Gone Fishin'

Took H fishing today because he's been dead set on it and I finally had an opportunity. Most of the time we go fishing, we have no luck. Today, we caught three things. A yellow perch, a bluegill, and a turtle.

Henry catches a gigantic fish, I swear.

The perch was first, then the bluegill. Both in pretty quick succession. The turtle was a bit later. Was an accident, of course. Luckily it barely got hooked, it mostly just had the line wrap around it's foot. I was able to free it with no visible damage, though the little yank I had to do probably wasn't pleasant for ol' Shelly (I just named it now.) H wanted to put the turtle in the bucket we had the fish in, so I did.

Shelly

Bucket o' lake life

After a few seconds, H wanted me to get the turtle out because turtles breathe air and he didn't want it to get hurt. I reached in to grab it but got a bit poked and couldn't catch it, so I dumped out some of the water to make it easier. Was able to get the turtle out and let him free. So long, Shelly. That left the bluegill and the perch. I tried to add a little extra water into the bucket, but in the process, the bluegill jumped out, leaving only the perch behind.

As is usually the case when we go fishing, H had wanted to take it home and cook it. And because I'm way too overly sensitive about things including a dumb ol' fish even though I eat meat because I'm a complete and total hypocrite, I agreed to do it and didn't let my own feelings on having to kill a fish myself show. I told him we would take the bucket home so his brother could see the fish first. We went and picked up the brother (still need to find a nickname for him for this blog, or I could just use their real names, but whatever) from camp and we went home. We had to leave the fish behind so the younger one could go to his therapy so we did that, ol' Perchy sitting in his bucket, waiting for his demise, none-the-wiser. (side note: Perchy is not nearly as cute of a nickname as Shelly. That fish can't catch no breaks.)

On the way home from all that, H decided that he didn't want to eat the fish, because he felt bad for it. He wanted to let it go. I offered to let it go in the pond behind the house, but he said no, he wanted to return it to the lake, so it could be with its family. Can't really say no to that, can I?

So we took Perchy back to his home in the lake. I am proud of H, more than I can really express. His empathy, his willingness to stand up for what he believed, his ability to tell me what he thought, but mostly, his being him.

Letting Perchy go

Another year

I apparently can only post here when it's summer time and I start getting the passion to be something other than a lump, even though this summer, finding that passion is taking some real doing. Volunteering a couple places when I can, some coming up very soon, outdoor stuff. Got a book from the library about getting the kids outside more, but it's secretly actually for me. Looking for some sort of inspiration to get myself interested in being outside or doing anything other than wasting time on the internet or whatever. Depression is a killer and it wants me dead more than you can imagine but I'm gonna keep working against it, not for me, but for those (admittedly fucking crazy lately) little boys o' mine.

I look at H and I see a sadness in his face, or maybe I'm projecting. Wife says I am. I don't know. I want to find a way to make him happy that doesn't involve buying him things. Too materialistic. Both are. I am. So much shit piling up for me to feel good about for two seconds before it becomes just another anchor, trying to remove it is like putting on a life preserver made of lead, to continue the oceanish lingo.

I is having a lot more tantrums when things don't go his way (maybe I need a better pseudonym for him instead of his initial, damn confusion.) Keep hoping therapy for him is going to work but how can the therapy work if he throws his tantrums whenever we try the skills given?

Time to look for my own therapist even though finding the time and the money is hard. Don't know my work schedule ahead of time more than like two weeks so I need to find someone who is flexible, and I need to get over my feeling of needing to be home all the time to help with the kids. More of my own craziness.

Amelia

When I was younger, I worked as a grave digger. I naively thought it would be cool, then I thought eh, it’s just a job. Then I ended up having to help dig a grave for a kid and I quit that day. I couldn’t do it. I never wanted to dig a grave again in my life.

 I dug a grave today.

 My sweet little dog Amelia was hit by a car, she died as I put my hand on her chest. She was a member of the family only for a bit over a year. She was probably about nine months when we adopted her, they said. We adopted her on February 7, 2015, and she passed away today, July 16, 2016. 

 She was across the street and I called to her to get her to come home. She came running toward me. I’ll never forget that image, and I’ll never feel like it wasn’t my fault. I ran to her. I watched her take her last few breaths, her tongue hanging out of her mouth. I touched her and she stopped moving. I picked her up and cradled her, my sweet puppy. 

