Do you ever wonder if you are doing your job as a parent the right way? Are you teaching your sons what it means to be a man and your daughters what it means to be a woman? Are you a good role model for them? All of these questions have been running through my mind lately, so I decided to take the kids out to Dad’s favorite restaurant and have a little heart to heart with them. I started with my seven-year-old son. “Hey, Buddy, I have a question for you.”
“What?”
I lobbed him a softball to get things started. “What is the difference between a man and a boy?”
“A man is old and a boy is young.” Makes sense.
“What does a man do that a boy doesn’t do?” I asked.
“A man has a job.” Simple enough.
So let’s follow up on this, I thought. “What are some manly jobs?”
He rattled off a surprisingly predictable list that included policeman, “war guy,” and fireman. What did impress me, however, was that even at his young age, he was aware of what it means to be manly. I must be doing something right.
As an elementary school teacher I sometimes wonder what kind impression of manly I am giving to my kids. While I enjoy my job, the only time I really feel manly is when I break up a fight between two ten-year-olds or nail a hot-headed punk with a dodge ball. From day one, my son has been a very cautious kid. He hates to take risks or try new things. Academically he is brilliant, but when it comes to doing the rough and tumble boy things, he would rather read a book about it than actually do it. The fact that he was aware of what real men do was refreshing to me.
I followed up on the manly jobs question by asking him if he would rather drive a big tractor or work at Del Taco. He responded with a giggle and said, “Drive a tractor!”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because that is what a man does,” he said. Score another point for the cautious kid.
“Where do you think men like to shop?” I asked.
“Home Depot!” he shouted. Oh, yeah!
“Girls like to shop at the mall and at Henry’s (a local farmer’s market),” my daughter interjected.
Time for the next question. “What does a man do when he is not at work?”
This time my five-year-old daughter again chimed in. “He comes home and plays with his kids, then eats dinner and puts his kids to bed then spends time with his wife.” I am feeling pretty good about the impression I am leaving on my kids by this point.
“What are some things a man does after he puts his kids to bed, but before he gets tired?”
Once again, my daughter answered, “He goes to Bible Study.” Still feeling pretty good. I must be leaving a good impression.
Now I really wanted to get to the heart of the little guy’s manhood. “Do men like to do safe things or dangerous things?”
“Dangerous things.” I breathed a sigh of relief. He really does get it.
“What are some dangerous things you like to do, Buddy?”
“Play baseball,” he replied.
“That is dangerous. The ball might hit you in the face and hurt you,” I said adding to the conversation.
Now it’s time to find out if my son thinks I am a man. “What are some dangerous things Daddy does?”
Without even thinking he said, “You teach kids!”
So much for my manly impression.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Monday, November 16, 2009
Man Cave
I live in a house with a wife and four young kids. I work at an elementary school. My life is consumed by women and children. Consequently, there is very little “man time.” This weekend, all that changed when I reverted back to my prehistoric inner-self and became a cave man. Cave dwelling brings out the man from within the man and provide men like me who have no man time with a place to create man time.
It started quite by accident (but kind of on purpose) when I acquired some used couches that had resided in my parents’ house for well over twenty years. I was actually supposed to bring them back to my house and sell them, however, as soon as they landed in my garage, a strange thing happened. The couches arranged themselves into a cozy corner surrounding a scrap of old carpet and suddenly, without explanation, the man cave was born. As soon as I saw it, I knew it was here to stay. The couches had been a part of my life for so long as a child and now they were back. Their new duty is simple: to provided me an opportunity to rest my weary haunches upon their cushions. Their purpose, however, is infinite. They provide me a place where I can close the door and hide from the chaos within the house. My new cave is a place where I can sit and blog about having a man cave. It is glorious.
The official man cave initiation took place last night when I invited my wife out for a movie. This was no chick flick either. It was man movie night. As she snuggled in next to me I heard her remark, “This is kind of nice. It’s cozy.” And it was then that I knew she was hooked.
