True to form, I seem to be a little late for everything in life. But I did want to take a moment to thank my wife for being such a wonderful mother & best friend. Through all the struggles, all the stress and all the good times, you have been a great gift from the Universe!
Here’s a top 10 list of why I love, and like, my wife so much:
10. She’s hot
9. She puts up with me, Mr. Crabby
8. She always does her best
7. She takes fantastic care of our kids (and me too!)
6. She always supports & believes in me
5. She looks good in a pair of jeans (remember, she’s hot)
4. She’s smart, so I’m a little smart by default
3. She’s a massage therapist, and she’s really good
2. She loves me (sometimes I wonder why)
1. She saved my life
Living in New York my entire life, I grew up believing that the way I referred to things was pretty much the same as how most people referred to things.
Boy was I wrong.
For example, I call a car a car. In Wisconsin, it’s a vehicle. And it’s mostly women that call it that. Every syllable is clearly enunciated, too — making the word resemble the sound made by a cat coughing up a hairball. Why would you want to take the extra time to call something a veh-ic-le, when you can just say “car.” Think of all the time you save sticking with the one syllable here.
I grew up calling Italian bread, Italian bread. In Wisconsin, it’s called a loaf! What the hell is that about? Don’t all breads start out as a “loaf” before you slice them up and make sandwiches and french toast with them? To me, a loaf is someone who doesn’t like to do stuff. Kind of like a bum, or a person with no ambition. But hey, what do I know?
Now, let’s talk about the thing that everybody has on top of their house. I call it a roof. Again, I find an alarming difference, this time in the pronunciation of what appears to be a simple word. In NY, we say roof, like “roooof.” Here in the frozen tundra that is Wisconsin, they say it more like “ruff.” What the heck is a ruff? Sounds like someone’s dog is barking if you ask me (which nobody did by the way).
This brings me to the biggest, worst and most ugly difference of all.
Pizza.
Now here’s the weird thing. In Wisconsin, they say pizza just like I did in New York. But what they call pizza tastes more like the cardboard box that NY pizza comes in! It smells familiar, like cheese and sauce and bread (or a loaf). But that is where the similarity ends.
Why-o-why does the pizza have to suck so bad out here?
There are varieties like pizza with potatoes and veggies on it. Just what America needs. Pizza with an extra starch. We’re not fat enough. Meat-lovers pizza has bacon, sausage, beef, ham and pepperoni. And it’s guaranteed to clog your arteries! And then there’s the mid western classic — Cheeseburger Pizza. Now there’s an image that makes me want to yack! But I’m afraid to because somebody might want to make “Cheeseburger & Yack” pizza!
At least a loaf still tastes like bread, even though they call it the wrong thing. But the pizza? Somebody needs to hold a seminar or something to help them get it right. Big money making opportunity for you pizza makers in NY.
My final quibble concerns the potato. Where I’m from, a potato is part of a meal. A side accessory so to speak – the starch part (remember, it’s not a vegetable). It is usually served with a topping (like butter or sour cream), next to a piece of MEAT and a healthy portion of VEGETABLES (the darker the color, the more healthy).
But here in Wisconsin, the dairy state, a potato is a meal in and of itself. Top it with enough crap and people go crazy like it’s a four-course dinner! Here, they just lump everything into it – cheese, meat, veggies, a ground up tire from their ve-hi-cle… WHATEVER THEY CAN FIND! And they call it a meal.
Don’t get me wrong, I love Wisconsin. Especially the days when I don’t have to leave the house. But this stuff just bothers me.
by Team Baby Entertainment
Featuring the voice of Jay Leno
There’s a children’s DVD company called Team Baby Entertainment. Greg, the president, has done a wonderful job of creating sports themed children’s “entertainment.” The reason why I’ve put quotes around the word entertainment is because Team Baby goes far beyond simply keeping our kids occupied.
It helps them learn. And it’s fun, too!
Today’s review centers around NASCAR Baby, a great DVD about, well, NASCAR! My wife is a huge fan and we watch the Sprint Cup race every weekend. Since we know NASCAR, I wasn’t quite sure if my wife and I would be engaged in the video. But we were, and so were the kids.
My older son is 4 and my younger 21 months. Despite the age difference, they were both interested in the race footage and engaged in the learning segments. There’s spelling and numbers, all geared (no pun intended) towards NASCAR. So as kids learn how to spell words like “tire” and “race,” they’re also learning about the context of how these things are used.
