On trying not to let a second child’s accomplishments go without fanfare

February 21, 2010


Poor, poor Isaac.

Every day was a new experience with Sierra. Every single day, every single noise and movement and milestone was fresh. Uncharted and unknown; an unfilled captain’s log, we learned to figure things up as we go.

And as we scribbled in notes and made adjustments on the fly, like coaches throwing everything we could at an undefeated team, we couldn’t help but stand back and marvel at the growth – that this child had not only completely taken over the game, but had also improved from quarter to quarter, beating our psyche into submission, forcing us to let go of the assumptions we had brought in.

Sierra didn’t learn how to be a person as much as she taught us how to be parents. To let things happen. To reach only when reaching seemed productive.

Sierra got all of the attention. And even now, as the first of our children to grow older, always poised to be the first child to break through each checkpoint, she still commands most of it.

Isaac is eight months old. And it doesn’t feel like he’s even been around that long. His milestones come and go. We notice them. We celebrate them. But they don’t last as long.

There’s no time to dwell.

To be honest, there never was. Much of it is perspective. Isaac grows just as Sierra grew. We react just as we did the first time around. But the reaction isn’t as drawn out, not as noteworthy. It’s just as special. It’s simply not as singular.

But I still feel bad for the little guy sometimes. I guess if Sierra taught us to calm down and let life happen, Isaac’s furthering the lesson by reminding us not to let it happen too fast.

Poor, poor Isaac.

Tags: Isaac, Sierra |

1 Comment

To the woman beep-beeping at the grocery store.

December 7, 2009


To the woman at the grocery store. The one who, along with her two-year old daughter, walked along the aisles, happily and loudly beep-beeping her way through the cereal aisle despite the looks from other customers, as if there was nothing in the world that could stop her from enjoying a moment of spontaneity with a child. One 30-year-old and one toddler, one pushing and one riding in a car-shaped cart, one turning corners and one spinning the steering wheel, absolutely shielded from life’s conventions.

To that woman: Thank you. For reminding me that I’m not overstepping the limits of polite society when I decide to stoop to my daughter’s level and begin making fart noises at the gas station. And especially for giving me a little hope that most parents - despite their public seriousness - are all made more human by the weirdness of a two-year-old’s mind.

Tags: Isaac, On..., Sierra |

2 Comments

The evolutionary benefits of smiling

September 18, 2009


It’s hard to compare two children. Especially if they’re yours. And especially if they’re born only two years apart. You’re just learning one and another comes along, and their escapades blur together as children, not as two individuals.

Despite this, one thing is for certain. Sierra never smiled this much.

With Sierra, each smile needed to be coaxed, as if they were sold at a premium and she needed to make sure she got her money’s worth. She wasn’t a sad baby, or a solemn baby – she was studious and calm and centered, and she only smiled when it was deemed necessary. She wasn’t unhappy. But she was serious.

Isaac, on the other hand, doles smiles out like a politician.

I wonder if there’s a genetic predisposition – an evolutionary trait, developed millenniums ago, when parents died earlier and children were more difficult to take care of – that pushes more smiles onto a second or third child.

After all, by this point, we’re learning alongside Sierra. Everything she does is new to us, while everything Isaac does has been done before.

So he smiles. All the time. It’s infectious, and it dares – I mean “WHY ARE YOU LOOKING OVER THERE I SWEAR YOU’D BETTER RETHINK YOUR ACTIONS” dares – you to smile along, thusly shifting attention from Sierra’s newest word or book to Isaac’s inability to be upset about anything.

And with that attention captured, you’re conditioned to provide for them. Both children live, genes are passed on, evolution occurs. It would sound implausible, if it wasn’t so utterly convincing. Why else would a second child be so different in the arena of smiling?

Because, man. That kid smiles.

A lot.

Tags: Isaac, Sierra |

Comment

Coo, kick, splash

August 4, 2009


A feeling of overwhelming stress can be easily dispelled by the simplest of things.

A shriek from a two-year-old, so excited to see you that she nearly trips on her way to hug you. A smile from a weary wife, holding down two children while you spend your day crafting silly headlines. The knowledge that it will all soon pass and work can become boring again.

This is what it meant to grow up. To begin growing old. To settle down. It means realizing that those small things really do matter. That the hardened crust of toil, no matter how physical, can melt away like wax.

And sometimes, it comes from something you had long forgotten.

Like the coo, the kicks, the splashing. A six-week old, exhausted from an hour of screaming, testing out the water in his bathtub. Discovering something you’d long ago taken for granted - the freedom to make waves. Coo. Kick. Splash.

