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August 27, 2009


nullEvery question is followed with a soul-piercing stare.

Deep brown eyes, round like a Fiestaware bowl, with a raisin of a black dot floating in the center. Occasionally blinking, but always staring. Right at you. Waiting for an answer. Waiting for the right words.

The stare is partnered with a wide smile – the kind of smile that’s cute when alone, but unsettling when paired with two burrowing eyes. A stare that isn’t swayed by time, either – it will continue to burrow through your brain until it feels it should stop.

And it’s not just once. It happens several times over a half hour. A question. A look to the audience. A sidekick mimicking the act, failing to grasp the same creepiness but still working in concert with the original. Two stares now. TWO STARES.

That’s what unnerves me. I’d have thought the DVD was frozen if it wasn’t for the unfeeling blinks that accompany each stare.

Where’s the answer, kids?

Keep trying.

Staring. Staring. STARING STARING STARING.

This is why I’m thankful it’s taken two years for Sierra to get into Dora the Explorer. The songs, the repetition, the odd mix of Spanish and English – these don’t bother me.

But those stares. * shudder *

Tags: Annoyances, Sierra, Television |

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Get off the lawn

August 24, 2009


When we moved into our new home, we inherited – among a sea of weird design choices and awful fluorescent lighting – a genuine Rainbow playset and a slightly weathered trampoline.

Simply put, the previous owners didn’t want to move either item. In regards to the playset, I don’t blame them. But this trampoline – who knows why it wasn’t moved.

I suspect because once you’ve got it up, it’s impossible to get rid of.

I never wanted a trampoline. Being a grumpy curmudgeon of a father, I assume trampolines are only good for raising your insurance rates and causing broken bones. Still, we gladly accepted the trampoline because we figured we’d sell it on a rummage sale and make a profit.

(A profit could be made because, as is customary, any non-crucial home items involved in the sale of a house are grouped together and sold for $1. Therefore, our trampoline was purchased for a fraction of that $1 – probably about $0.15.)

So it sat. And it sat. And no one really paid it much attention. Weeks went by before Sierra even realized its existence. A few more weeks, and we finally – for whatever reason – let Sierra hop on the trampoline.

Now, she loves it. ADORES IT. Wants to jump on it all the time. Has discovered the beauty of forced suspension – of being lifted off the ground at a level impossible without the aid of a springy tarp – and wants only to “GUMP GUMP BOOING BOOING.” Preferably while I sing the ABCs.

Thing is, this trampoline has been promised to someone else. We’ve already sold it, and we just need to get it off of the damned lawn, where it sits and ruins the yard like the constant trample of neighborhood children.

I hate the thing. Always have. Always wanted it gone; wanted that spot in the yard to be free and open, preparing for a garden or a fire pit or something, anything for the love of God that wasn’t a trampoline.

Yet, here we are. We still have the trampoline. And we’re moving farther away from the perfect moment to get rid of it. Because as Sierra’s devotion toward keeping it grows, my devotion to her happiness makes it harder to take away.

Tags: Outdoors, Sierra |

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Searching for patience

August 19, 2009


It has occurred to me that, as some point in the parenting process, your children begin to turn on you.

I doubt that it’s done maliciously – in fact, I assume that it happens without them even knowing. It’s just The Way Things Are. It’s as natural as aging – children grow, understand, comprehend their own individuality, and begin forcefully showing it in ways you hoped you could avoid.

Sierra is now two. The Terrible Twos™. The beginning of the end. She might as well be in adolescence. With this has come an independence that is jarring – her need for things to be done to her liking has gone from a cute sign of growth to a struggle for control; her mind at the crossroads of knowing exactly what she wants – and knowing most of the words needed to express it, but still held hostage by her incomplete mastery of the language.

And while I always knew it would happen, I feel I’m losing something I had always held dear.

My patience.

It was one of my positive traits. The thing you’d mention in a job interview. The thing Kerrie was always impressed by.

Now, it slips away with impressive speed.