The DVD is packed full of short, cartoon-like learning segments. At first I thought the kids might be overwhelmed, but they were totally OK with the amount of spelling and reading they were seeing.
My younger son loved the music (which is pretty catchy) and danced around, trying to keep an eye on the TV so he wouldn’t miss anything. He repeated the letters, and liked seeing the babies and children in the DVD.
Here’s a quote from my older son: “I liked the song, the spelling and I also liked the babies. And I liked the race cars. I can’t wait to watch it again sometime!”
I asked him if he would recommend it to his friends. His response was an emphatic “yes!”
My wife and I also liked the DVD. We found it was cute and educational. It managed to fit a lot of learning into a half hour program. But not in a way that was overwhelming. Each child picked up what they could along the way, while we all talked about cars and spelling, etc.
It became a social interaction that we all enjoyed.
Greg also has a daddy blog, in case you’d like to read what’s on his mind.
The following excerpt is from the book Stories of the Spirit, by Jack Kornfield & Christina Feldman.
A family went out to a restaurant for dinner. When the waitress arrived, the parents gave their orders. Immediately, their five-year-old daughter piped up with her own: “I’ll have a hot dog, French fries an a Coke.”
“Oh no you won’t,” interjected the dad, and turning to the waitress he said, “She’ll have meatloaf, mashed potatoes, milk.” Looking at the child with a smile, the waitress said, “So, hon, what do you want on that hot dog?”
When she left, the family sat stunned and silent. A few moments later the little girl, eyes shining, said, “She thinks I’m real.”
– – – – I find this story incredibly powerful. It got me wondering: am I treating my boys in a way that is beneficial to them — both for the short term AND the long term? Do I respect their opinions, and foster their independence and decision-making ability? Or am I TELLING them what’s best for them?
Am I helping them build self worth, or am I deconstructing it?
Overall, I think I’m doing a pretty good job of building their sense of self worth. Most of the time.
Sometimes I falter and slip into “telling mode.” This usually happens when I hit the dreaded wall of exhaustion (which is always lurking nearby these days). When I feel completely burnt out, I just want them to stop and listen. I’m not really hearing them. This always feels wrong — and I always regret it.
Like the dad in the story, there are times when I try to “help” my boys because it appears beneficial to them, at least in the short-term. But what about the long term? When something seems so important NOW, I don’t always consider the long-term benefit, or the potential damage I might be causing — damage that might completely outweigh any short-term benefit.
(Taking a look at the long term, or long view, is something I wrote about in The Magic Quarter — Creating your own reality.It’s a topic I wish I’d thought more about when I was younger.)
I have relatives and friends who believe kids should be told what to do and when to do it. There’s no explanation needed, because they’re kids. These people seem to think that because a child has only existed on this earth for a short time, somehow this invalidates their right to have an opinion.
I beg to differ.
My kids were picking their own breakfasts when they were 6 months old! Healthy choices of course. I’d give them two options and they’d point (and occasionally grunt) towards what they preferred. I believe letting my kids make decisions will help them become adults that are able to fulfill their potential. They’re learning to trust themselves, and to be decisive.
Otherwise, what happens? What kind of adults are created if a child is never given a choice? If they grow up feeling like they have no voice and their opinion doesn’t count?
I’m not saying to let our kids run rampant, or control the household (more than they already do). Far from it. They need rules and boundaries. They need guidance. But their opinion counts and we need to let them know that by respecting them. It’s a matter of finding a balance, which is an ongoing challenge.
You know, I am more tired than I have ever been in my entire life. But I wouldn’t trade being his dad for the world. He’s my big pal, the Peter Venkman to my Egon Spengler. He’s my oldest son and I’m very proud of him…
Now this little stinker is Joss. The Ray Stanz to my Egon, my little pal. He’s priceless (and quite feisty). He’s my youngest, and I’m so proud of him too…
Thank you boys for being my sons!
So yes, dad’s exhuasted. I feel like an old clunker. How about the rest of you dads? But these boys deserve the best, so I do my best. I often fall short, sometimes way short, but they love me anyway.
