I need a play date

A few years ago, I didn’t even know what a play date was.  First time I heard it, it sounded kind of weird.  

Now it’s one of the first words I hear after meeting parents with similarly aged children.  We should do a play date.

While I used to resist such things, say “sure lets,” but never really plan to call.  Now, I snatch up play date offers like they are rare pieces of gold.

You mean you want to interact with me while our kids run around like the little demons they are (sometimes).   You betcha.  Just say when.  How about tomorrow?

As parents of young children, my wife and I find one of the hardest things to do is to make friends.  I know it sounds weird.  What the heck do I need friends for, right.  Well, after a while the people you have been friends with kind of disperse.  Some move, some have kids, some don’t.  Others have kids and even live nearby, but you never see them because everyone is just so busy.  

I ran into an old friend from way back a few days ago.  He has kids too, around the same age, and he lives within a few miles – though it is the next school district over.   After we parted, saying we should get together, I did the math on the last time we got together.  It was four years before.  Clearly, we aren’t going to be getting together any time soon – at least not with regularity.

Yet, you need friends.  My wife and I are solid and close.   But I imagine she gets sick of me every once and a while.  Besides, she likes to do boring stuff like shop and knit.  I like to fish and drink beer.  You know, guy stuff.

We certainly need friends.  But making new friends is hard for people like us.  By that I mean people with several children.  So what do we do? 

We have committed to finding and making new friends.  But how?

Play dates.

The parents who ask us to have play dates are the same ones we are likely to see at all the kid-centric events for the next few years – at soccer games, school gatherings, the library.  They would make perfect friends, right?

So, whenever a play date is offered, we jump at the chance.  Unsuspecting parents come over to get a break from the monotony of their own parenthood and fall onto our list of potential friends.

So far, it seems to be working.   We are still in the play date phase with a few couples.  But one of these days we hope to become actual friends.

A solution for the vacation conundrum

Need a vacation from your vacation. Don't worry. It happens to all of us.

Taking the kids on the road always sounds like such a great idea.  We can get a way.  See new places.  Relax.  Oh, to relax. Even for a mere moment.  It is more precious than gold to any parent.

Wait. Relax? 

Did you forget that you will have your offsrping with you as you truck down the highway headed for a hotel room one-tenth the size of your actual house?  Or even a tent.

What exactly are you getting away from, again? Just the actual house?

Don’t get me wrong, I love taking a vacation with the kids.  It’s the stuff that makes life so great.  And as the regular and mundane daily existence fades in memory, it's the vacation memories that will linger.  As with all good memories, the fondness of those memories will almost always grow as time goes by. Remember that time we drove to Florida? That was great.

None of that, however, takes away the immediate pain of a vacation with children -- the “knock-it-off-or-I’ll-turn-this-car-around” moments that bring us all to our on-the-road breaking point.

Ah, vacation.

My wife and I learned some time ago that the best way to enjoy our vacations was to bring one of the sets of in-laws. My parents or her parents, whichever one is able.  It is a must.

These built-in baby sitters love the kids and actually want to spend time with them – even on vacation.This allows us to have a night out, read a book, actually sleep in.  Whatever.

Without them, it just would not be a vacation – more a kid-filled family adventure. Which can be fun as well, but is hardly a vacation.

This summer, our family went on two vacations. One week-long break at the beach, and a long-weekend in the mountains. Her parents came to the first, mine to the second.

And thank god they did.  Sure, it adds some personalities to the mix, and after a week it can get tough dealing with extended family and all their flaws.  And at some point the relaxation quotient is reduced by the tension factor.  

But, for a few days it is well worth it. 

We were actually able to do the things that help us relax.  We actually went out to dinner, just me and the wife.  She read a book.  I went fishing - alone.  One day, we even slept in until 9:00 a.m.  It was like we were in college again.    

We also did tons of stuff together as a family.  We swam every day, walked the beach, watched the sunset.  We went on hikes, rode in paddle boats, and I took the kids fishing. 

The children loved every minute of it.  And the grandparents did too.  They actually cried when they had to say good-bye to the little rascals.  I felt like crying, but for a different reason.

Still, we had actual vacations this summer, filled with wonder kid-filled memories – and a few without.

And we got to relax.  I swear. 

The Freaking Television

“Can I watch a show?”

That is the first question I get in the morning, and the one I’m most often badgered with throughout the day. The moment there is any idle time, a lull in the action.  Can I watch a show.  Rainy days are the worst.