 The car had stopped and the guy got out and he was saying something about thinking she was a branch. I have to admit I didn’t really listen. I told him it was ok, it wasn’t his fault. He stood there for a while saying something or other and I told him it was fine, it was an accident. He kept saying he was sorry and I told him it was ok and told him he could go and he did. A neighbor was by, I don’t know who it was, but he stood there with his hand on my shoulder as I stood in the middle of the street and cried and cradled my poor Amelia to my chest.

 The kids were outside. I don’t know if they saw it happen. I hope so much that they didn’t. They are only four and six, they don’t need that. They stood on the sidewalk watching me, Ian didn’t quite get it. Henry did. He cried and puked. Amber took them inside.

 The neighbor offered to grab the hose from the side of the house and spray off the puke, I thanked him as best as I could. I wish I knew who it was, but I was still in shock. Thank you again, whoever you are.

 I took her into the garage and I held her and I cried. I put her down and I dug a hole in the back yard, and there she is now, feet away from where I type this. 

 Ian still doesn’t get it, I guess that’s a good thing about his developmental delays, even though I know that sounds incredibly fucking shitty of me to actually say. He loved that dog more than anyone in the family, I bet. He was always with her. When I would take him places, he would tell strangers out of the blue, “guess what? I have a pet, and her name is Amelia!” I don’t even know what else to say about Ian to be honest. I feel like Amelia getting hit was my fault. And because of this, I took his friend away. I don’t know how I’ll forgive myself for it.

 Henry does get it, though. He’s taking it better than I expected on the surface, but I know him. And I know his last image of her was her in my arms. I know him, and I know that is going to stick with him. I only hope he doesn’t blame me, but I’m too terrified of it to ask. It’s funny how much he loved her, especially because when we first got her he was so afraid of her.

 He made her a card. His words mean more than mine ever will.

The Blue Sky

This is another message board post, one I wrote for my Children's Literature class, reflecting on the book The Blue Sky, by Andrea Petrlik Huseinović. You can read the book online here.

This book really hit me. While I’ve never had a parent die, I did come from a home where I was abused both physically and mentally, so despite having a completely different starting point, I was really able to relate to the girl, her sadness, and her longing for happiness and a sense of belonging. 

The book made me reflect on my own life, and my own past. Much like the girl, I sometimes struggle to remember the good times. While I don’t forgive my family for the way I was treated, I do know that there were some happy memories mixed in with all the negativity. I felt glad that the girl was able to remember so much good, and to hopefully find that happiness and sense of love again at the end. If someone knew my experiences, they may wonder if I was jealous of the girl for maybe finding that happiness again, but I’m not. I’m a parent myself now, and the book made me want to really make sure that any happiness that I missed out on is given to my own children ten-fold.

I thought the main character was a fantastic representation of the feeling of sadness and loneliness that we have surely all felt at some point in our lives. Maybe not all of us have lost a loved one. Maybe we are too young, or we didn’t have anyone close to us when we were children. Maybe we came from an incredibly sheltered home, and our parents were incredibly doting and did everything to make us happy. The fact though is, life is not always happiness. We all have sadness in us, we all have sad experiences. But we all must find a way to take this sadness and grow. Don’t let it fester. It will be a drain on your whole life. I believe the girl realized this at the end.

I think the author was trying to make the reader understand that one event does not define your life. The book starts with the girl, only reflecting her sadness. She is defined by the loss of her mother. Through the book, however, we learn of all the little events that the girl and her mother experienced together. The girl reflects on her happy experiences with her mother, and how they shaped and affected the lives of the animals they helped through their actions. It made the girl realize that she is not defined by her sadness alone, even if it is a part of her. She starts off as a one sided character and by the end, becomes whole.

The way the author wrote reminded me a lot of my own writing style, which I appreciated. Her writing in this book focused less on concrete information and facts, and more on a sense of feeling and experience. It reminded me a lot of the memoirs I enjoy reading, which focus less on what happened and what order, and more on how the experiences shaped the writer.

Another message board post

I started up a new class on Children's Literature, and had to write my initial post to the message board introducing myself. I decided to post it here, too, because it's easier than original content. Enjoy!

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As a child, I was a voracious reader. I didn’t have many friends, and my family life was abusive, so reading was one of my escapes from reality for a time, though it wasn’t only fiction I read. I also read a lot of nonfiction, mostly books on space and science. As my school career went on, I grew to dislike any book that was assigned reading, as I felt like it was my escape, and I didn’t want to be forced to read X when I wanted to read Y. I think this attitude really caused some issues with my own enjoyment of reading, and my own knowledge, and I wish I could go back and erase that part of my history. I fell out of reading for personal enjoyment for a long while, and have really only recently begun to find that joy again (well, recently as in the past ten years).

