Storytelling

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This is 36: Our Living Room has become a Children’s Playroom… but It Doesn’t Matter because We Rarely Have Guests Over Anyway

It could just be my perception of reality, but I feel like it used to be that people would actually visit together at each other’s homes: “We’ve got company coming over this afternoon… time to clean up the house!”

These days, if you get invited over to someone’s house, you undeniably have to ask yourself a very important question, “What modern day pyramid scheme am I being invited to join?”

As far as inviting people over to our house, my wife and I both work full-time; both of us commute about 2 hours round trip Monday through Friday. Saturdays are consumed with buying groceries and going to birthday parties. And Sunday is for church, cleaning the house, and attempting to chill out as a family.

The thought of preparing our house for guests, on top of that? I’m sure my family is not alone in feeling this way.

I can say that because, for the friends who we do hang out with on a regular basis, we rarely visit at each other’s house. It’s easier just to meet up somewhere in the middle, where there’s something for all our kids to do.

Therefore, it’s no bother that for the next several years, our classy living room will be occupied with pink strollers and American Girl dolls; as well as dinosaurs, Legos, and Pokemon paraphernalia; thanks to a 1 year-old little girl and a soon-to-be Kindergarten graduate.

The funny thing is, we have a bonus room upstairs that could easily be “the playroom”. But it’s not central to where the action is: The kitchen is the epicenter of our home and the kitchen is adjoined to the living room, which has now used as a playroom, more than a living room.

I guess playing equates with living when only half of the 4 members of the household are adults.

Even in the rare event we did have guests over, our living room converted into a playroom would simply be… expected. Because this is the norm.

This is 36.

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This is 36: Can I Just Eat My Garlic & Pepper Ramen Noodles in Peace?!

After we put our kids to bed last night, as my wife and I were finishing up doing the the dishes, we were discussing how apparently impossible it is just to eat lunch in peace while at work. Seriously, it’s difficult!

Though we work in offices about 20 miles apart from each other each day, my wife and I live by the same daily habits when he comes to our eating routines: We typically just eat snacks during the work day: I make a smoothie each morning, then have oatmeal during lunch. My wife takes cut up fruit and veggies and hummus.

Then after work, we come home and have a good, solid, healthy meal each night for dinner. That’s what our norm is.

So when we occasionally have a “fun day” and take Ramen Noodles to work, it freaks people out. They can’t handle it. Chaos always follows:

“What’cha eatin’ there? Ramen noodles?”

“Mmmm…. something smells good. Let me take a look in your bowl…”

“Oh, what’s that smell? It’s so strong. It smells like onions or something. Ugh…”

“You can eat Ramen noodles? I don’t know vegans could eat pasta!”

“I thought you ate healthy food. What are you doin’ eatin’ that?”

I think the solution is that I need to acquire some kind of secret military grade invisibility cloak.

That might be the only way to get people who are so easily entertained by the sight of another human being eating Ramen noodles to keep just walking by.

I’ve already lost my ability to listen to CDs in my car each day on my 2 hour round trip commute. I feel like I don’t ask for much at this point.

Ramen noodles. In solitude.

Don’t take this away from me. I need this.

No commentary. No questions. No fascination.

Just let me eat my Ramen noodles in peace.

This is 36.

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This is 36: We’re Not Hypocrites for Using Facebook as a Highlight Reel from Our Lives

If we’re being honest, Facebook is an open mic, public stage in which we present the best parts of our lives to those in our social circle. I have no shame in admitting that.

Chances are, the most relevant thing you scroll your Facebook feed for is pictures of your friends’ and family members’ kids. And I would also predict that most of the “likes” and comments that you receive are based on pictures you post of your own kids.

Yeah, that magical red notification that alerts us of confirmation that some part of our life is being mutually acknowledged and appreciated…

But are we all somehow hypocrites for choosing to highlight the most exciting and interesting parts of our lives? Does that make us all fake? Would we all be better off if instead, we also included the mundane parts of our lives?

For example, should I update my status right now so everyone can know that it’s time to clip my fingernails? Is that something you would want to know about?