The answer is usually no.  We’re not strict anti-television parents.  Far from it.  But the kids ask so often that the usual answer is just no.

When the first kid was born, we decided we would not let our new child watch television at all. Then we got our first Baby Einstein DVD, and it so stopped the crying.  We softened our stance. 

Then came the Wiggles.  Our first kid loved the Wiggles, including this bizarre crush on Jeff – the one that sleeps a lot.  Wiggles ruled our house for a solid two years.  It was mildly entertaining, though I couldn’t help but thinking me and three friends with fake instruments could do as good a job. I mean, how hard is it to sing about spaghetti?

Our kid became a Wiggle junkie – images of teen aged girls screaming for the Beatles haunted me.  I didn’t want to raise a future groupie.     

The Wiggle phenomenon made us once again re-evaluate our television rules.  We cut back, set more standards and established guidelines.  But it was too late.  Our oldest child was already a television junkie.  Personally, I think she came out that way -- prewired to become a zombie whenever the television was on. After all, she comes from a long line of television watchers.

With the second child, we decided again not to plop her in front of the television unless we had to – like for child care management.  We ended up turning on the television more often than we would have liked.  But busy parents have few options.

Luckily, by the time our second kid was of TV watching age, the Wiggles were in the where-are-they-now category.  Apparently they are still there, with a new front man.  But we have managed to avoid them.  It helped that the second kid immediately preferred Wonder Pets to grown men signing bad songs. And once she discovered the Backyardigans – it was all over.   For the uninitiated, the Backyardigans are a real step up from most of the crap we show our kids.  A ringing endorsement.

When the third kid came along, she was lucky if she ever engaged in age-appropriate viewing.  Her older sisters ruled the schedule.  It wasn’t until they went off to school that she got to choose what she watched.  Unfortunately, she chose Yo Gabba Gabba.  Mind-numbing stuff.  The only thing it’s good for is taking a quick dad nap. Makes me kind of miss the “fruit salad” days of my early dadhood. 

As for the baby boy, he is still too young to be truly entranced by the digital babysitter.  Though, all he ever really sees is Suite Life On Deck.  God help him.

Nowadays, the eldest is still the one who asks to watch a show most often, and clearly the dictator of the programing, which means Phineas and Ferb, the Suite Life and their spin-offs and the god-awful Pair of Kings, the premise of which is so absurd it makes Lost seem like a reality show. All of this barely fills the void in her life left when Hannah Montana ended, of course.

During the school year, the oldest is only allowed to watch television on weekend.  But in the summer, all hell breaks loose. 

Clearly, we have lost the war on television.  All we can do now is minimize our losses and win an occasional battle.

We still maintain ban on certain programs, because they are purposely obnoxious or dreadfully boring – Sponge Bob and Kick Butowski fall into the first category, Thomas into the second.  The worst are the Disney shows that stray into “dating” themes.  Like I need my eight year old learning about broking up with a boyfriend.  No thanks.  

But, we’ve learned that a little television is not the end of the world.  I watched a lot of television when I was a kid. The currency of quotes I learned helped me make friends and impress people in the decades that followed.  I’m sure “Sweet Niblets” has replaced “What you talkin’ bout, Willis?” on the common-usage scale.

The challenge is limiting the television so it doesn’t rule everything.  So when they ask if they can watch a show, I usually say no.

References .. Sort of

You really only need one thing to be a dad … I am referring of course to kids.  You don’t even need plural “kids.” Just one will do. I happen to have more than one. In fact, if kids are qualifications for a dad blog, my resume is so impressive it’s frightening.   

Not to overstate it.  I only have four kids. These days, that’s about as many as you can have before people start thinking oddly of you. With four kids, old folks stop you on the street and tell you what a beautiful family you have. With five, everyone expects you to start handing out pamphlets on the coming apocalypse.

Four is plenty. I used to think three was enough. Heck, two was a handful.  But, for some reason, we couldn’t stop. So we have four. Three girls and one boy.  Ages, 9, 6, 4, and 2 – in that order.

As a general disclaimer, I love my kids.  Each one is great, and different.  And each drives me absolutely nuts at times.  Some more often than others.  

Take the first one, as an example.  She is brilliant.  I know what you are thinking.  Every dad thinks their kid is brilliant.  Maybe.  But I tell you, she is smarter most other kids I know -  if you follow what I'm saying. Though the boy is only 2, so he still has a chance. She is also an intensely vexing child.  I used to watch Sally Jesse Raphael and wonder how parents could screw up so bad. Now, I understand.  I understand, Sally!  Please make it stop. Uncle! 

