The Mommies' Diaries…Parenting, One Blog at a Time.

In my blogs, I try to write about the challenges that come with being a single dad of teenagers.  Sometimes, when certain life situations happen, like dating, it’s important to have someone else to bounce your ideas off of.  It’s one of those advantages you have when you’re married that you don’t necessarily have anymore.

So, when my daughter first told me that she wanted to go to a dance for the first time, my first inclination was to tell her that I hoped she had a wonderful time.  But then she told me a ‘boy‘ had asked her!  My next thought was wondering how many years I was going to have to live behind bars.

When my kids were really young, we had the occasional talk with friends about first baths, the first bicycle ride without training wheels, and first 49er games.  You know, milestones.

When it came to first dates and first kisses, the talks got a little more serious as we joked about polishing knives and cleaning guns.  We laughed a lot.  It was funny.

But then the day arrived and it wasn’t so funny anymore.  My little girl was growing up.  And the biggest problem was that at one time in my life a long time ago, I was the boy asking the father’s daughter out to a dance…

How do you warn the daughter you’ve raised in the shroud of princesses and princes and knights in shining armor that the boy is a threat?  Suddenly your answers to her questions aren’t making any sense.  “Sure honey, but this boy isn’t the prince.  He’s a dark lord.”

“Why is he a dark lord daddy?  He could be the prince.”

How do you answer that?!  When they’re teens, ‘because I said so’s’ don’t really hold water anymore.  Teens are tricky.  They want to negotiate anything and for you to justify everything.  It’s a cruel hand of fate really.  It’s like someone hit the reset button on your list of self-sacrifices and you have to start all over again.

Suddenly, I realized that a tough choice had to be made.  I decided I would agree to the date on the condition that the boy had to be ‘introduced’ to me because that is what princes do.

She agreed and when the night of the dance came, I sat on a bench in the yard when my daughter brought him over to meet me.  I smiled broadly as I stood and when he reached out to shake my hand, I grabbed it firmly.  “When do you intend to bring my daughter home?” I asked.

The boy replied, “Twenty minutes after the dance ends sir.”

“Good answer,” I replied, the smile slipping from my face morphing into a face that would intimidate the devil himself.  “Because if she’s not, I’ll come like a thief in the night when you least expect it.”

I’m happy to report that the boy brought her home at the time the dance was to end.  They both had a good time and I am still a free man.

It’s hard being a single father.  Everyone has an opinion, but the only instinct you must follow is your own.  In my mind, princesses should remain princesses and I intended to keep it that way.

My daughter will start kindergarten in the fall.  She can hardly wait.  I can hardly wait too.  She goes to preschool now 3 full days a week and LOVES it.  I am amazed at the things she comes home having learned.

I was a teacher before becoming a mom.  I am probably the opposite of how most people think I would be.  Actually, I think most teachers are.  I am hardly an overachiever when it comes to my child.  I haven’t pushed LG to learn one thing academically.  Everything has come on her own as she was ready.  If fact, at the age of 2 when she knew her letters and their sounds it came from the Letter Factory video and not me!  Shortly thereafter, all my friends were grabbing up the video.  What can I say, it worked!

With kindergarten fast approaching, I have been feeling pressure.  The pressure to get her to read, to do basic math, etc.  Then I discovered she already knew basic math….SCORE!  She can sound out lots of words but isn’t really reading yet.  She can write, in fact, she sits and writes word after word after word.  Going to be a writer like her mom?  Maybe!

I sat thinking one night and I realized…..I don’t care!

She will learn all these skills in elementary school.  She has a lifetime to read and do math.  She will do it when she is ready.  It isn’t as if she is behind at all.  All of my students who struggled with reading have all turned out to be amazing students.  They are great kids and even though it took them some time they got it and are fine.

I will not let the “mommy pressure” get me.  That is what it is, right?  The pressure to feel up to par with other moms.  At the end of the day I know that whether or not she enters into kindergarten reading she could still go to Stanford.  Besides, that is what the 3 weeks of golf camp she is going to this summer is for, right??????

You’ve heard me talk about it before…I once had a glamorous job, but traded it all in for what could very well be aired on the Discovery Channel as an episode of “Dirty Jobs” (recall my recent “poop blog”).  Yes, once DJ was born, I decided to be a SAHM (an acronym for Stay-At-Home-Mom, which I discovered through my once-foreign mother’s message boards).

