My Daughters, Tantrums and Permanent Psychological Damage

The girls spent the weekend with their grandparents and Sara and I took FULL advantage of the time.

Friday night, we made pizza, watched an episode of Sherlock and went to see a few bands play at the The Altar Bar.  Good friends of ours, Neon Swing X-Perience was opening for the mediocre Reverend Horton Heat.  As usual, their set was awesome and they warmed up the crowd of aging Rockabilly punk fans for the two following acts, The Goddamn Gallows, and Larry and the Flask, both of which were really fun to watch.

Then Heat came on and it was time for us to go.  Saturday rolled around and we went to breakfast, followed by Sara going to a bridal shower.  Upon her return, we went to a potluck with the derby folks that culminated in 5 hours of skating, late dinner/early breakfast at Eat N Park, college-style, and back home at 3am.  Needless to say, it was an amazing time.

On Sunday, we drove up to the in-laws to have lunch/dinner and pick the girls up.

Harper was happy to see us and Brynn was napping.  When she got up, she was pretty happy as well.

Harper has been speaking more and more and has been prone to asking coherent, albeit short, questions.  This was clearly in evidence yesterday when, during dinner, Harper asked Sara if she wanted a certain salad dressing.  When Sara politely declined, she was faced with an inquisitive toddler, curiously asking "Why not?"

I was a bit taken aback and the momentary silence allowed the tyke to ask again.  "Why not, mommy?"

My unbearably adorable offspring gave everyone hugs and went down for a nap.  She woke up, screaming less than an hour later and all of the warm feelings that I had from her earlier inquiry quickly vanished as she went into full blown tantrum mode.

I am, or like to think I am, a relatively intelligent human being.  I think that I can tell the difference between Harper throwing a tantrum and when something is seriously wrong.

As I have stated before, I am prone to horrific nightmares and it seems that Harper has inherited this amazing trait.  Occasionally, she will awaken in the middle of the night, screaming for either me or Sara.  We go in, get her, calm her down, assure her that everything is ok and that we love her, and then put her back to bed.  The entire process takes about 5 minutes and she's back to sleep and dreaming of something other than being crucified in the desert by her close relations.

This was not that.  This was screaming, kicking, going limp and sliding out of grips, followed by more screaming and kicking and screaming "NOOOOOOOOO" at the top of her lungs.  For twenty minutes.  Sara tried to console her.  My mother-in-law tried to console her.  I tried to console her.  At this point, I decide that nothing is truly wrong and that she is throwing a tantrum.

At this point, my parenting style differs drastically from that of my wife and mother-in-law.  Were we at my house, the conversation would have gone like this:

Me: Harper, calm down, please.  Everything is alright and you need to breathe.

Harper: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Me: Alright.  You're going to sit in your bed until you calm down.  I'll be right outside when you're ready.

However, that did not happen.   There was rocking and walking and screaming, and kicking and crying and soothing and shushing and more kicking and screaming for another 20 minutes.  Somehow, through the tears and limb-flailing, they managed to get her coat on and took her outside.  In the mean time, my father-in-law and I took the pleasant child on a stroll around the yard!

He is not sleep-walking.

I have no patience for tantrums.  Daily, I see at work the products of tantrums having been fed.  My students are often genuinely confused when I don't allow them to do whatever they want.  I don't really think my kids will grow up to be like that but the thought is always there in my mind.

At the same time, I don't want to stifle expression of emotions or ever have them believe that I don't care when they have something wrong.

It's a tough tight-rope to walk.  I have to get it right by the time they are 4 or they'll be screwed up forever and will hate me, right?

I need to stop reading "How To Screw Up Your Kid: 4 Easy Steps."

That book doesn't exist, but maybe I can make my millions writing it...

My Daughters, The Uneven Skating Rink

One of the problems that couples may encounter after they have children, (aside from lack of sleep, decreased liquid assets, increased stress, depression, nausea, upset stomach, flu-like symptoms, etc.) is the lack of time spent together.  You find yourself spending all of your free time with the children, or, if you're taking breaks from them, doing so one at a time.  This may be good for the family dynamic and cohesion and all that crap, but it wreaks havoc on your marital relationship.  Sara and I were having this issue.  Several times a month, we would look over at each other, gaze loving into one another's eyes, exclaim how glad we were to see the other and how it has been so long since we spent time, just the two of us.  We then promptly fell asleep, only to be woken, if not by the babies, then by our respective alarm clocks at separate times to get to our respective jobs.

