My Daughters, On Vacation

Yesterday, we returned home from several days at the beach.  This was Harper's second trip and Brynn's first.  Rather than give a blow-by-blow of the activities, which would be amazingly boring for anyone who doesn't have my last name, and probably pretty boring for them, I will simply write a few of the lessons that I learned along the way and, of course, post some adorable pictures.

The first lesson is that no place is child-proofed as much you would like.  A nice home filled with memories of your own childhood are also filled with tiny shells and spice canisters at knee-level, all of which your own children will find and destroy with reckless abandon and complete disregard for your own upbringing.

Another important thing to know is that you can't possibly clean enough sand off of your kids to make them happy.  They will manage to stuff granules into crevices that you didn't even know existed.  If you put said child in the washing machine for 3 weeks, they will still have sand in their hair.

The most important lesson, however, of this past week is the fact that the job of the person taking pictures is not to chronicle the vacation, but to provide the rosy picture of what the vacation is supposed to be, whether or not it happened.  This is not to say that one should use the camera to lie, but rather to avoid the unpleasant realities that exist when traveling with children.

The following is a list of things that were not recorded on the digital record:

Children up at 3am for no reason.
Children screaming for their mother to carry them at all times.
Children falling and biting their lips, bleeding.
Harper standing on the beach, refusing to move until Sara picks her up.
Brynn climbing off the porch, running down the street, laughing as we chase her.

None of these things are important.  What's important is the record of happy times that we all had at the beach.  In 20 years, none of us will remember that I was ready to come home within 10 minutes of being there.

What we will remember is the collection of smiling pictures that I took, the sunrise that I watched with Harper when she got up at 5am, for no reason and bobbing in the ocean, holding my laughing daughter.

My Daughter, Did Not Check Herself...

... and, therefore, wrecked herself.

Perhaps you will recall some of my previous posts about how my kids are a danger to themselves.

Yesterday, Brynn decided that the blood pressure of her parents wasn't high enough.  As Sara was walking to the baby room at day care, she heard a crying that, without doubt, emanated from our younger offspring.

The child had foolishly walked over a pillow and fallen wrong, giving herself a green stick fracture in her left distal radius.  The day care was, rightly, horrified.

Sara took her to the hospital to get an XRay, which I hear is not fun to try to take from a 1-year-old.  They hooked her up with a brace and an ace bandage that will look great at derby practice.

Other than trying to pull off the bandage, she's in a great mood and slept well last night.  We have an appointment on Tuesday to cast the tiny arm up and I'm going to put up a Kickstarter for a college fund with contribution rewards that will be things for her to hit with the cast.  For a $200 contribution, Brynn will come to your house and awkwardly try to pet your animals.  For a $1000 contribution, she will follow you down the street crying while you tell people how tough you are for beating up a toddler.  For a $10,000 contribution, you can carry her around and tell hot chicks at the bar how you saved her from a car wreck.

The possibilities are endless.

Because I am an awful person and a pretty bad father, I find it vindicating that the first major injury is not a result of my roughhousing with the girls, as many people stated it would be, but rather from the excessive use of pillows.

Take that, Bed, Bath & Beyond!

My Daughters, Extraterrestrial Visitors

I am hiding from my children.

I went to the gym this morning, then  went home, hot a shower, picked up the laptop and came over to Barnes and Noble because that have free wifi and are away from my children.

I love my girls.  I really do.

But sometimes you just have to get away.  Any parent who says otherwise is a liar, or mentally unbalanced to the point where they shouldn't be a parent.

Anyone who tries to guilt a parent into feeling bad about wanting to spend time away from their children is a bad influence, needs a week in a locked room with a hungry howler monkey and should then spend recess writing "I will not tell people what to do with their howler monkeys" 500 times on the blackboard.

Imagine for a moment that Obama breaks into the latest episode of "Toddlers and Tiaras" with the important announcement that we have made contact with an extraterrestrial species.  This species does, in fact, come in peace and wishes to learn everything they can about our society.  As part of the treaty, and in exchange for the secret of, I don't know, delicious tasting healthy food, about a third of the households in the country will, at any given time, be host to a visitor who will observe and interact with human beings.  Hosting one or more of these beings in entirely voluntary but it is the responsibility of the host family to teach this creature what it means to be human.

Now imagine that these creatures possess two very important qualities.  The first in physiological.  Instead of arms and hands, the visitors extremities are composed entirely of a mildly adhesive, semi-gelatinous substance.