I was hit with a double whammy last week week.  It all started on Wednesday when I spent an ENTIRE day shopping for a dress for an upcoming wedding.  I went to two malls, and even hit downtown Burlingame.  Nothing.  If it actually fit this new body of mine, it consequentially screamed “HOMELY MOM.”  Despite finally reaching my pre-pregnancy weight, my body was so, so different – and quite frankly, I never expected that camouflaging my wider hips would prove to be so challenging.  I hardly recognized myself.

As I was trying on what would be the final dress for the day, I started breaking down a little bit.  I slipped the dress over my head, and as I was pulling it down over my chest, it got stuck.  “Seriously?  Now the waist of the dress is too small to go over these flapjacks (I am no longer breastfeeding, so that “area” is now a deflated eye-sore)?”  I couldn’t believe it, the dress would not budge and I was drowning under a sea of fabric that I didn’t even like to begin with.  When I finally cleared an air hole – I couldn’t help but laugh…..it wasn’t the waist of the dress that was caught, it was the hanger loop.  After I freed myself, I allowed my ego to temporarily retell the story…. “I am so thin, in fact, that even a hanger loop could fit around me.”  OK, back to reality – I still didn’t have a dress, and it certainly wasn’t because I was too thin.

Fast forward a few days to Friday, when I found out that the fabulous group of women that I used to work with, were heading to Napa for fun offsite.  I became a total stalker and followed their festivities on Facebook.  Each giggly status update made me feel worse, and still, I couldn’t stop reading.  I was feeling really sorry for myself, like I had been excluded from the group.  I had strange flashbacks to high school, and the hunger to be friends with the “cool girls.”  In the moment, I couldn’t pinpoint why I felt so betrayed having not been invited, despite no longer being employed with the company.  I started to feel resentful, pathetic, and unwanted.

It wasn’t until I was sitting at the dinner table with my husband on Friday night that the pieces of the puzzle came together.  He helped me to realize that I was just having hard time recognizing myself these days.

I was mourning the loss of a social life that came along with working in a really fun office with really wonderful people.  I was mourning the loss of a job that I had once considered “perfect.”  It was like ending a blissful relationship only because you wanted kids and he didn’t – there was no lack of chemistry, just an unclear future.  I had given up a lot.

Simultaneously, I was trying to embrace this new role in life.  I was struggling to celebrate the changes that being a mom had caused – both physically and emotionally – and, I was trying desperately to not tie these two monumental things together with a big ol’ bow of resentment……”I gave up a great job to have a baby, and now I am too fat to fit in a dress.”

The truth is, my life is richer now than it has ever been.  I could go back to work at any time, and likely pick up right where I left off – but, I choose not to.  I choose to spend 7 days a week, 24 hours a day with DJ because she is worth it.  I choose to be a SAHM because it matters to me that she has what I didn’t growing up.  I choose to invest my time in a pooping, coo’ing, slobbering baby because I believe the reward will far outweigh any of MY growing pains.

So, while friendships evolve and dress sizes change, one thing remains constant – I am head over heels in love with my daughter and wouldn’t have it any other way.

(Oh, and I just pulled an old dress from my closet.  With the right shoes, my hips should look just fine).

When you were younger (please note I did not say young) and somebody asked you what you wanted to be when you grew up, I’m sure you were all like me.  You jumped up and down and said “A taxi driver!”

Yeah, right.

It’s something parents never talk about.  I think the secret lies in the Book of Secrets only the President of the U.S. has access to.

When our children are small and you’re like our new mommie or our preschool mommie, we take them with us everywhere for various reasons.  Because we want to.  Because we have to.  Because we’re showing them off.

One day, we decide to take a chance and expand our horizons and put them in a fun-petitive sport during the summer.  It lasts several weeks and we drive them to and from the sport.

If we’re lucky, they find something they’re really good at like dancing or karate or baseball and it’s awesome. Your child is growing up before your eyes doing things you never imagined you would see them doing!

And somewhere down the line when they blow out 13 candles, or so, something strange happens.  This time portal opens up, swallows you, and 4 or 5 years flies by and you realize you have become a taxi driver!

