an unaccounted for afternoon and a sense of panic sets in "We didn't load up a bunch of stuff to do so now what?" The thought of doing nothing doesn't cross our minds as a viable option and when we are completely lost we ask the children to approve the proposed schedule. Do you want bread sticks or new tights for dance class?

I think of friends and family that recognize one day a week in a specific way for their religious practices but that often involves a strict timely regimen and proper dress. My definition of a nothing day is really not to think hard about something else, it is intended to truly be a day about nothing. I think we need an eighth day of the week.

Then just as I despair over thinking that sitting still has become a lost art I realize that we do have several extended family events each year where the men sit in a room watching sports and the women gather to gossip. This is a western form of naval gazing meditation, which if it were considered an activity would defeat the purpose. I am just not sure this is the best we can do to rest.

Perhaps the only way to have a day off is to embrace what each day already is. But I sill seek that elusive one absolute nothing day. Maybe next time I get the flu I will have one.

There is a conspiracy at work!!

Setting: My family was on a flight from SeaTac back to SLC after a family mission to experience not only some of the history of my side of their genes, but to see some fun and cool stuff too.

It was time to return home. But “they” did not appear to be ready. The concept of “fun” was still on their minds and a diabolical plot began to unfold among others that were in a similar situation. I was lucky to intercept their communication.

Before boarding the unspoken ones in charge of the transport tried to separate me from my family by giving me a free upgrade to first class. I offered it instead to my wife who declined (I think she is a double agent) so I declined as well. Something sinister was truly in the air.

While a thundering sound pierced the earbuds I had left in as noise cancelers it was not the engines of the aircraft or the background din of those who refused to stop their cell phone calls even though the flight attendant threatened us all with missing the goal of an on time take off. It was the enemy.

With my training in forensics and secret keeping and the help of the free consultative services that I engineered from my friend who I will call “Graig”, I took off my earbuds and began a new mission. I tried my best to remember the code with which they spoke as we took off and approached the final altitude because, not to make excuses but until I could turn on my iPad I was unable to take notes until getting permission to enable my devices.

In the meanwhile I planted my own daughter, who we will call #5 into the scenario. She is nine or ten whatever months old and has my back. Together through statistical analysis conducted while the runway kept her interest we identified other agents numbered one through four and managed to infiltrated their system.

The following is a transcript as best as we could piece it together:

#5 - I am picking up a signal. When I take my binky out of my mouth and give it you that will be my code for being locked in.

Binky transferred. Translation and training experience followed and acknowledged by returning the binky. Using a coding system of raspberries and hand signals my daughter and I have created she was able to relay the following communication that was occurring among "the little ones":

#2. I hear others, are many of us in the same boat?

#3. No boat, this time it is a flying thing. We are supposed to be impressed with this but cartoons do this every day. Just be thankful it is not a car going across a long expanse of nothing for hours at a time.

#3 I hate it when they say “Hey look at those cows!!” when they know full well I am locked down so tight in this backward facing pod like thing that I cannot see ….

#4 Ummm, where are they taking us?

#1 Some place horrible. It always sucks.

#4 Why? I mean…. I got coloring books and a hold on …….. whAAAAA!!! HHHAAWWAAA!!

#1 Ok that one needs a uniform change and is out of commission for a bit. She might join us or not, but we must press on nonetheless.

#4 Some voice came over head. What did he say?

#1 Whacka Wacka Wacka I just wish "The Giant People" would at some point learn to communicate clearly. I think he said “There is a mountain called Rainer or something that is peaking up from beyond the clouds and we are thinking of landing there and rolling all of you down to the bottom for fun".

#2. I think we need to get together on this I am nervous.

#1 I have been through this before, they threaten stops like that but it usually means they get snacks and sodas and tell us to go back to sleep.

#3 Screw em, I have a PS3. Besides, Dad just gets a $5 beer. Idiot.

#1 You really do not understand this do you?

#2 I see a large metal cart coming my way. It might have the nectar.

A momentary silence fills the cabin. It is an eerie feeling.

#1 Oh you guys so do not get it! That cart has nothing on it for us but …… hey where is #5? She hasn’t said anything in quite a while.

I was wondering the same thing. She had fallen asleep. My double agent planned to give her some nectar at just the correct time to cause this and now I find I am on my own. I open a book on my kindle and pretend to read it but I try to still pick up on what is being said.

