Will I Remember?

As soon as my children fall asleep, all I want to do is stare at them.  Their little faces are so sweet.  They are so peaceful and perfect. They are so young, so precious, I feel as if all I want to do is stay with them, love them and keep them safe.  It's as if they've somehow become so much of a priority, that it takes an effort to come up with even a handful of other things that are truly meaningful to me - besides these little people of mine.  Besides my wife, there really doesn't seem to be anything nearly as important.  The feeling is so acute, that I'm fixated on them, and I can hardly stand it.  It happens each night, and I'm sad for them to grow up.  I want to climb into bed with them and just be there.  And I wonder, when they're grown, will I remember this time - and just how much it meant to me?

The Ultrasound Was an Ultra-Surprise!

We sat in the dimly lit office as the ultrasound tech squirted the jelly on my wife's belly and began to slide the monitor around to find that little squirmer.  She deftly located and measured head, heart, bladder, larger bones - as we waited for some kind of explanation of the black and white images as they seemed to morph,  fluid-like,  from one vaguely recognizable shape to another.  She had asked at the beginning if we wanted to know what we were having, to which we'd immediately said "yes!"  As of yet, the legs were closed, so she continued examining the mini-person, organs and other contents of my wife's growing mid-section.

We have two daughters and frankly were expecting another.  We were just waiting for our little one's legs to part long enough for the tech to spot and point out the tell-tale three lines indicating what they call the "hamburger" and confirming the female status of our next child.

We were sitting anxiously, yet quietly, when - without warning -  she said, "You better start adjusting, that's a penis."  What?!  Are you sure?!  We thought we only made girls!  There must be a mistake!  Check again.  Are you sure that's not something else?  Maybe it's a misplaced nose or ear or an extra leg or something, something, something else - right!?  Please check again - are you sure?  Are you 100% positive that's a boy?  "Nothing is 100% with ultrasounds," she replied.  "But that's a penis."

We were stunned.  We had truly not seriously considered the possibility of having a boy.  We knew about girls.  That's what made sense to us.  A baby girl - pink, little dresses, tiny fountain pig tails on top of her little head, fairies and princesses and Strawberry Shortcake...  One simple swiping wipe from front to back to clean you up when we change your diaper... this is what we knew to expect.  We'd had our name for months!  A girl's name for the younger sister of our 2 girls who would share a room and share all their hand-me-down clothes and dress-up clothes and hair ties and hair clips and head bands and cute little frilly...ARE YOU SURE THAT'S A PENIS?!  I mean -  it's just a little dot, the size of an eraser.  It could be anything, right? Right?! Look again - Check again from another angle...  We were expecting a girl and, um...What do we do with a penis?  This is NOT what we've been preparing for!

Somehow the nice ultrasound person didn't seem to sense our smoldering hysteria.  Perhaps it was because the hysteria was largely bottled up inside.  Nonetheless, we felt it so strongly that we hardly said a thing.  If you looked closely at either of us at that moment, you would have clearly noticed the size of our eyeballs, which I'm positive was at least double their normal size.  At this moment, it might have been nice to have our daughters with us, because we were so overwhelmed with this impending boy, that we were stunned speechless.

We walked out of the place clutching each other like zombies.  We drove to a nearby Dunkin Donuts to  decompress and wallow.  Yes, I said wallow.  We lamented all the adorable tiny girl outfits that were folded, categorized by age in months, sitting in a closet - just waiting to be worn by our newest family member.  Alas, it was never to be.  Watery-eyed, we tossed back our iced-coffee and sulked as we ate our donuts.  What about the name - the initials - the bathroom regimen?  Everything had been carefully worked out according to our forgone conclusion of a 3 daughter family.  Now we had suddenly become a 2 daughter and a foreskin family.  How are we supposed to adjust to that?

This day had become something we truly had not bargained for.  And yet - here we were, alone to commiserate.  Of course we were forbidden to share this with anyone.  According to the well-known rules of the We're-just-happy-to-be-having-a-healthy-baby announcement, under no circumstances is one permitted to even utter anything that would imply a lack of gratitude.  People try for years to have children and spend thousands of dollars to no avail.  How dare we suggest disappointment at the gender of  our THIRD child, no less!  How dare we!  But still, we dared.  For the time being, sitting there at DD.  We were not just disappointed, we felt let-down, jipped, dupped, mislead.  We held hands and, somehow, we got through it.