Their limbs contain no bones or muscles of any kind.  When the creatures spin around, their arms and legs go flying in all directions, as dictated by momentum, involuntarily attaching to whatever objects they happen to encounter, tearing said objects from their rightful place and flinging them into the least convenient spaces available.

The second quality that the visitors posses in language.  We know from extensive study that they will, after years of study, be able to communicate using human language.  When they arrive at the host family home, they speak no English and communicate only in their native tongue, a high-pitched screaming that, when spoken properly, shatters glass and leaves the human ear drum a shredded wreck of anatomy.  The visitors are physically unable to communicate in any other way for the first several years, regardless of how extreme or mundane the situation may be.

In case you were a little slow to pick up the allegory, this is what it is like to parent a toddler.  No parent should ever be made to feel guilty for wanting some time away.  It's nothing personal, toddlers.  It's just that you are Ace Ventura and sometimes, parents just need some double-paned soundproof glass!

Author's Note: This article is crossposted to Life of Dad

My Daughters, The Swingers

We have been trying for weeks to teach Harper how to swing on a swing.  It turns out that trying to explain front/back coordination and timing are not as easy as I think it should be.

I suddenly realize how lucky it is that we don't have to try to teach children how to breathe, or swallow, or blink.

Thank goodness for the autonomic system!

At this point, Brynn couldn't care less! She's very happy sitting in the swing and being pushed for hours.

Literally...

Harper, on the other hand, can be a bit impatient, an unheard of quality in my family.  She, too, wants to be pushed on the swing, but doesn't want to wait her turn.  She hasn't yet mastered the art of swinging, so she managed yesterday to satisfy her needs in other ways.

My daughter is thinking outside the box! I win at parenting!

My Daughter, Disregarding My Feelings

WARNING: The following post contains more information than you want.

Last night, after derby practice, Sara and I brought the cranky, tired bundles of cute who live in our house home and attempted to put them to sleep.  After Brynn was down, Sara lay on the couch with Harper while I washed off the glorious stench of exertion and public humiliation that is the act of wearing sleeveless shirts and flailing about on skates in front of an audience.

Upon completion of my shower, I emerged clean, pleasant smelling and in my underwear.  I sat down on the couch next to my lovely wife and eldest daughter and the following conversation occurred:

Harper: Daddy? Undermeese? (Still haven't figured out how to say "pants")
Me: Yes, baby.  I took a shower and now I'm ready for bed.
H: You have no shirt on?
Me: No, baby.  I'm not wearing a shirt.
H: You put shirt on now?
Me: No, I'm going to bed soon so I'm not putting a shirt on.
H: You put shirt on now.  (no longer a question)
Me: Alright. I'll get a shirt in a bit.
H: Go! Get shirt!


Everyone's a critic!  I can't say she was wrong...

My Daughters, With No Body Issues (Yet)

I have many issues, not the least of which is a terrible body image, stemming from the terrible image made by my body.

Part of it is the fact that I like salads, provided they can easily mistaken for bacon cheeseburgers or nacho platters.  When given the choice of chicken or fish, I almost always choose cheesecake.

Another part of it is the fact that Robin Williams and I are descended from the same gorilla.  For both of us, when we take our shirts off, no one can tell.

I believe that people can be beautiful regardless of how big or small they all.  A fit woman can be a horrible person and that will make her ugly, while an obese woman can carry herself well, be confident and happy, and be the most beautiful person in the world.  Part of this is knowing what you should and should not wear for your body type.

As a direct result of the information I have relayed here, I don't take my shirt off.  Ever.  I am usually tempted to shower with it on!

Nine months out of the year, this works out well for me.  I had to give up my membership to the Polar Bear Club but I didn't mind that too much.

During the summer, however, I live, skirting the razor edge of my psyche between my desire to cool myself in the many bodies of water that spring up like wild mushrooms, and my desire not to spend the night in prison for inflicting my pasty, fur covered torso on legions of innocent children.

Protip: Do not do a Google image search for "pale hairy man" while at work.

This is something I REALLY need to get over so that I can go swimming with my girls.  I want to teach them to swim and to love the water.  So far, they are doing well but Sara can only hold both of them in the pool for so long.

Perhaps, I will continue to invest in kiddie pools...

Although, maybe not!  Maybe I can just fill up the cooler with water...

