Category Archives: memories

Holiday Cheer

Posted on December 22, 2009 | 10 Comments

It’s three days until Christmas. I have the week off from work. That is, I have a week off of my normal job. This week I’m full-time daddy. And to make things even more fun, I have a cold.

On today’s planner is “Make Cookies”

Since my wife is working, it’s just going to be me and Michael. He told me last night as I was putting him to bed that today “we’re going to be buddies!”

I’m glad to hear that.

Last time it was just the two of us was two weekends ago, and we made sugar cookies. He’d been asking to make them for quite a while, and we had the perfect opportunity. So while I cleaned up the kitchen in preparation for making cookies, he peppered me with thirteen thousand five hundred eighty-two questions, most of which were of some form of “can we make cookies now?”
Asking Questions

To have a five-year-old helper, it’s important to understand their limitations. As much as I’d like to hand him the recipe page and tell him to have at it, he’s just not quite there yet. Instead I got things like flour, sugar, butter and eggs portioned out and ready and had him pour them into the bowl and mix them up in term. I explained why you mix the butter with the sugar first, proper technique for blending in the eggs and why it’s important to keep the dry ingredients separate from the wet until the final mixing.

He gave the dough about two turns with the spoon and pronounced it too difficult to stir.

After a couple hours of chill in the refrigerator, the dough was ready to roll. This he wanted to do in great excess. Had I not kept him in check, the cookies would have ended up gold-leaf thin if not entirely transparent.

We selected a number of cookie cutters, in traditional shapes: tree, star, bell, heart, etc. My favorite is the one in the middle. He called that one the “award”. Yeah, that sounds about right.
For Meritorious Service

He was only too happy to cut cookies out and place them on the cookie sheets. He got quite adept at being able to do it without tearing the raw cookies. By the third batch he was an old, practiced hand at cutting out cookies, reforming and re-rolling the leftover dough and cutting out another set. We used every scrap.

His favorite part was decorating. I never saw a kid spend so much time carefully selecting and applying sugar sprinkles on cookies. And he liked to use every color, regardless of the cookie’s shape.

So we’re going to be making cookies again today, as the last batch has long since been snarfed down.

I’m hoping I win another award today. Maybe one with a little something that’ll soothe my sore throat.

Merry Christmas everyone!

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Posted in food, fun, holiday, memories

The Show Must Go On (and on…)

Posted on December 17, 2009 | 8 Comments

There is little that can compare with the excruciating torture that is attending a civilized function with a bored five year old. Having bamboo shoots run under one’s fingernails is about as close as I could imagine.

Last night sister S sang in her high school choir’s Christmas program, along with I believe seven hundred twelve other choral groups, each of whom sang eight or nine songs that rivaled “Innagoddadavida” in length.

Now, I will say that these choirs are excellent: their efforts and those of their directors and accompanists shines through in their presentation. Obviously they’ve spent many hours rehearsing, and they love what they do. It would have been a true pleasure to sit and listen in peace, had that been an option.

But when you have to drag along a very busy little boy whose attention span is measured in nanoseconds, whose body is very probably composed of springs and explosives and who has not yet grasped the concept of “indoor voice,” focusing on any sort of staged production is pretty much impossible.

And of course, the auditorium was packed to the balconies. And naturally, the only open seats were in the third row, in the very center of the theater. And to top it off, they were recording the show. I estimate the microphones were no farther than eight feet from Michael’s unstoppable mouth.

He had his own seat, which meant he could stand, sit, or kneel on the cushion if he liked. Or move through all three positions and variations thereof as often and as rapidly as possible. Making sure to let the folding seat spring closed noisily with each change: RRRRRR flup.. flup.. flup flup flupflupflupflupppppp.

There was nothing I could do. By my 32,768th emphatic “SHHHHH!”, he was ignoring me altogether. He was sitting on the other side of his mom, which meant I could not hold him still physically. And even if I had, there’s no way I would have been able to politely or legally keep him from vocalizing his displeasure, which he would have done.

He did enjoy one group’s rendition of “Carol of the Bells.” This is his favorite Christmas song at the moment. He can actually play a part of it on our piano at home, which makes me proud. But during last night’s show he insisted upon singing along. I’m sure that will enhance their recording, giving it an added dimension it would not have otherwise had.

