What was your favorite part of the day?

Hands down, without a doubt, my favorite part of a typical week day is the very moment I walk in the door from work. I'm sure all of you working parents know exactly what I'm talking about. There's nothing else like it. I'm a hero simply for walking through the door and I'm home with the three people who mean more to me than anyone else in the world.

My wife freaks out, drops what she's doing and runs towards me with a smile that lights up the room. She tries to hug me with all her might but she underestimates how fast she's running and bounces off my leg and ends up on the floor as she frantically starts filling me in (two inches from my face) on which bad guy she's been fighting today. Scarlet Overkill? El Macho? The Shredder? If no bad guys have stopped by the house she enthusiastically fills me in on the latest episode of Bubble Guppies or tells me all about her adventures at school or in the backyard...

Wait a minute... I always get confused here... I think it's actually the kids who lose their minds when I arrive. Their mother is only slightly more calm. Slightly...severely... it's all the same. I'm still trying to figure out how to convince their mother that she should react the same way they do when I walk in the door. I should have her convinced any day now. I can feel it coming. I'll be sure to blog about it when it finally happens. ;)

Regardless of who reacts how, I'm just happy to be home in a house so full of love. I'm happy to see my wife's beautiful face whether she's in a good mood, stressed to the max, or just ready to tag me in so she can tag out and get a break. I'm happy to hear the excitement in the boys voices as they drag me into the playroom to help them find the Hulk or as they ask me to bury them in a pile of pillows. I'm happy to take a lick of my two year old's fake ice cream cones that he has developed such an affinity for. His favorite flavor is "Fadilla." I'm happy to be the bad guy that they've been searching for ever so impatiently while I was at work all day. I'm just happy to be home.

That's usually my favorite part of the day but every now and then something happens to overtake the reigning champ. The past two days have been prime examples. At some point during the dinner, bath and bedtime routine we usually ask the boys what their favorite part of the day was. The answers range from nonsensical and imaginary to sweet and heartfelt. My two year old's favorite part of the day often has to do with cheetahs. I'm still trying to figure out why. My four year old's favorite part of the day used to often be something like, "when I went to time out" or "when Fletcher bit my finger and I cried." At a certain point we sat down with Cooper and had a descriptive explanation of the definition of the word "favorite" and we got back on track.

We started getting answers like, "when we swam in the pool" and "when we hopped across the gym like kangaroos."; The type of answers we were looking for. My four year old has even started asking me and Mom what our favorite part of the day was. It always turns into a fun conversation.

Two nights ago I had just put the boys pajama's on when I remembered to ask them what their favorite part of the day was. Cooper's response was my favorite yet.

I looked at him with anticipation in my eyes.

"Cooper, what was your favorite part of the day?"

 He replied, "You Dad" ...accompanied by a "tackle hug" as he calls it.

Well, it doesn't get any better than that now does it? Thanks buddy.

Last night when I asked his little brother what his favorite part of the day was I got the same response from a tender and slightly smaller little voice.

"You Dad."

He must be paying attention to his big brother's example. I hope I never forget this.

People always say that parenting is the most "rewarding" thing in the world. Well, this is the type of thing they are referring too. I can't imagine much more rewarding than this at this point of our parenting adventure. Unless, of course, I came home from work one day and my wife reacted to my presence the same way the boys do.

Now that would be rewarding and by rewarding I mean hilarious.

YOU CAN'T! YOU NEVER WILL!

I CAN'T! 

You CAN'T!

CAN'T. CAN'T. CAN'T!

There's NO way!

You'll NEVER make it!

NEVER. NEVER. NEVER!

Powerful words right? Especially to the fragile psyche of a child.

I don't know about you but when I was growing up it was always reiterated to me to keep that negativity out of my thoughts. Not just by my parents but by my teachers and coaches too. We don't say "CAN'T."

Don't use such negative words.

 Focus on the positive. 

You've probably heard the old saying, "Can't never did anything"  or "Never say Never." There are tons of similar ones. Well, from my experiences as a father, I happen to wholeheartedly disagree with those sayings.

I've seen CAN'T do a lot. It's power is impressive. It NEVER ceases to amaze me.

You're probably thinking that I am about to warn you about using these negative words with your children. However, that is not the case at all. I actually think words like CAN'T and NEVER get a bad rap. They can be some of the most motivating and encouraging words you could imagine. It really just depends on your perspective and who/where these words are coming from. Both of my boys have helped me learn this lesson over the past few years.

Don't get me wrong. None of us parents want our children moping around dwelling on the fact that he can't tie his shoes or she can't write her name or a million other things a child might be struggling with. I understand that. I'm not a complete idiot...close...but not complete. At the same time though, I don't think we should be teaching our children that words like can't and never are negative words. I think it's a good thing when a child recognizes that he/she can't do something and it's our job as parents to find a way to teach and motivate them.

I still remember the first time I heard my oldest son Cooper say "I can't." 

We were potty training. He was 2.

I instinctively replied, "We don't say I can't." 

I was frustrated. He was frustrated.

Potty training was one of our toughest challenges with him. I immediately wondered where he learned to say those words and why he was so easily ready to give up.

Then I said, "You CAN do it. I KNOW you CAN," in the most encouraging voice possible. I could tell that he could feel the positivity but it just didn't motivate him to try harder. This happened often. It was very discouraging for me as I'm sure it was for him. I remember thinking about how my wife and I are two of the most encouraging people I know. I wondered how could he possibly not find motivation in our encouraging words? We worked so hard to create the most encouraging atmosphere possible.

 If only I knew the power of can't and never at this point in my parenting adventure...