#1 They give a cookie to make your teeth feel better. It is like a, like a, bribe of some kind so you will calm down. Do not bite on the myth!!! Your teeth will still hurt.

#2 Exactly, but we all still know the destination they are taking us to in this trap is to some horrible place and in the meantime I have something to do.

#3 I just completed World of Warcraft for the 5^th time, NOT!!! But you guys are all still stupid.

#4 I have a suggestion

#1 Yeah, whatever, go back to your blanket and fiddle with a discarded candy wrapper

#2 I think we should hear him out or her, or it, or half person I don’t know. I have been called so many things at restaurants that I don’t care anymore.

#1 Shut up. What is the idea?

The rest was a garbled mess that I could not make any sense of. They all started making crazy noises that seemed to deliberately be not only out of tune but also be without any beat or cadence as to distract the giant ones. It was a cacophony of noises that my brain simply could not comprehend.

#5 Woke up and smiled. The double agent made the right move and the rest of the giants prepared some of that nectar got a few scribing devices out of their weapon containers along with medium on which to chronicle their experiences in crayon.

I thought the last part was a mistake, so it became imperative to alert the entire force of giants of this portion of their conspiracy.

We have to learn more about how they plot against us.

How they teach us about time.

Once on a business conference call with a speaker phone mic I mistakenly left open the young one making noises in the background moved the head of the virtual table to give me some advice. In front of everyone he said:

"When they try to stand up, push them back down. I just mean it happens so fast that you can't blink or you will miss it. Slow it down."

I am a person who has a habit of connecting dots whenever I can. Of course the fall back from that is being oblivious to the obvious in the current moment. In this instance my mind naturally went somewhere else. I recalled a conversation with a former client I really liked personally that was a divorce Attorney who specialized in representing the woman’s side of such conflicts and it went something like:

"Women should never marry until they are at least 30.”

I looked at my daughter and tried to imagine her being 30 as I replaced her binky. Since I got a late start on the parenting gig myself I cannot be sure I will see it, but I tried to picture the event and who she might choose and how I could afford it. The topic of the conference call became background mumbling that I was no longer interested in. I still don’t remember what the call was for.

Now that I have a second one and the older is outgrowing her clothes and attracting friends from what seems like a 50 mile radius it seems that slowing things down really just means to enjoy their moments. Soak in every noise they make, every attempt to crawl, reach for a toy, every step they take, and every display of attitude that while in need of guidance makes me smile inside.

I am so glad my girls are trying to teach me to slow down. They say "Daddy, just sit for a minute."

Change we can believe in

Over the last few days I have been teaching my oldest daughter (3) to sort coins. I bought a wood kit at the local hardware store that involved a pre-made project that when assembled becomes a box fit with slots for each size coin, properly marked with measuring markers for how much money each stack added up to.

She had to use the small hammer I bought for her sized hands to drive the nails into the pre-drilled holes while I, for the first time in my life, actually read the assembly instructions.

She did a great job quickly learning the difference between the coins. Pennies are easy, but the others are the same color and relied on size and texture differences. I was trying to understand the challenge she faced in order to best teach her and made sure she could call out the name of each coin as she selected the correct slot.

After the first handful of 100% success she just gave me a spontaneousness hug. The sort of gold currency a Dad cannot get enough of. It was fun for her to build the project and then use it to learn. She was satisfied and proud of her work and I was convinced that I had this exercise all figured out and thought through every possible angle.

When she ran out of coins she looked at me with a sad face and said "Dad, are they going to be the same tomorrow?"

It took me a few minutes to understand her concern; we were working with change.

The little red-haired boy...

Yesterday, I ran to our local airport to help my wife purchase several airline tickets for my middle son, the tennis player who will partake on a 5 week tennis tournament excursion this summer. As we sat in the chairs, waiting in line for a ticket agent, a young man sat next to me. With him, was his young, red-haired, son (I am guessing 3 years old), dressed in a scruffy shirt, cargo shorts and flip flops. The little guy was a bit impatient and amused himself by tossing his flip flops about 15 feet away at a garbage can trying to make "a basket." It made me smile. It made me think back to when my boys were 3, 5 and 7 and how they would just play with a passion like playing was the toughest job on the planet. I mean, it was hard work to play this hard.

