I suppose it's not a surprise that, 2 1/2 years after the birth of Thumper, we've been thinking a lot about a second child. No, Aerie's not pregnant; we've just been thinking and talking and thinking and talking. I'm far more convinced than Aerie on the subject; she wavers back and forth and back again. I want another. Thumper needs a sibling, I have no doubt, and I want an extension on this stay-at-home dad contract of mine. I know she didn't enjoy pregnancy that much the first time, or at least not the first and last thirds of it. We're both working on losing weight, and she doesn't want the setback that pregnancy would represent on that front, either. And there are money worries, and health-related worries, both for baby and mom, that increase as we grow older.
So, anyway. Yesterday she asked me, "What do you think of adoption?"
My first thought was, oh, no. I've heard horror stories. I have fears. I think adoptive parents spend the rest of their lives living with the consequences of strangers screwing up their kids. Oh, nightmares. Developmental delays. Angry, violent, drug addicted. No, no, no. Lots of fears.
But, I don't know. I had a lot of fears about pregnancy the first time, too. If there's one thing I've learned through this whole parenthood experience so far, it's that you can spend a lot of time and energy worrying and planning about possibilities that never come to pass. And the possibilities that do come to pass are ones that never even occur to you. So having fears is not reason enough.
This morning, while driving Thumper to the playground, the idea of adoption really started to appeal to me. In some ways, it seems like both of our lives, Aerie's and mine, point in this direction. I grew up intimately involved in the Child Protective Services world. From the time that I was six until I was nineteen, my parents were foster parents. They took in (I think) 38 kids over that time, kids that were the product of abuse and neglect and drug addiction. I have no doubt that that experience had a profound effect on me, shaping me into the man that would want to be a stay-at-home dad.
Even after they retired from fostering, my mom became a social worker in the CPS system, placing foster kids into adoptive homes. Two of those foster kids even nearly became my adoptive siblings. The first, a round-headed, red-haired boy, did not for reasons I can't begin to recall. The other did not because (I think) of racial preference policies where white parents weren't the first choice for black kids. Anyway, fostering and adoption are part of my upbringing. And if you know Aerie, you know her upbringing has shaped her into a protector of the weak and the underdogs, a caretaker, a champion of the abandoned.
But then again, when you start looking at adopting, it seems like it's for much better, and stronger, people than I. There are so many kids, older kids that too few people want or can even begin to consider taking in, kids with daunting special needs. I don't know if I'm up to all of that. I want to be a better person, but I don't think I'm capable of being that much better, really.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Snow Day
It doesn't snow in the Greater Austin Metropolitan Area very often, so when it does, you by-god make your kid get out there and play in it. Actually, he's the one who said, "I wanna go outside and see the snow." So we did.
He stood inside the open garage and watched me quickly make a snow man. He did not want to participate in the process, and he was thoroughly unimpressed with the result:
Finally he decided to try his scooter in the snow, but the cons quickly outweighed the pros, so we went inside:
Then we had this conversation:
"I don't like the snow."
"You don't."
"Nope."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't. It makes me wet."
He watched my sad little snowman from the front window for awhile and soon reported that it fell over. But when we weren't looking, the snowman fairies came and built us another one, which I thought was right neighborly of them:
He stood inside the open garage and watched me quickly make a snow man. He did not want to participate in the process, and he was thoroughly unimpressed with the result:
Finally he decided to try his scooter in the snow, but the cons quickly outweighed the pros, so we went inside:
Then we had this conversation:
"I don't like the snow."
"You don't."
"Nope."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't. It makes me wet."
He watched my sad little snowman from the front window for awhile and soon reported that it fell over. But when we weren't looking, the snowman fairies came and built us another one, which I thought was right neighborly of them:
Friday, February 12, 2010
Jumping
Last night I got the clear impression that I was watching Thumper's physical abilities develop second by second. In gymnastics, I've been encouraging him to jump. He jumps up and down on the floor, but he won't jump on the trampoline and he won't jump off objects, even low ones.
Last night, though, he dragged a box into the living room and jumped off of it holding my hands. Then he climbed back up and jumped off into my hands. Then he climbed up and jumped off over and over and over, with his Mama and me praising his wonderful jumping skills. Each time, he got a little better at it, first falling on the floor when he landed, then putting his hands to the floor but staying on his feet, and finally sticking the landing.