In any event, it got me thinking about how much we miss out on with our children, and how much they miss, as a result of the crazy issues (mental, physical, dietary, religious, etc.) of the parents.

Oh well.  Back to my regularly scheduled cringing at the messes made by my own kids.

Sweet Jesus!  That had better be chocolate!

My Daughters, Getting Their Chicken Elsewhere

I firmly feel that everyone has the right to believe whatever they want.

If you believe that the world was created in 7 days and that the omnipotent creator of the universe allowed his only son to be sacrificed to redeem the sins of humanity, good for you.

If you believe that a pantheon of gods and goddesses directly oversee many aspects of life on earth, such as seasons, tides, weather, the harvest and death, more power to you!

Dear Gods, were They hot!

If you believe that the universe was sneezed out of the nostril of a giant space goat, I suppose that's just as valid as any other theory.  I'll come back to this.

Chick-fil-A is a restaurant where Sara and I take the kids when we don't want to cook, don't have any left-overs and don't feel like cleaning up.  As far as fast food goes, it's the only place we go and there are several reasons for this, beyond the fact that McDonald's is disgusting.

The stores themselves are very family friendly, offering healthier choices in kids meals, such as apple sauce and white milk.  Most of them have play places to keep children amused and, during the summers, several of the stores have people making balloon animals and doing face painting for children and very short adults.

This company has done many good things that are in line with conservative Christian dogma.  While they are against abortions, they waged a vigorous campaign in favor of supporting adoption.

The company itself run the WinShape Foundation, which runs 11 homes spread throughout the Southeast United States that serve as foster homes for children who are "victims of circumstance and need a secure family environment."

If one were to boil down the teachings of Jesus to a simple idea, it would be to love and support everyone, especially those less fortunate.  This aspect of the WinShape Foundation appears to be a wonderful example of people inspired by the teachings of Christ to do good in the world.  Chick-fil-A should be applauded for this.


Today, I read an article that states that the president of Chick-fil-A, Dan Cathy, told a Baptist web site that his company supports families as long as they are "the biblical definition of the family unit."  This, in spite of the fact that the only "family" picture I could find on their site seems to be a single mother with her son.

Ignoring the idea that, in spite of what Mitt Romney says, companies are not people and cannot support anything, (only the people who run the companies can support things) I find this statement upsetting.

The rest of the WinShape Foundation time is spent on "enrichment retreats to refuel healthy marriages as well as counselling to help strengthen troubled marriages" and offering camps and courses to local young people to teach them the ways of Christ.

I won't go into the fact that Jesus never mentions homosexuality at all in the New Testament, or any of the contradicting rules that lie therein (oops).  If Dan Cathy believes that homosexuals should not be allowed to marry, that allowing such would be shaking our fist at God and "inviting His judgement," then he is more than welcome to hold those beliefs.


If he wishes his company to stand for those values, then he may certainly take it in that direction.

I, however, will not be coming along for the ride.  Neither will my children.

As a parent, I feel a major part of my job is to teach my children about the world, how to survive in it, and how to help others survive.  I know that there is hatred and bigotry in the world.  I know that intolerance exists and will always rear it's ugly head.

Many parents wish to shelter their children from the unpleasantness in the world.  They don't want them to know suffering, or teasing, or hate, or fear.  I think this is foolish and short-sighted.  Rather than shelter my daughters from the awful things in the world, I hope to teach them that such things do exists, and how to cope.

No matter how a person lives their life, they will disliked, ridiculed, teased, taunted and abused.  It is up to us to decide how we deal with adversity.  Will we cower in the corner, shouting anger at the world that mistreated us, or will we stand up for ourselves and live the lives we want to live?

Intolerance makes me sad!

I want my children to know that there are people who are made uncomfortable by, dislike, or even outright hate people who are different than they are.  This is simply a fact of life and everyone is entitled to their own opinions and prejudices.

Because of this, I will also be teaching my children that we do not have to support those who make decisions based on fear and anger.  If Chick-fil-A wishes to oppose gay marriage as a corporate stand, they are allowed to do so.

I will not, however, use my money to support a company that makes decisions based on hatred, bigotry and intolerance.  There are simply too many other places to spend my money.

While I strongly disagree with their stance, I will not scold them for having it.  I will simply make the statement that they have lost me and my family as customers.

Continuing to support their business would be sending the wrong message to my children, whom I wish to grow up as tolerant and loving individuals.