People of WalMart

Outside, the chimney is smoking, the sledding track is glimmering slick, and the snowman stands solid on his night watch. After finally getting a significant snowfall in Virginia, we've enjoyed a string of snow day adventures.

At two, my son is enjoying the snow much more than last year. We've sledded and walked, made snow angels and read every book in the house. School was closed for a week and my wife spent regained her spot as the favorite parent. Life is good.

Another perk of the snowfall was empty stores. Over the weekend we had a big family outing....to WalMart.

We needed to print off some pictures, you know, like on paper that you put in frames? But seeing how empty the store was inside, my wife and I looked at each other and thought, Why not have a little fun first?

My kid’s favorite book at the moment is Duck on a Bike, which is a really cool book that I highly recommend. Only now my kid really wants a bike. We've spent more than a few afternoons in the basement, him balanced up on my Trek and me wobbling him along at a snail careful pace.

But WalMart has little bikes, and our little duck was ready and willing.

We slapped a helmet on his head and set off. My mind tangled with a barrage of neurotic thoughts--germs, bacteria, how skinny Beck has gotten-- but just like the duck, we started slow, inching through the lawn and garden section. If there’s anything my son loves more than bikes, it’s lawnmowers.

Our bike tour continued, through the vast array of shovels and hoses, we strolled on to the birdhouses, picking up speed as we zipped along to the home decor.

The aisles were empty and wonderful. Only once did we have to veer off course, seeing a woman in sorta-fitting pajamas over near the Easter candy. Then we were off again as I tugged him past the mirrors--because hey, he liked what he saw. Then we whisked by the vacuums, off to the trash cans, we looped around shiny pots and pans before drifting back over to the sporting equipment. All the while he laughed and giggled and shouted the word duck repeatedly. (And you can probably imagine what that sounded like).

After a few more loops around the store I knew it was going to be tough getting our little duck off the bike. But we managed. And as far as trips to Wally World go, it wasn’t too miserable. And he only muttered a few ducks as I lifted him from the bike.

He looks so big in this picture, but I'm not going to do it, I'm not going to say how he's growing up so fast. I refuse to say how it was only yesterday that I was holding him in my arms. Nope, no references to a little duckling becoming a duck. Not going to do it...

Night Terrors

Life with a toddler is all about routine. Nap times, dinner times, bed times, we stick tight to that schedule, and sometimes if feels like our routine stretches the week (and weekends) into one long, continuous cycle.

Come home, play, dinner, play, bath, play, read, sleep.

I'm okay with a routine. As a kid I loved that my house was stable and steady. My teenage years were filled with routine practices. Ugh, my twenties were a routine of mistakes. But now, I get to chase my kid around the house, play with his toys, read him some books and get to bed early. At this stage in my life, I’m perfectly content knowing that I will be up at around six every morning.

And last night I was doing just that. Bath time was all sorts of wacky because, well, you see the silly fish was pulling a train and that was just a riot because—okay wait, I’m off track here. But things were humming along just like any other night. My wife got our son all tucked in and he was out like a lump.

Now because this blog is based in reality I’ll admit that my wife and I were asleep soon after. Long ago was the day I felt shame for whatever time the clock read when I hit the pillow. But then something went bump in the night. At first we only heard, Water. Water, water, water, water!

I hopped out of bed to console my son while my wife headed for the water our son so urgently needed..

His room was awash in this eerie blue tint from the night light on his fish tank. It was like I was wearing night vision goggles when I saw my kid standing up in his crib with a vacant stare.

“You okay, buddy?” I said, just a little creeped out. 

Water!

I went to pick him up. And that's when the diaper sludge hit the fan.

He flung himself back, taking a blanket with him as he crashed into his crib, flailing and kicking. My eyes hadn’t yet adjusted to the blue so I wasn’t all together sure that it was in fact my son instead of some kind of horrid creature of the night.

He screamed and moaned, and when I heard him call Mommy I was all too eager to step aside.

The screaming continued. And for the next ten minutes I questioned my sanity, my wife’s sanity, my son’s sanity—if any sanity existed in the world. He was inconsolable. But my wife stuck with him, and received a fat lip for her efforts. But she was able to ask him questions about his bad dream. Here’s what we found out:

Water was involved.  

Eventually she coaxed him back to sleep. By morning my cute, cheery little son had been returned. He didn’t seem recall last night, which I found strange. I think I'd remember morphing into a monster overnight. But nope, he just said, “Sit Daddy.”

And I gladly did. We ate breakfast together, getting back to our normal routine.

To be continued...

Simple Times

We were at a kid's museum when I spotted a book titled, Simplicity Parenting sitting on the shelf. I picked it up and glanced it over while my kid climbed aboard a pirate ship to take the wheel.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the concept. The whole less-is-more approach in a day and age when everything is sold in bulk. I leafed through it for as long as my attention span would allow, nodding in agreement with the simplistic approach. Most kids have too many options. It's okay to be bored rather than rushing from one thing to the next. Boredom inspires creativity.

It made so much sense. 

Just a few weeks ago we celebrated my son’s second birthday. It was a Friday night and it turned out to be a pretty low key affair. My wife’s parents were staying with us and her best friend dropped by with her family. No clowns, no blowout party, just a couple of hours of fun. At two, it’s not like he's sweating the goods, he just wants you to chase him down the hallway. So that's pretty much what we did.

And it was great.

