Where one St. Louis stay-at-home dad seeks to answer the important questions in life: Is there any way to look cool wearing a Baby Bjorn? Is that a dead rodent my daughter is holding to her ear? Why does the baby’s head smell like stinky feet?
After teaching High School English and coaching football for nine years, I took the opportunity to stay home and raise my THREE daughters, Clara, Kate, and Cecilia. Clara was born in August of 2004 and Kate was born in February of 2006. Cecilia was born in October of 2008.
My three year old daughter has discovered her singing voice and has been walking around the house singing pretty much non-stop for almost a month now. At first it was cute, but the truth is she has a terrible singing voice. I'm not going to sugar coat it - it's bad. Every time she starts to sing like she's Ariel from The Little Mermaid, I silently curse whoever introduced her to that movie. My husband is a stay-at-home dad and encourages her singing, saying things like, "she is exploring her voice" or "any interest in an art should be encouraged" or other touchy-feely nonsense. But there's a fine line between encouraging your child to something they're not good at and being that mother on American Idol who tells her daughter that the judges were wrong after the worst audition in history. I blame the mother for not telling the daughter that she wasn't a very good singer before embarrassing herself on national television. What do you think? Am I OK in asking my daughter not to sing?
OK, I know this is you, Megan. I agree that Clara's singing is for the most part excruciating and I understand that it drives you up the wall. Like you, I also want to throw The Little Mermaid into the river. But some of her other songs aren't that bad. What about the little speckled frogs song she learned from school? Her "take me out to the ballgame" isn't bad - she just kills it by singing it over and over. But if we start to tell her that she isn't very good at something she might have some self-esteem issues down the road, and that's just not something I want to risk. Besides, everyone starts out bad at something before they get better, right? If the singing gets so bad that you can't take it anymore, you could always try to distract her into coloring or playing with a puzzle. How about you carry around some earplugs in your pocket? If you think, however, that her singing is worse than this...
...then maybe you should tell her she's not a very good singer.
Clara and Kate are now well aware that there's a baby brewing in Megan's belly. Last week we asked Clara what we should name the baby. She took a break from coloring for a second, looked up in thought, and said, "Cosmo." Then went back to coloring.
OK. Cosmo.
It could be worse. Mia Williams chose to call her little brother-to-be "doorknob." Dmitri and Cindy went with "Jack" instead. So, all things considered, Cosmo is just fine.
Last week I asked Clara if she wanted a little brother or a little sister. She said, "I want a little brother. I already have a little sister." Good point.
Kate is obsessed with Mommy's belly. She tries to look in Megan's belly button to see Cosmo. Some Kate quotes: "Cosmo's in your belly, Mommy." "Can I kiss him?" "He has toys in there." "I want to give him a hug."
When Megan is getting dressed in the morning, Kate comes up and pats Megan's belly like she is playing the belly drum. That's why Cosmo is flashing the "rock on" sign up there in the ultrasound. I have a feeling Kate is going to like being a big sister.
Disclosure: That's not really Cosmo up there. Cosmo's real gesture wasn't appropriate for a family blog.
As a follow up to our discussion on Phantom Cry Syndrome, I present another unfortunate psychological byproduct of taking care of children: Phantom Poop Syndrome.
I really don't need to go into a lot of detail here. If you've spent enough time with babies the difference between a foul smelling room and a pleasant smelling room will slowly fade. Perhaps our sense of smell has retreated to its happy place, but soon enough we will have to literally stick our nose in horrible places to determine if the baby needs to be changed, something the house guests have known for the last five horrible minutes.
As an added joke on us, for some reason we start to smell poop when it's not there. We turn to our significant other, with whom we used to have intelligent conversations, and ask, "do you smell poop?" Even more cruel, we smell poop when the kids aren't even around. It's not a strong smell - if it were that meant that either we somehow got poop on our hands or clothes, or just drove past a mulch pile. It's very weak and very subtle, but just strong enough for us to dread having to change another dirty diaper.
Ah, the joys of parenting!
On a side note, when I started this blog I promised myself that I wouldn't write about poop. But children have a way of wearing down any resolve I have, and with a third on the way I'm liable to write about anything, so watch out.
New feature: on the left up there you'll see a button under "subscribe." That's for RSS readers like bloglines. For those unfamiliar with RSS (Really Simple syndication) feeds, it's a way to have your favorite blogs and sites updated automatically on your computer whenever a new post is published. Email me if you need help with it.