"I'm a good jumper," he said.
"You are!" we said.
Then he landed badly and turned his ankle. It didn't swell, but he was limping. That's a very sad sight, a two-year-old with a limp.
This morning I asked him, "How's your ankle? Does it still hurt?"
"Just a little bit," he said. "But it doesn't hurt."
Last night, though, he dragged a box into the living room and jumped off of it holding my hands. Then he climbed back up and jumped off into my hands. Then he climbed up and jumped off over and over and over, with his Mama and me praising his wonderful jumping skills. Each time, he got a little better at it, first falling on the floor when he landed, then putting his hands to the floor but staying on his feet, and finally sticking the landing.
"I'm a good jumper," he said.
"You are!" we said.
Then he landed badly and turned his ankle. It didn't swell, but he was limping. That's a very sad sight, a two-year-old with a limp.
This morning I asked him, "How's your ankle? Does it still hurt?"
"Just a little bit," he said. "But it doesn't hurt."
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Veggie Tales Does Seem Like Sort of a Capitalist Juggernaut, Though
I think back on my ponderings of religion shortly before the boy was born, and it kinda makes me laugh a little now. It's funny that this post got one of my highest comment counts (partly because I commented all over it myself). I pondered and wondered and worried, and now, it turns out that the religious indoctrination of my kid is mostly being handled by animated vegetables with no hands or feet. And despite all my intellectual posturings, I'm pretty much O.K. with that.
An asparagus sings to my son that he need not be afraid of monsters on TV or under his bed or in his closet because "God is bigger than the Boogie Man." That same asparagus also tells him that it's comforting to know that God loves him, even if he forgets to feed his dog, or if he sings off-key. As uncomfortable as I am and have been over religion and religious indoctrination, those seem like pretty good lessons for the boy to absorb, even if they mean little to me personally.
This morning, I thought of that religious discussion at Olive Garden while we watched Silly Little Thing Called Love, which is mostly about God's love, and just had to sort of giggle at myself. One of the many lessons for me in fatherhood is that no matter how I think and plan and worry and anticipate and imagine how things will be, they will be different. Life is unpredictable, and the actual experience does more to shape what will happen than all the thoughts I can think or words I can type or philosophies I can philosophize. So worry as I may have about how I would teach the at-the-time-still-waiting-in-the-wings Thumper about God and religion, our lives together proceed as they will proceed. He has already asked, "What's the Bible?" and he will over time ask about God. And those conversations will proceed as they proceed, more or less independently of whatever imaginary conversations I've already had in my head with him.
An asparagus sings to my son that he need not be afraid of monsters on TV or under his bed or in his closet because "God is bigger than the Boogie Man." That same asparagus also tells him that it's comforting to know that God loves him, even if he forgets to feed his dog, or if he sings off-key. As uncomfortable as I am and have been over religion and religious indoctrination, those seem like pretty good lessons for the boy to absorb, even if they mean little to me personally.
This morning, I thought of that religious discussion at Olive Garden while we watched Silly Little Thing Called Love, which is mostly about God's love, and just had to sort of giggle at myself. One of the many lessons for me in fatherhood is that no matter how I think and plan and worry and anticipate and imagine how things will be, they will be different. Life is unpredictable, and the actual experience does more to shape what will happen than all the thoughts I can think or words I can type or philosophies I can philosophize. So worry as I may have about how I would teach the at-the-time-still-waiting-in-the-wings Thumper about God and religion, our lives together proceed as they will proceed. He has already asked, "What's the Bible?" and he will over time ask about God. And those conversations will proceed as they proceed, more or less independently of whatever imaginary conversations I've already had in my head with him.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Hey, Me Too!
Miss Yvonne at Yo Mama's Blog (not your mama's blog) coined a phrase for something I used to do obsessively for more than a handful of years, and still do now and again, sometimes only semi-consciously. Turns out I'm not the only Phantom Typist in the world! Hooray!
I took Typing from an odd, cross-eyed man, whose name I can no longer recall, who had a weird bowl-cut hairstyle. Not to pick on the cross-eyed; that wasn't why he was weird, though it didn't help. Anyway, I was 14. It was the 8th grade. And we used actual IBM Selectric typewriters because I am old. During that semester, and for more years after than I'd care to recall, I "typed" my internal monologue as well as things that other people said to me or that I said to them. I credit this bizarre behavior with transforming me into the incredible typist that I am today.
