I Think Therefore I Dad

A Dad at Disney World: Lessons and Observations

Ever since our kids took an interest in Disney movies, my wife and I have been excited to take them to Disney World. In between an easy drive there and a painful drive back, we spent a week at The Happiest Place on Earth. I had gone as a kid myself, and as a kid-less adult, but but this would by my first time going as a dad. There were differences. Some good, some not so good. Here’s a few things that stood out to me.

Strollers: Lifesaver or Pain?

When we first decided to go, I didn’t plan on taking a stroller. My kids are seven, five, and three. I thought my seven year-old daughter should be able to walk the whole time, my five year-old daughter should be able to walk most of the time, and my three year-old son should be able to walk some of the time. I would be ok with giving them shoulder rides or piggy back rides the times they needed a break. I get it, it’s a lot of walking, but they run around all day, surely walking is easier than running, skipping, dancing, hopping and all the other ways they get from here to there, right?

Well, my wife made the good case that a stroller would be helpful so that at least one kid at a time could take a rest while we still make our way through the parks, and it gives us a place to store our stuff – snacks, water bottles, sweatshirts, etc. In that aspect, it was very handy. However, it also gave the kids something to beg for and fight about.

Once they knew that they had the option to ride in the stroller rather than walk, they wanted it. I think if they never had the option in the first place, would they have asked just as much to be picked up, or would they have just walked? I guarantee they would have begged just as much to be picked up. I know this because even though we had the stroller for them to take turns in, whoever wasn’t in the stroller at the moment was begging to be picked up. Bringing the stroller avoided absolutely zero complaining. If they weren’t complaining about how it should be their turn, they were complaining that it was unfair that their turn was too short, or they were complaining that they wanted up if they couldn’t be in the stroller. It was lose-lose.

The major pros of bringing the stroller was storage and a mechanism to create a gap in a crowd. Just a guy walking down the crowded street and you’ve gotta cram your way between people. Guy pushing a stroller with a kid in it comes down a crowded street and people move over lest they get their toes run over.

Shopping for Souvenirs: A Crash Course in Economics

Before we left, we got a $50 gift card for each kid to use to buy themselves souvenirs. Whatever they wanted to pick out (within reason) was fair game as long it fit their budget. Lucy, my seven year-old, has developed a concept for money and value since she started getting an allowance. She knows how much money she has, but is still developing an understanding of what things cost. More specifically, the difference between something that is expensive and something that isn’t. For example, she assumed the Fairfield Inn we stayed at on the way to Disney World was a better and more expensive hotel than the on-property resort we stayed at once we got there, because the room was bigger and it had a continental breakfast. Lobby waffles do not an expensive hotel make.

On our first day there we went to the World of Disney store, which had everything they could have ever asked for, and more. So naturally they all said they wanted the first thing they saw. We told them to think about it, we’ll take a picture of it, and if in three days you still really want it, we’ll come back and get it. From that moment on, Lucy was keenly aware of all the different number combinations that add up to 50. She was adding values in her head faster than I can. If she doesn’t get an A in math I’m going to recommend adding souvenir shopping be added to the curriculum.

After three days and trips in and out of many stores, she had what she wanted picked out to the penny. She came to very seriously, and let me know that she was $1 over, and asked if she could borrow a dollar. Yeah kid, the last dollar (and really the first 50) is on me. Clearly she hadn’t covered sales tax in math class yet, but I wasn’t going to ruin the moment.

While Lucy learned to check price tags, my wife and I forgot. When Evie, our five year-old, picked out what she wanted we just said sure. When we got to the checkout we discovered she was $20 over budget. Way too late now to tell her change her mind or put something back, so she came out ahead on that one. Though, to be fair, the cost of what she ate on the trip was by far the lowest. The benefits of being a cheap date I suppose. But if she ate more than a single slice of cheese pizza for dinner, we’d have put one of her stuffies back for sure.

Brooks, my three year-old, has absolutely no concept of money. Do you buy things with money or trade hugs? Who’s to say? He’s also the easiest to manipulate into choices – “Buddy, don’t you really want this?!” Of course he does! However, one running theme of the trip was his newfound love of Pluto. As soon as he saw the shelf of stuffed Plutos, his little mind was made up. Which is fine, it still left him some wiggle room in his budget, which of course we once again miscalculated. No worries, he to was on the single slice of cheese pizza diet.

Is it hard to stick to a pre-determined budget? Yes. Are things there overpriced? Absolutely. Is it worth it? Debatable. I know money can’t buy happiness, but it sure can buy a stuffed Pluto. And if this isn’t happiness, then I don’t know what it.

Hills and Splashes: A Child’s Worst Fears

We knew going into it that some rides just weren’t going to happen, either do to lack of interest or lack of height. I had no expectations of the kids riding Space Mountain, the new Tron coaster, Mission to Mars, Test Track, or generally anything without songs that goes fast, goes in the dark, or goes fast in the dark. I did not, however, anticipate such fear of getting lightly splashed.

The first ride we did was also the first ride to be ruined by a mild amount of moisture. On the Ratatouille ride, the imagineers created a very immersive experience in which you go through a kitchen from the perspective of a rat. At one point somebody is mopping the floor and the mop gets flung in your direction, sending a light spay in your face. For some, a fun appeal to the senses that further adds to the experience. For a small child – a ride ruiner. I get it. Getting wet when you don’t want to be is a bad time. I’ve very anti-water balloon for that reason. But while I can accept it as part of the ride, Brooks couldn’t get over it.

A similar experience would get the Pirates of the Caribbean off to a rough start. In the mildly quick drop that starts the boat ride and sends a small splash up in the air, some spray ends up going in the boat. Some of that spray ended upon on son. Combo that with a downhill drop, and he wasn’t having it. Catchy song be damned, him enjoying that ride never stood a chance. He would later say that he didn’t like the ride because the pirates had creepy eyes, but I’m convinced the tone was set when he got a few drops on him that he didn’t want.