Spend enough time taking care of children and it becomes an inescapable part of your psyche. It makes it way into your dreams in sometimes overt, sometimes subtle ways. Last month I dreamed that Clara was trying to get Kate to swim in a pond where a shark was swimming. I'm no psychoanalyst but I think such dreams show I have some pretty deep fears about the safety of my children. Even when your children are at school or you have a babysitter you are not free from what I have found is the most common form of parental paranoia: Phantom Cry Syndrome. Randomly, out of nowhere, you will hear your child's cry.
PCS can happen anywhere at any time. This afternoon it happened to me in my car, even though I knew I was alone. I heard my child's cry - it was barely there, as if on the very edge of my hearing - and I jerked my head towards the sound. The sound had passed and I was left to laugh at my own foolishness. The children were with the babysitter, you nimrod. As I continued driving I found the source of the sound: A driver had his window down and I could just hear his radio. But since I had no context for that slight sound the first time I heard it, my parental instincts kicked in and turned it into a child's cry.
I've experienced PCS in the gym, where the slight squeal of a nautilus machine moving on the other side of the room can sound like a cry. I've turned my head at the sound of car brakes, a high pitched laugh from afar, or just about any sound that is just loud enough and just the right timbre or pitch to approximate a cry. My mind will fill in the information that the cry is my own child's. It's not a rational response, but for parents who experience PCS it shows just how heavy the responsibility of protecting the little ones in our care weighs on us.
I just made PCS up. But the next time it happens to you, you'll know what to call it.
Yep, this November the Bittle household will grow by one more. We will be entering into that loud and chaotic land where two semi-responsible adults try to corral three little ones, each going in different directions.
Three kids. One dad.
Shrek: How did this happen? Puss: Allow me to explain. You see, when a man has a certain feelings for a woman, powerful urge sweeps over him. Shrek: I know how it happened! I just can't believe it. Donkey: How does it happen?
Probably a more appropriate quote:
Brody: You're going to need a bigger boat.
Are we crazy? Certifiable. But while there are readers out there I'm sure who are glad they are not me at this moment, I'm not too worried about what's coming because I'm sure it will be both difficult and wonderful, both in ways I can't predict. Clara and Kate will be in school, and we'll bring in some help for me when I need a break. Besides, Clara will be four years old, plenty old enough to babysit.
I will say that women who have the luxury of a stay-at-home husband have it made. Women love babies, and if they can keep popping them out and then go to work, happily whistling "whistle while you work," then why not? To be fair, she's the one that has to go through all the bodily changes.
Since Megan and Michelle have had babies number one and two around the same time, Michelle sent Megan a pregnancy test last December to announce that Michelle was pregnant, warning Megan that she better check. About two months later, Michelle got Megan's reply in the mail, a positive pregnancy test. Shows you how competitive Megan is. Now, when the Bittles and the Etters go to dinner, we need a table for ten.
Michelle, the next time you get the urge to have another baby, buy a Playstation 3 instead. We could use one of those.
I'm a sports nut who raises daughters, so naturally I get asked if we are going to have another kid to, you know, try for a boy. People don't mean it to be sexist or to imply that girls can't play sports. I'm sure they figure I want to teach someone how to play football or how to properly scratch himself and then spit really far when he is up to bat in baseball. And unfortunately, there aren't as many female sports role models as there are male, for media or social or gender reasons that I'm not going to try to delve into here. Boys have thousands of male athletes to idolize; girls have a much smaller pool to pick from - and if you remove (as I would like Clara and Kate to) those female athletes who think they also need to pose in their skivvies to get attention, the list gets smaller. Where have you gone, Mia Hamm? Please don't get me wrong - the country is filled with girls who are quietly and anonymously accomplishing great things, and they are heroes themselves. But a new kind of sports hero emerged this weekend, and she is exactly the kind of female athlete I want my girls to look up to.
In the Great Northwest Atlantic Conference softball game between Western Oregon and Central Washington, two seniors who had played against each other for four years came together in what will be considered one of the greatest moments of sports(wo)manship. Western Oregon outfielder Sara Tucholsky had never hit a home run before, and was mired in a pretty bad slump. Central Washington first base(wo)man Mallory Holtman holds her school record for home runs, as well as just about every other offensive record. In the top of the second inning, with two runners on, Sara hit her first home run, putting Western Oregon ahead 3-0. Theoretically.