Naturally we began to feel better and better even on the drive home.  After all,  we are going to have a baby again, and there is no denying this impending infusion of joy.  Plus, we'll get to use the phrase "little guy" -  and it really will be our own little guy.  We'll get to cradle his warm body and smell his grapefruit-sized head and marvel at the tininess of his poops.  Seriously how could we not be excited, curious and - yes - very, very happy.   But whenever we need a reminder of how we first felt, we just take a look at our gender-reveal video.  In it, our oldest child clearly and unapologetically shows us exactly how we felt when we first heard the news...

Gender Reveal Video

Little Kids = Gross Stuff in Your Carpet

My daughter likes to show me her boogers, and then keep them.  I'm quick to offer her a tissue or show her the way to the trashcan, sink or toilet.  But she prefers to keep them preserved on the tip of her tiny finger while she wanders around, watches t.v, drinks her juice.  If I ambush her with a tissue and try to grab the offending booger off her finger, she'll quickly try to retract her finger and shrink away.  Then where the mini-boogie ends up is anyone's guess.  It most likely winds up in our carpet along with the multitude of unmentionable items hidden in that dirt trap we call a floor.  I'll spare you the frightful list of potential gross stuff in our carpet.  Suffice it to say that boogers are not the most disgusting things there.  Of course we have a  vacuum cleaner.  It's fairly strong and equally loud.  But let's face it, when you have little kids, you've got stuff in your carpet that's never coming out...

"Upsown, Daddy." (this is my two and a half-year-old asking me to hold her upside down)
"But you don't have any pants on."
"Upsown!!!"
Why can't I see that her 50% nudity could not be more irrelevant?  It is so obvious to her.  Naturally, I hoist her up and lower her down my back, until I'm grasping her ankles and she's dangling happily.  I suppose if I lived with a giant, I would probably take advantage of this simple way to get the blood rushing to my head at a moment's notice.

She does what feels good.  The wisdom is so innate, I don't understand why we doubt it.  We should rename ourselves the "grown-olds," or the "grown-talls,"or perhaps just the "groaners."  But I'm not sure we've earned the title "grown-up" just because we've been around for so damn long.

Some of us grow up, but some grow lazy, some grow cranky, some grow numb.   I've found that looking to my younger ones is almost always likely to open my eyes, my mind and my heart to all that's around me.

Still,  - most of the time - I'm one exhausted fella.

Maybe I ought to spend more time upsown...

There is no Middle

There is no middle of the night.  There is only the time when my children are sleeping and the time when they are awake.  The time when they are awake, I am awake.  The time when they are asleep, I am recovering.  Raising children is uncanny.  It's like having something (very precious) on the stove or in the oven, ...for years.

You find something you like, you stick with it.

My younger daughter loves it when I hold her upside down.  Who am I to  disappoint the most single-minded person I know?  I hoist her up again and again.  She practically climbs up my chest and over my head so that I can suspend her from her ankles as she hangs down my backside, giggling...  As soon as I let her down, she reaches up with both hands for another go.  It's simple, Daddy.  You find something you like, you stick with it.  Who cares if you don't like it tomorrow?  It's not an investment.  It's just a way to live your life.  How many times do I have to teach you this, Daddy?  My answer:  I don't know - but please, please keep trying.  I distinctly recall being able to learn new things.  Okay.  Ready?  Up you go!...

Warning - Cliff Approaching!

We announced today, that we're expecting our third child in the spring.  Three children means we will be officially outnumbered from the moment the baby is born until, ...the rest of our lives.  That's all.  It's just the rest of our lives, - What's the problem with that?  The problem is that everyday, lately, there are several instances when our two sweet, gem-like offspring, become loud, boisterous beasts who seem to have forgotten English and who can now get away from us by running and jumping and climbing and slipping into tiny holes that we never noticed before.  During each one of those instances, we are thinking "Oh my  God! - What are we going to do when there's 3 of them?!"  This is scary.  Then they fall asleep and we think about how great it will be with a new baby in the house.  This calms us and fills us with longing and strength - for about 5 seconds until we collapse and fall asleep ourselves.  Before we know it, it's the middle of the night and one of our  daughters is calling "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,..."  Generally, all either of them wants is just for me to wake up and stumble groggily down the hallway to be close by so she can drift right back to sleep.  Then I go back to sleep.  My head hits the pillow, I close my eyes and it's immediately time to wake up.