My favorite genre as a child was science fiction. I craved the feeling of freedom that a lot of sci-fi provided. To this day, my favorite book, and the book I’ve read the most times in my life (not including reading and rereading books to my children) is The Time Machine, by H. G. Wells. Wells continues to be my favorite author, even if I am not as much into sci-fi these days.

What I like more now is travelogues, “slice of life” nonfiction, and memoirs. I like learning about the ways that other people have lived, and it has finally, at 32, given me some much needed insight into processing my own childhood, and my own life.

 Other than that, I actually really do enjoy children’s books, and have tried my hand at writing my own over the years, but then I read something by say Sandra Boynton (probably my favorite children’s book author), with perfectly realized words and art, and I realize that my stuff is awful in comparison. Of course, rationally I realize that that is because of my own self esteem issues stemming from my childhood, but sometimes the rationality is hard to escape.

 A lot of what Galda, Sipe, Liang, and Cullinan (2010) wrote about regarding the power of literature I believe rings true in my experiences. Their statement that avid reading leads to a better understanding of the world is something that I have really come to appreciate more and more over my lifetime, and something I hope to make use of in my own parenting (pp. 6-7).

For this course, I hope to learn more about what makes a good children’s book, and how to encourage my own children (currently six and four) to get interested, and stay interested, in reading.

Paying attention

This is actually part of a message board homework assignment I wrote for a class I'm in, but I wanted to post it here.

I wanted to point out what I feel is one of the most important things mentioned in the chapter. Johnson (2012) states "kids get hooked because big people take the time to really look at the work they have done and comment on it" (p. 121). I think this is something that many of us (myself included) can be guilty of when it comes to working with children. I was thinking back to an experience here at home earlier today, when my son wanted to show me a project he was working on, and I kind of shooed him away because I was busy doing something of my own. I luckily noticed his expression and his look of sadness that I didn't give him the attention he needed, so I stopped what I was doing and made it a point to talk to him and see what it was he wanted to show me. In the future, I need to be more cognizant of his needs and at least acknowledge his interest, if I want him to remain creative and inquisitive. It left me wondering, how many times have I done this where I didn't notice the effect it was having on him?
Children crave attention, acceptance, understanding, and the feeling of accomplishment. We need to make sure that we don't let their desires and needs fade away like many of our own probably have over the years.

Painting the walls with crazy

Or maybe not crazy. Maybe food coloring. And an attempt with butter. That was Ian today.

When I was making breakfast for the boys, Ian came up and grabbed a butterknife full of butter, and tried to paint it on the livingroom wall. Luckily I caught him with that. I wasn't so lucky with the food coloring, though, which he attacked the downstairs bathroom wall with when I was dumb enough to think I could get a shower in uneventfully.

If you're wondering why the food coloring was within his reach, well, that's because of the potty training attempts we are still working on. Because apparently a kid who is going to be four in just over a week still can't use the potty on his own. OK granted, he has sensory processing issues and he has his speech delay and everything, but come on, kid, I don't want to change diapers anymore.

Or find pee-filled pull-ups in the middle of the floor while he runs around naked.

Sigh.

Maybe I should figure out how to take care of this potty avoidance before worrying about starting a podcast, heh.

Hey, it's only been eleven months

I thought maybe I should hit the ol' bloggy blog blog again, with an update and such. I'm working toward my early childhood education degree still, still have way too long to go. But it'll be worth it in the end, once I can stop being a poor bum.

I've been working on an idea for a podcast about parenting and video games, because those are really the only two things I know anything about, and even then it's pretty suspect. I think it could be a good project, though, provided I can find a cohost whom I feel comfortable with. That's going to be a big problem. The bigger problem, though, will be the finding the time to actually record things. With school, and both of the kids in the big bed, and a part time job, and taking the kids around to where they need to be, and other excuses...will I find the time to record? Or edit? Who knows! The adventure of dad-dom.

The general idea would be a podcast about raising a nerdy child, because there's a big huge old chance that my kids are going to be nerdy, because they are learning from me. I just don't want them to be bullied or whatever, because that fucking sucks, I know that from experience. Whee. Kids can be jerks.

So maybe a podcast could help some other parent out, give them ideas on how to raise a nerdy, yet well-rounded and emotionally secure child.

Hey, it's only been sixteen months...