Oh yes.  It’s true.  The amount of time you spend driving your children around increases exponentially with the type of activities they participate in as they get into their teens.  They’ll want to participate in sports that last 463 days out of the year, go to dances that last 4 hours but take 5 weeks to prepare for, complete school projects that Davinci had an easier time constructing, and take countless trips to the malls with their friends.

As a single father, I’ve become a Total Teen Dad and I’ve never complained.  Why would I?  In a strange way, this is a good thing.  You feel needed.  You get to spend more time with them, see them get excited about the new things, and experience the pitfalls that come with some new things.  And after several years of driving them around the world many times, you’ll actually be excited for them when they get their drivers license.  I think it’s Mother Nature’s way of preparing us for their independence.

Yes.  I thought I wanted to direct films when I got older and option a screenplay or two.  Apparently, I was wrong.  I wanted to be a taxi driver.

Tell me it gets easier.  Five years later, being a mom is still tough.  I have come to realize that it is never not tough.  Reading Gina’s post the other day made me laugh because even though I have been at this job for nearly 1,900 days I STILL have days like that.

I gave up my career of being a teacher to be a stay at home mom.  That was my first problem.  You see, if I had a “real job” I would have had an excuse for not having a spotless house or a hot meal on the table at 6 p.m. every night.  It would be ok if I was wearing the same jeans 3 days in a row because I didn’t have time to get to the laundry because my job was so busy.

What I didn’t realize at the time was that LG WAS my “real job.”  Until she was born, no job had ever been so important.  Even though I was helping to shape the mind of today’s youth, heaven help them, I knew that their core values would come from their parents at home.  Yes, teaching them to read was no easy task but the real work was being done at home.

I realize that now…..5 YEARS LATER!!!!!

OK, it honestly didn’t take me that long but some days I have to remind myself.  I looked around our house last night.  Dishes in the sink, a pile of laundry 3 feet high to fold and a kitchen floor that needed to be swept was the first thing I saw.  As I looked more closely though, I saw what was important.  Artwork on the floor drying, Hungry, Hungry Hippo out on the table ready to be played and a child riding her scooter around the kitchen with a smile covering her entire face.

That is what is important.

My daughter is happy.  She loves life!  Sure she needs to work on cleaning up a bit and I would like her to know that it is important to stay on top of keeping the house clean, but her being happy is the most important thing to me.

Even on those days when I wonder what the hell I am doing or that I am failing at my job, I know that I am doing the best that I can.  I know that there will always be dishes to be done, floors to be vacuumed, and clothes to be folded, but if my daughter is happy, that is all that matters.

It was 7:00 am, and there were already dirty dishes in the sink.  This is always such a mystery to me since I make a habit of washing our dishes each night before I go to bed.  It was one of those mornings when I felt like scrubbing one more bottle might just flick me over the edge.  7:00 am and I had already changed DJ’s diaper, fed her, packed my husband’s lunch and made the bed.  I was putting too much pressure on myself, and knew I was slowing coming unraveled.

As I came out of the kitchen, I noticed that our miniature Chihuahua, Lady, had missed her piddle pad yet AGAIN.  Now mind you, this dog is over 5 years old – she knows better.  I can admit it, I became momentarily possessed.  I started using profanities that would have made a sailor look modest.  I even looked at Lady and began lecturing her, and reasoning with her.  “Your name is LADY, so do me a favor and ACT LIKE ONE!”

I snapped for my husband to get down our Bissell carpet cleaner, and gave him a whole speech about how stupid the dogs were (two dogs, plus two cats, plus an almost-eight-month-old would leave anyone bordering on insanity, right?). He just listened, and asked “What can I do, babe?”  “NOTHING.”  So, I started spraying, brushing and suctioning my way into a major pity party.  There I was, in my mismatched pajamas (now wet with carpet cleaner), snarled hair, unbrushed teeth, mascara smudged down to my cheek bones – with tears welling up in my eyes.

My husband braved a return trip over to where I was breaking down.  Without even looking up at him, I ran through a laundry list of ideas to get these “accidents” under control.  In mid-sentence, I stopped.  I laid the Bissell down, sat on the damp carpet and cried.  I looked up at my husband and asked, “What have I become?”

In previous days, 7:00 am would have meant pairing my high-heeled shoes with a trendy outfit that I had chosen for the day.  It would have meant quickly pouring a thermos full of tea for my drive to work.  It would have meant hopping on 280 South to Silicon Valley.  In previous days, I would’ve been too busy to notice a spot on the carpet.  In previous days, I might not have cared so much.