We decided to have another child  because we wanted to have another baby and because 3 sounds like a nice number.  Babies simply cannot be overrated, but as far as 3 being a nice number, - that's just idiotic.  I'm picturing a steam roller with the smiling faces of my 3 children on it.  It's rolling toward me as I back up slowly, prolonging the inevitable.  The inevitable, in this case, means that my children love me, but that won't stop them from killing me.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to wander about in an exhausted state and take care of thousands of tiny little tasks.  All of them out of order, and all unnoticed, but each and every one of them absolutely essential to a household that I'm trying desperately to keep undetected by reality television.

Just Say "Yes."

My two and-a-half-year-old wakes, groaning at 1:00am, and I sleepily scurry to her bedside to calm her. She mumbles "milk..." and I begin to protest, then immediately relent.  She wants milk, and I want her to go back to sleep before she wakes her mommy and her sister.  So milk it is.  Is this the wrong choice?  Am I teaching her she'll always get what she wants?  If it's the middle of the night, and It's within my power, that's fine with me.

There are so many guidelines for how not to spoil a child.  Yet their status is that of someone who is spoiled more or less by definition.  Sure, they ought to pull their own weight.  But it isn't very much weight, after all.  It's simple, we get them stuff.  It's not all the time, and it's not always exactly what they want.  But much of the time, they've figured out what they can get, and they ask for it - and we give it to them.  So why this constant struggle, generation after generation to make sure we don't spoil our children?   Sure, there are those who go overboard, but that's generally when they lavish their children with things they don't need at all - such as cars or iPhones, or other items, often intended for adults.

So I draw the line at need versus want.  Could my daughter have survived without her middle-of-the-night milk?  Of course.  But will she get nourishment from it while it helps her get back to her much needed sleep?  Yes it will.  So it fits my requirements for a good choice.  I do prefer to say yes to my children as often as I can justifiably do so, because I want them to grow up to be people who say yes as often as they can justifiably do so.

If my children wind up with a first instinct that instructs them to say no, they will be ill-equipped to enjoy life and all the good it has to offer.  Of course I want them to think before they act.  But I don't want them to always think "No" before they answer.

Honey Cake

On Rosh Hashanah, my daughter and I made honey cake together.  My wife, who wasn't feeling well, called instructions to us from the living room as we stood at the kitchen counter with the recipe while gathering the ingredients.  My daughter was perched on a chair wearing her Fancy Nancy apron over a pair of underpants.  I don't remember what I was wearing, but the honey was sweet, and the batter was thick and the kitchen smelled like a holiday with flour sprinkled all around. 

I didn't realize how much I would cherish that memory, while we were in the middle of it.  But I'm already looking forward to next year when my daughter (or daughters) puts an apron on over her underpants and stands on a chair with a large wooden spoon, ready for the task at hand.  It's one of those moments where there is truly no inclination to consider the future or dwell on the past.  Just measure the ingredients carefully and mix, mix, mix.

Each time I take a bite of honey cake - sticky and dense - it's not nearly as sweet as the thought of standing at the kitchen counter with my daughter.  This is the exact thing that I don't want to end.  This is the meaning of parenthood.  This is why I must have grandchildren.

Sticky Fingers

Daddy makes fluffy waffles:
Dip 'em in syrup,
Ask for more,
Eat 'em all.

"Hey!
What about those
Blueberries I put out?"

"More see-up!"

(see-up = syrup)

Visitation Rights

My two-year-old likes to visit me when I'm on the toilet.  She has some kind of radar that signals the moment I sit down.  Wherever she is, she stops what she's doing and makes a beeline for the bathroom I'm in.  I turn on the light, close the door, sit down, - and within 10 seconds her little hand is on the lever, pulling the door open.  She comes in with a big smile.  Hi Daddy!  To her, it's our secret meeting place.  While I'm thinking "Gee, I love you and you're adorable - but you're kind of close to me while I'm trying to accomplish this very personal task,"  she's thinking "Hi! - Look at my Lovey! - What are you doing? - Can I sit on your lap? - Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, ...Hi!"  No matter how frustrated I am whenever she shows up, somehow she just knows that she's always allowed in.

As annoying as this can be, I realize that she won't do it forever, and that makes me a little sad.  I know, I know, it's silly.  I mean, who wants to go into the bathroom when their dad's on the toilet?  It's gross, right?  I love my dad, but there's no  way I'm doing that.  Unless he's stranded without TP.  Then I suppose I'd hand him a roll.  So, the question is - At what point will she no longer do this?  Will it be a conscious decision, or will it just happen subtly, over time?  And how will I get over it?