For some of the rides, they got some exposure to them ahead of time. I have some Little Golden Books about Pirates of the Caribbean, The Haunted Mansion, It’s a Small World, and Imagination (Figment). In the case of Pirates and The Haunted Mansion, they really came in handy. We suspected those may be too scary at parts for the little ones, so it was good to show it to them as fun books first. I think it really helped, especially for The Haunted Mansion. However, there is no book that can prepare a kid for a roller coaster. I knew Space Mountain wasn’t going to happen, but I never would have guessed that Big Thunder Mountain would be so terrifying.

To be fair to my kids, they have never been on a roller coaster before, or even the crappy little rides at fairs. Not that Big Thunder Mountain is very big or very fast compared to other rides out there, but when it is a kid’s very first experience, it might as well be a rocket ship to Mars.

Kids are sad after riding their first roller coaster — Two kids crying, but at least nobody threw up.

I sat in one seat with Lucy, my wife sat in the row behind us with the younger two. Lucy really enjoyed it. I know she was scared too, but it was the fun mix of excited and scared that makes roller coaster fun. She screamed, she giggled, she had a blast. The scene that unfolded behind us was much different. From the first drop and the first quick turn, there were screams and tears. Every time I glanced back it got worse. By the end of the ride the two were huddled together, arms around each other, and my wife’s arms around were both of them. They didn’t look so much like they were riding a small-ish roller coaster as they were going down aboard the Titanic trapped in steerage. I did hear some laughter coming from behind. From my wife. Who found the abject terror our children were experiencing hilarious.

Kids riding the Tomorrowland People Mover — The thrilling ride of a leisurely tour of Tomorrowland.

After they tearfully stumbled their way off the ride and into my arms, it took a solid five minutes and a snack to get them to calm down. For the rest of the trip, before we got on anything my son would ask me if it had any hills or splashes.

“No buddy, the monorail does not have any hills or splashes.”

His favorite rides by far were Its a Small World and the Tomorrowland People Mover. I suppose there is something to be said about slow and steady.

We’re All In This Together

I remember going to Disney World with my wife before we had kids and casually walking past parents scolding their children, or pretending I didn’t see the kid flailing around on the floor of the candy store throwing a tantrum. At the time, I couldn’t understand how a kid could manage to get so upset at Disney World. My perspective is much different now. But the good thing is, I still noticed all those same things and it was nice to see other parents in the same boat (with hopefully no splashes).

Kids eating Dole Whips in the Magic Kingdom. — The daily ice cream break. You’ll notice the pending freak out on my son’s face because it is his sister’s turn for a stroller break.

While adults have the mental capacity to realize they are on vacation and adjust their behavior, kids can’t. The same stupid crap that gets them upset at home is the same stupid crap that will set off a tantrum in line for Buzz Lightyear Space Ranger Spin. Which is where my son up and punched me in the bean bag because…well, who knows? Kids are going to freak out because they are over stimulated, because they are tired of waiting in line, because their bedtime hasn’t existed in four days, because they had too much ice cream, because you told them no, you can’t have more ice cream, because they dropped their ice cream (basically ice cream = freak out), and a hundred other reasons. They care not that they are in the middle of a magical vacation. My kids, your kids, all the kids. For a parent, there is comforting solidarity in it.

If anything, the perfectly behaved child is the outlier. For example, while waiting in line to meet Tiana and Rapunzel, Brooks fell down and skinned his knee. How one manages to fall down with enough force to draw blood while standing in line, I do not know, but it happened. Naturally, we were completely unprepared. The wipes and band-aids were in the stroller parked somewhere by the carousel. Side note: if you think it’s easy to forget where you parked your car at the store, try remembering where you parked your stroller at Disney World. Anyway, scooped up the boy and stayed in line while my wife went out to get our stuff.

While I stood there trying to calm down my son who was crying like he just got off a roller coaster that also spritzed him in the face, a lovely (and incredibly well prepared) mother who was in line behind us gave me a wet wipe and a band-aid that she had. On top of that, her daughter (who was probably 5 or so) gave my son one of her snacks to help calm him down and “make him happy.” I guess if there is a good place for your kid to meltdown, it’s in front of the nicest people in the Magic Kingdom. With such a display of kindness, I couldn’t help but think that there is a zero percent chance my kids would have done the same. I can only hope that at some point in her trip, that sweet little girl lost her mind over the fact that her mom got her a Little Mermaid bubble wand when she really wanted a Cinderella.

Seeing Captain Jack Sparrow in Adventureland — The kids have no idea who this is.

So going with kids was a completely different vacation experience than going without. Really, it felt like it was their vacation and I was just invited along to carry things and pay for things. But that’s ok. That’s probably about what 50% of parenting is anyway, so I might as well do it while Mickey Mouse comes to my table while I eat my non-lobby waffles. Much like Christmas with kids, the best part now is watching them experience it. And meeting Jack Sparrow.

A Road Trip to Disney World

When my wife and I told people we were taking the kids to Disney World, they all said “They are going to have so much fun!” When we told them we were driving, they said, “Oh….Good luck.” Luck? Who needs luck on a 1,200 mile drive when you’ve got a rubbermaid bin full of snacks and a plan. Turns out we did.

Driving to Disney World: Fueled by Joy and Caffeine

We knew the drive would have it’s challenges, but to be fair, flying with my family had been challenging as well. We made a plan for the drive down, and I have to say, it was solid. We picked the kids up from school, made them pee, and then hit the road. We would drive all night while the kids slept and be in Florida when they woke up. The plan pretty much worked as perfrectly as we could have hoped. The only issue was when my 5 year-old daughter, Evie, fell asleep way too soon. She went from literally screetching with excitement as we pulled out of the driveway to sleeping in her car seat only an hour down the road. Clearly, the excitement got the best of her.

Family on a road trip to Disney World — Van packed and headed for Disney World…I wish I didn’t know now what I didnt know then.

Flash forward to the wee small hours of the night when the other two kids are asleep but Evie’s eyes are aglow in the backseat. Staring back at you as you glance in the rearview mirror like a painting of somebody with eyes that seem to follow you around the room. Creepy? Adorable? Adorably creepy? Yes.