And I'm not the only one!
I took Typing from an odd, cross-eyed man, whose name I can no longer recall, who had a weird bowl-cut hairstyle. Not to pick on the cross-eyed; that wasn't why he was weird, though it didn't help. Anyway, I was 14. It was the 8th grade. And we used actual IBM Selectric typewriters because I am old. During that semester, and for more years after than I'd care to recall, I "typed" my internal monologue as well as things that other people said to me or that I said to them. I credit this bizarre behavior with transforming me into the incredible typist that I am today.
And I'm not the only one!
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Adventures in Ushering
I may have mentioned: I love ushering. I dread it in anticipation and adore it in actual experience. One thing about ushering is that you never know where you'll be assigned, so you have to be prepared for all eventualities: warm clothes for the cold, cool clothes for the heat, and a book just in case you wind up in a quiet corner somewhere where you do nothing and see no one. As I drove to work, it occurred to me that I was woefully under-dressed for the possibility of being stuck outside in the low- to mid-30's, so I repeated a little mantra: please not outside today; put me in the arena. Please not outside today; put me in the arena.
So I was lead supervisor in the arena.
I gotta tell ya, I don't think I've worked this hard as Arena Seating Supervisor since, well, ever. And it was a women's basketball game, which is odd, because they typically have lower attendance and a higher percentage of older season ticket holders who've been coming to the arena for 100 years or so and know the building better than I do, and who know just exactly how to behave in a public venue-type setting.
But today, the visiting team traveled well, with a large contingent of fans, plus there were lots of group incentives, including free tickets for middle school kids who participated in a reading program. So the building was surprisingly well-packed.
So the gist is, I was running all over the place, reseating patrons, finding answers to unusual questions, helping people track down their parties and the guy who had their tickets, making excited kids stop sitting on the stairs and standing on their seats, and, well, I was running all over the place and calling on the radio and running all over the place some more. There was even a group of tiny uniformed cheerleaders, on this day of group sales and group promotions, who were hoisting one of their tiny uniformed cheerleader mates over their heads while she stood on one leg with arms upraised. Right in their seats, lifting that tiny cheerleader right up over everyone's head. That didn't seem safe to me. So I made them stop with the hoisting. Anyway, lots of up and down stairs. Lots of running around.
So at the end, I was kind of tired. We were almost done. Nearly all the patrons had left the building, but I noticed a couple of boys, probably 13 and 14, wandering around, looking for someone. They tried to re-enter the seating area, and another usher supervisor told them it was closed. They mentioned that they were looking for their dad. She told them the arena was empty, and he wasn't in there. They wandered away. A couple of minutes later, another supervisor saw them and pointed them to the nearest exit in a "you can exit here; thanks for coming" sort of way, not a "hurry up and get the hell out" kind of way. It didn't look like they'd found their dad yet, so I followed them out, chased them down, and asked them if they needed help.
"Yeah," one of them said. "Thanks. We kind of got thrown out." So I took them back in, let them use my cell phone to try to call their dad who wasn't answering, went to the most likely entrance where he might be waiting for them, and eventually reconnected them with the missing parental unit, who didn't look happy.
"Good night, guys," I said as they went out the door.
"Yeah," one said. "Thanks for the help," said the other.
I'm not sure I would have intervened if I hadn't seen this story on the news. I thought about the girl that got locked out of the arena without a ticket to get back in, who was never to be heard from again. I saw those boys, and thought of that girl. I thought, I can't wonder if they disappeared into the Austin night. I can't end up seeing a story about two kids who vanished from my arena. I had to go out and see if they needed help. But I might not have done it if I hadn't seen that story.
Oh, and my hat! I almost forgot to tell you about my hat. Thumper comes with me every month to sign up for shifts, so the other ushers know him and appreciate his singing and dancing skills. Another usher today gave me a hat to give to him. It's essentially an upside-down basketball net that you wear on your head, like one of these here, only with officially licensed team colors and logo. She told me I had to get a picture of him wearing it, so if I succeed in fulfilling that mission, I'll share here, too. Anyway, I wore that hat while I worked tonight, and I have never been more popular. Patrons yelled, "I love your hat!" at me as I walked by. They asked me where I got it. It was a conversation starter and a tension-breaker that just made the entire night more pleasant.