In her excitement over watching her ball clear the fence, Sara missed first base and had to come back to touch it. If this sounds like something only college softball players would do, check out Mark McGwire's 62nd home run. Somewhere in her stopping and coming back to touch first base, she crumbled to the ground, apparently injuring her knee. Coaches and trainers came to her aid but feared that helping her would erase her only home run. Umpires warned (with sympathy, I hope) that if any of Sara's coaches or teammates touched her, she would be out. They allowed that a pinch runner could come in, but the home run would be reduced to a 2 run single.
I know what you're probably thinking, and I thought the same thing when I saw this on Sportscenter last night: there's nothing more important than Sara's health - who cares about the damn home run! I'm sure that's what the coaches were thinking when their conference with the umpires was interrupted by Mallory Holtman, the other team's first baseman: "Excuse me, would it be OK if we carried her around and she touched each bag?"
I can only imagine the faces of the coaches, trainers, and umpires as they turned to look at Mallory. Really? Central Washington was trying to get into the playoffs, and a loss to Western Oregon would jeopardize that. The umpires agreed that she could be assisted by members of the other team, but did Mallory really want to help the other team score? Mallory Holtman said later, "She hit the ball over her fence. She's a senior; it's her last year. … I don't know, it's just one of those things I guess that maybe because compared to everyone on the field at the time, I had been playing longer and knew we could touch her, it was my idea first. But I think anyone who knew that we could touch her would have offered to do it, just because it's the right thing to do. She was obviously in agony."
So Mallory and Central Washington shortstop Liz Wallace lifted Sara and slowly moved her around the bases, stopping to allow her to touch each bag and complete her only home run. The crowds and ovations greeting the girls as they reached home were in part for Sara, in part for Mallory and Liz, but mostly for the state of athletics as a whole, where greatness can be achieved in a simple act of kindness, where a young woman can be remembered not just for the records she broke for her school but for the impact she made on young girls just by offering a hand when she was the only one who could.
If I lived in Washington, I would drive my girls over to Central Washington so they could meet her. I honestly would.
You can read more about the story here, but before you click on that, leave a comment below, even if it's just a "hi." That's a picture of Sara up there.
Update: I've added the ESPN interview video of Sara, Mallory, and Liz below. Thanks to Sara's Dad for leaving a comment below.
You might notice some new stuff along the left side of the page. You see, yesterday I had a rare day where both kids were at school and it was cold as heck for late April so I wasn't stepping foot outside. Allergies are killing me this week - picture me typing with tissues sticking out of both nostrils, or even passed out on my keyboard. Thus, new bells and whistles for STL Homeboy.
Up there on the left is the logo and link for the St. Louis Bloggers Guild, a group I just joined that promotes and protects St. Louis bloggers in issues such as copyright. In fact, if you click on that link, you'll see some recent copyright issues involving Mamalogues, an excellent St. Louis blog that I check in on frequently. The people involved in the guild so far have been great, and I look forward to meeting many of them in person. Blogging can be an isolating experience at times and it's good to commiserate with some local bloggers.
Just under the guild link is the symbol for the Green Options media network. This particular link will take you to my green articles, which are published every Thursday. If you read an article, leave a quick comment, if only a quick "thanks for the information." We have a program to see how many people read them, but other readers can only judge traffic by the number of comments. The more comments, the more likely they are to join in on the conversation. The more active the community the more good information gets shared and the stronger the network (and the more I get paid for the work I do.)
Under the recent posts are links. I've added Michelle's link, Mom Without a Map. If you know Michelle make sure to stop by over there and say hi. They had a great time in Mexico, and here's a picture to prove it:
And with just a touch of terrible photoshopping, I can show what it would have been like if we had made the trip:
I'm still getting over my sunburn.
A ways down on the left are two added features: a "On the Night Table" pic and some "In Heavy Rotation" pics. I've resisted doing something like this in the past because I feared it would look self-indulgent, and really who cares what I'm reading or listening to? But studies of blog readers found that when readers see they have interests in common with the blogger the more likely they are become regular readers. If you are interested in them, mouse over the pics for the artist and title - the music pics should link to their amazon pages (not to promote amazon but to give more information on the album.)
The blogupp widget under the music pics is just a social networking tool for bloggers. If you mouse over it you can see another blogger's site and title. Someone else somewhere is showing mine.