Now, as I see my young men, ages 15, 17 and 19, I find myself watching them in a very different way. I worry when I hear an ambulance and one of them is out with the car. The discipline required is so different than it was back in those simpler times. Now it's about grades, keeping their room clean enough to walk through, and getting to bed at a reasonable hour. It is just a different world. Not a bad world, just different.

As I watched the little red-haired boy tossing his flip flops, and the sheer joy on his face as one actually went in the can, it made me think back to those simpler times. It made me think back to the times where I would think to myself; can I raise these little boys to become respectful men that will contribute in a positive way to our world?

It was just one of those moments that really hit home for me.

And as I look at them now....I believe we have done that successfully.

...and life continues on.

Quatro Chronicles: Broken Dreams

Editor's Note: Quatro's last entry detailed his time as a captive.  If you missed, it, click here to read his previous entry.

Baby nation, my brethren, I’m so glad to be communicating with you again.  I wasn’t sure I was going to make it.  The heathen’s torture scheme continues and gets more daunting by the day.  These people are heartless fiends who delight in our misery.  And they almost broke me.  Almost.

Brethren, why do the giants deprive me of rest?  I lay in slumber, sleepily dreaming of cute little bunnies who sing gentle little tunes while surrounding me with their little baby fur.  Sweet dream, my brothers and sisters. 

But then, torment! I’m grabbed – manhandled!  The giants, those fiends rip my clothes from my body, stripping me of my pride.  And just as I adjust to the nakedness that is me, and, in fact, relish the freedom of the breeze across my….well, naked parts, my enemies quickly change tactics and force me back into cloths.  The mind games never end.

Sure, I protest, as loud as I can.  But sound has no effect on these villains.  They ignore my pleas, the heartless brutes.  So, I’ve added new tactics to my protests.  Have you attempted the projectile spit-up?  It’s a complicated move, involving expert timing, but I find it extremely effective.  You can always use the “classics” – a/k/a “poop”.  But, if you find you can’t poop – and Lord knows I try all the time – but if you can’t, a simple toot will do in a pinch.  It may not pack the punch of the real thing, but used correctly, it will cause a stir among the enemy.  (Sometime I laugh at the idiocy of the heathens.  On occasion, when I’ve used the toot method for counter-torture measures, the leader of the heathens gets angry at the bigger, hairier heathen.  Then, oddly, the bigger, hairier heathen gets angry at the dog.  Very odd behavior, indeed.)

The heathens have other ways of interrupting my slumber.  They’ve implemented a new torture device, “the mobile restraint carrier”.  I’m placed in this demonic apparatus, arms placed through cords of made of seemingly unbreakable material, which is then “clicked” into place. The entire mechanism, with me trapped inside, is then place in the roaring vehicle of death.  We then go fast, seemingly as the speed of light.  And to add to my mental anguish, these fiends force me to ride backwards.  Little do they know this only increases my ability to projectile spit-up.  Ha!

I crave more and more of the drug I've become addicted to.  It’s hard to think of anything else, truthfully.  That sweet, sweet nectar…the milky flow of pure goodness….nirvana in liquid form…. But I digress.  Brothers and sisters, I've pondered upon this problem for a long time now, for we have a roadblock in our escape plan.  Once we’re free, and rest assured, we will be free, brothers and sisters – once we’re free, how will we fulfill the need for this wonderful, delightful, enchanting drug?  Perhaps I can produce it myself?  I've tried sucking on my toes, very hard, but to no avail. Damn those heathens.  Evil, but genius.

Until my next communication, stay strong, baby nation.  We will be free.  Until then, get creative in your counter measures.  This week, I plan to poop in the bathtub!  Ha!  #freeQuatro

Addendum to the $500 Rattle

I have no idea what schools are going to look like when my daughters in the thick of them. They could be 80 students per room with a standardized curriculum that is facilitated by an underpaid unlicenced teacher or it could be a charter or magnet school I would have to closely review. We might keep them at home if we can afford it or get vouchers and if our kids are athletes and we can pull off the morning commute we would go out of district to be on the winning team.

Point is, I worry sometimes because when I grew up the path was much clearer and I always knew what to expect and now we don’t.

I read an article (listed below) about a school in Minneapolis that is giving out iPads to students. Thinking about my recent post I was happy for a moment until I saw one quote from a 12 year old that said “writing with pen and paper is lame”. I thought in terms of my profession: “What about writing on a whiteboard?” Does this make me a dinosaur that chisels into stone?