Things are different now.  Not only do I have a baby learning to crawl, provoking within in me an irrational fear of germs – but, our home is now my domain.  This IS my full time job.   This is where I spend my time, and I want – wait, I NEED, some order here.  I need to be able to control at least a few things in a world where there are no agendas and no manageable task lists.

My husband interrupted my floundering and asked me to stand up.  “Why you can’t come down to me?” I barked.  “Because I want to give you a hug.  Please stand up.”  So, I stood, and as I stood and melted into my husband’s arms – the weight of my angst thawed from my cold shoulders.  In perfect timing, DJ started laughing and jumping happily in her Jumparoo.  Life was good.  I had been heard.  I had been met in my moment of anguish by a loving husband and a joyful baby girl.  I was living in the moments that I had once only dreamed of while sitting at my corporate desk.

So, what had I become?  Blessed beyond measure.

I’ve noticed over the last ten years a parenting trend that is disturbing to me as a parent of three older children.  So many parents are negotiating with their young children when it comes to teaching them.

I know I’m going to sound old when I say this, but I’m really not that old. Really!  When I was growing up, there was no negotiating with my parents.  They asked me to do something nicely and if I resisted, there were consequences; some more scarier than others.  But I lived.  And I think I’m all the better for it.

I’ve heard a lot of conversations around disciplining children.  “I feel guilty if I spank them or if I raise my voice.”  “All children can be reasoned with.”  “It hurts me too much to bring tears to their eyes.”  “I hate to disappoint them.”  It’s a touchy subject for most, but all of these are understandable feelings.

I think of myself as a pretty understanding father so when I feel there is a reason to discipline my children, there’s usually a good reason.  Sometimes we do it for our convenience, I’m not going to lie, but most of the time it’s for their own good.

The secret is follow through.  If you state a consequence to an action and the action doesn’t take place, simply follow through.  It’s as simple as that.  No need to count.  No need to negotiate.  Sure, it takes a little extra effort on your part to get up out of that comfy chair that you just sat down in after being on your feet for six hours, but the results will be ten-fold.  Just start out early in their lives by teaching them this simple concept and they won’t forget.  Trust me!

Just ask my children when I showed up at high school to pull them out of class in my father’s old pajamas.  After all, it’s important to understand what is important in your child’s life so when desperate times call for desperate measures, you won’t have to think twice.  And neither will they!

I was all set to post yesterday and then I could get into WordPress to do so!  I had a whole post laid out and then right in front of my eyes, LG created a whole new post.

We have been home for 2 days sick. I kept LG home from school and we have been watching movies, playing games and keeping warm. Truth be told, neither of us are home bodies.  We like to be on the go so staying home for 2 days was ROUGH!  LG has recently given up her nap (I know, I am lucky) but yesterday I needed one!  Thankfully she loves to have “quiet time” in her room.

Quiet time has taken some practice for us.  In the beginning, LG would come out of her room every 5 minutes for something.  It was totally defeating the purpose of having her in her room and was driving me nuts!  With in a few tries, she could stay put for about 15 minutes without having a question or needing something.  After a few more tries, I just starting saying no to her requests.

“Mommy, can you come here?”

“No LG, you have 15 minutes left” or “No, quiet time isn’t over, figure it out yourself.”

We have been doing really well the past few times and even though we don’t have quiet time very often, yesterday it was a must have.  LG was thrilled that she didn’t have to nap and went into her room very willingly.  I got her all set up with plenty to do, set the timer for 30 minutes and went to lay down on the couch.  She came out pretty quickly assuring me, “It’s OK mommy, I only have to go potty.”

I closed my eyes and relaxed quickly.  It felt good to just lay there.  I am sure that I fell asleep just as fast because pretty soon I heard, “Mommy?”  I woke up a little but ignored her because the timer hadn’t gone off and she knows the rules.

“Um, mommy?

My husband and I were lucky enough to get some awesome seats at the Giants Opening Day game on Friday.  We were excited that it would also be DJ’s first baseball game.  We never considered going without her – which was an oddly controversial decision.  Some people thought that the weather would be too hot for her, and others thought the crowds would be too rowdy.  For a split second, I questioned our judgment as new parents, but then remembered the commitment that I made to trust my own intuition.  There was nothing wrong with taking DJ to the game, and so off we went.  (Plus, let’s admit it, my husband and I take great pleasure in proving people wrong – so we were up to the challenge).