Lastly, some of you outside of St. Louis may not have heard that we had an earthquake at 4:30 in the morning a couple of weeks ago. Actually, Illinois had an earthquake, which was felt at least a state away in each direction. You might think that as a Californian I wouldn't be affected by earthquakes, but now that I have kids and live in a house that is not earthquake proof, I shot up out of bed. We were close to getting the girls out of the house when I felt that the rumbles were subsiding. Clara opened her door and with big eyes said, "My bed was shaking!" The next day, she pointed to everything in her room: "My flowers were shaking. My lamp was shaking. My Chumley was shaking." Chumley is her bear. Clara calls it "the earthshake." There was an aftershock the next day, and St. Louisans have stepped up their talk of the inevitable big one that should hit any day now...
So there we were, the four of us standing in the airport with our backpacks full of travel snacks and luggage full of sunscreen and swimsuits, ready to hit the beach in Mexico with our friends the Etters and the Walls. We had our tickets, our passports, and the girls' birth certificates. Some of you might know where this is heading...
We couldn't get on the plane. Starting January of this year, birth certificates are no longer accepted for children flying in and out of the country - they need their own passports. Toddlers. Need passports. I never would have thought to check on children's passports since as long as I've known a birth certificate has been sufficient. It's our fault we didn't know, but sheesh, passports for children? Really?
So we took the long drive back home while trying to scramble to find a way to get everyone down to Ixtapa, which is as south in Mexico as you can get. We tried to get an emergency passport but those aren't available on the weekends. We tried to get a flight on Monday or Tuesday but that particular flight is only available on Saturday. We thought about driving (since birth certificates are OK for driving or boating into the country - makes sense, right?) but then remembered that we're not lunatics. Then we thought about Megan flying the girls to south Texas where I would drive and pick them up to drive the rest of the way through Mexico, but then we realized again that we're not lunatics. And all these options would have cost us several thousand dollars more than we had already spent on the trip.
I measured the girls to see if they'd fit in our carry-on luggage.
Eventually we had to give up and accept the fact that we were not going to make our vacation. Kate didn't know what was going on, which was lucky, but Clara wanted to go to the beach with Andrew and Justin Etter. She understood that something was wrong because Megan was upset at the airport, so Clara crawled into her lap and comforted her. "Mommy cried because we forgot our papers."
We were all a bit sad this weekend. The more I thought about it, the more angry I got about the new child passport requirement. It boggles my mind that a toddler needs a passport. For "Homeland Security" reasons? Really?
I present the new targets of paranoia:
One of the reasons mentioned for the requirement is to curb child abduction, but evidently it's OK to abduct a child by car or boat. Even an infant needs a passport! This is what an infant passport looks like:
Can someone explain to me how this passport is supposed to stop a child abduction? First off, almost all child abductions are by a family member, who I'm sure would have just as much access to the child's passport as he or she has to the child. But in the (thankfully) super-rare instance that the abductor is not a family member, the holder of the passport above can abduct any 1-year-old child and use this passport. Do you honestly think an immigration official would say, "I'm sorry, Mr. Surnameredacted, your child does not look like the infant in this passport. This infant looks quite blobby and doesn't have nearly as much hair as your child does." And this passport will work until 2012!
This morning, on the official first day of spring (meaning I pulled my flip-flops out of the closet,) I took the girls to Tilles Park and its acre-wide playground. They ate their muffies on a park bench while eying with jealousy the kids who were already playing on the swings. They stuffed the last bits in their mouths and jumped down, running with their mouths full toward the swings. After tiring me out there, they turned their attention to the playground monstrosity - three stories of ladders and slides. The third story is only accessible by a tall ladder that Kate has never attempted. She walked over and looked up the ladder. A mom who was standing there scooped up Kate and lifted her up onto the third story, which I really wish she hadn't done because I knew what would result. Kate now found herself placed higher than she had ever been with no clue how to get down. She started crying. If she had been able to get herself up there I don't think she would have been as scared. I had to climb up and get her down.
A little while later she made her way back to the ladder and asked me to help her up. Instead of doing what the mom did, I helped her move her hands and feet up the ladder to learn how to climb it herself. She flashed a proud smile when she reached the top and found the big slide to get herself down. She ran back to the ladder and asked for help again. I didn't help her. "Try to do it yourself." She didn't like that. She cried and jumped up and down asking for help. "You can do it." She threw herself on the ground crying.