Went for a hike along the Des Plaines River Trail today. Plan was to start at 7:00 or so and get as far as I could by the end of the day. What happened instead, I started around 9:30 and made it to mile ten before the blister on my foot got the better of me. Lessons I learned: listen when people say not to hike in cotton socks, and spend more than $20 on hiking shoes.

I hope to get back out there some time, after I can get some better footwear. It felt great to finally be doing something outside again. Gotta get ready for that Appalachian Trail hike! (Hey, a man can dream...)

I've had a goal of doing a thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail for years now. Whether I'll ever do it, I don't know, but I think it's important to have as a goal, even if I never end up making it. For now, I'll settle for reading different people's trail journals and what have you.

Even though today's hike didn't quite go as I had planned, I did have a good time out there. Got to have some time to myself, got to see some horses, got to see a mommy and baby deer... All in all, a relatively successful trip. 

As for the AT, I found myself daydreaming a bit today while walking about taking the boys along if I do go, maybe when they are out of High School. If they're interested, anyway. Who knows. I definitely don't want to force my own hobbies on them, but I can't say I wouldn't be excited if they shared my interests. I already know Henry has some interest in things like camping, or hiking, or fishing. I will hopefully be able to find some time this summer to help foster some of that.

Anyway, deer.

They were cool to see. As I walked up, the baby one was just laying down on the trail. The mother came up and tried to scoot it along after she saw me. Then a bunch of people on bikes passed by, probably wondering who this weird fat guy was taking pictures of the woods. Only one ended up looking over and seeing the deer, commenting on it, then commenting on how much her ass hurt on the ride away.

One Million Moms is a terrorist organization

Ok, maybe not really. But they might as well be.

If you haven't heard of A Few Hundred Moms That Think Their Opinions Are The Only Ones That Matter Because They Are (Not So) Secretly Pieces of Shit (AFHMTTTOATOOTMBTANSSPOS for short, although I prefer to just call them nothing) (a spinoff of the "American Family Association") they are this group that goes out of their way to harass companies, etc that dare to agree that yes, same sex couples do in fact exist and shouldn't be something that is hidden from view because a bunch of know-nothing know-it-alls don't like it. Their latest target has been this Disney channel show, Good Luck Charlie. The big offense of the show? Two women that are in a loving relationship and are parents to a child on the show. EGAD, MAN! TO THE PHONES!

I'm not going to write about the fact that the whole "homosexual agenda" thing is a joke, or that one person's religion should have absolutely no bearing on the beliefs of others, or any of the other many things that can be said about AFA and similar groups. I have learned long ago that if someone has an opinion about something (especially if that opinion is based on their religion) you are never going to change their minds. It's a futile effort. Besides, there are many people that can explain why the AFA and whoever else are complete pieces of shit much better and with more eloquence than I ever could.

What I mostly take offense at is the way these groups use their (and others!) children as shields to hide behind while spewing their hate speech. They use whatever mental gymnastics they can to show why someone that is gay is evil, or someone that isn't christian is evil, or that someone that disagrees with them is evil, or what the hell ever, and hide it behind a wall of "oh, it's for the children!"

First: children are not stupid. Sure, if you hear something enough while growing up, there is a good chance that you will (at least at first) believe it yourself. I had beliefs as a kid that I wouldn't dare agree with now. I'm sure many would say the same. But that's the thing: you grow, you become exposed to a new way of thinking, and you develop your own thoughts and beliefs as you gain more experience and more knowledge.

Second: children, even if they are your own, are not tools. They are human beings, that will hopefully grow up to realize that there is nothing wrong with being gay, or Muslim, or black, or whatever else people pretend is an affront to god.

The problem arises when you have groups like the AFA or OMM or anyone else that use their children as shields to hide their bigotry behind. They specifically add the word Family, or Mom, or Dad, or whatever because they believe that as precious as children are, nobody will ever try to say anything against them. If they do, well, they're just not focused on the children that matter! Or they use America in their name so if you say no, what you're spewing is bullshit, they can label you as un-American. It becomes nothing but a smear campaign, where they say "well, see, of course I'm on the right side! I'm doing this for the children!" but they're not. They are doing it for their own selfish inward hate. And to hide behind children, the ones that they say they are so focused on, is not only cowardly, it's absolutely disgusting.

I guess what I'm saying is Fuck You, AFA.

Footnote: This is why groups like this are complete garbage: http://www.people.com/people/article/0,,20784127,00.html
A five year old getting death threats because the character she plays on a tv show has gay parents. So much for it being "for the children", huh.