But this is not a tale of those issues.  It is a tale of the solution and the (my) problem arising from that solution.

Several months ago, we were wandering around the mall and I offered to buy my lovely wife a chocolate and peanut butter coated pretzel from the candy store.  While there, Sara happened to notice a flyer for a roller derby league that was forming in our area.

She took a tab, contacted the woman in charge and in mid-February, we found ourselves at an exhibition bout watching women on roller skates beat each other up in a very NASCAR-esque fashion (not domestically, but geometrically.)  It was amazing!  We rented some skates and rolled around with the people for a while after the bout ended and we were hooked.

Sara got more information about joining the league and bought a nice set of starter skates and pads.

She's badass!

Not to be outdone, Harper had a go as well!

Since receiving her skates, we have been skating every weekend, at least once.  This past weekend, we managed to convince some friends to come with us.  So we went with them on Friday.  Then the derby group went on Saturday, so we went with them too.  Then Sara had practice on Sunday, so she went to that as well.

Sara has even gotten a new hair style that I could only describe as derby-fied.

The lighting doesn't do justice to the color.

On top of the fact that skating is amazingly fun and good for us, the group of people involved are incredible.

I am, historically, a negative, cynical person.  I have a tendency to surround myself with people who are like-minded, people who enjoy dark humor and may feel a certain level of superiority over the simpletons who we suffer to inhabit our space.  In short, we are good people, but necessarily the nicest.

This group is completely different.  They are happy, positive, open, caring, supportive, joyful and free.  Normally, these are all qualities that I find exceedingly annoying and borderline cultish, but every person in this group pulls it off with panache and grace.  They see the good side of all situations and I am finding myself inspired.

I don't want it to seem like they are crazy people, willingly blind to the ills of the world.  They are realists in the truest sense of the word.  They have difficulties and problems like everyone else, but they don't seem to dwell on them.  They have an attitude about life that puts me in mind of Walter Sobchak. Y'know, when he's not being angry, stubborn, insane or ... Walter.

F@ck it, dude.  Let's go skating!

These people have been welcoming to both of us, in spite of the fact that Sara is the one in derby and I'm just a spectator.  Although, I have expressed my interest in being an announcer at the bouts since I can't skate on the team.  It has felt like we have been welcomed into a new family with open arms and hearts.
 

Me with two new friends who don't know me well enough to hate me.  Yet.

Because of who I am, I can't simply let a good thing be a good thing.  I have been overthinking everything around our new obsession.  Primarily that derby was supposed to be Sara's thing and I am terrified that I am going to elbow my way in and make it mine.  I want it to be hers.  Everyone is very excited for her and I am too.  I don't want to steal it from her.

This line of thought has been forcing my mind to go places that I don't wish it to go.  It came to a bit of a head yesterday when Harper managed to get into some Vaseline when I was taking care of Brynn.  The results, predictably, were as follows:

When she saw how upset I was, she sat in the corner, watching me clean the TV stand, trying to not cry.  When I saw this, I realized that I am doing something terribly wrong as a parent.  She's 2.  She's going to get into things, she's going to make messes, she's going to destroy things.  My anger at this particular incident was totally misdirected.  Luckily, I was able to catch it and give her hugs and reassure her that I wasn't angry with her.

I've been working through some things in my head and I'm almost back to where I need to be.  I know I scare Sara a bit when I do this.  Perhaps if I did it out loud, while laying on a couch, it wouldn't seem as crazy, but this is how I currently am able to work through things.  Writing helps.  While this blog has been sporadic as of late (sorry to Heather, Brittany, my mom and the few others who anxiously await my updates tolerate my rants to see cute pictures of my kids), just because I'm not posting doesn't mean I'm not writing, or thinking about what I want to write.


I am supposed to be working out after school with some of my coworkers, but I don't think I'll be good company today.