Who am I kidding?  I'll never get over it.

Digging potatoes

I dug potatoes with my daughter today.  Our hands clawing at the earth, fingers probing the dirt - it was like digging for treasure.  In addition to our haul of four bags of red potatoes, we discovered a few grasshoppers, some crickets, several lady bugs, assorted beetles, numerous potato bugs, a tiny fuzzy spider and one toad (which peed in my hand).  The sun was on our necks and the dirt and weeds made us itch, but we were too preoccupied with the joy of searching for our bounty as a team of equals.  As we walked back between the rows with our heavy sacks, our faces were looking down, but our hearts perched happily upon satisfied shoulders.  My daughter's bright green boots dragged through the dirt as she cheerily noted how we'd have potatoes to eat whenever we wanted.  We were sweaty, dusty, and fully content.  You'll never experience a better afternoon than that.

Potato Dig at KYV Farm

Bitter Herbs

I like Passover because the whole family has to stay at the table for more than the usual ten minutes. Let's face it, it's all about the kids - when they're there. ...asking the four questions, searching for the Akikomen, learning to sit still with empty stomachs while sitting at a table brimming with delicious food - what kid wouldn't look forward to that?! But, what I really like, is the bitter herbs. They serve as a reminder of the bondage of our ancestors in Egypt, which is immediately reflected on the faces of those around the table who actually eat the bitter herbs. Believe me, there is nothing like a mouthful of horseradish to capture your attention. Even a dime-sized portion on the corner of a a piece of matzoh will set your eyes watering and force you to think of nothing else but our enslaved forebears. It will also provoke you to lunge across the table for more matzoh to absorb the burning in your mouth and nose. For those few moments, everyone at the Passover table - young and old - is caught up in the need to ignore everything else and focus on the nearly incapacitating nature of true bitterness. And as it begins to fade with the intake of Manischewitz and matzoh, you feel immediate gratitude for the fact that it was only temporary - unlike that of those whom we commemorate. There is a divide in this experience between the younger and older folks at the table. The older ones know exactly what to expect as they lift the traditional food to their lips. The younger ones are merely following their example, coaxed along with time-honored phrases such as "try it," "just a little taste," or "it's good for you" (an obvious risk). Seeing the children's faces as they actually taste the horseradish is like watching someone take a swig expecting delicious hot chocolate, but getting old, bitter coffee instead. You can't help but feel a little bad, while you rush to give them more matzoh to ease the sensation. The mental picture I've just created makes me want to take an actual photo. Perhaps we'll manage to get one next year, just as everyone has taken that fateful nibble. We can keep a copy around just to prove that - although we did get together and enjoy a filling meal - it wasn't that much fun. After all, it's not as if it's a celebration. It's more like a post-commiseration... ...with food.

Twinge

Forget about that twinge in your stomach, and "Just Do It" today. Tomorrow will come soon enough.

Amazing Nap

I want to do something amazing, something phenomenal. I want to do something indicative of my awesome, unlimited potential. But, I think I'll take a nap first. I keep waking up in the wee hours of the morning between two little people who roll into me and poke me with their toes. They're not tired, because in addition to 10 or more hours of sleep each night, they get naps left and right. I deserve a nap. But as soon as I wake up, I'm going to do something amazing.

Sharing

My almost 2-year-old has a very precise concept of sharing. Whatever item happens to be in her possession is liable to be shared at any given moment. Here's how it works: She notices another person and forcefully jabs the item out into the air in front of their face. The recipient barely has a moment to grasp the item before she snatches it back, convinced she's fulfilled the sharing requirement. She is extremely adamant about this, and if said item is not accepted for the brief moment, she quickly becomes insistent. "Take this thing from me right this second! You have to let me share with you, now take it! Good - now give it back right now!, right now!, right now! right now!/Give It Back! - What? - Did you think I was giving it to you? I was just sharing it with you. Apparently you don't know how that works. Well, I'm sorry. You have nothing interesting to say and nothing to offer me, I'm gone, and I know I'm not smiling (what the heck does that have to do with sharing anyway). Man! More people really need to get with this whole sharing custom." She even does it with food, which can be confusing. Sometimes she wants to show you up close the piece of food she's about to eat, and sometimes she's simply overcome with the urge to feed you. This involves her persuading you to open your mouth just enough for her to literally shove the morsel past your lips and teeth and then continue to stare intently at your mouth until you chew and swallow. Apparently, contrary to the popular saying - She IS the boss of me.

