Asleep At The Real

Sleep is a fickle lover, idn’t it?

If I were to be embraced by sleep nightly, welcomed into her arms and pulled deep into her embrace, for her to put forth all the effort to make me feel safe and refreshed, eventually I would need less.  And when she decides what I feel about her she makes up her mind without consulting me on my feelings.

She whispers into the ears of my wife “he’s with me…” and my wife may get jealous.  Because her Sleep isn’t infusing her with rejuvenation.  He eludes her.  He brushes past her with a wink.

He teases her.  He approaches her and tells her to relax, only to step away, returning well after a normal sleeping hour has passed.  He exhausts her.  While she waits, I slumber lightly.

So little sleep is causing so many other issues.  Advice comes and goes.  Insomnia, well, that’s a hard one to shake off.

And if nobody’s feeling rested, everything else blooooows ass.

Helicopter Parents & GroundPatrol Kids

There are some play areas in public places that are designed for kids around ages “Crawling well-to-4’ish.”  They’re based pretty much on a height limit, usually noted by a body-part of a cartoon animal.  “If you can suckle from this giraffe, your involvement is a gaffe!”  Some-such…  and the parents for the most part aren’t really governing the situation.  There’s always a kid who’s too tall and too weird for the joint who’s probably just on his parent’s last nerve.  That’s why there’s a Lego store.

I take our oldest guy (2.5 yrs) to a few of these places every 6-8 weeks, depending on the weather and time of day.  He likes it enough to not want to leave after 30minutes, and it tires him out, builds coordination, gives him a healthy dose of interaction, etc.  Also causes me minor panic attacks.  Usually the joint’s overrun with kids, the way it oughtta be, and a packed airspace of “Helicopter Parents.”  They act as labeled – hovering within feet of their kid’s activity, constantly voice-guiding their child like a sonar ping.  “Aiden!  Don’t hang on the lighthouse parapet.  Aiden!  Not YOU, sorry, AIDEN MAXIMUS… NO, NOT YOU, GAAAH!  Maddie go get your br… sorry, MadeLINE, go get your brother.”  Even better when one kid has 2 parents and a grandparent hovering around, 1 directing while 1 captures burgeoning narcissism and the other documents flowering misanthropy on smartphone cameras.

The worst of the Heli-parents are the Heli-Sippers. Fresh into the play area with knee-high kids running around, what better way to enjoy it than with a steaming-hot, freshly made latte in-hand?  Oh, even better, stare at your phone amidst the cacophony of Figure-8 Racing that is a toddler’s play area!

Next-worse are the asshole parents of the asshole kids stuck along the perimeter, phone-thumbing their way through social media while IN A COMPLETELY CROWDED PUBLIC SPACE.  Their kid is the one on top of the foam boat, purposely but passively giving kids the kick-back while screaming “I am the CHAM-PEE-ONNN!”  Actually, Cade-aid-maximaden, you are 9 years old and need to get your ass off the boat before I engineer a slip-off.  It’s always a boy, he’s usually got red hair or a big head, and his parents haven’t had him tested to see which chromosome caused the 11th-14th toes.

Nobody ever says anything.  Ever.  I am beginning to.  I’ve told kids who push other kids “You’re not a very nice little boy, are you?”  They don’t like that.  Or “You shouldn’t push kids, or they will push you.”  Huh, what?  Responsibility?  Accountability what?  My son doesn’t touch other kids, but he is telling them now “It’s MY turn” and they move and he says “Thank you” and then won’t go down the F’ing slide and I look like my kid’s scared of everything.

I’m not perfect, soooo far from-far-from perfect.  But I am trying to teach my oldest to stay out of other kid’s faces, no pushing, and to verbalize what he’s feeling.  Ain’t easy.  Eventually a kid from another country will not like his tone and knock him down.  Then that kid’s dad will get thrown in a garbage can.  StealthFighterDad among Helicopter Parents.  I will drill you from high above in the play area. Then I will sanitize my hands with foamitizer and get a cupcake.  Because America.

Be present.  Say something. Parent, as a verb.

Eat It

There’s no way I should be hiding all of the truth from people if this is going to be a readable blog, right?  Who wants to read regurgitated horse-S from a guy who sorta speaks his mind if it’s probably not going to bother people?  Truth is, if you’re bothered then I said something that hit a part of you that you’re likely not happy about. You’ll stop reading or you’ll hate me and come back out of spite.  Or you’ll agree and we can say “OK, let’s go forward.”  It’s not my intent to offend anybody – that’s just a bonus.

So about these homo’s getting married…  KIDDING, loosen up.  Every adult should be allowed to enter a legally-recognized civil union and you can call it whatever you want, as long as we’re treated equally and allowed, on our own accord, to screw it up on a case-by-case basis.

It’s my intent to share whatever I can from my personal perspectives on life, parenting, health, and work in hopes it will connect with whomever reads this, and will keep them coming back, and they’ll tell their friends.  Hopefully it will be entertaining, either from a comedy or mildly dramatic view.  But overall it’s unfair to ask for anybody’s time if this is boring and repetitive and another boring “DadBlog.”  I’ve read a few and thought how truly boring the dad’s come across, and wonder if they’re coming off like that to get laid at blogger conferences or if they really are that wussified.  I have plenty of Compromise DNA in me, but a few entries on a few other DadBlogs almost made an “innie” out of my scrotum.

Where-to from there?  How about food!?  Shouldn’t try and ride the horse through highest waters just yet.

We’re having a renaissance of toddler eating habits in our house.  With 1 toddler and 1 nurser and everybody working full-time there’s only so much time and so many hands with-which to prepare food.  Many experts (I know they are because they wrote it on a website!) about toddler eating have said to give your kid what you’re eating, and they’ll come around to it.

Let/Make them try a lot of things.  They won’t starve unless you with-hold all food from them.  As parents WE dictate to the CHILD what’s available to eat.  It doesn’t have to be dungeon gruel and the last of the ox gristle.  But if we gave in to our son’s pouting about meals every time he hit a 7 on the Grumpometer, he’d have a steady diet of cookie-rabbits and juice.  While it would ensure zero hassle at meal time,  it would probably damage my oldest boy’s physical and emotional development.  He’d be on an unhealthy path via nutrition and constant catering to his whims.  The world doesn’t work like that, we don’t work like that, so neither will meal time.

In doing so we’ve had a few shortened lunches and dinners while baby carrots were left on the plate and cries came from the booster seat.  Sometimes a single floret of broccoli designated the entire table a war-zone.  Then eventually a few berries were eaten.  Then a lot more.  Then some brown rice with chopped vegetables became a staple.  And recently the baby carrots diminished by a few by the end of the meal.  He actually lived, acted, and slept very well in the aftermath of regularly having various foodstuffs on his plate.  We usually have a starring role for a nearly-natural chicken nugget trio, a yogurt-fruit smoothie, applesauce, whole-grain pancakes, and the like.  But as a dad who has fought the weight battle my whole life I want to get good nutrition habits into my son from early on.  I can’t do that if I don’t eat healthy.  I’m not perfect – I’ve had sensuous moments with brownies and slices of pizza that I still think of when I’m hungry – but at the very least I want my boys to try all kinds of food, see what they like, then mash it up into a paste and bake it into a cookie shape so they’ll eat it, stay thin, and have a perfect life.  The end.

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