And there were a few other songs that he did enjoy; the lively, happy Christmas carols he knows and sings at home. But unfortunately most of the pieces were rather somber and sepulchral, sporting names such as “Lullay thou little child” and “Gaudeamus Hodie.” During a relatively quiet part of the performance, he turned around and asked his mother loudly:

“Is it never going to be done?”

And at the end of the next song, I removed him from the theater.

He spent the rest of the recital running up and down the wheelchair ramp just outside the auditorium, humming “Carol of the Bells” and being a busy little boy. A happy, busy little boy.

And yes, sister S did very well.

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Posted in family, frustration, holiday, memories

Status Update

Posted on August 25, 2009 | 11 Comments

Or, the virtual dumping of the junk drawer onto the clear surface that is my blog.

There’s actually not much to write about lately; it’s sad.

Michael still asks fifteen gazillion questions every day, questions about everything and anything and nothing, questions that have no logical answer, questions that make no sense, questions to which only he knows the answer, questions about questions.

His entire day is one gigantic question mark. From dawn until dusk. When his feet hit the ground, he revs up the question engine, and it does not cease until daddy has firmly ensconced him in his bed.

I’ve written about this before, fairly recently, so there’s no need to cover that ground again. Suffice it to say, it hasn’t let up. It’s only increased in ferocity and quantity. He’s added “What happens when I…” to his repertoire, though. That’s new. Like if the topic of conversation deals with jello melting, he’ll ask “What happens when I melt?” Or if we’re discussing mowing the lawn, he’ll ask “What happens when I get mowed?”

Moving on.

He ended his two-year stint on anti-seizure medication just a couple of months ago. He took his last dose one Sunday night, and that was it. We were prepared with emergency anti-seizure medication, just in case he had an episode… but it never happened. He’s been completely free of any myoclonic spasms, and has shown no other signs of medication withdrawal. At the end of next month we can pretty much rest assured that he’ll be okay from now on. Closing that chapter.

————

Yesterday, on the way out of his drop-in day care, we happened to pass by a classmate. A “pretty girl,” he called her. I asked what her name was, but he didn’t know. She was chatting with her mom, telling of her adventures that day. He turned around to say something; I assumed he was going to ask her name.

Instead, he said “Your dress is… I love your… I… I… I love you.”

She giggled.

“Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you?” I said. Her mom laughed.

“Daddy!” he said.

“I think you’re just cute,” the pretty girl said.

“Oh, no!” Michael said, giving himself a face-palm. The girl giggled all the way back to her mom’s car.

—————-

In a short while, Michael will be starting school in another in-home day care place this year, one that comes highly recommended as providing structure, individual attention and real learning targeted to Michael’s age group. He’s already visited and is very excited about going. We’re excited to see him learn and grow this year, and hopefully move into a phase that goes beyond asking random questions and demanding to watch movies endlessly.

Summer is coming to an end. Three teenage girls will be going back to school. One will be starting high school, and will be in for a real culture shock, going from a routine of getting up at eleven AM to getting up at six, and then having to actually use her head for more than just as a place to perch her headphones.

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Posted in health, memories, michael

Missed Days

Posted on August 9, 2009 | 12 Comments

Michael’s five. He’s going to be starting kindergarten this fall. He’s not a toddler or even a preschooler any more.

Not too long ago it hit me how much I miss the time when Michael was very small.

And I’m not as much wistful about it as I am annoyed. Despite my very vocal proclamations of relief at his increasing maturity, I actually would like another shot at enjoying the baby Michael.

I spent nearly all of Michael’s baby-hood stressed out, tense and irritated, mainly due to a situation that had been churning for some time; one that I probably would not have subjected my family to had I made better choices years ago. Suffice it to say that it’s one of those things that I’d love to be able to go back in time and smack myself for.

But because of it, either by damaged brain cells or force of distraction, I actually cannot recall much of Michael’s baby-hood. Those memories reside in the center of my cerebral blind spot.

I am confident that Michael was in fact a baby at some point. I remember when he was born, and how surprised I was to see that shock of red hair. I remember he peed on me when I changed his diaper the first time. I know he came home from the hospital tiny, helpless and needy. I know I carried him a lot. I know he cried often and threw up as much. I know he spent a good deal of time in our bedroom in a cradle, and then later in a crib in his own room.

