Tag Archives: fatherhood

Conversations with my wife: Interpreting motherhood

Our baby saves his crying almost exclusively for when he is tired. But when he does cry, he really belts it out. He’ll play and play, then suddenly start to wail. This means it’s time to help him drift off to sleep.

One night, when my wife was out, the baby turned on his tired siren. My wife came home as I was rocking him in my arms. He hadn’t gone to sleep yet, which means he was still bellowing his sleepy woes at me.

WIFE: What’s wrong with the baby?

ME: He’s ready for bed.

WIFE: Poor thing. Give him to his mother.

(I hand him over, which is always easier to do when he’s crying.)

WIFE: (To the baby.)My sweet baby, always crying for your family when you get so sleepy. You’re just like your mama.

ME: That’s not like you at all. You yell at your family when you’re tired.

WIFE: That’s how mothers cry.

wife scolding husband

American men have been misinterpreting motherhood since the days of the Founding Fathers (and Founding Sons). The poor, misunderstood mother in this scene is only crying at her family. Maybe it is her horribly dislocated elbow that is causing her such sadness.

Are there any Godzillas in the audience tonight?

Our four-year-old has to be the hardest working preschooler in the baby-entertaining business. He is forever putting on shows designed to make his baby brother giggle. It is demanding work, as his baby brother has a definite preference for physical comedy.

Big Brother throws himself around the room in a fit of slapstick, always seeking to add fresh elements to his act. The moves that get the best laughs from the baby are repeated until the poor boy is out of breath and must resort to making faces until he claims his second wind.

After wearing himself out entertaining his little brother, the big boy throws open his arms and shouts, “Thank you, thank you, thank you very much! Show’s over, good night!”

boy and baby playing on floor

When your fans get too excited about your performance, some of them may try to rush the stage. This is called audience participation.

But the show hasn’t ever been over, and I hope it never is. There’s nothing that compares to watching a boy work so hard to make his baby brother smile, unless it is watching the baby’s eyes glow with delight at the antics of his big brother. These are riches you can’t earn.

Having been both a little brother and a big brother, I understand that this era of good feelings won’t continue untroubled through the years. Increasing mobility leads little brothers into places within the carefully constructed worlds of big brothers where they become more annoying than cute.

The baby is already starting to form a black cloud around the horizon of his big brother’s world. He has developed a love for tearing up railroad tracks unseen since Sherman marched through Georgia. Whenever he can get himself near his brother’s train sets on the floor, he becomes a hatchling Godzilla, uttering baby dinosaur noises and throwing pieces of track over his shoulder with reptilian abandon.

baby tearing up railroad tracks

Oh, the humanity! Can civilization withstand the onslaught of marauding babies? Where is that other sock?

Naturally, Big Brother does not appreciate the damage that Baby Godzilla is doing to his ecosphere. He appeals to the Japan Self-Defense Force (a.k.a. Mom and Dad) for assistance. What Big Brother doesn’t understand, because he is neither a veteran of the JSDF nor a parent, is that the authorities have settled upon a program of appeasement when it comes to rampaging Godzillas. Consequently, he often gets responses like, “Let the baby play for a while. We’ll rebuild it.”

It’s frustrating watching your infrastructure being destroyed. So far, our big boy’s frustrations haven’t turned to resentment, but he doesn’t know what’s coming. He doesn’t know that he will begin to build more sophisticated, hence more vulnerable, worlds. He doesn’t know that his brother will soon be able to walk easily between them, tugging at linchpins and kicking cornerstones.

He will learn these things in time. They will be hard lessons. I hope that he will also learn that his little brother imposes himself into his world because his world is fun and interesting, and most of all because his little brother admires him and all that he can do. It is an admiration that he did so much to foster, back in the days when he did pratfalls to make his little brother smile.

Thank you, thank you, thank you very much! May this show go on for a very long time.

“Trick-or-Character Development” – Halloween makes us better men

Another Halloween has come and gone, and my son and I are both better men for it. It was not the best weather we’ve ever had, but it could have been worse. There was a light mist in the air and it was pretty chilly. Considering what others were going through this Halloween, we felt fortunate to be able to trick-or-treat at all.

I’m glad we got to go, because it gave us both a chance to demonstrate how much we’ve grown since last year.

This year we took two friends along with us: a six-year-old and a two-year-old (the baby stayed home to pass out candy with mom). Nothing makes you more aware of the differences between a first-grader, a preschooler, and a toddler than trying to take such a motley crew from house to house in the dark.