I made this discovery in the backyard one day a year or so later. It came from my complete and utter desperation to instill a love of sports in my children. We were playing baseball. Hitting from the tee. Cooper was losing interest. He started to notice every grasshopper and love bug in sight. I was losing him fast. The battle between father sports and  mother nature was about to be won by mother nature by KO with the help of her interesting little creatures.

That's when this Dad did some quick thinking. I started with a condescending laugh to get his attention. Then, when he looked over at me, I followed it up speaking the words, "You CAN'T hit a home run. There's NO way!" in the same condescending tone with a sneaky smile on my face. In my head I was thinking that those were the least encouraging words I had ever spoken to my son and I had no idea how he would react. Luckily for me, he saw it as a challenge just as I had hoped. At that moment, his face instantly lit up and he replied, "OH YES I CAN!" He stepped up to the tee and knocked one to the fence. I retrieved the ball and chased him to home plate just missing the tag before he got his home run. I dog piled on top of him and made a huge deal about how well he had done. Then I picked him up and we celebrated. He just giggled and beamed with pride. So did I. Cooper wins! Cooper wins!

Daddy wins actually! I never could have imagined how motivating the words "YOU CAN'T" could be for a child. I'm sure all children are not this way and I'm sure if I didn't have such a positive and always encouraging relationship with my children that these words would not have been interpreted in a positive challenging way, but I do... and they were.

To be honest, I don't think more motivating words have ever been spoken in our house. Turns out, my 2 year old, Fletcher, finds motivation in these words as well. Trying to get Fletcher to eat a whole meal of food at the dinner table is like trying to solve a Rubik's Cube. He would take a few bites, lose interest and start stuffing each bite into his cheek like a squirrel storing nuts. Take one guess at our most effective means of getting him to actually chew and swallow those stored nuts?

You guessed it.

Look at him with a shocked look on my face. Gasp aloud. Issue the challenge: "Fletcher! You can't chew up and swallow that bite! I say NO WAY!"

That gullible little joker bites every time. Both literally and figuratively. "I say YES way" he replies. Then he starts chewing his little heart out, which is frustrating. Why on earth does it take a challenge for you to chew up your food, son? Do you enjoy just sitting there holding food in your cheek wasting time at the dinner table? Really?

Are you kidding me? Oh well, I guess I can't complain.

It's safe to say that we use this technique quite often.

When the play room is a wreck: "Oh no boys, we're NEVER gonna get this place clean. I don't think we can do it!"

When hurrying to the bath: "If only you could take your clothes off and get in the bath by yourself before I count to twenty. You CAN'T can you? I don't think so."

When putting on lotion and pajamas or sunscreen: "You CAN'T freeze like a statue. Nope. No way. Not gonna happen. I don't think you can do it."

etc. etc. etc.

It may not work for your kids but it sure works for my little guys. I guess it all depends on their personality. Give it a shot if you'd like, you never know what might work. Remember, It's all in your delivery. I certainly had no idea these words would be so helpful. The next time you think about these words as negative words stop yourself and give them a little credit.

CAN'T. CAN'T. CAN'T.

NEVER. NEVER. NEVER.

A tremendous thank you. You're not so bad after all.

DD

Who are the people with the belly buttons?

There's been a question floating around my house for the past 6 months or so that has caused me to do a little thinking. The same question has been asked in multiple different ways by my 4 year old son. It actually started when he was 3...

"Hey Daddy, who are the people with the belly buttons?"

"Where are the people with the belly buttons?"

"Can we see the girls with the belly buttons again?"

"Why do those girls wear the shirts that show their belly buttons?"

You get the point. He's quite inquisitive about the girls who show their belly buttons. 

Cheerleaders.

My wife and I are big sports fans, as you may already know if you know us personally or if you follow the Dashboard Dad Blog. We're constantly watching sports and our two boys have been exposed to just about every team sport imaginable. I honestly never even notice the cheerleaders anymore. Seriously, I don't...or at least I didn't until my son started pointing them out and asking questions everytime the game would come back from commercial break. He's even asked me to rewind the TV before.

Recently, we've been watching a lot of the Stanley Cup Playoffs. Go Lightning! That's hockey for you non sports fans. He asked me the other night if hockey had cheerleaders. I told him no and he seemed disappointed. 

"Oh, just football and basketball?"

When he first asked the question about the people with the belly buttons I didn't know exactly what he was talking about but it didn't take long for me to figure it out. My initial reaction was pure excitement.

"That a boy!"

Like any red blooded heterosexual American Dad, I was proud. I still am.

My son is obviously attracted to the female body.

Scratch the alternative off the list of potential issues that I'm severely unprepared to handle.

Oh, wait a minute, My 3 year old son is attracted to the female body!?!?!

Uh Oh!!

Add that to the list of potential issues that I'm severely unprepared to handle!!!!

Oh boy. Is he going to be girl crazy? Is he going to come home from Kindergarten and tell his mother and I that he has 5 girlfriends, like I told my parents?!

Probably.

Who knows.

I just had this flash forward to him as a teenager "checking out chicks" with his friends or little brother. Whoa! I wasn't prepared for this. 

I'm not here to take some moral highground and say that cheerleaders or swim suit models should wear more clothes. It doesn't bother me. I just find it very interesting that, with no outside influence from me or anyone that I know of, a 3 year old boy naturally finds a womans body to be attractive enough to cause him to grin sheepishly and inquire about it.

We also had an occasion a little over a month ago when our family was on vacation in Hawaii and he saw a swimsuit model on a poster at a store and he froze in his tracks to check her out. When I asked him what he was looking at he replied,

 "Uhh, nothing Daddy!!"