Lucy, my seven year-old daughter, tried to stay awake longer than she should have to check on when we were going into a new state. Much to her disappointment, Indiana and Georgia are both very tall. She slept through the quicker border crossings of Kentucky and Tennessee. At least 4 times she woke up to ask what state we were in only to be told “Still Georgia.” And that is with breezing through Atlanta at 4:00 am with zero traffic.

On the trip down, Georgia ended up being my shift. My wife prefers to drive rather than be the passenger. Partly because she doesn’t want to get carsick, but I think mostly because she doesn’t want to be the one to have to be reaching and/or climbing into the backseat to deal with the kids. She did an awesome job crushing cans of ice coffee and making it from Michigan to just north of the Tennessee/Georgia border in one shot. At about 1:00 am I stopped for the biggest coffee you can get at a Circle K and got behind the wheel. A few Bob Seger and Garth Brooks albums later, the sun was coming up, our plan was a sucess, and everybody had to pee.

Driving Home: So This is What Hell Is Like

The trip home from any vacation sucks. Everybody is sad to leave, nobody wants vacation to end, and certainly nobody wants to spend another 18 and half hours in a van. Well, to our surprise, we didn’t spend another 18 and half hours in a van, we spend another 21. I think. I don’t know, I lost count.

The plan for the drive back was not to do it all at once. Because of the time we’d leave, driving all the way meant driving almost all the way with kids awake. Our goal was to get from Disney World to Nashville day one, then get back to Michigan day two. A very reasonable plan. However, our plan didn’t account for vomit.

The First Vomit: My Daughter Pukes

Was it being cramped in a hot car? Was it some side effect of the pink eye she had started to come down with earlier in the week? Was something off with her breakfast? Perhaps some combination of all of the above. Either way, whatever was going on in Evie’s stomach set us off on a nightmare path through Georgia.

The ride back started fine. We were delayed a bit by a too early potty break (perhaps an early warning sign that all was not digestively well?), but we were in as good as a mood as people who were driving away from 70 degree weather toward 20 degree weather could be. Then the complaints of “my tummy hurts” started bellowing up from the back seat. Uh oh.

I will say this – she hung in there. There was at least a solid hour from the time she started saying she didn’t feel good until she couldn’t hold it in anymore. But alas, there she blew. Amazingly, her tiny little mommy instincts kicked in and she was able to throw her stuffies to dry safety before she threw up. While throwing up in the first third of an 18 hour car ride is bad, it would have been so much worse had she covered her newly purchased Disney souvenirs in vomit. Worse for me I mean. Don’t know that it would have made a difference for her. I know how much those things cost.

We got her cleaned up in a McDonalds bathroom and aired out the van. She felt better, but the delay pushed our timeline back again. This time there was no way around it, we were going to hit Altlanta during rush hour traffic.

No Time for Shoes: An Emergency Bathroom Stop

Let me start this section by presenting an idea. Let’s go full Sherman and burn Atlanta back to the ground. When we rebuild it, let’s start by putting in a 20 lane highway running through the rubble so people can get the hell through the city in under 2 hours. In stark contrast to the breeze through town at 4 am, we had a 2 and a half hour slog at 4:30 pm. We streamed a movie on my wife’s phone to entertain the kids, but the full length of Moana was no match for urban sprawl in the heart of the peach state. Right about as Moana was wrapping up, my three year-old boy frantically had to pee, and the bellows of sore stomachs started again. We were not yet to the northern half of Atlanta’s sprawl.

Try as it might, the Waze app was no match for the traffic it tried to avoid. In an effort to avoid going right through the heart of the city, it set us on a roundabout path around the outskirts. While we never came to a dead stop, we definitly didn’t subtract any time by adding distance. As we meandered around the Eastern edge of the city my son, Brooks, had to pee. Naturally, as we were no longer on the main route through town, there were also no exits every other mile that had bathrooms. By the grace of God, there was one lone Pull-up shoved all the way in the back off van that had yet to be cleaned out in the year since he’s been potty trained. (Score one point for “I’ll get around to that eventually!”)

So I climbed back to him and changed him into it as we faught our way throught traffic. All the while being very appologitic and ensuring him that he is still a big boy, this is just in case, and he doesn’t need to feel bad if he has to go in the pullup. Nothing sends a mixed message to child like giving them the thumbs to pee themselves after years of insisting otherwise.

Luckily we got to a gas station before he had to pee. Unluckily for us, in the rush to get him to the bathroom there was no time to put his pants or shoes back on. Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever been into a gas station bathroom, but off all the places on Earth that you wouldn’t want to walk barefoot, gotta be top three. And wouldn’t you know it, this particular bathroom was pretty gross, even by gas station bathroom standards. (I hope they take the one-star Google review as an opporunity to address some areas for improvement. I somehow doubt that very much.) As soon as I walked in I saw a sizable puddle of what could only be urine on the floor. Not setting this kid down for sure.

1-star review for a gas station in Atlanta

At first I thought I could hold him in the air as he peed down into the toilet, but the hold was very awkward and he was freaking out. Best case scenario he was going to pee on me. I decided to daddy-daughter dance this thing. I had him put is feet on top of my shoes, and we moved and peed as one. Pants-less and with a refreshingly empty blatter, we got my son back in the car. But we were not out of Atlanta, or the woods, yet.

The Second Vomit: My Son Spews

As an astute reader, I’m sure you realized that by previously mentioning a first vomit that there would be a second. Oh yes, there would be a second.

As we finally made our way northward out of Atlanta, all three kids were back to complaining about their stomachs. Emergency puke recepticals were passed around. Evie, God bless her, said she would share hers with her brother. She would use one side of the clamshell take out box, and Brooks could puke in the other side if he needed to. That’s f-ing teaming.

Apparently my son did not pick up on the fundamental purpose of the puke box. His little tummy could take no more, and out its contents came. Nowhere near the box which was holding in his hands. By the time he got he box up to his face, 90% of the puke was in his lap or making its way in to the crevaces of his car seat. Ya know, you never realize just how many crevaces a car seat has until you’re cleaning puke out of it in a McDonalds parking lot. Also, we never eat at McDonalds, so I’m pretty sure my kids are only going to identify that as the place to throw up on car trips.

