So, this post is not just to brag about our 8-year-old’s landing a part in our church’s Christmas program (he’ll be a shepherd — not sure how many others there’ll be).
No, it’s more about his being willing to put himself out there, and take a chance. He actually auditioned for a singing part — a solo — “Do You Hear What I Hear?” And while he didn’t get that part, he practiced earnestly, night after night, before his audition.
In other words, he took a chance on something that had a chance for success or failure. That’s a risk, and I was proud he was willing to put himself out there like that.
And you can bet the next time he takes a chance like that, I’ll be right behind him, encouraging him all the way. And if he fails, I’ll be right there for him.
It’s been quite the unusual summer for our family.
First, because of changes in our job situations, the kiddoz were home all summer, rather than going to full-day child care. On balance, I think it was good for them, and I KNOW it was good for our bank accounts. Was it good for the parents? On balance, I think so, but a few breaks are always in order, if you know what I mean.
Second, it was just an odd summer. It feels more like summer now, today, than it did in July. Our vegetation is getting mixed signals on a massive scale. Wonder if hibernation is affected by the weird weather patterns?
And third, we hit a few more milestones this summer. Our 8-year-old is now an avid bike and scooter rider, as well as a deep end-tested swimmer. The 4-year-old is actively engaged in disassembling things around the house using tools, and comes into his second year of preschool this fall as an accomplished artist, reader and writer.
We’re now fully returned to the school routine, which gives us a bit of a daytime break and keeps those active brains (the kids’, not ours) engaged. And as I prepare for my third job change this year, it seems worthwhile to chronicle where we’ve been, and where we’re going.
I’m reminded of one of my favorite books, “The Journey is the Destination,” taken from the journals of Reuters photographer Dan Eldon. Dan experienced more in his 22 years than many of us will experience in our lifetimes. Here’s hoping that we all will continue to experience all life has to offer on our journey — this summer (even as it winds down) and beyond.
Our 4-year-old’s been pleading with me lately to help him build a playhouse.
Not a pretend playhouse, mind you, or one made from a miniature-sized kit. He wants the real McCoy. The full-sized, full-featured, structurally sound playhouse. Preferably one in a tree.
I’d love to do it for him, but in my heart of hearts, I know there’s no way. Because, see, I’m no carpenter. I can handle basic woodworking jobs — like, say, gluing a chair back together, or erecting a fort with Lincoln Logs, or building a garage sale sign. Framing work? Fuhgettaboudit.
But he’s convinced that it can happen, because as he’s told me, “You can do it, Daddy. You can make anything.”
He’s seen me work on various odd jobs around the house, change the oil in the car and fix deck boards, so naturally he assumes there’s nothing outside my skillset.
It’s a good facade. I know it won’t last forever. He’ll end up learning what a klutz I really am.
But for now — maybe I should tackle that playhouse job. Maybe he won’t even notice if it doesn’t have a functioning door. Or a floor. Or a structurally sound frame.
One of the biggest benefits of my new shift (2-10 p.m.) is that I can spend a substantial chunk of the first half of my day with the kids. It’s a good time to be with them, because they’re still energetic and open to ideas on how to spend their day.
But one of the biggest drawbacks of my “tweener” schedule is that I end up leaving right in the middle of the day — often just when one activity is transitioning into another (i.e. after lunch, before a trip to the pool).
Nearly every day now, as I’m preparing to leave for work, I’m sent off with tearful hugs and wails of “I’ll miss you, Dad” from our 8-year-old. (Getting nonchalance from our 4-year-old, but that’s just his style. I’m sure he misses me too.)
It’s not good to have to leave at such an awkward time of day, but … it’s nice to be missed.
I had an exchange with our 8-year-old this week that unintentionally prompted a much deeper reflection.
As many kids do, he was communicating with his younger brother via yelling. I don’t recall the topic, but I grew tired of the high-volume exchange and asked the boys to stop screaming at each other.
“Well, if you didn’t want to hear yelling, you shouldn’t have had kids,” the 8-year-old replied.
Part of that is nonsensical, of course, but he has a point. There are certain things that come with the territory, as it were, when you decide to have children. Many are welcome, of course — the legacy they’ll forge, the sheer joy of their discoveries, the unquenchable love they foster.
But on occasion, there are a few flies in the ointment as well. It’s not a secret that raising kids is no walk in the park. Tempers will flare. Frustrations will surface. Nerves will fray.
On balance, most viable parents would agree that the positives far outweigh the negatives. But it’s still a valid question to ask: Why, exactly, did you have kids? What was our motivation? Did you feel obligated, rushed, or pressured to produce offspring? Was the timing carefully considered? Did you hear a biological clock ticking?
Feel free to comment here, and we’ll get a discussion going. Everyone has their reasons for having kids. I’d love to hear yours.