If so, then you are very easily amused… right? And if you “liked” status comment about me needing to clip my fingernails, I would assume that if you are not desperate for distraction from real life, that you were just give me a “courtesy like” to make me feel good about myself.

The thing is, we don’t want courtesy likes, do we?

Instead, we want to know and believe that the people in our social circles authentically “like” what we place in front of them.

So naturally, presenting our Facebook friends with our best material is what we all do. We certainly don’t want to use everyone else’s Facebook feed to advertise the most negative parts of our own lives; we would appear emotionally needy in that case.

We all want to be liked for good things about ourselves. We all want to be included by society. To a certain (and healthy) degree, we care about what people think about us. I say that’s a good thing.

I am not a hypocrite for using Facebook as my highlight reel. And neither are you.

So I will keep posting the highlights of my life on Facebook. So will you.

And that’s completely okay.

This is 36.

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Dear Jack: That Time You Secretly Decided to Be a Nerf Sniper at Zeke’s Birthday Party

6 years, 5 months.

Dear Jack,

Last Saturday afternoon, our family attended your classmate’s 6th birthday party at his family’s house. Mommy and I held Holly, while we sat on the covered back porch, along with the other parents.

Pretty early on into the party, Zeke’s dad brought out the Nerf mini dart guns for all the kids to run around in the back yard and shoot each other, while all the adults casually watched the chaos.

After a few minutes of the 6 year-old version of the Hunger Games taking place, I looked up from holding your sister’s hand as she walked along the patio furniture, and saw you quietly standing there on the outside of the guard rail, appearing to take aim.

I was right.

Because then, I saw you pull the trigger, hitting one of your friends in the chest as he ran across the yard. He had no idea he had been hit by the Nerf Sniper.

Then I muttered to you, “Jack, are you standing up there and shooting them without them knowing what you’re doing?”

You smiled so sneakily and shook your head, yes.

Obviously, I was proud of you. After all, it was a free-for-all. There were no rules. No one said you had to stay down in the line of fire and get shot like everyone else.

Good for you, assuming the role of the sniper.

Your idea of fun wasn’t running around, laughing with your friends. Instead, your idea of fun was winning. This was not a game at a birthday party. This was war.

By the time the others figured out what you were doing, it was time to go inside for pizza and cake.

I imagine a few years from now when your friends start having laser tag birthday parties, you’re definitely going to have an advantage.

Love,

Daddy

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Dear Holly: Your 1 Year Check Up Results from the Doctor- 60th Percentile for Height, 16th for Weight

1 year.

Dear Holly,

For the first two years of his life, your brother was a very husky boy.

Obviously, he grew out of his “baby body suit” around the age of 3, and now the word “husky” could no longer be used to describe him.

But as for you, you’ve just always been a light little girl. Even when Mommy was pregnant with you, there was some concern from the nurses that you wouldn’t weigh enough. It all worked out, though, since you were born weighing 7 pounds, 5 ounces.

Last week Mommy took you to your 1 year check-up at the doctor’s office. You are currently in the 60th percentile for height and the 16th percentile for weight.

As I look at you in these pictures, I see a little China doll. Well actually, with your complexion, you’re more like a Norwegian doll.

This past weekend while we were at a birthday party for one of your brother’s classmates, I took a couple of pictures of you playing. In one of them, you have this look on your face that seems to imply, “Whew… I didn’t know being so cute all day long would be so exhausting!”

I see you as delicate; yet strong, curious, and determined.

You look just as cute with an actual girls’ doll as you do with one of your brother’s Pickachu stuffed animals.

Mommy and I are now transitioning you that much more off of formula and onto cow’s milk and solid foods.

Oh, and we’ve got you wearing shoes now. You’ve been a barefoot baby up until this point.

After all, you’re learning to walk. You’re on the move. You need to have cute little girly shoes for that.

Also, Mommy and I are starting to see your two top teeth come in. You love munching on Cheerios.

I am watching you transition from baby to little girl.

And I love it.

Love,

Daddy