As I stood in the parking lot trying to fill my lungs with fresh, non-vomit smelling air, I looked over and in the adjacent parking lot was a hotel. Part of me very much wanted to quit. Just stop here. Put the day out of its misery. But before I could even suggest it to my wife, we pressed on. One of the most valuable lessons a kid can learn on a long car ride is how to deal with being miserable. My kids were getting a master class. Plus, if we stopped now, we’d still have at least 11 hours left to drive the next day.

We drove on into the darkening evening as it started to pour rain. Bound for the mountains of Tennessee, which my kids would once again sleep through, pushing forth like the pioneers did so many years ago. Desperatly longing for a place to lay their head in peace, and also to not get dysentery.

When we did finally make it home the next day, my wife and I talked about doing something like that again. The kids loved Disney World, so I assume we’ll go back eventually. But would we drive? After all that, we both agreed that we wouldn’t be against it. As long as the kids were sleeping and not vomiting, peeing, complaining, screaming, singing, eating, talking….it wasn’t that bad.

Stoic Saturday: How to Act (Part 2)

Continuting to breakdown Marcus Aurelius’s thoughts on how one should act, the next part is a quick bit of advice – and also uses a great word.

Don’t gussy up your thoughts.

First off, let’s all agree that “gussy up” is a tragically underused phrase. Now that we’ve established that, my first thought is how refreshing this is when it comes to talking about philosophy. No preposterous “what-ifs” or made up scenarios woven in an attempt to prove or disprove some philosophical abstract. Just clear advice to not just speak, but think straightforwardly.

Not that we want to underthink and make a rushed, uneducated decision. But how many times is the right decision clear, yet we go through mental gymnastics in an effort to justify our choices one way or the other? Yes, gray area does exist, but to get trapped in that area is folly. Set yourself in the right state of mind, with the right guiding principles to stay firmly on the path of black and and white. For a stoic, the virtues of courage, justice, temperance, and wisdom are that guide. Pursue those virtues straight on – in action, speech, and yes, thought.

Don’t waste your mental energy on justifications. Don’t try to convince yourself of something. When an ugly throught comes into your mind, don’t put lipstick on it. Dismiss it.

I also think that we often get caught up in unnecessary thoughts. Not just daydreaming or letting your mind wander, but letting truely useless thoughts get into our minds, distract us, and even effect our moods. How many times have you not given your kids your full attention because half your mind was on something that was trivial in comparison? Living in the moment and staying focused on the task at hand requires your physical and mental presence.

The playoff football game tomorrow, the presidential election in ten months, the fact that your baby will be graduating high school in a mere eleven years – none of these should take up your thoughts today. Give them as much thought as they demand in the moment, but nothing more.

Protect your thoughts. Control what influences them. Stay aware of, and in command of what occupies your mind. Dwell on what is essential. Dive deeply into what feeds you, what helps you grow. Expell the negative, the useless, the puffery. The challenge is training your mind in the first place to be able to recognize the difference between a right thought and an overly gussied one. Once you’ve got an understanding of what truely matters, the rest can start to fall into place.

So, what are you thinking about?

What Does Dad Smell Like?

If scent is the sense with the strongest connect to memory, what will your kids remember about you? I don’t think I have a signature scent, but there is no time like the present to imbedding some olfactory fatherly memories. But what should that be? What do I want my kids to remember dad smelling like?

Dad Cologne: Old Spice vs. New

Safe to say the sterotypical dad cologne is Old Spice, especially if your dad was of a certain age. I know I can picture the bottle on my dad’s dresser. A close second would probably be Brut. But those were the scents of dads gone by. Is there a sterotypical cologne for the modern dad? I feel that not only are there more options for today’s dad, but he is probably also more likely to be open to difference scents. I don’t think a dad would be rolling into the office in 1987 smelling like the patchouli his kids got him for Father’s Day or the essential oils his wife picked up at the farmer’s market.

I did get some soap for Christmas – couple bars of Duke Cannon. My daughter asked to smell the pine scented bar. She took a sniff and recoiled. Said it was too strong. I guess there goes my hopes of associating me with a Chrismas tree.

I’ve worn the same cologne since college, but don’t wear it often enough to have a strong association in my kids minds. So I wonder, if other guys out there are as set in their scented ways as I am, are there kids out there who think their dad smell like Curve? Are their dads Bod men? I suspect that may be the case. On more than one occasion, I’ve caught a whiff of Abercrombie floating through the sea of parents picking their kids up after school. I don’t know why, but I found it to be a shocking realization that douchy turn of the millennium bros are fathers now. Also, Lord help me if my daughters date their sons.

My current bottle of cologne is almost empty, and rather than committing to it as my signature scent, I think I’ll take this as an opportunity to move on. Put more thought into this decision this time around now that I know that someday after I’m dead my kids smell it somewhere and get transported back to their childhood. A much heavier decision than trying to smell good for the ladies.

Aroma of My Environment

For many men, their smell is determined more by the environment they live and work in than their choices. Oil, sawdust, coal, chemicals, or any other occupationally based smells that they obsorb. I work from home, so I pretty much smell the exact same as my kid’s own laundry. More likely, their brains have learned to completely ignore my smell because it is exactly the same as their normal habitat. My daily scent has become the odorous equilivent of elevator music. Its there in the background, vaguely recognizable, and completely forgettable. Perhaps I could change the smell of my environment around you by adding calming bolivian rock incense, maybe an autumnally themed scented candle, possibly diffuse some essential oils.

My “home office” consists of a table in the corner of our basement, so if anything I guess I could absorb some of that smell during a workday. I actually don’t mind the dank, but I’m not sure I want my kids to associate the way I smell when they get home from school with old shoes and not enough natual light. I’m think I’m going to get some essential oils.

A Vice Smelling Man

For better or worse (probably worse), a lot of people out there associate the smell of their father with the smell of his drink or cigarette of choice. While smelling like the Marlboro Man does conjure up a certain amount of masculine nostalgia, probably not the way you want to be remembered after you’re gone if you’re gone prematurly because of cancer. I do enjoy a whisky or a gin on the weekends, but definitly not with enough frequency to smell like it outside of a few hours on a Saturday night after my kids are already sleep.