I know this because I have pictures and video of that time. I know this because I wrote a lot in my personal journal, writing about the day to day struggles, joys, triumphs, sadness, milestones and disappointments long before I began writing them in this blog.

Our computer has a slide show screensaver that cycles through pictures taken from around the time Michael was born on up to recent days. Seeing these old photographs underscores the fact that I honestly don’t remember much of life when Michael was so small. I tell this to my wife in a half-kidding sort of way, but regrettably it’s no joke. It’s like I accidentally put my memory on fast-forward during that period, and I’ve only just realized it.

Sometimes, I gave him bottles. Sometimes, I bathed him, played with him, tucked him into his crib. I did my share of taking care of him.

I know that he used to stay right where you put him. I vaguely recall that the cat used to walk on him a lot, because as far as she was concerned he was merely a lumpy extension of the furniture. And of course once he was able to move, he started getting in to things. That, he hasn’t stopped.

But I harbor resentment toward myself now that I couldn’t (or didn’t) pull myself out of my own negative attitude to really be there for him as a baby. That I wasn’t there for his sisters or my wife as much as I could have been.

At this point, there’s nothing I can do to reclaim those lost years. I have the memories I do, and those are the ones I’ll keep.

But I can just resolve to be here completely from now on. For Michael, for his sisters, for my wife. To remember to stop and drink it in from time to time.

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Posted in dad, family, memories, ponderings

Happy Birthday Sister B!

Posted on August 6, 2009 | 9 Comments

Sixteen years ago, at 4:41 AM, I was transformed.

I was no longer just a guy, I became a daddy.

My first child was born: a perfect little baby girl, eight pounds, seven and a half ounces. It was a miracle.

Sure, billions of other babies have been born to brand new parents in this world, and billions more will come after her… but she was mine.

I have a vivid memory of her first hours, after all of the excitement had died down and the medical teams had left: a memory of her lying there sleeping in her post-natal bassinet (which was more or less a rolling cart with a crib mattress and short, clear plastic sides). I laid there on my cot and just watched her sleep, her chubby little fingers splayed out against the mattress. Here was a brand new little person in this world, someone who will grow, day by day, and who will have experiences unique to herself alone.

The marvel of this little baby and her existence washed over me again and again. I wanted to pick her up and hold her and just keep looking at her, this little sleeping cherub. I’d never felt so amazingly different, like life would never be the same. Like I’d never be the same.

Truly, life never was the same. For after her came a little sister, a move, divorce, remarriage and a little brother.

Today this little cherub is a teenager, one who babysits, who has opinions about a wide variety of things that differ greatly from her dad’s, who is champing at the bit to get a driver’s license, who hasn’t figured out yet that driving requires having a car and insurance and money for gas and upkeep, who seems to spend most of her awake time texting, and who sometimes drives her dad utterly insane.

But she’s my little girl, and she always will be. And I’ll always be her daddy.

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Posted in birthday, daughters, memories

Just Gone

Posted on August 4, 2009 | 16 Comments

It wasn’t five star dining, it wasn’t a healthy food haven, it wasn’t an iconic classic, it wasn’t a cherished town treasure, it wasn’t an example of period architecture.

It was just a great place to get a burger and a fries. And a corn dog. And a grilled cheese sandwich. And a milk shake in nearly any flavor you could dream up.

It was the Sunset Humdinger, a dinky little drive-in joint that had lived right off of Oregon’s Sunset Highway since the early 1970s. The place changed owners a couple of times (at some point acquiring walls to enclose the original façade and create a small indoor dining area) before finally being bought by the most recent owners just a few years ago.

The place had a familiar, “loved” atmosphere about it, like a kindly old man everyone in town knows, the guy who spends his time sitting on the bench outside the corner grocery, and who always greets you with a “Howdy” every time you pass by. In conversations with friends over the years, every time the Humdinger was brought up at least one person would spout off with a glowing review of their milkshakes, or would gush about their having the best onion rings anywhere.

Whenever I drove by I always made a point to remind myself to drop in and grab a burger, but I usually forgot. And when I didn’t forget, I’d convince myself that I should eat something else because my arteries are clogged enough already.

Now it’s no longer an option.

The powers that be decided that they needed to widen the road.

The bank on the other side of the street said they didn’t want it widened in their direction, so the Humdinger and the adjacent 1940s-era strip mall had to go.

