Posts Tagged ‘
Sunday, October 6th, 2013
2 years, 10 months.
I keep having to remind myself of my age. It’s not something I really think about, but when I am about to say my age out loud, I naturally want to say that I am 28 or 29.
And it’s not because of the cliche where I miss being in my 20s and therefore jokingly pretend I’m still 29.
What it probably comes down to for me is that I was 28 when I found out Mommy and I were going to become parents and 29 when you were actually born.
So I guess somehow, psychologically, my age as an individual stopped mattering to me on November 16, 2010.
For all practical purproses, my age became irrelevant that day.
Instead, what I identify with more, is that I am the parent of a young child.
That, is my age. Or at least that’s what I place in that category instead.
This is something I found out officially just a few weeks ago. Mommy and I had been looking for a Sunday School class to join at our church.
We hadn’t been in a steady one since before you were born.
It was either too much trouble or too much of a sacrifice not to be near you for that extra hour or so of the week.
But now that you’re nearly 3, you make it clear that you like to go to church. You ask us to go to church. When we can’t go for whatever reason sometimes, you are disappointed.
It may just be because you get to eat snacks and play with their trucks in the playroom. Oh, and getting to ride on the giant buggy that seats like 8 kids…
The third try was a charm for us, in regards to finding the “right” class. What we realized was that the people in the class are mostly were parents of young children like us.
Mommy and I are both 32 years old. Other parents in the class were 5 years younger or 5 years older, but that didn’t mean anything.
What we didn’t realize is that we were looking for was a group of friends we could relate to in the facets of life that are most important to us- being parents of small children was was of those main things.
Having a young child defines me, not my age.
I already forgot how old I am just now; that’s how much it doesn’t matter to me anymore.
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Monday, September 9th, 2013
2 years, 9 months.
Our fridge never ceases to be covered in at least a few of your artwork pieces from school.
I especially love this “frame in frame” piece which features a picture of you (not smiling) fingerpainting for the first time, superimposed over your actual finished product.
It’s modern, yet sophisticated.
Even if it’s by accident, I like the little smiley face you did in the upper right hand corner.
And the look on your face… you seem like a confused artist who was just interrupted in the middle of his work- which I guess that’s probably exactly what happened.
While I do totally appreciate your artistic skills, what I might love even more are the titles you give your work.
I know that throughout history, art has captured what people and their cultures find value in. So I assume the same is for you.
That would explain why this picture you entitled Bulldozer recently showed up.
Because you’re forced to be exposed to hundreds of cars on the way to school every morning during our hour drive, you’ve become very familiar with all the types of vehicles you see.
Your newest learned vehicle: the FJ Cruiser.
Another one of my favorites of your recent artwork pieces is one you named Monster Trucks and Baby Trucks.
Granted, it very much resembled Bulldozer.
But to you, it was clear that those scribbles and dots represented different sized pick-up trucks.
One that’s currently being featured on our fridge is one you called Diamonds.
It has a bunch of black dots all over it. I’m pretty sure you think stars are called diamonds, because of the song, “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.”
“Like that diamond in the sky,” as you sing it.
I love this stuff. You’re not too young to be an artist. This is where it begins.
You already are an artist.
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Friday, August 16th, 2013
2 years, 9 months.
My mom (known to you as Nonna) texted me this morning to point out the interesting fact that when I was 2 years, 9 months old, it was January 1984.
That’s when my sister (your Auntie Dana) was born. In other words, when I was your age, I became an older brother.
Just so I can put this into perspective for myself, that means that even if during the next couple of years, you end up getting a baby brother or sister, the age difference between you and him or her will definitely be greater than the age difference between my sister and me.
Each month and each year that passes in which you remain an only child, it makes me wonder if you will always be one.
Will you become that “little adult” than only children are often referred to as?
When we go on family vacations, will it just be you in goofy touristy photos like these from the Sacramento Zoo?
I mean… I’m curious, but not that curious.
There’s no sense of urgency, but I when consider I was already a big brother by your age, it does make me think about your fate of whether or not you will have a sibling.
Perhaps I write to you about the subject of “will you or will you not remain an only child?” quite often.
No, not perhaps- I totally do.
But for me, it’s not a subject to be dealt with lightly. For our family, there is a lot of careful planning and consideration involved.
By now, I’m way past caring about anyone else’s expectations of our family growing.
I’m even way past what I perceive in my own mind of what the normal American family is supposed to be; which I suppose the image I have in my head includes at least two kids and a dog.