So there you go. Lives were saved; smiles were placed on the faces of children and adults alike. We did good work here, people.
So I was lead supervisor in the arena.
I gotta tell ya, I don't think I've worked this hard as Arena Seating Supervisor since, well, ever. And it was a women's basketball game, which is odd, because they typically have lower attendance and a higher percentage of older season ticket holders who've been coming to the arena for 100 years or so and know the building better than I do, and who know just exactly how to behave in a public venue-type setting.
But today, the visiting team traveled well, with a large contingent of fans, plus there were lots of group incentives, including free tickets for middle school kids who participated in a reading program. So the building was surprisingly well-packed.
So the gist is, I was running all over the place, reseating patrons, finding answers to unusual questions, helping people track down their parties and the guy who had their tickets, making excited kids stop sitting on the stairs and standing on their seats, and, well, I was running all over the place and calling on the radio and running all over the place some more. There was even a group of tiny uniformed cheerleaders, on this day of group sales and group promotions, who were hoisting one of their tiny uniformed cheerleader mates over their heads while she stood on one leg with arms upraised. Right in their seats, lifting that tiny cheerleader right up over everyone's head. That didn't seem safe to me. So I made them stop with the hoisting. Anyway, lots of up and down stairs. Lots of running around.
So at the end, I was kind of tired. We were almost done. Nearly all the patrons had left the building, but I noticed a couple of boys, probably 13 and 14, wandering around, looking for someone. They tried to re-enter the seating area, and another usher supervisor told them it was closed. They mentioned that they were looking for their dad. She told them the arena was empty, and he wasn't in there. They wandered away. A couple of minutes later, another supervisor saw them and pointed them to the nearest exit in a "you can exit here; thanks for coming" sort of way, not a "hurry up and get the hell out" kind of way. It didn't look like they'd found their dad yet, so I followed them out, chased them down, and asked them if they needed help.
"Yeah," one of them said. "Thanks. We kind of got thrown out." So I took them back in, let them use my cell phone to try to call their dad who wasn't answering, went to the most likely entrance where he might be waiting for them, and eventually reconnected them with the missing parental unit, who didn't look happy.
"Good night, guys," I said as they went out the door.
"Yeah," one said. "Thanks for the help," said the other.
I'm not sure I would have intervened if I hadn't seen this story on the news. I thought about the girl that got locked out of the arena without a ticket to get back in, who was never to be heard from again. I saw those boys, and thought of that girl. I thought, I can't wonder if they disappeared into the Austin night. I can't end up seeing a story about two kids who vanished from my arena. I had to go out and see if they needed help. But I might not have done it if I hadn't seen that story.
Oh, and my hat! I almost forgot to tell you about my hat. Thumper comes with me every month to sign up for shifts, so the other ushers know him and appreciate his singing and dancing skills. Another usher today gave me a hat to give to him. It's essentially an upside-down basketball net that you wear on your head, like one of these here, only with officially licensed team colors and logo. She told me I had to get a picture of him wearing it, so if I succeed in fulfilling that mission, I'll share here, too. Anyway, I wore that hat while I worked tonight, and I have never been more popular. Patrons yelled, "I love your hat!" at me as I walked by. They asked me where I got it. It was a conversation starter and a tension-breaker that just made the entire night more pleasant.
So there you go. Lives were saved; smiles were placed on the faces of children and adults alike. We did good work here, people.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Get a Gaming Console to Lose Weight?
It's so crazy, it just might work!
And of course you must realize, I'm thinking of Jerry Seinfeld saying, "Have sex to save the relationship..."
Anyway, our DVD player has been making ominous grinding noises, and Aerie got $125 online gift card for doing a survey and previewing new software for a business and personal finance software company, and I like video games, and it was around the time of my birthday, so we started thinking maybe it was a good time to get a new gaming console. We were leaning towards a PS3 because it can play DVDs and stream Netflix movies and because I love my PS2 and because Grand Theft Auto stopped making new titles for PS2. But I was also thinking of the Wii because, hello, Mario Kart.