The next day it became even more apparent that she was digging my newfound manliness. As I I stood in front of my class of nine- and ten year-olds teaching them how to write a research report, an e-mail popped up on my screen. I glanced down and saw something about a babysitter so we could go to the gym together. Let me make sure you all read this right. My wife enjoyed a manly movie with me in my man cave and the next day made arrangements to come to the gym with me so I could impress her with my ability to sweat from places she never knew sweat could appear. Does a marriage get any better than this?
Unfortunately, there is a downside to all of this. Imagine a man cave in the home of a daddy. Now imagine what the man cave looks like when Daddy gets home from work. Now imagine Daddy wishing he could get his car into the garage, but there are so many toys overflowing from the man cave section of the garage that the car must remain in the driveway until the issue is resolved. Now imagine the man with the newfound manliness on his hands and knees picking up toys and bikes, and dolls with his three year old daughter gently reminding her that Daddy’s man cave needs to look manly by the time Daddy gets home.
That was how things panned out for me as I came home in great anticipation of my newfound zone. Later on that evening, I again retreated to the cave to write a blog about the manliness of my cave when the pitter-patter of little feet found their way into the garage. I kept on typing, never even looking up. The three-year-old cave invader marched right over to my couch, climbed up next to me, snuggled in close, and said, “Daddy, I need you.”
“What do you need,” I asked finally looking into her innocent eyes.
“I just need you,” she replied. Promise me you won’t tell anyone, but, I let her stay on the couch in the cave for just a few minutes. After all, being a daddy is part of being a man.
It started quite by accident (but kind of on purpose) when I acquired some used couches that had resided in my parents’ house for well over twenty years. I was actually supposed to bring them back to my house and sell them, however, as soon as they landed in my garage, a strange thing happened. The couches arranged themselves into a cozy corner surrounding a scrap of old carpet and suddenly, without explanation, the man cave was born. As soon as I saw it, I knew it was here to stay. The couches had been a part of my life for so long as a child and now they were back. Their new duty is simple: to provided me an opportunity to rest my weary haunches upon their cushions. Their purpose, however, is infinite. They provide me a place where I can close the door and hide from the chaos within the house. My new cave is a place where I can sit and blog about having a man cave. It is glorious.
The official man cave initiation took place last night when I invited my wife out for a movie. This was no chick flick either. It was man movie night. As she snuggled in next to me I heard her remark, “This is kind of nice. It’s cozy.” And it was then that I knew she was hooked.
The next day it became even more apparent that she was digging my newfound manliness. As I I stood in front of my class of nine- and ten year-olds teaching them how to write a research report, an e-mail popped up on my screen. I glanced down and saw something about a babysitter so we could go to the gym together. Let me make sure you all read this right. My wife enjoyed a manly movie with me in my man cave and the next day made arrangements to come to the gym with me so I could impress her with my ability to sweat from places she never knew sweat could appear. Does a marriage get any better than this?
Unfortunately, there is a downside to all of this. Imagine a man cave in the home of a daddy. Now imagine what the man cave looks like when Daddy gets home from work. Now imagine Daddy wishing he could get his car into the garage, but there are so many toys overflowing from the man cave section of the garage that the car must remain in the driveway until the issue is resolved. Now imagine the man with the newfound manliness on his hands and knees picking up toys and bikes, and dolls with his three year old daughter gently reminding her that Daddy’s man cave needs to look manly by the time Daddy gets home.
That was how things panned out for me as I came home in great anticipation of my newfound zone. Later on that evening, I again retreated to the cave to write a blog about the manliness of my cave when the pitter-patter of little feet found their way into the garage. I kept on typing, never even looking up. The three-year-old cave invader marched right over to my couch, climbed up next to me, snuggled in close, and said, “Daddy, I need you.”
“What do you need,” I asked finally looking into her innocent eyes.
“I just need you,” she replied. Promise me you won’t tell anyone, but, I let her stay on the couch in the cave for just a few minutes. After all, being a daddy is part of being a man.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Green Beans
Everyone knows that there are different cuts of meat. We have all heard of sirloins, t-bones, chucks, and even the tubular hot dog, but have you ever stopped to consider that other foods have different cuts as well? Some foods just taste better when they are cut right. Take carrots, for example. When was the last time you gnawed off the end of a root-shaped carrot? Chances are you have been getting your beta-carotene from those nicely rounded baby carrots that you find at the grocery store conveniently pre-packaged and ready to eat. So, why do people buy baby carrots instead of the full-grown rooty carrots? The answer is obvious: for the same reason they buy prime rib instead of the tempting hoof cut, because it tastes better.