I drink beer around the kids, but opposite of cologne, I don’t stick to just one. I know for a lot of kids their dad’s brand is tied to their memories by look of the can, smell of it, or whatever. I’m sure my perception is skewed because I live in something of a craft beer bubble, but I feel like dad having just one brand of beer is also going the way of dad smelling like Old Spice. In a world where there has never been so many good options for beer, let’s be better than imprinting our kid’s memories with Budweiser.

Also, cologne isn’t the only smell I’ve detected in the air at pick up time in the school parking lot. Sometimes weed is in the air. I get it, it’s legal. There is a dispensary not far from my house. Maybe don’t bake before going to pick your kid up at school though? But for a segment of the current generation of youths, dad smells like OG Kush.

If I was going to smell like one of my habits, the leader in the clubhouse would probably be coffee. I drink multiple cups per day, so odds are if it’s before noon it’s on my breath. Plus we usually grind our own beans so the smell is in the kitchen air. All things considered, if someday my kids walk into a coffee shop, sit down to enjoy a nice pastry and coffee, and suddenly their old man springs to mind – I’ll take it.

Maybe that’s the path to take – coffee and baked goods. Do they make cologne that smells like an apple fritter? Made with real bits of fritter? A soap that smells like birthday cake? Then again, I can’t really say shame on smelling like the Marlboro Man if I go around smelling like diabetes.

More than likely, it isn’t even up to me. My kids will remember what their brains decide to remember. I could find the perfect cologne, wear it every day, and my kids will probably remember the one time I accidently put on women’s deoderant and associate their father with Degree for Women. Such is life.

Dad Has a Football Face

Life is a neverending journey of self-discovery. Some lessons we learn for ourselves, and some are taught to us. Yesterday I learned something new about myself. I have a “football face.”

Not that I’ve got a football shaped dome like Hey Arnold or anything. My face and the noggin its attached are normal sized and regularly proportioned. My wife tells me I have a big head, but I’m fairly certain she’s not talking about physical circumference. My kids have establishd that I’m not pretty, but I think I’m a far cry from a complection resembling pigskin. Anyway, it turns out there is a face I make that my daughter has deemed as my football face. Apparently, I make a particular face when I’m watching or talking about football.

My seven year-old daughter has picked up the habit of creating a running PowerPoint document with slides about her family, favorite movies, games, foods, etc. She added a new slide with a picture of me in which I was talking to my brother in law about the Detroit Lions. The slide was titled “Dad has a football face.”

See the face in question for yourself:

Does that look like a “football face”? If so, what is the defining characteristic of a football face? I have to believe it is the furrowed brow and the mouth about to give an opinion in rebuttal to the point the other talking gentleman is clearly making. I don’t remember the exact conversation, but based on the faces I’d assume he is laying out his reasoning why this year actually be the year the Lions make it to the Super Bowl, and I’m preparing a well-reasoned response of – “The hell they are.”

But really, that looks like a pretty normal face for me. I express much via brow. Safe to say they spend 80% of their time either furrowed or raised. They are a pretty prominent feature on me. As I get older I’ll definitely have a Eugene Levy situation on my face. Also, I’m often expressing logical, well thoughtout, and elloquenlty delivered opinions on football. All in all, this face is just as likely to be made watching an intense football game as it is deciding which shirt to put on in the morning.

My kids have all been to football games in-person with me, and I’ve also been told I have a certain way of clapping durring football too. Apparantly, I am a very loud clapper. So packaged together, Football Dad makes that face, claps really loud, and gets thirsty when the players take a break. Did I just invent an action figure and/or comic strip character? Stay tuned for Football Dad^TM merchandise!

Knowing that my kids are almost always watching and very observent, I can’t help but wonder what other faces of mine they’ve identified catalogued. Do I have a baseball face too? Are they not specific to sports? Do I also have a lawn mowing face and vacuuming face? When my daughter was younger she once asked to see my O face. Of course, she meant the face I make when I make the sound the letter O makes. She was a tiny child and learning her letters and the sound they make, get your mind out of the gutter ya perverts.

Anyway, remember this – the next time you’re deep in a conversation, deep into thought, or deep into the alphabet, your kids are watching. Just waiting for the right moment to bring up the face you make when you chew and make you feel self concious whenever you eat ribs.

2023: The Album (Live)

If you’re reading this, you know us well enough to be included in our annual Christmas/New Year’s letter. Congratulations! This year, we’re going audio. Please enjoy this playlist summing up the highlights of 2023. And yes, most of the songs are at least 25 years old, so you know they’re good.

Track 1: Brooks Gets Potty Trained – No more babies in diapers in our house, and now Brooks is a big guy going to pre-school.

Track 2: Evie Starting Kindergarten – Both girls at the same school now, which is nice having two places to drop off kids instead of three.

Track 3: Emily Goes Back for Her Masters – Working private practice, teaching at the community college, and now going back for her masters. Emily has been ~~stressed~~…busy.

Track 4: Trip to North Carolina – Visited Emily’s sister Becky and gave the kids another (much better) experience with air travel.

Track 5: Backyard Remodel – Tore out our old deck and replaced it with a patio. A lovely place to sit and relax now.

Track 6: Mice In the House – Apparently there were mice living under the deck who made their way inside the house…if it bleeds, we can kill it.

Track 7: Ten Year Anniversary – Pat and Emily celebrated being married for ten years by staying home and eating barbeque on the couch.

Track 8: Ghostbusters – This Halloween sparked Brooks’ obsession with the Ghostbusters theme song. Little fella would scream at Alexa, “LEXA! PLAY GHOSTBUSTERS!” She almost never understood him.

Track 9: Smooth Criminal – All year the kids have been into Michael Jackson, especially the Smooth Criminal music video.

Track 10: Muppets Most Wanted Soundtrack – The kids really got into the Muppets this year, Muppets Most Wanted to be precise. Again, Brooks took to screaming, “LEXA! PLAY KERMIT ON SOUNDTRACK.” Shockingly, she almost never understood him.

Track 11: Swim Lessons – Evie and Lucy took swim lessons this Summer, furthering Evie’s desire to grow up to be a Mermaid. Or a princess. Or a princess mermaid.

