parenting

Leave a comment Posted on Nostalgia, parenting

YOLO: You’re Only Little Once

January 21, 2014 at 9:40 pm , by 

3 years, 2 months.

Dear Jack,

While we were in Alabama last weekend celebrating your Auntie Dana’s 30th birthday, I heard her say something clever.

It was an interesting, parenting-related spin on a very popular catch-phrase of 2013: “YOLO,” which stands for “you only live once.”

In reference to raising your 2 and a half year-old cousin, Calla, your Auntie Dana’s motto is “you’re only little once.”

As a parent, this new twist on “YOLO” is a simple phrase to remind me that however enjoyable, or frustrating, a particular moment in parenting may be, it’s a fleeting event to be appreciated either way.

One of my favorite TV shows ever, The Office, ended last May. In the final episode, Andy Bernard had one of the best lines in the entire series, in my opinion:

“I wish there was a way to know you’re in the good old days before you’ve actually left them.”

I have always been a very nostalgic guy; yearning for the past.

Nineteen eighty-something and Nineteen ninety-something are definitely warmer, safer, easier places for me to escape to, in my mind.

I graduated high school in 1999, nearly 15 years ago. So for me, anything that has happened in the year 2000 or beyond has taken place in my adult life.

My childhood (1981-1999) ended right before the 2000s began, which is why I am the very oldest of Generation Y. (We Millennials began adulthood once the Nineties were over.)

But as for you, from 2010 to 2028 is the span of years designated for your childhood; your warmest, safest, easiest place to be alive.

For you, it’s not a collection of old memories. Instead, you’re living it right now.

And I feel like I’m your host.

I feel like the Ryan Seacrest of your childhood.

You’re only little once. You’re only this young once- when things are still so obviously magical and mysterious.

When animals can talk. When getting a new Hot Wheel car is a big deal. When just running around the room in your pajamas in front of Mommy and Daddy is the highlight of your day.

These are the good ole days. You’re far from leaving them.

Love,

Daddy

Leave a comment Posted on parenting, Storytelling

The Conquest Of A Big Boy Bed, At 3 Years Old

December 28, 2013 at 8:06 pm , by 

3 years, 1 month.

Dear Jack,

As part of your Christmas gift from Nonna and Papa (my parents), you received a cash envelope to help with the conquest of getting your “big boy bed.”

So I did my research at Mattress Firm during my lunch break and came to the conclusion we’d get the best quality for our money there.

After all, a new bed is an investment for years to come. We wanted to make sure we did this thing right.

While I admit it was a bit trying on Mommy and Daddy’s sanity to have you exploring the store while we made such a huge decision, you sure had fun checking everything out, trying out the mattresses and contraptions you discovered.

Ultimately, it made the best sense for us to also buy a new bed for ourselves, in addition to yours. They cut us a special deal since we bought two beds, so I was happy to save money!

Since going debt-free back in July (eternal “thank you” goes to Dave Ramsey), we’ve been saving up the income we were using to pay off debt each month, so we could afford new beds without using credit or worrying about clearing out our bank account.

Mommy and Daddy’s old bed had ultimately become a giant, spongy taco after over half a decade.

It was pretty sad, actually.

You helped pay with one of my old sub sandwich cards.

Not to mention, you’ll notice a picture of the men’s restroom sign here in this collage, which signifies you went potty there.

Speaking of trying Mommy and Daddy’s sanity, I will admit that tearing down your old bed and setting up your new one with you in the room with us wasn’t a cake walk either.

Mommy found ways to help you entertain yourself by getting you to read us books and to pretend the rockasan chair was a pirate ship.

Something funny that happened while I was tearing your toddler bed down was when I grabbed the wrench from my tool box.

It was the one I used 2 and a half years ago when I designed the logo for The Dadabase! I never removed the masking tape after all this time. And I still didn’t this week after realizing it!

Well, it was definitely a conquest and a chore, but you, as well as Mommy and me, have new beds, at last.

For you, it’s one step further in becoming a big boy. As for your parents, it means we’re no longer sleeping in a giant taco.

 

Love,

Daddy

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It’s Easier To Fall Asleep When Mommy Drives Away

December 22, 2013 at 10:25 pm , by 

3 years, 1 month.

Dear Jack,

Here’s the dilemma:

I’m quicker and more efficient at getting you to bed for both naps and bedtime.

Mommy is quicker and more efficient at doing the dishes after meals.

However, Mommy depends on that quality time with you of putting you to bed… so I do the dishes while she puts you to bed.

And that’s no problem. I’m cool with whatever, asking myself the question, “What would Jack Jackson do?“

He would do the dishes. So I do, too.

But here lately, you have really… what’s another way of saying “taken advantage of the situation”?

You’ve really capitalized on the fact that you know Mommy will come back to comfort you if you call her after she leaves your bedroom.

Of course, you don’t do that with me if I happen to be putting you to bed. You just go to sleep because I make things less interesting, and comforting, I suppose.

So this weekend, Mommy and I tried an experiment.

For your noontime naps, Mommy went through the typical routine for bedtime for you, while I did the dishes from the recent meal, but then she called me upstairs right as it was time for her to leave the room and for you to start falling asleep.