Kate is stubborn and independent, but she gives up on things much too easily. One of her most common phrases at home is, "I can't do it," often before she's really tried. As the younger sibling who has a dad who comes to her rescue, she has started to rely on me to do things she finds difficult. I'm not OK with that. I'll lend a hand, but not as a substitute for her to do things herself.
So there she was having a mini tantrum on the playground. I said, "if you can't get up there yourself then maybe you're not ready to play up there." That did it. She looked up at me with anger in her eyes, stood up and went back to the ladder. She never looked back at me as she slowly placed one foot above the other, reaching her little hands up to the next bar. There was a moment near the top where her body started shaking and I had to stop myself from coming to her aid. She lifted her leg over onto the third floor and stood up. "I did it!" She held her arms up and I clapped for her.
For the next twenty minutes, Kate did nothing but climb the ladder and slide down the big slide over and over and over.
Kate: Good morning, sissy. Clara: Good morning, Kate. Kate: I'm drinking milk. Clara: It's raining. We can't play outside. Kate: Oh.
Clara: Thank you for not slamming the door on my finger, Daddy. Me: You're welcome.
Kate: Hi, Daddy. Me: Hello, beautiful. Kate: I'm not boo-ful. Me: You're not? Kate: No, I'm Kate!
Clara: (riding fast on her tricycle) ROCK AND ROLL!!!
Me: Who wants to watch Shrek? Kate: ME! Clara: ME! But I don't like the part I don't like. Me: What part is that? Clara: The part I don't like. Me: OK... Why don't you like it?
Clara: It's scary.
Me: It is? Which part scares you?
Clara: The part I don't like.
Kate: Superhero to the rescue! (picking Kate up at Kids Day Out) Me: Pssst, Kate. Kate: Daddy! Me: Ready to go? Kate: (turning back to the other kids) Bye, friends!
(at the dinner table:)
Clara: BUUUUUUURRRRP!!!!! Me: Clara! What do you say? Clara: Cowabunga!
Kate: (taking my hand) Come on, Daddy. Me: Where are we going? Kate: Grandma's house. Me: Oh yeah? Where's Grandma's house? Kate: Over here. Me: I've been wanting to see Grandma. Kate: Ta-da! Me: Oh, is this Grandma's house? Where's Grandma? Kate: (after thinking for a second) Sacramento.
Clara: Mommy, my tummy says I can't eat any more. Megan: Oh, yeah? I was going to give you some ice cream.
Clara: Mommy, my tummy says it would like some ice cream. Megan: I thought it might.
(last night, while walking side by side up the stairs:)
Nana: Would the girls like some scrambled eggs? Me: Oh, thanks, but we ate before coming over. Nana: How about some fruit? Me: No, thank you. Nana: Cereal?
I look over to Megan, who is smiling and shaking her head.
I'm starting to understand why Nana loves to feed her grandchildren. Early on, after the girls graduated from bottles, the rice cereal phase was followed by the testing of solid foods, which was followed by the get-them-to-eat-vegetables phase. Feeding them was part of the work it takes to care for a child. But now that they're a little bit older, I can discover and create new meals for them, and I've found that feeding a child is just an extension of loving a child.
Nana: French toast?
Think about it: we have all these pa/ma-ternal instincts that place the health and safety of our child as our highest priority. Just about everything any parent does, from providing for his or her family financially to changing diapers, is an extension of those instincts. So when a parent puts some food together and offers it on a plate, and when that child sits down and quietly eats, maybe with one foot on the ground and the other knee on the chair like Clara does, it's as much a connection between parent and child as a hug, an edible one.
Nana: English muffins?
I know that it won't be long until activities and sports and work get in the way of having a nice, quiet meal with our kids, so I make sure to appreciate the connection now. In more than a few years, when the girls return home on their college spring break, they'll be comforted by my "who wants scrambled eggs?"
Nana: Donuts? Me: You have donuts? Nana: No, but you could go get some.
I was born in the early 70s, so I have a not-quite-unhealthy obsession with Star Wars. I came across this video of a 3-year-old describing Star Wars and I had to post it here. This is neither my video nor my kid. I'm just sharing.
I figured something out the other day that could change how we feed our children their dinner. Like every parent, we struggle with getting vegetables in them, attempting every trick from bribery ("if you want ice cream, you have to eat three bites of cauliflower") to logic ("broccoli makes you grow - don't you want to grow?") But no matter what we try, those vegetables get pushed aside, even if that means no dessert.