But we’re not even a “dog family.” Or cat lovers.
We’re not animal people at all! Except for the fact we enjoy going to zoos as a type of a default hobby because our Nashville Zoo Pass is transferable to other major zoos.
Life is unfolding slightly different than I planned it. I always wanted four kids.
Then you were born. And I realized, I feel plenty enough of a dad now.
I feel like I can live my entire life satisfied in knowing I get to raise you and have a lifelong relationship with you.
You may never know what it’s like to be a big brother. Are you okay with that?
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Thursday, August 15th, 2013
2 years, 8 months.
This weekend Mommy and I watched a well-acted, well-produced movie on Netflix called Friends With Kids.
It definitely more than earned its “R” rating. However, I still managed to appreciate and analyze the plot line and concept of the movie:
What if two people who were not at all in love decided to have a baby so they “wouldn’t have to deal with the complicated problem of combining romantic love, personal happiness, and kids?”
What if the dad and mom were “best friends with a kid,” but somehow with no emotional baggage and were free to go on with their lives with no commitment to each other other than their child?
In essence, the main characters of the movie (played by Adam Scott and Jennifer Westfeldt) start out their experiment (with human life!) by saying that you can’t really have romantic love and personal happiness and still have kids.
Or kids and personal happiness and still be in love with the child’s parent.
Or kids and romantic love with the child’s parent and still personally be happy.
Obviously, I don’t agree with with those sentiments, but I completely understand what they’re getting at.
Those three things (love, happiness, and kids) are a challenging combo to balance.
As I’ve been writing to you about a lot here recently, I’m realizing that the least of these three is my personal happiness.
I talked about in “To Be More Like Clark Griswold On Our Family Vacations” how so much of what I let bother me is actually rooted in fear that I won’t get my way or be happy.
So for me, here’s the takeaway from the movie. It helped remind me that by default, parents are forced to prioritize love, happiness, and kids.
I choose love and kids, then.. my own happiness. (Or in my case, just one kid… for now.)
That’s not at all to say I’m not happy, because I’m very content and thankful for my life. But if I don’t put you and Mommy before myself, I’m not truly going to be happy anyway.
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Thursday, July 4th, 2013
2 years, 7 months.
Last Saturday, your best friend Sophie stayed with us while her parents went to a wedding. I had these preconceived ideas going into the event that, despite caring for two kids instead of one, it would not only be a lot of fun, but also, less stressful and chaotic than it usually is on the typical Saturday afternoon at our house.
Turns out, I was completely right! Sophie is so kind, so sweet, so cute, and so hilarious. That part was the icing on the cake.
The “cake” itself was the fact that you definitely were less needy than you typically are when it’s just you, Mommy, and me.
It’s that awkward number of three that makes the dynamics weird and often, more stressful, for me at least.
You rarely let Mommy prepare dinner or do anything productive without whining and hanging on to her legs, even though I eagerly want to play with you and your toys in the living room.
And I understand why, given the fact we both have to work while you’re at school all day.
But with Sophie here, making that new number 4 instead of 3, it was ideal. Everybody paired up throughout the afternoon.
Most of the time it was you and Sophie; me and Mommy. Or you and Mommy; me and Sophie. And a few times, you and me; Sophie and Mommy.
No one was ever left out; everyone had a role and a place. It worked. I liked it a lot.
From playing outside at the water table, to a luxurious wagon ride, to a delightful dinner involving mac and cheese along with Gogo Squeez applesauce pouches, the day had an excellent flow.
With that being said, I’m still not convinced that having another sibling would bring that sort of feng shui for our family.
After all, you and Sophie were born just one month apart. So basically, age-wise, you two are the equivalent of twins.
Not to mention, physically, you could easily pass as twins anyway!
But I’m not talking about twins in my scenario here. I’m talking about the possibility of Mommy and I having another baby; who would be a few years younger than you.
Those dynamics would be a lot different than having an equivalent girl version of you, plus you.
My reasons for wanting another child, when I sporadically do, are never sincere enough or truly legitimate. (Am I being too honest right now? Am I committing social media taboo by admitting that?)
I feel like my reasons are always selfish. If we’re going to grow our family, I want it to be “for the right reasons,” and I’m not even sure what they are anyway.
(Hmm… I wonder if that would make a good blog post?)
Yes, our family absolutely loves (!) Sophie and I really appreciate the dynamics she brings to our family; still, though, I think I’d be happy with just one kid.
I feel complete with a family of three. But, that could always change…
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