When I first heard the news of its impending demise, I resolved that Michael must eat there at least once in his life. So one Sunday afternoon his mom and I took him there for lunch. We had burgers, fries and chocolate milkshakes. And onion rings. The staple foods. The best things. It was as delicious as it ever was, greasy and filling and sumptuous. Michael was not as impressed, and decided it would be more interesting to experiment with shoving a soda straw into the coin return of a Ms Pac-Man video game, one that probably last saw any serious game play well before Clinton was in office.

With the permission of the owners, I took pictures of the place for posterity (later I burned them onto a CD and gave it to the owners). I was afraid nobody else would, or ever had.

And now, it’s gone. Razed. It has disappeared without fanfare, mourners or bullhorn-toting protestors. There was absolutely nothing about its passing in the news. I conducted some casual interviews with some of the surrounding business owners about the Humdinger, but came away knowing no more than I had gone in with. The place was apparently a mystery that has gone silently into that dark night.

And the world is a slightly sadder, less yummy place.

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Posted in food, life, memories

Happy Birthday!

Posted on July 30, 2009 | 15 Comments

July 30 2009 – Happy Birthday Michael’s Daddy!!!

I am not an eloquent writer like MD so I don’t blog but I wanted to wish MD a happy birthday and let him know just how much he is loved by his whole family. Here are just a few titles he carries besides Being Michael’s Daddy.

Please join me in wishing Michael’s Daddy a HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!

Love, Michael’s Mommy

“Prince Charming!”

“Baby Snuggler (twins?)”

“Mess Maker”

“Hard Worker”

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Posted in birthday, dad, memories

My Twins

Posted on July 21, 2009 | 14 Comments

Thirteen years ago, I stood watching an ultrasound, silently hoping we were looking at a girl baby. I was pleased to see my wish come true as the technician pointed out the important part of the grainy black and white image. This would be my second daughter, affectionately known here as “L”.

When the technician moved on to scan other areas, I happened to notice a dark void that was separate and distinct from the mass that was my child.

“What’s that?” I asked.

The technician hesitated a bit, but went back over that area.

“Hmmm… probably a non-developed fetus,” she said after a couple of passes.

“Like, she could have been a twin?”

“Yes, that’s pretty likely. It happens some times,” she said, flatly.

I couldn’t get that out of my mind. I might have had two more little girls instead of just one. Twins! How cool would that be? But only a few hours after getting a healthy dose of life on the outside of the womb, this little baby’s temperament ripened into one that made me quite happy that she was not a twin.

Fast forward to 2004, past divorce and remarriage and the construction of a new blended family. Herald the arrival of Michael.

Right away, my wife and I noticed something about him: he has like a miniature version of his sister L. Her twin had returned in the form of a red-haired boy.

Now, all kids exhibit some common bizarre behaviors. All four of ours have painted with toothpaste, crammed something down a heater vent, spilled countless glasses of milk/water/juice/soda, and stuck something up their noses.

But L and Michael share characteristics that go beyond typical kid stuff. Let me itemize.

  • Blankets:
    Michael loves his blankies and carries a group of four of them all around the house, just as L did when she was his age. And of these, they each chose a favorite “alpha blanket” to reign supreme over the others; the blankie that must travel everywhere. Both of them love to build nests of blankets and pillows on the bed or the couch, or even the floor if necessary, and prefer to sleep without a top sheet on their bed.
  • Aggression:
    Both of them need help keeping their anger in check. On her first day of kindergarten, L took out a whole line of boys because one of them thought it would be fun to push her. Michael was booted out of his first daycare for whopping on some kid who was biting him. Not that I would condone such behavior in any way… but at least I know they’re not going to be pushovers.
  • Volume:
    They’re incredibly loud. I thought L was the loudest baby on record until Michael came along. L has mellowed in recent years, so I have hope that eventually Michael’s shrieks will be quieted. Both of them have to be told to STOP repeatedly; the first three times don’t get through. They’ll just keep right on doing whatever it was you told them to stop doing.
  • Left Handed:
    L was the only lefty in our family until Michael came along. And while he hasn’t settled on a dominant hand yet, he tends to use his left for eating and writing.
  • Favorite Character:
    Both of them glommed on to Elmo and Curious George as favorite characters in their toddler years, and both dropped them in favor of other things as life progressed.
  • Favorite Song:
    They both latched onto a portion of the song “Skidamarink” as their own theme, to sing repeatedly. Michael took the line “I love you in the morning, and in the afternoon…” and turned it into “I love you in the morning, ifter afternoon.” Years before, L had taken the next line: “I love you in the evening, underneath the moon!” and made it into “I love you in the night… I love you in the night…”
  • Maple Syrup:
    They each separately discovered the joy of licking the syrup off the plate after eating a stack of pancakes. L has gone so far as to pour herself a lake of syrup on one occasion, which resulted in her being completely banned from touching the syrup for two years.
  • Random Washing:
    Both exhibit the squirrelly tendency to wash toys for random reasons. Many times, I’d find L in the bathroom washing off small plastic animals. And recently I’ve caught Michael washing marbles and rubber bands in the same sink.