We visited Sam's Club the other day and they must have had a free sample cart at the end of every aisle. Once the girls figured out that each cart offered a possible treat, they couldn't wait to go down the next aisle. They were trying food that they would never try at home.
Clara: Daddy, can I have some of that? Me: Sweetie, it's beef jerky. Beef jerky is not for little girls. Clara: Oh please, oh please! Me: Clara, you won't like it. Clara: Yes I will, it's my favorite!
So I take a sample of beef jerky and peel off a little piece for her to try. She chews and chews and chews, and as she does so her eyes light up and she smiles as if this is the greatest thing she's ever tasted. Kate of course has to have some. Her reaction: "Yummy!"
Clara: How about some of that? Me: That's laundry detergent. Clara: I love laundry detergent! It's my favorite!
At any moment during that trip you might have seen the girls spooning yogurt and granola into their mouth, holding large chunks of baked ham, blowing on hot pizza snacks, dipping carrots into a ranch sauce, struggling through a spicy chicken wing, and wolfing down a Chinese rice and chicken dish. They wanted a second helping of the Chinese dish, so I bought it for dinner that night. They wouldn't touch it. Wouldn't even try one bite. "I don't like it," Kate said. This was many hours later in the day, so they couldn't have still been full from their sample-fest.
After pulling my hair out I had an epiphany : If kids will eat anything that's a sample at a grocery store, use that to your advantage. Instead of serving your children traditional meals, buy a free sample cart and set it up in your kitchen or dining room. Cut everything into bite size servings and put them in little plastic cups. Don't forget the tiny square napkins. As they run by with buckets on their heads, using towels as capes, offer them a free sample. I bet they stop, eat, then continue playing.
You can set up your cart inside or outside. You can set it up in the doorway of a room in which you want to contain your kids. The possibilities are limitless. If you're sitting there uncomfortable with the fact that you would in essence be constantly serving your kids, then, my friend, you are in denial as to your role as a parent.
The house next door has sat vacant for almost a year and a half. We met the new owner, and he seems like a nice guy, but he sure isn't in any hurry to move in. In fact, since he bought the house there has been a steady stream of workers going in and out of the house - with no obvious changes to the house. Sometimes there will only be one truck in the driveway, sometimes a dozen. If they're making significant changes to the interior, they must be doing it with very small tools or with great attention to the slightest detail for it to take a year and a half.
With increasing good weather recently has come something a bit more troubling: workers sitting on the back porch in lawn chairs. I kid you not. It's like I have Vito Spatafore and Philip "Philly Spoons" Parisi next door fulfilling their no-work contracts. I keep expecting to see Paulie Walnuts in his shiny gray track suit walking around using his index and pinky fingers to point at things. If someone pulls out a reflective tanning board and starts sunning his chin I'm moving. Unfortunately for me, Kate loves them. She runs over to the fence and yells, "HI!" while giving them her little wave. They all think it's quite sweet, but I can only guess what they're saying about me.
So now I'm getting paranoid about what they are doing over there. I noticed that the basement light is on late into the night. It's not like there's a prison nearby that they can tunnel to, and the closest bank seems a bit far. Whenever a group of them go into the house I look for the one mouthing "help me" in my direction. I'll be the one mouthing back, "no."
Our break came in the form of a trip to Aruba that Megan won through her work. If you're sitting at home with your little ones you can either throw stuff at the screen or you can take a little trip in your mind with me. If you chose the latter, go make yourself a pina colada. I'll wait...
The trip almost didn't happen. With my family in California and Megan's parents in Florida, we don't really have a local option to watch the kids for extended periods of time. We've done a couple of trips in the past where we scheduled several sitters in blocks of time, but that was too stressful for everyone involved. Just as we were about to give up on the idea, the heavens opened up (singing choirs of angels and all) and delivered to us my sister Tracy. She flew all the way from California to watch the girls for five days so Megan and I could have this time together. Not only is she a nurse, but she's a former child care provider who raised three kids of her own. Where other people would have been stressing over what the kids' schedules were or where everything they needed was, Tracy just showed up and kicked us out the door, promising everything would be fine. And of course it was.
We explained to Clara that we were leaving in the morning. She asked if Auntie Tracy was staying with her. When we said yes, she just shrugged and said, "OK."