I have my blades in the car.  Maybe I'll skate the empty halls of the school and think until it's time to pick the girls up from daycare.

Skating seems to clear my mind.

They don't make potatoes like THESE at daycare!

My Daughters, With Both Parents

In May of 2011, I woke up in the middle of the night with a pain in my chest so strong that I thought I was having a heart attack.  Sara's dad had had a heart attack a few years ago so I didn't want to alarm her by telling her what I thought.  With both girls sleeping, someone had to stay home, so I drove myself to the emergency room at 4am.


When you go into the emergency room claiming to have chest pains, they let you in pretty quickly.  They did a complete work-up and determined that no, I was not having a heart attack.  It was incredible heartburn, overactive digestion and excessive gas build up causing pressure on my diaphragm and chest.


I followed up with a gastroenterologist at the beginning of June and he did a sonogram of my gallbladder and an upper GI scope.  The scope came back with some inflammation but nothing to be worried about.  The sonogram showed that I had gallstones and he recommended that I get my gallbladder removed.


As with everything else important in my life, I put it off.  I had two more attacks over the course of the summer, but since I knew what was wrong, I was able to soldier through and be done.  I watched what I ate.  In early January, I had another attack that wasn't as painful, but lasted for almost 9 hours, at which point I again drove myself to the hospital.  They gave me pain medicine and did another sonogram of my gallbladder finding excessive stones.


On January 20th, I returned to hospital, as an outpatient this time, to have my gallbladder removed.


In the days leading up to the surgery, lots of people told me how they had had theirs out and that it was a common procedure.  They asked if I was nervous, and to be completely honest, I wasn't.


On the day of my surgery, as I lay on the bed in the waiting room, my cold, unshaved butt free to the elements, an odd sense of calm overcame me.


I would like to write something poetic here but the words are escaping me.  Suffice to say, I had accepted that I would not be waking up from the surgery.


It was an odd feeling, both tightening and free at the same time.  I had no fear for myself.  I didn't worry about what it would feel like, or where, if anywhere, I was going to go.  I don't often think about the afterlife and I didn't find myself doing it then.  I didn't worry about pain because I knew I was going to be sedated.


I worried about Sara.  I worried not about how she would pay the bills, but about how she would heal.  I knew that she would because she is the strongest person I know.  She would be devastated, but she would be able to move on.


I worried about the girls.  They are both young enough that they wouldn't be scarred for life with memories of me.  Harper would soon lose them all and they would have pictures.  Sara would be an excellent mother with or without my help.  The girls would grow up strong and smart and happy.


I was sad that I wouldn't see them again, but not depressed.


Needless to say, I was surprised to find myself in the recovery room.  The drugs kept me from feeling anything about it for a while.  After the drugs wore off, the pain kept me from thinking about it.  Now that the drugs have run out and the pain is mostly gone, I find myself more and more considering the fact that I had accepted that I was going to die.


I know this is an odd way to jump back into the blog after a month, but there it is.

My Daughters, With New Years Resolutions!

I often worry about how I will teach the girls that it is better to give than to receive.  We live in an increasingly materialistic society where everyone seems to only do things for personal gain.  I know that if I want my children to learn generosity, I must lead by example.  In that vein, I have decided that instead of giving myself New Years Resolutions, I would be selfless and give them to other people!  Generosity is important!

So, without further ado, New Years Resolutions for other people!

In 2012, Harper resolves to do the following things:
Enunciate her needs without foot stamping
Minimize the number of times she pees through her pajamas in one night
Learn that her sister needs slightly more support when being picked up by the arms
Learn coordinate geometry
Dance more
Discover that not everything needs chocolate chips
Learn that the words "pants" is not pronounced "meese"
Not teach her sister to be as destructive as she is
Win full scholarship to college in precocious toddler contest
Remain out of the dating scene (That blond kid at day care better back the hell off!  Share his animal crackers, I don't think so!)