Track 12: Family Trip to Ohio – Spent a week in Norton, Ohio (you’ll have to look it up, we didn’t know where it was either) with all of Emily’s family. It was both the longest the kids have ever been in the car, and the longest time they’ve ever been on a vacation.

Track 13: Lucy Riding a Bike Without Training Wheels – Pat tried to teach her. She wasn’t having it. She figured it out on her own.

Track 14: Bruce Springsteen Concert – Pat went to see The Boss. High energy show for an old guy, didn’t look a day over 60.

Track 15: Lauren Daigle Concert – Emily took Lucy to her first concert. It started around Lucy’s usual bedtime so she struggled to stay awake, but had a good time.

Track 16: Emily Gets a Tattoo – Some might call it a mid-life crisis. Some might call it doing something fun. Who’s to say?

Track 17: Storm Damage – Big storm came through in August and sent several large sections of our tree crashing through our back fence. A pain to clean up, but no damage to the house and free firewood.

Track 18: GVSU Fooball Games – Pat got season tickets and took everybody to a game. The kids liked the snacks and the music, maybe next year they’ll notice the football game going on.

Track 19: Kid’s First Camping Trips – Went camping twice this year. Were able to swim in Lake Michigan, pick apples, and experience frigid overnight temperatures, all in the same trip. Gotta love Michigan.

Track 20: Song of the Year – 2023 summed up in a song that actually came out in 2023.

How Do I Explain Michael Jackson?

My five year-old daughter wasn’t feeling well. In the middle of the night she came into bed with my wife and I. She climbed in, got under the covers and said “Daddy, are Michael Jackson’s brothers alive?” Naturally.

Michael Jackson, and his family, have been a frequent topic of questions from my kids for the better part of the last year. Some are easier – “Is this a Michael Jackson song?” Some are harder – “How did he die?” So far no questions about why he looked, ya know, normal when he was younger and somehow ended up looking like Jack Skellington, but that one just a matter of time I’m sure.

Left: A Smooth Criminal. Right: A smooth criminal.

Like everybody else, they were initially drawn to the King of Pop by the music. Smooth Criminal hooked them and it went from there. Even then they weren’t satisfied to just listen to the music, there were questions. Mostly “who is Annie?” and “why is he asking if she’s OK?” I suppose I should be glad that my kids are so interested in the well being of this Annie person. I guess it’s easier for them to enjoy the song if they know for sure that she is in fact OK. A concern for the health and safety of others – a life lesson not often taught by pop music.

Once they realized he made songs as a kid, then they were really interested. Which is understandable. It must be mind blowing for them to realize that a kid like them can make music. And good music at that, not like Kids Bop garbage. Anyway, “How old was he when he sang this song,” became a common one. Which inevitably led to “How old is he now?” Uh-oh.

Not that there is a great time to explain accidental prescription drug overdoses to your children, but I’m pretty sure if a kid can’t yet grasp tying their shoes then opioid addiction is a bit too far. However, I did find a teachable moment. I told them that he died because he took too much medicine. Good way to drive home the point of needing to take medicine when you’re sick, but only the right amount. They got that point, but now had more questions.

Where was he when he died? Who was with him when he died? Were his brothers there too? Who told his brothers? How did his mom find out? What kind of medicine was it? Who gave him the medicine? Did his brothers die too? What’s a Tito?

Whatever happened asking what a PYT is?

I’m curious to see how long this lasts. Is intrigue around celebrity deaths a standard phase of childhood? I don’t remember asking my parents about why John Lennon was dead, or how Yoko found out. Then again I never asked about how Annie was doing either. I guess my kids have more concern for others than I did at that age. So, parenting win for me on that one I guess.

Of course there may come a day when they find out more than Michael Jackson’s family history. Not sure what to do about that one. I’ve got time to get my mind around how to address his alleged transgressions, but even for myself I’ve had plenty of time and still don’t know how I feel about it. Can you separate the man from the art? Whatever he allegedly did doesn’t make Dirty Diana less of a banger, and no matter how great a performer he is doesn’t make him less of a complete and total weirdo.

For me, his legal troubles never took away from my enjoyment of the music, and I think it is possible to divorce the person from the product. OJ being in them doesn’t ruin the Naked Gun movies for me. It’s still fun to watch clips of Mike Tyson knocking guys into next week. And most relevant to fatherhood, Cliff Huxtable is still one of the greatest TV dads of all time. Not to totally bust open that can worms, but can we agree that we can punish Bill Cosby without erasing a great character and great show? I say put it on streaming somewhere and give the residuals he would receive to a victim’s charity. Now we’re healing the world, making it a better place, and enjoying some of the best terrible sweaters of all time.

Either way, we’ll still listen to Michael Jackson and I’ll field the questions with as much information that is appropriate at the time. Maybe we’ll sit down and watch The Jacksons: An American Dream next family movie night. Plus, who know knows, maybe this is just a phase and by the time they’ll be old enough to understand they won’t be interested in his music anymore. Maybe the next time they ask about his family I use that as an opportunity to pivot to Janet. For a couple years there, it was hard to tell them apart anyway – looking at you Scream music video.

I understand that I am the gatekeeper for what my kids see, hear, read. At least until they get more influence from other kids at school. And honestly, I’d rather they listen to excellent music made by a terrible person than terrible music made by a saint. Lately, my seven year-old has somehow started to sing the lyrics “a b c d e f u”, of which I know she didn’t hear in my or my wife’s presence. I’ll take my kid singing collection of he-HEs and shamoans over that any day even if he did do it. Allegedly.

So perhaps that is the lesson. Don’t worry about the kinds of people who are making the music, the movies, the TV shows. Worry about the kind of people actually interacting with my child. If the ghost of Michael Jackson somehow finds its way into my kid’s classroom, then I’ll worry. Until then, turn up the Billy Jean. Until I have to explain allegations of fathering a child with a groupie….so…maybe we turn up Man in the Mirror instead. Good plan.