As much a fan as I am of technology I still claim for the benefit of my kids to be a fan of pen to paper. Yet as demonstrated by a large amount of applications I recently had to fill out for work I discovered that I can’t do it well anymore. From my microscopic script in the day planner to graffiti in the early Palm Pilot days, to oversized writing in dry erase, I can see that my writing and spelling have been affected. But then I also fear that the one choice we could end up giving to our children could be the inefficient QWERTY keyboard that was designed to slow people down.

I am reminded of the times when my father sat me down in front of a heavy black messy ribbon mechanical typewriter and called out letters to teach me how to spell my name, address and phone number. It was fun to punch those keys, but I did also learn how to write these things as well.

We still like reading books, my kids know about them. I hope it stays this way and I hope we continue to teach manual expression, that wonderful tactile intimacy that we have with our words but I suppose there are iPad apps for doing that too. I don’t want them “thumbing” 160 character stories into an assisted key algorithm and losing all site of complex interaction or nuanced communication. Yet I write this thought with a grammar and spell checker in place.

I wonder that if in those places where they have no choice but to learn to express themselves with pen and paper could they have a real advantage? There is still nothing like a hand written love letter, holiday card or a thank you note. PDF forms just don’t cut it either.

Here is the referenced article:

http://www.twincities.com/ci_17904745?nclick_check=1

A $500 Rattle

A few days ago I came to the darkside. I wanted to be an Android tablet user but just couldn’t wait for them to catch up. I did some research on the iPad and found it could do a few things that gave me the business justification I needed for the “investment”. I didn't anticipate how something I intended for my classrooms of adults would be used in the classroom that is my own home.

Along with my work apps, I also installed some children’s games and educational applications with visions of us sitting together learning our numbers and alphabets, interacting with nursery rhymes. After about two evenings this is what I observed.

My three year old has already figured the thing out since technology is no mystery to her. She picks up on interacting with electronic interfaces as if there is no reason not to understand them. She even wants to type words on the keyboard. My seven month old wants to start writing programs for it. She has never grabbed for anything with as much enthusiasm and I can tell she is already plotting her hacking exploits.

On the rare occasion that I actually get to use it I find extra files everywhere, icons rearranged, funny character strings in every search bar, and IP addresses to NSA computers in the browser that I am not supposed to be going anywhere near. Soon, they will jailbreak the thing and drop me a to a command prompt.

So my wife suggests I get one just for them. The less expensive base model with no cell phone and just let them have at it. A $500 rattle that shakes, makes noise, and has the capability of hacking into the National Security Agency systems.

If I were to give them one of their own, what are the chances my girls would fall for the ruse? I have an instinctive feeling they would still want to use Daddy’s iPad instead. I will have to sneak work in on theirs late at night in the darkest corners of their playroom surrounded by stuffed dinosaurs and Minnie Mouse.

I am proud and just have to laugh about it. Watching them both play on it together is one of those treats parents get to just sit back and watch them grow up. And it is my own fault after all; I want them to understand technology as early in life as they can.

So far that doesn’t seem to be a problem. It is amazing how the eyes of a child sees the amazing technologies around us. They don't take time to question how it is possible, they just get to work.

Quatro Chronicles: A New Friend

Editor's Note: Quatro began documenting his "capture" last week.  If you missed, it, click here to read his previous entry.

Baby nation, I have news!  My brethren, slowly, I’m learning the weaknesses of our captors to better plot our escape.  And, importantly, we now have allies!  Yes, friends, this is big!

First, a recap of my incredible discoveries this week.  While the drugging continues from the leader of the heathens and I find I need more and more of that nectar….that delicious, sweet milky liquid heaven…. Oh, for a taste of it….but I digress.  I’ve taken note that the infidels must require rest, too, for I’ve seen them closing their eyes and breathing deeply.  The bigger, hairy heathen makes loud unpleasant noises as he rest, every breath sounds like a lot like thousand babies relieving themselves all at the same time. I’m not certain if it’s a new torture meant for me or unfortunate circumstance of his nature, but this has become my cue.  When the moment comes, when the infidels have just begun their rest, when their chests are rising and sinking in a slow rhythm, I scream.  And then I scream some more.  And I scream and scream and scream.  Ha ha ha ha ha ha!  The chaos that ensues is delightful!