Not only was it DJ’s first time to a game, but also her first train ride.  As we settled into a stained-with-who-knows-what seat, I worked hard to keep DJ’s little hands occupied with the sterilized toys from home, and off of the sticky windows.  Sporting a mini Lincecum jersey, DJ flashed her sweet smile to anyone who looked her way.   We felt a surge of pride, and courage…..we were really doing this!

Once we got to the ballpark and made our way to our seats, my husband and I shared a knowing look.  Though we hadn’t said a word, we were wondering if we should’ve listed to those naysayers.  Trying to cram a nursery of toys, blankets, diapers and bottles – along with a baby – into two small folding chairs was a bigger challenge than we had anticipated. We may as well have had “FIRST TIMERS” written across our foreheads.  The sun was scorching our backs, and the woman sitting next to me was slapping me with pearls of parenting wisdom like they were celebratory high-fives.  “When I use to bring my daughter to the games, I would cover her ears with a blanket to block the noise.”  I’m sorry, but it never occurred to me to try blocking the cheers of 40,000 people with a single sheet of quilted cotton…..does that make me an irresponsible mom?

It wasn’t long before we found our rhythm.  I had control of DJ, while my husband had control of her diaper bag.  I was responsible for keeping our daughter well lubed with sunscreen, and my husband was responsible for keeping us well fed (honestly, what’s better than the gooey buns of a ballpark frank?).  We quickly eased into our new role as parents doubling as Giants fans.

By the bottom of the third inning, Delilah was fast asleep in my arms – and there she remained until the bottom of the eighth when we decided to beat the crowd and leave (oh, and all without earplugs made from burp rags).  We made it back onto the train and headed down the tracks toward home sweet home.

We are a family of three now.  As much as we didn’t want our life to change, we certainly didn’t want it to go unaffected.  The truth was, with a seven month old baby, we had to make different choices.  Maybe our tailgating days have been suspended for a while, but that feels like a really small sacrifice to make.  Seeing the awe in DJ’s eyes as the acoustics of the ballpark enveloped her, made all of our fumbling around completely worth it.  We had a baby because we wanted to share our lives with someone else – someone who’s discovering the world through us.  It is our responsibility, and privilege, to expose her to as many experiences as possible.  And yes, this includes ridiculously drunk and obnoxious sports fans……a lesson in “What not to do.”

Life is now full of mental checklists, over-packed diaper bags, unsolicited advice, moments of insecurity, and an irrational fear of germs – but it is also overflowing with love, wonder, and discovery.  How lucky are we to get a renewed view of the world through our daughter’s curious eyes?

The teen years are a magical time.  A time of discovery about one’s self.  To explore new boundaries.  They turn to you for everything because they believe you know everything.  They trust you with everything.  You can do no wrong.  You finally realize everything about parenting has come true.  It’s what you always imagined it would be.

I know what you’re thinking.  He’s mad.  He’s drinking way too much espresso.  Okay.  You’re right.  I have had too much caffeine.  But I assure you, I’m not losing my mind!

My daughter came to me at 9:40pm the other night and asked if I could take her to Michael’s, a craft store.  When I looked at the clock, she said she needed some supplies for a history project.  I dropped everything, pickup up the keys, and we headed out to get what she needed.  As we walked into the store, they announced the store was closing in ten minutes.  “It’s due tomorrow, isn’t it?” I queried calmly.

“Yes,” she sighed.  “I’ve got a lot going on.”

If you were watching me on television right now and a camera was pointing at me, I would be looking into the camera right now.

My children are procrastinators.  Not so good.  But, they seem to handle extreme pressure with such grace.  Not so bad.  I’ve learned that there is good and bad in everything.  We can choose to fight who they are becoming, but we have to remember we’re responsible for shaping them.  Thank God the clay is still soft!

Sure, it was late to run to the store and she stayed up until 2:30am finishing that project, but I got to spend some one-on-one time that becomes so rare as they get older and I needed to get out of the house.

This is the kind of moment that can define your relationship with your teen.  You can get angry everytime they drop one of life’s little surprises on you, (and it is frequent!) or you can be like me, settle down with a copy of Parenting on the Peninsula, and have another cup of espresso!