He seemed embarassed; like he got caught doing something he shouldn't. I certainly don't want him to feel like being attracted to the body of a woman is something he should feel any amount of shame about. On the other hand, I don't want him to go too far to the other extreme where he just gawks at women all the time. I tried to explain to him that he wasn't in trouble and it was okay if he thought the girl on the poster was pretty. I told him that Daddy thinks girls are really pretty, ESPECIALLY HIS MOMMY! He just smiled and asked why the lady on the poster wore a shirt that showed her belly button and I explained to him that is just how girls bathing suits look and we carried on.

There are so many things you just never think about before becoming a parent. This is certainly one of them. I guess it's true that this is something that probably wouldn't have even crossed his mind yet if we lived in a more conservative society, but we don't. I'm not going to waste my time wishing that we did because I don't think it's necesarilly a problem. Of course, I'm also not a father of daughters. Sorry guys.

I'm just going to teach my son to respect women no matter what and make sure he is well aware that he can talk to his dad about anything... even if he is only 4 years old. It's never too early to start that open line of communication.

So, what do you think? Do you have any similar experiences to share? Does this seem early to be asking this type of question? 

I look forward to reading your input. Until next time- DD

The Mom Lottery .

Mom.

You don't get to choose her.

One day you just squeeze your way out from between two legs or a doctor pulls you through some ladies guts and out of a big cut in her stomach. 

TaDa!!!

There you are. On stage.

It's really bright and everyone is watching you.

You don't know what else to do so you just start screaming for help.

Then, if you're fortunate, that lady who just sent you sliding out of her womb picks you up and shoves her breast in your mouth.

Wait! What?

Who is this lady?

You never even had a chance to do a background check.

A meet and greet.

Mom speed dating. 

You know...10 mom options. 

You get to sit down for 5 minutes with each of them, pepper them with questions and pick the one who seems the most compatible.

Nothing.

It's a lot like the lottery.

You get what you get and you're stuck with it. That is, if she even wants you.

If she doesn't want you, you can't go back into that nice comfy womb. You just get put on hold and you don't even get to watch the clear plastic container of balls dancing in the gale force wind, while you wait for your number to be called.

If she does want you there is still no guarantee that you should actually want her to want you. Last I checked, there is no such thing as a mom license. Are you going to a good home where you will be loved and nurtured the way a baby is supposed to be loved and nurtured? Many mothers bring their beautiful babies home to the safety of their nest with the best of intentions only to fail miserably.

Take the mother bird from "Are You My Mother" for example. Motherhood looked bad on that mama bird from the jump. First, she managed to find a way to miss the birth of her baby. Second, she let her baby fall from the top of a tall tree. And as if that wasn't bad enough, the poor baby bird had to wander aimlessly for the first hour or so of his life thinking that a kitten, dog, hen, cow or perhaps the dreaded SNORT might actually be his mother. Poor baby! 

Luckily, that scary SNORT was a hero and returned the baby bird to the nest and the mama bird was none the wiser. She didn't even know that she had already failed miserably. Ignorance is bliss, right?
Like anything else in this world, mothers come in all shapes, sizes and forms. Just because you are a mom doesn't mean you are a good one.

Anyway, back to the Lottery.

I've never won the lottery we play today at convenience stores with miniature pencils like the ones you get at putt putt golf courses and tiny scan tron like pieces of paper with rectangles full of numbers. I've never come close.

However, I did win the "Mom Lottery" some 34 years ago and something tells me that the odds of winning that are even more slim than the lottery we play today. The stakes are definitely higher.

Have you ever sat back and really thought about it?

Be careful if you haven't. It can be a lot like plugging in one too many kitchen appliances into the same outlet. 

Boom.

Overload.

Someone needs to go flip a breaker.

How much of who you are today is a reflection of your mother?

There are a plethora of women near your mothers age that could have ended up being your mom yet your mom ended up being your mom.

I know. When I put it like that it sounds silly...and No, I'm not on drugs... unless you consider sweet tea a drug. In that case, I'm sitting at my computer high as a kite on sweet tea typing a blog post about how mind blowing it is that my mom is my mom.

Boy. She must be proud.

Seriously though, I'm not sure what your situation is with your mother but for me it truly is mind bottling (or mind boggling for those of you who aren't familiar with Chaz Michael Michaels) to think about how blessed I am in the Mom department. I was born into this world to a mom who would literally do anything for me. She's disciplined yet forgiving. She's tough yet kind and understanding. She's like a finely tuned, well rounded athlete with a highly developed craft and her craft is motherhood... and she's good at every aspect of it. It's like I got the Bruce Jenner of moms.

Wait a minute. You have to remember that I was born in 1980. Back then Bruce was a man. I mean, he was THE man. Not only a man but THE man. On the Wheaties box, might I add, a highly trained Olympic male athlete at the top of his game.

My mom is THE MAN... but she's a woman. Now that I think about it, she may be the exact opposite of Bru... nevermind.

 I'm Sorry. This is going nowhere fast. Yet another bad comparison on my part.

Carrying on...

In all seriousness, if you read my blog frequently you know that I go on about my relationship with my dad constantly and my mom often takes a back seat. That's only because my dad and I are both sports addicts with a whole lot in common and a lot to talk about. I wont let dad high jack this post mom. This one is for you.

 In reality, my mother is the one thing in this world that I am most grateful for, including my wife and kids. I was able to choose my wife. I've been able to influence and mold my children. I had absolutely NO SAY in who my mom was going to be though. If it weren't for my mom's example of what a wife and mom should be I wouldn't know what qualities to look for in a wife/mother of my children. I wouldn't know how important it was to find a woman: 

• whose priorities are faith and family
• who understands the love and nurturing children require
• who holds her husband accountable with just the right amount of patience and understanding
•  who prays with her children
•  who goes the extra mile to teach the things that some let slip through the cracks
• who is capable of staying at home with the kids or providing for her family depending on what life asks of her.
• who is honest and stands behind her word
• who loves her husband and leaves no room for doubt
• who willingly sacrifices what ever it takes for her children's well being

ETC.