After the drugging

The infidels scramble, but their military training fails them every time!  They start to change my loin cloth!  No, I say!  No!  I want to keep that!  So, I scream! And faster they move… next , not knowing where to turn, they remove the loin cloth anyway.  Oh, the freedom!  This is living! But the giants start to put another loin cloth on me!!!  Why???  WHY????  So, I scream some more.  Louder.  So loud that I choke but I care not!  You can’t take my freedom!!!! 

But, they do.  The new loin cloth is applied.  Defeat.  Embarrassment.   

And to show my dissatisfaction, I scream some more.  And then, just to change things up, I scream louder.

Next the captors try drugging me again.  I do my best to resists, but the drug is so addictive.  I crave it.  It fills my belly with such deep satisfaction.  That sweat nectar….that creamy deliciousness of life….that warm, sweet candy nirvana…..but I digress.  Sometimes the drugging works, I pass out and I wake to find myself in a different location than which I was previously.  Very disorienting.  These giants are devious.  They are evil…but genius.

But, my brethren, occasionally I can fight through the drugging.  And I’ve engaged a strategy you must employ!  See, I wait. I watch.  And when the heathens are in that state of rest, I start it all again!  But louder!  (And with more spit, if possible!)  And try as I might, I push out anything and everything I can.  Anything with a bad smell will work!  And the more, the better.

And this is the key to the whole process of infuriating the infidels: be unpredictable.  Sometimes I let them rest for many, many moments and then I wail.  Other times, I start as soon as they think they’ve settled me.  Oh, the joy I take in their frustration!  My favorite moment is when the infidel and I are both in tears at the same time. Victory! Yes!

I have also seen that my plan has had an effect on the giant’s teamwork.  They seem to disagree amongst themselves, especially at the changing of the loin cloth times.  Sometimes the bigger, more hairy one gets so upset that he leaves the lair from the time the sun rises to the time it sets.  I think he must be drugged, too, for he always returns for nourishment.

Oh, yes…I mentioned my new ally.  I believe the giants are training a beast to eventually eat me.  He’s different than the giants, but big like them nonetheless.  However, he moves on four legs, has much more hair and a funny odor.  Every time he sees me, he’s encouraged by the giants to put his tongue upon me.  It’s another unpleasant torture from these devious fiends.  However, I believe the beast is in servitude, too, and like me, is looking for his way out.  When all is quiet in the lair, frequently this beast lays down next to me, as if to say, “I won’t eat you, friend.”  I’m not certain how to use this beast in my escape yet, but I’m certain he’ll play a role.

Until my next update, brothers and sister of infancy, stay strong! #freeQuatro  

Crappola

Today may have been the worst parenting day ever. My youngest who is nine went to the attic to look for a box of Yu Gi Oh cards. Mind you, the attic is a walk up and essentially the third floor of the house. I am in my office in the basement and I am working. Luckily today my decided to also use my office to work, so we are together. We hear him coming down the stairs...two flights, in sort of a rush. He peaks his head into my office, slams an empty box on the floor and yells, amongst his tears: "LIARS!"

The empty box he was stomping on was not an empty Yu Gi Oh box, but the empty Elf On The Shelf box . And some hysteria ensued. His comforting, magical world of youth suddenly came crashing down. He ran upstairs to comfort himself since he wanted nothing to do with either of us liars. My wife and I then begin to have the discussion on how to handle this and the big three: Santa, Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy. My oldest is eleven, and just so happened to have lost a tooth yesterday. I asked her if she remembered to slip a dollar under the pillow. Her response: "...he knows the tooth fairy doesn't come any more...". Just as she finishes the last syllable, in my office he comes (FYI, he was listening all along) and proclaims: "you put money under my pillow so I would believe!?!?!"

Bingo. Two for one today. Great job mom and dad.

He then started to tell us how sensitive he is and that he is heartbroken. He didn't known the half of it. We tried to console and confirm that it was our job to help him believe, to help him keep the magic of the Elf real, to help him feel Christmas and everything about--it is all real in his heart.

No dice. Strike three, four and five. Getting no-hit by a number five starter.

He began to question everything again. Easter bunny--"I bet you do that too...". "No wonder the leprechaun doesn't come to our house (some of our friends get a visit at st. Patricks day, until now it was because we are Italian), he's not real either!" "Why do you lie to me! We hate lying! I am sensitive!"

Benched.

In between our tears, our laughter, and the collective sighs he picks himself up and says, "well, can I put the elf in my room?" of course you can. Hey maybe our little talk about the spirit of things actually sunk in. "I can hold the elf because it's not really magic...". Okay, great..."can I have some ice cream?" You betcha! (do you want your car now too?)