Last week I was listening to Wisconsin Public Radio. There’s a show I enjoy on my drive home called: At Issue with Ben Merens. The featured guest was a man named Jeff Cox, former editor of Organic Gardening magazine.
I learned some very interesting information about the PLU Codes of produce that I’d like to share. PLU Codes are usually located on the tiny stickers appearing on fruits and veggies. And they hold a wealth of information that is in direct relation to the quality of the food and your health.
There are three types of codes:
1) Five digit codes beginning with the #9 mean the item is organic. No pesticides or chemicals are used in the growing of the product. This is our least toxic option.
2) If the code begins with a #8, that means the product has been genetically modified. This is bad and should be avoided.
3) Any four digit code means that the produce has been grown the traditional, standard way. Pesticides and chemicals are used to grow them. But they’re not genetically modified.
I never had a clue about the PLU (no pun intended), but this info seems very useful in providing our families with healthier foods.
One of the callers, a college student, was concerned about eating healthy. But she was on super-tight budget, so she wanted to know the top 5 foods to buy if she were going to go organic in a small way.
Jeff Cox mentioned the following foods, stating that if we could all eat these five organically grown foods, instead of their non-organic counterparts, we would all be “way ahead of the game.” They are (in no particular order):
1) Beef
2) Milk (GMO Hormones, also known as the Artificial Growth Hormone, increases milk production by 10%. But it is very bad for the cows who are treated with it. Guess what? It’s not good for us either.)
3) Strawberries
4) Apples
5) Bell Peppers
In these times of economic struggle, where the price of gas is quickly approaching $4 per gallon, it might be tempting to overlook the benefits of making organic choices part of our lives. Spending more doesn’t seem feasible. But the thought of making very few, specific changes doesn’t seem so bad. And the thought of providing healthier food for my wife and kids? Priceless.
In the May issue of Parenting Magazine, I found yet another ad from a major children’s company that excludes dads. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, especially since it’s an ad inside a magazine who’s cover tagline is “What Matters to Moms.”
The ad, which appears on page 54, is for an “easy-grip, no-slip bottle*” for bath time hair and body wash. You may be wondering what that little asterisk is for after the word bottle. Well, at the bottom of the ad Huggies tells you:
“*Picked by moms for better no-slip grip.”
I’d like to meet the Huggies executive who signed off on this one. I’m just wondering what type of research the company did before deciding to make this claim. Did they get a bunch of moms together and ask them what they liked best?
Did they bother to ask these moms who gives the children most of their baths? Because I give both my boys ALL of their baths. Yes, I am Bath-man! Exclusive bath giver to my children (and myself), no matter how dirty or stinky! It gives me a little extra time with the kids, and it gives my wife a break because she works very hard to take care of us.
It’s funny, because every dad I know tells me the same thing. They are the ones giving the baths.
Here was a chance for Huggies to get it right. To give a nod to all the dads of the world who sacrifice time with their kids to go to work and earn money so their family can survive.
See, Mr. Huggies executive, the thing is that us dads also use this money to buy children’s products. Like bath soap for instance. I for one can say I won’t be buying yours.
When I was a boy, one of my favorite toys in the whole world was my Evel Knievel Stunt Cycle. Evel and his trusty motorcycle withstood any and all of the death-defying stunts I could dream up. Somehow he always managed to “walk away” in one piece (although sometimes he and the bike suffered some pretty deep scratches and dings). No matter how bad the crash or how far Evel flew off his bike, they both remained intact.
Until the taxi incident.
The year was approximately 1978. And it is a day I will never forget. I remember it as clear as a sunny Wisconsin afternoon (which is pretty rare by the way).
I was on my friend’s porch — at least 20 steps up, on the second floor of his two-story house. It turns out this porch would hold another traumatic experience for me (but more on that later).
As I revved up Evel’s motor with the hand crank (those who had one will remember the super-cool sound, and the painful hand blisters that ensued), my excitement grew. Once I got him to top speed, I let him rip! He went down the stairs like a madman — flipping, flopping and popping wheelies! I was so excited as he zoomed towards the, uh, street?
He made it to the center of the road before puttering to a stop. He plopped onto his side, the bikes rear wheel still turning. Then, I heard a sound…
A dirty yellow taxicab was barreling towards him! The bastard didn’t even slow down. Nor did he take evasive action. I would swear he took aim! It appeared to be an act of pure aggression on a helpless toy that he knew was more successful and more popular than he’d ever be.