See that picture up there? That was the view from our room. I could just stop there but they don't pay me to be concise. Our schedule for the entire time we were there was sleep in, go have breakfast among the sea breezes, claim a spot on the beach to read or write for a few hours (with frequent swims in the ocean an visits to the bar,) have lunch in a wall-less cathedral of dining, swim in or lay out near the pool (with frequent swim-ups to the swim-up bar,) take a nap, look in the mirror to see all the spots the sunscreen didn't quite make it, get dressed up for dinner, eat in one of the resort's nice restaurants, walk off our rich meal on the dark beach while cool sand sifted through our toes like fine sugar.
Distance didn't quite erase the parent out of me. There were sisters there almost exactly Clara and Kate's age who always seemed to be wherever we were, making me miss the girls. I look forward to being able to share a trip like that with them. Oh yeah, we're doing that with the Etters in a couple of months...
Stop throwing stuff at your screen.
As a follow-up to my last post on being the Green Dad, I got my first paycheck as a writer: $1.29. So if you come to St. Louis I'll buy you a tall coffee - or a venti water. On the list of links to the left is one that says "green building articles." That will take you to my author page with everything I've published so far. Check back often and I just might make enough to buy you a mocha. Also, if you use Stumbleupon, an online social networking tool, do me a favor and give my blog posts - both here and on the green site - thumbs up. It turns out Stumbleupon is one of the greatest sources of traffic for web sites. I appreciate it.
Last summer I decided to take small breaks from being a stay-at-home dad and return to the workforce, if only for a few hours at a time. I hired Jen, our babysitter, to come over three afternoons a week so I could help Megan and RSI Kitchen & Bath research green building and how RSI could become a part of the green building market. I was overwhelmed by how much I didn't know, and reached out to people in the green community, both locally and nationally, to help me so that RSI could in time help them. Green builders and environmentalists have been the most helpful and giving of their time than any group I have worked with. With plenty of support, Megan and I began to wrap our heads around green building and what RSI needed to do to support and encourage it. Through the process, I got to know people all over the country who have begun to send people my way who have questions when it comes to green kitchens and baths. One national website that I used extensively in my own research, greenoptions.com, recruited me to write for their green building site, greenbuildingelements.com, as their kitchen and bath guy.
Click on my name and you'll get a bio and pic. They'd like me to write 1-2 times a week, so bookmark or subscribe to greenbuildingelements and check back often if it's a subject you are interested in. Also, if anyone has story ideas for me, send me an email or leave a post here. I'll be writing about kitchen and bath issues that deal with health, energy efficiency, and environmentalism.
This doesn't mean I will be giving up on being STL Homeboy. In fact, a stay-at-home dad blog out of New Zealand called DIY father is publishing some of my content (with my permission, of course.) Here's a link to one of my stories they published: http://diyfather.com/content/The_myth_of_equality They also want me to do a podcast for them, but first I need to figure out exactly what that is.
So that's what's going on over here. Oh yeah, I'm also raising two kids. If it seems like a lot, it is, but I'm happy that I'm doing something(s) that involves writing.
Sitting there on the beach watching Clara play chicken with the crashing waves and Kate pat down small mounds of wet sand, I can see the grandmas coming from far down the beach with their bright white smiles brighter due to their overtan faces - and I know what's coming, because it happens almost every time. Kate will look up from her sand creations, give a short wave, and say "hi!" The grandma, who may have been considering walking on by with only a smile, will have to stop now and tell the girls just how wonderfully precious they are. Clara will skip circles around the lady and say "hi" every time her foot hits the ground. Next come the stories of how long ago their kids were sitting on this same beach playing in the same way twenty or thirty years ago. They'll ask the girls their names and how old they are. Clara will pronounce "three" as if it started with an "f" and Kate will say "two" but hold up five fingers. The grandmas will beam at them. They will tell me where their kids are now and what they are doing and when their own grandchildren will be coming down to visit. They don't ask a lot of questions, and that's OK. They're only half present, taking a trip down memory lane. And then they begrudgingly pull themselves away and continue down the beach, looking back often. Then another one comes...
There is an aspect to the grandma visits that makes the beach more enjoyable for me. As I'm sitting on the beach with the kids, the memories of the morning's battles are still fresh in my mind: The crying over who got to sit on what stool, the refusal to do what I asked, the fights over who gets what beach toy, the running away naked when I'm trying to change them into their swimsuits. The grandmas of course do not remember those parts of their kids' beach days, as well they shouldn't. And when I'm sitting there with the kids watching the grandmas long to be me again, I find it easy to forget them too.