I’m sure it would not surprise you to know that their birthdays are separated by just under two weeks.

Since he was six months old we have referred to Michael as “L’s Twin,” which had annoyed L to no end… until fairly recently. After Michael picked a toy off the floor with his foot and put it back on the shelf, as she herself has been known to do, she shook her head, smiling, and admitted “I guess he really is my twin.”

I’m glad she’s finally accepted the truth. It makes things so much easier.

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Posted in kids, memories, parenting

Saturday Matinee

Posted on July 11, 2009 | 8 Comments

Today we bring you a blast from the past.

I recently got back some old home videos of my daughters from long ago, and I was hoping to find this clip.

This little gem was something I recorded in 1995. I was a new dad of one little girl, and I spent most of my time either playing with my daughter or getting video footage of her using this old VHS camcorder I bought in the mid-eighties. It was a behemoth, and by that point required a jury-rigged microphone. The very next year it died for good.

Anyway, this is only two minutes worth of the countless hours of video I have of her and her sister. They still think I spend more time filming Michael. Hah. Haven’t even come close yet.

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Posted in daughters, memories

Three Years Ago…

Posted on June 19, 2009 | 18 Comments

On June 19, 2006 I wrote this piece.

“So I’ve finally decided to blog. I hate that word. But here I am doing it.”

It was my first blog post. It was the day I signed up with Blogger and committed myself to nattering about my experiences as a father to anyone willing to linger on my site for longer than 20 seconds.

Our surprise baby, Michael, was just a little over two years old when I started it, and I had a pretty good idea about what my first few posts would be. He’d already provided plenty of material, and I knew that if I didn’t document it all now, I’d forget. Forgetting seems to come much more easily to me now. I can do it without any effort at all. I think it’s a defensive mechanism. Twenty years from now, when I look back at my life and wonder why the heck I was always so cranky when Michael was little and why it is I didn’t spend more time enjoying his carefree, exuberant childhood, I’ll be able to read those old entries and go “Oh yeah. That’s why.”

Concerning the blog itself, I was excited about its potential. As I am typically wont to do, I held this delusion that as soon as I put up my first post I’d be inundated with comments and emails, and in a year’s time would be able to put ads on my page and generate a steady income. As it turned out, I didn’t get my first real non-family-member comment until nearly a year later, on the post where I announced the diagnosis of Michael’s neurological disorder. Hoping to divert some of the information superhighway’s traffic in my direction, I signed up with several blog list sites like BlogTopSites, TopBlogArea, Blogflux and Technorati. No effect at all.

So much for my starry-eyed plans.

It was Chuck over at D is for Dad that first got me connected. He noticed me lurking around his site and sent me an invite to Cre8Buzz, a now-defunct social networking site where I met a whole host of other great bloggers. Then Joeprah got me to the next level, putting my site up on his main page as one of the “Can’t Miss” sites. That was a huge deal to me. I had street cred!

I learned to visit lots of other blogs and be diligent about leaving comments.

And as my site gained traffic, I got to know some really great people. And I was added to the blogrolls of even more sites, which still astounds me. Evidently, I’m doing something right.

So thanks to all of you, my forty-two regular visitors, for sticking with me and reading my vaguely humorous observations and curmudgeonly anecdotes. I know you could spend fifteen minutes reading something else, but you’re here reading this, post number 375. And I genuinely appreciate that.

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Posted in Blog, memories, michael