When it comes to sources of greenery in my diet, nothing beats a good old-fashioned can of green beans. One must be careful when purchasing canned green beans, however, because they come in two different cuts. As a matter of fact, one cut is so lamely named, that there is no doubt it is the inferior of the two. Take a look at a can of green beans in your pantry and see if it bears the lame name “Cut Green Beans.” If it does, you need to take a serious look at the meaning of your life. Perhaps you are like the Amish, and have been called to a life free of the wonders of the modern world. Or perhaps you are like a priest or a nun who has given up worldly pleasures to pursue a life that is pleasing to God. If that is truly your reasoning for eating “Cut Green Beans” then you have my blessing to continue eating them.
If, however, you are simply lame as the lame name “Cut” implies, it is time to step it up a notch. There is a whole new world waiting for you just beyond the reach of your pantry. Next time you venture out to the local market, try picking up a can of luscious, delectable “French Style Green Beans.” These green beans are as different from their inferior cut friends as pot roast is from filet mignon.
After you gently pour the French Style Beans into a covered microwave safe bowl, place the dish in the afore-mentioned microwave and set it for two minutes. Just after the ding signals that your meal is ready, carefully remove the hot dish from the microwave and set the lid aside. Without wasting any time, add a quarter of a cup of French Fried Onions (they sell them in a can on the green bean aisle) and gently stir. Ahhhh, the aroma.
Lame “cut” beans could never compare to the luxurious taste that the romantic French have provided for our tired American palettes. Next time you think that France has taken a back seat when it comes to international events, consider this. Somewhere in America, somewhere in Canada, and yes, even somewhere in the Middle East, someone is enjoying a can of French Style Green Beans, savoring every long, stringy bite.
And, yes, in case you were wondering, French Style Green Beans were on sale today and my loving wife bought me ten cans!
When it comes to sources of greenery in my diet, nothing beats a good old-fashioned can of green beans. One must be careful when purchasing canned green beans, however, because they come in two different cuts. As a matter of fact, one cut is so lamely named, that there is no doubt it is the inferior of the two. Take a look at a can of green beans in your pantry and see if it bears the lame name “Cut Green Beans.” If it does, you need to take a serious look at the meaning of your life. Perhaps you are like the Amish, and have been called to a life free of the wonders of the modern world. Or perhaps you are like a priest or a nun who has given up worldly pleasures to pursue a life that is pleasing to God. If that is truly your reasoning for eating “Cut Green Beans” then you have my blessing to continue eating them.
If, however, you are simply lame as the lame name “Cut” implies, it is time to step it up a notch. There is a whole new world waiting for you just beyond the reach of your pantry. Next time you venture out to the local market, try picking up a can of luscious, delectable “French Style Green Beans.” These green beans are as different from their inferior cut friends as pot roast is from filet mignon.
After you gently pour the French Style Beans into a covered microwave safe bowl, place the dish in the afore-mentioned microwave and set it for two minutes. Just after the ding signals that your meal is ready, carefully remove the hot dish from the microwave and set the lid aside. Without wasting any time, add a quarter of a cup of French Fried Onions (they sell them in a can on the green bean aisle) and gently stir. Ahhhh, the aroma.
Lame “cut” beans could never compare to the luxurious taste that the romantic French have provided for our tired American palettes. Next time you think that France has taken a back seat when it comes to international events, consider this. Somewhere in America, somewhere in Canada, and yes, even somewhere in the Middle East, someone is enjoying a can of French Style Green Beans, savoring every long, stringy bite.
And, yes, in case you were wondering, French Style Green Beans were on sale today and my loving wife bought me ten cans!