P.S. Kate is the one who likes to run around outside naked when I'm trying to put her suit on. The other day I met a lady at the condo complex who said to me, "I don't believe we've met. Your daughter, however, I've seen quite a bit of."
Let's admit it, as much as we'd like our children to be treated equally, to have equal access to experiences, and to have the same opportunities for fun, learning, and growth, the lives of two siblings will be vastly different. It's not because we love one more the other or discipline unevenly, but because one was born first and the other was born second. It's as simple as that.
Clara was only seventeen months old when Kate was born, and, fairly or unfairly, almost immediately we began to treat her as older than she was. After all, there would be a baby in the house and Clara would have to be more careful and learn how to touch more gently and so forth. Around her sister, Clara didn't get to be a normal toddler. She had to be more responsible. And when in a moment of jealousy or just toddler roughhousing Clara bloodied Kate's face, I came down probably too hard on Clara, who didn't know what she was doing but couldn't be allowed to do that again. And so I forced her to be even more responsible, and overprotected the baby. In doing so, I probably affected Clara's development as a person.
Last Sunday Kate turned two and I was struck by how much younger she seemed on her second birthday than Clara did. The difference is that Kate has been allowed to act her age, having no one younger to be responsible for. Already I've seen her try to use her age to her advantage, initiating a quarrel with her sister but then looking to me when Clara fights back.
I know their differences will lessen the older they get, and though Clara will always get to experience first things such as sports, a grade in school, or an art or music class of some sort, their experiences will start to approach equality and there will come a time that they face new things hand in hand. But as a parent I find it hard and I know I will continue to find it hard to treat them equally, to expect the same kind of maturity from both of them, to not blame Clara only for the mistakes they make together, to allow Clara to be a little kid the way I allow Kate to be. It's something I know I have to continue to improve on - there's too much at stake not to.
Nature has some new ammunition in its battle against nurture. Clara and Kate are showing clear signs of coming from that (ig)noble and (in)famous stock, the Bittles. Let me start by saying this is not something I am completely comfortable with. You see, we Bittles are a kooky lot, as anyone who has spent an extended period of time with us has discovered. Because I want Megan to continue to spend extended periods of time with me, I reign my kookiness in. That leaves my dad as their primary source of Bittle-ness, and unless he's holding Bittle lessons while I'm out of the room, I just don't see him influencing him in that way either. Which means that their Bittle behavior is inate! That is perhaps the most disconcerting sentence I've written on this blog.
Evidence #1: This may seem like something small, but it strikes me every time. Kate pronounces "sandwich," "sammich." I know, I know, most toddlers pronounce it "sammich" but you have to understand that my entire life I have heard it pronounced that way by only one person: my dad. Go with him to Subway. The 64 year old man will order a sammich. Sit him next to Kate and ask them what they want for lunch and my dad and his mini-mini-me will both say "sammich."
Evidence #2: The girls both got doll houses for Christmas, which are set up in the office/toy room. Kate was also given a big yellow dump truck. For the first two weeks after Christmas when they played with their doll houses, they took all the furniture from each house and threw it in the back of the dump truck, then proceeded to drive the dump truck around the house. They didn't want to play house - they wanted to play move houses. Every time they did this I shook my head and thought of my family.
Bittles are a nomadic, wandering people, prone to pick up and head out on long trips at a moments notice. Most of us can tell stories of long, adventure-filled trips that no sane person would take so much pride in. Often this wanderlust causes us Bittles to change houses, and the "B"section of many a friend's address book has suffered accordingly. Dmitri had to buy a new address book mainly because of us. I probably had a dozen different addresses in the 90s. Kate's not yet two years old and already she's thinking about moving.
I'm bracing for what Bittle trait next manifests itself in my girls, but as I write this I'm thinking of the kindness and the loyalty and the love that is so strong in the Bittle family. I'm thinking of my parents, of my brother and sister and their kids, of my Aunts Mary and Billie and Carol, of my Uncle Lyndon and Aunt Jane, of my cousins Dale and David and their kids, of my cousins Shauna and Nick and Danille and Steven, and of so many Bittles gone much, much too soon and I realize how lucky Clara and Kate both are to be counted among such people.
Clara invited her friend Alexis over for a play date, which mainly involves Clara "sharing" by dumping her toys on Alexis's lap. A few pictures of them working on a puzzle:
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