My wife and I have been having the whole how much is too much? discussion lately in our house. It's so easy to get caught up. He'll want something and and then we want him to be happy. Grandparents want to buy stuff. But a few days later there are mounds of forgotten toys laying around the house. And all he wants is an emtpy box to play in.

I feel like many of us try to give our kids all the things that we never had growing up. But in reality, that never-having was what inspired us do the fun stuff: Exploring the woods, building forts, watching ants, and when desperate....reading books. I agree with the philosophy that if we constantly give them everything we create a sense of entitlement.

Making our kids feel like the center of the universe is not necessarily a great thing. I mean, remember wishing for that one toy? Hoping and dreaming and counting the seconds until Christmas? How does that work for a kid with everything?

And it ‘s not necessarily about stuff but about time. When I do think back on kidhood, it’s not my toys or shoes or flashy stuff that I had that comes to mind, it’s the moments. I’d rather spend my time just hanging out with my kid.

But even still, from time to time I catch myself not having what I'd call a trophy-winning parenting moment. My son is asking me a question and I just grunt and mumble a lazy uh-huh like a drone.

And it feels awful.

I don’t want to be a drone. I don’t want my kid to be a drone. 

I love how we’ll watch one episode of Thomas the Train and then he’ll talk about it for two days. I love how he reads along with a book because he’s memorized the words. I love how his eyes move around as he tries to work a piece to a puzzle. I love noticing the small, irreplaceable not-for-purchase moments that make parenting so special. And most of it is so simple.

I don’t need his picture to be liked because I love it. I don’t need apps, games, screens, toys, or movies to see him smile. I just need time. And there is plenty of time, it's up to me to use it wisely.

Different Kids

On Sunday we ventured out to a park for some fresh air and family time. The weather was mild and it was the perfect opportunity to get out and enjoy the sunshine. And we weren't the only ones. Pulling in, it was a little crowded for my taste and I suggested maybe trying another place. It’s not that I don’t like people, more that I don’t like lots of them all at once because I'm mental. 

But my wife gave me that look. The look that says get over it, you’re being a curmudgeon, live a little. It’s one heck of a look. So with that I parked the car and out we went, hand in hand in hand and enjoying the sunshine.

We headed for the slides first, I wanted my wife to see how Simon could go down all himself. But my steps froze at the sound of this god-awful scream. A guttural, primal yelp that had me looking around for a feral cat by the dumpsters. 

But that wasn’t it.

It was a girl, maybe six and she was perched over our heads on the slide like a gargoyle. Once she had our attention she was off, slipping down and then peeking back, letting go with another um, sound. Okay, I thought, she’s an odd one. I glanced around for a parent or adult or perhaps a mother bobcat missing a human.

I tried to ignore the girl, I really really tried to ignore her. But she kept up the routine, with the grunting and growling so hard that her face turned a deep shade of maroon. And if that wasn't enough, she fell right in behind us, barking and bellowing or whatever the whole way along. At one point my son, not yet two, looked up to her and said, “too loud.” 

I had to agree, and by then I was a wreck of nerves. This little demon girl wouldn't leave us alone. As it turned out, the growling thing was a some kind of game she was playing with her older brother, who we found lurking in the shadows.

So then there were two little beasts.

Let me take a moment to say that while I think it’s great that two kids can be imaginative and pretend to be dragons instead of sitting around watching television or ipads, I'd prefer that they be creative somewhere else. But that wasn't happening because kids just naturally gravitate to my wife. Being a teacher, she's great with them and knows the proper way to speak to them and diffuse situations. Me? I tend to take more of a Billy Madison approach. 

It's not so much that I'm immature, it's just that--whatever--I only wanted to spend some time outside with my kid without being roared at every few seconds. I don't think that's too much to ask. And besides, the last thing I needed was for my two year old to pick up on some very unnerving demon dragon growl that made me want to drop these two kids off at the nearest church. 

My wife told me to calm down—to be an adult. After a self-imposed timeout I realized that she was right, I was getting way too worked up about the whole thing. We couldn't control every environment our kid entered. So while these two dragon kids hovered over us, being sketchy and making these horrible sounds, I would force myself to grit and bear it. I reentered the playground calmly, determined to get along and play nice. 

Another roar from the dragons. Oh look at the time, we really gotta get going. A few more passes down the slide and we were out of there.

Did I handle the situation appropriately? Maybe not. Okay, probably not. But the situation was new territory for me. I can't help the urge to protect. And you know what? My son is only two, so yes, I can control his environment. For now at least.

On the way home from the park, my wife (who sees different kids all day long), saw things differently. And what she said made me think. (Don't you just hate that?). Where I saw a little girl being weird and nerve wracking, she saw a bright, imaginative kid craving adult attention. Where I was annoyed and only thought of my own discomfort, she engaged the little dragon girl, urging her on. In fact, by the time we left the park she was chatting up a storm and showing us the other side of the playground like a little tour guide. 

I sighed, wishing I’d done things differently. Those are the little moments where I need to be the adult. Those kids were acting out for attention and would it really ruin my day just to loosen up and go along for a while?  And it won't be long before my kid wants to be a dragon or a tiger, or maybe a mime. Probably not a mime. But that's not the point. the point is that it's not just about my own kid, but every kid. We're all in this together. And we have to share this playground, even with the dragons..

But still, if I hear one of them say"O'Doyal rules!" well then, all bets are off...