The two older kids forgot all about the toddler and I as soon as they got out the door. I’ve been chasing a preschooler around so long, I’ve forgotten how slowly two-year-olds run. If I had a candy bar for every time I had to yell, “Wait for us!” I’d have, well, about as much candy as we now have in the house.

skunk boy ready to go

We’re ready to go out and get that candy! This year, we might even say “Trick or Treat” at some doors, not because we like saying it, because we’re more mature now and we know it’s the right thing to do.

By the time I’d realized my folly in not bringing a wagon, we were too far into the jungle of houses to go back. The big kids didn’t want to slow down and the little kid couldn’t speed up. Guess what slow-witted adult got to carry her. Two-year-olds are much heavier than babies; seems like I’ve forgotten a lot about two-year-olds.

There should be some kind of consortium where children can be brought in and redistributed to trick-or-treating chaperons by age, so that one adult doesn’t have to try to keep track of several children spread out over a block of houses – but mostly so no aging parent has to wake up on All Saints Day with an aching back.

We finally looped around to where we could drop off the toddler at home and then get some serious trick-or-treating done. When my son saw the welcoming lights of home, he decided he was getting a little tired too. The six-year-old would have gone longer, but not without his friends. Our night was over.

Lest you think the night was a disappointment, here is the good news. We quit with an entire hour left to trick-or-treat, and I didn’t even put up any stink about it. I didn’t give anybody any flak about being soft; I didn’t act like a greedy, Type A, German Virgo at all. Now, you might chalk this up to sore arms or cold hands, but I call it spiritual growth.

And the news gets even better. My son willingly said, “Trick-or-Treat” at half of the houses we went to. He didn’t even make it sound like he was only saying it to avoid receiving an electric shock or some such punishment. He said it almost nearly like he meant it.

All in all, it was great night for our family. I hope someone is holding onto these moments because it’s true: we grow up so fast.

Skunk Boy meets the Owl Woman

The  Skunk Boy has been busy building up to Halloween.  On Thursday, we went trick-or-treating among the businesses in town. On Friday, we went to a Halloween science exhibit. Our little pole cat was involved in a three-way tie in the cutest costume contest. Way to go, Skunk Boy!

On Saturday afternoon, we enjoyed an event at the nature center. The boy was not sick of his costume yet. He seemed quite comfortable in his skunk skin, although the skunk cap did tend to get a bit warm.

The event highlight was a hayride, which consisted of some sort of all-terrain vehicle pulling a large utility cart lined with bales of straw. We were satisfied with this; the way led through the woods on narrow trails, and, face it, a ride is a ride.

Skunk costume halloween

Skunk Boy plants himself next to the “Hayrides” sign and patiently awaits his turn. It’s refreshing to witness such civilized behavior from a skunk.

The tour guide in our hay wagon/utility cart was dressed up in a costume as well. “Can you tell what I’m dressed as?” she asked the group as we eased forward.

She had layers of textured patches, in varying shades of brown, covering her torso and a patchy hood over her head. “A crazy homeless hoarder woman?” I guessed under my breath.

“That’s right! I’m an owl!” she announced with glee. Apparently, some of the children had busied themselves with being perceptive during my gratuitous mumbling.

She sure knew enough about owls to be one. She told us all about owls: how their talons are sharp and strong, how they swoop down upon their prey. “What do owls eat?” she asked.

The kids tossed out animal names: squirrels, rabbits, mice, etc. I looked at my son. “Skunks,” I added. The boy laughed. It’s easy to laugh when you are a mondo skunk and think you’re too heavy to be carried off.

“Some owls are strong enough to carry a small deer,” our guide helpfully informed us. My son’s smile faded.

“But they would never do that,” she added and my son breathed easy, “under normal conditions.” Normal conditions? Is a 44-pound skunk riding on a bale of straw in a utility cart pulled by all-terrain vehicle a normal condition to an owl? Or is that just the kind of sight that gets owls thinking that it might be nice to do a little power lifting and bag a Guinness Book skunk? Imagine being four and trying to figure that out.

boy in skunk costume riding kayak

An owl would never pluck a skunk out of the kayak he was paddling on dry land . . . under normal conditions.

Our path led into the woods, which seemed to lessen the danger of owl attacks. The novelty of seeing spooky decorations hanging from the trees distracted us from further thoughts of owl massacres.

When we emerged into the clearing again, the giant owl at the back of our cart was still talking about owl eyes and hunting schedules. These owls will go on and on about themselves. My boy was no longer concerned.

“Owls hunt at night. That makes them what?” the owl lady asked.

I nudged my son for an answer. “Nocturnal,” he yawned. Riding without a care in the afternoon sun, he had already figured that out.