My Daughter Hates Gym Class

She was in tears. She was on the verge of a full out meltdown. Refusing to get off the couch. Refusing to get her shoes on and get ready for school. I thought she must not be feeling well, but between her sobs she was able to let me know that wasn’t the case. Then I started to get a bit concerned. What could be so terrible about Kindergarten that would reduce my daughter to tears? Is she being bullied? Does she feel overwhelmed by learning to read? Based on this reaction, surely it must be something terrible, right?

Turns out it was gym class.

She was able to calm down enough to let me know that she didn’t want to go to school because today her special was P.E. My brain did not comprehend this. Shouldn’t gym be the highlight of the day, and the day you have gym be the highlight of the week? Especially at this age. I am pretty sure everything she does in Kindergarten P.E. is just various forms of running around to get energy out. It’s not like she’s getting picked last for basketball or taking an awkward public shower afterward.

I couldn’t help but think, what kind of a kid of mine are you? If I was stupider, I’d have half a mind, and I’d use it to call Maury Povich. I know she’s my daughter, but clearly something is skipping a generation here. I was literally awarded for my gym class prowess. When I graduated high school I wasn’t given any cords for first or second honors, no medals or ribbons for AP classes or extracurricular activities. I was given the Physical Education Award. Which I’m pretty sure only myself and maybe one other person received, so in a way it was far more prestigious than those NHS sashes half the senior class had. I mean, how big of an honor can it really be if they were seemingly handing those things out left and right?

Anyway, apparently there is something about tag that my daughter finds incredibly troubling. While I agree that tag is pretty lame, being the cause of a teary meltdown seems a bit much. While I’ve never seen her play a game of tag, given what I know about her, I have to assume she’s constantly it. I wouldn’t say she’s un-athletic. When we play baseball in the backyard she has a pretty natural swing. When she started playing soccer she scored a goal in her very first game. She holds her own in a game of keepy uppy. However, it is clear that she lacks any aggression or competitive drive. Which really makes we wonder what exactly she did inherit from me.

Is a competitive spirit inherited or developed? Thus far it’s safe to say she has not inherited it. Despite the fact she scored a goal in her very first soccer game, by the last game of the season she informed us that she would not play next year and proceeded to spend the final game of the year alternating between standing in one place and outright refusing to leave the bench. Can I inspire her to compete? I don’t really care if she never plays soccer again in her life, but I can’t abide somebody with a total lack of will to compete. Even if you don’t like the game, you should still play to win it.

I also don’t want to be the kind of dad that is a hard ass to my kids over a game of Candy Land. There must be a sweet spot between letting your kids win (which I refuse to do) and reducing them to tears because they say they never win. If I push them to want to win more at games will that transfer to gym class? Games are supposed to help kids’ development, right? I’d make the case that its important to develop the will to win. My gut says I should. My brain says I shouldn’t. I know I should just let games be fun, let sports be something my kids try just to see if they like it, let gym class be the low point of the week. As much as I can’t empathize with dredding P.E., I need to empathize with my sad kid.

For one, its the right thing to do. But it will also be good practice for when my kids start hating the parts of school that are really worth hating, like spelling tests and geometry. Unless they are good at spelling and really dig proving postulates and theorems. Who knows, maybe one of my kids will end up being one of those competative spelling bee nerds. While I will be of absolutely no spelling assistance, I can inspire them to spell harder than the other kid. You spell to win the bee.

My Son Won’t Stop Biting

There comes a time in every father’s life when he must sink his teeth into the fleshy pudge of of his three-year old’s arm. No? Is that just me?

I know it is a very common thing for a child to go through a biting phase, but it is my understanding that it is also very common for that phase to come to an end. Perhaps my little boy is just too suborn. Maybe he’s acquired the taste for human flesh. Maybe he’s just a jerk. Either way, his biting phase won’t seem to end.

His older sisters bit when they were little, but to say that was a phase wouldn’t be accurate. They each bit a couple times and after getting their mouths washed out with soap a few times, they decided that the grossness of the soap outweighed whatever joy they may have gotten from biting. Also, they mostly bit my wife or I, so its not like they were a social liability, just bad daughters.

UPDATE: They are bad daughters, and sisters. They lied about the whole thing. They framed my son for bites he didn’t commit.

My son on the other hand has been completely unswayed by soap, or any other repercussion his biting has brought on. Sure, in the moment he hates it. He’ll cry and he’ll pout until he begrudgingly apologizes to whichever one of his sisters he chomped. Then he’ll do it again. Sometimes a day later, sometimes a week later, sometimes five minutes later. Over the last several months, I don’t think he’s gone more than two weeks without sinking his teeth into somebody.

At first we tried sending him to his room, but that didn’t work. He’d end up spending hours in there and then come back out and bite anyway. I don’t see the benefit of wasting the better part of a day in his life. Though it was nice to provide that time of bite-free safety for everybody else in the house, it wasn’t an effective deterrent. As I said, soap didn’t stop him either, so from there I decided to get physical.

A slap on the hand worked as a punishment when he was little and learning not to hit or touch dangerous things, but that didn’t work for biting. I thought perhaps it was an issue of association. If hitting got him a slap on the hand, perhaps he’d connect the dots from biting to a slap on the cheek? Maybe that would have worked, but I just couldn’t bring myself to slap my son in the face. Am I too soft on him? Is a slap in face what he needs? I’m sure it would have been the punishment of choice for generations before me. Am I forgoing an effective corrective measure because I don’t want my kid to think I’m mean? I guess I’d rather have a good relationship with a son who bites than have my son be afraid of me.

So even for perpetual biting that felt like crossing a line. A punch in the arm felt better. For me. Didn’t feel great for him. Once he experienced that, I thought the fear of getting another one would be a strong enough motivator. I’d even tell him, “If you bite, I’m going to punch you.” But something about it didn’t resonate. He started to fear getting punched, and by extension, fear me – but it didn’t stop him.

I thought it was still an issue of association. Much like you need to train a dog by immediately punishing the action, I thought immediate punishment would be more effective. This would be a good time to point out that I’ve almost never actually seen my son bite one of his sisters. It always happens when I’m not in the room. The bites are brought to my attention when one of his sisters shows me the bite marks on their hand. Always on their hand. Always on the same spot on their hand. Which begs the question – what the hell are my kids doing?