In 2012, Brynn resolves to do the following things:
Sleep through the night
Not cry hysterically when minor things go wrong
Sleep through the night
Daintily pick up soft foods and roughly pick up solid foods, instead of the reverse
Minimize the number of times that she falls down the stairs or off the bed
Sleep through the night
Grow more teeth
Win full scholarship to college in adorable baby contest
Remain out of the dating scene (A recurring theme)

In 2012, Sara resolves to do the following things:
Remain best wife ever
Continue not finding reasons to leave me
Continue being the responsible adult in the household
Remain best mother ever
Dump all of her supermodel boyfriends for her dumpy, lazy husband
Teach more dances to Harper
Teach some dances to Brynn when she can walk
Promote this blog to everyone

In 2012, my parents resolve to do the following things:
Visit more
Attach the adorable pictures of my children to all outgoing e-mails and text messages
Pledge to babysit for weeks on end so Sara and I can go globetrotting

In 2012, my students resolve to do the following things:
Homework

In 2012, my great-uncle whom I have never met or heard of resolves to do the following things:
Die
Leave me a vast fortune and estates in England, Ireland, Scotland and the Maldives

In 2012, Ireland resolves to do the following things:
Discover how amazing Sara and I are
Give us a free vacation to visit


Man!  Coming up with resolutions for other people is so much easier than doing it for myself!  I don't know why I didn't think of this sooner!

My Daughters, The Musically Deprived

I was in choir for most of my academic career.  I started singing in 3rd grade.  In 6th grade, I played Fagan in my schools production of Oliver.  I had solos in chorus in 7th and 8th grade.  When I got to high school, I joined Honors Choir and was in the school musicals as understudy for the lead for 2 years.  All of this is a long way to state that I have spent much of my life singing.

I have had many songs in many languages spill forth from my gaping maw.  This not only includes songs that were written by various famous song-writers, but also show tunes, TV-theme songs, as well as songs that I've made up on the spot.

It is because of these facts that I find it terribly confusing that when I rock Harper to sleep at night, I am only able to conjure three songs into my mind that contain enough lyrics to be able to sing.

These songs are, in no particular order:
You Are My Sunshine
Somewhere Over The Rainbow
What A Wonderful World

Why these three?  I HAVE NO IDEA!!  I want to sing songs by Guster, Duran Duran, Tears for Fears, Frank Sinatra, Alison Krause, Johnny Cash, and many, many more!

Where are all the songs that I know?  Why do they run screaming from my head the minute that I turn the light off, turn on the twilight turtle and humidifier and sit in the rocker?  My various choir directors would be so ashamed of me, and deservedly so!

I want to sing to my girls.  They want me to sing to them.  I need to remember more songs.

I need to remember songs that are not theme songs to Thomas the Tank Engine or Caillou...

Please leave comments with good sleepy time songs that I could sing as well as a complete list of lyrics.

Here's a nice picture.

My Daughters, Who Have Everything

I should have written this post weeks ago, but as stated before, I don't always complete the tasks I set for myself.  Perhaps that's why I writing this while sitting with a plate of cookies instead of working out.

In any event, the holiday season is upon us.  This means, of course, that everyone on the planet is struggling to empty their pockets to provide wonderful gifts for my children.

I heard an amazing report on NPR about a grandfather who decided that his grandchildren had enough toys and games and what he really should get them should be something else.  He decided on livestock.  Through Heifer International, he donated livestock in the names of his grandchildren to needy people in third-world countries.  I think this is a wonderful idea.

Another story was about how rather than objects, a man gave his grandchildren experiences.  He took them on a helicopter ride, booked a hotel that faced fireworks on the 4th of July and took them to all of the places in the local city that they had never seen.  His thought was that after he was dead and gone, the toys and games would be too, but the experiences could never be removed.

My students have been asking me what I'm getting for my kids and when I tell them "nothing" they sneer at me and call me a bad parent.  On truth, Sara and I did get Harper a gift, but it's nothing huge.  My thought is that at 2-years and 10-months, the girls don't have any concept of the season or what it means to get gifts.  Also, we buy them things often enough that this isn't really any different.

When family asks what they should get the girls, I've been trying to keep in mind the phrase "They need to go to college some day."

They have quite a large number of toys and clothes.

What would be really useful ...

What the girls would REALLY love...


Would be a European tour package for their parents.

My Daughters, The Patients

I have mixed feelings about the doctors office.