Wake Up Call

My younger daughter woke me gently today from my nap on the love seat. When I say "woke me gently", I mean - attempted to put her play-glasses on me while I was sleeping. And when I say "attempted to put her glasses on me", I mean - poked me in the eye with the earpiece. Only my thin eyelid was protecting me. When I awoke at the prodding, and opened my eyes, she had a clear shot at my eyeball. She took it.

Sorry to hear it...

I'm sorry to hear about the passing of Whitney Houston. The apparent loneliness of being found dead in a hotel room, is just so damned depressing for me to think about for too long. We should all have a hand to hold, and we should all be willing to reach out a hand to those around us. I know everyone is on their own path, but paths are forever crossing. I try to smile at the whiners and scowlers I see. And if I'm one of them, I dare you to smile at me.

In Whitney's absence, it's good to think of her music playing.

Wake up or be trampled.

When you child kneels on your armpit and steps on your face and you're beginning to wonder whether she is inclined to consider your feelings, just ask. If she replies by saying "Bah!", while sticking a finger deep into your nostril, the answer is not really. Don't take offense, though, because her apparent physical assault while you're half asleep is really a demonstration of affection. She only climbs on the people she loves most in all the world. So I believe congratulations are in order. Meanwhile, be sure to cover up your crotch and eyeballs in preparation for her arrival in your bed, uninvited in the early morning hours. Sweet dreams :-)

Dirty Work

You really need to be willing to jump right in to the messiness of life. It's the only way to truly experience what it feels like to be human. If you let other people do your dirty work for you, you'll find yourself unable to communicate very honestly with anyone.

Baby Genius

Frankly, most of us spend our time more concerned with what just happened, or what's about to happen, than with what is happening right now.

My youngest child is the best teacher of this phenomenon. She will get very excited or very upset about something that seems so small. But once I absorb the fact that she is only concerned with this moment and NOT this moment relative to anything past or future, it makes complete sense. As an adult, I can't imagine eating one of my favorite foods with a mindset completely void of any concept of the future. But I can see the exhilaration on my daughter's face, while eating ice cream that this is positively the best thing you could have in your mouth. Her eyes are wide open, as well as her ice cream-filled mouth. He enthusiasm inspires you to want to have some too, RIGHT NOW!

Or if she spots a blue heron landing right outside our patio, she feverishly signs and says "bird", while fixating on the long-legged visitor. It's as if it were the coolest thing ever. But the thing is, she's not comparing it to "ever." It's the coolest thing right now, over which there can be no debate. It IS the coolest thing now, but we jaded adults can't clear our minds enough to think only about right now. We have to cloud our attention along with our potential enthusiasm with visions and concerns of near and far, past and future - until the present shrinks and dulls almost to the point of being a mere caption. It's so confounding that with age and "wisdom" comes this sad, semi-blinding phenomenon of caring less and less about what is happening in this PRECISE moment.

Do yourself a favor and try to focus on the present at least once a day. Really suck it all in. If you need help or inspiration in doing this. Find a child, the younger the better. They are natural experts in seeing and feeling the true energy and beauty of life. It's just the best :-)

Smile, Idiot.

When you're going about your day - doing your thing, and someone tells you to smile, - What is your first thought? I'm guessing it's not one of gratitude. Odds are it's an angry thought. "Don't tell me to smile! If I'm not smiling, there's a reason for it. I can handle the decision making process for my own facial expressions, thank you very much. And whenever I DO smile, I guarantee it won't be because some idiot told me to!" Have a nice day :-)

Shaving Cream On The Lawn

We were outside and the girls were dragging out toys to play with and I said "Make sure you get cleaned up before you go in. Do not go in with dirty feet." They were bare-footed, the ground was wet, and they immediately went inside without cleaning up. Naturally, I yelled at them and told them to come back outside and not to go in until I or their mother told them they could. I walked around to the front, opened the garage door, went inside. They were already all the way upstairs. I asked them if they had wiped their feet, the older one said "no," and I yelled at them again.

I'm beginning to think that parenting isn't a learning experience. It's more of an ultimate challenge to maintain your sanity, while spending every day and night with crazy people for a minimum of 5 years.