But then Aerie expressed an interest in the Wii and Wii Fit as a way to play together, get a little activity in the evenings, and to have an alternative to the treadmill, which can get a little boring. So tada! We got a Wii.
We got the console before the balance board and Fit Plus arrived, so I spent a few days obsessing over it and setting up the wireless network and spending money I shouldn't on a wireless keyboard and old NES and N64 games and the "classic controller" that will let me play them, etc. You can spend a lot of money on Wii games and accessories if you lose your head.
But the balance board and Fit Plus finally arrived, and I set them up last night. First good thing: it says I weigh 10 pounds less than the bathroom scale. Bonus! Right out of the box, and I've already lost 10 pounds! Unfortunately, it says my "fit age" or something like that is 47. So I lost 10 pounds, but I also lost 9 years. I guess it's a wash.
My motivation has been very low since a little before Thanksgiving. I stopped using weights at the gym in hopes that it would give my shoulder a chance to heal, but daily activity, like carrying my giant toddler when I'm in a hurry and he wants to examine every dirty-black piece of gum stuck to the sidewalk, is still aggravating it. The treadmill gets tedious. The bikes don't give me as effective a workout in the same time frame. I stopped counting points, and it's hard to start again. I think I'm going to like having a machine that turns push ups and running in place into a competitive activity, and encourages me to weigh in and work towards a weight loss goal. I'm not into the public weigh-ins aspect of Weight Watchers, or the group encouragement, but my electronic trainer is kind of fun. I hope this gives me the push I need toward the next twenty pounds.
UPDATE: Day 2, and I've gained 7 pounds. How is it that my weight can fluctuate so wildly in 24 hours on 2 different bathroom scales and a brand new Wii balance board? Interestingly, it also decided my Fit Age was 33 today. So I gained seven pounds, and became 5 years younger. or 14, if you consider I was 47 just yesterday...
And of course you must realize, I'm thinking of Jerry Seinfeld saying, "Have sex to save the relationship..."
Anyway, our DVD player has been making ominous grinding noises, and Aerie got $125 online gift card for doing a survey and previewing new software for a business and personal finance software company, and I like video games, and it was around the time of my birthday, so we started thinking maybe it was a good time to get a new gaming console. We were leaning towards a PS3 because it can play DVDs and stream Netflix movies and because I love my PS2 and because Grand Theft Auto stopped making new titles for PS2. But I was also thinking of the Wii because, hello, Mario Kart.
But then Aerie expressed an interest in the Wii and Wii Fit as a way to play together, get a little activity in the evenings, and to have an alternative to the treadmill, which can get a little boring. So tada! We got a Wii.
We got the console before the balance board and Fit Plus arrived, so I spent a few days obsessing over it and setting up the wireless network and spending money I shouldn't on a wireless keyboard and old NES and N64 games and the "classic controller" that will let me play them, etc. You can spend a lot of money on Wii games and accessories if you lose your head.
But the balance board and Fit Plus finally arrived, and I set them up last night. First good thing: it says I weigh 10 pounds less than the bathroom scale. Bonus! Right out of the box, and I've already lost 10 pounds! Unfortunately, it says my "fit age" or something like that is 47. So I lost 10 pounds, but I also lost 9 years. I guess it's a wash.
My motivation has been very low since a little before Thanksgiving. I stopped using weights at the gym in hopes that it would give my shoulder a chance to heal, but daily activity, like carrying my giant toddler when I'm in a hurry and he wants to examine every dirty-black piece of gum stuck to the sidewalk, is still aggravating it. The treadmill gets tedious. The bikes don't give me as effective a workout in the same time frame. I stopped counting points, and it's hard to start again. I think I'm going to like having a machine that turns push ups and running in place into a competitive activity, and encourages me to weigh in and work towards a weight loss goal. I'm not into the public weigh-ins aspect of Weight Watchers, or the group encouragement, but my electronic trainer is kind of fun. I hope this gives me the push I need toward the next twenty pounds.
UPDATE: Day 2, and I've gained 7 pounds. How is it that my weight can fluctuate so wildly in 24 hours on 2 different bathroom scales and a brand new Wii balance board? Interestingly, it also decided my Fit Age was 33 today. So I gained seven pounds, and became 5 years younger. or 14, if you consider I was 47 just yesterday...
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