And then he ran over Evel Knievel — squashing him and his stunt cycle like a pancake.
Needless to say I was quite upset.
The guy didn’t even stop. He just left my toy in pieces. He was a rude man, and I bet he smelled bad.
Soon after, my mother bought me a new Evel Knievel. But this one was the blue chopper version (they had stopped making the original). It just wasn’t the same. He popped a lot more wheelies, but I could tell his heart wasn’t in it. And neither was mine.
In case you were wondering, my original Evel did survive the taxi incident. I mean, he WAS made of rubber! Too bad the bike was not. The tire tracks across his nylon jumpsuit were a constant reminder of the tragedy.
Conclusion: The Hairy Lady
One day, on that very same porch, I choked on a piece of gum. As it lodged in my throat, my friend (who’s name and face I can’t remember — sorry dude) went and got his mom.
She came out in a tank top (I think it was red) and that’s when my fear of choking to death was replaced by an even greater terror.
Hair, and lots of it! Under her arms, in between her breasts. I had never seen anything like it! Nor have I since, thank God.
Although my airway was blocked, I couldn’t help but stare at my friend’s hairy mom. In between her boobs was both facinating and repulsive at the same time. And I’m not talking a few, “I need to tweeze my eyebrows” strands, I’m talking a big, bushy hairball. Yuck.
I eventually swallowed the gum. But the memory of that hair remains with me.
I read a blog post a few days ago on a great dad site called Building Camelot. The name of the post is: My 5 Biggest Fears Being a Dad, and it covers the fear of loss in a very honest, real way.
The post came along at the perfect time, as loss has been on my mind lately — ever since I had my tooth pulled a few days ago.
My tooth’s clinical name was #13. And although the procedure was quick and physically painless, I have been thinking more and more about loss. Other than my hair (which I’ve been losing for years), this is the only part of my body that I have lost. And the experience has quickly transcended into a life metaphor.
What else have I lost? I’m not talking about a set of keys or a receipt from Target. I’m talking about real loss, the type that takes a piece of you along with it. The kind that leaves you with little gaps, like cavities, that never fully disappear or heal.
And yet we go on – battered, weathered and full of tiny little holes. Somehow, we find a way to function. What choice do we have? To give up?
Here’s what I’d like to know. Why weren’t we ever taught how to cope with loss? How to come to a place of acceptance, and have what we’ve learned from the loss propel us to a better place. In school, we learn about calculus and how to dissect a frog. Have you found that helpful? Unless you are a mathemetician, or a freak who likes to look at frog guts, it hasn’t.
Mom and dad? Yeah, they were a big help. The only serious talk I got was ”boys have a penis, and girls don’t. Did you know that?” As a matter of fact, I didn’t. But nothing came after that sentence except my uncomfortable thoughts about what girls did have down there if there was no penis.
Like it or not, loss is a part of life. We have the power to give our chilren the tools they need to cope with loss in a positive way. We can help them learn to heal (as best as possible), and come to a place of acceptance so they can move on from loss instead of dwelling in it.
We can also let them know that it’s OK if they need help to cope or heal. Just being approachable, and telling them “mom and dad are here,” is a huge deal. Then, of course, there’s the power of spirit (but that’s a topic for another blog post).
Can we protect our kids from loss? I don’t think so. And why should we? If we want them to be healthy, successful adults, it’s our repsonsibility to help them be fully functioning people.
My parents were incapeable of this. Were yours? I think they did their best, which is all I can ask. But we can do better.
This is the second (and final) part of my reference series for dads. I’m sure there’s more information out there, but these blogs & Web sites have been incredibly helpful to me. Depending on your blog’s content, some of the suggestions made will provide positive results, while others will leave you with an empty feeling and a craving for chocolate cake!
JohnTP.com: How to increase your blog’s traffic
This four part series is a wonderful, detailed introduction to blogging. Find links to all four parts towards the end of each post. Thanks John!
Reddit.com
Quite simply, one of the best blog aggregators around! I have found it to be very powerful IF you take the time to learn how to use it. It’s also important to choose the correct “subreddit” tag so you reach your intended audience. If a tag has a big audience, expect your click-throughs to jump! But be responsible in your posting or you’ll get bad Karma!
Daddy Brain 