The doctors say she is a spirited child.  That’s actually a word, or a phrase -- a term d’art for a kid that is a total pain in the buttocks, in a brilliant sort of way. There are even books on it.  I know because after the doctors told us, my mother-in-law found the book, bought it, and sent it to us with a Dear Abby column on spirited children tucked in as a book mark.  Thanks.  My wife read the book. I decided to just live the movie.

Kid number two is far more mellow. Very sweet and loving. She always has been. When she could barely talk, she used to say, “You are the best Daddy ever.” I would tell her, thanks, but you have nothing to compare it too. Still it was nice to hear. 

She is so sweet and so loving that I fear we screwed her up too. She has always been able to live well within the boundaries that number one pushed. So we almost never have to correct her, or anything.  A few weeks ago the bad parent alarm sounded when she looked right at me and said, “Daddy, no one ever says no to me.”  Oops.  We have decided to start saying no to her every once and a while.

Kid number three is just plain crazy – in a cute sort of way.  She is funny and random.  A real comedian.  Even though she is just three years old, she has this innate ability to remember movie lines. And I swear we don’t use movies as baby sitters too much.  Scouts honor.  So some of these movies she’s only seen once.  After the first time she saw Monsters vs. Aliens (yes, we let a three year old watch it), she walked around saying, “Suuuusan. Oh, I just scared myself. That is scary.”  And then she would laugh.

Number three laughs a lot, pretty much whenever she isn’t crying or screaming at her older sisters.  There is very little middle ground.  It’s either smiles or tears.  Hopefully she finds something in the middle, and soon.  But, no doubt about it, she is a real card.

The boy, who is the baby, is still revealing his personality to us.  For a while, we thought he was going to be real mellow, like number two. But now we think that was just him being a baby – you know, laying around and not causing any trouble.  The façade of mellowness ended when he started crawling around – reaching for stuff, knocking stuff over, throwing anything he could grab. Now that he is walking, we have reassessed his energy level.  He is not mellow.  He’s happy and good natured.  But not mellow.

So that’s a primer on the kids. My resume for a dad blog. I also have references, though I am afraid what they may say.

Clearly, there will be much more on the little varmints as the insanity ensues.

Like the world needs another dad blog.

It's true.  There are many dad blogs out there.  Maybe too many.  Stay at home dads, single dads, dads of just daughters, dads who don't have custody – the so-called weekend warriors.  You name it, there is a dad blogging about it.  The only thing there is more of is mommy blogs.  Ah, Women.

Just trying to find a name for this darned blog I almost threw in the towel.  When you start googling catchy names to see what’s available, you realize every guy who ever even thought he was a dad has a blog dedicated to the ordeal.  Dad's life: Taken.  Busy Dad, Dads Anonymous, Good Dad Bad Dad, Great Dad, Dorky Dad. All gone.

The Dad Blog, Another Dad Blog, Not Another Dad Blog. All used. Not all updated in the past three years, but all off the market.

So why the heck start a dad blog? Good question.  The answer is a bit complicated. Of late I have felt the desire -- no, more the need -- to write about my own adventures being a dad.   Don't get me wrong.  I love it.  It seems the job I was meant to do, if only I could get paid for it.  But it is trying.  Sometimes comically so, and other times in a more heart-wrenchingly way.

When faced with such adversity, people often search for comfort and relief in activities.  Like working out. Some people go to the gym, and that’s all they need to deal with life’s little stresses (not referring directly to the kids here). But I’d have to live at the gym to effectively deal with my kids.

Others pick up a hobby.  Though no dad worth the weight has enough time for a really good hobby, unless you count lawn work. Besides, if I were to pick up a hobby it would have to be kite-boarding.  I’ve never done it before.  But as a rule, I prefer new hobbies that take two other cool sports I’ve never done and combine them into a seemingly ridiculous one.  Alas, kite-boarding requires total freedom – you have to be ready to go when the wind and waves are just right. And I just can’t. I also don’t live near water.

So instead of kite-boarding, or working out too much, I decided to turn to something I am more familiar with: writing.

Writing is my therapy.  It has been for some time.  Whenever faced with real adversity, I write.  So far, I have written one novella and one memoir.  Of course, I have not had either published.  But they are written I tell you. Writing is an effective outlet, if not a lucrative one.

So despite the seeming glut of dad blogs, I will be starting yet another one.  And not, Yet Another Dad Blog, because that name is taken too.

We’ll have to wait and see if this therapy works.