I could go on all night.

My mother possesses all of these qualities and many more.

What did I ever do to deserve a Mother like this?

When we were young my mom was a stay at home mom. As we got older things changed and she had to go to work full time so she delivered mail for the next 20 years. She adjusted. She sacrificed. She went with the flow of life with a smile on her face.

She was the spiritual leader of our household. She made sure we woke up and went to Church. She dragged my lazy butt out of bed every single day for school. Because of her I had perfect attendance from Kindergarten through 12th grade, which is no easy task, just ask her. All these years I thought it was something fantastic that I had done. She's the one who did all the work. She deserves the credit.

 To this day I still don't know how she did it. After I went to sleep she stayed up cleaning my filthy baseball uniform. I was the dirtiest kid on the team always sliding head first every chance I got but come the next game I was the cleanest kid, for a few minutes anyway. That woman could work mind blowing magic on a dirty baseball uniform and she still woke me up in time to get to school the next morning after putting in the over time. If it wasn't a baseball uniform it was a school project. She would NOT let us get a bad grade, even if we had to stay up all night.

We used to... who am I kidding... we still always give my mom grief because she can fall asleep anywhere at the drop of a hat. The couch... a red light...Church...the bath...the toilet...the middle of a conversation... it doesn't matter, Mom can fall asleep anywhere.

Mom was notorious for staying up all night wrapping Christmas presents. She was always dozing off on Christmas day. One year my brother and I got a Sega Genesis for Christmas. When we were done opening presents we decided it was time to play the Sega. There was only one problem. We didn't get any games. After a couple days of searching the house we found them in my Grandma's closet. Santa must have hidden them there. Another year mom lost the turkey altogether.

One time when my mom dozed off sitting up on the couch my brother and I decided it would be a good idea to start putting change on her face to see how much we could get on there before she woke up. We went to my dad's change drawer and grabbed a hand full of pennies, dimes and nickels and went to work. I'm not positive but I think there may be a picture of this floating around somewhere. I'll have to ask dad. Mom wasn't too happy with us when she awoke to a change face avalanche.

Anyway, I bring all of this up to say that we should have just cut mom some slack. We should have just let her catch up on her sleep. I don't think my brother and I realized why she was so exhausted all the time. The woman devoted every second of her life to raising and providing for my two older sisters, my brother and me and she didn't care how much sleep she lost doing it. She was forgetful and she was chronically exhausted but more than anything, she was DEVOTED to her family. She still is.


Because of her example I was able to recognize these same qualities in my wife when I met her. My dad recognized them too. We met her on the same day and only hours after meeting her he told me that I needed to marry her one day. When all my friends told me it wasn't time to settle down, I knew better. I knew I'd be missing out on a woman who shared so many amazing qualities with my mom.

That type of woman doesn't come around every day.

Now, because I won the Mom Lottery I've also won the Wife Lottery and therefore my sons have also won the Mom Lottery. What a beautiful cycle. I hope it continues. I hope one day my boys find their own little minds blown, their own little breakers flipped, when they attempt to wrap their heads around the fact that they ended up with the amazing mother they have, because she is amazing too. Would you like to know how I know?

Because my mom tells me all the time.

How did I end up with a wonderful mother like this?

How did my kids end up with a wonderful mother like this?

I'll tell you how...

My genius dad chose them both.

Ha.

Happy Mother's Day to all you Moms out there, especially to my mom and the mother of my boys.

We love you guys.

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The Ultimate Sacrifice

If you do a quick Google image search with the words, "The Ultimate Sacrifice" you will be met by a barrage of pictures depicting Jesus dying on the cross and soldiers giving their lives for our freedom. It's actually quite humbling and something we should remind ourselves of and be grateful for on a daily basis. This is not something I expected to encounter while preparing for this blog post, but I'm glad I did.

 That being said, I'd like to share with you a completely different type of "Ultimate Sacrifice" that was made for my big brother and me when we were approximately 4 and 8 years old respectively. This was a sacrifice that I will never forget. A sacrifice that I am eternally grateful for and a sacrifice that taught me a life lesson that stuck with me some 30 years later.

I hope that one day when the time comes (and I know it will) I am able to quickly access this memory from the recesses of my brain so I can successfully grab this specific situation by the handle bars of life and make the right decision.

Come, will you?

Step inside my DeLorean.

Allow my flux capacitor to whisk us away in the carpool lane back to sometime around the year 1984. ( I know. I know, I've got to stop with these Back to the Future references. A bad habit I'm trying to break.)

The following is based on a true story:

Meet my parents.

Stacy & Susie

They are both 71 years of age now but I wanted to introduce you to to them back in 1984. As you can tell, my mom was (still is) a beauty and my dad was basically the Harry Styles of his day. Total Dreamboat. A true power couple...like a white Kim and Kanye...

Okay, that derailed quickly.  Let's re-focus.

My parents are amazing. I am so grateful for them. Throughout my childhood and adolescence they bent over backward (and sometimes forward) to teach me valuable life lessons. I feel so fortunate that they cared so much about the kind of adult I turned out to be. They invested so much time and effort into me, put my well being ahead of their own and sacrificed so much to ensure that I became an honorable man.

I'd like to share with you this one particular instance that, in my opinion, is the closest thing to an "ultimate sacrifice" that anyone has ever made for me.

One might assume that an "ultimate sacrifice" made by a parent for a child would be giving birth; A mother giving up the body of her youth for the well-being of her child. Perhaps the unconditional love of a mother who moved from the big city to a one red light town and gave up a career as the next Prudential Woman of the Year to stay at home with her four cubs to love, nurture and nourish them daily.