(this perfectly symbolizes the path we’ve been on lately)
As I’ve mentioned, there are a number of changes coming in my job, including one that’s pretty significant — a new schedule.
Starting Monday, I’ll be working Monday through Friday, 2-10 p.m. That arrangement has its pluses and minuses, both personally and professionally, but the best parts of it are:
– I’ll be able to see the boys during the day, before I come to work.
– I’ll have Saturdays off, for the first time in eons.
Those are a couple of pretty big positives, so I’m going to focus on them for now.
Adjustments? There’ll be plenty. But in the big picture, I’m ready to roll with them.
Let’s see what the world does with 2-day weekends!
The refrain of David Bowie’s classic 1972 single continues with this:
“Turn and face the strain.”
How appropriate, as we deal with a classic three-headed monster: Recovering from last year’s catastrophic flooding, an overall economic downturn, and the struggles of the newspaper industry to remain relevant and viable.
The economy’s tough, and will probably get tougher (at least in employment terms) before it gets better. And we’re feeling that right now, as a family.
Some of the ch-ch-ch-changes, surprisingly, might end up being for the better in the long run. But as the kids listen to us discussing the future, they become concerned, because they don’t fully understand.
“Just gonna have to be a different man”
“Why are people losing their jobs?” our 8-year-old wondered recently. Ah, such a simple question with such a complex answer. It’s not something he, or any kid, should have to worry about. But kids are more perceptive — MUCH more perceptive — than we’re often willing to admit. And as we transition and adjust, our kids are paying attention.
Have you ever watched a game show — “Who Wants to be a Millionaire,” for example — when a contestant incorrectly answers a question, and you say to yourself, “Jeez! Come on! I knew that! Who doesn’t? What a joker.”
Here’s one of those moments:
Catch that deer-in-the-headlights look on the kid’s face? Seems pretty clear he knew the answer, but rushed to respond and couldn’t take it back after his irrevocable “final answer.”
I’m guessing I was sporting that same look Wednesday night at the Catherine McAuley Center’s fourth annual CMC Spelling Bee at Xavier High School.
I was the official speller for The Gazette (read: “the person who talks into the microphone”). And we were sailing along, nailing words like “catechism,” “privilege” and “adjournment.”
No problems. I was feeling positively giddy about our chance to repeat as spelling bee champs.
Then came our moment of truth.
The word came: “Tragedienne.” It means “an actress especially noted for performing tragic roles.” I have a moderate background in theater, so I was instantly familiar with the word, but I had a moment’s hesitation on its spelling. (Another Gazette staffer, Rae Riebe, pointed out that the pronouncer’s sentence for “tragedienne” referenced pinup girl Betty Grable, hardly an actress specializing in tragic roles. She was correct, and that could have been our first sign of trouble.)
Anyway, our team — newsroom chief Steve Buttry, Faith and Values reporter Molly Rossiter and myself — huddled to clarify the spelling. We came to our conclusion (fairly confidently), and just as I prepared to step to the mic, someone told me, “It’s basically just the word tragedy with an -ienne ending.”
Uh-oh. I think that threw me. For some reason, I’ve always struggled to pronounce the word “tragedy.” A real tongue-twister, it is. That shouldn’t have meant I couldn’t spell it, or “tragedienne,” for that matter, but I made the mistake of saying it to myself under my breath.
I then stepped up and stumbled over the pronunciation once again, this time out loud. Then I blurted out my letter-by-letter whiff: “T-r-a-d-e-g-i-e-n-n-e. Tragedienne.”
Um, no. That’s not it. Gazette goes down.
We finished, I believe, fifth of the 10 teams entered.
It’s hard not to feel like a fool when you err on something you know. I felt I let my teammates down, too. But it happens. I suspect it happened to the other teams at the bee, too, when they missed their words.
It’s the glare of the spotlight. The heat of the moment.
Ah, well. Shake it off, Steve tells me. “Next year we reclaim the championship,” he said.
True enough. We had our fun, and benefitted a fine cause in the process. Plus, our kids and I had some fun bouncing words back and forth Wednesday night, a la “Akeelah and the Bee”:
True, my pride was wounded Wednesday night. But this, too, shall pass. And we’ll return.
We’re newspaper people, after all. We spellz real gud.
(Props to the winning team, too — a legal crew from Shuttleworth & Ingersoll. Runners-up last year, they deserved the crown in 2009.)
Seriously, though, if you’re not busy tomorrow night (Wednesday, April 22), drop by Xavier High School at 6 p.m. for the bee. And bring a canned food item with you.
Cheer, or jeer. It’s good just to have an audience.
Our 4-year-old’s been pleading with me lately to help him build a playhouse.
My parenting revelation for the week (and it’s been a long time coming) …