Through whatever combination of annoyance and frustration, my patience takes death kicks from Sierra’s whining and stubbornness. Simple misunderstandings wreak havoc to my patience, my levels dropping drastically. I imagine my patience as an energy bar in Street Fighter, with Sierra’s moves and combinations quickly knocking it down in huge chunks.

Which goes to prove, as parents, how fragile our plans for life with children really are.

Because I was never going to be the “quick to lose patience” father. I was going to let things go, understanding that children are smarter than the credit they receive, and that no father/daughter relationship was ever made stronger through short tempers and a lack of patience.

But here I am: snapping at Sierra, raising my voice over the din of her persistent noise, pleading, giving up, letting it ride out and hating myself for letting it get so far. Knowing that, each loss of patience runs the risk of chiseling away at our relationship, and understanding that, without the patience I once had, I’ll never regain my parental goals.

Then, I sit down. I bury my head in my hands. I wonder where my patience has gone. When it will decide to return, and what I can do to bring it back.

Tags: On..., Sierra |

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On the parents of my daughter’s friends

July 29, 2009


Understanding that a birthday party is for the kids (and not for the adults) we have planned Sierra’s birthday party around the kids themselves. No family, no friends-without-kids – just Sierra’s closest playmates and their parents (with one exception).

Thankfully, we’ve been lucky enough to know Sierra’s closest friends since the beginning. Many of our inner circle brought kids in at the same time – four children within five months, to be exact. So when we hung out together, our kids hung out too.

Our kids’ friends’ parents are our friends. It makes things pretty easy.

It won’t always be this way. I realized this yesterday, after wondering whether or not to invite some of Sierra’s daycare friends. Friends whose parents I don’t know. Friends whose parents I have nothing in common with. Which led to another realization:

I am completely unprepared to face the day that I don’t know the parents of Sierra’s friends.

What a silly notion, you might think. Well laugh it up – I’m completely serious. The luxury of knowing the parents of Sierra’s friends – not just knowing, even, but having close connections to – is something I never want to give up. I understand Sierra’s friends through stories from their parents. I have a connection to these kids – I look out for them as if they were nephews or nieces, caring for them like family. After all, our friends are an extended family, and we’ve been here for these kids since the beginning.

I trust them. I trust their parents. I have no qualms about letting Sierra spend the night, or go on a day-trip, or any sort of activity, with these people.

But I imagine a few years from now, once Sierra’s in school, inviting her friends to her 5th birthday party – the ones she’s chosen, from school or daycare or down the block. I imagine these parents showing up in my backyard, meeting me for the first time, struggling to find some connection outside of the pony show of a birthday party, my comfort zone smashed as I scrounge around for an exit strategy.

There’s a time in the future when I won’t want to go out for beers with the parents of Sierra’s friends. And it’s that time I’ll know that she’s growing up, making her own decisions and leaving my ideals in the dust.

I’m not sure I’ll ever be prepared for that.

Tags: Friends, Sierra |

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Here comes the sun

July 25, 2009


A week or so ago, after an extended period of grey skies, the sun appeared through the clouds - an event that prompted Kerrie to sing a line or two of The Beatles’ “Here Comes the Sun.”

Sierra picked up on this instantly.

“Here come the sun?” she asked later. “Here come the sun?” So we pulled the song up on the iPod and introduced her to the original.

She was thrilled.

Enough that it has quickly become her favorite song. As in, the only song she’ll listen to. As in, the only song she’ll even consider, and only on repeat, and only 15 times in a row.

When she sees the sun. Any sun - in real life or in a book: “Here come the sun?”

When she sees our iPods: “Here come the sun?”

When she sees the computer, where she knows the song has been played: “Here come the sun?”

It’s all quite adorable. But it’s also quite tiring. After all, how many times can a person hear “Here Comes the Sun” without wishing that the sun would just go away, already, we’re doing fine without your light and warmth, thank you very much.

At least we know that, like her dad, she’s totally into the George Harrison songs.

Tags: Music, Sierra |

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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 |

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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 |

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