Monday, November 9, 2009
Welcome Home
Before I got home from work today I already knew that my wife’s day had been rough. She had filled me in at lunch, so I was aware that the baby was grumpy and had only slept an hour all day. Naturally it came as somewhat of a surprise when I got home and was greeted by his bright smile. “Here you go,” my wife said as she handed the happy baby off to Daddy. “He needs you.”
“But he looks happy,” I replied. It was as I reached out to grab the boy that I realized why he needed Daddy. The evidence was oozing out the back of his pants. “Oh, I get it,” I said.
“At least he will be happy now,” she said. “I think that was what he’s been working on all day.” To be honest, I did take the child and got busy on the dirty work, but this job actually required both of us in order to get it done without damaging the house. It was that messy.
Just as we wrapped up the blowout, my daughter decided to wake up from her incredibly late nap. Waking up, however, involved some sort of bad dream and a lot of tears and clinging to dad for about a half hour. Welcome home.
Now fast forward to later in the evening. My wife clearly needed a break before dinner, so I sent her out to do some therapy shopping (for on-sale necessities only) while I prepared dinner. (Again, I have to be honest. Dinner was leftovers, so don’t give me too much credit. Oh, wait. On second thought, the leftovers consisted of the chicken that I had barbecued over the weekend, so I guess I do get some credit after all.)
Keep in mind that I had been gone for the whole day at work and what greeted me? A diapular blow-out and a clingy, fussy child. What does Mom get when she returns home from a one hour shopping trip? Well apparently it all depends on what you bring home. Her loot consisted only of some boring basics like milk, soap, and shampoo, but it was enough to bring delight to a child’s eyes.
“Oooooh! Look at the shampoo! Mommy got it for us,” my youngest daughter shouted out as she held the bottle up high and paraded around the house. “Can we take a bath?”
“Yeah well I worked hard so she could buy it,” I sighed. Despite my lame efforts to take some of the credit, the parade marched on with no mention of Daddy. Excitement oozed from every square inch of of my daughter’s body as she paraded up and down the hall singing the praises of Mommy and the shampoo. How is it that Mom got to be greeted by oozing excitement and Dad was welcomed home with other oozing matter?
Some things in life just don’t quite seem fair.
“But he looks happy,” I replied. It was as I reached out to grab the boy that I realized why he needed Daddy. The evidence was oozing out the back of his pants. “Oh, I get it,” I said.
“At least he will be happy now,” she said. “I think that was what he’s been working on all day.” To be honest, I did take the child and got busy on the dirty work, but this job actually required both of us in order to get it done without damaging the house. It was that messy.
Just as we wrapped up the blowout, my daughter decided to wake up from her incredibly late nap. Waking up, however, involved some sort of bad dream and a lot of tears and clinging to dad for about a half hour. Welcome home.
Now fast forward to later in the evening. My wife clearly needed a break before dinner, so I sent her out to do some therapy shopping (for on-sale necessities only) while I prepared dinner. (Again, I have to be honest. Dinner was leftovers, so don’t give me too much credit. Oh, wait. On second thought, the leftovers consisted of the chicken that I had barbecued over the weekend, so I guess I do get some credit after all.)
Keep in mind that I had been gone for the whole day at work and what greeted me? A diapular blow-out and a clingy, fussy child. What does Mom get when she returns home from a one hour shopping trip? Well apparently it all depends on what you bring home. Her loot consisted only of some boring basics like milk, soap, and shampoo, but it was enough to bring delight to a child’s eyes.
“Oooooh! Look at the shampoo! Mommy got it for us,” my youngest daughter shouted out as she held the bottle up high and paraded around the house. “Can we take a bath?”
“Yeah well I worked hard so she could buy it,” I sighed. Despite my lame efforts to take some of the credit, the parade marched on with no mention of Daddy. Excitement oozed from every square inch of of my daughter’s body as she paraded up and down the hall singing the praises of Mommy and the shampoo. How is it that Mom got to be greeted by oozing excitement and Dad was welcomed home with other oozing matter?