Stepping back up to the plate to start a rally.

"mom, dad, do (my aunts, uncles and cousins) know there is no elf on the shelf?" Yes Dan. "you mean they are in on the scam too!?!?!?"

Swing, and a miss.
It has been a strange trip today with this. I even posted on Facebook to see the discussion I could start. Lots of great comments and support, and more importantly, other stories of the day that the magic, well let's say, started to disappear. It's good to know that we are not alone. I must say the consensus has been that the episode was harder on the parents than the kids. I also got warning signs of those who then milk the system...I actually hope that happens.

All in all, parents are very resilient, but not as resilient as our kids. The funny thing is, 20 years from now I will remember this day as clear as it happened. I will probably have to remind my son what happened and how it all went down.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Orchard Hill Rd,Haverhill,United States

Kids grow up fast.

My baby turned 9 this week. My baby who is already talking about playing "real" football this fall (baseball hasn't even started yet). My baby who outweighs his older brother by 25 pounds.

Thinking about this has generated a lot of questions for me that I need your help with.

Where does the time go?

With so much going on in our lives how do we not stop and smell the roses more?

How did they get so big?

How can I just slow things down?

Am I getting old too?

How do I help them become more independent?

Will they get into college?

How will we pay for it?

Are they happy?

Of course, these are rhetorical questions and I am interested in your thoughts and the questions you think about. If we dads are here to think and create a community, what a better way to do it!




- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Haverhill, MA United States

The Focus of a Father (sometimes needs improvement)

The night before a business trip I was at a hardware store buying a toilet flapper. I had procrastinated on this simple task and was looking for some way to make it up. No one in my family even mentioned that it needed to be done, I was just thinking about it at the time and on some level wanted to just do “something” for them before I left.

I notice that on sale are kits that come with clay pots, soil, and strawberry seeds. I thought about how my daughter had taken an interest in growing plants. One of her baby sitters planted a seed for her in their garden and my three year old keeps a watchful eye on it. She still asks about it weeks later and wants to go see it. Unfortunately, she also thinks that burying rocks our own front yard will produce the same result. I figure that it is time to try a simple project in patience and responsibility in a way that while less creative, is also less futile.

I think about how it would be fun to let her do the work as I follow the instructions. I could tell her that when I am on the road I will call every night to remind her to water them, and that she will be the first to eat one when they grow. Deciding this was a good idea I get in line and purchase both the flapper and the strawberry kit. I forgot the water filter for the refrigerator that I was also there to pick up.

I get home and tell my daughter about the project. She is exited and tells Mom about it even though she was in the room and had already heard the entire plan. By the time I put in the flapper, fold some laundry and finish packing I begin to think about work and the trip. I run through a checklist of preparedness for the first day that I had already thought through a dozen times, have done hundreds of times before, and had under control.

Next morning I sit on the airplane and realize that I got distracted and did not help her plant those strawberry seeds. I know she will be fine, but for a child the importance of that sort of thing is relative to real adult problems and its importance should not be underestimated. This puts me in a contemplative state as there is nothing I can about it do now, not even send her a text to apologize.

The coping mechanism I have developed to deal with missing my family when I leave for work is simple. Doing the best job I can is the best way to provide for them and to say thank you for the support that all of my girls give me in my career. If I cannot be at home at the end of every day, then whatever I do has to count for something.

But sometimes, they just want me to focus on being there with them. Even when that means just watching strawberries grow. After considering these thoughts while ignoring the safety demonstration the flight attendants wisely give us, I move on. Instead of paying some attention to the clouds as we fly over them, I play angry birds on the cell phone.

City Kids

I live in Chicago and have often thought about the challenges of raising our son Max in the city.  We live just around the corner from a few bars and restaurants, the bus, the train.  It's only a matter of time before these adult conveniences flash brightly as beacons of wrong-doing.

But who knew it would come so soon.  I went into Max's room one morning a few weeks ago and found that his crib had been tagged.  I asked him where he got the spray paint and he pretended not to know what I was talking about.  But kids are bad liars.  I told him I didn't think any serious spraypaint artist would give themselves the name "lil hayre."

lil hayre

Last week I found a fake ID underneath Max's crib mattress.  To his credit he came clean right away, saying that Jorge on the corner was running a special and he thought he'd take advantage of the bargain price.  I told him that I wasn't impressed with his thrift since any ID that pegs you at five years old isn't worth any amount of money.  Then we had a frank discussion about scams.