Then, Mommy had to go to get gas for her car. (Or drive to the next neighborhood while I closed the deal with you.)

The most important part of this plan working was that you actually saw Mommy literally drive away. All I did after that was sing you a quick version of the theme song from The Lorax, and you were in Dreamland by the time I could walk downstairs.

With there being no hope of her coming back to your room to comfort you anytime soon, you gave up trying to delay falling asleep.

That’s when I texted Mommy to come back, just a few minutes after she drove away; that the coast was clear.

Hey man… it works

 

Love,

Daddy

Leave a comment Posted on marriage, parenting, Spirituality, Storytelling

Raising My Son To See Females As Somebody’s Daughters, Not Objects

December 18, 2013 at 11:18 pm , by 

3 years, 1 month.

Dear Jack,

It’s no secret that I am perhaps the most… peculiar person at my office.

No, not just because I’m the token vegan, or the guy that refuses to use microwaves, or because I go mountain biking during my lunch break.

I’m also the guy that likes to unleash subliminal social experiments among my coworkers.

Last Friday, the new monthly coupon advertisements were delivered to the break room, featuring discounts for local businesses.

One of them is for a lodge-themed restaurant featuring scantily clad young women as the waitresses, who on the ad, all looked so happy to be wearing so little flannel. (Not to mention, the name of the restaurant is a play on words that is definitely not discreet about what part of the female body it is alluding to.)

I remember about a year ago, when word came out that the fairly new “breastaurant” chain was moving to the very Republican part of Nashville my office is located. There were people evidently trying to boycott that from happening.

As for me, the token Libertarian of the office, my stance was that if the free market financially supports a corny, degrading-to-women restaurant like that, then let it be.

Turns out, there are enough customers willing to support the place to keep it alive and well, because, afterall… “The food is really good there!” I am told.

Here’s where I’m going with this story: I am raising you to see women as… women. Not objects. I’m raising you to see them as somebody’s daughters.

Just to subliminally reinforce this concept to my coworkers, I printed out in size 10 font, the phrase “A.K.A. Somebody’s Daughters,” then cut it out and taped it underneath the restaurant’s logo and the picture of the uniformed models used for the ad.

When word finally got around this week who was behind the prank, because after all, everyone in the office saw those coupons laying there on the table all week, some were surprised it was me: A happily married 32 year-old man with a 3 year-old son.

I responded by saying, “What- did you assume it was an ultraconversative feminist?” (Whatever that means.)

Nope, it was a guy, who is raising his son to treat women with respect. I want to raise you as one less willing customer for a restaurant like that… no matter how good the “food” is.

On second thought, maybe I really am an ultraconservative feminist… if male Libertarians are allowed to be them?

Love,

Daddy

P.S. This is one of those letters that is to be reserved for when you’re older. But while I’ve got it on my mind, I wanted to give you this “life advice” today and I’ll just bookmark it for when the time is right for you to hear it. In the mean time, enjoy the simple life of being a 3 year-old, please!

Leave a comment Posted on Nostalgia, parenting

Can We Just Be Open And Honest With Each Other? (Part 1)

December 15, 2013 at 3:49 pm , by 

3 years.

Dear Jack,

I feel like there’s this stereotype about fathers, that especially as they get older, they tend to have less of an open door policy with their sons.

And I get it.

By the time the two are both grown men, there’s almost this unspoken rule that the two can’t or shouldn’t talk to each other about serious stuff, involving the need for jpersonal advice… because they’re both grown men.

However, that’s the very reason theyshould depend on each other in that way.

For me personally, I can’t just talk toany guy friend about certain stuff.

My heart is very guarded. I know that may seem out of character for me, being that I appear to spill my guts out in these letters to you. But there’s a whole lot I keep private.

Rabbit trail here, but as I’m nearing my H.R. certification exam on January 11th, I’m planning to start focusing more time on writing songs again (which is why I moved to Nashville in the first place) because soon I won’t have to spend all my free time (which isn’t much) on studying. I can begin easing my way back into my forsaken hobby of creating music.

One of the songs I’m working on contains this line:

“I am a skeleton with meat on my bones/I walk around with secrets nobody knows.”

I think a lot of men feel that way. I think that’s why classic superheroes are so popular. Batman is the example that comes to my mind, immediately. In a way, superheroes compensate their own personal failures, fears, and insecurities by leading and helping others. It’s a great escape and a perfect distraction.

Yet still, they have received an emotional scar at some point in life that characterizes, and in some ways, defines who they are.

I can relate. I have an emotional scar or two. And I would actually be surprised to meet a man who didn’t feel that way about himself. It’s for that very reason it’s important you’ve always got other men to depend on, emotionally… or psychologically, or whatever you want to call it.

It’s not that I don’t trust other men, but  it does take a lot to make myself that emotionally vulnerable. It’s easier just to keep it inside and try to sort it out myself, a lot of the time.

I’m realizing I’ve got more to say about this than I realized, so let me put a bookmark right here. Go grab yourself a glass of water, then come back and read the rest of this letter.

To be continued…

 

Love,

Daddy