Some things in life just don’t quite seem fair.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Here's to You (Part 1)
It’s been a while since I have written anything that has made it past my hard drive and out into cyberspace. There are several reasons for this, but none of them very good, so I’ll not bore you trying to explain myself. Lately, in an attempt to conquer the dreaded writer’s block, I have been looking for inspiration in the world around me. I know that there are stories that are worth telling everywhere I look, but I seem to have forgotten how to notice them.
Since the point of this blog is to dwell on the comical, insightful, and inspiring moments of my journey through life as a Christian husband, father, and observer of life in general, I figured that the best way to jump start my dead brain was to focus in on the best in others. Given that, I am going to start a series entitled “Here’s to You…” In this, I will point out the good that I see in others. It could be little things, big things, or some of those medium things that fall in between. My goal is to train myself to look for the best in people and, in so doing, encourage anyone else who might be reading. So, without further ado I’ll begin. (When was the last time you ever heard anyone say “ado” without the word “further” or “much” in front of it? Tell me about it in the comments below if you think you can do it.)
I am a very fortunate father. (If you have any doubts about that refer back to my post entitled “Second Place” in February of 2008.) My kids are cute, smart, and very well-behaved. I’d like to think it is because of me that they are this way, so I will. One of the goals my wife and I have set lately has been to work with our girls on responding to us with enthusiasm when we give them a task to complete. The premise is simple. When Daddy asks one of them to do something, she responds with a cheerful, “Yes, Daddy!” and then runs off and does it. Occasionally one of them might forget the cheerful response, but a quick reminder will usually do the trick.
Tonight was a total failure. Tonight my cute, smart, and very well-behaved daughter was not in a “Yes, Daddy” mood. I think she was actually in a “Kiss off, Old Man” mood. Fortunately these moods don’t come very often, but when they come, they hit hard and are contagious. Tonight’s eruption started, ironically enough, just as I was settling down to read my girls a Bible story and put them into bed. I’m not sure how it all started, but it was one of those moments that went from bad to worse in seconds. After a particularly intense “discussion” with my cute, smart, and very well-behaved daughter, she was in her bed sobbing hysterically. (Because I had won...if you can call that kind of result a victory.)
Behind her closed door the sobs grew louder and angrier and I struggled to hold myself back. Fortunately, if I tried really hard, I could almost ignore the tantrum that was erupting. When I returned to the living room where all of this had begun, my other cute, smart, and very well-behaved daughter was sitting in her mini rocking chair right where I had left her when all the drama had begun. My blood pressure at this point was through the roof, my heart rate was sky high, and adrenaline was pumping through my veins.
I glanced down at the pajama-clad preschooler, pretty sure my spiritual meter was not set to “Bible Mode” when she looked up at me with the biggest grin she could muster and handed me the Bible. “Here you go, Daddy!” she said.
“Did God really just use a three-year-old with a smile and a Bible to change my mood?” I asked myself. It appeared that He had, because who could have resisted that smile? (I know that her smile really meant, “Aren’t you so glad I’m the good girl, Daddy,” but it was meaningful nonetheless.) As the boiling blood inside me started to simmer down, I took the Bible from her small hands and opened it. At this point, the tantrum was still audible down the hall, but all of a sudden something inexplicable happened. One second I heard a blood-curdling screaming moment of rage, and the next, it all changed.
“I’m sorry, Daddy!” The words tumbled down that hall as loudly as she could yell them.
“Did she just say she was sorry?” I asked my wife. My cute, smart, and very well-behaved little girl can also be very stubborn when these rare moods flare up. She’s not the kind of kid to give up like that.
“I think so,” my wife replied as I handed her the Bible and went in to talk to my cute, smart, very well-behaved daughter once again. Needless to say, the tense moment had passed and the worst was instantly behind us. Not to be outdone, I offered her my apology for letting my temper get the best of me in the midst of the chaos as well. The next thing I knew, she threw her arms around me and planted a heart-felt kiss on my cheek. It reminded me of the kind of kiss a little girl gives her daddy on her wedding day, the kind of kiss that says, “Thanks for being my daddy.”
“I’m sorry.” There is a lot of power in those words. Wrap that up with a kid handing you a Bible and anger and frustration don’t stand a chance.