While these are all honorable undertakings. They fall just shy of the sacrifice that was made on a fateful summer day in 1984...

 My Dad was at work. My dear mother was watching over my brother, myself and a few other young children she cared for regularly. My oldest sister and her boyfriend stopped by the house in his 1970 Chevelle hot rod. It was your typical muggy Florida summer afternoon. The kind of day that you could just sense the afternoon thunderstorms approaching. Before you could ever see the clouds billowing in through the giant trees, you could smell the rain as it descended upon the damp leaves, dirt and sweet gum balls in the front yard of our Lake Geneva home.

What none of us knew is the fact that we were about to be hit with the storm of the decade in our quaint little town. The storm  was on top of us in a flash. There was no warning; no time to prepare. My mother's sixth mommy sense alerted her to the fact that this storm was not like our typical afternoon thunderstorm. The wind packed an extra punch. The lightning flashed with a fierce fury and the thunder shook the earth to it's very core.

As the bottom fell out of the sky, she ran outside to the front yard and herded us like cattle into the bathtub, which she designated as the safest place in our home. Soon after, branches snapped atop power lines. Power lines lost their battle with gravity and fell to the ground like angry electric snakes striking wildly in all directions. An entire sweet gum ball tree (so big you couldn't wrap your arms around it) a mere 5 feet from our home, was uprooted. It came crashing down like the foot of a giant Tyrannosaurus...right on top of my sister's boyfriend's car.

Ouch.

He was devastated!

We were frightened!

The storm eventually passed and everyone was okay. The only casualty was the car.

My mother was a local folk hero!!!

Well, that last sentence might be a slight exaggeration...

While my mom will always be a hero to me, she admitted that she really just did what any adult would or should do in a situation like this. She also admitted that the bathtub she put us in was in the corner of the house closest to the tree that came crashing down and if it had fallen in a different direction, we all could have been smashed. Thank God that didn't happen.

If my mom's "heroics" were really just a parent taking the proper precautions for children during a storm with above average intensity, then what is this "ultimate sacrifice" I keep talking about?

Well, that, you see, came a few days later by my father after the crushed car was removed from our driveway and the long neck of this dinosaur like tree remained in our front yard.

What were we going to do with this thing?!?

...I know Mom. Dad always gets to be the hero and it's just not fair. I'm sorry. I even led everyone to believe that you were the hero and yet again, here comes Dad flying in like E.T. on Elliot's bike to  save the day and take all the credit. I understand and maybe there is something I can do to make it up to you in the future. For now let's get back to the story at hand...

Keep in mind that I was approximately four years old at the time and this is by no means a direct quote from my father, but I like to imagine that this is what he said next...Wait! Before I tell you... Did I mention that my dad is brilliant? Well, he is...here goes:

"I'll tell you what were gonna do with that old dead tree sitting in the yard. We're gonna take this here metal ramp, lean it against the tree and the boys can use it to launch themselves over the tree for hours upon hours upon days upon days of fun."

OH!!! We were so excited! It doesn't even matter what happens next. Dad was already our hero just for suggesting it.

There we were standing in the yard. The four of us: Dad, Mom, my brother Stacy and myself.

This was about to be the greatest day of our lives; The pinnacle of fun in my short life to this point here on earth. This storm was the best thing that ever happened to us. This tree was about to become like a family pet; A part of the family. I could envision years of ramping into the sunset before Mom called us in for dinner.

I could hear myself now,

"Just one more jump Mom and I'll be in for dinner. Just one more jump."

I could even hear her reply,

"Honey, you've been ramping that old tree for hours. This is the LAST time. That old tree will be there tomorrow. It's not going anywhere."

Then, just before I was about to hit that ramp for the first time and fly like Evil Knievel over the Grand Canyon, I heard Dad speak the words that changed everything:

"Hold on Son, let your old Dad show you how it's done."

Brilliant Idea. I told you he was brilliant.

There's no better person to learn from; No better person to take the inaugural flight.

You have to understand that my dad was perfect. My dad could fix anything. My dad caught the biggest fish. My dad threw the best spiral. He had the best jump shot.  He could bare foot ski. My dad could beat up your dad but he probably wouldn't fight your dad because my dad was smarter than your dad and he knew that fighting doesn't resolve anything. I'm telling you... he was perfect.

We stood back to let the man do his thing. He circled around to gain enough speed to launch into orbit. He hit the ramp with such precision. He launched into the air like a dolphin breaching beautifully for all to see. He stuck the landing like Kerri Strug on a bum ankle in the 1996 Olympics...

...Only he was on a bike. When I say he stuck the landing I really mean he STUCK the landing. He slid off the bike seat and completely and utterly...

racked his nuts...

 like I've never seen before or since.

I was 4 years old. I didn't know exactly what was going on. All I knew is that my dad was DOWN FOR THE COUNT! Moaning, groaning and "OH NO-ing."

As my mom ran to check on her wounded dare devil in distress she paused only for a moment and said six words in a tone of voice we knew not to question.

"Boys, go inside the house NOW!''

I don't remember much else after that. The tree was removed before we knew it or it may as well have been. We were forbidden to touch, look at, or think about that tree that almost stole my father's manhood. Now that I think about it, I am the baby of the family. I wonder if that was by choice or if the tree made that decision for them. Either way, I'm glad I'm the baby. Maybe I owe that tree a thank you.

Oh what could have been?!?

The friendship with the tree was over before it began.

Although I've always been seriously disappointed that I never got to ramp the giant tree, I like to think that my Dad saved me and my brother from a few major injuries. It makes me feel  better about the whole thing anyway. He sacrificed his "boys" for his boys, if you know what I mean. That takes an unconditional love that I'm not sure I fully grasp.

Although I know my dad never got flowers, never became America's sweetheart and certainly never got put on the cover of a Wheaties box for this ultimate sacrifice, I like to think that my mom did her best Bela Karolyi impression and carried him into the house to a nice warm bath and some painkillers.

Dad ended up being just fine. No real injuries to speak of.  Maybe just his pride. We realized our dad was not invincible, but he was still our hero. To this day when this story comes up my brother and I just laugh like little kids.

Thanks Dad. (for multiple reasons)

You will forever be to me what Kerri Strug was to our Nation back in 1996...

A Champion who's not afraid to make the ultimate sacrifice.

I wish we were all reading this together. We'd be laughing our balls off... or at least the rest of us would be.

I guess sometimes the most effective parenting tool is the ability to teach a child what not to do, like the dad of the Berenstain Bears. That guy was always teaching those kids what not to do. Let's just hope the sacrifice you make while teaching this lesson is minimal. As a father of two young boys myself, I hope that I am able to resist those, "Let your old dad show you how it's done" moments, no matter how tempting they may be.

Have any of you parents out there had any similar situations?

WARNING: Dear Dad and Mom

What if I told you that I could time travel?

 What if I told you that I found something of yours from the future and brought it back with me? 

What if I told you that what I found was something carefully crafted by one of your children?

Would you want to see it?

I don't know about you, but if YOU told ME that you could time travel and that you found something that belonged to me I would tell you that you are certifiably CRAZY! However, I would want to see what you had just to satisfy my curiosity.

What could it hurt?

What could it possibly be?

I bet it's something amazing!

If I had to guess, I'd say that one of my little geniuses probably grew up to be the guy who finally invented the hover board from the movie Back to the Future, and you brought one back for me.

Am I right?

I'm right aren't I?

Weren't we supposed to have those by now?

No? That's not it?

Unfortunately, it's not something that cool. It's actually just a letter. A letter written by someone's child once he/she had grown up and done some real thinking as an adult, but I'm not sure who it belongs to. Check it out if you'd like, but don't say I didn't warn you. The future can be a dark and scary place depending on the decisions you make and the habits you develop along the way:

Dear Dad and Mom,

                     Hey guys it's me. I am writing to let you know that married life and parenthood are fantastic. By fantastic I mean, a real challenge, but you already knew that.  For some reason I've had a lot on my mind lately and I just wanted to get it all out there and off of my chest. I'd like to start by saying that I appreciate everything you've done for me throughout the years. Now that I've been on my own for a while I'm really starting to realize all the sacrifices you two made for me. As a child I never really understood how much time and effort you put into my life. It seems like something happens pretty much every day now that helps me put it all into perspective. You invested in me.  You provided for me. You taught me how to take care of myself. You taught me how to treat others. You told me all about love and the values to look for in a spouse. Thank you for that.

I do have a few confessions and questions though. There were a lot of things that I saw or heard while growing up that you never knew about. Maybe you guys didn't think I was paying attention? Maybe you guys didn't think I was old enough to understand? Maybe you guys got too caught up to realize exactly what was going on? Whatever the reason may be, I just need a few answers. I made many observations throughout the years but I just never knew how to properly address them.

• Dad, I noticed that you would drop what you were doing to help a friend in need no matter what they needed, yet it always seemed like when Mom needed a favor you treated her like she was asking for the world. You just never had the time.
• Mom, you were always so patient with me when I made mistakes. You were patient and forgiving of everyone's mistakes, besides Dad's. Sometimes it seemed like you enjoyed pointing them out, actually. It never made sense to me. It seemed like he was the one person you had unrealistic expectations for.
• Dad, you always told me how much you loved me. You always showed me how much you loved me. Is there a reason why you didn't do the same for Mom? You taught me that we are a family and we're supposed to love each other. Is there some kind of exception to that rule between you and Mom?
• Mom, you always taught me to speak to others with respect and I was held accountable when I did not. I never understood why you spoke to Dad the way you did  when you thought no one else was listening.
• Dad, you always expected me to be forthright and honest with my feelings. You stressed to me how important it was to communicate with others but you always seemed to shut down and hold your feelings inside when it was time to communicate with Mom. Why?
• Mom, you didn't fight fair. You fought to win the fight, not to resolve the problem. 

Alright, it's all off my chest. I think I feel better and I hope you guys understand. I'm sorry I never said anything sooner but I just didn't know how to articulate it properly. I'm old enough now that I do. Sometimes I catch myself  falling into some of these behaviors in my marriage and I don't like the way it makes me feel. You guys taught me to marry my best friend and I did, but it just made me realize that you guys did not. Or did you? Were you ever best friends? Do you love each other? I  know it's too late to change any of this for my sake but you can do it for yours. I love you.

                                                                                                                      Sincerely,

                                                  

                                                                                                                      ____________

Was this your letter?

I hope not.

Could you imagine receiving this letter from one of your children one day?

...Or even just knowing that your child had to struggle with these unanswered questions throughout life and there was no way you could go back and change things?

Wouldn't it break your heart?

Wouldn't it make you wish you could just go back and somehow find a way to do better? To be more kind and more loving towards your spouse; to be more like we teach our children to be?

I'm so glad I've never personally had to think about these things regarding my parents. My parents are both 71 years old and just as in love as ever. I could NOT have had a better example. I know that is not the case for everyone. I consider myself blessed to have never witnessed any of the examples in the letter above. I hope that my boys are able to say the same when they are my age.

I've never understood why we choose one person to commit to for THE REST OF OUR LIVES  and then we proceed to show love, kindness and patience to everyone else in our lives more than we do to the person we chose to do life with. It just doesnt make sense. I understand that we spend a lot of time with our spouse and conflict is sure to arise but we need to rise above it. We need to be more like teammates and less like adversaries.

We all need reminders from time to time. My wife and I are no different than anyone else. What's important is that we are able to step back and re focus. My wife does a great job of that. She's not perfect, but she always steps back and tries to see things from my perspective and I appreciate that.

Okay, she's perfect. Who am I kidding?
;)

Remember what is at stake here. Find your proper motivation. Remember why you chose your spouse. You picked each other for a reason (last time I checked we dont really do prearranged marriages). Regardless of what that reason was, we all deserve to be treated like a best friend. Our children deserve to be able to do as we do, not only as we say, and still be on the right path.

I will leave you with a quote from the wise philosopher Jackie Moon:

"Everybody love everybody!"

Let's all do better.
We can do it!
Don't just be.
Be Happy.



P.S. Unfortanetly, I cannot time travel. Just in case I had you convinced.


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FLETCH: So this is why people shake babies.

Meet Fletcher.

 Our 2nd born.

Fletcher has taught me so much about life in his 22 months on this earth. He has taught me how to truly love someone unconditionally. He has taught me a level of patience that I never knew existed.  Fletcher has brought me closer to God than I've ever been before... I hate to say it but Fletcher also taught me why people shake babies. Trust me, that last one was harder for me to type than it was for you to read...

A few weeks ago my good friend Mike Smith (Sunshine Dad) wrote a blog post about how crazy and difficult his second child can be. Why is the 2nd child crazy?  While reading Mike's post my wheels just started turning and I was reminded that I really have a  great story to tell. A story that can help expectant parents who may one day find themselves where we were in the months following the birth of our second child. A story that can also help parents who have been where we were but may still be facing challenges as a result of their own personal Fletcher.

Ahhh, the first cries of a new born baby. Such a welcome sound to the ears of a parent in the delivery room. You cannot wait to hear that cry. For the most part, it means that everything is okay. You can relax. Your new baby is breathing and really taking those lungs on their very first test drive. Give it all you've got, son. Let her rip! In a few moments we'll begin learning how to soothe you. We'll get you fed and swaddled... but for now, just stretch those lungs. 

Then we never want to hear you cry again... Ever! Ha! That first cry is the only one we'll ever look forward to. We'd rather just sit back and reap the rewards of being "amazing" parents, just like we did with our first born. I remember being convinced that our second son would be just like our first. Why wouldn't he be? We're not going to do anything different. We've got this. We've been here before. We know how this is done.

Wait! What?

You have other plans?

Unfortunately, Fletcher spent most of his first 5 months doing just what he's doing in the picture above. 

Crying.

Screaming!

Look at me. I had no idea that the wrath of Fletcher was on it's way.  

Poor guy... (that goes for both of us)

Now, before you read any further please keep in mind that Fletcher is perfectly healthy. So many parents are unexpectedly hit with a diagnosis that has life changing implications just after the birth of a child. I'm grateful that was not the case with us. I want to be sensitive to that. The last thing I want to do is come off as a parent who is complaining about simply being a parent when there are so many others out there wishing all they had to do was deal with a whiny baby. Babies cry. I get that. Sometimes they are really hard to soothe. However, It can wear you out, frustrate you and beat you down mentally.  

According to our pediatrician, he may have been born with a somewhat premature digestive system. According to a million other genius armchair doctors he had Colic.

Colic? What is that?

 I mean, I know the definition of the word but

am I the only parent who thinks it's kind of strange?

 When I first heard someone say he had Colic my initial thoughts were:

How do we get rid of it? What's the cure? What type of medicine do we need? Let's get him all better.

"Oh, no no no. Colic is not a sickness or a disease. There is no medicine. There is no cure. Your baby is gassy and discontent which causes him to scream in pain at the top of his lungs for hours. We're going to call that Colic so we can technically have a diagnosis and hopefully that will make you feel better even though there is nothing you can do about it but try a few home remedies and give him gas drops."

Maybe it's just me but I would prefer you just tell me I have a gassy discontent baby and to buckle up for a wild ride because only God knows how long it is going to last... Yeah, that's probably just me.

 There were many times that I thought he had cried so hard for so long that he might literally explode before my eyes. This was the most heart breaking thing I have ever experienced, while simultaneously being the most frustrating thing I have ever experienced. How is it possible for a baby to cry this much? He's clearly not satisfied with the parents the doctor sent him home with. Why was this so easy the first time around and so difficult this time? Did we forget what to do? Why is burping this baby like solving a rubix cube?

 Daphne and I used to joke that in his first five months he cried more than our 2 and 1/2 year old had in his entire life. It was true. We would get him to sleep at night and 30 minutes later he would wake up screaming. He would continue to scream for anywhere between 30 minutes to an hour until we finally found the secret position that got him back to sleep. He kept us guessing. There was never any rhyme or reason to this:

Who could forget the old upside down crotch grab? One of our most successful positions.

When that didn't work I would resort to the two armed baby holster. I would hold him like this, bend over at the waste and swing him back and forth. Yes, we had a swing but he didn't care for it most of the time. He would prefer his Daddy get a little work out.

One night I played him to sleep with the Bubble Guppies guitar. My real guitar came in handy on multiple occasions as well.

Here we are under a dock on a beach on the North Carolina shore after a good 2 a.m. screaming sesh. 

Thank God for the ocean waves.

Ah yes, the night he wanted to prop his face in my hand and sleep sitting up.

Seriously Fletch!?!

Give us a break. Please, just one break? Fletcher could turn a 30 minute drive into a 2 hour adventure in which the only time he wasn't crying was when I stood in the Burger King parking lot in the glow of the drive thru menu imagining myself trying to disguise him as the kids meal toy and handing him over to the cute little girl in the backseat of the approaching Chrysler Town & Country and running for the hills. Oh, Fletcher!

What made trips like this even more enjoyable was the fact that his older brother was a "Team Crier." Oh boy, if Fletcher was upset Cooper was not about to let his poor little "bruhder" cry this out alone. Thanks Coop. We appreciate your concern. Really, we do.

My poor wife. When I was at work she was at home with the two boys all day. I don't know how she made it through this five month stretch. She deserves some kind of medal. No, she deserves more than that. She deserves a lifetime supply of Ice cream. Daphne, if you're reading this, I appreciate you and I will make you Ice cream 'til death do us part. I promise.

I remember taking a few days off of work just so she could have a "mental health day." I knew how helpful that extra set of hands was. There were nights when she needed to go out with the girls. Make no mistake, it was a NEED, not a WANT. I acted like it was no big deal but as soon as that door shut behind her I just prayed. There was also a two week stretch when I basically locked myself in the guest bedroom with Fletcher so Daphne could get some good rest at night. This involved a lot more prayer.

 Let me be clear that Fletcher's discomfort was more heart breaking than anything else but I'd be lying if I said it wasn't the most frustrating thing I've ever experienced. Some nights nothing worked. NOTHING! I'll never forget in my most desperate moments thinking, "So, this is why people shake babies." I'm sure that multiple times in your life you've seen the mug shot of some loser on the news who just went to jail for shaking a baby. Well, I've always been the type of person who immediately passed judgement on that guy and said a few choice words about him. I also made my thoughts clear on what they ought to do to him in jail, but I didn't know it could get this bad. I didn't know babies were capable of this kind of misery. 

Don't get me wrong. I've never had sympathy for someone who has made such a detestable decision. It's completely unacceptable. Empathy, however? Yes. Now that I understand how it happens, I completely understand how someone who is sleep deprived, frustrated and perhaps lacking the proper mental tools to have a child to begin with, can make such a horrible decision. After all, we literally tried everything besides shaking him and most times, none of it worked. The thought of it makes me sick. What if my mother hadn't put in overtime to teach me how to control my temper? What if God had decided to give my sweet little Fletcher to someone incapable of learning this unconditional love and special level of patience? I cringe at the thought as the tears well up in my eyes. Sometimes you just have to love someone through a situation and rely on faith that the reward is there even though you may not be able to see it. Thankfully, God gave Fletcher to Daphne and Me and we made it through that chapter of our lives together.

I'll never forget a conversation we had with an older woman when Daphne was pregnant with Fletcher. She had two children. Two sons who were in their late teens/early twenties at the time of the conversation. They were close in age like Cooper and Fletcher would be. She told me that from the day her second son was born she could tell he was just difficult. She said he was just different and he's been that way his entire life. Then she kind of rolled her eyes.

Today her oldest son is very successful. He's confident and thriving at life. He's a contributing member to society and in good standing with mom and dad. Her youngest son continues to make poor decisions and seems to be the black sheep of the family. I've often found myself thinking back to this conversation, especially during Fletcher's "dark days." I bet she would tell you that she was given a "bad egg." She would say that she did the best she could with him but he just always made things hard on himself. I just can't help but think that she may have expected her second son to be just like her first son and because of this expectation she never let him just be himself. Maybe she always held him to a standard set by the temperament of her first son and because he came nowhere near fitting into that mold she just wrote him off as a bad egg and therefore parented him in a completely different manner than she parented her oldest son. 

I remember those thoughts creeping into my head: 

"He's just so difficult." 

"Typical Fletcher."

"We're fighting a losing battle. Things will never change"

"What's wrong with this child?"

When they did I would think back to that conversation and how I felt like her second son just got the raw end of the deal. It just wasn't fair for him. He didn't get the same encouragement and praise because he was difficult from day one. When you really think about it, he probably deserved more encouragement. He definitely deserved more patience. He needed more patience and I couldn't help but feel like she gave him less. I made a deal with myself that I would NOT under any circumstance short change my Fletcher. I promised myself to always let my sympathy for his discomfort win the battle with my frustration for my own discomfort. His first few months were hard enough. The last thing he needs is a hardened and impatient heart from someone who should be opening his heart even wider for him. I was not going to let that happen.

They say that parenting is a "labor of love" and they are right. I can honestly say, now that we have passed this phase, that I wouldn't change a thing. I've grown so much through these trials and I feel like Daphne and I have won a battle. We used to ask ourselves questions like, "How is it possible for a baby to cry this much?" Today we ask ourselves  questions like, "How is it possible for a toddler to find so much joy in so many things?" He gets so excited about so many small things in life and brings so much joy to us on an every day basis. He's definitely still a handful. He's just a much more manageable handful.

 Today, Fletcher is almost two years old. He's the kind of kid who will walk into the kitchen, see his high chair and think, "Man, I'm hungry. I've got to find a way to get up there." Sure enough, if I turn my back on him for one minute he'll find a way into that high chair. Its incredible. I need to hide a camera in the kitchen to figure out how he does it.

 What makes it exceptionally mind blowing is the fact that once he gets up there and tells me how hungry he is, he simply refuses to eat anything...besides maybe the marshmallows out of Lucky Charms cereal.

We find Fletcher shut in a dark closet, shut in the pantry or stuck somewhere in the house once or twice a week minimum.

Oh, Fletcher! You've really made your mark on us. You've redefined the way we approach parenting and life in general. You've taught us so many lessons. I'm still trying to grasp the one where you potty while standing on your head.