On one hand, I appreciate that there is a medical expert with whom I can consult when the medical issues of my children are beyond "put a band-aid on it."

On the other hand, my deep-seeded cynicism leads me to question any diagnosis as mumbo-jumbo and voodoo.

Doctor: "That abrasion is frequently indicative of a sub-dermal hemotoma.  You'll need to remain prostrate until the ventricles have retracted."
Me: "...none of those are real words.""

It upsets my wife that I don't get sick.  Does that seem like she wishes me ill?  Perhaps I should rephrase.

My immune system is composed entirely of grizzly bears who fight off infection with chainsaws and flamethrowers.  As a result, I don't often get sick.  When I do, I fall squarely in the camp of "Sleep on it and it will be better" and since I've been concussion-free since '93, this is a good tactic.  Sadly, I've been trying my best to project my medical philosophy onto my children.  For the most part it works fine.  I do, however, find myself at the doctors office more often than I would like.

The girls have both had runny noses for a few days.  My own thoughts were "The weather is changing, they have colds."  Sara made an appointment for them last night.

I HATE taking the girls to the doctor.  I will take one, but taking both sets my stress level to DEFCON 2.  The last time we were there was for Harper's 2-year check up where the doctor told us not to let her watch too much TV.  I want to take this opportunity to point out that, in the waiting room of this office, there are four televisions and no toys.

Since children in general are pestilential filth carriers, and a doctors office is tantamount to a plague ship, I can understand not wanting sick children to spread their diseases all over fun objects, sharing not only the fun, but also the illness.  This is, however, the first doctors office that I have seen that has NOTHING for children to do but sit and watch TV.

Just inside the door, however, there is a giant bowl of lollypops, just waiting for over-eager 2 year-olds to scream about how badly they want them.  We get called out of the waiting room where I am asked, while holding a baby carrier, a baby snack, a toddler snack, a bottle, a juice cup, a baby and a roaming toddler, to put them on the scale one at a time and please keep them from running into other patient rooms.  The juice cup really has to be watched.  That jerk wanders!

We finally get into the room and Harper wants to drag the chair over to the sink and spray water all over the floor.  Brynn wants to be put down, but knowing what MY kids put on the floor, I don't want her crawling there.  I put her on the table and she immediately tries to climb off, or at least dangerously close to the sloped edges.  By this point, Harper has moved the chair again and has managed to twist the top off of the lighted devices for looking in her ears and eyes.  She wants to examine the unwilling throat of her sister by trying to hold her down and shoving the device into her face.  At some point between breakfast and lunch the next day, the doctor finally arrives and the following conversation ensues:

Doctor: "Hello.  What brings you in today?"
Me: "I don't know.  My wife made the appointment."
Doctor: "Alright.  What did she make the appointment for?"
Me: "I don't know.  We didn't get that far in the conversation."
Doctor: "What symptoms are they experiencing?"
Me: "I think they have colds.  My wife thinks they have something that can only be contracted from monkeys in southeast Asia."
Doctor: "Have the kids been to southeast Asia?"
Me: "We were there for lunch yesterday, but they weren't bitten by any indigenous wildlife."
Doctor: "You're very funny.  What do you say we get out of here and go somewhere to blow off some steam?"
Me: "That sounds great.  The kids can walk home."


That's only if the doctor is one of the hot lady docs at the practice.  If it's one of the men, it goes more like this:

Doctor: "Hello.  What brings you in today?"
Me: "I don't know.  My wife made the appointment."
Doctor: "Alright.  What did she make the appointment for?"
Me: "I don't know.  We didn't get that far in the conversation."
Doctor: "You are a terrible father.  I will be calling child protective services as soon as you leave."


For some reason, I find the male doctors to be slightly condescending.

"Why are we here so often, dad?"

"Either to flirt with the hot lady doctors, or to be reminded what an awful parent I am."

I am proud man, but I'm not afraid to admit when I'm wrong.  This particular trip, Sara was very much in the right.  For the stress that I endured on last nights visit, we were given a diagnosis of three ear infections and pink eye.

Needless to say, I was not as unhappy to go to work today as I normally am.

Alright, maybe my feelings about the doctors office aren't so much mixed as much as skewed drastically to one side.