Tags: Isaac, Vilhauer |

Comment

Giving up life for parenthood

July 20, 2009


I’ve developed a new routine. It’s easy, actually - and it took no time to develop. It’s called “Don’t Do Anything Creative,” and it’s become a specialty of mine thanks to the sleeping patterns of our two kids.

For the past ten days, each night has ended in a similar fashion.

I get home from work. We eat. We compare notes from our day. We tell Sierra to stop climbing on things.
Isaac sleeps until about 7.
Sierra gets in the bath at 8. (It’s about this time I think of something I’d like to write about, or a book I’d like to read, or a good idea for a photo.)
Isaac wakes and eats around 8:15.
Sierra finally gets out of the bath at 8:20.
Isaac develops a gas bubble at 8:30. Meanwhile, Sierra has begun her new trick: not sleeping.
Isaac fusses. Kerrie or I rock him. Sierra cries in her room. Kerrie or I ignore her.

Eventually, around 9:45, everyone has nodded off. Sometimes its earlier than others, often a little later. Kerrie heads off to bed while I continue rocking Isaac to the glow of the television. By the time I’m ready to call it a night, I can’t remember any of the ideas that popped into my mind earlier. And it wouldn’t matter - I can’t dare perform any of the promises I made for myself. I can only go to bed, aching from the loss of productivity, stuck between sleep and awake as I desperately try to make things right.

For some people, it’s a lack of sleep. Others feel like they’ve lost their ability to reason like an adult, especially after spending days with children under 2. Maybe every meal is ruined, or maybe you can’t bother to take a shower every day.

But though I love both Isaac and Sierra more than anything, and though the only thing I can think of when I’m at work is coming home to spend time with my family, I still find myself in a selfish slump, mourning my lack of time and energy.

And I realize that the sacrifice we make for our kids doesn’t consist of just time and money. It’s ambition, too. Which makes developing a stronger drive one of the most important things we can do as parents.

To remember that, before these kids were around, we were our own people. We were the people we wish we could still be. Once we lose sight of that, we’ve given up.

Because as long as we keep pushing forward, we’ll never have to say we gave up our lives for parenthood. Instead, we can proudly say we simply added it to our list of passions.

Tags: Isaac, Sierra |

Comment

Getting stuff done

July 10, 2009


To the right, it says I’m currently reading The Cheese Monkeys by Chip Kidd.

I’m not.

That’s simply the book I’m planning on reading, when I finally start reading books again.

Instead, I’ve been catching up on the last two issues of Atlantic Magazine, wondering what happened to Paste’s print issues, and generally lamenting the slow death of my reading habits.

It happened with Sierra, too. It’s just that, this time, it seems even more drastic. And, what’s more, I don’t give it a passing thought.

So it’s probably more healthy, actually. Instead of obsessing about not reading (and, therefore, not writing a monthly What I’ve Been Reading column) I can simply get things done.

Which is what I do now. I pick up houses. I play around with pictures. I watch network television. I read magazines.

I admire my oldest daughter’s ability to take major changes in stride, accepting a new house and a new brother without a passing thought, embracing both of them with gusto. I respect my wife’s drive to keep working on house projects while I’m at work, despite having two children at her feet. And I marvel at the prospect of my newborn son, wondering all along what kind of person he’ll grow up to be, discovering a new piece of his personality every day.

But I don’t read books. Not anymore. At least, not for a little while. And I’m okay with that.

Just cut me some slack if you still see that same book listed a few months from now.

Tags: Books, Isaac, Literature, Sierra, Vilhauer |

Comment

Isaac Joseph

June 18, 2009


I never meant to write a daddy blog.

It’s funny. Just when you think you know everything that’s going to happen, life smacks you behind the ears and reminds you otherwise.

I thought I knew this whole childbirth thing. After going through it with Sierra two years ago, I proclaimed myself an expert.

Yet here I am, still surprised, completely in awe. Unable to do anything but think about being a daddy. Absolutely convinced that, no matter how hard I try otherwise, I can’t write about anything but being a daddy. A new daddy. To a little boy.

Isaac Joseph

Welcome to the world, Isaac Joseph.

Thank you for bringing another Y chromosome into the house. For promising a lifetime of work as Sierra’s foil.

And for reminding me that, despite all of my insistence otherwise – both two years ago and now – Black Marks on Wood Pulp is first and foremost one of those daddy blogs.

Tags: Isaac, Sierra, Vilhauer |

4 Comments

Next Page →