I don’t always like it when my kids teach me lessons, but they are often the most meaningful. So here’s to you Maddie Rae and Hamster, the two best girls a dad could ever ask for.
Since the point of this blog is to dwell on the comical, insightful, and inspiring moments of my journey through life as a Christian husband, father, and observer of life in general, I figured that the best way to jump start my dead brain was to focus in on the best in others. Given that, I am going to start a series entitled “Here’s to You…” In this, I will point out the good that I see in others. It could be little things, big things, or some of those medium things that fall in between. My goal is to train myself to look for the best in people and, in so doing, encourage anyone else who might be reading. So, without further ado I’ll begin. (When was the last time you ever heard anyone say “ado” without the word “further” or “much” in front of it? Tell me about it in the comments below if you think you can do it.)
I am a very fortunate father. (If you have any doubts about that refer back to my post entitled “Second Place” in February of 2008.) My kids are cute, smart, and very well-behaved. I’d like to think it is because of me that they are this way, so I will. One of the goals my wife and I have set lately has been to work with our girls on responding to us with enthusiasm when we give them a task to complete. The premise is simple. When Daddy asks one of them to do something, she responds with a cheerful, “Yes, Daddy!” and then runs off and does it. Occasionally one of them might forget the cheerful response, but a quick reminder will usually do the trick.
Tonight was a total failure. Tonight my cute, smart, and very well-behaved daughter was not in a “Yes, Daddy” mood. I think she was actually in a “Kiss off, Old Man” mood. Fortunately these moods don’t come very often, but when they come, they hit hard and are contagious. Tonight’s eruption started, ironically enough, just as I was settling down to read my girls a Bible story and put them into bed. I’m not sure how it all started, but it was one of those moments that went from bad to worse in seconds. After a particularly intense “discussion” with my cute, smart, and very well-behaved daughter, she was in her bed sobbing hysterically. (Because I had won...if you can call that kind of result a victory.)
Behind her closed door the sobs grew louder and angrier and I struggled to hold myself back. Fortunately, if I tried really hard, I could almost ignore the tantrum that was erupting. When I returned to the living room where all of this had begun, my other cute, smart, and very well-behaved daughter was sitting in her mini rocking chair right where I had left her when all the drama had begun. My blood pressure at this point was through the roof, my heart rate was sky high, and adrenaline was pumping through my veins.
I glanced down at the pajama-clad preschooler, pretty sure my spiritual meter was not set to “Bible Mode” when she looked up at me with the biggest grin she could muster and handed me the Bible. “Here you go, Daddy!” she said.
“Did God really just use a three-year-old with a smile and a Bible to change my mood?” I asked myself. It appeared that He had, because who could have resisted that smile? (I know that her smile really meant, “Aren’t you so glad I’m the good girl, Daddy,” but it was meaningful nonetheless.) As the boiling blood inside me started to simmer down, I took the Bible from her small hands and opened it. At this point, the tantrum was still audible down the hall, but all of a sudden something inexplicable happened. One second I heard a blood-curdling screaming moment of rage, and the next, it all changed.
“I’m sorry, Daddy!” The words tumbled down that hall as loudly as she could yell them.
“Did she just say she was sorry?” I asked my wife. My cute, smart, and very well-behaved little girl can also be very stubborn when these rare moods flare up. She’s not the kind of kid to give up like that.
“I think so,” my wife replied as I handed her the Bible and went in to talk to my cute, smart, very well-behaved daughter once again. Needless to say, the tense moment had passed and the worst was instantly behind us. Not to be outdone, I offered her my apology for letting my temper get the best of me in the midst of the chaos as well. The next thing I knew, she threw her arms around me and planted a heart-felt kiss on my cheek. It reminded me of the kind of kiss a little girl gives her daddy on her wedding day, the kind of kiss that says, “Thanks for being my daddy.”
“I’m sorry.” There is a lot of power in those words. Wrap that up with a kid handing you a Bible and anger and frustration don’t stand a chance.
I don’t always like it when my kids teach me lessons, but they are often the most meaningful. So here’s to you Maddie Rae and Hamster, the two best girls a dad could ever ask for.
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