Not that I want to blame the victim…but…maybe move your hand when you see a small child coming to chow down on your digits? I mean, my son is not a stealthy ninja so much as he is a puppy in human form. Most days the first sound I hear in the morning are my son’s feet pounding around on the floor. I’m pretty sure at least 8 of his 38 pounds reside in his feet. When I ask my daughters, they make it sound like he came out of nowhere. They are always just standing there, minding their own business, just so happening to be looking the other other way, when without any warning he sneaks up and sinks teeth into their hand that is always simply resting on a chair, shelf, or counter. I don’t believe them.

It is much more likely that they are dangling their hands in front of his face like they noodling a fish. I just can’t prove it.

Provoked or not, he needs to stop chowing down on his sisters. I thought perhaps the issue was that the punishment would always be delayed, and so he wouldn’t associate it with what he did wrong. In hopes that his puppy-like qualities also applied to how he’d learn, I authorized my daughters to hit him as hard as they could immediately after he bit them. I should say, the sister he bites most often is two years older than he is, but also weights 38 pounds. Medical professionals may disagree, but I’m fairly certain she’s hollow. So the force of her hitting him as hard as she could really didn’t resonate as a punishment. I think it just left him confused.

Time to take confusion out of it, and get biblical. Eye for an eye. Bite for a bite. He kept biting so I needed to give myself a taste of his medicine. I grabbed his harm, I told him I was going to bite him, and I did. I wasn’t sure how hard of a bite would be appropriate. I mean, I definitely didn’t want to break the skin, but I did want it to hurt. I’m pretty sure it did. He got tears in his eyes and he pouted. Now only time would tell if it worked or not.

Honestly, I don’t think it did. He had a good run without biting, but he still does it from time to time. What is likely most responsible for his longest bite-free stretches, is time away from his sisters. He’s never bit another kid at pre-school, so if he keeps the biting to inside the family, I guess I’ll take it. But the longer he is around his sisters, the odds he’ll bite seems to increase. I never had a sister, so I don’t really know the brother-sister dynamic, but maybe it’s how little brothers bond with older sisters? Kind of like the way brothers wrestle, or sisters make passive aggressive snide comments about each other. Or maybe he’s just a jerk.

The Stuff Nightmares Are Made Of

Over the years, my kids rarely get up in the middle of the night because they’ve had a bad dream. When it does happen, it seems to come in waves. We’ll go months without somebody crying out for mommy or daddy (usually daddy), and then get three or four in a week. Some of them legit – there was a scary shadow a few days ago. Some of them completely unexplained. Last week when asked what her dream was about, she said she didn’t know. I’m not sure if there was a monster she just couldn’t bring herself to mention, or some abstract construction of her subconscious mind that she quite literally didn’t know what was happening. Terrifying either way.

One of them however, was a new one. My three year-old son woke up crying and wanted his mommy because he had a dream too frightening it jolted him awake. So scary he needed to be soothed back to sleep. In this bone-chilling nightmare – his toothbrush…(brace yourself people)….fell into the potty!

DUN DUN DUUUUUUN!!!

In a way, I get it. That would be terrible. The misery of the extraction goes without saying. Have to spend the next forty five minutes washing your hands. Have to replace that tooth brush. Hassle all around. Don’t know if that is exactly nightmare fuel, but a major hassle for sure.

But for who?

Exactly none of the repercussions of my son’s toothbrush taking a dive into the crapper would fall on him. I’d be the one fishing it out, disinfecting thoroughly, and looking for a new toothbrush. He’d be the one not caring that he doesn’t have to brush his teeth tonight. Maybe he is just so concerned for me that the thought of putting that undue stress on me was scary for him. He can be thoughtful that way. Let’s pretend for a second that’s the case. I appreciate him looking out for me, but I don’t think that rises to the level of scary enough to force you awake. Give you the jibblies, yes, but leave your crying for mommy – no.

So is my son a germaphobe? I’m keenly aware of his hygiene habits, so I’d have to say no. However, he absolutely hates having dirty hands. He has absolutely no issue licking, well, pretty much anything, but his meal will come to a screeching halt should he get something on his hands. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a three year-old eat, but he asks for a lot of napkins. Syrup, honey, ketchup, an apple that’s too juicy. Are these what keeps the boy awake at night?

As I write this it is almost Halloween. I’ve been wondering what movies would be the right level of spooky for him, but perhaps it doesn’t matter. He’d be more freaked out about the butter from the popcorn getting on his fingers than whatever is happening on the screen. He could care less if there was a monster under his bed as long as there isn’t something under his fingernails. I have no doubt that the scariest thing that will happen to him this Halloween is scooping the innards out of the pumpkin. I’ll prepare myself to be woken up by the nightmare that is sure to ensue from the terror that is goopy pumpkin fingers.

Though I wonder, what if his scary toothbrush dream was not some manifestation of a subconscious (or very conscious) fear, but rather his brain’s rehashing of something that actually happened. Depending on how you interpret dreams, there is a school of thought that says dreams are the brain’s way of processing the day’s events. Could he have have actually dropped his toothbrush in the toilet? Was he so embarrassed that it happened and so scared of the aftermath that his little brain immediately tried to repress it only to have his dream bring it back up? Though, if he dropped is toothbrush in the toilet, I have to believe he would have asked for help. I mean, he asks for help with 90% of the other things he does in the bathroom.

Unless he felt like he couldn’t ask me for help. Because it wasn’t his toothbrush he dropped. It was mine. I can see it now – he was in there goofing around rather that doing whatever it was he was supposed to be doing. He picked my toothbrush and pretended it was a paintbrush, first rubbing it all over the walls, then on the floor, and finally the inside of the toilet. His little uncoordinated fingers lose grip, and in goes my toothbrush. In a panic he reaches in and quickly puts in back in place, thinking he’ll move on and never think of it again. Until he dreamt. The thought of his father unknowingly brushing his teeth with a toothbrush that had been toileted was too much for him to stand.

Well now whose subconscious is running away with them? That didn’t happen. Probably. That probably didn’t happen. Good God I hope that didn’t happen. Am I getting Inceptioned by my three year old? Whelp, I know what my next nightmare is going to be about. And so does he.

DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUN!