Monday, July 22, 2013

Rambling post #42703

I was laying down with Henry tonight, talking about random stuff as he was getting ready to go to bed. We started by talking about stuff like how I'm proud of him for being such a good big brother to Ian and everything, and how I love him and I always will. I don't really know how it ended up coming up, but I had told him that I would be there for him for as long as possible, and even after I'm gone, I hope he realizes how much I love him and how important he is to me. He asked if I was leaving, and I told him no, but one day I'm going to be gone. He pressed the issue, so i told him that one day (hopefully) a long way away, I'm going to not be able to be there with him because I'm going to die, because all living things die. Maybe this was a stupid thing to say to a three year old, but I try my best to be honest with him. He asked why I was going to die one day, and I told him again that all living things die eventually. He ended up asking if mommy was going to die one day, too, and I had to tell him that yeah, one day, but not for a long time. He sadly said that he doesn't want to be alone. It was the single most heartbreaking thing I have ever heard in my life. I sat there next to him and couldn't keep myself from crying while holding him and telling him that he will never be alone, and that mommy and I will always love him. Eventually the subject changed to a lighter note and he drifted off to sleep happy. Now I am sitting here on his bed as he sleeps, writing this, and I am crying again looking back on it.

There are times that I wish I had some sort of religious belief, or that I could make myself believe in heaven or whatever, so I could tell him that even after I die I will still be there for him, and that we will be together again or whatever, but I can't make myself believe something like that, and I don't feel right about telling him something like that if I don't really believe it myself. At the same time, i desperately want to believe that there is a way that we will be together forever. So what can I do in that kind of situation? I really wish I knew. I guess I did lie to him in the end, I don't know. I just want him to know that his mom and I will always love him for as long as we live, but I didn't want to bring up the whole dying subject again.

I wish I could find a way to put things to words for him to explain how much him and his brother mean to me, but as can clearly be seen by the rambling post here, I'm generally not all that good at finding the best words to use.

Monday, May 13, 2013

Henry has a lot of questions. This kid is very curious about all kinds of things, and I love it. Most of his questions lately are about different sciencey topics, stuff like why do plants have leaves, or where do clouds come from*, etc. I try my best to answer them in an honest manner, yet simple enough for a toddler (and him and I look things up together if I don't know the answers).

One of the questions he has asked a few times is why the sun goes down. He's known for a while now that the Earth spins around in space, and that when it's daytime here, it's night time on the other side of the planet.  A couple of days ago he asked again, so I squatted down and told him again about how the Earth rotates, and I spun around, telling him to pretend he was the Sun and I was the Earth, and as I spin around, he's looking at a different part of my body, kind of like how the Sun shines on a different part of the Earth as the planet spins. 

Before I could try to explain to him the reason, though, someone else mentioned that the Sun goes down because it gets tired and goes to bed. Maybe it's just me, but this is such a boring answer. I was talking to my wife about the subject earlier...the thought that the Sun just goes to bed at night and wakes up in the morning does nothing for me. Maybe it's because I'm not a toddler or whatever, but the thought of the Earth spinning through space, while a star shines down on different parts of the's just fascinating to me. Maybe I'm cheating my kids out of an imagination by telling them the truth about things, I dunno. I wonder if when they are older, they will find the facts as fascinating as I do, or if they will feel bad about not hearing the stories.

*I do admit to telling him that flue-gas stacks on the horizon while we drive were cloud factories once.

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

One step away from Hoarders

At least that's what it feels like in my house.

I am trying to go through all of the things that I have no use for, which inevitably comes to stuff that the kids own or have made. I am not completely crazy, at least--I know that I'll never need whatever random finger painting Henry pokes at twice before moving on to the next sheet of paper (I think I need to buy stock in a fingerpaint paper supply company), so many of those end up in the trash. But still, I find myself feeling bad about getting rid of random things, such as the bag of polished stones that Henry just had to have on one of our trips to the Zoo. I had thrown them out, because, really, does a three year old need a random bag of rocks that he hasn't actually looked at since about two days after getting them? But I found myself pulling them back out, because, I don't know, I'm stupid, I suppose. (I also like commas, and starting sentences with 'but'.)

I assume it goes back to me not really having anything from my childhood, so I feel bad about getting rid of anything from their childhoods. But (#3), comma, I know that they aren't going to care about not having the bag of stones or whatever item in one week, let alone 25, 30, 50 years. And it's not like I have any use for them, other than for them to clutter up the house and get in the way. When we moved into the bigger house, we were like, yes, we will never fill up this house with commas stuff, we have so much roooooom! But (4) here we are. And we have only had kids for a little over three years. What happens when Ian is making all sorts of art projects and wanting all sorts of bags of stones? What happens when they (gasp) start school and start bringing home even MORE projects and things? (Anyone have any advice on that front?)

I guess my choice is to cut down on the clutter and deal with the feeling of being a jerk by getting rid of their precious things, or I can realize that in the long run, the bag of stones or whatever isn't going to make a difference in their lives, so why live in a cluttered house, and raise kids thinking they need to hold on to every little thing? I say out loud that it's the memories that matter most, not the things. Maybe it's time I start listening to myself.

Monday, April 8, 2013


I was talking to Henry in the car the other day about how eventually we want to put in a greenhouse in the back yard. I am a crazy paranoid dad and apparently being a parent has turned me into some sort of hippie. I don't really care what I am putting into my body because what the hell, but with my kids, I try to get more "natural" stuff. I am aware that my 19 year old self would laugh at my 29 year old self for saying that, but whatever. I'd like my kids not pumped full of all kinds of who knows what. Maybe it's silly or dumb or something, but they are my kids and I would rather they not die any sooner than absolutely necessary.

Anyway, I was telling Henry about how we want to put in a greenhouse and grow some of our own vegetables and whatnot, when he got really upset, because "[he doesn't] want a greenhouse! What do we have to paint it green for?"

Wednesday, March 13, 2013

Lunch time

A drama, based on real events.

"Henry, what would you like for lunch?"
"I want egg salad."

Boil some eggs. Turn off the water to let them cook. 18 minutes pass. Crack them open. They are not fully cooked inside.

"Henry, the eggs didn't turn out right. Do you want me to just cook you an egg for lunch?"
"No, I want egg salad."
"Are you sure?"

Boil new eggs. Turn off the water to let them cook. 20 minutes pass. Crack them open. They are fine. Make egg salad. Place egg salad in front of Henry.

Henry looks at it.

"I don't like egg salad."

Wednesday, March 6, 2013


A lot of people seem to have important things to say, important thoughts, important ideas. I don't. I don't really mind, though. I wake up in the morning and I take care of my kids and sometimes I go to school and then I spend a bit of time with my wife and then I go to bed, to do it again. I'm not really complaining though. Things are pretty great as they are. Do I wish I cared about "more important things"? Sure, I guess. But what is "more important", anyway? I sure as hell have no idea. My kids are important. My wife is important. What else should really matter to me?

I wish I was more intelligent, sure. I wish I could have a conversation with someone about politics or whatever, but you know, I can't. And I don't really care. It used to bother me, I used to be afraid people would think I was dumb. Well, it turns out I may just be dumb. Oh well, c'est la vie, or whatever. I think that's French for "fuck it".