Being a dad is hard work.  Between the carrot smoking and the formula binge drinking, I'm trying to hold this family together.  And Max can't even walk yet.  I remain optimistic, however, that the values and lessons we've discussed are making their way into the little man's DNA.  Maybe when he's two or three he'll settle down a little bit. 

I doubt it.

Quatro Chronicles: Fight the Power!

I'm not sure if this message is getting out -- my captors are very clever.  If you're reading this, I ask for your assistance!  I need to reach my infant brethren!  I need to warn them!

It was merely three weeks ago when I was hunkered down in what I like to call my "man cave".  It was perfection....  The glorious darkness surrounded me; my "attachment" which kept me nourished never failed to satisfy my hunger needs;  The rhythm of the swoosh, swoosh -- so calming, so reassuring.  (Oh, how I miss it!) It was perfection.  Several times, I felt as though the walls were closing in, but I stayed on, assured that my home would never fail me.

How naive I was!  Oh, back in those sweet, innocent days, three weeks ago. I actually believed that my life would be spent in that secure and warm sanctuary of solitude and happiness.  It only took moments for my world to be shattered by the infidels!

My first few hours in their capture are a blur.  I very clearly recall being forced, FORCED!, out of the embrace of my home by the very walls around me.  The technology of these fiends knows no limits!  To have my own home turn against me.  So evil, yet so ingenious.

I was brought into the terrible, terrible "light" place.  Shocked by the activities around me, I didn't get a good look at these villains before they man-handled me.  I was overwhelmed by their size!  My attackers were unnaturally large -- giants with an agenda!  They moved swiftly and before I knew it, they had -- this is hard to live through again -- they severed my "attachment".  THEY SEVERED IT!  You can'r un-ring that bell, people.

My brain started racing!  I screamed at the sight of it.... and just as I did, I was whisked to another chamber with an artificial heat source above me.  Did they think I wouldn't know? They must have had a very detailed plan, as next they ensured I would never see their faces -- they wiped "goo" across my eyes.  Evil and ingenious.

The next few minutes were very confusing, but I'm fairly sure this is where the drugging began.  You see, my captors drug me every day.  They force me to take in this sweet, milky liquid -- and I know it must be a drug for I crave it.  They've made me an addict.  I'm forced to rely upon them for this sweet, sweet nectar.  Oh, for just a little hit of it!  But, I digress....

The next day -- well, I don't have the words. There was a knife.  They came in and cut, um, down there, and left me.  Left me with the wreckage,  I'm scarred for life.  The shame....

But things are looking up, now.  Over the past three weeks, I believe I've started to build a resistance to the drugs.  Slowly, I'm fighting and being able to power through to keep my eyes open for longer and longer each day.  Meanwhile, these giants think they have control -- they carry me everywhere.  They talk to me like I'm an idiot.  And the signing!  Oh...the singing.

I've found a very clever way to protest my captivity.  Every day, several times a day, I have the capability to "relieve" myself.  And it's powerful.  It's getting more powerful, I can feel it.  I think this may be my ticket out.

Yesterday, the infidels tried a new torture method -- they placed me in a "vehicle of imprisonment" (the lead infidel called it a "stroller" -- oh, what a tender name for this device of horror!) and brought me out into their world.  They thought I was sleeping, but I fought through -- and did reconnaissance.  And, just I knew they would, the infidels finally made an error.  As this vehicle of imprisonment was maneuvered outside the capture's lair, I noted other Giants pushing their vehicles of imprisonment.  And they, too, held captive one of my kind.  That's when I started forming my plan!

So, to my infant brethren, fear not!  Together, we shall persevere!  The chains of our captures are not strong enough to withstand the power of our union against their will!  Untie, infants of the world!  Together, we will overcome this adversity and let the world know that this treatment of infants will not break our spirits but rather embolden us to rise against it!  Brothers! Sisters! Let us focus our collective wills to break these chains!

If you're with me, today, in an act of rebellion, spit up on your captors!  Twice!  Ha!

There will be more communication soon, my brothers and sisters.  Rumors swirl that there exists a network of infants, built to grant freedom to our kind.  I've recently received word from my cousin -- Max the elder (he's been captive for nearly a full year) that he's learned to use his legs to become mobile!  Astonishing!  I will learn his methods and share them with you.  Together, we will break these chains!