Post-title (it's my new music genre)

Not really kid related, but I guess it is in a way. I've been thinking about my life, now at thirty years old, with the kids getting  older every day. There are times that the kids want to do X or Y but I am so set in my lifestyle that I don't have the energy or whatever to do it. So I've started yet again on the path to losing some weight, getting in to some semblance of good shape, so I can be able to do things with them that either they want to do, or that I want to experience more with them. Things like more outdoor activities, for one. Not that I am anti outdoors by any stretch of the imagination. I long for the weekend camping trips, the fishing trips, the hikes and bike rides and everything, hell, even the sitting outside, away from the glow of the ipad or the television or whatever. Summer is still a while away (and with temperatures below zero this coming week, it really feels like it) but really,I ts not that far. Spring is even closer. Henry wants to go camping, I know. We did it last summer in the back yard, and it was one of his favorite things. Perhaps a mid-spring camp out is in order.

He's also really interested in fishing, and so am I. Although every time I think about fishing, I think of the time when I went fishing and the fish completely swallowed the hook instead of it just getting caught in the mouth area, seeing the fish die in my hand as I tried to work the hook loose. How much suffering did that fish go through at my hand? I don't know. Hell, it was what, fifteen years ago? The fish would be long dead by now anyway. But I think about it whenever I think of fishing. It won't keep me from doing it again, especially if Henry and Ian are really itching to give it a go. But I worry about them seeing the same kind of thing. I know it's impossible to keep them from knowing about suffering, and it would be completely shitty of me to try to protect them from real life, but hell, I'm their dad, and it's still hard to see them deal with hard situations.

But at the same time, I want them to know what the world is really like. I want them to realize that yeah, things get hurt, things die. Life is finite, and they need to make the most of it. I just want them to realize that before they are thirty, too.

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.

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 surface...it'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.

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.

Spring

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?"

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?"
"Yes!"

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."

French

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".

blue bear

For any parents out there that has a kid that had a stuffed animal that they loved a lot that ended up needing to be replaced: did they have a hard time adjusting to the new one? Henry has gotten hooked on this blue bear, and we preemptively bought a spare to put in the closet, but I'm wondering if we should once in a while switch the bears, so they both wear down at the same rate. I don't know if there would be a problem if his current bear got ragged, and then got lost, only to be replaced with a brand new one. Do kids even notice that kind of thing? This is the first time Henry has really gotten hooked on a certain toy. 

My other (probably silly) concern is switching the bears back and forth, I kind of feel like I'm, I dunno, tricking my kid or something. He would think that it was the same bear, and have memories attached to it, but it would actually be two different bears. So in 20 years or whatever, if he still has one of the bears, he will have memories attached to the bear that he has in 20 years, but not all the memories will be attached to that bear. Maybe that is silly, I dunno. I guess the only thing that matters is the memories Henry has, not so much the object itself. But at the same time, I'm 28 now, and I still miss my little stuffed bear sometimes, even though I haven't seen it in at least 10 years. Good ol' Judgar.

research

Sitting here on the couch. Ian is asleep on me. The wife has taken Henry off to bed. I'm trying to do genealogy research, starting from pretty much nowhere. I don't know why, but I feel like it's my duty to be able to provide some modicum of information about my family to my kids. Does the information even matter? Will it change anything for them? People I'm related to by blood but I've never met. Dead or dying. Not knowing my kids exist. Not knowing I exist.

I want to be a good father.

Outdoors

I was reading The Art of Manliness by Brett and Kate McKay and upon reading both the chapter about being a father, and the chapter on the great outdoors, I was reminded of how much I can't wait to take my son camping for the first time, just father and son. I think it's a real bonding experience that sadly many kids (and fathers for that matter) do not get to experience. Something about being out alone in the wilderness, showing your kid how to start a campfire, sleeping under the stars...it's something so pure. I find it difficult to get it into words. I look forward to the day that Henry and I can get out there and pitch a tent and just spend some time together, experiencing new things, away from it all. There is something to be said for just spending time out in nature, away from the television and the internet and everything else. Who doesn't want to get away for a weekend? And what better way to get away? I don't think I'll be able to take him this summer with the new baby and all, but I hope we can at least pitch a tent in the back yard and hang out around the fire pit.

 As a side note, people talk about apple pie, but to me the real quintessential American desert is the s'more. Parents and kids, sitting around the campfire that they built, roasting marshmallows, squeezing them between slabs of graham cracker and chocolate, just spending time together as a family--what could be better than that?