Until my next communication, brothers and sister, stay strong. #freeQuatro

Do dads think?

Raspberry Wars

We all enjoy that point when the newest youngest is ready for interactive exchanges. She says “Pfftttttp” and father with all of the integrity of a grown adult will reply in kind. After a few more rounds comes that light in the soul smile followed by laughter. I take a pause to burn that image into my brain so that I never forget it.

When you think about it most of our adult debates aren’t much different. We attempt to replace the funny noises with deep and insightful thought, but in the end we usually just meet the equivalent of saying “Pfffftttttp” at each other.

I am grateful for what my young children have taught me about this. To laugh and smile, while continuing the all-important dialog of curiosity and the instinct to learn.

Pretty soon we all move past tongue skills and onto making funny sounds at each other.

8 Rules to Fatherhood Success

Are you like me?  When I first became a father – no, before I became a father, I decided I needed a plan.   I needed to plan what type of dad I was going to be.  No easy task.  But, seriously, I felt like I had to enumerate what was going to allow me to be successful in fatherhood.  When in doubt, I needed rules to live by.

I have absolutely terrific parents.  I’d be willing to put them up against any parents who’ve ever existed in the history of parents.  They gave me a very solid foundation built on their unbelievable and unending love.  I’ve felt that my whole life. I cannot tell you how lucky I feel every day, knowing that not everyone has that same experience.  All I want is for my kids to know that feeling one day, too.

So, without further ado, my 8 Rules to Fatherhood Success:

1)      Encourage Outside the Box Thinking:  With all four kids, I’ve asked myself upon their arrival – is this the person who cures cancer?  Is this the next William Shakespeare? Is this the next Albert Einstien?  Aiming high? Come on….admit it.  You do it, too.  To do great things, I believe kids should have few defined boundaries.  When I learned  Jack wanted to be a veterinarian architect (a real aspiration, at one point), I could not be more encouraging.  Will’s going to be pro football player.  He’s told me many, many times.  And in our world, he will be.  There are no boundaries when it comes to what my kids “may” be or do.   And I’ll be right there, cheering them on, when they do it.

2)      Let the Kids Define Success:  I knew from that start that I didn’t want to put my expectations on my kids because I’d aim too low or too high or off the right or simply on the wrong board to begin with.  My kids celebrate their “wins” with me and look for some sympathy when they don’t quite meet their own expectations.  All I ask is they try.  When they give their best, the results matter little.

3)      Be Realistic: Blythe and decided early on that our kids will know the realities of life before they fly the coop.  Want to buy a house?  Here’s how much it costs, information about mortgages, about credit, about insurance, about taxes, about utility bills.  We’ll talk about jobs and salaries and the realities of life on your own.  We’ll never scare them, but we’ll arm them so they can prepare.

4)      Walk the Talk: Nothing is easier than telling my kids what to do.  And nothing is less impactful when it’s not backed up with action.  Will and I had a conversation about water being “the best” liquid for your body.  So he asked me why I drank so much Diet Coke.  And he was right.  I didn’t quit Diet Coke that day.  I didn’t quit Diet Coke until I saw Will pouring himself a Diet Coke from the fridge.  We’ve both quit now.

5)      Instill a Sense of Family: In my world, there is nothing – NOTHING – more important to me than family.  It was the golden rule in my house growing up, and I plan for my children to pass it along to their children.  My father used to say that we siblings were the only people we could count on for our entire lives.    I want my children to have that same resolve

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6)      Experiences Trump “Things”: I’m big on my kids DOING stuff that interests them, rather than gathering the accoutrements of their interests.  Jack has always loved trains – so off to the train museum we go for a ride in the beautiful countryside.  Will, our sports fanatic, took part in a football “pro day” for kids, coached by real college and pro coaches.  Emma is just getting started, but our princess is loving her ballet and tap classes.  “Things” break, get lost, are “left behind” when the new model comes out.  Experiences are forever.

7)      Be There: Kids don’t just want experiences.  They want to share those experiences with the people most important to them – their parents.  Soccer games, Musicals, Dance Recitals, Football Practice, Art Show – just be there.  For all of them.

8)      Brag About Your Kids, A Lot: Enough said.

What about you?  What are your rules to Fatherhood Success? (Mom’s can chime in, too!)